Jen smooths her hands down the copper and gold satin of her evening dress. The shimmering fabric makes her green skin seem to glow and it is cut perfectly, clinging to each curve and actually flatters rather than hiding the hard muscled lines of her arms. She loves it. Raf Simons had designed it himself after he read an interview discussing how she wears Dior's Dolce Vita perfume, but can never find an evening dress that flatters her. She knows it is all for the publicity but she doesn't care - the dress feels like a dream on her skin. That is what being She-hulk is all about really: proving to all the girls out there (the ones like 15 year-old Jennifer Walters had been) that you don't have to be 'normal' to have dreams, don't have to be a size 0 to be beautiful. Still proving it to herself too.

She takes a sip of her champagne. She seriously loves these stupid Avengers' fundraiser charity gala things. The rest of the team hate it - all the schmoozing but Jen's pretty much in her element. Sometimes she thinks she is the only person on the team that actually appreciates being a real life superhero and everything that comes with it. The fancy black-tie and champagne, the making nice with billionaires and politician photos, maybe picking up the odd famous model, it is all just part of the parcel. It goes along with the saving the world and helping old ladies with their homework or whatever. Being seen, being part of the community, keeping the world safe - what people know about you is just as important as what you actually do. And, well, if she happens to drink enough expensive French champagne to get a she-hulk tipsy (that's a lot, like really really a lot - in case you were curious), dance until even her gamma irradiated feet hurt, and if her firm happens to pick up a few lucrative clients, so much the better.

The mirror is huge, even bigger than her one in Avengers' Mansion, and it has the little bulbs all around it so the light is absolutely perfect for doing her make-up. She runs both hands through her hair and scrunches it up in a false up-do. Lets it down again and tousles it, that looks sexy, maybe too sexy (there aren't going to be too many exotic fashion models at tonight's G8 related event, Save the Something-or-other stuff is so much better for hooking up).

"Hmm." Up is probably more practical anyway, and it shows off all that long green neck. She's fumbling in her make-up bag for a clip or three when Natasha walks into the massive marble tiled bathroom and makes her nearly drop everything - literally. And also forget how to breathe for about three whole seconds - because hot damn!

It isn't like it is close quarters (despite Jen being in her hulk form) - it's a huge bathroom even by Avengers standards. The DC Hilton has pulled out all the stops for its superpowered guests tonight. And honestly, it shouldn't even be a surprise - their bedrooms in the girls' suite are connected by this very bathroom. It all makes perfect sense.

But, Jen figures, her surprise is justified. Anyone who can see would be dumb struck by the sudden appearance of Natasha Romanov in nothing but her underwear. Hell, even Matt Murdock would probably need to take a moment.

"Oh," they both say at once. Jen blinks a few times.

Vaguely, Jen realises she would be less taken aback by lace and thigh-highs - she would have known how to react to that, because it would be part of that whole Widow seductress thing. But there is something about Natasha's far more practical and battle ready sports bra combo. Something about the smooth grey goretex and advanced polymers are more real, more Natasha, and therefore so much more intimate than a corset and stockings could have been.

"Um," Jen adds helpfully, "I'll just…"

Jen waves ineffectually at the door back to her own room - which does have a mirror even if it isn't as fancy. It's the polite thing to do…

"Oh, no need," Natasha smiles, and it's all super-spy and not much Natasha but Jen tries not to worry about that. "I was actually coming to find you, anyway. Wondered if you could help me with my kevlar?"

"Kevlar?" Jen repeats stupidly.

"Um, yeah." Natasha's smile turns more real, more amused in the face of Jen's confusion. "Some of us aren't bullet proof remember, Greenie?"

"Oh, right…" Jen blinks again. Then, "I mean, sure. Lead the way!"

Natasha gives her a slightly too knowing look then nods and leads them back through to the adjoining bedroom. It is just as spacious and well appointed as Jen's on the other side. The Widow's fight suit is in a heap on the floor next to the door - like the first thing Nat did on arriving at the hotel was take the thing off - which makes sense really. Her guns and battle stingers are more carefully arranged in their lockable case but just as obviously discarded. Laid out on the massive bed is Natasha's outfit with what looks like a small arsenal of guns, stingers (albeit disguised as fancy jewelry) and other mysterious spy stuff. Along with what has to be the sexiest, most fitted kevlar ever to grace the face of the Earth.

It is a weird reminder of how fragile and human Natasha really is (despite the Red Room's knock-off super-soldier serum). It must suck having to carry your weapons in a box instead your blood. But then Jen remembers that time Natasha took out a Skrull with nothing but her thighs and thinks maybe she's doing the same thing so many defeated enemies have done - she almost underestimated the Widow.

"So," Natasha is saying, holding up the complicated kevlar garment. It looks sort of like a cross between spanx, combat gear, and a very special kind of corset. "You'll hold it up so I can wiggle into it, then you do up the straps. Good?"

Jen almost feels like she's being given mission orders.

"How do you normally get into it?" Jen asks. She does as she's told though and tries not to flush or look too much as the Widow downright shimmies into the thing.

"Well, normally, I don't have three broken ribs," Natasha answers cheerfully from the depths of the garment.

"What?" Jen squeeks. She's had exactly two broken ribs in her career, one from Betty Ross after the whole Red She-hulk thing and one from taking a direct hit from Thanos. It was not a pleasant experience either time, and even with advanced healing, it was over a week before she was walking around and months before she was breathing without wincing. "Aren't you in pain?"

"Not really," Natasha shrugs it off… which must hurt too come to think of it. "Robots, what are you going to do? Now can you do up those straps at my waist and the ones around my thighs?"

Oh… wow. Jen is trying to run through every conversation she and Natasha have ever had. Jen isn't exactly in the closet about her, ah, broad sexual preferences but sometimes people just don't notice. It's not like she makes a big deal about it and she hasn't had anything serious with anyone since Starfox. Damn it.

It's a perfectly platonic request… but if Natasha doesn't know and suddenly notices later… well it could get awkward. She doesn't want Natasha to think she took advantage- Jen can't help but think of the one roommate back in college and the crying, the word 'betrayal' got bandied about. It was messy. And she really, really doesn't want Natasha to feel-

"Shulkie?"

"Yeah?"

Natasha gives her a knowing look. And of course she reads Jen like- well, like she's a super-spy who makes her living and her reputation easing secrets out of the world's most feared villains and criminals, really. Jen can feel the flush on her cheeks and knowing it makes her go a blotchy purple just makes it worse, heat creeping up her neck.

"It's okay," Natasha says, neutrally but not unkindly. "I'm not going to have a tantrum if a hot girl touches my leg."

"Oh," Jen says.

"Oh," Natasha agrees with only a very lightly teasing tone.

Jen takes a moment to remind herself that she is the Sensational She-hulk, not some dowdy confused law student. She can totally do this.

Turns out the application of a little hulk-strength to a bullet-proof corset helps ease the pressure on Natasha's ribs. But she still asks Jen to help with her various little holsters and hidden weapon straps. There are an awful lot of them. Eventually Natasha is as well armed, bullet proofed and slash proofed as a person can be when they're wearing an evening dress. And Jen only blushed like four, maybe six, times through the whole process.

Natasha giggles at her. Actually giggles. It's kind of nice and kind of incredibly frustrating. God, Jen's a bad friend sometimes. It's like a reverse strip tease, every strap, every curve, every set of laces tugs at Jen in a way she probable shouldn't examine. Natasha is tiny anyway. Hulked-out, Jen could probably wrap her hands around the spy's kevlar-corseted waist- and nope, stopping that thought right there-

"Shulkie? Thanks." Natasha bites her lip, and if Jen didn't know better she would think Natasha hesitated. "Here, let me…" she steps right up into Jen's personal space, and reaches up to slip loose strands of Jen's hair behind her ear.

Jen realises now that she's still only half ready, but she can't quite catch her breath. Drawn in by grey-blue eyes and copper red hair, just like so many marks before her. Natasha searches Jen's face for a long intense second. She must find what she's looking for because before Jen really realises it, the Widow is pulling on her neck and she's following the pressure down into a softer, sweeter kiss than all that kevlar would suggest. Sugar sweet and almost chaste. At first.

It takes Jen a few moments to catch up but when she does, the gamma in her blood burns and she growls forward into it. Hands finding the elegant slashproof curve of the Widow's waist at last. Natasha responds like a wild thing, presses up into it, kisses back like a fight and digs her controlling hand into Jen's hair. Hard and just right tugging her into it all even harder. Natasha bites her lip, sensual but unafraid. Hot and soft and-

They break apart gasping as the door slams open, both tensed for a fight and flushed from the kiss.

"Nat, can I…" Danvers stops short in the doorway looking between the two of them. Natasha has dark green lipstick smudged across her lower lip and Jen can feel her own disarray. "You know what, I'll just go ask Wanda."

Carol closes the door behind her. But they both hear her shout "Stark owes me 50 bucks," making them both laugh.

"You look good in green," Jen says, recovering some of her usual suave, and stepping closer again. Jen rubs lightly at the smudge of her lipstick on Natasha's lip.

"Yeah, I think so too."

~*O*~

It takes them a lot longer than it should to finish getting ready for the event. They keep stopping to test out the whole kissing thing again and again. Make-up needs to be reapplied twice, and it turns out Natasha is kind of handsy if you let her be. Not that Jen is complaining at all. Jen ends up with a pair of tiny lightweight sai in her hair once it finally gets put up - she thinks they're Natasha's way of saying that they're finishing this later but she's not sure. She could have also just been incorporated into Natasha's undercover arsenal and walking armory. It's hard to tell with Natasha.

"Do you have to wear lipstick?" Natasha mockingly complains in the elevator while they're finally making their way down to the ballroom.

"Tonight? Yes. Do you know how much press there's going to be down there tonight?"

"Yes," Natasha says with a wicked smile. Right- security expert. She probably did their triple level background checks. Or supervised (read intimidated) the S.H.E.I.L.D lackies that did them anyway.

"But I don't bother with it around the mansion at all…" Jen says. Maybe it's too forward, a consolation and an offer and she's not even sure if this is anything more than a- whatever this is. But…

"Good," Natasha smiles up at her, blinding for a moment. Then the doors open and the Widow is slipping out and putting on her best press face, all smiles and grace. And… wow, Jen is pretty sure the Black Widow just agreed to kiss her again and possibly on a potentially semi-regular basis. Being an Avenger is the absolute best. She gets her own best 'I'm an Avenger, trust me' smile on and braves the room too. This is going to be good.

Jen tries to focus on the gala. She really does. But there's something under her skin telling her that the best bit is going to happen after the party. Jen nods, and smiles, and even has a good conversation about constitutional law with someone from Capitol Hill. She still finds her eyes roving the crowd, looking for blue sequins and copper hair. God, she's being worse than the Winter Soldier. Literally. Barnes is actually dancing with some senator's wife and maybe smiling. Damn it!

Luckily it is only an hour or two before Natasha is sidling up to her, giving Jen a long up and down look that is normally reserved for the Stark Tower chocolate fountain and especially expensive Russian vodka.

"So, Greenie, what do you say? You want to get out of here?" Natasha lays on some kind of accent that Jen thinks is meant to make her sound like a film noir hero. It does make Jen laugh and, she realises, relax. She's wound up like a swing punch. It reminds her of the moment a few months into living at Avengers Mansion when she realised there was a real person under the layers and layers of Black Widow. Realised that the person who's first solution to most problems was to just shoot them, was also kind of goofy and a bit of a nerd. It almost gives her butterflies and isn't that cheesy?

"Yeah, Romanov, I think I do."

Carol Danvers, in her red, blue, and gold evening dress, gives Jen a lascivious thumbs up when she sees them leaving together. And because Jen is an adult and an Avenger, she blows a raspberry in return.

"You're a real charmer, Shulkie. You know that?" Natasha says as she drags Jen into the elevator with her.

"Seems to be working on you," Jen says into Natasha's hair. The doors are barely closed before she has greedy hands back on the diminutive spy, kissing her in a way that has to communicate her intentions. Natasha folds into it like it's all she's wanted all night. Jen was right, the best bit is definitely going to be the very private after-party.

"Maybe," Natasha whispers, breathless and perfect. "Maybe I just need help getting out of all this kevlar."