Three Weeks Later

"And...strike!"

Clint and Natasha lunged for each other, with Steve overseeing the match. Clint had been initially skeptical of letting Captain Cleft-chin observe their sparring sessions, but he had to admit, Steve had an eye for technique. He'd been an artist or something, Natasha had said, and sketching ballerinas had given him some kind of sense of anatomy, timing, effect. He knew what a body could do and not do.

Cap's annoyingly spot-on instincts didn't even bother Clint that much anymore. In fact, they were almost helpful. Who'da thunk?

Admittedly, the first few days back at base had been a little weird: imagine anyone from interns to upper-level researchers dodging suddenly around corners and into supply closets when Steve, Natasha, or Clint would appear. No one wanted to admit to watching, with rapt fascination, the events of the last few months play out, or to placing bets on them, and certainly no one wanted to get caught staring by Nick Fury, who tended to be hovering close by.

But things smoothed out over time: they were professionals after all.

After the session, Clint tore off his gloves and stuffed them in his bag. He glanced up; Natasha and Steve were chatting and packing up their own gear. Tash bent over and absently pulled a long hair off of Steve's shoulder mid-sentence, flicking it away without missing a beat. It twinged a little, Clint had to admit, but there was warmth, too.

He supposed it would be a long time before that twinge went away. Maybe it never would. Maybe every twinge was a reminder to access the priority of partnership over individual satisfaction: any handicap can be accounted for and over-corrected. That was Clint's expertise.

His friend Natasha caught his eye over her shoulder and smiled. Clint smiled back.

My boys, Natasha smirked. It was both comic and heartwarming to watch the two of them draw closer in these recent weeks. Steve, true to form, had embraced Clint's place in Natasha's life and was gamely working to forge an understanding, at the very least, if not a bond. Clint was making an effort, too: he had offered to coach Steve on the basics of archery, which was both an opportunity to show off in front of Steve as well as a genuine offer of friendship. ("Wow Barton, you gonna propose marriage next? Should I step aside?" "Shut up, Tash.")

As far as she and Steve were concerned, well...

They hadn't talked about what it meant: the hand-holding, the movie nights, the kisses at the door. They didn't talk about it; they just did it. And that was okay, wasn't it?

Steve and Clint trailed behind on the way out of the training center. Steve was gesturing at Clint, explaining some maneuver. "All I'm saying is, if you stop forcing the pivot, your center of gravity will naturally carry you into the turn so you can focus your energy and attention on your upper body."

Clint paused in the parking lot and ghosted the motion, feeling the correction as he considered this. "Fine. Thanks."

Natasha smiled. "You'll be doing pirouettes in no time, Barton.".

"Don't act like you don't want to see me in a tutu, Tash."

Steve chuckled at Clint, who was affecting a very ungraceful third position. "You coming to dinner Friday or what? Even Tony'll be there."

"Don't tell me you can cook, too, Golden Boy."

"Cook, yes. Entertain? Ehhh... Don't expect the grandeur of Stark Tower is all I'm saying."

"Thank God. Count me in." Clint smirked sideways at Natasha, who laughed in spite of herself and squeezed his shoulder. "See you two tomorrow?"

"Not if I see you first," Steve smiled, putting a hand out to shake, then turning to Natasha. "Ready?"

She met his eyes. "Ready."

They slid into the car and Steve checked the mirrors. "What do you think? Chinese or Indian?"

"Hmmm...I'm thinking Greek, actually." She put her hand on his.

He squeezed hers and smiled to himself. "Souvlaki it is."

What did it mean when a boy remembered your favorite order? Was it selfish to enjoy the feeling it gave her? Of being cared for, taken care of? Was this what it felt like to look forward to the unknown?

It was so exciting to surrender.

Friendship was not a new sensation. Neither was romance. But when duty had been the reigning impulse for so long, it was easy for intimacy to feel startlingly new.

Every time her hand covered his on the drive shaft; every time he ordered her favorite dish without having to check; every time he watched her laugh at an old movie, it surprised him.

Natasha's hair was red again. The mission was officially over, but here she was next to him, suggesting desserts for his dinner party. The dinner party she had encouraged him to throw.

"Your apartment is like a little sterile barracks. You've gotta get some life in there."

"Gee, thanks." He had resisted, at first, but she had appealed to his vanity and, truthfully, to his loneliness.

"I just want you to show everyone else a little glimpse of what I've seen. It would be good for you. You don't have to be Mr. Stiff-Upper-Lip all the time. Just put the apron on and make these people some lasagna for crying out loud. If it makes you feel better, you can think of it as a team-building exercise."

So he'd agreed, and he was making lasagna.

Steve thought about Peggy and missed opportunities and bad timing. It twinged, but it was less like a needle-sharp sear than the dull ache of an old war wound. So much time had passed.

Then Natasha's thumbnail scratched over his knuckle and here he was: in the driver's seat, in the moment.

The End.

LOL remember when I said it wouldn't be a year between updates? lol

I suck.

BUT the good news is that, after OVER THREE YEARS OMG, this fic is now officially complete. Thank you all for your kind words, encouragement, and interest. My next project is a novel-length study of a much-maligned Potterverse character: Peter Pettigrew. I have been writing this story for honestly years, and I'm excited to show you what I have so far. I hope you take a moment to check out the first chapter and hopefully the rest as it comes!

Thanks again! Hope you guys have enjoyed this ride. You've made it a real pleasure.