Natasha's focus lies solely on the target. Eyes on the target, only on the target. The bow trembles beneath her fingers, not out of nerves but out of the sheer strength at which she is pulling it. The string twangs as she releases her grip, sending the arrow flying. It hits the red circle with such force that half of it tears through and lodges itself in the backing board. She swears under her breath.

Red. Of course. It couldn't have been more than half an inch away from the yellow centre of the target board, but that didn't matter. Clint was never going to let her live this down.

"Not bad," Clint concludes, making half-hearted attempts at suppressing his laughter. "But I..." He strolls over, and pulls the arrow out through the board with ease. "...Am so much better."

She sighs. She's known that she wasn't going to be better than Clint for a long time, especially on her first try. She's accepted the fact that she's probably never going to be as good as him either, but just getting in a decent shot to shut him up surely wasn't asking for too much...

"...I'm not saying that it was bad." He smirks. "Considering that you're a rookie and all..."

A quick slap on the head shuts him up. Temporarily.

"Ah! That was uncalled for. Over competitive bitc-"

The arrival of Tony Stark cuts Clint off mid-sentence.

"Having a little argument with Cupid, my darling?" Tony tosses her a bottle of water, which she accepts. "You know that he can get a tad overprotective of his little game."

"Game?" Clint interrupts with a scoff.

"Indeed. Improves hand-eye coordination and one's ability to concentrate, but it's just a sport."

"Really, now?"

"Yep. It's in the Olympics."

"It takes a lot more skill than prancing around in a metal suit-..."

"Wahey! Lay off the suit, Robin Hood. That suit saved your leather-bound behind quite a few times, if I remember correctly."

Natasha is leaning against the training room wall, enjoying the show. So rarely has Clint met his match, that she has decided to savour it while it lasts. She hardly notices Bruce when he joins her.

"Having fun?"

If she wasn't trained to expect the unexpected, Natasha would have jumped. But at the sound of Bruce's quiet voice she simply jerks her head around and throws him a hasty smile.

"You know it, Doc."

He grins at her, and gestures towards Tony and Clint.

"I'm guessing that you were part of the catalyst here?"

"Not entirely. I just don't do anything to stop it. And never do."

His chuckle is so quiet that she isn't sure if she's heard it right. He stares down at his shoes, drumming his fingers against the wall.

"Are you here with...a message, or...?" she wonders.

"What? Oh, no. Well, I was hoping to have a word with you outside, Natasha?" He finishes on a question, clearly unsure as to whether she'd accept it.

"Of course."

The two of them walk silently out into the kitchen, the awkward silence making Bruce rather uncomfortable. Natasha was simply curious.

"I don't think that I was able to give you a, erm... proper apology, Miss Romanoff." He begins, crossing his arms. "About the incident involving the other guy."

Bewildered, she shakes her head.

"You did say sorry, Bruce. Besides, I've had worse. Much worse." He raises his eyebrows. "No offence." She quickly adds.

He laughs, this time a genuine one.

"None taken. Believe me; I'd much prefer if you'd seen worse. I was just showing my surprise on how you are so, ahem, forgiving?"

Once again, he finishes on a question, waiting for her to reply.

"Well, you have my forgiveness, whether you'd like to accept it or not."

His smile lights up his face.

"Maybe someday I can make it up to you? For, you know, almost smashing you through the walls of the helipad."