End Credit Scene to Captain America 2
How it SHOULD end….
Natasha unlocked the door to her apartment and slipped inside. The dark seemed to caress her, enfold her, and she welcomed it. The last months had been difficult, but the mission was at last completed.
She really didn’t want to think about the mission.
What she wanted was to get out of her travel clothes, slip into a hot shower, and let the spray pound away the memories. Then she wanted nothing more than to sleep.
Without turning on any lights, she made her way through the rooms without a sound, knowing every inch of her abode by heart. It was her private haven; a place few others even had the address to, let alone had ever entered. She paused only to draw a single curtain aside, letting the moonlight wash into the room, soft and welcoming.
Moving on in her quest, the bedroom door swished open as she nudged it aside. The moonlight coming through the living room window was enough for her to see to drop her bag in the chair in the corner. She eyed the opposite corner, completely in shadow, where her bed awaited, unseen. She really wished to just crawl into it, but she could feel the grime on her skin and knew she’d enjoy the cool sheets even more after that hot shower.
Her hand was on the bathroom doorknob, her back to the room, when she felt the burn of eyes on the back of her neck. She knew that sensation too well. She’d certainly felt it enough times since defecting from Russia and joining S.H.I.E.L.D.
She hesitated for the slightest moment, tempted to ignore the presence she had failed to detect in her room when she’d first entered. Rather sloppy of her, but understandable given her familiarity with the owner of those burning eyes.
But why was he here? Last she’d heard he was on a mission of his own. They’d not spoken in that time, while she was helping Steve Rogers and he was off to wherever Nick Fury had sent him, doing whatever Nick Fury wanted, because that’s what he did. Always had, always would, unless of course he was possessed by a selfish, childish god from Asgard.
Her mind immediately shied away from that topic. It was a time she really didn’t want to relive. Especially not now with him in her room, so much time having passed with no communication between them.
That actually wasn’t such an unusual situation for them, considering their careers.
A light snapped on behind her. She’d taken too long to decide her course. Now he was in control of the situation.
“Natasha.”
Her name was a whisper, a balm on his lips. No one said her name quite like he did.
She turned slowly, raising a brow at the relaxed manner in which he lounged upon her bed, his back propped against her head board, his arms crossed over his chest and his bare feet crossed at the ankles.
He always was one to just make himself at home.
“Barton,” she acknowledged, her voice toneless, betraying nothing of what she felt, even as her gaze slid over him almost hungrily. He was certainly a sight for sore eyes.
He wore black cargo pants and a tight black t-shirt, his usual off duty attire, except his boots were neatly lined against the wall beside the bed, his socks tucked in the tops.
His hair was the longest she’d ever seen it, stylish with a single, disrespectful lock falling over his forehead. She could just bet that piece drove him crazy with its refusal to be tamed by hair styling products. It taunted her fingers, begging her to step closer and brush it aside.
“You need a hair cut,” she told him, ignoring the temptation. Her eyes paused on the scruff of mustache and goatee he’d grown out. It was a look she’d never seen on him before. She both liked it and at the same time hated it because it made him appear as a stranger instead of the military man she knew like she knew herself. “And a shave.”
He ignored her comments, of course.
“Finally back, huh?”
His voice was a balm, calming some agitated part of her that she hadn’t even known needed soothing.
“Making yourself at home?” she quipped back, pointedly staring at the way he was sprawled on her bed.
“Nah, just waiting for you to get back. Heard some interesting things about your last mission. Thought I’d stop by and get the full story first hand.”
Boijemoi! The stories were already circulating?
“Hmph.” She blew him off, and moved to the chair where her bag sat. She dropped it to the floor and sat down, bending over to remove her own boots. “Not much to tell, really.”
He snorted. She hated when he knew enough to call her bluff.
“Not much to tell? Really, Nat?”
The sound of a rustle drew her gaze up, landing on two 8X10 glossy pictures of her and Steve Rogers that he’d slid from under one of her pillows.
His arms were still folded across his chest, his chin dropped so that he was staring at her with that sulky, puppy-eyed look. He lifted a brow, daring her to explain.
She swallowed and glanced back to the photos of her kissing Steve. Then she met his gaze evenly.
“Since when do I answer to you for anything?”
He stared back at her, his lips silent but his eyes revealing much. He held her gaze for what must have been only two seconds but felt more like two hours. Then he dropped his eyes to stare at his folded arms.
“You don’t.”
Slowly his gaze slid back to hers. “Just thought maybe you’d want to talk about it.”
Damn it, she hated when he disarmed her like that! Get them in the gym on a mat and she could beat the shit out of him in hand-to-hand combat. But those God damned puppy dog eyes got her every time. Especially with his voice all soft and concerned and vulnerable.
“We were under cover,” she blurted out. “It didn’t mean anything.”
One corner of his mouth slowly turned up.
“So I don’t need to put an arrow in him?”
He smirked. She melted.
“Cocky bastard.”
“You wouldn’t have me any other way.”
She stared back at him and finally smiled.
“No, I wouldn’t.”
