She could feel the cold kiss of metal against her neck, the sharpness of the blade digging into her skin. With a slight grunt, the Russian grabbed the man's hand and flipped him over her shoulder, slamming him into the ground. Another man ran to her, his gun firing off rounds in a rather inexperienced manner. The black fabric of her tight dress stretched as she raised her leg, her heel hitting a sensitive spot in the man's cranium, knocking him cold. She could feel the presence of another individual behind her, her fist immediately meeting the man's nose, a loud groan of pain suddenly coming from the floor. The assassin surveyed her work, the unconscious bodies of four men littering the pristine white floor. She made sure the drive was still safely tucked inside her bra before making her way towards the door of the party where her partner was waiting. She had given the man an excuse tod use the bathroom but in reality she needed to take a USB drive from the safe of the most dangerous man in the Japanese mob. Simple but difficult for any normal person. But Natasha was an accomplished and trained woman and this was a rather easy task for her.

"All done my red headed beauty?" her partner said, his dark beady eyes raking her body in the most uncomfortable way but Natasha flashed him a seductive smile.

"All done. A woman's business can take a rather long time, but I'm feeling rather tired, why do-" she paused, a sudden wave of dizziness overcame her. Her hand shot out for the nearest object, which turned out to be the man's arm.

"Are you alright my Catherine?" the stranger spoke, using her undercover name.

Natasha took deep breaths before composing herself, "I'm afraid I have to go."

The stranger opened his mouth, his eyes suddenly flashing with barely contained fury, but before he could say a single word Natasha had darted out the door hailing a taxi while clutching her head.

What is happening to me? I've never felt so nauseated,she thought.

Natasha clutched the rim of the toilet as she threw up the contents of her lunch. She had taken the first flight home from Japan and gave Fury the drive before secluding herself in her room in the Avengers Tower. Clint hand been kind enough in bringing her dinner along with a few aspirins.

"Are you sure you didn't catch some type of bug?" Clint said from behind, gently lifting her hair away from her face, "I mean, you were in Japan for quite some time. Maybe you should go to the infirmary, let Banner check it out."

Natasha groaned, spitting out the bitter taste, "It's probably a stomach flu," she mumbled, taking the glass of water that Clint offered, swishing it her mouth and spitting it out into the sink, "Or maybe the food probably didn't agree with me."

She could feel Clint shuffled impatiently behind her and she knew that Clint wanted to leave and visit his family, "You should go. I'll be fine."

A sigh of relief came from her friend before he left with a farewell. Her stomach heaved and she immediately kneeled in front of the toilet.

****
Steve glanced at the mirror for a final time, hoping his attire was proper enough to ask Natasha out for dinner. A simple blue dress shirt hugged his large frame, coupled with a brown leather jacket and blue jeans.

"Just dinner Steve," he murmured to himself, grabbing a bouquet of roses and a small box of chocolates from the coffee table. He had been planning to take her to this simple restaurant, taking special care in reserving a table for two.

He was a few steps out of his room when he bumped into his best friend who was eating straight out jar of Nutella.

"Steve!" Bucky exclaimed, licking the hazelnut chocolate from the corner of his lips, "Are you going to ask your lady love?"

Heat rushed towards his cheeks, "Well, I hope she says yes. So wish me luck."

Bucky grinned, saluting with his metal hand, "Good luck."

Steve inhaled and gave him a nervous smile, "Thanks."

Bucky grinned and sauntered back to his room, licking the metal spoon and dipping it back into the jar.

Steve chuckled to himself and walked down the hall towards Natasha's room. He took in a breath and tentatively knocked on the door, hiding the bouquet of roses behind his back.

A few thumps where heard on the other side along with a soft groan before the doorknob rattled, the door sliding open revealing a rather exhausted looking Natasha. Her beautiful red hair was in disarray, her pale skin flushed red. She wore only a pair of pajamas, kittens dotting the fabric.

"Oh, hey Steve," she said softly, her voice slightly scratchy.

Steve swallowed, his voice momentarily stuck in his throat, awestruck by the beauty before him. Yet, he worried about Natasha's state of health, noticing the dark circles beneath her eyes, and the tremble of her fingers.

"Are you alright?" he spoke.

The spy ran her hand through her hair, "That obvious huh?" she spoke with a slight chuckle.

"You seem ill," he murmured, his eyes never wanting to waver from the emerald orbs, "Have you taken any medicine?"

"A few aspirins, it's probably just a flu," she spoke, "I will take some rest. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Alright," Steve said, his dropping from his chest as the door closed. He looked at the bouquet of roses, the velvet petals reminding him of red hair splayed out against pillow.

Taking out his pocketbook her wrote Get Well Soon on a page and tore it off, slipping it between the roses and leaving it at her doorstep.

******

Natasha sat on the edge of her bed, the roses resting in her lap. She traced her fingers over the petals, their softness a stark contrast to the rough edges of her life.

She hadn't seen the note at first. It had slipped between the stems, nearly hidden among the greenery. Pulling it free, she unfolded the small slip of paper.

Get Well Soon.

The words were simple, the handwriting neat and deliberate. But it wasn't the note itself that made her chest tighten—it was the thought behind it.

Steve Rogers. The man who represented everything good and pure in the world, who carried his heart like a shield.

She couldn't stop her lips from curving into a small smile. He was so... him.

Yet that smile faded as quickly as it came, replaced by a wave of doubt.

She set the note down carefully on her nightstand, leaning back against the headboard. The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning. The scent of the roses lingered, mingling with the faint metallic tang of her own blood from earlier in the night.

Her hands rested on her stomach, and for a brief moment, she let her eyes close. Why me, Steve?

Her life had never been one for softness. Even now, surrounded by people she considered family, there were shadows she couldn't escape. Shadows that whispered she didn't deserve the kind of kindness Steve offered so freely.

He doesn't know everything I've done. If he did...

Natasha's chest tightened at the thought. She'd spent years burying her past, trying to claw her way to some semblance of redemption. But redemption was fragile. It wasn't a guarantee.

And Steve? He was so... good. It almost hurt to think about how untarnished he was, even after everything he'd endured. What could a man like him see in someone like her?

Her fingers brushed the petals again, almost unconsciously. The roses were vibrant and alive, their color as vivid as her own hair. She thought of the way Steve had looked at her earlier, concern etched into every line of his face.

He didn't care that she'd been pale and sick, that she'd been wearing ridiculous kitten pajamas instead of her usual armor of sleek leather and sharp heels. He'd still shown up, roses and all.

Natasha sighed, lying down and pulling the blanket over her. She stared at the ceiling, trying to calm the storm in her mind.

He deserves better than me.

But a quieter voice, one she rarely listened to, whispered back: Maybe you deserve this, too.

She clenched her fists, fighting the lump rising in her throat. Natasha Romanoff didn't cry. Not for herself. Not for anyone. But tonight, as the scent of roses filled the room and Steve Rogers' simple note sat on her nightstand, she allowed herself a single tear.

A tear for the life she could have had. A tear for the life she was too scared to reach for.

When sleep finally came, the roses stayed beside her, a silent witness to her vulnerability.