Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Natasha Romanoff hated hospital ceilings.

They always looked the same—sterile, too bright, too white, a blank canvas that reflected back every thought she tried not to have. This one was no different. It hummed quietly with fluorescent lighting that made her eyes ache.

She shifted slightly, and pain flared under her ribs. A sharp, annoyed breath slipped from her lips. Better than screaming. The screaming had been earlier, she thought distantly. When the building collapsed. When the comms cut out. When she thought—for one quiet, razor-edged moment—that she wasn’t getting out.

“Romanoff.”

The voice cut cleanly through the static haze in her mind.

Maria Hill stepped inside, tablet tucked against her chest, posture crisp and immovable. Hill’s expression didn’t show much, but there was something gentler around the eyes—a softness reserved for situations she didn’t have time to process.

“Good,” Hill said. “You’re awake.”

Natasha blinked slow and dry. “You sound relieved.”

“I am,” Hill said plainly. “It saves me paperwork.”

Natasha gave a faint huff—almost a laugh. Almost. Her chest protested the attempt.

Hill stopped at the foot of the bed, skimming through data. “Fury’s already been briefed. You’re off active field duty until you’re cleared.”

That stung in a way the injuries didn’t. Natasha held still, jaw tightening. “I’m functional.”

“You’re concussed, bruised, stitched together, and you passed out twice on the extraction jet.” Hill eyed her without judgment, just realism. “You’re grounded.”

Natasha said nothing. Fighting it wouldn’t get her anywhere—not in this condition.

Hill continued, “You won’t be staying in SHIELD medical. Too many eyes, too many questions, and frankly, we can’t spare the staff to make sure you stay put.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “You think I’m going to escape medical?”

Hill gave her a look. “You’re already calculating three possible routes.”

Fair enough.

Natasha tilted her chin. “So where are you putting me?”

A new voice answered from the doorway, warm and composed.

“Stark Tower.”

Pepper Potts stepped inside like she’d been waiting for the perfect moment. Natasha’s gaze caught on her immediately. Pepper looked immaculate—pale gray suit, hair in a sleek knot, a presence that softened the clinical edges of the room. But Pepper’s eyes… they were tired. Worried.

And all of that worry was directed squarely at Natasha.

Natasha shifted uncomfortably. “Ms. Potts.”

“Natasha,” Pepper said with a small, relieved exhale. “SHIELD asked if Stark Tower could house you during your recovery. Tony’s out of the country, and the Tower’s secure enough that I can keep an eye on things.”

Natasha frowned. “I don’t need to be supervised.”

Hill coughed pointedly. “You do.”

Pepper stepped closer, heels clicking with purpose. “You won’t be supervised,” she corrected gently. “You’ll be… supported.”

Natasha’s chest tightened. Support was worse than supervision. Support was personal.

Hill flicked through her tablet. “Transport leaves in an hour. Pepper will accompany you. You’re to follow her directives until medical clears you.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes. “Directive? Seriously?”

Hill shrugged. “Try not to make this difficult.”

When she left, Pepper stayed. The room changed temperature when she did—less sterile, more human.

Pepper stepped closer to the bed, her voice softer. “How bad is the pain?”

Natasha considered lying. She always considered lying. But Pepper’s gaze was steady, patient—unlike Tony’s manic concern or Fury’s blunt interrogation. Pepper waited.

“A bit,” Natasha admitted.

Pepper’s shoulders relaxed. “Good. Then you’re not pretending it doesn’t exist.”

Natasha blinked. “I don’t pretend.”

Pepper gave her a look that said you absolutely do, but she didn’t push.

Instead, she reached out—hesitated—then rested her fingertips lightly on the bed railing beside Natasha’s hand. Close but not touching. A gesture of presence more than contact.

“I’ll get everything ready at the Tower,” Pepper said. “Your suite is prepped. FRIDAY’s aware. If you need anything, anything at all—”

“That’s—” Natasha swallowed. “You don’t need to trouble yourself.”

Pepper smiled faintly. “Natasha. Let me.”

It was disarming in a way gunfire never could be.

Natasha looked away. “One week.”

Pepper’s smile tugged wider. “We’ll see.”

Hours Later — Stark Tower

The private elevator hummed quietly as it rose, glass walls revealing the city lights bleeding into dusk. Natasha stood rigid, one hand braced against the rail as a reminder to herself more than anything. She hated elevators—too exposed, too slow, too quiet for escape.

Pepper stood beside her, close but not crowding, fingers tapping subtly against her tablet. She kept glancing at Natasha like she wanted to check on her but didn’t want to insult her autonomy.

When the elevator opened onto the private residential floor, Natasha inhaled. The space looked… lived in. Warm lights. Polished wood. A long wall of glass overlooking the city. Everything tidy, but not cold.

Pepper led her forward. “We converted this floor into a quiet retreat for the team. Tony uses it when he needs to get away from himself.” A pause. “He… doesn’t use it often.”

Natasha gave a small, tired smirk. “Sounds about right.”

Pepper guided her down the hall, pointing out the living area, the kitchen, the emergency facilities. Natasha catalogued every exit, every angle, every blind spot. Pepper noticed her scanning the room.

“You don’t have to stay on alert here,” Pepper said softly.

Natasha didn’t respond. She couldn’t.

They reached the bedroom.

Pepper hesitated at the doorway, palms smoothing down her sides. “I… stocked the dresser and the fridge.” She glanced away, suddenly shy. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so FRIDAY and I tried to guess based on your file and your known preferences from missions.”

Natasha blinked. Pepper Potts had spent her afternoon choosing clothes and snacks for her?

“That wasn’t necessary,” Natasha murmured.

“I know,” Pepper said. “I wanted to.”

Their eyes met, and something warm and unbearably gentle flickered between them.

Pepper stepped aside. “FRIDAY can help you if you need anything. I’ll be downstairs in my office for a couple hours.”

Natasha nodded. “Thank you. Really.”

Pepper’s smile was soft this time, no CEO polish, no public mask—just Pepper. “Rest, Natasha.”

When she left, the quiet felt heavy but not oppressive. Natasha sat on the edge of the bed. The room was spacious, high ceilings, soft lighting that didn’t attack her senses. A faint citrus scent lingered—Pepper’s perfume had brushed the air.

Natasha closed her eyes and exhaled shakily.

She wasn’t used to this. Rooms without danger. People who cared without wanting something. Safety that wasn’t transactional.

She lay back slowly, muscles tight until they weren’t anymore.

Her ribs ached. Her head pulsed. But the most unsettling feeling was the warmth pooling in her chest—the echo of Pepper’s hands, her voice, her worried eyes.

Natasha stared at the dim ceiling.

She hated hospital ceilings.

But this one…

She didn’t mind.

And that, she thought with a hint of dread, was going to be a problem.

Chapter Text

Natasha woke to the low hum of Stark Tower’s ventilation system and a faint ache that pulsed under her ribs like a heartbeat out of sync. For a moment, she didn’t know where she was. The sheets were too soft. The room too still. No alarms, no footsteps in the hall, no medical beeps.

Her senses flared, searching for threats—

—and then she remembered.

Pepper. The Tower. The enforced recovery that felt like punishment wrapped in silk.

Natasha exhaled slowly. She sat up with a wince, the dull pain flaring sharp before fading back into a simmer. She ignored it. Pain meant she was alive; she could handle alive.

The room was dim, mid-morning light filtering through floor-to-ceiling windows. She glanced at the small digital clock.

10:42.

She never slept that late. Ever.

A prickle of unease crawled up her spine. She threw off the blanket—too quickly—and hissed as her stitches protested.

“Easy, Natasha.”

Pepper’s voice came from the doorway. Natasha startled before she could stop herself, eyes snapping toward the sound.

Pepper stood there with a tablet tucked under one arm and a cup of something steaming in the other. Her expression was gentle but concerned—concern that made Natasha feel more exposed than any injury.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people,” Natasha said, trying for dry humor.

Pepper’s mouth curved slightly. “I didn’t. You were just deeply asleep.”

Natasha frowned. “I don’t sleep deeply.”

Pepper stepped inside. “You did.”

There was no judgment in the words—just quiet observation.

Pepper offered the drink. “Chamomile. FRIDAY said you don’t tolerate caffeine well after a head injury.”

Natasha hesitated. Accepting care was… complicated.

Pepper waited, patient.

Natasha took the cup carefully, fingers brushing Pepper’s. The warmth startled her almost as much as the soft contact. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Pepper lingered by the bedside but didn’t sit. She seemed to be studying Natasha, as though reading an encrypted file.

“Did Hill call?” Natasha asked.

“A few times,” Pepper said. “And I told her you’re resting, and no, she cannot have you back early.”

Natasha blinked. “You told her no?”

Pepper lifted a brow. “Did you want her to take you back?”

Natasha didn’t answer. Pepper’s gaze sharpened, but she didn’t push.

Instead, she shifted topics. “FRIDAY mentioned you woke up six times last night.”

Natasha stiffened.

Pepper softened. “Nightmares?”

“Just dreams.” Natasha’s voice was flat, automatic.

Pepper didn’t call her out on the lie. “If they keep happening, you can tell me.”

Natasha stared at her. “Why would I?”

“Because I care if you’re hurting,” Pepper said simply.

Natasha’s pulse stuttered painfully. She looked down at her hands, curling around the mug like it was a shield.

Pepper stepped closer—not touching, but close enough that Natasha could feel the warmth radiating off her. “Can I help with anything? Pain meds? Food? Or…”

She hesitated, then added softer:

“…company?”

Natasha looked up sharply. Pepper held her gaze without flinching. There was no pity there—just sincerity that Natasha couldn’t remember the last time she’d earned from anyone.

“Company?” Natasha echoed, uncertain.

“Yes,” Pepper said. “You don’t have to be alone while you’re recovering.”

Natasha’s breath hitched.

“I’m fine alone.”

Pepper tilted her head slightly. “You say that like it’s a skill.”

Natasha swallowed. “It is.”

Pepper stepped around the bed and sat in the nearby armchair—not crowding, not hovering. Just present.

“I need to review some Stark Industries files anyway,” Pepper said lightly, “so if you want silence, you’re getting it. But I’d rather be here than downstairs.”

Natasha looked at her over the rim of her mug. “Why?”

Pepper blinked, surprised by the question. Then she smiled—small, honest, warm in a way that made Natasha feel off-balance.

“Because I worry,” Pepper said. “And because I like being around you.”

The words were soft, but they hit Natasha like a strike to the chest.

She swallowed hard and didn’t respond. She didn’t know how to.

Pepper didn’t press. She opened her tablet, and the room fell into a companionable silence that felt dangerously pleasant.

Later That Afternoon

Natasha made it exactly thirty minutes before trying to stand up.

Pepper caught the motion out of the corner of her eye. “Where are you trying to go?”

“I can’t stay in bed all day.” Natasha swung her feet over the side, moving cautiously. “I need to move.”

Pepper set her tablet down. “Slowly, then.”

Natasha pushed herself upright, biting back a grimace. Pepper rose immediately, hovering just close enough to assist but not touching her without permission.

“I don’t need a spotter,” Natasha muttered.

“You do,” Pepper countered.

Natasha opened her mouth to argue—then swayed. Pepper reached out instinctively, hands gripping Natasha’s forearms with a steadiness that made Natasha feel… grounded.

“You okay?” Pepper asked quietly.

Natasha’s breath escaped through her teeth. “Just dizzy.”

Pepper’s fingers tightened slightly. “Then let me help.”

Natasha didn’t pull away.

Pepper guided her toward the living space, steps slow and measured, her touch warm and steady. Natasha hated how good it felt—how safe. How easy.

When they reached the couch, Pepper helped her sit, then grabbed a folded blanket from the armrest.

Natasha frowned. “Pepper—”

“It’s not about coddling you,” Pepper said gently, draping it over her lap. “It’s about making sure you’re not hurting more than you need to.”

Natasha’s throat tightened unexpectedly. Pepper sat beside her—but not too close—and offered her a small plate of cut fruit.

Natasha stared at it. Then at Pepper.

“You’re fussing,” Natasha accused.

“I am,” Pepper said unapologetically. “And I’ll stop when you stop pretending you don’t need it.”

Natasha looked away, chest tight, not from pain.

Pepper’s voice softened to something dangerously tender. “You’re allowed to be cared for, Natasha. Even if you don’t know what to do with it.”

Natasha swallowed hard.

She didn’t know what to do with that, either.

Chapter Text

Natasha eased open the door to the training room, grateful that Pepper was occupied in a meeting two floors down. She’d waited all day for the perfect window—just long enough that Pepper wouldn’t immediately check on her, but not long enough for FRIDAY to start tattling with polite, worried commentary.

The room smelled faintly of rubber mats and metal. Natasha inhaled the comforting scent of routine. Familiar. Controlled. Predictable.

Her ribs ached as she unwrapped the staff from its wall mount, but she ignored it. If her body hurt, her mind would settle.

She needed that.

She spun the staff once—slow, testing. The motion tugged at the stitches. Pain flared hard.

She gritted her teeth.

One more spin.

“Natalia Alianovna Romanoff.”

Natasha froze.

Pepper’s voice had never sounded like that before—low, furious, and terrified all at once.

Natasha turned slowly.

Pepper stood in the doorway, still in her fitted blazer from the meeting, tablet in hand, chest rising with uneven breaths like she’d run the entire way here. FRIDAY must have alerted her the second Natasha entered the room.

“Pepper,” Natasha said, steadying herself. “It’s fine.”

“It is absolutely not fine.” Pepper strode inside, heels clicking like tiny explosions. “You’re—injured. Healing. You’re not supposed to lift anything heavier than a glass of water, let alone—” She gestured at the staff like it was a weapon aimed directly at her. “—this.”

Natasha swallowed. “I’ve had worse.”

“That is not the point.” Pepper’s voice cracked on the last word, anger giving way to something rawer. “You could reopen your stitches. You could pass out. You could—”

She cut herself off, closing her eyes as though steadying herself.

Natasha set the staff down very gently. “Pepper,” she said softly, “I know what I’m doing.”

Pepper opened her eyes, and the look in them made Natasha’s breath catch.

“Do you?” Pepper whispered. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re trying very hard not to feel anything.”

Natasha stiffened. “That’s not—”

“It is,” Pepper said—gentle now, devastatingly gentle. “You avoid rest. You avoid help. You avoid me.”

“I’m not avoiding you,” Natasha said quickly—too quickly.

Pepper blinked, startled.

Natasha cursed internally.

Pepper stepped closer, searching her face with open, unguarded worry. “Then tell me the truth. Why are you pushing yourself this hard? Why today?”

Natasha looked away. She couldn’t say it. She couldn’t admit the dream she’d had last night—the collapse, the blood, the feeling of helplessness she couldn’t shake even awake.

“Natasha,” Pepper murmured, voice softer than she’d ever heard it. “I’m not asking as your supervisor. I’m asking as…” She hesitated, breath trembling. “As someone who cares about you.”

The words unraveled something in Natasha’s chest so abruptly she felt the world tilt.

Pepper reached out—and this time Natasha didn’t move away. Pepper’s fingers skimmed her arm, warm and grounding.

“You don’t have to carry this alone,” Pepper whispered.

Natasha looked at her hand. She wanted—God, she wanted to lean into it.

But danger buzzed under her skin, warning her away from wanting anything.

“Pepper,” she said softly, “you shouldn’t—”

The elevator dinged.

Both women jerked apart like they’d been caught doing something illicit.

Tony Stark walked into the room mid-sentence, eyes on his holographic interface. “Pep, you wouldn’t believe the idiots I had to negotiate with in—”

He stopped.

Looked up.

Looked at Natasha.

Looked at Pepper.

Then looked back at Natasha.

“...Proceed,” Natasha said flatly.

Tony slowly lowered his hologram. “Okay. So. I leave for one week and suddenly the assassin-residence suite is fully occupied, Pepper looks like she’s doing a live-action intervention, and Nat looks like she’s about to either pass out or bolt. What did I miss?”

Pepper pinched the bridge of her nose. “Tony. Not now.”

“Oh, definitely now,” Tony said, crossing his arms and studying Natasha with eyebrow-raised scrutiny. “Why is she out of bed? Why are you out of your meeting early? And why do you both look like you were about to either fight or—”

Pepper glared so hard he stopped talking.

Tony’s eyes went wide. “Oh.”

Natasha wanted the floor to open up and kill her.

Tony pointed between them. “Wait. Are you two—?”

“No,” Natasha said immediately.

“No,” Pepper echoed—and then glanced at Natasha.

Too quickly.

Tony caught it. Of course he caught it. He groaned. “Oh my god, you are.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “Finish that sentence and I’ll end you.”

Pepper flushed. “Tony, we are not— We’re just— Natasha is recovering. And she’s being reckless.”

Tony looked at Natasha again, and his face softened. “Hey. You okay?”

Natasha blinked at the sincerity.

Pepper shot Tony a warning look: be gentle.

Natasha sighed, shoulders sinking. “Just restless.”

Tony nodded slowly. “Yeah. Been there. Pepper used to confiscate my armor when I tried what you’re doing right now.”

Pepper folded her arms. “And I’ll confiscate that staff if you try again.”

Natasha almost smiled.

Tony clapped his hands lightly. “Okay. Ground rules. Nat, you heal. Pepper, you stop working yourself into a heart attack over her. And for the love of my sanity, both of you stop having tension-filled moments in my training room.”

Pepper glared. “There is no tension.”

Tony gestured broadly at the air between them. “There is so much tension it has its own gravitational field.”

Natasha’s cheeks heated.

Pepper looked like she regretted every decision that led to this moment.

Tony backed toward the elevator. “Anyway! I’ll just… let you two get back to your totally normal, definitely platonic, not-at-all emotionally charged sparring session or whatever it is you’re calling this.”

Natasha groaned. Pepper buried her face in her hands.

Tony disappeared, the elevator doors closing with a smug little ding.

Silence fell again—heavy, charged, absolutely thrumming.

Pepper lowered her hands. “I’m… so sorry.”

Natasha exhaled slowly. “It’s fine.”

Pepper studied her. “Is it?”

Natasha swallowed. “No.”

Pepper’s breath caught. “Natasha…”

Natasha stepped closer—just close enough to feel the warmth of Pepper’s body radiating into hers.

“Thank you,” Natasha said quietly. “For caring. Even when I don’t know how to let you.”

Pepper’s eyes softened to something heartbreakingly tender. “You’re learning.”

Natasha allowed herself one moment—just one—to hold Pepper’s gaze without walls.

The moment was electric.

Then she stepped back.

For safety.

For control.

For sanity.

Pepper let her.

But her eyes said she’d felt it too.

Chapter Text

Natasha shouldn’t have been awake.

That was Pepper’s first thought when she opened the door to Natasha’s suite and found her sitting on the couch, knees drawn up, a blanket half-slipped off her lap. Her breathing was shallow and uneven. Her eyes were open, fixed on the window, but unfocused—like she was seeing something else entirely.

A nightmare.

Or a memory.

Pepper hesitated only a moment before stepping inside. “Natasha?”

Natasha jerked at the sound, blinking like she had returned abruptly to her own body. “Pepper.”

Her voice was strained—too thin, too tight.

Pepper crossed the room immediately. “FRIDAY said your vitals spiked.”

Natasha grimaced. “FRIDAY tattles too much.”

“FRIDAY keeps you alive,” Pepper corrected gently. She sat beside Natasha, careful not to crowd her but close enough to offer presence. “What happened?”

Natasha stared at her hands for a long moment. “Just a dream.”

Pepper watched her, quiet, patient.

“It wasn’t… bad,” Natasha lied.

Pepper didn’t call her on it. She didn’t have to — Natasha’s tremor had already betrayed her.

Pepper shifted a little closer. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

Natasha’s façade cracked — just a little.

“I saw the building come down again,” she murmured. “The moment the blast hit. The sound. The pressure. I… thought I was going to die.”

Pepper’s breath hitched. Before she could stop herself, she reached for Natasha’s hand.

Natasha didn’t pull away.

Pepper held her gently, steadying her. “You survived.”

“Barely,” Natasha whispered.

Pepper squeezed her hand. “Barely is still alive.”

Natasha let out a shaky breath. “It shouldn’t be this hard. I’ve lived through worse.”

Pepper shook her head softly. “Trauma isn’t a contest.”

Natasha looked at her — really looked — and Pepper saw the depth of exhaustion in her eyes.

“You don’t have to be strong for me,” Pepper whispered.

Natasha swallowed. “I don’t know how to be anything else.”

Pepper opened her mouth to reassure her—

—when the lights flickered.

Natasha’s instincts ignited instantly. She shot to her feet, swaying but steadying herself with the couch.

“FRIDAY,” Pepper said sharply, “what was that?”

The AI’s voice crackled through static. “Un…identified… network interference—breach—mainframe—”

Then silence.

Pepper’s tablet vibrated violently with red alerts.

Natasha’s entire posture transformed—injured or not, she was a weapon instantly back on the battlefield. “Pepper, get behind me.”

Pepper didn’t move. “Natasha—”

“Now,” Natasha growled.

Pepper stepped behind her without further argument.

A low, mechanical clang echoed through the floor — something heavy locking into place.

Natasha grabbed the nearest object — a decorative steel rod from beside the window — and held it like a makeshift baton. Makeshift or not, Pepper had seen her take down armed men with less.

The lights flickered again, then steadied to a dim red emergency hue.

Pepper’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Nat… what’s happening?”

Natasha didn’t take her eyes off the door. “They’re here.”

Pepper’s heart dropped. “The same people from—”

“Yes.”

Another metallic groan reverberated through the hallway, followed by the unmistakable sound of doors being overridden.

Pepper’s breath hitched. “Tony’s downstairs — he doesn’t know.”

“I’ll get you to him,” Natasha said.

“You can barely stand,” Pepper whispered.

Natasha didn’t deny it. But her grip tightened on the rod. “I can stand well enough to protect you.”

The words struck Pepper like a blow — fierce, desperate, unfiltered.

The door suddenly hissed.

Natasha pushed Pepper back. “Stay behind me.”

The lock clicked.

Then—

The lights went out.

Pepper’s hand instinctively grasped Natasha’s shirt.

A shadow moved at the doorframe.

Natasha reacted instantly — dragging Pepper behind the couch, positioning herself as a barrier between Pepper and the threat.

The intruder stepped inside.

Humanoid. Armored. No insignia. Silent.

Pepper felt Natasha stiffen beside her, breath quickening not from fear but from pain.

She shouldn’t be fighting.

She shouldn’t even be standing.

The intruder scanned the room — searching. Not for valuables.

For Natasha.

Pepper leaned close, whispering, “We need help.”

Natasha whispered back, “We need opportunity.”

The intruder approached the couch.

Natasha moved first.

She launched upward in a blur of motion — pain exploding through her torso — but she ignored it and jammed the steel rod into the intruder’s helmet with a shocking crack.

The figure staggered.

Natasha hissed in pain but didn’t stop. She pressed the advantage, spinning the rod and striking twice more with precision that defied her injuries.

Pepper watched in horror and awe — Natasha was brilliant even when broken.

But the intruder was strong.

It recovered too quickly.

It grabbed Natasha by the arm and slammed her into the wall.

Natasha gasped — not in pain, but in the sudden fear flickering through her eyes as she saw Pepper exposed behind her.

“No,” Natasha rasped, forcing herself upright again.

Pepper moved before she could stop herself. She grabbed the nearest object — a metal sculpture Tony had made as a joke — and hurled it at the intruder’s back.

It connected.

The intruder turned.

On Pepper.

Natasha’s vision went red.

She launched herself at the attacker with a snarl, wrapping her arm around its neck and pulling with everything she had left. “Don’t. Touch. Her.”

This time the intruder hit the ground.

Pepper rushed forward. “Natasha!”

Natasha stumbled, catching herself on the wall. She winced violently — her stitches had definitely torn.

Pepper moved to support her.

But Natasha grabbed Pepper’s wrist instead and pulled her close.

“Pepper,” she gasped, “you need to listen to me—”

Pepper held her face in both hands. “You’re hurt—”

“I can’t lose you.”

Pepper froze.

Natasha looked dazed — from adrenaline, from pain, from fear — but her eyes were fierce, sincere, utterly unguarded.

“I can’t,” Natasha whispered. “Not again. Not anyone else.”

Pepper’s heart clenched. She brushed her thumb gently along Natasha’s cheek.

“You’re not going to lose me.”

Their breath mingled — too close, too intimate, too raw.

Then—

“OH MY GOD WHAT THE HELL?!”

Tony Stark barreled into the room in full armor, blasters charged.

Pepper jerked back. Natasha practically stumbled away.

Tony took one look at the intruder on the ground and the two women flushed and tangled together and groaned loudly.

“I leave you alone for ONE hour,” Tony said, “and you two start an underground fight club slash emotional meltdown slash whatever-the-hell this is!”

Pepper glared. “Tony—”

Tony pointed at Natasha. “Sit. Down. You’re bleeding.”

Pepper looked at Natasha in alarm. “Natasha—he’s right—”

Natasha tried to wave them off but swayed dangerously.

Pepper caught her immediately, arms around her waist.

Natasha leaned into her — not by choice, but because she couldn’t stay upright.

Tony’s helmet folded back, revealing softened eyes. “Nat. Who are these people?”

Natasha looked up, breath shaky.

“The ones who survived the mission,” she murmured. “The ones who weren’t supposed to.”

Pepper felt her blood run cold.

Tony stared. “So they came here for you?”

“No,” Natasha whispered, eyes darkening. “They came here for everyone connected to me.”

Pepper tightened her hold on her.

Tony straightened, face grim for once. “Then we protect you. All of us.”

Natasha leaned into Pepper’s arms, exhausted.

Pepper held her like she would never let go.

Outside, alarms began to wail throughout the Tower.

This wasn’t over.

Not even close.

But Natasha wasn’t alone.

Not anymore.

Chapter Text

The Tower shook.

Not metaphorically. Not emotionally.

Physically.

Pepper felt the tremor travel up her legs as Tony dragged mobile holograms across the air, tactical displays compiling a list of threats faster than Pepper could read them. Natasha sat on the table behind them, stitches freshly redone, jaw set in a tight line.

“This was coordinated,” Tony muttered. “Too coordinated.”

Pepper stared at a hologram of armored intruders storming the lower floors in formation. “How did this many get in?”

“Advanced cloaking,” Natasha murmured. Her voice was low but controlled. Her gaze stayed locked on the unfolding chaos. “The kind stolen from that facility.”

Tony glanced at her. “The facility that exploded.”

“The facility we thought exploded,” Natasha corrected.

Pepper swallowed hard.

Natasha added quietly, “They weren’t just after me.”

Pepper felt Natasha’s eyes flick toward her for the briefest second — enough to say everything she didn’t voice.

Then FRIDAY’s voice burst into the room:

“Incoming transmission—encrypted—addressed to Natasha Romanoff.”

Pepper’s stomach dropped.

Natasha slid off the table.

“No,” Tony said immediately. “Bad idea.”

But Natasha was already walking forward. “Put it through.”

The hologram flickered, pixelated — then resolved into a masked figure in a combat suit.

“Romanoff,” the distorted voice rasped. “You took something from us.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “I took the device and destroyed it. I know what you were planning.”

Pepper glanced sharply at her — Natasha hadn’t said that part before.

“That device was our future,” the figure said. “You cost us years of work.”

“You were going to use it to rewrite identities worldwide,” Natasha snapped. “Erase people. Replace them.”

Pepper’s blood chilled.

“We were going to improve the world,” the figure corrected. “And we only need one thing now to rebuild.”

Natasha stepped forward. “You can’t have me.”

A pause.

The figure chuckled — a cold, metallic sound.

“Oh,” he said. “We don’t want you anymore.”

Pepper’s heart stopped.

“We want your handler.”

Pepper felt Natasha go still beside her.

“My what?” Pepper whispered.

Tony swore. “Oh, hell.”

The masked figure tilted his head. “Every operative has a vulnerability. Yours is her.”

Pepper’s breath stuttered.

Natasha’s fists clenched so hard her knuckles whitened.

“You touch her,” Natasha growled, voice shaking with rage, “and I will—”

“You’ll do nothing,” the figure interrupted. “Because you can’t protect her if she’s already with us.”

Pepper frowned. “What—”

The wall behind them exploded inward.

Natasha moved before sound reached Pepper’s ears.

One moment Pepper was standing.

The next she was tackled to the ground by Natasha’s body covering hers as shrapnel rained over them.

Dust. Smoke. Alarms. Tony shouting.

Pepper coughed violently, vision blurred.

Natasha rolled off her, already scanning for threats. “Pepper—are you hurt?”

Pepper shook her head weakly. “No—but—”

She never finished.

Two armored intruders burst through the smoke.

Natasha shoved Pepper behind her so violently Pepper almost stumbled.

Tony blasted one across the room.

The second reached for Pepper.

Natasha attacked with a sound Pepper had never heard from her — something raw, vicious, feral.

She fought like she had nothing left to lose.

Like Pepper was the only thing keeping her alive.

The intruder gave way under her assault — but another figure slipped in through the breach behind them, silent, fast.

Pepper saw him too late.

A shock baton cracked against her ribs. The world went white.

Natasha screamed her name.

Pepper collapsed.

Strong arms grabbed her, pulling her back, dragging her toward the opening.

Natasha sprinted after her with terrifying speed — but was tackled by two operatives dropping from above.

Pepper reached out, vision swimming. “Natasha—!”

Natasha roared, rage and terror colliding in her eyes as she was pinned.

Tony tried to blast the attackers, but another shock grenade detonated, sending him crashing into a pillar.

Pepper felt herself being carried toward a waiting aircraft.

“No—no—Natasha—!”

Natasha’s voice ripped through the room:

“PEPPER!”

Her agony sounded like something breaking.

Something that had been breaking for a very long time.

Then Pepper’s world went black.

Pepper woke strapped to a cold metal chair in a dark, industrial room.

Her head throbbed. Her wrists burned under the restraints.

She forced herself to breathe. To stay calm. Natasha taught her that once.

A door hissed open.

The masked figure stepped in.

“Ms. Potts,” he said calmly. “You’ll be helping us retrieve what your spy stole.”

Pepper lifted her chin. “I’m not helping you with anything.”

“You already are,” he replied. “She’ll come for you.”

Pepper’s heart pounded.

“Your loyalty makes her predictable,” he continued. “Your existence makes her weak.”

Pepper’s jaw tightened. “Natasha Romanoff is the strongest person I know.”

“We’ll see.”

The lights flickered.

An alarm sounded.

The masked figure sighed. “Right on time.”

Then everything exploded.

Walls buckled inward from a shockwave so violent the restraints cut into Pepper’s wrists. A blast door tore free from its hinges and slammed into the opposite wall.

And then Natasha walked through the smoke.

Not ran.

Walked.

Slow, lethal, terrifyingly calm.

Her hair dripped with sweat and blood. Her arms shook. She had no weapons left, only a jagged piece of metal she’d ripped from a wall.

Pepper had never seen her like this.

The masked figure stepped back. “You shouldn’t be alive.”

Natasha smiled — a cold, horrifying thing.

“You shouldn’t have taken her.”

She moved with a ferocity that bordered on monstrous.

The figure swung a blade — Natasha caught his wrist, twisted until bone cracked, and slammed him into a support beam hard enough to bend steel.

Operatives flooded in.

Natasha tore through them.

Pepper had seen Natasha fight before.

This was different.

This wasn’t calculated.

This wasn’t tactical.

This was love turned into violence, sharpened into a weapon.

This was Natasha fighting for her heart.

Pepper could only watch in stunned, terrified awe as Natasha dismantled the entire strike team with sheer, reckless will.

When the last operative fell, Natasha dropped to her knees, panting, blood soaking her shirt.

Her eyes found Pepper immediately.

All that fury melted into something fragile.

She crawled to her, hands shaking so badly she could barely undo the restraints.

“Pepper,” she whispered, voice breaking. “Pepper—look at me—”

Pepper lifted her cuffed wrists. “Nat—your hands—”

“I don’t care,” Natasha choked, fumbling with the clasp. “I thought I lost you.”

“You didn’t,” Pepper whispered.

The restraints snapped free.

Natasha collapsed forward, burying her forehead against Pepper’s shoulder with a shuddering breath.

Pepper wrapped her arms around her instantly.

Natasha’s voice was muffled. “I was so scared.”

Pepper held her tighter. “I know.”

“I can’t—” Natasha’s breath hitched, raw and unguarded. “I can’t lose you. I can’t even think about it.”

Pepper cupped her jaw gently and lifted her face.

“Natasha,” she whispered. “Look at me.”

Red-rimmed green eyes met hers.

“I’m right here,” Pepper breathed.

Natasha’s face crumpled — a rare, fleeting collapse of all the walls she held up.

“I love you,” Natasha whispered.

Pepper’s heart swelled and ached all at once.

She brushed her thumb over Natasha’s cheek. “I love you too.”

Natasha froze — utterly still — like those words were something she didn’t know how to process.

Pepper leaned in slowly.

Natasha didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Pepper kissed her softly.

Natasha inhaled sharply, then melted into it, fingers sliding into Pepper’s hair, holding on like Pepper was the only thing anchoring her to the world.

When they finally parted, Pepper rested her forehead against Natasha’s.

“We’re going home,” Pepper whispered.

Natasha nodded. “Together.”

Hours Later — Stark Tower

Tony stared at them both, arms crossed. “So. You two are…” He gestured vaguely. “Whatever this is?”

Pepper lifted an eyebrow. “Yes.”

Natasha didn’t even bother denying it.

Tony sighed dramatically. “Great. Fantastic. I get kidnapped by aliens, Pepper gets kidnapped by rogue tech-mercenaries, Nat goes full murder-goblin, and now I’m third wheel permanently.”

Pepper smiled. “You’ll live.”

Tony pointed at Natasha. “You break her heart, I break your legs.”

Natasha smirked. “You’ll have to catch me.”

Tony groaned. “Ugh. Disgusting. I hate that you’re happy.”

Pepper laced her fingers through Natasha’s.

Natasha squeezed back, quiet but sure.

Pepper felt Natasha’s pulse against hers — strong, steady, alive.

Natasha leaned close, whispering in her ear:

“I meant it. All of it.”

Pepper kissed her cheek. “I know. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Natasha exhaled, soft and relieved, as Pepper pulled her into another embrace.

Outside, dawn broke over the city.

Inside, Natasha finally let herself believe in something she’d never thought she deserved:

A future.

Chapter Text

The Tower was finally quiet.

Not silent — Stark Tower was never truly silent — but the alarms had stopped, the last of the smoke had cleared, and Tony had retreated to his workshop to “stress-build something irresponsibly dangerous.”

Pepper suspected he already had a name picked out for it.

Natasha stood on the balcony outside Pepper’s office, leaning on the railing, staring at the sunrise slowly washing the city in gold.

Pepper stepped out behind her. Natasha heard her instantly, but didn’t turn.

“You should be resting,” Pepper murmured as she slid her arms gently around Natasha’s waist from behind.

Natasha let out a breath, leaning back into Pepper’s warmth. “I did.”

“Five minutes doesn’t count,” Pepper chided softly.

Natasha’s lips quirked. “Then I’ll rest later.”

Pepper pressed a light kiss between Natasha’s shoulder blades. “You promised Tony you’d take a week off.”

Natasha huffed. “Tony also promised not to install an AI that judges my posture.”

Pepper smiled. “FRIDAY has excellent posture awareness.”

Natasha smirked. “She sided with you too quickly.”

Pepper laughed, the sound soft against Natasha’s back. “That’s because she’s intelligent.”

Natasha turned in her arms, finally facing her.

Pepper’s breath caught.

Natasha’s face looked different in the early morning light — softer, open, something that had once been rare but was becoming more familiar. Her eyes weren’t haunted, or exhausted, or braced for danger.

Just… calm.

Alive.

“You scared me,” Pepper whispered before she could stop herself. “When they took me.”

Natasha reached up and brushed a stray lock of hair from Pepper’s cheek. “I know.”

“I thought—” Pepper’s voice wavered, and Natasha’s expression softened instantly. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

Natasha cupped her face, thumbs brushing gently along her jaw. “I’m here.”

Pepper leaned into her touch. “You shouldn’t have fought like that. You could’ve died.”

Natasha shook her head slowly. “I wasn’t thinking about dying. I was thinking about you.”

Pepper shut her eyes, overwhelmed. Natasha tilted their foreheads together.

“When I felt you were gone,” Natasha whispered, voice trembling, “it was like… everything I’ve ever survived finally caught up with me. And I just—” She swallowed hard. “I couldn’t lose you. I didn’t know how to breathe.”

Pepper’s arms tightened around her. “Natasha…”

Natasha rested her hands over Pepper’s. “You matter to me. In ways I didn’t think I was allowed to have.”

Pepper kissed her softly, slow and grounding. Natasha melted into it.

They stood there for a long moment, soaking in each other, the city waking up around them.

When they parted, Pepper brushed her nose lightly against Natasha’s. “So what now?”

Natasha’s eyes flicked toward the horizon. “Now? We heal. We rest. Maybe you convince Tony not to blow up a lab with whatever he’s building.”

Pepper chuckled. “That’s a full-time job.”

Natasha squeezed her hand. “Then maybe…” She hesitated, voice softening. “Maybe you let me stay with you for a while.”

Pepper blinked. “Stay with me?”

“In your place,” Natasha clarified, suddenly shy. “Or mine. Just… not alone. If you want.”

Pepper smiled — slow, warm, unstoppable. “Of course I want that.”

Relief washed through Natasha’s shoulders, subtle but undeniable.

Pepper took her hand and pulled her gently back inside. “Come on. Breakfast.”

Natasha raised a brow. “Are you cooking?”

Pepper scoffed. “Absolutely not. Tony ordered three different kinds of waffles to apologize for interrupting our kiss yesterday.”

Natasha laughed — a soft, genuine sound that Pepper wished she could bottle. “Fair enough.”

They walked hand in hand through the quiet hallway.

Natasha paused outside the kitchen, tugging gently on Pepper’s fingers until Pepper turned.

“Pepper?”

“Yes?”

Natasha leaned in and kissed her — slow, steady, and filled with something like gratitude. Or hope. Or maybe both.

When she pulled back, her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Thank you for loving me.”

Pepper’s heart clenched, full and bright. “There was never a moment when I didn’t.”

Natasha exhaled like that was something she didn’t know she’d needed.

They entered the kitchen together, fingers still intertwined.

FRIDAY dimmed the lights to a gentle morning glow. Tony had left a note on the counter reading:

PLEASE DON'T MAKE OUT ON MY EXPENSIVE APPLIANCES. —T

Pepper rolled her eyes.

Natasha smirked.

Pepper made coffee. Natasha stole a strawberry from the fruit bowl. Breakfast began with comfortable quiet, soft smiles, and Natasha leaning her shoulder subtly against Pepper’s — not seeking support anymore, just closeness.

The Tower was peaceful.

For once, the world wasn’t ending.

And for the first time in a long, long time…

Natasha allowed herself to believe in a life worth staying for.

Pepper held her hand under the counter, thumb brushing gently over her knuckles.

Natasha squeezed back.

Together.

Finally.

-the end-

Chapter Text

Tony Stark was not built for this.

Not the rebuilding-the-Tower part. Not the dealing-with-mercenaries part. Not even the watching-Natasha-singlehandedly-dismantle-a-paramilitary-cell part.

No.

He was not built for this:

Sitting alone in his lab, staring at the security feed freeze-frame of Natasha Romanoff kissing Pepper Potts like Pepper was the last donut in the universe.

Tony rubbed his eyes. “This is my life now. Cool. Cool cool cool.”

DUM-E beeped sympathetically, handing him a wrench he did not need.

“Thanks, bud.” Tony tossed it aside. “You’re contributing to my coping process. Proud of you.”

He replayed the final moments of the raid for probably the fiftieth time.

There was Natasha, covered in blood that was 60% her own, breaking into a facility she should not have been standing up in, let alone fighting in. There she was ripping a steel door off its hinges like she was auditioning for the Hulk’s understudy. There she was going full feral-panther-wolverine-nightmare hybrid on a dozen heavily armed intruders.

Tony paused the video.

Stared.

“Jesus, Romanoff.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the frozen image of Natasha mid-takedown.

He could still hear her scream when Pepper was taken.

He’d never forget it.

Not ever.

Tony cleared his throat roughly. “Okay, so. New Rule. No more kidnapping Pepper. Because apparently that turns Natasha into a murder-flavored natural disaster.”

DUM-E beeped again.

“Yes, I said natural disaster,” Tony snapped. “You got a better term?”

DUM-E whirred, displaying a projection of a flaming tornado.

Tony stared. “…Actually that’s fair.”

He stood, stretching his back, pacing the lab.

“Okay, Tony, think. Pepper’s dating a superspy. A very stabby, morally flexible superspy with trauma, trust issues, and a terrifying jawline. What does that mean for us?”

He ticked points off on his fingers.

“One — Pepper is safer. Obviously. No one is kidnapping her ever again unless they want their limbs alphabetized.”

He moved to the next finger.

“Two — I now have to be supportive. Emotionally supportive. Of Natasha. Romanoff.” He made a strangled sound. “Which means feelings. And sincerity. Ugh.”

The third finger.

“Three — I’m now the third wheel in my own penthouse.”

He paused.

“Actually, that part’s fine. I’ve always had terrible taste in my own company.”

He stopped pacing and looked toward the elevator, where he knew Pepper and Natasha were upstairs, probably sitting too close, sharing waffles, doing cute domestic things that made Tony feel like a lonely Victorian widow.

“FRIDAY,” Tony said with a sigh, “give me a view of the kitchen.”

“Are you sure, boss?” FRIDAY replied. “It may cause… emotional discomfort.”

“Just show it.”

The screen blinked to life.

There they were.

Pepper pouring coffee. Natasha sitting beside her, stealing strawberries and pretending she wasn’t being adorable. Their hands brushed. They both smiled softly.

Tony blinked.

“Oh God,” he whispered. “They’re disgustingly sweet.”

He leaned closer.

“They’re holding hands under the counter. What am I supposed to do with that? Am I supposed to congratulate them? Buy them a blender? Get them monogrammed towels?”

He threw up his hands. “I’m emotionally unequipped!”

DUM-E poked him with a welding torch.

Tony groaned. “Yeah, yeah, okay. I’ll deal.”

He turned away from the screen, shaking his head.

“But I swear,” he muttered, “if they start making out on my countertop again, I’m installing anti-PDA lasers.”

FRIDAY chimed, “Would you like me to begin programming those?”

Tony hesitated.

“…Maybe.”

The elevator dinged.

Tony looked up as Pepper stepped out, smiling. Natasha followed more cautiously, still moving like she wasn’t fully convinced the building was safe.

Pepper stopped in front of Tony. “We’re heading out for fresh air.”

Natasha gave a tiny nod. “Just the balcony.”

Tony looked between them.

Pepper’s smile was warm.

Natasha’s expression was soft in a way Tony had never seen.

He exhaled.

“…I’m happy for you. Both of you,” he said gruffly, like the words tasted weird.

Pepper’s smile softened.

Natasha blinked, surprised.

Tony pointed at her. “But if you break her heart, Romanoff? I’m legally obligated to build something very large and very explodey to deal with you.”

Natasha smirked. “You’ll have to catch me first.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Ugh. Gross. Confidence.”

Pepper laughed.

Natasha actually smiled — not the sharp one, not the smirk, but something real.

Tony waved them off. “Go. Be cute. Make my tower emotionally compromised.”

Pepper leaned over to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, Tony.”

Natasha gave him a nod — quiet, respectful. Grateful.

Tony watched them go.

When they were gone, he muttered:

“…Yeah. Okay. They’re good for each other.”

He glanced at DUM-E.

“Still making the lasers, though.”

DUM-E beeped happily.

Chapter Text

Tony Stark had never been good at quiet.

Or stillness. Or waiting.

Yet here he was, perched on the balcony of the Tower late in the evening, glass of bourbon in hand, staring at the city below like it might have the answers to questions he didn’t know how to ask. He should have been tinkering in the lab. He should have been doing literally anything other than this. But tonight, he felt… heavy.

The realization hit him in the pit of his stomach: he had spent months adjusting to the new normal. Natasha and Pepper were happy. They were together. Laughing. Soft. Domestic. And he… he hadn’t really celebrated that for them because he couldn’t stop thinking about himself.

About being alone. About wanting someone who didn’t explode his apartment, morally or literally, in a crisis.

He swirled the bourbon in his glass and muttered to no one, “Yeah, Tony, fantastic. Happy for them. Lonely for you. Great.”

A shadow fell across the balcony.

“Talking to yourself again, genius?”

Tony froze, not so much at the voice as the casual presence. Rhodey leaned on the railing beside him, arms crossed, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “I get that you talk to FRIDAY, but this… this is a new level.”

Tony snorted. “Oh, hey, Rhodey. Didn’t hear you come up.”

Rhodey didn’t respond. He just studied Tony quietly, head tilted like he always did when he thought someone was lying — or hiding. Tony immediately felt his cheeks heat.

“What?” he said defensively. “Nothing. Just… bourbon therapy. Very effective.”

Rhodey raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. Bourbon therapy and balcony brooding. That’s healthy, Tony. Real healthy.”

Tony waved him off. “I’m fine. Totally fine. Emotionally, physically, spiritually… fine.”

“You’re not fine.” Rhodey said it gently, almost like he didn’t want to admit he was right.

Tony froze. “…Excuse me?”

“I said you’re not fine. Look at you,” Rhodey gestured to Tony’s posture, the tense line of his shoulders, the way he stared out at the city like it was supposed to give him answers. “You’ve been sulking on this balcony for weeks, leaving half-finished projects, making sarcastic comments that aren’t even funny. And I know why. You think you’re the only one not allowed happiness.”

Tony blinked, mouth dry. “…And you’re right.”

Rhodey’s eyebrows lifted. “…You just admitted it. That’s new.”

Tony shrugged, looking away. “Don’t make a big deal out of it. I mean… yeah, Pepper and Nat are happy. That’s great. I’m happy for them. Really. But… I dunno. I guess I never thought about me.”

Rhodey’s voice softened. “Tony… it’s okay to think about yourself.”

Tony shook his head, letting out a humorless laugh. “Me? Nah. I’ve got to be the guy who saves the world, the guy who builds the suits, the guy who… you know… handles everyone else. No room for me in that equation.”

Rhodey stepped closer, leaning on the railing next to Tony. “Maybe that’s your problem.”

Tony glanced at him, squinting. “Oh? Enlighten me, Counselor.”

“You’re treating yourself like a mission,” Rhodey said slowly. “Something to fix, something to protect, something you can’t let get hurt. But Tony… sometimes the person who needs protecting the most… is you. And no one’s going to do it if you don’t let them. That’s where I come in.”

Tony’s chest tightened. “…You? You want to protect me?”

Rhodey shrugged, casual. But his eyes… they were serious. “I’ve been standing here a long time, watching you carry everything and everyone except yourself. It’s exhausting just to watch. And I care too much to stand back.”

Tony blinked, taken aback. He’d been so used to being the caretaker, the genius, the guy in control, that he hadn’t realized how much he needed someone to see him. Really see him.

Rhodey’s gaze softened, and he moved closer still. “You’re allowed to want someone, Tony. You’re allowed to let someone in. You’re allowed to… be loved.”

Tony’s defenses went up. “That’s not—Rhodey. I mean, I can’t just—”

Rhodey’s hand brushed lightly against Tony’s arm. Just a touch. Gentle. Grounding. “You don’t have to think about it. Just… feel it.”

Tony swallowed hard. He wanted to argue, to deflect with sarcasm, but Rhodey’s presence made his usual armor feel suddenly heavy. He realized, with a shock, that he did want it. He wanted someone to care for him. Not the world, not a mission. Him.

“I…” Tony began, voice tight. “…I don’t know how to do this.”

Rhodey’s smile was patient, gentle. “You already are. You’re talking. You’re here. That’s more than half the battle.”

Tony exhaled slowly, letting himself lean into Rhodey. “…I’m tired, Rhodey. I’m always tired. I don’t want to be the guy who fixes everyone else’s problems at the expense of my own heart.”

Rhodey closed the small gap between them. “…Then don’t. Let me be the one who takes care of you. Let me be the one who worries, the one who listens, the one who… loves you. If you want me to.”

Tony’s eyes widened. “…Loves me?”

Rhodey nodded. “…Yeah. I do. I’ve always… I just didn’t know how to say it without scaring you off. You’re… complicated. But I love you, Tony Stark. And I’ll fight to show you that you’re worth it, even if it takes forever.”

Tony’s throat went dry. He wanted to make a joke. He wanted to hide. But something in Rhodey’s calm, unwavering stare made him drop the act.

“Rhodey,” he whispered. “…I don’t know what to do with this.”

“Then do this,” Rhodey said simply. “Let me stay. Let me care. Let me love you.”

Tony blinked, then slowly, almost tentatively, reached out. His fingers brushed against Rhodey’s. A small, careful touch. Rhodey’s hand closed over his, warm, steady, anchoring.

Tony laughed softly, incredulous. “…I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Believe it,” Rhodey said, eyes soft, thumb brushing over the back of Tony’s hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time in months, maybe years, Tony felt his chest unclench. The weight he’d been carrying — the loneliness, the exhaustion, the constant need to be invincible — lifted just enough for him to breathe.

He finally leaned into Rhodey, resting his forehead against his shoulder. “Okay,” he whispered. “…Okay. Let’s see where this goes.”

Rhodey’s arms came around him, strong and protective. “That’s all I ask.”

They stood together, quiet for a long while, watching the city lights flicker below. No jokes, no tech, no world-saving plans. Just them. Just this. And it was enough.

When Tony finally pulled back slightly, he gave Rhodey a small, lopsided grin. “You know, this is weird. For me. But… it’s kind of nice. Feeling… normal.”

Rhodey smirked. “Welcome to the club. It’s exclusive. No world-ending crises allowed.”

Tony laughed, real and easy this time. “…I like this club.”

“Good,” Rhodey said, hand squeezing his. “Because I’m not letting you leave it.”

Tony shook his head, smiling softly. “…Not sure I even want to.”

Rhodey leaned down, just enough to press a light kiss to Tony’s temple — a promise, a comfort, a beginning.

Tony closed his eyes, leaning fully into it, finally allowing himself to be cared for, loved, and seen. For the first time in a long time, he felt safe letting someone in.

And Rhodey? He was right there, steady and unwavering, holding him close. Tony didn’t need to be the hero for once. He could just… be Tony.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the happiest ending he could ever ask for.

Chapter Text

The Tower felt different now.

Not because Tony had rebuilt half the systems with better efficiency after a long night of “accidental tinkering,” or because FRIDAY had started developing a dry sense of humor dangerously close to JARVIS’s old one, or even because the Avengers were in and out less these days.

It felt different because Rhodey lived here now. Not officially — not in the way that involved signatures, legal documents, or changes in residency — but in the way that mattered. The way that meant his jacket was always hanging on the back of the couch. The way that meant Tony woke up more often to the sound of someone breathing beside him than to silence. The way that meant the kitchen had cereal now. Real cereal. With fiber. Because Rhodey insisted.

Tony pretended to hate it. He absolutely didn’t.

This morning, like most mornings lately, Tony woke to warmth.

Not from the sun — the windows auto-tinted themselves because Tony hated morning light — but from the steady, even heat of Rhodey’s chest beneath his cheek. When Tony blinked, Rhodey’s shoulder came into focus, all smooth skin and faint scars, his arms loosely around Tony’s waist.

Rhodey was awake. Barely. That floating place between sleep and awareness where he breathed slow and deep, his hand fanning lazily up and down Tony’s back.

Tony didn’t move. Didn’t want to. He wasn’t good at stillness, but Rhodey was the exception to every rule Tony Stark had ever made.

“…You awake?” Rhodey’s voice rumbled through his chest.

“Define awake,” Tony mumbled.

Rhodey huffed a quiet laugh. “Eyes open? Conscious? Gaining brainpower?”

“No,” Tony said immediately. “Absolutely not.”

Rhodey smiled — Tony could hear it. “I’ll give you five more minutes.”

“Make it ten.”

“We both know you can’t go ten minutes without talking.”

Tony lifted his head just enough to look at Rhodey with a squint. “I resent that. I’m perfectly capable of silence.”

Rhodey raised one eyebrow.

Tony cracked first. “Okay, but why would I? You like my voice.”

Rhodey brushed a thumb along Tony’s cheekbone. “Yeah. I do.”

And that — that simple, sincere softness — was exactly why Tony dropped his head back onto Rhodey’s chest with a sigh that was more content than he wanted to admit.

They lay there for a while. The world quiet. Tony’s mind quiet too — which was rare, precious, something he had learned to treasure.

Eventually, Rhodey said, “You know we have that lunch at twelve.”

Tony groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

“You promised Pepper.”

Tony grumbled louder. “I love Pepper, but she’s going to smother me with affection and vegetables.”

“She’s worried about you.”

Tony froze.

Rhodey must’ve felt it — his hand immediately smoothed slowly up Tony’s spine. “Hey. She’s just checking in. That’s all.”

“It’s been months,” Tony murmured into Rhodey’s chest. “Months. I’m fine.”

“You’re better,” Rhodey corrected gently. “Not the same thing.”

Tony didn’t argue. Because Rhodey wasn’t wrong.

Those first weeks after Tony and Rhodey had admitted the obvious — that they loved each other, that they wanted to try — had been shaky. Good, but shaky. Tony didn’t know how to be vulnerable without bracing for pain. Rhodey didn’t know how to stop treating Tony like someone who needed saving.

They were both learning.

One slow morning at a time.

Rhodey squeezed him. “Come on. Let’s get up.”

“No.”

“Tony…”

“I’m boycotting verticality.”

Rhodey sighed dramatically, rolled, and pinned Tony under him.

Tony blinked up at him, indignant. “This is unfair. You’re using your War Machine weight advantage.”

“I’m using gravity,” Rhodey corrected. “Stop being cute and come eat breakfast.”

Tony sputtered. “I’m not cute.”

Rhodey leaned down and kissed him, soft and lingering. “Yeah. You are.”

Tony melted instantly. “Okay,” he whispered. “But only because you cheated.”

Breakfast

Tony cooked sometimes. Mostly because Rhodey liked it and because Tony enjoyed the way Rhodey watched him — relaxed, fond, that little curve in his smile that said he was amused and in love and proud all at once.

This morning, Tony made pancakes. Badly. On purpose.

Rhodey took a bite. Paused. Looked at Tony suspiciously. “Is there… coffee grounds in this?”

Tony grinned. “It’s a new culinary innovation. Pancaffes.”

Rhodey stared. “Pancaffes. Tony.”

“Look, if you’re complaining, you can make breakfast next time.”

Rhodey reached across the counter and tugged Tony in by the waist. “No. This is fine. It’s terrible, but it’s fine.”

Tony pretended to pout. “Just say you love my cooking.”

“I love you,” Rhodey said easily. “The cooking is… questionable.”

Tony flushed. Actually flushed. Which he hated, but Rhodey always looked so smug about it that Tony couldn’t stay annoyed.

He leaned forward and brushed a soft kiss to Rhodey’s jaw.

“Keep saying stuff like that,” Tony murmured. “See what happens.”

Rhodey smirked. “Oh yeah? What happens?”

Tony tapped Rhodey’s nose. “You fall deeper in love with me. Obviously.”

Rhodey laughed and pulled him closer. “Too late for that.”

The Lab

After breakfast, Rhodey followed Tony downstairs — not to supervise, not to keep him in line, but because Tony liked having him there. He worked better when Rhodey was nearby.

Tony tinkered with a small arc reactor casing while Rhodey read a report. They didn’t talk much. They didn’t need to.

After nearly an hour, Tony heard Rhodey shift. He glanced up.

Rhodey was watching him with that look again — gentle, steady, grounding.

“What?” Tony asked softly.

“You look good,” Rhodey said. “You look… at peace.”

Tony swallowed.

Peace wasn’t something he ever thought he’d own.

“I’m trying,” Tony admitted. “Still rough around the edges. Still panicking about, you know… messing things up.”

Rhodey stood and walked over, resting a hand at the back of Tony’s neck.

“You won’t,” he said simply.

“You say that like it’s easy.”

“It’s not easy,” Rhodey said. “But it’s simple. You care. You try. You stay. And when you mess up — which you will — you talk to me. And we figure it out together.”

Tony leaned into his touch.

“Why are you always right?” Tony murmured.

“Someone has to be.”

Tony huffed a laugh.

Rhodey tilted his head. “Want to take a break? Get some air before lunch?”

Tony nodded slowly. “Yeah. Okay.”

The Rooftop

Tony never brought people up here.

The rooftop was quiet, windswept, overlooking the entire city. He’d built the space years ago but rarely used it. It felt too exposed, too vulnerable.

But Rhodey liked the sky.

And Tony liked Rhodey.

So he came here. For him.

Rhodey walked slowly toward the railing, hands in his pockets. “It’s beautiful up here.”

Tony shrugged, nervous suddenly. “It’s… a place.”

Rhodey looked at him knowingly. “You brought me somewhere important.”

Tony’s throat tightened. “Yeah. Well. Don’t get used to it.”

Rhodey stepped close, wrapping an arm around Tony’s waist. “Too late.”

Tony leaned into him.

They stood together for a long while, the wind cool against their faces, Rhodey’s warmth steady beside him.

Finally, Rhodey spoke softly. “You’ve come a long way, Tony.”

Tony closed his eyes. “You’re the reason I’m still going.”

Rhodey pressed a kiss to his temple. “No. You did the work. I’m just here.”

“You being here is the work,” Tony said quietly. “You don’t know what that means to me. Having someone who stays.”

Rhodey’s arms tightened. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“And I believe you,” Tony whispered. “That’s the scary part.”

Rhodey smiled faintly. “Then let’s be scared together.”

Later — The Tower Living Room

Pepper and Natasha arrived for lunch exactly on time.

Pepper hugged Rhodey first, then Tony tightly for a good full minute before pulling back and scanning him like a mother checking for illness.

“You look good,” Pepper said, relieved.

“Why are you surprised?” Tony huffed.

“Because the last time I saw you,” Natasha said dryly, “you were mainlining coffee and arguing with a toaster.”

“It started it,” Tony protested.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Sure it did.”

Rhodey laughed. “I believe him.”

“Of course you do,” Natasha said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re in love.”

Rhodey didn’t deny it.

Tony felt his heart jump. Pepper saw the expression on his face and squeezed his hand discreetly.

Lunch was warm. Easy. Natasha teased Tony. Pepper asked Rhodey questions about work. Tony made jokes that landed with someone other than himself.

The world felt… normal.

Like family.

Like home.

Nightfall

Rhodey stayed, of course.

They sat on the couch, Tony curled against Rhodey’s side, movie playing quietly in the background with neither of them really watching it.

Tony was tired. Not overwhelmed-tired. Not emotionally-drained tired. Just… comfortably tired.

“Hey,” Rhodey murmured. “You’re falling asleep on me.”

“No I’m not,” Tony muttered, eyes closed.

Rhodey brushed a hand through his hair. “Yes. You are.”

Tony didn’t respond.

Rhodey chuckled and shifted, lifting Tony into his arms so smoothly Tony barely felt it. “Come on. Bed.”

Tony made a sleepy noise of protest. “You’re bossy.”

“You love it.”

Tony didn’t argue.

Rhodey laid him down, crawled into bed beside him, and pulled Tony close until they were pressed together chest to chest.

Tony looked up at him through heavy eyelids. “I don’t deserve you.”

Rhodey’s expression softened with that heartbreaking tenderness Tony still didn’t know how to handle. “Maybe not. But you have me anyway.”

Tony blinked. “That’s dangerous.”

Rhodey smiled. “No. That’s love.”

Tony’s breath caught.

Rhodey kissed him — slow, deep, soft. Tony melted. Gave. Took. Let himself feel.

When they parted, Rhodey whispered against his lips:

“You’re my home too, Tony.”

Tony shuddered, but not from fear.

From relief.

From something like joy.

He buried his face in Rhodey’s neck and whispered, “Okay. Stay. Forever.”

Rhodey held him tight. “You got it.”

And Tony believed him.

For the first time in a long time, Tony Stark slept without nightmares.

And when morning came, Rhodey was still there.

Still holding him.

Still loving him.

And Tony finally understood that some kinds of gravity kept you grounded — not pulled apart.