Behind Every Great Man
“I’m sorry, Steve. I don’t know what has gotten into me. I didn’t mean to,”
“You forgot about the mission briefing, you forgot to meet me. What has gotten into you?” She looks down at her lap, “Well?”
“I don’t know,” Nat whispers, shame building in her chest.
“I’m in charge of this mission now, okay?” She expects him to still sound mad, but instead, he just seems disappointed, “I’m running point.”
“Steve,” She begins, she can do better.
“We can’t be partners on this anymore. You’ve proven that. We’re following my lead.”
“Understood.”
“Take a shower and clean up, I’m going to make breakfast.” He leaves, closing the door the bedroom behind him.
Natasha gets up and goes into the bathroom. She looks disheveled and unkept, like she just slept twelve hours. The water heats up quickly and Nat cleans up and then pulls her hair back into a ponytail before changing into jeans and a t-shirt. She can’t believe she messed up this badly.
Nat bends down next to the nightstand, trying to reset the alarm clock. She can’t remember how she did it last night. She must have screwed it up, like how she has been screwing everything up.
Downstairs, Steve greets her with a cup of coffee, the porcelain mug steaming. However, the smell of the brew is overwhelmed by burnt toast.
“You look a lot better,” he offers, “You must feel better, being put together.”
“I guess,” She sits down at the kitchen table and Steve brings over the food. “I really am sorry, Steve. I’ll do better, I promise.”
“I know you will, Tasha.” He reaches forward and squeezes her hand. At least he seems to have forgiven her, which she didn’t deserve. She put the whole mission in jeopardy. And he made breakfast. But she tries not to gag as she takes a bit of the eggs, that are somehow like sawdust. And the toast is most definitely burnt, resembling charcoal.
“What’s the plan now?” She focuses on her coffee, which is made perfectly.
“I sent the info I gathered and we wait to hear from them. Should be a day or two,”
“Hear from who?” Steve raises his eyebrows.
“Really?”
“Kidding,” She replies, but really, she has no clue. “So, a few more days cooped up in here?”
“We’ve got food, TV, and books. There have been worse places we’ve waited for next moves,” Steve points out. He isn’t wrong. They were once in an abandoned house in Siberia for two days with no running water or electricity, during a blizzard.
“Yes, you’re right.”
After cleaning up breakfast, they read what books they can find around the house and Nat reads Good Housekeeping, which seems to be a vintage reprint, with a coupon for five cents off Jell-O and an article on getting stains out of linen. Following the rough breakfast, Nat offers to make sandwiches again for lunch, serving ham and cheese again. After the meal, they settle down on the couch and watch an old Disney movie, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers.
When the movie finishes, they head up to the bedroom and make the bed, the music becoming an earworm for Nat.
“That was definitely a dated concept,” She comments, pulling the sheets tight.
“I think it is romantic,” Steve suggests, sitting down on the armchair, “And the girls were better off, they loved their husbands very much.”
“I guess that is true,” She finishes fluffing the pillows. “Have you seen my phone?”
“No service here, remember?” Steve reminds her.
“What about the, you know,” She frowns, her mind blanking. What was it called, “For internet? And typing?”
“The computer?”
“Yes!” She nods, relieved.
“No Wi-Fi,” he shrugs, “We could go read again?” Nat follows Steve downstairs, feeling a little disoriented. Sometimes the house felt like a maze. She sits down on the couch while Steve sits in his armchair, reading what seems to be a reprinted copy of Good Housekeeping, there is even a five cent off coupon for Jell-O and an article on how to get stains out of linen. She has almost a sense of déjà vu reading it.
Steve turns on the TV, and after a few minutes gets up from his chair.
“I’m going to go check to see if anything has come in at the drop point. I’ll be back before dinner.”
“Okay,” Nat nods, watching an old black and white movie. The woman is wearing pearls like her. When the movie ends, Natasha does a few pushups but then sees another episode of Leave it to Beaver is On. Steve likes June Cleaver.
Steve helps her cook dinner, but he chopped the carrots wrong, and they are all different sizes and he burns the chicken. But the pasta salad she made actually tastes good, and she is able to salvage the chicken.
Natasha cleans up the kitchen since Steve helped cook and then heads upstairs to get ready for bed. Shakespear’s Taming of the Shrew is on her bedside table. She didn’t remember picking that out from the bookcase in the den. After a few pages, she is unable to stay awake any longer, falling asleep.
In the morning, Steve greets her with another cup of coffee, as is becoming their morning routine. Natasha sips the coffee and starts to make the bed, before realizing she should get wash her face. The bed is still unmade, she starts on the bed again. Then goes back to get dressed, remembering that Steve said she would probably feel better being put together. She then fluffs the throw pillows, placing them on the bed.
“Remember we can’t open the curtains,” Steve reminds Nat as they head downstairs.
“Right, because we are on a mission.” Steve serves breakfast that he attempted to make, but the eggs are undercooked and a little slimy. She raises the fork and the eggs fall off as she turns the fork, landing on her shirt. “Oh no,” Nat looks up and Steve is looking at her with mild disgust, “I’m sorry,”
“I know you are,” He sighs, “I just don’t know how I’m supposed to take you into the field like this.”
“I know, I know, I’m sorry. And I messed up before, right? I didn’t know up for the mission. The stakeout.”
“Yes, you apologized. You said you’ll do better.”
“What if we watched TV today?” Nat offers as she does the dishes. “I like TV,” Steve follows her to the den, and she stares at the rectangular black object on the couch. She knows she should know what that is, or at least she thinks she does. “What is that?” She finally asks.
“It’s the remote, it controls the TV,” Steve picks up the object, clicking the red button for on, “See?”
“Yes, right of course. Thank you,” She feels heat rising up to her cheeks. Now that he said it, it feels obvious. Of course it is the remote. Where the hell is her head at?
“You need me for help sometimes, that’s okay, Natasha,”
“No, I don’t.” She shrugs it off, not liking the tone. Nat is the Black Widow.
“Then why did I just have to show you how to use a remote control, something toddlers can figure out? You didn’t even know what it was,” He lashes out, and Natasha holds the remote to her chest. She knows she started it, but there was no reason to be cruel. “It’s okay Nat,” he reaches forward, touching her shoulder, “You just don’t know some things. That’s why I’m here. And you help me too, you keep me company.”
“Right,” Nat rolls her eyes and sits down on the couch.
“No, really. I would go insane on this mission if it weren’t for you. You’re a good support system.” Natasha nods, watching Beaver ride his bike. “You know,” Steve starts, “I think its great you want to be more like June Cleaver,”
“Hm?” She turns to him, “I said that?”
“Yes, why else would we be watching this show again?” Steve asks.
They watch one more episode of Leave it to Beaver before the Real McCoy’s comes on. Not long after, Steve stands up, stretching.
“I’m going to head to town to see if there are any updates. Can you start the laundry? We’re running low on clean clothes,”
“Sure,” Nat nods. After Steve leaves, she gets up from the couch and goes upstairs, collecting their laundry into a basket. She carries it downstairs and tries one door she thinks leads to the basement, but its locked. It must be the closet Steve mentioned. The next door over opens, revealing the wood basement stairs.
Natasha stands at the washer, reading the instructions carefully. She doesn’t want to mess this up as well. She loads in the clothes and pours detergent into a measuring cup. Not trusting herself, she pours it back into the jug and does it again, making sure it is the perfect amount. Once the load starts, Nat goes back upstairs and reads one of the magazines on the coffee table of the living room, with tips on different ways to cook pork.
When downstairs changing over the laundry, she hears Steve announce his return to the house. Natasha heads up, greeting him.
“Any updates?”
“The only note said ‘sit tight’,” He sighs, sitting down on the couch.
“Do you think we should do something more?”
“It’s not our place to question orders.”
“Well, hopefully we will hear more soon,” Nat offers, “What do you want for lunch? Seems only fair I cook since you made the past few meals,” And they were terrible, Nat tacks on silently.
“Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?” He asks. Seems like a simple request, but Nat obliges, heading to the kitchen. In the cupboard next to the sink, she finds the jarred foods, taking out the peanut butter and grape jelly. However, as she tries to open the jars, she finds neither lid will pop off. She pulls and tugs, tapping the top with a knife. Nothing.
“I can’t get these things open. I swear they must be decorative or something,” Natasha huffs, carrying the jars into Steve.
“Decorative peanut butter and jelly?” Steve laughs.
“Okay, then you open them,” She hands both over, hands on her hips. Steve pops the lid of both without hesitation.
“Just needed a big strong man,” He teases.
“I loosened them up,” Natasha defends, heading back into the kitchen. She finishes the sandwiches, cutting them and putting them on plates before calling Steve in.
“I swear, best PB&J I’ve ever had,” Steve compliments.
“It wasn’t that much,” She laughs, “It is just a sandwich,”
“Somehow, you made it amazing though, the perfect ratio of peanut butter to jelly,” They finish eating and Nat announces she is going upstairs to take a nap, “Wait, aren’t you forgetting something?” Steve asks.
“What?” Nat pauses. Steve nods to the plates. “Oh, yes.” Natasha grabs them and puts them in the dishwasher. Steve’s hand graces the small of her back as he passes by her, heading to the den. She watches him go, pleased that he liked the lunch she made so much.
Upstairs, Natasha lies on top of the covers and pulls up the blanket at the end of the bed. She doesn’t understand why she has been so tired lately, too tired to even suggest sparring with Steve. Her mind draws a blank at the workout she did before they came here. She was hitting something that hung from the ceiling. What was it called? Too tired to think anymore, Natasha falls asleep.
Steve overcooks the pasta for dinner, turning it into goo. Nat tries to ignore the texture, paying attention to the red sauce instead. They watch another old movie before heading up to bed, this time Steve comes up with her. They lie beside each other, and Natasha rolls over, resting an arm on Steve’s chest.
When she wakes, Steve is no longer next to her, and her usual cup of coffee isn’t waiting for her. Natasha goes downstairs and sees him in the kitchen with a book and a mug waiting for her. She sits down across from him and sees a recipe book open to casseroles in her spot.
“Were you thinking of making one?” Steve asks, looking down at her book.
“I guess so,” Nat has no memory of it, but she must have, given that it wasn’t Steve.
“Can you make breakfast?” Steve asks, “You did such a good job on lunch yesterday,”
“I was just PB&J,” Nat tucks her hair behind her ears.
“Still, somehow came out better than mine ever do, and you seemed to really enjoy doing it.”
Natasha makes scrambled eggs and toast while Steve reads his book. She catches him occasionally looking up and watching her.
“That was out of this world,” Steve comments, pushing away an empty plate. “Seriously, I don’t know how you managed to make it taste like an entirely different dish than what I made.”
“Thank you,” Natasha feels a blush working up to her cheeks.
“I’m going to go run an errand. You clean up the kitchen and get dressed, I will be back soon,” His hand touches her shoulder as he walks by. Natasha loads up the dishwasher and handwashes the pan before going up and getting ready for the day.
Steve gets back just as she is done getting dressed and comes up to their bedroom. He looks over at her, frowning.
“You forgot to make the bed,”
“You didn’t ask me to, only to clean up the kitchen.”
“I didn’t think I would have to ask about something as simple as making the bed. I shouldn’t have to write it out for you, you’re not a child.”
“It is just making the bed, Steve.”
“I am doing things for the mission, working. I ask so little of you, that’s all. I’m just disappointed.” Steve did have a point, he was going to check the drop box, getting groceries. She spent most of the day lounging around.
“You’re right, I’m sorry.” She makes the bed while Steve watches.
“It’s uneven,” He points to the end of the bed, where one side has more of the quilt than the other. Natasha fixes it and looks to Steve. “Perfect, thank you. I appreciate it, really. Now, let’s go hangout downstairs.”
Natasha starts doing pushups while Steve watches TV, not wanting to get out of shape in the time they spend here. However, as she switches to sit ups, she gets distracted by the TV, climbing up on the couch beside Steve to watch The Real McCoys
He volunteers to cook lunch, leaving Nat on the couch. She watches as Grandpa tells Kate that women belong home in the kitchen, not out making money. A woman’s place is in the home. Kate ignores Grandpa and a man comes and threatens to take away everything if Kate doesn’t stop her business, ruining her family and losing there house. When she relents, agreeing to end her business, the show ends, Kate saving the day by undoing her mistake.
“Nat, lunch is ready!” Steve calls. Natasha heads into the kitchen, where a charred brick sits on her plate. They both sit down, and she does her best to be polite, attempting a bite. But neither can stomach it. “It was supposed to be grilled cheese,” Steve offers sheepishly, “I’m hopeless in the kitchen,”
“I’ve noticed,” Nat collects the plates and does the dishes from lunch. Somehow, Steve always makes a huge mess when cooking. “Do you want to play a boardgame or something?”
“Sure,” They head into the dining room and Steve sets up the chessboard. Natasha feels like her thoughts are sluggish, her moves taking four or five times as long as Steve’s. Caffeine, maybe that will help. She heads to the fridge and grabs a Coke, the label saying it is a twist off. However, she has no such luck.
“Steve, I can’t get this thing open,” She brings it into the dining room, “I swear,”
“Need a strong man’s help?” Steve asks.
“Please,” She rolls her eyes but hands him the bottle. He takes it off in one fluid motion, handing the bottle back to her. “I can’t believe I couldn’t open a bottle of soda,”
“You’re just not that strong anymore, Natasha. But it is okay, you don’t need to be. You’re helping me out here in the safehouse.”
“I wish I could be more help though. Maybe if I put on a disguise,”
“No. What we are doing is working. Do you want to compromise the mission even more than you already have?”
“Well, no,”
“Its not your place to question orders, I’m running point.”
“I don’t think,”
“Exactly,” Steve sneers, “Checkmate.” Natasha looks down and sees Steve beat her in just five moves.