The next morning, Steve and Bucky were making their way inside S.H.I.E.L.D. facility, greeted as always by all the agents, regardless of their ranks. As they turned round a quiet corridor, Bucky leaned in toward Steve.

"You went on a date with Romanoff?!" he exclaimed with a low voice.

Steve rolled his eyes. "For the hundredth time, it wasn't a date."

"Took you long enough to tell me though," Bucky retorted with an accusative tone. Indeed Steve had waited until they were driving to D.C. to let him know about how he had spent his afternoon the day before.

"For the simple reason I didn't want you to harp on about it for the whole evening. Considering how you've been harassing me with the same question all morning my fears were clearly legitimate," Steve said.

"Well, it's rude! I've always told you how my date nights went."

"And I wish you didn't," Steve commented matter-of-factly, a little smile playing on his lips. "I'm glad this conversation had at least the merit to get this off my chest."

He had to admit his best friend's detailing had decreased through the years, especially compared to their teenage years.

Bucky grunted and shrugged. "Fine, then let's go on with our thing. I'll keep punishing you by telling you all about my dates, and you'll keep punishing me by not spilling a damn thing."

A glorious conclusion to a glorious conversation. Or so Steve thought.

After two minutes, as they stepped out the elevator, Bucky, unable to hold it any longer, went on again.

"A date with Romanoff!"

Steve sighed. This was to linger on forever.

"It wasn't a date."

"Only one way to know," Bucky retorted. "Did you kiss?"

"We ate a doughnut," he said.

Bucky's face slowly morphed into an expresions of utter confusion and puzzlement.

"Wait, what?" he hissed, furrowing his brows hard. "Is that a secret code? It's an idiom they use nowadays for something else, isn't it?"

They had just reached the end of a long corridor. Steve slightly turned around, facing his friend, pressed his shoulder against the door and leaned forward to push it open. Only Bucky could come to such a conclusion after an answer as simple as the one he had provided.

He wiggled an eyebrow and smirked in silence as the one and only response to Bucky's internal torment. Knowing him, he was sure he would rack his brains over it for at least two days.

He could swear he heard a roar coming from inside his friend's throat as if he was aware of the fate he had just been sentenced to. He shot him a hard and fairly hostile glare.

"You a-," he begin to grumble with passion.

"Gentlemen. Morning briefing is about to start," an agent said gently as the door opened on him.

Bucky shushed himself and a solemn silence, meant to conceal any trace of the colloquial conversation that had just been interrupted, followed. To Steve's advantage.

"I'm not done yet," Bucky muttered menacingly.

"I'm sure you're not," Steve answered with a nonchalant smile.

They parted, one looking insatiate and frustrated, the other smug and content, and sat in their respective seats, then they regularly threw each other eloquent glances across the large, rectangular table for the whole duration of the meeting.

Bucky had a visible frown on his forehead throughout the different agent's presentations, a finger pressed against his temple as he evidently tried to figure out how the afternoon out with Romanoff had gone.

And the afternoon had gone fine, even after Steve had revealed the truth to her. Although it could have (rightfully) made her uneasy, she had remained natural and surprisingly understanding. She had not asked any further question (not even a name) as she had supposed that this woman who she looked like was in all probability the person he was missing. She had not asked to what extent their likeness stretched, probably to preserve herself from finding out something she would not like, but she had assumed their similarity was striking enough to have caused such strong reactions from him and Bucky.

Natasha had put on a smile because she had noticed his had faded and she had naturally slipped to another topic. So adroitly, so easily, that he had gone along readily without realizing what she had done until a few minutes later, when their conversation had resumed to light-hearted banters.

Director Fury paid them an unexpected visit.

"Something happened yesterday night at the national Bank," Fury started sternly as soon as he reached the front of the table, standing straight and square.

"What is it?" Bucky said, intrigued, at long last turning his attention away from Steve and Romanoff at last to concentrate on the latest hot news.

"It's a place –supposedly safe— where people can store their money. You know those pieces of green paper you carry in your pocket and that strangely allow you to get any item when you hand them in exchange?" Natasha commented casually not detaching her eyes from the file she was browsing through.

She knocked the folder onwards on the table to look at Bucky with a her lips tucked into a smirk. He stared back at her with an apathetic expression.

"Hilarious, Romanoff," he said flatly.

Her playful expression was unapologetic.

"Well, we have got 10 million of these pieces of green paper missing," Fury commented. "We think a Cuban terrorist recorded in our Intel could be behind this. I want him found but most importantly I want the money back within the next 72 hours."

"Well that's some realistic expectation," Bucky murmured to Steve under his breath after the meeting ended.

"Don't be mistaken, Barnes –I'm missing an eye, not an ear," Director Fury said sharply as he swiftly walked past between the two friends to his office.

Bucky winced, slightly bothered that this comment would eventually turn against him.

"You're growing on him," a suave voice came from behind them.

Natasha was standing a few feet away, holding her file between two fingers. "It may not seem evident like this but animosity is Fury's way of expressing affection."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "Thanks for clearing that up."

She smiled slightly in response then she drifted her eyes to Steve.

"Cap, you're coming with me. Glucose-free expedition this time."

The hint of a smile rose to her lips. It made him instinctively smile back.

"They've just found their car. We need to get there before the police touch the scene."

Steve nodded. "I'll be right there."

She returned the brief nod and walked away nonchalantly.

When Steve turned to his friend, Bucky was openly displaying a look of utter shock and consuming curiosity.

"What's going on between you two?"

Steve rolled his eyes.

"Do you like her?"

This question took him by surprise. He frowned deeply and shook his head.

"I don't…I don't see her that way."

Natasha undeniably looked like the woman he loved and who would take his breath away every time she had walked into the room. It was also indisputable that he had been attracted to Natalie beyond reason; not a minute had gone by during which he hadn't craved for her voluptuous lips and her soft skin –and his whole body had ignited that day outside the cinema when she had given him her goodbye kiss.

But it was because Natasha looked exactly like this woman he had loved and desired that he could not –and could never— feel the same way about her. By definition, falling for Natasha would mean staining Natalie's memory. And this was a thought he could not tolerate. Morally, it was wrong, and he could possibly not fall for Natasha for the same reasons he had for Natalie.

"Well you're the only man on this planet who doesn't see her 'that way'. Why? Are you-" Bucky froze for a second, his eyes progressively widening as a thought took shape inside his mind. He seemed to have been hit by a realization. He squeezed Steve's shoulder tight. "Are you afraid you might be Romanoff's parent!?"

Steve's eyebrows furrowed hard. "What are you…talking about?" he voiced out slowly with a confused expression.

Bucky's response was simply to gawk back at him. "You and Natalie…I mean if you two…you know?...things happen quickly…and maybe she didn't tell you or she found out after she left…Yeah that would be definitely icky if you liked your own-"

" ." Steve hushed him.

Bucky did not seem convinced, ready to list out all the arguments that would make his theory valid.

"It's not even a probability," Steve summed it up shortly although in retrospect the thought of it having happened and what it could mean for Natasha rose goose bumps at the back of his neck. Bucky still looked unconvinced.

Steve let out a deep breath and lowered his voice slightly. "We didn't…"

Bucky's mouth took the shape of a perfect, smooth circle, genuinely surprised. "Really? Not even once?"

Steve answered with a straight face, silently exhorting him to let it go.

Bucky had an expression of sheer disappointment.

"What a waste…," he muttered staring at blank, pensive, sounding almost grumpy. And that was the end of this awkward conversation.

Less than thirty minutes later, Steve and Natasha had arrived at the scene to search the vehicle used by the robbers. The black SUV was half on the sidewalk, the bumper crashed into an electrical pole.

After a long talk where they had to make the FBI yield they let them access the restricted area to investigate.

"Don't make our boss text your boss and let the awkward ensue, gentlemen." Natasha had said with a feigned (but mocking) smile and a firm voice. And soon they had been let in.

Steve opened the front door and leaned in to search for clues. His eyes went across the dashboard, the front and back seats then the mats. He slid his hand between the two front seats then underneath. He opened the ashtray, found it empty then closed it again.

Natasha opened the passenger's door and searched inside the glove compartment. She pulled two matchbooks out and held them up in front of her face to have a look.

"Anything?" he asked as he roamed his hand over the compartment under the wheel.

"The usual. Our robbers also happen to be pigs. The matches come from two strip clubs," she said casually, opening the lids and checking the content.

"Shocker," Steve commented. It reminded him of all those police movies he had watched that somehow always included at least one scene in a strip club.

"Those two clubs are quite low-key and only accept regulars and VIPs. Needless to say the name and the wallet are the only thing that can get you in," she went on.

"Do I want to know how you know so much about D.C. strip clubs?" he asked with a little smirk on while patting the driver's seat.

He shot a glimpse at Natasha who simply smirked back. "You probably don't," she answered suavely.

He smiled and drifted his attention back to the searching.

"I can send Jordan and Ramirez there," Natasha said after a pause.

He shook his head. "That will be a dead end."

She slightly tilted her head and shot him an inquisitive look.

"The ashtray is perfectly clean –untouched actually—, the seats have no smell of tobacco and the matchbooks are clearly new. It's just a diversion."

She looked at him for a little while, appreciative of his deduction skills.

"For anything, we can 'offer' them the lead– get them off our backs," he said, swiftly throwing a glance out the front window to the two F.B.I agents who were standing a few feet away as a continuous reminder of their physical presence and as a way to mark their territory.

Natasha smirked. "I'm upset you got the idea first," she said.

He leaned forward inside the car to get closer to her and show his searching was over.

"What do you think?" he asked, looking around them to specify he meant the case.

She smiled and unnoticeably leaned closer too. She seemed to be enjoying how he turned this investigation into another form of banter in which she was fully included.

"Clearly a stage. No brake trail on the road, the airbags didn't come out and I would say the car body could easily be fixed and for cheap if you know the right address," she made a short pause and the corner of her mouth rose slightly. "It didn't even ruffle their hair."

"So they deliberately crashed into the pole and left the car here on purpose," Steve went on tit for tat, agreeing with everything that had just been said. "Where is the street heading?"

"The freeway to get out of town is only a few blocks down," she answered.

"And what's up the road, in an eight miles radius?" he asked after mentally assessing the weight the bags of money would have.

"Just a few residence streets and the docks."

"Let's try the docks, then. They steal the money, stage an accident with their car in a convenient location to lead the police on a fake trail then they walk with their bags somewhere they can hide until the whole frenzy dies down a little." Steve said. "There's no harm in checking."

Natasha probed him curiously. "You think they'd be hiding a few miles away from this crime scene?"

"If I learned anything since I woke up and after meeting Loki it's that criminals are all the same. And luckily for us, they're not very smart –especially when they think they are."

They shared a knowing smile and pulled out of the car, standing straight back up. They left the doors open and walked around the SUV to meet at the front where the two agents were waiting with folded arms and sulky pouts.

"Thank you for your cooperation," Natasha rubbed it in and it took a great deal for Steve not to let a smile show. "The car is all yours."

She held her arm up and opened her palm. "As a peace offering," she said, revealing the matchbooks.

The two agents unfolded their arms and grunted slightly but still loud enough to make their discontent known and accepted the gift (which they considered was rightly due to them anyway had they not been put aside in the first place).

Twenty minutes later, they were walking along the docks. There was no car or trace of activity but again this was what they expected anyway. They hadn't called for backup because again there was no evidence whatsoever they would find anyone there.

They reach an isolated warehouse and got in. Officially, they were not on reconnaissance and it showed in their gait, but they still remained on their guards.

"I still say it's too easy," Natasha spoke in a low voice. "Back when I was an assassin I never would have made such a dumb mistake."

"And this is why you didn't stay one very long."

He glanced over his shoulder at her and smiled. They never talked about her past, all he knew was only what S.H.I.E.L.D wanted him to know. Natasha's official record was very slim and he was vaguely familiar with her professional reconversion. He hadn't asked for further details because there wasn't anything that he needed cleared up. Natasha had proven herself to be a valuable member of the Avengers to whom victory was mostly owed. This was the only data he needed.

They carried on inspecting the desert warehouse.

"What did Barnes think of our little escapade yesterday?" she asked. She needn't have to ask whether he had told his friend, she knew for a fact he probably had.

"I told him we had a doughnut. The rest is up to his imagination."

Natasha smirked. "Can I take advantage of that and play around about it a little?" she said.

Steve turned to her and frowned. "You mean torture him?" He didn't doubt she would come up with dozens of ways he never would think of to tease Bucky. It sounded kind of funny. He shrugged. "Have at it."

Natasha had a pleased expression which promised a lot.

"Since you're in an amenable mood today, can I know what made you join S.H.I.E.L.D. after all?"

He halted and slightly pivoted himself so she would be in his line of sight.

"Has anybody ever told your way of making transitions is quite peculiar?"

She eyed him teasingly. "I couldn't be bothered. And we both know you would have seen me coming anyway."

He probed her silently for a few seconds then resumed walking. She followed, waiting patiently.

"I'm doing it for someone," he answered soberly.

He looked at her and her brows were slightly furrowed. "Who?"

It then hit him that Natasha was curious and inquisitive if she wanted to be but that she deliberately made the choice to be curious on specific topics, and as it may not have seemed obvious, the less sensitive ones. She was asking about his motives regarding joining S.H.I.E.L.D but adroitly avoided inquiring about that woman she had found out she looked like.

He wondered if he should answer her question as it would mean opening the door to discussing Peggy and what was once their close relationship. Natasha was a colleague, and so far, that was pretty much the whole extent of it. Their banters and teasing comments didn't reflect any deep bond or friendship. He considered her more like Fury's agent than a comrade truth be told, as trust was not something going strong between them yet. Again, not because of her obscure past but because of her alliance to a superior he found secretive and, to his definition, deceitful and untrustworthy.

Natasha looked at him, seeming to wait for an answer to her question and he hadn't decided what it would be.

He parted his mouth when the noise of metal being trampled loudly and hurriedly caught them off-guard. His head flipped around in an instant and he just had time to catch sight of an armed man, standing on the upper level, holding a rifle aimed at them, ready to fire.

Steve left his arm up, holding his shield high and stepped to Natasha's side who slightly bowed down in response to hide under it. The gunshots went off and hit the shield with a rattling noise. Natasha slipped her hand down between their two pressed bodies to reach for her gun.

When the gunshots ended, she stood straight up again while he lowered his shield a little, stretched her arms out, resting her elbows on the edge of it for balance and shot at the attacker. The latter muffled a groan when the bullet hit his knee.

The sound of other assailants coming running echoed and Steve and Natasha agreed with a silent nod to part and go opposite way. They ran up to corners where to hide followed closely by bullets being fired at them. Squatting down behind a pile of crates, she riposted with gunshots, making diversion while Steve climbed his way up to them.

He sneaked behind them and arrived behind them just when one of the two criminals was shot by Natasha and fell to the ground. The second one spun around and Steve threw his shield at him, knocking him down to his knees. He caught his shield as it jolted back, ran up to the man and knocked him unconscious with a knee kick in the head.

More shooting went off from the lower floor and his eyes instinctively drifted to Romanoff. He watched her shooting her last bullet at three criminals coming her way and he clutched hard the fence he was leaning on with an alarmed look.

Natasha dropped her gun to the floor and ran at them, throwing herself forward. She grasped the neck of the opponent the nearest to her with her two hands and swung herself, using him as counterweight to thrust herself and clutched her thighs around the neck of the second man standing right behind. She let go of the first one after, knocking him down unconscious with her widow's bites, and reached down for the gun of the criminal she had just latched onto. She used the gun to shoot the third man standing a bit farther away and then snapped the prey under her unconscious with a swift motion of her thighs. He tumbled down and she landed on her feet. She stood, hardly breathless, in the middle of the three armed opponents she had just taken down.

Steve let out the breath he had been holding in his compressed chest for longer than he could tell. Natasha looked up at him and pouted a little.

"Fine. I was wrong."

When his muscles loosened and he finally let go of the fence, he found the rusty bar was curved in the parts his hands had had a grip on. He stared at the bent metal, scar of his earlier distress, and pursed his lips together, mute and uneasy.

He cleared his throat as a way to clear out of his mind of the multitude of uncertainties rushing in.