The Prince And The Rose

07 - Stained Glass

Natasha hesitated at the church doors, trying to decide whether or not to go in.

No one else was in there, she knew. No one but Steve.

The service had been nice, although the little chapel was drafty and cold. At the start of the funeral she had been uncomfortable; she didn't frequent churches and didn't exactly know how she was supposed to act. However, she ignored that, trying to be there for Steve, who had withdrawn into himself more than usual.

Shortly after the burial, she had noticed him slip away, back in the direction of the chapel. As soon as she could get away (she had paused to offer a spy's comfort to Agent 13), she made her way down through the cemetery to the church.

She put her hand on the door handle, second-guessed herself, took her hand away. Would Steve even want her there? She knew how private he was, particularly about his pain. He was too selfless, which was never something she would have thought possible, but then Steve seemed to make a habit out of defying the norm.

After a moment further of hesitation, she sighed and pulled the door open.

Her heels thumped quietly on the carpet of the small foyer, and she hesitated yet again before climbing the small set of stairs that would take her to the sanctuary.

Steve was leaning back against one of the pews, hands tucked in the pockets of his slacks, staring dejectedly at the floor. Fragments of rainbow light from the stained glass windows colored his face and suit.

She walked slowly towards him, trying to work out how to proceed. He didn't move, although she was sure he knew she was there.

He looked so, so tired: his shoulders sagging, his posture slumped and defeated, his face suddenly lined and grim.

"Hey," she said quietly. The vaulted sanctuary echoed her words softly back at her, and she felt unreasonably intimidated.

He glanced up, gave her a crooked half-smile. His ocean eyes had turned the same soft grey as the rain. "Hi."

She moved over to lean against a pew next to him, facing a window that depicted a cross with lilies and a purple sash draped about it. "I'm sorry," she said. She'd said it before, but she didn't know what else to say.

He nodded, returning his gaze to the aisle floor. He wasn't pulling away, which she was grateful for. He distanced himself from almost everyone, and even for herself and Sam it was difficult to get an honest admission of emotion out of him.

She'd been keeping herself from interacting with him too much (for his sake as much as her own), but she couldn't today. It wouldn't be fair. He needed her.

She could almost see the emotions flickering in front of his weary eyes, and she didn't know what to do to comfort him. For a moment, she thought that coming into the chapel had been an awful idea after all.

Then Steve, speaking slowly and hesitantly as if he was forcing out each word, said, "She was the only thing I had left from... from before." He glanced up, meeting Nat's eyes, as if to gauge her reaction. She nodded. "I mean, Bucky's alive, but..." He shrugged eloquently. "You know how that turned out. I just..." He ran a hand through his damp hair. He was silent for a long time, thinking. Nat just waited for him to order his thoughts. "I loved her," he finally said, simply. His mouth twisted in a wry, pained smile.

Natasha's heart ached for him.

"And I outlived her, and by rights I shouldn't have, and I... I'm tired of losing everything," he said, so low she almost missed it. He took his hands out of his pockets, fidgeting, frustrated. "I'm so tired of it."

She nodded slowly. She realized, with a pang, that her avoidance of him couldn't have been helpful. Even when she was trying to do the right thing, it seemed that she hurt him. "It isn't your fault."

"I almost wish it was," he ground out. "I can't do anything, I can't..." He closed his eyes tight and shook his head. "I couldn't catch Bucky, I couldn't save myself from crashing the Valkyrie, I got woken up here and I couldn't control that either, I couldn't tell Hydra was in SHIELD, I can't find Bucky now, I couldn't help Peggy with her dementia because she was old and I just..." His voice rose as he spoke until he remembered himself and bit his words short. "I'm tired of being helpless."

Natasha stepped closer so she had to tilt her head up slightly to meet his eyes. She tentatively reached out, touched his hand.

Back off, Romanoff.

But she didn't want to.

"Steve, she had a good, full life. I'm sorry you couldn't be part of it, I'm sorry... I'm sorry about everything." She knew that part of what she'd said had been repeated over and over again at Steve (of course Peggy had a good life) but all the same, she thought he could stand to hear it from someone he knew he could trust.

Is that really who you are to him, Natasha?

Yeah, actually, it was.

The faint light filtered through the stained-glass windows, painting a watery cross on the tops of the pews.

"Thanks, Nat. I'm sorry too. You didn't need to hear all that, you-"

"Steve." She smiled a little at him, exasperated. "You don't always have to be the strong one."

"Yeah, Sam keeps telling me that."

"You're too stubborn and selfless," she teased. "Stop being perfect."

He raised an eyebrow at her, amused despite himself. "Are you flirting, Romanoff?"

She laughed, then stopped short. Reprimanded herself. "No," she said lightly. "Just trying to make you feel better."

He nodded. "Thanks."

After a moment's thought, she moved closer and slipped her arms around him. She didn't normally initiate hugs, particularly with him, but she knew he needed it. And if she was honest, she did too.

"Thanks," he said again. She felt him take a breath, sensed that he was about to say something, but he never did. Instead he pressed a kiss to the top of her head and pulled away. "I should probably go" he gestured vaguely, tired again "give my condolences to people and stuff."

She stopped him, straightened his tie and suit lapels.

He nodded, another thank you.

Then he walked out.

She didn't leave right away, instead sitting down in one of the pews and staring around the tiny chapel.

Wishing they hadn't had to come here and spoil its beauty with a funeral.

Wishing that she should've said about her feelings for him but it's a bad day for him to know.