Natasha POV:
The Black Widow doesn't so much walk as *slide* into the bar.
She's hardly invisible, but her movements don't attract attention, don't draw the eye, carefully blend into the background noise of the joint.
It's just professionalism, habit really. She's not here to cause trouble, or be remembered, so she automatically does her best to make sure that she isn't.
There's a few staff on duty behind the bar, but she focusses on the one she's interested in, a bald man, with muscle running to fat.
"Hey," she says, pitching her voice towards him, adding just enough of a crack to ensure it gets his attention.
He scowls and then really looks in her direction for the first time since she entered the bar.
The Black Widow can't help finding it a little... satisfying to see him pale a little when he recognises her.
They had such a *fun* time during their first meeting. It's good to see that she left an impression.
"What can I do for you?" he asks, his usual tough guy person mixing with a clear desire not to be impolite.
Good boy.
She hands him a card wrapped in a hundred dollar bill. "Tell Johnny that the Black Widow has a proposition for him, will you? You'll find my number on the card."
He nods. Twice.
"Thank you," she tells him sweetly, and leaves the bar.
(This time there are maybe a few more eyes on her, drawn by the barman's reaction, but that's okay.)
(Drawing a certain level of attention is well within mission parameters.)
(But making sure that no one thinks she's gone soft?)
(That's key.)
The expected call comes a few hours later.
(Natasha has spent that time mentally going over her old persona, making sure that there are no cracks, no flaws, that she remembers everything.)
(It's the Black Widow, the thing she should be able to be even without thinking.)
(But in light of recent events...)
(Better safe than sorry.)
((And maybe, just maybe, I've been feeling the absolutely unnecessary urge to check Romanoff's phone far more than necessary.))
((Not that anyone from SHIELD would contact me that way.))
((But Pepper might, and it's a thought that seems to have burrowed its way into me and won't let go.))
(The phone rings, everything shuts down. Nothing is left except the Black Widow, and Natasha, watching.)
"Yes?" she says crisply into the phone.
"This the Widow?" asks Johnny's voice.
"What do you think?"
"I hear you have something you want to say to me."
"In person."
"I'm a busy man nowadays. This gonna be worth my while?"
"You'll want to meet me as quickly as you can."
"Huh," he says. "Okay. Meet me in the backroom of The Night's Kiss tonight at 10. That quick enough for you?"
"It'll have to do," she tells him, and hangs up.
The club is heaving, providing great cover for an insertion.
Of course, it could easily turn messy if things go wrong, but that really isn't on the menu of tonight's planned activities.
She recognises the men on the door to the private room.
Apparently as Johnny has risen in the world, so have his favoured goons.
The Black Widow smiles coldly at the one on the left, Mac, who shifts in turn, reaching for his gun, but doesn't actually draw it.
(It's a good sign, Natasha can't help thinking.)
(If Johnny is actually planning anything, Mac at least would be far more jumpy.)
She opens the door to reveal a smoky room with four people in.
Johnny and his right hand man, Kyle, are sitting down on a plush looking sofa.
Two more men are doing their best to loom against one wall.
They all look like victims.
But victims with a use. Currently.
"Black Widow," Johnny says. "How're you doing?"
"Fine."
He gestures around the room. "Told you I'd moved up in the world."
It's true, as far as it goes. The floor is clean, the seats don't look tacky to the touch and the drinks he's got look like they're worth ten times more than the swill she remembers him drinking.
The only thing remotely relevant is that she might be able to deal with him directly, rather than using him to snag the attention further up the food chain.
"Impressive," she says dryly.
"So, you have a proposition for me."
"If you can handle it."
"Lay it on me."
"I've come across the location of where the government is storing all those weapons from the invasion they've been seizing."
Technically, it's where SHIELD is storing them, but Johnny doesn't need to be lectured on the difference.
He leans forwards a little. "Yeah? What good's that to me?"
"I can secure them. But I'm going to need transport for the goods and someone who can sell them on." She gives him a chill little smile. "You know someone who can do that, Johnny?"
He sits back, brow wrinkled in thought. "That's a lot to lay on a guy all at once. I'm gonna have to check the angles and get back to you."
"It's a time limited offer. You've got a day before I find someone else."
He looks at her, assessing, before asking what's probably the most important question to him. "What's your slice of this going to be? Percentage or straight?"
"I'm not planning on sticking around. I want two million, on receipt."
His eyes widen. "Two million? Where am I going to get that kind of cash in a few days?"
She shrugs. "Not my problem. There were about two hundred weapons seized. Not a monopoly, but close. If you can't make more than ten times that, maybe I should go and find someone else right now."
"There's going to be serious heat from this," he argues.
"The city's a wreck at the moment. Everyone's busy. And, again, if you don't think you can handle this..."
"Alright, alright," he says. "Let me think about this. I'll get back to you."
"Remember, Johnny. One day." Black Widow gives him a cold smile, then turns and walks out of there.
No one follows her.
Apparently none of Johnny's crew is quite that stupid.
Good.
The lesson she inflicted upon him when they first worked together obviously stuck.
There's a message waiting for her when she gets back to her temporary accommodation.
It's from Pepper.
She wants to meet up and talk.
Black Widow disappears upon reading the message, leaving Romanoff behind.
((And a slightly ill feeling, like I've being swimming in shit.))
((Which isn't entirely inappropriate.))
(The flux that Pepper's message causes gives Natasha a slight headache.)
(Black Widow was retired, true.)
(But that doesn't mean that she can't be useful, still, from time to time.)
(Under carefully controlled circumstances.)
(Natasha is ice, perfect, untouchable.)
(Black Widow isn't.)
(It's part of the Black Widow persona to *enjoy* the things she does.)
(Did.)
(Does no longer.)
(Unless it becomes necessary.)
((And I can't help feeling a little ill all over again at Natasha's thought.))
(Fine.)
(It appears that there's no avoiding Pepper.)
(She needs to get this out of her system, tonight.)
(Because she's not going to be able to afford distractions tomorrow.)
And Romanoff replies, texting that she'll be over as quickly as she can.
Pepper POV:
For a moment, all he can do is stare at me.
"Could you repeat that?" he finally asks me. "Because I'm fairly sure that I got that wrong."
Well, that went down slightly better than I expected, I guess. He did at least acknowledge that I'd said *something*.
"I think we need to break up," I repeat.
"That's what I thought you said," he says, looking past me and into the distance for a second.
For a moment he looks *so* vulnerable and *so* hurt that I almost take my words back.
But I can't.
"No," he says, jumping up onto his feet. "You can't mean that. We were working so well together! We had *chemistry*, Pep! You can't deny the chemistry."
Even dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, grease inexplicably smeared across one side of his face, he's still stunning, magnetic.
And he's certainly oh-so-good in bed.
If all I wanted to do was sleep with him, I probably wouldn't be breaking up with him.
But I'm at a point in my life where I want more, where I deserve more.
Natasha's shockingly vulnerable eyes flash in front of me briefly, but I can't go there, can't let myself even think about that yet.
Quite apart from anything else, simply a desire to help someone does not a relationship make.
Especially when I have no idea who she'll be afterwards.
I doubt she does either.
I sigh. "The chemistry is not the problem, Tony."
"Then what is it? We can fix it, whatever it is."
And the thing is, I'm fairly sure that he means it at the moment.
He always means well, when he thinks about it.
I just...
I just need more constancy in my life.
I need someone I can trust, as well as be trusted by, in addition to all the other complications, like being good with my insane schedule and need to fly out to various parts of the world at a moment's notice.
"I can't ask you to change," I say softly.
I'm not sure I believe you can, I don't say.
For a moment, he looks shattered, but then just determined. "I can change, Pep. Sometimes, I think all I've done for the last few years is change. Stop making weapons? Done. Start working for the greater good? Likewise. Become more than a spoiled brat? Even Captain America admits that I'm a hero. I can change, Pep. I can."
He's so earnest, it's hard not to believe him, even against my better judgement.
"You shut me out, Tony. You've always shut me out. And when I was just your PA, that was fine." No matter how much it made me worry, no matter how it emphasised what our relationship really was. "But I can't be in a relationship where my partner keeps me out of the major things in their life."
"Is this about being poisoned by my implant? Because I thought you said that I'd done enough grovelling for that. And we weren't even going out then."
"It's a good example of what I'm talking about, but, no, I wasn't talking about that. It's-"
"Was it about the time that I disappeared for a few days?" he interrupts, another less than endearing habit of his. "I thought you agreed that case of industrial espionage had been a top priority."
"I'm not sure why you couldn't tell me about that you weren't going to turn up to the presentation to the board ahead of time," I say a little heatedly. I may have been more resigned than angry at the time, but apparently I had minded more than I had thought. "And-"
"Plausible deniability," he cuts in again. "If you honestly didn't know what was up, no one else would think there was anything strange about me blowing it off."
I can only stare at him furiously in response, waiting for him to finish. His manic need to try to analyse and fix everything, usually one of his foibles that I regard with fond resignation, is really beginning to get to me.
"If you're trying to remind me of the other problems in our relationship," I tell him after he's ground to a halt. "You're doing a remarkable job of showing me that you really don't give a damn about what I have to say. And, while, yes, starting a one man investigation into the problem was one way to fix it, if you'd involved me, we could have found another way to accomplish the same goal. One that didn't involve making my life harder with the board, and also didn't involve almost a million dollars worth of property damage when you decided to take them in."
"Using Iron Man gave the company a lot of good press."
"Not *every* problem has to be solved by the over application of technology," I retort, take a breath and then continue in a softer tone. "And even this isn't the real problem, the thing that made me want to call this off. You took on an alien invasion, Tony. Just yourself and a few others. You could have easily died, and you didn't even give me a chance to say goodbye." I see him start to wave off the possibility, and my voice hardens again. "You almost did die, and don't lie to me about it. You took control of a nuke, and saved everyone in New York. That makes you a hero. But, though you had time to talk to your friends, when you phoned me, you didn't even say anything." I can't meet his gaze any longer, and let it drop down a little. "I can handle a lot of things, Tony. But I can't handle this, being kept out of the loop."
"Oh," says Tony, sounding small and hurt. "Oh. It's hard for to let anyone in, Pepper. You know that. I mean, you've managed to get past more of my shields than pretty much anyone else. And I'll try to get you the rest of the way in, Pep, but it's hard." He smiles, a little bitterly. "I've always been a bit of an emotional fuckup, haven't I? I just need time to get my shit in order. You can give me time, can't you, Pep?"
I feel like I'm being pulled apart at the seams, like Tony's pulling on the part of me that's been there for him for years, that's helped him out of countless messes, that loved him hopelessly far before I ever let myself admit it.
It'd be so easy to just give in, to just ignore the problems we've been having and let him have his time.
But I can't.
I just can't.
And so I shake my head numbly instead.
"Look," he says, and he's still using that quiet, almost uncertain voice that is *so* not Tony. "We've still got some functions that we're supposed to attend together in the next week or two." He gives me an almost impish smile. "I'm fairly certain the person who masterminds the Stark publicity machine wouldn't be at all pleased if we publically announced our breakup before those at least."
I can't help shooting him a look. He's right, of course - as his PA I'd be most displeased if he ever broke a prearranged evening out with someone.
But that doesn't make it any easier to swallow that Tony, of all people is trying to use propriety against me.
"Just give me until the last of them before finalising breaking up with me, okay? It isn't like we wouldn't be spending much of the time together anyway."
There's an art to managing Tony, an art I've had to master over the long years of working for him.
It doesn't *matter* to him how inappropriate it is to use my job against me in this fashion.
If I refuse him, he'll just find some even more awkward way of getting what he wants, where I can't easily refuse him.
And, god damn it, he's looking at me with that hopeful boyish expression of his, that makes it really hard to turn him down.
All in all, I sigh to myself, I know that it's far better to work with him and try and guide what kind of trouble he gets me into, then let him come up with it all by himself.
"Okay," I say. "You've got until then."
He grins at me, and leans forward to kiss me.
"Uh-uh," I say, stepping backwards. "You've yet to earn that privilege back, mister."
He pouts. "But people will be expecting it."
"Then I might allow 'people' to see some kisses. In public. *This*, however, is not public."
The pout deepens, theatrically.
"Anyway," I say, before he can try anything else. "I've still got a million things to organise. So I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"
"In San Diego," he confirms in a kind of automatic why-is-Pepper-making-me-do-this glumness. Then he grins at me, even if I can see the fractures in it. "Prepare to be amazed."
"I look forward to it," I say to him sceptically. And then I follow that train of thought Tony-style and quickly add, "Overdoing things does not gain you any extra points. And definitely no big displays."
From his expression, I interpreted him correctly.
I leave quickly, before I can get sucked in any further, but the elevator down gives me plenty of time to think.
I've prided myself on being the girl who can handle Tony for... far too long.
It's what I've known for.
To a depressing extent, it's how I think of myself.
Because it's the one unique thing no one else has ever been able to do.
But this, this break up.
It's going to affect things.
And I'm not sure I'll be able to keep him on the rails, especially if I don't want to be sucked back into a relationship with him.
Because he's not going to leave things.
He's *Tony*, for better, for worse.
I know this like I know the back of my hand.
The only problem is, the only option that I can think of is making a break of it in more ways than one.
But if I'm not the girl who handles Tony, who am I?
Luckily, around that point, the elevator pings and I'm in the lobby.
I wave goodbye to Kevin, then I bury myself in my phone and laptop on the way to my next meeting.
If there's one good thing about this job, it's that if you really don't want to think about something, it sure gives you a lot of distractions.
I surface again around 10 at night, when I finally finish knocking some heads together on the west coast.
I stretch, and realise, as I decompress from work mode, that I haven't heard from Natasha all day.
I hope that she's, well, as alright as she's going to get.
I need to check on her.
And, after the day I've had, I'd just like to unwind in her presence.
Assuming she hasn't got something more important to do, of course.
Or that she just doesn't want to see me for a while.
I text her, asking if she'd like to come over.
There's no immediate answer, so I put the phone to one side, and work on getting ahead of my schedule for tomorrow.
Until she responds, or it hits midnight. Whichever comes first.