Natasha stared into the mirror, trying to ignore the exhaustion that clung to her like a shadow. She quickly applied some concealer over the bags beneath her eyes, forcing herself to look more composed than she felt. The fatigue was there, but it was nothing that a little makeup couldn't hide.

Roses from the night before laid on her night stand near the window, the velvet petals in full bloom, their fragrance sweet and heady in the cool morning air. Her heart had fluttered at the sight, the idea of someone leaving her roses, even though they were clearly meant to be a simple "get well soon" gesture. The sentiment had stirred something in her, a quiet longing she wasn't ready to face.

"Get well soon..." she muttered to herself, running her fingers through her hair. She had felt better for days now, the nausea long gone. So why the flowers? Why did she feel like someone had been watching her more closely than she cared to admit?

She tried to push the thoughts away as she made her way to the kitchen, the rest of the team having gathered for breakfast. Clint had checked in on her yesterday, bringing aspirin and soup, but today she felt strong enough to stand on her own two feet again.

"Hey, Natasha!" Tony greeted from the dining area, sipping on what appeared to be a green smoothie. A few greasy marks from his latest gadget tinkering decorated his fingers and forehead.

"Hey, Stark. Back to your suits again?" she grinned, trying to keep her voice light despite the weight in her chest.

Tony snapped his fingers dramatically. "Right on," he quipped, disappearing into another room. His voice carried back to her. "By the way, it's good to have you back. The team was getting a little gloomy. They were acting like someone had stolen their favorite toys."

Her heart warmed, despite herself. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed them. How much they missed her.

Just then, Pepper appeared, the woman's presence always a calming balm. "Hello, Natasha!" she said brightly, a note of concern slipping into her voice. "Feeling better? Clint mentioned you weren't feeling well yesterday."

Before Natasha could answer, Tony reappeared, holding a piece of his suit in one hand, clearly tinkering again. "Are you serious? The great Black Widow got sick?"

Natasha rolled her eyes but smiled. "Yes, Stark. I'm human too."

She was about to walk past them when she collided with a wall of muscle. Her breath hitched as she felt a pair of familiar, strong arms encircle her, steadying her. The scent of Steve—comforting, grounded—surrounded her.

"Are you alright, Natasha?" His voice was filled with concern, but there was something else in his eyes too, something she couldn't name.

Natasha pulled back quickly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly self-conscious. "Sorry. I wasn't looking," she stammered, trying to escape into the kitchen, her heart pounding from the accidental closeness.

But the moment she stepped into the kitchen, the smell of waffles hit her—syrup, butter, and something else. Her stomach clenched in protest. She pressed her hand to her mouth and barely made it to the bathroom before the nausea overtook her.

The cool porcelain of the sink felt like a lifeline as she hunched over it, her stomach emptying. Her body trembled, and she heard footsteps approach. Before she could react, a pair of hands gently pulled her hair back, soothing her in a way she hadn't expected. She closed her eyes as the familiar warmth of Steve's presence enveloped her.

A glass of water appeared, and she swished it around her mouth before spitting it into the sink.

"Are you okay, Nat?" Steve's voice was gentle, full of worry. She hated it. Hated how easy it was to lose control around him. Her voice came out tight, but she forced a smile.

"I'm fine," she muttered, but the words were a lie. "I probably ate something bad."

But Steve wasn't buying it. "You should see Banner, at least get checked out," he insisted, his tone gentle but firm.

Frustration flared inside her, a quick surge of heat. "What part of 'I'm fine' don't you understand?" she snapped, too harsh, but the irritation bubbled up too quickly. Steve, however, didn't retreat. He stayed there, watching her with those steady blue eyes, waiting for her to break.

She tried to walk away, but before she could make it past him, a dizzying wave of vertigo slammed into her, her legs buckling beneath her. Darkness encroached, and her body gave out. She felt Steve's strong arms catch her before everything went black.

******

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The soft rhythm of a heart monitor was the first thing Natasha became aware of as she slowly regained consciousness. Her eyelids fluttered, and the smell of antiseptic and bleach hit her senses—the unmistakable scent of a hospital. She groaned, her body aching, and slowly blinked her eyes open.

The lights were too bright at first, but gradually her pupils adjusted. She turned her head, and there, sitting in a chair beside her bed, was Steve. His face was tense, his eyes focused on something in his hands—a sheet of paper.

"Steve?" Her voice came out hoarse, a little scratchy from the vomiting, but he didn't seem to notice.

He didn't look up at first, his brow furrowed in thought. A few moments passed before he let out a long, slow breath and stood up. His large frame cast a shadow over her, and Natasha felt a strange sense of unease—something was wrong, but she couldn't quite place it.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Steve's voice was quiet, the hurt in it palpable. Natasha blinked in confusion.

"Tell you what?" she asked, her head still foggy from the dizziness.

Steve didn't answer right away. Instead, he handed her the paper that had been in his hands. The words jumped out at her: Pregnancy Test: Positive.

Her breath caught in her throat. The world seemed to slow around her as the gravity of the situation hit her all at once. She had tried so hard to keep it a secret, to keep her fear from becoming real. But now it was impossible to deny.

She couldn't look at him. She couldn't face him and admit what she already knew. Her pulse raced, and she turned her eyes away from the paper, her mind spiraling. She had been trying to keep everything in control, to hide the truth from herself and from everyone else. But now Steve knew.

"How long have you known?" His voice was softer now, full of something Natasha couldn't place. It was a mixture of concern and confusion. He wasn't angry, but the hurt in his eyes cut through her defenses.

She swallowed hard, her throat tight. "I didn't want to know," she whispered. "I didn't want to face it."

Steve's expression softened, but there was a quiet understanding in his eyes that made her feel exposed. "You don't have to face it alone, Natasha. Whatever you decide, I'm here."

The weight of his words hung in the air, the simple promise of support settling in her chest. Natasha didn't know what to say. She didn't know what to do. But for the first time, she didn't feel entirely alone