Cap Quartet One Shots (Romanogers)

The one with the dance (pt1?)

I slam the door in his face. I know who he was suggesting, and I don't want to think about that. There's so much tension between us I couldn't possibly dance with him. And he's from the 40s, he must be amazing at this sort of dance, while I have next to no experience. If it came down to it, perhaps I would. My mind begs to wander, but I don't let it.

I violently flick the switch to turn the lights on around my mirror, to make sure I look good before going out. My dress is almost burgundy, silk that clings to all the right places, and thin spaghetti straps. My heels are so dark red they are almost black, with straps criss crossing over my feet. I straightened my hair, and did my makeup exactly how I always do it, just with a bolder lip colour. A gold necklace hangs down from my neck, a very small metallic spider at the end of it. I look good, if I do say so myself.

Taking a deep breath, I walk down the corridor and into the elevator. As I go up the levels, I straighten my dress again and try to decide whether to have my hair in front or behind my shoulders. I decide behind. The doors open directly out onto the top floor's open plan, 'party' layout. It's already packed with old men in suits that are too small and their wives in dresses that went out of style ten years ago.

My eyes dart around as I step out, looking for a corner to hide in, when I see him, looking straight at me. We lock eyes - how could we not? - and with no other place to go, I have no choice but to make my way towards him. I've never been the first to break eye contact with anyone - apart from Steve. I look behind him instead, but I can see that his eyes are still very much on me. All too soon I reach him.

"Hey."

"Hey," he replies. He opens his mouth as if he's about to say something, but nothing comes out.

"What is it?" I ask. "Did Tony get to you too? Cause he's been nagging me about a dance partner all day." I'm still avoiding eye contact, but I can't help looking up into his blue eyes when he's looking at me like he is right now.

"Sorry," he says, still looking at me. "I was just gonna say that you look-" he pauses. "You look beautiful." I smile as blood rushes to my face. I must be the same colour as my dress, my cheeks feel so warm.

"You don't look too bad yourself, Rogers," I say, gently hitting his arm. I'm surprised he got his biceps into that suit. I move my hand before it gets weird. "I see you stick with a general colour scheme." He looks down at his red, white, and blue outfit and laughs.

"Oops, yeah, my bad," he says with a smile.

"Don't apologise, it looks good," I say, and try and hide my regret. You could cut the tension with a knife. "Do you want a drink? I think I need something strong," I ask him.

"Sure, if you're offering," he replies. "Get me whatever you're having, I trust you." I smile and walk in the other direction. I can feel his eyes on me as I disappear into the crowd in front of him. With Steve still behind me, I accidentally brush a little too hard past one rather large man in a very unflattering orange waistcoat.

"Sorry, sir," I say in my politest voice.

"Anytime you want, sugar," he says with a mouth full of shrimp. I turn around to continue walking, when he reaches out a hand and grabs my butt as I walk away. I walk faster.

Seeing Clint in a bartender's outfit at the bar is like a breath of fresh air. The sheer amount of champagne and fancy wines behind him that Tony must've ordered is unbelievable.

"How did you do it this time?" I ask him, gesturing to his 'uniform'.

"I paid one of the actual bartenders two weeks salary to give me this one," he says, laughing. Then his face gets deadly serious, "If you tell Tony that I'm doing this, you're dead meat, Romanoff."

"That's assuming you can outrun me," I say as he passes two top-quality champagne glasses over the bar.

"See ya later, Nat," he turns around and disappears back to scooping ice. I make my way around the crowd this time, not wanting to risk another interaction with that man.

As I approach Steve, he looks like he's preparing for battle or something.

"How could you just let him do that?" he says, shifting uncomfortably, like it's his ass that's just been grabbed.

"It's fine, Steve," I tell him, passing him his champagne flute.

"No it's not, come on, Natasha, you can't just-"

I cut him off. "Just let it go, okay?" His face looks like a hurt puppy. "Why do you care about it so much anyway?" That makes him take a big drink of his champagne. Before he can answer, the tapping on a microphone over the loudspeakers makes me jump out of my skin. I feel a - comforting? - hand on my shoulder after I jumped and Tony begins speaking.

"You already know what time it is, folks," he says in a totally unnatural voice, and a loud cheer goes up. "I hope you've got a partner ready, because I'll be playing matchmaker if you don't!" Another cheer goes up. "Get yourselves warmed up, five minutes until the music begins!" Yet another cheer. How do people find this entertaining? My heart starts speeding up; this is such a stupid thing to be getting stressed about.

I start playing with a strand of my hair, formulating a plan to sneak out; asap. Steve starts speaking and it snaps me out of my head.

"Do you want to, just, pair up now so we don't have to dance with strangers?" He says. "I can tell you for a fact that the balcony doors have been locked by Tony." Damn it, that was my last way out. He's got a point, though.

With a sigh, I say, "Okay, then."