Notes: I know, I know - my unintentional hiatus lasted far longer than I wanted it to, but sometimes life gets in the way, and the last thing I wanted to do was throw a chapter together just for the sake of posting. So, here we are, three months later, with something new that I hope you'll love.

May 2020

It's been so long since Natasha last danced that she worries she might've forgotten how. The thought is fleeting though. For Natasha, dancing is like firing a weapon - it comes as naturally as breathing. She lifts the lid on the box containing her pointe shoes, the ones Steve gave her for Christmas, and is immediately filled with the same warmth she felt the very first time she opened the box. They're immaculate, and the rosy-colored satin is smooth and cool under Natasha's fingertips as she slides each shoe into place and laces the ribbons around her ankles.

It's the first time she's worn them since early last Christmas morning when she found the gift wrapped on her bed. Since then, the shoes have been tucked away safely in the corner of her closet awaiting the moment she decided she was ready for them. And Steve never pushes, never mentions the fact that months have passed, and she has yet to put them on again. Natasha tells herself it's because she simply hasn't had the time, when really, she just can't bring herself to find joy in much of anything when so many have lost so much. When she and her friends have lost so much. When they failed.

But then, during a conversation the previous evening, something shifted.

Steve had just started splitting his time between the compound and an apartment he'd rented in Brooklyn, and at first, Natasha mourns the loss of having him there with her every day. Steve is the one who holds her at night when she can't sleep through the terrors that haunt her dreams, the one who has done so nearly every night for four years. He's the only other person who truly understands her, who understands the responsibility she feels to everyone Thanos left behind.

He's been staying at the compound with her for a couple of days, running leads on Clint, when she notices something about him seems different. Steve seems almost... happy. Natasha, never one to mince words, blurts out the first logical reason that pops into her head, "Who's the girl?"

Steve looks up at her over his sketch pad and raises a questioning eyebrow, "Who's who?"

"Come on, Steve," she says, leaning back in her chair and trying to keep her expression passive. She doesn't actually want to know if Steve is seeing someone; she'd much rather live in blissful ignorance assuming he, like herself, has been basically celibate for the last couple of years. "You've been extra chipper lately. There's got to be a girl."

He laughs the kind of laugh Natasha hasn't heard from him in ages, and the sound reverberates into her soul, "There's no girl, Nat."

It takes every ounce of Natasha's willpower not to shout, "Thank, God!" Instead she kicks her legs up in front of her onto the conference table and crosses them at the ankles. "Well, it's something."

Steve closes the sketchbook and tosses it onto the table. The corner of his mouth quirks up when he realizes that Natasha is fishing. He contemplates messing with her a little but thinks better of it - there's a hint of something, jealousy maybe, in her eyes that he's never seen before. "I've been running a survivor support group in the city."

"Oh!" Natasha's says. Her face flushes with embarrassment at the assumption that Steve has been spending his free time with a woman. Of course, it's a support group; His is whole life has been about doing things in service of others, that wouldn't change now. "I had no idea!"

Steve gives her a shy grin and ducks his head down, "Yeah, I don't know. It just kind of happened. I'd been feeling so lost, so lacking in purpose. I remembered Sam's veterans support group and just kind of ran with the idea."

Natasha's heart swells with pride, and she reaches across the table to squeeze his hand in hers, "Steve, that's amazing."

"Thanks, Nat," he says, and she doesn't miss the way he doesn't let go of her hand as they keep talking. "I honestly think it's helped me as much as it's helping the people who come every week. I feel, I don't know, lighter, maybe? More at peace with everything. It's helped me realize that we have to keep moving forward, even if it hurts."

She feels his fingers tighten around hers when he says, "even if it hurts" and swallows down the lump in her throat. His words feel loaded in a way that Natasha isn't ready to acknowledge, so she doesn't. "I'm proud of you, Steve."

"Thanks," a smile spreads across his face. "I'm proud of you, too."

"Me?" Natasha scoffs, rolling her eyes, as if the notion is ridiculous. "What have I done lately to be proud of?"

"Look around you, Nat," Steve says, gesturing to the multitude of screens surrounding them. "You've been keeping this going, you've been keeping us going, for two years."

She shrugs and picks at her cuticles to avoid Steve's heavy gaze. Most days Natasha welcomes the way his ocean blue eyes bear down on her, reading bits and pieces that she's left just far enough below the surface that no one but Steve will find them. Today, though, it feels like too much. "I think I keep going because I'm afraid of what will happen if I stop."

Steve considers her words for a moment, "All right, then tell me what makes you happy."

"I... I don't really know. It's been a really long time since anyone's asked me that."

"I know there's something, you just have to figure out what it is," he says, gathering his sketchpad and pencil and standing. He rounds the table and drops a kiss to the crown of Natasha's head. "Once you find it, embrace it. Allow yourself to feel something other than guilt and sadness, Nat, otherwise, it'll eat you alive."

Natasha reaches down one final time to ensure the ribbons are fastened securely around her ankles, hits play on the music and grips the ballet barre with one hand, slowly rising up until she's balanced on the tips of her shoes. She lifts one leg into the air, lets go of the barre, and muscle memory from years of practice takes over. From there, Natasha's moves gracefully and with renewed purpose across the hardwood floor, keeping pace with the tempo of the song. Years of trauma and pain and loss that's made its home at the forefront of her mind, fades to the background until only the music and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat are left.

When the song ends, she lowers her feet to the floor and with it comes the release of every emotion she's held onto for as long as she can remember. Natasha leans forward to grip the barre and sinks to the floor but is immediately lifted back to her feet, and she realizes someone's arms are around her. She takes a deep breath to try and steady herself, inhaling cedarwood and citrus - the unmistakable scent of Steve Rogers.

His grip loosens enough for Natasha to look at him. His face, barely two inches from her, is etched with concern.

"What... what are you doing here?" she asks, confused about his sudden presence.

"I left my jacket last night, and when I got here, I heard the music, so I came to see what you were doing," Steve brings pushes the hair back from her face, letting his hand come to rest just under her jaw. "I didn't expect to find you dancing, let alone crumbling to the floor." Natasha opens her mouth to reply but another wave of sobs hits her, and she sags against Steve's solid chest. His arms wind around her, holding her steady against him, "Hey, it's ok. I've got you."

They stay like that for several minutes, and Natasha realizes how much she's missed this kind of proximity to him. She focuses on the way his hands move up and down her back, how the familiarity of his cologne immediately puts her at ease, and most of all his voice - the soft, soothing cadence of his voice as he tells her that he's not going anywhere and whatever it is, they'll get through it together. She lets him hold her longer than is actually necessary, aware that once he lets go, she doesn't know when it'll happen again.

"What just happened?" he asks, pulling back enough to see Natasha's face but not loosening his hold on her.

She sucks in a deep breath, wipes the remnants of her tears from her cheeks and tries not to think about how red and puffy her face probably is from crying. Steve is looking at her with such so much compassion that Natasha can barely meet his eye. "I don't know, I guess I didn't realize how much I needed that."

"The dancing or the crying?" he asks with a half-smirked attempt at a joke.

Natasha smiles in spite of herself, "Both."

Steve takes a half-step back, and Natasha instantly wants to close the space between them. She's certain he's read her mind when he leans forward and touches his forehead to hers. Both their eyes fall shut, and Natasha can feel his minty breath ghost across her face, drying the last remaining evidence of her breakdown.

"It was beautiful," he says, sliding his hands from her shoulders down to her hands, where they rest against his chest. They're so close now that all Natasha would need to do is tilt her head up just a little, and their lips would touch. Steve's hands squeeze around hers, and she wonders if he's thinking the same thing.

"What was beautiful?" she breathes, opening her eyes and looking up at him through long, thick lashes. His eyes are open now too, and Natasha's legs nearly buckle at the intensity of his gaze.

"You were," he says, pausing for a moment to take her in. "When you were dancing. How did it make you feel?"

Natasha can feel her heart racing, beating so heavily in her chest that she wonders if Steve can feel it against his own. How did it make her feel? How is she supposed to answer that questions when she can barely form coherent thoughts? Her body is buzzing with electricity, and the only thing she feels is Steve.

"I, uh..." she blows out a shaky breath and tries to shift her focus to way she felt as the music carried her across the floor just a few minutes prior. "I feel... wonderful, actually." As she says the words, she's surprised to realize that she does. The weighted feeling that sat heavy on her chest has begun to disappear, and she feels freer than she has in a lifetime.

Steve flashes her a wide, knowing smile before pulling her into a tight hug, "You found it, Nat. You found something that makes all of this a little easier to bear."

Natasha wraps her arms around Steve and buries her face in his shoulder. Maybe he's right, maybe dancing really can be her release, her escape from all the pain, but she suspects her real tether to this world has been and always will be the man in her arms.

End Notes: Leave me love down below! I live and breathe for your comments. xoxo.