Natasha Romanov
Steve glared around at his new living quarters. Everything was all glass and metal. He saw enough shades without his entire 'home' being completely made up of them. He missed the creaky, warped wood flooring of his and Bucky's apartment. The lingering sent of cigarettes in their second hand couch would be much preferred to the faintly chemical scent of the new couch provided. There were a few plants scattered around simply for aesthetic, when he felt them, he found that each leaf and petal was a convincing type of fake. Not that he'd really know what to do with a plant.
All in all, very disconcerting.
Then there was the memorabilia. The Captain America pillows, pictures, and comics kept appearing around him. It seemed he couldn't escape the character created to hide the gruesome truth and sell the idea of righteous war.
It made him sick. The war had taken everything from him, hundreds of thousands of men and women could attest to the horrors of the experience. It took his sense of self, plastered a perfect character over the flawed man he was. It took Bucky. The man who was drafted, who never wanted to fight, and made him out to be a brave man volunteering and sacrificing his life for the good fight. No one cared that he worked extra shifts at the docks to support the two of them, or that he was always better at mending their tattered cloths than Steve was.
Within the first week, Steve had set up his art supplies right next to the ridiculously large window that acted as one of the living room’s walls. He quickly built up a collection of paintings, as well as different sketches in his sketchbook. No one came in anyways. He honestly doubted any of the avengers remembered he was there.
Until he woke up to find Agent Romanoff sitting on his couch.
"I have to say, this isn't wasn't I was expecting."
Her face wasn't giving much away, but much like Peggy, she had tells. He wouldn't have noticed if he didn't spend time training with Peggy during the war. She was impressed, staring at the paintings hanging on the walls.
"You didn't happen to make coffee when you broke into my apartment?"
"It's in the kitchen."
He wandered over to the machine, pouring some into the largest mug he could find. The coffee was followed by a generous amount of cream and sugar. He'd been assured that coffee tasted better now, but after Phil had shown him the miracle of added sweeteners he was less inclined to risk the return to bland coffee of the depression and the war.
In the time it took him to collect his beverage and come back, she hadn't moved.
"You like art?"
"Is that not common knowledge? I never know what others are gonna know 'bout me these days."
She frowned slightly, just the smallest change of expression. He already knew that the spy would hate not having all the information, so he decided to have a little fun, see how much he could shock her.
"You're free to look through them if you'd like."
She raised an eyebrow but stood gracefully to look through the completed paintings stacked next to his easel. He sipped his coffee carefully as he watched, just barely holding back a grin.
Natasha was careful not to damage any canvases she moved. They were beautiful, the level of detail was incredible and wouldn't look out of place in an art gallery. This was professional level stuff. Even the nude- wait
Steve used his mug to hide the smirk as she snorted incredulously.
"You've gotta be kidding."
"What's the problem, Agent? Never seen a naked guy before?"
Natasha was feeling off-kilter, a feeling she didn't appreciate, but when she looked over she saw a strange glint in the eyes of America's darling.
"You. You're a little shit."
"I have no idea what you mean, I was just practicing proportions. Is that not appropriate in this day and age?"
"Nice try Rogers, if half the country knew Captain America was drawing naked men, they'd be outraged. And in your time? I doubt you'd have been safe outside your apartment."
"Good thing I'm not Captain America then. I was Steve Rogers long before putting on the stars and stripes."
She smiled slightly.
"Touché."
With that point clarified, the pair actually spent the next hour talking. The spy had evidently figured out that American history was bullshit and tossed away, at least most of, the preconceived notions. Eventually she had to leave, Fury had a mission for her, but Steve stopped her by the door.
"You think you could do me a favour?"
"Depends on what it is."
"Don't tell the others. They can make their own assumptions that I'll correct as it comes up."
He had a devious look to him, just as he had when she saw the painting, but there was also something angry about him. Natasha had made a carrier of leaning into people's assumptions about her to get what she needed. Rogers had wanted to be a soldier, that was not a role that required much manipulation. Tactics? Yes. But not hidden motives and false innocence. It made sense that people trying to force a certain image onto him would cause a fair bit of anger. The trolling seemed to be his own form of revenge, and who was she to stand in the way of that?
"You've got a deal."