"You're welcome? You're welcome?" Natasha yelled, which really, in all fairness, could have possibly been described as a shriek at the decibel level her voice rose to. The bathroom was so woefully low on things to throw at him, another reminder that she really didn't spend very much time in this house, but improvisation had always been one of her stronger suits. A half-empty tube of toothpaste beaned harmlessly off his head, followed in rapid succession by a box of tissues and a hairbrush. A bottle of nail polish went wide, but it hit the doorframe hard enough to burst open and leave a trail of bright blue glitter oozing down the wall in its wake.
"You don't have clue one what you're doing - bleeding fuck, Tony, you of all people - " Because he was supposed to be like her. He was supposed to be the only other one she could count on to play the game the way she played it, and if he hated it, there was still plenty about it he was acclimated to.
He was the only one who understood how you could hate the rest of them, all of them, Stane and his cronies and everything about it, but smile at them and eat their food and drink their liquor and enjoy yourself. He was the only one she was sure wouldn't judge her for being able to still take enjoyment in expensive coffee beans and cashmere blankets and always knowing, always, always, that whatever happened, there would be enough food.
And he was the only one she was supposed to be able to not worry about. He was the only one who wasn't stupid enough to believe that there was anything about this world that could be changed. Caring about Tony Stark meant accepting that maybe one day, his liver would cave in entirely or that glowing light in his chest would abruptly stop whirring, accepting there was nothing to be done about either of those things, but knowing that he was courting an end that could come on quicker - after his parents - after Erskine -
It was foolish beyond the telling of it to let this feel like a betrayal, but then again, she'd been foolish about plenty of things lately.
"And don't you give me that 'Rogers had nothing to do with it' bullshit, don't you fucking insult me any more than you've already done," she yelled, firing off a bottle of silver polish this time. They were handy, brightly colored little missiles. "He must have sucked your dick at the hotel opening after all, Mr. Stark, committing treason over a blowjob seems like a dumb-as-shit-Justin-Hammer move to me, but here you go trying to one up him!"