The common room of the compound had been transformed. A white backdrop hung where the couch usually sat, and the softboxes set up around it made the room glow like a magazine studio. The photographer, a slight man with a nervous energy about him, was already making adjustments, muttering about light and composition.

Wanda laughed, already being pulled into place beside Vision. Peter bounced on his heels, grinning. Clint elbowed Thor, who was trying to fix his hair. Steve was straightening the line of his jacket with the stiff, patient air of a man who had done this a hundred times and would do it a hundred more. Bruce stood off to one side, hands in his pockets, watching the scene with a small smile. And Bucky. Bucky looked like he was already calculating the fastest exit.

The photographer raised a hand, signaling everyone into position. They shuffled together, a loose, comfortable group. Tony said something ridiculous—something about all of them finally looking like they bathed on schedule—and Bruce let out a quiet huff of laughter, shaking his head.

Just as the photographer’s finger pressed the shutter, just as the flash fired and the team’s laughter filled the room, Y/N rounded the corner into the doorway. They stopped short, unseen, as the group broke apart in the warm, easy way of people who had done this a hundred times before. The moment was over. The photo had been taken.

Nobody had noticed them yet.