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Of all the aggravations of his new life in the modern world, there was nothing worse for Steve than being woken out of the first peaceful nap he’d had in a year by a sharp poke to the ribs. One second he was lost in a time where he and Bucky were up on the rooftop of a Brooklyn apartment, and the next second he was staring into piercing green eyes and trying to get his brain to catch up to his eyes.
“Move over,” Natasha commanded, illustrated by another bruising poke to his ribs. “You’re hogging all the sheets.”
He stared at her, trying to blink the blur from his vision and the fog from his brain. “This is my bed,” he said.
Natasha did not look at all concerned by that. Instead she nudged him in the shin with her ice-cold toes.
“Rogers,” she almost whined. “I’m freezing.”
He was still staring at her. “How did you get in here anyway? Is Sam home?” The last he had known, before he had gone to take a relaxing, uninterrupted afternoon nap, Sam had been heading out to the V.A. with plans to be there for at least until early evening.
Natasha wrinkled her nose like that was an incredibly silly question. “No,” she said.
“Do you have a key?” Steve knew Sam liked her, but he hadn’t known he had offered her a key to come and go from his — now, their — place anytime she wanted.
Natasha’s nose wrinkled more. “Who needs a key?” she said, and then shrugged at the look Steve gave her. “Are you going to move over, or do I need to poke you again?”
Steve sighed, quickly deciding he would rather be sleeping than fighting with an insufferable superspy. “Fine,” he told her. “But don’t drool on my sheets.”
•••
Well, she hadn’t drooled on his sheets, Steve noticed when his eyes fluttered open a couple hours later, with a growing realization that there was a very wet spot on his chest. He glanced down to see a red head of hair lying on top of him.
“Nata ….” he started, but then quickly closed his mouth. His eyes had landed on her hand, her fingers curled tightly around his shirt, gripping it as though it was the one thing keeping her in place.
Steve tilted his head back. He really did need to get up and use the bathroom, but he knew from experience if he even moved an inch, she’d be awake. When they had been on missions together, he had never seen someone go from seemingly dead asleep to crouched on the ground with two guns cocked and at the ready faster than her. He always almost wanted to praise her for it, except from the little he knew about her past, he had a feeling it wasn’t a skill she had learned willingly.
He lifted his head off the pillow one more time to stare down at her. He mostly could just see the top of her head, but if he twisted his head a certain way, he could see part of her face. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing deeply, her mouth slightly open. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her look so at peace as she did right then.
He lay his head back on the pillow again. Well, he thought, he didn’t have to go that badly.
•••
The next time Steve awoke it was to the disconcerting feeling of someone watching him. He peeked out of one eye to see Natasha lying next to him, her head propped up on her palm. When she noticed him awake, her face practically lit up.
“I have the perfect woman for you!” she told him.
The last remnants of sleep faded away as he blinked at her. “What? I thought …”
“It’s been six months since SHIELD fell. It’s past time you get a little action, Rogers.”
“Natasha …”
“Don’t worry,” she said, waving her hand in the air like he’d told her there wasn’t enough sugar in his coffee and not that he was about to tell her he really, really wasn’t interested in dating someone. “Her name is Nancy, and she’s an architect. You’ll like her. She’s nice. And normal. And lives down the street.”
“I’m not dating an architect.”
“What’s wrong with architects?”
“I’m not dating anyone.” Steve sat up and swung his legs out of bed, getting up and heading to the bathroom. Behind him, he could hear Natasha protesting — “Really, Rogers, you should at least meet her!” — but he ignored her as he let the door click firmly behind him.
•••
The next time Steve saw Natasha — she had disappeared by the time he got out of the bathroom — was three days later. Sam was once again out for a few hours. Steve had gotten up and gone to the kitchen to make a bowl of popcorn. He came back into the living room to find a familiar redhead stretched out on the couch like she had been there all along. She had her head on the end cushion and a blanket over her legs. She smiled up at him when we walked in.
“Seriously,” he said to her. “How do you keep getting in?”
“Do you want me to leave?”
“Would you leave if I wanted you to leave?”
Natasha shrugged a shoulder, and Steve almost laughed. “I thought so,” he said. He reached the couch and leaned down to swat at her legs. “Scoot over,” he told her.
Natasha pulled her legs under her and sat up so he could sit down beside her. Immediately, she reached for the popcorn bowl and pulled it on to her lap. She gestured to the TV. “What are we watching?”
He had been intending to use the time alone to secretly watch one of the many documentaries Hollywood had put together on the life and times of Captain America, since Sam had told him about most of the ones that had come out during the years he was frozen, but there was no way he was going to tell that to Natasha. He knew she’d watch them with him and critique every single part of them — and maybe him while she was at it.
“You pick,” he told her instead, and he swore her face lit up. She practically beamed at him, and he instantly regretted ever letting go of the remote.
“’Mean Girls’ it is!” she said, and he shook his head, wondering how one person could keep him guessing so much of the time.
•••
After a while, Steve stopped being surprised by leaving a room and returning to find Natasha in it. She appeared in the kitchen, eating the last of the Cheerios straight from the box, or next to him in bed in the middle of the night. Once he walked into the bathroom to find her at his sink brushing her teeth in her pajamas. He opened his mouth one morning when he walked out of the bedroom to find her on the couch watching cartoons to ask her if she was ever at her own home anymore, but then he realized he had no idea where Natasha actually lived — he’d always assumed she had an apartment or something somewhere, but she never talked about it and he’d never asked her and it felt odd to do so then, so he just went into the kitchen, made a cup of coffee for each of them and sat down next to her.
Of course, the one thing he did wish would change was her fascination with his lack of love life. Every time he saw her, she had someone else in mind for him.
“Natalie — she lives in the apartments across the street — is a barista,” she told him as she sipped the coffee. “She’s a little young, but very idealistic.” She nudged him. “Like you.”
“I’m not dating a barista.”
Natasha sighed, loudly. “You’re not dating anyone,” she said.
“Exactly.”
Natasha put her coffee down and turned to him. There was a gleam in her eye he did not like.
“What?” he asked her warily.
“How about you tell me what you’re looking for, and that will help me narrow it down better?”
“I’m not looking for anyone.”
Natasha ignored that and raised her hand, listing traits off on her fingers as she began to speak. “I know you like confident women. Ambitious. Determined. Able to take care of themselves. Sultry brunettes. Funny? I think you like funny.”
“Natasha,” Steve sighed. “Stop.”
“Oh, come on,” she said. “There are so many great options out there, and they all live so close.”
He frowned at her. “Have you vetted all my neighbors for a date with me?”
Now it was Natasha’s turn to frown. “No,” she said. And then she smirked. “I vetted all the women in a three-mile radius.”
He wanted to believe she was kidding, but he had a horrible feeling she wasn’t.
“Don’t you have anything better to do?” he asked her, and he tried to keep the frustration he was feeling out of his voice.
“No,” she said. “I’m bored.”
“I thought you were supposed to be out finding yourself or something.”
She grinned. “This is much more fun.”
“Not for me.”
“It could be fun for you,” Natasha said.
“Maybe you could let me meet women on my own the old-fashioned way,” Steve suggested.
Natasha snorted at that. “Oh, Rogers,” she said, and she kicked him lightly with her foot. “I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting into.”
“Like the way you vetted all those SHIELD employees who turned out to be Hydra?” The words were out of his mouth before he could really think them through. For a second, Natasha froze, the smirk fading from her face, and he saw — so quickly he wondered later if he’d imagined it — a flash of something else.
In an instant she was on her feet, pulling her boots on.
“I gotta go,” she said hurriedly.
“Natasha, wait!” Steve jumped to his own feet, but it was too late. She was already out the door and gone.
•••
“You’re an idiot,” Sam said that night over dinner.
Steve ran a hand through his hair and then pinched the bridge of his nose, trying unsuccessfully to hold off the impending pain in his head. He had been going over and over his conversation with Natasha all day, and every time he did, he felt even worse about it. That had been hurt that crossed over her face, and it killed him that he put that expression there.
“I’m an asshole,” Steve muttered. “She’s not going to forgive me.”
Sam raised an eyebrow at him. “Of course she’s going to forgive you. Give her a day or two, she’ll be back.”
Steve sighed. “I messed up.”
“You did. But that’s not why you’re an idiot.”
At this, Steve glanced up. “What?”
“You do know she has feelings for you, right?”
Steve stared at Sam, his mouth literally hanging open. Sam might as well have told him Natasha had two heads.
“No,” he finally managed. “She’s my friend. …. I think she’s my friend.” He shook his head. “She spends half her time trying to set me up on dates.”
“That she knows you won’t go on.”
“No,” Steve argued. “She …” He stopped. She what? She just liked to torture him with her profound dating advice?
Sam shrugged. “Have you never wondered why she always wants you to go on a date but she’s never gone on one herself?”
Steve shook his head again. “No,” he said. “No.”
•••
Sam was right. Two days later, Steve and Sam found Natasha perched on a kitchen counter when they burst through the door after their morning workout. Three Starbucks cups were sitting on the table.
“Shower,” Sam panted. He grabbed a Starbucks cup and headed out of the room. “Thank you!” he called over his shoulder.
Steve glanced at Nat and then the coffee cups. “Never knew you were a Starbucks girl.”
Natasha shrugged. “I’m full of surprises.”
“I’m sorry. About the other day.”
Natasha shrugged again.
“I shouldn’t have …” Steve started, but she shook her head at him.
“You were right,” she said quietly. “I should have known.”
“No!” He crossed the room to her, until he was standing in front of her. “You couldn’t have known. No one knew.”
“Fury knew.”
“It was Fury’s job to know.”
“I should have known.”
Steve shook his head. When he spoke, he made sure his voice was firm. “No,” he said, “You shouldn’t have. What happened wasn’t in any way your fault.”
Natasha shrugged at him again. He could tell by the look on her face that she wasn’t buying it.
“Come on,” he said, because he had a feeling this wasn’t an issue they were going to solve by arguing. “Let’s go watch cartoons.”
Natasha’s lip curved up slightly in a smile, and she let Steve take her hand and help her off the counter. “I did meet a new woman for you,” she said.
“Oh. Yeah. I won’t be needing any more dating help.”
Natasha stopped in mid-stride. “What?”
“I have a date.”
“You have a date?”
Steve turned around to try and see her face, but her expression was completely neutral. Even her eyes were blank as she looked at him.
“I think she’s perfect for me.”
“Oh?” Her tone was completely even, like he was telling her about a boring staff meeting and not his dating prospects. He tried not to think about what Sam had said about her having feelings for him. Instead he focused on his date.
“She’s confident,” he said. “Ambitious. Determined. Completely able to take care of herself. She’s got this super dry, sarcastic sense of humor, and I never know what she’s going to do next.”
“It sounds like you’ve known her for a while,” Natasha said.
“It’s taken a while for her to let me know her,” Steve said.
“Well.” Steve watched Natasha take a quick breath, and then he saw her notice him looking, and the next second a smile — a real smile — broke out over her face. “I’m really happy for you,” she said. “She sounds great.”
“She is great,” he said. “I just hope it works out.”
“How could it not?”
“Well,” Steve said, “Maybe you could help me.”
She looked almost wary. “You want me to check her out?”
“Oh, no,” he said quickly. “But I thought maybe you could help me plan our date. You know my track record isn’t very good.”
A slight smirk appeared on Natasha’s face. “Those 1945 date moves are a little too old-fashioned?”
He glared at her. She laughed, and then she said, “Picnic on the roof. Nothing fancy. Just some of her favorite foods if you know them. Quiet, simple. The sunset is beautiful up there.”
“That sounds perfect,” Steve said, and Natasha nodded.
“Happy to help,” she said. “But you said something about cartoons?”
•••
Saturday came, and Steve was nervous. It had seemed like such a simple plan when he was going over it, but now he was second-guessing everything.
Natasha showed up around four. Sam had asked her to go to dinner with him since Steve was going to be off, and she was dressed in slim-fitting jeans and an off-the-shoulder black shirt.
Steve stared at her. “You look beautiful.”
But Natasha didn’t seem to hear. She was gazing at him, her mouth open a little. “You clean up well, Rogers,” she finally managed, and he grinned. He had put on a dark suit over a white shirt and even polished his shoes so they shined.
“Not bad for an old man, huh?”
She smiled. “I guess.”
“You want to see the rooftop?”
Steve got the feeling Natasha wanted to say no, but instead she nodded and let Steve lead the way. He tucked his arm through hers, and she cast him a sidelong look.
“I’m practicing,” he told her.
“Maybe just hold her hand,” Natasha said.
He led Natasha up the stairs to the roof and let her go out first. He had set up a blue blanket in the middle of the roof. A picnic basket was in the center of the blanket, next to a bottle of vodka and two glasses. Surrounding the picnic basket were little plates filled with a variety of foods — tiny dumplings filled with meat, a platter of blini, another plate of something similar to chicken meatballs and, in the middle of it all, a sweet honey plate.
Natasha stared at the food and then turned to Steve. She almost looked betrayed. “You didn’t tell me she was Russian,” she said, and something in her voice made his chest ache.
“Didn’t I?”
Natasha shook her head. “No. You didn’t.” And then, as if she realized she was being rude, she quickly added, “It looks perfect, though, Steve. She’ll love it.”
“I hope so.”
“What time does your mystery lady arrive anyway?”
“She’s already here.”
“What?” For a moment, confusion crossed Natasha’s face, and then Steve saw it — the moment when she realized.
“Steve,” she whispered, but she didn’t move.
He took a step toward her. “I told you my perfect girl,” he said softly. “Confident. Ambitious. Determined. Completely able to take care of herself. Sarcastic. Funny. Unpredictable.” Natasha was still staring at him, unmoving. He took another step toward her. “She’s also Russian,” he added. “Red-haired. A super spy. Unemployed at the moment. Which works out because so am I.”
Natasha finally let out a small puff of air, her trance broken. She looked around, at the food on the ground, at the skyline, at him.
“Steve,” she said. “This can’t happen.”
“Why?”
“I’m not …” She stopped, staring at him. He took another step toward her, and then another, and then another until he was directly in front of her.
“Look,” he said quietly. “If you don’t feel this way about me, then just say so. We’ll go back downstairs and tomorrow we can go back to being friends and we’ll pretend like this never happened and no one will talk about it again. But if you do feel something for me, and you’re just scared …”
“Steve,” Natasha interrupted him, her voice almost panicky. “You don’t want me.”
“I’m not sure that’s your decision.”
“I’m not good enough for you.”
“I also don’t think that’s your decision.”
Natasha shook her head. “You don’t know who I am.”
“I think I do.”
“You don’t know what I’ve done.”
“That’s not who you are. That’s who you were.”
“Steve!” Natasha sounded almost desperate.
“Natasha,” Steve said, his voice calm, soft. He felt oddly relaxed, peaceful. He had been terrified at what her reaction would be, but he knew now that Sam was right. She did want him, the way he wanted her. She was just scared, and that was something he understood.
“Look,” he told her reasonably. “We’re practically already dating.” She frowned. He continued. “You sleep in bed with me like five nights a week. We eat half our meals together. We spend nights sitting on the couch together watching movies and eating junk food. I can’t go an hour without you texting me.”
“Steve,” Natasha repeated, but this time, there wasn’t much emphasis behind his name when she said it.
“The only difference,” he told her, “is I’ll get to kiss you and hold you.”
“And have sex with me.”
“Only if you want to.”
Natasha cocked her head a little to the side. Steve watched as she chewed on her lower lip. He had never seen her look so unsure.
“I don’t know,” she finally said. “I’ve never really done this before. Every relationship I’ve ever been it — none of it has been real. It’s just been for a mission or to take down a mark. I don’t know how to be someone’s girlfriend.”
“Do I look like I have the best track record on relationships?” Steve broke in, and Natasha actually smiled at that. “We can learn together,” he said.
“What if I screw it up? What if I hurt you?”
“What if you don’t?”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I know you don’t, Nat,” Steve said gently. “And that’s why I’m sure this will work.”
Natasha didn’t answer. Instead she just looked at him, and looked at him some more. Steve felt like time was standing still.
Finally, Natasha nodded. “Okay,” she said.
“Okay?”
“Okay.”
Steve grinned. He felt like, for the first time since he had woken up, someone had turned on a light.
“Does this mean I can kiss you now?”
“I don’t know,” Natasha said. “Have you practiced yet? That escalator kiss was really bad.”
“Will you shut up?”
“Will you make me?”
Steve didn’t answer, just put his hands on the side of her face and leaned down to kiss her, his lips meeting hers firmly and intensely. And as her hands wrapped around his neck, and her legs went around his waist so he could lift her up, he was internally pleased to realized that, for once, he really had made her speechless.