Beats on the Street Chapter 8: Entertainment, an avengers fanfic

Beats on the Street

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

Chapter 8 – Entertainment: A Ball of a Time

This Friday evening, invited guests will attend an Inaugural Charity Ball along Chicago's Riverfront. Hosted by the Stark family, the lucky recipients of an invitation will attend the black-tie affair to sip on top shelf liquor and wine, nibble on five-star chef's cuisine, and dance the night away to Chicago's best brass and string musical offerings.

Citizens will be able to catch a glimpse of Chicago's finest as they wine and dine under the stars, from the bridges above. But the Riverwalk has been closed off to the public as Howard and Maria Stark raise money for their charities, helping out the public parks and youth centers. If this Inaugural Ball is as big of a success as the town is already making it out to be, we'll all be hoping to be invited next year.

What a week.

What a month.

What a chain of events that had unfolded in Natasha's life over the last six weeks, truly, as she stared at three dresses, hanging on her closet door.

It was Thursday night. The day they'd found out about The Herald's invite to the ball on Friday. More importantly, it was the day after Natasha and Steve's evening, running through Lakeside Lockers, trading insults with Wilson Fisk, and sleeping on each other's shoulders.

Nothing was spoken out loud, but there was a shift last night. And Natasha knew it. The intimacy of their conversation, learning so much about who they were. The trust forming, as they shared information with each other on speculations of Fisk's role, and Midwest Pharmaceutical's involvement in several deaths, including Hope's.

But most importantly, it was the way they looked at each other.

There was something burning well beyond physical attraction.

Unspoken, but understood, something had changed. And well beyond obvious, to those around as their co-workers and friends tried to nudge, even coercing the two of them into taking a chance. Even if Natasha was refusing to fully admit a chance was even possible, she couldn't get out of going to the event.

Fury and her team wouldn't let her.

Who could refuse the idea of going to a ball, right? It's not as if by semi-commanding his team to attend, he was asking them to run a marathon or cure cancer. It was all in good fun. And the team deserved to soak in all the fun they could get. Getting gussied up and enjoying a fancy party, all paid for by Howard and Maria Stark, wasn't a bad way to spend a Friday night.

Besides, Natasha wasn't going with Steve. She would just happen to see him there. As thoughts of seeing him in a penguin suit filled her head, she decided to just go for it and get a new dress.

"What the hell," were her exact words as she left The Herald Thursday evening.

Before heading home, Natasha stopped by a long-standing fashion boutique, The Red Room, right off of Michigan Avenue downtown.

The shop had all the character and decadence of the swankiest stores in town, but it lacked the snobbish attitude of most customers and workers in those locations. Which is precisely why The Red Room was Natasha's go to place, whenever she needed a dress for an event and had to put some heels on.

Natasha found two dresses within five minutes of walking into The Red Room that Thursday evening. One black, one blue. But Milena, the owner of the store, stopped her at the register before checking out with the clerk, "Natasha Romanoff, if you think you can sneak in here and leave without saying hello to me…"

Natasha smiled at the older woman, "Milena, I honestly didn't think you'd be working right now since it's after 6 pm."

Milena chuckled, directing the clerk to go to the back room, "You're not the only woman in Chicago who's most passionate relationship is with her work, Natasha."

Natasha smiled as Milena continued, "Now what do we have here? Not one, but two dresses? Is this for the Charity Ball tomorrow night?"

Somehow the woman just knew as Natasha asked, "How do you do that, Milena?"

The woman hung the black and blue dress on some hooks behind the counter and looked back and forth, between Natasha and each gown, "Natasha, ever since I've known you, you always wait until the last minute to get a dress…to whichever event you can't get away wearing pants to."

Natasha actually chuckled, "I don't always wear pants."

Milena was already walking around the boutique, looking at a couple of other gowns, "This one is too loud for you. This one hides too much. Too short…too complicated."

The owner continued for another minute, crossing off dress after dress from her mental list before finding what she was looking for, "Yes, this one is perfect for you, my dear. And yes, you do always wear pants or shorts. And leggings under a skirt are still pants, Natasha."

Natasha rolled her eyes, "Most of the places I'm rolling around in, wouldn't be fit for an evening gown."

There was a sparkle in Milena's eyes, "Then those nights where you do show off your figure, we must make it really count. Those two dresses aren't for you. They're beautiful, but not for you. Or for a ball at the change of the season. Summer is but a memory and Autumn is on the horizon. This is your dress."

Natasha initially tried to argue with the Milena, but she never won those battles. The storeowner had never steered her wrong but arguing with a anything that had two legs, was just a habit at this stage in Natasha's life. And the dress Milena picked out may not have been loud, but it was much bolder than the black and dark blue options.

But to show a little compromise, Milena told Natasha to take all three dresses home, so she could still pretend there was a choice to be made.

But as Natasha left The Red Room, Milena said, "You can think there's still a decision between those gowns, Natasha. But I know the black and blue dresses are already planning their return to The Red Room."

An hour later, Natasha was staring at the three dresses hanging in front of her at home. Wanda was texting pictures of her own two choices, a black or a red gown.

Natasha sent the three options back to Wanda. There was a navy off the shoulder, velvet mermaid dress that fit her like a glove. A black, silk halter top that showed every move and breath that Natasha made. And then there was the last one. The one Milena wouldn't let Natasha leave The Red Room without. An emerald green, strapless gown, with a tight bodice and a high slit, made out of chiffon. Elegant black beading and crystals cascaded along the bodice and made everything come together.

Natasha had instantly shaken her head when Milena initially brought it out at the store, "Milena, I don't know..."

Milena scoffed, "Child, this matches your eyes and for once, it will have everyone talking about how stunning you are, instead of who you've ticked off in the papers recently."

Natasha joked, "And how much I look like Christmas."

Milena gave a serious stare, "If you mean that this dress is something to draw a magical feeling once a year, from even the most cynical of people, then yes."

Natasha rolled her eyes as the store owner continued, "Or if you mean that you'll surely be a standout in a room full of sparkle and glamour, then yes. You will be absolutely radiant."

Natasha couldn't deny it. She did love the dress. But still took home the other two as her backups that she knew she'd look great in too. Wanda texted her again.

Wanda – 8:15 pm – "I should just go with the black one, right Natasha?"

Natasha – 8:16 pm – "What's Bucky think?"

Wanda – 8:18 pm – "I won't make either of us blush with what James said. Let's just leave it at…I think I'll have to make him behave tomorrow night."

Natasha – 8:19 pm – "Well, I think you should go with the red one. There will be too many black dresses to count. And if he's going to be pawing at you all night, he needs to be able to locate you."

A winky face and a blush emoji response were added as both women added their respective LOL's.

Wanda – 8:25 pm – "Alright, Nat. That means the black is out for you too. Looks more like lingerie anyway. You know what I'm going to say…"

Natasha – 8:27 pm – "That I should go with the sure thing and feel great in Navy and velvet all night?"

Wanda responded with a rolling eyes gif before adding the last text.

Wanda – 8:30 pm – "James told me all about him, Nat. Wear the green one. You know it'll knock his socks off…And before you try to argue with me, I'll just say goodnight. I have to get some rest and get to school early in the morning so I can leave early. The rugrats better behave in my absence tomorrow afternoon!"

Natasha – 8:31 pm – "By rugrats, you mean Bucky, right? See you tomorrow afternoon to get our drink on."

Wanda sent the rolling eyes gif again.

Wanda – 8:32 pm – "James is my eternal rugrat. And we're not just drinking tomorrow afternoon, Nat. Mani's, pedi's, and hair. Gotta turn us into passable guests, with the city's wealthiest tomorrow. Night, night."

Natasha – 8:35 pm – "Right, gotta turn this frog into a…frogette? I refuse to say princess. And at some point, the rich and elitist class should slum it up and put some sneakers, a hoodie, and some jeans on. Blend in with us common folk for once. But yes, primp and pampering…and drinking, tomorrow afternoon. Got it. Night, night."

Wanda added a kiss blowing emoji, and Natasha sent one back. They'd see each other tomorrow afternoon. Wanda had chosen red. And it was settled now. Natasha chose green.

Christmas would not be the thing that came to mind when anyone saw her in the evening gown. Especially that certain someone, Bucky had told Wanda all about.

Natasha shook her head as a smile formed. She knew she was going with the green dress as she bagged up the beautiful blue and black options. She'd return them next week. The shop owner was right, as always. Milena had brought the gown out, knowing it was the one. Wanda wouldn't hear of any other choice either. And Natasha just knew deep down it was her favorite by a mile.

So there, she'd made a decision. Natasha would be going to this extravaganza solo, in this gorgeous construction of emerald green. And if she happened to run into the bearded man she couldn't stop thinking of? Then so be it.

Speak of the devil.

Steve – 8:49 pm – "What if I told you I was actually rooting for the Cubs tonight. Extra innings. Been tied 3-3 since the 7th. They've got the Yankees on the ropes. That's always something that Dodgers and Cubs fans can come together on…rooting against the Yankees."

Maybe it was the air of romance that evening gowns, tuxedos, and a Riverfront Ball promised with its allure. Maybe it was staring at her own green dress, she couldn't wait to wear tomorrow night. Or maybe it was the fact that her heart skipped a beat when she got the text from Steve.

The Cubs game was on in the background, and Natasha had been loosely paying attention, but she became more attentive to her phone than anything right now.

Her smile refused to wane, and Natasha decided to just go for it, regarding an additional decision for the evening.

Natasha and Steve had flirted and then ended things before they could get started. They'd crossed paths and fought, and then decided to try to be friends. They dove headfirst into that quicksand as they spent yesterday crawling out of their skin in an elevator, and on a motorcycle and in a pub.

And today? Neither of them could stop thinking about each other.

And up to this point, neither of them had made the move to actually call and speak on the phone to each other, either.

But Natasha was going on just enough fumes of exhaustion from yesterday and writing all day today. And just enough of a high, from the thought of the gown in front of her and a ball, that she didn't text Steve back. Instead, she did what neither had done before.

Natasha pushed the little phone icon next to his name as she sat on her couch, with the game playing in the background.

"Lemme guess. You had to hear my voice to believe I wasn't being coerced into cheering for your Cubbies."

Natasha smiled and swore she could feel him doing the same, "Well, I'm sure you'll have to make it up to the Dodgers at some point. But yeah. Blink twice if you're acting of your own free volition, Rogers."

Steve chuckled, "How can you hear if I blink over the phone, Romanoff?"

"I'm the city's best journalist, remember? I have my sources."

"I'm sure you do…What was for dinner?"

Natasha sighed as Steve added, "Oh god, Nat. Don't tell me it was another frozen dinner."

She grinned, "Okay. I won't tell you it was another frozen dinner."

He answered, "One of these days, I'm going to actually make you something that doesn't come from a factory."

Natasha scoffed, "Hey, I'll have you know these are top of the line frozen dinners, Rogers. I don't skimp on my pre-packaged preservatives."

Steve grabbed a beer and sat down on his own couch again, "No, of course not. Spare no expense on the cardboard creations. Please tell me you at least had a good glass of wine to wash it all down."

Natasha lifted her glass as if Steve could see it, "On my second glass, Rogers. Now lemme guess, you fired up some sort of chocolate souffle or tiramisu, or baclava and it was just easy as pie."

Steve actually laughed, "Natasha…you just listed off four desserts in two seconds. That was impressive. Got a craving for something sweet?"

A little warmth crept up inside her, "It's all Greek to me, Rogers. I prefer something salty over sweet anyway."

"Well, I didn't have dessert for dinner, no. I just grilled a steak and vegetables and roasted some potatoes."

"Yeah…that's all Greek to me too, Steve."

He laughed again, "Anytime, Nat. You name it, and you can join me."

A little pause passed as they both thought about the double meaning of his words. Natasha cleared her throat, "So…anything of note today on Midwest and everything we pieced together?"

Steve felt her trying to shift the conversation as he let out a breath, "No, not really. Spent most of the day writing Friday's edition. Mayor Coulson promised to sit down with me next week to go over some things. I really don't think he has any connection at all to this, you know. But it'd still be good to interview him at this stage."

Natasha hummed in agreement, "Neither do I. I just get a kick out of giving him a hard time. He's a pretty decent mayor, but the man shouldn't expect an easy victory and needs to remember the city is all of ours."

Steve added, "Talk about a thankless job. Coulson might be even more maligned than you or me in general. But yeah, I think he's a decent guy too."

Natasha chuckled, "Well, journalists piss off whoever they write about. It's pretty much a guarantee that Coulson is going to piss off half of his population, just by waking up in the morning. It's the nature of the beast of politics."

Steve agreed with her as he took a drink and Natasha added, "But just because he may not be involved, doesn't mean that some people in power in this city aren't. Do you know that a couple of city council members are also board members for Midwest?"

Steve was right on top of her words, "Yeah, and that one of the largest donors for Eleanor Bishop's campaign, works there too. Too many coincidences to be random…"

Natasha added, "But too little evidence to make it anything but conjecture. Not to mention that Bishop's family has generational ties, working with Fisk's thugs. But it's always been rumored and never proven when Fisk has been on the hot seat."

Another pause before Steve cleared his throat, "All right now that we've settled nothing with work…"

A couple of quiet sighs came out, followed by a silence that lingered for a little too long. Natasha made sure she didn't lose him, "Steve? Are you there?"

There was a nervousness in Steve's voice, "Yeah…yeah. Sorry. I just…Okay, here goes."

Natasha heard him take a breath as he added, "I have a question for you, which you do not have to answer. I feel like if you don't answer it, you're kind of answering it, you know?"

She chuckled, drawing a blanket over her knees, "Steve, was that the actual question?"

He cleared his throat again, "Man, you think I'd be better at this being 41 and divorced. But it's never easy…"

Another second that felt like a minute passed as he added, "Damn…I'm just going to say it. Nat, are you going to Stark's Ball tomorrow night at the Riverfront?"

That warmth from her stomach rose to her chest. But the nerves sputtered to life inside of her too, "Yeah…Yes, I think so…Um…"

Natasha blew out a long breath as she yelled at herself to get it together, "Yeah, Steve. I'll be there…" Setting her wine glass down, she drew her knees up beside her as she began playing with the corner of her blanket.

Steve was trying to stay quiet and not jump for joy, and act like he'd talked to a woman before in his life. But he'd already started down this rabbit hole, so why not just go a little further.

"Well, that wasn't what I really wanted to ask. I guess what I'm trying to say…Natasha, I'd sure like it if you'd go with me to the ball."

Those nerves were doing more than sputtering right now. Natasha felt the blush on her cheeks. The moment came and she didn't think beyond Steve's words for once. And she didn't let what ifs and how to's cloud her answer. She simply felt their natural connection. Just as she had last night, and every night before since their truce at the pier.

Instead of deflecting, Natasha just went with it, "Steve, I'd really like that."

Whose smile was bigger was either's guess.

"Well geez, Nat. It must be your night. A frozen dinner, a fumbled invitation to a ball from yours truly…and would you look at that, the Cubs just got a walk off homerun in the 12th."

She'd stopped toying with the blanket as that natural calm returned. Natasha curled up even more, "Well, the frozen dinner is obviously the biggest catch out of those options."

"Obviously," he responded.

Knowing Steve was going to be at the ball, was the main reason behind all of her thoughts regarding the green dress from before. But now, she'd gone from attending solo, to officially going with him. It had only made the anticipation increase of seeing him in his tux, and yes, seeing his reaction to her in her gown.

The word was never mentioned regarding tomorrow night. But both knew they wouldn't get to joke about a Friday evening at a Riverfront Ball, not being a date anymore.

They hadn't been fooling anyone over the last couple of weeks, except themselves. But somehow, a decadent ball, elegant evening wear, and the romance of the city was just a little too thick for even their denial over semantics and the word date.

Before they knew it, an hour had passed as the channel the Cubs game was on, switched over to an old Julia Roberts' rom com.

Neither were really paying attention as they sank deeper into their respective spots. Yawns had come out naturally. Other details about their lives were shared about lessons and mistakes made on the job. If they'd ever had any surgeries (Steve's appendix and Natasha's tonsils, but nothing else.) If they'd ever been punched in the face (Yes.) If they'd ever punched anyone in the face (both said yes, a little louder) and commented on those being stories for a different day.

First jobs they ever had were shared, and Steve made it clear that Natasha couldn't say her Dad's newspaper, because that was obvious. Steve was a lifeguard, and Natasha helped at a local florist in the summers when she was a teenager.

They shared odd quirks (Steve couldn't roll his tongue, and Natasha was double jointed in both hands.) They even exchanged embarrassing stories, where Natasha learned that Steve tripped in front of a grade school crush named Hannah. He landed on his own tray of food as he fell to the linoleum floor. And because fate was dishing out cruel favor to the young lad that day, Steve of course hit Hannah's tray on his way down too. Hannah's milk and bowl of chili from lunch that day, landed directly on his head on the ground. It was quite the decoration for a young Steve. And the entire lunchroom let him know how funny they found the entire matter.

Steve joked, "I'm pretty sure I looked like a monster from The Thing…And now you know about the day I got into a food fight with myself."

Natasha was snorting from laughing so hard, but she finally relented after a minute, to share a story of her own.

Natasha was naturally the editor of her high school newsletter. Steve wasn't surprised, and really was just amused as she told him that she really thought she was queen of the castle with her Dad owning the local paper and all.

"Imagine that. A teenage red head, pretending the school was Chicago, and she was the best journalist in town…even back then."

"Yeah, yeah. I know, Rogers. This tiger had those stripes from birth on, pretty much."

When it came time for the last edition of her 10th grade year, Natasha had worked very late one night, printing out the highlights from the year.

Only she made an error.

Yes, 90 percent of the last newsletter showcased the Senior interviews she'd been working on all semester. But on the very back page, right in the middle, where the last senior spotlight was supposed to be, Natasha's late night had gotten the best of her. She'd been working long on this project and refused to let anyone else help…or proofread. She didn't even let her Dad look it over as her youthful arrogance was in charge.

Natasha's buildup to the climax of the story had Steve already guessing the outcome as he added in a few, "Oh no's," throughout.

Natasha had developed into a great writer for a 10th grader. But she was also…a 10th grader. She was a teenager, who liked to write diary entries on her computer. Diary entries filled with wishes and gossip and judgmental thoughts towards snobs in her class. It was filled with teenage angst and hormones, and yes…crushes.

As soon as Natasha mentioned crush, Steve filled in the blanks, "Oh my god, Nat."

The fact that Steve had grown into calling her Nat on a semi-regular occasion at this point, was the only comforting thing Natasha found, as she took this embarrassing trip down memory lane.

"Well, by the time I realized, that no Senior Spotlight was on the back page…And that I'd actually put my ridiculous teenage, love-filled thoughts about my crush, Johnny in its place…it was too late."

Steve was trying to hold back his laughter because her story obviously took the cake when it came to embarrassment. But by the time Natasha was telling Steve that no one was reading anything at all about any Senior Spotlight she'd written, he was gone.

Steve was dying from laughter as Natasha finished, "The only thing the school was talking about was the angsty jumble of words focused on Johnny, printed on the school newsletter on the back page."

If a snort came out of Natasha earlier, Steve's sounds could only be described as a mix between howling and a cackle.

"Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, Steve."

"Nat…you were so stubborn, even back then, that in your refusal to have anyone else help you with your paper, you actually professed your teenage love to every person in your school."

"More like every person in the town, Steve. We were pretty small, so let's just say that word travelled fast."

Natasha had told this story and had the story re-told to her, so many times over the years. It had sort of become this thing of legend, when Natasha's name ever came up with her parents in their tiny town of Red Oak.

She joined in the laughter, thinking back to how truly mortified she was as a 16-year-old, and how hilarious it all seemed now.

Steve was smirking. And she could tell through his tone, he felt just as relaxed as her. She turned on her side, scrunching a pillow under her.

"So, what was so special about Johnny?"

Natasha was smirking now too, "Oh Rogers, tell me you're not jealous from a 20-year-old ghost story of a crush…"

Steve had slid down and was lying on his back now, "Hey I'm just saying, if Johnny didn't snatch you up back then, then he's an absolute tosspot."

Natasha chuckled, "Tosspot? Hints of your years overseas come out when you're tired, Rogers?"

"Mmm. Maybe. But you're not squirming out of this, Romanoff. What made Johnny so dreamy?"

Natasha yawned again, "Oh you know. He was a junior. Was the quarterback and his nickname was Johnny Football."

"And here I thought you liked a guy who could do a crossword."

"Well, there weren't many of those around in Red Oak, Steve. Sue me…when it came to my teenage hormones, I guess I was ever so ordinary. But I guess I probably thought the guy was a tosspot. Because shocker…he did not return any feelings from my very public love letter."

They both chuckled as they said together again, "Tosspot."

"You ever run into the girl who dumped her milk and chili all over you, later in life?"

"Nah. She didn't even go to the same high school as me. Big city like Brooklyn and all. I bet she remembers it though."

Natasha was smirking again, "I guarantee she remembers it and has shared the story many times. If she could only see you now…"

Steve definitely picked up on the not so hidden compliment. "What about you, Natasha? Johnny Football know what a chance he missed out on, with Chicago's best journalist?"

Natasha was grinning as she turned the volume down on the TV, "I've seen him a few times, sure. He still lives in my hometown. Wife, four kids. Fenced yard and shutters on a house and everything. I think he even has a dog and a goldfish. He's in construction and is watching his own kids grow up as smalltown heroes."

"Well sure. He sounds swell…but do you think he has frozen dinners, Nat?"

Natasha groaned, "Steve, I'm perfectly fine with my nightly dinner of nuking a frozen slab of goodies from the icebox."

Steve was cracking up again, "Well, when you put it like that, how could I resist? You'll have to make me one sometime too. How's that?"

"Yeah, I'll put on an apron and everything as I chef the hell out of my kitchen for you."

"Hey, you and an apron? I'm not going to get that image out of my head. Seriously though…I bet that was really embarrassing, Nat. I'm sorry."

"Steve, it was like 20 years ago. The guy's oldest kid is a teenager now. Trust me, Johnny has never…and will never carry a torch for the redheaded newsletter editor, who overshared her heart's content with her entire tiny world."

"Yeah…well, Tosspot."

Third time was the charm with that word from him, because Natasha felt her cheeks blushing again as she hummed quietly.

Steve spoke a little softer as he turned down his volume, "So…you know about my lunchroom run in, and my sad marriage and even more predictable divorce. I just know about your football dreamboat. So, who's the guy that almost snatched you up for real, Romanoff? You mentioned being engaged last night."

Natasha smirked, "You trying to get all the goods on me for my own Senior Spotlight, Steve?"

"Oh, I got the goods. Just poking around a little…seeing what I find."

She pulled her blanket up a little more, "Well, if you could believe it, somehow that part of my life seems even farther off and longer ago, than the embarrassing love letter to Johnny. It's weird, isn't it? You go through these phases in life…where you grow and change and think it's permanent. But then you find yourself back to where you started, leaving that entire loop of existence off on its own. And the further you get away from it, the more foreign it all seems."

Steve was drinking in every word, "Well, what's the saying…life is more like a circle than a line."

Natasha took a relaxing breath, "Yeah it is. I guess I tried to fall into some norms in grad school when I met Matt. He was in law school at the same time. We were both done around the same time too, and he proposed. I said yes…it wasn't a long engagement at all. I think it only took nine months of me working fully on my own, after my internship turned into a job at The Herald, and him working at his first law firm. We both just sort of knew it wasn't going anywhere."

"Reality set in, huh?"

"Yeah, something like that, Steve. He was smart and we got along great in college. On paper, we probably looked great too."

Steve let out a quiet laugh, "I've heard that a number of times about Peggy and me over the years. But something just didn't…"

"Match up." She finished his sentence.

"Yeah, Nat. I think those lines we all go through…are more like rings inside a tree. Growing and expanding on who you are. Sometimes those rings stretch in weird ways, but they still add to everything. And it all led you, to where you are right now."

Natasha joked, "With a book, no ability to cook, and…"

Steve finished for her, "One hell of a look."

Natasha tried not to relish in his words too obviously as she cleared her throat, "Well…speaking of one hell of a look. What time should I expect you in your 007 apparel tomorrow?"

Steve shut his eyes and smiled, "Dinner's at 8 pm. I'm guessing Stark and Barton and Harley…and all of your crew will be there for the cocktail hour. Wanna say, 6:30 I'll pick you up?"

Natasha couldn't wipe the smile off her face if she tried, "That sounds great, Steve. Do I need to plan for my hair to get all disheveled from the bike helmet again?"

Steve laughed, "Oh come on now, Romanoff. Don't you worry. Your hair will be just fine. No motorcycle tomorrow."

Natasha's intrigue ticked upward, but she looked at the clock and yawned, "Steve, tomorrow is actually today."

Their conversation flowed as naturally as the river would, right in front of the ball tomorrow night. They'd chatted through more than several innings of a baseball game, and through the full romantic comedy.

Spoiler alert. The guy got the girl at the end of the movie.

They'd sunk into their conversation just as they did on both couches and before they knew it, hours had passed.

It was after midnight.

"Time flies,"

"When you're having fun," Natasha concluded his phrase with another yawn.

Steve let out a soft chuckle, "Get some sleep, Nat. I'll pick you up…later today, okay?"

Natasha twisted into her blanket and hummed into her phone, "I'll be there with bells on. Goodnight, Steve."

"Goodnight, Nat."

Somehow, Steve knew that Natasha wasn't making it to her bedroom and probably fell asleep shortly after saying goodnight. That thought warmed him almost as much as imagining her in whatever she was going to wear to tomorrow night's ball.

Tonight, rather.

Steve shut his lights off and fell asleep, filled with thoughts of her embarrassing story. The details he'd learned, and every rung of life she shared with him. It warmed him. It soothed every part of him. Nothing about Steve and Natasha was pre-meditated or written on paper, like their former choices in life. But they had grown as naturally in the last month, closer even, as they had with anyone that had come before.

And as Steve fell asleep, one thing was also true for them both.

They absolutely couldn't wait for tonight.

It was 12 hours later as the lunch hour drug along that Friday. Steve just texted a gif of a clock ticking by slowly and Natasha responded, "See you tonight…don't spend too much time getting all dolled up, Rogers."

She followed up with a wink emoji, and he was all smiles on his end. That feeling of anticipation was still present as she put her phone down.

That was Noon on Friday.

Steve had avoided questioning from Barton and Pepper and Tony and Harley for most of the morning. But it didn't mean his team didn't try after they'd found out he was taking Natasha.

Steve hadn't even sat down at his desk yet when Tony started, "Rogers, you get a hotel room tonight, like it's Prom? Or did Natasha's Dad make you promise to have her home at curfew?"

Steve let out a sigh and made a gesture to Pepper, "I'll see you tonight, Pepper. Gonna hit the streets, because I'm not listening to this all morning."

Clint batted his eyes, "Aww, Rogers. Come on. We're just excited you are finally gonna spend some time with Red, without it being centered around work. But seriously, make sure you brush your teeth and use mouthwash before you pick her up."

Steve rolled his eyes while the two grown men laughed at each other's jokes, spawned from complete love and affection for Rogers…and boredom with a little of that TGIF sprinkled in.

Harley was even acting more grown up than Clint and Tony, "Hey Steve, do you think Pepper would care if I didn't go tonight? I don't know anyone to go with and…everyone else going is so…"

Now Steve did start laughing at that, "Old? You meant to say old…right, Harley?"

Pepper was even a little more relaxed with it being Friday and was standing in her doorway, enjoying some coffee. She'd overheard as she walked over, "Harley, it'll be more than just us and politicians and bankers. There will be celebrities and athletes. Great food and a band. And I promise the DJ will be much more geared towards the younger audience."

Pepper's words might as well have been spoken in Portuguese, because Harley didn't move a muscle on his face as Steve came to his rescue, "Pepper, come on. Why don't you cut Harley loose after the dinner if he wants. Let him bring a few of his friends and then they can get away from all of us senior citizens. That is, unless Barton wants to let his and Laura's daughter go as Harley's date."

Clint had been making an inappropriate joke with Tony but instantly shot up in his chair, "What? Wait. Harley, are you dating my daughter?"

Harley looked a little stunned as Steve smacked Clint's shoulder, "No, he isn't Clint. It was a joke…but that's all were doing here, right? Poking a little fun?"

Clint blew out a breath, "You're a little shit sometimes, Rogers."

Steve winked at Clint and they both laughed as Harley asked again, "So…can I bring a couple people tonight, Pepper? We'll leave right after dinner."

"Old, Pepper. We're all old, and Harley wants to get on with his weekend without us holding him and his young whipper snapper friends back."

Steve and Clint looked at Tony with a strange look, and mouthed to each other, "Whipper snappers?"

But Pepper rolled her eyes at her boyfriend, "Fine, Harley. Bring a couple of your friends. You guys can even have a separate table all the way in the back, next to The Herald and Star's table. And the rest of you will be seated with Fury's team, so behave. Well, everyone except me and Tony. Because we'll have other hosting duties."

Tony pretended to make a salute to his commander and boss, "Aye, aye. Captain. Hey, speaking of seating, maybe we should put Steve and Natasha at their own table together. They can play hide the shrimp fork with no one around…"

Tony's joke, that made zero sense, fell flat as he wagged his brows for no one.

Harley had left, texting his friends to see who he could drag to the event with him. And Clint had moved on from making fun of Steve too. Steve just shook his head at Tony, "Maybe the trick is, I just need to let you and Barton tucker yourselves out with all your jokes until they're not funny anymore. Kind of like a toddler throwing a tantrum until they fall asleep. Not gonna lie Tony, that was just a sad attempt at…well, I don't even know."

Tony huffed and stood up dramatically, "Pepper, I'd like to report a hostile work environment. Steve's learning to fight back too well. I don't like it."

It was all in good fun and they were all chuckling at the silly and light feeling of Friday setting in.

Pepper paused her laughing and looked at her boyfriend, "Tony, why are you even here this morning? Aren't you supposed to be helping your mother and father set up for the ball?"

Tony patted his chest and sides and legs, as if he would find an answer to her question before he finally blurted out, "Oh, I just came to pick you up, Pep."

Pepper crossed her arms as Steve said, "Pepper, didn't you say you were meeting Tony at the Riverfront later this morning? I'm no reporter of facts or anything, but I think Tony is just trying to avoid breaking a nail while moving some tables."

Tony gave a joking glare as Steve quickly waved goodbye and added, "Just trying to keep you on track, Stark. Wouldn't want you to be late for your dance."

The banter was light and easy and was all in good fun as Tony patted Steve on the back and handed him a set of keys, "Treat my Gray Lady right, Rogers. I don't want any stains on any of the seats."

"Jesus, Tony. Too far, man. It's not even 8:30 yet."

Clint walked away and was officially done, drinking his coffee. And Pepper gave Tony a look, that told him to get out of the office if he didn't plan on doing any work this morning, "Right. Right, Rogers. I meant alcohol. Don't drink and drive and spill any alcohol on the leather in that beast of a car. But make sure to have fun with her. She'll be quite the ride…"

"Tony!"

That was Pepper as Tony's hands were raised, "I can't help it, Pep. You know that Romanoff's team is just as bad as me. It's the two of them. It's their fault. All sexy and denying with their looks. It has all of us waiting with abated breath on when they're gonna slap a label on this thing and call it official."

This was going nowhere, fast. Steve shook his head, "I'm just gonna go. Pepper, I'll be at the library most of the morning, but gotta make a quick stop first. I'll see everyone else tonight. Tony, regardless of you being less mature than Harley or any of his friends, thanks for lending me a car tonight."

Before Tony could make another sexual innuendo-filled joke, Pepper stopped him and kicked him out of the office to go and help his parents.

The team at The Star were set for tonight.

And Steve made his way to his pitstop before heading to the library.

30 minutes later Steve had parked along Wacker Drive on his bike, and made his way to the top of Willis Tower, formerly known as Sears Tower. It was actually pretty close to The Star, downtown. But waiting for the elevator and the ride to the top at the famous Skydeck is what was always a bit of a hassle. But it was Friday morning and still early, so the traffic wasn't unbearable from tourists yet.

Willis Tower. The former record holder for the tallest building in the world, stood over 1400 feet in the air. Covered in its iconic black glass, the skyscraper rose 108 stories above ground, and the view from the top was always breathtaking. No matter how many times a person had been up to the Skydeck at the 103rd floor, even if it was an odd circumstance like a journalist meeting a contact, it was always memorable.

Contacts for journalists often met in obscure and dark corners of the city, trying to avoid being seen. But the alternative to that, was hiding in plain sight and using high traffic locations to meet.

Jimmy Woo had texted Steve early this morning, "Meet me at the Skydeck at Willis. 9 am."

Jimmy was the guy in tech that Steve knew and had sent him the article of the four doctors with the picture for their Wildfire project.

"Hey Jimmy. Thought you were joking when I first read your text. Didn't want to meet at your office?"

Steve was swallowing and fidgeting with his ears, recovering from the 60 second rush of an elevator ride. Climbing 1400 feet in a single minute's time, was quite the altitude change. And it affected the ears of every visitor to the popular tourist stop.

Jimmy was dressed in Friday casuals and was seated on a bench near an informational display on the tower's history. He worked for a tech security company along State Street downtown, and Steve had been to his office a few times over the last month. But the last time he was at Jimmy's office, was before Wilson Fisk was interviewed by J. Jonah Jameson.

"I know most of your regulars might not be phased by whatever bear you and Natasha Romanoff are poking at, but I have a wife and kids. And after I heard about Hope Van Dyne, I was sure I'd be fine still. But Fisk going to war with you in the paper?"

Steve gave a concerned look, "Jimmy, has anyone made any contact with you or threatened you or Monica?"

Jimmy shook his head, "No, Steve, nothing like that. But Monica said she saw a couple tracksuits lurking around downtown the other day. I guess all this just has me spooked. I'd rather not have you come to Monica's and my office anymore until all of this cools down and you crack the story fully open, you know?"

"Sure, Jimmy. That's not a problem. The picture and article you sent me were really helpful. How are Monica and the kids?"

Jimmy nodded, "Kids are great and keep us busy. They're 12 and 14 and getting way too cool for parents who work in big tech security. And Monica, is all in for helping. When I told her I had given you the picture the other day of those doctors, after I'd helped you figure out that the train footage was altered, she wanted to know what she could do to help too."

Steve smiled at Jimmy as he continued, "Monica's mom was a Chicago cop that was killed about 20 years ago in the line of duty. So, anything that will help take men like Fisk down, Monica's all for helping where we can. Which is good…because I'm great at the research and navigation of big data. She's much savvier when it comes to shoring up encryption and protection methods."

Steve blew out a breath and thought of Natasha's joke, of being all Greek. Steve could manage his way around a computer just fine. And he understood what Jimmy had given him up to this point. A photo and an article. And proof that the footage of John Doe's 'suicide,' had been doctored. But when it came to the dark web and Tor networks and encryption coding, Steve might as well have been tossed in the ocean without a life preserver.

It apparently showed because Jimmy chuckled, "Sorry, Rogers. I get into talking shop and forget sometimes that I actually am the one who knows more than you in this one area."

Steve scoffed, "I doubt it's just the one area, Jimmy. I take it that you're the internal expert and Monica's external. Sounds like you make a great team. I wouldn't worry about the tracksuits, Jimmy. They're all over the place, trying to make Fisk's presence more visible because of his efforts to buy property closer to the city. But I hear you loud and clear. Your names are protected and will be kept out of anything I write."

Jimmy gave a sigh of relief. Even though Steve had told it to him before, it sounded good to hear again as Steve added, "So lay it on me. What wonders have you and Monica performed to help?"

Jimmy handed Steve a black hard drive that connected via a USB port to a computer, "Okay, Rogers. You asked about checking some public camera footage. So, Monica created a patch for you to actually have access to CCTV. I don't know what you're looking for, but at least you'll be able to access the cameras remotely as long as you're using this drive. It will just bounce the location back to our office to make it look like Monica or I are logged in."

Steve was blown away, "Jimmy, this is great."

Jimmy added, "I have to ask…do you even know what you're looking for, Rogers? Searching through CCTV live footage and history, can be an endless maze of data if you don't have some direction…It's pretty easy to get lost and overwhelmed."

Every public camera on every street in Chicago. Every train station and bus stop. And all the archival footage from each camera.

It was already overwhelming. The image of all the maps of all the trainlines and streets flashed through Steve's brain. The transit structure was the nervous system of the city. So, trying to navigate, trying to find another clue could be worse than finding a needle in a haystack.

But Steve did have a couple of ideas on where to start, "I think I'm going to focus on the train accident sites, Fisk's operations down south, Midwest's building downtown, which is only a couple blocks away from here…and then around Chinatown for now. I'll see where that gets me."

Jimmy chuckled, "Yeah…good luck with that. You've officially narrowed your options down from about 500 million to 10 million videos, if you're considering past recordings too. If you have some dates in mind, it will help narrow it down even further."

"The last six weeks primarily. And maybe around one neighborhood, up to a few years ago."

Jimmy shrugged, "That should help then a little. Just don't get frustrated if you're five hours in, and you feel yourself going cross eyed. But you're the journalist. I guess you're used to stakeouts and a lot of down time, hitting the streets."

A couple of kids ran by their bench as a mom chased after them.

Steve smirked at them, "You and Monica bring the kids here ever? It's quite the site. I've actually been in the Empire State Building more, being from Brooklyn and all. But still. Every time, it's kinda crazy how much you can see."

The sight was like being in a parachute, except without falling. Instead, visitors were frozen in the air, 1400 feet above the ground. Visitors could take their time, and soak in the aerial landscape of water and concrete and city and suburbs all around. But just because someone wasn't actively falling, didn't mean the adrenaline and natural unease wasn't felt. When the wind hit the tower just right, the slight swaying sensation was felt in every occupant on the Skydeck.

Jimmy nodded, "Yeah. We've all been here more than a few times over the years. The first time the kids were too scared to go out on the ledges over there. They were really little then. But the last couple of times, Monica had to pry them out of the overlook, so other people could take their turn. But you make a good point Rogers."

"What's that, Jimmy?"

"If I tried to ask you to pick out a single brick from a single house, that you didn't know the specific location of, from 108 stories high, think you could find it?"

Steve blew out a breath, "I get your point, Jimmy. Trying to find something on CCTV when you're not specific with dates and locations and times, would be worse than trying to find that brick from this view. I promise, I won't let myself go blind looking at a computer screen."

Jimmy stood up, "Hey, you're the strong and brave journalist, holding people like Fisk to the fire. I just sift through data and tech with my wife. But I'll give my advice where I can."

Jimmy was about to leave, but he quickly added, "And last thing…Speaking of advice, Fisk must have some guys who work on the police force, because that footage around all his businesses on the south side, are squeaky clean. Which is odd for any location. But for him? It's pretty obvious, considering who he is and what he does."

That wasn't surprising to Steve and was in line with what Jones and Castle and Peggy had told him. Fisk had got some contacts in his own places across town.

"Thanks for your help, Jimmy. When all this is settled, I'm going to take you and Monica and the kids out for a big dinner. You name the place, and it will be something to look forward to. Hey, before I forget to ask, you show the kids my magic trick I taught you?"

Jimmy was at the elevator and laughed, "If only I'd know it like five years ago. Teenagers are hard to impress. But Monica on the other hand…She gets a kick out of my magic endeavors and enjoyed it. I'm gonna go. You heading down?"

Steve shook his head, "I'm gonna walk the Skydeck quick. Take a few minutes and then head down. But we'll talk soon. Have a good weekend, Jimmy."

"Football and volleyball practices have already started with school back, so lots of kid carting. But yeah, you to. And keep up the great work in the funny pages, Rogers."

The elevator doors closed, and Steve did take a quick walk around the Skydeck. It was getting a little busier, but still manageable for a Friday morning. The binoculars to zoom in on different areas of Chicago were scattered throughout the floor. The information boards circled the room, displaying the history of Chicago and The Tower. Signs to remind people to stop by the giftshop were sprinkled in, and wall to wall windows gave the illusion of being on top of the world.

Or at least Chicago. Endless streets and houses and neighborhoods below. The vast expanse of Lake Michigan with all of Chicago's other landmarks highlighted by signage along each wall of the Skydeck. And then there were those glass ledges. Reinforced, and safe for all that stood out on them. But it gave the added effect of not just being on top of the world, but being able to stand in mid-air as well.

Steve smiled at some kids who were nervously standing on one of the ledges as a mom tried to get a photo, and then looked over to see a couple in their late teens or early 20's, taking a selfie as they stood on a separate ledge.

All of Chicago was below and around, and Jimmy was right. This was what Steve had to navigate through, trying to find something on the closed-circuit television footage. He'd try to tackle that insurmountable task this weekend. A few minutes had passed, and Steve finally left the Skydeck, and found his way to a public library to try and do some research on whatever the Wildfire project could be. He'd spend the next few hours here, and just head straight home to get ready for tonight.

All of the overwhelming thoughts of CCTV footage and internet searching, for a project he knew nothing about, flew away for the moment.

Tonight, is what mattered to him right now.

Steve sent a quick text to the woman he'd pick up this evening, and he could feel his own nervous system flickering to life, just thinking about it.

And as for Natasha, this Friday?

In a similar capacity, she was having none of the razzing that was going on as soon as she walked through the doors of The Herald Friday morning. First Sam asked if their love spell would go longer than midnight tonight, or if her and Steve officially turned back into pumpkins at the stroke of 12. Then Peter and MJ, as cute as they were, asked if Natasha needed any tips on how to act on a date.

Bucky laughed, and Sam choked on his coffee. And Natasha gave a joking glare to the young and twenty something lovebirds, "No one mentioned the word date, Kiddos."

To that, Bucky raised his brow, "Natasha, if it walks like a duck and talks like a duck, you don't need a formal introduction to know…it's a fucking duck."

Natasha rolled her eyes and grabbed her bag, "God, you all are like a broken record. I've already had enough of this. I'll catch you all at the ball tonight."

That was at was 8:30 am. She'd made it barely 30 minutes and wasn't going to put up with the peanut gallery for the rest of the day. But Fury caught her before she walked out the door, "Romanoff…not so fast."

Natasha groaned as she walked right past the gossip gaggle, straight into Fury's office, "What do you need, Fury? I gotta go…"

Fury let out a chuckle, "You don't have to go anywhere. I know those children who just happen to be good at their jobs, aren't letting up, so you're trying to do what you do best…run."

Natasha kicked out the chair across from his desk, "Fine. But I could put the day to better use than dealing with their dating gameshow out there."

He grinned, "Fair enough. But before you go, remember I'm cutting everyone loose at Noon today."

Natasha rolled her eyes, "How could I forget. You're giving people the afternoon off…to pamper themselves?"

"Romanoff, why can't you ever just take direction without question?"

"I believe that's the catchphrase from every dictator whoever rose to power. And I amtaking direction. Wanda is meeting me after lunch, so we can pamper ourselves to death. Happy?"

Fury sighed, "God you're a pain in the ass."

"Why thank you, Sir. And I believe that's the first truthful thing you've told me this morning."

Natasha was smirking as Fury shook his head, "Look, I hate to give you an outward compliment. I know how that can go to your head and lead you to act against your own best interests. But I spoke with Pepper Potts this morning. We got our recent sales reports early today. They're both higher than they were even two weeks ago."

Natasha cocked her head, "It seems your occasional contact with Pepper Potts, has turned into daily phone calls."

Fury groaned, "Natasha. Stop."

Okay…it was all fun and games, but there was something there.

"Fury. Spill it."

Fury gave a stern look towards his most veteran staff member, "Romanoff, Potts and I have spoken many times since she's taken over The Star…Hell of a job she's done over there."

"Uh huh. Hell of a job. You've told me this before. And since when has giving out compliments, like candy at a parade, been your style?"

"Natasha. I'm trying to be courteous since a very big olive branch was extended our way with our invitation to the ball tonight. The way I've been thinking recently…The Star is a lot more like us than they are different. And honestly? Our two papers have a lot to benefit from each other as print media goes up in flames all over the country."

"Weren't you yelling at me to not get scooped a month and a half ago?"

Fury had a glint in his eye now, "I was yelling at you because you needed a good kick in the rear, and I'm happy to say…you've seemed to snap out of it. You're welcome."

Natasha scoffed. Apparently, these tables had turned, and Fury was back in the driver's seat.

"Okay, so…do my work. Don't get scooped. But be friends with the competition, but also continue to have record sales. Oh, and go pamper myself. That's why you brought me in here?"

Natasha winked at her boss and smiled as she drank her coffee while Fury answered, "Natasha, you are so focused on beating what's right in front of you, that you really sabotage the road ahead sometimes. More often than not, you make things so much harder than they need to be."

Before she could give a snarky response, he added, "You've been kicking ass the last six weeks. I mean it. And I just wanted to clarify something from our last conversation about all of this."

Natasha was a little confused, "I seem to remember you telling me something along the lines of…great job…or that's my girl, after I knocked the article out of the park after Hope's murder."

Fury sighed, "Natasha, I meant what I said then. But you're as thick headed as me, and figured it would be worth saying again…my past is prologue with personal advice…and my ex-wives would tell you to steer clear. But I'd like to think you actually listened to me a couple weeks ago about life outside of these walls."

Natasha knew where this was going now. It was in the realm of what Bucky said only yesterday. And what her parents had been telling her for over a decade. Hell, it's what Fury himself had told her two weeks ago, right before her and Steve had their blow up outside The Herald.

Fury held up his hand, "I'm just a man, way past retirement holding onto the only thing that's loved me back as much as I loved it. And sometimes…I feel that choice I've made and all its consequences."

Natasha set her coffee mug on her thigh before she answered, "Fury…"

But he continued over her, "And like me, you tend to blow things up, right as they're about to take off."

Natasha rolled her eyes but was warmed by his intent as she let a real question slip out of her, "Did you know that Rogers was overseas and wrote as Joseph Grant for the last 13 years?"

Fury grinned, "I didn't when he was first brought on. But Pepper might have let it slip last week. It sure makes sense, with you getting that fire under your ass right after meeting him though. He's quite the accomplished journalist himself, Romanoff."

Natasha looked at her boss, "Why didn't you tell me who he was last week? I have been reading his articles pretty much the entire time I've worked here."

Fury shrugged, "It's the journey not the destination, Romanoff. You do much better figuring things out on your own, rather than being told…"

She scoffed, "Well, I guess I have you to thank for us going tonight to the ball then. Steve's picking me up at 6:30."

Fury sat back as a warm smile formed, "I might have heard that already this morning from those squawkers out there. But for what it's worth, I'm glad you're going with Rogers tonight. It's good for you."

"Jesus, this bullpen needs to get other topics to gossip about."

He laughed, "They talk because they care about you, Red."

Natasha looked at the secondary father figure in her life, "If I'm such a stubborn ass, that needs to figure it out and not be told…then why are you telling me this?"

Fury chuckled, "Well, I think you've already figured it out, Natasha. I'm just telling you this in case those excuses try to rear their ugly head tonight. I'm nice like that."

Before she could say anything, he added, "Plus, I'm your boss and can use my independent judgement on when to scold and give you orders."

The message was clear for Natasha tonight.

Specifically, her.

Behave. Play nice. Get out of her own way. And have fun.

Time would tell if she'd listen or act in her own best interests, but it was sure sweet of him to care.

"Nick Fury, all rough and gruff, but those that know him best, know he's just a big softy when you wear him down."

Fury waved her off. It was as sentimental as the two of them would get. They liked it that way. But Natasha paused at the door and looked back at him, "You know, Nick…I hear you talk about your age and past mistakes and being way too late for you…I personally think that sounds an awful lot like an excuse. And there's another saying that could be applied to you."

Fury raised his brow, "Oh, and what's that?"

Natasha smirked, "It's not the age. It's the mileage."

Fury grinned, hearing Natasha throw his sentiment right back as she finished, "So why don't you use your past as a warning sign too. Kick the tires around. Get a tune up…change the oil…"

"Romanoff…"

She started laughing as she left, "See you tonight, Fury. I'm gonna try to catch the Mayor before I go and get all…gussied up."

As far as advice went, they both dished it out and could benefit from what they received.

"Mayor Coulson, Natasha Romanoff is here again."

The assistant outside of Phil Coulson's office went a little wide-eyed as some muffled yells could be heard from where Natasha sat. She laughed under her breath as the phone went silent. And the receptionist named Mary tried her best at being polite, "The Mayor is unfortunately all tied up today, Miss Romanoff."

Natasha smirked, "Well, if you don't mind then, this is a free space for taxpayers. I think I'll just start on my next article while I wait…let's see if a few minutes pop up for him."

Natasha practiced her fair share of stubborn sit ins over the years, waiting for higher ups in their offices as they tried to give her the brush off. But it had been a while since she'd planted her rear in Coulson's office. Mainly because she was so busy running all over for more than a month, trying to catch other threads in this mystery. Today though, Natasha was giving the brush off to her annoying co-workers who wouldn't shut up about her and Steve.

So, she had a few hours to kill.

Mary's grin was anything but genuine as Natasha put her bag on the adjoining chair. But before she could sit down, a familiar voice emerged. Someone had seen her walk to the Mayor's office suite and followed her.

"Romanoff, I'm going to start charging you an hourly fee for protection pretty soon."

Natasha smirked, "Jessica Jones, don't you have some poor citizen to harass? I thought you were allergic to City Hall."

Jessica Jones nodded at Coulson's receptionist, "Hey Mary, mind if I have a minute with Romanoff here? I'll see if I can convince her to make an appointment with Coulson next time instead of just showing up."

The receptionist grabbed her purse and rolled her eyes, "I don't think she'll listen, but thanks Jessica. I'll go and grab a coffee, want one?"

"Nah, thanks. You have a good weekend."

Mary said the same thing, leaving Natasha alone with Jessica, as the journalist looked a little surprised, "I didn't know Mary was on a first name basis with anyone. And I didn't know you had those pleasantries in you, Jones. Why is everyone full of manners for everyone but me."

Jones scoffed as she leaned against the wall, "I can't help it if I bring out the best in people, Red."

Natasha rolled her eyes, "Good god, if there was ever a lie to be so bold…you're even snarkier than me."

"And yet, I'm the one constantly coming to clean up a situation you've found yourself in, Romanoff."

Natasha chuckled, "What the hell are we even arguing about?"

Jones smirked, "What the hell are we ever arguing about, besides our cheery demeanor and work? I was just here on a security check since our district covers City Hall. I spotted you a few minutes ago. Looks like we're both solo this morning."

"Speaking of…where's Castle at? Going to etiquette school?"

"Yeah, right? He's the only one I know who wears a scowl more than you or me. But he's back at the precinct. We're a little thin this morning back at the shop, so we drew straws…I was the lucky one. He has to answer phones and work the desk this am, before we go out on patrol this afternoon."

Natasha laughed a little, "Never thought coming to City Hall would be considered a draw of luck, but I guess if the alternative is listening to angry citizens and false leads on cold cases…"

"You got that right, Romanoff. So, I caught your article this morning. If I were you, I'd steer clear of Chinatown right now, or anywhere else Fisk may be at. Castle and I won't always be patrolling at coincidental times to save yours and Rogers' asses."

It was 9 am as the women chatted. And Steve and Natasha's articles hit the streets a few hours prior. Neither of them backed away from asking the questions that arose from their encounter with Fisk.

KINGPIN REALTY SIGNS SPOTTED CLOSE TO CHINATOWN: Fisk's Seedy Affairs Inch Closer to Downtown.

FISK WANTS NEW MAYOR AND TO EXPAND HIS FOOTPRINT ON CITY: Why All of Chicago Should Care

Steve had interviewed some of the locals who had differing opinions on Fisk's event for the neighborhood. A few were very vocal against Fisk stepping anywhere near their street. But most didn't want to voice their opinion against the thug, anonymous or not. But a few others did share their concerns about tracksuits being a bad influence on the neighborhood youth.

Neither journalist wrote about the heated words exchanged, because the story wasn't about them and their emotions. It was about whatever unknown role Fisk played in the train crashes, and more importantly, his detrimental influence on whatever neighborhood his businesses infected. Steve's angle was more about the local opinion of the current neighborhood at risk.

Natasha's article focused on the harsh reality of prior neighborhoods that changed for the worst.

"I thought growing up in my neighborhood was as bad as it could be when I was a kid. We didn't have the nice schools and all the parks that the suburbs and Northern Chicago had. But looking back, all I can see is how much worse it is now. Because there is no neighborhood anymore. There are no parks at all, and the schools that remain are more holding cells for kids during the day, instead of places to learn. But we got a casino and strip clubs, so that's all that matters, right?"

The quote was from a retired city councilman, Isaiah Bradley, that didn't bother with being anonymous, and didn't care who he provoked. A similar spirit was in the journalist interviewing him for Friday's article.

Isaiah ended with his interview with a bang.

"I think anyone that sees a realty sign pop up close to them, from Wilson Fisk, should do everything in their power to make sure he doesn't obtain other properties nearby. And if he or his tracksuits ever come knocking, tell them to go jump off a cliff. Nothing good has ever come from anything that man has touched."

Natasha didn't need to give her scathing opinions based on her personal encounters with the man. She let the affected people from former neighborhoods do the talking for her. And she let the facts and figures do the talking as well.

Men like Fisk will use terms like reallocation of funds or relocation of residents to better neighborhoods, so the current one can get a facelift. It's fools' gold, and everyone who's ever dealt with Fisk on any business dealing, can tell you such from experience. His facelift is only under the guise of flashing lights at night, for watering holes designed to take your money for nothing in return. His reallocation of funds means taking more from the poorest parts of Chicago, and re-directing to his pockets. Not the citizens, whom he is bullying out of their homes.

Instead of looking at Fisk's latest realty signs near Chinatown with shock and surprise, this city should look at it with question and determination. Why is he trying to encroach closer to the inner city and downtown? What does he gain to benefit, besides money and plenty of space for slush funds to mix? And most importantly, how does the city and people of these neighborhoods fight these efforts? We should be focused on expanding the culture and character of our neighborhoods, not worrying about how he's expanding his business ventures with only one goal in mind.

It's the same goal that drives everything in Fisk's life. How to better position himself with more power, in this city he claims to love.

Natasha hadn't mentioned the vulgar nickname that the wealthiest in town like to call Fisk. And she didn't mention their scuffle or anything about his veiled threats on the street. He'd already disclosed his attitude towards Natasha and Steve in his interview with Jameson. The citizens did most of the talking in The Herald and The Star, that Friday morning.

And if Jessica Jones read their articles with a raised brow this morning, then Fisk was probably hitting something with his fist or cane.

Natasha crossed her arms, "Well, I know you didn't stop over here to talk about the newspaper. What's up, Jones?"

Jessica chewed on her gum for a few seconds, clearly contemplating her next words. "Romanoff, I swear to god, if I get burned on this, you're going to have to worry about me more than any threat Wilson Fisk could lob at you."

Natasha felt a lurch in her stomach as she sat up and grabbed her notepad, "You've read enough from me, to know I never burn anyone as a source, Jones. You got something…what is it?"

Jones narrowed her eyes, "No, I didn't say that. Here's the rub, Red. There's rumblings Frank and I hear. But there hasn't been any solid ground or leads with suspects in the train crash. Six weeks in? That's more than disheartening. It's goddamn suspicious. Enough that Castle and I did a little digging over the last couple days when we worked overnight at the precinct."

Jessica had Natasha on the edge of her seat as she continued, "Look, there's nothing firm enough to actually bring anyone in, but the trace explosives discovered at The Red Line? They're common among a lot of construction companies for when they're needing to clear out areas or standing structures."

Natasha raised her eyebrow, "Construction companies?"

Jones shook her head, "Yeah, you don't even need to say it. Because it's pretty common among all of them, so you're not going to be able to pin it specifically on Fisk because everyone uses the same nitrate explosive material."

Natasha huffed out a breath, "Son of a bitch…I swear that bastard knows every loophole and cave to hide in."

"He does. But I know you've been trying to figure out if The Red Line was a distraction for John Doe. After we caught Fisk near Chinatown, Castle and I got to talking."

"And what did you're talking conclude, Jones?"

"Remember how Fisk helped renovate that train station all the way down near Chatham a few years back? It's directly south of Chinatown and Halsted."

Natasha started thinking about the L Train map in her head, "The Red Line crash was over three miles west of The Blue Line, Jones."

Jones had a grin on her face now, "Yeah, but there's also a Red Line station straight north of The Blue Line station and from Fisk's renovated Chatham station to the south. The train that crashed? It passed through that other Red Line station that same morning."

Natasha's eyes opened a little as a couple dots connected, "You think Fisk is somehow trying to make a move on public transit? There's no way he could ever get anywhere near having control of the Transit Authority, Jones."

Jones smirked, "I don't think he wants anything to do with all of public transit. But making moves around transit stations? Yes. Absolutely."

Natasha's mouth fell open a little as Jessica added, "And specifically, stations that run directly from his southern cesspool of businesses…all the way up North of the city? Now we're talking."

There was an L Train electronic tracker and several maps in Coulson's suite as Jones and Natasha moved over by them. The electronic tracker looked more like a Lite Brite board from the 80's, and was more decorative than informative, with its blinking Reds and Blue's and other colors. But the maps were detailed, showing different areas of the city, and the entire Chicago loop as a whole.

Natasha stepped close to one of the maps. Her eyes followed her finger, going to the bottom of the Red Line stops in the city. Each of those several stations all passed through Fisk's main establishments.

Her finger traveled upward again, and Jessica was right. Chinatown and Halsted were directly north, where Natasha had yelled at Fisk two days ago. But right above that, was another Red Line station. East of the train crash, where five people died.

Natasha smacked Jessica's shoulders, "You think The Red Line accident was a botched job. And it was supposed to crash near the station north of Chinatown. So, his Chinatown move is actually plan B. And this could all…somehow help Fisk make a move on that neighborhood?"

Jessica nodded, "Simply put, maybe. It's a stretch. But Fisk being near Chinatown is also a big jump and got Castle and me thinking. I think John Doe was the mark that morning. But I think The Red Line crash was the cherry on top to try and get Fisk's goal of expanding north, moving. It didn't go right, and it crashed in the open, and the transit system was back up and running in no time. So, his plan B…"

"Is trying to buy up the neighborhood on his own around the next closest station, this far north of him. Halsted and Chinatown."

Natasha ran her finger along the path North to South, connecting Halsted down to Chatham. She ran it further up through Chicago. Passing by Union Station, where her and Steve had seen tracksuits.

"Maybe they weren't rats. Maybe they were canaries in a coalmine."

"What was that, Red?"

Natasha had spoken to herself, but talked louder now, "Steve and I saw tracksuits around Union Station right after the crashes. We thought they were just being rodents like always. Scavenging and looking for gossip and rumors to go pounce on. But maybe they weren't. Maybe they were scouting."

Natasha traveled even further up with her hand, north of downtown and Union Station now. Past Willis Tower and Wacker. Past Midwest's Headquarters off of State Street. Past Wrigleyville and all the way through Evanston where she'd gone to school. Up past Chicago, and all the way to Milwaukee.

A straight line could be drawn from Fisk's empire to Midwest's manufacturing facilities, north of Milwaukee. And his move near Chinatown, was another plotted point along that straight line.

Natasha groaned as she pressed her palm to her forehead, "Fisk does not seem the type to want to be business partners with Midwest and whatever they're up to."

Jones shrugged, "I don't think it's as complicated as what you and Rogers are making it out to be. The means and motives and methods on how they're doing it? Sure, that's been beyond all of our grasps to put together, and it's fucking irritating. Fisk has been slippery with evidence since his birth. But I don't see this as Midwest fully getting in the Godfather game. Or Fisk wanting to push Viagra."

Natasha cleared her head and thought for a few seconds as she responded, "Midwest and whatever is going on with them, wants means and easy transportation between two large metropolises…Milwaukee and Chicago. The transit is already there with train lines. But Fisk and his thugs, overseeing the transportation line would ensure protection to hide anything they're wanting to."

Natasha started pacing now as she continued, "And Fisk doesn't have to run the trainline to just make sure his men are on it every day. Putting his businesses at stopping points along the way, just increases efficiencies and his presence along the main route. He gets to expand his empire, while Midwest expands whatever they're pushing. Probably whatever was fucking injected into Hope's neck."

Jones blew out a breath, "It's a lot of loose ground to stand on, but that's what Castle and I were thinking after we realized Fisk was moving toward Chinatown. Figured I owed you the detail of the explosives used, were a commonality among construction companies. It won't convict or even get close to bringing charges. But it's at least gives you something to work toward."

Natasha scoffed, "Who knew cops and journalists could make strange bedfellows."

Natasha looked at the map of the trains again, mentally placing the dots if Jessica and Castle's theory was right.

The Red Line train wasn't meant to de-rail and crash a few miles from here, rather at the station itself. She looked at where the Halsted station was, right by Fisks sponsored block party. And then she glanced north towards Milwaukee and where Midwest operated, and then back south, to where Fisk runs most of his current businesses.

It was a working theory, but it was one with a lot of juice that really got Natasha thinking. Thinking about what Fisk could gain and what Midwest wanted. But she also thought about Jessica sharing what she could with her. The officer extended a little trust towards the journalist. Natasha thought about how she'd kept the LSL 616 note from the cops, the night Hope was murdered.

And Natasha did something in return for this strange bedfellow of hers.

"Jones, does the name Bruce Banner mean anything to you?"

Jones adjusted her shades on her head and leaned against the wall, "Now how in the world would you have come across that name, Romanoff?"

Natasha narrowed her eyes, "I know this isn't easy for either of us, I guess I'm just wanting to give you that name, in case you really don't know who John Doe is."

Jones chewed on her gum, thinking for a few seconds before responding, "I'm guessing I don't want to know the how or where or when you came across that name."

Natasha leaned against the same wall as the women faced each other, "I know you'll answer with, 'no comment.' But I'm betting, you and Castle know exactly who John Doe is. And maybe you have the actual evidence that could reveal his identity, instead of what I have, which only leads to strong guesses. But I'm also guessing, it's been put on a shelf, not to be talked about."

"When you say 'you,' like me and Castle and all cops, regardless of where allegiances lie, it's like me saying you and Rogers are the same as 'reporters,' from National Enquirer."

Gossip ghouls was a more appropriate term for the salacious publication that was full of half truths on it's best day.

Natasha put her hands up, "I didn't mean that, Jones. And point taken. What I meant…was I think you know John Doe is Bruce Banner. But you and Castle probably don't know the real reason why it's being kept quiet. Is it because of higher ups in the Chicago PD being crooked? Or is it because they're working to get the bigger fish?"

Jones smirked, "I think you know, that nothing is ever black and white. And trying to figure out those questions, is even harder than figuring out what Midwest is up to. Stick to pissing off people outside of law enforcement, Romanoff. You step inside the precinct with any of these thoughts? There's nothing Castle or I can do for you then. Let us handle any unknowns behind our walls. You handle everything on the streets."

It wasn't a threat, but a reality put before both women.

Most cops were like Jones and Castle. Grizzled from years in the city, but good and upholding of the law. But the few that had found shortcuts or decided to work with men like Fisk really made things sticky in times like these. But navigating those waters and trying to discover who was on Fisk's payroll was no easy task. So, Castle and Jones were even more guarded when it came to matters inside the walls of the police station, than any crime on the outside.

Their lives depended on it.

Message was received. Both women knew that John Doe was Bruce Banner. Both women had no idea how the other one came by that knowledge, and that's where this sharing session would end.

Jessica shook her head, "Do me a favor, Romanoff. Try to not do anything that requires me showing up for a while."

Natasha smirked, "So I take it you're not going to the ball tonight?"

Jones looked like she almost had an allergic reaction, "I don't know what I would suffer from more, Red. Heels and a dress or having to be in the same room with the wealthiest in the city."

Natasha chuckled, "You just gotta stay with the people you go with. That's the key. Enjoy the food and drink and avoid getting drawn into small talk with anyone except your circle."

"Yeah…I think I'll still just kick my feet up with a beer and avoid any of that."

"See ya around, Jones."

Jessica nodded, "When most people say that, it's meant passively. But with you, Romanoff, I know I definitely will."

Natasha got the last word, giving a nod, "Hey I'm like a bad penny. I always turn up."

Natasha was left with the blinking tracker and L Train maps as Mary returned a few minutes later. It was only mid-morning as she pulled out her laptop to write some notes down and do some digging.

Two hours later, Natasha had found a study online. It was from two years back, and the name Wildfire was in it, but anything useful had been redacted. The study was conducted by an independent research group in Chicago. Which only made the redactions stand out more. What higher powers were blocking an independent study's information, that had already been released?

It went higher than the person's office she was waiting in. That, Natasha was sure of. Like Steve, Natasha didn't think Phil had any involvement with any of this. But he might have a hunch or a lead on something he'd heard over the years.

"Oh, what's this?"

Mary peered her head up from her own computer, "Did you say something, Miss Romanoff?"

Natasha waved her off, "Sorry, force of habit. Just talking to myself."

Natasha found a reddit thread under the name of Miss Green, that mentioned Wildfire. The thread was overrun with lots of concerned Californians and coastal residents about climate changes and dry conditions and increased deaths from forest fires.

But that wasn't the initial reason for Miss Green's post. Miss Green's initial post was a condemnation of Wildfire. It was a small but very interesting paragraph.

When are people going to wake up and see the smoke around them? Wildfire is dangerous and no one who can help, will do so. Because anyone who tried is already gone. They were so preoccupied with whether they could, that they didn't stop to think if they should.

Miss Green's most recent post was from five weeks ago. It was vague enough that most people took it as a follow up on actual forest fires going on in the West and across the world. The advocates took over her thread again, but there was something to her initial post.

Natasha knew the last line but googled it to make sure. Jurassic Park. The film was more about the perversion of science without any morals or guiderails, and less about the out-of-control climate crisis in certain parts of the world.

Natasha copied the thread and sent it to Jane to see if she could trace the IP address.

Jane texted her she could see what she could do. And Natasha took a chance and sent a quick private message from an old reddit account of hers, Gumshoe4hire.

The message was quick but to the point.

Hoping this isn't a twist on the game of Clue, Miss Green. There's no candlestick in The Billiards Room, and I am not here to talk about actual wildfires in the west. I am looking to find out the who and how and why of certain deaths. Starting with a recent 'suicide.'

Mary soon left for lunch as Natasha kept searching, not finding anything else on Wildfire right now. She thought of Fury's comment on The Herald and Star having record sales. He wasn't kidding. Natasha read an email from Fury to the team this morning. Both papers' sales increased eight percent over the last six weeks. She'd heard the evidence with her own ears, each time she stopped by Stan's newspaper stand.

Natasha drummed her fingers against on her laptop, restless with anticipation for tonight. Full of frustration, from all the questions lingering around. Just as Steve sent her the funny text and gif about time ticking by slowly, Natasha decided to switch gears as she practiced her sit-in protest until Coulson emerged.

Natasha closed out the tabs, searching for Wildfire, and decided to look up Steve's greatest hits from overseas as Joseph Grant.

First, Natasha sank into her chair with an article of his, about the long-term effects of America's overseas involvement with Afghanistan and how history rhyming with past mistakes was never good. She smiled as he wrote endless pieces about refugee crises and how humanitarian efforts from the world's richest economy weren't nearly strong enough.

Natasha teared up as he wrote about the horrors of poaching, being about so much more than just big game hunting from the wealthy. His nuanced approach was felt, delving into the economies of the communities that had to survive through the pillaging of their wildlife. The tragic irony in most of these places, was that colonizers had poached those communities of riches and culture for centuries.

And it went on and on.

Blood diamonds. Overfishing of the oceans and freshwater food. Food crises in third world countries being a warning shot to all the glove dealing with the population of the world. The rising ripples of distrust in all government and media. Pollution and contamination of freshwater sources. Climate change. Sex and drug trafficking. Child labor and the global economy. Trade and taxes. Transparency with international partners. Allies and foes and how each relationship creates a long-standing effect to the entire world.

But among all the harsh realities, there were also narratives of hope from Joseph Grant. Communities coming together after natural disasters. Individual survival stories that were be believed, only because they were seen. Adoption tales of refugees and injured animals from war torn countries. The reflection of each culture, in the salt of the earth residents, who inhabited each location the foreign correspondent had gone to.

All the stories of inspiration and belief and hope, never received as much attention as the splashy headlines of news.

'If it bleeds it leads,' was just as true globally as it was nationally and in Chicago. But the hopeful words displayed were something to behold. Not only reading about humanity at its finest, but how Joseph Grant wore his heart on his sleeve as he wrote.

The passion from his ire at the wrongs and horrors of the world.

The care from his empathy at the love and survival in all the beauty the people of earth still had to offer.

It was all there. In every article and piece. In each paragraph and word.

Knowing now that Steve was the one who wrote it all, just caused the butterflies in Natasha's stomach to go a little crazy. In some weird way, with how long she'd been reading his work, Natasha felt like she'd known Steve for so much longer than the past six weeks.

She felt warm, reading an excerpt of his from a few years ago. It wasn't one of his think pieces from something that had happened across the globe. Rather, it was a rare column of Joseph Grant's thoughts and opinions on the state of the world.

Sometimes in all my travels, I fear that apathy has won the most important war of all. The war for mankind. What does it say, when so much passion can pour out for a world crisis, but with the devastating caveat, knowing it has an expiration date of a few weeks? What does it mean to know, that if I wrote about celebrities I encountered in my years, the readers to my articles would triple in size? What does it reflect, when I am guilty myself for evoking more passion at times for my beloved Dodgers, than for some of the horrors I've witnessed over the last decade?

It means simply, that we are all human.

It isn't solving all the foils and problems. I've had the humbled responsibility to share those troubles with all of you. To rid the world of its wrongs in entirety, is an insurmountable goal, and one that has been around since the dawn of the human race. But it is asking what you can do in your own life, to help out your brothers in blood and across the world. To help out a friend or neighbor, or a cause that evokes passion in you.

The war for mankind is in each of us, every day. It is listening to our better angels and not turning away all the time. It is living our lives with passion and appreciation. On a day when this bleeding heart of a journalist has seen a little too much, I take solace in knowing. Knowing that some of you are extending a helping hand, proving all the horrors of the world wrong. Proving all the harrowing survival stories I've shared, true.

Life on this planet is worth the fight.

The war for mankind will continue long after I am gone from this world. And if you have not turned away from this grizzled writer yet, you've already given me hope in fighting that endless war.

His words were full of heart, and she was full of warmth. There was Joseph Grant, revealing his passion and soul, piece by piece for her. And here she was, meeting up with Steve Rogers tonight.

She was drawn away from his words and her thoughts in a flurry though.

Natasha jumped in her chair.

The Mayor's office door swung open as he muttered, "Oh, you've got to be kidding."

Natasha threw everything in her bag haphazardly and scurried after Coulson as he briskly walked to the elevator.

"Miss Romanoff, I can get rid of poison ivy easier than you."

It was just the two of them as the elevator closed and Natasha snuck inside, "Well, I have been known to annoyingly spread when not dealt with."

Coulson sighed, "Fine. You have two minutes. What is it, Romanoff? Got more insinuating articles about me, somehow being the cause of all the city's suicides? Or maybe it's more allusions that big donors or tech or pharma has it's hooks in me."

Natasha hit the stop button on the elevator, "I never insinuated that. I said the donation money to politicians' campaigns should always be questioned. You know what, Coulson? Just like that nasty little rash, if you would have dealt with me right when I showed up today, maybe you wouldn't be so irritated now. And saying, 'no comment,' isn't an answer."

Both The Mayor and Romanoff were exhausted for a Friday. And both were taking their stresses out on each other.

Coulson shook his head, "Because my number one concern should always be to keep Natasha Romanoff happy. Do you have any idea how many fires this city ignites each day? And for some reason, I want to keep doing this job."

Romanoff stood in front of the elevator buttons as she asked, "I do in fact. I write about those fires and shootings and crimes…and backroom dealings all the time. But the one at the forefront of my brain, regardless of people in the background wishing it would disappear, is whatever coverup is going on, that started long before that Red Line Crash and John Doe's death at The Blue Line six weeks ago."

"Romanoff, what are you talking about?"

Natasha sighed, "Okay…Off the record…is going to work two ways here, Coulson, as I extend a little trust your way. Look, I happen to believe you, but like my boss told me a while ago…you need to stop worrying about your name in the paper and start focusing on your work. The rest will fall into place as November gets closer."

Phil Coulson looked at her. Was she giving him work advice?

He scoffed, "Trust between me and the city's biggest journalist? Well, that's a new one."

She'd had luck with an officer of the law. Why not try a politician for good measure.

"Be that as it may, I'd like to crack this before anyone else dies."

You'd like to crack it first, before the cops or politicians or another journalist.

The voice in Natasha's head was small but mighty. She was extending some trust towards The Mayor, because she wanted something in return. She'd extended a little trust toward Jessica Jones and had gotten something in return as well. But they weren't someone doing the same job as Natasha.

Natasha shook that pesky little voice away as Phil sighed, "Well, I would sure like that too, Romanoff. You chained yourself to my office like a tree hugger, and now we're here in a stopped elevator. So, what do you want?"

Natasha let a couple seconds pass, convincing herself that her instinct on this was right, "I don't think John Doe was the first death connected…to whatever this story is."

Phil raised his brow, "I've read yours and Rogers' stuff, Romanoff. Hope Van Dyne's murder?"

Natasha smirked, "Thanks for reading…but not just her. Hank Pym. And I wouldn't be surprised if there were others. Hank was Hope's father."

Phil finally relented as he stood against the back of the elevator as she went on, "Hank was also a leading scientist before his death a couple years back…at Midwest Pharmaceuticals."

Phil Coulson may not have known a man named Hank Pym ever existed.

But Natasha saw a flicker in Phil's eye at the mention of the company name. The Mayor sighed, "Romanoff…I know you are always looking for the big corporate bad guy, or the wealthy mob boss forcing politicians' hands, but I don't have any dealings with Midwest. I never have and never will."

Not dealing didn't equal not knowing anything.

"I know, Coulson. Your money's clean and always has been. It's why I kind a respect you."

Coulson scoffed, "You have a funny way of showing respect, Romanoff."

"Hey, I treat all the people I respect this way. I give you a hard time because I care about what you do and this city. And that's a big part of the reason why I'm showing a little trust here."

Coulson looked at his watch and motioned with his hand for her to go on as she added, "You know who does have a lot of ties to Midwest? Your opponent in November, Eleanor Bishop."

Coulson narrowed his eyes, "So what, Eleanor Bishop is murdering people?"

Natasha chuckled, "It's never simple like that. Maybe motives are, but the plan never is. I don't know if she even has a clue who Hope Van Dyne was, but she took Midwest's money for her campaign. So, whoever is wanting to push her in, wants you out. And if they want you out, that means you happen to be on the side of the truth here. So again…"

"Yeah yeah, trust. I'm so honored a journalist is extending me the courtesy. So, let me sound like I'm spinning my tires here. What do you want, Romanoff?"

Natasha decided to say the hell with it, "Project Wildfire. Know anything about it?"

She'd seen something at the mention of Midwest a minute ago. But there it was again. Another flicker.

He wasn't involved, but Coulson knew something.

Coulson was hesitant as Natasha spoke a little louder, "People are dying. And that heat is getting a lot worse with this, because I'm not letting up. And neither is Steve Rogers. Hope Van Dyne was murdered. Her father was probably killed in a similar manner. And I'm certain, that John Doe was as well, and that he was also connected to Midwest and the project. Not to mention that The Red Line crash may have come off as a distraction. But I think it was designed to take out a train station on the north line to Milwaukee to help out with Fisk's expansion methods."

Coulson wiped his face, "But let me guess, you don't have the solid connections that authorities could use to arrest or bring a case against any of these boogeymen?"

"Maybe I would, if you tell me what you remember. What do you know about Midwest and Wildfire?"

Coulson sighed, "I highly doubt it. A house of cards built on insinuations and hearsay is still a house of cards. It can tumble with one tiny flick or breeze. But have at it…I don't know how any of this is going to help you…"

Natasha returned the same hand gesture, encouraging Coulson to go on as he continued.

"But I know the Governor was really pissed at me a few years ago when Midwest tried to put up a secondary research facility along our lakeshores within Chicago's city limits. I vetoed it and cut it off at its knees before it could gain any traction. We don't need industry along our lakeshore. The city has always held it off, no matter how much money has been tossed towards projects. But as long as I'm here, that tradition will stand. Industry isn't going to encroach among the city's most famous locations, where people visit most frequently for their leisure."

This wasn't Lakeside Lockers. Coulson was talking about a push years ago, from the drug company, about wanting to build right along Lake Michigan, in the heart of the city.

Coulson finished, "Beyond the obvious, I knew when the Governor was so pissed at me, that there was a reason I felt good about never accepting money from that company."

"The Governor?"

Coulson nodded, "He was going to give Midwest, basically zero tax implications. When I shared my concerns about the negative effect it would have towards tourism in the city, and especially towards the company not paying their fair share with taxes, he was annoyed with me. But when I wouldn't agree on sending the proposal straight to committee, Midwest knew it wouldn't be an easy road ahead. And that's what they were looking for, so they pulled out from any future attempts. Governor Hammer looked like he could hit me with his own hammer."

"What about Wildfire?"

Coulson answered, "I honestly don't know specifics, but the Governor mentioned it when he tore me a new asshole after that deal fell through. It has to do with pharmaceutical generics in mainstream medicines. That's all I know though, and it was from one comment years ago. And if you would have asked me initially, I would have told you. This was the first you've ever mentioned the company."

Natasha blew out a heavy breath, "Think the Governor was going to get a big kickback to line his pockets, if the facility did get built along Lake Michigan?"

"Probably. I'm sure it messed with a second vacation home purchase or something. Although he would have been just as upset because someone just said no to him."

Natasha added, "Generic meds…so Midwest is trying to skim off the top…lessen the cost of their product, to make themselves even richer. And putting a separate research facility, away from their flagship outside Milwaukee…would've only ensured privacy and isolation from their main production lines."

Natasha shook her head, "Coulson, what type of shady research was going on, and what meds were being affected?"

Coulson shook his head too, "That is some mighty big dot connecting without any proof, Romanoff. That's not what I do. I'm telling you; I heard the one comment, and that Governor Hammer was pissed about the deal falling through. But I don't know anything about what you just said…And that is where this part is done. This is all off the record because I don't know any of the facts. The rest of the storytelling can be left to you. But I would hope you have more to go on than what I just told you. Because good god, that's nothing."

Maybe it seemed like it to Coulson, based only on what he'd said. But mixed in with everything else she had discovered? And what Natasha and Steve shared with each other two nights ago?

It was another big piece to the puzzle, drawing more into focus, that Midwest might be the General in this story, with Fisk as the Lieutenant and serving as the muscle.

Natasha looked to the side as Coulson continued, "You have mentioned big corporate ties as a possibility, and gave the examples of big pharma, oil, and tech. But didn't mention any name. So, word of advice…if you're going to jump in the deep end like this, you better be prepared for companies like Midwest. They're sharks, Romanoff."

"You don't have to tell me that corporations don't care about people. They're all sharks, Coulson."

Coulson let out a dramatic breath, "Yeah, I have to deal with them frequently. And I hate them all. So, I'm telling you, that with all these loose threads, you're surmising Midwest is involved in murders and cover ups and shady testing practices on meds for the general public? Well, I'd be careful angering people with such disregard for human life."

Natasha groaned, "My entire job is stepping on hornet's nests, Coulson…Like Wilson Fisk."

Coulson smiled at her, "Wilson Fisk is a schoolyard bully compared to what a Fortune 500 corporation will do, to increase profits for shareholders. And Midwest, is no different from big oil and energy or big tech with motivations and political pull. Their money goes way above my head, and way east of Chicago."

"Washington?"

Coulson reached behind her and pushed the stop button again so the elevator got moving, "Well, I wouldn't make that jump because I follow hard facts. But you're a journalist…So I could see how you could get there."

It was a mutual respect that was shared for each other, but they didn't have to be friendly. And didn't plan to be.

The ground floor was approaching as Natasha stepped out of his way, "Thanks, Coulson. For what it's worth…I do think you do a good job. And you're a hell of a lot better than that hack before you, Obadiah Stane. Jesus, he might as well have just had Wilson Fisk as his personal bodyguard."

"That man joined in Fisk's extra curriculars from time to time, but you already knew that. I read about it plenty when I was running for my first term 10 years ago. You got grit, Romanoff. You always have and you do a good job too, even when you're pissing me off. Just be careful and make sure…you're sure, before putting anything about Midwest in the spotlight."

The message was clear when dealing with people in power.

The higher up the food chain a person in power was, the more they had to lose. And the more a person or company had to lose, the more dangerous they could become.

The bell rung and the doors opened as Coulson gave a tip of his fedora to her, "You know…you must be a lot quicker than most people I know going to the ball tonight."

Natasha looked at him a little confused as he went on, "Well…most the women I know who will be there, like my wife, started getting ready hours ago. See you there but do me a favor. Consider your questions answered and don't talk to me."

Natasha grinned as he walked off but immediately started panicking as his words settled in, "Shit. What time…"

Natasha had completely lost track of her morning and afternoon. Her phone was thrown in her bag when Coulson came out of his office, and she chased after him.

It was 3:30 pm. Natasha dropped her phone in her bag and yelled at herself in the elevator.

"Son of a bitch!"

Coulson was officially leaving for the day, and Natasha had spent the last six hours researching and making notes and reading Steve's articles in his office suite. The last time she'd checked any clock was when the receptionist left at 12:00, and apparently, Mary had the afternoon off because she never came back. She'd gotten a text from Steve and set her phone down and was planning on leaving Coulson's office at the latest, by 12:30 pm.

The latest.

Natasha had plans for a pedicure and manicure with Wanda a couple hours ago. She was going to even get her hair done after she'd been home to shower and freshen up.

Scratch all of that.

"Shit. Shit. Shit."

This was a patterned behavior with Natasha. Getting lost in her work and the day. Being on Romanoff time, her family and friends called it.

Natasha officially had three hours to race home, shower and freshen up, and get her hair done before Steve got there. And it was Friday afternoon in Chicago. Traffic was picking up all across the city, and she had at least a 30-minute commute to get to her apartment.

'Why did Steve have to be such a goddamn good writer?'

Those thoughts ran through her head, realizing how she lost herself in his words.

And traffic wasn't just bad. It was horrendous.

By the time Natasha opened her door and was stripping off her clothes to shower, it was 4:45 pm. She'd called Wanda, apologizing profusely on her way home. Wanda's time management skills were a lot better than Natasha's. So, Wanda wasn't surprised that she missed their nail appointment when Bucky said Natasha ran off to work somewhere this morning.

Wanda was just finishing her own make-up and told Natasha she'd make Bucky drive them over so she could help Natasha at her apartment. Bucky laughed, "I bet your kids at school are better at keeping track of time than Natasha."

30 minutes later, Wanda and Bucky had arrived. Wanda looked like a glass of red wine in her dress. Long lines. Sleek and elegant. And positively glowing in the red satin gown with a high neck and a very low back.

Natasha whistled at Mrs. Barnes as she let them into her apartment.

"Bucky, your wife is hot."

Bucky chuckled, "And the sky is blue, Romanoff. Preaching to the choir here."

Natasha ran into the kitchen with her wet hair and in her towel as she grabbed Bucky a beer, "Help yourself, Buck. TV remote is on the couch. Thanks a ton. You're a lifesaver, guys."

Bucky wasn't going to argue, but he couldn't help himself, "You know…I bet Rogers would like the towel look just as much as whatever dress you're planning on wearing."

Wanda rolled her eyes at him as she pushed Natasha back to her bedroom. Bucky yelled back as he sat down, "And Romanoff's right, Wanda…you are hot."

He'd said it already about 15 times, but Wanda couldn't help but bite her lip as Natasha grinned at the couple.

It was 5:30 pm.

The next hour was filled with three beers for Bucky, lots of laughter and jokes he couldn't hear from the other side of the apartment, and a couple of curses as hairspray was dropped and a blow dryer went off.

Wanda had come out 30 minutes ago in Natasha's bathrobe and winked as she grabbed two champagne glasses and a bottle, "Didn't want to get anything on my dress. Might need you to zip me up again, Dear."

Bucky just raised his brow.

Twist his arm. He'd sign up for that job.

It was 6:15 and Steve had texted as Natasha yelled out from her bedroom, "Bucky can you go let Steve in? Give him a beer? Chat him up?"

Bucky groaned but only jokingly. The fact that Natasha was doing this, only made him and Wanda happy.

Steve felt a little weird coming into Natasha's apartment without her at first, but Bucky just patted him on the shoulder, "It's best if you don't ask any questions, Rogers. They've been making a lot of noise and not a lot of sense over the last hour. Just have a beer and relax until my wife is done helping turn Romanoff into a lady."

Steve rubbed his neck and glanced around, but he somehow relaxed, recognizing all of the references to Natasha's apartment he'd heard about over texts and even the phone call last night. Her sad little kitchen was easily noticeable. It was decorated fine, but the oven definitely looked like it hadn't been turned on in a year.

Her small table had a stack of crosswords from the week. A couple of drawings of newspaper themed art were on her walls. The couch where he knew she fell asleep last night was where Bucky drank a beer right now. It was all very comforting somehow.

Steve glanced at a framed photo of Natasha. She was sitting at her desk at The Herald. And she was in reading glasses from what appeared to be a very late night working.

Bucky chuckled watching him, "I took that photo of Romanoff like seven years ago. She was on one of her benders, and I told her if she didn't go home soon, her ass would permanently be formed to her chair."

She was in such a natural state in the photo. It was like catching an animal in the wild. Natasha had a slight smile as she'd looked up from her computer. She was in an oversized sweater, black rimmed glasses, and her hair looked a little disheveled. The background was filled with coffee and Chinese takeout. And she looked just as beautiful as she always did.

There were a couple other photos on her TV stand and on a bookshelf of her and the team. Of her, Bucky, and Wanda. And of Natasha and her parents in front of their smalltown paper, the Oak Street Gazette.

Steve's heart beat a little faster, looking at her as a teenager with her parents in the picture. Somehow, the photo was just as he imagined, and that comforting feeling grew. A young Natasha, still with that eager and fiery look. But the love that was shown between her and her parents…and the paper, was more than evident. It jumped out of the frame.

Bucky watched Rogers take the apartment in before he spoke, "Know how sometimes you think about what your life would be, if you chose a different profession ever? Well, maybe you don't, because you seem to be cut from a similar cloth as Romanoff."

Steve came over and sat in the chair next to the couch. He raised his beer to Bucky, "I know what you mean though, Barnes…why do you mention it?"

Bucky grinned, "Well, you could probably guess since the two of you became friends, but it's not that Natasha can't imagine doing anything else. Of course, she can't. But I don't think anyone that's ever known her, could ever imagine her doing something else either. That woman has been a journalist since her dad first brought her to his work…Before she could even write her own name."

"Yeah, I think I could tell that the first time I met her."

"What about you, Rogers? Same for you?"

Steve took his tux jacket off and set it by Bucky's on the arm of the couch and sat back, "More or less…Didn't grow up in a smalltown paper environment, but Mom always said journalism fit naturally with me because I had a thing for seeking out the truth."

Bucky grinned, "Well, you do it well…Caught a lot of your work when you were using your penname, Joseph Grant."

From there the conversation fell into place naturally as they discussed sports and great spots in Chicago. How much Tony Stark throws around money. How mysterious Nick Fury actually is. The school Wanda works at. They caught the local news doing an early report on the scenery of the Riverfront Ball, which had Steve joking, "Like father, like son. Tony's Dad is the one throwing around a lot of money tonight."

It was 6:45 now. Another 30 minutes had passed, and the guys found themselves laughing about a local story Bucky wrote a couple years back, that had an old lady throwing a bowl of pudding at him at a senior center.

But the door from the bedroom finally opened and both men shot up like they were puppets as Wanda came out in her red dress once again. Speaking of a glass of red wine, Bucky whistled and looked like he could drink her right up. Wanda rolled her eyes before she kissed him on the cheek and introduced herself to Steve, "We'll see you two at the ball. Natasha will be out in a minute."

Steve saw the natural love between them and couldn't help but smile as Bucky jokingly complained, "Wanda…I wanna see Romanoff act all tongue tied."

Wanda scoffed, "James, let's go. They aren't an old married couple like us and probably want a little time to themselves before being around the city's stuffiest people."

Steve chuckled at their banter as Bucky winked, "What the woman wants, the woman gets!"

Steve heard Bucky telling his wife how gorgeous she looked again and could see her blushing as they left and shook his head. He put the beer bottles on Natasha's kitchen counter and went to rest against the back of the couch as he slipped his jacket back on.

The moment the door opened, Steve's heart started beating a little faster.

Bucky was right. Tongue tied was an apt description, because Steve looked up and saw her walking down the hallway and felt like the floor was falling out from beneath him. With each step, her leg emerged from the fabric of her gown.

Sultry and elegant and gorgeous all wrapped into one.

Quicksand.

Natasha's hair was up in a French twist, with a few loose curls coming down. She wore black high heels and a gown that made her skin seem to glow.

Emerald green and strapless. A tight bodice that flowed out a little at the waist. And a slit that went high enough to make Steve's mouth begin to water. A beautiful bracelet and clutch were there too, but honestly Steve didn't let his eyes wander from hers once he found them.

Natasha saw Steve with his tux jacket on and beard trimmed a little from two days ago, and she couldn't fool herself. The thoughts she had were downright inappropriate for children.

By the time she made it to the end of the hallway, both of their throats had tightened a little.

"Natasha…"

It was all he could muster as a blush crept up her neck and cheeks and apparently everywhere else too. She felt a little warm from the way Steve was looking at her.

And what Bucky had, was apparently contagious, because Steve looked like he could drink Natasha up too.

Every drop.

They had to get out of there if they ever intended on actually going to the ball.

She let out a nervous laugh as her free hand fidgeted, and Steve somehow found a little structure. Grabbing her wrist, his fingers slid down into hers. He took a deep breath, "Let me try that again…you're absolutely stunning, Nat."

And she was.

Natasha looked down, biting her lower lip to calm herself. That tension they'd grown so familiar with was back as she found his eyes again, "Well…you clean up pretty good yourself, Steve. Sorry for the little wait."

Steve grew a little bolder as he gave her hand a squeeze and leaned down to kiss her cheek, "You're more than worth it."

If she'd ever swooned before, it surely wasn't like this. Natasha's eyes fluttered as she let out a breath before Steve chuckled.

Their breathing became heavier as she looked up and his eyes had a glimmer as he tried to ease some of that tension, "If only Johnny could see what he missed out on now. The tosspot."

That did the trick as Natasha let out a needed laugh. A little of that natural feeling between them came back as she answered, "Johnny's got football. We just got a ball. Shall we?"

And that was it. A little relaxation was felt as Steve offered her his arm, "Well, let's get to it then."

And then left her apartment.

Their banter was back as the fresh air outside hit them. And as Steve opened a silver, two door vintage Mustang. Natasha raised her brow, "Didn't think of you as a car owner on top of your bike…"

Steve helped her in, "It's not mine. Tony leant it to me for the night…told me not to bother with a limo because everyone will have them in the city."

Natasha smirked, "Well, no complaints here. This is great."

Steve got in and winked at her as he revved the engine and gripped the gear shaft, "Sure about this, Romanoff?"

The way Steve looked in his jacket and tie, and beard and sunglasses. The way the engine was revving, and he was gripping the leather knob while the car was about to thrust into gear. The fresh air may have calmed them, but only momentarily. Because there was a lot going on in that tight space between them as Natasha licked her lips and put her own glasses on. She looked forward and smirked in response, "Yeah…it'll be fun, Rogers."

And just like Cinderella and her pumpkin, they were off to have a ball of a time.

End Note:

Maybe I should have labeled this, part 1, for the ball. But they're official off for an evening that will unfold in the next chapter.

Natasha's sit in at Coulson's office. Some good reveals with Coulson and Jones. Steve's skyscraper convo with Jimmy Woo. Romanoff Time. The fun of getting ready for a fancy evening, and the anticipation for what's to come. Oh, and a phone conversation that was as warm as a pie right out of the oven between our leads. I loved every minute of writing that phone conversation 😊.

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

Have a great week!

Cheers! ~~ Kat