"It's not powered enough to be lethal, but it's not gonna tickle as well," Tony smirks at Steve, who understandably is looking more and more upset as the second passes. Tony's mouth dries up a little. That will be his famous last words, already he feels it in his fingers and toes. "Steve, I beg you. Fifteen minutes. This is life and death we're talking about –"

"You're not really her, are you? What have you done to Natasha? How are you able to control the armour?" See? He told her Steve would've figured this out on his own given enough time. Then, Steve moves – a blur, too fast – and the next thing he knows, Steve's pinning Natasha to the tank. He snarls in her face, "Where's Tony? I'm not gonna ask twice."

"Steve! Christ, are you nuts – whoa –" Suddenly, he has a gun trained at his face. Steve has somehow pulled out the sidearm that Natasha carries around her waist – must be hers, because he never does, and who needs guns when he has a collapsible Iron Man gauntlet disguised as his watch? "Don't shoot!" He glances at Natasha, who's starting to make wheezing sounds as Steve clenches down on her pipes. This isn't funny anymore. "The truth, yeah? I'm Tony. In Nat's body. She's in mine. So, that," he bends the index finger of his gauntlet, "is really her."

Steve's eyes narrowed, and seems to give himself a split second to see if that admission makes the slightest of sense… then, he uncocks the safety on his gun.

"Whoa! No, no – wait, Steve – you, uh, December twenty-fifth, six years ago or something, you were out fondueing with Agent Thirteen, and I uh, against my better judgement brought up her relationship with Peggy, so you exchanged all the sugar in the kitchen for salt."

Please let that work, this is such a stupid way to die.

Steve lowers his hand, and Tony feels like he just lost ten years of his lifespan. "Thank you."

"For the record, that sugar to salt prank was Clint's. And that was a low blow, Tony."

He nods furiously. "Right-o, Cap."

"… Dying here?" Natasha scratches weakly over Steve's knuckles.

"Jesus Christ, Nat, I'm so sorry –"

She drops like an anchor the moment Steve peels back from her, and he catches her around her midriff above Tony's roar, "Watch the damn machine!" She coughs wetly as Steve does his usual thing, hovering, but not quite touching. Obviously concerned, but not saying a thing. Tony shakes his head and starts punching numbers in sequence on his control panel. "I'm getting diabetes just watching you people. It's a bit creepy, because that's my body you're ogling, Steve."

"Sorry."

"Eh, I take compliments of all kinds. Doing all right there, Nat?"

"… Peachy."

With the flat side of his fist, he slams on a big, red button, and the whole room whirs to life. Natasha crawls away from the tank she's leaning against as it too rumbles into action. Weird lights bathe their vicinity in psychedelic shades, and Steve frowns at the ceiling. "You sure this is gonna work?"

"Well," Tony shouts from where he's from, "remind me to never let you watch 'The Fly'. There's enough knots in your panties as it is." The pressure gauges look good, pipes are all cleared, so are the other three-hundred-and-sixty-one modular components affixed to the setup that are still miraculously intact. Not jinxing it! "Steve, stand back!" He makes sure the shield is still firmly attached to the cables connecting the first tank to the second. "Get back! If this doesn't work, I don't want to add you into the mixture and make this a three-way switcheroo, you hear?"

"I can help!" Steve shouts back. It's like a cyclone is building up in the space. "Tell me what to do!"

"… Get on your knees and pray!"

Tony nods once at Nat, and she pulls herself up into the tank. He shuffles over to the opposite corner of the lab, and steps into his own. Steve looks like he's soiled his pants. And all he can think of as the machine counts down to activation is how he could rock a woman's form and still be Tony Stark. How would he explain this… body swap to the world? Is he going to assume his Stark persona with a minor cosmetic dissonance, and hope his board of director won't sweat it the next time he walks in wearing pumps and lipstick? He'll have to recalibrate all his Iron Man – Woman? – suits and armoury to suit his petite physique. And what the heck is he going to do with Pepper, now that they both belong on the same team?

Then, everything quiets down, and he dares to open his eyes. It's too dark in the chamber to make sense of anything, and there's a huge lump in his throat that makes breathing and speaking difficult. He fumbles around for the catch and pulls, and the door swings open and he spills out of the chamber –

"Hey," a pair of strong arms catch him by his shoulders. He looks up, and sees Steve's blue eyes bore into his. "… Nat?"

He groans, and doesn't sound like he's on helium anymore. "Whoa."

"Tony?"

"Yeah – ow!" Did Steve just "Tsk" him and manhandle him to someplace presumably safer, and take off to the other corner of the lab? That's rude, Cap. Rude. And he's all bruised and sullied and cranky –

Steve and Natasha sure are mighty quiet after everything that has just happened. Not even a dreary "Yay"? No? Nothing? Tony steals a quick look at their corner, and sees Steve's back hunched over her – whom he's cradling in his lap – their faces awfully close to each other's.

Well, that kind of celebration is fine too, he guesses.

And just to make sure the entire procedure went swimmingly, he sticks a hand between his thighs and gropes.

"… Yay," he sighs, and leans back against the control panel to catch his breath.

Saturday morning in the Tower is usually quiet because everybody will be out to carpe the diem, to pursue their own whatever in their own time. Tony divides his equally between Malibu and Manhattan lately, but today he's dedicated the rest of the weekend on damage control and clean-up duties, because his lab looks like it just got out of a blender. But first, more coffee!

He brisk walks into the kitchen area and hears low voices talking. Not one for eavesdropping, he approaches the entryway on tiptoes and tries not to walk in like it was an avant-garde fashion runway. There's only two Avengers occupying the kitchen island, each having cereal bowls in front of them. Steve looks up from his breakfast first, and acknowledges Tony with an easy smile, while obviously still speaking to Natasha, rapt with attention right next to him. Tony wrinkles his nose a bit and ignores them, and goes to his corner of the kitchen counter which is mercifully, also the closest to where he is standing. And surprise, surprise, there's a full pot of freshly brewed Arabica, and all his mugs have been washed, dried, and neatly stacked with the ears facing out at forty-five degrees to the right. He turns back to the lovebirds and sees the edge of Natasha's lips curving upwards. Her green eyes flit to Tony as she listens on to Steve talking, and her smirk grows.

He decides to have his coffee black because the beans have no doubt been marinated enough in oozing sweetness after all the time Steve and Nat sat in the kitchen. Leaving them to their own mischief, he next wonders if Steve would allow him to re-programme House Party Protocol to help with the spring cleaning.