Author: Snarkcasm
Rating: Teen for later canon violence
Summary: Avengers casefic with Black Widow and Hawkeye being BAMFs. Nothing more, nothing less
Chapter Summary: Natasha has to go undercover with one Steve Rogers. She is not amused by the peanut gallery
Warning(s): Don't ask questions, just read. Could be read as pre-slash Steve/Tony because I DO WHAT I WANT!
Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the Avengers, Marvel or any of the characters mentioned in the story. This is a story of fiction and I make no money from it.
Author's Note:I got my idea for this from a tumblr post. Thank you so much, fuzzyraccoon. Located here: fuzzyraccoon(dot)tumblr(dot)com/post/24393414696
Undercover 101
He's cute. If you happen to like the wholesome, clean cut Americana he represents. And she doesn't. She doesn't. She's Russian, and while she might only feel the slightest patriotic stirrings at the bottom of a bottle nowadays, she still remembers the Cold War and the horrors of reconstruction under a corrupt government.
"Status report."
She leans into the table, hands folded under her chin. "Target negative. Still scanning for visual," she grits out, chomping an already mangled straw between straight, white teeth.
"At least act like a couple," comes Coulson's voice from both their ear buds. He sounds exasperated—rare for him to show emotion—and Captain Steve Rogers looks chagrined. His blue, blue eyes drift to the table cloth, and he drums his fingers in front of him. He's a puppy, she finally decides, having tried to figure out which animal he reminds her of all night.
She tucks a strand of brunette hair behind her ear, and he follows her movement, fond.
"Like they could." One scoff from Tony Stark had Rogers bristling. Natasha would have found it hilarious if she didn't feel the urge to punch Stark often herself. "I mean, why choose them for this assignment? Captain Goody-Two-Shoes probably can't lie to save his life and Black Widow is as friendly as a block of ice. A block of angry, angry, vodka-soaked ice."
"Jealous, Stark?" She spits out the straw and gives Rogers a reassuring look. She can't tell if he's freaked out because she's telegraphing her moves or because she's currently cupping his chin. She hopes for the latter; she might be a heartless assassin, but she is still a woman, and his blush is precious.
"Of him? I'm sorry, Widow, you're badass and all, but—"
"Not of him," she cuts in. She wants to hear about Stark's latest conquests as much as she would like bamboo slivers shoved under her fingernails. She giggles a bit too coquettishly for her liking, but Rogers—bless him—is taking her hand and twining their fingers together.
There is blissful radio silence from there on in.
Before she can gloat, her eye is trained on a shadowy figure. She locks eyes with Rogers, and he nods. Once.
"Target acquired. Going dark from here on in."
"Good luck." Coulson. Amused. Natasha smirks and grabs Steve's hand. The camera in the back corner, so focused on them a minute ago, whirls away. She almost rolls her eyes.
"Ready?"
He nods again, giving her fingers a squeeze that she, if she were of a different mind, could mistake for tenderness.