I Can Take You Home (A Romanogers Fanfic) COMPLETED

Steve

Steve watched as Natasha started stepping away from him, blood starting to drip down her elbow. He willed himself to stand still, to fight the urge to call her back, but when she nearly tripped over her own feet, he knew she wouldn't last two days. He lunged for her and grabbed her good arm.

  She whipped around, her nostrils flared. He could tell she wanted to scream at him, to hit him, to strike him. Instead, she let her anger show in her eyes, and Steve swore they burned red. "What?"

  "It's not safe out there."

  "And?" Natasha tore her arm out of his grasp. "Why don't you go and help your friend over there, huh?" Her voice was quiet, but the hostility could make the bravest man wither under that green gaze, like a forest on fire.

  Steve turned around to see his friend, his Bucky, on the ground in a pool of blood. His Bucky, who laughed at his own terrible jokes. Bucky, who would risk anything to ensure Steve was okay. Bucky, who had bought Steve some pencils when his old ones had broken. "Sam?"

  "Yes, Cap?"

  "Take Bucky to the hospital for me."

  Sam hesitated, and Steve could see the look that flashed behind those red goggles. Sam had slowly developed a friendship with Yelena, and Steve had occasionally seen him going around helping the younger Romanov however he could without her getting annoyed and snapping at him. He would bring her some water when she complained to Natasha that she had a sore throat. He would help her with drawing, though he wasn't that good at drawing himself. Yelena had even smiled at him a little just a few minutes ago when he had offered to help sharpen her knives.

  But then the look was gone as quick as it had come, and Sam heaved Bucky into his arms and took to the sky.

  "Let me go, you big idiot."

  Steve realized he had gripped the red head's wrist tight and released her. "Please...jusy don't go. I'm sorry to have asked you to let him live. But he's my friend."

  Natasha inhaled a deep, shaky breath. "Fine. I'll stay. But after all this, I'll leave. After we've sorted everything out, I'll leave. I can't live here. I can't live knowing that I could've still seen her walking the hallways of this house if it weren't for me. I should've noticed."

  "Natasha, this isn't your fault." Steve reached out to take her hand in his. "This...it's my friend's fault.".

  "I'm glad you know." Natasha spun around on her heels. "I'll stay. Fine, I'll stay." Her eyes met his, and he could hear the unspoken words. I'll stay...for you. "I...I need to go someplace else first, to...you know..." She started crying again, but this time she didn't make any sound. Didn't gasp. Didn't sob. Didn't wail. Just silent, painful tears.

  Steve touched her cheek and kisses her forehead. "I understand. But she deserves a proper funeral. Come, we'll organise a little funeral. Just between you, Sam and I. Until he gets back."

  Natasha nodded quietly.

-----------------------------------------------------------------
Steve and Sam bought a decent graveyard and a nice coffin to put Yelena in. As the gravediggers lowered the coffin into the hole, a light rain stared to fall.

  Steve opened his umbrella and gave Sam one when he realized his friend had forgotten to bring one. Natasha was as silent as ever, her green gaze blank. Steve wrapped an arm around her, and another around Sam.

  Long after the gravediggers had left, the trio was still standing, even when the light drizzle before had turned into a huge downpour.

  The pitter-pattering of the raindrops on the umbrella sounded disturbingly similar to gunshots, Steve thought.

  Natasha suddenly fell to her knees.

  Sam gave Steve a worried look and held the umbrella for him as the captain bent down to Natasha's height and touched her bandaged shoulder.

  Red rings circled Natasha's eyes and her nose was the same shade, making her whole face paler than usual. Her eyebrows were furrowed to keep the tears from falling.

  "Natasha, let's go home." Steve cupped her face in his hands and wiped away a tear that was escaping from her eye with his thumb.

  Natasha nodded and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. Her arm stayed there the whole ride home, her face hidden.

  When they reached home, Natasha was the first to get out. She waited until Sam had unlocked the front door then she dashed inside.

  When Steve entered, she was gone, her footsteps quickly fading as she rushed upstairs to their room. His heart hurt fiercely, both for her and for Bucky. He knew putting Natasha and her sister's murderer in the same room would kill the redhead. But he needed to save Bucky. He needed to know how he survived and why he became this way.

  "Sam?"

  "Yeah?"

  "How is Bucky?"

  "He's lost too much blood, Steve." Sam shook his head. "And that cut that ran the length of his throat, it was deep. If he survives, he will probably be unable to talk. Plus, Nat literally shot him dead in the brain."

  Steve gulped and pushed down the rising anger in his stomach. It wasn't Natasha's fault. "Is he on life support?"

  "Yes. The doctor said that you better come now if you want to see him."

  Steve immediately ran to put on his coat. "I got him back. I'm not losing him again." He nodded toward the stairs. "Can you help take care of Natasha until I come back?"

  "Yeah. Of course." Sam rubbed his palms together, as though anxious at the very thought of taking care of a griefing, angry spy with impeccable fighting capabilities and a tongue full of venom. But he went up the stairs anyway, his desire to care for a friend overpowering his anxiety.

  Steve watched him go for a while, then left the house.

-----------------------------------------------------------------
When Steve entered the room, Bucky was nowhere to be seen.

  He looked around at all the machines and monitors. They were still switched on, but with no patient in need of them. Steve approached the bed slowly. Maybe he went to the bathroom, he thought.

  He saw something white protruding out from underneath the pillow. He pulled it out and unfolded it. A note.

  It consisted of only four words, but sent never-ending chills down Steve's spine.

  He will be dead.

  The room seemed to drop in temperature, but Steve was sweating. He stuffed the note into his pocket, then ran.