Beats on the Street

by EightiesKat

The Windy City sets the stage as two newspapers, The Chicago City Herald and The Chicago Star, rival for sales and stories. Steve and Natasha, competing journalists, search for the truth in the mystery they find themselves on, but also in their real story about to unfold. Slow Burn / Frenemies / Romance / Mystery / AU. I do not own any of this or any part of Marvel or the MCU.

5. Chapter 5: Local News

Beats on the Street

I do not own any of this or any part of Marvel or the MCU

Chapter 5 – Local News: Taking a Step Back

The local news is brought to you today by two rival journalists, both digging in and doubling down.

All politics are local, after all, as they say. And the politics in The Windy City sure became interesting with the developing story, surrounding a suicide that reeked of foul play. Both The Herald and The Star highlighted different angles into this mystery over the last several weeks. But with recent developments, and a turn of tragic events last Friday evening, the story was getting harder to ignore. By both the readers and the leaders running the city.

But not everything is lost in the tangle of train lines.

A bright week and sunny skies lie ahead as the dog days of Summer tick by. If a Cubs game isn't in the cards, we have you covered! Consider other nearby events in the Chicago Metro, including a Street Fair on Michigan Avenue where you can learn what everyone's favorite food on a stick is. Want to feel the breeze off of Lake Michigan? Don't forget about Navy Pier's, 'Heat Wave,' boating celebration to kick off the last month of Summer. Grab a drink. Take in some hot dogs and popcorn. Catch everyone, soaking in the rays and the waves by our beautiful waterfront. Watch as Midwesterners dawn their best Captain's hats, seersucker apparel, and jokingly say, A 'hoy!'

As our journalists go to the streets, will they lose themselves in the finding of facts? Or will they take a step back, and realize there's enough time to have a little fun too?

---

Another Monday morning arrived, after the frenzied weekend.

A murder, a full two days of work, and a tenuous encounter early on a Sunday evening. It was quite the concoction for a tiring weekend. Natasha and Steve parted ways, leading with their fiery spirits, digging in with their stubbornness, and leaving with their inner voices going mute from how loudly they'd been yelling. Yes, all the events of a tumultuous weekend were left in the wake of two journalists going the opposite way last night.

Opposite of each other and their feelings. Ignoring what was growing to be blaringly obvious to anyone around them. Walking away from called out bullshit, regretful thoughts, and lingering stares. Steve and Natasha may have had a chemistry palpable to anyone around, but it was on the wrong side of a strong cocktail right now. A little too much of the hard stuff, and not enough of the blend, leaving the entire mixture all out of balance. Which only meant it burnt like hell going down.

All of these events transpired as the rest of the city enjoyed the summer sun.

And now, another Monday morning rolled around. Full of news headlines and bullpens at The Herald and The Star. Full of co-workers wondering what was going on with the Heat Wave celebration. Yes, there was an event at Navy Pier, kicking off August's boating celebration with all the wannabe Skippers around. It was titled Heat Wave to be cheeky with the endless sludge of summer heat. But the weather had been forgiving over the last few days with the break in humidity, and the celebration kicked off, to a full week of events starting today. But the real heat wave in question, revolved around the only two people at The Herald and The Star, who seemed like they couldn't get out of their own way.

Something had happened, besides the horrifying events of last Friday evening. Something between Steve and Natasha, and the rest of their co-workers could tell, right away this Monday morning.

A grumbly Steve Rogers was found at The Star, bright and early as the work week began. There was nothing bright and sunny about the man who drove away from a certain red head last night.

"Rogers, where are we with the development on John Doe's death?"

Pepper didn't even call Steve into her office as Tony and Clint eavesdropped. Ever since Steve's story revealed the train footage had been doctored, with over 45 seconds of tape edited out, the journalists at The Star had stopped referring to it as a suicide.

What exactly happened to John Doe?

They weren't sure yet. They couldn't tell what was cut, just the amount that was edited.

Steve let out a huff. He was looking for a reason to be out of the office anyway, so he jumped at her words as he grabbed his keys, "Already on it, Pepper…got a couple of calls into the police department and gonna follow up with a couple other contacts."

Pepper didn't even let him finish before she waved him off. Steve slammed the rest of his coffee as Clint chuckled, "Want to read The Herald again, Rogers? I pulled the one out, you tossed in the trash."

"Don't you have a boating expo to go cover at Navy Pier today, Barton?"

Clint answered right back, "Aye, Captain. Aye, I do. But shiver me timbers…who peed in your corn flakes?"

Tony laughed and clapped loudly, "Oh now, come on Barton, I think we know the answer to that. Don't worry though, Rogers. I do love it when you get all broody like a teenager who was just broken up with over text."

Steve shook his head at them, but Tony kept going, "You know, Rogers…I haven't seen you this worked up in the entire time you've worked here."

Steve blew out a breath, "Tony, I've only worked here a few months."

"Yeah, but a few months at a newspaper is like dog years with how much we're around each other. So, I feel like I've been around you for a lot longer."

Clint joked, "What's the ratio of months of a newshound to dog years, Stark?"

Harley came over and joined in with Clint, discussing what a dog year meant in month equivalencies at their newspaper, and it was a rabbit hole that clearly was going to waste a good 10 minutes. And Steve wasn't going to deal with this right now.

Steve was not in the mood and was about to turn away as Tony added, "Well, you know what I mean, Rogers. We're thick as thieves here. You've been taking names and kicking ass since you were introduced to the city by Pep. And you were walking on sunshine last week because of…you know who."

A wag of Tony's brow was accompanied by a grin from Harley and Clint as he finished, "From what you've told us, I'm guessing you haven't been this into someone for a long time."

It was all in good fun, and the crew didn't know what transpired last night between, the red head, (who shall not be named,) and Steve.

Steve was not dealing with any of this today, "Tony, not another word. That's done. We cleared any of that up yesterday."

Tony was quiet for the entirety of one second and shrugged his shoulders. He stood up and let out a laugh at his co-worker and friend. (Longtime friend if you were counting in dog years as Stark and Barton were. Whatever that meant.)

Tony patted Steve on his beard with a cheeky smile, "Yeah, and Pepper and I said we were done over a year ago. And yet, I still had to sign like a million forms for Human Resources because here we are…you know."

Clint groaned, "Yeah Tony. Everyone knows. It's not like you're even trying to hide it anymore."

When in doubt and looking for a way out, just smile and nod. Or run for the hills.

Steve shook his head and slapped his shoulder, "Tony, enjoy the street fair and food on a stick fest. Barton, take in all the wannabe Skippers out on Lake Michigan. I got some people to track down."

Tony relented a little and said, "Well, maybe you can join us at the pier later for drinks, Rogers. To discuss all of this in further detail."

Steve grumbled as he threw his notepad and phone in his pocket. He didn't give an answer as Tony added, "You know, Clint. I can't help thinking, that Steve just wants an excuse to get away from us, so he doesn't get teased over that red head that has him all hot and bothered."

Putting up his best deflection attempt, Steve laughed it off as he was walking out, "Tony, I would rather look at paint dry than have to hear about you and my boss and all your…different forms."

Barton was cracking up now as Steve did his best to bury his brood. It worked for the moment as he left. Tony grinned at Clint, "Well, I'll pull up a seat at the pier and share some mead with my crew this afternoon. Text Wilson. I think he'll be there this afternoon too."

Steve had left them focused on their own plans, as he'd shut them up about his love life. Or lack thereof. He'd be on his own today, but that didn't mean what they said wasn't true. Steve had read that red head's article. And it wasn't just good. It was great.

Natasha brought to light Hope Van Dyne's murder, and the obvious smokescreen that was going on.

Steve had been dealing with all of the emotions that were set off, since he left The Herald last night. A late run, and a trip to the gym at 10 pm didn't help his frustration. And it showed from how bad his night of sleep was. It didn't get any better when he woke up before dawn. First, Steve ran out of his apartment to get a copy of her paper at the newsstand on his corner. He read every word over coffee at 4:30 am in his kitchen. There was no way around it. Steve was in awe of Natasha's writing.

Next, on his jog afterwards, the anger settled in, thinking about what she went through last Friday night. When he grabbed a granola bar on his way to work, all he could think about was her strength at writing everything down in the heat of the moment, for record and for the public to read about. Warnings on her be damned.

And then after all of that, Barton made sure to have a copy of The Herald waiting on Steve's desk at the office. His chance at hiding his scowl was out the window the second he arrived. There was no way around it, Steve was just irritated. And then the entire cycle of frustration began all over again that he'd been dealing with, since sunset last night.

Annoyance prodded at him, with Natasha leaning into every bad behavior and decision Steve had displayed in past lives. Disappointment festered, with her not showing a willingness to go forward with this connection of theirs. It all blended like a load of wash, with colors and whites mixing in hot water, leaving everything a tint of red. There was no shaking it. The worry and concern mixed with his genuine hurt feelings.

The cycle of agitation spun, and left Steve simply feeling, pissed off.

Pissed off at the situation. At the violence from Friday night, she'd encountered. But mostly, at Natasha's inescapable presence. Her talent was jumping off the paper this morning. Her picture was all over the city he lived in. And the tracks of this unspoken race that began between them, were left all over Chicago.

Natasha had lied last night to Steve, pretty much through the entirety of their argument. But Steve had lied too, both to her and himself. He'd told her that he'd steer clear of her. But try and do, often oppose each other when denial is thrown into the mix.

Even if Steve tried, he really doubted avoiding her would even being possible. Natasha and Chicago journalism were synonymous with each other. The interactions with their respective papers weren't going away, and this story was only the beginning of Steve's journey in this town.

Encountering Natasha would be unavoidable. And they both knew it, regardless of the harsh words exchanged last night.

Steve was faced with that reality only 15 minutes after running out on Tony and Clint's taunting this morning. On the train ride to the police station, Steve overheard an older man reading Natasha's very article, out loud to his wife.

MURDER SURROUNDS TRAIN LINE TRAGEDIES: Details from Crashes Thrown into Question

This City has a history of trying to hide key truths in trying times. Years of police brutality and mafia influence shaped the modern version of Chicago that we all live in and love. Those ties may not be so clear and out in the open today, but remnants of the crooked connections from the days of prohibition and Al Capone still exist. So, when a civil servant, like Hope Van Dyne, is murdered in cold blood, just for doing her job in trying to uncover a truth, we should all be worried. We should all be angered. We should all question the type of leadership, or lack thereof, that this city has.

With recent revelations of doctored footage at The Blue Line, and trace amounts of explosives from The Red Line crash, a certain conclusion can no longer be ignored. Foul play was involved with John Doe's death, as well as The L Train crash, that killed five civilians. The fact that John Doe's identity is still unknown, only casts a darker shadow over the entirety of these occurrences.

As for a victim that was identified, I can personally account for the terror that Hope Van Dyne encountered in her last moments of life on Friday evening. I pose a question for our Mayor, and any other powers that be, listening and reading the conversations around these crashes over the last month.

If I wouldn't have been present, to discover that Ms. Van Dyne had been murdered, would she have been ruled as a suicide too?

How many crimes are committed in this city, disguised as something else? All to better the public consumption, and to hide the crooked remnants that linger from this city's past.

Is there mafia influence?

Is there dark money involved from corporate entities or political groups?

The public doesn't want to be force fed a world of pretend. The public wants the truth. And the leaders should also know from the history of this city, that the public will demand answers as more questions pile up.

Until those answers are found, let me write about Hope Van Dyne. A woman just trying to do her job. Trying to discover the truth. Trying to live her life in a city, where our leaders seem to not care about victims.

I care. The citizens of Chicago care. And our leaders will care about the consequences from their apathetic response, after the light fully shines on this story.

It always does.

"Oh hunny, she's a firecracker that one."

"Give em hell, Romanoff."

Steve couldn't help it, as a smile escaped from him, listening to the older couple's response at Natasha's fiery words. They weren't wrong. Natasha was a firecracker, and she brought the ammunition to her article. She had the top of the fold consumed with Friday evening's tragedy. And then on proceeding turns of the page, she laid out every questionable suicide that had occurred in the last 10 years. She continued in the local news section, with an article about many of the John and Jane Does, that had never been identified, publicly.

It was something to behold, and only drove home how Natasha was one in the same with the beats on the streets of Chicago. The streets Steve walked and ran on. The city he lived in. The world of journalism he was bursting into, making her and everyone take note.

But she brought the big guns, and it showed today. Natasha brought into light, the tactics used on Hope Van Dyne, and how the bullet holes to the chest and plastic wrap, hinted at patterns from criminal groups in the city.

She didn't mention Midwest Pharmaceuticals or the pen John Doe was carrying, or Wilson Fisk by name. But Natasha did mention tracksuits lingering around crime scenes, press conferences, and neighborhoods of the victim's families. Anyone who was a Chicago native, would know what it meant. Tracksuits and Wilson Fisk were one in the same too.

The implications were there.

Natasha was a firecracker, alright. And The Herald's Monday edition was sure to set off more than a few fireworks across town.

Steve's awe at her talent waned as the couple changed topics, leaving him with every thought he was trying to ignore. And then Steve's cycle of irritation started all over again as he made his way to the police station.

---

"Wait, Rogers was outside waiting for you last night?"

Natasha rolled her eyes as she threw away her napkin at her desk. She'd received more accolades than she cared for from her article today, and already had three missed calls from the Mayor's office. She knew those calls would be the opposite of anything complimentary.

Natasha shook off Bucky's comment as Sam joined in, "I mean, the thing I can't get over is, he was willing to look past you acting like an idiot."

Bucky gulped on his coffee as Peter coughed. Natasha quirked her eyebrow as Sam raised his hand, "Sorry, Romanoff. Your article was preaching about truth and justice and shedding light on facts. I'm just stating a fact too. Rogers wasn't wrong. He was just doing his job last week. And any suspicion you had, that he was trying to somehow use you to find out information for the story…Well, it just doesn't add up."

Leave it to Natasha's co-workers and second family to bring her back down from the high of her article. The aches from her attack were still there, but it was pretty mild in comparison to the weekend. Most of her bruising had gone down, but her stomach and throat still showed signs of Friday night. And her neck in particular was still tender. But compared to the weekend, it was a vast improvement. She'd backed off the Tylenol a little bit and gave a glare to everyone at the office looking at her neck, silently telling them, 'You better treat me normally.'

Natasha took a big drink of her coffee as she looked at her four co-workers. Bucky wasn't saying another word right now, Peter was drinking some water, and Sam had said his peace. She caught MJ's nervous stare, "Cat got your tongue, MJ? Or do you want to add into this Steve Rogers' support group session?"

Peter snickered as MJ shrugged her shoulders, "I mean, date who you want to, Natasha. No one would tell you different…"

Natasha rolled her eyes, "But?"

MJ couldn't help but grin, "But come on, he was waiting for you outside, just like in Sixteen Candles!"

"Oh, for fucks sake."

Sam laughed at Natasha's immediate response as she went on, "MJ, this isn't an 80's rom com. This is life. My life. And sure, Steve might not have been working me for the story last week. But it still doesn't change the fact…"

Natasha paused.

The stares of her friends matched the look Fury gave her last night, before leaving. Before things blew up between her and Steve. And it matched every stare that friends and her family had given her in the past. She was having a hard time coming to terms, with the fact that she was coming up empty on excuses right now.

Instead, Natasha's hand found her forehead with a heavy sigh, "Look, it just won't work. So better to, I don't know…"

MJ cut her off, "If you expect disappointment, then you can never really be disappointed, right?"

Natasha's eyes widened as she did a double take, wondering where that came from. The young copy assistant may have compared Steve Rogers to Jake Ryan in Sixteen Candles, but she did just let a grain of wisdom slip.

Bucky just smacked her shoulder, "Out of the mouths of babes, right, Natasha? Kid has a point though."

Regardless of points, Natasha had people to meet up with and calls to make today. Hope Van Dyne had made the connection that John Doe's prints were on Midwest Pharmaceutical's pen. But the identity of John Doe was still a discovery in the making. And now that thread of a large corporate entity was looming over this story too, along with Wilson Fisk, the tracksuits, and every other unanswered question regarding the train lines.

Natasha was itching to hit the streets to find answers to some of those questions.

Among many others, certain questions prodded at her now.

What involvement does a corporation have? How does Wilson Fisk tie in? Who was John Doe, and why was he killed?

And when would she be able to get Steve Rogers out of her head?

---

Natasha had backtracked to the renovated apartment that morning to talk to some local business owners to see if they'd seen anything abnormal since Friday. Besides the gossip of her article and Hope's murder, they hadn't.

She put in a call to the police station to see if they had any new information on Hope's killer. Natasha was patched through to Jessica Jones, and she didn't even get a hello. It was almost like an automated response from the officer, "We're not commenting on an active investigation."

"Happy Monday to you too, Jones."

Jessica Jones huffed, "How you feeling, Romanoff? Besides pissed off that I really don't have anything to give you?"

Natasha groaned, "I'd throw away all my Tylenol, if you could tell me anything that was up with Hope or John Doe…or information related to the trace evidence of explosives from The Red Line."

A big sigh came out of Jones, "Nothing has changed on that front since I dropped you off on Friday. Don't worry though. I'm sure you'll be busy this week with the splash your article made today."

"Why Jessica Jones, did hell freeze over? Because that almost sounded like an underhanded compliment."

Jessica's eyeroll could almost be heard over the phone, "It's the closest thing you'll get. Now quit hassling me."

Natasha chuckled as she hung up on Jones. She knew they didn't have anything new either. By 11 am, she finally got back to the Mayor's office. She didn't even say hi before Coulson was yelling over the phone, "You've got some nerve, Romanoff. I've had over 50 calls this morning from donors and citizens, worried about the mob and their ties in the city."

Natasha wasn't able to answer as he went on, "Jesus, Romanoff. You make it seem like it's the days of speakeasies and box cars with mobsters pulling machine guns out of guitar cases."

Natasha couldn't help but poke the bear that was emerging from Mayor Coulson, "Hey…every word I wrote about Chicago's ties to the mob, back to the days of speakeasies and guitar cases, was 100 percent true. It's how some of the wealthiest families with the longest lineages made their money in this town. And it's what set up the present-day mafia, allowing them to still have influence."

Coulson was already being pulled away into another call, "If you weren't such a talented writer, I would have thrown The Herald out after I'd read the first line today."

Poke away she did, "Coulson, you're gonna make me blush with such a rave review."

It was the second backhanded compliment she'd received that morning. And both from the unlikeliest of sources to a journalist. Politicians and police.

Maybe Natasha should buy a lotto ticket because she was feeling like it was her lucky day.

Coulson didn't have anything either. He was just reeling from the article. The truth was, Natasha didn't actually think Coulson was dealing with the mob or dark money. He just wasn't that type of politician. He was much more aspirational than opportunistic. And he'd never had a scandal related to anything personal or underhanded, with money or crime in all his time as a politician.

But that didn't mean Coulson was able to keep others from the influence of the mob's power or money. The mafia's dirty hooks were in this town from the beginning, and someone in power was benefiting with this train entanglement. But Coulson needed to step up his game and help get to the bottom of this, instead of just riding his coattails to re-election.

"I've never thought you were a talentless hack. I'd just appreciate you giving me a call before you threw me to the jackals with another article of yours on a Monday morning, Romanoff. I gotta go."

Another hang-up and another usual check in, was marked off her list. Natasha stopped by Union Station again, grabbed a wrap and a soda, and felt like she'd been all over town in the short span of a morning.

When in doubt, it's what Natasha did. She hit the streets and talked to the locals. It's how she was raised in her small hometown. And it's how she made her way through the world of journalism.

Beats on the street, whether it be news or people or experiences…it was how she grew into who she was today. Running through her neighborhoods, connecting to where she lived. Talking with neighbors and citizens who worked around her. Ingraining herself in this city, and becoming a part of it, not just as a person who wrote about it. But as a person who lived in it and loved every nook and cranny of Chicago. Natasha had even learned to live with the seedy side that left marks on her last Friday night. Because it all melded together, drawing a rich tapestry of a city with a lively history.

A history stained with the mob, yes. But more importantly, a city marked with drive and aspiration. With builders and expansion. With growth and drive and success. With an insatiable pride of sports and love of life. And with two remarkable newspapers, surviving through the paradigm shift of the digital age.

From the shores of Lake Michigan to the Ivy of Wrigley Field. And from the roots of the L Train, to the heights of the observation decks at the Willis and Hancock Towers. It all folded into the picture of what made Chicago the vibrant city she loved.

Natasha finished her lunch and talked with her parents for the fifth time since Friday night. She'd given Jane a call too. Both parties were still having a hard time grappling with what had occurred. Jane really didn't know Hope for that long, only hiring her recently. But she'd worked with Natasha for a long time and felt the visceral nature of everything. Natasha's parents responded as most would. With extreme worry, needing multiple reassurances that their daughter was okay. But also, with extreme pride after reading her article this morning.

Her Dad left their call with his loving words, "My little Nancy Drew…so hungry and talented. Just make sure you're taking care of yourself, Natty."

Natasha couldn't help but smile as she hung up. The kiddish nickname wasn't a fond memory from her childhood, but it always made her feel a little warm and fuzzy inside, coming from her Mom and Dad. Her parents were the only ones who could get away with calling her it. And they knew it.

It was back to the grind. By mid-afternoon, Natasha had finally made her way to the morgue to pay her favorite pathologist a visit.

---

"Yelena Belova, fancy seeing you here."

A petite blonde looked up at Natasha with a wry smile.

Natasha shouldn't have been surprised at all at the site. Maybe it'd be shocking to a new visitor, but she'd been here many times before. The door closed to the morgue. The cold room holding the deceased, was in the basement of Cook County Hospital in the heart of the city. And Yelena Belova had her hands all the way in a cadaver's chest cavity as Natasha entered.

Elbow deep, drew new meaning as the vivid image splayed before the journalist.

Whatever site Natasha walked in on at the morgue, in all her times here, was never as dramatic as the smell.

Formaldehyde, cleaning chemicals, and other embalming liquids all hovered over the stale air. With the faint hint of the metal and iron from blood and bodies. All mixing with the undercurrent of other odors that those bodies produced. The chemicals were strong for a reason, but they were always shocking to the senses.

Taking a trip to the morgue was not for the faint of heart or smell.

Faint music was playing on a radio from Yelena's desk. Natasha smirked, "Yelena, is that Alanis Morrisette? Who hurt you to go the angst route with tunes today?"

Yelena scoffed before grinning at Natasha, "Who'd you pucker your lips at to get down here this time, Romanoff?"

Natasha shook her head, "I can't help it if the security to the city's public hospitals suck. What ya got there…an accident or crime?"

Yelena had been around Natasha enough to know that she wasn't queasy. She also didn't care. This was her world and shop, and if you dared to enter, you better be prepared to see and smell a wide array of images and odors.

The pathologist looked up at Natasha as she pulled some more of the corpse's internal organs out, "Romanoff, you're so mistrusting. You think everyone here was killed by Al Capone."

Natasha actually laughed, "I guess you read my article this morning?"

The blonde with an even dryer sense of humor than Natasha let out a chuckle, "Sometimes, I think you should have been a detective, Red. Nothing to see with this body though. It was a stroke. But he has a lot of money, and the family is demanding an autopsy."

"Ah, one of those."

"Yes, one of those."

Yelena paused before getting back inside the cadaver, with her latex gloves that went over her elbows and surgical gown. They were covered in blood and everything else.

The fact that this was not their first rodeo with this type of encounter was more than apparent. Yelena finally budged a little as she shook her head and rolled her eyes at Natasha, "What do you want, Romanoff?"

Natasha stood against the wall, pulling her notepad out of her bag and started jotting down some notes, "Yelena, buddy…friend."

"Is that what we are?"

Natasha grinned, "Come on, Yelena. I know you didn't have anything on John Doe from when I checked in with you before…But Hope Van Dyne's body had to have been sent here. Cook County Hospital falls under the police precinct that handled her murder."

Yelena gave her a blank stare as Natasha went on, "And…it's easier to keep certain autopsies off the books, with such staunch security in this hospital."

Yelena scoffed, "Romanoff, I believe I told you last time, was the last time I gave you something juicy at your rate of bribery."

"That's what you always say, Yelena. You make it seem so sketchy. I was always just a journalist, looking for information from a friend. And if some gift cards ended up in your possession as a result? So be it. We scratch each other's backs and both win."

Yelena rolled her eyes, "Uh huh."

Natasha sighed and tried to go a more genuine route, "Yelena, you helped me with my article on the sex trafficking ring that was targeting orphanages in Chicago. That monster, Dreykov, will never see the light of day. And that's thanks to you helping and getting me the reports on some of those girls' bodies."

Yelena looked up and considered her words, "Yes, yes. I'm such a big help. And you get all the awards and attention because of me helping. What's your new book called, Finding Nemo?"

Now Natasha rolled her eyes, "Yelena, I sent you a signed copy and you know it's called, 'Finding Your Own Beat.'"

Yelena couldn't help it. She started laughing, "I kid. I always kid, and it's always so fun between us, Romanoff."

She relented and finally stepped away from the cadaver as she discarded her gloves and surgical gown. A quick wash of her hands and Yelena went to get a drink of water at her desk as Natasha followed, "Yes, I know, Natasha. I have your book. See? I use it as a paperweight here. Honestly, the name could be catchier."

Maybe it would come off as rude to most, but it was just how they talked and worked together. Tit for tat. Back and forth. Sarcastic barbs and cynical jabs tossed playfully and interchangeably between the two women. The truth was, Yelena wasn't really envious of the attention from Natasha's presence in the city. She wanted no part of that. Hell, Natasha didn't want any part of the press and recognition either. Yelena just liked to give the red head a hard time.

And Yelena was right…deep down, it was always fun for them.

Yelena patted Natasha's book with that dry smirk as Natasha shook her head, "A paperweight…how kind of you. Alright, seriously Yelena, are you trying to shake me down for a higher price? That's fine, but what's it gonna take? I got gift cards to any restaurant you want downtown. You want to go to some more Cubs games this summer? You name it."

Yelena took another big drink and nodded, "Yes and yes. But I want tickets too…to the Russian Ballet in town next month."

Natasha groaned, "Yelena, come on. Those have been sold out for over a year."

Yelena shrugged her shoulders and started putting a new gown and gloves on again, "You're a resourceful journalist, Romanoff. I'm sure you can figure something out. You know so many people, after all."

Huffing out a breath, Natasha contemplated for a few seconds before making the decision. She pulled out her phone and texted a contact, who she knew would have a pair. A contact she didn't enjoy having to message.

Natasha – 1:42 PM – "No questions. You should know if I'm texting you, it's a last resort. I know you probably have a pair…can I get two tickets to the Russian Ballet next month?"

The response was quick and to the point from her contact.

1:43 PM – "Sure thing, Tash. I'll send 'em over to your office. Read the article this morning. Great work as always."

Natasha stared at the spunky blonde with all the personality this room could handle, "Here's the Cubs tickets and 10 gift cards to different restaurants downtown. The Ballet tickets will be delivered tomorrow."

A devilish grin emerged, "See that wasn't so hard. Okay, so what do you want to know, Romanoff?"

She had to hand it to Yelena. The shake down was successful. Natasha blew out a breath and leaned against the wall again, "Hope Van Dyne's body."

Yelena shook her head, "Already gone, Romanoff. I was gonna do the autopsy this morning, but the coroner ordered it to be sent to the incinerator. Said police have all the details they need for their investigation."

The shock of any odor to one's senses had nothing on the jolt sent through Natasha's body right now. Red flags were going off left and right in her brain, "So let me get this straight. A murder victim's body was taken away…only three days after it was brought here. And it's being turned to ash before an autopsy could be done?"

Yelena shrugged her shoulders, "Romanoff, don't be mad at me. I wouldn't have had time to do any tests this morning even if I tried. The coroner's office was here right away. Said orders were coming from above any of our pay grades. Besides, you know how this goes. If what your article says is true, then someone's going through some trouble to hide some stuff."

Natasha was starting to pace now, "So you didn't even see her body at all?"

Yelena scoffed, "Don't twist my words. I didn't say that. I said it's already gone, and I didn't get to do the autopsy. I did…sneak a peek before it was taken to be cremated."

Pausing mid-step, Natasha grinned, "I love you, Yelena. I really do."

Natasha pulled out her phone and walked over to the cadaver table. She held it up to Yelena, flipping through the pictures she had of Hope's body from the abandoned apartment, "Geez, Romanoff. You weren't kidding in the paper. I see your neck is still a little bruised too…you really had a bad Friday night."

"Yeah, yeah. Focus though. Look, Yelena…two bullet holes and plastic wrap. That has Wilson Fisk written all over it. But the puncture wound on her neck? That's not Fisk's style."

Unfortunately, gang violence, and specifically violence from Wilson Fisk's goons, had a certain style as Natasha said. Blunt trauma. Gun shots. Lots of bruises, and yes, plastic. It fell in line with patterns, that anyone navigating the underbelly of the city would recognize. It was almost a calling card.

Yelena hadn't touched the cadaver yet and took off her gloves again. She grabbed Natasha's phone and started looking through the pictures of Hope. Her foot started tapping against the floor, "I saw the puncture wound this morning. There was pooling around the injection site and darker vein patterns that trickled outward."

Pieces were falling into place already in Natasha's brain, "An injection site…like a drug from a pharmaceutical company?"

Natasha's article hadn't mentioned Fisk or the pharmacy corporation, but it did allude to possible mob involvement and dark money from slush funds. She knew better than to put those actual names out there until there was a smoking gun.

Yelena didn't want to have anything to do with the guessing game. She worked in a world of tests and hard facts and hard results, "Natasha, I didn't get to do any toxicology tests. All I can tell you is what I saw. For all I know it could have been heroine, or morphine, or even insulin. Hell, the puncture could have been a horribly placed flu shot. I have no way of knowing what was put into her body."

"Yelena, you may not have run tests, but you've been doing this for a long time. And you're brilliant. So, come on. Give me your best educated guess…what was the cause of death?"

Yelena gave Natasha her phone back and started pacing a little. Her arms crossed and after a few seconds she groaned, "Those ballet tickets better be amazing, and I'm not going to be quoted…"

"You never are, Yelena."

Yelena relented, "Okay, but like I said, I can't tell you what she was injected with. I mean that. But I can tell she was killed…from whatever it was. And she was probably shot after dying. How long after? I don't know. I can't do those tests. But I could tell from the blood coagulation and patterns around the gunshot wounds that they were postmortem."

Natasha closed her notepad and went over and smacked an overly dramatic kiss on Yelena's head, "Like I said, you're brilliant, Yelena. Thank you!"

"I know, I know."

Natasha paused as she was leaving, "You be careful, okay?"

Yelena always was careful. And she trusted Natasha and had been through this before. She knew her name wasn't going to be connected with any of this, and that Natasha wouldn't move forward with anything from the morgue, unless she had a smoking gun.

Yelena chuckled, "Natasha, every mortician in this city spills what they know. There's too many of us to narrow down and threaten."

Natasha laughed, "An army of morticians, huh? No stopping you."

Yelena dramatically answered, "Not even death can stop us."

"Cute, Yelena. Very cute…Oh, before I forget. I know I called a couple weeks ago, and you didn't know anything then. But still nothing on that John Doe from The Blue Line train station?"

She shrugged, "Sorry, Romanoff. That one was never even sent here for me to peek at. Maybe there wasn't much to look at with the guy getting hit with a train and all. But he wasn't sent here."

"Alright. Well…until next time, enjoy those tickets, Yelena."

Yelena was already putting her gloves on again. Natasha left with the angsty 90's music playing in the background.

30 minutes later, Natasha sat on a park bench to gather her thoughts. She even drew the pattern of that tattoo again, that she'd caught on the man's arm who attacked her. From what she remembered at least. It was a sun with crooked rays and barbed wire around the center of it.

It was after 4 pm already, and it was the first time all day that Natasha actually had taken a minute to herself. The heaviness of Friday night weighed, and then her own cycle went on repeat.

Anger. Frustration. Guilt. Curiosity.

All those emotions, for more than one story swirling around in her head.

Natasha touched her neck, relieved that her pain had gone down to an almost unnoticeable extent. But then she felt guilty at that relief. She was alive and another innocent person's life was taken. That guilt grew into anger for the loss of Hope's life. For her own attack on Friday night. For the innocent victims of the train crashes. All of this violence, that was caught in a cloud of mystery that she hadn't figured out yet. It all made her curious and frustrated, causing her drive to only increase.

That was the nature of the beast, and her submission to that cycle is what had led her to the highs of her career.

But that cyclone of emotions wasn't just swirling around because of the news story. It was also a result of what Natasha had been avoiding since last night. And from Friday, after she'd realized Steve had gotten his big break. And really, since she'd met him a month ago.

Anger. Frustration. Guilt. Curiosity.

It all applied to her feelings towards Steve Rogers too. Anger at herself. Guilt towards her actions and inability to get out of her own damn way when it mattered most. Frustration that their connection hadn't dissipated and still lingered. And then curiosity. Curiosity about them and their chemistry. Curiosity about those muscles under his shirt, that she always caught herself staring at. And more importantly, curiosity about him.

Who the hell was he? What did he mean by all of his preaching to Natasha, about understanding the world of journalism being his entire world in the past?

The way Steve said it to Natasha last night, dripped with lessons learned in life. But she didn't get any follow-up questions because she'd blown their encounter to pieces. Natasha sent him off on that goddamn motorcycle. And it didn't go unnoticed, that Steve looked like a bearded James Dean, reincarnated, in the process.

They were questions Steve and Natasha had only begun to explore with each other, because the two of them hadn't gotten past initial flirtation, and easy ice breaker conversations. Sure, he liked jeopardy. And he liked to run and stay in shape. And he was damn good at his job. But it was all the other stuff around it, that drove her crazy.

Who was Steve Rogers?

The fact that those questions overtook the mystery of the story right now, told Natasha all she needed to know. It had been a long, few days. And Monday only led to a few discoveries, but then more questions as a result.

Natasha chuckled, wondering if she looked like a crazy lady on a park bench to any locals walking by. She thought of all the locals in her life. Her team and Fury. Her parents. Stan and Jane and Yelena and Jessica, and all the other colleagues and acquaintances that filled her day-to-day existence. They'd all caught Natasha lost in her own thoughts, spiraling downwards in endless questions over the years.

Steve had even seen it a few times in the short time he'd known her. Fury had called that look of hers, 'Romanoff's wheel spin,' because that's what it looked like. Gears and wheels, all physically turning in her head and mixing everything up.

But she laughed at herself as she put her notepad away and took in the scene around her. Natasha breathed in the fresh air. She was grateful to be away from the cocktail of Yelena's workplace and absorbed the nice weather for a minute.

The morning and afternoon had come and gone with all the local stops and check-ins. And now, the end of the workday had come and gone as her phone burst to life.

Natasha got a text from Bucky.

Bucky – 5:32 pm – "You've been ignoring our texts today, Romanoff. Wherever you are, you should stop by Navy Pier. We all left work early to have some beers and make fun of all these idiots in Captain hats. Don't argue and just get down here. You deserve it."

Natasha chuckled and before she could even think about how Sam was covering that silly Heat Wave boating celebration down at the pier all day, Peter added to the peer pressure.

Peter – 5:33 pm – "Come on, Natasha. We even got Fury to join us!"

She raised her eyebrow as Peter sent a selfie with everyone smiling. Everyone smiling except Fury, who looked like he was mid eyeroll in the picture.

It'd been an incredibly long weekend, and she'd been drug through the ringer on Friday night. She'd knocked the article out of the park for today's edition and was having a case of the Mondays, with all those thoughts frying her brain right now.

Just because work primarily called the shots in her life, didn't mean Natasha couldn't let loose from time to time with co-workers and friends.

And to be honest? She didn't just deserve it. Natasha needed it. "Oh, what the hell," she muttered before shooting off her reply.

Natasha – 5:37 pm – "On my way, Pete. Get me a funnel cake."

---

Natasha rode the train to work this morning, and had taken the L all over the city today on her local news quest. So, she didn't have to worry about her jeep and just decided to cab it from the park.

20 minutes later, Natasha was walking down the famous large dock. Navy Pier was a 3,000 plus foot jetty onto Lake Michigan and was always full of hustle and bustle. A make-shift fair, with a few rides and games and fried food trucks were always at the ready. They were always standing permanent, next to the most iconic attraction of Navy Pier, the famous Ferris Wheel.

The pier had something for everyone though. Rides for anyone to unlock their adrenaline inside. The Children's Museum, art displays, and theaters for anyone on a cultural quest. Shopping and food stands and parks, for people wanting to kick the shoes off and relax with the lake breeze all around them. And of course, last but not least, were the boats. Small vessels and large ships circled the wharf daily. Some cruised off the shorelines of Chicago as they just passed by. Others docked at the pier as passengers came aboard, to provide scenic tours on the water of all the city had to offer.

Most days, Navy Pier was active at a minimum. The summer was always busier with teenagers filling the space at day and on slow nights. And it was a full-blown trap of tourists every weekend and holiday. On those days, attendance swelled to an overwhelming extent. So much so, at times it seemed more like a cattle car than a destination, with the amount of people weaving in and out of each other.

But during the week? It was manageable with locals mostly taking their breezy spot back. And if you could find the right days and times, the magic and charm could shine through for those locals. Especially at night, when the lights of the Ferris Wheel and rides, lit up like a carnival of yesteryear. And especially if drinks and music and a festival full of fried food was involved.

BRING ON THE HEAT WAVE

The colorful banner with words in all caps hung over Navy Pier's entrance. It didn't take long for Natasha to find her friends at a picnic table, near the Ferris Wheel. It wasn't the quietest day to come to the pier for a drink by any means, but for a kickoff day to a festival, it'd do.

Sam had gotten a jump start on everyone since he'd covered the boating event all day. He saw Natasha first and yelled at her, even though she was only a few feet away, "You made it, Romanoff! Like my hat?"

Oh, this was going to be exactly what she needed. It wasn't even 6 pm yet, and Sam might be the one needing the Tylenol tomorrow. Natasha couldn't help but laugh at him, "Nice, Wilson…did you steal that from a Skipper, or buy one of those cheap knock offs near the ticket booth for boat tours?"

Sam winked at her and got everyone another round, "It's the real deal, Red. I met this guy named Riley today and he gave me one. He gave one to Barton too, but Stark didn't get one. Ha!"

Peter and MJ were sharing a plate of nachos and talking about which rides they were going to go on first tonight. Peter was all about the drop tower, and MJ of course wanted the Ferris Wheel. Bucky was well on his way to joining Sam in the world of being tipsy before sunset on Monday. Natasha patted his back and chuckled, "Should I text Wanda and tell her to prepare for a drunk Bucky tonight?"

"Nah, I'm nowhere near Sammy's level. She's gotta work late at school. All the teachers were put on notice that they gotta report back in a couple of weeks, so she's back and prepping already."

Wanda was the head counselor at her school, and her summer hours had already started to dwindle. Natasha took a picture of Bucky laughing at Sam spilling some of his beer, and sent it to Wanda anyway.

Natasha – 5:59 pm – "Have fun with this tonight, Wanda. I'm already like 2 hours behind this crew."

Wanda sent back a head smacking emoji, and Natasha found a spot at the table, "Fury, it's not like you to let loose on a Monday."

"Or ever," Bucky added.

Fury just grinned, "Well, when my team does a hell of a job, even I get to relax for a bit. And that's the closest you'll get to a compliment from me."

Natasha needed this more than she'd first realized. The first beer went down like water. Laughter and pictures galore poured out from the table, especially from the younger couple in the crew. Peter and MJ were in awe of hearing stories from when Sam, Natasha, and Bucky were their age.

Fury gave a smirk to Natasha as he spoke to the young bucks of the group, "Parker, you and MJ are the new kids on the block now, but back when these three, all found their way under The Herald's roof, this whole Monday night behavior was more…common place instead of a rarity."

It was true. Natasha was the first on board at The Herald, about 15 years ago. She started as an intern at the end of college, and then worked at the paper through grad school and never looked back. Bucky came on board a couple years after her. Sam was the last of the trio to arrive about 10 years ago. They'd all known and worked with each other so long, that it was hard remembering a time before they'd been each other's second family.

Sharing youthful days and late work hours, only meant lots of drunken nights and funny stories were locked away in the permanent vault of memories. On nights like these, some of those stories made an escape from that vault.

Bucky had just gotten another tray of beers for everyone as he sat back down, "Okay, Sammy…but remember when you had to cover that car expo at the convention center? You made such a fool of yourself in front of those super models."

Natasha was cracking up now too, officially on her second beer, "Oh my god. Bucky, you and I showed up to make fun of Sam's tacky suit he had to wear, to blend in with all the glitz and glam."

Sam added a little too loudly, "And boobs. Don't forget the boobs on all those models in their bikinis."

Sam was pushing way past tipsy. He was on his way to being fully sauced as he grinned at the memory. Bucky and Natasha just shook their head as Fury took over, "If I recall, I think I had to get all three of you out of trouble from that night."

The three of them started snorting from how hard they were laughing now, leaving MJ and Peter wanting the whole story as Fury went on, "I believe the night entailed Wilson fumbling over his words at a model named Ginger, and he literally tripped over an electrical cord and fell right in between…those boobs he so fondly remembers."

MJ and Peter looked stunned as Sam refused to look anything but proud of his accomplishment from a decade ago.

"So of course, Barnes and Romanoff start taking photos of Sam's face, smack between this poor woman's breasts. It drew a small crowd, but the real spectacle happened after Sam stood up, with that electrical cord still caught around his foot."

Natasha dryly added, "You know what happens in Dominoes, right Pete?"

Peter and MJ were laughing and nodding as Fury continued, "Wilson says he was suave with his tripping, but he was flopping around on the ground like a fish out of water. And these two…"

Fury pointed jokingly at Bucky and Natasha, and continued, "After they were doing their best Paparazzi impersonations with their cameras, couldn't help Sam up if their lives depended on it. Because they'd been sipping from flasks, they'd snuck into the expo the entire day. They pulled Wilson off the floor a little too forcefully, and they all fell on the ground like a house of cards…And that cord around his leg, proceeded to pull down a couple of large speakers nearby."

They were all chuckling at the memory as Bucky added, "Which then hit an electrical booth that was built out of shaky scaffolding, causing it to fall over too."

Sam raised his glass, "Which toppled right into a couple of food carts, and sent them rolling down the concrete floor."

They were a well-oiled machine, jumping on and off the story like popcorn as Natasha finished, "And wouldn't you know, those metal food carts crashed right into a couple of the fancy cars at the expo…"

Fury shook his head at his team, "Not just any of the fancy cars. Those food carts scratched a Bugatti, nicked an Aston Martin, and full on dented a Ferrari."

MJ asked, "How much did you guys have to pay?"

Fury chuckled as he jokingly smacked Sam's back, "They had to pay me with their lifelong servitude at The Herald. I gave the guy who was running the expo, free advertising in the paper for a year, and he called it good. But good god was it a mess for a couple days."

Natasha clinked her cheap plastic cup of beer against Bucky and Sam's, "I think it was the first time Sam ever got a tongue lashing from Fury. He was fully in the club at that point."

The three friends who were drunken fools long ago, all cracked up and said at the same time, "Dominoes!" Fury couldn't help but join in with their laughter.

The conversation turned into a verbal competition of who'd received the most tongue lashings from Fury, (Natasha, of course.) Another round of beers was ordered. A couple plates of curly fries and funnel cakes were eaten, and the team soaked in the Heat Wave, going on all around them. More locals showed up and a band started to play at the end of the pier. Most of the boats were pulling into their dock slips, so captain hats and linen pants were becoming more prevalent by the minute. All in all, it was just what the doctor had ordered for all of them.

Fun on a summer evening by the lakeshore. With music and drinks and good food. But a couple hours after Natasha arrived, Fury was off, who took Sam with him to make sure he got home safely. Sam hiccupped his goodbye to his team. MJ and Peter followed shortly after them to begin their night of carnival rides. MJ won their discussion as they decided to start with the Ferris Wheel.

Bucky said a little too loudly at the young couple, "Now don't get caught doing anything more than smooching! They frown upon that."

MJ blushed and Peter looked like he could turn into a ball as they left, and Natasha smacked his shoulder, "You are a heathen sometimes, Barnes."

Bucky just wagged his eyebrows, "It's what Wanda loves most about me."

Natasha scoffed, "It's what she tolerates about you because she loves you."

They chuckled, and Bucky was getting ready to leave too as Natasha just grabbed two more beers, "Come on, Barnes. What's another round?"

"You trying to live it up like the olden days, Romanoff?"

Natasha smirked, "I don't think that would be good for anyone here. Let's place a bet on how hungover Sammy is tomorrow."

Natasha sat back down, but Bucky was looking behind her. Speaking of that mischievous side he liked to tap into every now and then…Bucky had the biggest shit-eating grin on his face, "Sorry, Romanoff. Wanda texted a bit ago. She's home now and making some tacos. Gonna go inhale some food…and do some of my own canoodling with the wifey. You were invited, but you're not coming with me."

Natasha raised her eyebrow, "Is that right? I like tacos."

Bucky's grin somehow grew bigger, "That's right, Red. But don't worry, I think you'll be okay…I'm leaving you in good hands."

"Bucky, what are you?"

Before Natasha could make a joke about Bucky being whipped or wonder what the hell he was grinning at, she did a double take as she looked over her shoulder.

Bucky was waving over the one person Natasha had been trying to get off her mind all day. And the one person she'd closed the book on, literally a day ago. Both of those attempts were as unsuccessful as could be, but she put up a good fight.

Steve Rogers and his goddamn beard were behind her. He was in cargo shorts and a white tee and was walking over toward them.

Steve had seen Bucky, but just recognized the red head with her back to him. Natasha wasn't the only one trying to get someone off their mind all day long. Steve was about to turn around, but Bucky wasn't having any of it, "Rogers, get over here. Don't let this beer go to waste."

Natasha looked up and glared at her well-meaning friend, but he cut her off with a wink and a laugh, "You'll thank me later, Romanoff. You were acting like an idiot last Friday. And you got in your own head yesterday."

She thought about hitting Bucky. She really did. But as Natasha turned around at the picnic table on the pier, she caught Steve staring. Somehow, all thoughts of hitting Bucky and yelling at him were off the dock in a flash. Into the water they went, with the fish. She couldn't think of anything else at the moment.

Fumbling behind her, Natasha found her drink to distract her.

Well, this was just awkward.

Bucky stood up and forced his way to an easy exit, with all the charm and buzz he could muster, "Well Rogers, the thing about this one…is that she's stubborn as hell and doesn't do what's in her best interest sometimes."

Steve looked down and then back at Bucky, "It's Barnes, right? You write some great editorials. Tony Stark even thinks so. Just don't tell him I said so."

It was the first time the men had actually met, but with Natasha in both their worlds, it kind of seemed like they knew each other already. Natasha huffed out a breath as Bucky looked down at her, "Thanks, Rogers. Gotta say, we all think you're a spiffy writer too."

Natasha threw a scowl at her friend as he went on, "Anywayyy…Tony was here earlier with Barton. I think they partook in a lot of day drinking with Wilson and all the boating festivities. They were even drunker than Sam by the time I got here and left earlier. I'm sure we'll get some doozies of articles about all the starboards, sterns, and barnacles this week."

Natasha rolled her eyes, "Bucky you sound more like a pirate than anything. You can't just name nautical sounding words because you're on a pier."

Bucky was right on top of her words, "Romanoff, we're at a boating event at Navy Pier. Saying nautical words, is the only thing to do here. A 'hoy, Matey! I think the starboard side of these vessels are yar! Shorten the jib! Point the bow and increase by 20 knots! Look out for the port side and the afterburn!"

The man had no idea what he was saying, but Bucky threw every boating term he'd ever known into the ether, it seemed. And Natasha couldn't help but laugh at his ridiculous words. He was hamming it up as Steve rubbed the back of his neck, "I was going to meet Barton and Stark for a drink, but I got caught up on the job and well…here I am running late. Sounds like the two of them and Wilson had enough fun for everyone."

Bucky grinned, "Aye, Matey…they did. Fun was had by all. I think they found the stash of Rum."

"Oh my god, Bucky. You sound like Jack Sparrow more than Captain Ahab."

Bucky was cracking up at himself, "I think I'll take that as a compliment."

Bucky stood next to Steve, and in between him and Natasha, who was still sitting at the table. Barnes clumsily patted both their shoulders, trying to break through that awkward tension, "And now here you are, Rogers. Right where you need to be. Look, I gotta go. I got tacos and a wife to kiss at home."

Natasha tried to grab his arm, but he stepped out of her reach, "Rogers, there's an extra drink here. Maybe with a couple of beers in Romanoff, she'll actually play nice for once."

"Bucky, I swear…"

But Natasha's words had no effect on this situation. For right now at least. What Steve didn't know, is that Clint and Tony had texted with Sam and Bucky during the day, trying to get these crews together for shared festivities. Three of the four men got too drunk to actually plan anything. But Bucky was able to convince Natasha to join the team. He wasn't lying. She did need it.

If he was helping the rival journalists spend some time together in the process? So be it. The plotting wheel spun happily in his head, with this as the result.

He'd been at the pier a few hours now, and Bucky had the liquid courage to happily jump on and off this shenanigan train once he saw Steve, "Gotta run though. You kids have fun."

Natasha set her beer down and crossed her arms with her back against the table. Bucky was refusing to acknowledge her glare. He just winked at her instead before turning around to make his exit. She didn't get a chance to rebuke any of Bucky's words. He was gone, leaving a void of a few feet between her and Steve.

It felt much bigger than the actual distance.

That awkward silence returned as a few seconds passed before Steve finally let out a breath, "Look, Romanoff…I'll just leave."

What a difference a day makes. What a difference a couple beers make.

Natasha had spent every minute since last Friday, besides the half hour of arguing last night, trying to get this man out of her head. She'd spent the last month, not being able to ignore how her stomach tightened when she saw his muscles under those t-shirts of his. She'd told everyone in her life, that dared to ask or challenge her ridiculous behavior in the last few days, that there was nothing between them. And if there was, it was over, because she quashed it last night. But Natasha also knew, it was all a farce. Her brain was doing all the rebuking now. But it wasn't towards Bucky's actions either. It was towards her own thoughts, internally, as her heartrate increased, and the back of her throat tightened.

Natasha's bodily response was not because she wanted Steve Rogers out of her mind or eyesight. On the contrary, it was because she wanted more. The battle inside, that her stubbornness usually won over, was dulled by the beer and laughter and sun of the evening.

Natasha had mellowed enough, that she couldn't believe the words coming out of her mouth to answer him, "Steve, just sit down. I have this extra beer and all."

Steve blew out a little of that tension, "Boy, you sure know how to sweet talk a fella, don't you?"

She was right on top of his response, "I'm not sweet talking. I'm just saying, don't let this beer go to waste."

"Uh huh."

Maybe the razzing, and her article being everywhere today, made Steve a glutton for her antics right now. Or maybe he was just looking at her sitting there, in her sleeveless navy blouse and white cardigan, and denim shorts and was pulled in. She was trying to squirm her way out of this, and he couldn't help it. Natasha Romanoff intrigued the hell out of him.

And just like that, Steve took all of his own contradictions to his words a day ago and mentally tossed them into the water too. Yes, he'd called her out on all of her bullshit excuses, last night. Yes, she'd ghosted him on Friday. Yes…all the pitfalls were still there, with them being rival journalists on a story bursting at the seams.

Simply put, it just didn't matter because Steve's curiosity won his own internal battle as he sat down across from her.

Natasha turned around to face him and slid the beer across the picnic table. Steve shook his head, "Things have a funny way of working out. Don't they, Romanoff? Here's to that drink that never happened."

Steve smirked as he took a healthy gulp of his beer.

That break in humidity had lasted for a few days. Which left all of the patrons at the Heat Wave, with gorgeous weather for a Monday evening. There was another band starting to play at the end of the busy pier. And against all of Natasha's competitive and stupid excuses she leaned into over the last few days, she went with the moment and raised her glass, "Here's to that drink that'll never happen again…since I'm so full of bullshit, right?"

His smirk grew into a grin, "Well, what can I say, Romanoff. I think we both have a knack for calling it like we see it. I stand by what I said yesterday."

Steve wasn't the only one that was intrigued.

To be kept on her toes. To be left in the trail of his motorcycle and parting words yesterday, only to be convinced she'd made a mistake. To keep thinking of Steve all throughout the day, even though the story was the top priority. Yeah, the tall, dark-haired, and bearded man sitting across from her had Natasha intrigued too.

So where did that leave them?

Searching for someplace in between.

Natasha sighed, "Look, Steve. I can be a real ass sometimes."

Steve leaned into whisper like he was shocked, "You don't say."

"Jesus, you're unbelievable, Rogers."

"And you're impossible, Romanoff."

They paused and looked at each other as the hint of a smile emerged with their words, "I've heard that before."

They had heard it before from others, many times in their lives. But they'd just heard it not even 24 hours before, from each other. Only they'd called each other the opposite last night.

The sun was setting and the lights from the pier and rides made everything glow like they were caught in a jar of fireflies. Natasha looked to her side, staring down the dock as she took in a deep breath, "I've been told…that I acted like an idiot on Friday."

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. They weren't travelling that distance. But the effort it took for Natasha to get out of her own way, and for the two of them to find a way through their combative nature, sure felt like it.

A single step with a single breath. And a little admission of ridiculous behaviors. The alcohol didn't hurt either because some of that combative tension was swept away.

Steve let a beat pass before answering, "From what I read this morning, and what I heard from the police, you acted with a lot of tenacity and strength…but go on."

Good thing dusk was approaching. Natural light was gone for the day, and the glow that was left from the carnival rides hid the creeping blush on her face, "Yeah, well, you would have done the same."

Steve didn't miss a second now, "And you would have done the same with the footage I got from the train station, right?"

Damn. he threw her words right back at her. A day later, and a good night's rest and somehow Natasha huffed out a little more of that tension, "Touché, Rogers."

Natasha took a breath and tried to take another step, "Look, it came out the wrong way last night. I was an ass. But what I was trying to say, that came out so rudely yesterday, is true. This story, whatever it is…I don't think it's a good idea for us to start something right now."

Steve took another drink, "That sure sounds a lot nicer than, 'I'm not into you, so beat it.'"

Natasha responded in kind, "Well aren't you snappy with the comebacks. I believe I told you, 'Go home, Rogers,' to be exact."

Steve let out a breathy laugh, "Yeah, that sounds about right…"

Natasha shook her head and took another drink too, "Look, you caught me off guard yesterday, and I was exhausted from everything that happened on Friday. I dug in like I always do, and then everything came out wrong. But the underlying sentiment is true. I don't think we should go…there right now."

It's amazing what can happen, when two adults in their late 30's and early 40's, let cooler heads prevail. A lighter feel had settled in their back and forth.

Steve grinned as he sat his beer down, "Romanoff, I'm not looking to be married again. I get it. The job is your life. So much so, that you can avoid having a life. I get it more than you realize."

There those veiled words were, yet again, about Steve's history. He'd mentioned it yesterday. The intrigue from Sunday night only spiked with the revelation just now. Did he say married again?

Natasha was focused on his words, but Steve took a breath and continued, "How about this. Two rival journalists, working the same story. Understanding the pressure the other one is under, and realizing that it's okay if a couple drinks or dinners or calls, are shared between their shared experiences."

Not moving past Steve's revelation a second ago, Natasha raised an eyebrow, "Married, again, huh?"

Steve chuckled, "Well, people that get to know me, find out all sorts of things that are surprising. I'm sure the same could be said about you."

Natasha blew out a breath, "Okay then, if you're not looking for that…what are you looking for?"

Steve smirked and picked up her beer to hand it to her, "How about a friend?"

A cheers was raised and a peace offering was extended.

Two birds, one stone.

Or two beers in this case.

Natasha chewed on her lip, trying to stifle a genuine smile from forming, "Friends in an active rivalry, huh? Would that make us frenemies?"

"Cute. If that's what we need to tell ourselves to make it okay, sure. I mean it though, Natasha. No pressure. No hidden agendas…"

"No hanky panky."

Natasha's eyes went wide as her words slipped out. Where the hell did that come from? Okay, apparently the couple of beers were making her more relaxed by the minute with that slip of a tongue.

A Freudian slip of a tongue that is.

Steve couldn't help but laugh a little too hard, "Yeah, Natasha, sure. No…hanky panky."

Now Natasha let out a dramatic breath which only caused Steve to join in a little more, before she added, "Seriously though, when the story calls, or when I'm trying to get the scoop, there's no hard feelings."

"You telling me that, or yourself, Romanoff?"

Natasha deserved that. And then some. "Yeah, okay, Rogers. No taking out my frustrations on you. Besides, it's not like you'll be scooping me again."

Steve winked at her, "Of course not."

Those goddamn winks from the men in her life, were going to be the death of Natasha Romanoff. Whether they were driving her crazy or mad, was a toss-up.

"Wait…what does that mean, do you have another scoop?"

They both laughed and realized that tension was nowhere in sight.

Somewhere in between the instant rivalry, combative hazing, and heavy flirtation over the last several weeks, Natasha and Steve landed in a fallout yesterday evening. It was an overreaction that went every which way but right.

But now, thanks to a little cross paper conspiracy between Bucky and Tony, both teams had come out for drinks at the pier. It wasn't a set up exactly, but Steve and Natasha both agreed to join their respective teams. One just arrived later than the other. Tony's crew was already gone, and they'd gotten even drunker than Sam had this afternoon. And Bucky scrammed once Steve arrived, forcing Steve and Natasha to spend a little time together.

So here they sat across from each other, with beers in hand on a gorgeous Monday evening in Chicago.

Just the two of them.

This nothing, turned something, turned messy.

But now, here Steve and Natasha were, somewhere in the middle.

It wasn't nothing. That was apparent. Anyone staring at them could tell the attraction was there. But by their own decision tonight, it wasn't going to turn into something either.

Not right now at least.

It wasn't the right timing. Well…it wasn't right for Natasha and her drive and ambition. But if it wasn't right for her, then it wasn't right for Steve either. But as far as consolation prizes go, Steve kind of thought he found gold.

The pressure was off. They weren't fighting or actively participating in a daydream. They weren't dating.

They were…something else.

They were sitting here, having those drinks, (still flirting with each other if they were truly honest with themselves.) But the pressure was off for it to be anything more, for right now. Somehow in the middle, Steve and Natasha were on the cusp of becoming friends.

And for now? That would do.

"To friends, Natasha."

"I like the sound of that, Steve."

Steve's eyes became a little softer for a moment, as he drew attention to Natasha's neck. With the evening setting in, it was barely noticeable. But he knew what the faint marks on her throat meant, "I know you're going to say you're fine…but I really did stop by to just see if you were okay, last night."

Natasha blew out a breath as Steve went on, "I'm really sorry that happened to you. And I'm sorry you had to find Hope Van Dyne like you did."

The red in her cheeks spiked as Natasha felt a little warm. His genuine concern flowed from his eyes and through his words as she shook it off, "You would have done everything I did, Rogers. And it's not like I even knew Hope. It just is such a tragic thing for anyone. It's so goddamn senseless. And it pisses me off, that someone or some people are out there, trying to stop people like you and me from finding the truth. Everyone deserves better. Especially the people who've been killed…in whatever this story is."

Steve wasn't doing a good job of hiding that curiosity towards everything that encompassed the woman across from him. Simply put, Steve looked like he could listen to Natasha read a phone book when she got going. But he also knew she came here to have a good time tonight, and actually get her mind off of this rat race of a story for once, so he gave a warm smile, "Well, Romanoff, anyone that knows what you're like pissed off, is worried right now. I'm sure of it. Your article…was really something this morning. I mean that."

Natasha looked down to hide her smile and deflected by putting the attention back on him, "If I wasn't such an ass hat over the weekend, I would have had the chance to tell you…your article on Friday was really something too. I mean that, Rogers."

A genuine compliment accepted and given. A little of the venom sucked out of their feelings from last night. And an understanding, that they weren't going to focus on trying to be anything else but friends right now.

Somewhere in the middle was looking pretty damn good right about now. All the awkwardness had seemingly evaporated with their conversation. And for once, what wasn't discussed between them, was work.

They fell into a trance with their natural chemistry and time passed without any thought. Before they knew it, an hour had passed. Two corndogs, a spool of cotton candy, and a giant pretzel were shared with several more beers. It was all taken in with the bluegrass music playing live at the end of the pier. On this Monday evening meet up, that wasn't a date.

Stubbornness took a backseat as a little denial led the way.

Something about looking like a duck, and quacking like a duck, and walking like a duck, not being able to pass as anything but a duck, traversed through the back of their heads. But it was swatted away with a blink of an eye.

Nope, this was not a date at all.

Steve and Natasha were laughing at some teenagers running by. Steve had learned Natasha grew up in a small town about an hour away from Chicago before going to Northwestern. It was how she knew about Old Miller's Pond, where she'd sent Steve to, on his wild goose chase. Natasha discovered the faint hint of a New York accent emerging, after Steve had a couple of beers. He'd mentioned it in passing before, but he talked about growing up in Brooklyn and going to school at NYU.

Steve was a diehard Dodgers fan but was impressed that Natasha could track the history of the Dodgers leaving Brooklyn to go to Los Angeles, long before either of them were born. He was also intrigued by how big of a Cubs fan she was.

"I mean, sure. Wrigleyville is a fun time and all, but it doesn't compare to the tragedy of Brooklyn losing the Dodgers to the coast, Romanoff."

Natasha was eating the last bit of pretzel, as she licked the salt off her thumb, "Hey, Cubby fans had to deal with all sorts of heartbreak, being without a championship for over a hundred years. 100 years, Steve! Brooklyn only lost the Dodgers in '57. Plus, the Dodgers won the whole thing in the 60's, 80's, and 2020. That makes the Cubs championship drought wayyy worse."

Okay, Natasha recalled the year the Dodgers left, and had baseball facts coming out of her like a fastball. She was mid pretzel bite before ending with her drink of beer. Yeah, he was more than intrigued with this woman, and he was more than up for the sports banter.

And this was definitely not a date.

Look, Romanoff. You guys won in 2016. That's not that long ago, so your whole curse of the Billy Goat and the Chicago Cubs longest sports drought is over. The Dodgers aren't ever coming back to Brooklyn, and those championships are great and all. But they're not the same since the team moved to Los Angeles. I'd say that makes my baseball woes far worse off."

Natasha was grinning ear to ear, "We'll agree to disagree."

The conversation flowed as easily as their drinks did as another hour passed. Steve played baseball and football in high school. Natasha ran track and cross country. Both dabbled in intramurals and club teams in college but settled for more of their lifelong interests, becoming active in their college newspapers. Steve's favorite junk food was pizza. Natasha's was a burger and fries, but she made a joke that giant pretzels and corn dogs weren't bad runners up.

Steve answered, "I think we'll agree…to agree on that one."

The twinkle in both of their eyes matched their quick responses and banter.

Steve loved sports memoirs and autobiographies for books, joking that he'd have to buy a copy of Natasha's own hard cover, Finding Your Own Beat. Natasha chewed on her lip, shaking off talking about her book. She shared that she loved political thrillers and spy novels but had caught several sports autobiographies over the years. And Natasha wasn't afraid to admit, that she'd read the entire Twilight Saga in a single day, and really did adore the Harry Potter world.

Steve raised his hand like he was whispering to her as he joked, "I'm team Jacob."

Natasha threw her napkin at him, "Well, I'm pretty sure everyone is team Robert Pattinson, the more years that go by." They raised their glasses again.

They chatted about their favorite movies about journalism, and laughed when they both answered, "All the President's Men." Steve joked, "I would have been worried if I accidentally said Newsies."

Doing her best 1920's news editor accent, with a make-believe cigar in hand and all, Natasha answered, "Nahhh…see here, Slick. Newsies is fun. Fun, I tells ya! So, don't yous forget about it, seee."

"Is it just a general rule, when trying to do a talkie's era impersonation of a newsman, that a cigar has to be held?"

Steve's question was answered with both of them nodding and saying at the same time, "Absolutely."

When asked what a favorite TV show from childhood was, they answered simultaneously.

"Murder She Wrote," Steve admitted.

"M.A.S.H.," Natasha shrugged.

They'd both given each other a run for their money on who undercut the other's expectations the most.

Natasha laughed, "Got a thing for Angela Lansbury, Steve?"

"Hey, my Mom loved that show. Watched it every week with her. And Angela Lansbury can do no wrong."

Natasha nodded, "Well how could I argue with that?"

It was the beer and smiling that was causing the warmth in his cheeks, right?

Steve smirked, "So, M.A.S.H. huh?"

She shrugged, "Kinda similar to you. My Dad loved that show. I think it's a requirement of the baby boomer era…we watched it together on re-runs all the time."

As the evening wound down after another hour had flown by, Natasha drank the water that Steve had gotten them a minute ago. It was after 11:30 pm. They caught MJ and Peter leaving about 20 minutes ago. They looked Ferris Wheeled out, but MJ couldn't hide her smile at the sight of Steve and Natasha still sitting together. And Peter couldn't hide his smile at his girlfriend.

The band was still going, but the crowd started thinning out. They naturally decided to call it a night and walked towards the cab line.

All of the tension from yesterday (and earlier) was gone as they learned they both started out as copy assistants after college. Natasha naturally tried to connect a couple of dots about Steve, "So how does a copy assistant from The Wall Street Journal in New York, end up in Chicago?"

Steve opened the door to a taxi for her, "Well, any good journalist knows, you can't give away everything at first. I'll save that for the next edition, Romanoff."

Natasha chuckled as she settled into the backseat. Their eyes met as she looked up at him, "Cute, Rogers."

The grin wore off as Steve let his sincerity shine through, "Hey, Natasha? You really did kill it today with your article. And it's worth saying again, that I'm really glad you're okay."

That flush in her cheeks returned. She was in a sleeveless blouse and a thin cardigan on a mild summer evening, but that wasn't what was causing her to feel warm. And this time, she wasn't able to hide her blush under the glow of Navy Pier at night.

"Thanks Steve…for everything. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Natasha."

There it was. Somehow, somewhere in the middle, they found themselves calling each other by first names again throughout the evening. It felt as good saying it, as it did hearing it.

Steve shut the door and hopped in his own cab as they went off in separate directions. They'd started off the day, thinking how yesterday had ended with their implosion outside of The Herald. They'd chased newsbeats on the street, talking with locals and citizens, with the backdrop of street fairs and boats at the pier.

But with all the hustle and bustle of the story, Steve and Natasha had found a way to take a step back and meet in the middle. Not pure rivals, but most importantly, not nothing at all either. Because they'd realized tonight, that being nothing to each other just wouldn't do. So, the middle is where the journalists settled this evening. And the middle felt pretty damn good compared to a day ago.

And that middle was absolutely, positively, 100% not a date.

At least, that's what Steve and Natasha kept telling themselves on their cab rides home. Maybe the middle had a little room for denial too. But they'd take it, because it was a nice twist in this story of theirs for once.

---

End Note:

Hope you all had fun with that Yelena scene. I just adore her, so getting to write a scene with her and Nat is just the most fun! Almost as much fun as it is to write Natasha and Steve see-sawing on where they stand with each other 😊.

Thanks so much for reading and supporting. It really means so much to me!

I love hearing from readers, so help a writer out and leave a comment with your thoughts.

Have a great weekend!

Cheers! ~~ Kat