Disclaimer: I do not own Iron Man 2, Thor, or the Avengers, along with the characters, the quotes, and everything else associated with Marvel.
Hundreds gathered outside the mansion, buzzing and humming like angered wasps. Natasha waded through them and pushed the glass doors open. The muted booming inside crashed in waves over her. Her ears rang. Whatever was going on, it hadn't reached the front of the mansion yet.
She stopped one of the bikini girls scampering out. "What's going on?"
"We were all having fun with Tony and everything, then this other guy showed up and told us to get out." The brunette tossed her hair away from her face—were those watermelon chunks matted into the strands?—and resumed, "now they're fighting in there, suits n' everything."
Natasha let her go and pushed on, deeper into the building.
"Hey, come back," Clint said behind her. "This is out of your bounds. Just find the CEO and report this back to Coulson."
"Get out, Clint. Get everyone off the premises. Stark won't play in the backyard forever."
"What about you?"
Just then, Potts and Hogan tumbled out from one of the hallways. The former saw Natasha and stormed.
"Natalie!" She snapped.
"Ms. Potts."
The rumbling and smashing migrated to above their head. They needed to step away now. But Potts continued her accusations, either oblivious or careless to the imminent danger:
"Oh, don't you 'Ms. Potts' me, I'm onto you!" She shook a finger at Natasha. "You know what? Ever since you came here-"
The ceiling collapsed in a downpour of dust and debris. Potts screamed. A flash of red-orange emerged, then a silvery-gray. Mechanical whirs infiltrated the air.
Clint clawed at Natasha's arm, yanking her away. She wrenched his hand off and, while Hogan herded Potts outside, skirted around Stark and Rhodes for the basement stairs.
"Natasha!" He caught up to her.
"If you're coming with me, then shut up," she said. "I need to disable those suits."
The lab security was on critical defense. "This is gonna take long," she muttered, working the keypad.
"I'm going up." Clint ran back the way they came.
Two minutes later he came loping back, pushed Natasha away from her tinkering and dragged her towards the back of the building.
"What do you think you're doing?" She yelled at him.
"Keeping you in one piece!"
A roaring explosion confirmed his answer. Her legs voluntarily moved then, high heels crunching and tripping over broken glass, dented floorboards, knocked-over decor. Sandstorms of white powder from crumbled walls stole a trail of coughs from her. At last fresh air hit her lungs as they emerged at the back of the mansion.
"I was almost done." Natasha said, kicking up the dirt.
"I don't care. You should have listened to me and just called Coulson."
"This is not even your business. You're not even supposed to be here."
"It's none of yours either." Clint went quiet.
She touched her time was it in New York City now? Three in the morning? Four? "Coulson, Stark just blew up his house."
"Care to clear things up for me?"
"He hosted an early birthday party, got into a fight with James Rhodes. Judging from the explosion just now I'm certain his concentration is well into the 90's."
"We? Barton's with you? And why didn't you keep an eye on Stark?"
"Well..."
Coulson sighed. "He's almost gone then? I'll inform Fury, he should be coming tomorrow. Give Stark the emergency meds, just in case."
The front of the mansion gaped naked, exposed, with its wall of glass shattered to shards, glimmering against the floor. The constellations of little round white and blue lights on the ceiling, by some miracle, were still functional, and they blinked and threw down weak beams over the wrecked room, mocking the aftermath of Stark's showdown. Stark himself slumped over in a corner, still encased in his suit. Rhodes was nowhere in sight.
Natasha went over to her car, still parked outside the now-deserted premises, and shook out a little box from her purse. From it she loosened a syringe and vial, and walked back to Stark. "Clint, pull his mask off, please."
He did as she told, eyeing her as she punched the syringe needle into the foil-topped vial and drew the plunger.
Natasha pushed at Stark's jaw to stick the needle in his neck. It was then that a solitary click of shoes against pavement permeated the still night, headed her way. Natasha withdrew the syringe and sneaked it to Clint, who began to veer out of sight.
"Natalie? Is that you?" Came Potts' voice.
Natasha nodded.
Potts kneeled next to Stark, putting a palm to his reddening face. "Tony, you stupid, stupid thing." Then turning to Natasha, "Where's Rhodey?"
"I didn't see him, Ms. Potts."
Stark stirred. The creak of this armor accompanied a loud groan. He squeezed his eyes shut, blinked a few times, and when he registered the faces staring at him, he gave a muttered "to hell with you all," and seconds later Potts jumped back with a yelp. In a blast of orange fire he was gone, nothing but a vague dot in the sky.
Potts watched his glow vanish, her face fixed like a mannequin. "I'm done with you," she said to Natasha. "Go home."
"But I can help with the damage, Ms. Potts. I can-"
"Go home."
Behind Potts, Hogan materialized as if to reinforce her words.
Why bother staying if no one wanted her to? Natasha nodded and headed for her car. Clint was already there, watching her from the backseat as she slipped in, and ducked when Potts looked in their direction.
"Such warm company they are," he said.
"It's my fault." Natasha clipped her seatbelt on.
"No, it's not."
"What do you know?"
Someone knocked on their hotel room's door early the next morning. Fixing her shirt, Natasha opened the door.
"Director, hi."
Fury lumbered in, plopped a briefcase onto the table where Clint sat with a cup of coffee, and sat down himself. "Define 'vacation', Barton."
"Vacation: noun. Time away from work devoted to pleasure and rest."
"Good. Now reflect on that. Romanoff—" Fury beckoned Natasha. "Set up a perimeter around Stark's house while I get him. Here's your equipment." He patted the briefcase. "Barton, go with her, if you're not planning on already. When you're done ask Coulson for my location."
"Coulson's here?" Clint asked.
Fury nodded and got up from his chair. "Start runnin'. I don't have time for playing around." The door slammed and he was gone.
The mansion teemed with S.H.I.E.L.D agents, surveying and assessing last night's damage. A few helicopters perched the grounds. Coulson stood where the front doors used to be, talking into his walkie-talkie and scribbling on a clipboard.
"Where's Potts?" Natasha asked him.
"Stark Enterprises, L.A. You two are doing the perimeter, right?"
It took them an hour to set up the sensors around the grounds and hook them to the systems. When they finished and returned to the rendezvous site, Coulson was still where they'd left them, still mumbling into his walkie-talkie.
"We're done," Clint informed. "Where's Fury?"
Coulson turned on his loudspeaker mode. "Director, I've got Barton and Romanoff ready."
"Give them the helicopter and tell 'em to come party with us at Randy's," came the radio. "The one in Inglewood. Stark's sitting on a giant donut eating his breakfast."
Natasha held back a smirk.
Coulson looked uneasy. "Yes, Director..."
"Oh, and give Romanoff that extra dose of the lith, Stark's gonna need it."
Coulson opened a satchel next to him and tossed a box to Natasha. In it was a syringe and vial like yesterday's.
"SIR. I'M GONNA HAVE TO ASK YOU TO EXIT THE DONUT!" Fury's voice continued to blare.
Once they landed the helicopter on a deserted parking lot, fifteen minutes later, Natasha and Clint walked the half-mile to the donut shop. A giant, plastic donut mounted the roof. Inside the atmosphere was sodden with sugar and grease, and the only customers were two figures to the far end, crouched over a booth. Clint silently took a seat by the door. Leaving him, Natasha walked to the figures.
"We've secured the perimeter, but I don't think we should hold it for much too longer," she said to Fury.
Stark dropped his cup of coffee onto the table and stared at the gun on her hip, before tilting his head down to look at her without his sunglasses.
"Huh." He managed to get out. "You're... fired..."
"That's not up to you." She sat next to Fury.
"Tony, I want you to meet Agent Romanoff."
"Hi," he said listlessly, rubbing his forehead.
"I'm a S.H.I.E.L.D shadow, once we knew you were ill I was tasked to you by Director Fury."
"I suggest you apologize."
Fury cut in. "You've been very busy. Made your girl your CEO, you've given away all your stuff. You let your friend fly away with your suit! Now, if I didn't know better-"
"You don't know better. I didn't give it to him. He took it."
"Whoa whoa whoa. What now? He took it? You're Iron Man and he just... took it? The lil' brother walked in there, kicked your ass, and took your suit. Is that possible?" He turned to Natasha for an answer.
"Well according to Mr. Stark's database security guidelines, there are redundancies to prevent unauthorized usage," she said.
Tony gave in. "What do you want from me?" He asked softly.
"What do we want from you? Nuh uh uh. What do you want from me?" Fury's voice faded away as Natasha got up and over to Clint. She held out her hand, and he gave her the syringe he had prepared. Returning to stand beside Stark, she waited for Fury's signal.
"I have bigger problems than you in the southwest region to deal with." Fury pointed at Stark. "Hit him."
Natasha jabbed the needle into his neck.
Stark made a garbled noise and jumped as the solution went in. "Oh god—are you going to steal my kidney and sell it?" He strained. "Could you please not do anything awful for five seconds?"
Natasha ignored him and slapped his jaw around to look at the black lines crawling on his neck. They cleared as the chemicals took effect.
"What did she just do to me?" Stark asked.
"What did we just do for you," Fury corrected. "That's lithium dioxide, it's gonna take the edge off. We're trying to get you back to work."
"Well give me a couple of boxes and I'll be as right as rain."
"It's not a cure, just abates the symptoms," Natasha said.
"Then the lag is going to be an easy fix," Fury added.
"Trust me, I know, I'm good at this stuff," Stark said. "I've been looking for a suitable replacement for palladium. I've tried every combination, every permutation of every known element."
"Well I'm here to tell you: You haven't tried them all."
"Yeah, right." Stark threw them a disbelieving look.
"Come back to your house with us, we've got something for you."
"Whatever it is it's not gonna work."
"We'll see about that."
Fury herded Stark to the back of the mansion as soon as they returned. They grabbed a couple of chairs and sat down to talk while Natasha disabled the phone lines, internet, and any other means of reaching the outside world.
"Romanoff?" Coulson said from a few feet away from her. Natasha paused her work.
"You'll need to go over to Stark Enterprises later, we still need your cover intact."
"I'll finish up, then."
"Oh—and run by the Director before you go."
Fury didn't have anything else for her. He brought out a heavy-looking safe box for Tony and left another appointment. Natasha was starting her car up when Clint, on guard duty, stuck his head over the roof of the building.
"Nat? Where're you going?"
"Los Angeles. Office job, no big deal."
His scowl dug into the back of her head as she drove off, but he didn't stop her.
Compared to the sunny, cushioned paradise of Stark's mansion, Stark Enterprises was cold and mechanical, its hundreds of employees moving about the halls and rooms with industrious speed. Potts didn't even look twice when Natasha entered her office. She plopped down before her a back-breaking box of letters and asked her to sort them in order by the sender's last name. After that it was photocopies. Uncountable times to the paper shredder. Faxes. Errands up and down the floors. Was this pay-back?
A few endless hours later they took to the nearby staff kitchen and, as its only occupants, sat in silence save the crackle of plastic wrappers and gush of the sink. Natasha eased down a few granola bars with a cup of water while continuing to work on her laptop.
"Natalie?"
"Yes, Ms. Potts?" Natasha looked up.
"Turn off that laptop. I want to talk."
Natasha folded the screen in and clasped her hands on the table.
"I've been... unfair. To say the least." Potts's gaze wandered the room. "It's been a lot to take in. I'm usually not like this, at least to anyone but Tony." She paused. "I'm sorry you had to deal with this mess so early into the job. I wasn't helping, was I?"
What if Potts had known about Stark's condition? What mood would that put her in then? "It's no problem," Natasha said, and bit down on her too-sweet granola bar.
"No no, Natalie, look. Since we're going to work with each other, I want to settle this. I don't want you to shrug it off. This is very important to me.
"I've said some things that I shouldn't have. I guess my expectations were distorted... no one else runs around Tony fishing up his shipwrecks as obsessively as I do..." Potts trailed off.
"That's a huge job you're taking up. He should be thankful."
"Yes, he's very thankful." She rolled her eyes up. "So—we're starting fresh together, ok?"
"Ok." Natasha smiled.
"Enjoy your lunch, I'll be in my office." Potts hoisted herself up and, with a sigh, set her emptied tea mug into the sink. Then, with practiced fluency, she pulled taut the sag in her movements, and when she exited with a formidable click of her heels, her steps no longer dragged.
The rest of the day went by with a surreal lightheartedness.
Around 6 p.m, Stark barged into the elevator just as Natasha was about to close it, on her way to the top floor. His hair spiked in a wind-blown mess, and in his arms he cradled a cardboard box of strawberries. "Hey," he muttered.
"Mr. Stark," Natasha greeted.
The elevator doors closed.
"Have you seen Pepper?"
"She's in her office."
"Does she know you're a, you know—S.H.I.E.L.D spy?"
She gripped her armful of binders harder. "I am not here to spy."
"Uh-huh."
The elevator stopped its ascent. The doors opened. A few employees joined them with a few polite "Mr. Stark"'s. That shut him up.
After she finished work, Natasha helped Hogan pack Potts' bags—they were moving back to Malibu after a cleaning team had repaired the mansion to more or less a habitable level—and brought them up to her office. Slowly turning the door handle, a sliver of conversation seeped from inside.
"Ms. Potts?" Natasha called.
"Hi, come on in."
"Wheel's up in 25 minutes."
"Thank you."
Stark's baffled look followed her as she crossed the room to hand the last of the papers for Potts to sign. He attempted at a joke but received no responses. All around him were stony faces.
"Are you blending in well here, Natalie?" Stark swallowed. "...Here at Stark Enterprises? Your name is Natalie, isn't it?"
His confusion grew as she watched the two women.
"I thought you two didn't get along."
"No, that's not so." Potts said.
"So it's just me you don't care for," he concluded. "No? Nothing?"
"Actually, while you're here, maybe you and Natalie can discuss the matter of the personal belongings."
"Absolutely," Natasha said, and started to collect the forms on the desk. Potts left the room with Happy pulling her suitcase.
"I'm surprised you can keep your mouth shut," Natasha said to Stark as soon as they were alone, banging the stacks of folders into order louder than necessary.
"Boy, you're good," he blabbered. "You are mind-blowingly duplicitous. How do you do it? You... you just tear things up. You're a triple impostor. I've never seen anything like it. Is there anything real about you? Do you even speak Latin?"
"Fallaces sunt rerum species." She sauntered pass him to the door.
"Which means? What did you just say?" Stark looked offended.
"It means you can either drive yourself home, or I can have you collected," she snapped, slamming the door closed. No point in talking literature with him.