1.

He brushes his hair off his forehead, only to have it fall back in his face. He's sore and achy from the mission and the four hours he just spent in the gym, and all he wants to do is take a warm shower and curl up in bed.

He's headed toward his room when the sound of an orchestra registers in his mind. Curious, he follows the sound and arrives at a door that's barely cracked open. He knows he should walk away and leave whoever's in there in peace. Even so, his curiosity gets the best of him and he nudges the door open the tiniest bit more and peeks in.

Natasha's there, twirling and leaping, all with her eyes closed, as gracefully as any professional dancer he's ever seen. Every movement is fluid and moves into the next seamlessly, and her hands fall into elegant positions so naturally it astounds him. Her form is perfect, her kicks unnaturally high, and he's entrances. He finally comes back to himself after a few minutes, knowing he's intruded on a private moment. He's about to back away and leave with no one the wiser when she picks up a small remote and turns the music off.

"Enjoying the view, Rogers?" she asks without turning around. He feels his cheeks grow warm and he starts to stutter. "Come here."

He obeys. She lowers herself to the ground and pats the floor beside her before rubbing her feet gingerly. The blush still hasn't completely faded from his cheeks, and when she notices this she smirks playfully at him.

"Where did you learn to dance like that?"

"The Russian ballet," she says, and when she doesn't expand on that he knows that's all he's going to get out of her.

"It was amazing," he says softly, and now it's her turn to blush.

"I used to be much better," she says with a shrug of her shoulders. "I haven't danced like that in years."

"Are you kidding?" He says without meaning to. "That was great. You have a real talent."

"Well, thank you." She stands and moves to the center of the room.

"If you want to be alone, I can l-"

"No." The word is forceful and final, leaving no room for argument. She beckons for him to come stand next to her.

"Let me teach you." She seems to melt into a position, and he imitates it as best as he can, albeit not as graceful. She adjusts his arms and hands a bit and circles him once, checking for other errors.

"First position," she explains.

They get through second and third positions without much trouble. She mostly swats at his arms and tells him to relax, to not look so stiff. He tries, but he just doesn't know how to imitate the flow of her limbs that she doesn't even have to think about, she just does it.

When they get to fourth position, though, his legs get all tangled and he loses his balance, accidentally taking her down with him. They land side by side on the hard wood floor and after a second of shocked silence, they begin to laugh.

"I guess I wasn't meant to be a dancer," he manages to get out.

"No, I guess you weren't." She sits up and stretches a bit.

"I'll leave you alone now," he murmurs.

"Thanks for the dance, if that's what you want to call it."

2.

He's about to fall asleep standing up.

He imagines this is what a middle school dance is like, with everyone standing in little groups all around the room, the dance floor in the middle of the room abandoned.

He knows he should go and mingle, but he's perfectly content to stand here in his little corner by himself, thank you very much. He's not even sure why he agreed to come in the first place and quite honestly he's surprised Fury even let the party happen in the first place. He figures somehow Coulson got behind it and everyone knows Fury can't say no to Coulson.

So here he was, at SHIELD's New Year's party. It wouldn't be so bad if he knew anyone here, what with Tony already drunk and flitting around the room and most of his other teammates on a mission. Natasha said she'd never be caught dead at a SHIELD party. He really doesn't interact with any of the other agents regularly and doesn't know many of them.

He checks his watch and sighs inwardly as he realizes it's only 10:30; he'll be expected to stay until midnight. Glancing lazily around the room, he yawns. Maybe he should just leave early; give himself a few minutes to come up with a decent excuse and go home. He's about to head to the door when whispers and murmurs register in his mind. He turns to where he heard them start, and he sees her heading straight for him, bright red hair gleaming under the lights.

"Hey Steve."

"Evening, Natasha," he manages to say without stuttering or making himself look like a fool. He doesn't know what's wrong with him. Of course he's noticed before that Natasha is a very beautiful woman, but for some reason it's just hitting him now and he feels like that skinny, awkward kid from Brooklyn who was too busy getting punched in alleys to actually talk to a woman.

"So, has anyone done anything interesting yet?" she asks, scanning the room casually.

"Not really. I was actually about to leave," he admits.

"No, you should stay," she says and places a hand on his arm. "At the very least we can keep each other company." He shrugs but stays put. They stand in silence for a few minutes until he can't stand it anymore.

"So I thought you said you weren't going to be here," he says in what he hopes is a casual tone.

"Thor got back from his mission early and said you'd be here," she says. "I figured Tony would abandon you as soon as you walked through the door- looks like I was right- and you'd just stand by yourself in a room of agents until you got bored enough to go home. So I came to keep you company." He nods and smiles to himself. At least he has someone to talk to, now.

And that's what they do. They exchange stories from their childhoods, choosing to keep it light, and Steve tells her about the Howling Commandos and the trouble they used to get themselves into on a daily basis. She laughs hearing how Bucky had abused him when he learned the Steve had jumped on a grenade- dummy or not.

They both pause and glance at the dance floor that a few couples have finally ventured out onto. Steve spots Tony dancing with Pepper who looks pleased that he's finally stopped bothering other people and is focusing on her. The next thing he knows, he's being tugged out onto the floor to join the other couples.

"Whoa, hey, I don't think this is a good idea, Nat," he says as she places one of his hands on her waist and takes the other the other in hers.

"It's fine," she insists. "Besides, Rumlow looked like he was about to come over and ask me to dance, and I'd really rather not deal with him right now."

"But I don't know how to dance."

"Well, then I guess you'll be forced to learn," she smirks up at him. "Think of it as the equivalent of learning a language by total immersion." He grimaces.

He steps on her toes quite a few times, and it's definitely not the dance she would have wanted; they look like an awkward high school couple at prom. But it gets her out of dancing with Rumlow and spending her entire night in a corner, so she cuts her losses and decides to just enjoy it.

3.

"Stop fidgeting."

"I wouldn't be fidgeting it I could get comfortable," he shoots back, squirming and tugging at the thighs of his pants.

"It's the fashion now. And stop pulling at them, you're going to draw attention to us." She has to shout over the sudden swell of the music, and he glances around to make sure no one's eavesdropping.

He's ready to kill Coulson for putting him on this mission. It's simple enough, drop a tracker on the target so he leads them to the organization, but he hadn't realized is required him to go so a dance club. If he had, he would have downright refused, told him to send someone else, someone who was more comfortable with this scene. He couldn't see how this could be considered fun, a dark room with flashing lights, packed to the ceiling with sweaty bodies dancing to music that definitely did not sound like music.

Natasha had immediately led him over to the bar and ordered two drinks. He had started to protest, tell her that he can't get drunk, but she dug her nails into his skin so hard she drew blood and he shut up. After receiving their drinks she'd taken his hand and led him to a corner full of booths. Finding an empty one, she pushed him down onto the seat and perches on his lap with her free arm thrown across his shoulders.

"Don't look so scared and uncomfortable," she orders again.

"I am uncomfortable."

"Well don't be."

"I'm going to get some air." He starts to shift her off his legs so he can stand, but she mashes her heel into his foot and gives his hair a sharp tug.

"No you are not," she hisses. "You stay here. We can leave as soon as we tag this Odin guy." He sighs and takes a sip of his drink. Immediately he gags and coughs, spilling a few drops on Natasha's dress.

"Sorry," he chokes out as she glares. "What's in this?"

"Raspberry liquer, absinth, ginger beer, and very cheap vodka," she replies with a wicked grin. "It's called a Broad Stripes And Bright Stars. I figured it would be perfect for you." He glares at her but hold his tongue; he'd rather no argue with her right now while his foot still feels like it's broken.

"There," she says, zeroing in on someone across the room. "That's our guy." She's standing in the blink of any eye and pulling him up in the next instant. "Follow my lead."

She begins to dance like everyone else, grinding against him and discreetly edging closer to the target. He tries to imitate how the guys around him are dancing, but he keeps getting distracted by the sway of her hips and completely loses his sense of rhythm. The end result isn't pretty and she elbows him in the stomach roughly. She wraps herself around him and kisses him sloppily.

"Grab my ass." He jerks back at her command and she pinches the back of his neck.

"Ow! Dammit, Nat, can you stop hurting me?"

"Do it," she growls. "There are boys eyeing me and you're supposed to be my boyfriend. Mark your territory." He grimaces and looks at the ceiling but does what she asks and feels his cheeks grow warm. He's suddenly grateful for the darkness.

"Come on, honey," she smiles slyly. "Let's go get another drink." She leads him by the hand again, dancing the entire time. A few guys try to dance with her on their way but she dismisses them with a wave of her hand. About halfway to the bar she deliberately bumps into a man and he catches her clipping the tiny tracker to the bottom of his jacket.

"Let's go," she says in his ear. He's all too eager to get out of there and practically sprints out the door despite the pain in his foot.

"I think you broke something," he grumbles when they're safely in the back of Happy's limo.

"You'll live. I am never taking you to a club with me ever again."

"Good," he mutters.

"You're terrible at this," she says flippantly.

"Then you should have brought Stark."

"Nah. It was entertaining to watch you squirm."

4.

It's a rare quiet moment in the Avengers Tower and Steve decides to take full advantage of it. He digs out his sketchbook and charcoal and sits on the common floor. Ideally he'd have her sitting in front of him, but he knows he'd never live it down if he asked. So he draws her from memory, trying to capture her spirit and fight on paper.

So when she catapults herself over the back of the couch and grabs the sketchbook out of his hands, he yelps and gives chase. She winds around the island and over the coffee table before leaping off an armchair and scrambling on top of a bookcase, cackling the entire time.

"Natasha, what do you think you're doing?"

"Whatcha drawing?" She lifts the book and peers at it. "Is this me? Are you drawing me like one of your French girls?" She strikes a pose from where she's perched, sketchbook dangling from her hand.

"My French girls?"

"Oh, come on, no one's made you watch Titanic yet?"

"No. Give it back."

"We'll have to watch it, then. You'll probably cry. Hey, can I call you Jack?"

"Why on Earth would you call me Jack?"

"I guess you'll see." She grins like the Cheshire Cat and he's two second away from tipping the bookcase over, never mind the mess. He trusts she'll be able to land on her feet. She seems to see this, though, and tosses the book down to him.

"Thanks."

"That's really good. You've got a talent, Steve."

He shrugs. "Years of practice, I guess." He settles back down on the couch. The Spy leaps down and sits next to him, curling against his side.

"Can I watch?" He catches a whiff of her breath.

"Are you drunk, Natasha?"

"Obviously not," she scoffs. "Do you think I could've climbed that bookcase if I was drunk?"

"Natasha."

"I'm just feeling good," she grins. "I'm buzzed, not drunk. Scout's honor."

"You were never a Girl Scout."

"So?"

"So how much did you drink?"

"I only had a few shots, maybe six or seven," she says. "I found Tony's stash of good vodka and whisky." He rolls his eyes, mainly because everyone knows where that it, Tony just thinks they don't. Still, he goes back to drawing, Natasha peering over his arm.

"I'm bored," she announces after a whole minute. She takes the sketchbook out of his hands and lays it on the table before pushing Steve off the couch.

"Nat-"

"Dance with me." And she's looking up at him with those big pleading eyes that she knows he's a sucker for. He knows something must have happened for her to turn to Tony's hard liquor, and, dammit, what can he do? He takes her hand and leads her to a more open space so she doesn't injure herself if she trips.

They dance in slow, lazy circles even though there's no music, and he only steps on her toes once. She seems content to just follow him and soon she's resting her head on his chest and he's praying to God she can't hear how his heart is going crazy.

"Steve?"

"Hm?" There was a long pause.

"Nothing, never mind."

"Okay."

His answer seems to surprise her because she pulls back and stares at him with furrowed eyebrows. Her eyes search his for a few seconds.

"Is there something wrong?"

"You're kind of perfect, did you know that?"

He laughs. "And you're drunk."

"No, I mean it." They stop dancing. "You're not at all curious about what I was going to say?"

He lifts his shoulders in a half shrug. "Of course I'm curious. You could have been about to say anything. But I figured that if you weren't ready to share yet, then I shouldn't pry. You'll tell me when you're ready."

"You're really something else, Rogers." She loops her arms around his neck and pulls herself closer to him, and his arms snake around her waist of their own accord as he gets a whiff of her hair.

"Are you okay?" he ventures after a minute or so. She sighs heavily.

"It's my father's birthday." She doesn't say anything else and she doesn't have to. He continues to hold her as she speaks again. "When I was a little girl we had a record player and a few records that were our prized possessions. He'd play them for me every evening after dinner. He would pull me up so I was standing on his feet and dance me around the house."

"I'm sure you miss him."

"Yeah. Every time I was sad he would play my favorite song and we'd dance. It's always been my outlet, dancing."

"My mother used to take me into the kitchen and we'd cook what we could and talk," he tells her. "We talked about everything. That's why I like cooking so much, because it reminds me of her."

They fall silent and he realizes they're dancing again. Impulsively he spins her and she laughs as she trips over he own feet.

"You're feeling ambitious," she remarks with a snort. "My head's spinning now."

"Just trying to cheer you up."

"Mission accomplished, Captain," she snarks, earning an eye roll from him. He starts to speak but she shakes her head and silences him. "Just dance with me."

Later, when Natasha retreats beck to her own floor, he picks up his sketchbook again and draws the two of them dancing. It's not his best work, but he pins it to his wall anyway.

5.

It seems like Natasha can't stop rolling her eyes.

Not that he really blamed her. Tony would throw an engagement party complete with fireworks and a giant chocolate fountain that Clint had already tried to jump into, but he also sort of thought it was a nice gesture. He couldn't be happier for Tony and Pepper even if it was a bit of a fanatical idea that Tony Stark was getting married of his own free will.

And as far as Tony's parties go, this was nothing. He's heard horror stories from Natasha about when she first met the billionaire, and how he showed up to his own birthday party extremely drunk and peed in the Iron Man suit. So seeing as there have been no explosions or any need of emergency medical services, he considers this tame, even if he can barely hear himself think. Natasha looks like she's feeling the same way, so he catches her attention and motions to the door to the rooftop garden.

Neither of them say anything for a little while. Natasha leans against the far wall, looking down at the city, and he's content to just watch her. She tilts her head up to look at the stars and he notices her shiver a bit. Walking over, he drapes his jacket over her shoulder.

"Such a gentleman," she says, but there's no sarcasm in her voice. "Stark really ought to put heaters out here." She draws the jacket closer around herself. He has to smile when she buries her nose in the lapel and sniffs. It strikes him how beautiful she looks right now in this instant, with his jacket on and backlit by the city.

From inside they hear the DJ play a slower song, and she holds her hand out to him. He takes it without a moment's hesitation, and they begin to waltz easily.

"You've been practicing," she muses with a smirk.

"Maybe." They dance in silence again, simply enjoying each other's company. His left hand rests on her hip and he can feel her every movement. He has this urge to just kiss her, taking him by surprise.

The song ends and she thanks him for the dance, but this time he follows her over to the wall. The both lean over and look down, and for a dizzying moment he's scared they'll both fall.

"Everything looks so tiny from up here," she murmurs. He hums his agreement and takes her hand. Out of the corner of his eye he sees her eyebrows raise but she doesn't say anything or pull her hand away.

He's not entirely sure when these casual, little touches between them became okay, but he likes it.

So when she looks up at him through her lashes, he leans down and slants his lips over hers. Her lips are soft and warm on his, and it feels like a million bombs are going off in his head but at the same time the entire world just goes silent and it's just the two of them.

And then Tony's bringing all the guests out onto the rooftop for the fireworks and yelling about "Little Red and Captain Conservative" playing tonsil hockey and stealing the spotlight. Natasha simply flips him off and kisses him deeper, and he smiles into it even if it is only to piss Tony off.

+1

"Natasha."

He gently shakes her shoulder and she gives his arm a firm twist without opening her eyes, his wrist cracking painfully.

"Jesus, Nat!"

"No."

He massages his wrist gingerly and shoots her a look. "You don't even know what I was going to say."

"Doesn't matter," she growls, stealing the blankets and rolling over. "You know better than to wake me up." He moves to the other side of the bed, perching on the edge and placing his hand on her back.

"You must have some death wish, Rogers."

"I want to show you something," he grins at her. "Come on, it'll be worth it." She groans dramatically and covers her face with her arms, but she also opens her eyes and Steve takes that as an agreement to go with him.

He gives her a few minutes to wake up fully and tells her not to worry about changing. She mumbles a response that he doesn't quite catch and laughs, dodging the pillow she throws at him a moment later. He grabs the blanket from the end of the bed and then leads her to the roof.

"Christ, Steve," she hisses as soon as he opens the door. "It's freezing up here."

"And that's why I brought this." He smiles at her and wraps the blanket around the two of them. "Better?" She shrugs but leans into his body and closes her eyes.

"So what am I supposed to be looking at?"

"That." He points to something over her shoulder and she turns to see the first rays of the sun peeking up over the horizon. Its golden glow reflects on the water and the glass of the buildings around them and makes it look like the city's been set ablaze. And even though she's seen hundreds of sunrises before, she must admit that this one is particularly dazzling. She feels Steve shift next to her and gazes at the horizon a few more seconds before turning to him. He was gazing at her with such intensity it momentarily startled her and she was the one to look away first for once.

"What is it?" She asks, wrapping her arms around him.

"Dance with me," he says, and she doesn't get a second to respond before he picks her up and starts spinning and jumping around the roof. After getting over her initial shock she manages to brace her hands against his shoulders and muses that this must look like a scene straight from a Disney movie.

"I don't think this counts as dancing," she laughs.

"Sure it does." He sets her down and twirls her, blanket falling to the side. "You said yourself that anything can count as dancing."

"My head is spinning," she manages through giddy giggles- actual giggles- and spins away from him. "What's got you in such a dancing mood, though?" On impulse she leaps away, laughing. Piqué turn into a grand jête, five fouettes, and a split jump. Immediately she goes into a series of chaines turns, an arabesque, and then Steve catches her in his arms and holds her tight.

"You know, I never get tired of watching you dance."

"You should have seen me in my glory days, then," she smirks at him. "I don't mean to brag, but I was one of the best in the company. And I was only fifteen years old."

"Impressive," he says. "Although, you're still an amazing dancer today."

"You never answered my question," she points out.

"I got distracted."

"What's got you in such a great mood?" She asks again, nuzzling into his chest. He presses a kiss into her hair and the pulls away. She's about to complain when he kneels in front of her and take her hand in both of his. Her heart stops beating for a second and then picks back up in double time.

"Natasha," he says, all soft and warm and with an infectious smile, "you know I love you more than life itself. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me and the center of my entire world. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want a house on the hill and kids and a dog and a white picket fence, and maybe a little saving the world on the side, and I want it all with you. I want your face to be the last thing I see every night before I fall asleep, and someday in the future when we're old and gray and wrinkled, I want to sit on out porch with our grandkids."

"Steve…"

He pulls a ring out from a tiny crevice in the wall; he must have hidden it there last night. "So, Natalia Alianovna Romanova, will you do me the greatest honor of becoming my wife?"

"You know my name?" are the only words that squeak out, and she claps a hand over her mouth, mortified. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to say that out loud. I just ruined this entire thing, oh, God, I'm a moron."

He just laughs and shakes his head. "Yeah, I convinced Fury to let me read your file the other day. You don't mind, do you? Which name do you prefer?"

She lifts her shoulders in a shrug. "Either one is fine. Both are a part of me, who I was, who I am, and who I will be. Whichever is more comfortable for you."

"Well, Natasha, Natalia, whoever wants to answer, will you please marry me and make me the luckiest guy to ever live?"

He grin grows even wider and she tackles him to the roof's floor. "Of course I will."

I'm so sorry I disappeared for, like, a week and a half. It honestly took me that long to write this.