Wow, this is a long one. Apologies again that this is on Saturday morning, but...football and my grade kinda had to win first. Speaking of which, OUR TEAM ACTUALLY WON. I CAN'T BELIEVE IT.
Shoutout to KittyKatt25 for following the story (and me as an author! I hope I don't disappoint :D)
Steve now has to go cook with Libbytheblackcat, who risked dying in Physics to read the last chapter...that was the greatest. Thing. Ever.
ROMANOGERS EVERYWHERE. Well. The makings of Romanogers, anyways :D Enjoy!
The elevator dinged open with a whoosh, revealing Steve trudging resignedly into the common room, blond hair dripping puddles onto the floor. He was soaked from head to toe, black sweatshirt a limp mass of cotton and polyester, his recently purchased pair of jeans sticking to his skin. None of that compared to the stormy look on his face, however, in which the storm outside paled in comparison.
"Whoa, whoa, not on the carpet!" Tony joked, backing off when at a glare from the normally chipper super soldier. "Geez, Steve, I was kidding-what happened?"
"I'm fine," Steve sighed, hoisting himself onto a stool. Tony forcefully refrained himself from cracking a joke about ruining the furniture-not appropriate for a depressed Steve Rogers.
"That date went badly, huh?" Tony murmured, turning around to find his mug. A few minutes later, a steaming cup of hot chocolate was plunked onto the counter, complete with a heaping pile of whipped cream and sprinkle of cinnamon, just the way Steve liked it. But Steve simply sighed and moodily stared at the cup, too dejected to drink his favorite concoction.
"Come on, man," Tony sat himself in a stool across from his friend. "Go ahead, tell Uncle Tony what happened."
"Women these days are so forward," Steve sighed, eyeing his drink. Giving in to temptation, he took a large swig of the hot chocolate, leaving a smudge of whipped cream on his nose. "She showed up in the most inappropriate attire and tried to tell me she was a good person on the inside."
"What was she wearing?" Tony asked out of pure curiosity. He'd set up Steve on dates with glitzy supermodels before; the man had taken them all in stride. What made this any different?
"She showed up in nothing but body paint." Tony choked back his laughter. Steve just glared at him.
"I'm sorry, Cap." Tony's tone immediately sobered. "And she tried to tell you what?"
"That she had a moral code," Steve snorted, inhaling more hot chocolate. "That she didn't believe in the whole 'sex-before-marriage' thing. How was I supposed to believe her in just body paint?"
"Your tone suggests a worse part," Tony said grimly. "There's a worse part, isn't there?"
"She tried to ask me for money."
The normally unflappable Iron Man fell off of his stool with a squawk.
"Did you give her any?" he spluttered from the floor.
"No." Steve shook his head, scattering several drops of water in the process. "I've never met someone so morally hypocritical. Having morals with that sort of self-image, my behind. It was awful walking home. And then I got caught in the downpour," he added sheepishly, gesturing to his soaked outfit.
"Barton lent you that sweatshirt for a reason," Tony sighed, picking himself off of the floor. "You gotta trust me when I tell you this, Cap: we all thought this was going to work," he told him, patting him on the back. "We all did."
"I did too, Tony, " Steve despondently answered, slipping off of his stool and heading to his own room. "Really does prove how out of place I am,"
Tony waited until Steve was out of earshot, then glared at the redhead perched in the vents. She was watching the scene on her elbows, chin collected in her hands. "Natashalie, you're so dead. You set him up with one of those impressionists in Times Square? I'll be lucky if he comes out of his room after this."
The normally calm and collected spy sighed, concern brimming in her emerald eyes. "I know. I'm gonna try and talk to him."
"What were you thinking?"
"I thought it would work, Stark, okay?" she ground out, frustrated.
"How the hell did you-?"
"ROMANOFF! ARE YOU IN THE VENTS AGAIN?!" Clint's voice sounded through the hollow passages of metal, causing Tony and Natasha to jump. Clint had lately had a thing about people being in his vents-Tony had taken to calling it 'VPMS''-Vental PMS. This was the third time Natasha had snuck into the vents, despite Clint posting signs and booby traps everywhere. Steve's well being justified possibly dying at Clint's hands, she figured.
"Shit." She whispered. "I'll talk to Steve," she promised, beginning to edge away from the vent's opening.
"No," Tony answered. "I'll do it. You've done enough." Worry creased her face as Tony turned away; worried for what Tony might try to say to Steve, and worried for Steve in general-how badly had she messed up?
"ROMANOFF!"
Never mind. She could dwell on that later.
"Dude, it's been raining for days," Clint remarked, staring out communal room's floor-to-ceiling window. "What's up with Thor?" It was the fifth day of rain, and despite Clint being fond of the gloomy weather, there was only so much he could take before he went crazy. Everyone had been pranked at least once, leading to several wild goose chases that had been entertaining at first, but had quickly lost their appeal when Natasha landed Clint in the medical wing, having been too upset over messing up Steve's date to play along in her usual sarcastic way.
"You know, just because the weather's crappy doesn't mean we can always blame Thor," Bruce answered, on his way to make a cup of tea. "I'm pretty sure there's an awful weather system in place,"
"Yeah, but a flash of lightning goes off every time someone mentions the name 'Jane'," Clint observed. As if on cue, a flash of lightning briefly lit up the room. "You see what I mean?"
"Maybe that was coincidence," he argued. "Jane." More lightning. "Okay, so maybe it's not totally natural, then." He knew that Thor had just had an ugly argument with Jane Foster, and hadn't left his room for days, absolutely refusing to answer any of them.
"Great, first Cap, now Thor." Clint sighed. "I need to stop lending out my sweatshirts. They seems to have a habit of screwing up dates."
"Yes, which is why you're going to help me fix this," Tony announced, striding into the room, his presence brightening the rainy atmosphere like an outbreak of sun. "I've come up with a plan to fix Spangles and Point Break at the same time."
"Tell me this doesn't involve alcohol, Tony." Bruce groaned.
"It doesn't." Tony answered seriously. Bruce raised an eyebrow suspiciously at him. "Really! It doesn't!"
"Pray tell, then, Stark, what does it entail?" If it didn't involve alcohol, Clint mused, something had to be up. Probably involving money and more interested parties than he could count. Steve wasn't going to like this at all. But then again, when did he ever?
"We're gonna give Spangles and Point Break the talk they never had," Tony proclaimed. "Delivered by the tower's relationship experts, Iron Man and Hawkeye." What talk...? Oh. That talk. An education on modern dating, delivered by the worst advocate for modern dating, ever. Clint groaned inwardly. He should've known that something of this caliber was coming. Hopefully, at the very least, this involved several potential dates set up by Tony by the end of the day. He'd take whatever Steve left behind. He wasn't complaining.
"You're going to try and educate Steve and Thor on modern dating?" Bruce snickered from the kitchen, sipping his tea from his signature green mug. "I think you'd have a better chance educating the Other Guy. No offense, Clint," he added to the archer as an afterthought. "Just that Steve's going to be impossible to teach,"
"Not only are Barton and I going to educate them on the wonders that is today's society, we're going to test those skills on tonight's soiree." Tony answered, slightly miffed at the insinuation that he had no ability to manage a modern love life. "There's lots of important figures that are going to be there tonight," he stated confidently. "And I happen to know that a certain senator's daughter just happens to be recently single. Trust me, by the end of tonight, Capsicle's going to be walking out with a new girlfriend."
"Tell me why I'm here again, Stark?" Steve queried, rubbing his temples. He'd been all set to head down to the training room and maybe dislocate a few punching bags-whatever it took to get the disaster known as the date out of his mind. Tony had shown up right when he was having down, and being the polite man he was, he was now sitting on the couch, with a gleeful Tony.
"I'm going to educate you," Tony announced, rubbing his hands together. "You're going to learn how to woo a girl in today's modern day and age."
"Don't you think I've already tried?" Really. All he wanted to do was punch a couple of bags. Maybe spar a bit with Natasha-she wouldn't ask any questions, much less try to educate Steve on dating. He hadn't seen her in a while, though. He'd have to ask Clint where she was, as soon as he recovered from the beating she'd given him.
It wasn't like Steve to worry constantly-every single member of the team had consistently proved that they could handle themselves in a situation, Natasha most especially. Call him old-fashioned, but he still worried when a couple of days went by and he hadn't seen her. Of course, he wouldn't tell her that-Steve vehemently preferred all of his body parts, thank you very much. But still, he recently missed their little moments-especially after she'd finished beating up Clint for playing a prank on her, giving him that full-blown smile, the rare one that made his heart stutter a bit. The sidelong looks. The sideways smirks.
And, of course, setting him up on those dates. He'd patiently agreed to go on the ones she'd arranged for him, too afraid to tell her who he'd really wanted to go on date with-a certain redhead that put up with his fumblings, laughed at his jokes, and knew him inside and out. Not that he'd mention it. She was way out of his league: cool, cynical and everything he wasn't. Never a million years would she go for him. He was sure of it.
"Cap? Cap?"
Tony's voice crudely brought Steve back to reality, snapping the man to the forefront of his thoughts, away from any possible self-lamenting or pity. "You in there, Cap?"
Steve blinked. "Yeah, I'm listening."
"Tell me what I just said, then." Steve racked his brain for any recollection of what Tony had just said. Truthfully, he hadn't absorbed a thing, but he wasn't about to admit that. Tony took the silence as an answer. "You weren't listening, were you?"
"Just thinking, Tony."
"And that's the thing about dating," Tony explained to Steve, continuing as if he hadn't caught the super soldier with his thoughts elsewhere. "Today, it doesn't require thinking. Just go with what your gut tells you. If you plan things out in your head, it's gonna look like you planned all of this beforehand. Makes you look sleazy. My advice-just go with the flow. Don't set requirements beforehand. And that's really all you need to know."
"So you're saying just to improvise everything?" Steve asked, doubtful. "The dam-I mean, women-actually prefer spontaneity?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying," Tony nodded, glad that Steve had gotten it on the first try. "Just go out there and be yourself. Without the actual 'over worried gentleman' thing that you always seem to do. Look, Steve. You've got this. I know you've got this. Women will fall head over heels for you tonight."
"I'll give it a shot, Tony," Steve answered. "Might not work, though." He didn't tell him about the quiet self-assurance that had gradually filled the super soldier during the course of their conversation, not wanting to boost Tony's ego more than he already had by letting him go on with his spiel.
"As long as you try, man," Tony replied seriously, inwardly grinning. "Now. Go see Pepper. I believe she has to fit you for a suit."
Steve sighed. "Another suit?"
"So what you are advising, Friend Barton, is that I should not try and be a gallant man," Thor clarified to Clint, reclining precariously in his chair. It'd taken Clint a good half an hour to find the Asgardian, and sitting him down after that had taken even more effort, more so than actually delivering the actual talk. The next time he had to deliver a talk, Clint swore Tony was going to have to deal with Thor. He'd deal with Steve, no matter how moralistic he was going to be. "It would be more advisable to go with my base decisions."
"Yes, Thor. That's exactly what I'm saying." Finally, he grasped the subject. Clint thought he was going to have to shoot Thor should he ask for clarification one more time. "Just go with the flow," he told him. "Don't think about what might come later. Unless, of course, it comes to the deed. Then you should probably spare a few brain cells for the future." A confused frown wrinkled Thor's face.
"The deed? What 'deed' do you speak of?"
"It's-it's-never mind," Clint answered hastily. "Don't even about it. In fact, forget I said it." Eager to change the subject, he added, "Have you gotten fitted for your suit yet?"
"That's what I was going to ask," An impatient Pepper Potts was now at the doorway, foot tapping. "And you," she threw at Clint, "I seem to recall, haven't come in yet, either. So both of you, let's go."
"I shall take your advice to heart, Friend Barton," Thor grunted as he got up from his chair. "Much thanks on your imparting. I am sure that, with this, I can quickly move on from...her." With that, he strode out of the room, leaving an apprehensive Clint and shocked Pepper.
"You better not have ruined my OTP," she hissed venomously at him, eyes flashing. "That and Romanogers is the only thing I live for."
"Don't we all root for dear old Stasha?" he drawled in return. "And let's not forget, the Pepperony's always good," he added, as her jaw dropped open. "Always Pepperony." He continued down the hallway, despite her indignant sputters and squawks. Damn if he didn't look good tonight-he had a suit to fit.
"Whoa. Rogers, you really are aiming high tonight, aren't you?"
Steve was simply dressed in a form fitting white tuxedo with a black tie tucked into the folds of his suit, complete with white dress pants. His blond hair was causally ruffled, giving him the carefully styled look that many men seemed to envy, needing copious amounts of hair gel to even try to emulate it. The biggest change was in his eyes, however. Before, they were a dark, drowned ocean, but now held a sparkle, an unexplainable excitement that not even Tony could match in his most inebriated state. He nervously scuffed his Italian leather shoes against the lobby tile, abashed at the reaction. "You like it, Nat?"
"There's definitely going to be a lot of women on the warpath tonight," she chuckled, shooting him the grin he loved so much. If only she had the nerve to call him hers, she lamented. But who was she to deserve him? Every seven-year-old's idol. The epitome of the American Dream. No, he deserved someone who could keep up that image. Not her, the fucked-up Russian assassin with a questionable past, and even motives that had people wondering from time to time. It was why all those dates had been necessary. To push him away from her, believing that if he found the right person, she'd be able to sleep at last. But so far, no one had won him over-not even her latest attempt, the impressionist in Times Square. So maybe it hadn't been her best choice. "You sure you're ready for this, Rogers?"
"Ready as I'll ever be." Oh, that nervous, sheepish grin that always made her melt a tiny bit on the inside. Why was fate so cruel?
"Nat! You look absolutely stunning!" Pepper's voice floated into the lobby, popping Steve and Natasha's private bubble. Natasha glanced down at the dress she'd spent countless hours looking for with Pepper, no easy feat (the woman had been determined to hit every boutique on Fifth Avenue and beyond,) and smirked slightly to herself. Admittedly, navy hadn't her first choice, but one look at the dress and she'd allowed herself just one try. It was strapless-quite the bonus-and flowed something like a kimono, gathering at the bottom, giving her a sort of shapelessness, but one that held mystery instead of blandness. Matching heels fitted her feet, the result of another couple of hours with Pepper arguing with the store's manager, insisting that they'd better find her size, dammit, and did they even know who she was? She'd run her hair through the flatiron for the occasion, letting it brush her shoulders lightly. Someone was getting lucky tonight. Regrettably enough, it just wasn't going to be Natasha's person of choice.
"Attention all! Penguin alert! Prepare the buckets of fish!" Tony boisterously arrived, brandishing an imaginary trumpet. He'd gone gold for the occasion, the rich fabric smoothly flowing with each movement. "Clint Barton, ladies and gentlemen!"
Clint hobbled into the room, clad in a sophisticated charcoal suit that brought out the sharpness in his features-but also his injuries. His black tie was slightly askew, which Natasha immediately stepped up to adjust.
"Pepper beat the crap out of me," he grumbled as she redid the knot. "I swear to God, Tasha, has she been learning from you?" She shrugged lightly, stepping back to admire her work.
"Well-you look like less of a penguin now, at least."
Tony sorted at that statement.
Drinking, conversation, dancing, propositions... Yup. All the makings of a successful Stark party, Tony mused, gazing out from his vantage point. Bruce was over making conversation with another scientist-God knows what her name was, as long as anything didn't blow up. Natashalie was haunting the bar with Barton-what else was new-and Pepper seemed to be enjoying herself. Or as much as one could in five inch heels.
But Steve. Man. Steve really had hit the jackpot tonight, he and Thor seemingly scooping up every available girl in the room. Thank goodness Pepper knew the two well, or else Tony would have feared for his masculinity as well as his relationship. The two amicably chatted with each new girl they encountered, with Thor letting out the occasional booming laugh whenever one of them made a joke. Tony's lessons seemed to be going into place, then, and judging by the progress Thor had made, Clint had driven his point home as well.
Now, where was the congratulatory champagne?
"You did what?" a ditzy blonde giggled, drunkenly hanging into Steve's arm. She'd been attached to him for the last ten minutes, earning reproachful glares from the gaggle surrounding him and Thor.
Truthfully, Tony's advice on being spontaneous had actually worked...to some extent. It had definitely allowed him to connect with people on a whole new level, even if said people were drunk. At least he hadn't had to worry about initial impressions. They'd always been a sort of pet peeve to Steve, having to create a new cover story every time he was on a date. But not tonight. Tonight, he could relax and go where the tide took him.
Like to that brunette across the room...
"You okay, Tash?"
Clint's worried voice intruded upon her thoughts, causing her to give him a withering glare. Rule number one when having to deal with a pissed Black Widow: never, ever, ever talk. Her clipped words filled their silence.
"Why wouldn't I be okay?" Because she was. She really, really was. She wasn't glaring at the blonde fawning over Steve and planning how to kill her, no siree...
"Because I just drank the last of your vodka and you didn't say a thing." Indeed, as she glanced over at her empty bottle which she'd requesitioned for the night, it was empty. Clint must've snuck the last dregs when she wasn't looking. Normally, this would've been the point in which she would attempt to murder him. Today, though...
"Hmm. Guess you did. Maybe you're on your way to being a better spy, then." She waved a hand towards the bar, the bartender etching a worried look on his face as he brought over another bottle, Tony having paid him a good amount of money to provide only bottles for the night.
"Ma'am, are you sure that you're not drinking too much? I mean, this is the strongest vodka we have, and-"
"Hey, pal," Clint interrupted. "I'm guessing you're new here-yeah, thought so," he said as the bartender nodded fearfully. "Here's the thing when it comes to the Black Widow: never try to cut her off. She'll cut something off of you that's just as valuable, I promise you." All of this was said in a completely casual tone, but it was hard to miss the threat. Shaking, the bartender set down the bottle and scurried away. Natasha nodded her thanks, her eyes still narrowed on the girls surrounding Steve.
"You gonna tell me what's wrong now, after I just scared the crap out of the bartender for you?" Silence. He followed her gaze towards Steve and Thor, immediately understanding. "Ah, I see. Always knew you had a thing for Asgardian royalty."
"What?" Natasha snapped her head towards him, almost whipping him in the face with her tresses. "I do NOT have a thing for Thor!"
"My bad," Clint snorted. "Must be the blonde, then. You know, you can tell us if you swing that way. No one's going to judge you for it. In fact, I'm pretty sure I can introduce you two. I think she's the senator's daughter-Samantha, her name might be? I don't know, maybe I'm imagining things and I-"
"Fuck off, Barton." Three words so eloquently said that they managed to convey a whole other meaning for Clint.
"It's Rogers, isn't it?" She sighed and cracked open the bottle as an answer. "Why don't you just tell him?" The only response he received was a long chug of the alcohol, in which Clint immediately ducked as she spit it out in a surprised stream.
"This is water."
"I'll kill the bartender. You keep an eye on Rogers," he suggested. Natasha nodded, and he left in search of the poor man. Her gaze swiveled over the party once more, landing on Steve, who was dancing with a curvy brunette in ways that she was sure would normally make him blush. Her stomach roiled, and Natasha thought she was going to puke-not just because of the alcohol.
You got me runnin' round town like a woman on a warpath
Ingrid Michaelson's "Warpath" began to blare, the lights dimming to their least. Now was a good time as ever, she decided, and slipped off of her stool, not swaying in the slightest, despite the whole bottle (minus Clint swiping the last drops) she'd consumed over the course of the night. Natasha was on a mission. One she didn't intend to fail.
Her heels clacked across the floor in time with the song's pulsing beat. People automatically moved out of her way upon seeing her fierce demeanor, her face set in a cool, composed mask. Slowly, she moved towards the group, both men unawares as they fraternized with various women. Natasha noted that none of them seemed to be redheads, and idly wondered why.
You got the hands to make 'em all buckle and blush
She considered just dropping one with an accurately placed pulse pinch, but decided against it. So she waited. Edged her way slowly into the group bit by bit, Steve unnoticing the whole time.
I'm gonna live forever and it hurts so much
"Why, hi, I'm Steve Rogers, what's-Nat." Steve stopped cold. "What are you doing here?"
She didn't answer, only pulled his head down to her to give him a searing kiss that surprised the both of them at its intensity. Steve pulled back in disbelief, slightly shaking his head at what had transpired.
"Nat, you're drunk," he told her, mentally cursing himself for reciprocating. "Don't do this to yourself, you're going to regret it in the morning-"
"Do I look drunk, Rogers?" Her scrutinizing green eyes met his, perfectly sober in their appearance.
"Why me, then?"
Natasha was about to respond in kind-no way he would've kissed her like that if he hadn't felt something-but was rudely interrupted by one of the party's blondes tapping her shoulder.
"Find your own, bitch." The slurred statement was accompanied by a slap, a blow that Natasha didn't even try to dodge. Gave her an excuse to start a fight, anyways.
"Why'd you hold me back? I could've taken her!"
Steve and Natasha were huddled outside of the police station, the pouring rain surrounding the both of them as they stood under a weak awning. Natasha's fight had just happened to be with Samantha, the senator's daughter (Clint had been right, after all). Black Widow or not, assault had still been assault. Thus leading to a long night at the local police station with Steve, who had tried to restrain her from killing the poor girl.
"She could've injured you," Steve answered seriously. "Those heels looked pretty sharp."
"And since when did you worry about me?" she asked, more to herself than him. He sincerely gazed at her then, and she looked back, suddenly self-conscious.
"Always."
The one word caused Natasha's eyes to water a bit, and before she knew it, she was in Steve's arms, him comfortingly rubbing her back. Putting her at a bit of an arm's length, he kissed her then, her arms wrapping around his neck.
"Hey! If it isn't our favorite Romanogers," Tony called from his car in the street. "Are you guys gonna get in the car or just stand there all night making out like teenagers?" They separated then, Steve with a contented chuckle, her with various vows to kill Tony at the next opportune moment. Arm in arm, they ran towards the car, climbing in, looking surprised to see Clint in the backseat.
"Told you it would work, Barton," Tony proclaimed confidently as they started towards Stark Tower.
"...what worked, you two?" Tony hesitated at Natasha's words, carefully choosing his next sentence.
"Clint and I...may or may not have given Capsicle and Point Break a relationship talk,"
Neither Tony nor Clint was seen again that night. The next morning, an inch-thick manila file was present on Coulson's desk, prompting the thought that, yes, maybe he should take a vacation...
This Friday, I SWEAR. Read and review! Please? Best review gets one of Clint's sweatshirts...not one of the breakup ones xD
And oh, yeah. If you haven't noticed...lol, I'm addicted to Ingrid Michaelson songs at the moment xD