Child's Play
Summary: Or, how Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff fell in love.
A/N: This will be a collection of drabbles, because curse my writer's block- I can't stick to one story without starting another one. So this is just drabbles & thank god I've stumbled upon 'The Nanny Diaries' or else I wouldn't be fangirling this hard.
As well, since school is coming up in a week or so, this is my attempt at trying to get back into the 'writing scene' for Language Arts, considering I haven't been writing frequently.
There is no timeline to these chapters.
No beta & all mistakes are mine.
Please review- & I hope you enjoy.
Reviews keep me going. If you're liking the story, please review! I need to know if this story is worth continuing.
I never do disclaimers because I trust people are smart enough to decipher who owns what, but for safety measures...
Disclaimer: As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be, I, passionately happy, do not own any recognizable parties used in this fanfiction.
"Love is for children," she says.
"It doesn't have to be," he responds.
vingt-six.
"Sometimes I just want to disappear."
"Nat," Steve says. "Put down the knife."
"Why should I?" she asked. Immediately she drew the knife through her arm, spreading a new gash through her arm. "The world could be better off without a Black Widow; all they do is kill and kill and make the world a more dangerous place to live in. Maybe it would be better if they just all left- if I just left. Everyone would be happy."
"You know that's not true," Clint whispers from the doorway, Tony, Bruce and Thor right behind him.
"You know that's true," Natasha retaliates. "I should end it all now," she says, holding the knife close to her vein on her wrist.
"Natasha," Steve barks, commanding yet concerned. "Put down the knife."
Natasha chuckles humorlessly. "I don't think so," she says, positioning the knife at her vein.
Steve leaped out at the redhead an immediately grabbed the knife from her hands, throwing the handle end towards Hawkeye, who catches it with ease. The soldier holds the spy, pulling her hair away from her face as she sobs, showing all her vulnerability in front of her team mates for the first time.
"Leave me to die," Natasha whimpers, as she is circled by her friends, who pull her into a hug.
"Never," Steve swears, pressing a kiss against her hair.
~.~
Budapest was the beginning and end of all things in Natasha's world.
It's where she was beat, bruised, bested by her old 'friends' from the Soviet program. It's where she first let herself be vulnerable in front of Clint and first developed feelings for her unreciprocated love. It's where she was pushed to her limits.
It's where she first failed.
Supposedly a 'easy mission', Natasha had accepted it. Although Clint was tagging along (and oh, she hated that archer with a passion way back when), she figured she could complete the mission considering that she had been sent after a drug dealer before and given that it seemed eerily similar to her missions assigned by the Soviets: pose as a rich lady, offer up your 'goodies' for erotic appeal, then in the middle, tie him up some how and interrogate, battle, kill by Clint's arrows or whatever Natasha wanted.
It was Natasha's six-point plan; it had been fullproof.
Up until Budapest.
Natasha had completed the first four steps with ease, but the battle stage was... something akin to the Chituari attack. During the interrogation sequence, where the drug lord was scared stiff, a quinjet appeared outside the window and shot a beam of energy at the redhead.
The redhead kept a hold on the drug lord, leaping to the side when he loosened himself out of her right grip and jumped directly out of the window.
The battle proceeded shortly after that, with Natasha jumping after him and finding herself surrounded by some familiar faces.
If it wasn't for Clint, she would've been killed.
Her Soviet friends had been in 'cahoots' with the drug lord and knew all of her weak points. A knife had been pressed to her neck when an arrow came spiraling out from out of nowhere, branching itself in the neck of the knife-holder.
Hell broke loose.
While Clint fought, Natasha crawled to safety, taking aid to her battle wounds.
"What the actual hell, Natasha," Clint says once the battle is over. The redhead looks up and sees the archer glaring ruthlessly at her beaten form. "Given your reputation as Black Widow, I thought you could handle yourself better than that. I guess I was wrong," he says, walking away without offering aid.
She started cutting later that night.
~.~
It became a ritual after that.
For every time she let her guard down, she would angrily jam the knife deep into her arm, one long red gash signifying failure, self-contempt.
It was the only thing that kept her sane.
Then she met Steve Rogers.
He was the epitome of goodness; he was polite, blushed a lot, helped people because he truly wanted to, just not for the heck of it.
He was the one that made her stop cutting for a while, until she developed feelings for him.
She couldn't let herself be vulnerable.
So she let him go.
And the cutting started again.
~.~
Die already, a voice whispers in her head, and usually Natasha ignores it for the sake of her team mates, but something was telling her it was time.
Locking the door to her room, the redhead selects her best knife, the knife that many has died by. She thought it would be fitting; dying by the same knife she made her first kill with.
At least she'd know how her victims feel in a matter of minutes.
So she took a deep breath, made the first of many slashes on her arm. She cut deeply, smiling twistedly as the felt the burn of the knife, laughed manically as each drop of blood fell on her white comforter.
She was almost free.
"Natasha!" a scream came from the door. Steve. "What do you think you're doing?"
Natasha faced the soldier with a smile on her face. "Isn't it obvious, Cap? I'm going to where I belong."
A/N: depressed angst.