Work Text:
Somewhere outside Minsk, Belarus
“Someone knew we were coming. This building’s rigged to blow,” Steve’s voice crackled through comms and into Natasha’s ear. “Get clear of here, both of you.”
“But Cap …” Sam pressed a finger to his comm and started to argue. He was immediately cut off by Steve who’d rounded the corner in a full sprint. He pulled both of them through the nearest doorway, to a window at the far side of the room and shattered it with one punch.
“Do it! Take Natasha and get the hell out.”
It was Natasha’s turn to protest, “Like hell we’re leaving you up here.”
Steve pinned Sam with a pointed look that left no room for debate, “Get her to the ground. Now.”
Sam nodded, wrapped an arm tight around an unwilling Natasha’s waist and flew them straight through the now open window. She screamed profanity in his ear the entire way down.
Just as their feet touched the ground, it rocked out from under them and, though they were a safe enough distance away, the heat and the force of the blast sent Natasha forward into Sam, knocking them both to the asphalt. For a moment they both laid there, too shocked to move or react. They stared up at the burning building, at the hot flames licking at the night sky and the thick smoke curling out shattered windows and up through the roof.
Sam hauled Natasha to her feet and, as if he’d anticipated her next move, caught her by the waist.
“Let go of me, Sam,” she said through gritted teeth, struggling under the weight of his heavy arm.
“No,” His voice was soft but unwavering.
Natasha waited another half second then jabbed her elbow up and back into Sam’s ribcage. His grip on her loosened enough that she slid from his grasp and made it two steps before he had hold of her again.
She struggled against him, and, in her periphery, saw the wings outstretched on his back.
“Sam I swear to God, if you don’t get your hands off me…”
“Natasha, I’m not gonna let you go running back into that building,” his voice was strained but still calm. “You’ll get yourself killed.”
Logically, she knew he was right. But Steve had still been inside when the building blew, so no, Natasha wasn’t thinking logically anymore. Sam had her arms pinned to her sides this time, but she didn’t stop fighting against him.
He ignored the string of curses in both English and Russian, and held tight to her. He knew he’d pay for it later, but under no circumstances was he going to let her run back into a burning, nearly collapsed building, half-cocked and with no plan. Partially for her safety, and partially for his own — Steve would kill him.
Bile rose in Natasha's throat. Every second that ticked by with them standing still was one less second they could be making sure Steve was safe. Out of nowhere, the ground seemed to bottom out from under her, and the devastation in front of them blurred to swirls of black and orange. Somewhere in the fog of her brain, she heard Sam try to raise Steve over comms, the reply coming as static in both their ears.
And then his arm dropped from around her, and she heard him mutter a staccato, slightly relieved, “Son. Of. A. Bitch.”
The first thing Natasha saw when the world came back into focus, was a large figure in navy blue covered in blood and soot limping in their direction.
“Steve,” she breathed his name and took a step in his direction, then another and another. She didn’t realize she was running, didn’t stop, until she collided hard against his solid chest and felt his arms wind around her. She hugged him back. She held on.
And then Natasha saw red.
She loosened her grip, reared back and clocked him square in the jaw.
Hitting a super soldier in the face felt similar to how Natasha assumed it would feel to smash her fist full tilt into solid concrete.
Steve’s eyes went wide, and he reflexively pressed a hand against the spot where her fist connected. His attention flickered over her shoulder to Sam, who looked just as shocked, then back to Natasha, who was standing completely still.
“What… the hell?” he asked, genuinely confused.
She narrowed her eyes and balled her aching fist at her side. Steve considered taking a step back but decided against it. Before he could inquire, again, as to why she’d just punched him in the face, she yelled, “What the fuck was that?” and pushed into his chest with both hands.
Even against the full force of her weight, Steve stayed planted in place, not a surprise given his size and strength compared to hers. He held his hands up in front of him, palms out, and said, “Ok, Nat, just…”
“The next words out of your mouth better not be ‘calm down’, Rogers.” Natasha’s voice was low, dangerous.
Steve’s mouth snapped shut, and he glanced again at Sam, who seemed more than happy to stay out of whatever the hell was happening in front of him.
“Who the fuck do you think you are, huh?” she took a step in, crowding Steve’s space, and he knew her well enough to know she was pissed on an unfathomable level.
He dropped his hands and reached for her, but she shrugged him off. “No. No, you don’t get to do that after what you just did.”
“Nat…” the semi-permanent crease in his brow deepened. “What did I do?”
Her expression shifted, just a little, from furious to incredulous, then back. She said nothing, simply stared Steve down.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Sam broke the silence, “Uh, guys?” Two sets of eyes turned on him. “Fire and rescue’s en route and the brass’s probably not far behind. Think we could maybe unpack this somewhere less… visible?”
Natasha looked back at Steve and softened for just a moment as she gave him a once-over, checking for signs of injury, he suspected.
Busted lip. Bloodied and broken nose. And a nice, big gash on his left bicep, from which blood had begun to soak into the sleeve of his suit. Seemingly satisfied that he wasn’t going to drop dead then and there, she turned on her heel and stalked back to the cloaked Quinjet.
He let out a massive sigh, ran a hand through his soot-covered hair and motioned to Sam, “After you.”
“Oh, no,” Sam said with a snort. “I’m on her shit list, too. I’m not walking into that lion’s den first.”
Steve squeezed his eyes shut, took one more deep breath and followed Natasha with Sam on his heels.
The flight back to the safe house was tense. Very, incredibly, uncomfortably tense. No one spoke, save for the few minutes it took for Sam to wrap Steve’s arm and snap his nose back into place. The pair exchanged a few uneasy glances, but neither was willing to break the deafening silence. Natasha insisted on piloting, if only to keep from having to look at or speak to either of the men seated behind her.
It was the longest 27-minute flight of Steve’s entire, very long life. And that was saying something.
Natasha barely had the Quinjet on the ground before she was pushing past Steve and Sam and plodding toward the back door.
“I’ll get all the gear, I guess?” Sam called after her. She raised a middle finger at him over her shoulder without breaking her stride.
“Very mature,” he muttered to himself.
Steve nudged Sam gently, “C’mon man, she’s already riled up.”
“Yeah, ok. I know.” Sam sighed, hauling his go-bag over one shoulder and Natasha’s over another. “I just don’t get why she’s so pissed.”
“I dunno,” Steve said, scrubbing both hands down his face. “I’ll talk to her. Just… lay low, will ya?”
Deciding to give Natasha some extra time to, hopefully, cool off, Steve unloaded his gear and headed upstairs to shower away the blood and grime, which was all he had to show for the busted op. He rewrapped the wound on his arm, popped several extra-strength pain relievers, dressed in a gray tee shirt and navy blue joggers and called Fury to debrief.
Eventually, he made his way back down to the small kitchen, surprised to find Natasha there making a sandwich. The green vest Steve knew had belonged to her sister was slung over a chair, her boots discarded on the floor and the top half of her suit was unzipped and pulled down to her waist, revealing a black cotton tank top.
She didn’t look up or even acknowledge his presence there, and for a brief moment, Steve wasn’t even sure she’d clocked him in the doorway.
“Done using up all the hot water?” she finally bit out.
Steve deflated. Ok, still angry.
“Natasha, come on.”
She looked up blank-faced and ripped off a piece of the sandwich, not breaking eye contact as she stuffed it in her mouth.
He stayed leaning on the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest, “So, are you going to tell me what that was back there?”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” she said. Her voice was even, steady and a little bit terrifying.
“Yes you do,” Steve said evenly. His eyes slid over Natasha’s soot-smeared face and landed on a cut over her left eyebrow. It was shallow enough that it had already begun to clot, but he mentally chastised himself for not noticing earlier.
She stared at him, expressionless for a long while. And then the spark reignited, “You were an idiot.”
“Because I had Sam pull you out?”
“No. Because you think you’re invincible,” Natasha said. The burning building flashed into her mind, and her chest squeezed. “And once again, you took an unnecessary risk that probably should have killed you.”
“That’s not what I did,” he said, immediately going on the defense.
“Steve, please, that’s exactly what you did. It’s what you always do,” she scoffed. “Shit, I’m starting to think it’s the only thing you know how to do.”
He pulled a face, and Natasha realized she’d struck a nerve. Good.
“So you hit me?” He cocked an eyebrow at her.
She rolled her eyes, “No. I hit you because you were an idiot.”
“You mentioned that already,” Steve tried to keep his tone even-keeled, but he was growing more frustrated by the second.
“It’s worth mentioning again.” Natasha glared, and he couldn’t remember the last time she’d directed this much anger at him.
“Please explain it to me, then, because I don’t understand,” he said, genuinely confused. “We’ve worked dozens of ops together, most of which were a lot more dangerous than this one. It’s what we’re trained for. It’s the job. Why was this any different?”
Natasha opened her mouth to respond and found that she was suddenly out of words. How could she even begin to explain to Steve what it felt like to watch that building explode knowing he was still inside? Because he was right. It was the job. It was the same job they’d been doing for the last five years. Except now it was different, at least it was for Natasha. She’d seen him bloodied, beaten and lying in a hospital bed, but now, every time they went out there the stakes felt so much higher. They were higher. The problem was explaining why.
And then, as quickly as it had come, all of the fury evaporated from Natasha’s body, and she was sinking to her knees on the floor. Steve was at her side with an arm around her before she hit the ground.
“You…” her voice sounded small, like it didn’t belong to her, and she hated it. “I thought you died. I thought you were dead, Steve.”
Realization crashed into him. She wasn’t angry. She was terrified.
“Shit,” the word nearly stuck in his throat.
“I saw the building explode, and I didn’t know if you’d made it out or where you were or what the hell happened, and the comms weren’t working. And…” her voice cracked. “I thought you died. And it felt like I died a little too.”
Fuck.
“Nat, I… I’m sorry.”
“Look, I know what we do is dangerous. Every time we go out there is a risk. We’ve all had too many close calls to count, but…” Natasha trailed off, trying to find the right words. “You and Sam… you’re all I have left. You’re my family. If you die, what happens to me?”
“Hey, look at me,” Steve shifted so he was squatting in front of her and braced her face gently between his large hands. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re not gonna lose me.”
She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes, “That’s not a promise you can make, Steve.”
“No, it’s not,” he said, brushing a few strands of soot-crusted hair from her face. “But I’ve got a pretty compelling reason to survive out there.”
Natasha opened her eyes, and the earnestness she saw in Steve’s was truth enough.
“And, as you know, I’m pretty strong-willed.”
She gave him a sidelong look, “I think the word you’re looking for is stubborn.”
Her joke was half-hearted, but Steve smiled anyway. “You might be right.”
He sat down next to her on the kitchen floor and rested his elbows on his knees. They were shoulder-to-shoulder, backs against the side of the kitchen counter, and the contact of her bare arm against his settled the anxiety creeping into Natasha’s chest.
“I’m sorry I hit you,” she said quietly.
Steve laced his fingers with hers and squeezed, “It’s ok.”
“It’s not, and I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted.”
Natasha dropped her head to Steve’s shoulder, and they sat in comfortable silence for a while, hands still intertwined. She wanted to tell him the real reason why the stakes were so much higher for her now. She wanted to tell him exactly how she felt about him — how she’d been feeling for a very long time. She wanted to say, “It’s because I love you.”
Instead, Natasha said, “Steve, I’m compromised.”
His brows pulled into the middle of his forehead. “You’re not compromised.”
“I am,” Natasha shook her head. “I can’t be in the field like this. I can’t be more worried about you than the mission.”
“You’re right. But that doesn’t mean you’re compromised,” Steve shifted to look at her, still not letting go of her hand. “Nat. You’re the best there is at what you do, but you’re still human. You’re tired and you’re scared. Hell, if I’m being honest, so am I.”
“What are you most afraid of?” she asked softly. Steve had always been open about his fears and worries, but it wasn’t something they’d discussed at length.
“Well, losing you… or Sam, for starters. It’s something I think about every single time we go out there. Always has been,” he paused for a moment, as if to gather his thoughts. “But we push it down, trust each other and get the job done.”
These were things Natasha already knew, so she simply nodded and waited for Steve to continue.
“I worry about Bucky, even though I know he’s safe in Wakanda. And about Wanda when she’s with Vision. I worry about Tony,” he scrubbed a hand across his beard cheek and sighed. “And if I’m being completely honest, I worry about whether I made the right choices, whether I deserve the blind faith so many people have given to me.”
Natasha’s brows furrowed in confusion, and she sat up a little straighter. In all the years she’d known Steve, he’d always been steadfast in his convictions, never taking the path of least resistance. He wasn’t perfect, but he stood by his choices, and with that, he’d earned everyone’s respect. The faith she had in him wasn’t blind at all. Hearing Steve question himself now broke her heart a little.
“Are you saying you regret not signing the Accords?”
“No. No, of course not. Could Tony and I have handled the situation differently? Better? Yeah, absolutely,” he sighed again, thinking of the irreparable damage done to their relationship. “But sometimes I wonder whether you and Sam and Wanda… hell even Barton and Lang, would be better off if I’d kept you out of things and handled the situation with Bucky on my own. Your lives aren’t your own anymore, and I feel responsible.”
“Ok, first of all, self-doubt really isn’t your style, Rogers. So, stop that right now,” Natasha said, nudging his leg with her foot. “And second, we knew the risks and the potential consequences. We stood by you because we trust you. And I’d rather spend the rest of my life in the shadows knowing I did the right thing than back in the compound wondering if I made a mistake. I don’t regret any of it.”
Steve felt a rush of pride and affection for the woman sitting next him. He offered Natasha a smile that he hoped reflected those feelings. The one she gave him in return was proof enough that she understood.
“Thank you… for always sticking by me.”
“Well, someone’s gotta keep you boys on your toes,” she smiled again, and the knot in Steve’s chest unraveled. Her grin this time was playful. Much more Natasha-like, he decided.
“We’ve been running these shadow ops for Fury for six months straight,” he said. “What if we just, I dunno, took a breather and regrouped? Maybe, relax a little?”
Natasha chuckled, and it was like music to Steve’s ears, “Relaxing has never really been in my repertoire, Rogers.”
“It’s never really been in mine either,” the corner of his mouth turned up, and he shrugged. “But maybe it’s time to try something new.”
"Maybe so."
Steve glanced up at the cut above her eye and reflexively reached out to run his thumb gently over it. "Why don't we get you cleaned up?"
He stood first and reached a hand down pulling Natasha to her feet. She hoisted herself onto the kitchen counter while Steve wet a clean rag, then began wiping the dirt and blood from her face, taking care not to reopen the cut. Once he was satisfied that it wouldn't reopen, he dressed the wound and secured a butterfly bandage over it.
“It’s not deep,” he said, wiping the last little bit of blood from her hairline. "You won't need stitches."
“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure you do,” she said, reaching for his arm. “You’re bleeding again.”
Steve glanced down at the wrapping on his bicep and, to his chagrin, found that it was completely soaked through and seeping into the sleeve of his tee shirt. “Damnit. This is a new shirt.”
Natasha snickered as she hopped down from the counter and pulled a chair out for Steve to sit in, “C’mon. Your turn.”
“I can get Sam to do this. You go get cleaned up.”
She pointed to the chair, “Sit.”
Steve did as he was told and sat down, pushing the sleeve of his shirt up and out of the way. Natasha looked up from tools she was sanitizing and smirked. “It’s gotta come off.”
He pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it onto the table behind him with a wink, “If you wanted my clothes off, all you had to do was ask.”
They’d seen one another in various states of undress over the years. It was difficult not to, especially now, when they were living in such close quarters. And she knew Steve was joking with her. Hell, she’d made that same joke plenty of times, but that didn’t stop Natasha’s face from burning red.
She swallowed hard and rolled her eyes, hoping he hadn’t noticed the blush in her cheeks, “Oh, hush.”
Between the black ops they’d worked for Fury over the last six months and the dozens of missions she and Clint had run for SHIELD, Natasha had become adept with a needle and thread. She worked quickly, cleaning the dried and fresh blood from the wound, stitching it closed and rewrapping his arm. The entire time, ignoring the feeling of Steve’s eyes on her.
Just as she was securing the bandage, Sam’s familiar voice startled them both. “I assume you worked out your issues if you’re letting her near you with pointy objects.”
Steve chuckled, and Natasha threw a glance over her shoulder, pointing the needle at him, “You better watch it.”
Sam threw his hands up in acquiescence, “Don’t come near me with that thing.”
A wide grin spread across her face, and she turned her attention back to Steve. He gave her a soft look and mouthed, “Thank you.”
Natasha squeezed his hand and stood, “Now, if you two don’t mind, I need a really long, really hot shower.”
“Go. We’ll clean up,” Sam said, nudging her shoulder with his as she passed by.
Forty-five minutes and 10 pruney fingers later, Natasha stepped out of the shower feeling refreshed. She dressed in a pair of shorts and an oversized tee shirt that she’d stolen from either Sam or Steve. She couldn’t remember who it’d belonged to, she just knew that at some point over the last several years she’d commandeered clothing from both of them. She worked a towel through her hair as she made her way from the bathroom to the second bedroom, and when she turned to close the door behind her, Sam was standing in the hallway.
“Hey,” she said, opening the door wide, an invitation for him to come in.
He took a few steps into the room then pulled Natasha into a tight hug. For a second she didn’t move, confused by his sudden affection, then wound her arms around him and returned the hug.
“What was that for?” she asked with a soft smile.
“Steve told me what you talked about,” Sam ducked his head for a moment then met her eye line. “And before you get mad, don’t.”
She raised her eyebrows, slightly amused that he thought she’d be angry about that, but didn’t say anything, and Sam continued, “I’m sorry, Nat. I had no idea you were feeling that way.”
“How could you have known? I never said anything,” she said with a shrug and sat down on the edge of the bed.
“Right,” he sighed and leaned back against the small dresser next to the bed, “I just hope you know that I consider you my family, too. You and Steve.”
“I know it,” Natasha smiled and reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze. For all his playfulness and propensity for sarcasm, Sam truly was one of the most loyal, kind-hearted people she’d ever known. “And I’m the one who owes you an apology.”
“For cursing at me in Russian or for the elbow to my ribs, which hurt like hell, by the way?” He deadpanned, rubbing at his right side.
She gave him an apologetic smile, grateful that he wasn’t angry, “Both.”
“Consider yourself forgiven, Romanoff,” Sam said. “I do, however, need you to do something for me.”
Natasha raised an eyebrow, “What’s that, Wilson?”
“Tell Steve how you feel.”
Her mouth dropped open, and her heart dropped into her stomach, “I… What?”
“C’mon, it’s so obvious,” Sam tilted his head and the corner of his mouth turned up. “You’ve been dancing around each other for years.”
“It’s not like that,” and for the second time that night, Natasha’s face burned bright red.
“Natasha.”
“Sam.”
“Look me in the eye and tell me there’s absolutely nothing there. Nothing at all,” He shook his head, laughed and didn’t give her a chance to respond. “Oh, what’s that? You can’t because I’m right, per usual.”
Natasha shot him the most unamused expression she could muster, which only elicited another laugh from the man in front of her. She huffed out a heavy breath, “Fine. Yeah, ok, maybe there is something there. But it doesn’t matter, Sam, because nothing’s ever gonna happen.”
“Why the hell not?” he asked, incredulously. She just looked down at her hands and began picking at her cuticles. “That was an actual question, not a rhetorical one, by the way.”
Natasha sighed again. How was she supposed to answer that? There were a thousand reasons why it would never — could never — happen. For starters, she didn’t even know if Steve felt the same way. Sure, their banter was much more flirtatious than anything she’d ever had with Sam or any other member of the team. And sure, the only way either of them could sleep anymore was curled into one another. But that didn’t mean he was in love with her… Did it?
“Besides the fact that it would complicate everything?” she finally said. “He’s my best friend. I can’t risk that. I won’t risk it.”
“Bullshit.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” Sam said, pinning her with a hard look. “You’re afraid.”
“Of course I’m afraid. I don’t want to lose him,” Natasha said, slightly louder than she’d intended.
“Nah, you’re afraid of what might happen if it actually works out,” he said, his expression much softer now. “And, look, I get it. I do. But I’ve seen you two together. I’ve seen how you look at him and how he looks at you when you don’t think the other is paying attention.”
She swallowed hard and blinked back the tears that burned in her eyes, “I can’t, Sam.”
“Just… think about it,” he pushed off the dresser and dropped a kiss to the top of her head, then headed for the door. Just before leaving the room Sam turned back around, “For what it’s worth, I’ve had some variation of this same conversation with Steve about a half-a-dozen times.”
Natasha didn’t move from her spot at the edge of the bed for some time after Sam had left, replaying what he’d said on a loop in her head.
“I’ve seen how he looks at you.”
“I’ve had the same conversation with Steve.”
“Dancing around each other for years.”
Had it been that obvious? It certainly hadn’t been to her, or maybe it would have been if she’d allowed herself to see it. And if Sam had noticed, the others probably had, too. It took everything in Natasha not to call Clint and ask. Instead she pulled back the covers on the small twin bed and clicked off the light, willing herself to sleep.
Several hours of staring at the ceiling later and no closer to sleep, Natasha’s thoughts drifted back to what her life had been like before SHIELD fell. Before The Avengers. Before Steve Rogers. And she realized she hadn’t been living at all; she’d just been surviving. Even in those first few weeks after New York, she didn’t think things would change, not really. She’d quickly realized how wrong she’d been.
"I've got your next assignment," Fury had said, handing Natasha a tablet.
She took the touchpad from him and tapped on the screen, scrolling for a moment, then looked up at Fury, confused, “Wait, you’re putting Rogers on this?”
“I am,” he said, lacing his fingers together atop his desk.
“Why?” Natasha narrowed her eyes. She knew Nick Fury well enough by now to know he doesn’t do anything without good reason.
His face and voice remained passive, “Because you need a partner, and I already know you and Rogers can work together.”
Natasha’s grip on the tablet tightened. There was absolutely no way this was happening, “I have a partner.”
“And we have no idea how long Agent Barton’s current sabbatical is going to last; so, in the meantime…”
“I’m an agent, Nick, not a babysitter,” she bit back, cutting him off.
“I’m well aware of that, Romanoff,” Fury sighed and stood, leaning forward over the desk. His voice was even, but Natasha could tell she was wearing his patience thin. “And Rogers doesn’t need a babysitter, but he does need field experience, and I think you’re the agent best equipped to help acclimate him to SHIELD.”
“So you’re throwing him to the wolves?” she shouldn’t have been surprised; that was Fury’s M.O., afterall, but it’d only been a few months since Rogers came out of the ice, and Natasha assumed that after New York, he would get a bit of a reprieve.
Fury’s lips pressed into a thin line, “That’s not what’s happening here.”
“The hell it isn’t,” Natasha said, her expression was positively dubious. “Do you really think righteous, by-the-book Steve Rogers is ready for the reality of working for a covert agency like SHIELD?”
“You’ve read his file. You know what he was involved in during the war.”
“It’s not the same, Nick, and you know it,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.
“All right, fine. No, I don’t think he’s ready,” Fury cracked the smallest of grins, and Natasha knew she was fighting a losing battle. “But I do think after a few missions with you, he will be.”
She sighed begrudgingly, then tucked the tablet under her arm and left to find Steve and brief him on the mission.
Natasha’s eyes focused in the dark, locking on a water spot above the bed. She sighed, thinking back on that conversation, the one she’d pushed back on, the one that changed everything. Steve had changed everything, whether she wanted to admit it or not.
She grabbed her phone from the bedside table, glanced at the time and typed out a text.
(02:07)
Are you awake?
(02:09)
I am now. You ok?
(02:09)
I’m fine. Sorry. Go back to sleep.
(02:10)
And you call me a terrible liar.
Natasha groaned and threw an arm over her face. She’d been hoping Steve would come up and slide into bed with her, wrap an arm around her waist and pull her close, the way he did most nights. But he hadn’t tonight, and now she felt ridiculous asking.
(02:13)
How’s that lumpy-ass couch treating ya?
(02:15)
Probably about as well as that lumpy-ass bed is treating you.
Can’t sleep, huh?
(02:17)
Nope.
And when she heard his soft footsteps on the stairs, her heart began to race. He pushed open the door and padded toward the bed, where Natasha had already thrown the covers back, an invitation that he accepted immediately. The bed was small, even for her slight frame, and made even smaller by the addition of Steve, who was anything but. She rolled onto her side to face him, and he draped an arm over her waist and pulled her in.
“Hey,” Steve breathed, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
Natasha’s mouth ticked up, “Hey yourself.”
“I was right,” he said, running his index finger up and down her spine.
She fought the shiver that threatened to break free under Steve’s touch, “You’ll have to be more specific.”
“This bed is terrible.”
Natasha huffed out a laugh, “I’m so sorry it’s not up to your standards, princess. I hear there’s a couch downstairs just begging to be slept on.”
Steve grinned, and even though she couldn’t see it in the dark, Natasha knew there was a playful gleam in his eyes. His hand splayed against her back, pulling her a few inches closer, “No, no. I’m quite comfortable right here.”
“How’s the battle wound?” she asked, her fingers lightly grazing his skin just below the bandage.
“Already healing.”
Natasha rolled her eyes, “Yet another unfair super soldier advantage.”
He laughed again, “I didn’t know you were keeping track.”
“Sam and I have been keeping a tally for a few years now,” she bit her bottom lip, and her breath caught in her throat when Steve’s gaze flickered to her mouth. Natasha turned over in Steve’s arms, and he tugged her flush against his bare chest. Her heart was pounding against her ribcage, and she wondered whether the serum heightened his senses enough for him to feel it, too.
“Steve?”
“Hm?” he murmured into her hair.
She slid her hand over the one around her waist and brought it up to rest against her chest, “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Do you ever…” Natasha paused and tightened her hold on Steve’s hand. “Do you ever wonder what your life would have been like if you hadn’t crashed that plane?”
The question caught Steve by surprise. His life before coming out of the ice wasn’t something he talked about with many people, and though Natasha was one of the few who were privy to all parts of his past, it certainly hadn’t been a topic of conversation recently.
“Well, sure,” he said, finally. “I thought about it a lot those first couple of years. It took a long time to reconcile what I’d lost and what I’d left behind with what was in front of me. But I believe that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
Natasha wondered if he meant in that moment or generally in life and decided that the answer was probably both. She dipped her head and pressed her lips to their still entwined fingers, “So, no regrets? No ‘what ifs’?”
“None whatsoever,” Steve’s voice was steady, and she knew he was being honest. “Have I… given you the impression that I have regrets?”
“No, you haven’t,” she said, sinking even further into him when he began tracing his thumb over the back of her hand.
“Nat, what is it that you really want to ask me?”
Natasha froze, unsure that she could even verbalize the question without sounding like an insecure schoolgirl. She paused just long enough for Steve to untangle himself from her. He propped his elbow on the pillow and tugged on her shirt, “Hey, look at me.”
She rolled over to face him again, mirroring his position. The moon cast enough light into the room that Natasha could see the worry line creased between Steve’s brow. She sighed, knowing she’d just have to come out with it. “Do you regret never getting a shot at a life with Peggy.”
Understanding washed over Steve, and knowing how difficult vulnerability was for Natasha, he gave her a soft smile, “I used to. But not anymore.”
She searched his eyes for any sign of doubt, any sign that he didn’t mean what he was saying, and found none. “What changed?”
He tucked a rogue strand of blond hair behind Natasha’s ear. “I met you,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And when her eyes widened in surprise, Steve’s smile grew tenfold. “Why are you looking at me like that was the last thing you expected to hear?”
“Probably because it was,” Natasha said, slipping her free hand back into his.
He shook his head, then leaned forward and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, “It shouldn’t be.”
She had no idea what to say to that, and Sam’s words from earlier that evening replayed in her head. Maybe he was right. Maybe she needed to tell Steve how she felt. Maybe this was his way of opening the door for her to do just that. Natasha swallowed hard, “So, this thing between us… it’s not just in my imagination?”
Steve smiled that smile that was only for her, “No, Natasha. It’s not in your imagination.”
She was certain that now he could hear her heart thudding in her chest, “Why didn’t you ever say anything?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Probably for the same reason you never did,” he said, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “I was afraid.”
Steve’s admission that he was scared, too, gave Natasha a sense of relief that she hadn’t felt in a long time, and with it her usual level of confidence returned. “Can I try something?” she asked, biting her lip again, and when Steve’s eyes slid to her mouth and lingered there, she knew she had her answer.
She reached a hand into the hair at the nape of his neck and, before she could change her mind, pressed her lips to his. The kiss was soft, tentative and full of years of built up feelings and unspoken words. Steve wrapped his arm around Natasha’s waist, pulling her flush against him, and rolled her onto her back. She tightened her fingers in his hair, then dragged her nails lightly down his bearded face, swallowing the quiet groan that escaped from the back of his throat.
Out of breath and not wanting the moment to escalate too quickly, Natasha pulled back slightly and closed her eyes. His forehead dropped to hers, and she let her hands explore his exposed torso, first sliding up his arms then back into his hair and finally down over his chest. His muscles flexed under her touch, and she grinned as a shiver worked its way through him.
Steve dropped another soft kiss to her lips then rolled back onto his side, gathering Natasha in his arms and holding her close. “That was…”
“Yeah…” she breathed, finally finding her voice. She could feel his heart pounding wildly under her palm, and when she looked up at him, all the doubt was gone. Her hand found its way back to his face, and she brushed back hair that had fallen across his forehead. “I don’t really know how to do this.”
Steve caught her hand in his and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm, “Neither do I. But I think that’s ok.”
And as he said it, Natasha knew it was true. They would navigate this the way they did everything else, the way they had for years.
Together.