[Author's Note: Okay, I don't really have an author's note this time, but I hate to break with tradition.]

Hawkeye set aside his bowl of cardboard-tasting cereal without regret once it became apparent that he would not be able to eat in peace. He twirled his spoon in the bowl with his index finger and mused over the tense set in Steve's shoulders. Ordinarily, that wouldn't bother Clint, but it was a fine excuse to abandon the unappealing and increasingly soggy mess that was his breakfast.

"You said you wanted to talk. So let's talk."

Steve ducked his head to pretend like he hadn't been staring. "It can wait until after breakfast."

"Neither of us are eating."

Steve stared at the spoon dangling uselessly in his own hand and rested it in his bowl. "Sure," he said, starting to rise from his cross-legged position on the floor. "Should we, uh…"

"Unless you're planning to tell me something personal, I'm not getting up."

Steve resettled himself awkwardly while Jane and Thor made an effort to start another conversation to take the attention off the other discussion. "It's about you."

"Fire away."

Steve licked his lips uneasily, pondering the best way to broach his intended subject, has he had been all morning. "You were talking in your sleep last night."

"Weird," Hawkeye said dismissively. "I don't usually. Must be the head wound."

"I was just concerned about you. Some of the things you were saying." He cleared his throat. Jane and Thor's conversation petered away as they lost all pretence of caring for privacy, their curiosity getting the better of them. "It was something about letting Loki out."

Hawkeye's brow lowered as he stared at Steve, not comprehending what he'd said. "I wasn't dreaming about Loki last night."

"I understand if you're still feeling guilty about what happened…"

"I think I'd remember something like that."

"…even if there really isn't any need."

Hawkeye laughed suddenly. "I know where you're getting that idea from. I was dreaming about my dog last night."

At that declaration, everyone's expressions darkened to match Steve's. "Your dog."

"Yeah, I must've thought I didn't let him out or something. But he's fine. He's with a neighbor like he always is when I'm away."

Drumming his fingers on his knee, Tony joined in the conversation with his usual sarcastic edge. "Your dog 'Loki.'"

"His name's not Loki. It's Lucky. I can see the confusion."

Clearly, no one was buying it. "Wow, that's lame," Darcy said. "No one would name their dog that."

"Well I did, okay? I found him when a car hit him, and… Look, I never said I was good at naming things."

Natasha nodded, considering the straightforward names he always gave his arrow types, like "Net Arrow" and "Acid Arrow." Naming his crossbow "Lucy" had been a rare deviation from his usual pattern. "That's true, actually."

Tony rolled his eyes and nodded her way. "Okay, but has he ever had a dog?"

"Never," she replied promptly. "At least, that's what he told me. He said they were too needy."

Clint sighed. "I'd never had a dog at the time that we had that we had that conversation, but things happen. Sometimes you just see a dog get hit by a car."

"Fine. What kind of dog is he?" Natasha folded her arms over her black-clad chest in an unspoken challenge.

"A mutt."

"What does he look like?"

Clint gestured with his hand to show an approximate size. "Medium size. Brown… Missing one eye."

At that, a few people snickered, thinking of Nick Fury. "Worst story ever," Tony announced. "At this moment, I'm kind of ashamed to have you on my team.

Though he'd been prepared to brush it off, the accusation started to prickle under Clint's skin. He pushed aside his bowl of cereal and swiveled to face Tony, who, though he hadn't started this attempted intervention, was certainly the most grating. "You think I'd make up something as stupid as this?"

"I think you would. Yeah."

"Wanna bet?"

That incited another laugh, as everyone, especially Tony, was certain that the billionaire could easily match any sum Clint could name and not feel any losses. "What are the stakes?"

"If you find out that I do have that dog, you have to take care of him for the next… I'll say week."

"I think I can handle it."

"I mean it; you have to feed him, exercise him, clean up after him. Oh, right, he's due for a bath."

"Fine, fine. And if you don't own the dog, you have to shut up about arrows for a week."

"Deal." He pushed himself to his feet and dumped the rest of the lumpy mush that was once cereal. "Then we'd better get back to New York so we can resolve this."