A/N: Thanks for the alerts and reviews. I'm glad you decided to click on this little story.

I'm doing the editing myself, so please forgive anything I missed.

As usual, not my characters.

On with the show...

He'd heard her shuffling around in the hallway. Well, he'd heard someone.

Steve was just shutting off the shower when his senses went on alert. Mumbling outside his apartment, steps starting and stopping, coming his direction and then going the opposite way. He wasn't too worried about an intruder, as one had to have specific access to this wing of Stark Tower, so he took his time drying off and dressing before going to investigate.

He honestly hadn't expected it to be Natasha but was pleasantly surprised that it was.

"Natasha?" he called, noticing when she started slightly at the sound of his voice.

"I couldn't sleep."

Steve raised an eyebrow, noting her dress, a coppery gold color he found difficult to define. "Have you even tried?" She looked beautiful, devastatingly so. Not that he'd ever tell her that. "Do you always sleep in an evening gown?" he asked, simply for teasing sake.

She made a face, her strides long and certain as she closed the ten feet separating them. "You didn't let me finish." Without invitation, she waltzed past him and into his apartment, bumping his shoulder in the process. "Isn't it past your bedtime, old timer?" she asked instead of elaborating.

He chuckled, closing the door behind them. He'd missed her. "Isn't it a school night, squirt?"

Natasha let a small laugh slip past her lips. "You're getting better at this."

"Practice makes perfect." She hummed in agreement as she made her way to his fridge and pulled out a beer, popping the top and tossing it with perfect aim into the trash bin. "Help yourself," he said, feigning annoyance.

"Want one?"

He sat on the sofa and hit the mute button for the T.V. "Sure. I'll take one of my own beers."

She passed it over his shoulder, then somehow managed to hop over the back of his couch in that dress to sit next to him, her shoes landing squarely on his coffee table, feet crossed at the ankles. "Whatcha watching, Cap?" She snatched the remote from his hand and started flipping through channels at lightning speed.

"Nothing, apparently." He took a sip of his beer. "And get your shoes off my table."

Sighing heavily, Natasha slipped her shoes off into the floor, immediately settling her feet back on the table. "Better?"

He chuckled. "Feet, Natasha."

She did as he'd asked, placing her feet delicately on the floor. He hid his smile behind the bottle.

After a moment of silence, she whispered, "It's good to see you're not dead."

He figured that was as close as he would ever get to Natasha admitting she missed him. "If you haven't noticed, I'm kind of hard to kill."

She slanted her head his direction, smiling. "Good thing."

"It's good to see you, too."

Attention drawn back to whatever movie she'd chosen, her only reply was, "Yeah."

With just the T.V. on in the background, the relative silence was companionable for a while, each of them nursing their own beverages. Natasha finished first, and she took his bottle a few seconds later, momentarily getting up to toss them in the garbage.

Steve found he was glad she'd stopped by. He hadn't the opportunity to talk to her during his brief – and required according to Tony – appearance at the party, and though they hardly spoke now, he was happy with the company.

These past few months had not been without difficulties, and seeing her familiar, and (mostly) friendly face, was precious to him. Sam was a good friend, no doubt about it, but Steve and Natasha had connected on a different level, one he actually hadn't noticed he missed so much until it surrounded him once more, filling him with a kind of warmth he couldn't yet identify. Going through hell together did that to people, he supposed.

"They could create a whole new form of torture using women's dress shoes," she said, walking around the couch this time.

"Death by fashion?" he joked as she resumed her spot next to him. This time, however, her feet landed in his lap. "What're you – "

"Rub my feet."

"Pardon?" he questioned, trying not to squirm. Her feet were just right there. In his lap.

She wiggled her toes as if to accentuate her demand. "Come on, Rogers, they're just feet, and those shoes were agony."

He gingerly picked up one foot and then the other, experimentally pressing his thumb into her arches. She made an obscene noise, and he almost stopped, thinking he'd hurt her, until she slid boneless against the arm of the couch, her head propped on one of the accent pillows. "Why do you wear them if they're so uncomfortable?"

One eye popped open, which had slid closed only a second before. "Are you kidding me? They make my legs look sexy." She laughed when he cleared his throat and averted his eyes, trying not to take notice of her legs sprawled half in his lap.

Methodically, he massaged Natasha's feet, choosing to focus on the softness of her skin rather than the fragile bones beneath the tips of his fingers. Likely he could crush them with barely any force, and that kept his touch probably a bit more gentle than she'd have liked, though she never complained. Even still, he'd rather err on the side of caution. On occasion, he'd brave giving her ankles a slight squeeze, but never further. He felt a bit scandalous going even that far.

"So," she started, breaking the almost uncomfortable silence. At least for him it had been. How could someone who was so lethal, so deadly, have skin that felt so satiny? Steve wondered if her dress was just as soft. "How're things? Any luck?"

Steve was glad for the distraction and shook his head. "A few leads, dead-ends mostly. Caught wind of Bucky a few times, only to end up chasing his shadow. He always seems to be one step ahead of us."

Natasha made a noise of agreement. "If he doesn't want to be found, he won't be."

"I can't give up on him. I can't."

"I know." She wiggled her toes, urging him to resume his rubbing. "Doesn't mean you shouldn't."

"He saved my life, Natasha. He was the only one who could have." People who were beyond rehabilitation most certainly didn't go around saving lives.

"Yeah," she said stiffly. "Well, he almost killed me. Twice."

Steve turned to face her, bravely meeting her fierce stare. "And if someone hadn't thought you deserved a second chance, where do you think you'd be right now?"

He felt guilty, almost immediately, for asking it, but Natasha knew better than most what it was like to be on the wrong path, to be controlled by an order. He'd read her file. Part of it, at least. Some of it he couldn't stomach. He shuddered to think it, but brainwashing and torture was a powerful weapon to use against someone, something no one was immune to, not even the great Captain America himself.

"I'm sorry, Natasha," he said. "I shouldn't have asked – "

"Dead," she answered, turning away from him to stare at the television. "I'd be dead."

She made to get up, but he stayed her by her feet, squeezing her toes tightly against his palms. "I don't want to fight with you," he said, by way of apologizing again. "Stay."

She gave a half eye roll and settled back against his sofa. "Fine," she agreed. "But only because you make one hell of a masseuse."

He smiled a bit shyly. "It's my first one."

"Quick study." She hummed and closed her eyes as he focused his thumbs on a particularly tight spot near the top of her feet. "Magic fingers."

He tried not to let himself blush. Probably failed. "How about you? Figured out who you are yet?"

She snorted lightly. "I had twelve new covers within two months. Haven't had much chance to use them yet." She shrugged and something dark passed over her eyes. "I guess it's just different now."

He knew what she meant so he didn't pry. Natasha had sacrificed a lot with the downfall of S.H.E.I.L.D. Probably more than most. So much of who she was, what she had done, was tied up in everything that had been exposed, and he knew she likely questioned every mission she'd ever had since coming on board with S.H.E.I.L.D.

"I never did get the chance to thank you," he said. She gave him a strange look. One that was equal parts confused and frightened – if he ever dared to use that description for one of Natasha's looks. He went on to explain. "What you did was brave. Probably one of the bravest things I've ever seen. So, thank you."

She waved his words away. "Needed to be done."

"Seriously," he urged, wanting her to understand the depth of his gratitude. He hadn't been sure about Natasha in the beginning, but now he knew her and he felt bad for ever questioning her loyalty. "You should be proud."

"Don't get all mushy on me, Rogers." Her fingers toyed with the silky fabric covering her stomach, and his eyes were drawn to the subtle action.

Somehow he'd managed to make the infamous Black Widow uncomfortable. He allowed himself a small smile.

"So," he started, taking his cue to change the subject. "What're you doing up so late?"

"Me? I'm young and reckless. Aren't the elderly supposed to be in bed by sundown?"

"Haha," he mocked. "Your jokes about me being ancient never get old."

"They don't, do they?" She smiled. He smiled back. "Geriatric."

"Sprout."

"Grandpa."

"Tot."

"Fossil."

"Junior."

"Antique."

He paused for a moment, thinking. "Baby."

"Relic. Old goat. Geezer – "

"Okay. Okay." He held his hands up in mock surrender. "You win."

"I always do." She smiled sweetly at him, but her eyes were serious when she spoke again. "I didn't know when I'd see you again." Then she shrugged, as if what she said wasn't important. "Couldn't go to sleep without at least saying hi."

Steve knew it was huge for her to admit that, so he gave her a way out. No need for her to get mushy on him too. He didn't know how he'd handle that. He already admired Natasha more than he cared to admit. "Or getting a foot massage."

"Bonus. Definitely a bonus."

He chuckled, looking at her tiny feet in his huge hands. Her toes were delicate little things and her nails, almost as if in spite of that fact, were painted black. No doubt she could kill someone using her feet alone, but looking at them now, all dainty and small, he had trouble picturing it.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing," he said, trying not to laugh again. He took her toes between two of his fingers. "Was just thinking you have cute toes."

"I do not have cute toes. They're deadly and fierce and – "

He couldn't stop smiling. And despite feeling his face warm, he couldn't help replying, "Adorable."

Natasha looked offended. "Are not."

"Are too." To emphasize his words, he rolled her toes between his fingers and ran his nail up the arch of her foot. He was unprepared for her reaction.

"Gah." She barked out a laugh, struggling to pull her feet from his grasp. "Don't you dare."

He laughed loudly at her expression. Horror, utter and complete horror. "Your feet are ticklish," Steve accused.

"I will hurt you," she threatened.

He couldn't help himself. He couldn't. Not that he wanted to. "Are you ticklish, Natasha? Don't lie to me."

"You're so dead." She tried to scramble away but she was too late.

He had her arms pinned in less than a second, and her legs were next, half crushed by his body weight, though he was mindful not to truly hurt her. Steve goosed her ribs, and she went still. Then he tried her stomach, gently tickling above her naval. She didn't stir and he could've pouted at the disappointment he felt. Damn, he was so sure he'd found her weakness.

"Only my feet," Natasha said, her breath tickling his neck. He lifted his eyes to hers. "And I've killed people for less."

"I'm sure you have," he half whispered, finally noticing the position they were in.

His hand was on her stomach, fingers gently stroking the satin of her dress. He ceased the movement immediately, but couldn't bring himself to move off her just yet. Her breathing changed and so did his. His heart rate doubled.

The serum had enhanced him completely. His size and strength, his stamina and speed. Hearing and vision had majorly improved so he noted each of the tiny differences as they happened. Natasha's pupils dilated, her skin prickled with goosebumps. He did his best not to notice what else tightened in response, but her breasts were just right there and her dress was just so thin.

He noticed it all in only a moment, so he knew when her tongue darted out to moisten her lips and she said, "Get off me, Rogers, before I do something you regret," he knew she wanted to kiss him.

Noting the changes in his own body, Steve knew he wanted to kiss her just as much, if not more. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted something so badly. He inched closer, their noses nearly touching and loosened his hold on Natasha's wrists, all the while keeping his eyes locked with hers. He wondered, briefly before he spoke, what he must've looked like to her in that moment.

When he did speak, his words were a breath across her lips. "What makes you think I'd regret it."

To be continued...

For what it's worth, I'm sorry for leaving it here. Mostly. Kind of. Well, a little bit.

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