Chapter Text
"I need your help," said the woman standing in his hallway, the moment Steve opened his apartment door.
He blinked at her a couple of times, trying to process that. Not that people didn't ask him for help all the time, because they did. Just, usually not total strangers at the crack of dawn on a Sunday morning. When the knock had come at the door he'd been expecting a bible salesman or something, honestly.
Shaking his head, Steve looked at her a little more closely. Her face was attractive, as was her body - pretty, rather than a knock-out, though he had a feeling she could probably reach knock-out status if she really put some effort into it. Her hair was a rich shade of chestnut that probably looked auburn in the sun, and it fell to her shoulders in soft waves. She was looking at him expectantly, but he had absolutely no idea who she was.
"So can I come in or what?" she prompted, when he'd just stood there saying nothing for a few seconds. She didn't even wait for him to answer, just... slipped past him, somehow, which shouldn't have been possible since he was a big guy and it was a small doorway, but she made the move look totally natural.
"Huh. Not what I expected," she commented, standing with her hands on her hips as she scanned his apartment. "Though I should really know better by now than to have expectations about you, I suppose. You manage to surprise me on a shockingly regular basis."
"Ma'am? Do I know you?" Steve finally managed to say. He felt like he'd stepped into the middle of a play and someone had forgotten to hand him his script. God knew he'd met so many women in the last few years even he couldn't hope to keep track of them all, but the way she was talking seemed to imply a more intimate knowledge of him than anyone he didn't recognize ought to posses.
Now it was her turn to blink at him, as his words had clearly startled her. Her eyes were the vibrant green of grass on a summer’s day, and looking into them, he started to feel for the first time like maybe he should know her.
Then she started to laugh, a low, sensual chuckle. That, he recognized.
"Natasha?" he exclaimed, staring at her again and trying to find some sign of the woman he'd worked with so often in the stranger standing in front of him now.
"I guess if I can fool you, I can probably fool just about anybody," she said, her smile widening into a smirk. "I told you, I needed to come up with some new covers. Of course that has to come with a new face. My old one was splashed across every website in the world. Makes it difficult to do undercover work."
When she put it that way, Steve felt foolish for not realizing that she would, of course, need more than just some fake paperwork to create a new identity for herself. Still, he couldn't be held entirely responsible for not recognizing her. Modern surgical techniques could do wonders beyond imagining, he knew that, but he hadn't realized they could literally remake somebody.
"I guess that explains why I haven't seen hide nor hair of you in a few months," he said, finally shutting the door. "You look, uh, different. Good, I mean, still good. But differently good." And now he was babbling again. He thought he'd gotten over that tendency to babble around a pretty dame, at least where she was concerned.
Maybe it was a case of 'familiarity breeds contempt', and now she wasn't familiar anymore? Whatever the reason, he really needed to stop before he made an idiot of himself.
"What do you need my help with?" he prompted her, hoping that returning to the initial topic of conversation would be safer.
The way she quirked her eyebrow at him suggested she knew perfectly well that he was changing the subject, but had decided to humour him. Actually, the fact that he could read that much from just a tiny gesture was comforting, in a way. She might have changed her appearance, but she was still the woman he knew.
Flopping down into one of his chairs, she hooked her legs over the arm and sat mostly sideways in a position that indicated they might have removed her spine while they were altering her face. Then again, he'd always suspected she must have cat in her ancestry somewhere, the way she moved.
"There's a tech corporation based in Seattle that I think might be a front for Hydra operations," she told him, swinging one foot in time with her words. "I managed to hack myself inside, but without Shield's resources, going undercover is a little trickier than it used to be. I need help keeping my cover intact, and also someone I can count on to realize if I'm late reporting in and come charging to my rescue."
"Backup, I can do," Steve said, settling into another chair. "Undercover, not so much. Why not ask Clint? He's way better at the cloak and dagger stuff than I am, you know that better than anyone." He'd have thought after her experience trying to help him lay low while they were running from Shield, she'd have realized how hopeless he was at that sort of thing.
"He's got his own shit to sort out right now," Nat waved a hand dismissively. "Not an option. It's not a difficult cover; you won't need to actually interact much with people, and it should be a role that comes naturally to you. I'm the one who will be working at the company, looking for evidence. The problem is, the scientist whose identity I hijacked is newly married, and it will look very suspicious to my employers if I don't arrive with husband in tow."
"Wait... what?" Steve stared at her. "You want me to pretend to be your husband?"
"White picket fence, charming little ranch house, the whole nine yards," Nat confirmed. "Newlyweds means no kids at least, so we don't have to find a way to borrow any, thank god. Natalyn's husband telecommutes to work, so you'd be at home during the day. Just play the happy hubby when I'm not at work, keep their suspicion off me - and come charging in to my rescue if I suddenly don't come home one night."
Steve pondered the prospect. It wasn't that he didn't think he could do it, exactly. He liked Natasha well enough, and they'd spent longer periods together in tighter quarters. She was right that it was a simple enough role that even he ought to be able to handle it - he wouldn't really need to 'fake' caring for her at all.
And that was part of the problem, right there. They'd long ago tacitly acknowledged they were attracted to each other, and had both set it aside in their own ways, so they could work together easily. Her method seemed to be based mainly in her endless attempts to set him up on a date with someone else, along with the occasional teasing about his sex life. His was to just accept the fact that she was one of the most amazing women he knew, use that to fuel his respect for her, and flatly refuse to permit it to interfere in their relationship.
Allowing the attraction to come more obviously to the surface was going to make it harder for him to ignore it. He thought he might enjoy 'playing house' with her a little too much.
Perhaps sensing the direction of his thoughts, she gave him a coaxing smile. "Just for a week," she promised. "If I haven't found evidence that they're Hydra after that long, it's because there's no evidence to find."
"Only in public, right?" Steve asked, wanting to be certain he understood what he was being asked to do before he agreed to it. "When you come home, and I guess maybe going out for dinner or something?"
"Well, that's the catch." Now she was hedging, trying to talk around the issue, and Steve immediately knew there was something he really wasn't going to like.
It was his turn to raise a silent eyebrow at her - she knew perfectly well he would never go into an op without every bit of tactical information he could get, so there was no point in her trying to avoid giving it to him.
Finally she sighed, and shrugged. "If it is Hydra, they're going to be scrutinizing anyone trying to gain access to their ranks, to make certain it's not a Shield agent playing mole. Since that's exactly what I am, I can't afford even the smallest slip. I'll need to assume they have eyes on me at all times, not just when I'm standing in front of them, and that means we'll always be 'on' for the cameras."
Always? Steve felt himself blush a little as he considered the upshot of that. It would involve way more than just a few kisses at the door, then. "How, uh, convincing are we talking, here?"
"There are ways I can make a room secure against audio listening devices like parabolic mikes, so when the doors are closed it's mostly just a matter of making sure they don't get any telephoto shots of us doing something suspicious," she assured him.
Okay, that wasn't as bad as he'd been thinking. If one slip of calling her 'Natasha' would be enough to endanger her life, there was no way he'd have agreed. And he'd had visions of being forced to fake the sounds of having sex with her, since they were supposed to be newlyweds. That was definitely not happening.
"Why me, Nat?" he wanted to know. "If it's such a risk for them to catch you in a slip, surely there have to be better people for the job."
"Nobody I trust enough to spend that much time with, that intimately," she told him. Her smile faded, her eyes darkening with something that might have been regret, though it was hard to be certain. "One night? Sure, I can fake that with anybody, no problem. I don't ever need to be vulnerable. But this is a whole week; I'm going to need to sleep, for one thing. The list of possibilities is pretty much comprised of you and Clint - and honestly, in some ways, for this job I'd rather have you."
It wasn't often he got to see Natasha being truly serious, but this was definitely one of those rare moments. Moreover, Steve was flattered and touched that she trusted him that much.
He didn't ask if she was sure, because she wouldn't have come to him if she wasn't. Sighing, he shook his head. "Well, I'm certainly not letting you go in without backup. So long as you're not actually expecting to take me to Vegas and get married 'for the realism' or something."
Her answering smile was brilliant, and all the reward he could ask for, in its own way. Sitting up, she fished in her pocket for a moment, then tossed something small at him.
He caught it automatically, and knew what it was even before he opened his fist to look. The feel of a ring was unmistakeable, and when he did look he saw a plain but polished gold band that looked like it would fit him perfectly. When had she gotten his ring size? Hell, Shield had probably taken every conceivable measurement they could of his body before he'd even woken up, and likely a few that shouldn't be conceivable just in case.
Glancing up, he saw that she was looking at him expectantly. "If you're waiting for me to start crooning over 'the precious', you're going to be sitting there for a while," Steve said dryly.
He'd thought that he'd be the one making a reference she wouldn't recognize, for a change, but her smile turned impish. "When did you see that movie?"
"They made a movie?" Steve blurted out. Books had been a good companion to him as a kid, and later in the lonely days after Bucky had signed up and gone for training, but before Steve had been accepted by the SSR. He'd haunted the New York Public Library like a ghost, and he'd read The Hobbit not long after it hit the shelves in 1937. Steve had no idea it was still popular enough for them to make a movie about it. Then again, they seemed to make a movie out of damn near everything, these days.
Natasha blinked, then laughed ruefully. "Well, I know what we're going to spend at least one night doing this week. Go pack a bag, we've got a plane to catch."
"Right now?" It seemed she was bound and determined to keep him off balance, today. Not that she wasn't usually, but she was putting extra effort into it.
"Why? You got a hot date tonight?" she wanted to know, smirking at him again. "I can push it back a day if it means you finally getting some..."
"No, I just expected a little more warning," he sighed. "Don't ask me why, it's not as if I've never worked with you before." Impulsive was her middle name, he was sure of it. Not that she couldn't come up with damn fine plans, and she was as capable of sticking to them as she was of improvising when everything went to hell. It was just that she could make plans so fast, it sometimes seemed like a snap decision instead.
Then again, he'd heard people say the same about his tactical abilities, so maybe that was why they made such a good team.
Turning the ring over in his fingers, he studied it for a moment more, oddly hesitant to put it on. It was just a piece of jewellery, when it came right down to it. It wasn't real, it didn't mean anything. And yet, the symbolism was inescapable. He'd always assumed, if he ever put a ring like this on, he wouldn't be taking it off again.
Steeling himself, he pushed it over the third finger on his left hand. It was a little snug over the second knuckle, enough to keep it secure but not so much that he'd worry about getting it off again. It fit perfectly, in other words. As if it was made for him.
When he looked up again, he saw Natasha was slipping her own double set of rings on. Her wedding ring was a plain band to match his, and the engagement ring was a solitary diamond, elegant and classic. Exactly the sort of ring he'd have bought, if he'd ever had the girl to buy one for, probably.
"Not bad," Natasha declared, studying first her own rings, then catching his hand and looking at his. "At least we're newlyweds, so we don't have to worry about finding rings with an appropriate amount of wear on them. Now, get that bag packed, we lift off in three hours."
Steve nodded and tugged his hand free. Turning to head into the bedroom to grab some clothes and his gear, he couldn't stop staring at the glint of gold on his left hand. It was going to be a week full of doing things he'd always expected to do with his wife, if he ever had one. He'd just have to get used to it.
Hopefully at some point, he’d shake the sick feeling that he was going to seriously regret this.