Her Only Love

Part 13

Natasha Pov

The wind rushed past me as I sped through the streets, my hands gripping the handlebars tightly, but my mind wasn’t on the road. It was on Angelica—her shy smile, the way she gripped onto me like she was afraid to fall off. What was I even doing? I wasn’t the type to go out of my way for anyone, especially not some school kid. But there was something about her.

I tried to push the thoughts away as I pulled up to the tower, parking my bike in the underground garage. I pulled off my helmet, feeling a flush creep across my neck. Get it together, Natasha.

As soon as I entered the elevator, Clint’s voice echoed through the hall. “Hey, Nat! Out for a joyride, were we?”

I didn’t even have to turn to know that smirk was plastered on his face. I gave him a short nod and kept walking, hoping he wouldn’t push it further. “Just clearing my head,” I muttered, my voice low.

Clint didn’t seem convinced. “Clearing your head, huh? Something tells me it’s not just the road you were thinking about.”

I froze in my tracks. Damn it, Clint.

He grinned. “Saw you with that girl. What was her name again?”

I ignored him, refusing to meet his eyes. "Don't start," I said, brushing past him.

“Just saying, Nat,” he called after me, still amused, “don’t think I haven’t noticed you’ve been a little... less cold lately."

I could feel my pulse quicken. I’m not soft. I wasn’t about to let Clint of all people see a side of me I didn’t even recognize yet.

I made my way to the training room, the only place where I could shut out everything. I needed to focus. The routine of punches and kicks helped distract me, but my mind kept wandering. The way Angelica had looked at me when I gave her the helmet. She seemed so grateful, so... innocent. I wasn’t sure what she saw in me.

It wasn’t like I did anything special. I’d just given her a ride, but there was something in the way she reacted that stuck with me. The warmth of her hands on my back, the softness of her voice when she’d said “T-thanks.”

I slammed my fist into the punching bag, feeling the sting in my knuckles. Focus, Natasha. But the image of her eyes, the quiet way she’d thanked me, kept flashing before me.

She was too young for me. Too innocent. Too... everything I wasn’t.

But that didn’t stop the thoughts from invading. Why did I have to stop by?

I paused, breathing heavily, staring at the bag in front of me. It wasn’t supposed to matter. It shouldn’t matter. But now I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be near her again. To hear her voice, to see her smile.

I shook my head, pushing those thoughts further back. I wasn’t about to get distracted by some schoolgirl crush. There were bigger things at stake. But no matter how hard I tried to shut it down, a small, dangerous part of me wanted to know more about her.

I threw another punch, but it didn’t feel like enough.

I hit the bag again, harder this time, but the dull thud did little to drown out the thoughts creeping into my mind. Focus, Natasha. Keep your head in the game. But the moment I closed my eyes, all I saw was her—the way her hands had gripped the helmet, her nervous but grateful smile.

Why does this matter so much?

I let out a frustrated breath, pacing the training room, my boots clicking against the floor. There was a reason I didn’t get attached. A reason I didn’t let anyone close. People like me don’t get to have soft spots, especially not for someone so... innocent.

The sound of footsteps interrupted my thoughts. I turned to see Steve entering the room, a concerned expression on his face.

“You okay, Nat?” he asked, eyes scanning me like he knew something was off.

I shrugged, offering him a tight smile. “Fine. Just working through some stuff.”

He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push. Instead, he moved toward the weights, clearly respecting my space. But I knew he was watching me, sensing the tension I couldn’t hide.

I returned my focus to the punching bag, throwing a few more hits, each one harder than the last. But the memories of Angelica—the soft way she’d said "thanks," the quiet way her presence seemed to fill the air—kept flooding back.

Stop it. She’s not someone you need to think about.

But I couldn’t help it. There was something about her. Maybe it was the way she clung to me when I picked her up, or maybe it was the way she looked at me like I wasn’t just some cold agent, but someone she could trust. That trust had felt... unsettling. I wasn’t used to it. I didn’t know how to handle it.

The silence of the room was broken when Steve cleared his throat. “You’ve been at this for a while. Want to take a break?”

I gave him a small nod, feeling the exhaustion settle in my muscles. "Yeah. Maybe."

I moved over to the bench, sinking onto it and wiping the sweat from my forehead. Steve sat next to me, still quiet but now more observant.

“You know,” he said after a long pause, “you don’t have to keep everything locked up. You’ve got people here who care about you.”

I shot him a look. “Don’t start, Cap. I’m fine.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m not saying you’re not. I’m saying you don’t have to do this alone.”

The words hit harder than I expected, and for a second, I let my guard down. I could feel the weight of them, the truth in his words. I could tell him about Angelica, about the stir of emotions I didn’t know how to handle, but I didn’t. Instead, I kept my eyes forward, focusing on the familiar discomfort of not letting anyone in.

“I’m good, Steve. Really.”

He didn’t push, though I knew he could see right through me. I appreciated that, even if it only made me feel more... exposed. After a moment, he stood up and clapped me on the shoulder.

“Alright. Just remember we’re here, Nat. Anytime you need to talk. Or... just get away.”

I nodded, grateful for his unspoken understanding. As he left, I sat back, my mind spinning once more.

Angelica’s face swam into my thoughts again, and for the first time in a long while, I wondered what it might be like to let someone like her in. Would she even want to know the real me? The Natasha Romanoff that was always on guard, always calculating?

No. She deserves better than that.

But despite the protest in my head, my heart didn’t want to let go of the image of her—her quiet thank you, the way her hands had lightly brushed mine when I handed her the helmet.

I couldn’t afford distractions, but somehow, this one felt like it had already taken root.

And there was nothing I could do to stop it.