because to me, when I heard that comment in the film, it just seemed like there was some history behind it.
enjoy.
Steve reaches the doorway just as he hears Natasha let out a frustrated sigh. He watches as she drops the tablet she'd been staring at intently onto the desk roughly, the clang of the metal on glass reverberating through the otherwise quiet room. She pushes her chair away from the desk and tips her body forward, elbows leaning on her knees as her head falls into her hands and her fingers thread roughly into her hair.
"You okay?" Steve asks while leaning against the frame and watching her with a concerned expression. She looks exhausted...even more so than usual he thinks to himself as she looks up and meets his gaze. The bags under her eyes are the most obvious sign, but he can see exhaustion in her other features too.
"Yeah," she replies, waving off his concern and leaning back in her chair.
"You wanna try that again?" he challenges with a tip of his chin toward her. Even someone who barely knew her would've been able to clock that as a lie.
She scrubs her hands over her face. "Dead end," she offers in explanation.
His expression twists in understanding. Before he'd started spending more time in the city, the two of them had spent almost all their waking hours poring over every bit of information they could find trying to find a way to bring everyone back. They'd been awake early and up late every day, exploring every possible avenue they could think of to find something . But as they began to exhaust their sources, he'd grown more restless and resigned to the fact that maybe there just wasn't a way to fix it. Nat had been steadfastly focused though, continuing to find scraps of info here and there to research exhaustively.
And she'd taken on the responsibility of being the point person for the galaxy's defences, coordinating Carol, and Rocket and Nebula in space, and Rhodey, and Okoye here on Earth. He'd helped with that at first, stepping in to diffuse chaotic and dangerous situations that popped up across the world. But his heart hadn't been in it, so he'd stepped back once things fell into a steady rhythm. He moved out of the Compound and back into the city even if it weren't the familiar home he'd once known. He started up some support groups in honour of Sam, and he volunteered at a few local shelters by his apartment because it felt like the least he could do. The distance from the things that reminded him of the Avengers and their failure to stop Thanos had helped a bit. Or maybe it was the time that had passed...he honestly didn't know.
He still came back to check on Nat at least once a month though. Self-care wasn't exactly a high priority for her, so he worried that she'd work herself to grave. He knew she focused on the research, and the coordinating of defences and intelligence analysis, and pushing the paper for the foundation she started with Pepper for the orphans, because she didn't want to face the trauma and emotions swirling around inside her. He doesn't blame her though. After all, he'd effectively run away from it all by moving into the city.
Steve realizes suddenly he hasn't said anything back to her and opens his mouth to suggest maybe she take a break, but she cuts him off before he can utter a syllable. "Don't," she warns, but the tone lacks the bite it would've once had.
He sighs because of course she knew what he'd been about to say. "Nat, it's been-"
"I said don't," she repeats stubbornly, eyes hardening just a touch and he sees the briefest flash of the Black Widow. But as quickly as it flashes there, it's gone and replaced with the slightly hollow look he's used to now.
"I'm not saying give up entirely."
"Well that's what it sounds like you're saying," she accuses. There's still no real bite to her tone, but there's a whole fabric of emotions there he can't parse out.
He holds up his hands. "I just-" A heavy sigh. "You haven't found a single lead of anything we could do."
"I haven't exhausted everything yet."
"It's been months, Nat," he offers gently as he pushes off the door frame and enters the room.
"What, you want me to take a vacation?" she bites back, this time with a thread of anger for real.
"If it'll get you to take care of yourself, then yes," he says firmly, sitting down in the chair across from her desk. He spots her gym bag with her pointe shoes hanging off one of the straps and he wonders how long her dancing sessions are lasting nowadays.
She shakes her head gently. "Steve," she says, and he hears the faintest tremble in her voice that has him doing a double take because it's not often she's this rattled. "I need this."
He sighs. He gets it. Everyone needs something to keep their mind on, so it won't wander to everyone who isn't with them and why they aren't with them. "How about dinner?" he bargains. "I'll cook."
"When's the last time you got groceries?" he asks as they enter the kitchen side by side.
"I think Rhodey brought some stuff when he was here on Friday."
"Good," Steve says in relief. He knows fresh food wasn't exactly a priority for her these days, so he'd been worried that he wouldn't have anything to cook.
"I'm not completely useless in the kitchen you know," she chastises, apparently having sussed out the source of his alleviated concern.
"You say that, but I've yet to see any evidence," he teases, hoping to draw out some of that patented snark and wit he'd grown used to over the years.
A smile curls on her lips. "I'll have you know I'm told I make a mean mac and cheese, according to-" she stops abruptly as she realizes what she's saying, and the smile falls away.
He lets the silence linger for a moment before he speaks. "It's okay to talk about them, Nat," he says softly.
She shakes her head once and he sees a twisting of guilt and anger in her features. "I hadn't seen them in awhile."
He knows this. First it had been training and helping him lead the new Avengers team after Ultron that took up her time, then the team's internal conflict over the Accords, and then being on the run with him, Sam, and Wanda. Clint had argued with her after they'd broken him and the others out of the Raft, telling her she could come home with him. She'd hugged him fiercely and then pushed him away, insisting it was safer if she stayed away. Clint had tried to argue further, insisting she could keep in touch so long as they were careful, but Nat had been stubborn and that steely gaze had entered her eyes as she'd told him it wasn't worth the risk. The time away and out of contact with them had weighed heavily on her, despite how much she'd tried to hide it. And then when she'd found out the Bartons were victims of Thanos' actions...
"Wish I hadn't put off all those visits before the team split apart," she continues in a rare show of regret. It wasn't like her to outwardly linger on what could have been, she tended to be more logical and practical about things.
Steve just nods because there really isn't anything that he can say that's reassuring or helpful.
Her gaze hardens and she stands up a bit straighter. "I'm going to hit the gym for a bit."
"Okay," he concedes reluctantly. "But don't be late for dinner."
She offers a tiny smile. "And miss a meal from the famous Captain America? I wouldn't dare."
She's gone before he can say anything in reply, but her words echo in his mind, the hollow tone bouncing around in a reminder that she's far from the person he'd first met. Then again, they were all far from the people they'd been all those years ago.
Steve figures out he's got the ingredients to throw together a pasta bake and so he starts putting it together. It isn't anything fancy, but he's made it before a couple times and Sam and Rhodey had both assured him it was tasty enough, so hopefully it would fit the bill.
Probably the first real food she's had in weeks , he thinks as he pushes the dish into the oven, knowing her tendency to rely on the simple meals like sandwiches and cereal. He sets the timer on the oven and then makes his way over to Nat's desk. He finds a few books that he recognizes from their earlier researching sessions and a tablet with an ongoing scroll of compiled police reports from across the globe. He swipes through a few of them, dismissing them as nothing out of the ordinary, but there's one that was clearly flagged by some sort of parameters she has set up. It's a grisly murder of a few gang members on the east coast with a whole lot of overkill. He wonders why she's keeping an eye out for those ones in particular but shrugs it off. It was Nat - she was probably putting together puzzle pieces none of them would have seen otherwise.
He glances at his watch and realizes she's been gone for almost an hour. He knows she tends to push the limits of her workouts when she's in this kind of headspace, not unlike himself, and so he makes his way to the training room to check on her. He hears the music long before he reaches the room and not just because of his enhanced hearing. It's loud and fast, almost frenetic, and he has a hard time picturing any sort of dance moves that would suit it, let alone the graceful twirls of her preferred ballet . He pushes open the door gently and moves to slip inside, but the music cuts off abruptly and he knows he's been caught.
"Sorry," he apologizes quickly, feeling a bit guilty to have intruded.
She waves him off as she makes her way across the room to the bench. He follows and sits down beside her as she begins to unwrap the satin wound around her ankles. He's a bit surprised to find her breathing so even, given the obvious workout she'd just finished. Her face is reddened from the exertion, and there's sweat just about dripping off her...and yet her breathing isn't heavy at all.
He watches as she finishes unwrapping her right shoe and slides it off, dropping it onto the ground. She wiggles her toes a few times and he wonders if they go numb from all the strain put on them.
"Does that hurt your feet?" he asks, noticing the flat portion at the front of the shoe. He doesn't know much about ballet, but he knows they stand on their toes from time to time - something that's always baffled him.
She shrugs. "You get used to it."
He wonders exactly how long it takes to get used to that. Weeks? Months? Years?
"You didn't have to stop. Dinner's not gonna be ready for-"
"It's fine, Steve," she says, slipping off the left shoe and repeating the motion of wiggling her toes. He can see the bruising already starting, and he guesses she gets the same satisfaction from the pain that he gets in his hands when he works a punching bag too long.
"I'm just saying, I'll go if you want to keep going." She turns to look at him, a skeptical expression on her face. "What?" he asks.
"You, encouraging me to continue overtraining ," she explains with a shake of her head. "Stop coddling me, Rogers. I'm fine."
He sighs. "Old habits," he offers, holding up his hands in innocence.
"I've always hated that excuse," she mutters as she shoves her shoes into her gym bag and then begins walking determinedly toward the door.
Steve watches her walk away and he sighs as he drops his head into his hands. They were, all of them, changed by Thanos' actions. But Nat had taken on so much of the responsibility that they'd been unable to fix it that she was struggling under the weight of that failure. It wasn't hers to hold alone, not by any means, but while the rest of them were moving on, she remained in the Compound soldiering on. A small part of him was proud of her continued dedication, but mostly he was saddened that she wasn't living.
Frustration courses through him as the realization that he doesn't know how to help her settles once again. She'd never been one for talking, and there wasn't a concrete solution he could offer her for how they can fix things. Steve sighs again as he wonders, not for the first time, if Sam would have known what to do.
Steve gets up and heads over to the punching bags in the corner of the room, feeling the need to work out some of the frustration. The dull sting on his knuckles feels good, and he puts a bit more force behind it as he starts using both hands. The strain on his now less often used muscles feels good, and he can't help but lean into the workout.
"Captain Rogers!"
Steve shakes himself out of his workout-induced reverie at the sound of the familiar AI's voice.
"Yeah?" he huffs out between breaths.
"Your meal is burning," FRIDAY tells him, and he thinks the tone is just a bit exasperated. "I've turned the oven off, but the dish inside will continue to-"
"Yeah, I know," he says, cutting the AI off. "I'm going, I'm going."
By the time he reaches the kitchen, he can see the smoke inside the oven and when he opens the door it floods out into the room. "FRIDAY, can you-"
"Turning on fans and opening the nearby windows."
"Thank you," he says as he pulls out the burnt to a crisp dish. He drops the dish down onto the counter with a bit more force than intended out and it cracks. Well isn't that the cherry on top? he thinks bitterly.
"I don't think it was the dish's fault."
He turns and finds Nat standing in the doorway.
"I'm sorry, Nat. I got carried away in the gym. Didn't hear FRIDAY telling me I'd missed my timer."
"Don't worry about it, Steve."
"No, Nat, you've got enough to worry about and now I've ruined dinner and your kitch-"
"Par for the course, really," she says, a tiny slice of bitterness seeping through in her tone. "Luck hasn't exactly been on our side recently has it?"
"FRIDAY, can we get anything delivered here?" he asks.
"Yes, but security protocols dictate you'll need to meet them at the gate."
"That's fine," he says before turning to face Nat. "What do you feel like?"
She shrugs. "I don't know...pizza?" she offers, and he can't help but cringe because he'd really hoped to get some nutritious food into her. "Okay, not pizza," she says when she sees his expression. "You choose then," she instructs. "I've got some work to do."
His expression falls as she heads over to her desk and resumes the hunched over posture she'd had when he first arrived.
So much for brightening her mood , he curses to himself before taking out his phone to search for nearby takeout places that were still open.
He ended up putting in a large order at a local mom and pop shop that he remembered ordering from years before that had a bunch of cuisines on offer.
"Food's on the way. They said half an hour or so," he explains as he slumps into the chair across from her.
"Okay," she answers distractedly, eyes glued to the tablet in her hands as she scrolled through some information of some kind.
"Nat," he says as he leans forward and reaches across to push the tablet down.
"What?" she says, looking up to meet his gaze.
"Talk to me," he implores.
"I'm not some person at your support group, Steve."
"No, you're my friend."
She glares at him for a moment, perhaps hoping it would be enough to deter him, but he's just as stubborn as she is and holds his ground. She relents finally and drops the tablet onto the desk before rubbing at her eyes.
"How are you doing?"
"How do you think?" she snips with real bite to her words.
"I know," he says patiently. "But, relatively speaking."
"I'm fine."
"Wanna try that again?" he instructs, mimicking his words from earlier. He's not letting her off that easily.
"No," she says flatly.
"Nat," he sighs in exasperation.
"I don't know what to tell you, Steve. Life is going on, except for the fact that we can't fucking fix what was our fault in the first place."
"Nat, there was nothing more we could have done."
"You don't know that."
"I do," he counters, "because we've hashed it out a thousand times. Maybe we decide to destroy the stone without trying to remove it from Vision. You really think Wanda would've gone for that?"
"I-"
"Maybe we're all together and Tony, the sorcerer, and the spider kid aren't in space. You really think they would've been enough to turn the tide in Wakanda?"
"Steve-"
"Maybe Thor goes for the head. Who's to say one of Thanos' minions doesn't take up the cause? They outnumbered us a hundred to one. Who's to say we even survive that battle?"
"STEVE!" she yells.
He stares at her, trying to get her to understand that all of it doesn't rest on her shoulders. That even if they could go back, changing something wouldn't necessarily be feasible.
"I get it. But it doesn't mean we can't find a way to-"
"Nat, we searched for months. And you've been searching for even longer and you haven't had any luck. Do you honestly think that you're going to find something?"
He doesn't know where his sharp tone and accusations came from, but he can see from the look on her face that he's pushed too far.
"Well at least I'm doing something. At least I didn't run away." Her voice is low, sharp, and laced with a bitterness that leaves a bad taste in his mouth.
"At least I leave my house now and again." He doesn't understand why he's unloading his frustration on her. He knows it isn't fair.
"Compound's a big place. I seem to recall we both went days without leaving it in those days of training after Ultron."
He lets out a heavy exhale. She's right. And it was out of line to throw the accusation at her. "I'm sorry, Nat," he says softly, hoping she hears the truth in his tone. "I just hate seeing you like this."
She bristles. "Yeah, well I can't be any other way. So get used to it."
He opens his mouth to reply but FRIDAY cuts him off. "The delivery car is approaching."
"I'll get it," she says, rising to her feet and immediately heading for the door quickly. Steve is left watching her figure disappear down the hallway and wondering just how the hell it all went so wrong so quickly and if there was any way he could fix it.
happy and eager to hear any/all thoughts on this. comments always motivate me to carve out more time to write. :)
(apologies for the delay between updates. work's picked up again, so my writing time has cut down significantly.)
hoping everyone is staying safe and well.
more to come.