Chapter Text
All Natasha has to do is wait. To the untrained eye, or even most competent government agents, she would still be nonexistent, nothing but a ghost of SHIELD and a memory of old tragedy. But not for him. Not now. She knew every trick in the book when it came to going years at a time without being discovered and for several months that's exactly what she had done. After T'Challa reported her to Ross and Tony refused to budge, she didn't have another option. It was a tedious process this time, now that all her old covers were blown in the aftermath of thwarting HYDRA once and for all. She had to change everything she had left, right down to the color of her hair, and constantly move from country to country with a long string of fake passports and new identities. After so much time with Clint and then the Avengers and then Steve, Natasha had almost forgotten just how lonely this life was. Almost. But now it was time for her to finally surface just enough to get his attention. She was ready. All it took was one seemingly "sloppy" glance at a news camera in Rome. So she sits in her hotel room, working on her laptop, and waits.
After 36 hours exactly, Natasha hears a soft knock on the door of her hotel room and smirks. It had taken him a little longer than she expected, and of course he had to be the gentleman. If the tables were turned, she would have simply materialized in his bedroom to stay unseen and keep the risk of attention to an absolutely minimum. But of course he would take that risk to make her feel more comfortable, to let her know that he's coming, to not spook her. Because that's just the way that Captain America operates.
"You took your sweet time," she says bluntly as she opens the door, not even needing to look through the peephole first.
"Even when you make it easy for us, you're still a hard woman to find," Steve answers with equal terseness.
Natasha swallows hard as she takes a moment to really look him up and down. Even through his usual disguise of street clothes and a baseball cap, she could see just how much of a toll the past year had taken. His shoulders, still broad and muscular as ever, sagged with a weight that even he had never carried before. Where once he was militantly clean cut and shaven was now hidden behind an unoiled beard and hair long enough to knot, which did nothing but highlight the weariness pulling down the darkened skin under his eyes. The dimensions of his body had changed very little, and yet somehow he seemed leaner and gaunter than before; the figure of a man who no longer trained in a state of the arts gym but labored in a troubled world. But despite all the changes to his body, Natasha knows in her heart that this is still the Steve Rogers she trusts with her life. All the suffering in the world was not capable of breaking his spirit. She sees it in his weary eyes. She takes a step to the side and gestures for him to join her inside. A piece of her wants nothing more than to jump into his arms and bury her face in his chest, to confess how much she's missed him and how much time she spent thinking about him. But this was not the time. Not when their last exchange was in a German airport at the height of their treason.
"Where's Sam and Wanda?" she asks, taking a seat on the rickety bed while Steve leans on the small coffee table posing as a desk.
"Wakanda, for now," he replies. "We'll be meeting up with them in Paris in a few days to chase a lead on some arms dealers who stole Chitauri weaponry from a research lab in New York."
Natasha cocks an eyebrow.
"We?"
Even though they are only a few feet apart, the distance between them suddenly feels horribly far, as if they're on separate ends of the world and she can barely hear him shout. She knew when she exposed herself that this is what he would ask, but something about it still sits strangely in her chest. She desperately wants to join the new team, to run away and finally be a family again working against the forces of evil instead of lurking in the shadows and simply surviving. But deep down, she knows she does not deserve it. She should have stood with him since day one. She should have never signed that damn paper. She should have fought by his side and kept her friends from being sent to the Raft. She should have told him how she felt before he got on that plane. She should tell him how she feels now. But she doesn't. She can't. Instead she keeps the stone-faced visage.
"The team needs you, Nat," Steve says with a bit of heart finally seeping into his voice. "You stood up to T'Challa and Tony and Ross and everyone else when it counted most. You belong with us."
Natasha forces a smug smirk, even though all she wants to do is cry.
"I don't belong anywhere, Rogers. Not anymore."
Steve pushes himself upright and Natasha stands to mirror him. In only a few short steps he is so close to her that she can feel his body heat radiating from under his flannel, but not enough to touch. Despite the near foot of height difference between them, he looks directly into her eyes, almost down to her soul. She silently thanks God that she hasn't lost her ability to hold a poker face no polygraph can prove wrong, though it nearly falters when he gently puts a hand on her shoulder. His gaze is strong and unwavering, but also warm. At the end of the day and above all things, they were -are- friends. She's missed him and she can finally see that he misses her too.
"You belong with me," he insists. "We've been through Hell and I know I can keep going, but only if we have you."
He pauses briefly.
"If I have you."
It's suddenly all too much. The pain of watching him and Bucky fly away without her. The guilt of seeing Clint, Wanda, Sam, and Scott locked up for fighting for a worthy cause. The betrayal of Tony leaving her out to dry. And the hard, cold, aching loneliness of the past 12 months. Natasha can't take it anymore and throws her arms around Steve's neck, embracing him tighter than she ever has before, and lets out a deep sigh of relief when she immediately feels him reach for her waist and pull her even closer. She takes in a long, slow breath, savoring the smell of him that she has gone far too long without.
"You have me," she whispers against the skin just above the collar of his shirt. "Always, Steve."
She nearly melts at the feel of him running his fingers through her hair, tenderly and longingly as if needing to relearn the feel of it, and looks up to see a faint smile drifting across his lips. God, she missed that grin so damn much.
"So are you gonna run away with me, Romanoff?" he asks and brushes the softest ghost of a kiss across the top of her forehead.
Natasha finally smiles back.
"Yeah, Steve. I'm going to run away with you."