I have not written a fanfic in such a long time! But this was nagging at me to be written - and to be honest writing fanfiction can help me continue to write my own stories sometimes ;).
This is just a small oneshot on what might've happened between Steve and Natasha when she visits him in the hospital (during the Winter Soldier).
She watched him from behind the window for a while, his eyes closed, his hair matted against his forehead, the stitches in his left cheek seeming to strain ever so slightly when he licked his lips, letting her know that he wasn't really asleep. Not that she'd expected him to be. She doubted he got any more sleep after the events of the past few weeks than she did. As different as the two of them were, she knew that both their dreams were haunted by the same fears. He was putting on an act for the nurses in order to be released from the hospital as quickly as possible, being kind and cooperative, but impatient and restless at the same time. She could tell; she'd known him long enough.
As if on cue he opened his eyes and stared straight at her through the glass, as if he'd known she'd been there the whole time; observing his every move. She forced a smile and made her way into his private room where his heart monitor beeped reassuringly and his IV dripped steadily.
"Wow. That smells great, what is that?" He tried to sit up, but his injuries prevented him from doing so and she caught a glimpse of the pain that passed over his face. It was gone as quickly as it had come, and he'd forever deny it had been there if he was to be confronted with it.
"Here, let me help." Natasha placed the plastic bag she'd been carrying and the source of the great smell on his bedside table and helped him to find a somewhat comfortable sitting position. Three pillows and some shifting around later, Steve's eyes were back on the bag.
"Really? Straight to the food? No 'Hi Nat, how are you'? That's cold, Rogers, especially for you."
"I'm sorry." He looked like he meant it. "How've you been? How's that gunshot wound?" He was referring to injury she'd sustained in her shoulder, which was, thankfully, healing a lot better than her old gunshot wound.
"Not too bad, actually. How are yours?" She pulled up the visitor's chair that had been vacated by Sam a couple of hours earlier and took a seat.
"Hmm. Well, let's put it this way. If it wasn't for that super serum I'd probably have a nice collection of battle scars." His tired blue eyes glanced in the direction of the plastic bag again, and Natasha rolled hers at his impatience.
"Some women would classify it as gender discrimination, you know." She lifted the bag off the bedside table and onto her lap and began to pull out a series of paperboard containers, arranging them on the side of his hospital bed.
"What?"
"The fact that when men have scars, they're considered tough and heroic, and when women have them all they're left with is a ruined bikini body."
"Stop it. I'm sure you look just fine. I'd say great but I'm afraid you'll punch me." He'd picked up and opened one of the containers, his nose buried inside of it as if he was taking in the smell, but really in an attempt to hide the touch of pink that tinged his cheeks. Natasha couldn't help it, she smiled a little at his words, although he never noticed. She'd always respected the fact that he was old school and polite, but she had to admit she liked this side of Captain America. The side that was getting a little more cheeky every day.
"Nat, is this Thai?" He looked at her, his eyes widened a little in surprise, even the eye that was swollen due to the cut underneath his eyebrow. She nodded.
"Yeah, some of these might be a little spicy, I wasn't sure what you liked, so I got a little of everything. Here." She broke apart a pair of chopsticks and handed them to him.
"Chopsticks weren't on my list. I can't work with these." He tried to use them to pick up a piece of grilled chicken and managed to drop it between his crisp white hospital sheets. It left a telltale red stain.
"They come with the Thai food. Here." She leaned over and grabbed the chopsticks, then placed them back in his hand and moved his fingers around until they were in the correct position – all the while hyper-aware of the fact that he was watching her with an amused smile on his face. "There. Try again. And bring the carton closer to your mouth, I don't want to get kicked out because you're dropping real food all over your bed."
"The hospital deserts aren't that bad," he said, actually sticking a piece of chicken into his mouth this time.
"Of course you'd say that, gramps. I'm sure you love the jello, you don't even have to chew it, it's so convenient." He mumbled something in response which sounded suspiciously like 'shut up', but his mouth was full and it might as well have been 'stop it'. Natasha smiled nonetheless.
"Manners, Rogers." She told him sternly and opened a box of fried rice, put it back down.
"Hey, can I ask you something?" He'd lowered his chopsticks and looked serious this time. She shrugged, which he took as a yes.
"Do you really think you need to practise?"
"Practise what, Cap? Oof. Don't try that curry." She held up a different container. "That's spicy."
"Kissing." He set down his chicken and busied himself with picking another dish – anything to avoid her gaze.
"What? No. C'mon, Steve. I was just teasing you."
"Okay. Good." He tried some papaya salad, still refusing to look at her.
"Wow. You're really worried about that, aren't you?" She loved taking jabs at him, making fun of him, but sometimes she forgot he was still getting used to 21st century women and that he might take her blatant honesty the wrong way.
"No. I'm not – it's just. I'm a little -" he trailed off.
"Shy? Off your game? Old? Don't worry, Steve. You kiss just fine."
"Fine?" He ignored the jab at his age this time. Twice in under 15 minutes. She must've missed making fun of him while he was out.
"Well I'd say great, but I'm afraid you'll punch me."