Touch
Chapter 1
Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers. They belong to Marvel/Disney.
Four damn days he hasn't slept. He's tried everything from laying down and closing his eyes to going for a run and boxing at the gym, but nothing works. Steve Rogers can't take much more of it. His body will repair itself, but nothing can stop the memories playing over and over in his head, or take away the loneliness he feels. The whiskey in front of him does nothing but burn, and it's a waste of time. But he likes the feel of the stuff on his tongue and how it burns as it goes down his throat. Except it doesn't dull the pain of loss or how deprived he's feeling. Deprived of everything normal. Maybe he's just feeling sorry for himself, but he doesn't care anymore.
He thinks maybe that thought is the lack of sleep talking. He pours another shot, tossing it back, sets down the glass, leans back, closing his eyes, praying for sleep to come. But it doesn't. Rogers knows he should call Banner or Fury or someone that could help, but they probably can't. He's unique. No one can replicate what was done to him, and no one really knows how extensive the changes are to his body. He does. Right now, it's a waking nightmare and nothing will change it.
88888
The night was still young. Plenty to do, but Natasha Romanov just wasn't in the mood anymore. Her companion for the evening, Pepper Potts, had to cut the evening short due to circumstances beyond her control-Tony Stark. So much for their girls night out, but it was all right. Clint was out of town on assignment, so she was on her own. She decided she'd pay a call on Steve Rogers, aka Captain America. She hadn't seen him in a while. Well, none of them had. He kept to himself most of the time. With things so quiet lately, she and the others were enjoying the downtime. Stark and Banner worked together almost everyday on their various science projects, Fury was saving her and Clint for top-level assignments when they came up because they were needed as Avengers. Rogers came around once in a while, but they all figured he was happier on his own. They hadn't seen Thor since the Chitauri incident, but he would come if he was needed.
Another person in their circle was just happy to be back at work. Agent Phil Coulson finally had the doctor and Fury's blessing to come back to work on light duty. A few hours a day, but he was over the moon, having been given the assignment as the Avengers' handler. Another area that was quieting down. Natasha remembered the day Fury told them all Coulson was still among the living, but that was a memory to reflect on another time. Her cab was pulling up in front of Rogers' building. She paid the driver, got out, walking up to the building, buzzing in. It was an old building, and the elevator was out. Leave it to Rogers to pick the oldest place he could find.
She finally got to his door, and knocked, waiting. The door opened a few moments later, and Natasha's eyes widened when she saw Rogers.
"You look like hell," she said. His hair was mussed, he had dark circles under his eyes and he smelled like whiskey.
"Hello to you to, Natasha," he said. "What are you doing here?"
"Just thought I'd come check up on you," Natasha said. "Now I'm glad I did. What's up?"
"Nothing," he said.
"Aren't you going to ask me in?" she said, eyebrow raised. Normally he was polite, but not so much tonight.
"I'm not really in the mood for company," Rogers said.
"You look like you could use company to me," Natasha said, shouldering past him and into the apartment, walking into the kitchen. He followed, watching her take down another glass. She took off her coat and sat down, grabbing the whiskey bottle and pouring herself a drink. "If you don't want to talk, at least you don't have to drink alone."
He frowned, but sat down anyway. She poured whiskey into his glass. "Drink up."
"It doesn't do any good," he said. "Nothing does."
"What's going on?" Natasha asked.
"I don't need to burden anyone with my problems," Rogers said.
"It's not a burden if you share it," Natasha said. "We're friends. At least I thought we were. Friends help each other out."
"We are friends," Rogers said.
"Good," Natasha said. "But if you won't tell me what's wrong, I think I have a pretty good idea just from looking at you. Not sleeping?"
"No," Rogers answered.
"How long?" she asked.
"Four days now," he said.
"I've had sleepless nights, but never that long before," she said.
"It happens sometimes," Rogers said, downing his whiskey.
"Even you need sleep," Natasha said. "Have you thought about talking to Banner? Maybe he can come up with something."
"Can he make the highlight reel in my head stop playing or bring back everyone I care about?" Rogers asked.
Oh. So that was it.
"No," she said. "If you want to talk, or just want some company, call one of us. Or just come over. Stark's always talking about how he never sees you. We're supposed to be a team, but you're not being much of a team player."
"Spare me," Rogers said. "You've obviously got other things to do than hang around here, from the way you're dressed."
"My night is over," Natsha said. "Pepper and I were having a girls night out, but Stark cut it short. Unless you want to come out with me."
"I don't feel like it," Rogers said.
"Fine. Then I'll just stay here tonight. The weather's getting bad anyway, and Clint's off on an op."
"What?"
"Weather. Freezing outside. Snow," Natasha said.
"Great," he said. "That makes this all so much better."
"You don't like the cold, and you don't want to be alone," she said. "Can't say I blame you. The cold always reminds me of home. . .what used to be home. Not a happy memory. I'll help you finish the whiskey, then we'll turn in."
"You're serious about staying?" Rogers asked.
"I am," Natasha said, pouring herself half of the whiskey that was left. She handed him the bottle.
"What if I don't want you to?"
"You'll find me very hard to remove," Natasha said.
"Even if I ask you to leave?" Rogers said.
"Yes," Natasha said, tossing back the amber liquid.
"I'll take the couch then," Rogers said. "Not like I'll be able to sleep anyway."
"No, you won't take the couch," Natasha said, standing, heading for the closed door she assumed was his bedroom. Opening the door, she felt for the light switch, flipping it on. I was his bedroom. Small and spartan, the bed was made with Army precision.
"Are you coming or not?" she yelled.
He walked in, watching Natasha kick off her shoes.
"Unzip me," she said, turning around, presenting him with the back of her dress. His fingers fumbled with the tiny zipper pull before he finally managed to get a grip and unzipped the dress. She stripped down to her slip, throwing the dress over the back of a chair, noticing Rogers was staring at her, blushing.
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing," Rogers said, watching Natasha fold down the covers of the bed, climbing in,
"Turn off the lights," she said. "You should at least try and rest."
He sighed, flipping off the lights, coming over, sitting down on the edge of the bed, then laid down, scooting as far away from her as he could, which wasn't far, considering the size of the bed.
"What is wrong with you?" Natasha asked.
"I've never shared a bed with a girl before," Rogers said.
Natasha's turn to sigh. He'd probably never had a woman invade his bedroom and half-strip in front of him either.
"Relax. I'm not going to bite," she said. "Turn over on your side. We'll spoon. It's the only way we'll both fit anyway."
Rogers did as ordered, rolling over on his side, away from her, as close to the side of the bed as he could manage without falling off.
"Scoot a little closer," Natasha said, again, he did as he was told, and she settled in against him, gently draping her arm across his middle. "Good night."
He didn't answer, only staring into the darkness.