"Love is an untamed force. When we try to control it, it destroys us. When we try to imprison it, it enslaves us. When we try to understand it, it leaves us feeling lost and confused."
- Paulo Coelho
After the relentless battle that had raged, she had been informed that Steve was now in hospital recovering from the injuries he sustained from his fall. She remembered how once she had acquired Sam from the collapsing S.H.I.E.L.D. building, in the midst of the unadulterated chaos she had felt the loss of Steve's presence, and although she had become accustomed to these moments of intensity she had felt her heart strain in a suppressed panic as she noted how she had not heard from Steve for an, uncomfortably, long duration. No one had noticed how her pupils dilated; how the vein in her neck started to throb; how her knuckles had now turned a brilliant white; and how her eyes now sported a glossy sheen that made them sparkle in the low light of the evening.
She would never admit to it but the virtuous soldier had managed to melt a part of the rogue widow's heart, and they had forged an unbridled connection that had become impenetrable in recent months. Their camaraderie was constructed of trust and the comforting presence they had provided each other throughout the treacherous and unstable duration they had both endured. However she now felt that she had breached this wordless contract, and the shame had paralysed her therefore prompting her to occupy Steve's apartment. She should have been fighting alongside him, a habit they had unknowingly adopted, providing the back up and support that had fashioned a deadly partnership. But she hadn't. At this thought she had felt the fluttering of guilt attempt to consume her, however if she had learnt anything it was that condemning yourself to the agony of guilt over an occurrence that could not be altered, was of no use to anyone, least of all yourself. Her desperate longing to visit him had been stifled at the thought of being present during the hustle and bustle of broad daylight, and had led her to conclude that a night time visit would be more appropriate. Minimal fuss; minimal noise; and minimal prying eyes.
Her tired and damaged body somehow managed to coerce a shiver, which caused her wounds to tingle and sting in an almost gratifying manner. Feeling her eyelids flutter with the weight of fatigue she searched for a jumper to suppress the cold that had chilled her core; wandering into Steve's bedroom she found a hooded jumper folded over a chair. Grabbing it she pulled it over her head softly, allowing herself to be immersed in the scent of Steve, an immediate sense of comfort and belonging enveloped her, and she felt an uncomfortable yearning to be encompassed by Steve's arms. Crawling on to the bed she curled up into a ball and let sleep take hold of her wounded body and persistently active mind.
Waking abruptly she noted the time, 11:30pm, and decided that now was the appropriate time to visit Steve.
She managed to reach Steve's room unnoticed, and felt an unnerving lump divulge in her throat and the sharp threatening sting of tears assault the back of her eyes, as her gaze fell upon the wired up form of Steve. He looked so peaceful, so much so that she did want to approach him in fear of disturbing him from his slumber. His forehead sported a cut that was stitched neatly, whilst his cheekbones were peppered with grazes that were highlighted by bruises. His usually pristine hair was ruffled slightly, but strangely she liked it and she found it rather charming. Everything about him exuded benevolence, without him even having to utter a word, making her fortuitous attraction to the soldier considerably more alarming and unforeseen. He was her opposite, he emanated a gentle, comforting , light that enraptured every person that came into contact with him, whilst she, more often than not, cast a shadow that manifested a coldness that could ward even the warmest hearted individual away. This was what made their partnership so immaculate; each possessed contrasting personality traits and skill sets that enabled them together to complete the toughest of tasks. Within this partnership her heart, unbeknownst to her, had forged an unmitigated attachment to Steve that had enhanced her feeling of vulnerability by tenfold. Her resolve to ensure the Captain's safety and good health had defied her flight instinct; however she still wanted to present the facade of the Black Widow, hence her midnight visit. Placing herself in the chair beside Steve, she felt the whispering presence of guilt making its way towards her yet again; however she managed to brush it off knowing that blaming herself would not heal Steve any quicker. Allowing her hand to creep out of the oversized sleeve of Steve's jumper, she held his hand in hers brushing her thumb softly over his knuckles, letting a sigh escape her lips she wondered at what the future held for S.H.I.E.L.D. and consequently them. She knew that however much she wanted to she could not give into the longing to stay in New York, the world knew too much about her, her past and the personas that had protected her so well in the past. She had to leave, and soon. At that thought she stood and gently released Steve's hand, looking upon his face once more she brushed the few strands of hair that had fallen wayward across his forehead, before placing her hand tenderly on his cheek. She felt her heart twist in discomfort at the sudden increase in heart rate, induced by the mere presence of Steve and felt the inner torment of her body fighting its flight response system. Natasha had trained herself to reject any notion of sentiment or love, and although this defensive system had kept her safe it caused unmitigated agony when the prospect of love did rear its ugly head. With an endearing sweep of her thumb across Steve's cheekbone she placed a soft kiss to his forehead and whispered softly,
"Keep fighting Cap." Forcing herself from his side she quietly turned and softly walked away, failing to notice the slight flicker of Steve's eyelashes and how the hand she had been holding grasped at the thin air in protest to the absence of Natasha's. Many assumed that the wounds caused to the two Avengers were merely physically, however no one pre-empted the emotional endeavours that the two would unknowingly bestow upon the other.