“It’s never gonna be over.” They are a practiced liar in it only for her own gain, an amoral mercenary who doesn’t play well with others and a business shark on a warpath. [If there is such a thing as a match made in Hell, they are it.]
*
Natasha stares at the number on her bank account — well, one of them — in stunned silence, too numb to feel the happiness, joy, ecstatic shock that is probably appropriate for a moment such as this.
As a grifter — a damn good one at that, Natasha strives for nothing less than perfection in her chosen craft — Natasha is used to being surrounded by wealth and money, extravagance and shameless posturing. It’s basically her job description.
But there’s a lot of zeros and then there’s a hell of a lot of zeros. It’s too much, the amount far too high to feel real. The kind of money that goes beyond wealthy, beyond filthy, stinking rich. Tony’s rich, Natasha knows that. Everyone knows that. Or, well, he used to be. Back before he sold his properties and put all his money into saving Stark Industries, only to turn around and retire from his position, sell his stock to his successor and disappear out of the public eye.
[Everyone in the industry knows there’s more to it than that. Everyone knows there’s something shady about the way Tony Stark left his own company — some say of his own volition, some say his hand was forced. No one is stupid enough to believe that the murder of his assistant preceding those changes is in any way or shape a coincidence.
But Natasha is one of the few who has run into Tony Stark since then — or rather the ruin of what used to be Tony Stark. He goes by Anton, these days, and that he smiles a hell of a lot less is the least of the changes. As such Natasha isn’t forced to rely on unconfirmed rumors and gossip. She knows damn well that Stane did something unforgivable. And didn’t have the smarts — or the guts — to put Tony Stark down when he could.
He’ll regret that weakness one day, of that Natasha has no doubt. If there is a man out there, that will one day turn Tony Stark into a killer, it is Obadiah Stane.]
The point is, even for the old Tony Stark this would amount to an indecent fuck-ton of money. For your usual mortal — which Natasha in spite of all her talents is — it’s the kind of sum you vaguely dream about because you can’t even picture what it might look like. What it might mean.
Now here they are.
“We’re gonna be set for life when this is all over,” Natasha mutters. Tries to work through the confusing mixture of disbelief, shock, relief, exhilaration and amusement this seemingly innocuous number evokes in her. To understand how she feels about this, not just the situation itself but its implications.
She’ll never have to work again. She’ll never have to do anything she doesn’t want to again. And — far more important — she’ll be able to do anything she wants.
This? This is what Natasha’s been working towards, been dreaming of all her life. It’s what every grifter wants, really. Every criminal even. This is the mythical big score. The one everyone always talks about and most never, ever achieve.
[It should feel more satisfying, shouldn’t?]
And yet, despite all that Natasha isn’t sure what to do with it. She’d assumed it would take her several more years yet to reach this moment. [And even then, the payoff she would’ve considered acceptable would’ve been much, much lower.] It feels almost too easy.
Natasha forces herself to tear her gaze away from the screen. The number won’t change and it’s not wrong, she’s already run those checks a dozen times. While her temporary colleagues have remained quiet — perhaps caught up in their own shock, though considering their identity, that doesn’t seem likely.
Anton isn’t smiling.
It’s such an odd, little thing to stick out to her, and yet it’s the first thing Natasha notices. After all, people usually smile when they’re holding a payout of more millions than they knows what to do with. Not that it surprises Natasha.
[She hasn’t seen Anthony Stark smile since the day Pepper Pott bled out in his arms.]
Anton’s staring at her now, not avoiding eye contact for once. An unvoiced challenge. [Natasha’s never been good of letting those go unanswered. And it irks her, just a bit, that he knows her well enough to know this already, even though she’s already decided she doesn’t mind playing along. For a bit.]
"There’s no way Hammer put this much aside," Natasha states the obvious. "Even if we’d taken his company for everything it got, no way would we have made this much money off one job."
"Or maybe you’ve been working the wrong jobs." Anton smirks when she rolls her eyes in response. "Come on, I’m a motherfucking Stark. You can’t seriously think I don’t have any tricks up my sleeve. Playing with the stock market? I’ve been doing that shit since I was fourteen and contrary to what my esteemed former board members like to think, I’ve learned a lot over the past decade."
And the thing is, Anton wears casual arrogance like second skin and just like his infernal goatee and those ridiculously fancy suits he’s so fond of, he makes it look good.
As if to underline Natasha’s point, Anton continues with a simple "All of this?" accompanied by a careless wave of his hand. "There was no way I was gonna let us walk out of this job with anything less. It’s the least of what we’re owed."
There’s something in Anton’s eyes that sends a by now familiar thrill down her back – because Natasha knows that cold edge. Knows Anton’s brilliant mind that constantly works on fifteen problems at once. Knows even now, with this little game of theirs finished [a stunning victory, as though it could’ve been anything else] he is already setting up the next move. [The next target.]
Natasha has met men on a warpath before and Anthony Edward Stark meets every single criteria. She doesn’t need to understand how he thinks exactly — doubts anyone could, the man’s been called many things, but his unofficial title as a genius has been hard-earned — to know that somewhere in that pretty, pretty head of his, Anton’s keeping book of every offense committed against him and his. Is slowly but surely working through a list only he knows the full extend of.
[Stane was a fool. Part of Natasha — the part that has watched Anton break himself apart over the last fourteen days — hopes she’ll be there when Anton finally, inevitably turns his attention to him.]
But now is not the time for these things. With that in mind, Natasha forces a teasing grin on her lips, keeps her eyes shadowed but her words light. "Yes, yes, we all know you’re amazing."
Even Barnes snorts at the dryness of her tone, though Anton, at least, is unbothered.
"And don’t you forget it."
"Well, then." Natasha catches herself before she involuntary glances down at her phone’s screen again, still not convinced that this money is real. Is hers. "I suppose this is it."
Catches the eyes of Barnes, then Anton because they deserve that much. Working with competent partners is always a pleasure. And though Barnes prefers too much brute force for her taste and there’s a ruthlessness to Anton’s machinations that goes far beyond Natasha’s own cool practicality, she’s enjoyed this job. [More than she thought she would.]
"It could be."
To her genuine surprise, it’s Anton who says those words. [The same Anton whose first words to Natasha were 'I don’t do teams’ with casual derision.] But there’s no doubt he means them — means what they imply — else Anton wouldn’t have spoken up at all.
A quick glance towards Barnes confirms what Natasha has assumed: He’ll let her take the lead on this conversation, if only because it means he won’t have to talk himself. Barnes is a man of very few words indeed.
"What else is there to do?" Natasha obligingly asks. "The job is done. We’re done. It’s over."
[She knows those words are a lie, of course. Knows that big score or not, it was never just about the money. You don’t become a world-class grifter wanted in seven countries and counting just because you need money. Maybe that’s how it started — and sure, the riches are nice to have — but Natasha loves it. Loves the rush. Loves reading the mark, enticing it, blinding it. Loves pulling off a job and getting away with it against all odds.
It’s been less than ten minutes, but Natasha doesn’t need time. She already knows that, millions or not, she won’t stop now. Wouldn’t know where to start, even if she wanted to.]
“It’s never gonna be over.” Anton says it absently, matter-of-fact. "Not for me."
A simple acknowledgement of a truth Natasha already knows. [Men like Anton, they don’t stop half-way through. They don’t stop at all. And perhaps she should know better than to get involved with someone so hell-bent on revenge, but. Hell was always gonna be her ultimate destination anyway. Why not enjoy the ride?]
The way Anton looks at her, at Barnes, there’s no missing the implication. The unspoken offer. The warning.
You can walk away now if you want. [Get out while you still can.]
A sensible person would’ve taken him up on that offer. A sensible person would walk away.
“Good.” Barnes hums. “I’d be bored to death if I didn’t have to pull your ass out of a fire.” Light and easy, everything he shouldn’t be and usually isn’t. [Like he isn’t committing to a cause without a take-back option.]
Natasha thinks she hates Barnes for that, a little. For the light in his eyes that never dims, no matter how much blood he spills. For how easy he makes it seem, like he really just makes that decision in the spur of the moment, because he likes Anton well enough and doesn’t mind sticking around some more.
[Like he doesn’t care at all about all the ways in which this can and will blow up in his face.]
Anton raises a questioning eyebrow at Natasha. She licks her lips. Thinks of the life she can afford now, somewhere far, far away, without an extradition agreement to any of the countries she wouldn’t like to revisit. The comfortable, even extravagant life she could lead. [Thinks of the bloodied smile on Barnes lips, the way Anton’s eyes lit up when Hammer broke.] Shrugs.
“You’re not completely incompetent. Sure. What’s one more job?”
*
AN: I hope you’re all safe and healthy and that this fic will be a pleasant distraction for everyone who’s currently trying very hard to keep calm and carry on. Please take care of yourselves, lovelies!