Asshole of the Week: This Guy (via NPR)
Hello darkness my old friend…
So I’ve decided Steve totally wore that unbelievably tight shirt as a way of getting Sam’s attention.
He spots Sam while they’re both running, but he can’t think of how to start a conversation that won’t be awkward.
He mentions it to Natasha during one of her insistent and almost always bizarrely-timed attempts to improve his love life.
“There’s a guy on my jogging route,” he admits, ducking bullets or punches or both.
“You should talk to him,” Natasha says as she drops another mercenary.
Steve dodges a knife swing and knocks the guy unconscious. “I don’t even know his name.”
“That’s what the talking’s for.”
“We’re always both running, isn’t there some kind of etiquette about not interrupting?”
“Depends,” she says, snatching a rifle from the guy aiming at her and smoothly dismantling it into three pieces before hitting him over the head with one of them. She drops the pieces on his prone form with a shrug and looks at Steve. “Just how desperate are you?”
Steve pauses for a millisecond. “What am I gonna say?”
He only ever passes by the guy, and they both keep to their own bit of path; it’s not like he needs to yell ‘watch out’.
She smirks as they walk to their extraction point. “You’ll think of something. And if that fails then just a wear a smaller size of whatever you usually go running in.”
He makes a face. “Really?”
“You have assets, Rogers, it’s just good sense to use them to their full effect.”
The chopper’s close enough Steve can hear the rotors whumping. “Fine, but if it doesn’t work you can’t try and fix me up for a month.”
She smirks again but doesn’t say anything, which means she’s planning something.
When he wakes up the next morning, the shirt’s sitting neatly folded on his bedside table. He’s given up asking Natasha not to pick the locks.
The note placed on top reads “Desperate times…”
Even if he can’t think of anything better in the moment than ‘on your left’, it only takes a few repetitions to get a response, and he’s only a little worried about the shirt cutting off the circulation in his arms.
The guy’s name is Sam.
It’s all worth it.
trying to go down on the other, under the table, during dinner
"He’s going to be a little late," Natasha tells Sam as he slides into the chair across from her. "He got held up."
"Bad traffic?" Sam asks, perusing the menu.
Natasha winces. “Uh. Um. Yeah. That.” She pulls her menu out and starts fanning herself with it. “Is it hot in here?”
"Kinda," Sam says, narrowing his eyes. "I can tell ‘em to turn the AC on. But it is kinda chilly outside. Damn polar vortex."
"Yeah," Natasha smiles winningly. Her expression goes from engaged to dazed in an instant. "Yes.” Sam spies a hand dipping below the edge of the table-cloth and gripping—gripping something.
"How bad, would you say, the traffic is?" Sam asks coyly.
"So bad," Natasha hisses.
"Bad enough for me to take a raincheck on this meal, I’ll bet," Sam growls.
Natasha grabs a knife and slams it into the table. Sam thinks he hears her actually whine while she buries the cutlery in the wood.
The entire restaurant stares at them.
"I thought I saw a bug," Natasha says breathlessly. "Definitely. There was a bug."
"I’m leaving now," Sam says. "Tell Bucky I say hi."
"Hi," Bucky says from under the table, voice muffled.
my name is zak bagans. i never believed in the paranormal, until i forced aaron to come face to face with it.