A/N: Been waiting awhile to post this. A bit different outcome than what I'd pictured, admittedly, but I really do love Tony and Natasha's [working] chemistry. Enjoy!
XOXO, Helix.
Disclaimer: I acknowledge that all of the dialogue in this story is straight out of the movie. I'm quite aware that I don't own it. Or Party City.
"Are you blending in well here, Natalie? Here at Stark...Enterprises." Tony cleared his throat.
She turned toward him slowly, her body language shifting just enough to inform him, ask him, if he knew was playing a dangerous game.
Oh, but she knew he knew.
His face-with more color now that she had injected him with the Lithium Dioxide-was carefully blank, but his eyes were definitely cocky. He was challenging her.
As if he even knew just how good she was at her job.
"Your name is Natalie, isn't it?" He queried innocently, frowning.
She glared out of the corner of her eye at him, but still kept her body angled toward Pepper. Natasha secretly pitied her; she had absolutely no clue about the rapid-fire assault at her alias that Tony was mercilessly launching at her.
Tony waved a casual finger back and forth between Natasha and Pepper. "I thought you two didn't...get along."
"No," Pepper's tone was stiff as the martinis her file read she favored. "That's not so."
Natasha repressed a smile as she accepted a glossy black PDA from her boss. She knew how much Pepper didn't like her, or really, was jealous of her, but was continually impressed with her unwavering composure. She was downright icy.
"It's just me you don't care for," Tony hypothesized. He pressed his lips together, looking up at the both of them imploringly.
Natasha felt an uncomfortable twinge. Did he truly have no one besides Pepper? She looked studiously away. Howard would have been furious at how close Tony was to figuring it out, but instead he was here, instigating, procrastinating, hope failing-and wasting precious time.
"No? Nothin'..." Tony made a face and his hands flopped dejectedly back onto the armrests of his swivel chair.
Pepper ignored him and stood.
"Actually, while you're here, you and Natalie can discuss the matter of the...personal belongings," she suggested, adjusting her purse over her shoulder, and walked around Natasha toward the door.
"Absolutely," Natasha murmured, always making sure to keep her tone a little bit too agreeable.
Tony's toxicity-dulled eyes followed Pepper, swiveling to watch her stalk out the door.
Natasha really did have to admit, she admired Pepper's maturity. Her brisk, unyielding, and ultimately polite attitude would have made her a good-if not a very fine-agent.
She waited under the guise of organizing papers, until endearing Happy (who was looking particularly mournful) closed the office doors behind them.
Thud. Her lips instantly curled into a rare, unprofessional snarl.
"I'm surprised you could keep your mouth shut-!"
"You're good." Tony cut her off, whirling around furiously-leaned forward, eyes narrowed. "You are mind-blowingly duplicitous. How do you do it? You just tear things apart-you're a triple-imposter." He splayed his hands on what used to be his desk. "I've never seen anything like it."
She reeled back in surprise, and almost, almost twitched. He reminded her of Clint. Calculating and clever but arrogant to a fault.
Tony would boast if he knew he was right. She was more than a triple-imposter; she was a quadruple-imposter.
"Is there anything real about you?" He demanded, leaning on his elbow, as if he genuinely wanted to know, but his comment cut her deeper than he knew.
She gripped her PDA harder, her carefully-maintained nails almost certainly making little crescent divots in the leather. She ached to reach forward and shake him or hit him or tell him.
She'd never wanted to tell someone so badly that yes, yes, you're right. Absolutely correct. I'm not even sure if I'm not a red scoop-neck-collar hologram.
Tony pointed a finger at her. "Do you even speak Latin?"
Prove him wrong, indeed.
"Fallaces sunt rerum species." And she was already marching toward the door. She knew if she looked back for even one secret moment, she'd see Clint sitting there, eyeing her with warm blue fire, asking silently, well, sweetheart, what did you really expect from him?
"Which means...? Wait!" He swiveled a fourth time. "What? What'd you just say?"
She turned sharply, and pissed that he thought she couldn't speak the language, decided to play with him a little bit. He'd either be suspicious and investigate it's real meaning or he wouldn't; Natasha certainly didn't care.
"It means either you can drive yourself home or I can have you collected."
In truth, it translated into "appearances can be deceiving," but she doubted he would figure it out at least until after he got over her exit.
She made sure to slam the door with gusto, but not before she heard him shout, "You're good!" It was somewhat reluctant.
Natasha sighed, stopping short and feeling a little flattered, and leaned against the door.
She wasn't angry at him, per se.
She just really didn't want to see him hurt.
Yes.
Yes, she knew he had had it hard. Especially in the last month. So, with that in mind, she had made it her personal mission to help him out in secret, off the clock from Fury. It was her own way of staying true to her decaying sense of self.
True, true.
Natasha could only hope that Tony would find the Expo model she had taken the liberty of digging out of SHIELD storage and propping up against the wall. She had strategically covered it with a sheet so that he would recognize-at least, with a second glance anyway-the Starkanium's molecular framework. Of course, she had known about this, too, since she had been in the same room when Fury explained to Coulson exactly why Howard had designed the Expo layout the way he did.
It was the least she could do, short of outright and bluntly telling him what was right in front of his face.
There was cascading sound of several small, hard objects simultaneously tumbling into the metal trash can she knew was inside the office's door. She frowned, then-
The strawberries, she realized. She smothered a triumphant smirk. No-a smile. The carpet would surely stain. That was what Tony got for doubting her Latin skills.
Natasha's ears didn't have to strain to recognize a significant pause-silently thanking Tony's bizarre lack of soundproofing-before the billowy, dusty collapse of the heavy sheet.
Now, she allowed herself a smile. He had found it.
A sudden thud echoed in the office, followed by a string of swears. He would most likely be trying to find out how to transport them back to Santa Monica. He'd have to figure that out on his own, but she would have to have Phil drop by and check on his progress in a few days, under the pretense of overseeing his charge's breached borders.
She knew Phil would be secretly pleased he had figured it out. They had been relying on him to break the rules. It was one of his brightest, sincerest talents, of the many.
Natasha glanced at her watch. Wheels up in ten.
She wouldn't have rushed, simply to cause her temporary boss trouble, but she seriously doubted that Pepper wouldn't have any qualms if "Natalie" was unceremoniously stranded on the company airstrip. Besides, Fury would kill her if she left Pepper alone during a Hammer Industries presentation. He liked him even less than she did, and trusted him about as far as he could walk on the edge of the Helicarrier flight deck with his good eye closed.
No, lingering wouldn't help things at all.
Good luck, Tony.
If I've inspired you to do so, please leave a review! (;