Work Text:
“Stark, are you... knitting?”
Tony glanced up between stitches, then immediately back down. “The fact that someone is asking questions from the air vents is kind of creepy, Barton,” he said, because no one else in the tower liked to pretend they lived in a bad spy thriller.
There was a scratching noise and a loud clang as the grate landed on a nearby workbench, followed by Barton in full tactical gear. The man did not know what casual clothing was.
“No, seriously,” Barton said. “You're knitting. Why are you knitting?”
“Because this dress isn't going to knit itself,” Tony said, frowning as he worked a particularly difficult part of the pattern. “Get your boots off my damn workbench.”
Barton shifted so he was sitting properly, legs dangling over the side of his perch, and stared at Tony. “Why are you making a dress?”
“Because your superspy partner won't stop bugging me about where Pepper got her dress from.”
“That makes even less sense than you usually do.”
“It makes perfect sense,” Tony disagreed, moving on to the easy part of the piece. “What makes no sense is the fact that Romanov wants flowers on hers. Leaves aren't good enough for her. Do you have any idea how difficult lace flowers are? Never should've told her the stupid things were handmade to order.”
“That still doesn't explain why you're knitting,” Barton said, swinging his feet at the edge of Tony's vision. “I mean, no offense, just... you don't seem like the crafty type.”
“Not my fault your mind is stuck on outdated gender-based stereotypes,” Tony said with a shrug. “You plan to sit there and annoy me all day? Because contrary to the stories you tell each other, I do tend to actually be working when I'm down here.”
“That depends.”
“On?”
“Whether or not you'll teach me.”
Tony actually stopped, hands going completely still, and lifted his head to stare at Barton. “What?”
“Teach me how to knit,” Barton said. “I've always wanted to learn, just never found someone willing to teach me. It looks cool.”
Tony studied him carefully, looking for any sign of insincerity, not wanting to be tricked into giving Barton gossip fodder, but Barton was either as good an actor as Romanov, or he meant what he was saying.
“J, mark my place for me,” he said, carefully setting aside the pile of deep blue alpaca yarn while Jarvis updated the pattern chart so he could pick it back up later. “Dummy, take Birdy to the stash.”
Dummy rolled himself over and very carefully grabbed Barton by the wrist, tugging until he climbed off the workbench and followed the stupid bot across the lab. Tony sat back and smiled with satisfaction when Barton cursed inventively- his stash was easily twice the size of most yarn stores. And that was just the stuff he kept in the lab.
“I've got more upstairs,” he called, just to listen to Barton curse again, in German this time.
“Your robot is trying to poke me with chopsticks,” Barton called back.
Tony heaved himself to his feet with a laugh and joined Barton in the doorway. “Those are knitting needles. He's trying to be helpful. Dummy, put those back, there's no way he's ready to work something that small. Barton, that wall, red shelves, pick something.”
Tony was unsurprised when Barton came back with a ball of vibrant purple cotton yarn. He grabbed a couple pairs of needles and a ball of pale green for himself, then led the way back to his seat and got settled.
“Okay, first of all, you can't do shit until you learn how to cast on...”
“What's going on in here?” Natasha asked, surveying the media room with confusion and interest.
“Hey, Tash,” Clint said, waving at her from his seat on the back of the couch. “Welcome to the weekly Avengers stitch and bitch. Wanna join us?”
“Since when can you knit?” she asked, leaning against the doorjamb. “Any of you?”
“Since last month,” Banner said, not looking up from what might be the beginnings of a blanket spread across his lap.
“Some few weeks now,” Thor said, frowning down at the thick wooden needles and lush silver yarn in his hands. “And I fear I've miscounted. Again.”
“Well, count it and see,” Stark told him, nudging the god with his foot.
“Only about a week,” Steve confessed sheepishly. He had what looked a scarf on his needles, lumpy and slightly misshapen.
“What about you?” Natasha asked Clint, stepping into the room to get a closer look at whatever he was making. It was predictably purple, whatever it was.
“A bit longer than Bruce,”
“And Stark?”
“Since I was about six,” Stark answered. He was focused on what Thor was making. “No, you yarned over twice in the last row, that's all. Just back it up the way I showed you and you'll be fine. So you want lessons, Romanov? I'm sure there's some needles and yarn nobody's using around here somewhere.”
Natasha cocked her head to the side, considering. Knitting wasn't really an essential skill, but it did seem to lend itself well to a team activity, and she would never fit in as well as the others if she excluded herself. Besides, if Stark had been knitting most of his life, learning would be an opportunity to grow closer to him, and hopefully somewhat cancel out the less than ideal circumstances under which they'd met.
“Very well,” she said at length. “It might be fun.”
Stark grinned at her, standing and walking to the wall. Much like the ones in her own room, this one opened to reveal a hidden display. Instead of weapons, though, this one held dozens of balls of yarn in a variety of colors, along with more of the wooden needles the others were using. Stark selected a ball of green and tossed it to her, grabbing another and two sets of needles.
Natasha sat cross-legged on the coffee table, watching with interest, letting the background murmur of her team relax her, engrossing herself in knit stitch, yarn weight, needle size, and the evils of synthetic fiber.
It really was quite fun, and she had a scarf to match Steve's by the time they had to stop for dinner.