Title/Prompt: Solitary Creatures
Rating/Warnings: K
Word count: 6625
Summary: Natasha's had months to try and figure out a new cover, but things really only start to take shape when Steve calls.
Notes: Written in May 2017 for arsenic for fandom5k 2017.
Picked up as a pinch hit for fandom5k.
Hi Nat, it's Steve. I'm not sure if you're still in London so I didn't want to call in case you're in a different time zone and I woke you. Sam and I are back in DC and I thought you might like to catch up. (If you're around.) Give me a call when you find some time.
—
Clint always tells me my texts are too long. Sorry. Really hope I didn't wake you.
—
And I hope you're okay. :)
Natasha hits dial after the third text comes in. "Really?" she asks with a smile, not bothering with hello. "Three texts in two minutes?"
"Three minutes," Steve argues.
She laughs and looks out her apartment window into the street. The sun is setting, casting golden fingers out over the fresh snow. "Should I be impressed by your ability to get my phone number?" she asks.
"Clint wasn't hard to crack."
She rolls her eyes.
"I didn't wake you, did I?"
"I'm not in London anymore."
His voice falters. "Oh. The area code…"
"Same number, different country," she says. "I should probably get rid of it. Especially if Clint is starting to hand it out."
"He's incredibly open to bribes," Steve agrees.
She grins. It's nice to hear Steve's voice. "What's the weather like in DC?"
"How far away are you?" he asks curiously. "I mean, I know you said you wanted to figure some stuff out… and I guess if it were me, I'd want to stretch my legs."
She smiles at his choice of words. "I'm not that far," she says.
"Oh, good." He hesitates. "So… Do you want to catch up? Can you?"
"Sure," she says. She lets the blind fall with a rattle, and turns her back on the street below. "Give me a couple of days to get my affairs in order."
She's not sure why she's trying to wedge a delay in. She doesn't really have any affairs. It's hard to have much to do with SHIELD scattered to the wind and all of her aliases and safety measures burned up. But she can't bring herself to go running straight back to DC at the first invitation either. Leaving people wanting has been a leaf in her book for so long it wouldn't be right to stray from it.
"Great," he says. "That's great." She can hear him attempting to keep his happiness in check. She can picture the grin on his face. "I'll see you soon then," he adds.
"Sure, a couple of days," she says. And then, before she can stop herself, "Hey, your mission… Did you find him?"
He sounds caught, like he's aware he almost got away clean and now she's tripped him with the last minute question. He clears his throat. "No," he says. "Not yet."
She feels a cruel sense of relief. "I'm sorry, Steve," she says, trying to mean it. It's not that she wants him to be hurt. It's just that it might hurt more if he's successful, and maybe things are better this way.
"No, it's… it's okay," he says. His voice sounds heavier now and she regrets mentioning anything at all. "I'm not giving up."
"I know." There's an awkward pause. Natasha's heart thuds with unwanted adrenaline. "Tell me if there's anything I can do," she offers.
"Thanks." There's warmth in his voice. "Let's just have coffee first."
Natasha spends the rest of the evening trying to figure out what to take with her and what to leave behind. She doesn't think she'll return, though there's no reason she can't.
It's just that meeting up with Steve feels like the start of a new chapter. Time is up on figuring out who she is without SHIELD behind her. Once she's back in Steve's orbit again, she won't leave it. She's sure of this.
Everything else… Everything else has been scraped and cut away. She's had to start back at square one, and it hurts more than she'd like to admit. And she's tried to figure out exactly what that means — what she's been left with, and what she can be, but…
It's been harder than she thought it would be.
The solitude, the shitty apartments, the burner phones, the feeling someone is always watching her over her shoulder. She's been through all of this already. SHIELD was supposed to mean the end of it, and then all of that came crumbling down in literal flames. She's surprised and frustrated by how much of her personality seemed to be tied directly to the title of SHIELD Agent.
She looks around the apartment. She hasn't added many personal touches. It was only ever meant to be a temporary space, but she feels weirdly nervous about leaving. It's not comfortable, exactly, but it's been safe. The world outside has been tearing her to shreds — picking out all the minute details of her life, examining every secret SHIELD ever had access to. Everything. And it hasn't bothered her, really. She's kept her head down and soldiered on.
You are made of marble.
You never fail.
She grits her teeth and checks the locks, shuts the living room light off. The place already feels less like home to her. Natasha Romanoff is preparing to leave another place, another time, another sense of self, and start again.
Sometimes she thinks it would have been better to go with Steve and Sam on their mission. Maybe it would have been a better idea to keep busy — to keep driving herself as what she was then, instead of retreating and ending up what she is now.
For a moment, the image of Fury lying on a cold slab in front of her flashes before her eyes. She shivers involuntarily and tightens her hands into fists, drawing a deep breath to steady herself.
She got Fury back in the end, but everything else got pulled out from under her feet.
And Steve was there with her the entire way. Everything got turned upside down for him too. It's worse, maybe, because of Bucky. Natasha is no stranger to loss, but she can't say she knows what Steve is going through.
She stares at herself in the mirror as she brushes her teeth and tries to imagine what it would be like if she watched Steve die tomorrow and then he came back years later and tried to kill her. That he came back with all of what she knew about him stripped away and replaced with something else.
She remembers Clint's eyes glazed with magic, and her stomach drops sharply before she pushes the memory away again.
It's still not the same. And losing Fury and gaining him again in the space of days isn't the same, either. She's never going to understand what Steve has been through, but she was there beside him when it happened, and maybe that's enough to bond them somehow.
She does feel guilty about not going with him. Trying to figure out a new identity for herself seems cruel when he's been dealing with everything else. The thing is, Steve knows what it's like to soldier on. She let herself think it wouldn't matter if he didn't have a team behind him.
Sam went with him, she thinks. He had someone. He wasn't alone.
She feels a flurry of nerves when she considers how different Steve might be, all those months on the road with Sam, only to come home without Bucky. He's had the drive and the discipline of a goal and a mission, and she's had nothing like that.
Her memories of him feel nostalgic rather than realistic. She hopes he's as forgiving as she remembers him to be. She hopes he still trusts her. The Natasha who earned all of that feels a long way from where she is now.
She stares at her reflection and tries the old wisecrack she brings out whenever she needs to reassure herself in moments like this: Black Widows are solitary creatures.
She's not sure it works anymore.
Sam says he'd love to cook you breakfast one morning if you felt up for it.
—
Wait, I'm sorry. I just read that back and I absolutely did not mean it to sound that way. I'm not sure how Sam intended it to sound. Text messages don't really allow proper context and I'm not very good at them anyway.
—
Sam is usually smoother than that though. I messed it up I think. It was probably innocent. He's cooked you (us) breakfast before. I thought it was delicious.
DC is blanketed in snow. The prettiness of Christmas is over — all the colored lights and the holly and tinsel has been taken down. The streets are dirty at the edges and everything looks cold. It makes Natasha feel irritable, but Steve is, of course, the best cure.
She knocks at his door without knowing he'll be home. She hasn't called ahead or even texted him back to let him know when she'll show up. Part of her still wants to be as evasive as she ever was, but her intentions of being aloof disappear as soon as he opens his door.
His face lights up at the sight of her and he moves so fast all she can do is twist slightly to make sure she's comfortably nestled as he wraps his arms tightly around her. She hugs him back and buries her face indulgently in his shoulder. It's been a long time since she even touched anyone else, and it surprises her how nice it feels to have someone else's warmth up against her.
"I told you to call," he says, trying to tell her off, but there's a laugh just under his voice. It vibrates in his chest.
He squeezes her hard enough she can't catch her breath for a moment, and then he eases up and drops her lightly back to her feet. Her hands linger on him for a moment, and he seems to notice.
"Anyone would think you missed me," he teases her.
"Don't flatter yourself," she says. "I've been on my own for too long, that's all. I was bound to crack at the first sign of human contact."
He wraps his arm around her shoulders and half-drags her into his apartment. "Maybe I should have planted Stark in your path instead."
"He's even better at deflecting affection than I am," she says.
She sits at the counter in Steve's kitchen while he makes coffee.
"Is Sam coming?" she asks, not sure what she wants the answer to be. She likes Sam, but it's nice to be alone with Steve.
"He's busy today," Steve says, frowning as he pours her coffee. "Do you take sugar? I can't remember."
"Surprise me," she says. She takes a moment to look around his apartment. She's only been here a few times before, and never for longer than ten minutes. "You've kept everything the same," she says.
"It's nice to have a place to call home," he says with a shrug. He looks self-conscious and Natasha is sorry to have made him uncomfortable. "Where have you been hiding?" he asks.
"All over, at first," she says, not sure exactly why she's being so vague. "I didn't really want to see everyone tearing my history apart, so I just…" She shrugs and sips her coffee, not sure if she's fooling Steve with her nonchalance. She tries for a little truth. "It was like starting all over again. When I was on my own. Before SHIELD."
He looks at her like he's expecting her to expand on that, but she doesn't. She thinks he's read enough of her past by now to understand. Surely everyone else has. She's as exposed as she's ever been.
"Why did you text me?" she asks suddenly.
"Because I missed you," he says in surprise. "And I was worried you hadn't turned up yet. I thought you'd be in touch after a few weeks, but you never…" He trails off and there's a slightly pink hue in his cheeks. "Sorry, I mean… I know with everything that happened, you needed some time…"
"I should have called you," she says. "I'm sorry. I want you to trust me, and —"
"I do trust you," he interrupts. "That's not what I meant. I was just worried about you. You know." He clears his throat softly. "As a friend."
"Like you're worried about Stark and Clint and Banner?" she asks with a wry smile.
"Tony has Pepper to look after him," Steve says, "so he gets slightly less worry. And anyway — nobody else went off the grid, Nat."
"Off the grid is the tag line to my new cover," she says. She slides off the stool at the counter to go and poke through his bookshelf. He watches her, arms folded. His shelves are full of history books, art books, and biographies. She runs her fingers over the spines, noting the creases, and she knows they've all been read and paged through.
Her apartment — the one she's just left, the temporary, month-by-month shell she's been living in — was impersonal and staged. And it was supposed to be, but looking at all of Steve's possessions and standing in his home makes her angry for not indulging herself a little. Why couldn't she have made herself something cozy and comfortable while she hid from the world and tried to figure things out? Why does she always have to make things so difficult for herself?
"So is that what you've decided?" Steve asks quietly.
She looks over her shoulder at him. "What do you mean?"
"You said you were leaving to figure out your new cover. Are you going to stay off the grid?"
"Oh." She runs her finger over the spines again. "I don't know. I was joking. I'm still figuring out what my cover should be, I guess."
"Me too," he says hesitantly. "I mean, not a cover, but… after they brought me out of the ice, I had to…" He shifts uncomfortably. "I had to adjust and figure out who I was without… what I'd lost. And I know it's not exactly the same, but if you wanted to talk it through, I'm here. If you want." He shakes his head, flustered.
"You really know how to make a girl's problems seem insignificant."
He looks dismayed. "I didn't mean that."
"I know," she says.
He looks like he's waiting for her to continue. To stop and pour her heart out — Fury died, Fury lived, SHIELD fell apart and Hydra agents poured out from between the cracks. How the hell are either of them still standing?
"Did you invite me here for a heart to heart?" she asks. She runs her fingers over the surfaces in his living room. The end table is smooth with polish. There's a thick blanket made of dark wool piled over the back of his couch. She wonders if he took the look straight out of an interiors magazine or if someone else suggested it. Or if it's just there because he falls asleep in front of the TV sometimes.
"You've never disappeared after a mission before," he blurts.
"Yes I have." She turns and faces him again with a shrug. "I'm fine, Steve. I've been through worse. I'll probably go through worse again." She clicks her fingers like she's had a bright idea. "That's the tag line of my new cover."
He pulls a face at her. "I think it could use some work."
She can feel her muscles starting to tighten against her will, and the need to get out of the apartment starts to itch its way over her skin. She changes the subject. "Do we have to talk about all this stuff now? I thought you just wanted to hang out."
"I did. I mean, I do. Sorry." He gestures to the couch, and she vaults neatly over the back of it and settles herself into the corner, dragging the blanket with her.
He grins at her, and the tension is somewhat broken. "Want to watch a movie?" he asks.
Natasha isn't quite asleep, but she's close. She's kicked her shoes off and the blanket is still draped over her. It's not snowing outside, but it's cold, and the light is blue and gray. Steve's apartment is warm and if she stretches her legs out even the slightest bit, she knows her feet will come up against his thigh. She's close enough she can feel his body heat, radiating out of him like he's been injected with goddamn sunlight.
She hasn't felt this relaxed in a long time.
"Nat?" Steve asks softly. "You asleep?"
"No," she murmurs back. But she doesn't stir from under the blanket. Maybe Steve thinks she's jet-lagged.
The volume on the TV drops a couple of notches, and then Steve's hand is a comforting weight through the blanket, his palm cupped over her ankle. He doesn't move — there's no stroking or tapping, or shaking her awake. He just holds her like that, through several layers of clothing and woolen blanket. One hand carefully resting upon her, almost like he's scared if he doesn't hold onto her, she'll disappear again.
She's been on her own for months. The weight of somebody's hand is a security she hasn't been aware of missing.
The movie plays on quietly, and Natasha falls asleep.
"What was London like?" Steve asks. "Did you like it?" He's made her another cup of coffee, and he's sitting beside her on the couch again.
Natasha feels slightly disoriented and embarrassed about falling asleep. "It was okay," she says.
She can hear exasperation in his voice. "What did you do? Museums? Did you go on that Eye thing?"
She grins at him. "No. I stayed away from tourists if I could. And I wasn't there for long, anyway. I moved around a lot."
"Why?"
"Because I wanted to be alone, and when you stay in one place for too long, people will find you." She sips at her coffee. "The last apartment I had was the longest I stayed anywhere, and that was only for six weeks."
"I was worried about you," he admits. "Do you have any idea how many times I asked Clint for your number before he finally gave in?" His next question has a slight edge to it. "And how come he gets your number when you disappear, anyway?"
"Next time I'll make sure you have it too." She means it, but he doesn't seem happy.
"I don't want there to be a next time, Nat. You know, I get needing some time alone, but you went off the grid for months, and… I was supposed to be able to find you." His shoulders slump a little bit. "If I couldn't find Buck, I at least wanted to be able to find you."
Natasha examines this for a moment. She can feel her heart beating in her chest. "I didn't think about that," she says. "I'm sorry."
He just shakes his head.
"I am," she insists, worried now that he'll never trust another word she says. "I know it looks selfish, Steve, but —"
"That's not what I meant," he says, sounding tired. "But you've been talking about having to leave everything, and I know what it's like to have to start again. I thought I could help, that's all."
"You had other things to worry about."
He gives her a small smile. "I can worry about more than one thing at a time."
"I was always going to come back, Steve. You're one of the only foundations I've got left." The words are out before she can even think about them.
He looks at her in surprise, but doesn't say anything.
"You know, all you had to do to get Clint to give you my number was bribe him with strong coffee," she says eventually.
"That's finally what got him to crack," Steve admits.
She laughs, and he grins sheepishly at her.
"I missed you," she says.
"I missed you too."
She slides sideways to curl up against his arm. He doesn't move — no wrapping her into an embrace or sliding his hand over her shoulder — and she's not sure whether or not she was hoping he would. But this is close enough for now.
She drinks her coffee and they sit in silence, watching the shadows lengthen outside as darkness falls.
They're waiting for a pizza to be delivered. Natasha has taken a beer out of Steve's fridge and is sitting on the kitchen counter top, watching him rinse their coffee mugs in the sink.
"How's Sam?" she asks, rubbing her thumb against the label on her beer.
Steve glances at the clock. "Should I call him? I mean, he could come over now, if you wanted to see him."
"No," she says. She grins at him. "I'll see him tomorrow for breakfast, right?"
Steve winces. "He laughed when I showed him those messages."
She shrugs. "He does make a good breakfast."
He smiles at her and dries his hands. "He's good. He's been — I don't know how I would have gotten so far without him. He's a good man to have at your side."
"Maybe if things ever pick up again, he can help us out."
Steve gives her a strange look. "You don't think the Avengers will ever get together again?"
She chooses her words carefully. "I do. But it just seems… I mean, nobody else came. Even when we were getting raked over the coals in the days after it all went to hell."
"When you were getting raked over the coals," Steve clarifies, his voice gentle and apologetic. "And in the grand scheme of things, I think it was better they didn't come. Do you think things would have been better handled if we'd all risen as a team out of that —"
He cuts himself off.
Natasha grins at him. "Were you about to swear?"
"No."
"You were. You were going to say shit heap."
"I was not."
She laughs, but then their pizza arrives and interrupts any further teasing she might have put him through.
They sit in front of the TV again and pull their slices apart, Natasha curling the strings of cheese around her finger and grinning at Steve as she eats them.
"I miss the pizza in New York," he says.
"I thought you'd have gone back there," she answers, reaching for her beer. "Back to Brooklyn."
"I thought about it." He sinks back onto the couch, looking thoughtful. "But I'd pictured going back there with Bucky. And Sam lives here and it just felt right to come back with him. There's still so much that needs to be done. They're still cleaning up, and I can at least help with that."
She offers him her pizza crust. "Fury isn't here to give orders. Nobody is."
"I don't want to wait for orders to start doing the right thing," Steve says with a frown. "I'm not sure I ever want to take orders again."
"Pass me another slice," Natasha says.
He bites the end off her pizza crust and grins at her. "Nice try."
The movie on the screen has blurred into soft colors and low noises well outside the span of Natasha's attention. Instead, she's looking at Steve's shield. It's leaning against the wall, propped there casually like he's half-forgotten to put it away where it really belongs. She can see the light gleaming off it from where she's lying, her feet in Steve's lap, the blanket draped over the two of them.
Steve catches her looking at it. "You know," he says, "we could meet Sam at the gym tomorrow morning and work out for a while."
Natasha feels a sudden spike of excitement, though she tries not to show it. "Will you spar with me?"
"That depends," Steve says, raising his eyebrows at her. "Are you willing to lose?"
"Oh please," she snorts. "You think I haven't been practicing while I've been on the road?"
"Not on Super Soldiers."
God, and she has missed that. Proper hand-to-hand training and exertion with someone strong and heavy, trained to block and blow and engage with her. She's ached for Steve to partner her in early morning workouts. She's thought of him at midnight training sessions. She's thought of him whenever she's pinned someone within mere seconds, and whenever she's iced a bruise.
"Will you bring your shield?"
He looks surprised. "If you want. It'll attract attention, though."
She's torn, because she's enjoying her low profile existence. But it has to come to an end at some point, and taking a running leap towards the circles on Steve's shield is as good a reason as any.
"I don't care about the attention," she says.
"Tagline to your new cover?" he asks.
She grins and drags the blanket up to her chin, stretching out her legs so they're draped over Steve's thighs. "Maybe."
"Nat."
"I'm not asleep," she mumbles.
"I know, but you're close enough. Come on, you can take the bed."
That wakes her. She sits up, feeling fuzzy and disoriented again. She didn't even think she was tired, but suddenly, in Steve's warm, quiet apartment, with Steve's comforting presence beside her, it feels like she has six months of sleep to catch up on. "Where will you sleep?" she asks, raking her hands through her hair.
"Here," he says simply, motioning to the couch.
"No you won't," she says, almost scornfully. "Steve, if you don't want to sleep in the bed with me, I'll take the couch." She interrupts his protest. "Can I borrow something to sleep in?"
"I — uh." He blinks at her.
"I'm not asking whether or not you have any silky nightgowns stashed away," she says, grinning at the blank look on his face. "An old t-shirt or a sweatshirt will work just fine."
He finds her a sweatshirt that's loose and soft and warm. She changes in the bathroom, shivering in the cold air until she's got it on. The idea of trying to fall asleep with Steve in the other room feels wrong somehow. She's been finding it ridiculously easy to fall asleep whenever he's beside her or touching her, and after so long on her own she selfishly wants more of it.
She rolls the sleeves back on the sweatshirt and opens the bathroom door to find him preparing his own bed on the couch.
"How do I look?" she asks, striking a pose in the doorway.
"Fit for a show," he answers, quick as whip, and then he stops and looks surprised with himself. "That's what I used to say to the USO girls whenever they asked," he says, and his face goes a little red.
She laughs. "A compliment, then."
"There are extra blankets, if you want," he says, gesturing.
She stands in front of him, feeling ludicrously small. "Come and sleep in the bed with me," she says. "Or let me take the couch."
"Nat…" He gives her a look, pleading with her to avoid an argument.
"If it was a mission you wouldn't even think twice about it," she says. "If we were stuck somewhere shitty with one bed, or if I was cold."
"Are you cold?"
"No."
"And it's not a mission with one bed, either, so there you go." He folds his arms.
She stands in front of him and they stare at one another for a long moment, fighting a silent, stubborn war with nothing but furious eye contact.
As a gesture of defeat, she pokes her tongue out at him, and he laughs.
"Goodnight," he says.
"Don't let the bed bugs bite." She closes the bedroom door behind her, but her heart sinks. She'd been enjoying the idea of falling asleep beside him, sharing his body heat under the blankets, the weight of his arm over her.
She's missed him, and maybe they only ever touched in the context of training, or sparring, or missions, but there's something so very comforting in Steve's physical presence. She's been on her own, secrets exposed to the world outside, trying to figure out who exactly she is when she no longer has anything to hide. She feels like a lost puzzle piece, trying to turn herself this way and that to fit into something around her again.
The weight of Steve's hands has made her feel as though she has somewhere to fit again, and she's disappointed that he hasn't followed her to bed, even if all she wanted to do was sleep beside him. She thinks about his comment about having to start again after SHIELD had brought him out of the ice, and she craves to comfort him, despite it being years ago. Despite him soldiering on and forging his way.
She's been trying to forge ahead without knowing where she'll end up; without knowing which direction she's headed in. Now she can feel herself aligning to Steve, and there's a satisfying weight to it, like her feet are on the ground again.
It doesn't feel like a cover. It doesn't feel like something that can be stripped away.
Natasha jolts awake and comes up swinging and breathless. Steve catches her fist in one wide hand, and rolls to pin her beneath his weight.
"Nat," he gasps. "Wait."
She fights him for a moment, but it's more muscle memory than real understanding of what she's doing — her body takes over, not daring to give in.
You are made of marble.
You never fail.
"Nat!" Steve snaps at her, frustrated, and she goes limp, breath shuddering in her lungs, sweat cold on her skin. He doesn't release his hold on her. She can feel the strength in his hands, his grip locked around her wrist. "Hey," he says, his voice softer now. "You awake?"
"Yeah." She blinks up at the ceiling. "Let me go."
He does, rolling back carefully.
She sits up, her stomach churning. "Sorry," she says, and she immediately escapes into the bathroom to splash cold water on her face, her fingers trembling and her heart still pounding in her chest.
Shreds of the dream flutter in the corners of her mind. Clint and Laura, and the kids. The house, flames pouring out of the windows and Rumlow walking alone through the front door, laughing as everything fell burning around him.
She retches into the sink, but nothing comes up. She swallows a mouthful of cold water and looks at herself in the mirror. Her face is pale.
Steve is lingering in the bedroom when she comes back. He's turned the bedside lamp on and she wishes he hadn't. She slides in and looks up at him, and he sits beside her, propped up against the pillows.
"You okay?" he asks.
"I'm fine," she says.
"You screamed."
"I was dreaming about roller coasters."
He gives her a look and she knows he's tired of her bullshit. He has to be.
"You were shouting for Clint."
"I'm fine," she insists. "I didn't mean to wake you."
He's silent for a moment, considering what to do next. "Does it happen often?"
"Only when I feel safe somewhere. It's the only time I fall into a deep enough sleep." She drags a pillow under her head again and avoids looking at him. "You should take it as a compliment."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"No." She can't, anyway. Steve doesn't know about Laura or the kids. Natasha's stomach lurches again at the thought of what might have happened if Clint hadn't kept them all so secret. If all the undercover Hydra agents infiltrating SHIELD had known about them.
She grits her teeth and wills herself to breathe slowly. There are tears burning in her eyes again and her hands are still shaking from all the adrenaline still coursing through her. She feels stupid, and angry with herself. Nightmares aren't anything new but she doesn't usually have an audience, and somehow that's making everything worse.
"Do you want…" Steve trails off, sounding helpless. He tries again. "Tell me what I can do."
"It was just a dream," she insists, trying to get a grip on her physical reactions. She presses her hands over her eyes, drowning out the soft light spilling from the lamp.
"There's nothing to be ashamed of, you know."
"Can I just go back to sleep?" she asks. "I'm fine." She clears her throat and gestures. "It's just adrenaline, I'm okay now."
"Okay."
She waits, but he doesn't move. Doesn't reach over and touch her. She wishes he would, but she can't explain to herself why it would help. She thinks if he were upset, she'd reach over and rest a hand against his shoulder or take his hand in hers. And she thinks he probably wants to do that, but she's spent a lot of time and energy projecting an aura of solitude and now he's trying to respect her personal space because he thinks that's what she needs.
God damn it, Natasha.
"Do you want me to shut the light off?" Steve asks quietly.
"Yeah." She has her back to him, but she feels the bed dip with his weight as he reaches over, and the light clicks off. He settles himself beside her again.
"You're not going to try and kill me in my sleep if I stay, are you?" he asks.
"Please," she scoffs. "If that helicarrier shit didn't kill you, nothing will."
Steve's voice is low. "That might be true," he admits. "I've been surviving helicarrier shit since before you were born, Romanoff."
She can't help but give a sudden laugh. She doubts he would have cursed back at her if he weren't so worried about her, or trying to make such an effort to drag her back from the nightmare. She gives up waiting for him to make the first move, and rolls towards him. He relents, and slides down beside her, lifting his arm so she can snuggle underneath and bury her face against his side.
He squeezes her gently. "Even when you're asleep, you're more deadly than most people."
She grins. "The tag line to my new cover."
He laughs quietly. "Well," he says, "I mean, I won't lie, I'd rather you try and kill me when we're both awake. If you don't mind."
"Not at all. Let's see what happens in the gym tomorrow." She feels calmer now. The adrenaline has faded away and she's bone tired again. Steve's body is warm against hers.
"Yeah, let's see." His fingers curl into the sweatshirt she's wearing.
She knows he's going to wait for her to fall asleep. She tries to steady her breathing, and she keeps her eyes closed. Gradually she can feel herself relaxing again, bit by bit. "You're not listening to my heartbeat with your Super Solider hearing, are you?" she asks.
His fingers trail gently through her hair. "I think Super Soldier hearing would be counter-productive if I could hear your heartbeat, Nat. I'd never get any sleep. I'd be listening to the neighbors all the time. SHIELD earpieces would be a nightmare."
She slides her arm over his chest, keeping him in place. "Just checking," she says. "You're probably right though. If I got superpowers injected into me I wouldn't want super hearing either."
"They're not superpowers," Steve says, sounding quietly exasperated.
"Oh, okay," she says, propping herself up on her elbow so she can see his face. "If I got injected with a bunch of completely natural abilities —"
He laughs and puts a hand over his eyes so she can't make eye contact with him, his arm silhouetted against the pale streetlight showing through the curtains. "Go back to sleep," he says. "Just — not as comfortable as you were. No more nightmares."
"I'll do my best." She rests her cheek down against his chest, his heartbeat under her ear.
"I like that as the tag line to your new cover," he says after a moment.
"What? I'll do my best?"
"No. No more nightmares."
"God, Steve." She rolls away from him in protest. "That's terrible."
This time he follows her and wraps himself around her properly, his arm a heavy weight over her side. "I liked it."
"I'm really going to kick your ass for that tomorrow, you know."
"Bring it on," he says.
She waits, and sure enough he doesn't disappoint.
"That would make a good one."
"It's not bad," she concedes.
"Bring it on."
"Best one yet, actually," she says. "I'm going to use it."
He breathes a deep sigh, settling in behind her, his breath warm on the back of her neck. "We'll share it," he says. "I've got a feeling we'll both get a lot of use out of it."
Silence falls, but Natasha is no longer feeling drowsy. Steve's warmth behind her is comforting and pleasant, and his talking and joking to settle her back into her own skin has made her think about her affection for him, and what exactly he means to her.
She's worried, because all the things she's done — the personalities she's worn and inhabited, all the people and organizations she's fooled and infiltrated — she can still fuck up the simple things.
"Steve?" she asks quietly.
"Mmhm?" He's close to falling asleep.
"If you go looking for Bucky again, I want to come with you."
He's quiet, but he tightens his arm around her like he did when she first arrived — firm, strong. An affectionate, crushing squeeze.
"Sam can come too, but unless he can guarantee his reflexes are as fast as yours, he'd better sleep separately," she adds.
"Don't even bring it up," Steve says, slightly threatening. "Do you have any idea how long he'll continue to run this joke into the ground if he finds out you slept in my bed?"
"I'm going to wake up before you and take a selfie and send it —"
"Don't you dare."
She grins. Rolls over to tuck her head under his chin and wrap her arms around him. "If you really want to live by the tag line," she says, "you're going to have to take that out of your vocabulary."
"You're not going back to sleep, are you," he says. It's not a question.
"I'll stop talking," she says apologetically. She closes her eyes. "I'm comfortable, I promise."
He strokes her hair. "I'm glad," he says. "Me too."
It's quiet. Steve's apartment is built solid — nothing like the drafty, creaking, thin-walled shell Natasha subjected herself to. It's warm and quiet, and his breath is the only thing she can hear, even if she tries to make out traffic noise or neighbors. The snow has hushed everything outside.
She's not entirely convinced he's asleep, but she keeps her voice to below a whisper anyway. "Can I stay tomorrow night as well?"
He stirs, and she feels him sigh a warm breath against her hair. She's terrified of what his answer might be, even with everything gentle and quiet and safe at the moment. Even with today being the best day she's had since everything went to hell.
"You can stay as long as you want."
"Even if I try to kill you in my sleep?"
"Even so."
She feels overwhelmingly thankful and relieved. "I don't want to sleep on the couch."
"Neither do I," Steve murmurs. "Let's just take it a day at a time, Nat."
"That works in direct contrast with our 'bring it on' philosophy," she says.
"We'll bring it on one day at a time," he says reasonably.
She laughs and cuddles closer to him. "Okay," she says. "That's perfect. Natasha Romanoff and Steve Rogers: Bringing it on, one day at a time."