Chapter 14

"What are you doing?" Natasha's voice crept up behind him, scaring him so badly that he jumped.

"Nothing," Tony replied. That wasn't a lie, was it? He was just standing there in the kitchen, doing absolutely nothing.

"What's wrong?" her eyes searched him from head to toe, for any sign of uneasiness.

He couldn't lie to her. If he did, she'd see right through it. He had to tell her, she could help him, right?

"Natasha-... I-" Tony began, and he was going to tell her. He was going to say everything. The words were forming on his lips.

Steve, Thor, and Clint appeared from the training room, sweat dripping down Steve and Clint's shirts.

The asgardian, on the other hand, looked as if he could do it all night.

"What's going on?" Clint used Russian sign language to speak to Natasha. Something they had picked up somewhere along their long, twisted path.

"Later," she signed back, turning to Tony, who had joined Thor in a discussion about the inventor of Poptarts.

"Now," she passed by Tony, whispered the word fiercely in his ear, and disappeared up the roof access door.

Clint knew what she said. He had suspicions anyway.

Suspicions that were confirmed when Tony escaped the group moments later, with a lousy excuse that he wanted to check on the roof's plants.

The roof didn't have plants.

"What's wrong?" Natasha asked again, in the emptiness of the night-air and the sounds of New York far below them.

"I've tried to lie to you so many times," Tony said instead, moving to the railing.

"You had your reasons," Natasha said easily, moving beside him, "Sometimes not so good ones."

"Natasha, you've saved me so many times, I can't ask you to keep doing it," Tony said, a serious glare sent her way.

"I've never asked for permission, not even when Fury made me shoot you with that sciencey stuff," Natasha smiled at the memory, then her face hardened, wondering whether this situation was anything like that one.

"Lithium Dioxide," Tony smiled too, not at the memory of dying, but at the fact that science was the one subject that he was better than Natasha in.

"You're scaring me," Natasha looked at him, not caring about the way her hair was being blown across her face, only wanting the information that Tony was withholding.

"You're not alone," Tony said matter-of-factly.

Then he continued, "I would start by telling you about him, but you've probably read every profile of every human on the planet already," Tony quipped.

"Who?" Natasha pressed.

"Obidiah Staine."

Natasha's face froze.

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