A/N: I don't own Cap or any of the characters, but I do like to take them for a spin every now and again…

Thanks again for all the supportive reviews! Nothing makes me happier than seeing one pop up in my inbox. I keep forgetting that I like to include a little bit of the prior chapter to remind you what was happening.

Clint stared back at him over the top of their joined fists before he dropped his arm, rolling the tension from his shoulders. "Whatever it is you think you feel for her, get it out of your head that she returns it."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"I really do," Clint replied with a soulful stare, and Steve could tell just how deep the archer's feelings ran for Natasha. The silence stretched between them, and then Clint relaxed, retrieving a couple of beers from the fridge and offering one to Steve. "She's not like other women."

Steve accepted the beer, stretching his jaw where he'd taken the punch before settling down on the couch. "I know, that's what I like about her."

"No, you're not getting it." Barton plopped down beside him, taking a deep pull on the bottle. "She's wired differently. She's female on the outside, but inside she's too damaged, even for someone who's just as fucked up as she is, like me."

Steve mulled that over for a few seconds, taking a slow drink before he spoke. "Maybe she doesn't need someone who's like her? Maybe she needs someone who can show her a different way to be."

"And you think that's you?" Clint snorted.

"I aim to find out."

"Good luck with that. Just don't say I didn't warn you."

~Natasha~

It was late by the time Natasha made it back to her apartment. Briefly, she'd considered holing up for the night somewhere else, but a small, insistent part of her wanted to make sure the two hadn't really erupted into bloodshed. That small part of her got naggingly louder and louder as the hours dragged on, until she found herself back at the apartment. Would Steve still be there, or had Barton chased him off?

Listening at the door, she mentally kicked her own ass for hesitating outside her own place, and opened the door. Steve sat at the breakfast bar eating a bowl of something crunchy, because of course he was eating again. "Is it safe to enter?" she asked, making a show of looking around. "I don't want to get testosterone poisoning."

Steve never looked up from the bowl. "Barton's gone."

His lack of expression bothered her more than she liked, and Nat tried to draw him out, wanting to see him smile. "Did you stuff him down the garbage chute?"

He didn't laugh, but he did stop eating and put his bowl in the sink. "That wouldn't be my first choice of getting rid of the competition, no."

"There's no competition. Barton's just looking out for me, like he always does."

"If you say so."

Damn it, this was why she didn't do relationships, she always ended up misreading the situation. Steve wasn't in the mood to laugh, he was depressed or jealous or... something completely beyond her capacity for understanding. Turning her back on him, she focused on the things she could control – which at present didn't amount to much more than cleaning up the kitchen.

"We should talk."

Those three little words chilled her to the bone, and Natasha withdrew into herself, the way she always did. One glance at his face told her exactly what he wanted to talk about, and she didn't want to go there. All she wanted to do was stop feeling the way she did – unsure and hesitant. Since when did she feel hesitant and unsure about anything? Those feelings could get her killed in the field. But she wasn't in the field now, was she? So why did she feel like she was under siege?

Natasha didn't look at him, affecting a light grumble as she stared at the sink. "God, Steve, how much did you eat while I was gone? Why do I always get stuck with the dishes just because I'm the girl," she muttered, loading up the dishwasher.

"I'll do them later. Let's talk first."

Doing her best to ignore him, she started cleaning the kitchen as though her life depended on it, scrubbing at the already spotless counter with a vengeance.

He moved up right behind her; she could feel his close presence even though she hadn't turned her head. "Nat, would you look at me for a minute?"

She couldn't. She couldn't let him see how rattled she was, how off her game. There was no familiar footing here, it was a dance she didn't know the steps to. "We don't have to do this right now, do we? It's late."

"You can take it." Steve leaned close to hold his hand out in her field of vision, palm up and open. After a moment's hesitation, she took it. "We had a good day today, remember?"

"I do." It seemed a world away, that lighter feeling that'd chipped away at the walls around her heart. But what did it say about her that they'd snapped back into place so quickly?

"You want to tell me why that all went to hell when Barton showed up? What is he to you?"

"He's a friend." The answer rolled off her tongue fast. It wasn't even a lie, but it wasn't the complete truth either. There was no judgment in Steve's face, but she could tell he wasn't buying it.

"We just started this dance. I'd like to think I'm not stepping on anyone's toes."

"You're not."

"Clint doesn't seem to feel the same way."

"Barton and I are..." What were they? It wasn't like either one of them had ever tried to define it before. That was part of his charm. They had no expectations of each other, just the way she wanted it. "It's not like that," she insisted.

"You know he'd like it to be though, right?"

"We both know what it is and what it isn't."

"And what is it?"

"Something comfortable. Something safe. Sometimes I need that."

"I can give you that." His fingers closed around hers, his voice gentle, and she ripped her hand away.

"No, there's nothing safe about what you want." Didn't he get that? She'd never felt less safe.

Steve's brows knit together. "Is that what scares you?"

"I haven't been scared of anything since I was nine years old," she scoffed.

"Yes, you have." He didn't taunt her with it, and there was no derision in his eyes. "There's no shame in admitting to fear, Natasha, it's what you choose to do with it. You can't let it define you."

Easy for him to say, he didn't know what it was like to be conditioned against any feelings. Not at all happy with the way the conversation was going, she turned her back on him. "Spare me the pep talk, Rogers. I've been through the company training reel."

"Okay then, how about some straight talk? I'm afraid."

"You can sleep with the hall light on then. Excuse me, I'm getting ready for bed." The first step was the hardest, but it got easier the farther away she got from him. She could do this. She had to. Admit to fear and what came next? Love?

Steve's words chased after her, though he stayed rooted where he was. "I'm scared to death you'll walk away from this, and I'll never get to feel again, the way I feel when I'm with you."

His heartfelt words drew her to a stop, and Steve kept talking, trying to reach her the only way he knew how. "I'm scared to death you'll walk away from me, because I pushed you too hard, or not enough. I don't know where that line is with you, Nat."

There was a measure of comfort in hearing him talk like this. She recognized that fear in his voice, the uncertainty – because she felt it too. Without meaning to, she turned to face him, instantly trapped by the emotion in his steadfast blue eyes.

"I don't know how to test the waters without drowning, so I'm going all in. I care about you, Natasha."

She swallowed past a mouth that'd gone dry. "I know, we're friends."

The furrow on his brow deepened to an angry V. "It's more than that, and you know it." His hand closed around her arm, fingers biting deep when she didn't reply. "Say it. Admit that we're more than friends."

Her lips parted, but the words wouldn't come out. She couldn't love him, not the way he deserved to be loved. That part of her was long gone. He couldn't ask that of her, didn't he understand that? She stared back at him, eyes glistening as she fought against her conditioned response.

Steve's jaw thrust forward as he swallowed back the answer in that lack of a reply. Slowly, his hand unwrapped from her arm and dropped to his side. "Then I guess there's nothing more I can say."

A/N: Okay, I'm sorry to end it on this much of a cliffhanger, but I'm getting ready to release my new book, and it's got me hopping to get everything done in time! I promise I'll have the end of the scene by next Friday.

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