Just some little rambley thing I wrote.

Movie!verse post Chitauri invasion. Clintasha themes.

The whole team is living in Avengers tower and Coulson is alive because COULSON IS ALIVE! (thank you Joss Whedon and your TV shows.)

Living with the Avengers for the past six months had taught Steve quite a bit. He learned pretty quickly not to insult the machines in the Tower (they could talk back), to always check the vents, and never assume someone is dead just because they got stabbed. Among the important things he learned was that if anything weird or crazy was going to happen, it would happen on Wednesday.

You wouldn't normally think that the perfectly average day in the middle of the week would attract any odd happenings, but it always did. Lab explosions, high school drop-outs turned megalomaniacs bent on controlling all the cafes in New York City, Hulk vs. Thor battle royals over the last quesadilla (Bruce took his food seriously), you name it. They all happened on Wednesday, always Wednesday.

Uneventful Wednesdays came once in a blue moon, which is why Steve chose to treasure this one. He gave himself the day off, deciding to tuck himself into his favorite chair rather than run through exercise routines in the gym. The other members of his team must have had the same thought, given that they too gathered in the same room. They had chosen the TV room on the third shared living floor of the Tower, the room they had all come to refer to as the living room. On the rare occasion the majority of the Avengers were together and not fighting villains, they congregated in this room to enjoy each other's company as much as a dysfunctional pseudo family of parent deprived adults could.

Once he settled, Steve reached for the sketchbook he liked to leave on the coffee table and observed his teammates. Tony and Clint were absent, both off sabotaging the latest doomsday device discovered by SHIELD. They weren't expected to be back for another day or two. Bruce and Coulson, on the sofa to Steve's left, had just arrived home from a science conference. Bruce had been invited as a guest speaker, and was animatedly discussing what had happened with his chaperon. Steve could tell by the suited man's nearly vacant nodding that Coulson barely understood more of the scientist's chatter than he did, but seeing as it made Bruce genuinely happy, Coulson was likely to nod for hours.

Their Asgardian companion was not nearly as happy. Thor was lying on the floor, stretched across three bean bags with a small white remote in his hands. He was playing his latest Midgardian addiction, some video game Tony had shown him a few days ago, and shouting rather violently at the television. What Steve could comprehend of the man's complaints was about the "Princess of the Fruit" passing him in her racing cart. Steve shook his head in slight worry when the man began to curse the Princess' family. There probably should be a limit to the amount of time Thor spent on the TV; no one wanted a repeat of Thor's Jersey Shore phase.

The last member of their group was on the opposite end of the room curled up on the couch with a book, although how she could ignore the noise in the room and actually read was beyond Steve. He was more than a little surprised to find her in this room as well. Natasha had declared today a "distance day," meaning no one could come within a ten foot radius of her unless she approached first. Honestly it was probably better that way. Unless she was on a mission, after forty-eight hours separation from her partner she became significantly more edgy. He was sure it wasn't a coincidence that she chose to sit in the only seat with a clear view of the entrance of the room.

It was an interesting picture they painted, four heroes and their handler, enjoying a surprisingly calm night considering their profession. It had taken weeks for things to calm down after the invasion and even longer for the members of the Avengers to be comfortable enough with each other to stay in one room. The more he surveyed the room, the stronger his desire to capture the moment grew. He settled further into his chair, getting comfortable before opening his sketchbook. He flipped past several pages of drawings until he found a clean sheet. Though he most likely would not ever show them, his teammates had become the main subject of his illustrations.

The contrasting proud smirks and calculated glances of the self-proclaimed "Science Bros" filled the clean pressed pages of his spiral bound book, accompanied by the crumb covered, Pop-Tart filled, smiling cheeks of their resident god. Nearly every page had some variation of Coulson's patent pending "why do I even like you" glare, and Clint's sections featured lop-sided grins more often than not. He had to say, they were a huge step up from dancing monkeys and much easier to draw. All accept for one, that is.

He didn't know what it was about the woman, but it was nearly impossible for Steve to draw Natasha. The others in the room transferred flawlessly to his paper, but Natasha was stubborn. She was still reclined on the couch, not a horribly difficult position to recreate. Neither was the outline of her face, a few minutes was all he needed to sketch it. Her jaw line had been all but etched into the folds of his cerebrum, what with his previous failed attempts. Her neck, shoulders, hair, and nose followed just as easily. He stopped before he drew her eyes. Just as always, they were the most difficult part of the process. No matter how he drew them, he never felt as if he did them full justice.

Some would say it was her lack of emotion, but Steve had come to know differently. Natasha's eyes were far from vacant; on the contrary they brewed with passions subtlety lurking below the surface. Every so often her feeling would rise closer to the surface, closer to being fully expressed, but never coming to full fruition. Her eyes would narrow in annoyance, working in tandem with her fractionally furrowing brows. Or they would open to their full extent, one eyebrow arching in disbelief as if to say: really, are you that stupid? Her mouth was just as much of a pain. Unless she was talking, her mouth only moved at the corners. Her lips would twitch, pulling up or down depending on her mood. Up was generally better than down. Up involved snarky comments and contained laughter. Down involved pain.

Steve had a feeling there was more to her enigmatic expressions, it was evident she was a master of non-verbal cues. He had seen her carry out entire conversations without uttering a single world. Knowing her language was the key to figuring her out. Unfortunately there was only one person who fully comprehended her, and a second who only knew enough to get by. Steve was not one of those people. He, like the rest of the world, was left to ponder.

He looked down at what he had drawn so far and hastily erased his progress. It was a failure, just like every other attempt. The woman on the paper resembled the woman on the couch, true, but there was something off. It wasn't right, it wasn't Natasha. How was he supposed to capture emotions he could not even fathom? Angrily, he raised his hand, fully intent on turning the page or just ripping it out. He was half way there, when he froze.

Loud music blared over the intercom system, jarring the occupants of the room out of their relaxed status.

"What… is that?" Steve asked aloud.

His voice was nearly drowned out by a booming guitar solo. Bruce managed to hear him and responded.

"Thin Lizzy." Bruce stated simply, as if Steve should have known.

"Is that like the one girl from the singing movie we watched the other night?"

"Pitch Perfect?" Thor perked up from his spot on the floor. " 'Twas a glorious movie! I would enjoy viewing it again."

A small smile graced the doctor's face.

"No Steve, Thin Lizzy is the name of a band. This," he waved in the general direction of the speakers inlaid in the ceiling "is one of their songs. The fact that it is suddenly playing could only mean one thing."

"The boys are back in town," Coulson spoke in time with the song lyrics.

Natasha's lips quirked at the joke. A moment later the elevator doors slid open and the two previously absent men jumped out of the compartment. Tony came first, singing at the top of his lungs, followed by Clint and his air guitar. They chasséed across the room, crossing each other's paths as they made their way to their team.

"The boys are back in tow-ow-o-own!" the sing-shouted together when the song reached the chorus.

Tony reached the sitting area first, coming to rest behind the couch holding Bruce and Coulson. He jumped over the back and landed between the two men. Hands resting behind his head, the genius reclined. He came to rest leaning against Coulson with his legs stretched across Bruce's lap, neither of whom looked very pleased. The scene was too comical for Steve to resist. He quickly modified his original sketch.

"JARVIS cut the music please; I believe we made our point." He turned his megawatt smile on his fellow scientist. "Hey Brucey Boy, how's it going?"

"Just fine." Bruce pushed the inventor's feet off his lap and on to the floor. "I take it your mission went well."

"Swimmingly, in fact it was too easy."

"So we made it a little more interesting," Clint stated.

The archer had come to rest in the space between the soda and Steve's chair. He looked down on the three men, smiling like a loon.

"What did I tell you about doing that?"

Coulson addressed the archer in a very mother like tone. It was evident the suited man had asked Clint this question numerous times before.

"Improvisation is okay, but never fully disregard mission parameters or something will go wrong." The blonde huffed. "But look Phil, I only got one black eye this time."

Clint pointed to his face. Just as he said, one eye was surrounded by a deep purple bruise. Steve examined him, and his mission partner, closer. Both men looked a little beat up, but the black eye seemed to be the worst injury. They had certainly come home looking worse before.

"And we finished up a couple of days early," Tony added.

Coulson sighed. It was the sigh that meant he was glad they were ok, but still thought they were idiots. Chastising was imminent, and came only seconds later. As usual, it didn't take long for the lecture to escalate into an argument of sorts. It was mostly one sided, with Tony trying his hardest to see if Coulson would actually Taser him like he always threatened. Steve turned away, his attention caught by something else.

Natasha was smiling, actually smiling. It wasn't her usual crooked corner grin, but a full mouthed smile. Clint had left the arguing men and snuck around the back of her couch. Either he didn't know or didn't care about the "Distance Day" because as soon as he reached her he draped his arms over Natasha's shoulders, clasping his hands together and resting them on her chest. Natasha's emotional display came when the archer settled his chin on her shoulder, nestling his face into her red curls while he whispered something. The redhead surprised Steve further when she turned her head to the side and pressed a light kiss to the blonde's cheek.

Clint's expression instantly became that of an overjoyed puppy and Natasha's smile grew at the sight. If Steve wasn't mistaken, for a brief moment her smile was so large her teeth were even visible. That was unprecedented. Seconds later, old habits kicked in and the two separated. Natasha went back to her book and Clint moved to a different part of the living room. Eventually he settled next to Thor and joined the Asgardian in his video game. The moment was no more.

But in Steve's mind it was present, playing on a never ending loop. Never had he seen the assassins so openly happy and he was liable to never see them like that again. He quickly adjusted Natasha's part of the sketch before the memory faded and added Clint on her side. Once he was done he examined the picture. Thor was yelling at the TV, Tony reclined on his friends, and Clint was beaming at his partner. A small surge of pride ran through Steve when he observed his recreation of Natasha. For once, his representation of the woman looked like her. He had finally accomplished what seemed to be an impossible task.

He should have been astounded, that all this could happen in one night. That two of their members could come into the room singing and dancing and have it considered normal behavior. That the seven of them could be in one room together without fighting with each other, only with digital characters. Or that affections would not only surface in two of the most secretive people on earth, or at least New York City, but they would be in public. And being able to recreate all this and have solid, permanent proof that it happened? It was almost unreal.

If it had been any other day besides Wednesday, he would have thought it was a dream.

So there you have it. Now that I've gotten that out of my system I can go back to my main fics.

Any sort of feed back in appreciated.