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Natasha Romanov leaned against the bedroom door, her black field suit half unzipped. Her face was still streaked with blood, although none of it was hers. She didn’t seem bothered by it, and Steve figured she was used to that sort of thing by now.
“Do you sleep on the right side or the left?” she asked.
Steve raised his eyebrows. “I – uh —” Feeling disoriented was pretty much a constant these days, although it was worse around Romanov.
“I forgot you’re new here,” she said. “There’s only one bed. SHIELD never does spring for the two-bedroom safehouses. Or maybe Myron in facilities watches too much porn. Anyway, I can sleep on the left side or the right, so whichever you prefer is fine by me.”
Steve shrugged. “I can take the couch.”
Romanov flashed a grin that Steve imagined might be flirty, if there weren’t so much blood on her face. “Protecting your virtue, Captain?”
Steve forced himself to smile back. “What can I say? I’m old fashioned.”
He was worried for his virtue, as a matter of fact. Not sexually – he had less of that particular kind of virtue than people imagined – but Romanov scared him. She was a hell of a fighter, but she saw the world in shades of gray, and he had a bad feeling she expected him to do the same.
He expected a smart ass comeback, one that would probably leave him flat footed, but Romanov only nodded.
“Do you mind if I take the first shower?” She waved a hand at her blood-streaked face, and Steve felt a stab of guilt for thinking she didn’t mind it.
“Ladies first,” he said, retreating further into the living room to give her privacy.
The couch wasn’t too bad. He mostly fit if he curled up on his side, although he could’ve done without the draft coming from the window. Still, between the Depression and the war, he’d had a lot worse.
He was half-asleep when Romanov appeared again, looking softer in her old hoodie and half-damp curls.
“I brought you the extra blankets.” She shivered a little. “It’s cold out here.”
Steve didn’t realize there were no extra blankets until he passed by the half-open bedroom door in the morning. Natasha was asleep under a single threadbare sheet.
***
The second time SHIELD shoved them in a one-bedroom safehouse, Steve came out of the shower and found Natasha curled into a corner of the couch. Her feet were tucked beneath her, golden lamplight glinted off her auburn hair, and she cradled an ancient-looking paperback in her hands.
Steve practically had to clench his fists to stop himself from reaching for his sketchbook.
“I’m taking the couch this time,” she said, barely glancing up from her book.
A pillow was tucked against her hip, and a small pile of blankets sat next to her feet. Sit still, just like that, Steve wanted to say, but he swallowed the words.
“I’m the one who doesn’t want to share. That means you get the bed,” he said instead.
Natasha’s lips crinkled into a soft half-smile. “You don’t fit on the sofa. I do.”
“I don’t think I could sleep knowing that somebody else was uncomfortable on my account.”
Natasha raised her eyebrows. “But you think I could.”
Steve felt heat rising to his cheeks. “That’s not what I meant.”
As if she’d heard his wishes, Natasha hadn’t moved. Her feet were still tucked beneath her, the book was still cradled between her hands, and he still itched for his sketchbook.
“I don’t see any reason not to be practical about sharing the bed. But if that’s not comfortable for you, we’re at least going to be practical about who sleeps where.” She snapped her gum, suddenly looking less angelic. “Suck it, Rogers, the couch is mine.”
What was he going to do, drag her off of it? Super strength notwithstanding, he suspected that would end badly for him. And, in the parlance of the twenty-first century, it would be a real dick move.
“Alright,” he said, feeling flat-footed again. “Thank you, Natasha.”
It was the first time he’d called her by her first name. As he drifted toward the bedroom, she said, “Good night, Steve.”
He laid down on the bed, but he already knew he had no shot of falling asleep.
If Barton or Rumlow or even Stark had been on the mission with him, he wouldn’t hesitate to share the bed. Now he was being old fashioned, clinging to the rules of a time long past.
But the problem was bigger than his antiquated sense of honor. He didn’t trust Natasha; she lied as easily as other people breathed. He shouldn’t like someone who could do that, but he did. She was witty and well-read and unexpectedly kind, surrendering her blankets and even her bed so that he could be more comfortable.
Now she was sleeping on a lumpy couch because of him, and there was only one thing he could do about it.
He padded into the living room and tried not to be charmed by the sight of her curls spread across the couch cushions, or the sleepy way she opened her eyes at the sound of his footsteps.
“Natasha,” he said, “come to bed.”
***
By the time SHIELD collapsed, Steve knew a lot more about Natasha than he wanted to.
He knew the scent of her shampoo when her hair was half-dry.
He knew that she slept curled into a tight ball on her left side, with a pillow between her legs if she had one – which she usually did, because he gave it to her. If Bucky were alive, he would’ve raised an eyebrow at that, but there was nothing to it. He’d just never gotten used to sleeping in comfort after the war.
He also knew that on bad days, she murmured Yelena Belova, Drakov’s daughter, the hospital fire again and again. He never let on that he heard, but he rattled around in the kitchen or the bathroom until the noise woke her up.
All that was from a handful of missions, because she usually partnered with Barton, and SHIELD was getting better about putting two beds in the safehouses anyway. Human resources had received a number of complaints.
Still, fighting beside someone builds a bond fast, and so does sleeping next to them. Steve liked Natasha, even if he didn’t quite appreciate her lifestyle. Maybe sometimes he more than liked her, because after their rare joint missions, he sketched her reading, sleeping, washing dishes, and a half dozen other tiny domestic things he’d never have pictured if they didn’t work together.
Mostly, he thought she was a friend – or he did until he caught her on the Lumarian Star, downloading intelligence when they were supposed to be rescuing hostages together.
“Your mission is rescuing hostages,” she said, like they weren’t in this together. Like it was okay to pretend to be on a team, fight beside someone, and then slink off on some secret mission of your own.
And if she was doing it now, she’d done it on every other mission they’d worked together. He’d just been too stupid to notice.
Right then, he decided: no more late night sketches. No more missions together. No more sleeping side by side. It was done.
***
Just over forty-eight hours later, he went to bed with Natasha.
“The guest room’s kinda small,” Sam said apologetically, ushering them into a bedroom that wasn’t much bigger than a closet.
“Everyone we know is trying to kill us,” Nat reminded him.
“We’re not exactly in a place to complain,” Steve finished.
The truth was, Steve was relieved to see the double bed wedged into a corner of the room. SHIELD was Hydra, Hydra tried to blow them up, and Natasha Romanov was the one true thing in his life. His heart, his brain, and his body hurt, and he didn’t want to sleep alone.
“Two hour nap,” she said. “Then we face the world.”
Steve nodded wordlessly. He laid down on the outside edge of the bed, leaving the more protected side for Nat. Wordlessly, he passed her his pillow and watched through half-lidded eyes as she curled into her customary position.
“You’ve been calling me Nat today,” she said quietly.
“I didn’t think about it, but yeah.”
The corner of her lips turned up. “Americans shorten names to show affection.”
“If I have to be in this with someone, I’m glad it’s you.” He wouldn’t have meant that two days ago, but he did now.
“I don’t want to be in this at all.” She paused, and up close, he could see the way she pressed her lips together when she was trying not to cry. “But I guess you’re not bad company.”
He laughed. It was a little laugh, maybe more of a bark, but it made his chest feel lighter.
“Good night, Steve.”
“Good night, Nat.”
She turned over, and Steve listened until her breathing evened out. The Army had taught him all kinds of tricks for going to sleep, counting backward, relaxing his body parts one by one, sending his mind to some fantasy safe place. None of it worked today, and good thing too, because he was awake to notice when Natasha’s whole body started shaking.
Her eyes were still shut; he could see her pupils racing back and forth beneath her eyelids. He remembered how she’d looked back at the hospital, when they’d watched Fury die: her chin had wavered, her jaw had clenched, and her eyes had filled, but she hadn’t let a single tear fall to the ground. No wonder she was having a nightmare now.
Now he looped his arm around her waist and pulled her close.
“Steve?” She blinked up at him sleepily, and something inside him – something he didn’t care to analyze just yet – felt pleased she hadn’t startled at his touch.
“Yeah. I’ve got you,” he said, which was true regardless of any awkward feelings he might or might not possess.
She nodded, and her body slackened against his, like she was accepting his protection, at least for one night. He tightened his arm around her, and she tucked her head against his chest.
For the first time, they fell asleep tangled in each other. Steve let himself hope it wouldn’t be the last.
***
“I can take care of this!” Tony Stark paced back and forth across his office at Potts Tower, barely bothering to look at the Avengers assembled around him. “Who needs SHIELD? I’ll build us something better!”
He flicked his arm dramatically, and glowing holographic blueprints sprang to life.
“You’re building us a lair?” Steve squinted at the diagrams skeptically. “Upstate?”
“You bet I am, Brooklyn boy!” A grin spread across his face as he looked at each of the team in turn, clearly expecting gratitude. “Ten times better than what SHIELD ever gave us! Private suites for everyone, shared living area, recreation pods, and get this, a network of smart tech equipped safehouses around the world! No more sharing beds in moldy basements, kids!”
To be fair, most of the rest of the group was excited. Steve wasn’t a gambling man, but he’d bet good money he was the only one who’d been enjoying his bunkmate. His eyes slid toward Nat, hoping she might give him some small sign that she’d miss their old sleeping arrangement, but her eyes were glued to the hologram as she peppered Tony with questions about weapons.
A hand clapped him on the shoulder, and Steve startled. Sam Wilson was standing behind him, looking meaningfully at Natasha.
“If you like her, man…”
Steve ducked his head. It had been awhile since he’d had a friend to call him out this way. It felt good, even if it was uncomfortable.
“On it,” he said with a confidence he didn’t quite feel. He’d been judgmental as hell about Nat’s lifestyle choices less than a week ago; it was hard to imagine she’d be eager to go on a date now.
He’d give it time, he thought. Make it up to her first, then see about the romance. He owed her that much at least.
***
The time never came, though not for lack of trying on Steve’s part. Natasha was just so damn busy avenging. They all were – without SHIELD’s infrastructure, the job was much more time-consuming – but Nat rarely lingered in the new compound for more than a few hours between missions.
“Red in my ledger,” she said, like that explained everything.
Steve had cornered her in the armory, where she was reloading for yet another sortie.
“You realize not everything we did for SHIELD was evil, right?” Steve stood directly in front of the door, hoping to hell she wouldn’t make some wild martial arts move to get around him. “Stopping the Chitauri invasion, capturing Loki, closing the, uh, space portal… That’s gotta count for something, Nat.”
“It does.” She swallowed. “Just not enough.”
She stepped around him, no wild martial arts moves required. He almost reached for her, but he wasn’t the type of man who tried to get between a woman and her mission.
“Need backup?” he said instead.
For the first time in a long time, she smiled. “Always.”
***
The next time Steve slept with Natasha, they were both on the run from the law. Again. He hadn’t thought it was possible for him to hate the Sokovia Accords more, but here he was, a fugitive while most of his friends were in prison.
When the QuinJet landed behind his cabin, he thought he was caught (or rather, that some idiot had arrived with the foolish notion that they could catch him). Nat was the last person he’d expected to climb out of the cockpit, and she ducked just in time to avoid the metal plank he’d swung at her head. It slammed into the gangway with a clang that reverberated up his arm.
She clucked her tongue. “Jeez, Cap, don’t take your anger out on the getaway car.”
He could only think of one thing to do: he flung his arms around her and held on until she tapped his shoulder twice.
“Strangulation isn’t a friendly greeting, Steve,” she said when she got her breath back, and he felt blood rush to his cheeks. It had been a long time since he’d forgotten his own strength like that.
She took a step back, eyes moving carefully over his face and body like she was inspecting him for damage. He did the same. Her hair was platinum now, her nose looked a tad crooked, and there was a half-healed cut on her left cheekbone.
“Where have you been?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Norway, Budapest, Russia, secret air installation…”
Steve raised his eyebrows. “That something we need to worry about?”
“I took care of it.” She inclined her head toward the QuinJet. “A little birdie told me you might be planning a prison break.”
“All I’m missing is the transportation. Was missing, anyway.” He couldn’t stop smiling. ‘It’s good to see you, Nat.”
She fell into step beside him as he led her toward the cabin. “It’s good to see you too, Steve.”
***
Steve wasn’t a great chef, but he knew a thing or two about roast chicken and potatoes. Once he tucked away all the blueprints of the Raft, the cabin looked decent enough to entertain, especially once he found the emergency candles in the back of the pantry.
“What’s all this?”
Nat was fresh out of the shower, and he noticed that she’d appropriated one of his flannel shirts, rolling up the sleeves to make it fit. Not for the first time since she’d arrived, his fingers itched for his sketchbook.
“I figured it might’ve been awhile since you’d had a home cooked meal.”
“Well, that’s quite an understatement.” She slid into a chair before Steve could pull it out for her. “I’ll have you know, my Norway safehouse had plenty of options for canned fish.”
“Sounds very edible,” he said, and Nat huffed.
“With a little toast and some slightly wilted microgreens from the discount grocery store, I’ll have you know that it was…very edible, yes.” She glanced at the golden brown chicken in the center of the table. “Not nearly as edible as this though. I have to say, Steve, I didn’t know you had it in you.”
Steve smiled. “Well, nobody ever shot a man for cooking dinner. You like dark meat or white?”
He grabbed the carving knife before Nat could take it. She wasn’t used to being waited on – something he should’ve noticed a long time ago – but he was damn well going to make sure he got to serve her.
“Both. Actually, I’d just like half the chicken.” She made a chopping motion. “Straight down the middle.”
“What the lady wants, the lady gets.” He held her eyes, and the faintest pink flush crept across her cheekbones.
“Somebody’s feeling extra chivalrous tonight.”
“It’s my specialty.” Steve passed over half the kitchen and a mound of potatoes too, just in case it had been awhile since she’d gotten to eat. “You look good, Nat.”
He winced as soon as the words left his mouth. Compliments about her appearance bored her; he could tell from the rote way she thanked him. Anyway, her looks were a long way from the most important thing about her.
“I mean, you look better,” he tried again. “Like something had been eating away at you for a long time, and it’s not anymore.”
“Well, that’s perceptive.”
Nat didn’t have a lot of tells, but her eyes flicked down to her plate for the briefest moment, like she was giving herself the chance to reset her face.
“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” he added.
She shook her head. “It’s not that. I just wouldn’t know where to start. I mean, I vanquished an old foe. That’s always nice.”
Steve nodded along. It really was impressive how often demons from the past resurfaced, even for an old geezer like him.
“Been there,” Steve said. “It feels like that happens pretty often for both of us though.”
“It does.” She took a breath. “I think what really mattered was finding out I had more family than I thought I did. I saw my sister again, and I found out my mom didn’t really abandon me on the street like trash.”
Steve inhaled sharply. “I didn’t know you thought she had.”
Nat shook her head. “Well, it’s not the kind of thing you advertise, but I thought about it every day. Knowing that she didn’t…it takes off some weight.”
He squeezed her hand. “I’m really glad for you. And I’m really glad you’re here.”
***
By the time Steve came out of the shower, Nat was already curled up on the left side of the bed. He hadn’t gotten used to the blond hair yet, but it looked damn good in the lamplight.
“Can I have your pillow?” she asked, her lips twisted up in a faint hint of a grin.
“Have the whole bed if you want.” Sharing seemed awkward now that he knew what he felt for her – and knew that he’d spent the better part of the afternoon studying her liquid eyes and full lips.
Nat sat up quickly. Even in the dim lamplight, he could see the flush spreading across her cheekbones. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed – you might have someone, or you might –”
“No, nothing like that,” Steve said quickly. He’d never seen her so discomfited before. It was novel and a little entertaining, but he didn’t want to be the cause.
He sat down on the other side of the bed quickly, hoping she wouldn’t ask why he hadn’t wanted to share.
“What you said at dinner, about your mom –”
“That?” She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t mean to make a big deal. It was a long time ago.”
“I’ve spent way too much time with Sam Wilson to let you get away with that one,” Steve said. “That guy has a whole bookshelf about vulnerability.”
He laid down on the bed, making himself comfortable. Without his pillow, of course. That was for Nat.
She laid down beside him, looking bemused. “Okay, I’ll bite. What did you want to say about my mom?”
Now it was Steve’s turn to take a deep breath. “Just that even if she had left you, it didn’t mean she didn’t love you.” He got the feeling that Nat might’ve been abandoned by more than one person in her life, and he wanted her to hear this. “During the Depression, my mom left me in an orphanage a couple times. She didn’t want to, but the orphanage had food, and she didn’t. So she’d leave me for a few weeks, go off and earn some money somehow, and come back when she could. I’m not going to say it didn’t hurt, but it sure as hell wasn’t because she didn’t love me.”
His hair was getting long, and Nat reached out to tuck a piece of it behind his ear. When her fingernails scraped against his scalp, he shivered.
“That’s the most I’ve ever heard you say about your past.”
Steve rolled his eyes. “I talk about the past.”
“The past. The Depression. Not what happened to you.”
He swallowed. “Well, I want you to know.”
He couldn’t take her to a fancy dinner or an evening at the museum or any of the other first dates he’d envisioned over the years, but he knew Nat considered the truth a precious gift, and he was damn well going to give her that.
She clicked the lamp off. For a moment, her form was silhouetted in the moonlight before she laid back down and velvet darkness fell between them.
“Steve? Why did you get weird about sharing the bed earlier?”
He licked his lips. “Because I’m not the kind of man who likes to make the first move in bed.”
He’d felt the difference between them the moment she stepped off the jet. The air had been thick all night, and now it was hot and close like a lover. But he didn’t want her to think he wants that, or at least, not only that.
“Well, I’m the kind of woman who does.”
Nat sounded amused. He knew that sex was a practical matter for her, a physical need that could be satisfied about as casually as grabbing a workout buddy at the gym. And honestly, he wasn’t above that either. It just wasn’t how he intended to start things with her.
She was looming above him now, all soft curves and moonlight, and he held her back with a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“I wanted to take you out,” he said.
Better night vision was a perk of the super soldier serum, so he saw her lips twist in the dark.
“You might be in the wrong business, Rogers.”
He huffed at their old familiar line. Both of them had learned to make do with the world they have to live in.
“You deserve to be taken out,” he insisted, still not letting her lean in.
She shook her head, and Steve watched the moonlight glint off her hair.
“A lot of men have taken me out.” She slid his hand off her shoulder, and slid a leg over his waist. “Nobody’s ever made me a chicken before.”
There was more to say, about how he’s just a guy from Brooklyn, and he was sorry he didn’t know how to pursue her when they were living on the opposite side of an international accord. More importantly, how much he admired her because she fought for the right thing as hard as she could, and he never had any business judging how she did that without hi-tech armor or gamma radiation or super soldier serum to protect her fragile body.
But her lips were velvet soft against him, and her body was melting into his. Time had taken a lot of things away from him, and he wasn’t going to let it take this.
Afterward, when she lay naked and sleepy and tangled in the sheets, he did the thing he’d been waiting for longest of all. He picked up his sketchbook and whispered, “Hold still, just like that.”