CHAPTER FOUR —
( Chapter Four: "I Told You That Guy Had a Rocket Launcher." )

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It was silent around the dinner table.

Everyone in the main dining room—excluding Thor, who had once again disappeared to visit Jane Foster—was eating in peaceful silence. The clink of cutlery against plates was the only sound as everyone tucked into the spaghetti Pepper had made. As always, it was fantastic.

Evelyn glanced around the table, content. The atmosphere was easy, comfortable. Here, you didn't have to be anything but yourself. No suits or fancy dresses, no stiff small talk. Unless it was some formal event or Tony was throwing one of his legendary (and exhausting) galas, dinner was jeans and hoodies, sweats and comfort.

Tony, of course, still insisted on changing into clean clothes before dinner—"It's about standards," he'd said. But it was a lost cause. He always returned to the lab afterwards, covered in more oil than before.

Everyone wore jeans and a long-sleeved shirt except Evelyn—track pants and a jumper. The chill from the tower's massive glass windows lingered even with the heat cranked up.

It was peaceful.

Until Tony dropped his fork.

"I have to know," he announced, voice suddenly sharp with determination.

Clint, mid-bite with a meatball halfway to his mouth, raised an eyebrow. "Have to know what, Stark?"

"Budapest."

Silence. A collective, heavy pause. The kind of pause when ghosts from the past brushed too close to the present.

Natasha slowly dabbed her mouth with a napkin. "Budapest."

Evelyn let out a dry cough. "Budapest," she echoed.

"Yes. Budapest," Tony said, pointing at them like they'd just confessed to a crime.

Natasha folded her napkin and set it beside her plate. "Why now?"

"Because it's been driving me crazy!" Tony flailed one hand while gripping his fork with the other. "It's been three years! And none of you—none—have dropped a single hint! Not even a fake one!"

"Oh, good lord," Clint groaned, slumping in his seat.

"Stark has a point," Steve added, glancing at Evelyn. "What did happen in Budapest, anyway?"

"See?" Tony gestured wildly at Steve. "Now you've got Captain Morality curious! That's how desperate we are!"

"That's the one thing Eve won't tell me about," Steve added.

"He's right," Evelyn agreed. "My exact words were: 'What happened in Budapest, stays in Budapest.'"

"Budapest?" Pepper repeated, clearly trying to follow along.

Tony looked at her, brows raised. "Wait, you haven't heard? Oh, right. You were flying across the globe during the Battle of New York. To summarise, Budapest is a top-tier classified mystery between these three." He pointed dramatically to Natasha, Clint, and Evelyn. "And it haunts me."

The three of them sighed in unison like a synchronised team of we've-been-over-this.

"You three casually brought it up during a literal alien invasion!" Tony continued. "You don't just say something like that and never explain it."

"Tony—" Clint tried.

"Don't Tony me, Katniss!"

"Tony, let me finish—!"

"I have evidence! J.A.R.V.I.S.!"

"Yes, sir?" the AI's smooth voice answered.

"Play it."

Evelyn narrowed her eyes. "You recorded the comms during battle?!"

"Shut up, Lokidottir—it was the team channel! Roll the tape!"

Gunfire burst through the speakers, followed by Natasha's voice, calm and deadly.

"Just like Budapest all over again!"

"Yeah, now that you mention it," came Evelyn's voice. "Except there were no aliens, no gaping holes in the sky, or giant space worms. But yeah, despite that, it's a lot like Budapest."

"In other words, you and I remember Budapest very differently," Clint spoke.

Tony grinned with unholy glee. "And there it is."

The table went quiet again.

"You recorded the fucking conversation?" Evelyn said flatly.

"Evelyn!" Pepper gasped.

"Sorry, Pep," she muttered, then glared at Tony. "But seriously?!"

"Don't blame me—J.A.R.V.I.S. does that by default!"

"Sir," the AI corrected, "you told me to isolate and preserve that segment for—quote—'blackmailing purposes.'"

Tony winced. "Thanks, buddy. Always helpful."

"Anytime, sir."

"Back to the point," Tony said, jabbing his fork in their direction. "What happened in Budapest?!"

Natasha glanced at Clint and Evelyn. "Well..."

"Wait," Tony suddenly narrowed his eyes. "Is Budapest a code for sex?"

Bruce almost choked on his wine. "Tony!"

Evelyn raised an eyebrow. Eliza, who had been quietly eating, looked utterly bewildered.

"We're eating dinner, Tony," Pepper scolded.

Tony waved a hand. "Exactly. That's why I'm asking now, so we can digest properly."

"Then stop talking," Clint snapped.

"Nope. Did you three fondue?" asked Tony.

Steve nearly choked on his iced tea. Evelyn snorted behind her glass of wine. Clint and Natasha looked at each other, then at Tony.

"Fondue?" Natasha blinked.

"Oh yeah," Tony smirked, watching Steve with devilish delight.

Steve looked betrayed. "How?!"

Tony leaned back smugly. "Dad told me."

Eliza, still catching up, raised her brows. "I remember that story from Pa."

"Fondue?" Pepper repeated. "Like cheese and bread?"

That caused Steve even more despair. He held his head in his hands. "Oh, god..." he muttered, hoping they would move on and change the subject.

"Do we tell them?" Tony grinned at Eliza.

Steve lifted his head. "No. Please don't."

"Please do," Evelyn teased.

"I'm still gonna tell them," Tony shrugged.

"I'm so done with you," Steve groaned.

"You'll still love me, Capsicle," Tony winked. "See, Stevie once thought my dad and Evelyn were 'fondue-ing'—aka, in Cap's language, having sex."

Natasha choked on her water.

Bruce bit his lip, shaking silently with laughter.

Clint burst out laughing. "No way!"

Steve stood abruptly. "I'm full. I'm going to bed."

"See, Tony?" Pepper swatted his arm. "This is why we can't have one peaceful dinner."

Steve grabbed his plate. "Really. I'm not hungry anymore."

"You've never been full in your life," Evelyn narrowed her eyes at him.

"What about dessert?" asked Pepper.

"What is it?" Steve asked warily.

"Fondue," Tony said sweetly.

Silence.

"I'm gonna go," Steve muttered, already halfway out of the room.

Tony lost it, laughing so hard he wheezed.

Pepper slapped his arm again. "Tony!"

"Ow! What?"

"Behave."

"I was kidding! It's soufflé," he announced.

"I'm still not hungry," Steve called from the hallway.

"Sorry, Steve," Pepper called after him with a fond smile. "Blame Tony."

"Hey!" Tony pouted.

"I made the soufflé, though," Evelyn said with an exaggerated frown.

"The spaghetti was good, thank you," Steve said over his shoulder.

"Thank you, Steve," Pepper called.

"You're just trying to escape, huh?" Tony teased.

"Wouldn't blame him, Buckethead," Clint added.

"Shut it, Merida."

"At least I come up with new insults, dumbass."

"Language!" Pepper snapped.

"Sorry, Pep," they chorused.

Tony pounded the table lightly with his fist. "Tell me what happened in Budapest, Elsa!"

"Never," Evelyn replied calmly.

As Steve's footsteps faded down the hallway, Tony groaned, flopping back in his chair.

"I'll get it out of you one day," he muttered.

Eliza leaned back in her seat, still giggling. "Please don't. I love watching you fail."

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       The dining room had been cleared, and the chaos of dinner had been replaced with the soft hum of tower life winding down. Most of the team had scattered to their corners—but in the lounge, nestled under blankets with mugs and wine, were Clint, Evelyn, and Eliza just chatting about the night's events.

Eliza stretched out on an armchair like she paid rent there, her tea steaming lazily in hand. Clint was sprawled across the couch like a cat with a mug of coffee. With her legs tucked under her, Evelyn swirled a glass of red wine like a Bond villain mid-monologue.

"I'm telling you," Clint drawled, "one of these days, Tony's gonna push Steve just a bit too far, and boom—Cap throws a punch."

Eliza perked up. "Oh my God. If that ever happened, Tony would immediately print that photo, frame it, and title it: The Day The Capsicle Cracked."

Evelyn snorted into her wine. "He'd probably hang it up in the briefing room."

"Show it off during parties and gala events,'" Clint added.

Laughter fizzled, warm and easy. Then Eliza leaned in like a kid about to ask for candy.

"Okay, but seriously... you're really not gonna tell me what happened in Budapest?"

Evelyn groaned like this was the fiftieth time she'd heard it. It was probably the hundredth.

"Not you, too."

"Yes, me!" Eliza poked her in the arm. "I've earned it. I've bandaged you up, smuggled vodka into mission packs, and—hello?—I kept Nat from drop-kicking you after you put googly eyes on her coffee mug."

"In my defence," Evelyn said, completely serious, "that mug wanted eyes."

"Eliza's got a point," Clint said, kicking his feet higher. "She's suffered for this team."

"I demand answers," Eliza declared, clutching her tea like a microphone.

Clint smirked. "You have no idea how much trouble we'd be in if we told you."

"That means it's good," Eliza said triumphantly. "You're both cowards."

"Or we're heroes," Evelyn said, swirling her wine. "Saving you from the emotional damage."

Eliza narrowed her eyes. "It's not even juicy, is it? You're just making it sound mysterious to mess with us."

"Honestly?" Clint grinned. "Genius move. But nope. It's just... not a bedtime story."

Eliza leaned forward like she was about to crack a case. "That bad?"

Clint and Evelyn locked eyes for a long moment. It was the kind of look that said: how crazy are we going to make this story?

"It was messy," Clint finally said. "The kind of mission that leaves a dent. Changed things."

Eliza nodded slowly, taking it in.

"But, since you've been such a loyal vodka mule..." Clint added, eyes twinkling. "You deserve a little something."

Evelyn sighed dramatically. "Clint, don't."

"Oh, come on. We'll start with your flirting story."

Eliza's head snapped around. "WAIT. EVELYN FLIRTED?!"

Evelyn groaned. "Oh my God."

"Listen," Clint said, sitting up like he was about to read a bedtime story, "she tried to wink at a guy to distract him. He thought she had pink eye."

"I kicked him through a wall afterwards!" Evelyn argued. "That counts as successful misdirection."

"She's more of a 'punch-now-flirt-never' type," Clint said. "A woman of action."

Evelyn raised an eyebrow. "And yet somehow you landed in the cake."

"That was a tactical barrel roll," Clint shot back.

"Honestly, you'd have loved it," Evelyn told Eliza, sipping her wine.

"Yeah," Clint added, "explosions, bad disguises, a guy who swore he was the Hungarian Tom Cruise—"

"And the underground ferret market," Evelyn said casually.

Eliza blinked. "The what now?"

"That's classified," Clint muttered to Evelyn.

"You people are chaos goblins," Eliza grinned.

"You love us," Evelyn replied sweetly.

"I tolerate you," she corrected. "Now give me one chapter title from this 'totally real' Budapest memoir."

Clint sat up like a game show host. "Chapter Four: I Told You That Guy Had a Rocket Launcher."

Eliza lost it—Full-on tea snort.

"And that," Evelyn said, standing up and patting her on the head like a toddler, "is all you get. Any more, and Nat shows up and breaks all our kneecaps."

Clint followed her, whistling as they headed down the hall toward the elevator.

Eliza blinked after them. "Wait—WAIT. You have to tell me about the ferret market!"

From down the hall, Evelyn turned back, grinning. Clint just shrugged.

"They're majestic creatures," he called.

"I HATE BOTH OF YOU," Eliza shouted.

Evelyn flashed a playful wink before turning to Clint with a broad, infectious grin. They snickered between each other at how gullible Eliza seemed to be. The real story of Budapest? A secret between Evelyn, Clint, and Natasha that will remain hidden until their deaths.