The candle flickered on the low coffee table, stretching long, jagged shadows across the water-stained wallpaper.
Jack didn't pull away from her thumb on his cheek. If anything, he leaned into her grip, his jaw tight against her palm, his eyes unblinking and wide.
"You're not gonna burn me, Red," Jack rasped softly, his voice dropping an octave, losing a bit of its usual screeching mania for something low, dry, and surprisingly quiet. "Fire's too clean. You like things messy."
Natasha’s thumb lingered against his jawline for one beat longer than necessary before she slowly pulled her hand back, crossing her arms over her chest.
"You think you're pretty complicated, don't you?" she murmured, sitting back on the edge of the coffee table across from him. "A guy who broke his own mind just enough to stop feeling pain. A guy who thinks if he laughs loud enough, nobody will notice he’s bleeding out."
"Broke my mind?" Jack let out a raspy, bubbling hehehe into his collar, his blood-stained teeth catching the amber glow of the flame. "Honey, my mind wasn't broken. It was upgraded. Most people walk around with a hundred quiet voices in their head telling 'em to be nice, play by the rules, pay their taxes. Me? I turned the volume off. Total radio silence."
"It's not silence, Jack," Natasha said, her grey eyes reading him like a heavily redacted KGB file. "It's noise. You just turned the static up so loud you can't hear yourself screaming."
Jack tilted his head sideways, his neck popping with a sharp CRACK. He stared at her for a long, quiet moment, his smile shrinking into a thin, crooked line.
"Maybe," Jack whispered, leaning his elbows on his knees, his face inches from the candle flame. "But tell me something, Moscow... in a city full of guys wearing American flags and flying around in gold-plated tin cans... isn't a little static kind of refreshing?"
Natasha looked at him—really looked at him—the pale skin, the dark circles, the terrifying spark of [10.8% SYNCHRONIZATION] glowing behind his pupils like a dying cigarette butt in the dark.
For half a second, her stoic, lethal expression softened. Just a fraction of a millimeter.
"It's exhausting," she whispered softly. "And dangerous."
"Life's dangerous, Red," Jack grinned, his manic spark flaring right back up as he reached out with two fingers, casually pinching out the candle flame.
PFFT.
Wisps of white smoke drifted up into the dark room.
"...dare to take a chance..." Jack hummed into the gloom, his raspy whisper right in front of her face. "...dare to kiss the lunatic..."
"Don't push your luck, Jack," Natasha purred in the dark, her voice dangerously close. "I still have my gauntlets on."
CLICK-CLACK-BAM!
The heavy oak door of the safehouse slammed open so hard it bounced off the drywall, sending a cloud of plaster dust into the air. The harsh overhead fluorescent light flickered on with a buzzing BZZZZZT, blinding them both.
Felicia Hardy stood in the doorway, wearing a soaked black leather jacket, carrying two greasy brown paper bags that smelled overwhelmingly of fried pork dumplings and cheap scallion pancakes.
She stopped dead in her tracks, looking at Jack sprawling on the sofa with a giant iron Iron Man boot on his left foot, and Natasha sitting practically in his lap in the pitch dark.
Felicia blinked twice.
"Okay," Felicia said, letting out a long, loud sigh as she tossed the keys onto the counter. "Did I interrupt an interrogation, or am I about to be forced to watch a crime against humanity?"
Jack immediately sat straight up, throwing his arms wide in the air like a game show host.
"Kitty!" Jack cackled, his voice bouncing off the low ceiling. "You're back! Perfect timing! Natasha was just about to tell me her deepest, darkest secret—which is obviously that she’s madly in love with my smile!"
Natasha stood up smoothly, wiping a speck of dust off her trousers, her face returning to absolute, flawless Russian neutrality in less than half a second.
"He tried to steal my watch," Natasha said deadpan, walking over to grab a dumpling from the bag. "And he's wearing Tony Stark's boot."
Felicia looked down at the gold-and-red rocket boot clanking against the floorboards. She picked up a scallion pancake, took a bite, and looked at Jack with deep, genuine concern.
"Where did you even get that?" Felicia asked.
"Borrowed it!" Jack grinned, popping his teeth with a raspy HAHAHA. "Stark was so generous! He even let me test-drive his sports car... through the hood!"
Felicia looked at Natasha. Natasha looked at Felicia.
Both women slowly shook their heads in silent, unanimous agreement: He is never going to die, and we are never going to get any sleep.
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