Climbing up the Water Spot (CapWidow)

[Steve Rogers]

"Someone is babysitting you?"

Steve spoke in an unusually comedic tone of voice. His eyes darted up from his pizza to Natasha, to whom he smiled, "I'm having dinner with a friend." He paused to think about that for a moment before saying, "Even though I decided all of that for her. Sorry Natasha." He wasn't really sorry, Steve had been worried her shock trauma would have held her back, and really he was relieved that Natasha was okay, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

He munched on the food a bit, thinking the entire time. Dinner with a friend was nice, but really he'd wished it was something a little, more. How odd, Steve didn't get this wrapped up in dames, er, women, mostly because he'd gone by unnoticed most of his life. Now, with Natasha, he couldn't help but feel as if he were invisible again, short and thin. And it drove him crazy! Steve knew he was different now, and while that was kind of arrogant for him, dammit, he wanted Natasha to notice.

"I'll only stick around as long as you want me to Natasha, I just wanted to make sure that you were alright, y'know?"

That seemed fair in his mind. Steve wasn't kicking himself out the door, but he certainly was making sure Natasha knew she could have her privacy back whenever she wanted it from him.

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

Worry creased Natasha’s forehead. Normally, the hypothetical feelings of other weren’t exactly her chief concern, but Steve was part of her team.

“No, it’s not that I don’t want you around...” Her expression softened, and she took a bite of pizza, waving an arm vaguely. “It’s that I don’t need looking after. Though thank you for dinner, I appreciate it. But I’m fine. I’ve –“

She was going to say that she’d had worse, but he knew all about it. He’d read the file. And there was no need to dredge up history if she didn’t need to.

“Really.”

There was a long silence in which she contemplated her food and her manners. It’d been a long time since she’d been in such a social situation. Sure, she saw and interacted with people every day, but sometimes it was as Natalia. Sometimes as Natalie. Sometimes as a blonde. Sometimes she would never see them again, either because it was that random of an encounter or because they were in a line of work that would get them killed. It’d been a long time since she’d had to be socially accountable with anyone besides Clint, and she was failing miserably at it.

“Though if you want to hang around – not to keep looking at me sideways when you don’t think I’m looking, but because this place is a little break from the tower,” she paused, trying to sound welcoming, “…that’s fine.”

Truthfully, she did enjoy his company; she was just a little rusty at expressing it. She raised an eyebrow, her gaze shifting behind Steve to the entertainment console she couldn’t remember using in the last year.

“I think I might even have DVDs… I can’t remember.”

* * *

[Steve Rogers]

When Natasha started to give him a run around, he waited patiently. He understood, given what he'd read, that she was somewhat of an anti-social. That was fine to Steve, he couldn't he wanted to crack that shell open and actually meet Natasha. Well, the real Natasha Romanoff, not Agent Romanoff, not the Black Widow, Natasha. Steve wanted to know who she was, unfiltered, off duty.

He was preparing mentally to say a goodbye when she conceded and offered to let him stay for a little while. Her offer was wonderful, given how normal her apartment was compared to the high tech wonderland that was Avengers Tower, Steve really could use the escape. He smiled and nodded before giving a verbal answer to her, "Nothing I'd like better Natasha."

That's when a word he didn't understand confused him, DVD? What was a DVD again? Steve had a confused look on his face as he tried to crack the code of those three letters. Suddenly, it hit him, "Oh! Those, movie disc, things. Yeah, I had to watch a lot of those as part of my debriefing process when I was discovered." He'd seen just about every major American film that had come out in the past ten years, and he was still working his way back now and then. Steve loved the movies, he'd loved then since he'd been a boy, and it had been a dream to star in several back in the day.

Back when his only desire was to get to Germany, to fight. Things were so different now, "Yeah, I'd like that, Tasha."

Hey! That was a good one. He'd found the right nickname.

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

Natasha held her tongue at the nickname. She’d gone by many, many things in her lifetime, what was one more moniker? She knew it meant something more than her name coming from Steve, though, but in her current state she was prepared to let the familiarity slide. With Clint away, someone had to keep her human, after all.

So she hummed a noncommittal noise, indicating the drawers in the front of the console.

“It’s your choice, I don’t even know what’s in there – this was a shill apartment at the beginning, years ago. Depending on who placed them, well...” she smiled wryly, “let’s just say I can’t be held responsible for the contents of that drawer.”

She finished her pizza in companionable silence, storing her plate in the dishwasher and grabbing a bottle of apple juice from the fridge; she wanted anything that wouldn’t remind her of the distinct tang of warm water spilling through her mouth. The glass she poured it into was a lot like the rest of the utensils that filled the kitchen: plain, no unnecessary frills. She wasn’t exactly utilitarian, she just wasn’t the type of woman who cared what her glassware looked like.

Downing another pill on her way out of the kitchen, a higher grade of pain reliever now that she had something in her stomach to buffer it with, she stepped over to the couch, her soundless way of moving a habit she couldn’t break even when she’d been through the ringer, She positioned a throw pillow behind her -- one of the touches that had actually been her own contribution in a deep Russian damask print – and curled up on one end.

* * *

[Steve Rogers]

Steve was finished with his food as well, mimicking Natasha's motions in cleaning up. He was a guest, but he certainly was well mannered enough to pick up after himself. Following the redhead back into her living room, Steve made his way to the cabinet with the movies lying in wait to be played. He looked to Natasha a moment just to be sure, and when he got a look of approval from the former spy, he opened the cabinet to look through the titles.

One of the many in there actually made Steve laugh, he couldn't believe that it was made on a disc and sold to the public. Looking back towards Natasha with an amused grin, he decided to offer up another joke, "Whoever bought all your movies must've been a fan of mine Tasha." Holding the box up, Steve revealed a collection of the Captain America movies that had been made back when he was working for the USO.

He was only teasing lightly, it was nice to see Natasha acting so comfortable around him. Steve could certainly get used to t.

With another chuckle, Steve set the box down, not wanting to watch himself on film, he'd seen them back when they were out in theaters nearly seventy years ago. Instead, he picked up a handful of other boxes before making his way back to Natasha, "I'm not great with all the modern movies and stuff, got anything here that you like in particular Tasha?"

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

As soon as Steve held up the USO film box set, she remembered who’d been the one to set up this apartment, in the beginning.

Agent Coulson… Phil.

Her expression softened a moment at the fond memory. He’d been so much younger. Mentally moving on, she shook her head at Steve.

“I told you I don’t even know what’s down there… maybe not an action movie, though.” Her smile was a touch dry. “Too unbelievable. And usually sloppy.”

That’s what she got for being impeccably trained, she guessed. She wondered idly if Bruce or Tony ever got that way with the pseudoscience that was always in movies or on tv, quickly deciding it didn’t matter. Her pain pill was kicking in, and for the first time since she’d got home, she felt her hurts easing away, and she pulled the ottoman close, stretching out. A few days and she’d be right as rain. Though she’d never been electrocuted, she’d bounced back from a beating plenty of times; she’d push it along tomorrow with a workout, maybe.

And then she was talking to Stark about gloves for the suit that were rated for voltage.

* * *

[Steve Rogers]

As he set the handful of films down, Steve picked a random one off the top and made his way to her television to find out where to put the disk. Hopefully he wouldn't put it upside down again, these things could be awfully confusing sometimes. Natasha joked about his movies from her seat, getting a small chuckle out of the Captain as he picked up the remote and fell into place next to her.

"Well it's not one of those special high definition explosion movies that seem to be the only thing available at the tower, but they had heart, And, looking back on them, I kind of enjoyed working on set, not as much as what we do now, mind you." He didn't want her to think that he didn't like what they did, he certainly did not belong behind a movie camera, this was what Steve was meant to do.

The title screen came up, showing a woman and small boy sitting on a couch in party hats, both with their arms crossed and frowning. The Nanny Diaries, it read. Steve raised an eyebrow, the woman looked awfully familiar. Shaking it off, he began hunting for the remote control, another device to add on top of the other devices he didn't understand at all. Finding it wedged between the crack of couch cushions, he lifted it and began to hunt for the right buttons.

This was always the hardest part for him. Big, sometimes clumsy fingers, little buttons.

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

Tasha thought this story looked familiar, and as the movie began to play, she remembered why: Clint had teased her about it once. Something about a girl she looked like… as usual, she’d only paid half attention to what he’d said. It usually wasn’t important if they weren’t stationed somewhere.

As much as she’d rather not be compromised, this was actually sort of nice. She hadn’t taken the time for pizza and a movie in… god, it’d been years. The evenings were her study time. So she either made dinner – she was a fair if simple cook – or ate out, then chose one of the many skills she needed to keep well-oiled. It was a random decision each night, as most of her decisions were; it kept her from forming habits. She would either go for a specialised workout, or brush up on one of her many language skills, or hack into a security system for funsies. That one was important: source code was always changing, she had to stay up on the latest protocols.

The movie began its mildly amusing but predictable arc, and Natasha settled in to the cosy corner of the couch, the pain pill she’d taken doing wonders. Curling her toes inside her warm socks, she yawned, her eyes heavy as she tried to focus on the movie.

It wasn’t long before she’d fallen asleep, head pillowed against the plush of the sofa.

* * *

[Steve Rogers]

Steve saw it as well, the girl did look somewhat like Natasha. He was about to comment about it when the movie actually sucked him in. As it would later be found out, Steve was completely new to the formulaic stories told in romantic comedies, it was completely new to him. He was watching so intently, he hadn't even noticed that Natasha had nodded off and was sleeping, thanks in part to the medication she had taken.

During a duller moment of the film, Steve's eyes shifted towards Natasha, "Hey Tasha, do you think this girl kind of- Oh." A small smile broke out, Natasha had fallen asleep sitting next to him. He thought a moment before deciding to pick her up and bring her back to bed. His only hesitation was that she might wake up and attack, however, when he remembered that she had taken pain medication, Steve shook it off and picked Natasha up.

After taking her to bed. Steve cleaned up after himself, shutting off the television and making sure there was nothing left. He even took out the garbage on his way out. Too old fashioned to try and work out a text message with his cell phone, Steve left her a note.

Tasha,

Thanks for letting me stay a bit longer. I cleaned up after you fell asleep, so there shouldn't be anything left for you to worry about. See you next time you come around the Tower.

-Steve

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

The next morning, it took Natasha a moment to figure out where she was. Her hands slid across the texture that she eventually recognised as her duvet. If she was in bed, things couldn’t be that bad… though shortly after that thought her eyes snapped open.

The bed was otherwise empty.

She sighed, remembering slowly. They’d watched a movie, last she remembered. Crawling curiously out of bed, she raised an eye at the blinking numbers of her bedside clock: 10:14. Late, for her. And it seemed she was still in her loungewear from the previous evening. Ah well… no reason to change just yet. Not before she got some Tylenol and coffee, anyhow.

Tiptoeing into the living room, she peered over the back of the couch curiously. No sign of Steve. He must have moved her – though she was heavier than she looked, it wouldn’t have been any trouble with arms like his – and headed back to the tower. And from the looks of the place, he’d cleaned up before he’d left. What a boy scout.

Sure enough, Tasha found his note as she headed toward the coffee maker, but it barely registered. She was still stuck on the fact that she’d managed to fall asleep. Not just asleep, but soundly enough asleep to apparently be carried to bed and not notice a thing. Sure, she’d been drugged… but it was a pain pill, not a roofie. She’d stayed awake through worse. To override all her instincts like that… Steve Rogers must be very dangerous or very decent. Or quite possibly both.

She thought, as she made her coffee, that she just might admire that in a man.

* * *