Natasha Romanoff (not that that was really her name, but close enough) slipped in through the balcony door of what should be the guest room in Stark's penthouse. She knew he was home, and she'd used an old personal access code, coupled with a teensy tiny virus to convince FRIDAY to accept it, since Tony had probably disabled it, to gain access without any alarms. It hadn't been the easiest thing to get into the penthouse from the outside, especially with the small parcel she had strapped to her back, but she was a professional, and wanted to avoid anyone else knowing she had been there. There was still a little sunlight left, but hopefully late enough that most of the employees would be home anyway.

She just needed to talk to Stark, and see if he'd be willing to help her with something. She knew she was on his black list right now, but she also knew how he felt about all the Red Room "training" she'd received, and believed he'd be willing to help her with some research access, if it helped them take down more of the offshoots and free more Black Widows.

But something was off in this room. Even in the dark, she could tell that it had different furniture - more furniture - than the last time she'd been in there. And to her trained nose, there was a slight scent of plastic, and the kind of rubber present in running shoes, and hints of a cheaper aftershave than Tony would ever be caught dead with.

As she gingerly felt out with one hand, while reaching for the flashlight on her multi-tool, her hands brushed something on the desk. She picked it up and turned it over in her fingers. She turned the flashlight on low. A LEGO figure? It had a lightsaber, so from Star Wars, probably. Who was staying here, and how old were they? She turned her flashlight beam on the desk to discover a giant LEGO set, halfway complete. That explained the plastic smell.

She replaced the figure and moved through the room, out into the hall, noticing the backpack and discarded tennis shoes on the floor. Stark couldn't have kept a child a secret from SHIELD, even from her, could he have? She listened carefully, and there were voices coming from the kitchen area. She could pick out Tony's, though his tone was lighter and warmer than she usually heard it. Who was the other one? The cadences seemed only mildly familiar, if that. It wasn't Pepper, or Rhodey, or anyone else she knew well.

Nat moved stealthily into the entry room adjacent to the kitchen and living room. She halted just outside the doorway, by the elevator, and listened. She wasn't going to show herself until she knew exactly what was going on here, and who was present. She could smell different ingredients, including tomato sauce and garlic, so whoever was with Tony, they seemed to be making a meal together.

"Tell me again why I'm helping you make dinner for Pepper, on your anniversary? And you're not even married yet, what's it the anniversary of?"

The boy's voice sounded relaxed and teasing, and there was no telling how old he was from that alone. He could have been anywhere between twelve and twenty from what she could hear.

"It's not a romantic anniversary. This is the anniversary of when she started working as my PA, and I bet she doesn't even know I'm aware of the date. But she's had a rough week. She could use a little pick-me-up. And you could learn to make something other than frozen pizza and breakfast foods."

"It's not like I have the best cooking role model, you know. The only reason I can make those is because of Uncle Ben. Though May's a good teacher in her own way, I guess. Whatever she does, I don't do that."

"You little punk. I am totally telling her you said that. It can't be that bad."

"Oh, it is, I promise." She heard the fridge open. "It asks for ricotta cheese next. Is that the white one?"

"One of the white ones," Tony said dryly. "You might actually have to read a label or two. Grab the mozzarella too, while you're there."

Ricotta cheese? And tomato sauce? It sounded and smelled like they were making something Italian. But she didn't realize Tony even knew how to cook. It was quiet for several minutes, and Natasha had almost decided to make her presence known. But she'd really prefer more information on who the boy was. I could help predict how Stark would react to her.

"Just layer it in there nice and thick. Use the rubber scraper to spread it around."

"Why did we mix an egg into it? That seems really weird."

"My mom always said it kept it from just oozing out and making a mess. I don't know if it changes the flavor at all."

Tony was talking about his mom to this kid? He almost never mentioned his parents, except snide remarks about his dad. If Tony Stark had a taboo subject, his mom was it. Natasha had always guessed they'd been close. And now he was teaching this probably-teenager one of her recipes?

"You said this is something your grandma taught her to make?"

"Yes, my Nonna was full-blooded Italian. I remember visiting her in Italy when I was a kid, and she'd make this, and homemade ravioli, and risotto. The lasagna was always my favorite, though, and the only one of hers that I learned to make."

It was quiet for a few minutes, and Natasha could hear slight sounds of utensils clinking and things being moved around. FRIDAY's voice broke the silence. "The pasta should be done."

"Oh, I'll get it," the boy's voice said excitedly.

"Wait, Pete, watch out!" Nat heard movement and a clang of metal against metal.

"Did it get you?"

"Just a little bit. It wasn't even the water though, just steam. Why does it hurt so much?"

"Steam can burn just as easily as water. Let me see it." A beat. "It doesn't look bad. Just a little red. Here, put it in this cold water for a few minutes, and you'll probably be good as new soon."

"At least I didn't drop the noodles on the ground."

"Yeah, wouldn't want to waste that five dollar box of pasta to avoid burning your hand or anything. Good call, kid." Tony's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"But, Mr. Stark! We would've had to wait another 20 minutes for the water to boil and for more to cook. And I'm hungry now! Why is Ms. Potts getting home so late, anyway?"

Wait. She had been getting major son-or-at-least-relative vibes. But the kid called him Mr. Stark? Anyone close to Tony mostly called him by his first name. He wasn't one to insist on formality.

"You're always hungry. What's new? You know where the snacks are. The lasagna has to cook almost an hour anyway, and Pep won't be home until about then anyway. She had a late meeting."

"An hour ? But… but we already cooked everything that's going into it, and it's already hot! Why does it have to be cooked again ?" The kid sounded personally offended.

"Good food takes time, Spiderling. Have a little patience."

Oh. O-oh! Suddenly Nat finally knew where she'd heard that voice before, and knew who this kid was. But how young was he? And what was he doing staying in Tony Stark's guest room and cooking fresh Italian cuisine with the man?

Finally armed with enough information, Natasha decided to test her theory, based on what she'd read about the vigilante's enhanced senses. She cleared her throat quietly. Not loud enough for anyone more than ten feet away to hear.

"Seriously, how did people ever even come up with something that they cooked, and then cooked again? Like toast? Who is the one who-" the kid's tirade suddenly cut out when she made the deliberate noise, and she heard him say something quietly to Tony.

"FRIDAY?"

Nat figured that was her cue. She stepped through the doorway.

"Tony."

"Natasha!" He seemed genuinely shocked to see her, and not very happy. She noticed even before he'd said her name, he had stepped between her and the completely-overpowered teen next to him. She's just gotten a glimpse of wide brown eyes and messy hair. He was a little shorter than Tony, and dressed in what looked like one of the man's MIT sweatshirts.

"Hey. Sorry I messed with FRIDAY. I just had a few questions for you, and I didn't know if you'd see me."

He looked angry now, but still took time for pleasantries. "So… surprising to see you, and with such a bold hair choice," he said, his eyes flicking over her blonde hair, then back to her face. He frowned and turned slightly. "Pete, any chance you'll go in the other room for me, bud?" Then he turned his head back to her. "Did it occur to you to ask to talk to me before you broke in?"

The teen stepped out from behind Tony, glaring nervously at Natasha. "Sorry, that's a 'no chance,' sir," he said firmly. The kid looked like he was more than ready to jump between Nat and Tony at the slightest hint of aggression. Loyalty and protectiveness were both apparent, though he lost some of the intimidation factor with his bare feet and one hand in a cup of ice water because of that burn. Well, she wasn't here to fight.

"I brought you something." She slowly took the bag off her back, not making any threatening movements.

"I know you're mad at us, at all of us. And we know we could have done better with all the Accords nonsense. I agreed with you then, and I still do, Tony. I just suddenly didn't see the airport ending in anything but blood, and I couldn't deal with that." There was no softening in his expression at her explanation.

"We heard you're working on them. We… I appreciate that. Steve does too, believe it or not. He… made this. For you, for your workshop."

She pulled a small canvas out of her bag, and stepped a few feet closer, holding it out. For a minute she didn't know if Tony was going to cross the distance and take it. Natasha held her breath. Finally he moved forward and took it from her before retreating back in front of "Pete" to look at it. It was a beautiful picture of Iron Man in full flight, all reds and golds and silvery clouds. Steve had really outdone himself.

"I know you're not a big art fan, unless it's of you, so…" She smirked, hoping the little jab would land with the spirit it was intended with. Reminding him of their history, of all their inside jokes, of what their relationships used to mean. It had been almost a year since the falling out, and if he wasn't too far gone, she could guess he missed them, too. Of course she hadn't expected to come and find that he'd maybe filled that space already, she thought, with another glance at the disheveled teenager.

"Is this supposed to be an apology?" Tony asked, blank-faced. She couldn't tell what he thought of the painting, but obviously he was still quite upset with the artist.

"It's… a peace offering. Maybe a sign of hope, that someday, things might be better again?"

Tony huffed softly, passing the painting to the boy behind him. (Who couldn't be more than sixteen. Honestly, what was Tony thinking bringing a kid that young to Germany, especially one that he seemed to care about? She knew that they really hadn't expected a fight, but still. She'd had no idea he was that young. Tony hadn't let anyone else see him without his mask that day.)

"What do you want, Romanoff? You didn't go through all that, just to deliver this."

"You're right. I need… I'm hoping you might let me use your resources to check into a few things." He looked extremely skeptical, but as she explained the issue with Red Room they'd thought destroyed, his expression ran the gamut of emotions. Horror, sympathy, fury, anger, resolve.

He gave her the access she asked for, but he watched her like a hawk, and had FRIDAY do the same (Once he'd had the boy remove the virus. Apparently the spider-kid wasn't just good in a battle, which explained more of Tony's continued connection with him.) "Pete" didn't say much, but he listened and watched carefully the whole time Natasha was there. She had no doubt if she tried anything, he'd be right between her and her target, especially if it was Tony. Other than that, he seemed like a truly nice, very bright kid, and she couldn't help but be curious about how he might have fit in with the team if things hadn't fallen apart as they did before he'd shown up.

When she'd gathered what she needed, Tony and Pete saw her out. "Through the door, this time, if you please," Tony had said stiffly.

She had turned to exit when his voice stopped her again. "Nat?" She pivoted slightly to make eye contact.

"After you figure all this out, when you're done, give me a call." She raised her eyebrows. "Maybe we can talk. Maybe."

She nodded her head slowly. "That sounds good. Next time I'll call first."

"I'd appreciate that."

"Nice to meet you, again, Spiderman," she said softly. Both superheroes' eyes blew wide, but she was gone before they had time for more reaction than that. She really hoped they got to have that conversation.