Captain Rogers and His Ridiculous Motorbike

By: InitialA

Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Marvel universe.

"So explain to me again how you convinced Stark to let us use his house in the Hamptons?" Steve asked, taking Natasha's duffel from her.

"I don't remember explaining to you in the first place," she said. Her lips were turned up just slightly.

"Which is why…"

"…you should want to have plausible deniability," Natasha finished for him. The elevator doors slid closed behind them.

A corner of Steve's mouth twitched; his stomach jumped slightly as the elevator flew down the sixty or so floors to the street. "For a full holiday weekend, unsupervised, it must have been something big. You know Pepper loves that house."

"A lady never kisses and tells."

Steve chose not to comment on that. Instead, he took her hand in his free one as the elevator came to a stop and opened out into the private lobby, used only for access to the residential floors. Outside, Steve's motorcycle was waiting for them; he'd had it refitted for two passengers and added saddlebags recently. The slightest of hesitations and twitch of Natasha's fingers was enough to let him know something was wrong. "What?" He turned and looked at her.

She wore her Widow face, giving nothing away. "Nothing, it's fine."

"Nat…"

"Really."

If he pushed her, she'd get the bit between her teeth, and they'd never get anywhere. Instead, he fit their bags into the saddlebags, and handed her the spare helmet. She accepted, still wearing her neutral face, and strapped it on. Steve slid his sunglasses down over his eyes, and started the bike; she got on behind him, and wrapped her arms around his torso a little too tightly. Steve sighed internally, and cut the motor. "Natasha, we can get one of the cars if you're scared."

"I am not scared of your ridiculous motorbike, Captain Rogers." It would have been more threatening if her face wasn't buried in his back.

"Then why are you holding on to me like it's going to eat you?"

"I'm not. This is for safety."

"If in the very unlikely event that we did crash, holding on to me like this wouldn't benefit either of us, you know that."

"I'm not afraid of your bike."

He started the engine again, and she squeezed him involuntarily. He cut it. "I'm going to flood the engine if I keep doing this. We can take another car, its fine."

She muttered something in Russian. Steve pushed his sunglasses on top of his head again and twisted around in his seat. "I've seen you do a thousand dangerous and death-defying things that normal people swear on their mothers' graves they would never even think about attempting, and you don't even bat an eye at it."

"It's called adrenaline and duty. This is a ridiculous contraption that never should have been approved for a mode of transportation," Natasha said under her breath.

"Were you in some sort of accident? They're much safer now than they were when we…" He almost said 'when we were kids', but he still wasn't sure how old Natasha really was compared to him.

"Does it occur to you that I am perfectly capable of disliking something without having a rational explanation for it?" Natasha's vocabulary increased in syllables when she was irritated. "I'm not comfortable, but I am aware that a motorbike will be faster and easier to maneuver through traffic than a car when we're trying to get out of the city on a holiday weekend. I can deal with it. I don't have to like it."

He couldn't really argue with that. "If you're sure."

"The faster we get on with this, the faster it's over."

Steve started the bike again, and kicked up the stand. He thought he heard Natasha squeak as he tilted the bike upright, but over the engine he couldn't be sure; sunglasses on again, and they were off.

He probably shouldn't have enjoyed the feeling of Natasha clinging to him as much as he did during the three hour ride out to Sagaponack; he had the good grace to feel slightly guilty about causing her so much distress, but the larger part of him liked the way she squeezed him as they weaved in and out of traffic. At one stop, Natasha's voice was right at his ear, "If you're even remotely enjoying this, I will have to hurt you."

He remained silent, unable to stop the smirk.

When they finally arrived at the beach house—astonishingly, not the largest one in the neighborhood—Natasha couldn't have gotten off the bike faster if he'd thrown her. She whipped the helmet at him; good reflexes saved him from a concussion. "I gave you plenty of opportunities to say no!" He called after her.

The Russian phrase she called back to him he knew very well at this point. The door closed abruptly after her. He shook his head and unloaded their bags. She needed a few minutes to calm down that was all.

Dinner was a quiet affair. He did the dishes while she went out on the back deck, trying to figure out how to get her back into a good humor. When he joined her, she scooted over to make room for him on the swing. "Forgiven me?" Steve asked.

"Maybe."

"You really could have said no."

"I know, I just… I'm sorry."

"There's still the ride back."

She swore. He grinned. "Really, you did very well."

"I've just never liked motorbikes that much. I don't associate them with anything good; no one ever pays attention to cyclists on the roads, if you crash you're as good as dead… You know me. I like to have complete control of a situation."

Steve shrugged. "And I've always liked them. Freedom to move around as you will, never needing more than what you can carry on your back… you feel like you're racing away from all your problems and fears. And the guys down at the center say the same thing, a lot of vets ride."

"And the adrenaline." Natasha had gone with him to the veterans center once and overheard one of their many, many conversations about motorcycles.

"And that."

"I'm sorry it's a part of you I can't share."

"Hey, there's stuff you have that I can't share. The tattoos, solving Rubik's cubes, dancing…"

She smiled at him, the first time in hours. "Hey, you're getting better at dancing. And it keeps us from getting too intertwined. The last thing anyone needs is another Thane."

Steve rolled his eyes at the amalgamation of Thor and Jane's names. "Will you stop calling them that?"

"When Darcy does."

"Which will never happen."

"Exactly."

She laughed at his exasperation, shoving him. He grinned. "We good?"

"Yeah."

"Good, because I have plans that involve us being in very close proximity for the next 96 hours, and that would be very awkward if we weren't."

He stood, lifting her easily over his shoulder as he did. She laughed, and twisted. Steve wasn't sure what happened in the next fifteen seconds, other than blurry skies and beach, and suddenly finding himself being carted over her shoulders like a yoke. He had the sudden thought that he might be on the receiving end of some revenge anyway.

Though really, he might not mind it too much.

((I'm not a fan of motorcycles myself; I don't have a rational reason for it. I can handle a lot of stuff, but you can't get me anywhere near one of those things. Everyone needs irrational fears! ;) Note for clarification, it's supposed to take a little over two hours to reach Sagaponack from NYC, but I've added time for traffic. For those interested, Sagaponack is the most expensive zip code in the US. Clearly, this is where Tony Stark would own property. Thanks for reading!))