Romanogers - Oneshots

It's been a while

When Steve gets back to the quinjet, he just wants to sit down and think. He wants to rest for a while, maybe just a minute, before they set off again, this time, for the first time in two years, to the Avengers compound. But of course, when does Steve Rogers ever get to rest.

For when the entrance hisses open, there, in the exact seat he was planning to slouch in, sits Natasha. He freezes. This doesn't make sense. Natasha...she's gone. Not dead, as far as knows, just...gone. Though she never strays from his mind, Natasha is gone. Out of the picture. And yet here she is, leaning forward, elbows on knees as her hands cradle her head. She appears to be muttering to herself, a frown deep set in her brow. When the hiss is released though, she jumps as fast as lightning and grabs the long staff leaning against the wall, whirling it into attack position. When she sees who it is however, the staff lowers immediately, though she does not relax. If possible, it appears her body tenses more, muscles tightening, jaw clenching.

Steve feels as if the wind has been knocked out of him. Like when you get kicked in the stomach and your lungs refuse to function. He hears Wanda, in comparison, suck in a sharp intake of breath and grip Vision tighter, her eyes flickering between them nervously. They eventually, after a few seconds silence, stumble past Natasha to the back, avoiding her eyes even as Natasha's follow her. Natasha purses her lips as Wanda disappears from sight, swallowing her hurt. Steve guesses he's not the only one who's hurt. Wanda's gone back to where they keep the medical supplies. Not that Vision can take a morphine shot, but a bandage might help at least.

"What. The. Fuck." He says, voice cutting the silence first. It seems thick, the air is thick, thick with tension and unspoken words and broken promises and everything else bubbling to the surface once again. And also muffled, faraway, though perhaps it's just drowned out by the rushing sound in his ears.

"Language." She responds, though without a smile.

Steve feels like he's going to throw up. The things he's feeling, he doesn't want to feel them. Not again, not over Natasha. Most of them are all too familiar, and some are foreign and bitter, almost bordering a hatred.
He allows his eyes to drink her in, albeit reluctantly. He can't help it.
Her blonde hair, that which he had only just got used to before- He stops himself. Before, is straggly, disheveled, bedraggled. A layer of grime coats visible skin. Perhaps it is her skin, has become a new layer, since it doesn't look new. Her face is filthy: a long gash runs down the side, dirt is rubbed like soot all over her cheeks, her forehead. Her suit appears grungy, mud stains and...another dried reddy-brown substance smeared all over. She limps slightly, leaning the tiniest bit to the right: he notices her left ankle is swollen and fixed in a makeshift splint. And still the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"How're you here?" He manages to stammer, though his tongue is like sandpaper and the words stick to the top of his mouth.
"You didn't block my cornea scan entry." She replies quietly.
"I never planned to shut you out." He swallows, crossing his arms over his chest. "That was your job."
"Steve..." She begins and steps forward, but tails off.
"How could you do it?" He can hear something in his voice, something almost...broken. He hates that she can still make him feel like this, stir around his insides so they feel like they're in a blender. Hates her for it. Love bordering hatred. Two rivers, flowing alongside each other in almost perfect synchronicity. "How could you...how could you leave like that?"
She shuts her eyes and shakes her head a little, and when she opens them, he sees they are shining with a glaze. "I didn't mean- I couldn't-"
"How could you do it?" Steve feels something well up inside him, threatening to overflow.
"Steve when you said...what you said, I needed to-"
"I told you I loved you and you ran! Fled for the high hills!" He exclaims.
"I couldn't breathe! I couldn't breathe, Steve! I felt like I was suffocating."
"Nothing! You left nothing. I woke and you were gone. Not a trace, not even a hair. All your things, you, it was all gone. Do you know how scared I was? How terrified I was that someone had taken you and I hadn't even noticed?"
"I literally made the bed and you thought I'd been kidnapped?" She frowns.
"That isn't the point!" He shouts. Trust Natasha. "What did you expect me to do? I- you-" He breaks off and she stares at the ceiling, eyes misty with emotion. "I loved you. You were everything to me. Did you really expect me to just move on with no questions, no worry, no heartbreak?" He entreats.
"I wanted you to forget me." She whispers, biting her lip.
"Forget you?! Remember when I said you were everything to me?" He says in disbelief.
"See it's things like that." Natasha crosses her arms, almost in annoyance. "You can't expect to say that and have me just- just-"
"Say it back?" He offers wearily. What a cliche.
"No! Saying it's not the problem. You don't understand- when you say things I- I can't breathe!" She digs her fingers deep into her hair, raking and curling painfully as her face screws up in frustration. He stares at her questioningly. Steve doesn't understand.

"It's not you. It was never you. It's me. I can't stand the way you make me feel. I-"
"You hate it?" His voice cuts across her again, and a silence fills the space between them. "Do you hate me?" More silence. Her expression is inscrutable. It's a combination between fire and a passion and something like understanding, a connection, though it's fearful. "It's okay, you can say it. I hate it too. I hate you." Silence.
"I do. I really, really do. I hate you for the way you make me feel. How I- I-" She stutters, something new for Steve. Natasha never stutters: she always knows exactly what she wants to say. "how I love you. I hate you. And I love you. More than anything."
He clicks his tongue. "The feeling's mutual."
She takes another step forward, shortening the space between them.
"I came back because I want to be ready. I want to be ready to let you love me, if you can still bring yourself to. Because I love you. And I hope it's enough." There's hope on her face, a determination in her eyes. She's close enough now that he can reach a small way and link his fingers with hers, feeling the hum that passes through his body as the touch he's craved for so long finally grates alongside his skin. His thumb rubs small circles, though his eyes stay on her face. It's so hard to look away.
"We can't go back, Nat. You can't unring the bell."
She nods. "I know. But I'm gonna try like hell."