Avengers: Behind the Uniform

The Stork Club

Natasha smiled at him from across the table while he stared at her in awe. She could tell without him saying so what he was thinking but she liked hearing him talk so she waited till he finally realised his mouth was hanging open like a drive-in for flies.

"How did you know that was there?"

She shrugged nonchalantly.

"You're wearing Tony's suit. He's Stark. He would have bugged it. It's logic."

He chuckled to himself. Of course. The silence which ensued hung in the air between them, heavy and unbroken. No, this is not how it's supposed to happen. Come on Steve, you've thought about this for weeks and you've been alive for 90 years, you can do better than this. He cleared his throat.

"Hey, I know this place about ten minutes from here. I found it last week, actually, I'm surprised it's still here. Besides, anything beats this stiff, posh restaurant, right?"

His smile was assured but his mind was not quite so collected. Don't say no, don't say no...

"Sure, why not. I don't have anything planned tonight anyway."

It took approximately 1 minute to get up and leave the restaurant (it was a big restaurant), making sure to avoid any cameras Tony had installed around the place and it took a further four minutes to drive their motorbikes to this "mysterious, pre-historic, probably fossilised joint which only an almost-one-hundred-year-old would take a woman to". Natasha's words, not his.

***

Flickering neon lights. Warm jazz tones. Hazy silhouettes moved within. It seemed like the sort of place you would go to to feel good about yourself. Natasha glanced over at Steve. He was reliving some memory from his past, she could tell. What she couldn't figure out was why he had taken her here in the first place. He never told people about his past voluntarily so, if this place was as special to him as she gathered, why had he brought her here? After about ten seconds of staring (she at him and he at the building), he cleared his throat and offered his arm to her. She stared at it as if it were an alien object.

"Come on. I want to show you what people on dates did in the 1940's."

Neither of them even realised what he had said until her arm was in his and they had stepped into the room.

***

Tony paced up and down the deck. Clint leaned nonchalantly on the railing, arms crossed. The smirk on Clint's face just added to his frustration. Pace, pace, pace, turn on heel, pace, pace, pace, repeat. That was what went on for about five whole minutes until Clint finally got over himself (sort of) and said something.

"Would you like a beer?"

The words hung between them, mocking but disguised with the lure of alcohol. Tony just shook his head and continued pacing. Clint was just about to open his mouth and say something further when Tony spoke abruptly.

"Barton."

"Yes, Stark?"

"I am under appreciated."

Clint blinked. "I don't know where this is going. Why?"

"I am a billionaire, an ex-playboy, philanthropist, I'm married to Pepper Potts, I own the Tower they live in and I am TONY STARK WHY AM I NOT APPRECIATED?"

All Clint could do was stare at Tony's uniquely shaved stubble, shake his head and shove a beer into Tony's direction.

***

Inside, everyone seemed to move like the room wasn't actually filled with air but with honey. Everything had a golden, sweaty sheen to it. The music didn't seem to break or distort the mood of the club but rather, added to it, made it what it was, an undercurrent of noise to encourage all other currents of noise. Natasha rather liked it. It soothed her, calmed her and made the arm which was in Steve's relatively larger one relax. She frowned. She hadn't even realised how tense she was. Must be habit. She looked around the room until her eyes landed on Steve. His arm is warm.

"Welcome to the Stork Club."

His voice startled her out of her reverie.

"At least, a more modern version of it," he smiled. Then his face became more wistful. Melancholic, even. "I, uh, was supposed to have my first date here."

He didn't have to say anything and he didn't look at her but she could tell that he was talking about Peggy Carter. She couldn't help it but she felt a stab, however quick it was, of jealousy. Natasha only recognised the feeling because she used to feel it for mothers with children or an agent who got the target she had wanted. Not once had she felt this sort of hostility towards another woman, and a good woman at that, over a man. But he couldn't know that.

"Well, even though this isn't a date, would you like to dance?"

The words were out before she gave herself a chance to regret them.

He looked over at her, his eyes dark - but still light - and questioning. Are you sure? She quirked her eyebrow at him and the corner of her mouth lifted in the slightest hint of a smile. You scared? He scoffed and held his hand out for her to take. He led her into the centre of the room and, even though she was a professional, even though she was a trained assassin who knew better than to let her guard down, for the smallest second, with his arms resting on the small of her back and the soft jazz tones lifting them up and guiding them through the dance, she thought only of the man before her. And then, for the first time in her life, Natasha Romanoff realised she did have a fear. She was afraid. Her eyes gave away nothing but inside, her soul, if she had one, trembled in recognition that there was something that she could be defeated with.

"Sorry if I step on you. I've never done this before."

Steve was looking down sheepishly. When Natasha looked down, she saw that he was intentionally not lifting his feet off the ground and making minuscule movements. She chuckled a little.

"Okay, I'll show you. First step, don't look at your feet. Looking only makes it worse."

He tore - with effort, she noticed - his gaze from his shoes and suddenly his intense blue eyes were looking into her own. Natasha didn't allow herself to dwell on how it made her feel.

"That's good. Now just, move your right foot, put it down. Lift your left, put it down. Step forward. One, two. And back, one, two."

He tried. He really did, she gave him that. But they both silently agreed that dancing wasn't his thing.

"Okay, forget about that, just... sway to the music."

Her voice held only the slightest taunt in it but Steve chose to ignore it. Don't mess it up, Rogers. Relax otherwise she won't relax either.

And so he held her loosely in his arms and gently rocked side to side to the muted sounds from the band. She gingerly rested her head against his chest. He didn't protest, but his body stiffened and then relaxed into her. Reminding himself to breathe, Steve rested his eyes on the top of her head. Not easy to state the changes you made. If I am alive now; then I was dead...

It wasn't until that song had ended and three more had come and gone that they untangled themselves and walked out. They got their bikes, put their helmets on(Natasha noticed that he scrunched his face a little when he was buckling up the straps) and rode back to the Tower. All the way back, their bikes either stayed next to each other, directly behind or only one vehicle away and both unknowingly found themselves checking to see if the other were still there, as if to reaffirm that whatever had just happened, had happened.