AN: Final chapter of this fic. I hope to start working on a post TWS one soon. The pairing will be the same of course, because I am slightly obsessed.

3

Dim light filtered around them again, only this time it was courtesy of Sam Wilson's shades. The bedroom Sam let them crash in was nice sized and had it's own bathroom. Steve had insisted immediately that Natasha take the full sized bed and elected to make himself a pallet on the floor. Above him, Steve could hear Natasha's faint and steady breaths, a sign she had given in to sleep. He sat up and leaned against the side of the bed, staring at the wall, his mind replaying images from the last twenty four hours. Her crumpled under him, the tenderness exposed in the car, the way her damp hair fell on her shoulders after a shower. He hadn't felt this way about a woman in seventy years. He sensed she felt something too, but was fighting so vailantly against it. The sheet rustled behind him and he felt her eyes sweep over him. She was so good at pretending.

"Not tired?" she asked.

"Not really. Just thinking."

"About?"

He paused, "Do you trust me Tasha?" He spoke softly, but to the wall, afraid if he looked at her he would never get the answers he wanted.

"Yes," her voice was only a whisper.

"And you realize that I trust you?" She said nothing, so he continued, "Trust is something that is earned. It's, it's not something that's owed, it's not a debt, it's a bond that connects two people. I earned your trust and you earned mine."

"I haven't done anything to earn your trust Steve," she finally replied.

He half chuckled, "You were by my side when I found out the entire organization I worked for, we worked for, was a corrupt snake pit. That earns my trust."

"Professionally it does."

"And personally it doesn't? Natasha is doesn't work that way," he did turn now. She was sitting in bed, knees tucked into her chest, arms wrapped around herself. She had never looked so beautiful and so vulnerable to him before.

Her chin dropped and rested on a knee, " When I was out earlier I was dreaming about a man. It's not the first time I've dreamed of him, but the dreams are always the same. I can't see him. I can't see the room I'm in. After a few times I figured I must have a blindfold on. When I do see something it's only flashes of red. Explosions of pain so bad my vision blurrs." A tear fell down her cheek, but Steve didn't move. Her voice was tender but her tone was defeated and he knew instinctively that he was the only person she had ever told this to. "He wants me to stand up, but won't let me. I try, he kicks me down. I try again, he kicks me again. Everytime I make it to the prone position he knocks me down. So I give up. There's always copper in my mouth, my face is sticky. I know I'm bleeding. So I quit trying. Then he grabs me, drags me by the hair to somewhere and throws me in a chair." She cast a glance at Steve, "And I know this happened to me, that it's not just a dream, it really happened. But I don't know when or where. I don't know why. All I know is I've repressed the memory so good I can't find it while conscious. And it's not the only one."

Steve sighed, "But we all have things we can't remember, don't want to remember. We can't change that."

She shook her head, "It's not the same. It's not just the memory I can't remember. I can't remember if I deserved to be in that room blindfolded or not. Some of the things I've done..." her voice trailed off.

A click resonated through Steve's mind and he threw the last few pieces of the puzzle together. "You don't want me to trust you."

A full sixty seconds of silence rocked the small space before she spoke again, so low he actually had to strain to hear, "I don't. I don't because I care about you too Steve. I care what you think, what you feel, and it scares me. You make me want to give into you, to let you see everything, and it scares me. It scares me because I don't know what everything is anymore."

He shook his head, "I don't care about the past Nat. I don't care what everything is, all I care about is right now."

"How can you be so sure though?"

The tears broke and streamed freely down her face and he couldn't stand it anymore. He went to her, pulled her into his lap and held her tightly, "Because I've seen you. You're a good person who did some bad things. The world is full of them. You're haunted, obsessed with your past because of what you've done. But what you've done is not always who you are Natasha." And before Steve could stop his mouth was covering hers. Gently at first, then she responded, deepening the kiss, and he could feel all the pain, all the regret and sorrow, pour from her body. She broke the kiss to sob into his chest and he cradled her, rocking them gently. Seconds, minutes, maybe even an hour passed, and he held her, letting her tears soak the front of his shirt. Tears from the strongest woman he had ever met. When her cries stopped and were replaced by silence he ran his fingers through her hair, down her neck, softly massaging her shoulder.

"Nat?" He waited until her watery eyes met his, "Friends?"

She gave the smallest of smiles and nodded before her lips found his again.