Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanoff (c) Marvel

She watched the snow fall, the traffic backed up all over New York City. She found it amusing because it snowed every year and every year it snowed. In the remote regions of Russia people still got around on sleighs either pulled by dogs or reindeer, the more technologically advanced ones had snowmobiles. She rolled her shoulders and sipped her coffee. December had set in, Christmas was approaching and she would take off during the holidays. Family wasn't for a woman like her, even if it was a mismatched family. She sipped the coco, it was creaming on her tongue.

She looked around the suit that Tony had given her in the Avengers tower. It was a nice set of rooms, like an apartment. She even had a ballet studio; it was generous of him. She sat on the bed, and continued to watched the snow fall outside, the white puffy flakes making her think of her childhood, before the Red Room, before the KGB took a sweet innocent girl and made her into a perfect killer. She drank in a marshmallow, smiling a little at the memory of Thor discovering you could put marshmallows in your hot coco. The next day he had tried it with mead, declared it at terrible idea and told everyone to stick with hot coco. Thor was the big brother she never had, Tony was the successful cousin that felt he had to prove something to others. Bruce was a good friend, Clint her brother and Steve….

There was a knock on her door. "Nat?"

Speak of the devil. "It's open," she called, hearing the door open and close. She could sense his gate, easy confident strides with just a bit of hesitation. He still was unsure how to talk to girls. She figured their friendship made it easier, less expectations to fulfill. She looked up at him when he stopped by the foot of her bed, in a wool sweater. "Cold?"

"I'm… not fond of the cold." He looked out the window, watching the snowflakes. "When I was a boy, I'd stand outside with my mouth open to catch snowflakes on my tongue." He ducked his head. "Until my mother yelled at me to get back inside otherwise I'll catch a chill."

"I did that too," she said. "It's peaceful almost, watching the snow. You get this sense of timelessness, as if the world is erasing everything from the pass year." She sipped her drink.

"Never thought of snow like that." He glanced at her, and she saw a kindred spirit in his eyes, just for a heartbeat. "May I sit?" he asked. She scooted over, the bed creaking a little and the springs gave a soft groan as he added his weight. She curled her sock covered feet into the carpet, cradling her mug in her hands. The silence began awkward but settled into something akin to comfortable.

The silence wasn't soundless; the whirr of the machinery within the walls, the clicks and beeps from corridors unseen. The muted honking of horns from the streets below. The sound of her pulse in her ears, the sound Steve made when he swallowed. She sniffed, took a sip and spared him a glance. "What brings you by?" she asked.

"I wanted to thank you," he said, "for Veteran's day."

"Oh." She took another sip. "You're welcome." She rested her hands in her lap, thumb running over the rim of her mug. "I enjoyed dinner."

"I did too." He shifted on the bed and pulled something out from his pocket. It was a green sharpie. She arched a brow.

"What's with the pen, Rogers?" she asked. If he was planning on giving her a sharpie as a thank you gift she'd laugh, and cherish it. He smiled.

"Lift up your shirt."

"Ah, you want to thank me that way," she said, a teasing glint in her eyes, she laughed when his ears turned red. "Why Rogers, I still haven't set you up on a date." Her laughter grew when he sighed deeper.

"Jesus Christ, Romanoff," he grumbled. She chuckled and set her cup down before hiking up her turtleneck. "Thank you," he said, his voice a little bit tight. He got on his knees. "Hold still," he said and yanked the cap off with his teeth. She sucked in a breath at the feel of his hand on her skin. She didn't dare look at what he was doing. She felt the tip of the market on her skin and frowned.

"Are you drawing on me?"

"Mmhmm."

"Why?" she asked, frowning when he didn't answer. "Answer me, Rogers," she growled.

"Becuff I vant foo," he said. She rolled her eyes and glanced down and only saw his blond head. Her frown turned to a smile as she smelled his shampoo, minty with some pine and the fresh scent of clean. He pulled back after a few more minutes and she got a clear look of what he had doodled on her skin. "Hello bikinis," he said and gave her that boyish grin she had come to associate with him being snarky. She gave an amused snort, looking at the four-leaf clover that covered bullet scar. "It'll come off in a shower." He snapped the cap back on.

"Thank you," she said, "that was sweet." She rolled her shirt down. "I didn't know you could draw."

"It's a hobby," he said. "When you kept getting beat up as a kid, sports weren't exactly an ideal hobby." He gave a shrug. "It's relaxing."

"You're good," she said and picked up her mug. She took a long swallow of her coco as he slipped the pen back into his pocket and stood up. "Leaving so soon? I thought you'd want to see me in a bikini now with your handy work on your hip." She laughed when he flushed again.

"No, I uh… have something else to do," he said. She nodded. "Maybe this… summer," he said and gave he a lopsided smile. She laughed.

"Maybe," she agreed, "maybe Tony will take us on an all-expenses paid for trip to Miami." They laughed together, the unnoticed shill in the room vanishing. She felt much warmer than before and she had an easy smile on her face. It was so easy to smile around him, to be herself and not have to worry about people judging her or silently thinking of her as a monster. It was so easy to be a person around him. He only wanted us to be friends… He rocked on his feet before nodding to her and leaving. She picked up her phone and opened google.

She looked at the little four-leaf clover on her hip. The tattooing hadn't hurt at all, she had worse pain, even when the artist used a bigger needle to color the scar tissue. She didn't touch it, but ran her fingertip a hair's breathe over her new colored skin. She couldn't wait to wear a bikini that summer and see Steve's reaction when he noticed the little clover he drew back in December was still there. "Maybe next training session with him, I'll wait something low and see if he notices," she said allowed before pulling her shirt down.

She didn't believe in good luck or magical charms, but knowing that she had this on her body for her life, knowing that Steve put it there to make her feel better about a scar, well it felt nice. And she could live with that.

So… I ventured into fandom wank.

Well it's not wank. It's just… I'm getting bombarded from all sides about how Steve and Natasha are just friends and well, I feel like I'm seventeen again, waiting for the series finale of Avatar The Last Airbender to find out if Zuko and Katara get together. It's not a pleasant feeling. So, what I did to help cope was write.

The tattoo was originally going to be on her wrist but then I remembered her bullet scar. Plus, she doesn't have any topless shots, so… I can headcanon she has this little clover tattoo.

As for time period, it's uh… irunno. I don't really concern myself with that too much. It's after everything. What everything is, is for you to decide. They just exist happily in my head.

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Nemo et Nihil