Cold Comfort, part Tveir

Note: I got a request for more of this story, so here it is.

Something was definitely up. Romanoff had disappeared for several days, and there were no travel plans in her name according to Jarvis. Stark knew Natasha had her own ways of sliding under the radar, but still – there should have been some surfing from her laptop recorded on websites for hotels, train tickets, plane rides. Something.

Muttering, Stark went through the info again. "Nothing from twelve months prior," Jarvis stated.

"Damn. How about bike rentals? Canoes? Snowshoes, for fuck's sake." Tony was ready to explode.

"Spying on the people who rent your rooms?" Steve sat across the room in his usual t-shirt, so white and clean it was like a hole in reality.

"Yeah, well, it's Tuesday." Tony checked the datestamp on the screen. "Holy shit – it really is Tuesday. You know what that means?"

"No, I don't." Steve obviously had no desire to find out.

"Three-for-one night at Womack's, duh. Wonder if Romanoff is back yet from wherever she went?"

"Isn't Womack's a bar?" Steve asked.

"No, Steve. It is not a bar. It is the bar. A place where they serve only the frostiest beverages, the hottest wings, and the saltiest fries in the nine realms – or is it ten now? I get confused."

"But I thought you said Natasha was no fun as a drinking partner." Steve had turned his attention back to his own screen.

"I did say that, didn't I?" Tony drummed his fingers on the lab table. "You'd think someone that hot would be a blast in the club. Hell, she was a blast when she worked undercover for me. Natalie Rushman was pure sass clad in tight leopardskin. But Romanoff, on the other hand, sits in the darkest corner she can find and gets annoyed if anyone tries to interrupt her consumption of fermented potato juice."

"You could ask me instead." The voice was as dark as Natasha's bar corner, coming from an occupant who had shimmered into the room. At least, that was Tony's hypothesis – how else did Loki simply appear in a chair, boots up on his personal desk?

Tony shrugged. "Fine. Good luck with that. If you can find Womack's I'll see you there. By the way, there's no sign on the street, and no, it doesn't have a website."

"I shall attend." Loki removed his feet from the stack of Tony's tech manuals, gave Steve a sidelong look, and loped out of the room.

"Think he's going to be any more fun than Natasha?" Steve grinned.

"Put it this way – he couldn't be any more of a drag."

Tony quickly discovered he was wrong. When Loki walked into the pub (because of course he was able to find it even without directions) and sat at the bar, he spread his knees so far apart Tony had to put an empty stool as buffer between them. Loki complained loudly the three-for-one special didn't include mead. When he was finally given a drink, Loki fixed his gaze upon the bartender and did not look away as he downed the entire contents of his glass.

"Got something written on my forehead?" the man asked with a pleasant smile.

"No, I am merely contemplating what you would look like if I decapitated you." Loki banged the glass on the bar.

Tony pointed at the bartender to fill it. "It's Act Like an Asshat Day," he muttered, waving in Loki's direction. The god merely transferred his disquieting stare to him, and Tony snuck out his phone. Send help, he texted and sent it to everyone on his contacts list. After another round he was ready for anyone, even Agent Ward, to join them and take some of the heat.

So when a hand fell on his shoulder, he looked up with glad tidings springing to his lips. They withered, however, when he saw it was Romanoff herself who had joined them. "Stop giving obtuse angles a bad name," she snarled, smacking Loki's thigh with the flat of her hand. He grunted and moved one long leg fractionally, just enough for her to wedge herself between him and Tony. "Vodka," she added. "Now. No ice, just fucking cold vodka in the biggest fucking glass you have."

The bartender gave Tony a reproachful stare, and Stark thought how much he wished he could leave the bar, get on a plane, and fly to a private island. Just him and the bartender, with no Russians or gods anywhere in sight. That would be the only way to salvage the evening, he was pretty sure. Heaving a deep sigh, he added a twenty to the pile of bills and told the man to keep the change.

At the sight of the cash, the bartender brightened a bit and produced a menu. "Wings on special," he said. "Any degree of heat you want."

"They're never spicy enough for me," Natasha snorted.

"What does it all mean?" Loki stuck his long nose into the menu.

Tony ignored him. "Never spicy enough! Romanoff, Womack's wings start at Baby Formula and go all the way up to Ludicrous level." An evil thought occurred to him, and he nudged her. "Tell you what – dare you to try the Ludicrous wings."

Natasha flashed him a green, murderous glance. "One plate of Ludicrous wings," she said to the bartender.

"I will also have some of the Ludicrous wings," Loki added.

With gathering triumph, Tony began to see the night was not wasted after all. "Care to make it interesting? Twenty bucks says you can't finish the whole order."

"Twenty!" Loki finished his drink and beckoned for another. "What are we, children? Make it really interesting if we must do this ridiculous thing."

"Okay. You finish those wings, and I'll serenade Romanoff. Give up and you have to sing to her."

She snorted again, and Loki smiled for the first time: the grin of a crocodile hanging by the only waterhole in the savannah. "It amazes me how much you can convey with those snorts of yours, agent," he said. "They are better than the AllTongue."

"I'll give you AllTongue," she shot back instantly.

Tony felt his mouth drop open. The two most lugubrious, brooding, prickly beings at Stark Tower were actually engaging in what Steve would call Grandstanding or Having a Gas. "Did you just…" he began, but he was interrupted by the arrival of the Ludicrous Wings. They were accompanied by celery sticks, blue cheese dressing, and lab-grade goggles.

"We highly suggest you put those on first." The bartender pointed to the goggles.

Natasha ignored the lab glasses as she drew on one leather glove, picked up a wing, and bit into it. She chewed impassively, swallowed, and chased it with vodka. "Not bad."

Loki watched her intently before picking up his own food. He bit in, and his usually pale skin turned slightly pink. Tony watched as the god rose from the stool. "Just going to the back chambers. Save my seat."

He wafted off a tad more hurriedly than usual, and Natasha elbowed Tony. "That little shit! He's going to go and spit it out in the sink. Can you believe it? What a crock – he's totally cheating, and I'm not letting him get away with it."

"I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that you ate that stick of nuclear waste." Tony watched in awe as Natasha had another wing, wiped her gloves delicately on a napkin, and chased it with vodka.

"It's simple – I did several ops in Thailand for the Soviet Union. This is nothing compared to some of their pickles."

"Oh." Tony deflated. "Thailand, right."

Loki reappeared at their barstools, still wearing his Crocodile at the Watering Hole grin. "Have you ever heard of Örvar-Odds? You have to make a rhyme or drain your glass."

"I'll kick your ass," Natasha said instantly. "Drink."

"You're a buxom lass," Tony ventured.

"Drink for being a loser," she said. "We're playing a drinking game, not dungeons and dragons."

"Exactly. These are bar glasses, not flagons." Loki raised his cup, clinked it against Tony's, and downed the shot.

"This is the best game ever! Bartender – what's your name?" Tony thought quickly and added, "Just for the game.

"Stan," the bartender responded. "Stan the man." Obviously he was pleased to encourage rhymes instead of decapitation scenarios.

"Here's to Stan!" Tony roared. "And Loki's non-existent tan!"

"Another round, and you can pay. Make it today." Natasha held her glass out to Stan with a meaningful look in her eye.

By the time the bar was emptying out, Tony, Loki, and Natasha were on a table in the back weaving the complicated measures of a dance Loki called the Coif-Thrower. "Last call," a bored-looking waitress said as she passed them.

At the same time, Tony and Loki discovered they could toss Natasha in the air and she would always land on her feet "like a cat," Tony said. "You really should be Black Cat, not Black Widow."

"Drink for being stupid." She handed him his glass, and he nodded. Natasha was right - Black Cat was a stupid spy name. Tony chugged the contents and called for another shot.

Stan refused to serve them anymore, so the three struggled to the street. Tony was in the center, being kept upright by Natasha and Loki. He managed to hail a cab, and they poured themselves into the backseat. "No more alcohol," he mourned. "Oh, well, we can just bring the party to the penthouse."

Loki and Natasha seemed to exchange a look over his head. "There is always more alcohol." From a hidden pocket, the god produced a flask made of some opalescent stone with the scene of a nymph being ravished by a satyr embossed on the side and handed it to Tony.

"Good man." Tony seized the flask, drank, and coughed loudly. The liquid was so strong he felt his lungs were sucked out of his chest, turned inside-out, spring-cleaned in Pine-Sol, and hung up to dry. "Holy shit! That's worse than Ludicrous Wings!"

Natasha grabbed the flask, stared at Tony, and gulped down several mouthfuls before handing it back to Loki. "You're such a wuss, Stark."

Perhaps it was the effect of the alcohol. Tony suddenly felt filled with the spirit of friendship and joy, and he spread his arms along the backseat of the cab to embrace Loki and Natasha. "You know, I thought you two were the worst drinking partners ever, but you're okay. We should do this again. By the way, Romanoff, why were you able to flip yourself around like that in the bar? Thought you were having back trouble. Fragment of a smart bullet lodged in your vertebrae or something, I heard."

"It got fixed," she answered in a vague tone. "Look, we're at the Tower." Her fist wrapped around Tony's collar, and he was heaved onto the sidewalk.

"Urgh. Suddenly I don't feel too good." He lurched into the building, and Natasha pushed him inside the elevator.

When Tony got back to his penthouse, he suddenly recalled Loki had lost the Ludicrous Wing challenge. Filled with righteous anger, he told Jarvis to facetime the god so he could give Loki a rash of well-deserved shit.

The screen flickered, and a picture appeared. Tony blinked, rubbed his eyes, and zoomed in. No, it was not a drunken illusion – Loki had Romanoff backed against the wall of his bedroom, engaged in what sounded like the Norse version of a serenade. The words were foreign, but the song sounded extremely tender. His arm was fisted on the wall, preventing her escape, and the other hand caressed her hip.

Tony was about to alert Jarvis and call Steve, maybe Bruce as well for backup, when Romanoff laughed. It was a low, breathy sound, filled with sensual promise. "What does that mean?" she asked.

"Is this web woven and wound of entrails, and heavy weighted with heads of the slain…" Loki said. "The words come from the song of the Valkyries."

One corner of Natasha's mouth lifted. "Web woven and wound of entrails," she repeated. "I like it."

"I knew you would." Loki's mouth covered hers, and Tony suddenly realized he was eavesdropping on a private moment.

He cut the connection and sat back. Everything had just become extremely clear. Natasha had gone to Asgard during those missing days with Loki and been healed there, so she was back to being her original nimble vixen self. And, more importantly, at some point the two had started fucking like rabbits.

Tony wondered what he should do with the information. Go to Fury? Thing was, he had never been that kid who raised his hand right before the bell rang to shout, "Oh teacher, you forgot to collect the homework!"

Plus there was the matter of how much fun they had been together. Loki was a drag in the bar, and Natasha was worse. On their own, they made him wish for eye-pins and a cold KoolAid at Jonestown. But as a 'couple', if that word could ever be used with the god and the spy, they were a blast. In Tony's opinion, anyone who passed the Womack's test was fine with him – and those two had aced it.

Slowly he shut down his computer, stumbled into the bedroom, and fell facedown into the pillows. As he slid into a dreamless sleep, he thought he would let Loki and Natasha keep their secret.