Eeeeeeeyyyyyyyy what's up guys? Long time no see!
I am still in retirement, so don't get your hopes up. I am not going to start spouting off on major stories or anything like that. But I did promise y'all one-shots every now and again. So here is one. Avengers romantic fluff crap. And yes, those are the tags.
This story came to me, literally, in a dream I had. Upon waking, I realized that it was the best dream I've ever had in a long time. No, it wasn't a wet dream. Pervs. It was really romantic, and the girl in it, I just knew, was Black Widow. Very odd.
So this story is basically the telling of the dream, with a few embellishments, and the addition of myself into the story. I'm writing myself as an OC, but really, it is me.
Everything about me is true(to a degree). Except my name, pretty much everything else is the story of my life. And it really meant a lot to me to write it down. But the term Schatzi is one that we used in our family for the longest time. Even had a dog named that. It really means a lot to me, and I hope that you appreciate what I am presenting you with.
The Mighty Avengers aspect came from me purchasing and reading Mighty Avengers Vol. 1. Really good book, and I enjoyed the idea of autonomous Avengers not having to answer to the government, or S.H.I.E.L.D., or anything like that. Appeals to the libertarian in me.
And the Eurythmics part was in the dream. Got it stuck in my head all day.
So, here it is! Enjoy! And don't forget to hide your porn... you dirty teenagers.
I couldn't hear my footsteps as I walked into the crowded bar on 23rd and Main. There were so many people around me, pushing into me, that I had to angle my body and cut through the sea of people to get to the bar.
The Gentlemen's Gentleman was an old establishment that my grandfather had frequented. When he passed away, my dad filled his reserved spot at the polished wood. And now, when I clocked out of my job as a Mighty Avenger, I would find my way to that stool, plant my ass, and order Roger's finest Deutsch ale.
Roger was, like me, second generation American, with his ancestry going back to the oldest of butler families in Yorkshire, England, whereas my folks got off the boat shortly after leaving Berlin in '46. We both had history over in Europe, and our fathers and grandfathers had been good friends throughout the pub's time, swapping old stories and sharing a good laugh. The occasional debate would spring up, but it was a good-natured argument, and one that often followed which alcoholic beverage was actually drinkable.
"How's world domination, skull?" Roger asked me, his thick, handlebar mustache bristling, handing me my drink.
"I could ask you the same thing", I replied, gesturing out to the crowded area. He shook his head, moving on to the next order.
It was a secret only I and Roger knew, a secret passed on from my grandfather to his grandfather. Old Opa's family name was Shmidt, and he was actually the nephew of the infamous Red Skull. Opa kept the name, determined to remain true to his family's heritage, but Dad changed it to Smith when he was 18. It was easier to say "Smith's Plumbing" for common New Yorkers.
I remember Opa on in the hospital, his eyes brightening when I walked in in my S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform, just out of the academy. Finally, he said, a son who will return honor to Shmidt family. He and Dad never saw eye-to-eye after Dad said he didn't want to become a pilot.
The guys in my squad always made fun of me at first, calling me "Agent Smith," referencing Hugo Weaving's character in the Matrix. It was funny the first five minutes. After that, I was sick and tired of being the "funny guy" of the squad. So I volunteered for solo work. That included interrogating HYDRA suspects during my first mission. I got the info, delivered it to Coulson, and immediately went outside his office and threw up all over the hallway.
That was my first time meeting an Avenger. There I was, on my knees, my face pale and sweaty, green and yellow sick on the floor, when I saw his black boots in front of me. I stood up swiftly, trying to ignore the feeling of light-headedness and self-disgust that flooded my being.
"Bad lunch, bub?" Wolverine asked me, looking me up and down, then he sniffed. "Oh, that's not food. That's loathing I smell."
For the next few hours, I talked to him, trying to get past the sense of hatred I felt toward myself. I knew of Logan's checkered past, and wondered if he thought I was a pussy, or weak, or not cut out for the job. But I realized I didn't care. I told him flat out that I would not do that kind of work anymore. He just looked at me, and said…
"Bub, you're a better man than I am. Don't ever lose that."
I sat at the bar, thinking about what he told me. He certainly wasn't the last Avenger I ever met or encountered. There was a memorable investigation involving Spider-Man, a rainy op in the Amazons with Thor, and one time when Captain America, the First Avenger, took command of our forces in the Savage Land to guide us safely out of that horrible place. But it was always Wolverine that I remembered first when someone said "Avenger."
As a solo agent, I got to pick my jobs, almost like a mercenary, but with the full backing and support of the U.S. government. And that did not to sit right with me. I almost couldn't tell the difference between guys like me and guys like Taskmaster, or Deadpool. That's when I decided to leave S.H.I.E.L.D. and join Luke Cage's Mighty Avengers, a non-profit, off the books Avengers team that did real good in the world. I felt like I could make up for the many mistakes I had made.
As I drank my first ale slowly, I looked around at the crowd of people. There were quite a lot of S.H.I.E.L.D. people here tonight, from consultants, to agents, to…
That's when I saw her. She was holding a glass of some Russian beer, her red hair cascading down around her shoulders, her bangs hiding half of her face from view. I recognized her instantly.
Natasha Romanov, the Black Widow.
I'd seen her before, along with Agent Fury, Hawkeye, and Spider-Woman during a covert op in the Philipines. They were the Secret Avengers, Steve Rogers' black ops team. I tore my gaze away from her for a second, scanning the room. I located Clint Barton and Nick Fury some ways away, Fury trying to talk Barton down from using the karaoke machine. I turned my eyes back to see the Widow, but she was gone.
I froze. A strange, cold sensation washed over me. There was a saying among S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, a saying that I found rang true over and over.
A trained S.H.I.E.L.D. agent can detect someone watching them in five seconds.
The Black Widow can do in two.
I turned around. She was right there, right in front of me, barely a foot away. At this distance, I could see every feature on her face, her beautiful complexion, her piercingly green eyes, narrowed at me, her full lips pursed in thought.
"I get a lot of looks," she said to me, and there was no trace of her native Russian accent in her voice. "I'm used to it. But you scouted out my teammates too. Who-?"
"Smith, J., Agent-1138, ex-S.H.I.E.L.D.," I rattled off quickly, wincing slightly. "Please don't kill me." The hard look on her face softened, and a small smile appeared on her face.
"Well, all right then," she said, sitting on the stool next to me. "Now I remember you, you were in Manila that one time."
"Couple of months ago, yeah," I replied. "Can I buy you a drink?"
"Only if it's not that German piss you're imbibing," she scoffed. I eyed her narrowly. Super spy or no, I won't let that slight go by. But she grinned, and I realize she was joking.
"At least I can imbibe it," I retorted, smirking. "Unlike that Russian sludge. You guys ferment onions to get that shit, or what?"
She punched me on the shoulder, and I inwardly breathe a sigh of relief. First impressions are everything, especially to a very attractive, highly lethal, super spy Avenger like Natasha Romanov.
We got to talking, and found that conversation flowed easily between us. Within five minutes, I made her laugh, a deep, throaty, almost musical sound that revealed her St. Petersburg upbringing. As we talked, I learned a lot about her. Who she really was, past all the lies and the spies and the secrets. I discovered who she really was, at her core.
She was a hero. One I could look up to.
"I never knew my family," she said at one point. "I wish I did. Then again, they were probably evil scientists or something. What kind of parents would give their daughter to the KGB?"
"Well, you'd have to ask what kind of parents, sure," I replied. "But how do you know they were alive at that time? Maybe you were an orphan."
"It's possible," she said, shrugging. "I haven't looked, because honestly, I'm scared at what I might find." She gazed somberly into her glass. "Bet you had a normal, wonderful childhood."
"I did," I said. "Knew my mom and dad, both brought me up, loved me, cared for me, taught me how to function like a normal human being." I looked at her. "Most of the shit that's happened in my life was due to me."
"You used to be an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.," Natasha said. "A field agent. No one is a field agent without some baggage."
"In my case, being an agent caused the baggage," I admitted. "Which is why I turned in my badge."
"And now you're an Avenger," Natasha finished. "Working for Cage."
"Working for myself," I corrected. "I want to give back a little. Kinda like why you became a full-time Avenger."
"Touche," she said, tipping her glass.
The crowd began to thicken, and people moved into the middle to dance. I asked Natasha if she wanted to dance. She declined, but only because she said she wasn't a good dancer. I didn't dance either, only asking out of courtesy. Clint Barton was starting to sing loudly into the mic, having picked a Eurythmics song, but singing a different Eurythmics song, and butchering both.
"Sweet dreams are made of these…" he warbled.
"Hey," Natasha said, putting a hand over the top of my glass. "Do you have a girlfriend? Or a wife?"
"Of course I do," I replied quickly. "She lives in Canada, she moved away, you don't know her." We laughed for a minute. "No, I don't. Last girl thought I was an actual superhero, bless her heart."
"And you aren't?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "I thought that was a requirement to be an Avenger, even a Mighty one."
"Hardly," I countered. "They hired a bunch of those Spiderling guys before I got there. You know, the ones Spidey was using back when Doc Ock was possessing him."
"Well, I think a hero is someone who makes a stand on principle," Natasha said. "You did."
"I don't wear spandex," I argued.
"Tell you a secret? It's not spandex. It's Kevlar-lined fiber weave. Unless you're really bold. Then it's leather."
We held eye contact for two seconds before snorting in laughter.
"Some of them want to be used byyyyy youuuu…"
I don't know why I did it. Maybe it was for the "fuck it" of it all, or maybe it was the alcohol. I only had four or five beers, and my German heritage gave me a hard constitution. Or maybe it was just the fact that I wanted to do it and damn it all, I was going to be a man about it.
She was swaying in time to the music, ignoring her partner's off-key singing. I stared at her perfect face for a second, then I leaned forward, put my hand around her shoulder, and kissed her. It lasted for a second, then I broke it off.
There was a look of stunned surprise on her face, and I thought I'd blown it. I felt my face turn red from embarrassment.
"I'm sorry-," I startled to mumble.
She grabbed the back of my head, and pulled me into a second kiss, harder than the first, her lips pressed hard against mine. I tasted the cherry on her breath, feeling the bottom of my stomach give out.
"Who am I to disagreeeeee…?"
A few hours later, we were lying in bed, in my apartment, our clothes on the floor, catching our breath.
You know the body Widow has? It's all real. From her toned legs, to her soft breasts, she is the most beautiful woman I've ever romanced. And romance it certainly was.
As she snuggled next to me, our bodies still radiating the heat we'd generated, her hair splayed around us, I realized I didn't want her to ever leave. I loved her. I'd fallen in love with Natasha Romanov, and judging by her continued presence, she felt the same way, at least a little.
"You sure you don't have a little Super Soldier in you?" she asked me jokingly. I grinned.
"No more than the next guy, schatzi," I said. She looked at me with confusion.
"What does that mean?" she asked. "I speak German fluently, but I've never heard that word."
"It's a form of endearment," I explained. "We used in our family, a carry-over from the old country. It can refer to a loved one, family, a lover, even a close friend."
"That's sweet," Natasha said, smiling. "I like that. 'Schatzi…'"
"It's commonly used to refer to pets like dogs," I continued. She slapped my chest in mock anger, before laying her head next to mine. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them. Her emerald orbs seemed to glow in the dark, seeing into my very soul.
"I enjoyed this… this evening. Spending this time with you. I would… very much like to see you again."
"I would too," I said. "You never know when you might be called to space, or something." She nodded, biting her lip.
"I don't want to rush into things," she said. "There are things about me… things you might not like."
"I believe that," I said. "You're probably right. But if you can overlook my faults… then I can overlook yours."
She closed her eyes again, the small smile playing over her lips.
"German swine."
"Russian pig."
The next morning I woke up, and she was gone. I mentally berated myself. Did I really think she was going to fall for a guy like me? I'm a second-rater with a cheesy code name, my quote-unquote "baggage" is child's play compared to hers, and I'm not that interesting. Get over yourself, I thought.
But then I rolled over, and found her note. And when I read it, I felt a joy rush through me that I haven't felt in a long time.
Got the call on my Avengers card. I didn't want to wake you. Here's my number.
Call me?
-Schatzi.
Thank you, and good night.