To the Power of One Billion

....Nat and Sam sparring at Avengers HQ....

After Sam dodges three roundhouse kicks, Nat jabs him in the quad with the heel of her foot then jumps up and gets her thighs around his neck. Sam braces himself for a toss he’s going to feel up and down his spine for a few days, but Nat doesn’t go for the kill shot. She’s hanging upside down, face somewhere near the small of his back, knees locked a few inches in front of his chin.

“What do you do now?” she asks, somewhat out of breath.

Sam shakes his head. “Nothing. It wouldn’t be happening at half speed like this.”

“True,” Nat says, “but you knew it was coming enough to tense up just now.”

“That’s all I’d manage.”

He can feel Nat rolling her eyes.

“Okay, pretend for a second, fights happened at half speed. What would you do if I had you like this?”

Sam considers Nat’s angle for a moment. “I’d try to break your grip on my neck.”

“Wrong.”

Sam frowns. “You asked what I’d do, Nat.”

“Well, what would you do if you wanted to beat me?”

“I don’t know. You’d throw me and I’d try not to tense up too much, so I could get up swinging.”

“Also wrong,” Nat says, “but better.” She adjusts her grip on Sam’s neck and swings herself up onto his shoulders in one smooth motion. It barely jostles him. She looks at him in the mirror against the wall and grins. Her face is flushed from hanging upside down, but she looks otherwise unruffled by their half hour of sparring. “You know what your problem is?” she asks.

Sam raises a brow, inviting her criticism.

“You fight like a man – like men are taught to fight, relying on strength alone. All fists, no finesse.”

Sam frowns. “All of us didn’t have your training.”

Nat pats his head. “Good. I wouldn’t want the Russians corrupting you, Sam.”

Sam can’t tell if she’s mocking him or not, her smile is so impenetrable. He squeezes her shins. “How should I counter that move? Provided, we’re going at half-speed.”

“First, let’s talk about why your other options were wrong.”

“Of course,” Sam says, rolling his eyes.

“You know, you might be my worst student yet,” Nat says. “You give me entirely too much attitude.”

“We’ve been doing this for months and I still can’t counter half your moves. Forgive me if I’m a little frustrated at a total lack of improvement.”

Nat swings off Sam’s shoulders in a feat of balletic grace, landing on her feet behind him. “Let’s go again,” she says, clapping her hands together before dropping into a fighting stance.

Sam turns around to face her. She raises one perfectly arched brow and he lifts his fists, resisting the urge to call it quits before his pride can take another beating. Sparring with Nat is as much a psychological workout as a physical one. It’s not that she’s a girl beating him that’s so difficult to take; it’s that she always beats him. He’s a trained soldier, skilled in hand-to-hand combat along with a host of other skills. And he’s both quick and strong -- has to be in order to use his wings, to fly in the face of gravity, wind gusts, and the bullets that are usually peppering the sky around him. And the fact that he’s fought Natasha so many times should mean he’s getting a handle on her style, can predict her next move, but half the time, she completely surprises him as she takes him to the mat. The other half, he knows what’s coming, but he’s not fast enough to do anything about it. And apparently, whatever he would do if he had the speed, would be wrong. Ugh.

The only person Sam hates sparring more than Nat is Bucky – and that’s only because everyone is still so tense with him that most of the team supervises any of Bucky’s matches, which is nerve-wracking and distracting. Sparring with Steve is never humiliating, especially when Sam has his wings and can use some of his nifty tricks of gravity to level the playing field a bit. (If there’s the added bonus of being around Steve hot and sweaty, Sam hasn’t even wholly acknowledged it to himself, so…). Sam likes working with Rhodey best, if only because they’re about equal to each other so there’s no foregone conclusion of who’s going to win. Plus, Rhodey talks trash better than a professional wrestler and half the time, they end their matches in tears of laughter.

The only one who leaves these drills laughing is Nat, while Sam unpeels himself from the floor. Double ugh.

Nat comes at Sam now with a flurry of jabs that he dodges quickly, before sweeping his leg out to upend her. She leaps out of the way and reassumes her fighting stance. “Good. Again.”

Sam’s bounces on his toes, then goes on the offense. Quick jabs that force Nat to take steps back and to the side. When she’s about a foot away from the wall, she drops down to take his legs out from under him, but Sam’s been upended too many times with this trick and he’s ready, brings his elbow down to the crook of Nat’s neck and shoulder at about half-strength. It’s enough to drop her, but before Sam can crow with any kind of victory, Nat jumps up with a completely unnecessary, fancy somersault that would land a bruising kick to his chin if he didn’t jump back in time. She turns on her toe and lands a kick in Sam’s chest. He grabs her ankle and is about to toss her down to the mat, but she’s faster and brings up her other leg to kick him in the face. (He hates that move, because it’s basically him lifting her up in the air for the sole purpose of getting kicked). He lets her go with a grunt and she takes advantage of his pain to leap into her original position, thighs around his neck.

She’s out of breath as she says, “Now, what do you do?”

Sam is panting. “Man, I don’t know. Just fucking tell me so I can go shower and take an Advil.”

Nat laughs. “If I tell you, you won’t learn anything.” She releases him and does a back handspring to her feet. “Again.”

And again.

And again.

And again.

And Sam’s starting to dislike Nat right about now, so that when she lunges for him this time, thighs first, he catches her shins before she even makes contact and hauls her ass to the mat, going down with her but taking very little of the impact. He rolls off her and laughs breathlessly.

“Ow,” Nat says.

“You’re goddamn right,” Sam says. “Ow.”

He lies on his back, catching his breath

Nat turns on her side and grins down at him.

“What?” he demands.

“You did it. You countered that move.”

“Only took a million tries.”

Nat shrugs.

“Is that how you would’ve done it?” he asks. “The leg toss?”

Nat pulls one of her knees to her chest to begin her cool-down stretches. “Nah, I was going to say to lean into the throw and pin me underneath you.”

“Hm.”

“Your way worked though. Always gotta find your way to win.” She swats Sam across the abdomen to remind him to stretch too. He sits up and begins a very half-hearted toe grab.

“Luckily I’ve never had to fight anyone half as tough as you in an actual death match,” he says.

“I’ll turn you into a Black Widow yet,” Nat kids, then tosses her shoulder length hair. “Minus all the murder and psychological torture, of course.”

“Of course,” Sam says, laughing. “Minus all that.”

They go through their stretches together, Nat teasing Sam for his inflexibility and Sam pointing out that bending into a Stevedore knot isn’t on his bucket list anyhow.

“Hit the showers,” Nat says. “And tomorrow, you gotta show me how to do that scissor kick thing. I can’t get enough height on mine.”

Sam chugs from his water bottle, spilling about a third down his shirt. “Yeah, okay,” he rasps. “Provided I can move tomorrow.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Nat says, dabbing her glistening arms with a towel, “Rhodey still can’t counter the one where I take your legs out with mine.”

Sam grins. “That does make me feel better. A LOT better, actually.” He bounces on his heels. “What are you doing after this? We could go get a real breakfast.”

Nat shakes her head. “Can’t. I’ve got an appointment with your roomie. Gonna beat the shit outta him for about an hour.”

Sam nods, tries not to smile at the mention of Steve. His face has an embarrassing habit of showing him up like that. “In that case, I’m going to get a bunch of pain killers and a long shower.” But when he goes to push the gym door, it’s pulled open and Steve, cheeks slightly pink, hair sticking up in damp, silky peaks, is on the other side.

“Sam,” he says, smiling. He looks Sam up and down and Sam is incredibly aware of the water dribbling down his shirt in addition to all the sweat patches. And he’s wearing crew socks. Triple ugh. Steve is no doubt coming back from a 30 mile jog and he looks like a fucking swimsuit model. Sam looks like an extra in a 90s workout video for beginners.

“Nat’s in topnotch form,” he warns, patting Steve’s shoulder.

Steve stretches his arms above his head, so the stitches of his Under Armor t-shirt audibly strain. Sam does a shit job of pretending not to ogle. Steve smiles guilelessly. “I hoped you might have tired her out for me.”

“Not a chance,” Nat says, popping up at Sam’s side.

Steve shrugs. “At least, you didn’t anger her. Word of advice, Sam. Never – I mean, never – spar with Nat after she’s sparred with Clint. Apparently, he cheats.” He smiles again and Sam’s stupid heart clatters in his chest. Ughhhhhhh.

“Duly noted,” he says, chalking his breathlessness up to his workout. “What do you guys say? Breakfast after you finish crushing each other? I was just going to hang around, maybe get in some time with the punching bag.”

Nat raises her brows. “What about all that ‘I need a shower and an Advil’ business?”

Sam shrugs. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Nat.”

Nat frowns at him, but he ignores her.

“Steve, breakfast.”

“Yeah, Sam, let’s do it,” he says, then notices his middle school double entendre and ducks his head. It’s that bashful look he gets sometimes, like he’s just received an egregiously sexual overture from an old lady in the grocery aisle (Ask Sam how he knows what that looks like.)

Sam can’t help the stupid smile on his face any more than the foolish clattering of his heart.

And Natasha’s knowing look is not helping matters. He half wants to tell her to shut up. Even though she hasn’t actually said anything, her body language is saying enough, and since she can hide every single emotion behind that inscrutable mask, she wants to send this message. The message being: You like Steve, you like Steve, nah nah na-nah nah!

Ugh to the power of one billion.

Steve pats Sam’s arm. “Sooner we start, the sooner we can eat.”

“Ready for abject humiliation?” Nat asks, sauntering to the center of the mat.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Steve rejoins. “I won’t abjectly humiliate you. It’ll be just the regular variety.” He leans in close to Sam’s ear and says, “Whatever you do, don’t watch. I want you to respect me when this is over.” And then to Natasha, “Hope you don’t mind Sam witnessing your defeat.” Steve winks at Sam. “Don’t worry, Nat. This will only hurt a little bit.”

Sam leans against the punching bag and watches Steve and Nat dance, a whirlwind of limbs and strength.

How had they ended up here? Two years ago, Nat and Sam showed up on his porch seeking asylum from the government. And now? Well, now, Nat beats the shit out of him two or three mornings a week; he lives with Captain America aka Steve Rogers aka the guy Sam’s had a crush on since that first meeting on the Mall; and every couple months he gets to save the world.

Nat takes Steve to the ground with that same thigh grab she’s used on Sam all morning and Sam laughs. “Come on, Steve, abject humiliation!”

Natasha flips her hair and grins at Sam, no-holds barred. He salutes her and she goes back to thumping Steve soundly.