For you, I'll risk it all

XX

"How're you doing?" Natasha questioned as she took a seat on the bench next to the treadmill where Steve was running. Her eyes, filled with genuine concern, were focused on him. "Is it better than when you left, at least?" Her question hung in the air as if she was carefully treading the thin line between concern and intrusion.

Steve responded with a simple, "A bit, yes." As he pressed the stop button and the treadmill began to slow down, he wiped his face with his now-damp T-shirt. He walked off and headed to the punching bag. She followed his movements, inquiring about his emotions. Steve was often hard to read, contrary to the popular belief that he wore his heart on his sleeve.

Over time, he had become accustomed to his "hero" character, the one who stood smiling in front of the camera in the '40s, even though he felt like a stupid mannequin while people were getting murdered and nations were crumbling. He was told, and he had convinced himself, that the Great Nation needed a symbol. The people needed to believe in something real, tangible, something down on this earth. But for the belief to work, that something also had to be unreachable. The stoicism of the great man who wore stars and stripes had to be portrayed as divine, as something no ordinary man could ever hope to be. But underneath the facade, he was just a man, after all.

"How are things with Iris? Everything okay?" she insisted. Not because she wanted to be nosy, but because she knew he needed to talk, to let out everything he was holding in. The absence of Bucky was heavy enough; alone, he couldn't bear it.

He stopped mid-punch and turned to face her. "Do you really want to know?" he asked, out of breath, with his eyebrows raised.

"I do, Steve. You need to talk, and now I am here to listen." She patted the empty seat on the bench next to her, and he followed her command. His legs were spread as he regained his breath, his eyes reflecting a mixture of exhaustion and unresolved tension.

Natasha leaned in slightly, her expression softening. "You've been carrying so much on your shoulders. It's okay to let it out, you know. No judgment, just talk to me."

He looked at her, his gaze shifting from wary to slightly more open. "Shit was fucking deeper than I thought," he sighed, looking down at the pavement.

"Captain, what's with this language now?" she joked, trying to ease the tension she could feel in him. She placed a gentle hand on his arm, giving it a light squeeze. He chuckled slightly, nodding his head. "So shit is really bad, huh?" she teased, emphasizing the word "shit."

"Her and Bucky... They were... Oh man, I don't even know what they were." His voice grew louder as he took his head in his hands while his arms rested on his knees. She patiently waited for him to go on, her silence encouraging him to continue.

"They fucking lived together for a year and still pretended like they hated each other." He let out a hopeless and almost sad laugh. "At first, when we were in Zagreb, I was so mad at her, and... and at Bucky," he sighed. "I felt so stupid not to have seen this before. I felt like they just played this game on me, thinking I was too stupid to grasp it." He stood up, pacing the room slowly, his steps heavy with the weight of his thoughts. "But then I realized that they really didn't know. They didn't know what to do with all that they were feeling."

Natasha stood up, coming right in front of him, searching for his gaze. "What are you saying, Steve?"

"I'm saying they loved each other, and they were too stupid or too scared to admit it."

Natasha's expression softened even more as she watched him, seeing the raw vulnerability he rarely showed.

They stared at each other, waiting for... he didn't know what. Reassurance? Pity? He didn't know. But during that time in Zagreb, he knew another scar was forming in his heart. The first one was when she left, out of the blue, and that was her fault. But this one—was it her fault still? Was it Bucky's? No, of course not. But now another tear was forming, the idea of his best friend bearing alone the thoughts of someone he had loved under the same roof but in his friend's bed—that was another type of pain he never thought he would experience. He felt ashamed and dirty, but it wasn't his fault. He knew that.