Hey guys. So I wanted to do a one shot with Steve and Natasha and the aftermath of The Winter Soldier. So here goes.
"You shouldn't be out of hospital yet, Steve." Natasha repeated for the umpteenth time as she glanced at him. They were sitting in a taxi that was taking them back to Steve's apartment. The taxi driver sat in front and hadn't spoken a word since they had gotten in, and his curly black hair obstructed Natasha view of the road.
Steve looked terrible. Usually it was hard for Natasha to describe things using only one word. Generally, one word couldn't exactly encapsulate what Natasha wanted to describe. But, sitting in a taxi, watching Steve breathe in strained gasps, she couldn't think of a better word. Terrible. He was pale and sweating and his eyes were squeezed shut tightly. His big hands were balled into fists that were so tight his knuckles were white and the veins in his forearms bulged.
"I needed to get out." Steve replied. His voice was barely louder than a whisper and, had Natasha not been paying attention, she wouldn't have heard him. She had tried to convince him to stay so many times, she had tried to take him back to his hospital room, but he had blatantly refused. Even though he could barely stand upright and he could hardly walk without support, he was determined to leave. Natasha had understood what it felt like to be restricted, to need to escape, so she had finally agreed to accompany Steve, however reluctantly.
"Your apartment isn't cleaned up, yet." Natasha stated. She wasn't sure of how Steve would react when he saw the apartment. She didn't know what he had been through, she didn't know what had happened between Steve and The Winter Soldier on that helicarrier, and she probably never would. But, since he had woken up in that hospital, he had been a closed book. Generally, Steve was quite open about what he felt was right and what he felt what was wrong. His moral codes left no room for gray areas, but he had never exactly been open about his emotions. Natasha never really knew what he was feeling. Not just about the crime they fought, but about everything. He had lost everyone and everything he had once known, his ground had been shattered and collapsed beneath his feet, but he had never once shown how he felt about it.
So, it wasn't so strange that Steve was closing in on himself after what he had experienced, whatever that had been, but it was strange that she hadn't seen him smile for three days. She hadn't seen him joke around for three days. She hadn't seen the spark in his eyes that she usually could see. Steve wasn't himself anymore, and Natasha didn't know how to get him to open up. Emotions weren't exactly her strong suit, they never had been and never would be, but Steve needed her. So, someway, somehow, she was going to have to learn to express herself and make others feel comfortable enough to express themselves.
"It's okay." Steve replied. He lifted his right arm and held it over his stomach, right where the bullet wound was, and he held it there protectively. He had been shot three times, stabbed once, and beaten to a pulp, but he was awake and he was up and he was moving, and Natasha couldn't quite comprehend how someone could be so strong. Steve kept pushing, no matter how injured he was. But, he was in pain and it was clear to see.
Would it be okay? Was Steve okay? Natasha wanted to ask Steve what had happened, why Bucky hadn't killed him, but she didn't know how to. Someone had carried Steve out of that water and left him on the bank, that was clear. He had bled too much and had too much internal damage to even swim to the surface. So, someone had saved Steve's life, and Natasha had a feeling it was Bucky, but she would never truly know.
Steve threw his head back and his face twisted into a grimace as the taxi drove over a pothole in the road. The neat line of stitches by his mouth pulled and Natasha found herself worrying about whether he would tear the stitches. His swollen face was ghostly white where the skin wasn't bruised or lacerated, and it stood in stark contrast to the dark blues and reds and purples of the bruises. "You okay?" Natasha asked and she could have slapped herself. What a stupid question. He obviously wasn't okay physically, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that out.
Steve nodded slowly and replied, "It's not like the hospital could have done anything else for me."
The words were harsh and they really cut into Natasha. Steve was right. Even if he had been in hospital, it wasn't like they had painkillers that could ease the pain and it wasn't like they had any ways of easing his discomfort. The serum had a lot of advantages and benefits, but it also had a lot of disadvantages, and they made Natasha wonder whether the serum was really worth it. "Don't be so cynical." Natasha said, trying desperately to lighten the mood. She needed to, she just couldn't handle the heaviness of the atmosphere in the cab. She couldn't deal with the emotions and tenseness and dependence that hung around her.
"I never used to be." Steve replied flatly. That one really killed Natasha. That was what ensured Natasha that Steve was hurting, not only physically but emotionally. He was broken, and it was because of someone he had once regarded as a best friend. Steve was in no way naive, or innocent, but he had a sense of naïvety about him. It was the way he believed that everyone was worth saving and that everyone had some good in them, no matter what they had done. It was the way he still had faith in humanity and the way he still believed the world could be a better place, even though he had experienced things that should have convinced him otherwise.
"Don't start." Natasha replied. The Winter Soldier had managed to shatter Steve's optimistic attitude and Natasha would give anything to make him suffer for doing that. "Don't change." Natasha had always seen Steve as old-fashioned and, for lack of a better word, ignorant to the faults of the world and, even though she never really said it out loud, she had always secretly hoped Steve would open his eyes and finally view the world for what it truly was. But, now that it had happened, she only wished Steve could regain some of the unrelenting faith he once had. But, once something is broken it can never really be put back together again. Not fully.
"I needed to." Steve shrugged, and he immediately regretted the decision as hot spikes of pain travelled through his injured shoulder. Natasha watched helplessly as he winced and curled in on himself, only to straighten out again as he clutched at his stomach. It broke her heart seeing Steve so broken and vulnerable. He was usually so strong and a constant, steady support for her and for the rest of the team, but now he was so weak, and it scared her.
"No, you didn't." Natasha said, shaking her head. Would Steve ever be the same? "You didn't." Natasha repeated. A lump was forming in her throat and she willed it away as tears stung hotly in her eyes. She wouldn't cry. She refused to cry. And she realized Steve did, too, and that's why she would never know if he was okay.
The taxi pulled up to the sidewalk by Steve's apartment and Natasha didn't move for a long, long time as she watched Steve look at the apartment in silence. Then, she leaned forward and paid the taxi driver and climbed out of the car slowly. Her black jeans and navy blue cargo jacket absorbed the heat, and for a moment, Natasha allowed herself to stand in the sun and take it in. It felt good on her skin, it warmed the tips of her fingers and it heated the iciness off her nose. Then, she walked to Steve's side of the car and stood aside as he opened the door slowly.
He needed help but she knew he wouldn't accept hers, so she allowed him to do it himself and maintain the dignity she knew he so desperately hung on to. He swung his uninjured leg out the taxi and slowly moved his injured leg out until both feet were planted firmly on the ground. Then he hoisted himself up and held on the metal frame of the car as though it was his only lifeline. He wavered dangerously, even with the support of the car, and Natasha rushed forward to hold him up. "I'm okay." He whispered through clenched teeth, and Natasha backed away slowly.
He rested his forehead on his hand and took a few steadying breaths before pushing himself away from the car and slamming the door shut. He wasn't putting any weight on his injured leg and his right arm remained tightly tucked around his midsection as the taxi drove off. Then, Natasha wrapped her arm around his waist and pulled his left arm over her shoulders. He winced in pain, and tried to pull away, but Natasha refused to let him go. He needed her support both physically and emotionally and she was damn well going to be there for him.
They managed to limp and hobble and stagger to the front door that led into Steve's apartment building. Steve was trying to keep his weight off her, but he was hurting more with each step and he started leaning on her more and more, and Natasha willingly shouldered his weight. When they reached the door, Steve fumbled in his pocket for his keys and finally managed to unlock the gate and door with trembling hands. His breathing was uneven and strained and resembled panting.
"Steve, if you tell me what you want, I can fetch it and you can come back to my place." Natasha suggested as she stared at the flight of stairs in front of her. There was no way Steve could make it up those stairs. Not in his condition. She could feel Steve's muscles contracting and tensing under her touch, and she wasn't sure whether Steve would be able to even stay standing much longer. His injuries had been serious and they had almost killed him. Now, three days later, Steve was on his feet, and he wasn't supposed to be.
"No, I need to do this." Steve said stubbornly.
Natasha sighed and nodded grimly as she helped Steve over to the stairs. The first step was the hardest because Steve couldn't put any weight on his injured leg, and he couldn't pull his arm away from his stomach and lift it high enough to find purchase on the wall without screaming and almost doubling over in pain. But, soon enough, they managed to come up with a pattern that led them up the stairs relatively quickly and without Steve almost passing out from the pain. But by the time they had reached Steve's floor, he could hardly breathe and Natasha was shouldering almost his entire body weight.
He led her to the wooden door at the end of the hallway. It had tape all over it declaring it a crime scene. He was shaking too much to unlock and open the door, so Natasha took the keys from him and did it. She turned on the lights because the setting evening sun barely offered any light to Steve's apartment and she couldn't see where she was going.
The inside of the apartment was a mess. Rubble and wood and glass and concrete lay scattered across the floor, and Fury's blood still stained Steve's furniture and flooring. Police tape and crime scene tags were everywhere, and Natasha suddenly felt anger boil up inside of her. She figured they could have at least had the dignity to wipe Fury's blood off the floor and at least take away the crime scene tags. Steve deserved to go home to his apartment, not a crime scene, especially after what he had been through.
Steve was staring at the destruction emotionlessly, and he said nothing. Natasha searched for the nearest couch and lay him down on it. He grunted and cried out in pain, then curled in on himself as he lay on the couch. Natasha watched helplessly and forced herself to wipe any emotions off her face. She sat on the couch adjacent to Steve and watched the sun set outside. The purples and reds and oranges illuminated the room and gave it an almost dreamlike quality. Deep inside, Natasha wished it was all just a dream, that Steve was still Steve, and SHIELD was still SHIELD.
Then, Steve managed to push himself up into a sitting position. His brown leather jacket and white shirt and light blue jeans shone in the evening light and he looked so young. And so scared. And in so much pain. "Bucky did this." Steve stated suddenly and Natasha was slightly taken aback. He wasn't looking at her, he was staring off into the distance, so she wasn't sure whether he wanted a reply or not, but she answered anyway.
"No. Bucky didn't do this, the Winter Soldier did this, Steve." Natasha replied. She wasn't sure whether she believed what she was saying, but she knew it was what Steve needed to hear, so she said it. They sat in silence for a long time, and the tenseness was almost palpable. Steve was curled in on himself and he was swaying back and forth as he stared at the beautiful sunset. Then he stopped rocking and he straightened up as much as his battered body would allow, and he turned to look at Natasha with huge, blue eyes. His eyes were red and wet, but there were no tears. Natasha hadn't expected there to be any.
"They did something to him." Steve said and Natasha opened her mouth to reply but Steve shook his head and continued. "He didn't know who I was. He couldn't remember me."
Natasha nodded slowly, and she searched for the right words to say. How could you make someone feel better when their best friend tried to kill them? How could you comfort someone when their best friend had almost succeeded in killing them? Natasha shifted uncomfortably but kept eye contact with Steve. "Deep inside, he knew who you were." She replied, and this time she truly believed it. She believed it was Bucky who had pulled Steve put of that water, and if he had done that it meant that he had remembered. Maybe not everything, but he had remembered something and that was enough.
"I could have saved him." Steve said, and tears suddenly shone in his blue eyes. "That day on the train, I could have been faster, I could have been better and I could have saved him. I could have but I didn't."
"Don't you dare do that to yourself, Steve. Okay? Don't you dare!" Natasha said firmly. She knew what it was like to harbor guilt and she knew that it could destroy a person. She knew it could make them only a shell of what they once were. She had seen it happen before and she had experienced it before. And she couldn't let that happen to Steve, especially when he couldn't have done anything differently. Guilt was a terrible, destructive thing, and it was even worse when it was wrongly felt. "You couldn't have saved him. Don't do that to yourself, God damn it."
Steve didn't reply for a long and time and Natasha thought she had finally made him understand. He just stared through her, looking but not really seeing. "He would have killed me." Steve said, and the tears shone brightly. His bottom lip quivered for a second until he bit it and tried his best to compose himself. "Nat, he almost killed me. He hates me. He hates me."
"Steve, he was brainwashed." Natasha argued, desperately trying to convince Steve otherwise. She knew what HYDRA was capable of and she knew that they had both the power and knowledge to brainwash someone. The Winter Soldier had been a killing machine. He had been told to do what he did and he had been convinced that it was the right thing to do. "He was doing what he was told. He didn't hate you. He just knew he needed to kill you because HYDRA told him to."
Steve shook his head, slowly. "I was his mission." Steve said. "I am his mission. I'm not his friend." A single tear fell down Steve's cheek but he didn't bother wiping it away. Natasha watched it slip off his face and fall to his jeans. Then she looked up and found Steve watching her again. Tears were blurring her own vision, but she wouldn't let them fall. She couldn't. She needed to be strong for Steve. He needed her and she wouldn't let him down. She couldn't. Not when he had stood by her and protected her and supported her through thick and thin. "But you know what the worst part is?"
Natasha shook her head and wiped at her eyes furiously. "What?" She asked.
Steve gulped and wiped tears off his cheeks, but new ones quickly replaced the old ones. "Before I fell, I saw Bucky again. In his eyes. I could see that he remembered me. I could see it." Steve said. And then he did something Natasha couldn't have prepared herself for, ever. He let out a sob and curled in on himself and he started crying. Natasha watched motionlessly for a second before springing to her feet and stumbling over to Steve. She wrapped him in her arms and held his trembling form to her chest as though she could protect him from the harshness of the world. She wished she could.
"He saved you. He pulled you out that water." Natasha stated. She allowed her own tears to fall as she comforted Steve in her arms. He was leaning into her chest and he was gripping at her clothes and his trembling reverberated into her body, and he kept trying to push away from her, but she refused to let him go. She couldn't let him go. "Steve, the Winter Soldier is not Bucky. Okay? Remember that. There's a difference."
"I... I thought I had lost Bucky. I thought he was dead. But getting so close to him, knowing he was still alive..." Steve trailed off and he pushed away from Natasha and stood on incredibly unsteady feet. He stumbled past the couch and towards the kitchen. Natasha followed him and watched him as he leaned heavily on the counter top and took a few steadying breaths. Then he slammed the table top with his fist, and fell back against the wall. His trembling form slid down the wall and he curled in on himself as much as his battered body allowed. Natasha tried to sit beside him and wrap him in her arms, but Steve shook his head and whispered, "No."
She watched him silently for what felt like hours, and she sat down across from him. Steve's head was buried in his hands and he was pulling at his blond hair so hard that Natasha worried he would pull his hair out. "Steve, maybe we should go. Tell me what you need to fetch and I'll get it for you." Natasha whispered and she placed a comforting hand on his knee. He flinched and Natasha pulled her hand away as if she had touched red hot fire. Her heart broke. Not only for herself but for Steve, too. She gulped and watched Steve. Her heart was racing and her throat felt like it was restricting. She couldn't help Steve, who was she kidding? Steve was hurting too much for her to fix him. He needed Bucky.
"I can't lose him again, Nat." Steve said suddenly, shattering the tense silence that had filled the room. "I just can't. Not again."
"You won't," Natasha said, shaking her head. She tried to put herself in Steve's shoes, but she just couldn't. She couldn't even begin to imagine what it must have felt like believing that you killed your best friend then, seventy years later, finding out you hadn't. Finding out your best friend was alive but that they wanted to kill you. And, had she been honest, she wasn't sure she wanted to be able to feel what Steve felt.
"But how do you know that?" Steve argued. His voice was so pained and shaky. Natasha had never seen Steve show his emotions, and she had never seen him break down. Not after he woke up and found out that everything and everyone he had once loved was dead. Not when he had been hurt in the Chitauri incident and spent two long days in the hospital writhing in pain and fighting a poison that wreaked havoc on his body. Not when he had found out that Bucky was alive and not when he had found out that The Winter Soldier wanted to kill him. It had all become too much for Steve to bear on his own, and he couldn't hold it in anymore. And Natasha could do nothing but watch him break apart in front of her, she was helpless and she hated it.
"I don't." Natasha replied honestly. For a long time, Steve sat on the floor and stared at the flooring in front of him. Then, he stood up on wobbly legs and Natasha leapt up nervously. She grabbed his arm and looped it over her shoulders, and she helped Steve stagger towards his bedroom. His breathing was so strained and his cheeks were still wet with tears. She wondered if those were the first tears Steve had shed in seventy years. Probably.
She left him in his room and sat silently on his couch as she allowed him the time to gather his stuff. He would spend the night at her house, mainly because he was too injured to do anything by himself, but also because she and Sam had discussed it and had agreed that they were too nervous to leave Steve alone. Not after what he had been through. For a second time, his world had shattered around him and his floor and crumbled beneath his feet. Natasha wished she could make everything better. She seemed to be wishing a lot lately.
By the time Steve was finished in his room, the sun had set, air had cooled, and Natasha had managed to compose herself. It had taken almost two hours.
Natasha heard footsteps and she turned and looked up so she was facing Steve. He was standing in the doorway of his bedroom with a backpack slung over his good shoulder. He was hunched, his right arm still clutched at his injured midsection, and his injured leg was bent at the knee and supporting none of his weight. But, the tears were gone and he was staring at Natasha with such determination that Natasha knew without Steve having to say anything. Steve was back. Whatever he had made himself believe in his bedroom, it had worked, because Steve was back. "You okay?" Natasha asked.
She stood and walked towards Steve. This time, he smiled and nodded. A genuine smile that Natasha hadn't seen in days. And she smiled back. "What about Bucky?" She asked.
"It's not the end of the line, yet." Steve replied. Natasha didn't understand the reference. And she didn't ask. Steve was back, and as long as he was okay, she was okay.