Work Text:
He watched the cigarette between his fingers, the crackling of the burning paper loud in the quiet of the room. It had been a bad habit he’d picked up from the war, taking an occasional smoke with Bucky when the adrenaline in his veins was running too high before a mission. That was all after the serum, of course; pre-serum Steve Rogers could barely breathe as it was, let alone try to kill himself sooner with every drag of a cigarette. He knew men who smoked like chimneys, trading rations in favour of their favourite smokes. He’d never been one of them, but found himself drawn back into it lately; wondering if there was any semblance of hope in trying to save a world that Thanos had thrown to shit.
Steve heard her before he’d even turned to see Natasha coming into the room. After everything, they’d made their way back to the Avengers base in upstate New York, both feeling far more empty than before as reality began to sink in. He'd watched helplessly as his friends disappeared, disintegrated, right before his very eyes. Bucky, Sam, Vision; they were all gone and he hadn’t been able to do a single thing about it. He’d been sitting in his office for some time now, long enough that the sun had started to set outside the large glass windows; painting the room in shades of brilliant orange and golden yellows. Natasha leaned against the desk, crossing her arms as they shared the quiet of the moment. They’d always been this way, communicating without words; some things were best left unsaid after all. After years of being partners, he had to admit, there wasn’t anything that he could think of without her picking up on it. She knew when he needed someone to listen and when he simply needed the silence. He’d learnt to do the same and somehow, between all the shared laughter and pain, their friendship had turned into something more. Even so, neither of them had put a clear label on the matter.
They weren’t dating (he hadn’t asked) but they weren’t seeing other people (not that there had been anyone else) but they’d spoken about it before; a genuine, honest talk between two people who cared about each other.
Both had agreed that it simply wasn’t the right time. Steve had learnt the hard way the first time around about waiting too long, but with Ultron, her and Dr Banner, the Avengers having broken up along with Thanos desecrating half the universe, there wasn’t room for anything more.
There wasn’t room for labels.
It wasn’t until the colours of the sunset faded and the room was practically enveloped in darkness did he hear her voice. “I didn’t know you’d gotten back into that,” she said, her gaze turning towards the ashtray that sat often untouched in his drawer. He shook his head as he lit his second, the first one having burnt to a stub long ago, “I just felt like I needed it today.”
“I’m surprised you still keep a pack on you.”
“Imagine if the press found out. It’d be all over the headlines. Captain America taking a drag,” he mused and she ran her hand comfortingly over his shoulder, “You’re more than the mantel you carry, Steve. We all are.”
The single, soft glow of the burning cigarette in a room shrouded with darkness was barely noticeable, but he noticed it all the same. She was right, but would there ever be a time when either one of them would simply be known as Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff? When they weren’t expected to fight a war for everyone else? It had been one thing after the other, it had been that way since he’d been out of the ice, and he knew he was being selfish. It was ironic, he was supposed to embody a superhero who was nothing but selfless. He had spent a lifetime fighting someone else’s battles, he didn’t know anything else.
God’s righteous man, pretending you could live without a war.
He held up the cigarette, “There was this old bench, back in the army camp, where Bucky and I’d sit when we needed this.”
She hummed her response as she straddled his lap and he put one hand on her waist, running his thumb gently against her clothed skin. She had always been stunning, and she was still as beautiful with her blonde hair. “Old habits die hard,” she murmured as she pulled the cigarette from him, taking a long drag. He shut his eyes as she leaned forward to kiss him, trapping the smoke between their mouths as he licked the seam of her lips. She reminded him of heaven and tasted of sin, a walking paradox. She curled her fingers around his neck and pulled him closer as his own fingers tightened around her waist and when she pulled away, he exhaled; the smoke disappearing between them. She smirked and he swore that he could still taste the alcohol on her lips as she put out the cigarette in the ashtray.
“I didn’t know you smoked,” he murmured against the column of her throat and he could hear her scoffing, “You do what you need to when you want to survive.”
Steve believed that she knew that better than anyone else; they all had blood on their hands. Even so, he’d enlisted in the army through his own will; she didn’t have a choice with the Red Room. “Doesn’t taste as good as I remember,” she said as he picked her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist and her hands were everywhere but nowhere at the same time, nowhere that mattered. The taste of cigarettes left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth, bringing up feelings and memories past. He kissed her until his lungs ached and until could think of nothing else, "I'm craving for something else."
Perhaps all they would ever be was Avengers, but none of that was of significance when it was just them. For now, he was nothing more than a boy from Brooklyn, learning to break away from his past.