Title/Prompt: Tactical Decisions
Rating/Warnings: G
Word count: 1300
Summary: Natasha comes looking for some company.

Notes: Written in December 2016 for zippit as a treat for Yuletide 2016. This has been hosted on AO3 and I'm just now getting around to posting it here.

Steve wiped the last few suds from the kitchen sink, everything washed and dried and back in its place. He glanced a little guiltily at the dishwasher. He could never bring himself to use it — it seemed so wasteful — but in a time where technology could talk back to you, he often wondered if it didn't feel a little neglected.

"Sorry," he muttered to it on his way past.

He was planning on heading to the gym — it had been a full day, but he didn't feel tired enough for bed yet, and running a few miles on the treadmill seemed like a good way to burn off some energy and get his thoughts in order.

Naturally, whenever Steve had plans, no matter how mundane they seemed, something interrupted.

Passing through his living room, he discovered Natasha sitting on his couch, her legs tucked neatly beneath her.

"How'd you get in?" he asked stupidly.

"Your door wasn't locked."

He folded his arms.

"In any serious way," she added, averting her eyes. "I thought you might want to watch a movie."

"What made you think that?" He sank down beside her, resigning himself to the interruption.

She shrugged for an answer, and thumbed his remote control to bring the screen to life. He left it at that, settling in as film logos started playing. Natasha sat still and silent at the end of the couch. She brought her knees up beneath her chin and wrapped her arms around herself, staring at the screen.

"Want popcorn?" Steve asked.

She shook her head, but he went and made some anyway. The apartment filled with the scent of butter. When he placed the bowl on the cushion beside Natasha, she took a handful and ate it kernel by kernel.

Steve didn't bother pretending to watch the movie. Not when Natasha was doing such a bad job of it herself. She wasn't trying to fool him — herself, maybe. He waited quietly, watching her out of the corner of his eye as she nibbled at the popcorn.

He tried to think about something that might have upset her. Their mission today had been straightforward. Nobody had been hurt. Even all of their targets had been arrested and handed over safely with nothing but a few bruises and a bit of smoke inhalation.

When she reached for another handful of popcorn, he did too. Her fingers stilled against his hand for a moment before she withdrew again. She had come seeking company and comfort, and he didn't know why, but neither of those things were particularly difficult for him to offer.

He sat quietly beside her, letting the movie play out in front of him. It was an action movie, full of explosions and guns, and it was oddly comforting to watch it all unfold so badly in front of him.

"These guys make terrible tactical decisions," he muttered at one point.

"This is one of Tony's favorites," she answered, as though that explained everything.

"And yours?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"So why'd you choose it?"

"It's loud." She wrapped her arms around herself again. "My apartment is too quiet."

"You can't play a loud movie on your own television?" He regretted it immediately.

Her eyes darted to him and back to the screen.

"Nat, what's up?" he asked. "I don't care if you want company, but you've gotta tell me what's going on."

She grabbed hold of his words and tried to use them against him. "I just want company," she confirmed. "But if you're busy, I'll go."

"You know I'm not busy."

Steve knew better than anyone that the oddest, smallest things could come to be overwhelmingly upsetting. Sometimes there was no explanation behind it. He might call it shell shock, but someone else had once named it for him as PTSD. It was different for everyone, but few people could go through what he and Nat had been through without its effects bearing down upon them.

When the popcorn went cold, Steve shifted it to the coffee table, and left his hand lying open on the cushion between them. An invitation.

Natasha didn't take him up on it immediately, but he left it there, patient and waiting. When the movie finished, she queued up another one without consulting him.

"This is action, but there are fewer guns," she said after ten minutes had gone by. "Lots of cars. A great car chase. Still some really shitty tactical decisions." She dropped her hand into his and he squeezed it gently.

Another twenty minutes went by, and she spoke again as though no time had passed. "I'm fine, Steve."

"I know."

"I really just want company. That's all."

"That's okay, Nat."

The second movie was more enjoyable — or maybe it was because Nat had showed enough of herself for him to feel comfortable about watching it. He glanced at her now and then, but she seemed to be coming out of herself, paying more attention to the screen, curling in on herself less.

"Is this another one of Tony's favorites?" Steve asked.

"Dunno," Nat answered tiredly.

Steve rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. "You don't want to talk about it?"

She shrugged. "Just a bad day, that's all."

He wracked his brain, trying to remember her every move on the mission. She had seemed her normal self that morning. She had been quick and light on her feet when he needed her to be — no distraction or any sense that something was off.

"Quit it," she said, watching him with a small smile.

"What?"

"Trying to figure out how it's your fault. It's just a bad day." She stretched towards him and he lifted his arm automatically. She settled against him, her head against his chest. "I made a tactical decision to come and find you," she said. "A sensible tactical decision." She gestured at the screen. "Better thought out than any of this."

He glanced at the movie. "They're not doing too badly," he said. "But Nat —"

She interrupted him with a soft tut. "Just watch it, Steve, and quit worrying," she instructed.

"You know, you're awful bossy for someone who broke into my apartment and forced me to watch terrible movies," he complained. But he kissed the top of her head.

"I'm not forcing you," she said. "Go to bed any time, old man."

He grinned. She was sounding like herself again. He poked her gently in the ribs and then left it alone. She closed her eyes, her dark lashes throwing shadows down her cheeks, her red hair spilling loose over her shoulders. He combed his fingers through it idly.

When the movie credits started, she shifted slightly. "One more?" she asked hopefully.

He passed her the remote and she opened her eyes just long enough to select another title. She breathed a sigh and curled up a little, her weight pressing into Steve's side.

"Watching a movie and falling asleep on you," she murmured quietly. "How terribly domestic of us."

"Awful, isn't it?" he answered with a grin. He stroked her hair again, letting it fall silkily through his fingers. "Go to sleep, Nat. Tomorrow will be better."

"I won't make you watch any shitty movies tomorrow," she promised.

"It hasn't been so bad," he lied. "The company is good."

She opened her eyes and smiled up at him — a real, genuine, tired smile that seemed to glow right out of her. He kissed the end of her nose gently and she wrinkled it at him before she settled back under his arm with a sigh, closing her eyes again.

"The company here is always good," she said, like she was exchanging a secret about the menu at a restaurant. "That's why I keep coming back."