Hi all, just a quick note on this: commenced in 2014 while I was rebelling against thesis writing. Sort of runs after The Avengers and in later chapters post Captain America - The Winter Soldier but was complete pre-Age of Ultron. Yes, that's right I have completed this story! That's honestly a record for me. Still cleaning later chapters but waits shouldn't be too long now. As always, characters and settings are mostly not mine. I'm just borrowing.

Sleep

(...or the one in which everyone finds out Natasha is sleeping with Steve...including Steve)

Steve Rogers (Captain America):

He is often woken in the middle of the night, the slightest of sounds enough to bring him back to consciousness. A side-effect of the action he saw during the war and after it, he thinks. As it is, he is not surprised to be jolted into wakefulness, a little after 2am, one extremely ordinary Wednesday morning.

The cause, however, is not the usual street sounds or other residents through the walls. It is much closer than that. He is a split second from springing for his shield when his brain registers the familiar form and red hair of the Russian spy. It takes him a second longer to process the fact that she is lifting his covers and sliding into bed beside him, not wearing much more than a tank top and a pair of shorts so tiny he's not 100% sure they even count as 'not underwear'.

"Natasha!" He exclaims. "What are you doing?"

As he finally finds his voice, he is a little disappointed in how very scandalised he sounds. Although, it does seem vaguely appropriate for the situation. It's not everyday a woman you consider a friend and comrade-in-arms mysteriously appears after a nearly 2 month long absence and climbs into bed with you in the middle of the night.

She clearly doesn't seem to find a problem with it as she proceeds to ignore his discomfort-well at least that's not anything new-and snuggle-yes, snuggle-down into his spare pillow. He tries again.

"Natasha..." This time it is less in surprise and more of a last ditch attempt to solicit some kind of explanation before she actually falls asleep here with him. However, this time, he does punctuate his displeasure with a few soft pokes to her shoulder.

This she finally deigns to respond to. Raising a hand, she tiredly swats at him, turning her head to face him considerably reluctantly. "Rogers, it's the middle of the night. I'm sleeping. What?" She snarks.

He smiles. Success.

"I can see that, Nat. What I'd like to know is why you're doing it here?"

She huffs and rolls back away from him, muttering something into the pillow. He's not entirely sure it wasn't in Russian.

"Want to try that one more time? Coherently?"

"Mission. Tired. Convenient. Happy?"

Clearly, that was all he was going to get. Not that he'd expected much more really. What it does tell him though, is that she came here because it was somewhere she felt safe. That is enough for now.

She sighs heavily, throwing an arm over her face. "Can I sleep now, chatty?"

She's asked in good humour, despite the glare she levels him. For a moment he can only smile in response. The whole situation has taken on an edge of the surreal. He is not entirely sure that he won't wake up in the morning and find the whole thing has been a very bizarre but entertaining dream.

She seems to take his silence for an answer as her breathing starts to even out in sleep.

"Goodnight Natasha," he whispers into the darkness, giving in to the temptation to tuck the loose veil of hair behind her ear as he does so. Thinking her asleep he is completely unprepared for her response.

"G'night Steve."

It is only as he too drifts off that it occurs to him that she had been almost on top of him when he woke. Had she been trying to kill him, she most likely would have succeeded.

When he wakes for the second time that morning, some 4 hours later, he is mildly surprised to find her still there, curled up next to him. Not a dream then, he thinks with no little trace of amusement. She watches with heavy eyes as he starts his morning routine but is asleep again by the time he's done. He figures that if she let herself in, she can let herself out. She is big enough to look after herself should she wake before he returns from his morning run. He does however, make doubly sure to lock his apartment securely as he leaves.

She is, as he expected, gone by the time he gets in, the only signs of her presence are a plate of sweet buns from a local bakery on the counter-she would have had to have gone out and come back for those-and a deceptively cursive note on his bedside table. It says only:

"Thank you"

.

.

.

.

.

And that was that. If you liked it, if you hated it, if you were somewhat indifferent, I'd love to hear about it.

Reviews = Love.

xo Libby...