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Tony eyed Natasha.
He wasn't the only one doing so. It had begun just a day after the briefing that Fury had given them, all the what's and why's and when's.
She had gotten a cough that only seemed to be getting worse. She had been snapping at anybody who tried to task her if she was okay, voice getting progressively worse- poor Steve had gotten a telling off in a mix of Russian and English, and had slunk away to lick at his wounds.
While he maybe couldn't understand everything she said, he sure got the gist of it, and it wasn't pretty. Tony, who could, winced because, ouch.
He hadn't known that was anatomically possible, and he'd invented at least 20 new sex positions.
But as she had started to become more irritated, he figured that it was probably smarter to hide around a convenient wall and watch from a strategic distance.
Right now, she was frowning fiercely, pacing the length of the room, wearing a beautiful, floor-length dress, green, with pretty silk strappings and crossing, hair done up in elaborate twists, pinned with pearls.
She looked beautiful, perfect. But things were most definitely not.
It was the day of the conference, and things were only getting worse, not better.
Natasha's voice had gotten progressively worse, until she was just barely rasping, the sound so painful that it made Tony and the rest of the Avengers wince in sympathy and pain.
Tony glanced at the clock. It was time to go.
The Avengers trailed mutely out of the tower, into the cars, and 20 minutes later, they were there. Steve glanced at Tony frantically, silently inquiring on Natasha's status, since Tony was the only one brave enough to go with her.
Tony shook his head and Steve closed his eyes.
Everything was was banking on Natasha, there was nobody else but her that could do the task, nobody knew as many languages as her. Well, except Tony, but nobody else knew that.
They were screwed, to put it simply.
Cameras flashed and Tony knew that had only seconds to try to fix this.
Swallowing, he stepped up to the stage, ignoring the frantic pleas from the rest of the Avengers. The conference began.
Natasha could only watch helplessly as Tony took to the stage. What the hell was he doing?
As he opened his mouth, Natasha closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable shitstorm.
... That did not come.
instead, she watched in awe as he effortlessly navigated each language, surpassing Natasha. The sharp rises and falls of Russian, the thickness of German, the lilting vowels of Irish, the rolls and hidden tones of Chinese.
As the conference continued, she shared amazed look with the rest of the Avengers. She had no idea. Why didn't she know this?
And she sure as hell didn't know that he was paying attention during the briefing Fury gave her.
When the conference ended flawlessly, they crowded Tony.
"Tony..." Steve stared at him in utter incredulity. "What the hell was that?"
As questions piled onto him, Natasha slipped next to him.
"Thank you," she whispered, rough and creaking and painful, words falling from her lips, words she hadn't used in so long, and even then, to a rare few people.
But as Tony smiled, his face lit up, realizing the magnitude of the thank you, blushing, Natasha decided that it was worth it.