In the Snow (Stasha)

[Steve Rogers]

Location: Avengers Tower
Date: December 2012, one month post this
Time of Day: 2 PM

"C'mon itsy bitsy spider. Let's see if your blood's red."

Brock Rumlow, better known as the mercenary Crossbones, stood on a rooftop aiming down with his sniper rifle. The Black Widow was dealing with a brute of a gangster, Hammerhead.

As of late, it seemed that Wilson Fisk was making a move towards expanding his reach outside of Hell's Kitchen, and Natasha Romanoff had been a big thorn in his side. Today, there was a full out hit on her. The adamantium plated skull of Hammerhead kept trying to smash her against a wall, and the finisher, Crossbones, waited for a clear shot.

What these two hadn't known was that Natasha had been enjoying her day off with someone. Ice skating at the oh so cliched Rockefeller Center with Captain America.

Brock recieved a tap on his shoulder.

"Scram. I'm busy."

Another tap and Brock was turning.

"Alright, what's the big idea-"

BANG! Brock's masked face met the center of a starred shield. Captain Rogers dropped Crossbones on the ground before pressing his earpiece, "Tasha, I was thinking of cocoa later. I'm starting to get the hang of that warm drink machine, the kure-something."

Leaning over the ledge of the rooftop, Steve watched as the redhead continued to deal with the charging headbutt man, "Do you need a hand dear?"

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

The air was crisp and cold, the sun just off-center in the early afternoon sky. And instead of looping around the rink, subtly getting in a workout while introducing herself to the hobbies of a normal person in the city, she was expertly dancing between avoiding Hammerhead and using him as a human shield to deter Brock from taking his shot. Not that she wouldn’t be able to dodge it before it got to her, but she liked frustrating him.

Meaty hands gripped her shoulders, and she had just enough time to be thankful for the protection the Widow suit afforded – she just knew they were sweaty and disgusting – before his head came hurtling toward her, a desperate attempt at a headbutt. Unfortunately for him, all his consideration went into brute strength, and she easily sidestepped, wrenching his arm behind him as he ran headlong into the bricks.

She was just about to impart a witty comeback when her earpiece crackled to life.

"Tasha, I was thinking of cocoa later. I'm starting to get the hang of that warm drink machine, the kure-something."

Smiling, she settled for a kick to the base of Hammerhead’s spine, sending him reeling back into the wall facefirst just as he was righting himself.

"Do you need a hand dear?"

“Don’t need it in the strictest sense of the word…” Her tone was somewhere between playful and aloof; she was nothing if not fiercely independent. “But I’m not saying no.”

She managed to find time to bat her lashes comically at him before ducking Hammerhead’s fist again, no longer worried about the likely-concussed Crossbones. Nothing like a jealous love interest to have your back. Natasha grinned to herself at the thought.

* * *

[Steve Rogers]

"You know, I love it when you ask me for help." That was the best joke Steve could muster. Even when they were in costume, even at work, Natasha could turn Captain America into a stammering fool.

Steve made sure Crossbones was good and knocked out before he monitored the size of the building they were on. Their fight had spanned a few blocks now, and Cap noted that he was standing on top of a Duane Reade, only three stories up. He backed up ten paces, then with a good opening lunge, Steve sprinted off the roof, aiming for the gangster with the large head. Gripping both sides of his shield, Steve went bicep first, the vibranium shield protecting him as he crashed into Hammerhead.

It was an interesting comparison, Vibranium and Adamantium. Adamantium was certainly more durable and denser, but Vibranium had a quality that seemed to make up for what it lacked. The lack of vibration from Steve's shield made up for it. Hammerhead clutched his head as he was rocked. Captain America recovered in a backflip and launched the shield like a discus, cracking it into Hammerhead's stomach and catching it off the rebound.

"All yours Widow," Cap left the rocked Hammerhead to Natasha to finish him off.

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

If Natasha had had time for a smirk, that would have been the perfect time to work one in, but as Steve launched himself into the fray, she took 3 seconds to admire him, and 2 to change position while Hammerhead was distracted. It was the quintessential rule of combat: never be predictable. And you couldn’t predict what wasn’t where you left it.

The deadliest frisbee she knew of crashed into the man, and while he wasn’t as hurt as she’d hoped – it would have done her Russian spy’s soul good to see a few cracked ribs, at least – he was certainly dazed. She’d suspected there was armour under that tacky suit of his, and that move had just confirmed it. Anti-ballistics, probably, the coward. Of course, that also explained his glaring lack of agility.

Showing off just a little, the Black Widow launched into an aerial flip, hands occupied at her utility belt instead of touching the ground. Her legs looped over his shoulders, catching his head between her knees, and she continued the motion, one hand hitting the ground before she righted herself. Her legs never released his head, and he flipped with her, albeit less gracefully – a textbook hurricanrana. The hand that had been busy at her belt now held a gleaming pair of handcuffs, and she quickly clicked them into place.

Planting one foot on his spine, she assured that he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

With that sorted, she whipped her hair out of her face, sharp green eyes fixing on Steve, her voice dry but amused. She wasn’t even winded.

“Haven’t we discussed not calling me ‘dear’, soldier boy”

* * *

[Steve Rogers]

"Oh, um, perhaps," Steve started. That conversation had happened before. Steve had labelled it 'Acceptable and Unacceptable Nickname'. Unfortunately for him, Dear and it's variations had fallen under the Unacceptable label. As sirens finally were starting to come into earshot, the Captain surveyed the damage. There were a few cracked walls and scraped up cars, but nothing was on fire, and that was definitely better than Stark could pull off on even his best day. Natasha, Agent Barton and Steve himself seemed like the only Avengers who were capable of putting someone behind bars without raking up massive property damages. Even the new members, Doctor Pym, Miss van Dyne and Major Danvers seemed to wreck more inanimate objects than they saved.

With the job done though, Steve looked up to the rooftop where he'd left Crossbones. The NYPD were on it already, cuffing him and dragging the sniper off the roof. Steve grinned before his eyes shifted back to Natasha, "I believe that's our cue. It's too cold to stick around for the reporters. Let's get out of here before that photographer from the Bugle shows up. Did you see the one he got from last week?

It had been the photo of the year, apparently. Someone named Parker had managed to snap a shot of the one time Cap and Widow had embraced in costume. Gossip columns had blown up with speculation. Steve was just glad that no one remembered their faces when they weren't in uniform, or they'd become celebrities like Tony and Miss Pepper.

Ducking into the alleyway, Steve was able to breath. Avengers Tower was but a few blocks away from here, and then once home, there was cocoa and a blanket to share. Steve wondered if Tasha was into that kind of date actually. Beyond cuddling in bed, or as she put it, messing around on the couch, they typically sat upright to themselves. In her apartment or on his floor at the tower, Steve was starting to get used to staying in two places on a regular basis.

One month now, since their first kiss. Steve had bumbled along and Tasha had put up with him, but he liked to think that he was learning.

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

Not for the first time, Natasha considered the merits of a mask. It would never happen, of course: there were times when her face and figure were her greatest asset, but a girl could dream. It would certainly help with the anonymity angle.

Natasha was used to ducking out before the authorities arrived, though, for that exact reason. And she’d been lucky so far – the only paparazzi and onlookers that had managed to catch a photo of her were either grainy, blurred, or from a bad angle. And while she hated that the press was all too happy to run pictures that made her hips look enourmous, she was grateful they hadn’t snagged a great photo of her face yet.

Which was good. She had personal grudges that hinged on her relative anonymity – factions who remembered her from missions in the past -- and she was planning to hold onto that advantage for as long as she could. Besides, the one with Steve’s arms around her had ended in enough scrutiny; the media outlets were still talking about it.

“Your place, then.”

It was a statement, not a question. Her tone was comfortable; they’d eased into occupying each other’s space. Admittedly, she thought it had taken more for her to get used to it than for him to adjust. And still, she preferred it at his floor in the Tower. But he was polite as ever, and he didn’t pry – often – so it was working. For now.

She started off down the alley, the maze of back streets that would take them back to their base unseen a map in her head.

* * *

[Steve Rogers]

They'd made a clean getaway. Cap heard one or two thank yous from the police. They always seemed to like him, the NYPD as a whole, and as much as he appreciated it, Steve really wished that his teammates would get some credit, especially from the Daily Bugle, his normal morning read. J. Jonah Jameson seemed to love Captain America, while the rest of the Avengers fell by the wayside. According to the paper, on the Avengers there was Stark, the Blonde One, Arrowman, mysterious woman and the big green menace, The Hulk. The new recruits weren't even mentioned.

“Your place, then.”

Steve nodded when Tasha picked the place. More often than not, she was in charge of that sort of thing, be it because of Steve's general lack of knowledge of 2012 New York City. If you wanted Steve to get you from 34th Street to Bleecker, he could tell you three different routes, but if you wanted to know where a fun place to go in the city on a Saturday afternoon was, Cap wasn't the guy to ask, he didn't know.

Times like these, Steve kind of wished he was able to fly like some of the other Avengers. Walking through the cold in costumes was just awful. It felt horribly awkward as they had to avoid stares from onlookers, and try to not have any conversations that would delay them. This was Steve's punishment for claiming he didn't need a car, that his motorcycle was good enough. When it got too cold to ride, he had to walk when he couldn't take a cab, which was always when he was in costume. However, it wasn't always completely awful, when the company was good.

As snow began to fall again today, coating the still unshoveled alleyway in a fresh layer, Steve smiled as he walked behind the Black Widow. "Have I told you, Tasha," Steve started, "How great your hair looks when it's snowing?" He was sure he probably had during the first snow of the season, but it was worth repeating.

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

The cold wasn’t as bad as what she remembered of Russia, and the Widow suit provided more insulation than it looked like it did. All in all, she was comfortable in the cold, only the tip of her nose feeling the harsher bite of the chill as it began to snow lightly.

“You’re only looking at my hair?” She looked back over her shoulder and couldn’t help a grin. “You’re too good, Captain.”

It wasn’t exactly a thank you; Tasha wasn’t exactly comfortable accepting compliments. To be fair, it’d been a long time since she’d received any that didn’t have an underlying meaning, and she’d fallen out of the habit. But she knew he rarely meant anything besides the words that came out of his mouth; Steve’s intentions were as pure as the snow compared to hers.

This wasn’t who she was, some snow bunny loping off for an afternoon with her sweetheart. Sometimes the concept of an actual relationship was so foreign to her that she suspected Steve knew more about what he was doing than she did. Which was saying something. But for all her coldness, all her old habits, she found herself looking forward to a cup of cocoa with Captain America. She’d amuse herself with thoughts of how to get him past first base, and they might hit the tower’s training center later, and that would be that. She’d slip out, relying on her natural prowess to get past the front doors without being seen. So far she’d been able to avoid the rest of the team, save one instance when she’d run into Dr. Banner. He’d not mentioned anything, if he suspected.

Tasha thought he did.

The tower loomed in front of them, the light snow dying down as quickly as it’d started, and she held the door for him.

* * *

[Steve Rogers]

“You’re only looking at my hair?” She looked back over her shoulder and couldn’t help a grin. “You’re too good, Captain.”

"I'm really not," Steve answered, "I'm just like everyone else."

He found that he insisted that notion quite often, normally after Tasha would say something in line with that statement, "If anything, you bring out the best in me Tasha." He believed that too. Steve could tell that Natasha often suffered from thinking little of herself, so he'd do all that he could to make her as happy as she made him. Granted, he still had some limits on his pace, mostly in things dealing with the bedroom. He was getting there though, they'd been dating a month now, and Steve was starting to become a little more comfortable in his own skin.

As they reached the tower, Natasha held the door open for him. Steve nearly sighed, but held off. She knew that he preferred to hold the door open for her, and it made him feel odd when he didn't hold the door for a lady. Of course times had changed, but Steve figured he had seventy years leeway when it came to being old fashioned. Letting it go, he stepped inside as they were greeted by the usual voice of Jarvis, "Good afternoon Captain Rogers, Agent Romanoff. I'll have an elevator for you in one moment. As always, do try to stay off the walls?"

"Yes Jarvis. Sorry Jarvis," Steve answered. One night on their ride up, Steve backed up too hard and dented the wall in the center elevator. Explaining the damage to Tony had been awkward, and Steve was sure he didn't believe him. Eventually the lift was there, Steve and Tasha entered and once they got up to his floor, Steve found her hand before saying, "I um, washed the clothes you left the other night. If you want to get out of your suit."

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

Natasha smiled wickedly at Jarvis’ suggestion, remembering the only time in recent memory she’d been semi-surprised. She really hadn’t thought he’d be the one to make the first move; it had been a pleasant surprise.

She felt his fingers seek out hers, and she slipped her hand comfortably into his, knowing the elevator had a security camera. It was unlikely anyone was watching, and she could just hack through and delete those few seconds later. For the meantime, she left her hand in his because he didn’t use it to hold her close, or pull her along; she was free to take her hand back at any moment. Not that she wanted to, but having the option was important to her.

She thought for a moment, trying to remember which clothes she’d left, but it didn’t matter. Anything was better than the Widow suit. After the cool of being outside, she was stifling inside it, and she’d hoped for something a little more attractive, anyhow.

She took the opportunity to thank him, reaching on tiptoe for a slow kiss.

“Thoughtful of you.” Peeking down the hallway into his bedroom, she spied the stack of clothes on top of his dresser, and slipped away to pick them up. “Thanks.”

With a grin, she stepped into the bathroom, one heel nudging the door closed, trailing the long zip of her suit in favour of the clean clothes in front of her.

* * *

[Steve Rogers]

While he hadn't done it just to be rewarded, Cap couldn't say he wasn't enjoying it. Each kiss with Tasha was different, never repeating or feeling like the last, keeping Steve's attention for a solid twenty seconds after the kiss was over. The body heat, while it didn't travel well through their costumes, was appreciated from the contact of their lips. His uniform was insulated, but Steve found that the longer he was in the cold, the more uncomfortable he was, probably subconscious disdain from when he'd been frozen.

'Tell her she can leave more here if she'd like Dummy.'

'Isn't a month too soon?'

'Who knows? Just do it!"

'Maybe later.'

'Coward.'

With his bathroom door closed and Natasha behind it, Steve was changing in the main area of his bedroom. He wasn't going to sit in his costume all day either, especially in his own home. The trouble was, he was finding, that the uniform got stuck to him, whether it be because of sweat or static. Today was one of those days where getting undressed took far longer than it should have.

The mask came off easy enough, the boots and the gloves as well. The bulk of his costume was tricky. A mixture of zippers, buttons and a belt made getting in almost easier than getting out. Once he was loose, Steve sighed, feeling less constrained and able to breath. Now, less than decent, he began rummaging through his clothing to find something comfortable, yet suitable enough for a lazy date.

Light pants and a t-shirt seemed suitable enough for lounging with cocoa. Steve fought off the urge to wear a belt, insisting in his head that he could make it from his room to the kitchen and couch without his pants falling down. Yet, it was so abnormally lazy of him, he almost couldn't bare to do it. Shrugging it off, Steve began to pull his outfit together, having lingered in his head for too long now.

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

The Widow suit looked hard to get into. It wasn’t. Or maybe it was, but she’d gotten it down to a science. Two minutes, thirty seconds is what it took to suit up, accessories and all.

Getting out of it, especially after a fight, was a little trickier. The Neoprene clung to her skin, and as she tugged it off, she was always vividly reminded of the physical toll that fights tended to have on her. She could handle it of course – she worked 7 days a week to make sure she could – but the fact was there, all the same. This was an easier afternoon; she would have nothing but a few bruises to show for the scuffle.

Pulling on the black leggings and oversized tshirt in red and white stripes, a glance in the mirror confirmed that all she needed was a splash of blue to complete her patriotic palette. A wry smile twisted her lips; patriotic was not a word used to describe her. By anyone.

She gently swept her dark red curls back into a ponytail, winding the elastic she perpetually kept at her wrist around it before slipping on her thin, black socks. Another glance in the mirror made the smile on her lips obvious – she had surprised herself with how much she enjoyed Steve’s company. Usually, she was a textbook introvert, but she found that learning to relax with him was just as satisfying as another night at home spent honing her skills. And in most cases, more fun.

The knob clicked gently as she turned it, stepping out just in time to catch Steve tugging on a shirt over his sweatpants. Perfect bodies were a dime a dozen in her life, but she’d be lying if she didn’t appreciate his anyway. But when she looked over, it was his eyes she caught.

“How about that cup, soldier.”

* * *

[Steve Rogers]

A playful smile crossed Captain Rogers' lips as she called him solider. He'd be lying if he said he didn't like the nickname coming from her. Nodding, he affirmed her request, "My pleasure Tasha." Turning on his heels, Steve made his way through the bedroom door back toward his kitchen. There, sitting on the countertop, an innocent looking machine stood by in wait. Innocent was relative though, Steve and this machine had been each other's nemesis since he'd moved in.

The Keurig took no prisoners. If Steve didn't do everything precisely correct, he found that he'd end up with whatever liquid he was trying to make all over his shirt. However, today was not the day to mess with Cap. He was envisioning a lovely evening with Tasha, and by gosh, he'd have it, misbehaving coffee maker or not.

The small cup was placed in, and two mugs prepared. Steve sighed and pressed the button. Luckily for him, it seemed the machine was showing off while there was guest, and no mess was made today. Lifting his mug by the handle, and Natasha's by the cup so she could take it, he met her in his living room.

"You're going to have to forgive me for being excited Tasha. I usually make a big mess whenever I try to use that thing." It wasn't like she hadn't been there for the coffee incident of Thanksgiving morning, but Steve had tried to downplay the size of the mess by distracting her with the parade. She probably was being kind and pretending she hadn't noticed.

Oh, he loved her so much.

'What did I just think?"

'Shut up, give her the mug already, you're staring at her nose.'

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

She knew, of course. Most of the time, she politely avoided saying anything when Steve lost a fight with the Keurig; she may be an assassin, but she still had basic people skills. And she knew you did not make fun of a man for failing with a machine.

Gratefully, she took the mug, letting the warmth of it seep into her fingers for a long minute before she ever took a sip. It was black and strong, just like she liked it. It fascinated her to watch Pepper dress up her coffee with cream and sugar and that sinister little froth attachment on the sophisticated machine downstairs, but she’d never enjoyed drinking it that way.

“Thank you,” she murmured over the curve of the cup, the coffee exactly what she needed after a walk in the snow.

One hip leaned idly against his dresser, balancing as she took a long sip, green eyes watching him curiously every now and again. He was thinking about something, like he always was. The man did a lot of thinking. And a lot of stammering. Oddly enough, neither fact bothered her.

She set her mug on the dresser, the softest of clinks soundtracking the movement.

“Stop,” she moved carefully into his arms, avoiding bumping his coffee cup, “being nervous.”

The slightest flavour of her Russian accent was just evident at the edges of her words; she was relaxed enough to not try and cover it.

* * *

[Steve Rogers]

She didn't need to make an argument, Natasha was right. He'd been nervous around her longer than he had when he'd worked with Peggy Carter. Granted, he and Peggy hadn't gotten as close as he now was with Tasha, but she was right. Natasha wasn't trying to make him nervous, that was all on him.

Besides, getting the order actually lightened him up a bit. Steve was good at following orders.

His cup found it's way to the bedside dresser he'd been standing in front off as his arms wrapped around the slender Russian woman. She didn't need to hear his admittance of love right now, or this week. Maybe around Christmas? He could keep a secret, especially his own.

Well, he could keep a secret, but it was hard to do that with Natasha, she just read him like a star spangled book. "You've got it," He murmured, blue eyes traveling down to meet her green. It wasn't a switch he could just turn on and off, Steve was certain that she'd be able to turn him into a stammering mess again soon enough, but for right now, confident Cap was all Tasha's.

They weren't the huggiest couple in the world either. Any and almost all intimate closeness was in private, and Steve didn't think laying against each other in bed really counted. So, taking advantage of the moment, he held her in close, enjoying this warmth a bit more than his coffee had provided.

Right, confident, she wanted confident. Steve could do that.

He backed from the tight embrace enough to adjust his arms. Like she'd shown him a week back. Now, if Steve weren't a Super Soldier, he'd never do this to a Master Assassin in a million years, but his near invulnerability kept the fear away. Steve scooped Natasha up, one hand on her back, the other around the back of her knees, and in one swift motion, brought down onto his bed. He was up a moment after, capturing the full, dangerous lips of the Black Widow. Confidence indeed.