Sorry about the late update, yesterday was busy as hell.


There were things she had never told him, especially about why she acted a certain way. She didn't tell him why she always wanted to be in control, why she always needed to be in control. She didn't tell him that it actually scared her to let loose, either in a sexual submissive way in the bedroom or in a more bloody vengeful way on the battlefield. She didn't tell him what ghosts haunted her nights and where they came from. She didn't tell him why she hated medical or couldn't stand staying in bed with nothing to do. She didn't tell him why she always worked out even when it seemed too much or unnecessary. She didn't tell him why she sometimes needed to get out of her own thoughts and what she did in those cases. She didn't tell him why she had trouble reveling things about herself, deep things that no one knew about.

She didn't say any of those things, but somehow he had always known. It wasn't exactly because of the way her body moved when she did certain things. Her body language was her favorite way of speaking, true, but it didn't explain the things she hid from him or rather the things she didn't say. Because whenever he asked a question, she answered. Sometimes it took her days to find the right words and they always came out choked and difficult as if they had physically burnt her throat. Sometimes she answered without words, making her point through action and examples of everyday life. Sometimes he understood without her needing to say anything.

She told him so much with her eyes; he had grown accustomed to read them as easily as a book. He could now see the slight differences between all her emotions but also between more complex revelations. He could see when she was scared and when she lied. He could see when she needed him but didn't dare say it out loud and just begged him with her emerald green eyes. He could see when she was truly mad and when she was just pretending for the sake of pretending. He could see when he had crossed a line she wished he hadn't crossed and when she was sorry she did the same but her words were not enough to express the depth of her apology. He could see the way she looked at him when she was impressed and when she felt the closest feeling to love.

Because he also knew that she had been taught many things, most of them he wished she hadn't, especially at such a young age. He knew she had a very specific relationship with pain, which she had learned to control, never letting it take over. He knew she did a lot of this out of habit because for a long time it had all been for survival. He knew she didn't believe in love or couldn't bring herself to allow such beliefs. He knew she thought she didn't deserve happiness and that it would be selfish to want to deserve it. He knew she thought she didn't deserve a lot of things and that she had accepted the fact that she wouldn't get them, that it was forbidden to her to want them. He knew she didn't need protection and that she couldn't show weaknesses because it would be her downfall. He also knew that she herself knew all those things and was aware of them, but couldn't do a thing about them.

That's why he didn't need to hear her say them. The only things he sometimes needed to hear were details, like the year in which she had left the KGB, or the age at which she had been taken by the Red Room. Dates, names and numbers were the things he couldn't guess and wouldn't find in her files because no one knew her true and complete story. It was for her own protection, she said. But those details were important for him to understand what he couldn't see or sense. It was rather their impact that he wanted to know, how they had shaped her. She was six when the Red Room took her in for instance. She had never lived a normal childhood and she had known death and despair way too young.

She knew the impact it would have on him, that's why she selected what she told him. There were secrets she couldn't tell him yet, others that she would never be able to tell even to him. But she trusted him and she had realized he cared, genuinely cared. He wouldn't hurt her and could be a tomb when it came to secrets because he deeply respected her. She even got the feeling he sometimes worshipped her.

That's why she had decided to let go for once. As she lay naked in their bed, she didn't greet him with a smile like usually. She let him come closer, his eyes searching hers for any indication about what was going on without having to voice his thoughts, knowing that asking her directly was likely to make her lie. She was the first one to spoke.

"I always take what I want from people, from men. But I never give in exchange." She stopped, biting her lips and shifting uncomfortably. She seemed to be looking for the right words and not even once did he let his gaze linger anywhere else than on her face, despite the temptation. "You've never received anything from me. I want to give myself to you. I want you to take me."

"Nat…" he started to protest. He did want her but not like that. "You don't have to…"

"Let me give you something for once, Steve. I want to try… not to have control."

Her gaze told him how much she trusted him by doing so and his eyes almost brimmed with tears. He kissed her with so much passion that she realized it was sometimes good not to be in control.