Chapter Text
“Do I have to?” Natasha whined, dramatically flopping back onto her bed with a groan, her arms flailing as she sank into the plush comforter.
“Yes, we’ve been over this,” Pepper Potts replied with an exaggerated roll of her eyes, her voice carrying the impatience she had perfected over years of managing Natasha’s chaotic schedule. “It’s for the Stark Charity Gala. You’ll be surrounded by celebrities, athletes, and influential people. It's great PR for the movie, and your brand—especially now that you've wrapped filming and with you-know-who talking.” Pepper glazed over the mention of her ex and the ever-diligent PR guru, she had a knack for selling the benefits of any event, even the ones Natasha had no interest in attending.
Natasha groaned again, her body sinking further into the bed as if trying to bury herself under the covers. She loved her job, but the thought of putting on a face, of pretending to be interested in mingling with the Hollywood elite, was exhausting. Her latest film had just wrapped up, and all she wanted was a few quiet days to herself. The last thing she needed was to be paraded around at some lavish gala with flashing cameras, fake smiles, and insipid conversations.
Pepper, undeterred by Natasha’s dramatic display, tugged the fluffy duvet from her body, effortlessly exposing her to the cold air. "Get up. You can wallow in self-pity after," Pepper called over her shoulder as she flung open the curtains, allowing the sunlight to spill into the room, stark against Natasha’s sulking demeanor.
"The makeup and hair team will be here in 15 minutes," Pepper added, her voice now tinged with the same sense of urgency that came with knowing Natasha well. "And if you're not sitting in that chair when they arrive, I will call Fury."
Natasha froze at the mention of Fury's name, the thought of the director's steely gaze enough to get her moving. "Fine, fine," she muttered, reluctantly sliding out of bed. "I’m getting up. Happy?"
Pepper’s only response was a satisfied “Good,” before she disappeared out of the room. Natasha sighed deeply, glancing at the time on her phone as she made her way toward the bathroom. The chill of the tiles under her bare feet felt like a reality check, and the prospect of being transformed into some glamorous version of herself didn’t seem like it was going to make things any easier.
After a quick shower that barely refreshed her, Natasha wrapped herself in a fluffy robe, hoping the warm steam might help dispel the tiredness she was feeling. Within moments, her hairstylist, Marjorie, and the makeup artist were setting up, both of them seasoned professionals who knew how to work fast. Natasha sank into the chair, her phone in hand, scrolling absently as Marjorie began to work her magic.
"Any preference for your hair today, honey?" Marjorie asked as she began gently massaging product through Natasha's damp hair.
"Not really," Natasha muttered, glancing at herself in the mirror. Her hair was still wet, but she could feel the familiar waves starting to form—her natural curls had come to life after the shower, and it felt nice to see them, even if she wasn’t used to wearing them out much. “Maybe just leave the curls... no straightening today.”
Marjorie gave a nod, her hands moving quickly to style Natasha's hair into soft, cascading ringlets, pulling half of it back in a simple yet elegant half-up, half-down look. Natasha admired how effortlessly the older woman worked, never needing to be told twice to get it just right.
Meanwhile, the makeup artist worked swiftly, applying Natasha's makeup with a light touch. Natasha preferred her makeup minimal—nothing heavy or dramatic, just a touch of enhancement. She didn’t need to be anyone else but herself, especially when she was already so exhausted from pretending in front of the cameras every other day.
With her hair and makeup done, Natasha stood and moved toward the wardrobe, where Pepper had laid out the gown for her. She took one look at the white strapless dress with its intricate corset bodice and delicate mesh accenting the middle, and for the first time that morning, she felt a flicker of appreciation. The dress hugged her figure in all the right places, the black accents along the sides and train giving it an edgy, modern feel that was both sophisticated and flattering.
She slipped into the gown, and the moment she saw herself in the mirror, she couldn’t help but admit that the dress was stunning. Maybe this gala wouldn't be so bad after all.
—
Steve Rogers, meanwhile, was already regretting his decision to attend the Stark Charity Gala. As a professional athlete, he was used to big events, but the glitzy world of Hollywood stars and movie stars felt foreign to him. He had only agreed to come because his friends insisted, and because he respected the cause—supporting the Stark Foundation, which had funded several veterans' programs close to his heart.
"Dude, just relax," Sam said from the opposite side of the limo, clearly trying to ease Steve's nerves. "All you need to do is look good, smile, take a few pictures, and enjoy the free food."
"Yeah, and check out the hot women," Bucky added with a grin, high-fiving Pietro who was sitting next to him.
Steve just rolled his eyes, unable to fight the overwhelming feeling of being out of place. He leaned back in the seat, gazing out the window as the limo slowly pulled up to the venue. As the car doors opened, the buzz of excitement from the crowd outside immediately hit his ears. He steeled himself, adjusting his tuxedo and stepping out, ready to play the part of the polished, charming sports star. The team moved in tandem, and Steve tried to focus on the task at hand—supporting his teammates and the cause.
As they made their way up the red carpet, the flashes from cameras went into overdrive, and Steve couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed. The crowd was so loud, their cheers making the whole scene feel surreal. But it was part of the job, so he grinned and waved, signing a few autographs along the way.
It wasn’t long before the team stopped for a group photo, and Steve found himself the target of more flashing cameras as his teammates moved on. He’d gotten used to the attention, but it was still a lot for him. Just when he thought he might escape the chaos, an interviewer with a football appeared, asking if Steve would throw a pass for the crowd.
Before Steve could think twice, Bucky and Sam were encouraging him, teasing him about being too serious. “You’ve gotta do it, Rogers,” Bucky teased.
With a reluctant smile, Steve agreed. “Why not?” he said, shrugging.
Steve took a few steps back, positioning himself to throw the football to the interviewer, who was standing at a distance. But as Steve went to launch the ball, disaster struck. His foot caught on something—something long and flowing—and he lost his balance, stumbling forward.
In that chaotic moment, the trajectory of the throw shifted. Instead of landing in the interviewer's waiting arms, the football veered off course—toward a woman standing in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Before Natasha could react, her dress—perfectly tailored, gleaming white—snagged just enough to pull her back into the path of the oncoming football. She had been laughing at a reporter’s comment, but when she heard the sharp intake of breath from the crowd, she turned just in time to see the ball speeding toward her.
Her heart dropped into her stomach as she instinctively raised her hand to shield her face. But it was too late.
The football collided with her nose with a sickening crack, the sound loud enough to make nearby reporters gasp. The impact was brutal, sending her reeling back in shock. The world seemed to freeze for a moment, and then, as if in slow motion, the blood began to spill from her nose—bright, shocking red against the pristine white of her gown. A jagged pain shot through her face, the sharp sensation making her wince in disbelief.
Jake, the interviewer, had managed to close the distance just in time to see the chaos unfold. He reached out in a panicked attempt to help, but in his haste, he stepped directly onto Natasha’s train, sending her stumbling forward, her hands reaching out for balance, but never quite making it.
The crowd fell silent. Sam, Bucky, and Pietro froze, their faces a mix of disbelief and concern, as Steve stood frozen, horror written across his face. He had no idea what just happened, but the sickening thud of the football hitting Natasha’s face was enough to stop his heart.
“Natasha?” Steve finally breathed, stepping toward her as she staggered, her hand clutching her nose, blood dripping through her fingers.
For a brief moment, Natasha’s usual sharp wit failed her. She stood there, stunned by the unexpected impact, her mind racing as she processed what had just happened. The cameras around them began flashing wildly, capturing the chaotic moment.
This... wasn’t how she had imagined her evening going.