Tony Stark never did things by half. When Natasha stepped out onto the street at seven, a limo was already waiting for her. The driver opened the door for her, and Tony was sitting in the back, wearing a perfectly pressed dark grey suit. "You look nice," she said when she got in.
"So do you." Tony took her hand and gave it a light squeeze. "I like your..." he made a vague gesture with his hand. "Dress, shoes, hair..."
She laughed, the sound melodic and captivating. "You have no idea what you're talking about."
He laughed, too, a deep rich chuckled. "No, I don't," he agreed. "But at least I know what I'm looking at, and you are gorgeous." Unlike other men who admired her looks, there was no flattery or lust in his voice; he was simply complimenting her on her beauty. She wondered whether he knew how rare he was; despite his cynical and snarky attitude, he was still surprising her with moments of unguarded sincerity and innocence.
They pulled up to the restaurant, a fancy and expensive place. Tony had made reservations, and they were shown to a table at the back of the dimly lit shop, where a candle burned on the table. Natasha was incredibly aware of how the other patrons' eyes darted to them every so often, obviously curious about Tony Stark and the now-infamous Natasha Romanoff. The attention made her uncomfortable; the semi-darkness and stuffiness, combined with the eyes that never seemed to leave them, made her spy instincts kick in immediately. She tried to ignore them and act naturally with Tony, but she couldn't, not when her senses were all on high alert.
As though to compensate for her quietness, Tony talked at a spit-fire rate. Natasha made neutral, non-commental responses; she was very aware of eyes and ears that were tuned in to them, and she didn't feel safe enough to let any part of herself show through. But that wasn't the only problem; something about the way Tony was acting pricked at her, her intuition, which she had learned to trust, was telling her that something wasn't right.
When the dishes were cleared and they only had half filled glasses of wine left, she said in quiet seriousness, "Tony, what is tonight about?"
This was his chance. "It's about us," he said, taking her hand in both of his. He had prepared a speech, and he began it. "I used to be a selfish playboy, I treated women like they were my property, I used them once, then I would get bored and dump them. But you've changed me; you're fascinating and capable and so, so beautiful, you are the only woman who can always keep me on my toes. When I first saw you I knew you were the most beautiful woman I would ever meet, and I'd completely underestimated just how important you would be to me."
"What are you trying to say?" Natasha interrupted, forehead wrinkling in uncertainty and confusion.
"I want you to know how special you are, and how much you meant me."
"No," she clarified. "I mean, why do you saying all this? Doing all of this?" She gestured at their table and their surroundings. "I don't need a night out or a cheesy romantic speech; you don't need to tell me all that for me to know. And if you want to do this just because it's a big damn romantic gesture, you should really stop flattering your ego."
"Flattering my – Tash, this is for you." He was taken aback; this wasn't the reaction he'd expected. "I wanted something special for you, and you're gonna bite my head off for that?" His voice rose in volume. This earned him a few tuts and more than a few turned heads.
Natasha glanced at the other patrons, uncomfortable with causing a scene. "That's not the point," she hissed.
"Enlighten me." Tony lowered his voice, but it was just as cold.
"Look, I appreciate everything you're doing –"
"Sure doesn't seem that way."
"But I hate how everything is so artificial. The sincerity and spontaneity and truth in all of this is gone, because it's so rehearsed and planned and – just – fake. I know you, Tony, you're more than just a sarcastic asshole or an attention-hungry narcissist."
"Honey, if you think that this isn't the 'real me' or whatever shit, well, sorry to disappoint." He spread his arms. "You wanted me, you get the whole damn package, narcissist and all."
"Yeah, and it's because you're a narcissist that you wanted to do this tonight. You wanted to show off with some grand romantic gesture, just to stroke your own ego. If you're doing this for me, then you should know that you don't have to prove anything to me."
"That is not it." Tony's voice turned into a dangerous, deep growl. "That is not it at all."
In a quiet voice, she repeated, "You don't have to prove anything."
"I don't have to prove anything?" Tony said. "Or is it because you don't want to prove anything? Am I just a fling for you, like all those other guys?" At Natasha's shocked expression, he continued. "Yeah, I know exactly what you did with them. I was in your file, remember? Every dirty secret of every single mission – i know everything. That billionaire's kid from Turkey? How you played the innocent girlfriend, milked him for information on his dad's company and dumped him when you had what you needed? Or the time you let that mafia boss tie you to the bed and whip you? You had fun, didn't you – maybe a little too much fun and that's why SHIELD pulled you out? Do you want me to go on? I know about –"
"Shut up!" She shouted. All eyes were now fixed on them but she didn't care anymore. Her face and neck were flushed, her eyes green fire. "You have no idea what you're talking about. You know what I did before you and you never had a single fucking problem with it before now. Because being in my fucking file doesn't mean you know anything."
If Tony was a man with an amount of self-preservation that could be considered healthy, he would have been afraid. He was, however, not known for his caution and he opened his mouth to argue. But Natasha interrupted him. "Can we just go home?" She glared at the curious onlookers; being seen in such a vulnerable situation made her feel compromised.
No, we cannot and we will have this damn conversation right here, Tony wanted to say, but he was clearheaded enough to know that it wasn't a good idea. So he sighed and nodded.
The car ride back to the tower was spent in an icy silence. They sat as far as possible from each other on the seat, neither looking or touching the other. For the first time in a long time, they went back to their own separate floors.
The first thing Tony did was pour a drink. The Scotch burned his throat, matching his frustration and disappointment. The evening was a disaster, it had gone so far from the way he envisioned. He didn't understand why Natasha didn't like the date and what he said. His whole life, he'd used his sweet tongue and cheap romantic tricks to charm women. Even when he'd settled down into a steady relationship, these continued to be reliable as ever. Pepper used to love that kind of thing: fancy restaurants, special occasions, heartfelt speeches. Even with her he did not often show himself, and she loved it when he was sincere, even – or rather, especially – when the words were deliberate and rehearsed.
But Natasha was different; she was different from any other woman he'd ever met. She didn't fall for flattery, didn't care for grand romantic gestures. What really seemed to touch her was when he let her in; not only in the way he was with Pepper, by telling her wholeheartedly how important she was, but in the way of letting her share his secrets and fears, letting her see him when he was weak and in return allowing him in when she was knocked down. She's lived her life finding lies while shrouding herself in them, and so it was truth, however messy or unpleasant, that captivated her. In that moment, he realized why she hated everything he did tonight.
Natasha almost ripped her dress in her haste to yank her heels off. She was slightly more careful with her heavy earrings; her ear lobes were, after all, harder to replace than some cocktail dress. Barefoot, she went back out to her kitchen. It was poorly stocked, even more so these days than it had been before she moved in with Tony, but at least she had a faithful bottle of vodka. How ironic that it was her only constant companion throughout her life, she thought as she drank straight from the bottle.
The gulp seared down her throat and she welcomed it; it seemed to burn away her jumbled emotions and give way to some form of clarity. Natasha had been on edge the whole evening; their date was an unwelcome departure from the usual comfortable relationship they had. She did try her best to enjoy Tony's effort, but his horrible speech was the final straw for her. She didn't know how to explain to him; she didn't even know why exactly she hated it. But something about its artificiality and rehearsedness stood in opposition to the trust and openness their relationship was built on. It hurt that he felt he had to put on a show for her, just to prove a point about himself.
But what hurt most of all were his accusations. She should have known that her past and her work would come up as a barrier between them. After all, that was always the way her relationships ended. She knew that it was difficult for her partners to have to put up with the knowledge of what she did for a living, but she'd expected more from Tony. He had accepted her for what she was, in spite of what she was. But maybe that was an act, too. Maybe she had been deluding herself for the past months. Maybe her expectations were too high, and maybe that was her own fault, because she'd thought that, despite his shortcomings and his way with women, he would care about her enough to see past what she's done. Apparently, she was wrong.
But she knew Tony, and she knew, in her gut, that he hadn't meant those words. He had known that they would hurt; of course he had, that was why he had flung them at her like barbs. And what about what she said? She had called him things that were, while maybe not quite as untrue as his accusations towards her, close enough to sting. It did take two to start a fight, however clichéd that was, and she was aware that she was at fault too. Just like him, she had struck at his vulnerability in her anger.
It must have been the alcohol, or else she was getting soft, but Natasha had half a mind to apologize to Tony in the morning.
Then a knock came from her door. She opened it to find Tony, still in the suit he wore earlier, sans jacket and tie, sleeves rolled halfway up his arms. His hair was mused, as though he had been running his hands through it. They stood there for a moment, neither moving or talking. Tony finally broke the silence. "Let me in?"
Natasha contemplated this for a moment. Then she opened the door wider and stood aside, tilting her had to gesture for him to enter.
He complied, taking a seat on her couch. He gave a ghost of a smirk when he saw the bottle in her hand. "We're more similar than we like to admit, you know that?"
"You want a drink?" Natasha said, offering him the bottle.
He paused, seriously considering it, before shaking his head. "I'd like to do this sober." Or relatively sober, since he'd just had a couple Scotches. He patted the spot next to him, an invitation to sit. Natasha complied, though she kept a safe distance away from him.
"You know why I'm here, what I need to say," he said. Natasha's heart fell. Despite everything she'd expected of him, he really was no different from the other men she'd let into her life. And once again, she was going to get hurt. Maybe it was no more than she deserved. Nevertheless, she shielded her heart with all the pieces of armor she had left and prepared for the impact.
"What I said about you and – and your job, that was uncalled for and I was a complete and utter dick about it. "
Natasha's brow furrowed. "Wait – what?"
Tony leaned forward, looking at her with those soft brown eyes that were, for once, free of all pretense. "What you did with all those guys, that's part of your job. You're a spy, and a damn good one, and I know that means that you've got to use all kinds of unsavory measures. I also know that it is strictly professional and I respect you for it. So I promise you, this isn't going to be a problem between us. I should never have said those things, I didn't mean them, you know that I didn't, I just lost control and –"
"You're not – breaking up with me?"
"What?" A laugh of disbelief left Tony's mouth. "You thought that I was gonna break up with you?"
"You did bring up the whole thing about my job and, yes, I know that you hate that I have to be a slut but –"
"Natasha, you are not a slut." His voice was low and sure, slightly heated by the anger that she had cause to think of herself in that way. "And even if you were, I wouldn't care. I know you, and who you are is a goddamn practical woman who won't let anyone tell you what to do or say. You're a woman who has so much more to her than what I, or anyone else, gives you credit for and no, you are not a slut and I am so sorry that I said that. I will accept any punishment you deem me to deserve."
She couldn't help letting slip a little smile. If he didn't want to break up with her, if he was willing to salvage the pieces of them and rebuild things with what they had left, she would be too. "I guess we both said things tonight that we didn't mean," she said. "I'm sorry, too. I know that you meant well and you really wanted to make this a special evening. I can see why you wanted to do that, because I guess that most girls like that kind of thing, so I do appreciate the effort, really." The words spilled out of her mouth, tripping over each other. "And the things that I said, I meant them about as little as you did when you said those things about me. That doesn't make it okay, that we would hurt each other like that given the incentive, but I'm so sorry, Tony." Her expression was a mixture of apprehension and hope and remorse. "I just want us to work because – because this is the best thing that I've ever had."
Slowly, as though afraid that she would shrink back or strike him, both were equally likely, he crept his hand closer to hers. She watched him without moving. He laid his hand over hers and gave it an affirmative squeeze. "Me too," he said softly. That was all that was needed. No big romantic gesture, no champagne or fireworks, just those words to let her know that he was in it, for the good and the bad. He found then that the urge to tell her that he loved her disappeared, but contrary to that, his love for her had increased tenfold.
"What you called me back there," he said. "I know you were angry and you don't mean it – but they're true. I'm narcissistic, I like being in the spotlight, and sometimes, like tonight, the stuff I do is more for myself than it is for you. I'm sorry for making it all about me; it'll get better, I promise."
"I chose to be with you, and that includes every part of you," Natasha reassured him. "Narcissist and all." Her gaze clouded over as she said, "Could you do the same for me? I know it's hard with my job and you knowing everything that I've done –"
"Tasha, I knew what I was getting into. Trust me, you are so much more than that." Remorse softened his features once again. "And I really am sorry for using that against you. Never again, I promise you that."
She nodded. "Thank you," she whispered with a sad little smile. She placed a hand on his jaw, and leaned in to kiss him. She might not have the words she needed to say everything she wanted to, and neither did he, so they poured it all into the kiss. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
It was like a rhythm that beat within both of them as they discarded their clothes. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry were the kisses she placed around the arc reactor, above his heart. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry was the way he caressed her breasts with reverence. They were gentle with each other, to the point of surreality, as though they were both afraid of hurting the other more than they already had that evening. As though any hint of roughness could splinter the fragile relationship and break them both forever.
Hours later, when both love and apologies were made, they lay on the couch, Tony spooned around Natasha, sated and content at least for the night. "Did we just have our first fight?" Tony said, wrinkling his nose.
"Yeah, I guess," Natasha answered with a soft laugh.
"How d'you think we did?" His eyes were warm as he looked at his lover in his arms.
She pursed her lips and quirked them to the side. "Could've been worse," she decided.
"Yeah?" He grinned, eyes lighting up with genuine hope.
"Yeah," she repeated in confirmation. "No relationship is perfect, especially with us because we're both so screwed up. Whether it's now or in a couple of years, we'll always be working stuff out with ourselves and with each other. We'll fight – I mean, it's us, of course we'll fight – but that doesn't mean that our relationship is going down, I think that it can help us get better together."
Tony watched the rare unguardedness of her face as she spoke with conviction. For someone so jaded, she was somehow incredibly optimistic about them, more so than he was. But she was more experienced than he; the only real relationship he'd been in since college was with Pepper, and even after years of being with her he hadn't been able to open up to her as he's already done so with Natasha. There was no pretense between them, and he now knew that he didn't have to agree with her just for the sake of making peace. So he said, in a small voice that he usually drowned out with his bold blabber and alcohol. "But what if we keep making the same mistakes again and again? What if we're so screwed up that we just don't have it in us to be human anymore?"
"That's what I've believed for most of my life after leaving Red Room, that I'm just too broken," she confessed. "And every time I've been in a relationship, this is where I'm reminded of that and I walk away. But not with us." She turned around to look directly at him. "We might be incomplete and damaged, but we're not beyond saving. Our hearts are still ticking, and with that, I know that our humanity isn't lost just yet. Maybe it's forgotten or misplaced, but that doesn't mean we can't find it. We may be broken, but there's enough left to be fixed. And who knows, maybe our pieces will fit together better for all their brokenness."
Author's note: Apologies for the lateness. It took me a long time to get this chapter just right, I wrote about three or four versions of it. And I have to thank the amazing Inner-Cinema on AO3, who is beta-ing this story (and a couple of WIPs I'm working on). I seriously could not write so much without you. Also, I'm sorry about the length of this one, it's nearly three times as long as the other chapters.
