Author Note: Takes place during/after Captain America: The Winter Soldier.

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Unbetaed, all mistakes are mine.


Chapter Two: Everybody Needs Practice

It was odd asking Sam for help. Not because Steve didn't believe he could trust Sam, but because of the way Sam's eyes flicked from him to Natasha and back again. No, Sam could be trusted. It just might be weird later, uncomfortable when he had to explain the redhead's presence.

Thankfully Sam acts like it's no big deal. He doesn't ask questions upfront, just sets them up with towels and an opportunity to get cleaned up. Steve couldn't have anticipated what would happen once his running buddy left them alone.

He catches Nat's eyes in the bathroom mirror. Black Widow sits on the end of the bed drying her hair with a towel. Looking less like the deadly assassin she is and more like a scared young girl, overwhelmed and confused, she doesn't attempt to hide from him.

Steve is grateful for this, grateful they've finally achieved what he knows to be imperative: trust. Drying his hands his skin still stained and dirty, he looks upon her with concern. "You okay?"

Natasha gives an imperceptible nod and answers simply, "Yeah."

Steve isn't convinced. Tossing his towel down, he approaches her with caution. He doesn't know much about women, but he has a feeling in her vulnerable state Natasha may be even more deadly than normal. Sitting in front of her carefully lowering himself to her level, he looks directly into her eyes with concern. "What's going on?"

Natasha fidgets with the towel for a bit before dropping her hands to her lap. Her instincts tell her not to look at him - that doing so would mean putting the hurt she's feeling on display and risking getting hurt - but the purity of his baby blue eyes makes her surrender. Thank God they're on the same side because she's sure there aren't many secrets he couldn't get her to spill the way he's looking at her now.

"When I first joined SHIELD, I thought I was going straight." It takes effort not to sweep his hair off his forehead, not to touch him the way he touches her with his eyes. He's not her mark. She knows touching him would be for her own comfort. She's Black Widow. Cold and unfeeling, trained to act without conscience; however, faced with America's golden boy she finds she's incapable of not feeling.

Steve Rogers is the embodiment of what she thought SHIELD was. It should scare her, send her running as far and as fast as she can because she's never quite felt like she belonged. But it doesn't. She continues her confession.

"But I guess I just traded in the KGB for HYDRA. I thought I knew whose lies I was telling, but..." She looks sad, broken as she tries to keep the emotion from her voice. "I guess I can't tell the difference anymore."

Steve doesn't miss a beat. He's reassuring, his grin doing things it shouldn't. "There's a chance you might be in the wrong business."

Natasha smiles back despite herself and huffs an almost laugh. Their eyes meet and hold. Even dirty, he's handsome. His chiseled jaw and broad chest are strong and masculine, powerful. And there's something in the way he looks at her then makes her ache. Maybe it's that he can see past all her lies to the person she could be.

"I owe you," she murmurs as she leans in. The hint of his cologne invades her senses even though it's hidden in the rubble of all they've been through in the last 24 hours. She's called him a fossil but he doesn't look or smell like one. A 95 year old man should have loose skin and wrinkles, he should smell like Bengay. Captain America is definitely not an old man. Old fashioned maybe, but he appears no older than she is.

Steve snaps her out of the thought by mumbling, "It's okay."

Gaining strength, her voice grows steady as she takes back control. "If it was the other way around, and it was down to me to save your life, and you be honest with me, would you trust me to do it?"

"I would now." His smile is boyish and it tickles her as surely as a feather brushing her skin would've. "And I'm always honest."

"Steve?" she catches her lip beneath her teeth and wishes she were the girl she sees reflected in his eyes. She made up her mind in the car. No more trying to fix him up. She would do it herself.

"Yeah, Nat?" his lips twitch. This is nice, normal. It's more what friends and partners do.

Only it isn't. At all. "I'd apologize for teasing you earlier, but…"

His brows furrow slightly and she lets the towel slip from her lap to the floor between them before her hands cup his neck and she draws him close. Steve feels her breath in the moment before her bee stung lips press against his. He knows it's hers and not his own because the air catches in his lungs and he forgets how to exhale.

This isn't 1945. He's less experienced and feels the need to prove himself. Taking a chance, he lets chivalry be damned and cups her face as her mouth moves beneath his. She's soft and has a candied sweetness. It feels right despite the fact he's not quite sure where to put his hands.

Natasha knows he could stop her. She also knows when he touches her that he needs it - this, her - as much as she does. Experimenting she delicately brushes his lips with the tip of her tongue, taking the advantage when his mouth opens in surprise.

They part seconds later on ragged breath and she pulls back but not away. Her eyes flutter open and she gives him an innocent expression, "Practice makes…"

But he doesn't let her finish. With a groan Steve tugs her back to the warm circle of his embrace, causing her to stumble against the breadth of his chest. Firm yet incredibly tender, his lips descend and devour. His tongue makes a shy pass that she rewards with a moan.

Fingers tangling in his hair, she opens her mouth to him and deepens the kiss. His arms snake around her and he mimics her movements. Deep, wet and hungry, it's unlike anything he's experienced before and all he knows is that he wants more. His hands glide across the skin of her lower back where he shirt rides up.

"I've made breakfast if you…" Sam interrupts. Then he hears it, the clearing of a throat. He knows the sound because he made it interrupting Bucky with a girl more than once, but he's never…

Until now.

Sam chuckles, rubbing his neck. "Damn, Cap. My bad."

On instinct, Steve keeps Natasha tucked behind his large frame. He wipes his mouth and addresses his friend as he shields her from view with his body. "We'll be out in just a minute."

With a nod, Sam pushes off the doorframe and heads back to the kitchen. Steve isn't entirely sure what to do, how to handle it. All he knows is he wants to taste Natasha's mouth again. He links their fingers, diverting his eyes from hers with a blush. "So…"

Natasha laughs, the lyrical sound filling the room. She wants to say the right thing, but finds she's out of practice when it comes to niceties. Her hand flexes in his grip. "When this is all over, you owe me, Rogers."

He tilts his head and her smile pulls to the right corner of her mouth. Leaning in, she whispers a trail of kisses from the corner of his mouth to his ear. She's read his file. She knows about his conversation with Peggy Carter and the promise of a dance. She refuses to be cliché even as it appears history could, in a way, repeat itself.

His eyes close at the feel of Natasha's breath on his neck and the shell of his ear. The press of her body makes his heart pound. "Find me when you're ready for your next lesson, Captain."

And with that Natasha leaves a stunned Steve blinking and confused in her wake. She may not be the right girl, but she has skills she could impart to teach him to hold onto her when he found her. Until then, she'd enjoy Captain America while she could. Because everyone needs practice.

Even Black Widow.