Natasha
Natasha’s sitting in the loft that overlooks the Avenger’s tower living room when Tony and Pepper enter below, and she perks up a bit at the sight of them because she’d been getting bored and they were always free entertainment.
She considers for a moment letting them know she’s up above, watching them, but they seem to be in the middle of an argument-when are they not?-and honestly, she doesn’t want to get in the middle of it.
“I don’t want to practice, Tony,” Pepper says, tugging back on the hand that he’s leading her into the room with.
“You’re the one dragging my ass to this event,” he counters. “And I’m not going unless I know I won’t look like an idiot dancing with you.”
“You always look like an idiot dancing.”
“You're lucky you’re cute, you know that?” When she doesn’t respond, he restarts his argument, “C’mon, I just want to practice for a minute, baby.”
“We’ve danced before without practicing.”
“It’s different now, you’re hurt-I don’t know where to put my hands,” he gestures towards her and the plethora of bruises peeking out from underneath the tank and leggings she’s wearing.
Three weeks ago, SHIELD Headquarters had been attacked by a terrorist group based out of Kabul and Pepper’d had the severe misfortune of being inside when they entered, guns blazing and bombs blasting. Because she’d been in the building’s main offices, she was close to the most severe of the bombs and had-with that slender frame weighing all of 110 pounds-blown clear through the drywall, effectively breaking a good number of bones. Then, as the terrorists were doing a sweep of the rooms and recognized who she was and what she was to Iron Man, they hadn’t treated her kindly; by the time SHIELD reinforcements had arrived, she’d been kicked and hit around with the butts of the men’s assault rifles enough to become a permanent bruise for a few weeks. And as SHIELD began eliminating the terrorists and the group realized their attack was coming to an abrupt halt, they’d fired their guns at random and managed to get her in her right shoulder blade.
Needless to say, she’d been in the hospital for quite some time; four broken ribs, a broken collarbone, sliced Achilles’ tendon from flying debris during the explosion, concussion, orbital fracture, and muscle damage due to the bullet were just the ones Natasha could remember off the top of her head.
“Then we don't dance,” Pepper says.
“No,” Tony responds petulantly, arms crossed like the manchild he is. “If we’re going, we’re dancing.”
Pepper had been adamant about attending an American Red Cross benefit gala in five days for appearances’ sake and Tony absolutely abominated the idea of her leaving the safety of the Avengers Tower, using every tactic imaginable to get her not to go and this dancing thing was just his latest.
“Look at me, Tony, you can’t dance with this.”
Even Natasha had to admit that it would be complicated; Pepper’s right arm is in a sling for both the collarbone and shoulder blade damage and her left leg is in a boot for the torn tendon.
“But I wanna,” he whines, taking hold of her free hand. “I only ever go to these things to dance with you, Pep-” he kisses the back of her hand “-just practice with me for a minute and if it’s obviously not going to work out, I’ll give up.”
“You don’t ‘give up’ on anything, Tony.” Despite her words, Pepper steps forward and he grins in victory, squeezing the hand he’s holding.
He raises their hands up, turning to face her as his other arm wraps around her waist until she suddenly jerks away from his touch.
“Don’t touch there,” she winces, taking a shaky gasp of air. He’d probably pressed right on the lowest of her broken ribs-the one that was downright refusing to heal correctly and still remained dark blue and red after nearly a month.
“Then-” He pauses, giving her a second to recover from the shock, before his hand slides to her hip. “Here?”
“Yes...that should be okay.”
They take a few cautious steps together in a simple waltz, Tony’s eyes glued to their feet, wary of stepping on her boot. Her tendon had recovered remarkably well-probably due to the fact that Tony had forced her to lay in bed for a solid week after being released from the hospital-and she got around efficiently, but she still jolted in pain whenever someone hit her foot because the damned thing made her entire leg rattle at the slightest touch.
“I’m getting that off tomorrow,” Pepper says, meeting his eyes, also noticing he hasn’t stopped staring at it.
“You’re not supposed to.”
“Dr. Miller says I’ve healed well.”
“Dr. Miller is full of shit,” he seethes, the tension in his shoulders noticeable even from where Natasha’s sitting.
He had been downright furious at that man since the first night Pepper was in the hospital; he had sworn, bribed, pleaded, and begged to see her, but Dr. Miller was uncompromising, refusing to allow anyone-even the Tony Stark-entrance to her room after hours. His disdain for him had only been made worse when he had JARVIS run a background check on the doctor and found that-albeit thirty years ago-he’d been investigated by SHIELD for ties to Hydra. He hadn’t been charged with anything, obviously, and his name had been cleared but Tony still bristled every time Dr. Miller was brought up.
“I’m well aware that you think that, honey, but he’s the one with a medical degree,” her voice is tired, having heard him rant about her doctor plenty of times in the past few weeks. The two continue dancing somewhat successfully around the living room, venturing slightly toward the kitchen.
“I could have a medical degree tomorrow if I wanted one.”
“Right.”
“I’m serious.”
“Oh really? What’s a patella?” She asks, quirking her eyebrow at his lack of response, his silence making her grin.
“Your ear bone,” he guesses confidently after a pregnant pause.
“Ear bone?” She questions. “That’s some doctor you are-ow, Tony, God-” she hisses, jumping back when he clips her boot with his foot, only to make it worse by slamming right into the kitchen counter behind her with a considerable amount of force. She lets out a little yelp, eyes squeezing shut in pain and Natasha winces at the discomfort on her face; it looks like she’s on the verge of tears and she hadn’t even cried during the first few days out of the hospital, through painkiller withdrawals and overzealous Thank-God-you’re-alive hugs and everything.
“Honey?” Tony questions, hesitating before he gently puts one hand at the base of her neck, guiding her head to rest on his shoulder. “Shh-I got you-come here-” he stops talking when Pepper’s good hand grasps at shirt he’s wearing, clutching the fabric desperately in an attempt to get control over her emotions.
They stand there for a minute, holding each other, and Natasha would get up and leave as to not intrude on the moment but they would definitely hear the door close behind her. When Pepper makes a sound that is most definitely a sob, Tony begins murmuring something lowly to her, his eyes screwed shut as his head’s turned in to her neck.
Natasha has never thought of Tony as an overly affectionate person, but where Pepper’s concerned, everything about the man did a complete 180.
It was cliché to say she made him a better person, but she most definitely did; he was tolerable around her and that’s really saying something. His smile became genuine and he stumbled over his words like a lovesick fool and he ignored the rest of the world whenever she was around. He practically worshipped the woman-he knew she was the greatest thing that ever happened to him and there was nothing he wouldn’t do to keep her by his side.
Sometimes Natasha didn’t even recognize the arrogant, self-centered, unbearable man she’d met a few years ago-that’s the effect Pepper had on him.
“You’re an ass,” she hears Pepper breathe, the redhead pulling out of his embrace, tears shining on her cheeks.
“I’m sorry-I-” He stops, a guilty look on his face as his hand rests on her hip again, squeezing her reassuringly. “This is why I wanted to practice,” he defends, kissing her cheek gently, lingering there for a second. “Imagine if that had happened in front of the entire gala-at least there’s no one here.”
Well. Not “no one,” exactly, Natasha thinks, continuing to observe the two from the loft.
“We’re not dancing,” Pepper sniffs as Tony wipes her tears away.
“What if-”
“No.” She looks at him sternly, pursing her lips when he looks at her desperately. “If you made me cry the first time, you might rehospitalize me the second.”
“Well, actually-I think the combination of your own nerves and hormones made you cry because you walked into the-” he stops his rambling, taking note of the glare she’s giving him. “I’m not helping myself, am I?”
“Not really.” She scrunches up her face when he kisses her, his hand moving to the back of her head to hold their mouths together for a second.
“How ‘bout now?” He grins when he pulls back.
“You’re not going to-” he cuts her off with another kiss, this one lasting considerably longer and Natasha looks at the suddenly extremely interesting ceiling as Tony works his womanizing ways on Pepper.
“Still nothing?” He asks hopefully after a minute, his eyes wide and pleading.
“If you let me take the boot off, I’ll dance,” she promises, her eyes following Tony as he thinks through the offer. He had been worried out of his mind about Pepper healing and making a full recovery, so much so that he had JARVIS constantly scanning her body to check her progress and Bruce examining her at least once a day. “Tony, we both know that my foot is fine.”
“I-Pep, it’s only been...” He stops, eyeing her and her foot before sighing heavily. “For right now, then it goes back on?”
“Until I go to bed?” She counters, eyebrows raised in question.
“That-fine,” he gives in. “It can stay off until you go to bed, then it goes back on and Dr. I-Betrayed-My-Country can give you the all clear tomorrow.”
If there’s one thing about them that Natasha’s envious of, it’s the way Tony and Pepper can always reach a compromise. No matter how big the conflict-whether it be an momentous issue like her safety or a petty disagreement about movie night-they always met in the middle to give and take a little from the other. Their conflict/resolution capabilities were probably the centerpiece of their relationship-the main thing keeping him and her together.
“Oh for the love of God-” Her voice is muffled because she’s leaning forward to undo the boot “-would you knock it off? Dr. Miller didn’t betray anyone.”
“Except all three of his wives,” Tony answers, kneeling next to her to help.
“You looked into his marriages?!” Her voice rises in pitch and Tony winces slightly as she suddenly looks furious at him. “He-”
“Oh-look at that-your boot’s off,” he says, gently guiding her foot out of the brace, the news enough to make her forget, at least momentarily, about his in-depth background checks.
Pepper takes a hesitant step forward, unwilling to put all of her body weight on the foot just yet, and Tony stands to support her. His hands rest on her hips, firm and steady, keeping her upright as she walks forward into the very center of the living room, all furniture and kitchen counters out of the way. She’s a little shaky, but she looks tipsy rather than in pain.
“You okay?” He asks, concern evident on his features.
“Yeah, I-” She shifts her weight so that it’s evenly distributed between her two legs and smiles reassuringly. “It doesn’t hurt, it just feels...rusty.”
“Good.” He sounds relieved, reaching behind her head to release her hair from its ponytail before taking hold of her hand. “Now, Miss Potts, may I have this dance?”
“Did you have to do that?” She asks, sounding annoyed, shaking her head, strawberry blonde hair flying around until it settles on her shoulders.
“Yes-I like your hair down, you know that-you want some music? A little Frank Sinatra? Ella Fitzgerald? Dean-”
“JARVIS, pick a song, anything from Nat King Cole,” Pepper interrupts, pretending to be irritated with Tony, pausing as the AI sorts through the command.
“This is ‘When I Fall in Love’ by Nat King Cole, Miss Potts,” JARVIS’s soothing voice sounds through the room before a slow jazzy number begins playing through speakers in the living room.
“Nat King Cole?” Tony asks, head tilting as he looks at her. “I thought you liked Tony Bennett.”
“I’m capable of liking more than one singer, you know,” she teases, her exasperated facade falling as they begin to sway to the instrumental intro.
Once Nat King Cole begins singing, the slight static that old songs tend to have filling the space, Natasha can’t hear what they’re saying because they’re speaking too softly to each other, but they’re both smiling-hers wide and breathtaking, his subtle and in awe-as they dance around the living room in small steps. They’re impossibly close, bodies naturally making space for the others, while being extremely cautious not to touch any part of her that’s hurt. It’s easier to waltz without the clunky boot on and it goes much more smoothly, Tony even daring to twirl her slowly, the grin on Pepper’s face more noticeable than her winces when she twists uncomfortably.
That’s not what catches Natasha’s attention, though-it’s Tony.
His eyes never leave Pepper’s face once, roaming over her constantly, all consumed by the woman in his arms, eyelashes fluttering with every little movement she makes. She doesn’t even seem to notice the way he’s staring at her so intently-she continues their conversation, smiling, laughing, wincing as he twirls her again, the song eventually fading as another takes its place. He’s holding her tenderly, as if she might break at any second, and he kisses her cheek when she rests her head on his shoulder, closing his eyes for a second before he glances down at her.
The look in his eyes as he does so, adoration in its purest form, is incredibly raw and intimate and Natasha gets up to leave, feeling like she’s beyond invading their privacy at this point. She manages to slip out of the room without making a sound except for the soft click of the door, which is easily drowned out by the song playing, the image of Tony’s face stuck in her mind.
Love may be for children but if there’s one thing she knows for certain, it’s that Tony Stark is a child.