Chapter Text
The night mist cleared. City lights glowed against the glass and steel facades of the skyscrapers.
“30 minutes to landing,” the speakers crackled.
“And do elephants produce milk?” Clint asked. He swallowed a mouthful of gummy bears before continuing with, “did woolly mammoth’s give milk? Did cave people ever make mammoth’s cheese?”
They were close enough to watch the plane’s reflection glide around on the dark patches of the city, broken by the glass into little pieces. “Hell, what is wrong with you, featherhead?” Natasha snorted from her stance by the window.
The man giggled. “Can you imagine little cave men milking their woolly mammoths?”
“No,” Sam replied, a traumatised note to his voice. “And I never thought I ever would until this conversation.”
“I think that’s enough candy for you now.” Steve scooped up the bowl, glanced at it once, and made the wisest decision – which was passing it immediately into the arms of the person sitting to his left.
“Hey!” Bucky complained. “How did I end up with custody of the most prized possession on the goddamn plane?”
“That baby’s all yours,” Steve grinned, and leaned over to brush his boyfriend’s lips. “Keep it safe.”
Rolling his eyes at the couple, Sam put up a sneaky hand. Another few handfuls of (almost) pure sugar disappeared. Bucky scowled protectively, shoved him away, and held the bowl closer. It nestled perfectly in the crook of his metal arm.
Natasha had forgotten how large and bright New York could be. The wet black sky surrounding the small jet was the greatest contrast it could be to the golden metropolis sprawled out below. She touched a fingertip to the cold glass window. A quiet voice behind her said, “it will be good to be back.”
Bruce watched Natasha as she pictured Tony Stark’s indignant face when the Avengers told him they hadn’t waited for his private jet to pick them up from the airport, instead renting a small charter. The vote had been unanimous – none of the Avengers would choose waiting for a comfortable flight over getting to the Tower sooner. Natasha’s mouth twisted upward. “Yes,” she told Bruce. “It will be good to be back.”
“You did tell Tony when we’re due to arrive, didn’t you?” Bucky asked, slightly worried.
Steve screwed up his nose. “Yes, and he said he had a project to work on but he’d try crawling out of his lab at some point to say hello.”
“His words or yours?” Clint laughed.
“It’s almost 3 in the morning.” Bucky sounded surprised. “Does he sleep, like, ever?”
The Avengers shook their heads. “Guy runs on coffee,” Bruce explained.
“20 minutes to landing,” said the speakers from the corner of the ceiling. “You want me to drop you at the airport?”
“Avengers Tower, Stark Industries,” Natasha remedied. “There’ll be a small runway.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the pilot replied. Natasha left her seat and casually swiped the bowl of candy from Bucky. “In that case, 5 minutes to landing.”
“Look,” Sam supplied, “I can see the Tower.”
It glittered silver. Avengers Tower easily dwarfed the rest of the block, smooth sides soaring higher than the boxy apartments and offices surrounding. It was an elegant shape, Natasha mused, crunching on candy. As much as a building could have grace and poise.
Hell, she was tired. It was getting to the point where the constant weight of the spare dagger strapped to her leg was an ache rather than a reassurance. Where even her fingerless gloves felt like they were weighing her down.
She flicked her gaze to the others. Yeah, they were tired, too. Forget suitcases, those were body-bags under Bruce’s calm eyes. And the rest of the team who weren’t hyped up on sugar (read: just Rhodey) had dull expressions and slumped shoulders. The last five chaotic months had seen mission after mission, only remotely assisted by Tony, taking them far and wide and beyond by never with a chance to break.
Natasha couldn’t wait to just collapse in her room and pass out. Not that she’d ever let anybody know that. The Black Widow retained her dignity now matter how exhausted she became, please and thank you.
Oh but hell, she was tired.
The plane shuddered slightly as they landed. Natasha balanced the bowl of food on her knees with, to her credit, only slightly less agility than as per usual. None of the candies spilled to the floor, so the woman stood and began moving toward the door.
“Wow, Nat, slow down,” Clint began. She turned loose a frostily unimpressed look. “I mean,” he stammered, “we haven’t even stopped moving completely yet.”
“Hey, I agree with Natasha,” Rhodes said. He shot the low ceiling a dark glance and rubbed the back of his neck. “Get me the hell off this plane.”
“Language,” Bucky pointed out with a snort, nudging Steve.
Eventually the door was unlocked and the Avengers clambered down the makeshift stairs one at a time. It was relieving to escape the cramped space and suck in deep breaths of cold (and polluted) night air.
The pilot unloaded their luggage onto the smooth concrete. There wasn’t much of it: just a small suitcase or two between them and various duffel bags of different sizes and colours. Steve thanked her and the woman, obviously uncomfortable with the knowledge that she’d just flown seven superheroes to the private runway above Stark Industries, disappeared back inside the plane. The team picked up their luggage (a little unenthusiastically) and turned to face the glass double doors.
Tony wasn’t waiting for them.
Granted, they weren’t exactly expecting it. Okay, let’s be fair, although they had told themselves not to expect it, almost all of them had been silently hoping to see a welcoming face.
Natasha squashed down the brief flash of disappointment into something unidentifiable and led the way inside.
Several employees greeted them, and a janitor professed that he was glad the team were back, but when they all stepped into the elevator and the silver doors slid shut, all they could feel was awkward silence.
“So much for Tony,” Clint snorted.
Bucky rubbed his metal arm, a tad nervously. After all, this would be only his second visit to the Tower. Tony had waved a hand in the air and proclaimed the events of the “Civil War” over, but he had been remarkably reluctant to join the team on missions. And they’d only really dropped by the Tower once after for a few hours for a team meeting when the Accords had been mended, so bonding time had been overlooked.
For now, though, Natasha was going to take Tony at his word and assume they were welcome. She had bigger things to worry about. Like sleep.
“Level 98, Avengers quarters,” FRIDAY chimed as the doors eased open. “Please keep your voice down.”
They drabbled into the room, too physically drained to think carefully about what the AI had told them. Natasha made a beeline for the room she’d stayed in before, and to her pleasure it was still plainly hers. The bed was oak and the handles of the bedside cabinets were steel. She lit one of the large lamps angled next to the bed and sighed gratefully.
Clint made a choking noise just outside the bedroom door.
Natasha let her stuff fall on the floor and slipped back down the hallway. The team were huddled together behind the glowingly polished island bench of a large kitchen, staring open-mouthed at the living space adjoining.
Natasha blinked. A man was asleep on the lounge.
No, Tony Stark was asleep on the lounge. Tony Stark, a qualified insomniac, who had once stayed up for ninety-six hours straight, was wrapped in a blanket with his feet up and his head back, honest-to-god snoring.
Clint made the choking sound again.
“Wow,” was Bruce’s only reaction. He sounded vaguely impressed.
Bucky shook his head. “This does not match the image of Tony Stark I was given by you lot,” he reprimanded, glancing at the list of movie credits still scrolling on the TV screen. “I never-- wait. Is that a kid?”
Natasha looked more closely. She first saw hints of a second person in the sock poking out of the blanket at a strange angle, and the pale hand with curled-up fingers resting on Tony’s chest. Then she found a head of what looked like brown curls, tucked snugly under Tony’s arm. And eventually, a second set of sleeping breaths, slow and light.
It looked so… intimate. Tony’s face was so gentle. Softer than Natasha had ever seen. He was wearing a T-shirt instead of a suit, and Natasha could’ve sworn the man slept in his suit. He had one hand clutching the blanket and the other with his fingers woven through the kid’s hair.
“Holy shit,” Sam said. “That’s a kid.”
The Avengers stared at each other.
“Not just that,” Rhodey added disbelievingly, and pointed. “You see the hoodie that kid’s wearing? Well, I’d know that hoodie anywhere. That’s Tones’ precious MIT jumper. Most favourite piece of clothing he owns.”
Clint finally found his voice. “But Tony never shares his jumpers.”
Natasha nodded. “We know…”