AN I don't own Marvel or any of its characters! Fluffy Nat/Steve/Clint chapter.

To be completely honest, Natasha couldn't remember which blonde haired blue eyed shield agent she kissed first. She was a little more than drunk and she stumbled into her room, content knowing both of her boys were on assignment in Europe currently and Peter was working at the burger place in town. That was the only reason she'd gotten drunk in the first place-the privacy.

And a lot of other reasons. Red reasons.

She shook her head, trying to shake off those thoughts through the haze, and managed to unlock her door and stumble in before she realized she wasn't alone. Steve was lying on her bed, curled up under the electric blanket and reading. Clint was perched on her desk chair, playing some kind of game on his phone. But both of them snapped up the second she walked in. They could probably smell the alcohol on her. She swore in Russian.

"Nat?" She knew from the nickname, not the voice, that it was Steve speaking. To be honest they looked pretty fucking similar when she was that drunk and she didn't really mind that they blurred every few seconds. One of them moved to steady her, the other made room on the bed. They guided her to sit on it, seemingly in shock, and she felt them staring at her but to be honest she really didn't care.

"Hey, you okay?" One of them moved to kiss her forehead-aw, sweet-but that was weird to her. When she was drunk, her training moved a little closer to the surface than usual and her instincts became a little less… normal. She didn't let them-whichever one it was-get any closer. She stopped them with her lips.

Whoever it was, they tasted like honey and some kind of berry. Steve, maybe? Had Clint been chewing gum when she'd walked into the room? She couldn't remember or care, honestly, she just deepened the kiss and grabbed for one of the heads of blonde hair.

"Tash-" The voice cut out as she pulled away. One was behind her, holding her waist, sighing. She didn't let him start again on what was clearly going to be some kind of parental rant about irresponsibility, though, because before he could open his mouth she pivoted and pressed her lips to his. He was tense, at first, but relaxed after a second. She felt, vaguely, one pulling at her arms and taking off her coat and her shoes but she was too focused on the other-tasted like peppermint.

"Nat, you're drunk." She pulled away and faced one-Steve?-again but he'd moved farther away and she couldn't reach to kiss him or shut him up. "Nat, come on. Just lay down you've gotta sleep, okay?" She let them ease her down onto the bed but she whined and kicked the blankets off until they joined her under them. They had enough of a routine that they fell into place on either side of her. About damn time, she thought. And then she passed out.

When she woke up, they'd both left. It was past noon and she had a killer headache but she just popped some aspirin and got off base as fast as possible. Coulson texted her a basic where are you. She used Peter as an excuse. Fuck what the hell had she done!?

"Miss Widow?" She smiled as Peter approached her table, wearing his typical uniform and red apron. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, spiderling, just here for some fries." He nodded, writing that down quickly, but seemed unconvinced that she wasn't about to emotionally snap.

"And a shake, Miss Widow?" She smiled.

"Yes, and a shake. Thank you, spiderling." He disappeared to get her order and she pressed her forehead against the cheap, vinyl table covering. Why the hell did she think it would be a good idea to kiss either of them!? Because you wanted to… She swore at the voice in her head and buried herself in the fries Peter brought her, ignoring the way he darted away like she was potentially explosive. The sodium and the warmth of the food eased her nerves a bit. It was fine, right? She'd been drunk and they would understand that. They had to.

"Can you help me with my Lit paper, Miss Widow?" She smiled when he appeared without the apron, clearly off now, and motioned for him to join her. Vaguely, she registered her own voice saying of course, spiderling, but she didn't remember opening her mouth. Confused as she was, she let herself get lost in Emily Dickinson.

Clint was the one who cornered her. She wasn't sure why she'd expected it to be Steve-maybe because he seemed like the more peace offering type out of the three of them-but it was Clint. And it made sense. He was the one who'd forced her to be genuine and real with him in the beginning, so of course he was going to call her bluff now. She just sighed.

"I was drunk." He scoffed and tossed her the hairbrush she was looking for.

"I noticed." Fuck. She was screwed. She could do this, right? It wasn't hard to lie and it wasn't hard to be apathetic she'd been doing it for almost her entire life. She could do it.

"Tash, don't lie to me." Yeah, she couldn't do it. Because all those years, all those lies, they hadn't been to Clint. And she was so screwed because he could see through her like she was made of glass and he called her bluff before she even said anything. Dammit! People had been killed in least stressful situations than the one she was in right now.

"I didn't say anything." He narrowed his eyes, focusing like a spotlight on her. "I didn't mean it." He rolled his eyes, still at her desk like always, and just shook his head. Slowly, he stood. She was just standing there, trapped, because she felt like any move she made would be the wrong one. He wrapped his arms around her waist, hugging her from behind. Fuck she wasn't breathing. Why wasn't she breathing!? He pressed a kiss into the crook of her neck.

"Bullshit." They were affectionate and physical, usually, but never kissed. Forehead kisses were the one exception, it seemed, but even just the few inches he strayed to her shoulder felt like miles into uncharted territory. Why couldn't she stop shaking, though?!

"Tell me the truth, Tash." Fuck… His voice against her ear drum was like nicotine in her veins. She shivered but he didn't take it back, he just held her a little tighter and pressed his nose into the hollow of her throat. She was so, so screwed.

"I meant it." Shit! That was not at all what she meant to say! Fuck this was where Clint would get mad and land a few punches before storming out. She braced without even thinking about it, but he… didn't yell? He didn't hit her or push her to the ground or even let go? He was… smiling? She did a double take but it was a smile, pressing against the side of her neck.

"I'm proud of you." She gaped, but he just laughed. "I'm serious! I know that was really hard for you to say. Thank you for being honest with me." Slowly, she took deep breaths and tried to understand what the hell was happening but he didn't let her. Those beautiful, peppermint lips pressed against hers and immediately she was thrown back into all the little details she didn't think she would ever remember from her drunken stupor. His lips were slightly chapped-overseas work again-but he was gentle with them. Surprisingly gentle, actually. He liked slow, steady pressure and he was a lot more sensual than she'd expected but what got her most was the hand he tangled in her hair, grabbing for her and reaching like he needed just a little bit more of a connection with her.

"Tash," She barely noticed that he was as needy for oxygen as she was until he broke away. "I love you." That… She didn't know what to do with that. It sank in her stomach like rocks trying to drown her but.. It also made her chest light. He pressed that cocky little smile into her shoulder.

"It's okay, Tash, breathe. You don't have to say anything, especially not that. I just wanted you to know." She nodded, slowly at first but then faster and faster until it was just her shaking. He just chuckled and pulled her into his lap. It would have been perfect, and she would have relaxed, if another head of blonde hair hadn't popped into the room. Steve.

"Nat, sorry I can come back.." But Clint waved him in and gave him a little smile.

"No, it's okay, come in." Steve stepped into the room all the way, still hesitant, and sat on the bed. She'd never seen him so uncomfortable in her room, honestly, and it was really disconcerting-she didn't like it. They were supposed to be comfortable with her.

"Nat, I have to ask. Did you mean it?" She started to protest, even just as a gut reaction, but Clint squeezed her hand before she could.

"Be honest with him, too, Tash." She sighed. But, somehow, sitting in Clint's arms like that and staring into the bluest fucking eyes in the world she couldn't do it. She just couldn't.

"Yeah, I meant it." But Steve didn't look upset either. She knew, realistically, that neither of them would throw a fit or hit her even if they were angry but she was still so surprised when he didn't. He joined them in some kind of group hug, adding another hand to her hair, and she finally felt like she could breathe. Maybe just a little bit of that lightness returned. The three of them… That was what made it complete, that was what made it feel like home.

"Hey, it's okay, everything's okay, Nat. We've got you." Strangely, hearing that actually helped. She let herself relax into them and one of them-or maybe both-carried her to the bed. They cuddled together like usual, each holding onto her just a little tighter, but she had to stop and just remember to breathe. Between the two blondes, she realized something. They were the first men she'd ever-ever-let herself be vulnerable in front of without regretting it. Was this what normal people felt like with their friends and families? If so, she couldn't say she was really that opposed to the idea anymore. Cuddled between them, she had to smile because she actually was happy-truly happy-and she wasn't scared of either of them.

Maybe she did love them.

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