High School Romanogers AU anyone? One last bit of Avengers fandom fluff before Infinity War destroys me.
Cute ass. At least, it would be if he would relax a little. There was not an unclenched muscle on that boy's six foot two inch body as he stood in the middle of the quad with a map in his hands and as he squinted at some buildings ahead of him. Natasha had popped out of her dormitory with the world looking like a blur - until he halted her mid-step. She decided to hang around to size him up, maybe introduce herself if he looked interesting enough. The sun was burning the back of her neck as she leaned against the wall; these were the days she lamented her preference for black. The guy's military-style uniform was a bit much, although the dark navy blue did make his eyes pop. When he took off his hat, Natasha realized his dark blond hair was shaved pretty close to his head. He should grow it out.
"Checking out the newbie, Natasha?" asked an upbeat female voice.
Natasha swiveled on her heels and saw Darcy Lewis, SHIELD Academy's head gossip, pointing her phone camera in the new guy's direction. Her tongue was poking out of the corner of her mouth as the camera snapped a photo.
"Hello, new screensaver!" drawled Darcy, sliding her phone into her back pocket once she had finished. "So, wanna know all the deets?"
"About what?" Natasha asked.
"Duh, Steve Rogers! He just transferred from a super fancy military academy in New York. I heard his dad is in the army and that he wants to be just like him. He's our year, you know."
"That's fascinating."
"I can get you his schedule if you want."
Natasha gave Darcy a look. "Has anyone ever told you to dial back on the stalker mode?"
"Dozens," replied Darcy. "It's a one time offer, darling. If not, I'll just be off."
Darcy was about to pull out her phone again, but she paused to look at Natasha, whom she caught glancing back at Steve despite the redhead's attempt to be subtle.
"One more thing," she said. "My sources tell me he had a breakup and he's still not over it."
"Darcy, what exactly are your 'sources'?"
"I went through his Facebook page. Tons of profile pics of him and this brunette, and then one day it was just pictures of himself, all sad but trying to hide it. But he still has a photo of her in his wallet. I saw it when I sold him a planner at the student store yesterday."
Natasha squinted. "You might be too observant for your own good."
Darcy cocked her head towards Steve and replied, "You might be, too."
As Darcy walked away, Natasha felt a familiar arm sling itself around her neck and smelled a familiar scent of way too much cologne. It was Clint Barton, her best friend since she first came to this boarding school in the sixth grade.
"Hey, sweet stuff," drawled Clint, leaning his mouth so close that the whiskers on his upper lip tickled her ear.
"Ugh, when are you going to shave that thing?" she said, swatting him away.
Clint laughed. "Nevah!"
Natasha rolled her eyes. "Fine. Let's get to class."
"Hey, who's that guy in the ROTC getup?"
Natasha shrugged. "Heck if I know."
It turned out that Natasha didn't need Darcy to get her the newbie's schedule (not that she had wanted it, mind you). She had him in three of her classes, including AP U.S. History, which was taught by her favorite teacher of all time, Mr. Fury. Natasha and Mr. Fury had connected for a lot of reasons when she first had him freshman year: they both liked to wear black, they hated General Patton, and they didn't take crap from anyone. She also liked how he wore sunglasses indoors all the time; she knew it wasn't a fashion statement because on the first day of school he informed everyone of a very unfortunate childhood incident involving a cat that was high on steroids clawing out his left eye. No one believed him, but she convinced him to show her the damaged eye after class. Cat or no cat, that man was a badass. Two years later, she and her classmates had gotten used to the unspoken fact that Natasha was Mr. Fury's favorite student. That is until Mr. Rogers came into town.
"Where did Robert E. Lee surrender the last major Confederate army?" asked Mr. Fury.
"Ugh, I know this one. It starts with an A…" thought Natasha as she tapped her black fingernail on her desk.
Before she could quite grasp it, a hand went up a few rows ahead of her.
"Mr. Rogers?" said Mr. Fury, glancing at Natasha.
"Appomattox," he answered. "Central Virginia."
"On what date?"
Mr. Fury often liked to throw a fly ball like this at students in case they got too cocky from answering one question correctly.
"April 9, 1865," Mr. Rogers replied without missing a beat.
Mr. Fury raised his eyebrows.
"To whom did Lee surrender?"
"Ulysses S. Grant."
Mr. Fury stepped forward and slammed his palms on Mr. Rogers' desk. The newbie didn't even flinch.
"What did the 'S' stand for?" asked Mr. Fury.
The newbie crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair.
"Trick question. He was baptized Hiram Ulysses Grant, but a congressman involved in his West Point application mistakenly named him Ulysses S. Grant for Simpson, his mother's maiden name, which was never actually part of Grant's name."
Mr. Fury threw up his hands and said, "The man's a Grade A genius! I have no more questions."
A few people applauded while the "Grade A genius" scratched his sideburn and turned away. Mr. Fury looked at Natasha and gestured to the new guy, but she just shook her head. After class was dismissed, Natasha walked down the aisle toward Steve, who was straightening his papers so they were perfectly aligned before sliding them into his military green folder. She waited beside his desk until he raised his head; his solid expression didn't change even when Natasha offered one of her slow, buttery smiles.
"No one's been able to get the best of Fury like that," she said. "Congratulations."
Steve stood up and nodded, making a weird grimace with his mouth that Natasha took to be a polite return to her smile. He walked away without a word. She knew it was immature, but she let her tongue stick out just slightly in his direction. Afterward, in practically every class session, Mr. Fury would randomly shoot the new kid a question about military history, which Steve would answer perfectly and then give credit to his dad for teaching him. On the days that he wore his JROTC uniform, Mr. Fury practically drooled on it as he recounted his days touring in the Vietnam War. The more Mr. Fury called on Steve Rogers, the less he called on his favorite redhead, as a few of her classmates oh so kindly pointed out to her. Natasha was more bugged by him blowing her off the first day than becoming Mr. Fury's new go-to student.
As if being in the same classes wasn't enough, Natasha kept seeing Steve at the gym whenever she worked out with Clint in the evenings. The main area of cardio machines wasn't so bad, since it was large and had so many options that people were easy to avoid. She ignored the shimmer of his sweat and the curves of his biceps and the stretched fabric of his shirt as much as her eyes would allow, which, if you're a straight female like her, is nearly impossible. Whenever Natasha did catch his face, his brow would be lowered in concentration and his lips would be pressed together so hard it was as if they were sealed with super glue. Apparently not even a jog on the treadmill could get him to loosen up.
The weightlifting room, meanwhile, was a quarter of the cardio room's size, leading to more intimacy than Natasha would like - but not just because of Steve. All the athletes and guys from the bodybuilding class always gave her a hard time about her presence. They tried to get Steve to join their banter against her, but one scowl and crash of a dumbbell on the ground gave them a hint to leave him alone. So, they let him be while they concentrated more of their energy in harassing her. Until Clint punched one of them in the nose before she had a chance to do so herself. She appreciated the gesture, but because Clint was temporarily banned from the gym and sent to detention for a month, it meant that she no longer had a spotter. Natasha would have to face the snickers and mockery on her own. Joy.
At least her gym outfit had style that could kill. She had a loose red tank top that had "#BEAST" in large white letters, her best sports bra (read: cleavage, but not too much cleavage), formfitting black yoga pants, and white and red sneakers that were only slightly worn. If you were to ask her who she was dressing to impress, you can be sure that Natasha didn't do it for the tight-lipped blond guy at the dumbbells. Never mind that she purposely positioned her butt to face him whenever she bent down to adjust the weight on the abs machine. Just when she started her second set of crunches, someone interrupted her.
"Well if it isn't Little Red!" cried Tony Stark, the richest boy at the academy. Need Natasha say more?
"Not in the mood, Stark," she gasped, slamming the weights as she fell back from her crunching position before rising up again.
"I just want to offer some friendly advice," he cooed. "I wouldn't bother with the abs workout if I were you. Guys don't like girls with bigger six-packs than them."
"So you admit we can get… bigger six-packs," Natasha replied between reps.
The weights slammed again, louder this time. Steve looked up, but Natasha was freshly occupied.
"Even if you could, it wouldn't look good for your dating prospects," said Tony.
Natasha forced a few more crunches to finish her set before responding: "Yeah… you've said that already. What if I'm not… interested... in dating?"
Tony snorted. "What else do women have to live for?"
Ignoring a thump on the other side of the room, Natasha seriously considered slamming the ball of her heel in the middle of Tony's crotch; Tony noticed her gaze and shifted, but she had already decided he wasn't worth the pleasure. Even if Clint kept going on about how satisfying it felt to break Loki Laufeyson's perfect, narrow little nose despite the consequences.
"Listen, I know why you're doing this," announced Natasha.
Tony cocked his head to the side and stroked his ratty goatee as he looked at her to continue.
"You have a little crush on me because you have a thing for redheads. You know, like that super cute senior that's in student government. What was her name again?"
As Natasha said this, she could see the panic creeping over Tony's features, as well as the reddening tips of his ears. Several of Tony's friends, who had been listening to their conversation while they lifted weights, leaned their heads closer. Natasha snapped her fingers and stood up.
"That's right! Her name is Pe-"
"All right, that's enough!" There was no denying now that Tony's ears were redder than chili peppers. "Just… go back to your stupid crunches."
Boy, was Natasha glad to have befriended Pepper Potts. Every day in calculus she listened to her complain about a rich daddy's boy trying to flirt with her, and it didn't take a lot of mental strength to figure out who that was. While Tony shoved his hands in his pockets and his friends sniggered at him, Natasha resumed her reps. Feeling a tingle in the back of her head, she saw the new guy passing her from behind with his gym bag hanging from one shoulder and his hands wrapped up like a boxer. On his way out, he bumped into Tony, who jerked his head as he eyed him. When the guy didn't glance back, Tony shrugged and chatted up another one of his friends. Natasha chose not to think much of it.
After intense cajoling on the part of Natasha and several other students, their English teacher Mr. Coulson dedicated a full class period to working on their papers for Hamlet in the computer lab. Natasha had chosen to interpret the character Ophelia in a feminist lens, mostly so her death wouldn't be so sad, but also because it was pathetic how few female characters were in the play (the only other one being Hamlet's mother/aunt… creepy, right?). For the first fifteen minutes, Mr. Coulson patrolled the computers like a cop, but then as usual he got caught up in a conversation with Audrey Nathan, the librarian. She was a cellist, as Mr. Coulson had mentioned in class about fifteen hundred times, give or take. Since their teacher was distracted, Tony and his goons decided to throw Cheetos across the table and play Star Wars games online. Tony put his feet up, which was unfortunate considering Natasha sat next to him and had to smell his foot stink seeping out of his Nike sneakers. Natasha began typing "TONY STANK" in bold letters, but quickly deleted it in case Mr. Coulson made a reappearance.
Crunch! A little orange dust settled on Tony's Black Sabbath shirt as he bit into another Cheeto with more force than necessary. He wanted her to look at him, which she humored long enough for a flickering glance. He extended the bag and shook it as if to say "You know you want it." Natasha turned away from him; if he wanted to waste computer lab time to listen to his iPod and turn his skin into the color of a carrot, she didn't care. The guy could do whatever he wanted until Mr. Coulson returned. He shoved another puff into his mouth. Crunch!
"Can you stop that?" someone whispered.
Natasha and Tony sat up straight. She leaned to the right to see Steve at the monitor across from her, with his cold blue eyes glaring at Tony.
"Sorry, I'll quiet it down," said Tony, not sounding all that apologetic.
"You're not supposed to eat in the library at all," said Steve.
"Oh, heaven forbid we get a few crumbs in the carpet."
Crunch!
"You're disturbing the peace," insisted Steve as quietly as his voice would allow. "Do I need to get Mr. Coulson?"
Tony seemed conflicted between sneering or straight up laughing in Steve's face.
"Hey, Snitch Rogers, you're not the librarian. Just relax."
"You mean goof off like you?"
By now Steve had forgotten to keep his voice in a whisper. Mr. Coulson, who had been leaning over the counter as he talked to Ms. Nathan, turned his head with quirked eyebrows. Natasha reached towards Tony's Cheetos bag while Tony put his feet down and narrowed his dark brown eyes at Steve.
"I could run circles around you in any academic subject even with half my brain-"
"So a quarter of the usual size, then?"
"Get a life, Rogers."
Steve opened his mouth to make fun of Tony's retort, but a Cheeto hitting him on the forehead stopped him. Startled, he looked in the direction it came from and realized Natasha was staring at him with buggy eyes and gesturing behind her with her thumb. Mr. Coulson was headed their way. Steve shot his eyes back to the computer screen and began typing what Natasha assumed was random crap about Hamlet.
"You're welcome," she thought.
Homecoming was in two weeks, and seventy five percent of the female population at SHIELD Academy were piling at the front steps of Steve Roger's dormitory on a daily basis. They had this fantasy where Steve would slam open the front doors and scoop them up in his beefy arms and whisk them away to the dance, wearing his well-pressed, tightly-fitting JROTC uniform to boot. Natasha knows this because she's had that fantasy in her dreams. Her subconscious was such a traitor. It didn't matter though, because she and Clint went to school functions together every year just to screw with the gossips that always thought they were a couple. They had never once held hands, let alone made out under the bleachers, yet people still liked to talk. Natasha enjoyed their tradition because she didn't have to think too much about what she was wearing or whether it was okay to burp because of that fizzy fruit punch. She shook the thought of her head as she skimmed the girls crowding the steps and occupying themselves with their phones to try to appear casual.
Natasha was working on a project with Pepper, who had texted to meet her here. Just when Natasha's vision narrowed on Pepper's petite form at the top of the steps, the door opened to reveal Steve in a blue and white checkered button-up, an old pair of jeans, and, oh geez, suspenders. Who wore those besides grandpas and computer geeks? Pepper reached towards him, but a couple of girls shoved her out of the way to toss their hair over their shoulders and ask him where he was headed. However, as Natasha walked toward them, Pepper rushed down to the bottom step in her two-inch heels and gripped Steve's shoulder like her hand was made out of steel pincers.
"Steve, there you are!" Pepper cried. "I've been wanting to talk to you about your nomination for Homecoming King."
Steve blinked. "I was nominated?"
"Duh, didn't you hear the announcement?"
Steve crossed his arms and looked at her with amusement in his eyes. Pepper seemed to have won this round; all the girls except Natasha trickled away.
Steve shrugged and quirked up the right side of his mouth. "I didn't really care to pay attention."
"Well, since you are nominated, I was going to offer you my services," said Pepper.
"As what?"
"Your campaign manager. Whatever you need, I'll do it. Make posters, create social media buzz, take polls, give advice on hair and clothes, be your date-"
"What?" Steve's square jaw went slack.
Pepper didn't acknowledge the effect of her last comment, but simply watched him with keen eyes. Steve chuckled awkwardly.
"Uh, thanks for the offer," said Steve, "but it's not necessary. I'm not much interested in Homecoming, whether I've been nominated or not."
"Oh."
"Yeah. Maybe that Stark guy wants your help. I heard him boasting about his nomination."
"Right." Natasha could tell Pepper wanted to roll her eyes.
"I should go to my ultimate frisbee club meeting," said Steve, waving at Pepper. "Thanks again!"
"Thanks a lot, Steve," Natasha thought savagely, "now she'll be too busy moping over you to work on our project."
As she and Pepper watched his diminishing form, Natasha recognized the flavor of jealousy in her thoughts. It didn't mean she didn't feel bad for Pepper though.
"I heard he had a bad breakup," Natasha said.
"Really?" questioned Pepper.
Natasha nodded. "Don't get too down about it. And hey, when he's not too busy being an ass, Tony can be a little cute."
Pepper snorted. "All right, stop trying so hard. Let's just work on our presentation."
Pepper Potts was not the only girl to get turned down by the new guy. Maria Hill, the sole female captain in JROTC. Wanda Maximoff, the beautiful Sokovian exchange student. Daisy "Skye" Johnson, the sarcastic computer hack. Jane Foster, the future Nobel Prize winner. Every one of them had been gently but firmly informed that Steve Rogers was not interested in Homecoming. It wasn't until Jane, who did the school announcements, sobbed after reading his name for Homecoming court that pretty much everyone understood that the guy meant what he said. Natasha thought that must have come as a great relief to the other boys at the academy, like Thor Odinson for example. And now Grant Ward and Lincoln Campbell could fight over Daisy in peace. She was glad she didn't have go through the humiliation her girlfriends and classmates endured. Who needed Steve when she had Clint?
"Hey, Nat…"
"Hi, Clint!" Natasha put him on speaker as she set her phone down on her bed and rifled through her closet. "I was just working on my outfit for Homecoming. I always forget what's the standard for semi-formal. You're not wearing a suit, right?"
"Uh, yeah about that - "
"You know I love black, but I just got a knockout red dress as a birthday present and I figured it would be a less depressing color."
Clint laughed weakly. "Probably."
"Oh, speaking of Homecoming, I just remembered. You should have heard Sharon Carter in the girl's bathroom today. Apparently she had made big glittery sign asking Steve Rogers to Homecoming in front of his ROTC buddies. She thought she could embarrass him into saying yes, but just like all the rest, he took her aside and told her that even if he were to go to Homecoming, it would just be with friends. She was fuming."
"Do you think you'd ask him?" Clint asked with obvious excitement.
"Uh, did you not hear what I just said? He's rejected every girl in school. Besides, we're already going."
"Well, that's what I need to talk to you about. Laura's asked me to the dance."
Natasha had been holding her red dress over her body as she looked at herself in the mirror; at Clint's words, she instantly dropped the dress. She stood gawking at her phone for a solid twenty seconds.
"You mean the girl you've been in love with since the sixth grade?" she asked, grabbing the phone and holding it up to her ear.
"That's the one, heh. Listen, I told her I needed to talk to you first, so don't think I'm just dropping you like deadweight."
"I'm not sure there's any other way to do it." Natasha put a brave smile on even though Clint couldn't see it. "I can't get in the way of you and your crush, and I sure don't feel like being a third wheel."
"We wouldn't mind…"
"Shut up, Clint. You're lying through your teeth. It's okay, I'll be fine."
"Now how's the one lying?"
"Take. Laura. Okay? And get her flowers to make up for not saying yes right away. There is nothing worse than asking a guy out and and getting 'I have to think about it.'"
"Better than outright rejection though, right?"
Steve's face flashed in Natasha's mind as she replied, "Right."
No one knew this about Natasha, not even Clint, but sometimes she went to the empty bleachers after class to think to herself. She would run to the top of the bleachers, look back and forth to double check that she was alone, and, if she was, stretch out on one of the benches with her sweater as a pillow. She would stare at the sky, tracing the outlines of the clouds with the movement of her eyes, or exploring the different shades of blue from horizon to horizon. Some days, she would get so lost in her gazing that an hour would pass before she checked her phone for the time. The days that the sky was totally empty were the best, because then it was easier to visualize her mind becoming just as clear. No school assignments, no friend drama, no family stress. And definitely no Steve Rogers.
"Hey, Steve, wait up!" called a male voice.
Well, so much for that.
Natasha rolled to her side and saw Steve in a white T-shirt with rolled up sleeves and dark blue gym shorts running down the track. From underneath the bleachers popped out Sam Wilson, whom she assumed was the one who had called to Steve. Since he was listening to music on his earbuds, Sam had to sprint forward and tap him on the shoulder to get him to stop. Natasha didn't know if this was considered spying (okay, it was), but she carefully lowered herself from the bench, crawled under it, and looked at Sam and Steve through the gaps of the bench and chain link fence in front of her.
"Hey, Sam," greeted Steve, rubbing sweat from his temple. "Care to join me for a run?"
"Not today," answered Sam. "I wanted to ask you about Homecoming."
"Oh, not you, too," groaned Steve, but Natasha could see he was smiling. "I'm not going to be your date, okay?"
"Pfft, you wish I was asking you out," said Sam. "Nah, I was rounding up some people to carpool there. No date required, but, well, it's not prohibited either."
Steve shook his head. "Sam, there is only one girl I want to take to that dance, and she's not interested."
Natasha perked up, tempted to poke out of her hiding spot to get a better look at them. She just managed to restrain herself.
"I'm sorry about your breakup, but don't you think Peggy would want you to move on?" asked Sam.
"So Darcy was right after all," thought Natasha.
Steve shook his head. "I wait my whole life for the right partner, and when she finally comes, it gets blown to bits."
"You are sixteen years old, Steve. With that pretty face of yours, I don't think you'll have much trouble finding a partner before your best years are behind you."
Steve chuckled. "Thanks, Sam."
Steve's eyes wandered to the bleachers, squinting when he didn't seem to find something he was expecting to see. Natasha squirmed.
"What is it?" asked Sam.
Steve blinked and ran his fingers through his fluffed up blond hair, which had grown a few inches since he first came to the school. An improvement, as Natasha had suspected it would be.
"Nothing, I thought I had seen someone up there earlier," answered Steve. "I'd be down to carpool."
Was it pathetic how pleased Natasha felt to hear that Steve had noticed her on the bleachers? Then again, he wasn't very specific. She could have been anyone for all he cared.
"Are you sure you don't want to run a mile or two with me?" Steve asked Sam. "I'll do whatever I can to help you keep up. I'll run backwards!"
Steve jogged backwards as he circled around Sam a couple of times.
"Or I can do it one foot to make it even easier!"
Steve grabbed his right foot and began hopping around Sam like a deranged bunny, sticking out his tongue for extra comic effect. Sam doubled over with laughter, while Natasha covered her snort with her hand.
"Wow, Steve," said Sam as soon as he had regained his breath. "How do you have friends?"
Steve shrugged and plugged his headphones back in, while Sam waved goodbye and walked away. Natasha waited until Steve's back was to her before she popped out from her hiding spot and tiptoed down the steps. Unfortunately, she found Sam leaning against one of the supporting poles when she reached the bottom.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded, her face burning.
"I knew you were spying on us," replied Sam. "Got the eyes of a falcon." (1)
Natasha pouted, and Sam chuckled.
"How… how did you get him to be like that?" she inquired.
"Like what?"
"He acted so silly, teasing you and jumping on one foot. He seems so uptight."
"Oh, that. You should come to the ultimate frisbee practices. It's wild."
"Hm."
Natasha scratched her arm and looked away. Sam cocked his head.
"Would you be interested in going to Homecoming together?" he asked.
Natasha snapped her head up, and Sam stepped back, embarrassed.
"I mean carpooling, not… a date," he corrected.
"I don't know if that's a good idea," she said.
"Come on, Steve will be there." Sam raised his eyebrows suggestively.
"That's why I don't think it will be a good idea."
"Huh, usually that's a major selling point. Don't you like him? You did just eavesdrop on him."
"How can I like him? I don't even know him. Anyway, there's no point. He's ignored every other girl, so there's no reason I'm any different."
Sam slid his hands into his pockets as he took a couple of steps away from her. "You should think a little more highly of yourself. Steve seems to."
Natasha frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Later, Nat!" cried Sam, raising a hand and trotting off.
Natasha stared at Sam's diminishing form, considering turning back to the track and asking Steve what exactly he's been saying about her. If he were anyone else, she would have done it. But something about that boy was too intimidating. She walked away from the track.
Since her bleacher meditation had been interrupted that day, Natasha decided that after dinner she needed to find a different sanctuary as a backup. Mandatory study hall was in an hour and sunset was in half an hour, so she was in a bit of a hurry. She walked up and down the avenues between Mediterranean style buildings with high arches and silver gates and bubbling fountains inside. She passed the sleek gym with its state of the art machines, the two-story library, and the Spanish Renaissance chapel with the stained glass window of the Virgin Mary. (That was a title Natasha never understood, because by the end of her life it was well known that she had lost her virginity, and if the nuns who taught sex ed at her old Catholic school were right, that's not something you can get back). She was still pondering on this when she noticed the silhouette of a person sitting on the adjoining roof to the chapel. Natasha swiveled her eyes back and forth for any onlookers; seeing none, she approached a window ledge and planted her foot on it, pushing herself up as she grabbed the edge of the roof. After a couple of false starts, she hauled herself up (thank you, biweekly pull-ups!), swung one leg, and then the other until she was securely on top. She scrambled behind the bell in case someone passed the chapel and looked at what she had come up for. He was sitting cross-legged near the edge of the roof and tapping a pencil on the edge of a sketchbook on his lap as he watched the orange and pink horizon. When she recognized his broad shoulders and blond hair, Natasha shrank back, almost hitting the bell. She had better climb down before he noticed.
"Where I come from, it's polite to say hello instead of staring at their back," he said suddenly.
Natasha jumped, and then cursed under her breath.
"Careful, we're on the roof of a holy place," he teased, closing his sketchbook and turning to face her.
There he was with his high cheekbones, square jaw, and the dimming sun behind him that set the tips of his hair aglow. It wasn't fair.
"We're not supposed to be up here," she blurted.
"You didn't have to come up here," he pointed out.
Natasha crossed her arms and walked closer, stopping three feet away from him when his smile became suffocating.
"I wanted to know why someone was on the roof," she said. "And now that I see it's you, I want to know why a guy who can't stand someone eating a couple Cheetos in a library would break the rules now."
"I've read the handbook. Technically, there is no rule that says you can't climb buildings."
There was the nerd Natasha knew. Sort of knew.
"I think it's a very clear unspoken rule," she asserted.
"I didn't just do it for kicks," he replied. "I come up here for the view."
Steve opened his sketchbook to the page he had been working on, showing an almost exact replica of the main quad, the courtyards, and the building tops all the way to the other end of the campus.
"Wow," Natasha whispered, stepping closer.
Steve offered the book to her, and she cradled it in her arms.
"Can I see your other stuff?" she inquired.
Steve shrugged, which she took as a yes.
As she flipped the pages, gawking at the detail he put into the simplest of drawings, she asked, "How long have you been an artist?"
"As soon as I could hold a pencil, pretty much."
"You should do this for a living."
"My dad says it's impossible to get a career in the arts. He thinks I'm better off as an engineer."
Natasha wrinkled her nose. "That doesn't sound fun."
Steve didn't reply for a moment. Natasha came across a couple of sketches of a cute, dark-haired girl and quickly moved on.
"What do you want to do?" he asked.
"Join the FBI or something," Natasha replied, chuckling. "Honestly, I don't know. I like dancing, but my parents tell me the same thing your dad does."
"Parents suck, don't they?"
Steve and Natasha laughed, then settled into a comfortable pause.
"Hey, about the Cheetos thing…" began Steve.
"Yeah?"
"It wasn't so much the fact that someone was eating in the library, it was that Tony was doing it."
Natasha sort of understood, but she still had to ask, "Do you have something against him?"
"Don't you? He's such an ass to you. The way he treated you at the gym…"
Steve clenched his jaw at the thought, which Natasha didn't fail to notice.
"I'm used to it," she said.
"Yeah, well, I'm not," muttered Steve.
"You will be," she assured. "You've only been here a few months. Speaking of, how do you like it here?"
"It's great. The teachers are pretty cool, I like the material we're learning, and I've made a lot of friends in ROTC and ultimate frisbee."
"Do you miss your old school?"
Steve winced. "Yeah. I was thinking of going to their Homecoming, but it's the same weekend as ours."
"Well, you can't miss ours. You could be voted Homecoming King."
Steve rolls his eyes. "That is the last thing I care about."
"What do you care about?"
"Peggy."
From the look on his face as soon as he said it, Natasha knew he hadn't meant to voice that.
"Is she your girlfriend?" she asked.
"Used to be," groaned Steve. "She didn't want a long-distance relationship, even if it was just across states."
"Long-distance is always difficult. She probably didn't want you to try so hard when you two were going to drift apart anyway."
"I think that's what she told me."
Before she realized it, Natasha had laid a hand on his arm. Both of them froze for a second, but when Steve relaxed under her touch, so did she.
"Is that why you've said no to all those other girls?" she questioned.
"Partly. But I was more bothered by how much they were into me when I'd only been here for such a short time. They were going more on my looks than who I was. If I had said yes, I would've felt like some sort of trophy."
Natasha laughed. "You are pretty shiny. A little too much for my taste, though."
Steve smirked. "Right, because you're already going with that Barton guy."
"Clint? Oh, we were going to go as friends, but then he got a date."
Steve's eyes widened. "So he just left you hanging?"
"He talked with me first about it, but he really liked her so I told him to go for it."
"You're a good friend."
"Thanks. It's really too bad. We were planning to drive Darcy and the other gossip girls crazy by acting all sappy and kissy-faced like in those chick flicks and then tell them we were just friends."
"Sounds fun. Would you consider me as a substitute?"
"You?"
Natasha reached under her coat and pinched herself, but Steve was still sitting in front of her with his question hanging in the air.
"Why do you want to go with me?" she asked.
"You're the only one who hasn't wanted anything from me," said Steve. "You've just minded your own business. I think that's cool."
"All the girls at school will be pissed if we go to Homecoming together."
"Isn't that what you and Clint were planning anyway?" Steve raised his eyebrows as Natasha considered. He held out his hand. "What do you say? Wanna make Darcy Lewis lose her mind?"
Grinning, Natasha clapped her hand to his and squeezed with as much force as she could; she noted his surprise with some smugness.
"It's a date," she said.
Natasha knew that Sam's crew had arrived when she heard rap music and high-pitched laughter arrive at the street corner that she was waiting at. She squeezed on her purse handle and plunged through the car door before she could rethink it. Sam's van was dark, so she could only see silhouettes. None of them looked Steve-sized, and her heart clenched as she considered the possibility that he had stood her up in favor of winning back his ex at the other Homecoming.
"Natasha?" whispered someone from behind.
Natasha yelped, and for a moment the car swerved.
"Holy - you trying to kill us, Nat?" scolded Sam.
"Sorry!" Natasha said in unison with the person behind her.
Natasha turned around, but she saw nothing but a black blob.
"Is… that you, Steve?" she asked.
"Yes, sorry!"
Natasha, grateful that Steve couldn't see her relieved grin, replied: "Okay, just checking. Who else is here?"
"Let's wait until were there," said Sam. "For the sake of safe driving."
The lighting in the parking lot wasn't much better, but at least Natasha could tell the difference between people. She knew Wanda, who wouldn't stop poking her brother Pietro in the ribs and snickering when he jumped. From what Natasha heard, Pietro was the star track runner that broke every record for short-distance racing. She didn't know Scott Lang, but he seemed like a mixture of awkwardly funny and too handsome for his own good. She did know Jessica Jones, who had apparently ditched the sparkle dress idea for a black leather jacket and purple lipstick. Natasha planned to befriend her some time during the night. And then there stood Steve Rogers.
Steve had dressed in all black, except for a scarlet tie (which matched her dress) and red-and-white converse with missing shoelaces. At her request, he had ditched the suspenders. Unable to suppress the glee, Natasha absorbed his combed back hair and row of white teeth and clapped her hands. She itched to start skipping, a temptation she avoided by holding onto his elbow instead as they walked to the dance. She could feel the boom of the base at her feet as they approached the glittery red and yellow doors. As anticipated, Darcy and the other gossips were positioned by the entrance to snap pictures with their iPhones and ask who thinks who will win Homecoming court. She and Steve stared straight ahead as they walked arm-in-arm through the paparazzi; their mouths trembled from trying to keep their laughter at bay. They almost lost it when they heard Darcy's strangled gasp.
"O. M. G. Do you my eyes deceive me?" she cried. "Is the elusive bachelor Steve Rogers here with a date? With dance prodigy Natasha Romanoff? How did this happen?"
"No questions," deadpanned Steve.
Natasha snorted into her hand.
"You saw it here first, folks!" exclaimed Darcy. "#Stasha was born here at #SHIELDHomecoming16."
"Is she recording us?" asked Natasha.
"That she is," replied Steve.
"Seriously, no details of how you got together?" asked Darcy's partner Ian as he practically shoved his camera into Natasha's face.
"We never said we were dating," informed Natasha.
"Never said we weren't, either," added Steve with a straight face.
While Darcy and the others screeched, Steve whisked Natasha to the snack table and grabbed her a punch. The drink tasted fruity and tart as Natasha swished it around in her mouth.
"Dance prodigy, eh?" asked Steve.
"You win one state competition…" mumbled Natasha.
"Your skills could come in handy here. I have no idea how to dance."
"What? How did your old girlfriend stand for it?"
Steve smiled. "Never got around to teaching me. We're here now though."
After about two minutes, Natasha regretted wearing open-toed shoes. Another stomp on her pinky toe and she would need to amputate that thing, but she bared her teeth to mask the pain. Steve threw his hands up.
"I'm sorry, we should get off the dance floor," he sighed.
Natasha snatched his hand. "Don't you dare. Just… dance next to me. Follow my lead."
Steve shook his head. "I so have a type."
Blinking, Natasha was about to ask what that meant when Sam and their friends started to crack up.
"You guys are trending," Sam informed them, handing Steve his phone.
"I ship it," piped up Clint.
Practically every post with the homecoming hashtag featured pictures and/or comments of Steve taking Natasha to Homecoming. He scrolled very quickly past the angry fangirl rants, Natasha noticed. However, he stopped altogether at a candid of the two of them laughing by the punch bowl: her green eyes squinted, their hands lightly entwined, his hand clapped to the left side of his chest (2).
"I'll have to find that and save it later," he muttered.
"Send it to me, too," she urged.
Before Steve could answer, Pepper stepped up to the stage and tapped the microphone.
"It's time to announce the Homecoming King and Queen," she announced.
"I voted for you," whispered Natasha.
"I voted for Thor," whispered Steve.
Natasha shoved him.
"It was a close call, but the final count goes in favor of… Carol Danvers!" cried Pepper.
Applause followed as a beaming Carol flew to the stage and leaned her head to let Pepper place the plastic gold crown on her head. Carol offered a sweet thank you speech. Natasha thought she deserved the title after all the hard work she put in as president of the student government.
"As for our Homecoming King, I don't think the winner will come as a surprise to anyone," said Pepper. "By a landslide vote, our new king is none other than Steve Rogers!"
Half the room erupted in high-pitched screams. Natasha, cackling, pushed Steve to the stage and encouraged him with a kick to his calf when he still hesitated. He grimaced. Since the crown was too big for his head, it slid down on one side as he bent towards the microphone.
"Uh, you sure you don't want to do a recount?" he questioned.
Everyone laughed.
"I want to say thanks for treating this new kid so well," Steve added. "I promise to try to be a good leader until my reign ends at eleven o'clock."
"Long live King Steve!" shouted someone who sounded suspiciously like Clint.
"Long live King Steve!" echoed the students.
"And long live Queen Carol!" shouted Darcy from the front row.
Natasha and the other female students applauded to that.
"The king and queen will now have their dance," announced Pepper.
Steve put one hand on Carol's waist and held her hand with the other as they swayed to and fro in the center of the dance floor. Of course, they kept a respectful distance from each other. Several other couples slow danced on the side, but most eyes stayed on the king and queen. Natasha noticed Carol's boyfriend Michael Rossi tapping his foot.
"I feel you, bro," she thought with amusement.
"Care to dance, Red?" asked a lazy voice behind her.
Natasha turned to see Tony with his tie undone and his hands stuffed in the pockets of his dark blue jeans.
"You must be joking," Natasha scoffed.
"No," he said. "Your date's abandoned you, hasn't he?"
"For one dance."
"You didn't deny he was your date. So it's true?"
Natasha glanced at Carol and Steve as they had a conversation she couldn't hear.
"We're friends," she informed Tony.
"Then nothing's stopping you from dancing with me."
"Except that I despise you more than high fructose corn syrup."
"Fine." Tony began pumping his arms and bouncing up and down on his heels.
"What are you doing?" Natasha asked, crossing her arms and squinting. "Are you trying to dance with me still?"
"Dancing by myself, I just happen to be near you," Tony responded.
Natasha couldn't help it; she laughed and started shifting her weight from side to side and bopping her head.
"Are you dancing with me?" Tony asked with a bright smile.
"Dancing by myself, I just happen to be near you," Natasha mocked.
Tony extended his hand and bowed. She shook her head, but he reached for her with his wriggling fingers while Natasha snickered. Natasha noticed Steve's eyes on them, and then he whispered in Carol's ear and released her. He marched towards her and Tony.
"Uh-oh," she muttered.
Tony straightened.
"What are you doing, Tony?" Steve demanded. "That's my date you're trying to make the moves on."
"Make the moves?" thought Natasha.
Tony raised his hands. "I didn't see you around to dance with her."
Steve dug his finger into Tony's chest. "You've got some nerve trying anything with her after treating her so badly."
"Steve, I can handle him fine," Natasha sighed.
"I know," Steve huffed. "That's why I haven't said anything until now, but enough's enough" Steve glared at Tony. "I know you're doing this because you're pissed I won instead of you. Here, take the crown, dance with Carol, make a speech, I don't care."
Steve shoved the crown in Tony's face, curled his arm around Natasha's shoulders, and gave Tony a mock salute.
"Hey, if you don't want it, I'll gladly take it," drawled Tony, settling the crown on his head. "But I was just trying to have a good time here." Tony's teasing eyes shifted to Natasha. "Just friends indeed."
As Tony walked away, Natasha asked, "Steve, what was that?"
Steve dropped his arms and looked at the ground. "I don't know."
Natasha stared. "You were jealous."
"No," he scoffed.
A grin broke out on Natasha's face. "You were totally jelling. Jelly belly. Jelly-nor Roosevelt."
"That last one didn't even make sense."
"I don't care because you were jealous and that's why Tony drove you so crazy."
Natasha sounded giddy. Steve didn't respond, so she sauntered close and bumped her hip against him.
"Thought you were still hung up on Peggy," Natasha teased.
"I am," he replied. "I thought I was. But I - I don't know. I think you're… It's been so… And I'm…"
His eyes lingered on hers.
"I'm an idiot," he said.
"And all this time I thought you were an unfriendly stick in the mud," she said.
"What?" Steve looked insulted.
"Don't you remember brushing me off the first day we met? In Fury's class?"
"Oh," he said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude."
"You weren't, you just kept your distance. I can respect that. Heck, I go out to the bleachers to escape other people."
"I knew that was you!" he cried.
Natasha smirked, and he flinched like he knew he'd been caught.
"I'm not good around girls," said Steve. "Strangers in general. People in my hometown used to look down on me because I was a puny sick kid. Then puberty hit and all of a sudden everyone looked at me like a Greek god."
"Eh, I don't know about that. Maybe an Adonis."
Steve blushed. "Anyway, after that I started feeling suspicious of anyone who tried to be friendly with me, including you. I'm sorry."
"Dude, we're here now. Who cares?"
He laughed. Natasha thought that Steve's smile had the power to end wars.
"Would it be a bad idea for me to kiss you?" he asked.
Natasha glanced at Darcy and the gossips, who paused from fanning themselves after all their dancing and whipped out their phones, as if they sensed what was about to happen.
"Not a bad idea at all," Natasha answered.
Then, in an unprecedented move, Steve swept her into his arms and dipped her, causing an uproar so loud that it drowned out the music and every sensible thought in Natasha's head. His lips touched hers, and she drifted her hands across his ruffled hair and down to his neck as she pressed deeper into the kiss. If she could see herself, she'd probably throw up at how disgustingly cute it all was.
She had a feeling that their friends were going to be a pain in the ass after this.
(1) I know, really bad joke. Avengers puns are life.
(2) Left boob grab ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
I hope Steve didn't feel too OOC to anyone, but he really can be uptight sometimes. I think that's why I identify with him so much. ;)
This fic has been on my computer for a loooooooooooooong time. Like, at least three years. I ran out of steam after building on an AU idea I wrote on my tumblr, and I thought what I had thus far was not good enough to publish. After a year I reopened it and realized I didn't hate it as much as I thought I would. I added a bit of dialogue and then forgot about it. After another year, I opened it again and finally, FINALLY finished it.
In case you've ever wondered what my process is as a fanfic writer.