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Have A Drink On Me (Or Four Or Five, Really)

Chapter Text

      ACDC blares in the background as Tony fiddles around with a blowtorch.

     “Sir, perhaps you should continue working on your current project when you are no longer inebriated,” JARVIS voice echoes from the ceiling.

     “J, you know I do my best work drunk,” Tony slurs as he sets down the blowtorch (only to pick up his tumbler of whiskey, can’t have JARVIS think he’s caving in or anything).

     “Of course, sir,” JARVIS says wryly.

     Tony is considering which clever retort he should use when there’s a loud pounding on the door of his lab. He looks over at the door to see Natasha. Jesus, don’t they know to leave him alone by now?

     “Shall I let Agent Romanov in, sir?”

     Tony sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “Yeah, sure, J, why not?”

     The door to his lab unlocks, and Natasha enters the room gracefully. She stops short and gives him a knowing look.

     “Tony, have you been drinking?” The disappointment is written all over her face.

     “Really, if you stop to think about it, the best question is: when am I not drinking? The answer to that question is –” She gives him a look that stops him mid-ramble.

     “This isn’t about what I think it’s about, is it?”

     “Um, that depends. Because if you think it’s about Steve, then you are sooo wrong. I’ve only thought about him for like ten minutes today, twenty tops. Well, maybe a little more since we’re talking about him now. And I have certainly not been hiding in my lab so I didn’t have to see him.”

     Shit, Tony’s less drunk than he thought. Apparently, he has not actually reached shit-faced levels, and is still hovering at the I will tell you my deepest, darkest feelings level. He should definitely never leave his lab, and should really just drink some more. He reaches over for his whiskey.

     “Don’t you dare, Stark. That’s enough alcohol,” Natasha says as she makes a grab for wrist.

     “What, no! There is never enough – Tashaaaaa,” He begins to whine as she starts to haul his ass out of the lab. His lab. Tony’s lab that he should be doing drunk science in at this exact second.

     She pulls him to the elevator and pushes the button for Tony’s floor. They stand for a couple of seconds in silence before Natasha starts on him.

     “You do realize this has to stop, right?”

     “What has to stop? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tony tries, but she just leans over and hits the emergency stop button.

     “Tony, you’re being a complete idiot -”

     “Technically, I’m an actual genius and-”

     “No, it is my turn to talk. Seriously, Tony, just talk to the man!”

     “And say what? 'Hi Steve, you are totally gorgeous and have the most lickable abs in the entire universe. Can we have sex and make out and stuff?' I’m pretty sure that will go real great,” Tony shoots Natasha a look and tries not to think about said lickable abs.

     Or that completely to die for ass.

     Or…no, stop. Bad Tony.

     “Well, maybe not that exact approach, but a talk of some kind yes. I would prefer you manage this on your own, but Clint and I are prepared to intervene,” And there’s that classic Black Widow threatening stance.

     Tony’s pretty sure that’s trademarked or something.

     He sighs, “Look, Tasha, I would talk to him.” He pauses as Natasha scoffs at him.

     “I would! But he’s Captain America! All brawny, and Boy Scout-y, and straight … like something really straight,” He finishes lamely.

     She gives him an incredulous look, “Tony, do not joke around with me. I will kill you.”

     Tony looked at her in disbelief (and with a good helping of fear, he didn’t want to die in his own elevator in his own tower, okay?). “Tash, I’m not joking. Steve does not like me, or men, but certainly not me.”

     Natasha raises a single, well-manicured eyebrow, and a flicker of knowledge crosses over her face. She leans over and presses the stop button again. The elevator resumes its pace to Tony’s floor. Finally. Tony’s given in to the fact that he’s been pulled out of his workshop, and now he just wants to sleep. Like, yesterday.

     “Alright Tony, you know what’s best,” She says in a tone that sober Tony would not have liked at all, but drunk Tony dismisses it without a second thought.

     The elevator drops Tony off on his floor, and Natasha says good night to him with a smirk.

     Tony stumbles to his room and immediately collapses on his bed. Pajamas are totally for the weak anyway.

     Within minutes he’s out cold in a deep sleep.