I know I've only been at SHIELD for two days, but Clint, Natasha and I are inseparable, and Steve loves tagging along with us. Friday afternoon, Clint and Steve are called off to do something with Director Fury, leaving Natasha and I to ourselves. Almost immediately, she strikes up conversation about tomorrow night.
"So, do you know where it is?" she pries. I roll my eyes.
"No, and even if I did, I'm not telling you."
"I feel hurt; so, do you have anything to wear? I mean, this is Steve we're talking about."
I look at her weirdly and scoff, since when did she start to care about clothes? "Of course I do, I'm never out of jeans and t-shirts."
"You're going to a dance, with Steve Rogers, in a jeans and t-shirt?" she asks, making me sound blasphemous. I shrug.
"Yeah, what's so wrong with that?"
"This is a dance, not the club. It's going to be some 40's styled dance with all dressed up folks from round there-un parts," Natasha says half-sarcastically.
"So I should go in denim overalls?" I reply just as sarcastically. Natasha laughs.
"No, idiot, I'm saying you should buy a dress- even I have dresses. It's ok to be a girl sometimes, T," she reassures me. I smirk.
"So you'll take me dress shopping?"
"I said 'sometimes', and I forgot to add- on your own!" she tells me, looking exhausted even at the thought of shopping. I smile and run for a hug from my friend.
"Oh, that some time is now and no girl is on her own, come on, Nat!" I take her hand, giggling and clock us both out to the sound of her incessant protests.

An hour later, we're at the local mall, and against my previous beliefs, I'm having fun shopping for dresses with Natasha. I learn that she has an awesome taste in clothing, but she's also extremely picky. I've tried on about thirty dresses in the past fifteen minutes, and I'm starting to call extreme bullshit.
"Natasha, come on, how posh is this 'shin-dig' gonna be? What's the big deal if 'the stitching on the left side of the sash on the dress mismatches the glint in your eyes when you do a forty-five degree turn'?"
Natasha scoffed. "First off, nobody has that good of an eye, second off, I don't know, that's why you should probably be prepared, this green one brings out-"
"Let me guess, my ass? The mole on my back, wow," I snap sarcastically. I squirm into the dress, coming out of my dressing room grumpily. Natasha smiles at me.
"You look amazing- and they bring out your eyes, but cute mole," she retorts.
"So we're going with this one for sure?" I ask, changing back into my regular clothes. Natasha nods and helps me cash it.
"Just have fun, Tatyana," she tells me.

Saturday morning, I'm awoken by my sister. "What do you want?" I moan, hitting her face like the snooze button.
"What I want is to help you get ready!" she tells me excitedly. I look at her weirdly.
"Chill out, Tal, he's picking me up at eight, I have time," I tell her. She pouts and pulls me out my bed, making me hit the floor with a slam.
"No you don't! We're going to have to do your nails, your hair, your makeup…" she goes on making a list of unnecessary to-do-s. I shake my head.
"Why does everyone care so much? It's just a dance! What we need to do is get breakfast-"
"We brought Fruit Loops didn't we? It's going to take a while to do all these things, now go shower, wash your hair and y'know, and make me proud."

At 7:57 PM, my hair is straightened to perfection, my nails are painted a light green, and I'm all dolled up or whatever. I look pretty damn good, but I think it's a bit too much. I spend the last three minutes lacing up the strings on my shoes, and then I hear the door open.
"Hi," I greet Steve. His eyes widen for a split second.
"Wow," he replies after a few minutes of heavy silence. I smile at him before chuckling.
"For all the pain I had to endure, you could've looked better," I joke. "Be good," I tell my sister. She gives me the thumbs up as I close the door.
Steve steps in front of a motorcycle and I have to laugh. "Tell me that we're not going on that-"
"What's wrong, scared of a motorcycle?" he asks, helping me on to it. I scoffed.
"Oh please," I try to sound confident. He starts up the thing and my stomach drops a bit. I cling on to Steve for leverage and for dear life, but to be honest, we weren't going that fast. I take in his scent- it's a mix of tropical soap and shampoo and Old Spice body spray, and I notice that his hair is fluffy enough to fly back in the wind. It's a silent, awkward ride to the place, and when we finally get there, Steve offers to help me off the motorcycle. I gladly oblige.
"You know, the last time I asked someone to a dance, it- in short, it didn't really work out," he tells me sadly. I cock my head, but shortly after realize what he means. Natasha told me a couple times about the backstory of 'Captain America', the entire freezing over 70 years and still being alive, blah, blah, blah. To try and stay on the light side, I smile.
"Hey, at least you have all of this," I brag, spinning.
"I don't see the advantage to that," he jokes back. I pinch his arm, laughing.
"So," Steve tries to break the silence that dropped as soon as I see the atmosphere. Thank god for both the Nat-s in my life. There are so many high-class people here that I swear that I climb up the social ladder just by standing there. "Ta-daa."

All it takes for Steve and me to get into the dancing is an hour of time passing and realization that if we just sit and talk, people would glare. It takes a while for me to not step on his feet every five seconds, but being the gentleman he is, he chooses not to say anything and take the pain all with a smile on his face. I have to admit that it's fun. Also, I have to admit that despite having me as a partner, Steve is a pretty a-ok ballroom dancer. There are times when he'd spin me and I swore I'd go flying haywire, but for a clumsy kid from Brooklyn, he catches pretty well. When it all comes to an end, I pout.
"That went better than expected," I tell him, smiling. He lifts me back on the motorcycle.
"My feet have a different story to tell," he mutters, smirking. I kick him for good measure.

Steve sneaks me back into my house, seeing that my sister is asleep on the couch at midnight with a book over her face. "Bye," I whisper. He gives me a small nod.
"See you on Monday."