Irish Kiss

All characters belong to Marvel

Disclaimer : I do not own these characters

The world around him brightened for just a moment as he stared down at the marble stone etched with the name of his late mother: Sarah Rogers. He owed so much to her for giving him a life and hope to fight the weakness that rattled through his body. She was truly a patron of wisdom. A smirk graced over the fullness of his lips as he remembered hearing her call him an angel in her somber Irish voice. After he lost her, he carried with him the Celtic cross under his uniform-a symbol of her love and the sacrifice she gave to give him strength to carry on his missions. He never revealed the necklace to anyone, not even Bucky. Sometimes, he would catch himself looking down at the silver pendent and reading the inscription: Na sciatha dóchais garda ár gcroí. Steve felt his eyes fill with tears as he removed the necklace from his leather jacket, holding it against the flickers of light piercing through the lush of trees surrounding the grave site.

He crouched down, brushing his fingers over the rough stone, "It's times like this a miss you the most, Ma," he whispered in a low voice, staring at the name. "I know I haven't come to see you that much, I've been busy trying to make this world a better place." His lips pressed into a thin line, almost a grimace of regret. "You always told me to be strong and never give up the fight...Lately, I've been feeling so weak that I can't push myself to protect lives. I'm just a kid from Brooklyn who stands up to bullies, I'm not a legend or a saint." He closed his eyes, releasing a shaky breath. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that I do feel lost and alone. Everything has changed and I don't know if I can ever get used to it..."

"So this is where you've been hiding."

Steve snapped his eyes open as he listened to the smoky feminine voice coming from behind him. He then looked over his shoulder and gentle smirk crossed his lips. He straightened to his full height. "Nat," he replied, his blue eyes gleaming against the sunlight. Crystal. Ice. He looked at Natasha leaning against a tree with a coffee in her hand. She was gorgeous and stunning. Copper hair straight and cascading down her shoulder, just the right amount makeup to blend with her natural pale complexion and her greenish eyes held a shadowy allure. She was dressed in leather. He was expecting to see her. They parted ways months ago, doing their own soul searching and chasing ghosts of the past; and yet, she always came back to check up on him. Though he wouldn't admit it, he was glad. "I thought you had places to go?" he asked, keeping his stare leveled with hers. "I tried calling you, but you never seemed to return my messages."

She shrugged a little, "I had to keep dark until I found a new cover with a clean slate program." She returned, with a small hint of smile. "So I decided to come back and check on your dating status..."

He cleared his throat, obviously he was uncomfortable with her persistent questions about his dating life. "I really haven't had the time to call those dames, whose numbers you left on my fridge door. I'm been busy with Sam. We've been..."

"You've been looking for Barnes...I mean the Winter Soldier?" Natasha's eyes became fierce and her lips curved into scowl. "I warned you not to pull that thread, Steve, but you never listen. You always have to make the stupid mistake of chasing after the past."

"I'm not the only one here who chases their past," Steve quipped back, folding his broad arms over his chest. "How did you find me? Did you get my location from Sam?"

Natasha rolled her eyes. It unnerved her. "I have ways to find people. Besides, it doesn't take a highly efficient operative to track down Captain Steve Rogers in Brooklyn." She narrowed her eyes into a hardened glare at the grave. "So I guess this must be your mother?"

Steve arched an eyebrow, "Sarah Rogers." He spoke in a measure of grievance in his baritone, his hand gesturing to the grave. He gave her a withering look; his eyes glistened with a coating of tears. "I used to come here every St. Patrick's day. She was born in Ireland, so I always took the time to pay her a visit to keep the memory alive and never loose sight of who I am, Natasha."

"That's nice," She nodded faintly, withholding a firm smile, and then she looked up at him. "What else do Irish soldiers do other than visiting their past?"

Steve felt his heart pound wildly in his chest. It was disarming. "Well," he sheepishly tried to hold back a feeble smile, his blue eyes dropped to the ground and his palms were getting sweaty. "There is an old tradition in Ireland..." He swallowed down his words thickly, trying to remain guarded with his emotions. He had limits, and Natasha was both a temptation and a danger. Getting close to her was always a risk, but then again Captain America did kiss a helluva of dames when he did the tours for the war bonds. "If a man kisses a beautiful woman in St. Patrick's graveyard, than he will spend the rest of his life fighting for her heart." His eyes stared deeply into her green ones, however, doubt forced him to turn away. He grunted noncommittally. "It's just a stupid-"

Natasha inched eagerly to get close to him. She felt the heat wavering off his muscled body. He was caught of guard. Her hands caressed over the chiseled skin of his face. Instantly his skin flushed and tinged with the mixture of fire coming from her lithe fingers. This was her chance to prove to herself that she still had a heart. "You know sometimes we can learn from history's mistakes," She was a breath away from his lips. She felt the unrelenting warmth. "No matter how stupid they can be, Rogers."

Before Steve could falter a step back, Natasha invaded his space, and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, just enough to taste his desperation. She wanted to devour him, and make him feel breathless. She knew his noble and true heart would never allow her to. The hardness of his chest rubbed against her body, she felt his solid muscles ripple with a surging power from the serum and they flexed under the stroke of her hand.

Quickly, she pulled away, her urging lips shadowing a dampened trace over his jaw, feeling his own lips stretch into a hopeful grin while she whispered against his ear, "That was for a soldier's luck." she lightly smiled, threading her fingers through his blonde hair.

She looked at him now from a different perspective, trying to figure out what form of pain he was truly hiding beneath the exterior of the good soldier. Her eyes gleamed with understanding, but he didn't say anything back. Nothing else would dare them back into the weaves of passion they both longed to feel dance over their lips. That being said, she traced her thumb over his sulking lips. "I'll see you around, Rogers."

She walked away from him, slowly giving him a chance to catch her.

Steve gazed down at his mother's cross, it was time for him to move on. "Natasha," he called out to her, tucking the necklace into his pocket.

She froze to the sound of leaves crunching, and he wrapped his arms around her, pressing her close to his body. His hands slipped through her red locks as he crushed his lips over hers with an unrelenting force of wet heat. He kissed her deep, hard and long. She didn't walk away and neither did he. They both stayed in the middle of light and darkness, feeling each others hearts dance in their chests while their lips devoured and melted with kiss after kiss.

Steve opened his eyes, he brushed her loose curls from her face then pressed his forehead against hers. He was finally living out of the past.

Na sciatha dóchais garda ár gcroí -The shields of hope guard our hearts