A/N: Here we go! Wanted to wait, but I can't. Marked complete because each one-shot is complete. I'll likely keep adding here and there, so bookmark this thang...
Natasha tried to remind herself that if she didn't close her eyes, she wouldn't sleep. Closing her eyes was step one. But instead of darkness, whenever she closed her eyes, she saw the battlefield littered with bodies and blood. Her heart would skip a beat, flooding her system with adrenaline and the threat of a panic attack.
She'd been cycling through this for hours. Ceiling, battlefield, ASMR, and repeat. Liquid Benadryl hadn't helped, so she'd taken something stronger. But still no land of nod.
Her fists clenched around the covers in frustration. This shouldn't be so difficult.
She'd had training for nights like this, breathing exercises to ensure she drifted off to sleep to survive the next day. If she didn't sleep, she couldn't function, and if she couldn't function, she might blow her cover or reveal something under duress. Either count was very, very bad for her health.
It was probably a good sign that all her training meant nothing in this instance. A sign that she felt safe enough in the Avengers Tower to not sleep as if her life depended on it.
But she didn't care. She just wanted to sleep.
"May I suggest choosing from a selection of nature sounds?" Jarvis asked, voice reasonably low. "My database is equipped with sounds of the ocean, rainforest, and summer rain. I can download others upon request."
She stared up at the ceiling. "Are you spying on me, Jarvis?"
"Certainly not, miss. My EEG sensors informed me that your brain waves have yet to slow to theta or delta frequencies."
"Nobody's perfect."
She sat up in bed, her head heavy, the room tilting at an extreme angle. According to her phone, it was 2:40am. The edges of her eyelids burned.
On nights like tonight, it felt like morning would never come. She'd never treasured sunrises before she spent hours waiting for them.
And now she was tired of laying in bed. Tired of trying to sleep—and wasn't that ironic? So she threw back the covers, dropped her legs over the side of the bed, and felt around for her sweatpants, stumbling as she pulled them on. It was impressive how quickly her body's operating systems went to hell without sleep.
"Jarvis, lights at ten percent, please." She raised a hand to shield her eyes as light flooded the room.
It was chilly, and wood floors didn't help. Neither did her thin, white camisole. But in a weird way, she didn't mind. It grounded her and seemed fitting for the hour.
There was a glass on her nightstand, half full of dusty, room-temperature water. Although she deigned to drink it, the dust stuck in her throat. Still, it was better than nothing.
Stretching as she walked to the window, she pulled back the curtain and stared down at New York City. People always said the views were amazing when they couldn't truly see anything. The lights gave her some comfort, because they meant she wasn't the only soul awake at this hour. But otherwise…
"Fascinating," she grumbled, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on. When she clenched her eyes shut, she saw flashes again. Blood. Bodies.
Fire.
She had to get out of here.
"Jarvis, is anyone else awake?" She padded to the door.
"I can't disclose the status of persons in private bedrooms. Captain Rogers resides in the kitchen."
"Good." She opened her door to venture down the hall. The kitchen was two floors below, and the elevator was on her right, but she took the stairs. It seemed easier, somehow, even though her footfalls were less graceful than usual. She gripped the railing tightly to avoid falling.
This was her third night unable to sleep for more than ten minutes at a time. Three nights, a week, same difference. It meant she was becoming a liability. She needed to find a remedy soon and she hoped that tonight it would come in the form of a certain blond supersoldier who would send her back to bed with a glass of warm milk.
As she left the stairwell, she blinked hard, rubbing one of her eyes. Everything seemed soft around the edges. Somehow far away. The glow of the kitchen light guided her down a long hall.
"Couldn't sleep?" Steve stood by the stove, facing away from her. He must have heard her coming. "It's early, but still morning. So, good morning."
"If you say so." She took a seat at the kitchen island, thankful the chair supported her back. She was too exhausted to hold herself upright. "You cook?"
Something smelled delicious, and her mouth watered. Hopefully he was feeling generous. This was Captain America, after all. While Tony might level her with a smirk before leaving her high and dry, Steve would sooner surrender his whole meal and scrounge up a protein shake for himself. Not that she'd let him.
"We didn't have as many instant foods back in my day," he answered, stirring whatever sizzled in the pan. "Besides, Stark has half the supermarket in here."
"And what did you decide, with every ingredient you could want?"
Stepping aside, he tilted the pan so she could take a look. "Chorizo and eggs. I serve it with steamed tortillas. Try this and you'll never want for anything else."
"I don't know about that." She cringed at at her own words. It sounded like she wanted to talk, which she did, but they could have kept the banter going a little longer.
Steve took the pan off the heat.
She steeled herself as he turned to her, ready for questions like, 'What's going on?' and 'What can I do to help?'
What she didn't expect was for him to abruptly stiffen and look up to study the ceiling panels.
She glanced up, wondering if he saw a spider or something.
"Uh," he finally said, ears reddening, "As a gentleman, I need to inform you that your shirt is leaving very little to the imagination in, uh, certain areas."
Oh. Right. She was only wearing a camisole, he was old-fashioned, and she was shivering. It was a spicy recipe all its own. But it wasn't the time and this wasn't the place.
"Hang on," she said. There was a hoody on the chair beside her. She felt a little silly as she ducked into it like a modest schoolgirl. It was three sizes too big, and not her style. But she respected Steve and she didn't want to scare him off. If he left, she'd be alone with her thoughts.
"I'm decent." She added some dramatic flair, pretending to swoon.
Steve smiled when he saw her selection, raising his eyebrows and nodding approvingly. "You have excellent taste."
She hummed. "Do I, though?"
"It's a classic."
"Like me." Tony rounded the corner. "Top of the line, fully restored. Hey Cap. Natasha. Sorry to butt in. Well, it's my kitchen, but—" He yanked open the fridge, rummaging around.
She exchanged a glance with Steve. After a moment, Tony emerged with a bottle of sparkling apple cider, frowning at the bottle. "This used to be champagne."
"Are you sure?" She put a doubtful look on her face. "That doesn't seem right."
"Here, you want a glass?" Steve turned to the cupboards.
Tony huffed, stepping up to the counter. "Next, it'll be chocolate milk," he grumbled.
"Hot chocolate," Steve countered. He slid a glass to Tony. "Nothing better."
"Oh, there's something better. Warms you up just as well, too."
"Tea?"
Tony paused, mid-pour. Maybe he couldn't decide if Steve was serious or not, because he changed the subject. "So what are we discussing tonight? Friendship? Love? Sex?" As Steve opened his mouth, Tony was quick to continue, "No judgment! I just need to know, because if it's sex, I'm leaving. The tower."
"What else would we discuss?" Natasha asked. "Of course it's sex."
Tony took a seat a few chairs away. "Good, because I have valuable input." He leaned forward, hands clasped. "By the way, Natasha, I'm loving the dynamic here. Training Steve to make breakfast and raiding his wardrobe is a blaring announcement to everyone that you have the final say in this relationship. Bravo."
Steve crossed his arms.
She took pity on him. "Steve made breakfast."
"That's all right," Tony declined. "Cap's a growing boy. Besides, I'm more of a—uh, cider—person, myself. At least when Pep isn't around. I gotta say, it's great having more than one keeper."
Steve grabbed some plates. "There's not enough for three anyway."
Natasha glanced at the full pan.
"Thanks," she said as he filled her plate. There was a double portion, as if he knew Tony would eat whatever she didn't finish. "You boys. If I wasn't here to keep the peace, I don't know how you'd settle things."
"The most intense chess game of all time," Tony quipped. "Right, Cap? You do know how to play? Or was checkers the pastime during the war?"
"That's right, Stark," said Steve, pulling a stack of tortillas from the oven. He set it in front of her. "Between our raids on Hydra bases, we had loads of free time to play checkers."
"I knew it."
Steve rolled his eyes.
They continued verbally sparring, but Natasha focused on the food. It was, by all accounts, the best thing she'd eaten in months, warming her stomach and soul better than chicken soup. Her eyelids drooped as she ate and she eventually rested her head against her hand. Steve would be cooking more often, she'd volunteer him—
Her fork clattered onto the plate, jarring her awake. Tony's stool screeched, and Steve rounded the counter.
"Jesus, Cap, what'd you put in that stuff?"
"Nat, you okay?" Steve rested a hand on her back.
She nodded heavily, still half-asleep.
"Okay," Tony said suddenly. "That's all, folks. Bedtime for super spies. Steve, you got her?"
"Yeah."
"I'm fine," she mumbled, even as Steve slipped an arm under her knees and the other around her back.
He lifted her easily. "We know you are."
"Sure, two clicks from the next mission," Tony said. "The enemy will never see you coming. If they use Helen Keller robots."
"Easy, Stark. You've made your point."
"Just backing you up, boss."
Steve's voice vibrated through his chest. "I'm taking her back to her room."
Her eyes flew open and she went rigid in his arms. Thickly, she heard herself say, "No, no. The couch is fine. It's closer anyway, and it's warmer out here."
There was silence. She knew they were trading looks, but as long as they listened, it didn't matter. Her head fell forward, eyes slipping closed.
Air breezed against her face as Steve brought her into the next room. It wasn't far, but that was the point. She wanted to be near them. Somehow, even when she was asleep, they kept her in this reality. Without them, she'd be wrapped in whatever nightmare tapestry her mind wove from the past.
Couch cushions rose up beneath her, soft and cradling. There was already a pillow where she rested her head. The cushions compressed slightly as Steve leaned over her to reach the throw blanket, and it drifted down to cover her. Fingers gently brushed the hair from her forehead.
"Saw that," Tony whispered.
"What?" Steve whispered back. "I was just—"
"Give me the champagne, or I'll tell on you."
Steve sighed. "I'm not going to give you the—"
"I knew it was you!"
"Well, me and…" He must have gestured to her.
"Oh." A huff. "Fine, but I'm eating her food."
"That'll show her."
Before Natasha could tell them to hush, their murmurs faded into the kitchen.
And so. In the end, it wasn't breathing exercises, ASMR, or nature sounds that gave her peace. It was voices and the gentle sounds of dishes (and a clink of glasses), the close proximity of those she loved and the warmth they shared, that carried her into a dreamless sleep.
A/N: Enjoy? Yay? Nay? Let me know. I *just* discovered the Avengers fandom over the past several months and I have a notebook of fanfic ideas, so hopefully I'm here for a minute. :)