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Their safe houses definitely weren’t what they used to be. They weren’t handled. Set up. Waiting for their arrival. Even more—Steve’s not sure he could call them ‘safe’ anymore. They were just a hole-in-the-wall place that would take cash, not ask questions, and not wonder how long they’d be staying. Usually, they still tried to maneuver their way into small apartments. Occasionally, they’d take a hostel. And on one unfortunate occasion, after something was lost in translation without Sam there to help, he and Natasha had squeezed themselves into a place no bigger than a broom closet somewhere off the Black Sea. To say the least, it’d been a rough few months since The Raft.
But at least he wasn’t alone.
More importantly, none of them were truly alone with Scott and Clint back with their family, Wanda regularly checking in, and Sam, Natasha, and him creating their own makeshift team. And most of the time, Fury still had somewhere that needed saving and he knew where to find them. Those calls had led them to Syria, interrupting an arms trade, and now to Lebanon, hoping to intercept another delivery before it got that far.
That was for the Steve of tomorrow to worry about, though. He was trying to stop planning so far ahead. Stop being the one to coordinate their efforts and feeling solely responsible when it didn’t pan out. Maybe it was a coping mechanism, and it just kept him from going crazy. Natasha seemed to think so. Whatever the case, Steve didn’t see too many other alternatives other than the here and now.
So, now he was busy staying as low as he could in the backseat of their ‘borrowed’ Mini Cooper. And wishing they’d hitched a ride in something a little bigger. But like everything else—he was making the best of it. His eyes stayed fixated on the front door of the small grocery store Natasha went in to find their next rest stop. There was probably nothing to be concerned about, but he was still a little on edge from their face-to-face experience with ISIS the week before.
“C’mon Natasha,” he mumbled, scraping his beard as his chin dug into the passenger seat it rested on.
She’d been in there at least a half hour and that was stretching his limits before he thought about intervening. Losing her once was enough, so he wasn’t keen on doing it again. For that reason, he’d started keeping her a little closer and worrying more when she was away. And after she was on the receiving end of a boot that sent her flying through a bullet hole riddled door, Steve raced to her side without thought. That was the reason he’d since started hearing Sam’s reminders that ‘he was okay, no need to worry about him!’ when they were in the field.
It was instinct. That’s what he’d told him. Pure instinct to protect his team at all costs.
Why did it feel so different when it was Nat then?
Two knuckles rapped on the window beside him and Steve snapped to attention so fast he hit his head on the ceiling in the car.
“Son of a—”
“Watch it, Rogers,” Natasha said, smirking. “We’re all set.”
“And Sam?”
“Nothing yet from him or Fury, but the night’s young.”
And Sam can hold his own, he assumed, reading between the lines.
She opened the passenger side door and let the seat down, giving him room to climb out. Steve grabbed their bags from the floor of the car and threw both over his shoulder as he did, despite Natasha’s hand out.
“Lead the way, then.”
The two of them made their way down a narrow street, staying close to the buildings as they walked. The apartments that loomed overhead were all at least six-stories, with large tapestries draped over the balconies like curtains. A probably sought out feature for residents, but for himself, he only considered it one extra point of entry to be aware of. One more place to double check before lights out and first thing at sunrise.
Natasha led them down a second alleyway behind the store, where they found a back door with only part of the door handle left to grab.
“Not exactly a Marriott,” he muttered under his breath, making Natasha snort.
“The guy swore it was clean and there was a place for both of us to sleep. I’m pretty sure I got confirmation he didn’t mean on the floor and we’re not exactly working with a list of other options.”
“I know… It’s only for a night or two. Hopefully just the one,” Steve said, propping the heavy door open with his boot to switch with Natasha for bag duty.
“And anything’s better than Türkiye,” they said in unison, laughing at each other and the memory.
The instructions once inside the building were unclear at best, so it took them a couple of minutes before finding the apartment that matched the description. Natasha dug the key out of her vest pocket and opened the dark wooden door to reveal a furnished living room, open to a kitchen with a two-burner stove and a small fridge.
“Not bad,” Natasha said, dropping their duffels beside the door as it creaked shut.
“Think I spoke a little too soon,” he said, nudging her with his elbow.
“Trust me. I didn’t have any higher expectations. You want to take the back rooms?”
Steve nodded. It wasn’t a large place, but out of practiced habit, they split up anyway to scope out the rooms. He finished with the bathroom and moved to the adjoining bedroom before he paused in the doorway.
“Guess there’s room for Sam after all if he makes it back tonight,” Natasha called to him from the other room.
“Well… I’m not so sure about that.”
“What? What do you—” Nat appeared at his side, barely stifling a laugh as they peered into the bedroom that was seventy-five percent taken up by a single bed.
“It’s always something, isn’t it?” Steve asked, wrapping his arm around Nat’s shoulder.
She wrapped her own around his waist and leaned the slightest bit toward him. “We’ve definitely been through worse.”
“I can take the couch,” he offered, though something inside him was already thinking about how well she fit into his side.
“Are you kidding me?” She asked, indignant. “You don’t even fit on that couch.”
“Well… You could always sleep on the couch?”
Nat’s eyes shot up, and she glared at him until he laughed.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” she started, going to fetch her bag from the living room. She tossed it onto the bed and sat down in front of him. “I’m taking a shower and scrubbing as much dust off as possible and then going to bed. And you? You could do the same.”
He raised an eyebrow that she didn’t seem phased by while she searched through her limited wardrobe for something to change into.
“Up to you, Rogers,” she said, pushing her hip against him on her way out the door.
He was going to argue with her. About how he’d be in her way. About how he’d slept through worse in the war. How he really didn’t mind taking the living room and he could be the first line of defense, too. But then he thought about all her talks with him about the here and now and how unstable their world was. They had to take their wins where they got them—especially since their wins were in short supply.
So, he didn’t.
He took his shower after hers and when he returned, she was already asleep in the middle of the bed. Her blonde hair was still damp, curling on the pillow on what he presumed would be his side. Gently, he prodded her enough to slide under the covers. She groaned and pawed at him until he slipped an arm around her that pulled her to his side. Nat’s arm came to rest on his chest beside her face with her leg hooked over one of his, ending any reconsideration he had for the couch. He stretched his opposite arm far enough to pull the string on the lamp and let his head fall back against the pillow.
Steve wondered if this would be a line crossed they couldn’t come back from. Worried about it, actually. Except she was there, nestled under his arm in a way that felt almost meant to be. Whether or not that was true could be for the Steve of tomorrow to figure out.