Black Widow: An Origin Story

The Club

We took a few days off to recuperate. Well deserved, according to the intel that Phillips managed to acquire. We had scattered several other parties with our attack, who had to resort to different paths to avoid the slaughter.

Shame we hadn't been able to stop any other groups, but it was better than nothing.

"You up to spar?"

Looking up from the stack of paperwork I had on my desk, I met Steve's blue eyes. "What happened to, 'I'm injured and not allowed to move'?"

He chuckled. "Well, I'd prefer you not fight until your bones are fully healed, but at least I can keep an eye on you this way."

I rolled my eyes before signing one last paper. I'd been at the desk for six hours without a break. My bones cracked as I stood up and stretched. My lips formed a slight grimace as pain shot through my ribs and thigh, but smiled softly nonetheless.

"Can you fight?"

He'd noticed the pain, but I wasn't about to let it stop me. "I'll take it easy, but it will be good to stretch everything out."

He winked before motioning me forward through the doorway. I bumped his shoulder lightly as I passed, and he smiled.

"I heard mention that Phillips has been tracking, or trying to track Zola's movements," I said as we took up our fighting stances in the ring.

"He is," he answered, feigning a punch towards my jaw.

I blocked the kick he aimed at my side and responded, "And he's having trouble with it?"

He ducked under the roundhouse kick, moving behind me. "Well, he's no Black Widow."

I smirked, turning on him. "No, he's not. But really, Rogers. Would you actually attack me? If you hit me, it's my fault."

He shook his head and leapt. I narrowly avoided his arms, and kicked his ass before he was able to turn around to face me once more.

"Hey," he whined, looking back at his butt. "That was a low blow."

"Perfect opportunity. And besides, your ass looks unharmed," I retorted, my eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

We traded a few blows after that, though it was more play than actual fighting. And by the end of our short session, we were laughing.

"I still can't believe you actually kicked my ass, Nat," he grumbled playfully, hiding a smile.

"Again, I had the perfect opportunity. It's not like I could let it go to waste."

"I've been looking for you, Rogers," Agent Carter's voice cuts in from down the hall.

"Sorry," he muttered bashfully before turning completely serious. "Is something wrong?"

"No," she answered. "On the contrary. We're going to the club tonight. All of us, except for the unlucky souls that are stuck here. Call it a gift from the Colonel. Eight PM sharp. Dress nicely."

I could've sworn her hips swayed more than normal as she turned around and walked away. And that his eyes followed the movement for a split second.

It didn't matter, since we weren't an item, and would never be. Friends was already too much, despite my overwhelming wish of wanting more.

"I suppose I should head back to my room. Look over some more files."

"Are you not going tonight?" he asked, and I could've sworn there was a hint of disappointment lacing his tone.

"Likely not. Not really my scene," I replied with a shrug. "Tends to be more trouble than it's worth."

His eyes darkened for a moment before he smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I understand. They're not my scene either, but I know they'll both be upset if I refuse to show."