026.

____________________
It was trust.

Selene sat stiffly on the edge of Natasha's bed, watching with narrowed eyes as the redhead rummaged through her closet with a kind of effortless grace.

Natasha moved with precision, a quiet deliberation in every action, as though she had already decided on the perfect outfit and was merely indulging herself in the theatrics of choosing.

Selene, on the other hand, felt completely out of her element. The idea of dressing up, of adorning herself in something purely for the sake of beauty, was foreign to her. Her entire life had been dictated by function, by necessity. Clothes were meant to be practical, breathable, allowing for ease of movement.

Anything beyond that seemed... pointless.

Yet, here she was.

"Ah," Natasha finally murmured, pulling out a dress from the rack with a victorious smirk. "This is the one."

Selene stared at the fabric draped over Natasha's hands. It was a soft lavender, its hue delicate yet striking in a way that she couldn't quite describe. The material shimmered slightly under the light, hugging the shape of Natasha's hands like it had already decided it belonged on a body.

Selene frowned. "It looks... tight."

Natasha snorted. "It's fitted. That's different." She walked over, holding the dress up against Selene's frame, her sharp eyes assessing. "It'll hug your curves but still let you move. It's breathable, flexible. I know you'd rip apart a gown if it felt restrictive."

Selene pursed her lips, but she didn't argue. Natasha had a way of knowing things about her that she hadn't even voiced.

With an almost resigned sigh, she took the dress and disappeared into the bathroom.

When she stepped out, Natasha's gaze softened.

Selene barely recognized herself.

The dress clung in places she had never thought to appreciate—her waist, her hips—trailing down her body in a way that was neither exposing nor concealing, but rather... enhancing. She turned slightly, testing the movement, and to her surprise, the fabric stretched with her like a second skin.

It didn't restrict her. It didn't feel like a cage.

She could fight in this if she needed to.

She could run.

"See?" Natasha's voice was smug, but there was warmth beneath it. "Told you it'd be perfect."

Selene hesitated, her fingers grazing the hem of the dress. "It's... not bad."

Natasha grinned. "That's as close to a compliment as I'm getting, huh?"

Selene studied her reflection again, this time with a more critical eye. The lavender dress was soft, flowing yet form-fitting, accentuating her curves in a way she had never considered before. But what truly struck her wasn't how it fit—it was what it concealed.

Her collarbone. The jagged, cruelly carved numbers that had been there since she was a child. The numbers Hydra had given her to strip her of a name, a life beyond them. They were always there, a brand she couldn't erase.

But now, they were hidden.

Her fingers brushed over the fabric resting just above them, the high neckline covering the scars entirely. Natasha had chosen this dress on purpose.

Selene turned to look at her, the realization settling in.

"You picked...because it covers scars," she murmured, not accusing, just stating.

Natasha met her gaze through the mirror, something unreadable in her expression. Then, she shrugged, casual as ever. "I picked it because it looks good on you." A pause. "And because I know you're not ready to see them in a dress like this. That's okay."

Selene swallowed, the lump in her throat unexpected. No one had ever considered that before—not in a way that was for her comfort rather than someone else's.

She nodded slowly. "Thank you."

Natasha's smirk softened into something gentler. "Anytime."

Natasha motioned for her to sit back down.

The redhead grabbed a curling iron and gently ran her fingers through Selene's dark strands before beginning her work. Selene tensed at first, unused to the feeling of someone touching her so delicately. Her hair had always been something she barely considered—a tangled mess after training, another nuisance to keep out of her face.

But Natasha's hands were careful, her touch featherlight as she twisted and curled each strand into soft, cascading waves.

"You've never curled your hair, have you?" Natasha mused.

Selene shook her head. "Pointless."

Natasha hummed. "Not tonight."

Selene stared at her reflection as the curls framed her face, spilling over her shoulders in a way that felt almost unnatural. Yet... it was beautiful. Soft.

Like she was someone else.

"Now, for nails," Natasha said, reaching for a small bottle of polish.

Selene frowned. "What is...point?"

Natasha chuckled. "Because it looks good."

"Not a reason."

"It is when you let yourself have one."

Selene didn't argue, but she watched Natasha closely as the other woman carefully took her hand and began painting her nails a deep, glossy black. The color contrasted sharply against her skin, making her fingers look more elegant, refined.

It was strange.

She had never considered her hands beautiful before. They had always been weapons, tools of survival, nothing more. But here, in the glow of Natasha's bedroom, as the polish dried into something sleek and polished, she saw them differently.

She wasn't sure how to feel about that.

Natasha moved on to her toes next, and though Selene felt ridiculous at first, she remained still, watching the way Natasha's brows furrowed in concentration, the way she handled her so carefully, as if she wasn't something broken.

As if she was just a girl getting ready for a dinner with a friend.

Selene had never really had a friend before.

She had comrades, people she tolerated in battle. But friendship was different. Friendship was built on something deeper, something softer—something that was foreign to her.

Yet, here she was, sitting on Natasha's bed, her hands outstretched to dry as the redhead carefully painted her toes, her touch gentle, deliberate.

It wasn't just about the dress.

Or the hair.

Or the polish drying against her skin.

It was about something else entirely.

Something Selene didn't know how to name.

"You're actually sitting still," Natasha mused, her lips quirking into a smirk. "I half expected you to bolt the second I brought out the nail polish."

Selene huffed, watching the dark color spread smoothly over her nails. "I don't... hate it."

Natasha snorted. "I'll take that as a win."

The room was quiet for a moment, the hum of the curling iron cooling on the vanity filling the space between them. Selene glanced at her reflection again—not in judgment, not in cold assessment, but in something close to curiosity.

"I never...wore a dress," she admitted quietly, more to herself than Natasha.

Natasha didn't look up from her work. "Figured as much."

Selene hesitated. "This...is nice."

She wasn't sure how to finish the sentence, how to explain her feelings more.

Natasha, however, seemed to understand as she always did when it came to Selene.

Natasha paused, looking over at her, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. "Yeah. It is."

Selene looked back down at her hands, running her thumb over the smooth polish.

Natasha leaned against the vanity, arms crossing over her chest. "We'll have to do it more often."

Selene glanced up, meeting Natasha's gaze. There was no pity there, no forced kindness—just a simple truth.

A promise.

Something warm settled in Selene's chest, unfamiliar yet not unwelcome.

She nodded once. "Good."

Natasha smirked. "Good. Next time, we're doing face masks."

Selene made a face, and Natasha laughed, shaking her head. "Baby steps."

Selene flexed her fingers, watching the dark polish catch the light. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice quieter than usual.

Natasha's smirk softened into something genuine. "Anytime."

The weight of that single word settled deep inside Selene, wrapping around something raw and untouched.

Natasha meant it.

This wasn't just a moment of casual girl talk, a simple night of getting ready.

It was more.

It was trust.

It was friendship.

And for the first time, Selene let herself have it.

Selene shook her head, exhaling softly. "I won't...use pointy shoes."

Natasha sighed dramatically but didn't push. "Figures."

Selene stood, taking another look at herself in the mirror. For the first time, she truly examined herself—not as a soldier, not as an experiment, but as a person.

The dress flattered her, highlighting the parts of her body she had never paid attention to. It curved along her waist, down the length of her legs, framing her in a way that wasn't about function, but form.

Her hair, no longer in a tangled mess, spilled over her shoulders like ink, the waves soft and shining under the light.

And her nails, dark and sleek, made her hands look almost... delicate.

She had never thought of herself as beautiful before.

But tonight, she looked it.

Natasha stood behind her, meeting her gaze in the mirror. "Do you see it now?"

Selene swallowed, the question striking something deep inside her.

She didn't answer right away.

She had spent so much of her life being seen as nothing but a weapon, a tool molded by Hydra's cruel hands. Her body had been used, controlled, turned into something monstrous in the eyes of the world. She had never been allowed to simply be.

But now, here, dressed in soft fabric and painted nails, she wasn't a monster.

She was something more.

A version of herself she had never met before.

A person, not just a weapon.

Maybe, just maybe, she was ready to meet that person, too.

Selene inhaled slowly, nodding just once.

Natasha smiled. "Good."

As Selene turned away from the mirror, she saw the approval in Natasha's expression, the silent understanding that passed between them.

This wasn't about looking good for Steve.

This was about her.

For the first time, she was allowed to see herself outside of what Hydra had made her.

And for the first time, she didn't look away.

_____

The smell of sizzling butter and seared steak filled the kitchen, mingling with the rich aroma of garlic mashed potatoes and the fresh earthiness of roasted asparagus.

Steve moved with practiced ease, flipping the steak in the pan, its edges perfectly caramelized. The kitchen lights cast a golden hue over the space, making everything feel warm, intimate.

For the first time in weeks, he felt good.

Selene had said yes.

He had a chance to make things right.

He had dressed for the occasion—not too formal, but a crisp navy button-up with the sleeves rolled up, neatly tucked into dark slacks. His hair was combed, his jaw freshly shaven. He wanted to look his best, to remind Selene of who he was, who they were before everything had gotten so complicated.

Because he missed her.

God, he missed her.

The past few weeks had been hell—tiptoeing around her, seeing her avoid his eyes, watching her drift further away as he tried to bring Bucky back from the edge.

Tonight, though, was a step in the right direction.

As he plated the food, making sure everything was perfect, he heard soft footsteps behind him.

He turned—and felt his breath hitch.

Selene stood at the doorway, bathed in the dim light of the kitchen, looking... stunning.

She always had this quiet kind of beauty, something untouchable. But tonight—tonight—she looked different.

Soft curls framed her delicate features, and the lavender dress she wore—simple, casual, yet effortlessly elegant—hugged her form in a way that made his throat go dry. The color made her skin glow, the fabric flowing around her as if it had been made for her.

Steve stared.

No—gawked.

She shifted under his gaze, clearly unsure, her hands lightly smoothing the hem of her dress. "...Natasha picked."

Of course, she had.

And suddenly, Steve understood why Natasha had once said, you can't hide things or get mad at a gorgeous woman.

Because right now? He was completely, utterly helpless.

Selene wasn't just beautiful. She was breathtaking.

And when she gave him a soft, hesitant smile—one that wasn't forced, wasn't guarded, wasn't hidden—his chest ached in a way he hadn't felt in a long time.

"Wow," he finally managed, rubbing the back of his neck. "You—uh—you look... wow."

Selene's lips twitched slightly, her expression unreadable. "Smells good."

Steve cleared his throat, pulling himself together. "Yeah—uh—your favorite." He gestured to the table, where two plates were set, candlelight flickering gently between them. "Hope you're hungry."

Selene hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward.

They sat across from each other, the quiet hum of the city outside their only background noise. The first few bites were eaten in silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable—just cautious, like neither of them knew where to start.

Finally, Steve spoke. "How've you been?"

Selene swallowed, setting her fork down. Then, with quiet honesty, "Bad."

He exhaled. "Yeah." He appreciated the honesty, even if it stung.

Selene tilted her head. "You?"

Steve leaned back, considering. Then, just as honestly, "Not good either."

And somehow, that made her shoulders relax just a little.

They kept eating, talking in between bites. It was slow, careful, but it felt... real. Like the first genuine conversation they'd had in weeks.

Then, Steve took a deep breath. "Selene... I need to say something."

She looked up, wary.

"I'm sorry," he said, voice low. "For how things have been. For making you feel like...I wasn't here or I chose him over you."

Selene tensed.

Steve hesitated before continuing. "I know you don't like him. I know having him here makes you uncomfortable. But... I need you to understand why."

Selene frowned. "Why?"

Steve's grip tightened on his fork. He looked at her, really looked at her, and saw the hurt she was trying to hide, the anger she still carried.

He swallowed. "Because... he's not just the Winter Soldier to me." A beat of silence. Then, softer, "He's Bucky."

Selene's breath hitched.

Steve's jaw clenched. "My best friend."

Selene's grip on her knife faltered.

And then, like a dam breaking, it hit her.

The stories Steve had told her late at night, the way his voice would soften when he spoke about Bucky Barnes.

The childhood memories, the war stories, the way he loved him.

And suddenly, she knew why he had spent so much time with him.

She knew why he had fought so hard.

And guilt crashed over her like a wave.

An emotion she'd never experienced before.

She had been angry.

She had been selfish.

Steve had spent years grieving Bucky, thinking he was dead. And now, he wasn't.

And she had been mad at him for it.

Her throat tightened.

Steve noticed instantly, setting his fork down. "Selene?"

She blinked rapidly, her vision blurring. Her breath was shaky when she exhaled, fingers twisting the fabric of her dress that suddenly felt to tight.

Steve was out of his seat in an instant. "Hey, hey—come here."

Selene barely had time to react before he was kneeling beside her, one hand resting gently on her arm, the other cupping her cheek.

"S-sorry," she whispered. "I didn't—" She shook her head. "D-Didn't know."

Steve's expression softened. "I know."

"I was mad," she admitted, voice cracking. "Mad at him. At you." Her hands curled into fists. "Didn't think. D-Didn't—"

"Selene." His voice was so gentle, so kind, it nearly broke her.

She met his gaze, eyes swimming with emotion.

He gave her a small, sad smile. "It's okay."

She exhaled sharply. "Not okay."

Steve squeezed her hand. "It is."

She stared at him, searching. "You—" She hesitated. "Never leave?"

His heart ached.

He reached up, brushing his thumb against her cheek. "Never."

Her lip trembled, and for the first time in weeks, she let him in.

She let herself lean forward, pressing her forehead against his as silent tears slipped down her cheeks.

And Steve—who had spent so long waiting for this, waiting for her—closed his eyes, holding her close.

They stayed like that for a long time.

No more anger. No more distance.

Just them.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Steve pulled back, offering a soft smile. "Think we should finish dinner before the food gets cold?"

Selene sniffed, then—finally—nodded.

They sat side by side this time, eating quietly, their arms brushing every now and then.

And for the first time in weeks, it felt like home again.

_____