Steve has got used to coming into the living area and seeing people sprawled over the couches, something on the TV in the background, and a sense of general hubbub. So he’s surprised when he walks in and there is no one there, and the only lights are two flickering candles on the fireplace. He sits down on the couch, and sighs. He’s tired, bone tired. It’s been a long week.
Natasha appears in the doorway, on the other side of the room. She’s holding a champagne flute, and her expression is darker than he’s seen before. Not in her patented I will kill them all, and then wreak havoc on their reputation way, but in a haunted way. She nods in his direction, and then curls up on the squishiest sofa. She raises her glass in the direction of the candles and downs the contents.
“Are you okay?” Steve asks, low and quiet, so she can pretend not to have heard.
“Happy new year,” she says, turning her gaze on him.
“Umm …” Steve says, a little ineloquently. “It’s January 13th.”
“Yes,” Natasha says, “Happy New Year’s Eve.” She refills her glass, and then conjures another from somewhere by the sofa, fills it, and hands it over. “Drink with me.”
“I can’t get drunk, remember.” Steve says, eyeing the glass.
“This isn’t about getting drunk. It’s New Year’s Eve. Family, singing, celebrating. All that stuff.” Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Two calendars, two celebrations.”
”Oh”, Steve thinks, remembering Pavel, and holds his glass up to the candles. “Happy New Year’s Eve.” He sips the champagne slowly, and watches Natasha from the corner of his eye. “You know, the others would come and celebrate with you.”
“Yes. We could have a party,” Natasha sneers. “Wouldn’t that be lovely?”
“It might be nice?” Steve says, and catches her eye. “None of us are doing well in the family department. And regular New Year got ruined by having to go fight killer robots. We could handle a do-over.”
Natasha doesn’t say no, which Steve thinks he can take as acquiescence in this matter, and she doesn’t rip his phone out of his hands when he starts typing a message. Sometimes he really wishes she could have met Peggy, and then he wonders if she had, somehow.
Clint is, oddly, the first to arrive. “Stark’s in his workshop, with Banner,” he says by way of explanation, and hands Steve a foil container. “I brought pie.”
It isn’t long before everyone else arrives. Natasha hands them all glasses of champagne, and uncurls into a sitting position. They all raise their glasses to the candles, and toast the old year and the coming new one.
Natasha leans into Steve’s side, and drops a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.”
no subject
Natasha appears in the doorway, on the other side of the room. She’s holding a champagne flute, and her expression is darker than he’s seen before. Not in her patented I will kill them all, and then wreak havoc on their reputation way, but in a haunted way. She nods in his direction, and then curls up on the squishiest sofa. She raises her glass in the direction of the candles and downs the contents.
“Are you okay?” Steve asks, low and quiet, so she can pretend not to have heard.
“Happy new year,” she says, turning her gaze on him.
“Umm …” Steve says, a little ineloquently. “It’s January 13th.”
“Yes,” Natasha says, “Happy New Year’s Eve.” She refills her glass, and then conjures another from somewhere by the sofa, fills it, and hands it over. “Drink with me.”
“I can’t get drunk, remember.” Steve says, eyeing the glass.
“This isn’t about getting drunk. It’s New Year’s Eve. Family, singing, celebrating. All that stuff.” Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Two calendars, two celebrations.”
”Oh”, Steve thinks, remembering Pavel, and holds his glass up to the candles. “Happy New Year’s Eve.” He sips the champagne slowly, and watches Natasha from the corner of his eye. “You know, the others would come and celebrate with you.”
“Yes. We could have a party,” Natasha sneers. “Wouldn’t that be lovely?”
“It might be nice?” Steve says, and catches her eye. “None of us are doing well in the family department. And regular New Year got ruined by having to go fight killer robots. We could handle a do-over.”
Natasha doesn’t say no, which Steve thinks he can take as acquiescence in this matter, and she doesn’t rip his phone out of his hands when he starts typing a message. Sometimes he really wishes she could have met Peggy, and then he wonders if she had, somehow.
Clint is, oddly, the first to arrive. “Stark’s in his workshop, with Banner,” he says by way of explanation, and hands Steve a foil container. “I brought pie.”
It isn’t long before everyone else arrives. Natasha hands them all glasses of champagne, and uncurls into a sitting position. They all raise their glasses to the candles, and toast the old year and the coming new one.
Natasha leans into Steve’s side, and drops a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.”