Stay ➣Romanogers

Chapter 6: Halo

Flatbush is positively alive. It's Saturday night and July 4th, and the neighborhood is swept up with the occasion. There are people everywhere despite how hot it is. Food carts line the street, vendors taking advantage of the activity to get a good night's business done. Children run about with sparklers, and there is music playing from restaurants and storefronts and street corners. It promises to be a pretty glorious evening, the sky clear without so much as the threat of rain, and everyone is outside enjoying it.

Including Nat. Not that she's really partaking in the festivities but she's certainly appreciating them. She's walking home from work; the store was actually busy that afternoon (maybe because of the holiday), so May called her in even though it was a day off. She didn't mind too much. It afforded her the opportunity to get some things ready for tonight on her break. At any rate, she's heading home now, and it's so nice out that her mood (which was already pretty damn good) veritably soars. She's walking on cloud nine. That's what it feels like anyway, what it has been feeling like for the last few weeks. She feels good, comfortable, content in a way she can't ever remember feeling. Excited for the first time in forever, like the anticipation of the evening and fireworks and good times is thrumming in her veins and tingling along her nerves, and it's not just now. It's all the time. All the sudden the fear that's been her constant companion for years seems distant and removed. Which is not to say she's gotten sloppy about protecting herself. She knows better than that. She's simply... redefined who she needs to protect herself from.

And that list does not include Steve Rogers.

Nat's most of the way back to their building when her phone beeps. Speak of the devil. It's a text from Steve. "Where are you?"

She smiles, avoiding a crowd of young guys gathered around the stoop of an apartment building and talking loudly. She doesn't pick up her pace or even notice when they stare at her as she passes, too intent on texting back. "Almost there."

"Door's open," comes the response a second later. "Come on in." Like he needs to say that. She grins again and shakes her head before pocketing her phone and heading on her way just a little bit faster. It's remarkable how much has changed in her life. It's been almost a month since their first date, and in that time, the two of them – Steve and me and she still can't quite process that sometimes – have really fallen in together. It's natural, easy, perfect. The very next day after their date, after she rescued him from his nightmare, he showed up at her place asking if she'd like to come over and watch a movie with him. That turned into a whole evening spent in his apartment, laughing their way through Bridesmaids over some Thai food he went to get from down the street. That turned into every night going this way. Dinner. TV. Talking. Exploring who they are within reason – it's more observation than exposition because Steve hasn't said a thing about what happened to him since his nightmare (and he was ashamed about that night for quite a while, but he's been much better about it recently). Nat's wondered about it of course, about what it must have been like to be a prisoner of war for months and months (years, and she feels sick just thinking about it). She doesn't dream of asking, though. And she hasn't ventured anything about her life. She has no plans to. There's an unspoken rule between them not to pry, not to push, not to even ask. Certain things are strictly off-limits, and they are both absolutely okay with this.

But kissing isn't. And cuddling. And laughing. She hasn't laughed so much in years, not since coming to the States. Steve has a wry, clever sense of humor that's pretty surprising considering his normally serious, withdrawn demeanor. She almost feels like everything she discovers about him now is a little secret, something only she knows because he's only this open and sweet and unguarded with her. His eyes sparkle when he smiles. He actually has a beautiful smile, when it's natural and freely given and not forced. He's got scars beyond those she saw before, up and down his back, a mass of them on his hip where he was shot, but she thinks they're beautiful, too. He knows a lot about art and art history, and one night they went over some of his books and he just came to life explaining things to her, different styles and eras and techniques. He likes space. More than once they watch specials on the Science Channel, and she couldn't care less about it, but she enjoys him enjoying it. He's really kind and generous. She knew that before, but she hates to admit that she wondered a little if it was a front to appease strangers (she knows an awful lot about those sort of defenses). It's not. He always goes out of his way for her. Bringing her (and everyone else at Rising Tide) coffee has become a nearly daily event. He pays for everything. He helps her with her groceries and things (even though it's not always so easy for him to manage it with his limp). He holds open doors and defers to what she wants when they go out (which they have once or twice, but mostly they like his apartment and take-out and an endless supply of Netflix. Apparently he's as disconnected with recent movies and TV as he is with modern music, and she hasn't exactly kept up with it either, so there's a lot they can watch). He's a gentleman, through and through.