Beats on the Street
I do not own any of this or any part of Marvel or the MCU
Chapter 2 – The Sports Page: A Little Healthy Competition
The stage was set as the loglines put the players in motion. Warmups and measuring of the competition occurred at the accident site. Natasha and Steve were thrust into this game. And now, it was time for the whistle to sound.
Two papers. One trying to hold onto its lead, dominating over competitors for years. But not so fast. A new player emerged on the scene at this cross-town rivalry. He may just be the added offense needed to make this game a buzzer beater. Will fresh blood take the lead? Or will the seasoned journalist show her chops and this town what she's always been made of? Read on and find out the score as this chapter unfolds.
Another day, another dollar.
The week trudged forward as the accidents were cleaned up and the train system became fully operational again. But the fact that two major lines were shut down most of Monday in Chicago, could only be described as a transitory nightmare. One the city was all too familiar with. But usually, the city could avoid multiple locations being out of commission at the same time.
The head of the Chicago Transitory Authority had been doing the rounds on all the evening news and morning shows ever since The Red and Blue Lines were down.
Two words. Damage control.
Outside of the press, the CTA official was getting yelled at by Mayor Coulson. And both of them, were badgered at their offices all day by angry citizens.
Traffic jams produced plenty of honked horns and shouting citizens. But this wasn't just a jam. There was a full back up of a good portion of the transit system on Monday. If Mayor Coulson had a dollar for every angry phone call city hall received, he wouldn't have to ask for any more donations for his election.
Natasha confidently worked her fingers over her keyboard Monday afternoon and evening, underlining yet another train car accident, causing chaos. She highlighted the five deaths and eight injuries and had assured Fury she was on top of it when he left Monday night. Her article was sent to the printing press right before deadline, and she even raised her glass at Bucky who was also working late.
As she sipped on her beer, an image emerged in Natasha's head. There was Steve Rogers as their crash site conversation ran on repeat.
Handsome? Sure. Put in his place, by Natasha and the Chief of Police when he'd asked the questions, she'd told him not to bother with? Well, if he wasn't, he would be when Steve read her article tomorrow morning. That she was sure of. And if Natasha was noticing how attractive he was in the very same thought? So be it. A girl can have a little fun while she's rubbing it in.
"What's your headline, Romanoff? And what has you so chipper? Wasn't Fury about to hang and display you outside, for all of Chicago to see this morning…warding off any future plagiarizers?"
Natasha scoffed, "Knew you weren't going to let that go…"
"Natasha, you had Peter and MJ copy an old article of yours and didn't even read it over before sending it through last night. I'd be amazed if Parker changed like 15 words total, from the entire thing. Off to the races…"
Bucky was chuckling as he took another drink and sent off his own column. Natasha rolled her eyes, "Yeah, well, there's no recycling this time. Article's titled, CRASH ON RED LINE LEAVES 5 DEAD: Monday Thrown into a Tailspin for All of Chicago's Commuters.
Her article focused on everything she'd learned that day, and the upheaval the public transportation was thrown in. Natasha also pointed out the company who manufactured the trains had snuck in an interview with an evening news show. The company's rep mentioned hearing the trains hadn't been inspected in quite some time. Damage control was the goal, but the first shot in the blame game was officially made. Natasha was able to get that interview in her story before deadline.
Train manufacturer's claim draws in question of safety checks. Did faulty inspections cause an even bigger failure at The Red Line?
Her question was out in the ether as soon as she'd sent the article.
Natasha threw in a quick note at the end of her article, highlighting that there was a major hold up from a smaller accident at The Blue Line as well, but had received no updates from authorities.
Bucky grinned and said goodnight, "Well, way to survive another Fury roasting. You always do…I gotta get home to the Misses. See ya tomorrow, Romanoff."
"Not before tomorrow sees you, Barnes. Tell Wanda happy Monday for me."
The friendly banter from the long-time co-workers faded as Bucky left. Natasha was alone and smiled. That feeling of a crazed day and the numbness in her fingers from typing relentlessly settled in. She could go home but felt like falling into an old comfort of hers.
It was late and she was tired, but she took a detour on her way home and stopped at the printing plant, right as the press was warming up for the early hour run.
"Natasha. Been a long time!"
Natasha smiled as she came in the back, "Hey Dugan. Nice to see you."
Tim 'Dum Dum' Dugan was the head honcho of the printing plant and had known her for years. And even though it had been a while since Natasha had been down here, Dugan knew why she was here tonight. It's why she always stopped down.
Jessica Jones was right when she'd made the remark earlier in the day about Natasha being a newshound. Jones meant it as an insult, but Natasha wore it with pride. She was a dog for this world. She loved sniffing out the stories and beats. But she also cherished the process. From logline to delivery, Natasha adored journalism through and through. The entire cycle of news wasn't just the world she worked in. It was the world she lived in too.
Dugan spoke loudly over the noise of the machinery, "We just got the go ahead from your boss! Wanna do the honors, Red?"
Natasha's eyes lit up, "You know you don't even have to ask, Dugan."
She smiled at some familiars as Dum Dum took her over to the start of the press. No matter how many times she'd done this in her life, it still excited her.
Honestly, it wasn't the 1980's anymore, and there were more efficient ways to initiate printing. But the old manual start could still be used. Dugan made the adjustments on his computer, to utilize that manual switch tonight instead of the automatic. There was even a giant red button. He smiled at Natasha as she laughed through her clichéd words, "Start the presses!" and pushed the red button with the same excitement.
The machine roared to life as the hum in her body ran its course too. The press was the output, literally putting the words from Natasha's brain and all her colleagues, onto paper, for everyone to read bright and early tomorrow morning. The drumming and rolling of the machines were loud as she saw copy after copy of her headline being born to this world.
She was 36 years old but felt like a kid every time she did this.
It never got old.
Dum Dum chuckled and walked off as a couple of the guys joked with her about her book and how the office was. After 30 minutes of relaxing as she just listened and watched, Natasha finally left for her normal commute home. She didn't take any bypasses tonight though. It was late and the weekend tourists were mostly gone, so Natasha took the longer route through all of downtown.
Past Union Station, Wabash, and The Willis Tower (which would always be The Sears Tower to her.) Away from The Wrigley Building, Wacker, and Theatre District. Crossing the Chicago River and famous bridges, Natasha left Michigan Avenue, The Miracle Mile, and The Hancock Center in her rearview mirror. She turned onto Lakeshore Drive, with the dark body of water and trails to her right, and the city she loved to her left. Lake Michigan guided her the rest of the way. A few yawns and miles, and several songs on the radio later, and Natasha was parked in her apartment's garage in the Gold Coast District.
Shortly after, she was in her bed, crashing from the day's events.
I own this city.
The words from her conversation with Fury ran through her head as Natasha fell away into slumber.
Yes, she'd worked her fingers to that numb sensation she loved. And yes, what she'd reported on, was all well and good. The only problem was the same motions were in play at another press running downtown. Natasha may have laid claim to ownership over the city's journalism. But she wasn't the only player in that game anymore.
That other pesky journalist from The Star had just gone to sleep too, after sending his own article to be given life. By the time morning came, Natasha Romanoff would realize that Steve Rogers came to play.
"What the hell do you mean he scooped me?"
Natasha's bag was thrown at her desk as Peter and MJ looked at her and then quickly turned away. Bucky raised his brow, and Sam didn't answer her, because she'd clearly heard Fury a few seconds ago.
Fury yelled from his office again, "Might take a few days from you slacking off last week to catch up. I'll spare you reading my copy. Besides, I think you have your own edition of The Star on your desk."
Natasha walked quickly back to her desk, coffee in hand, "What does he mean I have my own copy?"
Sure enough, she did. Wrapped up in a bow made of caution tape, was Tuesday's edition of The Star. Natasha's eyeroll could only be described as huge. She sat down and untied the bow, and Sam and Bucky looked at each other curiously, wondering what exactly was going on here.
Natasha almost ripped the paper with how dramatically she'd opened it. And there was Steve Rogers' article, right on the front page.
CITY INSPECTOR CLEARS FAULTY SAFETY CLAIMS THAT LEFT 5 DEAD: What Caused Carnage?
The fact that Steve's article had an interview with the city inspector, clearing the notion of missed safety checks, was eye opening. Natasha couldn't get ahold of the inspector yesterday. Apparently, Steve didn't have that problem. But the fact that Steve also confirmed further down in his article, that there was one dead at The Blue Line accident too, was a little impressive. She'd been stonewalled by authorities yesterday and honestly kept her focus on the larger accident where she knew five people were killed.
Steve's mention of the death at The Blue Line was small. But boy did it pack a punch. He'd gotten not one, but two nuggets she hadn't for Tuesday's paper. And that could've been all well and good. She might've shaken it off as beginner's luck even. That wasn't what was causing Natasha to crack her knuckles and scowl now.
What had stung, was that Steve wrote a note.
A goddamn note was staring at her from his front page. She may as well have been bitten by a mosquito because she was beyond irritated. Bucky smirked, watching Natasha's eyes almost pop out of her head as she read Steve's handwritten message, 'First month on the job…How am I doing so far?'
"That little shit."
Steve's paper fell to the floor as she gathered her bag. Bucky stood up and cocked his head to read the message. He nodded at Sam and twisted the paper under his foot so he could read it too. Their grins were not helping the matter as Natasha marched out the door.
Sam laughed, "Someone is telling Natasha that they mean business."
Bucky wagged his brows, "Oh, Sammy…I am so here for this."
The presses rolled on that night. And the next morning Steve got a delivery at his own desk. Tony, Harley, and Clint's reactions were just as dynamic as Natasha's team. This little thing had turned into a full-blown competition overnight, and suddenly, everyone was invested.
Steve chuckled, thinking this was all cute as he opened her paper. He set the package she sent with it, off to the side.
INSPECTIONS CONFIRMED, BUT FAULT IS IN QUESTION: Shell Game of Blame at Play.
Damage control was the main concern of all the constituents involved. The union was denying claims of conductor error. The CTA was looking to the manufacturing companies and insurers. And the insurance companies for all the parties involved, were like eels. All sliding around, trying to shock whatever they could make contact with, but not be caught.
Natasha had tracked down the City Inspector. She hounded him, getting a quote beyond his confirmation that safety checks happened recently. He suspected that it could be user error by conductor, or the crew making a terrible mistake, or even projected that it could be a manufacturing fluke of the train car that wasn't included in an inspection, or even something more nefarious.
Natasha really laid into it towards the end of her piece.
I'm sure the insurance companies appreciate the shell game occurring, avoiding who's at fault. They'd love it if the actual cause would get lost in a Bermuda Triangle of blame between the manufacturer, Train Workers Union, and The City of Chicago. But they should know, nothing will be lost in this. All the fingers in the world exist to place blame, but there's zero reflection when accountability is needed. The five people who died and those still in the hospital, all deserve answers on what happened.
Her follow up to the death at The Blue Line that Steve mentioned, tied into The Mayor's office.
While details remain scarce on the death at The Blue Line from Monday, one thing is clear. Public transportation funding has been cut again. How many years running has it been reduced? The Mayor has yet to speak of these budgetary concerns. Most of Eastern Chicago and the Southside was at a standstill with public transit for Monday. That means missed work and hours. Missed pay and countless other emergencies arising from the deadlock.
Facts have yet to come out from what occurred. But what citizens of Chicago do know, is they rely on public transportation. There must be more alternatives on the L when backups occur.
Natasha had tackled the carnage and concern from deaths, had identified the blame game going on, and she'd addressed 10's of thousands of Chicagoans' anger from Monday's public transit jams.
Steve had a huge grin on his face reading the entire article. He picked up the ball of a package, that almost looked like a volleyball could be inside with how it was shaped. But it was lumpy and light.
Steve chuckled, untying the same caution tape he'd sent to her, revealing a bunch of shredded newspaper inside. His article from the day before, littered his desk and floor, as one yellow sticky note emerged from the shreds. In all caps it just read, 'YESTERDAY'S NEWS.'
Steve chewed his gum a little harder as he nodded, "Yeah…okay, this is on."
He was off for the day, and Stark was clapping loudly, "Oh Barton, we should call Barnes and Wilson…see if they wanna start betting now or wait until first blood is drawn. This is great."
Clint was laughing as Tony yelled, "Harley, get your ass over here and clean this mess up."
If the competition began yesterday, then today was when they realized this was not going to be a blow out. Steve and Natasha had both shown up for this game. They'd measured each other up at the train tracks on Monday, incited the competition on Tuesday, and now? That rivalry was felt in them both.
And so it went, over the next week.
Each day and night, Natasha and Steve worked their fingertips until they hurt. A montage of news headlines hit the stands each day as they hounded the police, workers, and safety officials. They reported on newsbeats and shot them down as facts came to light.
WORKERS IN QUESTION FROM AUTHORITIES
UNION CUTBACKS REVEALED AS TRAIN CONDUCTOR QUESTIONED
CUTBACKS CAUSE MANY CONDUCTORS' TO WORK LONG HOURS AGAINST UNION RULES
MANUFACTURER DENIES ANY CLAIMS OF FAULTY EQUIPMENT
SHELL GAME OF BLAME FALLING FLAT. WHO WILL BE HELD ACCOUNTABLE?
ACCIDENTS REVEAL PROBLEMS BEYOND TRAGEDY OF DEATHS. PUBLIC TRANSIT IN DISARRAY.
Within one week's time, Steve and Natasha had both written about the claims of a faulty worker and an overworked train conductor possibly being responsible. And they'd both shot down those red herrings after locating the employees, their bosses, and co-workers, and reviewed their work history. Union workers may have had cutbacks, causing overtime against union rules. But not at The Red Line. And not for the conductor running the train that crashed that day. Steve and Natasha had de-bunked any thoughts of fault being placed on those workers.
Natasha had even gotten a quote from Jessica Jones, saying the police had moved on from personnel, and Steve got the District Attorney's office to reveal no charges were being pressed at this time, towards any of the employees involved.
Steve sent Natasha a picture of a red herring that was in The Herald, taken by Peter Parker of course, on their spread of new animals at the zoo. And Natasha's next delivery for Steve was a cartoon image of a train, heading into a mountain with a huge sign reading 'Dead End.'
What an actual zoothis was becoming. Both jabs were crumpled as the journalists muttered to themselves and dove right back in. The fact that he saw Natasha smirking in his computer screen from time to time and she saw Steve with his beard and cocky grin in hers, was beside the point. They were in each other's heads.
Fury told Natasha, "That's my girl," seeing her winning drive take hold.
Pepper checked in with Steve, and he only said, "I got this, Pepper. A little healthy competition is good for the soul."
Whether it was healthy or not, was in question. But a competition it was.
They were in a back-and-forth game, with each taking the lead, only to find the other coming from behind again and again.
By the time the weekend approached, the police were still tightlipped on the train car that fully came off its tracks, where some sort of explosion might have occurred. But Steve had expanded on the budget cutbacks angle, and Natasha got a quote from Mayor Coulson, acknowledging the public's concern with transit problems. And they'd both finally gotten the Chief of Police on record at a news conference, releasing the names of the deceased victims from The Red Line crash.
MAYOR COULSON ACKNOWLEDGES BUDGET FOR PUBLIC TRANSIT, 'NOT GOOD ENOUGH.'
5 DECEASED IDENTIFIED AS FAMILIES MOURN
A realtor, an English Professor, a tourist from Oklahoma, and an older couple from the city making their way downtown for the day.
A butcher, a baker, and a candlestick maker they were not, but one work week in, and Steve and Natasha were not just seeing each other's smug smiles in their computer screens. They were imagining the expressions on the other's face as they read the opposing daily article.
Presses came to life each night as the journalists competed against time and the story, but most importantly, each other.
As Friday rolled around, Natasha's parting gift to Steve from week one of this game, was a book, How to Get Your Feet Wet in Investigative Journalism. Inside the front cover, was a cartoon image of the Road Runner. It was taped with her own handwritten note underneath, 'Meep! Meep! - N'
Too bad that Natasha couldn't leave with a mic drop, heading into the weekend. Because Steve had sent her, his own attempt at a walk off homerun. She opened his paper, and a gossip magazine was rolled up inside. She tossed the paper aside, and opened the magazine with the cover story titled, 'How to Get Your Groove Back.' Yes, the magazine was referring to a different type of groove, but the message was received all the same. Steve's note taped on top of the magazine read – 'Know you're not used to sharing readers but give it time. SR'
Natasha rolled her eyes, and Steve took her book home. The fact that Natasha had heard just a few more people asking for The Star each day this week, was salt added to the wound.
Whether the game was at half-time or still in the beginning minutes, neither knew. And neither knew if they were the Road Runner or Wile E. Coyote each day…but as irritated as both Steve and Natasha were, they'd be lying if they said they weren't having a hell of a lot of fun at the start.
By the time the following Monday morning rolled around, Natasha arrived at her desk, ignoring a feeling inside. Was she actually looking forward to whatever provoking message Steve was going to send her? If she was, she pushed that nagging thought away because it didn't matter. She didn't get anything from him that morning.
Natasha did read his article though.
"What'd Rogers send you today, Romanoff? A whoopy cushion?"
Peter snickered with the bullpen crew as Natasha shook her head, "Nothing. I guess he realized he should quit before he got embarrassed."
Bucky joined in, "Uh huh…"
Natasha glared at her team, "What? Nothing wrong with admitting defeat."
Sam coughed on his donut, "Natasha…I think it hurt you to even say the words, 'admitting defeat'."
"Can it, Wilson. Go tell the Cubs they better start winning." Sam left and chuckled, "If I only had that kind of power. See you guys later."
Peter left too, but Bucky was grinning at her, "What, Barnes?"
He shook his head as he stood up to leave, "Funny, Natasha. Rogers didn't send you anything, yet here you are reading his article."
Natasha groaned, but Bucky was gone before she could throw her pen at him.
"Romanoff, where are we with The Red and Blue Line stories?"
Fury stood at his office door as Natasha grabbed her bag, "Gonna spend the week scouring Union Station, Fury. The train stops are cleaned up and fully functioning. Rogers must have found out that the death on The Blue Line was revealed as a male…John Doe for now. But I'm sure he's reading my cover story, discovering that I found out his death was labeled as a suicide."
Fury shook his head, "Romanoff, you realize I care that you're doing your job. Not that Rogers is doing his. It's clear the guy is talented. Just stay focused on the story, okay?"
Natasha turned around and snapped her fingers, pointing at him, "Hey…talent doesn't beat experience. I got this."
Even though she was confident as always in her response, Natasha had somewhat admitted Steve's talent. It didn't go unnoticed by Fury.
Turns out, Fury had called Pepper that very morning, and they even had a friendly exchange, acknowledging they got quite the battle of words going on. They said goodbye and even wished each other well this week in their sales.
A rising tide lifts all boats as they say. And while yes, The Star had increased in daily sales over the last week, so had The Herald.
Natasha and Steve's Monday headlines were only helping that trend.
BLUE LINE DEATH INITIALLY NAMED A JOHN DOE
JOHN DOE'S DEATH AT BLUE LINE REVEALED AS SUICIDE
This little competition for competition's sake had been running a full week now. And the insurance shell game had dried up. So, the people investigating this, whether for crimes or stories, knew something much bigger, more complicated, or just plain deceitful was going on.
The truth was, by the end of last week as Friday dawned, Steve and Natasha had both hit somewhat of a dead end on causation. But both had turned the heat up, around the individual victims of the crash.
And Natasha was right. Steve did read her article, realizing she'd pulled ahead a little, revealing the man's death was ruled a suicide. As he left his bullpen that Monday, Tony yelled out, "How's that competition, Rogers? Still healthy, or is your blood boiling yet?"
Steve groaned and waved him off as Clint gave Tony five bucks, "It's not boiling yet, Stark. But it will be soon enough. Those two are mirror images of each other."
Tony winked across their bullpen at Pepper, "Get Barnes and Wilson on a group text, Barton. I think it's time that our idea from last week comes to fruition."
Barton chuckled, "A little insider trading and outside betting between papers on which journalist loses it first? I like it, Stark."
25 minutes later, Natasha realized she wasn't the only one turning her focus toward Union Station today.
Union Station was the heart of the city's transit terminals downtown. And while the accidents didn't occur at this hub, it was the nerve center to the Chicago L, bus lines, and even Amtrak connections from outside the city. Each line passed through and overlapped. Routes weaved as they picked up and dropped off passengers at their platforms, all interconnecting at the city's brain trust for transportation.
Spanning almost 10 city blocks, both underground and above, Union Station saw close to 150,000 passengers on a daily basis. All that hustle and bustle meant it was a great place to look for any leads. While officials and authorities were staying closed lipped, the locals traversing through Union Station might not.
Daily passengers might have heard something, yes. But even more likely were the custodians, barkeeps, waitresses, shoe shiners, and hell, even the maintenance and ticket counter workers. They were the eyes and ears of all the passengers, but also the information and stories that came through Union Station. Rumors thrived, but the hint of truth in those rumors were found in hubs like this.
Natasha saw Steve pretty quickly that Monday morning. He was in his jeans and a tee as he talked to some of the custodians. He noticed her not long after that, across the terminal in her leather jacket, talking to a worker at a coffee stand. A short acknowledgement came out as they walked past each other.
"Romanoff."
"Rogers."
If they were having a great or an awful time, neither could tell with their poker faces. But she walked away with a smirk, and he turned around to look at her again.
Natasha had spoken to a couple workers from The Red Line. They didn't remember anything suspicious, but they were sure pissed off that the insurance company and the train manufacturer tried to initially place fault on employees.
Tuesday, they were both at the terminal before opening bell on the stock market. It wasn't even 7 am yet, and Steve raised his coffee, and Natasha gave the hint of a smile, returning the gesture. By the time lunch rolled around, Steve found her at a sandwich stand, and they shared the space as they ate next to each other.
"Catching any fish today, Romanoff?"
She chewed through her grin, "Only the tuna salad that's in my mouth."
He let a second pass, "You find some hints on how to get your groove back?"
She was right on top of it, "You find some tips on how to become an investigative journalist in that book?"
This little dance of quips was followed with a chuckle before Steve added, "Nice article on the man's death being a suicide. You must have gotten it out of the police before I did, which was after deadline."
Natasha stood against the wall and threw away her wrapper, "Aw, Rogers…you've been reading my articles again."
Steve had a glint in his eye, "I figured someone should still give you a read, with all the sharing you've had to do over the last week."
Natasha popped a couple pieces of gum in her mouth, "Hey…I share, as long as I know where I stand. Look at that magazine rack over there, Rogers. There's more Star's than Herald's left."
Steve threw away his turkey and cheddar wrapper, "Funny you should mention that. A week ago, my stack was much bigger, let's focus on that." The words were out of his mouth before he could retract them.
Natasha didn't miss a beat, "You wanna talk about your stack…that was much bigger a week ago, huh?"
Steve rolled his eyes, "Jesus, Romanoff. With that mouth, you sound like you were raised in Brooklyn like me."
She shrugged, "Illinois born. Chicago raised from college on."
This conversation was bordering on civil, and she couldn't have that, so Natasha decided to have a little fun. She reached into her bag and wrote a quick note as Steve was grabbing a bottle of water. She pulled it out with some hand sanitizer and gave a nod and a quick wave as he returned, "See you around, Rogers. Good luck on those…stacks."
Steve couldn't help it as he grinned, "Meep, Meep, Romanoff."
Natasha paused, turning toward him with a baffled look. It only lasted a second before she was off. He'd thrown her little joke from last week, right back at her. Proving yet again, Steve could not only keep up, but cause her to shift gears.
And shifting gears she was. Natasha let that slip of paper fall from her hand on purpose. Steve caught the note on the ground and picked it up, reading it out loud to himself, "Follow up today – Old Miller's Pond between Naperville and Sheridan."
The day hadn't turned over any new leaves, and Steve typed Old Miller's Pond in his phone.
It was over an hour away, and beyond the city's outskirts to the south. Natasha had figured out the man's death was a suicide before Steve did, and he was itching to pull ahead again in this made-up race.
Itching was putting it mildly. Slowly, over the last week they'd not only poked and prodded, but fully dug their way under each other's skin. Steve didn't think about it long before he was on his bike. And 90 minutes later, he was pulling into a quaint little tourist attraction completely outside of Chicago.
Steve had a gut feeling before he pulled in, but it was solidified as he took in the surroundings. There wasn't a hint of anything city around. A warm summer day. Clear skies as far as the eye could see. A pie stand, a haybale maze, some playground equipment for children to play on. Cornfields surrounding the acreage, and there was even a fenced in area for horse-riding lessons.
The emphasis on this little prank was highlighted as Steve found the punchline. Right near the front of Old Miller's Pond, was a flock of geese. Most of them flew towards the pond as his motorcycle pulled in, but a few of them squawked, flapping their wings at him.
An old man yelled out, waving at Steve, "They're friendly, I promise!"
Steve shook his head and cursed under his breath, "Shit."
Natasha had literally sent him on a wild goose chase.
Steve chuckled after blowing out a few breaths of frustration and muttered to himself, "Well…when in Rome." He grabbed a piece of pie and a beer while he chatted it up with the guy who ran the place.
Natasha had kicked this game up a level, and Steve was only happy to follow.
The dueling journalists brought reinforcements Wednesday, dragging Harley and Peter along to do some reconnaissance, trying to find out what the other journalist had.
"Natasha, the last time I helped you, Fury yelled at me."
Natasha scoffed, tugging him towards Union Station, "Fury yells at everyone. He can't help it. Besides, you're helping me and the paper…so you're really helping yourself, Parker. Just tag along near Steve and find out if he knows anything."
Natasha noticed Harley just as quickly as Steve located Peter.
Great minds think alike. Two of a kind or something like that.
Maybe with a recent goose chase in mind, a more appropriate metaphor was birds of a feather, flock together. Regardless, their little helpers were gone after one day because Harley and Peter both had the same answer.
"She's got the same as you, Steve. Nothing new."
"Zilch, Natasha. You both got zilch."
The assistants left for the day and Steve and Natasha were coming up empty, only finding theories and gossip.
Gossip to the point of ludicrous. Many rumors were swirling around, about explosions at the tracks or on the train car. It was definitely a possibility in the train car, because of the smoke at the scene and fires needing to be put out.
But on the tracks? No chance. The track was being used again last week after they'd gotten the train cars cleared and the area cleaned up. But those rumors were interesting because they were possible. Any proof was just hiding still or held up with authorities.
What wasn't possible, were the outlandish rumors Steve and Natasha heard. Steve's favorite one he listened to, was that aliens came down to stop the train, and they'd come back for more soon. Natasha had overheard that farce too, from a couple kids. But she gave the award for most farfetched conspiracy to a middle-aged woman reading a book yesterday afternoon. She'd told Natasha she suspected zombie involvement. The book the woman was reading may have gone to her head.
Natasha did catch a shoe shiner who recognized the older couple that died. He said a lot of his customers were older like them and remembered the couple even stopping by a few times. "Old guy was a veteran. I remember him calling her, 'Doll.'"
It was sweet, but it didn't add anything of note.
Thursday rolled around and Natasha couldn't help it. The non-ridiculous threads at Union Station had been surface level at best so far, so she turned to the other source of her aggravation. She found Steve that afternoon near a smoothie stand, "Figured you might have gotten one of those Tuesday at Old Miller's Pond."
She was gloating, and Steve had ignored bringing attention to it yesterday and this morning, which drove them both a little crazy. He shook his head, "Hey, you know what…I got a great piece of pie out of it, and the geese were nice once they warmed up to me. I've been told I have the same effect on people."
Natasha crossed her arms, "Really…you're not annoyed I got in a little hazing on the job for The Star's shining new beacon, or whatever they're calling you?"
Steve took a big slurp of his mango smoothie, "Nah. Rubbing's racing. Or something like that. And it's nice to see you caught what Pepper said about me on Good Morning Chicago."
Damn.
Pepper was doing a round of press, highlighting how The Star's sales were already showing bright spots after Steve's introduction with the team last week. Steve was walking away and now Natasha was following him, "Hey, her interview was on in passing this morning…I didn't even think about it."
"Sure, Romanoff. I'm sure it was just as meaningless as last time. For the record, since we're in the business of getting quotes right…What Pepper actually said, was having some new blood at The Star was a breath of fresh air for both papers. And she referred to me as a bright spot. Not a beacon."
Steve called Natasha out on a technicality, but he was pointing out that she was clearly paying attention. And the fact that Natasha's eyes lingered on her TV this morning, as they showed Steve's picture? Well, he didn't have to know anything about that.
Natasha tried to play it cool, "Well, I guess you got me, Rogers. I watch GMC every morning getting ready. So…you avoid all that goose manure Tuesday afternoon?"
God she was audacious. But Steve came prepared today.
"Yeah, Romanoff. I'm quick on my feet like that."
Her smirk said everything. She really thought she had him pegged as this eager and wet behind the ears journalist. Eager yes. Dogged when he's got a scent? Hell yes. But Natasha was out of her depth with knowing who Steve was. So, he decided to have some fun too.
A couple hours later, Steve played up her presumption, of his aw-shucks naivety, and gave her a dose of her own medicine.
Natasha saw him looking at a city map late that afternoon, "You know, I'm sure your phone has Google, Rogers."
Steve answered, "Yeah, I just…you'd think after being here over a month I'd start knowing the areas of town better."
Natasha acting like she knew this city like the back of her hand, was no act at all, "Alright, Rogers. What do you need to find?"
Steve showed her his notepad with an address on it, "I really need to get there tonight and I'm struggling to find it on the map. I get so turned around when things are near Wrigleyville."
Natasha laughed, "Well, the players would tell you they get turned around when they enter the batter's box at Cubs games too. But its right here, Rogers."
Natasha pointed and his hand followed. Their fingers weren't touching, but they were close enough that he could smell her shampoo and she could smell his deodorant.
Steve's acting ability in this moment must have been Oscar worthy, because Natasha bought it. He looked down, realizing she'd seen the address and probably had it memorized. He closed the cover quickly and acted a little nervous, "Thanks, Romanoff. I gotta run. Thanks again. Catch ya around."
Her pad was out quickly, as she wrote down the same address, he'd shown her 30 seconds earlier. And two hours later, Natasha got that taste of her own medicine.
She could only huff out a breath as she pulled her jeep up to the address, "Son of a bitch."
It was a bar. She'd known that, but it had gone under new ownership and a name change in the last two weeks. That was something she didn't know.
And the new name of the bar, was exactly why Steve sent her on her very own wild goose chase.
Wasted Time.
She read the name of the bar and shook her head, realizing she'd fallen for Steve's own little brand of hazing. Hook, line, and sinker.
"Oh, what the hell."
It had been a long day and having a drink on a Thursday night didn't sound too bad. Inside, she looked over the list of signature cocktails and could only laugh to herself.
Fool's Errand. Lost Cause. Merry Go Round. Fruitless Labor. Lost At Sea.
They all sounded delicious, but she went with the last drink on the list. The name of a drink, that called back to the very cartoon she'd sent him last week. She ordered a Dead End.
And whether she was irritated or impressed, she didn't know. But the drink sure went down smooth as she imagined Steve's cocky grin.
The second Friday of this game of theirs rolled around. The articles this week had mostly focused on the victims, the ongoing investigation, and a lot of Transit Authority damage control. Nothing more had been revealed about John Doe's suicide at The Blue Line, which was odd. And as slow of a walk The Red Line crash had been, there was a lot of coverage of the funerals for the deceased filling the void.
Steve sat down next to Natasha, which caught her a little off guard that Friday morning. He didn't let a second pass before he asked, "Enjoy a night cap last night, Romanoff?"
Clicking her pen, Natasha tried to ignore his provoking attempts, "Mm hmm."
"And would you classify it as…wasted time?"
She rolled her eyes at his pun and shut her laptop. Her bag was over her shoulder as she stood up, "Funny, Rogers…I guess we're even from that little goose chase I sent you on."
Steve stood up too. They weren't touching, but they were close enough to officially be in each other's bubbles. They'd been on this back and forth for awhile and had reveled in it. This competition was a barn burner and as good as they gave, they'd gotten.
But this moment right here, was the first time a hint of tension was felt between them. And it wasn't the tension of figuring out story beats.
His eyes found hers, "Well, we may be even, but it's not settled."
Woah.
Steve's words came deep from within his register. And Natasha felt them. First in her stomach. And then in her thighs and chest as the feeling spread down her spine and up to her cheeks. A little warmth came over her as she glanced down at his throat and saw him swallow. But she shook it off immediately.
If his goal was to throw her off her game, mission accomplished.
Steve shifted gears quickly, "All's fair in journalism and beat writing, right?"
She let out a breath, "Yeah…"
Trying to focus on the beats of the story and not the ones in her chest, Natasha gladly jumped on the shift in tone as another idea popped into her head, "Hey Rogers, maybe we could avoid bringing the youngest members of our teams to spy on each other…if you knew what I knew, and I knew what you knew."
Whatever just happened in that close bubble, they'd moved away from it. Steve was onto her but indulged her fishing expedition anyway, "I'm game if you are. Equal sharing and then draw our own conclusions?"
Natasha grinned, "Yup. Equal. Split right down the middle. I'll even go first. Spoke with a shoe shiner here that recognized the old couple killed at The Red Line. Nothing newsworthy though. I don't have much else that hasn't been written about, but I think it's awfully weird nothing has come out about John Doe."
Steve nodded, "Yeah it is weird. Some people around here have seen those idiots in tracksuits lingering around the train tracks. I've even seen a couple here this week."
So had Natasha, nodding in agreement, "Well, Wilson Fisk's thugs are good at hanging around all over the city. They're like a gang of truant teenagers. Too much time on their hand and no supervision."
"Yeah, but most truant teenagers aren't rumored to be part of a crime lord's ring."
Steve smirked as Natasha added, "Well, sounds like we got a whole lot of nothing…TGIF right? But I'll let you know if I come across anything new. Unless you think the zombie angle has any weight."
He looked off to the side and chuckled, "As much weight as the alien conspiracy theory does…But yeah. Sounds like a plan, Romanoff."
They turned around to go work in separate areas for the day, both cursing under their breath.
In reality, Steve caught what Natasha was typing before sitting down. And Natasha had slipped one of Steve's notepads from his bag. What they'd discovered, was that Natasha had interviewed the English Professor's son, and Steve had talked with the realtor's spouse.
Both those individuals were at The Red Line's train departure that morning. They were seeing their family members off, only to never see them again. Neither could remember anything suspicious from the terminal that morning. If there was anything, it was too busy to notice. But the loved ones had thought they'd seen a couple guys in tracksuits around their neighborhoods recently, that they hadn't seen before.
Natasha and Steve both kept those conversations to themselves.
Steve was mildly annoyed but not surprised. Natasha was irritated though. And not at the fact that he lied. It was more about the fact that Steve once again, was keeping up with her, every step of the way.
Natasha spoke to herself walking away from her bench. "How in the hell is this guy this good as a rookie to Chicago?"
But what she'd soon discover, is that Steve was no rookie at all.
They'd scoured Union Station one last time. They'd typed in different corners and had avoided each other for the remainder of the day. Before they knew it, it was 6 pm. On a Friday.
Fury and Pepper had texted, telling them to call it a day…two hours ago. But Steve and Natasha were keeping their patooties planted if neither was leaving. Game point. Match set.
Or at least they'd convinced themselves staying just as long as the other one, somehow mattered.
The competition ticked on, but Steve caught something that made him break first.
It was 6:15 pm and Natasha was sipping on an energy drink.
"Romanoff, stand up."
His voice was more forceful as she looked up, "Rogers, what are you doing here still?"
Steve groaned, "Jesus, Romanoff…you know I've been here the entire time, just like I've been keeping an eye on you, so let's just cut the crap for a minute, okay?"
Her brow was raised, "Well, here's a side I haven't seen to the bright beacon of The Star."
She'd put her bag over her shoulder, and Steve's impatience showed, putting his arm under her elbow, "I got a lot of sides you haven't seen, Romanoff. Look over there, beyond the ticket booth."
He shifted their position, so Natasha was facing the booth as Steve looked at her. She looked beyond his side and saw why he'd shown some concern.
Natasha looked up at him, "Tracksuits…coincidence?"
Steve nodded toward the exit, "With as much as we've been hanging out down here, I don't think so."
Natasha looked back and saw the bald man and lanky guy with a ponytail yelling at each other as they began to walk quicker, "Rogers, we haven't found hardly anything down here all week. Why would they be lurking around us?"
Steve naturally found his hand at her back as they made their way to the parking lot, "Same reason we drug Parker and Keener down here earlier in the week. To see if we had anything."
They were at her jeep a couple minutes later as Natasha looked back and saw the guys taking off in a car that picked them up, out front of Union Station.
Reason for concern avoided for now.
"Well then, Rogers. It's a good thing we've both shared everything, and that we really don't have anything."
There it was. The hidden meaning behind Natasha's words, calling Steve out. She knew and he knew what the other one had. It didn't matter how small of a thread it was. They didn't even get to the end of stating their fake 50/50 agreement, before hiding something from each other.
"Yeah, it's a good thing, Romanoff."
She scoffed, "Well, you know…sometimes partnerships are flashes in a pan."
Steve crossed his arms and stared at her, trying not to roll his eyes. Natasha had already slipped the notepad back into his bag as they were walking out of a few minutes ago. So, the fact that she felt emboldened was quite remarkable.
"Don't give me that look, Rogers. I know you talked with the realtor's spouse, and he's seen tracksuits in his neighborhood since the crash. I haven't been able to get ahold of him all week, so don't give me this…'I don't have anything, Romanoff,' act."
Natasha tried to leave in a flurry, not giving him the chance for a rebuttal. But Steve called her out too, "You are something else, Romanoff. I mean…I knew you liked to win. But this is bold of you to walk away, like you didn't keep your own conversation with the English Professor's son from me…and that he's seen those tracksuits lurking too."
Their deal may have been a sham, but they were acting the same way right now.
Natasha turned around, spinning on her heel, "Hey, I was gonna tell you about that."
It wasn't heated, but that hint of tension returned as Steve stepped forward, "Yeah, sure you were. So, tell me now, you suspect Wilson Fisk and his goons are involved directly with this?"
Steve's words came out strong, and Natasha's were the same as she batted right back, "Do you? Right…don't answer. That way you're not officially lying, like I knew you were today."
His jaw tightened, "I was doing exactly what you were doing, Romanoff."
Defiance took hold as her chin jutted toward him, "Two wrongs make a right? Didn't take you for making immoral equivalencies, Rogers."
Natasha could see his nostrils flare a little as he responded, "You done grandstanding on that soap box yet? Or do I need to point out how you're more annoyed that I pulled the same trick on you…again. And that's what is really bothering you."
She looked off to the side, "Truthfully, Rogers. I'm shocked at you."
A disheartened laugh came out of him, "Truthfully, I don't believe anything that comes out of your mouth, when you start it with truthfully. You can't even be straight, when you're admitting how crooked you are, Romanoff."
Natasha's head turned as she stepped forward too. Mere inches separated them as she snapped back, "And you can't fool me with that bashful, blue-eyed blinking anymore, Rogers. Tell me, how the hell does a 41-year-old who went to NYU for journalism disappear? You graduate and then get your master's degree and work in New York. And then poof. Nothing for close to 15 years. Not a single article and then you just show up like a rare constellation alignment in the sky, and act nothing like a rookie would."
Steve chuckled, only aggravating her more. Maybe he would've been flattered, knowing she tried to do some digging on him. But more than anything, he was annoyed and enjoyed irritating her too much, "Romanoff, you're the one who assumed I was a rookie. And you of all people should know…assuming in journalism, is a rookie mistake."
Nerves were on fire in this battle of words. Natasha wanted to wipe that smug smirk off his face, and Steve wanted to get rid of that dramatic pout as she spouted back, "Okay. You know what? It's clear we're not partners. It was over before it ever got started. But I won't haze you anymore either because it's also clear, you're not a rookie."
Steve grabbed his aviators and slid them on to combat the sun setting around them, "Don't need to tell me twice, Romanoff. Not partners. Not rookies."
"You're a little shit, Rogers."
"And you're a little wound up, Romanoff. What's the matter? Don't like sharing when someone is giving you a run for your money?"
That warmth from before was returning, but Natasha huffed out a breath. She wasn't going to get drawn into this any further. "Yeah…you know what? I did lie earlier. I don't like sharing, period. So how bout we come to another agreement. I'll steer clear of you, and you steer clear of me. Got it?"
"Got it."
Natasha turned around and was off in her jeep and home 45 minutes later, still feeling like hitting something. Space was given, but they still felt like they were right there. In that charged bubble of tension, with words going back and forth like a tennis match.
It wasn't just the competition of the story. It wasn't just the fight with themselves. Something was brewing between Steve and Natasha and they'd both felt it, as much as they tried to deny it.
Thoughts ran through their heads from what just happened, on the separate drives home. How close they were as their tone shifted beyond competitive into combative. The way his jaw twitched under his beard and his nostrils flared. The way her cheeks were red and eyes wide.
Natasha grabbed a glass of wine and her crossword after she got home. She settled in for the evening, trying repeatedly, to wipe Steve's stare and that beard…and everything in between from her brain.
Steve was at his own apartment, trying to get her pout and snark…and her green eyes and red hair as far from his mind too. But as much as he tried to zone out to the movie on his TV, or the beer in his hand, it was a failure. Birds of a feather do flock together. Because Natasha was failing miserably at her attempts too.
They spent their Friday evenings the exact same way. Alone and feeling like this little competition was anything but healthy. And what Steve said to Natahsa earlier was true, in a much bigger way.
This was far from settled.
End Note:
A little healthy competition? Maybe not, but it sure is fun to write Steve and Natasha in this world :).
I know I joked about me initially thinking this could ever be a one shot. I'm over 11 chapters into this, and the story is all mapped out. I'm thinking it will end up being around 15 chapters or so. So that joke is really ridiculous at this point.
Thanks for reading and joining me on another whacky journey with these super sleuths!
I love hearing from readers, so help a writer out and leave a comment with your thoughts.
Have a great week!
Cheers! ~~ Kat