Without SHIELD, without the Avengers, Natasha had nothing. Not that that was an unusual state of affairs, but this time it hurt. Nothing was a net positive coming out of the Soviet Widow program. Coming away from the Avengers, well, that was different.

A part of her hated to admit it, but there was nothing more important to her than the team. She sighed inwardly. That wasn't entirely true. There were a few members she could live without. But the ones she couldn't…

She glanced back at him. He pushed his hair back out of his eyes. He didn't look irritated, just puzzled. The strains of classical music filtered up through the rain.

"Dance with me," she said impulsively, holding out her arms.

He smiled at her, bemused. "You know," he said, sliding his hand around her waist, and taking her hand in his. "Back in my day, women didn't ask men to dance—"

"Did I ask?"

He chuckled. "I thought I was supposed to give the orders."

"It's a new world, Rogers."

Flirting like this was nothing new, but the stakes were much higher now. They had an unspoken agreement between them that no matter what, they wouldn't put the team at risk. You can't fight off an alien invasion in the middle of a lover's quarrel. You get distracted and people die.

The team was always more important. There was always something else that got in the way. When she'd pursued Bruce, he'd encouraged it. And she was invested in him finding something—someone—to occupy his time. It was just safer that way. For everyone.

But the team was already broken, and they'd done everything they could to keep it together. She'd done everything she could.

They swayed gently to the music. His chest was warm underneath his wet shirt. He pulled her closer.

#

Her hair smelled like rain and jasmine. The thunder had faded into the distance and the music was louder, now. He could count the relationships he'd had on one hand, and none of them had lasted as long as his relationship with Nat. Longevity wasn't the only metric of a relationship, of course, but it counted for a lot. There was something brutal about waking up after sixty some odd years while the world had gone on. Peggy had lived her whole life while he'd only just asked her for a dance. He'd woken up and thought he'd lost everything and everyone. But he hadn't.

If fate was real, it had a funny sense of humor. What if this was his fate? What if he was always meant to be here, now? Natasha shivered, and he hugged her. His heart was beating so hard he was sure she would notice, but if she did, she gave no indication.

"Maybe we should go inside," she murmured.

#

"Here," she tossed him a towel.

He caught it. "I thought you said you liked the rain?"

"I do." She began drying her hair. "It helps me remember to live in the moment."

He pulled off his wet shirt and began toweling off. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure." She bent in front of the mirror on the wall to fix her makeup.

"Be honest with me."

She met his gaze through the mirror and laughed. "I'm always honest."

"Why didn't it work out with you and Banner?"

She stood up a little straighter. "I thought you were going to ask why he left."

"That too, but that one's too easy to deflect."

"You have learned a few things."

"I had a good teacher."

She turned and took a deep breath. "I don't kiss and tell."

"But it's over?"

She nodded. "It wasn't anyone's fault."

It was tough to have a relationship with someone who was emotionally unavailable. And it was even tougher to have a physical relationship with someone who unpredictably turned into the Hulk. Bruce had been a distraction. Which wasn't to say she hadn't cared for him; she had. She did. Genuinely. But it was doomed from the start. Bruce had been too afraid of a real relationship, much less a physical one for obvious reasons. And, in hindsight, using someone to distract yourself from your real feelings is shitty. No matter how you cut it. But that was probably why she'd pursued him in the first place. The risk to either of them was low because there was zero chance either of them would or could fall in love.

"What about you?" She nodded to him. "You've had plenty of chances with plenty of girls. Why didn't you ever take any of them?"

He looked up at her. "It wouldn't be right to start a relationship with someone when my heart's not in it."

She nodded. "It doesn't have to be a relationship, though."

"Why does everyone think I'm celibate?"

"Because you're very… gentlemanly sometimes."

He opened his mouth to object, then sighed. "You know people had one night stands in the forties, too, right?"

"Were you one of them?"

"Sometimes."

She was silent for a moment.

"Stop."

"What?"

"Stop doing the math."

"I wasn't," she lied.

"I do just fine. That's not the point."

"What is the point?"