A/N: Kudos to readers who guessed the problem right. Sorry for shortness of chapter. :P Don't own anything.

Natasha had been avoiding Steve all week. Every time they spotted each other in the hallways of school, she immediately turned away with a dark scowl shadowing her pretty face and melted into the sea of unrecognizable teenager students. When they inevitably had to hang out with the others, who didn't a suspect a damn thing, they sat on opposite ends of the table, Steve sneaking glances just to see Natasha's red head still shunned away from him, her eyes staring pointedly out the window. She had even stopped studying with him and started to pay attention in class a little too well, ignoring all the fun she used to enjoy.

All because he saw and wanted to be protective. Damn him.

And the others were noticing it too. Everyone was beginning to whisper around about Natasha and Steve being cold and closed off on each other and even Tony didn't annoy him like he used to. It was becoming unnatural.

The golden haired boy had had enough. He finally managed to lift his hand up into his locker to scribble down a quick note on a scrap piece of paper to the redhead and jam it into one of the subtle cracks around the vending machine. He looked at the tiny corner peeking out of the crack wistfully, despite knowing that Natasha wasn't going to answer it, before turning on his heel to rush on over to class.

At the end of school the next day, Steve was walking back from Physical Education class, his dark black hood concealing his pale face and hands shoved deep into his pockets with a brooding hunch of his shoulders. The hallway was eerily empty since everyone else was in the assembly for some occasion he so didn't care about. The fluorescent lights hummed and flickered for a moment before becoming bright again, hurting the boy's eyes. He was heading for his locker when he froze dead in his tracks.

Stepping back a few steps, he saw his reflection's eyes widen in almost horror. The crack near the pink bubblegum packets and where he stored the note was empty. The peeping out strip of paper had vanished into thin air. Before he could recollect his wits, Steve heard a snapping and popping sound. Looking up back at the glass in front of him, an all too familiar reflection stared back at him flatly yet coldly. He spun around.

Natasha Romanoff stared back at him, wearing a dark green jacket, a dullness in her blue green orbs and a bored expression on her face. She released her crossed arms to hang by her sides and still looked up at him expectantly. Before her lips could form a definite sarcastic retort about how this was wasting her time - and he knew she would say that because he goddamn knew her so well -, Steve gripped the upper part of one of her arms and dragged her into a vacant room next to the vending machine, slamming the door shut quietly so no one would hear them.

The redhead had no idea why she even bothered coming in response to that letter. She couldn't bear looking at Steve since he saw that day. It wasn't usually hard to hide, but surrounding yourself who knows you so well and seems to care about you, not to mention someone who made a living at paying close attention to things. Steve was a first class control freak, after all, but she never expected him to find out and not bother.

Speaking about herself, she was not surprised easily. But Steve completely caught her off guard by whirling around, seizing a full and tight grip with his hand on either arm and forcing her back flat against the wall, blue eyes flashing with anger. For once, Natasha was rendered speechless, breathing hard through her mouth.

"What was that?" he demanded, his face close to hers. She cocked her head a little to the side with another tight smile.

"What was what?" she asked back in a sickly sweet tone, desperately hoping inside she could still get out of this with a bloodbath, but also she hated arguing with Steve. It felt wrong and she felt sick to her stomach all week for shunning him.

"Stop lying!" he seethed at her and she met his glower unflinchingly.

"I only act like I know everything, Rogers," she halfheartedly joked, but the sandy haired man just shot her a very sharp and stern look to match a blade's, slipped his hand down her arm and tugged up the sleeve wide and the side of her collar too, to show the evidence. A large, blue black spot was marring the pale skin on her shoulder blade and another one that was pink and looked suspiciously in the shape of thick fingers encircled her wrist. Not mention one on the side of her neck, on her calf . . . Her face grew solemn and her eyes swelled with shame as she turned her face away.

"How did you get that?" he asked, voice quiet and cold.

"At training class," she muttered, but Steve didn't believe her for a second. She turned quiet and Steve began to realize.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me, Nat?" he whispered softly, the anger melting into compassion. He caught a glimpse of her face and alarms now clanged loudly inside his head. "Damn it. Is this what you were talking about? Because of your dad?" It reminded him of the time when Natasha's foster father suddenly barged into the room, his beefy face flaming red, shouting that if she broke curfew, he would break her neck. Natasha had sprinted after him and Steve could only hear heated and muffled protests. Then there was a clattering sound of metal, like pots and pans falling.

Natasha had entered the room again and slammed the door. Sitting down on the bed, Steve had seen that her pale cheeks were streaked with dry tears and eyes puffy and pinkish. But she had shrugged, saying it was nothing and knowing that Natasha would punch him if he pried, he kept his mouth shut.

The redhead now lifted a hand to push back her hair and it was trembling. She stayed silent for a few more minutes before nodding.

"You have to tell someone about this, Natasha," he insisted, taking her hands. Her lips were pursed together so tightly they looked translucent. "What he is doing to you is wrong. And dangerous. And downright illegal."

"Oh, please, Rogers," she scoffed, voice cracking. "He'll just twist it around somehow to make it my fault and my mom'll probably side with him because she's just that afraid of him." This also explained why she was always fighting to be perfect nowadays. "He only did it because I found out about the adoption. I deserved it anyway."

"Deserved it?" repeated he incredulously. "Natasha, do not believe that. No one deserves that to themselves."

"You think I don't know that?" she replied. "I'm just waiting another few months until my birthday arrives, then I'll be eighteen and free to leave the house." She nodded as if that was the greatest plan in the world.

"Natasha, this is not normal," Steve said very forcefully, gripping her arms just a little bit tighter.

She let out a bitter laugh. "Oh, wo cares about normal, Steve? This only happens because I'm not perfect and I keep screwing things up."

"No, you don't. Please promise me that you will tell at least one other person about this. Please?" He was looking at her so intensely that all she could do was stare down at her hands and mumble out a, "Maybe."

"No 'maybe'."

"Yes, Steve, I promise."

"Good, and from now on, you will be staying at my house."

Natasha's eyes bulged and she barely managed to splutter out, "What?!"

"You're most welcome," he nodded.

"I do not-"

"No buts. You know I don't take 'no' for an answer." He was staring at her seriously and all Natasha could do was sigh out a reluctant "Okay."

"So let's go and hit the books."

"Uh, speaking of that, I've got a lot to do for the fundraiser show and everything, so maybe we can skip a couple of days," suggested Natasha nervously.

"Really? I mean, that's fine, but you've only got a couple of days before the test on Friday. Maybe you're trying to fit too much in."

"I'm not!" she protested, playing with her hair. "I just have to design the costumes, get all the measurements of the girls, get the fabric, sew it all together, have it all ready by Saturday and still have time to learn my worst subject in the world by Friday's test." Her fake cheerful attitude instantly faded by the end.

"Nat?"

"Give me some time. I need to go talk to the girls."

"Hey, guys," greeted Natasha solemnly as she walked over to the table where her best friends were sitting. Hill grabbed a piece of stray fabric from her bag.

"Oh, I need a whole wardrobe made out of this!" she exclaimed. "I love it."

"Guys," said Natasha.

"Yeah, those are really cute," agreed Darcy excitedly.

"We should have a sleep over right before the show. We can stay up and make last minute fitting and adjustments," said Pepper.

"And we can use the pets," nodded Jane. "They can get fitted too."

"Guys, I need to tell you something," Natasha interrupted loudly through the girls' plans. "I . . . I have to drop out of this fashion show."

"Wait, what?" Darcy said, confused.

"I'm serious. I can't do it."

"Natasha, you can't just drop out," Pepper said worriedly. "We're counting on you."

The words just made Natasha feel even worse. "I know, but there is a lot going on and stuff, and I can't really talk about it. I'm sorry." And with that happy note, she spun around and stalked out quickly, back ramrod straight.

"What was wrong with her?" Darcy demanded, shocked at the redhead's odd behavior.

"I dunno," shrugged the blonde next to her.

"I bet her boyfriend would know," Jane said, cradling her chin on her hand. Pepper nodded again and began dialing into her phone.