MCU (c) Marvel Studios

The mermaid grace, the forever call, beauty in spyglass on an old man's porch. The mermaids you turn loose brought back your tears. At the end of the river the sundown beams, all the relics of a lifelong lived. Here, weary traveler rest your wand, sleep the journey from your eyes. — Nightwish

He was silent for a heartbeat, staring at her in surprise. "I can't promise that," he said. She pulled away from him, crawling out of their bed and leaving him bereft of her presents. "Nat, Natasha!" he said, trying to keep his voice down. He threw the covers off him, in two strides her reached her, grabbing her wrist.

"Let go of me," she hissed, tugging against his grip. He didn't let go, staring her down with a calm expression, willing her to understand. "Steve, let go."

"No," he said, pulling her closer to him. "Natasha, lemme—"

"You said 'anything'! Why won't you give me this? Don't you keep your promises?" she asked, frustration in her eyes and something else — hurt, grief… regret — he wasn't sure, but it made his heart ache. "Why won't you promise me this?"

"Because I made such a promise before!" he snapped. The pain of losing Peggy, making those promises — the date they never had — the crash and the cold water that engulfed him… all came rushing back and squeezed his heart. The warmth of her wrist kept him grounded though, and he was thankful for that, not wanting to fall into the maelstrom of his memories. "In 1945, as I was flying the Valkyrie into the ice. I made promises to Peggy. Promises to come back, to have a dance with her on Saturday night. And you know what those promises got me?"

"Steve—"

"Nothing!" he growled, guilt pricked him for being harsh, but she was asking him to promise her something that his experience told him was a fool's errand. "It brought both of us heartache in the end," he said, gentler, and she relaxed enough that he could pull her into his embrace. "It got us nothing in the end and I refuse to make you suffer in the same fashion. So, I won't promise you that."

"Steve," she whispered, her face hidden against his chest. He smoothed her hair, holding her.

"Hey, it's okay," he said, and slipped an arm around her thighs, lifting her up and carrying her back to bed. He pressed her against the wall, holding her in his embrace. "It's okay. I understand. The life we lead… it's hard to not ask each other to make such promises."

"It's not okay," she whispered, looking up at him. There was a darkness in her eyes, something he couldn't breach, and she refused to tell him. He longed to take it away, let her bathe in the light of hope and love. "It's not okay Steve. I know it's stupid and I know that you can't promise to never leave me, I mean… what if you find someone else? What if — after everything is said and done — I'm just not good enough for you and we break up and you hook up with Sharon? I get that," she said. "I really do."

"I'm not going to break up with you!" he said. "I'm not going to dump you, so I can be with Sharon! I'm basically an uncle to her… okay," he conceded, "I'm not technically an uncle to her, but — our relationship is weird. I loved her aunt. I would've been Uncle Steve to her if I hadn't got stuck in the ice."

"I know, I know," she said, "but it's just… a… a possibility." Her eyes were so broken, so haunted by something she wasn't telling him. The last time he saw her this broken was the nightmare in Armenia. He had been helpless to help her then too. He knew little about her past, she was married to a test pilot that died, had a brief relationship with Bucky, and sometime after that Clint found her and rescued her. She had been a Shield agent since and then an Avenger and now this. He didn't know her birthday, where she was born, anything about her parents (save for the fact they were dead), or what her life was like before the Red Room — if she even remembered her life before the Red Room. The woman in his arms, that wanted him to make her an impossible promise, was an enigma to him. Yet, what he did know was that Natasha had a good heart, a bit rough around the edges and guarded, using snark and quips to shield herself when she got emotionally vulnerable. She cared about the innocent and the weak, was great with kids and wanted some of her own (he knew that by, how she would stare wistful and wanting at Lila and Cooper, or at a pregnant woman the few times they ran into one on missions or just a casual outing). Those things he knew, made him love her. "Steve?" she asked when he hadn't said anything.

"I love you, darling," he said, nothing but confidence in his voice. He held her, smoothing his hair. He wanted to make her feel better, wanted to bring that smile back to her face. He hated the look of fear in her eyes. He closed his eyes, sighing. "If… If it'll make you better, I'll make that promise," he said. Reluctance wormed its way into his heart, along with guilt.

"You don't have to," she said, "I won't force you into doing something you aren't comfortable with. You're right, I shouldn't be asking for such a promise."

But I want to make you happy, I want to take away your pain, even for a little bit. "Nat—" he whined. "Let me prom—"

"Promise me this then," she said, "always love me? Promise me you'll always love me and never let me be alone?"

Roundabout way of making me swear to the first thing. His lips twitched into an amused smirk. "I promise," he said, knowing he could swear that much to her. "I'll always love you, Nat, and I won't let you be alone."

She snuggled against him, a soft kiss finding its way to the hollow of his throat. He groaned. "Thank you," she whispered and closed her eyes. He held her, watching her as she drifted off to sleep. He loved watching her sleep, she was always so peaceful: her face laxed, no crease of worry, no guarded expression in her gaze. The only other time she was so open was when they made love.

I'd wish you'd tell me what's troubling you, he thought as he held her, sleeping tugging at him. I'll help make it better or at least ease the burden a little bit. He kissed her brow. "Good night," he said and succumbed to sleep.

Summer gave way to autumn; they settled into comfortable routine. He'd wake up in the morning, run to the town and run back again, the icy air burning in his warm lungs. Then he'd help get breakfast ready with Laura before talking shop with Clint and Natasha in the basement. They touched bases with Sam, who'd give a good report about Vision and Wanda. Vision had returned to Stark a few days ago, so Wanda and Sam had been wandering Budapest for a little bit, taking in the sights. The android had promised to return, and Sam said he'll let them know when that happened.

Then he'd play with Lila and Cooper, read to Nate and help Laura get lunch together. After the lunch dishes had been cleaned and put away, he and Natasha would take a walk to the jet and inspect it, then mosey on back to the house, talking about whatever struck their fancy. They had settled into this state of comfortable domesticity. It shocked him at how much he enjoyed it. This simplicity, no pressing matters to worry about. He had toyed with the idea of retiring one day, passing the shield onto someone else that can continue doing the work of Captain America. Yet, whenever he thought about it, he feared that living a simple life without fighting would be difficult. Though this wasn't the same as retiring, it was a taste. And it tasted so sweet, achingly so when he had Natasha by his side. The wife, the kids, the house in Brooklyn with a white picket fence… that cutesy dream he indulged in during the war — the one he thought had died with Peggy — exploded back into vivid vibrant life. The idea wormed its way into his brain, and he couldn't help but smile at it and made plans to talk to Clint about how to go about it.

Seeing the Bartons celebrate Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas was a delight. Halloween was filled with ghoulish delights, some traditions having to be alerted considering the situation (no trick-or-treating), and others added (Candy Hunt for example). Cooper and Lila enjoyed it, so in the end Clint and Laura had declared the celebration a success and discussed how to improve it for next year.

He was familiar with Thanksgiving; he and his mother had gone to the Barnes' every year to celebrate. Seeing Natasha and Laura in the kitchen, laughing and slaving away at the giant meal felt bittersweet. He sat on the couch watching football (he didn't care for it much) with Clint, his mind wandering back to his day dream. A Thanksgiving spent with his own family, the one he and Natasha built, in their home in Brooklyn. He could smell the turkey and the ham, the garlic in the mash potatoes and cream spinach, the brown sugar in the glaze for the carrots. Everyone had been looking forward to this meal. The last time he had such a Thanksgiving was two years ago with the Avengers, before the Ultron Crisis.

Tony had pulled out all the stops, going so far as to order a turducken and a whole suckling pig as the main course; the sides consisted of every imaginable Thanksgiving side from the various regions of the US (a few Russian ones thrown in for Natasha). He felt connected to everyone and Thor — who had come to partake in the annual Midgardian feasting — carved both the suckling pig and turducken. He felt as if he had a family.

This year was different. He was different, losing Peggy and the Avengers breaking up, opening his heart to Natasha, letting her in and loving her — fully and completely — being here and finding feeling a sense of peace. All of it had a profound effect on him. "Oh, c'mon! That's a foul! Foul!" Clint shouted, gesturing at the tv. He arched a brow at the archer and sipped his beer (not that he could get drunk, he drank it more for the taste these days than anything else). "Damn ref."

"Language," Laura chimed from the kitchen.

"Yeah, Clint, Steve doesn't like that type of talk," Natasha quipped, joining in on the teasing. He flushed and took a sip from his beer.

"You know what Romanoff," he called, looking at her. She had that twinkle in her eye, the one that set fire to his blood. She was moving around the island, something clutched in her hand and she came over to him. In the two and a half months that they had been here, she had changed in a way he never imagined. She was smiling more, laughing more; a softer maternal side to her personality that he didn't know existed (he suspected she had it, but this confirmed it) appeared. When they made love, it was sweet and tender, as if they had been doing this for their entire life time together. He wondered if this was what it's like to be married. This… bliss. He titled his head back against the couch cushions, a little smile on his lips as she stroked his cheek with one hand and planted a kiss on his lips.

"What do I know, Rogers?" she asked. She hadn't told him what was bothering her the night he promised her that he'll love her and never let her be alone. He didn't have the heart to bring it up again, figuring that she'll tell him in her own time.

"How good you are to me," he said. She laughed and put something in his mouth. He chewed, realizing it was a bit of ham. It was sweet with a citrusy tang of orange to it and just a hint of cinnamon and cloves. "This is good," he said, "got any more?"

She rubbed her hands up and down his bearded cheeks. "Gotta wait for dinner, Steve. Sure, you can do it. Won't kill ya."

"Dunno, maybe," he said, "super-soldier metabolism and all that."

"Would you two stop flirting and get a room," Clint grumbled, "not all of us are young and in love." He glared at them. "Some of us have kids."

"Hey, I'm ninety-nine!" he said, sitting up a little bit. "I'm an old man, let me indulge."

"Old man my ass, you can't be a day older than twenty-five," Clint said, "don't look like a ninety-nine-year-old man to me." He sipped his beer. Steve laughed, patting Clint on the back. Natasha left them to go back to the kitchen. The women struck up their conversation again and the game switched to a commercial. He shifted on the couch and nudged Clint's foot with his. "Oh, now we're playing footsie?"

"Shut up," he grumbled, "wanna ask you something."

"Oh?" Clint leaned closer to him, intrigued with whatever he had to say. "About what?" There was a shriek and he sighed, getting up before Laura yelled at him. He watched the archer go mediate the kids. He chewed his lip, took another sip of be and fretted about talking to Clint (of all people, the man was like a brother to Natasha, the closest thing she had to any semblance of a family) about what he wanted to discuss. If Clint agreed that meant a trip into the city, which meant he'll have to disguise himself, sunglasses and a ballcap wasn't going to cut it (as Scott had said when Bucky proposed the disguise option as an possible alternative to sneaking to hanger at the airport in Germany: they look like themselves in sunglasses and a ballcap). Clint came back with a sigh. "Sorry, Cap, kids."

"It's okay," he muttered and sipped his beer. The game came back on and he tried to follow along — football was so boring, he didn't understand what the appeal was — but at this point Clint had figured he was just pretending to be polite (which he was). The game broke for another commercial.

"Didn't even move a yard line, I hate the programming director," Clint grumbled. "Anyway, what did you wanna talk about?"

"It's uh… about Natasha," he said, dropping his voice into a low whisper, causing Clint to inch closer to him. "And my uh… intentions."

"Jesus, Steve, you're already screwing her," Clint said, "I'm not her dad and she's a big girl."

"No, not… not those intentions," he said, ears going pink. "I uh… I wanna marry her." He watched Clint take a sip of his beer and choke, eyes bugging out and coughing, smacking his chest to make sure his beer went down the right pipe.

"You okay sweetie?" Laura called.

"Peachy," he said, and fixed him with a glare. Steve swallowed, nervous. The game came back on, but Clint ignored it, staring at him. "You want to marry, Natasha."

"You make that sound like a bad thing," he muttered, "as if I just lost my mind and told you wanted to walk to the moon or something like that."

"I'm just… you want to marry Natasha?" Clint squeaked and he was beginning to wonder why Clint was having such a hard time comprehending the fact he wanted to marry Natasha.

"Yes." He never felt more confident about doing this, well maybe that wasn't true, he felt pretty confident that he could handle the vita-ray radiation when he was in the pod and feeling every fiber of his body breaking apart and regrowing. "I want to. I love her."

"But you two are so… opposite!"

"You don't support my relationship with her?" he arched a brow, he figured that Clint would be the most supportive of his and Natasha's relationship. The fact that Clint seemed so surprised about this natural process of events, bothered him on a fundamental level. "I mean, if you don't, I'll convince you otherwise and—"

"No, no, it's not that. I support you two a hundred percent. You make her happy and she makes you happy that's plain as day, it's just that… I never expected you to… irunno, want to settle down and get married. I don't just don't think Nat's that type of person for all this peachy-keen domesticity." Clint offered up a smile. "That's all, Cap."

His shoulders slump as Clint voiced his own fears. "Oh." He glanced back at Natasha, who was laughing at something Laura had said. Lila had wandered into the kitchen, and Natasha gave her the spoon to lick clean; there was a warm motherly smile on her face. "She'd make a good mother."

"You know she can't have kids," Clint sad.

"Getting pregnant isn't the only way to have a child," he countered. Clint rolled his eyes. "Okay, yes, it's the only way for another baby to appear but" — he flushed — "it's not the only for a couple to have a child. We can adopt."

"And who's going to stay home and raise the kid? Natasha would never give up being who she is."

The game back on and he watched it without watching it. He knew Clint had a point, if they did have a child, who would take care of it? Natasha wouldn't give up her career for a baby and he couldn't hand off the shield to be a stay-at-home dad. "I will," he said, realizing that he desired to be a father more so than Captain America. "I'll give the shield to Sam or Bucky—"

"Bucky's nuts — err… no offense."

"None taken. He's getting… the best psychological care in the world. I'm sure once the World Security Council evaluates him they'll clear him, and I can hand him the shield and retire in peace. Natasha can continue to be Black Widow and I'll just be… Steve Rogers, stay at home dad."

The crowd cheered, it sounded tinny coming from the tv. Clint swore at that, not caring for the other team much. The announcers read off the score and Clint rolled his eyes, giving up on the game and flipping to the Hallmark Channel, which had begun its Christmas count down with a brand-new Christmas movie. He watched it, Christmas movies weren't really a thing when he was a kid, not in the manner they are now. He found them warm and touching, centered around Christmas, and a bit cliché at times but it didn't matter, it was the message behind the story that counted. "Before you go chompin' at the bit to hang up your shield let's work on the first part of the equation: when are you planning on asking her?"

"I'm not sure how to bring up that fact I want to retire to—"

"Not that," Clint huffed, "about the first thing, marriage."

"Oh!" he said, nodding. "Dunno, Christmas sounded nice" — he glanced at the tv, the guy and the girl walked along a snow covered lane in a quaint Christmas style village, the girl telling the guy about her childhood — "don't know what to get her so uh… thought I give myself to her."

"Do you even have a ring?"

"No."

"Damn it." Clint pinched the bridge of his nose. "We'll have to go into the city." The movie came to a cliffhanger, breaking for a commercial. He sighed, realizing that was a problem. "Think we have some left-over washout black hair dye from Halloween," Clint said, looking Steve over. "Maybe if you shave…"

"What you aren't good at disguises?" he teased, elbowing Clint, a playful smile on his lips.

"I'm more of a sniper, and any infiltration I did was at night, so I didn't need a disguise, Nat's the master of disguise," he said. The movie came back on, as he expected the girl was upset at the guy for hiding what he was doing in the Christmas village that meant so much to her. "I think it'll work, we won't be there long and you'll have black hair so… you won't be that recognizable."

"I can wear sunglasses and a ballcap," he said. Clint snorted.

"Sure, add that too." There was another childish shriek, Cooper and Lila came thundering down the steps, Nate taking his time by sliding on his butt down them one at a time. "Cooper, Lila! Not in the kitchen!" Clint shouted, and Cooper changed his course to run pass them, blocking the view of the tv.

"Steve, c'mere and carve the turkey," Natasha said. He looked at Clint and shrugged, walking over and setting his beer on the table.

"I thought, since this way my house, I carve the bird?" Clint asked, he didn't sound hurt though. Natasha gave him a beady eye stare, an amused smile on her lips. He took the carving knife and fork from Laura and began to cut up the bird.

"You get to slice the ham," Natasha told Clint, then helped him on carving the turkey. He blushed, fumbling about and trying not to cut her fingers off. He managed to get the wing and leg off, slicing the breast and thigh. "Good job," she said, cupping his cheek to pull him close and give him a sweet kiss. He flushed, that husband-y feeling seeping through his body. Laura snagged Cooper and Lila, roping them into setting the table, Nate had joined his father on the couch, falling asleep there.

Everyone (minus sleeping Nate), migrated to the kitchen, Clint sliced the ham while Laura and Natasha put the food in the serving dishes. The kids helped transport the food from the kitchen to the table, leaving space in the center for the turkey and ham. He brought the turkey and Clint brought the ham and they all sat down around the table. He led them in a prayer of thanks before eating. The house filled up with laughter and happy stories of past thanksgivings. The food made its way around, piled high on all their plates. They ate with gusto, having been waiting for this all day. Everyone exchanged loving glances and he hoped his ears didn't go too pink when Natasha squeezed his knee beneath the table.

After the meal, he and Clint tackled the dishes, with few complaints from Clint (the promise of pile was a powerful thing). Dinner dishes cleaned, they sat down for pie and whipped cream (Nate was awake for this), and Steve shared stories of learning to bake pies from his mother. Natasha told stories of his grandmother and various Russian pastries she made. Even Clint had a story involving pie, though it was about getting a pie in the face (Steve said it still counted). The men cleaned the kitchen again, and they sat around the tv to watch one last Christmas movie before going to bed. He and Natasha made love, falling asleep in each other's arms.

The snows came early that year. The tractor had seized up from the cold, so he had taken to shoveling the driveway and a few walk-ways around the house. Clint was impressed, but he said it didn't both him, he could do this all day. They went tree hunting the weekend after Thanksgiving, bundled up in thick downcoast, scarves and gloves. Cooper and Lila had impromptu snowball fights and Nate kept trying to put the snow in his mouth. Cooper had suggested one of the ancient towering pines that lined the tree farm, stating that Uncle Steve could carry it.

"Yeah, true," Clint agreed, looking at one of the hundred-foot-high pines, "but our truck won't." Cooper hung his head in disappointment. "Don't worry, Coop, we'll get a big tree." They walked through the rows of trees, Laura and Natasha inspecting each potential tree, until they settled on a lovely Douglas Fir. He held the tree while Clint got on the ground and sawed it down. For safety reasons, he allowed Clint to help carry the tree (even though he could have managed just find on his own) and allowed the tree farm worker to take their prize. They rode the hay ride down to the shop, where Clint payed for the tree and they wandered around the gift shop.

He stayed by Natasha's side, his hand on the small of her back as they browsed the selected holiday decorations. "You having fun?" she asked, looking at him as she inspected a nutcracker ornament. "I danced this ballet once." She set it back.

"You did?" he asked. "And yeah, I am. Never did this before. Mam couldn't afford a tree, we hung stockings instead and I'd get a book, a new sketch pad and some pencils for Christmas. Not much but it was something." He sniffed, feeling the tears sting his eyes. "Even after the crash… she still managed to get me a few gifts." He rubbed he eyes with his thumb and index finger. "Wish I still had her bible." He picked up an ornament featuring a black bear with its cub on its shoulders holding a sign that said: Home is where the heart is. He glanced at Natasha, his smiling widening as he studied her, how her delicate fingers brushed the ornaments, her blond hair still in the bob she sported since finding him. There was a content smile on her face, a warmth in her eyes that she hid from the rest of the world. He could tell she was happy, that she harboured a special love for this holiday, despite her dark and bloodied past. She picked up a rabbit with a Santa hat that was holding a gift. A gold string was looped through the hook at the top of the rabbit's head. She smiled.

"What happened to it?" she asked.

"Hm?"

"Your mother's bible, what happened to it?"

"Got lost," he said with a shrug. "After I was selected for Project: Rebirth… I lost track of a lot of my old things, so I don't know what happened to it. It's a shame though, had my da's name in it, and her family going back to her great-grandparents on both sides. Little bit o' Ireland was what she told me it was, a little bit o' home." He shoved his hands into his pocket. "You going to get that?" he pointed to the ornament in her hand.

"Huh? Oh, uh… not sure yet," she said, and hung it back on the hook with the others. "I mean, I can't really get anything… never had my own collection of ornaments."

"You can start," he said, bumping her hip with his. "Sure, Clint won't mind holding onto them."

"Ste—"

"Grant," he said and winked. She nodded, catching on. "Tell you what," he said, finding a pair of turtle-doves, their beaks had magnets in them to make them kiss, one had a sash that read peace and the other one's sash read joy. "We'll get these, one for you and one for me. Like the sound of that—"

"Mary," she said, a little smile mischievous smile on her face. He chuckled, taking the two turtle-doves over to the young clerk. Natasha followed, digging through her purse for some cash. He shook his head at her as he set the porcelain doves down, he pulled out his wallet.

"Oh, these are nice," the clerk said, smiling up at them. "Your husband's sweet, ma'am."

Natasha gave the girl a beatific smile, coiling her arms around his waist and resting her head on his shoulder. "Of course, he's a big softie. Just a teddy bear and he just loves doing these sweet things for me. Dontcha honey?" she cooed, batting her lashes at him.

"Y-Yeah." He chuckled, a boyish half-smile on his lips. "Just love seeing her happy. Christmas is her favorite." He pulled out a twenty-dollar bill, handing it to the clerk.

"Here with anyone? Didja get a tree?"

"My sister and her family," Natasha said, looking over at Laura, who was telling Cooper why he couldn't have a huckleberry lollipop. "We're from Philly and we're visiting. Grant can't help himself when he sees something I'll like though." She gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Right?"

The clerk nodded, counting out the change and handing it to him, then she wrapped the two turtle doves in some tissue paper and placed them in a little box. "Here you go," she said, and Natasha took the box with her right hand. "Merry Christmas," she said.

"Merry Christmas." Natasha gave her the biggest smile and left, fingers entertwining with his. They joined up with Bartons and got into the truck and collected the tree before heading home to decorate it.

Nobody said anything about the little act at the counter with the clerk or the fact that Steve bought her a couples' ornament. They reached home, setting up the tree in the living room (Laura had said it was the quickest they ever set up the tree, thanks to Steve). Laura made lasagna and they had dinner before dragging out the Christmas decorations and setting the house up for a festive holiday season. Christmas music played in the background, a mixture of new and old and traditional. They sang along to them, laughing at the silliness of things and enjoying each other's company. He hadn't experience this sense of familial warmth since before his mother died, when he was seventeen and Bucky had helped decorate their small apartment with strings of popcorn; that made him wish Bucky was here to enjoy this. He assuaged himself with the hope that next Christmas everything would be put to right and they could all spend Christmas together.

A snowstorm came, trapping them in a world of white and cold. Natasha seemed to enjoy more than everyone else, laughing and playing in the snow with the kids, making snow angels and building snowmen. She even dragged him out to have an epic snowball match with Cooper and Lila. Clint joined in on their side and they were victorious over the girls until Natasha used her spy skills and dropped a handful of snow down his shirt. She shrieked when he lunged for her, running off into the field of white. He followed her and though he was fast thanks to the serum, the snow slowed him down and she avoided his grasp for a few minutes before he pounced on her, tickling her and catching her lips with his. Clint yelled at them to get a room as Lila squealed in delight.

He dug out the truck and the drive way that morning, sat as Natasha dyed his hair black and shaved as the dye set. "Are you sure about this?" she asked, after rinsing his hair and frowning. He looked deathly pale with his clean-shaven jaw and black hair. "You looked like death warmed over."

"I think I look handsome," he said, mock hurt coloring his voice. "Besides, it's a washout hair dye" — he smirked, hands on her hips — "you'll help me wash it out right?"

"I already know the carpet doesn't match the drapes." She winked, that amused flirty smile on her lips again. He caught her lips in a kiss, a little growl escaping his throat as he nipped her lower lip. She arched her hips into his, grinding lightly and it was enough to get him aroused a bit. "Better go before Clint starts looking for you."

He growled, kissing her again before letting her go and flicked some left-over water from his hair at her. She squeaked, twisting away from the spray. He laughed leaving her in the bathroom, and meeting Clint downstairs. They bid farewell to Laura and the kids and headed into the city that was two hours away. They stopped at the grocery store first and then the mall. Steve swallowed, the last time he was in a mall Rumlow and his goons had been hunting him and Natasha.

"Just relax," Clint said, "just use cash. You have enough cash to buy a ring, right?" he looked at him, a brow arched and a hopeful gleam in his eyes.

"Nat had the money situation taken care of," he said, remembering the credit card that was tied to a Swiss bank account that she had passed out to all of them when they decided to split up. "I'll be fine." He patted Clint on the shoulder and headed to the jewelry store. The mall was packed, pictures with Santa in the main junction and decorations hanging from the ceiling. Everything was bright, everything glittered, voices echoed and mingled with the Christmas music that came from the unseen speakers. He found the jewelry store and went inside, squinting a bit at the bright light. He clicked his tongue at the scintillating jewels and gleaming metals.

"Can I help you?" a man asked, dressed in a suit and tie with his hair slicked back. Middle-aged by the lines around his eyes. "Looking for anything special?"

"Uh… an engagement ring for my girlfriend," he said, smiling a little bit. The man nodded, sweeping his hand along glass counter.

"We have many fine pieces," he said and pulled out two trays of rings. Steve looked them over, imagining them all on Natasha's delicate finger. Some were gold, others made of white gold and the more expensive were crafted from platinum. Most had diamonds, some had rubies, emeralds and sapphires. He found a white gold ring, with some filigree inlaid with diamond chips and a single raised diamond. Elegant and a little sparkly but not too gaudy. He held this one up. "An excellent choice," he said and took the ring, plucking the companion wedding band from the tray too. Steve told the man Natasha's ring size and he nodded, slipping into the back to get it. He came back a few moments later, and Steve paid for the ring. He slipped the little velvet box into his pocket and met up with Clint, who had his arms laden with bags and boxes. He took some to help his friend and they left.

The water was hot, almost too hot for him, but he didn't mind. He heard the door open and close and saw a petite figure through the hazy glass, a moment later Natasha had slipped into the shower with him, short hair wrangled into a bun. "Hey fella," she cooed, looking him up and down, she sucked at her lip. He grinned.

"Like what you see?" he asked, taking her hands and pulling her close. He kissed her lips, her cheek, and ended at her throat, sucking on her pulse point. She moaned softly, one leg snaking up his and he lifted her up to wrap her legs around his waist. "Can you reach the shampoo?" he asked.

"I thought we're going to do the fun part first?"

"This is the fun part," he said and kissed her breasts and she sighed, taking a step back so she could squirt some shampoo into her palm and wash his hair. "Having run?" he growled as she scrubbed her nails along his head. She whimpered, pressing her chest closer to his face as he sucked and teased her nipples.

"Steve…" she sighed. He sucked on the soft skin between her breasts. Her little mews and moans aroused him. "Water," she said, and he turned around, tilting his head back into the warm stream. She began to rinse his hair and then gave a loud shrieking laugh.

"What?" he asked. "Nat?"

"It's awful. It's like washing out oil and bunch of other grime!" she said, scrubbing the soap from his hair. "Don't do anything, don't want you to swallow this crap. Jesus Christ, I have it all over me." He chuckled, holding her as she rinsed his hair. She washed his hair three more times, getting most of the black die out, the ends remained stubbornly black still. He didn't care though for once Natasha had rinsed them off, he kissed her again, recapturing the moment with gusto. She moaned into his mouth as his hands ran up and down her body, cupping her breasts, his thumbs gracing her nipples. She mewed into his mouth, nipping his lip and that sent beautiful shivers down his spine.

His hands traveled lower, finding her wet heat and slipping a finger inside as he rubbed her sensitive nub. She whimpered, want clear in her green eyes and she grabbed his rigid cock and gave a long languid stroke up his length. He groaned, knees buckling and he added another finger, smirking just a bit as she mewed. "I want you, she whispered after a few moments and he nodded, looking around the small shower and trying to find a spot to brace himself and her without causing obvious damage to the place.

He scooped her up and pressed her against the wall opposite the door, hands gripping her thighs as he positioned her to allow him to thrust into her with relative ease. She smiled, cheeks flush from arousal and the warm water. "Gotta be quiet," he said, kissing her and then working his way down her throat and chest.

"You're the loud one," she teased, and he replied thrusting into her. She gasped, a loud moan escaping her throat, a half-hearted glare in her eyes. "Warning next time."

"You're the loud one." He winked at her and she pulled his face closer to kiss him. He waited until she had adjusted to his sudden girth and began to thrust, trying to not press her up against the wall so much and bare most of her weight in his arms. It was a tricky process to figure out at first, finding that rhythm that they both enjoyed. He found it soon, and Natasha was mewling and moaning in his arms. He grunted and panted against her throat, muttering incoherent nonsense as he neared the edge. She pressed her hand against the wall, the other tugging at his hair. They locked their gazes, both enjoying the expressions the other made, both drinking in the other's arousal. He shifted her weight, his arm snaking around her lower back and grabbing her right hip; he pressed his right hand between them, rubbing her nub until she was gasping high and sweet, her name tumbling sweet and heavenly from her lips. She closed her eyes, white teeth biting her lip; he growled at the sight. "Come for me, Nat," he whispered, thrusting into her, his pacing was starting to get more erratic as he neared his own climax. She came a heartbeat later, arching into his thrust and pulling his head into her chest. She bit her own arm to muffle her cry. Feeling her clench around him was enough to finish him off and he moaned into her neck; and hoped nobody else heard them.

She wiggled off him, but he continued to hold her and share sloppy kisses with him. The water had gotten cold now. "Wow," she whispered, smiling at him. "Never had sex like that in a shower before."

"Mmm, just wait until we're in bed, I have a few more tricks up my sleeve," he purred, kissing the junction where her neck and ear met. She laughed, smiling at him. "Think we're clean?"

"We're dirty," she countered, holding onto his shoulders as he let her down. He laughed, grabbing the bar of soap and a wash cloth. The washed each other, it was tender and intimate, cleaning each other and memorizing the various aspects of each other bodies. After the shower the snuck off to bed, and he showed her the other tricks he had up his sleeve (much to Clint's annoyance as he banged on the ceiling again with the broom).

By the time Christmas came there was no hope of escaping the Barton farm any time sooner than early March (if that). Not that it mattered, he had been pretty diligent in keeping the drive way and cars cleared, even going so far as to digging out the Stark jet. Still, it was more of a mindset. He didn't want to leave, Natasha didn't want to leave. They were happy here and for the first time in a long while, they had no worries. They had ham for Christmas Eve dinner, and the kids were allowed to open one present (a small one) before going to bed. They watched the children head to bed, staying up only an hour or two later than the kids, before going to bed themselves.

Sure enough, Lila and Cooper squealed in delight at the collection of presents beneath the tree and they all sat around opening gifts and sharing memories. It was warm, familial and Steve lost himself in that pleasant dream he been nursing since realizing he wanted to spend his life with Natasha. In his head he was in his house in Brooklyn with their son (he didn't know why but he felt like they'd have a son) and her, opening presents early on Christmas morning with the promise of more delights when they visited everyone at Avengers Tower.

He drifted through the day, caught up in his little fantasy and the ring he had in his pocket a heavy comforting weight there. He didn't want a public spectacle (not that they were in public, but he didn't want the entire Barton family watching him ask Natasha to be his wife). So, he waited, and thanked Clint later for getting him something for Natasha so she wouldn't be hurt that he didn't. He helped Cooper set up his new race track and grinned when Lila showed him her ballerina Barbie.

Dinner was prime rib, and he carved the prime cut of beef. It felt like Thanksgiving again, though with less food and more good cheer (not that Thanksgiving didn't have good cheer, but it was a bit more solemn and Christmas was a bit merrier). He and Clint did the dishes, since it was only fair, considering Laura (primarily) and Natasha made dinner for everyone. They watched Christmas movies as they sipped on mugs of hot coco, before the showers and bathes were taken and the children (and their weary parents) trotted off to bed.

Only he and Natasha remained, snuggled on the couch bathed in the light of the tv, Christmas tree and Christmas village; the large kitchen light having been turned off hours ago. His empty mug was on the table, one arm around her shoulder and the other resting in his lap with his hand on her knee. She was so beautiful in the warm glow. He kissed her temple, pulling her closer, wanting to feel her. "You're in a mood," she said, sipping her drink (she was nursing it something terrible). "What's up?"

"Nothing," he said, his hair no longer had the pricks of black at the end and his beard was growing back in. "Just… amazed at how beautiful you are."

"Steve," she said, rolling her eyes. "Have I taught you nothing about being coy and flirting?"

"Picked up a thing or two," he said, "but not everything." He tilted her chin, angling her head to look at him. He could get lost in her eyes for eternity and he wouldn't care. He felt at home with her. If someone on the street had asked him to describe home, he would describe her. This was his home, he always had one and it was her. He wished he realized it sooner, then things may have played out differently. He doubted it, but he liked to think it would have made a difference.

"Steve?" she asked, a wary note in her voice.

"I love you," he said, voice soft as he ran his thumb beneath her lower lip, "Natasha." He nuzzled her nose with his, reaching into his pocket to pull out the little box. "And, I have an important question for you." He thought about getting up and going down on one knee, doing it all old fashion and proper, but he dismissed the idea. They were snuggled together and he wanted to ask her in a lowkey fashion, plus this felt more intimate. He worked a nail into the groove and popped the box open; the diamonds caught the light and the white gold gleam. He heard her breath catch in her throat.

"Steve, what… what is this?" she asked.

Before he had always imaged taking his girl out on several dates, courtship for a year or two. Then the night he was going to propose he'd take her to a fancy restaurant and do it in front of everyone. But Natasha had told him the night he gave his virginity to her, that they had been doing their courtship their own way: dates in the guise of fighting aliens and killer robots and evil secret organizations. Stolen moments and touches and long wanting looks from across the table (that made Tony look twice and shut up because could Captain America and Black Widow really be into each other and he didn't know? Oh, the horror!). He realized that it didn't matter that his courtship with Natasha had been convoluted and unorthodox, it didn't change the feelings in his heart, didn't change the fact that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, maybe even figure out a way to have a family with her. He loved her, that was the honest truth and he prided himself on his honest. "Natasha… no, Natalia" — he gave her a boyish smile — "would you marry?"

This is the longest chapter I've written for this series. I didn't want to break it up but damn it was hard because a lot of it was exposition to move things along, and that throws off my style.

Originally there was going to be a flashback about Steve's 13th Halloween, but I decided to save it for later and make it a stand alone fic that'll go into my domestic life collection titled The Little Things in Life.

I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. Now gotta thing about what happens next (and find a song for it too).

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