Heavy Heart

Natasha stood quickly, eyes darting to the silhouetted figure standing in her bedroom door way.

"Steve," she whispered breathlessly, and he cracked a small smile at her surprise.

"What? You thought that I wouldn't come and check on you?" He almost sounded hurt, and her eyes fell to her bare feet.

"Honestly...?" Natasha brought her green eyes to his shining blue orbs, "No. After everything, after everything I did- have done- I honestly thought that you would never want to see me again." Steve made a noise in the back of his throat, and slowly began making his way to stand in front of the spy, her defensive walls creeping up to block his path. He halted about a foot away from her, and Natasha could see his eyes clearly now; dark and filled to the brim with concern.

"You almost died, Nat," his voice broke at her name and she pushed past her walls to lay her palm on his cheek comfortingly. She wanted to wipe away the hurt, lay small kisses across his chest until the tension drained out of him. She would happily take away all of his pain, if she wasn't so certain that he didn't want her. No one wanted a murderer.

As she held his face, a light smile playing at her full lips, Natasha was sure- no certain- that she was not the right girl for Steve. But he was so caring, quiet, and she knew that he often flirted ominously with her, though she knew that all men did the same, and none ever stuck around once they got a glimpse of her darkness.

"Nat.." Steve whispered huskily, leaning into her soft hand, his warm breath sending goosebumps down her arm to her curling toes. "Stop thinking, Nat."

She chuckled softly at his remark. He always knew when she was thinking. Steve would notice her eyes grow darker, and a small crease form between her two striking green eyes. Of course, over the years, he began to learn when she was scared, but determined not to show it, or sad but standing in front of him with a smile. Steve knew her, and he knew that she was currently mentally talking herself out of something.

"Natasha, look at me," Steve reached out with his large hand to lift her delicate chin so that her eyes were raised to his. But once he felt her velvet skin under his rough fingers, he allowed his thumb to coast underneath her lips, tracing her face into his memory. She was a masterpiece to be drawn, to be hung in the most prestigious museums. He wanted her in his memory forever.

His eyes flitted to the bruises lining her neck and collar bone, catching on her bandaged shoulder. The blonde clenched his jaw with anger.

Their mission had gone south earlier that week, and Nat had been caught in the crossfire; a bullet had hit her left shoulder. Steve had held her while she was bleeding out, frantically putting pressure on her wound, tears and pleading words leaving him self at a pace he didn't want to think about. They had grown close over the years of leading the team together, and Steve knew that he had come to fall in love with the red head beauty standing in front of him- alive. Alive, she was alive. The scariest moment of his life however, had been when her heart had stopped on the stretcher while on their way back to the base. He was certain that he had willed his heart to stop then along with hers. He honestly wasn't sure he could live in a world without her fossil jokes, and trademark smirks. But the paramedics had been able to resume the steady, albeit weak, beating before they reached the medical center of the base and she had been whisked away to the operating room despite his requests to follow her.

"Where is your mind at?" Natasha whispered with concern, interrupting his thoughts, her hand now resting on his shoulder, drawing tiny, relaxing spirals with her fingers.

"The hospital," those two words were all Steve had to say before she dragged him to her, her warm body pressing up against his with a comfort that both chose not to analyze. It was as if they were created for each other. Two puzzle pieces made to fit together perfectly, but placed unseemly in different games. Natasha's a dark and twisted game, filled with secrets and cheating, Steve's an old game, antique, filled with honesty. Yet, the fair share of incorrect dealings and operations lay among his board as well. Steve pressed his face into her soft shoulder, breathing in her unique scent.

"It's over now, Steve. I'm okay," she talked gently into his broad chest, hand coming down to rest over his heart. He was dressed in his pajamas- after all it was 3am, and her cheeks reddened slightly at the fact that she had just realized that all she was wearing was her underwear and an old shirt of his that he had left at the gym one night. Natasha knew it was stupid, and immature, but she found that the soft shirt that smelt of her partner, smothered her nightmares, and she was often able to sleep a full night when she was wearing it.

"No, Nat, you don't understand." He pulled away from her, and ran a hand through his mussed hair. His eyes were wide with - was that fear?- "I can't sleep, I can't function. Not when every time I close my eyes I see your heart stopping on that stretcher, I hear the god- awful sound that that machine made when it confirmed my worst fears...Nat, it's haunting me." Natasha's eyes were wide now; she was fighting her walls that were trying to separate her from the man she loved. She loved him, but she was under no illusions that he felt the same way. Steve had stepped a few feet away from her now, and she immediately felt the absence of his warmth, a shiver running through her body.

Natasha replied the only way she knew how to in these kind of situations- with humour- "I thought you would be happy if I died?" she laughed cautiously, "Then you wouldn't have to hear my old- man teasing any more..." That he cracked a small smile at, but it fell away as sudden as it had come.

"I was devastated," he said matter of factly, then with a little more caution, "that you would die not knowing how much I love you." Natasha sucked in a sharp breath and shook her head disbelief.

"How can you say that? How can you love me? I'm a mons-" Steve cut her off before she could get the words out with her wavering voice.

"You are NOT a monster, Natasha. You have done things, yes, but you are no monster. Monsters have no soul, no feelings, and Nat you haven't fallen prey to any of those things. You are beautiful and full of love, god, anyone could see that just by looking at what you're doing for this team, this country, for me." He whispered that last part, and Natasha felt her eyes begin to swim with tears.

Her voice cracked with fear, and she began shaking her head, her fiery red locks playing at her shoulders, "Stop.." she placed her arms on Steve's shoulders, pushing him away. "You don't mean that," she forced out, tears trailing down her red cheeks. "You don't mean that."

The soldier stood there with stature as the spy pushed him away, her palms half-heartedly smacking his chest while tears that he ached to collect with soft kisses, ran down her face, following a haphazard path along her exposed neck. He sucked in a shaky breath, his hands grasping her wrists and pulling them against his chest. She struggled, pushing and pulling against him, but he was too strong. He held her still while she cried, her body shaking with confusion.

He was lying to her, no one could ever love her. Not after the things she has done, the people that she has killed... Love is for children...

"Nat. Nat, stop. Please." He let go of one wrist to wipe a particularly large tear from her stained cheeks. She began to relax under his touch and pulled back slightly to meet his concerned eyes.

"I've killed people, Steve. There is no coming back from the monster that that has made me. I won't take you to hell with me." Steve stared at her with disbelief coloring his baby blues, as her eyes fell to the floor.

"I've killed too, don't forget that," he grabbed her cheeks with his hands and turned her face so that she couldn't escape his gaze. "Am I a monster, Nat? I know just as well as you that we are paving a new path; one with the right intentions. The real question is: Do you want to walk that path alone or together? Because together sounds a hell of a lot more entertaining." Natasha laughed softly, and the blonde drank up the sound like it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard- in fact it was.

"I love you, too," she said so quietly, that Steve was sure that he had imagined it. But, when she grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him down to meet her soft lips, he knew she had said it. As he deepened the kiss, Steve pulled the red head up so that her legs were hitched around her waist, and her arms were wrapped around his neck, her slight fingers playing with the small hairs at the nape of his neck.

"God, you're so beautiful, Natasha," Steve whispered against her lips, and her only response was to grind into his hips playfully, her lips meeting his once more, this time with a fire that had the soldier stumbling back towards her bed.

He kissed her like he had wanted to do when she was lying on the battered floor, he pressed her up against him like he had wished he could when he found out that she had made it out alive, and lastly, as he lay her on the soft bed below him, he whispered to her that he was going to make love to her like he has wanted to do since the first time he saw a glimpse of what was hiding behind her walls. Her true self was so beautiful, it had blinded him to the times she had tried to set him up with Sharon, the days that she had pushed him away, the days that he had broken every punching bag with frustration with her unwillingness to let him see her darkness. Her true self was lighting up the dark room, as he ground against her core, her head falling back with ecstasy.

"I want more, Steve, I want all of you," she had whispered heatedly against his ear, and he had removed his shirt quickly, along with his pants. He was left in his boxers, and her in Steve's shirt. He tugged playfully at the hem of the soft piece of cloth, one of the last piece of clothing separating them completely from each other.

"This is my shirt.." he smiled, realizing that it seemed much more well worn than it had a few months ago when he had last had it. She returned the smile sheepishly, but before she could give him a reason, he began kissing her, hand trailing up her stomach to her breasts, leaving the spy too breathless to form any coherent thoughts.

"It looks better on you," Steve said with surety, and Natasha only moaned slightly in response, as his other hand found it's way to her inner thigh. She quickly made work of removing her shirt, and smiled when she noticed his eyes had grown larger at the sight of her bare in front of him. This was it. Natasha was laying her true self in front of him, and he couldn't help but get choked up. He loved her, and he was going to show her just how much losing her would kill him. As Steve sucked and kissed his way from the bruises on her collar bone, to the bandaged shoulder, Natasha dug her nails into his back, leg wrapping around his hips, pressing him closer to where she wanted him most.

His kisses chanted, You are not a monster, and her cries of pleasure responded that she loved him, and that she would never stop.

As they made love that night, the puzzle pieces found their way to the correct box, and not surprisingly, the picture that was created was one of peace, love, and mending wounds.

Together, they could do anything.