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When Steve sees Natasha dance for the first time, he is acutely aware of the fact that he shouldn’t be watching at all. He shouldn’t even be in the building, but he had needed a break and even four years after the blip, where else was he supposed to go?
He had entered the building with his ID cards and not met a single soul on his way up. Not even security personnel. What would be the point of them? After the blip, there wasn’t a lot the compound needed to be protected from and Black Widow occupying it almost every second of the day made any kind of security unnecessary.
So Steve had roamed the empty hallways on his way to the central office in which Natasha had established a command center from which she coordinated every mission carried out by the Avengers anywhere in the universe. She kept herself busy. As did Steve, but from time to time he came back here to take a breather.
After the initial chaos, everything has evolved into a new normal. One that Captain America was no longer a part of. The earth doesn’t need a protector when all the worlds in the universe must focus on themselves for once. According to Carol, no one was interested in a war with earth or any other planet in the universe.
Which was the greatest achievement reached in the darkest of nights.
And as glad as Steve was about this forced truce, there hadn’t been a time in his life before when he didn’t have to fight. He hadn’t as much as touch his shield in almost a year. Ever since Thor had killed Thanos, it was pointless, to say the least.
Steve peaks into the command center, but it is empty. He frowns and looks at his watch. It is not like Natasha to be anywhere else this early in the morning. Looking around he realizes that there is already a plate in the sink. So at least she had breakfast. The peanut butter and jelly are still on the table.
Steve grins as he remembers how Clint had told him about the time he introduced Natasha to this all-American breakfast tradition. She had hated it and told him, that if he ever forced her to eat that again, she would kill him without hesitation.
A lot has changed since then. Clint has been MIA for almost four years, although Steve suspects that Natasha knows more about his disappearance than she lets on. Her relationship with Barton has always been one full of dark secrets and a past not often spoken about. Steve wishes he could do something, anything, to find him, but he knows he can’t. If Clint doesn’t want to be found, Natasha might be the only one who actually could.
Steve makes his way through one of the long hallways, peeking into every room. That’s when he sees her.
Natasha had pushed the tables and chairs to the side of the room and closed the blinds. Only specks of morning light bounce of her moving figure. There was no need to stay in the dark, no sharpshooters out to kill her, but old habits die hard.
Her eyes are fixated on a point slightly to the right of the door as she turns on her pointe shoes again and again. Steve knew that she had been forced to dance at the Red Room, but he had had no idea that she still did.
Her movements are smooth and precise, the rhythmic sound of her feet pushing off the ground almost hypnotizing. Steve knows that he shouldn’t be watching this moment that feels so intimate, but he can’t bring himself to turn away.
It’s like he sees Natasha for the first time. Not the Black Widow, not the killer that the Red Room made her, but the real Natasha, the young girl who could have had such a bright future in front of her.
Steve watches her for what feels like an eternity before he finally manages to walk away with a smile on his face. He would wait in the command center for her to finish.
Natasha sees from the corner of her eyes how the silhouette in front of the door leaves after watching her for what had to be at least fifteen minutes.
Usually, she wouldn’t have remained silent, would have ranted to whoever stood in front of the door about invading her privacy and would have even been a little embarrassed, though, of course, she would never have shown that.
But not with Steve. The way he looked at her wasn’t uncomfortable, but rather encouraging. As if he weren’t really watching, just emitting a joyful feeling into the room.
Natasha sighs and sits down on the ground to take off her shoes.
There aren’t a lot of people who have ever seen her dance. Most died with the Red Room. Her sister had watched her dance before, of course, but that was different. Yelena knew how much courage it took to put on those shoes again that were once nothing but a symbol of pain.
After the blip, she had started to dance more regularly. Because, what else was there to do? Of course, she tries to keep herself busy by coordinating the missions of the Avengers that are left, but the truth is, they don’t need much coordinating. They are more than capable of completing their respective missions on their own.
But they all agreed to this act, never once complained when Natasha called in a meeting. Maybe because they need it just as much as Natasha does.
She puts on her sneakers and leaves the room that she had designated as her ballet studio. The pointe shoes dangle from the bands that had moments before held them in place around her ankles. Normally she would have left the shoes in the room and locked it, a secret place, a haven, that is hers alone.
But she wants Steve to know that it is ok, that she is not mad that he has been watching her. That she is not afraid of him seeing the woman that is usually hidden under black leather.
“If you had told me that you come by, I would have made breakfast”, Natasha greets Steve as she enters the command center.
“I ate on the way”, Steve lies, both knowing that he usually doesn’t eat breakfast at all. Again, what would be the point?
Natasha places the ballet shoes on one of the chairs with a much greater movement than necessary. There is no way Steve missed it.
“Are you in a hurry?”
Steve shakes his head. They sit down at the big table that is filled with mission reports that no one ever cares to read and that will eventually vanish at Natasha’s hand. If into boxes or in a fire really depends on Natasha’s mood.
She places her feet on the table in a way that Steve would not allow anyone else to do. But Natasha is not anyone else.
They talk for hours about everything and nothing, in a way that they never got a chance to before the blip.
Neither of them says anything about the scene Steve had just witnessed.
There is no need to.