Natasha's POV

I woke up at 6 am. I had only got a few hours of sleep. Everyone else would probably sleep until noon. Tony at least. So I knew I would have the morning for myself. I went out of bed, feeling the cold air from the room touch my body. It sure is more comfortable in bed but I love lonely mornings. It's like I'm the only one left in the world. No problems. No death. I didn't want to feel or think though. So I decided to go dancing, since it's the only thing that makes me forget about everything for a while. Lucky for me, Tony had been kind enough to make a ballet studio for me, since he actually did read my file. I put on a white top and a black skirt. I took my ballet shoes in my hand and walked out of my room barefoot. The floor was cold against my feet but I didn't care. I enjoyed the silence.

Steve's POV

I couldn't get much sleep. Not after the dream. It's the same one over and over again. And I'm just as scared every time. It starts with Natasha. I don't know why. But she's laying right beside me in the left side of the bed. I stare into her green eyes before I doze of into sleep. Then, I wake up. Only to find myself 20 years into the future. And I always wake up in my bed alone.

I couldn't handle my thoughts about my dream so I decided to go and get something to drink. I went to my fridge only to realise that my orange juice is gone. I always drink it when I have trouble sleeping so I decided to go out in the living room area to get some from the fridge there. I put on some clothes and walked out my door. The hallway were cold and quiet. I went to the fridge and found a bottle of orange juice. I smiled as I found it. I went back to the hallway and bumped into Natasha as I turned around.

"Oh I'm sorry." I said as I accidentally had hit her shoulder with my elbow. (She's a little shorter than me).

"Are you out seeking for.. Orange juice?" She said, surprised by the object in my hands.

"Helps me sleep." I said looking at her. She wore a white top and a skirt. I couldn't put it together until I saw the ballet shoes in her hands.

"You dance ballet?" I said.

"Yes." She answered. "I'm still surprised you didn't know. Everyone reads my file."

"Well, I don't like to judge people because of their past." I said.

"Maybe you should." She said looking into my eyes. "If you had read my file, you would judge me. Just like everyone else. Even me."

"I don't believe that." I said.

"Yeah, I know. But just because you believe something doesn't make it true." She said. "Everything isn't black and white Rogers."

"I'm still right about you though." I said.

"You don't even know me."

"Maybe not."

"If you excuse me, I'm going to leave your misson for some juice, and find my way to the ballet studio." She said.

And she walked away.

I couldn't help it. I shouldn't follow her. But I just couldn't stay here.

Natasha's POV

I got into the ballet studio and put on some music. I put on my ballet shoes and stood up, watching myself in the mirrors. My red hair was curled and my face looked pale. I stood on my toes and began dancing. I made twirls over the floor and tried to get lost in the steps and the music. But it didn't work this time. Instead, everything and nothing came back to me. All memories, all the pain. All my feelings. I was angry. I was angry at my past and at all the reasons I got to where I am. I could be in an apartment in a small town, cooking myself some food. Just happily enjoying small things. Being just a little bit happy. But that wouldn't work. I don't even know what the definition of happy is. All I know is that I've never experienced it. And I know for a fact that that's not my fault. Anger bubbled in me and before I realised what I was doing, my fist slammed into one of the mirror in front of me. It broke in pieces that fell to the floor. My hand hurt but I didn't mind. I didn't care. I stood still breathing for a few seconds before I quickly sat down in front of the broken mirror. I took up a piece with my right hand, since the other ones hurt. I looked into my reflection before I realised another person in the room.

"Please go." I said, trying to sound cold and hard. It didn't work as my feelings were too uncontrollable.

"Are you okey?" Steve said, walking towards me.

"Yeah, one of my better days actually." I said honestly. He looked surprised by my tone. I was clearly honest.

He reached me his hand, to help me on my feet. Without thinking I took it with my left hand. Sending out a small amount of pain in my body. Steve noticed the blood as soon as I took his hand. Without asking, he dragged me into a room a few doors away and got some things to patch up my hand. I sat down at a chair while he got the stuff he needed.

"It's just some scratches. I'll take care of it." I finally said as I had calmed myself down.

"Maybe I didn't read your file, but I do know that you're a leftie, which means you can't patch up your left hand with your right." He smirked.

I smiled but it soon faded and I looked down.

"Back in my days," He started jokingly. "They said that crashing a mirror will give you 7 years of bad luck. Maybe you should think about that the next time." He smirked.

"What is 7 years when your whole life have been made out of bad luck?" I said smirking back.

"Yeah well I don't believe that either. I've crashed a few mirrors myself and I'm still sitting here with you." He said.

"What are you saying?" I said surprised by his flirtatious behaviour.

"I'm saying that maybe, you could get some good luck, if you wanted it." He said.

"Was that a request?" I said smirking.

"An advice." He said as he finished patching up my hand. "Please don't break any more mirrors." He smiled and let go of my hand. He grabbed his juice he had put on the counter and walked out.