Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff one-shot collection

"food's a lot better"

Natasha found out Steve didn't know how to cook one fateful day in the Avengers Tower.

Okay, okay. She has to give the guy some credit. He knows how to cook. Just not modern food. Steve can't live off soups, sandwiches, and takeout - and she made it her mission to help him with that. Well, not that she's a great cook, but she did learn some recipes to cook when she takes breaks in-between missions and that ought to suffice.

Natasha happened to be reading in the common floor of the tower, right in her favorite spot. It's nothing more than a random recliner put off in the the corner between the living room and the kitchen, but she favors that spot as she can get a nice view of the city and she can quietly watch her teammates when they're in the living room. It's a nice spot to have when she wants to be with them, but not really with them.

Steve came in the room and headed straight to the kitchen. She put the book she was reading down to watch him. He probably didn't notice her because he's been opening and closing the door of the fridge, seeming disappointed at its contents. With every time he closes the door, his pout grows larger, and it's quite adorable, if you ask her.

"Nothing interesting to eat?" she voiced out, startling him, who suddenly shut the door close too hard that she heard some bottles clink.

"Romanoff! I didn't notice you were there!" Steve peered at her, stepping away from the fridge to see her better. Natasha gave him a shrug. "Yeah, well, I was just looking for something to eat. I didn't know what to expect - most of these are leftovers."

"Mhm. I thought so too. You ever thought about cooking something?" she said, standing up to walk towards the kitchen.

Steve chuckled. "My expertise applies mostly to cooking soup and canned food, so no, I can't say I have." he admitted, a sheepish yet nonchalant look on his face. "You want to grab something to eat?" he asked.

"You can't cook?" Natasha asked, not even bothering to hide her surprise. "You know, real, actual food?" she added, noticing Steve about to intervene.

Steve shook his head. "Nah. I was a sickly kid and my Ma mostly cooked for me. Soup was common because it's the least likely to get me even more sick. And it was cheap. Then when the Depression came, I had to be frugal. Mostly canned food and such. Food was provided when I was in the Army so..." he trailed off, a nostalgic look in his eyes. Natasha felt bad for asking such a question. It's only been six months since he was out of the ice, and he'd often get this look when asked to reminisce his past. Or for Steve, what life was like six months ago.

Natasha stayed quiet for a moment, giving him some time to think. After a few moments, she straightened up and walked across him to open the fridge. Biting her lip as she scanned its contents, she took out butter, a bag of mushrooms, and frozen chicken breasts.

"Would you mind defrosting this for me?" she handed Steve the chicken, her voice teasing, and a hint of smile on her lips. Steve, catching on to the joke, merely grinned and rolled his eyes as he took the chicken and put it in the microwave to defrost.

Natasha was looking for other ingredients in the pantry and as soon as she saw what she was searching for; she frowned. Standing on her tiptoes, she tried to reach for the top of the shelf, where the pasta sauce and box were, but she just can't seem to reach it. Grunting, she was about to climb the shelf, when Steve was suddenly behind her and calmly reached where her fingers were a few inches short to get.

"Thanks," Natasha muttered and huffed at Steve's amused face.

"What are you planning to make?" Steve asked, looking genuinely curious as Natasha whipped out a knife and cutting board and started expertly chopping garlics. She moved with the same elegant way as she does in the battlefield - and Steve can't help but to admire it.