"I'll even help you set it on fire, if you like." He knew for as often as she threatened to set work clothes on fire, she only had once, twice if the time that it was an accident counted, and he didn't think it did. As she'd predicted, he was smiling, the usual wry little quirk that it was when he knew trouble was on the way.

He waited until the water was running to call down to have their dinner delivered. Mostly he was hoping that they'd have time to actually eat and maybe get a couple hours of sleep before it was time to move on to the next thing, but he wasn't going to count on it.

Of course, dinner had arrived by the time Natasha had finished in the shower, along with a miniature flash drive that Clint hadn't yet popped into his handheld, figuring it would save time if they both got the message at once. And besides that: there was a perfectly good dinner just sitting there, and he wasn't going to let it go to waste.