Chapter Text
Mornings tend to be Natasha’s only time of peace.
She’s gotten to a place in her life where when the world is not in impending doom, she’ll sleep in a little. She’ll take her morning in slow, there are no early morning workouts, and sometimes, she’ll laze around in bed with a cup of coffee until 11 AM.
But for some reason, her morning hasn’t been as relaxing as she likes. Maybe it’s post-saving the world that her nerves haven’t cooled off. The mission bothered her because Natasha knows what she brings to the table, but sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough.
There’s an underlying pressure and anxiety she feels when she’s lying in bed. Sleep has been harder to come.
But then she hears a voice outside her window.
Singing, to be precise.
♪ Wouldn’t it be nice if we were older, then we wouldn’t have to wait so long? ♪
The voice isn’t unpleasant. Sometimes Natasha hates it when people sing without music because they tend to go off-key, but you’ve got a pitch that works for you, and a soft, pleasant singing voice.
It occurs to Natasha that Tony has said something about hiring someone to clean their windows. Natasha always has her curtains closed in the morning, but she may have a window cracked open.
♪ And wouldn’t it be nice to live together, in the kind of world where we belong? ♪
Natasha stops moving around in bed, not wanting to alert you that someone is awake behind the window you’re cleaning.
♪ You know it’s gonna make it that much better when we can say goodnight and stay together. ♪
There’s a small breeze that carries through, rustling the curtain, and she catches a glimpse of you.
♪ Wouldn’t it be nice if we could wake up in the morning when the day is new? ♪
It’s 8 AM on a Tuesday morning, and through the midst of undetermined anxiety and pressure, your singing voice lulls Natasha back to sleep.
And when she woke up 3 hours later, she found a lovely, teasing message on her window, written in washable marker.
ffonamoR .sM ,uoy ekow I fi yrroS.
⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷
It’s a weekly thing.
Natasha only gets to see you one day a week when you come back to clean her window. She found out that you’re the person assigned to her window.
She was a little curious about how you had found out her name, but it appears that Tony makes his workers sign an NDA when working for him and that a breach of it means essentially having to pay a fine that would carry over 3 generations.
You come at the same time every morning, and sing different songs as you work. Natasha is your only audience, but today, she wants to get a little closer.
So, the night before you come, Natasha puts her own message on the window.
You come, right on the clock, and pause. Natasha knows you’ve seen her message.
⸮eman ruoy teg I yam ,eciov ylevol a evah uoY
It’s quiet for a moment or two, but you start to work, singing another tune. Natasha isn’t sure what to expect, but she listens as she does every week, falling asleep to the only voice that puts her at peace lately.
When she wakes up, she checks her window to see you’re long gone, but you left another message.
And she gets your name.
⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷
Maybe it’s a new addiction, but Natasha can’t fall asleep in the morning unless she hears your voice.
So she asks if Tony can increase her window cleaning to 4 times a week.
“Why?” He asks.
“I’m a messy person.”
“They’re just cleaning the outside of the window. Also, you are the tidiest person I know.”
“The birds take a shit on the windows often,” Natasha shrugs.
Tony cocks his brow at her, but he shrugs and agrees.
So now, she gets to hear your voice 4 times a week, and her morning feels normal again.
Except, the 4th time that week, there’s no singing. In fact, you seemed like you’re in a rush.
And that is throwing Natasha through all kinds of loops. She did not ask Tony to increase the number of times of window cleaning for you to be in a rush.
She gets up and rips the curtains open, coming face to face with you.
You looked shocked, but then you’re frowning.
Natasha slides the window up.
The two of you don’t say anything to each other, but you go back to washing the window with haste.
And while the window is equally as clean as it is when you take your time and sing, it still miffs Natasha.
“Stingy,” she says, and you turn to her.
“Excuse me?” You say, frowning deeply.
“Stingy,” Natasha repeats, and your jaw is dropping as you scoff.
“Singing is not part of my contract, Ms. Romanoff,” you glare at her.
“You can just call me Natasha,” is the only thing the redhead says.
“Well, Natasha, I get paid to clean your window,” you bite back, but Natasha doesn’t even seem phased.
“Stingy,” she repeats, causing you to huff and put your swivel back into your bucket.
“You know what? I don’t need this. I have a full-time paying job already.”
You start to scale down, and Natasha turns around to leave her room.
By the time you get to the bottom of the tower, Natasha is already standing there waiting for you.
“How did you–"
"Elevator,” Natasha says, and you sigh.
“So, why do you work here if you already have a full-time job?”
You quirk your brow at her. “I’ll tell you if you apologize for saying I’m stingy.”
“I’m sorry for calling you stingy,” Natasha says without missing a beat and no shame.
You purse your lip, annoyed that Natasha apologizes so easily but sigh through your nose as you come through with your promise.
“…I was here,” you start quietly, “during the alien invasion.”
Natasha bites her tongue because she feels like any looks of sympathy might put you off, and you would close up.
“I was stuck under rubble for hours, my leg was crushed,” your eyes dart to Natasha. “I was lucky as I was when you came and saved me. Another falling rubble would’ve paralyzed me.”
Blinking, Natasha tries to recall if she met you, but that day was a huge blur. There were so many things happening, and so many people she had rescued.
“It’s fine,” you tell her, seeing that she’s trying to recall you, “I was just another face in the many people I’m sure you saved.”
You wave it off, and Natasha crinkles her nose.
“Anyways,” you direct the conversation, “I…”
Your voice dies down for a second.
“It’s hard for me to sleep at times,” you cough, looking upwards.
“This helps.”
“Cleaning windows?” Natasha tilts her head, trying to understand exactly how this helps you sleep at night.
“Cleaning your window,” you clarify.
Natasha takes it as maybe this is how you want to repay her for saving you, but she certainly thinks there could be better ways to thank her.
“Can we have coffee?” Natasha asks, but you cock your brow at her.
“No,” you tell her, and Natasha is floored.
“Should I apologize some more?”
“No–that’s–no, that won’t get you anywhere,” you tell her with a slight tone of exasperation.
You put your tools away, hoping that Natasha catches the hint you’re done for today. You’re about to walk off back into the main floor to give back the cleaning supplies when Natasha’s voice stops you.
“Will you come back tomorrow?”
You want to turn around, staggered by Natasha’s audacity, and you’re really about to let her have it when she gives you a soft look.
“When you sing, it’s the only time I can sleep lately.”