Shades of the Heart

All characters belong to Marvel Comics

I own nothing

{Part 1}

The rim of the cup touched delicately over her lips. Sitting rigidly at a center table outside a riverfront cafe, Natasha Romanoff kept a sharp focus of temperate grayish-green eyes steady on the amber glow radiating from the metal lampposts as reflections of light became captured in the rippling dark water in front of her. She felt the words etched over the cracks of her heart probing against her traitorous lips.

She tasted the venom of her lethal nature draining further down her throat. Blinking, she wrenched her eyes away; she placed the coffee on, and intently peered at tiny droplets of rain gathering on the red petals of a rose in front of her vantage. Each petal was a different shade of red without imperfections. he darker hues enveloped over the rich crimsons, but in the center of the flower was untouched cluster of bright scarlet. She used the rose as a distraction to keep her fragile emotions locked tightly inside the darkness of her well-guarded soul.

She was unprepared to allow the semblance of the Black Widow to strip away; she was drowning in a pool of crimson, every morning she woke up finding herself washing her hands underneath the rushing cold water. Invisible sins strained over her fingertips, nightmares branded her with condemning wounds, and fear wrapped her in its grasp.

Drumming her shaky fingers over the edge of the mahogany table, she narrowed her head down, allowing iron-straight curtains of scarlet to drape over her ivory features. Her head pounded with torrent thoughts, her rib cage tightened and squeezed her heart until she felt a dull ache of pierce through her layers. With each pulse, the pain became invasive, untamed and numbing. She knew that if she seized the moment of freedom, stripped off every part of her and allowed the rain to wash it all away-she might finally have a chance to live without a dodging a bullet.

Taking a deep, long breath, Natasha regained her strength, and fumbled her hands over the rich linen tablecloth, and cringed lightly as a sudden cloud burst of rain soaked through her leather jacket, and penetrated into her skin. Slamming the door shut, she sloshed her heeled boots in the clusters of puddles gathered on the cobblestone, and raced to the bridge, strands of her long hair curled and water made her mascara run down her sharpened features were making her a soaked and warily mess.

Lowering her gaze to the water, she fought against the pained tears filling in her eyes, and she barely felt the cold water pelt over her exposed ivory skin. She vainly wiped the warm tears away. She refused to allow Steve Rogers to infiltrate her heart, the kiss they shared on the escalator was harmless, yes, and she admitted his lips were incredibly soft, and the taste of his mouth was intoxicating, but having a simple feeling of affection was a deadly weakness. If her enemies discovered she had a man in her impermanent life-they wouldn't rest until his blood spilled out of his lifeless body like red rain. But the questions that became engraved deep into her heart was could she survive without him? Was she the poisonous Black Widow who marked men as her prey, and killed them after their services were no longer of use to her? Would it become a grave risk to finally unveil her true self to Steve and start a fresh new life after erasing the mistakes of her past and rectifying old sins? She was thinking too much about his powerful deep blue eyes which shimmered like crystal, his smooth lips, and his rippling muscles that felt like iron against her fingers. He had become more than a partner, and a friend to her, but she refused to admit it openly to him, and dared herself to turn and run away.

Natasha moved closer to the stone bridge, and pressed her rigid frame against the hollow groves of alabaster brick, folding her arms protectively over her ample breasts. She stood in the sheets of rain, allowing herself to become drenched to the bone, and frozen in her thoughts. A sound of splashing, lulled her eyes to shift down the ramp of the archway, and she became acutely aware of a tall, muscular figure pounding his feet against the cobblestone, advancing closer to her. With any hesitation, she moved her hand idly down the curve of her hip, and gripped her fingers against the leather strap holding her handgun. She had never let her guard down.

"Stay, were you are?" she warned, her throat thickening with lumps of invasive dread. Her face withered into a desperate look and her heart thudded against her rib cage. She had become frozen and her soul felt like it was slowly becoming unhinged. She gritted harder, hard enough to make her gums tingled with numbness and it made her teeth hurt. Her emotions were being compromised by a strange illusion of a man she thought that she would never see again.

"Steve," she breathed out in a soft, broken voice that seemed unnatural for her to vocalize.

Steve halted in his paces at the curb, his broad chest heaved and gray sweater was drenched. She watched him instantly ease the hood off his hood and stared at her with his fixated blue eyes—gleaming like crystal against the muted streetlight. "Nat?" he said mutely against the rain, his golden locks ruffled with a few sloppy tendrils hooded over his brow—no man could ever look so enticing in the rain—the thinning material of the sweater revealed the deep indention of his broad pectorals and brawny muscles of his chiseled torso, and his jeans hung low off his hips. Thankfully, he was too interested in her presence that he didn't notice her eyes raking over his tall frame. He looked sternly at her soaked red hair sticking over her sharp jaw line. "How long have you been in Rome?" He asked, with sheepish tone, hiding his true words from her. He moved gingerly to the bridge, and sat down casually on the smooth arched stone. Tension was piling over his muscles as he hesitated for a long moment. He lifted his head and peered at her with unyielding, honest eyes. "I'm taking a break from everything." he explained, reining himself to unveil the truth to her.

"My only priority is finding Bucky Barnes. I had a chance to read the KGB file." He stiffened his lips into a firm grimace, and heaved out a deep, pained sigh. "After everything we've been through in these last months-I needed to get away from everything. I'm not here on any mission assigned by Nick Fury. I'm here trying to build a life that has been waiting for me for seventy years."

"So you're running away?" She softly replied, observing his passive expression. He was always open with his emotions. "Isn't that the honest truth, Steve?" She pressed her lips together, and lowered her head. "I thought escaping from life back in Washington would finally stop me from looking back." She shrugged lightly, "I guess my past will always be chasing like the demons in the dark."

Steve released a long, deep breath he'd been holding. He felt the distress wavering off of her, and saw the pain locked in her gaze. He advanced closer, his shadow cloaking over her lithe body as he reached out for her. She tried to ignore the nasty feeling welling further in her wounded soul; she tried to avert her eyes from his clear blue chasms that always looked beyond the masks she wore. Her heart ached in her chest and blood run cold in her veins. She couldn't let herself to become disarmed, most importantly she didn't want to hurt him. He saw everything in her grayish-teal eyes, and he didn't condemn nor dismiss her from his heart. "You know if you stand up to everything that drags you down, you can stop running, Nat."

Natasha felt like a muzzle of gun had pressed into her ribs. She pivoted on her heels and tried to look into the direction. "I run to survive another day, Steve." she replied with edge in her husk voice. "I also run to protect the people I care about. I'm sorry that you had to come this way to hear that, but that's the truth." She sucked in a harsh breath. She hesitated for a moment, watching his blue eyes narrow as the shadows of the night overtook his chiseled face. The, she swallowed and dropped her head low, she knew that he healed faster from the serum's regenerative abilities, but the outside. Inside, he was a wounded and lost soldier, a good man that carried the pain of others, and never allowed himself to reveal his own.

She wished that she could mend his interior wounds, but she wasn't a woman to hold on the love, compassion and honestly. She was the Black Widow, a deadly assassin and spy that was generated in the Red Room. Her demons ripped out her soul, turned into a cold- blooded monster and covered every ounce of her humanity of red until she nearly drowned. If Steve fell in love with her, then he would become her weakness. She couldn't afford to exploit her real emotions, not when she was poison to his heart. She was evil. Her blood was lace with pure wickedness. Her disobedient heart was black as toxic ash.

"Natasha?" He spoke with a gentle voice; it was invasive to her ears.

She felt the red threads of her soul twist. Her bones became numb. "Every word I say to you is the honest truth, Rogers." She clasped her lips into a rigid line. "And if you don't believe that Steve, then you will have no reason to trust me."

"I do trust you, Nat." He clarified to her, his voice soft and unimposing. He placed his large hand on her bare shoulder, applying heat on the frigid skin. Natasha angled her head and looked at him, and his blue eyes stern and filled with sincerity. There was no doubt masking over his steady gaze. No hesitant or wariness, there was only his faith in her shining in the depth of cerulean. He needed to give her the honest truth welled deep within the layers of his heart. Instead, the only words that escaped from his watery lips were the voice of a soldier. "You're the only one I can trust." He forced a bite down hard on his tongue and tore his eyes away from her.

"Do you have any regrets about the people that you lost...The life that was stolen from you?"

He turned his blue eyes back to her, and creased his eyebrows with confusion masking over his gaze. His expression became guarded with shadows of guilt. "I try not to live in the past." He spoke with a hint of dismay in his low voice. "Even through a part of me wishes to go back."

"It must be nice to start a whole new life again." She responded disdainfully she looked at him with a ghost of smile and a short breath. She was trying to hide her emotions.

Steve's eyes darkened at her words. His commanding cheek bones flexed, as he narrowed his severe crystal blue eyes at her. "This isn't a new life, Natasha." His expression hardened, bitterness climbing up his throat. He shuddered a little. His eyes creased as he glowered at her, watching her face cloud with vast range of different emotions. She looked like she wanted to say many things, like she wanted to explain everything-past, present and future, and yet her voice remained locked, and her eyes focused on the shadows as if she was searching for another way out. "After everything Fury has done, I do not even know how to live. It feels like I'm a captive and someone else is controlling my body-I tried to move forward and rebuild a life by trying out different things that I wrote on my list-It doesn't feel real to me."

Natasha averted her eyes from him. "Well, in this world, Rogers. Nothing is real." She spoke with a nonchalant tone in her shady voice. She was trying to warn him. She knew that he was sinking further into the abyss of defeat. She found the lingering and shattered fragments of a semblance of pain welled in the depth of his eyes. "Did you love Agent Peggy Carter? You do not have to answer. Unless you feel comfortable talking about it, Steve."

He swallowed. His heart thudded to a halt in his chest and his eyes shimmered with grief. His hand unconsciously slipped into the pocket of his jeans, fingers rubbed over the tarnished pocket watch. "A part of me will always carry her close to my heart," he suddenly became distant, his restless ached for freedom. He felt captive in his youthful body, he wanted to grow old and share a life with someone he loved and cherished, but knew that he was meant for great things other than spending his days twirling around his beautiful wife and playing with his grandchildren. He was blessed to become an avenger, a guardian angel who shuffled down the streets, protecting lives and carrying his orders. There were times he wanted to take everything back, rewrite his own history and just live a simple life as good man. "Peggy moved on with the world and I was left behind to watch just playbacks of her memories."

Natasha stared at the swirling mixtures of emotions in his hardened blue eyes. Something seemed unnatural about his love to Agent Carter. She believed that love was impermanent; a weakness that butchered the soul, not an everlasting commitment in a gray shaded world. It was akin of dark sin, greedy taste of pleasure and destructive to the frailty of ones' heart. When she dared herself to stare deeper, beyond the veil obscuring over Steve's eyes she found something pure, noble, strong, valiant and rare. She found his heart-not a black jewel painted red, but a treasure that gleamed in the brightest light of his spirit. "Do you want to get some coffee?" she asked, twisting the subject before they dived into the red waters of past. "Unless you have something to do?"

Steve felt curled the edges of his pastel lips into vacant content smirk, laying his full attention on her. His steady, honest blue eyes made her heart skip a beat. "Are you asking me out on a date, Natasha?"

'Well, I'm not big fan of that kind of coffee." Steve responded, keeping his eyes steady on her. "Unless these places have something that fits my tastes, I'll buy your coffee and I'll get a green tea."

Natasha rolled her eyes, she was a master of her emotions, not allowing any of her fragile sentiments to become readable, but he was so naive that she couldn't help, but allow some less hardened feelings strip away. "What's wrong, afraid to take a risk with your health, Cap? I think your enhance super-soldier metabolism is safe, Rogers, even for one order of a fattening coffee." she lightly teased, giving him a roguish smirk.

Steve felt the flushing heat seep from the skin of his cheek, his expression softened. She'd discovered through various rescue missions of their partnership that he was easy to damn manipulate, and she knew how to appeal to his nobility, morals and self-righteousness. His sense of judgment between right and wrong was a different code than hers. She always looked for the bad in people, while he searched for the good.

He was symbol that all man wished they could be, a poster boy for freedom, hope and valor. His methods of protecting and ensuring the hope that all men carried were iron-clad, virtuously unwavering, and unnervingly humble. He would follow orders without complaining or doubting the risks. He carried them out, whether taking a few bullets in mid-section, crashing into a bus, or saving an innocent from an explosion. His soul was indestructible, but his heart was the prime weakness. He cared too much about the little things, the details that a lot of people raked away. "Nat, if you want to go and have a coffee. I'll buy it for you."

"Why do you always have to be such a hard ass, Rogers? You can add it to your growing list of things to try out—I'll gladly write it out for you." She coyly, twisted her lips into a shadowy grin. His hardened blue eyes were firmly locked on her; he wasn't moving and saying anything. "Alright," she breathed out a sigh of frustration. She nudged an elbow lightly into his chest. "You can buy me a strawberry mocha."

Steve gave her a curt of a nod, "I'm takin' that you already had this planned out. He murmured under his breath. "I'm guessing even before you left Washington."

"Maybe, I did." Natasha said, pivoting on her heels, and sauntering away from him. "Try to keep up." she called out, with a tiny dare edging up her throat. Steve shook his head, and then curved his lips into a lopsided smirk, and raced after her.