Out of all her years living on this godforsaken planet she calls home, Natasha has met quite an interesting amount of people. Even when excluding all of her so called 'targets' and what not, it still leaves her with a cesspool of an assortment of people. From that pool of people most of them have had some kind of sexual interaction with her, and by now she has seen it all. There were men that were in love with every inch of her skin, men that liked the way she would torture them, men that had their senses enticed by the mere sight of her. There were men that would quiver in excitement at the thought of their chance to play with the infamous temptress, men that would gladly turn and show their bellies if it meant having one last caress, even some women were in the mix. No one can say that Natasha Romanoff has not been around the block; it's more like she owns her own city. But within that small city, in an abandoned apartment building that happened to be built at the center of her heart that was suppose to be vacant for the rest of her life; housed a single person in a small one bedroom apartment.
That one living soul, that one little blip of an existence, the only sign of life that has ever breathed humanity back into the husk of a person she was. Bypassing every obstacle, hurdle, security code, firewall, pitfall, banana peel; everything and anything she put forth to stop the infestation that he brought upon her has failed, and will continue to fail at the hands of him. How could this happen to her? He had the audacity to trespass the sanctity of her being. To dig a hole and plant himself within her; manifesting the thoughts of hopes and dreams into her wrecked body. Because making her believe in the impossible again was one of the Seven Wonders of the World, nobody knew how to do it, so they just let her be.
He could've just left her alone in the bubble she had so carefully crafted to keep the inside in and the outside out. To this day she still damns his boyish curiosity because if it were not for that, he would've never took the time to pick her up and solve her like the simple puzzles found on the back of a cereal box. He would have never even stop to think about holding the door open for her or greeting her every morning, or giving her his occasional gentle squeeze of the shoulder to stop her from forming worry wrinkles on her face. He had the choice to ignore it all like everyone else. If she were a test of only two options that read, move it or lose it, he would feel so appalled at the test that he would righteously place the letter C, take it. That's what he does; he takes everything that she is, everything that she throws at him like a charity for a lost cause. But the difference between her and a charity is that there is and was no pity. He knew that she didn't need to suckle on the tit of sympathy instead he bought her a first class seat for the ride of her life. Bringing her to her knees quaking under the pressure of her own smile.
He's an artist with hands that were made to create new light in people's lives. He once told her that his greatest masterpiece was already pre-made for him because all he needed to do was polish it and refine the edges. Sanding down the rough surface making it flawless once more. He didn't bother hiding the cracks or broken pieces instead he filled it with material of himself so that whenever she looks at it, she's reminded that he's her support in tough times. He built her a pedestal to stand on not because she needed to be idolized, but to reach his lips because he was too damn tall for her; even when standing on the tips of her toes.
If this were a game he would be her greatest defense while she was his greatest offense, moving in sync with one another like a rehearsed dance that they put on for show. But when the battle is done and the curtains drawn to a close he becomes worn and dismantled waiting for repairs before the next fight. And she can be found right by his side just as battered and bruised because she's too damn stubborn to follow his orders to fall back; rather she takes the fight to them. After the repairs are done they are back in the studio rehearsing every step to perfection. He viewed their relationship as one of equal exchange. Although it was obvious to see the change that was happening to her it takes a careful eye to see what she does to him. There are still many things he doesn't know that she does and visa versa. So they teach each how to grow, taking turns at the wheel of educator and wreck less student driver. Some days it would be hand to hand combat or stealth training while on others days they could be found in front of the gym mirrors with her teaching him how to put one foot in front of the other to the beat of a song. Stumbling on feet or the adrenaline rush of battle it didn't matter to them as long as they had each other.
Some might say that his apartment in her heart is more like a jail cell locking him up for God knows how long, but he doesn't mind at all. In his wait he scratches notes to her on the walls of his cell. Instead of reminding her to smile once in while he writes down cheesy jokes or lovey-dovey poems so sickeningly sweet it makes her laugh. Yet on the days where he feels truly trapped in his own mind he jots down a story of brave lone warrior trapped in an endless nightmare with no escape. Every time he writes that story there are still pages left blank because he's too afraid of what might be next. But when the dead of night rolls around in the small city the governor herself sneaks into his apartment and helps out the conflicted author as his unknown editor. She fills the last pages with words of fantasy, adventure, and even a dash of romance here and there; anything to drive the nightmares out of the storybook. When everything is said and done she sneaks out again waiting for the day his story becomes a best seller. Nobody knows where he came from or when, he kind of just appeared out of nowhere and slipped his way through the cracks. Nobody knows how he does it but he's the only one that can crack jokes at her and still live to tell the tale. He's the only one that has ever asked her to tell him her life story and not some folder stuffed with papers. He's the only one that has ever taken noticed of her number one pet peeve; burnt toast. All her life, out of all the people she's known there has and always will be one Steve Rogers.