Insomnia | Tony Stark

Chapter 6: Canvas and pep talk

The dinner was tense—the air thick with unspoken words, the silence more eloquent than any conversation. Nora and Natasha sat across from each other, their eyes avoiding contact. The clinking of cutlery against plates echoed like a discordant melody.

After the dinner ended, for which Nora was grateful. She washed her dishes keeping them in their appropriate places. She was going to brew two cups of coffee for her and Tony when her gaze settled on the piece of metal shining on the table.

On inching closer to it, she identified it as Steve's watch, "Uh Jarvis, is Captain up?"

"Yes Miss, Mr. Rogers is up."

Nora found herself standing outside Steve's room, clutching his forgotten watch. The moon rays filtered through the curtains, casting a white glow on the wooden floor. She knocked softly, and Steve's voice invited her in.

"Hey, Captain," Nora said, stepping inside. "You left your watch on the dining table."

Steve looked up from the canvas he was working on, his paint-smeared hands freezing mid-stroke. His eyes widened in surprise, and then he smiled. "Thanks, Nora. I'm always misplacing this thing."

Nora handed him the watch, her gaze drifting to the paintings scattered around the room. They hung on the walls, propped up on easels, and leaned against furniture. Each one was a glimpse into Steve's soul—a riot of colors, emotions, and stories.

"You're quite the artist," Nora said, her admiration genuine. "I had no idea."

Steve's cheeks flushed, and he shrugged. "It's just a hobby. Helps me unwind."

Nora stepped closer, studying a canvas depicting a New York skyline at sunset. The skyscrapers seemed to sway with life, the colors bleeding into each other like memories. "This is beautiful. You capture the essence of the city."

Steve's humility was endearing. "Thanks, but I'm no Picasso."

"You don't have to be," Nora insisted. "Art isn't about being perfect; it's about expression. And you've got that down."

He chuckled, dipping his brush into a palette of blues. "It's therapeutic, you know? Helps me remember things."

She understood. Memories were fragile, slipping through fingers like sand. "Well, keep at it. Maybe someday you'll have a gallery show."

He shook his head. "Doubt it. But hey, speaking of art, have you ever tried painting?"

Nora hesitated. "I haven't, actually. It's not my thing."

Steve gestured toward another easel, where a blank canvas waited. "Want to give it a shot? I've got extra supplies."

She glanced at the pristine canvas; the brushes neatly arranged. "I appreciate it, but I wouldn't want to waste your materials."

His smile was gentle. "Trust me, I've wasted plenty. It's all part of the process, Nora. Art isn't about wasting supplies. It's about creating something—anything. Besides, you might surprise yourself."

She chewed her lip, torn between curiosity and self-doubt. "I wouldn't even know where to start."

"Start with a color," Steve said. "Or a feeling. Let it guide you."

Nora glanced at the canvas again. "Maybe some other day, Ste--Captain-"

"You can call me Steve, you know," he interrupted her with a smile. 

"Maybe some other day, Steve, uhh," she glanced toward the clock that was ticking at eleven, "I had to do something,"

"At almost middle of the night?" Steve asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, yeah," she says shrugging.

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"You know I was waiting for my coffee," Tony quipped as soon as she entered, his eyes never leaving the holographic display projected before him. The steam from two cups mingled, creating a fragrant mist.

"I am not your waitress, genius, and moreover I am pretty sure you managed before I started to bring coffee," she said, keeping his cup of coffee near him. 

"That was then," Tony said, sipping the warm brew. "Now, as my insomniac accomplice, you can at least play barista. Beats hanging out with Capsicle."

Nora almost missed the words, but they lingered. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth; a secret she kept hidden behind the rim of her own cup. 

Was he jealous? It felt oddly nice to know that her existence mattered to someone—a billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, no less.

"You know there is no need to be jealous, there is nobody else here who have penchant for sleepless nights," she teased "so I am pretty much stuck with you, If I don't want to get bored to death."

As the moon peeked through the high windows, casting shadows on the floor, amongst the silence, some hours passed by, and Nora's thoughts wandered.

Doubt.

In her whole life, there was not one moment when she didn't had doubt-- sometimes on her reality, sometime on God but mostly, every day on herself.

Did whatever she had done in the past was her only option?

Was she right? Was she wrong?

Did she even deserve to get out of there? 

Or live?

The weight of hurt clung to her like a shadow, a constant companion. She understood why Natasha remained cautious. After all, she doubted herself ceaselessly, she had heard about her past from Fury, and she understood why Natasha was cautious of her. 

Sipping her warm brew, she watched Tony's holographic blueprints dance before him. Tony briefly looks at her before looking back at the blueprints he was working on. 

She was not like her usual self, and he could feel it, her gaze that twinkled whenever he retells a tale of one of their missions or was unfocused today. Her replies were also cut short with just 'Hmm's and 'yeah'.

He wondered what happened with her.

"Tony," she murmured, breaking the silence, "can I ask you something?"

His eyes flickered from the hologram to her face. "Yup, go ahead, sweetheart," he replied.

"Do you think..." her voice wavered, searching for words, showing vulnerability that Tony had never see her showing in the past weeks, "will I hurt the team? In the long run, I mean."

Tony leaned back, studying her. "You?" His grin was wry. "Sweetheart, well, that's a loaded question. You've got secrets, we all do. But hurting the team? Nah. I don't think so,"

"Why?" she asked, "I always end up hurting the one's around me after all," her voice was barely above a whisper.

His gaze softened. "Sweetheart, we're a team—a family. Imperfect, yes. But your heart's in the right place. Trust that." His words hung in the air, a lifeline for her doubts, "and let me tell you something about teams—they're like a puzzle. Each piece has its place, its purpose. Sometimes, a piece might not fit perfectly, but that just mean that it has to search for its correct place."

If only he knew she stop trusting herself a long time ago... 

"Who knew you were a philosophical genius too," she said, 

"What can I say, I am a multi-tasker,"

Nora's heart warmed by his words, first time in forever someone provide her a beacon of light in the darkness of her doubts. Maybe Natasha was cautious of her, so what?  she just has to show Natasha that her scars mirrored her owns, and that maybe they can at least start as two strangers who want to get to know each other.