Author'sNote:
Yup, it's being rewritten. More on that in the A/N. Hope you enjoy :)
Pride is the Devil
Chapter I:
The New York summer afternoon was chilly.
Hordes of children flooded the park, doing what normal children did. Having fun, as if half the world had not disappeared for five years, then come back.
Sitting quietly on a park bench, Natasha looked up from her weathered book, leaving it to lay open on her lap. She watched the nearby children as they slid, swung, and pushed each other, laughing to their heart's content all the while. Their parents followed close behind, picking them up, helping them in and out of the playground sets, and sometimes joined in on the fun as well.
Their blissful ignorance captivated Natasha, the jealousy stiffening her posture and attitude. This was far from her first visit. No matter the weather or day, she sat here at this exact bench. Her name may as well have been carved onto it.
But no matter how long she watched, she could not imagine herself in their place. She could not see herself running around and laughing, embraced and sheltered by a loving parent. In the end, there was very little she could relate to with their lives. She and they were separated by an invisible, impenetrable wall. Like fire and ice. Like oil and water. They did not mix. Did not understand each other. And how could she? And how could they? It was all moot.
Coming back to reality, she sensed a familiar presence.
She blamed it on her previous line of work. While nothing about him was distinctive from a glance, patterns were everything, and this man appeared every day like clockwork.
So there he was, entering and grabbing a drink at the bistro directly across from her bench. He always showed up fifteen minutes after she did, never more, never less. His movements relaxed and easygoing as he moved from the counter to his favorite outdoor table, straight in line with Natasha.
He was not good-looking in your cover-of-Sports-Illustrated way, rather he was silently attractive. His business casual clothes always fit him to the tee, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows with the top button of his shirts undone. His pristinely ironed slacks were the opposite of his hair, the black mop always a mess, but a good look on him.
She had not thought that he was her type—her type had never mattered—but he had grown on her, like a mold on an uncared-for piece of bread.
She wondered what he did for a living, or if he was a student, as he always had a backpack with him, in it always a notebook and water bottle. He was definitely around her physical age, but whether he was older or younger was hard to discern from the distance between them.
A barista appeared by him not long after he received his order. She was not there every day like them, but appeared the most frequently, in her apron with her hair tied back in a bun. And like always, she chatted him up. Natasha wished she could be a fly on the wall during those conversations. It was the only time she ever got to see him smile, and it was a gorgeous smile.
Finally, there were his eyes.
Natasha once had vibrant green eyes of her own, but they lost their luster long ago, dulled by the things she had seen. His, on the other hand, were a shiny sea green, the color of spring, reminding her of the ocean's waves. And where her eyes housed cold-heartedness, his eyes held something else that she could not put a finger on. There was something more besides his tranquilness, visible whenever he glanced up to watch the children play as well. Maybe it was acceptance, but sometimes she swore she saw longing in them, which was a feeling she understood better than most.
Throughout the ongoing string of days that they had sat across from each other, rarely did she catch him bothering to look in her direction. If she did it was always in passing, and she was fine with that, willing to remain the overlooked observer. It was a role she was at home with, and one that would seemingly never leave her.
The man stood, and Natasha thought nothing of it. But then he started walking in her direction, with his eyes pointed straight at her. There was no mistake about it.
Hastily, Natasha resumed her reading. Staging ignorance even when she caught him tripping between the seams of the sidewalk.
"You can drop the act." He said once within comfortable talking distance. "I know you haven't been reading."
She held back a response as long as she could.
"Pardon?" She said eventually, looking up from the page and feigning surprise.
"I know you haven't been reading." He repeated.
Natasha cocked her head. "You're right, the book was getting boring."
The man gestured to her book with his drink. "Is that why you've spent so long on that page?"
"That, and I'm a slow reader."
"Me too." The man said with a smile. "Never liked reading anyways, dyslexia is my reason."
Natasha bit her lip. "Is that why you're here bothering me? To talk about your dyslexia?"
"No, just came to ask if I could sit here." He laughed, pointing to the other side of the park bench.
Natasha stared at him blankly, thinking of what to say. A part of her already disliked him, but her curiosity eclipsed that. There were questions about him that required answering.
"Do you have a reason?" She asked, her tone lightening.
"Not really." He scratched the back of his head. "Do I need one?"
Natasha spoke no words, but allowed her eyes to do the job for her, drifting to the space beside her.
An earnest smile appeared on the man. But as he sat down, he did so not on the bench, but right in front of it. Crossing his legs on the ground, he leaned his back against the edge of the two-seater.
She wanted to grin at his pettiness, but instead scooted away to put as much space between them as possible.
"You know," the man said lightly, "I always imagined you being like an assassin or something."
Natasha hid her back stiffening. "How so?"
"Every time I make eye contact with you, it's like you're staring into my soul." He explained.
Natasha turned her eyes to the playground,
"Maybe I am." She suggested.
There was a pause, though it was surprisingly comfortable. Both of them were happy to watch the children launch off the swings and soar through the air.
"You think about them too, huh?" He said after a short while.
"Hmm?"
"The children."
"What about them?"
"Well when I watch them, sometimes I feel like I can never have what they have, you know? Never experience the things they've experienced." The man paused, and she could feel his face turn to her. "It's like I'm always on the outside looking in."
Natasha returned his gaze, shocked they viewed the children the same way. His complexion was not intimidating, instead it was curious, like he was studying something within her.
Her face narrowing, she wondered how he could say a line like that. Did he mean it like she did? To the same extent? Only somebody that went through what she did could say those things, and fully understand what it all meant. To be robbed of your life and left to pick up the pieces. Feeling trapped in open spaces, always pondering what could have been.
"Why do you say that?" She answered, their eyes still glued to each other's.
The man turned back to the children. "I didn't have the greatest childhood, not to brag or anything. So when I look at them sometimes, I can't help but imagine if that might've been me if things had gone differently."
He pointed at some siblings playing catch. "Like maybe I could have had a brother, or learned how to play a sport. Things like that."
Natasha nodded in understanding, biting the inside of her cheek.
"What about you, are you the same?" He asked.
"Something like that." She answered.
Describing her past like that was an understatement. When little girls sat down at the dining table, they were taught proper table manners. Unlike her, being taught ten ways to kill the person that was sitting across.
"It's okay." The man's face turned earnest. "It could be worse, you know."
"It could be better, too."
He shrugged his broad shoulders, "Sometimes, the grass isn't greener on the other side."
"Look at you, being Mr. Optimistic."
"That's what the ladies called me in school." He smirked back at her, which she refused to humor.
Undeterred, his attention shifted somewhere else.
"What book are you reading?"
"Thought you said I wasn't reading?" Natasha replied.
The man grinned. "Right then, what book do you have there?"
"Pride and Prejudice."
"Is it good?"
"It's alright." Natasha said, placing her hands over the pages protectively.
"Fair enough." He responded, turning thoughtful. "I was never that good of a reader."
"You said that already."
The man tilted his head. "I guess I did."
Natasha's brow raised. "You've always had dyslexia?"
"Oh yeah, it's always been pretty bad." He laughed, scratching the back of his neck. "I'm more of a visual learner."
"I can imagine."
"You sound sarcastic." His nose wrinkled.
"Maybe I am." She answered with a smile. "More of a picture book type of guy? Children's perhaps?"
"What?" He pointed to his chest. "Me?"
He pretended to faint, and his acting was the worst she had ever seen.
"You hurt me." He dramatically cried.
Natasha could not stop herself from chuckling. Unexpectedly, she found herself wanting to talk more and more.
"Percy Jackson, by the way." He said, offering a handshake, one that she accepted,
"Natasha Romanoff."
Percy's smile brightened. "Believe me Natasha, I'd love to stick around and hear you talk game to me all day, but I'm afraid I must go now."
Natasha felt her shoulders sag a little.
"Got work in ten minutes." He explained, tapping his watch.
"And you work where?" She asked.
He gave her a mischievous smile, that was more sideways than straight, as he stood up.
"I'll tell you when we have dinner." He responded.
How had she known he was going to say that.
"I'm sorry," she said, doing her best to not look away. "I'm not comfortable going out with anybody right now."
Percy's smile remained bright, his hands flashing her a pair of finger-guns. It was another action so childish that she laughed.
Not wanting to leave him totally out to dry, she reached for her phone, "What's your phone number?"
His head shook as he answered, "Don't have a phone."
This, she had not expected him to say.
"How do you even contact people?" She asked in wonder.
"I find my ways." He winked, already walking away. "I'll see you around, Ms. Romanoff."
Natasha watched, enthralled, as he then sprinted back to his bistro table, shooting her one more smile before disappearing down the street.
Looking back down at her book, she closed it, consumed by the character that was Percy Jackson.
She stayed where she was for a little while longer, reflecting on their conversation. And as she did, a new wave of children arrived in the park, bringing along with them a new light. And it was in this new light that Natasha left, feeling something other than misery, for the first time in a very long time.
Author's Note:
I guess the simplest way to put it is that I hated what this story became. I had no real plan going into it, and that really showed. And my characterization was... subpar at best. That changes now, though. The entire story is getting changed up for the better. My writing friend, paradoxed, is helping me with this rewrite. For fans of PJO, you probably know who he is. He's been insane at giving me constructive criticism, and hopefully the writing proves my growth.
To the readers, followers and reviewers of the original work, I thank you for your support. If you decide to stick around through this second iteration, you're literally the best, and you can expect everything to be much different. For the new readers, I hope you enjoy what I put out.
Fanfiction's a hobby for me and I do it for free, but I care about my stories a lot (probably way more than a I should), so any thoughts/feedback/critiques are greatly appreciated. Also, since the time this story was originally completed, I've put out a few new works, and would appreciate it if you gave them a try.
Like always, I'm on discord, the invite link to the writing server I'm a part of is in my bio.
Love,
Const3llations