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"There's a hawk in the local jail?" Tony asked as he padded into the dorm kitchen barefoot and bare-chested from his bedroom. "Isn't that animal cruelty or something?"
Bruce handed him a cup of coffee. "Not a hawk—Hawkeye. That guy in archery that Nat's dating. Remember him?"
Come to notice, Tony could see Nat, Natasha really, sitting at the kitchen table wearing a scowl and a pair of black boots she'd planted atop said table. She'd made friends with Bruce their first of year of college when they were assigned as study partners and started swapping stories about all the countries they'd visited. Tony's stories had been met with much less enthusiasm.
"So why do we care again?"
Natasha muttered something darkly in what was probably Russian and downed the last of her own cup of coffee.
Bruce elbowed Tony lightly. His look said, My friend, remember?
"Yeah, yeah, so what'd he do?" Tony went back for a second cup of brew.
"Steve cleaned it up," Bruce started, "but there was some graffiti of...um...inappropriate stuff about Natasha, Maria, Pepper, and some of the other girls on the boy's locker room wall."
At the mention of Pepper's name, Tony was all ears. "And?"
"And Clint went and shot paintball arrows at all of the offending players while they were in their jerseys," Natasha finished. "He should have let me do it," she muttered darkly again. She stared at the bottom of her empty mug as if it had offended her.
"Well, did he now?" Tony figured only Clint would be stupid enough to get between the girl and her target, but hey, they couldn't all be birdbrains. "For the sake of prisoners and the flight of birds, let's go get our hawk!"
Bruce blinked at him. "Uh, Tony?"
Natasha smirked. "My hawk."
Tony grabbed his wallet without argument. Stupidity. Targets. Dangerous Russian female. "Whatever you say, sweet pea. What's his bail?"