A/N:

Gah! So sorry for the long delay in posting this chapter! Between being diagnosed with cancer, getting chemotherapy, undergoing several surgeries, and having a busy writing schedule, FanFiction has kinda dropped to the bottom of my priorities. However, with a new review by Anonymous on a one shot idea that was just too good to pass up, I had to write it out for you guys here.

Hope you like it! And as always, leave me a review, or hit me up with some more one shot ideas! I love to hear from you guys!

Idea Benefactor: Anonymous

"Oh my word I laughed so hard that I almost couldn't breathe. It was awesome.
Anyway, I've got something for you. You write Clint and Natasha so well so I thought I would give an idea that's been swirling around in my head since I started reading this.
Clint is sick with the flu and is acting like its the end of the world (He really is sick, though). Natasha starts taking care of him. Meanwhile, Tony is busy messing rigging the gym so that the Bourne theme starts playing whenever Natasha and/or Clint walk in. Once Clint is all the way better, he walks into the gym, hears the them song, and then rigs Tony's lab to start playing the theme for Isengard (Lord of the Rings). From then on, it's World War III while Tony and Clint try to see who can outwit the other with the most annoying theme song.
I think it would be hilarious. I can't wait for whatever one shot comes next!"

"Clint Barton, I swear if you spit out that thermometer one more time, I will stab it through your larynx."

"Buh mah tongue 'urts!"

"Well, maybe it wouldn't if you would stop rolling it around in your mouth for five minutes, and hold still so I can actually read your temperature! What are you, five?"

"Five hundred degrees Fahrenheit. I don't need you to take my stinking temperature, Nat, I'm burning up! I'll be dead by fever in the morning."

"Nobody dies from a head cold, Clint," was the flat, monotone answer, while Natasha once more wiped off the fallen thermometer, and plunged it back under Clint's tongue, purposefully going a little too deep and lightly stabbing him in the back of the mouth, making him wince.

With a very loud, overdramatic sigh, Clint Barton crossed his arms and mournfully stared off into the distance with the air of a martyr doomed to die, though under the watchful glare of Natasha Romanoff, the thermometer stayed put between bloodless pursed lips.

Not that Natasha would ever admit it, even to herself, but she actually was slightly worried about Clint. Though his overdramatic estimation of five hundred degrees was a bit of an exaggeration, against the cool of her hand on his forehead, her partner was running a very high fever, and she could tell by the sweat beads on his face and the dullness of his eyes that he wasn't feeling good either.

Granted, compared to a gunshot wound or stabbing, a mere virus, no matter how extreme, hardly even came close. But as the bond between the two deadly assassins had grown with their partnership, each now felt the pain of the other as if it were their own, and for Natasha, it was an unwelcome feeling to be in the position of not being able to do anything about it now, but watch and wait for the sickness to pass.

She hated to see Clint suffer, no matter how slight.

Unless, of course, that suffering was explicitly caused by her hand.

"It's bween fife minutes," Clint mumbled around the thermometer in his mouth after a moment, causing Natasha to reach forward and remove the instrument, holding it up to the light to see what it reported.

"So what about it, doc?" Clint asked, massaging sore cheek muscles as he leaned back in his chair, watching her with a slight smirk. "Do I have the plague?"

"Oh, he's flat-lining," was the cheery response from the corner of the room, as Tony Stark entered, making a beeline straight for the bar. "Call it."

"Please," groaned Natasha, with an accompanying eye roll, as she gracefully flicked the glass thermometer's side to make the mercury drop. "It's only a high fever. You probably got some virus from one of those kids at Stark's party the other night."

"Oh. Yeah. Blame it on the little rugrats," Stark scoffed, pouring himself a glass of brandy. "He probably got it from that fleabag stray he insists on keeping in his apartment."

"Lucky doesn't have fleas!" Clint instantly riled in the defensive, snapping a finger towards Tony. "And he's not a stray either," he added in a mumble. "Not anymore…."

Stark merely shrugged and took a long pull from his glass.

"I wouldn't be surprised if Barton caught a cold from that dunking you gave him the other night, Stark," chimed in Steve, who was reclining in a nearby armchair reading the newspaper. "The poor housemaids who had to clean up that mess…"

"I will have you know that's an old wives tale, that has long since been proved outdated by science," was Stark's clever retort. "And for god's sake, Cap, I thought we were over reading the Famer's Almanac from fifty years ago."

"I have never before experienced this mortal thing you call sickness," Thor mused from over the cue of a close game of pool against Banner. "I suppose in Asgard we are all mighty."

"That, or your WBC's and Neutrophils are off the charts…" murmured Bruce, scoring a neat side pocket.

"Either way," Clint piped up from where he was sprawled across the couch, his feet draped over Natasha's lap, and fingers knitted behind his head, a wet cloth draped over his eyes, "when I die, I wanna be buried with my bow, and in my last will and testament, Natasha gets dibs on my throwing knives. Steve, you get Lucky. Bruce, my motorcycle's all yours, man. And Thor, you can have my purple silk boxers. Just don't rip them."

Stark spread his arms.

"What about me? What do I get?"

There was a moment of silence in which Clint reached up to lift a corner of the washcloth over his eyes, dryly considering Stark with a slight frown, as if the thought that he should get anything had never occurred to him. "…My stamp collection…?"

Tony snorted. "I was thinking more along the lines of the lease."

Clint shrugged, once more settling back down with the cloth over his eyes.

"SHIELD property. You'll have to take that up with Fury."

"Or I could just have one of the many begruntled agents you've pranked over the years, sign off on a forgery for me."

"That too."

"This suuuuuuuuuuucks," Clint moaned, burying his face in his pillow.

"You're dehydrated," was the monotone reply from Natasha seated at his elbow, her eyes never roving from the book she was reading.

"F you, virus!" Clint continued, voice slightly muffled, ignoring her and flipping a bird at nothing in particular, his face still buried in his pillow.

"Drink water. It will help with your headache."

"Liar. Water will only increase the pressure, till "poof!" No more Hawkeye." And Clint illustrated this with hand gestures that implied his head exploding, both arms flopping back on the bed while he stared up at the ceiling.

One dry eyebrow from Natasha, and he rolled over to snag his water bottle with a muttered "fine".

"You need to take better care of yourself, Clint, or you'll only get worse," was his partner's soft remonstration a moment later.

Clint scoffed slightly under his breath, rolling over on his side facing her and closing his eyes. "Thanks, Mother. You actually sound like you care."

"Maybe I do," was the simple reply, and at this Clint's eyes flashed open to find her face, her own holding eye contact for a moment, though as always, her expression kept entirely unreadable.

"Let me guess: if you told me, you would have to kill me?" he teased, eyes scanning that of his partner's in an effort to read her thoughts.

Natasha smirked. "Well, well, the Hawk has a brain after all…."

Clint gave a low, husky chuckle, and settled back down into his mass of blankets and pillows, closing his eyes once more.

Five minutes later found the infamous Hawkeye fast asleep, the cool fingers of his partner running through his sandy hair, easing the damp tendrils off his hot forehead, while Natasha quietly read by his bedside.

"Four days, Nat! Four frickin' days since I've been to the gym. My poor bow probably doesn't even recognize me!"

"It's a bow, Clint," Natasha said dryly, silently laughing at her partner who was practically leaping down the halls with pent up energy after a nearly a week of sickness. "It doesn't have feelings. Or a brain."

"Either way," Clint shot back, turning to walk backwards so that he could face Natasha while he talked. "I'm sick of being sick. It's been waaaay too long."

Chuckling under her breath at how puppy-like he was in the moment, Natasha merely shook her head and followed her partner down the halls towards the gym.

She had missed him. Her morning training routines just weren't the same without Clint's skill, and their combined ceaseless bantering. Whether she admitted it or not, she was looking forward to having him back, now that he was feeling better.

All the better to wipe the floor with his ass.

"Ooheeeeeeeeeeeee! Ooheeeeeeeeeeeee!"

"What the hell?!" Instinctually, both Clint and Natasha covered their ears and tensed like springs at the nearly deafening sound that greeted their entrance into the gym, the both of them instantly snapping into defensive action and preparing themselves for a surprise attack.

"Extreme ways are back again, extreme places I didn't know. I broke everything new again, everything that I owned."

"Is that…the Bourne theme?!" Clint said in wonderment, having to shout to be heard over the noise of the song.

"I threw it out the windows, came along, extreme ways I know move apart. The colors of my sea - perfect color me."

"My God, it is," Natasha gasped, looking around for a way to turn off the deafening song, that was now back to screeching.

"But who the hell would—"

One look between the two assassins, and they both had the answer at the same time.

"Stark."

"Anthony Stark, you are in dangerous waters," Natasha said in a low tone as she stomped into the rec room, glaring daggers at Stark who had moved a little too quickly away from the security cameras upon the two assassin's entrance, and was now attempting to appear relaxed as he reclined against the floor-length window, drink in hand.

"What, you didn't like my 'welcome back' gift?" the billionaire replied, flashing them both the innocent smile of a businessman over the rim of his glass.

"Yeah, it was hilarious. I think my ear drums are permanently damaged," was Natasha's fierce comeback. "Besides, now thanks to you, I'm gonna have to deal with this for another week," she said, gesturing over towards Clint who had been in the background singing the song and air drumming, but now stood frozen and guilty under her pointed finger. "Do you know how long it takes to get a song out of his head?!"

In response, Stark choked slightly on his drink, having to try very hard not to laugh - his prank having turned out better than expected.

The security footage was already about to break the internet.

"Dangerous waters," Natasha repeated, with a warning glare.

Stark smirked. "Roll out the cannons, Romanoff."

Once more, Avengers tower became a battleground.

All day, its occupants waited in tense, subdued silence for the prank war that was sure to follow. For a few hours, Stark watched on the security cameras as Clint worked to revert his masterpiece and restore the gym speakers back to normal - the process taking the archer about twice as long due to frequent stops to listen through the entire song several times during a sporadic target practice.

This was made mildly entertaining with the addition of an air guitar and drumming solo using his bow and arrows as props, and a very gung-ho karaoke performance to an imaginary live audience below the sparring mat, while unbeknownst to the performing archer, Stark secretly made copies of the security footage that he fully intended to upload to YouTube later, along with the initial feed.

Eventually, however, the inevitable happened - the gym sound system was finally fixed, and no sooner after, both Natasha and Clint disappeared - no amount of prodding Jarvis or scanning security cameras unearthing their whereabouts, or what they were up to. Which of course made Stark extremely nervous. He knew whatever the two assassins were up to would eventually directly affect him, and the knowledge that at any one point in time he could be walking directly into a trap, did not do anything to ease his fears.

In an effort to head off any prank plans, Stark quickly hightailed it to his personal armory, and after checking that each and every one of his suits were in perfect working order, settled down in a chair in the corner with a bottle of brandy to wait out the inevitable.

But after hours of this, and several new high scores on Subway Surfers, the silence and inactivity got to him, and Tony decided to at least be productive and join Banner in the lab.

"There you are," Banner said, looking up from a holographic display as Tony arrived. "I was just about to call you. These readings are off the charts! I think we've finally broken into the catalyst."

"Have you stabilized the conductor?" Stark asked, instantly forgetting all as he approached Bruce and their project, his interest peaking.

"Of course I did. We're running at 83%. I think we can finally introduce the—"

"They're taking the Hobbits to Isengard, to Isengard, to Isengard!"

"What the hell?!"

"GAH!"

Both scientists jumped severely, as before them all of the screens that had before displayed scientific data and charts, now broadcasted a mix tape of Clint Barton dressed up as Legolas from The Lord of the Rings, singing at the top of his lungs to a very cringe-worthy tune.

"The Hobbits, the Hobbits, the Hobbits, the Hobbits, to Isengard! To Isengard!"

The two scientists could do nothing but stare in horror, as also appearing upon the screen danced several clones of Tony's own image, digitally altered to appear short and squat like a Hobbit, and marching along dramatically in true Teletubby style.

"Turn it off!" Stark shrieked, horrified. "Jarvis, turn it off!"

"I'm sorry, sir, but my protocols are being overridden."

"THEY'RE TAKING THE HOBBITS TO ISENGARD! TO ISENGARD! TO ISENGARD!"

"Bruce! Quick! Unplug it!"

"I'm trying, I'm trying!"

"THEY'RE TAKING THE HOBBITS—"

With a sudden yank of the central power cord, both the screens and the room went dark, the sudden silence that followed seemingly just as deafening as Clint's earlier song.

For several moments, all Stark could do was stare in horrified shock at the now blank screen, mouth open and eyes wide at the sight that was now sure to haunt his dreams, before all of a sudden he turned to Bruce and spoke a simple three words.

"This. Is. War."

The events of the following few days after the incident in the lab, are now referred to by many of the non-participating Avengers as WWIII - Soundtrack Edition, and is either fondly remembered with a laugh over dinner, or shuddered at in dreams plagued with the most annoying replays of some of the worst songs in the history of humanity.

For soon it was common to hear surprised shouts and the blasting volume of some song or other, echoing throughout the halls of Avengers tower at random times throughout the day, as both Stark and Clint kept themselves busy rigging theme songs to play upon entrance to certain rooms they knew they other frequented - each trying to outwit the other with outstanding creativity.

And creative they were.

Clint was surprised with a ear splitting rendition of Who Let the Dogs Out upon entering his apartment, which instantly set off all the dogs in the neighborhood, including Lucky, to barking. Stark nearly passed out when the bathroom mirror suddenly showed the holographic footage of Clint twerking in nothing but his purple silk boxers to LMFAO's Sexy and I Know It, and even Natasha didn't escape without first being woken up at 3am to a very loud dubstepped rendition of The Itsy Bitsy Spider.

There really was no telling how long things would have continued if the others hadn't put an end to it—Bruce, Thor, Steve, Sharon, Jane, Darcy, Pepper, and even Hill, all banding together to surprise the three miscreants with a flash mob dance performance to the song We're All In This Together one morning.

After all, there really is no topping things when one moment you're all sitting down properly to breakfast, and the next you have Thor and Bruce dancing on the tables, Sharon, Jane, Darcy, Pepper, and Hill acting like little school girls again with rhythmic hand claps and ditsy skips about the room, and Steve lip syncing the entire song through his broom microphone/air guitar before his backup dancers.

After that, there really was no going back anyways. Even after Fury paid a visit and demanded that they all get their act together, claiming that SHIELD was working overtime to try and remove all incriminating videos of the Avengers acting like fools on YouTube.

A/N:

So? Whatcha think? Did I at least crack any smiles? ;)

Don't forget to write me a review and send me some more ideas!