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Natasha wakes with a start, sunny light from outside the windshield filtering into her blurry eyes.
“You okay?” her partner asks, and she turns her head to meet his querying gaze. She gives a quick nod and Steve’s eyes return to the stretch of road in front of them. “Dreams again?”
Natasha replies with a noncommittal sound, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Though she’s grateful for the lack of nightmares that typically plague her at night, she’s been having disconcerting dreams ever since she was rescued from Vormir. Her latest- and most frequent dream- features her suspended in space, seemingly forever until she’s falling, falling- and awakes with a start. Not the most horrible thing she’s ever dreamed, but definitely unpleasant in its own right.
“Are we almost there?” she asks, shifting to attempt to alleviate the uncomfortable twinge in her lower back.
Steve glances her way again, noting the pinch between her brows that generally indicates she’s been sitting one way too long. “Twenty minutes out, I’d say.”
Natasha nods, reclining her seat slightly and stretches her legs before her, sighing. Turning her head against the headrest to face him, she asks: “Do you ever miss playing passenger in my Corvette?”
A slight smile crosses the supersoldiers face. “Sometimes,” he says. “I mostly miss not having to be the driver all the time.”
“Fair,” the redhead laughs. Since her accident, driving has pretty much been taken out of the equation. As her right leg is her weaker side, she’s since been unable to completely and accurately control the up and down ankle motion needed to drive- or rather any specific movement at all. Not to mention she still hasn’t- and from what she’s been told- will not regain any more sensation than what she already has, making it difficult to judge the pressure she applies to the pedals.
(This is not speculation. They have tried driving once and let’s just say that if Natasha was a cat, she’d be nearly down to seven lives. Neither of them wish to repeat that particular experiment in their ongoing explorations of Nat’s post-SCI life.)
“I do miss my corvette, though,” the Widow laments after a moment. “She was the favourite of my SHIELD-issued cars.”
“Yes, she was very nice,” Steve agrees before asking; “How’s your back now?”
“I’ll be fine once I’m out of the truck,” she frowns, stretching her arms above her head.
Her partner hums in acknowledgement, a peaceful quiet blanketing the pair the rest of the drive. Steve knows not to push, that despite every ingrained molecule of her being screaming at her not to, she’ll ask if she needs anything.
It hadn’t been all that hard, in the beginning when their collective grief and sorrow was still fresh, to be truthful and open. They only had each other, and they hadn’t wanted to waste one moment of their lives- even though they often wished that they had joined the dusted.
But Steve had made it clear early on that if they were to truly be what they wanted to be together, then they had to let each other in- good or bad. The Widow was entitled to her past of course, could share what she wanted just as he was to his, but honesty was very important to him, and Natasha acquiesced. Ignoring years of learnt compartmentalization and training had been difficult (and still was more often than not), but she makes an effort to open up now more than ever.
The tick-tick of the signal light pulls the redhead from her musing, and Steve refocuses on the task at hand. Turning into the driveway, they roll to a stop and he turns off the vehicle before stepping out and rounding the car to the passenger side. Opening the door, he waits patiently, hand extended in expectation for his lovely partner to take.
Natasha rolls her eyes at his chivalry, though the smile tugging her lips upward diminishes the effect. Grabbing ahold, she uses him to balance as she hops rather ungracefully out of the vehicle. Keeping his hand securely in her own, they move to the trunk to grab their bags.
Today was to be a trial run, they’d decided. Clint and the rest of the Barton clan had asked if they had wanted to join them on their next fortnight-long family vacation somewhere tropical. Even Wanda and Hawkeye Jr. would be joining, so Steve and Nat had told them that they’d think about it.
If they decided that the beach was doable by the end of the day, then they’d let Clint know and plan to hop on a plane as soon as they could.
They’d wanted to go somewhere close to home to decide, away from prying eyes and cellphone cameras, and Natasha knew just the place: the Hamptons ( yes, those Hamptons ). Fury had a little known safehouse there- she never really found out why- but she knew it would provide just the opportunity they needed.
“Your sister?” Steve asks, shutting the tailgate.
“We’ll see,” Natasha replies, checking her phone.
She tries to relax as they climb the porch steps of the quaint little cottage. It’s backed by an expanse of fresh cut grass, followed by a private beach with powdery sand and cerulean seas. Not to mention not another soul in sight. Only a select few agents had known about the safehouse, so Natasha felt it was safe enough to say that no one else would be occupying the residence. Taking a breath, she unlocks the front door.
This wasn't supposed to be too stressful, just a way for them to assess how practical a beach vacation might be, while also masquerading as a fun little getaway from the city.
Dropping their bags in the foyer, they take a few minutes to explore the space. It’s surprisingly clean, only a small coating of dust on the surfaces. The Widow assumes that someone must have been staying there recently, and by the look of the combat boots by the door, she suspects it might be a certain dark-haired martial arts master and her younger protégée. Just because she’s been out of the Secret Agent game for nearly a decade, doesn’t mean she wasn’t aware that there was still a group of agents who had rebuilt an underground SHIELD- and more recently, reopened a SHIELD academy.
In almost no time, the small space is cleaned and tidied to a liveable condition- at least for a few days. Luckily the cottage is only one story, plus a loft where the bedroom resides.
As they finish up, they grab their bag of towels and a cooler for later, and make their way to the back patio. Passing a table and a set of chairs to the right and a small fire table and outdoor loveseat to the left, they cross the deck and descend the stairs.
Fresh flowers still in bloom line the path to the beach. Clearly the groundskeeper is still on someone’s payroll. Natasha grabs ahold of Steve’s hand again and basks in the warmth of the late August air as a cool breeze caresses their bodies, sending loose strands of hair dancing around the Widow‘s head.
As they near the end of the backyard and grass turns to sand, unease settles over the ex-assassin however.
Releasing Steve’s hand, she loops her now free arm around his own for better support, and shifts the bag in her other hand to her shoulder. The soldier waits patiently for her to make the first move. Reaching a tentative foot forwards, she steps into the sand and waits a moment to assure her stability before following with the KAFO clad side.
“Ooh, I don’t know about this,” Natasha intones, feeling the sand shift beneath her shoes. Walking on solid ground takes enough of her concentration as is, but each step she takes on the sand shoots a wave of uncertainty through her brain.
Focusing on her footing she moves slowly, making sure that she won’t fall before proceeding with the next step. The plan isn’t foolproof however, and she spends a considerable amount of time cursing under her breath as she corrects her stance in the sand. Steve keeps pace easily, and wisely stays silent about their snail’s pace.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she huffs as she loses her footing for the nth time. They haven't even made it halfway across the beach and Natasha’s about ready to call Clint up and tell him ‘no’ right then and there.
Steve grabs the bag she’s carrying and tosses it over his shoulder. Then, he removes her hand from his arm and instead guides it around his waist. Wrapping his own arm beneath hers, he pulls her securely against his side, hand resting against her hip. “Almost there,” he reassures, smiling slightly against her exasperated glare.
“Almost there!” she mimics, taking another step forwards. She lets him support the bulk of her weight as she starts forwards again, keeping her eyes to the shifting sand. As they reach the three-quarter mark between the sand and the sea, sweat rolls down her brow from the exertion, and Natasha decides it's close enough to set up base- or else risk the rest of her sanity.
Steve pulls the towels from the bag, laying them out in the sun before pulling his shirt over his head. Natasha watches appreciatively as his muscles flex with the movement, and she doesn’t think the sight will ever get old.
Sitting on the newly laid out towels, the Widow sheds her sundress, revealing a tasteful bikini beneath, and she knows that her partner is just as appreciative of the little black number.
“Bye-bye bikinis, huh?” Steve smirks, eyes trailing over porcelain skin marred by years of fighting.
Natasha laughs, leaning back to expose the small bullet scar near her hip. Memories of their first time on the run trickle through her mind.
‘I was covering my engineer, so he shot him straight through me. A Soviet slug, no rifling. Bye-bye bikinis.
Yeah, I bet you look terrible in them now.’
If only Steve knew then just how ironic that statement was. He sure knows now.
Her mind wanders as she tightens the straps of her KAFO and slides the smaller knee brace off.
It’s not that she’s nervous to swim per se, but rather the act of getting to and from the ocean's edge and into the deeper waters. Since they cut back significantly (a gross understatement) on their workload since returning from Wakanda, they’d taken to exploring NYC together, and seeing what it had to offer. It was interesting to say the least- learning what it was like to be regular civilians after spending most of their adult lives living in a tower or a SHIELD-issued apartment, or a superhero compound.
Settling into their new place, into their new routine hadn’t taken as long as they’d imagined it would, and on their days off when neither of them had anything planned, they’d take to the city that they called home. So far, they’d found a quaint diner with a surprisingly enjoyable menu, a peaceful park tucked away from all the hustle and bustle of the city, and a new gym with highend equipment and very few patrons. Said gym also happens to hold modified mixed martial arts classes of which Natasha’s taken a few, and has a decent sized swimming pool.
She hadn’t planned to try swimming as it wasn’t something that she did willingly at any other point in her life. But Steve had made a comment about how there used to be a community pool when he was growing up and he’d always wanted to go, but he’d been too sickly as a child. So Natasha decided to do what any rational partner would do and bought herself her very own bathing suit, and a pair of swim trunks (Captain America themed ones, of course) for the supersoldier, and dragged them back to the pool the next time they were free. And luckily, with great superhero status comes great public perks, and she was able to secure the pool for just the two of them for a few hours.
She’d been a little concerned about how she’d get to and from the pool’s edge, much like she is currently, but with levelled, tiled floors, she was able to walk right up to the edge before taking a seat and ditching her add-on’s. From there, she could just swing her feet over the edge, and into the pool they went.
And for once since she’d been back from the dead, she didn’t have to think about every little thing that she’d previously taken for granted. In the cool water, she felt weightless. She didn’t have to worry about her footing or her balance or her posture. She didn’t have to wear heavy braces or exert her body just to stay upright.
She could just be , for a little while at least.
And swimming was a good workout in and of itself, she found. Steve also took to swimming laps when he wasn’t messing around, perhaps healing a portion of his own childhood by diving into the water in increasingly ridiculous ways.
But that was a pool. The beach is shifty and hot, and the ocean doesn’t just level off into a convenient ledge. She double checked with her previous physiotherapist that the KAFO was waterproof, considering it was a custom, state-of-the-art model with an electronic component. Alanna had reassured her that it was indeed safe for water, but Natasha had still foregone it prior to now.
The pesky uncomfortable feeling returns and Natasha decides to indulge it a little longer. Brushing off Steve’s concerned gaze, she shoos him away to the water. Luckily, he leaves without prodding, unflinching at the chill of the water.
Breathing evenly, she attempts to dissect the feeling. A part of her longs to jump right in and get it over with (metaphorically of course), to just embrace the turmoil in her head but do what she came to do anyway.
Yet another part of her longs to stay put, to be afraid and angry at the unfairness of her situation, to wallow in the feelings that she’s tried so hard to deal with since her accident.
Her life has always been about adaptation and rebranding herself no matter the circumstance. It took a long time to make peace with her new life and all the obstacles that come with it. She doesn’t want to seem ungrateful for being alive, not anymore at least, but sometimes she can’t help thinking about how moments such as these could be different if she hadn’t been paralyzed.
And then that reminds her that the alternative would be, well, her own permanent death. Or the death of someone else that she cares about and that would be unthinkable.
Before she can spiral too fast, a blonde head appears from around the corner of the cottage. “You should really put some sunscreen on, unless you want to match your hair,” she shouts, laughing at her clever comparison.
“Yelena! What kept you so long?” Natasha calls, ignoring her sister’s teasing as she waves from her towel. “I’d get up and say hello, but-“ she gestures to brace lying beside her.
“I’ve been busy! Why? Did you miss me?” the blonde calls back, joining her sister on the beach towel. “Are you going soft?”
Natasha reaches over to hug the younger woman, who obliges with minimal protestation.
“You are soft,” she ribs, though she sighs longingly as Natasha caresses her cheek gently, pulling their foreheads to rest against one another.
“You’re going soft too,” Natasha points out, pulling away. “And I know you missed me too, ty, malen'koye der'mo,” she chides, smacking the blonde upside the head. You little shit .
“Oh, I did not miss you that much!” Yelena cries, wrinkling her nose in annoyance as she pushes her sister's hand away.
The redhead scowls exaggeratedly and the younger woman retracts her statement. “Okay, I did miss you. But only this much,” she jokes, bringing her hand up in front of her face, pointer finger and thumb pinched a centimetre apart.
Their affectionate bickering is cut short by the supersoldier’s return from the sea. “Hello, Yelena,” Steve greets, droplets of water running down his torso. He grabs the empty towel, drying off the bulk of the rivulets running down his body before he takes a seat across from them, and subconsciously grabs Natasha’s hand.
“Hello again, Steve Rogers,” the younger Widow greets. “Are you treating my sister nicely?” she asks in a mischievous tone.
“Yelena!” Natasha warns, though there’s no real heat behind the name.
“What? I can’t ask that my sister’s boyfriend -” she stresses the last word, “- is treating her good? You are sleeping together, no?”
“Yelena!” the redhead repeats- this time with a warning note- as her face flushes at the younger woman’s bluntness. She’s honestly surprised that she’s the one blushing while Steve just sits with a polite smile on his face.
“Okay, okay fine!” Yelena relents. Turning to Steve she asks; “How about: is my sister treating you nicely then?”
“Yes,” his smile grows teasing as he replies. “Nicely enough.”
“You’re so nosy,” Natasha grumbles, embarrassed by her younger sister’s antics.
“Whaaat?” the blonde whines, elongating the word. “I have not seen you since before I was so rudely dusted away.”
The atmosphere dampens. “I’m sorry. We tried-” Steve say, as Natasha worries; “We should’ve done better sooner-”
“Yes, yes. Good. No more talking about sad things,” Yelena interrupts, disregarding the pair’s bumbling apologies. “I’m back and you are not dead anymore. But you are still an idiot. And you too Steve.”
“Both of us?” Natasha asks sceptically.
“Yes. Again, you obviously because you died , and both of you because you took long enough to stop sneaking around each other like lovesick idiots.”
At this, Steve does blanch a little and Natasha mumbles something along the lines of ‘feelings’ and ‘not lovesick’, to which Yelena rolls her eyes.
“Please. It was not some secret. Ask your Avenger friends. They will say to you the same thing. Especially Clint Barton. I see you’re not swimming. Why not? Are you scared?”
“What do I have to be afraid of?” the redhead replies, feeling like she’s received a mild case of emotional whiplash trying to follow her sister’s rapidly changing topics.
“Well, just cowardly then,” she baits.
Natasha scoffs. “Suchka.” Bitch . “I’m not being cowardly, I’m just waiting a bit longer.”
Yelena rolls her eyes again and turns to the male member of the group once more, asking; “Is my sister being dramatic?”
“Oh, I don’t want to sleep on the couch, so I’m not going to answer that,” the supersoldier teases.
Natasha scowls, smacking him in the arm in response. “Pull me up, then,” she commands, adding an exasperated ‘jackass’ under her breath.
Steve obeys, jumping to his feet and doing as the lady says. She frowns as the sand makes its way between the footplate and her heel- not that she can really feel it, but annoying nonetheless.
Surprisingly, Yelena takes the opportunity to snake her arm around the redhead's waist, and leads them- albeit slowly- to the water's edge.
“Don’t say it.”
Yelena turns her head in her sister's direction, eyes wide in a faux innocent expression. “Say what?”
Natasha scoffs. “I know you’re thinking of some quip about me always having to lean on you or something.”
Steve huffs a laugh behind the women and Yelena frowns, protesting: “Was not-”
“You’re so predictable,” the redhead interrupts.
“I can leave you here,” the younger Widow threatens, loosening her grip.
“I can still kick your ass. Just ask Steve.”
Steve hums in agreement, finding himself thoroughly entertained by the exchange. He’s only seen the two siblings together on a few occasions, but he loves it every time.
“See?”
“He is your boyfriend, ty bolvan.” You dummy . “He has to agree if he doesn’t want to- what is the saying? Go to the dog shed?”
“The doghouse. If he doesn’t want to be in the doghouse.”
“You are proving my point-” Yelena cuts herself off, hissing at the cold water. Natasha looks down, noticing the water lapping at their knees.
“Okay Steve Rogers. Your turn to walk with my sister. I’m going back to the beach.”
Easily swapping positions, Steve rolls his eyes at the younger woman, preparing himself for whatever his partner is inevitably going to start between the two sisters.
“What, a little cold bothers you?” the redhead teases, eyes glinting with mischief as her gaze follows the blonde. “I thought you were Russian.”
“Ukrainian.”
“Eh, close enough,” the redhead laughs, and before the younger woman can react, Natasha kicks as best she can, sending a spray of water droplets her sister’s way.
“Hey! That is not fair!” Yelena exclaims. “Just because you can’t feel it doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t!”
Natasha freezes, the laughter fading from her eyes a look of shock takes over her features instead. Steve’s hand tightens around her waist- both in support and in warning- and shoots Yelena a glance as well.
It takes the younger Widow a moment to realize what she’s said, and she blanches. She meant it in jest, a heat of the moment sort of thing, but she feels like she’s crossed a line as she takes in the look on her sister’s face.
“Natasha, I-” she starts, her apology written all over her face. She approaches the other woman slowly, until she’s standing right in front of her. “I’m sorry! I didn’t think-”
For the second time in the short amount of time they’ve been in the water, Natasha showcases her impressive unpredictability. Reaching out, she latches on to the blonde's arm and before she can react, pulls hard.
“- Oh!” the younger woman yells as she tumbles forwards with a splash. “Sutchka!”
The redhead laughs at the look of surprise on Yelena’s face, taking in the widened doe eyes and the droplets that litter her skin.
The Supersoldiers grip loosens on the hip he’s holding as he realizes what just happened. Not wanting to get caught in the middle of Yelena’s retaliation, Steve takes a step back, praying that he doesn’t drop his partner in doing so- for fear of her retribution.
“How’s the temperature down there?” Natasha taunts, leaning out of Steve’s grasp on mostly stable feet.
“Why don’t you come find out?” Yelena growls, kicking out in turn and bringing her sister to her level.
To be honest, Natasha was expecting that little bit of retaliation, so at the very least she was able to brace herself once she hit the water.
A tiny hint of remorse for her previous words to her sister nags at the back of her mind as the coolness hits the parts of her that can feel. Of course she’ll never admit to it though so she settles for just shoving her sister instead, uttering “It’s not that bad,” cheekily.
Yelena mutters something unintelligible under her breath, before sobering and moving onto her knees. The ocean laps at her chest as she helps Natasha to do the same before the two women eye the only standing member.
Steve takes a tentative step back in preparation for whatever’s to come. Either they’d keep going at each other, or they’d pick the completely innocent bystander to turn their crafty- albeit playful- skills onto. Judging by the way the two look at each other and back at him with a mischievous glint in their eyes, he thinks they’ve agreed on the latter.
It’s not long before he’s got sand in his trunks and water in his eyes, and two women laughing at him as if attempted drowning was just another Tuesday for them. Which he supposes it kind of was.
As the laughter fades, they each take a deep breath of salty air, embracing the warmth emanating from the sun. Natasha lowers herself into the water, pushing sticky strands of hair away from her face. Turning her face to the sky, she floats on her back, water drowning out the sounds of her companions, and lets her mind wander.
The Widow starts to realize that maybe she really had nothing to worry about at all. If her biggest issue was simply walking to the water, then she needn’t have stressed, acknowledging however that it probably stems from her fierce independence and her need for control that sometimes leaves her uncomfortable accepting help. As hard as it often is to depend on someone- whether it be a friend, a teammate, a sister, a lover- she knows that she can’t go back to who she used to be, that even if she hadn’t gone through that life changing event, or had come back from Vormir unharmed, that she’d still have needed to make a change.
Deciding that maybe a beach vacation won’t be so bad after all, Natasha feels her worries drifting away.
The rest of the afternoon is filled with much less introspection, thankfully. Steve swims, Natasha floats and Yelena- well Yelena does whatever she does. Of course it’s only the young Widow’s second time ever in the ocean (she doesn’t like thinking about the first time- seriously, who knew the ocean water was so salty?). Natasha watches in exasperation as her younger sister forces her to see how long she can hold her breath or hold a handstand, and it reminds her of her first trip to the lake near Clint’s cabin with his kids. This was the summer field trip that they’d never known they wanted, never knew they could have, and the Widow makes a mental note to remind her sister to clear her schedule in the near future.
The beach floaties eventually make their way out of the bag and into the ocean, and Yelena makes it her goal to see how far out she can go, but is luckily redirected from that idea when Natasha warns her that no one will come to save her if she gets lost at sea.
After their lunch of fresh fruit and sandwiches, Yelena interrupts the calm atmosphere by bemoaning the lack of a fourth member. When Steve humours her and asks why they need someone else, she replies : “For a game of Duck,” whilst looking at the couple like they’re idiots. The unsaid ‘duh’ was clearly implied.
It takes a few moments for Natasha to realize what the younger Widow meant. “Chicken.”
“...Whatever.”
Watch out world , Natasha thinks as Steve laughs at the annoyed look they’re being given. The Barton-Bishop/ Romanoff-Rogers and now Belova beach trip of 2024 was so on.