And the drink. Tony wasn't going to forget about that because they'd both well need it after the night was through. Because Natasha wasn't someone you skimped on details with. By the end of the night, they'd (or just Tony) would be sloshed, and she'd have all the facts she could think to ask about and probably more.
"Not Morgan," Tony said, because he felt like that was probably important. Well, it was to him. And Natasha would know her, the little girl who he thought was perfection without having ever actually met her. "She's not here. I'm not from then. But Pete's here. And Gwen. Who -- she's not from the same place as us. But she's..." He didn't really have to say. Natasha would know. She was one of the kids, Tony's kids, and she lived in his house. Obviously he thought the absolute world of her.
He pushed into the house, lead the way toward the kitchen -- well used, well organized and had proper up-to-date appliances that Tony very much fixed or built, but didn't tend to be the person to use. "And Steve'll show up sooner or later, once he hears you're around." Tony should have said something, but he wanted this time alone, first.