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Tony rubbed his eyes and checked the time on one of the many screens surrounding him. 2:26 AM. Bruce had left the shared lab space hours ago, urging Tony to go to bed as well. Tony’s didn’t listen, as usual, and instead chose to work on new designs for suits. Blueprints, holo-screens, and monitors surrounded his work space. Since he had no intentions of sleeping, he figured a quick trip to one of the Tower’s kitchens wouldn’t hurt. With a wave of his hand, the holo-screens disappeared, saving his work in the process.
He took an elevator a few floors down to the living area, which continued for another six floors. Each Avenger was given their own level in the redesign of Stark Tower - or the Avengers Tower, as everyone but Tony called it. The nearest kitchen in this area was on Steve’s, and happened to be one of the middle floors for convenience.
Tony yawned loudly as he stepped into the kitchen. Had he been more alert, he would have jumped at the sight of Natasha standing in front of an open refrigerator, the only source of light in the room.
“What are you doing up?” he asked as he stood next to her, peering into the fridge as well.
“Never went to bed. Got bored with reading and came up for a snack.”
Tony nodded coolly. He looked at her, the yellowish-white shine tracing her perfect profile. His attention soon returned to the refrigerator. “Are you gonna pick something, or are you waiting for stuff to jump out at you?”
“If I closed the door, it’ll be pitch black in here, and you don’t have your little chest flashlight anymore.”
“Just turn on the overhead lights then!”
“You should’ve done that while you were by the switch.”
“Sorry, I didn’t know turning lights on was my job now.” Tony rolled his eyes. She knew he couldn’t resist a childish argument. “Would you just close the -”
Natasha quickly stepped back and shut the refrigerator door. She placed her hands on her hips and turned to face where she assumed Tony was standing. “Happy now?”
“Very.” Tony blinked a few times, letting his eyes get used to the darkness.
The room had fallen silent. The only sounds were the soft hum of the Tower’s systems, and the two Avengers’ quiet breathing. Both wondered if the other had tip-toed out, but they both remained in their spots. They appeared to be having some sort of contest to see who would give in and find the light switch.
This standoff was broken a minute later when Natasha felt a hand nudge her right arm. Reflexes kicking in, she grabbed Tony’s wrist before he could pull it away. She spun around and lifted his right arm over her shoulder, ready to flip him flat on his back. Before she could do that, Tony wrapped his free arm around her middle to prevent the flip. Natasha froze momentarily, reviewing ways she could detach him without causing any severe injuries. As she was doing this, Tony pushed his luck even further. His fingers wiggled against her ribs, causing her to let out a sound that was a cross between a gasp and a grunt. Her grip loosened just enough for Tony to pull his arm free and back away.
“I’ll be honest: I did not think that would work,” he grinned as he continued to move backwards, in case she launched herself at him.
“Shut up. I let you escape.” Although he couldn’t see her, he could hear the smile in her voice.
Natasha stuck her arms out in front of her, pursuing Tony. She followed the sound of his careful and fast footsteps. She was only about five feet away from him when the lights in the kitchen were suddenly turned on. Narrowing her eyes again to adjust to the brightness, she spotted Tony by the entrance, his arm dropping to his side. Natasha stood up straight. She was just starting to have fun, and assumed the same would be true for Tony. The look on his face said otherwise.
“I, uh, really needed the lights on,” he shrugged nonchalantly, but his frown and folded arms signified that he was embarrassed.
She carefully worded her next question. “Guessing you’re not a big fan of the dark?”
“Not total darkness, no.” There were multiple incidents that added to Tony’s discomfort. The kidnapping in Afghanistan, being inside the wormhole, etc. This fear originated when he was young, a common phobia for any child. However, by the time he was seven, his father, Howard Stark, told him he was too old for a night light. Young Tony’s childhood nightmares grew more frequent after that, but he knew better than to complain to his father.
Natasha quirked her mouth to the side. “Sorry.”
Tony waved his hand, dismissing his previous thoughts. “Don’t worry about it.” He surveyed the kitchen, eyes landing on a coffee machine.
Natasha huffed out a laugh when she watched him plug it into an outlet on the wall. “Are you seriously going to make coffee at two in the morning?”
“Yup. You want some?” he replied over his shoulder.
She smirked and hopped up on the counter beside him. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“I didn’t want coffee earlier.”
“You know what I mean. The other thing.”
“Oh,” he picked up the coffee pot and inspected it. “I dunno. I didn’t wanna just come out and say it. I mean, I’m a grown man! It’s a silly thing for me to get worked up about.”
“It’s not silly,” she swung her legs and lifted her head. They gazed at each other at the same time. “Everyone’s afraid of something.”
“Even you?”
Natasha hesitated. The only thing she had to do was agree or disagree; not admit one of her deepest darkest fears. Yet even that felt like a bad move. A weakness that could be used against her at some point in the future. Saying she was scared of anything at all was possibly her greatest fear. The fact that Tony hadn’t broken eye contact yet only made the situation worse for her. Answering or not answering his two-worded question would have the same result: Natasha Romanoff would have let Tony Stark know that she was vulnerable.
All she could manage was the tiniest nod in response. Every fiber of her being wanted to get up and walk away. By saying nothing, she revealed too much.
Tony’s rough hand patted her knee, but she stopped herself from attacking again. She waited for him to speak, to crack a lame joke, but he didn’t. His mouth curved up in a comforting smile. She met his smile with a feeble one of her own, mouthing the words, “Thank you.”