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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Yes, we're talking about the superhero movies, magic and all of that stuff, but tbh up to this day I am taken aback by dumbbells on a kitchen counter from CA:TWS. Who keeps their dumbbells like this. Why. Who on that set decided to put them there.
romanogers // steve rogers x natasha romanoff // CA:TWS
When the Winter Soldier shot Nick Fury in his apartment, the world pulled the rug out from under Steve Rogers's feet. Luckily for him, he had Natasha Romanoff on his side. Unfortunately for Natasha, Steve complicated things.
The things he complicated weren't operational–he was too competent for that. He complicated everything else.
3k. mostly canon compliant. more than friends, less than lovers. coworkers to friends to situationship. mild angst? mild fluff? pining. sam wilson, maria hill, and clint barton cameos. Natasha's POV. no beta.
AO3 // the playlist
A/N: I was rewatching CA:TWS for the hundredth time to do "research" for my longfic, and I couldn't stop thinking about them. Romanogers will forever be canon to me. I even started writing an extended version of this because 3k words was not enough. Also, I'm posting this on mobile. Hopefully the formatting isn't all messed up or anything lol xoxo
"Where did Captain America learn how to steal a car?" For someone so bound to doing the right thing, it was quite unexpected to see him hotwire the truck.
"Nazi Germany." Natasha nodded at his answer and looked back at the road. "And we're borrowing. Take your feet off the dash."
When she looked over at him, she couldn't help the smirk on her lips. Still, she did as she was told.
You still uncomfortable?
Not exactly the word I would use.
Steve has been a bit of a workaholic since he came out of the ice. He's an attractive guy, but Natasha couldn't recall him ever even alluding to taking a woman out on a date. Hence, her trying to set him up like his paid matchmaker.
"All right, I have a question for you, of which you do not have to answer." Steve glanced at her. "I feel like, if you don't answer it though, you're kind of answering it, you know–"
"What?" He cut in, eyebrows raised.
"Was that your first kiss since 1945?" Her small smirk turned into an outright grin as she turned her head towards Steve.
"That bad, huh?"
"I didn't say that."
"Well, it kind of sounds like that's what you're saying."
"No, I didn't. I just wondered how much practice you've had–"
"You don't need practice–"
"Everybody needs practice–"
"It was not my first kiss since 1945." She could hear the eyeroll more than see it. "I'm 95. I'm not dead."
"Nobody special, though?" Natasha asked, still smiling but softer now.
Steve gave a dry chuckle, pausing before answering her. "Believe it or not, it's kind of hard to find someone with shared life experience." Her smile slowly faded. She knew the feeling.
"Well, that's alright. You just make something up."
"What, like you?"
Natasha couldn't tell if he meant for that to be a jab at her or not. Either way, she didn't bother taking it to heart.
"I don't know. The truth is a matter of circumstance. It's not all things to all people, all the time." She gave a small shrug. "Neither am I."
Steve looked over at her, staring with that pitying look of his. "That's a tough way to live."
His words found their mark, one they probably weren't even gunning for. They left a dull ache in her chest that made her almost rethink her philosophy from his perspective. Instead, she compressed that ache until it was small enough to fit in that mental filing cabinet of hers just to never look at it again.
"It's a good way not to die, though."
"You know, it's kind of hard to trust someone when you don't know who that someone really is."
"Yeah." Natasha didn't like how he had a point. She also didn't like how it almost made her feel guilty. "Who do you want me to be?"
"How about a friend?"
Her chuckle was more of an exhale.
"Well," she started. When she looked at Steve, that ache in her chest came back a bit harder. "There's a chance you might be in the wrong business, Rogers." When she looked into his eyes, she knew he was genuine. That made it worse. She looked away. His eyes were too direct, too piercing. They felt heavier with every second she held his gaze.
Friends were a rare commodity in this world. A friend who didn't skirt the truth was even rarer.
He gave her one last look before facing the road again. She always knew she was good at reading people–tool of the trade–but Steve always made her second-guess herself.
Her eyes shifted from the road to the dash. Instead of trying her chance, Natasha watched New Jersey pass by in the mirror.
Steve and Natasha showed up on Sam Wilson's doorstep, a twin set of bad news covered in dirt.
Sam moved to the side to let them into his home, scanning the lawn and locking the door behind them. They stood in Sam's kitchen where Natasha looked over every nearby surface until he led them to the guest bedroom and its connected bathroom.
Now, Steve was washing the soot and dirt from his hands, wearing that white tank top of his, when he glanced up in the mirror. His eyes landed on Natasha as she towel-dried her hair. He turned and grabbed a towel to dry off his hands.
"You okay?"
"Yeah," she said, not really thinking about transparency in the moment. As he walked out of the bathroom and towards her, Natasha watched him, but her eyes found it hard to stay on his form. Then, he sat right across from her.
"What's going on?" He kept eye contact, blue eyes as soft and sincere as ever.
She could brush him off, deflect and force him to move on. Unfortunately, Natasha knew she didn't want to. She wanted to try her chance. She half-heartedly folded the towel in her hands and placed it next to her on the bed.
"When I first joined SHIELD, I thought I was going straight." She averted her eyes, looking at the wooden floors just behind his elbow. That last glimpse through a window of a red schoolbag in Budapest flashed into her mind. "But I guess I just traded in the KGB for Hydra."
Her green eyes snapped back to Steve's until the guilt was almost too big to compress. Then, she looked down and sighed against the heaviness in her chest. "I thought I knew whose lies I was telling." Her gaze traveled upwards, not really seeing anything. "But I guess I can't tell the difference anymore."
But truth was subjective, as she had said. She thought SHIELD was honest–as honest as an intelligence organization could be. Turns out, it was someone else's definition of honest.
"There's a chance you might be in the wrong business." The callback made her stop. She looked over his broad frame that he tried to soften the moment he sat down in front of her. She scanned his face, noting how he lowered himself to look up at her.
He had saved her. Of course, they had worked together on countless missions now, but this was different. Now, they were fugitives running from a long-dead organization that had been building in the shadowy corners of SHIELD. Anyone else probably would have left her for dead the moment her head slammed against the concrete slab. But not Steve Rogers.
"I owe you."
He dismissed her with a furrow in his brow and a shake of his head. "It's okay."
"If it was the other way around," she swallowed, locking her eyes onto his. "And it was down to me to save your life, now you be honest with me, would you trust me to do it?"
"I would now." His face softened, blue eyes somehow looking warm. His gaze wandered downwards as he shifted gears. "And I'm always honest." Steve looked back up with a small quirk to his lips.
She took the lifeline he offered. "Well, you seem pretty chipper for someone who just found out they died for nothing."
"Well," he sighed, sitting back. "Guess I just like to know who I'm fighting."
Then, Sam walked into the room and leaned against the wall, eyes flitting between the two of them. "I made breakfast. If you guys eat that sort of thing."
His answer slotted a piece into place within her, one she hadn't felt since Ohio.
Natasha leaned against Steve as they followed behind Maria, one hand pressed against the bullet hole in her shoulder.
"GSW. She's lost at least a pint," Maria shouted to the civilian running towards them.
"Maybe two," Sam chimed in. She never could get over the feeling of blood loss.
The civilian waved a hand as he jogged towards them. "Let me take her."
"She'll want to see him first," Maria said. Natasha looked up at Steve whose battle-focused face twisted into confusion. Maria led Natasha, Steve, Sam, and the civilian towards a doorway–if you could call it that–that was sectioned off with a plastic tarp. When Maria peeled it back, Natasha saw a dead man.
She had seen many dead men–ones who were actually dead and ones who were supposed to be dead. Nick Fury was apparently the latter.
"About damn time."
Steve's arm that had been wrapped around Natasha's torso slowly fell to his side.
The loss of blood left a dizzying, fuzzy feeling throughout her body while the adrenaline crash just compounded the fatigue. Now, she was staring at a living Nick Fury. She really could have used Steve's steadiness.
The absence was cold.
Natasha shoved the shock into the filing cabinet, right next to that ache in her chest, and let the civilian treat her bullet wound as Fury explained why he was alive.
"Can't kill you if you're already dead," Nick said. "Besides, I wasn't sure who to trust." Natasha made the mistake of holding Fury's eye contact. When she looked away, she inhaled as the doctor applied more pressure to her wound. It didn't make his words hurt any less.
For a job involving deception, Natasha was starting to get tired of the word 'trust'. Trust was called into question when she first showed up at SHIELD after Clint refused to take the shot and brought her into Fury's scrutiny. Then, Tony ranted on about double agents and secretaries. Then, SHIELD and Steve. Now this.
She lied. She wasn't tired of it. She was tired of expecting not to be trusted and being right. And she hated how she considered backtracking in that philosophy. But she did like being right. She liked being able to anticipate.
"This man declined the Nobel Peace Prize. He said peace wasn't an achievement, it was a responsibility." Fury tossed down the picture of Pierce onto the table top. "See, it's stuff like this that gives me trust issues."
Natasha shifted her gaze away from Fury. "We have to stop the launch," she said. She looked up at Steve just as Fury quipped back.
"I don't think the Council's accepting my calls anymore."
Natasha walked through the cemetery, file in hand. In the distance, she could see Fury talking to Steve and Sam.
"Anybody asks for me, tell them they can find me, right here." Fury shook Sam and Steve's hands.
She couldn't help but smile. "You should be honored. That's about as close as he gets to saying thank you." As Fury turned and walked away, she could see the smirk he was trying to hide.
"Not going with him?" Steve asked, meeting her halfway.
She shook her head. "No."
"Not staying here."
"Nah." She looked him over. He looked well. "I blew all my covers. I gotta go and figure out a new one."
"That might take a while."
"I'm counting on it." For a moment, neither spoke. Instead, they just held each other's gaze. "That thing you asked for. I called in a few favors from Kyiv." She handed him the file.
He looked down at it like the stack of papers weighed a ton. The breath he took in was deep, like he was bracing himself. When his brow creased, she decided to throw him a lifeline.
"Will you do me a favor? Call that nurse."
Steve looked up. "She's not a nurse."
"And you're not a SHIELD agent." Natasha tilted her head.
"What was her name again?" Steve asked.
Natasha knew he remembered. She also knew he wouldn't call her.
"Sharon. She's nice." She almost hoped he wouldn't.
Another look passed between them, this time longer. Natasha stepped in, settling a gentle hand onto his shoulder. Steve leaned down as she reached up and kissed his cheek.
"Be careful, Steve," she said as she walked away. "You might not want to pull on that thread." One last look, then she left.
The feeling in her chest this time wasn't an ache. This time, it twisted and constricted around something specific and stubborn. She reached for the filing cabinet.
Seven months later.
Natasha knocked on the door. She leaned against the doorway as she waited a few moments for the door to unlock and open. Then, Steve Rogers peeked through the gap like the Captain was expecting trouble instead of whatever he decided Natasha was.
"Hey." Her voice was casual as if it hadn't been closer to a year since they last saw each other. He could probably hear her pulse hammering inside her chest.
Steve furrowed his brow. "Nat?"
The dark blue long-sleeve shirt was doing him too many favors. He didn't need any of them in the first place.
"Come in." His voice was soft.
Steve opened the door wider, and Natasha walked in past him. He looked up and down the hallway before closing and locking the door. When he turned, he folded his arms across his chest before leaning back against the door.
"How's your search going?" Natasha shamelessly looked around the apartment. She wasn't looking for clues of his mission. Just looking for signs of him.
"You really came all this way for a check-in?" She knew he wouldn't believe it if she said yes.
"No."
Steve hummed his acknowledgment. "Thought you were gone building your covers. What's got you out here?"
Natasha turned around to face him. The dark jeans fit him well. He looked healthy, like he'd been sleeping and eating. He also looked like he hadn't taken a single day off.
"The team's getting back together."
"When?"
"Execute in two weeks." Natasha looked away but couldn't hide from his gaze. "Stark Tower," she added, like that would make him stop dismantling her with a look.
"I'll be there." For a long moment neither of them said anything. Steve pushed off the door and walked towards Natasha. "You hungry? Sam made dinner last night, and we've got plenty left over."
"I could eat." She followed him into the kitchen, sitting down at the island as Steve pulled out the leftovers and two plates.
"Haven't made much progress out here. Or anywhere, really." Steve filled in the silence with their brand of small talk as he portioned out the food and heated it up in the microwave.
"Sounds like he's good at hiding." Natasha accepted the bottled water from Steve with a quiet thanks. "Where's Sam at now?"
"Probably talking up local law enforcement," Steve said, smiling. It looked good on him. "How about you? What have you been getting into?"
"Well, I was laying low for a while. Then, Maria reached out and asked for my help, so I've been working with her for a few months now." He slid the plate towards her across the island. Grilled chicken with leeks and roasted potatoes.
"You been doing good?" He looked up at her as he cut through his chicken, still standing at the other side of the island. His eyes held that same soft look.
Natasha looked away. "I've been busy."
For the next hour, they mostly ate in silence after Steve sat next to her. His knee brushed against the side of her thigh twice.
Natasha would be lying if she said she hadn't thought about Steve Rogers in the months since they last stood over Nick Fury's grave together. Natasha had also never been known to be honest in the first place. It's a virtue she had yet to earn. But in the relatively safe confines of her mind, she was usually honest.
Before Maria knocked on her door in the dead of night, Natasha was lonely–another occupational hazard. After thirty years of this life, she had gotten used to it. And when Steve dragged her into that empty hospital room and shoved her against the wall, she stopped being alone. By the time Natasha handed him the file on Barnes, she learned she liked not being alone–destroyed life's purpose withstanding.
When their plates emptied, Natasha found herself looking for a reason to stay longer.
"It's getting late," she settled on. "I should get going."
Steve turned towards her, one elbow propped up on the counter. "You could stay the night. I'll even let you take my bed."
Natasha chuckled softly as she looked down and shook her head. "That's okay. I've got a flight to catch." She looked up, catching his gaze. "Thank you, though."
"Anytime."
Two weeks later, Natasha was sitting in Clint's quarters at Stark Tower, a rare sight for him.
"Rogers should be in tomorrow," Clint supplied as he passed her the popcorn. This movie marathon would be better if he stopped making conversation.
"Is that so?" She took the bowl from him and placed it in her lap. She didn't want to think about Steve right now.
"Yup." He propped his feet up on the coffee table, stretched out with horrible posture. Bella was running across the water fountain, racing against time to save Edward. Just before she could push him out of the sunlight, Clint opened his mouth again.
"You know, now that just leaves Banner." His grubby hand fished around the bowl in her lap as she cut her eyes towards him.
"And?" Now, Bella, Edward, and Alice were being escorted to see the Volturi.
"Nothing. Just letting you know, is all."
"I hate you." Natasha rolled her eyes, grumbling about how this scene with the Volturi was thematically important.
Clint just laughed at her with a handful of popcorn.
The next day, Steve and Sam showed up with one duffle bag each and a few hours to spare before the mission brief and planning.
"Hey, stranger." Natasha gave Sam a friendly hug, glancing up at Steve from over his shoulder.
"Hey, how've you been?" Sam asked when they pulled away.
"Been good. Busy catching bad guys." Natasha smirked. "You know, the usual."
He laughed. "Yeah, the usual. Uh huh." Before he could crack the joke Natasha knew was coming, Steve approached them.
"Hey." His smile was small and warm. There was a bit of green in his eyes.
"Hi."
Sam looked between them and left without another word. He just smiled and shook his head.
"It's good to see you again," Steve said, looking down at the floor for a moment before meeting her eyes again.
"It's only been two weeks, Rogers."
He gave her a small shrug and a lift to his lips. "I know.”
You’re watching Captain America: The Winter Soldier and it’s that scene where Cap and Nat are in the underground bunker. She sticks the usb drive into the computer. Zola wakes up and instead of being creepy and mysterious he sings this song:
