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He hadn’t meant to walk in on her.
It was obviously a private moment, on which he wouldn’t have wanted to intrude, if he had known. But the training room was open for everyone, and he frequented it so much that in recent days, it felt like he spent any second of free time there.
She was sporting a simple black leotard and leggings and although they didn’t look much different from her normal attire, Steve got these weren’t work clothes.
Her body softly glided in poses, perfected from what seemed like years of diligent practice. He recognized some of the moves
Her feet drew many figures on the floor, moving from her toes barely touching to her feet forming straight lines. At the same time her pale slender arms curved in various forms, vaguely reminiscent of wings. She looked surreal. Each jump reminded of her deadliness, but what made it ever so beautiful was the fact that it was now used for a simple way to rewind.
Maybe there was a choreography, but he didn’t know it, so every new movement was a little surprise to him.
Seeing her like that, seeing her use her grace and strength for something that didn’t involve her job and calling was mesmerising.
He forced himself to tear his eyes off her, and turned to leave her, but her voice stopped him in his tracks.
“You don’t need to leave. I’m done.”
Her voice made him reel and turn on his heel to stare at her. She was still moving but her eyes were trained on him, never leaving his even as she lowered her torso and lifted her leg in a graceful arc.
The ghost of a blush creeped up along his neck.
Of course she had noticed him. She wasn’t one of SHIELD’s greatest assassins for a lack of observation skills.
His eyes travelled across the whole length of her leg, revelling in the pale smoothness and the ease with which she maintained such a pose. If it were possible, he felt his blush deepen, and less than proper thoughts arose in the back of his head, and wouldn’t go away no matter how hard he tried.
A tiny little voice in his head was happy that she had noticed him and felt comfortable enough to continue doing something that looked awfully private.
A small, nervous chuckle left his mouth, and he ruffled his hair trying to find something to do.
“I didn’t know you danced.”
“I used to.”
She offered no further explanation, and went about to gathering her things, although he was pretty sure she was putting on a show of doing that ever so slowly. Or maybe it was wistful thinking.
His initial idea had been to release pent up frustrations, so he went to his corner and started setting up one of his punching bags. However, his peripheral sight kept track of her, and with a start he realised she was stalling. A person as efficient as her wouldn’t spend so much time gathering her things. Not that he minded.
Now that he’d seen her dance, he could see it in each of her movements. The way she took every step, the way her spine curved ever so slightly, the way her feet sometimes stopped in positions he’d vaguely recognise.
When she finally got everything, she moved up and looked at him. It was his turn to be watched and if it were possible, he felt even more bothered. Usually, he didn’t mind being watched, all with being a commander and a soldier, but it was her, a spy, his equal in opposite ways, and so different from him.
Oh, but he was curious.
“You used to dance in…. back in Russia?” he held each word on his tongue, before letting it out, unsure if he should ask, if he was delving too deep in something that was exclusive to her. And he definitely didn’t stutter.
Well, shit.
Though he’d really just blurted that out, he didn’t regret it that much (yet; he was sure she could make him regret any word if she put her mind in it). He was curious.
“Yes.”
He supposed that’d be a sufficient enough answer given the nature of his question, so he just flashed her an encouraging grin which he really hoped she didn’t take the wrong way. What he didn’t expect was that she elaborate on her answer.
“Or at least I think I did.”
He stopped punching the bag before turning to her. A little bit sweat had begun to form on his forehead, so he brushed it off and focused on her, brow furrowing in confusion.
Did she do it at such a young age that her memories were hazy? Was it something she learnt for her missions? Or something else entirely.
He had only heard about the Red Room in passing, and was not particularly keen on forcing her to tell him anything more, so he bid his time, hoping she shared – anything really, to sate his curiosity.
This time she refused to give any more information.
“But I thought you didn’t do much besides killing,” he never voiced it, but the thought was there, and he berated himself over it. She didn’t seem to notice.
“Dancing is good.”
He really needed to stop saying the stupidest things ever.
“Look out, Cap,” she laughed and it was a sweet sound, and he had the underlying feeling that it was forced, “Your wittiness might become your new super power .”
“Maybe it was too distracted by your dancing.”
The words were out before his mind could process them, and only made him want to facepalm.
However, apparently she paid no attention to that, opting to stand steadfast in front of him and smile that smile that did things to him.
“Maybe I can show you more moves,” for a moment, his heart soared: she wasn’t making fun of him stumbling over his words, moreover she was agreeing to something he wasn’t sure he was offering consciously. Not that he minded.
He briefly entertained the image of his being a pink tutu jumping around and doing splits in the air. A tiny shiver went through his spine.
“Thanks, but I’ll leave the honour of being a ballerina to you.”
Her eyes darkened, and he knew he’d hit something, something she wanted to keep hidden, but she didn’t miss a beat in answering him.
“It doesn’t have to be ballet. Have you seen any modern dance styles?”
And there she was, offering him to help with adjusting to this life, in such a roundabout way that he wouldn’t have noticed, had she been someone else.
“Not really.”
“Of course not,” she rolled her eyes and stepped to him, taking his hand, “Come on, grandpa, I’ll show you some moves.”
Her laugh was sharp and sweet against his skin and he wanted to hear her laugh more often.
For the next hours she showed him various styles, and while he could only bawk at how much he’s missed out, and how versatile she was, and how she came to know so many dances. The training session was forgotten, but he couldn’t care less.
Later that night, all he managed to produce when he tried to sketch to get his mind off the conversation, was ballet dancers, slow and graceful, frozen in delicate poses, with a shock of fiery hair adorning their heads.