Chasing the Night

Summary: AVENGERS AU - A small encounter and a short glance was all it took to send an artist running through the streets of New York for one goal: to find the dancer that has jeté'd through his dreams.

A/N: Supposed to be my summer project, but better early than never.

Reviews keep me going. If you're liking the story, please review! I need to know if this story is worth continuing. DO NOT FAVE/FOLLOW WITHOUT LEAVING A REVIEW.

I never do disclaimers because I trust people are smart enough to decipher who owns what, but for safety measures...

Disclaimer: As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be, I, passionately happy, do not own any recognizable parties used in this fanfiction.

We are pleased to advise Mr. Steven Rogers of his admittance to New York's School of Visual Arts starting September 2013.

All his life he's been belittled and teased to a great extent. He's been ridiculed for many years because of his artistic abilities and it had become such a spectacle that he contemplated to stop pursuing it altogether.

But now, sitting here in the midst of Central Park, Steve is grateful he didn't.

Oh, sweet, beautiful New York – how glad he is to finally be roaming around in the concrete jungle! The city of his dreams, the passion of his life – there wasn't a doubt in his mind that life could not get any better than it was at that moment.

Steve breathed happily, clutching his admission to the School of Visual Arts with the affection usually reserved for a teddy bear. How nice it felt, he mused, to be drawing on his own time – that luxury was never afforded to him back in the suburbs of Massachusetts. With his sketchbook and pencil in his lap, an unfinished sketch of the skyline and the wind blowing through his hair, he had never felt so at peace in his life.

Shading in the last of the Empire State Building, Steve began to pack his belongings in his tote bag (sans sketchbook and pencil, of course) as a longing for caffeine engulfed his body from head to toe. He headed out of the park towards the closest Starbucks, colouring in the remaining buildings. Tilting his head to the side, he paused for a moment, holding up his sketch in comparison to the legitimate skyline. A smile began to form broadly on his face, a feeling of elation arising and overtaking his senses, a smug sense of –

Wham!

Shook out of his thoughts, Steve confusedly lolled his head from one side to another, kerfuffled at the momentary change in events. Seeing a woman hurriedly collecting her belongings at his feet, Steve acted on his instincts and reached down to help the woman.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," he apologized sheepishly, helping her pick up her items.

"It's alright," she responded, and the voice had such a melodic tone to it that Steve's head snapped up in interest.

Wow.

Steve's mouth dropped open as he observed the girl, taking in the way the light shone on her fiery red hair in awe. Her eyes snapped up to meet his and suddenly, Steve felt something magical coursing through him.

And in that moment, Steve knew he was infatuated.

Back when he was young and naive and preferred baseball to art, Steve would hang out with the jocks who classified themselves as the apex of the high school hirarchy.

Sure, he had little-to-no muscle and he was the last person one would ever think of as a jock, but he could throw a mean pitch, which in turn garnered enough respect for him. Besides, when he looked past the intimidating demeanor of the athletes, he found out that they were not who they portrayed themselves to be- they were actually nice.

One jock in particular drew Steve intrigued. It wasn't the fact that his name was Thor (his parents were obviously big on Norse Mythology) or the fact that he could eat anything in a matter of two minutes, but it was the way he approached love that colored the budding artist fascinated.

When Thor was alone, he would identify as a stereotypical jock; regardless of his teddy bear esque personality, he would appear as intimidating and ruthless as possible towards the entire high school population. But of course, when he was with this girl - Jane - he laughed more, he smiled more, he ... became happier, free from all the expectations placed upon him as a jock. Steve recalled asking him what made Jane so special after seeing the pair walk down the hallway like they were the only ones in the world, her petite hand encompassed in his.

"All my life I've been lost," Thor had mused, a look of dreaminess overcoming his features as he slipped into a love-induced reverie. "Sure, I do have pretty amazing friends and an equally amazing family, and I am passionate about everything I do... but there's always been something missing. I just haven't known what it was until I looked into those beautiful brown eyes."

"Deep," Steve had responded, chuckling at his friend's love sickness.

"But it is true, my friend," Thor chuckled, clapping his friend on the back. "She is special in the way that she gives me butterflies and anchors me at the same time. With just one look and one touch, she's given me a feeling that I thought I would never feel in my life."

"What feeling?" Steve had asked, intigued.

"Sparks," Thor had whispered back, hushing his voice in a volume that Steve had thought was not possible of him.

Steve remembers brushing off his explanation, the musing of his friend's confusing him to no extent. Surely, that type of love only happens in movies, right? Pretty soon they'd be broken up and Thor would be in the position of brokenheartedness. It just wasn't possible for that type of true love to exist.

He's never considered the possibility that Thor was telling the truth until now.

~.~

"H-hi."

"Hey," the redhead replies back shyly, her cheeks reddening from the bite of the winds. Her eyes meet his once more and Steve feels something unfathomable rush through him.

Steve hastily stands up from his kneeling position on the ground, places his sketchbook and pencil under his arms and offers one sweaty hand to help the woman stand up.

"I-I'm sorry about that, ma'am," he stutters sheepishly. "I wasn't looking."

The woman offers him a smile as she gets up, to which Steve immediately photographed in his mind. "It's alright, I bumped into you anyways."

Steve observes the woman, allured by her beauty as his eyes roam up and down her person. He gaped at the fiery red hair pulled back into a bun, her ruby red heart-shaped lips and the emerald eyes that has awed and captivated him at the same time. She reminded him of watching a twinkling star on an ebony night - clad in a ballerina bodysuit, black tutu peeking out from her hips, white pointe shoes and a bag slung over her shoulder.

He wondered what she would look like when she danced.

"Steve," he blurted out, startling the woman. Inwardly facepalming at his impulsive outburst, he held out his hand in an attempt to save what was left of his calm and dignified self. "I'm Steve."

"Nice to meet you, Steve," the woman chuckles. "I'm Natasha."

And their hands touch.

Steve lets in an audible gasp of breath, feeling something electrifying rush through his fingers as they made contact. His eyes dart to Natasha, who had the same startled expression on her face.

She had felt it too.

Emerald met Baby Blue.

Steve held on for dear life.

Natasha bit her lip, trying to slow her breathing. Lightly, she pried her hand from the stranger's gentle touch, already missing the feel of her hand in his.

"I'd better get going," she breathes, noticing the look of awe and sadness overcoming the artist's face. "It was nice to meet you, Steve."

"You too," he mumbles back, watching as the dancer glided away, her pointe shoes trailing behind her.

After her figure dissappeared from his line of sight, Steve looked at his sketch of the New York skyline and pulled it out of his sketchbook, throwing it down onto the busy streets. A yellow taxi immediately ran over it, crumpling and staining the hard work he had put into it.

He felt no remorse.

He has better things to sketch anyways, he mused, thinking of the dancer that had captured his heart.

A/N: Please review.