Arc 5 - Ch 6: Black Widow

Chapter 53

Arc 5 - Ch 6: Black Widow

Date: Tuesday, May 31, 2011.

Location: Randy's Donuts, Inglewood, CA

The morning sun cast its warm glow across the Los Angeles cityscape, bathing the buildings in a soft, golden light. Atop the iconic Randy's Donuts sign, Tony Stark, still wearing the red and gold Iron Man armor, sat leisurely in the giant donut with a box of donuts resting in his lap. Though his posture was relaxed, it lacked the charisma and heroism typically associated with the man inside the suit. His helmet was retracted, instead, he wore dark sunglasses that did little to hide the evidence of his headache from the previous night's drinking, or the fight, likely both.

The scene was comical yet vaguely disconcerting. There sat Tony, seemingly disconnected from the world around him, lost in his thoughts. The Iron Man armor that usually symbolized strength now appeared to be little more than a gilded shell he was hiding behind.

The peaceful morning tranquility was abruptly shattered by the arrival of a black sedan pulling up to the curb. As the car doors opened, a man emerged exuding an air of authority and calm command. Clad in a long black coat and sporting his iconic eye patch was SHIELD Director Nick Fury. With an irritated scowl, Fury strode purposefully toward the restaurant.

"Sir!" Fury called out, "I'm going to have to ask you to exit the donut."

Stark seemed momentarily taken aback by the sudden appearance of the spymaster. Recovering quickly, Tony reached up with a casual yet deliberate motion and slowly slid his sunglasses down his nose. The absurdity of the situation was not lost on either man. But beneath the surface humor, both understood the gravity underlying Fury's arrival.

This was no social call.

Minutes later, the unlikely pair sat across from each other in a vinyl booth within the donut shop's interior. Stark was still encased in the Iron Man armor and looked out of place in the humble setting. Leaning back against the booth's cracked faux leather, he studied Fury with weary resignation. Breaking the heavy silence between them, Tony quipped sardonically, "I told you, I don't want to join your super secret boy band."

Fury, unruffled by Tony's sarcasm, responded, "No, no, no. I remember you do everything yourself. How's that working out for you?" His tone remained light, but his words hinted at the greater issues Tony faced.

"It's, it's, it's..." Sensing the seriousness lurking beneath the surface of Fury's words, Tony attempted to steer the conversation onto a more frivolous tangent. "I'm sorry, I don't want to get off on the wrong foot here. Do I look at the eyepatch or the eye? Honestly, I'm a little hungover and there was this illusionist at my birthday party last night. I don't even know if you're real right now."

Fury leaned forward, his lone eye boring into Tony's intensely. "I am very real. I'm the realest motherfucker you're ever going to meet." His words left no room to doubt the gravity of his presence.

Somewhat disarmed by the directness of Fury's response, Tony half-joked in exasperation, "Just my luck." Looking around the empty shop, he added, "Where is the staff in this place anyway?"

Tony surveyed the shop as Fury focused on the discoloration marring Tony's neck. It was a concerning sign of palladium poisoning from the arc reactor embedded in his chest. With a tone of sarcastic concern, Fury commented, "That's not looking so good."

Tony's hand instinctively went to his neck, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face at the observation. The tense conversation was interrupted by heels clicking confidently across the floor, heralding new arrivals. Natasha Romanoff, known privately to Tony as 'Natalie Rushman', strode purposefully into view, with another figure at her side; someone Tony hadn't expected to see in this context. Mirage.

Natasha addressed the men at the table in a professional tone. "We've secured the perimeter. Surprisingly easily with the help of our consultant."

Tony, still seated, looked up at Natalie over the rim of his sunglasses, a gesture conveying his attempt to grasp her unexpected appearance. He looked at Mirage and asked, is she real?" Mirage nodded. After a brief pause, Tony returned his attention to Natalie and declared, "You're fired." slurring slightly, a remnant of his earlier drunkenness,

Natasha unfazed by the pronouncement, responded crisply, "That's not up to you." Her words were a biting reminder that Tony was no longer in charge of the company that bore his name.

Seizing the moment, Fury introduced the two properly. "Tony, I want you to meet Agent Romanoff. And you already know our consultant, Mirage."

Mirage stepped forward, adding, "Don't feel bad, she got me too. Posed as my gym teacher for a while."

Tony, always quick with a quip, replied, "A little hot for teacher, huh? Not surprised it worked."

Fury interrupted Tony before he continued, "You should be thanking Mirage here. His impromptu illusion show covered up your disastrous birthday battle."

Tony considered Fury's words for a long moment, his expression softening as he recognized the truth. Setting aside his usual bravado, Tony turned to Mirage and extended his sincere thanks for the man's assistance the previous night. Mirage nodded in acknowledgment as Tony's attention shifted back to the woman he had known as Natalie Rushman when she began speaking.

"I'm a SHIELD shadow," she stated bluntly, her voice devoid of apology. "Once Director Fury became aware of your illness, I was assigned to you."

Tony absorbed this new information, leaning back in his chair with his elbow propped on the table and his chin resting in his hand. "Well then, Natalie, or whatever your real name is, I suggest you apologize." His words held a biting mix of sarcasm and seriousness.

Fury's uncompromising voice cut through the tension, "You've been very busy lately, Stark. Handing your company over to your girl, giving away all your stuff. Hell, you even let your friend Rhodes fly off with one of your suits." His tone was accusatory, highlighting recent erratic and foolish decisions Tony made. "Now, if I didn't know better…"

Tony's expression darkened defensively at the criticism. Though, when he spoke, everyone heard the resignation in his voice. "You don't know better. I didn't give Rhodes the suit. He took it."

Fury looked incredulous, "He took it? You're supposed to be Iron Man, and he just took it? The little brother walked in there, kicked your ass, and took your suit?" Disbelief dripped from Fury's words. The director turned to Natasha, one eyebrow raised in question. "Is that even possible?"

Natasha responded evenly, "According to Stark's database security protocols, multiple redundancies prevent unauthorized usage of the suits."

Mirage interrupted, using his unique abilities. With a casual wave of his hand, the air before them seemed to ripple and waver, a shimmering illusion manifested into existence just above the table. Stark and Fury looked on, as the image clarified into a vivid split-screen projection, capturing every detail of the battle from the previous night with stunning clarity.

On the left, was War Machine, and to the right was Iron Man. The two faced each other down inside Tony's decimated home.

Tyson edited the illusionary scene to highlight Tony's words.

"You think you've got what it takes to wear that suit?"

"You want to be the War Machine?"

"Take it!"

With those final shouted words, the projection dissolved into wisps of curling mist, leaving a weighty silence. Tony's expression was clouded, the replay affecting him despite his outward nonchalance. He turned to study Mirage with newfound respect and curiosity.

"Caught that, huh?" he mused, grudgingly impressed, "Pretty sharp. Are you sure you're just a kid?"

Mirage replied lightly, "Yup. Don't be too impressed. I went over the fight dozens of times before I realized."

Tyson neglected to mention that he had watched the cinematic battle countless times in his previous life.

Tony turned back to Fury and Natasha, his expression shifted from defensive to inquisitive. "What do you want from me?" he asked them directly.

Fury maintained his authoritative posture, unmoved by Tony's shift in demeanor. "What do we want from you?" he responded sharply. "No. What do you want from me? You've become a problem. A problem I have to deal with. Contrary to your belief, you are not the center of my universe." His words were biting, making it clear that Tony's actions had broader implications than the billionaire realized.

The bluntness of Fury's response visibly took Tony aback. "Yeah, I get it," he replied after a moment, a rare humbleness in his voice.

Fury did not miss a beat. "I've got bigger problems than you brewing in the southwest region," he said crisply.

As he spoke, Fury snapped his fingers decisively. Taking the cue, Natasha approached Tony from the side and delivered an injection into his neck before he could react.

Tony groaned in discomfort. "Oh god, are you going to steal my kidney and sell it?" he quipped, even as he flinched from the strike. "Could you please not do anything awful for five seconds?" Though faced with the sudden pain, his words still held their usual wit.

However, as Natasha stepped back, the dark markings on Tony's neck began slowly receding. Whatever concoction she had administered, its effects were already noticeable.

Tony questioned, "What did she just do to me?"

Fury corrected, "What did we just do… For. You." a knowing look in his single eye. "That's lithium dioxide. It's going to take the edge off. We're trying to get you back to work."

True to form, Tony responded with his characteristic humor. "Give me a couple boxes of that, and I'll be right as rain."

Natasha was quick to dispel any fanciful notions. "It's not a cure, it just abates the symptoms," she stated plainly.

Fury observed Tony closely, "Doesn't look like it's going to be an easy fix," he noted gravely. His assessment encompassed more than Tony's physical state; it reflected the complex challenge before him.

"Trust me, I know, I'm good at this stuff," Tony asserted with a stubborn set to his jaw. "I've been looking for a suitable replacement for palladium. I've tried every combination, every permutation of every known element." Frustration colored his words.

"Well, I'm here to tell you, you haven't tried them all," Fury responded heavily.

For once, Tony Stark found himself without a clever retort.

— Rogue Replacement —

Tony Stark and Nick Fury sat in deck chairs overlooking the breathtaking California coastline, the endless expanse of ocean and horizon contrasting the scene of destruction behind them. The main level of Tony's mansion lay in ruins, proof that the battle with Rhodey had been real.

Fury informed, "That thing in your chest is based on unfinished technology."

"No, it was finished," Tony replied, "It has never been particularly effective until I miniaturized it and put it in my..."

Mirage interrupted, "Whoa…. TMI!"

Fury rolled his eye and glared at the teenage superhero, willing him to remain silent before continuing, "Howard said the arc reactor was the stepping stone to something greater. He was about to kick off an energy race that would dwarf the arms race. He was on to something big, something so big it would make the nuclear reactor look like a triple-A battery."

Tony pieced together the new information and its connections to his history. His next question was pointed, seeking clarity. "Just him, or was Anton Vanko in on this too?"

Fury answered, "Anton saw it as a way to get rich. When your father found out, he had Vanko deported. The Russians weren't happy that Vanko couldn't deliver, so they shipped him off to Siberia where he spent twenty years stewing in vodka-fueled rage. Not the best environment to raise a son, the son you had the misfortune of crossing paths with in Monaco."

Wanting to refocus on his immediate concern, Tony shifted the conversation. "You said I haven't tried everything. What do you mean? What haven't I tried yet?" Frustration colored his voice.

Fury looked at him intently. "Your father said you were the only one with the means and knowledge to finish what he started. Are you that man, Stark? Can you solve the riddle of your heart?"

Tony scoffed, years of unresolved feelings bubbling up. "I don't know where you get your information, but he was never my biggest fan. He was cold and calculating. He never told me he loved me, never even said he liked me. So it's hard to swallow when you say the whole future was riding on me, that he was passing the torch. I was shipped off to boarding school, and that was the happiest day of his life. If you think differently, you knew my old man better than I did."

Fury met his outburst with quiet authority. "As a matter of fact. I did. Howard was one of the founding members of SHIELD."

The sudden arrival of several agents hauling boxes into the room signaled the end of their conversation. Fury checked his watch and said, "I got a two o'clock."

Caught off-guard by this sudden turn of events, Tony stuttered with evident confusion as he eyed the boxes, "Wait, wait, wait, wait. What's this?"

Pausing at the room's threshold, Fury turned back to look at Tony. He asked challengingly, "You got this? Right? Right?" Though phrased as questions, his words carried an expectation.

Still processing this abrupt upheaval of his life, Tony replied with a hint of exasperation, "Got what? I don't even know what I'm supposed to get."

Fury's parting instructions were delivered in the same unwavering tone that had characterized their entire conversation. "Natasha will remain a floater at Stark with her cover intact. You remember Agent Coulson, right? Well, he's your new babysitter." His lips quirked up. "And Tony, remember, I got my eye on you."

With that, Fury strode out, coattails flaring behind him. Natasha's husky voice followed after. "We've disabled all communications. No contact with the outside world. Good luck."

As Natasha sashayed out, Tyson's gaze drifted to her shapely backside, unable to prevent his eyes from wandering, regardless of Tony's serious situation. Stark caught Mirage's wandering eyes and couldn't resist quipping, "Still hot for teacher, huh?"

With Fury and Romanoff gone, Tony was left with Agent Coulson as an overseer. Tony started, "Please. First thing, I need a little bodywork. I'll put in a little time at the lab. If we could send one of your goon squad down to The Coffee Bean, Cross Creek, for a Starbucks run, or something like that, that'd be nice." he requested with characteristic levity.

Coulson, however, remained stoic and unmoved by Tony's charm. "I'm not here for that," he stated flatly. "Director Fury has authorized me to use any means necessary to keep you on-site. Try to leave, or play games, I'll tase you and watch Supernanny, while you drool into the carpet. Are we clear?" His no-nonsense warning left no room for misinterpretation.

Recognizing the futility of resisting, Tony nodded. "Yeah, I got it," he said, reluctantly accepting his new reality under Coulson's watch.

As Coulson turned to leave, he threw a parting remark over his shoulder. "Enjoy your night."

Now, without any distractions, Tony contemplated the box of information Fury's team had left behind.

Tyson understood the dire implications of Tony's palladium predicament but chose not to interfere. He knew Stark needed space to process this life-or-death challenge on his terms. Though it irked him to sit back observing, Tyson recognized this was Tony's crucible to endure. This trial was important for the man's development.

With some agents beginning to clear out, Tyson seized an opportunity. Approaching one of the suits, he requested their car for a quick errand. Soon Tyson was en route to The Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf, assuming this had been Tony's desired location for a coffee run.

Upon arriving at the bustling coffee shop, Tyson strode to the counter. When prompted for his order, he requested "the usual Tony Stark order," hoping the barista would understand the particular preferences of the celebrity customer. To his surprise, the barista nodded knowingly and began preparing the specialty drink. Tyson added, "Actually, make that two."

After acquiring the elaborate coffee concoctions, Tyson drove his borrowed government vehicle back to Stark's seaside mansion.

Tyson found Tony alone, watching an antique film projector. In the image, Tyson recognized Howard Stark. Approaching slowly, Tyson extended the coffee order.

Tony glanced up. Spotting the proffered coffee, he managed a weak quip, "You might have just saved my life with that." Though his tone remained lighthearted, it carried an undercurrent of legitimate concern given his situation.

"I certainly hope so," Mirage returned with an easy chuckle, playing against the billionaire's characteristic humor. Tyson felt it was time to exit. But also compelled to try helping this brilliant man. "Listen, Tony, I don't want to abandon you, but I'm afraid I'd be useless trying to solve this palladium issue. I had a hard enough time with high school physics and chemistry, I couldn't begin to understand the advanced stuff needed here. I wish I could do more, but I think I'd only get in your way."

Tony looked up, clearly exhausted but appreciative of Mirage's sincerity. "Don't worry about it, you've done enough already," he reassured. "This is my problem. I'll figure it out. It's what I do." Tony spoke confidently, though his trademark swagger was subdued.

Tyson nodded. "Well, I hope so. I'm heading back to New York, but next time you're in town, give me a ring. Good luck, Tony." He extended his hand which Tony shook firmly.

As Tyson turned to leave, he glanced back once more at the projected film. "Interesting layout for that Expo," he commented. "Your father had quite the vision."

With his subtle hint dropped, Tyson took his leave, having done what little he could to point Tony in a potentially helpful direction and provide him with coffee as fuel.

As he stepped back out into the courtyard, Tyson took a moment to appreciate the striking beauty of Tony's cliffside property. Despite the damage, the sweeping Pacific panorama was truly breathtaking. With a lingering look across the waves, Tyson walked on. His role here was complete, and Tony Stark's fate now rested solely in his own hands.

As Tyson neared the group of agents, Coulson stepped away from them with a folder in his hands. His expression was serious as he addressed Director Fury. "Sir, we've intercepted some data that points to something unprecedented. It appears we may have discovered evidence of an Einstein-Rosen Bridge."

Fury took the proffered folder, quickly scanning its contents. His eye narrowed in thought as he processed the information.

"Coulson, you're being reassigned to New Mexico," Fury replied after a moment, "We need eyes on the ground there. Monitor Stark's situation for a few hours, make sure he's on the straight and narrow, then head out."

Coulson nodded crisply in understanding, long accustomed to the rapid shifts in mission priorities that were part and parcel of his work with SHIELD. He turned and began issuing quick, concise orders to the agents around him, mobilizing them for his impending departure.

As the agents sprang into action in response to Coulson's directives, Tyson observed the flurry of activity with a pensive expression. The conversation had triggered a sense of familiarity, it only took Tyson a moment to recall what it meant. An Einstein-Rosen Bridge was another name for a wormhole, it signaled the beginning of the events surrounding Thor.

Noticing Tyson's contemplative state, Fury turned to him, a hint of curiosity piercing his otherwise stern demeanor. "Any thoughts, Agent Smith?" he inquired.

Tyson spoke with quiet confidence. "I believe Tony will find the solution before he runs out of time," he replied casually. "As for the Einstein-Rosen Bridge...I'm afraid Physics was never my strong suit. I only passed the class because I didn't need sleep and could study all night. But it sounds like some weird stuff. Anything involving weird stuff… that I can handle. Mutants, monsters, aliens, I'm your guy."

Fury considered Tyson for a moment, finally, he nodded, coming to a decision. "You can head back to New York for now," Fury stated. "I know you've got your show to do, and we don't have anything pressing that requires your attention presently. But if any 'weird stuff' comes up, I'll keep you in mind."

Tyson nodded, pleased that Fury had accepted his offer to help if needed. If his suspicions about New Mexico proved true, it would likely qualify as 'weird stuff'. Hopefully, Fury would call him in when the time came.

— Rogue Replacement —

Tyson enjoyed a rare moment of peace in his penthouse suite high above the streets of New York City… until his cell phone rang. He glanced down at the caller ID display. He recognized the number.

It was Natasha.

He swiped his thumb across the screen to answer the call. "Ms. Rushman. To what do I owe the pleasure of your call this afternoon?"

Her voice came through the speaker, "I'm heading back to the city tonight for Hammer's big presentation tomorrow. Thanks to your damage control at the party, you made my job much easier." There was a note of genuine gratitude in her tone.

Tyson leaned back into the plush leather couch, "Glad to hear I could help."

Natasha's voice warmed slightly as she continued, "Since I have the evening off, I thought I might take you up on that date I owe you, Mr. Smith."

Tyson responded, pleased at her words, "I think I can arrange something suitable for the occasion. Do you have any preference for the evening?"

Natasha responded with a challenge, "Impress me. Or surprise me."

Tyson mentally sifted through his knowledge of her preferences and tastes, but all he could definitively pinpoint was her appreciation for fine wine. But thanks to his connections with Felicia and the frequent attendance of New York's rich and elite at his shows, he had some ideas. She informed him she could come to his apartment, expecting to arrive around 7 pm. Tyson confirmed the time would work perfectly for him as well.

With the basic plan set in motion, Tyson now had the task of creating an evening that would not only sufficiently impress the discerning Natasha, but also provide a chance for them to connect on a more personal level.

Tyson reached for the suite's phone. He dialed the concierge service, knowing the staff would meet his requests promptly. Tyson appreciated how the staff catered to his every need without hesitation. He suspected they did so for all VIP guests like himself, but their efficiency and attention to detail never failed to impress. This time, Tyson had an unusual request; he asked the concierge to procure a vintage 1920s flapper dress, complete with long satin gloves and accessories. He requested a stylish grey suit for himself, reminiscent of the era, intending to complement her dress and craft an immersive experience rather than just a simple date. He hoped surprising Natasha with this unique theme would impress her refined tastes. True to his expectations, the concierge assured they would be able to deliver, and that they held the dress measurements from last time.

Tyson ran his show at House of M, then rushed back to the Four Seasons. As expected, around 7 pm, a brisk knock sounded at the door. Tyson opened it to find Natasha standing there. Her red hair cascaded in tight curls, and she wore an ivory blouse tucked into a figure-hugging skirt. Though her makeup was understated, it enhanced her striking features. Tyson's face brightened at the sight of her. After a warm hug, he welcomed Natasha inside. Sensing she might appreciate a chance to freshen up after her travels, he politely offered the use of his shower.

"Please, go right ahead," he encouraged.

"Thank you, I'd love that," Natasha replied gratefully.

As Natasha turned towards the bathroom, she stopped and glanced back, "Do I need to call for a dress?" she asked, curious about the evening's plans and recalling how she had done so on their first 'date'.

In response, Tyson presented a box with a slight flourish. "I've taken care of everything this time," he proclaimed proudly.

"Good to know you're learning," Natasha remarked in surprise. She approved, clearly impressed by his planning. She noted Tyson was investing effort into creating a special night and she was eager to discover what other thoughtful surprises he had in store.

Tyson retreated to the bedroom to change into his outfit for the evening, giving Natasha the bathroom to freshen up and don her attire. His vintage gray suit hugged his broad shoulders and fit just right along his muscular frame. The suit was a soft, elegant gray with subtle pinstripes adding an extra touch of class. He paired it with a crisp white shirt and a dark tie. His shoes shone with a fresh polish. The overall effect was one of timeless sophistication.

In the kitchen, Tyson poured two glasses of Natasha's favorite wine. He glanced up as she entered. Her appearance was nothing short of stunning. She wore the black flapper dress, its intricate beading and fringe shimmering as she moved. The scooped neckline flattered her form, and the long gloves reaching past her elbows added a touch of sophistication. Her hair was styled in soft waves, and her makeup accentuated her features with bold lips and smoky eyes.

"You're breathtaking," Tyson said sincerely.

Natasha's face lit up as she accepted the glass of wine he offered. She appraised their vintage attire. "Are we going to a speakeasy tonight? This feels like a scene straight out of the Roaring Twenties."

Tyson maintained an air of mystery. "Something like that. I'm glad you recognized the style and did your hair to match," he replied vaguely, wanting to preserve the surprise.

He made one last call to the concierge, requesting a ride to arrive shortly, giving Natasha time to finish her wine. Their destination was only a mile and a half away, but the timing needed to be perfect. Tyson wanted the evening to unfold flawlessly.

The limousine glided through the city streets, its smooth ride gently rocking Natasha and Tyson as they conversed. Natasha mentioned that Tony Stark had visited the Stark Industries headquarters earlier that day after Tyson had left California. "Pepper was so cold to him. He brought her strawberries. All those years they worked together and he didn't remember that she's allergic to them," Natasha added, shaking her head. "Also, Agent Coulson got reassigned to New Mexico to investigate some astronomical event."

Tyson was pleased to hear that Tony seemed to be on the right track to finding the solution to the palladium poisoning. But sensing the conversation drifting too close to their work lives, Tyson tenderly took Natasha's hand. "Remember, tonight we're just Tyson and Nat," he said softly.

Natasha responded, "I remember. Just us, no masks... It's been a while since I've had the luxury of being just Nat. Not sure if I remember how." She gave a wry smile. "Does this mean I shouldn't have brought a weapon?" She joked lightly, "I'll try to restrain myself."

Tyson looked at her and said with a hint of mischief, "Well, if you need help with restraint, I'm sure I could lend a hand," the words were a flirtatious callback to their banter months earlier in the coffee shop. "But part of me is curious to see what happens when you don't hold back."

Natasha matched his tone, her voice carrying a daring challenge. "Likewise," she replied, her eyes locking with his in tacit understanding. "When we sparred, I know you always held back. One day I'd like to see what happens when you cut loose."

— Rogue Replacement —

The black limousine glided to a stop on Norfolk Street in Manhattan's Lower East Side neighborhood. The area teemed with an eclectic mix of sights and sounds; graffitied walls, boisterous clusters of teenagers, the rhythmic thump of hip hop from passing cars, but nothing that immediately brought to mind a typical date spot.

Natasha glanced around in mild confusion as she took in their surroundings. The upscale restaurant attire they both wore seemed incongruous with the urban backdrop. A humble Mexican restaurant down the block caught her eye but seemed far too casual given their formal dress. She studied Tyson curiously as he confidently strode toward a metal gate that enclosed a stairway leading down below street level. To Natasha, it appeared to lead to a basement or underground storage area for one of the nearby buildings. Her intrigue grew as she noticed a small sign affixed to the gate.

"THE LOWER EAST SIDE TOY COMPANY"

The peculiar name offered no obvious clues as to anything romantic or date-worthy, only deepening the mystery around the evening's plans.

Tyson unlatched the gate and gestured for Natasha to descend the concrete steps ahead of him. She grasped the cool metal railing and carefully walked down the stairs, the sounds of the city fading behind her, replaced by a tingling sense of anticipation about what lay ahead. After descending the stairway and continuing down a dim alley, Tyson and Natasha ascended another set of steps, leading them inside a nondescript building.

As they emerged, they stepped into a scene far removed from the New York streets.

Soft notes of jazz floated and swirled through The Back Room speakeasy. The lighting was subtly subdued, with warm golden hues cast by vintage lamps, instilling the space with a cozy and inviting ambiance. Plush velvet sofas and richly upholstered armchairs invited patrons to sit back and linger. Dark, lacquered wood paneling lined the walls, reminiscent of the Jazz Age's iconic establishments. Period-appropriate art and photographs adorned the walls, adding authentic flourishes that brought the space to life.

The bar was the room's centerpiece, crafted from highly polished oak and mahogany and lined with glassware and bottles. Some were modern, but others were vintage designs straight from prohibition, their curved shapes and etched labels showcasing the classic spirits and cocktails of the time.

Small tables dotted the room but were spaced enough to allow each group a feeling of seclusion. As they wound their way toward the bar, genuine delight lit up Natasha's face as she took in the vintage details.

"Wow, Tyson, this is... not what I expected," she remarked, her voice tinged with surprise. "I thought we might find a throwback restaurant, but this?"

Tyson, pleased by her reaction, said, "I had a hunch you might appreciate someplace off the beaten path. A spot where we can relax away from everything."

Natasha's expression softened as her eyes roamed. "It's been ages since I've been anywhere that felt this removed. It's quite a nice change."

"I figured you don't often get the chance to unplug," Tyson replied.

She laughed, the sound light and melodic. "You're just full of surprises, aren't you? I have to admit. You've successfully impressed me."

Settling into the speakeasy, Tyson and Natasha perused the cocktail menu. It was an eclectic collection of classics reinvented with unique modern twists.

Natasha perused the eclectic cocktail menu. "Why don't we make this interesting and choose each other's drinks?" she suggested playfully.

Tyson's grin widened at the prospect. He'd looked over the menu online earlier. "I'm game. Hope you're ready to be impressed by my mixology prowess," he joked.

After a few moments of contemplation, Tyson decisively tapped his finger on the menu. "The Bees Knees for you. I have a good feeling about this one."

Natasha pursed her lips, considering the options carefully before pointing to one further down the menu. "The Pink Slipper. That's the one for you."

When the bartender returned, Tyson relayed their selections. Soon enough, the cocktails arrived, artfully presented in vintage teacups rather than traditional glasses. The charming touch suited the prohibition vibe perfectly. Tyson raised his teacup in an impromptu toast. "To surprises and hidden depths," he proclaimed.

Natasha gently clinked her teacup against his. "I'll drink to that."

As they both lifted the teacups to sample their chosen drinks, Tyson regarded Natasha thoughtfully. "Let me explain my reasoning behind The Bees Knees," he began "First, it has layers and nuances to it. That reminded me of you. There are so many facets to your personality and character. You can't be summed up in a single descriptive word." He took a slow sip of the Pink Slipper, considering his next words. "Then there's the interplay of flavors; the smoothness of the vodka tempered by the sweet honey and bright citrus. Powerful yet graceful. Which is how I think of you." Tyson set his teacup down, his expression earnest. "And finally, the element of surprise. At first glance, it seems like a straightforward cocktail. But when you taste it, you realize there's more complexity than expected. Likewise, when I think I have you figured out, you reveal something new, another layer." He finished, "In many ways, this drink captures your essence. Complex, graceful, surprising. That's why I chose The Bees Knees for you."

The sincerity woven through his words was easy to detect. Natasha realized that even in something as simple as choosing a cocktail, he had put real thought into understanding who she was at her core. The insight unexpectedly touched her. "It's not often someone takes the time to see beyond the... surface," she mused.

Natasha then looked up, meeting Tyson's eyes with a newfound appreciation. "You've surprised me, and that's not an easy feat. I'm used to being the observer, not the observed. It's...different, being on this side of such sincere attention." Her words were genuine, but a slight discomfort flickered across her face, betraying her unaccustomedness to such open and honest flattery. She quickly masked it with a small, appreciative smile. "Thank you, Tyson. For seeing... well, for seeing more than most do." Her gratitude was sincere, yet the way she held herself, the slight tension in her posture, spoke of a world where vulnerability could be a liability.

Recognizing that his previous comment had made Natasha a bit guarded, Tyson admitted, "I won't lie. I looked over the drink menu before you arrived at my apartment. So I had a head start."

Natasha laughed and joked, "I just wanted to see you sipping on a pink slipper."

Chuckling, Tyson asked in mock surprise, "Is that innuendo?"

But then he decided to open up, sharing a part of his life that displayed his vulnerability to match what he'd pointed out in Nat. He leaned back slightly in his chair, choosing his next words.

"I know what it's like to have to hide from everyone. It's a little different for me," he said, "You know about me not being able to touch without causing harm. Since my power manifested, there are only two people I've been able to touch, I mean touch with my hands, without nearly killing them. It gets lonely, and I imagine that's what it's like for you, not being able to be your real self." he hoped opening up about his isolation might help put Natasha at ease and build a sense of mutual trust between them.

Natasha studied Tyson, her guard momentarily lowered by his openness. She leaned forward, curious. "What's it like when you touch someone?" she asked.

Tyson's voice held a mix of resignation and reflection as he answered. "From my perspective, I get a flashback, like a quick summary of their life. Then access to their memories. If I focus, I can remember anything they remember." His eyes clouded with sadness. "For them, I hear it feels like dying. It's not just physical, but deeper. A normal person only lasts a few seconds before losing consciousness, then falling into a coma, and finally death. If I kill someone with my touch, I get an imprint of their personality or copy of their soul, I'm not sure what, inside me."

Natasha's earlier apprehension faded away. "You get all their memories?" She asked, leaning in, intrigued.

Tyson nodded solemnly. "I absorb their essence. Everything that makes them, them. Their memories, skills, experiences. It all becomes a part of me."

Natasha's eyes sparkled with interest. "What's the strangest memory you've gotten?" she asked.

Tyson considered his response carefully. "Well," he began slowly, "I said there were only two people I've been able to touch since my powers manifested. One of them, we only had a little while together, so we made the most of the time." He mentioned somewhat bashfully.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, "You can't stop there. You're just getting to the juicy part," she encouraged.

Tyson rolled his eyes in mock exasperation, though his lips quirked at the corners. "Alright, fine. It was my ex-girlfriend. We had sex." He took a deep breath before continuing. "But that's not the strange part. What was bizarre was that I saw her again a few days ago. We kissed, and in that moment I gained her memories. Things got a little heavy, and my thoughts wandered to the intimate ones of us being together." Tyson shook his head. "So I remembered our time together, and suddenly I also had her memories… of our time together. I knew what it felt like to be on both ends of our lovemaking."

Natasha had been listening intently, enraptured by his story. At this revelation, she couldn't restrain her laughter at the absurdity and uniqueness of the situation. Her bark of laughter broke any lingering tension between them. "I don't even know how to respond to that." She admitted.

Tyson let out a dramatic sigh, "Neither do I." Natasha's eyes filled with mirth.

But then Tyson's expression turned solemn. "I have a confession to make," he said, prompting Natasha to focus her fully on him.

"Go on," she urged.

"This outfit looks stunning on you, but I didn't add the gloves purely for aesthetic reasons. The truth is, I included them so that I could hold your hand without risking accidentally touching your skin."

Natasha's expression softened at his words. She was touched he had considered protecting her privacy and shielding her from his life drain. And wanting to hold hands might have been the sweetest thing anyone had wanted to do with her in years.

Tyson held his hand out in an offer waiting patiently to be accepted or declined. He spoke, not shielding the sincerity in his voice, "I don't presume to know how difficult true connection is for you, or if you're afraid of what others might see if you let your guard down. But if you haven't realized it, I'm not exactly normal. I've battled actual monsters, seen into their minds, and lived their lives, if only for a short time." His tone grew earnest as he finished, "If you just want to have a fun time together, I'm all for that... But if you're open to it, I'd like the chance to connect on a deeper level." He inclined his head slightly toward his outstretched hand, indicating he extended it in invitation.

Natasha regarded his hand thoughtfully. She had always considered herself the product of her dark past and the terrible deeds that haunted her. But Tyson claimed to have seen into the minds of true monsters. Could someone who had witnessed such evil still see something in her worth reaching out for? His willingness to push past barriers and offer for more than a superficial tryst touched a part of her long ago buried under layers of self-preservation. Here was Tyson, with his own burdens and extraordinary experiences, offering the chance to explore a real connection without judgment or fear. It was an opportunity to be herself. Not the Black Widow, not the spy, not the assassin. Just Natasha.

Slowly, she extended her hand and placed it lightly in Tyson's. It was a small gesture, but one heavy with meaning. It was an acceptance of his offer, an acknowledgment of her willingness to plunge into the depths he presented. Tyson's smile in response was warm and genuine. Tyson grabbed her hand, leading Natasha to a more secluded corner of the lively speakeasy, leaving their empty teacups behind.

Changing their table marked a transition point in their date. They'd moved from casual chatting to a deeper, more intimate conversation.

"You're aware of my abilities and how I obtained them," Tyson began, "But perhaps not all the details. I was attacked last June by a mutant named Victor Creed, Sabertooth, who attempted to kidnap me. I fought back and ended up killing him, absorbing his memories in the process. That's why I have this physique, the man was massive. For a time, having that murderous, raping psychopath in my mind was a torment. I would get flashes of his cruel psyche, though now they usually surface at appropriate moments, like in the heat of battle."

Natasha hung on his every word. Tyson held her stare, conveying the gravity of the experience he was sharing. "I have all of his memories as far back as when he was born in 1772. And while this is my first time in this speakeasy, he had been here before." He allowed the significance of this revelation to settle over Natasha. "Sabertooth fought in World War I, then traveled to Turkey where he participated in their war for independence, relishing the chance to fight endlessly without fear of death. A few years later, he returned to New York City, in the middle of prohibition. At that time, this place was named 'the Back of Ratner's.' It served as a meeting spot for movie stars, theater performers, and even infamous mobsters. The secret entrance remains unchanged from Sabertooth's first visit all those years ago. This speakeasy was located at the back of Ratner's, which was, at the time, a vegetarian kosher restaurant."

Natasha listened with rapt attention, picturing the scenes he described as if they played out before her. She studied Tyson as he shared his story, glimpsing the complex inner world behind his stoic exterior. Natasha understood well the burden of a haunting past. Her own carried regrets and sorrows that lingered despite her efforts to make up for them. But Tyson's memories spanned lifetimes. The insight gave Natasha a new perspective on him.

"That's...incredible," she finally said, shaking her head. "At first I thought that I might be too old for you. But it might be the opposite. You've lived lifetimes. And to carry not just your memories, but those of someone who witnessed so much history, it's almost unimaginable."

Tyson's eyes were distant, "It can be a unique burden," he said softly, "having Sabertooth's experiences mingled with my own. Especially considering the life he led and everything he did and saw. It took me time to embrace all his memories. But I've witnessed centuries, and remember being part of great moments and bloody battles. It weighs on me at times, when the darker thoughts surface. But it also gives me a perspective few can comprehend."

Natasha nodded slowly, her green eyes filled with empathy. "It must be like walking through history, but with a personal guide who's seen it all. Now it makes sense why you speak so many languages. Yet, carrying those memories, particularly the painful ones, can't be easy. I understand what it's like, having a past that haunts you, that you can't escape."

For a moment, the gulf of their different worlds seemed to narrow.

Tyson squeezed her hand and led Natasha through the speakeasy, guiding her to an area dominated by a large, oak bookcase. Though it appeared an ordinary relic of the past, perfectly blending with the 1920s aesthetic, Natasha noticed how Tyson's knowing look turned toward a specific novel on the shelf. He adjusted the book ever so slightly. In response, the bookcase swung open, revealing a hidden passage beyond.

As they passed through, Natasha found herself in the exclusive VIP lounge. Dim, amber lightbulbs provided a soft radiance to the space, creating a cozy atmosphere. Plush velvet furniture invited lounging and conversation, with sofas and armchairs, and tables arranged to allow for privacy. A small, circular bar stood at the room's center. An aged bartender in a crisp white shirt manned the counter, as much a part of the setting as the antique bottles lining the shelves.

Tyson guided Natasha to a shadowed booth upholstered in tufted velvet, offering a perfect view of the small stage in the VIP area. As they settled in, the privacy and intimacy of the space enveloped them.

"I have some questions," she said directly.

"Shoot," he replied. His open expression bid her continue.

"Are you immortal?" She asked plainly, forgoing the preamble. "You said Sabertooth was born in the 1770s, and since you absorbed him, you should have his lifespan now, right?"

Tyson shook his head, a hint of sorrow in the gesture. "Sabertooth would have lived a long time, but it won't be the same for me." He extended his hand allowing his claws to slide free with a soft snikt, displaying their metallic nature. "I mentioned Alkali Lake before. I was captured, brought there, and experimented on. Adamantium, an unbreakable metal was grafted to my bones."

He sighed, the weight of his reality evident in his voice. "I can heal from nearly anything. I think my body is constantly trying to fight off the adamantium, like heavy metal poisoning, but it's fused to me, a part of me. I'm not an expert in biology or medicine. But my best guess… The healing factor is constantly trying to expel the adamantium. But since the body can't break it down or get it out, it'll eventually burn out my healing. As far as I can tell, I'll start seeing symptoms in about 35 years or so. In 50 years I won't be able to heal anymore. Then it's only a matter of time until I die."

Natasha absorbed his words in silence, processing the gravity of his situation. After a long moment she responded gently, "That sounds sad when you put it like that, but in our profession, living that long is a good run. Is there anything you can do about it?"

Tyson's shoulders lifted in a shrug, "Sure, solutions exist. There's a powerful mutant hunting me, intent on using me in yet another twisted experiment. He can manipulate magnetic fields and metals. He's strong enough to pull the adamantium from my bones. But of course, he's the one person who won't help me willingly."

"So that's it then?" Natasha asked, concern etching delicate lines across her brow. "Just start the countdown to your death?"

Tyson shook his head firmly, "I have other ideas. Only time will tell if they're possible."

Curiosity kindled in Natasha's expression as she delved into another facet of Tyson's extraordinary experiences. "You mentioned fighting literal monsters. I assume you mean more than just the Lizard?" she probed, keen interest coloring her tone.

"There are dimensions and realms beyond Earth. I've traveled to one such place several times. Limbo. Though not the theological Limbo, it shares some similarities." Tyson hesitated as if gathering the words to describe what he'd felt and witnessed. "Demons run rampant there. Feral monsters that constantly kill for survival, to gain strength, or for amusement. I've slain many demons there, temporarily absorbing their memories. The savagery I witnessed..." His voice trailed off, leaving the rest to Natasha's imagination.

Tyson gained a faraway look as he delved deeper into the darker aspects of his psyche. "At least I didn't permanently keep any of the demon's memories. Sabertooth is another story, his are always with me. Every year he used to hunt down his brother on his birthday and beat him senseless. One year he couldn't find his brother, because another man had already killed him. Sabertooth tracked this other man down and realized he was immortal like himself. So instead, every year after that, Sabertooth would hunt this immortal man down as a birthday celebration, and beat him within an inch of his life. If Sabertooth ever found the man happy, he'd do whatever it took to ruin his life. Including rape and murder of his lover, destroying his livelihood, anything to make him suffer." Tyson suppressed a shudder at the vivid recollection.

Natasha's expression turned into a concerned frown. "Do you feel urges to follow in Sabertooth's footsteps?" she asked, worry evident in her voice.

Tyson responded with a so-so hand gesture indicating his uncertainty. "That immortal man Sabertooth used to torment is a friend of mine now. A few days ago, I lured him out and fought him, though not nearly as brutally as Sabertooth would have. But I cannot deny the desire to unleash my full fury upon him remained deep inside. I tried to turn our battle into something more playful and friendly, but I admit it was at least partly an attempt to satisfy the dark drive I feel leftover from Sabertooth."

Natasha could see the conflict etched on his face as he described the dark desires that still lingered within him, the vicious urges that he constantly struggled to resist. Though he tried to channel those violent impulses into less destructive outlets, it was clear he still battled remnants of Sabertooth's psyche and memories. Tyson's candid admission resonated deeply with Natasha, stirring thoughts of her shadowed past. As a spy, she understood the constant effort required to toe the line without crossing it. Her life had forced her to embrace the darkness, to use it as a tool when needed. Yet like Tyson, Natasha had always strode to maintain her sense of self and fight the darkness consuming her. In Tyson's struggle, Natasha saw a reflection of her journey.

As Natasha's thoughts lingered on the shadows of her past, a jazz band took the small stage in the lounge. The band members were clad in classic jazz-era garb, but the highlight was the sultry singer whose rich voice filled the room with hauntingly beautiful melodies.

"Now that you know me," Tyson said, "tell me about yourself."

Natasha regarded him silently for a moment, then, a hint of playfulness entered her voice as she proposed an alternative. "Or we could kiss instead. I could tell you about myself, or we could kiss and you would gain all my memories, and know everything about me. My likes and dislikes, strengths and weaknesses, fears and desires."

Tyson considered the tempting offer. "We could," he replied slowly, "and I would. But that feels like cheating... plus, 'Truth or Strip' was more fun. Besides, draining the life from you for information sounds a lot like working for SHIELD, and we're off duty." Tyson counteroffered, "How about this instead? I'll tell you what I think I know about you so far. And you can reward me if I'm right."

Natasha appraised him over the rim of her teacup with renewed interest. "I like it."

Tyson said, "I know you're partial to a certain vintage of wine, but that feels too easy to guess… You like motorcycles. You have one of your own, and you've ridden mine before. There are enough taxis and public transportation options that you wouldn't need a vehicle in the city."

Natasha tilted her head in concession, "Point for you. What else do you think you've uncovered?" she asked, intrigued by this game.

Bolstered by her interest, Tyson continued, "Despite the tough exterior you show the world, you have a strong sense of empathy underneath. It's subtle, but it's there. You understand what motivates people, and what they fear. That insight makes you more than just a skilled agent."

Natasha merely nodded this time, but it was enough. Her usual guardedness had lowered, if only a fraction, allowing Tyson glimpses of the person behind the spy.

"Fashion," Tyson stated with confidence. "I've never seen you looking anything less than impeccable. Whether it's business professional, those dresses you pick, or even your SHIELD uniform. You make it work. Maybe it's just because you're gorgeous and could make a burlap sack look good, but I think it runs deeper than that."

"Flatterer," Natasha accused lightly, though she conceded his point with a small nod. "But I'll give you that one too," she allowed, seeming both pleased and amused by his observations.

Tyson ventured, more intuitive than factual, drawn from his meta-knowledge. "Now I'm going to start reaching," he said, tilting his head slightly. "You move gracefully, but it's more than just martial arts training. My bet is you were trained in dance. But you said you were born in the Soviet Union, so I'm not thinking jazz or tap. Probably ballet."

Natasha's lips puckered ever so slightly, but she nodded in acknowledgment. "That was a good deduction. I'm surprised. Surprise me with one more good one, and you'll get a prize."

Tyson wracked his brain. Natasha was an enigma, skilled at concealing her true self behind layers of deception. He sifted through their past interactions, searching for a clue, a hint she might have inadvertently revealed about her character.

After a moment, Tyson leaned back slightly, his expression thoughtful as he considered Natasha's challenge. "Okay, here's my next guess." He spoke slowly, "You have a strong sense of loyalty. It's not just about being a good agent or following orders. You must have had opportunities to walk away or disappear, but you didn't. It's not about allegiance to an organization, but to people, to causes you believe in. It's personal for you."

Natasha's expression remained composed, but her eyes flickered with a hint of surprise at his insight. "That was more than a good deduction. You've earned your prize."

Tyson's observations had moved beyond simple facts to understanding her character and values. This depth of insight was unknown to Natasha, who was accustomed to people seeing only the facade she presented. Tyson's ability to perceive the person behind the persona was both disarming and intriguing to her.

Natasha leaned in, her voice dropping to a sultry tone, a hint of challenge in her words. "Bonus round? That last one was pretty deep." Her breath was warm against Tyson's ear as she spoke. "Think you can go deeper?"

Tyson replied, "Deeper. Okay." He gathered his thoughts. "So you know enhanced senses are one of my powers. But one of them feels like it goes beyond that description. I can smell people, but not like, I can track your scent. I can do that, but there's more to it. It's almost like I can smell their essence. Each scent is unique. I've even come across a quintet of clones, and each of them was ever subtly different from each other. I wouldn't be able to tell them apart if I was tracking them, but up close, I could tell their unique scents."

Natasha asked softly, "What do I smell like?"

Tyson inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring as he analyzed her scent. It hadn't changed since he first saw her in the high school months earlier. "Leather, exotic spices, a cool winter breeze, with the faintest trace of gunpowder." His description was precise, painting a vivid picture of her essence.

Natasha considered this, then said, "I like that." She prompted him to continue with a tilt of her head. "Where are you going with this?"

Tyson leaned closer, his tone turning serious. "Just saying, my nose is good. Good enough to smell when a woman is aroused..." Natasha's face remained impassive, giving nothing away. Undeterred, Tyson continued, "When we were in the coffee shop the day after capturing Green Goblin. I pulled my Itachi illusion routine, and I smelled your arousal... Something I did set you off. It could've been that I held the kunai to your throat, like a danger fetish. Or that I had you restrained, maybe a bondage kink, or a submissive. Or maybe I'm not the only otaku and Itachi got you going."

Natasha stared at him unblinking, the tension between them palpable. After a moment, she finally spoke, "So which was it?"

Tyson's eyes narrowed as he analyzed the options, confidently navigating through his deductions. "Oh, how I wished it was an anime fetish, but no. That's not you." He shook his head slightly. "So that leaves danger, bondage, or submissive." He dismissed another possibility. "Bondage is out too, you mentioned Spiderman's webs in the FMK question when we played Truth or Strip. I didn't smell any arousal stemming from you then."

Natasha acknowledged his reasoning, "Good memory," she commented.

"Thanks." Tyson continued, weighing the remaining options. "So either you're a sub or you have a danger fetish." He considered his next words carefully. "You're always calm, collected, and in control. According to Sabertooth's memories, people like that sometimes want the opposite in bed. They want to be able to give up control." He frowned slightly. "But I'm sure I shouldn't trust Sabertooth's perspective on women."

Tyson shifted his focus to the other possibility. "On the other hand, danger seems right up your alley. The motorcycles, your profession, it fits. Plus, you're on a date with me and know how dangerous I am."

A subtle shift rippled through her demeanor. "You're right," she admitted softly, "Danger does have a certain appeal to me. The adrenaline, the unpredictability of it. It's where I feel most alive."

A pause lingered between them. Before she spoke again, "In our line of work, control is everything. But being on the edge, facing risks head-on… I find that undeniably thrilling."

Tyson's intuition had pierced through the mystery touching upon a truth. The vulnerability in her eyes was fleeting, but it showed the trust she had placed in him at that moment.

The intimate atmosphere of the VIP lounge settled around them as the jazz band seamlessly transitioned into a slow, melodic tune. The singer's smoky voice filled the room with a soulful melody that seemed to slow the passage of time itself.

It was the perfect moment.

Tyson stood smoothly from his seat and extended a hand toward her, palm up, fingers gently curled in invitation. "May I have this dance?" he asked.

Without a word, Natasha placed her hand in his and allowed him to draw her to her feet. They moved together to the small parquet dance floor. They fell into an easy rhythm, their bodies beginning to move in graceful concert to the rise and fall of the music. Tyson led with his hand firm yet gentle in the small of her back as he guided her through the steps. Natasha responded to his subtle cues, her body swayed in harmony with his. As they lost themselves in the dance, the rest of the world seemed to fall away, narrowing down to just the two of them and the music.