Author's note: I haven't written fanfic in ages! Melonpanparade on Tumblr flattered me by saying that some random fanart I drew was amusing and could be the basis of a fic... So I churned this out in an hour. And now it's 2AM and I should sleep. hahah

** This fanfic naturally ignores all the Bruce/Natasha stuff that happens in Age of Ultron, and conveniently forgets the existence of the Barton family.

Sending Messages by Arrow

"So, if we move this training up a day, we can take them out for a trial run and –" Hearing a faint sound, Steve broke off mid-sentence and jerked his head back. An arrow whistled past him and embedded itself in the wall.

Before he could say anything, Natasha threw up her hands and made a frustrated noise. "Oh, come on, Clint!"

Grumbling under her breath in what sounded like Russian, Natasha yanked the arrow out of the wall and took a piece of paper off it. Steve marveled at Hawkeye's skill – how had he managed to shoot that arrow straight with a piece of paper hanging off it like that? One would have thought that either the arrow wouldn't fly straight or that the paper would've just fallen off, ripped to pieces by the force generated by the arrow's flight. But that was Hawkeye for you.

"He's good," remarked Steve.

"You won't find it so amusing when your shiny new HQ has walls riddled with holes. Fury sure wasn't happy about it last time," said Natasha.

Steve raised an eyebrow and glanced towards the small hole in the wall. "He does this often?"

"Quite." Natasha drew a breath and shook her head as she finished reading the note. "He says we mustn't forget how to use our hands to write, and that sending notes by arrow is a 'more elegant mode of communication.' Or some such crap."

"I see." Steve watched curiously as Natasha folded up the note and shoved it in her pocket. Would it be rude to ask what was in the note? He wasn't sure. Maybe she would tell him…

"Right." She turned back to look at the iPad he was holding. "You were saying?"

Nope. She wasn't going to tell him. He squashed his curiosity and returned to the matter at hand.

The arrow clattered to the floor at Clint's feet. He looked up.

"Everything settled with Cap?"

"Yes, and will you stop with this arrow thing and just use a phone to send text messages like normal people?"

"Normal people," echoed Clint. "You mean, like our friends the scientifically-enhanced super soldier, the billionaire playboy, the Norse god, and Bruce Banner?"

Natasha gave him a look. "If Steve Rogers, man out of time, can use a smartphone, so can you."

"But it's so… Normal."

"Normal can be good sometimes!"

"I thought you didn't like normal."

"Who says I don't?"

"You're the Black Widow. You can kill men with your thighs." Clint picked up the arrow and twirled it like a baton.

"If I didn't like normal, I wouldn't be talking to you now, would I?"

"You're talking to me now because I shot an arrow into the wall with a note attached to it."

"And thank goodness Steve didn't see what you wrote on it!"

"Tasha! It was just an invitation to dinner!"

She muttered something under her breath. Clint sighed and said, "Are you still worried about this whole thing? About us?" He flipped the arrow around and used the back of it to give her a gentle prod in the arm.

"It's just…"

"Just what?"

"I don't know if I want the others to know."

Clint chuckled. "I'm pret-ty sure Tony Stark knows. It's only fear of you – and probably fear of Pepper – that has made him hold his tongue this long. I'd bet that Steve and Banner have at least guessed it. Not sure about Thor, though. That guy's so wrapped up in Jane…"

"No! I mean… I don't really want them to know – to know all our plans. I'd just like some privacy, I guess."

"Ah."

Natasha ran a hand through her hair. "I don't actually mind the occasional arrow. I'd just prefer for private notes to be… Well, private. You don't exactly write in code."

"I'll learn to write in Russian, if you like."

She had to smile at that. "If your written Russian looks like your written English, I won't be able to tell the difference. Your handwriting is not impressive, Barton."

Clint pretended to stab himself with the arrow. "Ouch. Right in the heart, Tasha."

She gave him a shove and stood up. "Dinner had better be good, after all the stress you've put me through today. Do you know what it feels like to have Captain America giving you curious looks every now and then for three hours straight?"

"Aren't you glad I didn't send that note in the morning?"

"Very. Now, what's for dinner?"