New York City,
September 2015.
Steve said he wanted to take her on a date.
Natasha scrunched her nose and ruminated on the word for a second, like a foreign tourist hearing an unfamiliar word for the first time.
A date. What's up with that? Were the overnight stays and ramen takeouts in his apartment not enough? Because it was enough for her. Things felt private and safe and she much preferred it that way. When he reasoned that taking her out on a date would make him feel more normal, she felt even more like an alien. She was orphaned as a young girl and spent her whole childhood getting beaten and whipped and abused-- how the hell was she supposed to understand what being normal feels like?
The first person to realize that was Clint. They got into a heated argument over her having to go see a shrink; She lost the fight and he dragged her to sit through tedious weekly sessions with a pathetic spinster with saggy cheeks and baggy eyes who'd always looked like she'd rather be anywhere else than counsel her. "A waste of money," she says, but like it or not Clint was a rock-headed asshole who sadly cares about her way too much, so she listened to him anyways.
She had stopped seeing the shrink now, with Clint's permission, of course; and as years went by she had learned how to cope with the triggers and occassional breakdowns. She'd have her 'moments', from time to time, but it was never anything big, and it had never become a problem. Nobody else knew about it and no one else has ever had to endure being within her proximity long enough for them to notice something's wrong.
Until Steve came along.
Well, three nights ago she found him wondering why is it that she never bled. He found it odd how they've been sleeping together for over a month now and she never asked him to use protection, never took any contraceptives, and first and foremost she hadn't had her period yet.
"How does it work for you girls? Do you need to see a doctor? Is this normal?" His blue eyes stared her down with profound concern and innocence.
She should've seen it coming; Steve wasn't a complete fool, even when it comes to stuff he doesn't normally know about. He told her that Sam usually shared stories about how much of a bummer it was when the women he wanted to sleep with was on their period.
But that's not even the worst part. The worst part was when his eyes lit up when he said, "Are you pregnant?"
He didn't mean to show his excitement. She's pretty sure he didn't even realize how happy he sounded when he said it. They've only officially been together for a month-- talk about moving too fast. This was a discussion she had hoped she could delay for another few months. She never even told him she loved him yet.
She'd never even thought about things that far.
Her breathing hitched and her ribcage tightened around her heart and lungs. She had to take a pause before she could say anything. A memory from her graduation ceremony popped into her mind almost immediately and she clenched hard on her fists with all her strength to not break down in front of him. Once she calmed down, she opened her mouth to speak.
When she told him she was infertile, his face fell.
It felt like a deadly blow to her chest.
She should've seen that coming, too. She noticed how ecstatic he becomes whenever they pass by a toddler or a baby in public. "Look, a baby! Look at how fat she is!" Natasha would smile at him and agree. They'd walk over to those random people and ask them if they would let Steve hold the baby for a moment. Those people never said no. They were more than happy to see Captain America holding their baby.
Point is, he didn't have to make a direct statement about it:
He wants a family someday. He wants something traditional, something serious, something normal.
And that, is something she could never give him.
She swallowed her pain away and kept it in, not wanting to scare him off with a breakdown. They tried to ignore the subject that night. They ordered Chinese for dinner and settled for a random movie on Netflix; the movie was terrible, but the silence between them was worse. Neither of them initiated to reach for the remote and pick another movie, much less suggest another activity, though. Those cheesy lines and bad acting was way better than complete silence they were bound to endure once the TV's switched off.
And then she saw him looking at her, with that loving eyes, mixed with a tad bit of dissappointment. He wanted to fix this, she's sure. She stayed where she sat on the couch, not physically responding despite the obvious signal. A few moments later he was right next to her, running his fingers through her hair and pressing his lips onto her neck, kissing and nipping softly with an awkward motion.
"Do you want this?" He whispered within an intake of breath, as if she needed a heads-up. The simple question, though, felt like it asked more than the obvious. It almost sounded like he was saying, "have you given up on us yet? or do you want to try again? Please let us try again."
I don't. She wanted to say but she didn't say it. She just turned her head so their lips could meet, foolishly hoping her mood would turn around and her anxiety would dissappear. He took it as a yes, and so he kissed her deeply, as if digging through any emotion left he had for her. She played along, compliant and silent for now. The movie was still on, its characters pronouncing a love speech or something. She tried to listen carefully, an effort to distract her mind from the complete uneasiness of this embrace.
She ended up naked and pinned under him anyways, though. He didn't force her to, and she couldn't exactly come up with a reasonable excuse as to why she would want to run away so bad without telling him that she was in fact, mentally unstable.
She wanted to fix them. Maybe not as determined as he was, but even she had to admit that what they have-- it was something that would be immensely painful to cut loose.
The kiss was sloppy and odd, and he pressed into her with a halfhearted, messy rhythm, and she closed her eyes, clenching onto the sofa's back fighting the urge to cancel this whole thing.
"Wait, Steve--" She said when she couldn't take it anymore, and he pulled away from her lips and slowed down. "Stop it. Just... stop."
"You want me to stop?" He frowned breathlessly and she nodded. He listened though, being the gentleman he was.
She pressed a palm on his sweaty chest and pushed him away. He pulled out of her and sat on the edge of the couch, while she dragged herself to sit down, running her fingers through her tangled hair. She looked over to him with guilt. "I'm sorry-- Let me-- let me finish you off."
He shook his head and pursed his lips while his palm covered his face and his fingers massaged his temple fretfully. "No." He murmured.
He got up from the couch and picked up their scattered clothes, every single one of them, a distraction from having to see the look on her face. "You could've told me you didn't want it, Nat."
"I wanted to fix this. Like you do."
He looked at her with a sigh as he handed her clothes back. "I know."
She told him that she wanted to go home that night and he looked at her with desperation in his eyes. He kept begging her to stay, but she firmly said no.
Well, today he turned up at her door, wrapped in a moss green coat, asking for forgiveness and telling her that he'd like to take her out on a date.
She weighed on the odds and decided to say yes, no matter how uncomfortable this whole thing made her feel.
So took her out he did.
He took her to a cafe by the river, looking out to the night view of Manhattan. They stayed indoors, though, for the night air outside was too cold. He ordered a cup of coffee and a slice of cheeseke and offered her hot cocoa. She smiled at that, her mind drifting back to the year of 2013. "Yeah, I'd like that." She said, her cheeks flushed by both the cold and the sweetness of the memory.
The opening conversation after that, unfortunately, was nothing sort of an icebreaker:
"About what happened, in the apartement--" He began with a sharp inhale.
"It's nothing, Steve. Let's pretend it never happened." She cuts off curtly.
"Okay." He looked down to the table and the conversation died down to a cold, tense silence.
"Are you okay?" He asked her after a while, hating how quiet she's become all the sudden. She kept looking around at the people sitting on the other tables, as if expecting a familiar foe to turn up.
"Yeah." She bit her lip and looked at him. "It's just that-- I've never been to an actual date before."
The space between his forehead creased with confusion. "We've gone out together a million times before--"
"But they're on a different context. Missions and undercover jobs. When we go out as friends we go to quieter places. More secluded. And now we're not even friends-- uh. I don't know."
He began to look around, too, guilt began to come sweeping in his innocent blue eyes. "Do you wanna go somewhere else then? Somewhere quiet?"
She let out a sigh. Your apartment, she wanted to say but she refrained from doing so. In a way she didn't want to dissappoint him. He had wanted this for a while, she was even willing to bet that he probably had this written down on his bucket list or something.
She shook her head in a tiny, humble motion. "No. Let's stay."
"You sure?" His tone was still heavy with concern but she could see his eyes light up a little.
"Yeah." She smiled at him, using her exceptional aptitude for lying to appease him. This was in fact the very first time she lied to him. She's not proud.
A waiter turned up and served them their order, saving Natasha from having to come up with something to say. The waiter and the food distracted Steve for a bit, made him dig into the cheesecake and sip down his coffee. He liked it mixed with milk, she learned that within weeks of sleeping over and messing on his bed. She preferred hers black. One time he complained about how bitter her mouth tasted when he kissed her. She laughed at him and made a sexual joke about him having to kiss her somewhere else-- she loved how red his face got after that.
"So...Coulson wanted me to take this job," he stifled a cough as he began.
Coulson. That resurrected bastard. Nat remembered how she slapped him on the face when he revealed himself and explained that he was now the new director of a brand-new, underground SHIELD.
"What job?" She took a sip of her hot cocoa and licked her lip. It was pretty good, not the best but close.
"A rescue-op in Uganda. I'm leaving tomorrow noon."
She nodded. "Okay."
"So uh, that's why I wanted to take you out."
"Cos you're leaving?"
"Yeah and because, you know--" his cheeks flushed red. Boyscout Steve Rogers. She always wondered how she managed to fall in love with someone like him.
She shifted where she sat and tried not to stare him down. "Because you need to feel a little bit of normalcy. A picket-white fence and a sweet dame with a wriggling baby to go home to, but since you can't have that, this is the closest alternative."
His jaw stiffened upon hearing what she had said. She kept her eyes to her lap, realizing that what she had said-- though true, was better left unsaid.
"Nat don't be like that." His voice hummed low, his eyes darkened. There wasn't anger in the way he looked-- there was just sadness and a dissappointment that lingered in her mind.
"I shouldn't have said yes, should I?" She scoffed as she leaned back in her chair.
Steve toyed with the cheesecake to comfort himself. His breathing intensified, and he fought the urge to raise his voice in front of all these people. "So do you wanna go home?"
He'd forgot that he was talking with world's best human behavior expert:
"You just wanna find somewhere more suitable for us to fight in." She said analytically.
"No one wants a public display."
"I wasn't trying to pick a fight" She leaned forward. "I was saying the truth."
"But your tone--"
"It doesn't fucking matter what tone I used!"
"Please don't swear." He leaned forward too, his words coming out through gritted teeth.
"Don't change the subject--"
"Natasha tonight was going so well!"
"Yeah, for you. You just want me to keep my mouth shut and sit here like a loving future wife, like your World War buddies would do."
"I just wanted us to have a nice time! To fix our--"
"See? This is why we don't talk to each other. You're only useful when your mouth's shut."
His mouth parted with disbelief, his blue eyes were apalled with betrayal, "Is that the only thing I'm good for? Sex?"
She shrugged dismissively. "Might as well be."
Her answer struck him to a complete silence. She stole a furtive glance at him, observing how hurt he looked right now. She felt terrible for everything she just said, but at the same time she felt relieved; she'd been wanting to say this for a while.
"I should go." She began reaching into her purse and pulled out a $20 bill. He was still sitting there when she stormed out the door, onto the chilly night air of New York in mid September.
She almost thought he won't go after her.
But of course he did.
He came sprinting towards her direction, calling her name and begging for her to at least let him give her a ride home.
She bit her lip but said yes. The motorcycle ride was unbearable as the night air had grown colder the later the night went, so they ended up seeking shelter in her apartment, which was closer from the Manhattan bridge.
That night was in fact the very first time he entered her apartment.
He looked around like a curious, innocent puppy, frowning here and there at the lack of personal clutter this place held. No posters, no pictures, no collection of anything, no decorations, no nothing on display. Just a plain, less than homey apartment space filled with efficient necessities like kitchenware and cupboards full of medicines.
When he followed her to her bedroom and met her eyes, she knew he finally started to understand.
"You're the second person I've ever brought to this place." She said, hugging herself out of discomfort. He still hadn't said anything, and she's not sure whether or not that was a good thing. "The first being Clint."
His fingers gently brushed over the plain white sheets of her bed while his countenance frowned with contemplation.
"I think I should let you know that I didn't mean it when I said I only wanted you for the sex."
He glanced up at her, his face calm and more relaxed. "I know." He nodded. "But I also know that you meant everything else you said, though."
To that she had to look away. They were standing on the opposite sides of the bed, awkward and confused.
"Am I really that assertive?" He asked, genuinely wondering and burdened with guilt. "Look, I've never done this before and I don't even know if it's too soon to talk about it but I don't mind--" his lips trembled slightly. "...with-- with, the children thing." He rubbed his palm over the nape of his neck uncomfortably. "I don't want you to feel like you're obligated to-- you know."
She squinted. Her voice was incredibly quiet when she said, "You're lying."
He looked back at her as he searched for something to say. He chewed on the inside of his cheek while his arms folded across his chest, uncertainty apparent in his eyes now.
"Look around you." She took a deep breath and braced herself for her next words. "This place is who I am. I'm not someone who has the leisure to own a personal life. I'm not good with the concept of family; I can't have children and I'll never be able to. I have issues-- trust issues and panic attacks and-- I can barely handle myself already, Steve. I can't put all that burden on you. There's no future with me. Not one you'd want anyway."
This time he really found himself lost for words. He weakly leaned back against the wall, sighing while looking down to his feet. He would be lying if he said he was perfectly fine with what being with her would cost; a wife and children and a home. He knew he was being a bit unrealistic whenever he dreamed of that, but if Clint could do it, why can't he?
When he looked up again he found her green eyes looking at him, analytical and cold. " Next time when you want someone to warm your bed, give me a call. Otherwise, well..." She shrugged casually, almost as if there was no emotion involved, but he knew better. He knew she was hurting as much as he was. She's just very good at pretending.
"I'm not that kind of a man."
That's where she sighed heavily. "I know."
He pursed his lips to a thin line, trying with all his might to mask his dissappointment. "So that's it then? It's over?"
She didn't need to say anything back. She gave him one look, and he nodded, though he hadn't had the heart to turn away and leave.
He stood there uneasily, taking in all these heavy realization with every breath he took. He kept feeling as if something's wrong; that leaving her-- ending this, was a complete mistake. How long have they been sleeping together? What, a month? A month. Yet he felt like they've been together for much longer; those cozy times they traded stories on the roof, the stressful nights when they worked together and build plans for missions. The stolen looks they'd give each other from time to time, the three crazy days when HYDRA took over and they became fugitives and had to stay at Sam's place. He'd never felt like this towards anyone before, never felt so drawn to anyone like he felt towards her. All these events, all these years they spent knowing each other, felt like a buildup for something bigger, and now that he had it, he didn't want to lose it.
Maybe it's the way her body looks, or maybe the way she moves and speaks, and maybe it's her secrets and her sharp eyes or her low, sultry voice. Or maybe it's her sweet side, a caring personality that lies within layers and layers of ice cold masks.
Whatever it was, he had gone too far, fallen to deep, that he didn't want to turn back.
All that couldn't be for nothing, right? It has to mean something.
"To be perfectly honest I think you should just move in with me." He's said it out loud, out of the blue, and he had no intention of taking it back.
Her mouth parted with surprise. "What?"
He nodded. "You heard me. Pack your bags, get them to my place. You're barely here anyways these past few weeks."
"But what we just talked about--"
"I know." He nodded. "I know, Nat--"
"You don't seem to understand. You were leaving. This, this isn't some spontaneous decision you could make." She crossed the bed and took a step closer to him to study his face and stance. Everything about this confused her.
"I don't want us apart. I don't want to leave this all behind. I--"
"You have no idea how delusional you sound--"
"Let's not think about that. Let's take what we have, when we have it."
"We'll never be normal, Steve."
"I know. But think about it for a second. We both want it -- we can try. We can always try, Nat." He reached for her, pulling her close by the waist and seeking her eyes.
"But the baby thing, and starting a family..." Her voice faltered, her eyes looking away to the empty wall.
He took a deep breath and accepted a little sting in his heart as he said, "That's just the price I'm willing to take."
When she finally braced herself to look at him, she had fear and concern in her eyes. "You're one crazy, reckless son of a bitch."
He just chuckled and rolled his eyes at that.
"You don't know what you're getting yourself into." She warned when his thumb stroke over her lips, asking for permission.
"Neither do you." He leaned in and kissed her. The kiss felt right, and the tingles in his skin and his accelerated heartbeat ensured him that whatever this is, he should be here to live it. He'd rather be chasing her than go after a mist of a dream that he never even thought for sure could come true, right?
They decided to spend the night at her apartment. He was lying on her bed, already dressed down to nothing but a pair of navy blue briefs when he looked over to the open bathroom door and saw her standing in front of the sink, a toothbrush stuck between her teeth and a bathrobe draped down to just below her knees. She noticed him staring and flashed him a smile.
The warmth in his heart from the smile couldn't be a lie, so, yes. This, he told himself, is worth leaving his old dreams behind.
Crazy? Maybe. Reckless? Definitely. But it feels right.
It feels right.