Natasha stepped into the kitchen, the soothing aroma of breakfast filling the air. Steve was at the sink, engrossed in washing something. She observed him from a distance, the quiet solitude of the morning accentuating the sounds of water splashing against dishes. However, her curiosity grew as she noticed a picture frame in Steve's hands, something that seemed to carry a weight of memories and emotions.
As Steve reached for the picture, Natasha approached him silently, attempting to catch a glimpse of the photograph that had momentarily captivated him. Steve, sensing her presence, swiftly wiped the frame with the long sleeve of his sweatshirt and placed it on a shelf above him. Natasha's eyes fixed on the image of Tony and Steve, frozen in a moment of camaraderie. Both men were smiling, Tony offering a peace sign with two fingers.
Steve, aware of Natasha's gaze, cleared his throat, attempting to mask the emotions that had briefly surfaced. "Oh, hey. Did you have your shower? Will you set the table? I'm almost done with breakfast."
However, Natasha didn't respond immediately. Instead, moved by a sudden surge of empathy and understanding, she wrapped her arms around him from behind, pressing her cheeks against his back. It was a silent gesture, a comforting embrace to convey that she acknowledged the significance of the photograph, the friendship shared, and the grief that lingered.
Steve paused in his sentence. The atmosphere in the kitchen shifted, the routine interrupted by a moment of shared sorrow and empathy. Steve's hands, wet from washing dishes, hung in the air, suspended between the present tasks and the memories resurfaced by the image.
The room seemed to hold its breath, suspended in a poignant moment. Steve could almost hear the echo of Tony's laughter, the banter that had defined their relationship. The arguments, often fueled by Tony's witty remarks, were part of the camaraderie that had grown between them. Their friendship was a blend of seriousness and levity, a dynamic that only deepened over the years.
"You remember? The day we were run from HYDRA, we saw some shocking truth about HYDRA growing under SHIELD, at the old base of Camp Lehigh, New Jersey," Steve's words brought forth a flood of recollections. The remnants of that day lingered, an indelible mark in the timeline of their partnership.
Nodding in acknowledgment, Natasha recalled the day when Steve had extended an invitation, not just for partnership in battles, but for friendship. It was a pivotal moment that marked the beginning of a profound connection between them. "Yes, HYDRA killed whoever tried to stop them," she affirmed, the gravity of those words resonating in the air.
Steve's voice tightened as he delved into a revelation that cut deep into their intertwined lives. "One of them was Howard Stark, Tony's father, one of my dear friends in the 1940s," he disclosed, the weight of those words hanging heavy in the room. Natasha's eyes widened in realization as the pieces fell into place, connecting the dots of a tragedy that extended beyond their immediate circle.
"Steve... did Tony... know about it?" Natasha questioned, her voice soft but laden with concern. Steve's nod confirmed what she feared. As she released her hold on him, Natasha focused on his face, searching for traces of the pain that this revelation carried.
"He gets to know that... his father was killed by the Winter Soldier. And who the Winter Soldier was," Steve's words lingered, punctuating the air with a profound sadness. Natasha closed her eyes, the weight of the truth settling heavily upon her.
Steve's lips trembled as he embarked on the painful revelation, a confession that carried the heavy burden of guilt and regret. Natasha, her gaze steady and understanding, listened intently as he spoke.
"And I... didn't apologize, instead... fought against him, his blood was on my hands," Steve confessed, the weight of those words echoing through the kitchen. Natasha, unwilling to let him bear the weight alone, shook her head, her hands reaching out to cradle his.
"Why? Why would you apologize?" she questioned, her eyes searching his for answers. Steve's acknowledgment of the truth, of the intricate web of relationships that bound them, hung in the air, a silent admission of the choices made during tumultuous times.
"Because I knew the truth. Bucky was my brother, my best friend, and so was Tony, and Howard. In fact, I was only sparing myself, thinking about what Tony would say after knowing I betrayed him," Steve continued, his voice heavy with the remorse of decisions made in the heat of battle.
She nodded solemnly," Then I'm playing a part in this betrayal too." He wanted to interrupt, but she carried on, "I knew, just like you, I knew that the Winter Soldier assassinated Howard Stark. But I let that go because it was the Winter Soldier, not Bucky Barnes," Natasha gently interrupted, her voice carrying a tone of forgiveness and understanding.
"I know, but still..." Steve's response hung in the air, Natasha, ever resilient, challenged his doubts with a question that cut through the weight of the past.
"You think Tony wouldn't have understood?" she queried, her eyes fixed on Steve's. The question lingered in the air, inviting reflection on what might have been.
He fell into silence, grappling with the hypothetical scenarios that played out in his mind. The kitchen, once filled with the echoes of their shared history, suddenly smelled of something burning. With a swift move, Steve rushed to the stove, turning off the heat.
"We were almost about to starve," he chuckled, the mundane task providing a momentary respite from the weighty revelations. Natasha joined in his laughter, her step light as she moved to set the table. The juxtaposition of the solemn conversation and the everyday act of preparing a meal painted a vivid portrait of their lives—bound by duty, haunted by the past, yet finding solace in the simplest moments.
The morning sun streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow on the kitchen where Steve and Natasha sat, sharing a quiet breakfast. A faint smile played on Steve's lips as he initiated a conversation, "They have a daughter. Tony and Pepper. Morgan Stark," Steve revealed, his eyes reflecting a mix of nostalgia and warmth. Natasha's surprise was evident, Tony Stark, the once playboy billionaire, now a father. The revelation brought a smile to her face.
"Tony and Pepper?" Natasha sought confirmation, a hint of joy creeping into her expression. Steve nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the unexpected turns life had taken for their friends. The atmosphere lightened as Natasha, curious, asked, "How old is she?"
Steve's response was gentle and filled with fondness. "Five. Natasha... I mean, you loved spending time with her." A pang of longing wrapped around Natasha. The desire to see Morgan, to witness the life that Tony had built beyond their shared battles, tugged at her heart.
He sensed her unspoken wish, and with a reassuring smile, Steve added, "Give it some time, Romanoff. You're not the same anymore for others. Let me clear the way for you, and then you can say a proper goodbye before leaving." Natasha understood the sentiment behind his words.
'She would leave someday.' That thought pained him. She met his gaze, determination gleaming in her eyes. "I'm here to stay. If you let me." The unspoken question lingered in the air – would it be acceptable for her to remain in this reality, originally hailing from a different timeline? Steve, momentarily speechless, grappled with the implications.
"Nat..." he began, but she interrupted, seeking clarity. "Will you let me? Do you want me to stay?" The weight of the question settled between them, and a faint smile graced Steve's face as he lowered his gaze to his plate. The gravity of the decision didn't escape him.
"Always. Forever," he whispered, a solemn promise that echoed with the weight of shared history.
Natasha's smile widened with a nod, "Forever. Sounds good." In that moment, a silent agreement passed between them. Natasha was ready to embrace this newfound chance, prepared to stay, and Steve, ever the guardian of the past, appeared willing to welcome her into the fabric of his present.
YOU ARE READING
Cursed Realities
FanfictionNatasha's anguish erupts into words she can never take back. "I wish you would have died being stuck under the ice!" Her voice pierces the air, fueled by a bottomless pit of resentment. In her clenched hand, the dark brown tube, seemingly innocuous...
