"I'm telling you, that croissant was mine!"

"You stole my éclair, it was fair game!" my dad insists.

"I was hungry, and you weren't even going to eat all of it!" I counter.

"How would you know that?" he demands, "You stole half of it!"

"Because I knew it wasn't going to be finished!" I sigh exasperatedly, along with Natasha, who was in my corner. Bruce was standing quietly behind my dad, with Clint and Steve watching peacefully from the side while Thor just looked confused.

We were arguing over pastries. Yes, the top crime fighting team in the world was disagreeing over a box of fluffy deserts.

"We need a way to settle this." my dad declares.

"I have an idea. Wait here!" I rush out of the room, returning a moment later with an armful of plastic guns and foam bullets, which I quickly dump on the table with a clatter. "Is anyone else thinking what I am?"

"Are you thinking that you have entirely too many plastic weapons?" my dad asks with a raised eyebrow.

"No." I roll my eyes and slap his arm.

"Are you thinking in terms of a Nerf war?" Natasha asks from over my shoulder.

"Yes! Point to the spider!"

Clint's eyes light up as he suddenly dashes out of the room, returning a moment later with his own artificial arsenal.

"Something is seriously wrong with both of you." my dad grumbles. I just glance at Bruce, who gladly delivers the whack over the head.

"Thank you Bruce. Now, Cap, care to take charge?" I look at Steve, who, somehow, knows exactly what is going on.

"Sure. We needed downtime anyways. Tony, Natasha, pick your weapons. Save some for the rest of us. No more than two weapons per person, no more than fifty bullets per person. The bows and arrows are for Taylor and Clint. Clint, go scavenge for different color tape, I suggest checking the sixth floor storage room. Taylor, you and I will be tagging bullets with six colors to differentiate shooters. Bruce, you explain this to Thor. Are you playing, by the way?"

Bruce shakes his head. "We don't need an accidental Hulk out. And I think I'll take Thor out of tower until you're done, they don't make Nerf hammers."

Steve nods appreciatively. "Good idea. Get to your tasks, people!"

Clint jumps into the vents and returns just over ten minutes later with six rolls of colored duct tape. I set to helping Steve tag the bullets with different colors based on shooter; red for Natasha, blue for Steve, purple for Clint, green for my dad, and orange for me. The bullets are put into five groups of fifty each.

"Done!" I call just as Natasha slides her second gun into its holster and my dad checks his rifle while Clint finishes gathering arrows.

I get up to grab the other bow and a pistol, along with my share of bullets.

"Everybody ready?" Steve calls, and he gets five conformations.

"First one out of ammo wins. Start in three,"

I cock my pistol on my hip.

"Two,"

Clint becomes a statue.

"One!"

We all take off in five different directions.

The Great Nerf War had begun.

I dive behind a wall as a hailstorm of three red bullets pass me before quickly turning and responding with my own two orange bullets.

The faint grunt I hear is rewarding, and I say so.

"Hahaha, better luck next time!" I laugh as I sprint down a hallway to my right, taking corners at speeds that aren't healthy.

I have to stop to avoid a blonde juggernaut barreling through an intersection. Steve's to busy running either to or from something to notice me, so I dispense another bullet into his ribs.

"Hey!"

"Pay better attention, Sleeping Beauty!"

I don't see the blue bullet until it bounces at my feet.

"Pay better attention, flashlight!" he calls as he gives chase.

"Pot, kettle, black Steve!" I shout as I dash down the hallway.

Eventually I lose him in one of the more confusing bits of the tower.

I holster my pistol and decide to reach for my bow, quickly notching a foam-headed arrow, settling into a slow, silent gate.

"Come out come out wherever you are." I sing softly as I watch the shadows and the vents. occasionally rotating to watch my own back.

A single footstep in front of me at my eleven o'clock immediately has my bow up, pulled, and aimed.

"Don't shoot!" A feminine voice hisses.

I blink and lower the bow, still keeping the elastic string taught. "What is it, Natasha?"

She steps out of the shadows, a pistol cocked at each hip but with her hands free. "I need help."

"Well that's monumental." I drawl. "What are you suggesting?"

"An alliance." she states simply, no beating around the bush.

"What's in it for me?" I ask suspiciously, narrowing my eyes toward the former spy.

"A definite increase at chance of victory."

I ponder her words for a moment. "Fine." I decide, sticking a hand out. "But I had better be the Katniss here, not Rue."

Natasha just rolls her eyes and shakes my hand.

"OH MY GOD." someone in the tower shouts, and we can hear the quickly retreating footsteps. "TAYLOR AND NATASHA HAVE TEAMED UP, RUN FOR YOUR LIVEEEESSSS!"

Natasha just sends me a devil's grin and boots me into the nearest vent.

"Make that fifty seven total." I whisper from the opening of a vent, quickly scampering back as I watch the red bullet bounce off Steve's chest and listen to the soft footsteps beneath me follow me back.

"Any signs of other alliances?" Natasha hisses as we make our way down a hall.

"Signs appear between Bird and Metal, but non-confirmed." I report back using the codenames we've agreed on. "Flag seems to be floundering."

"Copy." she hisses back, then her footsteps stop for a moment and there's a pop. I quickly slide to the nearest vent grate to see my dad and Clint stumbling over their feet in a haste to get away, and Clint gets nailed with a single red bullet in the back. I quickly pop open the grate and stick just the tip of my arrow out.

My dad doesn't see it coming until it hits him in the head and I'm too far into the vents for a return shot.

"Captain Rogers has been eliminated." Jarvis suddenly reports. "Repeat, Captain Rogers is down."

I cheer softly. One down, three to go. Don't tell Natasha I thought that.

"I have a plan." I hiss to Natasha. "Coming down."

I quickly slide out of the nearest cover and land silently next to the Widow, quickly spinning to check my surroundings.

"I have a plan to take the boys out. We don't need to hit them," I explain quietly, "just make them run out of ammo. We have to use defensive tactics, not offensive."

Natasha frowns. "Clint won't fall for that. He's a sniper, he knows not to waste bullets or arrows."

"Yeah." I agree. "Clint will most likely go down in a full out firefight. My dad, on the other hand…"

Natasha grins. "I like your brain. You do what you need to, I'll go lure the boys to us."

I nod at her back as she slips into the shadows, hoping back into a vent and quickly and quietly following her.

We eventually meet up with the boys in one of the wider hallways.

Two against two.

Girl vs. Guy.

Let round one commence.

Clint and Natasha eventually prove me right and dissolve into a full-on firefight, red and purple bullets flying everywhere as the duck for cover, pop up and empty a few bullets, and repeat.

My dad and I, on the other hand, are a completely different story.

I'm up in the vents, letting just the tip of my favored weapon poke out as I take a few shots before ducking back and letting my dad's bullets bounce harmlessly off the roof of the vents.

Shoot.

Duck.

Miss.

He does get a few hits in if I don't move quickly enough, but I get in a fair share too before he ducks.

We dance like this for a while before I duck and he shoots three more bullets into the vents. Then I don't hear anything but vehement cursing.

I cautiously peek down to see my dad waving his pistol around and stomping like a child throwing a temper tantrum.

Apparently he's frustrated by his lack of bullets.

I grin just as Jarvis comes over the intercoms. "Mister Stark is out of ammunition. Repeat, Mister Stark is out."

He disappears down the hall, and I turn to watch the assassins' dance, mindful of my own depleted bullet and arrow supplies.

I watch in amazement as Natasha quickly stands, just a blur, before crouching again without firing.

Clint takes the bait and fires, but Natasha goes down fast enough that it just bounces off the wall behind her.

Clint sighs and drops his gun and bow.

"Mister Barton is eliminated. The game now stands between Miss Romanoff and Miss Stark."

Natasha quickly runs out of the room, and I give chase.

We end up back in the living room, and Natasha freezes, allowing me time to return to the ground.

I silently land about five feet from where she stands. We stare each other down in a tense non-confrontation, our hands twitching for our guns like cowboys in an old western.

We both move quicker than the other can perceive, and then we both have barrels looking at us.

I meet Natasha's eyes in a silent understanding. On one.

Three.

My eyes narrow, locking her in as a target.

Two.

She snarls silently at me.

One.

Our trigger fingers twitch simultaneously, and two bullets leave two barrels in one second.

One red bullet hits one reactor.

One orange bullet his one forehead.

At the same exact time.

We blink at each other for a moment before I look at the ceiling. "Jarvis."

If an AI could sigh, he would have. "It seems to be that you and Miss Romanoff were hit concurrently, ma'am. The game results in a tie."

Natasha and I let our jaws drop as we stare at each other, not believing our luck, before we finally snap out of it and laugh until we cry, letting tears leak out of our eyes. We quickly hug and high five as the rest of the team jogs in the room.

"How was that possible?!" my dad demands. "Whose luck is that good?"

I smirk and shrug. "Ours, it seems. We won, we won, oh yeah…"

"Congratulations, girls." Steve nods at both of us. "That was amazing."

"Thanks, Steve." Natasha grins. "Although, for a soldier, I really would have thought you had better shooting skills."

"Well, I don't use a gun on a daily basis." he admits. "I've gotten used to my shield."

She nods. "We can change that easily enough."

He grins gratefully at her, and I take a moment to look at the foam bullets covering the floor and the plastic weapons everywhere.

"You know, we should probably clean this up before Thor and Bruce get home."

Everyone takes one look at the mess and runs out at top speed, leaving only Natasha and I standing in the kitchen.

I sigh and walk over to grab the broom.

"Why must we suffer for our victory?"