The biggest surprise is that Natasha will drink with him.

Not often, because she doesn’t like giving up that measure of control, and Tony knows all about control. Not self-control, unless you count the sacrifice of such, but the things he does to himself—those are things he’d never let another person do to him.

Sometimes they get drunk and don’t tell each other things. It’s one of the more functional relationships Tony’s managed.

One time, they get drunk and do tell each other things.

“I have nightmares about being alone with Loki,” Tony says. He can’t feel his face.

“I have nightmares about being alone with Bruce,” Natasha says. Her hair is very—something.

“Yeah, good luck with that.”

Natasha snorts. “The Hulk likes you.”

“That’s gonna do me a whole lot of good when he decides to throw me out a window,” Tony points out.

She shrugs, uncaring. “What did Loki say to you?”

“What did you say to him? He looks at you like he wants to make you into a skin-suit.”

“I told him,” Natasha says.

Tony scratches his beard and waits.

“I told him that I have red in my ledger.”

“Yeah? Join the club.”

Natasha slams her hands on the table, and Tony has to flinch. She’s an angry drunk. He likes that about her; makes for a nice contrast.

“Join the club, Stark? How many of those people did you kill personally? Intimately? How many—”

“No, you’re right. It’s so much better that I murdered thousands of faceless people because I didn’t care enough to think,” Tony says. “That’s preferable, isn’t it. No pain, lots of gain. I had a personal touch, you know, like to sign my name to things, but my hands are clean. That what you want me to say?”

“No.”

“Well. Good,” Tony says.

Natasha looks at him. Says, “Pass the bottle.”

He gets right on that.