Steve Rogers/Captain America One Shots

Fate

The raindrops that fell heavily, slid down the stained glass like teardrops, gliding down the building as though the cheek of a mourning being. It was like the sky cried alongside those in the beautiful yet shadowed cathedral. The sun nowhere to be found on the dark and melancholy Sunday, and the grey clouds seemed to add a weight almost, to the shoulders of those who already sagged with the loss and grief the day brought. 

Steve Rogers stood stiffly in the middle of the red carpeted aisle, his right hip brushing against the beginning edge of one of the many deep wooden pews. His hands were hidden away in the pockets of his deep black dress pants, but he could feel the coldness that numbed the tips of his fingers. The weather was harsh, just as the sky was. It blew in a chill that everyone felt running down their spine until the cold was released into their very bones. 

The cathedral was empty now, everyone who had joined in remembrance of the lost soul, had dispersed. But Steve couldn't move from his spot. It was as though his feet were planted into the floor beneath him, and his body was frozen rigid in place. His heavy and saddened eyes stared forward, locking with those of the woman who's picture still rested up front. And even as he knew he was looking at merely a photograph in a large frame, it felt as though he was staring into those emerald eyes he had just days prior. 

The screams and screeching of metal echoed inside of the small building, and it shook the fragile ground Steve walked across. He was pinned down, in some building down a street he hadn't remebered turning and managed to enter just as the foundation began to crumble down around him. Trapping him inside the unsafe walls. 

He managed to tell the others he was down before the connection was lost, but as he entered the main room of the establishment, he suddenly didn't feel the worry of being trapped inside any longer. In fact, he couldn't think about himself for another second. For his eyes fell upon a pair of legs, sticking out from beneath a pile of rubble. Her left shoe was no where to be found, and the pair of thin black tights she wore were ripped in places exposing her now dust coated skin. Smudging a darkness across her once porcelain complexation.

Steve ran over to the body, and found himself breathing a breath of relief when he saw her wide and frightened eyes fall upon him. She was still alive. 

"It's pouring pretty bad out there Rogers," A voice broke Steve from his wandering thoughts. "you might want to head out before the street floods."

He turned his head slowly in the direction of the familiar voice, his feet still not shifting an inch from where they stood stuck, and his eyes soon fell upon a certain red headed woman walking steadily towards him.

"What are you doing here?" Steve asked, raising a brow as Natasha Romanoff continued to walk towards him, her tall heels barely heard against the soft carpet she glided across. And her steady movements didn't slow until she stood across from him, leaning back slightly against the pew behind her. The confusion and curiosity was evident in his voice, and he hadn't tried to hide it. As far as he knew, no one knew he was here this morning. And yet, here Nat stood. 

"A little birdie told me you might be down here," She replied smoothly, wringing her hands together in front of her. "or rather that a certain "superhero" was sitting in a church for one of the victims of the attack."

"And you figured it had to be me?"

Nat shrugged, a soft smirk tugging at the edges of her perfect red stained lips. "I pieced it together."

Steve nodded with a small shadow of a smile, and looked down at his shoes. "What are you really doing here Nat?"

As Steve lifted his head to look at the woman, he saw something raw in her eyes that he wasn't always used to seeing. She was strong and put together and never one to show a sliver of weakness, and yet, he saw compassion and an undeniable glimmer of pure sadness reflecting back in her watchful gaze.