Natasha's fist collided with the punch bag as she poured all her frustration, unable to get her mind off of last night's events. The kisses, the soft touches. Who knew that the world's greatest soldier could be so gentle. Never had she felt so delicate in another man's arms. Most wanted a rough play but she rarely let herself get as far, and yet with Steve, their bodies joined together like long lost pieces.

"Something on your mind Nat?" A familiar voice said from afar, interrupting her mental turmoil.

"It's nothing Clint," she muttered, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead with the back of her wrapped hand.

"I know that look," the archer said, his brows furrowed as he approached her cautiously.

The assassin sighed and leaned into the punch bag, "I'm confused," she murmured. She could feel Clint's eyes on her as he waited patiently. "I've started having these feelings for a certain guy. It's nothing, just probably a little crush, something temporary."

"Nat," Clint said, his voice much closer, "You should let yourself fall in love, let someone care for you."

"But I won't give him what he'll want. I can't have children, we wouldn't be able to have a family," she spoke shakily, Clint's arms immediately going around her.

"Don't be so hard on yourself Nat. You can always adopt children," he murmured into her ear.

Natasha pulled away harshly, "How will I raise them Clint?" she exclaimed, "I don't have a single bone in my body that would make me a suitable mother. I'm an assassin. A monster. I've done so many heinous acts, how possibly can I raise a child?"

"Nat, you have a good heart. I know you do. You just got to give yourself a chance," Clint said with a sad smile, "I should head back. I just wanted to let you know that breakfast was ready."

She let out a breath, "I'll be there in a moment."

****

Natasha stood in front of her mirror, the reflection staring back at her almost unrecognizable. Her hair was still damp from the shower, curling slightly at the ends, and her face was free of makeup—a rare sight. Without her trademark red lips and sharp eyeliner, she looked... softer. Vulnerable.

She hated it.

Her fingers gripped the edge of the sink as she leaned closer, studying her own green eyes. Were they different now? Could someone see the storm raging behind them? The feelings she had carefully buried for years had begun to claw their way to the surface, leaving her exposed in ways she hadn't been prepared for.

Last night had changed something.

It wasn't just the kiss—though she could still feel the warmth of his lips against hers, the way his hands had settled on her waist, firm but respectful. It was what came after. The way Steve had looked at her, like she was something precious, something worth protecting—not because of her skills or her usefulness, but because she was her.

It terrified her.

Natasha turned away from the mirror abruptly, pacing her room as the memories flooded back. She could handle physical danger, the threat of death, the weight of her past sins. But this? This was uncharted territory.

She thought back to what Clint had said earlier in the gym.

"You should let yourself fall in love. Let someone care for you."

The words had struck a chord she hadn't wanted to admit existed. Love was a luxury she didn't think she deserved. Not after the things she'd done, the lives she'd taken. She had been trained to suppress emotion, to use it as a weapon when needed but never to indulge in it. She wasn't someone who could have a family, a home, or even a steady hand to hold.

And yet, the way Steve had held her last night had made her believe, even for a moment, that she could.

Natasha's pacing slowed as she approached the window, her arms folding tightly around herself. She stared out at the city, the skyline blurred by the early morning fog. Somewhere out there, people were living their lives—ordinary, uncomplicated lives. She wondered what it would be like to have that.

For a brief moment, she let herself imagine it: a small apartment filled with the smell of coffee and pancakes, laughter echoing in the kitchen, the sound of tiny feet running across hardwood floors. Steve would be there, his laugh deep and rich, his arms wrapping around her as they stood by the stove.

The image dissolved as quickly as it had formed, replaced by the harsh reality she couldn't ignore.

You're an assassin. A monster.

The words echoed in her mind, the mantra she had repeated to herself for years to keep people at arm's length. It was easier that way. Easier to let them see her as untouchable, invulnerable.

But Steve hadn't seen her that way.

He had seen something else.

Natasha bit her lip, her hand brushing the thin silver chain around her neck. It was barely noticeable, hidden under her clothes—a habit she had developed to avoid questions. The small charm dangling from it was worn, the edges smooth from years of handling. A relic of her past, a reminder of a girl who had once dared to dream of something better before the Red Room had stolen it all away.

The sound of footsteps in the hall jolted her from her thoughts. She quickly dropped her hand and straightened, her mask slipping back into place as a soft knock echoed against her door.

"Nat?" Clint's voice was muffled but gentle.

"I'm fine," she called back, her voice steady.

"You sure?"

She hesitated for a moment, then exhaled. "Yeah. I'll be down in a minute."

Clint didn't press further, and she heard his footsteps retreat.

Natasha turned back to the mirror, her reflection once again composed and unreadable. She pulled her hair into a neat braid, securing it with practiced ease, and slipped on her leather jacket.

As she made her way down the hall toward the kitchen, she tried to push aside the thoughts that threatened to overwhelm her. She would be leaving soon, and distance always helped. It was easier to focus on the mission when she wasn't surrounded by reminders of what she couldn't have.

But as she stepped into the kitchen and her eyes immediately found Steve's, the shield she had so carefully constructed cracked ever so slightly. His face lit up when he saw her, his lips curving into that warm, boyish smile that always managed to undo her.

For a second, just a second, she let herself feel it—the pull, the connection, the possibility of something more.

And then she pushed it down, locking it away where it couldn't hurt her.

Because the truth was, no matter how much she wanted to believe otherwise, she didn't know if she could be the person Steve deserved

****
Steve dug into his pancakes as he deliberated in the night's events, a red flush appearing across his cheeks which seemed visible to his close friend Bucky, who returned last night from a small mission.

"Oh. Me thinks Steve is thinking about a lady," his childhood friend teased while waving his fork around and chewing on his scrambled eggs, "Who is it this time?"

Steve gave a nervous chuckle, "I rather not say, there are certain things I cannot discuss in a public place," he spoke, his eyes falling on Tony, who was nursing his hangover on a cup of coffee and Thor who was munching away at several boxes of Poptarts.

Bucky laughed, "Perhaps later then," he spoke, returning to his breakfast, his metallic fingers tucking a slice of bacon into his mouth.

She didn't have to announce her arrival for him to know she had arrived. He could feel her, the feminine scent filling his nostrils and locks of copper hair glinting from the corner of his eyes.

Close to her was her best friend Clint, who grabbed one of Thor's poptarts despite the blonde's protests.

"So how is Nathaniel?" Bucky said, his dark gaze on the archer.

Steve raised a brow, Since when does Bucky know about Clint's family? Did Clint invite him over?

Clint laughed, his eyes gleaming with fatherly pride, "He took his first steps last week," the archer said excitedly as he began to pour on and on about his father adorable family. Steve's eyes slid towards Natasha who was pouring herself a cup of coffee and grabbing a few biscuits.

Just for a moment he felt a sense of nostalgia. A moment where he wanted a simple home with her, just the two of them together eating breakfast in the morning.

"You're seeing stars Steve," Natasha's voice broke into his thoughts, sending a blush coating his cheeks and a nervous chuckle coming forth from his lips.

The spy seemed so calm and composed, unaffected by last night's events, sending a rather painful clench in Steve's heart.

I suppose it was just a one night stand, he thought, but something inside him couldn't let go of the possibility of something forming between them.

"So any missions planned for today?" he asked the Russian.

The woman chewed on her biscuit as she stayed quiet for a moment before speaking in a quiet tone, "None for you. Fury's sending me on a solo mission for a few weeks. I'm leaving by midday."

A rather dejected feeling filled his chest, the sure possibility of not seeing her around the Avenger's tower made the building suddenly feel rather desolate.

"You know," Bucky said, whispering rather low, "I heard that being a gentleman is a rare thing these days and it's something women are looking out for in a guy. Call me old fashioned but perhaps a bouquet of roses may convince her to give you a chance."

An idea formed in his mind as he watched the Russian walk away to prepare for her mission, "No. She deserves much more than flowers."