muito muito bava

Natasha could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she placed the pen down. She glanced over the note one more time before brushing off a red strand of hair that had fallen onto the paper. Something inside her pushed her to hold the note close to her chest, as if the proximity to her heart would help her express her message even better. Nat was tempted; she had never been good with words.

Instead, she let out a sigh before peeling the sticky note gently off of the glass beneath it. It would have to do. It was the best she could do.

She peeked out around the corner, the wall blocking most of her face and body. You stood at the kitchen counter, normal to your routine, as you brewed a fresh cup of coffee. Nat’s eyes flashed to the clock on the stove. It must’ve been your third cup of the day already. The corner of her lip quirked upward; you inhaled the drink’s scent as if it was your first and you’d only gotten two hours of sleep the night before. Natasha shook her head. She’d held you in her arms for much longer than that.

Your eyes still closed, she snuck up behind you. Her fingers moved quickly as she adjusted the note next to your plate, still warm from the breakfast she’d made you. She was gone before you could turn around.

She caught a glance of your face as you found the note, your eyes alight from surprise. It was as if warmth radiated from your body. She snuck away before you called her name, only to reenter two minutes later.

“When did you put that note there?” Natasha feigned confusion, peeling her face out from your neck to look at the pastel pink sticky note in your hands. Her face burned as her eyes brushed over the words “love” and “thank” scrawled on the paper, the letters most certainly in her own handwriting. She let her head return to its home in the crook of your neck.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she murmured. Her hands snuck around your waist, right hand over her left to cover the ink smudge she’d gotten mere minutes ago.

- - -

She wasn’t sure exactly how she met you. Well, she knew she met you as a longtime friend of Yelena’s, got to know you as a fellow Avenger. What she didn’t know was how she got so lucky as to have you in her life as her partner. She reminded you of it almost every day.

“You’re sweet,” you chuckled, averting your eyes from her gaze as if this was the first time she’d told you. “But I’m the lucky one.” You didn’t have to look back at her to know she was shaking her head.

Natasha’s gaze flashed to the shelf on the opposite wall and the stuffed animals that sat on it. Each one of them, knitted by her own hands, a gift to you. Each one had been carefully chosen, a creature she knew you’d love, one that held great meaning to the both of you. She smiled as a montage filled her mind, all of your reactions when you’d received them. She’d relive the frustrations of learning to knit a million times over if she could see that for the rest of her life.

- - -

She knew it didn’t fit, the love she felt for you, for Yelena, for her family. She was practically born and raised an assassin. She worked with a team that had been criticized countless times for only bringing more death and destruction to the world. But she couldn’t help it, how she loved so fully, felt so deeply. Everything she did was done with her body and soul, every fiber of her being that she could give. She couldn’t stop doing it. It was just a part of her.

Part of her liked it. Seeing other people smile, hear them laugh, that made it easy. There was nothing wrong with helping others, after all. Natasha had already caused so much hurt. She couldn’t make up for it, but she could do her best. She knew you appreciated it, her thoughtfulness.

Another part of her hated it. She wished she could love a little less, feel a little less. As much as she loved making others smile, she recognized the emptiness it left her with.

Her hand brushed over the bedside table as a tear rolled down her face. Her heart panged at the recollection of the drawer’s contents: everything she’d received from the ones she loved. She’d gone over them so many times she could account for each letter, each gift, from memory. Most of the time, she was grateful for each and every one. But on days like today, she knew it wasn’t enough. The hole inside her was still gaping.

- - -

Natasha glanced at the clock. It was blurry, but she could make it out. 2:37 AM. She returned to the empty page in front of her, the stack of photos piled up next to it.

Her hand reached for the glue stick as she let out a sigh. It reverberated throughout the room, drowned out the low buzz of the air conditioning unit keeping the room cool. She wished she was hearing your voice instead. You’d gone to bed alone two hours ago, unsuccessful at getting her to join you. Normally she would, but it was Tony’s birthday. She had to finish it.

By 4 AM, she considered giving up. You’d already told her the gift you’d gotten Tony was good enough for the both of you. She thought back to what Tony had given her for her birthday the year before, willing for that to carry her through. It had been a gift card to the Cheesecake Factory.

A tear escaped her eye before she could catch it. Natasha ran a finger over the offending splotch. She sniffed once before picking up the next picture, covering up the wrinkle that had formed on the paper. He would never notice. No one would.

-

She finished an hour later, heading off to shower before she collapsed in bed. Her knees gave out once she closed the curtain, her quiet sobs echoing through the room. She wanted to believe she was wrong, she’d told herself that before over and over out of desperation to believe that it was true. She knew she was loved; she had you, Yelena, the team. But she loved so hard. Did anyone love her just as much?

If she’s wrong–how could she change her perceptions, fully realize the love she’s shown? If she’s right… what then? Would anyone be able to love her as much as she loved them? Had she just not found the right people yet?

Her sobs grew louder, her hatred stronger. Why did it always have to be about her? She was supposed to help others, serve others. It wasn’t about her, never was, and never would be. It made her sick. She wished she could be more selfless.

-

She willed her hands not to shake as she handed the binder over to Tony. Natasha knew it wasn’t like the other gifts he had been given–some of them likely directly requested from Tony himself–but this meant something.

She watched as he flipped through the pages, photos of him and his closest friends and family decorating the book. His happiness was clear; it lit a spark in her.

“Thanks, Widow,” he grinned. “I know just the place for this.” Natasha nodded slowly, biting down on her lower lip to keep her excitement from bursting through. She looked over at you, finally smiling when she registered the pressure of your hand gently squeezing hers. She sunk a little at the look on your face, the searching to make sure she was okay. Natasha knew it was remnants from that morning, when you’d gently questioned the puffiness of her eyelids. She played it off as allergies. She knew the answer hadn’t satisfied you.

- - -

“How are you feeling today?”

“I’m okay, what about you?” Natasha reaffirmed her happy countenance with a smile and a nod.

“So, the techniques we talked about last week. Have you tried them?” She nodded again. “How did they work?”

“They helped a lot. I felt a lot less overwhelmed this week.” The woman sitting across from her smiled.

“That’s great. As we’ve discussed, sticking to those are really important. They can help you even when times are really tough.” Natasha nodded for a third time. “So you haven’t been feeling upset this past week? None of the feelings or thoughts we’ve talked about before?” Natasha bit the inside of her lip as she considered her answer. She’d cried three nights ago. Did that count? But she felt fine the morning after and every day after that. Must’ve just been an isolated incident.

“No, nothing that I can think of.” The woman nodded as she jotted something down. Natasha wondered if she’d just lied, undermined her progress.

“That’s good. Do you have anything going on this week?” The redhead smiled for real this time, starting to explain the trip the two of you were going to take for the next two weeks. You’d both been looking forward to it for ages, time alone for the both of you. She laughed as she mentioned the party the team was throwing, a kickoff to summer. Last year’s party had included a water gun fight. Everyone on the team had slipped in some crazy way at least once.

“Sounds like you’re doing great, Natasha. You’re making some real improvement.” Natasha nodded, the smile on her face fading once more as, somewhere inside of her, she questioned if that was really true.

Natasha wondered what was wrong with her, why this never seemed to work. It wasn’t the first time she’d tried, hoping to ease your concerns. Natasha noticed them growing. She wanted to stop being a burden. She was pulled from her thoughts by the woman announcing an early end to the session. If Natasha needed her, she knew where to find her. The redhead let out a courtesy chuckle as she thanked her before leaving the room.

The sound of Natasha’s footsteps filled the empty hallway. She wondered how long it would be until she was back to sobbing so hard she could barely breathe.

- - -

Natasha stared at the document in front of her, begging her eyes and brain to focus. She had work to do. She couldn’t.

Her mind was stuck on what had happened earlier. She’d messed up with Yelena, let the hole eating her up get the best of her. Her first reaction had been to explain: it’s the thoughts, the exhaustion, the depression. They were true, but they were all excuses. Neither of them needed that.

Numb, her gaze fell to three red marks that scarred her arm. Her fingers traced over them as she thought back to where they’d come from. She had a nearby wound from a mission; was it from that? Then she remembered earlier that morning, when her mind flashed to the kitchen, the knives in the counter. She’d just moved into a new apartment with you, but she remembered. She could see the blade digging in and the blood emerging from the cut. But she’d told herself no, focused her energy on gripping down on her arm until the urge went away. The three marks, they were nothing more than a reminder of what could have been.

The despair returned; Natasha’s shoulders shook as sobs wracked her body. The one thing she’d been trying so hard to do–help others–she couldn’t. She thought she knew how to love others, maybe even loved them too much. But maybe she didn’t know how to at all. Maybe she was just the cold-hearted assassin she had been trained to be.

It should’ve made things better, knowing that she was her biggest enemy. It was a sign to get help, to be better, to try harder. She knew she had to if she didn’t want to lose everyone she cared about. After all, people have limited time and resources; she just exhausted every drop of it until they had nothing left.

She thought back to last night, to the new therapist’s website she’d been looking at. But the memories of the last one, and the one before that, and the one before that… she’d just end up sabotaging herself like she always did.

Natasha glanced down at the note in her hand, this time, written by you. “Gone on a mission. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I love you. I’ll miss you.” She knew your absence was temporary, that you’d be back; you amazed her with your patience for her. But she didn’t know how to hold on until then.

-