"Soooo...do you want to talk about what happened last night?"
"Oof, I've had that question thrown my way one too many times," You chuckled, shaking your head as she drove you both back to New York, "So, I'm going to go with my old standby," You turned to her, your expression getting soft, but serious, and your voice was low and sweet, "You were great and it was a lot of fun, but let's just leave it like that, yeah? Can I make you some breakfast? Call you a cab?"
"You do not say that."
"I do." You sat back with a huff and she side glanced you in disbelief.
"And it works?"
"Most of the time," You shrugged, glancing out the window, "Sometimes they get mad, but I'm always up front before we get down to bidness, so I'm not really sure why they think that'll change over night."
"And it works...for you?" She glanced between you and the road, gathering you were going to ask what she meant, so she rephrased, "You're happy with it?"
"I think so." You told her quietly, sinking in your seat just a fraction, and she nodded to herself, looking ahead to the road again with determination.
It was quiet after that for a chunk of the ride, and you only broke it when you started fiddling with the radio, landing on a song you recognized. You hummed along, mouthing some of the words, and not missing how she smiled every time you muttered some of it under your breath.
If this was most people's lives, you would've already asked the assassin out on a proper date, having given up sleeping around the moment your eyes locked, and built a somewhat traditional life together. She'd be off avenging half the time, you'd be working for Stark Industries or helping to rebuild SHIELD and months later, she'd move in with you and your artistic best friend, not to mention Porky. You'd share experiences, laughs, and love that would last lifetimes until you both grew old with or without kids and look back with smiles on your faces, knowing you did it right with few to no regrets.
But you've been dealt an odd hand that makes that nearly impossible.
You've been burdened (not with glorious purpose, unfortunately) with something very heavy that seems to have struck your family. You lost your father to suicide while your mother was pregnant with you and your brother was only a few years old. Imagine the pain she must've gone through, her soulmate leaving this earth by his own hand, and she couldn't have done anything to prevent it – but it never feels that way. Then, she raised two kids all by herself, and that came with its own ups and downs, but she did her best.
Lewis was more of the quiet, bookworm type who spent most days inside playing Scrabble or video games with whoever was around while her daughter, you, was always on the lookout for any kind of adventure. An imagination that ran wild and she could be a pirate in the living room with the floor being the treacherous seas or a cave person in the kitchen where she was only guarded from the elements under the dining table. She could never sit still, and she always spoke her mind while Lewis was more reserved and precise. He knew when and where to say or do things and he was never disappointed.
When he found out Santa Clause wasn't who he was told he was, he sat your mother down and explained this realization calmly, ending the talk with offering to keep up the fantasy for you.
He was eight at the time.
He was smarter than everyone in his grade and when he turned eighteen, about to graduate the twelfth grade, the summer before uni, he wanted to have a small party with some school friends. Your mom was beyond surprised but agreed instantly because he'd never asked for anything of the sort and he was a responsible kid that wouldn't let it get out of hand.
And he wanted to have it at home with you and her there, maybe some neighbor kids, and everyone would be home by midnight.
But surely, that didn't sway her decision.
That was the night he had his first episode or 'spinner'.
It hit him like a truck, and he spent half the night locked under the stairs in the bathroom, puking his guts out into the toilet while your mom sent everyone home and eventually called the hospital before she put it together. She'd seen this with your dad for the nine years she knew him – he'd already been battling spinners since he was eighteen, about two years before he met your mom.
So, she sat Lewis down after putting on a Robin Williams movie in the living room for you, something that, at any age, was a big distraction for yourself and tried to explain what was happening to him.
He started shouting after she told him not to worry too much about it.
Your attention snapped over to them, you had been subtly trying to eavesdrop, but now you didn't worry about it since their voices rose and you watched in fear as your brother broke down in your mother's arms. You never saw him get so upset or cry or scream before and he did it so much that night, you were scared for his life.
Your mom didn't talk to you like she had tried to with him when you turned eighteen and had your first one soon after.
You were so lost and confused, your brother had died not even three months before that, and you were scared out of your mind. You recognized it as having the same 'disease' he did and you didn't know much about it, but you knew how it ended for him.
You've thought about it a million times since, but those days leading up to his death were dark ones. He was shifty and when you tried to hug him, he jerked out of your hold, shoving you away until your back hit the corner of the doorway. He looked regretful for about a second before the scowl glued to his features was back and he started mumbling about it being 'too late'.
So, no.
You didn't get to have a regular life or have someone in it that you could love and care for because there was no happy ending in your future. You saw what you'd become eventually, and you didn't want too many people around when you had to hurt everyone in your life.
It might sound selfish because a beautiful, perfect, amazing, intelligent, stubborn, firebird of an assassin was tip toeing around it, but you had to remember how this would end.
And you didn't want her to see it.
"Thanks for...everything," You smiled, your bags at your feet, and you were both facing each other outside your house's door, "I couldn't have survived this weekend without you, truly."
"Did you?" She asked, but then shook her head a bit before you questioned it, continuing, "Survive it, I mean. We still didn't talk about last night."
"There's some things," You forced a smile, but your eyes gave you away if your voice didn't, "That can't be explained and sometimes, we can't or shouldn't talk about them."
"Y/n, I-"
"I like you, Natasha, I do," She seemed surprised, but then frowned at the name and you steeled yourself, "But um, I think we should spend some time apart. I don't think it's...I owe you," You gave her a tight smile, but she was borderline angry now and you didn't blame her, "I owe you so much, but I can't...I can't do this with you, no matter how cliché it sounds, it's not safe and it won't end well for-"
She grabbed the back of your neck and smashed her lips against yours in a bruising kiss, all in one quick move. You were frozen in shock, and it didn't last more than a few seconds, but your lips were still slightly pursed when she pulled away, your eyes wide. She smirked, shrugging before she rang the door's bell, knowing Alex would be down in seconds to answer it, and she turned to leave.
"Should've thought about that before you had me falling for you," She was down the stoop and walking backwards towards the car, "See you tomorrow, sweetheart."
