Her words snatch his voice away. Katherine is looking at him quietly, not having anything more to add.
Before he can say anything, the front door opens again and Eliza appears. She smiles.
"You didn't' get lost, did you?" she asks from the porch. She helps herself with the railings to go down the stairs, walks up to them and gives him a hug.
"It's good to see you Eliza," he says.
"When are you going to say that I look younger?" she teases.
"That was my very next sentence," he answers with a smile.
Eliza chuckles and pats his arm. He slips it under hers and after glancing at Katherine, walks the woman back inside the house.
An hour later, dinner is ready. Katherine has coincidentally cooked his favorite meal. When he glances at his plate and looks back at her with a pleasantly surprised look, he finds her smirking at him knowingly as she sits down.
The three of them chat away for most of the evening and it feels like being at home again.
The next day he has resumed his usual routine. After spending most of the morning painting the furniture in one of the bedrooms, he heads outside to finish the window frames. Riley is chasing squirrels like the formidable hunting hound she believes she is.
He is about to hit the nail when Riley runs right between his legs, making him strike sideways, resulting in the nail pierce through the thin skin between his thumb and forefinger. He lets out a groan and tells off Riley far gone, chasing away.
He removes the nail but his hand is already throbbing as the first red mark has already blemished the skin. Blood soon clogs up to the surface then begins to stream down. He grabs the towel hanging nearby and wraps it around the hand. He makes his way to the kitchen where he knows the first aid kit is kept.
Katherine walks in as he is looking into the drawers. Her facial features tense as she catches sight of the blood-stained towel.
"What happened?" she asks in a concerned voice.
"It's okay. I accidentally hit my hand with a nail."
She furrows her brows deeply. He pauses to look at her. "I know. Just don't laugh at me…just yet."
She walks behind the kitchen counter and steps in front of him. She unwraps the towel and takes a look. She opens the faucet and puts his hand under the running water. She then grabs one of the tea towels and wraps it around his hand again.
"Go and take a seat," she instructs.
He complies and goes to sit at the main table while she opens one of the cupboards. She comes a few seconds later and turns one of the chairs so she can sit right in front of him. She asks him to lay his arm on the table and she unwraps the towel.
She opens the kit, takes out wipes and antiseptic. She pours some and gently wipes it across the wound. Then, using a new wipe she gently pats the area around it.
"If it stings you can groan, you know?" she comments, eyes focused on the task.
"I was trying to impress you."
She smirks slightly. "Consider me impressed — I now know you are not a cry-baby."
It makes him chuckle. Somehow, it is a talent of hers to make him laugh while patching him up. He recalls the time she wrapped a bandage around his waist after he had cracked a rib on one of their unofficial missions during their two years in the run.
"You're not supposed to be laughing, Steve," Natasha warned as she was tied up the bandage. But he could not stop — she had made one of those sassy remarks of hers and it had triggered his laughter. As painful as it was.
It had taken three days for Sam to come and pick them up — not the best three days of his life, but not the worst either. Natasha had made it more bearable like only she had the secret.
Katherine tears open a paper pouch and takes out the dressing. She lays it on the wound and cuts up the surgical tape. As she finishes wrapping it up, she smiles to herself pensively.
"Accidentally hitting your hand with your nail. This owie certainly does not compare with the type of injury Captain America would get," she says softly, almost whimsical.
"No, indeed. But I'm not complaining," he answers. "In fact, I could get used to these."
She takes her eyes off the dressing and looks up at him. They stare silently at each other while her fingertips are still wrapped around his hand, and he feels the soothing warmth that emanates from it.
She clears her throat and looks down at their hands. She gently moves it away and gathers up the first aid kit equipment while he stretches his hand a bit.
"Kat," he murmurs softly, then shakes his head softly, quite stunned about what he is about to say. "About you and Jake…I'm sorry."
Katherine frowns, a little incredulous.
"You're…sorry?" she repeats.
Somehow it feels very similar to that party in the Avengers tower when he told Banner to go for it. It had hurt, but he had meant what he said. Because nothing mattered more than her happiness. And if Jake made her happy, then, as satisfying it is to him to know he will not see him around, he cannot help but feel concerned about her feelings.
"You said he's the person you've known the longest."
"You're the person I've known the longest. Even if I can't remember it," she corrects him matter-of-factly.
He nods. "Right. But he's the one who helped you find your bearings and he made you happy…for a while…That can never be erased."
Katherine does not speak a word at first, then she quietly scoffs. She arches an eyebrow and stares at him intently with the shadow of a smirk.
"Sentiment? In this day and age? What are you, from 1925?" she comments musingly, left stunned by his genuine sympathy for a situation he should only rejoice about.
Her eyes probe him with new, deeper, appreciation. Amazement, perhaps.
He smiles sheepishly, overpowered by her enthralling and unsettling gaze.
"1945, actually."
She bites her lip. "Right."
She slowly gets up, holding the kit, and goes to the kitchen. As she walks behind him, she gently presses her hand on his shoulder, wordlessly thanking him.
Almost a week later, his unexpected and brief departure is forgotten. Working in the patio, he watches the family of four who stayed for five days check out. The little boy, Joshua, with fluffy dirty blond hair waves at him while clutching his mother's leg with his other arm. Steve waves back. Just then, Katherine kneels down and hands the boy a freshly baked cookie. Then she brushes his cheek with her thumb and stands back up. Soon the happy guests pass through the door and the old engine of their car starts off.
Katherine comes into the patio, holding a plate, filling the air with the warm scent of dough.
"Cookie?" she asks.
"You heard my thoughts," he smiles and reaches for one.
"Yeah, they were pretty loud."
She goes to sit on the chair and watches him as he paints the new window frame.
"You know," she begins. "I'm very impressed."
He holds the brush still and smiles. "With the home improvement? Not gonna lie — I share your feeling."
He takes a quick look around assessing all the work he has done around the house. If you looked past some irregular paint traces and other details, it looked decent. He suddenly realizes how much the guesthouse has changed since he arrived — the doors and flooring don't creak and there is a subtle smell of freshness in the rooms where the walls have been painted, some furniture has been fixed or replaced making the house look kempt and even more agreeable.
"Among other things, yeah," she concedes with a smile. "You're not the person I thought Captain America would be. You…surprised me. For the better."
He feels her gaze on him and turns to meet it.
"Who did you think I would be?" he asks.
She shrugs. "I don't know. This stern, self-righteous, heroic figure."
"Ouch," he jokes.
She chuckles. "No offense. I didn't mean it to sound harsh. My point is I guess I was afraid I could never connect with that person and all that he embodies. But you're more than all this."
He smiles softly — Katherine hasn't taken her eyes off of him, conveying deep appreciation and a hint of gratitude.
"And you haven't seen me cook yet," he chimes in teasingly.
She arches an eyebrow with an intrigued expression. "You cook?"
"Once during the Blip I tried to cook you dinner — and it was quite a disaster. So after the last Snap, I decided to take on cooking classes."
She laughs. "Looking for a career change?"
"Apparently I have quite a lot to choose from," he answers, lifting up the paint brush in his hand. After a pause, he dips it into the pot and stirs slowly. He clears his throat.
"Maybe someday I could cook us both something…get a second shot."
His eyes slowly drift over to her; she's probing him silently. She leans over slightly.
"That'd be nice. I'll be fair and count it as a first."
And they smile.
Later in the afternoon, Steve pops in upstairs to his bedroom to change his shirt now that the painting work is over. Buttoning it up, he glances at his phone and finds a dozen miscalls from Sam, the last one being just a few minutes earlier. He calls back, pressing the phone between the side of his face and his shoulder.
"Steve?" Sam's voice sounds grave, urgent.
"Anything wrong?" he asks.
Sam sighs. "I'm sorry about this. I tried to stop him but he wouldn't listen. He was so pissed."
Steve furrows his brows and holds the phone in his hand. "What is it?"
"He knows. And he's on his way."
The sound of a driving car comes to his ear. He walks over to the window and looks through.
He recognizes the figure in the car instantly and his jaw tenses.
"Gotta hang up, Sam. Thanks for the heads up," he says hurriedly and drops the phone on the mattress before rushing downstairs, carefully glancing around but Katherine and Eliza are in the back garden.
He open the main door, walks down the porch stairs to the car. The figure steps out of the car and a deep frown come to his forehead upon seeing him. Steve expected no less of a reaction.
"Look, I can explain." He begins.
"Is it true?" Clint mutters. "Is Tasha here?"
Steve reaches his side, anxious to remain standing between Barton and the door.
"Don't you dare lie to me. F.R.I.D.A.Y. showed me the footage that you kept away from us."
"I had to be sure it was her. I couldn't give everyone false hope until I was sure."
"That was over a month ago, which is when you decided to take that extended...," Clint pauses, pursing his lips together and running a hand over the back of his head. "When I think that I was glad you were taking some time off to heal….but you were actually here with her."
He sees an explosive combination of hurt and anger in his teammate's eyes.
"It's complicated, she has amnesia and she doesn't want…"
Clint is pacing around. He suddenly flips around and, using all his strength, shoves him; Steve hardly moves.
"You had no right to keep her all to yourself," Clint mutters, looking him hard in the eye.
Steve remains silent. He should have something to say in his defense, but it suddenly hits him no answer would be honest enough, because, deep down, he knows that what Barton said isn't completely untrue.
Getting her back made him selfish, made him eager of her presence with boundless yearning.
"I'm sorry," he begins but the other won't hear a word. And it is the kind of anger he cannot blame him for. As Natasha's best friend, he can only understand it. God knows how he would feel if the table had been turned.
"This isn't about me right now — you can be mad at me all you want. But you have to respect who she is now. She doesn't want to go back."
"Yeah, I wonder why she wouldn't," Clint hisses.
The front door swings open and the object of their heated feud comes through with a quizzical expression.
"Steve? Is everything all right?" she asks.
Barton's eyes are fixed on her, welling up. She eyes him warily before turning her attention back on Steve.
"She goes by Katherine, now," Steve whispers with pleading eyes. "You gotta respect that. Please."
She comes up to them. Clint is now holding back his tears, staring at her.
"It's so good to see you," he murmurs.
She glances at Steve. He gives her a reassuring nod. "This is Clint Barton."
She blinks, processing the information, as she has heard this name a few times before. She understands why she is the recipient of such an emotional surge.
"Hi," she says with a sheepish grin.
Clint takes her in his arms, brushing the back of her hair. She lets herself be hugged and politely rests the light touch of her hand on his shoulder. Her eyes wander to Steve then fall low, pensive.
"It's so good to see you," he smiles through his teary eyes.
She takes him inside the house while Steve remains standing behind by the car. He puts his hands to his waist and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.
It took barely the afternoon for Clint to befriend Katherine. His innate, underlying sarcasm naturally appealed to her humor and was enough to start things off. They barely discussed the past yet found plenty to talk about. It seemed that no matter it is in this life or another, Clint and every version of Natasha were simply meant to get along. Like kindred souls drawn to each other always. It almost seemed like they picked up their friendship right where they had left it off, except it did not carry the weight of their tumultuous past and the memory of their painful separation.
At the end of the day, after having gone for a walk around the property, Clint and she head back to his car.
"I love my place and I've always had a thing for the farm life but you really took countryside to a whole new level," he comments with a smirk.
She chuckles. "You can stay tonight if you like," she offers.
Clint eyes her fondly then smiles.
"Nah. I know you're not ready yet. But don't rest easy — I'll be back soon. Eliza is a keeper by the way."
He cups her face and smiles. "It's so good to see you," he repeats as he first saw her.
He briefly glances at Steve — his anger has morphed into quiet resentment.
The following evening, they have dinner. Steve can sense Clint's visit has left a mark on Katherine. She eats quietly, with a pensive look and an uneasy mind.
As she heads upstairs to her room, he follows her to the staircase.
"Kat," he murmurs. "If you need to talk, I'm here."
She nods without a word and slowly goes up the stairs.
He goes to his room later and lies in bed sometime before he finally drifts to sleep. In the middle of the night, as the moon hangs high in the sky, a door creaks open. Cushioned footsteps tread along the carpet in the hall and sneak into the bedroom.
Sleeping on his back, Steve feels the mattress shift as someone climbs into the bed, and a warm figure nestles against his chest. He cracks his eyes open and looks down, finding Katherine's head pressed on his torso.
She speaks, probably made aware he has awoken by his racing heartbeat.
"I couldn't sleep," she whispers, face down.
He feels all of her half-bare body against him.
"It's okay," he whispers back.
She holds her arm out to lay across his chest. "I need you," he hears her say.
Steve cautiously raises his forearm, elbow propped on the mattress and holds it still hesitantly. He eventually lowers it down to drape over her back. For the first time, he can see how little she feels in his arms.
"I'm here," he says softly.
Her head stirs, turns to look at him. "I know," she whispers assuredly.
They gaze at each other for a little while then she drops her head back on the same warm spot.
He finally utters the question that has been on his mind for several hours.
"How did it go with Clint?"
She takes a couple of seconds before answering. "Well, surprisingly. I think he was a little mad at you but I pleaded your cause."
He chuckles and feels hers echo through his chest. "Thanks."
After a short silence, he whispers:
"I'm glad you two got along." And he is, truly. But he also feels a pinch in his heart, the unreasonable fear she will inevitably grow closer to Barton, that the bond he has been working on building with her will lessen now that her best friend has walked back into her life. Unreasonable and incredibly selfish but he cannot help thinking it. "He was the most important person in your life."
"Yeah, I guess," she says detachedly. "But if I may say he's not the person I spent the last nine years of my life with, stood by with through thick and thin. It's gotta mean something, right?"
He frowns. "Mean what?"
Kat shrugs. "That's what I'm trying to figure out."
They remain lying still in this position, drawing comfort and peace from one another.