Story: i never told you (i miss everything about you)
Genre: Angst/Romance
Pairing (s): Romanogers
Summary: "He's been gone for a month now, Natasha." — The aftermath of Steve's decision takes its toll on Natasha and she's confronted with a choice she didn't ever think she'd be able to make. Sequel to 'breathe (no one here to save me)'. Romanogers is endgame.
A/N- Took me a month to write this and I'm proud of the results. Thanks to those who reviewed on the previous story. You're awesome!
"Okay," she says, observing the blueprint laid out across the table for the one hundredth time. "Wanda, you take out the guards in the front, but only enough so that they'll still be conscious later. Then, Rhodey and Sam will take it from there and go secure the devices in next room over. While that's going on, Steve and I are gonna get intel from the man in charge, Francis Estevez, and see what else he's been making for Hydra." She looked up and noticed everyone was sending her strange looks from across the table in the meeting room. "What?"
The New Avengers exchanged glances. Wanda had been the one to speak up and say, "I thought he wasn't here."
"Who?"
They exchanged more glances. They're probably concerned, she thought. There was nothing for them to be concerned about. Unless there was something they knew...that she didn't?
"Steve," Wanda spoke again, and she had said it slowly, trying to see if the redhead understood their worry. "He's been gone for a month now, Natasha."
And it's not like she didn't know because, truth is, she did. But there's a sharp intake of breath and a familiar ache of pain in her chest when his name leaves Wanda's lips. Steve.
Oh, right. He isn't with them so he can't help her with the mission. She's been doing that a lot lately, she supposes. The constant reminder that her partner hasn't come back, probably never will, is wearing her down more than it ever did before. But they have other things to do and the last thing she needs is a therapy session from either of them.
She sends Vision a warm (or, at the very least, polite) smile, saying, "Looks like it's you and me, Vision."
"The pleasure is all mine, Agent Romanoff."
A slight shiver runs down her spine.
(He used to call her that, too.)
'''
It was becoming a new habit of hers to forget about Steve's departure. To her, it's like his essence was still there, roaming around the building. She always imagined him when she was alone. She couldn't explain why it felt like a piece of her was missing ever since he went away.
She was Natasha Romanoff and Natasha Romanoff didn't miss anyone.
Except, possibly, maybe, Steve Rogers.
(It's his choice. He's a grown man who can come and go as he pleases. If he wants to leave you hanging for a fucking month, then let him.
What else do you have to lose?)
There's a cafeteria space inside the facility which had a tiny room for making coffee. Occasionally, she'd go in and get a cup of a coffee but never drink it. Just held it in her hands, staring at cabinets in front of her.
(If he were with her, they'd be sipping away at their coffee and cracking jokes. The blue in his eyes would lighten a few notches and he'd give her his loopsided smile that was too cute to put into words.
He, too, would sip away until every last drop of plain black coffee dissolved out of the cup. Though they weren't on the best of terms, they still managed to stand inside this room in silence neither of them found awkward.
Maybe, just maybe, he'll stroll in and they'll be together again.)
She hears footsteps approaching and—
It's another lower level agent.
Damn.
'''
The tiny things they used to do were now gone out of her life.
(Temporarily, Natasha. He'll come back soon.)
Because she doesn't miss how he held her in her sleep. She doesn't miss the softening gazes he'd send her sometimes from across the room. And she sure as hell doesn't miss "borrowing" his clothes only to find out he doesn't really give a shit. Those moments were in the past, where he was proud to be her friend and wouldn't try to cut off his ties with her.
She notices those little things that constantly nag her, too. How he would always keep his distance; figuratively and literally. She knew why, they all knew why, they both knew why. Natasha hadn't wanted to confront it for a while now, the real reason why he had started this separation between the two of them or why he's not here now helping her with the team.
That involves a certain scientist with two different personalities and anger issues who ran off to Figi. If he really cared about her feelings, he would of taken her along. But the problem is she made the assumption that he would ask her and the fact of the matter is that he didn't.
(Twice.
In a graveyard, where the man you thought you were starting to grow attached to probably needed you to make a choice. But you didn't speak up and command to join him on his journey. Instead, you walked away and ruined whatever chance you had with him. A year later after that incident and you're estranged with him, like a girlfriend is towards their ex.
And this wasn't even in an actual relationship yet you still fucked it up.
So when that doesn't work out like how you expected, you try the next best thing. The person before him shared a few qualities with you, but this one's being looked at in a different light. There's a sudden tenderness you realize you two have and he's compliant and never argues, just speaks his mind and harsh cold facts that take you to reality. Ultimately, though, you both realize a future can never happen—although you may be a little late to the party on that end of the spectrum. He already picked your future: A life without him being romantically attached to you.
And you don't think what you had could have been classified as dating, if only he had actually wanted to date you, if only the feeling could have been mutual. But it isn't and, just like before, you had made the mistake of waiting for him to ask the question.
Now, neither of them are here and you've reached a road you didn't think you'd be taking. The road is dark and lonely but you must cross it.
He's waiting for you.)
The punching bag is in her grip, her holding onto it to keep herself balanced. Her head falls forward and she's feeling tipsy. Eyes clenched shut, heart hammering in her chest, red curls escaping from the messy bun she did before she entered the gym. She's alone tonight, thank God. If anyone saw her like this, in a state of distress, she isn't sure what she'd do.
No, she thought. No, she repeats again. She won't go searching for him. She won't travel down the road or let herself sink further into the darkness. He won't need her, she thinks. He stopped needing her a long time ago.
When she opens her eyes, she releases the punching bag from her death gip. She turns on her heel, about to leave to get on the elevator, when she faces it again and—her face is scrunched, her green orbs blazing with this uncertain edge, her pouty lips set in a tight line—throws a punch strong enough to have it swinging for a few minutes back and forth. And with that punch comes something no one would ever expect to see her do.
A sob escapes her lips and next thing she knows, tears are streaming down her face, she's on her knees, hands by her side in fists on the floor. The guilt gets to her brain, the reality sinking in for good this time.
That he isn't coming back because of her. That he isn't coming back because she's made it very clear where he stands in her life.
But, Natasha reminds herself, he doesn't even know the half of it.
Because, Bruce was a spur of the moment thing and she shouldn't have got involved when she knew she would get hurt. It was exhilarating and fun but at the end of the day, she knew it wouldn't last. He couldn't love her.
And she's taken back a year prior, where she and Steve had kissed on the escalator. It felt good, it felt right, so good she had to remember they were on the run from Hydra, so she pulled her lips away. Her lips were burning from the rush, desire pooling in her stomach. There was something there and she had ignored any trace of it since then.
(But you remember how it felt to place your lips on his, don't you? You didn't feel the same sensation when you kissed Bruce and you know it.)
She was sitting up now, arms wrapped around her legs, head against the wall. Though she was a little shaky, Natasha had weighed out her options and realized exactly what she had to do. Only one problem hindered her plan.
Where on earth was Steve?
'''
"I'm not sure the extent of my powers can find him, Natasha," Wanda said, sending the woman an apologetic smile. She took Natasha's hand in hers, saying, "But, I'll try and see what I can do."
They were in the younger woman's room right now, sitting on her bed. Natasha didn't have any special powers to track and locate Steve. Wanda was her only available option at the moment. Surely, she could locate his whereabouts. She really wished she would have put a tracker on Steve's motorcycle.
She watched as Wanda summoned her scarlet magic, eyes turning red, dark strands of hair floating slightly in the air. Then, a sudden shock shook the room and Wanda, her energy drained from the intense use of her magic, fell off the bed, clutching her head in agony. Natasha quickly bent down beside her, about to help her up, when, the minute she touched Wanda's hand, a wave of energy surged through her at the physical contact.
She blacked out.
'''
She's standing in her bedroom.
This time around, the blinds are closed, so the room is shadowed in darkness. It's messier than and that says a lot. There's a half full bottle of vodka resting on the kitchen counter, dishes left in the sink. She's confused.
And then it all comes flooding back to her.
This version of herself storms through the door, Steve trailing behind her. The words are stumbling around inside her head. Steve. The fight. Steve. The fight. Steve. The fight...
"What did I do wrong?" he asked, pleading. The pain she failed to witness in his baby blue eyes made her wince.
"Nothing, Steve," she sees herself brace her hands against the counter, red hair falling in front of her face. "Nothing."
Steve stole a glance at the counter top; she knew it was the vodka that caught his attention. "You're drinking again."
"No, I'm not." she replies, shakily. She shuts her eyes for a moment. "I needed to numb my pain for a bit."
He grabbed both her shoulders and spun her around to face him. She won't look him in the eyes, so he holds her chin between his fingers. Natasha remembers what happens next. She remembers what happens next and, dammit, she doesn't think she can take this anymore.
Then, it starts. It starts and she just has to suffer by watching everything unfold again and again and again...
She's swaying on her feet. Swaying, swaying, swaying...
Her voice is hoarse, like she had been previously shouting at someone minutes before. "He left. He told me, he had told me...That he would take me with him, Steve. I thought you..."
"You thought I was going to leave?"
She turns her head away from him. "You hadn't contacted me about your mission. I was worried for your safety. But then..." She sucks on her lip, takes a shaky breath.
"But then...?" And he acts like he doesn't get what she's getting at, playing dumb. This version of herself thinks he's playing dumb.
Her next words are sharp. "But then I have to find out what really happened from Agent 13."
"You mean Sharon?"
She barks, "Who else would I be talking about!"
"Natasha—"
"You didn't give me the full details about your mission. You told everybody except me what was going to go down. You discussed the mission whenever you sent me on these assignments and you went behind my back to hide it from me. Sharon said that you planned to go on a suicide mission and that you didn't know when you'd be coming back or what you planned on doing had your strategy not pan out—"
"I'm sorry," he said, grabbing a hold of her wrists. "I'm sorry I lied to you, okay? I should have briefed you on it. But everything's fine now so you don't have to—"
She breaks free of his hold and shoves his chest. "I almost lost you! I almost lost you and you have the nerve to say to me that everything is fine? You almost die, it's a close call, but you almost die. You said you'd only be gone a week, but it lasts for three weeks. And you don't contact me, you don't try to get in touch with me or anything. Did you really think I wouldn't figure out why everyone around me was acting so calm and collected while I was the only who was worried about you?" At this point, her eyes are beginning to water, but she's too furious to cry.
"Natasha." he says, softly. He doesn't argue with her because she knows that he knows that she's right. She's right and he has no reason to say otherwise.
"What happened to you always being honest, huh?" she asks, too tired for anymore words. She wonders what it feels like to have your own words thrown in your face against someone you care about. To feel an immense amount of guilt afterwards.
He reaches out to touch her cheek but moves it at the last second. "I'm sorry."
She sits at the bar stool, back turned to him, and instinctively opens the vodka, tipping her head as she drinks it.
Natasha, the real Natasha, can see, instead of hear, Steve walk away.
But they both listen to him when he says:
"You know where to find me whenever you need to talk."
You know where to find me.
Natasha...Natasha...Natasha...
"Natasha."
The redhead awakes, vision blurry until she can make out Wanda's face. She glances beside her and notices the rest of the team is here too. Where is here?
"You're in the infirmary," Sam voices her question. He's sitting down in one of the chairs, arms crossed. "You were really affected by Wanda's mini shockwave."
She rushes to sit up and is instantly hit with a feeling similar to a hangover. Wanda gently pushes her down into the bed. She says, "You need time to rest."
It's a buzzing screaming at her to get up and not lay around because she needs to get to him. She knows where he is, where he's been for a month.
Wanda senses her distress and immediately responds, "Tomorrow. Recover, then you can head out tommorrow. Okay?"
She nods, eyes fluttering close. She's so tired and exhausted and sleep is pulling at the threads of her brain.
Natasha hears the murmurs of whispered conversations.
"What do you think she saw?" She hears Rhodey ask.
"A clue to where Steve is, most likely." Sam says.
"I guess my visions do serve a larger purpose than what I originally thought." Wanda said.
"You think she'll find him?" Sam asked.
The pause lasts for a slight second. She says, "There isn't a doubt in my mind that she won't."
Nobody said anything after that.
'''
Natasha spends the early hours of the morning preparing to take off to go to Steve. She's confident in the fact she knows where he is. What he's doing is a whole nother matter entirely.
She's folding clothes into her duffel bag, packing whatever she thinks she needs for the trip. Her objective seems simple enough; find Steve and take him here, take him home. Because this place isn't the same without him, because there isn't a day that goes by where she can't not think about him. But there's more riding on this trip and it's been nipping away at the edges of her heart.
Her feelings. Those feelings. The feelings you get when you're falling in love. And she was certain they left until she's certain that they didn't.
(The dreaded part is what he'll say, how he'll react.
Did his feelings go away? Did they never?)
She reaches for another piece of clothing, only to realize she packed everything she had out on her bed. She zips the bag and puts the strap on her shoulder. Natasha crosses her arms and glances around her space.
It was now or never.
'''
Her grip on the steering wheel had loosened once she read the sign above the road at nearly seven in the evening.
Brooklyn.
The sky was starting to darken and the streetlights had already come on. She sped down the road, hope burning in her chest. She knew exactly where to go.
She's driving until she parks the car across the street from a brownstone residential building. He once mentioned his reason for renting out this place was that the rent was cheap. Nevermind the fact that they wanted to give it to him for free and he declined because he was just too morally good to live there without paying. Old fashioned he is, really.
Natasha got her bag out of the trunk, shut it, then quickly walked across the street, up the steps, and pressed the buzzer for Steve's apartment number. While she waited, she tried to keep her optimism down to a minimum. There wasn't any good reason to get her hopes up. For all she knew, he probably thought she would come see him and went to stay somewhere else. And if he didn't leave, well, she doubts he would even answer the—
"Hello?"
"Who is it?"
"Anyone?"
She hasn't heard his voice in so long. She holds her hand over her mouth and wills herself not to cry. And Natasha's shaking her head in disbelief because she wasn't wrong and, yeah, maybe she did get lucky, but she can finally breathe clearly again.
"It's me, Steve. It's Natasha."
The minute she hears the buzzer, she yanks open the door and practically runs up the six flights of stairs. Once she reaches Steve's floor, Natasha races through the hall, finding his apartment which was the at the end of hall to the left.
When he opens the door to let her in, she doesn't even wait for him to speak; she rushes past him, drops her bag onto the floor and, after he closes the door, turning around to face her, engulfs him in a hug. Her face is pressed against the crook of his neck, his face buried in her hair, and she isn't sure how long they stand there in each other's arms, the only sound in the room being their breathing.
Eventually, they separate, enough for her to observe him under the lamp light. Her fingertips traced his chin, where she feels light stubble, the curve of his bottom lip, the smoothness of his cheekbones, to the scalp of his hair. He hadn't done the same, but she could tell from the softness in his eyes while he watched her that he, too, had missed her just as much.
"How long have you been staying here?" she asked, still tracing his features, but she met his stare as she said the question.
A thoughtful look passed on his face. "Two days." The corner of his mouth twitched slightly. "Luck was on your side, I believe."
"I didn't know you'd be in this building. You could have been anywhere and...Yeah, you're right. Luck has something to do with it."
He gently removed her hand off of him, holding it instead. There was this glint in his eyes that made her smile. "Does fate count, also?"
She removed her hand from his grip, rubbing her hand through her hair in thought, looking away from him. She had to wonder: Was it fate?
She licks her lips. Exhaling, she replies, "I've done a lot of things I wasn't sure about, Steve, but me finding you after all this time was something I knew I had to accomplish. Maybe the world was giving me a second chance to make things right again. Maybe it was trying to prove to me that sometimes even the worst of people can have their happy endings." Natasha and him locked eyes. "But I don't think what we have here is fate because we choose our own destinies. I chose to see you, Steve, and it just happened to be at the right time because I made the right choice."
"And you don't regret it?"
"If it led me to you tonight, then no."
He gently pushed her against the kitchen counter, head bent down towards her lips, their foreheads touching, breathing heavy; her hands tightly gripped his shoulders in response.
"You said that you needed to figure some things out, the night you left." She leaned her head back, her neck exposed, far enough to give him a full once over. "Things like what?"
Steve nuzzled his face on her neck, whispering, "Romanoff...Natasha...I was struggling so much, trying to understand what it was that I didn't want in my life anymore, just...just temporarily...and what I didn't want—"
She finished it for him, somberly. "Was me."
They both heard her unspoken plea in her words. That he'd been running away because of her, that he'd been purposely avoiding her because he couldn't watch her fall for someone else, and she's sad to say that she gets what he means since saw him do the same before. Him and Sharon; Sharon, Agent 13, the only other woman besides Natasha he kept close to, and she remembers those significant little interactions that really drove home her feelings.
("You must have had more practice than me, being from the 40's and all," Sharon says, her and Steve sitting outside under the umbrella protected lunch table together. He smiles and continues their conversation, but Natasha doesn't want to hear them speak anymore, so she moves away from her hiding spot and rushes inside the building.
She thinks Steve may have saw her, but he thought better than to call her out while he was with Sharon.
Later, she's rounding the usual corner towards Steve's room. She was suppose to give him important files regarding the team's next mission, but once she hears voices nearby, she backtracks, back pressed into the wall, ears on alert, listening in.
"It's a matter of circumstance, Steve," She hears Sharon say and she wonders when 'Captain Rogers' became plain old Steve to Sharon. "You know if you were in my shoes, you'd act in the same way."
Steve's voice flooded her ears. "I think you're right. About the circumstances, I mean. It always depends on whose life is on the line."
"Whose life would you have wanted to save?" she asked him. Natasha can picture the confusion on his features. "Before you even knew who they were, who would you risk your life to save?"
Natasha doesn't stick around to find out his answer. Memories of a few months ago come to mind, however, and she can't find the strength to block them out.
'If it were down to me to save your life, and you be honest with me, would you trust me to do it?'
And more often than not she'd see them everywhere, like two peas in a pod, always knowing when they needed one another's comfort. At the time, she assumed it was related to anything but her because, after all, why would someone like him ever waste his time on her?
That's when her resolve began to crack; a hardened expression was worn on a regular basis. Steve would come and go, breezing in and out of her life for important reasons that she understood. She had covers to hide under even though her secrets were released and the whole world knew her identity. But she needed to escape from it all and maybe this was a way to cope.
The pattern repeated for a year; visit (get intel on Steve), leave, visit (get intel on Steve), leave and so forth. He had those conversations with Sharon on the rare chances that Natasha had, coincidentally enough, come back to the temporary headqaurters for a visit at the end of the summer. Then, she just didn't bother anymore.
Because Sharon had stolen his heart and distance was a house hold name in hers.
It had to be.)
He pulled away, slightly, blue orbs analyzing her carefully, until he said, "But I realized now that I could never want you, Natasha." Her eyes narrowed, suspecting the worse, then he added, softly, "I could never want you because I need you. I need you, Natasha and I'm sorry it took me a year and a few months to realize it."
Green eyes roaming over his features, she whispered, "Sometimes, I wonder why I chased after Bruce when he wasn't for me. Everything about him, it wasn't how I felt when I was with you. And I thought I could keep running and avoiding my feelings but Steve..." She took a moment to breathe and continued. "I don't think I can keep running for much longer."
He sought her answer out with her words and, in an instant, he closed the gap between them. Her nails dug into his shoulders, his hands threading themselves through her hair. She sucked on his lip between her teeth and he groaned. He managed to gently yank on her hair, pulling her head back, exposing her neck, where he planted soft kisses, and when he began to suck and bite on her smooth skin, hard enough to leave a mark, she muttered curses in Russian.
And she isn't sure who pushed who onto the couch, where they're a mess of tangled limbs. Natasha lifts his shirt over his head and Steve does the same to her. They observe the other, breathing heavy, pupils dilated. Steve grabs her face in both his hands and pulls her down again, so their foreheads are touching.
"Promise me you won't leave tonight."
Her eyes are closed, but she grins. "I'm pretty sure the duffle bag on the floor right now is an indication that I won't be going anywhere anytime soon."
He laughs and presses his lips to hers, kissing her into oblivion.