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[Home] Steve

Professionalism is a wonderful thing.

A flash of light and Natasha is standing in her office. She's wearing different than when she left, different shoes, different earrings; she's missing her gauntlets.

She's also missing a few hours.

Shit.

-- --

It's hours before she manages to get home. She calls Clint's phone first (and he's back, he's back, thank god, he's back), she calls Steve's phone (no answer, damn) she calls Fury and her SO, she rouses Dr Ishikawa. There are tests to be run.

She calls Clint, again, once she locks her front door. He sounds...strained. But he's in a different city, and tells her to go have a shower and stop being a mother hen. There's nothing she can do here, so she agrees, and then leaves another message on Steve's phone.

Then she has a shower.

(And if she ends up sitting in the tub, clutching her knees to her chest and just letting the hot water hit her back, well.

No one's watching.)

-- --

After, she tries to put herself back together. She pulls on comfort-clothes and carefully, deliberately straightens her hair like nothing is wrong. Dinner is a reheated soup pulled from her massive freezer (she leaves another message on Steve's phone while the microwave hums) and if she was sensible, this is where she'd put on some DVDs. A history on the English language, maybe. A ridiculous b-grade sci-fi show from the '90s which she could play on her laptop while she cooks, but she'd been on the Enterprise.

She finishes her soup. She puts the bowl in the sink to soak. Then she goes to her bedroom, lifts up the secret trap door at the bottom of her closet, unlocks the safe, and pulls out the only photograph she'd been able to find of her husband. Moving over to her couch, Natasha tucks her feet up underneath her, and traces the side of Alexei's face with her finger. She has other people and things that she uses almost as totems to help ground her, but they'd taken Alexei away from her once. If she can remember him, she's fine.

She's in her right mind.

She's fine.

(She'd thank Steve for the nostalgia trip, except their argument is too close at hand and he's not answering his phone and she was on the Enterprise, and she cannot quip about it, even in her head.)

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Eventually, her phone does ring.

Steve's been back a grand total of ten minutes and has already placed five calls, three of which were at the behest of Director Fury. Nat would have been his second call if there weren't -- apparently -- protocols in place for dimensional travel that include a battery of evals once the traveler puts his feet back on terra firma.

Today is going to be a lot more interesting than originally planned, but first he has to know that Natasha is safe.

Of course there are protocols in place, Rogers. This is S.H.I.E.L.D.

I am the man who arranges the blocks, sings out Natasha's phone, and she lunges for it.

"Steve. Hi. Where are you?"

Edited 2014-11-01 07:04 (UTC)

"Natasha," he breathes, relieved to hear her voice. "Are you OK? I'm at headquarters."

Underneath headquarters, if he was being exact. He hasn't left the garage since he materialized here from the Enterprise, which is officially one of the strangest sentences he's ever put together. He rubs his eyes.

"I just got here. You've been missing for months," he adds.

"I'm fine, at home, how are-"

Wait.

"Missing?" Her voice is sharp. "What do you mean?"

"I mean one day you were on the Enterprise, and the next day you weren't," he says, glancing over his shoulder. It occurs to him, not for the first time, that he could have imagined the whole thing. He's back where he started, Natasha and Clint are here, safe ... maybe Fury is just messing with him, and they're preparing a padded room as he speaks. He frowns.

"Do you remember?" he asks carefully, quietly. "Do you remember where we were?"

She flinches and the pause

do you remember?

is uncharacteristic, but she draws in a (slightly) uncertain breath.

"Yeah. Enterprise with Captain Jean-Luc Picard and a female version of you." They shouldn't be having this conversation over the phone, they shouldn't, but she needs to make sure...

"So now you know I'm secretly a hundred and fifteen, right?"

"Last I checked, you were only eighty-six," he answers without hesitation.

His voice is tight, for more reasons than one.

Edited 2014-11-03 20:09 (UTC)

"Practically a baby," she says, but the amusement laced through her voice is more than a little dry.

"I...am gonna be awake for a while. You're welcome to drop over, once you've done all the tests."

It doesn't matter what time it is he gets out: she's going to be awake.

He doesn't return the same casual amusement or conversation. It still bothers him, the way she can compartmentalize, the way he can't tell how seriously she takes anything; whether it's a mask, a ruse, or it just doesn't matter to her.

He keeps the phone pressed to his ear, but he glances down at his feet, listening to the hum of cars driving in on the decks below him. So he isn't crazy. Or, if he is, he's at least not alone. He is relieved she's OK, and that what they experienced wasn't just in his head, but it leaves the awkward business of what to do now.

"Yeah," he answers after a long pause, lifting his head so his voice is clear. "So I guess they put you through the same thing? I don't suppose you'd be willing to give me your crib notes?"

"No." A simple word, but she keeps it from being short. "Steve, I'll help game pretty much any system you need.

But not the psych evals. Not these tests." She hesitates, an audible hitching of breath. "If you ever need help in trying to work out what is real, and what's a trick, then it helps not having gamed this."

There's barely a pause, but to the trained ear it's there, and it means Steve's been listening to more than just her words.

"I was going for levity," he says, so dry it could be a joke in itself. Anyone else wouldn't have taken Steve seriously, but of course Natasha would have. Steve's gone around the system before, and he has no doubts she knows that. Unlike her, however, he tries not to do it a lot.

But it's the hitch in her voice that keeps him from being a smartass, or from getting frustrated with her. It speaks volumes. Looks like they'll have more to talk about than he thought. "Right, I guess I'll see you in a couple hours. It's a good thing I'm wearing clean underwear."

This time, he lets the tension ease up from his voice just enough to see the joke home. Things aren't great between them right now, but above everything else he wants her to know she's still his partner, and he's still going to watch her back. He's glad she's OK.

Right. Of course it was a joke.

"Hah," Natasha manages, voice flat. Still, her subsequent snort at his clean underwear comment sounds like her normal self.

"See you in a couple hours. I'll be...baking."

So much baking.

"And, Rogers? Take care."

"Yeah. I will," he promises.

Baking. That's going up there with home decorating as interests he'd never peg Natasha as having, and yet Steve's apartment is furnished and he didn't die in the catacombs of Ikea by himself, so the world is full of surprises. He smiles a little more genuinely before hanging up the phone, and slips it back into his pocket.

Right. Time to get this over with.

It's hours later before the buzzer rings at Nat's complex, Steve downstairs and waiting for her to let him up. The fact that it's not breakfast is a small mercy, due in part to his stubborn insistence that he didn't need to stay overnight for observation. Still, he looks tired, and he knows he still has a long night ahead of him.

"Hey, Steve. Come on up."

By the time he's reached her actual front door, she's managed to wash her hands and take off her apron. Her face, though, still bears some of the marks of her current battle against chocolate icing, and her apartment smells like a bakery.

"Hi."

It's going to be a long night. And it's not as if they left each other in the best of circumstances. But...

She's damn glad to see him, and that comes through.

When the door opens, Steve tenses into something akin to a ready stance, not sure what to expect. His face is open (and he knows under better circumstances she'd chide him for it, but he's not a spy and can't hide his emotions like one), brow creased, mouth slightly parted. He immediately gives her a once-over, just to make sure she's really OK.

And only then does he relax.

"Hey," he answers, a tired smile sitting half-cocked on his lips. He hesitates, and then reaches out to brush a smudge of chocolate from her cheek with his thumb. "Whatever you're baking smells amazing."

He steps inside after checking the hallway, not wanting to linger where they're both exposed. It's a little twitchy, even for Steve, but after the last couple of months it's not going to be easy readjusting.

Physically, she's fine. She's even dressed normally for Natasha-at-home; worn jeans, ridiculous socks, a t-shirt with writing on it (today's edition: the Jurassic Park symbol with the words 'Dinosaurs Eat Man, Woman Inherits The Earth'). But although her answering smile is her trademark crooked, it's a touch too relieved for everything to be A-Okay.

The touch of his hand to her cheek is nice, though. Familiar. She lets him, much like she would a brother.

"Chocolate-fudge cupcakes. And raisin bread. I got a little ambitious," she adds, locking the door after him. As he slips off his shoes at the rack next to her front door, she quickly brushes her hand down his lower arm.

Good, her gesture says, you're actually here. Then she pulls back and walks down the hallway back to her kitchen.

"Like anything to eat or drink?" she calls out over her shoulder.

Edited 2014-11-26 08:29 (UTC)

He arches his eyebrows, barely disguising a look of interest at her 'ambitious' list of baked goods. Sweets still feel like an indulgence to him, even after two years in the modern world, but S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't exactly put out a spread when they're poking and prodding you.

"Nothing wrong with ambitious," he says, and his stomach growling is practically audible. He's grown accustomed to kicking his shoes off before he walks into her place, even accustomed to her street wear (though, once he's finished reading the logo on her shirt, the tic of his eyebrow turns a little more questioning); he still hasn't grown completely accustomed to the familiar touches, though that's mostly his upbringing to blame. His lips twist, hands sliding into his pockets a little awkwardly as her hand slips away and she turns toward the kitchen. He receives the unspoken message, loud and clear. "Is that a trick question?"

She knows how his appetite can be. He tracks after her at a lazy pace, a little more relaxed by the warmth of her apartment and the smell of baked goods -- not to mention visual proof that she's OK. Trademark crooked smile, friendly gestures, movements that don't show injury or distress; it's hard wrapping his head around the idea that she's almost as old as he is, and he's left wondering just how alike they really are now.

He leans against a counter, watching her for a moment. "It's good to see you, Nat. I mean it."

The (many, many) cupcakes are put to one side as she uncovers a loaf of raisin bread and starts to carve slices. Then she grabs some butter from the fridge, two small plates and a butter knife and puts it down in front of Steve. She pauses briefly, then darts around the kitchen again to pull out two glass mugs and a bottle of homemade kvass from a fridge.

"After I vanished for months on a strange spaceship?" She snorts slightly, pouring kvass in both their mugs before picking hers up and taking a drink.

"Well. I'm glad to see you're okay, too. I wouldn't...leave you behind anywhere like that."

He shifts when she sets the plates down and moves off again, carving thin slices of cold butter and patting them into the still-warm bread for both of them. At this stage in their friendship, they're beyond worrying if the other will poison them.

He lets out a soft breath of laughter, and shakes his head. But before he answers with some smart remark, he lets her finish her piece, and softens up a little more.

"I know you wouldn't," he says in all seriousness. No matter what's going on between them, they're still partners. They've had growing pains before. "I'm just glad that you were sent home, and not blinked off onto another planet or spaceship or--"

He sets the butter knife down, and runs his hand through his hair. The normalcy of standing here suddenly feels strange when he starts talking about space. His lips tic, and with a slight shake of his head he reaches for his glass. Kvass is an acquired taste, and one he only indulges in with Natasha, but right now he feels like he needs it. "I'm sorry, I've had a couple more months to think about how we left things than you have, I guess."

Another person would be sympathetic. Or at least, express that sympathy: she's spent hours worrying, not months.

Instead, she slants him a glance as she picks up a slice of bread.

"You brooded. Didn't you."

Edited 2014-12-10 07:36 (UTC)

He looks at her, equal parts surprise and offense splayed across his features.

"I did not," he grumbles. This is an argument they've had before. One he's still trying to figure out how to win. "You're my partner. Things were awkward, and then you and Barton disappeared. I'm allowed to worry."

It's not brooding. It's duty.

Natasha smiles at him. An honest, wide and dimpled smile that says, more than words, I am very fond of you and am glad you're okay and here.

"A little bit of worry. Maybe."

Then she sobers up.

"So. I'm guessing a Get Smart marathon probably isn't on the table. Did you want to talk about the awkward? Or...what happened on the Enterprise once I'd gone?"

(She worried, too. A lot.)

Edited 2014-12-10 08:37 (UTC)

Steve's well-acquainted enough with her various smiles to recognize the one she's giving him now; it's rare, and as far as he can tell, completely sincere. That makes it enough to worm through his sternness, pulling a wan smirk out from his disapproving look. Guess winning this argument isn't on the table today, either.

The mention of Get Smart is the clincher. Half the items in his notebook -- the one filled with things he missed while he was asleep, things he needs to catch up on -- came from her. Half the crossed-out items are also her handiwork. Lazy nights spent on either of their couches just watching television are rare, but they're one of Steve's favorite indulgences.

"Both. And we should probably talk about our evals, too, now that they're over," he nods, reaching for his plate at last. The bread is good, really good, but he didn't expect anything less. "S.H.I.E.L.D. had a lot of questions I couldn't answer. And Nat -- I'm going back. To the Enterprise."

That much he hasn't told anyone else.

She was about to reply - yes, they need to talk about what happened to him once she'd gone, and yes, they need to talk about the 'awkward' as he called it, and yes, probably, talking about the evals is a good idea - but then he keeps on speaking.

He wants to go back.

"You...wanna explain that, Steve?"

He's not sure he can.

His gaze slips away from Natasha's face, landing back on his food. His jaw tenses once, and he shakes his head.

"There are people there who need me," he answers quietly, but firmly. "Nat... I know you've lost people. To war, to the work we do -- can't avoid it. But what if I told you that... that ship, that place, makes it possible to see them again?"

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