Now in fairness, it should be pointed out that he almost never notices Natasha approaching unless he just so happens to be facing her at the time. The woman moves like a cat. And of course when he's absorbed in a project in the workshop, the rest of the world might as well cease to exist. Add to that the music blasting full volume, and the screaming whine of the angle grinder just audible over it, he wouldn't have been distracted from his current task by a tactical air strike. Tinted goggles sit over his eyes, reflecting the sparks flying from the unsprung component unfortunate enough to have attracted his attention
( ... )
He gets that. Maybe not the specifics, but in general. It's a fundamental law of the universe or something: every time life levels off for any member of the Avengers, it needs to find even crazier new ways to fuck with them. Whenever he thinks nothing that happens can possibly surprise him any more, events just have to go and prove him wrong
( ... )
The steady brush of Tony's thumb along one of her scars drives some of the tension out of Natasha's shoulders. Though she couldn't tell you why if questioned. It just settles her, the mutual tracing of scars. She can tell without even looking which scar he's following because of the curious way sensation fades in and out. This one cut deep, and it severed some of the nerve-endings, leaving segments of the scar tissue numb and dead. It's not an entirely pleasant feeling, but it's not unpleasant
( ... )
If she had touched a hand to his blatantly unscarred cheek he would have casually dismissed it as a figure of speech. And god but he's grateful it's only a figure of speech. At least the face survived intact; maybe it was a stretch to consider what had happened to him lucky, but it could have been so much worse. A little pain and what he liked to refer to as a 'heart condition' when he felt like being an asshole isn't all that hard to live with. He couldn't have dealt with being blinded.
"Oh yeah, it was great," he responds dryly, gaze flicking up to her face with a humorless little half-smirk. It's easier than it should be to talk to her about this. It doesn't make sense. He couldn't have had this conversation with her before. But his distrust of Natasha was never personal, stabbing-related incidents notwithstanding; it was always a byproduct of her loyalty to SHIELD, who he doesn't trust an inch. Except it's gone now, isn't it? As far as this Natasha knows SHIELD are still her enemies. That really shouldn't put him more at ease,
( ... )
The irony of it all is that the Natasha Tony knows is probably the more trustworthy. Sure, her loyalty lies with SHIELD (though always with herself and Clint first -- long gone are the days of blindly following any and all orders), but she's more reigned in, controlled. And honestly, there are certain situations where she would value Tony's life above her own. Not many but a few
( ... )
He's not going to pretend that being more comfortable with Natasha now than before makes any real sort of sense at all. His subconscious has its own opinions on things and arguing with it never gets him anywhere. He's seen her file - after all, when hacking into exceptionally classified SHIELD data anyway it only seemed reasonable to take a look at the other interesting bits while he was in there - and it's one hell of a read.
Of course he knows better than to assume it's complete, or accurate. His own file is a tissue of complete lies in places. But there was enough there to make him really curious about the bits that have to have been omitted
( ... )
Natasha's smile widens at his grin and she actually laughs at the joke. The sound is unexpected in the near silence of the workshop, and cut short when she catches herself at it. She can't remember the last time that she laughed without an uncomfortable twist of her stomach reminding her of her rather unique predicament. It gets to her belatedly of course, as punishment for noticing the lack of it in the first place. "All the luxuries one could wish for," she says with mock-wistfulness. "Tell me, did you splurge and get the cockroaches as well?" She is too aware of Tony's touch against her skin (ready to pull his hand away in a heartbeat) not to notice the sudden tension to his hand in response to the light twitch of hers. The cause and effect of that shouldn't be fascinating, but somehow it is. It makes them feel… connected
( ... )
His grin broadens at the laugh, and for a moment he's caught by how young she seems. It's a strange impression to be getting. Physically she hasn't changed. But it's in the way she speaks, the way she carries herself, an edge of uncertainty he's never seen in her before. If he was anyone other than him it might inspire a protective urge. But he's not, and in any case, he's entirely aware that she could still kill him with her bare hands. "Oh yeah," he says, amusement gleaming in his eyes, "We really went for the five-star treatment. They even laid on the spiders
( ... )
Young isn't that far off the mark, actually. This is Natasha with ten years worth of experience and growing up stripped away from her. Back when she was still struggling with the idea that she could ever be anything but the weapon they raised her into. Mentally, she's currently one messed up teenager right on the verge of adulthood. At least technically. Actually? Natasha never had much of a childhood, and her teenage years were spent training or going out on missions. It's like she skipped her youth and just emerged a fully-fledged spy and assassin. Can you blame her for being a little bit fucked up as a result?
At the moment though? She's caught up in his wide grin and their ridiculous joke, and the smile on her face is solid and momentarily unguarded. "Shit, you guys got spiders as well?" She makes a show of looking around at the state of the art workshop, which may not be exactly pristine, but still must be a hell of a lot cleaner than a goddamn cave. "I have to say, I'm surprised you can live in a hovel like this after that
( ... )
He gives a long-suffering sigh, assuming an expression of spurious forbearance. "Somehow I cope," he replies with dignity. There's a faintly bemused edge to his grin. This is...weird. He likes it, but it's undeniably weird.
"Scout's honor," is his response, coupled with a smirk. Clint will confirm everything he's said, as will the file SHIELD keeps on him. Many things have been said about Tony over the years. People have questioned his morals, his personal habits, and occasionally his sanity. But one thing that even the harshest critics have never questioned is that he's damn good at what he does. There's a reason Stark Industries is the leader in its field. He may get a bit too much of a kick out of tossing the word 'genius' around, but it really is merited
( ... )
Natasha's heart stutters in her chest as Tony's hand covers hers. It's a good thing that he moves so slowly, giving her plenty of warning before his hand traps hers against his face. If he goes for her, if he really goes for her, that hand on top of hers is going to lose her valuable seconds. Every last instinct in her body is screaming at her to move away, but she ignores them and stays right where she is, meeting his eyes breathlessly, the world spinning out between them. It's like a wall between them has fallen away, and she thinks she might be able to see the shadow of something in his eyes. It might well be pain. Regardless, there's an openness to him that makes her believe him, even though she can't quite trust him. (Yet.)
The key to handling pain is to remember that it is transient. No matter how much it hurts, one way or another, it'll eventually stop. Except it doesn't for Tony. He has just learned to live with it. Another thing about him that impresses the hell out of her. "Wow. I
( ... )
He has no idea what's going on here. None whatsoever. This is bizarre and he can't for the life of him work out how it came to be happening. They were never- no, actually. He wants to say he was never close enough to Natasha for something like this to happen, but the simple fact of the matter is that this sort of thing just doesn't happen full stop. With anyone.
Part of him wants to pull away. To put some distance between them figuratively and literally, step away behind the workbench again with a few flippant remarks in passing. But he knows he's not going to. He can't help it. He's fascinated but what he sees in her face, in those reactions that just aren't quite as guarded as he's used to, and he can't help but want to see more. The little glimpses he's catching of the effect his words are having are driving him wild with curiosity
( ... )
At some point, they're going to have to stop touching each other. But, Natasha just isn't ready for that to point to be now. Because this is the first time in days that she's felt settled, all that restless energy that's been burning her up from the inside suddenly at peace.
When she first touched her hand to Tony's abdomen, she never intended for it to turn into this. In fact, if she'd've known this is what it'd turn into, she probably would've kept her hands to herself. But, now that they're here and so achingly close, she doesn't want to lose it for the world.
'Sucked' doesn't cover half of it. Especially not the bit where the wound got infected despite their best efforts and she was delirious for days before the extraction team got them. Natasha shakes her head. "We only had a quarter of a bottle of vodka, and we needed it to sterilize the wound and the knife." Her slides down to rest more comfortably against his hip, dropping all pretense of touching him for anything but for the sake of it. "It wasn't too bad," she adds with a
( ... )
He really needs to step away. They're too close, somehow, and something really isn't right here...beyond the obvious. He has a strong feeling that Natasha is probably going to kill him for this if and when her memories return. Not that he's sure what, if anything, he's done wrong - she seems far more relaxed now than she had when she first came into the workshop - but he can't quite shake the feeling that this is going to in some way get him stabbed again.
"Yeah, but surgery's always less fun when you're awake for it," he responds lightly. But for all the easy tone he's more tense now than ever, uncomfortable with her hands on him in a way he can't even pin down. It's clearly not about the scars any more. He can't work out what it is about, but whatever it is, he's not sure he's okay with it.
Natasha doesn't know what's changed, but suddenly Tony's tension level sky rockets. She can feel his muscles practically locking up underneath her hands. And she doesn't understand why. A moment ago, they were both perfectly at ease and then something changed and now Tony might as well be on the moon for how far from ease he is. The worst thing is that she can't figure out what she did wrong.
Her brow creases lightly in question for about half a second, before she catches herself at it and it smooths out again. She can't quite hide the flicker of sudden and unexpected hurt in her eyes though, or how the tension from earlier and then some snaps back into her
( ... )
He relaxes ever so slightly as she steps away. Not fully; some level of tension remains in the line of his shoulders, the way his hands wander restlessly over the partially disassembled engine components spread out on the workbench. But here in his workshop...here of all places he doesn't feel the need to put up the front of cavalier indolence that was his armor long before Iron Man was the barest spark of inspiration.
It shouldn't reassure him that she's looking tense again too. It really shouldn't. But this at least it familiar, having her at a distance, behind various defenses. It's infinitely easier to deal with than the strange intimacy of a moment before. He has no idea what he was thinking. Not that he didn't want to help, but like this she was like a wolf in a trap. No matter how much sympathy you might feel there was still a fair chance of getting your hand ripped off if you got too close
( ... )
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"Oh yeah, it was great," he responds dryly, gaze flicking up to her face with a humorless little half-smirk. It's easier than it should be to talk to her about this. It doesn't make sense. He couldn't have had this conversation with her before. But his distrust of Natasha was never personal, stabbing-related incidents notwithstanding; it was always a byproduct of her loyalty to SHIELD, who he doesn't trust an inch. Except it's gone now, isn't it? As far as this Natasha knows SHIELD are still her enemies. That really shouldn't put him more at ease, ( ... )
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Of course he knows better than to assume it's complete, or accurate. His own file is a tissue of complete lies in places. But there was enough there to make him really curious about the bits that have to have been omitted ( ... )
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At the moment though? She's caught up in his wide grin and their ridiculous joke, and the smile on her face is solid and momentarily unguarded. "Shit, you guys got spiders as well?" She makes a show of looking around at the state of the art workshop, which may not be exactly pristine, but still must be a hell of a lot cleaner than a goddamn cave. "I have to say, I'm surprised you can live in a hovel like this after that ( ... )
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"Scout's honor," is his response, coupled with a smirk. Clint will confirm everything he's said, as will the file SHIELD keeps on him. Many things have been said about Tony over the years. People have questioned his morals, his personal habits, and occasionally his sanity. But one thing that even the harshest critics have never questioned is that he's damn good at what he does. There's a reason Stark Industries is the leader in its field. He may get a bit too much of a kick out of tossing the word 'genius' around, but it really is merited ( ... )
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The key to handling pain is to remember that it is transient. No matter how much it hurts, one way or another, it'll eventually stop. Except it doesn't for Tony. He has just learned to live with it. Another thing about him that impresses the hell out of her. "Wow. I ( ... )
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Part of him wants to pull away. To put some distance between them figuratively and literally, step away behind the workbench again with a few flippant remarks in passing. But he knows he's not going to. He can't help it. He's fascinated but what he sees in her face, in those reactions that just aren't quite as guarded as he's used to, and he can't help but want to see more. The little glimpses he's catching of the effect his words are having are driving him wild with curiosity ( ... )
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When she first touched her hand to Tony's abdomen, she never intended for it to turn into this. In fact, if she'd've known this is what it'd turn into, she probably would've kept her hands to herself. But, now that they're here and so achingly close, she doesn't want to lose it for the world.
'Sucked' doesn't cover half of it. Especially not the bit where the wound got infected despite their best efforts and she was delirious for days before the extraction team got them. Natasha shakes her head. "We only had a quarter of a bottle of vodka, and we needed it to sterilize the wound and the knife." Her slides down to rest more comfortably against his hip, dropping all pretense of touching him for anything but for the sake of it. "It wasn't too bad," she adds with a ( ... )
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"Yeah, but surgery's always less fun when you're awake for it," he responds lightly. But for all the easy tone he's more tense now than ever, uncomfortable with her hands on him in a way he can't even pin down. It's clearly not about the scars any more. He can't work out what it is about, but whatever it is, he's not sure he's okay with it.
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Her brow creases lightly in question for about half a second, before she catches herself at it and it smooths out again. She can't quite hide the flicker of sudden and unexpected hurt in her eyes though, or how the tension from earlier and then some snaps back into her ( ... )
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It shouldn't reassure him that she's looking tense again too. It really shouldn't. But this at least it familiar, having her at a distance, behind various defenses. It's infinitely easier to deal with than the strange intimacy of a moment before. He has no idea what he was thinking. Not that he didn't want to help, but like this she was like a wolf in a trap. No matter how much sympathy you might feel there was still a fair chance of getting your hand ripped off if you got too close ( ... )
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