The wave of relief that swept over Natasha when Steve opened the door was almost embarrassing. It was partly the situation, and partly because the last time she saw him, she wasn't sure how things were going to end for him. But he was safe, as safe as they could both be, and he was there.
"Shut up," she said, and stepped into the room. The toe shoes had already been swapped out for a pair of slippers, but the rest of the outfit was just god awful. She loved dancing ballet, and she loved watching it, but she did not love any part of the costumes she'd been given. At least Steven's wardrobe had something practical in it.
"I can't take myself seriously in this," she said, and before she did anything else, she grabbed the clothes from the bed. "Just... hold on." She disappeared into the bathroom, locking it behind her. The costume was more of a pain to get out of than she'd bargained for, but once the corset was off she could finally breathe, and the less frills she was wearing, the more she felt like herself.
"I don't know what this place is, but I don't like it's sense of humor," she said, loudly enough to be heard from the other side of the door. The pajama pants were too big, but she tied them tightly and rolled them up at the bottom. The shirt was too big, too, and she thought it felt warm. It wasn't until she put it on and could practically smell Steve on it that she realized he'd given her his own. Her hair was still done up when she opened the door, but she looked, and felt, much more like herself without the tutu.