CHAPTER FIVE —
( Goodnight guys. I value my life. )

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        The Avengers were celebrities.
It was just a fact. After all, how could you not be famous after saving New York—and the planet—from a literal alien invasion? The public expected that kind of heroism to come with a certain lifestyle—red carpets, champagne towers, private jets and paparazzi-proof beach getaways. The Tony Stark brand of extra.

But that was a very generous misreading of the Avengers' reality.

Their version of glamour looked more like weekly arguments over who left the toaster on "nuke" mode, sarcastic AIs, and at least two near-fatal Nerf gun wars a month. Their tower was home to the most elite collection of world-saving weirdos Earth had to offer. And weird? Weird didn't even begin to cover it.

Speaking of weird, Clint Barton liked to sleep anywhere except his bed.

Especially the main kitchen.

3:40 AM

Evelyn was somewhere between asleep and existing. Her throat was dry, her limbs heavy with sleep, and she was one breath away from slipping back into unconsciousness when—

"Ugh."

She flopped over with a groan, detangling herself from the sleepy fortress that was Steve Rogers' limbs. How was he always so gravitationally clingy in his sleep? She gently nudged his arm, and it flopped off her hip like a tree branch.

Her head pounded. Her mouth felt like she'd been chewing sandpaper. Frost Giant metabolism: cool powers, annoying upkeep. Hydration wasn't just a wellness thing for her—it was essential. If she didn't drink enough fluids, she felt like her body might power down like an uncharged laptop.

Evelyn put a robe over her body and began heading down to the kitchen.

"Water. Or milk. Or literally anything cold. Preferably not sparkling. Unless it's magically sparkling with caffeine," she muttered, still mostly asleep.

The hallway lights flicked on one by one.

"Thanks, J.A.R.V.I.S.," she mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

"Of course, Miss Parrish," the AI replied smoothly. "Elevator incoming."

The doors parted for her like she was royalty—well, extremely dishevelled royalty. Her hair was in a tangled bun, her socks were mismatched, and her robe was half-open like she'd lost a duel with a coat rack.

She took the ride silently, leaning against the cold metal wall.

Just get water. Get back to bed. Don't trip. Don't pass out. Don't—

The kitchen lights blinked on as she stepped in, soft and golden. She shuffled to the cabinet and grabbed a plastic cup—because who trusted themselves with glass at this hour?

Evelyn set the cup on the counter and headed over to the refrigerator. She pulled. "Morning bestie," greeted a voice slyly.

Evelyn screamed.

Reflex kicked in before her brain did. Ice shards burst out from her palms, embedding themselves in the wall with loud, satisfying thunks.

There was laughter coming from the top of the refrigerator.

"CLINT?!" she yelled, eyes scanning until she saw him—perched cross-legged on top of the refrigerator like a smug raccoon in Avengers pyjamas, wrapped in a blanket like a human burrito.

"Oh man," he wheezed, clutching his sides. "That was amazing. The scream? The ice daggers? A++."

Evelyn blinked at him, heart still racing. "What the actual hell is wrong with you?!"

"I thought you were Stark or Eliza," Clint admitted, still giggling like a six-year-old. "Had this whole bit planned. I was gonna pounce. Then it was you, and I was like, 'Eh, why not?'"

"It's four in the morning!" she hissed. "Why are you up there? Why are you awake?"

He stretched luxuriously like a cat waking up. "I sleep here sometimes. Change of scenery. It keeps Tony on his toes. Eliza too. You'd be amazed at how terrifying I can be from above."

She glared. "You are a grown man."

"And yet, here I am, thriving." He grinned. "By the way... your robe's doing this cute little half-fall thing."

Evelyn glanced down. "Seriously?"

One of her boobs was very publicly trying to escape. She yanked her robe closed with a growl. "You are such a child."

From the speaker overhead came Tony's voice, dry and sleepy:

"Ahem. Barton, please do kindly go the fuck to sleep. You too, Evie. You've got, like, three episodes of Gotham to catch up on, and I'm tired of pretending I'm not watching along."

Evelyn froze. "Wait. How do you—"

"That's right, Evie. I know you watch that show religiously. And I know you watch Arrow, too, Hawkass."

"ONE TIME!" Clint yelled at the ceiling. "Eliza made me!"

"Says the man who bought the collector's edition."

The speaker crackled again, this time with an exasperated voice:

"All of you. Sleep." Steve sounded like someone who had lost hope.

"How'd you get the mic, Rogers?" Tony asked, surprised.

"Almost every night, you guys communicate from your rooms through the speakers until you fall asleep. Evelyn included," explained Steve. 

"You left it there last night after you two foundued," Clint said with a smirk.

"Shut the fuck up, Merida," replied Tony.

"Make me, Tony. You're talking from a speaker right now."

"I JUST WANTED A GLASS OF WATER!" Evelyn screamed into the void.

There was a beat of silence.

Then Steve's voice came again—this time with the calm but threatening tone of a man ready to bring the hammer down. "All of you. Sleep. Or I wake Natasha."

"Goodnight guys. I value my life," Clint picked up his blanket and crawled into the air ducts.

"Night Capsicle, Evie, Hawkass," Tony turned off his mic.

"See you in the morning. And hurry up Eve, I'm getting cold," Steve whined, then turned off his.

Evelyn stood in the silence of the now-empty kitchen, the refrigerator's hum her only company. She finally poured herself a glass of water and drained it in one long gulp. The cold soothed her throat, her nerves, her Frost Giant bones.

The lights dimmed as she returned the cup to the sink.

"Goodnight, J.A.R.V.I.S.," she whispered.

"Sleep well, Miss Parrish," the AI replied.

She padded back to the elevator and went through the hallway, her feet silent on the floor. When she entered the bedroom, Steve already had the covers pulled back, his arms open like a sleepy invitation.

She didn't hesitate.

She shrugged off the robe, crawled into bed, and tucked herself into his chest. His arms curled around her instantly, warm and safe.

His lips brushed her temple. "Good night, Eve."

She smiled. "Good night, Steve."

A moment passed. Then:

"Steve?"

"Mm?"

"Can I be the big spoon this time?"

He chuckled, still half-asleep. "Yeah, alright."

She wrapped her arms around him and rested her cheek on his back.

Weird midnight kitchen trip? Check.
Embarrassing? Always.

Welcome to the Avengers Tower—where bedtime was optional, sarcasm was fluent, and nothing ever made sense.

Just the way they liked it.