A Knock For Your Troubles

1.

The mission had gone downhill fast. One minute Steve was helping civilians get out of the line of fire, and the next, he was the one who needed the help.

He promised that he was fine, that it was just some minor cuts and bruises. With his super-fast healing process the wounds were likely to be gone by the morning, but some scars would still remain. The internal ones that no one could see, but haunted him none the less.

As Steve approached his bunk door, just wanting to lay down and be alone, he was stopped by the familiar footsteps coming his way. The red headed agent was looking at her phone, engaged on an email from Fury when she bumped into Steve, causing him to groan out in pain. It was a sudden slip of the tongue, but she noticed it; she noticed everything.

She looked up, embarrassment evident on her face and said, "Excuse me, Cap."

Steve turned to acknowledge her, but was still recovering from his sore ribs that had just taken another blow.

"Are you okay?" she asked, looking him straight in the eyes, so that he couldn't lie. Steve wasn't sure he could lie to her anyway; she was a pretty intimidating women.

"I'm fine," Steve said, biting his cheek the whole time to hold a stoic expression.

"Sure..," said Natasha, leaving as quickly as she came.

Steve was surprised that she gave up so easily. There was no way she would have bought that act; his arm was still clutching his chest for peats sake. What worried him the most was that he wanted her to pry, he wanted someone to care.

Twenty minutes later, just as Steve had finished washing up, he heard a knock at the door. When he opened it, there was Natasha standing there with a first aid kit in her hand, and a gun in the other one.

"What's the gun for?" asked Steve, already knowing the purpose for the first aid kit.

"That's for if you don't let me patch you up," she said with a smirk as she made her way past him into his room, not waiting for an invitation.

It wasn't till after he realized that she never did anything by accident.

2.

While fighting on the rooftop of some skyscraper in New York, Steve came across a man who was hanging on the ledge, or so he thought he was hanging. After Steve disabled the foe, he made his way over to the man, who seemed to get smaller, and smaller the closer he got.

Once Steve approached him he realized that he wasn't hanging, or about to fall, he was about to jump. This was never taught in training.

"I-I didn't want this to happen," said the man, mumbling to himself.

"Sir, why don't you get down from there so we can talk," Steve said, slowly but steadily making his way closer to him.

"No-No, if I do that I'll go to jail," he said becoming more frantic.

"Can you tell me your name?" asked Steve.

"Bill, Bill Clemmings."

"Do you have any family Bill?"

"They left me. I lost my job, and they just took off," he said now stepping closer to the edge.

Steve heard Natasha's voice in his com telling him to keep the man talking until she got up here. She always was better with situations like this.

"Bill I'm sure if you just took a breath, and came down, you could explain all of this to your family."

'They wouldn't understand," said Bill as he looked at the ground 13 stories below.

"That's not true, just-"

"It's too late," he said as he jumped.

Steve lunged forwards trying to catch him, but he was too late. He was always too late.

It was now midnight, and Steve couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Bucky, he saw his best friend fall to his death because he couldn't save him, just like he couldn't save this man. For a Captain he sure did fail a lot.

Just when Steve was about to give up all hope of getting any much needed rest, there was a knock at his door. Who the hell would want to see him at this hour?

He opened it up, and was meant with a freshly showered Natasha wearing a SHIELD shirt, and sweats.

"I really should start asking who is at my door before I open it," said Steve with a crooked smile.

"I brought movies," she said, as she made her way into his apartment, not bothering to ask for permission again.

When he woke up the next morning on his hard couch, not remembering falling asleep, he was disappointed to see that Natasha had left, but the movie still played in the background. Steve started to feel something that he hadn't felt for a while now; it was hope. He couldn't wait to give the movies back to her.

3.

The day was pretty uneventful, up until the night when Steve woke up from a nightmare. He couldn't remember what it was about, but somehow that was the scariest part. The clock read 3:30am, and he was still having some trouble getting back to sleep, so he decided to go down to the gym and work out.

The gym was always empty at this hour, just how Steve liked it. All this peace and quiet to himself. Eight miles around the track, and three punching bags later, he was beginning to feel a little less paranoid, and decided to head back to his room. On his way up he recognized a flash of red hair buzz past him, but he was too tired to investigate furthermore.

A few hours later Steve was woken up by a banging on his door. He wiped the sleep out of his eyes, and stumbled over to the door barely missing the table on his way. For a super soldier he sure was clumsy, but he guessed old habits really do die hard.

When he opened the door there was the same red hair that he saw earlier, but once he looked at her face he understood why she was awake. Natasha had a nasty gash on her cheek that was only being held together by three small strips.

"Did you go to the medical wing?" asked Steve, no longer that sleepy.

"No, but I have too much alcohol to drink by myself, so I thought 'Why not share some with my favorite super soldier,'" she said holding up the vodka in her hand.

"It's only seven in the morning, and I'm the only super soldier you know," he said.

"It's never too early to drink," she said jokingly, but Steve could see the haunted look in her eyes, so he decided to let this go, and invite her in, even if he couldn't get drunk.

It turned out Natasha was a better drinker than he thought, and he didn't think he was feeling slightly tipsy because of all the alcohol, but more because of the warm growing feeling in the pit of his stomach also known as happiness.

4.

The fourth time Natasha showed up to his door, it wasn't because of something Steve particularly did. The evening was pretty slow to start; no missions, or late night briefings to worry about. Not even any demons haunting his thoughts. The only think keeping Steve slightly on edge was the loud thunderstorm outside. The thunder reminded him of the bombs, of the war.

When he heard that familiar knock on his front door, he wasn't that surprised to find Natasha standing there once he opened it, but he was surprised to find her soaking wet head to toe. Her red hair was dripping water, and her damp clothes were sticking to her small frame. If he looked close enough he swore that he could see her slightly shivering.

Natasha remained silent, just staring up at Steve, and he didn't have to be a mind reader to invite her in, and give her some dry clothes. Not too long after she came out of the bathroom now wearing baggy sweats, and a large, slightly faded Brooklyn Dodgers t-shirt that could have passed for a dress on her.

She muttered a thank you, and as she was about to open the door to leave Steve stopped her. The thing that sputtered out of his mouth next would either leave him dead or so embarrassed that he wished he were, but he said it anyway.

"Stay," the words shot out of his mouth like a bullet. "I mean at least until the storm passes," he added, hoping she didn't notice the growing blush on his cheeks.

When he woke up the next morning, with a movie playing on the TV, and Natasha Romanoff in his clothes, leaning on his shoulder asleep, with the silent patter of the rain outside, he realized that maybe thunderstorms weren't so bad.

5.

Natasha and Steve were tasked on a mission in Russia, her com went dark, and when they finally found her she was all beaten and bloody, about to pull the trigger on the man they wanted alive. Steve was able to coax her into not killing the target, but she was still extremely pissed off.

She got on the helicopter and didn't say one word to Steve the whole ride back. All she did was stare at the ground while the medics were tending to her wounds. He watched Natasha limp off the plane, and when he tried to give her a hand, she simply shooed him away.

It wasn't until he was finishing up some last minute paper work did he realize that their target used to work for the Red Room, a name that was stated in Natasha's file quite a bit, but when he asked Fury about it, he told him that it was classified information.

Steve spent days just sitting in his apartment waiting for that gentle, but confident knock on his door that gave him hope, and made him happy. He hated to admit it, but these last few months he had become used to having someone there for him, even if Natasha did it in a strange way. He had even started looking forwards to opening his front door, and seeing that red hair, and those green eyes. Her small smile that held back so many secrets, but gave off so much as well. His curiosity of what she would have in store for him, whether it be a movie in her hand, or some beer. And most importantly the warmth in the pit of his stomach, and the expanding feeling in his chest whenever she would just walk in, whether he invited her or not.

He asked Clint how to make amends with her, but he just told him to give her some time; that her past wasn't a pleasant memory, and she probably just needs some time to cool off. But after a week of Natasha not showing up to work, or not answering any phone calls Steve was becoming desperate. He forced Clint to give him the address to her place, planning to go there, and hopefully apologize whether that involved getting beat up or not.

When he arrived at the small apartment complex, he was surprised to see how normal it all looked. He often forgot the Natasha wasn't always the deadly spy that her job made her seem. He got to her room on the second floor, and knocked on the door. Normally it was always her knocking on his door, so he had no idea what to do next.

After the first knock there was still no answer, so he tried again. Still no answer. "It's me Steve, I-uh, was wondering if we could talk.

"Go away," said Natasha, and Steve had to strain his ears to hear it.

"I'm not taking no for an answer," he said feeling unusually determined.

Despite the confidence in his voice, he got no reply.

"Look, I know that you're mad at me, hell you probably hate me, but if you don't open this door right now, I swear to god I'll break it down," Steve said, letting his desperation take over.

To his dismay the door opened. There she was looking smaller then the last time he saw her. She was wearing his Dodger shirt that he leant her that one time. Natasha was still sporting a black eye, and cut lip, but it was her blank, almost emotionless features were what worried Steve the most.

"How'd you find me," she asked, but he could tell she was just trying to make conversation.

"Clint told me," he said. "Can I come in?"

"I don't know, can you?" she said, and Steve had to stop himself from laughing at her childishness behavior.

"May I come in?" he said, putting emphasis on the 'may.'

"No."

"We need to talk."

"There's nothing to discuss."

"Just hear me out."

"Can't you just leave me alone?" she said rising her voice slightly.

"No I can't just leave you alone; not until you let me talk."

"I don't understand why you care so much. I don't understand why you couldn't just let me take the shot," she said angrily.

"I know who that man was, I know who he was to you, and what he did, but pulling that trigger wouldn't have solved anything. All it would have done was gotten you fired. He will rot in prison for the rest of his life and-"

"You don't get it do you? That man deserves to be dead, he deserves to be in hell. That man spent his life turning innocent children into ruthless killing machines just because he could. That man told every child that what they were doing was right, that it was for their country. That man was just one of the hundreds of men who deserve to die, but now he's in prison living with all his 'accomplishments,'" Natasha said on the verge of breaking down.

"Nat I-I'm sorry," Steve sputtered out.

"You didn't stop me from killing him because you didn't want me to loose my job; you stopped me because who else would pick up your sorry ass when you were down if I got fired?" she said.

"That's not true."

"I was your friend, I trusted you, and for a minute I thought maybe just maybe there was something more. I thought maybe you were different, maybe there was a chance that there was someone out there who gave a damn, who liked me because of me, not the stupid costume, and all that other bullshit, but I was wrong," she said slamming the door in his face, leaving Steve utterly speechless.

+1

Steve was lonely, it was as simple as that. Every knock at his door would give him hope, but would soon disappoint him when he opened it and didn't see her face standing there in front of him. They still went on missions together, but there was no more subtle glances, or silent touches of the hand or back. Now it was just business.

After bad missions, or rough nights he no longer expected a knock on his door, all up until one night when he heard it; when he heard her knock. Steve thought he was dreaming when he opened the door and saw her standing there.

"What do you want?" he asked trying to sound detached.

"I am here to apologize. The things I said were wrong, and I-I don't think you're a bad person. I was just angry, and upset, and-"

"I do care about you," he said interrupting her rambling.

"What?" she asked almost in disbelief.

"I care about you, and it's not because of your costume, and looks. It's not because of any of that. It's because of the way you knew when I needed company, the way you smile like you have something to hide, and the way that when you want to, you can be scarier then the Black Widow persona."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" she said with a grin.

He leaned down and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, as he pulled back. "I was aiming for charming," he said with a smile.

"I guess that means I can keep your shirt," she asked.

"Yea, it looks better on you anyway."

This is something new, but I'm happy with the turnout. I'm putting 'Winter Is Coming' on a halt, and I'm not sure for how long. Chapter five is in the works, but after that one I'm kind of lost. Any ways, one shots are like my new favorite thing to do so comment any request, or PM me and I'll most likely write them. Thanks for reading and review!