it's been a long, long time

a small price (b)

Natasha Romanoff has never been on a real first date.

She is no stranger to fake ones, of course. There have been plenty of fancy dresses, plenty of dark and romantic restaurants, plenty of men, but it's always been for work. Natasha is more than accustomed to using her body and her femininity to get information from men who cannot see her as more than a temptation, an enticing conquest they have yet to take for their enjoyment. But when it comes to real romance, unhindered by the need to get something, she is utterly without experience.

As she zips the back of her sleek, black dress with one well-practiced movement, she wonders, briefly, what Steve is doing for Thanksgiving.

She double-checks her makeup in the bathroom mirror before grabbing her purse off the table and stepping into the brisk autumn air. Matt is already waiting for her, tossing his keys up and down with a slight smile on his face.

"You ready?"

"Yeah. Thanks again for giving me a ride, I just didn't want him to know where I live, you know—"

"Mhm. Good call. Never trust a mobster, y'know."

They pull up to a small seafood restaurant fifteen minutes later, and she steps out the door with a promise to have fun and be careful. When she enters the restaurant, she sees Damien seated alone at a table in the corner and makes her way over, weaving through an assortment of empty tables and chairs.

He's wearing a leather jacket and black jeans, and when he sees her his eyes light up with equal parts awe and hunger. "You look amazing."

"Thank you," she says coolly, slipping into her chair. "Hope I didn't keep you waiting for too long."

"Nah, I'm friendly with the staff here. I came early just to talk to them, catch up. I eat here every Thanksgiving—they're always open, and the food's not bad, either."

She nods, but before she can say anything a waitress is approaching their table with a bottle of wine and basket of biscuits that smells heavenly. They order, and as the waitress retreats Damien leans in.

"Girl like you, with a body like that, must have driven the boys crazy back in your old gang, huh?

Natasha side-eyes him as she grabs a biscuit. "Not really. Dating opportunities were pretty thin on the ground, to be honest."

"I mean, sure, but there must have been something."

"There wasn't. I had more important things to do. Like trying not to get caught by the Feds."

There's still a skeptical look on his face, and Natasha can feel her hackles start to rise.

"Listen," she snaps. "I'm an international criminal. I just handed your gang more weapons than most of those guys have probably seen in their entire lives. I'm wanted by seven different governments with the power to blow Antarctica off the face of the earth and none of them have any idea I'm here right now. I had more important things to do than entertain men who just wanted to get in my pants, and I have more important things to do now. So we can talk about something else, or I can leave and you can take my shrimp scampi home to eat for lunch tomorrow."

It's a risk, going with the badass, take-no-shit personality instead of the simpering, weak-willed female so many mobsters are used to seeing, but Natasha reasons that it's more in line with what she's shown him so far. Plus, she's hungry and frustrated and she's tired of men treating her like this, especially after she's spent a decade with men who recognize her strengths and respect her as an equal. So, whatever.

Damien's eyes flash with shock and anger, and a thrill of dread runs down Natasha's spine. He slowly leans back and a malicious grin starts spreading over his face. "Okay, babygirl. You wanna be treated like one of the guys, huh? I can do that, for sure. You've gotta be able to hold your own, though." His voice is carefully light, but there's a warning behind it that Natasha hears loud and clear.