Tony never officially 'told' Natasha she could move into the tower. He had no distinct memory of mentioning it, nor did he recall giving her the access code to her floor. Even though it was her floor. Floor 50.
Tony would have liked to congratulate himself for a while before handing over the code.
Now Natasha was living in his home. It happened slowly at first. She'd slink into Tony's flat in the early morning, still wearing some frightening get up from a mission or looking worse for wear. She'd perch lightly at the kitchen island, munching quietly on Cocoa Puffs, of all things. If she was really tired she'd take a nap on Tony's couch. Sometimes she'd arrive in the middle of the night and just watch his TV for hours on end, saying nothing and doing nothing and interacting with nobody. Tony had set an alert for when this happened, just in case she came in when no one was available to check on her.
"Good morning, Sir."
"Why… Jarvis… why…."
"It would appear Mrs. Romanov has arrived."
"What time is it?"
"4:12AM, Sir."
Tony's bed was very comfortable and he was certain he could stay there if he gave it a minute or two. He let out a deep sigh, relaxing deeply into his soft duvet. His room was slightly cool, the only illumination coming from the city lights. It was totally silent save for the low hum of the AC. His peace only lasted a moment before a litany of noise come thundering from the kitchen. He was out of bed and walking before both his eyes were open, rounding a corner to come to a stop.
"Oooh hey, Tone." Came a slurred voice from the dimly lit space. Tony furrowed his brow, cursing her presence already. She was going to give him wrinkles.
Natasha Romanov was sat halfway on one of his barstools, short skirt hiked up one thigh and blouse torn on one shoulder. There was blood on her shoes, blood on her leg, blood on her shoulder and pouring out of her nose. She had a split lip and a blossoming bruise on one temple. Her red hair had come halfway out of an updo, now tucked hastily behind one ear. Her slim fingers were applying pressure to a wound on her leg.
"Shit." Tony said, coming into her space to brace her as she slipped down her chair. "Shit. Shit."
"It's okay. Just a lil' bullet. M' gonna get it out riiight…. Now…" She slurred, wrenching a pocket knife towards her leg. Tony dashed a hand out to stop her, nearly failing. Her wrist went limp. Tony tucked a few hairs back behind her ear to get a good look only to find Natasha's eyes had fallen shut.
"Oh my god." Tony muttered. "Jarvis."
"I would advise you to move Mrs. Romanov to a safer location." Came the robotic reply.
Tony let out a shuddering breath. "Alright, you heard the man. We've gotta get you up. Like, now." He said, trying to keep her from standing while also maintaining balance to keep her from slipping. Tony wasn't sure if it would be well received, but he saw no other option. "Upsy daisy." He groaned, and lifted Natasha up in a bridal carry. She came back to awareness long enough to dig a hand into Tony's sweatshirt. He staggered to his guest bathroom where he very gently laid his friend down, then ducked out quickly to get towels. When he came back in, Natasha was conscious again, clutching pressure against her leg. Her eyes seemed to have cleared somewhat. "There you are..." She muttered quietly. "We need some tools."
"Tools. Right. First aid kit. Okay. I'll be right back. Jarvis, keep me informed." He didn't like the idea of leaving her there, bleeding on his bathroom floor, ("Mrs. Romanov has applied a tourniquet to her leg"), but the pressing need to medically intervene was overshadowing his fear ("She has broken your mirror with a shoe, Sir"), sending him gliding into the elevator and down to the labs ("Mrs. Romanov has incised the wound, monitoring bleeding") to grab his medical kit, then back up in a flash ("She has excised the bullet, Sir.")
By the time Tony got back into the bathroom he was entirely out of breath, trying to maintain some sense of clarity while he took in the scene. She'd excised the bullet alright, leaving a larger incision in its wake. The bullet had rolled next to the sink, leaving a crest of dotted red in its wake. Tony wondered briefly if he could bring her to a hospital. Probably not. Then he'd move on to the next best thing. "Jarvis. Call Coulson please."
The rings sounded over the intercom while Tony tried to fold a towel under Natasha's head- it was resting uncomfortably on the step to the guest bathtub. The sound reverberated in the otherwise silent room, heart pounding in his chest with each ring. Natasha was unconscious again. He propped her leg over his own outstretched thigh. Checked the incision. No busted arteries. Tightened the tourniquet. Pulled out a blood clotting solution from his kit. Uncapped it. Gently pushed the plunger until it filled the wound.
"Stark? What's the matter?"
"Hey, uh… Are you here? Tonight? Are you downstairs?"
"No. Why? Is everything okay with you?"
Tony wasn't sure how to respond. Coulson was Natasha's handler, he should already know she was here. He should know she was bleeding profusely onto his marble floors, eyes shut peacefully against her pale skin.
"Yeah. Great. Just wanted to know if you finished the latest season?" He supplied, mind not really on the phone call. He was pressing his fingertips into Nat's wrist. Her heartbeat was steady. The bleeding had stopped. A bit of colour was already returning to her face.
"Not yet. Don't finish it without me."
Tony filled a syringe with alcohol, dousing the outer layer of her incision, then used a swab to clean the rest. He took another look at the hole. It wasn't as bad as it could have been.
Tony huffed a laugh. "No problem. Night."
He loosened the band around her leg, allowing her blood to flow more freely. Nothing spurted out of the hole, which he took as a good sign.
Coulson signed off, his line making a clicking noise over the intercoms. Jarvis came back online.
"How are you feeling, Madame?"
The brunette whipped his head up, eyes meeting his friends. She was awake again and staring directly at him, making Tony halt like a clam in sand. He didn't look away, then very slowly leaned closer to her, reaching out his hand.
Tony brushed his thumb under her nose, removing some of the blood where it was starting to dry. He shook his head very slowly, unable to process or speak about what happened. This seemed to suit the redhead just fine. "You did good… with Coulson... Think you could stitch me up?"
He nodded slowly, seeming to break out of a haze the more he allowed himself to move. Shaking hands scoured the bathroom floor for the discarded First Aid kit. They plucked out a needle, thread, gauze and antiseptic from the little pack. "You'll need to remove a bit of that stuff." She directed, watching Tony's eyes come back into focus.
"Right." He looked up at her, kept watch on her face while he squeezed the wound to push out some of the anti-clotting gel, then wiped it gently away. Natasha, for her part, hardly reacted at all, so Tony kept going. He re-swapped her leg again for good measure, tossing the bloodied pad into the garbage, then threaded his needle. His stomach turned at the thought of stitching a conscious person -or really any person- but he pushed the nausea down.
"Doing great, Tony. You can go ahead and start now."
Natasha continued to coach him through the process stitch after stitch, hiding her discomfort in order to keep them moving quickly. By the time Tony was done, he looked worse off. Natasha had bounced back with unfair vigor, colour filling her face and eyes casting an encouraging presence. When Tony was done he sat placidly, looking at the needle and thread in his hand.
"I'm totally useless at this." He said dejectedly. A shadow of guilt passed over his face. "I should have known what to do."
The assassin leaned forward, leg still resting atop her friend's, reaching a comforting hand towards him to calm his shaking. The moment she touched him his eyes flashed a her, a steely resolve settling in to every line of his face before he looked away again, unable to meet her gaze. "I'm going to do better. I'm gonna learn. I'm- I'm going to be reliable, next time someone needs medical.. Instead of just… Instead of doing this. Instead of being useless."
Natasha shook her head in response. She felt out of her breadth with Stark, totally overrun by these startling moments of depth, never sure if they'd be followed by warmth or shame.
Pepper told her early on that Tony was too giving, and too self conscious to accept anything in return. Any mote of love and companionship you wanted to give back had to be provided in a way he wouldn't accept but would begrudgingly tolerate. You had to present him with your presence like it was a problem that needed to be solved. She looked at the Arc Reactor sitting in her friends bare chest. It was no wonder he couldn't trust those closest to him to provide some shelter.
Right now, she couldn't tell him that he did great. That he'd probably kept her from a long term injury. That he'd read between the lines with Coulson. She couldn't say thank you for what he did because he felt that what he'd done was not enough. She'd have to do it another way, and she'd have to do it soon. Stark looked like he was barreling towards a panic attack, and in her fatigued condition, Natasha didn't think she could handle that.
"Have you got any beer?" She asked, landing a heavy hand on his shoulder in a deliberately awkward show of comfort. His eyes met hers, concentration still a little off. "Not to drink, just to put on the wound..." She offered him a small smile, sitting up against the step. "And then to drink. After."
It took a moment, two, three, four, then Stark was looking at her. Really looking at her. Like he knew she was up to something, but couldn't pinpoint it.
"Yeah." He shook his head to clear it, taking in the state of his bathroom. There was broken glass on the floor interspersed with bloody fingerprints and metal tools and discarded swabs. "Let's clean this up tomorrow." Tony said, but Natasha smiled.
"It'll be easier if we do it tonight. Don't worry, I'll just sit here and watch you. I'm not big on moving."
That got a laugh from him, spurring him on to help Natasha up the steps and out of the way of the glass. He darted out and returned with two beers which Natasha opened with a whack on the sink edge, making Tony give an exasperated eye roll. He grimaced when being handed his beer, frowning at the bloody neck, but took a sip while locking eyes with her. Then he smiled, and off he went.
The bathroom only took twenty minutes to clear. While he worked his redheaded friend gently washed the blood off of herself, legs draped in his bathtub. She removed her shirt (Eyes up, buttercup) and cleaned her bloody shoulder, checking herself over for other cuts. By the time the twenty minutes were up, the bathroom was not spotless, but given the Stark seal of approval, and Natasha was clean. Tony gave her one of Pepper's night shirts and his bathrobe and left the room to preserve her dignity while she changed, then came back to get her.
He helped her hobble into the livingroom to sit in front of the TV. He was getting them another couple beers while Natasha gingerly flipped through the channels. He was certain she shouldn't be drinking after losing blood, but didn't think he could handle an argument. From where she was ensconced in the couch she chimed "Can you go get my ice-cream?"
Tony checked the freezer, eliciting a frown when there was none to be found. "We've got none. I can run out-"
"It's in my freezy, downstairs."
Tony froze. Natasha shot him a look of huffy amusement. He searched for something to say. Something smart. Nothing smart was coming to mind.
"What?"
"My freezer. On my floor."
"How did you-"
"Oh come on, Stark. Don't tell me you didn't know."
"I don't recall giving you an access code." He reprimanded, squinting at Jarvis' nearest sensor as he did. "I wonder who could have let you in." He turned a judgemental look her way. She was looking back, a smidge of uncertainty was written in the way she pulled forward.
He felt like an asshole. Tony allowed himself a moment of self judgement before steeling himself, pulling back his shoulders and clearing his face of scrutiny.
"I'll go get it."
Fifteen minutes later they were both settled on the couch in their night shirts and sleep pants and bathrobes and blankets, beer bottles new and drunk scattered about the coffee table. Two spoons plunged merrily into a container of coffee ice cream. Toy Story was on. The sun was starting to rise over New York City.
Halfway through the movie Natasha stretched her injured leg on the coffee table, moving a bit robotically from the stiffness. She settled into Tony's side, still working on a beer. He was staring at her long pale leg, but wasn't taking in it's form. He was looking at the bullet wound. Now in the faint light of morning it didn't seem nearly as intimidating. It was about the size of a dime, dotted with little stitches. Tony had to admit, now that his monumental guilt had passed, even the stitches looked okay.
"Your access code is 6."
Natasha snorted. "What?"
"It's 6."
"Are you serious? One number? That's crazy, how do you expect to keep this place secure like that? There is something wrong with you, Stark." Natasha admonished him playfully. She stopped at the look on his face. His features were crumbling again, giving way to some feeling. His eyes were wide and soft and sad. In the background, Buzz Lightyear was giving up on getting back into Andy's room.
"It's always been that way, you know. Since before I moved in here. Well just before -at least. I had the firm draw up some plans on a living space. Just in case. Cause I was wondering, all the time, if you had somewhere to keep your shoes. You know, the ones I-The ones Pepper bought you. And I thought about it and thought about it constantly. The idea just made me frustrated, you know? Cause you're a great person, Romanov. I don't know if people tell you that to your face or not, but you are. And I just… I was wrong about you, and when I realized I was wrong I just wanted to do something to make up for it. I wanted to give you a place you could come, if you ever felt like you needed to, or felt like you needed to get away, from SHIELD, the job, just get away,-"
Natasha felt like she understood. Getting away from SHIELD wasn't just a matter of leaving. If you had a day off, you still needed an agency's worth of protection and protocols and firearms to feel safe. That, or Stark level security. She nodded along, losing all pretense of watching the movie.
"-And so when we were moving from Malibu, you had your feet in my lap, remember? And I thought it was so annoying, cause first you tricked me into doing labour, ew, by the way, and then you stole my churro, and then you put your feet in my lap, and I was going to give you shit for it. But the way you looked. It just made me feel like I had to do something, I had this responsibility. Because you trusted me. You trusted me-"
"I do trust you, Tony." She softly reassured.
"I know, I know that, and so here I was on the jet, I had a couple hours to kill. And I just thought hey, Natasha is always cramping my style. She's always sleeping on my couch and eating all my food, might as well give her a place to sleep. And then it just took off. It started as a room, and then I thought, you know, you needed a place to cook, and to store all the clothes that I don't think you even own - I'm going to fix that, by the way - and then it turned into this. And I made one for Coulson, too. And I told him, because he seems like he really needs a place to go right now.. But I never told you, because I didn't want to offend you or make you think that I thought that you-"
Natasha cut him off. She just couldn't watch him spiral, so she placed a hand over his mouth for a second, watching his mind catch up. When he settled, she removed it, giving him a moment to compose himself.
"It's yours. If you need it. Anytime. No strings. I don't need anything back. It's just yours."
In years to come, when Natasha needed to pinpoint a moment that made her feel completely justified in backing Tony Stark up for any reason, any time, anything, this memory would spring to mind. The way Tony Stark looked when he said it, "It's just yours", backlit by the rising New York sun, a bit of blood dried on his thumb where it was brushing over the neck of his beer, his bathrobe crumpled and softly illuminated by the arc reactor in his chest, eyes alight with a certainty, a certainty about her, and the way his voice sounded strong.
"I'll take it."
Natasha didn't officially have anything to move in, just like Coulson. Tony did notice her presence becoming more regular in the months following, often finding her pillaging his fridge. There was a modest gym in the building that she made Tony go to sometimes. It made him wish he'd never put a gym in at all. Sometimes Tony would catch her sneaking upstairs to sit on his couch in the middle of the night and they'd watch movies together. Other times she'd slip into his workshop, probing him about some weapons upgrade or chemical synthetisation. Then she'd be gone, just like that.
Sometimes it was days, others -weeks, but she usually came back with nary an explanation. Tony was starting to notice Coulson following a similar pattern. Being gone for a while, then staying several days at once. They both seemed on edge, neither would discuss why, not with him and it seemed, not with each other. Whatever project SHIELD was working on had them both stressed out. Tony wondered if either knew the other felt the same way, or perhaps they were on opposite ends of a divide. Somehow, Tony didn't think that the case.
He never asked, not because it wasn't his place, or that he wasn't unbearably nosy. Tony didn't want to do anything to upset the status quo.
One gorgeous mid Autumn evening on return from a mission abroad, Tony and Rhodey went to a dive bar. They dropped their suits at the tower, threw on clean clothes and hailed the first taxi in sight. It went about as well as you'd expect. They got too drunk, started an uncoordinated karaoke of Piano Man, bought shots for everyone in the bar (several times), ate wings and started a fist fight with each other.
They were in the grimy mostly vacant parking lot. Rhodey swung a punch, missed, then rolled onto the ground. Tony tried to kick him and failed, almost falling as well. As he corrected himself Rhodey grabbed on, getting pulled up with his friend's momentum, sending them both careening into the hood of an old Toyota Corolla. They hit the hood hard, winded, and laughed when they caught their breath.
"Hey Tony" Rhodey said, slapping his friend in the arm. "Hey man. Hey."
"Hey" Tony replied, grinning and poking his friend in the shoulder.
"I'm hungry. We need food."
"I've got just the thing."
Drunk bar patrons were cycling into the street in loud gaggles as they talked excitedly about new plans. The sidewalks were filled with vendors. Hotdogs and kebabs and falafel were passed from hand to hand as people got their drunk food fix. Tony was not one of those people. He'd gotten off the phone before they started the walk from the taxi, hobbling up to an old store front in their drunken glee.
Tony had lost his suit jacket at some point. Rhodey knew it probably cost more than a modest car. His friend's silken tie was loosened and tossed over one shoulder, top buttons to his pin striped dress shirt undone. He'd managed to maintain both of his shoes.
Rhodey wasn't in much better condition. His windbreaker was tied around his waist like a middle aged woman, polo shirt riding up on one side and one of his socks had rolled into his shoe. He thought if he bent down to roll it back up he might fall over, so he followed after his drunk friend instead. They came to the little store front, it was in an older building with a bay window on one side of the door and large windows on the other, trim painted in vibrant orange. Rhodey tried to make out the name. It took a few tries, the familiar loopy cursive writing seeming like nothing more than doodles to his inebriated brain. Then it struck him.
"Duuuude."
Twenty minutes on they received paper wrapped parcels from a very impatient looking teenager. "Will that be all, Sir?" He asked Tony derisively.
"We're gonna need more fries." The impatient brunette said, flopping his container of fries against the salad protector. "Way more."
"Tell me you didn't buy the franchise." Rhodey said from half lidded eyes, gesturing a roast beef sandwich at his friend once they were outside. They sat on a curbside, lights from passing taxis illuminating the busy street. The party goers were starting to clear off, street vendors closing down.
"What can'I say, Rhodes. I had to have it. Francielli's makes the best sandwich in town!"
"Yeah" Rhodey laughed, nudging his friend, "In LA."
"You'll come around." Tony unwrapped the paper from his food. Looking over at his friend, sitting with his windbreaker bunched on the chilly sidewalk, eyes reflecting the street lamps above, Tony was reminded of a night not so far in the past. Rhodey's eyes had gazed out at the dark Malibu sea, he'd passed Tony a similar parcel from the same jacket.
"We need to start meeting in the daytime." Tony said.
"Are you admitting you're getting old?"
"No."
Several minutes passed before Rhodey spoke up again. "Were they closed before?"
Tony laughed. He laughed, in fact, for several minutes, leaning on Rhodes for support. "Oh my god. They were. I asked the owner to send someone in-"
"Good lord. What is wrong with you, man."
6:09am
Tony: Saldcwhich
Tony: Sandwhich
6:24am
Tony: I got you a sandwich
6:31am
Tony: Intbh fridge.
12:21pm
Natasha: It's half eaten.
Tony: ...
"And you deny any involvement, Mr. Stark?"
"I do."
"Our intel makes it very clear that you are lying. How do you propose to refute these charges?"
"Iron Man couldn't be there the night of the third. Yeah, you know-" The swarthy man turned to wink at a member of the audience when a little 'whoop' was made, "I was taking my lady out."
"As you've stated. Are you able to provide any concrete proof? As far as I can tell, Mr. Stark, you are incapable of addressing this matter with any of the dignity it deserves."
"That's because it's ridiculous. And I can, actually. It was our anniversary, two years. I took her to Paris for fashion week. If you bothered to do literally any of your jobs, Senators, I wouldn't be here, because you would have seen me in the event coverage. Sitting in the front row. All week."
Shuffling could be heard from the heavy black robes draped over the members of the panel. Shiny black loafers and pumps could be seen peeking out underneath. A red blouse flashed before again being obscured. One member adjusted their ill-chosen bow tie. Tony tried not to laugh at the fashion choice, he had bold tastes afterall, but the little green dotted bowtie announced itself shamelessly. The owner of said bowtie was not an impressive looking man, scrawny with clammy skin and droopy eyes, he padded his nose with a crumpled hanky. Tony tried not to let himself fixate on the man. He tapped his phone screen a few times-
"That's not going to work again, Mr. Stark, we've secured the screens from-"
"Oh. Oops. I got in. Too bad, this must be embarrassing for you." He joshed, grinning widely at the crowd. Cameras followed his every move, catching how he moved items out of the way. He was clearing the screen.
"What are you doing now? I'll have you know this is a breach-"
"Yeah, it must be. Look at that. Wow!" Tony laughed as he tossed out the last items. Underneath an image was becoming clearer until only the desktop remained.
Now visible to the audience and the world at large, Tony clacked away at his phone screen until the desktop changed. It was footage from Paris Fashion Week. A tall blonde woman was walking fiercely down the aisle, gold asymmetrical dress falling away to reveal a deep black velour bodysuit underneath, jeweled brooch holding both pieces together. In the background, if you cared to look, sat Tony Stark and Pepper Potts, chatting excitedly about the clothes. Tony made some wavy hand gestures and whipped his hands around his neck, he was trying to explain something. Apparently he wasn't doing it well, or maybe it was a dumb idea, because Pepper shook her head with a laugh.
"There you go. It's on autoplay. There's seventeen hours of compiled footage here. I've made it your desktop so you can't lose it again. I've also sent it to all of your emails with my time stamped receipts and security footage from the hotel to cover the rest of our stay. If you'd actually bother to look at the evidence, you might reconsider." Tony turned a spurious eye to the reporters behind him. "Hey, you got me in there?"
"We've got you."
"Great." Tony replied, now ignoring whatever the panel was trying to say. "For those at home, we're just recording a prime example of how the American justice system is broken."
"Mr Stark."
Tony snapped his eyes back to the senator at the front of the panel. What was his name - Something unimportant, for sure. Demoine or Demoins or something. Stern was surely in the building, still recovering from the verbal beatdown Tony had doled out the previous day.
"That does not absolve you. We have video evidence of your Iron Man suit in Poland the day of the attack."
"Right." He rocked forward in his chair, unbuttoning his jacket, then pulled out his phone again. "You're absolutely right. That video footage that never came out on national news, whose source you've hidden, for an attack people are saying didn't happen. Because Iron Man does not instigate with civilians. Let's look at that footage." He was pulling up the video file now, it clashed terribly with the new desktop.
They'd all seen the footage. It showed Iron Man blasting into a building in a small Polish town, shooting a ballistic at what appeared to be a government vehicle. It showed the Iron Man punching another car which slid ten feet into a phone poll. The Iron Man suit turned into the building, coming out a minute later with a briefcase, supposedly filled with classified files. The eyewitnesses the panel provided were dubious at best, lazy at worst. Their testimony had gone all over the map.
"Here it is." He said, pushing index finger and thumb outward to enlarge. He repeated the motion several times until they got a close up on Iron Man, then with a clack of his fingers the zoom started to follow the figure. "Let's slow down here."
"This is a totally inappropriate use of our time-"
"-Mm- Gotta disagree there. Let's up the contrast too. Okay." He swivelled back in his seat again to view his audience, catching their attention with earnest brown eyes. The people loved to love him.
"Oh! What do we have here? Is that pixelation? That's weird, it only follows Iron Man. It almost looks like. No. It couldn't be-" He intoned playfully, now grinning mischievously. "It almost looks like this footage actually came from this video."
A new clip popped up, showing Iron Man shooting towards the ground to stand in front of a kid and an older man with a shotgun, punching a robot, kicking another, it's head flew into the barn. He went in and came back out with the head, then blasted off.
"You know who took this video?" Tony asked. He was going in for the kill. The senators seemed to know this, they sat back in resignation. Demoin or Demoine or Jean or whoever it was cleared their throat.
"Why don't you tell us?"
"Claudia. Lovely young woman, she was recording from the house when this happened. She's getting married next month to a very nice young man. You know how I know?"
"How do you know" came the sighing response.
"I've been invited to their wedding. I'm going to give a toast. They said it was the least they could do after I saved their lives from those hydra drones. This footage was remotely copied from her phone. I wonder who would do such a thing. A enemy of Iron Man? No?"
Cheering had begun in the coiffeurs of the crowd and moved forward. Tony gave another wink to the cameras, reaching out to shake the hands of his legal team and the eager crowd. He even shook the hand of the camera man behind him. He turned back to the panel quickly, "I trust my legal team can handle it from here. I think there was the matter of settling my legal fees for a frivolous lawsuit."
Tony left congress in his Iron Man suit, grateful when the HUD came on. The familiar pressure of the suit soothed his frayed nerves, the statistics popping up on the screen gave him something else to focus on. He was frustrated with the ongoing accusations, frustrated with attacks from Hydra, frustrated that he had to consult with SHIELD about some mystery item they wouldn't even let him see, frustrated that his shareholders were starting to go the corporate route of demanding short term profit, putting the pressure on Tony to come out with new inventions every week. He needed to have a conversation with Rhodey about the government, with Coulson about SHIELD, with Pepper about the shareholders. That's what they wanted anyways, what they were always saying. Tony needed to rely on his network, needed to trust that they'd have his back when it got to be too much. But the idea of asking for help made Tony's stomach churn, the last thing he needed was acid reflux.
"Mr. Coulson is inquiring on your arrival time, Sir."
"A couple hours, J. I need a breather."
Tony flew around for a few hours. He stopped to look at the view from a mountaintop, pushed boulders down the mountainside to watch them crash and shatter at the bottom. He sat by the coast to have a cup of coffee, metal legs thrown over the end of a pier and sunglasses obscuring his face. A kid came up for an autograph. He popped off the kid's hat, signed it, then popped it on backwards, patting the kid on the head. The parents took a picture and left.
Alone again, Tony sighed. He'd had to go home sometime.
It didn't stop him from getting an icecream cone, though. That was after one of his legs fell through the pier. It was to cheer him up. The vendor's name was Pete, and he claimed it was the best icecream on the coast. Tony had had a thousand dollar ice-cream with gold flakes and edible jewels made from the best concentrated exotic fruit juices in the world. He thought this was better though. He told Pete as much, pleased when the man preened at the compliment. He got a bubblegum cone and bought Pete one as well. Pete had sea salt caramel. "You've got good taste, Pete." Tony said with a concerted gaze.
Pete wiped a bit of ice cream from his nose. "You know robots. I know icecream. I guess you could say we're men of our trades." He gave Tony a coupon. "Two FREE cones. One for you. One for your sweetheart. Come by and let us soft SERVE you." Tony laughed and tucked it into the neck of his suit. Not for the first time, he wished he'd designed it with pockets.
Tony was feeling marginally better when he landed back at the tower. He walked slowly as the platforms' arms removed pieces of the suit, stowing it for the next use. The flat was a glowing reprieve from the cold weather, the smell of food wafting out of the slightly ajar landing door. He could hear the sounds of happy chatter and the laugh track from the TV. Pepper was wearing a T-Shirt and jeans, hair loosened to fall over one shoulder. Her eyes glimmered like diamonds as she laughed and joked with Natasha, both women leaning over the kitchen island to read a recipe displayed on a tablet. Coulson was sat in his usual spot on the couch, face turned towards the women to offer some commentary between glances at the TV. He was polishing one of his black lace up shoes before putting it back on, reaching a hand out to grab his beer resting precariously on the back of the couch. All three laughed at something in the recipe. Natasha caught his eye through the glass, held it for a minute before turning back to Pepper. She didn't acknowledge Tony, standing out there in the cold in just a shirt and trousers, hair whisked in the wind and uncertainty written all over his features. Not for the first time, he was grateful for her tact. He was on the outside of it all, and in that moment, all his feelings from the day were too much to handle.
He took the exterior stairs up to the roof. A vent shaft sat near the edge of the roof, giving an exquisite view of the city.
This is where Tony Stark sat that evening, having nothing to brace him against the bitter winds of New York winter. He watched the glowing yellow rooms fill with people laughing, dancing and eating, coming together with friends and family for warmth and company. Trees lining the streets were lit up with twinkling lights, wreaths were put up in apartment windows to share the seasons joy. Happy people walked briskly from store to store, bags filled with presents braced under shivering arms.
Tony had hated New York growing up. There were people everywhere, going about their lives with complete disregard for his dissatisfaction. In a city of seven million people Tony had felt alone. He met Rhodey in high school, a fast friendship forming between them. Even after Tony dropped out and went to MIT, Rhodey was a constant in his life he could rely on. And just like that, he was gone. Tony's parents died in a car crash. It was right before his graduation. The depression that seized him was unbearable. Rhodey couldn't get through to him at the time, his friendship became null for Tony. He was too numb to process compassion. He poured himself into his work, developing U and Dummy in a manic state, Jarvis following not long after. For a long time, they were his only family.
Obadiah Stane moved Tony to New York on his eighteenth birthday, and Tony had loved it. He'd never had so much space to move around, nor such common values with the people around him. He was vain, afterall, consumed with materialism and pride, and so were the people. Tony didn't make any real friends out there, but he did have a sense of community with the people of LA, he felt like he fit in. That changed after Afghanistan.
Now back in New York, sometimes Tony was happier than ever. He had a strange little family that lived in his house. He had enough money to stay in his tower forever if he chose, or a suit that would take him anywhere in the world when the walls were getting too close.
Tonight, none of that security could reach him. He was empty, just a hollow shell. Feeling the same numbness from his parent's death creep into his heart. His brief happiness like the wind blowing through the streets, felt for a fleeting moment before dissipating.
Tony stayed up there until the lights of the city started to dim, hue lowering from a soft yellow to a deep orange. His hair was windswept, face almost devoid of colour. His cold fingers were tucker under his armpits for warmth. He'd sat on the ground, back against the warm vent shaft. He may have slept there if he wasn't startled from his reverie by a soft hand on his shoulder and a kiss on his head. A hot cup of cocoa and a sweater were placed next to him.
Tony sat up slowly, body stiff from cold, to take the sweater. It took him a moment to put it on, but Oh. It was so warm.
"Natasha ran it through the dryer first."
Pepper sat next to him, tucking her own long sweater beneath her for padding. Her long legs folded gracefully underneath, Uggs adorned her feet. She pressed the cocoa into Tony's hands.
"Drink that. You'll feel better."
It smelled wonderful, lightly spicy and deeply sweet, it's rich brown froth adorned with mini marshmallows on top, set up in the shape of a heart. Tony felt his chest tighten, his eyes heat up. He turned his face away and shut his eyes tight, but he couldn't hide anything from Pepper. Hot tears came fast, cheeks flushing deep pink. Pepper wrapped him in a gentle hug, kissing the side of his head again. She carded her fingers through his curly hair. "Wanna talk about it?"
Tony snifled. Once the tears started he felt himself regaining control, finally able to grasp at a feeling entering his hollow chest. That was good. It was easier this way. He swallowed against his wet throat a couple times, tears coming to a stop. He nodded. He could do this.
"I need your help."
If Tony could have gotten Pepper a better Christmas present, he wouldn't know what that might be. The way her face lit up with pride and adoration, eyes shiny and smile genuine, Tony didn't know what he did to deserve her, but it wasn't enough. No, he corrected, hand squeezed in Peppers lightly, he did deserve her. He had to keep telling himself that, because for some reason, she stuck by him. He must be doing something right.
As it turned out, actually talking about his feelings made Tony feel a lot better. Self conscious, embarrassed, but like a weight was lifted. By the end of the conversation Pepper had set up several meetings with investors and board members and project managers, ready to delegate and reduce the overwhelming workload. She was texting Rhodey in between, she didn't need to say much.
Pepper Potts: Tony needs you to help him with Congress. He's feeling overwhelmed.
Rhodey: Consider it done.
Suffice to say Tony was feeling very grateful when he returned to the flat, hand clutched to Peppers. He smiled when he saw Natasha and Coulson on the couch. Her feet were tucked under Coulson's thigh for warmth. He was wearing a very ugly Christmas sweater with a cross eyed moose on it, leaned forward slightly to debate some metaphysical aspect of E.T. Natasha was both not listening and looking unimpressed, painting her fingernails. She smiled when she saw Tony, patting the seat next to her on the L of the couch. Pepper gave him a little kiss to the cheek, took his mug and pushed him towards the couch. Tony felt heat rise in his cheeks, thinking of how weak he must have looked out on the platform, facing this nigh enigma of a woman. She rubbed Tony's back vigorously when he sat down, careful not to let her wet nails touch his sweater, then went back to her task at hand. Coulson kicked his foot in a friendly salute.
"You might have some opinions on this aspect of space travel." Said Coulson, gesturing at the TV. Tony did, in fact, and started a rousing debate with instant affability.
Pepper gave Tony a new hot chocolate. She got Coulson and Natasha new beers, then sat on Coulson's other side with a glass of white wine. The four settled in to the couch. Tony wondered, after Coulson fell asleep and Pepper rested her head gently on his shoulder, if this is what other people had. When he'd been looking into the windows at all the little families of New York settling in for the night, feeling empty when he watched them interact with loving familiarity, if this is what they felt like. He thought they might.
Pepper kissed Tony good night, retiring earlier than the rest. She had a long day of meetings ahead, and Tony was grateful for her sacrifice, watching her adoringly as she waved them goodnight. Natasha was looking sleepier by the moment, and Tony knew it wouldn't be long before she was out. Her back was still rested against the back corner of the couch, feet now pressed along Coulson's thigh. The man was still fast asleep, feet up on the coffee table.
Tony gave Nat's shoulder a friendly squeeze. "Jarvis, nap mode." He called, satisfied when the lights dimmed and the TVs volume lowered. He got up from the couch gently, passing Nat an extra blanket and pillow. Tony turned to leave, then stopped. He turned back to look at them, his two high level secret agents bunkered down on his couch. Tony walked lightly back, aware that Natasha was watching him through half lidded eyes.
He came up to Coulson's shiny shoes, smiling up at Natasha for a moment, then bent down to fiddle with them. Natasha snorted. He stepped back with satisfaction at his handiwork, tittering like a child.
Coulson's shoelaces were tied together.
This chapter is a lot longer than I intended it to be, but it's the last before we get into Avengers stuff.
There will be fanart coming for this and the last chapter soon!
As always, thanks to my viewers, commenters and kudos, you guys rock!
Please leave feedback or critique if you have any, and happy holidays :-)
