Natasha Romanoff is a people-watcher. 

     The thought hit Tony when he felt her blatantly staring at him. They'd been sitting in the warm cafe since quarter past and rain was drizzling down the booth's window. People rushed through for lunch and waiters bustled around. He was fixedly trying not to look at her and opted to stare at the drops rolling down the glass. His breath fogged the surface and he watched the outside world blur away. That's when Natasha started staring. Or, watching, if he could call it that. 

     Her fingers were poised over the keyboard and her dark trenchcoat was damp on the shoulders. She was caught in the rain on her way over. She had been here after him and hadn't brought an umbrella as she rushed inside. Her red hair was plastered to her forehead and her green eyes were piercing. She looked ready to work, yet she wasn't moving. He'd assumed that she would take the lead, but they've been sitting in the same spots for the past fifteen minutes. Tony was waiting for her to say something. He didn't want to overstep and be rude. He was trying not to be what Howard or the media said he was, but it was hard when the awkwardness made him want to talk. He chewed his lip and blew on his coffee. Nectar of the gods.

     "I was thinking we could do Marie Curie," she started suddenly. Tony gazed up at her. Natasha's face held it's usual blankness as she repeated herself. "Marie Curie. She's an influence on history and she was a respected woman. A very hard thing to be in her time." 

     Tony shifted in his seat. Natasha was testing him. "Curie's good," he squeaked. Natasha pursed her lips and typed away. Tony tapped against his mug and absently sipped on the contents. The warmth from his drink coursed through his cold body and he melted. He was so cold these days, every cup of coffee seemed like his last. Tony swirled the stirrer in the drink, watching it swish around in the ceramic. He lost himself in his thoughts with Natasha's typing fading to background noise. Howard likes coffee too, but he has more alcohol. The first mug he broke over Tony looked similar. Is that why he liked Java Cup? Did he want to be punished by memories? Was there a sign above his head that called for punishment?

     Tony gave a full-body shudder and pushed the mug away. He didn't want the drink anymore. He would never let Howard ruin his favorite drink for him, though. He couldn't. The coffee sloshed onto the table, a few drops landing on Natasha's sleek grey laptop. Natasha jumped up gracefully to save her device. Tony's stomach bottomed out. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Natasha, er Romanoff. It was an accident, the mug, uh, slipped and my coffee...Is your laptop okay?" he ventured. 

     Natasha's face was a storm. She cursed in Russian and began pulling napkins. The drink was running down the back and side, and Tony knew if it got inside the whole laptop would start lagging. He'd spilled coffee plenty of times to know its dangers to electronics. Why did he order the fatal drink? Why did he suggest a coffee shop? Tony winced at his stupidity. He was supposed to be a genius. Tony moved to help her wipe up his mess, but she glared at him so hard that he almost stopped breathing. "I think I am good now." Her accent was sharp and thick, each snap whipped against his skin. "We have a topic, we don't need to be in the same room to work. We will research separately for now. I'll call you."

     Tony nodded lamely. She didn't have his number and he wasn't going to offer it to her now. It was an obvious dismissal and he would take it. He slinked out of the booth. Tony hugged himself as he walked away. He glanced into the cafe to find Natasha sitting with her head in her hands. The screen was darkened and guilt washed over him. He couldn't do anything right. He should ask Strange to give her a new partner. He would do the project on his own and not jeopardize Natasha's grade. Tony turned his face up to the rain and trudged around town. His boots sloshed puddles and he sighed. The rain came harder, sneaking under his sweatshirt and chilling him to the bone. Tony ground his teeth. He could handle a bit of cold. 

     He stopped short when he realized he'd forgotten to pay for his coffee. He laughed dryly. He'd left Natasha with a busted laptop and the bill. Some date he was. She was probably just finding out and was planning the perfect way to cut him up into bite-size pieces. He weighed the idea of going back and paying. He might be able to somewhat make it up to her but she'd told him to leave. If he returned, he wasn't sure he'd ever see the light of day again. Tony's feet were moving before he had fully processed his thoughts. He froze at the sight of Barton walking into the small cafe. The bell jingled and he was no doubt coming to Natasha's aid. When he first saw them, he thought they were the cutest couple. Then he found out they were adopted by the vice-principal and chalked it up to a sibling thing. Sometimes, he still imagined them dating in their circle of friends. It was so absurd that none of them would even bat an eyelash. 

     He really needed to stop thinking about the Gang. 

     He should also come up with a better name for them. 

     Tony blinked back into reality when the two emerged. Barton held an umbrella overhead while Natasha sashayed out of the cafe. She held her laptop case gingerly and Tony winced. Tony watched from up the street as they entered a sleek Mercedes. Tony didn't know a vice-principal could afford one, let alone for one of his kids. Natasha disappeared into the passenger seat and Barton closed the door behind her. He furrowed his brow and Tony jumped when he turned to face him. Those blue eyes burned into his retinas and Tony backed away. He fled - "You're pitiful, fleeing like a child" - back home, panting after his marathon run and bounding up the stairs two at a time. He sank to the ground behind his bedroom door and breathed deeply. He was in deep shit. 

---

     Tony couldn't remember the last time his body hurt this much. He couldn't remember much - even with the help of his eidetic memory - but he knew he had to be thrown into multiple brick walls. He picked at the wrappings on his rapidly swelling fingers and grimaced. He shouldn't swear, but this hurts like f-

     Tony flinched when footsteps sounded. He'd been avoiding Happy's closet after Barnes found him there. He'd just gotten comfortable behind the school and he didn't want to move. He had planned on napping - just a second he swore - before walking home. The steps grew louder but Tony couldn't bring himself to stand. He stayed where he was, hoping the shadows cast by the long awning would shield his presence. 

     "...and he was watching me take her my car," Barton snapped. 

     "Just watching? He didn't move to help or anything?" Rogers asked with disapproval oozing from his voice. 

     Tony paled. They were talking about his disaster with Natasha. Of course, they were. It seemed like Tony Stark was such an interesting topic at school, the rumors were better than the actual person. He felt tears prick his eyes and he pinched his sprained fingers. If he was as smart as his test scores showed, he'd leave before they walked out to the field and noticed him. But Tony didn't move. His warped mind wanted to hear what they thought. It was weird to want to be liked by a group of people who hated everything to do with him. They despised him so much they had to keep him away from Bruce. Now, he could hear what they thought firsthand and decide if he would still feel the same afterward. If he still had an insufferable friend-crush on them. 

     "You think he would? The jerk scurried away like the rat he is as soon as I saw him. Little asshole wanted to see the aftermath so badly." Tony could imagine Clint running a hand through his sandy hair. "I just want to punch that smug look off of his face. Show him he can't get away with whatever he wants."

     "Nat said it was an accident," Rogers chimed. 

     Barnes frowned. "Anything related to a Stark is no accident," he growled. "Get your head on straight, Stevie. You know Stark is an asshole, don't start getting soft on us."

     Rogers sighed and Tony hugged his knees a bit tighter. They came into view and he pressed himself closer to the wall. Duffel bags swung from Barnes and Roger's shoulders. Right. Football practice was on Monday and Wednesday. "Yeah, you're right. Just...don't stoop to his level, Buck. Don't bully a bully," he chastised. 

     "Yes, Captain," the two chorused. Rogers flushed red and looked away. His blue eyes landed on Tony and his eyes widened. Tony rapidly shook his head, eyes wide and pleading that Rogers would leave him alone. He couldn't handle all three of them right now. To his luck, Rogers had very observant friends. The two looked over in seconds and stared. Tony eyes flitted around, watching for any sudden moves and trying to plan his escape. 

     Rogers took a step forward. "Stark?" he called. "What are you doing here?" Tony half-shrugged against the wall. "Are you...okay?" Tony could feel the physical pain voicing the question took on Rogers. His face was turned up into a grimace and his brows were furrowed. Tony didn't want that. He shrugged again and made to get up. 

     Barton shook himself from his stupor and strode forward. "Hey, asshole, I don't care that you and Natasha are partners, you need to stay away from her. You almost ruined her laptop with that stupid coffee. What were you thinking? Drinking around an expensive electronic? Not everyone is the son of a damned billionaire and can replace everything they have in the blink of an eye. Some people have to work to buy things. Think ahead next time, idiot." 

     Tony scrambled to his feet when Barton took another step. His heart was hammering in his chest and it was starting to hurt. The irregular thump beat against his ribcage and he resisted the urge to rub his chest. He flinched away when Barton was less than six feet from him. "D-Don't!" He hid behind his hands and shut his eyes. Please don't hit me. 

     "Stark?" Rogers whispered. Tony bit his lip and took a step back. They were circling him, cutting off his air. His breaths turned to sporadic puffs and he was trembling all over. His sprained fingers were pulsing in pain and his head was swimming underwater. His breath rattled in his chest. "Stark, are you-"

     "I'm sorry about Natasha's laptop! I-It was an accident, I swear," he pleaded. "Th-The mug...the mug had slipped from...it slipped from my hands and splashed onto her laptop. I apologized and tried to help, b-but she told me to leave. I didn't mean to, I swear...I'm not lying. And...and..." Tony peeked through his hands. Barton's face was pulled into such a horrified expression that it caused his lungs to concave. He whimpered softly and kept his hands up as a barrier between them. "I-I don't know what more you want. I...I apologized. I really don't want to be beaten to a pulp, but, uh, if...if..." Tony swayed when Barnes adjusted the strap on his duffel. His arm muscles rippled and he realized just how much strength the two footballers packed. Barton couldn't be cut out, the muscles in his arms from archery were covered by his windbreaker, but they were there nonetheless. 

     Tony gulped convulsively. Barton held his own hands up and returned to Barnes' side. "We're not going to beat you up." He shared a look with Rogers and Barnes, and Tony wished he could read their emotions. Was he going to make it home? Were they lying? Was he going to die at the back of the school? "Do you...Do you need a ride home?" 

     Tony blinked. "What?" he stammered. Barton repeated himself and Tony couldn't sense any underlying threats. Then again, he had trouble reading the Gang anyway. "No, uh, I'm okay. Thanks." He tested the word around his lips. He checked his iPhone. "Driver's coming now. No need to, er, go to the...trouble." 

     Tony turned on his heel and nearly ran away. His eyes bulged when Natasha stared at him from around the corner. He hid his face under his hood and speed-walked to the front of the school. Barton had offered to drive him home. Barton, from the Gang, had offered to drive him to Stark Manor. He didn't understand what he had done to deserve that. It was... He shook his head and stuffed his hands in his pockets. Now was not the time to think about them. He had to get home and see if he could sneak a couple of hours in the lab. His helper bot was basically done, and Bruce's suggestions were helpful and made the design more cohesive. He checked the time and walked faster. 

---

     What. The. Hell. 

     "What the actual fuck just happened?" Clint sighed into his hands and fell back onto his bed. Natasha was bouncing a ball from the ground to the wall, and back to her. The green toy thumped rhythmically while Clint moaned, "I mean...You saw him, right Nat?"

     "Of course," she replied, smooth. "He was terrified. Of you." 

     Clint grew redder. "Exactly!" He swore mildly until Natasha glared. "Why would that asshole be scared of me? We've never talked and I only send him the occasional glare. That shouldn't be enough to make him scared shitless." Natasha hummed noncommittally and continued throwing the ball. "Nat, help me out here."

     She sighed and leaned her head on the bed. Her movements never ceased as she said, "He was sitting at the back of the school, alone, and the three of you were talking about pulverizing him for spilling coffee on my laptop. I told you it was an accident, Clint."

     "But you were so mad?" he added pitifully. 

     She threw the ball harder. "I had every right to be. He spilled coffee on my computer. I can handle myself, you know that, idiot." Clint huffed and crossed his arms. "I know none of you, myself included, like Stark. He's a jerk, but he's still a kid. Have you noticed no one bothers to talk to him? To have a friendly conversation with him?" Natasha narrowed her eyes at the wall and shot the ball off. "The only one who enjoys his company is Bruce, but that's only because Stark speaks his language. If Stark weren't a genius, he'd have no one to talk too at all. Don't try to say he talks to Hammer, that doesn't count in the slightest and you know that."

     Clint stuck his tongue out at her. Natasha raised an eyebrow and threw the ball softly. "Now, think about our friends. We have sleepovers every weekend and interact in a friendly environment. We're practically family. When you have a nightmare and don't want to bother me," she gave him a knowing look, "I know you call one of the others. And we celebrate each other. It's nice." Natasha's voice softened to a tone Clint barely had the privilege of hearing. He was glad he had his hearing aids on. "Stark's probably never had that."

     "So, you're saying I have to be nice to him now?" Clint grimaced. He gagged into his pillow, yelping when the rubbed ball bounced against his side. He glared playfully at Natasha as she draped herself over the bed. 

     "Of course not. He's still an ass. Just, don't make a point to attack him. Be civil. It's not like he's your partner or anything." Natasha rolled her eyes and Clint guffawed. She swatted him with a pillow. 

     "Is he bothering you?" he asked when he regained his breath. 

     Natasha smacked him again. "If he bothered me, he would have to learn to live without his tongue." Clint chuckled at the threat, knowing full well Natasha was capable of doing just that. She laid down next to him and Clint pulled her close. "I have a new project."

     "Is it about Stark?"

     "Oh, definitely."

     "You can't adopt every stray you see, especially not this one. I'm begging you. First, it was Brucie. Now, you want a Stark."

     Natasha rolled her eyes again and pinched his side. "I don't plan on it. I just want to learn more. I want to know what makes him tick. I promise not to grow to like him or anything. Bruce was a fluke, a one in a million chance. Plus, I'll do it under the guise of Strange's project. Serves the man right, making Stark and I partners. Who does he think he is?"

     Clint mentally sighed as Natasha began prattling off the ways she'd kill the English teacher. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. If Coulson came into his room to find them sleeping soundly, he didn't say anything. And if the camera flashed and Clint heard whispered swears as the door closed, he didn't say anything either.