It's a Spider Thing. {Peter Parker and Natasha Romanoff}

{7} sticky notes

"FURY." Natasha greeted when he walked into his office.

The man stopped in the doorway, gaze snapping to the redhead who was currently occupying the seat across from his desk with a blank expression.

Unplanned visits from said woman were never a good thing since she rarely did anything without a good enough reason. Fury's jaw flexed for a moment as he tried studying Natasha in a doomed attempt to gain some kind of insight as to why she was there, looking as stoic and immovable as always before he ultimately gave in and stepped fully into the room.

"Romanoff." He acknowledged. "What do you want?"

Letting out a small sigh Nick took his usual seat and resigned himself to the conversation about to unfold. Usually there was more beating around the bush as Natasha asked a range of questions to find a leverage to get what she wanted- Fury knew that, and the assassin knew that too though they both humoured the other all the same. However, this time Natasha jumped straight to the point.

"I need a suit and mask."

A frown overtook Fury's face at the request. "You have a suit. It's standard protocol." he snapped.

The pointed look he received was enough to annoy the director. "It's not for me." Natasha said, her words measured and slow, as if speaking to a child- Fury's cheek jumped in annoyance and he would have rolled his eyes at the tone if he wasn't preoccupied with her actual statement. Slowly, a sense of understanding dawned and his frown deepened at the realisation while he leaned forwards in his seat, his own words just as slow as hers had been.

"And why, pray tell, does a fifteen-year-old kid need a suit and mask?"

There was a pause. Fury knew he wasn't going to like the answer, yet he had asked anyway. He just had to know what could have convinced his best agent to let a literal child wear a suit and mask when he most definitely should not have been getting into any kind of dangerous situation that required such an outfit on the streets of New York. "It's complicated." Fury made a face at the lack of explanation that Natasha huffed a small breath at. He arched his eyebrow, hands now clasped on the desk in front of him as a silent gesture to expand on her ridiculously vague answer.

Natasha was far too good at recognising it.

"Some people are born with tragedy in their blood. The kid is one of them and I want to help him wipe it out." She responded, voice almost clinical in her explanation, but then the emotion seeped in and Fury felt his resolve crumbling. "When he's helping other people, it gives him a different purpose to the one he was given at Hydra." Natasha's eyes levelled with his and the man didn't like the expanse of pain and grief hidden in them. "He needs this." Fury blinked.

Natasha's eyes flicked away before returning a beat later, the myriad of emotions gone in the blink of an eye that if he hadn't been so familiar with the redhead would have sent Fury's head spinning.

"So, you can either give me a suit or I'll take it myself."

"You don't have to. I'll get it to you by the end of the day." Nick grumbled, feigning annoyance at the situation that only served to make Natasha's lip twitch upwards. She thanked the man across from her before wandering out of the office in search of Clint.

-

A lot of their communication was through sticky notes.

From an outside perspective it probably looked off. But both Natasha and Peter weren't good with the whole 'verbal communication' thing, and it seemed the better alternative.

Most of the time their notes were scrawled out on alarmingly bright colours that clashed horribly with the poor object that it had been unceremoniously stuck to. It had been Clint who first introduced them to the apartment- horrid colours and all- and they never seemed to leave, instead becoming ingrained into their daily lives. Sometimes they would be on the fridge about trivial things like, 'no milk in the fridge, thanks to a certain archer' or 'Barton drank all the orange juice again; I'll get some tonight'. Others were more private. Like after a particular nasty nightmare Peter would find one on his nightstand that said, 'breakfast ready when you are :)' and Natasha would be cooking pancakes in the kitchen and they'd spend the rest of the day around the other, ranging from talking to sitting in a comfortable silence, knee to knee. Often times Peter would leave some for Natasha when she came back from missions or he'd done something around the apartment like, 'just cleaned up, guns are on the laundry pile' or 'jacket is in the wash, the blood will be out eventually'.