Title:
Prompt: 5 times Steve Said 'Good Morning' To Natasha
Disclaimer: I don't own (If I did I would own Mr Rogers ^_^). Property of Joss Whedon & Marvel Comics.
5.
'Good Morning' Steve said, looking up from the TV – some morning reality talk show with a large black lady that Steve really liked – as Natasha walked in, glanced around, her gaze coming to rest on the soldier. She was already dressed, wearing the same fitted tan bomber jacket she had worn when he had met her. Steve was used to the others (Clint and Tony and Bruce) lying in and not saying hello to the world 'till about 3pm, but Ms Romanoff rarely lay in, she normally banged on Clint's door to get him up for one meeting or another, or just to stop him being lazy. It could be classed as sweet, not that Steve could say those words without armouring up first. Natasha nodded in his general direction, rubbing her arms absently, and padding across the carpet of the living space, deep red curls tucked behind her ears.
'Good morning, Captain' Natasha replied, stopping, checking her watch and then glaring. 'If Barton doesn't get up, I am going to do what I did to him in Lesparre-Médoc' Natasha grumbled. Steve cocked his head in confusion, eager and also a little worried. Natasha blinked and smirked. 'Now that would be telling, I –Barton!' Natasha shouted, and Steve twisted on the couch when a 'shit' was uttered from the other side of the room. Clint, unlike his fellow agent, was not ready. Steve turned back, smiling to himself as Natasha stormed around the couch, shooing Clint to get moving.
Natasha and Clint were late to their meeting.
4.
'Good morning' Steve said from the kitchen table. Now, the serum had enhanced his reflexes and he knew that. But Steve never was the most graceful outside of the battle field, so, not paying complete attention to the coffee cup at his left hand – well – hindsight is always 20/20. Steve nicked the handle of the cup as he reached across the table to the toast rack, the cup tipping, sloshing hot (but not scalding) black filter coffee over everything in its radius including Steve. He muttered a curse, grumbled, standing up and rescuing his paper, hunting for the cloth. The grey and silver cloth appeared on the table having been thrown by Natasha who stood, cross-armed against the fridge looking relatively amused for this early in the morning.
'Good morning, Captain' she said, no hint of hilarity lacing her voice, only in her darker tinted grey eyes. Steve wiped down the table and trudged to the sink to wring out and wash the cloth. 'You should be glad I'm not Stark' Natasha offered, Steve feeling her near him. The woman had a presence; he doubted very much he would ever get used to it. Then again, getting used to something and liking it were two different things, right?
'Thank you' he said dryly, shaking his head and turning off the taps with a swipe of his wrist.
'Once you're not in a coffee-stained t-shirt, do you want to go to the Hudson?'
'Are you going to dump me in there?' he asked, knowing exactly what she was referring to: their new morning run routine. He wasn't one hundred per cent sure, at what point they had formed the routine. Natasha out ran Clint, Steve could out run both.
Natasha didn't reply, patting his arm in response instead and leaving the kitchen. Steve pulled at his white t-shirt in disgust.
3.
'Good morning' Steve said sarcastically, nudging the door to the gym open and seeing Natasha lying on her back on the wooden-gloss floor, splayed out in a star shape. Steve had checked the time when he accepted defeat and knew sleeping was pointless, JARVIS telling him it was 4.21am. He took the elevator to the gym floor, not expecting to have company but not so shocked that it was Natasha.
'Good morning, Captain' she said, sarcasm and exhaustion lacing her voice. She didn't move, so Steve crossed the room looking around for the punching bags before crouching down, sitting on the floor beside her, his elbows resting on his knees.
'How did the mission go?' Steve asked, seeing her still in her combat uniform, only a few marks and dirt on her neck and hands.
'Fine. Infiltration and execution. I think my body's only just remembered it has to rest sometimes' Natasha said, eyelashes fluttering and sighing to the ceiling. Natasha had been in Baoji, China for the last two weeks. No one expected her back today and she looked like her bed would be much more appropriate than the floor. 'You would like the Qin Mountains. They are gorgeous. It's sort of a pity I had to throw a guard off the side of a peak'.
'I'll take your word for it' Steve answered. Natasha hummed. He clambered to his feet, hovering, watching as she opened her eyes, eying him.
'What?'
'Come on. Unless you're going to land me a few swings in the ring, you should go to bed' holding his arms out.
Natasha did go to her room, leaning on him the way up and as far as Steve knew, took the needed R&R.
2.
'Morning Captain Rogers' JARVIS said in a lowered tone that almost sounded concerned.
'Morning JARVIS' Steve shuffled into the kitchen, his hair still wet from his shower. He was awake later than usual: the battle the previous day had knocked the entire team sideways. It's not a team effort if everyone doesn't get a little battered – not that Steve wished that on them! His sketchbook and pencils lay waiting for him at the table. A focus sketch might be just what he needed. He opened the book to a blank page and stared at it. 'JARVIS, play a radio station for me'
'Anything particular, Captain?'
'An old time radio station' he said, wincing at his own words.
'Certainly, sir' and the AI acquiesced: music beginning to play through the speakers.
'Good mornin', good mornin'!
We've danced the whole night through,
good mornin', good mornin' to you'
Steve chuckled at the irony of the song, letting his eyes fall close. He knew it: it was a Judy Garland song from the 1930s. Steve was so lost in his head and the rhythm; he didn't see or hear Natasha arrive. He noticed when the woman sang along to the lyrics as if it were second nature.
'Here we are together, a couple of stand-uppers. Our day is done, breakfast time starts with our supper' Natasha sang, swaying and making her breakfast in a baggy t-shirt and leggings. Her voice was amazing, it was light and smooth and so very easy to listen to. A voice that could grace radio in the 40s. Steve gazed at her, entranced, his pencil poised on paper.
'Good Morning, Captain' Natasha said, sitting opposite Steve, setting her bowl down. He grinned softly, her foot nudging his knee.
1.
'Good morning' Steve said, shutting the conference room door, spotting a seat in the middle of the oval table left empty. Clint flashed a grin at him and Fury just simply nodded slowly, hands clasped in front of him, hunched forward. He was aware the Director was observing Steve sit down.
'Good morning, Captain' Natasha replied respectfully and professionally, bowing her head slightly, then returning her stare to Fury.
'Now that we're all present, I need the three of you to go on an op in Iraq, specifically Samawah. There's a contact that'll meet you. It's an arms op so for God's sakes and mine-'Fury glowered at the three in turn. '-Don't get shot, blown up or jump off anything higher than a six storey if you cannot get down'.
If Steve were any other man who did not know Fury, he would say the man cared for their safety, which he probably did on a military command level. He suspected that the last comment was for himself and Clint. Fury did have favourites, whether he denied it or not (and he did with Tony profusely), one of his was Natasha.
'I'll keep Barton and Rogers under control, sir' Natasha said neutrally, but Steve detected humour and concern.
'I resent that, Tash' Clint said past Steve. The corners of Natasha's lips lifted up, her eyes bright for a moment. The suggestion of smile was uneasy and vulnerable.
Of course, in Samawah, both Clint and Steve decided the separate leaps were doable, ignoring Fury's words, and they were right - partially. Natasha slammed the door in their faces once back at home.
+1/0.
'Good morning' Steve said quietly after hearing a soft snuffling sound that was barely audible.
Turning his head, he almost buried his mouth in the dark hair spread out against the crisp white of his bed sheets. Natasha was on her front, her face not visible, one cool palm curled around his bicep, the other around his wrist, sheets pooling at her lower back. Her breath was warm against his shoulder, and Steve felt her eyes open. Raising her head, she rested her chin on his arm and grey eyes met blue.
'Good morning, Steve'
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