Speed Of Life
"So, what's everyone up to tonight?" Tony asked.
"Finishing up this particle analysis." Bruce Banner said, not looking up from his computer screen.
"Wow, that sounds hot. Would you and the electron microscope like some private time?" Tony asked him. Banner glanced up to give Tony a tiny smile. Tony shrugged and turned to his other colleague, Clint Barton. "And you, Hunger Games, got any target practice planned?"
Barton smiled and shook his head slightly at Tony's latest pop-culture dig. "Just taking Steve out on the town."
"Aww! Your ongoing bromance with The Capsicle warms my heart!' Tony teased.
"Please. If anyone has a mancrush on him, it's you. 'Hey Steve, let's watch the Playboy channel together', 'hey Steve, can I teach you to Google yourself?'" Barton shot back.
Tony looked horrified and amused. "I resemble that comment!"
Barton laughed. "We've got some dates lined up."
"Get. Out. Of. Town." Tony said, genuinely surprised now. "How come he didn't say anything?"
"He's nervous."
"I'll bet" Bruce weighed in.
"So, who are the lucky ladies?" Tony prodded.
"Don't know yet."
"Blind date? Yowch. That's a risk." Tony said, frowning.
"Hmmm… kind of. Speed dating."
There was silence for a moment, Tony and Bruce looked at each other.
"Speed dating. You're taking the ninety-five-year-old virgin speed dating?" Tony was incredulous.
"That's… cruel." Bruce intoned.
"-And unusual." Tony added. "What, is this some kind of S.H.I.E.L.D. hazing ritual? Torture 101, maybe?"
Barton shrugged. "It'll be fine. He's only alone with each woman for six minutes at a time. What could possibly go wrong?"
Tony and Bruce stared silently at him.
"What the hell was I thinking?" Barton sighed.
"What are you wearing?" Barton demanded.
Steve froze, and looked down at himself. "Pants. And shoes, and a shirt?"
"No" Barton said, shaking his head. "Go change."
"What? Why?"
Barton had to think for a moment to be able to put it nicely. "You look like a hayseed."
"A hayseed?" Steve was confused.
"Yes. You can't wear those pants with that shirt. I don't know much about clothes, but I know that is a bad combo. You look like a provincial Canadian."
" That's offensive to Canadians."
"You're offensive to Canadians. "
Steve was annoyed. "My clothes are clean and pressed. My shoes are polished. I'm showered and wearing deodorant. What more could you possibly want?"
They were at an impasse.
"Okay. Let's get an expert opinion." Barton said. "Hey Tony, come here for a sec."
"No!" Steve groaned in frustration.
A minute later, Tony walked into the room. "You summoned, oh Elven prince of- what the hell are you wearing, Rogers? I thought you guys were going speed dating, not cow-tipping."
Steve stared at Tony, and then looked at Barton. "That's it. I'm not going. This is too much work." He shoved his hands in his pockets and started back towards his quarters.
"Aww, c'mon! Don't be the Incredible Sulk. We already have one of those." Tony chided.
"What is wrong with what I'm wearing?" Steve demanded.
'"Nothing- for a casual day in the city. Preferably in a movie theatre where no-one can see you." Tony said kindly. "But for a date… no, no and no."
Steve threw his hands up, exasperated.
"You have to understand modern women" Tony explained. "And Manhattan women. Modern Manhattan women. They have high expectations. Being good-looking and well groomed and gainfully employed isn't enough. Hell, being a superhero isn't enough! They want a man with a certain level of sophistication. A man who is well put-together. It's called swagger, I believe."
Steve stared blankly at him. "Well, that leaves me out." he said quietly.
"No, it doesn't. You're going to walk in with your apple-pie good looks and your old fashioned manners, and knock their panties off. But unless you want them second guessing that you just escaped from a cult… or prison… you need to look the part."
Steve briskly rubbed his face with his hands. "Fine. Just this once, I'll bow to your so-called expertise. What do I wear?"
"Remember when Pepper took you shopping, and she helped you pick out a whole bunch of nice clothes: that grey canvas jacket, and the light blue button-down shirt. Go put some of those things on."
"The grey military-style jacket, and the blue shirts with the epaulettes? I'm going from wearing one sort of uniform, to another sort of uniform." Steve said, irked.
"Women love men in uniform. Or anything that even vaguely resembles a uniform. Trust me on this." Tony assured.
Steve spun and stomped off like a petulant teen.
"Seriously, Barton, what were you thinking? He's not ready"
"He's lonely. He needs to get out there and meet someone. Give the guy a break."
"What are you really hoping to achieve?"
"Well, actually, I'm hoping I might pick up. And he's not a bad wing-man. He'll make me look good." Barton admitted with a sly smile. "And… it really is good practice for him."
Tony's eyes narrowed and he fixed Barton with a look. "This is about Black Widow, isn't it? You want to get out there secretly hoping it'll piss her off. And you take Steve with you, because you know he'll say something to someone, and it'll get back to her."
"Don't be stupid. She and I were never… nothing happened. Barely anything ever happened. It was all mind games with that woman, trust me."
"Uh huh." Tony said sourly.
Some time later
"There's nothing wrong with what I'm wearing" Steve cried.
"Did you look in the mirror?" Tony said heatedly. "You cannot wear that shirt with those pants. You look like a barcode. You look like two barcodes! And what did you do to your hair?"
"I didn't do anything to my hair! Maybe it got mussed when I changed my shirt for the fourteenth time!"
"Well, you look like a cockatoo."
"Excuse me?" Steve said in a dangerously low voice.
Tony stared at him. "A cockatoo. It's a bird. It has a crest on its head. Oh, just go put the jeans back on!"
"Seriously. You guys need to stop screwing around with the clothes!" Barton said impatiently. "If we don't leave in the next five minutes we're going to be late, and I've already paid for this damn thing."
Steve stalked off again without a word. Barton turned to Tony. "Can you just go with him and pick something for him to wear. Dress him up like a life-sized Ken doll. Which, to be honest, is exactly what he looks like."
"I know, right? But you can't take him out looking like he's dressed himself. No one will go near either of you. You'll look like Tom Cruise and Dustin Hoffman, and not in any kind of good way. The man is offensively heterosexual."
Barton snorted with laughter "I dare you to say that to his face."
"No thanks. I like my teeth in my mouth, not being punched out the back of my head."
"All right, gentlemen, you're all clear on how this works? You go into each room, one at a time, moving from left to right, and you have six minutes to connect with each lady." The convenor summarised. "Feel free to make notes on your clipboard as you go, but remember, you're not writing the Declaration of Independence."
There was a ripple of nervous laughter from the group of twelve men. Steve leaned over to Barton. "I got that reference." He said confidently.
"I would be seriously concerned if you didn't." Barton murmured.
"All right, and away you go."
The men filed into a hallway with six doors either side. Each door was marked with a number, from one to twelve. The men were all wearing a number to identify themselves, and they started outside their corresponding door.
"Once more unto the breach" Barton sighed.
"Got that reference, too." Steve said grimly. Barton glanced over, the other man looked ashen.
"Buck up, Steve. You've faced worse. You'll be fine. Just smile, and be yourself."
"Easy for you to say. You weren't born in 1917. Two days ago I didn't even know what speed dating was. Kinda' wish I still didn't."
"All right, gentlemen… begin," The convenor announced. Barton gave Steve a good-natured slap on the back, and with a wink and a grin, disappeared into the room to meet his first date.
"All right, Rogers. You can do this. You've parachuted into worse. Much worse. This is a piece of cake. She's just a person; heck, she's probably just as scared as you are. But don't show fear." Steve gripped the door handle as he tried to give himself a little pep-talk.
"Dear? You should really go in now; it's a little rude to keep the lady waiting." The convenor called to him.
"Hell!" Steve swore under his breath.
He turned the handle, and went to meet his fate.
To Be Continued...
Author's notes: I imagine this to be six months or so after the events of the movie, the team has been on several missions together and have a good rapport. Also, I have them all living in some sort of Anvengers mansion style arrangement. Many thanks to my friend and beta, Voiceofdisbelief, for laughing at me for the right reasons! Obligatory disclaimer- I own nothing and only write this for fun. And feedback. Please feed the writer feedback! Oh, and no offence to the Canadians! 3