Lost in translation

A/N: HEY GUYS! It's been a while! But I'm back! For a little bit. I have exams soon but I wanted to update this story before I disappeared again. LOL.

Fluff I guess. Intense plot will come later. Like really intense. Just not right now.

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It was a few days after the little red head in the alley incident and the Avengers were starting to get used to having a silent assassin lurking in the tower. At first it was rather awkward running into her and trying to gesture through broken charades on steroids. However, basic communication wasn't the worst part.

If they thought Natasha was scary before…it was nothing compared to how she was now. She nearly scared half of them to death by simply appearing out of nowhere or by her new style of threatening

Take breakfast for example.

"…I'm going to be tweaking Buster's new circuit board and upgrade him to the 150 volt model because frankly I'm getting sick of cleaning up after one of his frequent leaking episodes. And - HOLY COW - where did you come from?" Tony shrieked as he nearly jumped right out of his skin as he came nose to nose with a blank faced Russian assassin in a loose pair of black shorts and a large baggy T shirt that they swore they've seen on someone else in the tower before. She was currently carrying a plate full of burnt toast and an innocent orange in her hand.

Natasha gave him a bored look and simply continued towards her original destination throwing the orange innocent up in the air as she walked passed him.

If Tony watched the orange in her hand with an uneasy expression on his face it was because he quite clearly remembered what she did to the last orange she had used to demonstrate her rage towards him before he had royally pissed her off. He promptly backed away from her. Huh. Well that was a coincidental win-win she thought offhandedly.

"Can I have one of your toas-"

BAM.

She promptly stabbed the table beside her plate with one of her many red knives and marked her territory. Tony paled and laughed nervously – he was still feeling her expert killer hands around his throat and wasn't quite prepared for round two.

"We'll just be getting some untoasted bread from the fridge and be on our way then…right Brucie?" Tony said glancing at his science partner in crime. Bruce shot him a burning look but nodded quickly when Natasha glanced at him.

Bruce and Tony slowly inched around her chosen domain with their hands up while giving her a 5 feet personal bubble space. Natasha eyed their suspicious movements but made no move to kill them - yet.

She was like a dangerous she-lion waiting to pounce on the poor hyenas.

"Hurry up with the bread," Tony whispered obnoxiously gesturing towards the beast silently eating her breakfast behind them. Bruce shot him a burning look.

"I'm hurrying. Do you know how hard it is to make an edible PB&J with you breathing down my neck?" Bruce whispered back irritably.

"Well hurry faster!" Tony growled.

"I'm moving as fast as I can!" Bruce spat back. They both shot worrying looks over their shoulders to make sure she was still occupied with her own breakfast.

Om. Nom. nom. nom.

She was almost done her first piece of toast. Tony paled.

"Well it might not be fast enough because we need to vamoose out of here before the devil stabs us to death!" Tony squeaked as he grabbed the jelly and slammed a shit load of it onto the bread in front of them. Bruce gaped.

"Tony! You ruined my hard work!" Bruce shouted in outrage. Tony promptly slapped his hand over his furious friend's mouth in fear.

"SHHH!" he hissed.

Natasha silently sipped her morning coffee as she pretended like she couldn't hear every single word the two not very subtle geniuses were saying.

She was mute – not deaf.

SCREEEEEECH.

Tony and Bruce both froze in utter terror as they slowly turned their heads in unison to stare at the scene behind them.

They both looked like they saw a ghost.

Natasha's knife had somehow dragged itself across the table and scratched out one single word.

D.E.A.D.

All hell broke loose then.

"Move Bruce move!" Tony shouted before he scrambled to grab the half made sandwiches and busted out of the kitchen door like a bat out of hell.

"I WANT TO LIIIIIIIIVE!" Tony bellowed as he practically flung himself into the elevator.

"Don't leave me here alone with her!" Bruce cried as he ran after his best friend with a scared little boy look in his eyes.

Natasha smiled the creepiest deadly assassin smile in the history of assassin smiles.

That was a good start to her day.

She had peace and silence for all of 3 minutes.

"…Hey do you know why Tony and Bruce looked like they were just about to piss their man pants as they ran down the hall?" a familiar voice asked from behind her. Natasha shrugged half-heartedly while stirring her spoon in her coffee with an innocent look on her face. She ignored the weird feeling that filled her chest as she felt Clint leaned over her shoulder and catch sight of her knife embedded in the center of the table. She paused in her casual stirring and stared at her knife too.

Well shit.

"Natasha…," Clint growled warningly in her ear. She promptly picked up her plate of toast and offered it to him as a peace offering with the biggest eyes she could manage. Clint narrowed his sharp gaze – her acting went right over his head. Natasha huffed in defeat. Damn it - it sucked to have a partner that could see through all your lies within seconds.

"I don't want your brunt toast. How on earth do you burn toast anyway? There is an automatic button on the toaster!" he exclaimed in disbelief. Natasha shrugged and placed the plate back onto the table before she picked up one of the burnt squares and munched on her burnt toast.

Some mysteries you never solve.

"Do you want me to make us some pancakes?" he asked warily as he took pity on the horrible breakfast she was condemning herself to. Natasha paused with the brunt square halfway in her mouth. He could see the debate flash around her eyes as she debated between keeping her self-reliant assassin pride or having an actual edible breakfast.

When he heard her stomach grumble in dissatisfaction he knew which side had won.

"Dark chocolate for yours and mint chocolate for me?" he asked with a light laugh. Natasha scowled at him but irritably threw her burnt toast onto her plate and shoved it away from her. Clint snickered and started prepping the batter to make him and his partner breakfast that didn't come with a side of death. Natasha sat at the counter and watched him work silently for a few minutes. When it looked like he was going to drop one of the eggs in his arms she started to get up to help him but his words stopped her in place.

"Touch anything and you die," Clint said waving his spatula at her warningly. Natasha sputtered ungracefully. How dare he? Clint read her expression loud and clear.

"Tasha. You touch food and it bursts into flames," he deadpanned. Natasha huffed and stared at him in disbelief. Clint shrugged as he stood in front of the stove.

"You know it's true Tasha," he said frankly.

BAM!

He stared at the knife embedded in the wall in front of his stove and blinked.

"Now that was just rude Tasha," he said dryly. He turned around to find her inches from his face with a pissed expression twisting up her pretty features. Clint was about to rib her some more about her terrible cooking skills when he noticed something off about how she looked this morning. He glanced down at her chest and paused.

Oh Romanoff you're going to regret this.

"You're wearing my shirt," Clint said as a shit eating grin slowly spread across his face. Natasha froze and her eyes shot down to actually take into account what the hell she had thrown on in her half asleep mission to get food. She vigorously shook her head and pointed to herself. Clint just laughed.

"Oh no - that is definitely my shirt. If I remember correctly it's the one I lost on our mission in Prague 6 years ago," he said with a dirty smirk on his face.

Clint paused as his own words rang in his ears.

She had it for 6 years.

They had been partners for 10 years.

His eyes narrowed.

She was a fucking denial queen. Clint's resolve to make her finally crack hardened. The woman has been stealing his clothes for over half a decade.

She was his.

She was going to admit it damn soon too.

Natasha saw the odd change in his mood and promptly took a step back. However he was too quick and had her shoved up at the kitchen wall within seconds before she could properly react.

"Do you like wearing my clothes Tasha?" he whispered in her ear. Natasha took a sharp breath and the next thing he knew he was flipped onto his stomach and had his face shoved into the hard wood floor with a furious Russian assassin sitting on top of him.

"Aww come on Tasha! I was just teasing!" Clint gasped as she roughly pinned him to the floor. Natasha narrowed her eyes and promptly yanked on his hair and caused him to grimace.

"It's not my fault you're a T-shirt thief!" he muttered into the floor. He felt her tense and braced himself for the next wave her torture when they both smelled the burning scent in the air.

"Pancakes are burning," he said warily glancing over his shoulder at the stove. Freedom. He could felt the debate rage on in her head.

Food or torture.

Food or torture.

Food or torture.

Stomach rumble.

She promptly got off of him and hauled him to his feet before shoving him towards the stove.

"Glad to know I'm good for something," Clint said dryly as he rolled his strained shoulders and turned towards the stove and promptly turned the heat down. He felt her silently fume behind him and proceeded to start a new batch of pancakes while she calmed down.

"You know you should really try learning how to cook Tasha – what are you going to do when I'm not here huh? You can't live off burnt toast and frozen dinners for the rest of your life you know. That is just unhealthy," Clint said seriously as he flipped the pancakes.

"Who are you talking to Clint?" the sleepy voice of the Captain asked from the doorway as he slothishly made his way into the kitchen while scratching the back of his head warily.

"I am talking to Tash-…," Clint trailed off as he glanced around the suddenly empty kitchen. He pulled his spatula back from the stove and furrowed his brow in confusion.

She had disappeared.

Wow he had gotten used to listening to himself monologue all day way too fast.

"Why is your shirt on the kitchen table Barton?" Steve asked in confusion as he opened the fridge and rummaged around to find the milk. Steve paused as he heard a spatula clatter to the floor and glanced over his shoulder to find a burning red faced archer staring at his own shirt like it just told him he looked like sex on a stick or something.

"What's wrong?" Steve asked slowly. Clint just choked on his words as he made unintelligible noises.

There was a half-naked Russian assassin storming the halls of Stark tower.

Oh dear god kill us all now.

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A/N: LOL? Natasha has balls of steel. XD LOL.

Next chapter we'll see a bit more about the people who are trying to frame her.