Chapter 3: Natasha Romanoff
That afternoon.
"Ma'am, you really shouldn't have come here in person. I could've handled this on my own." A voice drifted in from the front door, strained with barely concealed anxiety. "This is Hell's Kitchen. It's not exactly... safe."
Ethan and Wade both looked up.
A heavyset man in an ill-fitting suit bustled through the door first, holding it open behind him. Two women followed — one blonde, her face drawn tight with worry, and a second with auburn hair wearing a sharp secretary's outfit and an expression that gave away absolutely nothing.
Wade immediately sprang into action, weaving between tables to intercept them.
"Ethan! Allow me to introduce our most esteemed sugar momm— I mean, our client." He swept into an exaggerated bow toward the blonde woman. "Ms. Pepper Potts herself."
He jerked a thumb at the heavyset man. "This guy is... probably not important. Sidekick energy. Moving on."
Wade spun toward the auburn-haired woman, and — seemingly from nowhere — produced a single red rose, extending it with a flourish. "And this stunning creature... please tell me you're here for me."
The heavyset man cleared his throat. "Name's Happy. Happy Hogan. I'm Stark's head of security, and I'm the one who recommended Ms. Potts hire you people." He paused, straightening his jacket with what dignity he could muster. "The other lady is Ms. Rushman — Mr. Stark's new executive assistant."
The auburn-haired woman offered a single, measured nod. Nothing more.
Ethan stepped forward quickly, extending his hand to Pepper. "Ms. Potts, thank you for coming. Please — have a seat." He gestured toward the cleanest table in the restaurant. "Pietro, get our guests some drinks."
"Coming right up —"
Pietro's voice had barely finished the sentence before three cups of tea materialized on the table in front of the visitors, steam still curling from the surface, as if they'd been sitting there the whole time.
Happy blinked. Pepper's eyes went wide.
Ms. Rushman didn't flinch. Not even a twitch. As if she'd known exactly what was going to happen before it did.
Ethan shot Pietro a look that could curdle milk, then turned back to the guests with a smooth smile. "Please don't mind that. Just a small... parlor trick. If we didn't have a few tricks up our sleeve, we wouldn't last long in this neighborhood."
He settled into his chair, his tone shifting to something more serious. "But let's get down to business. I'm very sorry to hear about Mr. Stark's disappearance. We'll do everything in our power to bring him home. Can you walk us through what happened?"
Pepper steadied herself. Took a breath. Then began.
"One month ago, Tony traveled to Afghanistan for a weapons demonstration with the U.S. military. The deal went smoothly. But on the convoy back to base, they were ambushed by an unidentified armed group." Her voice wavered. "There was no body at the scene. We believe he was taken alive."
She swallowed hard.
"I need you to bring Tony Stark back. Even if it's just..." Her eyes glistened. "Even if it's just to bring him home."
Happy fumbled through his pockets in a panic, searching for tissues. Before he could find any, Ms. Rushman had already produced a handkerchief and placed it gently in Pepper's hand.
Ethan — who knew exactly how this story played out — arranged his face into an expression of deep sympathy. Inside, he was doing cartwheels.
"Ms. Potts, I completely understand how difficult this must be for you, and I'm truly sorry for what you're going through."
He leaned forward, letting his brow furrow with just the right amount of concern.
"But I have to be upfront with you. If Mr. Stark was taken by an armed militant group, then this rescue operation means going up against people with serious firepower. We're talking about a combat extraction — which means our team will likely be engaging hostile forces directly."
He paused, letting the weight of that settle.
"I can't guarantee success. And even if Mr. Stark is still alive, extracting him safely from a fortified position is an entirely different challenge. Unless..."
Behind Ethan, Wade raised one hand and rubbed his fingers together in the universal ka-ching gesture.
Pepper caught it immediately.
"Money isn't an issue," she said, her voice steadying. "If you find Tony Stark and bring him back alive — I'll double the fee. Another fifty million on top. And if..." She paused. "If you can only recover his remains, I'll still pay five million."
Alive or dead, she wanted him found. No loose ends. No wondering.
Ethan — who knew damn well that Tony Stark was currently building a suit of armor in a cave and would eventually blast his own way out — put on his most solemn, determined face.
"Ms. Potts, you have our word. Our team is elite. We will bring Tony Stark home, or we don't take a single penny."
"One hundred percent professional operation!" Wade nodded vigorously beside him.
"Guaranteed." Pietro gave a thumbs-up.
Pepper looked at the three of them — the masked maniac, the white-haired speedster, and the young man who spoke like he'd already seen the ending — and for the first time that afternoon, something that almost resembled hope flickered across her face.
"Heh."
A cold, quiet laugh sliced through the warm moment like a scalpel.
Everyone turned. It was Ms. Rushman, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised just enough to be devastating.
"The NYPD couldn't find him. The FBI couldn't find him. Every intelligence agency on the planet has come up empty." Her voice was cool, clipped, and dripping with skepticism. "Where exactly does your confidence come from?"
Ethan finally gave the "secretary" his full attention.
"System. Scan her."
「DING!」
[ Name: Natasha Rushman (Natasha Romanoff) ]
[ Title: Black Widow ]
[ Race: Human ]
[ Friendship Level: N/A ]
[ Skills: Insufficient friendship level. Unable to read. ]
Well, well, well. If it isn't the Black Widow herself.
Ethan kept his face neutral while his brain kicked into overdrive.
Natasha Romanoff. Born 1928 in Stalingrad. Recruited as a child by Soviet intelligence, put through the Red Room program, and genetically enhanced with a serum that slowed her aging to a crawl. She'd been a spy longer than most countries had existed.
Beyond that, Ethan's intel was spotty. He vaguely remembered there'd been a solo Black Widow movie in his previous life, but by that point the franchise had been deep in its "committee-designed by focus group" era, and he'd checked out.
What he did know was this: where Natasha Romanoff went, S.H.I.E.L.D. was never far behind.
And that made things... complicated.
On one hand, Ethan had zero desire to get tangled up with S.H.I.E.L.D. The idea of being on Nick Fury's radar — that one-eyed, manipulative, always-three-steps-ahead spymaster — made his skin crawl.
On the other hand... the Avengers.
Every member of the Avengers Initiative was a potential friendship goldmine. And joining one team was infinitely more efficient than tracking down each hero individually across the globe.
But that's a problem for Future Ethan. Right now, focus. Make friends with the super-spy sitting three feet away from you.
"My dear Ms. Rushman —" Wade beat him to the punch, leaning toward Natasha with the confidence of a man who had never once read a room successfully. "You underestimate us! With the great Deadpool on this mission, rescuing one little Tony Stark is child's play. Just sit back and wait for the good news."
His voice dropped to what he apparently believed was a seductive register. "And when we bring your boss back safe and sound... perhaps you and I could celebrate with a romantic —mmmphhh!"
Ethan's hand clamped over Wade's mouth like a bear trap.
"I am so sorry, Ms. Rushman." He shot an apologetic look at both Natasha and Pepper. "Please ignore him. He's like this with everyone. It's a medical condition."
He released Wade (who was still trying to talk through the hand) and straightened up.
"Ms. Potts, I'm sure you've reached out to plenty of people over the past month — not just us. And Ms. Rushman, your skepticism is completely warranted. So how about this —" He paused. "Let's make a bet."
"A bet?" Natasha tilted her head. One degree. Calculated curiosity.
Pepper and Wade both perked up.
"First — Ms. Potts, I want to be clear that I'm not treating Mr. Stark's life as a game. If this comes across as disrespectful in any way, I apologize in advance."
He met Natasha's gaze directly.
"I'm a simple man with two hobbies. The first one is money." A beat. "The second is making friends."
"If we bring Tony Stark back within one week — I'd like to be friends with Ms. Rushman here."
Pepper waved a hand. She didn't seem to mind.
Natasha studied him for a long moment. Then, slowly, a smile appeared — the kind that never quite reached her eyes.
"Sure. If you actually pull it off, I'd be happy to be your friend." The word happy carried approximately zero warmth. "But if you fail? The FBI — with all their resources — couldn't even locate Stark. What makes you think you can?"
"There is no 'if.'" Ethan held her stare without blinking. "We will bring Tony Stark home."
He knew she was probing. He knew she was here on Fury's behalf, feeling them out, cataloging every detail. And he didn't care.
"All we need is one thing — have someone deliver a few of Mr. Stark's personal belongings. Something he used recently. Preferably something with a strong scent."
Ethan glanced toward the front door, where a certain scarred-up mutt in a red mask was snoring on the doorstep.
Pepper stood, looking more composed than she had all afternoon. "Done. I'll agree to the bet on Ms. Rushman's behalf. Happy — have everything Ethan needs ready and delivered by tomorrow morning."
She offered her hand. Ethan shook it.
"We look forward to hearing good news."
Happy scrambled to follow Pepper out the door. But Natasha took her time. She rose slowly, smoothed her skirt, and walked toward the exit at her own pace.
At the threshold, she paused. Turned her head just enough to sweep one last look over Ethan, Wade, and Pietro — a look that cataloged, evaluated, and filed away every detail like a camera shutter clicking.
Then she was gone.
Ethan's brow furrowed.
"I'M IN LOVE!" Wade materialized at his elbow, clutching his chest. "She's PERFECT! Ms. Rushman! Did you SEE her?! Oh no — oh NO — I forgot to get her number! MS. RUSHMAN! WAIT FOR MEEE —"
He bolted out the door after her.
In the sudden quiet, Pietro moved closer. "What's wrong, Ethan? Something off about that Rushman lady?"
Ethan let out a long breath. He reached over and clapped Pietro on the shoulder.
"Nah. It's nothing, kid. Just..." He stared at the empty doorway. "Our quiet little life around here? It's about to get a whole lot louder."
He turned and headed for the stairs. "I'm gonna grab some rest. We've still got the dinner rush tonight."
Pietro watched Ethan's retreating back — the way his shoulders had tightened, the weight that seemed to settle over him like a coat.
Then Pietro let out a dry laugh.
"Quiet life? In Hell's Kitchen?" He shook his head. "Brother, there's never been a quiet day in this neighborhood. Whatever's coming — it can't be worse than what's already here."
Ethan paused on the stairs. Didn't turn around. Didn't say a word.
But his shoulders loosened, just a little.