"… That bad, huh?" Steve chuckles, sounding a tad hollow as he slowly wipes his soiled face with a paper napkin. "I know I can count on you for an honest opinion."

"… Steve, wait." She shoves her tray to one side and stares holes into his forehead. "Look at me dead in my eyes and say you have a crush on Natasha Romanoff."

"You think I don't know what this sound like? I'm trying to… I don't know if this will affect the team's dynamic, if this is professional conduct... I don't know if I should pursue this."

"You sure this is real? Or is this just your downstairs brain talking?"

Steve glares at her a bit, but he quickly looks away. "It's been a while. I thought it's something fleeting, so maybe I should wait it out and see if it sticks."

"And?"

"Well. That's why I'm buying you dinner, aren't I?"

For sure, it's not every day a confession plays out this way. They've been through a lot, she's stuck by him through the thick and thin. She knows what makes him tick, reads him like the open, monochromatic book he is. So, if she reads him now, she knows Steve is not shitting her. Imagine that – Captain America and of all people, the Widow? Maybe Tony's stupid machine did something else, too. Maybe it altered the whole darn reality. This cannot be real.

"So," she licks her lips slowly. "What do you want to hear from me?"

"I don't think I want to play wait-and-see anymore, Tony."

"So… you want to tell her the truth? She'll be shocked."

Steve raises a brow. "She will?"

"You haven't been obvious enough, buddy. She's not a mind-reader –"

"Don't let her hear you say that."

She smirks. "I mean, sometimes, it's best to go all out, you know what I mean? Let her know you're interested. See if something good comes out of it."

"I'm asking you this tonight because I think it's not one-sided. I want to be sure if my next decision is just and fair for the team –"

"Wait, back up a sec," and she folds her forearms atop the table. "How did you know she's interested?"

"I'd rather keep that between the both of us."

"… Sure." But since she has been completely unaware of this new turn of event, that must mean, "Stark."

"Excuse me?"

"Uh… the gym, right? Something happened at the gym?"

Steve doesn't reply, and that's enough an answer for her. "That son of a bitch –"

"Is there something else going on between the both of you? I don't want to come in between –"

Don't tempt her to empty the rest of her stomach content in her tray, please. "Whoa, hey, and ew. No, Steve. Absolutely not."

By the next minute, she loses her appetite completely while Steve gains his. He scarfs down his meal and drains his Coke, while Nat nurses her cooling coffee, not bothering to take a sip. Somehow, despite this weirdness of a situation, she doesn't feel like going back to the Tower so soon. It is Friday night, and she has Steve all to herself for one evening. Seems like a waste to return him so early.

"Steve, you want to check out this fun fair down the river?"

Steve does take her to the fun fair, and he watches her curiously as she loses herself in all the unexpected attention children are paying her. They ask for photographs, signatures, doodles, hugs – everything. And she basks in them, at the look of adoration reflected on their babyfaces. Once or twice she looks over her shoulder wondering if Steve wants to join in the fun, but he always stands some distance away and shakes his head, a polite "no". She doesn't let their screaming for "Iron Man!" take away the enjoyment.

Being Tony Stark can be fun.

"Steve, come here!" Her cheeks ache with too much grinning. It's been ages. But she can do happy, if just for tonight. She's whoever she needs to be. "Let's go shoot some cans."

The grand prize is a brown, fluffy teddy bear almost half her size. Looks incredibly cuddly. She pulls out her wallet from her back pocket and points at a toy rifle. "How much for a round?"

"You get ten shots for a round. That's three dollars," the stall owner rumbles on without even taking a look at them. Steve is as restless as Natasha is excited, and she fishes out a bill –

Tony's wallet has no cash.

"Uh…" she closes the wallet and slips it back into her pocket. What kind of billionaire goes around with an empty wallet? "Sorry, maybe next –"

"Three dollars, here you go, Sir," and Steve places his money on the bench. He unhooks the rifle that's mounted onto the pillar next to him, and hands it over to Natasha. "This should be fun," the edge of his lips tweaks a bit.

Belatedly again, she realises that for all the genius that is Tony Stark, man is simply pathetic at aiming. Steve folds his arms across his chest and stands steadfastly behind her, and déjà vu, this feels just like one of those performance appraisals, physical tests that Steve routinely puts the Avengers through.

She can try to fake uselessness… but Steve's put down his three dollars, and she kind of really wants that teddy bear…

Ten shots later – and ten empty cans lying on the dusty floor – the stall owner presents her the prize. She takes it and beams, fingers already caressing the soft belly of her bear. She says to the scowling man, "By the way, that's not very nice of you to intentionally modify the butt plate and muzzle. Screws up the balance –"

"Sorry about that, Sir," Steve's arm darts between them, large fist squeezing the stuffing out of the teddy bear by its neck. "We're returning this," and he hooks his free hand under Natasha's biceps. "Let's go."

"Wait a damn minute!" They stumble away from the carnival, the lights and the sounds. "I won that fair and square!"

"Fair and square?" Then, Steve starts frisking her from the ears, to the neck, armpits, waist –

"OK, don't think I won't scream, Steve –"

"Is JARVIS here? Because asking him to calibrate your aiming isn't fair, Tony."

"What? Steve, nuh-uh, not there –"

"… What is this?"

Then, she stops struggling against Steve as he pulls out butterfly knives after butterfly knives, a modest sidearm and a couple others… and drops them all to the ground. They're literally standing in a ring of firearms, and it makes them look like they're about to deal some.

"What is wrong with you? Where's the suit? Why are you so… heavily armed?"

"… It's called precaution? I figured I'll try old-school this time."

Steve holds his hands up, surrendering to the fact that this is, indeed, peculiar. "I need a drink."

"You can't get drunk," she grumbles. Plus, she can't drink either, not in Tony's body. There are lines even she won't cross. "Hey, want to go on the Ferris wheel?"