Chapter Text
Nat’s taken on a lot of roles over the years. Student. Spy. Agent. Soldier. Teammate. Friend. Still, she never expected to find herself the unofficial team manager for Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.
It’s Peter who patents the sobriquet, but it’s Tony who has the nameplate—and matching business cards—made up. It hangs on the door of her office on the 56th floor of Avengers Tower:
Natasha Romanoff (Nat)
Business hours: Tuesday and Thursday 2 – 4, or when needed. You bastards have my number.
Professional Problem Solver
“It’s catchy,” Peter tells her when she sets a business card—and a steaming mug of hot chocolate—in front of him.
The clock on the stove reads 5 AM, and the room glows with light from the rising sun. The air smells like vanilla creamer and burned skittles. Peter’s making pancakes.
“It’s misleading.” Nat watches him sprinkle candy over the bubbling batter. “I just do what needs to be done.”
“Exactly,” Peter says. “You are a professional problem solver. Exhibit A: you solved my bedhead problem.”
Privately, Nat thinks the only thing that could “solve” his “bedhead” problem is an electric razor; the kid is in desperate need of a haircut. When he stumbled into the kitchen three hours ago, she couldn’t even see his eyes through the mess of brown ringlets. Half-jokingly, she offered him one of her thigh holsters to use as a headband. Somehow, it manages to be the least ridiculous part of Peter’s outfit; he’s wearing Hello Kitty sweatpants, no shirt, and an unzipped, too-small leather jacket that’s definitely MJ’s.
Eh. He’s seventeen. Why not let him experiment with fashion? Besides, Nat managed to snap a picture of the ensemble. She’s pretty sure she can start a bidding war between Tony and Sam for a printed photograph.
“Here’s the thing,” Peter adjusts his thigh-holster headband. “You’re cool, Nat.”
“So are you, Peter.” She manages to say it with a straight face.
“I mean you’re really cool.” Peter flips a pancake. “Someday my grandkids are going to ask me, ‘Beloved grandfather, guardian of the world and Spiderman supreme, when you’re no longer here to be our lord and savior—'”
“Did you just say lord and savior?”
He waves a flippant hand.
“—who should we call to protect us?’” he finishes. “And I’ll say, ‘Well, kids. Captain America died years ago, and Mr. Stark’s immortalized AI consciousness is busy curing cancer. But Nat…Nat’s still sitting at the kitchen table in Avengers Tower, in exactly the same place she’s been for the last one-hundred years. Find her, drink her hot chocolate, and let her fix your life with her impeccably-manicured hands.”
“Wow,” Nat says. “Thanks.”
“Sure,” he says. “I mean it.”
“So you’re one-hundred and seventeen in this scenario?” Nat says. “And I’m…very, very old?”
“That’s about the long and short of it.”
“But I’m still alive,” she says. “And ready to kick ass.”
“Yup,” Peter says. “Death is too much of a pansy-ass bitch to come for you. Here. Have a pancake.”
She takes a bite. It’s disgusting. It tastes like a solid chunk of sugar.
She eats it anyway.
###
The nameplate on her office door is supposed to be a joke, but for some unfathomable reason, everyone starts taking it seriously.
Nat wakes up one morning to find Clint standing over her, his eyes wild. He’s wearing what appears to be a sexy maid costume. His fist is clenched around a broken, bloody pool stick.
“I need help,” he says. “I did something bad.”
“What the hell, Barton?” Nat glances at the clock. “It’s four AM.”
“Sorry.” He sounds it, too. “Were you sleeping?”
“Yeah. I was. Come back during business hours.”
“Taaaaasha.” He stretches out the word like he’s a fucking child. “I may or may not be in trouble with the law, and I need an alibi. Really, really badly.”
“What did you do?”
Scratch that. Nat really, really doesn’t want to know. Sighing, she scrubs a hand over her face and rolls out of bed, readying herself for a long, hard day.
He gives her his most charming smile. She tugs a jacket over her tank top.
“You’re the best,” he says.
Nat wants to brush it off, but…
“I am, aren’t I?” she says, and—against her better judgement—she feels her lips quirk.
###
It’s not just Clint. Suddenly, the 56th floor of Avengers Tower becomes the powerhouse of the metaphorical cell.
Tony brings her lunch every weekday, and they chat about ways to better the company. Nat lets him bounce ideas off her. In return, he gives her a framed picture of Peter smothering a minor electrical fire with a throw pillow. Nat keeps it on her desk, front and center.
Pepper and Morgan stop by so often that Nat starts keeping coloring books in her gun safe.
Nat helps Thor find a part-time retail job for Loki to work off his probation, and when Loki gets fired for forcing a customer to memorize the no-returns policy at knife-point, she lets Thor pace, rant, and—eventually—fall, panting, into her Problem Person chair.
“He’s the worst brother,” Thor mutters into his hands. “I hate him.”
“No, you don’t,” Nat says. “You love him, and you’re going to help him find a new job.”
“Yes,” Thor says, a bit miserably. “I love him, and I’m going to help him find a new job. You’re right. You’re always right. Thank you, my friend.”
The next time she holds business hours—the following Thursday at 2 PM—she enters her office to find none other than Nick Fury slouched in the Problem Person Chair.
“Oh, no.” Her voice is flat.
“Oh, yes,” Fury says. “It’s time you and I had a conversation. You might want to be sitting down for this.”
“Lay it on me.” Nat sits on her desk and folds her arms over her chest.
“We have a problem,” Fury says.
Nat frowns.
“If you’re talking about the fact that Clint’s the new face of Scientology, that was my solution to last week’s problem.”
Fury scowls and brushes by that, which Nat thinks is a tad unfair. She’s pretty proud of how she’s been handling Clint’s public image.
“How’s Cap?” Fury asks.
That takes her by surprise.
“Fine, I think,” she says. “He’s around. We don’t talk much.”
“Well, you might want to change that,” Fury says. “Because this problem I’ve got…well. I need the two of you to handle it.”
###
Nat finds Steve in the training room, going to town on a heavy bag.
She looks around the room as she enters. No matter how many hours she spends in here—and that number is shockingly high—she’ll never get used to Tony’s eccentric decorations. Every inch of the floor is covered in red, squishy mats. The ropes around the boxing ring are lavish, artfully interwoven like a spider’s web. There’s a painting on the wall that probably cost more than a sports car. It’s of a scenic beach scene, with a rotting whale corpse festering by the ocean. The background depicts the skyline of Atlantic City. It’s nice. Tasteful, even.
The intense thwackthwackthwack of Steve’s fists against the bag seems to be increasing in volume.
“Hey, Rogers,” she says.
She faces him. He hasn’t slowed his pace. Sweat drips down his cheekbones. His blue eyes are vacant, and his expression is blank.
Nat expects him to say something, but he stays quiet. It’s strange, watching him beat the everloving fuck out of that poor bag. His unwrapped fists dent the tough leather. Steve’s been alive and fighting for almost a century, but he looks out of place in this room. Hunched over, knuckles bloody, eyes cloudy, striking features drenched in sweat…
Nat’s never seen him look so broken.
No, not broken.
Cracked.
“You good, Cap?” she asks.
At long last, the punches stop.
“I’m fine.” He offers her a pleasant smile. “What’s up, Nat?”
“Take a break,” she says. “We need to talk.”
He takes a long sip of water, then sits against the wall. His eyes are wide and droopy, twinged red from another sleepless night. Still, the smile he gives her seems genuine.
Of course it does.
“I thought you might meet me here,” he says once he’s caught his breath. “The party is tonight, right?”
Oh. Right. After Fury’s impromptu visit, Nat managed to forget about that. Steve’s right, though—it’s the one-year anniversary of The Blip, and Tony’s throwing a catered soiree for the team.
Nat nods, then drops her gaze to her hands. She begins to wrap her knuckles. Carefully. Steadily. She knows he’s looking at her, and there’s no need to meet his stare. Not yet.
“I’m not going.” His voice is light. “I’d just drag the mood down. Let the team celebrate—you guys deserve it. I can’t believe it’s been a year.”
“You’re our leader,” Nat says. “People expect you to be there.”
“Tony’s our leader.” Steve laughs. “Me? I’m just a soldier.”
The unspoken statement lies between them like a cocked gun. If The Blip was one year ago today, then that makes tomorrow the anniversary of Steve returning the stones.
Truth be told, Nat didn’t expect him to come back. No one did. Tony told them all about the look on Steve’s face when they were stuck in 1946. Everyone’s heard the way Steve talks about Peggy. It was an implicit, open secret—Steve wasn’t just returning the stones. He was returning to the past for good, and he’d catch up with them as an old man.
That was the plan, anyway.
Instead, he emerged from the machine fifteen seconds after his departure with a blank expression on his face. A ring hung around his neck on a silver chain. No one knows what happened; Nat’s half convinced that Steve himself doesn’t know.
“Like it or not, the team looks up to you,” Nat reaches into her bag and pulls out a file. She waves it in his face like a loaded gun. “Want to know what this is?”
“…more complaints?”
“More complaints.” She tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Let’s read through a few of them, shall we?”
Steve sighs. He interlaces his fingers on the back of his head and stares at her.
“All right,” he says. “Let’s have it.”
It’s a bit of a new thing, the whole ‘Let’s Complain to Natasha’ movement. Nat doesn’t mind; she likes hearing about her teammate’s woes. She’s been the unofficial Professional Problem Solver for almost two months, and truth be told, she loves every minute of it. She never expected to find herself the Avengers HR rep. Maybe it was an inevitability.
“This one’s from Clint,” Nat says. “‘When Steve does the grocery shopping, he insists on buying ‘healthy’ crap. It’s disgusting, and it needs to stop.”
“I bought one block of fat free mozzarella cheese,” Steve says. “One block! It had fifteen grams of protein per serving. If Clint doesn’t like it, he’s welcome to do his own shopping.”
“Are you insulting my chore wheel?” Nat narrows her eyes.
“I wouldn’t dare,” Steve says quickly. “I mean…I’m not going to lie, Nat. I think this whole set-up is strange. Especially since Tony’s staff is supposed to handle everything—"
“Chore wheels foster feelings of unity and comradery among housemates,” Nat says. “When you were in the army, did they hire people to vacuum the barracks?”
He stares at her.
“No,” she says. “I didn’t think so.”
“That’s fair,” he says. “But—”
“Oh. Here’s one from Peter.”
Nat pulls another piece of paper out of Steve’s Complaint File.
Steve looks more than a little hurt. “Peter complained about me?”
“Yup,” Nat says. “Here’s a direct quote: ‘My life was falling apart around me, and in the depths of my angst, I sought comfort from my childhood hero, Captain America. He proceeded to thumb his nose at my misfortune, and then had the audacity to tell me to ‘buck up—’”
“He dropped his pop tart!” Steve says. “I didn’t know it was a big deal.”
“Here’s the thing, Steve.” Nat sets down the file. “These complaints are stupid. My entire job is stupid. But I’m still here. Do you know why that is?”
“I…” Steve shakes his head. “Not really.”
“When I was a spy, I loved everything most people hated about being undercover,” Nat says. “The lies, the masks, the crime, the murder—”
“Did you just say murder?”
“But I hated the loneliness,” Nat says. “It killed me, Rogers. It ate me up inside. I always felt like I could curl up in a ball and die, and no one would mourn me. No one would throw me a funeral. No one would even know I was gone, except for my supervisors. And make no mistake—they wouldn’t have missed me. They would’ve missed my skillset, sure, but they wouldn’t have missed me.”
Steve stares at her. She expects him to start blubbering; it’s Rogers, after all. Instead, he just looks helpless.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.
“I didn’t used to have a family,” she says. “Now I have two.”
“Hang on.” Steve pauses. “You have a second family?”
“Sure,” she says. “I’m having some issues with my parents right now, but my sister’s cool. She gave me this vest.”
Nat flips the collar of Yelena’s jacket. Steve’s eyebrows shoot up.
“I hooked up with them after the Civil War,” she says. “It’s okay that you don’t know. Don’t feel bad.”
“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I guess we haven’t caught up in a while.”
“That’s okay,” Nat says. “We’ll go to couples counseling.”
“Very funny.”
“I’m not joking,” she says. “Fury thinks a Hydra cell has seized upper Manhattan. Their front is a therapy clinic. We’re going undercover.”
“We’re two of the most famous people in the world.” Steve’s voice is almost frantic. “We can’t pull off an undercover assignment.”
“We most certainly can,” Nat says. “We’ve been dating for two years. It’s a secret, of course—we don’t want the paparazzi to harass us about it. Nevertheless, we love each other deeply. We’re committed to this relationship. That being said, there’ve been some problems.”
Steve stares at her.
“Bedroom problems,” she clarifies helpfully.
Steve’s mouth opens. His lips move. No sound comes out.
She grins at him.
“I’ll be honest, baby,” Nat says. “I hate the fact that you buy fat free cheese. We need to work through this. Otherwise, I’m not sure our relationship will survive.”
“Hold on a second.” Steve’s blushing; he’s—he’s actually blushing. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“You want to take down Hydra, don’t you?” Nat asks.
He blanches.
“Of course,” he says. “More than anything.”
“Then you’re in love with me,” Nat says. “Practice pinching the bridge of your nose. That’s how men convey their inner dilemmas.”
###
Steve does come to the party, albeit reluctantly; Nat practically has to drag him out of his room. She’s glad he’s here. Tony’s whole squad has made guest-star appearances—Pepper, Morgan, May, Happy, Rhodey…even Fury showed up for a nightcap. T’Challa, Nakia, Okoye, and Shuri stop by, but Shuri aside, they leave early. Nat has no doubt they have better places to be.
Team Cap is front-and-center as well. Sam and Bucky gamble with bullets and a deck of dirty cards by the bar. Scott, his daughter, his ex-wife, her husband, Hank, and Hope stand in a circle by the magnificent windows, exchanging awkward pleasantries. Wanda and Vision also left early; Nat doesn’t want to think about what they’re doing. Clint and Bruce have drunk themselves into comas, and they loll by the windows with matching, blissful grins.
Thor’s nowhere to be seen, but Loki’s chatting with Peter on one of the couches.
That’s not good.
Nat leaves Steve by the icebox and beelines in their direction. Peter beams at her as she approaches, and pats the couch on his left side.
“Nat!” he says excitedly. “Mr. Loki was just giving me tips about courting maidens and princes. You want to join us?”
“Mr. Loki is not a role model,” Nat says emphatically. “Ask MJ. He endorses genocide, Peter.”
Loki clicks his tongue.
“I resent your implication, Miss Romanoff,” he says. “I am an honorable man. Honorable men do not support the deliberate killing of a sizeable number of individuals, with the end goal of eliminating said individuals from existence. That would be distasteful.”
Nat gives him her best death stare.
“As I was saying, young spider.” Loki turns his attention back to Peter. “If the schoolgirl you’re courting—”
“MJ,” Peter says helpfully.
“I won’t remember that,” Loki says. “If said damsel refuses your advances, find another partner to subsidize your needs. A horse, perhaps—I’ve found them to be very amenable lovers. I’ve sired progeny with a particularly agreeable mare—”
“We’re done here,” Nat says.
She grabs Peter by the neckline of his nerdy-pun tee-shirt and drags him back toward Tony and May. Scowling, she dumps him in front of the pair, taking care to be gentle when she releases him—he’s Peter, after all.
“Loki’s educating Peter in the ways of bestiality.” Her voice is flippant. “Keep a closer eye on him.”
“Nat!” Peter’s voice is almost a whine. “I know bestiality is illegal in our culture. I was just letting Mr. Loki blow off some steam. He doesn’t have many friends! You should be nicer to him.
“In our culture—” May begins, swelling like a cat.
Nat leaves Peter with his guardians. She’s very, very confident that they won’t let him wonder off again.
Steve’s sitting on an armchair by the roaring fireplace, looking awkward and out of place. Nat sits beside him. She nudges him with her shoulder, and he nudges her back. His expression is blank before she sits down, but once he sees her, he favors her with a small smile.
“How’s your night going?” he asks.
“Loki’s hooking Peter on paraphilic behaviors,” she says flatly. “Both of my exes are blackout drunk. Tony appears to have given his prepubescent child an Iron Man gauntlet, and Pepper, Rhodey, and Happy seem on board with that. Also, the man who used to be my best friend is stuck in a dissociative episode.”
Steve raises an eyebrow.
“You shouldn’t throw words like that around,” he says. “You’re not a therapist. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I completely agree,” Nat says. “That’s why we’re going to couples counseling.”
Steve shakes his head and turns away. He stares at the fireplace, unblinking, his hands clenched into fists on his lap.
“Pulling me back into the field may not be in my best interest,” he says flatly. “I don’t know if I’m ready, Nat.”
Something flutters in her chest, in a dark, long-forgotten place that may once have been where she kept her heart.
Nat scoots closer to him.
“If I thought for a second that bringing you back into the field would damage you,” she says, “I wouldn’t do it. I’d tell Fury to fuck off. I’d drive you to rehab, a full-supervision facility…whatever it took.”
Steve stares straight ahead.
“I’m going to help you, Rogers,” Nat says. “You’re coming back from this. That’s not a warning. That’s a guarantee.”
“Some problems can’t be fixed.” Steve’s voice is quiet. “I learned that the hard way.”
Nat takes his hand.
She takes his hand, like he’s a goddamn child in need of saving and she’s Mother Theresa.
“I’ve got your back, Rogers,” she says. “This is going to help you. We’re a team, right?”
“You have another family,” he says. “Why are you so focused on this one?”
“Leave no man behind,” Nat says.
For the first time in her life, she means it.
Steve meets her eyes. His eyes are blue, sad, and so damn shattered.
“You really think we can pull this off?” he asks.
“Not for us,” she says. “For our kids.”
She jerks her head toward Peter. Tony. May. Pepper. Rhodey. Fury. Bucky. Sam. Every last one of them. Because dammit, she and Steve have always been the rocks. Something happened to him back in 1946, and now it’s just her.
Nat’s not sure she can do this alone.
She will if she has to. But she doesn’t think she does.
“Fury’s certain this psychiatric center’s a front?” Steve asks.
“Yeah,” Nat says.
“And he’s sure they’ll let us in?” Steve pauses. “We’re Avengers. They’ll see us coming a mile away.”
“They’ll want to see us,” Nat says. “Fury’s an expert at establishing backstories. He’s got us covered. They’ll want to take advantage of us.”
“We won’t let them.”
“No,” Nat agrees. “We won’t.”
Steve nudges her again. She nudges him back.
“Until the end of the line.” He pauses. “I used to say that to Bucky.”
He casts a glance in Barn’s direction. The ex-spy leans closer to Sam. He throws a handful of bullet casings in Sam’s face. Sam snarls at him. Shuri and Peter laugh, and suddenly everyone is laughing, but Nat can’t focus on them. All her attention is fixed on Steve.
“We should have our own thing,” she says. “How about…Until Hydra is obliterated.”
Steve smiles. It’s a genuine, full smile that shows off all his teeth. His blue eyes squint. He ducks his head.
Nat hasn’t seen him do that in a while.
“Okay,” he says. “Until Hydra is obliterated.”
“We’re not doing it for us,” she says. “We’re doing it for New York.”
“We’re doing it for us, too.” Steve’s lips twitch. “We are in a committed relationship, after all.”