Chapter 7
This morning had been like any other. Tony had joined Natasha on her morning run, but the moment they returned to the estate, he was pulled back into one of his many projects. She hadn’t minded. If anything, she had expected it. Tony never seemed capable of sitting still for long, and that was fine—neither could she.
After a quick shower, Natasha had changed into a pair of brown Carhartt carpenter pants and an old, well-worn Star Wars t-shirt she had stolen from Tony’s laundry pile. It had seen better days, stretched thin from years of wear, the fabric soft and frayed, but she liked it that way. The shirt, too tight on Tony’s broad frame, was just the right amount of baggy on her. She doubted he would care—it wasn’t like he needed it, anyway.
Pulling on her dark brown work boots, she moved through the estate, half-expecting to hear the sound of drills, welding, or at the very least, Tony swearing under his breath about something or another. But the house was eerily quiet, save for the distant hum of the wind moving through the old corridors. That, in itself, was unusual.
Frowning, she made her way toward the main library, an expanse of towering bookshelves filled with a history she had barely begun to uncover. It took her a few minutes to find him, but when she did, she stopped in her tracks, her breath catching for just a second before she schooled her features back into neutrality.
Tony was crouched near the base of the library ladder, his muscular form half-bent as he tinkered with the rail mechanism. He was shirtless, wearing nothing but his own brown Carhartt pants, the fabric stained with grease, sweat, and whatever else he had been working with. His entire upper body was streaked with black smudges—grease across his arms, streaked over his collarbone, even a smudge near his temple where he must have wiped his face.
For a man who was a perfectionist in engineering, he always ended up looking like a goddamn mess.
“Tony?” she called out, stepping closer.
“Hey, Romanoff. One second.” He didn’t even look up, his fingers working deftly to put a pin back in place on the ladder’s rail system.
Romanoff.
Since Siberia, he hadn’t called her anything but that. Never Natasha. Never anything remotely close to the way he used to say her name. It bothered her more than she wanted to admit, but she would never ask him to say it again. Would she?
No, she would never admit it. Never ask him to say it again.
…Right?
“What exactly are you doing, grease monster?” she asked, crouching down beside him, her tone carrying a smirk she didn’t quite let show.
“I’ve fixed every ladder in this library.” Tony finally sat back on the floor, stretching out his long legs with a satisfied grin. “Figured you should be able to move freely, reach whatever book you want, no broken rails, no risks. It’s a damn library, not an obstacle course.”
Natasha blinked. She had made an offhanded comment about the library during their run that morning—something about how the ladders were stiff and barely functional, making it a pain in the ass to reach certain shelves. She hadn’t expected him to actually do anything about it, let alone fix every damn ladder before the day was even over.
Her stomach twisted, heat creeping up her neck.
He had listened.
She could not be falling for Tony Stark.
That was impossible. Ridiculous. He was her friend, her colleague, her teammate. She could not like him. Sure, she was attracted to him—what woman with a pulse wouldn’t be?—but liking him? That was too far. Wasn’t it?
“Thank you,” she murmured, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Of course.”
“No, I mean it.” She squeezed lightly, making sure he was looking at her. “Thank you for listening.”
His lips parted slightly as if caught off guard, before pressing together in something thoughtful. “This is a Stark estate, but I want it to be your home too.” His voice was softer now, quieter. “You left me to die in Siberia, but no matter your motives, you came back. Whether it was willingly, whether you came crawling, whether you realized you were wrong—you still came back.”
Natasha inhaled sharply.
“I forgave you a long time ago,” Tony continued, his eyes locking onto hers, unreadable and burning all at once. “Some might call me an idiot for it, but I understand why you did it. I know why you chose Steve over me. It wasn’t about sides—it was about fear. You were terrified of being under Ross’s control because it reminded you of the Red Room. And you couldn’t go back to that. I get it.” His voice was steady, but the weight of his words hit her like a freight train. “But what I don’t think you understand, Romanoff, is that I would never let that happen to you. No one would ever do that to you again, not while I’m alive.”
Her throat tightened.
He let out a slow breath, glancing away for a moment before continuing. “I had a strategy, you know. I never intended to give Ross full control. But Barnes? He was a liability. A threat to innocent people. Steve was too blinded by the idea of friendship to see the difference between the man Barnes was and the weapon Hydra turned him into.”
Silence stretched between them. For the first time in a long time, Natasha felt the weight of her choices settle over her shoulders like an unbearable weight.
“…Tony,” she whispered, her voice breaking despite herself. “I’m sorry.”
“I know,” he said simply, as if it wasn’t even a question. “And for the record? If we ever end up in another disaster, if you ever disagree with me, I will argue with you endlessly. But the second another variable—a person—gets involved? I’d be on your side in an instant. No hesitation. Because that’s how my loyalty works.”
She swallowed hard. “I understand. And I’ll remember that next time.”
Something shifted between them.
Tony exhaled through his nose, shaking his head with a lopsided grin. “You’re the only person on this planet who could ever truly understand me. Sooner or later, you’re going to see me for who I really am. And when that happens?” His grin widened. “I can’t wait.”
Natasha let out a breathless laugh, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. “You’re impossible.”
“I know.”
Before she could say anything else, Tony reached forward and pulled her into a tight embrace. His body was warm, his skin still slightly damp with sweat, and grease smeared against her cheek. But she didn’t care. She pressed herself closer, burying her face against his chest, letting the moment linger.
“Sorry about the sweat and grease,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the top of her head. “Figured you needed a hug.”
“Thanks,” she whispered, her grip tightening.
Tony smirked. “By the way, I have a surprise for you.”
She groaned. “Oh God.”
“I redid the entire movie room. Installed a new projector and everything.”
She pulled back, giving him a flat look. “God, I hate you, Stark.”
His grin widened. “And God, do I adore you, Romanoff.”