The days slowly crept into weeks. Three weeks, to be exact.
Three weeks of sleepless nights.
Three weeks of a feeling that Steve didn't understand.
Three weeks until the day Steve finally did something.
To be precise, it started the day when Steve ran into Natasha at the cafeteria again. He got his food, and saw her, walking by herself. He was overwhelmed by an urge to go talk to her. When he finally caught up with her, she glanced over. "Need anything Steve?"
"I was wondering if you wanted to eat with me."
"Why?" was her immediate response.
He shrugged. "I'm alone, and excuse me for saying this, but it appears you are too."
Natasha looked away and pursed her lips. Steve was afraid he had offended her when she said, "Sure, why not?"
They sat down at a table, across from each other. Steve noticed that she was eating a salad again, the same thing she ate every time he saw her eat. "Natasha, do I ever… annoy any of you with me being so behind with everything?"
Natasha glanced up at him. "No, no. If anybody's annoying, it's Tony. Or even Clint," she added with a sly smile.
"That's a relief to hear," Steve said. "I'm always afraid I'm just bugging people with my questions."
"You can't help it," Natasha said. "You weren't around for everything."
"But I'm like a small child."
Natasha's smiled remained on her face. "Yeah, I guess you can make that comparison. But trust me, you're not annoying."
Steve observed her smile. Her skin creased around the corners of her mouth in a nice way. "You have a great smile," Steve blurted.
Natasha looked up at him. "Excuse me?"
Steve felt his face go red. "I, uh…."
Her smile grew as he stumbled over his words. "Steve, I'm not mad or anything. That was sweet."
He gave an embarrassed grin. "It really is. I don't get to see you smile often and I like it when you do."
"That's because I usually don't have much to smile over."
"That's too bad."
She looked down at her food, picking some of the salad up with her fork. "It really is, isn't it?" Her gaze switched back to Steve. "We should try to change that."
That sentence changed everything.
That night, when another nightmare attacked and he lay wide-awake, he found himself thinking of her smile. He grabbed his notepad again, sketching out the way he lips curved and skin creased, going on to draw her whole face. When he had finished, she stared up at him. It had a few mistakes; one eye was a tad bit larger than the other, the nose was too pointy, and a few tinier ones.
He tore the page off and put it in his drawer with everything else, covering up the first picture of Natasha he had drawn.
Over the next few nights, that was what he did. He spent countless hours drawing her, exhausted the next day but happy. His pile grew quickly, each one different. There were pictures of her punching and kicking assailants he never drew; some of her sitting quietly, no expressions visible on her face; ones where her eyes were slightly closed, mouth opened in laughter. Of course, he could only imagine what she looked like when she was laughing. He realized he had never heard her laugh.
A sudden desire to hear it built up in him. What would ever make her laugh? What did it sound like?
He made a vow to himself that he would indeed hear it even if he didn't know how to make it happen.
As his pictures grew better, internal feelings grew stronger. He talked to her daily now, intoxicated on the way she spoke, the way she moved. He noticed her skin looked soft although she was so tough. He wanted to run his fingers on her arm, hold her face in his hand, caress her cheek and see her smile.
He would scold himself every time he thought like that. It isn't appropriate, he would tell himself. Besides, if she doesn't feel the same way back, you're setting yourself for heartache.
Growing sad, he realized women never felt the same way back.
The only one that did slipped through his fingers.
He watched her in the gym (with her permission, that is). She demonstrated her power. She never stumbled as she flipped through the air, throwing punches and kicking her leg around. He wondered what it would be like to hold her. Could you feel her strength? Would she be as lean as she looks?
He chased the thought out of his mind as she asked him for the fourth time if he wanted a go.
It was driving him insane. He hadn't felt like this since… Peggy. His heart hurt just thinking of her name. Was it the best idea to get rid of an old love by chasing after a new one?
Did he love Natasha?
The clock was shining in its usual arrogant way. One forty-three it read.
He had been thinking of her since eleven sixteen.
Three weeks.
It took him three weeks to gather the courage to confront Natasha.
He found her passing through a hallway.
"Natasha!"
She turned around and smiled. "Hi, Steve! Do you need anything?"
He stepped closer to her, leaving a foot between them. "Would you, um, ever like to, uh, go anywhere… with, er, me?"
Her grin widened. "Of course. Friday at six, I'll meet you at your apartment."
"Sounds like a plan." He gave her a grin back.
"I have to go talk to someone. See you then." She waved and left.
He let out a breath. It was happening finally.
That night when he went to sleep, he had another nightmare. This one, though, vanished quickly. After a minute or two, Steve fell right back to sleep.
The notepad remained untouched.