1. Russian

Bruce's POV

"Where's Natasha?" I ask as I scan the living room, with six out of seven superheroes occupying it and ready for movie night.

Clint shrugs, "I dunno."

The rest of the team shrugs, so Taylor looks to the ceiling. "Jarvis, where is she?"

"Miss Romanoff is currently on the tenth floor, ma'am."

"Relay a message, will you?"

"Certainly, ma'am."

She looks up at the ceiling. "Наташа! Получите ваш маленький советский зад сюда!"

Clint looks at her, slightly stunned. "Did you just order Nat to get her 'little Soviet butt' down here?"

She shrugs, not taking her eyes off the ceiling. "It's movie night."

A reply soon sounds from the speaker on the ceiling. "Иди к черту!"

Taylor winces as she stands and heads for the kitchen. "So it's that time of the month again." She digs through the cabinets for a while before pulling out a paper bag. "У нас есть конфеты!"

"…she says she will be right down, ma'am, and that you had better be telling the truth."

Taylor just grins and holds out the bag as Natasha comes through the kitchen, letting her snatch it and peek inside.

"Спасибо," Natasha snarls as she stalks towards the couch.

"Добро пожаловать." Taylor grins as she follows her into the living room. "Although I don't think 'thank you,' was ever supposed to be said that…vilely."

Natasha just glares at her and harrumphs as she sinks onto the back of the couch near Clint.

"So…movie?"

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2. French

Steve's POV

I refrain from sighing as I follow Taylor out of the limousine for the fifth time that day. She was on a trip for a meeting in Paris, and I had somehow become her default bodyguard.

She's told me time and time again that she had nothing to do with that, but that I was just the most reliable Avenger – to everyone else, at least.

Taylor looks at her phone and mutters darkly. "Steve?"

"What's up?"

"It turns out Ramies Corp bumped their break forward and Lemonier wants us there at four, not three. We have nothing to do for the next…hour."

"We could just walk the streets of Paris," I suggest. "Souvenir shop."

She grins and nods. "Good idea. Take this, it translates French to English." I grab the earpiece off her palm and push it into my ear, following her as she leads me into the crowds on a nearby sidewalk.

And then we're nearly shoved off again by some guy pressing too close for comfort, his hands brushing a little too close to…ah…yeah.

I step forward to tell the guy off, but Taylor beats me to the punch. "Hé! Que pensez-vous que vous faites, espèce de porc?"

My earwig translates after a second. "Hey! What do you think you're doing, you damn pig?"

"Je disais juste bonjour," the guy replies smoothly. "Je ne peux pas dire bonjour aux jolies dames que Je vois dans la rue?"

"I was just saying hello…I can't say hello to the pretty ladies I see on the street?"

I clench my jaw and step forward, but Taylor looks like she's holding her own. "Non! Non, vous ne pouvez pas, surtout pas avec moi!"

"No, no you can't, at least not me!"

"Et pourquoi pas?" the guy questions. "Êtes-vous sensible?"

"And why not? Are you sensitive?"

"Non!" she snaps. "J'ai un petit ami!"

"No! I have a boyfriend!"

The guy snorts. "Et alors?" So what?

Taylor just rolls her eyes. "Alors ça." So this, and whacks him over the head with her briefcase, catching him and setting him down gently. "Bonne nuit, dors bien."

"Goodnight, sleep tight."

I laugh as she walks back over to me, dusting off her jacket. "Bienvenue en France, Steve."

"Welcome to France, Steve."

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3. Spanish (and technically sign language)

Tony POV

We were holed up in a Mexican jail, all five of us, and for once it wasn't my fault.

It was Steve's.

The poor guy had been trying to use what Natasha said was 'Spanglish – broken Spanish/English,' and had offended dome poor chum and the cops had just arrested us because we weren't local.

We being Taylor, Steve, Thor, Bruce, and I. Go figure that the two linguists aren't with us.

Rattling makes me look up, and I see Taylor signing something to Bruce, making her handcuffs rattle. Bruce, not yet Hulked, signs something back, and Taylor nods before going up to the bars in front of the holding cell. "Guardias! Disculpa, los guardias!"

I blink as a guard walks up to the cell. "¿Qué es, señorita?"

Taylor studies her shoes, suddenly just looking like a shy little girl. "Um...yo quería saber si...um..."

"Seguir adelante con ella, chica!"

"Necesito rayar una picazón, se puede desbloquear mis manos?"

The guard suddenly looks sympathetic and reaches through the bars to unlock Taylor's handcuffs. Before he can draw back out, however, she grabs his wrist and pulls, slamming his forehead against the bar and bringing him down cold.

She immediately reaches through the bars and begins patting him down. "Sus llaves, las llaves, ¿dónde están las llaves?"

"What?" I hiss at Steve.

"She's either searching his keys or a herd of llamas…"

I give him a strange look as Taylor digs out his key ring and unlocks all of our wrists before turning to Bruce and quickly signing something.

Bruce nods and pulls out his cellphone, handing it to her before turning to the rest of us. "She's calling the cavalry, but the conversation's not going to be in English. Can't attract suspicion."

We nod as Taylor puts the phone to her ear. "Araña? Soy yo, gorrión…me llamo porque estoy en la cárcel, la cárcel mexicana. Yo, padre, Steve, Thor, y Bruce…No, no Hulk todavía. De rota español Cap, eso es lo que nos trajo hasta aquí." She grins. "¡Gracias! ¡Gracias tanto, Nat. Te debo una...yo sé. Te sugiero tomar el avión." She nods and signs something one-handed to Bruce. "Una hora? Bueno. Nos vemos entonces."

She hangs up the phone and hands it back to Bruce. "Calvary arrives by jet in about an hour, you're welcome."

I blink at her. "…I really need to catch up on what you've learned."