The Avengers are scattered across the space. Bruce squints at a datapad, one leg tucked under him on the sectional. Natasha sits cross-legged in an armchair, cleaning a knife with mechanical disinterest. Sam and Steve are hunched over the holographic map, arguing about approach routes in low voices. Clint is technically paying attention, but he's also eating popcorn. Bucky leans against the far wall, silent and watchful, arms crossed. Thor inspects a mug with something approaching religious wonder, looking for more of the "astonishingly bitter, brown drink."

And Tony is mid-sentence, gesturing with a half-empty scotch glass. "-saying we flank the convoy, not detonate half of -"

He stops.

The sound cuts through the evening like a gunshot. Not loud, but distinct: the front door swinging open. The electronic chirp of the security system disengaging. Followed by the sharp click-click-click of heels being abandoned mid-step, then the soft pad of bare feet against marble.

Tony's blood drains from his face faster than the Hulk turned green the first time.

|Tony Stark|: No.

A whisper. Barely audible.

|Tony Stark|: No, no no no no. FUCK.

|Sam Wilson|: tearing his eyes from the hologram Bro. What?

|Narrator|: Tony Stark is moving. Not running, exactly, but close. A frantic shuffle toward the foyer that's about four seconds too slow. The rest of the team exchanges glances. Bruce looks up from his datapad. Natasha stops cleaning the knife. Clint pauses mid-chew.

|Narrator|: And then, from the hallway, a voice floats into the room. A voice that doesn't quite register at first, because it's humming the melody to "As It Was" by Harry Styles. A voice that sounds distinctly feminine. Distinctly tipsy. And distinctly not supposed to be in Tony's house.

|Narrator|: The humming stops.

|Narrator|: There's a beat of silence. The kind of silence that happens right before a seventeen-car pileup.

And then she steps into the doorway.

She's barefoot. One hand loosely holding a pair of black stilettos by the straps, the other still pressed against the frame for balance. A cropped leather jacket hangs off one shoulder, revealing a tiny slip of a dress that, even in the dimmest light, screams couture. The kind of dress that costs more than most people's rent. The kind of dress that's definitely, absolutely, 100% the same one trending on Twitter right now.

Her lipstick is smudged in the most artistic possible way. Her hair - dark, glossy, slightly messy - tumbles past her shoulders like she just walked out of a GQ shoot that accidentally turned into a nightclub. And her eyes.

Huge. Luminous. Blinking slowly at the sight of Earth's Mightiest Heroes frozen in Tony Stark's living room.

|???:| her voice a little slurred, a little amused …Okay, which one of you is the hallucination?

Complete silence.

Clint's popcorn hits the floor.

<Narrator>: Somewhere, in another universe, a reality TV show host is screaming "I TOLD YOU THIS WAS GOING TO HAPPEN" at the ceiling.