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Cookies and Clint

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“Dinner is served, huh?” She raised her eyebrow as her eyes finally caught him crouched on the railings of the balcony.
“Are you always a bird?”
“Just come here, real-life Jarvis.” She stuck her tongue out childishly and approached him, taking the stairs two at a time despite the cookies protesting of jumping on the plate. “Fresh outta the oven?”
“You betcha.” She had never been particularly close to the archer, (though Natasha always insisted they were, I mean have you noticed he’s always the one to haul ass and save your cute lil butt in combat?) yet a plate of warm cookies along with Nat’s words seemed to change her mind as she took in the way Barton took three, jamming them straight into his pockets and two straight into his mouth simultaneously as if they had been life-long friends and this was nothing out of the ordinary.
Straight out of the oven and on a purple plate, her subconscious had apparently decided they were for Hawkeye and nobody else. It wasn’t surprising, she realised, as she watched crumbs fall onto the floor from his mouth that she had wound up here, stood in front of him dumbly watching him eat. In the mission they had returned home from the day prior, Clint had done exactly what Natasha had pointed out and fired an arrow straight into a HYDRA agents’ back that she had been too busy to notice. (She blamed it on being too caught up in punching down the guy in front of her, but Nat had rolled her eyes and said that she just didn’t want to admit to Clint saving her after being too distracted on a battlefield.) So after a fit of rolling around in bed, thinking of ways to say thank you for saving her behind, she threw her covers off her body and strode into the kitchen. Making cookies took even longer than expected when Tony Stark appeared behind her out of nowhere with a sly grin and an egg behind his back - it took her ten minutes of pouting to get him to roll his eyes and wash it out of her hair. Using a robot, of course.
Blinking away the thoughts of a robot rubbing her head a little too hard for it to be plausible for removing egg, she looked at the plate she was still holding and huffed.  “What, not gonna take anymore?”
“It felt compulsory to let you have at least one seen as though you stood there like a moron for the past two minutes.” Both her eyebrows shot up.
“Okay,” She drawled, looking down at her plate. “You left one, Clint.”
“You said at least one. I assumed you’d leave two.”
“You assumed incorrect.” With that, he stole the last cookie.
Her slight frown turned into a smile and her cheeks blossomed a light pink as he ruffled her hair. She supposed right there and then that the small interaction was his thank you, and promptly turned away from him and started back down the stairs. “That’s all you came up here for? A hair ruffle and a single cookie?” She held back her retort of I didn’t even get a cookie, Clint, and pursed her lips.
The pink slid off her cheeks and down to her heart that had begun to beat a little too fast at the underlying question. “Well,” She said slowly, catching her now pale complexion in the glass of the windows adjacent to her. She cursed quietly and she heard him snicker. “There are no more cookies left, Hawkeye.”
“Oh, superhero names are being used now? Fine. I guess I take back my offer of us two sitting here looking at the stars and sharing my cookies.”
Unbelievable. “You never asked, Clint.”
Weeell. Do you want me to take it back?” The pink coating on her cheeks returned, this time a deep red. She refused to turn around, knowing how he’d torment her. “I’ll hit you in the back with one of my many arrows. Don’t think I won’t.”
“I’ll take you up on that offer for two cookies.”
“Two whole cookies? You drive a hard bargain. One and a half.”
“Who gets the bigger half?” She asked, finally turning around.
“I don’t know,” He mused, tilting his head to the side as he looked at her for a long drawn out second. “Depends who has a strong bite.”