Hi all! This is just a quick one-shot, trying to look a bit at Steve and what it really meant for him to be unfrozen and some of his connections with Natasha. I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers. Or anything Marvel-related.

"This is the latest."

An agent handed Natasha a tablet, video feed flashing across the screen.

"They're amateurs, bothering the minority groups in the west. Nothing challenging, but I was told to call in Team A. Team B is on break today."

Natasha pursed her lips as she flicked through the information. Giving the agent a quick nod and thank you, she turned her heel and strode purposefully out of the room. The corridor slowly emptied as she walked down it, the tablet now tucked under one arm. Already her mind was buzzing, getting ahead of itself as it started picking out weapons and transportation. Her feet halted at the door before she even realized where she was.

When her hand touched the door handle, Natasha froze. She blinked, stepping out of her daze, and frowned. The door was cracked open.

Steve never left his door open.

Natasha tapped her knuckles against the wood. The noise reverberated through the wood and no response came. After hesitating for a fraction of a second, she pushed open the door and stepped into the room, instinctively falling into her silent assassin poise.

The room was neat as always, a tawny leather jacket hanging from a peg, accompanied by a few black and white photographs on the wall. Natasha had seen them all before, and her eyes skimmed past the decorations. Three steps into the room and she found the Captain. He was standing with his back to the door, his head bent down, apparently gazing at something intently.

One more step and Natasha could see that it was a gun.

The man wasn't doing much with the gun other than staring at it with blank, distant eyes. He wasn't inspecting it in preparation for use, or cradling it with sentimentality. It was simply resting in his grip, his right hand curled around the handle, one finger loosely draped across the trigger. Every now and then his hands twitched, as though trying to raise it but finding it far too heavy.

It looked so wrong in his hands. Natasha wasn't sure she had ever seen the man use a gun. He was a soldier with a shield and Nat loved him for it. She loved him for his stubborn refusal to carry a weapon, his hardened belief that he could always avoid killing people. It separated him from almost any fighter she had ever met.

And seeing him gazing down at a gun like that made her blood run cold.

As she stood frozen in the entry way, she couldn't help but wonder how long ago he had taken it out of storage. Where had he kept it all this time? Stashed away in a hidden compartment, or on his dresser, where he could see it every day, almost as a comfort?

Without her bidding, Natasha's feet took her one more step into the room, and finally she could see his face.

His eyes were glassy and exhausted, the way they often were at the end of a fight. He had the same the same look he did when he gave orders during a battle. Calm, confident, but hiding a frightened uncertainty. Nat could see the emotions swirling beneath his tensed jaw and frozen eyelashes.

She knew that face. A knot of fear curled in her stomach. She had seen too many people gaze down at guns that way. Not as a method of defense, but as a way to escape.

A relief.

Natasha knew that feeling. All too well.

And when she looked at her captain, she saw herself.

Out of place. Broken by the past and clinging to a false hope that the future could be anything other than the present.

Two people without a place in the world.

Movement jerked Natasha out of her thoughts. The gun was rising—slowly, as though it weighed a hundred pounds—and Natasha came back to the present in the blink of an eye.

"Captain."

The man froze, gun mid-air. Then it tumbled from his fingers and bounced onto the bed. He turned around, quickly and ungracefully.

"Natasha."

His lips opened to say more, but no sound came out. For a moment they stared at each other, neither completely certain what to do.

And at that moment Natasha didn't see the Captain America she was used to seeing. She didn't see the man who had lived through World War Two, who had given his life to save people, who was wise beyond his years—the man she would follow anywhere.

Instead she saw Steve Rogers; a man who had been alive less than thirty years, carrying on his shoulders the fate of a world to which he didn't belong.

The tablet was still tucked under Natasha's arm, and Steve saw it, and managed a swallow.

Then, without really knowing why, Nat reached up and touched her headpiece.

"Team A is out. Send Team B into crisis 371."

Steve glanced away from her for a moment, then looked back and gave her a small nod of thanks.

Pressing the power button of the tablet, Natasha put it down on a table and gave the man a small smile.

"Why don't you come get some food with me?"

Let me know if you enjoyed it! :) Thanks!