Avengers (the movie) Fic: Meet The Press (Or The One Where Natasha Says "Breasts" a Lot) Part 1/2
Title: Meet The Press (Or The One Where Natasha Says "Breasts" a Lot)
Characters: Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton, other team members
Rating: Probably R for language
Warnings: Spanking and crack, not necessarily in that order. I don't think there are any major SPOILERS, but read at your own risk
Summary: The Avengers and press conferences don't mix
A/N: Inspired by a prompt on avengerkink. Thanks to ficwriterjet and just_an_acrobat for putting up with my ramblings. This might be the silliest thing I've written (uhhh, next to the fairy spanking), but it was fun, so it's hard to care. Slight references to Frying Pan fics, but you don't have to read those to read this one. :)
“This is for Captain America,” the reporter in the tweed sports coat says, scribbling away on his little notepad. “You were frozen in ice for over seventy years. What are the changes that really stand out to you, and do you think it’s harder to be a role model now than it was in the forties?”
Tony leans forward in his seat, his mouth hovering near his mic. “Yes.”
Steve’s lips twitch even as he shoots Tony a reproving look. “Ah, I guess the biggest change I’ve noticed is that things move a lot faster?” he says, leaning closer to his own mic. “Folks travel faster, talk faster - dance faster,” he adds wryly. “As for being role models, I hope we’re good ones; I don’t think we spend a lot of time focusing on that? I mean, I think life’s what it always has been, where you give something your all and try to do the right thing; I think that means something to people, that given a choice people want to do the right thing.”
“Mr. Stark,” a blonde woman in the back begins.
“Call me Tony,” Tony insists, with the charm he’s so capable of.
“Tony; how do you reconcile your company’s history as a mass weapons producer with your present role as Iron Man?”
“I don’t.” Tony flashes a brilliant, practiced smile. The billionaire’s well-versed in the dog and pony show, but it doesn’t mean Steve has to like it.
Bruce shifts in his seat, bending toward his mic. “Stark Industries’ arc reactor technology is the future of clean, sustainable energy,” he says.
“Dr. Banner,” someone calls from the back of the press group. “What do you think is the Western world’s greatest obstacle to inner peace?”
Bruce chuckles, rubs at one eye with his index finger. “Wow, yeah, I thought I was just going to have to answer questions about being green,” he says, drawing a laugh from the assembled crowd. “I’d say for most of us, it’s probably fear; I think we spend a lot of time being afraid of things we don’t necessarily need to be afraid of.”
“I’ll direct this to Hawkeye,” says a sloe-eyed brunette from the left, gazing at the archer with frank appreciation. “It’s been reported you can hit any target, any time, from any angle, sometimes with your eyes closed. Does it ever get too easy?”
Clint smiles, and Steve would be surprised how good he is at these things if Clint hadn’t already explained. “Grew up in the circus, remember? I can always perform.” Steve was pretty sure from Clint’s grin and Natasha’s groan there was a joke in there somewhere, but knew better than to ask. “No such thing as too easy, ma’am.”
“Can I get in one more for Widow?” asks another guy in a suit.
Steve wants to say ‘no’. They’ve all had their fill of questions today. “Sure,” Steve hears himself saying.
The reporter smirks. “Widow, your hair color was recently featured in Glamour Magazine as the most requested in New York City’s salons. Are you a natural redhead?” he asks. He regards the panel slyly. “Or maybe someone else wants to answer?”
Natasha smiles sweetly. “Why don’t you come up and check my roots?”
**
“God, does anyone else still hear the screaming?” Bruce asks, head in hands as the limo navigates the streets of Manhattan.
Steve is staring at Tony. “Where did you get a martini?”
Tony frowns, staring at the glass in his right hand as if he’s just noticed it. “No one else got one?”
“We were too busy trying to find Bruce a pair of pants,” Clint replies dryly.
“Yeah, hey, looks like someone will be getting a few marriage proposals this week,” Tony says, raising his glass in Bruce’s general direction. “You’ve been hiding that light under a bushel, my friend.”
“Do you think this is funny?” Steve asks, his voice tinged with annoyance. Because he’s pretty sure what just happened could be classified as a disaster. He feels an ungracious twinge of envy for Thor, who won’t be returning from Asgard until this afternoon.
“Are you still asking me that?” Tony wants to know.
“No one was hurt,” Natasha says, pretty calmly now that her temper is spent.
“That reporter was getting a neck brace,” Clint points out.
“No one was seriously hurt,” she repeats, shrugging when Clint rolls his eyes.
“Guys.” Tony waves a vague hand. “Not a problem. I’ll just call Pepper - she’ll see they put a spin on it.”
**
“A spin?” Fury demands, his tone scathing even through the air waves. “How is Stark Industries going to spin an attack on the press?”
Tony folds his arms from where he and Steve are standing in the conference room. “I’m not hearing any better ideas from you; aren’t lies and deceit usually SHIELD’s area?” he asks sarcastically.
Fury ignores him, good eye honed on Steve. “No more bullshit; I want Agent Romanov in my office tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t do that, sir,” Steve replies, and braces for fallout.
The eye narrows. “Excuse me, Captain, because I’m sure I heard you wrong.”
“Oh, your ears still work fine,” Tony informs the Director. “It’s just not happening. She’s on our clock now.”
Steve throws his teammate a warning glance. “What Tony’s trying to say is that Agent Romanov was under my command at the time, and as her CO, it’s my responsibility to deal with the situation,” Steve explains.
“You’ve already had this conversation with Agent Romanov, several times as I recall, and I still have photos on my desk of her thighs gripping a noted reporter’s head like a nutcracker,” Fury snaps, his voice rising with obvious frustration. “Not to mention a very up-close and personal portrait of the Hulk’s buck-naked ass! Why is this time going to be different?”
“I’ll make it work, sir,” Steve promises tightly.
“You’d better, Captain Rogers.”
The signal goes out, and Steve and Tony take a moment to stare at the static now filling the conference room screen.
“What a dick,” Tony says.
In this case, Steve kind of agrees. “I thought I was done with this public relations stuff in the forties.”
“Next thing you know they’ll have us singing and selling war bonds - ” Steve slants him a reproachful look, and Tony mock winces. “Sorry. Personally, I think someone should pin a medal on her, because I didn’t know people could turn that color. Think she’ll get written up?”
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Steve replies grimly. “Even if we have to tell Fury we’re not doing press conferences anymore.”
Tony’s mouth quirks. “He’s not going to like that.”
“I don’t care what he likes,” Steve tells him. “Natasha’s a member of this team, and we take care of our own.” He glances toward the ceiling. “JARVIS, do you know where Agent Romanov is?”
“I believe she’s in the kitchen, Captain Rogers,” Tony’s AI responds.
“Would you ask her to come see me, please?”
**
“Excuse me, Agent Romanov. Captain Rogers is requesting you in the conference room.”
Natasha glances toward the ceiling. “Thanks, JARVIS.”
Clint glances up from the turkey sandwiches he’s putting together. “You want me to go with you?” The tone is casual; too casual. But she’ll be damned if he’s going to start worrying about her now.
“I can kill you in less than a heartbeat,” Natasha reminds him darkly, pushing herself from her seat on the counter and dropping neatly to the floor. It’s not like she hasn’t been reprimanded before. The Captain’s discipline will be a lot more hands on, but as much as Clint bitches, not much more than a temporary inconvenience.
“Are you kidding?” Clint smirks, a hint of concern still lurking in the crinkles near his eyes. “That’s what makes this fun.”
Natasha shakes her head. “You should be worried about the Captain,” she says, on her way out of the kitchen. A moment later, Clint calls out behind her.
“Who says I’m not?”
**
“You wanted to see me?” Natasha asks.
“Yeah; have a seat,” Steve says, pulling out the chair for her before stepping around the conference table and taking a seat himself. He sighs. “I got another call from Fury.” She stares at him, arching an eyebrow when he doesn’t continue. Steve scratches the back of his neck, cheeks growing warm under her intense gaze. “It’s about your - ah - thighs.”
“My - my thighs?” she says carefully. “What about my thighs?”
“He wants you to stop choking people with them,” Steve replies, trying not to glance at what even he’s noticed is a very - ah, compelling area. “We’ve talked about this before, Natasha; none of us like dealing with the press, but - ”
“I think we both know where this is going, Captain,” Natasha says.
“- we have a responsibility - we do?” Steve’s forehead wrinkles.
She peers at him from beneath her lashes. “And I think we both know I was a very bad girl.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say bad,” Steve says, because he doesn’t want Natasha to be too hard on herself.
“I said very bad,” and there’s something in her throaty voice that reminds Steve of a midnight movie Bucky once took him to in Queens. He’s a little ashamed of himself when he has to swallow thickly before continuing.
“Yeah, okay.”
“And I deserve to be punished.”
“You - well, I’m glad - sure,” Steve agrees with a confused frown.
Natasha stares at him for a moment, then sighs. “What did you have in mind?” she asks, suddenly all business again. Steve is pretty sure he’s relieved.
“You need some time to cool off; a week restricted to the Tower ought to do it,” Steve says, wishing she hadn’t been subjected to the press conference in the first place. “I hope this doesn’t happen again.
This time Natasha looks confused. “Restriction?”
“You think it’s too harsh?” Steve doesn’t want to be unreasonable about this.
“Isn’t the spanking enough?”
Steve’s brows pull together. “Who said I was going to spank you?”
“You’re not?”
“No!” Because, okay, he might be behind the times, but does he seem like the kind of guy who goes around spanking women?
Natasha’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Why not?”
“Because - because you’re too pretty?” Steve asks uncertainly, aware something has just gone horribly awry.
“Are you joking?” she asks.
“No,” he’s quick to assure her. “You’re, ah, really swell-looking.”
Natasha scowls. “Is this about my breasts?”
“No!” Heat rushes his face. “No, Natasha, I promise - ”
“Because I can’t think of any other reason besides my breasts that you wouldn’t want to spank me,” she maintains grimly.
“Oh, boy,” Steve says, because this is not the kind of stuff he’s trained for, and he doesn’t think he has anything in his files, either.
“You think that just because I’m a woman, that I can’t take the same kind of punishment as Clint or Bruce or Tony?” she demands.
“I didn’t say that,” Steve protests.
“You’re not denying it,” Natasha points out, and waits. Then, “You’re not denying it!”
“That’s because I can’t think when there’s a woman yelling “breasts”!” Steve tells her.
Natasha glares at him. “Exactly my point.”
**
“I don’t understand what just happened,” Steve says, walking into the living room, where the remaining members of his team are watching something called America’s Funniest Home Videos, and Thor is chuckling at an eight year-old taking a header into a snowbank.
Tony glances up from where he and Bruce are sitting on the couch. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“Natasha’s sore at me.” Steve resists the urge to lecture them about the platter of sandwiches on the oversized ottoman.
Tony frowns. “Is it Tuesday?” he asks Bruce.
“Monday,” Bruce says, watching a terrier smile on command.
“Because I said I wasn’t going to spank her,” Steve clarifies.
“She’s Russian,” Clint says, gaze glued to the television.
Steve’s brows lift. “And?”
Clint glances at him over his shoulder, shrugs. “That’s it.”
Steve folds his arms, eyes him suspiciously. “Your girl wants me to spank her, and you’re okay with that?”
“First of all, Natasha isn’t my girl, she’s my partner,” Clint replies bluntly, “and the last time I tried to tell her what to do I nearly had my boot shoved up my ass, while I was still wearing it. If she asks you to spank her, you spank her.”
“But I don’t want to spank her,” Steve says, flushing all the way to the tips of his ears.
Tony frowns. “Really?” he asks. “You never, in all those times bringing up the rear; you never just wanted to reach out and tap that really tight little - yeah, okay,” he concedes, when he notices the stares of his teammates.
“Did you attend any of those sexual harassment seminars?” Bruce wants to know.
“The Lady Widow is a hale warrior; to treat her otherwise is to dishonor her,” Thor decrees from his chair by the windows. “Though it would be better at your hand, Captain, I will bear this burden if you cannot.”
“Hey, hey, hey,” Clint says, finally seeming to take an interest in the conversation. “No. Remember that time you walked in on her in the shower, and told her she was ‘as comely as the most rare and poisonous flower’? I’m not going to survive an ode to her ass.”
“Do you not find her nether parts inspiring?”
“Is there something you want to tell me?” Clint asks, but Thor only grins.
“This is ridiculous,” Tony announces impatiently. “Fine; this kind of manual labor is usually beneath me, but as a team player and in the interest of the greater good, I’m willing to make the sacrifice.”
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” Clint drawls.
Tony squints at him. “Are you saying Steve’s the only one you’ll let spank your girlfriend?”
“She’s not - Yeah, that’s what I’m saying,” Clint fires back, then takes a moment to consider. “And maybe Bruce.”
“Ahh, thank you?” Bruce says cautiously. “But I don’t think the Other Guy would like my increased heart rate. From all the scolding,” he adds quickly, at a sharp glance from Clint.
Tony’s gaze levels on Clint. “Why aren’t you spanking her, Barton?” he asks, and Steve could swear Clint’s jaw tightens.
“Because I like to keep work and play separate,” Clint tells him. “It’s better for my health. That thigh hold? Only good until you pass out.”
Tony kicks his feet up on the ottoman, and Steve bites back a rebuke as the sandwich tray teeters. “While I can’t believe I’m saying this, Thor is right.” Thor looks pleased by this validation. “Women take this shit seriously. You don’t respond to her the same way you respond to the rest of the team, and you’ll be painted as the worst kind of misogynist.”
Bruce sighs. “He does have a point.”
“Your life will be easier,” Clint mutters.
“Indeed,” Thor agrees.
“So you’re saying you think I should do it?” Steve asks.
“God, no,” Tony says with a horrified grimace. “It’s a catastrophe waiting to happen. And what if Pepper finds out? She already wants my head on a stick; you won’t be nearly as wily at dodging her.”
“I believe the Midgardian phrase is ‘between a rock and a hard place’?” Thor suggests, and Steve wipes a hand over his face.
Clint smirks and grabs another sandwich. “Welcome to the 21st Century, Cap."
**
Sleep doesn’t come. At some point in the night, Natasha simply gives up, rolling away from Clint’s warmth and glaring at the bedroom ceiling.
“What?” Clint doesn’t crack an eye; doesn’t have to. Over the course of years and missions, they’ve become familiar with each other’s patterns, something Natasha finds both comforting and disturbing all at once.
“Go back to sleep,” she tells him.
Clint squints, peering at her in the darkness. “I can’t sleep; you’re seething too loud.”
“I don’t seethe.”
“Those reporters are idiots,” Clint says in his sleep-roughened voice. “You’re not actually starting to buy into their bullshit, are you?”
Natasha scoffs, rolling her eyes toward him. “Of course not.” He raises an eyebrow, continues to stare. “A little.”
“So, you just going to keep giving people whiplash?” he asks.
“God, you don’t know what it’s like, Clint, to be asked these ridiculous questions because of the way you look - ”
“Hey, that old lady I danced with at the gala last week groped my ass the entire time,” Clint tells her.
“That was Pepper’s grandmother.”
Clint shrugs. “I’m just saying, when it comes to the PR, we all take our lumps.”
“Or not,” Natasha mutters.
“What did happen with Steve?” Clint wants to know.
“Nothing; I’m restricted to the tower for a week.”
“Sounds okay.” Clint says, and Natasha gives him a sour look. “Come on, it can’t have been that bad,” he tells her.
“He was nice.”
“The bastard.”
“Like he thought he might hurt my feelings,” she complains.
Clint rolls to his own back so they’re lying side by side. Considers. Then, “So?”
Natasha blinks in the darkness. “What?”
“Did he?”
Seriously? What is she, twelve? “What do you think?”
“I think there’s a lot you don’t say.”
“Goodnight, Clint.” And this time when Clint pulls her closer, Natasha’s careful to keep her own space.
**
“Good morning,” Tony says, strolling into the kitchen. He’s unusually perky for this hour of the morning, and Natasha shoots him a baleful look from her seat at the counter. “Uh, oh, Gingerella still pouting?” he asks, grabbing a coffee cup and sticking it under what he keeps reminding them is a very expensive coffee machine.
“Been stabbed in the neck with a needle lately?” she returns smoothly, satisfied when Tony winces.
“Touché,” he concedes, as he begins programming his drink with deft fingers.
“At least someone recognizes I’m dangerous,” Natasha grouses to Clint, who’s scrambling eggs and frying bacon at the stove. Surprisingly enough, he’s better at the task than any of them, except maybe Steve. Tony refuses to work with such primitive appliances, and Thor tends to set things on fire. Bruce’s cooking is more frightening than his lab experiments, and Natasha; well, she didn’t become a spy to bake cupcakes.
“Not true; everyone recognizes you’re dangerous,” Tony points out, “including jaywalkers and small children who kick the back of your seat on airplanes.”
“Well, maybe someone should alert the Captain.”
Tony sniffs his coffee in appreciation. “I’m pretty sure that everyone by definition includes our star-spangled leader.”
“She’s upset that Steve was nice,” Clint explains, obviously amused, and Natasha stares at him in disbelief.
“He wasn’t just nice, Clint; he’s completely oblivious to my skill set,” she insists. “The bad girl innuendo sailed right over his head. And then he had the nerve to soft serve my reprimand.”
Tony leans one hip against the counter, brows drawn together. “So what you’re saying is that you tried to manipulate him with your sex, and now you’re pissed because he’s noticed your sex? Is that ironic or just stupid?” Without turning, Clint quickly reaches behind him and snags the stray fork Natasha’s going for, abruptly dropping it into the sink. Natasha scowls at his back. “Look, you know how Cap is - the guy respects women, for crying out loud. Probably more than any other guy you know. And while you might be the biggest, ball-breaking bitch of them all, there was no way he was going to just stand by and let Fury have at you.”
That gets her attention. “What do you mean?”
“I mean Fury wanted your ass on a platter, and Cap told him no. We both did, actually,” Tony adds sheepishly.
“Oh, shit,” Clint says under his breath, as Natasha feels herself go rigid.
“Are you saying that Director Fury now thinks I need the Avengers to protect me?” she demands. This is ridiculous. Is she an assassin or a debutante?
Tony shrugs. “I’m saying he knows we will.”
“And you’re okay with this?” Natasha asks, turning her stony gaze on Clint, but he simply holds up his hands, spatula and all.
“I’m just the guy who woke up and wanted to have breakfast. Hey, wait; don’t - Shit.” Clint grimaces. “I’m going to pay for that later, aren’t I?” he asks, watching Natasha stalk from the kitchen.
“Oh, yeah,” Tony tells him.
“Pay for what?” Steve asks, frowning as Natasha brushes past him. “Hey, what about breakfast?” he calls after her, but the assassin never breaks stride. “It’s the most important meal of the day!”
Clint’s mouth twists ruefully as he grabs a platter from the drawer. “You sure you don’t want to rethink this thing, Cap?”
Steve sighs. “I’m sure.”
“Someone will get hurt,” Clint says.
“That’s what I’m trying to prevent,” Steve tells him, reaching for a coffee cup, because even if the caffeine doesn’t work the way it used to, the strong and familiar taste is still a comfort to him..
Clint shakes his head as he shovels the eggs and bacon onto their serving plates. “With all due respect, Cap, it’s not going to work.”
“Hey, let the guy have his principles,” Tony says, wresting the coffee cup from Steve’s grip and putting it under the coffee machine for him. He punches a few buttons, peering warily in the direction Natasha disappeared. “Stay strong, Cap; that’s some powerful mojo she’s got going there, hard to resist. It’s like she’s the incarnation of bacon or something.”
Bruce wanders in, scratching his stomach where his t-shirt rides up. “Did someone say bacon?”
Tony’s elbow bumps Steve’s ribs. “See?” He tilts his chin toward the physicist. Then, “I’m sorry; did I miss the memo for crazy hippie day?” Tony wants to know, frowning as his gaze sweeps to what Steve thinks might be Bruce’s pajama bottoms. “That’s it; we’re going pants shopping.”
Bruce looks down at his lower half. “What’s wrong with my pants?” he asks, pulling at the baggy folds of textile. “I got these in India; they were eight dollars at the haat.”
“I think you just answered your own question,” Tony replies, handing Steve his coffee.
Steve sips and smiles his thanks before turning to Clint, who’s setting breakfast on the table. “You got plans today?”
“Yeah.”
Steve waits, but Clint doesn’t elaborate. “Want to talk about them?” Steve invites.
Clint shrugs. “Just, you know, big projects, top secret, classified, those sort of things; could take all afternoon.”
“Uh, huh.” Then, “You’re hiding, aren’t you?”
“You bet your ass I am.”
**
Steve finds Natasha in the living area, curled into a corner of the sectional like a sulky cat. Steve knows it’s almost impossible to sneak up on her or Clint; she’s aware he’s standing here - just isn’t noticing him. Steve guesses he has that coming.
“Good morning,” he says cheerfully.
Green eyes cut warily to his. “Good morning, Captain.”
Steve shoves his hands into his pockets, rocking slightly back on his heels. “We missed you at breakfast,” he says.
“Tony and Clint pissed me off.” Natasha’s not complaining, just stating it matter of fact, but it still makes Steve frown.
“I’m sorry.” Things are difficult enough without having those two make wise-ass remarks. “You want me to talk to them?”
She arches a brow. “Like you talked to Fury?”
“If that’s what it takes,” he replies sincerely.
Natasha gets a funny expression; like she doesn’t know what to think, when Natasha always knows what to think. She settles on a grimace. “Think I’ll pass.”
“Is this really necessary?” Bruce’s voice says from behind them.
Steve turns to see Tony herding a reluctant Bruce toward the elevator. For a guy who claims to not play well with others, the billionaire spends an awful lot of time doing just that. “Where are you guys going?”
“I’m taking Bruce to my tailor,” Tony replies, with a look that dares Bruce to argue.
Bruce sighs. “I keep telling him it’s a waste of money, but he won’t listen.”
“Cute, isn’t he?” Tony quips, reaching to pinch Bruce’s cheek and smirking when the man slaps his hand away. “You want to come? Make it a threesome?” he asks, before making a face. “Okay, yeah, there’s something that’s never going to sound sexy again,” he mutters.
“Nah.” Steve shakes his head, used to Tony’s ramblings now. “Thor’s talking about roasting a bilgesnipe.” That doesn’t require explaining, since Pepper’s made it quite clear she still hasn’t forgiven any of them for what happened on Thanksgiving.
Tony’s brow furrows. “JARVIS, please put together a presentation for Cap here covering the abundant alternatives to khaki.”
“That really isn’t necessary, JARVIS,” Steve says, with an apologetic glance toward the ceiling.
“It’s very necessary,” Tony informs him, before pushing Bruce into the elevator. The scientist’s shoulders slump in resignation.
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Steve asks, brows drawn with concern as the doors close on the pair. Natasha doesn’t reply, and Steve glances back at the empty sofa, then around the living area. The assassin has disappeared. “I hate it when they do that.”
“Do you wish me to locate Agent Romanov, Captain Rogers?” JARVIS inquires politely. Steve wonders sometimes if Tony’s so blunt because he put all his social niceties into his AI.
“Is she in still in the Tower?”
“Affirmative, Captain.”
“Then no, thank you,” Steve replies. “I’m sure when she’s ready to talk, she’ll find me.”
Part 2 here.
Characters: Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton, other team members
Rating: Probably R for language
Warnings: Spanking and crack, not necessarily in that order. I don't think there are any major SPOILERS, but read at your own risk
Summary: The Avengers and press conferences don't mix
A/N: Inspired by a prompt on avengerkink. Thanks to ficwriterjet and just_an_acrobat for putting up with my ramblings. This might be the silliest thing I've written (uhhh, next to the fairy spanking), but it was fun, so it's hard to care. Slight references to Frying Pan fics, but you don't have to read those to read this one. :)
“This is for Captain America,” the reporter in the tweed sports coat says, scribbling away on his little notepad. “You were frozen in ice for over seventy years. What are the changes that really stand out to you, and do you think it’s harder to be a role model now than it was in the forties?”
Tony leans forward in his seat, his mouth hovering near his mic. “Yes.”
Steve’s lips twitch even as he shoots Tony a reproving look. “Ah, I guess the biggest change I’ve noticed is that things move a lot faster?” he says, leaning closer to his own mic. “Folks travel faster, talk faster - dance faster,” he adds wryly. “As for being role models, I hope we’re good ones; I don’t think we spend a lot of time focusing on that? I mean, I think life’s what it always has been, where you give something your all and try to do the right thing; I think that means something to people, that given a choice people want to do the right thing.”
“Mr. Stark,” a blonde woman in the back begins.
“Call me Tony,” Tony insists, with the charm he’s so capable of.
“Tony; how do you reconcile your company’s history as a mass weapons producer with your present role as Iron Man?”
“I don’t.” Tony flashes a brilliant, practiced smile. The billionaire’s well-versed in the dog and pony show, but it doesn’t mean Steve has to like it.
Bruce shifts in his seat, bending toward his mic. “Stark Industries’ arc reactor technology is the future of clean, sustainable energy,” he says.
“Dr. Banner,” someone calls from the back of the press group. “What do you think is the Western world’s greatest obstacle to inner peace?”
Bruce chuckles, rubs at one eye with his index finger. “Wow, yeah, I thought I was just going to have to answer questions about being green,” he says, drawing a laugh from the assembled crowd. “I’d say for most of us, it’s probably fear; I think we spend a lot of time being afraid of things we don’t necessarily need to be afraid of.”
“I’ll direct this to Hawkeye,” says a sloe-eyed brunette from the left, gazing at the archer with frank appreciation. “It’s been reported you can hit any target, any time, from any angle, sometimes with your eyes closed. Does it ever get too easy?”
Clint smiles, and Steve would be surprised how good he is at these things if Clint hadn’t already explained. “Grew up in the circus, remember? I can always perform.” Steve was pretty sure from Clint’s grin and Natasha’s groan there was a joke in there somewhere, but knew better than to ask. “No such thing as too easy, ma’am.”
“Can I get in one more for Widow?” asks another guy in a suit.
Steve wants to say ‘no’. They’ve all had their fill of questions today. “Sure,” Steve hears himself saying.
The reporter smirks. “Widow, your hair color was recently featured in Glamour Magazine as the most requested in New York City’s salons. Are you a natural redhead?” he asks. He regards the panel slyly. “Or maybe someone else wants to answer?”
Natasha smiles sweetly. “Why don’t you come up and check my roots?”
**
“God, does anyone else still hear the screaming?” Bruce asks, head in hands as the limo navigates the streets of Manhattan.
Steve is staring at Tony. “Where did you get a martini?”
Tony frowns, staring at the glass in his right hand as if he’s just noticed it. “No one else got one?”
“We were too busy trying to find Bruce a pair of pants,” Clint replies dryly.
“Yeah, hey, looks like someone will be getting a few marriage proposals this week,” Tony says, raising his glass in Bruce’s general direction. “You’ve been hiding that light under a bushel, my friend.”
“Do you think this is funny?” Steve asks, his voice tinged with annoyance. Because he’s pretty sure what just happened could be classified as a disaster. He feels an ungracious twinge of envy for Thor, who won’t be returning from Asgard until this afternoon.
“Are you still asking me that?” Tony wants to know.
“No one was hurt,” Natasha says, pretty calmly now that her temper is spent.
“That reporter was getting a neck brace,” Clint points out.
“No one was seriously hurt,” she repeats, shrugging when Clint rolls his eyes.
“Guys.” Tony waves a vague hand. “Not a problem. I’ll just call Pepper - she’ll see they put a spin on it.”
**
“A spin?” Fury demands, his tone scathing even through the air waves. “How is Stark Industries going to spin an attack on the press?”
Tony folds his arms from where he and Steve are standing in the conference room. “I’m not hearing any better ideas from you; aren’t lies and deceit usually SHIELD’s area?” he asks sarcastically.
Fury ignores him, good eye honed on Steve. “No more bullshit; I want Agent Romanov in my office tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t do that, sir,” Steve replies, and braces for fallout.
The eye narrows. “Excuse me, Captain, because I’m sure I heard you wrong.”
“Oh, your ears still work fine,” Tony informs the Director. “It’s just not happening. She’s on our clock now.”
Steve throws his teammate a warning glance. “What Tony’s trying to say is that Agent Romanov was under my command at the time, and as her CO, it’s my responsibility to deal with the situation,” Steve explains.
“You’ve already had this conversation with Agent Romanov, several times as I recall, and I still have photos on my desk of her thighs gripping a noted reporter’s head like a nutcracker,” Fury snaps, his voice rising with obvious frustration. “Not to mention a very up-close and personal portrait of the Hulk’s buck-naked ass! Why is this time going to be different?”
“I’ll make it work, sir,” Steve promises tightly.
“You’d better, Captain Rogers.”
The signal goes out, and Steve and Tony take a moment to stare at the static now filling the conference room screen.
“What a dick,” Tony says.
In this case, Steve kind of agrees. “I thought I was done with this public relations stuff in the forties.”
“Next thing you know they’ll have us singing and selling war bonds - ” Steve slants him a reproachful look, and Tony mock winces. “Sorry. Personally, I think someone should pin a medal on her, because I didn’t know people could turn that color. Think she’ll get written up?”
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Steve replies grimly. “Even if we have to tell Fury we’re not doing press conferences anymore.”
Tony’s mouth quirks. “He’s not going to like that.”
“I don’t care what he likes,” Steve tells him. “Natasha’s a member of this team, and we take care of our own.” He glances toward the ceiling. “JARVIS, do you know where Agent Romanov is?”
“I believe she’s in the kitchen, Captain Rogers,” Tony’s AI responds.
“Would you ask her to come see me, please?”
**
“Excuse me, Agent Romanov. Captain Rogers is requesting you in the conference room.”
Natasha glances toward the ceiling. “Thanks, JARVIS.”
Clint glances up from the turkey sandwiches he’s putting together. “You want me to go with you?” The tone is casual; too casual. But she’ll be damned if he’s going to start worrying about her now.
“I can kill you in less than a heartbeat,” Natasha reminds him darkly, pushing herself from her seat on the counter and dropping neatly to the floor. It’s not like she hasn’t been reprimanded before. The Captain’s discipline will be a lot more hands on, but as much as Clint bitches, not much more than a temporary inconvenience.
“Are you kidding?” Clint smirks, a hint of concern still lurking in the crinkles near his eyes. “That’s what makes this fun.”
Natasha shakes her head. “You should be worried about the Captain,” she says, on her way out of the kitchen. A moment later, Clint calls out behind her.
“Who says I’m not?”
**
“You wanted to see me?” Natasha asks.
“Yeah; have a seat,” Steve says, pulling out the chair for her before stepping around the conference table and taking a seat himself. He sighs. “I got another call from Fury.” She stares at him, arching an eyebrow when he doesn’t continue. Steve scratches the back of his neck, cheeks growing warm under her intense gaze. “It’s about your - ah - thighs.”
“My - my thighs?” she says carefully. “What about my thighs?”
“He wants you to stop choking people with them,” Steve replies, trying not to glance at what even he’s noticed is a very - ah, compelling area. “We’ve talked about this before, Natasha; none of us like dealing with the press, but - ”
“I think we both know where this is going, Captain,” Natasha says.
“- we have a responsibility - we do?” Steve’s forehead wrinkles.
She peers at him from beneath her lashes. “And I think we both know I was a very bad girl.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say bad,” Steve says, because he doesn’t want Natasha to be too hard on herself.
“I said very bad,” and there’s something in her throaty voice that reminds Steve of a midnight movie Bucky once took him to in Queens. He’s a little ashamed of himself when he has to swallow thickly before continuing.
“Yeah, okay.”
“And I deserve to be punished.”
“You - well, I’m glad - sure,” Steve agrees with a confused frown.
Natasha stares at him for a moment, then sighs. “What did you have in mind?” she asks, suddenly all business again. Steve is pretty sure he’s relieved.
“You need some time to cool off; a week restricted to the Tower ought to do it,” Steve says, wishing she hadn’t been subjected to the press conference in the first place. “I hope this doesn’t happen again.
This time Natasha looks confused. “Restriction?”
“You think it’s too harsh?” Steve doesn’t want to be unreasonable about this.
“Isn’t the spanking enough?”
Steve’s brows pull together. “Who said I was going to spank you?”
“You’re not?”
“No!” Because, okay, he might be behind the times, but does he seem like the kind of guy who goes around spanking women?
Natasha’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Why not?”
“Because - because you’re too pretty?” Steve asks uncertainly, aware something has just gone horribly awry.
“Are you joking?” she asks.
“No,” he’s quick to assure her. “You’re, ah, really swell-looking.”
Natasha scowls. “Is this about my breasts?”
“No!” Heat rushes his face. “No, Natasha, I promise - ”
“Because I can’t think of any other reason besides my breasts that you wouldn’t want to spank me,” she maintains grimly.
“Oh, boy,” Steve says, because this is not the kind of stuff he’s trained for, and he doesn’t think he has anything in his files, either.
“You think that just because I’m a woman, that I can’t take the same kind of punishment as Clint or Bruce or Tony?” she demands.
“I didn’t say that,” Steve protests.
“You’re not denying it,” Natasha points out, and waits. Then, “You’re not denying it!”
“That’s because I can’t think when there’s a woman yelling “breasts”!” Steve tells her.
Natasha glares at him. “Exactly my point.”
**
“I don’t understand what just happened,” Steve says, walking into the living room, where the remaining members of his team are watching something called America’s Funniest Home Videos, and Thor is chuckling at an eight year-old taking a header into a snowbank.
Tony glances up from where he and Bruce are sitting on the couch. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“Natasha’s sore at me.” Steve resists the urge to lecture them about the platter of sandwiches on the oversized ottoman.
Tony frowns. “Is it Tuesday?” he asks Bruce.
“Monday,” Bruce says, watching a terrier smile on command.
“Because I said I wasn’t going to spank her,” Steve clarifies.
“She’s Russian,” Clint says, gaze glued to the television.
Steve’s brows lift. “And?”
Clint glances at him over his shoulder, shrugs. “That’s it.”
Steve folds his arms, eyes him suspiciously. “Your girl wants me to spank her, and you’re okay with that?”
“First of all, Natasha isn’t my girl, she’s my partner,” Clint replies bluntly, “and the last time I tried to tell her what to do I nearly had my boot shoved up my ass, while I was still wearing it. If she asks you to spank her, you spank her.”
“But I don’t want to spank her,” Steve says, flushing all the way to the tips of his ears.
Tony frowns. “Really?” he asks. “You never, in all those times bringing up the rear; you never just wanted to reach out and tap that really tight little - yeah, okay,” he concedes, when he notices the stares of his teammates.
“Did you attend any of those sexual harassment seminars?” Bruce wants to know.
“The Lady Widow is a hale warrior; to treat her otherwise is to dishonor her,” Thor decrees from his chair by the windows. “Though it would be better at your hand, Captain, I will bear this burden if you cannot.”
“Hey, hey, hey,” Clint says, finally seeming to take an interest in the conversation. “No. Remember that time you walked in on her in the shower, and told her she was ‘as comely as the most rare and poisonous flower’? I’m not going to survive an ode to her ass.”
“Do you not find her nether parts inspiring?”
“Is there something you want to tell me?” Clint asks, but Thor only grins.
“This is ridiculous,” Tony announces impatiently. “Fine; this kind of manual labor is usually beneath me, but as a team player and in the interest of the greater good, I’m willing to make the sacrifice.”
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” Clint drawls.
Tony squints at him. “Are you saying Steve’s the only one you’ll let spank your girlfriend?”
“She’s not - Yeah, that’s what I’m saying,” Clint fires back, then takes a moment to consider. “And maybe Bruce.”
“Ahh, thank you?” Bruce says cautiously. “But I don’t think the Other Guy would like my increased heart rate. From all the scolding,” he adds quickly, at a sharp glance from Clint.
Tony’s gaze levels on Clint. “Why aren’t you spanking her, Barton?” he asks, and Steve could swear Clint’s jaw tightens.
“Because I like to keep work and play separate,” Clint tells him. “It’s better for my health. That thigh hold? Only good until you pass out.”
Tony kicks his feet up on the ottoman, and Steve bites back a rebuke as the sandwich tray teeters. “While I can’t believe I’m saying this, Thor is right.” Thor looks pleased by this validation. “Women take this shit seriously. You don’t respond to her the same way you respond to the rest of the team, and you’ll be painted as the worst kind of misogynist.”
Bruce sighs. “He does have a point.”
“Your life will be easier,” Clint mutters.
“Indeed,” Thor agrees.
“So you’re saying you think I should do it?” Steve asks.
“God, no,” Tony says with a horrified grimace. “It’s a catastrophe waiting to happen. And what if Pepper finds out? She already wants my head on a stick; you won’t be nearly as wily at dodging her.”
“I believe the Midgardian phrase is ‘between a rock and a hard place’?” Thor suggests, and Steve wipes a hand over his face.
Clint smirks and grabs another sandwich. “Welcome to the 21st Century, Cap."
**
Sleep doesn’t come. At some point in the night, Natasha simply gives up, rolling away from Clint’s warmth and glaring at the bedroom ceiling.
“What?” Clint doesn’t crack an eye; doesn’t have to. Over the course of years and missions, they’ve become familiar with each other’s patterns, something Natasha finds both comforting and disturbing all at once.
“Go back to sleep,” she tells him.
Clint squints, peering at her in the darkness. “I can’t sleep; you’re seething too loud.”
“I don’t seethe.”
“Those reporters are idiots,” Clint says in his sleep-roughened voice. “You’re not actually starting to buy into their bullshit, are you?”
Natasha scoffs, rolling her eyes toward him. “Of course not.” He raises an eyebrow, continues to stare. “A little.”
“So, you just going to keep giving people whiplash?” he asks.
“God, you don’t know what it’s like, Clint, to be asked these ridiculous questions because of the way you look - ”
“Hey, that old lady I danced with at the gala last week groped my ass the entire time,” Clint tells her.
“That was Pepper’s grandmother.”
Clint shrugs. “I’m just saying, when it comes to the PR, we all take our lumps.”
“Or not,” Natasha mutters.
“What did happen with Steve?” Clint wants to know.
“Nothing; I’m restricted to the tower for a week.”
“Sounds okay.” Clint says, and Natasha gives him a sour look. “Come on, it can’t have been that bad,” he tells her.
“He was nice.”
“The bastard.”
“Like he thought he might hurt my feelings,” she complains.
Clint rolls to his own back so they’re lying side by side. Considers. Then, “So?”
Natasha blinks in the darkness. “What?”
“Did he?”
Seriously? What is she, twelve? “What do you think?”
“I think there’s a lot you don’t say.”
“Goodnight, Clint.” And this time when Clint pulls her closer, Natasha’s careful to keep her own space.
**
“Good morning,” Tony says, strolling into the kitchen. He’s unusually perky for this hour of the morning, and Natasha shoots him a baleful look from her seat at the counter. “Uh, oh, Gingerella still pouting?” he asks, grabbing a coffee cup and sticking it under what he keeps reminding them is a very expensive coffee machine.
“Been stabbed in the neck with a needle lately?” she returns smoothly, satisfied when Tony winces.
“Touché,” he concedes, as he begins programming his drink with deft fingers.
“At least someone recognizes I’m dangerous,” Natasha grouses to Clint, who’s scrambling eggs and frying bacon at the stove. Surprisingly enough, he’s better at the task than any of them, except maybe Steve. Tony refuses to work with such primitive appliances, and Thor tends to set things on fire. Bruce’s cooking is more frightening than his lab experiments, and Natasha; well, she didn’t become a spy to bake cupcakes.
“Not true; everyone recognizes you’re dangerous,” Tony points out, “including jaywalkers and small children who kick the back of your seat on airplanes.”
“Well, maybe someone should alert the Captain.”
Tony sniffs his coffee in appreciation. “I’m pretty sure that everyone by definition includes our star-spangled leader.”
“She’s upset that Steve was nice,” Clint explains, obviously amused, and Natasha stares at him in disbelief.
“He wasn’t just nice, Clint; he’s completely oblivious to my skill set,” she insists. “The bad girl innuendo sailed right over his head. And then he had the nerve to soft serve my reprimand.”
Tony leans one hip against the counter, brows drawn together. “So what you’re saying is that you tried to manipulate him with your sex, and now you’re pissed because he’s noticed your sex? Is that ironic or just stupid?” Without turning, Clint quickly reaches behind him and snags the stray fork Natasha’s going for, abruptly dropping it into the sink. Natasha scowls at his back. “Look, you know how Cap is - the guy respects women, for crying out loud. Probably more than any other guy you know. And while you might be the biggest, ball-breaking bitch of them all, there was no way he was going to just stand by and let Fury have at you.”
That gets her attention. “What do you mean?”
“I mean Fury wanted your ass on a platter, and Cap told him no. We both did, actually,” Tony adds sheepishly.
“Oh, shit,” Clint says under his breath, as Natasha feels herself go rigid.
“Are you saying that Director Fury now thinks I need the Avengers to protect me?” she demands. This is ridiculous. Is she an assassin or a debutante?
Tony shrugs. “I’m saying he knows we will.”
“And you’re okay with this?” Natasha asks, turning her stony gaze on Clint, but he simply holds up his hands, spatula and all.
“I’m just the guy who woke up and wanted to have breakfast. Hey, wait; don’t - Shit.” Clint grimaces. “I’m going to pay for that later, aren’t I?” he asks, watching Natasha stalk from the kitchen.
“Oh, yeah,” Tony tells him.
“Pay for what?” Steve asks, frowning as Natasha brushes past him. “Hey, what about breakfast?” he calls after her, but the assassin never breaks stride. “It’s the most important meal of the day!”
Clint’s mouth twists ruefully as he grabs a platter from the drawer. “You sure you don’t want to rethink this thing, Cap?”
Steve sighs. “I’m sure.”
“Someone will get hurt,” Clint says.
“That’s what I’m trying to prevent,” Steve tells him, reaching for a coffee cup, because even if the caffeine doesn’t work the way it used to, the strong and familiar taste is still a comfort to him..
Clint shakes his head as he shovels the eggs and bacon onto their serving plates. “With all due respect, Cap, it’s not going to work.”
“Hey, let the guy have his principles,” Tony says, wresting the coffee cup from Steve’s grip and putting it under the coffee machine for him. He punches a few buttons, peering warily in the direction Natasha disappeared. “Stay strong, Cap; that’s some powerful mojo she’s got going there, hard to resist. It’s like she’s the incarnation of bacon or something.”
Bruce wanders in, scratching his stomach where his t-shirt rides up. “Did someone say bacon?”
Tony’s elbow bumps Steve’s ribs. “See?” He tilts his chin toward the physicist. Then, “I’m sorry; did I miss the memo for crazy hippie day?” Tony wants to know, frowning as his gaze sweeps to what Steve thinks might be Bruce’s pajama bottoms. “That’s it; we’re going pants shopping.”
Bruce looks down at his lower half. “What’s wrong with my pants?” he asks, pulling at the baggy folds of textile. “I got these in India; they were eight dollars at the haat.”
“I think you just answered your own question,” Tony replies, handing Steve his coffee.
Steve sips and smiles his thanks before turning to Clint, who’s setting breakfast on the table. “You got plans today?”
“Yeah.”
Steve waits, but Clint doesn’t elaborate. “Want to talk about them?” Steve invites.
Clint shrugs. “Just, you know, big projects, top secret, classified, those sort of things; could take all afternoon.”
“Uh, huh.” Then, “You’re hiding, aren’t you?”
“You bet your ass I am.”
**
Steve finds Natasha in the living area, curled into a corner of the sectional like a sulky cat. Steve knows it’s almost impossible to sneak up on her or Clint; she’s aware he’s standing here - just isn’t noticing him. Steve guesses he has that coming.
“Good morning,” he says cheerfully.
Green eyes cut warily to his. “Good morning, Captain.”
Steve shoves his hands into his pockets, rocking slightly back on his heels. “We missed you at breakfast,” he says.
“Tony and Clint pissed me off.” Natasha’s not complaining, just stating it matter of fact, but it still makes Steve frown.
“I’m sorry.” Things are difficult enough without having those two make wise-ass remarks. “You want me to talk to them?”
She arches a brow. “Like you talked to Fury?”
“If that’s what it takes,” he replies sincerely.
Natasha gets a funny expression; like she doesn’t know what to think, when Natasha always knows what to think. She settles on a grimace. “Think I’ll pass.”
“Is this really necessary?” Bruce’s voice says from behind them.
Steve turns to see Tony herding a reluctant Bruce toward the elevator. For a guy who claims to not play well with others, the billionaire spends an awful lot of time doing just that. “Where are you guys going?”
“I’m taking Bruce to my tailor,” Tony replies, with a look that dares Bruce to argue.
Bruce sighs. “I keep telling him it’s a waste of money, but he won’t listen.”
“Cute, isn’t he?” Tony quips, reaching to pinch Bruce’s cheek and smirking when the man slaps his hand away. “You want to come? Make it a threesome?” he asks, before making a face. “Okay, yeah, there’s something that’s never going to sound sexy again,” he mutters.
“Nah.” Steve shakes his head, used to Tony’s ramblings now. “Thor’s talking about roasting a bilgesnipe.” That doesn’t require explaining, since Pepper’s made it quite clear she still hasn’t forgiven any of them for what happened on Thanksgiving.
Tony’s brow furrows. “JARVIS, please put together a presentation for Cap here covering the abundant alternatives to khaki.”
“That really isn’t necessary, JARVIS,” Steve says, with an apologetic glance toward the ceiling.
“It’s very necessary,” Tony informs him, before pushing Bruce into the elevator. The scientist’s shoulders slump in resignation.
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Steve asks, brows drawn with concern as the doors close on the pair. Natasha doesn’t reply, and Steve glances back at the empty sofa, then around the living area. The assassin has disappeared. “I hate it when they do that.”
“Do you wish me to locate Agent Romanov, Captain Rogers?” JARVIS inquires politely. Steve wonders sometimes if Tony’s so blunt because he put all his social niceties into his AI.
“Is she in still in the Tower?”
“Affirmative, Captain.”
“Then no, thank you,” Steve replies. “I’m sure when she’s ready to talk, she’ll find me.”
Part 2 here.