"Once you lose someone it is never exactly the same person who comes back." - Sharon Olds
Who the hell's Natasha?"
It had been a week since the fight, since she left. Once free, all she knew was that she couldn't stay in Washington, but before she vanished for good, she decided to stop in the Smithsonian. And now here she stood, staring at a picture of that man.
You're my friend.
You're my mission.
He was a national hero – Captain America. There were pictures of him from back during World War Two, replicas of his uniform, and interviews of people talking about what a good man he was. She couldn't believe for the life of her, how a man this courageous, honorable, and kind, would ever know her, more or less be friends with her, a person like her.
For some reason, she thought that if she could find out more about this man, Steve Rogers, then she could connect some broken puzzle piece in her brain, and miraculously discover who she was, but that wasn't the case.
She stayed there for two hours, wearing a worn, baggy sweatshirt, faded jeans, and a baseball cap, with a logo on it that she didn't recognize. She read every word on every exhibit that related the slightest bit to Captain America. She listened to every interview, and looked at every sign, and picture, but Natasha Romanoff wasn't mentioned at all.
Your name is Natasha Romanoff.
Then where the hell was Natasha Romanoff hiding?
She had gone looking for answers, and she found them.
After she left Washington, she traveled to Maryland. She was desperate, so she went to the closet mall, and sat down at a computer, inside an Apple Store. She clicked on Google, and searched: Natasha Romanoff. From there, all these links, and sites started popping up.
She clicked the first one, and it read: Natasha Romanoff, also known as Natalia Alianovna Romanova, Natalia Rushmore… Born in 1984, no exact date recovered. Family deceased. COD: fire. Former employment to KGB. Black Widow training program. Highly trained spy, mercenary, and Avenger. Last known working for SHIELD.
There were other links to things like Budapest, Osaka, Battle of New York, and more, but she ran out of the store before she could click on them.
Her head was pounding, and faint images of a women with red hair, and a man with soft green eyes smiling down at her kept replaying in her head, followed by their screams, as fire engulfed everything. Then she saw a bunch of little girls with knowledge way past their years dancing to silent music, in worn ballet shoes, but the shoes quickly turned to knives, the music to blood, and the dancing became fighting, as the little girls became women. Soon the one with red hair was the only girl left in the room. The room became an alley way, and there was archer aiming his arrow at her heart, then offering her his hand. She saw a man with an eye patch dressed in all black, a team made up off people from all different worlds, and that man, Steve Rogers. Everything all seemed to come back to him.
She had gone looking for her past, but it found her first. Dark vans surrounded her in the mall parking lot, where she had run off to, needing some fresh air. Strange men in suits pointed guns at her, and she put her hands up too tired, and confused to protest.
Who the hell's Natasha?"
She was still figuring that part out.
They kept asking her the same questions over and over again. What do you know? And she kept telling them the truth over and over again, Nothing.
She was blindfolded, tied to a wooden chair in some damp basement who knows where? They had been interrogated her for days, using various torture techniques to try and weasel the information out of her, but all failed attempts. She was the famous Black Widow, at least according to her Wikipedia page – some amateurs weren't going to break her.
She was already broken anyways.
They had just water boarded her, but she refused to give in. One of the man pulled her head back by her hair, and that's when she'd had enough. Biting him in hand, he yelped out in pain.
"You bitch!" he shouted, backhanding her across the face.
She then stood up, bashing the wooden chair into his body, freeing herself from it. More guards came over, but she was able to disarm them, even in her weekend state. One got a lucky jab to her ribs, knocking the wind out of her. She then hurriedly ran up the stairs, towards the door, out of the stupid basement. Just when she turned the doorknob, she heard a gunshot, and felt a burning pain in her shoulder, but she kept moving, hyped on adrenaline, and fear.
The air was cool outside, and the ground was wet. Her clothes were torn, her body sore, but she kept running because that's all she knew how to do. After what seemed like miles, the running turned into a jog, then a fast walk, then a walk, and then she was practically dragging herself through the woods.
Soon the blue sky turned to black, and her body was shaking so bad, she decided to take a break under a tree. She touched her right shoulder, where the bullet had ripped through, and winced. It was so cold, and all she wanted was a warm blanket. She tried to keep her eyes open for as long as she could, but after a while she let sleep take her because at least there, she could have peace.
"UNO!" Natasha shouted.
It was pouring outside, and there was nothing better to do, so Natasha decided to teach Steve how to play some board games. Steve was okay with Monopoly, Apples to Apples just ended in a mess for both of them, but she was beating him in Uno so bad, it was almost depressing.
"You have to be cheating," he whined.
"Just because I've won six consecutive times, doesn't mean I'm cheating," she replied.
"Then tell me your secret," Steve said.
"If a magician gave away the secret behind the bird disappearing from the cage, do you think he'd get anywhere in life?" she asked with a grin.
"First off, you are not a magician," he said. "And the only thing you make disappear, is all the good beer in my place."
"What can I say, I'm a women with good taste, and it's not like anyone else is gonna be drinking them with your visitor rates," she said laughing.
"Ha-ha, very funny," he said sarcastically. "Can we just get back to the game?"
They did, and Natasha decided to let him win once, out of good faith of course.
It was long after midnight when Steve was awakened by a knocking at his apartment door. Still in his striped pajama pants, and a white undershirt, he made his way to the door. Opening it he couldn't believe his eyes.
"Natasha?" he half asked, half prayed that it was her.
Who the hells Natasha?"
She just moaned in response. She was standing upright, but looked like she would collapse at any moment. Her eyes were unfocused, her face was a sickly pale white, and her clothes were soaked in blood, matching her red hair. She was shivering like an earthquake.
On cue, her knee buckled, and she fell to the floor. Steve caught her just before her head hit the ground. He lifted her up, and carried her into the bathroom to clean her up. She wasn't struggling or protesting which made the panic grow in his gut. Laying her in the bathtub, he noticed that she kept whispering something over, and over again. Listening closer, he realized that she was saying "Steve Rogers," right before she passed out.
He cleaned her up, bandaging to bullet wound on her shoulder. She had lost lots of blood, but that wasn't the main problem. He put his hand to her forehead, feeling the heat that was radiating off of her. Steve didn't know where she came from, but he guessed that she walked all the way here, and due to the cold temperature outside, he also guessed that she had the flu or something worse.
Because her close were all dirty, and stained, he grabbed a pair of sweats, and a t-shirt from his closet. They were really big on her, and the fact that she looked even skinnier since the last time he saw her didn't help, but it was the best he could do at this moment, and he wanted to preserve whatever ounce of dignity she had left.
He lifted her up, and carried her to his bedroom. Placing her in his bed, he wrapped the covers around her small frame. She looked so small, and fragile, but he knew that she was anything but.
Steve stayed up the whole night just in case she woke up. "It's going to be okay," he said. "You're going to be okay," he whispered the few time she stirred from whatever was going on inside her head, but the truth was, nothing was okay, and it hasn't been for a long time now.
Were things ever going to be okay again?"
Steve could only hope.
The first time she woke up, she was confused, and scared. Her first instinct was to run, or fight, but there was a soothing voice telling her that everything would be okay, so she let herself believe that – she so badly wanted it to be true.
Even while asleep, nightmares still haunted her thoughts. Everything hurt, and all she wanted was a few moments of peace to rest, but every time that happened, she saw a bright light that brought bad memories, and a burning pain in her head.
Everything was too bright, but not clear enough at the same time, but every time she woke up, with a raw scream in the back of her throat, she heard that voice. "You're going to be okay," he said, and she could almost put a face to the voice, but it was too dark, and she was too tired, and weak, but she had hope, and that was a start.
He was awoken by a phone call from one of the bartenders from a pub that he went too regularly because they had really good milkshakes. It was three in the morning, and he had just got a call that Natasha was really drunk, and needed to be picked up. So Steve threw on a gray workout sweater shirt over his pajama pants, and drove a few blocks to the pub.
When he got there he saw Natasha sitting, barely, on a stool at the bar. She was downing shots like there was no tomorrow, and there were already a bunch of empty glasses scattered around her. She was dressed in the same thing he saw her leave SHIELD in – a brown leather jacket, and dark jeans.
Steve walked up to her, nodding in thanks to the bartender, as he sat down next to her. She turned and looked at him, while lifting up anther glass. He noticed that her hand was shaking. Lifting the shot glass to her lips, Steve grabbed it out of her hand before she could drink it.
"Nat, I think you've had enough," he said.
"What are you doing here?" she slurred.
"It's late, and I thought you might need a ride home," he said.
"I'm not leaving," she stated firmly. "You may be able to tell me what to do at SHIELD, but not here. I make my own choices, it's my decision, it was my decision, and it was my…" she slurred.
"You're right – you can decide to stay and get drunk until you can't keep your eyes open, but as a friend, I'm telling you that it won't help you forget," Steve said.
"I couldn't save them," she whispered, and he knew that she was talking about the mission now.
"You can't save everybody-,"
"Then what the hells the point?" she choked.
"The point is, we do our job, and save who we can, because that's all we can do, and no one can blame you for that, yourself included," he said.
That's when some man came up to them mid conversation. He was tall, strong build, but he was very full of himself, and very drunk. "Is this man bothering you little lady?" he slurred in a southern accent.
Natasha rolled her eyes, "No, we were just leaving actually," she said, hiding the annoyance in her voice.
"Don't leave," he whined. "Let's get to know each other first," he said sliding his hand down her waist, and that's when Natasha clocked him across the face.
There was a sickening crack sound, as the man yelped out, bringing his hands to his now bleeding face. "You bitch!" he shouted, attempting to punch her, but Steve caught his wrist before he could.
"Bad idea, pal," Steve said, shaking his head in disgust. The man tried to free himself from Steve's grasp, but was failing.
"Like I said," Natasha stated, getting up from the bar stool. "We were just leaving," she said, placing a fifty dollar bill on the counter, and strolling out of the bar.
Steve let go of the man, and said, "You're gonna want to see a doctor about that nose," then he left as well.
When he got outside, he saw Natasha leaning against the brick wall of the pub, breathing heavily into the night sky. "Sorry to get you involved in all of that," she said.
"Don't mention it. The last time I was in a bar fight was back when I could get drunk, so it was kind of refreshing," he said with a chuckle.
"You're a good man, Steve," she said.
"You must really be drunk if you're saying good things about me now," he smiled.
"Just shut up, and drive me home," she said, slightly swaying as she walked to his car.
"That's more like it," Steve said.
Natasha fell asleep in the car, so he let her crash at his apartment. She didn't remember much when she woke up, but she had bruised knuckles, a headache, and quite the story from Steve as a reminder.
She remembered an explosion, and then nothing, but darkness. She remembered that face, that man, Captain America, Steve Rogers, or did she used to just call him Steve? She remembered a man telling people to "Wipe her," and then she just remembered red.
"Natasha – may I call you Natasha? How about Nat? Captain Rogers seemed very fond of that nickname," Pierce said, and her heart sank. "You and him were friends, were you not?" he asked.
"We were partners, nothing more. I trusted him—"
"But did he trust you? You are the great Black Widow, you eat men like him for breakfast, yet I saw the way he looked at you. With admiration, respect, maybe even something more, but trust was not on the list, I mean if you were such good friends, then why are you here right now, instead of him? Never leave a man behind, isn't that what they teach you in the army?"
Steve left her behind – he abandoned her, left her to die, and that's why every time she closes her eyes, she sees things that don't make sense, and can't remember who the hell she is, or was made to be.
There was an anger growing deep inside of her. She wanted to hate Steve, but she couldn't, and she didn't know why, which just made her even angrier. He said that they were friends, then why did he leave her behind, why did this happen to her, and not him, and why was she the only one with so many questions, and no answers?
Why?
Steve woke up with a start. He remembered watching Natasha, making sure her fever broke, but he must have fallen asleep. He may have been a super soldier, but five days without sleep was starting to take its toll. He was emotionally and physically drained, and that said a lot coming from him.
All of a sudden he felt small hands around his neck. Opening his eyes, everything was dark, but that was just because it was after midnight. Steve didn't know what was happening, but by the faint red hair that he could see due to the moonlight shining through the cracks in the widow curtains, he had a pretty good clue.
"Natasha, it's me Steve… Steve Rogers," he choked out, literally.
She wasn't listening though. It was like they were back there on the helicarrier, except worse because he thought that he got her back this time. Her hands were growing tighter around his neck, as she squeezed the life out of him while hovering over him in his own bed.
"Y-you came to my apartment a few days ago hurt, and I tried to help you, remember?" he said, struggling to breathe.
"You left me!" she shouted. "We were partners – you told me we were friends, and promised everything would be okay, but you left me behind," she said, her voice cracking, and even in the darkness, Steve could see the fire in her eyes.
The thing about fire though, is that it always dies out eventually, but not before burning everything in its path until there's nothing but smoke left.
Steve felt guilty, guiltier then he thought it was possible for one to feel. It felt like a blender shredding up his insides, slowly, and painfully, but he knew that he deserved it. He would have been more than happy for her to just end it right now, but that would just make everything worse.
Natasha may have been able to choke him to death any other day, but right now she was still ill, and quite delirious, so Steve flipped then over, pinning her hands above her head. She struggled, but was no match for his strength.
"I hate you," she cried, hot tears running down her face.
I hate me too, Steve thought.
"I don't know who the hell I am, or what memories are real or fake, and it's all just one lie after the other," she said, painfully.
"I'm sorry," he said, his vision becoming blurry from the tears forming in his eyes. "I'm so, so, sorry. You didn't have to help me, but you did anyway. Before everything, you asked me who I wanted you to be, and I said a friend, and I wish every day that I could have been a better friend to you," he finished, but when he looked back down at Natasha, she had fallen asleep from exhaustion.
The next time Natasha woke up, no one mentioned what happened during that ungodly hour. Steve didn't know if she even remembered it at all, but he couldn't seem to get the image of her saying that she hated him out of his mind.
He would do anything to go back in time, and not leave her behind, but it didn't work that way. Life didn't work that way.
It had been about two weeks since she showed up at Steve's apartment bloody, and broken, and another week since that incident at night. At least one of those things was fixed now. She was pretty out of it the first couple of days after her fever broke, but she slowly became more lucid, as time went on.
Her whole body was still really sore. The first few days, she could barely lift up a spoon to eat, and the constant nightmares didn't help her gain her strength back any faster. Steve told her that she had the flu, and that was why she was so weak, but she knew there were things he wasn't telling her. He never asked where she came from, that night she passed out in his bathroom, and she respected that. The truth was, she didn't really know, more or less remember exactly what went on. All she remembered was getting shot, and then being really cold while walking really far.
Steve had went out to the market, to pick up some groceries that morning, so she had the apartment to herself. She was secretly thankful for the moment of solitude. Steve was kind of the definition of overprotective. She wondered if he was always like that, or just now because of…everything. He had been walking on eggshells ever since she screamed every fever induced thought to his face that night, while trying to strangle him. She said most of it out of anger, which was really the only thing that was her emotion to control – except that night, she said some things she regretted, but it was better to act like it never happened, and try to move forwards.
She didn't really hate Steve. It was almost impossible to stay mad at him for long periods of time she learned, but she could never admit that to him.
She walked into the kitchen, then the living room, the study, and even the bathroom, which was clean from any remnants of her bleeding out in it not too long ago. Everything seemed familiar, yet she couldn't quite describe it, like when you know that you lost something, but you just can't remember where you last had it. It was a sucky feeling, but like many things, she was growing familiar to it.
She was in the study looking at his sketches when she heard the front door open. She froze, staring at a picture that looked a lot like her, but when she looked at the date, she knew it was drawn before her life became a mess. She decided that putting things in before and after categories would make it easier to sort out all the things she forgot, or remembered wrong. Right now things were going kind of slow.
"Nat? I brought you some stuff I think you'd like," she heard him say from the kitchen, so she placed the sketch book down, and went to find out what he brought.
It took some getting used to, being called by her real name and everything, and still every time she heard Steve call her Nat, or Natasha, or even Tasha sometimes, a part of herself would hear someone else being called, but that was her secret.
When she entered the kitchen, she saw him putting food away in the fridge. She also saw a box on the counter filled with stuff. "What's in the box?" she asked.
"That's what I wanted to show you," Steve said, closing the fridge. He picked up the box, and walked over to the couch. She followed him, sitting down. He pulled out, what looked like a book, and handed it to her.
"Crime and Punishment," she read aloud. "What's this have to do with anything?"
"It was your favorite book. I never knew why, but you were always reading it. I think you read it over ten times," he said with a small smile.
She opened the cover. The pages were worn with use, but other than that, the book looked brand new. "Where'd you get this?" she asked.
"I stopped by your apartment, and brought everything I thought could help you remember," he said. Before she could say anything, he handed her an Mp3 player, some movies with titles she didn't recognize, and a sweatshirt. He noticed her eyeing the sweatshirt, and said, "It was mine, but I let you borrow it one night, and never got it back," he said with a laugh.
"So are you taking it back?" Natasha asked.
"Nahhh, it looked a lot better on you," he said, before he got up leaving her to do whatever she wanted with the stuff, her stuff.
Steve walked into his study, when he saw his sketchbook laying open on his desk. It was open to a drawing of Natasha, one he'd drawn a while back, when they had just started working together. It was of her jumping off his shield. He smiled thinking back to it – the day he knew that nothing would ever be the same.
He closed the sketchbook, putting it away. When he walked back into the living room he saw Natasha with headphones in, forcefully reading Crime and Punishment. Steve shook his head smiling, and then went back to his study to work on a new sketch of Natasha.
He wasn't erasing the old one, just making some adjustments because nothing last forever, and it was time to stop pretending that it did.
It was five o'clock, as they sat across from each other, at the dinner table, eating pasta. Natasha was looking down at her food, and Steve was doing the same. There wasn't really much small talk to relax the mood.
The only noise was from the rain outside, and the metal forks tapping the plates as they ate in silence, but then Natasha said, "If it was down to me to save your life, and you be honest with me, would you trust me to do it?"
At first Steve was taken aback from this question. After everything that had happened, he never really thought about her saving his life, mainly because he did such a crappy job saving hers. But when he looked up from his plate, and saw her staring back at him with those green eyes, he saw something familiar, something that made his heart beat a little harder in his chest. Steve couldn't help but answer her.
"I would now," he said. "And I'm always honest," he said causing a small smile to form on her lips. It was just a small smile, but it was enough.
Steve went back to eating the food, and almost spit out his drink when he heard the words she muttered next.
"I forgive you," she said.
He was lost for words, so he just stared at her with a questioning look on his face. How could she forgive him?
"Only to live. To live and live! Life whatever it may be!" Natasha quoted from the book. "You made a mistake, but I've made ten more for every one you have made. You're a good man, Steve Rogers – a better man than you think, and I think that you deserve to be forgiven," she paused taking his hand in her own, from across the table. "We can't waste our days wishing we could go back and fix the bad ones, we can only keep on living," she finished.
"You finished the book?" Steve asked, because he didn't know what else to say.
She nodded, and went back to her food. She forgave him, but the question was, could he forgive himself?
Natasha had showed up to Steve's apartment one day unannounced. "We are going to the movies," she stated, not giving him much of a chance to bail.
Steve grabbed his coat, and left. She grabbed his arm, practically dragging him out of the apartment building, into her black corvette that awaited them. It was the week before Christmas, as he sat in her car, he looked at all the lights, and decorated trees all around. Christmas was one thing that never changed, and he liked that.
He turned on some festive music, earning a slap from Natasha, as she turned it right back off. "What do you have against Christmas carols?" Steve asked.
"I will not allow that kind of music to be played in this car," she said firmly.
"It's just a car," he said back.
"Don't listen to the mean man. He doesn't know what he's talking about," Natasha said to her car, and Steve just shook his head.
Once they made it to the mall, after Natasha tried multiple times to get Steve in as a senior citizen, they finally sat down just in time for the movie to start. They were seeing something called Frozen, but he'd never heard of it.
Multiple times throughout the movie, Steve would look over at her, and see her mesmerized by the screen. Who would have thought the infamous Black Widow would love a children's movie so much?
The movie ended, and Natasha made him swear he never told anyone that she enjoyed the movie. In return, Steve made her play Christmas songs on the way back to his place. He could see her mouthing some of the words to Jingle Bells out of the corner of his eyes.
That year he found a cane under his Christmas tree, and it didn't need a card for him to know who it was from.
"So this is it?" Natasha asked.
Steve was taking her apartment searching, now that she could live on her own. She picked a place about twenty minutes from his. It was in a brick building, not too small, but not too big.
"I guess it is," Steve said, putting the last of her few boxes of belongings down.
Noticing the sad tone of his voice, Natasha said, "It's not like this is the last you'll ever see of me. Maybe we could go watch a movie soon. I hear Frozen is pretty good."
He smiled, deciding not to tell her how they already saw that together. "Yeah, I think you'll like it," he said instead, heading towards the door. "Well I better get going."
"I should probably start unpacking anyway," she said.
"You have my number in case you need anything right?" he asked.
"It's number one on speed dial," she said with a laugh. "And not just because it's one of the only numbers in my phone."
"I'm not going to say goodbye because this isn't goodbye, so I'll just say, see you soon," Steve said, walking out the door, with a wave.
"Steve!" Natasha yelled, making hi pause in the hallway. "Thanks…for everything."
"Don't mention it," he said, and with that he left.
His apartment was quiet without her. To pass the time, he went on more jogs, some with Sam, and some alone, just to think. The truth was he missed her a lot. Even if most of her time spent in his apartment was spent in silence, or worry filled nights, it was okay, because she was there, but now it was like he was back at the beginning.
It was a few days after she moved out, and he had just come back from a run, when he noticed something lodged in the cushions of his couch. He realized it was a book, her book.
Opening it, a note fell to the floor. Picking it up, Steve read: Thought I could lend this to you, in return for the sweatshirt:)
Steve stayed up all night reading.
Natasha was so bored out of her mind. She was laying it bed, when she heard a 'meow' coming from outside the window. Turning her head, she saw a black cat, staring back at her. "I can't let you in, I'm sorry," she said.
The next day, after coming back from the market, she saw the same cat, sitting on the steps outside the apartment building. "You're still here." said Natasha.
"This stray is sticking around thanks to you," said her neighbor Anna, from her window.
"A lonely neighborhood for a cat, I suppose," she said back.
"Yes, a lonely neighborhood for all creatures, but this one waits for you, I think," Anna said.
That's when she decided to name the cat. Liho, an embodiment of evil fate and misfortune…perfect.
A few days later, she was just sitting out at her balcony, drinking a glass of wine, watching the stars go by. A faint memory of sitting on the hood of a car, looking up at the night sky, intruded her thoughts. She was lost in her head, until she heard a 'Meow.' Looking down, she saw Liho climb up onto the railing she was sitting on.
Petting her, she said, "I told you, I didn't mind hanging out. I told you I'd feed you once in a while, but I'm not adopting you, and you can't lick me," but the cat just kept purring. "I'm serious. How could I even take care of a cat? Anyway, like I said, no confrontation. We'll be okay as long as we're okay, got it? You make this a thing and I'm going to get upset. Scratching, biting, whining at me, forget all of that," she finished, but was pretty sure that whatever she said wouldn't matter.
One day, Steve came over to check up on things. They had gone out to lunch at some pub with really good milkshakes, and were just getting back. Natasha was unlocking her front door, when the cat strolled by.
"You got a cat?" Steve asked.
"She's not my cat," Natasha said. "We have a mutual agreement - I sometimes leave food outside my door, and she doesn't lick me."
Somehow, Steve knew it was more than a cat.
Eventually Natasha gave up, and let Liho inside one day. It takes so much effort to get close to someone, but sometimes you need someone else, even if that someone else is a stray cat.
Blinding light, so much red. Red, red, red, red, darkness.
She woke up covered in sweat, tangled in her sheets. Normally Natasha would go for a run, or forget about sleep entirely, but she was really tired, so she grabbed her phone, and decided to call Steve.
Not too long after, she heard a knock at her door. Opening it, she saw him standing there with a pack of beer, still dressed in his pajamas. He walked right in, setting the beer on the counter, handing her a can.
"You look like crap," he said, as she opened the can.
"Thanks," she muttered, taking a sip.
"Nightmares?" he asked, with a worried expression on his face.
But she didn't answer the question. Instead she said, "Sorry for waking you up."
"It's okay. I've had a six pack in my fridge for so long, I've been waiting for a reason to drink it," he responded.
She sat over on the couch, and he followed. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.
"Tell me about the things they don't put in the Captain America Exhibit," she said.
"Well… they forget to mention how many fights I used to get in, they don't give Dr. Erkinstine as much credit for making me who I am today, and sometimes I feel like they make it out to be some heroic journey, when really all it was, was war," he finished.
"Now you can ask me something," Natasha said.
"That night you showed up to my place, shot, and sick, why'd you come to me?" he asked.
"I don't really know. All I remember after I escaped some basement filled with men asking me questions that I couldn't answer, was walking in the woods, for miles, maybe days, and it was so cold, and I was bleeding, and tired. For a second I just laid down against a tree to rest, and when I closed my eyes, I kept seeing your face, and there was something about it that made me hold on, and I guess my conscious just led me back to you," she said, looking down at her hands.
Steve stared back at her, and he couldn't help the words that flew out of his mouth. "I love you," he said.
"W-what?" Natasha stated, like she's never heard those words in her entire life.
"Taking a new step, uttering a new word, is what people fear most," he quoted from the book. "I know love is for children, and you don't need to say it back, but I love you, all the good, the bad, the missing, and the gained," he said.
"You finished the book?" she asked.
"Yeah, I can see why you liked it so much. It was a good-,"
"Just shut up, and kiss me," she said interrupting him, and Steve Rogers always obeyed orders.
It was July 4th, Steve's birthday, and he was at home doing nothing. Everyone was on missions, or press conferences, and that left him all alone to look at old black and white pictures, from back in the day. Natasha was on a mission, somewhere classified, and even though she was scheduled to come home today, he didn't want to bother her.
Around nine o'clock, his phone started ringing. Looking at it, he saw that it was a video chat from Natasha. Pressing answer, her face popped up on the screen. She was still in her cat suit, and looked to be on the helicarrier on her way back. She had a nasty bruise on her cheek, but smiled none the less.
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY OLD MAN!" she sang.
"How'd the mission go?" he asked.
"It was fine, went a little longer than expected, so I had to settle for surprising you via video chat," she said.
"What's the surprise?" he asked. "Should I be worried?"
"Look in the second shelf in your fridge, behind the milk," she said.
Doing as she said, he opened the fridge, looked behind the milk, and found a vanilla cupcake, with red frosting, and blue sprinkles. "How did you sneak this in here?" he asked, smiling.
"You really need better locks, and I have connections," she said.
"So you hired someone to break into my apartment, and hide a cupcake in my fridge. That's the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me," he said laughing.
"You're welcome," Natasha said. "Now stop being so pathetic, and go see some fireworks – it's your birthday, and America's birthday too, no need to spend it alone cooped up in your apartment."
"Yes mam," Steve responded sarcastically.
Someone came into the view on the screen, and said that they needed her for debriefing. "I have to go, but just know I'm excepting an even better gift on my birthday," she said.
"You don't even know when your birthday is," he said back.
"That's your problem now," she said, and with that she hung up.
Steve ate the cupcake, suspiciously, because it was really good, and the only thing Natasha could cook was leftover fast food. Fireworks exploded in the night sky outside his window, and for once, he thought of the future instead of the past.
SHIELD may have been gone, but that didn't mean that the Avengers were gone too. Hydra was still out there, and there came a time, when the world needed some heroes. It was Natasha's first official mission back.
She was staring at her black cat suit, hung up on the wall, not a speck of use on it. She and Steve had been sparring a lot to get her back into mission shape, and while many of those encounters ended pleasurably with one of them on top of the other, some of them also brought back some bad memories. Natasha wanted to go out there and do to those Hydra soldiers what they did to her. She was a spy, and she knew that she could do it, she just didn't know if she was ready to.
She heard the familiar footsteps of Steve, coming up from behind her. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, and that's when she decided she was ready.
"Yeah, it'll be fun."
They were lying in bed, worn from the latest mission. The sun was rising, and they had just settled down to sleep.
"I love you," Natasha whispered in a hoarse voice, and Steve had to strain his ears to hear her. At first he thought that he was dreaming, but then she said, "I love you, and I'm sorry I waited so long to say it."
"I love you too," Steve said back, and soon after, he heard her breathing even out besides him.
He was so tired, but all he could do was lay in bed, stare up at the ceiling, and think about everything that has happened this past year. After so long spent worrying, feeling guilty, lost, and ashamed, he felt all those emotions slowly lift off his shoulders. Things may never go back to the way they were before SHIELD fell, but maybe that was okay. She may wake up in the middle of the night from bad memories that haunt her dreams, and he may run for miles on end trying to force himself to adapt to this new world, but for now they both were okay, and that was all he could ever ask for. He promised that he would bring her home, and he did.
"Who do you want me to be?" she asked.
"How bout a friend?"
"Who the hell's Natasha?"
"I'm not going to fight you," he said, letting go of his shield, as it fell into the fiery abyss down below. "You are my friend," he finished.
Screaming, she dove into him. "You're my mission," she said, punching him in the face, one, two, three, four, five, more times than he could count.
She raised her arm back, pausing, and Steve whispered, "Then finish it, cause I'm with you till the end of the line."
"You left me!" she shouted. "We were partners – you told me we were friends, and promised everything would be okay, but you left me behind," she said, her voice cracking, and even in the darkness, Steve could see the fire in her eyes.
"You made a mistake, but I've made ten more for every one you have made. You're a good man, Steve Rogers – a better man than you think, and I think that you deserve to be forgiven," she paused taking his hand in her own, from across the table. "We can't waste our days wishing we could go back and fix the bad ones, we can only keep on living," she finished.
"That night you showed up to my place, shot, and sick, why'd you come to me?" he asked.
"I don't really know. All I remember after I escaped some basement filled with men asking me questions that I couldn't answer, was walking in the woods, for miles, maybe days, and it was so cold, and I was bleeding, and tired. For a second I just laid down against a tree to rest, and when I closed my eyes, I kept seeing your face, and there was something about it that made me hold on, and I guess my conscious just led me back to you," she said, looking down at her hands.
"Taking a new step, uttering a new word, is what people fear most," he quoted from the book. "I know love is for children, and you don't need to say it back, but I love you, all the good, the bad, the missing, and the gained," he said.
"I love you," Natasha whispered in a hoarse voice, and Steve had to strain his ears to hear her. At first he thought that he was dreaming, but then she said, "I love you, and I'm sorry I waited so long to say it."
Steve finally forgave himself.
"Pain and suffering are always inevitable for a large intelligence and a deep heart." ― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment