Natasha Romanoff can be anything you want (bozhemoi) wrote in pastprologueic, @ 2015-03-14 14:20:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !type: log, character: natasha romanoff, character: tony stark |
Who: Natasha & Tony
What: Home Ec. Or late night restless cooking
When: Recently.
Where:Avengers Tower Kitchen
Natasha didn't usually cook. Her schedule was such that most of the time there wasn't time to for actually playing in the kitchen. So it might have been a surprise to see her in the Tower kitchen, hair tied back and a streak of flour across her face. She was humming something to herself as she worked the dough, phantom muscle memory telling her it wasn't to the right consistency yet.
Lost though she was in her work, she still heard - or felt - someone come in. "Bored, Tony?" she asked, raising an eyebrow without interrupting her work.
“Don’t mind me,” Tony said, not the least bit ashamed at having been caught out. He was leaning against (okay, well, hiding behind) the doorway, having been taken off guard by the sight of the infamous Black Widow in the messy, powdery throes of happy kitchen domesticity. It was like...a flying penguin or a fish riding a bicycle. Did not compute.
“What’s that?” He tried for casual, bringing himself to now cross his arms and adopt an air of diffidence. “Some new way to smuggle in weapons somewhere. Baking a hacksaw into that? Gonna poison it with arsenic?"
"Nothing quite so dramatic." A roll of her eyes as she needed the dough again, setting it down on the floured surface and grabbing a rolling pin. "Varenyky. Filled with potato and cheese if all goes well. Berries if the world doesn't need us today."
“Huh.” Varenyky. A Google search was already underway as soon as the syllables had fallen from her lips, images of dumplings splayed out across his mind. “Didn’t know you cooked. They teach you that in spy school?” Even though something told him -- not really.
"Home ec was between seduction 101 and advanced garotting," Natasha deadpanned, rolling the dough until it was thin and pliable before using an empty can to cut out circles. "Basket weaving and ballroom dancing were electives."
“I’d like to read the mission reports where basket weaving came in handy.” He nodded, touché, before fully entering the kitchen. The coffeemaker always had a pot ready and piping hot (state of the art machine of his own making, not for public sale yet). With the hours he kept, there was no such thing as too early, too late, or too much. He helped himself to a refill and then took up a seat at the island. After a moment’s pause, he pulled up various work projects in his mind, made a few mental notations, frowned, then asked more into his mug than to her, “Holding up okay?” Since SHIELD’s hasty exit, since the friendly run-in with the military.
"Tourist towns in tropical areas. No one suspects a local basket weaver of being a spy." Natasha spared him the briefest of glances that would have most men shitting their pants, not missing a beat as she began filling circles of dough with the filling and pinching them closed. "Not getting anywhere with the kidnappings, unfortunately." It wasn't exactly an answer, but discussing emotions wasn't part of her M.O.
If he was to be deflected, then so be it. It was, in a way, kinda a relief, and he could still pat himself on the back for showing that he was, at least, concerned for his teammates, even if anything remotely approaching emotions left him with hives. “I’ve filtered through every traffic cam and private CC system on the known dates and times of the kidnappings.” Needles in haystacks didn’t even begin to describe it, not with sheer amount of people in New York walking through those streets. But even he couldn’t find something if it didn’t happen beneath the glaring capture of the camera. He shook his head. “They’re good, I’ll give them that..”
For Natasha, this was her way of dealing. If she was going to talk feelings, it would be with Clint, but the topic was to be avoided when possible, even with Barton. "I don't want them to be good. I want to catch them." She knew the kidnappings were hitting Barton hard. As for her, she didn't want to think too much about it. She wanted a mission, something to do. Which was as close to an explanation as to why she was making Ukrainian comfort food from scratch at 3am.
"Make yourself useful and help fill these," she said, sliding some dough circles towards Tony. "What about you? How are things going?"
“Things are….” The flat discs were met with frowning bewilderment directed at the tray and then raised brows at Natasha. Are you kidding me with this? But, he should have known better by now: even if she was, he would never, ever be able to tell. Thus chastened, he pulled the bowl of -- “What’s this?” -- he might have swiped a finger through it to taste -- towards him and somewhat clumsily began spooning it out. Like every novice cook, he could only attempt to make his look like hers. “--awesome. My scientists are being dragged in front of Congressional panels, SHIELD’s gone off-grid, like, really off-grid, and--” my girlfriend might blow up and take us all with her “they discontinued my favorite sports drink. Think I’m just gonna buy the company instead.”
"Potato and cheese," she answered. It didn't matter that his were a bit lumpier than hers. "Make sure to seal the edges so they don't come undone in the pot." She raised an eyebrow at him. She hadn't heard from Phil either, but a little radio silence wasn't anything to write home about. "Off grid? Isn't that what you and Rogers wanted?" She asked. She knew SHIELD had to go. It had been getting too dysfunctional. There was that old adage about careful what you wish for "you've survived congressional panels before. You'll survive this one."
“I still track them.” In his own ways didn’t need to be said, but they were comprehensive. Another dumpling sealed, edges pinched firmly together. A small pile of misshapen blobs to sit beside Natasha’s. “Or, I was tracking them.” The thing was, he didn’t think it was just them routing out all his plants (backdoors, hole) and going dark. Something was wrong. Something -- but maybe he ought to let it go now. That was the whole point, right? SHIELD went its own way and was no longer theirs to worry about. “Yeah, you’re right.” He wished he could program his emotions as cleanly as he could the rest of his thoughts. “Jan’s in training now. Aerial maneuvers first, but I think she could learn more than a few things from you. Sting versus bite. I should sell tickets.”
"Was? Coulson wouldn't go off grid without a reason." That was the worrisome bit as her delicate fingers sealed another dumpling as though she's been doing this for decades.
"I'll set up a time to train with her," Natasha commented. "It'll be good to have some fresh blood. After a while a girl gets tired of beating you boys up."
If Coulson had a choi-- No, stop. Not his problem. It was good, not having that problem. Even…Skye. For old time’s sake, and because there was nothing like veering sharply from a landmine subject then to antagonize, he gave her one of his best, leeriest Stark smiles. “Thank you, Ms Rushman. I could use a night not spent in total agony.”
"Tony. What happened?" Her movements were slower now, more deliberate. "If you miss it that much, I'm sure I could fit you into my schedule, Mister Stark," she purred, oozing charm and seduction.
The unexpectedly sultry tone, took him off guard for a moment and he froze as old instincts flared up, pupils dilated, a lick of arousal unfurled low in his belly -- he shook his head. “Shit. Stop that.”.
Natasha couldn't help but chuckle, giving him a fond smile as she sealed another one of the dumpling and set it on the dish towel covered cutting board. "But you're so easy, Tony." The words were uttered fondly, but her tone soon changed to all business. "What do you know about Coulson going off grid? What happened, Tony?"
He favored her with an expression only best translated as disgruntled wet cat, rubbing his mouth with the back of his floured hand as if he could swipe away the remnants of her dangerous girl germs. “Somewhere over the Atlantic, all outgoing signals dropped.” Which could have meant any number of things -- SHIELD strategically going dark. Interference. The plane crashed.
"Coulson could just be doing a training exercise." It didn't sound like it. And there was a prickling on the back of her neck that she just couldn't shake. "May's one of the best pilots. And the bus was in top shape when they left, right?" She levelled her gaze at Tony, needing his reassurance in this area. If he had let them leave in less that fighting form, she would drag his ass onto the mats again.
“I looked it over myself. That plane was perfect.” Even if Coulson may not have known he had done so. “It’s been too long for a training exercise.” But this wasn’t their problem, right? Looking at Natasha now, even in the way she gave away absolutely nothing, her steady, even gaze was enough -- concern. She was concerned. And if she was concerned….
"Tell me everything you know." It was an order, really. "I'll see what I can find out from my sources." But if communications were down, if something had happened, then they would need to do something. "SHIELD isn't the enemy, Tony. They're still an ally." And they're family.
“Just sent you the flight data and comm records from take-off until blackout.” The data flew before he’d even finished the sentence. In a way, it was a relief to burden someone else with this -- and there were very few people in the world as capable as Natasha. “...I know. Why do you think I’m telling you this now? If they’re in trouble....” He had told Coulson there would be no more bailouts. “We’ll round up the gang.”
"Should have known you'd keep tabs on them," Natasha said with a fond smile before dropping her gaze to her work, focusing more intently. There was an almost imperceptible change, a slight increase of the tension in her arms.
He shrugged, aiming for casual, and pinched another dumpling thing closed. “Only for the ones I really like and really hate.”