"I spy with my little eye somethiiiiing… green."
Steve raised an eyebrow at the former assassin. "Seriously?"
"What?" Natasha asked. She was slumped in the car seat with her feet propped up on the dashboard. Steve winced at the sight. He was really tempted to push them right off.
"There are trees everywhere," he gestured to the scenery before them. It would make for a really nice drive if they weren't currently on the run from Hydra.
"I could have been talking about the grass," Natasha says defensively.
"I am not playing this game with you," Steve muttered.
"We have four hours till we reach Jersey. Might as well do something to pass the time right?" Natasha twirled the hoodie string in her hands as she stared at Steve expectantly.
This was a stupid idea.
Steve sighed and looked out the window anyways. "I spy something blue."
"Oh come on!"
Natasha reached behind the seat and moved around. Steve didn't think too much of it until he started hearing rustling and grunting noises.
"What are you doing?" His eyes dart between her and the road. Captain America causing a car accident did not make for good headlines.
She pulled back around and plopped down in her seat with a huff. "Food."
He furrowed his brow. "Are you hungry?"
"And you aren't?" She shot back.
Maybe he was starting to get a little snackish, but they had a mission to focus on and now was so not the time to—
"We need gas anyways right?" Natasha asks as she pulls up the GPS app on her phone.
"Wait what?" He jerks his head towards her. "We are not stopping for gas!"
"Yes we are." She gives him a 'come on' look. "Look, the closest is one is only three miles away." She holds up the phone for him to see and smirks. She knows she's already won.
Steve stares at her. They are not stopping.
They stopped. They're at a gas station, and Steve is fuming as he waits for the car to fill up.
He taps his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel. He sees Natasha strutting back with what looks like bags of junk food and some water bottles.
She settles in her seat with a satisfied grin.
"You better have my funions," Steve says sourly.
Natasha sighs dramatically and literally throws the bag in his face. "There, your funions. Happy?"
"Not yet." He opens the bag and pops one into his mouth. "Now I am."
"It's not like you're actually gonna find anything."
"You don't know that." Natasha's face is scrunched up in concentration. She's trying to find a good radio station because frankly she can't take country music and rap any longer. The CDs in this car are absolute crap.
"Would you just—stop?" Steve swats her hands away from the buttons. He's starting to get annoyed.
"You actually want to listen to this for another hour and a half?" Natasha forcefully pushes one of the CDs in and gunshots start blaring inside the truck.
Steve ducks on instinct then realizes they're not actual gunshots. He scowls at her and turns the volume button down.
"This isn't even your car."
"Right. Because we stole it."
"We did not steal it," he insists through gritted teeth for the umpteenth time in a row. They may be wanted criminals now but he's so not going to jail for theft.
"Totally stole it," the redhead mutters under her breath.
They sit in silence.
After what seems like ages Natasha slowly brings her hand forward and turns volume back up.
Steve almost sighs in relief when he sees the 'Welcome to New Jersey' sign. Of course Natasha chooses this very moment to ask her question.
"Where did Captain America learn how to steal a car?" She asks curiously.
Steve sucks in a breath and fidgets uncomfortably in his seat. "Nazi, Germany. And we're borrowing take your feet off the dash." He gives a pointed look toward her legs.
The red-head's eyebrows shoot up but she complies anyways.
"Alright I have a question for you, of which you do not have to answer," she begins. "I feel like if you don't answer it though, you're kind of answering it you know—"
"What?" Steve demanded.
"Was that your first kiss since 1945?"
He averts his gaze a little. He tries to pretend that didn't sting or anything. "That bad huh?"
"I didn't say that."
"Well it kinda sounds like that's what you're saying."
"No, I didn't no I just—wondered how much practice you had," she tries to reassure, like she cares or not if she hurts his feelings.
"I don't need practice."
"Everyone needs practice."
"It was not my first kiss since 1945. I'm 95 not dead," he states firmly. Natasha makes an act of rolling her eyes and faces forward again.
"Nobody special though?" She asks as an afterthought.
Steve huffs out a laugh. "Believe it or not, it's kind of hard to find someone with shared life experiences."
"Well, that's alright. You just make something up," she says flippantly.
"What, like you?" He almost winces. He doesn't mean for it to sound accusatory.
Natasha considers this for a moment. "I don't know. The truth is a matter of circumstances, it's not all things to all people all the time. And neither am I."
He turns to her. "That's a tough way to live."
"It's a good way not to die though," she responds quietly.
"You know, it's kind of hard to trust someone when you don't know who that someone really is.
"Yeah." But she doesn't seem convinced. A thought crosses her face and she stares at him seriously. "Who do you want me to be?"
"How about a friend?" Steve settles for.
He hears a soft laugh from Natasha and turns his head again.
"Well, there's a chance you might be in the wroooong business, Rogers," she drawls out.
They hold each other's gaze for a while.
There's still so much to this woman that he doesn't know about. Obviously she's been through a lot, and deception seems to be her way out of things. Still, Steve doesn't push. It's not like he and Natasha are best friends or anything, just… friends.
They pull up to a chain link fence and Steve puts the car into park. He squeezes his fists and stares at the abandoned camp.
They're here, they finally made it. The relief he felt a few moments ago is starting to wash away now.
"Hmm, there's Stark's father," Natasha observes. She and Steve stare at the line of photographs across the wall.
"Howard." She doesn't miss the hint of fondness in his voice. She follows his eyes and notices him staring at a picture of a young woman. A very pretty young woman.
"Who's the girl?" She juts out her chin to the photo.
Steve's smile falters and he doesn't respond. He turns away and keeps walking. Natasha spares one last glance and leaves it be for now.
Well that was just fantastic.
The two only barely escaped a missile aimed straight at them and somehow they've both managed to survive. Now they're walking along a neighborhood all dirty and grimy with the sun starting to rise over the horizon.
Steve is looking carefully at each house. He'll pause for a few minutes, then shakes his head and moves on to the next one.
"You never did tell me who the girl was," Natasha says out of nowhere. Her whole side aches, and she smells of gasoline and gun power.
"What?" He's distracted and doesn't really take notice of the question.
"The girl," she repeats, "back at the camp. Real pretty?"
Steve stops in his tracks. He looks so tired. That still doesn't stop him from cracking a joke though.
"Jealous?" He deadpans.
"Not exactly, no," she decides to play along. "Don't think I can really compete after all. No shared life experiences or anything."
She spins around and puts her hands behind her back. She scuffles backwards, forcing Steve to walk slower.
"I'm sure you've heard of her. I'd be surprised if you didn't."
"Looks familiar."
He still doesn't say anything.
"Waaaas she your girlfriend?"
Steve chokes and coughs, a slight blush rising on his face.
"Oh so she was?" Natasha says in an amused tone.
"Get your mind out of the gutter Romanoff," Steve warns, but he says it jokingly.
"So she wasn't your girlfriend?" She keeps persisting.
"Natasha."
"Oh come ooon." She stops walking and blocks Steve's path.
"It's not important," he tries to shrug off.
"Sure it is. Otherwise you wouldn't have made goo-goo eyes at her before."
"She's married now."
And that takes her by surprise. She blinks a few times and tries to measure the man's expression. His face appears neutral, but she can tell there's a lingering shadow behind it all.
"She has kids," Steve continues. "Not to mention she's kind of old and in a nursing home suffering from Alzheimer's."
"Not exactly single material," Natasha notes.
He lets out a bitter laugh. "No, not exactly."
She bites her lip and goes back to walking beside him again. "You could always try dating again."
"Oooh sounds scary." She elbows his side. "Seriously, you should consider it." She looks at him earnestly. Steve returns it with a small smile as if to say thanks for trying (she never was good at the whole feelings thing).
Suddenly he frowns and looks at something above her head. Natasha spins around to see a sweaty man striding into his house. Probably back from a run or something.
"Bingo," Steve whispers triumphantly. He walks past her and heads for the house.
They've just had a really deep conversation, and it seems they've come to a bit of an understanding now. Steve is willing to put his trust in her, and somehow that lifts a weight off her shoulders.
Sam—at least she thinks that's what he's called—tells them that breakfast is ready, but neither one makes a move to get up. They're so tired from running and running and never getting anywhere.
"I can't move," Natasha groans.
Steve slumps down and throws his head back. "But there's food."
"It can wait." She closes her eyes and tries to relax for the small amount of time they have left. When was the last time she stopped to take a breather?
"Hey." He nudges her leg.
"Hmm?" She hums noncommittally.
"Thanks."
She cracks an eye open. "For what?"
"For.. being a friend," he says slowly.
Natasha closes her one eye and smiles. "A friend huh?"
"A friend," Steve repeats, more firmly than the first time he said it back in the truck.
"So we're friends now?"
"Sure."
She blows some air through her nose.
"Or we could try being friends, starting now."
She laughs, and Steve joins along too. A friend is definitely something nice to have, Natasha decides.