Beats on the Street
The Windy City sets the stage as two newspapers, The Chicago City Herald and The Chicago Star, rival for sales and stories. She's the award-winning writer for The Herald. He's the hungry newcomer to The Star. Her world is immediately turned upside down as he enters the scene. They sleuth and gumshoe about as mysteries unravel, and newsbeats are revealed. Steve and Natasha race against time and each other, writing articles for their competing papers, only to discover that theirs is the real story about to unfold.
Steve and Natasha's origin story in an Alternate Universe.
This is my second fanfic. I've enjoyed writing for a long time and found fanfiction a long time ago, so I'm excited to jump back into this universe that I love.
Slow Burn / Rivals / Frenemies to Lovers / Romance / Comedy / Mystery / AU.
I do not own any of this or any part of Marvel or the MCU
Chapter 1 – The Cover Story: Off to the Races
Note:
Hello and welcome! I started this as a one shot, and well…that went out the window immediately. This will be a multi-chapter AU fic, inspired by some great Rom Coms and tropes with rivalries and frenemies to lovers.
I hope you enjoy the chapter below!
Beats on the Street –
I do not own any of this or any part of Marvel or the MCU
Chapter 1 – The Cover Story: Off to the Races
Drawing attention to two journalists, this story begins on a morning with our opposing leads in Chicago. She learns who he is. He's known since moving here a month ago. Interest is taken with what unfolds today. For in this particular tale, Natasha Romanoff and Steve Rogers are on a collision course that's unavoidable. The rival papers they work for. The events that occur, drawing them to the same location on a random Monday. The unspoken places they've found themselves in, after meeting. They can't help but open this tale's edition and read the headlining articles to learn about each other.
For the story they're covering, and their interactions that follow, truly sends them off to the races.
The sun was almost up this Monday morning. Such possibility arose, for the Midwest's largest metropolis as the light gleamed off the skyscrapers of Chicago. And most would look at this dawn breaking, just like any other Monday.
A morning breaks in the new workweek, closing the days off that came before. Groans and yawns emerge as alarm clocks start to sound. The beats on the street come alive as traffic grows and trains arrive for the early birds across the landscape of steel and pavement. Joggers on lake trails and markets and coffee shops opening their locked doors. All welcoming frequent customers and residents of the city. The early birds were fully awake as oranges and yellows burst into the sky, while they pounded the cement below on an early run. All while the late risers were hitting snooze, avoiding that Monday morning slog that was sure to come.
And all through the city, the sounds of delivery trucks surfaced, stopping at their destinations. The grunts and huffs of breath added to it all, as workers picked up stacks of print editions, hot off the presses from the night before. Lifting and taking. Carrying and tossing. All repeatedly delivering stacks of news with that familiar thud as they hit their destination. At a hotel or a coffeeshop. At a market or newspaper stand. All around the city, they were scattered throughout for its readers. And every morning, the folds of paper were delivered as consistently as that breaking dawn.
It may have been a challenging environment for print media over the last couple of decades. Yes, the online world surged, and print editions lessened. Companies had to change and grow in different ways, but here in the heart of the third largest city in America, two papers still boomed. They stood tall as relics and as strong as a boat fighting off waves at sea.
The Chicago City Herald and The Chicago Star, had endured the test of time and kept their footing as the waves of change came. Just like The Journal in New York or The Times in L.A., these two papers had kept the presses going as they survived and even still, thrived. They'd seen other competitors go the full way of digital, and they'd seen a new age of influencers, bloggers, and social media pop ups be born. But these two institutions remained resilient and sound, under the leadership at the top. But more importantly, they churned and kept those presses going, because of the journalists that ran the beats on the street of this city.
And for almost a decade, The Herald had been the leading print.
But the events that unfolded today, would cause yet another change to occur. It would cause a long veteran of the industry, who'd led the way in stories and awards and now a bestselling book, to start questioning herself, and not just the facts in a story. It would cause everything to change as this Monday morning unfolded, and orbits changed.
A man of average build and middle age frantically checked everything in his residence. The water was off, and everything else was unplugged. The important items one must grab if an emergency comes up, were in the bag on his back, and in the briefcase he held.
He looked back at the remnants of his life as he shook his head, knowing this was for the best. He opened his case one last time, seeing the familiar items. A few pens and pencils. Paper and notepads. All normal and expected, except for the package that stood out on top.
But the package had an address on it, he knew too well. He didn't have time to think. He'd already thought and decided, and what was done was done. This was what needed to happen. He looked over the address again and then slid the USB drive in its protective case, and then into the bubbled manila folder. Sealing it tight, and checking the address one last time, he whispered, "It's what's for the best."
The man glanced at himself in the mirror and shook away any guilty feelings. Any remaining anxiety that was in him, only came from knowing…this should have happened sooner than today.
But today was here. Monday morning, early, as the city outside awakened. Monday morning that sounded with business and life and work. Monday morning, that meant the postal service was back in business.
He was out the door a minute later and made a quick stop at the blue postal box on the corner of his street. He didn't look back at the house he left. He didn't look back because the past was there. The past where mistakes were made, and stories were silenced. This was about where he was going.
On the right path. Finally.
The metal sounded as the lid closed after he watched the manilla package with the USB, fall inside. No going back now. Off it went to its destination, and off he would go.
A handful of minutes later, the man was at his normal stop like most Mondays, the train station.
The L in Chicago.
Such a simple name and letter for the elevated transit system. For something bursting with life every hour of the day. If the skyscrapers were the bones, and the streets were the muscles of the city, then the L and public transit were the veins. It flowed, carrying its passengers from suburbs to downtown and back again. It carried commuters from home to work, and tourists from hotel to destination.
And this man arrived just as he had countless Mondays in the past. He scanned his pass, knowing that he would arrive at his stop soon enough and be done with this mess he was in.
His pass said Blue Line today, even though he normally used a different route. But Blue it was. That wasn't the only difference this morning.
His normal train tracks. His normal station. But the rest of this man's day would be anything but normal. For the rest of this man's day wouldn't exist at all.
He left his house, in preparation for it being a while before he'd return. What he didn't think, was that it would be the last time he ever left.
It would be the last train ticket ever purchased. And it would be the last sunrise he'd ever live to see, on this Monday morning in Chicago.
"Hey lady, I'm walking here!"
"Then actually walk, and don't block the sidewalk!"
The man yelled an expletive, and Natasha Romanoff shook her head but dug in. It was the middle of her run as she huffed on and trudged forward. The sun was rising, and her feet were pounding the pavement beneath her.
She'd said, "Screw it," on listening to music this morning, and just went with taking in the city. The man yelling at her minutes ago, wasn't the first and wouldn't be the last by a long shot. The dogs getting walked. The other runners around her in her neighborhood. The smirk she couldn't hold back if she tried, every time she saw a newspaper stack getting tossed toward a stand. Shops opening and familiars yelling, "Hey Red, happy Monday!" or something of the sort was answered with a wave. Birds chirping and trees rustling with squirrels and the breeze. Brownstones and houses turning on as they tried to combat the Monday morning blues.
It all sounded around her in the tune that wasn't on any playlist. The song of the city.
"This is it. Let's go, Romanoff."
Natasha muttered to herself as she hit her last hill. Her apartment building was at the end of the block, and she was almost done.
Her heartbeat was felt in her neck. The beats on the street filled her head. And her stomach tightened as sweat trickled down her neck.
Almost there, a couple bikers rang their bell, encouraging another fellow early bird, as Natasha punched in and pushed it to 11. Feet colliding with the cement beneath her. Faster and harder. Her breaths drawing quicker. The sweat forming on her brow and stomach and back under her hoodie and shorts. The beats of her heart melded with the sounds all around as she reached the top of the hill.
Natasha's Monday morning had officially started.
It was a cool summer sunrise. The crisp air was taken in as she leaned over to catch her breath. Letting the air flow, she inhaled as she stood up and walked with her hands behind her head now. A couple of other friendly waves to some local people she knew from her years of living here.
All of it was as familiar as the feel of a bed after a long day.
There was no denying it. Natasha may not have been born in Chicago, but she was as local as they came from living here the last 15 years. Almost 20 if she'd counted her college years too. She was 36 years old and loved every second of it. The city was alive, just like her blood and heart and chest were.
Cheeks red, neck damp, and hair back in her ponytail. Natasha couldn't help but smile as she heard one of her favorite familiar voices.
"Hey there, Red. How's Monday treating us?"
Natasha gave a familiar wave to her friendly newspaper man with a stand…Stan.
"About as well as we treat it, Stan. I'm good though. Another guy on a 5 am walk yelled at me this morning because he was looking at his phone and almost ran into me from not paying attention."
Stan winked at her, "Well, maybe that's because he was just awestruck and couldn't move after seeing you."
Natasha laughed at the older man who had a heart of gold, "Yeah, Stan. That's it…he was hypnotized by a sweaty runner yelling at him…or it's just this city that we love."
"And love it we do. What will it be this morning, Red?"
Natasha smirked, "Just the usual, Stan. Throw in a banana too. I'm all out."
"You're always all out…of everything!"
She cracked up as she took a big drink of the water he gave her, as he got her coffee ready, "Stan, I may be bare as a desert when it comes to food, but I'm never without coffee or water in my apartment…I just like the way you make it."
Stan handed her the to go mug, "Natasha, I've been making that coffee the same for as long as I've known you. Black as night and plain as day."
She wagged her brow as he handed her a banana and she put her water in her hoodie pocket, "A great combo if I ever heard of one."
He chuckled, "I take it you don't need a copy of your paper today?"
Natasha groaned. She glanced over at his copies of print media. Magazines and gossip rags galore. A few national papers, and a couple of smaller prints still in circulation. But the largest stacks were for The Herald and The Star.
Natasha shook her head as she glanced at her own paper's stack as her headline was at the top of the fold of The Herald.
OFF TO THE RACES: Mayoral Election Narrows Field to Coulson & Bishop, 4 Months Out.
She groaned again, shaking off the nagging sound in her head as she read through her own headline, from the paper she'd been employed at for 15 years. She shut that nagging sound up and waved Stan off, wishing him well this Monday morning. She'd avoided her article and today's edition and didn't catch The Star's Monday copy either.
If she had looked at The Star, she would have seen a profile of their newest employee leading the way.
Lead investigative journalist, Steve Rogers was front and center. Pepper Potts had come into her position as Editor in Chief of The Star almost a year ago, and Steve came on board after some coaxing and courting from her, a month ago. His first big introduction to the city was today though.
The Star's print edition introduced him to readers of Chicago, through the profile story Natasha missed. And he was introduced to everyone's television sets at home as they had their coffees and breakfast and got ready to tackle their mornings, with an interview on everyone's favorite wakeup show.
Natasha had avoided her own paper and missed Steve's profile as she waved bye to Stan. But she didn't miss Good Morning Chicago's interview with him. Their lead anchor, Maria Hill, was talking with him when Natasha saw Steve Rogers for the first time…officially.
She was out of the shower with wet hair and her jeans on. She'd just put her bra and tank on and was mid brushing her teeth when she heard Maria ask, "So the city's newest journalist will certainly have everyone asking this morning, 'Is the 41-year-old single?'"
Natasha about choked on her toothpaste as she narrowed her focus. She scoffed as Maria played up her shtick well, knowing that a producer was in her ear encouraging the question.
Natasha gave a nonchalant shrug of approval. Yeah, sure…he was good looking. Okay, scratch that. He was very attractive. In a button down and slacks, and his beard and blue eyes. But it was the beginning of her question that really drew Natasha's ear.
City's newest journalist.
It was like a dog hearing a doorbell as Natasha's questions started flying about internally.
Who was he? Where did he come from? And why was this man, who she'd never heard of, clearly not fresh out of journalism school, all of a sudden on Good Morning Chicago? And apparently, he had a profile in The Star?
Whatever. She could get to that later. Natasha flipped the TV off as Steve was nervously deflecting away from Maria's invasive question. She was out the door and in her elevator a minute later. And five minutes later, she was in her jeep, off to work.
Monday morning, here we come.
About 25 minutes later, Natasha was parked and strolling into The Herald.
It was about the same time Steve Rogers was leaving GMC's set, not being able to find his motorcycle fast enough. Pepper had insisted it would be good for sales. And Tony Stark and Clint Barton heckled Steve as his co-workers and friends. They assured him that yes, shaking his booty for print sales was good business.
Steve caught a billboard next to a bus bench by the parking lot as he got on his bike. The person on it? You guessed it. Natasha Romanoff, standing tall with arms crossed and her book cover off to the side, titled, 'Finding Your Own Beat.' The billboard exclaimed there were book signings all over the city and to pick up a copy today. Steve didn't really think anything of it. To say it was the first time he'd seen her, was the farthest thing from true.
Natasha was the lead investigative journalist at the leading newspaper in Chicago. That was a big deal, and she'd been in that lead for almost a decade. Her image was all across the city, and she'd recently released her first book, so her image had only increased, much to her publisher's demand.
But Natasha cared about the limelight about as much as Steve did.
And Steve, now back in jeans and a tee with his jacket, felt like himself again as he passed the billboard and made his way to The Star.
Listening to the roar of his engine. The car horns and screeching tires. The cab drivers yelling and people waving down Uber drivers galore. The city beats filled his ears as well as they did Natasha's on her run.
Steve didn't even notice another image of Natasha passing him again on a newspaper truck as he turned for his office. It was his competitor's truck. The Herald's message was clear. Natasha smiling on the side, with the marketing under The Chicago City Herald's logo, "Natasha Romanoff's Reporting: Come find out what Chicago's bestselling paper and lead investigative journalist have to say. Pick up your daily edition now!"
Yes, it was clear, Natasha was at the top of the mountain in regards to journalism in Chicago.
Which is why she'd groaned when Stan pointed out her headline this morning. And it's why her boss was yelling at her now.
"Romanoff, get your ass in my office…Now!"
Natasha peered out from behind her computer to look at her boss and Editor in Chief at The Chicago City Herald. Nick Fury's voice was heard by everyone at their desks as he now stood, scowling in his doorway toward the bullpen.
"Shit, Romanoff, what'd you do?" Bucky Barnes, lead editorial writer was grinning as Natasha rolled her eyes, "Whatever Barnes. Go write about the newest power couple in Chicago or something. Maybe you'll get lucky and get a summer engagement."
Bucky threw a wadded-up piece of paper at her. Clearly the friendly banter between them was as natural as Nick Fury's command, "Romanoff, did I stutter? Office…Now!"
Natasha had been at work only 20 minutes. She grumbled, saving her work on her computer to stand up. Stretching before she grabbed her second coffee that morning as another voice came through, "Don't worry, Natasha. Just bat your eyes, and I'm sure Fury will blink." Sam Wilson covered sports and entertainment and was covering his own laugh now as Peter Parker set down his camera.
Peter looked over at his co-workers, "Nat, don't worry, I told MJ not to say anything. I'm sure Fury doesn't know that you copied the article in today's run from an old story."
It literally sounded like a couple of squirrels heckling a dog outside. Because now the razzing really began as Sam and Bucky kicked it up a notch. Natasha huffed, shaking her head at the young photographer, "Parker…thanks for the assist, but when I ask you to do something in secret, it usually means not telling anyone, including Barnes and Wilson."
Peter looked stunned, but Natasha waved off any apology before it started, "Look kid, you're way too innocent for this biz. But thanks for the help anyway."
Natasha knocked on the Editor in Chief's door. "Shut the door, Romanoff."
She rolled her eyes but did as he asked and sat down, playing it cool like she'd been here before.
The truth was, she had been here before.
Many times.
This wasn't her first tongue lashing by her boss. The Chicago City Herald was the leading paper in the city, over nine years running. It didn't get to stay at the top by playing nice, outside or inside these walls. It was a competitive and cutthroat business, constantly trying to survive against the online world, pushing out print. But with Fury at the helm, and his team of talented journalists, he'd managed to run an efficient and skilled ship.
But that didn't mean they were leading in sales by a lot.
Fury slammed their biggest rival's edition on his desk, "Romanoff, tell me what you see in The Chicago Star's paper from this morning."
Natasha raised her brow but glanced over the front page of The Star. There he was. Mister, 'Is he single,' himself.
Natasha scanned the article of Steve's introduction to Chicago and The Star. Honestly, it was a puff piece filled with things like what he loved about journalism and what he looks forward to at his paper. There really wasn't any personal information, which was a little odd. And there wasn't anything distinct. Not even about where he went to school and learned the trade…which was even odder. But the picture was doing the trick because his handsome face was smiling back. First in a solo shot, and then one of Pepper Potts' team at The Star.
Steve stood by Tony Stark, their own lead editorialist, rumored to be in a long-term relationship with his boss. Pepper was right there in the middle. Clint Barton was over life and leisure, which was just a different phrase for sports and entertainment. And a new assistant Harley Keener, who looked as green as a dollar bill when it came to being new to the game. The kid couldn't have been much older than 18. Natasha found at the end of the puff piece, that he wasn't. He was exactly 18, fresh out of high school, and Tony had found him and brought him under his wing.
The title of the puff piece?
YOUR 'STAR' CREW. SOME OLD. SOME NEW.
Natasha tossed the paper back on Fury's desk, "Cheeky, Fury. Cute title. Good looking addition to Barton and Stark and Potts."
Fury stared at her as she narrowed her eyes, "I meant the kid. Not the city's newest investigative journalist. You know…rumor has it, Stark and Potts are pretty serious now. Supposedly, they were together even before Pepper took over as Chief, but it's more in the open now. I think Stark convinced her to bring the kid on board as an intern or something."
Fury wasn't saying a word and was leaving enough space in this conversation for Natasha to kick up enough dust to make herself dizzy.
"I mean it's just rinse, wash, repeat, Fury. The story really isn't saying anything, and it's the same puff piece that's always done when fresh meat comes to the city. Good luck to them…they're gonna need it."
Fury let out a long breath as he leaned back. Natasha felt like he was doing all of this on purpose (he was,) as she added abruptly, "So, what's got your pants on too tight?"
Another pause as Fury let out a sarcastic laugh, "Funny you should say it's the same piece, Romanoff…but I'll get to that in a minute."
Natasha twitched a little.
Damn. He was onto her.
Fury spoke a little louder, "Pepper Potts may not even have a full year under her feet as Chief at The Star, but she's good."
Natasha was about to argue, but he glared at her and held up his hand, "Romanoff…she's good. She has over 20 years in marketing and sales. She found her footing at Wharton in Pennsylvania. She's as ruthless as me and has made some great hires over there already. Just because she didn't climb the business, writing a daily column or covering the beat, doesn't mean she doesn't know the business."
"So, you called me in here to talk about Pepper Potts' resume? You wanna hire her?"
Her quips were not appreciated right now.
"No Romanoff. I want the people that already work here, to do their job."
Damn again.
She definitely knew where this was going now. But Natasha wasn't just a fighter. She was stubborn as hell, so she dug in and acted like she had no idea what he was blabbing about.
He said, "Pepper isn't just doing a puff piece. She's giving the city…and us for that matter, a preview of her team because she's actually telling us, that her team is here to stay."
"Fury, The Star is just fine. Good paper. They always have been, right behind us. I don't get what you're…"
"Romanoff, this new guy…Rogers. I don't know much about him. And you're right, the piece doesn't reveal much. But all that tells me, is Pepper Potts knows what she's got in him. If she is using the entire top fold of Monday Morning's paper, to tell the city, 'Hey, look at our team and who we've got,' with Steve Rogers leading the charge? It means she has a lot of faith in her team. And quite honestly, it makes me take inventory of my own."
Come clean or double down?
Definitely double down.
She huffed, "What Fury, you want me to write an article on The Star's hot shot new team? Or do you want me to start writing obituaries or covering weddings and the local soccer high school championships like Wilson?"
He scoffed in disbelief. But the look he gave her, wasn't disbelieving at all. He knew exactly what she was doing, "Do you want to start writing obits, Romanoff? Because I can arrange for it. You can start with the death of Natasha Romanoff's career as a journalist, to kick things off."
Natasha knew what he was doing too, "Fury, I'm not planning on not being a journalist…so I guess I'll have to pass on that one."
He was trying to provoke, and she was trying to be flippant.
Fury's laugh wasn't one of sarcasm now, but confidence. He grabbed the Monday morning edition of their own paper and popped it open with a little extra gravitas.
'Shit,' Natasha muttered internally to herself.
Fury had her just where he wanted, and she knew it. Doubling down again and escaping sounded great right about now as she smacked the chair, "Hey Fury, good talk. I'm gonna go refill the old coffee pot and hit the road. See what's out there for the week."
Natasha's ass wasn't even an inch off the seat, "Romanoff, sit down. I'm not done yet."
She blew out a breath and repeated the expletive internally again…only louder this time.
Fury unfolded the paper, so Natasha's article was facing her as he said, "I know you'll find this hard to believe, but I didn't bring you in here for the sole reason of talking about Pepper Potts' team at The Star. But you know that, don't you?"
Natasha tried to play this chess game with his brain, giving him an innocent stare, but she'd already lost the moment he called her into his office. And she knew it.
She looked back at the bullpen and scoffed, "You know…that kid has a loud mouth…"
"Can it, Romanoff. Parker or MJ didn't say anything. Turns out though, when you ask a rookie photographer and a first-year copywriter to do your dirty work, plagiarizing an old story of yours from years ago, it comes off as uninspired. And above all, it's lazy. I knew the moment I read the headline, that the story was recycled."
Natasha didn't say anything as he went in for the kill, "Jesus, Romanoff, you didn't even read the headline that Parker and MJ sent to print last night, did you?"
"I mean, I see my article right there that you're holding up…"
He groaned and held up his hand to stop her from digging herself any deeper, "Well, since you can see it, why don't you go ahead and read the headline out loud, from our award winning and esteemed, investigative journalist?'"
She winced as she read it. She'd known it this morning at Stan's little roadside stand, and it was part of the reason she scurried away, "OFF TO THE RACES: Mayoral Election Narrows Field to Coulson & Bishop, 4 Months Out.'"
Fury folded the paper and drummed his fingers on his desk, "Do you know what the name of an article was, four years ago from you?"
She didn't say anything as he went on, "RACES ARE OFF: Mayoral Field Narrows as Election Season Kicks off."
"Jesus, Parker…"
Fury shook his finger at her, "Oh no, Romanoff, you're not blaming the kid and the assistant. He's a photographer, and she edits already written work. They are not our leading journalists. You are. But where were you last night? Oh, that's right, you had another book-signing event."
Natasha groaned, "I mean…I thought if it was bad enough, you'd catch it, and it wouldn't have gone to print."
The look he gave her was a little unnerving. She shifted as he leaned forward, "Are you really trying to blame the kid and MJ…and me? When did your audacity just shift into sheer stupidity?"
Her mouth opened but nothing came out as he added, "Yes, the story of Mayor Coulson's re-election campaign seems to be following a similar path as four years ago. I knew it immediately last night, but I wanted to see how far you would push this little charade. I don't think you would have ever let on, if I didn't call you out…this is no one's fault, but your own, Romanoff."
She groaned as her head fell into her hands, "Look, Fury…Yes, I should have written the story, but I was pressed for time, and…"
Fury grabbed a red pen, always at the ready, and held it up, "No…Correction. There's nothing that should be added after, 'Yes, I should have written the story.'"
Fury's best Natasha impression left her a little stunned as he finished this roasting, "Look Romanoff. I get it, it was a slow news day, the mayoral campaign seems to be boring right now. And yeah, Coulson is probably gonna win in a landslide, again. But you're our lead journalist. You are paid to write these cover stories, even on slow news days. It's what led you to all your awards and that book you have to sign so many copies of now."
"I, look…Fury…"
Fury cut her off, "I don't want to hear any other words out of your mouth, except admitting that you fucked up. The Star has been nipping at our heels in sales over the last two years. First, they brought on Clint Barton to cover sports, and he's been almost as popular as Wilson since his first print. Then Tony Stark was hired as their new editorialist right before Pepper took over, and his scathing opinion pieces have edged out Barnes, more than a few times."
Okay, now she was annoyed.
Natasha knew what was coming next as Fury continued, "And now, their front page is entirely dedicated to this new hire from last month, Steve Rogers. He's in the paper. He's on the morning talk shows. And where's my lead journalist? Well, she's phoning it in to go stare at her own signature for adoring fans at a book club!"
Only a second passed before he finished, "How long until you're scooped by their new hire, Romanoff?"
Fury's voice had raised enough now, that she caught Barnes and Wilson peeking up from their computers to try to listen.
Mission successful. She'd been officially provoked.
Natasha, never one to back down, actually snapped back, "Look, Fury. I had to go to the book signing. I wasn't there trying to feed off fans. There was hardly anyone there, but my publicist said I had to be there."
"I don't really care what your publisher said."
Natasha scowled, "And this new journalist…Rogers. He's not going to scoop me. This is my town. This is my beat."
"Your beat? Then maybe you should act like it."
She rolled her eyes, and Fury stared directly at her. A few seconds of awkward silence passed as Natasha finally relented.
Her words came out through a heavy sigh, "I'm sorry, okay? I fucked up, and I shouldn't have brought Peter and MJ into this mess."
"You got that right. What else?"
Huffing out a breath, Natasha shook her head and smirked at her boss, "It won't happen again, okay?"
"Just so we're on the same page…what won't happen again?"
The tension was gone just as quickly as it rose in this familiar battle between Editor in Chief and journalist as Natasha answered, "I won't…phone it in, to stare at my own signature, as you so eloquently put it."
Fury actually chuckled now. He'd accepted it, "Good. Now apologize to Parker and MJ on your way out to go check today's loglines."
Natasha stood up and headed out, but she turned back at the door.
Speaking of tiny threads hanging out in the atmosphere. Natasha wasn't about to let one go that was nagging at her ever since Fury mentioned it a minute ago. "I won't get scooped, Fury."
Fury grinned, "Well, we'll see about that. Seems like this Rogers is a hungry and talented journalist, Romanoff. And Pepper Potts is brilliant. So, if they get a newsbeat before us, and if somehow, you are scooped, I want it to be earned…not because my very own, isn't doing her work."
Defensive, turned annoyed, turned provoked. That familiar spark was lit, "Understood."
Natasha walked out the door, apologized to Peter and MJ on her way out, and avoided Sam and Bucky's roasting attempts. She could deal with them later. She'd just caught the latest loglines and was running out to a train station, towards Franklin Park, before her team could even get a joke off.
They quickly saw why as their own computers flashed with the latest news beats coming through from the log line Natasha just caught.
There were actually two reports.
Accident on Blue Line near Cicero. Police and EMT's on scene. Entire Blue Line to south is backed up.
It wasn't even 9 am, so for a significant line to Chicago's L to be shut down at this point, was a big deal. But no details on accidents or injuries came through yet.
It was the second report that Natasha chased after. Because more details were included in that beat.
Train derailment east on Red Line, towards Franklin Park. Multiple cars off track. Fire engines and police on scene. More ambulances on way. Several injuries already reported. At least two dead.
Yes, Natasha Romanoff was out the door after her tongue lashing from her boss, before any of her colleagues could even get a simple joke off. She avoided that, but she wouldn't be able to avoid the eventual encounter.
Little did Natasha know, she was about to come face to face with Pepper Potts' new hire.
By the time Natasha arrived at Franklin Park, hectic didn't begin to describe the scene.
It was complete chaos.
Smoke billowing from the engine car, tipped over on its side. The smell of burnt metal and black smoke filled the air. The next two passenger cars were pulled off the track with the remaining cars behind, completely empty inside. Caution tape surrounded the train as firemen sprayed hoses all along the cars. The fire was managed, but with smoke still pouring out, so extreme caution was being taken.
Ambulances and police cars with all their flashing lights were everywhere, which always seemed a little weird in the daylight. And the sun shining bright above, only added to the off feeling of the whole scene. This shouldn't be how any of these people were spending their Monday morning.
Natasha had her bag slung over her shoulder, and her pad and pen were out immediately.
She overheard some news channels on the scene talking to some of the passengers who weren't injured but had been evacuated from the rear cars. They were emotional but none of what she heard, caused Natasha to try and talk to them.
Natasha's pen clicked at her side, a nervous habit, as she started looking all around.
Baggage from the first two cars was thrown all over the open green space around them. Chicago's Transit Authority, the CTA, had workers on the scene. They were all in a heated discussion with several police trying to rope off an even wider perimeter.
Natasha gave a wave to a couple of the TV reporters as she ducked under the caution tape and made her way around the other side of the train cars.
"Damn…"
It wasn't two deceased. Natasha saw five body bags lined up in the tall grass away from the cars.
A woman who was in shock, apparently didn't follow the other passengers and was sitting in the grass and staring at the body bags.
"Ma'am, Natasha Romanoff, Chicago Herald. Were you on the passenger cars pulled off the tracks at the front?"
The woman didn't really register what Natasha said, but just shook her head from shock.
Before Natasha could get any closer to the body bags and towards the front of the train, a gruff voice yelled out, "Jesus Christ, is that Natasha Romanoff? Get her back behind the fucking caution tape, Jones."
"You got it, Castle."
Natasha rolled her eyes at the police officers as Jessica Jones approached. The fact that they knew each other from years of working in overlapping professions was evident. "Let's go, Romanoff. Just because you think the rules don't apply to you, doesn't mean it's true. Get behind the caution tape now."
Romanoff held her hands up, "Hey Jones…I was just trying to help this lady out here. She's clearly in shock, and you guys didn't catch her. She needs to be looked over with all the other passengers."
"Oh, save me the savior story, Romanoff. You're trying to sneak around like you always do to see what you can find, ahead of anyone willing to stay back where they belong."
Ok, Jones knew Natasha well enough to know some of her tricks. Natasha chuckled as she walked back around, "Castle with you today? How's he holding up?"
Jones scoffed, "Let's save the small talk for when the fires are all out at this accident. But he'll be a lot more pissed off, if you don't stay back behind the yellow tape."
"Fine, fine. There more than five dead, Jones?"
Jessica groaned as she glared at Natasha, "Romanoff, be the good newshound that you are…and stay."
Natasha was back behind the tape again and smirked. She'd relented, but she wasn't going to stay in this spot. She worked her way towards the ambulances, registering where they were going with their passengers.
"You go to Cook County with the other ambulance at the front. Three are already headed to Mt. Sinai and three others to Holy Cross."
The EMT's patted each other on the shoulders, and they were off to the different hospitals.
Eight ambulances. Eight people in critical care. Probably a lot more with minor injuries that the remaining paramedics were handling right now. And five dead. What a combo for a Monday morning.
What a mess.
What a double take Natasha did when she saw him.
From the newspaper to Good Morning Chicago, to standing about fifty feet away right now. Steve Rogers was talking to Frank Castle, which stood out to her. Jessica Jones tolerated Natasha. But Frank didn't like reporters. Truthfully, most of the people here didn't like journalists or reporters. Hell, some of the reporters didn't even like reporters.
But Frank talking to Rogers caught her attention.
'Okay…was that a smile?'
Natasha spoke to herself as she found Jones again, who'd brought the woman in shock back around to a paramedic to get looked over, "Hey Jones…see? Look at how good I'm being. Behind the tape and all."
Jones rolled her eyes as Natasha fell in lock step with her, "What do you want now, Romanoff? I'm not answering any of your questions."
Natasha waved her hand, "Well good, I'm not actually asking you anything about the accident. What's the new guy got to make Frank Castle actually smirk? He got a steak in his pocket or something?"
Jones laughed as she stopped Natasha and walked away from her, "Romanoff, maybe if you were a little less aggravating, people would be nice to you when they were telling you, 'No comment.'"
Natasha did smirk at that and then turned back to find Steve looking over at her as he walked back towards the ambulances.
Steve tried to give her a friendly nod, but Natasha did her best to not acknowledge him.
15 minutes later the Police Chief was on the scene and called the press to a meeting. Reporters and journalists flocked, and Natasha stayed back to listen. There were a lot of vague statements, "We're on top of this…We'll keep you informed…Focus is on the injuries and deceased."
The only thing that the Chief confirmed, that was new information, was the number dead was in fact, five.
Natasha saw Steve at the back, writing quickly, and she couldn't help but take a peek.
At his notes of course.
She snuck up to his side and glanced at his pad and let out a laugh, "You can't ask them that…"
Steve stopped writing and looked down at her, "Oh, and why's that?"
Natasha looked away, "Rogers, right? Look I know you're as new to the city as the Cubs' latest trade, but let me re-phrase. You can ask them that, but they're not going to answer you."
Steve scoffed, smacking his pad against his hand, "Is that right? Why, because I'm not Natasha Romanoff?"
Natasha's grin didn't go anywhere, "Well, I'm flattered, Rogers. You know who I am."
He huffed out a breath, "Don't be. Any journalist that was worth their paycheck, would know who the biggest name in the city of their profession was."
"No problem, Rogers…I mean, everyone starts a little green around the gills. What, is this your first actual day on the job?"
He chuckled, "It's not my first day."
"Second? No, wait…I think read that. Pepper hired you a month ago. Well, regardless. First months on a job can be tough."
Steve turned his pad enough, so Natasha could read his question aloud, "Has the recorder in the engine car been recovered, and have any of the victims been identified?"
Steve rolled his eyes at her attempt to imitate him. She added, "Rogers, they're not going to answer it because they probably don't know yet. And if they do know, the last people they want to know any of that, is this gaggle of reporters here. They want to be ahead of us for as long as they can."
Was she acting like she ran the show and puffing her chest out, metaphorically speaking? Of course, she was.
Was he trying to battle every veiled word right back at her? You bet.
"It doesn't hurt to ask, Romanoff."
Steve did ask. And he was shot down immediately with, "No comment at this time."
Natasha laughed, a little more condescending this time, "It's okay Rogers. You've had a busy day today, being on GMC this morning. Rookie mistake with it being your first month and all…but you did just irritate the police chief."
Steve answered right away, "I hear that's your specialty. And you saw me on GMC? Wow, I'm flattered."
He wasn't. But he was throwing her words back at her.
Natasha turned to walk away as she said, "Don't be. I always have something meaningless on in the background while getting ready in the mornings…before diving into the real work. Catch ya around, Rogers."
Steve was standing his ground just now, communicating that she didn't intimidate him. Natasha was throwing a few jabs back, letting him know this was her show.
A little prickly. A little more than stubborn. And a little veiled pissing contest was just made between the two of them.
Natasha was off and talking to a paramedic and didn't talk to Steve anymore that day. She did notice him leave a couple hours later on his motorcycle. That little detail of him riding a bike, went to her vault, just like all the other ones from the day.
What she didn't realize was Steve was taking notice of little details too. They'd involuntarily found themselves at the same scene, but both were voluntarily taking part in this little competition that was pre-destined for them.
Pepper's article and press, puffing him up. Fury's roasting of Natasha. Two rival papers covering the same news beat.
Steve and Natasha just fell into each other's orbit, and what neither could possibly realize, was the change and unravelling that would unfold. The story they were covering would reveal itself in time. It always does. But who would get the leads and story beats and how intertwined their story would become, was the real mystery that just began.
Natasha's article that Fury roasted her for may have been copied from an old story. But both her and Steve were on new ground. And this was anything but recycled. They just hadn't figured out yet, that they were off to the races.
End Note:
Thanks so much for reading!
The fact that I turned a one shot idea into something lengthier, should come as no surprise to anyone who's read my other Romanogers AU fic. I do promise this story is much lighter in scope and length than Memories & Reality. I'm having a lot of fun writing this and hope you find enjoyment in this newspaper and journalist rivalry too.
I love hearing from readers, so help a writer out and leave a comment with your thoughts.
Until next time, have a wonderful weekend!
Cheers! ~~ Kat