Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Thanos had been dead for a month when Natasha kissed Steve. He’d been living in a haze since that day at the Garden, stumbling through a fog of sadness and regret and fear and so much anger he scared himself.

That kiss, though—that kiss yanked him right out of it. He’d pulled away, staring down at her green eyes and thinking they were the brightest, clearest thing he’d seen in months.

They were at the Avengers compound. They were the only ones there; Tony was back home with Pepper, recovering, Thor was setting up New Asgard, and Bruce was headed down to Mexico, for some reason. Clint was… no one knew where Clint was, which Steve figured was how Clint wanted it. Everyone had scattered, but Natasha seemed determined to keep the Avengers alive.

Steve didn’t know if that was possible. The team was just him, Natasha, and Rhodey for now, though Okoye was in contact, and Carol would blip in and out randomly. None of them were around when he’d slipped into the compound that night, which wasn’t nearly as bustling or bright as it used to be. The halls were deserted as he’d walked down to the office Natasha had claimed as her own.

He didn’t even remember what he’d gone to talk to her about; it had all flown out of his head when he’d caught sight of her. She was sitting in the dark, staring out the window at the lake and the night sky above it. The moonlight was just bright enough to highlight the tear tracks on her face, and Steve stared at her for a moment, thinking of how she looked just like one of those old paintings he’d seen at the Met. Classic and tragic and incredibly beautiful.

She didn’t look at him, but he knew she knew he was there. He sat next to her on the couch, glancing at the half-eaten MRE sitting on the coffee table. At least she’s eating, he thought. Then he followed Natasha’s gaze, looking out at the large, luminous moon. The sky had always seemed so much larger out here at the compound, away from the city. But now, two months after half the people on Earth disappeared, it was the brightest he’d ever seen it, at least since he’d come out of the ice.

“Hard day?” he asked quietly. She was hunched in on herself, arms wrapped around her knees to hold them to her chest, and the urge to reach out to touch her arm or shoulder, to pull her in tight to try to soothe away the pain was nearly overwhelming. But it wasn’t possible to hug away this pain, and he doubted Natasha would want him to, anyway. So he sat back and hoped his presence was helping more than hurting.

“They’re all hard.” Her voice was rough, like she’d been crying for a while, and it made his own eyes sting.

“Yeah.” All he could do was agree. Bucky, Sam… Clint’s entire family. This was a level of grief a person didn’t get over. Or learn to live with. This was grief that destroyed you.

She let her feet slide down to the floor, but her arms remained wrapped around her middle, her gaze still pointed towards the window. He knew she wasn’t looking at the view. She probably didn’t even really see it.

“Clint and I,” she started, licking her dry lips, and he tensed. Besides that one horrible phone call, no one had heard from Clint. Natasha had gone out to his farm, but it was deserted. “We have these SAT beacons. Transmitters. So we can always find each other, you know, if shit gets bad.” She chuckled, her hands falling to her lap, and she glanced down at them. “Can’t really get much worse,” she whispered.

He wanted to reach out, clasp her hand in his own, but he refrained, not wanting to make it worse. He’d hugged her after that call with Clint, and she’d recoiled, barely holding back a sob as she’d turned away.

“He activated his today. And then sent a message.” Her mouth pressed into a thin, tight line and his heart nearly stopped in his chest. How much more could they take, before they completely broke?

After a minute of silence, he asked. “What—“

“‘Stop looking.’ And then his beacon went offline.” Her voice was flat. It wasn’t a surprise; they both knew Clint didn’t want to be found, but to have him reach out, the hope she must have felt, and to have it crash down around her…

Steve inhaled a quick breath. For a second anger blazed through him, at Clint for putting Natasha through this, for running away. And then he glanced back at the stars, and the rage bled out of him in a rush, replaced with a bone-deep exhaustion.

The sky had looked just as dazzling and expansive when he’d stared up at it those few nights at Clint’s farmhouse. He’d been so surprised that Clint had an entire family, one he squirreled away to keep them safe.

And it hadn’t worked. They were part of the millions that had paid for the Avengers failure.

Steve couldn’t, wouldn’t imagine what Clint was going through. He was in no place to judge anyone.

“I’m sorry.” He’d said those words so many times in the past several weeks that they’d basically lost all meaning at this point. But they needed to keep saying them. It was the only way they could even try to move forward.

Natasha extended an arm, and he saw she had been holding something in her hand. She placed two small beacons on the coffee table, next to the MRE. Her knee bumped into his with the movement, and when she leaned back, she shifted so it stayed pressed against his own.

“Guess I should stop carrying them around with me.” She settled back against the couch, one hand resting atop her thigh.

Steve stared at the beacons, trying to piece together why there were two. When he came up blank, he asked, “Who’s the other one for?”

“Yelena.”

He frowned as he parsed the name; it wasn’t ringing any bells.

“Who’s Yelena?”

“My sister.”

His eyes closed at that, could feel his face twisting into a grimace. How little did he know these people that put their lives on the line next to him every day? This time, when the urge to soothe hit him, he didn’t shove it away; he reached over to clasp her hand with his own. She didn’t recoil, didn’t pull away; she just flipped her hand over and slotted their fingers together, squeezing tightly.

“I didn’t know you had a sister.” He was looking at Natasha now, at her profile, so strong and sharp and all he wanted was to pull her close and tell her it was okay to crumble. Just for a moment, and that he wouldn’t tell anyone.

“I don’t,” she whispered, her lower lip starting to quiver. “Not anymore.” A small sob left her throat, and he was moving before he realized it, letting go of her hand to wrap his arm around her shoulders and pull her close. She went willingly, pressing her face against his neck and her fingers grabbing at the fabric of his shirt as she started to cry.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat there, holding each other. She tucked herself right under his chin, and he swiped his palm up and down her back. Eventually her sobs subsided into soft sniffles, but he would hold her all night if that was what she needed. Maybe he needed it too, he thought as some of the tension he carried with him seeped out of his shoulders.

She pulled back slightly, her arms still around him, tilting her head up so her hair grazed his nose. Her shampoo smelled sweet and bright, and his hand paused on her lower back. She shifted again, their noses brushing, and he realized her shirt had ridden up slightly so his pinky finger was touching the bare skin of her back. She was so warm against him, and the urge to melt into the sweet smell and softness of her was overwhelming.

His hand slipped down an inch, so more of his palm slid over her skin, and she pressed forward and kissed him, her mouth brushing over his. They’d done this once before, in what felt like another lifetime, on that escalator. Her kiss was just as all encompassing now as it was then, and he responded automatically, slackening his jaw and tilting his head so her upper lip fit between his.

He wanted this, he wanted her, he suddenly realized, with an intensity that burst through the fog that always seemed to be clogging his mind lately. But then he tasted salt in their kiss, her tears, and some of his as well, and he pulled back, their faces still close enough for him to feel her breath against his lips. She wanted comfort, and he shouldn’t—they shouldn’t—

She was still clutching his shirt, pulling the fabric tight across his chest, and he reached up with his free hand to place it over hers. She looked at him then, those green eyes so clear and bright it took his breath away, and he felt something spark inside him, something he’d thought would never flare up again.

He inhaled a shaky breath. “Nat, I—“

“I should go,” she said, looking away and gently pulling her hand out of his. She shifted back out of his arms, moving to stand, and all of his words seemed to get stuck in his throat. “Get some rest.”

She avoided eye contact as she stood and walked away, and he watched her go, wanting her to stay but knowing she wouldn’t. She paused in the doorway, turning her head so he could see her profile again. She whispered, so softly that he only heard because of his enhanced hearing, “Good night.”

And then she was gone.

Steve stared at the empty doorway for a moment, and then leaned back against the couch with a sigh. He looked at the dark beacons, and then swept them up with one hand.

He would carry them for her.

Chapter Text

Steve didn’t mention the kiss. Neither did Natasha. Steve recognized it for what it was, a rare moment of weakness that Natasha didn’t want to acknowledge. He’d been worried their relationship might change, might become more awkward, but it was as normal as it could be in the world Thanos left behind, which he was thankful for. There was too much to do, too much of the world to rebuild to worry about anything else.

That didn’t stop Steve from thinking about it, though. Every time he saw her, and nearly every day when he didn’t, he thought about how soft her lips were and how smooth her skin was. He wondered what would have happened if he hadn’t pulled back, if he hadn’t spoken and broken the spell. And then he’d feel guilty, because Natasha had clearly gotten carried away and regretted it, and he shouldn’t take advantage.

Sometimes though, during those late nights they spent in the compound making plans or when they were out in the field, trying to bring peace to a world filled with chaos, he’d feel a tickle at the back of his neck, and he’d glance up to find Natasha watching him. Her eyes would be soft in a way he rarely saw, and he’d remember that night in her office, and how she’d leaned forward and kissed him, and how his world had shifted into something new, but still somehow familiar.

Then she’d look away, or he’d look away, and the next time he’d look at her that softness would be gone. In its place would be the hard steel he’d always associate with Natasha, that unbreakable foundation he’d come to count on. Probably more than he should.

The days passed by, turning into months, and before he knew it nearly a year had passed. He and Natasha lived at the compound, they were the only ones, though others passed through more often now. Rocket had joined the Avengers, and they were a ragtag team, but they were a team. That was the most important part.

Twilight was falling when Steve approached Natasha’s office. The lights were dim; only a desk lamp and wall sconce were on, bathing the room in a soft glow. She was frowning at her computer, but looked up to give Steve a brief smile when he walked in. It grew brighter when he set down the cupcake and shoved it towards her, moving to sit on the edge of her desk, next to her chair.

“Wow,” she said, picking it up and holding it close to her nose as she inhaled, her eyes closing. Steve smiled; he couldn’t remember ever seeing her look that blissful, and he put a note of ‘chocolate’ in his mental Natasha list, right between 'sharp knives' and 'Bond movies.'

“I honestly can’t remember the last time I had a cupcake.”

“You should’ve come,” he told her as she pulled at the wrapper, discarding it in a small trashcan next to her desk. “Tony made a ton of them.” Steve smiled, remembering the grin on Tony’s face when he’d presented them to Steve.

Natasha blinked at him. “Tony made these? Tony Stark? Baked?” She evaluated the cupcake with new eyes, frowning at it.

Steve shrugged, still grinning. “’Baking is just another form of science,’” he said, quoting Tony. “They’re not half bad,” he added, and Natasha considered the cupcake for another moment. “They’re Pepper’s favorite; I think he was trying to make up for something.”

Natasha nodded, pushing her chair away and moving to stand so she could lean on the desk next to Steve. “Split it with me?” she asked, ripping it in half. Steve started to decline, but she was already handing it to him, and he was starting to realize he never really could say no to her.

“How is everyone?” she asked. “They settle on a name?” She bit into the cupcake, chocolate frosting smearing on her upper lip. He had to look away, because he immediately wanted to reach over and wipe it off. Or lick it off. And that was all kinds of not appropriate.

“Morgan. Everyone seemed tired, but happy.” Tony and Pepper were both over the moon with their little girl, and it made Steve feel buoyant in a way nothing else had in years. Morgan was a very small living, breathing reminder that good things could still happen. “She’s perfect. Tony’s—” Steve shook his head, still grinning at how Tony had fussed over Pepper and Morgan. “He’s ecstatic. That tiny baby has him twisted around her little finger.”

Natasha grinned, as much as she could while chewing, and then swallowed her bite, wiping at the corner of her mouth. “I remember when Lila was little, Clint was the same way. He talked about her all the time.” Her eyes grew light for a moment, and he wished he could see whatever happy memory she was thinking of. And then that light dimmed, like it always did when she remembered.

No word from Clint in all these months. Natasha believed he was still alive, and Steve hoped every day they didn’t get word otherwise. He nodded now, looking down at the half cupcake in his hands.

“Girls have a way of doing that to their dads,” he said, and he was about to take a bite out of the cupcake when Natasha reached over and broke off half of it. He didn’t say a word as she ate it, a half-smile pulling at her mouth as she chewed, seeming to savor the flavor of it on her tongue. He smiled as he looked down at the quarter cupcake he had left. If chocolate put her in a good mood, he’d definitely have to track more down. It was a rarity these days, most non-essential foods were, but he had a few favors he could call in.

“You have a sister?” she asked, and he recognized the question for what it was—a distraction. And he was happy to try to pull her away from the worries that he watched weigh her down daily.

“No,” Steve said, “Bucky did, though. Rebecca.” He was the one smiling as he thought of how Bucky would roll his eyes when she wanted to tag along with them, but how he always relented. “The youngest girl. She got away with murder,” he chuckled. Then, “Not literally.”

Natasha smiled then, a real one that showed some teeth, and his heart floated a little at the sight of it. Those smiles were rarer than anything else these days, and he extended out the rest of the cupcake to her. She glanced at it, up at Steve, and then back to the cupcake. Then she plucked it out of his hand, popping it into her mouth, a bit of frosting smearing at the corner of her mouth.

“Thanks for the cupcake.” She wiped her hands on her thighs, the corner of her eyes crinkling as she smiled up at him.

“Sure,” he replied automatically, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. The sun had fully gone down, and Steve thought no one should look as beautiful as Natasha did in the soft light of a desk lamp. Her hair had grown out in the past year, it brushed her shoulders now, and he wondered if it felt as silky as it looked. She still had that little smear of chocolate on her mouth, and he lifted one hand to gesture to it.

“You got a little—” His hand hovered a few inches in front of her, and she glanced at it, and then back to his face. Her lips parted, and she lifted her chin, tilting her head slightly in an unspoken invitation.

He felt spellbound by her, by those green eyes holding his own, bright and clear and full of all the emotion he tried not to let out every day. He gently cupped her chin, his thumb moving to wipe at the corner of her mouth. She leaned into the touch, her eyes fluttering shut as she exhaled, her breath warm against his thumb. The air around them seemed to grow warmer, thicker, and he was struck by the silence around them. It was so quiet he could hear how her breath caught as he trailed his fingers up her jaw and cheek, tucking her hair behind her ear. It was even softer than he imagined.

She shifted closer, her eyes opening and locking onto his, and he swayed forward. He’d thought about this, dreamed about it more than he was willing to admit, and now he was here, with her looking at him like that and his heart beating so hard he was surprised she couldn’t hear it. He wanted to live in this moment, in the softness in her eyes and the warmth of her skin beneath his fingertips, in the anticipation of a fantasy that he didn’t think would ever be fulfilled.

Then she pressed forward and kissed him, and he realized the fantasy would never come close to reality. The kiss was soft and chaste, but only for a second, and then he opened to her. She immediately responded, sliding a hand into his hair and pulling him close as she slipped her tongue into his mouth. She tasted like chocolate and sweetness, and a small noise fell from his throat as he slid his hand down her back, tugging her fully against him.

Everything else fell away as he kissed her, all of the pain and grief and rage that was always at the back of his mind. His entire world narrowed down to just Natasha, the heat of her, the softness of her skin and her fevered kisses. She pressed her weight against him, turning them so he was pressed against the edge of her desk, his thighs automatically spreading so Natasha could slide right in between them. Her nails scratched at his scalp, and he moaned at the tingles it sent down his spine, straight to his cock.

She pulled away and he froze, his hands on her hips, wondering if she was going to stop or push him away. He’d do whatever she wanted, of course, but he didn’t realize how badly he wanted this until she’d kissed him again.

But she didn’t pull any further away or tell him to stop. Instead she yanked at the hem of her shirt, pulling it up and over her head. He barely got a glimpse of her simple black bra before she was back in his space, tugging on his shirt. He raised his arms so she could pull it off and toss it into the darkness, and then he reeled her back in, palms smoothing over her bare back and arms.

She seemed just as eager as he was, her hands pushing into his hair and caressing over his chest and neck, her kisses turning almost desperate. He felt it too, the wave of desire washing over him, and all he wanted was to let it take him away, to touch and taste her and feel her fall apart around him. But then she started tugging at the clasp of his jeans as she sucked and kissed down his neck, and things were moving fast—he should—they should—

She palmed his hard cock through his jeans, and his eyes fell shut as he resisted the urge to thrust up against her hand. “Nat—”

“Please.” She sounded breathless, almost pleading, and he opened his eyes, staring down at her. She held his gaze, her tongue darting out to wet her lips as she touched him. His gaze dropped down to her mouth; he could feel the heat of her hand through his jeans and he wanted her to touch him—he wanted to touch her, taste her—

“Touch me,” she said, like she was a damn mind reader, and he slid a hand down her back to her ass, squeezing lightly. She kissed him, quick and hard, and then she was pulling at his zipper and sliding her hand inside his boxers.

His breath escaped in a jagged gasp as she touched him, wrapping her fingers around his cock. No one had touched him like this in ages, and he forced himself to focus on her so he didn’t come way too soon. He took a steadying breath and then kissed her softly as his free hand moved to cup her breast. Her breath came faster as he tugged down the cup of her bra and circled her nipple with his thumb, teasing it until it was stiff and tight beneath his finger tips.

“I need to feel you,” she whispered against his mouth, and then she shoved at his jeans and boxers. He lifted his hips so she could pull them down his thighs, and he reached behind her to easily flick open the clasp of her bra. She pulled it down her arms, and then he watched, his mouth going dry, as she quickly shed her pants and underwear. His gaze swept over her naked body; her full breasts and flat stomach, and the dark thatch of hair between her sleek thighs. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and then she was pushing him back to sit on the edge of her desk and climbing into his lap.

“Natasha,” he breathed, his hands automatically moving to support her as she straddled him. One was on her upper back, and the other slipped down to her ass as she shifted, pressing his hard cock between them. He could feel how wet she was, how wet he was, already leaking, and he let out a noise he was fairly certain he’d never made before as she wrapped her arms around his neck, sliding her cunt over the shaft of his dick. Her foot moved against the desk, and something crashed to the floor, but he couldn’t look anywhere but right at her.

Her eyes were dark, heated, and the most vulnerable he’d ever seen. He wanted to clutch her tighter, never let her go, and he reminded himself to be gentle. Because no matter how strong Natasha wanted the world to think she was, deep down he knew she was just as delicate as he was.

“I want you,” she whispered, and a rush went through him. “Do you want me?”

Her voice wavered, like she was just on the edge of her control, like the walls might cave in if he said no.

As if he ever would.

She was holding onto him tight, and he moved the hand he had on her back to brush her hair out of her face and tuck it behind her ear again. She exhaled a small breath at the movement, which somehow seemed so much more intimate than any other touch they’d shared so far.

“So much,” he breathed, and then he kissed her, slow and deep. She shifted against him, one arm staying locked around his neck as the other moved to grip his cock. He let out another moan, everywhere she touched him sent wildfire through his veins, and then she was sinking down onto him, onto his cock.

“Oh, fuck, Nat,” he cursed as she took him in, inch by inch until she was nestled in his lap. He held her tight, her breasts against his bare chest as he took a deep breath, trying to not completely lose it in the first thirty seconds.

“I made you curse.” He could hear the smile in her voice, and he pressed his nose against her neck, dropping kisses along her skin. She tilted her head back and sighed, “Consider my day made.”

He felt more in control, and he gathered her in his arms, bracing his feet on the floor as he rolled his hips, pushing his cock up and into her. She cried out, her nails dragging across the skin of his shoulder, and he repeated the movement, his hand firm on her ass as he stroked inside of her.

“Day’s not over yet.” He kissed her, deep and dirty as he started moving in earnest.

He’d imagined this more times than he’d like to admit, but those fantasies always included conversation and soft kisses, or at least a bed. It was never this frantic, urgent energy to get as close to each other as possible, to fuck and touch and remind each other that they were still here. That they were still alive.

She moved with him, her legs wrapped around him, though at some point she braced her heel on the desk, kicking something off onto the floor. She was so warm and wet, tight on his cock, moans and gasps falling from her lips that made the pressure in his gut swirl wildly. She was making those noises just for him, because of him, and he never wanted them to stop.

His jeans were still around his knees, his shoes were still on, and he wished he’d taken them off so he could pick her up and lay her on the couch as he stroked inside of her. He wanted to find out what she liked, what drove her crazy, wanted to make her come on his fingers and tongue and cock, until they were both exhausted with it. He had no idea what Natasha wanted, if this was all he’d ever get, and if it was, he wanted to make sure she remembered it.

He slid a hand around to where they were joined, leaning back slightly as he thrust up, his fingers easily finding her clit. She gasped, her eyes falling shut and he watched her face as he fucked her and touched her. He’d always thought she was gorgeous, but right now, with a light shine of sweat on her brow and pleasure playing out over her face, she was incandescent.

She opened her eyes and saw him watching her, and he felt that connection between them, the one that had always existed in some form or another, crackle and flare up. He had to shut his eyes, because if she kept looking at him like that, he was going to come, and he wanted to wait for her.

“Nat,” he gasped out against her throat, his hand still working her clit, “I’m close, I—”

“Come inside me.” She worked herself on his cock, meeting his thrusts, and then her cunt clenched and fluttered around him as she came. She panted harshly in his ear, but the only other sound she made was saying his name, so softly he could barely hear it.

He thrust up into her once, twice, and then his orgasm seared through him like liquid fire. She was still trembling around him, and he groaned as each tremor sent another spark of sensation through his body. She clung to him, her face buried in his neck as he shook with the pleasure of it all.

He was still holding her minutes later as their breathing evened out. She shifted, and they both let out a small noise as his soft cock pulled out of her. She pulled back far enough to look at him, and then she kissed him again, soft and slow. He smoothed his hand up and down her back, kissing her mouth and cheek before pulling her back into a hug.

They didn’t speak as she gently pulled away and he helped her climb off him and the desk. He wanted to say something, but he had no idea what. She didn’t make eye contact as she stood on shaky legs, reaching for a box of tissue on the corner of the desk. He turned away as she wiped between her thighs, tossing the tissue into the trash can next to her desk.

He pulled up his boxers and jeans as she stepped into her underwear and pants, and when she turned for her bra, he had it in his hands waiting for her. She gave him a small smirk as she slid it on and let him clasp it behind her back. He couldn’t resist smoothing his palm over her shoulder and down her arm after, and she didn’t shake off his touch.

Not that he thought she would. He just had no idea what was supposed to happen next.

“You okay?” he finally asked as she pulled on her shirt and stepped towards her laptop.

“Yeah.” She closed her computer and picked it up, moving back towards him. She placed one hand on his chest, letting it rest there, and then smiled up at him. The softness was gone, but there wasn’t hardness in her eyes either—just a familiar comfort he’d come to rely on.

She pushed up and put a quick, soft kiss on his lips. “I’m good. Thank you.”

Before he could respond to that, again, not that he had any idea how to— ‘You’re welcome?’ ‘Right back at ya!’ with finger guns? High five?— she was stepping away, towards the door as she looked at the desk.

“Desk will probably need a good cleaning, though,” she said with a smirk. He glanced at it—it had been messy to begin with, but there were more papers scattered and a stapler and a container of pens were on the floor. At least he hadn’t left an assprint.

“Yeah,” he said, turning back to her. She stopped in the doorway and caught his eye.

“Night, Steve.” And then she was gone.

He stared at the dark, empty doorway for a moment. “Night,” he said softly. He got the message. He wanted more, but when it came to women, he rarely got what he wanted. Why would that change now? It was a one-time thing.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t a one-time thing.

It didn’t happen often, and when it did, it was always in her office, or out in the field, and once on a pool table in an abandoned pub. It was always fast and intense, like she needed the reminder that they were still alive, still fighting. And he understood that—he’d spent far too many nights laying awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering how the hell things had gotten to this point, and why he was fighting so hard.

But once Natasha got her reminder, she was ready to move on. She always left right after, and he never asked her to stay.

He wanted to ask. He wanted to take her back to his quarters, to take his time with her. He wanted to fall asleep next to her and cook her breakfast the next morning. But he never asked. Because he knew what the answer would be.

He would take anything she would give him. And he did, for over a year.

They didn’t really celebrate holidays anymore. Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s—they all just marked another milestone that too many people were missing. He hadn't planned to do anything special for his birthday, or for the Fourth of July, but then Tony called. And then he was in Rhodey’s car, making the trip up to Tony’s cabin.

Happy was there, and despite the memories of birthdays past that Steve swallowed down, it was a great day. It was impossible to stay sad around Morgan, with her giggles and fascination with Tony’s facial hair, and they celebrated the holiday as best they could without all the people that should have been there with them.

It was late afternoon when Pepper had brought out a cake and, despite Steve’s protests, everyone sang ‘Happy Birthday.’ Well, almost everyone sang; Morgan shrieked and giggled in her dad’s arms. And then Pepper told him to “Make a wish!” And he’d looked at the cake (mentally thanking Pepper for not letting Tony put 102 candles on it) and thought, ‘I wish Natasha was here.’

She’d been invited, of course. She always was, on the rare occasions Steve ventured out on a social call. But she always declined, and Steve always respected that. But when he’d looked at his phone and the several texts they’d exchanged over the day, he realized there was only one person he really wanted to spend his birthday with. And he wasn’t going to let another day go by full of regrets.

It was just past ten when he knocked on the door to her quarters with a couple of movies tucked under his arm. It was a long shot, showing up at her door unannounced, but these days, those were the only kind of shots he made.

Her face lit up with a smile when she opened the door, and his stomach did that flippy thing it always did when she smiled like that, so relaxed and genuine. She looked to be dressed for bed, in a white tank and a loose pair of blue shorts. Her hair was down, trailing past her shoulders, and her face was scrubbed of all makeup. Her eyes looked greener and brighter than usual, and as she opened the door further so he could step inside, he thought she’d never looked so beautiful.

“Hey, Birthday Boy. Didn’t think you’d be back at the compound tonight.” She shut the door behind him, and he stepped into the small living area, glancing around.

“Tony wanted me to stay for the fireworks,” he said, “but I wanted to get back.” He hadn’t been in her quarters often, but it was just as spartan as he remembered. The walls were bare, but he saw a few markers of Natasha scattered around: a few paperback books and some movies shoved on a small shelf, the sink half-full of dirty dishes, her utility belt sitting out on the kitchen table, and he caught a glimpse of a bow leaning in a corner. His mouth pulled up into a small grin when he recognized a wrapper from a bakery in the city that had chocolate croissants she liked. He’d brought her one when he’d first spotted the shop a few months ago; businesses were finally starting to open regularly, though supplies were still quick to run out.

Natasha huffed out a breath, and Steve turned back to find her giving him an unimpressed look. “It’s your birthday and a national holiday. You can take a night off.”

He rolled his eyes. She was one to talk. “You really wanna make that argument with me?”

“Not really,” she admitted. She glanced at the movies under his arm, and then at his empty hands. “Did you bring me any cake?”

“Um.” He blinked at Natasha as she smirked at him. “No. But—” He pulled out the two movies, fanning them out in front of his chest and giving her his best Captain America smile. “I brought these?”

She didn’t even notice the smile, narrowing her eyes at the movies he’d snitched—borrowed—from Tony’s media room. Because of course his cabin had a media room.

“Bond movies?”

Steve nodded. “There are still some areas of pop culture I never caught up with. And I remember you saying you liked these.” At least he hoped she liked these, Bond had like two dozen damn movies, and he grabbed the ones that caught his eye. “It would be a great birthday gift if you watched one with me.”

She plucked the movies from his hands, her eyebrows rising. “From Russia With Love? Really?” From the tone of her voice, he had not chosen correctly, and he felt a twinge of worry. “You Only Live Twice?” She shook her head, laughing, and the worry washed away.

“Seemed appropriate. I figured you’d go for the classics?”

“‘The classics' are indulgent and a little silly.” She stepped towards the couch, which had a large TV mounted on the wall across from it. “Which is great when I’m in the mood for them, don’t get me wrong. But I prefer the more recent ones.” She set the movies down on the small coffee table and picked up the remote, turning on the TV. “They’re a little more true to life. Darker, grittier.” She gestured to the couch and Steve moved to sit as she grabbed a movie from the small shelf along the wall.

“Think we have enough darkness around here,” Steve responded, watching as she pulled a disc out of the case, placing it in the player under the television.

“You want a drink?” she tossed over her shoulder.

“Sure.”

“I did get you a birthday gift, by the way.” She pulled something out of her pocket and handed it to him before immediately turning away and walking towards the kitchen.

It was small and black, and he had two others that looked exactly like them in his quarters.

“A beacon?” He twisted around to look at her as she bustled around the kitchen, pouring two glasses of wine.

“I figured we should have one. You know,” she shrugged, not looking at him. “Just in case.” He looked between her and the beacon, his heart suddenly beating double time. A beacon. The same she’d given to her best friend and her sister. What does it mean? That they’re best friends? He’s like her brother? Was it some kind of a—

“Don’t make a thing of it. You want some pizza?” She still wasn’t looking at him, but was standing in front of her open refrigerator, contemplating whatever was inside it. Which, from his vantage point, wasn’t much.

Okay, not making a thing of it. He shoved the beacon in his pocket, running a hand through his hair as his brain definitely did not make a thing of it. “Sure,” he said, sitting on the couch, like a normal person not making a thing of it.

A few minutes later he was sitting in the dark next to Natasha, nibbling on a slice of pizza while the opening credits of Casino Royale played. And it was maybe thirty minutes later that Natasha set down her empty glass of wine, turned to him and kissed him.

He was half grateful for her making the first move and half mad he didn’t make it himself. Even before Captain America existed, Steve never had a problem going after what he wanted, no matter how out of reach it seemed. But after watching his closest friends dissolve into dust, and after two years of searching for a way to bring them back and coming up with nothing—he hesitated a hell of a lot more than he used to.

But there was no hesitation as he responded to Natasha, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her into his lap. She slid a hand into his hair, a pleased noise leaving her throat as she shifted, her mouth never leaving his as she straddled him. For once, her kisses were slow and languid, and he was happy to take his time getting lost in the taste and feel of her.

She slid a hand under the hem of his shirt, pushing it up to press over a nipple, and he groaned as she kissed and sucked down his throat.

“I thought you liked this movie.” His voice was already rough, and he felt her smile against his skin.

“I’ve seen it before. Plus, I want to make sure you have a—” she pinched his nipple, and he let out a little gasp at the spark of desire it sent down his spine, “—happy birthday.”

She pulled away, tugging at his shirt, and he lifted his arms so she could pull it up and off. He pulled her back to him, sliding his palms down her arms and up the back of her tank, his dick jumping as he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra.

“It’s getting better by the minute,” he murmured, just before he kissed her. She leaned into the kiss, her hips grinding down as she tugged lightly on his bottom lip with her teeth. His dick was straining against his jeans, and he swallowed a moan as the kiss turned wetter and deeper.

Yeah, this birthday was quickly skyrocketing into the top five.

He pushed her tank up, and she pulled away briefly to take it off and toss it onto the couch next to them. The movie was still flickering on the TV screen, giving him more than enough light to see her naked chest. Her nipples were tight and stiff, and he ran one finger over an old, faded scar across her collarbone. There was another on her ribcage, and he placed his palm over it, letting his knuckles drift up to brush the underside of her breast.

She watched him, her breath coming faster as she let him look at and touch her. When he finally grazed a nipple, her eyes fell shut and she arched into the touch.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, giving in to the urge to cup her breast, thumbing at her nipple before he wrapped his other hand around the back of her neck and drew her in for another kiss.

She kissed him back hard, pressing her breasts against his chest and wrapping her arms around his neck. He was surrounded by Natasha; the feel and taste and scent of her was intoxicating, and he wrapped his arms around her, smoothing his hands down her back before palming her ass and holding her to him. He enjoyed touching every part of her, but he was definitely partial to her ass, and how it filled his palms so nicely.

He gave the ass in question a quick squeeze, and then pressed his feet to the floor. In one smooth motion he pushed up to standing, picking her up easily. She let out a squeak of surprise, her thighs tightening around him as he tightened his hold on her. With his dick hard and pressing against the seam of his jeans and Natasha warm and willing in his arms, he had to take a deep breath before he took that first step, but then he was striding towards her bedroom.

Natasha let out another small noise as he carried her, her hands tightening on his skin as she went back to kissing his neck, layering in a few bites along the way. He let out a low curse when she moved one hand to grope over his hard cock, his step faltering as she gently squeezed.

“Made you swear,” she said, her voice somehow both aroused and triumphant.

“That’s really not the victory you seem to think it is,” he gasped as he finally stepped up next to the bed. She let out a breathless little laugh, which he had to kiss away as he placed one knee on the bed, gently lowering her to lay on her back.

He kissed her mouth, and then her neck and down her chest as his hands slid down her ribs and over her hips. He hooked his thumb into the waistband of her shorts, and had to pause, his breath exhaling against her sternum as he realized she wasn’t wearing anything underneath them.

“You okay down there?” Natasha sounded amused as she carded her fingers through his hair, her other hand gently stroking over his back and shoulders.

“If I’d known you weren’t wearing any underwear at all,” he said, shifting his hips, trying to relieve some of the pressure on his dick, “we never would have made it off the couch.” He tugged on her shorts, and she lifted her hips. He pulled them down and off her legs, his breath catching again as he gazed at her, fully naked in the dim light of her bedside lamp.

She gazed up at him, her hair splayed out over the sheet, her eyes bright and so full of trust it made his heart ache. He knew how careful she was with herself, how rarely she let anyone in, and while he knew that whatever they had here was only happening because they’d lost so much—he’d treasure it all the same.

“You never minded before,” she said as he continued moving down her body, dropping kisses over her chest.

“Never really had a bed available. And now that we do—” He licked over a nipple, enjoying her soft sigh and how her fingers pushed into his hair, holding him close. “I intend to make good use of it.” He kissed her stomach, licked over the divot of her hip.

“Do you?” She sounded breathless as he ran a hand down her leg, gently nudging her inner thigh, which she immediately opened wider. “Would you say you could do me all—”

Her voice cut off into a strangled gasp as he licked over her clit, settling between her legs. He’d only gotten to do this a few times before, and never for as long as he wanted. She made the best sounds when he did this, loud and desperate, but she always pulled him away before she came, wanting him inside her. And Steve had a strong will, but it wasn’t anywhere near strong enough to deny Natasha when she demanded his cock.

So far, she showed no signs of wanting him to stop. She still had one hand in his hair, the other moving over his shoulders and arms, any part of him she could reach. He moved one hand under her ass, tilting her hips up so he could dip his head down and lick at her wetness, slip his tongue inside her as he nosed at her clit.

“Steve,” she whispered above him, and hearing her say his name like that, like it was some divine, holy word sent a rush through him. He glanced up to see her head was pressed back into the pillow, her eyes closed as he ate her out. Her lips were slightly parted, her chest moving quickly, and he moved back up to suck at her clit as he slowly pushed a finger inside of her.

“Yes,” she breathed, her hips jerking slightly as he started to move in and out of her. His fingers and face were coated in her wetness, and he wished he’d taken off his jeans so he could relieve some of the pressure on his dick. She was gasping and keening above him, her body jerking as he fucked her with his fingers, and the hand she had in his hair fisted, tugging at the strands as he pressed in another finger. It sent a sharp ache through his scalp, and he moaned against her as it faded into a dull pleasure that he’d only ever experienced with her.

“Harder,” she gasped, and he started to thrust his fingers with more urgency as he put more pressure with his tongue, sucking on her as he fucked her, and seconds later she cried out his name as she came. She fluttered around his fingers, her tight muscles pulsing around him as she pulled his hair, and he worked her through it until she pulled away. He pressed his forehead against her thigh as he exhaled, trying to slow down his racing heart. He wouldn’t call her quiet in bed, she never hesitated to tell him what she wanted, but she’d never been so loud, so uninhibited. And she’d never called his name like that, like he was the only person in the world that could give her what she needed.

He pressed a kiss to her thigh, and was reaching down to open his jeans when she pulled at his arms. He gladly moved up, and she was kissing him, thrusting her tongue into his mouth as she yanked at his zipper.

“Fuck me,” she said against his mouth, and Steve honest-to-God whimpered. “Please,” she said, reaching a hand into his boxers to stroke his cock.

“Yeah.” The one word was all he could manage, because all his brain power had fled at the first touch of her fingers on his dick. He shoved his jeans down his thighs, kicking them away as he went to turn over. She was always on top, always set the pace, but she surprised him when she gripped his arm, stopping him.

“No,” she said, pulling him back on top of her. “Like this.” She hitched a leg up and around his hip, arching up so her cunt pressed against the tip of his cock.

“Jesus,” Steve choked out, reaching down to squeeze his dick at the base. At this rate he’d come as soon as he pushed inside her, and he wanted this to last as long as possible.

She stayed still beneath him, sliding one hand in his hair, the other moving over his chest as she pressed kisses along his neck and jaw. He turned his head and caught her mouth, sucking on her upper lip as he felt a little more in control. He pulled back a few inches, supporting himself on his elbow as he pressed his cock forward to slip inside her.

She was so tight and wet, her cunt fluttering around him as he slid inside. Her mouth fell open, and his eyes closed as he was overwhelmed with emotion. He’d never felt so close to someone before, so connected, and he had to pause when he was all the way inside, wrapping an arm around her and inhaling the sweet scent of her as he wondered how he’d lived so long without this in his life.

Then she wrapped her legs around him, pushing up so he slid even deeper, and all coherent thought left him. He found her lips and kissed her, slipping his tongue into her mouth as he started to thrust.

It was slower than usual, lacking their usual urgency, but somehow even more intense. He was sure to be gentle, knowing that he could easily hurt her with his strength, but she seemed to relish in it, gripping him so tightly he knew he’d have bruises if the super serum wasn’t rushing through his veins. She pulled his hair, bit at his shoulders and neck, and gripped his ass as he thrust inside her. Every gasp and cry that fell from her lips rushed through his body, sending chills rippling over his skin.

He reached between them at one point, thumbing at her clit, and she scraped her nails down his back. The sharp pain seared through his core, making the pressure in his thighs double.

“God, I love it when you do that,” he panted against her neck, “feels so fucking good.” He was going to come, he could feel it bearing down on him, but he pressed it back, wanting to wait for her.

She let out a high-pitched noise, and then slipped her hand to his ass, digging her nails into the skin. “Harder, Steve,” she gasped out, and he fucked her as hard as he dared as he pressed on her clit, and then she was coming, her velvet heat squeezing his cock.

He thrust one more time and then he was gone, the aftershocks of her orgasm extending his own. Time seemed to stop as pleasure burst through him, as he came so hard he stopped breathing. It was as though the euphoria spiraling through his entire being shattered him from the inside out, and he was only put back together by her gentle touch against his back.

He’d collapsed half on top of her, and he immediately moved to one side, letting out a noise as his softening cock slid out of her. “Sorry,” he said, and she hummed in response, gently pushing him so he turned over and laid on his back. She pressed a kiss to his shoulder and slid out of the bed, stepping to the bathroom.

Steve blinked up at the ceiling, wondering if he was supposed to get dressed and get out. But that didn’t feel right, and his legs were still trembling from the force of his orgasm anyway. Just when he was about to sit up, Natasha reappeared, nestling up to his side and pulling the covers around them. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, tugging her close for a kiss. She slid one leg over his, her naked breasts pressing against him as she rested her chin on his chest.

He trailed his fingers up and down her back, unable to stop his grin from forming. This whole cuddling thing was new for them, and he really, really liked it.

Natasha arched an eyebrow at him and then rolled her eyes, though her smile took any irritation out of it. “Don’t look so smug.”

“I’m not smug,” Steve protested, laughing. “I’m just—” He flailed his hand, searching for the right word, “content.” She kept looking at him, her eyes growing softer, though her mouth pulled up into a smirk. “What?” he finally asked.

She shook her head, glancing away. “You’re dangerous.”

He frowned, rolling that around in his head. “What do you mean?”

She sighed, looking up at him from under her lashes. Her hair fell down her shoulders and onto his chest, and he gently brushed it back behind her ear.

“You make me forget. All the horrible things.” She gave him a small smile, but he could see sadness in her eyes now. He wanted to wipe it away, but as he touched her cheek, he knew that was impossible.

“That’s dangerous?”

“I can’t forget, Steve. I have to remember.” She looked at the doorway, where the light from the movie was still flickering. “Why I’m fighting.”

His chest went tight, and suddenly he felt almost like he might cry. Natasha was many things, but she was a soldier through and through, and he knew she’d fight to bring back their family until the day she died. It was the reason she got up every morning, and she’d never stop fighting. No matter how tired she got, how many times she was knocked down, she’d always get back up.

She deserved a rest. She deserved good things. She deserved everything. He wished he could give it to her. That she’d let him.

He gave her a sad smile as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Funny,” he said, keeping his voice low. “You help me remember.”

She let out a small sigh, turning her face up so their noses bumped. She kissed him, soft and slow, and then pulled away to look at him. She’d gone all soft again, and he was suddenly possessed by the urge to say ‘I love you,’ so intense he had to clamp his mouth shut to stop the words from falling out. It was startling, how strong the feeling was now that he allowed himself to recognize it. But he couldn’t say it; he wasn’t even sure if she wanted him to stay the night.

But he also couldn’t say it because beneath that affection in her eyes, that despair was still lurking, so deep he could barely see it. But he knew it was there, because he felt it too. Every damn day.

And this thing between them—in any other universe, it never would have happened. It only happened now because they only had each other. Because they needed each other, for him to remember. And for her to forget. At least for a little while.

She kissed him again, and then laid her head on his shoulder. “Go to sleep. You’re making me breakfast in the morning.”

He laughed, turning his head to press against her scalp. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, letting the emotion roll over him. He loved her. He got to hold her all night. He’d take it, and wouldn’t push for anything more.

Chapter Text

Things changed after that, but they also stayed pretty much the same. They still did their jobs, Natasha too much and Steve working on forming his support groups when he wasn’t Avenging. But they drifted back together at the end of their days, and he woke up in Natasha’s bed more often than not. They didn’t talk about the thing between them, didn’t define it. Steve wouldn’t say they were in a relationship, but he was pretty sure they weren’t not in one, either. Whatever it was, it worked for them.

The grief got easier to deal with. At least, that’s what he told himself. There would always be hard days. And January 11 was one of those days.

He was sitting on a bench on Coney Island, just outside the entrance to the park, watching the snowfall around him. He was bundled up in his jacket, gloves and hat, but no amount of clothing could warm the cold inside him. He didn’t know what he was doing here, why he insisted on doing this to himself. Why, even after two and a half years, he still missed Bucky so much it hurt.

Grief was supposed to lessen over time. He knew that, had been through it when he woke up decades in the future to find that everyone he’d loved had grown old and died, and again when Peggy passed away. It hurt, but it wasn’t this all-encompassing thing that he couldn’t let go of.

It might hurt less, he thought, if you actually wanted it to. Because that was the crux of it. He’d never move on if he didn’t let himself. Letting go meant accepting they weren’t coming back. And he didn’t think he’d ever be ready for that.

Definitely not today. He sat back against the bench, his hands in his pockets as he stared at the familiar frame of the Cyclone. The park had been closed down for years; even before Thanos it had been under construction after Parker’s fight with the Vulture ended with the park being half-destroyed. It was oddly beautiful now, in a haunted, depressing kind of way, with the rails of the Cyclone covered in snow and the carts on the ferris wheel moving slightly in the breeze. It was light years away from how it had looked when he and Bucky were last here. A lifetime ago, when they were young and stupid and had their entire lives in front of them.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d sat there, memories replaying in his mind like a broken slideshow, when a familiar voice cut into his thoughts.

“Hey, Cowboy.”

He looked up, smiling as he saw Natasha. She was just as bundled up as he was, though she looked much cuter in her well-worn red jacket and gray beanie. A small plastic bag was dangling from her wrist, and she set it in her lap as she sat down on the bench next to Steve.

“Hi.” She returned his smile, and then turned to look at the deserted park, and the sun slipping further down in the sky. “What are you doing here?” It was a pleasant surprise, but he had no idea how she found him. He hadn’t told anyone he was coming here; hadn’t even realized he was going to until he was halfway here. He shifted to press his thigh against hers, and he felt a familiar bulk in his pocket—the beacon. He carried it everywhere, and of course she could use it to find him. It was the whole point of the damn thing.

“Nice day for a walk.” She smirked at him, and shook his head.

“It’s freezing.”

She shrugged. “The cold never bothered me anyway.”

“I got that reference.” She laughed at that, and it warmed him from the inside in a way nothing else could.

She picked up the plastic bag, depositing it in his lap. “I got this for you.”

He looked at her, and then at the bag, which felt warm against his thighs. He pulled out a small container, opening it to reveal a generous slice of apple pie. It was still warm, and his stomach rumbled as the smell of it hit him full force. He hadn’t eaten since lunch, which was hours ago by now.

“You made this?” He pulled out two plastic forks from the bag, handing one to Natasha.

She snorted. “We can pretend I did, if it makes you feel better.”

He chuckled, breaking off a piece with his fork and stuffing it in his mouth. He let out a small noise of pleasure; it was warm and delicious and was the best thing he’d tasted in days. He looked at Natasha to find her watching him, a small smile on her face. He held out the pie and she took a forkful.

“You know,” he said after another bite, “Everyone always thinks apple pie is my favorite. Because ‘American as apple pie,’ Captain America and all that.”

“Or because it is your favorite.”

“It is,” Steve admitted with a sigh. Natasha laughed again, catching his eye as she took another bite.

They ate in silence, and when the pie was gone, Steve leaned back against the bench, laying an arm along the back. Natasha slid closer and he let his arm fall to her shoulders, tucking her into his side. The cloud cover from earlier in the day had cleared away, giving them an exquisite view of the setting sun. The only sounds around them were the Atlantic waves washing onto the beach shore a few hundred feet away, and the occasional car driving by. It was incredibly peaceful, and so very different from how he remembered it. His memories of Coney Island always included crowds of people, bustling through the park and lounging on the beach.

They always included Bucky, too.

“I’m sorry.” Natasha’s voice was quiet as she leaned into his side.

Steve turned to her, unsure what she was talking about. Her expression was pensive, the sun casting a warm glow on her face.

“For what?”

“That he’s not here.” She shifted, turning to catch his eye. “That this day comes and instead of remembering how happy you were that he was alive, you feel like you’ve lost him all over again.”

His chest went tight and a wave of emotion swirled through his chest. She always did that. No one else could read him like she did, seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. She’d been with him that day when he’d realized who the masked assassin that was hell-bent on killing him was, and she had been there when he went to Peggy’s funeral. He never had to ask her for comfort. She always knew when he needed it, and provided it without hesitation or question.

He turned from her to look back at the sunset, knowing that if he kept looking into those bright green eyes, he’d say something neither of them were ready to hear. Instead he thought back to five years ago, when his world had changed yet again.

“Was a hell of a day,” he finally said, tightening his arm around her shoulders.

She gave a dry chuckle. “You mean the day you found out your presumed-dead BFF was alive, we thought we watched Fury die, and SHIELD fell? That’s one way to put it.” She sighed, resting one hand on his thigh. “I wish that had been the worst of it.”

He turned, pressing his mouth against her hair. He’d never thought he’d enjoy the smell of generic shampoo, but Natasha could make near anything sexy.

“Still nothing from Clint?” he asked lightly. Natasha had gotten word of bodies of random criminals turning up around the globe, always sliced through with a sword. He would never forget the day they’d finally gotten their hands on some grainy surveillance from a crime scene, and how the blood had drained from Natasha’s face when she’d recognized Clint under that dark hood.

“Nothing directly. Just more bodies piling up. Latest one is a warlord in Moscow. The world is better off now that he’s dead, but…” She shook her head, her body tensing. “I don’t understand why he won’t talk to me.”

“He’s angry.”

“We’re all angry.” Natasha definitely sounded angry, and he didn’t blame her. He couldn’t begin to imagine what was going on in Clint’s head, but he certainly understood the urge to want to fight anyone and anything to try to make the pain stop.

“Those people lived while his family didn’t. It’s not fair. It’s not right.” Steve paused, swallowing over the lump in his throat. “And he’s dealing the only way he can.”

He squeezed her shoulders again, and the fight seemed to drain out of her as she sagged against him, her hand landing on his thigh. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet. Tired. “He’s going to get himself killed.”

Steve wanted to tell her that Clint wouldn’t do that, and that he’d come back when he was ready. But he knew better, because seeing the bodies ‘Ronin’ left behind had made Steve realize he had no idea what Clint was capable of. And because he couldn’t imagine ever being ready to face life if Natasha suddenly faded to dust right in front of his eyes.

Instead he said, “We’ll keep on him, Nat.” He reached over with his free hand and gently held hers, tangling their fingers together. She tilted her head up to look at him, and he said, his heart beating harder against his chest, “Thank you for finding me today.” It was as close to ‘I love you’ as he’d let himself get.

She gave him one of those smiles he liked to think was reserved for just him, small and sweet. “Always.” And then she leaned forward, pressing her lips to his in a soft, sweet kiss.

They sat in silence for a few moments, watching the sun dip below the horizon. It was growing colder, but he wasn’t quite ready to leave yet, and from how relaxed she was against his side, he didn’t think she was either.

Just a few more minutes.

“You ever go on any of the rides?” He gestured with his joined hands to the Cyclone, and she shook her head.

“I’m not much of a rollercoaster girl. Well,” she smiled, “not literal ones, anyway. You?”

Steve nodded. “Long time ago.” Bucky had forced him to ride the Cyclone, back when it was brand new. It hadn’t gone well.

“You like it?”

“Oh, yeah. It was great.” She didn’t need to know the details.

She smirked. “I heard you threw up.”

He let out a groan. “That you and Bucky found time to talk about?” Natasha laughed, and he let out a chuckle. “You know, I had a weak stomach back then.”

They stayed out there, under the stars for another hour before heading home.

Chapter Text

Things stayed the same. Or at least, they didn’t get worse. But they didn’t get any better, either. The more time that passed, the more Steve started to realize that unless they accepted this reality, this new normal, things would never get better. The pain would always be there, ready and waiting, and no matter how much brightness Natasha or anyone or anything brought into his life, it would always be overshadowed by the shadows of everyone who wasn’t there.

He brought it up to Natasha, once. She’d turned away, her eyes watering, and then he hadn’t seen her for a week. She got like that sometimes, untouchable, only wanting to be alone. It broke his heart, but he let her have her space. It was becoming more and more frequent lately, that she wanted it.

They were both still the only ones who maintained quarters at the compound, even after five years. Steve had a place in Brooklyn; he’d gotten more involved in his group work in the past few years. He’d been thinking of Sam, of those groups he used to lead at the VA, when he got the idea. It made him feel useful in a way avenging didn’t, in a way it couldn’t these days. Talking to others who had lost people just like he had. Helping them deal with their pain, and hopefully move on.

Help them do things he couldn’t seem to do himself.

His group that day had been harder than usual. He was there to try to help these people, and them to help him. One man had talked about a date he’d had the night before, his first in five years. And how he and his date had cried over those they lost.

‘You did the hardest part,’ Steve had told him. ‘You took the jump. You didn’t know where you were gonna come down.’

What was the last jump he’d taken? He couldn’t remember.

‘I went into the ice in ‘45,’ he’d continued, ‘right after I met…’ He was supposed to say ‘the love of my life.’ But he couldn’t. Because that wasn’t true anymore. He would always love Peggy, but she no longer held that title for him.

‘You gotta move on. Gotta move on. The world is in our hands. Gotta do something with it. Otherwise… Thanos should have killed all of us.’

Who was he to tell these people how to take chances when he couldn’t do that in his own life?

When he’d gotten that apartment, it was also with the hope that maybe one day Natasha would live there with him. They needed to get out of the compound, if not for good, at least for a few days every once in a while. She worked herself to the bone, day and night, manning the emergency channel just in case. There were other people she could delegate that to now, but she insisted it be her. That she needed to be there. And he wanted to be there with her.

But he wasn’t sure if he still could be. He loved her. He was pretty sure she loved him, though neither of them had ever said it. But he needed to tell her, needed to put all of his cards on the table.

And hope she still wanted to be with him on the other side.

Natasha was finishing up a meeting when he arrived; all other Avengers were scattered around Earth and space. He stopped when he saw Carol’s image turn to Rhodey’s and say, “Good luck.”

And he knew tonight would be a hard night. Rhodey had been tailing Clint, and if Carol had to wish him good luck… whatever he had to tell Natasha wouldn’t be good.

He listened as Rhodey described the scene in Mexico City, and as Natasha asked him to keep tailing him. “Please,” she said, her voice full of heartache. Not for the first time, Steve fought the urge to go find Clint and drag him back by the scruff of his neck.

The call disconnected, and he stepped further into the room. Natasha had one leg up on her messy desk as she leaned back in her chair. Her fingers were pressed against the bridge of her nose, her eyes closed as she fought back tears. He’d seen her eyes well up dozens, hundreds of times in the past five years.

“You know,” he said, leaning against a set of shelves, looking at the plate in front of her that had a sandwich with one bite taken out of it (he was sure it was peanut butter; she always made peanut butter sandwiches when she was working), “I’d offer to cook you dinner but you seem pretty miserable already.”

She wiped at her eyes, giving him a weary smile. “I didn’t think you’d be back tonight.”

“I wanted to see you.”

One corner of her mouth pulled up more, threatening to turn into a real smile. And then her gaze slid over to where Rhodey’s projection had been, and sadness overtook her face again. “Cleary, I’m fine.”

He was used to that by now, her insistence that she could handle anything. He stepped forward, walking in front of her chair until she was forced to lower her leg from her desk to the floor so he could stand in front of her. He held out his hands and she stared at them for a moment before placing her palms on his. He pulled her up and out of the chair and then turned to sit down in it himself. Then he tugged her into his lap, gathering her in his arms.

Natasha was surprisingly tactile when she allowed herself to be, which wasn’t often. Only after sex, or when one of them was having a particularly bad day. Steve figured today qualified. And when she sighed and turned to him, pulling him into a long kiss, he knew he figured right.

“I saw a pod of whales,” he said after she pulled away, “when I was coming over the bridge.”

“In the Hudson?” she asked, her tone disbelieving.

“Fewer ships,” he shrugged, “cleaner water.” It wasn’t the first time he’d seen them, but it was the first time he’d pulled the car over to get a better look at them. They were majestic, and had no idea of the carnage that had occurred to allow them to thrive in those waters.

Natasha looked at him for a moment, and then shook her head. “You know, if you’re about to tell me to look on the bright side, um,” she looked around, her gaze landing on the sandwich on the desk, “I’m about to hit you in the head with a peanut butter sandwich.” She turned back to him, giving him a tight, sarcastic smile.

“Sorry.” He ran his hand up and down her arm, his fingers ghosting over her long hair. “Force of habit.”

She hummed, and they sat in silence for a few moments. She pressed her nose against his cheek, his jaw, and he just held her, trying to sort out what to say next. He hated seeing her like this. And though he knew she didn’t want to hear it, he had to tell her how he felt.

“I keep telling everybody they should move on and grow.” She tensed in his arms, and he kept stroking her arm. “Some do.” And she turned her head away, and he could see her eyes were shiny again. “But not us.”

Her jaw clenched, and he felt her body tremble, but when she spoke, her voice betrayed none of it. “If I move on, who does this?” She glanced at him, and then away.

He reached up and gently tucked her hair behind her ear. “Maybe it doesn’t need to be done,” he said softly.

She blinked rapidly, and then turned to face him fully. “I used to have nothing,” she said, like it was a fact, because it was, and he squeezed her arm. “And then I got this. This job. This family. And I was better because of it. And even though they’re gone…” She sniffled, looking around again, at the messy office, at the radio and the empty transmitters. “I’m still trying to be better.”

He turned his head so his mouth brushed over her forehead. His heart started to beat faster in his chest, because it was now or never. “Natasha, you can’t get any better.” She exhaled a small breath, and he continued, “Not to me.”

She placed a hand on his cheek and then pressed her mouth against his jaw, and then his lips, kissing him softly. She tasted like peanut butter, and he smiled against her mouth as he said lightly, “I think we both need to get a life.”

She chuckled. “You first.”

He pulled away, far enough that he could look into her eyes. They were clouded with sadness and defeat, and he wanted to bring the brightness back to them. “Okay,” he said softly, and gave him an inquiring look.

Here we go, he thought. “I was thinking that maybe we could—”

He was interrupted by a familiar chime from the security cameras. He barely withheld a noise of irritation, and Natasha kept her gaze trained on him. A screen had automatically popped up over her desk, and he glanced at it, seeing it was one of the camera feeds. It chimed again, and he jerked his chin towards it.

Not moving from his lap, Natasha reached up and tapped the button to connect the feed. Steve didn’t recognize the man at first, but then the man started to speak, and Steve peered closer. And then Steve stopped breathing.

“Oh, hi, hi! Uh, is anyone home?” His voice was tiny through the speaker, but Steve recognized it, even though he hadn’t heard it in over five years.

“This is, uh, Scott Lang. We met a few years ago at the airport in Germany? I was the guy that got really big. I had a mask on. You wouldn’t recognize me.”

Natasha was frozen in his arms. He didn’t think she was breathing either. “Is this an old message?” he asked, his heart in his throat.

“Ant-Man? I know you know that.”

Natasha put her feet on the floor, pushing up to her feet. Her hands were trembling as she stared at the feed.

“It’s the front gate.”

Chapter Text

They won. They defeated Thanos. They brought back every single soul that was lost in the snap. Steve should be thrilled. He should be overjoyed.

He was devastated.

They’d lost Tony.

They’d lost Natasha.

He'd lost Natasha.

He’d looked for her as soon as they’d come back to 2023. She wasn’t there. And then he’d taken one look at Clint’s face and he knew. She wasn’t coming back.

Steve had thought Natasha hadn’t told anyone about them. But at some point between Tokyo and time travel, she’d told Clint. And after, at her impromptu memorial, Clint hadn’t been able to look him in the eye.

“It was supposed to be me,” he’d said, tears tracking down his face. “I tried, but she was—she was always better than me.”

Steve had sat on the deck, staring at the water. He’d never told her. You should have told her.

“Nat, she asked me to tell you—” Clint started, and Steve had stood up, rage suddenly searing through him like fire.

“Don’t,” he’d said, because he couldn’t hear it. If it wasn’t from her, he couldn’t hear it.

And then he’d put it away. Boxed it up to deal with later.

They had work to do. Her death wouldn’t be in vain. Steve would make sure of it.

And now, two weeks later, grief clogged his throat as he stared at the stones in their protective case. One in particular. That damn orange stone. The one she’d given her life for, that he now had to return back to its rightful place.

Was her body still there? He could bring it back, for a proper burial. And he quickly snapped the case shut as that thought ripped a new hole in his heart.

You should’ve told her.

He stepped onto the platform that would take him back to the past, his fingers reaching into his pocket to touch the beacon that had been on his person every day for the past three years. He’d given Clint’s beacon back to him, at Tony’s funeral. Clint’s face had clouded over, and he’d put it in his pocket.

“Can I give you her message now?” he’d asked Steve, and Steve had glanced over at where Laura was sitting with their kids. They all looked so sad, and so happy at the same time.

“No,” Steve had said. “Not yet.” He’d want to hear it one day. But not that day.

Yelena’s beacon he still had. He’d find her next, tell her the story of how her sister saved the world.

He had no plans to stop carrying Natasha’s beacon anytime soon.

He stepped onto the platform, sending what he hoped was a reassuring smile to Bruce, Sam, and Bucky. They all looked back at him with sympathy in their eyes, which wasn’t surprising. He’d hadn’t told them about him and Natasha, hadn’t been able to really talk about it yet. But, despite the fact that he hadn’t shed a single tear since she died, he knew the aura of grief he was putting out was heavier than losing someone who was only a dear friend.

"Remember,” Bruce said as Steve activated his quantum suit, “you have to return the stones at the exact moment you got them. Or you're gonna open up a bunch of nasty alternative realities."

Steve nodded, adjusting his focus to the mission. "Don't worry, Bruce. Clip all the branches."

He picked up Mjölnir, the heavy weight comforting in his hand. One more mission, and then… he had no idea.

“You ready, Cap?” Bruce asked. Steve nodded. “We’ll meet you back here, okay?”

Steve inhaled a deep breath. “You bet.”

~~~

The first stop was 1970, returning the space stone to SHIELD. Bruce had set him up to transport to the exact locations the stones were to be returned to. He was able to get in and out undetected, but he did take a few moments to get a glimpse of Peggy. She was working, smiling at someone chattering next to her. He saw her pause mid-sentence, and her head turned his way. But by the time her gaze landed where he was, he was gone.

Morag and Asgard were next, both of which were quick, though it was much easier to get the power stone back with an unconscious Star-Lord nearby than it was to get the reality stone back to Jane. And when he returned Mjölnir, he smiled as the hammer glowed in a silent good-bye as he set it down.

He saved the hardest ones for last. New York in 2012 was next.

He took care of the mind stone first, slipping it back into Hydra’s hands, and though he knew it was necessary, every fiber of his being hated every step. He had one more stop to make here, but he made a detour first.

He found his way through the rubble easily, his memory guiding him to the small restaurant. The windows were destroyed, and he could easily see inside. It matched his memory perfectly, the six of them sitting around the table, exhausted and silent, piles of shawarma in front of them as they reflected over the past few days. Those they had lost, and the work still to come.

He focused on Tony first. At the almost-vacant stare in his eyes, the dirt and blood streaked all over him. There was relief there, but recognition too, of how close he’d come to death. Steve knew that stare, that it would be on Tony’s face much too frequently over the upcoming years. And another bolt of grief went through him as he realized that after this moment, he’d never see Tony’s face again.

He looked down at the ground, took a deep breath, and then looked up again. This time zeroing in on Natasha, with her shorter red hair, looking just as weary as the rest of them did.

She was sitting next to him, or 2012 him, with Clint on the other side of her. Clint had one foot up on her chair, stretched out behind her, and as Steve watched, Natasha caught Clint’s eye and smiled. Then she leaned back slightly, turning her head to catch her Steve’s eye. And 2012 Steve tilted his chin up just far enough to send her a small, grateful smile. Then he turned back to his food, looking like he was about to pass out on the table.

“You have no idea,” Steve said to himself, his chest growing tight, “absolutely no fucking idea.”

He wanted to go to them. Tell them what was going to happen, beg them to change it. And maybe they could, but his Natasha would still be dead. He couldn’t bring her back. And he knew that changing anything would probably do more harm than good.

He let himself take one more long, lingering look. At each of their faces in turn, of the team that would and will do anything in their power to protect the planet. At Natasha’s green eyes flashing as she playfully shoved Clint’s foot off her chair.

Then he turned and walked away.

~~~

The Ancient One was waiting for him. Bruce had told him she was interesting. And that she might punch him out of himself.

“Just don’t be rude,” Bruce had added when Steve raised his eyebrows at him. “And she probably won’t.”

“I’m never rude,” Steve had replied. “Well, unless the situation calls for it,” he’d added with a shrug.

She was standing on the rooftop Bruce had directed him to, dressed in the mustard-colored robes Bruce had described. A large talisman hung around her neck, and she gave him a small smile as she greeted him.

“Hello.”

“Ma’am.” He gave her a short nod, surprised when her smile turned into a laugh.

“Ma’am? That’s certainly a first. It’s a true pleasure to meet you, Steve Rogers.” The way she said it, he could tell she truly meant it. She nodded at the case in his hand. “I trust you have something for me?”

He opened it, and watched as she pulled out the green stone. It pulsed in her hand, and when she held it in front of the talisman, it opened, allowing the stone to settle inside.

“Thank you,” Steve said after the talisman had closed. “For allowing us to use it. It saved a lot of lives.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “Thank you for returning it.” She glanced away, at the other buildings surrounding them, and then when she looked back at him, it was with a knowing look on her face. “I am not your last stop?”

It was his turn to look away. “No. One more.” His heart started to thud in his chest. There was nowhere else for him to go, no other way to stall.

“You’ve been on an intense journey.”

He looked back at her then. “We all have.”

She nodded, that small smile returning. “Yours isn’t over yet.” He tilted his head, but before he could say anything, she continued, “Good luck, Captain.” And then she moved away, her hand moving in a familiar fashion. Seconds later she was stepping through a yellow portal, not giving him another look.

~~~

Vormir was just as Clint had described it—windy and barren, with the kind of cold wind that seeped into his soul. He was just in front of the path to the cliffside, where Clint had said he and Natasha had fought. And where Natasha had gone over the edge.

Steve stood there for a moment, staring up the path as he willed his pulse to slow down. And then he stepped forward.

He was expecting Red Skull, but he wasn’t prepared to see the dark, ghostly form he had taken. It froze him for a moment, but then he forced himself to continue until he was stopped in front of him, the case clutched in his hands.

“Captain.” Even Red Skull’s voice sounded otherworldly, echoing inside itself. “I didn’t expect to see you again.” He hovered in front of Steve, a ragged cloak around him. His face looked much the same, except for his eyes—they were darker now. Sadder, and full of the same fatigue Steve felt down to his bones.

“Me neither,” Steve said, glancing around. “This is where the tesseract sent you?” That was an entire lifetime ago, but he still remembered it clearly. The same day he went into the ice, thinking he’d never return.

“Yes.” Red Skull paused. “Both our lives ended that day.”

“Mine didn’t end,” Steve said. “Just had a long pause. You’ve been here, all this time?”

“It is my penance. For my hubris. And foolishness.”

Steve looked at the dark, jagged landscape, at the miles of nothing but desolate landscape and dark sky. “No man deserves this.”

Red Skull looked at Steve, evaluating him for a moment. Then, “Why are you here? The stone is gone.”

“I know.” Steve opened the case, holding it in front of Red Skull, whose eyes widened. “I’m here to return it.” He turned the case around, pulling out the orange stone and placing the now-empty case on the ground next to him. He held it out to Red Skull, who stared at it.

“No one has ever returned the stone before.”

“First time for everything,” Steve said. He held it out to Red Skull, who made no move to take it. Steve looked up at Red Skull, back to his palm—and the stone was gone.

“It is returned,” Red Skull said, his voice somehow heavier than before.

Steve lowered his hand, glancing at the cliff’s edge several feet away. He was frozen in place; he wanted to look, he didn’t want to look, he wanted to throw himself off just as she had. But he couldn’t move, couldn’t take a single step towards it. He turned back to Red Skull, whose expression had turned distant.

“Since I’m bringing it back—” Steve paused, his hands were starting to tremble, “—the price that was paid—”

“The stone demanded a sacrifice,” Red Skull intoned, already floating away. “That cannot be undone.” And then he disappeared into the darkness.

Steve stared after him. He had known this was how it would be, how it would end, that it was hopeless, but he’d thought—he’d hoped, he’d fucking hoped so hard—

He crashed to his knees, his head falling into his hands. This was it, this was it. She’s gone. She’s never coming back.

Everyone had come back. Everyone else. She had given her life for them. And left him alone.

He fell on his ass, letting the tears finally fall. The grief and pain wracked his body in a way he’d never felt before, like his bones might shake apart from the force of it. He hadn’t realized how badly he’d been hanging onto the hope that returning the stone might bring her back until it became clear it wasn’t going to happen.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there sobbing, but eventually the tears started to slow. His throat felt raw, his mouth dry, and the emotion was so intense he swore his body was literally vibrating with it. He pushed himself to his feet, wiping his cheeks and running a hand through his hair. He looked over towards the cliff’s edge, taking a deep breath. He had to look. And if she was there, he was going to bring her home.

He took one step, and then another, and then stopped, because something really was vibrating on his person, a consistent pulsing. He frowned; he hadn’t brought a cell phone, and even if he had, he was literally at the edge of the galaxy. What would—?

And then his stomach dropped to his feet as he pulled the beacon out of his pocket.

It was vibrating in his hand, the red light blinking. Someone had activated it. He didn’t know much about these beacons, but even if it was Stark’s tech, Steve seriously doubted it would reach this far from Earth. Not to mention the whole time travel part of it all. And he knew Natasha had it when she and Clint left for Vormir, he’d made sure they both had theirs on them.

He looked at the cliff’s edge, and then at the beacon in his hand. And then he strided over to the edge, not stopping until he was standing over it, looking down.

And then he started crying all over again.

She was standing at the bottom of the cliff, staring up at him. He staggered back a step; his entire body was shaking, but he quickly regained his footing, never taking his eyes off her.

I’m hallucinating, he thought. He’d wanted to see her so badly he’d dreamed her up, but then the beacon vibrated again, and she raised a hand towards him in a wave.

Then he was moving, leaping off the cliff, the ground shaking and cracking beneath him as he slammed down hard on both feet, landing in a crouch in front of her. He slowly stood up, drinking her in from head to foot and back again.

She was dressed just as she was the last time he’d seen her, in her black suit, her hair in a loose braid. Her face was smeared with dirt, and he wanted to reach out and touch her, but was afraid if he did, his hand would pass right through. She stared at him, her green eyes wide and just as bright as he remembered.

If it was a hallucination or a dream, he hoped to God he never woke up. All he could do was stare at her, his blood rushing so loudly in his ears he almost didn’t hear her when she spoke.

“Steve. Where’s Clint?” She took a step towards him, and then stopped, her expression turning fearful as she glanced back up to the cliff. “Did he—”

“Clint is fine.” He barely recognized his own voice. “His family is fine.”

Natasha stopped, her expression changing to one Steve had seen her trying to hold back since Scott had showed up at their front gate. It was full of raw, naked hope.

“They are?” She took another step closer, almost in arm’s reach. “Did we—”

“We won. We brought everyone back.” And she stepped forward again, her hand tentatively reaching out. He wanted to reach out, pull her in close and never let her go, but this couldn’t—it couldn’t be real, it wasn’t—

“Then why are you crying?” Her voice cracked and he saw that her eyes were shiny with tears too.

He looked at her for a beat, and then another, and then he reached out, sliding his palm against hers. Her hand was solid and warm, and he pressed his fingers against the skin of her inner wrist, feeling her pulse beating as rapidly as a hummingbird’s wings.

He let out a choked sob. “Because I love you,” he gasped out, and her eyes widened. “And you died.” And then he reeled her in and kissed her.

She tasted exactly the same, like sweetness and hope, and he wrapped his arms around her as they kissed and kissed. Only the need to breathe made him pull away, just an inch so he could inhale quickly before pushing back in. She slid a hand into his hair, kissing him back just as passionately, just as desperately as she clung to him.

They separated when their kisses turned salty from their tears, their arms still around each other, noses bumping and foreheads touching as they breathed each other in.

“You died,” Steve repeated, pressing his nose against her hair. “Natasha, you died.”

Her arms tightened around him, and he felt her tears against his neck. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I had to. It needed a life, and I—I couldn’t let—”

“I know.” He kissed her hair, her ear, her jaw. “I love you,” he repeated, because he was going to say it every damn day, as long as she was willing to hear it.

She let out a small noise, the kind he loved, pulling away, her hands sliding to the sides of his neck. She was smiling, a real one, her tear-stained cheeks and red-rimmed eyes not taking anything away from how beautiful she was.

“I guess Clint gave you my message?”

Steve swallowed. “No. I wouldn’t let him.” He glanced over her shoulder, at the endless dark terrain of Vormir. “I wasn’t ready to hear it, not if it wasn’t from—”

“I love you.” His gaze cut back to her, his heart floating somewhere into the stratosphere. “I love you so much.” She kissed him again, quick and hard. “I'm sorry I never told you, I—”

“It’s okay,” Steve said, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I won’t make a thing of it.”

She held his gaze for a moment, and then she laughed, her head falling forward to his shoulder. When she looked at him again, she was the happiest he’d ever seen her.

“How am I here?” She looked up, at the cliff’s edge. “The last thing I remember was falling. And then I woke up here, with your beacon in my hand.” She pulled it out of her pocket, pressing the button to stop it from transmitting.

“We defeated Thanos two weeks ago,” he told her, and her eyes widened. “I was returning the stones. Came here last. I asked him—” he jerked his head up, to where he had talked to Red Skull, “—about you, and if returning the stone would…” he trailed off, brushing his lips across hers again. His voice was hushed when he continued, “He said the sacrifice couldn’t be undone.”

Natasha’s arms tightened around him. “I still made it,” she said, her breath warm against his lips. “The sacrifice.”

Steve squeezed his eyes shut as fresh tears threatened to fall. She’s here now. She’s alive. She’s okay.

“I don’t know how you’re back. I just know I’m never letting you go.” He pulled her into a hug, and she hugged him back just as hard.

“We really won?” Her voice was tiny in his ear, shaking. “Everyone is back?”

“Yeah.” Then he remembered—not everyone. He pulled away, one hand moving to cup her cheek. “Except—we lost Tony.” Her face fell and she leaned into his touch, more tears falling down her face. “And you,” he whispered.

She was here. In his arms. Alive. He still couldn’t believe it. He looked up at the cliff, so high above them, and she’d fallen all that way—

Natasha grasped his chin in her hands, turning his face until he was looking at her. “Only for a little while. I’m here now.”

He kissed her again. He’d never get enough of her. “Come on,” he said against her mouth. “Let’s go home.”

~~~

Sometime later, after many happy reunions and a long phone call to Iowa, they laid in bed together in Steve’s apartment. It was dark, and Steve had been sure once the adrenaline faded, he would crash and sleep for hours.

But he couldn’t stop looking at her, his hand drifting up and down her naked back as she slept. Her mouth pulled into a small smile as she tilted her head up to press a kiss to his throat.

“I’m not going to disappear if you close your eyes,” she murmured, her hand swiping over his chest.

“You sure?” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, her nose.

“Yes.” Her eyes were still closed as she angled her head up further, and he kissed her mouth. “And even if I did, you’d find me.”

“I would,” he promised, and she opened her eyes, and he smiled at how bright and happy they were, even in the dim moonlight streaming through his window. “Always.”