I do not own the Avengers, they belong to their creators.
Oh hey look I'm back. I'm deep into NaNo, though, so don't expect any more than this. The idea struck me as I was walking back from class today and it practically wrote itself. I hope you enjoy! It's complete AU, they are not superheroes.
When they finally got together no one was surprised. They were six friends – five men and her – and everyone knew that he was madly in love with her. He always had been. And she had as well, though she was better at hiding it. It was the little things that tipped their friends off – she would "fall asleep" on his shoulder during movie nights, or would take care of those drunks at the bar before they could even think about start a fight with him. She didn't do that with the others. No, they loved each other, and everyone knew it, except them. Then he asked her to dinner, just the two of them, and the rest was history.
It only took a week for the fighting to start, though, and this didn't surprise anyone either. They were too strong and stubborn and they loved each other too much.
They fought over everything, from where they wanted to travel – for they traveled a lot – to what they wanted to have for dinner. They would get to their friends' house bickering, only stopping long enough to greet everyone. She wanted him to be more serious about them, and their work; he wanted her to lighten up and enjoy life a little more. He wanted to get married and have kids someday, and she didn't – couldn't, really. She wanted to go back to Russia someday, and he didn't want to leave their friends and country.
But as bad as the fighting got, they still loved each other more than life, needed each other more than air. The days they arrived to movie night or out to dinner with everyone and they weren't fighting were some of the most rare and perfect times. She walked through the door he held open for her, and they saw a smile – a real smile! – on her face, and everyone knew they were alright.
Yes they fought near constantly, but it never got physical. Except once.
They had been at home, arguing over Russia again. She wanted to go back and visit her grandfather, but he didn't understand how she could want that.
"He beat you!" he cried, slamming his hand down on the counter.
"But he is still my family – my only family, and he's dying! I need to see him!" she yelled back, and he started pacing.
"I'm not going to let you do that."
"You have no say in what I do," she snapped back, venom lacing every syllable. He stopped, staring wide-eyed at her.
"I thought we were supposed to be a team, Tash'," he pleaded, moving from anger to hurt and back to anger again. Is this how she felt from the beginning? They said love, had she been lying? Or were these just empty words spoken in anger?
"I don't need you, I was fine on my own before you and I'll be fine without you!" He surged forward and grabbed the tops of her arms tightly, and shook her.
"How could you say something like that?" His voice broke, and he stared into her wide eyes, his own as wide as they could go. He let go and took a step away, and her hands came up to rub the spots he had grabbed. She would probably have bruises.
"I'm sorry," he breathed as she continued to stare wide-eyed at him, her mouth slightly open.
He had never laid a hand on her like that. She rushed to the front door, grabbed her coat, quickly put on her flats and was gone. He sat down on the stool at the island, head in his hands.
She went to Steve's house, hoping he would be home. He spent a lot of time – as they all did – at Tony's, but it was noon on a Sunday and he was probably just getting back from church. She felt numb, but she didn't cry. She never cried.
She pulled into one of the guest spots in Steve's apartment complex's parking lot, spying Steve's motorcycle in its usual place, and turned her car off. She was at his front door and knocking in less than a minute.
Steve opened the door, his tie halfway untied, his brow furrowed. "Natasha, what brings you here? Isn't Sunday yours and Clint's day alone?" Natasha pushed past him going into his small living room, and she sat down on his couch. Steve followed, and sat down next to her, his tie forgotten. He didn't put his arm around her, as Tony or Thor would have, he merely pressed his huge shoulder into her much smaller one, giving just enough physical comfort. Natasha closed her eyes, feeling Steve press into the dull ache in her bicep from where Clint had grabbed her. "What happened?" he asked softly.
"We had a fight." Steve didn't say anything. "I want to go back to Russia for a while and he doesn't. I said something I shouldn't have and he grabbed me." Her voice was low, almost cold. Steve looked at her profile and saw the barest hint off a shine to her eyes. Steve kept quiet – she didn't need comfort, that's why she went to Steve after a big fight, he knew how to listen. "My grandfather is about to die and I want to see him one more time, even if he wasn't always... nice. Clint doesn't want me to have anything to do with him." She stopped, and leaned into Steve harder. She took a deep breath, and Steve heard a slight hitch to it. "He's right, isn't he..." she whispered, it wasn't quite a question. Steve nodded, and Natasha turned to rest her forehead against his shoulder – the closest she could get to accepting comfort from anyone. Anyone apart from Clint.
"He's never grabbed me like that before..." she trailed off, her voice slightly muffled. They stayed like that for a little while longer.
Finally Natasha took a deep breath and sat up. Steve looked over at her as she wiped her eyes quickly and shook her head, her red hair swishing back and forth as she cleared her head. She looked over at Steve and gave him a small smile. "Thank you."
He smiled back. "Anytime Nat."
When she finally got back home an hour and a half had passed. Clint had moved to the couch and had lain down, cursing himself for his rashness and stupidity. Eventually he had fallen asleep, and when Natasha walked in through the door she saw him. She walked as quietly as she could over to him and sat down on the edge next to his chest. She reached down and placed the back of her hand on his forehead, moving it down to stroke his cheek. He stirred and blearily opened his eyes. He saw her and shot up.
"Natasha I am so sorry I don't know what is wrong with me and I-" She cut him off with a hand to his lips.
"I forgive you, Clint," she moved her hand back to his cheek and leaned in, kissing his lips softly.
Please review! I'll see you all again in 2013.