Chapter Text
The sudden knock on the door startles Steve out of his concentration. Surprised, his hand lunges forward and halts just as the tip of his pencil breaks.
Looking down at the unintended line and lead burst that now mar his sketch, Steve sighs resignedly and runs a hand down his face. For a highly-coordinated super solider on the field, he really had his moments of incoordination outside of it, especially after a sleepless night.
Turning his head, his eyes meet that of a Siberian Husky pup resting on the couch beside him. “Guess it’s time for a break, huh, bud?”
Lorax—Wanda had insisted on the name after watching the animated film on one of their date nights—only tilts his head and whimpers, as if to say no shit.
Steve chuckles and makes to get up just as another knock on the door, impatiently this time, makes itself known.
Walking swiftly, he pulls it open in five seconds tops and is greeted by a familiar redhead with a paper bag in hand.
“Shoulda known it was you, Nat,” Steve says wryly as he lets her in.
Natasha merely raises a perfectly shaped brow before stooping down to pet Lorax, who had bundled over at the sight of a familiar guest. “Hasn’t it become something of a tradition by now, Rogers?”
Steve can only chuckle in agreement. It had become something of a tradition, now that she mentioned it. It being unplanned sleepovers at his place whenever Clint and Wanda were away on missions without them. It was always perpetuated by Nat in the wee hours of the morning, something about how Steve could never sleep without Wanda anyway.
“What’d you bring this time?” He takes the bag Nat set down on the floor in favor of playing with Lorax.
“Beer and nachos from that Mexican place downtown. I still don’t understand your obsession with the stuff, you health buff.”
Nat takes a seat in front of the couch with Lorax snuggled in her arms.
“It’s good stuff!” Steve protests as he lays out her offerings on the coffee table.
She rolls her eyes. “Uh-huh, sure.”
He grins and turns the television on. “What’re you in the mood for?”
Nat purses her lips as she thinks through the endless options. “Sandler, maybe?” No sooner had the words left her lips than the opening credits of 50 First Dates roll on the screen.
“Predictable.” Steve chides good-naturedly.
Natasha grins and kicks his shin. “Shut up.”
A deep chuckle wakes him hours later. Dawn is just breaking outside, casting shadows all over the apartment. His neck is stiff and a comfortable weight settles on the left side of his body.
“I don’t know, Clint. Should we be worried?”
The feminine voice is teasing, and almost immediately, Steve is awash with recognition and warmth. Wanda.
Eyes fluttering open, his gaze settles on her from where she stands beside Clint in front of the television, Lorax in her arms. Her brow is arched in seeming displeasure, but her eyes dance and the corners of her lips lift, giving away her gig.
“Wan,” he croaks, throat dry from the nachos and sleep.
Wanda smiles warmly at him and his heart flutters, even after all this time.
Steve would’ve bounded over to wrap her in a hug immediately, had it not been for the still-sleeping redhead tucked into his side quite cozily.
Nat must’ve been more tired than she let on.
“What time did she come over?”
Clint’s arms are crossed over his chest and he has an amused smile on his face, one that morphs into a look of affection as his eye trail over to Natasha.
“Around two in the morning.” Steve groans as he tries to sit up without waking her. “What happened to your head, Clint?” the blonde frowns at the white bandage that’s wound around his friend’s forehead.
“Eh,” Clint shrugs noncommittally before walking around the coffee table to crouch by Nat. “I’ll live.”
Wanda rolls her eyes as she buries her face in Lorax’s fur. “He got hit by a support beam.”
Clint turns his head to glare at the younger woman. “Gee, thanks for selling me out, Wan.”
She only grins in mischief. “You’re welcome.”
Steve chuckles at the banter, and beside him, Natasha stirs.
“Clint?”
“Hey, baby.”
“What happened to your head?” All at once, Natasha is awake and alert, a gentle hand pressed against her husband’s cheek.
The archer winces and presses a kiss to her palm. “I’ll fill you in on the way home.” He stands up and pulls Nat to her feet. “C’mon.”
Natasha protests and begins to argue, but Clint deflects all queries and pulls her towards the door.
Steve follows suit, Wanda trailing behind him. “We’ll see you tomorrow evening for dinner?” she calls after the spies head for the lift down the hall.
“7pm on the dot!” Clint calls as he tries to appease Nat, who couldn’t be bothered to bid her friends goodbye—not with the wound he was sporting.
Steve sighs in affection after his friends before closing the door. He turns and meets Wanda’s eyes, which are bright with the happiness of being home. She’s set Lorax down, and the puppy enthusiastically weaves in between their legs.
“Hey there, stranger,” she grins.
He smiles in return and stands there for a moment, just taking her in. She looks a little worse for the wear after the two week-long mission, but she sports no physical injuries herself. Good.
Having looked his fill, Steve closes the distance between them, his arms immediately winding around her waist. “Missed me?”
Wanda stands on her tiptoes and brings her lips to his, stopping a hairsbreadth away. “You have no idea.”
Later, when they settle in for the night, Steve is revising the sketch he had been working on before Nat had interrupted. He loses himself in the strokes until he feels a pair of eyes watching him.
Looking up, he catches sight of Wanda leaning against their en suite door, towel in her hands as she dries her hair. She’s wearing a small smile and one of his old T-shirts, which swallows her much smaller frame and is just shy of the top of her knees.
“What?” he asks, pencil now flat on top of the sketchpad.
Wanda just shakes her head, her smile growing. “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” she sighs wistfully, and he follows her gaze drop to his bare torso.
Despite the years they’ve been together, her subtle advances toward him still make him blush on the best of days. Not that they were innocent in that department or anything, but old habits die hard.
“Er—”
His flustered state only sends her into a fit of giggles, and the sound fills him with the joy of having her home, safe and sound and with him.