Natasha could divide her life into three separate periods if she had to: the Red Room/KGB, SHIELD and the Avengers. She always thought the first two would be the jobs to land her in jail, not the last one. Never the last one.
Not that she's surprised, really. One can only run from the past for so long until it catches up with them and she's been running for a long time. She was never scared of that happening, never had room for fear in her job description. Maybe she just never had anything to lose. But she supposes she can't very well act the part of the victim on this one— she brought it on herself when she released SHIELD's secrets to the world.
On top of that, she's not good with people, never has been, really. She can't work their values to make them sympathize with her, can't charm her way out of a jail cell. Yelena Belova could, maybe. Or Laura Matthers, even Natalie Rushman. But not Natasha Romanoff. This would be easier, she thinks, if she had a job to do, some sort of alias that allows her to pretend.
Because who is Natasha Romanoff anyways?
She doesn't know where to start, doesn't know if she even exists. Because Natasha Romanoff is not Natalia Alianovna Romanova of Russia, trained to disarm and kill without a care if the mission so demands. Natasha Romanoff is not Natalie Rushman who seduces and tricks to gain the information she needs, betraying anyone who stands in her way with a flip of her hair and wink of disloyal green eyes.
Natasha Romanoff likes quiet nights in and stupid, cheesy Disney movies. She likes soft clothes and warm drinks, painted nails and devious pranks. Natasha Romanoff is not cold-blooded, not a tool for the highest payer to use as they please; she wants to care, wants to let her guard down, wants to do the right thing.
And, sometimes, she wants to be normal.
Distant yelling drags her from her own mind and she comes back to her surroundings with practiced ease. It's easy to lose your mind when there's nothing better to do, she thinks.
The yelling gets closer and even if she wasn't a spy, Natasha is certain anyone would be able to recognize the voice. Between the, you didn't think to call me, Cap? And the, how come she's in a cell instead of you, then? And her personal favorite, there was hacking involved, Steve, hacking! You can't even work a flip phone how were you expecting to hack into government bases efficiently?
Despite the angry voice interrupting her own calm thoughts, it's anything but unwelcome. Because with the voice comes images of warm whiskey eyes and hundreds of dazzling white smiles— her favorite of which barely shows any teeth but is small and genuine nonetheless. There's the smell of oil and metal and black coffee, memories of stolen touches during late nights when no one is watching.
But most importantly, there's the feeling of trust and safety and home.
Because what else can she give a man— a man who's trusted her to wear the very technology that keeps him safe, forgiven her past betrayals as an actress and given her a new family— what else can she give him but everything?
"I thought we said no getting into messes without me, cara mia."
And there are a lot of things Natasha Romanoff is and wants but, oh, that. Yeah, she wants that the most.
Natasha risks raising her head to peer at her visitor through the bars of her holding cell. Holding cell because all of this is temporary, Steve. I refuse to rot in jail, Steve. None of this is your fault, Steve.
"Are we pretending that you wouldn't have made it worse?"
And there it is, that small smile that shouldn't possibly hold so much affection for her of all people, but it's there clear as day on his handsome face.
"No, we are agreeing that I would have made it much, much worse."
"Yeah, your history with the government is spectacular," Natasha rolls her eyes but can't manage to shake the small smile from her lips.
She doesn't doubt that he could make things worse— for who, now that's debatable. In a three-piece Tom Ford suit, facial hair immaculately trimmed and striped tie pressed perfectly to his chest, he's a sight to behold. He's dressed to kill, that's for sure, and Natasha is certain he'd win any argument.
"You could've called, you know?" The flash of hurt in his eyes that Natasha would have missed had he been wearing his normal pair of sunglasses does things to her heart. "I could have helped— with the hacking, with SHIELD. I would have helped."
"I know." And she does know. Things would have gone so much differently with his mind, his tech, with Tony. "That's why I didn't call."
The hurt is more prevalent now and Natasha finds herself wondering how anyone could ever hurt such a man, how she herself was capable of hurting him.
"I see." The previous vulnerability disappears replaced by the stony face of one of the most powerful men in the world.
The shift in persona physically hurts to see.
"No, you don't, Antoshka," the nickname slips through as she makes her way over to the metal bars keeping her contained.
Tony's eyes, though trying for carefully blank, betray how affected he is by the gentle endearment. Natasha loves those eyes. Not for the first time, she finds herself wondering if the person who coined the phrase 'the eyes are the window to the soul' was talking about Tony. She could spend all day drinking in the sweet emotions dancing in that warm whiskey-brown.
"This wasn't your fight, kotenok. I needed to do this."
"I could have helped, Nat! We could have taken down SHIELD. Together."
And Natasha might be too proud to admit out loud that she has close to no idea on what's happening, but that doesn't make it any less true. She isn't blind— she doesn't think the movie night cuddles or affectionate pet names mean nothing at all. Actually, before this whole mess, Natasha might even have said that her and Tony had been close to something. Something good, something better. Now, however...
"Are you really so arrogant that you think all of this could have been fixed with a wave of your hand?"
Natasha wants to throw herself off a bridge because that is definitely not what she wanted to say. But, of course, she's much more capable of pushing people away than telling them what's going on in her maze of a mind. If Tony notices her inner turmoil, he doesn't mention it. Instead, any trace of emotion has smoothed out into unreadable on his blank face, save a tight-lipped smirk that's directed towards her.
"Yes," Tony responds coolly in the same arrogant way she just accused him of. "Because it would have been."
They hold each other's gaze for a few long moments and right when Natasha thinks he's going to drop this act, Tony reaches around the cell and grabs a finely pressed garment bag.
"Ms. Potts had me pick this up for the trial," he says casually, revealing a respectable pantsuit that only Pepper would send. It's a normal thing to say but still a low blow— they both know that Pepper would be disappointed in the way they're acting. He hangs the bag on a lift where the cell meets the wall and takes a step back. "If that will be all, Ms. Romanoff..."
Natasha grits her teeth because otherwise she might scream or, worse yet, beg him not to go. But she's too proud for that so instead she forces her lips together and gives him a sharp nod.
"That will be all, Mr. Stark."
- - - - - -
The trial is disastrous, Natasha can say that much. Contrary to popular belief, she hates the cameras and the crowd. She can put on as good a mask as any to hide her discomfort, but that doesn't mean she has to enjoy it.
"You released confidential government information, SHIELD information, to the internet, Ms. Romanoff." Yeah, as if she could forget that. "Not to mention information regarding the work you did for and against this country."
There's a lot of whispering amongst the crowd in that moment and Natasha has to fight the urge to hide her face and disappear to New Zealand or someplace equally far away. The truth is that she should be locked up for her crimes, she certainly wouldn't blame them for locking her in a permanent cell. But that was Natalia. This is Natasha. And Natasha really just wants to go home.
"I released HYDRA files to the public because they deserve to know who they're putting their trust in," Natasha states simply because that's what it is— simple. The public deserves to know, and that's that.
"And what if they're putting their trust in you?" The government official replies and Natasha grinds her teeth so hard it causes her jaw to ache.
"Then they deserve to know what's in my files, as well."
"Then I'm sure you won't mind if we pull up some of your information, agent," the gray-haired man smiles all sharp-toothed and sharklike as though she's nothing but his latest meal to prey on. He can try to destroy her, yes. And maybe it will hurt a bit, sure. But he can't break her, greater men have tried.
Although Natasha knows what will be on her file— the Red Room, the KGB, her greatest assassinations— she still finds herself preparing for the audience's reactions. Maybe if she just closes her eyes... yeah, she'll do that.
Except, nothing happens.
"What the hell?" The gray-haired official hisses, clicking at his remote irritably as though it will somehow change what's on the screen— nothing. Nothing is on the screen.
There's her picture, sure. And her aliases, fine, whatever. But nothing of her origin, nothing of her history. Nothing of her sins.
"This is just like the United States government," a voice sighs dramatically from somewhere in the crowd and Natasha becomes aware of the fact that maybe the whispering wasn't even about her at all. "Always throwing around accusations without any evidence."
And the council is certainly not happy with the newcomer.
"Mr. Stark, this is a private hearing-"
"Nothing is private with a bit of money and roguish charm." Natasha has yet to turn around but she can picture Tony in all his glory waving his hand like he always does when he talks. "Cuore mio, come on. We're leaving."
And suddenly he's in front of her, a publicity smirk on his lips even as his eyes betray his genuine concern, concern for her of all people.
"Cuore mio?" Someone in the crowd whispers and Natasha finds herself wondering the same thing.
Did he really just...?
"Despite your rude interruption, Mr. Stark, we still have plenty of evidence to convict agent Romanoff of-"
"Of what?" Natasha stands up, fed up with the whole thing when this is kind of Steve's fault in the first place and she really just wants to go home. "Treason? Murder? Theft? Go ahead, throw me in a cell. At least you'll know where to find me the next time you need me to fight."
And with that, Natasha stands up and turns away from the council feeling a bit like one Pepper Potts as her heels click pointedly against the floor on her way out. Only when she realizes she's not being followed does she turn around and, boy, is the sight one to behold.
Sure, everyone is gaping at her but in the middle of it all is Tony, brown eyes sparkling at her as though she just solved all the world's problems. Her heart pounds because he's looking at her like that, like she's the single most wonderful thing he's ever seen, and Natasha isn't sure she's ever been looked at like that.
So, she does the only logical thing she can think of; she holds out her hand to him. And she's not sure she's ever seen Tony move as fast as he does to lace their fingers together.
When the doors shut behind them, Natasha looks up to meet those wonder-filled eyes with a small smile on her lips.
"Cuore mio, huh?" She teases but it doesn't gain her the embarrassed reaction she expects.
"Sí, cuore mio, bella, cara mia, stellina, tesoro, whatever you want," he beams down at her, eyes full of emotion as he happily swings their joined hands. "Do you now how sexy what you just did was? Sure, I know it was probably horrible but telling the government off like that? Damn, Nat, don't even get me started-"
"Easy, kotehok," she nudges him and she absolutely does not have a blush on her cheeks. Not her, nope, no way. "Can we go home?"
"Home?" He repeats, blinking those sinfully long eyelashes like after everything he wasn't expecting her to want to leave with him. But whatever he sees on her face must satisfy him because he gives her a small smile and says, "Home. Yeah, let's go home."
They walk in comfortable silence to the car waiting for them, neither one wanting to release their hold on the other's hand. Only when they're in the safety of the car does Natasha dare ask the question that's really been on her mind.
"You erased all of my information." It's a fact not a question and Tony doesn't look even remotely surprised by it. "You saved me today, why?"
He regards her seriously for a second, head cocked to the side and Natasha has to fight not to run her hands through his hair because he's so damn adorable. A kitten. Tony Stark is a kitten.
"Natasha," he shakes his head with a sigh. "You're not the person they were making you out to be. You're selfless and kind and generous whether you let anyone see you or not. And I'll always save you, mio amore, you can count on that."
She's not sure what to say, not sure she even believes him, but Tony doesn't seem to mind her silence. In fact, he brings her hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss there before leaning his head back against the seat and closing his eyes.
"Besides, pissing the government off is what I do best."
They don't say anything the rest of the car ride, simply enjoying the other's presence and ignoring their vibrating phone's which are guaranteed to contain the disapproval of both Steve and Pepper.
And as she looks at the man beside her, brown eyes closed and face an image of pure contentment as he holds her hand like a lifeline, she thinks that she might like being the woman Tony sees her as. Natasha Romanoff, a woman who's worthy of Tony Stark. Yeah, she thinks as she, too, closes her eyes. She could get used to that.