Stark was more than comfortable painting a target on his head, though Nat was pretty sure she'd known this for some time. She certainly knew about his less than healthy tendencies, the drinking, the hours upon hours spent working in his lab without so much as eating, and then of course there was his suit and his newfound love of jumping off a building and still survive. It was his new favorite mode of transportation, though why was beyond just about everyone. It drove Steve to near heart failure the first time it'd happened, to Stark's great amusement.

"I know exactly what I'm doing babe," he assured the super-soldier, sealing the promise with a quick kiss and an ass grab that had gotten him a reprimand.

That was laughable, Nat thought to herself. There were a lot of people gunning for the genius (no surprises there) and that number had exploded exponentially since what happened in Manhattan, so it was more likely he didn't have a clue what he was doing. Since Tony was the only Avenger without a secret identity (excluding Thor, but really what could they expect to do to a god?) he'd been receiving the brunt of hate mail and complaints about the damage done by the Avengers. The poor bastard had been forced to spend countless hours in conferences and meetings, expressing that he was sorry for damaging priceless pieces of art and buildings that had stood as beacons of man's ingenuity but hey, the world was still spinning, right? And wasn't that a good thing?

"Isn't it enough that we're not enslaved by some psycho with a fetish for gold and leather?" He'd asked. "If you'd rather we can stand back next time someone attacks. Maybe they'll be gentler with the Monet and Pollock."

Not his best moment. Since then he'd been on lock-down, Fury's orders, and as all the other Avengers were out on mission, or off planet, Nat had been the one lucky enough to draw the short straw. Oh let her count the ways she was excited to spend hours upon hours cooped up inside the Tower with the stir-crazy Stark. When he wasn't in the lab complaining to Jarvis about how he missed the outdoor world he was waxing poetic to Natasha all the things he would do the moment he was released from his "ball and chain gig." Nat just rolled her eyes and stifled a smirk at his dramatics.

"Oh just shut up and put a damn movie in," Nat said one night, fed up with his complaints. He'd been talking all day about how he missed the sunlight. As if he ever got any; all the bastard did was stay in his suit when he went outside.. "Or put on some music or something. Just shut your mouth for once." Her gaze had been challenging, unwavering as his brown eyes met hers in stunned silence.

And so movie night had started. Every night around six Tony surfaced from his lab, grabbed Nat by the arm, and strode with her down to his personal movie theater, only getting her to come along with the promise of fresh buttered popcorn and sour patch kids (she couldn't help herself; they were too damn good. Damn Barton's influence.) Every night was his pick, not that Nat was complaining. She once to tried to suggest a movie, but he'd shook his head so violently she was amazed it hadn't come off.

"Hannibal? I don't care how good Anthony Hopkins is—no. Hell. No." He glared at her and had Jarvis scroll through the list of movies he'd wanted to watch again for some time. His face split into a grin as he stopped at an animated one, the picture that of a girl with wide eyes, a peasant's cap, and a necklace held between her fingers.

"What's it supposed to be about?" Natasha asked, taking in the other characters on the cover: a brown haired man, a small grey puppy, and an old man with a bat clinging to a green vial. Of all the movies in the world Anthony Stark, genius, billionaire, playboy extraordinaire wanted to watch a children's movie? She couldn't wait until she was able to tell Clint about that once he and Phil came back from Bogota.

"Oh, a young orphan girl finds out that she's a lost princess. It's good, and takes place in Russia. You'll like it." He winked as he ordered Jarvis to play it and settled down into the seat beside Natasha. One of his hands snatched at the bowl of popcorn on Natasha's lap, but she caught his wrist before he could so much as grab a piece.

"Asking is usually best, Anthony," she murmured, eyes flashing.

His brown eyes grew wide and pitiful, puppy eyes staring out from the face of a grown-ass man. No wonder Steve never denied him anything.

"Please Tasha?" he asked, voice hitched a notch.

With the roll of her eyes she acquiesced, placing the silver bowl between the pair of them. He grinned and munched as the movie began to play.

"This is a singing movie?" Nat asked, mouth dropping open in actual shock. Shock! She didn't know why she would have doubted anything less, but seriously? Not even ten minutes in and there was a freaking song about rumors and the city and her people did not look like that! Well, maybe some of them. And were they seriously going to play another song right afterwards and make Nat sit there and endure it?

"Shut up, Tash." Tony said, nudging her. "I love this song."

"Oh, that's so inaccurate!"

"Natasha-it's a damn movie! Shut your whore mouth!"

If Tony Stark was a lesser man he would have peed his pants at the look Nat shot him.

"Just pay attention, please," he corrected himself in a quiet voice.

No, Natasha wasn't crying by the end of it. Of course she wasn't. But Dimitri was such an ass-seriously, how could he not have told Anastasia about the story until the very end? She was careful not to sniffle as she watched the rest of it, watched as the princess was nearly dragged down by the damn Rasputin, and then (to Nat's pleasure) managed to get rid of the bastard mostly by herself. And in a dress nonetheless. For being a plucky brat, there was a thrum of pride that welled up in Nat's stomach for the main character.

Tony's grin was self satisfied and disgusting when he turned to her. "So. You didn't like it, huh?" he asked, sounding sympathetic.

"Shut your whore mouth," Nat laughed, trying to not sound like she was about to lose it as she squeezed his shoulder. He just pulled her under his arm, kissing the top of her head.

"What'd you really think about it?"

She took a deep breath and watched the credits rolling up the screen, trying to pinpoint what she felt, or at the very least what she could tell Tony. "It wasn't too bad. At least they got the Romanov lineage right. Well, mostly."

Tony rolled his eyes. Really? That was all she was going to say? "Spare me the history lesson; how do you feel about it?" He leaned away from her, fingers steepled in front of him as he smirked, thinking himself a shrink.

Natasha had to force herself not to clock him upside the head, though the corners of her lips twitched upwards. Fine, he wanted to play along? "Well, I don't know Mr. Stark. I feel like you and Dimitri might get along; you're both pricks."

"Oh, you wound me." He laughed, "And?"

"And?"

"What else?"

"What else is there?"

"Calm down, Swan Princess, we'll get there next."

She turned confused and Tony tried not to swear. "You really didn't have a childhood, did you?"

The smile that had been teasing her mouth fell away as she turned her gaze to the floor. "Not much room for a childhood in the Red Room, Tony."

They went silent after that, and Nat only looked back over when Tony laid his hand on hers and squeezed. "Well, that's what I'm here for, to educate you on all the movies deprived of you. Next stop: Disney princess land."

They made it through Cinderella, Snow White, and Sleeping Beauty before Stark asked: "Wait, aren't you a Romanov?"

A/N: I don't own any of the aforementioned movies, nor any of the characters used in this fic. Title comes from the song "Lovers In A Dangerous Time" by Barenaked Ladies