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[Steve lifts his eyebrows in mild surprise, pulling away from the punching bag and forcing his shoulders to relax. He hadn't heard her enter.]

Agent Romanoff. Yes. Is something wrong?

[It didn't take a genius to know where she'd find him. Almost too easy.]

I've got a problem that you can help with. [It's not an order, since there was no official military rank for her. This is a request, and it's even asked nicely.]

Edited 2013-06-29 02:32 (UTC)

[Something tells him Natasha doesn't ask for help often. His fingers move to the tape around his wrists.]

What kind of problem?

[That something would be right.]

The kind that puts you into a suit. Just not the one you're used to.

[What looks like a hanger with dry cleaned clothes is hanging loosely from her hooked fingers. The insides aren't a surprise. A black suit with the classic black tie to match. All in his size.]

[He looks at the suit and then back at her as he quickly unwraps his hands. There's a touch of amusement in his voice.]

Black tie? This must be serious.

Not that serious. You can say no, especially if you don't think your tango and swing are up for it.

[She's never really known a man to resist that kind of temptation. Then again, Steve is pretty one of a kind. Not even Natasha can predict his reactions.]

[His expression sobers as he furrows his brow and rolls the tape up into a ball between his palms.]

That might be a problem.

[It's more than a little humiliating, actually, that he didn't consider this. He clears his throat and forces himself to meet her eyes.]

I haven't had much practice.

Don't worry, I'm not entering us into a contest. [Natasha smirks to herself. Already dressed for the evening out, the navy blue fitted trench coat gives no clues to their destination.]

I can probably make due with a slow shuffle.

[He studies her for a moment before reaching out for the hanger. He wouldn't want to do anything to put her in danger, but it's impossible to refuse a request for help, especially when he knows if he refuses he won't likely be getting any others.]

Those heels wouldn't be steel toe, would they?

[He hopes for your sake they are, Natasha.]

[It wouldn't be personal, she's just not the kind of person who reaches out to others all that often.]

Better. I've got insurance on my toes, under the policy of you break them and I'll break your fingers.

[The sweet smile that accompanies her threat doesn't exactly imply a joke though.] ...the car is out front, I'll wait for you there.

[Steve isn't entirely sure how to take that look. The threat feels real enough to warrant an awknowledgement. He has read her file, after all. Or the parts he had clearance for.]

Yes ma'm.

[A quick shower and a change of clothes later and he's sliding into the back of a dark sedan beside Natasha. He clears his throat as he pulls at the cuffs of his tux.]

What's your objective? [He gives her a hint of a smile.] I'm guessing you need a little more than a plus one.

[Clean works for him. Actually, Natasha doesn't think she knows anyone that's as clean as Steve Rogers is, and that had nothing to do with the shower.]

I have a message to deliver. [The driver isn't SHIELD, but there is a barrier up between them, so Natasha is willing to talk for the time being.]

Tonight... isn't really one for the books, Rogers.

[The fact that she doesn't tell him the message says a little bit about what it might be. Then there's also the fact that it's him she's asking.

That next comment should give him some pause, but he trusts her. She followed him into battle and fought beside him. That counts for a lot in his book.]

Understood. What do you need from me?

[There are a few other reasons why she asked him, and not say, Clint. Messy to get into, but Steve was someone she trusted as well. There weren't a lot of those to go around.]

I need you to play the part of my date for the night. [Natasha raises an eyebrow at him. Really, Captain? You're watching too many spy movies if you think things are broken down into timed intervals and elaborate character stories.]

Think you can handle it?

[Steve had guessed as much, but actually hearing her say it out loud somehow throws him off guard for a moment. Maybe it's just the word date and the negative connotations he has with the word. He could've handled escort or back-up, but date brings a tiny sting of doubt with it.

That look isn't doing much to bolster his confidence either. He should probably say he doesn't have much practice in this either, but that's a lie. Thanks to Bucky he's been on loads of dates, just none of them talked to him all that much.

It's too late to back out now.]

I'll handle whatever you need me to.

[It takes a moment for him to realize how that sounded and he opens his mouth and then closes it, feeling his face warm.]

I mean, yes. I can handle it.

[This time her smile really is genuine. If slightly crooked. Natasha glances out the window as the streets go by.]

Some other time, maybe. [Teasing him probably isn't the best way to help him get comfortable with the idea, but she can't seem to help herself this time. There is something all too appealing about Steve. So that means she's got to mess with his expectations and keep him off guard.]

...is baseball one of your things?

[Steve presses his lips together in chagrin, glancing down at his hands. He's not actually surprised that she's teasing him, and he supposes it's better than her taking offense, but he's still thoroughly embarrassed at making a fool out of himself. Still, he supposed it was only a matter of time when you were talking to Natasha Romanoff.

He swallows back his pride and gives a small shrug, his mouth quirking slightly.]

Any Dodgers fan worth their mettle knows their share of statistics, ma'm.

Please, Natasha. Or if you prefer, Natalie. [She'll answer by either, but he has to pick one now. Ma'am is only endearing for so long and then it begins to get under her skin.]

That's good, it'll give you something to work with. [Their car begins to pull into a line with others, soon they'll be in front of a nice looking, but hardly spectacular hotel lobby. Surrounded by people that probably read about events like Tony Stark's in the magazines, and had no hope of actually attending one.]

Let's have a happy high school reunion, Rogers. Or, I suppose I should say 'let's go bucks'. [In references to the class' mascot, a pirateish buccaneer that resembled no historical pirate that Natasha was ever familiar with.]

[Steve raises his eyebrows in surprise.]

Am I going to need something to work with, Natasha?

[He knows vaguely what a high school reunion is, but he's never actually attended anything like one. He didn't have time to think about it long however before the car came to a stop and the door was opened. Steve got out and then held a hand out to Natasha.]

And you can call me Steve. Unless there's a code name I should know about.

Well, only if you don't want to spend three hours talking about the weather. [She takes his hand and eases out of the car; adding as an afterthought-] Steve.

[Once she's standing, she loops her arm under his snugly. For anyone looking at them, they make one hell of an attractive, and happy, couple. The driver leaves at Natasha's nod and all that's left is to head in.]

This is my third reunion this year. It's all dusty love triangles and sports. [And those are the interesting topics]