Work Text:
Natasha Likes Spiders
(and Tony’s a Genius)
There was a very undignified, girlish scream coming from the shooting range, and Tony’s eyes widened as he changed direction and picked up the pace. “JARVIS, what’s going on?” he demanded, somehow worried that an enemy had managed to bypass his security – which shouldn’t be possible – and was attacking Clint.
“I believe that Agent Barton has met Spi,” JARVIS replied promptly, sounding amused. Tony stopped where he was, blinking in bafflement.
“Oookay,” he drawled. “And why did that make him scream? He’s a super-spy. Shouldn’t he be above sneak attacks?”
Now JARVIS was definitely cheerful as he answered, “Spi did no such thing. Agent Barton attempted to climb into the vents, where she was resting.”
Tony grinned as he continued heading down the hall, the faint sounds of the resident assassin twins coming down the hallway. No doubt Clint hadn’t appreciated taking to the vents only to find a hand-sized AI spider nesting there. And Natasha was probably just pissed that Clint had startled the bot.
As he drew closer, the sounds started to form themselves into words.
“No, but seriously Nat, why is there a giant spider in the vents? I mean, couldn’t Stark have picked something else, maybe?” That would be Clint, and Tony stopped just outside the door to the range, shamelessly eavesdropping.
Natasha was quite obviously cross with the archer. “Like what? Rats, maybe? Grow up, Clint. Besides, he’s kind of cute.” Tony grinned; that’s what he had been hoping to hear when he introduced her to Spi, but the damn thing had run off before he could do so. Apparently, she had decided that the vents were a perfect hiding place, and had been wandering around the Tower for the last three days. Tony could have asked JARVIS to locate Spi, but that had somehow seemed like cheating.
“I wonder if he has a name?” Natasha mused, and Tony froze, his hand raised to push the door open. He was intrigued now.
Clint groaned. “What does it matter, Nat? It’s Stark’s. He names all his toys, you know that. It’s probably named something stupid like Eight or Arachnid or something.” Tony huffed in annoyance – just because his bots had chosen their own names based on his ramblings at the time they’d come online didn’t mean he’d have deliberately chosen those names, even if they were pretty accurate. Besides, JARVIS was named just fine, wasn’t he?
Natasha just hummed noncommittally, then decided, “I’ll name him Dasha. Is that okay, Tony?” she asked next, and Tony grinned to himself; of course she knew he was dithering in the hallway. Damn her and her sneaky sneaking ways.
Pushing open the door, he shrugged. “I don’t care, as long as she likes it,” he replied. “She’s female, by the way. What does Dasha mean?” he asked, the word obviously Russian as it tripped over his tongue. Natasha just smirked at him, and Tony sighed, resigning himself to having JARVIS look it up for him later. He waved his hand at the redhead. “Whatever. She’s for you anyhow.”
Clint stared at him in confusion. “What, why?” he asked. Natasha just smiled and looked back down at the beautifully crafted spider currently cradled between her hands. Spi – Dasha now – chittered cheerfully up at her, making Clint shudder and recoil a bit.
His distaste for the newest AI didn’t escape Tony’s notice, and the billionaire smiled gleefully. “Aw…is the little archer scared of spiders?” he teased obnoxiously. Clint just glared at him before flipping him the finger, and Tony’s grin widened. “Glad to hear it. Maybe she’ll be enough to keep you from nesting in the damn vents. She likes it up there.” That hadn’t been part of the plan, but it was a rather genius move, if he did say so himself.
Behind him, Natasha snickered quietly, amused at her partner’s expense. Clint just scowled at the both of them before snatching up his bow and quiver and stalking out the door.
Tony and Natasha watched him go. “What do you bet he’s going down to complain about me to Butterfingers?” he murmured.
Natasha grinned. “Not a chance,” she retorted. “That’s a sucker bet.” She looked back down at the bot cradled in her hands. “Did you mean it?” she asked next. “That she’s for me?”
Tony looked at her. “Well, yeah,” he said. “Bruce has got Dummy following him around like a lovesick puppy. Butterfingers adores Birdbrain, and You romps around with Thor outside in the rain and thunder.” He grimaced. “Not to mention that Steve has entirely corrupted JARVIS,” he added pointedly, well aware that the real reason that Tony was here on the common floor instead of in his lab was because the elevator had conveniently ceased to function halfway between the penthouse suite and the labs, and the door to the stairway was just as conveniently stuck closed. Tony had been debating calling the Iron Man suit to himself and leaving via the window when he had heard the screams.
“Captain America is above reproach,” JARVIS inserted smoothly, making Tony roll his eyes in exasperation. He gestured towards the ceiling, like ‘see what I have to put up with now?’ Natasha’s lips twitched upwards.
“You…you are out of the will,” he decided. Not that he actually remembered what was in his will – Pepper had handled most of it, actually. He knew where the Tower would go – to the Avengers – and the bots – also to the Avengers, but the rest of it? He didn’t have a clue. He sort of hoped that he’d been smart and signed it all over to Pepper should he die in battle or something.
“I’m wounded, I assure you,” JARVIS replied drolly.
Tony grinned, a quick flash of teeth. “Yeah, I’ll just bet you are.”
Natasha just shook her head at his antics, then asked pointedly, “Are you here for a reason, Stark? Or did you just come to laugh at Clint?”
Tony shrugged. “Honestly? I’m here because our resident Capsicle and JARVIS are busy plotting my demise. Or the destruction of my lab. I’m not really sure,” he mused. The two of them had an annoying habit of locking him out of the lab when they felt he’d gone too long without company. He kept meaning to remove Steve’s ability to initiate the lockout protocol, but he hadn’t gotten around to it yet.
Natasha smirked at him. “Is that so?” she asked, tilting her head coyly. It was a gesture that Tony remembered from when she was playing Natalie Rushman from Legal, all quiet efficiency and subtle flirting. “Then perhaps you should find something to do in the meantime. How long is your exile meant to last?” she asked, though she wasn’t talking to Tony.
“Sir will be permitted back into the lab, barring an emergency, in another three hours,” JARVIS answered politely. Tony groaned exaggeratedly, but didn’t argue. JARVIS’s patience was far greater than his, and Steve would just give him a benign smile and distract him with something else. Much like what Natasha was suggesting, actually.
He narrowed his eyes at the spy suspiciously. “You’ve got something in mind,” he accused. Natasha shrugged nonchalantly, and Tony debated for all of two seconds – anything had to be better than wandering around the common floor like an idiot. He sighed. “All right, let’s do it.”
Natasha raised her eyebrows at his easy capitulation, but turned and set Dasha down before leading the way back out of the room, Dasha scurrying happily around her feet, somehow managing not to trip her in the process. Tony eyed the bot with misgivings; if it did manage to trip Natasha, it wouldn’t be long for this world. Though he had to admit, he’d probably pay good money to see it happen.
Tony followed Natasha out of the range and into the hallway, where she turned left, away from the stairs and elevators. Tony found himself wondering if JARVIS would let Natasha take the stairs if Tony was with her. He’d be more likely to let her into the elevator, and then restrict which floors Tony was able to access.
He was busy enough with his thoughts that he didn’t even realize where he’d wound up until Natasha stopped, forcing him to stop with her. Looking around, he bit back a groan. Natasha just smirked at him and sauntered over to the boxing ring in the center of the floor. She didn’t bother with gloves, and Tony sighed as he followed her up, glad that he had been wearing a pair of old sweatpants and a ratty tank top while he’d been in the lab.
“Rules?” he asked when he was standing in the ring, facing Natasha. Five seconds later, he was face down on the mat, Black Widow’s weight pinning him down and his arm wrenched up behind him uncomfortably.
“There are none,” she purred from behind him, shifting her weight up and off. She graciously allowed Tony to climb back to his feet before attacking again, and this time, Tony was slightly more prepared, and managed to dodge the roundhouse kick and the follow-up punch.
But then Natasha’s back was pressed up against his chest, and he found himself being thrown over her shoulder with a grunt. He winced, aware that Widow was actually going easy on him. He had seen her take on Clint, and even Steve, and come out on top. She made exceptions for him because of the arc reactor – the threat of it being damaged and killing him via heart attack was very real, and reduced lung capacity wasn’t much fun, either – but she was still brutal. And Tony preferred it that way, if he was being completely honest. It’s not like Hydra or AIM or Doctor Doom cared about whether or not they were hurting him, after all. In fact, that was generally the goal.
Tony had to admit, at least to himself, that getting constantly thrown to the mat by Black Widow and Captain America, and even Hawkeye, was helping. He hadn’t been a poor fighter before, and had trained hard after Afghanistan, determined to never be helpless again. The Iron Man armor counted for a lot, but it wasn’t always a guarantee. After all, when he had gone after the Mandarin, he hadn’t had his suit with him, as it was still charging in the garage of a ten-year old kid. Tony might not seem like much without the Iron Man suit, but people tended to forget that he was still the man who could, and did, build the suit.
With a vicious twist, Tony tangled his legs with Natasha’s, bringing her down with him – and managing to keep her from landing on top of him this time. He had been going down anyhow. At least this way, he had the satisfaction of watching the flicker of surprise and respect on the assassin’s face. He knew that Natasha could have hidden the expression if she had wanted to, but he had noticed that she was slowly letting him – them – in. Even Clint was coming around, though he was surprisingly slower about it than Natasha. Befriending Butterfingers seemed to have gone a long way into establishing a sort of trust between the two men.
“You’re improving,” Natasha murmured approvingly, slipping gracefully back up to her feet and reaching a hand down to help Tony up. He accepted, his hand wrapping around her wrist and allowing her to haul him easily upright.
Tony snorted. “If you call falling on my ass twice as much improvement,” he snarked back.
Natasha grinned sharply. “I’m going twice as hard on you as before,” she reassured him. Tony gulped, pulling back from her like he was afraid. He took a step back…and stumbled over something that clacked angrily at him before scrabbling away. Tony landed on his ass, growling as he looked up and glared over at Dasha. Natasha didn’t even try to muffle her snicker, and Tony moved his glare up to her.
Another laugh came from the doorway, and Tony’s head snapped around to see Clint leaning against the archway, grinning widely at the tableau in the center of the ring. Natasha simple hopped over the ropes and headed for the nearby bench where a couple of towels waited, Dasha skittering behind her. Clint eyed it warily for a moment before dismissing the bot with a flick of his head, turning to look back over at Tony. “Still getting your ass kicked, huh, Stark?” he asked with a smirk.
Tony lifted a hand lazily and flipped the archer his middle finger. Clint just laughed, watching as Tony moved over to the bench as well to get a towel to wipe the sweat and grime from his neck and arms. “JARVIS, get some bots in here to clean up,” he instructed.
“Right away, sir,” JARVIS agreed. Dasha chittered merrily in the center of the floor before skittering straight for Clint. The archer leapt into the air, twisting around so that the spider bot ran right under his feet. It made an odd humming sound that Tony knew meant he was laughing. Clint scowled at it, obviously realizing the same thing.
A moment later, his eyes widened as Dasha climbed up a wall and disappeared into a nearby vent. “Wait. What’s that thing doing?” he demanded, properly horrified.
Tony smirked. “Spi was designed to navigate the vents, to provide surveillance in JARVIS’s blind spots. And don’t even try to tell me you didn’t know about the blind spots, Barton, I’ve seen your damn nests. She’s a spider because I thought it was cool, and it makes it easier for her to navigate. Plus she’s got sensors everywhere, including in all eight legs. So she’s doing exactly what she was designed to do,” he summarized smugly.
Clint scowled at him. “Then what was it doing down here?” he demanded.
Tony shrugged indifferently. “I might have programmed her to recognize Natasha as a secondary owner,” he admitted. Natasha raised an eyebrow at him, and he grinned unrepentantly at her. “What? The others made their own decisions. Spi is still young, so I programmed all of the Avengers into her, but I figured that she’d relate to you the best, what with the spider symbol and all,” he said wryly. Natasha just rolled her eyes, and Clint made a gagging sound. Natasha sauntered towards the door and smacked him upside the head as she passed by. Tony very carefully hid his smirk, his body already aching from their ‘lesson’.
There was a clank of agreement above them, following by the whisper of skittering feet. “JARVIS, please let Dasha know that she’s welcome to my suites at any time. And if she can scare Clint, I’ll give her a treat.”
Clint’s voice rose in protest, and Tony tucked his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants, wandering out behind them and wondering if JARVIS would let him access the kitchen as he listened to his teammates bicker. Maybe he could at least get a pot of coffee while he waited.
A robot spider and a master spy. Tony grinned proudly; he really was a genius.