Dreams and Wonders

Disclaimer: I'm just playing in the MCU sandbox and make no money from this. Please enjoy the story and feel free to leave comments and critiques, it's the only way to get better at this. I'm writing this story for my own enjoyment.

Content Warning: This story will contain mentions of and scenes containing but not limited to swearing, violence, smut and other Adult Content.

Author's Note: 1. Sorry that this chapter was delayed. Things are picking up in real life and so my time for side projects is limited. I will say I'm going to attempt to have a chapter out once a month, and if I can manage it, possibly twice a month. This extends to all of my stories.
2. I've had this half-written for a while, the second half proved a little tricky to me.
3. As always, let me know what you think, I'm a big fan of hearing what my readers think/feel when reading my stories.

Chapter Seven: A Special Occasion

Natasha shook her head in amusement as she exited the elevator. The Avengers, or rather, Tony, Pepper and their checkbook, were going all out in preparing for her birthday. They were going to try and surprise her until she told them the last time someone tried, Clint in fact, she had shot him on reflex. So instead they decided to get the glitz and glam going in the main den so she could have a posh, upscale birthday for the first time. She appreciated the effort, though she would have preferred being somewhere else, somewhere remote and full of life, for her birthday.

There was one person missing in all the preparations, however. Steve Rogers had been locked up in his room again doing Jarvis only knew what, if even the AI knew. They had asked him if he recorded anything about Steve's floor, and the AI had informed them that he only recorded the Super Soldier's vitals to ensure he was in the best of health. Of course, it was that scan which allowed Natasha to help Steve on rough nights, though Clint sometimes reached him before she could. Otherwise, no other scan was allowed in the room by Steve's order.

She hesitated at his door. He didn't allow anyone in, not even Tony or Pepper could override Jarvis' commands to keep people out. Apparently the AI had taken a liking to the Captain, even after Steve had threatened everyone in the building, especially Tony, that he would tear out every bit of advanced technology and remodel his floor himself if it kept his privacy. Tony had, quite reluctantly, allowed it, though now it proved an issue, especially for snooping on the intrepid Captain.

Natasha knocked gently on the door, aware he would hear it no matter how hard she knocked, or that Jarvis would inform him. When no response and no voice reached her ear, she tested the handle and found it unlocked. The spy raised a tentative eyebrow at that. The door was always locked, a habit from Steve's days growing up in Brooklyn, so to find it unlocked was definitely new.

"Beginning to trust us, Rogers?" Her murmured words fell into silence, as no-one came searching for her.

Natasha glanced around the den and kitchen to find the usual signs of Steve living there and being home: Books were on the coffee and side tables next to the couch, immaculate counter tops, one clean mug, plate, and set of silverware laid out after being cleaned, and Steve's shield leaned up against the couch, all indicated he was home. She glanced down at the table next to the coat rack and saw his jar full of change and the basket where he always set his keys and wallet. Everything was there, which only made her wonder more why he was down here and not upstairs with everyone else.

"Rogers?"

Still she received no reply. Silent steps carried her deeper into the home and she searched for any sign he wasn't here. He could be in the training rooms downstairs, but she doubted that. Steve tended to take it easy and relax on holidays and birthdays, along with helping get everything set up like he had for Labor Day a month or so ago. Natasha sauntered through the apartment with ease. He wasn't in the guest room painting the walls, nor the home theater everyone absolutely adored having movie night in at least once a month when Tony visited from his mansion in Malibu.

Natasha was just about to go to his bedroom when something caught her eye in the last room on Steve's floor; his art studio. She eased the door further open and her gaze locked on what had caught her attention: three packages wrapped in plain brown paper and tied tight with twine bore a letter with her name on it. Excitement and curiosity seeped into her veins and Natasha bit her lip in thought. The packages were charming, very 40's in their appearance of a gift for someone you cared about. It wouldn't hurt to take a peek, would it?

Just as Natasha stepped toward the packages the rest of the room came into full relief, and her breath escaped her. Vivid images of war sat on various easels around the room and the natural light of the large windows put everything on display. It all seemed so real! The detail was incredible and as she looked around Natasha felt her heart hammer in her chest. It was battle after battle, explosions and dead bodies, soldiers fighting or resting in World War II gear on one wall, before she was enraptured by the sights she witnessed on the other. Images of the Avengers fighting the Chitauri in New York were hung on the walls, set on the easels, or leaned gently against one another all along the floor against the wall.

Natasha turned and her breath caught once more. There they were, portraits and pictures she thought nobody would ever see. In fact, nobody but Steve and now herself had ever seen them. They were gorgeous and heartbreaking all at once. If she didn't know better, she would say these were photographs rather than paintings, so smooth and delicate were Steve's strokes and details.

"Beautiful…"

"Thank you."

Natasha froze, and her gaze immediately locked onto Steve who was only a few steps to her left. He leaned in the doorway in a tight white tank-top and jeans stained by paint in various spots, his hands drying in a washcloth as he gazed intently at her. She felt exposed to him, only to realize that Steve himself felt exposed to her. Of course he would, she had just invaded part of his sanctuary away from the rest of the world.

Natasha hesitated only a moment as she glanced from him, to the paintings, to what drew her into the room in the first place. Her lips quirked into a wry grin. "Really Rogers, brown paper and twine? Isn't that a bit old-fashioned? There's plenty of wrapping paper to choose from these days, old man."

"Why buy art someone else is going to tear apart anyway?" Steve answered with a tentative smile of his own. "Besides, I nearly went blind looking at all that busy wrapping paper on my birthday, and the selection at the store was even worse. You'd think they would come with seizure warnings."

Natasha's lips quirked into a smirk shortly before she snorted at his humor. "You're not wrong about that. It would make for a horrible disguise. But you know, Rogers, a girl likes to get pretty things, even if she is going to tear them apart." She trails a finger along the twine of the top package idly as if she could cut it with one of her immaculate, red nails. "And it looks like a monkey did the wrapping."

"Well according to various theories of evolution we came from apes and monkeys, so I guess that side came out to play for a bit," Steve shot back at her without missing a beat. The two smirked at one another before Steve continued. "Besides, with all of the glamour going on upstairs to host a ritzy birthday party for you, I figured a bit of simplicity wouldn't hurt."

"Simple is a word I'd use to describe you," she mused sarcastically.

"Ahh, there's the pot I was waiting for," Steve jabbed at her. "I'm kettle, nice to meet you."

Natasha finally rolled her eyes. The train of jokes the pair could come up with might be endless unless she started making references, and then he would only try to get her back later by finding something obscure to make her and the rest of them feel left out and like they were behind. She had to hand it to Steve, he knew how to get payback when he wanted to, even playfully. But for all of that playfulness, Natasha's gaze was drawn back to the paintings on the walls before her gaze met Steve's once again.

"I'm sorry for intruding, but a certain something caught my eye and I couldn't resist," Natasha said with a light gesture to the presents again before she tentatively looked around again. "Finding this was not what I had in mind when I came here to get you."

"Well you always did like getting in people's heads," Steve teased her as he tucked the washcloth slightly down the front of his jeans and looked at her solemnly. "Now you're in mine… or at least, a significant part of it."

"Steve, I didn't mean-"

"It's alright," he cut her off gently as he pushed off the doorway and approached her easily. "I had the restrictions on your access through Jarvis revoked for today, and maybe in the future if you keep all of this a secret. I know you and Clint have alerts for my nightmares and Jarvis will always allow you in for that, but I'd rather like to keep this private."

"Of course!" Natasha responded instantly as she took his hand and rubbed her thumb along the back to ease any built up tensions in Steve, and a little in herself as she felt him squeeze her hand in return. "I won't breathe a word of this to anyone. I promise."

"Good," Steve said with a light smile. A light-bulb seemed to go on in his head and with a gesture for her to wait he vanished from the room in a whirl of dry paint covered clothes. He rummaged around the house briefly before he returned to her side, two thin, plain, leather-bound books in hand. Natasha recognized them instantly and before she knew it, he was offering them to her.

"Go on, look through them."

Natasha's eyes widened at the offer. He had just offered to let her look through his sketchbooks, the ones from just before and after his icy stasis, something he never did, not for anyone.

"Steve, you don't need to do this."

"No, I don't need to," he told her as he took her hand and gently opened it and promptly gave her the sketchbooks with a gentle but final tucking of them into her hand. "But I want to. You and Clint have always respected my privacy and never looked inside either of them. I told you I could never stop Bucky from looking through my sketchbooks, but that was mostly because I let him, because I wanted him to know, because I trusted him with my privacy, my thoughts and feelings and secrets. You and Clint have always let me have my privacy, even ensured it when given the chance. So, I'm letting you in a little more as part of my birthday gift. You and Clint, when you're ready to hand them off to him before they're given back."

"Steve…" she barely breathed as she looked from the sketchbooks in her hands up to his brilliant blue eyes, very lightly flecked with green. He was giving her a part of himself, something he only let those closest to him see. "Thank you. I know this means a lot to you…"

"I trust you."

Whatever Natasha was about to say caught in her throat. Her eyes widened, her breath hitched and her heartbeat quickened as her gaze met Steve's own. He was sincere, honest, and showing her a part of himself he hadn't shown anyone in the 21st century yet. Hell, this room and her even being in it was a testament to his trust that he hadn't forced her out yet, but his sketchpad? That almost felt far more personal than this room. Before she could sink into those thoughts further, before she could be seen to be caught off-guard and in something of a daze her body and mind kicked in with training and she regained control of herself in the next heartbeat.

"Thank you… I trust you too…" It was odd, how accurate that statement was to her. Natasha did trust Steve in a lot of ways; primarily to be himself, to be a good man, to do the right thing when it mattered, but also with some of her own secrets. He had read her file, he knew her in a way very few people did, and that kind of trust now seemed to be going both ways.

And maybe we'll be able to trust one another even more, perhaps completely, if we even can.

"And by the way," Natasha began as she held the sketchbooks close to her chest with one arm and gestured lightly to his paintings with the other. "Your work really is beautiful. I know Tony set the room up because he was aware of your art school record and expected New York City skylines but this… this is far more gorgeous."

"Or tragic, destructive, depressing-" Steve rattled off without missing a beat as he slowly began to adopt a scowl.

"But it's real, and its true, and that's what makes it beautiful no matter what tragedy or hardship it represents," Natasha cut him off quickly as she squeezed his hand to draw his attention back to her. "I wouldn't say it's all that destructive or depressing either. You paint these to cope with and remember what you have been through, Steve. You translate your memory, your thoughts and emotions, your feelings into all of this and it's… well, it's beautiful."

As Natasha spoke, she guided him to one of the walls that depicted his past and his future both and drew his attention to the paintings there. While there were battles depicted on either side of an invisible line he had drawn between them, there were also scenes of everyday life, of laughter, of relaxing however you could wherever you could on both sides.

"I wish I could do something equally as beautiful as bring my thoughts to life like this."

Steve remained silent all throughout, so caught up in the whirlwind of reason and emotion that Natasha had become. She was passionate about this, and although she hadn't seen every painting, she felt something about every piece, and it showed in the way she approached them and in how she approached him about them. It was a sight to behold, and Steve was reminded why he decided to trust her, why he let her in, why he let her become a part of his life, and he a part of hers in return.

"I think you can," he finally told her as he watched her closely. "You just don't let yourself."

Natasha knew he meant ballet the moment the words left his mouth. She had let him read her file and ask her questions, and one of the ones she had answered almost fondly was about dancing, the only thing she really loved about her training from the Red Room. Maybe he was right, maybe ballet did come with a lot of baggage, a lot of pain and tormenting memories from her past, but it was pure, in its own way, before it had been corrupted. She could make it pure again if given the chance…

A chance Steve seemed intent on giving her it seemed.

"Maybe we'll both get to see the beauty in what we can do, someday."

Her response brought a smile to his lips, and Natasha couldn't help the one that grew on her own as she watched him. She had helped him realize the beauty of his work, to an extent, and she hoped someday she could see the beauty and grace in ballet again. She would have to approach that later, but for now, she looked at the presents that laid nearby, almost forgotten in the intensity of their moment together.

"So can I take a quick peek?"

Steve snorted and smirked before he clearly put himself between her and her presents. "Not a chance."

Natasha pouted cutely, moments away from putting her womanly wiles to good use, if only to get her presents faster, when they were interrupted.

"Apologies, Agent Romanoff and Captain Rogers, but it seems Ms. Potts is searching for you both to get you both ready for the evening."

The pair of Shield agents sighed and looked up to the ceiling, as if Jarvis was a man that just flew around constantly overhead. "Thank you, Jarvis."

"You're welcome, Captain," the AI responded. "Agent Romanoff, should I alert Ms. Potts to your current position?"

"No, tell her I'll meet her in my room."

"I'll see it done."

Natasha felt a mote of relief that Pepper wouldn't know she was on Steve's floor, but the idea seemed to strike a chord with Steve.

"Jarvis?"

"Yes, Captain?"

Steve reached down his shirt and for a brief moment Natasha wondered what he was doing before he took out his dog tags. He had long taken his parents' wedding rings, his mother's engagement rings and crucifix off the chain and nestled them neatly in a velvet case in his bedside drawer. It was the safest place he had, besides with him. He looked his dog tags over briefly before he glanced at Natasha then back at the ceiling.

"Can you track my dog tags?"

"Yes sir, the composite of them allows me to discern them from other metal in the building."

"Then whenever Natasha has my dog tags, she's allowed full access to my floor."

"Of course, sir. I'll program that into your preferences immediately."

"Thank you, Jarvis."

Natasha raised an eyebrow at Steve, both quizzical and amused at this particular turn of events. "Moving a bit fast giving me a key to your place, aren't you Rogers?"

"Just accept the gesture, alright?"

She smirked at him, the quirk of her lips quick and amused. She nodded quietly to him as he raised the necklace over her head and gently pulled her hair out of it as he laid it around her neck and upon her chest.

"Keep them safe for me today, will ya?"

"You got it," she told him lightly, her smirk still firmly in place. "But you've made it less fun for me to take them now."

Steve chuckled. Natasha had been swiping his dog tags ever since they met. Well, rather she had been swiping them before that, considering she had them when they first met, but it didn't begin again until they moved into the tower. She would wear his dog tags whenever she pleased and only return them when he caught her, normally when she appeared in his room to help him deal with nightmares. Even so, it had been a bit fun, seeing if she had taken his dog tags each day and trying to get them off her now and then.

"Did I really?"

Natasha tilted her head, the indelible smirk on her lips undeniable as Steve answered with one of his own. "Well I guess we'll find out, won't we?"

"I guess we will."

They chuckled lightly at that before Natasha made to pick up her gifts. The moment she tried was the moment Steve gingerly swiped them from her and held them far out of her reach. She pouted at him again, to no effect other than a charming wink from him. She rolled her eyes but allowed him this brief moment of victory before she left so they could both get ready for her party. If anything, she would win in the end anyways, come that night.

Natasha wore one of her best dresses for the occasion of her birthday, something she was more than happy to do under the circumstances. The black dress clung to her curves comfortably. It showed off her features yet remained mostly modest in how it offered a tempered view of her cleavage. Not too much and not too little, nor did it hamper a view of her legs, as a slit up one side of the dress displayed her well-toned long legs whenever she took another step. This moment, this dress, was to glorify her and her birthday, to allow her to revel in another year alive, another year free to choose who she wanted to be, what she wanted to do, and who she wanted to spend time with.

Tony and Pepper really had gone all out for the party. Natasha felt like she was at some high-profile party for the rich and powerful, which in either case could be true depending on where you looked for her and her bank accounts. Even so, she was happy that for once all the glitz and glam that surrounded her was meant to celebrate her, and not just the setting of another mission.

Dinner had been rich in taste and conversation. During much of it everyone had told stories of how they met her, or anecdotes of their time spent in her company. It was revealing in a sense, but nothing she couldn't let others know. Thor mentioned their nights drinking or their sparring sessions, Tony their first meeting and the reveal of her identity, with many astute comments from Pepper, along with her own view of such occasions. Bruce had simply shared how he met her, which was when she retrieved him for the Avengers.

Clint had enjoyed retelling a story of a time he had witnessed her fail to land gracefully in their shared apartment when she had stubbed her toe, swore profusely in seven languages and subsequently flung herself over the couch in the process. That had earned him a rather large dose of vodka slipped into his drink, courtesy of her own deft Russian hands. Maria managed to tell a story of one of their missions, particularly in the Caribbean where they had gone clubbing against orders after accomplishing their task, which everyone, especially Tony much to Pepper's exasperated amusement, had begged for more details on. They never got them, because Maria and Natasha merely shared smirks and pressed Coulson, May and Nick to share their own stories, each as fun and thrilling as the last.

Steve, of course, had shared their own first meeting, even going so far as to pleasingly note that she currently wore his dog tags even now instead of a necklace. She had debated wearing a different necklace, but after his touching and open gestures earlier that day, she decided it would be nice to wear his dog tags proudly, especially since she had silver sapphire earrings to match the polished and shiny titanium chain, one that he had gotten to replace the old one, that held the steel dog tags. Still, she rather enjoyed reminiscing, even if now that dinner was done, she found herself greeted by a different old friend.

Natasha stood upon the edge of the dance floor, contemplating it in its emptiness, in this quiet loneliness that she shared with it away from the others in that moment. It was a peaceful sort of loneliness, an understanding of herself and the dancefloor, of their connection almost, but she was gladdened by the wooden floor's quiet company, and full of sorrow that it should exist without a partner to share its splendor and true life with. It wasn't until there was a hand held before her that her thoughts were broken and the loneliness she felt melted away by the soft words that escaped the owner of such a comforting hand.

"May I have this dance, Miss Romanoff?"

Natasha could hardly believe the words left Steve's mouth. Any time they had needed to dance for a mission, she had always asked him, or Maria had. Not once had he ever asked anyone, and she felt that it was, perhaps, the first time he had asked anyone to share the dance floor with him since his time asleep. That he was dressed in a very nice dark blue three-piece suit did wonders for her ego, and for his own form. He looked good enough to eat in such fine strong lines that accented his tall and broad frame. Her eyes didn't widen in surprise at his question, however. Instead her lips quirked in response, not into the all-knowing smirk so accustomed to its place there, but with a genuine sort of smile she had felt more often the longer she spent in his company.

"It would be my pleasure."

They took to the dance floor, the first to step foot on it that evening as the music began to play a new song. It was soft and alluring, just like her hands, a trap for the senses if ever there were any. Yet Steve fell into the trap without hesitation and embraced it as if he knew it would never harm him; as if she would never harm him.

Maybe he's right.

The thought was so quick that it vanished from Natasha's mind in the next second as Steve eased them both into the gentle embrace of two friends enjoying and living in the moment. A hum of content begged to be unleashed, but she held it back. Instead her smile widened lightly as he initiated the first step, and she could tell he had improved.

"I thought you didn't dance because you were afraid of breaking a hip, fossil," she taunted him lightly as he led her across the dance floor in slow and gentle steps.

"I haven't been afraid to dance in some time," Steve answered her confidently as he turned them about. "Not with you, at least."

Her brow quirked at that, her curiosity piqued by such a statement as she eased into his embrace, certain he knew what he was doing. She should always be certain, in fact; because she taught him.

"Is that so?" Natasha wondered idly, only to receive a slight shrug and a light smirk from Steve. She answered him with one of her own and hummed in amusement at his attempt to appear as a mysterious and confident dancer among the couples that now joined them, someone to stand out above all others. Of course, he had accomplished just that, and she couldn't fault him for it, not when it felt so great and right to have someone so amazing, so naturally good, in her arms as she did.

"I don't scare easy," he responded with his damned charming grin. "Especially not from you."

"You say that now, Soldier, but just you wait. I'll have you running away screaming in terror someday."

"Only if you're at my side, and it's laughter in the face of everything that wants to stop us instead."

His response was so quick it almost caught her off-guard, but she wasn't to be stopped, even if she hadn't expected such a response. Instead she offered a light chuckle, pleased he was catching up, pleased that she was finding in him an equal of a sort altogether similar and vastly different to herself.

"Well I'll be glad for the company then, just like now." Her smiled at that, and in turned it caused her lips to quirk in a shadow of a grin as well before she continued. "So why ask me to dance, hmm?"

"Well I do owe you one," Steve told her gently. "After all, you danced with me on my birthday, it's only right that I repay the favor."

"So that's all this is, huh? Returning the favor?" Natasha pressed him. A small pout formed on her lips, and only a portion of it was an act, as she rather enjoyed dancing with the old-fashioned gentleman in her arms.

"Well, not only returning a favor," Steve admitted with the smallest hint of pink in his cheeks. "I did want to dance with you, and now seemed like my best chance."

"I'm flattered, Steve," she replied with some sincerity, though it was slightly washed away by the emergence of a smirk. "But be careful where you put those hands. We wouldn't want anyone getting the wrong idea."

"Never, Natasha."

His solemn, genuine reply was itself almost a joke, but she knew it was honest. He cared about her and her image, no matter what others thought, including herself. She offered a genial smile in response, touched by his meaning, his very being, as they continued to dance, not just through the rest of the song, but through the next one as well until he escorted her off the floor to get a drink.

The rest of the evening played out quite well, especially because Natasha got her pick of dance partners from everyone in the room. Each of the men offered her a dance, and she gladly took them for a turn on the dance floor. Her dances with Nick and Coulson felt like she was dancing with father figures. The sweet innocence and protectiveness of such rhythmic sways and steps brought her a small measure of peace among the growing sense of belonging she felt amongst them all. That sense had begun long ago with their capture, and subsequent rescue, of her from her former path.

Starting with Clint.

He had been so good to her, and even now he remained one of the most important people in her life. Clint was her brother, her best friend, her rock at times when she needed one most, and she could never repay him for that. Her dance with him made her long for the farm, for what had in a sense become her own home. They smiled and laughed at little jokes between themselves, glad to be in one another's company on a day like this, despite not being where they both knew they wanted to be.

What came next was something Natasha had greatly looked forward to; unwrapping presents. She received quite a few sets of clothes, some books and a couple of gadgets, the last of which she got primarily from Tony. Pepper had given her an entire day spending spree with Stark Resources and VIP access, along with a beautiful leather jacket that she instantly cherished. In all she was really quite pleased with everyone's gifts, menial or otherwise, though her gaze constantly travelled to two people, Steve with his pile of gifts wrapped in brown, and Clint who no doubt had more than just his own gift to give her.

Clint stepped forward first, a small box in his hands. Everyone crept in close at the sight, curious as to what it would be. Natasha herself was also curious, and upon seeing the velvet box, wondered just what he was up to. Rumors had circulated, even among the Avengers, about them being some sort of couple, though that's all they were. Steve knew the truth, that they were best friends, that he had brought her to SHIELD and the side of good, mostly anyways. Either way, she both enjoyed and was a little wary of what this gift had in store, though she needn't have been when she saw what lay with in.

"You're such a sap, Clint."

Though they were the first words out of her mouth, they were soft, not all in her usual witty or sarcastic manner. It was a simple necklace with an arrow charm, a friendship necklace if she had ever seen one, and one she greatly appreciated, since they sometimes were split up for separate missions, and it helped to keep a part of him close.

"Only if it's maple so I can be made into delicious syrup," he fired right back at her, which made the redhead snort in amusement as she gently caressed the necklace. "Want me to put it on you?" Natasha nodded and let Clint slide it gently around her neck and latch it closed. The necklace wasn't nearly as long as Steve's dog tags, so it fit just right at the tip of her sternum. Clint smiled at the sight of her in it before his expression flipped into a smirk. "Get you a few more necklaces and you'll just be carrying bling around all the time, huh?"

"Quiet, you," she said with a light punch to his shoulder, though both grinned broadly. Natasha gently hugged her best and oldest friend for a few moments, earning a few smatterings of applause from the group and a smiling no from Steve. "Best for last, Rogers?"

"Well you know, someone has to outshine and deflate all of the big egos in the room."

Stark balked lightly at that, though Pepper's light chuckling made the man pout next to her as everyone else laughed along. Thor merely shrugged the comment off, and Fury just rolled his one good eye in sarcastic amusement. Eventually the room settled down and Natasha nearly vibrated in her eat to see what Steve no doubt had painted for her.

She looked at the card first, and was surprised by the simple message.

Happy Birthday, Natasha. Maybe this will show you the beauty you truly are.

She looked up at Steve curiously, though his expression gave little away, save that he was flooded with nervous anticipation. He wanted her to like his gifts, to enjoy them as much as possible and perhaps even cherish them. With everything he had given her so far today, his trust especially, she had little doubt he would continue to impress.

She gently unfolded the brown paper until the first painting, as she rightly guessed, was revealed. Her breath hitched lightly at the sight and her eyes widened. It was a small painting, all things considered, but it was potent beyond belief. There she was, dressed in casual garb with a bear in her hands as she gave it to a young girl at Coney Island. Her expression was soft, understanding and gentle of all things, expressing her own joy at bringing just a little light and excitement to a young girl's day.

It was so different to how she usually saw herself, but there it was. An indelible reminder of what she could do, of who she could be was laid right before her in full relief. The level of detail was amazing, and her hand gently caressed the fine layers of paint, tracing her own face and the pigtails of the little girl.

"Coney Island," she breathed fondly. "How did you manage this?"

Steve sheepishly shrugged at her gaze, inquisitive and filled with awe as she stared at him. "An eidetic memory comes in handy, especially with painting a moment like this. I just thought it would be good to remind you of a moment like this…"

She smiled brightly at him and gently set the first painting aside. The next was more to her style, as it was a perfect image of her in a red dress, a bottle of vodka hung gently in one hand with three shot glasses held up in the other as she looked over her shoulder, her gaze piercing, seductive, cunning and amused all at once. Beautiful and deadly, lovely and sultry, mischievous and kind, all of it was thrown at her as she examined the contours of her smirk and the expression in her eyes. The bar counter set behind her was done in perfect detail, just as her own form was created without a single alteration or exaggeration. Natasha reminded herself to wear dresses like that more often, as it certainly showed off her best assets in the most perfect light.

"Something on your mind, Rogers?" she teased him lightly as she showed the picture off a little.

"Drinking with you never gets boring," Steve immediately replied as he seemed to gather himself completely.

"Uh-huh," she said disbelievingly with a smirk.

Everyone in the room whistled low as they witnessed the painting. Clint nudged Steve and made a few risqué gestures only to be hit by Natasha and told to knock it off before he set it nearby for everyone else to look at. Even the first one drew a lot of attention, especially from those that had never witnessed anything like that from Natasha. Tony shook his head in disbelief upon seeing the one of her with the little girl. He was about to say something when Pepper shushed him as Natasha grabbed the last painting.

This one amazed her just as much as the last two in how well it captured a moment. There she crouched beneath a blade, a city under invasion behind her with Chitauri storming the streets and explosions burning the very air. A Glock 26 was in her left hand, a Chitauri spear in her right, held out along her leg. She smirked at the viewer, though her eyes were set with fierce determination, a desire to protect, to fight, to save those that needed saving, and raring for a fight. The deep v of her catsuit barely drew the eyes in comparison to her face and steady gaze. As Natasha examined the painting, she noticed a message hidden in the curls of her hair, written in an elegant flow with a paint brush that took great skill to hide such a thing and make it look so natural in her hair all at once.

On va voir.

A wide grin spread across Natasha's lips at the sight. Steve had captured all sides of her. Relaxed and caring, beautiful and seductive, fierce, protective, challenging, strong, all of it could be found in each of these paintings and she wouldn't have it any other way. She gently caressed the carefully hidden message and she saw Steve grin in response before her gaze firmly locked on him.

"You're quite the artist, Rogers."

"Thank you," he offered easily with a pleasant smile. "You're quite the muse."

Had she been a lesser woman, she might have blushed. Instead she offered him a pleasant, happy smile, a genuine one that she knew he longed to see, and one she longed to have crease her lips more often. Tony nearly spit up some of his drink, and a few of the other guests raised an eyebrow at the statement. Before anyone could say another word, Clint chimed in.

"So, did you draw her like one of your French girls yet?"

Natasha rolled her eyes, and Steve raised an eyebrow for a moment before he got the reference a hint of blush crept up his cheeks. "No, I haven't, and you damn well know that."

"I don't know," the archer continued with a lingering mischievous grin that echoed his chiding tone. "You two have disappeared on your own quite a bit. Who's to say what happened after you left us one at a time, hmm? Maybe you met up in secret for something to happen."

"He hasn't drawn me like one of his French girls yet, Clint," Natasha put an end to the debate with a rather amused grin. "Because if he had I don't think he'd be able to contain himself."

Steve most certainly blushed at that and shook his head. "Alright, I'm done with this conversation. You all enjoy your perverted 21st century ways."

The entire group began to laugh and gently tease the old-fashioned gentleman before they moved on. Many praised his gifts, and Natasha kept them close, refusing to let them out of her sight for the duration of the evening if she could help it. She didn't trust Stark's sticky fingers, or those of her colleagues who were dead set on teasing or having some art for themselves. Steve was even inundated with requests for more art, to show some off or make some for the others, but he merely gave them a kind and knowing grin, one Natasha returned with a smirk, as she knew he had paintings, portraits, pictures, and sketches of all of them in numerous forms and fashions.

The rest of the night was most certainly memorable. It felt good to be the center of attention among those that cared, instead of those that just wanted to look what was beneath the skirt, or kill her. It felt right, being here among them, and the more time she spent doing this, she was sure she would be able to feel at home, normal, maybe even like she truly belonged somewhere instead of generally being a nomad.

As the night progressed her friends and coworkers petered off one by one. Pepper took Tony to their floor once he was getting a little too tipsy for his own good. Bruce had fallen asleep on the sofa and was carried away by Thor when the immortal had had enough. Everyone else dispersed slowly, each wishing Natasha a happy birthday, glad to have attended a glamorous party for her.

Everyone, that was, except for Steve, who intended to clean up, and Clint, who was sitting with her on the sofa at this point.

"Jarvis, activate my personal privacy protocols, please," Natasha announced, an order that the AI soon acknowledged aloud before Natasha's gaze returned to Clint. "So, have you made me wait long enough yet?"

Clint smirked lightly at her question and tilted his head. "I don't know, you think you're ready for that?"

"Only if you are," she responded with a very subtle gesture towards Steve.

Clint caught it, of course, and after a few moments quiet contemplation, he nodded. With a light whistle he deactivated the lock on one of his arrows and it dropped a sack of packages right into his lap. Natasha rolled her eyes at the showy display of secrecy, but she enjoyed it nonetheless. Over in the kitchen, Steve had raised an eyebrow and tilted his head to watch for only a moment before he returned to cleaning.

"Steve, you can come and watch if you like," Natasha told him as she accepted the gifts from Clint. "Leave the cleaning to the staff and enjoy the night, old timer."

"I'm used to picking up after myself," he answered her with a shrug. He dried his hands in a dishtowel before he set it aside and made his way over to join them. "But you're right, not all of it's my mess and I may as well leave it for those who get paid for it."

"Mostly robots, but you're not wrong," Clint chuckled out.

Steve sat across from them, curious that Clint had more gifts for Natasha, secret ones at that. What he saw, however, wasn't quite what he expected. They were pictures of kids, a family, and a few hand-drawn ones in marker, crayon, and colored pencil as well. Steve raised an eyebrow and his mind went into overdrive before he noticed that Natasha wasn't in the main family pictures, only in individual ones of her and two kids, a boy and a girl, and of Clint and a woman he seemed rather close to.

"Lila's getting good at art," Natasha said with a happy smile.

"Well she wanted to impress her Auntie Nat," Clint answered her, grinning widely. "And Cooper would have sent his little league trophy along, but Laura and I said that stays at home with him. So we took a picture instead."

The more Clint explained the gifts, the more Steve came to realize just who they were from, and who those people actually were. Natasha was caught up in the private, happy moment, glad to receive these special gifts from a family she considered her own. She was, after all, Auntie Nat, and she wished she could have shared her birthday with them, despite loving the evening as much as she had. Even so, she caught Steve watching and the look of sudden realization flit across his features before he smiled.

"You have a family, Clint?"

"Yeah, Laura, my wife, my son Cooper, and my daughter Lila," Clint explained most fondly as he looked to Steve. "I keep them a secret, so nobody knows about them and so that my enemies don't go after them. Fury helped me set everything up. Eventually I told Nat a few months after I recruited her for SHIELD. My family… they've wanted to meet you ever since I told them about you, especially after I told them I considered bringing you home after what happened in New York."

Steve's eyes widened at the thought. "You… want me to meet them?"

Natasha looked over at Clint and he glanced at her in return. Only a subtle nod was shared before Clint smiled brightly at the soldier across from the pair of assassins. "I have for a while. When you really accepted my friendship, I wanted to tell you about them on your birthday, but I changed my mind last minute because it seemed a bit too much too fast. Now though, after six-odd months, I'd be happy to."

Steve was stunned, but Clint wasn't quite finished. "Besides, Tasha told me what you did earlier. If you can trust me with your sketchbooks, your most private thoughts and art, then I can trust you with a bit of myself as well."

"And I agree with him," Natasha added softly as she gestured to the many papers splayed out on her lap and the coffee table. "Keeping this a secret when you were becoming so close to us was… surprisingly hard. I was accepted by Clint and his family and I'm the godmother of both Lila and Cooper. They call me Auntie Nat, and since I'm part of the family, I had a say too. Both Clint and I want you to meet the family, and they want to meet you as well."

Steve nodded slowly, is stunned expression slowly fading away as he leaned back and shook his head. A slightly huffed laugh escaped him before he spoke. "You do know you're supposed to receive gifts on your birthday and not give them, right?"

"This is less a gift, and more a notification of future torture," Clint teased him lightly as he leaned forward in his seat. "They want to meet you for Christmas, and you'll need a green sweater for Christmas cards."

"Christmas cards?" Steve blinked at that while Natasha and Clint smirked. "You make those?"

"Well only a few people get them. Laura's family, Fury, Coulson, May, Maria, that's about it," Clint told him. "But we still like to make them. It helps us feel like any other normal family."

Steve nodded along with the explanation. All the while, a gentle smile grew upon his lips. "I'm happy for you," he said softly. "And I'd be happy to meet them."

"No take-backs now Rogers," Natasha warned him with a smirk. "Once you accept, you're stuck for good. Hell, I bet Laura already has a guest bedroom ready and is preparing to add you to the family roster."

"Wouldn't doubt it," Clint chimed in, grinning all the while. "Laura always asks me when I'm going to tell you and now I can finally tell her to prepare for six at Christmas dinner. Lila has been dying to meet you so you can sketch and draw with her, and paint now that I've seen your work," Clint said with a gesture to Steve's gift for Natasha. "Cooper won't shut up either. He's grown up on comics of you and Coulson only encouraged it after we discovered you in the ice."

"Jealous much, Clint?" Natasha teased her friend.

"A dad likes his kids to look up to him! Fucking noble soldiers taking all of my idol worship," Clint grumbled, though Steve could tell it was all in good fun, as the archer winked subtly at him.

"Well I'd be happy to come," Steve replied in full confidence with a light sigh. "It will be nice to get away from everything, maybe to feel normal for a while."

"Glad to hear it," Natasha and Clint said together. They laughed along with one another and Steve joined in moments later before Natasha gathered up all of the pictures and knickknacks the kids and Laura had sent her. "Well, now that that's over with, would you mind helping me take all of my gifts to my floor? After all, you wouldn't want to spoil my birthday, would you?"

The pair of men groaned aloud, only to receive light taps from Natasha. They were joking of course, so the moment she nudged them both they laughed and made to help her. After all, it was the best thing to do for such a special occasion.