Tony Stark went straight back to Stark Tower. The two of them agreed to meet there tomorrow and study the ring together. They were both curious about this kind of thing and wanted to study it carefully, whether it was the neural connections or the materials of the ring itself. James did not think of handing it over just yet. He would study it first. This material could withstand the heat of laser weapons. It was important for him and Tony Stark. Their Umbra Sentinel needed an upgrade with this type of material.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Black Widow felt a flicker of shame she wasn't used to. She'd never had a good impression of James, yet there was no denying the truth—he had saved her tonight. She had expected to slip into Marbury's vault as easily as she always had, only to learn that she got out played and trapped. The memory of the door closing on her still burned in her mind; it made her jaw tighten in quiet humiliation.
She slid into the passenger seat beside him, her voice low. "Thank you… for saving me."
James didn't give her much of a glance, but offered her a shirt he had for emergency. "It doesn't matter. We took the mission together. I'm responsible for what happens to you."
It was true. He'd sent her in first. If anyone bore blame for the near-disaster, it was him. For all her arrogance, she was still a teammate. His tone stayed even, but he felt the weight of it.
She hesitated, glancing at her herself. "Can I stay at your place tonight? I left everything back there."
"Sure," he said simply. "We'll grab you some stuff in the morning."
The car hummed through the quiet city. It was late—too late for eyes or gossip. They parked in the underground level, the air cool and still, the elevator rising up to the penthouse.
Natasha rubbed her hands over her body out of habit more than modesty. It wasn't cold—it was summer—but vulnerability was foreign to her, and she was trying to cover it up.
On the top floor, James guided her to the auxiliary room. Steel and precision greeted them—the storage room for his weapons and the Umbra Sentinel suits. The first prototype of Umbra sentinel, stood silent in the corner like a statue of midnight metal.
"There's a room here you can use," he said, motioning. "The others are under security lockdown, so don't wander around. Take a shower first—I'll find you something to wear."
He stepped inside briefly. The space was spare, in a utilitarian style. The only personal touches were Hannah's—folded towels, and neatly arranged toiletries. He grabbed the largest towel and tossed it to her before leaving for his own room next door.
The apartment was dark. Everyone was asleep—everyone except Anny, who came padding softly to the door.
"Hey there, sweet Anny," James murmured, crouching to scoop her up. The kitten's warmth pressed against his chest. "You're getting big again. I might have to put you on a diet." He pressed his face on to her and gave her little kisses until she protested and set her down gently, watching her tail flick as she trotted away.
In his bedroom, he grabbed a clean black shirt from his closet and returned to Natasha's door, knocking and waiting until she opened a crack to the door and saw him outside. "Here," he said, handing it for her to reach. "Wear this for now. I'll get you proper clothes in the morning. Just write me a note of your size."
Natasha took the shirt, her gaze studying him. "Do you really think I'm not beautiful?"
It was the kind of question meant to unsettle, to test. Anyone else might have stumbled over it.
James didn't blink. "Beauty's subjective. Tony thinks you're gorgeous. Isn't that enough?"
She smirked faintly. "You have good chemistry with Maria Hill. Is she more your type?"
He shot her a look of questioning. "So much for S.H.I.E.L.D. confidentiality. You spies really can't help yourselves."
[Observation: Subject is attempting to reassert dominance through flirtation.]
James exhaled quietly. "You should get some sleep."
She tilted her head, eyes glinting. "Or," she said with a teasing smile, "you could join me. I don't mind sharing a shower."
He rolled his eyes, already turning away. "Not tonight, Romanoff." The bathroom door clicked behind her, sounds of water now splattering, and he muttered under his breath, "Out of sight, out of mind."
Morning came early.
James was up at dawn, the scent of coffee and metal mixing in the air. Mindy was already awake, tying her hair in a ponytail, and lacing up her sneakers.
She never slept in; training was a ritual to her. She appeared in his doorway, cheerful as ever.
"Brother, when did you get back last night?"
"Late," James said, stretching. "Come on, let's start our day. Warm-up first."
In the converted living room, three treadmills roared to life. James, Mindy, and Carlos fell into rhythm, with a cat wheel just beside them where Anny joins in on their routine.
The steady pounding of their steps echoing off the glass walls. The sound woke the special guest.
The bedroom door opened. Natasha, bleary-eyed, hair fuzzy, stepped into the hall wearing nothing but his shirt.
Carlos froze mid-stride. Mindy gawked, lost balance, and tumbled backward off the treadmill, and Anny jumped off to get to Mindy's side.
Without missing a beat, James said dryly, "This is Agent Natasha Romanoff. She was on assignment with me last night and stayed here after. Mindy, get up and keep running."
Mindy thanks Anny for checking up on her and scrambled up, cheeks red, and resumed her pace—though her eyes kept darting back.
The Black Widow, realizing what she'd interrupted, slipped quickly into the bathroom to wash her face. When she emerged again, the shirt hung loosely over her hips, barely reaching mid-thigh. She looked half a warrior and half a scandal waiting to spread.
"When are you going shopping?" she asked, leaning against his treadmill. "You'll need to buy me underwear too."
The words dripped with mischief.
"After breakfast," James replied flatly. "Don't forget to write the note, or I'll just buy you baggy once."
She smiled faintly, a hand on her hip posing as if to show off. "Can't you tell just by looking?"
Mindy's foot slipped again; she squealed and went sprawling a second time. Anny came over and put a paw on her head.
James sighed, hitting the emergency stop. "Mindy, focus. You can't get distracted like that. And Agent Romanoff—" his tone sharpened—"try to behave like an adult. She's twelve."
Natasha's smirk faltered. "Oh." She tugged at the hem of the shirt. "Right. Sorry."
The moment passed in awkward silence.
"Breakfast is next door," James said finally. "Hannah doesn't know you're here yet. Go tell her and help out."
"Got it," she murmured, padding toward the kitchen.
As soon as she left, Mindy clambered back on her treadmill. "Brother, is she your girlfriend?"
"No," James said, resuming his pace. "Just a colleague. My mission went sideways, she lost her stuff. And Mindy—" he glanced over "a lady should be dignified. Don't copy her."
"Yes, sir," she said, though curiosity still danced in her eyes. "But she's really pretty."
"Not as pretty as our Mindy. Give it a few years—you'll outshine her easily."
Mindy grinned, pushing harder on the treadmill.
After the run came the sandbags—one for each. Mindy worked her smaller one, learning control over strength, while James sparred lightly with her under Carlos's watchful eye. Sweat, rhythm, and discipline. The language of their morning routines.
By the time they finished and headed to wash up, the smell of breakfast filled the air.
In the dining room, Hannah glanced between James and Natasha, her eyes flicking from the oversized shirt to his composed expression.
James could almost hear Cortana's dry tone in his head.
[Advisory: Social misunderstanding imminent.]
He sighed inwardly. "Here we go again," he muttered, reaching for the coffee.