"You can show up here whenever you like. No prior clearance needed," Natasha told him. My home is yours, if she couldn't have quite said the words that way, but it was implicit enough, because that was what Tony had always tried to give to the lot of them. He'd built them floors in the tower. He'd built them a compound, with bedroom suites, with offices, with a pool and a screening room, he'd modified planes and uniforms, and he was doing it again, here in this town. Natasha Romanoff had never lived anywhere long enough to call it a home until Tony Stark had several of them built and put a space inside every one of them specifically for her.
Any place she would ever call her home was a place where he would be unequivocally welcome, under any condition. Maybe she would be able to convey that more clearly.
She reached out and touched her hand to his, gently curling her fingers around his wrist as she guided it away from his eyes. Her face was filled with sorrow; she kept none of it for herself. Like Clint had said, when your friends were having a rough go of it, it meant you were, too, and somewhere along the line, Tony had ended up a person whose hurts she could feel as keenly as her own. "Barbara told me," she said, quietly. Gently. Sparing him from having to repeat words that would have already felt like choking. "Oh, Tony. Will it mean a thing if I say it's not your fault?"