"Take off your clothes," he demanded once they reached the suite.
"That's no way to get me into bed with you," she replies. He throws a long t-shirt at her and waits, expectantly. She walks, defeated, to his bathroom and slides out of her uniform and into the tee shirt. It is barely long enough, but it does cover all of her cuts and exposes her arms, where he thinks the cuts must be. She sighs and decides she'll have to face him eventually, so she walks out carefully, leaning her shoulders ever so slightly forward so the shirt will not ride up on her thighs. "Are you happy?"
He considers this for a moment, flipping her forearms to expose the underside to himself.
"What are these?" He points to the scar tissue on her wrists. She rotates her wrist all the way around, showing him that it circles her wrist.
"It's from being chained to my bed every night in the Red Room. Clint knows about that, I'm sure he can confirm for you if you want."
He was so sure that's what it was for, why else would she be hiding a blade? It's too small to be useful for combat, you would need to be far too close to the attacker and he knew from Pepper's razors that their blades were not this large.
"Roll up the sleeves to your shoulder."
"This is ridiculous, Stark," she sighed, annoyed as she rolled them up. There was a small scar on her left shoulder, but it was likely a bullet wound based on the circular shape, not a cut from a razor.
"Stomach."
"No." She says it a little too quickly and backs up suspiciously. It's as good as a confession to Tony, as he reaches out to grab the tee shirt. She has to think quickly, moving even further away from him.
"I don't like to be touched. Or seen. Especially in less than this." The lie comes easily, but she says it slowly, not trying to reveal that part of her past either, but it would be easier if Stark connected those dots than if he took away her only release. She really didn't mind people seeing her body or even touching it, if she trusted them and Stark happened to be on that very short list after keeping his suspicions secret from Clint today. Really, she trusted most of the men on the team, maybe not Bruce, but that was only because he knew too much about mental cases like herself.
"Nat, I'm not going to hurt you, I don't even see you like that. I just want to make sure you're okay."
"Nope."
"Okay, then I'll grab Pepper and you can show her. That just means an extra person will know, though. This doesn't have to go beyond me and you."
Natasha considered her options: telling Tony meant that Clint would know within minutes. Telling Pepper would delay that by a few minutes while she told Tony, unless she could convince Pepper to keep her secret with a false promise of stopping. Tony would be less easily fooled, though, and Pepper was a bad liar. There was only one solution in Natasha's mind once she realized she was backed into a corner: run.
"Listen Tony," she says, slowly inching her way backward toward the elevator. Every step she took resulted in a similar step on his behalf.
"You aren't getting out of this one that easily, Nat."
"Watch me," she said, turning quickly and sprinting toward the elevator. She almost made it inside. Almost. Her foot was crossing the threshold when Tony told his AI to shut off elevator access to and from this floor. He reached out and spun Natasha in her place to face him, accidentally shifting the large tee shirt she wore in the process and, in his periphery, he saw a flash of red near the hem before Natasha desperately pulled at the hem.
"Nat… Lift up the shirt."
"No," she said desperately, sliding to the floor and pulling his large shirt over her knees as she sat in a ball against the closed elevator door. "Just let me leave."
"You know I can't do that," Tony replied, sitting next to her. "How long, Nat?" He didn't look at her, he just stared straight ahead as he asked the dreaded question and waited patiently for her to regain her composure. Her head found its way to his shoulder as she cried silent tears. This was it, her life was over. Soon, he'd tell Clint and he would hate her forever – too weak for him, she could almost hear him say the words. Then, he'd tell Cap and she'd be kicked off the team. SHIELD would follow suit quickly thereafter and she would have nothing.
Well, at least she would have her blade, she thought bitterly. It was always there for her when no one else was, giving her the punishment and solace she needed with one quick swipe. Maybe she could be a mercenary, killer for hire. She had all the right skills, and that would at least keep her off the streets. She could imagine her fall from grace in great details: how the tabloids would print article after article on the great Black Widow's new life as a beggar on the corner of the tower where she once lived with the famed Avengers.
"Listen, just go ahead and tell Clint and Steve so we can get this over with and I'll go pack."
"What? Why would…" He trailed off and his eyes shone with both realization and sadness. "Nat, I didn't find out to get you kicked off the team or to tell lover boy. I want to help you."
"Yeah, right. Tony Stark, self-centered, uncaring Tony Stark wants to help a fucked up, shitty excuse for an assassin."
"I wouldn't say record-setting kills by age 10 makes you a shitty assassin."
She whipped her head off his shoulder and turned to stare at him, not even caring that his shirt was riding up her thigh. "How the fuck do you know that?"
"Uh," he scrambled to backtrack his words, but cut himself off when he saw what was her thighs. What remained was a mess of scar tissue and hundred of cuts, some deep gashes and a few hasty, jagged lines that barely scratched the skin. "Oh my god… Nat…"
"Stark! Focus! How the fuck do you know that? SHIELD doesn't have access to that. What the fuck did you do?" She was standing now and screaming at him, while he sat in shock. He had not been prepared for what he saw, and that was only a few inches of skin, hinting that there must be thousands in total. When he looked up to meet her gaze, he could see up the shirt and had to keep himself from gagging at the sight of all the damage she had inflicted; that would not help anyone.
"I got some of your Red Room files." She knew as much, that wasn't really what she needed to ask, but she was too flustered by the whole day to come up with a more coherent thought about this situation. "Nat, will you let me check them over for infection and treat them?"
"You're not a doctor, Stark," she spat back at him.
"If you want me to get Banner and explain the situation, I will. Something tells me you'd rather have me treat them."
"You don't have any questions? You just want to help?"
"I figured you wouldn't tell me much anyway."
"What do you already know?" She asked, not really wanting to know the answer. Whatever he knew was already too much and making his death look like an accident would be rather difficult, given the circumstances.