Now, Voyager.

A/N: This story was written without the benefit of beta. Please forgive any mistakes that may have occurred.

Disclaimer: The characters in this story are copyrighted and are being used without the owners express permission. No profit is being made from this story and is being written purely for entertainment purposes.

Summary: They're not wholly human; they're super-soldiers, bred for one thing and that is to fight, to defend, to kill. But even the most hardened warrior sometimes wishes for simple things.

"Oh, Jerry, don't let's ask for the moon. We have the stars." Bette Davis, Now Voyager,

Dressed in casual, civilian clothing, Steve leaned back on the park bench next to his partner, Natasha. His posture was relaxed, his arms crossed over his chest, a baseball pulled low to make it seem as if he were simply relaxing. But his eyes and ears were on high alert, their target should be showing up soon, and neither Avenger wanted to be caught flat-footed.

It was a bright, and sunny day with a gentle breeze that carried the faint scent of roses. The humidity, and temperature had finally dropped to something that was bearable. But despite that, there was only one family in the park. A young couple with a small child, no older than five, was playing catch some 30 feet to the super soldier's left. Even from his spot, he could tell they were happy, eyes alighted with genuine joy at such a seemingly simple activity.

A sad smile spread across Steve's face at the scene. He doesn't regret any of the decisions that led him to being a super soldier, and the first Avenger. But he was still human, there were times he couldn't help but think of all that he had been forced to sacrifice, and wonder at what he was missing. All the normal things that the rest of the world seemed to take for granted would always be just beyond his fingertips.

With a small shake of his head he turned to his partner, her face was its usual neutral expression. The red-head's eyes were constantly roving, and the tension in her body reminded him of a bowstring being pulled taunt. She could play any part necessary to carry out a mission, but there were times when her training, beaten into her since she was a child, shone through in her stance and the cold, hard lines of her mouth and eyes.

She caught his gaze out of the corner of her eye.

"Something the matter?"

He started to shake his head, to say there was nothing the matter, but then he stopped himself, and uncrossed his arms so he could pull his cap back a little. "Have you...have you ever thought about marriage? Children?" he asked, shyly. He realized his line of questioning was inappropriate, not to mention he was just opening himself for a lot of teasing. But he was curious, and it seemed out of all the Avengers, her situation was the closest to his own.

"You mean the house in the suburbs? The white picket fence? Maybe even a dog or two?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"No." she said. Turning so she was fully facing Steve she quirked an eyebrow at him. "What brought that on?"

The blond man pointed his chin towards the family and watched as understanding dawned upon her after a few moments of observation. Pulling her attention away, she sat back against the bench and stared straight ahead trying to affect a nonchalant attitude. She failed, there was a tension in her jaw and her eyes narrowed slightly as if trying to keep away unwanted thoughts.

"Never?" he asked, a note of disbelief evident in his voice.

"Never. I don't let myself think of things like that. It's a waste of time. I'm a soldier, it's what I was born to be, and it's what I'll die as." Her voice gets softer, and Steve has to strain to hear the rest of her words. "There will be no husband, or children mourning at my funeral, only an unmarked grave in some god-forsaken country – if I'm lucky."

He stared at Natasha in shock, and fought the urge to grab her by the shoulders to shake some sense into her. "That is incredibly morbid. Do you really think about yourself in that way? That you are nothing more than a weapon? That you wouldn't be missed? I would miss you. I would bring your body home, and give it a proper burial."

"Now who's being morbid?" she asked with a forced laugh. She didn't need to look at him to know that he was telling the truth, she could hear it plainly. But she spared a glance, and for a moment she had trouble breathing. His open honesty, and sincerity was raw, and palatable. She quickly turned away. "It was the way I brought up, to not think of myself as human, or an individual. I guess old habits really do die hard."

It's what they had told her when she was young, and was nothing more than a number, and a code name.

You are not human.

You have no family, no friends.

You are a weapon of the state, by the state, and for the state. You exist at the suffrage of the state, and will kill at the behest/benefit of the the state.

You live to serve the state, and when your service is done, there is only death.

After hearing those words, or some variation, for almost all her life, it's difficult to believe anything else. But despite what they drilled into her head, she could easily see Steve, dressed in his red, white and blues carrying her body across enemy lines just so she could have a proper burial. She could see him standing over her grave looking grim and sad, because to him she was a fellow human being, a teammate, a friend, not some hallow creature who can kill as easily as breathe.

She shakes her head to rid herself of those thoughts. She was free now, free of the red-room, free of their brainwashing and mind-conditioning. She was her own person with more friends than she ever thought possible.

"What about you?" she asked drawing attention from her situation. "Have you ever thought about the whole...family thing?"

"No," he said. The lie quite obvious.

"Really? Never?"

Steve turned away embarrassed at having been called out so easily. "Not never," he admitted. He turns back to her, and his eyes are alighted with something akin to resignation. He may have been slightly more naive, slightly less cynical than Natasha, but he knew the near impossibility of having a normal life. The moment those needles went into his body was the day he became something more/less than human.

He looks down at his hands for moment. They're strong hands now, filled with blood, and muscles, and vitality. They can harm as easily as comfort, kill as easily as save.

He looks up, catches Natasha's worried gaze in his own, and gives what he hopes is a reassuring smile. "I know what you're thinking, it's stupid of me to think of things like that. But sometimes, sometimes I get so tired of fighting so that everyone else can go about their lives unaffected. All I want sometimes is to go home, curl on the couch with...someone, anyone and watch old movies. I just want someone who is mine."

To watch old movies with, she repeats to herself. She wants to scoff at him, scoff at his childish sentimentality, his desire for anything remotely resembling a normal life. But she can't quite bring herself to do it, because there are times when she has secretly wished for the exact same thing.

"It's not stupid," she says sympathetically.

If things had been different, the fates had been kinder, he wouldn't have have had to settle for scraps of normality. He would have been able to have it all. Steve would have made an excellent father, and a faithful husband. She could see him doddering after a couple of little ones, a nondescript female in the background smiling benevolently.

She could also see him scaring the crap out of any possible suitors to his daughters.

Natasha lets out a light chuckle.

"What?"

"I was thinking of you as a father coming to the door in your Captain America uniform and scaring some poor boy enough to make him piss his pants."

Steve snorted. "And what about you? I imagine a room in a basement with a single light bulb swinging back and forth as you interrogate the poor kid."

A ripple of laughter flowed through them, and then after a few moments it slowly died.

Natasha sighed in resignation, and returned to her surveillance, as did Steve. The conversation was a nice divergence, but in the end thinking of what might have been was futile.

"I can't have children, the serum they gave me..." she blurted out, and immediately regretted it. She didn't understand why she felt the need to share something that personal, something she hadn't even told Clint.

"Are you sure? Nothing can be done?"

Natasha gave a bitter laugh. "Not a damn thing, but it's better this way. Children are for normal people."

Speechless, Steve reached across the bench and took her hand in to his. This was twice in less than 10 minutes that she had managed to shock him silent. He had no idea why she was sharing such personal details, she had never done so in the past. She always sat quietly in the background, her expression enigmatic, and closed.

He was glad, proud even, not at what she had confessed, but by the fact that she had allowed him a small glimpse in to her personal life. How much conditioning must she be bucking in order to even share this little bit with him?

And then a second thought came to him unbidden.

She had lied to him. She had thought of starting a family. Which means there was someone out there who had managed to turn the Black Widow's black heart red with life and love. He wondered what happened to the man who was able to do this.

He wanted to say sorry, but he knew immediately that that was a lame response, and that she would smack him upside the head for even thinking it, so he just squeezed her hand.

"Don't -" she started.

"I won't," he finished. It will be our secret, he thought.

"So, old movies, huh?" she asked after several moments of heavy silence.

Steve nods, and chuckles. "There are some good modern movies, I really like how the special effects have evolved, but some of them are a little...too...intense for my liking. Besides, they're classics for a reason, right?"

"Right," Natasha said in quiet a tone. "You know, I can't offer to curl up on the couch with you, but there's a Bette Davis movie marathon on tonight. You're more than welcome to come over and watch with me."

"Pizza?"

"Pepperoni."

"Alcohol?"

"Taken care of."

"I'm there."

Good, she says to herself and allows the corners of her lips to curl slightly.

It's dangerous to trust people, she was taught. They'll betray you you, make you weak. But she's tired of listening to those voices, they're ugly, and old, and reek of loneliness.

Having friends, people to watch her back, and a place to belong wasn't such a bad thing – motley crew though they were.

Natasha squeezed Steve's hand, and didn't let go until the target arrived.

THE END.