Black Celebration (for usedtoberussian)

[nottheworsthing]

Generally, Tony's default reaction to anything he doesn't know how to deal with is to hole up in the workshop and bury himself in some new project. It works pretty well for him. True, it doesn't actually alter the fact that he has no idea how to deal with it, but it's soothing to spent a while immersed in a problem he can take apart and consider

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[usedtoberussian]

After the quinjet takes off with Tony in it, Natasha's day gets busy. There's the raid of the warehouse; the interrogation of the Boss (Navy Blue has yet to wake up from the coma Natasha's blow apparently put him in, and she doesn't feel remotely guilty over that); the tracking of the signal; then down to medical for a check-up and treatment of her burns once Fury catches wind of her involvement and orders her down; finally she gets to write up a report and do a mission debrief. All in all, it's close to midnight when she gets back to the Tower.

It would have made more sense to stay at the helicarrier over night. But, she wants to see how Tony is doing. They're not friends, and possibly they never will be, because she simply doesn't trust him enough. But, they're team mates and they just went through something together. That means something. Besides, she got her official debrief with Fury, while Tony simply got sent home. He may need to talk

[nottheworsthing]

Tony doesn't quite start as the doors slide open, but the tension evident in the set of his shoulders and the restless wandering of his hands ratchets up a few notches. He turns to face her; a flicker of- something passes momentarily over his face at the sight of the cuts and bruises she's wearing. At a glance he appears uninjured aside from the neat white bandages wrapped around his wrists, but his unhealthy pallor and the tired lines of pain around his eyes tell a story of their own. The blue glow of the arc reactor shows bright and steady through the fabric of his sweatshirt

[usedtoberussian]

"They have their uses sometimes," Natasha agrees. Though the vodka thing genuinely bothers her. It's just so obvious. But, she grew up with the stuff, and it's better than anything else out there. So, she's just had to resign herself to this one cliché

[nottheworsthing]

She's showing every sign of settling in for a while. With a mental sigh he resigns himself to keeping the act up for the rest of the night. In fairness, he's pretty sure he gets what she's doing, and under other circumstances he might even appreciate it. But he's exhausted and he hurts and really he'd just like for the world at large - and Natasha in particular - to go away and leave him alone. He reaches out and takes the glass.

"That asshole!" Tony responds immediately, glaring into his glass as though it's personally responsible for the situation, "I knew I recognized the voice. He was at some conference..." The guy had been...forgettable, in a vaguely slimy sort of way. Like Justin Hammer without the personality. And boy was that a sentence he never imagined he'd ever have cause to think. He assumes a vaguely offended expression; "I nearly got killed because that dick wanted to relive Woodstock? Seriously?"

[usedtoberussian]

Natasha turns her back on the world below and leans against the railing. Her eyes aren't on Tony but on the dim lights from the living space within the penthouse. Her back is sore from the kick she took to it, and a dull ache radiates through it as the railing digs against it. But she doesn't move. Medical gave her a small bottle of pills -- the good kind even -- to ease the pain and help her sleep. But, they're the kind of pills that don't go with alcohol (and she's never liked drug-induced sleep anyway), so she tossed the bottle on the sofa before changing her clothes.

"Pretty much, yeah," she confirms and takes a slow sip of her vodka. She could just knock it back, but that'd be a waste of perfectly good vodka. "He hired some amazingly incompetent goons to do his bidding and didn't give them enough intel." She tosses a quick, almost apologetic glance at Tony. She doesn't know how much of this he wants to hear. "He'll rot in a SHIELD cell for the next five to ten years." Trying to steal any of the Iron Man technology is immediately

[nottheworsthing]

He's half-turned toward her, one elbow resting on the railing, glass held loosely between his hands. To a casual observer he might appear entirely at ease. To someone who knows him...he's curled in on himself ever so slightly, the lines around his eyes deeper than usual, and with every movement his breath catches in his throat for a moment.

He takes a quick gulp of the vodka, closing his eyes for a moment as it burns all the way down. "Good," he says flatly. That's all he has to say on the matter. He takes exception to people attempting to murder him; that sort of thing can really wreck your day. He's dealt with enough guilt for things that actually were his fault not to have any qualms about some would-be crook too inept to even do it properly to the wolves

[usedtoberussian]

"Barely," Natasha scoffs. Her brows draw together in a frown and she gives Tony a dark sort of look. Apologizing doesn't come easy for her, and his waving it off truly does not help. She can feel anger bubbling under the surface and it'd be so much easier giving into it and letting it drown out all of this guilt. But, the truth is she owes Tony for this. For letting him get hurt. He might not have been her assignment, but just as she depends on him taking a blow for her if he's in the armor he should've been able to depend on her to get him out safely.

"I didn't think they'd go for the chest piece," she tells him, her fingers tightening around the glass. The eye contact gets to much for her, and she turns around, leaning her elbows against the railing and looking out at the million lights of the city all spread out before them. "I thought at most they'd start with a punch or something. Or if they'd gone for the shocks straight up, they'd have to move the machine first--" Her jaw tightens and she looks down at her glass. "I thought I'

[nottheworsthing]

He's really not to sure how he's supposed to react to this. He isn't thinking clearly enough to find an appropriate response. Just...why the hell is she apologizing to him? He'd be dead if she hadn't been there and he knows it. "Look, thanks for the whole-" He waves a hand vaguely "-saving my ass thing." She got them out, put him back together...what's the problem here?

A little light begins to dawn when she admits she hadn't been expecting them to take the reactor. Oh. That makes sense. And it wouldn't have occurred to him. The truth is, he'd been half expecting it from the moment he woke up tied to the chair. But then that says more about him than anything else; of course that's the first place his mind goes. There's always the nauseatingly vivid sense memory - lying helpless as choking pain claws its way up his throat from the gaping emptiness in the center of his chest - lurking in the wings, ready to come to the forefront at the slightest provocation

[usedtoberussian]

Either Tony simply doesn't get it, or he's actually fine with how things went down. Either way, Natasha has apologized to him. Twice now, sort of, and that's enough. She's said the words and it's not her fault if he doesn't get it. She said it. It doesn't wipe away her debt, but at least she's done with the apologizing.

"You don't have to thank me," she says with a shake of her head. "We're a team. Looking out for each other is what we're supposed to do."

Natasha does knock back the glass now, washing down the bitterness with the strong liquor. As she holds it out for him to fill, she meets his eyes steadily. "I'll keep that in mind for next time," she says lightly, giving him a tired sort of smile. Unlike Tony, she's not trying to keep up any front or pretend that she's less exhausted than she actually is. Of course, she doesn't let on how sickened she is by the idea of him having the arc reactor plucked from his chest again. "You should maybe think of adding some security features to that thing." She gestures vaguely at his chest

[nottheworsthing]

He just shrugs and accepts it. He's more or less given up on trying to make sense of the current situation; they can just mutually agree that the other is completely incomprehensible and leave it at that. He refills her glass and sets the bottle back down on the floor. God, she looks like he feels. "Are you okay?" he asks; casually, as though he's asking for the time or commenting on the weather.

"Believe me, I'd love to," he says, quirking an eyebrow at her. "I can't. I'd have to modify the housing for that. Not the reactor housing, the bit that's actually-" He taps his chest illustratively "-attached." And to switch that out would require actual surgery, going under the knife again, and...god, he can't. He just can't. The mere thought is enough to make his throat close up and put a tremor in his hands.

[usedtoberussian]

The question surprises Natasha. Like genuinely catches her off guard. "Yeah. I'm good," she says, and she sounds about as perplexed as she looks. Of course she's okay. Why wouldn't she be okay? If he's worried about her injuries, she's had worse from really, really fantastic sex. "Just been a long day." And that's not an understatement. The day's been damn long and she could do with some actual sleep. The guilt and the unease over owing Tony of all people something is something else entirely. Something not covered by his question. Obviously

[nottheworsthing]

"It really has," he agrees with feeling. Today has just sucked on every conceivable level and really needs to be over. But exhausted as he is, somehow it's easier to just keep going. Something about the thought of trying to sleep really does not appeal. At least while he's awake he can distract himself and avoid thinking too much about things.

He blinks down at her hand, looking momentarily derailed and kind of lost. The automatic evasion dies on his lips. "It hurts like a bitch," he admits in a moment of uncharacteristic honesty. "But hey. Old news." Because of course it hurts. It always hurts. He's learned to live with it.

[usedtoberussian]

Tomorrow -- or as soon as her debt has been wiped clean at any rate -- Natasha will have put this whole ordeal behind her. Compared to most things that she's been through, this has been laughably easy. The marks left on her body will linger for a while longer, of course, but that's of little consequence. But she's willing to bet that it's going to be the opposite way for Tony. His body'll heal long before his mind will be at ease.

Natasha wasn't really asking about the pain. Of course it hurts, that much is obvious. She can read the pain in the tight lines around his eyes and mouth, and the weariness that haunts his expression. But, pain passes. All it needs is time. Other areas might need some more work. She nods in reply to his answer though, her hand warm and steady around Tony's and the the chilled vodka. "You'll get through it." It's not a promise, as much as a statement of pure fact. "After Afghanistan, did you ever do a debrief?"

[nottheworsthing]

He raises an eyebrow at her, mouth twisting in a bitter little smirk; she really doesn't get it, does she? "Sure I will," he says, sounding singularly unconvinced. But hey, it's kinda reassuring to hear that he's done that good a job of keeping up appearances in the time he's known her.

"Kinda," he replies. The military had insisted on a debrief, but he...hadn't been especially cooperative. The bare bones of the story were there. But most of the details were either omitted or just replaced by half-truths and some outright lies. Of course the story Rhodey got was closer to the truth, but that was strictly off the record.

[usedtoberussian]

"What?" Natasha asks flatly. But it's more demand than question. It's obvious that there's something he's not telling her and owing him a debt or not she doesn't have the patience for fucking games right now. Nor, truth be told, for Tony's particular brand of self-loathing mixed with self-pity

[nottheworsthing]

"Nothing," he says shortly. It's his problem, and he's dealing with it. Maybe he hasn't always dealt with it especially well, but that's beside the point.

He tosses the drink back in one smooth motion. "You were there," he says with a shrug. "You know what happened - probably better than I do." He doesn't see how going over it again is supposed to help. It's over, it happened, end of story. And okay, maybe it'd make him feel better to get some stuff off his chest. But- "There's gonna have to be more vodka first either way," he adds.