A/N: This all takes place in the movie-verses, and I dedicate this collection to WinterWidow. . . most of it, anyway . What you don't recognize, I probably own it. I own the plot, any personally-created characters, ideas, plot lines, locations, objects, ect - everything else is Marvel's to deal with. I love WinterWidow. It's in a sense canon. Sort of. You would have to find the comic con video where a guy talks about it to another person (so descriptive, I know). There's about eight months between me and CA2: TWS being in theaters... so there's going to be a lot of time to write this ;D Well, cheers, yeah?

Drabble 001:

An Explanation For The Attitude

Steve is glaring across the table, with his arms crossed over his chest, at Natasha, who is sitting back in her chair, her face a mask of calmness, her own hands clasped together on the table as her eyes meet his, daring him to do something - to say anything.

"Steve, what is it?"

Her voice reflects her attitude; cool. Collected. Calm. She's so calm about this whole thing, now that they get to talk about it - now that Steve finally gets to ask his questions, because no one is (currently) trying to kill them and it's just them in the room. But Steve knows better than to believe she's actually calm, collective, and cool about this. He remembers, quite clearly, how she reacted when he inquired about the relationship between her and the Winter Soldier - her and James.

She'd been frantic. She'd tried to hide it, but she'd panicked - for a split second. It was so unlike Natasha, that if he hadn't been there to witness it himself after yelling at her, "is it true?!" twice, each shout louder than the last. And he remembers vividly that, in the single moment where she'd shown a weakness, a vulnerability she probably had kept to herself forever, she isn't one to show how she really feels. She pretends, he knows. He doesn't know everything, but he knows this isn't going to be a fun talk with her. But he has to know. He has to.

It's Bucky, after all.

"I want to know why you never mentioned it - till then. When you did."

Natasha blinks, slowly, and he restrains himself from raising his voice at her. She's not going to answer him, not unless she has to, not unless she believes it's absolutely necessary for him to know why she did what she did, what she said when she said it.

"Natasha, tell me," he insists, and he sees her expression harden into one of defiance.

She really isn't going to tell him.

That's okay.

He has more than enough time to get the answers he wants.

But he's not so sure that she'll give him them as easily as he hopes she will.