It was hard to let him go that evening. Natasha kept coming up with questions and various topics for Natalie to ask and discuss.
He answered them gladly and with much interest moreover, but the clock soon struck an hour when any meeting had to reach its end to keep its respectable nature and when decency wanted a woman to head back home. God, it hadn't been a day yet and she already hated all this bothersome etiquette.
'Shall I accompany you back to your apartment?' Steve asked while she was putting on her coat.
She genuinely found the whole question and the chivalrous tone he had taken hilarious.
'Good one,' she laughed instinctively.
He looked at her with a perplexed frown. She realized her mistake.
'Oh, it won't be necessary. I'll take a cab, anyway,' she rectified with a smile. 'But thank you.'
Steve nodded and walked her outside the venue on the sidewalk. He lifted his arm and hailed for a cab which pulled over immediately, much to her regret. Steve went to the taxi and opened the back door for her.
She reluctantly stepped down the sidewalk and stood behind the door, face to him. She looked him in the eye closely, gathering the most vivid sight of him to take away with her. She brushed off the fear of losing him again by reminding herself he wasn't meant to die neither tonight nor the day after. Steve was pretty much safe in that timeline.
'Good night, Miss Rushman,' he said with a polite voice.
She bit her bottom lip then composed her best smile.
'See you tomorrow, captain Rogers,' her eyes glittered at the prospect of it.
He nodded and waited until she got in the taxi then he gently pushed the door close for her.
The car drove away and she looked at his reflection in the outside rear-view mirror as he stood tall by the side of the road.
She went to bed that night with this image of him playing in her head over and over till she finally drifted off.
The next meeting had been set for lunch in a quiet and affordable restaurant Steve had said he really enjoyed going.
She put on a more casual, but still elegant outfit and let her curly hair down. She then grabbed the key tool of her trickery, her notebook, and headed out of the apartment.
Finding him sitting on the chair at the terrace brought her joy and relief. Steve seemed to be doodling on the paper napkin put on the table. He glimpsed absently in her direction then looked again with a friendly smile on. He rose to his feet and straightened his jacket as she walked up to him.
He waited for her to sit first then sat back in his chair. They ordered a drink and she felt as he threw glances at her from time to time while she pretended to look down at the notes she had written in her notebook the evening before.
'I am going to ask you short questions and I would like you to give me an answer as brief as possible,' she eventually said, looking up at him.
Steve nodded.
She picked up the pen between her fingers.
'What name do you like to be called?'
'Steve.'
'What kind of people you think should be fought?'
'Bullies.'
'And what kind of people deserve to be protected?'
'Anybody.'
'Who is the last person you hugged?'
'Bucky. I mean, my best friend James.'
'Your favorite word.'
'Freedom.'
'Your favourite color.'
'Blue,' he smiled playfully at her. 'It's in my contract.'
She smiled at the joke.
'The one word that would define you.'
'I don't know.' She looked up at him and found a cynical smile on his face. 'I thought I knew…until I was put aside. I'm still trying to figure it out.'
She knew the answer. A hero. Something he would never dare to call himself not now, nor ever.
'Your proudest achievement,' she went on.
'Entering the army.'
'Your biggest disappointment.'
'Hmm, being kicked out of army, I guess,' he answered with a smile that concealed bitter feelings.
She saw a hint of sorrow and the longing to go back to a life that suited him better. She felt the urge to reassure him that the war was not over for him, that it hadn't even started out yet.
'You will succeed,' she murmured with a comforting look.
He looked at her intently then glanced away with an embarrassed smile.
'Don't feel like you have to cheer me up,' he said.
'Cheering up isn't my thing,' she answered gently but firmly enough not to have her words questioned. 'But I never let go a chance to set the record straight when I can see the truth staring right at me." A smile rose to her lips. 'Call it arrogance.'
He smiled and watched her more closely than he was before.
'Why?' he asked.
'Because I know you,' she wanted to answer with the most indisputable confidence in the world piercing through her eyes.
'Because I can read people,' she said assertively instead.
Steve shook his head and chuckled.
'Fine. Do it on me,' he dared her in a friendly but still curious way.
She smirked. She couldn't have hoped for a better game. She folded her arms on the table and leaned forwards.
'You're more of a defender than an attacker, hence your shield.'
He agreed but didn't seem quite impressed yet. This was an easy conclusion to come to.
'You're not the kind to start a fight, but not the kind to walk out of it either.'
He listened closely. She could see the sparkle of interest progressively shining in his pupils.
She looked down at the napkin put next to his cup.
'You're sensitive, idealistic and resilient,' she said.
He glanced back and forth at the napkin and her.
'You saw all this from a doodle?' he asked warily
She blinked slowly and leaned over as if she was about to share a secret nobody else should be hearing.
'We both know this isn't just a doodle,' she stated with a conniving smirk then leaned back in her chair. 'And those are the qualities needed to reach this strong level of sketching.'
She couldn't remember ever seeing Steve draw something in her time and she was genuinely curious to have a better look at his artwork and discover a new side of him he didn't express much in the modern days. She also didn't dare to ask to see it as she knew art was something that had to be shared willingly, and out of trust.
The waitress, who was walking past their table, shot a discreet but interested glance at Steve who answered to it with a shy, tight-lipped smile.
'And you are less comfortable around women than what appearances could make anyone believe,' Natasha said as she fixed her gaze on the waitress and watched her walk away.
He rubbed his jaw.
'I am comfortable around women,' he protested.
Oh Steve. She stared at him fondly. It was hilarious and endearing to watch him lie his way out of this talk. She was also surprised to find out Steve was more cocky in the 1940s. And she liked it.
She shook her head and smiled. It brought back memories.
'Let me guess. Your best quality is that you're a terrible liar.'
He paused for a shot second then let out a laugh and looked away, embarrassed he got busted.
'You win,' he conceded, raising his hands in the air. 'You can read through me. Please, let's stop before you start disclosing more compromising secrets.'
People walked by the terrace and didn't seem to pay to the least attention to the two of them. Not like the evening before when people kept staring at Captain America. Here, in this restaurant, he was just Steve, the kid from Brooklyn like he had told her.
'It's unfair, though,' Steve continued. 'It seems like you know a lot about me and I know nothing about you.'
Red alert! Way to ruin her cover if she was supposed to remain a stranger and someone easy to forget.
'There isn't much to say about me,' she spoke gently.
'Everybody has a story,' he affirmed. She was well aware he didn't insist out of curiosity but to show his genuine interest in knowing her better. 'Where do you come from?'
She gulped down the sip of her coffee.
'Central Park,' she blurted out.
He slightly squinted, looking perplexed but amused.
'I mean I live right in front of the park.'
'A real countrywoman ,' he smiled. She smiled back.
'And what is it that made you want to become a j-'
'Where is your best friend?' she cut him off with an enthusiastic voice. She knew this was a topic that would keep his mind busy. She pretended to look through her notes. 'Hmm…James. You've mentioned him before.'
It did the trick. Steve's features shifted.
'He's in the field,' he answered calmly though he couldn't conceal his concern and even his envy to be alongside him. 'I haven't got any news from him for a little while, now. But I know he's doing fine. He always does.'
He stared into space as he said those words. She watched him closely. A part of her didn't understand Steve's ability to see Bucky in the Winter soldier and his infallible determination to save him no matter the cost. She understood even less after his death. All she saw was a murderer. Steve's murderer. She had no doubt Barnes had been his closest friend, but she had also witnessed enough brainwashing to know there was no coming back from it. On the other hand, would she have ever given up on Clint if he had been turned into a ruthless assassin?
'It sounds like you really look up to him,' she said. 'So Captain America has a hero too, huh?'
He looked back at her, dived his piercing blue eyes into hers then they both shared a smile.
He opened his mouth, ready to protest when a little girl appeared suddenly and asked for an autograph.
Steve flinched in surprise, clumsily stretched his hand to take her paper and knocked over his empty cup in the process. The cup started falling off the table towards the hard ground when Natasha leaned over and swiftly grabbed it.
Her audience froze. The little girl looked at her like she had just found herself her new favorite hero. Steve had taken his eyes off the paper he was about to sign and was looking back and forth at her and the cup in her hand. Natasha pinched her lips together and smiled as she put the cup back on the table. Steve signed the autograph for the girl with obvious haste, thanked her with a tender smile then turned all his attention back on her.
'You've got impressive reflexes,' he commented openly the same way he had that time they had gone on a mission for S.H.I.E.L.D. a long time before the whole Hydra situation had been put to light. Steve had jolted his shield at an enemy, which had then rebounded on the wall when she had instinctively jumped in, caught the shield in motion to protect herself from the bullets shot in her direction then had slammed her opponent's face with it. When calm had returned, Steve had walked up to her and said those same exact words. This was the start of their shield sharing, a formidable combination where they complemented each other in every fight and passed each other the shield in an improvised but instinctive choreography.
'I think you've got a far more interesting story than you want to admit,' he spoke again, peering at her intensely.
'Go get a journalist licence -which basically means grab a random notebook and a pen just like I did- and then you can come interview me," she spoke softly, a smirk rising to her lips.
He laughed wholeheartedly at what could only be an innocent joke.