Chapter Text
Lunch with Obadiah Stane has gone from once a year, to twice a year, to almost every month.
Tony won’t pretend it doesn’t make him nervous, but he’s always been good at hiding things like this.
So he turns up to all of the lunches, he smiles every time, talks about his teaching job at MIT. He definitely doesn’t talk about his job at SHIELD, or the fact that he secretly runs a billion dollar company under a name that he hasn’t used for his entire life.
It’s a need to know basis, his friendship with Obie. He wants to keep it like that. After everything that’s happened… he wants to keep it like that.
He’s not even sure friendship is the right word to use. He’d backed out of Obadiah’s company five years ago, and hadn’t had any desire to go back into weapons manufacturing. That hasn't stopped Obadiah from wanting him to keep in touch. Even after his mother's death, Obie had wanted to keep catching up with him, despite Maria being the person to really connect them in the first place. Or at least she had been, until Obie had hired him straight out of college.
Tony doesn’t trust Obadiah, not really. his eyes are too cold, too calculating. But the man is also the only person even closely resembling a parental figure in his life now, and it's hard to turn his back on that. Plus, Obie hasn’t done anything wrong that Tony could prove even if he wanted to. It's just… a feeling.
So lunch.
Obadiah is late, and honestly Tony isn’t surprised. It’s the only thing he can rely on about the whole situation that he’s finding himself in increasingly often.
Ten minutes later, a waitress walks up to their table. He doesn’t turn to see who’s with her, but from the way she’s stumbling over her words, it doesn’t take a lot to guess.
Obadiah smiles at him as he takes a seat in the chair opposite, and Tony forces one back.
“Hi Obie. Traffic?”
“Business calls.” The other man says, and there’s a faintly amused smile on his face.
“Oh?” Tony says, and he only half cares. He left that world for a reason, the world of weapons and destruction.
“Tony.” Obie chides, and he feels a flash of anger at the mocking tone. He squashes it fast, absolutely refusing to let Obadiah have the satisfaction of seeing it on his face. “You know I can’t tell you any of this.”
Tony laughs, calling the waitress over to order drinks. It’s not amusing. Frankly, he doesn’t give a shit. But the patronising edge to Obadiah’s voice makes him want to break something.
“I know.” He says with a humourless smile. “Just trying to make conversation.”
Obie laughs too, and it’s a cold thing.
“Order me a drink?”
Tony has always wondered how his questions somehow manage to sound like orders every time.
“Sure.” Tony says, flashing a smirk at the waitress. She blushes, and he feels a flash of nausea. It’s harder around Obadiah, to remember why he stepped back from that life and everything that came with it. It’s not him, it never has been, despite the rumours and stories that had circulated around him like vultures for years.
A minute later their drinks arrive, and Obadiah clinks the glasses together. Tony takes a drink, and it burns a little.
“So,” Obie says when Tony’s halfway done with his drink. He’s resisting the urge to tap his fingers on the table, refusing to give into the nervous habit. “How have you been Tony?”
Tony doesn't allow more than a second of silence before he answers. If he controls the conversation, maybe he can avoid the other questions.
“I've been good.” He says with a half smile, dragging his finger around the rim of his glass absentmindedly. “Teaching’s going well. You’d be surprised at how many of these kids are actually a lot smarter than they look.”
Obie flashes a grin again, and it’s a tiny bit warmer this time. “Any other super genius ones?”
Tony huffs out a laugh, letting his mind linger on one name before deciding against it. “Unfortunately no. But they’re intelligent kids. They’ll do well in life.”
Their food comes soon after, and Tony really wants to drop the teaching thing before-
“You know, teaching doesn’t really fulfill your whole… skill set, does it?”
Too late.
Tony smiles again, but there’s no humour in it. “I’m aware. But it’s what I enjoy doing.”
That, and the whole working for a secret government agency deal, which he doesn’t intend to mention any time soon.
There’s a shrug from Obadiah, and Tony can feel a knot of anxiety tightening in his stomach.
“I only wish you’d consider my offer Tony. You were a real asset to the company. I know I made a mistake-“
“That mistake, ” Tony says quietly, “cost people their lives. It wasn’t what I wanted to be a part of. It wasn’t your fault, but you understand why I can’t come back.”
There’s something that flashes in Obadiah's eyes at that, but for the life of him Tony can’t work out what. He counts four seconds of silence in the pounding of his heart and then-
Obie shrugs. “Okay. I just had to ask. It was nice having you working with me. Maybe one day you can reconsider.”
Tony gives him a bland smile. “Yeah. Maybe.”
They start to eat, and he is so glad for the distraction, for something to occupy his hands while he thinks.
He wonders if he ever would go back to work for Obadiah. He suspects not, even though the temptation is there, small as it is. But however you look at it, the facts remain the same. Someone had gone under the table and dealt to terrorists, had dealt Tony’s weapons to terrorists. And without the joy of knowing who… there had been no way he could’ve risked continuing to make them. So he’d left, walked away, not looked back. But somehow… somehow Obadiah couldn't just let it go.
Tony’s phone rings, interrupting his thoughts. He picks it up with a frown, eyes flickering over the unknown number written across the screen.
“Hello?”
A woman’s voice filters through the phone, and it’s familiar enough that he has to bite down on the urge to smile.
“Act natural or I’ll kill you.”
“What are you-”
A click, and the other person hangs up. When he puts his phone away, Obadiah's eyebrows are raised. Tony shakes his head with a wave of dismissal.
“Wrong number, don’t worry. What were you-”
He breaks off as Natasha Romanoff walks into the restaurant.
Walks would be a little generous. rushes would be more accurate. He has less than two seconds to rearrange his entire face into the right amount of recognition before she's next to them.
He sees the look in her eyes as she recognises Obadiah, but it’s quickly covered by the smile she gives him.
“Oh wow, Mr Stane, it’s an honour to meet you! Tony said he knew you but no one really believed him.”
He resists the urge to kick her, because he’s never heard Natasha Romanoff gushing before, didn’t even know it was something she was capable of, whether she’s playing a role or not.
Obie smirks, and Tony gives him a look.
“It’s lovely to meet you too, miss?”
“Rushman.” Natasha says with a smile. “Natalie Rushman. I’m one of Tony’s colleagues.”
“It’s not often I get to meet anyone Tony works with.” Obadiah says with a laugh. “So it’s my pleasure.”
“Natalie.” He steps in before this drags out for longer than necessary. “No offence but… What are you doing here?”
She blinks, before looking back at him, seemingly remembering something. “Oh! Sorry, yes. We have an emergency.”
As he looks at her again, he takes in the details. She’s dressed in a tailored suit, coat over one arm and hair windswept. It’s so at odds with the leather jackets and combat boots Tony is used to that he has to take a second. He sees the flash of annoyance in her eyes as he hesitates and decides to start talking.
“This is my lunch break.” He says with a frown. “They can’t have burnt down the campus in twenty minutes.”
“No, but we need you back. There’s a student who has accidentally set something on fire in your lab.” She says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. It’s the opposite of what Natasha would do, Tony knows as much from hours spent working with her at SHIELD. But of course, this is not Natasha Romanoff at all.
And that… that sentence is a code.
Shit.
He swears under his breath, turning to Obie with a look of apology in his eyes. “I’ll pay for this, just text me the details. I’m so sorry, I really have to go and help.”
Obadiah waves a hand. “Go, don't worry about it. I’ll see you soon I suspect.” There’s a look of faint amusement on his face, like he knows something Tony doesn’t. He ignores the faint flash of nausea that accompanies this thought, standing up and grabbing his jacket.
“Let’s go.” She says quietly, steering him towards the door with a final, brilliant smile directed to Obadiah. Tony doesn’t look back as she half pulls him out of the restaurant, dragging him down the street until they reach a side alley. Then he pulls out of her grip fast. She doesn't comment on the speed of the movement, and he's grateful for that at least.
“What the fuck Romanoff?” He whisper shouts, unwilling to attract too much attention. “Why the hell couldn't you have just called me?”
She gives him a look that has his mouth snapping closed instantly, because shouting at Natasha hasn’t historically been good for anyone's health. He doubts even Fury would go that far.
“Be careful.” She says, voice low. “I’m not risking a cover just so you can bitch at me. Fury wanted you in, that’s not my decision to make. It had to be realistic and he had to buy it, so stop whining and go.”
“Why does Fury want me there?” He says, eyes narrowing. “Because last I checked I'm just the mechanic.”
A humourless smile twists Natasha’s lips. “Maybe he needs to pick your alter ego’s brain for something.”
He feels a sudden sharp urge to get defensive, accompanied with a flash of panic that he suspects won’t ever get old. It’s not like she had shouted his name in times square but… he’s nervous, too nervous about it. It’s a weakness, to have a secret like this, he’s well aware of that.
"I don’t have an alter ego .” Tony says quietly, squashing the fear. He knows that Fury knows, that she knows. But no one else does, and Tony would like to keep it that way
She just shrugs, tone faintly mocking as she speaks again. “You’re a genius Mr Carbonell , whether you like it or not, however many times you hide behind different masks and names and identities. You retain the same level of IQ, even if you’re a little too good at pretending otherwise.”
He holds her gaze for a long time, and she holds it right back, unflinchingly. Seconds pass, and then Tony shakes his head, breaking eye contact and glancing away. “Fine, whatever. I’m not having this conversation with you in the middle of an alleyway. I’m guessing you’re not offering me a ride back to SHIELD?”
Natasha gives him a lazy smile, pulling out the keys to her bike. “Nope. You’ve got time, so don’t stress too much. Be careful.”
Tony rolls his eyes. “I’m not the one riding a motorcycle through Manhattan Tasha.”
Her gaze softens slightly, in a way that Tony knows most people will never get to see.
“I know. But…” A shrug. “Humour me. Take care of yourself Tony, okay?”
Something tells him that she’s not just talking about the journey back to SHIELD headquarters, and he doesn’t know what to make of it. Natasha has always been cryptic, but this? This is extreme, even for her.
“Yeah.” He says, deciding not to push it, not now. “Sure, you know I always do.”
She flashes a grin at him, concern leaving her face like smoke in the wind. “See you in a minute.”
And then she’s gone, vanishing into the crowded streets of the city.