Although returning from the gym in the evening, Steve had left his mind there, replaying what had happened with Natasha over and over. He sat on his couch in the dim light of the living room part of his private apartment, one arm stretched on the armrest as his fingers gently tapped against the fabric.

That moment they had just shared had to be one of the most intimate between them and it left him both fulfilled and empty, content and guilty.

He went for his sketch book, sat down against his bed on the carpet floor, staring out the large window to the amazing view of Manhattan at night. He began to draw the outlines of the skyscrapers, slowly adding up more and more details.

After a while, when it began to take shape, he sighed and leaned his head back against the mattress. The activity wasn't as soothing as he expected it to be. Somehow, the sketch and the model felt ill-suited and impersonal.

He flipped a few pages back to the drawing of Natalie he had done a while ago. He held his pencil between his fingers and started shading it. He did the work minutiously and soon calmness enveloped his mind. When he finished and considered the portrait was officially complete, he gently put his pencil down on the carpet and had a look. Progressively, as he came to realization to what he saw, a deep drown rose to his forehead and his breathing quickened a bit.

Staring at his sketch, it hit him. The woman he had drawn - the person he thought he had been drawing - was not Natalie. It laid in the small details: the curly hair, the spark in her expression, the hint of a smirk playing on the lips; the sketch was a portrait of Natasha.

He felt an uncontrollable rush of panic take over him as he was struck by the fact he had been fooled by his own mind, or that he had somewhat turned a blind eye on his real model. How come he had never realized it was Natasha he had been drawing in this portrait all along? And why did he find out tonight? And what did it mean?

He had sworn to never draw someone again since he had lost Natalie, and now that he had broken his promise, of all the people in this world and across time, he had chosen Natasha.

Whatever lie or excuse he could make up, it was obvious that the woman drawn on paper, despite being totally identical to his old lover, looked undeniably like his teammate. He closed the sketchbook with a mixture of shame, self-resentment and utter confusion, knowing he would not only never resolve to tear it up but that he would also come back to look at it (like he had often done the past few months) and that there was nothing he could do to stop.

The next few days went on peacefully. Natasha and Bruce still conversed often but Steve didn't watch them with the same unreasonable curiosity. He understood there were things she would rather share with the doctor than with him. He did that too with Bucky. He knew that, now. Natasha looked more comfortable too since what had happened, like she had been relieved off a burden laying on her shoulders, and their smiles to each other carried the memory of their moment in the gym.

One quiet afternoon, as he was standing on the Avengers tower main terrace, he heard footsteps of someone approaching. They were familiar enough to his ear not to move or react and Bucky came to stand next to him, leaning on the bar of the glass rails. He looked out in the distance, quiet.

"You knew, didn't you?" Steve asked, his eyes fixed on the horizon. "That I had drawn Natasha and not Natalie."

He replayed that conversation they had in the kitchen the morning Bucky had mentioned the finding the sketch and deliberately trailed off to let him say the name of the person he had drawn. Steve had taken it as a teasing remark about owning having drawn Natalie again; now he realized James wanted to hear if he would admit it was actually Natasha. A test he had failed at then.

James remained quiet and Steve nodded to himself, slightly hardening his grip on the metal bar.

"You know," Bucky started. "It's alright to love two women at the same time."

The corner of his mouth rose and he snorted humorlessly. Did he love Natasha? He had forbidden himself to love so strongly it had become a foreign feeling. Of course what he felt for Natasha was stronger than what he would normally feel for a friend - let alone a colleague- but none of this situation was normal. Natasha looked uncannily identical to Natalie so it would make sense that he would project or transfer at least a tiny piece of his feelings for her to Romanoff. But even then, it was not something he had done consciously. Furthermore, he had gotten to know her and overall appreciate the kind of person she was which meant he liked Natasha for every little thing that reminded him of Natalie and for every little thing that made her different from her. Natasha was the extension of Natalie, the other face of the mirror she hadn't let him explore. Natasha had Natalie's boldness except bolder, her tenacity except tougher, her resilience except more resilient. And Natalie was the extension of Natasha, the other face of the mirror Natasha could explore if she weren't so afraid of unlocking it, Natalie had Natasha's kindness except warmer, she had Natasha's insight except wiser, she had Natasha's gentleness except softer,

He cared for Natasha in a deeper way that was expected of him but he was not ready to define it yet.

"But what would that say about me?" he mused aloud with a bitter tone. He had deviated from Peggy's path for Natalie once, what kind of man would that make him if he did it again for Natasha?

"That you have a great heart and a brave soul," Bucky answered simply. "It takes courage to let yourself fall for just one person so two..."

"But why her?"

Bucky pouted. "You cannot always explain everything. Maybe it's fate."

Steve took his eyes off the urban landscape and looked at his friend.

"You've never been the type to believe in fate," he sneered, quite amused.

Bucky leaned closer to the rails, prepping his forearms on the bar and entwined the fingers of his two hands together.

"I just told Maria I love her," he said.

Steve grinned at him contently. It was the first time he heard these words coming from his best friend.

"And I think, - I know -, she's the one," he continued. "I can't imagine myself being with anyone else. And if I had to be the nazis' guinea pig, crash in the ocean and be in a coma for seventy years to find her, if I had to literally travel across time to be with her, that's gotta be fate, right?"

Bucky was smiling and he realized how truly happy his best friend.

He nodded. "Right."

"You don't have to figure it out now," Bucky said. "Just don't pretend there is nothing to figure out."

Steve didn't say a word and looked back at the view before them. They remained quiet for long seconds afterward.

"Do you...still miss her?" His friend asked eventually. "Natalie."

Steve kept gazing at the skyline and he took on the neverending sight in front of him and what it had to offer.

"I'll always miss her," he murmured without turning his attention away from it. "But now I know she's gone."

And even though this statement should have hurt, it didn't. It was only serene acceptance. His time of grieving had come to an end somewhere along the line without him realizing.

They watched the sun go down in the distance, plunging Manhattan in a copper light streaked with subtle shades of pink.

When the sky eventually turned darker, Steve spoke again, breaking the solemnity of the moment that had just passed.

"So...did Maria answer something or did just an awkward silence ensue?" he teased with a grave voice before cracking a smile.

Bucky huffed then they laughed together. They walked back into the tower and sat in the lounge with the rest of the team.

Clint challenged Thor to a drinking contest; he capitulated within an hour. He laid down on the couh, his mouth agape and everybody pulled a bill out of their pockets to give Thor.

"You all bet against me you bunch of a-holes," Barton groaned into the leather of the couch with a disgust although it was hard to determine if it was toward his teammates or just physical.

"You fought courageously," Thor reassured him while counting his money. Barton glared at him.

"Never again...for at least a week until I sober up completely."

"Why do you insist on having those drinking contests?" Natasha asked. "You couldn't even beat me last time you tried."

Clint opened his eyes wide. "Excuse you? I can take you right now."

"Shh," Natasha murmured as she laid her palm over his forehead. His lids closed under her touch and he dozed off almost immediately.

At the end of the night, they all got up. Natasha helped Barton up and took him to his apartment, Bucky and Maria walking close behind them. They got in the elevator together.

A few minutes later, as Steve made his way to the elevator, the doors opened and he found Natasha in it. She stepped out while he got in.

"You're not going to sleep?" he asked.

"I will in a few minutes," she said. "I just need to do something quick, first."

"You want me to hold it for you until you come back?"

She smiled. "That'll be alright but thanks."

He nodded and cleared his throat before reaching for the panel control.

"Steve," she called and she pressed her hand against the frame to keep the doors from closing. He looked at her.

She paused; gathering her words carefully.

"I'm glad we got to talk," she said and he understood what conversation she was referring to.

He smiled. "Me too."

Her hand gently slid down the frame back back to her side.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then."

He nodded. "See you, tomorrow."

And then the doors of the elevator closed.

Everything was just a blur and uncertain, even the sounds. Steve raised his two arms up to block the violent punch coming his way and immediately kicked the knee of his assailant to make him fall. He was stalling. But the other man was strong, cold. He hit back even more ferociously and yet it seemed Steve couldn't really fight back - or wouldn't. Not really. It was hard to define how he felt but it was as if he wasn't really here to fight. He deliberately didn't use his full strength against whoever was that person brawling with him. It seemed like he was trying to talk to him and reason with him but he couldn't hear the words coming out of his own mouth.

The figure suddenly hit his chest with his knee and he stumbled backwards, hitting the wall behind him. Steve grunted in pain and looked up to see his attacker but there was nothing to see, just the blur. Something shone in the strange mist, something made of metal. He focused on it as hard as he could and soon saw its round shape that, as the vision became clearer, took the shape of a barrel. The barrel of a gun aimed straight at him. All his body froze then a deafening sound went off, echoing loudly into his ears and he blinked. His eyes shifted down and he stared at the red that was spreading over his suit. His own blood. His hand reached for his abdomen and this fingertips touched the hole in the fabric.

His feet got weak, then his legs mellowed and shook under him. He staggered before falling hardly to the floor and his first instinct was to look up at the person responsible for it. A faceless man who barely had any shape or form. The barrel of the gun went down and he caught glimpse of a shiny metal wrapped all over the arm of this unknown figure. Then a red star painted at the top of it.

Steve panted and a groan slipped out of his lips. His head bowed down, his chin buried into his throat as he looked at the gun wound in his abdomen. The featureless entity walked out without a sound.

But soon another figure came running to him and fell to its knees. He clearly saw and recognized Natasha. She stroked his face. He looked up at her and saw the distress in her eyes.

"Cap is down! I repeat - Cap is down!" he heard her cry out in the transmitter. "Requesting medical support urgently and immediate extraction."

The fierce determination in her voice made no doubt she strongly believed she had a chance of saving him. He shook his head at her as a way to tell her not to.

She gently slipped her arm under his neck, pulled him up close in her safe embrace and pressed her palm against his wound to slow down the bleeding. It sent a rush of acute pain along his spine and his body slightly jerked up in response.

"Hold on, Steve." Her voice was hard, trying to conceal her anguish. "Help is coming."

He shook his head again, well aware his body wouldn't cope until anyone arrived. He could feel himself going, progressively losing touch with his surroundings.

"I never thought it would end like this," he stuttered painfully.

She squeezed him tighter.

"It's not the end yet, Steve. I won't let you go."

The tragic part was she really believed it. The end looked so close and he realized a lot would be left unfinished.

"There are so ma-many things I now wish I had said sooner," he spoke.

And she was one of them. Everything was so clear now, so obvious.

He looked at her and realized he was glad he had this last moment with her and nobody else. A smile rose to his lips.

The grip on his collar tightened and she shook her head. "No. Don't you die on me, Rogers."

She only used his last name when she wanted him to know she was angry. Somehow, she had always been aware of how much he disliked displeasing her. And yet this time he knew there was nothing he could do to make it up to her. Not this time.

Part of him was stunned to see her so distressed for him. Natasha had always been the member of the team who kept her cool in any situation. She was imperturbable and it was her way of keeping the upper hand on whatever emergency situation. And yet, here and now, she looked so distraught, and for the first time ever since he'd known her, powerless. All that for him.

Until the very end, she never would have ceased astonishing him. And if any piece or cell of him were to live on even after he had gone, it would miss her. It would miss all of her.

"You," he began.

Natasha shut her eyes tight and shook her head.

"Steve,' she begged and her voice cracked, revealing the plight she was in. He watched, astounded, as her eyes filled with tears. "Please don't give up."

She cupped his jaw and stroked his face with a soothing tenderness.

Her pleading voice, the vulnerability she let on, he would have cried over the pain he had caused her but his eyes were incapable of complying.

"I-I need to say it to you before -." His lungs ran out of air and he took a new painful breath in for he wanted to finish before time would catch up with him. She leaned forward until her ear was close enough to his mouth. He felt the frantic motion of her speedy breathing against him.

"Nat, I..." The words were so easy to say and he uttered them but somehow they didn't make it out into a proper sound. His chest froze and tightened like a rock and everything went dark forever.

His body jerked upwards and he sat up in the middle of the dark room, desperately panting for the precious air he was deprived of just an instant ago. He saw the city lights outside the large window and recognized the familiar surroundings. He leaned to the side and switched on the lamp on his bedside table. His hand instinctively reached for his abdomen like it had just before. He grazed the fabric of his tank top where the hole was before but did not find any, just as he realized the white of his shirt was not stained with red. It was just a dream. And yet it felt so real. So real he could still feel the skin under his top burn at the memory of the wound that had been there.

When he came to full realization it was indeed just a dream, he leaned back against the headboard and breathed out heavily. His whole body was still shuddering at the physical trauma it had just gone through. Never had he had such a vivid dream that left him questioning the reality of his surroundings upon awakening before.

But Natasha's presence in the dream was another disturbing detail. The way he was feeling about her as he watched her leaning over him. Every emotion was more heightened and raw than what it was in reality. And those words he was close to telling her in the dream and how evident they seemed to say didn't fit his current situation in real life with her.

The whole scene felt both realistic and off-key. Credible but remote to the spectrum of his reality. And yet his body had fully lived it and believed it.

He breathed out again as his heart rate was slowly coming back to normal and he remained sitting like this for long minutes before going to sleep again.

The next morning went on normally with the usual routine and the bad dream had been brushed aside. Steve spent the first half of the day with Tony discussing budget and other aspects of the Avengers project.

Then he had lunch with Bucky and Clint who stuck with a dry meal and coffee to avoid hangover nausea.

"Have you filled out your report for Krumer's case?" he asked Barton. Clint winced. "You haven't."

"I'm nearly done," Clin said. "I'll bring it in to your office right after lunch."

Then they parted to attend to their businesses and Steve spent most of the afternoon alone in his office. A couple of hours had gone by and there was still no sign of Clint or his report.

He got up and made his way to the main room. Walking in the hall, he caught glimpse of Hawkeye standing in the room, looking like he was talking with someone and in no rush to give in the report.

"Barton. I asked for the file two hours ago. What's taking so long?" he asked, entering the room.

He saw the someone Clint was talking to was Natasha. He hadn't seen her since the night before. She flipped around swiftly and looked at him intently.

He paused, unsettled. There was something in the way she was gazing at him, as her eyes filled up with tears. Something different. She had never looked at him this way with such intense tenderness and relief. She was looking at him like she had been desperately waiting for this moment. It was as if her eyes had found relief in finding him.

But although Natasha had never glanced at him this way, this look was very familiar nonetheless. He had seen this look of unalduterated softness years ago, in Natalie's eyes. That was the exact look he had hoped to see in Natasha's eyes the first time he had ever met her on the helicarrier. And here she was doing it years later, even more beautifully than his mind could have fathomed.

"Steve?" she murmured, unsure and hopeful.

It was strange how even now, even after all the time he and Natasha had spent together, he could still be stunned by his likeness to Natalie. Perhaps, it was something he never would fully get used to -and maybe, secretly, he had no wish to get used to it.

He smiled at her, perhaps more fondly than he intended to, at the memory Natasha had just fortuitously roused.

Natasha gazed at him even more yearningly than a moment before.

"Steve," she repeated blankly.

Her behavior began to feel bizarre as it was completely unusual. Steve frowned, quizzical, and turned to look at Clint, hoping her best friend might have answers. Barton looked just as perplexed.

"Don't look at me. She's acting like she's seing us both for the first time, apparently." Barton shrugged.

Natasha's eyes were locked on him like he was the only thing they desired to have in their sights. This time, he found it very disturbing as he realized Natasha no longer looked like the Natasha he had always known.

"Because I am," she said to Clint. "Sort of."

And Natasha requested an emergency meeting.

Author's note: And here we are.