Black Widow
It should come as no surprise that Natasha was the first to discover Iron Man's secret.
Even during her time posing as Natalie Rushman, she noticed something was off.
Tony Stark always wore long sleeves. The only time she saw him in a t-shirt--AC/DC logo included--he wore a hoodie over it. All this information was filed away but didn't catch her attention until she saw the smudge of concealer on his cuff.
Black Widows are observant, unobtrusive. She watched, and she determined that Stark was indeed hiding something. She also determined that it wasn't a bad something, like the palladium was a bad something. It was just a deeply personal something.
Natasha learned this by watching his mannerisms. He did not shy away from people touching his arms, from movements that could reveal more. So it wasn't a bad something, just a something he'd rather keep private.
For a man of Stark's stature and power, it didn't surprise her that he kept secrets.
She let it slide, not bothering to include it in her report. She could be discreet, she could value other's privacy.
She also had more important things to deal with at the time.
~
New York. Rubble and explosions and Stark flying into space with a nuke on his back. Perhaps she underestimated him.
Shwarma afterward. Hefty food, making them more tired than they already were. Natasha thought of the standard issue SHEILD bunk waiting for her, of the firm pillow, so much better than the barracks she was raised in. She fought to keep composure, to stop from yawning or letting her eyes flutter closed.
Her team wasn't faring much better, she noticed. They all needed sleep soon. She winced at the journey ahead of her to get back to headquarters. She couldn't get a cab. Clint and Rogers wouldn't be better off, and God knows where Banner would sleep.
Natasha wasn't the only one who noticed. In a flurry of distraction and sleep deprived rambling, they all found themselves back at Stark Tower.
Stark hid things, she thought dimly as she was shown to her room. He hid anything that would make him seem human. Fallible. Sentimental.
There was something important in that revelation, but she didn't have time to analyze it, for her eyes closed the instant her head hit the pillow.
~
Overnight, it seemed, Stark had moved them into his tower. Her meager possessions were in a closet, her weapons on a heap on the table.
Natasha's immediate reaction was to be suspicious. Nothing is given freely, what was Stark's endgame? What was he aiming for? What did he want from her? If Stark thought Natasha could be played like a puppet, he was wrong. She had left that life behind.
Stark confused her; he didn't seem to want anything in return. In fact, when Banner and Rogers tried to thank him, he grew flustered, waved them off with a quick 'Perks of being a billionaire, don't thank me, it's nothing,' and made a hasty retreat to his workshop.
Moreover, when Natasha hunted him down to see what he wanted, he had looked at her like she was insane.
"I just feel bad, you doing all this for us. Is there anything I could do for you?"
"What? Widow, I didn't do shit for any of you."
Now Natasha was puzzled. "You opened your home to us, inviting us into your space even though you have no reason to trust us, me especially. You feed us. Clint found a new quiver of arrows yesterday, and you're fooling nobody with the note that they're from SHEILD. SHEILD's tech isn't that good."
He looked slightly pleased by the praise (as if he wasn't used to it) but he also looked terrified by the sincerity she purposefully blended into her voice. "Well...I'm glad he likes them, anyways. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a test to run-Fury wants me to upgrade the helicarrier-very busy, you see...I'll be in the workshop."
He managed to escape without actually responding to what she said, Natasha observed with amusement. Perhaps there actually wasn't a motive behind his gifts beyond pure philanthropy.
~
A week later, the voice in the ceiling led her to a floor all of her own-a beautiful dance studio with wall to wall mirrors, bars, a changing room with at least 20 perfect workout and dance outfits, and a speaker system that could play any music she asked.
Taken aback, she smiled and asked Jarvis to put on the Russian ballet Giselle, before grabbing a pair of pointe shoes and dancing to her heart's content.
~
When she came back to her room 6 hours later, she found it remodeled to her tastes, with secret caches of weapons hidden around the room, opened by biometric locks.
~
Natasha had not forgotten Tony's secret, but she also didn't pay much mind to it. After all he had done for her, she figured she could show him some respect for his privacy. It also had the benefit of a step towards earning his trust back.
She was called down to his lab one day to try out a new knife he had designed. When she arrived, he was wearing a jacket over a t-shirt and jeans, smeared with grease. The jacket was clean, ergo he had pulled it on just before her arrival. He was hiding his arms from her.
He handed her the knife, and she had fun testing it. Similar in design to a butterfly knife, it was impossibly light and well balanced, even suitable for throwing. The best part, in Natasha's opinion, was the switch on the side, which instantly turned the blade cold enough to freeze blood in the veins. Instant death to anyone she cut.
"This is amazing," she breathed, turning to him after playing with it for half an hour. "How does this work?"
Tony immediately launched into an in-depth explanation, filled with more technobabble than even Bruce could follow, probably. Her mind drifted slightly as she listened. He used his hands when he talked, betraying his Itallian heritage. She watched as his hands flew through the air, illustrating his point, and his sleeve slipped down just enough to reveal...
"You have tattoos!" she blurted, after a moment's indecision.
Tony cut off his rant abruptly, leaving her worried that she had made the wrong choice. An air of surprise, of discovery, had seemed the best choice for answers, but also ran the highest risk. They had to trust each other.
"Yes," he said, rubbing at the back of his neck sheepishly. "Sorry, it's just...not many people have seen them."
"You don't have to show me," she was quick to assure him, and was surprised to find she meant it. Sure, she was curious, but she'd rather Tony trust her than force him into revealing something extremely personal.
"No...it's alright," he sounded slightly hesitant, but Natasha jumped on the chance, reaching out to brush his wrist, where the slight darkness she had noticed lay. He shuddered slightly, stripping off his outer jacket to reveal his arms.
Natasha sucked in a quick breath to demonstrate shock. The ink wound up his forearm, disappearing into the sleeves of his shirt. He tugged said shirt over his head, revealing far more expansive tattoos than she had imagined. Burnt red and gold feathers curled over his shoulder, disappearing to his back. Thin lines--was that sheet music?-- wrapped his ribs, a crest sitting on one hip. Lines of numbers circled one of his forearms, signifying something she couldn't decode. And on his chest, perched high, arching over the reactor...
Natasha's breath caught, not shocked by the arc reactor, but by what sat over it. The Avengers, displayed with the symbols the modern media had taken to using. Her black and red Hourglass was there, tucked in between Thor's Hammer and Clint's target with arrow.
Tony cleared his throat, apparently embarrassed. Natasha deduced that he was not comfortable showing off deeply personal parts of himself. "I have more on my legs, but I think all this staring and appreciation for my ink is just a ruse to get me out of my pants, Widow, and I would not grant you the pleasure."
Natasha laughed lightly, aware that she was treading on thin ground. Tony had, in esscence, opened his soul to her, however briefly. One wrong move, and he would close it forever. She was pleasantly surprised that he even trusted her this much.
'Trust goes both ways,' a traitorous voice whispered in her head.
With that in mind, she toed off one of her sneakers and sat on the worn-down couch he kept in the workshop. "It's dangerous for agents to have tattoos," she stated, cutting off his inevitable questions. Her mind echoed what he was probably thinking--What the hell was she doing? Nevertheless, she persisted. "Any identifiable markings can give us away. Which is why I only have one."
Natasha could feel, more than see, the moment his curiosity got the best of him. He ambled over to the couch, plopped down next to her, and motioned for her to continue.
She grabbed her ankle, pulling to rest it on her knee, and pointed to the bottom of her heel. Tony squinted, leaning closer to see the red ink.
#749
His eyes widened, flickering up to meet hers, the question clear in them.
Natasha took a deep breath, reminding herself that he had just opened himself up. Now it was her turn.
"The organization that raised me was not a kind one. We called it the Red Room, mostly because we had nothing else to call it. They trained us, programmed us, made us into weapons. I was their star pupil. Later I took those things, took their mantle of 'Widow,' and I made it my own. But things like that leave their marks," she chuckled without humor. "Number Seven-Four-Nine. That's what I was to them. Not anymore."
When she met Tony's eyes again, they were hard. "Fuck them, 'Tasha."
She smiled, deadly and terrifying. "I intend to."
~
"Mr. Stark requests your presence in the garage."
Natasha looked to the nearest camera. "Did he say why, Jarvis?"
"I believe Sir meant it to be a surprise. You may wish to hurry, Sir appears to be growing impatient."
Bemused, Natasha grabbed her jacket and walked out the door. "Well, we wouldn't want that."
When she arrived, Tony swept open the door to a Black Lamborgini, ushering her inside with a wink. He followed suit, sliding into the driver's seat, and refusing to answer her questions. With a fond roll of her eyes, she decided to humor him.
Then again, humoring Tony Stark could very well end in disaster, she mused as they pulled up outside the tattoo studio.
They clambered out, and she shot him a glare over the hood, but he either didn't see, or ignored it.
The artist greeted him excitedly, obviously knowing Tony well. He grinned, speaking German.
"My friend and I are looking to get tattoos done."
"Wonderful! Do you know what type of tattoo she would like?"
Natasha broke into the conversation. "I'm not quite sure myself, this was a bit unplanned."
The man grinned widely at her. "Ah! You speak German! How refreshing."
"If you don't mind, I'm going to grab Tony real quick; we will be right back."
He nodded, and Natasha pulled Tony to the side, reverting to English. "What's this about, Tony?"
"Okay, I know this was a little abrupt..." She raised one eyebrow and he held up his hands. "Sue me. You don't have to get one, obviously, but I just thought you'd like something you picked for yourself on your body, and I'm getting something done, so..." he trailed off with a shrug. "I don't know, I just thought it would be a good idea. I even drew up some designs for you, you don't need to use them, of course, but they might give you a good starting place. Maybe this was a terrible idea, I'm sorry, we can just go--"
Natasha cut off what was quickly spiraling into insecure ramblings. "Show me your designs, Tony."
"Oh, sure," he fumbled with the briefcase he carried. Both eyebrows climbed high, as she had thought it was his armor. "Here you go."
She shifted through the seven (Seven?!) sheets of paper he handed her, settling on the one that caught her eye. With horror, Natasha realized she could feel the tell-tale pressure of tears building, and she quickly blinked back against them.
"This one," she decided instantly.
"Are you sure? Again, you don't have to--" Tony's protests were silenced with a look from her. She stared back at the drawing.
It was her, or at least, it appeared to be. Sketchy-styled lines showed the silhouette of a ballerina mid-dance, beautiful watercolors bringing her to life. Was this how Tony saw her? Moved by a sudden surge of emotion, she hugged him.
"Woah, okay, hugging is happening. You're welcome, I guess. Holy crap, you're hugging me without killing me this is fantastic, Barton will never believe it..."
Natasha laughed, pulling back. "Tony?"
"Yes?"
"Shut up."
"Right, shutting up."
She marched back over to the artist, showing him the sketch and saying that she wanted it on her ribs, where it was less visible. Soon, she and Tony lay next to each other on tattoo chairs, another artist working on him.
Her artist complimented her several times on sitting so stoically, saying the ribs were one of the most painful places and most people weren't able to sit so well. She just smiled in response, unsure of how to explain that she had withstood torture on many an occasion, so the poke of a needle was next to nothing.
When she was done, Natasha looked in the mirror, overjoyed to see her danced embodied forever on her side. Underneath, delicate letters spelled out "Мое прошлое - мое" or "My past is my own" in her native language.
She beamed over towards Tony, who had finished his a while before. He grinned back, apparently pleased that his plan had gone over so smoothly.
"Well?" she asked. "Let me see yours!"
That hesitation was back, but he pulled the collar of his shirt down slightly. Natasha couldn't stifle a gasp.
There, sitting in the dip between his left shoulder and collarbone, was a hyper-realistic Black Widow spider, nearly the size of her fist. It was so well drawn that it looked like she could reach out and touch it.
For the second time in the day, Natasha pulled him into a fierce hug. This time, instead of stammering and talking his way around it, he hugged her back.
"Thank you, Tony," she whispered.
"You're welcome."
~
When they walked into the common room at the tower, they were both laughing at a joke Tony had just told. Clint, Steve, and Bruce were all sitting on the couch, apparently in the process of introducing Steve to Lord of the Rings.
"When did you become best friends?" Clint asked, mocking offense at being replaced.
Natasha grinned, catching Tony's eye. "Today," she answered simply.
He smiled back, before turning his attention to the screen. "Ooh! Is this the Two Towers? Has Legolas surfed down the stairs yet?"
Clint answered with equal childish animation, and the pair took their seats.
Natasha swung her feet up to rest on Tony's lap, and his hand subconsciously landed on her ankle as he and Clint started arguing about who was better-Legolas or Aragorn.
Natasha smiled, her fingertips brushing the plastic wrap that covered her dancer.