Devotion [Book 1]

Good At Goodbyes

Chapter 4

***

Steve was awoken from a light doze by the sound of bare feet tiptoeing past his bedroom door. Sitting up, he glanced at the digital alarm clock on the bedside table and frowned.

2:45am.

Curious, he swept his covers aside and crept towards his bedroom door. His keen senses detected that whoever was now walking down the staircase was light in weight and was making an effort to avoid any of the creaking floorboards.

He cocked his head to one side, holding his breath, and waited. Nothing. He leaned closer to the door, trying to determine the purpose of the late night prowlers' excursion downstairs.

Click.

Steve recognized the sound of the light being switched on in the kitchen, followed shortly by a tinkling of glass as it was removed from the overhead cabinet. A beat later and the Captain identified the suckling gasp of a refrigerator door being opened, accompanied by glass bottles being jostled against one another.

Relief flooded his taunt muscles. There was no threat. Shifting his hands to rest on his sweat pant clad hips, he wrestled with the decision to go back to bed or to join whomever it was downstairs. If Wanda was up and walking around it was most likely due to her reoccurring nightmares; all the more reason why he should go downstairs and check on her. However, if it were Natasha in the kitchen, than he knew better than to invade her privacy. Steve had learned early on in their friendship that she liked her space - especially late at night - and she didn't take too kindly to his probing questions about her well-being.

Deciding to take his chances, he pulled on a soft white t-shirt and headed downstairs. The house was dark, save for the warm yellow light spilling out from the kitchen. Steve made a show of scuffling his feet to alert whoever was downstairs so as to not surprise them. The last thing he needed was a startled scream from Wanda rousing the others from their beds. He entered the kitchen... only to find it completely empty.

"Over here, Sasquatch."

He turned around, squinting in to the darkness until he located the source of the voice. Natasha was seated on the cushioned bay window, sipping from a glass of water, dressed in what appeared to be a short silk bathrobe. Steve carefully navigated his way around the couches and a coffee table. "You okay?" he asked with a concerned tilt of his head.

She looked tired, the lack of makeup and messy bed hair giving her a youthful and vulnerable look. Steve knew better though - there was nothing remotely vulnerable about Natasha Romanoff.

"I'm fine, I just couldn't sleep," she answered, leaning her head back against the window and staring outside. Steve hesitated. There was the slightest hint of distress in her tone and her forehead was creased with concentration. There was something about her tense body language that troubled him. Throwing caution to the wind, he perched himself by her feet on the edge of the window seat.

"Wanna talk about it?"

Natasha huffed a laugh, turning to look at him. Her light green eyes were full of mockery as she responded, "You just can't help yourself can you? Mother Goose always fussing over her goslings." A wry smile tugged at her lips as she took a small sip from her glass.

"Yeah, well, its part of the job description," he defended with a shrug of his shoulders. He wasn't disconcerted by her accusation. They'd had this same conversation many a time before. He was always going to worry about his friends and teammates. That was just how he was built. It was in his DNA. Even pre-serum Steve had always looked out for those he cared about. The only difference now was that he had the strength and power to do something about it.