The Tuesday they met held the promise of the summer to come. April is a funny month like that; it's half-winter some years, and in others it's almost July. This year had been mild, and this day in particular was perfect: sunny, warm in the sun but not too cool in the shade, cotton ball clouds in the sky that hinted at the storm the forecasts were calling for that night. Steve Rogers was sixteen, about to finish his junior year of high school, and thoroughly over this "let's-spend-spring-break-on-college-tours" road trip his mom had planned.
To be entirely fair to his mom, they were only spending not even half of spring break on the tours. They'd already toured three state universities and two private ones, even though they could never afford private school on their own ("Oh, it doesn't hurt to look, Stevie." "But what if I love it? It hurts then. The G.I. Bill won't pay forty grand a year for art school, Mom." "If you really love it, we'll figure something out, sweetheart.") This, the fourth state school, would be the last one before they went home, if their tour guide would ever show up. Steve fidgeted. His mom was absorbed in the latest round of pamphlets (they were the same for every school, he'd found, with different pictures and color schemes), and she'd made him leave his sketchbook in the car again, so he had no other choice but to look around at the others waiting for the tour to start.
The group contained four other teenagers, and about six other adults; one man would duck in and out of the room so often that Steve wasn't sure if he was part of the group or not. There were two other guys around his age, one girl, and the last had their hood up on their jacket and he couldn't see any obvious signs of gender—which might have been their point. The other teens were on their phones; Steve was apparently the only person over the age of fifteen in the country without a smartphone, something he was determined to rectify this summer. He was getting ready to get up and walk around the hallway to relieve the fidgets when a peppy blonde girl with a too-high ponytail bounced into the room and greeted them all cheerfully. She apologized profusely for the wait, and asked everyone to follow her for the start of the tour.
As they made their way through what the guide referred to as "Old Campus", Steve found himself lagging at the back of the group as he took everything in. It was just after noon, so it seemed like a good portion of the students were either on their lunch breaks or just between classes. There were guys playing lacrosse, girls laid out on the lawns using their backpacks as pillows and doing their reading, skateboarders, hacky-sackers, guitars being played, faculty debating papers as they walked to the student union for Starbucks. "So, do you think they're being paid to look like a brochure, or is this real life?" A low voice, female, asked on his left.
Steve glanced over; it was the kid with their hood up. Wavy red hair spilled out of it; the hooded green eyes cued him in to the bored tone of voice. "Aren't you hot?" He asked, gesturing to the jacket.
A shrug was his answer. He glanced around again. "I dunno. It seems a little too perfect to be real, but I doubt they'd pay everyone to put on this kind of show. Leonberg didn't do it, and they can definitely afford to."
"The hell are you doing here if you can afford to look at Leonberg?"
"It was a strict look-but-don't-touch trip. Mom insisted."
A snort. "At least your mom cares. Mine's off at some country club or other… The idiot who keeps vanishing on his cell phone is my dad."
She must have meant the man he'd seen earlier, who was now leaving the group frighteningly often. "Is he always like that?"
"More or less. But he's the one paying, so he gets the final stamp of approval or whatever…"
Steve could sense this would only continue to go south, so instead he said, "I'm Steve. Rogers. Steve Rogers."
Their eyes met for the first time. "I'm Natasha. Romanoff. Natasha Romanoff," she said. Her smile made him wonder what kind of secrets she had.
"So, uh… you have any serious plans yet, or are you just shopping around?" Steve asked as the tour group cut across one of the Frisbee lawns.
Natasha shrugged again. "My old man wants me to be an early decision, but at this point I couldn't give a damn. I'll probably tack all the brochures in a mess on the wall, toss a dart at 'em, and apply to the only one it lands on."
"You don't have a specific program in mind?"
She just stared at the ground in response. Steve bit the inside of his lip, and listened to the guide talk about the ghost that haunted the theatre in the old University Hall. She mentioned at least four other supposed hauntings, including the chapel in Old Campus and one of the sorority houses, and Steve made a note to investigate these findings. Not that he was really into ghosts, but the stories often gave him interesting ideas for art projects. As they continued past the amphitheater, Natasha spoke again. "Are you shopping around? Or are you doing anything specific with your life?"
"Art school," Steve said without hesitation.
He saw her look up at him out of the corner of his eye. "Seriously?"
"I'm good at it. I want to get better. I want to follow my passions."
"And you're not worried about starving to death after college."
He just smiled. "I figure it's worth it to do what I love, rather than hating myself for taking a safe path."
"Oh."
His mom looked back just then and smiled. He nodded in acknowledgement. She winked tilting her head slightly at Natasha. Steve turned red; Sarah Rogers smiled wider and looked ahead again.
The guide took them through a few residence halls, even a mockup dorm room. Then they went to the art buildings. Plural. Steve tried not to gape as the guide went on about the emphasis the university placed on the arts, both visual and performance. The music building was across the street, and the main fine arts building was to their right, but the building in the center was the latest addition to the arts program. It housed the larger concert halls for the performing arts students, as well as larger galleries and exhibition hall for the fine arts students, and now housed the digital arts program. They walked through the main fine arts building and Steve worked not to drool at the industrial kilns for ceramics, the furnaces for the glassblowers and the metal shop for the jewelry and sculpture students. His knees went weak at the old turpentine smell in the studios, the high ceilings and tall glass windows providing all kinds of light no matter what time of day. He was assured that as a fine arts student he would practically be living in this building, and that most students and professors had made it comfortable to nap between classes—even if that meant you had just finished your final at 6am and were presenting it at 8am.
Steve found himself rooted in place as the rest of the group began to leave the building. He stared up at the hanging sculptures, the collection of pottery, and the children's books made by digital arts students in collaboration with an English class in the display cases.
He didn't want to leave. He knew he'd found the right place.
"Steve? Honey, what's the matter?" His mom was lingering behind him.
"I'm sorry I fought with you about this trip," he said, feeling very far away.
She came to stand next to him, and hugged him around the shoulders. "Come on, sweetheart. We might as well see the rest of campus now; I have a feeling you won't see a lot of it when you start."
They left, and Sarah was wise enough to the ways of teenagers that she let him go and walked ahead of him as they hurried to catch up with the tour group again. The guide had stopped at the street and was talking about something else. Steve's mind was back in the art building, and he wasn't taking it in. There was a sharp jab in his side, and Natasha was looking at him expectantly. "You looked like you were in love."
He smiled. "I might be."
The group started moving again. "Well, congratulations. You've just decided where you're going to spend roughly one hundred thousand dollars over the next four to six years."
Steve gagged a little. "I'm so glad the government is paying for that…"
"Whoa, how'd you swing that?" Natasha asked.
"Dad died in Afghanistan," Steve said; he tried not to sound so clipped or off-hand about it, but it was always a little bit weird to talk about his dad.
He missed her wince. "I'm sorry… That was really stupid of me."
He shrugged. "It's okay. It was a long time ago… I honestly don't really remember him much."
"So that makes you what… Seventeen?"
"Sixteen. My birthday's in July."
She actually patted his cheek, the tension breaking. "Aww, you're a young'n."
He scowled. "I'm still graduating next year. What about you, grandma?"
"My birthday's in November, but I'll be eighteen. So you'd better shape up, sonny, or I'll have to take you over my knee."
The wicked look she gave him made his face turn purple. She giggled as the group came to another stop. "This is the last stop for the arts program, rounding out our performing arts with the dance studios," the guide was saying. "There are eleven studios and two gymnasiums that are shared with the cheerleading squad, dance corps, and winter guard."
Natasha raised her hand. The guide pointed at her. "Yes! A question!"
"What kind of dance program do you offer here?"
Steve looked at Natasha in surprise. The guide beamed. "Excellent question! I don't get many dancers in my groups, I'm actually a dance major myself! We have an extremely competitive program. We do have an audition process that begins in July…"
Natasha listened with rapt attention as their guide waxed poetic about the program. Steve snuck a curious glance in the direction of her father; he wasn't on his phone for the moment, but he didn't look very pleased about his daughter's inquiry. Steve wondered how that conversation would play out later.
"And this concludes the tour!" The guide thanked them all with the same level of cheer she'd managed to keep up over the last ninety minutes. Steve still wasn't sure if it was her natural state, or if she put on extra effort for work.
Sarah came over to her son. "Well, should we go look in the bookstore? Are you hungry?"
Steve shrugged. "I guess so. If you want to, anyway."
Sarah looked at him skeptically. "You were doing so well at not being a teenager earlier… Come on, let's go get something to eat; I'll drag you shopping after."
"See you around, Steve Rogers," Natasha called after him.
Steve looked back as he and his mom headed into the student union. He lifted a hand in goodbye. She returned the gesture as her father finished his phone call and came over to her, looking none-too-happy.
It was a long drive back home. Steve only had his learner's permit, so he wasn't used to driving for very long stretches; he was also partially night blind, and wasn't allowed to drive after the sun started to set. His mom talked a lot, keeping them both awake as they entered the final stretch. They talked about scholarship deadlines and when they'd need to get in touch with the VA to get the ball rolling on the G.I. bill. Steve's head was spinning by the time they made it back to their apartment complex. "I still don't see why I need scholarship money if the government's footing the bill…" He grumbled as his mom unlocked their door.
"Because it won't cover everything. We're lucky Sam was able to even transfer the benefits to you. There are plenty of scholarships available for military brats, we just have to talk to Sam about where to start looking," Sarah said. There was a note of finality in her voice and Steve knew to let it drop.
This was a conversation they'd been circling around for longer than he knew his mother was comfortable with. Military benefits had undergone so much change in the past decade that it had taken a long time for the Rogers' to get their proper dues from his father's death in the war on terror. Even with his mom working as a registered nurse, things were tighter than she would have liked when Steve was growing up; Steve had known it, and had made the decision on his own to tighten his belt so they weren't always strapped for cash. Sam had helped out when he could, but he had his own family to look after.
Sam Wilson had been an old buddy of his dad's in basic training, and had done a lot of legwork for Sarah in getting the survivor's package squared away. He'd made sure that Steve would be taken care of as a dependent. He went to work at the VA after his discharge, and had been around a lot for Steve's growing up; his partner Mac and their young daughter Aisha were like family. It was a little strange to think that one of his best friends was a man who was literally old enough to be his father, but life was weird like that sometimes.
Steve's phone rang. The little green-and-black screen let him know it was his other best friend, Bucky. He remembered that he had forgotten to text him to let him know he'd decided on a school. "Hey, man," Steve answered. "Guess what?"
That summer, Steve and Bucky worked long and hard hours for Mac's landscaping company. He hadn't ever realized just how much work went into planting some trees and throwing some mulch around a garden. Some clients needed a week to get things just right. Steve would come home every night sore and sunburned, dirt stuck under his nails, feeling the ghosts of spiders crawling all over his skin (big spiders really liked living in mulch, he'd discovered; he'd also discovered that Bucky loathed spiders. The two discoveries were, surprisingly, related) He'd have enough energy to shower, eat whatever his mom put in front of him for dinner, and collapse into bed.
It was worth it at the end of the summer, though. Steve had managed to save a not insignificant amount of money, and purchase his iPhone. Bucky's big purchase was a '04 Ranger. In truth, it was Mac's old pickup, and Bucky hadn't bought it so much as worked without pay for the entire summer in exchange for it, but he was proud of it anyway.
It was a wonderful thing, not going to school on the bus. The first day of school, Steve noticed that he was getting a lot of looks from the other students; Bucky had to point out that Steve had actually gotten buff over the summer. Between his sun-bleached hair, tan, and the wiry muscles, he was something of a looker. It helped later that, in December, he finally hit his growth spurt.
Mac kept them on during their senior year, helping with leaf collection, then snow removal, and then back into planting and landscaping through the spring and summer. Between school and working, the year melted away and he found himself in a scarlet graduation gown. He, Sarah, Bucky, and Bucky's mom went dorm room shopping; Bucky, having no particular ideas about what he wanted to study, had applied to and been accepted at the same school Steve was going to. They weren't allowed to live together (something about wanting the freshmen to expand their horizons or whatever, Steve had been too irritated to read more than that), but they at least were in the same dorm. Steve's roommate was some guy named Tony Stark; Bucky's was a guy named Clint Barton. Steve and Tony had e-mailed a few times to get to know each other. Tony was a mechanical engineering major, lived for rock music, and was a self-described womanizer. Steve had a feeling it was going to be an interesting year, to say the least.
Sarah smoothed his hair, unshed tears in her eyes, and hugged him again. Steve still thought it was weird that he was now taller than his mom, but hugged her fiercely in return. "I'll see you in a few weeks, Mom, it'll be fine."
"It's going to be so lonely without you, Stevie."
"Mo-om…"
"I'm sorry, I know. You're a grown man now. I should… I should go, and let you get yourself settled. Be safe. Have fun, but not too much fun. Call me when you can, okay?" Sarah asked.
"I will. Be careful on the drive home. Call me to let me know you got home okay," Steve told her.
Sarah laughed and swiped at her eyes. "I'm supposed to say that."
She kissed his cheek, hugged him one last time, and maneuvered her way down the hall, past all of the other incoming freshmen. Steve fought the urge to run after her for one more hug, and went into his room. Tony hadn't shown up yet, so Steve had been able to lay claim to a side of the room. His bed was already made, so he set about unboxing his clothes and putting them away.
Decoration-wise, he didn't have much right now. A school pennant, part of the move-in package, was displayed above his bed, and a few art prints. His new MacBook was already on the desk; it was a graduation present from his mother, and a fight it had been to get him to accept it. ("You'll need it for graphic arts, Stevie. I won't hear another word for it, except 'thank you'.") He didn't have any books yet; that was going to be a job for tomorrow, going to the library to pick up his borrowed textbooks. (What a relief that had been, finding out that you could just borrow seven hundred dollars' worth of textbooks from any university library in the state) He did have a floor meeting at seven that night, followed by some kind of welcome party. Freshmen orientation started in the morning at nine. All in all, his first week looked like it was going to be an easy start before the reality of college set in.
There was a knock on his open door (which was already emblazoned with "STEVE" and "TONY" cutouts hanging on jungle vines, to match the floor theme of "College: It's a JUNGLE Out There!"; Steve would have to have a word with the R.A. about what themes he was going to be choosing for the next few months). Steve looked up, and saw a girl in a black tank top and acid-wash cutoff shorts standing there. He blanched, and hurriedly shoved the stack of underwear he was holding into a drawer. "Uh, hi," he managed to say, hating his voice for choosing that moment to crack. "Can I help you with something?"
There was a nagging sensation at the back of his mind as the girl, her curling red hair piled up on top of her head in a perky ponytail, tilted her head in observation of him. "You're that kid from the tour. Roger or something, right?"
"Steve. Rogers, that's my last name. You're… Nadia?" Steve asked, his face screwed up as he tried to put a name to the face of the girl he'd only seen once, for ninety minutes, more than a year ago.
"Natasha."
"Nat—right, oh man, sorry. Hey. Wow."
"I told you I'd be seeing you around," Natasha said, smirking as she leaned against his door frame, arms folded across her chest.
"You did. Yeah. So uh… you live on this floor too?" If that wasn't the dumbest question he'd ever asked, he'd forgotten the dumber one.
Natasha didn't comment on it. "Over on the girl's half, yeah. I came around looking for the geeks setting up the internet, damn computer won't connect. You haven't seen one, have you?"
"About an hour ago," Steve gestured to his computer, which was now hooked up to the campus internet. "They'll be around again though, or maybe they're with someone. Did you check the computer lab?"
Natasha's eyebrows went up. "Ah, no. Good thought."
She turned as if to go, but stopped. "Hey, what's your Uni1000 class?"
Uni1000 was the freshmen orientation class; it was actually one of their regular classes, but the professor spent the first week getting everyone adjusted to university life instead of the course material. That would start the following week, when regular classes would begin. Steve picked up his schedule off the desk. "History of Japan, China, and India. You?"
A light bulb went off in his head at the smile she gave him; how had he forgotten that smile, the one that held a hundred secrets? "You want a wake-up call in the morning? We can grab something to eat before class."
Steve smiled. "Yeah, that sounds like a plan."
They traded numbers. She left then, resuming the search for a computer tech.
At 7:30 the next morning, his phone went off. Tony cursed loudly into his pillow. Steve blinked against the blinding light of the screen and saw a "Morning, meet by the elevator at 8 :)" text on the screen. "Jesus Christ on a hockey puck, don't tell me this will be a regular thing," Tony mumbled as Steve climbed down the ladder.
"Can't make promises I can't keep, Stark," Steve said. He grabbed his shower bucket.
"Fuckin' hell…"
"We've got class in an hour and a half anyway."
"Which means I could have slept for eighty-five more minutes."
Steve shook his head and hit the showers. He was ready and waiting by the elevator by 7:56. Four minutes later, on the dot, Natasha came strolling down the hallway with another redheaded girl; she was taller than he was, which would have been intimidating enough without the scrutinizing once-over she gave him as they came to a stop in front of him. "Hi," Steve managed to keep his voice level.
"Hey. Steve, this is my roommate, Ginny Potts. Ginny, this is Steve," Natasha said, pressing the elevator button.
Ginny nodded. "Hi. Any Harry Potter jokes are unwelcome, by the way. I got here first."
"Understood. Nice to meet you."
"Her class is in the BA building too, so she's gonna grab food with us," Natasha said.
The elevator dinged its arrival. A voice shouted from down the hall, "WAIT UP, ASSHOLE!"
Steve turned as Tony hopped down the hall, trying to get his shoe on the rest of the way. "I thought you were going to sleep for another hour," the blonde man said as his roommate got onto the elevator with them.
"I'm fuckin' starving," Tony grumbled, running his fingers through his still-wet hair.
Ginny and Natasha traded looks. "Friend of yours?" Natasha asked.
"This is my roommate, Tony. He's a self-described womanizer, so I feel it's my job to warn you ahead of time."
"Yo! Bros before hos, man!"
"This only furthers my desire to warn every woman on campus about you. Tony, this is Natasha and that's Ginny."
"From Harry Potter? Knew you'd turn out to be as tall as your brothers."
Steve glanced at Ginny; her jaw was clenched, her lips pursed. "That's really funny, you know. I've never heard that one before."
"Really? You'd think it'd be common," Tony said, oblivious to the icy tone in her voice.
"Yeah, maybe about as often as you get someone's foot up your ass," Ginny said.
Steve choked back laughter. Tony's not-quite-awake brain seemed to register that he'd said something wrong, as he kind of gaped at her for a moment before responding with, "Not as often as you'd think, most people don't go for that kind of kinky fuckery."
"I can't imagine why."
"You're a bit of a spitfire in the morning."
"You're a bit of a dick in the morning."
"Sweetheart, I'm more than a bit of a dick at all hours of the day or night. I'd be very happy to show you how true that statement is in every nuanced detail."
This was the longest elevator ride in the world for only going down six floors. Natasha was pointedly looking at the ceiling. Steve was slowly shuffling out of the range of fire if Ginny decided to deck his roommate. She looked about ready to, when they finally slowed and the doors opened. "Oh, thank God…" Steve mumbled as Ginny stormed out of the elevator.
"Chicks, huh?" Tony asked.
"No, I'm pretty sure that should be the baseline reaction for you," Steve said.
"We've known each other not even a full day, man; don't make too many rash decisions."
"I'm not, but I'm making a mental note to never be around you and women again."
"Good luck with that one."
Tony's Uni1000 class was on the other side of campus, so he opted to ditch them for a dining hall closer to class. Ginny was visibly happier about this arrangement, and Steve breathed a little easier. After bagels and cereal, they made the short walk over to the BA, where Ginny left them for her Intro to Business class. Steve and Natasha debated about where they should sit in the class; Natasha wanted to sit in the back for maximum snarking opportunities, but Steve knew he couldn't pay attention back there, and yet Natasha said that sitting in the front made you a target for everyone. They finally settled on third row seats in the small lecture room.
The class itself turned out to be less of a class and more of an eight-hour-with-breaks-for-snacks-and-the-bathroom icebreaker. They played weird games that got them to talk about themselves and what they expected out of college. Steve had to admit that he didn't know what he expected, he was just here because his mom told him he had to go to college, and he was going to do what he loved if that was the case. The professor then said something that would stick with him for years to come: "You'll be surprised, Steve, to find out that going into something with no expectations will often be the best decision you'll ever make, either consciously or unconsciously."
He found out that Natasha's father was a diplomat, and so she had been born and lived in Russia for the first eight years of her life. (He would also find out that because of this, Natasha would claim that she was Russian. On her 21st birthday he would find out that she would claim this made her unable to get drunk. All of these claims would be incorrect) She expected to 'waste' as much of her father's money as she could to do something she wanted to do, rather than what he wanted her to do, and enjoy herself while she did it. She sat back and gave him a little smirk when she was done.
The girl's wing of their floor had a group bonding dinner that night, so Natasha bid him farewell after class was over. Steve met up with Tony and Bucky, and Bucky's roommate Clint; Tony dragged them downtown to "get a feel for the nightlife". "Stark, it's not even six on a Monday. What nightlife?" Clint asked.
"Okay, it's this or shitty dorm food. You pick."
They picked a bar. Tony mumbled something about a fake ID, but the townies knew only freshmen were in town right now. Still, the food was good. They bullshitted about life, and about an hour later the Indians were playing the Dodgers on the big screen above the bar, so Steve was happy. Neither Clint nor Tony knew much about baseball, (Clint claimed to be a hockey fan, and Tony said he'd rejected the notion of sports at an early age), so Steve and Bucky explained the finer details of the game between having one-sided arguments with the ref about calls. "Man, I don't get it," Clint said, downing his soda. "No one's getting the shit beat out of them, so what's the point?"
"Some of us weren't raised in a barn, Barton," Bucky grinned.
"Circus tent," Clint corrected. "Just wait until October, and I'll introduce you to the finer points of the gongshow."
Bucky raised his glass in acknowledgement, and Steve berated the ref for calling a ball obviously in the strike zone. Bucky chuckled, "I'll warn you, October's postseason and the Series. If you can get Steve to listen around all that, I'll buy you a beer."
Clint's grin was lopsided. "I'll take that bet."
They left during the seventh inning, with the Dodgers in a comfortable lead over the Indians, and made their way back to campus. Bucky and Tony were arguing about music as Steve pressed the elevator button. "If you don't think Stevie Nicks is one of the best singers of the last fifty years, I don't even want to know you," Bucky was saying as Tony's attention wavered as about ten girls came up to them.
"Argument pause. Hello, ladies," Tony grinned and then winced as Steve smacked him upside the head.
"Leave them alone."
"So this is an all-day thing, huh?" Ginny asked, off to the side of the group.
"Looks that way," Steve answered.
"See if I ever wingman for you, Rogers," Tony grumbled, rubbing his head.
"He's got me for that, brah," Bucky grinned, and winked at the girls.
Steve backhanded Bucky on the chest as the elevator doors opened. Bucky wheezed slightly, winded, as Steve passed him. "I refuse to associate with the pair of you."
Clint, wisely staying out of it, joined Steve on the elevator. Natasha shadowed Ginny, and a few other girls pushed ahead of Bucky and Tony, filling it before they could get on. Ginny gave an exaggerated wave as the doors closed. "I'll hold if you wanna punch," Natasha offered.
Steve laughed in surprise. "Nah, it won't come to that. At least with Bucky… Verdict's out on Stark."
"Nothing wrong with wooing the ladies," Clint said. "Just don't be a weirdo about it."
"Thank you," Ginny said. A few of the other girls echoed the sentiment.
"Ginny, this is Clint. He's roommates with my friend Bucky, the other idiot down there. Clint, don't mention Harry Potter if you like breathing. And this is Natasha."
Clint gave a mock salute. "Pleasure. I'm sure we'll see each other around."
Steve missed the once-over Natasha gave him. The doors opened and they all piled out. "We're gonna set up Mario Kart in the lounge if anyone wants to join!" Clint called.
In the end, Steve, Clint, Tony, and Bucky were joined by Natasha and Ginny, as well as a girl named Maria. They set up tournament rules, and played until well after midnight. Natasha had actually dozed off with her head on Clint's lap by the time Ginny won the last race (Tony blamed the vertigo induced by playing on Rainbow Road). Ginny practically dragged her back to their room. "I'll text you in the morning!" Steve called after them. Natasha lifted her hand in acknowledgement.
"Leave off the hot peppers first thing tomorrow, Weasley!" Tony said.
Ginny lifted her middle finger. Tony chuckled. They had each other's measure by now, as only everyone who competes to the death in Mario Kart can.
After freshman week, they all established a pattern for their days. Steve, having scheduled most of his classes in the afternoons, found himself at the rec center in the mornings. Sometimes Bucky or Tony joined him, most of the time they slept in. Steve would have slept in as well, but for one of his art classes being scheduled for 9:30, with a long gap after. After a few weeks, it was more or less a habit.
Sometimes Natasha and Maria joined him for lunch in the student union. (Ginny had meticulously scheduled her classes with only a short break for lunch at 1:30, after most of the lunch rush, and when the rest of them were already in class) Occasionally, Clint would join them, but seeing as how it was usually noon, and his first class wasn't until 1:30, he was usually asleep. When he did see Clint, it was usually in line at Starbucks with Natasha.
As Tony was an engineering student, Steve expected him to be more studious, but this usually wasn't the case. Every Friday night without fail, he was dragging them out to bars downtown. Sometimes in the middle of the week as well, if he'd had a particularly stressful class—for that was how Tony blew off steam: swindling underage drinks, dancing with girls, and sharking upperclassmen at pool. What he hadn't counted on was Steve being absolutely abysmal at chatting up girls. "You can talk to Pepper and them fine! What gives!?" Tony asked him one night in the bathroom.
"First of all, she hates it when you call her Pepper."
"She doesn't hate it, she hates me. There's a difference. And at least I stopped calling her Weasley."
"Second of all, they're my friends. There's no expectations! You want me to flirt, to be… you! I can't do that!"
"Padawan. Grasshopper. This is why you're with me. To watch and learn from a master," Tony grasped Steve's shoulders. "Come on. When's the last time I had a drink tossed in my face?"
"Last week," Steve rolled his eyes.
"And what did I do wrong?"
"Where do I even start…"
"Ah, but you have a list. So don't do any of those. You're cute, kid, just stop stammering like an idiot. I'll give you some liquid courage," Tony held up his flask, which he'd smuggled in.
Steve shook his head. "No. I'll talk to a girl, but it's on my terms."
Tony shrugged, and took a swig. "Suit yourself, dude."
He was mostly grateful that if he did get lucky, Tony would spend the night at the girl's place. He wasn't sure how he'd handle that, though Bucky and Clint would probably let him crash on their futon.
October came, and with it Clint taught them the finer points of hockey. Steve barely paid attention, too caught up in the baseball postseason. Tony ignored both of them. Steve did remember a few things when Clint gave them a pop quiz on the subject, so Bucky had to find a way to buy him a beer. Before any of them knew it, it was Thanksgiving break. Steve and Bucky spent the weekend at home; Steve helped his mom get their apartment ready for Christmas, as was their usual tradition. She, and Bucky's mom, sent them back to school with a bag of leftovers each, and the thought of their finals in two weeks looming over their heads.
Even Tony buckled down over the next two weeks; Steve hardly saw him. Not that he was spending much time in their room either, coming home from the art building mostly to take a shower and change his clothes before going back, or changing locations to the library to study or work on his papers.
The Saturday before finals week saw a mass text message from Natasha: "Skybar tonite or my brain WILL EXPLODE :(" The feeling was mutual. Even Ginny, who wasn't much for going out, came, claiming that she would start screaming if she had to look at her econ book one more time.
Technically, two of Steve's finals were already done (art finals were always due the week before, he had been told, and he'd pick up his results during the scheduled "exam time"), but his brain was already feeling like it was made of marshmallows. He vowed to stay far away from Tony trying to woo anyone; he wasn't in the mood to wingman, or fall on any so-called "grenades". He was going to throw darts, maybe dance a bit, and forget that he was absolutely going to fail his other three exams.
Ginny ended up dragging him on the dance floor. Maria was doing something that maybe resembled dancing, and she punched Steve in the shoulder when he started laughing. Bucky, not far away, grinned at him over the shoulder of a petite brunette he was dancing with. To prove that he wasn't much better at dancing than Maria, Steve did the Macarena. She grinned, and shoved him. He responded by discoing. "PEPPERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!" Tony shouted over the music, wobbling over to them and slinging an arm over Steve's shoulder. "There's my girl, you've been, you've been avoiding me!"
"Stark, you're drunk as fuck," Ginny shouted back at him.
"No'm not! Vodka's like water, it doesn't do nothing to you!"
"Who gave you vodka?!"
Steve knew where Tony kept his flask; he dug in the back pocket of his jeans. Tony yelped. "No homo, dude, fuck you doing?!"
"Shut the hell up," Steve scowled, giving Ginny the flask. It was empty; she put it in her handbag.
Tony staggered, almost taking Steve down with him. He didn't look too hot. "I'm taking him to the bathroom!" Steve yelled.
"I'm fine, douchebag," Tony slurred.
"Yeah, you're not."
They barged into the bathroom, and right in on Clint and Natasha making out; Clint's hand was under Natasha's skirt. Steve froze. Tony started laughing. Clint and Natasha separated quickly, Natasha tugging on the hem of her miniskirt. She didn't meet his eyes, and hurried past him. Clint scratched at his neck. "Is he alright?"
Tony wasn't managing most of his own weight. "Not really," Steve said. "He brought his flask. Plus whatever he swindled out of someone."
"What'd he have this time?"
"Vodka."
Clint groaned. "Dude…"
"M'fine…"
"Let me help you with him…"
Steve didn't know why he felt so weird at catching Clint and Natasha. It wasn't his business, after all. If they liked each other, have at it. He was glad for them. Wasn't he?
It was Friday, he'd just picked up his last final grade, and he was getting ready to leave, when Natasha found him. "Hey," she said.
Steve put down his suitcase. "Hi."
"Have you been avoiding me?"
He blinked. "No…"
"Liar. I've tried calling you and texting you since last weekend."
Steve grimaced, and held up his phone; the screen was shattered. He'd dropped it, and someone had stepped on it at the bar last weekend. "I must have forgot to mention it… I'm taking care of it over break."
Natasha huffed, and crossed her arms tightly. "Asshole… look, I'm sorry about the way you…"
"Don't mention it," Steve said hurriedly. He didn't want to hear her say the words. He still wasn't sure why it was weird, but he didn't want her to say it anyway. "Really, I should have knocked, but Tony…"
"Yeah. Well… I'm not sure what's going on with Clint, but I know I didn't want to say anything or make it weird with the group. You know?"
Steve didn't quite meet her eyes. "Yeah. No, it's fine. Really, I shouldn't even be surprised. You two are at the coffee place all the time together."
Natasha rolled her eyes. "Because Barton's not a functioning human being without coffee, and he can't even get out of bed without someone hounding him…"
Steve chuckled. Natasha softened, her arms loosening. "We okay?" She asked.
"Yeah, why wouldn't we be?"
This time it was she who didn't meet his eyes. "I dunno, I just… Don't scare me like that. Get your fuckin' phone fixed."
"I will. First thing tomorrow," he promised.
Bucky came in, whistling. "Come on, Rogers, if we want to beat the snow home!"
"Coming!" Steve called. He looked at Natasha again. "I'll see you in a few weeks."
She touched his arm, giving him a half-smile. "Merry Christmas, Rogers."
They had a very quiet Christmas break. Steve got a new phone. Bucky got snow tires on his truck. They both spent quite a bit of time working for Mac again. Steve didn't realize how sullen he was being until his mom sicced Sam on him the day after Christmas. "Your mom's worried, kiddo. Did something happen at school?" Sam asked as he beat Steve at Mario Kart again.
Steve sighed, putting down the controller. "No. Yes. I don't know."
"Relationship trouble?"
"I wouldn't put it like that."
"How would you put it then?"
"We all went out the weekend before finals. Tony got smashed. I took him to the bathroom. I found my friends Natasha and Clint making out."
Sam made the annoying noise that adults made when they knew they were right about something. "And you're down about it."
"Why, though? I should be happy they're together. I don't have a claim to anyone."
"Steve, you don't need me to tell you why you're upset about it," Sam said.
Steve said nothing, only picked up his controller again. They played through another cup race before he said, "I guess I thought… we found each other. Often. Unexpectedly. And I thought… I thought maybe there was a little more than that."
"That's the romantic in you talking, kid. But a realist would look at that and wonder why you didn't act on it."
Steve shrugged. "I guess I didn't want to ruin a friendship..."
"Well… you're gonna get that with anyone. Someone you meet at a bar that you're never going to see again, someone you're friends with. You just gotta have courage."
"Yeah, I'm a little low on that at the moment…"
Sam nudged him. "Well, then, the most you can do is just be happy for them. Be a good friend. You'll move on eventually."
He didn't know how to respond to that, so instead he just picked the next cup race.
With this newfound realization of a crush on Natasha, Steve was determined to bury his feelings and be happy for her and Clint. When the new semester started, he threw himself into his schoolwork with gusto; when he saw them, he was too tired to feel anything other than 'yay friends are here, friends mean no work'. He went out with everyone on the weekends, and kept his nose to the grindstone during the week.
This act lasted until mid-February, when Ginny of all people called him out on it. "Steve, did you really do that badly last semester? You're going to be dead by spring break at this pace."
"Huh? No, I did… fine. Mostly B's, a few A's."
"So why the sudden me-like enthusiasm for the library?"
Steve sighed, and then looked to make sure they were alone. "Look, keep this quiet, alright? I'm just… I'm a little jealous about Natasha and Clint, alright? So I'm just trying to do my best to forget about it."
"Wait, Natasha and Clint? I thought she… Oh my God, I'm going to kill her!" Ginny gasped.
"Wait, you don't know?" Steve asked, incredulous.
"How did you know?!"
Steve replayed, with minimal details, about what had happened last semester. Ginny huffed, looked peeved. "So that's where she's been… She keeps telling me she's training in the dance center. She's probably off macking on the carnie."
"Clint's not a carnie."
"You haven't heard his detailed list on things that can be fried and still be edible, then."
He sighed. "I have. I still don't understand the strawberries… Anyway, just keep it quiet. If you didn't know, then they definitely want this on the DL. I don't even think Tony remembers. But that's why."
Ginny peered at him, curious. "So which one are you jealous of? I can't get a read on you, you know, and my gaydar's pretty good."
Steve rolled his eyes. "Says every straight girl."
"So it's Clint."
"It's not, I'll have you know. Not that I wouldn't, but he's not it."
If the look she gave him had been pity, he would have gotten up and walked away. Instead, she covered his hand with hers briefly, and then went back to her own studying. Steve tried to, but found it hard to concentrate.
Tony had offered his parents' beach house in Florida for spring break, but Steve wanted nothing more than to sleep in his own bed for a week. He probably could have used a week on the beach, but he missed his mom. As penance, Tony had said, he would have to come down for a week in the summer. Steve had agreed.
The rest of the school year went by in a blur. The first Saturday in May, Tony surprised the hell out of all of them by making them watch the Kentucky Derby all day. Steve watched over his laptop (he had an English final due on Monday) as Tony explained how betting worked, the breeding of the horses, and what made the races interesting to begin with. Clint called it a rich kid's sport. Tony responded with a list of all the fights they'd had to watch during hockey season, which wasn't even over yet because it was playoffs. "That's the thing about poor kids' sports though. They're fun," Clint said, grinning.
Still, Clint was shouting louder than all of them when the Run for the Roses happened.
Soon enough, they were packing up their rooms and heading home for the summer, which went by even faster than the last semester; Steve managed to get enough time off from Mac to hang out with Tony in Florida for a week, where Tony tried to teach him how to surf. It didn't go well. When they came back in the fall, Steve and Tony were in an upperclassmen's dorm, sharing a suite with Bucky and Clint. Clint and Natasha were finally public about their relationship, which meant that Natasha hung out in their suite often.
People often said that sophomore year was the hardest, and Steve soon found out that this was true. Natasha being in their suite all the time turned out not to be much of a problem, as he was spending most of his time in the art building. More often than not, he was fighting someone else for the good couch to take a nap while the paint dried on one of his paintings. Ginny was the first of their group to have a mental breakdown, in the middle of October; she took more classes than any of them, and had a work-study job in the library. She simply vanished one Thursday. Everyone was worried sick about her, until she called around dinnertime on Friday and said she was sitting on a beach up in Michigan because her car had broken down and could someone please come get her?
Bucky went, with Tony of all people going with him. Steve, Maria, Natasha, and Clint stayed up all night waiting; it was a good six hours to where Ginny had said she was, plus the drive back. They put on movies, mostly for some kind of noise, because none of them were talking.
Around five in the morning, Natasha and Steve were the only ones awake. Steve kept checking his phone, wondering if it was a bad idea to call one of them to make sure everything was fine, or if he'd distract one of them from driving. Natasha lifted her head up. "Promise me if you break, you're not going to run away," she said quietly.
"As long as you promise the same thing."
"I can't do this again."
"Me neither."
"She won't drop any of her classes, but they're making her crazy."
"I know."
"And maybe… I haven't really…" She drifted off, her fingers combing Clint's hair.
Steve recognized the tone of voice. "Hey. You're not supposed to babysit her. We're all adults, whatever that means. You've got your own thing going on."
"What if there were breaking signs, and I missed them because I was here all the time?"
"She should have voiced them. At least she just drove six hours north, instead of something worse."
"You're awful at pep-talks, you know."
"Yeah. But at least I'm not pitying myself for something I couldn't prevent," he challenged.
She said nothing, only combing Clint's hair.
They got home around eight in the morning. Bucky waved off everyone's questions and went to bed; Tony did the same. Natasha and Maria took Ginny back to their suite; Clint and Steve looked at each other and shrugged, and went to bed too.
Whatever had happened wasn't really talked about after. Ginny, who started to go by Pepper after the incident, dropped two of her classes, and started to go to campus counseling at Natasha's urging. In November, Pepper said that while she was probably going to be in school for the rest of her life, she was going to only take five classes a semester, and at her advisor's insistence, one of them would be a "fun class". "You know. Underwater basket weaving. Something that might come in handy one day, but not related to my major, so I won't be too stressed about it."
The other thing that happened as a result of the incident was Natasha breaking up with Clint; Clint understood why. Tony had expected some kind of meltdown, but Clint was chill about it. "We're still friends, and I totally get it. Pepper needs someone else around. I'd do the same if one of you guys lost it."
"I'm touched, but no way would I give up getting laid for a friend," Tony grumbled.
Clint shook his head. Steve mouthed 'daddy issues' to Bucky, who nodded.
Fall semester rolled into spring, and they all went to Tony's beach house in Florida for spring break again. Tony teased both Pepper and Natasha for the SPF 50 they were using, until they knocked him down into the sand, yelling about hair color and skin pigment. Steve only chuckled from his spot under an umbrella, sketching the entire incident.
That summer, Tony was the only one to move into the house he was going to share with Steve, Clint, and Bucky; the others had to work at home to save up rent money. Tony spent his time taking extra classes and sending text messages about all the sex he was having in their respective rooms. Steve only believed about a third of them.
Pepper and Steve took a beginner's glassblowing class together that fall; they often signed up for shop cleaning shifts together. She would get exasperated with how often he asked her how she was doing. "I know you guys mean well, but between this, and how often Tony calls…"
"He calls?" Steve asked, surprised.
"Like, four times a day."
Steve frowned, his hand slowing as he wiped one of the pipes. "Really?"
Pepper blinked, swatting a loose strand of hair away. "Yeah. Why?"
"He just… he doesn't mention it."
"He wants to talk for an hour or something, but he never remembers my schedule… If I have to leave for class, he calls immediately after."
"He's worried about you."
"It was a year ago. I'm better now."
"Yeah but…" Steve took a new pipe. "Why'd you start going by Pepper, anyway? I thought you hated it."
She paused for a moment. "I… I dunno. When Tony and Bucky came and got me… I was a mess, right? I'm freezing on some beach in Michigan, and I've been crying, and my hair's a mess, mascara all down my face… Bucky stopped at a Cracker Barrel so I could wash my face and they bought me a jar of that apple pie filling they sell and I made myself half-sick eating it on the way home… And this whole time, Tony's just going on and on about how this wasn't the Pepper he knew; she was full of fire and rage and well… pep. Because he's Tony, and he talks until his teeth fall out, because he doesn't know how to have a real emotion, or how to react when someone else is having one.
"And somewhere along the way I realized, yeah, I don't like being like this. I need to be something new. Someone new. Names have power, right? So I took ownership of that. I'm Pepper Potts, and if you don't want to get burned, get the hell out of my way."
Pepper was staring out the window. Steve wanted to draw her more than anything else; her ponytail falling out, soot smutches covering her freckles, the intense look of a thousand emotions across her face. She was beautiful, and he knew immediately why Tony was calling her four, five times a day.
One morning in April, Steve was asleep on the good couch in the art building. Someone poked him. He woke up slowly, and then panicked when Natasha's face was inches from his own. "Jesus, Nat."
"Sorry. Clint said this is where I'd probably find you."
"S'alright… what time is it?"
"After eight."
"And you're alive?"
"Clint is very nice to me in the mornings," Natasha said loftily, and sat down on his legs. "It's about Tony."
"Oh, God, what happened. Is he in jail? The hospital?"
"Neither, surprisingly, but that's what I'm trying to prevent. Since we managed to get through the other twenty-first birthdays without incident, I was hoping we could do the same for his," she said, glaring at him when he snorted at the mention of her birthday. "My birthday went fine, thank you very much."
"Says the person who doesn't remember half of it."
"If you're referring to the—"
"Not that, the second time."
"I'll have you know it was completely within the realm of possibility that I could—"
"Okay," Steve drawled. "Next time you want to play Coyote Ugly, though, remember that I'm not always going to be there to catch you when you fall off the bar."
"Ridiculous. You'll always be there to catch me," she scoffed.
Her face fell a little. Steve shifted slightly, so his hand was now under his head. "Hey…"
"Nothing. So, Stark's birthday. End of next month. We'll all be in town. We should figure out a way to do this in a controlled setting, so he's not going wild with his newfound abilities."
"We'll just go to Downtown or something, and confiscate his cards, and make sure he can't open a tab," Steve said. "Or, better, tell the bartenders to cap the tab at fifty bucks or something. His dad'll appreciate a low credit card bill for once."
"Well, if you've got all the answers…"
"Sorry, I just think he's going to want to go out and party. And I don't want to clean up a house party."
She eyed him sidelong. He swallowed hard. "I'm going to regret that come my birthday, aren't I?"
"Steve, your birthday's on the 4th of July. You were never going to escape it."
"Shit."
"I'll keep Clint away from the fireworks and the barbecue."
"How much of this do you already have planned?"
She only smiled that secret smile of hers.
It turned out that the only person they didn't need to worry about on Tony's birthday was Tony. Clint got kicked out of the bar for starting a fight over the NHL playoffs (he was passionately against the Kings), so they had to go elsewhere. At the next bar, Pepper punched someone for groping her; they left mostly to go ice her hand, but also because Steve was thrown out for holding the guy for her. Bucky got cut off in bar three for doing shots with anyone who asked, and he was in the bathroom puking for a while. And at the end of the night, Natasha's credit cards were all declined, causing her to get into a huge fight at two in the morning on the phone with her father.
They were all on the street when she hung up. Bucky was sitting on the sidewalk, leaning against a light pole. Tony, who had been drinking lightly for such a birthday, was re-wrapping an ice pack around Pepper's hand, scolding her for her poor punching form. Natasha kicked a rock across the street, and shuffled back. "I'm cut off. He'll pay for my part of the rent, and for school… but only if I change my major."
"Why'd he pick tonight, of all things?" Steve wanted to know.
"He must have looked at what I've been paying for. Nothing bad, just… lots of party-prep stuff… He thinks I'm not taking my time in college seriously enough. He thinks I'm going to ruin my life by doing what I love doing…" Natasha said.
He'd never seen her cry before, but she looked closer than he'd ever thought she might be. Steve hesitated, then put his hand on her shoulder. She leaned against him; he wrapped his arms around her in a hug. "It'll be okay. We'll… We'll figure out some way."
"I can't change now. I'm going to be a senior. I'll be in school for years if I change now."
"You can keep me company," Pepper said, smiling weakly to show she was joking.
"Pep, I love you, but this is not the time."
"I know, I know…"
Clint cleared his throat. "It's late, and Jamie boy here is going to pass out on the street. We can figure this out just as easily at home as we can here on a street corner."
He and Tony had to lift Bucky between them to get him back to the house. Steve kept his arm around Natasha. The girls crashed at their place for the night. Tony remarked that a truly good birthday would have ended with the three of them in his bed, but he was assaulted with pillows before anything else could be said.
Steve woke up the next morning to someone clattering around in the kitchen. He wandered downstairs in a cutoff and his boxers, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "It's not even noon, the hell's going on…"
Natasha was rummaging in a cupboard. "You guys have zero food in this house."
"Ever hear of breakfast?" Pepper asked.
"It's a foreign concept around here. Be glad we even have a kitchen table. How's your hand?" He asked.
She held it out for him to see. "Nice bruises. You think it's broken anywhere?"
"No, but if the swelling doesn't go down I'll go have it looked at."
Maria lifted a carton of eggs out of the refrigerator, opening it hesitantly. "How long have these been in there?"
"I bought them the other day, I'll have you know."
"Workout protein?"
"You got it."
"Good boy."
Natasha slammed the cupboard shut. "Nothing else. I hope everyone likes eggs."
Over breakfast, Steve faced the elephant in the room. "So… what are we gonna do about your dad?"
"We?" Natasha asked. "We're going to do nothing. I'll take care of it."
"Nat, we can help you," Pepper said.
"The day one of you guys can convince Nikolai Romanoff of anything he hasn't already convinced himself of is the day they carve your face on Mount Rushmore," the dancer muttered.
Maria pointed at her with her fork. "You could try to compromise."
"He doesn't know the meaning of the word."
The brunette rolled her eyes. "So teach the old dog a new trick. What's he want you to major in?"
"Politics. Business. Something he thinks is useful," Natasha punctuated her feelings by stabbing the yolk of her next egg.
"What are you going to do with a dance degree?" Pepper asked. "We've known each other for years, but you haven't ever given me a solid answer on this. Yes, it offers you steady training, but what's your actual five year plan?"
Natasha's jaw clenched, and Steve started to look for something to hide behind before she said, "I don't know what I want to do, nothing that's realistic. I want to perform. I want to be on stage. And that's it. Whatever it takes to get there, I guess."
Steve, Pepper, and Maria traded looks. Natasha saw. "Don't you start on it too. No one's ragging on Steve to do something realistic with his life, and he's a fuckin' fine arts major."
"Steve's putting a portfolio together for internships with animation companies though," Pepper said. Steve ducked his head; he'd been keeping quiet about that, only asking Pepper for advice on such things because that was what one did when they were around Pepper. "He's got a few plates spinning. If you can't get with a company, what's your next move? If you do get into a company, what happens if you get hurt? If you want to retire at thirty-five?"
Pepper was being hard, and walking the line between Natasha getting pissed off enough to do something about it and getting pissed off enough to shut everyone else out. One wrong misstep and the conversation was over. "I just want to dance. It's all I've ever wanted to do."
"So all we need to do is figure out how you can do that and live above the poverty line, so you can flaunt it in your dad's face and tell him to go eat a bag of dicks. Can we work on that today?" Pepper asked.
Natasha was quiet for a moment. Steve wasn't sure which way Pepper had fallen. Finally, she picked up her fork and speared a piece of egg. "I can't believe you actually just said that. You've been around Tony too much."
"I picked that one up from Bucky, actually," Pepper said, smiling. The tension at the table broke; everyone visibly relaxed.
Pepper worked with Natasha for the next week to figure out what she was going to do with, conceivably, the rest of her life. Steve went home to spend an early birthday with his mom, and Sam's family, so he missed the finer details, up to and including the phone call that apparently took three hours and made the Geneva Accords look like a disagreement about what flavor of ice cream to buy. Pepper even asked if she was sure she didn't want to switch to political science when Natasha hung up, but apparently being a politician's daughter came with both an innate ability to negotiate and a mean right hook—to the shoulder, Steve, and yes, she was fine.
"So… verdict?" He asked as they settled in for movie night with popcorn. He hadn't had a chance to talk to her personally since he'd gotten back.
"I'm sticking with dance as my major, but a business minor," she made a face. "And he wants me to go to grad school for an MBA… There's not a clock on that, though, so like… I'll work with that."
"Cool. So… business for why?"
"So I can open up a studio someday, and not run it into the ground."
"I'd think you'd just hire Pepper for that side of it."
Natasha smirked. "I said that, but she said that by the time I was going to open said studio, she'd be the CEO of a Fortune 100 company and thus too busy to deal with my abysmal money problems."
"Always nice to have friends."
She nudged him with her shoulder. "As long as I can count on you to design my promotional material…"
Steve exaggerated an alarmed face. "Oooh, about that…"
"You're a jerk," she laughed, nudging him again.
"Freeloader," he fired back, nudging her back.
Their eyes met. His breath hitched and he resisted the urge to glance at her lips; he'd kept his dumb crush on her silent and low for years now. Sure, he'd gone on a few dates, but no one had really clicked with him. At this point, even Pepper had stopped asking if he was ever going to make a move on her. He valued their friendship too much to ever ruin it—though every time he saw how easy she and Clint were with each other, he did reconsider.
Natasha looked away, the moment over. "Let's get this thing going already. I can't believe you've never seen Blazing Saddles. It's a cinematic masterpiece."
Finally, it was Steve's birthday. The morning of July 4th, Tony barged into his room, shouting "IT'S ABOUT GODDAMN TIME AMERICA'S GOLDEN BOY CAN GET DRUNK AND NOT HAVE A GUILT TRIP."
Steve shot him with a Nerf gun. Of course the only day Tony would be up before ten a.m. would be to celebrate something so ridiculous.
He was promptly kicked out of the house and told not to come back until after noon. Bucky offered to lend him the truck, but Steve declined. He actually rather liked the idea of spending part of his birthday in quiet solitude, wandering around town aimlessly. It would help him prepare for whatever insanity was being planned for later.
He called his mom, and then Sam and Mac, and finally found himself at the park. He sat on the swings, mindful of the groups of young children running around him. He kicked off a little, and stared up at the sky. He was probably supposed to be very thoughtful and thinking a lot about this new stage of life and what he expected from it. Really, though, he was mostly thinking how nice of a day it was, and how it wasn't too hot or humid, but the temperature probably wasn't going to drop tonight either. And he was thinking about fireworks, and wondering if Natasha had bought those really cool rainbow sparklers. Most of all, he was hoping Bucky would be grilling, because no one grilled a burger like Bucky.
Really, that was all it took to give him a good birthday.
When he got home, he was surprised not at the festooned backyard (he'd expected that), but at how few people there were. From the way Tony had been hinting all month, Steve expected at least a hundred people. And it was relatively early in the day, so perhaps people would show up for the campfire and fireworks later; but outside of their regular group there were only a handful of others, friends of friends, or people he knew from the art program or from intermurals he'd done over the years.
Bucky was grilling, wearing the "Fuck the Cook" apron Tony had bought as a gag gift last Christmas (which Bucky had been one-hundred-percent-unironically-smitten with). Natasha had sparklers of all kinds, from tiny white ones to the huge rainbow ones you had to stick in the ground and then light. Tony had a vodka-spiked watermelon. Clint had his appetite, and spent most of the time hovering around Bucky. Pepper handed Steve his first legal Jell-o shot, and no one was happier than Tony when Steve downed it easily.
It was a good birthday.
Other people trickled in as the sun went down; Tony cranked up the music. Clint got the campfire going and produced enough marshmallows to feed an army. Natasha revealed her secret stash of semi-illegal fireworks to set off.
Around ten, Steve was leaning against the fence with a beer, watching and waiting to see who would blow their fingers off first: Clint or Bucky. Natasha joined him. "You sure you can leave them unsupervised like this?" He asked, nodding to the fireworks.
She shrugged. "They're grown men. And I have 911 on speed dial."
"Comforting."
"Well, when else would I be able to give you your birthday present?" She asked.
Steve looked down at her. "You bought a small fortune in explosives, you didn't need to get me anything."
She grinned. "Dummy, those are for the holiday. This is for your birthday. There's a difference."
"Alright, what—"
She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. He froze for a moment, then slowly bent down, his arm going around her waist to hold her in place or keep himself grounded and not run away—he wasn't sure. There were shouts from the other side of the yard, and a firework went whistling off into the sky. She pulled her head back and looked up at him. "Happy birthday, Steve," she said softly.
"I should have done that ages ago," he said.
"Why didn't you?" she asked, but stopped him when he opened his mouth. "No, I know. Pepper told me, you didn't want to mess anything up."
"Pepper told you?" He asked, looking around to where their friend had vanished to.
"Don't get mad at her. I think she got sick of us dancing around the subject, and she knew she could needle you for weeks and nothing would come of it."
"Still, she… wait, both of us dancing around a subject?" Steve asked.
Natasha punched him gently in the arm. "Dummy. I've had a massive thing for you for years. Practically since we met on that tour."
"Seriously?"
"Well… yeah."
"So why didn't you do something about it?"
She shrugged. "You were good at acting like you weren't interested." She leaned her head against his chest. He held her tightly. "We're both kind of dumb, huh?"
He chuckled. "Yeah, but we can do that together now."
"We kind of already were."
"Well, now there's kissing involved. I like that part."
"Me too," she said, and proved it.
