Chapter 20

"Sir, there is a Phillips head on your screwdriver," Jarvis noted, sounding like he was explaining something to a child.

"Yeah, so?" Tony asked.

"You've got a hex head screw in your hand."

"Oh. Yeah."

"Maybe you should take a break, Sir. Your concentration level is dropping."

"You better watch concentrating on your calculations, I'm still noticing a small 0.3-degree deviation. The angle is wrong," Tony said, looking around for the appropriate attachment. "Dum-E, I need a hexagonal head."

Of course, Tony felt his concentration diminishing - namely with each additional glass of whiskey. He just needed it right now. He needed to distract himself after what Romanoff had said.

"Dum-E, hurry up!"

Dum-E approached and immediately dropped a whole assortment of hexagonal attachments on the table next to him.

"Uh, thanks..."

Tony attached the small screw to his Iron Man suit in front of him, then put a second one on.

"Not there, Sir," Jarvis reprimanded him again. "Into the notch 12.328cm further down."

Grumbling quietly, Tony corrected the position. Then he put the screwdriver down and stretched. There really was no point. Jarvis must be thinking he was an incompetent intern.

"All right, we'll call it a day. Save the data, I'll look at it again tomorrow."

"What, you want to quit already?" Jarvis asked with a sarcastic undertone.

"Don't push it," Tony replied, glancing at his watch.

It was after 10 p.m.; Pepper was surely long gone by now. She hadn't said goodbye, he noted. She was probably mad because he had turned to the whiskey bottle. It was still none of her business, Tony thought defiantly, yet with a guilty conscience.

Clearly drunk, he left the workshop and went upstairs into the living room. There he grabbed a clean glass and poured himself another whiskey. It felt so good to let himself fall into this again. Into the comforting drunkenness. When Tony turned to his couch, suddenly Romanoff was standing just a few feet away from him which made him wince for a second.

"Very thirsty today, huh?" she said dismissively.

Tony simply growled a sound of agreement and took a generous gulp. He rolled his eyes inwardly. Why weren't they just leaving him alone?

"So I wasn't so wrong with my guess, was I?" she said with her arms crossed.

"I don't think you're in a position to judge anything here, Romanoff. You don't know me."

"Maybe better than you'd like."

"If you say so." Tony tried to sound indifferent but realized the anger boiling up inside him again.

"Your sweetheart Pepper Potts may let you get away with anything and dutifully mops up the shit behind you, while you don't even seem to care. I for one stand by what I said. You're not ready for any kind of mission."

"Then just get out of my way..."

Tony walked past her, but Romanoff briefly grabbed his upper arm, possibly to give expression to her following words. "I'd like nothing better than that. However, concerning the Ten Rings -"

But what was concerning the Ten Rings was covered by a buzzing in Tony's ears. He looked down at his arm, where Romanoff's hand was still touching him, and felt a violent surge of disgust and horror. Suddenly, everything went dark again. Romanoff's outline became more indistinct. Tony could see her talking, but he could not hear her. It was happening again. Tony felt that his hair was wet, also his face and chest. He felt the pain on his shoulders where they grabbed him. Romanoff in front of him raised her hand, then she just disappeared.

The terrorists pushed him under the water, and Tony held his breath. It was freezing cold. Tony struggled, trying to resist the men's forces. Numerous bubbles rose from his mouth as he tried to wriggle out of their grip. They let go and he surfaced, gasping and coughing. He heard someone shouting something in Arabic and someone laughing. Then they pushed him back down. The ice-cold water crept into every fiber of his head, numbing his thoughts. Tony tried to push off with his legs to get away from the water trough, but someone kicked him hard in the back of the knee and he let out a strangled cry of pain. More bubbles rose to the surface of the water. Tony was scared to death.

"Stark!" someone shouted.

They pushed him even deeper into the water and the wires of the car battery in his chest came into contact with the water. An indescribable pain shot through his chest; it felt as if it was on fire. Thousands of small bubbles swirled around him as he tried to scream the pain out of his body. His ears were ringing, he was on the verge of losing consciousness.

"Stark!" someone shouted again.

The grips loosened and Tony emerged.

"No!" he pleaded, gasping. "Please! Not again! Please don't do this!"

The response of the terrorist holding him was a hard punch to the face. Tony's head bounced to the side from the force, dislocating his neck. Crying out in pain, Tony tried again to wriggle out of the grips. In vain. Tony tasted blood. He was on the verge of losing consciousness again. Nevertheless, they grabbed him roughly, held him in front of the trough and pushed him under the water again.

"Stark!" someone shouted once again, and he felt a hand on his neck. "Hey, Stark! Come to your senses!"

Tony blinked, the water cleared, and he thought he could make out a face in front of him. Then he caught sight of Romanoff at the bottom of the water trough. Confusion rose in Tony. How could Romanoff...? What did this have to do with...?

Tony blinked again and the water came to nothing. It was still dark, but now he could clearly see Agent Romanoff standing in front of him. How could this be possible? Where had the water gone? The painful grips on his shoulder loosened and disappeared, and instead he felt a gentle touch on his neck. Romanoff's outstretched arm.

The darkness gave way to confusion. For Tony, it was beyond comprehension. One minute he had been in Afghanistan, being tortured, the next he was standing in his living room.

"Can you hear me, Stark?" Romanoff asked inquisitively, with a strange look on her face.

Tony didn't manage to answer. Instead, he felt his heart take a running start. It took a run as if it was preparing for the sprint of the century. Unbridled panic whipped through his veins. His chest constricted so tightly that he could barely breath. Tony didn't understand what had happened. He couldn't understand how it could feel so real. He hadn't really been there. But he wasn't asleep either, he was wide awake. So, how could this be possible?

Then he was engulfed by panic like by a giant monster. It was spreading through him like poison, invading every pore of his body. Tony was breathing heavily; he couldn't feel his arms and legs anymore. His body was numb, and everything tingled as if his limbs had fallen asleep. Then his knees gave way, and he sank to the floor, gasping for air.

"What's happening?" Romanoff shouted. "Stark, talk to me!"

But Tony couldn't form any sentence; he couldn't force a single word out of his mouth. All he could do was gasping for air. He felt like he was about to lose his mind, the panic was so overwhelming that he was certain it was unbearable. This panic was beyond what could be endured. He would go crazy… or die…

Everything around him was blurry, everything was insignificant. If only this horrible feeling would stop. Please just let it stop.

It seemed as if Romanoff suddenly realized what was going on with Tony. She leaned down to him, touched him on the arm and looked him straight in the eye.

"Hey, hey, hey," she said slowly. "Calm down, Stark. Calm down... It's all right..."

He wanted to tell her that nothing was alright, but those words wouldn't come out of him either.

I'm dying, I'm dying... I'm going crazy...

"Easy, Stark..." Romanoff said, rubbing his back gently. "Easy. It'll pass..."

The minutes passed agonizingly slowly as Romanoff simply knelt on the floor with him, but then her prophecy seemed to come true. Tony's heartbeat slowed, his breathing became more regular, and he was able to think more clearly. Feelings returned to his limbs and the tingling stopped.

"Are you okay?" Romanoff asked gently, continuing to hold her hand on his shoulder.

Tony looked into her face and found nothing disparaging or critical in it. On the contrary, Romanoff suddenly seemed very gentle. He was also still feeling too much of the after-effects of panic to be truly ashamed. In fact, he was actually glad to have someone with him.

"I guess so," Tony said unsure. "Can you… please… don't touch my shoulder…"

"Ok," she said and promptly let go. "Come on," she then said, helping him up, careful not to touch his shoulder or neck. "Over here."

Romanoff led him to the couch and didn't let go of him until he was safely seated on it. She herself remained standing in front of him, watching him as if she feared he was about to have another attack. Tony was still shaking, but already feeling better.

"What was that?" Romanoff asked quietly.

Tony gave a short snort and avoided her gaze. "Panic attack," he then mumbled meekly.

"Yeah, well, I could see that," Romanoff said with a hint of impatience. "I mean before that... You were completely out of it, you couldn't even hear me at all."

Romanoff went to his knees in front of him to force him making eye contact. "What happened?"

Tony looked Romanoff firmly in the eye, then decided to speak out what frightened him so. "I was back there. In Afghanistan. Everything suddenly went dark, I could feel the cold, the wet, the tight grips. Even the pain."

"What did you see?" Romanoff whispered, spellbound.

"How I was being tortured by the Ten Rings."

"I see… How come you never mentioned that you suffer from flashbacks?"

"Flashbacks?" Tony asked, uncomprehending.

Romanoff just stared at him and suddenly something clicked in Tony's head.

"They're not... I don't... It's not... I don't have flashbacks..." he then stammered to himself.

Romanoff stood up again and began pacing in front of him, as if thinking about what to do next with her sick child.

Meanwhile, Tony was trying to comprehend that. Flashbacks? Was this how flashbacks felt like? But what else could it be? These images in his head were getting more frequent lately and it seemed to be especially bad when he had been totally overtired. But today - and it had already happened once around noon in the presence of Pepper - had been worse. It had hit him with force, the images had assaulted him in such a way that reality had completely disappeared for a moment. The words 'flashbacks' and 'post-traumatic stress disorder' popped up in his mind's eye, and he brushed them offended aside. Such nonsense. Those diagnoses were for "other" people. Not for him, not for Tony Stark. Absurd.

"I think I could stand a drink myself now," Romanoff said, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Surprised, he watched as she moved to his bar, studied the different labels for a moment, and then reached for a bottle. Somewhat amused, he noted that she returned with two shot glasses and a bottle of -

"Vodka - of course," Tony said, smiling slightly.

The agent poured them two glasses and toasted the stunned Tony. Then she dropped down on the couch as well. Tony finished his glass and waited nervously to see what would come next. For some reason, he wasn't embarrassed in front of Romanoff about what just had happened. Not that it should have to be embarrassing per se, but Tony, always so concerned with keeping feelings to himself - this was unusual. This had been out of control.

"Okay," Romanoff finally said. "I'll contact Coulson tomorrow and ask him about the Ten Rings. I don't know if it will work, but maybe I can talk him and Fury into speaking to you. About where we go from here and how we can work together."

"What?" Tony asked, narrowing his eyes as Romanoff poured herself and him another vodka. "But I thought you said I wasn't ready for any mission?"

"I did say that, yes. And I still stand by it. I think the risk of you getting killed, in the state you are clearly in, is too high. But..." She looked at him gently. "I know what it's like when something goes horribly wrong, when people die around you while you survive, when you are the only one to crawl out of the wreckage you caused... I know what loss and guilt means, and you should get your chance to move on."

Tony was surprised by her words. He didn't think Romanoff, of all people, would talk to him that way. Moreover, for the first time he wondered who this agent actually was, and what she had already experienced, what horrors she had already faced.

"You want reparation? There isn't. But I know how agonizing it is not to be able to do anything, even though it's the only thing you want to do anymore," she continued, finishing her vodka and pouring herself another. "That's why you're Iron Man. You hope you can hide behind an identity that doesn't have the flaws of Tony Stark. And that's why I'm Black Widow. But you're still Tony – and I'm still Natasha. Even if we put our masks on."

"Black Widow?"

She simply shrugged and finished her vodka. Tony did the same. He felt strangely touched by her candor. As if she had managed to create a connection between them. A comfortable emotional closeness.

"One of the terrorists had greeted me by calling me the most famous mass murderer in the history of America… It felt like I was breaking apart when I realized that he was right. When I saw who was holding my weapons. Who with my help extinguished countless lives," Tony admitted, trying to numb the pain with another shot.

"But as far as I know, it was Stane who sold the weapons under the table, not you," Romanoff interjected.

"Does it make that much difference to whom I delivered the weapons? Did I distribute them to the right people? To the 'good guys'? And Stane to the bad ones? That would be nice."

There was silence for a moment, and both seemed to be thinking.

"I've done more damage than I could ever repair," Tony then said sadly.

"Maybe it's not about fixing anything that's already been done. Isn't every single human life you can save from now on more important than anything else in the world? What about a mother worrying about her child? For her the life of a loved one is more important than ending an entire war. That is why I think that every saved human life is more significant than the damage that has already been done. This, at least, is how I try to get through life."

Tony found that he felt a little better. It almost felt good to speak to her about it.

"Here," Romanoff said, holding out another glass of vodka to him.

The two toasted and downed the high-proof alcohol. Romanoff looked at him, almost seemed to look inside of him – and smiled. Tony smiled back out of reflex. Then she suddenly jumped up and reached out to Tony.

"Get up," she said.

"Why?" Tony asked, confused.

"Because we're dancing."

"Because we're - what?"

"Come on, Tony!"

"Tony? Are we on a first-name basis now? Um… did I miss something?"

Romanoff simply grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet.

"Don't be so uptight. Sometimes, there just has to be an end to all these mopey thoughts. That's why we're dancing!"

She pulled Tony away from the couch, then let him go.

"Um, Jarvis?" she asked, seemingly unsure how to carry on a conversation with a computer.

"Yes, Agent Romanoff?" Jarvis asked in a particularly friendly voice that made Tony snuggle.

"We need some music. Play something that's good to dance to. We need some party tunes."

Tony was flabbergasted, what had gotten into Romanoff? He was just wondering if the vodka had gotten into her head a little too quickly, when Jarvis started playing music. He had apparently decided to play a 90s song. To that end, he dimmed the lights in the room.

"Louder!" Romanoff shouted and started dancing. "Come on now, Tony!"

For a moment, he watched the young agent dance in time to the music. He laughed, but then he was carried away by her mood and danced as well.

The music thundered through the house and the alcohol was probably having a noteworthy effect, too. Tony and Romanoff were laughing tears as they danced wildly around the living room. The whole situation was so absurd that Tony couldn't stop laughing. Of all people, it was Romanoff he was holding a little party with.

He felt like he could throw off all the weight. He felt the bass vibrating through his body and closed his eyes as he moved to the beat. He felt more exuberant than he had in a long time. All the worries and bad thoughts were washed away. Then euphoria kicked in. Tony's elation kept increasing, he didn't know why, but this funny moment here with the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent was apparently the right thing to take his mind off things.

The two of them danced with complete abandon, no one speaking a word, and Jarvis played one fitting song after another. Romanoff moved closer and grabbed his hands as they continued to move rhythmically. Tony looked into her eyes, still gripped by the high, and Romanoff returned his intense gaze.

The mood changed abruptly. Tony's hands moved to Romanoff's hips and then further down to her bottom. Romanoff put her hands gently around his back and came closer. Tony didn't care about what would be later, what would be tomorrow. He just wanted to enjoy this good feeling, here with Romanoff - drunk, dancing, alive.

Tony followed his impulse and leaned forward, Romanoff closed her eyes and before he could think about it further, he kissed her. The pretty Russian returned his kiss, the feeling was indescribably good. The music was still flowing through his body, along with the cotton wool-like feeling of the alcohol and the euphoria and exuberance of the situation. Tony intensified the kiss. Then they started moving, still kissing passionately. He gently pushed Romanoff backwards until they were at the couch. Tony couldn't hold back any longer. He pushed Romanoff onto the couch and then leaned over her. They continued to kiss while Romanoff fiddled with his shirt to undo the buttons. Their breathing was rapid and intermittent. The mood was so erotically charged that he could hardly stop himself from going too fast.

Romanoff had his shirt unbuttoned and the arc reactor glowed into the darkness. She stroked the reactor tenderly, as if to show that it didn't bother her. Tony grabbed the zipper of Romanoff's skin-tight suit and pulled it down to her belly. He felt aroused, impulsive, and like he didn't care about anything now. He knew this feeling quite well, it had been with him for years when he had hooked up with countless women - and couldn't get rid of them fast enough the next morning. But did he want it to be like that with Natasha?

Romanoff pulled Tony down to kiss her again, and Tony pushed himself between her legs. Then she undid the button of his pants. However, suddenly Pepper appeared in his mind's eye. The woman he actually wanted to lie here with, the one he actually wanted to kiss... Tony became more hesitant, making Romanoff pause. But she didn't ask what he was thinking about, she just waited. Tony was torn. He was horny like crazy. And Natasha was very hot, no question. But this just didn't feel right…

"Um... Natasha..." he began.

"It's okay."

"We probably shouldn't..."

"No, we'd better not."

"It's just..."

"I get it."

Tony sat back, stood up and buttoned his pants while Romanoff zipped up her suit and then stood up as well. He waited for her to tell him that she had to go or something. But she didn't seem offended or upset. On the contrary, everything seemed fine. And in fact, without a word, Romanoff simply poured two more vodkas and held out his glass to him.

"Here's to a few minutes of detachment," she said with a smile.

"Cheers," Tony said with relief, smiling as well.