Beats on the Street Chapter 10: Travel and Leisure, an avengers fanfic

Beats on the Street

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

Chapter 10 – Travel & Leisure: Tales from the Road

To wander does not mean to be lost. To remain does not mean one is found.

For the great journey is a long and winding road, courting travelers with twists and turns at the least expected of times. Every mile passed and expedition logged, only adds to the circle of the grandest trip of them all.

Life.

A long voyage can lead to the simplest things in life. Simple but profound.

People, not places. Feelings, not facts.

And such a short adventure can flow with imagination and fervor. It's not the length of the journey, but what, and who, is found along the way. A great saga can be told from the top of a mountain or from a small roadside stand. It can be written in books, for all of time to remember. Or can be passed on from generations of family, not letting the heart forget.

For the tales from the road are about the people and their stories. Not the beats beneath their feat, but those guiding their hearts.

This time of travel was about two journalists, and not the story they chased.

Milwaukee bound, was such a simple thought. Not glamourous or full of beaches or palm trees. But the lack of glitz and landmarks did not matter. Rather, the milestones of their personal journey guided them now.

A meet cute at a crash. A collision of a rivalry. A run from feelings. A dive into quicksand.

And a chase of something beyond friendship.

An explosion of passion left Steve and Natasha alone after the ball. And now, this tale from the road, and a little trip up north, will teach them some of the greatest life lessons of them all.

It is not about the destination, but the journey. And it is not about the end of the road, but who you find yourself in company with.

The door slammed shut as the black limousine left the Riverfront Ball. The cane that was just pointed at Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff settled at the side of the limo owner.

"Eleanor, you seem more upset than when we last saw each other."

How upset Eleanor Bishop was in the past did not matter. What mattered was how she was fuming from her encounter with Val De Fontaine and Governor Hammer. "Everything feels like it's falling apart. This whole plan of getting elected and making a lot of money was supposed to be simple."

The large man spoke low, "Eleanor, you're not that naïve and never were. Nothing in our world is ever simple. Ask our boy, Walker, here."

The individual who got into the limo with Eleanor was no boy.

The man with that memorable tattoo looked up, meeting his stare as Fisk went on, "You defected from the tracksuits and thought you could be free of what we have to do in this world we carved out. You were only free, John, because I allowed it. Because Eleanor took you under her wing. Maybe you're only realizing now, that her world…is my world too. And any perception of freedom she walks the city with, is carved out of that same world."

A lot of double meanings were flung around, and Eleanor had no interest in his grandstanding, "Fisk, stop it. Walker has always been more likeminded with me and politics. You agreed to let him work separately with me, and not be on the streets with your tracksuits. So don't bullshit."

Wilson Fisk chuckled as he took a sip of his scotch, "Quite the contrary, Eleanor. I'm the only one being honest lately. I think we all need a fresh dose of it. You're all clamoring for this aura of legitimacy on this side of the veil. And for what? We'll never be welcomed in that room you just left…with the wealthy aristocrats thinking they hold all the cards."

Eleanor scoffed, "You're one to talk about wanting to be accepted, Fisk. How many times have you been irate over not being invited to nights like these?"

Fisk stopped laughing, "Don't mistake my affection for our history as being a wet blanket, Eleanor. Consider the fact I haven't tossed that bitter tongue of yours out on the street, as your only warning. We are family, but you need to remember who sits at the head of the table."

She poured herself a drink as Fisk went on, "But I'll admit I've struggled with the arrogance of the elites in this city as much as anyone here with me. Trying to be accepted by that class of people, looking at you like you're not enough…is a road with no end. No matter how many diamonds we wore, or how much politicking we do, we will always be asked about the other side of the tracks we come from. Because to them, that's where they'll always see us."

Eleanor met his stare as he added, "That's how they'll always see me. And that's why we're making the moves we are, in our city. No longer will we wait on the fringes for the scraps they toss."

John Walker sat silently, sipping and watching. He'd rolled down his sleeves, covering the tattoo that marked his history with Fisk and the tracksuits, while he sat by the woman who'd given him another road in life. Or so he thought.

But the last few months made John Walker realize all roads lead home. And life is like a circle at times, spinning back from where he came.

Eleanor's hand was shaking still from how upset she was, "Fisk, I just feel like I'm going to lose it. Half the time I'm dealing with reporters' barraging questions and Coulson's pompous attitude. And the rest of the time, I'm dealing with Hammer and De Fontaine."

Fisk sat back, with the leather under his rump recognizing each movement, "I want to hear from your protégé, Eleanor. Tell me, John, what do you think of the last few months? It was all easy sailing until you realized you still had to get your hands dirty, even while wearing a suit."

Walker didn't move and didn't blink as he looked Fisk square in the eyes, "Hammer and De Fontaine only care about their bottom dollar. Their Wildfire product is the most important thing to them, and they think we are a bunch of idiots, not being able to compare to whatever henchmen they have working for them."

Eleanor took a breath finally, "Those henchmen are the ones that you don't see coming, Fisk. They're the ones that used to work for the military and three-letter agencies in this country and now work for money."

Walker was irritated, "They're the ones that fucked up the Hope Van Dyne job. I had to improvise and barely got away."

Eleanor answered, "John, Val De Fontaine made me send her guys with you."

"Then you should have given me a heads up, so I could get a jump on them. Instead, everything that happened really sent those fucking reporters in a tailspin."

John Walker was irritated at the memory of the night he'd encountered Natasha in the abandoned apartment building. Frustrated he wasn't allowed to do his dirty work on his own, Walker took his own liberties in the limo, "And they're not the only ones that fucked up, Fisk. Your tracksuits sure did a shitty job with The Blue Line crash. It was supposed to be a distraction and take out the train station north of Chinatown for your benefit. But your bro squad fucked up and didn't set the explosives right, and instead we ended up with another goddamn mess."

Fisk leaned forward, "I seem to remember you making a few mistakes with John Doe as well, Walker. Please tell me again how a new reporter in Chicago got his fucking hands on doctored footage from that morning?"

The tension was high and Walker was on the defensive, "I wasn't on the security footage. Your tracksuits are seen all over town."

"I don't care that you weren't on that fucking footage. The proof of it being doctored was discovered. Which only leads to questions by those leeches. And I don't care who was to blame with the botched Blue Line job or the Van Dyne shitshow. There is no them and us, when it comes to tracksuits and you. You're a smart man, John. I know you get that we're all in the same fucking world, no matter what type of suit you put on."

The truth was, John Walker knew every word Fisk was saying as he gave a single nod. He'd known it deep down when Fisk let his defection happen after he returned from war. He'd relearned it when Eleanor had him doing the same dirty jobs he had, back when he was wearing those gawdy tracksuits and had gotten his tattoo. And he'd known it with the rising tension and friction between the law and their world over the last two months. And between two reporters sniffing out the connection between Fisk and Bishop and those same goddamn tracksuits, with Midwest.

Walker grabbed the bottle of liquor from Eleanor and poured his own drink as Fisk turned the subject on its head, "This isn't the time to hash out our old drama. This is the time we need to shore up our defenses."

Fisk gripped the knob of his cane, "John you were born in our world. You went to the military and realized you still wore a suit, only for this country propping you up. Only to lose brothers in arms for politicians' orders and defense contractors' profits. You tried out the world Eleanor invades at times, only to realize you still wear that branding of your history under their suits and ties. Your past doesn't leave you. It guides you."

Walker blew out his breath and took a drink as Fisk added, "Now give me your take from their world to ours. Are we going to have a problem getting what we want out of this deal, working with these corporate executives who have no loyalty except to their stock prices?"

Walker answered with more clarity, "They're getting antsy. The newspaper headlines are worrisome, and all the attention from those reporters you've been battling with has them spooked. But they need the traffic flow for product through Chicago. So, while outside Chicago, Eleanor may be right…I don't think we'd stand a chance against any mercenary team that comes from Hammer's order or someone higher than even him. But I think it's the opposite here."

"Go on."

"Their arrogance is their downfall. They look at how loyal and tied we are to Chicago as a weakness. But it's our greatest strength. In these walls, we will always have the advantage for anyone that tries to screw us over…no matter what type of suit we wear."

John Walker was hearing every word Wilson Fisk was telling him.

The tension was still fractured in the limo as John tried to calm Bishop now, "Eleanor, Fisk has been there helping us over the last two months too. He's right…we all fucked up…and he was able to get to Hope's body before any autopsy could be done."

But Eleanor wasn't backtracking yet. Her heated argument with Val De Fontaine and Governor Hammer weighed heavily on her resolve, "It doesn't mean that Natasha Romanoff still didn't see the injection site before cops showed up. It would have been a lot cleaner if you would have just been able to take care of her and John Doe alone, like you took care of so many others before we got involved with Midwest. I hate that you made me work with them, Wilson. The worst part is that Val is trying to pin everything on us. Governor Hammer must not think much of us either."

It was one thing for John Walker to point out mistakes in his own house. A complicated house he grew up in and realized he'd never escaped…but it was still his house. But other people looking down on his and Fisk's work? He grew into a trusted guard dog for a reason under Fisk and Bishop's guidance, sharing the same temperament and natural proclivity to violence.

Walker's jaw tightened, "Who cares what anyone else fucking thinks."

Eleanor was emotional and finally lashed out from the fear that'd been tapped into before, "I do. I care. I'm the one in the public eye. I'm the one who's daughter's life was fucking threatened tonight. Don't you get it?"

Both men looked at her, and then looked at each other with a renewed anger.

John's words were quieter than they'd been the entire ride, "They threatened Kate?"

Eleanor looked out the window, "It was a veiled threat, but it was heard loud and clear."

Fisk raised his glass and took a long drink, "Eleanor, I've told you this so many times in your life. Even when you were only half as old as Walker is now. That chip on your shoulder from where you came, can free you, not weigh you down. So, throw it the goddamn lake we're passing by right now and never look back. I've had to learn that, and you need to as well. Stop looking to those people to accept you someday because they never will."

There was a hint of anger and fear in both men's words. But a quiet understanding was exchanged as Fisk softened his tone, "But I do. I'm your family. John, you are my family. My tracksuits are my family. And I protect every fucking member of my family. Do you understand?"

John Walker was raised in the same community Eleanor Bishop was a generation before him. The same community Wilson Fisk always plucked his proteges and army of tracksuits from. Some of them were henchmen and goons. Some of them were allowed to explore walls outside of his city. But they always came home to him. Eleanor was his politician, crossing lines into corporate America. John Walker was his most trusted and gifted guard dog, that went off to war. Only to be chewed up and spit back as politicians grew fat off of his fallen brother's lives. And now in the past months, John had come right back to him.

Raised voices and heated words were exchanged with misplaced anger as Fisk picked up Bishop and Walker. But 20 minutes later, their focus was revitalized. And the quieter their voices grew, the more their anger was targeted at those threats outside their limo.

Fisk leaned forward to Bishop and Walker, as the menace seeped from his quiet tone, "It is time we stop arguing over pitiful squabbles. We need to fortify here at home. Let Midwest get their goddamn tests done so Wildfire can be pushed, but that's it. We made a deal with them for the influx of cash, but that's the end of it. Eleanor, when you're elected Mayor, they're not getting any increased presence in our city. Their corporate headquarters are here, but Milwaukee has always been that company's home. And there it will stay. Chicago is our town."

Eleanor was reeling from how Val and Justin Hammer had treated her and the stress she'd been under, trying to live between their demands and the reality of Fisk's world. Of her world. John Walker had been trying to see if he could live in a world away from the one he grew up in. But the more he tried, the more he realized Chicago was home, and so was Fisk. How they were raised is who they were. It's who they chose to be.

Fisk set his glass down as the gravel sounds of his voice echoed in the limo's chamber, "It doesn't matter if you're a cuck of a politician, a bitch of a corporate executive, or a cunt of a reporter. We're all cogs and cunts to someone, and our world is what we make of it. What we carve out and take. The only difference between all of them and us, is that we accept where we come from. Right, Eleanor?"

Eleanor, finding the resolve Fisk needed her to, nodded her head as she looked at Walker as he did the same.

Fisk finished, "We know who we are. We know where we come from. We know what we are willing to do to keep this town, ours. And to protect our family. I'll contact The Generals. Eleanor, you focus on playing nice with Val and Hammer for as long as it's needed, and for the election. Walker, if they stick some ghost of a mercenary on you while you're doing your work, do your fucking job before they have a chance to fuck it up."

Walker nodded with and asked, "What are you going to do about those reporters, Fisk?"

A vein emerged, thinking of the woman who loved Chicago as much as he did. Or claimed to in his mind.

"Focus on what I said first. I'll handle Romanoff and Rogers."

The emotion Walker and Eleanor left the ball with, was countered with a different kind of emotion now. Anger and resolve. Drive and determination. Eleanor looked to that lake as Fisk's limo drove her home, and did as he said. She found the drive she needed to finish this job.

And Fisk's focus turned to the reporters.

Two journalists who were going on a road trip that would be full of their own emotion tomorrow morning.

"Yeah Dad, I'll be sure to tell the crew that you'll see 'em in the funny papers. No, no. Don't worry, I promise I'm being careful. You know me. I learned from the best editor I've ever worked for."

A second passed as Natasha smiled and zipped up her bag, "Oh, and tell Mom I don't need her to send me her usual fall care package…"

Natasha's request went over about as well as one would expect.

Natasha chuckled and shook her head, "Oh fine…You're right, I guess Bucky and everyone will miss her pumpkin bars as much as me…truthfully, probably more than me. Tell her she can send it straight to the office if she wants."

Scanning over the room and her closet one more time, Natasha's conversation was winding down, "Okay, it's early and I need to get on the road, Dad. I'll fill you in when I can."

One last pause as she let out a laugh, "Yeah, yeah…very funny. I'll make sure I don't have any love letters submitted in my next article. Love you too and tell Mom the same. Have a good weekend."

Natasha huffed out a breath. She faked the positive attitude on the phone as much as she could. But the love from the first editor she knew in life, somehow worked its magic on her. An early call with her Dad was needed, because she knew the weekend was going to get away from her. And frankly, she needed the emotional pick me up. When down in the dumps, it's the people in your corner that can lift one's spirits.

And at least during the duration of the phone call, Natasha's spirits were lifted.

But the call was over now, and her road trip awaited. Jeans and a plain white tee. Black flats and an oversized brown cardigan for the drive. A few clothing options for tonight and tomorrow and her toiletries were all in tow. Coffee was poured, and a few granola bars and the last couple of bananas she had in her dismal kitchen, were tossed in too.

Saturday morning was here as she locked her apartment.

To say Natasha slept well would've been a bigger lie than what she'd told Steve the night before. She'd told him there wasn't anything else to add to their discoveries, keeping her conversation with Mayor Coulson and Jessica Jones to herself.

Ironically, that lie is part of what had kept her up. But the question above all the others, that lingered all night, hounded her on her drive to meet Steve at The Herald.

Why is this so hard?

That question prodded at her at the ball before their kiss, and it bothered her, through each incessant twist and turn in her sheets. As did the feel of Steve's beard and the sound of her name on his lips.

She'd woken up a few hours earlier in a sweat, thinking of his hands on her thigh and the heat between them. Her thoughts wandered aimlessly in the hours where it was too late to be yesterday, but still too early to be considered morning. Sifting through each touch and sound didn't necessarily help matters at 3 am. Natasha grew warmer, thinking of how far her and Steve would have gone if they'd hadn't been interrupted and weren't in public. And most importantly, if they hadn't gotten in each other's way.

Natasha being the primary culprit.

That was 3 am. Still dark out, Natasha couldn't help it as she sat up in her bed. The feel of his breath and the scent of his cologne lingered. And every detail, only made Natasha imagine those hands wandering under her dress as much as they had outside.

"Jesus."

Natasha groaned, combing her hands through her hair as if that would help. She looked as disheveled as when their lips parted last night. If she kept this up, she'd need a cold shower before she ran.

Groaning louder, Natasha threw her sheets off the bed. She got up to drink some water to try and calm down. As her foot found that goddamn green dress, she kicked it across her bedroom before her head found her pillow again. The next hour of sleep may have kept those seedy thoughts away, but it didn't ease the unsettled feelings coursing through her body.

And to say it was sleep at all, was being kind.

By 4 am, Natasha's eyes sprung open again as she shook her head.

"Fuck it."

It was no use. The night had come and gone. And Natasha and Steve had played their parts. The wreckage from mistakes made filled her head. She was up, and 15 minutes later she was out the door to go for a run. A little earlier than normal, but not the earliest she'd ever hit the streets.

Sticking to her neighborhood, Natasha didn't hold back.

Pushing harder than usual, her legs felt numb after a half mile. Chest burning with the chilled air of fall. Sweat pouring from the clammy skin under her hoodie and leggings. Fists tight and jaw clenched, Natasha didn't find her usual rhythm. She felt out of sync, as she did with Steve driving off only a few hours ago.

To put it bluntly, the run felt like shit. Every beat on the pavement was fought and earned. And every corner turned felt forced.

But she kept going. The pain was something Natasha could focus on. The ache and burn in her muscles she could understand. So, she turned another corner, toward a steep hill and pushed harder.

His body against hers pressed in her head, as her pace quickened. Her teeth on his neck grated, as her eyes narrowed and heartbeat rose. And those hands. Both Steve and Natasha's hands scratched, wandering and searching for anything and everything in their path as her breathing sharpened.

Taking no prisoners, Natasha ignored the signs of her body and refused to slow down. Doing what she did best, she fought. She dug in and drove harder as the hill was passed and mile three, then four, was logged.

Sweat pouring. Thighs on fire. Arms tight. It felt awful, like she was trying to stamp every minute from the ball out of existence. But she wasn't drunk, and it didn't work that way. The hangover cure she was seeking, couldn't be found from Tylenol or burning of energy.

The last turn was taken as her building came into view. She may have started a little earlier than usual, but she ran longer than normal as she sprinted to the end. The end of her road, but the destination on her mind was what awaited today.

Harsh wheezing. Rasped breaths. A little shaky as she got to the end, Natasha almost collapsed as her feet finally stopped moving.

Cheeks as red as Wanda's dress. Skin as flushed as when Steve's lips were on her. And her mind was somehow more frazzled than before she ran.

Her muscles felt like Jello from how hard she'd pushed this morning. With her hands above her head, Natasha paced. Sucking and huffing. Exhaling and heaving. A minute passed and her breathing came under control as she looked up at the few stars she could see still.

It was technically morning, but the night still beckoned as dawn approached.

All fire and heat moments ago as every inch of her body burned at the summit of her run. But now the chill sunk into every piece of clothing and every drop of sweat.

"Hey, Red. Didn't think I'd see you this morning with that fancy ball last night."

Natasha jumped a little, realizing her usual company during the week was out in his stocking cap and jacket this morning.

"Stan, wow. God, I didn't even see you there today."

"Well, that doesn't bode well for selling anything if people can't see me."

Stan was just opening up his stand, with the 5 am hour approaching. Natasha couldn't help but chuckle at his heartfelt humor, "That's definitely not on you. People will always find you, Stan. You're as reliable in the city as the L-Train schedule."

Stan gave a wink as he handed her the usual black brew in a to go cup, "Heard something about some famous guys and gals making a ruckus last night at the Riverfront."

Natasha smirked, "A ruckus? I'd say it was a little more than that from the sound of it. Gotta tell ya, there was some dancing that might've conjured some memories from your heyday."

Keep it breezy. Don't go past simple details. Natasha could handle this light conversation with her favorite fella on this fall morning.

Stan let a memory bubble up, as his eyes seemed to twinkle with dawn approaching, "You may not believe it, Red. But I could really cut a rug back in the day…But enough about that. I'm guessing you won't be writing about any famous people feuding?"

Natasha shook her head, "Yeah, not really my thing…we'll save those stories for the real…"

"Funny pages."

Stan finished her sentence and they both laughed as he asked, "Did you have a good time at least?"

So much for light and breezy.

A flash of the night's memory washed over her in a second as she looked to the side, and Stan added, "Well, a look like that means there had to be some good in it, right?"

Natasha glanced back, knowing he was speaking in broad strokes, but there was truth from his words, "I don't think you could describe it as a fairy tale."

Stan flitted his hand as if he were shooing away a fly, "I got news for ya, kiddo. Life ain't a fairy tale. But certain moments are. Pictures are for freezing the good stuff for eternity. But life is full of all the outtakes and negatives that make up those perfect shots."

"Geez, Stan. Maybe you should have been the writer, and I should run a coffee stand."

Stan gave a wink, "I only send back what I've absorbed from the best. And that's you, Kiddo. Something tells me one of those perfect photos was taken in the midst of celebrity drama last night."

Natasha looked at him as he added, "That look of yours tells as good of a story as your words do, Red."

Maybe she'd become completely transparent with all her energy burned on her run. Or maybe it was so obvious to anyone looking in on Steve or Natasha from afar. The heart was on her mind. And only a person at the other end of those feelings could cause such a forlorn glance.

The fact Stan had seen Natasha and Steve on a morning jog not too long ago had him connecting the dots internally.

Natasha scoffed, "The look of no sleep and feeling like you can't find your footing, no matter how fast you run?"

Her response was passive, but the wisdom from Stan was true, "You know…when me and the Misses fight at times, even still, I feel like that. But those moments pass like the weather. It's all lightning and strong winds when tempers are high, but eventually tides turn. And you find yourself back on the dance floor with the only one you want to two-step with."

She couldn't help but smile at his warm words and sentiment. Anything full of emotion has strong actions and reactions. And anything producing such passion is worth fighting for.

Before Natasha could rebuke or try to find some sort of lie, denying knowing what he spoke of, Stan ended their conversation, "But it's Saturday. And you don't need to listen to the ramblings of an old man like me."

Natasha smiled, "They're the only ramblings I'm interested in hearing. Thanks, Stan."

"You get on with your day now, Red. The Misses is making cinnamon rolls for the grandkids in town this weekend. We'll see you next week after you're putting Fisk in his place again."

Natasha shrugged her shoulders and finished as they usually did. With a quip or a metaphor, "Not if it sees us first. You have fun with the grandkids, Stan."

Her legs felt like jelly. Her brain felt like mush. And her heart felt like it'd been trampled on, but Stan managed to pull a magic trick like he always did. He found a smile within Natasha.

A couple hours later, Natasha was packed and leaving her apartment for her trip 90 miles north. Everything coursing through her body on her run was still under the surface, just waiting for someone to strike a match so it could fire up again.

That itch of lying to Steve. The insatiable scratch they'd dug at last night with their tangle of lips and limbs. But more than all of that, Natasha was anxious and downright nervous from how the evening ended.

More than anything, that was what kept her up all night.

It wasn't a fist fight or a dramatic dumping of drinks on each other. Quite the opposite. There was no denying it, and Steve didn't try to hide it. Their night to remember landed with a thud and a car door shutting without a goodnight kiss. The ball was full of heat and hands and sighs. But the evening ended in a cold and passive aggressive way.

Cold on the outside. All hot and bothered on the inside.

Natasha had her hunches, but also her fears. She guessed Steve was annoyed about her slip about being just friends. The night got away from them and no clarity was had before it all ended. But more than anything, Natasha feared that somehow after their kiss, Steve made the decision to not move forward.

To not try.

Guesses and fears are a dangerous game with a chemistry as combustible as theirs.

The real twisted irony was the focus placed on why this was so hard.

Because it didn't have to be.

It wasn't a hard thing at all on paper. Natasha spent all night in bed, tossing and throwing her sheets, trying to deny what he did to her. A physical attraction so irritating, causing wet dreams to spring up like a horny teenager. It had her touching her lips with each drink of coffee, imagining that Steve was still sucking them dry. She'd spent every second of her shower, feeling the phantom touches of his hands and beard and everything hinted at beneath.

No, it really wasn't difficult on paper.

Natasha was so into Steve it was driving her crazy. And their physical attraction followed the laws of physics, with their lust tapped into, like a fresh keg of beer last night. But it was only the tip of the iceberg. What made everything more intense and real, was the allure of who Steve was. It was everything under the surface, and how well they fit together. It was what she was felt in her heart that mattered most.

With all the palpable chemistry between them, Natasha knew he felt the same way.

She fucking knew it.

So, trying to square what the hell happened and why Steve was cold to her on the ride home, was disorienting. It was just as infuriating as her not being able to verbalize any of those wants and desires.

It was just as infuriating…as her blatantly lying to Steve.

And Natasha had come close last night, but Steve didn't push, and Natasha was fine at first, letting the easy path of avoidance be taken once more. But the argument unfolded with the trio of goons they eavesdropped on, and then everything went and exploded in front of her.

Kablewy.

The fireworks. The celebrity triangle that would have the town gossiping for a 10-day cycle of memes, gifs, and tweets. And their night.

Another dose of irony. Steve was clearly pissed off, and she responded in kind when he'd dropped her off. Yet again, he didn't push. But Natasha wasn't fine then. And she wasn't fine now.

Yes, on paper, the matter was clear. She needed to be honest with herself before honesty with Steve would come naturally. It was hard, because Natasha was figuring out how she was changing, right along with how she was feeling. She was discovering she didn't need to be the one and only journalist in Chicago at the top, in order to feel fulfilled in life.

But 36 years into this way of life, and change wasn't just a challenge.

It was a real son of a bitch.

She held onto the steering wheel like she held onto those details she refused to share with Steve yesterday. With the white knuckles of a death grip. What happened between them at the ball was undeniable. A heated kiss. A passionate entanglement. A boiling over of hormones as they called out each other's names. But what happened at the end of the ball was undeniable too. A cold exchange. An abrupt end. And doors shutting between the Mustang and her building, leaving them both angered and worried.

Hormones to feelings. Attraction to passion. Lies to bad jokes.

Miscommunications to no communication at all.

The simplest things are just that, with a Birdseye view. At 30,000 feet, the earth beneath seems seamless, blending together as plains and elevation changes. But at ground level, each pebble can be seen. Each crack and cavern and river can be examined. At a distance, their friends could see how right Steve and Natasha were for each other. But between the two of them? They were in the thick of it.

They were at ground level. And the two blockheads were complicating matters, refusing to reach for each other in that quicksand, losing themselves as a result.

Blockhead number one was making her final turn toward The Herald.

Natasha parked out front and looked at her clock – 6:33 am. Those nerves hadn't calmed at all on her drive to the office. Waving to the meter maid on duty, Natasha said she'd be out of there within an hour and put a few quarters in the slot.

15 minutes later, Natasha was back from her desk after grabbing a few items. An extra chord for her laptop. A hotspot device in case the hotel's internet was spotty. A full bottle of bourbon from her desk. A copy of Saturday's morning paper that was light, but had the crossword for passing the time. And a couple of printouts and train maps she'd sent from Coulson's office yesterday afternoon while she waited for him.

Printouts on anything she could find on Bruce Banner and Hank Pym. And after her conversation with Coulson, she was able to print out a few more pages on Governor Hammer, Val De Fontaine, and Midwest's board members.

There was nothing of note at first glance, except a stack of reading material to distract her from the man who was going on this road trip with her.

Blockhead number two.

The endless disruptions at the ball seemed like a hinderance. But at this point, distractions were welcomed.

Natasha's early run in with Stan and call with her Dad were the only things that made Natasha feel any sense of calm this morning. And those were short lived, acting only as a small band-aid. It didn't really do anything to soothe the current of confusion inside.

A cab was approaching from down the street, and it only caused her nerves to sputter.

Blockhead number two's arrival was imminent.

Bucky texted her 20 minutes ago on her drive, telling her to be safe today after Fury told him last night what was going on. He also made some inappropriate jokes over texting with an eggplant emoji and a taco with a question mark and a winky face.

Natasha just responded to him, "You're disgusting, Barnes. You and Wanda have a good weekend."

That only aggravated her more. While the joke was absurd, the truth was found in the context.

No, Steve and Natasha weren't going to strip naked and go to town in every indecent way on that terrace. At an extravagant ball, with the city's wealthiest just out of earshot, no less.

At least that's how it seemed now, after the ice-cold water was thrown on them, and a restless night of sleep endured.

But the way they were kissing. The way they were touching and panting. The stares in each other's eyes…

Ill-timed and indecent encounters had to start someway. An absurd joke because it was from Bucky? Yes. Absurd because it was unfathomable? Not at all. As much as Natasha's thoughts had wandered into the titillating territory over the last month, they were outmatched 10-fold by the erotic images drilling a hole in her brain over the last few hours.

Natasha might as well have been a lifelong smoker, quitting cold turkey this morning. An itch had been scratched at, but God it wasn't pacified.

Steve got out of the cab as he paid the driver his fare. Standing tall against the sunlight, he wore light washed jeans and a Navy tee and sneakers. His duffle bag was over his shoulder, and his messenger bag was in hand with a hoodie. He nodded at Natasha with his aviators on, trying to look as cool and calm as Natasha did on the outside.

"Morning, Romanoff."

Natasha cleared her throat, "Good morning, Rogers."

Don't judge a book by its cover.

Their cool looking appearance was a total farce. On the inside, he felt like a fuse was lit, and she was reaching for that first figurative cigarette already.

Screw Steve and his aviators.

And to hell with Natasha and her lips and hair.

It was all lies upon which their appearance was built. On the inside? A fuse was an appropriate metaphor. Steve and Natasha were a fiery ball of nerves, waiting to explode at the slightest twitch. Unsettled from the events of last night, and full of doubt and fear on how this would all go today.

Anyone that said communication was key, clearly didn't know these two.

Natasha pointed to her jeep as he put his bag in the back and offered to drive. Apparently, that gentleman side of Steve was trying to fight for control again.

For now, at least.

Natasha waived him off, "I got this, Rogers. Don't worry though, you don't have to tip this driver." A small attempt at a light joke and a fake huff of a laugh, if she'd ever heard one, was his response.

Steve got in and buckled up, and Natasha turned her head, letting out a heavy breath before climbing in herself. She silently scolded Fury and Pepper for essentially demanding this coordinated drive North. That was all decided last night before everything hit the fan. Steve and Natasha were all for it then.

But after she'd gotten back to her apartment, she had to try to wriggle out of it. It was a week attempt and was met with a blunt response by her boss over the phone at about 2 am.

Fury had just gotten home from the ball and was surprised to hear from Natasha, who'd left well over an hour earlier.

"Sorry for the late call, Fury. Just thinking and getting everything ready for the weekend. Shouldn't Rogers and I go separately? Different papers…Different articles…"

A groan was a response at first, but after Natasha kept rambling, Fury was quick and to the point, "Romanoff, why you are asking this at such a weird time, I don't know. And I don't care to know, either. You're going with Rogers. End of discussion."

"But…"

A drawn-out sigh came out as Fury cut her off, "Romanoff, I'm tired. I'm sure you are too. So, try to get a few hours of shut eye. You can make up any and every excuse, but consider this an order for your job."

Natasha muttered something, and Fury's voice became stern, "This isn't about gas mileage. You are going together, to keep an eye on each other. You're dealing with a corporation and a pissed off criminal, and now are telling me the Governor is involved. Pepper and I like your chances of being safe and coming back to actually write a story, if you're with each other."

There was a slight pause and Natasha took a breath, but before her involuntary arguing continued, Fury was short with her, "Natasha. Stop. This is the end of it. Now act like that professional and talented writer I know is in there…and do your job."

Natasha huffed, relenting a little. But with the way her body was still tense as her hand gripped her phone, relenting hardly seemed like the right term, "Fine. Although you and everyone have a hilarious way of throwing me in every goddamn direction."

This time, Natasha didn't let Fury answer before she continued, "First you and Bucky and everyone I've ever met, is telling me to basically set sail to a fairytale land with this guy. 'Quit sabotaging, Natasha…quit, getting in your own way, Romanoff.' It's not all my fault, Fury. This guy was all over me and then wouldn't even look at me an hour ago when he dropped me off. And now…you're forcing me to be cooped up in Milwaukee with him all weekend."

Fury didn't say a word at first.

The fact Natasha had imitated Fury and Bucky's voices with her mocking tone was not missed. But after Natasha simmered a little, realizing what she'd just said in a fit of exhaustion, Fury let out a sigh, "Romanoff. It's really simple. On your personal matters, people have been talking to you so much because they care. Including me. But really, that care ends with just that. We care, but have no control over you. So, whatever you or Rogers, or the both of you were up to tonight, I don't want the details. You have to sort that out on your own in the end."

All the advice can be given around a dilemma. But their problem was just that. Their problem.

Natasha and Steve were going to have to figure this out on their own in the end. Regardless of shenanigans by Wanda and Bucky and Tony, trying to force them together. Regardless of words of wisdom from the man and second father figure she spoke to in the middle of the night, after a ball. Regardless of worries and fears and mistakes. This road they were on…they would have to choose to continue down together, or separate and go it alone.

That was their decision. That was their personal life.

But this weekend and the story? Well, other players did have a say in those matters as Fury continued.

"And while you've proven you don't really listen all too well on professional matters either, I at least get a say because I sign your paychecks. You know this story is reaching into some dangerous corners. And there is strength in numbers, regardless of where you and Rogers are at with your personal affairs. No one is saying you have to write with each other or share or trust or do whatever it is, that is causing problems. But the two of you are going to Milwaukee with each other. It's the best bet in staying safe, and keeping each other out of trouble. Now, this is final."

Natasha sat on her bed with her green dress off and sweats now on, shaking her head. She knew Fury was right, regardless of how much she wanted to argue. She also knew she just wanted to argue to let out some of that steam built up inside of her.

She wasn't getting out of this, so another blunt response came out of her, "Fine."

It wasn't fine, but she wasn't arguing or mocking or spinning her wheels, (at Fury, at least,) anymore.

Fury sighed, "You're going to make me lose my hair."

Natasha couldn't help but scoff, "You don't have any hair."

"Yeah, well, I think that's a result of caring for someone that works for you, who's as talented as she is stubborn."

That did the trick. Natasha knew he cared, and Fury was feeling the late hour and events from the night, letting some of his sincerity shine through.

She exhaled, letting some of that stress fall away.

"I'm sorry, Fury. I think the night just got to me. You know I'll do my job. I'll book our hotel rooms and that'll be the end of it."

It wouldn't be the end of her worries, but it was the end of her trying to squirm out of the situation.

"I know you will. You stay safe and keep me posted. And whatever is going on with you and Rogers…well, I've said my peace on it, Romanoff. It's up to the two of you in the end. Just stay safe."

"We'll talk tomorrow. Goodnight, Fury."

The phone call ended, and that goodnight was a lot more heartfelt than the one exchanged a couple of hours ago as Steve dropped her off.

Regardless, the matter was settled. Steve and Natasha would be off in just a few hours, together.

Off to Milwaukee. Off to find answers for their story. Off to see if a retraction was possible from their worst mistakes with each other.

The jeep was in drive, and the journalists were officially on the road together.

Together only in space.

Natasha had the local news on her XM Radio as she pointed to her cup holder, "There's a coffee for you too. Figured it's early enough, you'd want another even if you had one."

Steve was battling, even with this small gesture. It was his stubborn side poking out saying, 'Oh, I'll be here all weekend.'

Natasha just rolled her eyes and opened her mouth without thinking, "Just take the damn coffee, Steve."

Steve shook his head and let out a forceful, "Thanks," and took a big drink.

She caught his lips out of her peripheral and yelled at herself to knock it off. Otherwise, this was going to be one hell of a bumpy trip.

The local news started talking about the gossip from the Riverfront Charity Ball, and only mentioned in passing, the insane amount of money raised. 30 million raised wasn't the story. The real news of the evening was all about the celebrity love triangle and the fallout from the quarterback and boyfriend's fist fight.

Natasha frowned at the radio as if it was taunting her on purpose before she changed it to a country music station.

Steve took another sip and smacked his lips, "Someone's jumpy this morning."

Those eggshells were being walked on, but their feisty sides were raring to go at the drop of a dime.

Natasha gripped the wheel a little tighter, "Yeah, well. It was a long night. I'd rather just zone out to music."

A little poke by him was met by an equal prod by her.

A grumble came out as Steve looked out the window. Zone out they did.

6:52 am, they'd taken off. It'd take a little over 90 minutes to get to Milwaukee's outskirts where they were staying in a hotel near Midwest Pharmaceutical's research and production facility.

It would maybe be closer to 2 hours if they hit traffic.

20 minutes later, a few classic country songs had played before Steve finally let out another remark, "Didn't peg you for someone who enjoyed the steel guitar while guys sing about their dogs and exes and trucks."

A chuckle managed to escape as Natasha shrugged her shoulders, "Well, that's the small town in me. Mom and Dad say it's the one thing I couldn't grow out of…Well, that and my stubbornness."

Steve huffed, acknowledging he obviously agreed with her parents on that matter.

Natasha tapped her fingers to Waylon Jennings' crooning sounds, "I don't like it always…but it's great in the summer and on the water and outside. And I don't know…it helps me relax anytime when I'm overthinking things."

Damn.

20 minutes in, and she'd already mis stepped in this emotional field of landmines. Natasha invited the natural follow up question as Steve looked over and asked behind his sunglasses, "What are you overthinking?"

Steve sounded genuine because he was. Misstep or not, they couldn't avoid falling into these traps. Natasha peeked over as she got on the interstate, fully leaving the city now, "What am I not overthinking? Who else is in danger? What the hell Wildfire is and means. What tests they're running. If we're really going to figure out anything this weekend."

Whether she was referring to the two of them or this story, it wasn't spelled out. But they could both tell, Natasha probably meant both.

Steve had a scowl, contemplating for a few seconds. He blew out a breath as he looked out the window again, clearly having an internal battle before responding, "Look, Romanoff…I owe you an apology."

Put a win in the gentleman column for Steve's internal battle of wills.

For now, at least.

Natasha's eyes widened behind her shades as he looked over at her, "I was rude to you last night when I dropped you off. I don't like that I acted that way..."

Natasha swallowed and shifted in her seat nervously, "Steve…"

Steve held up his hand, "Just let me finish, Natasha. Regardless of everything that happened, and whatever today uncovers for our stories…I don't like how I acted last night at the end. I am sorry for that."

Well shit. What the hell was she supposed to do now?

The reason why he acted standoffish wasn't addressed, but he'd clearly taken the first step in being the bigger person.

Nothing was talked about in the open. Nothing at all, but Steve was sincere in wishing they wouldn't have ended the evening on such a sour note. So, she gave a nervous smile and looked over at him for a second, "I'm sorry for how the night ended too, Steve."

Before they could go any further down that rabbit hole of emotional truth finding, Steve held up his hand, "Then let's just get through the weekend, okay? Us doing our jobs and staying safe…and trying not to kill each other over this story sounds good to me. That's what we should focus on."

Tony's skill on stage last night was contagious, apparently, because the journalists' tap dancing was on full display. The dodging they were both doing, by having this veiled conversation without addressing any of the internal complexities at play…was quite impressive.

But it was also stupid, stubborn, and fear driven.

Forrest Gump said it best. Stupid is as stupid does.

Natasha agreed with a nod, and they fell into a long silence over the next hour. Trying to lean into any distraction, Natasha hummed along to some of her favorite classic country songs by Tammy, George, Johnny, and Patsy. And Steve tried to keep up his appearance, that he wasn't positively going crazy inside. Crazy for the woman driving the jeep and driving him mad.

Steve had made a choice though. Several choices in fact. This story was important to him, and it was obviously important to Natasha. No matter the complications and mess between them, he wasn't going to ruin that. It was a crucial time for the threads they were holding onto. Somehow, he'd find a way to keep his hands to himself this weekend and keep his thoughts locked away. At least until the weekend was over.

A fool's errand was a signature drink at Wasted Time, when Steve sent Natasha on her own wild goose chase. And a fool's errand was what Steve was on now, thinking he could keep feelings that strong, locked away.

An impossible mission in fact.

But Steve came to another conclusion too. He was so upset last night when he got home, he decided to say fuck it and shot off a text message at about the same time Natasha was talking with Fury. A text that was answered, causing him to make a very early stop this morning. Before he'd even gotten in his cab to The Herald. The sun wasn't even up when that choice of his, came to fruition.

Natasha was clearly willing to work alongside Steve with the big-ticket items for this story, but she was keeping things to herself, so Steve decided to dive into that competitive drive of his too.

Apologize for ending the night poorly. Keep his hands to himself.

But everything else was fair game.

And right now, they both had the same soiled mindset. The story came first.

Old habits are hard to kill. And even when you think you've gotten away from them, they can come surging back if you let them. Friendship or not, Steve wasn't going to let Natasha run the show, just because she'd been running this city's journalism for the last decade.

Steve may have made the first step towards being a bigger person, but it didn't mean he was a push over.

Natasha pulled over at a rest-stop and gas station just outside of Milwaukee. She ran inside first to grab some water and filled up the jeep when she came back out. Steve went inside to use the bathroom quick, and Natasha found out firsthand, exactly who Steve had been texting with, in the early hours of the morning.

Janet Van Dyne.

His bag was on the passenger side floor, and his phone was face down in the seat. Natasha heard the blip of an incoming text and honestly, she only thought about it for a second before picking it up.

And a full second was being charitable. She'd been accused of having an insatiable curiosity all her life.

Natasha didn't know the passcode to Steve's phone, but she was able to see the incoming message from Janet.

"Thank you for the encouragement this morning, Steve. I hope the little I could give was helpful. Be careful."

Any ounce of best intentions and attempts, at trying to just get through the weekend peacefully, disappeared as quickly as his phone faded to black.

"Son of a bitch."

Natasha was floored as she returned his phone. The gas pump clicked, and she got out to put it away and tried to think straight.

At first, thoughts like, 'How dare he,' and, 'He has some nerve,' filled her head. But those didn't last long. The double standard was a little too ripe on those grandstanding attempts as her own lies were fresh from last night still.

Natasha didn't tell Steve about her conversation with Coulson or Jones. But she also didn't make the connection, that Steve knew about her meetings. Regardless, she didn't tell him.

All the reasons for her fib, swirled around through her night of restless sleep. But the wrong reason surged ahead right now, and it was the one she leaned into.

An old habit of winning at all costs and letting her successes make up for any mistakes, was sounding the alarms. All the nuanced thoughts about wanting to trust Steve and knowing they could work great as colleagues, without this duplicity, went right into the trash. Right next to Natasha's banana peel and granola wrapper.

What Natasha was really trying to say to herself, was how dare Steven Grant Rogers, act exactly as she did. He was supposed to be the better one. The goody two shoes. The more mature journalist. She was the one to win at all costs.

Not him.

Hypocrisy, meet the lovely duo of Steve and Natasha. Stupidity and Stubborn themselves.

What Natasha was finding out not by his words, but firsthand…was just how much Steve used to be exactly like Natasha. Lines to be crossed? Sure. Time with family and friends to be cancelled? No problem.

There was a reason Peggy and Steve were doomed from the start. They weren't right for each other. They weren't each other's person. Same for Matt and Natasha. But there was also a reason why Peggy accused Steve the other night on the phone, of not changing at all and still being just as reckless as he used to be. She wasn't talking about his strength or ability to cross the line when needed. She was talking about this.

Crossing any line, no matter the cost.

That was simplifying hyperbole, but it was a glimpse into both journalists.

Natasha saw Steve's actions matching her own, after everything. And especially, after last night ended so poorly. But she also saw herself through Steve's actions in meeting with Janet, before the sun rose this morning, nonetheless.

And through that reflection, Natasha felt just how much it bothered her. His actions…and hers. This whole thing had a warped filter applied like a Snapchat funny face. Natasha looked at herself in the window of her jeep, and one thing was for certain.

In all her time in relationships before meeting Steve, Natasha didn't care what others said about her. Over driven, too competitive. Too focused on work and not having a life. Even when she knew she'd crossed lines in the worst ways, she didn't really feel guilty. Because if the story got out there, it was worth it.

Her job was her life, and she'd accepted it.

But now, for the first time as she looked at herself in tinted glass, Natasha didn't like who was staring back.

What was really going on was Natasha was getting a taste of her own medicine. Or poison, depending on perspective. Steve, after their strong connection, went back on this shared trust just like she had. He was going after his own piece of the story, just like she'd decided to yesterday with Coulson and Jones. And every ounce of anger and distrust she tried to project onto Steve, was only glaring back at her right now.

The truth was a real bastard sometimes. The harder the truth, the tougher the pill of honesty was to swallow.

Natasha was burned by someone she more than cared about. By someone who was shoving every mistake she'd made in the last 24 hours, right back in her face.

Natasha felt more for Steve than she had any other man in her life. Ever.

She couldn't, (wouldn't) verbalize it, but she knew it deep in her bones. And that scared the hell out of Natasha. So, she did what any competitive, over-worked talent, would do.

She told the notions of truth and honesty to fuck right off.

Natasha looked away from herself and dug in.

Karma or a counterpunch, it didn't matter at this point. Natasha made a decision too.

Hypocritical? Abso-fucking-lutely. So was Steve in this situation. And something that had started small, with Natasha not telling Steve about her City Hall visit yesterday right away, turned into something bigger.

Because it wasn't about those surface lies and details. It was what those actions represented. Lack of trust. Confused feelings. Fear and stubbornness running the show.

It was about the two of them refusing to talk.

Refusing to have the talk.

So, pile on she would as Natasha muttered to herself, "Shut up."

"What'd you say, Romanoff?"

Natasha flinched. Steve was back and looked at her as he was getting into the jeep.

Natasha shook it off, burying all those strong feelings just like they buried any attempts to talk about last night. To hell with being the bigger person.

The kiss? Didn't happen if they didn't address it.

Their genuine steps forward and friendship that had formed over the last month? Not important right now. The story was what mattered.

The most important elephant in the room, regarding their feelings?

Fuck feelings.

Feelings were staring back at herself a minute ago. She didn't like what she saw. And feelings kept Steve up all night as he feared losing Natasha just as much as she did him.

Oh boy, did old habits die hard.

So, Natasha got back into the jeep, telling herself to dig in and focus on the story. That was safe. She knew how to do that. She could always rely on that. And every sensible thought and meaningful conversation she'd had with friends and family and Steve in her life, were gone. Locked away with logic and sensibility, in the depths of her brain.

How forcefully those buried feelings would come out later, would be discovered not too long from this moment.

Natasha nodded at him as she started the jeep and caught Steve checking his phone out of the corner of her eye. The most infuriating thing was just how good he was at duplicity. She'd known it since meeting him. And she'd felt it through every article she read yesterday afternoon. Steve was an incredible talent. And he was just as good as her at keeping his cover up. If she didn't snoop on his phone, Natasha never would've guessed he'd gotten a text.

Steve handed her a water, "This is for the coffee this morning. Consider us even, Romanoff."

'We may be even, but it's not settled.'

Steve's words from right after they'd met, ran through her brain.

She felt every word now.

This little tit for tat between them was far from over. Natasha smiled and said thanks, and they were off again. Only this time the walls were up even higher.

"Midwest's facility is 20 minutes north of the city, right?"

Natasha nodded, "Never been there, but it's in a small town, just on the outskirts. Good news is the company has some tourist attractions, with a kids play center and science exhibit. Tours occur on the weekends, so I think we'll be able to sneak in with a little disguise."

Steve turned his head, "You thinking of going full Mission Impossible and putting a mask on?"

'Why put on a mask, when you are wearing such an impeccable disguise already?'

Natasha's internal voice wasn't locked away quite as well as she'd thought, scoffing at his joke, "I don't think we'll have to go that far. It's amazing what can be done with some glasses and hats and a wig."

Steve was intrigued, "Well, now I'm curious. I had to scrap together my fair share of ones overseas…I'm curious with what you come up with, Romanoff."

They fell into a silence again. This time, it felt more uncomfortable than when they'd stopped for gas. Steve's feelings about trust were tapped as he read the text from Janet. Turns out, he didn't like staring his mistakes in the eye right now, either. He tossed his phone into his bag as thoughts raged on.

Being the bigger person was officially in the rearview mirror.

Steve made a few notes on his pad, which only annoyed Natasha, knowing he was probably writing about his meeting with Janet this morning. Then he worked on a crossword without making any comments or jokes like they had throughout their rivaled friendship. And that just pissed her off, because she knew Steve was actively trying to get under her skin.

So, Natasha made her own attempt at annoying him. She made a call to Peter, leaving a voicemail, "Hey kid, forgot to tell you yesterday. Go ahead and use the tickets for the Cubs' last game of the season in a couple days. I won't be going. You and MJ have a blast."

Steve paused with the crossword and glanced over at Natasha for a moment.

The Cubs were playing their last series this coming week and the last pitch would be thrown as their season closed. Their season was abysmal, but had nothing to do with Natasha deciding not to go to Wrigley one last time this year. Natasha and Steve had jokingly talked about going to it together last week. A joke that was light, but suggestive at the time.

That was before everything got twisted between them at the ball.

Natasha, always showing she could go just as low, and even lower than Steve, was calling Peter so Steve could hear every word.

What she was really saying, was that they would not be going to the game together, regardless of tickets at the office.

Maturity was out the window, only leaving their childish antics to accompany their drive.

Steve's jaw was tight, and she turned the volume up a couple more notches as Dolly Parton sang. Steve knew she was trying to get under his skin too, and the aggravation level in the jeep thickened.

It was past 8:30 am when a couple of tightly wound journalists pulled into the main parking lot of Midwest Pharmaceuticals.

The location wasn't just a building, but an entire campus. Pristine and manicured with flowers, trees, and a fountain at the entrance. Fall's atmosphere was in full effect with leaves rustling around and the colors of autumn blossoming under the blue skies. A walking path where bikers could be seen wove through the campus. Several tour buses were ready to go. The 20-acre property had tremendous curb appeal, so the fact that the company competed with other big pharma brands, wasn't surprising at all at first glance.

It was hard to imagine that some imploding story was occurring under this fairytale image on the outside.

"Is that an ice cream truck parked next to a hot dog and beer stand?"

Steve was in a little disbelief and Natasha let out a genuine laugh at his question. Because it was exactly as he asked.

Apparently, Midwest had seasonal events held every Saturday. And the Fall Festival theme was in full force. There was a hayride ready to go, to drive guests on the pasture where some of their livestock roamed. A hot cocoa and cider booth and a couple games were present. And even a space with benches and tables around several campfires for later in the day was prepared. It even looked like live music was setting up on their open green space.

Natasha glanced around, "Who doesn't love alcohol, food, or live music on a beautiful, fall day? It's a little chilly, but why not go with the whole fall festival theme, right?"

Steve shook his head, "Sinister corporation by night. Norman Rockwell painting by day."

The parking lot wasn't full, but it would be by midday.

Natasha pulled into a spot closer to the back of the lot, not even thinking as her words escaped, "Don't judge a Mustang and formal wear by their shiny veneer, right? Nothing's as sunny under the surface."

Natasha cleared her throat, cursing herself for letting her subconscious find its voice. Steve shook his head and couldn't stop from responding, "Oh, come on, Romanoff. I'm sure you can find a fall festival to go to, since you're not going to the Cubs game next week."

Sarcasm and snark traded barbs.

She took an involuntary jab at how the night fell apart. He threw it right back, with his annoyance over her call to Peter.

The problem with the whole idea of getting lost in this exchange game of theirs, was that it wasn't for fun or hazing anymore. The sole purpose was to cause burns and stings, trying to remedy the hurt they felt within. That never ended well. When leading someone into a briar patch, everyone comes out with thorns.

And no one comes out clean in the game of spite.

Natasha didn't answer, which was aggravating enough for Steve.

But then Natasha crawled into the backseat of the jeep, brushing shoulders, and letting her hair and jeans graze right by him in the tight space. And it was downright maddening, because all he could think about were all those grazes and touches and sounds from last night.

"Sorry Rogers…gotta blend in and don't want to change outside in the parking lot."

Steve let out a huff and unbuckled his seatbelt, "Toss me my bag up here. I have a few things I can make work."

"I figure look like a tourist if we can, right?"

"Yeah, I'd say the pesky and stubborn journalist appearance is a good look to avoid."

Natasha rolled her eyes as she bent over the back seat to grab his bag. Steve caught her rearend staring right back at him. The fact that her jeans were form fitting didn't go unnoticed.

Dig in and avoid internal landmines. Focus on external threads only. Get through the morning, so they could find some distance in separate hotel rooms.

Their mission was clear.

Natasha put his bag in the driver's seat and pulled hers next to her in the back, "Well, I don't have a fanny pack or large camera, but I think I can make do with some goodies I've used over the years."

Steve turned his head, "Fanny pack? Romanoff, it's not 1992."

Natasha jumped right on it, "Hey I work with Peter and MJ, who are even old to some teenagers now, but they keep me in the loop with the youngins…Fanny packs are a thing again."

Steve answered right back, "I don't think we'll see any big cameras today. This may be a tourist attraction for bored travelers on a weekend, but it's not exactly a natural wonder of the world. Camera phones are more than fine for a pharmaceutical research facility. And by the way, I work with a literal teenager. I've never seen Harley with anyone wearing a clip-on purse. But whatever you say though, Romanoff, since you always have to be right."

Natasha paused for a moment while their sunglasses met in the rearview mirror, "I don't always have to be right."

Steve's actually laughed and it could only be described as sarcastic, "Does it even register in your brain when you do that?"

The zipper on her duffle stopped in its tracks, "Do what?"

Steve turned his head to meet her square on, "That. Dig in just for the sake of it. Argue only because you want to. Circle around your own logic so much, that you've gone into a tailspin, all to try and justify whatever you're saying."

So much for peace talks.

Natasha leaned forward, "Me? Me and justifications? Oh, that's rich, Rogers. Even for you."

Push and pull. Jab and punch.

This was not about fanny packs.

"What the hell does that mean, Romanoff?"

Natasha's nails scraped at the fabric on her duffle, "This whole righteous thing you try and spew at me. The only difference between you and me, Rogers…is that I'm not afraid to wear the dirt I roll around in. You act like you're so goddamn mature since your reinvention in moving overseas. You're just as filthy as the rest of us chasing a story."

Guilt and hypocrisy.

What a fiery combo they make.

Both journalists felt the guilt of lies and mistakes on their own part, while simultaneously projecting it outward to the opposing force, all within the tiny space of the jeep.

Hypocrites? The mirror was effective as their breathing increased. Because the term was applicable to who they saw in their own reflection, and to each other in this stupid dispute.

Over fanny packs.

Over everything this argument represented.

"Jesus, Romanoff. You think I don't know that? I've been honest with you about how I threw every consequence out the window, just to prove I was right in a past life. Just to prove I could get the story out there first."

The word honest might as well have doubled as a triple dog dare, because it went well beyond provoking.

"I'm not talking about past lives, Rogers."

"Then what the fuck are we talking about, Romanoff? Because I have a hard time keeping up with you sometimes. And I'm not talking about this goddamn story."

This was it.

Were they doing this now? Before they had a chance to see the inside of Midwest?

Steve's nostrils were flaring. Natasha's throat tightened as she swallowed.

Both knew how dishonest they'd been regarding their own discoveries and actions.

Neither knew that the other person was aware of each other's deceit.

"We're not doing this now. That right there? Midwest is why we're here, Rogers. If you have a hard time keeping up, then I suggest you quicken the pace."

Tempers were prodded at, as the temperature rose, regardless of how chilly it was outside.

Steve took a breath and softened his voice, "I know fully why we're here, Romanoff. And I don't have any problems keeping up on the story. Let's just get through this so we can get to our own rooms and work this afternoon."

"Sounds great to me."

Both lamented to themselves how quickly any civility dissolved and blew out a breath. Steve went back to his bag and so did Natasha.

But she added as a footnote, "And I don't always have to be right. But I am right about the fanny packs, Rogers. Harley doesn't count. That kid is more hipster than trendy…in the best way, so he's a bad sample for you. I guarantee we spot five fanny packs today…at least."

This was goddamn hilarious if either one of them were looking at this interaction objectively.

"You realize by continuing to argue about nothing, it only proves me right…right? But you know what? Fine…As far as five fanny packs? Yeah, I'll definitely take the under on that."

Natasha shrugged, tossing her oversized sweater in the back as she finally opened her bag, "Well, there's two hotel rooms booked for us, loser pays for both at check-in in a few hours."

Steve took off his sunglasses, "Sounds good to me. Thanks in advance for covering my room, Romanoff."

Natasha answered just as quickly, "Believe me. No thanks will be needed. I'll look forward to my free room tonight. Now avert your eyes, Rogers. I gotta put my khakis on."

A phrase neither thought they'd ever hear, 24 hours ago.

And as far as taking the over or under went…Whether Steve and Natasha made it another 24 hours without being at each other's throats again, any onlookers would definitely take the under.

But Steve looked away as he dug through his own bag. He could hear her jeans unzipping and khakis being pulled up, and it grated at him. But he focused and found what he thought might come in handy. A Wisconsin Badgers T-Shirt Clint gave to him when he started at The Star. Barton said he got a box of them from a sports story on college athletics in the Midwest, and everyone in the office got one. Now that they were actually in Wisconsin, Steve thought it'd help him blend in when he threw it in his bag this morning.

Steve took his shirt off quickly and pulled the Badgers shirt on. Natasha did not take her own request to heart, because her eyes were not averting Steve at all. She was putting on her tennis shoes and couldn't help but stare at him through her sunglasses. The planes of his muscles underneath his chest hair. A glimpse of his biceps. The hint of his navel. It was over in a flash, but the saliva still formed at the back of her throat.

If a picture was worth a thousand words, then a second, taking in Steve Rogers' chest and arms and back, was worth 10,000 more.

Steve felt her eyes on him and shook his head when he caught her mid-ogle. She'd probably argue with that too if he dared to call her out. But they both just wanted to get inside and out of this jeep. So, he blew out a breath, and put on a pair of reading glasses and a ballcap. Natahsa cleared her throat and slipped on a black sweater and a denim jacket, before adding a blonde wig and her own pair of reading glasses.

Steve did a double-take, and he couldn't help but ask, "I assume you don't just walk around with a blonde wig in your back pocket?"

A little laugh did actually escape Natasha, "Wanda's bachelorette party, actually…from a few years back. There was a running joke since we're both redheads, that I was going to get some of her free drinks from that night."

Steve stared as she shrugged, "So I let her be the only redhead at her party. We all had shirts that said things like Kiss The Bride Goodbye, Bride Or Die, or Bride Crew. It was punk rock themed…I didn't really care about free drinks or looking bad."

An image of Natasha dressed in black studded jeans and a shredded tee with 80's accessories flashed through his brain.

Steve let out a breath, "Yeah, I bet you looked terrible, Romanoff."

Natasha looked down, hiding under the chin length bob of her blonde wig. Steve shook his head, seeing her fumble with her shoelaces a little. They were hitting each other's mental pressure points in the worst ways.

Innuendos about honesty and chases of what they didn't dare speak of, filled the jeep. And the longer they dug in, the more stress was felt. Enough of it, that there was sure to be another explosion in store.

Natasha was done and looked the part of a local, just out running errands on the weekend. And Steve would blend in with most other men in hoodies and joggers, or sports tees and jeans today.

Almost blend in that is.

Most men didn't look like Steve. And most women didn't look like Natasha.

Natasha smacked her legs with both hands, indicating she was ready, "Well, let's go see how well we blend in with local tourists."

Keep moving forward toward the story. That had to be the answer, because if they sat with their thoughts, these cups of truth and emotions would surely runneth over.

They didn't bring any messenger bags with them this time. The simpler their appearance, the better. 20 minutes later, they were signing up for the next tour with a blonde receptionist named Dottie. The receptionist noticed that most men didn't look like Steve too.

Dottie's attempts at flirting with Steve were anything but subtle. She even leaned forward, trying to show off what was underneath her Midwest polo as she twirled her hair. Natasha rolled her eyes and walked around to look at some pictures behind her front desk.

Val De Fontain, CEO. She'd taken the position five years ago.

Natasha glanced through a plaque with gold plated names of board members for Midwest. There were a lot of names that blended together, unrecognizable from each other. Bob Jones, Mike Smith, Tim Evans, Kelly Miller, Jim Williams.

Over 100 names in all, the list went on and on.

But a few names, Natasha did recognize.

A couple of city council members for Chicago were on the board - Ava Starr and Bill Foster. Which wasn't necessarily uncommon. For most people, being a board member of a company was a note on their resume of investments, and nothing else. But seeing Obadiah Stane's name next, with him being the former Governor before Justin Hammer, reeked of conflicting interests.

Then there were people that stood out because they were among the richest in the country. People who made lists like Forbes Wealthiest in America. Charles Xavier. Alexander Pierce. Emma Frost. Quentin Beck. Baron Mordo. Helen Cho.

Natasha made a mental note of the ones she recognized. Some of the other names were senators and congressmen. How many were possibly involved with this story? She didn't have a clue. Trying to sift through who was honest and had good intentions, amongst the wealthy and powerful, was like trying to hold water in a leaky bucket.

Natasha heard Dottie's high-pitched laugh, that was way too obvious as she looked back and caught Steve's eyes.

Natasha shook her head as Steve winked at the receptionist through his black rimmed glasses. He'd looked at Dottie, but she knew he was trying to provoke her, and Natasha just glared at him for a second before she heard the woman add, "Johnny, right? A bunch of us are going to a local bar tonight. You should come."

Natasha walked back around as the perky blonde gave her a stare and added, "You can bring your…sister too if you want." She may have covered up her red hair, but Natasha's feisty side would not be subdued, "Oh don't worry…"

Natasha let a second pass as she peered at the blonde's nametag before continuing, "Dottie, right? Don't worry, we're not related. But we're just friends."

Dottie couldn't tell everything that was going on between the journalists in glasses and a wig, but she could tell she liked the way Johnny looked in his shirt, "Well, the name of the bar is The Taproom. Really hope to see you there."

Johnny smiled and said goodbye as they got in line for their tour. Steve however, groaned as he turned around to face Natasha, "Thanks for making everything so clear for Dottie."

Natasha's grin was absolutely wicked, "No problem…Johnny."

Natasha gave her worst impression of the receptionist as she puckered her lips and raised her voice an octave and giggled. Steve rolled his eyes, "You realize she didn't even pick up on how you were cutting her down, right?"

Natasha shrugged but there was a glint in her eye as she caught a teenager in front of her. She nudged Steve's elbow, "It's not that I always have to be right, Rogers. It's just that when I am, I'm not backing down. Look…fanny pack número uno. One down, four to go."

Steve couldn't stop his mouth from curving slightly. She was being snarky, (and a little jealous,) toward Dottie. But her giddiness challenged that stubborn wall they both had up. Natasha was already ahead with this on-the-fly, fanny pack battle, as he said, "Let's not count the chickens before they're hatched, Romanoff."

The tour started, as they entered the room labeled, 'Erskine's Science Center,' first. They watched children play with some of the interactive stations and took in all the presentation pizazz. It was all run of the mill, as they watched an animated video about Midwest's history and as the kids and parents even made their own pharmacy at some play stations. The fake medicine kits consisted of candy and different colors of water in vials, but it looked the part. And nothing appeared out of the ordinary, except that fanny number two was spotted.

Of course, Natasha held up a peace sign to Steve as he groaned. They continued out of the building and into the shipping warehouse.

The tour started off with a fun bang, with lots of sparkly colors and interactions for the kids. But a tour of a pharmaceutical company was still a tour. Information filled most of the time, about drugs and chemicals and benefits that medicine had on history. Everything to paint Midwest in a positive light.

20 minutes later, they were walking down a long corridor with glass walls, where guests could see the sorting of one of their main products, a major competitor in the Acetaminophen game. Most of the kids were bored at this point, but the adults found the process and scope of the operation interesting.

Natasha poked Steve in the side. She pointed to a worker in the large room, where refined machinery was sorting pills. The worker had a hardhat and a white hygienic suit on, but sure as hell, he was wearing a fanny pack too.

Natasha made a clicking sound with her cheek and winked as she held up three fingers and Steve couldn't help but hold her stare. Their disguises on the outside worked a hell of a lot better than the internal masks they wore.

Boasting and cocky attitudes waivered for a second as that tension curled. She took a breath, and Steve didn't let her look away. She was winning this stupid fanny pack disagreement, but that wasn't what was driving Steve crazy. It was everything else they were avoiding.

It was the truth between them.

"Make sure we keep up now, we don't want anyone getting lost. Our equipment can do a lot, but we don't have a sorting machine to find mis-placed tourists."

The tour guide's voice was bright and positive as the silly joke was met with a few chuckles. She added a pun about a great bonus of working here, being the lack of headaches from all the free Acetaminophen employees received.

The next building showed researchers in lab coats behind their glass walls with safety goggles and microscopes. There were large machines that looked like MRI tubes and X-Rays behind them. It was way over any observers' head, but this seemed a little closer to what Steve and Natashas were searching for. Anything science and research related. Less production. And more of anything that looked like doctors could be involved. Specifically, a team of four specific scientists. Two of which were dead now.

But the peek into Midwest's lab facility was just that. A peek. Wildfire was off the books and surely more hidden away. But still, they were getting warmer though.

Steve and Natasha caught the signage and doors for restricted sections in every building they'd been in. That was expected. But this particular restricted section seemed more secure than the previous ones. A couple of guards even stood outside the access door to this lab.

A teenager in the group wandered off, bored out of her mind, towards those restricted doors. Natasha and Steve watched closely as the tour guide corrected the teen, "Oh no, Sweetie. We don't want to go back there. We have lots of scientists working on important things all over. We are all so lucky to get the tour we do."

That only begged the question of what important things were being worked on, to be asked.

But the teenager, now annoyed at being called out for wandering, asked Natasha and Steve's silent question in her own way, with a lot of snark, "What, you have Godzilla back there or something?"

The tour guide named Christine laughed it off and kept going, "Well of course not…We keep Godzilla with all our other test subjects."

A few more polite chuckles came out from the adults as Christine added, "But come along, because the scientists' time is very valuable, and we don't want to disturb them. Now, I welcome all of you to go the end of the tour with me. But if you don't want to walk through and meet some of our animals, you can exit right here as we make our way back to the main building for refreshments. You can stick around as long as you want today for the free music outside. Our fall festivities are a lot of fun for families."

A few people had no interest in seeing animals, but most of the people in the group kept going.

Christine's positivity was a little odd for a normal conversation. But she fit the bill perfectly for a tour guide, "Now I know a lot of people think testing animals is such an inhumane thing and have these awful images in mind. And yes, there are always some unpleasantries, but that's the circle of life. But here at Midwest, we assure you, all our animals are treated in the most humane way possible. And it's a necessity to make sure the drugs that help us as humans, are more than ready and safe, by the time we're all working on our own headaches."

The first headache joke was passable for Dad's and Laffy Taffy wrappers.

This one was just bad.

The last room on this particular tour was designed like a barn. It was all for show, with Midwest acknowledging that yes, of course they test animals to make sure the drugs produced are safe for human trials. All so the drug can make it to market safely. And in the end, so Midwest can make heaps of money off the product.

But this room at the end of the tour, was clearly not the testing facility. It was equivalent to a petting zoo.

Natasha raised her brow, and Steve shook his head, seeing the show on display in front of them. A couple of large aquariums with fish in one and frogs in the other. A tunneled enclosure with several glassed-in spaces, holding bats, spiders, and snakes, separately. Back out in the light was an array of biology on display. Rabbits and baby goats. Pigs and cows. Sheep and chickens. There was even a donkey, a cat, and a dog. The showcase of a barn had a huge door that opened up into a secure pasture too, where a hayride was already in motion.

It was quite impressive. The kids were entertained immediately. And the parents were engaged, taking pictures with their children and the animals. Everyone bought in, hook, line, and sinker.

These animals had caretakers and never saw any scientists, drugs, or needles. Heck, any tests done were mostly on rodents behind secured doors. These animals were here, simply for show to end each tour with a positive flourish. It was a shot of sugar to help the figurative medicine go down in a facility where drugs were created. The fact that a gift shop was right outside the exit was the cherry on top.

Natasha muttered to Steve as they walked through the darkened tunnel, "Think any of these fellas know the difference between this sham of a show, and any other zoo they're shipped around to?"

Steve scoffed looking at the glass cases, "I think some of these fellas are ladies. And no, I don't."

There was another employee only restricted area, away from the open pasture and gift shop exit. Natasha saw it and backed up against the wall in their tunnel. Information about the small reptiles and bats and bugs was at her back, but it was that restricted area she was staring at.

Not thinking about anything else but the story, Natasha grabbed Steve's arm and pulled him close. So close, that their chests were brushing against each other, "Shh. Look."

They both turned to watch their tour guide Christine walk and scan her badge over the security pad. She stood with the door open, and Natasha saw a familiar face. Or at least she thought so.

Natasha felt a jolt of adrenaline.

There was a fair skinned woman with long dark hair at Janet Van Dyne's house when Natasha showed up earlier this week. It was literally a passing moment then, and the only reason the woman stood out in Janet's full and busy house was because she was standing by herself and looked…distraught.

Natasha could swear it was the same exact woman. She was in a lab coat and had a clipboard. They looked in the middle of a serious discussion. But a minute later she was gone. Christine returned to the group.

Steve's attention shifted, staring at Natasha now.

Blonde wig. Hats and glasses. It didn't matter.

Their eyes met, filling with thoughts about what was behind that door and how they could find out. But Steve and Natasha could walk and chew gum at the same time. Because they were thinking of something else too. Thoughts were running rampant about being in this same position last night, as they played tonsil hockey and find the flag with each other's clothing.

That tension returned, and Natasha cleared her throat as Steve stepped away and she walked out of the tunnel. They both felt like they'd just been hit in the head.

Natasha tried to focus, "We got to figure out a way to get into those restricted access areas."

Steve looked over at her, "Something catch your eye from our tour guide?"

Natasha didn't share that she thought she recognized the dark-haired woman, "No…but it's obvious if we're going to find anything, it's behind those doors."

What Natasha didn't know is that in his conversation with Janet at the wee hours this morning, Steve was told who that woman was."

Test and dodge. Avoid and deflect.

Dig in and let that pressure build. The most aggravating part of all of it, was that Steve couldn't tell if he wanted to yell at her, prove her wrong, or push her back up against that wall they just left, only to kiss her again.

They left the miniature zoo and gift shop and 10 minutes later they were back at the reception area. Christine said goodbye to her group, "Thank you all for coming, and have a lovely day outside. Enjoy some food and cider and the activities we have planned for you all."

Dottie spoke a little too loudly as Christine walked by her desk, "Hey Chrissy, you coming tonight? You missed last time. It'll be a blast."

Christine let her tour guide persona down for the first time since they'd started. Her smile faded as quickly as when she re-directed that wandering teenager from before, "God yes, I need it. Stephen's working late like always. See you there at 8."

Dottie gave a flirtatious wave towards Steve (Johnny) again, and he turned away, knowing that he was going to have to see her again. Because as soon as Natasha and Steve looked at each other, they said the same thing.

"We're going to The Taproom tonight."

Christine had access to those restricted areas. Maybe they could hear a few details if they played it cool tonight. Maybe they could lift a security badge, which was where both their minds actually went. But a loose plan was set, and now they had all afternoon to kill.

Their plan for tonight and possible security badges and access was the only thing that was settled.

Steve came to a realization as their tour was done, "Well, thanks for the free room, Romanoff. We only saw three fanny packs."

Natasha looked like she had just gotten away with a bank robbery. She stared at the next tour group starting at 11 am. More kids were in this group because it started later in the day, and Steve saw it.

Two more fanny packs on some kids with parents on a daytrip together.

As Steve and Natasha looked over the entire tour group, they actually counted three more, but that didn't matter. Natasha clearly had won, "Didn't you say something about not counting chickens before they're hatched? Nice try, though. Let's go check in so you can pay for my room."

Turns out, she was right on the great fanny pack debate. But as far as needing to be right…Steve was just given proof again.

Natasha had an extra pep in her step, whistling as they left Midwest for now.

And all Steve could do was go a little crazier by the redhead disguised as a blonde.

The aggravation and annoyance. The pressure and lack of definition. The avoidance of any adult conversation about what they clearly meant to each other.

It was maddening for them both.

Natasha strolled confidently to the jeep.

And maybe Steve refused to avert his eyes this time as he walked behind her.

That search for the truth was on, but how long could they hold out in this standoff, was shrinking by the minute.

They were back in the jeep and making their way through the small town, Midwest Pharmaceuticals was located in. Lehigh.

Their drive through Lehigh was uneventful. It was a Saturday filled with kids' fall ballgames and people doing yardwork. A five-plex theater was on the main drag, as well as some quaint boutiques and shops. A few other large businesses rested in this 30,000-population center. But Midwest Pharmaceuticals was the employer of choice in Lehigh and the largest draw to the town. It employed over 1500 people and brought a great deal of commerce to the area. And its donations were even larger.

The drive was quiet with their destination only a couple miles away. Luckily for Steve and Natasha, the hotel was nice, clearly the designated place to stay, for people coming into town for big pharma business or overflow from Milwaukee.

Natasha threw her wig and glasses in her bag and had slipped out of her shoes and socks to throw her black flats back on. He jacket and sweater were replaced with her cardigan again, but she could get out of the khakis later.

Steve took the glasses and hat off but didn't change his shirt. Side glances were shared as they walked to the hotel's entrance. They may have left that dark enclosure 30 minutes ago, but their tension hadn't gone anywhere. It was nothing a little separation in their own rooms and a cold shower couldn't push away. Natasha was already thinking of her friendly bottle of bourbon she'd packed too.

A little time to themselves was more than needed.

At least, according to them.

Turns out, fate pushed back.

Natasha and Steve stood in the lobby of the hotel to check in with the concierge, Luis.

"Two rooms under Romanoff."

"One room, you mean," Luis responded.

You would have thought Luis had just told them someone died with the doubletake Steve and Natasha both did.

Natasha spoke a little louder, "Two. Two rooms…Luis. Under Natasha Romanoff. I confirmed in the middle of the night after I booked them online."

Luis smiled and checked…and then checked again after looking at both their stares.

"I'm really sorry, Miss. But we only have one King room reservation."

Natasha's foot started tapping as she let a nervous laugh out and got her phone to look up the confirmation number.

"Luis, I would like you to check again, and find the correct reservation that it shows here in my phone. See? Two rooms."

Luis glanced between the two adults. Steve was staring at Natasha nervously, as a teapot came to mind. Her eyes looked like they could pop out as that kettle squealed at any moment. This whole avoidance and deflection schtick was solely based on them limiting their time around each other.

But Steve and Natasha should know, being the seasoned journalists they were, that you can plan until the cows come home. But reality throws you a curve ball sometimes and plans go to hell.

This was a small but potent example of that life lesson.

Natasha lifted her sunglasses on her head. Steve raised his brow looking at her. He'd be lying if he wasn't a little curious to see if she was going to fully crack and lose it. Her finger began tapping against the counter as Luis said, "Oh no…I see what happened here, Miss Romanoff."

Luis's tone didn't bode well for a different outcome.

Steve chimed in, "Luis, just call her Natasha…Miss Romanoff brings up bad Catholic School memories from a nun. Why don't you try to explain to both of us what happened. I'm Steve."

Luis chuckled, "Man, my Abuela has some crazy stories about nuns too. Sorry, Natasha. Here let me tell you what happened."

A second passed as Luis seemed to stand a little taller as he wound up to tell his story, "Okay you see the thing is…"

Natasha leaned in, expecting to hear something that would clean up this mistake. But even if Luis did have an answer, it wasn't going to help with the bigger mess the two blockheads were in.

Luis took a big breath and started talking a mile a minute, "I was chilling with my cousin Ernesto last week. He told me, that his girl Emily was throwing a big banger of a party last night at his place. So, my buddies Dave and Kurt naturally wanted last night off, even though Fridays are their usual nights to work. But I couldn't leave them out of a great party, because Emily was bringing her friends Tracy, Tina, and Kelly."

There were a lot of words and names being thrown around, but nothing was making sense as Luis went on, "So, I went to my boss and was like, 'Yo Boss, is it okay if my boys get Friday night off to come hang with my cousin Ernesto and his girl Emily, and their three friends Tina, Tracy, and Kelly?'"

Steve couldn't help it as he let out a chuckle under his breath. This was definitely unexpected, and he couldn't deny that seeing a vein emerge on Natasha's forehead right now was somehow cute. It only emphasized how deep he was into all of it, so he chose the path of laughing…only to avoid screaming.

Natasha was not finding any humor in this, however.

But Luis was on a roll now, "So my boss, who's like a CEO or president or like the emperor of this place or something, was like, 'Well, that depends, Luis…can I come to the party too?' And I was like Damn! My boss wants to party with me at my bud's? So, we were all chilling at work yesterday afternoon, and I knew I still needed to find someone to cover for Kurt and Dave last night. So, I called Carlos up."

Natasha leaned forward with a wide stare and a louder tone, "Luis…who the hell is Carlos?"

Luis only laughed for a second as he continued his best impersonation of an auctioneer, "Oh yeah, so Carlos is Emily's little brother. He's still in high school, and she told him that she'd pay him 20 bucks if he'd work for Dave and Kurt last night. Carlos was obviously not going to turn down an extra 20 bucks, and he started last week here and showed up every day on time. I knew he could handle it. And he made 20 bucks on top of it."

Natasha looked over at Steve and thought she could hit both him and Luis. Steve tried stifling his laugh, as he stepped closer to the counter, "Luis, I'm really glad Carlos got 20 dollars. And I'm glad you had a great night with Ernesto and your boss."

"Oh, I did. And so did Tina, Tracy, Emily, Kelly, Dave, and Kurt. Don't forget them."

Steve blew out a breath as he laughed again, trying to calm the woman to his left down, "Of course not. I would never forget them. But you still haven't explained why we don't have two separate rooms."

Luis shook his head, "Oh, I can't believe I left that part out. Yeah, well. Turns out…Carlos shows up on time, but he really doesn't know what he's doing behind the counter. So, last night any reservations that came in over the phone weren't really taken down correctly. I've been spending all morning getting those reservations corrected. Dave and Kurt have been helping too, even though we all had too much to drink. But we got it all sorted out. And our boss is really happy we took care of the mix ups. And that he had an awesome night."

Natasha showed her phone to Luis again, a little more forceful this time, "Luis…I didn't make my reservations over a phone call."

Luis added, "Oh well, that has nothing to do with Carlos then. There's a glitch in our electronic system. The company is sorting it out now, but yeah, it double booked some rooms online. So, you do just have the single King room."

Natasha turned her head towards Steve, "What the hell did any of that story have to do with this?"

Steve tried to work his charm, "Luis, it wouldn't be our lucky day, if you could find us another room miraculously, would it?"

Luis laughed like that was the silliest question in the world, "Oh no, you're lucky you have the one. We did send a correction email, early this morning, letting customers know about the confirmation errors last night. You might want to check your spam, Miss Romanoff."

Natasha narrowed her eyes at him as he added, "Oh, yeah…Nuns. I'm sorry. I mean Natasha. But seriously, it's always a good practice to check your junk mail in case something important goes into it."

Steve actually snorted with how hard he was trying not to bust up laughing. If he didn't, he might scream at what this would mean for the two of them and the lack of space, related to them not talking.

Natasha huffed out a breath and started scanning through her junk folder and sure enough, she found the correction email that was sent at 5:00 am this morning.

"Shit."

Steve looked down at the ground and laughed a little louder now. Fate was mocking them, and he found the humor now, even if he wouldn't in about 10 minutes after getting to their room.

Luis added, "I mean, if you want to cancel, I'll waive the cancellation fee…but you probably won't find another room in Lehigh. It fills up on weekends with ball games from Milwaukee and stuff. But you guys could camp. Or wait…hey, I think Ernesto might be having people over tonight, if you want to join us again."

This guy was a hoot and on a roll, and if Steve wasn't trying to stop Natasha from murdering him, he knows she'd be cracking up too.

Steve asked one final question, "And I'm guessing there's no room with two queens available either?"

Luis shook his head naturally like it was such an obvious answer, "Of course not. You're lucky to have the one bed. And I just checked. No roll away cots either."

Of course, there weren't.

This was a wrinkle they did not see coming.

Tony and Bucky would be celebrating if they knew this happened. It was a page out of their own playbook. They'd tried to push and provoke and plan, encouraging Steve and Natasha to spend more time with one another. And now, turns out Luis had it all figured out.

The curious case of Carlos and the glitch in the system.

With a dash of fate saying, 'Not so fast.'

Natasha grabbed her credit card, but Steve waved her off, "You won, fair and square, Romanoff. The fact that there's one room, doesn't change anything. We saw five fanny packs, and I'm paying."

But he just couldn't stop himself as he added, "Hey, I guess I am wrong again. You don't always have to be right. I guess we just needed a hotel and Carlos to solve that problem."

Her eyes narrowed, and Steve realized the object of her ire was no longer Carlos or Luis or a computer glitch. Natasha let out a loud huff of frustration. She grabbed her duffle from the floor and messenger bag and walked over to the elevator as quickly as she could.

Luis raised his eyebrow, "You know she doesn't know what your room number is yet, right?"

Steve shook his head, "Yeah, I know Luis. I'll take care of it."

Steve paid and got the keycards and picked up his own bag, waving goodbye to Luis, "Hey, Mister Rogers…I mean Steve. I don't know why she's mad at you…but Ernesto says to just say sorry, always. When he does, Emily always gets a little less angry."

Steve shook his head, having no intent on explaining that he and Natasha weren't together, but Luis quickly added, "Just say sorry. Ernesto knows his stuff."

Well, as Ernesto goes, so does everyone else, right?

Deep down, Steve was upset about everything unspoken between them. He was going a little crazier, every time he thought about their kiss from last night. Because all those thoughts just made him want to kiss her again or throw her over his shoulder so she couldn't run anywhere. Yes, that was all true.

But the last 15 minutes in a hotel lobby? Neither Steve nor Natasha saw that coming. When life throws a whacky curveball named Luis and Carlos and a computer glitch, sometimes all a person can do is just laugh.

Steve hit the arrow on the elevator and gave Natasha her keycard, "Room 782, Romanoff. Should have a nice view of Lehigh from up there."

Natasha scoffed.

What the hell just happened?

She was going on almost no sleep. Images of hands and mouths and Steve's beard running across her skin had kept her up. Frustration from lies and lack of talking, filled her morning. And then aggravation took hold. And a lot of it was from realizing Steve was pulling the same moves as her with this story. It all added to this clawing sensation inside, that had her thinking the same thing as Steve.

Natasha wanted to yell at him. She felt like smacking Steve. She felt like…jumping up and wrapping her legs around him as he kissed her senseless. She was already acting brainless, so why not have his lips on hers again.

Above everything, Natasha was exhausted and needed to get to room 782. She went to grab her larger bag, but Steve waved her off, "I got it, Natasha. Just get your computer bag."

And a couple minutes later, they were hitting this curveball straight on as they walked into their room.

Not two rooms. Not two beds.

But one hotel room, and a hell of a lot of unanswered questions and unspoken thoughts.

What cocktail this blend of events was forming, was still unknown.

Steve let out a sigh as she tossed her bag on the table, "Natasha, I can sleep on the floor. Don't worry."

Natasha shook her head, "Oh you're not holding that over me. We'll just sleep head to foot if we need to. Now, if you don't mind…I'm going to go take a long shower."

Steve tossed his bag on the table right beside hers, "Yeah. Sure. Take your time."

Honestly, Steve welcomed the little space. He was going crazy and had this feeling, things were going to take a couple more turns before they went back to Chicago. Which direction they ended up going in, is what scared him.

One thing was for sure. The mess they found themselves in at the end of last night, was only made worse by secrecy and passive aggressive behavior today. And their tension only grew with each jab exchanged, and with each stare and shake of their heads.

Steve was in over his head and head over heels for the woman in the bathroom in their hotel room. And Natasha felt the same way.

Only problem was…hypocrisy and stupidity were in a heated battle with stubbornness right now and it needed to end as badly as the celebrity love triangle blew up last night. With an explosion and a bang.

Their little road trip, 90 miles north, wasn't flashy or exciting on paper. But then again, it's not about the destination, but the journey.

And their journey was going to find that collision between their stubborn sides a lot sooner than either one predicted.

End Note:

Tales from the Road. Stubborn and likeminded personalities have to get through the thick of it in order to find a clearing. Steve and Natasha definitely fall into this camp in this story. I hope you enjoyed Luis in this latest chapter 😊. I sure had fun in that entire scene.

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

Have a wonderful Halloween and rest of your week ahead as October winds down!

Cheers! ~~ Kat