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Outside, they're push and shoving
You're in the kitchen humming
All that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing
For someone who was a master of knives, Natasha was horrendously bad at cutting vegetables.
Maybe it was the specificity of it. Yes, that was it. Throwing knives, using them to stab people… it was all so quick and forceful. No acute attention to detail required. Plus, Natasha never cooked so she was out of practice with the carefulness it required.
Steve cooked dinner for the two of them more often than not. And when he was too tired to cook, or they came back late from a mission, they ordered in. Steve was from a time when everything was boiled and food really had no flavor. Cooking for Natasha had become an enjoyment for him; It was his way to catch up with modern times. He could experiment with foreign cuisines, the electric stove, microwaving things… and he was able to make his girlfriend something nice when she came home.
Natasha had never been much of a cook herself. In her solo mission days, she ate MREs or instant microwave food. She wasn’t picky and it was easy for someone on the run. And she only ever had herself to feed. So maybe she was cooking Steve dinner because she was bored. Maybe she wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Or maybe she wanted to be the one to surprise him when he came home.
It was all going great until she sliced her finger.
Stupid carrots. Why did the recipe call for carrots sliced that thin anyway?
Natasha had found the recipe on Pinterest (the first link under “easy chicken noodle soup” with a cover image that looked remotely edible). It wasn’t certainly wasn't easy though.
But she had to admit, she was enjoying it. Even with the new bandage over her finger. What was a little scar after the hundreds she had if it meant she got to see her favorite smile when he came home?
Cooking was... weirdly thrilling? Adding seasoning without tasting it first, adding sauces without exact measurements... Natasha wasn’t a rule follower by any stretch of the imagination but her little improvised soup was something to call her own. Something she created. Not destroyed.
Natasha was stirring in the pasta when she heard the lock clicking behind her and the sound of her boyfriend walking through the door before a soft thud of his shield hitting the ground and a hushed,
“Nat? What are you doing?” She could hear his smile creep through his voice.
“I’m making dinner,” she replied coyly, turning around with a satisfied grin.
“It smells really good.”
“I know,” she smiled, proudly.
Steve crossed the room, giving her a kiss on the cheek before bringing his face to the pot and wafting in the aroma. The saltiness of the broth, sweetness of the carrots, and scent of fresh pasta filled the air, making Steve shake his head lightly with a chuckle.
“Who knew you were such a chef?”
“Definitely not me.”
“I mean, I know I haven’t tasted it yet,” he smiled, “but I’m thinking you should cook more often.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” she laughed. “But I can cook with you.”
“I’d like that.”
Steve pulled her closer for a kiss, illuminated only by the light on the stove and the fading sunlight in the window. After a moment, he pulled back, holding up her bandaged hand, half concerned, half amused.
“What’s this?”
“Proof of my love.”
The words came out too quick for Natasha to catch.
No.
They came out naturally.
She’d been waiting to say it for a while– Steve had already dropped the L word to her weeks ago and she knew she felt the same. Every time she thought of it they were running into fighting or the rest of the team was around.
But here they were, just the two of them, and it just slipped out. And however scared she was, Nat wasn’t gonna take it back.
“I love you, Steve.”
He blinked at her, his eyes full of wonder for just a moment before a smile crept onto his face. “You-?”
She nodded. “I love you.” It felt so right.
He pulled her in once again, his hands holding her cheeks, kissing her softly until his smile pushed his lips away.
They parted slightly, close enough that their foreheads were resting against each other and they could feel each other breathe.
Her eyes remained locked onto his as she repeated her truth, barely above a whisper.
“I love you, Steve.”
“I love you, Natalia.”