I Come With Lines, You Talk in Circles (Cap/Tasha)

[Natasha Romanoff]

Location: Avengers Tower
Date: November 2012, one week post this
Time of Day: 3 pm

* * *

Natasha hopped off the beam, unsatisfied with her workout. It’d been 6 days since the debacle at GNB, and she was good as new, so long as you didn’t count a mess of split ends. The workout she’d just pushed herself through had proved it: beam, uneven bars, and floor. She probably liked floor training the best, just her and her body, flipping through air; it was always a thrill to know she was perfectly accountable to herself. Reliable, like a well-oiled machine, that was her.

Still, there was something missing. It wasn’t that her acrobatic refresher had been incomplete, or even that she was itching for a little hand-to-hand exercise. What she missed was Steve.

Sure, she hated to admit it to herself. She missed Clint sometimes when he was away, albeit mostly when she was running a mission without him and came across a situation it would’ve been dead handy to have the crackshot with her, but sometimes just for his company. He had this quiet way of judging her that was pure playfulness, and it was as close as Tasha ever got to goofing off.

That was different than what she liked about Steve, but still not far from the truth. Steve didn’t judge, though god knows he could have. He came from a white bread background, a place so far removed from what she’d known that he should have been morally superior in every way. But if he felt that way, she never knew it. He was unobstrusive, if a bit bumbling, and he was effortless to spend time with.

Which was good. Tasha didn’t have a lot of extra effort to expend on intrapersonal relationships; there were better uses of her time. And still she was disappointed by the empty training room. She sighed, gathering up her stuff. She couldn’t just let the issue linger around, distracting her; there was only one thing to do.

All but reluctantly, she took the elevator down to Steve’s floor, her water bottle in one hand while the other pressed the buzzer at his door.

* * *

[Steve Rogers]

Steve was in the middle of quite the predicament, He had his whole floor, and nothing to do with it. There was a living room with a television he couldn't figure out, there was a kitchen full of products he'd never heard of, and then there was-

"Captain Rogers," Steve nearly jumped out of his boots. He sighed before asking, "Yes Jarvis? What is it?"

The computer that saw around the entire house just unsettled Steve some time, "Agent Romanoff is on her way out of the elevator." Steve's eyes grew saucer wide as he shot off to his room. As it had been, he'd just finished a steam shower and had been staring at his floor in a towel. He tripped over his own boots, which had been laying around haphazardly.

The uncleanliness was rare, Steve was usually much better kept, but after his scuffle with the Shocker, he'd been in need of the steam and had just dropped everything when he'd gotten to his floor. Lucky for Steve, he'd made it into the room as Jarvis spoke up again.

"Welcome to Captain Rogers floor Agent Romanoff. The Captain is indisposed and will be-"

"Right here!" Steve stepped out of his room, dark blue sweatpants and a backwards SSR t-shirt on. His hair was still a bit of a mess, and looked darker than it really was because of it. He smiled as he ran a hand through the hair, pushing it down as best he could. He smiled, though it may have been a bit awkward, Steve was the king of awkward anyway.

"Hi Tasha." Steve managed to get out without looking like a complete fool.

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

The nickname almost made her smile. Almost. Natasha was much more subtle than that. Her lips quirked slightly at the obviously backwards tshirt, but she said nothing on the topic.

“Steve.”

She fought the urge to call him “Captain Rogers.” You could take the girl out of SHIELD, but the protocol stuck, apparently.

“Thank you, Jarvis,” she said offhand. It wasn’t that Tasha didn’t get nervous, it’s that she didn’t show it. Long ago, she’d learned to break down every nervous tic she had and train herself not to show them. In fact, not much about her appearance gave anything away, especially not now. But she did feel a little foolish standing here; she wasn’t used to missing the company of another person, not for a long number of years.

“I was just wondering what you had planned for today – I was in the tower, so it was just as easy to stop by, I hope I’m not intruding…” That was the truth; though she knew Steve liked her to some degree, she couldn’t tell how he felt about having her in his living space. His nervous energy was throwing everything off.

“There’s an exhibition at the Met – Russian impressionists.” It was a fond thought. “And I didn’t exactly want to go alone.”

That part wasn’t completely a lie – she certainly didn’t mind going alone. Most of the time, she preferred it. But today she’d rather go with Steve, and truthfully, she could use an exercise in being more than an Avenger. If anything, she needed a refresher in being Natasha Romanoff, regular person.

* * *

[Steve Rogers]

Steve perked up a bit more when Natasha called his name. He liked the way it came from her, something about her voice, that hint of a Russian accent she let slip out every now and then. Something about accents, Steve didn't know what it was, but he liked to hear them from women. Particularly odd from someone who also went by the name Captain America. Steve usually managed to catch himself before he would stare at Tasha for too long. That would be awfully embarrassing if she callled him out on it, he was already bad enough when it came to maintaining an air of coolness.

Or an air of self perceived coolness. Steve thought he was fine, but it was all the more likely that Tasha read through him like a star spangled book.

“I was just wondering what you had planned for today – I was in the tower, so it was just as easy to stop by, I hope I’m not intruding…”

"No no!" Steve said, almost too quickly, "Drop by whenever, I know where you live while no one else does, so it's only fair that you should be able to come by my floor whenever. I'll have Stark grant full access on those ID cards he gave us at the last meeting." The Avengers Identicards were a means of quick communication to the team and the team only. Only those with biological match to their cards could even use them. They also worked on a multitude of things around the tower. So far, Steve had only managed to figure out the soda machine.

"So, what can I do for you Tasha?"

“There’s an exhibition at the Met – Russian impressionists.” It was a fond thought. “And I didn’t exactly want to go alone.”

Fighting off the urge to let his ears heat up, Steve grinned and nodded, "Definitely, I didn't have any plans today, and I'd rather look at art than watch television." He paused for a moment before saying, "Thanks Tasha, I'd like to come with you."

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

”Yeah?”

This time she let an easy smile curve her full lips.

“Good, then. Though you might want to, you know…” She tried not to let him see how amused she was, discretely tugging on the hem of her own shirt to indicate that his was on backwards. Not that she minded terribly. But if he were recognised, she had a feeling Steve would be more comfortable knowing that at least his clothes were facing the correct way in any paparazzi shots that happened to be snapped.

“I’ll meet you downstairs.”

Before he could argue, she had already backed up to the central lift and pressed the button. It was sweet of him to be so welcoming, but Natasha felt very much like that was his private space. So much of his life hadn’t been private at all – whereas she’d had nothing but privacy for many years – and she hated to take that away from him. It was different with Tony, seeing as he thought he owned everything, so she couldn’t help but take glee in going where she pleased, and with Clint, who could be comfortable anywhere. She wasn’t quite the same; new places didn’t hinder her – her sense of perception was too strong for that -- but she would never say she preferred them.

With a half wave, her eyes betraying nothing of her inner monologue, she stepped backward into the elevator, sure feet moving soundlessly against the tile before the doors closed. When it deposited her in the lobby, she spared a glance for her reflection in the glass, pulling her soft waves from the elastic holding them captive, but leaving the thin elastic headband in place. Her ink black pants would pass for leggings easily enough, and her tank was smooth and basic, a deep green today. The only thing that gave away that she’d come from the gym were her black and grey trainers, but she knew she’d be happy of them in the Met’s scrawling hallways.

* * *

[Steve Rogers]

She smiled, a real one. It wasn't one of those small grins she tried to hide, or one of those smirks she had when she was proud of something she'd done. No, this time, Natasha was smiling and Steve was going to enjoy every second of it. Beautiful was a good word, he thought quietly, gorgeous was better though. It was obvious that Natasha was quite the attractive woman, he knew it, she knew it, anyone that had ever met her knew it too. However, Steve couldn't help but take a moment or two to actually appreciate that fact.

“Good, then. Though you might want to, you know…”

He blinked, remembering where he was and that he was in the middle of the conversation. Steve looked down as she motioned for him to turn his shirt around. His eyes widened as he saw what she meant and he scrambled to pull his shirt off and turn it. He noticed then, half way out of his shirt, that he'd begun undressing in front of Tasha, like an idiot. He pulled his shirt down as she spoke again.

“I’ll meet you downstairs.”

Even if he had the nerve to protest, Steve knew it was no use, Natasha didn't take anyone's orders but her own. Instead, Steve went to go find a better set of clothing to wear out. It was nearly December now, a t-shirt and sweat pants, while not only inappropriate to wear to a museum, would also provide no protection against the cooler weather. Ducking into his room again, Steve found a decent pair of jeans, a long sleeve shirt and a simple jacket for an extra layer.

It was only thirty seconds into primping that Steve realized what he was doing, and how he was behaving. Looking into the mirror, Cap wondered aloud.

"Is this a date?"

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

To keep herself busy, Natasha fiddled with the sweater slung low around her hips. She’d tied it there when she’d finished her workout, as she knew she wouldn’t need it til she was back on her Vespa – the tower was a balmy 72 degrees. But it gave her something to do, and so she slipped it over her head.

It was soft, knit loose and draping, in several shades of offwhite, from eggshell to ecru. It just barely fell off her shoulders, and she left the long sleeves pushed up to her elbows for the time being. Truthfully, she probably should have brought something heavier, but the sun had been beaming when she’d headed over, and she hadn’t planned on being here this late. Luckily, Tasha was used to much colder winters than New York had to offer; it wouldn’t be a problem, she was sure.

After several reflection checks, she wondered what was taking Steve so long. She bet he was changing his entire outfit – she doubted a straight-laced boy like him would ever leave the tower in such improper attire as a pair of sweatpants – but even so, she’d pegged him for the type to throw on a “uniform” of pants and an Oxford and be done with it. Though she supposed that even she misread people now and again, she hoped he wasn’t second guessing his decision to accompany her.

She didn't doubt herself often, and when she recognised the feeling, she smiled to herself. Despite the fact that he was a little unsettling, though only in the best way possible, she found that she was very much looking forward to a late afternoon of normalcy with Steve.

[Steve Rogers]

Steve was sure he looked fine, but as soon as there had been the thought that this might be considered a date, he had to be sure. Sure, if he could figure out how to make the stupid little box in his pocket send off electronic letters, he could ask Bruce, because asking Stark was a bad idea, and he wasn't very close with Agent Barton, but the use of a 'touchpad' still alluded Captain America. He sighed then shook off the thoughts as best he could. If it was a date, fantastic, if it wasn't, that was okay too. Steve didn't need to spend time worrying about the semantics.

He headed to the elevator and waited for it to come to his floor. One of the three finally arrived and Steve walked in, greeted by Jarvis as always, "Which floor may I take you to Captain Rogers?" After nearly jumping out of his pants, Steve blinked and answered the Artificial Intelligence.

"First floor, I think. Where ever Natasha went Jarvis."

"Very good Captain."

The elevator moved, lucky for Steve's nerves, it was a smooth ride, not like the elevators of old. Arriving on the first floor, Steve spotted the redheaded spy and grinned as he walked up to join her, "So, how are we getting there? Cab? Or the subway?" After one particularly disastrous trip on the subway, ending in the waste of an afternoon, Steve made it a goal to learn how to get around on the trains. Now, he was almost totally sure that they could reach the Metropolitan if he found the right train.

And if he didn't accidentally knock the rotating steel bars off the gate when he inevitably forgets to swipe his Metro card.

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

The smile returned to Natasha’s lips as the elevator doors opened behind her; she knew from the reflection in the brushed steel that it was Steve. She’d already thought about transportation, because she knew her tiny Vespa wasn’t going to hold both of them.

“I thought we’d cab it. It’ll get us there twice as fast.” That was the problem with subway transfers: they ate up time. “It closes in two and a half hours.”

She wasn’t apologetic; two hours was plenty of time to stand around and look at art. And as enthusiastic as Steve had been about accompanying her, she was willing to bet it was more about getting out of the tower than it was about the art. Not that she minded; the same could almost be said for her.

Her smile cooling but never leaving the corners of her mouth, she canted her head toward the front doors.

“Come on, soldier boy.”

As she pushed through the grand revolving center doors, she tugged the sleeves of her pullover down, stretching as she hailed a cab. Ducking into its cool interior, she spoke up to the cabby, directing him to the Met, and sat back against the worn leather seats, surprised with how pleased she was at the afternoon ahead of them.

* * *

[Steve Rogers]

Steve was sure that neither were hurting for cash, SHIELD probably paid an upper tier agent pretty well, and when Cap had seen his benefit from the GI Bill, he'd nearly fainted. Certainly he wasn't Stark rich, but since he didn't pay room and board while he stayed at the tower, money wasn't going to be a problem for Captain Rogers ever again. Needless to say, about half his earnings went back into the pool for other veterans, Steve didn't need the money, but he was sure that many of his brothers in arms probably did.

“Come on, soldier boy.”

Coming from just about anyone, Steve didn't like being called Solider Boy. Mostly because he could tell that it was being thrown at him like an insult. From Natasha, it wasn't a problem to him, he could tell she was only teasing. On top of that, it was fair, because he'd been the first to pick a nickname for her. With a smile, he ducked into the cab with her. Steve relaxed into his seat, looking at the small television screen built into the backs of every New York City cab now. He almost sighed, did there have to be a television everywhere?

Steve almost brought up work, just to say something for the sake of saying something, but decided against it. There wasn't any reason to ruin the day with talking about what they did on every other day. They were luck enough that they were both off duty on the same days. It was convenient. Perhaps, a little too convenient.

He looked to Natasha quickly before settling again. There was always a comfortable silence between the two. He knew that he didn't need to fill every moment with conversation, because they saw each other almost every day. Whether it's training, meetings or missions, Cap knew that he and Tasha both spoke enough through body language. Whether it was her calm energy, taking in a situation, or his constant nerves, wondering if he was behaving appropriately in any given situation out of his element.

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

The city moved in technicolour flashes outside the windows of the cab. Natasha was as comfortable as ever; silence had never bothered her, no matter who it was with. But with Steve, it was more than just comfortable. She knew he liked her, and she knew it wasn’t for the reasons most men admired her, which was refreshing.

The ride was quick and uneventful, and the tension that was just part of who Steve was so amusingly obvious the whole way. When they got to the museum, Natasha quickly paid the cab driver, thanking him in Russian, and stepping back out into the cooling winter air. Another month would mean snow, and she would feel more at home than she ever did in the city; she was looking forward to it.

Their Stark i.d.s got them in for free, and Natasha bounced slightly on the balls of her feet as she took a look at the directory, easily pinpointing which wing had the exhibit she was looking for. Pushing up her sleeves again, she fell into step alongside Steve as they walked.

She was the first to break the silence, and when she did, her voice was warm and easy.

“This your first time here?”

Tasha was a little rusty on American history, but she was pretty sure the museum hadn’t existed in Steve’s time.

* * *

[Steve Rogers]

“This your first time here?”

Cap was slightly amused by that. The Met had been open for almost seventy plus years when he'd gone off to Germany. Shaking his head a little, he answered, "Well, yes, but not exactly. I definitely don't remember the museum being this big from when I was a kid."

The last time he'd been here, he and Bucky had gone with their school. What was now P.S. 118 was one of the first public schools in New York City, Steve and Bucky had been lucky enough to go to one, Bucky having not had a family business to go to, and Steve coming up through the foster system after his mother and father had passed away. They were the first generation to go something like the system that was in place today. Shaking off the memories, including the flash of the last time Steve had seen Bucky, his attention returned to Natasha.

"It's definitely way bigger. I guess that's because there's probably over seventy years of time to add to the collection since I was here last."

If there was one thing that really let Steve remember out of place he was, it was always when he found something he hadn't been around for. So many times he was asked by someone, 'Hey remember this from the 80's?' Or whatever era going back to the fifties. Steve didn't remember any of it, because he hadn't been there. He'd missed it all, things that he should have been around for.

However, remembering where he was and who he was with eased that a little bit. Steve gave Natasha a solid nod before saying, "Let's go see that exhibit from Russia. I remember reading about Serov back when Buck- a friend of mine and I took art history when we were in High School. Maybe some of his work is here." Then again, this wasn't exactly his area of expertise, Steve was just trying to sound like he wasn't completely uninformed, that happened enough while he was at work with Tasha.

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

So the Met was older than she’d realised. Occasionally that happened in America, though not often; the country just didn’t have the backstory that Russia had.

She smiled softly as he referenced the 70 years that had gone by. Sometimes every day of it was painfully obvious in Steve’s mannerisms and demeanour, and sometimes she forgot about the fact entirely, chalking it up to being raised in two entirely different environments, though truthfully it had been two entirely different decades. And as much as she knew he thought of it as a disadvantage, she couldn’t help thinking it was part of why his company was so refreshing to her; there weren’t many people who thought of her as a lady first and an assassin second.

She glanced down at her feet as the conversation skipped over his friend. His words hadn’t faltered, but his tone had changed, and it was impossible not to notice. She wouldn’t say anything, of course – she knew from personal experience how awful it was being wheedled on a topic you’d rather just avoid, which was clearly the case with the Captain.

Instead, she rested a hand on his arm, palm catching against the fabric of his jacket, and steered him gently around a corner toward the exhibit. One eyebrow raised at his words, and grey-green eyes flickered over at him. She didn’t bother asking if he was really familiar with the artist’s work; it would have been an insult. She knew he wasn’t the sort of person to try and impress a date with information he’d Googled an hour before. Not to mention the man could barely work a computer…

The faintest of lines creased between her eyebrows as the word flitted through her mind: a date? Was that what she wanted this to be?

“Serov is one of my favourites,” was all she said, and she felt it was enough. It was more than any of the others knew about her.

* * *

[Steve Rogers]

Natasha thankfully let him gloss over Bucky. Frankly, anyone who'd read about Captain America in various text books, SHIELD files and a ton of other databases would know that on his last day before disappearing into the Arctic, he'd lost his closest friend. No one knew what had become of James Barnes, his body had never been recovered.

That would come back to bite them one day.

Regardless, Steve was grateful to Tasha for leading the way, guiding him through unfamiliar territory, added to the Metropolitan long after Steve had been frozen. They walked the halls to the special exhibit, the Russian art on loan from the Motherland. Steve's eyes took a few moments to find something that spoke out to him. Eventually he found that piece of work, coincidentally from their friend Valentin Serov.

"Tasha, do you mind if we look at that one over there?" Steve nodded towards the piece before taking a few steps. It was a portrait of a ballet dancer. Cap really loved this piece, mostly because of his general love for dancers. Dancing was the one art he never got to fully appreciate in any form, held back by his size of old. After he'd arrived in the 21st Century, any hope for a chance to learn had been dashed in his mind. Even still, Steve appreciated the grace it took to perform like that. Acrobatic as he may be, Steve was far from graceful enough to dance like those kinds of artists.

"It's pencil work, but really like this one. Dancers. I've always loved dancers, so the art just kind of, popped when I saw it."

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

Natasha was careful not to let her reaction show; of course he knew she was trained as a dancer. He’d read her file after all.

Instead, she stepped in front of the painting, her shoulder barely grazing Steve’s arm as she peered up at it for a long moment, her lips twitching ever so slightly to one side as she thought.

“I like it,” she pronounced. If she were to go on, she could have said she liked it because it was minimal, and simplicity had always appealed to her, even when it wasn’t her circumstance of choice. Or she could have said how she admired that Serov had conveyed a light source with the most basic of pencil movements, and she knew from experience that concise artistic vision was rare in the world of ballet, and the dichotomy amused her. She even could have said how the girl’s hair reminded her of her older sister, the one she’d lost so many years ago.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she very gently leaned against him, letting his arm take up just a fraction of the weight of her body as she raked her eyes over the canvas.

* * *