Steve Rogers had always played by the book. His friends used to tease him mercilessly about his apparent inability to ever step a toe out of line: he'd always be home by curfew, he never told a lie and he always stood up to bullies, even when he knew that he was fighting a losing battle. He'd gotten his butt kicked more than a few times for his troubles but his sense of justice and the belief that everyone ought to be treated fairly never wavered. It had earned him the unenviable nickname of Vanilla Man growing up, but Steve didn't care; the jokes rolled off of him like water off a duck's back. If anything, the jibes simply served to fuel his desire to make a difference, because for as long as Steve could remember, he had wanted to be a cop—and if there was one thing that Steve's friends could all agree upon, it was that when Steve Rogers put his mind to something, he damn well did it in spades.
He had applied that same resilience and determination to his studies: top of his class at the NYC Police Academy, he had graduated with honors alongside his best friend, Sam Wilson, another Brooklyn native who, like Steve, believed that they could do some good in the world by taking up the blue. He'd been fortunate enough to be stationed at the 76th Precinct, a stone's throw away from where he'd grown up in Red Hook in the northwest side of Brooklyn, ready and eager to serve the city and its people.
Unlike a lot of young cops fresh out of the academy, Steve was under no illusion that the job would be an easy one: the hours were grueling and unsociable. Working the beat was as emotionally demanding as it was physical; you had to think on your feet constantly while dealing with people in distress and had to quickly accept that, more often than not, your presence was an unwelcome, albeit a necessary one. Yet despite all of this, Steve was passionate about the work and the people. His professionalism and passion didn't go unnoticed by his coworkers, and over time he earned a new nickname, only slightly less embarrassing than the previous one—Captain America.
Yes, Steve Rogers had always played by the book. But after twelve long years on the force—with a detective badge and a failed marriage under his belt—Steve's unblemished record was about to be broken...
"Natasha, what's your position?" Steve murmured.
His partner's voice crackled in his ear, tinny and distant. "Bored and hungry. Over."
"Natasha…"
"Cool it, Rogers. I'm just passing JC Penney," she huffed. "No sign of him yet."
"Okay. Sam?"
"I'm at the main entrance," he replied. "Still no sign of the target."
"Clint? Anything to report?"
"Nada to report here either, man," Clint replied briskly.
Steve sighed and leaned on the glass balcony overlooking the ground floor of Stark Plaza Shopping Center. His team had been on a stakeout at the mall all day long. When it had come to the attention of local law enforcement that Stark Plaza was being used as a regular drop off location for illegal narcotics, the New York City Police Department's Stakeout Unit, headed by Steve, was put on the case. They suspected that the crime boss, Adrian Toomes, was the culprit behind the operation. It was ballsy in Steve's opinion, if not incredibly reckless, to use a busy mall as a drop off point for the drugs.
Incredibly reckless or quite ingenious, he thought to himself.
The mall was so busy that it would be easy for their target to get lost in the crowd. Despite this, Toomes would never risk getting caught in the act, so he was sending his lackeys to do his dirty work for him: namely, a petty criminal by the name of Herman Schultz. That was who Steve and his team were hoping to pick up. They knew that Schultz was due to meet an accomplice sometime today, they just didn't know when. Their hopes that this particular criminal was an early bird who committed felonies in the morning were dashed as the hours had worn on. The more time passed, everyone's appetites grew and their patience was wearing thin.
"Why do I get food court detail?" Clint groaned. "Walking past all of this delicious smelling food is killing me! I swear to god, if I have to walk by Shalom Grill without buying anything one more time…"
"You know it's standard procedure to have an officer on each floor in case we somehow miss the suspect entering the premises. Better to cover all of the bases than risk losing this guy," Steve explained patiently, glancing up at the floor above him although he knew he wouldn't be able to see his fellow officer and teammate. Clint's derisive snort was so loud in Steve's ear that he winced.
"Sure thing! Because that's what you do before any drug deal: you go to the food court and grab a bite to eat!"
"You do if you're an idiot," Natasha mused.
Steve scanned the ground floor for his partner and spotted her bright auburn hair headed in his direction as she expertly weaved between the crowd of shoppers. She was putting on a fine show of blending in like a typical customer, swinging her shopping bags from side to side and perusing store windows, but Steve knew better. Despite appearances, Natasha was alert to her surroundings, using the reflection in the store windows to keep watch for their man.
"Well, if we're lucky he might be stupid enough to do just that," said Steve hopefully, although he wasn't going to bet on it.
Fortunately for them, the accomplice Schultz was due to meet—another lowlife by the name of Jackson Brice—was easy to spot from a mile off. Steve's team were more than amused to discover that when Brice wasn't working as one of Toomes's lackeys, he moonlighted as this particular mall's Santa Claus during the festive season.
Steve turned his attention back to Brice, who was situated on the ground floor between two escalators. Sporting a padded out Santa's outfit and synthetic white beard, he lounged like a king astride his gold throne, surrounded by fake snow and a tall Christmas tree which had an obscenely large pile of display Christmas gifts tucked enticingly underneath it. There was even a cheap imitation of Santa's Grotto beside the tree, which nobody except Santa's little helper—a rather surly-looking teenager dressed as a Christmas elf—had ventured into. If the suspicious plume of smoke coming from the candy cane-adorned window was any indication of what was going on inside, Steve presumed the elf was sneaking a smoke during the quieter moments of their shift. Not that there was much opportunity to do that; the line of expectant children who were all eager to meet their festive hero seemed to be neverending, and it was clear that Brice was in his element, "ho-ho-ho-ing" merrily while the children and their parents remained entirely unaware that this great pretender was most certainly on Santa's naughty list this year.
The plan was simple: catch Schultz red-handed dropping the narcotics off to Brice, presumably in exchange for a large sum of money. Steve and his team would swoop on them then, take them down to the station and, hopefully, flip one or both of them against their crime boss, Toomes. It sounded straightforward enough, but as time wore on, Steve was beginning to worry that Schultz wasn't going to show. If that was the case, they'd have to come back tomorrow morning and try again. Steve hoped that wasn't necessary, more for the sake of his teammates than himself. Working the Stakeout Unit was rarely glamorous and often boring, repetitive work, and he was in no hurry to put his teammates through another day of boredom at the mall. After a few more uneventful minutes of waiting, Clint finally lost his patience.
"That's it! I can't wait any longer. I'm grabbing something to eat from Shalom Grill," he declared. "You guys wanting anything?"
Steve tensed and bowed his head, pretending to look at his watch while he spoke into the small microphone pinned to his t-shirt.
"We're on the job, Barton, you shouldn't be buying snacks," he chastised.
"You heard Nat, we're starving! And we've already missed lunch," Clint argued. "Besides, we're supposed to be blending in, aren't we? I look hella suspicious wandering about a food court without buying any food."
"Fair point," Steve relented.
"Do your cognitive functions extend beyond the whims of your stomach?" Sam teased.
"Nah. Usually, he usually thinks with his dick first," Natasha joked.
Sam's laughter rang in Steve's ear as Clint, sounding wounded, offered a weak "very funny, Nat" in response. Even Steve was struggling to suppress a grin at that remark. He faked a cough covered his mouth—and his smile—with the back of his hand.
"You know what? Screw you guys, you can get your own dinner," Clint grumbled.
"Come on man, we're only kidding!" Sam chuckled.
"Get me a schnitzel burger," said Natasha.
"Urgh...alright, but only because I love you," Clint sighed. "Whatcha having, Sam?"
"Aww, I knew that you loved me too," he preened. "Schwarma for me, thanks."
"Steve?"
"Nothing for me, thanks."
"Come on man, you must be starving!" Clint cried.
"I'm fine," Steve insisted. He was starving, but he didn't feel like he'd earned a bite to eat until they had finished the job. Clint, however, ignored Steve's protests.
"I'll just grab you a hotdog, then," he insisted. "Hi there. Uh, can I have two shawarmas—pita, thanks—one schnitzel burger—"
"Guys, I have eyes on Schultz." Sam cut Clint's order off mid-sentence. "He's just entered the building, I'm following him from a distance."
Steve heard Clint curse and give the checkout person a hurried apology as he abandoned his order. "I'm headed for the escalator. What's the target wearing?"
"Black beanie hat, black bomber jacket with yellow sleeves, blue jeans, green backpack," Sam rhymed off. "He's walking at a fairly quick pace. He looks agitated as hell."
"Don't approach him until after he's made the exchange," Steve reminded them, his gaze fixed on Brice as he summoned another child to sit on his lap, oblivious to what was about to happen. A few moments later, Schultz walked into Steve's line of sight. Looking around nervously, Schultz beelined in the direction of Brice, who hadn't yet noticed his accomplice's presence. Sam appeared soon after, keeping a safe distance from Schultz so as not to be spotted. Just as Sam sat down at a nearby bench, Natasha came into view again from the right, pretending to be on her phone as she slowly made her approach.
"I have a clear view of the target," she said quietly.
"Everyone hold your positions," Steve instructed.
The team waited with bated breath as Schultz lingered at the bottom of the escalator on Steve's left, trying to catch Brice's eye. When Brice finally caught sight of Schultz, his jovial smile quickly fell into a dark scowl, but he didn't rush the kid sitting on his knee away; instead, he waited patiently and nodded as the little girl presumably rhymed off everything that she wanted for Christmas that year. When she finally slid off of his knee and skipped away towards her mother, Brice beckoned his assistant over and whispered in his ear. The surly teenager nodded and hurried inside the Grotto, re-emerging moments later with a large sign that read Santa is off to the North Pole. Back soon!, which he placed it in front of Santa's throne before wandering off in the direction of the exit, probably for another cigarette break.
Brice ignored the groans of disappointment from the children still waiting to see Santa as he rose from his seat and beckoned Schultz over to the Grotto with a curt nod. Steve held his breath as Schultz slipped his backpack off as he walked quickly over to Brice's side. He was in the process of opening it when Brice grabbed his wrist and hissed something that, from what Steve could guess, looked like "what the hell are you doing?" before a sheepish-looking Schultz zipped the bag shut again. Steve took his time walking in the direction of the nearest escalator as he watched Brice and Schultz argue briefly before Brice roughly shoved his accomplice inside the small Grotto, slamming the door shut behind him.
"Did you manage to get a look at the contents of that bag from where you're standing, Natasha?" asked Steve, stepping onto the descending escalator.
"Oh yeah," she chuckled. "That bag was full of white bricks and I don't think it was snow from the North Pole."
Clint stepped onto the escalator directly across from Steve while Sam stood up from his bench. Like a pack of wolves, all four of them approached the Grotto, surrounding it from all sides, waiting for Brice and Schultz to re-emerge. A moment later, the Grotto's door swung open again and Schultz stepped out, ducking his head to avoid banging it against the low door frame, immediately followed by Brice. Without a parting word to one another, Schultz slung the green backpack higher onto his shoulder and began marching in the direction of the exit while Brice straightened his red pointed hat and sauntered back over to his gold throne. With the exchange complete, it was time for Steve and his team to step in.
"That's our cue, guys. Take them now."
Steve stepped off of the escalator just as Schultz was walking past. He only managed to walk a few more paces when Sam and Steve, flanking him from either side, grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. His confused expression turned into one of panic when he saw Sam's police badge.
"Hold it right there, pal," said Sam tucking his badge back into his pocket. "NYPD. We'd like to take a look in that bag of yours."
"Oh, hell no!" Schultz tried to shake Steve off and make a run for it, but to no avail. Despite his protestations of innocence and continuing struggle to free himself, Steve and Sam made quick work of pinning Schultz to the ground and placing him in handcuffs. A small crowd had gathered around them, watching with interest as Sam pulled their suspect to his feet. When Sam had a secure hold of Schultz, Steve snatched the abandoned backpack from the floor and unzipped it. The bricks of cocaine Natasha had seen were gone, but Steve whistled when he saw that they had been replaced with a large pile of cash.
"Well, what do we have here?" he asked, pulling out a fistful of notes and showing them to Schultz. "Going Christmas shopping, were we?"
"That's not mine," Schultz replied quickly.
"Really?" asked Steve flatly. "You just happened to find a bag full of cash while you were wandering about the mall? Or did your friend give it to you?"
Schultz glared at Steve but said nothing. Just then there was a loud scream and Steve's head snapped up to see what the commotion was.
In the short time that had passed since Sam and Steve had apprehended Schultz, a lot had transpired. As soon as Brice saw Sam flash his police badge, he broke out into a run in the opposite direction, hoping to outrun the police and evade capture. Unfortunately for him, he didn't make it more than a few strides as Natasha stuck her foot out and tripped him up. Passersby gasped as Brice stumbled and fell before landing spread eagle across the polished marble floor. As Brice lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, moaning in pain, Natasha dropped her shopping bags and flashed her police badge at him.
"Not so fast, Kris Kringle." Tucking her badge back down the front of her shirt, she began pulling Brice back onto his feet. "I know this is a busy time of year for you but we're gonna have to take a look inside your gingerbread house."
"It's a Grotto, Nat. Only witches live in gingerbread houses," Clint informed her, ducking as he entered the little house to investigate. "Holy shit! There must be at least ten kilos worth of coke in here! Merry Christmas indeed…"
Natasha pulled out her handcuffs that she kept tucked into the bottom of her back and gave a careless shrug. "Jackson Brice, you're under arrest on suspicion of—WOAH!"
Without warning, Brice pulled a knife out from his sleeve and lunged at Natasha. She managed to duck just in time and the blade missed striking her face by mere inches. Clint, unaware of the danger Natasha was in, emerged from the Grotto then, brandishing two large white bricks of cocaine wrapped in polyethylene.
"Seriously, we could build an igloo there's so many bricks in there!" he cried gleefully, but his smile fell as he realized what was happening. Clint immediately dropped the packages and drew his pistol, pointing it at Brice. "Stand down or I'll shoot!"
Natasha, however, never gave Clint the opportunity to use his weapon. Onlookers screamed as the demented Santa Claus lunged at her but she easily side-stepped him, unwittingly moving directly into Clint's line of sight. Clint swore loudly and shouted at Natasha to move out of the way, but in the blink of an eye, she had grabbed Brice's wrist and twisted it violently. There was an audible crunch and Brice squealed in pain as Natasha disarmed him and the knife clattered to the floor, but even then, Brice wasn't going down without a fight. Using his uninjured arm, he took a swing for Natasha but she easily ducked his punch. With the elegance of a ballerina, she roundhouse kicked Brice square in the chest, sending him soaring through the air before he crashed into the Christmas tree and toppled it over. Clint had to dive out of the way of the falling tree as it came crashing to the ground, crushing the Grotto in the process.
Ignoring the screams and cries of everyone around her, Natasha marched over to Brice, who lay in an undignified heap on top of the Christmas gifts. His fake beard had fallen off during the scuffle but Natasha grabbed a handful of Brice's real beard and yanked him forward, causing him to yell in pain as she threw him onto the floor on top of his padded belly.
"Put your hands behind your back!" she yelled, pressing her knee into the bottom of his back. "You're under arrest."
"I can't!" Brice cried pitifully. "You broke my arm!"
Natasha clicked her tongue impatiently and roughly pulled Brice to his feet again.
"If you attack me or my colleagues again, I'll break your other arm," she warned. "Got it?"
"Natasha!" Steve cried, running over to her side, closely followed by Sam, who dragged Schultz alongside him. "Are you alright? What the hell happened?"
"This clown thought it was a good idea to add assaulting a police officer with a deadly weapon to the list of charges against him," she snarled, jerking her head at Brice, whose unbroken arm she held in a vise-like grip. "It's my fault: I didn't pat him down before I tried cuffing him. Then again, nobody thinks Santa Claus is gonna pull a knife on you, do they? I took care of it, though."
"I can see that," said Steve weakly, looking around at the chaos that surrounded them: a large crowd of disbelieving onlookers were watching them, including a number of crying children. Several people had their phones out recording the whole thing.
Christ, he thought woefully. This'll be online in no time.
"Where's Clint?" he asked, looking around for his absent teammate.
As though summoned by Steve's words, Clint clambered out from under the Christmas tree and back to his feet, brushing pine needles from his jacket. Looking around dazedly he shook his head.
"Holy shit, Nat!" he exclaimed before turning to Natasha with an awed expression. "That was awesome!"
Natasha flashed him a brilliant smile. "Thank you, Clint! Come on, let's get these guys booked and then we can head out for a bite to eat. You still owe me a schnitzel burger."
"Fury is gonna kill us when he hears about this," Steve groaned, running his hand over his stubbly face. Natasha snorted.
"I don't see why. We got the bad guys, didn't we? And nobody got seriously hurt. So, yah know...mission accomplished!"
Steve was far less confident that their Captain would see it that way but there was no point crying over spilled milk: they'd just have to deal with the consequences, whatever they may be.
"Alright, let's head back to the station," he sighed. "Nat. Sam. You take Brice and Schultz to the car. Clint and I will collect evidence from what's left of the Grotto."
"Uh, there might be a slight issue with that," said Clint slowly.
Steve frowned at him. "What do you mean?"
Clint bent over and picked up what was left of the plastic bag which had contained the brick of cocaine, its contents having spilled all over the shopping mall floor. Steve threw his head back in despair and groaned. Fury was going to be furious.