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#Anyway probably not drawing anything until mid June so enjoy this!
pinkytoothlesso11 · 2 years
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So er... Saw quite a bit of activity for Trollhunters MerMay....
So have a MerStrickler based on a leafy seadragon.
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chalantness · 4 years
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fic: Here, On the Edge of Hell (1/6)
Rating: M Word Count: ~9400 (part one) Characters: Steve/Natasha Summary: [ mafia au ] She knows her father hadn’t been lying when he said that Uncle Howard wanted her to keep an eye on Steve, but if this was simply about protection, he wouldn’t have put her on the line at all. Especially not with all of the heat Steve Rogers is getting from the other Families, which means that her uncle has another reason for Natasha to be involved.
He just won’t tell her what it is. 
Read On: [ ao3 ]
A/N: This is less of a mafia story and more of a flirty, fluffy story in a "light" mafia setting, and it's loosely inspired by an edit by @kingslxyers - except it's modern day instead of the 1940's and likely won't be half as exciting as her little blurb, but I wanted to take a crack at it, anyway, because I've been on a mafia kick thanks to some of my most recent reads. There are more characters to be added as we go, but most of the major ones have already been introduced!
This will most likely be in 6 parts, though it might possibly drop to 5 or bump up to 7. I more or less have it planned out but I've already been changing things along the way with this first part so I thought I'd throw that possibility out there! I have a tentative goal of getting this done by the end of May or mid-June, but of course, there could be things to distract or delay me! I'll try to keep you darlings posted on my progress over on tumblr.
Again, I cannot stress enough how much this probably won't be the intense mafia au you've read elsewhere, but I decided I wanted to write it, anyway - and if flirting and family fluff and a dose of smut are your thing then you might enjoy this, too!
It’s been quite some time since Natasha has done wet work, but there are some things that need to be done right, the first time, and Natasha rarely ever makes a mistake.
Her uncle didn’t quite ask her to take care of it, but she knows that man like the back of her hand. Johann Schmidt is too prominent a name in New York to not draw attention if he turns up dead in the ditch of a construction site, and though most hits are meant to send a message—the bloodier, the better—there are certain problems that are best dealt with quietly, and Natasha is good at quiet. A toxicology report is practically nothing, not when the finest prosecutors in Manhattan have failed to get a single conviction off of evidence far more damning than a few chemicals found in a blood sample. But anyone with any common sense in the underworld will know exactly who’s behind the hit.
(There’s a reason they call her The Black Widow.)
Half an hour after watching Schmidt polish off every last drop of his laced tumbler of scotch, Natasha’s greeted by her father sitting behind the large oak desk she’s been meaning to replace. Technically, this office is still his, but considering she’s the one that spends the most time in here now, looking after the family’s restaurant – among other things – she wants to make the space feel a little less like a cigar lounge. This office looks exactly as she remembers it from when she was little and used to sit right there in that chair, reading atop her father’s knee while he took phone calls. Back then, she may not have understood the things he’d talk about – that he’d been threatening people and ordering hits while she could hear – but she knew that bad things were being done. That her father was dangerous. But to her, it didn’t quite matter. He’s still her father.
In fact, it made her appreciate him more, learning that he never shied away from the truth of what their family was – is – even with his own baby girl.
“Had a good night, darling?” he asks, smirking at her through the dark.
Natasha quirks her lips. “The best.” She slips out of her heels and kicks them away from the doorway, then rounds the desk, perching herself on the corner as she reaches over to switch on the lamp. “Is there any particular reason why you’re here lurking?”
If it was her Uncle Howard or even her cousin, Tony, she’d get a quip in response, something dry and witty. Aunt Maria would tease her about not needing a reason to visit her favorite niece. But Natasha’s parents, even when speaking vaguely and even when they are kidding around with her, are always terribly direct.
“The family will be meeting here in a few minutes,” her father announces as he leans back in the worn leather chair, fingers threaded together atop his stomach.
She arches an eyebrow. “To discuss what?”
Natasha already has a fairly clear idea of what would require a family meeting, though her father mimicking her with an arch of his own eyebrow gives her the confirmation she’d been looking for.
Joseph Rogers had been the head of the Four Families for as long as Natasha can remember, and they all knew of the firstborn son that he’d kept hidden away in honor of the one request that Sarah Rogers made when they went their separate ways. Something in itself that had already been unheard, since no one ever left the Families. Even if you were allowed to walk away, there was always the assumption that the Families would know your every move, just in case you became a liability. But Sarah Rogers seemed to have been the exception, and Joseph Rogers had done the impossible by keeping all traces of his first-born son tucked away from the Families. No one had even known of his name until he showed up alongside his half-siblings three days after Joseph Rogers had gone missing, and no one tried to challenge his place. Their resemblance is stunning.
Natasha doesn’t expect her father to elaborate, so it catches her off guard when he continues with: “Your uncle is concerned about Steve.”
“I can’t imagine why,” she retorts. Steve Rogers had attended a private boarding school all his life, until he enrolled in the army right after graduation, and he’d worked in private security for a few years since returning to New York.
He’s practically God’s righteous man, and him simply being here on the inside of the Families – let alone being the one that heads them – is something that has put everyone on edge. The easiest answer would be to get rid of him, except doing so would sever the alliance between the Four Families that has built them into the empire that they are. Her Uncle Howard is Joseph Rogers's best friend, which means that there’s no way any of the Families could lay a hand on Steve Rogers even if they wanted to. Not without it being directly against Howard Stark’s orders—and they all know that, even with Joseph Rogers’s son taking his place, Howard Stark is the real one in control of the Families.
“Howard wants you to act as his advisor,” her father adds, and she feels her lips part, her eyebrows raising. If she’d been anywhere else, in front of any other person, she wouldn’t have let her surprise slip into her expression so easily.
Considering that Clint Barton has remained the consigliere to the Rogers family, even with Steve as the head, she doubts that her uncle means for her to take his place.
“You mean, he wants me to keep an eye on him.” She narrows her eyes, holding her father’s stare through the dark. “If Uncle Howard doesn’t trust him—”
“He wouldn’t be free to meet up with his two detective friends for a steak dinner right now if Howard didn’t trust him,” he interrupts, pausing after to tilt his head in consideration. “Though, trust may be a strong word. But if your uncle had even an inkling of Steve Rogers being a rat, he’d have done something, even if he is Joseph’s boy.”
“Then what does he need from me?” Natasha asks, though the words are barely past her lips when the thought occurs to her. “He wants me to protect him.”
Her father smiles wryly. “Steve has a lot of eyes on him.”
“We all do.”
He nods at this. “Yes, but he doesn’t know the Families, doesn’t know this life, and he keeps the law as his company. And before you say that that’s his problem to deal with,” he adds, and Natasha rubs her lips together, suppressing a smirking. Her father reads her well, no matter how good of a poker face she has. “He’s in the Family now. He’s Joseph’s blood, and even if you don’t care for him, you’ll care for the attention he draws onto Wanda and Pietro. People aren’t happy they helped keep their brother a secret.”
Natasha knows this, of course. Never mind the fact that Wanda and Pietro grew up as mafia heirs, just like the rest of them, nor the fact that they wouldn’t be questioned at all – at least, not so blatantly – if Joseph Rogers hadn’t gone missing.
Throwing their names around is just another way people are trying to get to Steve Rogers, to get rid of Steve Rogers—and Natasha is willing to bet that keeping as much heat off of Wanda and Pietro as possible is why the man must be doing exactly as he’s advised, regardless of his own morals.
Maybe he won’t be so bad at this after all.
... ...
“Who else knew about this delivery?”
Clint Barton narrows his eyes ever so slightly in a gesture that Steve has determined as the man’s one, singular tell. Even then, it’s not much, and if Steve hadn’t had to spend hours upon hours at a time in the man’s company, giving him his full attention, Steve doubts it’s something that just anyone can pick up.
Of course, Steve doesn’t live his life among just anyone these days.
“It’s hard to say, but it wasn’t exactly kept on the down low,” Clint answers, and Steve blows out a breath, leaning back in his chair as he drains the last of his rum from his glass.
Steve doesn’t need the guy to add that there wasn’t a need to keep things quiet between the Families before now. Before Joseph Rogers went missing, and before Steve was suddenly thrust into his father’s place, after being kept from anything that had to do with the underworld for most of his life. It hadn’t even been until high school that Steve learned his father was even alive, let alone who the man actually was. Steve had never bought his mother’s explanation that scholarships were the reason she could afford to send him to one of the best private schools in the country, and, when he finally met his father after coming home from deployment, it made sense why his mother never hurt for money. It had been easy for Steve to deny their resemblance and to overlook their last names when Joseph Rogers was just an infamous face that made it into the papers.
Standing in the same room as him had been a different story.
“This may not be anything,” Clint says after a moment, and Steve catches his stare, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly. Not once since he began advising Steve has Clint tried to downplay a situation, and Steve doesn’t believe the man would start now. He should feel stupid by putting so much trust in Clint, because that’s exactly the kind of thing that you’d think would get you killed in this life. Trust. At the same time, Steve is beginning to understand that that’s exactly what the underworld thrives off of: the trust that no one, not even your greatest rivals, would dare rat you out to the cops. Because among all of their gray, twisted morals, the code of silence is one of the most sacred of all.
“You think it’s just the cops breathing down everyone’s necks?”
Clint nods, lips twisting at the corner in a wry smile. “Not everything is about you, Rogers.”
Despite himself, Steve breathes out a laugh, shaking his head. It’s no secret that Steve’s got all eyes on him right now. He’d known, vaguely, that his father was a prominent figure in the underworld—but it wasn’t until the man disappeared and Steve had taken his place that he realized his father practically ran the underworld.
People don’t like that he stepped in instead of Pietro or Wanda, and Steve is inclined to agree. His half-siblings who’d been born into this life and raised among the Families would’ve been the logical choices, but they both asked him to head the Families, and so he did. Because no matter what Steve felt towards their father, he’d felt connected to Pietro and Wanda from the moment they met. They’d felt like family, and Steve decided that if this is what they wanted from him then he had no real choice but to comply.
After all, he’d gone his entire life without being touched by this world, while this was all they’d known. It’s about time he paid his dues, and it seems that the universe is inclined to agree. Steve could agree that tonight’s botched delivery might not have had anything to do with sending him a message, except it’s among several unusual and pretty damn bold incidents in the last few months since Steve came into the picture that’ve been directed at Rogers establishments, or at associates that almost exclusively work with their family. Steve may not have been born into this life, but he’s always been pretty damn good at recognizing a threat, especially one that’s directed at him.
“Alright, you two,” a voice interrupts, and Steve looks up as Wanda leans against the doorframe of the library, hugging it as she arches an eyebrow at them. “Time to eat.”
Clint’s expression softens at the edges, genuine light twinkling in his eyes. Other than his wife and kids, Wanda seems to be the only one that can draw that smile from him. The guy’s got a soft spot a mile wide for her.
Steve knows the feeling. His little sister has him wrapped around her finger like another one of her ornate rings.
“I thought I smelt vinaigrette,” Clint says as he stands, gulping down the rest of his rum before setting the glass back down on the table. Steve stands, too, and Clint simply nods at him before he heading out the door, dropping a kiss atop Wanda’s hair as he passes her.
Wanda leans off of the doorframe and glides into the room, and, almost on instinct now, Steve glances down to see which of her mother’s shawls Wanda has chosen. It was one of the few things Wanda and Pietro kept of their mother after she passed, and Wanda never fails to incorporate one of the colorful shawls into her outfit for the day—to keep a piece of her mother with her, she’d told him. Steve’s seen pictures of the woman around his father’s house – along with a few pictures of his mother, Sarah, too – and it’s easy to see how much Wanda and Pietro take after her. If he squints, though, he can see a little bit of their father in them, and it’s like seeing a little bit of him them, too.
“I already packed enough for Clint to take home to Laura and the kids, so you boys can clean out the rest.”
Steve chuckles. “We’ll try our best, but you usually make enough to feed a small army.” Wanda shrugs her shoulders cutely and Steve pulls her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’m sorry we took so long. I was supposed to take care of dinner tonight.”
“I think you get a pass, all things considered,” Wanda reassures, glancing over at the emptied bottle of rum still sitting on the table. “Should we be worried?”
Steve’s lips twitch at the corner. “No more so than usual.”
Wanda just stares up at him for a moment, holding his gaze, and he can practically see the thoughts flitting behind those big, bright eyes of her. It reminds him of his mother a little bit, the way the woman would just look at him and know something was up. But whatever Wanda sees in his eyes, she must also sense that, at least to some extent he must be telling the truth, because her expression softens back into that smile of hers as she nods once, then takes his empty tumbler from her and sets it aside on the table.
“You had guests earlier,” Wanda adds as he offers her his arm, and Steve peers down at her as they leave the library.
The feigned nonchalance in her tone gives her away. “Bucky and Sam?” Steve guesses.
Wanda hums with a nod, tightening her hold on his arm ever so slightly. He thinks maybe she’ll give him the same speech that Clint does whenever the man catches either of their names light up on his phone—that having any relations with anyone in law, let alone being best friends with two of New York’s best detectives, isn’t doing him any favors. No one likes a rat, and even though Steve doesn’t even know how he feels about his role in any of this, he isn’t about to bust anyone out to the cops. Not when it puts Wanda and Pietro directly in the line of fire. As it is, the cops busting a handful of deliveries in the last few months is already causing talk, and it’s no secret that people blame Steve.
His sister glances up at him, blinking slowly. Steve lets out a sharp sigh. “If you want to say something, you can say it.”
“I’m just worried, is all.”
He’s not surprised. “I can handle it,” he promises.
But she shakes her head, rubs her lips together before amending, “I’m worried for them,” and, okay, this does surprise Steve a little. “If anyone gets enough of an excuse to suspect you of being a rat, they may not be able to take it out on you directly, but they certainly won’t hesitate to go after them instead.”
Steve nods once, feeling his jaw tighten. Yeah, he’s talked with Bucky and Sam about that very thing before, when he’d – vaguely – filled them in on what his father’s disappearance meant. Not only would continuing to be friends with Steve now that he’s fully involved in the Families put their lives in danger, but it’ll put their careers in danger, too. Sam says that people on the force might see it as an advantage to have some supposed in with the underworld to work for information; Steve hopes that’s enough to keep them from ruining their careers, but not enough to rile the Families up, either. It’s a dangerous line to walk, and honestly? He isn’t even sure if it’s possible.
But neither of them wants to cut Steve off, no matter how much he tries to convince them to do so—and a small, selfish part of him is a little relieved.
(He likes having a piece of his old life still with him, no matter how dangerous it may be.)
“Thank you for being worried,” Steve says, his voice barely above a whisper, and his sister smiles softly, eyes fluttering shut as he brushes a kiss to the middle of her forehead. “They can handle it, too.”
Wanda nods, loosening her hold on his arm as they reach the kitchen, and when she opens her eyes again, any trace of wariness has dissolved completely.
“Let’s eat.”
... ...
“An advisor?” Carol glances over at Maria, whose fingers have actually paused over the keys of her laptop to hold Carol’s stare before her gaze sifts over to Natasha, one eyebrow arching. “Considering I just spoke with Clint this morning, I’m fairly certain that Steve Rogers already has a consigliere.”
“I know,” Natasha says on an exhale, propping her heels onto her coffee table and crossing them at the ankles. Maria wrinkles her nose at this, but since they’re in Natasha’s apartment rather than her own, the woman just turns back to her screen and continues typing, though she’s still listening as Natasha continues with, “Trust me, I’ve tried to squeeze the real answer out, but my uncle is being particularly evasive about whatever he may be planning.” That’s possibly what bothers Natasha most about all of this. She knows her father hadn’t been lying when he said that Uncle Howard wanted her to keep an eye on Steve, but if this was simply about protection, he wouldn’t have put her on the line at all. Especially not with all of the heat Steve Rogers is getting from the other Families, which means that her uncle has another reason for Natasha to be involved.
He just won’t tell her what it is.
“Is it possible that this could just be about protecting him?” Carol asks, even though there’s still wariness in her tone, like she can’t quite believe in this possibility. Not entirely, at least. “Our father seems to be genuinely concerned that Steve might not be safe even from the Families, whether or not he’s blood.” Carol pauses as Natasha presses her lips together, smothering a laugh. Maria smirks. “Well,” Carol amends, lightly swirling her glass of wine around, “as concerned as Nicholas Fury can ever get.”
“Which is hardly at all, if it doesn’t have anything to do with the two of you,” Natasha points out.
Carol grins. “I know it’s hard to imagine, but Dad actually seemed… bothered after his meeting with Odin last night.” She glances over at Maria as her sister looks up from her screen again, a wry smile tugging at her lips.
“Hela has done quite a lot of complaining about that botched delivery the other night,” she adds, and Natasha breathes out a laugh, shaking her head. She’d heard about that, too, and her uncle hadn’t been surprised to hear Hela running her mouth about it even though the delivery had nothing to do with her family. It’s far from the first time this has happened, which would make it a pretty damn big stretch to assume that Steve Rogers had anything to do with this at all. But Hela has always loved stirring a little chaos in the underworld and Odin has never really put his foot down when it comes to his daughter, so Natasha isn’t surprised that the woman is making a big production out of this.
“Hela isn’t stupid,” Natasha reminds. “She may be dramatic, but not even she would be so blatant in challenging Steve Rogers.”
“No, but she’s never been good at being subtle, either,” Carol says. “She’s always thought that their family should be the one running the show. With Joseph Rogers missing and Steve Rogers stepping in instead of Wanda or Pietro, maybe she finally sees an opportunity.”
“She’d still have to go behind her father’s back to do anything,” Maria counters. “Joseph Rogers may be gone, but Odin wouldn’t stand a chance against Dad and Howard.”
Natasha rubs her lips together, considering this. For the most part, Hela has always been more talk than anything else. She doesn’t like to get her hands dirty – and she really doesn’t need to in order to get what she wants – but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t like to get involved from time to time, which almost always results in a mess that someone else has to clean up before they have even more cops poking around. Still, if anyone is going to be reckless enough to start something between the Families, it would be Hela.
“But,” Maria adds, another smirk tugging at her lips as she looks over at Natasha, “whether Steve Rogers actually needs protecting isn’t the point.”
Natasha can’t help but laugh. “Is there another point I’m missing?”
“Maybe your uncle just wants you to be friends.”
Carol presses the rim of her glass to her lips, shoulders shaking with her urge to laugh, and Natasha feels herself smiling even as she narrows her eyes. “Maria.” The woman just blinks at her, smirk perfectly in place. “I think I have more than enough friends. Some of which I don’t even want.”
“Oh, I think you’ll want this one,” Maria retorts. Natasha suppresses a smile as she shakes her head, happening to glance out the window, but she feels herself pause as she catches sight of the street below.
There’s really no reason why a simple and rather bland black compact car parked along the opposite block should stand out to her. This is one of the most expensive apartment complexes in the city because of its advanced security system (rather ironically designed by her Uncle Howard’s most profitable legitimate businesses) and so any tenant that can afford the rent here can also afford an extra few thousand dollars for more than one spot in the garage to keep all of their luxury imported cars safe. Anyone that parks along the street wouldn’t be someone that lives in her building, but that’s hardly a reason for her to be suspicious when she notices the same car more than once.
Still, there’s something about this damn black car that she can’t quite shake.
... ...
“You know, I’m getting pretty damn tired of people telling me what I should and shouldn’t worry about,” Steve almost growls out, half-shoving his phone back into his jacket pocket. Behind the bar, Pietro glances over his shoulder with his eyebrows raised, surprise and amusement glinting in his stare. “Sorry,” Steve exhales, rubbing at his jaw.
“No, no. By all means, be pissed,” Pietro insists with a bit of a laugh, turning back to Steve and setting down a bottle of vermouth and another one of gin on the bar counter between them. “You know, for the longest time I was convinced Dad was invincible because he sure as hell acted like it. Nothing ever got under his skin.” His lips hitch into a grin “I know it’s what makes him good at being in charge—and you’ve definitely got that going for you, too. But I’ll admit I relate a little more to you when you sweat it out.”
Steve chuckles with a shake of his head. “I’m definitely not invincible. Not even close.”
“I don’t know,” Pietro says, pouring both the vermouth and gin into a pitcher and then stirring. “You’re holding it together pretty damn well.”
“For someone who doesn’t even know what the hell he’s doing? Yeah, I guess,” Steve quips, and he’s barely even joking. He doesn’t know how he’s getting by. Clint Barton helps a lot and so do Wanda and Pietro, but that doesn’t mean Steve feels as if he’s really getting a grasp on any of this. All he really does is handle one thing at a time.
“No, you’re doing pretty damn well, period. I would know, big brother,” Pietro insists, pouring the cocktail into the two glasses before nudging one over to Steve. “If you didn’t step in, I’d be in your shoes right now and I know for damn sure I wouldn’t be handling it the way you have and the way Dad always has. I’m too impulsive, too emotional. But you,” he says, tapping his glass against Steve’s, “are exactly the kind of person built to be in charge. You’re good at this, and you don’t have to believe me. I’m sure you don’t.” Pietro smirks at his brother, and Steve lets out another chuckle. “All the shit that’s happening right now isn’t because you’re here. It’s because Dad isn’t. Trust me.”
Maybe for the first time all day, Steve feels most of the tension start to ebb from his body. He gives his brother a smile. “If you say so,” he tells Pietro, and as they take a gulp of their drinks, Steve takes a moment to glance around the restaurant. The placed is closed between lunch and dinner the way it has since their grandparents opened it, or so Wanda has told him – and despite the fact that it’d started off as another small, legitimate business to front operations for the Families, it’s become a popular spot to eat at in the city. The hundreds of tourists that come each day have no idea what kinds of things that have happened inside these walls, and, until a few months ago, neither did Steve.
He tries to imagine (and not for the first time) what it would’ve been like if his mom had chosen to stay with his dad all these years. If she would’ve been involved in the businesses the way Wanda and Pietro are. If Steve would’ve come close to being the same man he is now, even if he’d been raised in the lifestyle. Steve used to be convinced that he wouldn’t have been, but then he thinks of Pietro and Wanda and hesitates. He expected his opinion to change about them, even a little, after he’d learned the truth—but it didn’t. Everything he came to love about them when they started seeing each other are still easy for him to see now, even after knowing what they’ve been involved in.
Which puts him in one hell of a hard spot. He’s not sure if he has what it takes to be involved with the Families, but now that he’s around Wanda and Pietro all the time, and even being around Clint and his family, Steve is pretty damn sure he doesn’t have what it takes to turn against the Families, either.
It’s not something he had ever genuinely contemplated after his father told him the truth, but considering he’d already known a lot about the Families and their repertoire of operations and crimes thanks to Sam and Bucky, it should’ve been easy to want to put a stop to it all. He could’ve had the perfect opportunity on the inside as the head.
But he can’t do it. He can’t, and he’s not quite sure what that says about him as a person, but he’s fairly certain he doesn’t want to find out.
The chime of the door front door pulls Steve from his thoughts, and he glances down at his watch (they’re still a half hour away from opening their doors for dinner) before looking over his shoulder as Wanda glides into the room.
And she’s not alone.
He’s met Natasha Romanoff before, and though it had been quick—he’d met Howard Stark for lunch, and his niece was wrapping up in his office and walking out the door when Steve had arrived—it’d been enough for Steve to remember. After his meeting that day, he had every reason to be preoccupied with anything other than the image of the woman with endless green eyes and lips as vibrant as the curls of hair that’d been swept over her shoulder. The smile she’d given him had been small and polite, but something in the way her gaze had flitted over him had lingered in his thoughts even hours later – and, as he sets his drink down and stands from his barstool, he feels that same weight in her stare as those bright eyes traces over him again. This time, her gaze is slower, so much so that it feels almost like a palpable touch as it slides over him.
“Ma’am,” Steve greets, holding his hand out as Wanda and Natasha near, and those long eyelashes of hers flutter ever so slightly as she meets his stare.
“Hi,” she replies, sliding her hand into his in a shake. “Well, hi again, I suppose.”
Beside them, Wanda furrows her eyebrows ever so slightly, glancing between them with this little smile. “Oh? You two have met already?”
“Briefly.” Natasha’s eyes flits to Wanda’s as she pulls her hand back, but then she’s peering back up at Steve, her lips tugging at the corners into a smile. “But I figured a proper introduction was in order considering we’ll be spending quite a bit of time together.”
“Right,” Steve says. “Howard did mention you would be offering your assistance, though I’ll admit I was a little skeptical about how much was offered rather than ordered.”
Wanda blinks at him, both eyebrows raised, and Steve is only concerned about coming off the wrong way for a fleeting second before Natasha tips her head back and laughs. Steve feels his smile widen at the sound of it, and then she tilts her head at him, her lips tugging at the corner in a smirk. “And here I thought all the rumors of you being a stuffy old man might hold some truth,” she says, her eyes glinting. Beside her, Wanda grins into her hand. “But don’t worry. I’m certain Uncle Howard was mostly joking.”
This time, Steve is the one that laughs – and for the first time in days, he feels some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “Oh, I’m sure he meant every word he said.”
“It seems like you’re already starting to learn the ropes around here. Maybe you won’t be needing me as much as my uncle thinks. Of course,” she says, stepping around him, and Steve turns to watch as she picks his drink off of the bar and glances over her shoulder at him, “I will still be taking that dinner invitation you were about to offer.”
Wanda giggles as she shakes her head at Natasha, gliding over to the bar to take the stool next to hers, and, over their heads, Pietro flashes his teeth in a grin.
Steve walks up to the bar, setting his forearm on the counter. Natasha holds his stare, bringing the rim of his cocktail glass up to her lips to take a sip, and Steve feels his own lips tugging into a smirk. “Are you going to be trouble, Romanoff?”
She quirks an eyebrow. “If you’re expecting anything but trouble by now, Rogers, you might be in the wrong business.”
... ...
When her uncle asked her to check in on Steve Rogers every now and then to see how he’s handling things, she’s fairly certain he didn’t intend for her to end up alone with him in the office of one of the Rogers’ restaurants and making their way through a bottle of wine—but really, it shouldn’t be a surprise.
Natasha’s always been a little infamous for improvising.
“Not that I think you’re lying, Rogers, but I’m having a hard time picturing you as a scrawny little kid when you’ve got all of this going on,” Natasha admits, waving her hand at where Steve is standing at the small bar in the corner of the office, pouring a little more wine into their glasses. He glances over his shoulder at her, his eyes tracing over her body as she lounges back in the leather wingback chair, her ankles crossed and her heels propped up on one corner of the desk. She’s not drunk just yet, but it certainly feels a little bit like she is as Steve turns to her with that crooked, almost boyish smile of his and hands her another glass of wine, clinking their drinks together and holding her stare as he takes a sip. He doesn’t shy away from her stare, but it doesn’t feel combative the way she’s used to when someone looks her in the eyes and it’s refreshing.
He takes another sip of wine, longer this time, as he sits himself on the edge of the desk. “I’m told looks can be deceiving.”
Natasha breathes out a laugh. “I may have heard that once or twice before.” His lips twitch, but she can see it in his eyes that something is distracting him, even just a little. She studies his stare for a moment, and again, he doesn’t break their gaze. “Does that have anything to do with why you seem a little distracted right now?”
Steve’s lips quirk at the corners. “You’re definitely as good at reading people as they say.”
“And you’re good at dodging questions,” she counters lightly, tilting her head. “It’s okay if you don’t trust me quite yet. I’d say that makes you better at this than you think.”
Steve chuckles, shaking his head. “But that’s the thing, isn’t it?” he asks, though Natasha can tell he’s mostly talking out loud than anything else, so she takes a sip of wine and watches him stare up at the ceiling for a moment. “Clint tells me I shouldn’t trust just anyone, either, and yet I’m supposed to trust him. I do trust him. And the Families? Everything they do is built on trust.” He pauses, shaking his head again before meeting Natasha’s stare once more. “I guess it’s hard for me to figure out what the truth is.”
She smiles softly. “Truth is a matter of circumstance. That’s something you should figure out how to accept if you plan on making it out of here in one piece.”
He swallows lightly, and for a fleeting second, she thinks his gaze flits down to her lips. “That’s a tough way to live,” he notes, his voice quiet.
She hums. He’s certainly not wrong. “It’s a good way not to die, though,” she says, and Steve breathes out another chuckle.
“Well, that’s got to count for something, doesn’t it?” he asks, watching her as she takes another sip of her wine. Natasha feels her skin tingling ever so slightly as her pulse thrums, and she’s not entirely sure it’s simply because of all the alcohol she’s been drinking. “So, what about us?” he asks. “What’s our truth right now?”
Natasha licks her lips, relishing in the way Steve’s eyes follow the motion. “What do you want it to be?”
He breathes out another chuckle as he shakes his head, glancing away, but only for a moment. Then those bright blue eyes are on her again, glinting with something she can’t quite place, and she’s not sure if she’s impressed or irritated that she’s having a hard time reading him right now. “Howard said you were going to advise me, but I’ve already got Clint for that.” Steve’s gaze flicks over her, his lips hitching at the corner. “Why don’t we start with friends?” he asks, and Natasha can’t quite help the laugh that slips out.
Maybe your uncle just wants you to be friends.
Natasha hopes like hell that Maria doesn’t ever find out about this little conversation, or she’ll never shut up about it.
“Oh, you’re definitely in the wrong business, Rogers,” she says, and he just lifts his glass up, raising his eyebrows ever so slightly until she relents and clinks her wine against his. “Okay,” she concedes. “We can start with friends, especially since my uncle expects me to spend quite a lot of time with you for the foreseeable future. Though, between you and me, friend,” she adds, earning a smirk from Steve and a small, amused shake of his head, “I still haven’t pieced together why my uncle is so insistent to begin with.”
Steve nods as he considers this. “I’ve been turning that over in my head, too. I have to say, I can’t imagine a reason Howard would have for wanting to put his only niece into the crossfire by sticking you with me. But then again, I don’t know the man that well, either.”
“Maybe not, but you shouldn’t underestimate your own instincts,” she advises, and then sighs, shaking her head. “But you’re right. I can’t piece together a solid reason, either, other than the fact that your father and my uncle were incredibly close. It’s very possible he just wants to offer Joseph’s son help that he can truly trust, but…”
She trails off, glancing up to meet his stare. He nods again, seeming to pick up on her hesitation. While that answer is certainly possible, it doesn’t seem likely. Not entirely.
“Would there be any reason I should be worried?” Steve asks almost haltingly, like he’s not entirely sure what he’s even asking to begin with, or maybe he’s just not sure how to phrase it. “I know my father is either respected or feared by everyone, and Clint insists that I shouldn’t be too worried about all the shit happening coming back to bite me in the ass, but—I don’t know,” he admits with an exhale. “I can’t really shake the feeling that maybe he’s right. Maybe all of this might actually have to do with Dad instead.”
Natasha takes another sip of her wine as she lets this sink in. It’s a pretty damn good thing to consider, especially since Joseph Rogers is still missing.
She thinks about her conversation with Carol and Maria, about Carol’s words about the possibility that Uncle Howard might genuinely have a reason to be concerned about Steve’s safety, and she catches Steve’s gaze. “Clint’s told you about Hela?” she asks, though she already knows the answer. Steve nods. Hela hasn’t exactly been quiet in how much she dislikes that Steve Rogers has taken over the Families. “If you ask me about anyone that could genuinely have it out for you among the Families, she’d be the only one. She wasn’t exactly your father’s biggest fan, either. If something happened to make it that way, it was kept on the down low from everyone, but I’ve always thought that maybe Hela had a reason for being so pissed at your father. That maybe she must’ve stepped out of line. Well,” she amends with a quirk of her lips, “more so than usual.”
Steve gives her a small grin, nodding. “I thought maybe that could be true, too. Maybe that’s worth investigating a little further.”
“Just do so quietly, and thoroughly,” Natasha stresses, even though she has a feeling Steve would’ve done so to begin with. “If you find something worth confronting her about, you’ll have to be damn sure that what you know is right. Don’t give Odin and Frigga a leg to stand on to defend her or a reason challenge you.”
“And make sure the rest of the Families have every reason to back me up over them?”
His grin widens as those eyes stare back at her, darkening ever so slightly, and she feels her pulse pick up a little faster. “If you’re always going to be this quick of a study then this is going to be fun,” she tells him, and when he laughs, she swears she can almost feel its touch across her skin.
She can’t remember the last time she felt this kind of thrill.
... ...
“I still don’t think I’m doing this right.”
Wanda looks up from her cutting board and lets out a laugh as she sets her knife down and reaches over. “Start in here first,” she tells him, scooping the crumbling pizza dough back into the mixing bowl. “When you get it to stop crumbling, you can knead it on the counter again. And don’t forget to use a little flour if it’s sticking to your skin,” she adds, taking his hands and flipping them over to sprinkle flour into his palms. Steve breathes out a chuckle and nods, and Wanda takes a moment to watch as he goes back to kneading the dough. “You’ll get the hang of this,” she tells him, and he knows by the soft smile on her face that she’s talking about more than just making a pizza.
“Yeah?” he asks. Wanda nods, giving him a smile before she goes back to chopping the herbs. “Because it sure as hell doesn’t feel that way.”
“You’ll get the hang of it,” Wanda repeats, her voice firmer this time. “You have no idea how much you take after our father. It’s like you were made for it, just like him.”
“Or so I’ve been told,” Steve says with an exhale, squeezing the dough a little harder as he rolls it together in the bowl. When he hears Wanda’s knife pause, however, he glances over and finds himself pausing as well as Wanda looks at him, her forehead creased with concern as she rubs her lips together. He knows what she’s about to say – it’s something both she and Pietro have already said before – so he reaches over and smudges two flour-covered fingers across her cheek, smiling when she lets out a soft squeal and wrinkles her nose, batting his hand away. “If you offer to take my place again, I’ll start to think you’re trying to get rid of me, which is pretty damn upsetting.”
She giggles softly, plucking a pinch of flour from the bowl and tossing it at him. He laughs. “I’d never want that,” she says, and the very edges of her smile fade ever so slightly as she seems to consider her next words. “I know this isn’t your first choice, but I love that I get to see more of you now. I love that you’re here.”
He smiles, and this time, she doesn’t seem to mind his floury hands at all when he pulls her close, draping an arm around her as she wraps hers around his waist in a hug.
“I do, too,” he says against her hair, and she tips her head back to smile up at him, lips parting to say something in return, but they both pause when they hear the front door being unlocked, two voices floating in from the front of the brownstone.
Sam and Bucky.
Wanda’s gaze flits to the entryway, hesitant, but then he gives her a gentle squeeze and she peers up at him with a small smile.
Sam and Bucky’s voices grow louder as they step into the kitchen, but then they both pause when they see Wanda, their bodies stiffening ever so slightly, and Steve hates that he can feel Wanda cling onto him just a little bit tighter as if to brace herself. “Hey,” Steve greets, pulling Sam’s attention off of Wanda, and his friend gives him this wry sort of smile as he echoes his greeting. It takes Bucky a moment longer for his eyes to leave Wanda, but Steve is relieved that there isn’t apprehension in his stare. It seems as though Bucky is just taking a moment to take her in, and since his sister doesn’t seem wary just yet, Steve lets it slide. “Looking for a free meal?” he asks with a smirk.
Sam grins as he tosses his keys onto the island counter. “Always,” he says, his gaze shifting back to Wanda. “Is that garlic you’ve got roasting in the oven?”
Wanda’s smile brightens just a little bit more as she unwinds herself from around Steve. “Of course. Is there any other way to make pizza sauce?” she asks, one eyebrow arched as she picks up her knife again. “Are you two any good in the kitchen?”
Bucky steps further into the kitchen, coming to stand opposite of where Wanda has spread out on the kitchen island. “Not really,” he admits, but Wanda still pushes over the second, smaller cutting board where she’s placed the blocks of mozzarella and cheddar cheese, and Bucky’s lips twitch into a grin as he picks up the grate. “You know, Steve,” he says, still holding Wanda’s gaze, “I wasn’t really sure I saw the resemblance between you and your half-siblings before, but now it’s pretty damn clear that you’re related.”
Wanda breathes out a laugh as she shakes her head, and Steve smiles, feeling some of his hesitation dissipate.
“You,” Wanda says to Sam, and Steve rubs his lips together to stifle a laugh when Sam’s eyebrows shoot up. “If you two are joining us for dinner, we’ll need more than just one pizza.” She grabs another mixing bowl from one of the cabinets underneath and hands it to him, her eyes twinkling. “Do you know how to make the dough?”
A grin tugs at the corner of Sam’s lips. “Yes, ma’am.”
Wanda exhales a laugh as she turns back to the cutting board, but Steve knows his sister, so he knows that she’s not quite done just yet. “Might I suggest that next time you boys plan to visit, you should check to make sure my brother isn’t already preoccupied,” she advises, glancing up and quirking an eyebrow as she catches Bucky’s gaze. “He might have company far less understanding than me, especially since you’ve come to report that all of your leads have come up empty-handed in your search for our father.”
Steve feels Sam and Bucky turn their attention on him, but he looks at his sister instead, offering a wry smile as he reaches for her.
“Don’t feel too bad,” Wanda says softly as she lets him pull her into a hug. “You did well at hiding it. I’m just much better at finding things out.”
Despite everything, Steve manages a chuckle. “Dad always did call you his little witch, somehow seeing right into everyone’s heads,” he muses, reaching up to tuck some of her hair behind her ear. Wanda squeezes him a little harder. “I didn’t want to say anything because I knew it was a long shot,” he tells her, even though he can see it in her eyes that she must have figured this out for herself. Still, she nods, exhaling a shaky breath. “But, since I was the only one that had police ties, I thought it was worth a try.”
“It was,” Wanda reassures.
“It still is,” Bucky adds, and both Steve and Wanda turn to look at him. Bucky nods, his jaw setting in a stubborn way that Steve has seen dozens and dozens of times before. “We’ll still keep looking on our end,” he promises, his gaze shifting from Steve to Wanda as her offers a wry smile. “Your dad’s just damn good at covering his tracks.”
“It’s kept him alive all this time.” Wanda gives a small shrug. “I just hope that’s still true now, wherever he may be.”
“It is,” Steve insists, brushing a kiss to her temple. She looks up at him. “Nothing in the world can keep him away from his princess for too long.”
She lets out a soft laugh, giving Steve another squeeze before releasing him with a shaky exhale. “Come on,” she says, glancing around at the three of them. “At this rate, we won’t be done with dinner until midnight.”
... ...
“One day when I’m sent to retrieve you from your office this late at night, I’ll be pleasantly surprised that you won’t be here,” a voice greets her with a slight drawl, and Natasha feels a smirk tug at her lips, looking up from her laptop as Tony strolls through the door. He tilts his head, peering at her from over the top of his aviators before pulling them off completely, folding them up and tucking them into the inside pocket of his jacket. “I know Dad asked you to take over because this place was a shit show before you whipped everyone into shape—which, kudos to that, by the way. The club’s doing great. But you know you don’t have to keep managing this dump anymore.”
Natasha hums, leaning back in her chair as Tony comes to stand on the other side of the desk. “What if I like this dump?” she asks, one eyebrow arched.
Her cousin scoffs. “Yeah, because it’s always been your dream to manage a gentlemen’s club.”
Natasha rubs her lips together, trying in vain not to smile. Because Tony isn’t wrong, exactly. Natasha may not do a lot of dirty work; none of them do, in fact, because the higher up in the Families you are, the less you actually have to put your ass on the line for. Especially if you truly are family. Her Uncle Howard likes to give the cops as little chance as possible to find hard evidence tying any of them to any actual crimes. Still, Natasha likes to keep busy, and she thinks her uncle knew that when he asked her to come in and clean up the club. The capo he had in charge before did enough to float under the radar, but considering how prestigious this establishment is and how many their members come from old money, the club was capable of bringing in a hell of a bigger profit than it’d seen in the last few years, and her uncle didn’t want miss out.
It’s been enough to keep Natasha occupied for a few months, but now that the staff is in order and the management has been almost entire replaced, there’s really no reason for her to still come in as often or stay as late as she does.
She knows her uncle will let her take over another business if she asks, or she can step back completely if that’s what she wants instead.
It’s her call. It always has been, but for once, Natasha doesn’t already have her next step in mind.
“Seriously, I can’t imagine having to come here every day knowing you could run into Anton or Ivan at any moment,” Tony says, and though Natasha knows his shudder is more for theatrics, she also knows the contempt in his voice is genuine.
Natasha shares the sentiment. Anton Vanko had been hired onto Stark Industries when it was barely a start-up and has been friends with her Uncle Howard ever since. The man is a brilliant scientist, that much is certain, but there’s always been something about him that’s felt off. That was something that might not have been all that concerning given the world the Starks were part of, only Anton Vanko didn’t come from that world, which Aunt Maria likes to remind everyone whenever the subject comes up. She’s never liked him, and honestly? Natasha isn’t entirely sure if her Uncle Howard likes him, either, but the man was crucial in launching Stark Industries and hasn’t given her Uncle Howard a reason to cut their ties, so everyone has let it be for now. Though, that may not be the case for much longer if his son continues being so damn reckless.
Ivan is sloppy and has a big ego and an even bigger temper. He doesn’t care much for keeping a low profile, even from the cops, and though his father is the reason he hasn’t been kicked out yet, Natasha knows her uncle’s patience is running thin.
“They’re just about as entitled and obnoxious than most of the other men that come here,” she points out. She’s not defending either of them (fuck, not even a little) but Tony has always been rather overprotective of her and she has to remind him every now and then that she can handle herself. “Although, they’ve done quite a bit of talking lately.”
“About how much they dislike your latest boy toy? Yeah, so I’ve heard,” Tony says. Natasha narrows her eyes. “Sorry, do you prefer partner?”
“Friend.”
Tony hums. “No, I’m pretty sure you don’t have any of those.”
Natasha feels herself smiling as she rolls her eyes. “Was there a point to this intrusion of yours?”
He laughs, but a light knock cuts him off before he can answer, and Natasha turns to find her mother standing in the doorway. “We sent him in here to retrieve you for dinner,” she explains, one eyebrow arched, and Natasha breathes out a laugh. It wouldn’t be the first or even fiftieth time Natasha’s been a little late to dinner. She’s always gotten caught up in things, even when she was little, and she can’t even begin to count how many times her mother or father has come to get her just like this so they can drag her to the dinner table. Even now, unless they know she has work to take care of, the family will wait on her if she’s late to their weekly dinner (and she usually is).
“Did you and Dad finally get tired of finding me for yourself?” Natasha jokes as her mother walks over to the desk.
Her lips curve into a small smirk. “I was giving your uncle a chance to sneak his granddaughter a few snacks before dinner,” she says, turning a pointed gaze onto Tony, and Natasha lets out a chuckle as Tony groans, darting out of the office as he calls out for Morgan. “You need to sleep more,” her mother chides, touching Natasha’s cheek.
Natasha tilts her head. “Are you saying I look tired?”
“I’m saying you are tired, because I can tell these things.” Her mother reaches over to close Natasha’s laptop and then gestures for Natasha to get up, and Natasha scoffs out a laugh, shooting her mother a look as she stands. Her mother rolls her eyes. “I know you save your work often, so don’t pretend that I ruined anything. Besides, you should have been done working hours ago, and you haven’t returned any of my texts since this afternoon,” she adds, and there’s something in her voice that makes Natasha pause.
Natasha isn’t particularly quick to reply, but considering how suddenly things can come up, no one else in the family is all that compulsive about it, either.
Her parents have pointed it out to her times before, but it’d always been in a dry attempt at a joke, or sometimes to chide her. It’d never once sounded like this. Like it’d been something for them to worry about.
“I’ve been here all day,” Natasha points out. If her mother wanted to, she could track Natasha’s location since Aunt Maria insisted on it from the whole family, just in case. Her mother nods, but there’s something in her eyes that Natasha can’t quite place that makes her hesitate. “Did I miss something important?” she asks, reaching for her phone.
“Not particularly,” her mother promises, snatching Natasha’s phone from the desk before Natasha can, and Natasha shoots her mother a look.
She doesn’t have a chance to respond, though, because a moment later, Tony reappears in the doorway with exasperation tugging at his expression as he points a thumb over his shoulder. “Can we get this show on the road? Because if Morgan gets a sugar high from all the chocolate Dad’s slipping her, you’ll be putting her to bed, Aunt Melina.”
Natasha smirks as her mother breathes out a chuckle, nudging Natasha forward, and Natasha catches her glancing back into the office before shutting the door behind them.
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technicolorfamiliar · 6 years
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Global Spirit Tour: 2017 - 2018
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Prologue:
Something weird happened early in 2017.
I was looking for a song to lip synch to. In drag.
This was for a one-off performance with the improv group I was part of at the time. We had a string of a few LGBTQ events, and drag lip synchs were becoming a regular part of our season. I needed a song, and I needed to pick something I knew no one else in the group would choose. As someone who is secretly very competitive (and someone who knows I perform on stage better as a man anyway), finding the perfect song and perfect character to fit the song was stressing me out. So I turned to my beloved 80's New Wave station on Pandora for inspiration.
Eventually, the inspiration I desperately needed presented itself (this is the Weird Thing). It was, of all things, Depeche Mode's "Stories of Old" from Some Great Reward, a song I knew and loved deeply as a teenager but hadn't actually heard or really listened to in years. And with the inspiration from the song came the core inspiration for my character. Suddenly, everything locked into place - the look, the hair, the clothes, the physicality (read: how provocative I could get away with being at what was technically a family friendly event). And with that perfect vision for my character, all thing things I loved about Depeche Mode when I was in high school came flooding back to me. Wave after wave of nostalgia, the kind that makes you realize, "this is why I am the way I am."
And so I was forcibly dragged back into all things Depeche Mode by one song, one incredibly underrated song stuck somewhere in the middle of what isn't even my favorite DM album.
(I ended up using a different song by a different band for the drag improv thing, at the directors' request, they thought something more well-known would be more appropriate, and at the time I agreed. But my character mood board was still very much focused on DM in the mid-80s.)
Funnily enough, at that same time, DM were about to release a new album and announce dates for their Global Spirit Tour. So the timing on my part worked out perfectly. I have a habit of rediscovering the music I loved in high school just as a bunch of new content is about to hit the internet (one day I'll write about how Danny Elfman and Oingo Boingo saved my life more than once).
For a little background, when I say I loved DM in high school, I mean that's when I first heard of them. I didn't grow up on Depeche Mode, as my parents - who were my major source of music recs until I was 15 - absolutely hated anything that had to do with 1980s synthpop, post-punk, or any other new wave music. But someone much older and much cooler than me gave me a mix tape with "In Your Room" on it and I was intrigued. That wasn't the DM song that sealed my fate as a fan. That was 100% "Never Let Me Down Again", but a nudge in the right direction was all I needed, and for that honest to god actual mix tape cassette, I am eternally grateful.
I was a teenager during the era of Playing The Angel, and I was lucky enough to see them on that tour with my best friend at the time. The tickets were my high school graduation present. Our seats were at the very back of what used to be the Nissan Pavilion in VA. I hardly remember anything about the show itself, and any pictures I must have taken on my old pocket digital camera are sadly lost.
Washington, DC:
It was 2017 before I managed to see another DM tour. For whatever reason, whether it was my busy work schedule, being broke, or waiting until shows were already sold out to look for tickets, I missed both the Sounds of the Universe and Delta Machine tours. So when the Spirit tour was announced, I was poised and ready to make what some people might consider irrational financial choices in order to see three separate shows between September 2017 and June 2018.
The lead-up to the September 7th show in DC was a lot of fun. I was going with my two close friends, so we enjoyed some additional bonding as we eagerly anticipated the show together. This was the only gig on the tour I saw with people I knew, and I have nothing against going to concerts by myself -- and sometimes traveling great distances to do so. But getting to share the excitement leading up to the actual day and at the event itself with two of my very good friends was really special. I'm really glad I got to share that experience with them, and have their positive, enthusiastic energy to draw on.
This is the part of the post where I go on a brief tangent about superfan elitism, bear with me: The hardcore DM fans would say, "Three shows? That's nothing." And I would say they're right, but that doesn’t make me any less of a fan. I could have gone to more shows, probably, but my bank account, my job security, and my sanity required that three be the maximum amount of shows I got to see on this specific tour. There are numerous ways a person can express their love of a band, a tv show, a piece of immersive theatre, or whatever. The level of insane superfan I am or am not does not mean that their music is any less important to me as an artist and as person. HOWEVER, the people who I encountered at these three DM shows who were on their phones the entire concert, people who had better seats than me who sat down completely unengaged the whole time, and the people making disrespectful and unrelated comments about the audience and the band themselves can go fuck themselves. That negative, attention seeking, distracting bullshit has no place down in the floor seats in front of the stage, they can go be terrible up in the mezzanine levels.
Which is exactly where my first show was spent.
Second or third tier seats for big arena shows are 1000% not worth whatever money you spend on them. They're too far away, and you're surrounded by people who act like they've never heard of the band they paid actual money to see. The only reason my friends and I were up there in the first place was because of how absurd the US ticket queueing system was for the first North American leg of the GST. I, like many others, have a lot of issues with how that was handled and am glad they scrapped it for the second round of US shows.
I'm glad I had my two friends with me at the DC show, though. The three of us were maybe the only people having a genuinely fun time in our section. This first show for me was the only one where I cried. I wasn't expecting to, but hearing and seeing Martin sing "Home" struck something in me. And then "Heroes". I knew it was coming, but it still managed to really resonate on a deep emotional level. I love David Bowie as much as they do, but knowing that "Heroes" was how Dave was initially asked to be in the band, and my own personal feelings and connections to Bowie, hearing Dave sing it as well as he did was everything in that moment.
I have a number of issues with that show in DC, but none of them have anything to do with DM or the show itself. They played more songs from Spirit at this show than at any of the others I attended, but there was also "Corrupt" and "Wrong", "A Question of Lust" and "Somebody". It was also the longest set list of out of the three shows, with 22 songs total, which is rare for them, from what I understand, because of how intense their live shows are, especially for Dave (which I got to experience more closely at the other two shows). His presence on stage radiates to the rafters of huge venues like the Capital One Arena -- but more about Dave in a minute. I can talk about how good they sounded in DC, and how much hearing those songs live meant to me on that night during that time in my life, how I felt the synths and bass and percussion in my bone marrow and in my soul, but I can't really talk about the all-consuming, sweaty frenzy of experiencing a show like theirs from the floor. For that, I need to talk about Berlin and Philadelphia.
Berlin:
So DM announced more dates in Europe. And, because I'm insane I guess, was online at some ungodly hour when tickets went on sale for the two shows in Berlin, Germany in January. I was able to get an early entry ticket for the January 19th show in BERLIN where I would be surrounded by other people who were actually genuinely excited to be there, which would be a huge improvement after the lackluster crowds in DC.
Am I glad I did it? Yes. Would I do it exactly the same way ever again? Probably not. Because queueing overnight outside the arena was worth it for the concert experience itself, but it's not necessarily something I need to do again any time soon. I'm a weak, American fan, and I own that. The German DM fans go so fucking hard and I am absolutely terrified of them.
Somehow, I managed to get a spot on the barrier without any pushing or shoving. I wound up in the pocket where the main stage becomes turns into the catwalk, right in front of where Andy Fletcher has his set-up. On either side of me were two other women who also were there by themselves. They were nice enough to talk to me and keep me company while we waited.
The show, though.
My consciousness went… somewhere else. I can’t really compare the feeling to anything else I've experienced. I've been to some other really singularly wonderful concerts, to see bands and musicians that I have deep emotional ties to, but none of them have been like this. It's the combination of being part of the masses down on the floor, on the barrier, exhausted and sweating and euphoric, with the power and intensity of hearing and seeing Depeche Mode perform live. I was hyper-aware of everything happening in front of me. Time did something strange, it crawled by so slowly and yet it was over before I could register what happened. I was an outsider there, but I felt like I was part of this massive collective, all connected by our desire to be there, our love of the music, united for a few hours, and I was so aware that everything that was happening on stage and around us was happening to eary one of the people in that arena at once.
The sound of the ignition at the beginning of "Stripped" reverberating in your rib cage, the driving, head-banging riffs in "I Feel You," the cosmic outro of "Cover Me," the field of wheat arm-waving during "Never Let Me Down Again" -- having it all happen to you, at that volume, at that frequency and intensity, is like having your soul yanked from your body and cast into decadent oblivion.
Honestly, it was a blur. But as far as I can remember, highlights included:
The additional songs from Ultra! Unexpected, but very much appreciated.
Experiencing Andy Fletcher's ridiculous awkward dad dancing up close and in person. There's a lot of hype about Fletch's moves, but let me tell you, they exceed any expectation.
Martin. Martin sang "Sister of Night" AND "Judas". I was overcome. People talk about singers sounding like an angel, but Martin L. Gore is the only person in the history of music that saying actually applies to in full.
And Dave. If he was anything like he was at this show when they were at the DC show, I missed the fuck out. Because yes, he performs to the whole arena, even to the people in the very back, but it's altogether something else to watch someone that animated up close. He's tapping into some energy and fire to fuel his work that I've only rarely seen in other artists. Dave Gahan never phones it in, he always performs like he's got jet fuel for blood and like every show really means something. He is outrageous on stage, in every sense of the word. He is endlessly inspiring, and deserves so much recognition and respect.
Philadelphia:
That said… to me, it seemed like the band as a whole was having way more fun at the Philly show than they did in Berlin. I can't put my finger on the specific differences, but they seemed lighter, more pleased with their work, and maybe genuinely surprised at the warmth of their audience in Philly. Martin smiled a lot more at the Philadelphia show, and Dave seemed looser, maybe less tired after a double in Germany.
The Philly gig on June 3rd was the best, by far, out of the three. The second US leg of the GST was announced and I, of course, being the way that I am, thought, "FUCK IT WHY NOT" and magically got a floor seat ticket right in front of Martin's side of the stage after the general tickets went on sale. And it was worth every penny and a short train ride from Baltimore.
I met a few more very nice people, a couple from Florida (whose first show had been cancelled due to the major hurricane last year) and a solo lady sitting behind me who let me join their conversation. And the man sitting to my left was British? European? So he also knew all the things the audience is supposed to do during specific songs that I learned when I was in Berlin. There were definitely some bastard people in the crowd, even down on the floor, terrible people who clearly weren't enjoying themselves, but the high energy of everyone else made it easy to shift focus to the band.
The set list was very similar to the one I heard in Germany, with the exception of two of Martin's songs from Music For The Masses and "A Question of Time" right before their closer -- "Personal Jesus." But again, the performances and mood behind most of the songs at the Philly show seemed lighter, more playful and mischievous (on Dave's part). And the time really flew by. I missed "I Feel You" in the set list, but that's a very minor criticism of what was, over all, a miraculous third show out of three very powerful concerts.
Epilogue:
The general consensus among fans is that this may have been the last big tour Depeche Mode have. They may keep recording together and separately, but another tour on this massive scale is unlikely. If that's the case, I'm so glad I found a way to see three very different shows on the Global Spirit Tour. I can’t imagine experiencing the same exact feeling these shows gave me; I certainly didn't feel the same at David Byrne's awesome American Utopia tour show this summer, and I don't expect the feel the same when I see Nick Cave in October.
Depeche Mode, especially now, at this stage in their careers, during this time in American and world history, and for me personally at this specific point in my life as I age out of my 20s, have been a source of sanity and compassion, of deep feeling and social commentary. Their music touches maybe the parts of myself I'm too scared to look at head on. After going through some of the things that have happened to me as an adult, and as I figure out the kind of person I want to be in the coming decade, obviously there are certain themes resonate with me more than they did when I first discovered DM as a teen. I am grateful to have had circumstances happen the way they did to lead me back to Depeche Mode, to delve deep into their music and history.
Those three shows changed the my standards for seeing live music. After being front row for the Berlin concert, how could I ever go back to being content sitting up in the second or third tier for any arena show? I've been spoiled.
And after a few months have passed, when I think about my experiences over the course of the Global Spirit Tour, it doesn't quite feel real. There are a few other concerts I've been to where when I think about it, I think, "Did that actually happen??" (Namely seeing Danny Elfman in Los Angeles on Halloween, 2014. Absolutely bonkers.) Seeing DM in Berlin is definitely one of those moments already, not even a year later.
I look forward to the future of their music. If Depeche Mode tour again, and that's a big if, the furthest I would travel to see them is maybe the UK, but hopefully that won’t be necessary! However, I absolutely would go see a solo show, if Martin or Dave ever had shows anywhere even remotely close by. I would absolutely travel to New York or LA to see a solo Martin show or Dave with Soulsavers. From what I can tell those venues are usually smaller, so it would be easier to have a more enjoyable, intimate experience.
But that's all there is. Nothing more than you can feel now, that's all there is.
Until next time.
Photo by me, Jan 19, 2018
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