A/N: Oneshot, Nat/Steve. Slight drunkenness, nothing graphic, no coarse language. Hope you enjoy! As usual, flames and reviews are welcome.
It's not the first time he's seen her up here like this.
But this time, it's a bit different.
Because Barton is five floors down, Laura crying over him, the steady beep of the machine the only thing keeping her sane.
"Hey," he says softly, careful to make a slight bit of noise to warn her of his presence. "Are you alright?"
She scoffs, but hides it with a cough, probably out of respect.
"I'm fine, Captain. Go to sleep. It's late."
They both know it is, the serene moonlight shining softly down on their faces.
"You don't look fine to me."
She laughs, a real laugh, rich from her throat.
"Wow, Cap, you dessserve the Nobel Prize for best deduction…" she slurs.
"You're drunk."
It comes more as a realisation than as a comment.
"I know."
"Shouldn't you be resting?"
"Nope, I find it better to drownnnn in my sorrows. It reassures me that I'm human, you see."
"We're all human."
"Really? There's an Ashgarsssshien...Asssssgardian God downstairs, along with a duckter...doctor who can turn into-"
"You know what I mean. We're all human deep down inside, where it matters."
And good Lord, the moonlight somehow makes her tinted cheeks and ruffled up hair and pouty lips-
Stop. Yes, Steve, stop there.
The next time they see each other, it's after a huge explosion in a Hydra facility which thankfully did not result in any civilian casualties.
Somewhere in her muddled mind, she sees him.
She sees past the mud on his clothes and the dried blood in his hair and cuts on his face, scars on that figure…
She looks at his soul.
After years of being judged by her appearance and judging others by theirs, decades of dealing with true evil and the darkest hearts, a good soul is hard to come by.
And she tells herself that she will never let go.
This time the atmosphere is much more calm, the air much more comfortable.
He smiles, sparkly teeth shining at her.
"So, how're you doing?"
"Probably not as good as you are."
Running around snogging Sharon Carter…
The words are left unsaid, but then again the meaning shines clear in her eyes.
"Why?"
She can't help but scoff.
"You're Captain America. You figure it out."
"I'm a soldier, not a detective."
He pauses, leaning against the railing.
"But for a spy, you're doing a pretty bad job."
She raises an eyebrow.
"Repeat?"
The word is inquiring, malicious, calm and threatening at the same time.
"They say eyes are windows to the soul." he says, looking deep into her eyes as she resists a shudder.
"I've found that it's cliche, but true."
Tenderly, he reaches out and…
Pats her on the shoulder, the gust of wind sweeping past her cheek suddenly cold and stinging.
"You don't always have to hide, not around me." he says.
"I don't hide." she says, amused. "I face it head on."
"Really?" he asks, moonlight reflecting off his twinkling eyes.
"Really."
And she leans in.