PSL for punched_hitler

[tothefly]

The tower doesn't see very many quiet days. Even fewer quiet nights, honestly, and it's enough to make her itchy. So, in lieu of world-destroying robots and/or alien menaces presenting themselves, Natasha takes matters into her own hands and makes the executive decision, dropping gracefully into the end of the couch currently occupied by one Steve Rogers, reading the paper.

"Hey, Rogers. You have anything nice to wear? Your Sunday best, but less ice-cream-social."

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[punched_hitler]

At first, Steve wonders if Stark got Natasha to take up the running rhetoric of Oh my God, do they still print those, I got you a nice tablet, Cap, why do you still go out and spend actual paper dollars on the actual newspaper?, so all Natasha gets is a bit of a sideways glance when she appears on the end of the couch next to him. Things have been anything but quiet, and Steve hasn't gotten to read the paper lately, and it's sort of nice to have the chance to do it (provided no one wants to hold the world hostage tonight).

What he isn't expecting is the question he does get - he actually looks up this time, not frowning, but definitely curious. "Sure." What he has, honestly, is way better than any Sunday best he ever had, growing up. "Are we going somewhere?"

[tothefly]

Of all the things she could judge about Steve, his paper reading isn't going to be one of them. It's a dying habit, maybe, but there's still something to be said for print media, she supposes, even if digital is more efficient. She's never been one to turn down information, whatever shape it takes.

When he looks up, she's looking back at him, considering. It isn't a bad look, but maybe the Ken focus is something he should be just a little nervous about. "We're going out," she tells him, and it's less of a question than it is a statement. "You spend too much time in this tower when we aren't working, and if you're not going out with any of the girls I've suggested, you should come out with me." There are worse things to do with a Friday night, after all.

[punched_hitler]

"Are we," is about all be can get out, before Natasha just keeps right on rolling, and - you know, okay, he hadn't exactly expected that. She's not wrong, there are plenty of worse ways to spend a Friday night, and it's not like he minds going out, exactly, but, "You really don't like taking no for an answer, do you?"

All the same, he glances at the paper, then, folds it up and starts to push himself up off the couch. There is something to be said about curiosity - and something to be said for the way Steve Rogers is physically incapable of backing from from a challenge, and this is one if ever he heard it.

Of course, if they are doing this - "Seriously, though. Define Sunday best. Are we actually talking suit, or just the regular sort of "nice" that seems to pass for most people, these days?"

[tothefly]

"I take no for an answer all the time. I never suggest the same girl twice, do I? You can say no, if you want. I'll only be a little wounded." But of course he's already setting down his paper, already in motion. He doesn't do stillness and time off any better than she does.

"I mean an actual, honest-to-God suit," she clarifies, and this time she does sound just a little amused. "When I say going out, I mean going out. Night on the town. How about it? Gonna tell me no?"

[punched_hitler]

You can say no, she says - and okay, she probably even means it. But he's already in motion, and... what's the harm? Frankly, the idea of going "out on the town" with someone like Natasha, that he already knows, is actually more appealing than trying to get to know yet another girl who kind of has a hard time looking past the whole Captain America thing. There have been a few, but... he almost always feels like it's an act, trying to fit in all over again, only he's just barely aware of the rules - you go out for coffee, now, and dancing means you can't actually talk in the club, and -

Well. He does know that you don't wear honest-to-God suits to most of the dance clubs he's stuck his head into, so that's kind of a relief. "No," he finally says, doing his best to match her amused tone - if nothing else, this will be interesting, and she likes playing him, he knows, but even the risk of being played isn't enough to get him to back down this time. "I'm not gonna tell you no. I just need about twenty minutes to get ready."

If they're going out, he's gonna look his best - shower, shave, and everything.

[tothefly]

That's one of (in her opinion) many downsides to having both name and title be well-known. Kids used to do field trips to the Smithsonian to learn about Steve Rogers, Captain America, hero of WWII. They still do, only now there's also current photos, a few segments on what the media called the Battle of New York. There was talk of shutting it down after everything happened with SHIELD, but so far, nothing. There are photos of her, too, of course, along with the rest of the Avengers, but next to the Norse god with the cape and lightning, Iron Man in his suit, and of course Cap himself, one redhead in black can easily blend into the background even if she hadn't made a career out of it. It hasn't affected what there is of her dating life. Then again, there really hasn't been any of that to speak of, not lately.

So, something new for the both of them. Why not? She's curious. Captain America she knows all about, but Steve Rogers is something she's a little less sure on, these days. Maybe she does like playing him--or just teasing him--but the interest is genuine enough that maybe she won't even do much of that. Who knows? The night is young and mostly unplanned.

"Give me forty-five," she counters dryly. "Meet you back here, we can sneak out the back entrance." She's got hair and makeup to do, too, after all.

[punched_hitler]

"S'okay, Bucky used to take an hour," he shoots back with a wry smile - this may or may not be true, but either way, he might take a ten-minute shower, now, instead of a three-minute one.

He's not sure how well they're going to be able to sneak anywhere around here, but then, if anyone knows that, it'll be Natasha. So he decides to put his faith in her and he does take a ten-minute shower, takes his time shaving and gelling his hair, and leaves everything but his wallet in his room before he heads back for the common room, admittedly glad that he doesn't actually run into anyone else on the way - hell, there might not actually be anyone else around, he is usually the only one around on Friday nights.

[tothefly]

Somehow, she can see that. Not from the man she's met, the man she's known, but the one she's seen pictures of--the Sergeant James Barnes with the perfectly groomed hair at the exact right level of rakish disarray. "Then I guess you're used to waiting," she says, a hint of dry amusement in her voice as she stands again, brushing a hand over the back of the couch as she heads up to the guest apartments she's taken over to get ready.

Never let it be said that Natasha Romanoff ever brings less than her A game, even for something that's just supposed to be casual fun, two people who might even be friends having dinner together; when she appears back downstairs, it's with perfectly coiffed curls and a black lace dress that's just the right balance between modest and suggestive, heels that don't quite put her on eye level with him but at least bring her over shoulder level. Funny how easy it is to forget the size difference between them. "You ready? Last chance to change your mind," she calls, stepping out into the common area again.

[punched_hitler]

"Guess so," Steve murmurs - it's true, either way - and figures he can always pick his paper back up if he ends up getting done early.

Which is exactly what he's done, when she reappears; she does look good, he can't deny that, regardless of the reason they're going out, and part of him sort of feels like he's going to turn around and see the real reason she's done up, see her actual date for the night, because it couldn't possibly be him.

But it is, and he puts the paper back down and steps up himself, offering an arm. "Are you kidding? You are the second-most beautiful dame to ever ask me out; I may be big, but I'm not dumb." Of course, he gives her a bit of an intentionally dumb grin anyway, before tilting his head to the door. "We driving? Or taking a cab?"