home again.

Like this for a BND-adjacent starter from either MJ or Yelena (specify who in comments!)

"thought it was a pretty common name," steve says, the remark slipping out almost absentmindedly before a casual smile finds its way across his face. he rubs a hand along the back of his neck, looking almost sheepish at the realization finally dawning on both of them. "and... well, technically, i'm not captain america anymore."

for a moment, the sidewalk falls into complete silence.

ned stares at him as though his brain has simply stopped working, his expression shifting through confusion, disbelief, recognition, then right back to disbelief again while he searches steve's face for some sign that this is all one elaborate joke.

"hold on," he says slowly, pointing between the beard and the man standing in front of him as though the extra facial hair has somehow become the greatest obstacle in solving the puzzle. "that's why i couldn't figure it out. you grew the beard, stopped wearing the suit everywhere, and now you just... look like some ridiculously handsome guy walking around manhattan."

steve lets out a small laugh, the kind that comes more from embarrassment than amusement, "that's probably for the best."

"no, seriously," ned continues, still trying to reconcile the image in his head with the person standing in front of him. "i was over here thinking, 'wow, mj somehow got rescued by a male model,' and the whole time it's literally captain america."

"former," steve corrects gently. "sam's the one carrying the shield now. i'm just... steve."

somehow that makes ned stare even harder.

"okay, that's somehow crazier," he admits with complete sincerity before a grin spreads across his face. "this is insane. first i get to hang out with spider-man, and now i'm standing outside my apartment talking to former captain america."

steve's smile eases into something more curious, "...you know spider-man?"

"yeah." ned answers without the slightest hesitation, as though there could never be another response. "we're friends. have been for years, actually."

something shifts across steve's expression at that, subtle enough that most people probably wouldn't notice it, but the mention of the young hero immediately draws his attention in a way little else could. he remembers a kid who threw himself into dangerous situations because somebody had to, remembers courage that always seemed far greater than his age had any business allowing, and despite everything that has changed since handing the shield over to sam, there are some names that still manage to pull a smile from him without any effort at all.

"then he picked good company."

ned brightens immediately, apparently deciding that this is now a perfectly normal conversation to be having outside his apartment building at midnight while mj stands beside them covered in dried blood.

"i was actually just heading to the bodega because i was planning on grabbing some ice cream before binging doctor who for the rest of the night," he says, lifting the reusable shopping bag in demonstration before another thought occurs to him. "actually... forget the ice cream. there's a chinese place around the corner that's still open. i could grab enough for everybody if you're hungry. you should come upstairs for a while."

steve instinctively prepares the polite refusal before the invitation has even finished, years of declining thanks and disappearing before celebrations ever really began making the response almost automatic.

"that's generous," he says, offering an appreciative smile, "but i don't wanna invite myself into your evening. i've already interrupted it enough."

ned's expression doesn't crumble, but the disappointment appears hard enough to hide, arriving only for an instant before he tries to cover it with an understanding nod.

steve notices anyway; he always notices. his gaze drifts toward the apartment entrance before returning to ned, another smile appearing, this one just a little more genuine than the last.

"...then again," he concedes, "a friend of spider-man's is a friend of mine."

ned's face lights up so completely that steve can't help but laugh.

"seriously?"

"long as you're sure i'm not imposing."

MJ shoots Steve a knowing look. "It's not that common a name," she says, though he has a point about the Captain America thing. He's not the big guy in charge anymore, and probably enjoys a little bit of anonymity, and she just blurted out his former identity like it was nothing.

She hovers, just sober enough to feel awkward as Ned and Steve banter about Spider-Man. About Peter. The dahlia necklace is safely tucked away into her pocket until she can inspect the chain for any breaks, and she closes her fist around it while they discuss Steve coming up to the apartment to hang out. She really doesn't expect him to say yes, but mentioning Peter seems to flip a switch inside of the former Captain America. A friend of Spider-Man's is a friend of mine.

"Ned loves to host," she says to reassure him as Ned disappears around the corner. "When Spider-Man was over, he ordered enough banh mi to feed a small army. It's his love language. Come on up, I'll put some club soda on your jacket."

Leading the way now with one guiding hand on the wall, MJ walks slowly up the stairs to the third floor apartment, letting them in with her key. "I'm just going to clean myself up and change," she explains, and gestures to the sofa. "Make yourself at home, I'll be right back."

No wonder he's no stranger to blood. Walked out of worse. Yeah, no kidding.

MJ retreats to her bedroom and fetches a change of clothes, then shuffles into the bathroom to change and wash her face. Examines herself in the mirror and really thinks about how stupid she's been acting tonight, and every night since she found Peter's note. She needs to pull herself together, get a job doing something important, and get busy changing the world for the better.

Once most of the dried blood is washed out from under her fingernails and the creases of her face, she returns freshly-scrubbed to the living room. For only a second she wonders if Steve did any snooping, then remembers how ordinary and boring her life was until this past week. Nothing much to snoop.

he worries about natasha more often than he ever admits, not because he questions whether she can take care of herself, but because he knows she rarely gives anyone the opportunity to take care of her. somewhere along the way she became so accustomed to carrying everything alone that it almost seems instinctive now, brushing aside concern with a joke, redirecting the conversation before anyone gets too close, convincing everyone around her that she's already handled whatever they're about to ask about. most people let her; steve never really has. strength has never convinced him someone needs less kindness; if anything, he's found the opposite to be true. the people who ask for the least are usually the ones who have gone the longest without expecting anyone to stay.

the kitchen of the safehouse is little more than a place to catch their breath between assignments-- functional cabinets, an aging coffee maker, and a scarred wooden table that has seen years of strategy meetings, exhausted conversations, and teammates trying to convince themselves they were ready for whatever came next. rain traces slow paths across the windows while the city beyond them carries on without either of them, blissfully unaware of how close everything had come to falling apart only hours earlier. steve sits across from her with a mug cradled between both hands, his jacket draped over the back of the chair after finally conceding that the mission was over. there is no report demanding his attention, no briefing waiting downstairs, no one asking captain america to have the right answer. for once, there is only this room, the person sitting across from him, and a conversation neither of them has to rush through.

"i think it's because there aren't as many distractions left," he says, his gaze drifting briefly toward the rain-speckled glass before returning to her. "when everything finally slows down, there's nothing left competing for your attention. whatever you've been carrying all day suddenly... has the chance to catch up."

his thumb idly turns the mug as a faint, understanding smile crosses his face.

Another night, another safe house. Natasha touches her aching head as she lowers herself to sit at the scarred kitchen table across from Steve. The day went from bad to worse, but they made it out alive, and that's a lot more than most can say in their situation. Still, she can't help missing the quiet nights at the Tower when things were, if not peaceful then stable, between the Avengers.

The rain seems to make everything heavier. The injuries they've already patched up on each other. The darkness. The thoughts that have been weighing on her mind since she left Germany and reunited with her family. No distractions on the run. Just the history she tried so hard to shun away creeping back up to haunt her.

She rises, not to leave the room and the conversation, but to fetch the coffee pot and set it on the table between them. If they're going to bare all tonight, they may as well stay awake for it.

"mj," he repeats instead, accepting the correction without missing a step. "nice to meet you." he waits until she's ready before offering his arm instead of taking hers, leaving the choice entirely in her hands. "alright," he says. "we'll walk."

the pace never rises past what she can comfortably manage. every now and then his attention drifts farther up the street or across the road before returning to where it belongs, old habits refusing to switch off no matter how many years pass. the businessmen are nowhere to be found now, though that does little to convince him the city has suddenly become welcoming. new york rarely gives anyone reason to stop paying attention.

their route carries them through another handful of blocks, the late-night traffic thinning the farther they go. a deli owner drags a chair inside before locking up, somewhere in the distance a train rumbles overhead, and little by little the color returns to mj's face as the alcohol begins wavering to fresh air and movement. steve doesn't fill the walk with conversation simply for the sake of it; every so often he checks that she's still doing all right, asks whether her head is getting any worse, whether she's feeling dizzy, but otherwise lets the city provide enough noise for both of them.

when her apartment building finally comes into view, he feels himself relax, if only a little. but, before either of them can reach the entrance, the front door swings open. a young man steps outside carrying a reusable shopping bag, nearly colliding with them before stopping short. his gaze lands on mj first, then the blood, then the stranger beside her.

"...whoa."

his eyes travel back to steve.

"...whoa."

there's a small silence.

"dude," he blurts, looking steve up and down with sincerity, "are you, like... a male model or something?"

steve blinks once, "...can't say i've heard that one before."

"seriously?" the young man continues. "the jacket, the hair--"

he notices the blood.

"--okay, actually, never mind. i feel like i missed something crucial here. ...uh, i'm ned, by the way. mj's roommate and biggest bestie ever."

the corner of steve's mouth twitches upward vaguely.

Within the first half-block, MJ begins to question her decision to walk home. Her head is pounding from contact with the pavement and her legs feel as wobbly as a newborn baby deer's, clinging to the guy's arm to keep herself balanced as they walk. At least her bloody nose has reduced to a mere dribble. She keeps rubbing her face, though, hating the sticky tacky feeling of drying blood on her skin.

The guy doesn't tell her his name, which only increases her feeling of deja vu every time she peeks up at him from the corner of her eye.

He checks on her every so often, asking if she's okay ("I'm okay," she insists), asking which way to turn ("Keep straight, I didn't go far."), until they're finally approaching her building. Just as they're coming upon the stoop the front door opens and Ned, of all people, walks out. Probably off to get more energy drinks at the bodega. They both have their ways of coping.

She sluggishly watches the exchange between Ned and her mystery hero, wishing she felt sober enough to laugh without worrying about gagging on the shape of it in her mouth.

"I fell, he caught me, I'm drunk, he walked me home," she explains, filling in the meager gaps in Ned's information. Then the guy finally (finally!) introduces himself to Ned and she blinks. Steve. Steve.