Steve was dressing, just about finishing up. He heard a quick knock on his door. When he opened it, a smirking Natasha, dressed in black skinny jeans, a red tank top and black leather jacket with black kitten heel pumps stood before him. Arching an eyebrow in approval, she liked what she saw, Steve, wearing faded jeans, a gray henley, and black rubber toe kicks.
"Hello...ready to go?" she asked, smiling warmly, that kind of smile reserved for those closest to her.
Steve shrugged into his favorite brown leather jacket, nodding. He grabbed his wallet and keys before he fitted Nat's hand in his. "Good and ready," he acknowledged, that sweet, boyish smile of his tickling Natasha. The ex-pat's heart skipped; spending time with Steve was more than merely therapeutic, it was a no-brainer pleasure.
The couple arrived at the garage level of the Avengers' sanctuary, and went to Steve's ride. It would be the car today, and not his Harley. Nat's updo deserved being un-windblown. She and Steve spent the morning enjoying coffee and a bacon and eggs breakfast in a small family diner in Brooklyn. Since Steve was a regular, he and Nat got the royal treatment. Afterward, they browsed a few stores, which specialized in old vinyl records, vintage books, and high-quality art supplies. Nat not only sketched now, she painted; her creations, quite good, and satisfyingly original. Strolling through Central Park this sunny afternoon was a special highlight; Steve liked the zoo, and Nat had never been to one quite so quaint.
Heading back to the car after getting gyros from a food truck, they heard sounds as if some sad animal was in distress. Never in the habit of ignoring pleas for help, Steve tugged Nat in the direction the noise came from. In an alley littered with several dumpsters and cardboard boxes, across from the park, one of those boxes was moving. Cautiously, Black Widow and Cap crept up on that box. Eyeing Nat, he flipped it open, and a golden retriever puppy, clearly the runt of the litter, its mouth and paws bound tightly in rope, squirmed.
Upset, Nat opened her purse, producing an intriguing knife, as far as Steve was concerned, with a one-of-a-kind pearl handle. After a swift whistle, he made a face in surprised amusement, grinning in spite of the weapon she wielded. "Knife in your purse? Cool sapphire handle, by the way." All normal; this was Natasha after all.
"It's a dagger, actually." She returned his look, and lifted the shivering, whimpering puppy out of its prison. "It's okay sweetheart, we're not gonna hurt you," she softly assured, crouching to cut away the hemp bonds. "We're your rescue." Lovingly, she cuddled the puppy, tucking it into her jacket.
Her actions moved Steve deeply. They located a vet accepting walk-ins. Nat and he remained with their little find while Bob the vet, an older gentleman, examined the male. Apart from the creature being dirty, cold, and a bit malnourished, he was in acceptable health. There was no collar, or ID, no way of knowing who this pup belonged to. They agreed his name should be Borya, meaning 'fighter.' They went pet store shopping next before heading home. Waiting at a traffic light, Nat had a thought, glancing over at Steve. She took up his hand from the steering wheel, and remarked, "There's just one thing..." She studied the sleeping pooch fast asleep in her lap.
"And what's that?" Steve prodded, his voice throwing concern.
"Telling Tony..." Nat arched an eyebrow, clearly making it plain that she wasn't going to be the one doing the telling.
"You're the one he's super crushing on." Steve made his eyebrows rise up and down like they were mechanical. "He can't say no to you."
"Wanna bet?"
Steve's face paled to sickly chalk. He noisily sucked in a breath. "I stink at begging," he muttered.
"Put the puppy on your shield, get down on one knee, and sell it. Borya's our new mascot. You can always mention that I absolutely adore him. And..." She sidled closer to Steve as he resumed moving the car through traffic, sweetening her request with a friendly kiss on his warm, stubbly cheek. "I'll give you my dagger-knife, regardless if the answer is yes, or no."
"Deal!" Laughing, Steve winked. "If he doesn't want Borya living at the compound, we'll find him a good home. Promise."
"Oh, yeah? Like whose?"
"This guy I know. His name's Joe, a member of the support group. Joe Finn. A real good guy. Like Clint, he lost all of his family in the snap. A wife and four kids, three boys, one girl."
Natasha hung his head. "Give him Borya." Her tone was unequivocal.
"I like where your head's at, Nat. You know what Tony always says...'great minds think alike.'" Steve brought Nat's hand up to his lips, kissing her strong knuckles. "And the rest of you is pretty great too." Had his opinion sounded all kinds of corny? Maybe so, a little, but that was how Steve felt, and didn't care. He came from a time, not so long ago, when being and sounding corny had been okay. Good, honest folks, like him, had no problem living and speaking what they judged to be truly valuable.
The puppy stirred in her lap, and Nat couldn't stop smiling, scratching Borya behind his little ears. "Back at ya, Steve."