That night became the first of several more. Natasha's movie selection was endless and very eclectic: Apocalypse now, The Time machine, Roman holidays, … She would turn up to the apartment, always when she was the least expected, with other DVDs to watch. The next two times, she came when she knew Bucky would be away –and these evenings had been some sort of secretive thing just between the both of them—, then one evening, she just knocked on their door and walked in very much naturally, joining the two roommates for a movie night. Bucky was first surprised and puzzled, then suspicious as he noticed Natasha had her bearings all around the apartment and moved smoothly about, acting like she had been here several times before.

"I wonder if the living room and the kitchen are the only two rooms she's familiar with in this apartment," he whispered to Steve as he walked past behind him to the couch.

But Natasha worked her magic just like Natalie had after he and Bucky had returned from Europe and soon, he enjoyed her company and treated her as the rightful third roommate of the apartment.

After a few weeks, Natasha was already teasing Bucky about finding him a girl.

"What about your neighbor? The cute blonde," she once said.

Bucky shook his head and grinned smugly. "I doubt she'd be interested in dating a sergeant."

"Right. She's more into captains," Natasha commented with the same conniving tone and a smirk before taking a sip of her coke.

Bucky and Natasha both laughed while Steve watched them with a clueless expression and an awkward posture. The night went on but this brand new piece of information wouldn't slip his mind somehow. It first stunned him to realize he had failed to see what Bucky and Natasha –who was simply a visitor—had noticed so easily; then it made him uncomfortable for more than one reasons.

By the end of the evening, as Bucky went to the kitchen and Natasha got up calling it a night, she stood by behind the couch and leaned over to him.

"Don't worry. I won't try to set you up with her," she murmured into his ear. "Nor anyone for that matter." Then she patted his shoulder and stood straight back up again.

He turned his head toward her, watching her quizzically and she smiled softly, in the most reassuring way. Natasha was aware that woman from his past took too big of a place in his heart and she figured out he wasn't anywhere near ready –or more precisely willing— to fill in the void of her absence with anyone else.

She never mentioned the nurse again after that and he was grateful for it.

Weeks went by and a routine settled down –a quite enjoyable routine. Life was different but nothing the two friends could not grow accustomed to. The difference between the 1940s and now was palpable but somehow it felt quite the same because they had each other.

Bucky eventually gathered up the courage to pay his living brother a visit and insisted Steve would accompany him. It was an emotional moment that was a combination of sadness and happiness. Bucky remained admiringly composed as he watched, once a young and vigorous man, now crooked into his armchair with grey hair. Bucky crouched down and held the hand of this familiar stranger who responded with a feeble squeeze. He gasped slightly at the sight of his younger brother's intact face.

"I saw you on TV after you saved us all in New York," he spoke softly with a shaky voice.

Bucky smiled fondly and stroked the back of his wrinkled hand with his own.

"It took me long to come," he replied regretfully then leaned in to kiss his brother's forehead. "But I'm home now."

And both he and Steve spent the rest of the afternoon at the Barnes' house. Bucky was a happy uncle. He turned out to be an admired uncle and an indulgent grand uncle. The children loved him instantly, seeing in him the formidable Avenger from the news who turned out to be family.

Bucky often visited after that, bringing toys and cakes whenever he could. And bringing along uncle Steve too.

"Is it true you're Captain America?" little Tommy asked.

Steve nodded.

"I don't believe you," Tommy said firmly. "Captain America is wearing a blue uniform and you're wearing jeans and a jacket."

It made him chuckle.

"Captain America has a helmet and you're not even wearing a hat," Tommy continued solemnly, sounding very smug with his deduction skills. "Captain America has a big, round shield and you don't have one. At all."

"Ouch –it hurts," Steve commented with his best wounded face. "How can I go against so much logic?"

Tommy grinned, swaying left and right. "But uncle Bucky says you are Captain America so it means I have to believe him because uncle Bucky never lies."

"Then what shall we do?" Steve asked, wincing. "You say you must believe uncle Bucky but then it's true my clothes tell a completely different story."

Tommy leaned over and clutched one arm around his neck, proceeding to whisper a super secretive secret into his ear.

"Maybe," Tommy started in a very low voice with a hand covering his mouth as he spoke. "Maybe you could bring the shield over next time."

Steve smiled then raised an eyebrow as he turned to look at the little boy.

"You know what, Tommy? I think this is the best plan I've ever heard. And I know what I'm talking about— I'm Captain America."

He then lifted his hand and waited for Tommy to give him a high five.

But the routine was also at work. Steve and Bucky had become two legitimate members of S.H.I.E.L.D. and had made their place into the team. Considered like two superiors, the tactical teams and other agents were under their commandment, both for hierarchical and personal reasons since they openly looked up to them.

Another full member of S.H.I.E.L.D. made his return after a long and unexplained sabbatical period. Barton turned up to the Triskelion in the most agitated way. An agent who was trotting by quickly caught Steve's attention.

"What is going on?" he asked curiously.

"Agent in medical, Captain. We don't know how serious it is and Director Fury is asking for a report promptly."

He frowned. "Who's the agent?" he asked, suspecting this level emergency could only be for a high grade officer.

"Agent Romanoff, sir," he heard him answer and everything around him seemed to shatter. He dashed for the elevators without a second thought. "Agent Barton is with her right now. He's the one who brought her in," the agent continued reassuringly but Steve didn't hear any of it as his mind was now in a blur and his ears buzzing.

He hastily slipped between two other agents standing by the elevator and got in, requesting it for himself only as he needed to reach the medical floor as fast as possible. He pressed the floor button repeatedly and the doors closed, leaving him alone with his arising panic.

Natasha had gone off for a mission a week ago and he hadn't been informed of any further detail. His mind began to scatter across a range of thoughts and theories, each darker and more dramatic than the other.

The doors opened eventually and he stepped out of this oppressive space, rushing to the medical room. When he arrived at the end of the hallway he found the door to one of the medical rooms closed. He quickly had a look through the little window and found Natasha sitting on the examination couch with a cringe of pain visible over her face while Barton was standing before her holding her hand. He said something to her and lifted his hand to cup her face.

This was when Steve held the handle and stepped in. Clint slowly dropped his hand off her face down to her forearm.

"Are you alright?" Steve asked.

Natasha turned to look at him and all he saw were the bruises, the cut lip and the yellowish swelling on her cheekbone. It turned his stomach upside down.

"I'm fine," she said with a far more vigorous tone of voice than anyone else in her condition would use. She smiled slightly, then squinted her eyes and abstained as this simple motion was enough to tickle her sore skin and muscles. "Clint was with me," she said.

He turned and looked at Barton who, dare he notice, looked fine in comparison. "What were you doing there?" Steve asked, genuinely curious.

"I was on the mission with her," he answered simply.

"I didn't know you were back," he frowned.

"I wasn't until a week ago."

Steve nodded briefly, unsatisfied with the brief and vague answer, then turned his attention back to her. "Has the doctor come for you?"

"She's alright, although from what I could tell I'd say she's got one or two cracked ribs," he looked sternly at Natasha. "Or even worse—broken."

"It wouldn't be the first time," she answered with a light tone and the corner of her lips slightly rose.

Clint and Natasha seemed to be taking the situation a lot more lightly than he was.

It upset him to find out about the possible gravity of her injuries, and it bothered him to hear that the reason why Clint could affirm it so confidently was –in all likelihood—because he had felt the area with palpations all over her waist.

The doctor came into the room and walked over to Natasha, taking Clint's spot. The two men folded their arms over their chests and watched as he started to examine her. He pressed his thumbs over her face making Natasha cringe slightly whilst Steve winced from where he was standing too.

"So far, no broken bone," the doctor stated then carried on. He motioned a brief sign to her and Natasha proceeded to open the zip of her catsuit. The stretch fabric went loose and she swiftly slipped one arm of its sleeve, revealing her cleavage and the black brassiere she was wearing underneath.

Steve held back his gasp and bit his lip before drifting his eyes away to the suddenly very fascinating white wall. Clint did the same, although more collectedly, and stepped forward to him.

"What happened?" Steve asked sternly, keeping his mind out of the fact that Natasha, Natalie's flawless doppelganger, was undressing less than five feet away from him (and he had now seen more of the former than he had ever dared to dream of for the latter).

"We had some unexpected incoming," Clint had the knack to over-summarize. What Steve needed right now were details.

"What have you been doing for the past week?" he asked.

"Collecting intel."

"On whom?"

Clint shook his head. "It's confidential."

"Where was it?"

"Confidential again."

Natasha muffled a groan of pain and it took a great deal of strength not to avert his eyes in her direction.

"I guess you were lucky," the doctor said. "You only have two cracked ribs."

"That must be where I get my good poker hand from," she commented drily.

"Nailed it," Clint chimed in with a neutral tone. "I might want to consider a career reconversion into medical when I grow too old for this job."

"Well, you're already too old," Natasha said.

Clint cringed at her remark then turned his attention back to Steve.

Steve grunted, mostly because he was growing frustrated witnessing this light banter in such a grave situation. "Come on, Barton. Give me something."

He seemed to concede to the request.

"It was a last minute mission and we lacked precious data before going in the field. You can still go and ask Fury if you feel like chatting to a wall—he's the one who sent us there."

Steve clenched his jaw and sighed. He walked out of the infirmary after the doctor assured there was no further injuries.

"How could you send one of my men on a mission without informing me?" he asked hardly.

Director Fury, sitting behind his desk, looked up at him without the shadow of a frown.

"Romanoff is my agent before she is yours, Captain. Her being a full member of the Avengers doesn't mean she's under your sole authority."

"But she's under my watch," he spat back. "Just as Bucky is. I am responsible for her safety as I am for any other member of my team."

Fury cocked an eyebrow. "Even Thor who's currently in a completely different solar system?"

Steve furrowed his brows, taken aback by Fury's nonchalant attitude.

"Agent Romanoff is also my co-worker here, and as such, her safety is directly bound up with me," he spoke firmly. "And why wasn't I informed of Barton's return?"

"Rogers, contrarily to what you seem to believe," Fury started, "I don't owe you an explanation for any decision I make."

"That's where you're wrong. If I hadn't been kept in the dark, maybe you wouldn't have had to deal with an injured agent right now. Cooperation is what makes a team work coherently and effectively. It's the first thing you learn when you join the army."

He held a solemn and confident gaze, daring Fury to disagree, then walked out.

When he returned to the medical room, Romanoff had had her waist wrapped up in bandages and Clint was by her side. Steve watched as he leaned in and kissed her forehead gently. When he saw him standing in the hallway, Clint headed towards the door.

"Whatever rumors you heard about Nat and me, they're all false," he said after he stepped out into the corridor.

Steve held an unwavering look and tensed a little.

"Rumors that you're romantically involved? That you're together?"

He had no right to ask, but he did. He had no right to dread the answer, but he did.

"Oh no, these ones are completely true," Barton answered bluntly shaking his head. Steve nodded blankly, pursing his lips together as he swallowed down the information he should have seen coming miles away really. But then Barton looked at Steve and an amused smirk rose to his lips.

"I guess it's flattering –although I find it a bit creepy," he went on coolly. "Let's just say I don't do girlfriends."

Steve held back his 'oh' of surprise and nodded. "So you…you have a roommate?"

It surprised him. Clint hadn't given him the impression he was into men (not that there was a specific type).

Barton raised an eyebrow, looking slightly quizzical. He then smiled and shrugged.

"I guess we can say that," he said to himself, a bit pensive then walked out.

Steve watched him go down the hallway and feeling of relief took hold of him. He shouldn't have–and it was probably the most selfish he had ever been—but the thought of Natasha being single, not committed to any man, soothed him. Natasha was not his, and she would never be, but it made the whole situation less painful and awkward knowing her heart didn't belong to anybody else either. Selfish, and horrible; but he was not quite ready yet to share her with another man.

He stepped into the medical room and Natasha slightly shifted herself in his direction.

He wanted to ask her if she was alright but he knew she would brush off his answer with sarcasm. He wanted to ask her if she was alright but he already she was: Natasha was tougher than a dozen soldiers. But still, he wanted to ask. Perhaps, because he needed to hear it.

"So I presume you won't tell me a word of what happened, right?" he said without really asking.

"I fell in the stairs," Natasha answered, the corner of her mouth tucked into a little smirk.

He took in her joke with a shallow, probably borderline bitter, smile. Natasha wouldn't side with him against Fury and it reminded him where her allegiance was regardless of their evenings at his apartment. Perhaps, it was something he had started to omit. Part of him had hoped she would bind up with him like he had started to bind up with her.

"But I appreciate your concern," she continued. It pulled him out his deep thinking and he frowned slightly. "It's not something I'm used to."

She smiled to herself. "Except with Clint."

He nodded, somewhat grateful she had made a step forward to him.

"I guess I need some rest," she added, snorting slightly, but for an instant –an instant as brief as the flick of a light—he saw in her eyes the unmissable shadow of weariness. Unmissable to him as he knew the way it looked all too well. Romanoff was undeniably a warrior, and part of her was addicted to the adrenaline that was intrinsic to the job, but part of her was consumed by it. She would heal from her cracked ribs and her bruises but there was this other thing working in the shadow that would inescapably keep on wearing her out. Slowly, almost unnoticeably, but certainly. This was the burden of all heroes.

He gently grinned at her, acting oblivious of what he had just perceived, and walked to the door. As he held the handle, he halted then turned back to look at her.

"And Natasha," he said softly, hearing for the first time the sound of his voice call her name. She looked at him, with a collected expression of surprise. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

He smiled. It had been easier to say than he had dreaded –mostly due to the fact it was indeed the right moment to do it.

Although it had taken several months for it to happen it suddenly became evident that she had been Natasha to him for a little while.