Romanogers - Oneshots

𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔞 𝔤𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔫𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱

"Do the stars look different to you?"

Natasha ignores the slur in her words, and takes another swig.

Steve answers shortly after a pause. "Yeah."

"I hate that they're brighter."

They are. The stars. Brighter. And there are more of them. A million glistening pricks in the sky. Logically, she knows it's just due to all-time low levels of pollution. Fuck's sake, there are whales in the Hudson. But she wants to think that the sky is compensating for every loss down here. Sewing an extra sequin onto the quilt for every dusted mother, child, brother, friend. Wants to believe it, even if it would never be enough. The sky could birth as many memorial spotlights until it was full, and it would never be enough.

Silence.

Natasha likes it this way. Quiet. Listening to each other breathe. Comfortable.

Unlike these deckchairs. They'd dragged them out of a closet when she'd said she wanted to be close to the sky and propped them on the flat section of roof at the compound. Just in tank tops and leggings, drank and drank and drank until they couldn't feel the sharp December chill through the blanket the alcohol muffled their senses with. Drank while her tolerance started to give way and even Steve felt looser. Held hands without questioning. It anchored them.

The stars started to flare and run into each other, like paint on a canvas, half a bottle ago. Her vodka-addled brain convinced her she'd found one that looked like Wanda.

Steve doesn't say much. Neither of them do, but he's particularly subdued. Natasha wonders what he's thinking about. She likes the way his thumb traces her knuckles, though, and envelops her palm.

"Didn't get you anything."
It startles a brittle laugh from her. She hadn't even thought of anything so superficial.
"You know there's nothing to give." The last drips run like tears inside the bottle when she tips it straight back. "Nothing we can give each other." Not strictly true... But not that I... Shut it.

All she really needs is for him to stay real. To stay solid and warm and alive. She won't tell him. He knows.

Natasha checks her watch. 00:02. Missed it by a few.

"Merry Christmas, Steve."
"You too, Nat." His words are as crisp as always, but, if possible, even more resigned than hers. "A merry Christmas to you."