Thank you to everyone who has been keeping up with this story.
Warning: this chapter touches on some of Natasha's backstory so there is some mild reference to abuse of a minor and violence/murder. This occurs when Tony and Natasha
are talking alone until the end of the chapter.
The flight out to Anna Maria Island was largely uneventful and gave Tony chance to check in with his mini comrades whilst Pepper placed a call to the, supposedly dead, former executive head of Shield.
Barton, who was supposed to be keeping Romanoff company whilst she manned the aircraft, was curled up, asleep, on a bench behind Natasha's chair. Tony lifted him gently and deposited him on a small camp bed he found in a storage locker. He made sure Clint was snugly covered by a blanket before continuing his rounds.
He found Thor and Bruce animatedly discussing space matters; Tony decided to leave them to it, not sure his exhaustion could keep up with their wild theories at the moment.
Steve was sitting on a bench opposite the one Tony had removed Clint from. Tony could see that a concerned frown was once again etched onto his young face. He sat next to the small super soldier and patted the young captain on his jean-clad knee.
"Penny for 'em".
Steve offered Tony a small smile, the frown easing slightly from his brow.
"Do you think she's okay?" he asked, his gaze trained pointedly on the chair back that was shielding Natasha from view.
Tony sighed, unsure how to even begin fathoming an answer to that question.
"Your guess is as good as mine, Cap".
"I just wish she'd talk to me", Steve whispered so quietly that Tony almost missed what he had said. Natasha, apparently, had no such difficulties.
"I can hear you, you know", her small voice piped up from the front of the craft. Tony had to stifle a laugh at the blush that spread rapidly over Steve's face.
"Eavesdrop much?" he quipped, defiantly.
Natasha's small face appeared around the side of the chair; her green eyes narrowed in a glare.
"Wanna come over here and say that to my face, Rogers?"
"No ma'am," said the young boy, in a decidedly less bold voice.
Natasha rolled her eyes before returning to her previous occupation, her small face disappearing out of view as she turned to the front of the quinjet.
Tony looked between Steve's sad, puppy dog face and the back of Natasha's chair.
"Something going on here I should know about?" he whispered out of the corner of his mouth, hoping the assassin's highly trained ears were focused elsewhere.
Steve's face was a picture of alarm at Tony's question.
"What? No! I'm worried about my friend, is that alright with you?"
"Easy, boy-o", Tony laughed, "I'm just teasing. It's just," he continued in a slightly louder voice, meaning for Natasha to hear this part, "I'm not sure Barton would appreciate you being so worried about his young lady-friend".
Without warning, a hair-tie flew from over the back of Natasha's chair, hitting Tony squarely between the eyes. Steve guffawed loudly at the shocked look on Tony's face.
Tony was spared any further humiliation by Natasha's announcement that they would shortly be arriving. He left the young captain, still laughing – jeez, it wasn't that funny – to round up the rest of the troupe and prepare for landing.
The beach house, although boasting its own private landing bay, a heated indoor swimming pool, and four large bedrooms, each with an ensuite, was much more modest that his mansion in Malibu, and considerably more subtle than the Avengers Tower.
It was also blissfully private.
The small group were noticeably energised by the change of scenery and were eager, despite their lack of sleep, to head straight for the private beach that fronted the house. Tony was powerless to say no when confronted with their sweet, begging little faces.
The group split to find their respective rooms and change. Tony and Pepper had the master bedroom - again, billpayer here; these schmucks can slum it. Natasha quite happily took herself off to the smallest of the bedrooms, alone. Pepper had also made the wise decision to make sure Thor and Clint were not sharing a room, instead Clint's boundless energy was to be foisted on Steve, in the hopes that his calm demeanour would rub off on the archer – and pigs may fly. Thor and Bruce, on the other hand, would be free to discuss realms, and gravity and whatever else long into the night together. Happy, to his chagrin, was allocated the basement den, which had no ensuite and smelt mildly of seaweed.
The group reconvened a short time later and Tony almost got a stitch laughing at the disgruntled faces of his comrades as Pepper made them line up on their way out so that she could lather them in sun cream. His mirth, however, was short lived as he discovered her overzealous care was not limited to the children.
The boys had all changed into swim shorts of varying colours, and even Bruce, achingly shy and forever in baggy, modest clothes, was eager to ditch his shirt and hit the water. Tony was therefore slightly confused when Natasha entered the sea still covered in a long, blue t-shirt.
"Did you forget to pick up a swimsuit for Red?" he asked Pepper, who was looking sufficiently gorgeous in her own dark blue two-piece.
"No, she has a costume on under the t-shirt," she replied, whilst settling onto a deckchair with a book in hand.
"But-" Tony faltered, unsure how to correctly express his query without sounding like an old pervert, "then why does she still have the t-shirt on?"
Pepper gave him one of those exasperated looks that told Tony, quite clearly, that she thought he was being extremely dense.
"Maybe," she explained, as though talking to a child, "Natasha is not comfortable showing that much skin".
Tony scoffed at the idea, his mind unwittingly flitting back to the spy's days as Natalie Rushman, with her never-ending supply of form-fitting dresses and those faux-model underwear shots that Tony had only thought about once since, okay, maybe twice.
"You know," continued Pepper, "it's really not surprising considering her history".
Tony's ears perked up at this, wondering whether Natasha had actually shared something with Pepper, or if his partner was just surmising. Pepper rolled her eyes at Tony's still apparent cluelessness.
"If you had been trained your whole life to use your body in the ways Natasha has, and you still had to do that as part of your job even after you'd switched to working with the good guys, do you not think you might like, in your day-to-day life, to avoid that?"
Tony thought about it for a moment, his mind now fast-forwarding through the post-Rushman era of his relationship with Natasha, and he was surprised to realise that, other than at the occasional Stark party, Natasha's wardrobe was entirely conservative. Tony shamefully admitted to himself that the image of Natasha he had in his head of a scantily clad seductress was based entirely on his initial encounter with her, when she was merely playing a role. In actual fact, despite her flirtatious teasing of her teammates, and Tony's suspicions about her and Barton (now, also, her and Steve), Tony was unsure if Natasha even had much of a social life outside of her work.
"Besides," Pepper continued over Tony's stunned silence, "I don't think she's overly fond of the scars".
Tony blanched at that; he hadn't even given a thought to the mini Avengers still carrying the battle wounds of their adult counterparts. He knew the serum worked magic on Steve's body, leaving him looking fresh as a daisy not long after a battle, and the Hulk protected Banner from injury, but Thor, Nat and Clint all definitely sported evidence of past skirmishes. The idea of these tiny children being covered in scars sent Tony's stomach reeling. CPS would have a field day.
As Pepper had opened her book, putting an end to the conversation, and as Happy had opted to stay inside and nap, Tony decided to join the kids playing in the water. He stripped down to his red swim shorts, arc reactor glowing proudly from his bare chest, as he raced into the waves.
He scooped up a delighted Clint as he entered the water and chucked him out to sea, as far as he could. Clint's thrilled whoop, before he was swallowed by the water, had all the mini Avengers begging for a turn. Tony was soon regretting his impromptu action as his arms tired of the game long before his comrades did.
After he had finally convinced them that enough was enough, he had to battle his way back to shore, but his progress was hindered somewhat by the actions of his teammates. Whilst Nat and Clint clung to his shoulders, Bruce and Steve thought it was hilarious to wrap themselves around Tony's legs, whilst Thor pulled on his arm, trying to drag him back to the water. Tony was not above admitting that this was the first time his strength had held out against the God of Thunder.
Pepper had abandoned her book to watch Tony struggle back up the beach and her beatific smile was reward enough for his back pain as he dumped the giggling Avengers in a pile at her feet. Their laughter was short lived, however, as the unmistakeable sound of a helicopter invaded their secret paradise. The kids exchanged startled glances before racing back inside, but Tony and Pepper chose a more ambling pace up to the beach house, neither overly eager to greet their visitor.
By the time their guest was finally entering the beach house, the Avengers had all managed to dry themselves and change into more comfortable clothing. Nearly all, including Pepper and Tony, had opted for shorts and T-shirts. Natasha, instead, had chosen dark blue leggings covered in pink and purple flowers, and a plain blue top.
The group assembled in the large living room; the floor-to-ceiling windows offering them a glorious view of the beach outside. The children all managed to squeeze onto the couch, with Steve sitting on the arm, whilst Tony and Pepper opted for the loveseat, leaving the remaining armchair for their visitor.
Tony was surprised to see two people striding into the living room, but his disbelief at Fury telling someone else about their problem was completely overshadowed by his shock at who that someone was.
The silence in the room was deafening as the group stared, speechless, at the man standing unobtrusively beside Nick Fury.
"Looking pretty fly, for a dead guy," Clint's usual spark was missing from his quip, in fact Tony was alarmed to realise that the archer appeared on the brink of tears.
"I can explain," came the reply.
"I doubt that," Natasha, shockingly, was clearly struggling to keep her cool façade up, and the pain and betrayal she was evidently feeling was written all over her young face.
The man before them had the good grace to look ashamed but offered no further words to follow up his claim that he could provide answers.
"Hold up," said Tony, rising from his place beside Pepper to stand next to Steve. "What in the hell is this? How is this even possible?"
"That is a long story, Mr Stark," stated Fury, in his usual no-nonsense tone," a story that we do not have time for right now".
Tony looked to his right, at the confused and disappointed faces of Thor, Steve and Bruce, but it was the distraught look on Natasha's face, and the tears silently escaping Clint's eyes that pushed him to try and get some answers.
"I think we can make time, don't you? Just a few bullet points to bring everyone up to speed should do it." Tony folded his arms, trying his best to emulate Pepper's look of disgruntled expectation that usually had Tony spilling confessions left and right.
Unfortunately, Fury was immune to such tactics.
"I think we should get down to business; Coulson and I have-"
"Coulson and I?" Pepper was now standing behind the sofa, one hand resting lightly against Clint's heaving shoulders. "You think you can just brush this off with 'Coulson and I?"
"Oh, boy," Tony stated, a little gleefully, "You're in for it now."
"Are you seriously going to just stand there and ignore the pain you are clearly putting these kids through?"
"They're not actually ki-"
Pepper was in no mood to allow Fury to finish that thought.
"You think you can just waltz in here with a guy who we thought was dead, who we mourned? And just brush it off as an everyday occurrence. You think this is acceptable? How could you put them through this?" She gestured at Clint, who was no longer even trying to stem the flow of tears, his breath coming in hiccupping gasps.
"Don't worry, Pepper," Natasha said, in a dangerously quiet voice that somehow carried around the whole room. "Nick's an old hand at this; it's his fun little way of weeding out any rotten apples, isn't it, Nick?"
Natasha didn't wait for an answer before she fled the room and, after a few tense seconds, they heard a resounding slam from her bedroom door. Steve made to go after her, but Tony placed a restraining hand on his arm.
"I'll go," he said. Steve hesitated a moment before settling back onto the couch. Pepper, meanwhile, was leading Clint by the hand up the stairs to his own room. Tony left the three remaining Avengers glaring daggers at an unconcerned Nick Fury, and a shamefaced Phil Coulson.
Tony stopped outside Natasha's door, unsure whether it was wise to approach her whilst she was so upset. Despite his showy, playboy persona, Tony had always had a knack for providing comfort in quiet moments for his friends, but Natasha was a whole other kettle of fish. Will she even want me here? Am I just going to aggravate her more?
After a few moments of indecision Tony finally knocked on the door and, when there was no answer, he cautiously pushed it open and peered inside the room. Natasha was curled up on the bed, one arm shielding her face from Tony's view, small shoulders shaking with the effort of smothering the sound of her sobs.
Tony felt his heart breaking as he took in the sight of her, his mind unable to reconcile the image of this broken little girl with that of the fearless, badass woman he was used to seeing battling aliens and kicking mercenaries into next week.
Tony sat cautiously on the bed, Natasha's back to him as he reached out a gentle hand and rested it lightly on her small shoulder. He could feel Natasha making a concerted effort to still her trembling frame; even now she was unwilling to show more vulnerability than she could help.
"Nat," he ventured, only to be met with more silence. "Hey, come on, Red. Talk to me".
It was a few moments before Natasha sat herself up against the pillow, her face was flushed and tear-stained, but she had schooled her features back into her usual unreadable façade. She made no attempt to unburden herself upon Tony, so he decided that he best be the one to make the first move.
"You know, it was a shock for me too. I mean, of all the subterfuge and backhandedness at play when it comes to Nick, this really takes the cake. Can't say I really expected it of Coulson though; I mean the guy seemed to be nice enough; too nice, if you ask me. But, I guess I was mistaken; clearly he's spent too much time in the Nick Fury school of duplicity."
Still Natasha stayed quiet, Tony wasn't even sure if she was actually listening to him. Her face had returned to its usual porcelain hue and her eyes were no longer glassy with tears, her small hands, however, were clenched so tightly that Tony feared she'd be unable to uncurl them.
"Did you know him well? Y'know, before, I mean", he knew the answer to that was evident all over her face, but he just wanted her to talk to him.
"He was my handler," Natasha spoke so softly that Tony almost missed what she said. He had heard the phrase handler bandied about around Shield, but he had never had much need to ponder the semantics of the word before.
Unsure whether to push for more information or allow Natasha to reveal her secrets in her own good time, he decided to chance his arm, and life, and offer Natasha the comfort he felt she needed, even if she couldn't admit it. Tony cautiously placed his arm around Natasha's small shoulders, moving slowly to allow Nat to move away should she wish to. Tony was pleasantly surprised when the small girl didn't budge, in fact she manoeuvred herself so that she was snugly pressed against his side.
"When Clint brought me in," she finally continued, in that same quiet voice, "I was public enemy number one. No one would work with me; half of Shield were calling for me to be arrested, the other half just avoided me at all costs."
She took a deep, steadying breath, seemingly trying to gather her courage to continue; Tony squeezed her shoulders, pulling her gently to lean further into him.
"Nick and Clint fought my corner as best they could; Clint because he saw something in me that no one else did, Nick…well I guess Nick saw something different too. Coulson was already Clint's handler, he'd brought him back from the brink a few times, even helped him set up –"
She brought herself to a sudden stop and Tony sensed she'd been about to reveal something she shouldn't. She shook her head, as though to get rid of whatever secret she'd been about to spill.
"Anyway," she continued," it was eventually decided that Coulson would be my handler too; made sense as Clint and I would be partnered together all of the time anyway. It took a while for us to trust one another but we built up a solid relationship; in the end he became more than a mentor; he was my friend. At least… I thought he was".
Natasha drifted back into her previous silence, her face set in a thoughtful frown.
Tony had many questions for Natasha, but he was unsure how much she would be willing to share with him, and he was worried that she may come to regret being so open with him once her immediate shock had desisted.
"What was it?" he finally asked. "What was it that Clint saw in you?"
If Natasha was surprised at the question, she didn't show it. Her eyes, however had started to fill up again. Whatever Tony had been expecting to come out of the redhead's mouth, it was certainly not what followed.
"I begged him to kill me," she whispered. "I just wanted it to stop."
Tony felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Even hearing that from adult-Natasha's mouth would have been enough to destroy him, but to have it stated in that childish voice, with her tiny frame pressed up against his side was too much.
"Why?" he croaked out, unable to think of anything else to say.
"I was just so…tired," Nat finally turned to face him, and Tony could see it plainly in her green, tear-filled eyes; all the pain and suffering that she had endured, the pain she had made others endure, the guilt and regrets weighing her down, even now.
"How old were you when it started?" He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer, but he found himself unable to stop himself from asking.
"I don't really know. I have no real memories of anything before the Red Room; vague flashes of faces and places, but I don't know if they're real memories or not. I know I was small, maybe this size, possibly smaller. I was the smallest in our group for a long time and the other girls thought I'd be easy enough to pick off, but I was quicker than them, smarter too. Some of those bigger girls didn't get chance to underestimate me a second time."
Natasha recounted her time in the Red Room in an almost robotic voice, like one in a trance, and Tony thinks she may have even forgotten that she was speaking to him.
"Ivan was my handler then, he made sure all the best girls were his to train, and I was his number one. I didn't question his orders, or backchat, I just did what needed to be done. He took me under his wing, focused his attentions on me when he had other girls to look after; they didn't like that. I started not to like it too; some parts of the training were harder to accept than others, but I had to get used to it; I had to survive. That's all it was about, in the end: survival.
I never questioned having to kill old, greedy men who had killed or stolen or trafficked girls like me, I believed it was my moral obligation to rid the world of vermin like that. Sometimes I had to let them put their hands on me, use my body for their own means so I could get information out of them, but they always came off worse in the end. But then…it was different. The killings weren't always men, weren't always even adults, and I couldn't understand what was happening, why we were expected to do these things. It felt wrong, but I couldn't stop; I had to follow orders, I didn't know how to do anything else, how to be anything other than what they made me."
Tony's stomach was in knots listening to Natasha's tale; he had deliberately avoided her file because he knew he would not be able to accept what was in it, and he was right. Hearing Natasha recount the horrors in her life was devastating to Tony, he just wanted to scoop her up and promise her that she would never be subjected to anything like that again, but his mouth way so dry he couldn't get a single word out, and his limbs felt too heavy to move.
"When Clint found me, I was already spiralling; I wanted to break away, but I couldn't see a way out. When he came for me, I fought back, but it was just instinct… I held back, didn't try too hard to beat him, let him overpower me. I saw it as a chance to escape, to be free, and to pay for the things I had done. I pleaded with him, begged him, but he wouldn't budge. He took me back, against direct orders…he brought me home."
Tony eventually found his voice, although it sounded hoarse, even to his own ears.
"And Coulson was a part of that home?"
"Yes," she admitted, "a big part. Clint, for a long time, was everything to me – he was the only person in the world I trusted, but he taught me to trust my own instincts and to let my walls down, at least a little. I managed it with Nick and Phil, but I guess neither of them showed me the same courtesy. How could they both trust me so little, after everything I've done for them, and been through with them?"
Tony didn't know how to answer that, his own previous distrust of the redhead weighing heavy in his heart.
When he failed to respond Natasha told him that she was feeling tired and wanted to get some rest. A quick glance was enough to see that she wasn't lying about that; her eyes looked heavy, and there was a definite slump to her shoulders that was never normally present; I guess re-living your childhood traumas, flying an aircraft, witnessing a resurrection and then having an emotional breakdown all in the same day can really take it out of you.
"I'll let you get some sleep," Tony said, as he made to get up.
He was surprised when a small hand reached out to stop him.
"Would you mind?" Natasha asked; Tony could hear a mixture of fear, pain and need in her small, quiet voice.
Understanding what Natasha was trying to convey, Tony settled himself back onto the bed, reclining fully so that he was lying flat. Natasha, hesitantly, rested her head against his shoulder and cuddled into him, allowing Tony to wrap his arms around her. He tried, without squeezing too hard, to pour all of his admiration, sorrow and love for her into the embrace; despite their rocky start, and the barriers that had lain between them, Tony desperately wanted Nat to know that he cared about her and that she was safe with him.
Tony lay for a long time with Natasha's story going around in his head; his imagination going into overdrive imaging the terrors she had faced. Even when Natasha's breathing had evened out and she had started to fidget in her sleep and Tony's back had started aching he stayed where he was, determined to let her find some comfort in his presence. He eventually drifted off himself, a long time after the sun set; unconcerned, for once, about alien threats, enhanced humans or the fact that Fury and Coulson were still waiting downstairs.