Chapter Text
Cuts and Bruises
Movie nights are not uncommon in the tower. Nowadays, Tony can usually be coaxed into attending, which means Bruce is significantly less wary of them, and all round this just makes them so much more comfortable. It is both a surprise and a disappointment when Thor walks into the room - eyes flitting over Bruce in the arm chair, Natasha and Clint sprawled stomach down and side by side on the beanbags, and Steve in the corner of the two seater - and shakes his head. “Tony is busy in his forge, and says he does not have time to attend our gathering.”
There is a tense hum of uncertainty. Honestly, by this point in their acquaintance, they’ve all been too busy to attend one of these nights at one time or another, but the wounds are still too raw for any of them to feel comfortable all gathered like this, but with Tony still in the tower and noticeably absent from their ranks.
Bruce makes a hesitant noise. “Maybe I should head down to the labs and check on him.”
Thor shakes his head, blond hair whipping about like a L’Oréal ad. “I do not believe he harbours bad feelings. He did not intimate that he begrudged us this. He seemed genuinely consumed in his work.”
“Still,” Steve says, “the film will still be here another night.”
“No.” It’s Clint who speaks up. “He’s… he’s already not sure if we put him on the team because we pity him. If we cancel what we were going to do just because he’s busy, he’ll be even surer of it, and it’ll be even harder to convince him to trust us.”
Bruce looks like he’s about to say something scathing, but at Thor’s look he does not. Instead, he turns his attention towards the blank screen. “All right. Play it, JARVIS.”
The screen flickers into life as Thor takes his space on the longer sofa behind Clint and Natasha, and they all lapse into silence, painfully aware of the unfilled space on the sofa. Steve conspicuously slings his legs over the space to keep it from seeming so empty.
Everyone is sprawled out watching the second movie of the night when Tony just happens past the door. Natasha can tell by the soft tread of his feet that he’s not trying to be quiet or unheard, and can tell that he genuinely doesn’t know they are there. She knows the exact moment he sees them because he stops moving. She doesn’t turn, doesn’t flinch - merely reaches for another handful of popcorn from the bowl in Thor’s lap. Beside her, she feels Clint stiffen, though his posture gives no trace of it and she knows he has heard Tony too. Inside, she is yearning as desperately as she has ever hoped for anything for Tony to join them, for him to take his rightful place among them. They still won’t be complete, Coulson isn’t here tonight, because, even though he has been released from the med-wing, he is still not really well enough to travel, and Tony’s absence is a wound and a condemnation.
Natasha takes a moment to be glad none of the others have noticed him, though his longing gaze sears into her like a brand. If anyone asked him he would join, of course he would. That Tony now believes they really do want to spend time with him, that their insistence on his presence is not misplaced guilt and pity was a big step. But now he needs to realise that it is his right to saunter in and sit among them.
Beside her, Clint has all but stopped breathing, waiting with the unnatural stillness of a statue, or a sniper. She knows he is no longer watching the action on the screen, and when she slings an arm around his shoulders and pulls him into her, she can feel his heartbeat racing. He looks at her and she widens her eyes, reminding him without words of his earlier point. Face safely turned into her shoulder, and hidden from even the sharpest eyes, she feels his lips tighten unhappily. But he trusts her judgement, in this as in everything else, and he is sure that he has done the right thing by insisting they carry on. The tension doesn’t drain out of him, but he turns his eyes back towards the TV, and waits.
The still presence at the door is beginning to unnerve Natasha now, raising the hairs on the back of her head as she fights not to look, to appear disinterested. She has never known Tony Stark to remain so quiet, or still for this length of time. She forces herself not to fidget, but she can’t stop her fingers tapping a nervous rhythm against Clint’s chest where she is still holding him to her, keeping herself still as much as keeping him in place.
Tony shifts in place, foot scuffing against the carpet and nudging the doorway with a soft sound. Steve turns sharply, startled, as do the others when Tony moves, but before he can say anything Tony pushes away from the doorframe and strolls confidently into the room, as though he had been intending to do it all the time. His veneer of cock-surety is threadbare and worn, vulnerability and uncertainty fairly oozing from him, despite his straight back and square shoulders and bright smile, and she wasn’t certain if he truly had just been working up the nerve to do this, or if he had simply reacted to being seen. Either way, he stops in the middle of the room and addresses them all, though his body is cocked slightly towards Steve, addressing him the most calmly. “Room for one more?”
Clint opens his mouth, but Natasha pinches his arm sharply, keeping him silent. It is not Clint’s approval Tony wants - his approval will change nothing that is damaged between them all.
Bruce is watching Steve, mouth set in an unhappy line, but eyes are his usual brown.
As for Natasha herself, she is simply hoping that Steve is as good with his people as he wants to be. The time for guilt-ridden statements has been and gone, and will only serve to make Tony uncomfortable now. But Steve doesn’t disappoint. He smiles lazily and returns his attention to the action on the screen, shifting further up the sofa to make room for Tony. “Pull up a pew. There’s plenty of space.”
Tony glances around, not obviously. Natasha can appreciate the skill with which he searches the room for anyone else’s disapproval of his presence. There is none, of course, and he drops gracelessly into the space Steve has made for him.
The tension, humming around the room, is very nearly palpable. But the movie is good, and the snacks plentiful, and gradually everyone relaxes into their previous sprawls. Even Tony starts to relax a little, sinking back into the cushions behind him. Hidden in the dark, far enough to the side that her face is not illuminated by the light of the screen, Natasha looks around her fractured, but healing team, and allows herself a smile.