Prompt: Got a request for a followup to chapter 4. You might want to read that one first for this to make much sense.

"Ran into Cap in the elevator," Clint announced. Natasha spun and feigned surprise at seeing him back, even though JARVIS had informed her the instant Clint pulled into the parking garage. "No luck with Barnes, huh?"

"Bad intel," she shrugged. "How was Genovia?"

"Everyone there was very...nice," Clint said, distaste wrinkling his nose. "Milk run. Picked up Stark's missing tech at customs, in and out, ten minutes. Booo-ring."

There wasn't anyone else on the common floor, so she pulled Clint into a hug and smiled against his shoulder as he dropped a kiss against the top of her head. She had been right. Being officially together with Clint made separate missions easier somehow, with the promise of a reunion at the end.

"Hey!" he said brightly, unceremoniously abandoning her in favor of checking out the stove. "Taco Tuesday!"

He took up her spatula and stirred the meat she'd been working on for the past half hour.

"Steve went out for tortillas," she told him, and took the spatula back. "You can do cheese and veggies."

The task would place him at the kitchen island, right where she wanted him.

Clint raided the fridge and set to chopping lettuce and tomatoes and grating a block of Tony's fancy cheese. Natasha waited until he grew sufficiently bored with the job, then moved to the side a bit and stood on her toes, reaching into the cabinet for the dish they always dumped the taco meat in. She made a show of it, stretching just so, making sure her shirt rode up in the back. She shifted her weight and threw out one hip.

Clint made a strangled coughing sort of noise.

"Natasha!"

"Hmm?" she replied, innocently enough, pausing to look over her shoulder with one arm still extended. Clint all but threw his barstool out of the way and charged across the kitchen.

"What the hell?" he demanded. He came up behind her and planted his hands on her hips, holding her steady as he examined the new tattoo. "I wasn't serious!"

The yoga pants barely covered her ass, so he had an eyeful of the heart with an arrow through it, positioned dead center just over the waistband.

"Natasha," he repeated faintly. He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. Took a step back. Turned. Exhaled.

"You don't like it," she assessed, adding just a hint of a waver behind her otherwise neutral tone.

"It's...well, if it's what you wanted..." he backpedaled quickly. He came back and gave it a second look, brushing his fingers over the letters in the middle.

She felt him tense behind her, and bit her lip hard to stop herself laughing.

"Hawkguy," he said blankly. He spun her around to face him. "Hawkguy? Real funny, Red!"

She laughed then, an undignified sound with a snort at the end, and ducked out of the way as he made a grab for her. Clint was laughing too, as she had known he would. He had proven years ago that he could appreciate a good prank.

She didn't expect him to dive over the kitchen island, so she was too late to dodge as he tackled her. She yelped and they slammed onto the tile floor. Clint flattened her, pinned her arms above her head and straddled her hips, and she didn't counter, only grinned up at him panting.

"Still funny?" he demanded, laughing despite the serious tone he tried to put on. He shifted his grip on her wrists, holding her with only one hand, and used the other to poke her in the ribs. She squirmed and made an effort to break his hold. "Yeah? Ha-ha, let's all get 'Hawkguy' tattooed on our asses."

"Tramp stamp," she corrected him, giggling. He jabbed her ribs again.

"Am I interrupting?"

She sobered at once, because the Black Widow absolutely didn't giggle in front of her teammates.

Steve stared down at her, eyebrows arched almost into his hairline.

"Nope," Clint replied easily. "Just teaching Nat a lesson."

"Good," Steve said, a slow grin pulling his mouth up at one corner. He tossed a plastic bag on the island and began unpacking the groceries. "Give her one from me. I'm gettin' real tired of the fossil cracks."

"You're still stuck on the terrible dad jokes?" Clint asked.

She used his distraction as an opportunity to hook her legs around his waist and flip him, scrambling gracefully out of reach as he slid across the floor. She wouldn't put it past him to pin her down and show Steve the temporary tattoo. Explaining the significance of the prank wasn't on her agenda.

She hiked the yoga pants up and mumbled a quick excuse about changing before dinner, Clint's challenging 'Yeah, you'd better run!' echoing down the corridor after her. By the time she returned, dressed in jeans and one of Clint's old t-shirts, the evidence of the tattoo scrubbed off with nail polish remover, the kitchen was packed. She squeezed in between Pepper and Sam to make a plate, then moved to the big sofa in the next room to take her place between Clint and Thor.

Steve ambushed her as she was leaving the kitchen, a giddy smirk splitting his face.

"So, Nat. You were so good about trying to set me up, I've decided to return the favor. If you're not already taken."

He let the offer hang between them, watching her expectantly. Her stomach dropped. Clint had told Steve everything, and the asshole wanted to hear her confirm it.

"Thought your barbershop quartet were all dead, Rogers," she replied, and okay, it came out a little more savage than she intended. Steve's expression faltered.

"Natasha-"

She brushed past him and moved smoothly over to Clint. Her plate rattled on the coffee table as she set it down harder than was entirely necessary, and Thor leaned subtly away and closer to Jane on his left when she sat.

"You told him," Natasha accused quietly. She wasn't even sure why it mattered. All eyes were on them now, despite her attempt at discretion.

"Told him what?" Tony asked interestedly. "What does Cap get to know that the rest of us don't?"

"Classified," Natasha said at once.

"We're a thing now," Clint mumbled around a mouthful of taco, giving an unconcerned shrug. He turned to her. "You never said I couldn't tell them. I believe the only condition was that I couldn't use the term 'girlfriend' because we're not twelve-year-olds."

Most of the team openly gaped at them. Pepper gave her a cautious, encouraging smile.

"You guys haven't always been a thing?" Darcy asked curiously. "You're always making sex eyes at each other."

"Congratulations," Thor told her, and while she expected the usual earsplitting enthusiasm, he surprised her by speaking softly. "A worthy match between two fine warriors. May you fight well and die side-by-side in battle."

She wasn't entirely sure if the sentiment was traditional Asgardian or simply a joke, she couldn't always tell with Thor, but he lifted his beer bottle briefly in salute with a wide smile.

"I'll drink to that," Clint said, and reached across her to knock his bottle against Thor's. "Are we watching this or not?"

"Play it, JARVIS," Tony ordered. The Sharknado 2 title card rolled across the flat screen mounted on the opposite wall.

Money changed hands over the course of the evening, twenty dollars between Sam and Rhodey, a five between Pepper and Darcy, Tony slapped two hundreds down on the table in front of Bruce with a scowl. Aside from that and a few sidelong glances, the rest of the team seemed to accept it without question.

Natasha felt the tight curl of anxiety in her chest ease as it became clear the dynamic between them all wasn't affected. It appeared most of the team had suspected either she and Clint were secretly dating or would be eventually. No smart remarks from Tony, no secretive smiles from the girls, just Taco Tuesday and a shitty movie, par for the course.

Steve passed behind the couch on his way to the kitchen and she turned and caught his sleeve.

"Sorry about earlier," she said quietly.

"I shouldn't have teased you about it," he said with a shrug. He gave her shoulder a little squeeze and she felt forgiven. "But I noticed that necklace months ago. For a spy, you're not very subtle."

He grinned and moved out of range before she could take a swipe at him.

Later, settled in Clint's bedroom, a new kind of nervousness gripped her, a shyness and hesitancy she wasn't accustomed to feeling. He slipped deft hands under her shirt and tossed it in a heap on the floor, peppering slow kisses down her neck and across her stomach. He worked the button on her jeans as he moved lower. He tugged them over her hips and she went still, holding her breath and waiting for his reaction.

Clint sat back on his heels, breath a little labored as he cocked his head to one side.

"What's up?" he asked. She chewed her lip. "Do you want me to stop?"

He hadn't been pleased with the fake tattoo. She hoped he only meant he hadn't been serious about the arrow heart, and not the entire concept.

She blew out a breath and hooked one finger under the waistband of her underwear. She pulled them away just enough to reveal the real tattoo, a tiny black arrow burned into her hip.

"I don't get it," Clint said after a moment.

"This one doesn't come off," she informed him.

"Oh." He ran callused fingers over the new mark, eyes a little brighter than usual as he beamed happily at her. "You didn't have to."

"I wanted to," she assured him. "And it hasn't gotten me killed yet, so I guess it's not so bad."

He kissed her and she could feel him smiling.

"Any more surprises, Romanoff?" he whispered against her neck, nipping her ear.

She locked her legs around his hips and reversed their position. She could come up with a few.