There were many scenarios that ran into the Widow's mind when Stark was missing, his company, the PR fiasco and how S.H.I.E.L.D. need something to cover it up and answers when the media asked where Iron Man has been. What felt like days, months even and to just find him here. Just like that. Questions she wanted to asked him but not to bombard him, another time maybe. The redhead was just glad to see him back again.
Was Widow going to admit that she miss him? Yes. No. Not right now at least, they still have some work to do and Director Fury is waiting on him. "There is a car downstairs waiting for you, Fury is it in." She replied as her eyes wandered into his again, watching his face and even catching a little smile which made her tilted her head to the right. Giving that charm when she was Natalie Rushman, she gave him a smile just to stroke his ego even more and she loves being snarky. "Yes, Mister Stark. Will that be all?"
“I prefer flowers and an invitation when I’m picked up at my house,” Tony answers without missing a beat. “One or two months ahead, so it can be purposefully lost in the mailroom, or in any step of its way up to my desk; I’m not picky.”
He had known his return wouldn’t have gone unnoticed. Last time, when he had been found wandering the desert three months after it had swallowed him whole, not only SHIELD, but also every US security agency had taken quite a shine to the story. Questioned him for all the details surrounding his escape, more often than not – and that without so much concern for his personal well-being, privacy and soundness of mind. Now that he had broken through the final frontier and, so long after being considered lost to humanity as a whole, and a very small number of people in private, he had returned, victorious, to tell the tale.
Nevermind the fact that he’s much more looking forward to the comforts of his own bed and the luxury of his pillow, than he is to relaying anything of what had happened out there to anyone right now, least of all Fury. And SHIELD. Tony is still struggling to grasp the full concept of it himself. And he’s tired. So tired.
His smile thins on his lips, just fractionally, as the brown of his eyes bore deeper into her green ones.
“I can’t say,” he says, his voice lowering this time, but not without losing its teasing edge. “You came all the way up here to me yourself, after all. If anything, that's one question only you can answer. So, what do you say, Agent Romanoff? Is that all?”
