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Into Infinity

In the months after the events of “Civil War”, Natasha and Steve face the future together.

[Oneshot (so far) <1,500 words | Rated G | Angst, established Romance (Steve x Nat)] | Optional companion piece to "Refuge" (Part One) (Part Two).

Her blond hair fell in waves in front of her face from what had been a tight bun at the back of her head. Natasha shuffled up the steps to the massive archways, then dodged behind a chattering family of tourists as she stepped into the heavily surveilled lobby of the museum. Passing a cluster of ceiling cameras she pretended to fiddle with the controls on her earphones to shield her face, before strolling into a side room and stopping to feign interest in a painting. She found him sitting in one of the sculpture galleries, his frame filling out a long bulky coat and his overgrown dark hair peeking out from under a baseball cap. Smiling, she remembered how he had originally chafed against his instinct to remove his hat inside a building. His head was ducked low over what she realized, soundlessly stepping closer, was one of his sketchpads. He was sketching a sculpture a few paces in front of him, a centuries-old composition in marble and classical Greek. “Class end early?” Steve didn’t even look up from where he was carefully filling in a shadow. One of these days, she promised herself, she’d be able to sneak up on him again. “Faye had to go pick up her kid at school.” “She should’ve made you take over.” “Oh, I’m pretty bad even for a beginner. Take your time, though, I can look around for a while,” she added as he flipped the sketchbook shut. Skylight sunshine brought out the blue in his eyes as he shrugged, already shoving his sketchbook and pencils into his bag. “I could use a snack anyway.” “You already are a snack,” she couldn’t resist pointing out, as he offered her his arm. “Oh is that what the kids are saying these days?” He grinned back. She threw her hands up in mock frustration. “I really don’t know what my classmates are saying half the time.” He steered her out into the corridor. “Now you know how I feel.” He pretended to get confused halfway through the museum in entirely the wrong direction, and she pretended not to know better. She was enjoying herself too much, her arm slipped companionably through his as they ambled among the displays. He kept stopping and she obliged him patiently, watching without a word as his eyes lit up from one exhibit to another. “You’re really maxing out your stealth lessons today, you know that?” she murmured as they sipped coffee at a sun-dappled outdoor table at a kiosk outside the museum. “There’s only so much a baseball cap can do.” He smiled ruefully. “Sorry, Nat. You know I can’t resist this kind of place.” She knew. She grinned forgiveness at him over the rim of her cup. “I’ve been thinking about going back to school.” His tone was wistful even as his eyes tracked restlessly across passersby, the soldier watchful out of habit. “You know I never went to college? It wasn’t much of a thing in my time.” “What, in this economy?” she joked. She knew he wasn’t serious, couldn’t be serious, and the reasons saddened her: He was too big, too odd, would draw too much attention. He’d need documents. He met her smile for bittersweet smile. “Not even Fury would agree to pay for student loans,” she quipped, resisting the urge to chase away the resignation in his face with a touch of her hand. “We could sell the quinjet.” He let her sugar packet hit him in the face and chuckled. “Craigslist. No one would have to know.” “I’ll cash in some dividends from Wakanda,” she deadpanned. “Give you a real low interest rate. Just ‘cause we’re friends.” His impulsive, gentle kiss kindled sparks in her belly, reassured her they were far more than just friends. She savored the secondhand taste of unsweetened coffee on his lips and the subtle scratch of his beard against her cheek. She bought herself a slice of cake. It was stone-cold from the display and the marshmallow frosting had dried up a little on the edges, but she wanted an excuse not to go home yet. Sure enough, as she sat back down at the table, she saw Steve had taken out his sketchpad again, darting appraising glances up at the museum building across the way. He liked drawing architecture, she’d noticed. Taking small bites of her cake she watched him work in silence, quickly filling a new blank page with bold strokes for the sharp angles of walls and roof, outlining finials and cornices in smaller, more precise movements. Most of the Avengers didn't even know about Captain America’s art school background. She’d only found out because she’d made an effort to, back when Fury first assigned them together; she couldn’t very well put her life into the hands of a stranger, she’d reasoned—not even a stranger who was also a legend. And even after he found out that she knew, it had taken him a long time to stop trying to hide his sketching from her. Not out of shame or embarrassment, as she had first guessed, but because it was so intensely personal to him. Even now she pretended to be looking somewhere else, only watching out the corner of her eye as he carefully shaded in brick and ivy on the page. He probably already knew she was looking anyway, she told herself. She remembered his old photograph from the Smithsonian and tried to picture him scrawny and small, sketching the Chrysler Building maybe, or St. Patrick’s Cathedral. “You could just take classes,” she offered later, as they detoured along the river on their unhurried walk home. “What would you major in, anyway, if you could?” He smiled at the thought. “I dunno. Maybe history. Or art history.” “Who knew Captain America was such a huge nerd.” She smirked up at the mix of annoyance and amusement in his face. Then, sombering, she squinted into the sunset. “I could teach dance.” “You could. Then you could be a soloist. And I’d come watch all your shows.” He squeezed her shoulders. “I’d bring you bouquets backstage and all that.” His tone had lost its edge, grown fond and pensive. She looked away, something clenching in her chest. She forced a laugh. “The other girls would probably kill me out of jealousy.” “I thought that only happened in movies.” Chuckling, he folded his hand over hers, their fingers entwining. She drank in the golden wash of light over his face, the unfocused look in his eyes as he took in the skyline across the water, where windows and signs were already blinking to life ahead of nightfall. In this city they were Mike and Nadine, dating for months now having met online, a gym buff and a beginner ballet hobbyist. Now considering enrolment in art history and certification for the Cecchetti method, respectively. Dreaming for a future Steve and Natasha could never have. Nat had taught at the Avengers facility, too, and at SHIELD before that. Subjects a little more dangerous than ballet, a syllabus a little less structured. She smiled at the memory of cavernous training rooms, of form drills escalating into sparring matches. She had enjoyed the feel of a place for herself then, sheltered willingly in her new and strangely public identity as Agent Romanoff, member of something or other, part of a larger, well-oiled machine. But these days, the dust only just beginning to settle from the Sokovia Accords, the unfamiliar sense of freedom—and anonymity—was not unwelcome. “You should look up schools online,” she suggested doggedly, letting Steve wrap his arm around her shoulders against the evening wind. She burrowed into the warmth under his chin, wound her arm around his waist. “Even Harvard livestreams courses now.” She felt more than heard his grunt of acknowledgment. He’d already left the topic behind. Behind them the streetlamps along the boardwalk winked on, one after another in the settling gloom. A couple strolled past, with five dogs straining at their leashes. “You heard back yet?” He was sharp and focused again. She stifled a sigh. “I told Sam oh-two-hundred.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her hair, as if to apologize for his abrupt change in mood. “Then we got all the time in the world.”