[ It starts to rain as they get to the counter; at least, that's what Steve presumes, distracted from any soft patter of water on the windows by her smile and his own attempt not to read too much into it. It's not meant to be understood by its very nature, and if there's something she wants him to know, she'll tell him. Still, it's not a check that comes easily to him when he's aware he wants it to mean something, and all the self-control in the world can't suppress the warmth in his chest when she orders for both of them like it's old hat. It's small and stupid, but it's also real, from before this town, and she must know that much.
The rain becomes harder to ignore during the few minutes they wait for their order. They seem to have reached the end of their back and forth over the pancakes and so are waiting in comfortable silence (Steve assumes it's comfortable on her part, anyway). The droplets of water stuck to the window are quickly beginning to stream together, and there's the distinctive rapid clicking of hail against glass. Thinking about it, the clouds had probably been closer than he'd indicated. He hadn't wanted to go home yet either.
By the time they sit he's resigned to them settling in for the long haul, though after he takes his own bite of the cake and glances at her, she seems to barely notice the increasing noise of the storm against the walls and roof. Steve frowns and swallows, about to ask her what's wrong before she speaks, and the fork in his hand lowers closer to the table when she does in that way she has, both intimate and portentous. He's unsure if he's gonna like where any sentence that starts with his name like that will lead — and he knows he's been letting too much out, but he's trying — but then there's the bang and the scream.
Like Natasha, any consideration for where their conversation is left off gets relegated to a far corner of his mind. Even if it weren't suddenly pitch black, he wouldn't be able to see out the windows, the water cascading down the glass in sheets now. ]
Did you hear that? [ He would understand if she hadn't. The wind is shrill and obscuring past the hail bulleting against the outside of the building, but he knows what he heard. He's already halfway to his feet when it comes again, and he's up and to the door in a shot, not looking back to see if Natasha's following him.
—a large part of him still assuming she will be.
He's soaked through in a matter of seconds. The storm is louder out here, the noise immediate and deafening, but also less distorted by the walls of the building, and he pauses to listen for it again, heedless of the hail against his skin.
no subject
The rain becomes harder to ignore during the few minutes they wait for their order. They seem to have reached the end of their back and forth over the pancakes and so are waiting in comfortable silence (Steve assumes it's comfortable on her part, anyway). The droplets of water stuck to the window are quickly beginning to stream together, and there's the distinctive rapid clicking of hail against glass. Thinking about it, the clouds had probably been closer than he'd indicated. He hadn't wanted to go home yet either.
By the time they sit he's resigned to them settling in for the long haul, though after he takes his own bite of the cake and glances at her, she seems to barely notice the increasing noise of the storm against the walls and roof. Steve frowns and swallows, about to ask her what's wrong before she speaks, and the fork in his hand lowers closer to the table when she does in that way she has, both intimate and portentous. He's unsure if he's gonna like where any sentence that starts with his name like that will lead — and he knows he's been letting too much out, but he's trying — but then there's the bang and the scream.
Like Natasha, any consideration for where their conversation is left off gets relegated to a far corner of his mind. Even if it weren't suddenly pitch black, he wouldn't be able to see out the windows, the water cascading down the glass in sheets now. ]
Did you hear that? [ He would understand if she hadn't. The wind is shrill and obscuring past the hail bulleting against the outside of the building, but he knows what he heard. He's already halfway to his feet when it comes again, and he's up and to the door in a shot, not looking back to see if Natasha's following him.
—a large part of him still assuming she will be.
He's soaked through in a matter of seconds. The storm is louder out here, the noise immediate and deafening, but also less distorted by the walls of the building, and he pauses to listen for it again, heedless of the hail against his skin.
There. ]