Chapter Text
The new apartment is the biggest he’s ever lived in. Much bigger than the one he grew up in with his mom, with the paper-thin walls and the mice; and bigger than the one he lived in after, which had a single room and was too small even for his tiny body to move around in comfortably. It’s bigger than the apartment SHIELD had set him up with in New York even, and that had been the first place he’d lived where he’d had a private bathroom. At first things like that seemed like a luxury to him, he had woken up in a world that had advanced so much it was almost like one of the science fiction books Bucky used to read. That apartment had come with furniture, and they had tried to fill it with things that he’d find familiar. When he moved in the drawers had already had clothes in them for him to wear, the cupboards were stocked with food, and the bathroom with toiletries.
Those things weren’t his though, not really, so he hadn’t taken them with him to DC. The few belongings he did have all fit in the back of the small rental truck with room to spare. Most of what he had before the ice was lost to him, either held by museums or in private collections.
Looking at the new apartment, with all of his belongings set in one corner, Steve realizes just how little he has. He hangs his clothes in the closet, leans he shield against the wall, and wonders where he’s supposed to even start.
He’s standing in the middle of the kitchen staring at his empty cupboards when there’s a knock on the door. He expects it to be the buildings superintendent, or possibly a neighbour, because he doesn’t even know anyone in town yet and surely Fury is to busy to be checking up on him.
The surprise he feels when he finds Natasha at his door is evident on his face. “Agent Romanov,” he greets professionally. New York was months ago, and he hasn’t heard from any of the Avengers since they went their separate ways. She’s changed her hair since then, she still wears it short, but gone are the curls, replaced with loose waves and side bangs.
She makes a face, a twisting of the lips, a small scrunching of the nose. “You can just call me Natasha.” There is something close to a smile on her face. If he wasn’t looking so closely, he might have missed it, but it was there in the corners of her mouth. He must be staring, because she continues, “are you going to invite me in? Pizza’s getting cold.”
He hadn’t even noticed that her hands were full. “Right, sorry. Come in.” He hasn’t been this awkward in years.
“I’d offer you a seat, but I don’t have any furniture.” He says apologetically, leading her to the kitchen.
Natasha shrugs and jumps up to sit on the counter. She’s brought three pizzas with her, and a six pack of beer. She hands him one of the boxes. “Are you waiting for the truck to get her with your things?”
It’s a reasonable question. What kind of person moves into an apartment with barely more than the clothes on their back?
“The place I was in back in New York already had furniture, so I didn’t actually have any to bring with me.” He explained.
She nods along, halfway through a slice of cheese and pepperoni, “did you order any?”
To be honest he hadn’t even thought of it. She must think he’s some kind of fool. “Well that would have been the smart thing to do.”
The heels of her shoes tap against the cabinets while she eats, Steve is struck by how at ease she is in his barren kitchen. It’s more comfortable than she’d seemed when they met on the helicarrier, but then Barton had been brainwashed and missing, a Norse god running around with plans of global domination. She had good reason to have been stiff. He’s the one that’s feeling out of place in a normal situation.
He thinks Fury might’ve sent her to assess him or something, to profile him, or make sure he’s going to be mission ready. He’s afraid to ask, because he likes the idea that Natasha came here on her own to see him much better.
She runs her fingers along the walls as he gives her the brief tour. From the kitchen to the living room, the bedroom, and the bathroom. The washer and dryer in a closet in the hallway. Natasha pokes her head into the closets and inspects the thermostat. She even takes a look under the bathroom sink.
“It’s nice, a hell of a lot nicer than my first place outside of SHIELD custody.” She flicks a curl out of her face and smiles over at him, one side of her mouth crooks up higher than the other and it gives her a playful kind of look. “It was kind of a shoebox situation. I didn’t really have anything in it until Barton found out. Thought he was going to blow a gasket over it.”
It’s comforting to hear, and Steve smiles at the little bit of her life that she’s decided to share with him. Of all the Avengers Natasha was the one that was the most a mystery to him. Her dossier hadn’t been one that was included with the pile that Fury had given him to read up on. Not for the first time he wonders about the bond between the two agents, and how Barton has been in the months since New York.
Barton, she tells him when he asks, has been placed on medical leave until he can be fully cleared by SHIELD’s psychologists. He gets the feeling she’s not pleased about it.
In his living room Natasha gently toes at one of his boxes. “You know,” she says “I came here to help you move in.”
When she looks at him through long eyelashes Steve tries to hide the wide smile that spreads across his face. She came here to help him, like a friend would. He blushes, feeling happy and pathetic at once.
“I hate to disappoint, but it was a nice gesture.” He almost apologizes for wasting her time, but Natasha is frowning at him now, and he’s not sure why.
It should make him uncomfortable, the way that she’s eying him like a problem that needs solving. Does she look at everyone like that?
“I’m not saying we’re going to go out and furnish your whole apartment.” Natasha insists when he initially refuses her idea of taking the moving truck and picking a few things up. He’s never liked accepting help from people. The last thing he needs is to have his colleague thinking he’s incapable of taking care of himself. “You at least need something to sleep on.”
Steve isn’t even sure how she convinced him, but she does.
He never knew there were so many different types of mattresses. There are memory foam mattresses, gel mattresses, latex mattresses, even mattresses filled with water. Even the coiled spring mattresses he’s familiar with now have an abundance of options.
As soon as they walk into the store a salesperson greets them and begins asking a myriad of questions, offering to show them their most popular style. He thinks maybe they need the expertise because hell if he knows the first thing about choosing a mattress, but Natasha turns a bright smile on the salesperson and declines.
“Oh my gosh, you are so sweet.” Natasha actually puts a hand to her chest. “Thank you, really, we’re just going to take a look around, but I promise we’ll come find you if we have any questions.”
Once the man leaves them Natasha drops of saccharine act and starts toward the closest section.
“What was that?” Steve asks quietly.
“That,” Natasha responds before taking a seat on the end of a memory foam mattress and shimmying her way toward the headboard “was me getting rid of biased advice and getting you a discount.”
She pats the empty side of the mattress. “Hop on up, there’s lots of room.”
There’s a moment of deliberation on Steve’s part, unsure how he feels about laying so close to her. He initially thought they would just walk in and purchase a mattress, but it seems that’s not the way this is done.
You’re not in a bedroom, he reminds himself, there’s aren’t even any sheets on the bed for God’s sake, stop making a big deal out of everything.
It takes him a minute to join her but Natasha waits patiently for him to make his decision. Steve sits on the side of the mattress and removes his shoes before laying down.
After a few minutes Steve can tell that memory foam isn’t for him. He sinks down into the mattress like the thing is trying to swallow him whole. Natasha has her ankles crossed on the other side of the bed, and though he can see that she is wiggling her feet to some unheard beat, he can feel none of that movement through the foam. He doesn’t like not being completely aware of what’s going on around him.
How long are they supposed to lay on each mattress anyway?
“So, we’ll just skip the rest of this section and move on to the next.” Natasha announces and pats his hand.
“Am I that obvious?”
She pats his hand again. “Reading people is my job, Steve.”
They move on to the gel mattresses, which have much of the same problems as the memory foam, and then they try the latex, which are too warm.
The adjustable beds are too much like hospital beds and are unnecessary besides and waterbeds are a bad idea altogether, though they try one for awhile just for fun.
“Shh,” Natasha whispers, laying on her back with her eyes closed “pretend you’re at the beach.”
He’s familiar with the pillow-top mattresses at least, because the SHIELD apartment in New York had had one. It was a nice mattress, probably expensive, but Steve could never get a good nights sleep on it.
“I don’t know, just doesn’t feel right.” he says, beginning to feel like it’s a lost cause. He’ll just sleep on the floor, he decides, but Natasha will not have it.
Heaving a dramatic sigh Natasha pushes herself up and looks around the store. Over the last hour and a half they’ve made their way through most of the items displayed closer to the front. “Alright Goldilocks,” she says “come with me.”
Natasha loops her arm through his and tugs him toward the back section where the coiled spring mattresses are displayed.
Warily Steve lays down to test the mattress, springs creaking ever so quietly beneath him. He takes a moment to wiggle around, testing how it responds to his movement, checking the sturdiness. It’s better, much better, than the others that they’ve tested out but it’s still not quite right. They move on to the next, and then the next, and on the fourth mattress Steve thinks he’s found his match. Eyes closed and hands resting together on his ribs Steve can imagine himself falling asleep after a long day of missions.
“Just right?” Natasha asks, she hops onto the mattress besides him.
Steve peeks one eye open so see her pressing her hands into the bed and frowning at how firm it is. “I think it’s the one.”
Natasha waves over the salesperson that had greeted them, a large, false, smile on her face. “Careful Cap, you don’t have to marry it.”
He snorts just before the man gets to them, quick footsteps bringing him to a sale.
They leave with a new mattress, box spring, and pillows, the salesman watches in awe as Steve loads it all onto the truck by himself. “He’s really into CrossFit.” Natasha explains and thanks the man.
Back in the passenger seat Steve feels a sense of accomplishment. There’s one less item on his to do list, he still needs to stock his kitchen and bathroom, still needs to furnish the rest of his apartment, but those things seem like less of an obstacle than the mattress.
“What’s next?” He asks Natasha, who tosses him her phone with the directions and grins.
“Have you ever been to IKEA?”
He doesn’t even know what that is but by the look on Natasha’s face it’s something he’s supposed to be excited for, and he kind of is – he’s now kind of excited for this whole excursion despite the sad start to his day.