"Natasha you need to give him space. He'll be fine on his own but you can't go after him right now." Tony watches her pace back and forth from her bed, the same bed that she's refused to sleep in since Steve left. Not that she has gotten much sleep, anyway. No, her mind has been keeping her painfully awake, replaying how the hurt on Steve's face and in his words, the way she swore she saw tears starting in the corners of his eyes, for a good twenty-four hours, ever since he took the surprise mission to Bulgaria. She can't think past that, the coordinates already stored in the jet that's been ready for her to leave for the past few hours. Those hours she's been spending pacing in her room, trying to pack clothes without knowing how long she'll be gone, where she'll even be, or what the hell she needs to worry about clothing for. Steve is out there and she has to-she has to set this right. She takes a shaky breath, looking over at Stark.
"What?" If she's honest she hasn't been listening to him for some time.
He just rolls his eyes and stands, walking over to settle his hands on her shoulder and pat them gently. She looks up at him, her eyes wide and surprised and more panicked than he's ever seen. If he's honest he's never seen her look so human. And Steve did this to her?
"Look, I don't know what you did to piss him off, but this is Steve. If he doesn't want to be by you so much that he had to leave the country then following him is NOT a good idea, Natasha. No matter how badly you want to."
But he doesn't understand that it doesn't make her feel any better. She just chokes back a sob, nodding and pulling away from him. She's always been so strong, at least until this point. There hasn't been a time that she's ever felt so vulnerable, so weak, not since before she'd taken the leap of faith to join the Avengers. Tony's dark eyes search hers, trying to find some semblance of the woman he's become so familiar working with, so accustomed to seeing every day he comes downstairs to grab coffee. She's gone, hidden somewhere within the depths of this new, scared girl standing in front of him, one who sees her world crumbling apart. He knows because he looked the same way his parents died, though only his mirror knows that. He cups the side of her face gently, lips parting to say something, but she pulls away.
"Let me go, Tony. I have to go to him," she says, the words coming out more a growl than anything. She slams the top of her suitcase down, resolve stiffening within her as she tries to hold her head high, hide the pain he saw not half a minute ago.
"It's not going to work, or even help-."
"I don't care, Tony. I don't care!" He'd never heard her voice rise like this, the final words cracking at the very end. She takes a deep breath to stifle the emotion, to swallow hard and look away from his surprised eyes, and she lets out a soft puff of air. "I have to try. I have to let him know-have to let him know that I love him. I really do."
"You mean he doesn't-Jesus, Tash." Stark runs a hand through his hair before shaking his head, unable to believe what she's been telling him. "Look, I know I'm not a paradigm of perfect relationships. Hell, I'm probably the worst person to get advice from, but telling him that now, instead of before, is a very bad idea. He's going to think you're saying it simply because you want him back, because you're going to try and string him up again, and though he may be Captain America and perfect and spangly with second chances to throw around, this isn't Cap we're dealing with. This is a very hurt, wounded Steve Rogers. You did that to him, so give him some time."
She doesn't say anything for some time, just clutches the handle of her suitcase and moves to the doorway. His words hold her there for a moment before she says she'll be gone for some time and will let him know if she needs anything. Stark just sighs, watching her leave the room.
Loki isn't sure what to expect when Natasha comes to his door, but he smiles nonetheless. "My darling, how might I-?"
There's a crack as his head whips to the other side, the outline of Natasha's hand print against his skin glowing red and letting off such heat it startles the god. His fingers ghost over the handprint and he turns to her in disbelief, his gaze turning cool. Has she lost her mind?
"I'd have thought you'd be nicer to the man who finally got you out of that disgusting excuse of a relationship. A hug or a kiss at the very least would be appropriate."
"Go to hell," she snarls as she pushes past him. He makes to grab her wrist but she all but breaks his arm in the process, reminding him that he's an idiot for trying to stop a spy. If he was made of more brittle stuff he might have been on the floor crying in agony, as it was her attack is no more than a minor irritation. "I love him," she finally yells, shoving Loki backwards. "I don't want to be with you-I can't, Loki! We don't work together, and you can't just destroy a relationship with a man I care about because you got jealous."
Oh but he can and he did, and his lips quirk up at that. As she turns to walk away he has her again by the shoulder, spinning her around to face him once more and ducking to the left to avoid the punch that would have hit his face. "Don't walk away from me, Natasha." He says once he's righted himself. His eyes search hers, looking for some recognition, for something deeper than the hate currently emanating from her body at his very proximity. "Please don't walk away from me again." His voice grows quieter and, not caring that she might hurt him (because there's little she can do that he's not already done to his self, both physical and mental) he reaches one hand up to stroke her cheek. When she doesn't recoil he takes it as a good sign. "I love you, or as close as I can, and I know you feel the same for me. You can't give me up; even when you had the soldier you returned to me over, and over again. It's not just the sex, it's not just that I run a few degrees cooler than he does. You and I both know that we belong together, and it may not be perfect but it's as close to perfection as we're going to get. Anything else will simply hurt us and those around us."
Her eyes close and for a moment Loki is sure he has her once again, positive he's played his hand just the way he should have to get her to stay. He starts to bring his lips closer to hers, eager to feel her pressed against him as before, when the bottom of her hand slams into the bridge of his nose. Blood fills his mouth and he splutters for a moment, allowing Natasha time to escape from his grip, shaking her hand as the pain spikes up her arm.
"Fuck off, Loki," she growls. "I was leaving you that night-the one you used to try and break Steve and I up? That was my last hurrah," she rolls her eyes at the phrase. "Because I want to be with Steve. I already told you: I love him."
No she doesn't, but neither of them say another word as she turns on her heel to walk away, bags back in hand and a deeper set resolution in her shoulders. His hand covers his nose, holding it tight to try and stem the blood flow. She'll come back, he assures himself as she disappears from view. She has to. There's no way that Rogers will consider taking him back, and if Natasha isn't honest with him about how long it's been happening . . . well, for once Loki thinks he can make an exception to tell the truth. He wishes he'd had the foresight to have done it from the beginning.
Natasha doesn't find Steve in Bulgaria until the second night she's there. The house he was supposed to be in was empty when she first arrived, and though it terrified her at first, not sure whether or not he was alright, she got news from headquarters that he'd moved. She manages to track down the small flat he's rented for the week, even though the mission hadn't even taken him a couple days to already complete, and after depositing her few things in a nearby hotel she catches sight of him leaving. He doesn't look a thing like the man she once spent her evenings with; his hair is tousled, a black leather jacket is held tight around him like a security blanket though the night is quite warm, and the rest of his outfit couldn't have been any different than the forties inspired clothing he owned back home. Only his gait sets him apart, still as determined and forceful as ever, yet he manages to sneak in and out around those in his way without so much as jostling him. Natasha waits a moment, then follows him, keeping a good few paces behind him for good measure. He doesn't seem to notice her, and if he does he certainly doesn't care, but that's not what gets Natasha. He's headed for a club, she realizes, and her eyes go wide. Since when did Steve do anything other than the foxtrot?
The bass of the club is already pounding so loud Nat can feel it in her heart, and after Steve steps inside, nodding his head to the bouncer as though they were friends, she waits a few more minutes before making it in herself. As with most clubs the lighting is minimal, reserved to black lights and flashing strobe lights in two corners of the room. It makes everything seem to move in slow motion, and though Natasha has a quick moment of panic, of worry that she may not find him, she swallows it as she recognizes his broad shoulders. He's already got a partner, the short woman grinding her hips into Steve's, one arm wrapped around his neck as she stares up at him. He can't look any more bored, Nat thinks with a relieved sigh on her behalf. For a second she worried she'd made it there too late, and her panic slowly turns to envy and fury at the way the woman licks her lips as she stares up at Natasha's man. Red takes over her vision and in a few moments she's behind the super soldier, one hand tapping his shoulder. He stiffens when he turns, his eyes blank as he stares at her. It makes her stomach plummet.
"Steve, let me explain-."
"Excuse me," the woman says, her English broken as she narrows her eyes at Natasha. "He is my partner. Go away."
It takes all the restraint Natasha has to not backhand the woman and break her spine with the strike. Her eyes narrow instead, growing dangerous as she snarls at the woman to get the hell away, her meaning perfectly clear even if the woman doesn't understand the words.
"Natasha, I don't want you to explain," Steve's voice is just loud enough that she can hear it over the music, but she would've rather he shouted at her. Her heart sinks into her stomach, her eyes wide as she stares up at him, vulnerable for the first time. He shrinks away from it. "I don't think I need to hear what happened; I saw it. I don't want to think about it anymore, so thanks but no. I'm going to stay here."
"Steve, please." Natasha has never once begged a man for anything since she got out of the Red Room, not seriously at the very least, but there she is, all but on her knees in front of him pleading for him to listen. He just turns away, and for a moment Nat's sure her heart shatters as it drops from her chest onto the floor. It was a long shot, she tries to remind herself as she takes a few steps away and turns her head so he can't see the tears pooling and falling down her cheeks, his rejection harsher than any punishment for a bad job she's ever taken.
She thinks he doesn't catch the tremor in her chin, or the way her eyes go wide and fill with betrayal and hurt before she manages to turn away, but there isn't much that Steve misses. He only wishes that he did. Not half a minute after Natasha leaves he pulls away from the girl-Anya-who has him by the neck. She cries out in displeasure but he ignores it. He has more important matters to attend to. Despite the short time she's had to disappear she's made use of it, proving to Steve once again why she's the best at her job. It's a miracle he catches up with her, if he thinks about it, and when he does he pulls her aside. There's an abandoned sliver of wall he slams her up against, his lips descending on hers. Her mouth tastes of salt, and it's not a half a moment later she responds, holding his face in her hands as he wraps one arm around her waist. It's not their usual kiss, the sweet, slow kisses he's used to planting on her lips, allowing them time to savor the feeling of one another. No, this is full of teeth and groans; under his hands her skin erupts in goosebumps and as he brings one to her neck, holding her by the back of it, twisting his fingers in her hair and pulling so she gasps into the kiss, allowing him to deepen it further. He revels in the difference between then and now. She wanted something more passionate, more painful and harsh? He can give it. He grinds his hips against hers, growling into her mouth with want as her body shakes with a moan.
"H-here?" Natasha actually stutters, her eyes flickering up to stare at him, still watery. He wipes away the tracks of her tears and shakes his head.
"My place. Yours is just across the street, right?" He smirks, knowing her far too well. She offers him a smile and they say little more. Steve's hand stays around her hips as they step out of the club, grab a cab, and hurry off to Steve's apartment. Natasha doesn't seem to know quite what to do, one hand in his, and her lips opening and closing every so often as she fights with herself to speak. Steve doesn't want to speak, and so when she catches his eye and looks about to say something he simply shakes his head. He doesn't need to hear it, not now. It's already weighed so heavily on his mind; what more is there to be said? Perhaps he'll hear it in the morning, but that evening? His mind is elsewhere.
He tips the cabbie generously when they get there, and with quick feet takes the stairs three at a time until he reaches the fifth floor, Natasha hot on his heels. He pushes through the newly unlocked door, and pulls her along. She's back in his arms and her body pressed hard against his by the time the door closes and his hand has flipped the lock. She's soft and malleable in his grip, and his lips trail down her throat, biting and sucking when he gets the chance, relishing the moans that leave her lips, glad to hear his name coated in her voice. If he's made her unhappy in the past, something he hadn't thought about before he'd discovered her and Loki and since has only been able to consider, he swears to make it up that night. He grips her harder, all but ripping her clothing off as they make their way to his small bedroom, and when they're finally both naked and atop the bed, Steve buried so deep inside Natasha it'll be a miracle if he ever gets out, he sets to making her forget she's ever laid with another man. If it's a brutal fucking she wants, Steve thinks to himself as his pace turns punishing and his teeth leave fresh marks behind on her pale skin, her breasts and throat and collar bearing most of the damage, then he'll give it to her. He'll give her anything. She wraps her legs around his hips, her head tipping back as she screams, likely waking the neighbors above and below them. Her hands rake down his back, leaving angry red marks all the way down, and when she finally comes, her body tightening around him so much it's a miracle he doesn't cry out himself with anguish, it's his name on her lips. Not Loki's, his. It only makes him fuck her harder, the rhythm of their hips meeting one another taking over the rhythm of the heart in his chest that still beats for her, and likely always will.
Her voice is raw by the time she collapses with her third orgasm, Steve finally coming around to his own, rolling off of her after his body has stopped spasming each time she tightens around him. Neither say a word, Natasha scooting to make herself comfortable in his arms and Steve simply contents himself with holding her. Tomorrow will come soon enough and so for now he's determined to enjoy this small success while it lasts.
At the tower Loki screams in his frustration; he'd made the mistake of scrying to find Natasha after his curiosity had gotten the better of him. The form is not one he's best at but in a pinch it works, though the sight of the Captain and Widow together, the former driving the woman in his arms over the edge, is not one that Loki was hoping to find. None of the others bother him that evening, allowing him to level his entire floor as his fury ebbs and flows into sorrow, leaving him on his knees sobbing by the time the sun peeks over the city of Manhattan. He keens her name into his palms, hands having come to cover his mouth as he cries, teeth cutting into the soft skin in his preventative measures to keep from being heard.
He'll get her back. He has to.
A/N: Well, finally finished writing this chapter, and I hope it lived up to your hopes for it! As ever, your support is fantastic, and your reviews are always welcome. Thanks so much for everything!
EDIT: Alright, so for whatever the reason the text was cut off the first time I uploaded this, so many thanks to KeepCalmandWrite about telling me so! Now it should be fixed =]