Chapter Text
Natasha finds him two days later, the evening before they are set to leave. They’ve spent a lot of time together over the past few days, usually with Daisy added to the equation, training and working and baking a truly awful practice cake with the kids for Laura’s upcoming birthday. It allows Laura and Clint to have much deserved time to themselves, and Natasha is impatient for the Accords to get approved so that Clint can finally have more freedom of movement. It’s a matter of weeks, surely.
But all thoughts of the New Accords are pushed away when Daisy urges her to go seek out Tony, almost shyly adding that she thought she should give Coulson a call. Natasha hopes that Coulson will take the vaguely threatening message she sends him on her way to the dining room the right way - she refuses to let anything else set Daisy back in her recovery. Tony and she have already resolved to pay more attention, while Daisy has promised to be more transparent about her emotions. She’s wondered faintly the past few days about connecting Wanda and Daisy, weighing the pros of a beginning truly empathetic friendship versus the cons of one pulling down the other. There is a lack of female connection in the Avengers already, but Clint’s subtle training of a young archer prodigy that he only recently revealed to her and the introduction of the Dora Milaje to the team shows that now is the moment to change that. If Wanda and Daisy can get along, they can become leaders so that Natasha can, well-
There’s a lot to think about in the future, is all.
Once entering the kitchen, she perches herself on a barstool next to Tony, who is fiddling away with some gadget. He smiles up at her, dropping his bit of machinery to turn and face her. “Where’s the rest of the crew?”
Natasha shrugs. “Daisy’s out on the porch talking to Coulson - I think Clint and Laura are in the basement with the kids.”
Tony’s grin turns into a smirk. He hops off his barstool, running his fingers along the line of her shoulders as he makes his way around the bar. “So just us - want anything?” She nods, gesturing to the pitcher of water. “And what brings you to my humble workstation this evening, Agent Romanoff?”
“I thought you might miss me,” she ventures with a matching smirk, brushing her fingers against his as he hands her the glass. It takes her back to their first real mission as a team, ACDC blasting through her plane’s speakers, a mixture of irritation and humor and relief running through her veins that she never could have explained until now, years later.
From the faraway look in his eyes, she knows Tony is taken back to the same moment. “I always miss you,” he says absently, seriously. “I missed you back then too, you know. When you disappeared after the Expo.”
Natasha shakes her head. “That’s a lie,” she accuses gently.
Tony looks contemplative, unbothered by her words. “You’d think so, right? But no, you were my first introduction to a world that I thought I had a monopoly on. You were so different - interesting. The other guys too, but you? I was dying to relearn all the buttons to push - not Natalie’s, but yours.”
Natasha rewards him with a genuinely affectionate look. “There were quite a few others before you,” she reveals. “Some I was in on, others I… found out about.” Tony gives her a teasing wink- he wonders how much of what she learned was what she was actually supposed to know. “But you were different. You changed our operations - you got under my skin,” she admits.
He leans against the counter. “Why, Romanoff, are you finally admitting a weakness?”
“One,” she says dryly, and he laughs. After a long, comfortable silence, the warmth in his expression finally allows her to say what’s on her mind. “I know Clint got to you,” she says, voice low, eyes down. “I know you have a piece to say - but you should know, he talked to me too.” Tony draws back up to standing, motioning for her to continue. “You make a lot of grand gestures,” she begins.
“I have a lot of money - more than I can spend,” he says, but she is already shaking her head.
“No, with your time,” she corrects gently. “Working on my armor, learning Russian…” She shrugs, her lower lip quirking and wobbling in a gesture that Tony recognizes as extreme vulnerability. He takes one of her hands, and she holds on with a vise-like grip. “I don’t know what you want in return. I want to know about you - how to help you too.”
If she had been anyone else, he would have been amused. It’s almost a domestic concern compared to the literally earth shattering events they deal with on a daily basis, but it’s a concern that she clearly feels insecure about, so he takes a long moment to think before responding. “Things don’t have to change now that we’re labeling things, Nat,” he says finally, squeezing her hand. “It’s not suddenly a quid pro quo deal.”
“I know,” she tells him, still looking away. “I just… haven’t felt this need to reciprocate before.”
“Look at me,” he urges, and she does. “Just having you sit there,” he admits, “like you have the past few months, filing your nails or, I dunno, issuing threats over email or whatever secret spies do, is plenty. The way you stay after nightmares, the late night hot chocolate breaks…” He trails off before pinning her in place with intensely emotive eyes. “The silence is what astounds me. Not many people have taken the time to just - be there. And understand. The armor and everything else are nothing compared to what you give me.”
Natasha smiles at him, warm and precious, before her expression turns serious. “They aren’t nothing,” she tells him. “They never have been. They make me feel valued.” Her expression turns almost sheepish. “So - thank you.”
“Anytime,” is all he can reply with, and though it’s simple, it’s also perfectly true. He always plans on being there for her.
“We should talk about you too,” she says a minute later, placing her other hand on top of their already tangled fingers.
Tony exhales - what he really needs to hear is her echo Clint’s theories so he knows exactly what to say, but the words he’s been thinking since his conversation with Clint bubble up inside him until he has to put them in the world. “I talked to Clint,” he starts, abrupt and stilted, a faint blush covering his cheeks when he remembers they already covered this only five minutes ago.
Natasha leans forward, her elbows on the table, gazing up at him. Her hands stay in his, for which he’s almost overwhelmingly grateful. “I’m sorry if I was controlling,” he continues in a rush, the words pouring out of him with such a speed that he hopes that she can understand him. “It’s no excuse, but I was afraid - so afraid. I can’t lose you. Sitting in that hospital, I couldn’t handle it - there’s no Avengers without you - there’s no me, no Iron Man without you -”
She stands, making her way around the table to stand in front of him, not releasing his hands until she has to in order to wind her strong arms around him. “Sometimes I need space,” she whispers over the rapid breaths he’s taking. He doesn’t want to break down in her arms. They’ve already had enough tears this trip. “You can still remind me to take care of myself - I promise I’ll do a better job of hearing you. But I need you to respect me when I don’t always listen.”
Tony slides his arms from her waist to her shoulders, hauling her closer, breathing her in. “I was wrong to blow up. I can’t promise to stop worrying, but you’re the strongest person I know. I swear I’ll treat you that way.”
She holds him tighter for a brief moment before releasing him, taking a step back. He can tell this moment has been a lot for her, so he gives her the space, lets her breathe. After a few more minutes of quiet conversation about more concrete boundaries and expressions both for the need of space and the lack of it, he reaches forward, pushing a strand of her hair behind her hair, running several fingers down her arm until he can take her hand. He draws her around the counter, climbing onto a stool and urging her to sit as well. Their joined hands hang between them, tightly clasped, a familiar bridge amidst raging waters. “I didn’t realize how long I was… anticipating this,” she says, slow and careful, her eyes on their physical connection. “A week ago, I was so relieved to be able to say it - I’ve never thought I deserved it.”
Tony just gazes at her, seeing more, seeing her past and her promises and loving her more and more every second. “Me too,” he admits. “And now that we’re in it…”
Natasha chuckles, rubbing his shoulder with her free hand. “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?” She agrees wryly, her lips quirking at the corners.
Tony sighs, reaching down and hooking a finger into her belt-loop, pulling her off her stool to rest between his legs. She goes easily, molding her body to his, head tucked in the crook between his neck and shoulder. His hands find the back pockets of her jeans, a move that in any other situation would be sexual, but not with them, not now. Sex has long been a tool for both of them to wield, especially Natasha, and it’s surprisingly not a priority in their relationship yet - the verbal intimacy is more important by leaps and bounds. “This is gonna work,” he tells her, and there is no question in his voice, no doubt. “We’re still gonna take it day by day, but we’re gonna last.”
Natasha removes her head from his shoulder, looking up to meet his eyes. “I know,” she says. “And everything else - Pete and Daisy, the team, everything - what do we do?” she asks, and it is a very un-Natasha-like question, full of uncertainty and vulnerability. It sounds like the words of trust she had exchanged with Steve a guest bedroom and the words of comfort she had given Clint after he killed his fellow agents. Yet, there is something more - an anxiety thrumming underneath her skin like buzzing bees. She only lets herself express it as a small twitch, but Tony looks at her with knowing eyes.
“Whatever you want,” he promises. “Whatever you want to do, I’ll take it.” He soothes the uncertainty by slowly pressing his forehead against hers. “But whatever it is, even if we disagree, I’m in this for the long haul.” She doesn’t sigh or relax, but she doesn’t withdraw, instead curling a little closer. “And this is for us,” he adds fiercely.
“It won’t always be,” she warns, winding her fingers in his hair. A breeze rustles the open curtains, and with the soft chirps of crickets as the only sound other than their combined breathing, it almost feels like they could stay here forever.
But they can’t. They have responsibilities. They have friends that rely on them.
Still, Tony thinks, holding her tighter, maybe tonight they can pretend. They can pretend here, in Clint’s kitchen, and more importantly, they can pretend later with the kids playing at their feet, Laura and Clint and Daisy sharing the couch and a bottle of wine. Lila coerces Nat and Daisy into braiding her long hair, and the two women expertly twist it into several different directions that have Lila rolling on the floor in laughter, tears streaming down her cheeks. As Natasha fixes it into something more presentable, Daisy and Tony share a long look filled with relief and understanding. They made it. Their family is going to be okay. The worst, at least of this particular crisis, is over.
When Natasha walks into the kitchen to take the hot chocolate that Laura had made out of the pot, her voice low and warm with some clever remark she is exchanging with Clint, Tony is suddenly struck with an affection so deep he can hardly breathe. Natasha is like no one he has ever known. She’s not just a fighter - not just someone to protect - she’s both neither and more than these things, and trying to figure out the truth of her makes his head hurt. Natasha is like a gleaming knife, shining in the darkness, one made of the same metals that used to hover too close to his heart. A threat at first, but he is better now for them, better now that he has her. He sharpens himself on her edges.
(natasha watches him back across the room, when he isn’t looking. she thinks tony is like the sun. she has never felt so warm in all her life.)
-
“You and Clint?” She asks once they’ve boarded the jet. He can hear the smile in her voice.
“New development,” he says. The door closes with a hiss behind them, signifying the end of an era and the beginning of something new. Tony’s looking forward to seeing what that is, now that the overpowering fear is on simmer.
“I think it’s cute,” she observes, smiling for real this time. He’s not sure how he hadn’t always noticed Natasha has a lovely smile - her eyes light up when her happiness is genuine, and the air around her actually seems brighter. Maybe it’s just because he’s in love with her, but he suspects it might just be Natasha herself, if the way that Daisy, Peter, and Clint all easily fall into her orbit.
“Am I a joke to you?” He teases, nudging her gently as he sits down next to her.
“I ship it!” Daisy calls from the front of the plane, walking back to them.
Tony rolls his eyes. “It’s not gonna happen, Dais.”
Daisy wedges herself between them with a bright smile, and Tony feels a paign when he remembers how blind he was, how he hadn’t realized that grin was missing for days. He scoots over to give her room, but not too much. She wants less space, and Nat needs more.
He knows that now. He won’t mess this up. If Natasha can be patient with him about his PTSD, he can respect her boundaries.
“I’m not sure,” she is saying to Natasha. “It worked last time.” She looks back and forth between them with her eyebrows raised before falling into laughter.
Tony isn’t surprised to find that she’s discovered their new relationship. They haven’t been obvious, but to someone like Daisy who sees them everyday, the difference must be stark. “About that, Daisy…” he begins, starting before he’s really formed a thought.
Daisy turns serious, and Tony gets a glimpse of why Coulson must have suggested that she had been in the running for assistant director of SHIELD. “I know you probably want to keep it quiet. I won’t say a word, ever, I swear.”
Natasha sits up straighter, looking Daisy in the eye. “We know that. We trust you - and you’re a part of our team. Our decisions concern you, so don’t be afraid to speak up.”
Daisy’s mouth falls open, but Tony just gazes at Natasha with pride. “She knows, honey,” Tony replies, and the endearment tastes like its namesake on his tongue.
Natasha winks at him, and Daisy recovers. “Afraid to speak up? Nah, that’s not me,” she laughs. “Okay, I’ll leave you two lovebirds to canoodle in the back - ETA Tower in one hour.” She saunters out, and that’s that.
One month later, the new Accords pass, and Tony catches Natasha in his arms for a short embrace. He pulls back after a few moments, but he keeps hold of her hands. “So we’re doing this?” His grin is wide, unfettered. He sounds like an overeager puppy. He doesn’t care.
Natasha’s smile blooms. To the press, it looks like she has shark’s teeth. To Tony, her eyes sparkle with something much more vulnerable. “We just did it,” she points out.
He laughs then, pulling on the hand that he has encased in his, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. It might be the most chaste show of affection he’s ever instigated in public; their bodies are not touching except for their hands and lips.
There is a moment so silent that one could hear a pin drop. Then the room explodes.
The press in the room is professional, of course, and the rest of them are formal dignitaries, but the wall to their right is glass and the rest of the rabble wait eagerly for them to exit. The flashes would be blinding if Tony hadn’t grown up in the spotlight, now well used to them. And he doesn’t think anything so plebeian could faze Natasha.
When they pull apart, he guides her hand to his lips, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of her wrist. “I think we have another celebration to get to, don’t you?” He says, waggling his eyebrows at her.
Instead of laughing, she pins him in place with a sultry gaze - and oh god, is she good at it - leaning forward until her lips brush the curve of his ear. “Well, I only bought this dress so you could take it off,” she murmurs, and Tony feels heat rise underneath his skin. The emotional and supportive side of their relationship is everything he’s ever imagined that he needs, but their bedroom activities are skyrocketing out in space somewhere.
“Yeah, we’re going,” he agrees, tugging on her so that she bumps against him. “I want to watch the playback on FRIDAY and see who was really surprised. I’m pretty sure the Norwegian ambassador has had us pegged for months - and speaking of -”
Natasha lets him ramble, winking at T’Challa as they reach the doors. With their hands tightly clasped, Tony pulls her into the flashing lights.