Steve and Bucky had officially become members of S.H.I.E.L.D. for two weeks, and Steve had been trying to casually get information from Natasha for nearly just as long. But Natasha had been tenacious and unbreakable, deflecting any question that was getting too personal slickly and craftily.
"So…do you have…any family around here?"
"Depends on what you call family," she had answered with a smirk.
"But surely you have people you care about, don't you?"
"Why Rogers? Eager to know if you're on that list?"
Or also.
"Where are you from?"
"You know, here and there. I have lived in so many different places, I have had so many aliases that home is both everywhere and nowhere."
"But you're Russian, aren't you?"
"I was for a while," she had said with a slightly amused look.
"And your parents? Your family? All Russians?"
"You know, I don't exactly have a family tree on a wall of my apartment."
"So it isn't completely impossible that someone from your family was American?"
"And they say life is not full of surprises," she had concluded ironically.
"I give up for now," Steve sighed as he let himself fall down in the chair at the refectory right across Bucky, who was eating his lunch. No further explanation was needed, he knew immediately what Steve was talking about.
"You can't give up!" he said.
Steve shook his head, looking at the strange meal his best friend was having, a combination of lasagne, French fries, coleslaw and onion rings. Bucky was unstoppable and eager to catch up on all the seventy years of cuisine he had missed. "She's a hard shell."
Bucky's look turned serious. "Leave her to me," he said determinedly. "I'll crack that hard shell of hers."
Steve furrowed his brows. "Why does it sound like a bad idea?" he feigned to muse.
Bucky pointed a firm finger at him while holding his fork. "You want your information –and hell I want it too— so just let me handle this. You just stay quiet and watch."
Steve agreed, mildly curious about the approach his friend would use, but mostly confident it would be a beautiful disaster. The next day, Director Fury was holding a meeting. At the end of it, he sent Steve, Bucky and Natasha on a reconnaissance mission.
The three of them were now getting prepared on the jet flying them to the location. This was the moment Bucky chose to start his own reconnaissance mission.
"So Romanoff," he started casually but with a tone of voice that failed to conceal his determination.
"Barnes," she answered casually as she checked the magazine was full then swiftly slid it back into her gun.
"How long have you been in the U.S for?"
"A while," she answered concisely and with an obvious lack of interest.
Bucky nodded and an apparent pout showed on his face. Steve, sitting by the side, shot him an expressive glance.
"And did you leave your family in Russia?" he inquired again fuelled by the desire to prove his best friend's glance wrong.
Natasha remained mute an extra second more than she normally would. "My family history is pretty common and boring, Sergeant."
"Okay, so you won't mind sharing it, then," he answered back with a shrug and an arched eyebrow.
Natasha reached for her Black Widow's bites and pressed a button. A blue electrical spark surged with a spooky noise (of which they had often witnessed the effects of the electrical discharge it made) while she gave it a close and intent look and it seemed the jet went quieter than a moment ago. "I'm Russian and so is my family," she spoke soberly, clutching the bracelets around her wrists.
"All your family?" Bucky asked challengingly. She turned and looked at him with a curious look. He pouted again. "You don't happen to have some family you may not know about that could have lived in…let's say New York."
Natasha didn't look unsettled to the least. A smirk rose to her lips. "By definition, if I don't know about it then I can't answer."
Steve watched the whole scene quietly, as promised, but not for the reason his best friend would imagine. Truth was he was too highly entertained to say anything, literally sitting on the edge of his seat to find out how this verbal jousting would unfold next.
Bucky felt Natasha closing up. His expression slowly shifted and became more relaxed and less antagonizing.
"I mean," he let out a laugh, "I just found out I got family in Europe. Turned out one of my brother's son got married to a Scottish girl and he moved to Glasgow with her. And their daughter is a sales rep and got a job in Munich."
True story here. Bucky had finally taken a look at the containing all the intel of his family files S.H.I.E.L.D. have given him after the battle of New Yrok. His older brother had passed away about fifteen years ago and the younger one was living with his family in Massachusetts. The former was the one whose son and daughter lived in Europe. Bucky had just paid a visit to the latter the weekend before and he was now waiting to be introduced to his nephews, nieces and their own families.
Natasha smiled a little. Her face softened and she seemed to put her guard down. Steve watched, sort of amazed by his friend's cleverly-executed ability to get himself a way out of Natasha's web.
"All I'm saying is…maybe you have some family that was originally from here."
Steve rolled his eyes. Of course, Bucky would not give up so easily. Natasha's friendly face faded fast.
"Well, there isn't," she said.
"Are you sure?"
"Such as?," She asked more hardly.
"I don't know," Bucky feigned to shrug numbly. "Someone like your grandmother? Or her estranged twin sister who would have had an anonymous life in America working as umm a secretary…or a journalist. Have you tried to look more into it?"
Steve lifted his hand up to cover his face and sighed quietly, he then silenced himself by pressing his finger against his lips. The whole situation was awkward, and most of all, utterly embarrassing. Natasha was staring with a similar expression.
"Into what? An unknown great aunt who would be my grandmother's secret twin who was stranded in America? No, I gotta say it never crossed my mind."
"Obviously, this is all just a thought thrown out there," Bucky added with a snort to discredit what he had just said.
"Obviously," she repeated but a hint of suspicion lingered on in the tone of her voice.
"Are you naturally red-haired, by the way?" Bucky started again, relentless. "This is quite a vivid shade of red so I wondered if it was something running in your f-"
"Bucky," Steve rushed in, pressing a hand on his shoulder as a way to restrain his friend from voicing out any more word. "Wanna come give me a hand with the equipment?"
Bucky was surrounded, physically trapped by Steve and captured under Natasha's intent look. He looked into her eyes for an extra couple of seconds in order to catch any hint that would help him say she was lying or hiding something, then he eventually surrendered and walked to the back of the jet with his friend.
"The hell?" Steve whispered hardly.
"I almost had her on the ropes," he whispered back with just as much vehemence. "I was so close."
"No, you weren't. The only thing you were close to was to get in her radar."
Bucky sighed and folded his arms over his chest, looking away. When he eventually looked up at Steve again, his expression was stern.
"Her likeness with Nat can't be a coincidence and we both know it," he said more thoughtfully but sounding more determined.
"But seriously, the secret twin story? That was just insane." Steve exclaimed, then lowered his voice again.
"You would rather I broke it to her it is very likely you had a romance with her grandmother?" Bucky retorted, raising an eyebrow.
It had the knack to shut him up.
"We're not even sure they're related at all," he sighed.
"I don't exactly believe in doppelgangers, Steve."
"It doesn't matter for now. We're not telling her anything until we find more data on Natalie."
Bucky grunted to express his discontent.
"Fine, but I don't like it." He said, putting words on his previous groan in case it hadn't been clearly understood then he walked off.
He never tried to worm something out of Natasha again.
One of the perks of joining S.H.I.E.L.D was that Steve had open access to unlimited intel. He spent many hours of the evening after work searching for any trace of Natalie.
Fury had said the truth about Natalie's supposed home address, it was a dead end. There was no record, no letting contract of a Natalie Rushman being a lodger in the residence. And there was no trace of an article or interview of him published in a newspaper that could have been written by her, either.
He tried everything. He went with the hypothesis that she had indeed lied about her last name and proceeded to go through any newspaper article signed by a female journalist called Natalie, regardless of what the family name could be. After days of research, this turned out to be a dead end, too. Neither of the Natalies' details he found matched his.
Sitting his desk for long hours, his fingers hovered above the keyboard but remained still, his mind desperately seeking any detail from the past that would point him a direction in which he could start investigating.
One afternoon in the office, an agent knocked at the door and walked in with some paperwork to sign. As he walked back to the door, he halted, took a deep breath and turned to face him.
"Captain. One of these days, if you don't mind of course, would you mind signing a photograph of you from one of your USO evening shows? My father took it," he said proudly.
"Of course," Steve smiled. He hadn't thought of his USO tour in a while, and as the agent left the room, he was hit by a thought.
Natalie had attended quite a few of his shows and these evenings were always an opportunity for photographers to snap pictures. Maybe, if he went through all the photos ever taken during his shows, just maybe, he could find a photograph where Natalie would appear.
It would not help him find her but it would quench his undying need of seeing her face again a little. One single photograph, even the blurriest, would help to soothe the loss of her portrait.
He relentlessly looked through all the archives of the USO and even asked help from a data agent to find even more photos. The same agent came to the office the next day saying he had found the address of the USO national tour official photographer. He had called his family who had promised they would send all the films they would find.
It was a wonky lead but it was still the strongest he had had since the beginning. His heart glowed with the hope this new lead could be productive although it would never fulfil his need for answers regarding Natalie.
"Where are you?" he whispered musingly to himself.
"Knock, knock," a familiar voice rang out amusingly and it aroused all his senses. He looked toward the door where Natasha was standing and his body unnoticeably tensed in his seat (as it always did somewhat whenever he caught a glimpse of her).
She walked into the office and innocently let her eyes wander about the room, taking on every detail they could find. An old spy habit of hers, probably.
"'Knock, knock', that's what you said too back in the time, didn't you?" she asked absently, her fingers sliding along all the medals and titles he had earned posthumously and which were now hanging on the walls, into nice wooden and golden frames. "Or did you people not have doors yet?"
Steve smirked lightly, shaking his head. Natasha had made it her own little entertainment to tease him on his old age.
"What can I do for you, Romanoff?" he asked.
They had naturally quit calling each other by their ranks as they had grown acquainted but nothing more personal yet. He still found it difficult to call her by her first name, not only because they hadn't known each other for more than a month, but mostly because it sounded to Natalie. Calling her Romanoff was still the easiest way to keep a certain emotional distance with her.
"Simple. I came here so you can answer this one question: what are you doing here?" she asked, strolling around his desk. "Fury gave you a day off today, remember? Why are you spending it in this veterans memorial museum?" She pointed at the posthumous medals with a raised eyebrow and a teasing smirk. "Nobody ever told you it looks very macabre in here? How do you keep the taste for life after sitting here all day?"
"I saw your office and it doesn't exactly inspire lively either. It looks like an armory."
"You know me. Better safe than sorry. Plus, I like the smell of napalm in the morning," she added with a smug smile.
He looked at her silently, slightly frowning in confusion. She waved her hand at him. "Don't worry, I'll show you the film."
"Sounds like a terrible movie," he said under his breath.
"I won't tell anyone you said that," she whispered suavely then propped her hands on the desk and leaned over toward him eyeing him closely. It felt like an intrusion in his personal space and in his intimacy and he stiffened a little. "Slightly pale skin, barely colored lips, haggard look," she examined him with a stern expression but with the hint of smirk tucked in her lips. "You need a doughnut."
The tone of her voice sounded firm and definite like a doctor who would have just given his diagnosis. She stood straight back up and took a step back.
He looked at her with a visible frown on the face. He thought she had forgotten about the promise she had made back during the battle of New York or that she had only said that in the heat of the action without really meaning it.
She headed to the coatrack by the corner and grabbed his leather jack. "Come on Cap, time to take a bite of life. Literally."
She smiled to herself, smug with her pun and it amused him. She was the only former-assassin he had ever heard of who was so fond of little jokes. It couldn't help but find this other side of her endearing in a way.
She held the jacket out to him, her head tilted to the side, with a playful smirk plastered on her lips. Maybe he could put Natalie aside for today to spend some time with Natasha instead. He rose to his feet and took the jacket.
Steve and Natasha were strolling in Central Park, each holding their doughnut into a napkin.
"I can't believe you drove us all the way from D.C. to try this doughnut," Steve said, an amused smile playing on his lips.
Fine she had a Corvette, but it had still taken a good three hours.
"Like I said, it is the best," she answered casually, not trying to justify herself. "And now I am sure you won't be tempted to go back to the Triskelion."
The sun was shining high in the sky and it was indeed a beautiful day to spend out of the office. Spending it with Natasha made it an undeniable bonus.
She headed to the bench and he followed.
"So, what do you think?" she asked, casting a glance at his doughnut after they had both sat down.
The corner of his mouth rose into a smirk. "I gotta say it definitely raises my grade of this time to a good seven."
She arched an eyebrow, obviously content with the answer.
"But what was your rating before? I can't appreciate the value of my doughnut if I don't know the initial grade."
Steve shook his head. "That I'm not telling you."
"Oh, back at it again with secrets," she said nonchalantly. She then rubbed her hands together off to remove the crumbs, put her legs up and tucked them under herself before looking at him intently.
"How were the 40s like?" she asked. "Tell me about it. I don't think I would have liked it. The war propaganda, the more obvious sexism, the fedoras and suspenders, and those awful puffy hairstyles that women had to put up with. I wouldn't have borne spending a single day."
He looked at her curiously. "What do you want to know?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. Tell me something I wouldn't find in any History book."
He probed her for a little while, trying to pierce through the game she intended to play, but he didn't find anything. Natasha was genuinely interested in knowing more about his past life, and about himself he liked to believe. "The vibe felt different," he said and shrugged with one shoulder. "Not better or worse. Just different. We didn't have a technology as advanced as it is now but it didn't keep us from living fast. People weren't so cynical: they believed in the American dream and in freedom. Finding a dollar on the street was an omen of good fortune coming ahead; a random encounter could be the start of a promising friendship. We certainly weren't perfect. We were flawed in more than one way but we were still hopeful, even during a time of war."
"Interesting," she said musingly. It seemed she gave credit to his statement without condition as if she knew he would not have said what he said if it had not been true or valid. "But I still wouldn't have lasted more than a day. And you would probably not have enjoyed my company. You would have found me too cynical for your liking."
He laughed lightly. "Is that so?"
Somewhat, he did not agree with her. Natasha was a chameleon, she could naturally morph herself to fit any unfamiliar environment or entice any person. It was very likely she would have fitted in the 40s. Survival instinct.
"Who are you missing, Rogers?" she asked eventually. Her voice was soft and soothing. Her straight-forward question took him by surprise.
He eyed her carefully.
"What do you mean?"
Natasha bent closer, leaning on her elbows which were propped on her knees.
"You're clearly nostalgic and you're a people person. Barnes is here with you and yet you keep saying 'we' as if part of you was still there. I conclude you left someone you cared about behind."
Touché. Big time. Romanoff could act casual but her natural instincts always kicked in (unless they were never away). She had read through him with an unsettling easiness like she did with everybody else. He hadn't even realized how obviously melancholic he had sounded until she had pointed it out. The forties were and would always be close to his heart but he was the type of person to find a home in people. The geographical location was secondary. New York never felt more like home than when it meant coming back to Natalie and flying back to Europe always felt like exile. Home was all those evenings he spent with her and Bucky at a venue.
"I left many people I cared about behind," he said conclusively.
Natasha observed him quietly. She seemed unconvinced but she dropped it anyway because it was the right thing to do. She was the kind of person who liked to put people on the edge to see what they got, then it was her decision whether to push them or pull them away.
"I would have thought Captain America was the kind who liked to play honesty games," she spoke with a hoarse voice, slightly smirking.
He turned his head to look at her.
"Not if I'm the only one playing it," he answered simply without any accusative undertone.
She shook her head and smirked sassily, unabashedly. "I don't do that. You're asking too much."
He gazed at her intently. "I never ask from someone more than what I know they can give me."
Her cheeky expression faded somehow, replaced by some certain form of astonishment, as if she was genuinely surprised, given her past and her nature, to be perceived as someone who could one day become entirely honest and trustworthy.
"I never give my trust first, Rogers. Or anything for that matter." There was no cheekiness this time, no boldness. This was the first time she was being truthful with him, even if it was to forewarn him not to expect her to be truthful again any time in the near or far future. If it was true they had learned to trust each other in missions, it was premature to expect the same on a personal level.
And at this instant, he distinguished a difference –a wide difference— between her and Natalie. Natalie had given him her trust first, she was the one whose natural sincerity kindled their relationship and strengthen the bond they had.. Things would not have gone the way they had if she had been wary (as Romanoff was now) and if she had not consistently established a candid connection between them. She had readily offered him her trust and it was what had made him want to mirror it. She had opened up to him and he had opened up back and she hadn't been afraid to do so. And here it was the other way around; he would have to be the one opening up first if he wanted Natasha to open up back.
He understood what Bucky meant when he said she would appreciate his honesty better.
"It's okay. I'm not pushing you," he said.
Her playful smirk came on again. "But saying you're not pushing me is kind of pushing me to hurry, you feel me?"
"You're feeling pressured? Good," he teased back.
She looked at him appreciatively, showing signs she was enjoying the natural banter between them.
The rest of the conversation went naturally –nothing deep or serious but a pleasant, casual discussion nevertheless. Time flew and he realized it was the first time he was enjoying himself with someone other than Bucky.
There came a moment where they quit talking or bantering, and she turned to watch a man and his dog pass by in front of them. He looked at her, and as a warm sunray shimmered over her face in this flawless moment of silence, he found it difficult not to admire her beauty the way he used to do with Natalie when she wasn't looking. Thus he drifted his gaze away.
When the man and his dog eventually disappeared down the path, she slowly turned her head to him and, looking serene, slowly parted her lips.
"Why were you staring at me the first day we met? And why are you still doing it from time to time?"
He understood they had reached the time when Natasha would want to get an answer to the question she had asked back on the first day on the jet. She had waited, postponed it, but now she wanted to know. Maybe because the reasons why she asked the question had changed between then and now; maybe because she was driven by genuine interest this time and not just curiosity.
He swallowed discreetly and felt his heartbeat quickened as he remembered Bucky's advice. Natasha, more than anyone else, deserved the truth.
"You remind me of someone I used to know," he answered softly, hardly. He fought hard to conceal the emotion that made his pupils quiver.
Natasha squinted her eyes, openly probing him with a dubious expression. When she found nothing but sincerity from his part, her features softened and the corner of her lips rose into a smirk.
"You know, it's funny. I've never heard that one before," she said, sounding genuinely amused. "Men usually tell me they've never met a woman like me."
She didn't sound like she was gloating to the least. On the contrary, she sounded like someone blasé of hearing the same words coming from all the men. He didn't doubt she had heard it many times during cover missions.
"I had never met a woman like her," he answered.
Peggy had also been a woman unlike any other, being a woman worth a dozen men. She had impressed him, she had astounded him. But Natalie had swept him off his feet like the fiercest tornado without making any show of force. She could not fight like a man, she could not fight or lead like Peggy, but her wit and her strong temperament had conquered him all with the force of a military alliance, implacable and formidable.
Yes, he would have without the shadow of doubt admired Natasha for being unlike any woman he knew had he not met Natalie first. And he probably admired Romanoff now because she reminded him of her.
"It must be hard," she murmured sympathetically.
Her likeness (although she probably didn't suspect to what extent). The absence of this woman. Her presence. Them, here and now in this park. Them, at S.H.I.E.L.D., every single day.
Natasha seemed to measure the depth of it all and she sympathized greatly.