And still I can't let you be

Most nights I hardly sleep

Don't take what you don't need from me

A drop in the ocean

A change in the weather

I was praying that you and me might end up together

It's like wishing for rain as I stand in the desert

But I'm holding you closer than most 'cause you are my heaven

Chapter 1: A Drop In the Ocean

Natasha forced a smile, handing the grumpy customer his triple shot latte. "Have a nice day!" she said, purposefully making her voice a bit too chirpy and sweet. The man growled something rude, flipped her the bird, and took his drink.

She hated these early morning customers, with their miserably tired voices and perpetual scowls. As much as she enjoyed her job, it never quite made up for how rude some of these people were.

"What did that cup ever do to you?" Clint gestured to her hand. She realized she'd been clenching her hand around an empty coffee cup, and with a sigh she threw it away.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize to me," her partner snorted. "Apologize to the line you're holding up."

"Shit!" Natasha grimaced and elbowed Clint, moving past him to take the next order. "Sorry about that."

The customer next in line was a scrawny guy with floppy blond hair and the kindest blue eyes she'd ever seen. He looked about her height, but he wasn't standing up straight; there was a curve to his spine that suggested scoliosis. "No problem," he said, smiling. He had a Brooklyn accent and a voice was disproportionately deep and resonant for his size. At least he was in a good mood. "Tall coffee, black, extra shot of caffeine."

She laughed. "You sure about that?" The size he was, that much caffeine would probably make him vibrate with excess energy all day. She entered his order in the machine anyway.

"Yep." He handed her a five dollar bill to pay, and she expertly rang up the purchase and counted out his change.

"And what's the name to go with this order?"

The guy grinned, starting to walk away from the counter. "Steve."

Natasha smiled, told Clint Steve's order, and kept working.

She was surprised to realize, about an hour later when the morning rush slowed slightly, that Steve was still there, seated at a high table by the window with what looked like a sketchbook in front of him, his lips pursed thoughtfully as his hand moved quickly over the paper. He'd probably finished his extra-caffeinated coffee a while ago, but he hadn't gotten up to throw away the cup. She wondered, absentmindedly, what he was drawing, but then Clint started making kissing noises in her ear and she had to turn around to smack him.

It was another half hour or so (a busy one for the coffee shop) before Natasha noticed Steve hopping off his chair, throwing away his empty cup, and making his way outside with his sketchbook in hand.

She told herself she wasn't disappointed; Steve was just a customer who happened to be nice at six in the morning and she didn't need to keep being curious about what he needed all that caffeine for and what he was drawing.

Never mind that the guy was actually pretty cute and had a smile to put the sun to shame.

As the weeks passed, however, little Steve with his extra shot of caffeine and sketchbook slipped her mind, and she worked the café much as she always did.

The coffee shop was Clint's personal business. It had been nothing but a small place on a forgotten street corner before his big break. Then, one ordinary Tuesday, Tony Stark had visited and liked the coffee and food so much that he bought them a new building and started sponsoring them. Clint wasn't going to turn up his nose at an offer like that when he was barely making a living with the place before, so now he owned the most popular coffee place in New York besides chain places like Starbucks. Tony still visited at least once a week to buy a breakfast sandwich and a caramel frappuccino, which was good for business and a lot of fun.

"Good morning, Natasha!" Tony liked to announce his presence as dramatically as possible; this Monday that meant that he strode through the door, whipped off his sunglasses, and tossed them across the room. A college student pulled her headphones out of her ears and sheepishly retrieved the glasses from the floor, obviously unsure what to do with them.

"Hey Stark." Natasha rolled her eyes at him fondly. "Your usual?"

"Yep. That's why they call it a usual, honey." Nat huffed in irritation and threw an orange at Tony; he caught it without even blinking and began peeling it. "And kid, keep the sunglasses," he added, turning to grin at the young woman still waiting for someone to tell her what to do. "I bet if you sell them on eBay you could be rich."

"Oh, lay off, Tony," Clint said, vaulting over the counter to slug the billionaire in the shoulder. Tony handed Clint his credit card, as he always did. They liked to joke that he was too lazy to make his purchases at the counter like a normal person, but the fact of the matter was that they'd found it fun to play along with his celebrity status to see the expressions on people's faces.

Natasha went to work making his breakfast sandwich with Maria's help (two fried eggs, five strips of extra crispy bacon, a few pieces of melting cheese), and for a moment didn't notice who'd just walked in.

"What can I get for you today?" Clint could be very calm and professional when he chose to be.

"Tall black coffee, extra shot of caffeine."

Natasha paused as she flipped an egg, glancing back. Sure enough, the familiar baritone voice belonged to Steve. He was just as cheerful and sweet-looking as she remembered. He caught her eye and raised an eyebrow.

Maria nodded at her, a silent 'I've got this', and Natasha left the food to say hello. "Steve, right?"

"Yeah." The guy seemed surprised she'd remembered him. "You have a good recall," he said appreciatively.

"No, you just made quite the impression the first time you came in."

When Steve blushed, his face and neck and the tips of his ears turned bright red, and for a moment he looked so cute that Natasha almost giggled. "That's not somethin' people normally say," he snorted.

"Who doesn't take note of an artist who sits in the same spot for two hours drinking super-caffeinated coffee?"

"Okay, if you two would stop flirting and let me finish serving the customers…" Clint grumbled, elbowing Natasha in the ribs. Now it was her turn to blush, scowling and smacking her friend's arm.

"Shut up, Barton."

Steve laughed at them, tossing his head back in genuine amusement, and Natasha decided that was one of the more attractive sights she'd ever seen.

She finished making Tony's sandwich, took the frappuccino from Clint, and walked out from behind the counter to give Tony his order. Then, confirming that her coworkers had the remaining customers well in hand, she detoured to the table where Steve had seated himself.

"Hey," she said, crossing her arms. "Sorry about my boss. He has no filter." She tried to get a look at what Steve was drawing, but he hid it with one thin arm.

"It's fine. I've got a friend like that," he answered. "He thinks it's his job to embarrass me. Actually, he's pickin' me up when I'm done here."

"Can't you drive?" she teased.

Steve snorted, exasperation clear on his features, and she realized that it was probably a tasteless joke. "Yes, I can drive," he scoffed. "But we're gonna visit my mom after this and my car's in the shop."

Natasha went to apologize, then caught the mischievous glint in his eyes and grinned slowly. "So… why the early hours and the super strong coffee? I'd have pegged you for a cream and sugar guy. Peppermint mocha, maybe, or cinnamon hot cocoa."

Steve shrugged, looking down sheepishly. "Yeah, well... People make a lot of assumptions about me. Most of 'em way off." Then that sunny smile was back, and he lifted his sketchbook. "But to answer your question: the coffee and early mornings are so I have time to get some extra drawin' done before work. Normally I go to Starbucks, but sometimes it's too crowded, so I come here."

"What's your job?"

"Interior designer." He grimaced. "At least, that's what I tell people. I'm actually a glorified secretary at the design company. It's a shitty job and equally shitty pay, but it's what I wanna be doing, and sometimes I get to help with my boss's projects."

Natasha frowned sympathetically. "Couldn't you quit?"

He shrugged. "I could, but it took me a long time to get this job, and I can already barely afford coffee."

"Fair enough."

The door opened, and a tall, muscular man sauntered in, piercing grey eyes searching the coffee shop. He was smirking, and the expression was natural on his face, like he woke up every morning satisfied with himself and the world. He didn't, Natasha decided. People like him were all too often hiding things behind their arrogant expressions, and there was a familiar look in his grey eyes, one that said "I know about pain."

"Can I help you?" Clint asked.

"I'll let you know," the man answered.

Steve grinned, standing up and grabbing his things, and Natasha realized with a jolt of surprise that this must be the friend he was waiting for. Once again, the little guy had upset her expectations. It embarrassed her that she'd automatically assumed his friend was some mousy little guy, maybe another artist.

"Hey Buck!"

"There you are, punk. We goin' or not?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure." Steve threw away his coffee cup and tucked his pencil behind his ear. "I've been waitin' for you, jerk. You're late."

His friend started to go, then met Natasha's eyes and smiled, slow and charming. She almost laughed at how fast his focus switched. "Hey, beautiful," he said, and Steve groaned.

"Would you leave her alone, Bucky? Seriously. We're supposed to be going to see Mom."

"Aren't you going to introduce us, Steve?" Natasha said, teasing.

Steve gave her a look like don't encourage him, but sighed and said, "Bucky, this is… oh crap, I'm sorry, what is your name?"

Natasha laughed, covering her mouth with one hand. She'd never told Steve her name. How weird was that? She knew and remembered his name, but didn't bother telling him hers? "So you're Bucky?" she managed, holding out her left hand for Steve's friend to shake. To her surprise, the man hesitated, then held out his right hand, and she switched hands without asking about it. Now that she looked more closely, she realized that his left arm looked slightly stiff, and he was wearing a glove over that hand.

"Yep, that's my name. Yours?"

"Natasha," she said, glancing at Steve as she did.

"Nice name." Bucky smirked, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "You know Stevie?"

"Kind of."

Steve explained. "I've come in here twice for coffee, and I guess she's really bored or else doesn't see a lot of interestin' people, 'cause she was curious about my drawings."

More accurately, Natasha was curious about Steve, but she wasn't going to say that.

"Excuse me, can't help but overhear…" Tony broke into the conversation, walking over, still slurping his frappuccino. Steve looked like he was going to have a heart attack, and when he started wheezing a bit, Natasha shot Tony a murderous scowl. The scrawny guy pulled an inhaler out of his pocket, however, and got himself back under control.

It certainly wasn't the worst reaction Tony had ever gotten.

"What the hell, Tony?" Natasha grumbled, crossing her arms.

"What? They said you never met anyone interesting, and I mean, I think I count as interesting, so…"

"No, you're as dull as a brick and twice as hard to stomach," Clint hollered from behind the counter.

Steve chuckled, a tentative sound of amusement like he was still embarrassed, while his friend Bucky snorted and shot Clint an appreciative look.

"Chill out, guys, I'm just a normal guy like you, except cooler," Tony said, smirking.

Bucky rolled his eyes. "If by cooler you mean conceited and ridiculous, then that sounds about right."

Clint chuckled and abandoned the register to join the conversation. He'd found himself a kindred spirit, Natasha could tell, which was going to be bad. "Clint," he said, nodding to Bucky and Steve.

"Bucky Barnes." The handsome guy nodded, lips curling mischievously. "As much as I'd like to keep chattin', we need to get going."

Steve's eyes darkened (Natasha thought they looked like the ocean, changing from blue to dark grey) and he nodded. "Right. Seeyah guys, and nice meeting you, Mr. Stark."

"Thanks, squirt," Tony said flippantly. "And it's Tony."

Steve frowned but didn't comment on the nickname. Bucky slung an arm around the smaller man's shoulders, and the familiar gesture made Natasha curious. The two were obviously close, and she wondered if maybe they were more than friends. Boyfriends, maybe? The thought gave her a pang, and she immediately felt ridiculous. She'd met Steve twice and he'd only just learned her name. Just because he was cute and gentlemanly and cheerful and artistic and… shit. She dismissed those thoughts and strode back behind the counter.

Steve started coming to the coffee shop every day after that, striding through the door at 6 o'clock sharp, always ordering his super-juice coffee and occasionally a bagel with extra cream cheese. Sometimes Bucky came with him, and when he did he typically sat alone at a table enjoying a smoothie and watching the people around him with a kind of comfortable wariness. It turned out he had a prosthetic arm, which Tony saw one day, prompting him to promise to design a better one for him. After a lot of arguing, Bucky finally accepted the offer.

Two weeks later, Steve walked through the door with a swollen nose, split lip, and a black eye. He was as good-natured as ever, despite the fact that he looked like he'd been mugged. Natasha swallowed back her worried questions as he got in line, fidgeting. He was limping slightly.

"Hey Steve," she said carefully. She was almost afraid to ask what had happened to him. Irrational, she knew, but there had been mornings when Clint asked her what happened and she had to lie to him... She gritted her teeth and smiled. "Your usual?"

He chuckled. Warm and hopeful. "No, I'm thinkin' I want a raspberry mocha this mornin'."

She raised an eyebrow. "Who are you and what did you do with Steve?"

He crossed his arms, grinning. His knuckles were bruised. "Maybe a ham and cheese breakfast sandwich, too."

Alright then. He'd never seemed interested in either menu item before. So much for his pre-made black coffee (she'd taken to having his usual order ready for him ahead of time). Still, she rung up his new order and accepted a handful of cash. Something tight and worried in her gut eased; he seemed okay. Of course, maybe he was just a good liar, like she was... As she moved to make his order, letting Clint work the register, she called, "So what happened?"

Steve laughed. "Nothing. I'm fine."

She felt strange at that. Nothing, I'm fine. "No you aren't," she said, a bit too forcefully. "What happened?"

He looked down, flushed with embarrassment. "I got in a fight. Outside a bar. Some jerk was hitting his girlfriend, so I punched him." He didn't say any more, but Natasha realized, with a pang of sympathetic amusement, that Steve had probably gotten his ass kicked. So she didn't press him for details, instead focusing on his drink and trying to ignore the delicious, warm feeling pulsing in her veins because of course little Steve Rogers, the black coffee drinker with a stubborn streak a mile wide, would be the sort of person to get in a fight to protect someone else. She wondered how often Bucky, with his muscular, imposing figure, had to step in and help Steve out. Probably too often.

She finished the cappuccino and handed it directly to Steve before going to work on his sandwich.

"How are you?" he asked, accepting the drink.

"I'm good," she said honestly. "Been a busy day."

"That's good." Steve leaned against the counter, watching her work, and she felt oddly self-conscious. "Tired?"

"Not really. Kinda."

The artist smiled and settled onto one of the stools by the counter, instead of his usual window seat, digging into his backpack for his sketchbook and a pencil. She'd become familiar with the sight of the small, black-covered sketchbook in his hand, the edges of the pages stained with paint.

He curled one arm around the book as he drew, and she focused on cooking, trying to pretend that she didn't care what he was drawing.

She wished she'd known Steve a long time ago. Wished she'd known him before she met Brock and everything went to hell. Maybe then she… but no, she'd been someone else before. She'd been someone who wouldn't have given Steve Rogers a second glance.

He really didn't make a big impression, physically. His shoulders curved forward, making him look even smaller than he was. He was short, with thin arms and a thin chest and thin legs and… well, he was just thin. His jaw and other facial features were strong (still thin), and he had asthma and pale skin. He looked as if a stiff breeze might blow him over. And yet his eyes blazed with fire and he stood straight and proud, a cheerful smile tugging at his lips. Even hunched over his drawing, he exuded a sense of strength and authority. How did he do that?

Maybe the old Natasha wouldn't have given Steve the time of day, but now? Now she acknowledged that he was something special.

"Got any plans today?" he asked casually as she assembled the completed parts of his sandwich. From anyone else, that might've sounded like a pick-up line, maybe a precursor to asking her to dinner. But he kept his eyes on his drawing, tracing what was maybe a rough circle (it was starting to really irk her that she couldn't see the paper), completely focused. She knew enough about people to know that if Steve was fixing to ask her out, he wouldn't be this calm.

"Not really. My shift ends at four and then I'm going home and eating frozen pizza for dinner."

Steve looked up, then, chewing on his bottom lip. "That all?"

"Yeah."

He hesitated, and there at last was a flash of nervousness in his eyes as he gave a sheepish smile and said, "Bucky invited Clint to this pizza and movie night thing later. It's just me and Bucky and my friend Peggy, usually, but Clint was coming and I thought… I thought maybe it'd be cool if you came. I mean, Pizza Hut isn't much better than frozen pizza, but it might be more fun."

Natasha almost said yes right away, without thinking. Steve was nice, Steve was sweet, she wanted to be his friend… And she didn't think she should. Not because there was anything wrong with him but because she could picture herself (all too easily) falling for this little Brooklyn artist. So she hesitated, wiped a counter, ignored Maria pointedly elbowing her in the back, and said carefully, "I'm not sure."

Steve slumped slightly, and she cursed the disappointed expression on his face. If he knew how much like an abandoned puppy he looked…

Maria elbowed her again, and she bit back a sigh and turned on her. "What?" she hissed.

"Just go," Maria said. "It's not like it's just going to be you two, and he isn't really asking for a lot."

That was the problem. Everyone was always asking for something; everyone had an angle. But she nodded anyway as if Maria had given some kind of genius argument, turned around, and grinned (too) brightly at Steve. "Alright, I'll be there."

A/N: Well, I finally caved and wrote a Romanogers coffee shop au.

This story might not get very far; I've only ever managed to keep a few multi-chapter fics going. But hopefully I can with this one.

Please review!