Story: breathe (no one here to save me)

Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Angst

Pairing (s): Implied Brucetasha, one-sided Romanogers

Summary: He had fallen into the green and drowned in it. — An introspective piece about Steve Rogers and his feelings and the decision he makes involving a certain redhead. Post AOU. One Shot.

A/N- An introspective piece on our favorite super solider. Hopefully, I captured the right amount of angst. Musical inspiration is "Breathe" by Taylor Swift.

The distance is what kills him inside.

He watches her sometimes, with the sad eyes of a kicked puppy, from far away. She could be training in the New Avengers Facility gym working on her target practice, eating lunch in the lounge sitting on the couch with her feet propped up on the coffee table, or talking to one of the other S.H.I.E.L.D agents that were on a lower level clearance than her. It was better to be close but not too close. For him, everything was much simpler when he kept their relationship strictly professional, like how they used to be.

They used to be a lot of things together; acquaintances, companions, best friends. He thought they always seemed destined to be something more than those...those platonic words. He also thought she wanted the same at some point too. He couldn't be the only person who saw the loving look behind her longing stares, the softness of her features as they conversed with one another after completing a mission, and how she would be there for him voluntarily (even if he didn't want to speak to her, secretly, they both knew he needed her).

Her eyes were so green he could drown in them, too defenseless to not sink and try swimming to the light above. Natasha had that effect on people. One glance at her face and you couldn't help but fall for her. Steve knows he did.

And maybe falling was the problem.

He's alive in the wrong time at the wrong place. He should have been dead along with Peggy and his Howling Commandos. Not saving the world from a war outside his comfort zone and dealing with space gems and fighting extraterrestrial lifeforms. Had he never been frozen in the ice, he'd be living happily in a house that had clean green grass and a picket white fence with his first love. But he can't have a normal life. Not anymore.

And maybe that was a problem too.

Nothing about him and Natasha was normal. The soldier and the spy. He somehow fell for a compulsive liar and manipulator, though he knows there's more to her than that. She's funny and smart and beautiful. The complete package for a perfect girlfriend, he thinks.

But she's not perfect. Nobody is. She's more battered than anyone Steve has ever met, then he's likely to admit. They never spoke of her past before. He only knew of some of the story behind the Black Widow through two people: Nick Fury and Clint Barton. Even then, they only provided him with tiny snippets, pieces of an unfinished puzzle. He wouldn't know the full story until much later when he talked to her a couple days after they moved into the facility.

During their time in D.C., they shared a quiet moment together in a guest room at Sam's place. She told him about how betrayed she felt that this whole time she thought the red on her ledger wasn't dripping as much as it was before, because the organization they were working for ensured her that the people she killed were really bad people that deserved what was coming to them. But to have the rug thrown out from under you like that, to find out the side you've trusted for so long isn't any different than the group who made you kill in the first place, isn't something he would have taken lightly.

"You never told me your story, Romanoff," he asks, and he can tell right away that calling her Romanoff was a mistake. Except, in his head, it was his way of keeping things between them professional. Sure, the intensity of her gaze while she leaned against her kitchen counter top was unsettling, but he could handle it, handle her.

She's used to it by now, he knows. After all, the tenseness in her slouched shoulders disappears a minute or so later, though she knew he could see past her slip. It bothered her, but she be damned if she said anything about it in front of him. Because, if she knew why he was distancing himself from her, it would bring them both pain and bring up buried secrets he's wanted to keep dead and make sure stays dead.

(It's his fault, all his fault. Why did he wait so long?

He should have acted on his feelings a year ago. Maybe they wouldn't be here. And maybe Bruce wouldn't be in the picture either. If he could have called her back before she left the graveyard, this wouldn't be happening. If he could have asked her to join him and Sam, this wouldn't be happening.

He had fallen into the green and drowned in it.)

"What about me don't you already know, Rogers?" she questions, glancing away from him to focus on the glass of vodka in her hand.

Steve shifts in his seat on the bar stool. He hates when she plays this game with him. "Natasha—"

"Steve," she cuts him off. Shaking her head, she discloses some information to him. "You don't want to know."

"But I need to," he says, and he isn't sure why he's going against his own rule. Distance yourself, is what his mind scowled him for. He didn't have to know shit about her, could drop the subject and just move on. But he couldn't. At this point, he had to stop assuming and get something of substance. What better way to get it then from the living legacy herself? "We're partners."

She fixes him with this look of disbelief. "Since when does being partners mean anything to you?"

And something in him snaps as he stares back at her. Those words struck a nerve. Quietly, he replies, "Our partnership means everything to me."

There's an underlying comment in her words and he knows what she means and damn her, it's too late for this shit. He wishes he could get drunk and forget about coming to her room. In fact, he tried erasing this entire encounter, saying he had stuff to do, until he reached the exit and she stopped in front of him, pressing her body to the door so he couldn't get out.

As she peered up at him through her lashes, he couldn't stop the erratic beating of his heart. Thump, thump, thump...It really wasn't helping his case that she decided tonight, the one night he decides to visit her on such short notice, she wears a tight black tank top and too short black shorts. Her eyes search his face for something, he doesn't know what.

When her eyes meet his, both of them are completely silent.

She breaks the silence first.

"I trust you, Steve."

"I know."

The briefest of expressions crosses her pretty face. "I trust you...and I should have been honest with you from the start." She doesn't glance away, keeps her gaze on him.

Somewhere, he has a joke saved for moments such as this one, though the moment isn't a laughing matter. The last thing he wants to do is screw this up. So, he keeps his mouth shut and listens because it's her time.

They never spoke about that night. She shared a nasty part about her past with him and he finally understood.

He finally understood why he and her would never work out.

Natasha needed someone just as good as him to balance herself out. Her and Banner, they shared similarities, didn't they? Both have done things they're not proud of and are atoning for it. He remembers some nights where he'd walk past her bedroom door and hear her muttering obscenities in Russian. Did Bruce speak multiple languages? It's a possibility. They were both lost souls still searching for their happy ending.

During the party, he gave Bruce his blessing. He recognized the look on her face when she spoke to Bruce and immediately knew she was in love with him. It was full of want and yearning. He told him it was okay to go after her because he's never seen her so happy in his life. And he wanted her to be happy. He buried the burning sensation in his heart as he saw Bruce turn around and walk away and only those who payed close attention to him would notice his fractured smile.

Funny, Steve thinks. He sacrificed his own happiness for someone else's, expecting the choice to be worth it. Then, Bruce vanishes to parts of the unknown on one of Stark's Quinjets and it turns out the decision had been a terrible one. But what was he do before all of that happened? Natasha had it bad for Bruce. It wouldn't be right to try and get her then when she was obviously pining after him.

She should have known better than to chase after something she could never have.

Following Bruce's disappearance, many tried to reassure her that everything would be fine. They couldn't pick up the broken pieces and, even someone as close to her such as Clint, had been cut by those pieces each and every time they tried to reach out to her. Steve knew where he stood in this equation.

He had been the one to pick up the pieces and put her back together. Day by day, night by night, until he was sure she could stand on her own. Some nights found them in each other's arms under the sheets in her bed. Her head laid on his chest while he had an arm wrapped around her, pulling her close. And he swears to God that she was crying silent tears over the situation. Calmly, he'd brush her flaming red hair with his fingertips and kiss the top of her head.

It's okay, he told her.

Until one day it's not.

And he realizes that he needs more than just separation between the two of them.

That's why tonight, he's standing in the doorway of Natasha's room. She's sitting cross legged on the floor, staring up at him. He sighs, thinking this hasty decision over.

It needs to be done.

"We need to talk." he says, and he knows what he's going to accomplish right now. He can't keep ignoring this sinking feeling in his stomach any longer.

Natasha sighs, exasperated. It's two AM and she's tired still from their latest mission with the New Avengers earlier. When she looks at Steve, he can see the slight bags under her eyes. "About?"

(He really shouldn't tell her that he wants some time and space to think. That he already has his bags packed and ready to go to who knows where. All he knows is that he needs to be away, stay away, from her 'til he can figure things out.

Those things are hidden under wraps, hidden under the stars and stripes of his Captain America suit, and reaching a boiling point he doesn't want to see spill over.

He needs this.

It's the only—)

"I'm leaving."

Her face is one of confusion. "What reason do you have to leave, Rogers?"

He shrugs, saying, "I could use a vacation after these past few weeks, you know?"

Natasha gets up and strides over to him in one quick motion. She stares him straight in the face and shakes her head. A sad smile crosses her lips."You're a terrible liar, Rogers."

It was those five simple words that made him crack.

He shuts his eyes. Softly, he said, "I just want to recover from a sudden loss." No, he wouldn't dare tell her what that loss in particular was. Besides, he has a feeling she knows who the loss is anyway.

Quietly, she tells him, "The one you love can't be with you."

Suddenly, he realizes that maybe she did want him to be something more than a friend, but he was too blind to see it. And when he finally did see it, it had been a moment too late. She's alluding to that now, he's a hundred percent sure of it. The green in her eyes had never been more vulnerable.

"I'm sorry, Romanoff," he addresses her formally, like a teammate and nothing more. The bitterness in his words doesn't faze her. He continues on by saying, "I'm taking off for a while and my choice is final. You're in charge until I get back." Steve stares her head on. "Understood?"

Unspoken words floated in the air and there was something else he had wanted to say to her before he left. I'm sorry was one of them but not for the reason she might think.

(He wanted to get it inside her head how sorry he was about everything.

Sorry that he didn't go after her.

Sorry that he never told her how really felt about her.

Sorry that he missed out on the chance to call her his.)

"Understood, Rogers."

It's when he's prepared and revving up his motorcycle in the garage that he just waits and sits there for a few more minutes. He's hoping, just hoping, that Natasha might come out, knock some sense into him, and tell him to stay. Because this would hurt a lot less if she did.

Another minute ticks by…

He looks behind him, expecting her to try and sneak up on him, like she used to. He's expecting her to persuade him into not leaving something he can keep avoiding. For one second, he thinks she could have realized what a bad choice she made when she picked Bruce and that maybe she changed her mind about her feelings for him.

But she's not there and his heart is pounding so loud he can hear it in his ears. She's not coming, she isn't here. And Steve knows that he's done it this time, distanced himself so much that she probably doesn't want to try, doesn't want to bother fixing what's already broken.

With one look at the dark road ahead of him, he pushes the gas pedal and takes off, never looking back.