Chapter Text
There isn’t much Steve wouldn’t do for a friend, especially if that friend is Bucky. So when Bucky finally gets a date with that knockout from that time at Coney Island (his exact words), but already promised to look after his little sister, Steve agrees to cover. And when Rebecca, crafty at twelve-year-old, threatens to rat on them if someone doesn’t take her to see her favorite band play a show, Brooklyn’s very own casanova nearly drops to his knees and begs his best friend for this one favor. This one, huge and surely taxing favor.
And that’s how Steve ends up in a tiny, dingy venue shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers and an excited pint-size Rebecca in front of him, eyes solely on the small stage directly in front of them. The show hasn’t even started and it feels like a million degrees with all the body heat. Steve’s starting to regret wearing his old jean jacket, but they rode the train here so it’s not like he can run to put it in the car and Rebecca would probably kill him if they lost their spot, which she deems the best spot ever.
Rock has never been Steve’s thing. Looking around, he doesn’t much feel like he fits in with this crowd, but Rebecca’s awestruck and he reminds himself this is all for her. And Bucky, who he’s certain he’s gonna punch in the gut when he sees him later tonight. It’s supposedly an all-ages show, but the floor is slick with what he thinks is liquor, what he hopes is liquor and not other foreign fluids. As the roadies prepare the stage for the main attraction, Rebecca feels the need to fill Steve in on the band.
“Natasha is the lead singer! And—and she plays guitar and her stage name is the Black Widow! Because she eats men alive with her lyrics! Gamora is the drummer and she’s awesome! Maria plays bass. She kind of scares me. Wanda’s on keyboard—she’s my fave—and Laura is the violinist. I think she’s dating Clint, who used to be the drummer, but they kicked him out so they could reach their full potential of being the greatest all-girl band in the history of rock and roll!”
“Uh-huh, that’s nice,” Steve responds distractedly.
The crowd is antsy with anticipation when the overhead lights finally dim and fog floods the stage. Hourglass silhouettes take their places amongst the instruments. With one powerful strum of a guitar, blinding white lights illuminates the stage and whoa. Steve feels like he’s just had the wind knocked out of him. The audience cheers and starts to move as music fills the room.
They’re all so beautiful. Goddesses, celestial beings, warrior women wielding their musical weapons of choice with utmost confidence. Steve swears he feels the combination of instrumental sounds deep in his bones. He’s completely still, unsure if he’s breathing, while the sea of people dance and jump all around him. They’re all so beautiful, but his eyes keep going back to the singer. She’s wrapped in tight leather and wearing boots that look like it’d hurt if she stepped on him, but he also wouldn’t mind if it’s her doing the stepping and where did that thought even come from? Her hair is red as fire, only further emphasized by the intense stage lighting and her eyes are outlined in bold, black lines. When she gives the crowd a sharp smile and a wink, they go wild. She has them (and him) in the palm of her hand. When her lips part and she starts to sing, Steve swallows hard.
He’s done for.
Carefully leaning down toward Rebecca, who knows every word and sings along, Steve asks, “Who’s that?” She either doesn’t hear him or ignores him. When he shakes her arm, Rebecca glares at him like how dare you intrude on this moment I’m having with the music! But Steve needs to know so he asks again. “Who’s the redhead?”
“Natasha!” she shouts back. “Weren’t you listening? The Black Widow!”
Natasha. Of course. The name suits her. Natasha.
As the concert continues, all thought of wanting to leave evaporates. The music is awesome and the band banters between songs and interacts with the crowd. Their chemistry is amazing. They are amazing. The drumbeat synchs with the thumps of his heart and the violin tugs at his soul, but he only has eyes for the lead singer. Natasha. He swears she looks right at him a few times and his cheek burn as he scolds himself for how pathetic that thought is.
Toward the end of the set, things start to slow down and the combination of pink and blue stage lights fall across Natasha’s hair and pale skin, making her look otherworldly. She sings this stripped down acoustic song about being frustratingly stuck and Steve feels the emotion in it, how she means every word. The crowd roars, the loudest they’ve been all night and the smile she gives them is coy, which doesn’t quite fit with the rest of what he’s seen of her tonight. Steve thinks their eyes meet yet again and he wonders if she sees the I wish I knew you surely in his eyes.
The mood picks back up and the energy in the room steadily grows until the band thanks them and walks off the stage. Steve feel dread heavy in his stomach at the thought of it being over and the rest of the crowd seems to agree with how they start demanding an encore. The band returns soon after and plays one last song that has everyone dancing, moshing, knocking into each other from all sides. The only time Steve looks away from the stage is to make sure Rebecca isn’t being trampled or grinded on by some pervert as every good babysitter should.
Then it’s over.
The band disappears backstage and the lights returns to normal and the sense of loss hits him harder than expected. As the crowd starts to disperse, most heading toward the exit or the bar, Steve remains still until Rebecca crashes into him, smiling, eyes bright, forehead covered in sweat. It’s after 10, almost time to meet Bucky. They’re sure to stop by the merch table so Rebecca can get a band tee and Steve can buy a CD. If Rebecca grins knowingly at him, Steve can’t say because he’s totally avoiding her. Whatever. He makes a comment about supporting local artists and Rebecca glosses over it, holds up a silver Sharpie and asks if they can hang out outside the venue to see if they can catch the band leaving. His heart thumps hard at the thought of meeting her, but ultimately, he puts his babysitter foot down. Her parents are supposed to get back by midnight and they still have to meet Bucky.
Rebecca’s a little disappointed, but also mature enough to realize she’s lucky she even got to see the show at all so she doesn’t whine too much as they take the train back to Brooklyn. They wait for Bucky at a diner they visit pretty regularly. Rebecca orders a grilled cheese and Steve orders coffee and they chat about the concert to kill time. He tries to learn what he can about the band without sounding too eager or you know, in love, but Rebecca keeps giving him a vicious smile that reminds him of Bucky and might mean his effort is pointless. By the time Bucky walks in through the door with a smug smile and lipstick smudged on his rumpled shirt collar, Rebecca is asleep on her side of the booth, wearing her new band tee and wrapped up in Steve’s jean jacket.
Bucky thanks him over and over and Steve is undoubtedly going to milk it for all it’s worth, but tonight was better than he ever could have imagined. Bucky offers him a ride, but Steve turns him down. He wants the night to last as long as possible and a walk sounds nice. His place is only a few blocks down anyway. Plus, the really nice waitress just refilled his coffee and it’s piping hot and he knows better than to let food (or drinks) go to waste.
“Suit yourself.” Bucky clasps Steve’s shoulder before lifting his sister into his arms, jean jacket and all. “Thanks again, punk. I owe you.”
“Yeah, you do, jerk,” Steve agrees with a grin.
Once his friends leave, Steve leans back in the booth, takes another sip of coffee and burns his tongue on said coffee. He drags the CD closer and opens the case. It’s extremely minimal as in just an all black disk, no album name, not even a band name. Steve spots Rebecca’s silver Sharpie she carried around all night and brings it into his hand. As he thinks over his night, the concert, her, he lets his hand move and slips into that headspace he does when he’s drawing, painting, creating. He can spend hours like this, oblivious to the world around him.
“Well, aren’t you artsy.”
Steve looks up and finds a dark-haired girl smiling down at him. She looks vaguely familiar, especially when she fixes her glasses on the bridge of her nose. “I’m just gonna…” She snatches the CD away and before Steve even thinks to protest, she’s dancing toward a rowdy group in the back. They’re all leather jackets and loud laughter and one guy even twirls a drumstick between his fingers.
"Hey, guys, look what I pilfered from that human golden retriever over there!”
"Darcy," a female voice scolds, but quickly turns into a, “ooooh! Let me see!"
“Well, well, well, someone thinks he's a Sharpie Picasso."
"Nat, look! It's you."
Steve goes to duck his head embarrassedly, especially when all the heads start to turn to look at him, but aborts the action when he sees who's at the center of the group. Natasha. Her hair is swept back, pulled up and her eyeliner is a little smudged, but it just makes her look prettier, more human maybe. She's no longer in leather from head to toe, but wearing a hoodie. She's just as alluring and looking right at him. Now Steve really stares down at the table, contemplating just walking out. Losing a CD is a small price to pay in order to save him from a restraining order.
Just as he's about to chug his coffee and run, Natasha slides onto the booth bench across from him. This close, he sees that little beauty mark on her cheek and her eyes are green. She's even more intimidatingly beautiful up close. Her plush pink lips tug to one side as she holds up the open CD case and the black disk inside with a doodle of her in silver. Half of him wants to shrink away in shame while the other wants to snap it away so he can add that little beauty mark and the strands of hair falling to frame her face.
"So, are you a wannabe groupie or dangerous stalker?"
He startles at the sound of her voice, smoky and sexy. Then her words register. He gapes at her. "Uh, I'm pretty sure I was here first and I've never even heard of your band before tonight!"
Smooth.
"Well, that's flattering," she says sarcastically, making herself comfortable on her side of the booth. "So are you like an illustrator or something?"
“I, uh, want to be. Eventually. I'm still in school, art major."
She nods her head as he talks and traces over his drawing of her with the tip of her finger. He can't help, but follow the movement with his eyes. "Ever do album art?"
“I—uh—” Steve runs his fingers through his hair to hide the way his hands are trembling. "Can't say I have."
"Do you want to?"
"Really?"
She laughs amusedly and even that sounds beautiful. When Natasha looks over her shoulder, he follows her gaze. "The redhead in the pantsuit pacing and shouting into her phone? That's our manager, Pepper. Her boyfriend is an idiot and probably screwed something up again. She wanted me to ask if you'd be interested. Well, technically, she said, ‘Natasha, bag him. For cheap.’” He feels warm, flattered himself. "But now I'm not so sure. After all, you've never even heard of us before tonight."
Steve smiles shyly. "Consider me newly converted." He straightens in his seat and leans over the table toward her. "See, I was babysitting—”
She laughs loudly. “Wait.” And holds up three fingers. "College boy, art major, babysitter?"
"You forgot fan. Of yours, I mean," he adds. "And, yeah, I'd like to work with you. And the band." Steve just notices all her bandmates and a few others all watching them like they're reality television at its finest. He hides his nerves with a smile and a wave. When the girls giggle and the guys laugh, Steve stares down at the table, wondering if maybe they're just messing with him. Teach the stalker creep a lesson by making a fool outta him. Damn, he's going to have to find a new diner.
As if sensing his doubt and apprehension, Natasha shifts, blocking his view of her friends and leans a little closer to him, making it so she's all he sees and Steve isn't about to complain.
"Ignore them. They're idiots." Natasha gives him an inviting smile and the tension eases from his shoulders. "So you were babysitting, somehow ended up at our show and had a religious experience?"
His ma would call that blasphemy, but his ma would probably knock him for bringing a child to a rock concert too.
“The way I felt at your show…can’t say I’ve ever felt that way in any church, ma’am," Steve says. Natasha looks away and smiles and his heart swells until his chest aches. "I really liked that one song you did. I mean, all your stuff is really great, but that acoustic song, wow. It's like..." He pauses to try to straighten out his thoughts before he ruins it and she looks genuinely eager to hear what he says. "Like, being frozen? Feeling out of place and out of time and wanting to move forward, but frustrated because how? I thought I was the only one who felt like that."
"воз и ныне там," she says in what he thinks might be her native tongue. "It's an old Russian idiom of sorts. We don't really name any of our songs or our band for that matter, but yeah. I'm pretty proud of that one. Thanks."
"It's beautiful," Steve says. And thinks, just like you.
She smiles to herself and stares down at the table between them and his coffee that's cooled. “You know, if we're going to work together, I should probably know your name..."
"Oh!" Steve nearly shouts. "Steve. Steve Rogers. And you're Natasha...?"
"Romanoff," she supplies. "It's nice to meet you, Steve Rogers. It's nice to meet a 'fan' who actually cares about our music. I mean, the teenage girls are always genuine, but most of the men usually show up for the leather and tits."
If Steve were drinking something, took a sip of his coffee in that moment maybe, he probably would have chocked and spit it out all over her. He would never! He's about to assure her right when one of her bandmates—Maria, he thinks—slinks up to the table and tells her they’re ready to bolt. Steve takes in their surroundings and just notices their entire group is halfway to the door.
"I'll be right out," Natasha tells them, but then has another idea and tugs on Maria's arm to whisper in her ear. Maria rolls her eyes and trudging outside without another word. "I'm keeping this, by the way." Natasha taps her finger again the CD. "So you should probably sign it."
"Yes, ma'am."
Natasha smiles at that, this mischievous little smile that makes his heart speed up at the possibilities. By the time he writes a quick SGR at the bottom of the CD, Maria walks back over, sliding a new CD on the table. Natasha takes the Sharpie right out of his hand and writes on the brand new one. When he sees to Steve in her pretty handwriting, he feels like such a little boy with a crush.
"Uh, if you wouldn't mind signing something else...Rebecca is your biggest fan and she'd kill me if she knew I met you and didn't ask for an autograph..."
Natasha pauses midway through drawing a smiley face after her name. She actually looks a little disappointed before schooling her expression into neutrality and asking, "Your girlfriend?"
"No!" Steve actually does shout that time, but luckily it's after midnight and they're practically the only ones in there. "No," he says much quieter. "Rebecca's my best friend's kid sister, who I was babysitting. She's pretty much your biggest fan. But I mean, she's twelve. She'd probably hit me for using the word ‘babysitting.’”
"Ah.” Natasha gives him that brilliant smile of hers that definitely puts his little drawing of her to shame. “Sure. If everything works out, maybe she could meet the band or something. Anything for our biggest fan." She sounds like she really means it, really cares about her fans, and Steve finds that so cool.
"Yeah," Steve says on an exhale. "She'd like that."
As Steve sips his coffee, Natasha thumbs out a text while stealing more mischievous little looks at him. The quiet that settles in between them is surprisingly comfortable. He was drawn in the moment he saw her, but now that they've met and talked, she's charming and soulful and he thinks he could talk to her for hours. Not too long after, an irritated Maria walks back into the diner and throws a t-shirt right at Natasha's face.
"She loves me," Natasha insists, spreading out the shirt on the table between them. Steve’s mouth drops open in a smile when he sees the shirt already covered in other signatures, the other girls in the band, he assumes. Natasha quickly adds her name, but leaves off the smiley face. The smiley face is just for him. Steve shakes his head at himself, feeling ridiculous and loving it.
"Natasha, we better get going.” Pepper walks over, eyes still on her phone. "Tony is—” She looks up and just notices Steve. "Oh. Hello."
"Pepper, this is Steve,” Natasha introduces them. “He's the artist who’s going to design our album artwork and we were talking possible visuals for future shows. Maybe a logo."
"Well, it's about time!" Pepper exclaims. He can see why she's their manager, she seems particularly enthusiastic as she goes on to tell Steve all about how she’s been nagging the girls for month about a logo, brand recognition, she calls it. Pepper hands Steve her business card and shakes his hand and seems so surprised by this unexpected partnership. When Steve raises his eyebrows at Natasha, she just winks and steals a sip of his coffee.
When Maria ducks her head back into the diner and shouts for Pepper and Natasha to get a move on it or get left behind, the former nearly power walks off while the latter lingers.
"We're playing Bowery Tuesday," Natasha says. He might not be a rock aficionados, but he knows that's big, something to be nervous and excited about. "Doors open at 8. Show's at 9. It's 18 and over so Rebecca might have to sit this one out."
"Can't win 'em all." He winces playfully. "Where do I buy tickets? Is there a poor college kid discount?"
Natasha hums (even that is musical) as she studies him. "It's on me. I'll leave you a ticket at the door." As she slides out of her seat, Natasha grabs the CD he doodled on and waves it at him. "Thanks for this, Steve Rogers."
"See you Tuesday, Natasha." He leans back in his seat as he watches her go. The rhythm and sway of her body as she moves reminds him of her music somehow. Steve knows he's in over his head and he can't wait to go deeper.
"And Steve?" She turns to give him a sharp smile from over her shoulder so suddenly, he jumps at being caught watching her go. "Don't forget your jean jacket."
Steve just smiles and watches Natasha disappear out the front door. His cheeks burn as he looks down at the CD she signed for him. His smile widens when he realizes she left him her phone number along with her name and that smiley face.