"That little shit," Jasper snarls, throwing himself in the seat across from Phil in the mess hall, glasses slightly askew and eyes sporting that look Phil has come to associate with a certain specialist recently collected into SHIELD's fold.

Steve stares at Thor. Then down at the children. It isn't that he doesn't understand what Thor is saying; it's just that he's sure that isn't possible. "Are you saying that those kids are Coulson and Stark?" Natasha demands. Steve is so glad that someone other than him asked that question. Thor nods encouragingly. "I am. Is that not a relief?" "Um," Clint says. He sounds as though he's going to freak out any second. "No?"

It's Fashion Week in New York and everyone who matters is here to judge and be judged. Clint's been steadfastly ignoring the gnawing anxiety in the pit of his stomach all day. He adjusts the silvery gray jacket Tony had thrust at him earlier and smooths out an imaginary crease in his linen pants. Tony is an amazing artist, not just when it comes to fashion, but in everything he does. Clint has no doubt he'll be fine. But try telling Tony that today and you'll get hit. Hard.

Tony takes Steve (along with Phil, Clint and Thor) to look for America.