A/N: I just really really really like this pairing, ok guys? Think of these more like bonus chapters of Natasha falling in love. The first chapter can stand alone, these following are for your indulgence only. It's kind of all really crappy, but I had to get it down. Enjoy.
The chess match at first becomes a weekly thing. Natasha Romanoff is sitting in the center of the room, strategizing, a quickly chilling cup of coffee on her right. She is trying desperately to forget the feeling of the kiss. But no matter how many times she resets the board, she is unable to shake it. So she is trying to lose herself in the checkered board, instead. She does not have time for games; she most certainly cannot make time for love.
Natasha Romanoff's phone beeps next to her. It is the third time the thing has gone off. She already knows who it is. Her fingers itch to respond. Instead, she moves her white bishop and rotates to the black rook. The digital clock on her left grows louder and louder by each passing second. She looks at it briefly, trying to ignore the fact she immediately knows that a week has past since someone had gotten her to play a game.
"Are you ignoring me, Natasha?" a quiet voice echoes throughout the room from the doorway. She grits her teeth at how pained the voice sounds.
"Not at all, Wanda," Natasha responds without looking up, knowing that if she does, she will remember what it is like to be whole again.
"Then why are you not answering my calls?"
"I've been busy." She gestures to her chessboard.
"You always play yourself," Wanda Maximoff coos, hand running lightly over Natasha's shoulder, "Why do you do that?"
"It's easier that way," Natasha mumbles, brushing off the touch. She can feel Wanda frown, hurt. Inside, a part of her that she thought had gone missing throbs painfully as well.
"It is no fun to be alone."
"It's not about fun, Wanda, we aren't children. It's a strategy."
"Fine. I will leave. If... That is what you want." Natasha can hear Wanda start to walk away. She needs to let her go, needs to let her walk out that door. She cannot win this game. There is too much at stake-
"Wait," she whispers, almost inaudible. Wanda's footsteps stop, voice hopeful,
"Yes, Natasha?"
The way her name sounds on Wanda's lips makes another part of her awaken, growling, hungry.
"Come back," she continues, feeling her tone turn pleading as she turns to face Wanda, "I'm sorry."
Wanda smiled at her, her green doe eyes dancing. In her mute forgiveness, she returns to the table, to the chessboard, and begins to reset the pieces.
It is another silent round. Wanda does not even speak as she victoriously claims Natasha's king again. She just stares at Natasha's eyes as she does so, watching the grey flicker, surprised, then approving, and finally, when Natasha looks up and meets her gaze, defeated. Yet she smiles.
"Congratulations, again, Wanda," Natasha finds herself chuckling, "You've beat me again."
"How can I beat you if this is not a game?" Wanda teases.
"Right... Of course."
"I am simply strategizing."
They smirk at each other across the table. Then, to Natasha's unwanted delight, Wanda rises from her seat and comes around to her side.
"Wanda, I-" she starts, unsure if what's about to come out is a plea to stop, or a plea to continue. She never has to answer that question, because Wanda's lips close over hers, so gently, so faintly, barely there, but burning deep into her veins nonetheless.
"Shall we strategize again next week, Natasha?" Wanda murmurs her question across Natasha's lips as she pulls away.
Natasha finds herself nodding, dazed. This affirmation brings another smile to Wanda's face. With a wave, she leaves the room.
So much of Natasha Romanoff is on fire. Everything she fought to ignore, everything she had to rebuild, is starting to crumble. The coffee is remembered. She takes a sip and promptly spits it out. It's cold. Sighing, she looks at the year on the digital clock, forcing her to remember that she is an adult. Silently, completely, looking around at the once-again empty room, she wishes she were young again.