25Disclaimer: I do not own the Marvel Cinematic Universe.
Natasha Romanoff considered herself to be a badass woman. She was classy, poised, and put simply, downright amazing.
Just out of college and out in the real world, Natasha was welcomed by many companies and jobs who wanted her English, Russian, and Latin speaking services. After much deliberation, she finally settled on working for S.H.E.I.L.D., a government agency that focused on international relations and counter-terrorism practices—a place where Natasha felt she could truly shine.
Being in the real world also meant moving out of her college dorm with three roommates into an apartment all by her lonesome.
It didn't bother her much. The silence, that is. In fact, she liked being on her own. She liked having time and space to herself. Sharing a dorm with Clint, his girlfriend, Laura, and Sam, was hectic to say the least. She loved them, but somedays a girl just needed some alone time to think and just be. Still, she couldn't help but miss her friends and their company. And as much as she hated to admit it… she missed their help.
The time came when she had to don a beautiful dress for a business meeting. It was her first big meeting with clients from a foreign nation. Of course, since Natasha was still a new employee and a young one at that, she wasn't the one leading the meeting, but Nick Fury, her boss, told her to dress up for the occasion to try and impress the other side. Now Natasha was not against using her beauty and feminine charm to enchant the opposing side, but she figured that meant she would have to be dressed in something other than a pantsuit. A dress. A tight-fitting dress. A sexy, tight-fitting dress. An ordeal that she had tried to avoid for quite a while.
Wearing a dress usually would not have been a problem back when she had roommates to help zip her up, but by herself…it was next to impossible. Natasha was a badass woman. A badass woman whose hands were not flexible in the slightest. Her trying to reach the back of her tight dress was becoming the ultimate challenge. She could do anything. She could master the martial arts, negotiate deals with government organizations, and do whatever it took to get the job done, except zip up a damn dress.
"God damnit!" she yelled in the mirror as she stared at herself in the black dress, still unzipped in the back.
After five minutes of futile struggle to reach the back of her dress, Natasha decided that desperate times called for desperate measures. Taking the dress off her body, she zipped it up and then proceeded to try to squeeze back into it while it was already zipped.
Cursing the patriarchal system for creating a world in which women were forced to parade in short, skimpy dresses to please the male eye, Natasha finally managed to get inside her dress. As she smoothed the front and admired herself in the mirror, Natasha realized she looked damn good. Screw the patriarchal system, she was doing this for herself. She loved dresses…she just hated getting into them, not to mention getting out.
Sighing, Natasha couldn't help miss her friend, Laura, who would always zip her up and give her a great speech to boost her confidence.
"Natasha Romanoff," she said to herself as she stared deep into her reflection, "you," she touched the mirror and tapped it with her index finger, "are a badass woman and you are going to kill this meeting. And you," her eyes drifted to the clock on her wall, "are running late. Oh, shit."
Zipping up a dress took a lot longer than she anticipated and as Natasha ran out her apartment she didn't anticipate charging full on into a wide, muscular shoulder.
"Woah," the low voice said as hands reached out towards Natasha to stabilize her, "Sorry, about that. I'm Steve, your new —"
"I have to go," she muttered in a haze as she pushed past her new whatever to get down the stairs and out her apartment complex.
This was a disaster. Her first international meeting and she was running late.
As she hailed a taxi and climbed inside, she texted Fury to warn him she might be a few minutes late.
When she finally got to S.H.E.I.L.D. headquarters, Nick Fury was there to greet her.
"Now, I usually don't appreciate it when my employees are late to their meetings, but I'll let it slide since it's your first time," Fury said as the two of them walked up the staircase.
"They haven't showed up yet, have they?" Natasha smirked, knowing her boss too well.
"Just pretend like I forgave you and move on, Agent."
Natasha smiled when Fury called her that. It was a nickname between the two of them that happened during her entry interview into S.H.E.I.L.D. When she was finally told what she would be specifically doing during her work hours and what the job entailed, she joked that it was like she was a government spy. Nick Fury could already tell he was going to like that girl.
"Why were you running late anyway? Boy troubles?" Fury asked off-handedly. He tried to learn as much as he could about his employees so he would also know what was going on in their lives. Information was information, no matter how small.
"Not that it's any of your business, dad. But I don't have a boyfriend or anything. I just couldn't get my dress to zip up and had to figure out a way to get into it without ripping it."
"It didn't work," Fury commented.
"What are you talking about?"
"You got into it, but there a tear in the back. Did you not hear it?" Fury didn't seem too interested in the conversation, as he looked through the files for the meeting while conversing with her at the same time.
Natasha tried to reach her arms to the back of her dress to feel for the tear. "Seriously? I liked this dress! Where's the tear? Is it really noticeable?"
"Just keep your back against the chair during the meeting and don't get up. I'll give you my jacket when we leave." Fury raised his eyebrows as the two of them entered the empty glass room and settled down into the swivel chairs, "Seriously? And you call yourself a spy? This is embarrassing. I am embarrassed for you."
"I can't reach the back of my dress! It's not my fault genetics has cursed me with short arms!"
Shaking his head, Fury took out the files for the case, "You need to figure out a way to get your shit together."
"Excuse me." Natasha crossed her arms and leaned back suddenly feeling where the tear was as her bare back scraped against the leather of the chair. "I do have all my shit figured out. I am a young woman in my twenties who has this high paying, an amazing an apartment to sleep in, and a high paying job. Did I mention my high paying job?"
"No, you may have forgotten to mention it," Fury deadpanned, "But how did you wear dresses before? Because this is the first time I've ever seen you out of a pantsuit."
"To be completely honest, I hate pantsuits, but my roommates used to zip me up and now I live by myself and—"
"That's bullshit," the older man scoffed, rolling his eyes in a classic Fury move.
"What is?" Natasha questioned, resisting the urge to put her hands on her hips.
"I'm sure there are plenty of those 'As Seen On TV' commercials that has some gadget or the other that can help incompetent people do simple things like zip up the back of their dress."
Natasha stared at him with a blank gaze. "You're really mean, you know that?"
"I'm blunt," he said bluntly, "Some people like that."
Natasha smiled as she looked down and sorted through her own files. He was right, she did like her new boss. He wasn't afraid to be honest with her and trusted her with jobs that most people wouldn't give to a rookie. She felt like she finally belonged somewhere.
After a couple of more minutes of waiting, the clients finally showed up.
"Took you long enough," Fury said in his gruff, commanding voice, "We have had to wait here for over an hour. Let's begin, shall we?"
More like a couple of minutes, but they were never going to tell them that. Using the other sides' flustered apologies and guilt as an advantage, Fury and Natasha managed to seal their deal and got done with their negotiations in record time.
When she arrived home, she realized she was stuck with another problem: she had to take the dress off.
As she unlocked the door to her apartment, she could hear some old fashion music playing from the door next to her. It was a calming melody that made her smile to herself. Then she remembered why there was a noise coming from the walls. Her new neighbor had arrived and she had not made the greatest first impression. She had basically shoved him away in an attempt to get to her job quicker. She didn't even get a look at his face.
Deciding to follow in her mentor, Nick Fury's, footsteps, she knocked on the door of her neighbor to gain some intel. It was better to be in people's good graces and have acquaintances.
The door opened and… the person on the other side was not who she expected.
Based on the music, Natasha figured he had to have been much older.
This guy was young, maybe in his mid to late twenties, same as her, with lovely blond hair and striking blue eyes. He stood in a way that didn't exude arrogance, but also showed he was strong and unashamed.
While she was observing him, he was doing the same to her. She made sure to always keep her back to him so he wouldn't be able to see the tear in the back of her dress.
Natasha shook herself out of her reverie. "You're Steve, my new neighbor?"
The blond smiled and Natasha noticed he had the most adorable dimples. "That's right, ma'am." Natasha saw him physically cringe when he said the word "ma'am" and she resisted giggling out loud. He properly introduced himself, shaking his head to try and reject the memory of calling a woman his age "ma'am". "I'm…uh, Steve. Steve Rogers." He held his hand out for Natasha to shake.
Natasha decided to let it slide since it was their first, well actually, second, time meeting. "I'm Natasha. Natasha Romanoff." She returned the handshake with a firm grip.
Steve nodded as they both released from the shake, happy to have met someone on his floor. They both stood there for a few seconds awkwardly until Steve seemed to realize he should do something.
"Do you want to come in? I'm not quite done moving in yet." He moved out of the way of the door so Natasha could catch a glimpse of the inside of his new apartment, which was filled with stacks of cardboard boxes ready to be opened and organized into their new home.
Natasha pursed her lips. Steve seemed uncomfortable interacting with her; it was almost like he had never spoken to a girl before, which she definitely knew was not true—him looking like a Greek god.
She shrugged. "Sure, I've got time. You got any beer?"
As she casually made her way into his apartment, Natasha immediately scoured the place for signs of what made Steve who he was. What his personality was like, what he loved, who was important to him—just some basic reconnaissance.
Natasha noticed he already had some photographs hanging up on the wall and some sitting on the table. She walked over to them while Steve went to his fridge. There were pictures of Steve and a beautiful older blonde woman Natasha assumed was his mom. The other pictures were mostly of the same person. Steve had a wonderful grin on his face and that smile did not change even as the pictures of him got older and older. As long as he had his arm tossed around the shoulder of the brown-haired man, Steve never looked happier. The two of them seemed to know each other from childhood.
"That's Bucky." Steve's voice startled her and she had to resist jumping from the sound.
She turned to see Steve hand her a beer. "You two must be close," she commented.
"Yeah. He's my best friend…my only friend." Steve rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't really get out much as a kid."
Natasha touched one of the pictures in the middle; Bucky had his arm slung over Steve and it looked like his arm was bigger than his whole body. "You were so cute!"
"I think you mean I was so skinny and sickly," he responded.
"I mean what I said, you looked adorable."
"I was seventeen in that picture." Steve scratched the back of his head and grimaced.
"Oh."
Steve drank some of his beer before replying, "I wasn't exaggerating when I said I didn't get out much."
"What did you have?" Natasha questioned, knowing that his past was more than just a pre-puberty look.
"Just about everything: asthma, chronic pneumonia, heart troubles…" Steve trailed off as he remembered his childhood. "It would be easier to list what I didn't have."
"How are you…?"
"Science? I guess?" He chuckled to himself. "I'm on a whole bunch of meds."
"To science." Natasha raised her beer.
Steve clinked his bottle to hers. "To science."
They both drank in quiet silence for a moment or two before Steve broke it with an observation. "You know, you ask a lot of questions."
"I like to know things." Natasha realized Steve probably felt insecure about his medical conditions, even though she knew he had nothing to be ashamed of.
"I like to know things too." Steve's baby blue eyes pierced hers as he waited to hear her story.
"Good for you." Natasha finished her beer, her gaze moved to a small, circular picture of a brunette woman sitting on his coffee table. She walked towards it and picked it up. "Girlfriend?" she questioned.
Steve snatched it away before Natasha could get a closer look. "Dead ex-girlfriend," he bluntly stated. He started walking to the door and opened it for her. "I should really get unpacking, thanks for stopping by."
"I can help—"
"That's okay." Noticing Steve's churlish expression, Natasha realized maybe she pushed him too far by asking about his love life.
Natasha walked out the door and turned around to say some final words. "Are you su—"
But the door had already slammed shut in her face with a loud bang.
When Natasha took out her keys to get back into her apartment, she realized the reason she procrastinated and visited her neighbor in the first place. She wanted to avoid getting out of the dress. Natasha rolled her eyes in frustration as she realized the dress would take an hour of writhing on the ground like she was possessed trying to reach for the zipper in the back.
It was already ripped…maybe she could just rip it all the way. No, she couldn't do that. Natasha continued the mental argument in her head until the sound of Steve's old music started playing again and an idea struck her. Building up her courage, Natasha approached her neighbor's door once more and knocked two times.
The music stopped and Natasha waited a couple of seconds as she heard him rustling around in his living room. Steve warily cracked the door open and peeked out.
"I'm sorry I asked questions about your past," Natasha started, "I realize I was being nosy so I just want to—"
"It's okay." Steve gave her a warm smile that made her believe he meant it.
Before Steve could close the door again, Natasha blocked it with her foot to hold it in place. "Hold on. I just was wondering if…" Natasha swallowed nervously. "My dress is really tight and I already accidentally ripped it trying to get it on and I was wondering if you could help me unzip it."
Natasha felt so embarrassed, but the look on Steve's face was ten times worse. It seemed that every second that went by made Steve turn redder and redder.
"Um…" Steve sounded out of breath. "What?"
"It's just," Oh god, Natasha never felt so awkward. But she couldn't let that show. "Listen, I'm stuck in this dress and I can't get out. Can you help me or not? Because right now, I'm prepared to take a pair of kitchen scissors and cut this off me."
"Unzip you? Uh, your dress?"
"Yes, Rogers. Unzip me." Natasha stated candidly. "Have you never had the pleasure of unzipping a girl's dress?" She taunted him in hopes of riling him up and allowing him to get past the absurdity of her request.
It worked.
Steve shut his eyes in annoyance and came to a decision. "You know what, Romanoff?"
He quickly but gently turned her around and took the silver zipper from the back of her dress in his nimble fingers. Then slowly, he began to pull the fastener lower and lower down her body. She didn't know why he was going so slowly or why the back of her neck felt hot as she could feel him close behind her, but she didn't tell him to hurry. She licked her lower lips and involuntarily shivered when Steve's other fingers accidentally grazed her open back. For such a simple act, Natasha internally felt like she was running a marathon.
Steve stepped back after he finished unzipping her and put both his hands in his pockets bashfully. Natasha turned around just in time to make out a faint blush around Steve's cheek quickly fade away.
She cleared her throat. "Thank you. I owe you."
He gave her a small smile. "It's okay. Anytime, neighbor."
Anytime indeed, because Natasha started knocking on his door at all hours of the day whenever she needed to be zipped in or zipped out. She didn't even need to say a word anymore for Steve to know what to do. She would simply knock on his door and he would answer. He would take in her current dress state, she would turn around, and he would do his gentlemanly duty of zipping or unzipping her dress of the day.
It became easier to make casual conversation as the two of them became accustomed to living next door to each other. They still hadn't reached the level of conversation where things could get personal and Natasha didn't want to push him into it, especially after he had such an adverse reaction to her asking about his dead girlfriend. However, that still didn't stop her from learning as much about him as she could.
His favorite colors were red, white, and blue (ever the patriot), his favorite food was beans from a can (cause it reminded him of his childhood), and his favorite animal was a dog (just cause they were loyal).
Steve, the polite person he was, would ask the same questions in return and Natasha would answer: her favorite color was black (she couldn't deny her inner Goth), her favorite food was peanut butter sandwiches (it got her through college), and her favorite animal was the black widow (just cause they were cool).
"We're pretty different, aren't we?" Steve asked. Natasha could hear his soft chuckle as he zipped up her dress of the day: a loose and casual light orange dress.
"I'd say," Natasha agreed. "What was your major in college? I was an International Relations and Political Science double major with a Latin language minor."
"Wow, so we're definitely different. I'm in Graphic design, just graphic design, and am still currently in college," Steve responded. By that time, he had finished zipping her up and Natasha turned to face him.
"Really?"
"Yeah, I'm a little late to the college game. I joined the army for a few years, so I'm kinda new to the whole thing."
"Why'd you choose graphic design?"
Steve shrugged. "When I was little, I didn't really get out much, being sick and all, so I drew instead. I drew a lot and I enjoyed it, so I thought why not."
"You any good?"
"That's not really up to me to decide," Steve responded. "I can show you what I'm working on now. If you want, that is."
Natasha brightened at the idea of finding out more of the inner psyche of Steve, so she jumped at the opportunity. "I'm a very harsh judge," she warned jokingly. "I'm very honest, so you should be worried."
"I'm terrified," Steve quipped back. He opened the door further so Natasha would step in and she was met with a wonderful mess. It had taken a while, but Steve had unpacked everything so there were no more cardboard boxes in sight. Rather, there were strips of paper, and art supplies strewn about the place, stray pieces of clothing lay on various pieces of furniture, and random knickknacks and souvenirs were placed on tables and counters giving the tiny apartment a very lived in and homely feeling. It was wonderful.
"Sorry about the mess," Steve said as he navigated through to reach his drawing board.
"Trust me, this is nothing," Natasha reassured. "Back when I lived with my roommates, if there wasn't an empty pizza box on the floor and dirty boxers on a lamp, we wouldn't call it home."
"I take it that's why you moved out?"
Natasha smiled. "Partly. I mostly just wanted a change and live by myself for once, you know?" She licked her lips, not really understanding why she continued to talk. "I just… I spent my whole life living with people and being cramped and forgotten. It's just nice to have my own things."
"Hmm," Steve nodded along. "So you had a lot of siblings growing up?"
"Uh, no. I grew up in an all-girls orphanage till I was eighteen," Natasha clarified. "Then I got a full ride to university and lived with my three roommates until now."
Steve was shocked at her revelation. "I am so sorry, Natasha. I didn't mean to pry and—"
"Relax, Steve." Natasha laughed. "It's fine. It's not some deep dark secret that I carry deep inside."
Actually it wasn't fine because those years in the orphanage were the worst of her life and the nightmares she had on a daily basis because of them spoke for itself, but that was something she would never tell Steve: the neighbor who zipped up her dresses. Natasha never told anybody about her experiences in the orphanage. Clint knew a little bit more than others, and her other roommates had a little hint that it wasn't all butterflies and daisies, but they never asked questions and she never gave them answers.
"So how about those drawings of yours?" Natasha changed the subject.
Steve shook his head and began pulling out his notebooks from his drawer. "I haven't really shown anybody these drawings. They're a little rough," he prefaced.
"Let me see them, Steve. I'll be the judge of that." Natasha motioned for the book.
He sighed as he flipped through the pages and came upon one he deemed good enough to show her. He handed her the notebook and watched her nervously as she studied the drawing, gauging any emotion on her face. Disappointingly for Steve, Natasha didn't wear her emotions on her sleeve, so Steve had absolutely no idea what she was thinking.
"Steve, this is…this is really good." Natasha ran her fingers lightly over Steve's sketch. It was a drawing of six men in military uniform. They were surrounding what looked like a campfire, all in various states of wear and tear, but all having brilliant smiles on their faces. One man looked like he was singing and the others were joking, smoking, and relaxing after a day of battle. Every face was detailed and perfectly proportioned. Every face had a story to tell.
"Were they your team?" She asked curiously.
Steve nodded as he smiled wistfully at the drawing. "We called ourselves the Howling Commandos. We thought we could take on the world."
"You still keep in touch with them?" Natasha wondered as she continued to study the details of the artwork. She was stunned by the shadows and the level of detail; Steve had created a masterpiece.
"Sometimes." Steve swallowed uncomfortably. "Not all of us made it."
Natasha looked up from the drawing, stunned. The picture had looked so happy and nostalgic, she had forgotten that war was…war. "Steve—"
"It's okay, Natasha." Steve stopped her before she could even continue; he heard everyone's pity a thousand times before—he did not need hers. "It took me a while, but I've made my peace with it."
She had a talent for knowing when people were liars. It was like her superpower. But she didn't need superpowers to know that Steve had definitely not moved on.
"That's Bucky." Steve pointed to the man in her drawing who sat on the edge of the drawing and looked like he was waving towards them, almost like he was telling Steve to put down the notebook and come and join them.
"Your best friend since childhood," Natasha finished.
"How did you know?"
"You showed me a picture of him the first time we met," Natasha explained. "It's hanging on your wall."
"You remembered that?" Steve seemed surprised.
"I remember everything," Natasha replied mysteriously.
"Then you probably remember me being rude to you that day," Steve said apologetically.
"You weren't rude," Natasha cajoled.
"Yes, I was," Steve argued.
"No, you weren't."
"I definitely was."
"Maybe just a little," Natasha relented.
Steve gave her a half smile and took his notebook back as he flipped through a couple more pages. He handed her the book back and took a tiny step back. "Her name was Peggy Carter and she was my first love and I think the only woman I've ever loved."
Licking her lips, Natasha took in the form of the beautiful woman Steve had drawn. The woman was beautiful, there was no doubt about it. From the luscious brown hair to the full red lips and dazzling, spirited eyes…it was no wonder Steve fell in love. "She seems like an amazing woman."
"She was."
Natasha looked up from the notebook and made eye contact with Steve. "Thank you for showing me this," she said sincerely.
"It's the least I could do after I slammed the door in your face." Steve's smile faltered. "It's just a little hard to talk about her sometimes."
"I understand." She was never one to take things personally and she definitely understood what it was like to want to keep things to oneself.
Steve nodded and looked at the ground, sniffing a little. A thought occurred to him. "Don't you have some place to be? I did zip you up after all."
"It's just a doctor's appointment," Natasha waved her hand. "It's only about ten minutes away."
Steve raised his eyebrows. "You dressed up for a doctor's appointment?"
"You never know who you can impress." Natasha wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Maybe I'll meet a hot doctor." She patted his arm with the back of her fingers as she picked up her purse from the ground and prepared to leave. "I could find you a cute nurse to date."
"I'm not really looking for a date right now." Steve laughed.
"Suit yourself," she sang.
Truth be told, she usually never dressed up in a cute outfit for a doctor's appointment. She didn't want to admit out loud (and she never would), but in all honestly, she just wanted a reason to talk to the mysterious man next door. She was glad she did because she found out a lot about him in one day than she did during the whole weeks before. Why she wanted to know more about Steven Grant Rogers, she had no idea. But there was just something about him that drew Natasha closer to him. Perhaps he had that effect on everyone, or perhaps it was just on her. Maybe it was the way he had closeted trauma that he kept close to his heart that drew him to her. Maybe it was the way they easily joked around that kept Natasha coming back. Maybe it was the way he so gently and carefully zipped and unzipped her, so slowly and casually sensual, that had her wanting more. Maybe it was all of those reasons combined or none at all.
"Bye, Nat," Steve said when Natasha got to the other side of the door.
"I'll see you tomorrow," Natasha promised. "I have the dress picked out already. It's navy blue with a dark edge. You'll love it."
"I look forward to it," was his short and sweet reply.
The drive to the appointment was short, but it gave her enough time to process the fact that Steve had called her "Nat", a nickname she preserved for close friends only. It gave her enough time to come to the conclusion that she didn't mind the fact that he called her that one bit. In fact, the memory of him saying her name like that, so nonchalantly rolling of his tongue, brought a bright smile to her face. She had only known this man for a few weeks, yet Natasha felt closer to him than she had with anyone. She didn't understand why and it frustrated her to no end. She didn't want to feel like this…so needy and happy. Okay, so she did want to be happy, but she didn't want this feeling to be one-sided. She didn't want to be alone in her feelings, but right now, that's what it felt like, especially since Steve was still hung up on the beautiful and dead love of his life. Natasha shook her head in disgust. Feeling feelings was just too much of a hassle. Natasha leaned her head against the car window and watched the world go by.
The drive back from the appointment was long, but it gave her no time to process the fact that her future might never be the same. When the cab reached her apartment, Natasha was still frozen in her seat, unable to move. It took the cab driver calling out to her at least ten times for her brain to process the fact that she needed to leave the vehicle.
Every step to her apartment building was as difficult as walking with concrete shoes. She couldn't even find the will to take her keys out of her bag to open the front door. Her hand clutched at the keys, but there was no strength. She couldn't open the door, she couldn't go inside—she couldn't do anything. Rather, she stood in front of the door for who knows how long. She simply stood there, her face emotionless, but her head a turbulent sea of chaotic thoughts.
After a while, Natasha could vaguely hear the sound of her neighbor's door opening. She didn't turn her head to face him, but out of her periphery, she could see him step out of his home. He had his basket of clothes in his hands and Natasha figured he was about to go downstairs to do his laundry.
When he saw her, he greeted her with a wave, believing she had just arrived and had not been standing there for the past fifteen minutes. "Hey, neighbor, perfect timing! You need to be unzipped?"
Natasha's throat was dry, but she managed a tiny nod. Steve took that as a sign to do his usual job and help his next door neighbor out. He pocketed his keys, set the laundry basket down, and walked over to her as she remained where she stood. Performing his usual ministrations, he was as sweet as ever and as gentle. He made casual conversation with her, letting her know what he had been working on while she was away, but his voice was just a dull lull in the background. This time it was different. At least to Natasha it was different. The physical contact and his strange familiarity, as small as it was, after hearing devastating news, was enough to bring her over the edge.
The way he touched her so kindly; she never knew how much she wanted it—needed it—until it happened. All at once, the keys and her bag she had clutched to her body for so long slipped out of her hands and dropped to the ground with a dull thud. Natasha's eyes closed and her face became a pained grimace as she wrapped her free hands around her stomach and gasped for breath. She felt Steve's own hands wrap around her and cover her own hands that were on her abdomen. She realized he was doing that to support her, for if he hadn't grabbed her like that, Natasha would have fallen to the ground. His hands were the only thing holding her up at the moment.
"Nat. Nat!" he said urgently, but softly so as to not alarm her. "What's wrong? What happened?"
With great tenderness, Steve lowered the two of them until they were both sitting on the ground in front of Natasha's apartment home. She didn't say anything. She placed one arm on the door frame of her home and another hand lay flat on the floor as she sniffled, trying to keep her emotions in check but failing miserably. She hadn't cried in a long time, so the feeling felt almost completely new to her. Her whole body shook as silent tears fell down her face. The only sounds were her haggard breaths and sharp gasps. While she would have felt embarrassed any other time in front of any other person, it was the last thing on her mind. The only thing she knew was the she needed him there. She didn't want him to say anything, she didn't want him to do anything—she just didn't want him to leave.
Steve seemed to know that and he didn't make a sound. He sat behind her and rubbed soothing circles on her back; the back of her dress still half unzipped and exposed.
When she had released everything that was in her system—all her pain and distress—she sat there in silence. No tears left in her to cry. Steve never stopped the comfort though. He never stopped the massaging circles on her back and the warmth of his hands never left her.
Natasha sniffed pitifully. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.
Steve was silent for a moment after he heard Natasha's voice. "You have nothing to apologize for."
He didn't ask her what was wrong because he knew Natasha would never tell him unless she wanted to. He didn't want to push her and she was grateful. But he sat there with her, for up to a half hour, not saying a word and not growing frustrated at Natasha's inability to emote like a normal human being and explain what was wrong and what was causing her such agonizing emotional pain. Natasha figured she owed him an explanation.
"I can't have kids."
Another half hour passed and Natasha found herself staring at the last bits of tea at the bottom of her mug. She hadn't looked in the mirror yet, but she figured she must have looked like a mess. Hair all undone, face reddened with dried tears, the back of her dress still undone. She sat on the corner of Steve's couch, her feet pulled up and curled into her, a thick wool blanket wrapped around her body. Yes, Natasha must have looked like a horrid mess.
Steve hadn't really said anything yet. He hadn't offered words of comfort or advice. Which was understandable. What was he supposed to say to a woman who just broke down crying in front of him because she had just gotten the news that she was infertile?
Sorry? I'm sorry your uterus is broken? I'm sorry you can't be like other women?
I'm sorry you're so broken and different. I'm sorry you don't even have the chance to be normal. I'm sorry you don't have the choice.
"You're not broken."
Natasha looked up from her mug and towards Steve. He sat across from her on one of his chairs. His mug rested on the coffee table and his hands were folded on his lap as he leaned forward towards her. Natasha realized she must have said the last bit out loud. She must have muttered it to herself.
She found herself morbidly chuckling. "I don't think I've ever really wanted kids." She cleared her throat, which was rough after a while of disuse. "Clint and Laura always talked about having kids once they got settled and married. I was promised the role of godmother. But…" Natasha sighed. "I never thought about being a mom myself."
"And now that you found out you wouldn't even have the chance of becoming pregnant, you feel like you lost your ability to choose your own life and make your own choice."
"I know it's stupid and I know that I can adopt and there are other ways of becoming a mom and—"
"It's not stupid to feel like you lost something, Nat," Steve said firmly. "But losing that choice does not make you broken. It does not make you different than other women. It does not make you a monster."
Tears began to well in her eyes again and Natasha tried to push them away. She had cried enough. "Do you think I could be a good mom?"
Steve considered his words carefully. "I think that if you keep living your life and eventually you might want to raise someone up to be just as amazing as you are, then you should do just that. I think you would be a wonderful mom if that's what you wanted to be."
Natasha gave Steve a small smile. The first genuine smile since she heard the news. "I think I might do a test run first. With Clint and Laura's kids. Just to see what it's like. I've heard pretty mixed reviews about children."
"Sounds like a plan." Steve chuckled.
She thought she was ready to go back to her own apartment. She thought she was prepared to be alone that night. But she still could not bring herself to open the door. Steve sensed her hesitancy and offered to let her stay the night in his own apartment. She didn't refuse his offer.
"I'll take the couch, you sleep in my room." He pointed to the tiny hall past the kitchen. "Just make a right. It's across from the bathroom." He handed her a pair of his sweatpants that Natasha wouldn't be surprised if it fit perfectly (the man had the waist the size of a Disney princess's) and an old military t-shirt he had in the back of his drawer. He then unzipped the remaining half of Natasha's dress, at her request, making it easier for her to slip out of and change into the night clothes.
"It's your house, Steve. I'll sleep on the couch, you sleep in your room."
"You're my guest. You sleep on the bed," Steve countered.
"I'm intruding." Natasha shook her head.
"I'm offering."
"Steve, don't be such a gentleman. Sleep in your bed!" Natasha argued.
"I don't sleep in it anyway!" He argued back. His eyes widened a little and Natasha figured he hadn't meant to say that. She looked at the couch and noticed the wool blanket she had wrapped around herself still curled in the corner and a stack of pillows sitting on the other side of it. Steve sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "It's just…it's too soft. In the army, I was so used to sleeping in hard places and on the ground and now the bed it's like—"
"It's like sleeping on a marshmallow," Natasha finished.
Steve looked taken aback. "Yes, exactly. How did you—?"
"Sam used to say the exact same thing."
"Sam?" Steve asked.
"My other roommate. He was a Pararesueman for the Air Force. I should introduce the two of you."
Steve nodded. "So you'll take the bed."
"You got it, Captain." Natasha saluted.
"Captain?"
"Cause you were in the military," Natasha explained, as if it needed any explanation.
"I wasn't a captain in the military."
"Well, duh, Captain Obvious. But you don't have to tell people that."
"That would be lying."
"You're such a goody two-shoes. Captain Goody Two-Shoes."
Steve rolled his eyes, but his smile showed he was not the least bit annoyed. "Goodnight, Nat."
"Goodnight, Captain."
She had a long day and her body felt exhausted. Her first action was to simply lie in bed and stare at the ceiling for a minute. Then she rolled around a couple of times and waited for sleep to take over. Through the door, she could hear Steve rustling around and heard him clean up the mugs they had drunk from and get ready for the night. Finally, Natasha could see the light turn off from the crack in her door and heard Steve settle in for a night's rest. His low, deep breaths as he fell asleep were a comforting reminder that she was not alone that night. She rolled around one more time to find a comfortable spot and drifted off to sleep not long after Steve. It really was like sleeping on a marshmallow, but it was a wonderful and toasty marshmallow and just the right amount of cushion to send her straight to REM.
Unfortunately, Natasha was a light sleeper and the sound of even a toilet flush would wake her up in an instant. She always said it was just the way she was, but a part of her believed it was the years she spent at the orphanage, always on the lookout and the lack of security that she felt, surrounded by all the other girls and wards, that trained her up to be so watchful in the night.
So when Steve's calm and slow breaths in his sleep changed to panicked, frenzied gasps for air, Natasha was woken in an instant. The sound of rustling and a glass falling to the floor had her sitting straight up in bed. The change came suddenly that Natasha could pinpoint the exact moment when she started to panic. It sounded like Steve was being choked. It sounded like Steve was dying.
Rising quickly out of bed and throwing the blankets off her body, Natasha ran to the other room to find Steve crouching next to the couch, his fingers clawing at the coffee table as he struggled to stay up. In his panic, he had thrown off many of the items on the coffee table, including a glass of water and some magazines. He looked up at the sound of her footsteps and Natasha noticed how dilated his eyes were. Like a fish out of water, he still continued gasping for breath; his mouth moved in an attempt to communicate with her, but there were no sounds other than the haggard intakes of air.
He looked scared out of his mind. She was scared out of her mind.
She ran to him and crouched in front of him, not sure if she should touch him or not. His fingers and lips were starting to tinge a hue of blue and his wheezes became even more persistent.
"Ahh," Steve tried to say, "tha."
Natasha searched for her phone and fished it out of her bag, ready to call 9-1-1.
"Ah…tha." Steve put his hand to his chest and tried to press down, wincing as he struggled to breathe. "I…hal…ar…"
"Ahtha? I…hal…inhaler?" Natasha asked. "Asthma? Steve, are you—?" A voice on the other line finally spoke up. Natasha barked into the phone, her voice ever so pitchy from panic. "My friend is having an asthma attack! I need help, please!"
"Okay, miss, stay calm." The voice on the other line instructed. "I have dispatched an ambulance, they will be there soon. In the meantime, we need to make sure your friend is sitting upright so they can breathe better. Are they sitting up?"
Natasha had one hand on Steve's back to make sure he held himself up and the other on the phone. "Yes, he is."
"Good. Does your friend have a rescue inhaler nearby?"
"Inhaler, Steve." Natasha looked at the panicking man, "Steve, where is your inhaler?"
Steve still couldn't speak, but he looked in an area in the kitchen behind her and Natasha knew where to find it. She sprinted as quickly as she could to the First Aid Kit and rummaged through all of Steve's Band-Aids and medication, throwing things on the ground—looking for the one thing that could save her neighbor. When she finally held the small white device in her hands, she made it back to Steve in record time and placed it against his lips for him to breathe into.
Natasha held the phone back up to her ear as she guided the rescue inhaler to Steve's mouth. "He's using it."
"That's good," the lady replied. "Just a couple more minutes for the ambulance. Is there anything in the area that could have caused the asthma attack? Any dust or pollen?"
"No, no," Natasha looked around frantically. "His apartment is clean. At least I think it is…I don't know!"
"That's okay, miss. Remember to stay calm. Just keep him on the inhaler until the paramedics arrive."
Natasha nodded even though she knew the woman would not see her. "You're gonna be okay, Steve. The ambulance will be here soon."
It seemed like Steve could not hear her and the inhaler was not really helping, even after using it for a couple of minutes. He seemed on the verge of completely passing out and Natasha was helpless to stop him.
In a matter of seconds, Natasha heard loud noises on the stairs and knew help had arrived. She threw open the door to Steve's apartment and watched as the paramedics did their job. They placed him on a stretcher and attached a breathing device of some kind to his mouth and nostrils. Natasha ran behind them as they began to take his body down the stairs and into the hospital bound vehicle.
"Are you his wife?" one of the paramedics asked.
Before she could reply another paramedic called out, "He's seizing!"
"Get in," the paramedic who was talking to her said. He guided her into the ambulance and let her sit on the other side and watch as they tried to keep Steve breathing.
"Keep him on the nebulizer," a paramedic asserted. "We might need intubation."
"Intubation? What? What's intubation?" Natasha asked fiercely. She needed to know what was happening and the field of medicine was completely new to her.
"Lady, please let us do our jobs," the paramedic said sharply, as he tried to focus on the situation at hand.
Natasha fingers clutched into fists and she felt her nails dig into her palms. "Is he going to be okay?"
Nobody answered.
Steve was in the ER for a long time. Natasha waited. She sat in the same chair, her arms crossed and her face devoid of emotion. She was still in Steve's old military shirt and pajama bottoms, but she had bought a zip-up hoodie from the hospital gift store to keep her warm through the night. It was only a few hours ago that she was at the same hospital getting a diagnosis that she believed was the end of her life as she knew it. Now she was here again, worried for the life of her neighbor she had only known for about a month. A neighbor she believed was fighting for his life.
A couple hours passed and the sun was just peeking through the window when a nurse came up to her to let her know that Mr. Rogers was alright and finally ready to take visitors. "I'm sure he will be happy to see his wife after everything that happened," the nurse said kindly.
Natasha did not correct her assumption about her and Steve's marital status. "What happened to him?" she asked hoarsely.
"We don't have the full diagnosis yet. But so far, we have run a couple of tests and we've done a chest X-ray so we should know soon. The doctor will be in shortly to fill in all the details."
"Okay," Natasha nodded, completely exhausted. "Thank you."
"Of course. Now if you'll follow me, I can take you to his room."
The room she walked into was white and completely sterilized, giving it the ultimate hospital look. She would have noticed other details, but all of that faded away when she caught a glimpse of Steve, looking worn out and drained as his head rested on a mountain of pillows. He wore a checkered white and blue hospital gown and an identity tag was tied around his wrist. He was also hooked to a bunch of machines that monitored his heart.
When Steve saw her walk in, he gave her a half-smile—the strongest he could muster. "Hey, neighbor. I would unzip you, but my hands are a little tied up at the moment." He weakly lifted his hand to show all the tubing connected to him.
"I think you're the one in need of help this time, neighbor." Natasha replied back softly. She walked beside his bed and took a seat on one of the chairs.
Steve let out a huff of air, which Natasha never would have thought would make her so happy to see, and he weakly picked at the woolen hospital blanket that covered his lower body. "Trust me, this hospital gown is all the way open in the back. No unzipping necessary here." He tried to joke, but it fell flat as Natasha couldn't really think straight after seeing him so close to dying. When Natasha didn't say anything, Steve tried to explain what happened. "The doctor just came in before you. I-uh, it wasn't an asthma attack or well, maybe it was."
She looked at him in confusion. "What was it then?"
Steve closed his eyes and tried to find the words. "They think it might have been anxiety induced or stress. I don't know. I- I haven't had those in a while and-and never this bad and I thought… Anyway, I am so sorry I put you through that. I swear if I had known—and you're just my neighbor and I made you stay up all night—"
"Steve, you couldn't have known you were going to have a panic attack. This is not your fault—in fact, it might have been my fault. I'm the one who asked about your art and your past life and I may have triggered it—"
"No." Steve was firm in that. "It felt good to talk to someone about that. I guess I just had it locked up so deep inside of me and once one thing got out, all the bad came out too."
"Okay then." Natasha cleared her throat, her anxiousness to know if Steve was okay slowly fading, while quickly being replaced with fatigue. "I- uh, I brought you a coffee. It's not very good. I bought it at the hospital cafeteria and, I mean, it's mine and now that I think about it, I'm not sure if you're even allowed to have coffee after the… never mind, I don't have coffee. What were we talking about?" Yeah, she really needed to sleep now.
"I miss coffee." Steve sighed loudly, as if the lack of caffeine was his greatest problem.
"Quit being dramatic, Rogers. You can have coffee as soon as we leave. There's probably a coffee stand on every block in this city."
Steve raised a brow. "As it should be. New York has the best coffee."
"You say that about every food in New York."
Steve had an unwavering loyalty to just about everything, and that of course, included his home in the heart of New York.
"That's because it's true."
"I don't know." Natasha wiggled her eyebrows trying to get a reaction out of Steve. "New Jersey has pretty good donuts."
"Donuts?" Steve crinkled his nose. "In that polluted, congested, freezing—"
"Are you really not seeing the irony?"
"—place they have the gall to call a 'state'?"
"Watch your blood pressure, dear."
Steve harrumphed and crossed his arms. "I never took you to be a traitor."
"To New York? Steve—"
At that moment, the pretty nurse that helped Natasha find the room came in with Steve's water and medicine. "Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Rogers. I hope I'm not intruding."
"Oh, we're not—" Steve looked appalled at the idea of being married to Natasha. "We're not married."
"Oh, yes." Natasha agreed. She wrapped her hands around one of Steve's biceps and leaned in all sickly sweet. "We're getting married soon though. And our honeymoon is going to be in New Jersey. Isn't that right, sweetheart?"
Steve crinkled his nose in disgust at the thought of stepping foot in New Jersey. "She's just joking," he informed the nurse.
The nurse laughed good-naturedly. "Just friends then?"
"Neighbors, actually," Natasha corrected, back to using her normal voice.
"Huh," the nurse said as she watched Steve take the medicine. "Well, it's a good thing you found him when you did. You probably saved his life."
Natasha nodded, grateful for once in her life that she was a light-sleeper.
"And Mr. Rogers…" she gave him a subtle wink. "I'm glad to know you're not taken." Those were her last remarks as she sauntered out of the room. Natasha noticed she had a little more swing in her hips than before. Steve certainly noticed to, because he could not stop staring.
"She totally has a thing for you," she teased.
At that remark, Steve turned his head to look at Natasha. "No, she doesn't."
"Yes, she does."
"No."
"Yes."
"No way."
"Look at your cup of water," Natasha instructed, unable to hide her cheeky grin. Steve did as he was told and sure enough, in pretty handwriting was a name and a phone number for Steve to do with as he pleased. "She's cute," Natasha commented as she took the cup from him and examined it. "She's cute, she's nice, and she's a nurse. What more could you want? This…" She looked at the name written on the cup. "…Sharon Carter is perfect."
"Her last name is Carter," Steve said glumly.
Remembering Steve's long lost love, Natasha tried to rationalize. "Carter is a popular last name. I'm sure there's no relation. I think you should give Nurse Sharon a chance. You need to get out and live your life. You're twenty-something and you've only had one girlfriend."
"I've had girlfriends after Peggy. I'm not completely dead inside."
"Nobody special then?" Natasha asked.
"Huh," Steve scoffed. "Believe it or not, it's kinda hard to find someone with shared life experiences. You know, someone with severe asthma and other debilitating conditions who somehow made it into the army and has suffered PTSD from it ever since. That kind of shared life experience."
"Okay, so maybe don't share that on the first date. Alright, just make something up."
"What like you?" Those three words changed something in Natasha. Sure, Natasha lied and didn't share much and was closed off to most people; but Steve was different. Steve knew her in ways she didn't think anybody could. She had been more honest with Steve than even her closest friends and even Steve didn't truly trust her.
"The truth is a matter of circumstance. If you knew my full truth, you wouldn't be able to handle it, Rogers."
"Right back at ya, Romanoff. It's a tough way to live."
Natasha's green eyes never left Steve's blue. "I survive though. That's what matters." She sighed. "Date Sharon, don't date Sharon. In the end it's up to you. I'm not your therapist."
"I know." Steve adjusted one of his pillows and leaned against it.
"Who do you want me to be?" Natasha asked, her voice on the edge of soft and shy.
Steve thought about it for a second. "How 'bout a friend?" He asked sincerely.
"I'm not usually in the business of befriending next-door neighbors, but I suppose I'll have to try. Especially when the neighbor helps me out every morning and evening with all my dress issues."
"Yeah, I guess you owe me that much."
"Hey! I also technically saved your life." Natasha argued, but her grin told him that she was not being serious.
"So you're never gonna let that go, huh?"
"We're still in the hospital, Steven."
"I'd rather you call me Captain than Steven."
"No problem, Captain Steven."
"You really like getting under people's nerves, don't you?"
"Just you, my love." Natasha gently patted Steve's cheeks. "Now let's get some rest because I am completely exhausted."
"Can you stay?" Steve asked timidly. Then he shook his head. "I know the beds aren't that comfortable and—you know what, that's stupid. I don't know why—"
"Shut up, Steve. We're friends now. If you want me to stay, I'll stay."
After turning off the light in the room and letting the nurses know what she was doing, she climbed onto the empty hospital bed that was next to Steve's and curled underneath the blanket. She promised herself that she would stay awake until she could hear Steve's normal breathing as he slept. Even though there was other machinery that would do the same job, she trusted herself to take care of Steve more than any technology.
They rustled in the dark silence for a few minutes until Steve's voice spoke up. "Friends don't tell each other to 'shut up'."
"If you don't shut up and fall asleep in the next ten minutes, I'm revoking our friendship status."
"We'll have to work on your friendship skills."
Even in the dark, Natasha could imagine Steve's charming grin and the crinkled corners in his eyes when he made a joke.
He was going to be okay.
Author's Note: Hi there! This part was a little angsty and dramatic (I'm a dramatic person, what can I say?), but I can promise you that the next and final part will be a lot more lighthearted and humorous.
I know I probably over-dramatized the struggle of zipping and unzipping a dress, but I swear I've almost dislocated my shoulder trying to unzip dresses so you know what...maybe it's just me lol.
Also, I realize the characters are probably very out of character, with Natasha getting emotional and breaking down in front of Steve, and that's on me (but I mean, this is an AU so technically I can do that lol). Buuuut, in the movies, Natasha has cried in front of Steve before (Endgame) and she has told him things she would never admit to others and has been more honest with him than any other character on screen (Winter Soldier being a prime example). Even in Civil War, Natasha told him she was looking for her birth parents and she shared a part of her past with Steve.
Anyway, that's just my daily romanogers rant. I love them to pieces and THEY DESERVED BETTER. I hope my fic does them some justice. Please leave a review and let me know what you think.