Her Bodyguard

3. The Falcon

Steve stirred awake with a groan as he heard a loud clattering nearby.

"Damn it!" A quiet voice cursed outside his room. A quiet, masculine voice. A quiet, masculine voice that definitely was not Natasha's. Steve bolted from his bed into the kitchen.

"Oh, Sleeping Beauty's awake!" The bodyguard furrowed his eyebrows as a stranger regarded him with an innocent smile. In the kitchen stood an African-American man of similar age to Steve - perhaps a bit younger - casually setting a frying pan over the stove. Well, that explains the crash. His tall stature and lean build told Steve that he may be a difficult opponent if they ever stood against each other. And his smile told Steve that he was generally an approachable guy. It definitely was a friendly smile, but...

"Who are you? And where's Natasha?"

"Romanoff? She left hours ago."

Steve's heartbeat quickened from a jog to a sprint. His eyes shot up to the clock, but then immediately shot down, as he saw that the short hour hand was only a few millimeters away from 6.

Reading Steve's bewildered expression, the man replied, "Yeah, I know. It's 6 in the morning. Apparently she couldn't sleep with you in the house. She called Maria at the ungodly hour of 2 AM, and Maria - being the supportive friend that she is - came to pick her up. Nat's in her house right now." The man chuckled lightly. "And I thought I had it bad when I was a bodyguard."

He looked up at Steve, as if just remembering something. "Oh yeah, and it's Sam. My name's Sam Wilson."

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"On your left," Steve piped up from next to his new friend. This was the fifth time he had caught up with Sam during their morning run. Contrary to Steve's earlier assumption, Sam proved to be a fairly easy opponent. At least when it came to running.

Sam groaned and tried to push ahead. Steve did the same.

"So, tell me again - how exactly did I manage to sleep through Natasha leaving the house?" Steve asked.

"I told you, man. It's not your fault. She's just a really sneaky, silent lady. Like a spy, almost. Did I mention she was able to clean Maria's house at night and no one in the house even stirred the slightest? The house was spotless when we woke up and we were all really confused. Don't blame yourself. You were probably in R.E.M. sleep anyways," Sam replied. Steve shook his head with a sigh.

"Or you were having a really intense dream," his friend suggested. "Maybe it was a good dream. Did you have a good dream? Any hot ladies?"

"Okay, first of all, you can't sexualize women like that. Also, just because there are hot ladies, it doesn't mean a dream is good. What if a hot lady wants to kill you or something?" Steve pointed out. "Plus, I didn't have a dream at all. I don't dream."

In his head, Steve knew it was a lie. He knew he saw her, and her classic chocolate curls with her unmistakeable cherry lips. He knew he heard that British accent he could recognize anywhere. He knew he felt her soft skin in his hands, her strong body in his arms. Only she could have such soft skin with such a strong body. He pursed his lips as her name dared to spill out of them.

Steve was shaken from the memory as Sam spoke again. "Supportive of women and good at running. I don't know why Nat doesn't like you."

Steve shrugged half-heartedly as the two shared a glance. "I guess we just didn't click."

He knew that was a lie too.