It had all started like a regular mission. A regular mission that had turned to be a complete fiasco with Steve and Natasha trapped in a forest with a crashed quinjet, no back-up, no radio to ask for some and no signal. As they were flying over a supposedly safe zone, their jet had been hit by a hostile shots, and after Natasha had managed to land safely, a welcoming committee was waiting in the woods to neutralize them.
They had taken down many men but, as they ran out of munitions, they had no choice but to retreat deep into the woods.
Steve and Natasha had trudged all day and the foliage, the thirst and exhaustion had taken the best of them.
"Romanoff to headquarters. Romanoff to headquarters. We need assistance. Do you copy?" Natasha breathed out into her transmitter for the nth time. Silence was the only response she got.
She grunted and turned to him. "Any chance you're going to break into a confession and admit what would normally be an awkward but in this context would actually be considered salutary hidden talent for smoke signal any minute now?"
He frowned.
"What?" she defended herself with an innocent look. "I'm just asking. Knowing your date of birth it wouldn't so far-fetched to assume you're familiar with these amerindian techniques."
He kept a straight face but the corner of his mouth rose slightly into an amused smile.
"I'm sure you've had worse," he commented as he kept leading through the foliage.
Natasha was following right behind.
"Oh, I've had worse,' she said matter-of-factly. "It's just that I didn't think my first mission after my convalescence would have me trekking across a forest until dawn."
"You're the one who begged Fury to let you resume work."
"Clearly the request of a delirious person drugged with too much medication," she commented and he heard a smirk in the tone of her voice.
"S.H.I.E.L.D will issue the alert when we don't report back in due time. From there, they should locate our last position and send back-up in less than 12 hours."
"Lovely. The humidity and the foam have started growing on me anyway," she said sarcastically
She then looked up.
"It's almost night. We need to find a safe place to stay for the night before it gets dark."
He nodded and resumed walking. They eventually found an isolated cave covered behind thick trees.
They entered and found a dark space hardly lit by the ray of light that could slip through from the top and a dry ground. For both of them, it was the quintessence of a decent makeshift shelter.
"It's probably not safe to start a fire," he said, referring to the possible enemies wandering out there and sighed internally. It looked like a delightful night was awaiting them.
They went out again and parted searching for supplies. Steve and Natasha came back with a few fruit they had had a hard time to find and that would have to quench their thirst for the night as well.
When it went completely dark, they were both plunged into obscurity with a shimmer of light coming from the full moon hanging above them in the sky.
Leaning their backs on a hard and uncomfortable rock; they both looked into the dark.
"This may sound incredibly out of place," Natasha started and a snort slipped between her lips. "But I would kill for a doughnut."
Exhaustion and probably the ridiculousness of the whole situation put him into an unexpected giggly mood. He chuckled at her comment.
"Hopefully Bucky will bring a big box," he said.
"Chocolate glazed," she started to fantasize.
"With sprinkles," he chimed in. "Or sugar-powdered. I'm not picky."
"What was her name?" Natasha said flatly.
"What?" He shifted his head in her direction and found her staring skywards.
"That friend of yours from the past," she went on placidly, not fooled by his attempt to blur the lines. "What was her name?"
He exhaled slightly louder. It could have been awkward to talk about her with Natasha but somehow, it hit him that it made complete sense.
"Natalie," he spoke and realized he hadn't said her name outloud in a while.
Natasha remained quiet -not that there was much to say.
"You said you had never met a woman like her before," she eventually spoke again. "Why?"
They were now both staring at the sky as it seemed to be the only neutral spot to look at in this confined space.
"She went against all expectations and codes. It was like..., " he couldn't help but slightly laugh at all the memories inhabiting him. "...she came from another time."
For a moment, he dwelled on some specific recollections from the past and noticed how vivid they were as if they still belonged to the present. Memories couldn't easily be erased and he didn't wish to. His shared moments with Natalie would forever remain part of who he was. And it didn't cross his mind he could ever want to part from a piece of him, regardless of how painful or sour it could feel.
The cool breeze coming from outside began to crawl into their shelter and soon the cold deprived them of their words for long minutes.
Thankfully their respective suits kept their bodies at a reasonable temperature but didn't shield them completely. He slightly turned his head to look at Natasha. Her face was stern, her jaw contracted as she stared absent-mindedly in front of her, her two arms wrapped around her knees.
He gazed at her in awe, realizing he had never seen her so vulnerable before. It seemed like the cold was consuming her from the inside at a deeper level he could comprehend.
"When I was twelve-," she started gently with the soft voice of a child, rocking slightly back and forth. She cut herself short and her pupils darkened, barracked into silence by the recollection of an oppressive, dark memory.
She looked up at him and her stern expression had morphed back into her usual cynical, detached self. "Never mind," she said with a nonchalant smirk. "Just an old memory flooding in."
She let out a snort but her eyes conveyed more distress than he had ever seen condensed into one person. Her expression struck him to the core as he reckoned Natasha, although it had been brief, had slightly let her shell crack. A thin, short one but still a crack which, in Natasha's scale, was equivalent to something as deep as a chasm.
In the strangest place, at the most unforeseen time, she had allowed him to glimpse at her abyssal and meandering complexity and the little he saw astounded him and left him contemplative.
It would be a lie if he said he didn't crave to know more about it as it meant decyphering the mystery that was Natasha Romanoff.
He leaned closer to her, trying to express physically how close to her he felt emotionally at this moment. He shouldn't have but as he let nothing but his current emotions speak, he held his hand up to her face seeing the expression of the frightened twelve-year old version of the woman sitting a few inches away from him. Her skin was cold and blended in with the warmth of his hand.
Natasha stared silently into his eyes showing no sign of protest.
It both revived him and killed him to notice the curve of her jaw fitted perfectly into the palm of his hand like Natalie's used to; however, the aftertaste it left wasn't as sour as it once was.
"I know a lot about these," he murmured softly and they both seemed to realize they weren't so different after all. He then smiled tenderly and nodded, reassuring her about the motives behind his gesture.
Natasha's lips parted a little and her eyes seemed to speak beforehand.
"I know," he beat her to it with a calm voice. He knew she wouldn't tell him more about it, he knew she didn't want to, he knew and accepted she wasn't ready. He knew it wasn't who she was.
Natasha seemed grateful and let her guard down.
His fingers slipped away from her face and perhaps with more reluctance he would admit. He then raised his arm up to put it behind her back.
"It's cold tonight and I've got enough heat for the both of us."
She smirked. "Let me guess, another perk of the super-soldier serum?"
He answered by shrugging one shoulder.
Natasha slowly wriggled herself closer and pressed the side of her body against his as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder.
Her body was first stiff -as was his- then progressively, her muscles surrendered and relaxed.
"Are you nervous, Captain?" she asked playfully.
He was thankful she turned this intimate moment into derision. Natasha was gifted when it came up to lighten up a situation.
"Nah. Why? Are you?" he asked, trying to keep some composure into his voice.
"I've had to get to far worse extremes to survive but cuddling an old man is one of a new kind."
He sighed. "Natasha, just keep your thoughts to yourself."
"Copy that."
And she went quiet again. After an hour, her forehead fell onto his torso and he knew she had drifted off.
He didn't sleep that night.
To stay on the lookout in case of an attack;
to keep an eye on the vulnerable assassin who was now sleeping in the crook of his arm;
and deep down, secretly, to remember every second of this unique moment.
The next morning, the sound of a helicopter flying over the area caught his attention and the moment came for him to let her go as Natasha jumped erect on her feet. She didn't seem to suspect he hadn't slept all night and stood before him
"Well, that was interesting, " she commented flatly with a collected expression while rearranging her gunbelt then headed towards the exit.
"I thought you would say awkward," he said with a frown.
She glanced behind her shoulder, looking particularly amused by the whole situation, and even more by the look of confusion plastered all over his face. "It would be awkward only if you said I snored."
She smirked and headed out of the cave.
When S.H.I.E.L.D.'s helicopter landed on a plain, Bucky was the first to jump out to the ground holding his rifle up to his eye. He lowered his weapon as soon as he recognized his two friends.
Bucky walked up to them with a steady pace and a cautious look.
"What happened here?" he asked suspiciously, clearly diverting from the main matter, eyeing them both like the culprits of a shenigan he had kept ouf of.
Natasha shrugged and walked up to him. "Nothing much. We slept together in a cave. Steve will fill you in."
Bucky's eyes opened wide and he immediately goggled at his friend with a wildly curious expression.
She patted his shoulder and threw a triumphant and entertained wink at Steve before walking up to the other agents.
"We may have enemies around. Set up a perimeter on a five-hundred mile radius and call for aerial backup," she commanded making the men nod and spread out whilst she picked up munitions into the helicopter and loaded her guns.
"What does she mean with you slept together in a cave?" Bucky asked eagerly.
Steve sighed. "Not now. I'm tired and I didn't sleep a wink."
Bucky gawked even harder. "Wait. It went on all night?" he gasped.
Steve rolled his eyes and walked off.
The following evening, lying in his bed, Steve stared at the ceiling, his restless fingers tapping against his torso, begging for activity. This had been going for a few hours and it seemed his mind wouldn't find rest until he expressed the latent yearning that was consuming him ruthlessly.
Haunted by the event of the night before, it seemed the image of his hand gently pressed against the side of her face was carving itself into his brain. Listening to the heavy silence, he tried to make sense of the turmoil going on inside his head. Finally he understood; and eventually he yielded to the call.
He rose to his feet, opened the drawer and pulled out his sketchbook. He held the pencil between his fingers and the lead danced across the paper, swaying, twirling, waltzing until the first outlines took shape. He drew the curve of her eyes with an easiness he would not have suspected, as if his fingers had never forgotten how to shape them. He traced the plumpness of her full lips with a faded hint of nostalgia. He sketched out her curly locks with details and fastidiousness.
Once his mind finally found rest, he felt the stiffness into his fingers and stopped to look at what his draft looked like so far. His breathing almost halted as he stared deeply into those familiar, big eyes.
He had drawn Natalie again and the idea that he had finally been able to break his promise because his wound had somehow become less painful comforted him. Maybe he had indeed finally come through and his sudden yearning to draw her again was the expression of the emotional healing he was going through.
He looked at those features he hadn't seen on paper for many months and smiled to himself as he couldn't help to feel proud of his achievement. It wasn't over yet but he would make sure that this new portrait was as flawless as the first.
He was hit by the memories of all those hours he had spent drawing at the camp or during dawn outside when waiting for the regiment to wake up. He recalled the excitement, the apprehension of when he would finally show it to Natalie, but mostly the plenitude he felt every time he yielded to the need of drawing her.
Although things were different today and that he would never get to show her this new one, he still felt serene and satisfied. He realized all these months during which he had forbidden himself to sketch her portrait again had been a waste (albeit necessary and salutary) and that he had now reached the point where he could draw -or more simply think of her- without being overwhelmed by negative emotions and thoughts.
He closed the sketchbook and put it down, knowing he would get back to finish it sooner than later and that there was nothing he could do to stop it.
He lay under the sheet and finally found sleep.