And so Steve Rogers wound up escorting the group of girls to the main information desk in the Theodore Roosevelt Memorial Hall, where the clerk paged one of the teachers for the high school they were from. Steve was slightly surprised by the school: the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning.

He didn't know the academy, but he would've expected gifted kids to behave slightly better. However, he was taken aback by their conduct during the time he spent waiting with them, which he unfortunately had to do as part of his "job".

The two dark-haired girls wouldn't stop bickering with one another, while the petite brunette brought herself into the argument by trying to moderate the spat and unintentionally raising their ire. Then there was that one quiet girl, whose oddly bright green eyes reminded him of someone he couldn't quite place, but with her completely black clothing and silent demeanor, struck him as eerie.

Steve was relieved when one of the chaperones, a young, platinum blonde lady with a very . . . womanly physique, her entire outfit gleaming white, who spoke in a cultured British accent, came to collect them.

"Thank you, sir, for assuring that my students were returned to me," she said, with smile that seemed just slightly artificial. "May I ask the name of such a fine gentleman?"

Steve is thrown off by the way the woman spoke of her students; the manner by which she spoke of them sounded more appropriate for possessions rather than teenage charges.

There was a click-clack of heels from behind him, and out of the corner of his eye, Steve noticed Natasha, wearing the dark suit of a museum coordinator and her hair, dyed brown and coiffed into an impeccable French twist, unobtrusively maneuver behind the circular desk and begin addressing the young clerk as if she actually was her superior.

The presence of his friend and ally in this mission reassured him, and Steve responded amiably to the woman's inquiry: "Roger Stevens, at your service."

The woman's glacier blue eyes glittered when he spoke, and a feline smile curled onto her full lips, just a tad smug for his liking. "Well, Mr. Stevens, thank you again for your concern for my . . . girls."

Her voice left her throat in a husky purr, and Steve felt his ears turning red. He was very careful not to look back at Natasha.

"Just doing my job, ma'am," he managed to reply steadily.

Her smile twisted into a smirk. "Why, aren't you the All-American Man."

Steve was very careful not to allow his expression to shift, though he inwardly started at her choice of words and emphasis. "Thank you."

She smiled again, though there was a minor vulpine element to the gesture, and turned gracefully. "Come along, girls," she said over her shoulder.

Three of the girls immediately followed, but that one green-eyed girl stayed behind for several moments. She caught his gaze for a moment, and there was something in her eyes that Steve couldn't fathom. A warning? A threat? Satisfaction? Malice?

But before Steve could puzzle out why her green eyes seemed so familiar, she followed classmates out the front entrance.

Right. He was here to foil a robbery, not to ogle high school girls. He turned to Natasha, who had listened attentively to the exchange while appearing as if she were totally disinterested. "Ms. Rushman. I'll be returning to my regular post, then."

She nodded at him and said blandly, "Of course. Follow usual procedure, unless you run into another problem. Make certain to contact me if there is another issue, Mr. Stevens."

Steve smiled briefly, encouraged by her composure, before they went their separate ways.

A/N: Oh Emma, leave Steve alone, please. And yay for him and Natasha helping out with domestic threats instead of just supervillains!