Natasha is a pickpocket. Unfortunately, she picked the wrong man to steal from this time. Steve Rogers doesn't play around with thieves, although the lovely redhead who attempts to steal his wallet intrigues him.

xxxXxxx

He could sense the person before he felt them. Whoever he was, the guy was pretty gifted. Bold too. Trying to lift a man's wallet in broad daylight on a busy street where people could see. The punk picked the wrong person to mess with this time, though, Steve thought to himself with a scowl.

Luckily, there was an alley just on his right and if he timed it properly, Steve could grab the thief, drag him into the alley with him and put a little fear in him.

In a split second, Steve grabbed and twisted the wrist of the man behind him and using the element of surprise on the punk, he pulled him into the alley, slamming him against the brick wall.

A low moan came from the would-be thief's lips and Steve smirked, pushing back the hood of his jacket to get a look at him. However, the corner of his lips fell when he realised that this thief was not a man, but in fact, a young woman. She had piercing green eyes and hair as red as blood framed her face. There was a little patch of dirt on her cheek and her eyes were full of anger and suspicion. Through the anger, Steve could see that she was tired.

Judging from her clothes, maybe not. She was wearing a pair of chucks, black skinny jeans and an unzipped hoodie with a yellow t shirt underneath it. The clothes were a bit rumpled, but they didn't seem dirty and she certainly didn't smell like a homeless person.

"Let me go," she hissed, trying to free her twisted wrist away from him.

Steve lessened his grip on her wrist, but he didn't let go of her. Instead, he glared, the former feeling of shock that she was a woman fading away and being replaced by indignation. "Why did you try to steal from me?"

The girl had enough gall to scoff as if he had asked her a ridiculous question. "Why else do people steal from the privileged?"

"I'm hardly privileged, miss."

The redhead's brows furrowed and she raised an eyebrow at him. " 'Miss'? Boy, are you cordial. I guess mommy and daddy taught you manners. Although you suck at treating women respectfully." She tried to knee him in the crotch, but he sensed the hit coming and blocked it with his free hand.

She had some nerve. "You were trying to steal from from me! I was just minding my own business when you decided it would be cute to rob me of my wallet." He cocked his head to the side. "Don't you think a job would be much better than going around robbing random strangers?"

"...No."

"So theft is better? Listen, even if you've got a job bagging groceries at a supermarket or being a waitress at some restaurant, it's still a whole lot better than stealing. And your dignity remains intact. If you're stealing for drugs, it's only going to be a temporary fix." Steve had no idea why he was trying to help the girl.

The girl stared at him for a few seconds, eyes wide as two gold pieces. "No way. Are you seriously trying to convert me? Turn me into a good, hardworking citizen like you? Man, you must get off on condescension." She threw her head back and laughed.

Okay, what the hell was that supposed to mean? Steve ignored the warmth that rushed through him at the sound of her rich timbre and scowled at her. "I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, please. Don't play coy with me. You know exactly what I'm talking about. It's people like you who cause problems in the world. Why is it that, because I tried to steal from you, I must be out of work or desperate for money or trying to score some drugs? For your information, Dr. Phil, I do have a job, and I also happen to like it. Stealing is just for fun." She giggled after this, plump lips turned up in a saucy grin.

A lot of emotions were boiling around in the pit of Steve's stomach: anger, frustration, embarrassment, annoyance, but hearing this girl laugh at him was a big blow to his ego. She must have thought that he was one of those rich snobs who only looked down on the middle class people. Well, she suffered from a serious delusion if she thought that was his story. His eyes flashed to her full, parted lips before he spoke.

"Look, red, you don't know the first thing about me. If you think that I'm rich, you're very mistaken. I'm not wallowing in millions. I'm an art history teacher and I'm sure you, like most people, know that teaching is a labor of love, not salary."

Honestly, it was ridiculous for him to try and explain himself to her. He didn't even know her and she tried to steal from him, and Steve had a feeling that she was used to doing this quite a lot.

"Oh, you're a teacher. How classically bleeding heart. Lemme guess. You teach in one of those rough inner city schools and you're hoping to pull a stand and deliver on the students and make them care about education? Now, that's noble, but I wonder if you don't feel that way because you just want to get a good name for yourself, so you can transfer out of the hellhole to some fancy school in the nice part of the city. Am I close?" She began to cackle.

Steve had never encountered anyone with such an acid tongue in all his life. It was a cruel joke that such a bad tempered woman was so good-looking. She didn't seem like she was scared of anything. Hell, even when he had her wrist against the wall, she seemed unbothered by it. Like she was in control of the entire situation. After those nasty comments about his career, Steve itched to teach this little minx a lesson.

Grimacing, he grabbed her other hand and tugged her with him as he moved forward to the street. "We'll see what the police have to say about it. I wouldn't be surprised at all to find out that they know your face well. They may even thank me for turning you in. I'd be doing a public service."

At this, the redhead froze in place and pulled back from Steve, but his grip was like iron. She was going nowhere. "No, don't take me to the precinct. Please."

For once, she sounded genuinely afraid. Even her emerald eyes were full of alarm and Steve felt himself wondering why, but he didn't want her to think that he cared because he didn't...yet he was curious.

Still wanting payback for those harsh words about him and the school he taught at, he said, "Why? Does your father work there or something? You don't want him to know what his little girl is up to on Saturday mornings?"

The frightened look on her face vanished in a mere instant once Steve mentioned her father. Her green eyes gave him a sharp, disdainful glare and she crossed her arms. Clearly, he had touched a nerve. Good.

"No. I don't have a father...but there are people downtown who would love to get their hands on me." Suddenly, she drew up her hoodie and zipped it up. "As much as I love flirting with danger, I don't need the cops on my tail."

Steve couldn't stop the sarcasm in his voice as he replied, "Why? Did you steal from them too?"

She rolled her eyes and rubbed her wrist. "You're a gifted comedian. How about a truce? You promise not to turn me in to the police and I don't tell them that you attacked me."

"Wait a minute, I didn't-"

As Steve began to sputter and defend himself, the redhead casually held up her wrist to his face. "You sprained it, so I think that would be enough reason to question you at the very least. So, as I said before, a truce would be in order between us, don't you think?"

She did have a valid a point, which he begrudgingly acknowledged. This woman was a force to be reckoned with. She must keep herself prepared for anything, even for a guy like him, who was so convinced that he had her right under his thumb.

The redhead held out her hand to him and Steve reluctantly shook it, a scowl on his face. There weren't many people who got the best of him like this. He tended to be the kind of person who was prepared for troublemakers, but this girl was different. She had angles upon angles. Steve found himself wanting to know who she was and how she got that way.

You win this round, you minx, but we'll see who comes out on top next time around.

Her eyes looked over him once more and she stepped back towards the street. "Well, this has been a lot of fun, old man, but I really have to be moving al-" Before she could finished her sentence, her stomach gurgled. Loudly. Two bright red spots appeared on her cheeks and Steve chuckled.

"So you're hungry. Is that why you tried stealing my wallet?"

"Maybe," she said, kicking a dented can with her shoe.

It was no use. He wouldn't get anything out of her like this. She was still too defensive and probably a little suspicious too, from what he could see. For some bizarre reason, Steve decided to play the Good Samaritan for a change.

"Come on. It's obvious that you're hungry. I don't know where you come from or when you last ate, but it's clear that you haven't eaten in a while."

"So?" Her voice was hard, like steel. Damn, she was a tough nut to break. Steve wouldn't mind trying to crack her, though. He was a patient man.

"So I propose as part of our truce, that you let me treat you to lunch."

The incredulous look on her face was worth him saying those words a million times over. She blinked several times and her mouth opened and closed more than once. Speechless. Guess that could be chalked up to a win.

"You want to buy me lunch? After I tried to steal from you?!"

"Yes."

She peered at him and crossed her arm, shaking her head. "...I think you're the one on drugs."

"Does that mean you're accepting?" She wasn't going to get out of it so easily. Steve was intrigued by this red haired vixen and he was determined to find out more about her.

"I-" her stomach gurgled again, louder and noisier than he last time. She covered her belly with her hands and frowned. He was right. She hadn't eaten in quite a few days and her body was betraying her to that. Who was she to turn down free food? "Oh, fine. You can buy me lunch."

Good. Now for the surprise. "Alright. I will treat you to lunch on one condition."

Those brilliant green eyes widened and she backed away from him a few feet. The glare in her eyes was reminiscent of a threatened cat.

"I'm not going to sleep with you, so if that's what you're thinking, you can go straight to hell."

From the strained tone of her voice, Steve guessed that she had experienced that with other people. A pang struck him in the gut and he felt such compassion for this woman, this beautiful young waif.

"No, no. I didn't mean that. I would never hurt a woman in that way. My mother raised me to always treat women with respect and please believe me when I say that there are no sexual motives for my actions."

The truth was laced in his words and she grew less tense once she saw that he was being honest with her. She rubbed her wrist again and muttered in a bare whisper, "So what are your conditions, then?"

"That you answer five questions to me about yourself."

Her head jerked up and she stared at him like he'd spontaneously grown two heads. No one in her life had ever cared much about her, especially not a stranger. She wasn't sure how to take it.

"So you want to play a game?"

"No, I just want to know five things about you, that's all. It'll make it easier, eating with me since we're perfect strangers. For instance...what's your name?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Why do you need to know that?"

Was she paranoid about people knowing her name? This woman was getting to be more of a challenge the longer he talked to her. Too bad he found that interesting.
"Because I can't go around calling you 'minx' or 'vixen', now can I?"

That might have been a dumb thing to say, Steve thought. Now she's going to think that you've already called her those names in your head, which you have, but to admit that would be humiliating.

Instead of getting defensive again, though, she pursed her lips and thought for a moment. He did have a point. There was no point in keeping him from knowing her name. It's not like she'd be telling him her full name and address...

"Natasha."

Steve's lips curled up and he nodded. It was a beautiful name for a beautiful girl. "Well, Natasha. I'm Steve. It's nice to meet you...finally."

"Mm. Quid pro quo. If you know five things about me, then I want to know five things about you. It's only fair."

Okay. He was not expecting that at all, but it seemed reasonable enough. "Ah, why not? Whatever you want to know, I'll tell you."

"Fine by me. In return, I'll answer any question you ask about me...within reason, that is. Then we'll both go our separate ways and never see each other again."

Boy, was she quick on the demands.

"Alright...and if you don't get around to asking me five things?" He asked her innocently.

Natasha turned and walked to the street. Steve followed her silently, waiting for her to reply. After a few long moments of watching the cars go by, she gave him a sly glance. There was a saucy tilt to her voice as she purred, "Oh, don't worry. I always come to collect~"