She's Mine) Romanogers

Part 19) No, You Don't Understand

He laughed, the sound was thunderous given my ear was still on his chest, it sent butterflies into my own chest. "Okay, fine," he laid back down gracelessly, but pulled me closer to him, "that didn't hurt, right?"

It did, but I didn't want him to feel guilty for something that wasn't his fault, so I shook my head.

"Nat, you tensed, and I'm not stupid," he pushed.

"Can we just not worry about if I'm in pain for thirty seconds? I want to enjoy my time with you, not have you panicking everytime I flinch. The ribs hurt, and they're going to hurt a lot. I will tell you if it's too much," I insisted.

"I don't believe that you would say anything if it gets too much," he shot back.

I sent him a rather murderous glance.

"But we can deal with this later," he backed off, for now. "So, when are we getting breakfast?"

I laughed a bit, "when I feel like we can get up," I rolled myself so that my back was now on his chest, I was basically lying over him.

He laughed at my dramatics, "and when will you feel like getting up?"

"Shut up Rogers, you can't rush my mornings," I stretched my right arm over my head.

"Believe me, I am fully well aware, Natasha Romanoff," he rolled his eyes.

I snapped up at that, wincing just a bit at the pain in my chest but trying to cover it, while he tried desperately not to freak out.

"And what's that supposed to mean, Steven Rogers?" I growled playfully.

He was still trying to ignore my pain, but played along. "Nothing," he sarcastically brushed it off as he sat up as well, his face just inches from mine now, "just that you don't like to get out of bed in the mornings, and I fear for the safety of anyone who tries to rush you in that process."

"Damn straight," I stuck my chin up just a bit in triumph.

"But I can get out of bed in a timely fashion," he placed a quick peck on my lips and then stood up faster than I could try to pull him back down. "I'm going to start on breakfast, do you want to come or stay here?"

I debated the two sides. I did not want to get out of bed nor did I have any desire to eat, but I wanted to be with Steve. "Fine," I groaned as my need to spend time with Steve superseded my disdain for the other parts of the morning.

His smile lit up, he had clearly been hoping I would come along. He gently helped me out of the bed, and neither of us bothered getting dressed as we were alone in the tower. We took the elevator down to the lounge where Steve had stored our food rations, and I took a moment to look down on the city below. Given that it was noon, everyone was out and about and the sidewalks were packed with people and the roads were worse.

We reached our floor and we made our way to the kitchen. I turned the TV onto a news channel so we could at least have some idea of the weather and events for the day, while Steve set about making the food. "Orange juice?"

"Oh, how about a mimosa," I hummed.

"You sure?" He paused, "you know that your t-"

"Steve, shut up. Yes my tolerance might be down so low I can't handle a bottle of vodka, but I can handle a fucking mimosa without getting drunk," I insisted. My tone was a bit playful, but harsh enough he would know not to push that subject. Admitting my tolerance was low was admitting how far I had fallen.

"Okay, two mimosas," he poured the flutes and then set our plates, taking time to garnish them and make them beautiful.

I walked over and noticed that he had put some eggs, sausage, and a piece of toast on mine along with the strawberries. I paused and looked at him with unsure eyes.