A/N: A fluffy(ish) short story for (belated) Valentine's day because I'm a shipper. These two, gah, so cute. I can't help myself. Planned on making this a one-shot, but then it ran away from me a little, so, I'm thinking five or six chapters.
I took some liberties with the characters but ultimately tried to stay pretty close to movie canon, with just a bit of OOC perhaps. I promise I'll be updating as often as I can. Next chapter is almost ready to edit.
Not my characters; just my imagination toying with their story. No money, only for fun.
Natasha was...antsy. She was never antsy. Well, no, that wasn't exactly true. She was always anxious before a mission, but that was a different sort of feeling. And whatever was fluttering around in her stomach didn't compare to the sensation she felt before a good sparring session either.
She was only going to say hello. That's what friends did, right?
Stark had thrown some sort of soiree with drinks and dancing and music because that's what Tony does. Natasha had sat at the bar and watched the crowd, sipping her vodka and occasionally running her fingers over the delicate satin of her dress because that's what she does. Watch. Observe. Not dance or socialize or mingle, as Stark liked to call it.
Unless it was a part of the job; then she'd do whatever needed to be done to complete a mission. However, when it was just her, and, well, the hundreds of other people Stark had invited, she simply preferred to be alone. Of course she spoke when spoken to, but if the company wasn't wanted – which, face it, most of the time it wasn't – she was quick to send them on their way.
When she'd first taken her seat, Tony had come over to hover, insisting that, "even Bruce is mingling."
Natasha had raised an eyebrow at that. "And you think that's a splendid idea?"
"He's in control," Tony had replied, eying the man in question. "I think. I hope." And then he'd scurried off into the crowd, beelining towards Banner. Natasha had chuckled.
Pepper smiled that smile of hers, a knowing, motherly sort of smile. "He's right, you know? You should socialize. You can't hide forever."
"I'm not hiding."
Raising her arms in defeat, Pepper began backing into the swarm of dancing couples. "Let me know if you change your mind. I know someone who'd love to meet you."
"Not interested," Natasha replied with a snort. She turned back to grab her drink. "I'm good." That was just what she needed; Pepper playing matchmaker. "And I'm not hiding," she said into her glass, even though Tony's ladylove was long gone.
A few minutes later, with Tony and Pepper a safe distance away, she turned around to people-watch. Everyone was there. Bankers, investors, a sorority from the local college because Stark rationalized the place needed some eye-candy, Banner, the boisterous Thunder God, whose voice was so loud, Natasha could hear him across the room.
Well, not everyone, she supposed, had made it to Tonypalooza, as he so creatively called it. Fury wasn't there, but he never came to these things. Barton was away on assignment. Hill was probably with Fury. Several of the other, more trusted agents, had taken masquerading jobs across the globe and therefore could not make it.
S.H.E.I.L.D. was down but not dead, and HYDRA was still very much in working order. They'd targeted people all across the world since its supposed fall six months ago. Only the smaller groups, of course, as S.H.I.E.L.D. recovered its manpower. One-man missions only, at Fury's insistence. They couldn't afford to lose anymore than they already had. Aside from that, trust between former colleagues was still very much an issue within what remained of S.H.I.E.L.D.
And then there was Steve Rogers. His absence was expected. She hadn't seen hide nor hair of him since Fury's "funeral." Oh, she'd heard news of him. She kept her ear to the ground, knew he was chasing The Winter Soldier, seeking the truth, ever in search of a way to save his childhood best friend. Natasha wasn't so certain Bucky could be saved, but that was something The Captain had to figure out on his own. Whatever torturous experimentation Bucky Barnes had been subjected to in order to turn him into The Winter Soldier left its mark on a person. Scars, even. Natasha knew that from experience. She reckoned no one could convince Steve Rogers someone was beyond redemption, though, perhaps not even the man himself.
So, about an hour later, when the doors on the far side of the room had opened, and the bodies on the dance floor parted enough to clear her line of sight to the newly arrived guest, she'd very nearly wasted her drink along the front of her dress. And she never wasted vodka.
She just hadn't expected to see him.
Rogers looked good, of course; he always did. Handsome as ever in a black suit, sans tie, and white tuxedo shirt, which Stark, no doubt, had provided for him. Natasha observed him with keen eyes as he politely smiled and greeted everyone who approached him. He was made for this sort of thing, not a single person he spoke with, however briefly, ever caught on to his discomfort. He is, after all, Captain America, and Rogers wore the title well.
Natasha contemplated walking over to rescue him once or twice when a co-ed or two put hands on him and whispered things that made his ears turn so red she wondered how he kept his cool. But it was just too much fun to watch him squirm. Besides, ever the gentleman, he always managed to bow away from the pawing girls while leaving them with their dignity – and his – in tact.
"Go away," she said, not bothering to turn and face the expensive suit approaching from her left.
"You look like you could use a drink."
Natasha rolled her eyes, taking them off Rogers for the first time since his arrival and very much annoyed at having to do so. "Which is why I already have one," she said, spinning in her seat to face the new thorn in her side.
"How about a dance?" Blue eyes and dark hair asked. Handsome, if Natasha was affected by that sort of thing, but she wasn't.
She didn't bother answering, instead opting to hold his stare, face expressionless, if a bit miffed at the interruption. She had better things to do, after all.
The thing about eye contact is simple. Some say it's sexy, but after about thirty seconds of an intense and unblinking stare – especially hers, Natasha thought smugly – most people became uncomfortable, intimidated even.
The David Gandy look-a-like was no different, and shifted his stare to the ground. "Bye-Bye," she sang, drifting her attention elsewhere. She didn't bother waiting for him to walk away; she knew he did.
Thirty minutes after arriving, the current object of her surveillance turned her direction. Perhaps he felt her stare. Perhaps not. Natasha did nothing to hide the fact she'd been watching him. Steve met her eyes, held them. They both smiled, his genuine and wide, hers small and quirked. Natasha tilted her head in a slight nod and he did the same. Then Sam Wilson touched his shoulder to get his attention and the connection was broken.
Natasha waited for him to come speak to her, preferring to keep her perch on the bar stool because of its vantage point. But he never came, and thirty minutes after their non-conversation, Steve Rogers left the room. And thirty minutes after that, a little hurt and mildly pissed, so did Natasha.
Which brought her to the hallway where she paced now, her heels clacking slightly on the floor. She knew where he slept in Stark Tower when he was in town. They'd never been residents at the same time, but each of them at some point in time over the past six months had found refuge in Tony's pretentious skyscraper. It was one of the most secure places in the world, despite being so inconspicuous.
Everyone had tried to keep their own places in the beginning, but ultimately their safety had warranted otherwise. For Natasha, it'd been no choice, even from the beginning. Sure she could've hopped from place to place – which she in fact did when the mood struck – but all her covers had been blown so it was more difficult to disappear without going completely off radar.
Steve's apartment had been compromised a few months back, and he'd consequently moved his things to their, for lack of a better term, headquarters. Aside from that, the Avengers initiative was still, albeit it not without faults, going strong, and having the team under one roof made things simpler.
"Stupid," she mumbled to herself, turning back towards her room for the third time. Maybe he didn't want to speak to her. Maybe he wanted to be alone. Maybe... maybe she was being an idiot. Suffering indecision was so unlike her. It was after midnight and her feet were killing her, and she was only going to take a few minutes to greet him, and maybe give him a piece of her mind. She turned back around.
"Natasha?"
Busted. She didn't jump. She didn't.
To be continued...
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