July 4, 2017
Telluride, Colorado

"Stop arguing, Rogers," Natasha was standing in the small kitchen of their Colorado safe house, pouring batter from a boxed cake mix into a pan. "This is happening."

"Celebrating my birthday is low on the list of things we need to be worrying about right now," Steve shot back from his seat at the island in the middle of the room.

Natasha looked up from the cake mix, and rolled her eyes in his direction, "You're 100 years old today. We're celebrating." She swiped a finger across the chocolate batter-covered spatula and popped it in her mouth. "Besides, we all deserve cake."

"You almost died yesterday," Steve argued. He crossed his arms over his chest and sat back in his chair. They'd taken on a handful of incognito missions under Fury's supervision since going on the run, and yesterday's job had gone sideways almost immediately.

"Nat," Steve watched Natasha as she licked more batter from her finger, then placed the cake in the oven and set the timer. "We should talk about what happened."

She leaned forward against the countertop across from Steve and smirked, "If you think yesterday was bad, you should've been in Budapest with Barton and me."

Steve's expression remained serious. He knew she was trying to get a rise out of him to change the subject, "Natasha."

She sighed deeply, and sagged against the counter, "Fine. We can talk about it, but only if you let us celebrate your damn birthday."

He should've seen that one coming. He regarded her for a second, coming to grips with the fact that they were going to make a big deal out of today whether he liked it or not, "All right."

The corner of Natasha's lip quirked up briefly, "I really am all right, Steve."

"Maybe so, but I've been in the trenches with you for years, and I've never seen you so thrown at the mention of a name," Steve reached across the counter and put his hand on top of Natasha's. "So, just talk to me, please."

She swallowed the lump forming in her throat and looked down at Steve's hand over hers. When she looked back up at him, the hard expression he wore a few minutes before was gone.

"Antonia Dreykov is the daughter of the man who brought me into the Red Room," Natasha paused and took a deep breath, looking back down at the countertop. "When I was in Russia, right before I found you in Wakanda, I saw her. I thought she'd and Dreykov had both been killed in an explosion years ago, but I was obviously wrong. He used her, turned her into a brainwashed killing machine. I was able to help her escape though, before Ross showed up and put me in handcuffs. But, when that asshole said her name yesterday, it all came rushing back, and I thought for a second that maybe I hadn't been able to save her."

Steve squeezed Natasha's hand, imploring her to look at him, but he didn't say anything. She met his eyes and continued, "He knew who I was, so I should have known he was just trying to trip me up. It was that split second hesitation… If you and Sam hadn't been there, that grenade would've blown me to hell."

"I mean, look at what happened in D.C. when I realized Bucky was the Winter Soldier," Steve said, shaking his head. "Things like this happen, even to us. I just want to make sure you're all right."

"I am, really," She gave him a small smile. "I checked in with an old contact this morning. Antonia is somewhere in the Maldives, safe."

"Good," Steve said, feeling relieved. Before he could say anything else, the timer on the stove dinged, indicating the cake was finished.

Nat's grin grew as she pulled the pan out of the oven and placed it on the counter to cool. The scent of freshly baked chocolate filled the kitchen, and Steve smiled in spite of himself.

"My goodness does that smell good," Sam said, entering the kitchen. He immediately tried to stick a finger in the container of frosting sitting out, but Natasha slapped his hand away, "Ow! Damn woman, was that really necessary?"

She slid the jar of frosting out of Sam's reach, not realizing it was now right in front of Steve. "Hand me a spoon?" he asked casually.

Without thinking, Natasha reached into a drawer and passed a spoon to Steve, then watched with wide eyes as he plunged it into the frosting, "Don't you dare, Rogers."

"But it's my birthday," he said teasingly, licking chocolate frosting from the spoon with that signature boyish grin. Natasha felt herself staring at his mouth and forced her eyes away. He slid the container back across the counter to Sam who'd already procured a spoon of his own.

"You two are the worst," Natasha said, shaking her head and grabbing Steve's spoon from his hand. She dipped it into the frosting and then into her mouth, "Luckily, I bought two jars."

The trio sat around the kitchen island, passing the jar back and forth until the cake cooled enough for Natasha to frost it. On top of the chocolate, she spelled out "Happy 100th, old man" in white lettering.

Sam ran into town a little bit later to pick up burgers for dinner. When he returned, to Steve's chagrin, with the food, as well as party hats and candles.

"Look, Rogers, you might be old, but that doesn't mean you have to be a curmudgeon," Natasha said, pulling a blue and silver paper hat over his head. She placed a black and purple hat atop her own head and passed one with red and yellow stripes to Sam. "See, they're cute."

Steve couldn't help but smile at the fun his friends seemed to be having, even if it was at his expense. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd celebrated a birthday. In truth, it was probably before he and Bucky enlisted and everything in their lives was turned on its head.

He looked over at Sam, who was carefully placing a bunch of small candles into the cake, and couldn't help but laugh, "Please tell me you're not putting 100 candles in that cake."

"You bet your ass I am," he said, without looking up.

"Why didn't you just buy the numbered candles?" Natasha asked.

"Because this is funnier," Sam replied, focusing on the task in front of him.

She couldn't argue with that, "Fair enough."

The 10 minutes it took for Sam to insert and light all 100 candles was worth it for the video Natasha took of Steve as they sang happy birthday, "Make a wish, Rogers."

Steve glanced at her, and she winked. He closed his eyes and blew out all 100 candles in a single breath.

"Can we please eat this thing, now?" Sam asked, plucking candles from the icing.

"You act like we never feed you," Nat said, cutting a piece of cake for each of them.

Sam, shoveled a forkful into his mouth then patted his stomach, "I'm a growing boy."

Nat rolled her eyes at Sam, then nudged Steve with her elbow, "What'd you wish for?"

He swallowed a bite of cake and quirked an eyebrow, "If I tell you, it won't come true."

Natasha felt her cheeks flush as he tipped his beer bottle back, peering at her from over the edge.

They finished up their cake, and Sam offered to clean up the kitchen, so Natasha and Steve grabbed fresh beers and headed out to the back porch. The sun had just dipped below the mountains, and the evening air had cooled enough that Natasha began shivering slightly after a few minutes. Steve noticed immediately and went back inside to grab a blanket. When he returned, she was watching the video she'd taken of them singing to him. The light from the candles flickered across his face, lighting up the smile that was spread wide across his lips.

Steve's eyes lifted to watch Nat's face as she replayed the video. Something about her expression made his stomach flip. He draped the blanket across her shoulders and sat back down next to her on the porch steps.

"Thanks," she said softly, wrapping the warm material around her. She lifted her face to the sky at the sound of fireworks in the distance, though they could only see a few over the mountain tops. "Captain America being born on July 4 is a little too on the nose, don't you think?"

Steve let out a small laugh and looked over at Natasha, "Why do you think I never celebrate?"

She grinned, her head still tilted toward the sky, "So, was it as bad as you thought it'd be?"

"Way worse," he bumped his shoulder into hers and flashed a grateful smile. "I know I gave you guys a hard time earlier, but I appreciate this, really."

"Well, it's not over quite yet," Natasha said, reaching over to grab a wrapped package from next to her. She placed it into Steve's hands and sat back.

He tugged at the black ribbon tied neatly in a bow at the center of the thin, rectangular gift, and pulled the wrapping away to reveal a black leather-bound sketchbook with S.G.R. embossed in the bottom right corner.

She tilted her head toward him, "I noticed your old pad was running out of pages."

He ran his fingertips across the cover and looked at Natasha, unsure of what to say that would properly express how much the gift meant to him. "Thank you," was all he could manage.

"You're welcome," Natasha leaned in and gently kissed his bearded cheek. The spot where her lips met his skin tingled, and he involuntarily reached up to touch his face. The tension between them was palpable, and neither of them seemed willing to break it.

Finally, Natasha spoke, her voice laced with playful flirtation, "The beard's really growing on me."

"Yeah, you may have mentioned that once or twice," Steve smirked down at her, and tugged a few strands of her short, blonde hair between his fingers. "I kinda miss the red."

"I do too, to be honest," Natasha said, stilling when Steve tucked the hair behind her ear. His fingers brushed against her cheek. Physical contact between them wasn't uncommon, but a gesture that intimate was.

Her eyes fluttered closed involuntarily, and she felt Steve's breath ghost across her face. Everything in Natasha was screaming at her to just close the distance between them, but she was frozen in place. Steve, it seemed, was too. The moment only lasted a few seconds, though it felt like time had stopped. Her eyes shot open at the sound of the patio door sliding open. Steve had already put several inches between them before Sam stepped out onto the porch.

Natasha pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, unable to shake the idea of Steve's lips on hers. She chanced a glance at him and was surprised to find he was still looking at her. His blue eyes darkened with an expression Natasha willed herself not to read into, one that went from desire to uncertainty to adoration and back again. She tried and failed to recall another time he'd looked at her that way. What the hell was going on?

They were finally shaken from the moment when Sam, who was either ignoring the obvious tension happening in front of him or completely oblivious to it, exhaled loudly as he sank into a nearby chair.

"Well, Cap, how's it feel to have lived for a century?" he asked, taking a swig from the beer in his hand.

Steve shook his head in amusement, throwing a cheeky grin over his shoulder at Sam, "I don't feel a day over 33."

Natasha closed her eyes, listening to the two men banter back and forth. Despite everything that had happened over the last 14 months, the three of them had managed to stay together, to continue fighting for the greater good. It was hard on all of them, staying in the shadows, but it was especially difficult for Steve. Moments like this one, those in between moments when all the bad faded to the background, served as a reminder for why they kept going.

The night around them was quiet and still, and eventually the previous day's mission and their day of celebration caught up with Natasha. She fought to suppress a yawn as she stood.

"You leaving us already?" Sam asked, taking a swig from the beer in his hand.

"I'm not as young as I used to be," she replied with a smirk. "Good night, boys."

Steve grabbed Natasha's hand as she passed by him and squeezed. The warmth of his palm in hers sparked through her. She squeezed back and smiled down at him, "Happy birthday, Steve."