Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or the world of the Avengers. They are owned by Marvel, so all credit for these awesome heroes goes to them.
There will be one more chapter of this story!
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Practice with Natasha was different. She was human, but trained to a level that made her incredibly dangerous. Tony was simultaneously challenged and petrified when they sparred. A dead mask slid over her features when she fell into a fighting rhythm, and Tony always thought there was a slight chance that she would rip out his throat on sheer reflex. That being said, if he kept an engaging conversation going with her during the sparring, she never seemed to go to the dark, scary place.
This morning, Natasha wore black spandex shorts and a white tank top over a neon yellow sports bra. She didn't usually go for bright colors, so Tony would wager that she had reached the bottom of her drawer. It was probably laundry day. She padded quietly over the soft mat, barefoot and light on her feet. Tony had the honor of walking in just in time to see her slam Steve face-first onto the mat with a particularly graceful—and deadly—move. The good-natured Super Soldier had slapped his palm on the mat twice in defeat, smiling ruefully and rubbing a red spot on his face. If it wasn't for the serum, Cap would've had a shiner blossoming. As it was, he had moved over to the treadmill and was happily jogging at speeds that Tony would only attempt if he was being chased by a hungry bear.
"Hey, Stark," Natasha said. "You up for some practice, or did you just come down here to gawk?"
Tony narrowed his eyes and started to strap on his wrist braces. "Oh I'm sorry that I got a little distracted by Mister I-Can-Run-Faster-Than-Most-Cars over there."
"I can hear you, Stark," Steve called, obviously laughing.
Damn Super Soldier hearing, Tony thought. The bastard wasn't even breathing hard.
"Get back to your run, cupcake," Tony shouted back. He didn't even have to look to know that Steve was blushing. It was too easy to tease him with his delicate, old-fashioned sensibilities.
Tony bared his teeth at Natasha in a ferocious grin. "Hit me with your best shot, Widow."
He backpedaled immediately when he saw her left eyebrow raise. "By which I mean, let's play-fight. Please don't kill me."
Natasha's lips twitched up in a small smile. She obviously knew how to intimidate this group of men, but she was also growing fond of them.
Tony stripped off his sneakers, joining Natasha in bare feet.
"So, Tahsa," he asked in a deliberately irritating voice, "How has your morning been?"
She rolled her eyes at his behavior, smirking. "You're so predictable, Stark. Other than kicking Cap's ass, it's been pretty boring. Come on, I'll try not to hurt you."
She threw her fist at Tony's face, which ended up being a feint, and kicked him in the stomach. Her blows were light as she gave him time to warm up, but the breath still whooshed from his lungs.
Tony coughed harshly and worked to replenish his air.
"Can you just," he winced and gestured vaguely to his chest, "be careful—of…you know."
Realization dawned briefly on her features and she nodded brusquely. "Of course."
The reactor casing held the engineering marvel that kept him alive, but it also shared space with delicate skin and tissue. While his burns from Thor's enthusiastic hug had faded, he had been bruised around the casing because of sparring before. The aching pain brought back memories, and with the memories came nightmares. Natasha may not have had all of the information, but Tony could read on her face that she understood the point. He felt a wash of gratefulness for his teammates. Sometimes living with a group of similarly damaged people with dark, dangerous pasts really paid off.
Tony dove at her, hoping to catch her off guard. He barely had time to blink when she grabbed his wrist, rolled against his back, and pulled his arm up and behind him. When his breath caught, she let go and backed up a few steps.
"Okay, so how would I avoid something embarrassing like that happening in a fight?"
She smiled at him, pleased that he was willing to ask for instruction. "It's pretty simple," she said, moving forward to coach him on a new technique.
It went on like that for thirty-five minutes. Natasha would show him up, Tony would realize how many ways she could kill him, and she would teach him how to extract himself from certain holds.
Most of his team probably thought that Tony was training to be better in a fight—and that was true, to an extent. But when he was clad in his Iron Man armor, blasting through enemies and soaring high above the battle, he was using his strengths. Being an engineering genius was a lot like being a world-class chef—no matter how good you were or how inspired, you still had to throw the pieces together and create the finished product. The Iron Man suit was Tony's Croquembouche, his Crème Brûlée, his Coq au Vin. Perhaps others would master the technology eventually, and some truly intelligent scientists understood his work, but Tony was a master—the master. He could create anything, given the time.
It's possible that he had a God complex.
When Tony was in his suit, he stood as an equal amongst this talented band of misfits. When he took on Natasha, Clint, Thor, or Steve without the suit, he felt naked. The frustration bubbled up because he had left his advantage in the lab while they brought theirs to the mat. Maybe it was conceited of him, but he wanted them to know how that felt.
Focused on his thoughts, Tony snapped out of his reverie when his quick strike at Natasha's face hit nothing but air. She leaned back matrix style, placed her hands on the mat, kicked herself over, and dropped down to sweep his legs out from under him.
How the effin' hell did she just bend like that?
Tony landed with a grunt, both hands out in front of him to break the fall. He cursed loudly when his left hand took most of his weight, a sharp pain shooting up his arm from his hand.
"Ouch, ouch ouch, owie, owie, owie," Tony whined, caught between wanting to shake his hand and never wanting to move it again. A sickening pain shot up his arm from the place his pinkie joined his hand. It was already starting to swell, and Tony was beginning to suspect that there was some kind of fracture, at the very least.
Natasha rolled her eyes and reached out for his injured hand, roughly turning it palm-up. Tony yelped in surprise and pain, going up on his toes to keep the pain from traveling any farther up his arm.
"Don't be a baby, Stark," She said. "Let me look at it."
"You said you wouldn't hurt me," Tony grouched, blinking against automatic tears as she moved his hand.
"I said that I would try not to hurt you, which is a different thing." She said, focused on his finger. "You really need to get better at remembering when you are and aren't covered in metal. You break really easily when you're not in the suit."
That's what keeps me up at night.
"Look, Tony," she said, using his first name as a sign of subtle apology. "My guess is that you may have a fracture. I'm not noticing any sign of displacement, but an x-ray will show us whether you need anything other than a brace for a few weeks."
"A brace?" Tony crossed his uninjured arm across his chest angrily, realizing that he probably wasn't achieving the intimidating stance he had hoped for. "I use this hand for lots of thing—holding drinks, inventing mind-blowing technological wonders—"
She cut him off with a snort. "The world will keep turning for a few weeks while you let that recover. Besides, you have your other hand."
Tony let out a deep, bothered sigh. "JARVIS, will you please scan my injury?"
He held out his arm for a few seconds—more than enough time for the AI to process a full scan—and glanced at Natasha's impressed expression.
"I get hurt practically every time I'm down here," He said. "I went ahead and installed the tech that would allow JARVIS to be my doctor."
"Sir," the AI said, "Ms. Romanoff was correct in her assessment. There is a hairline fracture with no displacement of the bone. Would you like me to have the bots construct a brace using your measurements?"
"Sure," Tony sighed. He cradled his injured hand close to his chest and padded over to the small freezer he had ordered for the Training Room. Inside, dozens of ice bags were waiting for such an occasion.
He pulled one out, roughly shoving it on his hand. He regretted this instantly, closing his eyes for a moment as the pain swelled and then ebbed.
Stop making things worse just because you're frustrated, he thought. So what, you're hurt again. That happens all the time. You've got stuff to do in the lab, anyways.
"I appreciate the practice, Nat," Tony said, turning back to his sparring partner. She was sipping water from a reusable bottle and set it down to re-tie her hair into a pony tail. She flipped her hair over, hair tie on her left wrist, and started to gather her hair in quick, practiced motions.
"No problem, Stark," she said, her voice a little muffled from her upside-down position. "You go rest that up like a good boy, and maybe I'll bring you some fresh coffee later."
Tony turned and headed to the elevator, clutching the ice to his throbbing finger. His house-mates may not be good for his health, but they were good for his heart.
