natasha romanoff is hired to spy on steve rogers.
the sound of the doorbell ringing almost makes him jump. he can't remember the last time anyone besides shield agents had check in on him now and again--and when it wasn't shield agents, it was no one. there are no more milkmen, no more newspapers. everything's available right at his touch or a few blocks away. it's hard to wrap his head around, even weeks after being out of the ice.
so, the sight of a girl holding what appears to be some kind of food item in her hand through the peephole is a little surprising. he hasn't seen her before--or maybe he has. everyone's so desensitized, so impersonal. no one knows each other and no one wants to, and he'd stopped trying after the neighbor across the hall blatantly ignored his greeting of good morning three times.
opening the door wide, he blinks, taking it in. the smile that settles on his features feels foreign, unusual. he can't remember the last time he'd smiled--certainly not in this century.
"--how can i help you, ma'am?"
i've gotta stop calling girls that. they don't like it.
