The Pasts

Chapter 19

The flash of red and blue lights dances off the wet pavement, casting long shadows across the scene. Shield agents move with precision, their faces grim as they secure the perimeter. In the distance, you can hear the low hum of voices as investigators comb through the wreckage. The metallic scent of gasoline still lingers in the air, mixing with the fresh rain.

You sit on the back of an ambulance, barely aware of the emts tending to your wounds. The sterile scent of antiseptic stings your nose as they work on your cuts, but your mind is elsewhere. You can hear the low, steady hum of Bucky's breathing beside you, his arm draped in a makeshift sling. He's conscious, but groggy, his blue eyes barely open.

Your eyes, though, keep darting back to the figure standing just a few feet away.

Natasha.

She's standing with her arms crossed, her wet hair slicked back, talking to a couple of shield agents. Her voice is low, controlled, explaining what happened, but every few seconds, you catch her green eyes flicking toward you, quick and sharp, before she returns to the conversation. It's subtle, but the concern is there, simmering beneath her composed exterior.

You look away every time she glances at you, pretending to focus on the emt pulling shards of glass from your arm, but your heart hammers in your chest. Every flicker of her eyes in your direction feels like a weight, heavy with the unspoken tension still hanging between you. After everything that happened, after you risked yourself in that way...

She hasn't said a word to you yet.

You wince as the emt applies a bandage to your arm, but the real discomfort comes from the knot of emotions tightening in your stomach. You should feel relieved. You're alive—she's alive. But Natasha's unreadable expression, the way her arms are crossed like a barrier between her and everyone else, especially you...it gnaws at you.

From the corner of your eye, you catch Natasha turning away from the agents, the conversation apparently over. She says something to them—too low for you to hear before heading your way. Your breath catches, and you instinctively look away, staring down at your hands, fidgeting with the fraying edge of the blanket someone had draped over your shoulders.

You can hear her footsteps approaching, steady and sure, the sound almost drowned out by the patter of rain against the pavement. When she finally stops in front of you, you can feel her presence more than see her—intense, like a storm ready to break.

oh hell

The emt beside you hesitates for a moment, still working on your injuries, but Natasha doesn't wait. With a swift motion, she waves them away, her voice clipped. "I've got it from here," she says, not even sparing them a glance as they pack up their things and leave quickly, sensing the tension.

You still don't look up. You can feel the heat of her gaze on you, but your eyes stubbornly fixate on anything else—the cracks in the pavement, the flashing lights from the squad cars, the rain soaked blanket around your shoulders.

Anywhere but her.

The silence stretches, thick with unspoken words. You feel her shift, a frustrated exhale escaping her, and then her fingers gentle but firm grip your chin. She tilts your face upward, forcing you to meet her gaze.

"Look at me," Natasha murmurs, her voice low but commanding.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest as your eyes reluctantly meet hers. There's no escaping it now. The intensity in her green eyes makes your stomach churn. You can't help but give a nervous laugh, your voice coming out shaky and uncertain.

"Oh, hey," you say, trying to sound casual, but your voice trembles, betraying the nerves that are bubbling under the surface.

Natasha's eyes narrow slightly, her grip on your chin tightening just enough to hold your attention. Her expression is unreadable, but there's an edge to her voice, something raw simmering just beneath the surface.