Adaption Isn't Easy (Steve/Natasha)

[Steve Rogers]

Location: Avengers Tower
Date: 11/22/12
Time of Day: Mid-morning

Avengers Tower was such a gaudy place, but living here meant he didn't have to pay rent and could focus on doing good for New York, and the rest of the world if he was to be called on to do so. Steve Rogers, or Captain America, spent most of his days out of the public eye, training in the gym center in Tony Stark's tower.

Today, he'd started earlier, around five in the morning. There were several areas in the gym, including a physical simulator that allowed him to work out in a combat setting. Steve had brought his shield along with him to really get in some good practice.

Clad in a white tank top and workout pants, he pushed his super enhanced body to it's physical limit. Occasionally when he was fired upon by one of the training turrets, he'd flash back to his time on the Howling Wolves squad during the war. He couldn't help it, even after a full year in the 21st Century, the war still felt like it was just yesterday, despite being over seventy years in the past.

Catching his shield after cutting down a final turret, Steve decided to call it a morning and go make some kind of breakfast, maybe even wander out of the tower. He might go up to the labs to see what Doctor Banner was up to. Bruce had stuck around in the tower, it seemed that he was getting a new sort of control over the beast inside of him.

Wiping his brow, Steve exited the simulator, surprised to see someone else had started using the gym. He stayed quiet, not wanting to disturb the other person, only taking a few moments to observe.

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

The far end of the gym housed a room full of gymnastics equipment. It was normal enough, but thorough – there was a balance beam and a set of uneven bars, even a pommel horse. They could have belonged in any of the better equipped gymnastic studios on the area, but they were her private retreat at Avengers Tower. Or at least, she assumed they were; somehow she couldn’t picture Bruce toddling along the beam, anyhow.

The black blindfold tied around her head made for a stark contrast to her dark red curls. They were beginning to grow out again, just brushing her shoulders, and she normally would have pulled them back for these exercises, but she was flying blind today. Her yoga pants matched the blindfold, black and tight, and the red tank she wore was strappy and brief – it let her move exactly like her Widow suit would have.

Her feet were bare, toes polished an understated slate grey as she padded noiselessly along the beam. Her next step found the edge, and she immediately sprang back, a perfectly rounded back somersault landing her precisely in the center of the beam. Here, she played with her balance, drawing one foot back and up into a deep arabesque -- and then violently forward, using the pendulum-like momentum to propel herself into a whip quick backwards aerial. Her hands never touched the surface of the beam.

Her landing was perfectly balanced, as usual; she’d been doing these exercises for years, after all. She took the opportunity to execute a few pirouettes, enjoying the unrushed feel of gymnastics training again. Finally, still blindfolded, she sank forward into a slow, meditative split, her legs stretching in opposite directions along the length of the beam. Catching her breath a moment, she reached up and pulled off the blindfold, letting it drop unceremoniously to the floor as she smiled at her visitor. She’d been aware of his presence for the past four or so minutes, but she’d wanted to make him wait a bit.

“Yes, soldier…”

* * *

[Steve Rogers]

Steve had been caught staring at the Black Widow. Probably not his smoothest move ever. If only he could get away with hiding behind his shield at a moment like this. The Captain nervously rubbed the back of his head and started to make an excuse or two, "I'm sorry Agent Romanoff, I um, didn't mean to stare. I just finished my workout in Stark's simulator and was making my way out when I saw you training. I couldn't help but observe."

She was incredibly talented, and incredibly beautiful, those two factors were what led to Steve's unfortunate downfall of tact. He really needed to knock some sense into himself, first Peggy back during the war and now poor Agent Romanoff, he just became a big pile of red white and blue mush around a beautiful woman. Rubbing the back of his head, Steve nearly lost his grip on his Shield, but caught it with his fingertips before it was too late.

"Your acrobatic skill, I haven't seen anything like it," Steve's mind was going into panic now, trying to shut him up, however, he was now just blabbering to the intimidating redhead, there was no stopping now, "I've run into quite a few Hydra agents that can move like that, but you're definitely the cream of the crop." Oh, did they say that anymore? He really needed to get out, and learn not to talk like an old man.

He needed to recover smoothly, but that was going to be rough. Seventy years on ice, and he still had no idea how to talk to a woman, "So then, when did you return to New York?" Steve had just been back for a month himself, having finally ventured outside of New York to see what else the country had to offer when he wasn't performing stage shows to increase the buys of war bonds.

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

Natasha smiled, amused, but not in a cruel way. The man was very sweet, though he was about as different from her as he could have possibly been. Their mutual backgrounds left them with virtually no shared experiences – and yet, they’d both ended up here.

She’d had plenty of experience with men on the work site. Most of them saw her body before anything else, and were quickly left in her shadow; she knew how their minds worked. That didn’t seem to be the case with Steve. Apparently, the male mind was quite different 70 years ago -- but then again, maybe it was just him.

“Thank you,” she addressed first. She recognised a compliment when saw one, even a stuttering one, and for all her faults, she was definitely polite. Though that wasn’t to say she wasn’t terribly amused by his bumbling and obvious social discomfort. But she appreciated the intent behind it, or perhaps the lack of intent behind it.

“You’re pretty spry, yourself.”

It was an understatement; the man was a machine in battle. It made Natasha think twice about upgrades to her person. On one hand, she’d seen how horribly wrong they could go… Dr. Banner was living proof. But Steve was a trophy. Immediately, she shook the thought out of her mind; after all, she’d spent years perfecting her body without any upgrades.

"So then, when did you return to New York?"

“New York…”

Now it was her turn to bumble. It was rare she struck up a conversation that had something to do with a topic other than work. To be honest, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d initiated one.

“I never left,” she said simply. “I’ve had a place here since… well, for a long time. Seemed prudent to stay, is all.”

She didn’t want to just leave it there; she knew she had a reputation for being unfeeling sometimes, because she wasn’t good at this… the social side of justice. Logistics was more her realm of expertise, but the last thing she wanted was for Steve to see her like so many others did. She didn’t want to think about why that idea bothered her, but it did.

“What about you?” She ran a hand through her mussed hair. “How are you finding things? You know, uh… nowadays.”

* * *

[Steve Rogers]

Steve had no idea where to even start, everything was so different these days, "Everything is so, electronic." The Captain ran a hand through his hair, "They used to call New York the city that never sleeps, but at least it got dark." That wasn't case anymore, the lights were always on in New York City. He chuckled before noting, "At least people don't smoke in restaurants anymore."

That wasn't even scratching the surface, it cost Steve ten dollars to go to a movie, before he left the country to go to war, he could have gotten in for a nickle. The technological advances were amazing, but a little overwhelming at time. At this point, he was still trying to figure out how the heck he was supposed to order a normal coffee, not a Venti mocha frappechino something or other.

Even worse, he struggled talking to women in 1942, 2012 was a totally different ballgame. Everyone was so cut back, much less guarded thanThe clothing that women wore now, quite frankly made him incredibly nervous. It wasn't like right now when he was standing in the gym across from Natasha Romanoff in, incredibly tight fitting clothing.

Uh-oh. Damn his eyes. Steve swallowed hard, attempting to remain cool.

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

One hand bracing against the side of the beam, she swung out of the splits she was sitting comfortably in, perching on the beam instead to face Steve properly.

“Yeah… some of it is pretty great.”

She didn’t say as much, but sometimes she wondered if the 21st century was all it was cracked up to be. Especially here in America, life had become so complicated – which was ironic because each advancement claimed to be in the name of making life simpler. Though she didn’t miss the poverty or the lack of resources Russia had offered, sometimes she missed the simplicity.

“And other times, well…”

A smile ghosted over her lips as she trailed off with a bit of a shrug, hopping neatly off the beam and padding over to the chalk bin. She was aware she was being watched, and it made her itch to move. It was second nature to move silently, and now was no exception; the only sound she made was the dull clap between her palms as she tapped off the excess dust. Catlike, she sprang up, grasping the low bar and effortlessly kipping up, casting to a handstand. Her toes pointed and flexed in the cool air of the gym as she took a second to center herself.

“You’re staying, then.”

It was meant to be a question, but came out more like a statement. She’d had plenty of experience reading people, and she was fairly sure he’d decided he wasn’t going anywhere. But then again, if anyone could surprise her, it would be Captain America.

* * *

[Steve Rogers]

“You’re staying, then.”

Steve smiled a bit and nodded, "Yes Ma'am. Born and raised in New York, I couldn't live anywhere else, even if I tried." He chuckled before saying, "Even if I'm living in a big ugly tower." Steve relaxed a little bit. She still had an air about her that made him a bit nervous, however, she was extremely courteous to him, helpful even.

There was a small silence that came over them again, Steve was absolutely horrible at trying to have a proper conversation with a woman. Peggy had seemed to be the exception, but she was now gone, Steve couldn't find her, and even if he hadm he was sure that she probably wouldn't even want to see him.

"Um, your hair, you've grown it out." Steve started, sounding horribly lame in his own head, "It looks nice that way. Not that it didn't look good the way you had it before. I just, um, yeah."

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

Natasha smiled. She sort of liked the big ugly tower, even if it was a bit ostentatious from the outside.

She swung down from her handstand, letting the momentum whip her around, tucking her knees to her chest in a quick flip before reaching out, the higher bar solid against her palm. She kipped up again, once more propelling herself to a handstand. She balanced on one hand, then the other as she listened to Steve go on about her hair.

Her smile gone as she concentrated, she whipped down, her body lithe and limber as she circled the bar once fully extended, then made a few quick rounds of tkatchevs, her favourite skill. Her legs parted in a symmetrical split each time she cleared the top rail, and on the fourth rotation she swung down, flipping forward over herself and turning 180 degrees, so that by the time she grasped the bar again, she was swinging back the way she’d come.

Toes pointed, the curls in question hung down around her face as she stilled in a handstand atop the high bar, a quick one handed change positioning her back in the correct direction. With a deep, even breath, she swung down, ankles pressed together, propelling herself into a double flyaway with a full twist. Her feet made a dull thud as she landed, not near as loud as it should have been, but more noise than she’d made for her entire workout.

Straightening, she padded noiselessly off the mat, pushing the curls from her face, satisfied with herself for now.

“Relax,” she said, not unkindly.

Her hand touched his arm briefly, leaving a smudge of chalk before she reached for her water bottle, an amused lilt to her lips.

“If you’re a bit antsy around here, I’ve been meaning to grab some things from the Helicarrier. I’ve got quarters there…” she trailed off, not really interested in discussing her past in depth. “You could come along, if you’d like.”

* * *

[Steve Rogers]

Steve watched on as Natasha finished up her work out. The fact that she was an amazing athlete stood out in his mind, but he still couldn't help but stare at her rather incredible figure. When she landed and patted his shoulder, encouraging him to relax, the Captain swallowed hard and nodded, "Yeah. Sorry." He didn't quite know what else to say, he certainly couldn't really recover from practically drooling over himself like a goon.

Instead, he was relieved when Natasha asked him to help her move some things from the SHIELD Hellicarrier to the tower. He supposed she was planning on severing herself from SHIELD a bit more and focusing on her place with the Avengers. Steve was all for that. He rather liked Natasha, she was down to Earth, which was very appreciated when your choices ranged an arrogant Billionaire to an anti-social Archer.

He hadn't seen Thor since the attack on New York, and while Steve got along with Doctor Banner just fine, Bruce was almost as anti-social as Agent Barton was. Once he got over how stunning he found Natasha to be, Steve was sure that he'd get along with her just fine. That said, he hadn't behaved like this around a woman since Peggy.

"I'd be happy to help, it can get a little cooped up in here now and then, it's nice to get out of the city. Even if it's only to help you move. But, isn't that what friends are for?" Steve remembered when he got suckered into carrying things up the stairs of the tower with the promise of pizza. Hardly a fair trade off, but Steve had to admit that he'd had a little weakness for the 21st century junk food.

Focusing on Natasha again, he asked, "Is the ship nearby? I haven't heard much from SHIELD in awhile."

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

”Hey… nothing to be sorry for.”

Natasha was part amused, part flattered at his reaction. He wasn’t overt like Tony or assuming like Thor or, god forbid, brotherly like Clint. It was nice, his sweetness, if not his lack of finesse.

Still, that’s not where her focus was as she took a long draw from her water bottle. Her focus was on moving completely out of the Helicarrier, getting her stuff established in her own space to live on her own practically for the first time in her life. Sure, she’d had that same flat in Manhattan’s East Village for years now on the side – occasionally leaving it for months at a time depending on where her work with SHIELD carried her – but this would be the first time it would be her primary residence. She looked forward to it.

”Is the ship nearby?”

She wiggled her tiny silver cell phone at him with a kind smile.

“They’ll meet us on the roof for a lift.”

Downing the contents of her aluminium bottle, she drew on a plain black zippered track jacket, drawing the zip up to her collarbone in an effort to make him more comfortable. It was the first time she’d been referred to as a friend instead of a teammate, except from Clint, and it was interesting. It’d been so long since she’d had that type of work environment…

She supposed this was what this was, now: work. With the Council in the position they were, she doubted she would be called away from the Avengers on any SHIELD business, though Directory Fury hadn’t said so explicitly… yet.

“Coming?” she asked lightly, nodding toward the door.

* * *

OOC: I wrote “cell phone”. Like a Yank. I would like a trophy, please and thank you.

[Steve Rogers]

He watched as she held out her cellular telephone. That technology practically flew over his head. Yes, they had telephones back in his day, but they were attached to a cord, attached to a wall, and were much bigger than that. He could barely comprehend how it worked, much less use one. That said, he had seen something like it in his time, "You know, we used to have something like that when I was in Germany, but it only called out to other versions on the same frequency. Whatever happened to walkie talkies?" He was speaking in jest, mostly.

They were a practically dead technology. When small children were now getting cellphones, there just wasn't a reason to use them any more. Shaking it off, Steve smiled and said, "To the roof then." It seemed like they were on a time table. Steve would have preferred to clean up and put on a nice shirt and pair of pants, but if they had to move quickly, there wasn't any time to. He'd just have to deal with having messy hair and workout clothing. People moved so fast these days.

Riding the elevator was rather quick, but Steve really didn't care for Tony's selection of music. He looked to Natasha and said, "One thing I'm never going to understand, how someone listens to this stuff all day and doesn't go deaf or insane." He couldn't even understand the lyrics, though, the instrument work was actually interesting.

Once on the roof, Steve looked around, waiting for their ride to either arrive or uncloak itself, another technology that he simply marveled. It even had ended up costing him ten bucks at one point.

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

”Whatever happened to walkie talkies?"

Natasha held back a good-natured snort as she headed for the door, stepping sockless into a pair of low-slung trainers on the way. They were black, of course, like nearly every shoe she owned.

“Sometimes you don’t seem real, soldier boy.”

A soft smile graced her lips, giving way to an eye roll as they stepped into the elevator. There was no doubt this was Tony’s creation; the tower was full of his little signature touches. Not even the elevator music had escaped unscathed. Though she had to admit, Iron Maiden was a clever touch, and anyway, they beat the usual tasteless jazz that usually pumped through elevator speakers.

“No one said Stark isn’t insane.”

With the tiniest of shrugs, she stepped daintily off the elevator, striding purposefully for the stairwell that would give them roof access. The steps were a short jaunt, and she jogged effortlessly up the concrete, fingers pressing a few key buttons on her phone en route. Within moments, a tiny helicopter fuzzed into view on the helipad, its cloaking technology lifted to allow them access.

She looked over her shoulder at Steve, her expression neutral out of habit, and gestured to the side door.

“Age before beauty, Captain.”

* * *

[Steve Rogers]

Even after nearly an entire year in the 21st Century, Steve was still amazed by the things that he saw. Invisible helicopters were rather impressive. He didn't quite know how to describe the world around him. Sure, he'd seen a lot of stuff that he couldn't quite explain back when he was at war, but the things that he'd seen in this era were absolutely astounding to him.

Natasha asked him to get in first and he looked to her, "Ma'am, the way I was raised, a gentleman always helps a lady in before doing so himself." He wouldn't back down on that, it was the way he was raised, his moral fiber was on thing that Steve would never compromise. Instead of getting onto the chopper, he held his hand out to help the Black Widow in. Whether people did so or not for her usually, Steve was going to stand his ground on this.

Still, he peered into the helicopter. It wasn't as spacious as the jet he, Agent Barton and Natasha had flown into New York, but it was certainly comfy looking. Waiting patiently, the Captain finally got in after his fellow Avenger. Without much more of a wait, they were up in the sky headed for the docking area on the Helicarrier. Steve's eyes would wander from the window back to Natasha occasionally. He never got tired of looking at New York from above, but he also found that he wanted to keep talking to Agent Romanoff.

"So," Steve attempted to start conversation again, "What kind of stuff are we bringing from your quarters?"

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

She shook her head again, dark red curls brushing her shoulders, an air of amusement keeping her brows slightly arched. Respect was something she’d commanded for a long time now, having proven her skills time and again with SHIELD. This was something new altogether, more reverence than respect, but stopping short of slack-jawed awe, which she was well acquainted with.

It made Natasha slightly uncomfortable. And for a woman who was cool in the most heated situations, that was saying something.

Gripping one of the side handles, she easily pulled herself into the copter, never touching Steve’s hand. It was a silent reinforcement of her independence – and probably a petty one, as she couldn’t imagine the man having an ulterior motive – but she was, and always would be, a completely self-reliant woman. In every capacity.

But she did like the man, it wasn’t about that. Scooting out of the way in the comparatively tiny hold of the helicopter, she was content with the ease of his company.

”So…what kind of stuff are we bringing from your quarters?"

“Boxes.” Natasha tucked a curl neatly behind her ear, declining to say what was in the boxes. “Nothing heavy, just personal bits… all the furniture’s been delivered already.”

She thought a moment, quietly.

“…And come to think of it, I’d appreciate it if you kept where I live to yourself. SHIELD knows where the apartment is, of course, I just like to keep my space.”

She nodded, never one for a longer explanation than was necessary. Her personal space was necessary for her, probably a quirk from her childhood, since the concept of her own living space hadn't existed. For certain, it was the reason she wasn't taking up residence at Avengers Tower.

* * *

[Wade "Deadpool" Wilson]

Meanwhile...

"Ah beeelieeeve Ah can fly! I believe I can touch the sky-yi-yi!" Deadpool sang, enthusiastically and off key as he steered his carbon-fiber jetwing through the sky.

---

Previously...

"Fury, huh?" Deadpool leaned forward, a skeptical expression on his face.

"Does that constitute a problem?" asked the woman.

"Well... it kinda depends on how you define problem, don't it?"

She frowned, just a little. "Do you have some moral objection to the contract?"

"Nah, it ain't that. It's just... well. The Director of SHIELD. That's gonna be, in a word, expensive."

She gave him a patronizing look, which he returned with a bored expression. "Mr. Wilson, we are professionals and we are accustomed to dealing with professionals. You will be well compensated."

"Define 'well compensated'."

Without speaking, she tapped on her tablet and slid it across the desk. Deadpool glanced at it.

He was a professional. He didn't shout "Holy sweet Mary Mother of God on a f**king pogostick" when he saw the figure.

"Tell me more," he managed to say after a moment.

---

"Ah think about it every niiiight an' day," he continued to sing, glancing at the fuel gauge as he did. Roughly three minutes of flight time left. "Spread mah wings and fly-iy-iy awayyyyy."

If this thing wasn't there, if he'd been given bad intel... well. The fall wouldn't kill him. But he'd be very, very disappointed.

---

Previously...

Deadpool nodded as they finished the explanation. "Yeah, that's doable," he agreed. "I mean, the Triskelion's gonna be..."

"He's not in the Triskelion right now," the woman interrupted.

"Seriously?" Deadpool exploded. "You've gotta be s**tting me! You want me to do a bug-hunt?"

"No. He's in the Helicarier right now."

"The hellawhatnow?" Deadpool looked baffled. "He's on some sort of aircraft carrier for helicopters?"

The woman explained, and Deadpool's expression got more and more incredulous.

"Seriously? They built the goddamn Valiant? Isn't the BBC gonna sue for breach of copyright?"

---

"Oh, good," Deadpool said with a touch of relief. "There it is. A goddamn aircraft carrier with giant goddamn vectored thrust fans so it can goddamn fly."

He stared at the massive, impossible thing as it sailed through the clouds. Somehow, it was invisible from below. But from above, it was an aircraft carrier.

He shook his head in disbelief. "Somebody," he said, "is compensating for something. Hell, I should brought a pair of truck nuts with me, hang it off the back before I leave."

Two minutes of fuel left. Deadpool squeezed the throttle, and the jets roared. "Beeee-lieve it or not, I'm walkin' on air!" he started singing.