Natasha had always been a skilled liar. She could make a man believe she loved him, or make him believe she felt nothing at all. She could convince a person that she was innocent, she could convince them she was cruel.
She could convince an entire team that she did not remember someone. She could pretend not to know the way a man worked, and she could definitely make people believe she was not attached to the person they were tracking.
However, she did remember the man. She remembered his scent, his taste, his voice. She was attached to their attacker. She remembered his name, his weaknesses, his skills. She remembered him.
"He looked right at me, and he didn't even recognize me," the blonde spoke from across the truck, and Natasha pretended she didn't know how that felt as she clutched her shoulder. "That's not your fault, Steve," she croaked, and pretended not to know who's fault it really was. "Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky," he whispered, and she pretended not to know how that felt, as well.
She continued to lie as they devised a plan to take down the threat. She continued to lie when they acted on it. She didn't know how to stop lying, even after it was over.
She walked into her apartment, taking a deep breath. She didn't have to pretend anymore. It was here where she could remember the man and miss him, where she could dwell on their memories. With one hand resting on her healing shoulder, she sat down and relaxed for the first time since they found themselves mixed in the situation. In a day, she'd relocate and hopefully, forget the entire event. She could finally forget him.
She could forget the way he said her name, softly, but possessively. She could forget the way he protected her from harm, even in their line of business. She could forget the way he held her to keep her from succumbing to her fears. Or, she could just pretend to forget.
He haunted her nightmares, and her dreams. Each time she closed her eyes, she could see his face, whether it was his glare, or his smile. Sometimes, if she concentrated, it was his voice that came to her mind. "Natalia," he would whisper, and she would respond with a quiet, "James." She could hear him calling out to her, "Natalia, Natalia, Natalia-"
"Natalia."
She was separated from her thoughts as she heard it. It was too real, it couldn't have been her imagination. She stood up, walking around the room slowly, her hand grazing her gun. She couldn't see anyone, but she knew when she was not alone.
"Natalia," she heard it again, and turned around towards the voice. The room was dark, and she couldn't see. She knew that voice. She was startled as a hand grabbed her wrist. She knew that touch. She turned around, looking at the figure that now stood in front of her.
"Natalia."
"James."
She couldn't breathe, even if she wanted to.
"You know me," he spoke softly, emotionless.
"I know you," she answered.
"You're Natalia," he spoke slowly, as if he was trying to understand. She nodded in response. "I know you," he continued. "I know of you," he corrected himself.
She read the reports. She knew he saved Steve's life. She knew he ran off, and yet here he was. "What do you know?" She asked, looking at him nervously. He stared her in a way that made her shiver, almost as if he was analyzing her every movement and thought. He shook his head slowly, and she could only smile sadly at his actions. "But you know me." He nodded.
Her next moves were bold, but in her mind, it was necessary. She moved her hand from her gun to his neck, then moved closer to him. "You know me," she repeated, and his eyes fluttered from her to the ground. For a moment, she thought he would attack her, but he didn't move. In fact, he almost seemed frozen. This, of course, did not stop the assassin. No, instead, she hoisted herself up on her toes and pressed her lips to his. They were colder than before, but she didn't mind. He still did not move.
Until he did. When he did, he placed his arms on her hips – both metal and flesh – and molded himself against her, and kissed her back just as passionately.
"Natalia," he whispered after a bit.
"James," she responded, a smile playing at her lips.
"I missed you," he said, running his right arm through her hair.
"I missed you too," she answered honestly.
She didn't have to pretend anymore, and she wouldn't.
A/N: Just a one-shot because tears. The end.