Title: Here's a Little Heartbreak
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~3,000
Characters: Steve/Natasha
Prompts: "No, it was my fault for thinking that you might care." + "I think I've been holding myself back from falling in love with you all over again." + "Those things you said yesterday… Did you mean them?" + "Steve and Natasha break up. After 3 months, Steve is still miserable but trying to move on. Natasha is still miserable but stubbornly refusing to admit it and pretends everything is okay. One day, the other Avengers start acting weird around her and then she finds out it's because Steve is going on a date."
Summary: She needed space, so she ran, and he didn't follow. She doesn't know which one of them she hates more for that.
For: iavenge and bloodredmoon87
Here's a Little Heartbreak
She hasn't seen him since…
Well, since he told her he loved her and she picked a fight with him and walked away.
She doesn't know what ever compelled her to think that they could ever work. He's another lifetime away from her and she doesn't think she could ever absolve for the horrible things that happened at her hands. She hates herself for believing that she even really deserved his trust to begin with, let alone his total admiration. He looked at her like she was everything and she didn't know what to do with that. She still doesn't. She doesn't know how she let herself get caught up in the illusion of him, but she did, and she hates herself for falling for it.
She kind of hates him for it, too. For falling for her. All she knows is how to trick, how to lure, and he's supposed to be too good to get caught up.
They needed space. She needed space, so she ran, and he didn't follow. She doesn't know which one of them she hates more for that.
... ...
Maria gives her space, too. The kind she wouldn't give anyone else. Natasha knows it's selfish, but she's the one person Maria wouldn't say no to, and that's why it was Maria's door she showed up at that night.
It isn't decided or anything, but Natasha starts staying in her guest bedroom and Maria comes back one day with a box of Natasha's stuff from Steve's apartment and neither of them talk about it. She doesn't know what the woman knows, if Steve told her anything. He probably wouldn't. He'd answer her questions if she had any, but Maria wouldn't have asked.
She knows Maria sees him often. Natasha isn't around the facility as much, which is an easy thing to do when the woman giving your orders happens to be your roommate.
Maria's going over debriefs on her tablet and Natasha catches his name on one of the files. She doesn't say anything, but Maria tells her, "He misses you."
She knows. There are fewer each day, but there are still a few texts, a call here or there, usually late into the night. He hadn't been relentless before, but he'd been more insistent. He called often, but the only messages he ever left were asking her to answer, to see him. His texts were the same way. Whatever conversation he wanted them to have, he wanted it to be in person. She's always admired his strength, the way he never backed down from something he believed in. She kind of wishes he'd stop believing in her, though, which is stupid when that's kind of the one thing that's always made everything okay. But she can't have this conversation with him, and the only way he'd stop insisting on it is if he's given up on her.
It's what she wants, but it's also the one thing that would break her heart more than anything else.
... ...
Love is for children, she'd said once.
Maybe that's why she feels like crying all the time. She's far too stubborn for that, though.
... ...
"I just – I don't understand," Wanda says, and Natasha pauses in the doorway to Maria's office. "What happened?"
"I wish I knew," Maria answers. She sounds upset in a way Natasha hasn't heard since she moved in. She wonders exactly what Maria feels about all of this.
Wanda says something else, but then a hand is on her shoulder and Natasha turns to meet Sam's eyes. This isn't the first time she's seen him since that night, and part of her really believed that he'd hate her for what she did to Steve. It was hard to tell at first, because she hadn't been around the facility those first couple of weeks, and then she'd only ever see him in passing. He hasn't acted any different around her, though, because he's too good a man to do something like that. Everyone in her life, it seems, are more than she deserves.
He pulls her into a hug, which she doesn't really understand at first. They didn't used to hug before, but then he squeezes her shoulder ever so slightly, and she blinks and her chest sort of tightens at the gesture, because Steve used to do that same thing when he hugged her.
(She wonders, briefly, if maybe Steve had told Sam to do that. Then she feels absolutely pathetic for even thinking that at all.)
"How are you?" he asks.
"I don't know," she says, because she's never lied to him before, and she's not about to. She doesn't know if that counts as being moral, but at this point, she doesn't care.
He nods, tucks his hands into his pockets and holds her gaze. "He's miserable," Sam say, and she knows he's not being spiteful. He just wants her to know.
She just presses her lips together and glances away. She doesn't know what to say to that.
... ...
She's miserable, too. But that's pretty much a given.
... ...
"What the hell are you doing, Nat?"
Laura angles a look at Clint, but the guy just brushes it aside, spooning more yogurt into Baby Nathaniel's mouth. Honestly, one of the reasons why Natasha hasn't visited them since the breakup until now is because she knew Clint wouldn't let her get away with not talking about things the way Maria has. She knew she couldn't stay in New York over the Fourth of July weekend, though, so she packed a bag, sent Maria a text and then showed up on their doorstep unannounced. She knew they wouldn't mind. They hadn't even looked surprised.
"I'm doing what I do best," she answers, gripping her beer bottle too tightly. "I saw the situation going south so I opted out."
"Bullshit." Laura hisses his name and he murmurs an apology, still staring at Natasha. Despite the frustration in his tone, though, his expression is soft. "You're in love with him."
"That hardly means I'm what's best for him," she points out. "It's better that I get out now than to be too far gone when he figures out how he actually feels."
"I've seen the way he is with you, Natasha," Laura tells her. The girl hardly ever cries, but she sounds like she could right now. "He's in love with you. Those feelings are true."
She swallows, hard, and glances away. "Truth is a matter of circumstance."
... ...
She learns it from Sharon, and she knows that the girl was trying to be careful about it, because she kept stopping herself from even mentioning Steve, and as soon as the words are out, she has this sort of stunned look on her face, like she can't believe her own slip-up. Natasha isn't mad, though.
Who is she to judge on a lapse of control?
"Natasha," Sharon says, tilting her head a little. She kind of looks like she wants to say something, but then she presses her lips together. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"
She shakes her head, though, gives the girl the best smile she can muster. It must be at least a little convincing, because Sharon eases ever so slightly.
"It wasn't his idea," she tells Natasha quickly. "He just – it's a blind date. He's too nice of a person to say no." She wants to laugh. Yeah, she knows. "He still misses you."
"He shouldn't," Natasha says, and Sharon looks as hurt by this as Natasha feels.
... ...
Tony, she learns, is the one behind the blind date. Part of her feels like she should be pissed, maybe even a little betrayed. But she hardly has the right to feel either of those things.
He has a party at the penthouse that Maria talks her into going to, and she sees Steve half an hour after arriving. She should've left right then and there, but she didn't.
She's far more self-destructive than she thought, apparently.
Someone hands her a glass of something dark and bitter that she hates the taste of, and she takes gulps of it between casual conversations that she makes to keep herself distracted from keeping tabs on Steve across the room. It works, for the most part, and she lets the alcohol numb the rest of the world away. It's a little easier to lose herself in the atmosphere of the party, at least until someone tries to put their hands on her hips, and then she feels someone's arm around her shoulders, sweeping her away from the bar and into the hallway.
"Tony," she starts to say, but then he's talking before she can get anything else out.
"Okay, confession time," Tony says, taking her elbow and turning her so that he can look her in the eyes. "What happened between you and Steve?"
She blinks. "Why would I tell you?"
"So we're playing that game, huh?" he asks. She doesn't respond. "Okay, maybe because, one day you two just decided to stop having anything to do with each other and everyone went along with it and I don't get that. Or maybe because, when I decide to cheer this miserable fellow up by introducing him to a nice lady, he tells me that he had a great time and then never calls her back and I don't get that. Or maybe because both of you are at your worst without each other but you're not together and I don't get that. So explain it to me."
She just stares at him. The funny thing is, she kind of does want to give him an answer, but she doesn't know how to get the words out anymore.
"You still love him," he says. It's the truth, and she's known it all along. She doesn't know why it's still so surprising to hear it, but maybe that's because she hasn't dared let herself even think it in the last three months, let alone say them out loud.
"Of course I do." Her voice barely comes out above a whisper but she knows he heard her.
Tony holds her gaze. "So do something about it."
"I am," she hisses, and then yanks her elbow from his grasp and walks away.
... ...
He calls her a few hours after the party, at 4:00 in the morning, and she sort of just stares at his name on her phone and watches it ring. She should just let it go, which is what she's always done, but she still hears Tony's voice in her ears – You still love him – and feels her heart tighten in her chest as she stares at his contact picture that she hadn't changed. The two of them together on the couch, her face pressed into his shoulder as he held her close, his dimpled smile angled at the camera. He'd taken it, of course, in his habit of taking her phone and snapping pictures of her for no particular reason, and she'd pretended to hate it more than she really did. There was something about this picture that she'd loved, though.
(He looks so happy.)
"What?" she asks, and maybe she had tried to sound annoyed, but her voice comes out in this soft, uncertain whisper.
"Natasha," he says. He's surprised that she even answered, she can tell, and it's unfair for him to just rasp her name like that, the way he used to when they were pressed together under their sheets, her legs wrapped around his hips as he pressed as close to her as possible, whispering sweet things into her ear.
She swallows, tries to calm herself. It doesn't really work, though. "What is it?"
"I just," he starts, but then blows out a breath. It's quiet for a moment, and neither of them say anything, and she wonders if she should just hang up. "Did you mean them?"
"What?"
He exhales another breath, the way he does whenever he's trying to pull himself together. She wonders if he had been crying earlier, or if he is, right now, the way she's trying not to. "Those things you said earlier, to Tony at the party," he goes on, and she feels herself hold her breath, stomach fluttering. He heard them? How did he— "Did you mean them?"
"Steve," she breathes. Her eyes are watery and she hates it. She hates this. "Can we not talk about this right now?"
"Why not?" His voice is hard, stubborn, and so very him that it draws a soft, sharp breath from her throat. There's a pause, and she knows he just heard her little cry. "Natasha?" he asks, softer now. She inhales shakily, tries to speak, but she can't get the words out. "Fuck," he mutters. She shakes her head. "Don't…" Don't cry. "Natasha—"
"Stop. Just stop." He can't keep saying her name like that. She can't handle it.
"Stop?" She can hear the shift in his tone, and there's an edge to it, now. One he's never used with her before. "Is that what you want? You want this to stop?"
She hadn't meant it like that, at all, but she sort of feels like she can't breathe right now, and she can't correct herself soon enough. "Steve—"
"No, it was my fault for thinking that you might care." His voice is harsh, but she can hear him breaking a little, too. "Sorry for bothering you," he says, and then the line goes dead before she can respond.
... ...
She cries, and it's hardly the first time since they broke up, but she thinks it's the worst yet.
Maria brings her coffee in the morning, sits with her on the bed as she cradles the mug in her hands and sort of just stares out the window. It's bright, too bright, just the way Steve always likes his mornings to be. She looks away.
... ...
It's rather ironic, really, that as many times as she's flirted with death on missions, her closest encounter is because of a drunk driver in the city.
She feels like shit when she comes to, maybe worse than she's felt coming home from most missions, and she only vaguely remembers the whole thing – headlights blaring at her through the windows, the force of the impact, the sound of glass shattering, and then nothing. She sees Helen hovering at her bedside when her vision blurs back into focus, blood staining her gloves, cheeks red and dried with tears. Her voice shakes as she's filling Natasha in, but Natasha barely notices. She's too busy staring at the person standing behind her.
"Make sure she doesn't move out of this bed," Helen tells Steve, and Steve nods, murmurs a thank you as she leaves the room. The door slides closed, and then it's quiet.
He exhales slowly, glances up at the ceiling. He won't look at her. Somehow that makes this all worse.
She thinks she should say something, but she doesn't know what. She doesn't know. That's kind of been the problem since the beginning.
Then he meets her eyes and she thinks the impact hits her a hell of a lot harder than the crash did, because he looks devastated, and it's stupid that this makes her feel relieved, but it does and she hardly cares. The thought of losing her had been too much.
He presses his lips together. She can't quite read his expression right now, but it doesn't frustrate (scare) her like it used to. She just stares right back at him.
Then he lets out this little breath, relief tugging ever so slightly at his features. He moves to sit down in the chair at her bedside and her heart flutters. "Get some rest," he tells her.
She nods. For once, she doesn't question him, doesn't question anything. She just listens.
... ...
When she wakes up again, she feels his hand gripping hers over the sheets, thumb smoothing over her knuckles. She always loved it when he did that.
"I think I've been holding myself back from falling in love with you all over again," he says, voice so soft that she almost doesn't catch it even with how close they are. He pauses, and she thinks that maybe he still thinks she's sleeping, but then his eyes meet hers, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips. She swallows, blinks her eyes at him. "Well, maybe that's a lie," he adds, holding her gaze. "I never fell out of love with you. But I was mad. You walked away from me so easily." His voice breaks. "You just walked away from me like I was nothing."
Her chest tightens. He'd been heartbroken. She can hear it in his voice, and it's worse than him being angry.
"You're everything," she says. Her voice sounds as shitty as she feels. He swallows a little, worry touching his expression, and she doesn't get it. She doesn't understand how this man can love her so much. "That's why I had to walk away."
"Why?"
She lets out a breath and closes her eyes, but then he squeezes her hand and she blinks them open again. "I don't know how to be gentle, Steve."
He shakes his head, lifts her hand up and brushes his lips to the back of it. "Then give me your worst," he murmurs against her skin. "I know how to take a punch."
This man is ridiculous. Completely, utterly crazy. She's no better, though.
"Anything precious would be taken away. That's what they taught me." She shakes her head, her throat tighten, but then his thumb is smoothing over her knuckles again, easing her nerves. She takes in a shaky breath. "You're too important," she says. Her voice is practically a whisper now. "I love you, and I don't know what I'd do if they took you away."
His lips twitch into a smile. "As if anything could get through you and me," he says, and she's sort of crying as this laugh bubbles out of her, but she hardly cares.
... ...
She tucks herself against his chest when he sits back down on the couch, drawing the blanket over their shoulders. She's always cold, and he's always had this ridiculous body heat. They're perfect for each other, really.
She presses her hand flat over his heart as she smiles. "I love you," she tells him.
He hooks a finger under her chin, tips her head back a little. "Promise?"
"Promise," she echoes. Once upon a time, it might've terrified her that he doesn't say the words back. But she doesn't even notice, because then he's kissing her, pressing her as close as possible, and he tells her that he loves her over and over again as he lowers her back against the couch.