I think everyone in the world should watch a dance. Go to youtube and type in Apologize Dance Precisions. I actually watch it every time I'm writing a scene with Natasha and Bruce in it. It's a lyrical duet that tells a story much like the one I was trying to write with Bruce and Natasha. It's also the type of dance form mentioned in this chapter.
Thank you for all of your reviews and support! I couldn't have done it without such encouragement.
Natasha sat in the snow on her knees for two minutes, a stiffening Alexei Shostakov leaning on her shoulder. Bruce thought he should do something but he wasn't quite sure what. He stood up on shaking legs and carved a path in the snow. Finally, he decided on putting his hand on her shoulder from behind. Her body seized and a blood stained gloveless hand flew up. For a second, Bruce thought she was going to attack him, but instead, her hand rested on his. She rose, laying Alexei down in the snow gracefully and she turned towards Bruce, alternating the angle at which she held his hand until she was facing Bruce completely. Her eyes no longer held the unhinged fury of Natalia. She was just Natasha and just Natasha was looking at him like he was her world.
"You need to go inside."
That was all she said. It wasn't a greeting like "Hey, how are you, sorry about the whole trying to kill you thing." Or even a "Hi." Anything would have sufficed. Well, not anything, but he still let her help him up walk back, slowly, inch by inch until they made it to the safe house.
Clint was the first to run out, "Natasha—"
"You're so slow, Barton. I fixed it myself."
"Thank God you're back, Nat."
"Thank me later." Natasha smirked, "Help me get him inside, he's freezing his ass off." She and Bruce both seemed to catch his look, "Not now Clint. There's a lot, but not now."
Bruce found himself shoved in front of the fire. Natasha made a quick job of stripping his damp winter clothes and hanging them over the pellet stove. She dropped her coat as well, revealing her battle attire.
"The others are searching for you."
"They'll find Alexei Shostakov, dead from a stab wound to the shoulder."
'The shoulder, how—"
"You've been around too many abnormal people recently, Clint." Natasha shook her head, rubbing Bruce's numb hands with hers, so hard that flecks of dried blood were left on his skin. "There are girls at a local hostel—possibly at the police station now, depending on how long they lasted. Started with twenty, but I'm guessing there's only nine or ten left there. Here" Clint caught the notebook that she pulled from her coat pocket and went to the other room to make the call.
"What girls?" Bruce finally found his voice.
Natasha froze temporarily, her eyes meeting his, "The Red Room was still fully operational. Except, their services went to the highest bidder. I convinced Natalia to gut the handlers." Natasha muttered, pulling off his boots and rubbing down his feet.
Bruce winced at the pins and needles feeling that radiated up his legs, "That's uhm—"
"Sorry about trying to kill you, by the way." She spoke lightly, but she was tense. Bruce could tell from the way she set her shoulders. It was shame.
"Guess we're even then." Bruce tried to sound easygoing, but he couldn't fake it like she could in times of crisis. Instead, it came out strangled and choked. He wheezed, feeling weak and irritated.
"We've always been even, Bruce." She dropped his foot, practically sliding across the floor to embrace him tightly.
She broke away too soon and stood up. He followed suit, his legs still shaking beneath him, "H-how—what did you use to uhm—"
"Long story." Natasha shrugged, "I had to tell her. She wouldn't leave the codes alone without it."
Bruce felt that tiny tinge of betrayal once more. "Again."
"Yes again, Bruce." Natasha rolled her eyes of all things. He thought that he would be the one to reprimand her, but he should have known it wouldn't work that way, "I will always choose to help other people over your comfort level. It's logical. I'm not going to risk millions of lives because I care about what you think of me. I care, I care so much Bruce—" She paused briefly, drawing closer to him and running a hand up to his shoulder, rubbing her thumb against the base of his neck. Bruce shuddered in response, "—I just can't always let that get in the way of work. And I will always be working or on call, no matter where we go. Although, after all this, I'm thinking I need a break. A long one. And I—"
Bruce had heard enough. He pulled her in by the small of her back and kissed her properly until Clint walked back into the room and Natasha broke away before the archer did the stereotypical cough to draw their attention.
"There's some local authorities that would love to have a chat with you, Nat."
Natasha nodded stiffly, following him, "Stay here." She barked at Bruce, "You don't have boots on anyway." A little laugh escaped Bruce of all things. She turned, honing in on the little gasp of a chuckle and smiled, "We'll talk later."
Every girl sat an inch away from each other, with the exception of Viktoriya and Alisa, who clung to each other. Lena found the concept almost alien. The other girls remained suspicious of each other. They had been trained to think that everyone else would break their neck if given the chance. It was true for the most part. Alliances weren't easily forged in that sort of environment.
"Where did the others go?" Natasha asked, kneeling down in front of Lena.
Lena shook her head, "I don't know. They were gone before we got here." Natasha leaned in, tipping Lena's chin up with the side of her index finger. Lena's breath caught in her throat at the contact. "I'm sorry—I'm so sorry—I didn't know—"
"He could've easily gotten medical attention if he so wanted, Lena." Natasha stroked the girl's chin with her thumb, "And Yana was a tragedy, but not your fault."
"The other girls—"
"I'll find them." Natasha reached out to stroke her hair. Lena was aware of every other girl on the plane staring at them. Disgust. Fear. Suspicion. Envy.
"Even the operatives?"
"Especially the operatives." Natasha sounded so grim and empty at that, "We'll talk of all of this more when we—"
"What will happen to us?" Viktoriya asked.
"Hopefully nothing." Steve spoke quietly, "According to the Russian government, all of you are dead or don't exist so—we'll mess with the paperwork a little."
"But what does that mean?" Viktoriya pressed for answers, staring up at the large Captain with narrow eyes.
He glanced over at Natasha for support, "Well, I'm sure Natasha's got a quiet place in mind." He leaned over and whispered, "How did you even get them out of Russian custody?"
Natasha shrugged "Russian cops. I bribed them."
Lena felt a small bit of joy well up inside of her. It was too early to tell what everything meant but it was too tempting of a chance for quiet. She watched as Natasha crossed and settled next to Dr. Banner, their hands wrapped around each other's and Natasha's head tucked between his head and shoulder. It looked so peaceful. Lena wondered if she had a chance of achieving that peace. She supposed that she had no option but to try.
Wait for me, and I'll come back!
Wait with all you've got!
Wait, when dreary yellow rains
Tell you, you should not.
Wait when snow is falling fast,
Wait when summer's hot,
Wait when yesterdays are past,
Others are forgot.
Wait, when from that far-off place,
Letters don't arrive.
Wait, when those with whom you wait
Doubt if I'm alive.
Wait for me, and I'll come back!
Wait in patience yet
When they tell you off by heart
That you should forget.
Even when my dearest ones
Say that I am lost,
Even when my friends give up,
Sit and count the cost,
Drink a glass of bitter wine
To the fallen friend -
Wait! And do not drink with them!
Wait until the end!
Wait for me and I'll come back,
Dodging every fate!
"What a bit of luck!" they'll say,
Those that would not wait.
They will never understand
How amidst the strife,
By your waiting for me, dear,
You had saved my life.
Only you and I will know
How you got me through.
Simply - you knew how to wait -
No one else but you.
A tired Bruce leaned up against Natasha as she whispered the poem, first in Russian and then in English for his benefit. How oddly fitting it was for them. He was too tired for questions, too tired to think beyond them being together and the strange sense of peace that followed.
Natasha taught them dance in the mornings.
It wasn't the harsh training meant for going en pointe, but gentle lyrical dances to the tune of common American pop songs. Viktoriya liked it better than the psychiatrist and psychologists they all had to see constantly. She didn't understand a lot of what they were saying or the analogies they made. Why did she need to color or play with dolls when she could simply state everything? She always stared at the wall over Dr. Thomas's head waiting for it to be over so that Natasha would pick her up and take her home.
Dancing was familiarity in a foreign environment where she didn't have to be chained to a bed. The doors and windows were open to the balcony, allowing the smell of the ocean in as she returned to first position. When Viktoriya and Alisa were tired, they could stop without severe punishment. They didn't have to spar. They didn't have to learn where to stick a knife on a man. It was nice to dance without those threats looming over her head. It made her feel light. Natasha even let her pick her own songs and make her own choreography. She no longer felt like a puppet.
Sometimes, Green Man even brought them cookies and said funny things that made her laugh.
All Dr. Thomas gave her was a box tissues and told her that she was allowed to cry.
Viktoriya didn't want to cry.
She just wanted to dance.
Bruce lay curled up around Natasha as she slept. It was a less tense, less desperate rendition of them sleeping next to each other at the Barton's farm. It had been two months and he still wasn't used to it. Natasha turned towards him, her eyes opening slowly. He could barely see her in the dark, nothing more than a pale face and eyes that a small bit of light reflected off of.
"I love you." He said it plainly and out of nowhere, not when his lips were on her neck or when she faced away from him. He felt too bare and vulnerable when she said nothing and did nothing.
"I've—I've said 'I love you' too many times without meaning it." She said quietly, stroking the top of his hand, "I won't use empty words on you."
Bruce wanted to tell her it was perfectly fine but Lena's scream echoed through the house. "I got this one." Natasha said gently before she quickly slid out of bed, pressing a quick kiss that Bruce could barely reciprocate in time.
Bruce settled back in bed as Natasha led a gloomy and half asleep Lena to their room and onto their bed. She slid beside her and pulled the little girl against her chest. Natasha's eyes met Bruce's and at that moment, he finally realized something. He could take a break from life, from everything, but that was all it was: a break. There was always something that would drag him out of hiding and Natasha never wanted to hide in the first place. Even in times of peace, there was always a nightmare looming. It didn't help that Natasha let almost a dozen assassins in training live with them. For some reason, rehabilitating traumatized and slightly homicidal little girls was her idea of a break.
"Thank you, Green Man." Lena murmured sleepily.
Bruce didn't think he'd ever like that nickname, but he figured with the girls he could let it slide.
The fact that things are currently okay is enough for him for now.
The poem "Wait for me and I'll come back" is by Konstantin Simonov, a Russian poet that was stuck fighting in World War II. His poems swing from hopeless to hopelessly optimistic with the twists and turns of the war. I found him interesting.
So this was the final chapter, guys. It was an honor to write for you and I loved all the reviews and follows I received as a result of this. It's fitting that I end this on my last day of high school because this is the last fanfiction I wrote as a high school student. I'll be on to bigger and better things—and let's face it, I'll probably still be writing fanfiction when I'm eighty, so this isn't the last you've seen of me!