"I guess that's just part of loving people: You have to give things up. Sometimes you even have to give them up."
— Lauren Oliver
In the month following the heartbreaking departure of James, Natasha and Steve understandably kept themselves to themselves. Steve lost the gentle, charming sparkle his deep azure eyes always seemed to possess and his posture seemed to slump as if in constant defeat. Steve could be withdrawn at the best of times, however now it was more frequent and more often than not he was found just staring into space, his eyes still and lifeless, his expression blank and despondent. He had taken to reading a lot more, as not only did it educate him on the literature that he had missed out on and the modern world he now occupied, but it distracted him giving his mind a different subject to contemplate. Despite the fact he had a room in the Avengers tower, unless in the midst of an important mission, Steve more often than not retired to his apartment where he was able to battle the emotional demons that tormented him daily, away from the sympathetic eyes of his fellow Avengers. Natasha had always been an isolated individual however she had always enjoyed teasing her colleagues and friends, but now the mischievous spark that usually occupied her verdant eyes was nowhere to be seen, and no one could remember the last time they had seen Natasha smirk, her lips missing their trademark expression. Her countenance was now stern and hard, her features fixed in their severe manner, no dimples no signs of amusement adorned the spies face. Her time was mainly spent in the gym, after the birth of her child Natasha had been determined to lose the telling figure she had been left with, as if the elimination of it would also dispel the label of a 'mother' and the haunting memories she associated with it. Although the subject of James was never breached by her fellow Avengers, Steve had on more than one occasion approached the subject wanting to talk to Natasha about it; about how he now felt; about the daunting emptiness that now plagued him. When this occurred Natasha would make some excuse and withdraw herself from the discussion, either feigning an upcoming mission or a message from Fury to meet him in his office. As the days had passed it had also become increasingly painful for Natasha to look at Steve, it wasn't just the sorrowful expression that cast a dark shadow upon his usually light and youthful features, but it was those eyes. Those beautiful, glistening sapphire eyes that their son had also inherited, she couldn't look into them without her mind casting images of James before her eyes ripping at the healing wounds of her psyche. It had also been noted, but not mentioned, that Natasha now dyed her hair jet black, covering up the luscious crimson curls that her son had adopted himself. It was blatantly apparent that Natasha was trying to extinguish every reminder of her son, whether it was physical or mental, inducing her to even start to remove the one person who reminded her most of James. Steve.
Prior to the birth of James, the majority of the time Natasha stayed at Steve's apartment and although it was never officially acknowledged or labelled it was known that they were in some sort of exclusive relationship and were living a charming, if not slightly warped, domestic life together. Natasha kept a few clothes at Steve's apartment and a toothbrush, other than that she swore that her base was very much the Avengers tower, although many refused to believe it. Now however she had been spending more and more time at the tower, slowly and discreetly moving her clothes and any additional belongings from Steve's abode. However Steve had been so wrapped up in his grief and the occupations he had kept himself busy with that he had not noticed her leaving him, slowly letting her grip on him loosen allowing him to wander into the horrifying abyss of a father without his son. Natasha had been equally busy, keeping herself engaged and undertaking a lot more missions in order to escape the emotions that taunted her composed facade, neither had acknowledged the obvious fact that not only had they lost their son, but they were now losing each other.
One cold winter evening Steve arrived home from a mission early, eager to return to his warm comforting apartment and the familiar welcome company of Natasha, he swiftly opened the door to his flat finding his apartment bathed in darkness bar the luminescent glow that emanated from his bedroom. Placing his gym bag down by the door he turned the light on before making his way to the bedroom, finding Natasha bent over a duffle bag where she was now removing the last of her clothes from their dresser and packing them into the bag. His face fell, and he felt his heart sink into his stomach dragging with it the colour from his cheeks. His voice came out shaky, timid and quiet but it was loud enough for Natasha to hear,
"What are you doing?" Natasha looked up finally glancing up at Steve and meeting his sad, disappointed gaze, she had known he was there but had refused to be the first to break the heavy silence. The silence that held the answer to the question they both knew. For a super soldier he looked so small, framed by the door, his brown leather jacket almost looked too big for him now as if the trauma of the past month and the situation currently in action before him had drained the life from him. She felt a sharp tightening across her chest but like with most painful emotions she encountered now a days she dispelled it immediately, allowing the steel facade to shield not only her expressions but her heart. Her voice responded, hard, brash and definite,
"I'm collecting my things." His brow creased in confusion and denial, a frown that she had so often eliminated with a soft kiss from her crimson lips and a hushed word of comfort, but now she was more often than not the cause for this angered expression,
"What? Why? Why... why would you leave me? Why now?" His voice was stronger, louder aggravated by rage and contorted by bewilderment. Natasha hadn't halted her current task; still she grabbed her clothes from the chest of draws stuffing them now with more haste into her bag,
"Because Steve it's time." She turned swiftly on her toes to enter the en suite bathroom to retrieve some cosmetics and perfume of hers before she felt the firm grasp of Steve's hand clutch around her wrist pulling her back into the room with one forceful pull,
"Nat don't you dare try and run away from me, from us. Not now..." His response had been forceful, laced with wrath and fury but as soon as his eyes met hers, his voice broke off, forced to a standstill by the beautiful woman who stood before him. His had moved up to cup her face, his thumb stroking the contour of her cheek, willing her to relax into his touch to give him some sign that there was something there. He was met with the strong withheld defiance and stature of Natasha Romanoff: the Black Widow, her body was clearly tense giving nothing away, her face expressionless, her lips pursed tightly. The only inclination of any response whatsoever was the glassy sheen that had glazed her dark olive eyes,
"Please Nat, not now." His tone had now returned to the soft whisper it had previously occupied, and Natasha could now feel the swell of emotions pushing against her chest willing for release but with one violent turn of her head she pushed them all down crushing them under the weight of aversion, turning her body away from the man she loved. She had loved. That was it. Steve's hand was now left to cup the air, as his mouth was left agape in shock at the dismissive reaction of the woman he adored. A single tear slid down his cheek, burning his skin as it fell as he returned his hand to his side before casting his gaze to the floor in defeat,
"So this is it. This is the end of everything. Everything we ever had." She closed her eyes wincing slightly at the torment and distress that reverberated from his voice, from his words. In the few seconds that followed Natasha concluded that in order to ensure a clean break she would have to make a deadly strike, an assault that would hurt Steve beyond tears and heartbreak, but hit straight into the simmering furnace of rage that Steve rarely expressed,
"There was never a 'we' or 'everything'. We may have shared a bed, a kiss, some affectionate garbage but don't ever define that as 'everything'." The colour that had drained from his cheeks now flooded back, flushing his face ruby red with fury at the poisonous words that Natasha had just spoken. Despite his contorted, heavy brow, flushed face and fixed jaw another few tears crept from his eyes, scorching his cheeks with gleaming tracks. Through gritted teeth he forced out a few final words, before stepping aside to reveal the door,
"Get out." Entering the bathroom she grabbed her make-up bag and perfume stuffing them into the bag, zipping it closed and slinging it over her shoulder before striding forcefully past Steve and out the front door, pulling it shut ferociously. The slam of the door echoed through the apartment, alerting Steve to the loss and emptiness that now occupied his home. A breathe exhaled heavily from his chest, causing his head to drop and a tear to fall to the floor before his limbs surged with fury, provoking an explosive punch to erupt into the bedroom wall, inflicting severe damage.
Natasha halted her vehement stride once outside the apartment; looking back at the door she shook her head, dismissing the regret and misery that threatened her stony facade before striding along the corridor towards the elevator. It was not that the love they had felt for each other had gone, a woman with such fiery passion and a man with such pure and honourable intentions could never permanently extinguish their feelings for each other. No it was that the inconceivable damage they had both endured had not only injured them as individuals but had incurred a wedge to come between them prising an ever expanding void between them. The relationship that was forged in the fire and flames of war in the modern age would have to await its improbable redemption and liberation from the meagre spark and ashes, the mutilated remnants of what once was.