Work Text:
Bob is not a big fan of storms. Gentle rain, of course. Maybe a nice downpour here and there. But storms are a different question. Not in the least because they’re hell if you’re on a ship, or god forbid one forms while you’re in the air. And the lightning is beautiful, sure, but thunder is just loud and annoying and it makes him jump more often than he’d like to admit.
Still, he’s determined to make the most of the most recent storm that has hit land. He and Natasha- who have been teamed together since the mission, and who slowly went from Phoenix to Nix to Nat- are on shore leave for a few weeks in between deployments. Bob’s house is old, certainly, but it’ll hold up even with the winds. He doesn’t mind the creaking. He just lights a fire, finds a book he’s been meaning to read for a while, and curls up on a chair he drags next to the fireplace.
He’s barely made a dent in the book- he’s a few chapters in, he keeps getting distracted by looking out the window, watching the trees bend- when there’s a knock on the door. He doesn’t catch it at first, of course he doesn’t, but the second time it’s undeniable with how hard the pounding on the door is.
He very briefly wonders who could possibly be insane enough to go out in this weather, but by the time he’s finished the thought he’s already throwing open the door.
“Nat?” he asks, a little bit in disbelief. But of course it’s her- who else would it be?
She’s soaking wet- he doesn’t even see her car behind her- dressed in civilian clothes. Her hair is down, which is a rare sight, sticking to her face. Her arms are crossed and she looks, in all honesty, pissed.
“Hi,” she says, and he appreciates the fact that she attempts to smile despite her clearly foul mood. “Can I come in?”
“Oh,” he says, stepping aside. “Yeah, of course, um-”
She brushes past him and spots the fire, and her shoulders sag in relief. He closes the door behind her as she sits down, and doesn’t comment on the fact that she’s getting his carpet wet.
“Are you okay?” he asks, and he knows that it’s a stupid thing to say, but she turns back and tries to smile at him again.
“I hate storms,” she admits after a moment. “Sorry, I probably should have texted, or something-”
“No, you’re fine!” Bob hurries to say. His brain kicks back into gear and he grabs the blanket he had just been using, wraps it around her shoulders. “Let me grab you some dry clothes, yeah? And- and I’ll make some tea.”
“Thank you,” she says, curling in on herself a bit. It’s a rare thing, to see Natasha Trace out of her element, and Bob is grateful that she trusts him enough to let him in like this, to actively seek him out.
He finds the smallest clothes he owns and brings them to her, then starts the kettle boiling while she changes in the bathroom. He puts the wet clothes in the dryer and she settles down at one of the stools by his kitchen island, blanket still wrapped around her shoulders.
“Do you need a hair tie?” he asks. “I have a few extra.” He started keeping them around the last time they were on leave, just in case she ever needed one while they were at his house. Yes, he’s a little bit in love with her. Not that it’s important.
“Oh,” Natasha says. “Yeah, thank you.” He fetches one from the bathroom and returns to pour the tea. There’s been a bit of a lull in the storm, but it’s starting to pick up again. Nat flinches at the next roll of thunder; Bob doesn’t comment on it. He just sits down on the stool next to her and sips his tea as she ties her hair back.
“Did you walk here?” he asks after a moment. They don’t live far from each other, but again- who would be crazy enough to walk here in a storm?
“Yes.”
Natasha, apparently.
“Huh,” Bob says, then, “You amaze me a little bit.”
Nat laughs. “Not my smartest move. My car’s in the shop, did I tell you about that? And I just- I don’t know, I needed to not be alone.”
“Well, now you’re not,” he says. There’s another crack of thunder, sharper this time, closer. Nat jerks again, glancing toward the ceiling.
“I know I make fun of how old your house is,” she starts, and Bob laughs. He gets up and offers her a hand- she takes it. They move to the couch, curl up next to each other. Bob offers her a book, one he finished reading yesterday, as a distraction. She takes it and shifts closer, so she’s pressed against his side, and without thinking he wraps an arm around her.
“Okay?” he asks, and she nods. They read in silence for a bit, drinking their tea, trying to ignore the storm outside. Eventually, Natasha starts nodding off, her head falling against Bob’s shoulder a couple of times.
“You’re good,” he says. “You can sleep.”
“I hate sleeping during storms,” she mutters, and he tightens his grip around her.
“I’ve got you,” he says. “I’ll stay awake, how’s that?”
“Sure,” she laughs gently. “Thanks, Bob.”
It takes her a little while to fall asleep, but Bob stays true to his word and remains awake and alert the whole time. Eventually her head sinks down from his shoulder to flat on his lap as she shifts in her sleep. Bob sets his book to the side and distracts himself instead with running a hand through her hair and watching the storm out the window.
It’s only gotten worse as the night has gone on- the wind more violent, the thunder louder. It’s with a particularly rough crack that Nat goes sprawling. She probably would’ve fallen off the couch if Bob hadn’t been paying attention and reached out to catch her. He pulls her back onto his lap and she scrambles up, eyes filled with sleep.
“Shit,” she mutters under her breath. “Shit, shit, shit-”
“You’re okay,” Bob says, rubbing a hand up and down her back soothingly. “You’re okay. I’m right here.” He continues murmuring sweet nothings until her breathing has calmed down, and eventually, she looks up at him with a sheepish grin.
“Sorry,” Nat says. “Sorry, I don’t know why-”
“You don’t have to apologize,” Bob says firmly. She tucks her head under his chin, curls her legs up to her chest. Bob keeps his grip on her, keeps rubbing soothing circles into her skin.
“I feel silly,” she says after a long moment. There’s another crack of thunder; she doesn’t flinch this time, just buries her head closer to Bob’s neck.
“Can I tell you something?” he asks, then continues without waiting for an answer. “I’m afraid of ravens.”
Nat laughs immediately, which was the goal. She looks up at him, mirth in her eyes, and he knows he’s going to regret this, but he keeps talking.
“I saw Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds when I was really little, and I saw all these interviews and articles about how smart ravens are. They terrify me. I think that’s sillier than being scared of a storm. Storms are actually dangerous.”
“But not here,” Nat adds.
“No, not here,” Bob agrees.
“Even with how shitty your roof is.”
“Yeah,” Bob laughs, and then they’re both laughing, and they don’t even register the next roll of thunder.
Eventually, they calm down, and Nat presses a quick kiss to the bottom of Bob’s jaw before settling back against his chest again.
“Thank you,” she says, and Bob smiles down at her.
“Anytime,” he says. “I’ve got your back.”
“And I’ve got yours,” she says, voice sleepy. “Let me know if you need me to fight some birds for you.”
Bob chuckles and presses a kiss to the top of her head. The storm is dying down, now, but he’ll stay awake anyways. Just in case.