Chapter Text
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… all of this silence and patience, pining in anticipation
my hands are shaking from holding back from you.
all of this silence and patience, pining and desperately waiting
my hands are shaking from all this …
… even in my worst lies, you saw the truth in me…
-
“Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark! Can you say anything about Miss Romanoff’s condition?”
“Mr. Stark-”
Tony pushes through the reporters, peripherally aware of their shouted questions and demands. He wouldn’t even be here if Pepper and he hadn’t had a standing agreement for him to say something to the press if he plans on disappearing for more than a week.
And disappearing they are. Tony’s emotional state is torn between two complex states. The first: utter joy and a soft kind of delight that Natasha and he have finally come to an understanding about their relationship. Waking up in her arms this morning has filled him with an almost unbearable, gentle weightlessness, like he could do anything - a feeling that used to be reserved for flying in the suit. The second: an abject, deep terror, because the same person who now makes him feel like he is flying had plummeted to the ground and nearly died on his watch two days ago.
Natasha’s condition is firmly stable, but her recovery is not without issues. She still has two holes in her abdomen, and it had taken Helen a little too long to regenerate her tissue because of the messy stitching job that had saved her life. A job for which Tony is extremely grateful, but it does mean that Nat will be out of commission for a week or so.
Suffice to say, they need some time to figure it all out. He needs some time to suppress the urge to take her to his island in the Mediterranean and stay there in spite of the world, an urge that is possibly the most surefire way to let this growing thing between them die.
It’s not like he’d actually try to take away her choice, he reasons, rational now when he can’t see the wounds that nearly took her from him. But in that hospital, begging her to please just keep breathing, please sweetheart , he had nearly called the plane to pick them up right then.
He swings himself up onto the platform, turning to face the crowds.
“Alright, kids, I’m going to be on vacation for the next two weeks. Colonel Rhodes will be running all Avengers related activity at the Tower, with Vision at the Compound to continue operations upstate. So, to all the bad guys out there, right now is definitely not your window to attack, because if you pull me off of whatever beach I choose to lie on, I’ll be pissed.” Clapping his hands as if to illustrate his point, he leans on the dais. “As far as I’m concerned, that’s all you need to know, but I guess I’ll answer a few questions.” He looks down at the crowd, spotting one of his favorites from the Times in the front row. “Charlie, right?”
The man gives him a nod. “Mr. Stark, Miss Romanoff’s hospitalization was on the news. Does this vacation, and please accept my best wishes, have anything to do with that fight?”
Tony straightens, bringing himself to his full height. “The Black Widow is just fine.” She nearly wasn’t. “Her injuries are minor.” She nearly bled to death in my arms. “She’s almost healed up.” She has two holes in her abdomen that she refuses to let me see. “This vacation is for vacationing purposes only, I promise.” Get Nat to safety, hold her, protect her…
Clearly, no one believes him, but he must look pretty manic because the remainder of the questions are about Stark Industries and Avengers operations.
He retreats back to the penthouse an hour or so later, finding Natasha on the couch with an excited Peter at her feet, who is clearly in the middle of some long, drawn out Spiderman story. Daisy’s sprawled out next to them both, clicking away on her phone. Her head is resting on Natasha’s shoulder, and Tony knows she is listening to the other woman’s vibrations. They all have their own way of coping.
It’s really quite a picture, he thinks, hanging back in the doorway. He’s always had Rhodey and Pepper, but he never really thought anything was missing until he found this too. Daisy, Peter, and Natasha, always Natasha, have become his little super-powered family, and it’s moments like these that he can really see and savor it.
“Mr. Stark!”
The moment is broken in the best way as Peter bounds toward him, and he was wrong, it isn’t a Spiderman story. It’s a love story, Peter tells him, as he details the thoughtful, carefully planned out way he asked MJ to the movies that is clearly an over-exaggeration. He knows this boy, knows that Peter probably did it as an accident and got lucky, but still hums in support at the appropriate moments.
Natasha has straightened up on the couch by the time he catches her eye; Tony has known her for long enough that she does it to cause him less pain, as if by appearing normal will cause him to forget about finding her unmoving on the ground, blood trailing from her mouth, whispering revelations that she’s afraid to die without making. His smile fades, and as if they are connected, hers does too.
“How are you feeling?” He asks after Peter’s story ends, low and with a sort of faux-calm he doesn’t feel. He pats Peter on the shoulder, flashing him a quick smile when the boy beams up at him, before making his way to the couch. Daisy still hasn’t lifted her head, and if she’s this traumatized, they’re going to need to talk later, but Tony’s priority right now is Natasha.
“They have me on the best meds,” she tells him with a soft smirk, and he can’t ignore that she didn’t answer the question.
He moves to lift her shirt, but she grasps his hand before he can see anything. The touch is gentle, but the lack of perceived trust causes tendrils of anger to escape where he’s carefully kept them caged for the past 48 hours. Waking up in her arms this morning had placated him, and the kisses she had given him last night were something out his wildest dreams, but neither erase the panic-caused fury he feels at the world. He drops her hand.
“Nat-” He starts, his voice a mixture of warning and pleading.
Retaking his hand, she squeezes firmly. “Later,” she promises, darting her eyes to Peter and then to Daisy, who is watching their exchange warily.
“I’m gonna go pack,” she announces, steering Peter out of the room as she goes. Before disappearing through the doorway, though, she shoots a warning look in their direction, and Tony really doesn’t know who she meant it for. Probably both of them. “Give me a shout at ETA one hour!”
Natasha waits for them to leave earshot before speaking. “I’m worried about Daisy,” she says, matter-of-fact.
Tony sighs. “I’ll talk to her once we get settled,” he assures her, and he takes a moment to revel in the out-of-body experience of the parental-therapy role he has settled into with Daisy and Peter. Feelings and emotions have never been his strong point, but the emotional literacy that comes with hearing both Peter’s teenager problems and Daisy’s deeply traumatic, self-worth issues has only benefited him in both work and with his personal relationships. He hopes that Natasha isn’t offended when the two younger Avengers don’t ask her for that kind of help, but he suspects she’s grateful that they feel comfortable with him. Not to mention that she has her hands full with Wanda.
“Now,” he asks again, settling next to her. “How are you feeling?”
There is a moment where he thinks she might equivocate and avoid responding, but instead she looks him straight in the eye. “I’m still not comfortable discussing my injuries,” she admits, her voice nearly robotic in an attempt to provide him with the truth against her instincts. “Can you - I mean, will you wait for me to be ready?”
Tony takes her hand in his, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of her wrist. “I appreciate your honesty,” he replies, trying not to cringe. They sound like aliens who are trying to communicate like humans. “You know I do. As long as you’re doing your best to heal, I won’t press. I promise.”
Now that they’ve skirted that landmine, Natasha looks up at him with a small grin, tilting her head to the TV. “The beach?” She asks, and the look on her face tells him that she knows exactly why he misdirected the press.
He can’t help it; he presses three more kisses to her hand, grinning when she laughs at his antics. “Hey, I learned from the best.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Well, The Best would like to ask what time we’re leaving for the farmhouse.”
Tony smiles. “There’s just no surprising you, is there?”
Natasha’s eyes grow serious, and this time, she pulls him down to press a gentle kiss to his lips. It’s still so new and precious, each sign of affection she bestows upon him, and he presses closer to her, curving a careful arm around her back. The muscles there contract before relaxing, and she sighs.
“Yes,” she reminds him as she lets her head fall on his shoulder. “Yes, there is.”
-
They arrive at the farm with little fanfare, Daisy darting forward to scoop a shrieking Lila into her arms. Tony stays back with Natasha, hovering a hand over her back. They haven’t talked about telling other people, and they still need to figure out whether their friends should know the truth, but they are here for Natasha to heal.
So Tony’s hand hovers instead of pressing the way he’d like to, because he doesn’t want to make this visit into teasing or shocking revelations or explanations, and it is still something that feels too much to reveal, even to Natasha’s best friend. He wants this to be for them . From the way Natasha does not back into his hand, he knows she probably feels the same.
Laura gathers Natasha into her arms on the porch, not even blinking when Natasha doesn’t return the gesture wholeheartedly. After a few seconds, she steps back into Tony’s space, body tensing as Clint jogs up from the shed to greet her.
“Heya, Nat,” he smiles; he looks like he always does at the farmhouse, grease and oil up to his elbows. Tony swallows back guilt at the sight of the blinking bracelet around his ankle, knowing that they’ve already spoken at length and Clint bears him no ill will. “Stark,” he nods, before turning back to his best friend. “So, on a scale of one to Budapest?”
Natasha chuckles, giving him a quick, one armed hug. “Bali,” she says with certainty.
Clint whistles; Tony notices his eyes shift from cursory concern to a deep sort of understanding and tension. He knows the two have their own code, and Laura is evidently aware as well, rolling her eyes at him in companionship. He gives her a grateful smile.
“I need a hand out in the shed,” Clint offers, waving at Natasha. She gives him a close-lipped smile and a nod, stepping forward.
Tony blinks. “Nat, are you sure you should…?”
Clint eyes him sharply, assessing. Tony knows he’s been a spy too long not to notice that something has changed. He reads the space between them like a map, and Tony waits to be called out. Clint says nothing, though, and he’s not sure if that’s better or worse.
Natasha shrugs; Tony knows that, by now, she’s a little annoyed with his mother hen act. He won’t apologize though; he refuses to stop trying to take care of her, even when she thinks she doesn’t need it. “I’ll be fine,” she promises, and he can tell it takes a lot for her to accept any sort of coddling, so he gives her a soft smile.
He still watches her go, all the way into the building until he can’t see her anymore. He wonders just when he turned into a lovesick puppy. Laura smirks at him knowingly, putting Nathaniel into his arms before guiding him inside.
-
The second day, Tony finds Natasha in the basement at 5:30 in the morning. There is a beat up punching bag in the corner of the dark room, swinging back and forth like it weighs nothing. She approaches the bag with something beyond the cool, calculating Natasha he is used to seeing in the field and in training; her punches are a little wild, her kicks hit a little too hard, and her lip is curled in distaste. If he didn’t know her better than he knew anyone, he wouldn’t have noticed, but Tony has been watching this woman fight for years. Each movement she makes is like a line of code to him: filled with information to analyze.
He jerks his head at Daisy in the corner, whose eye he had caught when he entered. He knows she prefers to do her Tai Chi outside if she can, and Clint’s property supplies nature in abundance. It is another clue to evaluate; Daisy must have come down to be with Natasha.
After finishing her final pose, she exits up the stairs with a gentle press of her hand on Tony’s arm. And that’s when Tony knows it’s bad.
They have yet to navigate one of their emotionally tense moments since they have gotten together, so Tony approaches with his own brand of caution: awkward, rambling humor.
“It hurt you?” Tony jokes, gesturing to the punching bag. “Because the suit’s just upstairs, and I’m sure I can take care of it much faster with a repulsor to the general-face-area then you can with your fists.”
Natasha just shakes her head. “I’m doing just fine, Tony. You can go back upstairs.”
He knows he shouldn’t mention her injuries, but eyeing the bandages with their slight red tint, he can’t help it. “Nat, maybe you should take it easy-”
Of course it is the wrong thing to say, especially after his other many comments along the same vein, but he still takes a step back when she spins on him. “Would you say that to Thor? Or Bruce?”
“That isn’t fair,” he begins.
“I’m not made of glass, Tony,” she argues. “Us doing… whatever we’re doing - it doesn’t change the fact that I’m an Avenger. I know what I’m capable of, and I know when to stop.”
“Yeah,” Tony agrees, irritation seeping into his voice, “an Avenger who got shot twice and nearly bled out in my arms. I’m not worried because we kissed once, Romanoff. I’m worried because I was sitting, alone, in a hospital room, thinking I was the last Avenger because you were careless, and I’d rather not repeat that experience because you’re pissed about being benched for a week!”
She glares at him. “Careless?” She questions slowly, as if she can’t quite believe the word came out of his mouth.
“Nat-”
“Don’t think I haven’t seen the way you’ve looked at me the past few days,” she tells him, the Natasha he knows retreating in pain as the Black Widow comes out. “Like I could fall apart at any second. I didn’t need to come here, Tony, I did it for you. I knew you needed time to recover.” He sputters at her words, but she doesn’t let him speak. “I need space,” she tells him, and the iron in her voice is laced with an undercurrent of fear that he is too angry to hear.
He throws up his hands, shoving the sight of that patch of red on her stomach to the back of his mind. “You have it,” he retorts, acidic and hot to her cool fury. He makes for the stairs, and the silence behind him aches.