Two days later, I finally called Tony. Not because I wanted to hear his voice or anything ridiculous like that. No, this was strictly business. He'd roped me into designing outfits for this rooftop Avengers party and had conveniently forgotten to give me any actual information. So, like the responsible adult I was, I phoned the man-child directly from my sewing room floor, surrounded by fabric, thread, and mild regret.
The phone rang twice before his voice came through, smug and way too pleased with itself.
"Hey, miss me already?"
I scoffed. Loudly. "Shut up."
"Ouch. That's a lot of hostility for someone who called me first."
"I need the headcount, Stark. How many guys, how many girls?"
"Uhh... like six dudes and three ladies. Including you."
I narrowed my eyes, even though he couldn't see it. "I'm not coming."
"Oh come on, of course you're coming. Just think of it as work."
He had a point, unfortunately. "I'll think about it."
"Don't think too hard, sweetheart. Would hate for you to strain something."
"Stop calling me that."
"Stop calling me Stark."
"Fine. I'll stop."
"I won't, sweetheart."
I groaned audibly. "Unfair."
"I don't exactly play fair."
"Shocking," I said flatly as I got up and headed to the kitchen. "Now, is the outfit supposed to be battle-ready or just your usual over-the-top gala stuff?"
"We're just there for intel. No fighting expected. Even if something goes south, I've got my suit, and we've got, you know... a Hulk."
"Fashion it is, then." I poured milk into my mug, stirring it up.
There was a pause on the other end.
"What?" I asked.
"What are you doing right now?" he asked casually, but his voice had a weird little edge to it.
I smirked. "Interested, are we? Just made coffee. About to start designing your next fashion disaster."
"I'd watch that reality show," he muttered. "I'm working on a new laser beam system for the suit. It's being a pain."
"Even the great Tony Stark has trouble with his toys? Say it isn't so."
"Shut it. This one's complicated."
I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly saw my own brain. "What's the issue, genius?"
"It's the lasers themselves. They need more heat output, but I can't reroute more power from the arc reactor just for them," he said, sounding more focused now.
I could hear the clinking of metal in the background, followed by a frustrated sigh. "If I reroute, I lose flight stability. I prioritize one system, I weaken another. It's a domino effect of mechanical betrayal."
"Why don't you just isolate the energy source and give it its own converter?" I asked casually, taking another sip. There was a pause on the other end.
"Well, I can't do that because-"
"Because?" I pressed, raising a brow even though he couldn't see me.
Tony went silent for a second, and I could almost hear him turning it over in that big brain of his. "Because that would require an entirely new energy channel to be installed... and if I-wait. Wait, hang on a second," he muttered. I could hear rapid typing, tools shifting, a muttered "move, Dummy" at his bot assistant.
"Are you seriously doing what I just suggested?"
"I'm exploring the concept. Don't get ahead of yourself," he said defensively.
"Oh my God. You're doing it."
"I'm modifying an approach based on external input."
I laughed. "Just say it. I was right."
"I'm saying nothing of the sort."
"You are physically incapable of admitting someone else helped you. Aren't you supposed to be a genius?"
"I am a genius. I'm just allergic to arrogance."
"Excuse me?" I coughed. "You are the physical embodiment of arrogance."
"No, I'm the charming type. There's a difference."
"Right. And I'm the Queen of England."
"Well, Your Majesty, I think I just figured out how to stabilize the beam without draining the core. If I run a sub-level converter directly to the emitter crystal... it should work. Constant heat, stable aim... oh my god."
"So, I helped?"
"You might've... nudged me in the right direction. I'll send you a handwritten note. With a kiss. Maybe even a glitter sticker."
"Oh, how generous."
There was a pause. Not an awkward one, just... a softer one.
"Hey," he said. His voice had dropped, less snark and more sincerity. "Thanks. I've been stuck on this for hours."
I blinked, a little taken aback. "It's no problem. Kinda fun, actually. Helping you science your way out of a tantrum."
"It wasn't a tantrum. It was a high-level mechanical crisis."
"Sure it was."
"Well," he cleared his throat, deflecting the moment. "If you ever want to trade in your fabric swatches for a lab coat, I've got a spot for you. It's sleek. Possibly bulletproof."
"Tempting. But I think I'll stick to clothes that don't explode."
"Coward."
"Weirdo."
We both chuckled, and for a second, it felt oddly domestic.
"Alright," I said, shaking it off. "I've got to start designing these outfits. When's the party?"
"Two weeks. No rush. And hey, two of the Avengers have been dying to meet you. They'll be there."
My eyebrows shot up. "Me? I'm flattered. Who are they?"
"Natasha. And... Thor."
My coffee mug nearly slipped out of my hand.
"Wait. Thor? As in, actual thunder god Thor?"
"Big guy, long hair, hammer, vaguely Shakespearean vocabulary. Yep."
"Oh my god."
"You okay?"
"No. I'm absolutely not okay. I have to design something worthy of a literal deity."
"Well then, Your Highness, better get to work."
"Shut up, Stark."
"Anything for you sweetheart."