Beats on the Street
I do not own any of this or any part of Marvel or the MCU
Chapter 11 – Puzzles and Games: Finding the Answers
Riddle me this. Riddle me that.
The joke was about two journalists growing closer, despite each spat.
The puzzles, jumbles, and searches. Jeopardy, crosswords, and a grand chase.
It didn't matter the game. These players answered the call, each and every time with great haste.
Fact seeking missions. A road trip up north.
Intersection of stories, yet their real truth finding was brought forth.
The answers to crimes and trains. Tracksuits, Big Pharma, and thugs.
The Herald and Star's, star reporters, had found their vocational drug.
Those loglines would eventually surface, emerging from this competition of the minds.
But the true contest was the harder path. The real game's winner was the harder challenge to find.
For matches made in heaven, are not as simple as wrong and right.
This game of the heart, was the battle they both had to fight.
Would the result be six feet under, beneath the soil, dirt, and concrete?
Or would the journalists move forward, finally joining together with those beats on the street.
Two men sat in a dark room as Fisk stood at the door with his cane.
"Gentlemen, you've long been the Generals to my operations in Chicago. And we've reaped many rewards because of those partnerships. Thank you for coming at my request."
Fisks's invitations were never really a request, but more of a demand. But this one came to the Generals by letter, hand delivered by tracksuits.
The letter was the same, but written to each of the men in the dark room.
Cornell Stokes.
Xu Wenwu.
The letter read.
My Loyal Generals,
We've worked together for well over a decade to gain profits, carving out the little gains we could in this city. The time has come to finally take more. To take what is owed.
Our dealings with Midwest are on shaky ground, as we always knew they would be. Corporate ticks don't know how to target their efforts or what loyalty means. They only care about getting fat off of their quarterly reaping. But what working with outsiders has revealed, is how it will never happen again with us. It costs too much in exposure. They can't do what we can in our city. Not like we can.
It's time to take care of the corporations who have no more direction than a weathervane. And it's time to take care of the media leeches, thinking they can expose us. We're not afraid to show people what we're capable of. Deep down they all know it, and can't prove it. So, it's time to make our move. Your funding and support will be rewarded as we expand further into each of your territories to the north and east.
This is for our future in our city.
Xu Wenwu in Chinatown. And Cornell Stokes in Southshore.
Our merger will be official as The Fisk Empire begins its expansion north.
Your loyalty and presence are called upon now. A new understanding is about to spread through this town, that the elites downtown will no longer be able to turn their noses and keep us on the fringes. Rather, they will beg us for the scraps they once dished out to us.
It is time for us to show Chicago who we are and how much power we really wield in our city.
-Fisk
"Fisk, you called us to this meeting. The letter and this random Saturday…what's this all about?"
"Stokes, this Saturday is anything but random."
Cornell Stokes and Xu Wenwu looked at each other. Stokes spoke again, "Fisk, the election is still a few weeks out. That was the plan. We wake our moves if Bishop wins."
Fisk snapped his fingers as two tracksuits brought a chair and table with his drink and cigar over.
His cane scratched at the cement as he sat down, "When she wins. We're going to make sure she is the new mayor."
Wenwu shook his head, "Have you seen the polls, Fisk? It's neck and neck."
"And 4 years ago, Coulson's opponent never even got within 20 points of him…the entire race. Eleanor is within reach. We just have to help her over the finish line. But we're not waiting to make moves until then."
Stokes shook his head, "Well, the election was one piece of it. We were going to wait until after the election, because we'd have the money from Midwest by then as well."
Wenwu spoke up, "You've been increasing your presence in Stoke's neighborhood. I know you're doing the same in mine too around Chinatown. And Bishop's gaining a lot of traction. But Stokes is right…we were going to wait until Midwest paid up."
Fisk huffed out a breath, "We don't need their money to move forward right now. And we need to move…right now. It will help Eleanor over the finish line if we can shake things up in the journalism world in this town."
Wenwu was growing as agitated as Stokes, "We many not need the money now, Fisk. But we'll need it for the future. That's the whole idea of our silent partnership. Slow and steady. Methodical. Build our fortune when it's secure to do so. We've held the power we have, for as long as we have, because of it."
The two men that Fisk called his Generals weren't the only ones growing agitated.
Fisk's face grew tight, "What we have, is the little control we've carved out decade after decade, with only being served rations from the richest in this town. If we want the real power we deserve, we have to take it."
Wenwu and Stokes exchanged glances before Fisk shook his head, "I know methodical has been our game, but our game will never truly be in our favor over the elites, if we don't change the rules."
Stokes leaned forward, "You know who you're sounding like, Fisk?"
Fisk let out a slow breath, "You've been silent because I've let you stay that way, out of the public eye and exposure, Stokes. But you're treading on thin ice, and approaching the territory of being silenced if you don't watch your tone."
Wenwu held his hand up as Stokes sat back. Wenwu took over, "Fisk, look. This is all of our money and lives in these worlds we've built. I know you carry the burden, sitting at the head of the table and being in the public eye the most. But Cornell isn't voicing concern out of disrespect. The three of us are here, still sitting and breathing after decades of working together. It's a result of our methods, and our patience. So, forgive him…and me in saying, the other Generals you've worked with, who haven't been as patient…"
Stokes leaned forward again to finish, "They're not sitting here, are they, Fisk? Dreykov? Prison. Klaue? Prison. Kilgrave and Kaecilius? Dead. They're all men who had a talent for crossing lines and not blinking an eye at your orders. But they also had a knack for chomping soon and taking too much. Drekyov went down in a blaze of glory on his path to prison."
The fact that the men were speaking from a place of concern and not disloyalty, got through to the large man sitting across from them. Fisk snapped his fingers again. Tracksuits followed by bringing cigars and drinks over for them too.
"Gentlemen, I sit at the head of the table. Which means I do the worrying for us. And Kaecilius and Kilgrave were dead from their own ambition getting in the way. From their own side hustles, and they ultimately paid the price."
Whether they paid the price by the law or Fisk's own hands wasn't known. And Fisk liked it that way. It helped keep other business partners in line.
Business partners like Stokes and Wenwu.
"As for Klaue? He never held the control that either of you do. He was under Dreykov and was the first clue that the fish was rotting from the head. Dreykov didn't heed my advice. And now, he's rotting with the rest of his ilk in prison. That's not what this is. We're not changing our plan. We're moving our timeline up, to ensure Eleanor wins. And to burst Natasha Romanoff's world of perfect journalism, she thinks she owns in this town."
The men were calmed by Fisk's words as he went on.
"Stokes. Wenwu. You've been with me for a long time, and your loyalty is worth more than your money ever was. I know you feel the same way toward me, and are forever indebted for the worlds you richly enjoy each day."
Wenwu answered first, "Fisk, Stokes and I have the money to cover this next step. But we better get paid on the backend from Midwest. We'll be awfully vulnerable come next year if we don't get what we're owed. You, we trust. You are loyal. Corporations like Midwest? Now that's a different story."
Fisk held his lighter out as the three men lit their cigars, "No, that's this story. That's our story. We will use Midwest, and be done with them. The sooner we can secure Eleanor's win at the ballot box, the sooner we'll be done with Val De Fontaine and her corporate drones. So, let's open up the coffers and get this fucking show moving."
By their decision or Fisk's force, the path was made. And Cornell Stokes and Xu Wenwu did what Fisk needed them too. They followed his orders as his lead Generals. And they wouldn't be able to stay completely silent anymore by getting their money involved. But Fisk wasn't really asking them in the end.
He was ordering.
All to ensure the deal with Midwest was solid. All to ensure Eleanor Bishop was on the winning ticket come Election Day. All to try and stop Natasha Romanoff and Steve Rogers, from being the thorns in Fisk's side that they were.
The pieces on the chessboard began to move at home in Chicago in this dark room.
And they were beginning to move in the other story of those two journalists, too stubborn for their own good.
In a single king bedroom 90 miles north.
It was a normal Fall Saturday in the 30,000-person town of Lehigh. A quaint little suburb, that benefited from being so close to Milwaukee and most importantly, home of Midwest's flagship operation. The money the pharmaceutical company poured into this small town was seen everywhere. From the campus and built-in activities park it had on most weekends for tourists and town folk. To the jobs it produced for citizens. And to the money it poured into Lehigh's town square and businesses and curb appeal.
But that was the cover of Midwest's book.
It was the outward persona, simply relying on the family friendly approach of its environment. To provide needed medicine to citizens of the world. The shiny surface, upon which stocks were bought and sold, and shareholders made profits off of, each quarter.
Their charitable outreach. The community driven approach. The family friendly veneer they shellacked on to being an extremely wealthy corporation. It was all part of it.
But top corporations like Midwest reaped benefits not afforded to average folks, like tax loopholes. Questionable testing methods never mattered, for the real goal was endless. The goal of always pushing. Always selling more drugs at a profit, higher than any competitor out there. This was the true identity of a company like Midwest.
Wholesome on the outside. And on the inside? The truth had yet to fully reveal itself.
That dichotomy of outer and inner realities was the same, when looking at the two journalists visiting Lehigh this weekend.
Lehigh still showcased their idyllic Saturday as Steve and Natasha made their way from Midwest to the hotel. Soccer and football. Families outside enjoying the weather and doing yardwork. Citizens and tourists starting to enjoy the festivities at Midwest's campus.
But when that reality set in for those journalists? Well, things became messy as their story was thrown a curve ball. A curve ball in the form of a concierge, named Luis.
It had been an hour since check in. If you could call it that.
Luis had told Steve and Natasha more than they ever wanted to know about Carlos and Emily and Ernesto. Even though Luis's wordcount filled the silence, that wasn't what bothered Natasha or Steve as room 782 became their destination on a Saturday.
What was bothering the stubborn duo the most was their undeniable reality. They were going to have to spend a decent amount of time together in one room…eventually.
Natasha isolated herself the second they walked into the king room to take a much-needed shower. And Steve watched the bathroom door shut in his face as he cursed under his breath.
The shower was hot enough to redden Natasha's skin as she let the water flow over her. Seconds turned into minutes as she closed her eyes, trying to calm herself. It worked momentarily in the quiet reprieve.
Yes, isolation was helping, or so she convinced herself. Isolation away from Steve and the outside world. Away from anything but the darkness and the hot water pouring over her. Minutes turned to 10 and then 15 more as that hot water dwindled. When she felt the chill in the water running over her skin, Natasha knew her time was up.
Her skin had begun to prune, but it was enough for just a little relaxation to settle in as she dried off and got dressed.
Natasha came out of her makeshift sauna and was surprised to find Steve sleeping on the bed. She was in her sweats and a tee, with wet hair and not a stitch of makeup on. He'd taken his shoes off and put his other t-shirt back on. He was on top of all the covers, and had tried to find a little calm of his own.
'He's not so bad when he's quiet like this.'
That devil and angel inside were at it again, as Natasha's internal voice added a rebuttal to itself, 'He's not so bad when he's awake either, Romanoff.'
Natasha rolled her eyes at herself, but looked at Steve again as his chest rose and fell. She couldn't help but let a little smile form.
Turns out Steve was just as exhausted as she was. It was a late night, a very early morning, and an eventful tour. But it was their constant battling with each other that was the most draining.
A ballgame was on the TV, but it was quiet. And Natasha noticed Steve had gotten them some reinforcements while she was trying to drown her worries away in the shower.
Steve had gotten the luggage rack out to place their bags on. Apparently, he'd snuck out while she was under scalding water. There was quite an assortment on the table. Some cups of fruit and yogurt. Cold meat deli sandwiches. A big bag of chips. Some beer and soda and water, and some coffee was freshly brewed in their little pot in the room.
Natasha was taken aback as she stared at the display of kindness on the table. Honestly, it was a display of kindness she didn't feel she deserved.
All the fighting they'd been doing. With themselves and each other. All the denial and competitiveness Steve and Natasha sank their teeth into. Yes, it was a part of them. And everything from their blood and bone, all the way to their spirit, was forged from those traits and more. The drive and passion. The fight and strength and independence.
And yet…
There was more to what made up Natasha Romanoff and Steve Rogers.
Like this little act. This simple assortment of casual food and snacks. It was anything but small. And it exemplified who Steve Rogers was around Natasha, outside of all that drive and stubbornness.
As much fight as there was in him, there was a gentleness too.
And truthfully, it displayed who Natasha knew she could be too at times. There was always more to the story. Under Steve's drive, was a current of intelligence and wit. Under his stubbornness, was a history of loyalty and honesty. And under his fight was his heart, full of care and compassion and kindness.
It was the same for Natasha, for those she held close in her inner circle.
Bucky and Fury knew it. Wanda and her parents did too. As prickly as Natasha was towards those on the outside, she was nothing but loyal to the end for the people she held in her heart.
Steve and Natasha had shown all these sides over the last couple of months in their conversations and meet-ups. Their prickly sides and overly driven ambition. Their competitiveness and wit. Their intelligence and passion. And their gentle sides in the quieter moments.
But the full image wasn't in focus. For those last pieces of the puzzle weren't in place yet. And it was prohibiting them from seeing the forest through the trees. Both in the story with Fisk and Midwest and trainlines. And with each other.
They were getting closer to the end and to real answers, which was when things always got a little hairy. The closer they got to seeing the entire picture, the more those beats travelled well beyond the street.
Steve and Natasha could feel those beats under their feet and in their hearts over the last two months. And it made everything all the more scary, from the thought of this puzzle being blown to bits before the whole picture could be seen. Before their story could reach its conclusion.
Knowing deep inside, how special their connection was? It scared the hell out of them both, that they might screw it up beyond repair.
Every side of them was shown to each other, except those last steps of honesty. Those last few pieces were needed and were anything but small. And they just so happened to be the most important moves in this game of theirs.
Truthfully, it wouldn't have mattered if it was a stack of bologna and saltines, or a five-star dinner in front of Natsha. It was the thought that counted, and she was a little overwhelmed as she felt a pang in her heart.
'Why did this have to be so hard?'
Another internal question was met by another internal answer, 'It doesn't, Romanoff. You know that.'
Natasha threw her towel over her bag and looked over the goodies causing her stomach to take notice.
Steve was startled, hearing the bag of chips crinkle as she brushed by it. He sat up, trying to pull himself away from his nap. Acting like he was fully alert, his words came out with a big yawn, "Sorry, it's not much, Romanoff. But I figured we needed something besides coffee and granola in our system."
Natasha shook her head, "No…Steve, thank you. I should have paid for the room. And now you spent money on all this, I'm guessing from the Hotel's refreshment lounge. I'm sure it wasn't cheap."
Steve chuckled, sitting up with his arms stretched out in front of him, "Natasha, you drove, and I didn't chip in for gas. Let's just call it even, okay?"
'But it's far from settled.'
Natasha was going to have it out with her conscience at this point. Whether the devil or angel was in control inside, was up in the air at this point. But that kind of was the point. Back and forth, the horned demon and winged siren battled it out. But really, they were two sides of the same coin.
Steve and Natasha were nowhere close to being settled. And in reality, they weren't even, either. Not by a long shot, and she knew it. Natasha huffed, knowing that even if they did try to itemize costs down, it wouldn't balance out.
This wasn't about money anyway.
Nothing from the last 24 hours seemed stable. Running hot from their make out. Turning cold from their goodnight. Insides running amok with fire and fury, knowing of Steve's lies. And vice versa of Natasha's as he learned last night.
This thing between them wasn't even in the same breath as being settled. They both felt that.
But Natasha's stomach literally talked for her as it growled. Her hand came over her shirt, and Steve laughed, "Well, it's not going to eat itself."
15 minutes later, food and drink distracted as well as it always does in times of exhaustion. They sat at the small table by their window. Steve was settled back in a relaxed position, and Natasha's knee was drawn up.
The turkey and ham sandwiches were devoured. A full bag of chips had a major dent in it. The fruit and yogurt cups were gone, and cups of coffee were consumed. Steve opened a beer for both of them as he grabbed a few more chips. They'd managed to shut their inner voices up while they ate, satisfying the urge of hunger.
Steve was the first one to tread into the choppy waters of speaking again, "Romanoff, when I left to get all this an hour ago, I gotta say…you got me curious enough to ask something."
Natasha's brow quirked as she drank her beer and Steve laughed, "Alright, I'm asking this out of complete curiosity and not from a hidden creep factor. Call it journalistic instincts, with even noticing it in the first place…"
Natasha smirked, "I wasn't going to murder Luis, Rogers."
Steve looked to the side and shook his head as Natasha nodded, "What's your question, Steve?"
Steve asked, "Were…you showering in the dark?"
Another little detail. Another intimate fact about both of them was cataloged. When they could get away from that monster of stubbornness, these natural moments swelled. And they learned so much about each other as a result.
Every damn time.
Natasha took another drink and held a hand up jokingly, "Guilty, as charged. I don't know. It's just something that is relaxing and helps me…not to think."
Steve couldn't help but add, "First, the country music. Then a shower in the dark. For someone who's got a pretty wicked brain, you're really focused on not thinking so much today."
Natasha shrugged, "There's a lot of threads up in the air right now."
A second passed, but Natasha added quickly, "With the story I mean…Fisk, Val, and the Governor. The election. The trains. Our scientists. Hope Van Dyne and Bruce Banner. How she got involved with all this. Yeah, it's a lot."
'Not to mention, you. You, being the biggest thread in the air, Steve.'
The urge of hunger was satisfied, but her inner voice was back as she blew out a breath. Steve was fighting his own internal struggle as he nodded, "So, showering in the dark clears your head, just to be filled up all over again after getting out."
Natasha shrugged as he kept going, "So, that just leads to more questions, Romanoff. Do you have night vision as a superhero power or something? Or did you bring waterproof glasses in that bag of tricks too?"
Natasha huffed out a laugh, "Superhero powers? No. Maybe that would help with taking down men like Fisk. And no need for glasses in the dark. I guess I just got great balance, Steve. You should try it…Don't worry, I won't charge for copyright."
Steve took another drink, "Thanks, but I'll pass. Fears of slipping and breaking bones are running through my brain as we speak."
Natasha hummed as she drummed her fingers a little, "And here I was thinking you were actually going to ask about the kiss last night."
Damn.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
Turns out, when you try to shut up that angel and devil inside constantly, they can team up and come back with a vengeance. Natasha was lulled into a state of relaxation from food and drink, a hot shower, and the natural pull of her and Steve. And it all was enough for the wings and horns to break through.
Steve found her eyes immediately.
If someone were making a movie of the two blockheads cooped up in a room together, a figurative zoom lens would focus on their eyes.
Blue found green, and all that tension came running back at once.
All that over thinking of how hard this was, even though it needn't be, got wiped away momentarily in the shower. But as soon as the words escaped, Natasha's cheeks reddened, and wheels were turning again.
Steve could see it, but pressed a little with a softer tone, "Do you want me to ask about it, Natasha?"
That tension was clawing at them, as it felt warm all of a sudden. The fact that it was chilly outside, and a cool 70 degrees in the room didn't matter as Natasha swallowed, "I mean, I'm sorry about confusing us…I don't…I don't know, Steve."
Natasha rested her forehead against her palm as Steve watched her.
A minute ago, it was relaxed, and they were joking about her superpower of balance in dark spaces. But it was gone in a flash as last night surged through their brains.
He could sense it. She could feel it.
His fear took over and so did hers as she looked up at him, "What would you ask me, Steve?"
Steve tapped his beer as he took a deep breath and dove into those negative feelings. Fear was winning the 18th round between them right now, "That we shouldn't really think about it if the word sorry comes to mind. Consider it back there. Last night is a memory, Natasha. And the story is what's important. Right here…Right?"
Wrong.
In every letter and sense of the word. It was so fucking wrong, and they both knew it deep inside. If Steve pushed, would it be too hard, and she'd completely shut him out? If Natasha took the leap, would his catch keep them both upright? If they retracted all their missteps and denial, would they both be able to find their footing and move forward? Both in this job of theirs, that was so much more than a profession, and with each other?
It's hard to see the forest through the trees. And they were stuck in this rut of emotions pulling them down.
And then of course, there was the little case of Steve and Natasha knowing about each other's dishonesty. Natasha blinked and looked away, and Steve was up a second later as that tension turned cold. Steve focused on his frustration and her lying.
'And your lies, Rogers. You lied too.'
In a similar manner, Steve told his inner voice to shut up as he scoffed, "Seriously, Natasha. It happened, but it's back there, okay? I'm going to take a shower now, if that's okay. I figured we'll work separately this afternoon. I'm guessing you'd like some time to…clear your head and write on your own for a bit. We'll rest up and then get ready to be at The Taproom by 8 pm."
They couldn't catch that sand if they'd tried right now. It had already slipped through their fingers because the moment was gone. But more importantly, Steve and Natasha weren't trying, and doubts were cast once more.
That retraction from their own mistakes was nowhere in sight.
Natasha tried to blink the worry from her eyes as she nodded, "Sounds like a plan."
It was the path of least resistance. It was what she thought she wanted earlier, with two separate rooms for her and Steve. And it was the easiest plan, avoiding each other and the mess of their emotions.
So, if it was so goddamn easy, why did she feel miserable?
Steve was in the bathroom a minute later with his bag, letting out a huge sigh. Natasha was groaning and trying to calm herself once again as she opened her laptop. Country music didn't have a lasting effect, and the dark shower's trick had already vanished.
The threads of this story were jumbled, but the story wasn't what was stressing her out the most. It was the man who just closed the bathroom door. A couple minutes later, she realized she missed out on the whole charging for copyright.
Steve definitely tried to shower in the dark, and Natasha didn't even have to look at the door to know the lights were off. She heard the minor slip as Steve found his footing and said a little too loudly, "Son of a bitch."
It helped lighten her mood as she started diving into her notes. Natasha listed out all of their findings and facts as the story of murder and greed took form.
John Doe and Hope's murder. Hank Pym's death a couple years prior. The safe house being torn down. Fisk and whatever his plan was for trainlines and more power in the city. His and Midwest's involvement seemed as rocky on paper as it did in Natasha's head. Jessica Jones' warning, along with Coulson's. The election. How Wildfire all tied in, knowing it had to do with some sort of generic drug testing, and how Midwest wanted more of a presence in the city too. All spawning from her conversations with Jones and Coulson, only yesterday.
Yesterday, which seemed like a month ago at this point. Yesterday's conversations, which she kept from Steve. Instead of acknowledging her guilt, Natasha whispered to herself, "What did you talk with Janet about this morning, Rogers?"
She kept that mirror away from her conscience. Those inner voices didn't need more ammo right now.
Natasha had some doozies for facts from those conversations to add to their pool of data. Steve had his own from Janet Van Dyne. But neither had the silver bullet to this mystery.
But on top of that, Steve and Natasha weren't talking and speculating with each other, either. If anything, they'd learned their sweet spot really formed from their banter and discussions. Not from keeping things from each other.
It wasn't just that they kept pieces of the overarching puzzle to themselves. They were denying the possibility of bouncing off of each other like they had been over the last few weeks. That stupid metaphor about trees and forest ran through her head again as Steve came out of the bathroom, running the towel over his head.
He was in a t-shirt and sweats, just like her. The fact that she saw a hint of his stomach and hair around his navel, as his shirt slipped up from his towel, wasn't helping her cool demeanor.
Natasha sipped on some water as Steve tried to dance along their path of mutually assured destruction, "Want me to brew some more coffee, Natasha?"
She nodded her head, "If you want some, I won't refuse. But I'm gonna turn on my headphones. Watch whatever you want…I'm diving in to work here like you said. I'll get ready for tonight later."
Steve went through the motions for a couple of minutes, trying not to stare at her too much. She'd backed away from her slip up before, mentioning the kiss. Natasha was keeping secrets active to the story (so was he). But that was beside the point. Steve knew they were going to fall into more traps just like before he showered.
A trap would lead to temptation to push her for answers. Answers he wasn't sure he was going to like right now. Steve just couldn't deal with that right now.
Not this weekend. And not with this trip and the real reason they were in this hotel.
The story loomed over his thoughts. Steve and Natasha both cared immensely about cracking this code and holding the right people accountable. To honor the people who were murdered. The story coming first was the crux of the problem when it came to Steve and Natasha's love lives. Both in the past and present.
But this story had to come first right now. That's what they'd told themselves and each other. It was all bullshit and an excuse so he could keep his fear of getting heartbroken by the redhead he was staring at, at bay. But regardless, Steve had made the decision.
He wouldn't push…right now.
The coffee was brewed, and Steve tapped her computer from the back as Natasha took out her earbuds.
"I'm gonna go down to the lobby for a couple hours, Romanoff. Figured we could use some space to focus on work."
Space. Focus.
That was the last thing they needed. But Natasha wasn't going to argue right now. It was the easy answer, and she had already decided on the easier road for this afternoon.
She smiled, which only annoyed him, "Sounds good."
He slipped on his shoes and grabbed his phone and computer, "Yeah. Sounds good, Romanoff."
Dark showers were a big failure as far as getting Steve and Natasha's minds off of each other. But work managed to do the trick for a few hours.
Natasha's shoulders ached from her hunched position over the small table in their room. Steve's back was sore from the lounge chair he'd sunken into in the lobby. Wrists hurt from typing and writing. And headaches had come and gone, two times over.
A lot of great write-ups and re-writes of facts were already revealed from their articles over the last two months. Which left a lot of conjecture for columns of the future. Conjecture of things they could presume, but couldn't prove. And therefore, couldn't print.
Their greatest roadblock right now, wasn't the lack of information from sources or threads or evidence. It was from not talking with each other.
Bucky and Wanda had learned it long ago. They'd tried to share it with Natasha, knowing that letting someone into your life would allow for growth and change. It was about addition, not subtraction. It was about strengthening who you were, not becoming something unrecognizable.
Steve and Natasha had already begun doing that, without even acknowledging it through working together. They'd learned more about players in this story, and the motives behind the crashes and murders. They'd learned the real culprit of greed and power was in play with Hammer and De Fontaine, with Bishop as the lackey.
But old habits die hard, and Steve and Natasha had leaned into their worst intuitions in keeping their conversations with Coulson and Jones and Janet to themselves. And their assumptions prevailed. Yes, the smoking gun was still out there. At Midwest's plant, maybe. Or at least another big piece of the puzzle was tied to whatever tests were going on. But would they be able to get to the real answers alone, as quickly as they would together?
With the way Steve and Natasha were feeling this afternoon, that answer was a resounding no.
Natasha was drawn from her neck-deep research by an alert from the reddit thread she'd found yesterday morning, while waiting for Coulson.
Miss Green was the redditor, who had an interesting exchange on Wildfire, that'd sparked Natasha via her username, Gumshoe4hire, to respond in the first place. Her reply was sent yesterday afternoon at City Hall.
Hoping this isn't a twist on the game of Clue, Miss Green. There's no candlestick in The Billiards Room, and I am not here to talk about actual wildfires in the west. I am looking to find out the who and how and why of certain deaths. Starting with a recent 'suicide.'
And Natasha had just gotten a response from Miss Green.
Gumshoe4hire, I'm afraid Wildfire causes a lot of destruction, especially when combined in windy environments. That death toll will continue to rise if Wildfire doesn't get under control. Like any disaster, you have to control the damage, but also get to the root of the problem. Wildfire isn't just found in arid places, but across the Midwest too. I hope we're not all caught in the headlights like deer or a doe. You must locate the problem, outside of just where the science tells you to look.
Vague and a little ominous. But full of hints, that made Natasha take note.
Natasha felt like she was decoding a message. Miss Green mentioned the words hope, doe, Midwest, and science. All tying together people who've been killed for this Wildfire project. How was Miss Green connected? That was unknown right now, but her mentioning windy environments meant the Windy City itself, Chicago. Wildfire was dangerous, but the problem wasn't only found at their manufacturing plant in Wisconsin.
So, did Miss Green mean their financial headquarters in Chicago? The Governor's mansion in Illinois? Eleanor Bishop in the city? Fisk?
Natasha's response was simple and short.
Miss Green, I'm good at finding roots, but I don't think any problems will be solved by puzzles and riddles. I think we need to meet if Wildfire is really this dangerous. We can't be caught like an innocent doe, or lose hope. Remember, there's always hope to be found, when the mission is the truth.
Natasha groaned, not knowing if her response would come of anything. She turned to her phone to text the other spitfire in her life…Jessica Jones.
Natasha – 2:15 pm – "Hey Jones, checking in after our talk yesterday at City Hall. Off the record – if the Governor, Bishop, and De Fontaine were overheard coercing…how much would you or the police need to put a tail on any of them?"
Jessica – 2:17 pm – "You do realize, the one way to not get what you want from me, is to disrupt my time away from work?"
Natasha – 2:18 pm – "You do realize, in our jobs, we are really never away from work…Happy Saturday though. Hope you enjoyed your beers last night."
Natasha could feel Jessica's eyerolls coming through the phone.
Jessica – 2:19 pm – "Well, in the moments that I manage to fake my life enough, where I do slip into some peace outside of the badge, I have people like you, constantly reminding me of it…good god, Romanoff. Didn't you drink enough last night at the ball? You should be hungover right now."
Natasha – 2:20 pm – "I should be 2,000 words into an article right now…but I'm having writer's block and am texting you instead."
Jessica – 2:22 pm – "Shit, Red…You must be grasping at straws. For us to put a tail on someone? If it went through chain of command, you're encroaching on territory for needing a search warrant. It's not quite that strong, but you're going to have to have conversations with higher ups than me. And I already told you yesterday, you better have a lot more than fucking conjecture and assumptions before anyone in the line of fire is going to stick their necks out for you in this environment. Especially in Castle's and my district. That's like putting a target on him and me, right along with journalists."
Natasha blew out a breath and tossed her pen across the room.
Natasha – 2:24 pm – "I know, Jones. I know…sorry. I just…tailing is just observing and following. It's not breaking any laws."
Another eyeroll was felt without Jessica even sending an emoji.
Jessica – 2:25 pm – "It's not. But it's exposure. So, you better be discreet. Besides, Hammer is back in his protective realm at the Capital in Springfield. De Fontaine is in Chicago a lot, but resides in Milwaukee. And when she is here, I've never seen her in public without 10 of her personal bodyguards insulating her. Bishop might be your best chance, just because she's in Chicago. But like you've so eloquently reminded me…tracksuits are going to be wherever she is."
Natasha – 2:27 pm – "Right, I know. I know…I'm sorry, Jones. I'm just hitting my head against an imaginary wall right now, and thought texting you might spring something out of me."
Jessica – 2:29 pm – "Because my response is a harder hit than a brick wall? Well, now you actually do flatter me, Romanoff. Look, I don't have anything new since yesterday at City Hall. If you actually need police to get involved, I'm just saying you better have something more than…I don't like the Governor, or I overheard something…"
Natasha – 2:30 pm – "I know. Thanks for the TED talk, Jones."
Jessica – 2:30 pm – "Fuck TED talks. That is a JONES talk, special. Now do me a favor, and don't interrupt anymore of my weekend."
Natasha tossed her phone and went to get her pen as she started clicking it through her frustration. Whatever moles for Fisk that were potentially in the police force, were unknown. Those were the choppy waters that Jones and Castle were trying to navigate through. Peggy and her team in a separate district, might be an option to get involved in the future. But they're going to want actual evidence too.
Everything Natasha had right now, was causing her to pace around the room as that clicking increased. She could try tailing Bishop when they got back to Chicago. And she could try talking with Janet Van Dyne herself.
Natasha fell back on the bed for a moment as she groaned even louder, "What the hell did you learn this morning, Rogers?"
Steve, while knowing the result of that conversation with Janet Van Dyne, was focused on something else at the moment.
Janet had given him access to an archive of footage, from a private camera that Hank Pym had used outside of his safehouse years ago. Janet told Steve this morning, "The man was always cautious, but in his years after our divorce, the more isolated he became, his paranoia only grew."
Steve plugged in the encrypted drive and entered in the password that Janet had given him.
Little Bird.
It was Hope's nickname from her father that Steve and Natasha caught in Hope's locker.
The cruelty of the entire demise of this family was too much to focus on. But so was the archive. It was overwhelming how much Hank Pym had on file. Every single day, hours and hours of footage was saved in compressed files, starting from five years ago.
Steve wasn't going to have time to look through the entire drive now. That could take days. So, he looked at the very first day, to see Hank outside the safe house. Five years ago, Hank appeared a little older with glasses and was in a sports coat. But he stopped on the porch outside the safehouse, and looked at the camera, acknowledging his own recording of himself.
Steve checked a few random dates from four years ago and then three. A couple days, Hank wasn't in the footage. But most of the ones he checked, he was either putzing around outside, sitting on the porch, or the door was closed with a light on inside.
Steve jumped way ahead to the last batches of footage recorded. A month before recordings stopped, was a little over two years ago on this timeline.
There the safehouse was. With no light inside on. Hank must not have been there. Steve did a double take because Hope Van Dyne emerged in the frame, not realizing she was being videotaped.
Steve didn't know if Hope had shown up before this day, but he'd guessed she hadn't. Hank lived in the house for three years, and it took Hope that much time to finally make the trip. But she stopped halfway up the walkway and turned around.
Steve sighed, wiping his hand over his beard, "God this is going to take forever."
Downing another cup of coffee, he trudged on through his first hour of searching.
He got through day after day. But a week later in this batch of footage, Hope was there again. She'd made it all the way up to the porch this time. She walked back and forth a few times, but never knocked before leaving again. A heartbreaking moment followed, when Hank came outside only a few minutes later.
If Hank Pym was videotaping this, he must have known Hope tried to see him too.
A week later, was the final gut punch. Steve had avoided about 90 percent of the recordings archived. He jumped to the end, to watch the last few weeks, and a whole world was revealing itself.
Hank, the gifted scientist appeared in the first samples of recordings from five years ago. But this man towards the end of his life, didn't seem like the same Hank Pym.
This man seemed very worn down from the double life he was living. He seemed skittish, not spending any time outside anymore. Constantly looking over his shoulder while going to and from the house. Double and triple checking the locks, shutting curtains and blinds inside.
The paranoia was there for a reason, more than likely. But the final blow to Steve's stomach was the last few recordings. There were five left.
Hope had shown up for a third time. She seemed determined, and marched right up to the house and knocked on the door. She wasn't running away right now. Only Hank wasn't home. What Hope didn't realize was that Hank was never showing up at his house again. She finally reached the point where she wanted to see her father, only to find that he wasn't there.
Whether he was actually dead at this moment, Steve didn't know. But it was heartbreaking watching her shoulders slump. She'd worked up the courage to knock, and was met with nothing in response.
Hope waited for about 10 minutes before finally leaving the house, looking defeated.
Steve skimmed through the next few tapings, and there was nothing.
No Hope. No Hank. No lights on inside the house.
Until the second to last day of recordings.
It was from two years ago. Hope did show up that day, but she didn't arrive alone. She arrived with Janet Van Dyne.
And with Bruce and Betty Banner.
Steve's body went rigid as adrenaline surged. Whatever questions Hope had for her father, or conversation she wanted to have, was never concluded. She never got the chance to speak to him again.
Hank was clearly gone at this point in the timeline because they were all there to clean out his house. Hugs were shared. Hope tried to hide her tears outside each time she went back into the house. Some kids came running up a few times, clearly asking if they could have anything for free.
Hank was gone. And after a few hours, the house was empty.
And then at the end, Janet put her arms on Bruce and Betty's shoulders, looking sincere in whatever words she was sharing with them. Then Janet gave Bruce the keys to the house. Bruce looked like he shook off the gesture at first, but accepted them, hugging her again. Betty looked scared, but hugged the woman too.
Steve guessed that Janet learned of the camera footage at some point after Hank's passing, because after the house was emptied, and Hope and Bruce and Betty were gone, she looked right at the same camera Hank had at the beginning. Almost talking to her paranoid husband, who wasn't so paranoid at the life he was trying to hide from. The life that caught up to him.
There was another few hours of footage of the empty house, but there wasn't anything of note on it. The camera went to static at the end, and there were no more recordings.
Three full years of footage of Hank Pym's safehouse, and then it stopped two years ago. As hard as it was to believe, this was where the easy part of Steve's searching ended.
Steve stood up. Two hours had passed in the afternoon. Stretching, he refilled his coffee in the lobby and sat back down to dive right back in.
Now the task of sifting through the endless searches of CCTV footage began. Headaches were welcomed at this point, because this seemingly impossible task, was at least helping Steve ignore the pain in the ass waiting for him in Room 782.
Steve quickly became lost in the weeds of CCTV. Jimmy Woo had warned him of the massive search engine he was embarking on, and the warning was appropriate.
Looking around Fisk's businesses on the south side first, Steve realized Jimmy was right again. Whoever Fisk had on his team, was good at making sure the business dealings were clear from his strip clubs and casino. Scanning through two months of dates, Steve found nothing but customers coming and going from his seedy locations. He tried the stations where the Red Line and Blue Line accidents occurred next, and found the same results.
Nothing.
John Doe's death was doctored, but nothing out of the ordinary occurred over the last two months at The Blue Line. The Red Line explosion and crash happened out in the open, and that was a bust too. Steve checked out cameras near Wrigley Field out of curiosity, and then Willis Tower too. The footage was full of tourists and fans of Chicago. Nothing was expected, and Steve was just reeling out of frustration.
Hank Pym's safehouse wasn't on any CCTV cameras. There would be nothing but dirt now, anyway, but Steve wasn't going to directly see the house from the last two years either. He thought of the leveled property that Fisk had bought when Steve and Natasha were there on Wednesday.
Wednesday from this week…
God, that was three days ago, and it felt like several weeks at this point.
Steve felt a third spike in his headache forming, when he had a thought. The actual train station Bruce Banner was killed at showed nothing from the last two months. But what about going back, before two months ago?
Whoever had doctored The Blue Line's footage from his 'suicide,' probably did some backend doctoring as well. Steve went back a day, focusing on the time of Bruce's death. Thinking he was trying to catch the early morning train, Steve stayed at that time of day with each search. And then he went back a week. And then a month.
Still nothing.
No John Doe.
Day after day. Week after week, it went on. Searching droned on. Was this a goose chase or a hunch that would pay off? Flashing through each frame at the same time of the morning, over and over again. Finally, Steve caught a break at the eight months ago mark when he saw the familiar figure.
John Doe himself, Bruce Banner.
Bruce wasn't in his normal coat and slacks that he was in when he'd been killed. He was in a hoodie and jeans that morning. Maybe that's why whoever was clearing this cache failed to catch it.
Bruce scanned his pass at the reception bin, but turned around and left the frame. He'd only been on camera for about five seconds.
"Damn it."
Steve cursed again and rewound and paused. Zooming in and screenshotting, he was positive it was Bruce. But he didn't stay in the footage long. Steve got out a map, looking at where The Blue Line station was.
He went north, about a half mile, to where Hank Pym's address was, reaffirming how close it was to several L-Train stations in the heart of Chicago. This station where Steve was focused, was where Bruce was killed. Hank's address almost served as a mid-point between the spot where Bruce was killed, and the train station near Chinatown, where Steve and Natasha had their run in with Fisk.
Steve had another thought.
Maybe whoever worked on this footage didn't get to all the spots where Bruce visited. Steve switched the CCTV search now, focusing on the train station near Chinatown. And he focused in, on the very same morning. Going ahead in time a little, and that hunch paid off in spades.
"Damn."
Steve saw Bruce again.
Same hoodie. Same jeans. Same John Doe, from eight months ago.
Maybe Bruce was being watched at The Blue Line station he was killed at. Maybe Bruce knew that.
"Come on, how lucky am I right now?"
Steve put his pen in his mouth as the world outside drained away. The hunch was right and now the chase was on. Steve's vision tunneled on the computer as he decided to go forward in time a full day.
And there Bruce was again.
Damn again.
That jolt of adrenaline started coursing through Steve's body as he leaned forward and started writing down dates.
Another day later, and there he was again. It went on and on like this. Whoever was clearing footage, didn't touch this camera location near Chinatown. If Fisk's increased purchase of land around Chinatown was successful, maybe tracksuits would get to this eventually. But the footage was here now.
Another day turned into week after week.
Steve marked each sighting of Bruce down as a pattern emerged.
Every Monday, Wednesday, and weekend, he used this Red Line station near Chinatown. Every Tuesday and Thursday, he must have driven, gotten a ride, or used The Blue Line station, which there was no proof of.
But the theories started pouring into Steve's brain, about Bruce making the trip from Milwaukee, down to Chicago on weekends and Wednesdays. A few of the days, Bruce walked with a tall, slender figure who typically wore a hat. But one of the times, Steve saw long dark hair come out of a sweatshirt.
It was clearly Betty Banner. It was the same figure by Bruce's side that was in the clearer footage on Hank's own recordings at the safehouse. It was the same woman Steve and Natasha saw today at Midwest. And it was the very same woman that Natasha had seen at Janet Van Dyne's house after Hope's funeral. Only Steve knew who she was, thanks to his conversation with Janet. Bruce's wife.
Maybe the guess was rolling around in Steve's head before, but it was clear now. Hank had the safehouse for three years. Janet gave the keys to Bruce, and he'd taken possession. He didn't have recordings of the house like Hank did. But Bruce was definitely staying in the very same house, based on the frequency Steve saw Bruce come and go by this camera site.
There was probably other footage out there of Bruce in Chicago, but this lead is what Steve focused on. His eyes were burning the faster he went through the days, but he was on a roll. Documenting each day Steve saw Bruce, the list grew long. Most days Bruce was alone. A few, he had Betty by his side, concealed as best as she could be. Steve saw the dates getting closer to Bruce's end of life, and his hands started fidgeting.
It was like Steve wanted to scream into the computer and yell at the man about what was to come. That wasn't possible though. What had happened, happened.
A week before Bruce was killed, Steve froze, "Shit."
Betty hadn't been seen in any footage with Bruce in over a month's searches. But there was another woman in frame with Bruce.
Hope Van Dyne.
They looked to be in a serious discussion before they hugged, and Hope left. There were a couple of other times that Steve saw Bruce, and then that was it.
The morning of his death came and went, and Steve wouldn't see the man on camera anymore. Sometime in the weeks to come, the house would be torn down and leveled, and Fisk would buy the property.
And the timeline of the safehouse near these train stations and Chinatown came into focus.
"Jesus Christ."
Steve might as well have been hungover. His hair was disheveled from how many times his fingers had combed through it. His eyes were bloodshot from staring at a computer screen…for five hours. And his hand was cramped from all the searching on the computer and writing down of dates. The timeline was there though.
Five years ago, Hank Pym moved into the safehouse, staying as frequently as he needed too. Hope never seemed to meet up with him in the end. And then two years ago, he was gone. Every day, Hank recorded the outside of his house, and no tracksuits were around. Whatever happened to Hank, he wasn't found at his safehouse.
The house remained empty from what Steve could tell.
Thene the house was turned over by Janet, to Bruce and Betty. And sometime in the last year, and at least eight months ago, Bruce started staying there too, by the tracking of his appearance near Chinatown.
Somedays he had a duffle bag with him. Some days nothing at all. In the days early on, Betty was with him. But the closer it got to Bruce's last day on earth, Betty was nowhere to be seen. If Steve had to guess, it was him trying to keep her safe.
The last person Steve caught on camera with Bruce was Hope Van Dyne.
But just like Hank Pym, Hope and Bruce were now gone.
There wasn't proof, but Steve guessed that Hank's paranoia was a curse and a blessing. Tracksuits hadn't caught onto him. But maybe they had to Bruce. Maybe that's why Betty stopped coming to the safehouse. Maybe that's why Hope left Chinatown as quickly as she came.
But that conversation loomed between the two deceased people.
What was said? What was exchanged?
It probably revealed how Hope got drug into this. Either by her own hand, by accident, or by Bruce, the tracksuits made the connection. And Hope paid the same price that Bruce did.
It was worth saying again as Steve sat back, "Jesus Christ."
The afternoon had come and gone, and Steve felt like he was on information overload as he packed up and went back to the hotel room.
It was five hours later.
Five hours of looking at Reddit threads, researching articles, and texting Jessica Jones. Five hours of scanning through endless footage of recordings archived by Hank Pym and CCTV.
Five hours of avoidance, from being in the same room together for too long.
But the afternoon had vanished with Steve and Natasha's evasion tactics. But they knew their makeshift mission of going to a random bar in Lehigh tonight was soon approaching.
Natasha had texted Steve 15 minutes ago, "Figured we'd want to eat before boot scootin our way to The Taproom later…pizza is on its way."
The smell of the cheese and crust seemed to be the remedy for headaches formed after a long day of research and arguing. And avoiding each other.
It had just arrived as Steve came back into room 782, and Natasha had her bottle of bourbon out to his surprise, "Help yourself to the pizza, Rogers. And meet my best friend Jack on long nights at The Herald."
It pulled a chuckle from Steve, "Well, nice to meet you, Mr. Daniels. Have you met my best friend, Jim Beam? He's just as loyal as you, I promise. And he's never left me on my own late evenings at The Star."
Steve pulled a bottle of Jim Beam out of his own bag. A sly grin formed, and Natasha shook her head, "I'd say great minds…but I don't know if it's great that we're referring to our best friends as bottles of liquor."
Keep it light. Focus on pizza and liquor and maybe they could stop from fighting.
Steve found his seat at the table again, slipping his shoes off, "I mean, I don't think anyone could blame us? Jim and Jack…they're always there when you need 'em."
Natasha smirked, "They never forget to call."
Steve scoffed as he took a sip and grabbed a slice of pepperoni, "They only get better with age."
Natasha rolled her eyes but huffed out a laugh, "They don't talk back or argue…"
How long could they keep this metaphor train going about liquor and friendship?
Steve sat back, "Well, not on the way down at least. But the next morning, they sure now how to leave their mark."
These were two talented journalists. They could go for a pretty long time if they wanted to.
Natasha's finger tapped at the table, "They both look good, no matter what they're in."
Steve watched her. The flicker of green. The red strands of hair falling from her ear. The hitch in her breath. The double meaning was felt behind each innuendo. Here Natasha was, tipping her styrofoam cup, sipping on the bourbon, knowing exactly what she'd implied.
Hot and cold crashed into each other.
Steve let out a slow breath, "Yeah, they do look good, Romanoff. Real good. But both have enough spice to burn if you're not careful."
This wasn't an active game, but an involuntary pull. No wonder they'd avoided each other for five hours. Steve and Natasha had been back in each other's bubble for 20 minutes, and the sexual innuendos and steamy stares were already off the charts.
Natasha tried to shake it off with a heavy sigh, "Well, here's to being careful then, Rogers."
It was 6:30 pm. The day had turned to early evening, and both of them had worked hard on different story angles all afternoon. Both of them read and wrote fast enough that they managed to clear their heads of each other. If only for a moment.
But that moment was over.
"Being careful…something we're both well known for."
A scoff came out of both of them as Steve added with a grin, "Liquor leaving its mark be damned. I've never had a morning full of a Jim Beam hangover, that wasn't worth it."
Natasha's nodded, "I've never wanted another companion besides Jack Daniels by myside, if I knew I was going to find trouble."
The playful banter expanded again as a game of I never, presented itself naturally between Natasha and Steve.
Same as when they focused on food before they separated for the afternoon, just enough relaxation settled with pizza and whiskey to distract them from their looming pitfalls.
Natasha's eyes flickered with amusement, "I've…never been married."
Steve held back his eyeroll as he took a sip, "Cute. I've never made a newspaper printing blunder, revealing a crush to all of school and town."
Natasha hummed through her drink, "Touche. I've never given an alias to a receptionist named Dottie, named after that same high school crush."
Steve let out a laugh, "That's quite the deep cut, Romanoff. But sure, you got me there."
Prodding at things they knew about each other, Steve and Natasha lobbed this game into action.
"I've never written a book."
"I've never worked overseas."
"I've never been to Wrigley Field."
"I've never cooked a meal for someone that wasn't pre-packaged or frozen."
The amusement was buzzing as it shifted into a little more provoking territory.
Steve watched her closely as he took another sip, "I've never had to learn to play nicely with others in journalism."
Natasha raised an eyebrow, "I've never pretended to be nice, while accusing another journalist of the opposite."
A huff of air came through his nostrils, "Something tells me you better take a sip on that one, Romanoff. I'm calling you out for not being honest…in the game of I never."
That same puff of air came through her own nose as they found themselves on thin ice all of a sudden, "Well, I guess this game was good while it lasted."
"Here's a last one for you then, Romanoff. I've never ran away from a challenge."
This time, Steve did take a drink, right along with Natasha.
This sip was longer, as their glasses were emptied. The amber liquid tingled all the way down their throats.
This little dance was inevitable, every time. Every goddamn time, they were back within an arm's reach of each other, Steve and Natasha couldn't help it.
The natural cadence returned. Light at first, but always tempting to go deeper. The pull was felt underneath as stares lingered. Then innuendos seeped in. And then their thoughts tangled with those same emotions they were trying to avoid.
It was hot and cold alright. It was up and down and back and forth. Steve and Natasha might as well have been on a roller coaster, because if they sat here long enough, a dizzying feeling would follow.
Here they were again, tiptoeing and edging forward. Not knowing what the other one was going to say. Daring to provoke, but fearing to be fully honest. And suddenly, that feeling of going a little crazy was growing again.
Not from their endless research, and definitely not from being cooped up together for too long.
Steve had just come back to the room 30 minutes ago, and they'd had a little to drink, slow walking their pulls of bourbon through this game of I never.
Steve had chosen his words carefully, shoving the idea of running away from this challenge between them in her face. Natasha's eyes fluttered as she grabbed another slice, "So, get a lot of work done?"
There it was.
The step backward.
Back on the roller coaster they went. Steve ran his hand over his beard and took another bite, trying to pretend the last 30 minutes didn't increase the room's temperature from their words and thoughts, "Yeah. What about you?"
Natasha nodded and hummed through her big bite as Steve flipped the TV on to one of the music channels. If Luis and the one-room scandal didn't have it out for them, the gods of radio playlists on a hotel tv sure did.
Phil Collin's voice emerged as his song, In the Air Tonight played.
I can feel it coming in the air tonight, oh lord
And I've been waiting for this moment, for all my life, oh lord
Can you feel it coming in the air tonight, oh lord, oh lord
Natasha shifted in her chair, "Yeah…a good amount actually. I brought some printouts that you probably already have. The public stuff on board reports for Midwest. Val De Fontaine's background. Did you know she was rumored to be part of a Ponzi scheme in New York before fleeing to Milwaukee five years ago? Shady practices definitely aren't new to her."
That steady beat of the 80's classic drummed on as their words gave the appearance of normalcy on the surface. But that appearance was a mirage, failing just as miserably as all their attempts to avoid their feelings.
Steve was done eating. He'd devoured a few slices and poured some more bourbon. There was still a hunger that wasn't food related, lingering. That feeling of want only caused the irritation to rise too. Aggravation from another step away from their banter. Annoyance at her playing the flirtation game so fucking well and this chase of the story. And most of all, a little anger was creeping in again from her dishonesty last night, and his today.
How the hell were they still circling this same fucking wagon?
Maybe Steve was still tired from the lack of sleep. Or maybe the words playing out in the song, conveyed his frustration just enough, to push him a little over the edge.
"Yeah, I read all about that too. Sounds like we're pretty much on the same page…unless you found anything else new, Romanoff."
Swirling her cup, Natasha paused and looked right at him, "No…nothing new besides what we're going after tomorrow. What about you, Rogers? Anything different than what we've said?"
Pot meet kettle. Apple meet tree from which you came. Lack of virtue, meet death of honesty.
Overly dramatic, sure. But the same feeling was in both of them.
Both were lying.
Lying about the story and conversations had. Lying about knowing about each other's conversations. And lying about every other goddamn matter of importance between them.
The irritation mixed with that hunger inside them both. And their brains started to fritz out again as the music carried on.
I saw it with my own two eyes
So you can wipe off that grin, I know where you've been
It's all been a pack of lies
As soon as 'pack of lies' was sung, Steve cleared his throat a little too loudly. Art imitated life in this moment, and whether it was by fate or by force, he didn't so much care.
The scratches at an itch that weren't soothed. That feeling of sinking into quicksand without a plan. The attraction and feelings, colliding with lies and denial. It was so convoluted between Steve and Natasha, when it could be so goddamn simple if they just spoke aloud what their hearts were screaming inside.
Hell, they could have been listening to a Sesame Street song and found meaning with how thick they were right now.
What Steve did care about was the feeling of not being able to control this anymore. Without it all blowing up to a point where retractions wouldn't be possible.
Natasha looked out the window and then turned back. She narrowed her eyes at him, knowing that Steve was lying, just like her.
Guilty as non-verbally charged.
Both acting ridiculous. Both were at fault from their own pack of lies, and it was just enough. A little too much for a Saturday night as they felt the confines of the single room close in on them.
Steve stood up abruptly just as the dramatic beats of the song played out and he said in a louder tone, "Thanks for dinner…I'm going to go get ready."
Natasha wasn't imagining things. Steve wasn't just irritated. He was pissed off as much as she was.
It didn't take Steve long to throw his jeans and a flannel on with a pair of dress shoes he'd packed. He came back out of the bathroom not feeling any better as another song was playing now. Natasha looked up from shoving everything back into her messenger bag. She was forceful enough for Steve to notice that she wasn't just irritated either. She was pissed off too.
It was like they'd drawn this line in the sand they weren't going to cross. The problem was with each heated exchange and natural conversation they'd found themselves in over the last month, that line was washed away each time.
Ebbing and flowing, their topsy turvy reactions to each other over the last day had completely erased that line from ever existence. And now, Steve and Natasha felt like they were out at sea, trying to hold on to anything else but each other.
Steve hated all of it. And Natasha hated how goddamn hot he looked in a flannel and dark jeans.
His words were short, "Bathroom's all yours."
Hers were blunt in response, "Great…I'm assuming you didn't find anything new while you were in there, either?"
What the hell was she getting at? Steve turned around and before he could answer, the door was shut, and the water and fan were on.
He rolled his neck and scowled.
She scoffed as her jaw tightened.
He paced, drinking a beer, cursing at his internal voice and her actions, and everything else in between. She muttered nonsensicals, throwing her makeup onto the counter before putting her eyeliner on.
Natasha's mind was racing, 'He has some nerve.'
Steve's was going a mile a minute, 'God, she makes me want to scream.'
The beer did nothing to cool him down, and the hairdryer only made her body temperature rise higher.
20 minutes later, it was a little past 7 pm, and blockhead one and two continued to simmer. As good as Steve looked in his flannel, his glance at Natasha as she came out of the bathroom said it all. He gave a similar look to what she had.
Hair wavy and down. Navy flannel with dark jeans painted on. A hint of gold in her eyeshadow and red on her lips. Steve watched as she slipped on her boots that went up to her knees, and he actually had to turn away. The silence was suffocating. And they were going to burst.
He was a thirst trap. And she was goddamn gorgeous.
Their timing couldn't have been worse with their lies and feelings and this story's trajectory colliding.
But what else was new? This inflection point had been building for well over a month, and it's the reason why Natasha was so concerned about sharing this room. Space and time allowed them to avoid. This room didn't. There was no space. And right now, there was no more time because they had to get going.
Steve had been stewing and wasn't able to stop himself though as he provoked a little more, "What the hell did you mean before you went in the bathroom, Natasha?"
Natasha's hands found her hips as she stood by the door, "You know Rogers, you're a terrible liar."
She'd grabbed her little clutch that she wrapped around her wrist and left the room in a whirl. Steve's nostrils were flaring as he watched the door shut behind her.
Somehow, Steve knew right then that Natasha had found out he was keeping stuff from her. And instead of trying to take a breath and acknowledge they were both at fault, he went after her without any common sense left in the tank.
Cornered animals don't act out of reason. And fear and anger and stubbornness were running these primates deeper into their corners right now.
Natasha was walking quickly as Steve caught up to her in the hallway, "I'm the terrible liar? That's fucking rich, Natasha…even for you. You're just pissed off because you know I have something you don't."
Natasha looked up at him as her breathing increased. The elevator dinged as she added fuel to the fire, "Steve, the only thing you have that I don't, is a beard and a few extra muscles."
The audacity. The sheer determination. The amount of hormones firing on all cylinders.
He was right behind her as they tried to fully engage in this standoff. Steve grabbed her elbow as the elevator doors shut, "I know about your talk with Jones and Coulson yesterday."
Natasha shoved him away in response, "You don't know what you're talking about."
Steve was as hot as her now, and their physical appearance had nothing to do with it. Grabbing her shoulders, he pushed her against the wall, "Stop lying to me."
Natasha was right on top of his words, "How about you look in that goddamn mirror you want to hold up to everyone else, Steve. I know you saw Janet Van Dyne this morning before you met me at The Herald."
There it was.
The acknowledgement from both of them.
It was the first ounce of honesty in almost 24 hours. But it wasn't shared out of trust. And it wasn't nearly good enough. This was going to get worse before it got better.
Steve was breathing down at her, "What, did you hack my phone?"
Natasha crossed her arms, "What, did you steal my notepad last night?"
"You're unbelievable, Natasha. I didn't steal a goddamn thing!"
Natasha's cheeks were almost as red as her hair, "And you're impossible, Steve. I'm not a fucking hacker!"
The doors to the elevator opened, as a family of five stared at them on the other end of it. The family was in the lobby and a little startled. They hadn't heard any of the words, but it was clear as a blue sky, that Steve and Natasha had something heated going on. The wild look in Steve and Natasha's eyes said everything. Something heated was a mild way to describe their feelings.
Natasha snuck right past Steve, brushing by the family, "Excuse me. Sorry…I'm sorry…Sorry."
Steve tried to force a smile on his face as he followed, "Have a nice evening. Excuse me."
The husband and wife gave a knowing look that fireworks were going off, sometime in the near future as they watched Steve walk right after Natasha.
The bar was across the parking lot and street. And Natasha was on her mission, fully cocked and halfway there already.
Steve jogged to catch up with her, "Goddamn it…Stop, Natasha."
Natasha paused with her back to him. Steve pinched his nose, taking a deep breath. He was trying to do something other than just think about screaming. It didn't matter that they were out in the open with chilly air all around. The space between them was the same as the hotel and the elevator.
Smothering.
"Will you just stop and talk to me for a second, Natasha? What the hell is going on?"
Natasha turned around as he stood over her again, "What do you want me to say to that, Steve?"
Her breath was shaky as he responded, "I want you to quit accusing me of lying when you're doing the same exact thing."
His breath was a little uneven too. Steve drew his hands to his hips and looked off to the bar, "Jesus Christ, Natasha. Yeah, I wasn't honest with you. I met with Janet early this morning. But do you know what prompted me to do that?"
Natasha looked away as he continued, "I didn't steal anything from you last night, Natasha. I was trying to give your notepad back to you. We dropped them outside when we bumped into each other. It was a goddamn accident. But then I saw the notes about Coulson and Jones…and I knew you met with them yesterday. And that you lied about it. I gave it back to you…and then you lied again. And yeah, that pissed me off."
Never trust a cornered animal.
Of course, Natasha dug right into the parking lot she stood so firmly on, "Are you blaming me for your lack of telling me about Janet today? That's really in the realm of, 'Why'd you make me do this to you?'"
She was out of line as he talked over her, "What do you want me to say? That I wasn't just pissed off? You're right, Nat. I wasn't just pissed. I was fucking hurt. And I thought for once…no screw that."
This was like a train without brakes, and it was getting away from them.
His tone was harsh as Natasha found his eyes again before Steve went on, "Look, I know…I know that you've really tried, and I have too over the last few weeks at this friend thing. And it's been a relief since we haven't been trying to one up and outdo each other with work. But I thought after everything from the other night at Rhodey's bar and our run in with Fisk…that we'd finally come to an understanding. That we were working together, even with our bosses' blessings."
Old habits don't just die hard. They're almost impossible to kill at times. And those moments when they do come back, cause mistakes to rear their ugly heads.
And mistakes can hurt like a son of a bitch.
Natasha crossed her arms, "It still doesn't excuse you for keeping whatever you talked with Janet about from me. It must have been something juicy, otherwise you wouldn't have been acting so cocky all morning."
"Cocky? Natasha, I've been trying to figure out how not to have this conversation because I knew this would be the result. Us fighting…And because I know how important this story is to you…and me."
His words were hitting her square in the stomach.
Natasha's eyes fell to the ground. They were being more forthcoming about their actions regarding the story, but were saying absolutely nothing about feelings.
And there still hadn't been an apology in any regard, from either one of them.
It wasn't that bad timing had it out for them. It's that they were so damn stuck, that they found any excuse to jump from these moments. And another excuse for bad timing presented itself. Steve and Natasha heard a group of women laughing loudly across the street.
"Shit," Natasha blinked away that stinging sensation in her eyes. And then a sarcastic laugh followed, "Well, it's a good thing you have the blonde from Midwest to cheer you up from how hurt you are, Rogers."
She didn't make any physical contact, but Steve felt like he'd been slapped in the face, "What? Come on, Natasha. What are you even saying?"
Steve was a little further down this emotional road. But it didn't exempt him from missteps. That also meant Natasha was willing to play just a little dirtier when cornered. They'd both fucked up. They both weren't apologizing. And now, Natasha was going for the lowest blow to make things even worse.
She knew better, but she didn't care in the heat of the moment.
"You said it best earlier, Steve, and last night when you dropped me off. We're just friends. So, let's forget everything from today and just get through tonight. Let's figure out how we're getting into the restricted access areas tomorrow and then get the hell back to Chicago so we can finish these stories…separately."
That hurt them both.
It hurt Natasha to say it, and there was a crack in her voice. Steve looked away as he tried to blow out some of that anger, "I don't believe this."
Natasha didn't even know what was even coming out of her right now, but she knew she wasn't going to get more emotional with Steve. It was a hell of a lot easier to deal with anger and frustration, than the aches and pains in her chest right now.
So, she doubled down, "Hey you know what? I really mean it. Have fun with the blonde tonight…Dottie, right? Yeah, you and Dottie have a fantastic night. Nothing to worry about at all here. I'll even hang out in the lobby, so you can have the bed."
So much for avoiding hurt feelings in her heart. It was fucking low and dirty, and everything else in between. Natasha knew it. And it burned just as badly to hear it as it did to say it.
Steve shook his head as his nostrils flared. He wasn't going to deal with this. It was after 8 pm now, and he wasn't going to miss a window in case Dottie and her friends left the bar early. He just looked at her with that goddamn smoldering stare, but he didn't fight back this time, "Yeah…maybe it's time for me to start believing it. You got it, Natasha. We're just friends."
Somehow, it hurt even worse when Steve said it.
Natasha watched Steve roll his neck and shoulders before he walked into the bar, refusing to look back at her. She'd crossed that line in the worst ways, not just avoiding, but actively shoving him away. And she felt awful.
Bucky and Wanda were staring at her in her imagination, just shaking their heads.
She made a couple of fists, instantly regretting everything that'd just happened. But more than anything, Natasha was worried if Steve was actually going to be done with this. With them. With this little thing, that began almost two months ago.
They couldn't quantify it. They couldn't describe it to themselves or even to their friends. But they couldn't deny it, either.
But now, this thing between them had blown up in the worst ways and Natasha felt awful. But she narrowed her eyes and avoided that inner growth and acceptance of what this really was between her and Steve.
Instead, she marched forward and into the bar, focused on the other story they chased, determined to stay one step ahead of the man that just walked away from her.
It was a little past 8 pm, and The Taproom was already busy.
The mission was simple for the journalists. Find out how to access Midwest's restricted areas from women that worked there. Steve was going because he was invited by Dottie. Natasha was going as herself, not the blonde-haired woman who'd accompanied Johnny on the tour this morning. They could cover more ground by separating their efforts.
Turns out, the blonde who invited Johnny had a mission of her own. Operation keep this hunk of a man by her side.
Dottie took advantage of the flirty atmosphere in the townie bar, and had already come over to give the man she knew as Johnny a big hug. He only glanced at Natasha when she walked in. Steve quickly turned on that irresistible charm of his, smiling and laughing at something Dottie said.
It was all the worst reactions with their worst tendencies on display. Pitted feelings churned, as something called jealousy raged forth. Natasha pulled up a seat to the bar and ordered a drink as some locals crowded the dance floor for a line dance starting to form.
A man who couldn't have even been 25, who definitely spent way too much time in the gym, came over to the bar too. Natasha barely got a breath out as he invaded her space, "Hey there, sweet cheeks. Wanna dance?"
Natasha got a smirk from the bartender named Mason, but she didn't even turn around, "No thanks…Go bother someone else."
Steve watched from the other end of the bar out of the corner of his eye as the overly eager 20 something made his move. The guy reached down and squeezed Natasha's ass on the barstool, "I think you like being bothered."
Before Steve could even register that he'd like to go and give the meathead a piece of his mind, Natasha beat him to the punch. Spinning in her seat, she glared at the handsy guy who hadn't even asked her name, "Hey…sweet cheeks? How about you lay off the HGH and go eat a vegetable. I'm not interested, and it's the last time I'll say it."
Mason, the bartender came over and told the guy it was his only warning. He looked like he'd been hit by a truck as he turned around and muttered something rude to a couple of his guy friends. It was the last Natasha would see of him, but it served its purpose.
Christine, their tour guide was standing next to Dottie and saw the rude exchange and told her friends, "Oh I like her. I'm going to go buy her a drink."
Steve caught Natasha glancing over at him. He couldn't help but give a concerned look, but she turned away as Christine came over.
One way or another, the evening had been set into full motion.
An hour later, the rhythm of the evening had found its footing. Christine didn't recognize Natasha at all from the tour and Steve and Natasha managed to keep their act up of not knowing each other. The handsy creep and his buddies left, but the bar was pretty packed as it approached 10 pm.
Natasha was three drinks in, as a scruffy guy pulled up a seat next to her. He looked almost as good as Steve did in his flannel. He was about to light his cigar as Mason yelled down from the opposite end of the bar, "Come on, Logan. I've told you like 50 times. No smoking in here."
Logan looked about as pissed off as Steve and Natasha. She couldn't help but chuckle, "Glad to see someone is having a worse night than me."
Logan glanced over as he sipped on his drink, "You're welcome, I think. Bad night because of that punk that got cheeky and grabbed your ass earlier?"
Natasha scoffed, "I wish."
They began joking about people in the bar having a better time than both of them, and Mason joined in, "It wouldn't be hard having more fun than you two combined. Have a drink on me. And lighten up…it's the weekend!"
Steve felt that angry demon inside emerge when he saw Natasha laughing with the man sitting next to her.
Jealousy is a bitch, no matter which side you're on. And as ridiculous as they'd been, that burning feeling surged ahead.
Steve and Natasha made out, dry humping each other outside of the ball, only 24 hours ago. They blew up at each other an hour ago, digging in and pushing each other away. And now they were both feeling jealous.
It was absurd.
Because it wasn't about being jealous. It was about each other's feelings they were ignoring.
By 11 pm, Christine was pulling Natasha into the bathroom with her. They'd walked by Dottie and her friends. Steve watched her as she brushed by them. He wanted to walk after her, but he couldn't right now. They weren't supposed to know each other. And to most of the people drinking and dancing the night away, no one had a clue.
Natasha found her chance in the bathroom, taking advantage of Christine's low liquor tolerance. Her purse was left on the counter as Christine went into a stall. Natasha didn't waste a second.
"You like it here, Christine? Lehigh seems fun even though it's small. I'm thinking of moving here."
Christine let out a hiccup in the stall, "Oh god, the only reason I get through the boring times is because of my boyfriend."
Opening the purse, Natasha didn't even have to rummage through it. Christine's security and ID badge was right there inside with the clip-on lanyard to go on her uniform, "Well, I don't have one of those."
Christine chuckled as the toilet flushed and Natasha closed the purse and washed her hands. The badge was secured inside her clutch. "Natasha, you're like…really hot. I bet you could get any guy to dance with you in the bar."
Natasha rolled her eyes but smirked at the drunk blonde, "Problem is I don't want any guy."
Natasha was almost speaking to herself in the mirror, but Christine patted her shoulder, "Isn't that always the problem? Sometimes they're overrated. Come on, let's go do shots."
Steve caught the smirk on Natasha's face as she walked past him again, but he was pulled into Dottie's side a little possessively.
They were all a handful of drinks deep into the night, and had been at the bar for almost four hours now. Christine said through her drunken state a little too loudly, "Oh my god, Dottie, Stephen is gonna kill me. I must have lost my security badge at work again. He can't get in trouble if I have to get another one. I need to go home and check…"
Dottie gave a fake pout, "You don't work tomorrow, just like me, Chrissy. Plus, Stephen is too busy to even notice right now, isn't he?"
Christine groaned, "Doesn't matter. I need to go. You have fun."
Christine left as Steve caught Natasha's stare. A little time and a healthy amount of alcohol helped the anger from before, dwindle. The scowls were gone, but their hurt feelings remained.
Natasha looked back to see Christine getting in a cab outside as more people crowded around the bar and tables. When she looked back, Steve was being pulled away to the other packed area.
The dance floor.
If looks could kill.
Logan chuckled behind Natasha on his barstool, "Should I be worried about you killing the girl or the guy?"
Toby Keith changed to a Garth Brooks song as all the patrons began singing along. Natasha looked at Logan and just blew out a breath, "Seem like you know the feeling, Logan."
A grunt came out of the man, "Yeah, I know the feeling. Difference is…that guy you got the hots for is a lot more into you, than her."
The way Logan had said, 'her,' sounded too familiar. Full of so much heartache. Full of searching, where the only answers that could be found were at the bottom of a glass at a bar. Logan was pining after someone that was into someone else. It was a life lesson and a tale as old as time. And while similar, it was still quite different in the most important ways, compared to Steve and Natasha.
Natasha raised her eyebrow, "Is she here?"
Logan smacked the liquor against his teeth, "Nah…she's with the guy she fancies. But no need to focus on any of that. So, what's the problem with the lumberjack and you? Because it's clear he's not into the blonde."
Natasha looked back at Steve, who did not want to be on the dance floor in any way, shape, or form. She ran her fingers through her hair and blew out a breath, "Jesus, I don't know. I think I'm the problem. He is just…I mean, we got in an argument a few hours ago. We were both lying about something, but that really isn't important. Anyway, I told him that he could do whatever he wanted because we're just friends."
The valve opened, and Natasha was a little astonished at what just came out. Logan huffed, "So, you're two idiots who are hot for one another but haven't told each other yet."
A neutral party who Natasha had made acquaintances with at a bar in Wisconsin had put it out there, plain as day. Natasha gave a little nod as Logan added, "Too shy, or too scared?"
From his lips to her ears as she muttered through a drink, "I like to rely on the excuse of too busy."
Logan smirked and ordered another round from Mason, "Yeah, you don't look the type to admit being too scared. And you definitely don't seem too shy."
Natasha clinked her glass with Logan and looked back to the dance floor again. Steve stuck out like a sore thumb. He was slowly bopping as Dottie was trying way too hard to wrap her arms around him and run her hands up and down his sides. He caught her across the bar and wouldn't look away. Logan looked over his shoulder to watch them both and chuckled, "Take it from someone who's dealing with unrequited feelings, don't waste it, Red."
The fast song shifted into a slow rock ballad, and Natasha continued to stare. Dottie snaked her hands around Steve's neck as his hands reluctantly settled on her back. A fake smile was given to the drunk blonde in his arms. But as she pressed against him, he found the woman he was pining after again. Steve just stared at Natasha who had turned to take a shot of tequila with Logan.
When she found his eyes a second later, Natasha let the words from the song sink in.
You make me weep and want to die
Just when you said we'd try
Lovin', touchin', squeezin' each other
By the time Steve Perry was done belting out the first verse of Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin', Natasha decided to throw a little fuel to the jealous fire. "Logan, how about you help this idiot out with a little jealousy?"
Logan grumbled and looked over. Before he could fully deny it, Natasha saw Dottie's hands roam down Steve's back. Logan was literally yanked from his barstool a second later as Natasha tugged him toward the dance floor.
She made sure to brush right past Steve and Dottie. The blonde looked over and yelled at Natasha, "You go girl, he's hot!"
Steve could have cracked a walnut in his cheek with how his jaw twitched.
"Jesus…Whatever, Red. You lead."
Logan had been around enough in life to know what was going on. But he wasn't a parent. And he wasn't a love shaman for this feisty lady or lumberjack. If the redhead wanted to make a bigger mess of this, then that was her choice. Natasha's eyes narrowed at Steve before she wrapped her arms around Logan. Both men's hands found the women's hips in their arms as the words played on.
When I'm alone all by myself
You're out with someone else
Lovin', touchin', squeezin' each other
Dottie and Natasha were in a dance off, but only one of them was aware. Dottie, obliviously tipsy, pressed and grabbed Johnny. Her moves and turns didn't leave any separation between her and Steve.
With each fake smile and shift of Steve's hands, Natasha answered with her own. Steve already knew she wasn't afraid to play a little dirty or go low with her insults or moves.
Logan's fingers dug into Natasha's hips as she swayed against him. Slotting their legs, she twisted and turned so Steve only had a view of her ass grinding down on Logan's thigh.
You're tearin' me apart
Every day, every day
You're tearin' me apart
Oh what can I say?
You're tearin' me apart
Steve could feel his blood pumping as he glared at the woman he actually wanted in his arms. Not the woman he had. Dottie leaned up, kissing Steve on the cheek, and Natasha met his stare once again. Whether a vein was popping out of her head or on his neck didn't matter.
To shy or scared? Fuck that.
They were both too goddamn stupid to stop sabotaging right now.
Grasping Logan's neck, Natasha bent backwards as one thigh came up by his waist. It was suggestive. It was evocative. It was a flashback to last night, as Logan held her thigh in his hand, dipping her to the floor with her chest protruding up.
Steve's mouth was open, breathing heavily, thinking of their kiss. He was the one who had Natasha's thigh in his hand last night. How the hell had everything gotten so fucked up?
They knew the answer. Natasha's foot found the floor again as Logan gave her a look, saying, 'You really are stupid.'
It won't be long, yes, till you're alone
When your lover, oh, he hasn't come home
'Cause he's lovin' who he's touchin', he's squeezin' another
Life imitated art with all the touches and squeezes. But the words of the song evoked the hurt in both the idiots' eyes. Steve just shook his head at Natasha as she found him looking at her again. He leaned down to whisper something in Dottie's ear. The blonde glanced up at him and smiled. And a second later, he was pulling her off the dance floor. They didn't stop at the bar. They didn't stop at any booth. Dottie had grabbed her purse, and they walked out the door.
Now Natasha was the one left with her mouth hanging open.
A bucket of ice water. A slap in the face. A stab in the heart.
It all applied. What the hell just happened?
Natasha was literally grinding on Logan over the last few minutes, but she'd straightened up at Steve's departure. Now, the grumpy guy and the redhead looked like they were at a middle school dance, with how much space had grown between them.
He's tearin' you apart
Ooh, every day, every day
He's tearin' you apart
Oh girl what can you say?
'Cause he's lovin', touchin' another
Now it's your turn, girl, to cry
Na na na na na na
Na na na na na
A few claps came from other people on the dance floor as the song ended with the repeated, "Na na na na na na."
Logan shook his head and chuckled, "Come on, Red. I think you completed your mission to blow whatever that was to hell. Let's go get a drink."
Natasha was a little shell shocked, not believing what she just incited. Was Steve done? Had he met his limit? Did he really just leave with Dottie?
Natasha's logic was left in the hotel room apparently, as confusion and jealousy, and anger at herself clouded her judgement. She passed on the drink, feeling a little too buzzed as she sipped on a water instead. Her head sank at the bar, just like Logan's was when they first met each other a couple hours ago.
"Sorry about all that, Logan. I didn't mean to…"
Logan laughed, "Hey, it's your life. You blow it up all you want. God knows I've done that myself a time or too. But nothing to be sorry with me about. Now that lumberjack on the other hand…"
Natasha's forehead rested on her palm. She looked over at Logan, finally asking the question out loud, that her conscience had been screaming for well over a month, "Why is this so hard?"
Logan wasn't switching to water. He was clearly on a mission to drown his sorrows long before he met Natasha. And he would be long afterwards too. "Look, anyone looking at the two of you for five seconds can see there's no one else in the room when you're staring at each other. But love isn't that simple."
Natasha literally did a double take.
"What…?"
Maybe she was caught up in a frenzy of emotion from their fighting and lying. And now jealousy was thrown into the mix, which was stupid, and she knew it. But any shell-shocked feeling she'd had as a result of Steve Rogers in the last two months, just increased 10-fold. Her world was rocked at the mention of the word.
Love.
That four-letter word resulted in a lot of worlds being rocked over the course of history. Such a small word produced endless emotions and tears over the years. And inspired countless songs and stories as old as time.
One syllable. Four letters.
Such a simple idea on paper, but hard to quantify when someone was in the thick of it. Or at the precipice of taking a leap.
Such a universal notion, shared amongst all beings. From pets to babies. From kids to parents. Siblings to friends. And of course, this. This crazy, undefinable feeling, shared between two people, finding each other on the journey of life.
It was simple but profound, causing the heart to expand and contract in the best and worst ways. It's what gave life context in happy and sad moments. It made losing loved ones all the more painful. And made finding them all the more vibrant.
Love turned nice into lovely. And sad into harrowing. It made pretty become breathtaking, and turned good into delicious. It was the spice of life on both ends. And when such a profound feeling was kept at bay…When a visceral and universal emotion was denied, the heart had a way of breaking through.
The truth always found light on those beats on the street, as long as someone looked hard enough. And those beats within the heart had a way of surfacing, even within the most stubborn of people.
Yes, even in a redheaded journalist, who'd tied herself in knots for weeks on end, because of the creeping feeling inside of her.
In the end, it's the only thing that really could explain why someone so smart could act so incredibly dumb. How two journalists, so gifted with words, could become so tongue-tied when trying to navigate the waters of truth with each other.
Everyone's a fool, when it comes to matters of the heart. It's something that Logan knew, and many others in life had learned the hard way, on the more painful end of the spectrum of the beating heart.
And it's something that caused Natasha's eyes to widen right now as Logan took his drink in hand, "If it was easy, it wouldn't be worth it. And if it was always simple, there wouldn't be poems and movies and songs about it."
Maybe he wasn't a love shaman. But this guy might as well have been a Chinese Proverb. He was speaking a lot of truth in the simplest of ways.
Natasha scoffed, "Logan, we haven't been able to stop fighting all day. He drives me crazy, and I think he's more than pissed off with me. I think he's done. I don't think love is the right word."
Logan shook his head, "Red, I think love is the only word. It's the only thing that would make the two of you act as crazy as what I just saw. And I don't even know you."
Natasha managed to laugh a little at that, "Well, it doesn't matter. I think any chance was ruined by me. He left, and I don't think he's coming back."
30 minutes had passed since Steve pulled Dottie outside. 30 minutes of swallowing hurt feelings and worries and jealousy. 30 minutes ticked by, as this immersion therapy by Logan, that came out of nowhere, played on. He was quite the truth teller and was objective, not knowing who the hell either one of them were.
He was just what Natasha needed, providing a proverbial pop in the mouth.
"You spoke too soon. Your lumberjack is back."
Natasha looked over and found Steve walking back into the bar. Dottie wasn't with him anymore.
Steve blew out his breath and found her eyes again. He was done with whatever just happened on the dance floor, but not in the way Natasha thought. He wasn't done with them. But he was done with pretending and the games and the fighting. And with the lying.
But Steve wasn't going to carry her out of the bar like a caveman, as much as that urge tempted him.
And he definitely wasn't going to watch Natasha grind on the other fella in the bar, who happened to look like a lumberjack of sorts too. It was only going to drive them both to madness.
Steve looked down and texted her, "Don't feel like being here anymore. Walking back to the hotel. Be safe."
Natasha looked down at her phone and blinked as that sting in her eyes returned. Logan watched Natasha as Steve left. Her brow furrowed as she read her text over and over. Ordering another drink, Logan patted her on the back, "Red, don't take offense, but you're not my type, even for a redhead."
Natasha looked up at her newly found friend for the evening, "I…what did you say, Logan?"
Logan chuckled, "Exactly. Doesn't matter. Look, if you're not out that door chasing after that guy in the next five seconds, I might just have to kick you out of here. These barstools are reserved for the lonely hearted. Those of us who don't have someone on the other side, returning their brooding attraction."
Natasha blinked and shook the cobwebs away from her courage. She shook her head as she listened to his words and most importantly, listened to her heart.
It was hard because of how perfect they were for each other. It was hard because of how strong of people they were. Finding a way forward, with compromise and change? Yes, it would be damn hard. Anything worth the work in life, always is.
But this? Admitting how she really felt? This part of their story didn't have to be hard.
A little liquid courage surely helped as Natasha paid her tab and smiled at Logan, "I don't even know…god, you must think I'm crazy. Thank you, Logan."
Logan just winked at her as he grabbed his next drink, "Nah. Everyone's a little crazy when it comes to the hard stuff. Go get him, Red."
"Steve!"
The Taproom's door shut behind her. She hadn't even looked to see if he was outside.
He wasn't.
A little strain in her chest formed as she looked around the parking lot to the bar, and then the larger hotel parking lot across the street.
He was already walking back into the entrance of the hotel.
"Who's Steve?"
A couple of groups of people were outside smoking and had yelled back at Natasha. They were laughing at something, and she didn't even bother responding. Natasha's skin felt a little flush from the surge of energy and determination inside her right now. She made her way across the road, which turned into a large stride. Which quickly turned into her running in her boots and flannel and jeans, with her clutch on her wrist
Two minutes later, Natasha barreled through the revolving door of the hotel. Red faced and eyes a little wild, Natasha's hair was frazzled from literally running across the large parking lot. She looked around the lobby. An older couple was by the fireplace. A couple of teenagers who were too young to be out at a bar, but too old to be asleep, were laughing and making videos on their phone.
Luis, who apparently couldn't get out of work tonight, was at the front desk, talking to the only person she cared to find.
"Steve!"
Luis was grinning as Steve turned around, "Oh Miss Romanoff, I was just telling your friend that we couldn't get out of work tonight, but Carlos's house is still going strong. You guys should come and meet everyone…"
Just as Luis started listing every person off that he knew again, Natasha waved him off, "Steve, I need to talk to you."
The teenagers looked up for a second but quickly returned to their phones. And Steve turned around and stared at her. He had been laughing with Luis, trying to use anything to distract his sour attitude. And now, he was looking at the source of his mood. Steve just shook his head, "You have fun with Carlos after you get done with work, Luis. I'm gonna call it a night."
To Natasha's surprise, Steve walked right past her towards the elevator.
It was late, and Steve was done. He was upset and tired. And God, he tried to ignore it for just one more weekend. But the bar was too much. Their infighting. The chemistry. Seeing her grind on some guy in a bar, just to get a rise out of him, only to avoid talking about anything that would move them forward.
It was the breaking point for him.
Steve was done pretending friendship or being mutual acquaintances would work for them. The story was too important, but it was also close enough to tomorrow, that he just needed to pull a Natasha. He thought when he left the bar, he could just ignore her for the rest of the night to get through this. Because he just couldn't do this anymore.
Steve being at his breaking point, only upset Natasha too. She moved right past feeling sour and sad, and jumped right into anger.
Natasha was at the precipice, and just like last night when she led him off the dance floor at the ball, she was ready to take a leap.
But now, he was walking away?
Her eyes narrowed as she stormed after him. The elevator was almost shut but Natasha's hand and clutch nudged through. By fate or by force? Maybe a little of both right now, because Natasha was done too. And she'd be damned if she was going to let Steve pick right now, to stop trying to figure this out.
"What the hell, Rogers? You're just going to ignore me?"
Steve let out a laugh and a sigh, that could only be described as exasperated, "I'd say you got a lot of nerve. But I think the problem sometimes, is you don't have enough, Romanoff."
The elevator shut behind them as Natasha's cheek bones seemed to pop out with the scowl that'd formed, "What the fuck does that mean?"
Another sigh, "Nothing. I'm sorry I said it, okay? This is your game. I work in your city. We all play by your goddamn rules. I got it, Romanoff."
This wasn't going how she'd planned it in her head, when she made the decision 10 minutes ago as Logan kicked her out of the bar.
With matters of the heart, this moment of jumping rarely does.
In the most predictable move by the most stubborn redhead in the Midwest, Natasha didn't try to calm the temperature in the small metal box right now. Instead, she spat back, "What's the matter, Rogers? Dottie wasn't good in the sack?"
"Jesus Christ."
Natasha crossed her arms as Steve stared at her. She wasn't going to let him ignore her. And she definitely wasn't going to let him be tepid with her right now. She was provoking him on purpose, so he'd actually say something in response.
It worked as Steve's voice rose, "God for someone who's the most brilliant woman I've ever met, you can sure be fucking thick."
A huff of air came out, "And for someone who's supposed to be the mature one, you can sure act just as stupid as me!"
If either of them had a clear-headed thought in their brain, maybe they could do this without the fireworks and yelling. But the only way out was through this muck and quicksand they'd gotten lost in.
And Natasha was dragging Steve down into this slop whether he liked it or not.
Steve's words were right on top of hers, "I'm only acting stupid because you make me fucking crazy. You push me away. You flirt with me to no end. You open up to me and make me feel things I've never felt before. And the way you look at me…Jesus, Natasha. I know you feel it too. But then you fucking flip the switch, and I feel like I'm in a pool with a goddamn toaster all over again."
His hands gripped the railing in the elevator. Hers tightened at her sides.
"Don't go trying to blame all of this on me, Steve. You think you're the only one wondering what the other one is thinking? You think you're the only one trying to figure out what the hell is going on inside, and how it's gonna work out here? Don't act like the victim. The last time I checked, you lied to me, just as much as I lied to you over the last two months. And you were getting handsy with Dottie on the dance floor tonight, so don't act like my question is so out of line."
If anyone else was in the elevator right now, they would have exited five minutes ago. If it wasn't late and after midnight, maybe there'd be people waiting to use this very same elevator. But there weren't, and it wasn't moving. Because the knuckleheads inside, hadn't pushed any buttons.
Steve said, 'fuck it,' internally, and happily rolled around in the slop with Natasha right now. He was pissed off at her audacity. She was pissed off his lips weren't on hers already. "You are something else, Natasha. God, you could twist the straightest of roads into a mountain pass with that tongue of yours."
A sarcastic laugh came out of her, but he didn't let her respond, "Yeah, I played the stupid games early on. But quit pretending like you haven't been the one dragging their feet over the last month. You've been so skittish when it comes to whatever the fuck this is…you're like a deer in the woods. I feel like we're getting somewhere…connecting, and then last night happens. And then, I find out you were lying to me again. You did it first. That's the difference."
"Semantics, Rogers."
"Facts, Romanoff."
His hand hit the railing, and she was realizing she had nowhere to go with her pacing or trying to stomp off. They were a mere two feet from each other.
Steve shook his head as his hands joined the party, pointing at himself and then her, "Guess what? I've already put my cards on the table of how awful I could be…with putting the story before anything else in my life to excuse my behavior…and that was all before. But yeah, provoke me enough and grind your ass on another man in front of me, and guess what? I'm gonna get fucking pissed…just like you wanted, Natasha."
Natasha was losing her footing in this fight as she looked at him, still trying to be defiant, "It still doesn't excuse you from meeting with Janet this morning and keeping whatever you talked about from me."
Steve was laughing now, and a little too loud. If he didn't, he might scream.
"You just can't stop, can you? I'm standing here. I'm admitting you drive me fucking crazy. I'm telling you that yeah, I stooped low, and have been worse in the past. But you can't even start to admit any fault of your own. I went to Janet…only after I found out you kept your conversation with Coulson and Jones from me. I tried to play nice and ignore all of this today, to avoid the fallout. And yeah, I went along with the whole Dottie charade tonight, because you pissed me off with the just friends comment last night. Which you said well before me. But heaven forbid you admit you did any of those actions first, Natasha."
Chests were heaving. Eyes were wide. Nerves were on fire as the small space somehow felt too big with how much distance was left between them.
Suddenly, two feet seemed like an ocean, with how they were looking at each other.
"You think you're the only one who feels like they're going crazy, Steve? It's not like you've ever put your cards all out there and said what you wanted with me in the last month. It's not like you called me out last night after you found out about my talk with Coulson and Jessica…no, you just used it as an excuse, so you could get back at me."
There was a little waver in her voice. Steve looked at her as she actually began pacing, as ridiculous as it looked. Back and forth in a two-foot pattern in the elevator. Hands on her hips, with one flailing off every now and then. This genie was out of the bottle, and everything was pouring out.
"My shitty behavior doesn't excuse yours, Steve. You're not the only one feeling fucking insane with whatever is going on between us."
Steve tried to lower his voice, "You know I didn't have sex with Dottie, Natasha. Jesus…I just took her outside, had a nice conversation with her, and told her I was sorry, but I wasn't interested. I got her security badge when she was waiting for her cab without her noticing. She doesn't work tomorrow. That's why I came here tonight, remember? For the story? Don't reduce yourself to thinking something so shallow."
Now Natasha just felt shitty. It was all so stupid, but now she felt exposed, running her hands through her hair, "You don't have to…shit. Jesus, Steve. I know that. I didn't mean it before. And you know nothing happened with that guy. His name was Logan, and he was just a friendly man at the bar who was helping out this pathetic redhead who was pissed off."
Steve blew out a breath as Natasha turned around, "Pissed off about me meeting with Janet?"
"Yes…no…I don't know."
Steve was done in every sense of the word. Most importantly, he was done refusing to push her.
The time to push was now.
"What don't you know, Natasha? Why were you pissed off?"
Everyone's words in her life coursed through her brain. From her Dad and Mom, encouraging her over the years to use her passion in life for something in addition to journalism. Fury and even Matt, wishing for her to learn from past mistakes to find something more. Her friends, especially Bucky, really pushing her to get out of her own way over the last month.
And now Steve. He was finally standing here, not backing away. And not letting her run from this.
Their exchange had gone from provoking to genuine, in one single stare.
Natasha looked up at him as the acid seemed to be sucked out of the elevator with his sincere tone. The tension and electric feeling were still there. But their hearts were beating loud enough finally, for her to meet him where he stood.
"Why were you upset in the bar, Natasha?"
Natasha bit her lip as Steve looked at her chest rising and falling under her shirt before he found her eyes again, "Why were you upset, Steve?"
Steve took a step forward, "No. We're not doing that. I'm done doing that. I asked you first, Romanoff."
Saliva pooled at the back of her throat, and her palms were sweating. She felt like Steve had a rope around her waist with how he was looking at her now. And that space between them was shrinking by the second.
All of their want and desire.
Their lust and connections made.
All of their feelings, and how crazy they felt for each other.
Natasha's mouth was open as she gripped the railing behind her, "I…I wanted to be the one dancing with you."
It may have seemed small on paper, but the admittance was as big as Natasha pulling Steve off the dance floor last night. Larger even. This was after all the events over the last 24 hours. And somehow the want had only increased since last night.
Steve stepped forward again, looking down at her, "I wanted you to be dancing with me too, Nat."
All sense of where they were and what had happened tonight seemed to drain away. He saw her lip quiver, and she watched his Adam's apple move.
Their eyes danced between each other's lips and eyes as her words fell out, "I don't want to be friends, Steve."
There it was. Anything and everything that Steve wanted to hear, summed up into one simple sentence.
The feelings were hard. But their actions right now, didn't have to be.
It didn't come out exactly as she thought, and she was lost in his eyes as she started rambling, "I mean…I don't want to be just friends, Steve. You drive me crazy too. I want…"
Before she could say anymore, she was silenced.
Steve's hand found her slender waist as his lips shut her up.
Finally.
A sigh came out as Natasha wrapped her hands around his neck. Her mouth pressed against his. Her toes spread as she stood taller, pushing into him. And he answered her every move and sound.
Huffs of air. Hands searching. Hers finding his hair. His covering her back. Seeking out every inch of space their fingers could find.
The railing poked into her thighs. His fingers dug into her ass. His mouth traveled to the curve of her neck. And her eyes found the florescent lights washing over them from above. She soaked it in, and he took what he could find.
His arching and sighing. Her panting and pulsing. It was hot and tight and felt so goddamn right.
All of that tension clawing at them for almost two months was appropriate. Because all Steve and Natasha could think about now, was tearing every piece of fabric from each other. His lips and beard, marking her skin. Her fingers and hips, nudging into his.
Natasha's mouth fell open as Steve returned the sensation, pushing right back into her. The hints of how turned on they were underneath their clothes, were only matched by how they were moving and sounding.
Pushing and pulling. Gripping and grasping.
Kissing and sighing.
"Natasha."
Her name came out with a desired groan as her eyes fell from the ceiling. Somehow, the realization that they were still in the elevator popped into her head as she looked at the buttons.
No one was trying to ride the elevator at 1 am. And no one had pushed any button to take them to the seventh floor, either. In their heated argument, and now heated kiss, it was only because Natasha's eyes finally looked at the door, that she realized it.
"Steve."
Humming into her neck, she couldn't help but close her eyes for a second. Whatever their brains were thinking, as little as they were, they were in a public elevator that hadn't moved for close to 30 minutes.
"Steve," she chuckled, poking his side. That got his attention. Lips red with a hunger in his eyes, she shook her head, "We're not moving."
Her head nodded at the buttons, and he finally tore his eyes away, "Wow…talk about lost in the moment."
Reaching over, Steve hit their floor and the elevator surged to life after 30 minutes in this metal box of heat and hormones. Before Natasha could say anything, Steve was right back to where he was, "Don't even think about it. Like you said, you're not moving."
The sound of his voice. The look in his eyes. Natasha went a little weak in the knees as she drew her lip in her teeth again, "You're gonna have to stop looking at me like that if you expect me to walk back to the room, Rogers."
A grated breath came out of him, "And you're gonna have to stop chewing on that goddamn lip if you want to make it back to the room, Romanoff."
Saved by the bell.
The elevator dinged, and Natasha snuck out from under his arm, leading the way. If gnawing on her lip, or thinking of where his mouth just was didn't cause Steve to go a little weak too, the way she looked over her shoulder at him surely did.
There was no one else awake. It was just them, alone in their trance. Alone in their lust and lavish thoughts. Alone in the hallway, approaching the door to their single king bedroom.
Room 782.
Thank fucking god.
And thank you, Luis.
Steve slipped the keycard in, and they looked at each other again, knowing there was no going back now. And yet, they knew exactly what was about to happen on the other side of this door and were on the same page. A giddy laugh escaped Natasha as she closed the door behind her. An uneven breath came out of Steve as he turned around.
They were in their hotel room, but didn't get two steps inside before they'd found each other again.
Natasha's back met the door as Steve grabbed her ass. Lifting her up, she wrapped her legs around him tight. Her clutch fell to the floor. This time, they both fully realized where they were. A desperate sigh out of her. A rasped sound out of him. Chests heaving against each other as her thighs squeezed tight.
"God you're beautiful."
They were the only words she heard before his mouth found hers again.
There was a buzz in the air, and a tremble in their kiss. Air huffing. Chests rising. Legs squeezing as lips pressed. As Steve pushed harder into her hips. As fingers tugged and pulled at his hair. As their hands skirted along their flannel shirts.
It was so much more than last night already, but not nearly enough. His neck and back. Natasha's thighs and ass. Hands moving. Fingers tracing. Lips searching as their tongues finally met.
It was all on the good side of crazy as they dove into the well of lust for each other.
Two months. Almost two frustrating and lonely months, thinking about this. Thinking about them and what they wanted to do with each other.
Knowing how badly they wanted all of this, even though they were scared of the unknown. The unknown of how it would work, and the unknown of feelings being returned.
The how of it all would have to be a problem for tomorrow. Because right now, was about right now. They'd jumped over the hurdle of fear and found themselves in each other's arms on the other side. And that was what mattered.
Squirming against the door, Natasha's hips budged against his waist. Squeezing her thigh, Steve closed his eyes for a second trying to take this in. To take her in as he groped her ass in those goddamn jeans that left nothing to the imagination.
But right now, there was entirely too much fabric between them. Fingers sliding down his back, slipping his shirt and tank up, finding the skin underneath. Her nails scraped at his muscles. His teeth nipped at her lower lip.
Everything felt hotter and tighter than the elevator somehow as a soft whimper came out.
"Steve."
So much want and desire from one word. This time, she wasn't trying to get him to stop and push a button.
Pulling her tight. Pushing into her. A groan came out as he found her eyes, and his own desired sound poured out as if it were whiskey from a bottle.
"Fuck."
A breathy laugh from her followed, "Yeah, great idea."
Her legs came down as her feet met the ground. Fingers trailing down the front of his shirt, Natasha brushed over his belt. Dancing along his zipper, she felt how tight his jeans had become.
It was the last boarding call before this train took off. His breathing shook a little as he pressed his forehead against hers, "Nat…this. God I want you. But fuck. I didn't bring a condom."
Natasha's ticket on this train was one way with no return, hooking her fingers in his belt as her thumb pressed down into his zipper, "I'm on the pill. And if you want me to pull up my medical history, I'm sure my Doctor will be very happy for me."
Her smirk met his grin. And it was enough for Steve to let out a laugh, "You're pretty cocky for a smartass, Nat."
"And you're pretty clothed for someone worrying about condoms, Steve."
Steve shook his head, needing to make sure, "I mean, I know you're joking…but you can pull up my medical history too if you're worried. But I trust you, Nat. You trust me? I promise…"
Natasha found his lips for a hard and deliberate kiss, answering him the best way she knew how.
It was long and sincere. It was long overdue. And it was a genuine response from both of them, telling each other it was safe to keep going. And that the bridge of honesty and trust they'd struggled to cross together for so long, was now here. They felt that inside as she nodded and pulled away, "I trust you, Steve."
The bridge was crossed as they took the next step forward together.
It was more than enough for that pull to take control again.
A flurry of movements followed. Fingers fumbling. Clanging of belt buckles. Buttons haphazardly being undone. Grasping at each other's jeans and shirts. Hair and shoulders. Inching their way to the bed, not being able to take their eyes or mouths off of each other.
His beard on her skin. Her lips on his neck. Natasha finally pulled his flannel off as he yanked his tank over his head and threw it across the room. The room was dimly lit from a table lamp by the TV, with the music channel on from before, when they were ready to scream at each other. Some other 80's song was softly playing in the background. What it was, they couldn't really tell, nor did they care to find out.
The sound and feel of each other suffocated as the room became hotter. And the smell of her shampoo and his cologne invaded as they grew a little dizzy. Here they were at the edge of this king bed, and Steve was fumbling on the last few buttons of her flannel as she reached back and threw the comforter off.
"Oh for fuck's sake, Steve. Just rip it…I'm not wearing this stupid shirt again."
He did as she asked, and those buttons went flying. Her shirt fell to the floor, and there was no laughing anymore.
From Steve or Natasha.
Belts were undone. Socks were tugged off. The chill in the room contrasted with how heated this had become. How warm Natasha was between her legs. How heavy their stares were with pupils blown wide.
Buttons were undone and zippers pulled down. That thirst and hunger filled their eyes as her fingers grazed across his jeans. A guttural sound from deep within his register came out, as an echo came from her own. He heard the ache in her throat, and she felt the bulge in his pants.
Steve exhaled slowly as he stilled her hand, "I said it before, but you are so goddamn beautiful, Nat."
Natasha looked up at him as Steve leaned down to kiss her softly now.
The hunger was there but focused now, as he found her chin and cheek. Her pulse and neck. Kissing along her collarbone and chest. Steve absorbed all he could. All of her details and sounds. Each note and murmur. Every curve and mound. Breathing over the forest green satin on her bra. Nipping at what waited underneath.
Her breathing begged for release. His sounded for more.
Steve sucked at her nipples protruding from inside. Natasha arched her back in his hold. Grazing at his shoulders now. Gripping his arms. Tugging at his hair, and he responded in kind. The satin was tugged away. The supple flesh was found. Her breasts were heaving, and her stomach was shaking as Steve kneeled on the ground.
Everything turned slow and deliberate. Steve looked up and found her open lips and darkened eyes. Painting her navel and hip with huffs of air as his mouth followed. Covering all he could with each kiss. Taunting her even more with every heated breath.
Steve's forehead pressed into her thigh as he took a second to collect himself. Natasha's fingers dug into his shoulders as she tried to balance everything within her reach. They were on fire, and they hadn't even taken their pants off yet. It had been an agonizing two months, thinking about this and so much more, and now they were here.
At the precipice, ready to jump together.
Steve looked up at her with hooded eyes, kissing the button of her jeans before moving down. Those breaths they'd heard at the ball. That thigh he'd felt last night. It was all right here in his hand now. He kissed it gently, and she purred with a soft moan.
"Steve."
One boot was pulled off her first, and then the other followed. Natasha slipped out of her jeans and socks as they found the floor.
"You're going to have to learn to be patient with me, Romanoff. I intend to take my time."
Fuck.
She swallowed and blinked, but it only caused her to melt a little more.
Steve was bare chested, kneeling on the floor. Natasha was in her green bra and panties, trying to stay standing. Every detail he tried to memorize. The little mole on her stomach and inner thigh. The way her toes curled into the carpet with their red polish. Each pant and sigh escaping her chest and lips.
Sight and feel. Sound and now smell. Senses flooded them as her scent overwhelmed. Right where his lips hovered at the seam of her panties.
As hard as Steve was, Natasha was equally wet. She could feel it with how warm her thighs were. With that coil inside, begging to unwind. Each touch and kiss only made it more obvious. Steve's mouth hovered over the satin, taking her in and driving her mad. Their breathing was heavy and drawn out as Natasha slipped her bra off and tossed it across the room with his flannel.
He looked up with a grin, "That's not being patient."
"Fuck patience, Rogers. You should know by now, I have a way of getting what I want."
Her breasts were exposed to the warm lighting and cool air. Nipples hardened. Eyes wanting. Jeans full of friction as he moved closer. Steve kissed the fabric, feeling her insides seep through. Humming into her as he teased at first, tasting a hint of what was to come.
Just a tease made her feel unhinged.
Just a taste drove him a little mad.
Tugging slowly as his pants grew tighter. Tracing the bone protruding from her hip. Trailing down as he peeled the satin away. Lips followed as her panties hit the floor. Soft curls were revealed as smooth flesh was exposed. Anticipation hit its peak as Steve licked his own before kissing her inner thigh. His thumb slid inside and there it was.
There she was.
All of her. That feeling. That small release of pressure. Her slick warmth, enveloping all of what pressed along her folds.
Natasha's thighs tightened as Steve groaned into her thigh. His fingers itched to feel more. First one, and then two followed, finding that silk she spun from within. Slipping. Sliding inside as her pussy consumed them whole. A soft whimper came out as Natasha's knees shook and her mouth trembled.
Steve looked up and saw her, and his breath was taken away. His fingers inside, pushing and pulling her apart at the seams. Her juice coating, inviting him deeper inside. Her breasts calling out for more as she tugged at her nipples with her hair falling against her back.
Each pant and moan, and breath and groan exchanged, was a song of words. A calling of sounds. There was no going back. Steve was done before, and now, he was done for. God he felt it now, and it was only their first time. He could get lost, looking at Natasha like this forever.
Those beats inside increased in their chests.
Her stomach quivering. Sweat forming as his fingers hooked and pressed inside. Pulling out and diving back in, Steve couldn't hold back anymore. He needed more too, searching as his tongue finally tasted what he could feel and smell.
A huff and a hungered sound rushed from his throat as he sucked at her lips below.
Natasha lost her balance a little as she fell back on the bed. Ass propped at the edge now, with Steve refusing to pull away. Panting harder, Natasha's thighs spread wide as her hips met his hand and tongue. His mouth covered all he could, and she wanted all of him as she began to move.
Budging into him, slow at first. And then rocking a little more. The room was a blur, and all she could feel was his beard and tongues and hands. He was lost to her, and all he could focus on was her thighs and scent and sounds.
Moving faster. Writhing against his fingers and tongue. Groaning louder between her legs. Moaning into the room as wet sounds filled the air. As her musk overtook and he drank her in.
It was intoxicating, and they only craved for more.
It was the first time they'd done anything besides their kiss last night, and Steve could already tell Natasha was close.
Her elbows braced against the bed. Grinding against him. Her hips squirming and shaking. Faster. Frantic. Natasha looked down with a strained sound and stare. Finding his hair, she tugged at him, harder this time.
"Steve, I'm there."
His other hand sprawled over her stomach as she covered his with her own. Squeezing and sliding. Lacing and locking with each other. Holding on as his fingers guided her home. Tongue lapping. Lips sucking at her swollen peak. Fingers dragging inside, deep and long each time. Faster and faster until she was there.
A jerk and a cry came out, as her thighs shivered around his shoulders. As her hand clamped tightly over his. As her hips rocked against him while he absorbed every tremor and move. Natasha was over the edge, and Steve was there to catch her.
Everything became blurry for a second as Natasha breathed heavy through the abyss. Steve memorized every sight and sound. And fuck, if it wasn't the best orgasm she'd had since she could even remember.
Natasha was pawing at him, panting as she pulled him up, finding his lips to kiss him again.
This time it was slow and desperate. The need was palpable as Steve groaned, standing now as her fingers found their way to his jeans. She was still trembling a little, and he was on fire. Tugging at his zipper, Natasha didn't waste any time. Pulling them down, she hooked his boxers and took them right along with his jeans.
"Fuck."
This time she'd said it as she stared at all he'd been hiding, and Steve responded in kind, "Great idea, Nat."
There Steve was. All of him and his aching erection as he stepped out of his boxers and jeans. A scoff came out as Natasha found his eyes, and her hand found the rest of him. Standing between her knees, he watched her come down from the high she was on, only to see her eyes wide and dark like his own. Only to see her breasts heaving and thighs spread open wide.
"I want you, Steve."
Her fingers brushed along his tip and his thighs tightened. She took in all of him now. Every detail and note, logged away with the rest. Hair along his navel. The muscles on his thighs. A tiny scar along his hip. And all of what she held in her hand. Swollen and red. Leaking and hard. Wrapping around his length, her thumb danced along the ridge.
Natasha never lost eye contact as her wrist slowly began to move. Aching and rigid. Full and long. Covering his length, up and down she went. And what leaked out of him was spread around, under her thumb. Taunting and deliberate. Firm and teasing, pumping each inch of him now, his head fell back, knowing what was coming next.
"I need you, Nat."
"Mm…what do you need, Steve?"
Natasha was finding Steve had trouble with being patient too.
He was puddy in her hands as he found her eyes again. Watching them flicker as she stroked every inch she could, "Do you need to be inside me, Steve?"
The sultry sounds. The sweltering senses. It was a fog they were happy to be lost in right now.
He couldn't think straight. She couldn't see anything but what she longed for. Skimming along his vein, he jerked in response, "I need that too."
The thirst in her voice. The hunger in his.
A grunt came out as he pulled away, "You're gonna be the death of me, Natasha."
A breathy laugh came out, "But what a good way to go."
He shook his head, and patience was thrown to the wind.
Steve stepped forward again as his knee sank onto the bed. She scooted back as his other followed. There she was waiting, naked beneath him. Thighs rubbing together as her slick painted the way for him in between. Wet and wanting. All for him. He crawled up the bed after her. Thighs clenched. Ass tight. Cock swollen and throbbing. All for her.
Steve traced over her cheek with his thumb. She leaned into his hand, kissing his palm. Hair splayed behind her with her thighs now open wide.
She found his shoulder and his hand slid underneath. Lifting her ass, his tip grazed along her lips, begging and pleading to feel what his tongue had already found.
Desperation. Hunger. Need.
Something more inside, that hadn't been said.
It was all there in this charged haze as she moaned into his touch.
His breath was uneven, "This okay?"
Hers was shaky as she nodded back.
And all the anger and tension and hard logistics from the last two months were gone. All that remained was the care and connection right here. The desire and longing. The want and depravity.
The feelings that hadn't been fully said, but were felt within each beat of their heart.
Natasha needed him too. They were on the same page finally. Just friends? That was yesterday's news. This train was off and running, with no return in sight.
Steve let out a graveled sound as she burned up inside. They both let go and found all of what they'd been thinking about since they'd first met.
She opened and he drove inside. And with one penetrating thrust, her swollen pussy swallowed him whole.
Another whimper came out and a grated breath followed. His cock filled all of her as he pulled out, almost all the way. Entering again, slow and deliberate this time as she stretched around him, and their eyes fell on each other. Watching each breath and shake. Every tremble and move. Her feet found the bed as her hips lifted up, and he filled her once more. Again and again, as they adjusted to the feel of each other.
Pressure was released and purchase was found as Steve found a rhythm now. In and out, steady at first. Over and over, the aching sensation climbed.
Filling her each time. Taking in every drop and sound. Drinking in each taste and smell.
Leaning down, he found her lips as moans and visceral echoes joined the dance. Tongues tangling. Liquid blending. Sweat forming at their necks and back and hips in between.
As good as they'd imagined it to be, it didn't come close to right now.
Sensual. Intimate. Erotic.
Every adjective they could think of with clear minds was thrown to the wind. And their system overload at the moment couldn't form actual thoughts. But words and thoughts didn't matter right now.
This.
This was what mattered.
Their connection and being together was everything they imagined and more.
Every nerve was sputtering from their head to their toes. The way she looked, with her eyes on fire and flushed skin all around. The way he felt, with his muscles coursing and covering every inch of hers.
Faster each time now, moderation fell to the floor as primal urges took over. Again and again, slow became more. More turned harder.
Harder grew deeper.
Whimpers turned to whines. And groans blended into grunts as the smacking sounds filled their air. The tonic created by all the senses in the air was addicting. It was goddamn delicious, and they couldn't get enough.
Spreading her thighs open wide. Lifting and meeting every thrust now. The bucking of hips. The grazing of her nipples under his chest. The slapping of skin as he devoured her breathy sighs.
Holding her cheek, his back tightened. Quicker. Faster. Harder and deeper, he stretched her even more and she swallowed him every time. The rhythm stuttered. The thudding of flesh turned frantic as the sounds became frenzied.
"Steve, I'm close."
Steve found her eyes as a heavy sigh came out. Half open and dark, hungered and wild. Pupils searching, seeing him nod as a drop of sweat dropped from his forehead to her lips. She licked it up, and something akin to a growl poured out.
"Fuck, Nat. Me too."
Erratic thrusts followed. Steve shifted, propping up one arm as the other trailed down. Over her bouncing breasts. Along her shaking stomach, until he found her thigh again.
All that had happened since he'd held her last night flashed through his mind, both good and bad. And Steve couldn't have been more grateful. All the thoughts and desires since they'd met ran through hers, and she couldn't have been more relieved.
All of that noise somehow brought them to this point. Right here. Right now.
And they were together.
Lifting her leg, he shoved her knee to her chest, and she cried out. Angling. Arching. Feeling everything inside and all of him every time. Hips spread wide. Muscles hot and tight. His cock swelled and her pussy throbbed.
Rasped sounds with the flesh of thigh in his hand. Fluttering eyes with the weight of him inside and all around.
The edge was here.
He saw it in her eyes. The flicker as she shook, and then they were there.
Her lips were found once more as he joined their collapse. Falling over the cliff together. The throbbing sounds slowed as she whined into his mouth. The digging into her thigh deepened as he grunted against her tongue. Tasting the hint of her between their lips and saliva, and he was there too.
Tumbling together. Shaking as he jerked, and she convulsed. Tight muscles gave way as all the blood rushed south, finally finding release. Squeezing and milking everything from him, he filled her walls through each wicked sound.
It was messy and desperate. It was sensual and long overdue.
It was so fucking delicious as he came inside her swollen walls.
The climax had come, and Steve collapsed with her legs giving way. Her hands caressed at his back, feeling each drop of sweat underneath. His covered her stomach, calming her through each pant and breath.
Kissing each other gently as they came down from their high, softer sounds filled the air now.
Breathing and taking each other in, Steve rolled onto his back as that release was felt from head to toe. The relaxation followed as he pulled her into his side, covering her back with his arm. Her knee draped over his waist as what blended between, spilled out a little from inside.
Steve found her hand and squeezed tight, holding it between their chests. Grazing her nipple, he looked down at her.
She kissed him softly and smiled, "Is this one of those sides I hadn't seen, that you told me about a month ago at Union Station, Rogers?"
A grin formed and a laugh followed. He nipped at her lip as he pinched her ass, "One of many, Romanoff."
"Mm. God…that was."
"Long overdue."
Steve finished her sentence, and Natasha locked onto his stare. There was no regret or hard thoughts. And no focusing on how this was going to work. They'd taken the leap together and made the decision to jump. They would figure everything else out in time. And yes, some of it would be hard, but the thought of being just friends was left in the rearview mirror.
They were together, and that was what mattered above everything else.
He squeezed her hand again as she hummed, "Steve, that…you're incredible."
His heart skipped a beat as he kissed her forehead, "Words won't do what I'm feeling justice, or how wonderful that was, Nat…But God, you're beautiful."
Their banter and connection were undeniable from the beginning. But the way he was looking at her now was full of something more.
Full of care and intimacy. Full of emotion and feeling. Knowing their words and thoughts were well beyond how amazing that just felt. Beyond how good they both were in the sack.
She felt it deep within her chest and poured everything else she wasn't saying back into her stare. And he felt it too as he looked in her eyes.
The meaning underneath, inside both their hearts, churned. But they didn't speak it aloud right now. Instead, she smiled, squeezing his hand. He kissed her again before her head fell to his chest.
Steve pulled the sheet and comforter over them, "Let's get some sleep, Nat. The morning is gonna come soon."
She nodded, as the thought of slumber was too hard to resist, "Mm, we'll talk about everything else tomorrow."
She breathed into his skin, as exhaustion took hold. Murmuring and holding tight, she closed her eyes. Soft circles covered her back. Her thumb traced along his chest. His lips found her forehead as he fell away too. Their breathing settled, falling asleep in each other's arms as they gave way to the waking world.
Together, wrapped up in each other. Steve and Natasha had finally met each other, where they needed to. They'd taken the lead in their story and found that faith to jump. No longer just friends, but so much more. No longer needing to take anything back in a retraction of sorts. Errors and mistakes would come, but they'd found their way together tonight, and their search for truth was found. And the rest would follow, tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
What a wonderful thought.
Tomorrow would come, and they would be together.
End Note:
Phew. Well, here we go. I think that steamy scene has been long awaited. By all of you and me. And by Steve and Natasha in the story, of course! It's long overdue, but our blockheads finally found some release. They finally got out of each other's way.
Let's all pour one out for all the people in their lives that tried to make it possible – Bucky / Tony…and pretty much all their friends. But the two people that really pushed idiot number 1 and 2 in this story, in the direction of finally making a move, ended up being Luis and Logan. Two rando's on Natasha and Steve's journey.
Now isn't that a duo that would be fun? I'm sure we can all picture Logan's scowl and Luis's endless talking 😊 in an odd couple style. I had a lot of fun writing Logan in, and building up that bar scene with the hint of jealous Nat and Steve thrown in was just great.
But then? Kablewy in the best and right way!
At least I hope so!...Finally, right?
The story is heating up in multiple ways, so let's find out as we keep going. What do their discoveries from their searching mean? What will tomorrow bring?
I love hearing from readers, so help a writer out and leave a comment with your thoughts.
And have the absolute Happiest of Thanksgivings if you celebrate. From me to you, I truly am thankful you're reading and taking this AU ride with me.
Have a wonderful week!
Cheers! ~~ Kat
