Clint / Natasha
It had probably been too long since Natasha had been to an actual adult party. Although the adult parties she'd attended in the past had never been blessed with a dick cake, still, it was all the same hallmarks - booze, casual conversations, a little music, pizza being passed around the room, and, of course, like all the best parties: a little bit of flirting. It had not escaped her notice that at some point, Carol had disappeared from the proceedings, as had the birthday boy, and Natasha had not lasted most of her life as a spy without being able to solve simple math problems.
Good for her.
She'd looked around for other familiar faces at the beginning of the evening; it worried her, a little, that she hadn't heard from James at all, knowing that he'd been planning to talk to Steve, and she made note of the fact that he wasn't here tonight on top of it. Which wasn't much of a surprise, she didn't anticipate parties were always his thing, but...still. She would check in soon. She wasn't entirely sure she should reach out to Steve herself, not until she knew what had been discussed. Some things weren't her place.
Other things, though, very much were, and Clint leaning on the bar with a very impressive shiner and an aura of pride from returning with that cake, that was one of them. Carol wasn't there to stop her from going behind the bar, so when Peter appeared to be occupied with his pizza oven, she snuck back to fold some ice up into a ratty looking towel, and when she came to Clint, she was smiling. It was comfortable to ease into his personal space, let her hip rest against his, to even set one hand on his chest lightly. "Brought some ice for the hero of the night," she said. "Even if you ignored my directive about not getting punched. Can I help you out a little?"