It was strange seeing her there, wearing Bucky's shirt, the neck hole too big and Steve was struck with a memory of his own reflection. He'd stood in their tiny bathroom, one of his friend's shirts swimming on him, collarbones and shoulders sticking out into the material as he'd looked into the mirror. A lifetime ago, a different life. Now he stood tall and broad, not little Stevie Rogers anymore.
"Why yes Natasha, I'd love to come in, thank you," he said as he shuffled his way inside and pushed the door closed behind him. Steve knew her, knew her very well and forced ambivalence was something he wasn't buying and he wasn't about to fell into acted out small talk. He was too weary for that, things had been hard enough and Steve was in no mood.
Steve moved to the other side of the room, leaning back against the old benchtop, sitting on the edge as he turned back to look at her. "I got caught up in what I was going through and I haven't been here for you, where I should have been. I should have put it aside and I didn't and that wasn't fair," he said. "But don't go after a secondary target, if you want to throw around some hard words, here I am, but Tony doesn't deserve it."