A Bolt from the Blue

Chapter 24

Although returning from the gym in the evening, Steve had left his mind there, replaying what had happened with Natasha over and over. He sat on his couch in the dim light of the living room part of his private apartment, one arm stretched on the armrest as his fingers gently tapped against the fabric.

That moment they had just shared had to be one of the most intimate between them and it left him both fulfilled and empty, content and guilty.

He went for his sketchbook, sat down against his bed on the carpet floor, staring out the large window to the amazing view of Manhattan at night. He began to draw the outlines of the skyscrapers, slowly adding up more and more details.

After a while, when it began to take shape, he sighed and leaned his head back against the mattress. The activity wasn't as soothing as he expected it to be. Somehow, the sketch and the model felt ill-suited and impersonal.

He flipped a few pages back to the drawing of Natalie he had done a while ago. He held his pencil between his fingers and started shading it. He did the work meticulously and soon calmness enveloped his mind. When he finished and considered the portrait was officially complete, he gently put his pencil down on the carpet and had a look. Progressively, as he came to the realization to what he saw, a deep drown rose to his forehead and his breathing quickened a bit.

Staring at his sketch, it hit him. The woman he had drawn - the person he thought he had been drawing - was not Natalie. It laid in the small details: the curly hair, the spark in her expression, the hint of a smirk playing on the lips; the sketch was a portrait of Natasha.

He felt an uncontrollable rush of panic take over him as he was struck by the fact he had been fooled by his own mind, or that he had somewhat turned a blind eye on his real model. How come he had never realized it was Natasha he had been drawing in this portrait all along? And why did he find out tonight? And what did it mean?

He had sworn to never draw someone again since he had lost Natalie, and now that he had broken his promise, of all the people in this world and across time, he had chosen Natasha.

Whatever lie or excuse he could make up, it was obvious that the woman drawn on the paper, despite being totally identical to his old lover, looked undeniably like his teammate. He closed the sketchbook with a mixture of shame, self-resentment, and utter confusion, knowing he would not only never resolve to tear it up but that he would also come back to look at it (like he had often done the past few months) and that there was nothing he could do to stop.

The next few days went on peacefully. Natasha and Bruce still conversed often but Steve didn't watch them with the same unreasonable curiosity. He understood there were things she would rather share with the doctor than with him. He did that too with Bucky. He knew that, now. Natasha looked more comfortable too since what had happened like she had been relieved off a burden laying on her shoulders, and their smiles to each other carried the memory of their moment in the gym.

One quiet afternoon, as he was standing on the Avengers tower main terrace, he heard footsteps of someone approaching. They were familiar enough to his ear not to move or react and Bucky came to stand next to him, leaning on the bar of the glass rails. He looked out in the distance, quiet.

"You knew, didn't you?" Steve asked, his eyes fixed on the horizon. "That I had drawn Natasha and not Natalie."

He replayed that conversation they had in the kitchen the morning Bucky had mentioned the finding the sketch and deliberately trailed off to let him say the name of the person he had drawn. Steve had taken it as a teasing remark about owning having drawn Natalie again; now he realized James wanted to hear if he would admit it was actually Natasha. A test he had failed then.