Chapter 22 - True Colors

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"Come out, come out wherever you are, Steve," you hum just loud enough from the kitchen that you know Steve's supersoldier hearing picks it up. But it's been hours, and still Steve doesn't emerge from his room. 

Instead, Natasha steps out of the elevator, and her eyes light up as she excitedly shows you some new enhancements to her hip holsters Bruce has just given her. Then from around the corner slinks Clint, three giant quivers in hand stuffed with arrows - he had mentioned something a few days prior about running short.

"Got enough there?" you tease as he schleps the quivers into the common room and drops them on the couch. 

"Barely," he grins. "Do you know how exhausting it is having to yank out used arrows on the battlefield? I know Tony can do something about that. But I think he likes to watch me sweat."

"How is he supposed to build re-homing arrows that pull themselves out of bodies, Clint?" you laugh.

"Not my job to know," Clint shrugs. "He's the one who figured out how to live with a Duracell in his chest cavity. I feel like re-homing arrows shouldn't be as difficult as that."

"He has a point," Natasha smirks.

You and Natasha share a laugh as Clint rolls his eyes and grabs his jacket from the rack near the archway.

"I'm bringing back dinner from the city tonight, Y/n! What are you in the mood for? Ribs? Shwarma?"

"You know me, Barton - I'll eat anything," you jest, always keeping one eye on the hallway. But the one man you're waiting for never shows up. To his credit, the rest of the day comes and goes, and Captain American isn't seen out of his quarters. Even as Clint brings back ribs and sides from the city, Steve never joins the group for dinner. Accepting defeat, you wait for the rest of the group to disperse before fixing up two plates. 

You aren't necessarily trying to hide your interactions with Loki, but you aren't ready to deal with the questions that will inevitably come as a result. You don't trust the others to be as covert as Steve about your dalliance with the God of Mischief. In fact, beyond Steve and Thor, none of the others had any idea of your connection to the trickster upstairs. And to that end, you really aren't sure how much Thor knows.

Subtly carrying the two full plates to the elevators, you make the ascent to the tower.

"Open up, JARVIS," you callout. "I bring sustenance for the prisoner," you jest.

"Apologies, miss. But I cannot disengage the locks without the proper request."

"You're joking," you frown.

"I do not currently have jokes programmed into my protocols," JARVIS responds. 

"Bull," you snark back. "I've heard you make jokes before."

"Correct, Miss," JARVIS answers. "But Master Stark removed them approximately three months ago, when my joke protocols engaged as he was fixing a rather small bolt on the inside thigh of the Mark III."

"Can't imagine what that joke could've been," you smirk sarcastically. "Well, whatever. RIP to your humor. Can you please let me in now?"

"I still require the formal lock override request, Miss."

With a heavy sigh, you roll your eyes and stare pointedly into the outer chamber security camera. "Fine," you huff. "JARVIS, will you pretty please open security door 1."

"Access granted," JARVIS replies.

"You know sometimes I think you're just messing with me," you grumble, pushing through the door and struggling to balance the two plates, cups, and two liter of soda you're carrying. "How do I know Tony hasn't left your sarcasm protocols-WOAH!"

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