Chapter 1
The first time Steve Rogers saw Natasha Stark, he barely even noticed her.
The elevator was really only an excuse to stand still, and to find a small corner of this hell that is SHIELD headquarters to call his own. To take his first real breath in the first real bit of peace and quiet he's gotten since he woke up three weeks ago. The doors slid open, and the tension in his spine wound even tighter when he saw that it was occupied, but he stepped in anyway. He could wait them out, and then he could have this space for himself.
Neither woman moves when he steps in and doesn't press a floor number, but the taller one spares him a glance, and the tight look in her eyes tells him she knows exactly who he is. He's not surprised; news of his arrival had spread like wildfire through SHIELD, and though this is the first time he's been allowed outside of his private room in medical, everyone still seems to look at him like they know him. Like they know him better than he does himself, and he often finds himself wondering if that isn't true.
He learnt quite quickly that his life had been told in comics and in movies, stored in museums and private collections - even appropriated for wild works of fiction posted on the Internet. He had become a legend in his absence. Not just Captain America, but Steve Rogers also. People, normal people, know things about his childhood and his education that he himself has long since forgotten. His life is no longer his own, and he doesn't know if he'll ever measure up to himself.
How much could this woman tell him about his own life? How much of it would even be true?
The woman doesn't say anything though, and spares him only a polite nod before looking back down at the technological-something in her hands. Steve watches her, lets himself map the freckles that dot her face and trace the way her red hair is immaculately pulled into a tight ponytail. Everything about this woman is clean and precise and she seems so perfectly modern.
She seems like she belongs here, in and amongst the order and shine of everything that is SHIELD, but she isn't wearing any kind of uniform. Her white suit looks heavy and expensive, and while she carries her head high, she looks wary.
This woman belongs here, in SHIELD, about as much as he does, but she does a better job of pretending.
He lingers on her a while longer, and he gets the feeling that she knows he is staring, but she doesn't say anything and he appreciates that. It's been three weeks and he still hasn't had any time to himself, to observe, and to really understand this strange world he's found himself in.
He hasn't been given any time to adjust on his own.
He knows it's the same world he left all those years ago, but for all he's seen of it, it may as well be a completely different one. He's being kept inside SHIELD to acclimatise and come to terms with his situation, but he knows that's just a fancy way of saying he's locked away because they don't trust him. Yet.
He's caged here, an animal for the doctors and psychiatrists and agents to marvel at, with no real context to respond to.
The only news he's been able to grapple with any kind of understanding is the news that Howard Stark is dead. Long dead. That somehow, time had stopped long enough for Steve to make one breath last longer than Howard's entire life. Each breath since had felt heavier than air had any right to.
He dealt with that about as well as could be expected.
It was hard waking up to a world where everything he knew was different. Harder still, was waking up to a world where he was truly alone. Bucky was still dead but no one knew it was Steve's fault. Peggy was still alive, though sometimes she didn't know Steve. Howard was dead, and so was his son, Arno, who hadn't ever known Steve in the first place.
There was no one left to tether him, and his world was spinning fast enough that it had become a question of when, and not if, he would just float away into space.
A choked noise at the back of his throat startles him out of his reverie and he flushes as he realises how long he's been staring at the red-haired woman. There's a sad and knowing smile playing about her lips, and he has to look away.
The other occupant of the elevator doesn't bat an eyelid as his gaze drifts to her.
In fact, she doesn't move at all. Or show any sign of having noticed another person in the elevator. She's leaning heavily on the mirrored wall, eyes closed and face drawn so tight that Steve can feel the tension across his own brow. Her olive skin looks wan and pale across her cheeks, and the circles beneath her eyes are dark enough to be bruises. She looks as exhausted as Steve feels, and it's uncomfortable enough that he has to look away, back to the first woman.
The two women are such complete opposites that he doesn't even notice they're together until the elevator stops and redhead elbows her dozing companion, and all but drags her away.
Civilians aren't exactly a rarity on the base - but Steve doesn't see anyone but agents after the two women leave.
He stays there for hours, watching people come and go from the elevator, observing their features in the mirrors and avoiding their eye contact. The knot of disorientation still hasn't untangled itself any from his skull when Clint eventually finds him, but it hasn't gotten any worse.
Steve will take his wins wherever he can find them.
"You alright there, man?" Clint's hand is heavy on his shoulders, but it doesn't seem to ground him. He's been spinning out since he first woke, and nothing seems to be able to take the churning feeling away from his stomach.
No, Steve doesn't answer.
"Took you a while to find me," he says instead.
"Nah, I knew where you were. Been watching you for the last couple hours on the security cameras."
"But you didn't come after me."
"No, I didn't," the agent's fists shift in his pockets as he shrugs.
"Thank you."
"No worries, man. Look, much as I would love to let you stay and do your thing a while longer, you getting out of your room was contingent on you returning to your room, and, well..." Clint smiles apologetically and presses the button for the medical floor, "times up, Cap."
They descend in silence, and while it wasn't quite a companionable silence between them, Steve thought it could be. Given time.
"Besides," Clint yawned, wide and loud, "the Tin Can'll be here to see you soon. Wouldn't want to miss that."
Right now, in this new world that never seemed to stay the same, there were only three constants in Steve's life: being confined to SHIELD headquarters, feeling like there wasn't a place in this world where he could still belong, and his daily visits from Iron Woman. Only the latter was pleasant.
The woman – and he was sure she was a woman and not a robot now – had visited him every evening since he woke. Had been there when he was defrosted too, not that he remembered.
Clint yawned again, and Steve stopped to look at him, really look at him, for the first time that day. The agent's eyes were skittering back and forth across the hallway, and beneath them the skin was dark and puffy.
Steve set his hand on the smaller man's shoulder and hoped he did a better job at 'reassuring' than Clint had earlier.
"I can find my own way back, Clint. You should go and get some rest."
Clint frowned, but Steve cut him off.
"No, really. I promise, I'll go straight home and I won't talk to strangers or jump out a window, and you'll get to clock out and go to bed twenty minutes earlier."
Clint laughed at that, "I really don't think–"
"Know when you're not wanted, Birdface. I'll escort the good Captain back to his cosy bunk and tuck him in, nice and safe for Fury."
The crackle and distortion of the voice was unmistakable and Steve couldn't help the smile that crept its way across his face.
"Sure you can manage that, Spare Parts?" Clint smiles, even through his exhaustion, "When was the last time you managed to find your own way to bed?"
"Why, you looking for some company?"
"With you? Nah. Too many," Clint gestures, "hard bits. I like my ladies a little softer."
"Soft is hardly how I would describe her."
Clint sucked in a breath, his ears slightly red, "You know entirely too much about everything. On that note, goodnight Cap. Rust Bucket is all yours."
"It's a titanium-gold alloy, it doesn't rust." Iron Woman called out to the retreating agent, speakers on the suit turned up louder than normal.
Steve watches Clint flip her off over his shoulder and as Iron Woman's soft chuckle creeps out of the speakers, he feels a small ball of tension unwind itself from his chest. He's still lost and useless, still spinning out faster than he can see to grab an anchor, but something about his visits from the armoured Avenger settles him.
Just a bit.
They walk in silence - or as close to it as they can get when one of them is encased in solid metal - and this silence is companionable. It's only been three weeks, but Iron Woman is as close to family as he's got.
It helps, he supposes, that he knows that it was Natasha Stark, Howard's granddaughter, who had designed the armour, and that she herself had hired the pilot he knew as Iron Woman. It was a tenuous link, he knew, but one he was willing to grab with both hands.
The evening continued in much the same vein as it always did; the two of them sat in the chairs by the window of Steve's room. Iron Woman told him all of the news from the Avengers - the superhero team that she led - and Steve found himself wishing he could join them. Wishing that he could be of some kind of use again.
Tonight, though, Iron Woman was acting strange. Not suspicious or distant, just slow. If he had still thought that she were a robot, Steve would suspect that her wires had gotten twisted or her batteries were running low.
"You alright there, Shellhead?"
"Hmm?" Iron Woman's head jolts slightly back towards Steve, "Mmm. yeah, sorry Cap. Just tired is all."
"Yeah, seems to be plenty of that going around today," Steve concedes, thinking of Clint's loud yawning and the woman who was half asleep in the elevator. "You don't have to stay here for me. Go home, get some sleep. I won't mind one night alone."
"But I-"
"I know. You promised. But realistically, you're not going to be breaking me out of here tonight, and I don't want you hurting yourself for me. No, really - go get some sleep Shellhead."
The armour didn't give anything away as Iron Woman sat, still ramrod straight in her chair, and stared at Steve. Steve knew the woman inside was warring with indecision, and while he didn't know what she looked like, he imagined her worrying at her lip.
Just like Peggy had used to.
"Really, go. Come back tomorrow and tell me all about a bed that's actually comfortable and getting a breakfast that isn't oats."
"Cap–" Iron Woman cut herself off, shook her head slightly, and then continued, "Fine. Okay, I'm not too big to admit that I'm absolutely shattered. These last few weeks have been..."
She had stood up, and taken an aborted step towards him before she trailed off. Her arms moved in a way that Steve knew meant the woman inside the armour wanted to shrug. The bulk of her shoulders didn't allow the subtlety of the movement, but Iron Woman made her gesture with her whole body.
"I know. It's been a lot. I really appreciate you keeping me company but I am a grown man, I can look after myself for one night."
"Yeah, but you shouldn't have to."
Iron Woman stops abruptly, and he can tell that perhaps she hadn't meant to say that, but there's a flicker of something warm in his stomach at the thought of how much she obviously cares. It's the first warmth he's felt since he woke up, and he clings to it, desperate for something to take his mind off the ice that's still a spectre on his skin.
"I'm–" and she cuts herself off again before finally stepping into his space and taking his hand in her metal ones, "We're working on it, getting you out of here. Me and the boss. She's almost convinced Fury, she just needs a little more time. Please, Steve–"
Steve smiles up at her and wonders if she can feel the pressure where he squeezes her hands.
"It's fine. I can wait."
----
The next morning is nothing like Steve had been expecting. He wakes up to see a short brunette in an expensive looking suit barging her way through the doors to his room, shaking off the SHIELD agents that hound her heels, and dropping a paper bag full of glorious smelling baked goods at the foot of his bed.
It was the woman from the elevator the day before, and while she looked as tired and wan has she had yesterday, there was a manic energy in her movements and a fire behind her blue eyes that made her shine.
"Come on Captain, we're busting you out of here, now."
The first time Steve Rogers had seen Natasha Stark he had barely even noticed her.
The second time, he notices nothing except for her.