It's like watching a magician get ready for his next trick, watching the emotions flicker across Tony's face. With a flourish, he turns on the Great Tony Stark with the million bell smile.
This is where the guilt sits in Natasha's chest like a rock.
Sometimes there are little hints -- glimpses, really -- that Tony might want this to be more than it ever can be for her.
If she was a better person, she'd slip the ring off her finger, leave it on his pillow after he's gone to work, and disappear out of his life forever. There are plenty of women who'd look beautiful enough on his arm to help him climb to the top, who are capable of loving him. Without her in the way, he'd have a chance to find them.
(It's funny. When they first met, Natasha was set on despising him. The most famous of the Quarry designers, she still remembers the interview where he spoke about designing the Maze at the center of her Quarry. The careless arrogance ground into her nerves like broken glass. He didn't care there were people who fell into his traps, just that they worked. That they were clever.
Turns out, Tony Stark is a force of nature in person. His charm practically its own entity.
Natasha can't be sure when she first looked at him and saw, rather than the Architect of Death, a Good Man deserving of love. But here they are. And as each day passes, the guilt grows a little bigger, its edges sharpening.)
But, Natasha is not a better person. She's the worst version of herself, and he is everything she's worked for all these years. Every sacrifice and scheme, everyone she's stepped on, and every heart she's ever broken -- including her own -- has brought her here. Giving up now, would make it all for nothing. Out of all the Rook's -- Blake excluded, perhaps -- he's the kindest one she's ever met.
When she first laid down her plan, she never dared to dream that the faceless Rook in her scenario could be kind as well as handsome. It's usually one or the other and Rooks and Cardinals hardly favor kindness.
She got lucky.
His smile draws hers in return. It's the one she wears for parties; bright and shallow.
"It's one of your better traits."
Gently, she dabs little dots of moisturizer onto his face in curving arcs before she twists the lid back onto the jar. In silence, she works it into his skin with soft circular motions. Using the task at her excuse, she lets herself trace the lines of his face. Her thumb runs down the memory of a crease between his eyebrows, then it fans across the crinkled lines around his eyes.
They work in tandem through his bedtime rituals, Natasha's touch light and gentle, her eyes never quite meeting his. Once they're done, she sinks back on her knees in the bed and runs her hands over her thighs.
"You should wake me. Tomorrow." An olive branch of sorts. "I need to get my day started. Plenty to do."
If beauty appointments, maintaining her social media presence, and meeting with a stylist counts as plenty.
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This is where the guilt sits in Natasha's chest like a rock.
Sometimes there are little hints -- glimpses, really -- that Tony might want this to be more than it ever can be for her.
If she was a better person, she'd slip the ring off her finger, leave it on his pillow after he's gone to work, and disappear out of his life forever. There are plenty of women who'd look beautiful enough on his arm to help him climb to the top, who are capable of loving him. Without her in the way, he'd have a chance to find them.
(It's funny. When they first met, Natasha was set on despising him. The most famous of the Quarry designers, she still remembers the interview where he spoke about designing the Maze at the center of her Quarry. The careless arrogance ground into her nerves like broken glass. He didn't care there were people who fell into his traps, just that they worked. That they were clever.
Turns out, Tony Stark is a force of nature in person. His charm practically its own entity.
Natasha can't be sure when she first looked at him and saw, rather than the Architect of Death, a Good Man deserving of love. But here they are. And as each day passes, the guilt grows a little bigger, its edges sharpening.)
But, Natasha is not a better person. She's the worst version of herself, and he is everything she's worked for all these years. Every sacrifice and scheme, everyone she's stepped on, and every heart she's ever broken -- including her own -- has brought her here. Giving up now, would make it all for nothing. Out of all the Rook's -- Blake excluded, perhaps -- he's the kindest one she's ever met.
When she first laid down her plan, she never dared to dream that the faceless Rook in her scenario could be kind as well as handsome. It's usually one or the other and Rooks and Cardinals hardly favor kindness.
She got lucky.
His smile draws hers in return. It's the one she wears for parties; bright and shallow.
"It's one of your better traits."
Gently, she dabs little dots of moisturizer onto his face in curving arcs before she twists the lid back onto the jar. In silence, she works it into his skin with soft circular motions. Using the task at her excuse, she lets herself trace the lines of his face. Her thumb runs down the memory of a crease between his eyebrows, then it fans across the crinkled lines around his eyes.
They work in tandem through his bedtime rituals, Natasha's touch light and gentle, her eyes never quite meeting his. Once they're done, she sinks back on her knees in the bed and runs her hands over her thighs.
"You should wake me. Tomorrow." An olive branch of sorts. "I need to get my day started. Plenty to do."
If beauty appointments, maintaining her social media presence, and meeting with a stylist counts as plenty.