Summary: The 5 times Natasha and Steve fell asleep in the other's bed on accident and the 1 time they fell asleep together on purpose.

1.

There was only one thing on Steve's mind and that was sleep. He and Natasha had just returned from a mission and neither had slept in over 39 hours. He figured he wouldn't have been quite so tired if he hadn't spent the last two hours fighting a bunch of Hydra agents, but nevertheless, he was exhausted and ready for bed.

The elevator ride up the Tower to his floor was dead silent as Natasha dozed off in the corner of the elevator, leaning against it to remain upright. They reached his floor first and he stepped off. He walked down the hall to his room, not registering another pair of footsteps following him until he stopped and someone bumped into him. He spun around to find Natasha with her eyes barely open, swaying on her feet. He reached forward to keep her upright when she swayed a little too far backward and she collapsed against him.

"This isn't your floor, Nat," he told her softly. She just moaned and shifted in his arms.

"Too far," she muttered. Steve sighed and glanced at his closed bedroom door. He gently picked her up and carried her into his room, laying her on the bed while he tried to find something more comfortable than her cat suit for her to sleep in. When he turned around, t-shirt in hand, she was already fast asleep.

"Nat?" he said quietly, nudging her gently. She moaned and her eyes fluttered open. He handed her the t-shirt and she groaned. "You don't want to sleep in your catsuit."

"...wanna," she mumbled, face pressed into the pillow. Steve sighed and rolled her onto her back.

"Would you like me to help you?" he asked, only realising what he'd asked after it had already been said. She didn't seem to mind and nodded, eyes still closed.

Forcing his mind to stay silent, he unzipped her catsuit and pulled the top part down. He helped slide his t-shirt over her head and pulled her arms through the arm holes before pulling the rest of the catsuit off. He found a pair of his smallest sweatpants and rolled the waistband multiple times before sliding them over her legs.

"Done," he told her.

She smiled sleepily and rolled back onto her stomach, hugging her pillow tightly and falling right back asleep.

He changed as well and walked back into the bedroom. He glanced at Natasha, wondering if she'd mind him sleeping beside her. Before he'd made up his mind entirely, he found himself falling onto the bed beside her. Apparently his body didn't care someone else was in his bed, but he didn't have much time to worry about what would happen in the morning when she woke up to find him beside her because he drifted off to sleep a few moments later.

2.

Natasha helped Steve walk down the hall of her floor on the Tower, letting him use her as a crutch even though he claimed not to need help. She could feel his weight pressing down on her shoulders as he limped beside her, but she didn't point it out. If Steve wanted to lie to himself, who was she to stop him? His body knew what he needed and wouldn't let him go without the help longer than necessary. However, he didn't object when she brought him up to her floor rather than drop him off at his after their stop in the medical bay.

"You don't have to watch me, Natasha," Steve said, letting her guide him to her bedroom nonetheless. She pushed open the door and helped him over to the bed.

"Considering your injuries were supposed to be mine, it's the least I can do to make sure you're comfortable," Natasha said. She'd given up on being upset with him for taking the bullet and following beating intended for her. It had taken the entire four hour surgery and the rest of the flight to the Tower, but she was finally able to talk to Steve about it without exploding at him for risking their mission and being stupid.

"I don't want to intrude," Steve told her, laying down. Natasha rolled her eyes and pulled the blankets on her bed up to his chest where bandages wrapped his torso under his shirt.

"Just shut up and accept it, Rogers," she replied with a small smile. Steve smiled back and nodded. "I'm going to go find something to eat."

"Alright," Steve said, watching her leave.

Natasha returned twenty minutes later with two plates of steaming pasta and garlic bread. She pushed open her bedroom door, expecting to see Steve reading or watching TV, only to find him asleep. She smiled and set his plate of pasta on her nightstand. She carefully crawled onto the bed beside him, being careful not to shift him too much, and ate her pasta beside him silently.

Halfway through her meal, Steve shifted so one of his arms was wrapped loosely around her waist. She froze, waiting for his eyes to open or him to start seizing, but he stayed soundly asleep. She smiled to herself and dropped a hand down to his head, gently running her fingers through his hair and eating the rest of her pasta with one hand.

3.

Steve was beginning to think he had a problem. Not only had Natasha started coming to his floor every Wednesday night at precisely 8:32PM for a late dinner and movie night, this was the third time he'd found himself distracted by her. Leonardo DiCaprio was in the middle of jumping off a bridge—something about falling being the only way to wake up from the dream-like thing he's in—but all he could think about was how Natasha was pressed against his side like it was her favourite place to be and how her long lashes moved every time she blinked. It didn't appear that she had noticed his staring, but he wouldn't count on it.

"You're missing the movie," she told him quietly, elbowing his side without nearly as much strength as he knew she had.  He'd been discovered, but he didn't necessarily feel embarrassed.

"Sorry," he said, turning back to the TV.

He managed to stay focused on the movie until it became too intense near the end as DiCaprio tried to fight his way out of limbo. He turned back to look at Natasha, only to discover she was slumped against his side and fast asleep.

Frowning, Steve shifted to get a better look at her. She was completely out and didn't so much as flinch with his movement. He knew her last mission had been intense, but he didn't realise quite how tired she was after she'd gotten back around noon.

"Tasha?" he whispered.

She didn't move.  Steve smiled to himself and kissed the top of her head, begging her to be asleep.  She shifted closer to him and he froze for a moment. Once he realised the movement was unconscious, he relaxed again and finished watching the movie.

He decides he doesn't like the ending, but he likes the feeling of Natasha against him and refuses to move. He ends up falling asleep on the couch with her leaning on him and her breath lightly fanning over his shoulder as she sleeps. He'd watch the horribly infuriating movie again if it meant she'd fall asleep on him again.

4.

Natasha woke up shaking and to her throat burning. She didn't dare make a sound as she laid perfectly still in her bed, terrified that any movement would summon the horrors of her dream into her room.

After a while, she climbed out of bed and darted towards the elevator without breathing. She wrapped her arms around herself tightly as she stood in the elevator, waiting for the doors to open so she could find who she was looking for.

When she finally came face-to-face with his door, she hesitated for only a breath before pushing the door open and stepping inside. She was still struggling to fight back tears and her body hadn't stopped shaking since she woke up, but that didn't stop her from slowly walking towards the edge of the bed and staring down at Steve's sleeping figure. He woke up almost as soon as she stopped beside his bed and his eyes shot open as if he could sense someone watching him.

"Natasha?" he murmured, squinting in the dark and trying to find out who was in his room. Natasha nodded and he frowned. "What's wrong?"

She swallowed thickly, not able to find the words she needed.

"I..."  she trailed off, not sure how to explain her sudden appearance in his room without sounding weak (and the Black Widow was never weak).

He opened his arms and she collapsed on top of him in a heap. He hugged her tightly and even though she was trying so hard not to cry, her body betrayed her and she felt tears trickle down her face.

"Tasha?" Steve asked softly, running a hand through her hair and keeping her head pressed against his chest. "Talk to me. What happened?"

The only answer he got was a shaking sob as her arms tightened around him. The image of his dead, mutilated body appeared back in her mind, but as he kissed the side of her head, it disappeared.

"You died," she explained, curling closer to him.

He hugged her tighter and peppered her head with kisses until she calmed down. Once she was no longer crying and her breathing wasn't ragged, he pulled back to look at her.

"Do you want to stay here?" he offered.

She nodded and he shifted before pulling her down to lay beside him. He curled around her, practically covering her as they both lay on their stomach. Once they were settled, she grabbed hold of his hand and pulled it close.

"Thanks," she whispered.

Steve kissed the back of her head then buried his face in her hair.

"No problem," he replied quietly.

5.

Okay, Natasha definitely didn't need to make the short trek down to Steve's floor, but she did anyway. It wasn't her fault, necessarily. She was sick beyond her wits and could barely see straight. Screw her for wanting a friend nearby when she felt like death.

"Nat?" Steve asked, looking up as she stumbled off the elevator. She was wearing spandex shorts and a t-shirt that Steve was pretty sure she'd stolen from him, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket and wearing the fuzzy socks Clint had gotten her for Christmas.

"I'm sick," she told him, squinting so she wasn't seeing double. She swayed and Steve jumped off the couch. He rushed towards her as she stumbled forward. He scooped her up easily and carried her over to his couch.

"How did you get sick?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the couch beside her and feeling her forehead with the back of his head. Her eyes closed and she leaned against him subconsciously.

"I dunno," she slurred. Steve pulled his hand away and she frowned, opening her eyes.

"Do you feel like it's a flu or just a cold?" he asked. Natasha shrugged lazily. "Do you feel like vomiting?"

"I feel like dying," she offered.

Steve figured that meant it was a bad flu and got up to find her some medicine. When he returned, she was staring blankly out the window. He helped her swallow the medicine and down some water afterwards.

"Do you like chicken soup?" he asked, walking back into the kitchen. He turned to see her nodding and pulled out his recipe book. He got to work mixing the soup together and making it perfect before dishing some into a bowl and taking it to her.

"Thanks," she mumbled, prying her eyes open.

Steve waited on the edge of the couch until she'd finished the soup and handed back the bowl. He took it into the kitchen then returned to her side. Without warning, he gently picked her up—blanket and all—and carried her down the hall to his room. She didn't fuss, curling against his chest as he carried her down the hall. When he set her on his bed, she immediately reached for his pillow and pulled it close to her, smiling contentedly and closing her eyes.

"Call me if you need anything," he told her. She nodded and opened one eye to watch him leave the room. He left the door open so he could hear her if she called and returned to the kitchen to put the soup in a better container and clean the dishes.

He peered into his room to check on Natasha when he'd finished the dishes and smiled when he saw her still cuddling his pillow and sleeping soundly. He'd seen her curled up in his bed many times before, but it never ceased to amaze him how truly beautiful she looked. Even when she woke up minutes later and vomited on his floor.

+ 1.

Steve was in the middle of pulling off his shirt when the bedroom door opened. He glanced up to see who had entered and smiled when he found Natasha had returned from the bathroom. She was wearing one of his shirts and headed straight for the bed; the bed that he no longer considered just his own and hadn't considered as such for nearly four months.

"You know, you could just use your own pyjamas instead of my shirts," Steve said, flicking off the bedroom light and climbing into bed beside her. She grinned, looking up at him as he held himself above her on his elbows.

"Where's the fun in that?" she teased.

With a roll of his eyes, he shifted and turned off the nightstand light. He rolled off her, but pulled her against him. She could barely make out his face in the dark, but she wasn't surprised when his mouth was suddenly on hers. Instead, she smiled and kissed him back, letting him set the pace. Apparently, it was just a sweet kiss because he pulled back and kissed her cheek seconds later.

"I love you," he said, nuzzling his face in her neck. Her hand reached up and she gently caressed his cheek.

"I love you too," she replied, smiling as he kissed her neck once.