You told yourself you would not do this.

You would not get used to the way it felt to be surrounded by her and her things - one of her leather jackets slung over the chair, a pair of her boots by the door, the faint scent of her shampoo still clinging stubbornly to the pillows around you.

And yet... here you were anyway. 

Pathetically laying in her bed... Curled up beneath her blankets, your head buried in her pillow, surrounded by traces of her that made the absence somehow worse. 

Missing her.

The thing was, you had spent years learning how to be alone. It had never bothered you before. You liked your own company. Liked the quiet, liked having your own space.

Then Natasha had happened.

And somewhere between late-night takeout, stolen hours between missions, and waking up tangled together more often than not, your definition of normal had shifted without asking permission.

"You’re such a traitor." You murmured quietly as Liho, her black cat, shifted slightly against the side of your head and let out the biggest sigh known to catkind.

Her tail flicked in response, unimpressed, before settling more comfortably against you, warm and solid and very clearly thinking the same as you.

You sighed as well, letting your head tilt to the side as you glanced down at her.

"You're supposed to make this less pathetic, you know?" 

Liho blinked at you slowly, greenish eyes looking at you as if she were waiting for something.

You reached down absently, gently scratching behind her ears. She leaned into it immediately, purring, and you could not help the small smile that tugged at your lips even if you tried. She always seemed to have that power over you. And her owner too.

"Yeah, yeah. I know," you mumbled, pursing your lips. "You miss her."

Because that was the thing, it was not just you. Perhaps the situation would be easier if it had been the case.

The whole room felt like it was waiting. Like it was holding its breath until Natasha walked back through the door and everything clicked back into place.

You let your gaze drift towards the nightstand - everything exactly where she left it, like she will be back any second.

Except she will not.

Not tonight.

Not for a few days, at least.

Solo missions would do that.

Liho shifted again, stretching this time, one of her paws pressing lightly against your ear.

You exhaled slowly, staring back up at the ceiling.

This was stupid.

You were being stupid. And you knew it, but apparently reason had no play in your feelings.

She was fine, after all. She was always fine.

You did not need to...

But your hand moved before you fully decided to, reaching for your phone where it rested on the mattress beside you. You stared at the screen for a second, the background picture greeting you not helping to talk yourself out of doing what you wanted to. Still, you paused for a second, teeth grazing your lower lip as you forced yourself to think rationally about this.

She was on a mission, after all. She did not need distractions.

She definitely did not need you calling in the middle of the night because you... Well, because you what? Missed her? Wanted to see her? Heard her voice? Make sure she was okay?

That felt... dangerously close to something neither of you were ready to unpack right now. Liho let out a small, impatient sound, nudging your hand with her head.

You glanced down at her, eyebrows raised.

"...You’re not helping." You grunted, closing your eyes before letting out yet another sigh. 

God, you were so pathetic.

Liho was still staring at you when you opened back your eyes, you rolled them before hitting the call button.

It rang once... Twice... You almost talked yourself out of it and hung up but by the third ring, the line clicked.

"Yeah?" Natasha's voice answered, slightly hoarse, a little quieter than usual.

Relief hit you so fast it almost made you dizzy and angry at yourself. One word, one raspy, sleep-roughened word, and suddenly the knot that had been sitting beneath your ribs for days loosened.

Were you this desperate and gone for this woman? You hated that, hated how immediate it was - as if some part of you had been waiting for proof that she was still there. Still breathing. Still okay.

The realization hit a second later and made you want to throw your phone across the room. Because, God, you really were gone for this woman. You needed to get a grip on yourself, and that as soon as possible. And preferably before she found out as well.

"Hey, you..." You replied, smiling at the ceiling, scrunching your nose as Liho's snout nudged your chin.

There was a faint rustle on the other end - movement, maybe. Fabric shifting. The soft, distant hum of a foreign location you could not quite place.

"You okay?" Natasha asked immediately, worry lacing into her voice.

Of course she did.

You huffed a small breath, glancing down at Liho as she curled tighter against your shoulder, ears shifting at the voice coming out of your phone.

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine."

There was a beat of silence where you could practically hear Natasha thinking.

"Then why are you calling?" Straight to the point, not hitting around the bush with her - you always liked that. Usually.

You hesitated, because you did not actually really have a good answer. 

"Can't I just call m-" You stopped yourself just in time, clearing your throat. Logically you knew she was your girlfriend. You had been on too many dates together if that was not the case. But you never said the actual word. There was actually more than one word you had not said yet. "Can't I just call you? It's been almost a week, I wanted to hear your voice."

Natasha let out a faint exhale on the other end, almost a huff.

"Of course you can call me, I just thought something was wrong at first," she grumbled, stopping as she heard you shift. "You're in my room."

It was not a question, it made you blink, caught off guard by her words. 

"Wha-how did you even know?"

"Background noise," she replied, a smile in her voice. "And... you just confirmed it."

You shifted slightly, pulling the blanket up a little higher as you rolled your eyes at her smug tone. 

"Well, for the record, I’m here for a very important reason."

There was a soft, amused sound from Natasha on the other end.

"Huh uh, sure."

"It's true. You said Liho needed supervision and she doesn't wanna leave your room, so... here I am." You replied, chuckling when the cat let out a soft chirp, shifting closer to the voice.

"Alright, turn the camera on." Natasha asked, waiting.

You smiled, turning on your side and putting the phone on the other pillow to make sure she had a good view of Liho too. 

Natasha's face appeared on the screen seconds later, her hair pulled back in a neat braid. 

"There are my girls," she smirked, the corner of her mouth softening as she took in Liho's curled up position next to you. Her gaze flicked briefly to the side - like she was taking in the angle, the background, the way you were positioned. "You're on my side." She hummed, one eyebrow raising knowingly.

You narrowed your eyes, biting down the inside of your cheek. 

"What?"

Natasha's smirk deepened, slow and knowing.

"The bed... you're on my side." She repeated, voice dropping just slightly as she raised both eyebrows this time.

You froze, because... you were. Without even thinking about it. 

"It's... more comfortable." You said quickly. 

Natasha did not respond right away, just looked at you like she knew that was not the real reason. Or to the very least, not the only one.

Your pulse picked up slightly at the look on her face so you quickly cleared your throat, looking down at the cat. 

"Liho chose it first." You added, gesturing vaguely to the cat as backup. But of course, the traitor that she was, barely even reacted, simply staring at the screen while licking her paw absently.

Natasha chuckled, low and warm.

"Of course she did." She looked at the cat with playful suspicion before her eyes slid back to you.

You huffed out a quiet laugh, nodding. 

"Yeah, she’s been complaining. A lot. I think she misses you."

Natasha pressed her lips together, taking in the sight in front of her.

"How is the roommate's situation going?"

"...She knocked over a glass earlier." You glanced down at the cat again, making a face. 

Natasha sighed, glaring at Liho through the screen. 

"I chose her name so well." She shook her head, but there was unmistakable affection in it.

You smiled before you could stop yourself.

And she saw it.

Of course she did.

Her gaze lingered on your face for a second longer than necessary, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes.

"Why did you call?" And there it was, the question you knew was coming again at some point.

You hesitated, because the real answer was sitting right there, obvious and inconvenient and a little too honest for comfort.

Because you wanted to see her.

Because you missed her.

Because her room felt too empty and wrong without her in it.

Because ever since you met her, she was always in a corner of your mind and these last couple of days you went back to that place more times than you would have liked - and actually needed to hear from the real her before turning completely crazy.

You shifted slightly, picking at a loose thread on the blanket. 

"Just checking in, you know..."

Natasha’s expression did not change but you could tell she did not buy it.

"Okay, and now the truth?"

"Hey, that's mean. I am checking in too." You grumbled, frowning at her.

She leaned closer to the camera, her face taking up more of the screen. The way she called your name always got you, and this time was no exception.

"You would check in if you knew I could actually talk about the mission. Which I can't. Which you already know. So...?"

"Wow. Okay. Read me like a book, why don’t you..." You huffed a small breath, rolling your eyes.

Natasha gave a small, smug shrug.

"I am."

You glanced back up at her. And unfortunately, she was still watching you like that. Too focused, too attentive, like she was waiting patiently for you to find the words.

Your chest tightened.

"...Couldn’t sleep." You admitted instead, softer this time.

It was not the whole truth but it was not a lie either.

Natasha's face softened.

"Yeah? Even if you're in my bed, surrounded by all my things... And wearing my shirt?" She sounded almost amused.

You glared at her, frowning. 

"Stop being mean, I'll hang up."

"Okay, okay." Natasha held up one hand in mock surrender.

She looked genuinely amused for a minute though. But then silence settled again, not the same as before. It felt heavier now. Charged with something you could not quite name, only feel.

You watched her for a second. The way her eyes scanned the area behind the camera. The way her shoulders stayed just a little too tense, even when she was standing still.

She was working.

Even now.

Always.

"But I will anyway, you should get back to it..." You added quietly, offering her a gentle smile.

Natasha exhaled, and for a moment you thought she might actually protest.

"Yeah, probably." But she did not move, did not end the call, neither did you.

Your heart was beating a little too fast. There was something sitting in your chest again - that familiar pressure, that weight that had been building for weeks now, threading itself through every moment like this.

You swallowed.

"I-" You started, breaths burning your lungs.

Natasha stilled, eyebrows raising as you suddenly stopped talking.

"Yeah?" She prompted.

Your fingers tightened around the phone as you brought it closer. God.

This was stupid.

It was just words.

Just three words.

You could say them.

Right now.

She was right there. Looking at you like that. Like... like she was waiting. Like she could see the battle happening behind your eyes, like she was standing at the edge of the same cliff.

"I... I l-" The words caught, your teeth sinking into your lower lip as you drew in a breath before panic slammed into you. You saw it then, so clearly, the possibility of silence. Of surprise. Of not hearing it back... And suddenly every survival instinct you possessed grabbed the wheel. "I mean I... You know,Liho is being very well taken care of. And I'll keep on doing that," you finished abruptly, the words coming out too fast. "Just so you know. Don't have to worry. About anything." You added with a smile.

Natasha blinked, then her face did something complicated, and suddenly she looked like she was the one whose air had been punched out of her chest even though you were the one actually out of breath. 

"Yeah... I can see that."

"Good," you murmured, nodding a few times, hesitating again before clearing your throat. "Stay safe, okay?"

Natasha nodded slowly, eyebrows furrowing. 

"...I will," she said finally, her gaze lingering on you for a second longer than it should. As if she were suspicious. "I’ll call you when I’m done."

You smiled, even though the motion felt rushed and out of place. 

"Yeah. Okay."

Neither of you hung up immediately.

You just sit there for a second, looking at each other through the screen, waiting for more. Like there was something else to say.

Something just out of reach.

But then the screen went dark.

And the room felt just a little too big again, leaving you with words too big to deal with.

⧗

The plan had been simple on paper.

It always was.

In reality, however, it had dissolved into noise, smoke, and the kind of chaos that made your ears ring and all your carefully constructed thoughts scatter like startled birds. 

Somewhere above you, something heavy collapsed with a metallic shriek, sending vibrations through the whole floor. The lights flickered twice before settling into a dim, unreliable pulse that painted everything in uneven shadows as dust fell from the ceiling like dirty snowflakes.

You pressed your back against the cold concrete pillar behind you, forcing yourself to breathe through the adrenaline clawing up your throat after taking down five other men. Your comm crackled with overlapping voices - Sam swearing, Tony complaining about power surges, someone yelling coordinates that immediately got drowned out by static.

Your earpiece buzzed again after another slow breath, and this time Natasha's voice came through clearly: "Status?" 

Her voice was calm and grounded. Far too calm for the situation.

You exhaled sharply, something in your chest loosening just from hearing her - the sound of her voice hit you with embarrassing force. The building was still trying its absolute best to collapse on top of you. Your ears were ringing and your shoulder hurt and there were armed men somewhere in the vicinity actively trying to kill you. And yet the moment Natasha spoke, something inside your chest loosened.

You actually hated that she could do that, like some part of your brain had quietly filed her under safe, under trust, under the person you wanted beside you when everything else went to hell.

"Took down most of them but pinned on the lower level, door won't fucking open," you muttered, glancing around the corner before quickly ducking back as a burst of gunfire shredded the wall where your head had been a second ago. "Shit, three hostiles, maybe more. You?" There was a brief pause when you could practically hear her calculating.

"On my way." Natasha replied, voice steady despite the gunfire echoing faintly in the background of her comm. 

You huffed a breath that was half relief, half exasperation, dragging the hand that was not holding your gun through your damp hair as dust still rained down from above. You perked by the wall, shooting one of the three guards. 

"Nat, you’re not exactly in a position to be detouri-"

"I said I'm on my way." She cut in sharply before you could get another word out. 

That tone meant she was not taking anything for an answer besides what she had already decided.

You rolled your eyes - even though she could not see you - before dodging another bullet as you ducked into another corner, firing two more back and hearing a groan as one bullet touched a shoulder. 

"Yeah, okay, Romanoff. Because this mission hasn’t gone off the rails enough already, let’s just add 'reckless heroics' to the list."

"Shut up and hold your fire," Natasha scoffed, appearing on the other end of the hallways and taking down the two men before quickly jogging back to your side. "Well, you're welcome." She breathed out, bruised lips forming a small smile.

Before you could fire back, another explosion rocked the building, way too close this time. The wall at your back shuddered violently, cracks splintering up its side. You stumbled as the floor shook, catching yourself just in time, heart slamming hard enough to make your vision blur as the ceiling above the three guards lying on the floor suddenly collapsed on them.

"Fuck-" You gasped, pushing off and moving quickly to a slightly less terrible piece of cover with the redhead following. "Okay, that was... not ideal. Like at all." You added, one arm extended in front of Natasha - even though no one was coming your way as she stopped at your side. 

"No shit." She grunted, scanning the area before tugging on your wrist to urge you to follow her.

"Took the long detour to come to me, huh." You joked as you carefully climbed back the stairs to find yet another issue.

"Traffic." She replied dryly, already peeking around the corner, assessing, calculating. Always working.

And God, even now, even like this, even with alarms screaming overhead and dust coating the back of your throat, even while your heart was trying to punch its way through your ribs - your eyes kept finding her. 

The steady set of her shoulders. The quick, efficient movements of her hands. The way she assessed every angle, every exit, every threat in a matter of seconds.

Natasha always looked like she belonged in chaos, like she had made peace with it years ago and simply learned how to move through the storm, or perhaps had made a pact with it and already knew nothing would happen to her.

It should have been terrifying, instead it made something warm and painful unfurl beneath your ribs. Because every impossible situation somehow became more manageable when she was standing beside you. Because she had come for you.

The mission had gone sideways and the building was falling apart. And somehow Natasha had still heard you were trapped and immediately changed course. No hesitation, no discussion.

Your chest tightened - not from fear this time, but something sharper, heavier. Something that had been building for weeks, months, quietly threading itself through moments each more inadequate than the last.

You swallowed hard, forcing your attention back to the situation at hand. 

"Hey, Nat," you said slowly, glancing up at the ceiling that was definitely not supposed to be doing that. "Tell me you have a backup plan."

Natasha glanced at you, lips pressed together.

"I do..." She grumbled, forcing a door open with her shoulder before quickly climbing up the next stack of emergency stairs. "Not sure you’ll like it, though."

"Natasha, I already don't like that we're going up right now..." You grunted, running to catch up with her.

She did not answer, just kept moving. The stairs were narrow and creaky underfoot. 

"Sam or Tony’s gonna catch us on the rooftop." She replied, frowning at the door that refused to open. She kicked the combination lock, hissing as she grabbed a bunch of wires, ignoring the look you gave her.

Another tremor rippled through the building, stronger this time. A section of the ceiling caved in somewhere nearby with a deafening crash, the sound echoing through the corridors like a warning bell.

Your pulse spiked.

This was bad.

This was really bad.

Not because of the collapsing building, not because Tony's voice had disappeared from the comms three minutes ago, not because every instinct you possessed was screaming that the situation was deteriorating faster than anyone could fix. But because, for one horrible second, you genuinely thought this might be it.

And suddenly, all the things that normally seemed important vanished.

And suddenly, all you could focus on was Natasha. Natasha, crouched beside a broken security panel. Natasha, covered in sweat, soot and bruises.

And suddenly, the words were there.

Right there.

Sitting at the back of your throat, heavy and insistent and impossible to ignore anymore - because the thought of leaving this world without telling her hit you harder than any fear you might have felt all night.

You took in another shaky breath, your eyes tracking the smudge of soot along her jaw, the way a strand of red hair had come loose and was sticking to her cheek, the dried blood on her chin, the sharp focus in her eyes even as the world quite literally fell apart around you.

God.

If there was ever a moment... If the building came down right now, if this was the last conversation you ever had, you might actually not bear the idea of her never knowing. 

"Nat," you started, your voice coming out tighter than you intended, almost swallowed by the distant sound of collapsing concrete. "If we, you know, don’t make it-"

"We will." She cut you off, the response immediate, like she had not even needed to think about it.

You blinked, lips parted as you observed her work on the colorful wires carefully.

"I... well, yeah, but like, if we don’t-"

"But we will," Natasha repeated, sharper this time, finally glancing at you. There was something in her eyes now - something stubborn, unyielding and fierce. "I won’t accept otherwise."

You stared at her for a second, incredulous, adrenaline and frustration tangling together in your chest. 

"Oh my god, I know," you shot back, gesturing vaguely at the crumbling building around you. "I’m just trying to tell y-"

"Dekta," she cut in, her voice dropping just slightly, softer but no less firm. "It’s me. I won’t let anything bad happen to us... If you let me work on those fucking wires."

And there it was.

That certainty.

That absolute, unwavering belief that she could hold the entire world together through sheer willpower alone if it meant keeping you safe.

Your chest ached.

Because you knew her.

You knew where that came from.

And you knew how dangerous it was.

You let out a breath that turned into a frustrated half-laugh, dragging a hand down your face. 

"Fuck, you’re so stubborn," you muttered, shaking your head at this impossible woman. "Whatever."

But the words did not go away.

They just settled deeper, heavier, waiting.

And the building gave another violent shudder, as if reminding you that time was running out.

⧗

It started as nothing.

At least, that was what you told yourself.

Just another debrief after another mission successfully wrapped. So, naturally, another cluster of agents and Avengers lingering a little too long in the common area with glasses in hands and loud music all around.

You noticed her by accident.

At least, that was what you told yourself later.

The truth was that your eyes had developed a bad habit over the past several months.

No matter how crowded the room was or who you were talking to, no matter how hard you tried to focus on literally anything else - they always found Natasha eventually.

Like a compass needle snapping north.

You could be in the middle of a conversation, could be laughing at something Tony said, could be halfway through a story - and somehow your gaze would drift across the room searching for red hair and green eyes before you even realized what you were doing.

Tonight was no different.

One second you were pretending to listen to Sam rant about government paperwork, leaning back against the counter with a drink you had half-drowned already, the next your eyes had wandered.

And there she was...

Beautiful.

Effortlessly, unfairly beautiful.

Standing a few feet away and talking to... someone.

You would not have thought twice about it, except... Well, she was smiling.

Not the polite, diplomatic curve of her lips she used when she was playing a role. Not the sharp, amused smirk she gave when she was teasing.

A real smile. Soft and easy and unrestricted.

Your stomach flipped, and not the pleasant kind of movements it usually did when it involved her.

You narrowed your eyes slightly, trying to focus past the noise in the room to get a better look at who she was talking to. Some agent, you recognized the face vaguely, newer, maybe. You did not really know. What you could decipher however was the confident stance, way too relaxed to be speaking with Natasha, and leaning just a little too close.

And you realized with anger seeping into your veins that your girlfriend was not stepping away.

In fact, she tilted her head slightly, listening carefully before saying something back. And God, the agent had the fucking audacity to laugh.

Your grip tightened around the glass in your hand.

It was nothing.

Right?

It had to be nothing. Natasha knew plenty of people. People you did not know yourself. It was part of her job, after all. And it was not fair, she was not doing anything wrong. It was fine, not a big deal. But your slightly inebriated brain was set on convincing yourself it was a very big deal.

You forced your shoulders to relax, dragging your gaze away.

She was allowed to talk to people, a completely normal activity that human beings engaged in every day.

She was allowed to smile, too. Hell, you loved her smile.

This was normal.

This was-

You glanced back before you could stop yourself, and they were still talking. God, how long was this discussion going to be?

Your eyes kept on tracking every movement for the following minutes while the rest of your face was still pretending to listen to Sam’s story.

Every smile, every second she remained standing there. The worst part was that you trusted Natasha completely. This was not about trust, it was somehow more embarrassing than that, it was wanting.

Wanting her attention.

Wanting that smile.

Wanting to be the person she looked at like that.

And watching someone else get it felt like tiny little paper cuts somewhere beneath your ribs.

Death by a thousand stupid insecurities.

You took another drink.

An excellent decision, clearly.

Natasha said something else, her expression shifted - something amused flickering in her eyes - and the agent reached out briefly, brushing her dirty, unworthy fingers against her arm as she responded.

Something in your chest twisted. 

Okay.

No.

Nope.

That was not happening.

You pushed off the counter before you could think better of it, crossing the room with the purpose you intended. You told yourself it was casual. That you were just... joining the conversation. Gathering information before actually stepping in.

Not interrupting.

Definitely not interrupting.

Natasha noticed you coming the moment your footstep hit a particularly creaky floorboard two steps to her right. Her gaze lifted, locking onto yours - sharp, assessing and aware like she always knew exactly where you were in a room. 

The... woman - whoever she was or thought she was - beside her was still speaking, oblivious to the sudden shift in atmosphere.

"Hey," you said, a little too quickly, stopping beside the redhead and leaning into her side more heavily than you intended, blinking a few times to stop the world from moving too much - perhaps you should have stopped at two drinks like Sam suggested earlier.

The agent turned to you and offered an easy smile, probably delighted to have two Avengers speaking to her. 

You nodded stiffly, barely acknowledging her before your attention snapped back to the person who actually mattered to you. 

"Didn’t know you were still in debrief mode."

Natasha's lips twitched at the contact, subtle but there, her hand spreading on the small of your back to steady you. 

"We’re not." She replied, her voice calm and even as always.

"Right," you said, glancing between them. "Just... chatting then."

"Yes." Natasha’s eyes narrowed slightly.

There was a beat.

An awkward one, if you could say so yourself.

You did not like it.

"So," you added, forcing something casual into your tone that did not quite land the way you wanted it to. "What’d I miss?"

The unknown woman chuckled nervously. 

"Not much. Just telling Miss Romanoff about my upgrade ideas for her bites."

"Her bites?" You replied, eyebrows raised, ignoring the way Natasha's hand tightened on your back in warning.

"Yeah, you know... widow bites. They're impressive already but Mister Stark wanted my help to upgrade them and Miss Romanoff had some very good suggestions," she continued, praising your girlfriend like you were not standing right the fuck there. "Didn’t expect that kind of knowledge, actually. You know a lot about... well, a lot." The young woman giggled.

Something about the way she said it, like it was new, like she was just discovering something you had known for so long... it grated.

"Yeah," you said again, tighter this time. "She does tend to know a lot about a lot." You let out a snort, giving the young woman a look.

Natasha’s gaze flicked to you again, sharper now. Assessing.

The woman glanced between the two of you, clearly picking up on something. Finally. Tony had not picked the brightest one, it seemed.

"Well," she said, clearing her throat slightly. "I should, uh, let you t-"

"Yep," you cut in quickly. "Perhaps you should."

Natasha shot you a look at that, but the woman just nodded awkwardly and stepped away, muttering something about other projects.

You did not even watch her go, your focus was entirely on Natasha now.

The second she was out of earshot, the silence shifted.

Your redhead turned to you fully, arms crossing as she let go of you.

"Okay," she said, eyebrows raised. "What the hell was that?"

Your jaw clenched as you leaned against the wall for support, making a face of confusion. 

"What was what?"

Natasha exhaled through her nose. 

"That," she repeated, gesturing vaguely in the direction the agent disappeared. "Just now."

You let out a short breath, shaking your head. 

"Nothing, just... talked to your new friend, that's all."

Natasha's expression flattened, her eyes flashing with something that was both arousing and thrilling. God, whatever was in your drink really fucked you up.

"What is your problem?"

"My problem?" You echoed, incredulous. "I don’t have a problem."

Natasha stepped closer, lowering her voice. 

"Really," she said flatly, unimpressed. "Because you just interrupted a conversation for no reason and then acted li-"

"For no reason?" You cut in, the words coming out sharper than you intended. "Seriously?"

Natasha's jaw tightened, irritation flashing across her face.

"Yes. Seriously." She hissed back, keeping her voice low but making sure to send her point across.

You stared at her, incredulous.

"Wow," you muttered, running a hand through your hair. "Okay. Good to know then."

"Good to know what?" Natasha frowned.

"That you’re just... completely fucking oblivious." You grumbled.

"Excuse me?" Her eyebrows raised higher. 

You hesitated. Because saying it out loud felt... actually ridiculous.

And petty.

And yet...

"You guys were flirting." You said finally.

The words hung in the air for a moment, then Natasha let out a sigh, leaned back against the wall, and turned to face you.

"I really wasn't."

You let out a disbelieving huff. 

"Na-"

"I wasn't," Natasha repeated, firmer now, her gaze steady. "And if she thought I was, she's sorely mistaken."

You shrugged, the alcohol not helping you think clearly. 

"Well, you were smiling."

"I smile," she replied, voice cooling as something you could not quite understand shifted in her expression, her shoulders dropping. "Sometimes."

"I don't know, not like that..." You grumbled lamely.

Natasha stared at you for a long moment, then exhaled through her nose as her eyes narrowed.

"Yeah, like what?"

"Like-" You stopped, frustrated, gesturing vaguely because you did not even have the right words for it. "Like you meant it or something."

"And that's a problem?" Natasha huffed out a laugh.

You opened your mouth before closing it again.

Because no. It should not be.

She was allowed to smile. Allowed to talk to people. Allowed to-

"Let’s just forget it..." You muttered, shaking your head.

Natasha reached out, gripping your chin gently and forcing you to look at her.

"Nuh uh," she said immediately, lips twitching. "Don’t do that. You started this, now finish it. Even if you're drunk."

You let out a sharp breath, throwing her a dirty look at her last words. 

"Well, it’s just..." You cut yourself off again, jaw tightening. "It’s nothing, can we drop it?"

"It clearly isn't nothing."

"It is," you insisted, even though your chest felt tight, your thoughts a mess. "I just didn’t expect you to be so... friendly."

Natasha studied you, letting go of your chin to rest her palm on your sternum, thumb brushing the collar of your shirt.

"I'm friendly when I choose to be." She hummed.

"Yeah, I noticed." You chuckled, the words coming out more bitter than you intended this time. You reached for her hand with one of yours, keeping it on you - the touch grounding in a tilting world.

Natasha laced her fingers through yours, squeezing slightly.

"So what? I can't talk to someone now?"

"That’s not what I said."

"It’s what you’re implying."

"I’m not implying anything-"

Natasha sighed, cutting you off. 

"You walked over there and shut down a conversation because you didn’t like it," she replied, voice sharpening. "So tell me, what exactly is the issue here?"

You stared at her.

Because the issue was obvious.

At least, it was to you.

But saying it out loud? That was different.

"That woman was clearly into you." You said instead.

Natasha blinked at you before snorting. 

"Yeah, and?"

"And?" You stopped, frustrated, running a hand through your hair again. "And nothing. It’s just, like, obvious."

Natasha tilted her head, lips twitching. 

"So?"

"So-" You exhaled sharply, feeling stupid. "You didn’t seem to... mind."

Her gaze locked onto yours, amusement flickering there. 

"Yeah? Should I have?"

"I don’t know," you snapped, frowning at her, not understanding the funny aspect of this discussion like she seemed to. "Maybe... Probably."

Natasha leaned in closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth of her breath.

"Why?"

The question landed heavier than it should, the hair at the back of your neck standing up in alarm.

You hesitated.

Because the answer was sitting right there, at the front of your mind, loud and insistent and impossible to ignore.

Because you did not like seeing someone else look at her like that.

Because you did not like the idea of her wanting that from someone else.

Because you-

"Because I-" The words slipped out before you could stop them, your voice cracking. "I just don’t like it, okay?"

Natasha hummed, lips curling into a satisfied smile, thumb brushing your hand.

You swallowed hard.

Your heart was pounding, she could probably feel it.

"I-I don't like seeing you like that. Imagining you with someone else." You grumbled, the words rough, pulled straight out of your chest.

Natasha pursed her lips, eyes on your frowning face.

"You think I’m 'with' someone else?" She asked, amused.

"No," you said quickly. "No, that’s not what I-just-" you shook your head, frustrated with yourself now. "Forget it. You can't understand."

Natsha hummed, looking at you with that familiar mixture of amusement and fondness, as if you were the most entertaining thing she had encountered all evening.

"Then explain it to me," she challenged, stepping closer and lowering her voice. "Because from where I’m standing, it looks a lot like you got jealous over a conversation."

"I didn’t," you stopped yourself again, exhaling sharply. "You're enjoying this too much," you grunted, giving her a look. "Okay, maybe I did. A little."

Natasha smirked, really smirked, the kind that made your stomach flip.

"Good of you to keep up, I've been enjoying it for five minutes," she chuckled, tilting her head to give you a knowing look. "A little?" She repeated.

"Fine. More than a little." You grumbled.

Natasha's smirk softened into something warmer, almost fond. Her eyes flicked downward, kissing you before you could dig yourself into a deeper hole than you were already, lips smiling against yours as she tasted the remeanant of the alcohol there.

You closed your eyes, trying to keep your mouth shut too. Because the truth was right there.

Because you loved her.

It sat at the back of your throat, heavy, burning, ready. Pulsing in time with the organ in your chest.

This would be so easy, too easy, to whisper it against her lips and blame it on the liquid courage coursing through you. To gasp it into her mouth, letting her swallow the words and sealing them with your insistent lips on hers.

You were already here, already halfway there, already saying things you probably should not be saying.

What were three more words?

Your pulse pounded as she stepped away, deep green eyes opening to stare at you.

"Wait..." Your voice faltered, breath catching as everything crashed together at once. "You're, like... very... important," you frowned, confused about where you were going with that, the words coming out of your mouth not necessarily the ones you expected. "I mean, like... I love... that you're interested in me. Only me." You finished, weaker than what you almost said. 

Safer.

Natasha's eyes searched your face, like she was trying to find something you were not saying.

She shifted closer, wrapping her arms around your neck.

"Well, I thought that was pretty clear already, but I'm very much only interested in you, silly." She breathed out against your lips.

The words were steady and certain, making the hair at your nape raise again. But they did not quite settle the storm in your chest, even as your hands settled on her waist, heavy eyelids blinking to look at her.

Natasha kissed you again, softer this time, lingering. 

Her hands came up to cup your face, thumbs slowly brushing over the apples of your cheeks like she was memorizing them.

"Next time," she whispered, smiling softly. "Maybe try using words a little better before jumping to conclusions."

You huffed a small, humorless laugh. 

"Yeah. I’ll work on that, kinda hard after those insane drinks Clint wanted me to try, though..." You grumbled, staring into her green pools that lulled you closer, limbs melting into her.

And somehow you still wanted more.

Greedy and pathetic and hopelessly in love. The realization hit so hard it nearly stole your breath - well, that and her tongue tracing over your lips.

If only she knew the truth, though...

If only you could actually do that.

Said the words, the right ones, the real ones.

But instead, they stayed where they had been for weeks now, caught in your throat.

Unsaid.

⧗

Natasha woke you with a sound that did not belong in her bedroom.

Not a scream - Natasha Romanoff did not scream - but something very close to it. It sounded like a strangled inhale, like she surfaced too fast from underwater and forgot how lungs worked.

Your eyes snapped open instantly.

The room was dark except for the thin blue glow of the digital clock on the nightstand showing 3:13 AM.

Beside you, Natasha was rigid. Not sitting up, not moving, not one arm above her head like you caught her doing before. Just frozen flat on her back, chest heaving in shallow and uncontrolled breaths that were trying very hard not to become panicked.

"Nat?"

You pushed yourself up on one elbow when no response came from her, sleep dissolving immediately from your brain. The sheets were tangled around her legs, a sheen of sweat glinted across the exposed skin of her throat. Her hands were fisted at her sides so tight you could see the tendons straining.

"Natasha." You murmured, a little softer this time as you shifted closer, still careful, because you had learned to be careful with her.

Her eyelids finally fluttered open at the movemnt, eyes cutting toward you, green and glassy in the dark - but they did not really see you yet. They were still trapped somewhere else entirely, something years away from this room. The Red Room. A mission gone wrong. Or some memory she will never tell you about. There were ghosts living behind Natasha’s eyes sometimes. You knew that much.

And tonight they followed her into bed.

Your chest ached immediately - not because she looked broken, Natasha never looked broken, she looked exhausted like she had spent the last several hours fighting ghosts no one else could see.

"Oh, honey." The endearment slipped out before you could stop it and something in her expression cracked.

Not dramatically, because Natasha never broke dramatically either. But you saw it, that tiny flicker of exhaustion beneath the mask she was trying to pull back into place - tonight she was not fast enough. Tonight you caught the crack before the mask could close.

"’m fine..." She murmured automatically, her voice rough.

You almost scoffed at the lie, except there was nothing funny about the way her breathing still stuttered every few seconds.

"Yeah," you murmured instead, giving her a look. "Clearly."

Normally she would smirk at that. Throw something sarcastic back. Deflect. Tonight she just closed her eyes briefly like she was too worn out to actually pretend and let out a low sigh.

You hesitated for only half a second before reaching for her. That hesitation did not exist before. In the beginning, you touched Natasha carefully because you did not know if she wanted it. Now you hesitated because sometimes nightmares left her halfway feral with adrenaline and instinct. Once, months ago, she woke up swinging.

She cried afterward. 

Not visibly, but her hands shook while she checked your jaw for bruising, and she refused to look at you for the rest of the night and following day so you would not be able to see her glassy eyes.

You remembered holding her face and saying, "Nat, hey, it’s okay, it was an accident." You remembered her whispering, horrified, "I could’ve hurt you." As if she had not spent every day since trying to make up for it with hands gentler than ever before.

Tonight, though, the second your fingers brushed her wrist, she grabbed you. Hard.

Never enough to hurt, just enough to reveal how desperately she needed the contact.

Your breath caught.

Natasha turned into you so quickly, almost hopelessly, and pressed into you like she could not get close enough fast enough. One arm wrapped around your waist, the other hooked under your shoulder, and then she was burying her face against your neck with a shuddering exhale.

Natasha never clinged before.

Your heart practically fractured on the spot.

"Okay," you whispered immediately, wrapping both arms around her. "Okay, I’ve got you."

She said nothing, not that you expected her to talk right now, but her grip tightened.

You could feel the aftermath of the nightmare in the tension running through her body. Every muscle pulled taut. Every breath measured too carefully.

You started rubbing slow circles against her back, carefully laying back against the mattress, thumbs pressing gently into her sides. It took a while before she melted even a little.

"You wanna talk about it?" You asked quietly, lips brushing her hairline.

You only received a tiny shake of her head against your throat in answer.

"Okay. That’s okay too."

Another few minutes passed in silence. Outside the compound windows, rain tapped very softly against the glass - a reminder that the world kept on moving in small, ordinary ways while you held one of the deadliest women on the planet together with your bare hands.

The thought would almost be funny if it did not feel so devastatingly tender.

Natasha shifted closer even though you did not think that was physically possible. One of her legs slid between yours, anchoring herself there. Her fingers curled into the back of your sleep shirt like she was afraid you would disappear if she let go.

Your throat tightened unexpectedly, lips pursing. Most people only knew the polished version of Natasha Romanoff. The smirks. The sharp edges. The glares. The dry humor. The controlled, untouchable elegance.

The Avenger.

The spy.

The weapon.

But you knew this version too.

The one who woke up shaking. The one who hoarded affection like she did not know when it would be taken away again. The one who pretended she was not tired right up until she fell asleep on your shoulder. The one who quietly moved closer whenever a room became too crowded. The one who checked that you got home safely even when she was halfway across the world. The one currently curled against your chest as if your heartbeat was the only thing keeping the nightmares away.

The one who pretended she did not need anyone while silently gravitating toward you over and over and over.

You planted a kiss onto her head, nose resting there as your lips stayed pressed on her temple. Immediately, impossibly, she softened further like that single gesture undid another knot inside her.

Your chest hurt so badly with it that you almost said it right then.

The three words rose so fast it scared you.

You stopped yourself so abruptly your breath almost caught audibly.

Natasha did not notice. Or if she did, she did not question it.

She was still tucked against you, eyes closed now, breathing gradually evening out while your heart absolutely lost its mind inside your ribcage.

Because holy shit.

Holy shit. You nearly blurred it out.

Again.

Panic bloomed instantly.

Not because it was not true.

God, that was part of the problem. It was too true. Because loving Natasha was not a choice you made anymore - it had never been your choice. It had become instinct. As natural as breathing, as inevitable as gravity. You loved all of her. The legend. The weapon. The woman.

Especially the woman.

You stared at the ceiling, fingers still moving gently through her hair while your thoughts spiraled violently out of control.

This was not the moment.

Actually, this would be the worst possible moment, if you thought about it.

She just had a nightmare. She was vulnerable and exhausted and clinging to you like you were the only solid thing in the world right now. Saying it now would be... unfair.

The realization landed heavy in your stomach - it would be unfair to put that on her now.

Natasha had spent her whole life with people taking advantage of vulnerability. Twisting soft moments into leverage. Making affection transactional.

You knew that.

You knew her.

The last thing you ever wanted was for her to think your comfort came with strings attached. Like she owed you something because she let herself need you tonight.

Your eyes stung suddenly.

God. And what if she panicked?

Not because she did not care about you - you knew she did by now, even if neither of you said it out loud - but because love was different.

Love was permanence.

Love was trust.

Love was something Natasha approached like a wounded animal approached an open hand: cautiously, suspiciously, waiting for the trap.

You could still hear her voice from months ago, quiet and strangely raw after a mission in God knew where left both of you bleeding in a safehouse bathroom.

"I’m not good at this."

You had looked up from where she was bandaging your ribs, eyebrows pulling together. 

"Stichting me up? Could have told me before I let you put your hands on me, huh."

"No, just... this," she had muttered with a roll of her eyes, making a gesture with her free hand between the two of you. "All of it."

Relationships, she had meant.

Feelings.

You remembered smiling softly. 

"Well, good thing you don’t have to be good at it, then."

Natasha had stared at you for a long moment like that answer genuinely confused her.

Sometimes you thought she was waiting for you to realize she was impossible to love.

The horrifying thing was that loving her was the easiest thing you had ever done.

You looked down at her now, at the red hair spilling across your shoulder. At the tiny crease still lingering between her brows even in sleep. Her plump lips partially parted, puffing air on your shirt.

At the way she unconsciously seeked your warmth even while asleep, fingers twitching against your back every few seconds just to make sure you were still there.

Your entire body ached with affection.

You wanted to say it so badly.

You wanted to whisper it into her hair and hold her until she believed it.

You wanted to tell her she was loved so fiercely and gently and without condition that it even terrified you sometimes.

But fear curled sharp beneath the longing.

Because what if she was not ready?

What if hearing it made her... retreat?

What if it changed this - whatever beautiful fragile thing the two of you had built together for months - into something frightened and uncertain?

Natasha did not do love.

Or at least she thought she did not, or to the very least act like she could not.

You had seen evidence of that belief everywhere: in the way she - most of the time - deflected sincerity with humor, in the way she usually went still when someone cared too openly, in the way she looked almost startled every time you chose her again.

As if she was still waiting for the moment you would not.

You could survive not saying it. You would rather swallow these feelings for another year than risk making her think she owed you an answer tonight, an answer given at three in the morning with tears still trapped behind her eyes would not really be an answer at all. However, you were not sure you could survive watching her pull away from you. Not over something like that. Not over timing. Not over words. So you swallowed the words down hard enough it hurt. And instead tightened your arms around her slightly and pressed another kiss into her red hair. Natasha made a small sound low in her throat. Contentment? Trust?

"You’re okay..." You whispered carefully.

Not I love you.

Even though every inch of you meant it.

"You’re safe. I’ve got you."

Her breathing evened out completely after a few minutes.

Eventually, exhaustion dragged at your own eyes again, but sleep came slowly. You mostly just laid there holding her, listening to the rain and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against your chest.

You stayed. That was all. Stayed through the nightmares. Stayed through the sharp edges. Stayed through the parts of her she thought were too damaged to be loved.

You buried your face briefly in her hair, eyes burning.

"I’m here." You whispered.

Always, you almost added. But that was dangerously close to the other thing.

So instead you held her tighter and let the words live silently inside your chest a little longer.

⧗

You smiled against her insistent lips, blindly reaching for the handle of the door that was digging into your back, your other arm lazily draped around her shoulders.

Natasha chuckled into the kiss, breaking away just enough to push the door open with her hip.

She stepped inside first, pulling you along by your shirt collar before reconnecting your lips together the second the door of her quarters was closed behind you.

"Someone's eager." You mumbled between kisses, both arms wrapping fully around her neck now, back arching as you felt her warm hands on your hips.

Natasha bit your lower lip gently, hands sliding under the fabric of your shirt to press her burning palms against the shivering and bare skin of your back.

"Almost like it's been weeks or something." She breathed out, giving you a heated, amused look.

You shook your head, fingertips brushing along the loose curls of her braid. You tilted your face enough to look down at her cat who circled your ankles, purring at the contact. Liho meowed loudly at the lack of acknowledgement from both your parts, rubbing against Natasha's legs next.

The redhead ignored her, too busy nipping at your jaw instead, one of her hands tugging on the loop of your pants to bring you closer to her.

"She might be hungry..." You hummed, tilting your face back to give her more room, eyelids fluttering as you let your feet follow her wherever she was taking you.

Natasha grunted against your skin at your words, ignoring Liho entirely.

"She's always hungry," she muttered before pulling you in another heated kiss, hands gripping your hips as she walked backwards toward the door of her bedroom. "Plus, she already ate. Now's my turn." She smirked as she pulled you inside the room instead, closing the door before the black cat could enter.

"You’re so rude," you chuckled, leaning against the door, your hands feeling up her arms that quickly wrapped around you, refusing to let you go too far. "Slamming the door right into her face like that..."

Natasha scoffed, rolling her eyes as she resumed her kisses along your jaw.

"Trust me you're not gonna want an audience," she said, lips hot on the hollow of your throat. "Know what else's rude?" Natasha asked, teeth grazing your skin, her eyes sparkling as goosebumps followed.

"Mhm, what?" You panted, already feeling yourself worked up, thighs pressed together for a semblance of relief, hands finding purchase at her toned shoulders.

Natasha smirked, pressing a slow kiss to your collarbone before biting down lightly, then soothing it with her tongue.

"You," she whispered against your skin, hands sliding lower. "You got no idea what you've been doing to me all day, huh? I couldn't stop thinking about you. During that meeting too," she grunted, nose nudging the collar of your shirt as far as possible. "Imagine that? Me? Distracted?"

"Well, I didn't do anything." You grinned, fingers slipping into her braid, purposely messing it up as you brought her lips back to yours.

Natasha groaned as you ruined her carefully braided hair - she hated when you did that. But she kissed you back anyway, hands fumbling and pushing fabric off your shoulders in a hurry.

"Liar," she accused between breaths. "You wore those clothes on purpose."

"My clothes? What about them?" You breathed out, helping her out of her own top.

Natasha kicked her shirt to the side, pressing flush against you, skin on skin now. 

"That shirt," she said, voice rough as her fingers traced the waistband of your pants. "That clings like that? Your chest looked heavenly. Called my name." Natasha exhaled sharply through her nose before claiming your mouth again with a low whine of frustration as she tried to push your pants as far as she could.

You could not help but let out a shaky moan, kicking your shoes and jeans off to finish the job, fingers curling in her hair.

"I think you're losing your mind if you hear my tits talking to you." You chuckled against her lips, walking her to her bed, mouths still sharing the same oxygen.

Natasha fell onto the bed with you, laughing into your kiss - actually laughing, something rare and light that made your inside flutter so violently your lips parted against hers.

"Oh, your tits definitely talk," she teased back against your mouth before letting her mouth trail lower once you were fully straddling her lap. "They say 'touch me, Natasha' all day. Can hear them through all these walls and layers." 

One of her hands slid up to cup your breasts through the thin fabric of your bra, her other one pressing down your lower back to make you arch it.

"You're such a dork." You grunted, hips rolling on her lap, your hand not in her hair working on her bra, letting it pool between you like a final motion. Natasha let out a small laugh, but the sound turned into a breathy moan she tried to immediately swallow as your hips rolled against her lap again.

Her hands immediately reached behind you to take off the last piece of fabric hiding your silky skin from her gaze, eyes sparkling as the sight of your bare chest finally greeting her.

"Well hello, ladies. Missed you too." Natasha smirked, ignoring both the amused and bewildered look you sent her as she leaned down to press a light kiss on your sternum, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts until your back arched against her on its own this time.

You let out a chuckle, teeth sinking into your lower lip as you gripped her toned arm, your fingers still tangled in her head guiding her face lower. Natasha did not need guiding, she was already moving down - her lips trailing fire over your sternum, nipping gently at the soft skin of your chest before her teeth grazed the swell of your breast. Her hands trailed lower, feeling your soft sides and committing it all back to memories.

"Sorry, I might be delirious," she murmured, voice muffled against your skin as she pressed warm kisses over your chest. "Like I said, s'been weeks." 

"Yeah..." You breathed out, eyelids heavy as you stared down at her. "...acting like you’ve been through withdrawal or something." You teased, though your chuckle died in your throat as her teeth grazed your sensitive skin in clear retaliation, piercing green irises looking up at you.

Natasha smirked against your skin before finally taking one of your nipples into her mouth, tongue swirling around it, slowly at first, teasingly. She could feel the way you tensed beneath her, how your breath hitched and fingers curled tighter in her hair. She hummed approvingly around the peak before sucking gently. Your hips jerked into her lap involuntarily as a reaction to her ministrations. Your teeth sank into your lower lip, breaths turning heavy as you tried to contain yourself even though her actions along with the faint friction happening between your thighs was making you dizzy with want for more.

Natasha immediately noticed the way you moved against her - subtle, involuntary, but so telling. She quickly switched to your other breast, lavishing it with the same attention while one of her hands slid down your stomach and over your hipbone, tugging down the last fabric clinging to your body.

You let her roll you over and watched as she dragged your panties off your legs, her burning fingertips grazing your skin. You shifted on your elbows, giving her a heated look as you stopped her from laying back with a firm foot on her toned stomach.

The redhead frowned, confusion clouding her gaze for a second.

"Nuh uh, you're wearing far too many clothes." You smirked, licking your suddenly dry lips.

Natasha arched a brow, but the smirk on her lips grew as she understood your demand. Without hesitation, she took a step back. Her buttons popped open in record time as she kicked off the remnants of her clothes. She grabbed your extended leg with one hand, squeezing your calf as she drew closer.

"Better now?" She drawled in a hoarse tone that groped at your belly with a small smile on her face, her lips trailing over the inside of your leg, eyes never leaving your face.

You nodded slowly, your gaze never leaving her mouth as you tried your hardest not to melt too visibly under her ministrations. But it was harder said than done when your whole being filled with anticipation, your breath coming in faster before you could take the reins over it.

Natasha took her sweet time - kissing up your inner thigh, slow and deliberate, letting the warmth of her mouth linger on your skin. She kept going until her nose bumped the apex of your thigh before finally reaching her destination, the first contact making every touch she did before small compared to the way her tongue eagerly seeked you out. Her eyelids fluttered for a second, a small sound escaping her parted lips as your grip in her hair resumed before tightening.

"Fuck-" You gasped, thighs already starting to tremble on either side of her head. "I almost forgot..." You stopped yourself, swallowing hard as her eyes snapped back to yours, her lips wrapping around your clit as she shot you a quick wink. "...how good you were at that." You finished in another gasp, letting the back of your head hit the mattress as you tried to keep the sounds in.

Natasha smirked - actually smirked, you could feel it against your folds - before diving back in with renewed focus. She alternated between slow, teasing licks and firm suction, like she had all the time in the world to relearn you - her tongue swirling expertly while one hand gripped your hip to keep you from bucking too much. The other slid up your stomach to pinch a nipple - multitasking like the terrifyingly efficient woman that she was.

"Inside-" You panted, back slightly arching off the bed while the hand not in her hair gripped the one that she rested on your chest for dear life, eyebrows furrowing as you focused on the pleasure she was making you feel. "Need you inside, Nat."

The redhead, your redhead, did not hesitate or drawled it longer than you thought she would - perhaps she did miss you as much as she claimed to - and slipped two fingers into you without warning, curling them just right on the first try like she knew your body better than her own. You rewarded her with a shaky gasp, unforgiving warmth spreading through you like wildfire.

Her tongue kept working your clit in perfect rhythm with her thrusting fingers, adding pressure exactly where it mattered. The wet sounds were loud in the quiet room, mixing with your gasps and Natasha's soft hums of approval against you as she stared at your body that chased the feeling she was giving you. And suddenly it was too much. Too many feelings. Natasha was all around you, everywhere - outside and inside. Her insistent hands, her heavy gaze fixed on you that you could not see but felt all the same, the scent surrounding the two of you. It was too much and you were right there, with the words ready to claw themselves out your chest and throat to finally slip past your parted lips. 

You let go of her hair immediately as a semblance of dangerous clarity reached you, your hand pressing flat against your parted mouth. And what if you stopped yourself from breathing that way? At least the words were going down with you, and you would not blur them out of the blue, in the middle of sex, mind you.

You let out a trembling moan, thighs starting to shake as you bit down the inside of your fingers.

Natasha felt the exact moment you tensed, the way your body coiled like a spring ready to snap. She doubled down with eyebrows furrowed in focus, keeping the pace of her fingers and curling them while her tongue pressed hard against your clit. Your muffled moan only spurred her on, she always loved making you fall apart beneath her. Loved being the reason for that desperate grip on yourself, for those half bitten-off sounds she could practically taste in the air between you two. And then here you were, your thigh jerking up by reflex as your walls spasmed around her fingers, sucking them in. 

She pulled back and took a deep, ragged breath, eyes traveling languidly over the faint sheen of sweat over your curves.

You opened your eyes again, face tilted to the side as you lazily reached for her with your hand, pushing the babyhair off her forehead with a faint, delirious smile on your face.

Natasha leaned into your touch, her damp lips curling as she kissed the palm of your hand. Her fingers, still glistening, brushed over your stomach as she crawled up to hover above you, arms caging either side of your head. She pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth first, then finally claimed it properly - slow and deep and so tender compared to what had just happened moments ago.

It made your toes curl.

"I love-" You stopped yourself just in time, gulping down, teeth grazing your lips as you tried to find something else to say. Something else than what you really wanted. Something that you might actually not regret saying. "I love, love when you do that." You finished in a lower tone, heavy eyes searching her face.

Natasha studied you, those green eyes always seeing too much, like she could read the hesitation in your chest, the words that did not make it out.

But she just kissed you again, slower this time, letting you taste the proof of your arousal clinging to her. Her hand came up to cradle your jaw as her thumb stroked your cheekbone gently, affectionate and warm.

"Yeah, I gathered as much." She grinned smugly against your lips.

You chuckled, pushing her away with one firm hand on her sternum before suddenly flipping both of you over, your body pinning her down on the mattress. You tried not to react too visibly as her hands immediately grabbed your hips by pure reflex.

"You know I don't like when you look too smug." You grunted, playfully rolling your pelvis into her lap, one eyebrow raised pointedly.

Natasha blinked up at you, almost surprised for once, her usually controlled expression flickering with something unreadable as your weight settled over her. A slow smirk curled on her lips, her hands traveling lower until she was cupping your buttcheeks. 

"Well hello," she breathed out, tilting her chin to press a kiss to your jaw. "Missed those too." She smirked, her hands squeezing the flesh, a small chuckle escaping her as the involuntary movement it caused you to make.

"Oh, shut up." You laughed, your hands cupping her face to pull her into a firm kiss.

Because if there was one thing you were good at, it was distracting you from telling too much. And what could be a better distraction than those plump lips, stealing all possible breath from you until you could not speak anymore.

⧗

It was quiet in the compound.

Not the half-expected, tense, waiting kind of quiet that came after a mission or before one, but something softer, lived-in... And an atmosphere that could only prevail in the late hours of the day, one that only night owls could understand.

Most of the lights were off, the common areas were empty. And you were sitting on one of the couches, half-curled into the corner, a blanket draped over your legs more out of habit than actual need. There was a book open in your lap, but you had not turned the page in... well, a while now.

You were not reading. You had not been for the past twenty minutes. Or maybe even longer. Your gaze kept drifting.

To the doorway. To the window. To the hallway.

You did not know exactly when she got back.

You just knew she did.

You heard the faint echo of a quinjet followed by footsteps earlier. The soft click of a door. The almost imperceptible shift in the atmosphere that always seemed to follow her presence - like something settled into place because she was back in your orbit.

You did not go to her. Not immediately. You had an unspoken agreement whenever one of you would return from solo missions, you would not go looking for the one who had just come back. It was up to her to come find the other if felt the need. Otherwise, you had to give the other time and space - enough to take a shower and put herself together while wiping away all the blood that stained the skin - before either of you could face the world again as an acceptable person.

So, you told yourself you would give her time, like always. Let her decompress. Shower, change, whatever she needed.

Totally normal.

Totally reasonable.

And it definitely did not end up with you pacing your own thoughts into the ground for what had to be the past half hour.

You exhaled slowly, dragging your eyes back down to the book you grabbed again.

You froze in the middle of a mess of words you surely must have tried to read before as soft footsteps echoed in the hallway. They were quiet - of course they were - but you recognize them anyway. Measured and controlled in the way that let you know she was letting you hear her approach.

Your heart picked up instantly.

Which was very stupid. It was just her.

Just Natasha.

The footsteps stopped right behind you.

You did not turn around right away, but you did not even know why. Maybe because if you did, this became real - that aching missing feeling whenever she was not near you. The words that had been sitting in your chest for weeks now, building and building and building until it felt like they were going to spill out whether you wanted it to or not.

"Your book’s upside down."

You blinked, looking down with a frown.

It was.

"...I knew that." You mutter, flipping it to the side quickly.

There was a soft sound behind you, something between a breath and the ghost of a laugh. You finally turned. And there she was. Clean now, changed too, her hair still slightly damp, falling loose around her shoulders. She was dressed in comfortable clothes, like she had already shed the mission and stepped back into something more... normal.

Her eyes were on you before they flicked to the empty mugs sprawled on the small table in front of you, eyebrows raising faintly.

"You’ve been sitting here for a while." She noted.

You shrugged, aiming for casualness to buy yourself more time on your emotions. 

"Yeah. It’s a couch. That’s kind of what they’re for."

"Mhm." Natasha did not move closer, did not sit down next to you despite the empty place, she simply stood there, watching you. Like she was trying to figure something out.

You shifted slightly under the weight of it.

"What?"

"You’re weird again." Natasha tilted her head just a fraction. 

Your eyebrows shot up. 

"What!? Me? I’m not weird. What do you mean?"

"Yeah, you are," she replied simply with a scoff, like it was painfully obvious. "You keep almost saying something for weeks now."

Your stomach dropped, colors draining from your face.

Oh.

Oh, God, no.

You let out a short, awkward laugh, shaking your head. 

"I don’t... what are you talking about?"

Natasha did not seem to buy it, not even a little, as she arched an unimpressed eyebrow in your direction.

"I’ve seen you do it," she continued, stepping a little closer now, her voice quieter but more certain. "You can’t lie to me, you know?"

You looked away, suddenly very interested in a nonexistent wrinkle in the blanket. 

"I really don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re imagining things."

"I’m not."

"You might be."

"I’m not." She repeated, a little firmer this time.

You huffed a breath, rubbing the back of your book that laid on your side, upside down. 

"Okay, even if I were, hypothetically, almost saying something... it’s probably not even important."

Natasha stepped closer, close enough now that you could feel the shift in the air between you as she leaned into your space.

"It is, though." She said, lips twitching.

You shook your head, letting out a chuckle. 

"Nat-"

"Come on, just say it." The words landed softly, like a request. But solid with no room to dodge, no room to deflect anymore. 

You swallowed hard, your pulse picking up again.

"This is a bad idea." You muttered, mostly to yourself, looking up at her with almost pleading eyes.

"Why?" She frowned.

Because you might ruin everything.

Because she might not say it back.

Because what you have right now is good and safe and enough-

"Because..." You started, before stopping. You held your breath, expecting... something. But Natasha did not move. She did not push. She just waited. And somehow, that was worse.

"You’re not gonna let this go, are you?" You let out a shaky breath, running a hand through your hair in a nervous movement. 

"No."

Of course not.

You glanced up at her, she was closer than you realized. Her expression was not guarded, not like it usually would be with... anyone else. Anyone else but you. There was something open there, she let you see it, decipher it like it was yours to. She was curious. Maybe even a little cautious. Like she knew this mattered.

Your chest tightened.

God.

This was it then. This was the moment you had been avoiding for weeks.

You were sure you could still back out. Say something else, make a joke, deflect, kiss her until you were both too distracted to remember the discussion at hand. You had done it before. You could do it again.

But you looked at her now.

At the way she was standing there, waiting. At the way she was clearly not letting it go this time. At the way she came to you without any mask on.

The faint dampness still lingering in her hair, the patience in her eyes, the way she had not pushed you once - just waited, as if she trusted you to get there eventually.

And God.

Maybe that was what finally did it, because something in your chest just settled.

You exhaled slowly. Because the truth was the truth. The truth was painful to hold in. The truth was choking you alive. Perhaps it was killing you more to keep it in than scream it at her. Because the truth was the truth and it was inevitable - even though you tried to run away from it. It would always come back to here and now, it would always come back to her.

"I love you." The words left your mouth in an exhale before you could stop them, like they almost did too many times to count before.

You froze immediately as your brain caught up, your heart slamming hard against your ribs, every instinct screaming at you to take it back, to say something else. Anything.

But Natasha just... looked at you.

And for a split second, panic spiked, until a faint breath escaped her.

"Oh."

You blinked, your entire body went tense. The sound was not disappointed, it did not sound uncertain either. If anything, it sounded fond. Almost helpless. 

And you were fucking lost.

"Oh?" You echoed, suddenly very aware of how exposed you were right now despite the blanket covering your clothes. "That’s-well, okay. Cool. Good. Great response. I-I actually really love that for me," you started to ramble, because of course you were - already half-turning away like maybe you could just physically remove yourself from the situation. "I mean, not that you have to say anything back, because you don’t. I just, well, clearly picked a great time to-"

"No, no, I just... was expecting something else," Natasha replied, lips twitching. "I mean, I already knew that."

You stopped before fully turning back now, elbows planted on the back of the couch as you caught up with her words.

"...What?"

Natasha smirked, something softer in her eyes now.

"I know." She repeated, like she knew you needed to hear the words again.

"You know, what? You knew? Since when?"

"A while." She shrugged slightly, pinching her lips together to hold the laugh in.

"A while?" You repeated, incredulous. "Natasha, I’ve been internally losing my fucking mind over this for weeks, actual weeks-"

"Yeah, I noticed." She scoffed, reaching for one of your hands.

"-and you just knew!?"

"Well, yes. I knew you loved me."

You stared at her.

Because that was... That was so unbelievably her.

"Oh my God, you are actually unbelievable." You muttered, dragging your free hand down your face.

There was a faint flicker of amusement at the corner of her mouth as she stepped closer, fingers brushing hair away from your eyes so she could look into them.

"I love you too, by the way," she shrugged, lips twitching into a smirk. "In case you didn’t know."

You stared up at her, breath half caught in your throat. She loved you.

Of course she did.

The evidence had been everywhere.

You had just been too terrified to trust it.

"...You do?" You asked, because apparently your brain had fully stopped functioning as needed to hear things more than one time.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. 

"I just said that, didn’t I?"

"Yeah, I know, I just-" You let out a short, breathless laugh, shaking your head. "You could’ve, I don’t know, mentioned that before I spent months spiraling over it."

She tilted her head slightly, narrowing her eyes. 

"Well, you could’ve said it sooner.”

You stared at her, lips parted.

"...You’re really turning this around on me right now?"

"Mhm hm."

You huffed out another laugh, softer this time, something in your chest finally loosening after weeks of tension as she leaned in enough to press her smile against yours.

The kind that happened so abruptly it completely stole the air from your lungs and made your body lose its axis. You gasped, grabbing blindly for the handrail in the confined space, a cry of pain escaping your lips as your ankle twisted beneath you at the same moment the lights went out... 

Pain shot up your leg.

"Shit-"

Stupid, stupid heels, stupid job. And most of all, fucking stupid elevator.

For half-second, there was only silence in the box you were trapped in. Heavy silence and the blood rushing in your ears before it raced south to warm up your ankle.

Then the cables screamed. The entire lift dipped a terrifying inch, maybe more - metal screeching against metal, and your body slammed into the mirrored wall behind you, the impact knocking a strangled cry from your throat.

"Oh my God," you whispered, widening eyes darting around in the dark. "Oh my God, oh my God-"

The emergency lights flickered on, bathing the small space in a sickly red glow.

Your hands were already shaking. You sucked in a deep breath before lunging for the control panel, hitting the red button in clouded panic. Door open. A soft, broken whimper slipped out as heat bloomed around your ankle, sharp and throbbing. 

You exhaled hard, eyes narrowing as you hit the alarm button. Alarm, alarm, alarm again. You pressed it so hard your fingertip hurt.

Nothing.

The alarm gave a weak, frankly pathetic buzz that died almost instantly.

"Hello?" Your voice cracked as you leaned toward the speaker anyway. "Hello?! Can anybody hear me? I-I’m stuck, I-"

The elevator answered with another grinding groan before it slowly - so slowly it felt like moving in slow-motion - shifted again. Lower, just a tiny, insignificant fraction, but it was enough. Enough for your brain to supply the images: snapping cables, freefall, the box crumpling like a soda can when it hit the bottom. 

With you inside it. 

All because you refused to come to work early to climb up twenty-five flights of stairs.

Your knees gave out before you even realized it was happening, you slid down the mirrored wall, your back dragging against the cold surface until you hit the floor. You brought your injured ankle closer, only now realizing just how much it was burning. You were probably not going to be able to walk out of there - if the doors accepted to open again one day, that was.

Oh, God.

You did not like small spaces.

You did not like not being in control.

You definitely did not like the sound of metal giving up.

"It’s fine," you muttered to yourself, breath coming too fast. "It’s fine. Elevators don’t just-"

The car dropped another inch.

You screamed, hoping if you were loud enough whatever Gods there were out there would come and get you out of here themselves.

⧗

Natasha Romanoff had been halfway through her second coffee at their usual café when the call came in.

Elevator malfunction in a building downtown with presumably one occupant trapped. Structural concerns.

She was already on her feet before the dispatcher finished.

"Alright, let’s move," Clint muttered, tossing his cup in the trash and dragging a hand through his hair. "Too early for this kind of bullshit."

The engine roared to life, their sirens cutting through the late afternoon traffic as they cut across the streets.

Natasha stood in the back of the truck, one hand braced against the rail, the other clenched tight at her side. Her jaw was set hard enough to ache. Elevator calls were unpredictable, they could go either way - minor inconvenience or catastrophic failure. She sure hoped it was not the latest. However, the words structural concerns made something cold coil in her stomach.

They pulled up in under seven minutes, fortunately they were not far from the building when they received the call.

Natasha was out of the truck before it had fully stopped.

A small crowd had gathered outside the building, tension thick in the air. She scanned them once, before zeroing in on the man pacing near the entrance.

The building manager looked pale, sweating through his shirt. 

"It’s stuck between floors," he rushed out as she approached. "We think twenty-one and twenty-two. We tried resetting the system, but it’s not responding. And we h-heard-" His voice wavered. "Someone said they heard it drop."

Natasha’s expression did not change, but something in her eyes went sharper - dangerously so - as she recognized the situation for what it was.

"How many people are inside?"

"One. I-I think."

"You think?" Natasha scoffed, raising an eyebrow. "Name?"

"I-I don’t know?"

She shook her head, of course he did not, why would he know anything useful? Natasha was already turning away from him, biting down the inside of her cheek to keep herself from screaming at him. 

"Team’s arriving in ten." Clint said, jogging up to reach her side. 

Natasha let out a short breath, pinching the bridge of her nose for half a second as she forced herself to think rationally.

Ten minutes.

Yeah, no.

Her gaze snapped back to the building, already calculating distances, access points, worst-case scenarios.

"That’s too fucking long. I’m not waiting." 

Clint exhaled, looking at her as if he already knew the end of the story.

"Nat-"

"I’m going." She cut him off, already heading inside.

⧗

Inside the elevator, you were crying now. 

Quiet and panicked tears that refused to stop, slipping endlessly down your cheeks no matter how hard you tried to steady your breathing. Your chest hitched in uneven rhythms, every inhale too sharp, every exhale too shallow.

As if it was not bad luck enough already, you had discovered your so-called waterproof mascara was not as waterproof as the bold words on the package made it sound to be. You had dark streaks smudged beneath your eyes, sticky and uneven, making your reflection in the mirrored wall look... ridiculous, or pathetic. Or both.

You looked like an actress trying too hard to win an award for a drama.

And then there was your last straw; your damn phone. Because you had also discovered that you had no service inside this creepy box. Because, of course there was not. You had tried 911 anyway - once, twice or maybe five times - but each attempt failed before it even began, before you could hope. No signal, no lifeline, nothing.

The red emergency light was still on, though. Making everything inside feel smaller, the walls too close, the ceiling too low. And the air hotter, thin, like every ragged breath you took was not quite enough to fill your aching lungs. And just for that, you were grateful for being the only one here. You could not imagine panicking like this in front of someone else. Or even being stuck for God knew how long in here with someone else.

Especially that creepy Dylan guy who could not take a hint to save his life. So, yeah... you supposed the situation could be worse. 

Another groan tore through the walls as soon as you finished your thought. 

God, you really should learn to hold your tongue. 

It was the third in under five minutes, you had been counting.

Your hands flew up to your ears, palms pressing hard as you squeezed your eyes shut, as if you could block it out, as if ignoring it might somehow make it all stop.

"I don’t want to die," you whispered to no one, to yourself, to whatever Gods out there that must have heard you by now but seemingly decided to do nothing about your case. "Please, please, I don’t want to die."

Your voice sounded so small to your own ears, like it did not even matter. And then, there was a sudden metallic clang echoing from above. As if answering you, finally.

Your hands slipped from your ears, hovering uselessly in the air as your brows pulled together, confusion cutting through the panic.

Another clang, louder this time.

And then... voices? Were you hearing voices? If that was true, they were definitely muffled, distant and barely distinguishable. Though you were not quite sure you had not started imagining things. That was what the brain was supposed to do, right? Hallucinate something comforting when reality became too much?

Your head snapped up at another sound, your heart beating with newfound hope.

"Hello!?" You shouted, scrambling to your feet as best as you could, a sharp whimper escaping when your ankle screamed in protest. You clung to the handrail, leaning heavily against the mirrored wall, slowly sinking back into a sitting position. "I-I’m in here! Please! Anyone?"

Something heavy thudded against the top of the elevator.

Then a voice. You were sure of it this time. It was clear and calm and authoritative.

"Fire department! We hear you."

The sob that tore out of you was immediate and uncontrollable. Your hand flew to your mouth, pressing hard as if you could somehow contain the sound, but it shook through your whole body anyway.

"We’re going to get you out," the voice continued. A beacon in the chaos. A lighthouse in the fog. "I need you to step back from the doors."

"I-I am!" Your voice cracked badly, but you stumbled back as much as your ankle allowed, deciding to ignore the new noise coming from the elevator.

Tools met metal then. A harsh, grating sound filled the air as something outside strained against the doors. The entire elevator creaked in protest, a deep and very unsettling groan vibrating through the walls.

You watched, unable to look away, as the doors jerked before you felt the elevator shift under your feet.

The elevator fucking moved beneath your feet.

"No, no, no-" You choked, panic surging back as you slid down the wall again, your body refusing to stay upright.

"Hey!"

The voice was closer now. Right outside. Your head snapped up from where you thought the person was, lips pressed into a tight line.

"Stay with me. What’s your name?"

For a second, you forgot how to speak.

You swallowed hard, whispering it back in a shaky tone.

"I’m Natasha. I need you to look at me when I get this open. Can you do that for me?"

You nodded frantically before realizing she could not see you as she called out your name to make sure you were listening.

"Yes-yes, I can do that." You finally breathed.

A sharp grunt echoed from the other side.

Then suddenly a gloved hand appeared, forcing its way between the doors.

You held your breath as the gap widened, one inch first.

Then two. The metal shrieked in protest like it was alive, like it was fighting her every step of the way.

But then, you saw her.

First, her arm - muscles straining, veins taut beneath sweat-dusted skin, shiny bicep flexing hard as she forced the doors apart manually.

Then her shoulder, the short black sleeve of her shirt covering most of it, stretching tight.

Then her face.

The red emergency light behind you clashed with the brighter hallway lights spilling in from outside, casting her in something almost unreal. The glow caught on the edges of her helmet, creating a halo effect that made her look-

Not real. Not human, at least. 

You had been asking for a God all this time when you should have prayed for an angel.

A streak of red hair clung to her cheek, damp with sweat, and her green eyes locked onto yours with sharp, unwavering focus.

"Hey, you’re okay." She said, as if it were fact, her lips offering you a small yet gentle smile.

The doors opened wider, revealing the misalignment - the elevator sitting a good foot below the hallway floor.

Natasha’s gaze assessed the inside in seconds.

"Alright. It’s stable," she called over her shoulder to someone you could not see  before nodding at whatever answer she received. Then her gaze softened as it returned to you. "Can you walk?"

You tried, but the second you put weight on your ankle, pain exploded up your leg, sharp enough to steal the breath from your lungs.

You gasped, shaking your head, your hands gripping the bar tighter.

"I-I don’t think so. My ankle, I-"

You expected frustration, maybe impatience. Anything of that range. But Natasha just nodded once, quick and decisive as she shifted closer.

"It’s okay. That’s alright," her voice lowered slightly before she braced one boot against the frame and forced the doors wider with a low, controlled exhale. "We’ll adjust."

Behind her, you could hear someone securing something metal against the frame above. More clanging. More tools. The elevator trembled faintly and you flinched.

Her eyes snapped back to yours instantly.

"Hey," she said, firmer this time. "Stay with me. It’s secured from the top. It’s not going anywhere, alright?"

You searched her face for a lie or at least doubt but did not find any. Just certainty.

Natasha adjusted her footing, one boot planted firmly on the hallway floor, the other testing the edge of the elevator.

"I’m coming in," she warned, her tone turning serious again. "It might shake a little when I transfer my weight. That’s normal, you do not need to panic."

Normal...

You almost wanted to laugh at how fragile that word sounded. But you nodded anyway, your throat tight, your eyes locked on her like she was the only stable thing left in the world.

Your gaze caught on a strange, almost irrelevant detail - the glint of light along her left ear. Multiple piercings, small pieces of metal catching the hallway light. Your brain latched onto that stupid detail even through the panic you could feel rising.

Behind her, you caught a glimpse of movement - her colleague stepping in, rope in hand. He clipped it to her harness with practiced ease, giving her shoulder a firm, reassuring tap.

She did not look back.

The elevator dipped half an inch the moment she slid through the gap with controlled precision. You gasped, hands flying to the wall.

Natasha did not even flinch, she simply moved like she trusted it - like she understood the language of metal and tension and load-bearing structures better than fear ever could. She crouched in front of you immediately, one of her gloved hands finding your arm without hesitation.

Up close, she was even more unfairly breathtaking. A thin sheen of sweat clung to her temple. A faint smudge of grease near her jaw. Her green eyes were sharp, assessing but warm. 

Your entire world narrowed to green.

"Hi." She said quietly, her lips twitching into the faintest smirk that made you weak in the knees.

Your brain short-circuited.

Great.

Of all the moments.

Of all the possible moments.

You had to be a gay disaster right now. Of course. And get caught while checking her out.

You let out a shaky, hysterical half-laugh - still reeling from seeing her entering your space so easily. 

"Hi."

Before you could utter another word, another distant metallic groan echoed through the shaft, low and threatening. 

Natasha’s jaw tightened slightly.

"Alright. We’re going to lift you out," she said, focus snapping back into place. "As you can see the car is about a foot low, so I’ll boost you up to Clint - that guy over there. He’ll grab you, and I’ll be right behind. Got any questions?"

You shook your head quickly, instinctively shifting closer to her as the elevator creaked again, your breath catching.

"We’re not falling," Natasha murmured, her hoarse voice wrapping around your ears. "I’ve got you. All I need is for you to wrap your arms around my shoulders. Can you do that?"

The certainty in her tone did something to your spiraling mind.

You scooted closer and circled your arms around her neck. You tried not to wince too much as she carefully slipped one very muscular arm carefully behind your back and the other under your knees before lifting you effortlessly. Like you weighed nothing at all. 

The elevator trembled faintly as she stood, but she adjusted without hesitation, her stance shifting in tiny, precise movements - like balance was something she negotiated with gravity every single day.

You looked at her, suddenly hyper-aware of the proximity. The strength coiled in her arms. The heat of her body through her clothes. The steadiness of her breathing compared to your own chaotic one.

"Oh God-" You choked as the car trembled all around you, your fingertips digging into the fabric of her shirt.

"Shh, it’s okay. I would not be in here with you if it wasn’t secure," she said steadily, her hot breath ghosting your cheek as she turned, bracing her back against one wall and her boot against the other to give herself leverage. "I don’t gamble with old elevators."

You swallowed hard, your eyes flicking nervously around as the walls creaked.

"That probably doesn’t sound as... comforting as you want it to be..."

A soft huff of amusement brushed your ear, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine, the hair at the back of your neck raising in consequence.

"Okay, then I don’t gamble with pretty girls I’m rescuing," she corrected, chuckling faintly at the openly shocked look you gave her. "Alright," she added, like she had not just short-circuited your brain entirely, again. "It might feel like it’s moving like crazy, okay?"

"Okay..." You grumbled weakly, not liking her last words very much.

"Clint!" She called upward, her voice snapping back into command. "I’ve got her, we’re moving."

A man’s face appeared at the gap, giving you both a quick thumbs-up.

"Copy that."

"On three..." She murmured to you, but mostly to herself. 

And then she was moving. Natasha bent slightly, grounding her stance - then pushed upward with controlled, explosive strength.

You cried out - not from pain, but from the sudden motion of everything. And then hands grabbed you under the arms.

"You’re good." The man, Clint, reassured you as he hauled you onto the hallway floor.

The second you were clear of the elevator, your body sagged in relief. The carpet felt like heaven beneath your palms.

You twisted immediately, panic snapping back just as fast.

"Natas-"

The elevator shifted again just as she grabbed the frame to pull herself up.

There was a loud, ugly snap from somewhere above. You froze, lips parting. Everything inside you went cold.

Natasha did not panic, she surged upward in one fluid movement, boots scraping harshly against the metal as she hauled herself through the gap.

The elevator dropped five inches the moment her weight cleared it.

A collective gasp rippled from both you and Clint. You stared at the open shaft, your heart pounding violently in your chest.

A second later, Natasha rolled onto her back beside you, her breathing heavier now, not uncontrolled, but very real as she took off her helmet. For the first time, you could actually see the adrenaline in her eyes.

Clint let out a low whistle, patting her shoulder as he helped her out of the harness. 

Natasha pushed herself up, completely ignoring him, her eyes already on you.

"You okay?"

You nodded numbly before a sudden, illogical anger spread through your veins.

"You said it wouldn’t do that!" You exclaimed, smacking her arm.

Her eyebrow lifted, surprise flickering briefly across her face - ignoring Clint’s snort behind her as he walked away.

"Actually," Natasha replied, far too calm for your liking. "I said it would not collapse with you in it, not that it would not move at all..." She said, lips threatening to pull into a smirk that she forced herself to contain - like she knew exactly how close she was to getting hit again.

"Oh my God." You groaned into your hands, dragging your hands over your face, fingers pressing hard into your hairline.

But the second you felt your throat closing in again, something in you shattered completely. And then, before you realized it, you were shaking uncontrollably. The adrenaline you had been running on for what felt like hours disappeared from your system all at once, leaving nothing behind to hold you together.

Your hands started shaking, then your arms, then everything.

Natasha was immediately on her knees in front of you, tugging off her gloves as she reached for your forearms.

"Hey-hey. Stay with me."

You could not stop crying.

You tried to speak, you really did, but nothing came out except broken gasps that refused to form words.

Her warm hands closed around your wrists, warm and firm, her thumbs pressing gently but insistently against your pulse points.

"Breathe with me," she instructed gently. "In."

You tried. Failed a few times, but she did not lose patience. She shifted closer, close enough that you could feel the heat of her, close enough that her presence alone started to anchor you, almost close enough to press her forehead lightly to yours.

"Come on, I know you can do it. In," she repeated before taking a slow, deliberate breath - deep enough that you could see it, feel it. "And out."

Your body followed the rhythm instinctively before your mind could catch up.

In.

Out.

In-

Out...

The world slowly stopped spinning quite so violently. The noise faded. The impossible tightness in your chest loosened just enough for air to finally, generously reach your lungs.

And suddenly you were made very aware that you were half in her lap. Very aware that your hands were fisted in the front of her shirt.

"I-I really thought I was going to die..." You whispered, voice hoarse and fragile.

Her thumbs brushed under your eyes, wiping away tears and smeared mascara.

"Well, clearly you didn’t." She said quietly.

Your laugh came out wet and shaky. 

"That’s... that’s because you’re apparently made of steel."

One corner of her mouth lifted.

"Sometimes I wish."

You huffed something that might have been a watery chuckle.

Your face crumpled again as the last of the adrenaline drained out of you, leaving you raw and exposed. Without thinking, you leaned forward and pressed your face into her shoulder, your arms wrapping around her.

You felt Natasha freeze for half a second before her arms came around you as well. Firm and protective.

"It’s alright. I’ve got you." She repeated softly.

You were still trembling, a faint tremor running through your body. If you had not been so close perhaps she would not have even noticed it. But she was close and she did notice.

"It’s over now. You’re safe." She murmured, shifting a little closer on her knees. Slowly, hesitantly, one of her hands came up to rest against the back of your head.

You pulled back once your brain caught up with the realization of just how close you suddenly were, your entire face heating up with embarrassment. 

"Sorry-I just, you saved-"

"No, no," she said quietly, shaking her head. "It’s okay. Really. I get it."

There was an awkward pause before you realized her hand was still on you. She seemed to realize it too as she withdrew, clearing her throat slightly.

"I’m... I should probably check your ankle?"

You nodded, wiping at your face in a completely useless attempt to fix or even hide the damage.

"Sorry," you muttered. "I’m not usually this... dramatic?"

A corner of her mouth twitched as she shot you a knowing look. 

"You weren’t. But even if you were, you were trapped in a failing elevator. So... I think you’re allowed," she replied, shifting to your extended leg. "I always preferred stairs, you know."

Her hands were surprisingly gentle as she examined your ankle. You hissed when she pressed along the outer bone.

"Yeah," she murmured. "That’s tender."

Her thumb brushed lightly over the area before she leaned back.

"Looks like a sprain. Maybe a mild one. You’re lucky." 

Lucky.

You almost laughed in disbelief again.

Natasha glanced toward the stairwell where two more firefighters were coordinating with the building manager.

"Medics are downstairs," Clint called over. "Stairwells all clear."

Natasha looked back at you, assessing as she pursed her lips.

"Alright," she said, decisive again. "You’re not putting weight on that."

You blinked. 

"I can hop-"

"Nope."

Before you could argue further, she slid one arm behind your back and the other beneath your knees again, lifting you as if you weighed nothing at all just like she previously did.

Another startled sound left you, hands instinctively flying to her shoulders. 

"Natasha-"

"Relax..." She said smoothly, adjusting you against her chest. 

"You don’t have to carry me all the way," you muttered, acutely aware of how solid she felt under your hands. And how steady she was. Which was a very welcomed thing after the situation you experienced. "I can... hobble... or something."

She snorted softly as she began the descent.

"Well, I think you already had your elevator moment. Let’s not add 'faceplanting down the stairs' to today’s crazy résumé."

Your lips parted in offended disbelief. 

"Yeah," she said dryly. "You’ve done enough dramatic for one afternoon."

You actually gasped this time. 

"Excuse me-"

"The screaming?"

"I was falling!"

"You dropped an inch."

"An inch is a lot when you think you’re about to die!"

That earned you a low, amused hum, deep enough that you felt it vibrate through her chest where you were pressed against her.

God. This was unfair.

She took the steps steadily, controlled, one at a time. Her grip never faltered, not even slightly - which was also very much unfair. You looked up at her face, catching her eyes flickering over yours before lingering. There was a beat where you hesitated, eyebrows furrowing slightly at the seemingly amused look on her face, your cheeks warming up under the attention.

"...What?" You asked warily, narrowing your eyes slightly.

There was a pause, followed by a flicker of mischief in her green eyes.

"Nothing."

"Natasha."

She exhaled slowly through her nose, like she was actively trying not to laugh.

"You look like a raccoon."

You stared at her, blinking in confusion.

"I-what...?"

She nodded solemnly, tipping her chin toward your face. 

"Mascara situation. It’s... everywhere, very feral, very committed."

You stared at her, scandalized.

"I almost died and you’re bullying me?"

"I’m not bullying you," she replied gravely, adjusting you slightly higher in her arms. "I’m appreciating the aesthetic. You fully committed to the smoky eye look."

A choked sound escaped you, half laugh, half disbelief, as you tried to glare at her. Your lips betrayed you first, twitching at the corners despite your best effort.

She caught it instantly.

"There it is..." She murmured.

"I hate you." You muttered, though your voice wobbled with a laugh.

"Kinda doubt that."

You could not help but smile at her, shaking your head before awkwardly wiping at your tear-streaked cheeks.

"Better," she said quietly. "That’s better."

You rolled your eyes, though there was no heat behind the action. 

"You’re unbelievable."

"Meh, I’ve been called worse."

The stairwell echoed with distant voices and the steady rhythm of boots on concrete, but in the space between you, everything felt... quieter. You bit down your lip, really wishing you were not imagining things.

Now that the panic had ebbed, you found yourself studying her properly.

Freckles scattered beneath a sheen of sweat. A faint cut near her brow. Green eyes that had locked onto yours like you mattered the second those devilish doors opened.

"Am I heavy?" You asked suddenly.

 Natasha scoffed, giving your face a clear once over.

"I lift people twice your size in full gear."

"Oh," you said, pretending to consider her words. "So I’m light like... what? A backpack?"

She tilted her head slightly, as if genuinely thinking it through.

"Mhm... More like an angry kitten."

You gasped, smacking her shoulder. 

"Raccoon and kitten? Pick a species, Natasha."

"Raccoon aesthetic," she corrected smoothly. "Kitten attitude."

You were fully smiling now.

It felt strange - how easily she could pull you out of that spiral without even really knowing you. Like she had simply decided fear did not get to win today.

She reached the final flight, the soft afternoon light filtering up faintly from the lobby below. Sirens flashing through the glass doors.

You hesitate, talking yourself out of saying what you wanted to, but when will you ever get the chance to if not now?

"Alright, I have to ask... Do I at least look like a cute raccoon?" You asked quietly after a full minute of convincing yourself to finally get the words out.

Natasha did not hesitate, her lips offering you a charming smile.

"Oh, the cutest I’ve ever rescued, for sure."

Your stomach flipped in a way that did not resemble anything you experienced in the elevators.

The lobby doors burst open as you finally stepped out into the open air. The cool breeze hit your face and you inhaled sharply - you had not realized how badly you needed that until your lungs filled with it. It was perhaps the first full breath that did not feel like borrowed oxygen.

Paramedics hurried forward with a stretcher, voices overlapping as they approached. But Natasha did not set you down immediately.

"Possible ankle sprain. No loss of consciousness. Minor shock." She reported, her tone shifting seamlessly back to professional as her eyes flicked to one of the medics who nodded at her.

"We’ll take it from here."

You tightened your grip on Natasha for half a second longer than necessary. She looked down at you again, something unreadable flickering in her expression now that the urgency was over. She crouched, lowering you carefully onto the stretcher, hands lingering at your waist just long enough to make your pulse jump.

The sudden loss of contact felt... noticeable.

She stepped back as the medics started examining your ankle, asking questions.

You answered automatically but your attention never really left her, your eyes neither.

Natasha ran a hand through her slightly disheveled red hair, pushing it back from her face as the wind picked up. The adrenaline was still humming under her skin, you could see it in the way her jaw was set too tight, her fingers almost buzzing with restless energy. But she was already shifting back into that composed, controlled version of herself. She spoke briefly with Clint, answering a question from someone else. And suddenly, the thought of her just... walking away felt unbearable. And unfair.

"Natasha?"

She turned immediately at your voice, brows lifting.

You swallowed, heart hammering for an entirely different reason now.

"Yeah?"

Your throat felt tight again, but not from fear.

"Thank you. Truly," the words were simple, too small compared to what she had done, but you meant them with everything in you. "Thank you for saving my life."

Her teasing edge from earlier left her completely.

For a moment, she did not look like the confident firefighter who had climbed into a failing elevator without hesitation. She just looked like a woman who had been very, very scared of being too late.

"You’re welcome, just... doing my job." She said quietly, smiling at you as she reached for your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Your heart did that stupid thing again.

One of the medics cleared her throat nearby, smiling sheepishly as she interrupted the... moment. 

"We’re going to transport her for X-rays."

Natasha nodded absently, not pulling her hand away until she absolutely had to, her eyes staying on yours.

"You’ll be okay?" She asked.

You hesitated, biting down your lips. Then, before you could overthink it-

"...Will you visit the hospital raccoon?"

Her mouth curved slowly, something warm and amused - and dare you say even relief - settling into her expression.

"I’ll make sure to bring waterproof mascara recommendations."

You scoffed, swatting her hand away playfully. She smiled at you, watching as the stretcher you were on reached the ambulance doors.

"You’re safe now." She whispered, winking at you.

And the way she had said it, certain like a promise made you unable to not smile back. You believed her completely.

Hope you enjoyed this silly fic!🤭 Actually working on a longer fic (series) right now but I had this idea for a while so here it is!! See you - hopefully - soon :))

Natasha had been untouchable.

She played like she always did these days - with hunger, with fire, with pleasure.

Not the reckless kind of feeling she used to chase just to feel something.

The final buzzer split through the arena, her lips finally breaking into a small, satisfied smile.

Win.

Barely, but it was good enough - only the result counted anyway.

Her teammates flooded the ice, sticks raised, adrenaline spilling everywhere at once. Natasha laughed, breath fogging through the cage of her helmet as someone knocked into her shoulder hard enough to tilt it sideways.

Her chest rose and fell quickly, lungs burning in the best way, pulse still racing as she slapped gloves. The noise was deafening - cheers, boos, whistles, the sharp scrape of skates carving the aftermath into the ice.

It should have filled her completely.

It usually did.

But tonight... something felt unfinished. Something was missing. Someone.

She skated off with the rest of her team, already halfway into the rhythm of what came next. Locker room. Gear off. Cold shower. Coach’s voice dissecting every seco-

And then she heard it... Her name, spoken by the favorite voice she ever had the pleasure of hearing.

"Romanoff!"

Natasha turned instinctively, still gliding for half a second before her skates bit sharply into the ice.

And there you were.

You stood just beyond the barrier near the tunnel, half-shadowed by the fluorescent lights overhead. You were wrapped in a dark winter coat - her gift from last Christmas - hair tucked beneath a knit beanie, cheeks flushed from the cold.

A pass hung from your neck, credentials catching the light.

But that was not really what made her breath leave her lungs, because over your coat was a red jersey. Her jersey. With her name stretched across it like it belonged there.

The noise around her dulled, like someone had turned the volume of the world down just enough for everything insignificant to fall away.

You smiled smugly when your eyes met hers, victorious at seemingly being able to surprise her. Like you knew exactly what you had just done to her.

Natasha’s heart stumbled. She lifted a hand without realizing she was doing it, glove dangling uselessly from her fingers. You lifted yours back in a small wave, shy and certain all at once.

Yelena moved past you, stopped short, then groaned before muttering in Russian under her breath as she opted to walk away.

Natasha did not hear a word of it, or anything at all for that matter. She could not take her eyes off you.

Because you were not supposed to be here. 

You had told her you had a late shift. A "can’t get out of it" kind of obligation that came with the life you had built for yourself beyond the rink. A consult you could not move therefore making you run way too late for her game. She had teased you about being responsible now, before ultimately understanding - albeit a little disappointed, because you never missed a single game. Not anymore, not since last year when you both decided to try again.

You had smiled sheepishly, a little disappointed as well and told her to behave.

And yet... here you were.

Not at work. Not at home. Not in the spotlight.

But exactly where she needed you.

The locker room passed in a blur. She peeled off her gear faster than usual, hands moving on muscle memory while her thoughts stayed tangled somewhere between disbelief and awe. Her phone buzzed once in her bag. She hastily pulled it out, her eyes quickly scanning the words as she absently grabbed a towel.

'Outside, exit four. Take your time, I don’t want you to stink.'

She did not. 

Natasha had never moved that fast off the ice in her life besides when she ran after you one year ago.

She showered on record time, halfway through rinsing the shampoo when she stepped out, not even sure she had gotten all of it. She shoved on a hoodie, half-zipped it, ignored the protests of her knee and jogged back down the corridor.

You were exactly where you said you would be. Leaning against the wall just outside, arms loosely folded, one foot propped casually behind you. Relaxed like the chaos of post-game crowds, rushing staff, slamming doors could not move you unless you chose to.

Natasha slowed, just slightly. Just enough to take you in.

Because no matter how many times she saw you now - no matter how many mornings, late nights, quiet moments you had shared this past year - there was still something about finding you, right there in her corner, that felt like a small, private miracle.

"You’re supposed to be at work." Natasha said, breathless, not entirely from the run.

You pushed off the wall, a smile already forming.

"I traded shifts." You replied, shrugging as she finally entered your space.

"For this?" She gestured at the jersey, voice softening.

"For you, dummy."

Something fragile cracked open behind her ribs, disorienting her in its softness.

Her hands came up instinctively, like she needed proof - like she needed to anchor you there, in front of her. Her fingertips brushed over the fabric stretched across your chest, tracing the letters.

"You know," she murmured, eyes flicking up to yours. "I never thought I’d like seeing my jersey on someone else this much."

You huffed a quiet laugh, grasping her hand to tug her closer so you could properly greet her with a wet smooch.

Natasha felt her knees give a little, like the last dregs of adrenaline had finally burned away all at once. One of her arms curled around your waist to keep your hips against hers, fingers digging into your back to pull you into another kiss before you could step away.

She broke away, her breath stuttered as she looked at you. Not the girl she used to watch carve perfect edges under harsh rink lights. Not the prodigy everyone whispered about. Not the Olympic medalist she had followed from a distance long before she had the right to. Or perhaps all of the above, but more so the woman in front of her now. 

Her person. Her girlfriend.

"I cannot believe you’re here."

"Just wanted to surprise you for your birthday," you replied with a warm smile, charmed by her behavior as you leaned in to peck the corner of her lips again, gently cleaning the faint trace of your lipstick from her lower lip. "I missed you."

Natasha let out a quiet breath, something in her chest easing in a way it only ever did around you.

"Well, mission accomplished," she brushed her thumb over your cold cheek, unable to stop touching you. "You surprised me and then put my name on you." 

You laughed under your breath, shaking your head, though the cold had you scrunching your nose a little in protest.

"You okay?" She asked quietly, noticing the faint tremor of shivers running down your whole body as the harsh wind picked up.

You nodded, face softening as her hands started gently rubbing up and down your arms anyway.

Natasha pulled back slightly, eyes shining, mouth curved into something soft and amused.

"You coming to dinner with the team?" She asked, eyebrows raising. "Or am I allowed to steal you?"

You laughed.

"Depends," you said, rocking slightly on your heels. "Are you planning on behaving?”

"You know I cannot make those promises." She smirked, familiar, dangerous and fond all at once.

"Well..." You began, drawing the word out as you leaned back, pretending to weigh the options while Natasha watched you with open suspicion.

"What?" She asked slowly, eyes narrowing.

"If we go to dinner with the team..." You started, holding up one finger.

"Oh, no. You’re doing the thing again." Natasha groaned immediately, dragging a hand down her face.

"Yes," you said, nodding seriously. "Let’s review the situation, please."

She crossed her arms but the corner of her mouth was already twitching, nodding.

"Go ahead, doctor. Present your findings."

"First, the restaurant will be loud."

"Probably, yeah. Extremely loud, in fact." Natasha confirmed.

"Second, someone will start a debate about that penalty not called in the second period."

"That someone will probably be Yelena."

"Obviously."

"Who was right, by the way.”

"Debatable." You replied with a teasing look, Natasha snorted as she observed you lifting a third gloved finger.

"Third, at least two rookies will try to outdrink the veterans."

"That is not a 'try'. That is a guaranteed disaster."

"Fourth," you continued, determined to make it through all the list. "Your Coach will pretend he’s not watching everyone’s alcohol intake."

"He’s always watching..." Natasha murmured gravely.

"Fifth, Yelena will steal fries off our plates."

"I hate when she does that." Natasha muttered, frowning at the memories.

"Sixth, someone will make you stand up so the whole restaurant can cheer since you’re the MVP. And make you give a speech since it’s your birthday..."

Natasha grimaced.

"I hate that part."

"Not really, though," you chuckled, giving her a knowing look that she decided to ignore. "Seventh," you said, leaning a little closer. "You’ll get pulled into three different interviews, one selfie chain, and at least one drunk fan telling you how much they 'respect the grind'."

"Okay, babe... Now this is cheating, that one actually happened last week."

You rocked back again, arms crossing over your chest.

"So," you concluded. "Dinner with the team means chaos, noise, media, Yelena stealing potatoes, and approximately five minutes where I actually get to see you."

Natasha stared at you when you finished, something warm and helpless creeping into her expression despite herself.

"And the alternative?" She asked, leaning in just a little as her voice dropped - hope threading through it before she could hide it.

Your mouth curved knowingly.

"I saw a place two blocks from the arena, little corner spot. Looked like they had great takeout, some Russian stuff as well, believe it or not."

Natasha’s eyebrows lifted, eyes flicking over your face.

"Go on."

"We grab food..." You continued casually. "Take a cab back to your hotel..." You watched her smirk slowly reappear. "...meaning we eat somewhere warm and quiet."

There was a pause, your eyebrows raising as you waited for Natasha to reply to you, her teeth gnawing at her lower lip.

"Yeah." She nodded eventually, lips pursing.

You blinked, a little taken aback that she did not put up a fight with this.

"That was fast."

"I stopped listening after 'skip team dinner' to be honest, I didn’t really wanna go."

You laughed, shaking your head as you grabbed her forearm.

"Wait, but bab-"

"I’m texting Yelena."

Her phone was already out, her thumbs moving quickly.

The cab ride was short. Snow had started falling again by the time you reached the little takeout place you had spotted earlier. The window glowed warmly against the cold street, the smell of food drifting out every time the door opened.

Natasha let you pick as she waited with her bag by the cab, taking the time to answer birthday wishes she received during the day.

You walked out ten minutes later with a paper bag full of containers and two steaming cups pressed between your hands.

"Careful," you warned as Natasha took them. "That one’s burning."

She took a sip immediately, shrugging.

The second cab dropped you outside the hotel a few minutes later.

By the time the door of Natasha’s hotel room clicked shut behind you, the world outside might as well have disappeared. Warmth wrapped around you instantly.

Exactly what you had promised and wished for. Exactly what she needed.

Natasha let out a long breath, shoulders finally dropping as the last of the tension left her body.

You set the bag of food down on the small table while she shrugged off her hoodie and tossed it over a chair. Then she turned back toward you and paused as her eyes slowly drifted over your figure again.

The winter coat you were taking off. The cute beanie. The red jersey peeking through when you unzipped your coat.

Natasha tilted her head slightly.

"So..." She said slowly.

You glanced up, eyebrows raised as she seemingly decided to stop speaking.

"What?"

Her eyes narrowed with playful suspicion as she gestured towards you.

"You planning on wearing that all night?"

You looked down at the jersey like you had forgotten about it.

"Oh... Maybe." A small smile tugged at your mouth.

Natasha slowly stepped closer, predatory in the most affectionate way. Her fingers reached out and caught the edge of the fabric near your hip, tugging it lightly - just enough to pull you into her space.

"I have to admit something." She whispered, tone impossibly softer.

You raised a curious eyebrow, letting her guide you closer.

"What’s that?"

Her gaze met yours, a smirk tugging at her mouth - familiar, warm, completely hers.

"I never thought I’d like seeing my name on someone this much," she repeated her words from earlier, but there was something else in her eyes now, something that made your cheek warm up. Natasha’s thumb brushed over the letters stretched across the fabric again, her voice dropping. "But honestly?" She leaned in, close enough that you could feel the warmth of her breath. "That name suits you."

Your heart skipped.

"Romano-"

Natasha kissed you before you could finish. Quick and soft - just enough to steal the word from your mouth.

Her forehead rested against yours when she pulled back, her nose brushing yours in a slow, playful motion.

"Wanna know something?" She murmured, her voice quieter now, almost thoughtful.

"Hm?"

"If you’re planning on wearing my jersey all night..." Her thumbs traced lazy circles at your waist. "...I might have to make it permanent someday."

You blinked, breath catching in your throat.

Natasha’s smirk returned.

"I mean, if I’m lucky." She added lightly, enjoying the way she seemed to have found a topic important enough to make your brain reeling.

"...Romanoff." Your brain caught up a second later, seemingly unable to say something else than her name now, apparently.

"Yeah?"

"You cannot say something like that so casually."

She grinned.

"Why not?"

"Because," you said, trying and failing to sound stern and composed. "That sounds suspiciously like you’re talking about putting a ring on my finger."

Natasha hummed thoughtfully. Her arms slid around your lower back, pulling you closer, until there was no space left between you.

"Well," she chuckled, her nose brushing yours. "Yeah."

Your breath caught again, warmth spreading through your whole body.

Natasha’s smile softened - less cocky now, more certain and careful.

"Don’t worry, I’m not asking you right now. But someday I will." She added quietly.

"Someday." You nodded, enjoying the smile that spread over her face at your confirmation.

Your hands came up to cup her cheeks, pulling her into a kiss. Because, really, there was nothing else to say, nothing else that made sense - so, what else could you do when the love of your life was informing you she was going to marry you someday? 

⧗

19th May

Home

The leftovers were cold by the time you finally gave up.

You had even set her place at the table out of habit, a napkin folded neatly, her favorite glass already filled with water because she forgot more time than not.

But it still sat there untouched.

Even if practice had ended an hour ago.

You sighed as you checked your phone again. No new messages. No missed calls. No anything.

Your thumb hovered over her contact, hesitating. Then pulled back when you remembered the last few texts you had sent still sat unanswered.

You lowered your hand slowly.

You stood, moving on autopilot, and carried her plate to the fridge - the soft clink of ceramic sounding louder than it should in the quiet apartment. The clock on the microwave blinked 9:47.

You leaned against the counter, arms crossed, jaw tight.

You were not angry. Or at least, not yet. You were worried, though. And the longer the silence stretched, the worse it got.

Every minute that passed twisted the thought deeper into your chest. Because what if something happened? Hockey was not safe. You knew that. You had seen the injuries. The worst-case scenarios lived permanently in the back of your mind, unwanted but persistent.

You imagined her on the ice, breath knocked out of her, phone forgotten in the locker room. Or worse.

You swallowed hard.

By the time you heard the door finally unlocked, relief had already curdled into something sharper. Something that burned right behind your ribcages

Natasha stepped inside, cheeks flushed from the cold, hair damp, bag slung carelessly over one shoulder like nothing was wrong.

"Hey, babe." She called easily, already halfway into the apartment.

You stared at her.

"Hi..." You echoed, your voice flatter than you intended.

She kicked off her boots, dropped her bag by the door without a second glance. Did not notice the untouched table yet. Did not notice the way your hands were clenched yet.

"Practice ran long with the hazing thing," she added, already heading toward the kitchen. "We grabbed food after."

Something in you snapped, not loudly, not dramatically either - thank God, but enough to finally spill over.

"You didn’t text."

Natasha paused, eyebrows raised as she turned to face you. 

"I... told you it might run late?"

"No, you said maybe," you replied. "And then you didn’t text. At all."

She opened her mouth, then closed it. The edge in your voice caught her off guard. She exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Well, I'm here now, aren't I?"

"That’s not the point."

"Then what is?" She shot back, the words coming out colder than she intended, defensive.

Because she was tired.

Because she was still riding on a high from the afternoon, the adrenaline not fully worn off yet.

Because the last thing she expected after a long day was this.

Because you were the last person she expected to fight with and yet, here you were.

She straightened slowly, tension creeping into her shoulders. 

You let out a short, disbelieving scoff, gesturing vaguely toward the fridge.

"I made dinner, Nat. I waited. I didn’t know if you were hurt or stuck or I don’t know-"

"I was fine," she cut in quickly, frowning. "I am fine, as you can see. Nothing happened."

"Well, I didn’t know that," you replied. "I was sitting here wondering if I was about to get a call from the hospital."

Natasha huffed out a quiet breath, irritation flickering.

"I think you’re overreacting a little, printsessa." 

The word landed wrong, too light and too dismissive.

"I’m not," you said, quieter now. "I was worried, Natasha."

She exhaled loudly, biting the inside of her cheek.

"I can take care of myself," she murmured teasingly, trying a different approach as she moved closer until she was leaning against the counter. Her hand came up, brushing your cheek as she leaned in to press a quick kiss to the tip of your nose. "Okay? Just relax."

You did not melt into it, did not lean in like you usually did.

"That doesn’t mean I don’t worry... Especially when I don’t hear anything."

She sighed, stepping back slightly, giving you a look.

"Come on, you can’t expect me to check in constantly."

"I’m not asking for constantly. I’m asking for once. A text. A 'hey, I’m late but I’m okay. You can eat without me'."

Her jaw tightened at the tone in your voice, her eyes narrowing.

"I don’t need to report my movements," she snapped. "I’m not doing anything wrong."

"I never said you were!"

"But you’re acting like it!" She shot back. "Like if I don’t follow some schedule you made in your head, I’m failing you."

The words stung, your lips parting in both surprise and protest.

"That’s not fair," you said, voice tightening. "I just wanted to know you were safe."

Silence stretched between you, thick and uncomfortable.

Natasha’s gaze flicked around the kitchen then - the table, the fridge, the effort you had put in that had gone unnoticed until then. Her shoulders tensed.

"Well," she said, quieter now, but no less defensive. "I didn’t ask you to wait."

You stared at her, lips parting in mid disbelief this time before your frustration came back stronger. 

"I wanted to. I usually do."

The annoyance in your voice made her throat burn. She crossed her arms, retreating behind something sharper.

"Well, that’s on you," she replied, her own frustration bleeding through. "I didn’t tell you to plan your night around me."

The hurt was immediate this time.

"I wasn’t planning," you said. "It’s just... I was caring about you."

Natasha felt that guilt  lodged in her throat, it felt like choking. But it tangled with everything else. Because she was so goddamn tired and frustrated and hurt - and it all blurred together. And the old defense mechanisms she had thought were left behind suddenly came crawling back. The words were out before she could stop herself.

She let out a short, humorless laugh.

"Well, you know what? Sometimes it feels like no matter what I do, it’s not enough. Like I come home and there’s expectations waiting for me there too."

"I don’t think I’m asking for much." You whispered.

The words landed, and for some reason, that made her angry. Being angry was easier, because it made the hurt go away.

She scoffed, shaking her head.

"Doesn’t change the fact that it still feels like I’m... trapped, or something."

The word hung there, ugly and sudden. And the second it landed, Natasha knew.

She could see your expression shift, but she ignored it, her chest tightening.

Your breath caught.

"Trapped?" You repeated, eyebrows raising in disbelief.

Natasha seemed to realize too late what she had said was the wrong thing. She looked away, lips pursed as she hesitated.  

And that silence said everything.

"You feel trapped by me..." You finished quietly, voice steady in a way that surprised even you.

"Come on, printsessa, that’s not what I meant."

"But it is what you said."

Trapped.

Your throat tightened, so did her chest.

She opened her mouth, closed it again. 

"Look-" Natasha started, but the words would not line up. Her frustration had turned into something close to panic.

"Well, you know what? If it’s really how you feel, then maybe you shouldn’t be here." You said before you could stop yourself.

The second the words left your mouth, you wanted to swallow them back.

Natasha went very still in front of you. Her eyes flicked up to yours, something wounded flashing through them before it disappeared behind something colder.

She nodded once, shoulders sagging.

"Yeah," she said quietly. "Maybe I shouldn’t."

She grabbed her jacket off the back of the chair. Your heart dropped to your stomach.

"Nat-"

"I can’t do this right now." She said, already reaching for the door.

And just like that, she was gone.

The silence she left behind was unbearable.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the door like it might open again if you looked hard enough.

It did not.

Your knees went weak.

You sank onto the couch, breath coming shallow, hands curling into the fabric of the cushions like you could anchor yourself there.

She left. The thought was immediate. Vicious. You told yourself it was not rational. Told yourself this was not like nine years ago. This was not a breakup. This was just a fight. A stupid, stupid fight.

But fear did not care about logic.

Your chest tightened, pressure building until it felt hard to breathe.

What if this is how it happens again?

You checked your phone.

No message.

Ten minutes passed.

Fifteen.

The house felt too big. Too quiet.

You paced. Sat. Stood again.

Your brain spiraled, replaying every word you had said, every look on her face. The exact moment her expression shifted.

Hot tears blurred your vision. You pressed your palms into your eyes, willing them to stop.

"This is stupid," you whispered to the empty room. "She just needs some space."

But another voice - older, crueler - whispered back : So did she, last time.

You curled into yourself, arms wrapped tight, heart pounding painfully against your ribs.

You did not know how long passed.

Twenty minutes? Thirty? Maybe more.

The sound of keys in the lock made you jolt upright.

Your held your breath as the door opened and Natasha stepped inside.

Your chest collapsed in on itself with relief so sharp it hurt.

She froze when she saw you - curled up, eyes red, face wet.

"Hey," she said immediately, dropping her keys. "Hey, no, no, come here."

You were on your feet before you realized you had moved.

"I thought you left." Your words tumbled out, broken and raw.

Natasha’s face drained of color.

"What?" She crossed the room in seconds, the paper bag in her hand forgotten as it dropped to the floor. "No-hey, no, I just needed air. I needed to breathe."

You shook your head, tears spilling over again.

"I thought you left, Nat."

She cupped your face instantly, forehead pressing to yours, her thumbs brushing under your eyes.

"Shh," she murmured, frowning. "It’s okay. I’m here."

"But I thought you left me." Your voice cracked.

"Oh, baby," she said, pulling you into her chest, arms wrapping tightly around your shoulders. "I’m not doing that again. Ever. Okay?"

You clung to her like she might disappear if you did not, nodding absently against her shoulder.

Her chin rested against your hair, one hand pressing firmly between your shoulder blades.

"I should’ve said that," she lamented quietly on top of your head. "I should’ve said I needed air, not just walked out like that. I’m sorry."

"I shouldn’t have said what I said." You shook your head against her collarbone, lips curled downwards.

Natasha pulled back just enough to look at you.

"Yeah," she admitted softly, giving you a sad smile. "That hurt. A little."

You nodded, swallowing.

"I know, sorry."

She exhaled slowly, then leaned her forehead against yours again.

"I didn’t even leave," Natasha murmured into your shared breath, like she needed you to hear it. "I drove around a couple of blocks. Picked these up."

She glanced down at the dropped bag.

You followed her gaze. A small box from the bakery down the street, the one you preferred because they had the best croissants you ever ate - beside the ones you had in France at some tournament years ago, probably.

Your chest tightened again, this time with something warmer.

"Oh, you remembered?" You whispered.

The corner of her lips lifted softly, softer than anything she had worn all night, her thumb tracing your cheekbone.

"Of course I remember, printsessa. I also remembered I was being an idiot."

You let out a shaky laugh through your tears, pressing your face into her neck, your next words muffled by her skin.

"I don’t even remember what we were fighting about."

"Me neither." Natasha smiled faintly before shifting to press a lingering kiss to your forehead.

"I love you," she said against your skin. "I get scared. I say dumb things. But I’m not walking away from you, you need to know that. I’m not giving up on this, ever."

You nodded, shifting closer to hold onto her tighter.

"I know, I just needed you back."

"I know," she whispered. "I’m here. I’m staying. I’ll try to text you more, I promise."

The place felt smaller again.

Warmer.

Safer.

And this time, when silence settled around you, it did not feel like standing on thin ice. It felt like standing on solid ground, together.

⧗

25th August

Home

Liho adored Natasha.

She tolerated you.

The distinction, you had learned very quickly, was not subtle. And more importantly, it was not negotiable.

Natasha had found her half-frozen under a dumpster behind the old academy rink during her last year there. The black cat had been all bones and fury, a bundle of sharp angles and sharper little teeth - hissing at the world like it had done her wrong since the moment she opened her eyes. 

Natasha had told the story like it was nothing - like it mattered way less than it clearly did - but you could picture it too clearly. Her shrugging off her own jacket despite the cold without a second thought, wrapping it around something so small, trembling and half reluctant because it was the right thing to do. The quiet string of curses under her breath on the way to the vet. The patience it must have taken not to drop her when Liho bit down in protest.

Natasha had not let go.

Apparently, Liho had not either. Because that kind of loyalty did not fade.

So when you moved in, Liho watched. Mostly from high places at first.

The top of the bookshelf, the back of the couch, the kitchen counter her owner had forbidden her to stand on when she thought she was not looking. 

And, very frequently, Natasha’s shoulder.

If you were honest, it was mostly Natasha’s shoulder.

Naturally, you tried not to take it personally. 

The first time you and Natasha curled up together on the couch after a long day, your muscles aching and begging to melt into the warmth that was your girlfriend, Liho appeared like a shadow peeling itself off the wall.

She did not jump between you like you half expected her to. No, she launched directly onto Natasha. Right onto her chest, in fact, her front paws planted like flags, like she was claiming territory. Her tail flicked once, brushing your cheek before settling.

Natasha let out a soft laugh, instinctively lifting a hand to scratch under Liho’s chin.

"There you are, huh?"

Liho’s purr started immediately - deep, rumbling, vibrating through Natasha’s ribcage. She tilted her face into Natasha’s palm like she had been waiting for that exact touch all day.

You raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, okay. I see how it is."

Liho opened one eye and looked straight at you. And then, before you could utter another word, she deliberately turned her back.

Natasha snorted.

"She’s very clear about her priorities."

"Apparently."

You reached out anyway, because you were not above trying.

Liho allowed exactly two fingers’ worth of affection before flicking her tail and shifting her entire body closer to Natasha, pressing into her like gravity worked differently between the two of them.

Well... Message received, at least.

From that point on, Liho treated your affection like a mere formality. She would allow exactly two scratches (not three, two) while Natasha prepared her food and exactly one pet when she was settling near you.

Bedtime, however, was where things escalated. 

You would usually slip under the covers first, curling instinctively toward Natasha’s side of the bed, your body already anticipating her warmth. Your arm would rest there, waiting.

Your girlfriend always came a few minutes later - soft footsteps, the gentle dip of the mattress, the familiar slide of her toned arm around your waist that made something in your chest loosen every single time.

And then Liho, a blur of fur and goddamn audacity would leap onto the bed, circle once like she was performing a ritual, and then plop herself squarely onto Natasha’s sternum.

Every. Single. Night.

"I think she’s doing this on purpose." You muttered one evening, staring at the cat-shaped obstacle between you and your girlfriend.

Natasha hummed, not even looking surprised. She scratched behind Liho’s ear, completely unbothered.

"Good job Sherlock, she definitely is."

Liho purred louder as if in agreement, face tilting into Natasha’s hand.

"She’s literally blocking access." You added, narrowing your eyes.

Liho lifted her head, met your gaze as if she understood perfectly, and slowly shifted position to extend one paw until it rested against your shoulder.

Natasha laughed so hard she had to turn her face into your neck, her shoulders shaking against you.

"I’m sorry," she wheezed as you slapped her side. "I warned you about her intensity."

You sighed dramatically, shaking your head at the ridiculous situation you found yourself in.

"I’m sleeping with a married woman."

Liho, entirely unbothered, began kneading Natasha’s chest like she was settling into her rightful throne. Your girlfriend smiled at you, pressing a gentle kiss on your pouty lips.

Traitor.

Later, when the movie credits rolled and the room fell into that soft, sleepy quiet, you shifted closer. Your eyes were heavy, your body loose, and Natasha was right there - warm, familiar, yours or so you thought.

You leaned in, aiming for her jaw.

But you did not make it. Liho let out a low, deeply offended chirp and immediately wedged her head under Natasha’s chin, physically inserting herself between you with impressive efficiency.

Natasha blinked, startled, looking down at the cat now firmly in place.

"...Did she just... kind of cockblock you?”

"Yes." You muttered flatly, narrowing your eyes on the purring animal. "You raised a monster."

Natasha pressed a fond kiss to the top of Liho’s head.

"I raised a princess."

You rolled your eyes, but you could not stop the smile tugging at your lips.

Because honestly... Liho had been there long before you were back. Back when Natasha had less softness in her hands, less lightness in her laugh. Back when everything in her life had been sharper, colder, harder to hold onto. Natasha had found her then or maybe the truth was that Liho had found her. And as much as you grumbled about her territorial paws, you were grateful that in all the years you had not been there, Natasha had not been alone.

And, you could not really lie, watching your girlfriend like this - soft, warm, laughing into your skin with a cat draped across her like she had always belonged there did something to you.

Even if you had to fight a tiny, furry tyrant for her attention sometimes.

⧗

7th December

Two years in, Natasha Romanoff did not scare easily.

Come to think about it, she usually was the one doing the scaring in her life. People misread her silence, her sharpness, the way she usually liked to watch and analyse a situation before speaking.

But today, a small velvet box tucked inside her jacket pocket was undoing her.

It was pressed against her side like a secret that burned. Like it was alive, having a heartbeat of its own she feared would be loud enough to make you suspicious. Every time she moved, she felt it - the weight of it, the meaning of it - and her stomach twisted all over again.

She had been carrying it around all day.

Checking it. Not checking it. Thinking about checking it. Trying very hard not to think about it.

You noticed, of course.

You noticed everything about her - how she checked the time too often, how she was unusually quiet during breakfast.

"Are you... nervous?" You asked casually, sipping your drink, though your eyes had already narrowed in suspicion.

Natasha blinked, taken aback by your words before she managed to compose herself.

"No."

"Liar." You hummed into your glass.

She rolled her eyes, giving you a deadpan look. 

"About what?"

"You tell me." You shrugged, far too innocent for her liking.

She did not tell you. Because if she did, she was pretty sure her voice would crack, and Natasha Romanoff absolutely refused to propose with a cracked voice, thank you very much. She wanted steady hands, control, romanticism - something worthy of you.

And she had planned this carefully.

Tonight was supposed to be simple. No press. No spectacle. No grand, insanely performative gesture that would make either of you feel like you were doing something for someone else instead of choosing it - turning something sacred into something observed.

It was going to be just the two of you. 

The lake outside the city, frozen over just enough to mirror the sky like glass. You had told her you had skated there once, years ago, before everything fell apart. Before everything found its way back together.

Natasha wanted to reclaim it all.

To rewrite it. To give you something good and deserved in a place you loved.

By the time evening settled in, her nerves were shot.

You both bundled up against the cold, scarves pulled high, breath clouding in the air as you walked side by side toward the lake, your gloved hands intertwined. Thin layer of snow crunched under your boots.

You talked about nothing important. Work, Liho knocking over a plant earlier again, Yelena sending another unhinged group text while she was apparently out with Kate.

Natasha barely heard a word of any of it. Her heart was beating too loud, too fast, like it was trying to escape her chest and propose instead of her because it was judging her for being too slow. She was almost certain you could hear it if you stood close enough despite the layers of clothes.

And you were standing close enough.

The lake was quiet when you finally reached it, the surface dusted with fresh snow, catching the last light of the day. The sky above melted into soft oranges, deep blues, and faint purples, reflected back in shimmering patches.

You stopped near the edge, hands tucked into your coat pockets.

"God... this place still feels unreal every single time." You murmured, your voice softer now, like the space demanded it.

Natasha swallowed.

"Yeah..."

She turned toward you, breath hitching just slightly.

"Hey," she said, clearing her throat. "Can I... can I show you something?"

You looked at her, curious.

"Something other than the lake?"

"Obviously," she huffed a quiet laugh, reaching for your gloved hand that you had let go of to look around. "Come here, I really wanna show you this thing."

Her fingers curled around yours and she held on just a second longer than necessary, grounding herself. She guided you toward a small cluster of trees, a single lamp casting a warm, golden glow over the snow. A fallen trunk rested nearby, half-covered in white.

"Sit?" Natasha offered.

You did, eyebrows lifting in curiosity as you let go of her hand.

"So, what is it?"

Her hands were steady when she reached into her jacket - which felt like a miracle. She dropped to one knee in front of you before her brain could catch up and sabotage her.

"Oh, God, Natasha." Your breath caught sharply. "You’re not-"

She opened the box, and just like that you had no breath left to take.

The ring inside was simple, something chosen with care, not flash, something you could wear every day - just... right. The silver color glinted in the light.

"I know I don’t always do things the right way," Natasha said quietly, her eyes locked on yours like she could not afford to look away. "And I know I hurt you before. I know I’m... complicated." 

Your eyes were already shining, one hand pressed hard against your chest as you shook your head repeatedly.

"But loving you has always been the easiest thing in my life." She continued, her voice soft but steady now, something unshakable settling into it.

"You are my home," Natasha said, more firmly now. "You’re the person I choose when things are hard just as when they’re easy. And when everything’s too quiet and when it’s too loud... And when I’m terrified," her throat tightened, but she did not stop, she could stop there.

"I don’t ever want to imagine a future where I don’t get to wake up next to you," she swallowed, throat tight. "I’m not going anywhere. Not as long as you want me there. I know I’m a hurricane but I really, really want this, us."

Natasha let out a breath that felt like it had been sitting in her lungs all day.

"So-" She breathed out a small, nervous laugh, tilting her head towards the ring. "Would you perhaps like to become my wife and marry me?"

For a second, your brain refused to catch up with what your eyes were seeing. It felt unreal - like one of those moments you replay later because surely you must have imagined it wrong. Natasha, on one knee, looking at you like that, steady and a little breathless and serious in a way that made your chest tighten. 

And then it clicked. Not all at once, but in pieces. The nerves you had noticed all day. The way she held your hand just a little tighter. The carefulness in her voice. This was not just something, this was everything. Your heart stuttered, then raced, your breath catching somewhere between disbelief and something dangerously close to overwhelming joy, and all you could think - loud and bright and undeniable - was oh.

And all you could do was laugh. Soft at first, then trembling and a little hysterical.

Natasha blinked, thrown. Because she had imagined this too many times to count and none of her scenarios looked like this.

"Okay..." She said slowly, willing her body to stay calm. "Is that a good laugh or a bad laugh?"

You did not answer. Instead, you reached into your own coat pocket.

And suddenly, Natasha’s heart dropped straight to her feet, her lips parting in disbelief as you pulled out a small velvet box - very much the same size as the one in her very hand.

Her eyes widened.

"No fucking way, you’re joking."

You opened it, and inside was another ring, different, but just as perfect. Chosen for her.

You dropped to your knees too, mirroring her without even thinking about it, snow soaking into your jeans.

Natasha stared at you like the world had just rewritten itself in real time.

"Oh my fucking God." She croaked out.

You smiled through wet eyes, shaking your head.

"Such a lesbian cliché we are right now."

Natasha let out a broken laugh, her free hand flying to her face for a second before she dropped it again, stunned and emotional and utterly undone.

"So you were going to propose too?"

You nodded.

"Tonight, in the garden, once we got back."

Natasha shook her head, half-laughing, half-breathless.

"I spent months planning this."

"So did I." You shot back, playfully glaring at her.

She stared at you, speechless for a moment.

"I think you stole my moment."

"You stole mine."

And then you were laughing - real laughter, warm and shaking and full of disbelief as it spilled out into the cold air.

Natasha reached out, cupping your face.

"I love you so much." She said, fierce and certain before pressing a small kiss on your cold lips.

"I love you too, obviously." You replied, smiling through it.

Natasha huffed a soft laugh, pressing another kiss on your mouth.

"Say yes?" She murmured against your lips.

You smiled, not hesitating.

"Yes. Of course, yes."

She slipped the ring onto your finger and you did the same for her.

The rings fit perfectly. Of course they did. You leaned forward, foreheads touching, breath mingling in the cold air.

"Holy shit, we’re engaged." Natasha whispered, like she needed to say it out loud to believe it.

You nodded, laughing softly.

"We are!"

She kissed you then - slow, deep and certain. Full of everything you had survived. Everything you had lost. Everything you were choosing, again and again.

"I guess we’re really doing this, huh?" She murmured, smiling at you. "Stuck with me forever."

⧗

Two years later - 23th December

Your office

The place smelled faintly of antiseptic and peppermint tea - a combination oddly comforting after so many long days spent there.

It was that quiet stretch between appointments, the kind that only really existed right before the holidays. Injuries slowed, schedules loosened, and even the most overworked athletes had one foot mentally out the door. The usual hum of urgency had softened into something gentler.

Outside, snow drifted lazily past the windows, settling over the city in slow, quiet layers that made everything feel distant and still from where you were.

You were finishing your notes, pen scratching softly against paper, when your phone buzzed against the desk.

Nat : We’re here.

Your heart lifted instantly. Warmth bloomed somewhere behind your ribs before you could even stop it, your focus dissolving completely. You did not even try to fight it, you never succeeded.

You closed the file, already reaching for your coat draped over the back of your chair, your movements quicker now, impatient. And right on time, the door to the sports medicine wing opened.

Natasha walked in like she owned the place.

Winter jacket zipped to her chin, beanie pulled low over her hair, cheeks flushed. And in her arms, the most precious and irreplaceable thing in the whole universe.

Aiden Romanoff.

He was bundled in a tiny puffer jacket, a knitted hat with absurd little ears slipping slightly to one side, his cheeks pink from the winter air. His wide eyes blinked up at the bright lights of the clinic with solemn curiosity, one small fist clenched tightly in the collar of Natasha’s jacket like it was an anchor.

You melted completely at the sight.

"Oh, there he is." You murmured, already crossing the room, your voice instinctively softer.

Natasha’s mouth curved into something warm and proud, something that was only ever yours, as she handed him to you without hesitation, like this exchange had become second nature.

"Here we are, yes." She teased, leaning in just enough to brush a kiss against the corner of your lips.

Aiden recognized you instantly.

His entire face lit up as he let out a sound - not quite a laugh, not quite a squeal - that bubbled out of him as he reached for you, tiny fingers grabbing at your chin, coat, anything he could get.

"Oh, you missed me?" You whispered, smiling as Natasha pulled off his hat, revealing soft, slightly tousled hair. You pressed a kiss into it without thinking. "Yeah? You did?"

He responded by enthusiastically headbutting your shoulder before settling there, as if he had made a decision.

This was his usual spot.

Natasha chuckled, watching the two of you with quiet amusement.

"He’s been waiting all day if you ask me. Absolutely intolerable about it."

You huffed a soft laugh, adjusting him on your hip, your hand automatically coming up to support his back.

Before you could answer, someone cleared their throat behind you.

"Oh my God!"

You turned.

Three of your colleagues stood frozen near the nurses’ station, eyes locked on your son like they had just spotted a celebrity.

Dr. Cho was the first to recover.

"Is that-" She gasped softly, her entire face softening visibly. "-the baby?"

You smiled, something helpless and fond tugging at your features as you shifted him slightly.

"This is Aiden."

Your son chose that moment to grin, full gums, crooked joy. Absolute devastating baby charm.

The reaction was immediate.

"Oh, no," Doctor Banner whispered, an amused expression on his face. "That’s not fair."

"He’s-" Nurse Foster choked, hand over her mouth. "-that’s the cutest baby I’ve ever seen."

Natasha shifted beside you, shoulders squaring just a little.

"Yes, we’re aware." She replied, smiling fondly as her hand came to rest on your lower back.

Aiden blinked at the new voices, taking them in with exaggerated seriousness before lifting one mittened hand in what could generously be interpreted as a wave.

The room dissolved.

Someone actually squealed.

"Oh my God, look at his little hands!" Helen yelped, pursing her lips as she clutched her chest. "He has her eyes."

"And her nose." Jane pointed out.

"He also has my jawline." Natasha cut in, raising an eyebrow. 

You snorted, shooting her a look.

"He’s seven months old, babe."

"Still counts."

Dr. Cho stepped closer cautiously, like she was approaching a wild animal.

"May I?" She asked, gesturing vaguely.

Aiden regarded her before leaning further into your chest, unimpressed.

Natasha smirked, shaking her head. 

"Sorry, he’s pretty selective."

"He’s shy." You  corrected softly, bouncing him once as he began to fuss, his tiny fingers immediately latching onto your necklace with intense fascination.

"Okay, this is officially the best thing that’s ever happened in this office," Jane declared. "I’m canceling my last appointment to recover."

"You just wanna get to your date earlier," Cho replied, leveling her with a look. "Not that I don”t understand..." She added in a murmur, mostly talking to herself.

Aiden chose that exact moment to yawn, wide and dramatic - exactly like his mama if someone asked you -his whole face scrunching before he melted back into you, fingers curling into your sweater as he rested his head against your shoulder.

The collective awww was deafening, making your lips stretch into a bigger smile.

Natasha watched you with him, her expression softening completely.

Her gaze lingered on the slow, absentminded way your hand moved along Aiden’s back - steady, grounding, like you had done it a thousand times before. The way your voice softened instinctively. The way Aiden melted into you so easily, like he had always known you, like there had never been a version of the world where you were not his.

And it still caught her off guard. A kind of disbelief that had not quite faded, even after months of early mornings and sleepless nights and small, ordinary miracles. Like she kept expecting to wake up and find it all gone - and every time she did not, it felt like being handed something precious all over again.

You. Aiden. This life. All hers.

This impossibly gentle, steady, perfect thing she had somehow been allowed to keep.

Like this - this dream-looking, heart-achingly soft scene in front of her had always been meant to happen.

"We should go," she said quietly after a moment, her hand brushing against your lower back. "If we want to make it to my parents’ before the roads get worse."

You nodded, almost reluctant to move when your son seemed so content.

You reached for your bag only for Natasha to steal it from you with a look that clearly said absolutely not, and waved goodbye to your coworkers, ignoring their exaggerated pouting and dramatic sighs.

As you stepped into the hallway, Natasha reached over and brushed her knuckles against Aiden’s cheek to catch his attention.

"Ready for your first real winter holiday, buddy?"

Aiden blinked sleepily.

You smiled at them both.

"Grandma Melina already bought him three sweaters, she sent me the pictures this morning." You warned.

"He’s going to look like a loaf of bread." Natasha groaned. 

"An adorable loaf." 

You adjusted Aiden once more, pressing a soft kiss to his temple, breathing him in - warm milk, baby soap, something indescribably Natasha and you, and him.

Then you leaned into your wife’s side, fitting there easily, naturally.

Like you always had.

Like you always would.

⧗

16th July

The sun hung low over the practice field, golden and heavy, stretching long shadows across the neatly trimmed grass. The air still carried the warmth of the day, clinging to sweaty skin, to hot breath, to tired movement.

Natasha Romanoff stood at the edge of the field, clipboard tucked under one arm, whistle between her fingers. 

"Faster! Push it!" She barked, her voice sharp, cutting clean through the rhythm of pounding feet and labored breaths. "Eyes up, Kamala!"

Her players groaned, laughter threaded through the exhaustion as they pushed through drills - sprints, lateral shuffles, quick pivots that left their legs burning. Off-season conditioning did not come with the roar of a crowd or the rush of a goal, but it mattered just as much.

And they knew it. They trusted her.

She had once been their idol, the one they watched through screens, the one they tried to imitate.

Now, she was here. Their mentor, their coach - the iron grip softened only slightly by the satisfied smirk lingering at the corner of her lips.

Natasha crouched low, hands braced on her knees, eyes tracking when a tiny, determined voice pierced the rhythm of the drills.

"Mama!"

Natasha froze mid-correction, eyes narrowing toward the far edge of the field. Her heart did a quick, unplanned lurch.

You had been holding him just a moment ago, trying to keep him entertained while Natasha worked. But apparently, patience had run out and the arrangement had been deemed unacceptable. Now, he was moving with his arms outstretched across the grass with all the speed his little legs could muster, his balance questionable but enthusiasm unmatched. His grin - wide and bright, showing exactly two teeth - split his face as he made his way across the grass like a mission.

"Uh-oh..." You muttered, chasing after him before giving up once you realized he would not hurt  himself. "Nat, watch out, he’s coming!"

Natasha’s whistle hovered uselessly in her hand.

"Aiden!" She started, but it was too late. The little tornado collided with her legs in a burst of laughter, wrapping his tiny arms around her knees like he had just reached the safest place in the world.

"Okay, okay-" Natasha laughed, steadying herself and crouching low to scoop him up. Her players skidded to a stop, a mix of giggles and teasing erupting across the field. "What happened, huh? Why did you leave mommy alone?"

"Well, coach!" One of the players called out. "We get it, can’t be distracted but you’ve been beaten by a toddler!"

Natasha shot them a look, lifting Aiden onto her hip with practiced ease.

"Clearly, he’s faster than a pro. Might be more agile than half of you," she shot back, smirk tugging at her lips. "And don’t test him. He’s got my competitive streak too."

Aiden laughed, delighted by her tone more than her words, his small hand patting her shoulder like he was encouraging her. Natasha’s heart softened in a way only he could provoke. Even now, even after all this time, it still caught her off guard how something so small could hold her so completely.

From the sidelines, you reached them, a faint frown on your face that did not quite hide your smile.

"You’re not gonna let him ruin your training, are you?"

Natasha raised an eyebrow. 

"Not ruin, enhance. He’s a natural motivator. Right, champ?"

Aiden squealed happily, reaching for Natasha’s face.

"You’re impossible," you said, shaking your head, shifting to brush his soft hair back into place. "He’s going to turn into a full-fledged Romanoff before we know it."

Natasha glanced at you, her smirk softening into something warmer directed at you only. 

"Yeah... well, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree."

Aiden clapped his hands, delighted by something only he understood, and Natasha leaned in to tickle his ribs, earning bright, bubbling laughter that seemed to echo across the field.

Around you, the players tried - and failed - to hide grins, still panting from the interrupted drill.

Natasha hugged him a little tighter, looking down at the toddler who had somehow stolen the spotlight from a rigorous off-season workout. Then she looked back at you, eyes soft, full of unspoken gratitude at the way you were already reaching for him again. At the familiarity of it, the ease. At the life the three of you had built.

"You alright?" You asked, brushing a damp strand of hair from her forehead this time.

Natasha nodded, letting a rare, easy smile curve her lips as she leaned into the gesture. 

"Yeah. I’m more than alright."

Aiden wriggled between the two of you, demanding attention as he started to babble.

Natasha’s eyes narrowed on her players as they gathered around.

"Coach, we’re taking notes, we need your super toddler here if we want you to go easy on us."

"Keep dreaming." Natasha laughed, her usual intensity softened by the warmth of family around her. She ruffled Aiden’s hair as he grinned up at her. You chuckled, smiling teasingly.

Natasha smiled back to the two of you, and exhaled softly. Because, long story short, after everything... she was right where she was supposed to be.

THE END

Just a little.

Just enough to test the ground.

Just enough to feel you smiling on the other side of the screen. 

There had been restraint, too. A carefulness in a quiet agreement not to rush.

But then the day came. Or rather, the evening, and Natasha found herself sending Laura a bunch of pictures asking for the best outfit to wear like a sixteen-year-old on her first date.

And now there she was, standing outside the restaurant she picked, shoulder pressed against the brick wall, free hand tugging at the cuff of her button-up for what had to be the third time in under four minutes. The cold air nipped at her ears, at the tip of her nose. She checked her reflection in the darkened window of a car again - jaw tense, posture too rigid - then exhaled and forced herself to loosen up as she readjusted the collar of her jacket.

For Christ’s sake... she had faced gold-medal games, sudden-death overtimes, full-speed collisions with women twice her size who were actively trying to drive her into the boards. Yet none of that, none of it, compared to the sheer terror of standing outside a quiet little restaurant at seven in the evening, waiting for you.

Her phone buzzed in her hand again.

Another message from Laura.

Too many emojis - an aggressive amount of hearts, really. A 'you’ve got this' that made Natasha scoff under her breath, thumb hovering as if she might reply before shoving the phone back into her pocket after checking the time.

7:03 p.m.

Late. 

You were not late enough to worry her, but late enough she started spiraling and hearing that old voice in her head: Why would you really come? Why would you choose her again? Why would she deserve you?

She shut her eyes briefly, jaw tightening.

It had been thirty days since the game.

Thirty days since you had said yes under the falling snow.

Twenty-seven days since you told her - voice trembling over video call, eyes soft but resolute - that you had ended things with your Olympics partner. She still remembered the look on your face. Both sad and relieved.

Now she stood outside the restaurant, hands shoved deep into her jacket pockets, as she inhaled the scent of roasted coffee drifting through the cold evening air from inside, laughter filtered through the door when someone stepped out - along with a rush of golden light and heat that vanished just as quickly. She realized her heart was beating so hard it felt like it might climb out of her chest and leave her there.

Natasha was halfway through convincing herself you had been delayed - traffic, a last-minute meeting, anything to keep her sane - when she heard soft footsteps.

She looked up and there you were, crossing the street toward her, wrapped in a soft coat, cheeks probably warm from the chill. 

Natasha exhaled, long and quiet, because she suddenly felt lightheaded. You looked unreal, like you had stepped straight out of one of the countless dreams she had had over the years, except this time, you did not disappear when she was close enough to touch you. Close enough that she could see the faint shine on your lips from your gloss. Close enough to count your lashes as you blinked up at her.

You stopped in front of her, a small, tentative smile playing on your lips after stepping onto the sidewalk.

"Hi."

"Hey..." Her voice came out quieter than she intended. Her mouth curved into something helpless and soft before she could stop it.

For a painfully awkward moment, neither of you moved. Neither of you seemed brave enough.

You did not hug as a greeting. Did not touch either, hands buzzing as they hovered uncertainly at your sides. It was strange, being this close again after everything. Familiar and foreign all at once. Like standing at the edge of a rink you knew by heart but had not skated on in years.

Finally, you motioned toward the door.

"So, should we...?"

Natasha nodded immediately, almost quick enough to give her whiplash.

"Yes, yes. Let’s go inside."

You laughed softly, the sound warm and surprised. Natasha’s face flushed imperceptibly.

"Wow," you teased gently. "We’re so bad at this. Very smooth start."

She groaned under her breath, stepping forward to pull the door open and hold it for you.

"Sorry. As you can see I’m still bad at small talk. Guess I’ve been concussed too many times or something."

Your laughter rang out again, brighter this time. And something inside Natasha’s ribcage loosened at the sound. She could swear she could breathe for the first time in years as her hand settled on the small of your back.

⧗

You picked a small corner table. Half-hidden, slightly removed from the center of the room for privacy, but close enough to the window that Christmas lights from across the street bled softly through the glass, tinting everything gold and red on the table.

Natasha sat across from you, hands folded tightly in her lap, posture too straight, heart absolutely out of control. Her shoulders were squared like she was about to face a referee instead of the woman she had loved for almost half her life. She felt twenty again in the worst, best way - like she might say the wrong thing, like everything mattered too much, like one look from you could ruin or save her. 

"You cleaned up nice." You offered gently, eyes trailing over the elegant top she was wearing. The fitting fabric making it very hard for your eyes not to drift off to her assets - that mostly being the biceps you always had a weak spot for.

"Why, thank you," Natasha smiled warmly, clearing her throat as she caught herself checking you out, perhaps not as discreetly as she wished she was. "You look beautiful as always."

You shook your head, trying to hide the fact that her flirting still had very much of an effect on you.

The waiter returned with practiced cheer, setting your drinks down between you. Steam curled lazily from your cup while ice clinked softly in hers.

One of your knees brushed hers under the table as she reached for her glass. It was accidental, in fact, it was barely there. But Natasha’s body, for some reason, very much reacted like she had been struck. Her hand jerked, her drink tipping dangerously close to the edge. She caught it just in time, fingers unusually clumsy around the rim, pulse slamming hard against her ribs.

She bit down the inside of her cheek, confused about where her usually cool and composed demeanor went.

You pretended not to notice. Instead, you lifted your own drink slowly, smiling into it as your eyes drifted around the room - to the couple by the other window, to the string lights above the counter - anywhere but her. Buying yourself time, like you were steadying something fragile.

Natasha swallowed, eyes narrowing.

"So..." She began, aiming for casualness and landing somewhere between nervous and... tragic? "How’ve you been? I mean, obviously I know how your career’s going. Not that I stalked you or anything. Everyone knows. And Yelena just-she likes to send me links, and your Insta posts and stuff. A lot. Too many, actually."

You raised an eyebrow slowly, Natasha’s mouth closed at the familiar look.

"Nat."

"Okay. Fine. I may have stalked," she slumped back slightly, lifting her hands in surrender as her lips stretched into a smile. "Just the right amount, though."

Your own smile widened, fond and amused. Disarming, if anyone asked her. 

"Well, then," you said softly, folding your hands around your cup. "How have you been?"

The question lingered between the two of you as Natasha hesitated. The old version of her would have probably deflected. Perhaps cracked a joke and shrugged. Or said something about scoring goals and staying busy. Or lied. Instead, she held your gaze and told the truth, plain and simple and entirely pathetic.

"Lonely." The word felt too small for what she meant to say but it was the closest one.

Your expression shifted instantly, something tender flickering across your face. You did not interrupt, did not rush her, so she kept going.

"Hockey’s been..." She exhaled faintly. "Everything I wanted. Everything I worked for. Everything I sacrificed for."

Her fingers traced the condensation on her glass absently.

"And somehow..." She shook her head once, eyes dropping briefly before returning to you. "Still not enough. If that makes sense."

"Natasha..." Your throat bobbed, voice barely above a whisper.

"I know," she rushed in a murmur, clearing her throat as she straightened. "I know I don’t get to complain. Especially not to you. I just-"

She stopped. Looking down at her hands, flexing her fingers as she debated about whether or not to say her next words out loud.

"I missed you."

You inhaled sharply, the sound barely made it past your lips. 

Natasha looked up and met your eyes, her mind made up.

"Every day," she continued softly. "In stupid ways. Like grocery shopping. Movies. Hotels. After games. Before games. I missed you all the fucking time."

You looked down quickly, blinking fast. Your lashes casting small shadows against your cheeks.

Her chest tightened with the weight of it all.

"I missed you too..." You said quietly.

Natasha’s world narrowed to the shape of your mouth forming those words. Her hands stilled on the table, fingertips feeling the condensation of her drink. The restaurant noise faded - the hum of the espresso machine too close to your table for her liking, the chatter and laughter, the clinking of silverware. Gone.

Only your voice remained.

You absently traced the rim of your cup with your thumb, voice quieter now.

"I tried to move on. I really did. And she was good, she was kind," you nodded to yourself, letting out a soft, careful sigh as your eyes lifted to hers. "But it was never the same... It never felt like this." You added, gesturing between you with one hand.

Natasha swallowed hard, chest tightening for plenty of different reasons.

"I’m sorry." She whispered.

You shook your head gently.

"Don’t be," you replied, your voice devoid of any resentment, just full of understanding. "We were young. You were hurting, I was hurting because you were. We didn’t know better."

Natasha looked at you before leaning forward slightly.

"Does... Do you want to maybe try again?" She asked softly, teeth catching her lower lip for a beat. "Not pretend the past didn’t happen or anything like that. Just... start from today, and see where it goes?"

You stared at her for a long, heavy moment. Your eyes flicked to her mouth when she absently licked her lower lip. She felt dizzy from the simple proximity of you, her fingers tingling with the desperate wish to just reach for you already.

Finally, your brow arched faintly.

"Isn’t that what we’re doing here?" 

There was an addicting smile playing at the corner of your mouth that made Natasha lean in further.

A breathless laugh slipped out of her, as she reached across the table for your hand before carefully intertwining your fingers together.

Her thumb brushed across your knuckles in slow strokes, eyes lingering.

"I guess so, yes. I just needed to hear you say it... So, is that your way of saying yes?"

"Yeah," you whispered, your fingers tightening slightly around hers. "We can try. But I meant it, do not screw this up."

Natasha smiled as you squeezed her hand, her lips curving softly.

"I won’t." She replied - not cocky, not teasing, just certain.

The rest of dinner passed in a strange, suspended state.

She found herself watching you more than eating. Watching the way your fingers trembled slightly when they brushed hers again. Watching the way your eyes kept drifting back to her, like you were relearning the shape of her face. Watching the way your shoulders gradually lowered as the night went on.

You were both still cautious. Still fragile.

But you were here, trying.

She felt like she was falling and standing still at the same time.

At some point, the waiter returned to take your order, and neither of you had looked at the menu long enough to know what you wanted. You both chuckled at that - at how distracted you were - and ended up sharing two plates of dishes you knew you both liked. It felt strangely intimate, breaking bread without thinking about it.

Conversation came in cautious waves at first.

Safe topics like training schedules and travel disasters. Teammates who snored way too loud. Clint and Laura’s family expanding.

You spoke about competitions, not the headlines and the medals, but the small things. Like the way your skates somehow felt different on European ice. The unnatural quiet before stepping onto Olympic-level arenas. The new ritual you had of tapping the boards twice before performing.

Natasha found herself telling you about the new fame she had been experiencing, her stubborn and annoying cat, the cities she had traveled to for away games, the takeout containers eaten cross-legged on stiff white sheets, the nights she had fallen asleep with the TV on just to drown out her own thoughts.

You told her about the pressure of being consistent, of knowing that one bad skate could rewrite a whole competition, or worse, a whole season. Of smiling for cameras even when your ankles were throbbing and your chest felt hollow.

There were moments when you both laughed, the kind that made other tables glance over briefly. Natasha nearly choked on her drink when you described the time you fell during a warm-up because someone threw a plushie on the ice - and a part of you felt bad for the parents who were looking around everywhere for their kid’s stuffed dragon. She had seen the memes of your face when it hit you, but she did not say anything about it, perhaps enjoying having you re-act the story just for her way too much.

And then there were the silent parts, but perhaps just as intimate.

The parts where your fingers absentmindedly traced circles against the back of her hand or played with her rings while you spoke. The parts where Natasha caught herself staring, not only because she was overwhelmed, but because she was memorizing; the way you tilted your head when you listened, your brow furrowing when you were passionate about something - determined to remember everything about it to share with her, the tiny scar near your wrist she did not remember.

There were still things unsaid, still apologies that would need more space and time. Still fears that would resurface in darker hours.

But tonight was not about dissecting the wound. It was about proving you both could still sit across from each other. About remembering that beyond the heartbreak and the years and the silence you had liked each other.

You had been friends and more. 

So much more.

Somewhere between your third story about a disastrous flight delay and her animated retelling of a locker room prank, Natasha realized something quiet and staggering: this did not feel like starting over even though it was, in a way. It felt like picking up a conversation you had been forced to pause.

And when your laughter softened into a gentle smile, when your fingers squeezed hers without thinking, when your eyes held hers just a second longer than necessary - the fear that had followed her for seven years loosened its grip.

You were not just here out of nostalgia or pity or whatever else that the mean part of her brain would come up with. You were here because you wanted to be.

By the time the plates were cleared and the check was paid - after a brief argument about who was covering it (Natasha won) - the restaurant had grown considerably quieter. The world outside was darker and dusted in fresh snow.

Neither of you rushed to walk out, neither of you seemed eager to end it. Only the quiet understanding that this - whatever this was becoming - deserved patience.

Eventually, you stepped back out into the night together. The door closed behind you with a soft click, sealing in warmth and candlelight and the version of you that had sat across from each other relearning how to laugh together. The cold met you instantly, turning your breath into pale clouds that drifted upward and dissolved beneath the streetlamp you stood under. 

Soft snow had started falling again, small flakes drifting around without an aim.

Natasha stopped in front of you under the street lamp, her position mirroring the one she had last month when she asked you out. 

Only this time, the tension felt different. Warmer and heavier. Charged with something that had ignited between you inside the restaurant.

You shifted your weight slightly, boots crunching softly against the thin layer of snow.

Natasha shoved her hands into her pockets, lips pursed.

Neither of you stepped away.

"Tonight was good." You murmured eventually, your voice quieter now, honest and stripped of teasing.

"Yeah," Natasha answered, voice softer than she meant to. "It really was. Thank you for coming."

You hesitated, feet ready to take you in whatever direction you wanted to go next but not knowing where you wanted to go exactly from there.

Your eyes flicked to her shiny lips before you could catch yourself. It was subtle, quick. But Natasha saw it, felt it - low in her stomach, in her chest, in the sudden sharp awareness of the small space between you.

Her pulse stumbled as she took one small step closer, enough to test the air.

Her heart thudded violently against her ribs as she pressed her lips together to keep herself from speaking, or laughing, or something else entirely. She took a slow breath, and then, with deliberate calculated theatricality - because she was still Natasha, after all - she reached into her coat pocket and pulled something out.

Your frowned questioningly, gaze following her movement.

A small spring of mistletoe dangled from her fingers as she slowly raised it over your head.

Your eyes widened instantly, shocked and feeling things you were absolutely not prepared for.

Oh, she was so annoying.

Annoying and beautiful, and insufferably fucking charming.

"Oh, you are unbelievable." You whispered, your voice caught somewhere between laughter and something dangerously close to tears.

Natasha shrugged helplessly, a small smirk tugging at her mouth - softer than usual, almost shy.

"Can we start over?" She asked quietly in the breath you shared.

Asking because she refused to get this wrong again. Asking because you mattered more than her ingrained fears. Asking because she refused to assume, because she refused to take - because she would rather stand here freezing than ever lose you again.

Your breath mingled in the shared space between you. You could feel every word against your lips as she spoke, your eyes flickering over her rather shy expression.

Snow caught in her lashes, and she fought the urge to blink it away, because nothing was more important than the sight before her at that moment.

You did not answer with words. Not wanting to waste another futile moment when you had her right where you wanted, finally. Instead, your hand rose slowly before your fingers curled into the collar of her jacket - eagerly tugging her down the smallest amount.

Natasha’s breath stuttered, her world narrowing to the shape of your mouth as her eyelids dropped lower before eventually fluttering close as your lips met.

The kiss was slow. 

Soft. 

A little shaky. 

A little desperate.

It felt nothing like the kisses you used to share most of the time - those had been urgent, reckless, overflowing with young certainty and stolen time.

This one was painfully careful and honest. Like a promise made between breaths.

Your lips moved against hers gently at first, testing, relearning. Natasha felt the significance of it everywhere. In the trembling of your fingers, in the way your body tilted towards her as if losing your balance before steadying, in the way her own hand hovered for half a second before finally daring to touch you.

A traitorous tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it, because you could not help it, could not contain it. Natasha felt it against her silky skin, her hand lifting from your waist instinctively, thumb brushing it away delicately, her touch trembling faintly until you fully leaned into it.

You parted your lips wider to welcome her into a deeper kiss then, like you had been waiting just as long, your fingers making shivers appear on the nape of her neck as you gently cupped it to make sure she would not run away.

Thunder rolled through her chest. Her knees weakened slightly, her body swaying closer to yours without second thought. Her heart, the one that had ached and stretched and carried regret like a second ribcage for seven years, finally loosened its grip on her throat.

Natasha let out a quiet, broken sigh against your mouth. It sounded like relief, like fresh oxygen. Like she had been holding her breath since the day she left and you had just given her permission to exhale. Her hand shoved the mistletoe back into her pocket blindly before both her palms rose up to your neck and jaw to guide you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. 

The cold did not matter. Nothing else mattered. Because Natasha was kissing you again.

You hummed approvingly against her lips, giving in completely and melting into her as she deepened the kiss - the sound vibrating through her like a live wire. Your fingers curled around her forearms, making sure she stayed close.

Your touch lit a fire in her chest. 

Every part of her ached to pull you flush against her, to sink into you so deeply there would never be room for distance ever again, until all you could feel was her. She longed to drown into you again, to consume every fiber of your being, to anchor herself so deeply into you until all her senses were tuned to you again. Instead, she pulled her lips away reluctantly, inhaling slowly to fill her burning lungs again, both your foreheads pressing together. 

Your breath hit her cheek, quick and warm - brain finally giving you the time to catch up with everything.

One of her thumbs traced the line of your lower lip reverently, like she could not quite believe she was allowed to do that again.

Then - because she could not help herself - she leaned in again. Her mouth pressed harder against yours, hungry in a way she could not remember letting herself be in years, chasing that feeling again, the one only you could give her.

You gasped softly, both surprised and pleased by her forwardness, your fingers flexing over her arms, body slowly turning pliant against her. You let out a quiet moan, fully melting into her embrace when you felt her warm tongue caress the seam of your lips.

Natasha shuddered when you parted your lips for her, she pressed closer, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones, committing the warmth of you to memory. 

She was gentle and respectful just as you remembered her to be, yet thorough in her re-learning of you, leading the kiss with her mouth and encouraging your every movement with her hands. The longer she kissed you, the more you felt like your every limbs were turning to mush, ready to soon join the melted pool of snow at your feet.

Natasha wanted to cry, because you tasted just how she remembered yet still different. Everything was all so familiar and new all at once - and she could not decide whether to memorize every little change or to savor all the things that had stayed the same.

She felt alive and dizzy.

She felt terrified.

She felt whole.

You pulled back first this time. Barely, but just enough to breathe against her mouth.

"Yeah..." You whispered, a shaky laugh escaping you.

Natasha blinked, dazed and confused as she did not remember asking any question. 

"Yeah?"

You nodded, forehead still pressed against hers, noses brushing.

"We’re going to be okay."

A slow, stunned smile spread across Natasha’s face.  

She did not trust herself to speak.  

So she did not, instead choosing to nod as she closed her eyes. 

Natasha pulled you into her fully, her arms winding securely around your waist as she tucked her face into your warm neck, holding you like she had learned what losing you felt like and had no intention of repeating it.

For the first time in years... she totally believed the words spoken to her.

Only the Epilogue left, I don't know if I'm ready to let them go😞

Snowflake cutouts hung from the rafters, garlands wrapped around the VIP boxes. She had even heard the faint instrumental Christmas music that had played during breaks in the announcements, the notes cheerful and completely at odds with the war brewing under her skin.

But this was familiar. This was home... The smell of cold air, rubber and sweat. The scrape of steel on ice. The sharp bite in her lungs when she inhaled too fast. The weight of her gear sitting solid on her shoulders, protective and grounding.

This was the only place she had ever felt untouchable.

So, she should have been dialed in. Locked in.

Focused and ready to win. 

And she was... mostly.

Except every cell in her body buzzed with a single, unbearable question: Will you come?

It pulsed through her like a second heartbeat. Sat behind her eyes. Curled tight in her chest, right next to her heart, like it had always belonged there. Like you had always belonged there.

She had told herself she did not really care.

She had told Yelena and Clint - face carefully neutral and tone lazy and dismissive - that she was not expecting anything before they split off toward the stands and she headed for the locker room.

She had told herself she would play the same either way.

Lie.

Lie.

Pretty, practiced lie.

Because if you did not show-no, she refused to finish that thought.

She somehow made it through warmups which blurred together. 

Her skates cut into the surface, clean and automatic, blades carving lines she could have drawn blindfolded. Her body remembered what to do even if her mind did not cooperate, spiraling elsewhere. Pucks snapped against sticks, teammates shouted, the familiar weight of her gear settled onto her shoulders like armor shifting with her movements.

She passed. She shot. She moved. She stretched.

She did not look up.

Every instinct screamed at her to scan the stands. To search for you among the sea of fifteen thousand winter coats and waving arms, to find you among fifteen freaking thousand faces and colors and movement, but she refused. If she looked and you were not there-

She could not start the game like that. So, she closed her eyes, breathing slowly to regulate her heartbeat.

The anthem ended and the puck dropped. 

And just like that, the first period began.

She played well. Not her best, not her worst. But she made it through.

Still, there was something restless in her skating - a fraction too aggressive on the boards, a second too long on passes. She chased the puck like she was trying to outrun something.

They were down 0-1 by the end of the period.

On the bench, sweat cooled against her spine. She tipped her helmet back and dragged in air that burned on the way down. She drank mechanically, nodding at her coach’s explanation. She blinked at the beads of sweat trickling into her eyes, one gloved hand brushing her damp hair back to keep herself from doing something else. Because it did not matter. It should not. Nothing, no one, should be more important than this game right now. That was how she played, how she always played. 

She would survive. She had survived worse.

Right?

The second period started before she could debate with herself further, she was kind of glad for it, ready to focus back on something else that was not you.

She played harder, faster and meaner.

Natasha threw herself into it, shoving her shoulder into hits with a little too much satisfaction. Let the impact rattle through her bones, chasing the burn in her muscles. Welcomed the bite of exertion and the faint, almost imperceptible sting in her knee - because it drowned everything else out, pain was grounding.

The score climbed and evened out, 2–2. And the tension in the rink thickened with it, electric and restless. The crowd was louder. Louder. Louder.

When the horn finally sounded and the team skated off, she followed on heavy legs, chest heaving. She leaned forward on the bench, her forearms braced on her thighs, head bowed as she drank from her bottle absently. 

Water dripped down her chin, her pulse thundering in her ears as the jumbotron flared to life overhead. The camera swept across the crowd - fans waving, screaming, faces flushed with excitement. Her lips twitched as she caught a banner reading ROMANOV #4 EVER shimmering across the screen in gold script, a kid with a toothless grin holding it up.

Natasha did not mean to look.

She really did not.

But something pulled at her anyway, sharp and instinctive, and her eyes dropped to the stands.

She found Yelena instantly.

Her sister was standing on her seat, grinning like a menace, both thumbs thrown up with aggressive enthusiasm, shouting something Natasha could not hear over the noise.

A reluctant smile tugged at her mouth despite herself. And then she saw you. For half a second, Natasha’s brain refused to process it.

Then her heart stopped. You were bundled up in a dark jacket zipped to your chin, a beanie pulled low over your hair. Leaning forward, elbows on your knees to almost match her own position. Focused. Stressed about the score. Watching the ice with the same expression you used to wear during late-night practices - like you were studying the ice, like every movement mattered.

Like you still cared.

The world narrowed until there was nothing but you. The noise faded, collapsing into static. The lights dulled, dimming until all she could see was you. The ice beneath her feet felt suddenly unreal, like she might slip right through it.

You were here.

You came.

Her chest seized so hard it physically hurt. Seven years collapsed into a single, blinding instant- every missed call, every unsent message drafted at 2 a.m, every ceiling she had stared at convincing herself she had done the right thing.

You were here.

Her breath hitched. She did not feel her captain’s hand clamp down on her shoulder until it shook her.

"Romanoff!" The blonde’s voice cut through the fog.

Natasha jolted.

"What-"

Carol tugged hard on her jersey, giving her a sharp look. 

"I need your head in the game if we wanna win this!"

Right.

Game.

Hockey.

Skating. Winning.

Totally fine.

Totally not falling apart inside.

Not thinking about the girl who used to press cold fingers against her cheeks under mistletoe.

Not thinking about the girl who used to steal her hoodies and fall asleep on her chest.

Totally not unraveling in front of fifteen thousand people.

She blinked hard, dragged in a breath, forced her gaze back to the ice. Forced the noise back into existence. Forced her heart to keep beating at a survivable pace.

"Yeah," she muttered. "Got it."

She pushed up from the bench, legs moving on instinct alone.

Every shift after that was torture.

Every time she circled past your section, something in her chest tightened until it felt like her ribs might crack under the pressure of it. She did not let herself look again but she could feel you there - a gravitational force she could not outrun. Like heat at her back, like eyes tracing the lines of her body as she skated.

She skated harder than she had all season.

Not out of strategy. Not out of pride. Not even really for the win. But because if she stopped, if she let herself think too much, she might fall apart right there on the ice.

And God help her if she did that while you were watching.

⧗

The buzzer that signaled the end of the game sounded. And, for a split second, Natasha held her breath.

Then, the rink exploded. The sound hit like an avalanche - fans surging to their feet, the vibration of thousands of shoes against the bleachers, the roar crashing down in waves so loud it rattled the plexiglass. Gloves flew. Sticks clattered. Someone screamed her name.

Her teammates collided into her from both sides, laughter, hot breath, sweat and adrenaline tangling together.

They had won.

Natasha lifted her stick, a half-smile pulling at her mouth as the adrenaline finally crested and broke through her system.

They had won.

She had scored the game-winner. She should have felt triumphant. Untouchable.

And she did, mostly, but that did not stop her eyes from going straight to the stands.

You were still there. Still watching. Her stomach flipped violently, the sudden rush of it almost making her dizzy. Relief hit first - sharp, overwhelming - followed immediately by fear, hot and nauseating. You had not left. You had been there, she had not imagined it. Which meant this was not just a curiosity, not a mistake, not polite obligation.

You came and stayed.

She swallowed hard, chest rising too fast as she skated through the handshake line on autopilot, murmuring good game without really seeing anyone in front of her. Her hands were steady because they had been trained to be, but everything else about her felt dangerously uncontained.

She tugged off her helmet once she reached the boards, damp strands of red hair sticking to her forehead, lungs still tight as camera lights flared in her periphery.

An excited brunette stepped in front of her, mic already raised.

"Natasha, great game tonight! One assist and the game-winning goal. How did it feel back there?"

Natasha forced another smile as they walked side by side. 

Her cheeks were still flushed. Her pulse had not slowed since the second period. Her heart was doing something reckless and stupid behind her ribs.

"Yeah, it was good," she said, nodding a few times. She cleared her throat. "Better than good, actually. Felt... familiar, you know."

Another reporter cut in quickly.

"You seemed especially energized in the final period. What lit the fire tonight?"

Natasha hesitated. Then, God help her, she looked up again. Found your section without effort, like muscle memory. You were leaning toward Clint now, talking animatedly, hands moving in sharp gestures the way they always did when you were excited. 

You were smiling. Her throat tightened so hard she almost forgot how to speak.

"I had... really good extra motivation." She croaked out.

The journalists perked up instantly.

"Extra motivation? Care to elaborate?"

She did not break eye contact with your silhouette, jaw flexing.

"Well," Natasha murmured, lips curving in a way she could not control. "Someone important showed up tonight. And, you know... didn’t want to disappoint the fans."

A few reporters laughed, probably assuming they knew exactly what she meant.

But Natasha knew they did not, none of them understood. None of them knew the truth.

The interview drifted away from her, questions redirected, cameras turning towards her teammates. Natasha barely registered it all. She peeled off her gloves slowly, fingers tingling, gaze searching the stands one last time before the lights dimmed and the crowd began to thin.

She caught sight of you as you stood, walking away.

Her chest seized.

By the time she reached the hallway outside the locker room, Clint was already clapping her shoulder.

"Hell of a goal." He grinned.

She nodded absently, eyes searching for her sister.

Yelena did not smile, she tilted her head toward the hall, face hardening. Natasha’s body moved before her brain caught up.

"What is it?" She asked, breathless, eyes looking around frantically. "Where is she?"

The blonde let out a grimace. 

"That’s the thing. She says she has to go. You better hurry."

The words felt like ice water dumped down her spine.

"No," it came out immediate and desperate. "Make her stay," Natasha said without thinking, already backing toward the locker room. "I don’t care how. Just... do it, please."

Yelena rolled her eyes, but she was already moving.

⧗

The cold hit you the second you stepped outside.

It was sharper than expected - biting at your cheeks, seeping through your coat sleeves. You adjusted the strap of your bag on your shoulder, your breath puffing in soft white clouds that disappeared almost as quickly as they formed.

The arena loomed behind you, glowing against the night, still buzzing faintly with distant cheers leaking through concrete and glass.

You should not have stayed this long.

You should not have come at all, actually.

God you shoul-

"Hey. Wait a sec."

You stopped. Not because of the voice even though you could recognize that familiar accent anywhere - but mostly because of the tone. Purposeful. Like she had decided something and did not believe it could go any other way than what she had decided.

You turned slowly. Yelena stood a few feet away, arms crossed over her chest, her green coat zipped to her chin. Snowflakes clung to her lashes and hair, melting slowly into tiny beads of water.

"What is it?" You asked, cautious. Because you knew her, and you knew that face usually meant trouble.

She tilted her head, studying you with unnerving precision.

"You’re really leaving?" She asked. "Just like that?"

You nodded. 

"Yeah. I... I told you... early morning. Plus I’m, like, super tired," you muttered, faking a yawn as you averted your eyes, internally wincing at the act. "Thanks for the ticket, I’ll pay you back."

Yelena hummed, lips stretching into a grin. 

"Funny. You didn’t look tired at all when Natasha scored five minutes ago."

Your jaw tightened before you could stop it.

"That was a good play." You said evenly, suddenly defensive. 

"Sure," the blonde stepped closer, boots crunching softly against the snow-dusted pavement. "That’s all it was."

You exhaled through your nose. 

"Listen, if you’re going to interrogate me or something-"

"I’m not," Yelena interrupted calmly, shaking her head as she let out a sigh. "I’m stopping you, actually."

"Excuse me?" You blinked. 

She glanced over your shoulder, towards the side exit of the arena before settling her gaze on you again.

"You walk away now," she said, voice steady. "And my sister will regret it for the rest of her life. Again."

Something sharp twisted in your chest, lips parting in surprise. Of all the things you thought she was going to say to you, she had to choose that topic?

"Wh-That’s not-" You stopped yourself, huffing at the turn of events. "You can’t just say that to me, that’s not fair. That’s not... my responsibility."

Yelena’s mouth curved, not quite a smile, not unkind either - just knowing. She let the silence stretch between you. 

You shifted your weight, suddenly restless. 

"I can’t do this tonight, Yelena. I really can’t." You said, readjusting the strap of your bag as you took a step back before pausing at her next words.

"Because you’re with someone," she said bluntly. "Oooor because you’re afraid?"

You laughed once, bitter and short at the look on her face. 

"Those aren’t mutually exclusive." You mumbled, shrugging as you looked away once more.

Yelena watched you for a long moment, eyes narrowing, not in judgment, more like calculation - trying to figure you out somehow.

"You know, Natasha didn’t want me to come after you." She said casually, the lie easily escaping her lips.

Your head snapped up, eyes widening. 

"What? Then why are you here?"

"Because she looked like she was about to shatter," Yelena replied flatly, shrugging. "And because I’m tired of watching her punish herself."

You looked away, seemingly too weak to confront the green eyes in front of you that made you think of someone else way too much for your liking.

"She chose that," you said quietly, clenching your jaw. "She chose to leave."

She chose to leave you.

"Yes, and like I said, she hated herself for it every single day after."

That landed harder than you expected. You shook your head, lips pursing. You glanced at your gloved fingertips, blinking against the sudden burn in your eyes. 

"You don’t know that..." You mumbled, staring at your feet with your eyebrows pulled together.

Yelena scoffed. 

"Please. I unfortunately  lived with her," she shot back. "I watched her wake up screaming from dreams where she couldn’t feel her leg, or her heart, or you. I watched her pretend she didn’t track your competitions like it was her fucking lifeline."

Your fingers curled around your bag strap, tightening as if it could somehow hold you together.

"That doesn’t change anything." You replied, voice steady despite how you really felt.

"No," Yelena agreed, stepping closer. "But maybe this will..."

She hesitated, like she was crossing a line she had sworn she would not. 

"She loves you. She's actually so in love with you it makes me want to throw up and tease her about it until the end of time. And then some more." Yelena eventually said. The words were spoken quietly, unceremonious and devastating.

You sucked in a sharp breath, the cold air burning all the way down.

"Don’t. That’s not-" Your voice broke. You swallowed hard. "Yelena... You shouldn’t say that."

"I wasn’t supposed to, I’m sure she’d kill me if she could hear me right now actually," she admitted, lips twitching into a satisfied smile before fading. "But this is a desperate time."

Your eyes burned. You pressed your lips together, fighting the sting behind them with every fight left in you.

"Loving... someone doesn’t fix what she did. It doesn’t erase the years I spent wondering if I didn’t do enough. Or if I did too much. Or I don't know..."

Yelena did not interrupt, eyebrows raising as she let you continue.

"So what?" You added, voice cracking. "So what if she loves me? I-I do too. I always have." Your chest tightened painfully at the admission, but your shoulders seemed lighter. "But love didn’t stop her from leaving. Love didn’t stop her from disappearing even after everything. It doesn’t change anything."

The snow fell quietly around you. You wondered if your tears would turn into ice on your cheeks if you let them fall.

Yelena exhaled slowly. 

"For what it’s worth, she didn’t leave because she stopped loving you. That idiot actually never stopped, you know?"

"She could’ve fought for us..." You whispered weakly, eyes glistening.

"She didn’t think she deserved you," she grumbled. "She was injured. And scared out of her mind," Yelena went on. "When we were... there, they taught us not to form any attachment with anyone, you know? That it weakens us, and our performances. And, she thought loving you while hating herself would poison you. So she did the only thing she knew how to do."

"I know all that. But she decided for me." You grunted, crossing your arms and gripping your biceps, suddenly not liking talking about that matter with her of all people.

"Yes. And she was wrong."

Your shoulders sagged slightly, the fight draining out of you all at once.

"Please, you don’t have to leave like this," Yelena added, feeling like you were pulling away and ready to leave. "You don’t have to vanish like she did."

You looked back toward the arena, heart hammering.

"I’m not asking you to promise her anything," the blonde continued gently, the tone of her voice pulling at something in you. "I’m asking you not to run, just hear her out."

Panic flared. 

"Yelena, I-"

"Stay," she said, firmer now. "Five minutes. If you still want to go, I won’t stop you."

Every instinct screamed to leave, to run.

To protect yourself.

To choose the safe thing.

But you had never been very good at walking away from Natasha Romanoff.

⧗

Natasha did not waste another second.

The locker room blurred into chaos around her - laughter, showers turning on, someone putting on music on the speaker - but she heard none of it. Her hands shook as she ripped off her gear. Jersey tugged off violently, tape snapping, pads hitting the bench with dull thuds. She shoved everything into her bag without looking, without caring, yanking on a pair of shorts, dragging her shoes on without fully lacing them.

If she missed you-

If she let you leave again-

If she hesitated even once or said the wrong thing and watched your face close up the way it had seven years ago-

She would not forgive herself for the rest of her life. She would not survive it.

Her knee screamed the second she broke into a run down the hallway. A sharp, familiar protest after an intense game. Her lungs burned. Her body, already exhausted, begged her to slow down.

She did not.

She did not care.

She had run away once, she would not do it again.

She exited through the first available door, shocked by the small groups of fans still there, a young girl screaming when she saw her. Natasha winced and turned around, running to find another exit.

She shoved through the side door that slammed open under her palm.

Cold air hit her like a punch. It tore the warmth from her skin instantly, biting and sharp and brutally grounding. Snow drifted lazily from the sky, catching in her damp hair, melting instantly against her overheated shoulders.

"There." Clint’s voice cut through the wind. He was leaning against the brick wall, already pointing.

Natasha followed his finger, and there you were.

Standing beneath a streetlamp, light spilling gold over your shoulders. Snow gathered on your beanie, clinging to your coat. Your breath puffed white into the night air. Yelena stood beside you, arms crossed.

Almost leaving.

Almost gone.

Again.

"Wait!" Natasha called, voice cracking.

You froze mid-sentence, eyes widening slightly. Yelena glanced between you once, satisfied, then slipped away without a word.

Natasha stopped a few feet away, chest heaving, cold slicing into her overheated skin again and again. Her hands trembled - from exertion, from adrenaline, from fear.

God.

You looked the same as yesterday. And completely different.

And breathtaking.

Your eyes were brighter than she remembered. Sadder too. And-

"What are you wearing?" You exclaimed, eyebrows pulled together into a glare. "Are you insane? It’s literally snowing for fuck’s sake!" You said, frowning at her ridiculously thin tank top clinging to her sweaty skin.

Natasha, completely taken aback, huffed out a breath that might have been a laugh.

"I-" She swallowed, blinking her surprise and amusement away. "I had to see you. Yelena said you had to leave... But you came," she whispered, sounding a little stunned. "You actually came."

Your shoulders lifted in a small shrug, gaze slipping away.

"Yeah, well... I always supported good hockey."

Natasha laughed under her breath, shaky and disbelieving. God, you were still like this. Deflecting and guarded. 

She licked her lips, pondering her next words. But she had to ask. She had to know.

"Is that the only reason you’re here?"

Silence fell between you.

The snow softened it.

The streetlamp made it glow.

But underneath, it was electric. Charged and alive with everything you had buried. She stepped closer. One fragile, careful step.

"Listen," Natasha exhaled, shoving her shaking hands into the pockets of her shorts so you would not see. "I know I don’t really have the right to ask anything of you. Not after how I left. Not after how long it’s been."

Your eyes softened. Pain flickered there, history, old wounds. Natasha forced herself to keep looking at you, to take it all. She kept talking, because if she stopped, fear would win again.

"But when I saw her with you..." She admitted, voice rough. "Your Olympics partner... or-or whatever else she might be to you. I thought maybe that was it. That I’d missed my chance, you know? That I’d waited too long and finally ruined everything for good this time."

A broken laugh escaped her, devoid of any humor.

"I’ve been angry at myself for years for letting you go. I actually can’t believe it’s been this long."

You were staring at her now, eyes shining, but unreadable - not looking away. She swallowed.

"So," she whispered, stepping closer again, heart hammering so hard she could feel it in her throat. "I’m going to do the brave thing for once, instead of the cowardly one. Or maybe it’s just the idiotic one and I’m simply kidding myself, but I have to try."

Your lips parted.

Natasha took another step forward.

Her fingers clenched into the soft cotton of her shorts. 

Her knee protested viciously, but she ignored it.

She ignored everything else, too. Ignored the cold biting her skin, ignored the snowflakes clinging to her lashes, ignored everything but you.

She inhaled.

"Go out with me." Natasha’s voice shook, she decided not to linger on it, using the cold weather as an excuse. "Please. Just once, let me have this."

Your brows lifted, cheeks warming up under her gaze.

"Wh-You mean, like... coffee?"

"No."

She closed the remaining distance until she could see your breath mingle with hers. Until she could count the snowflakes caught in your lashes.

"I mean, except if you want to drink coffee. I just... I meant a date," she said softly. "A real one. I’ll plan it. With everything you want, I’ll spoil you." Natasha’s chest ached, terrified and hopeful and all-in.

"I already lost you once," she murmured, voice barely holding steady. "I don’t want to lose you again. Not without at least trying this time. I just had to ask you. And of course you can say no, you probably should. And I'm sorry if I overstep, but I have to know."

The silence that followed nearly killed her.

You stared at her, studied her like you were relearning a language you once spoke fluently.

Not the legend, not the headline, not the hockey player who scored the winning goal minutes ago.

But Natasha.

The girl who once upon a time entertained herself by pressing her freezing hands against your waist in the corner of the practice rink because she "needed warmth" when all she really wanted was to be close. The girl who kissed you like she was starving for more even after you gave her everything you had and were. The girl who walked away anyway.

Your heart was pounding so hard it felt disloyal.

You should say no.

You should.

You had rebuilt yourself from the crater she left behind. Brick by brick. Years by years. Competition by competition. You had learned how to sleep without reaching for someone who was not there anymore. 

You had told yourself in your most foolish fantasies that if she ever came back - if she ever stood in front of you and asked for another chance - you would be stronger than this. You would protect yourself.

Because love had not saved you last time. Love had not stopped her from deciding for you. From leaving you standing with burning tears falling down your cheeks. You remembered the ache. The humiliation you felt for loving someone who did not fight for you when you needed her to. The nights you stared at your phone wondering if pride was stronger than heartbreak.

You remembered promising yourself: Never again.

And yet.

She was standing in front of you right now. Shivering. Breath uneven. Knee probably on fire judging by the way she was favoring the other one. Still in half her game clothes because she had run out into the snow like a reckless idiot.

For you.

Your eyes traced her face slowly.

The damp strands of red hair stuck to her forehead. The flush in her cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold. The exhaustion she had not bothered to hide. The way her hands trembled even though she was trying to hide it. The way she was looking at you like the answer might unmake her.

She was not performing. She was not smirking. She was not hiding.

And that scared you more than if she had been. Because this felt real.

Your chest tightened painfully. You loved Wanda. You did.

But you had never looked at her like this. Never felt your entire body tilt toward her like gravity had shifted. Never felt like one word from her could rearrange your future, never felt like your heartbeat was calling her name.

You had built something safe. Something warm and safe and easy.

But this was a wildfire over ice. 

You could still walk away. You could protect this version of yourself that had finally stopped bleeding. All you had to do was say no. Your mind screamed it. Say no, be smart, choose stability, choose easy. But your heart... Your heart had never once stopped choosing Natasha Romanoff. 

Even when you pretended to hate her. Even when you tried to forget her. Even when you lay in someone else’s bed, kidding yourself that you felt more but actually felt nothing close to this.

For the first time in seven years, the choice was yours.

Your breathing slowed. Could you survive if she broke you again? No. But you were not sure you could survive never knowing what might happen if you refused to try.

Your lips pressed together. You felt the fear. The anger. The love. The history.

And beneath all of it hope. Small but stubborn, and still so goddamn alive.

Natasha held her breath. Waited. Prayed.

Finally, you nodded slowly, lips pursed. Not forgiving the past, nor erasing it. Just allowing the possibility of something new.

"Okay." You whispered.

And the word felt like stepping onto thin ice above deadly waters.

Natasha’s heart went weightless. Stopping before it restarted violently.

You smiled - small, gentle, wounded, hopeful all at once.

"I’ll go out with you."

Natasha did not breathe for a full second.

Then, she smiled. Really smiled. The kind of smile Yelena teased her about. The kind Clint said made her look like a teenager. The kind she had not worn in years.

"Yeah?" She breathed.

You nodded.

"Yeah."

For half a second, Natasha just stared at you - like she was making sure you were really agreeing. Then the relief hit her all at once, sharp and dizzying. It rushed through her bloodstream so fast she nearly lost her balance.

Her lips twitched, like she had just won something far bigger than a hockey game.

"Yeah..." She murmured, stepping closer like the outcome had been inevitable all along, her lips stretching into a satisfied smile. "I knew it."

You huffed faintly, but your cheeks betrayed you, warming up under her gaze.

"You absolutely did not." You narrowed your eyes on her.

She reached for one of your gloved hands, her thumb brushing over your knuckles, slow and reverent, like she could not quite believe she was allowed. Claiming just a little space she had not occupied in years.

She smirked, leaning just enough to enter your personal space. She tilted her head, studying your face with a familiar glint in her eyes.

"Okay, I hoped it," she teased lightly. "In a very confident way... I just had a feeling you were not able to resist me once, so what’s one more?"

"Natasha." You scoffed, frowning.

Her smirk deepened when your brows pulled together.

"What?"

"Don’t ruin it." You warned.

"Ruin it?" She echoed, stepping just a fraction closer, enough that her breath warmed the air between you. "I just asked you out and you said yes. And my team won the game thanks to my winning-goal. Statistically? I’m having a phenomenal night."

You tried, and failed, to suppress a smile. And that seemed to be all the encouragement Natasha needed. She leaned in slightly, not quite touching, just entering your space in that old, magnetic way that used to undo you.

"So," she continued smoothly, voice dropping lower. "Are you free, I don’t know, let’s say... tonight?" She asked, hopeful and reckless all over again.

You placed your palm gently against her chest, right over her racing heart. The contact shut her up instantly.

"Not yet," you replied, locking eyes with her as she stilled. "I need to be officially single first," you said quietly. "Even though we weren't really... together together. It's complicated. Sorry. Just... I have to deal with this properly. So give me a few days at least."

Natasha shivered against the cold, oh-right... that. 

"Oh, yeah. Of course, sorry," she nodded as she stepped back, forcing space between you. She put her hands back in her shorts, moving her shoulders to stop the cold from biting her skin. "I've been waiting seven years. A few more days won't kill me."

You gave her a look through slightly white eyelashes, the snowflakes apparently as stubborn as her.

"You should go, you’re going to freeze." You grumbled, wrapping your arms around you to stop yourself from reaching out.

"Please," Natasha scoffed, rolling her eyes before stilling again as she caught the look you gave her. "...Okay, fine, yeah. I’ll just..." 

"Go." You cut her off, glaring at her when you noticed her shivers.

"Thank you, for... giving me this." She added hastily.

You nodded, sending her away with a light shove.

"Just go," you chuckled, smiling at the expression on her face. "I’ll text you. I promise."

Natasha nodded at your words, looking at your mouth as if hearing them was not enough. Like she needed to memorize the shape of the promise.

She walked backwards towards the arena, smiling at you one last time.

For the first time in years, her chest did not feel so hollow. Not as much, not the same way, not anymore.

"Oh, and Nat?"

"Yeah?" She replied, stopping immediately, eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Don’t fuck this up, please." 

You were not sure you could survive it, not a second time.

She nodded, eyes lingering. And with that, she turned and disappeared into the falling snow, leaving you standing under the streetlamp, heart in pieces, thinking about the one person who had always known how to put it back together, or break it beyond repair.

Yelena MVP 🤭

All she could see was the way you had smiled at that damn Olympics partner - because she refused to even acknowledge her to be any other kind of partner to you. The way your lips stretched so easily into that familiar curve, just like she used to make you smile.

Her chest still felt tight from the memory of your eyes widening when you saw her for the first time in years. The way they had softened, then looked away. The way your attention drifted the second someone else stepped into your space.

Someone who belonged there now.

Natasha stabbed at her pasta, pushing it around her plate without actually taking a bite of it. The smell turned her stomach.

To her left, Yelena watched with unsettling stillness, like observing a bomb about to go off at any moment. Clint, across from her, kept sneaking glances and trying to pretend he was not. Laura, seated beside him and directly in front of Natasha, noticed everything, said nothing, just raised questioning eyebrows at her husband in silent communication instead.

 Natasha slowly lifted her fork to take a bite and nearly dropped it as her hand shook faintly.

Yelena slammed her knife down, frowning.

"Okay," she announced, voice sharp enough to cut through the noise around their table. "What the fuck happened to you?"

Natasha stiffened, head snapping up too fast.

Wrong move. The sudden shift sent a hot spike of pain through her knee and she hissed quietly before she could stop herself, jaw tightening.

"Nothing..." She muttered, glaring at her younger sister.

Clint let out a humorless snort.

"Yeah, she’s great. She’s definitely always this cheerful before big games. Totally normal behavior."

Natasha narrowed her eyes at him, half confused about their teaming-up.

He raised his hands in surrender and went back to his food.

"Just saying." He mumbled.

Yelena, however, did not back off. She leaned forward, elbows on the table, her gaze locking onto her big sister with terrifying focus.

"You were weird on the way here," she said flatly, ready to prove the redhead wrong. "You are weird now. So... how about you just tell me who upset you so I can remove their kneecaps."

Natasha paled. 

Laura choked on her water.

"Lena!" Natasha hissed. "You can’t just say things lik-"

"She absolutely can," Laura coughed, one hand absently rubbing her pregnant belly. "I’ve seen her do worse, actually."

Clint nodded solemnly, stroking his wife’s back.

Yelena stabbed a piece of bread so viciously the table rattled.

"Nachni govorit'."

Start talking

Natasha’s stomach twisted. Her knee throbbed in time with her pulse. Her heart hammered so loudly she was almost certain everyone around her could hear it.

Oh God. She did not need to cry. Not here.

Not in public. Not at dinner. 

Not in front of her sister.

But Yelena’s eyes sharpened before she could settle on the answer she was ready to give.

"Wait..." She breathed, eyes narrowing. "You went to see her, didn’t you?"

Natasha froze, wincing when she realized her reaction might be answer enough.

Yelena’s voice dropped, face incredulous.

"Blyat, sestra!" She whispered, sucking in a breath. "You saw her, didn’t you?"

Shit, sister

Clint’s head snapped up.

"Wait. Her her?"

"Who other her do you know?" Yelena grumbled, narrowing her eyes at him. Clint stared back, mildly offended.

Natasha swallowed, her throat burning.

"I might have... run into her." She said quietly.

Yelena made a disbelieving sound, gesturing at her sister while looking back at the couple as if to make sure they were seeing the same thing as her.

"Run into her?" Laura echoed, one eyebrow raised.

Natasha’s jaw clenched.

"Oh my God, you actually did it, Natalia." Yelena groaned, dragging a hand down her face.

"It wasn’t on purpose!" Natasha protested. The lie was so unconvincing that Clint actually snorted into his napkin.

Yelena looked from him to her sister, unimpressed.

"Uh-huh. And I suppose you also tracked her competitions schedule across the three continents for years like some depressed raccoon by accident as well?"

"What do you have against raccoons?" Clint wondered, looking back at his wife. "What does she have against raccoons?"

Laura shook her head, dumbfounded that was what he was taking from this.

"Nothing. I love them," Yelena replied dismissively, pointing at Natasha’s face. "But it’s their eyes, you know? They kinda do look depressed if you pay attention."

Natasha sighed, staring down at her plate.

Laura leaned in, voice gentler.

"Anyway... Did you talk to her? Was she alone?"

Natasha shook her head.

Clint winced.

Yelena’s brows furrowed dangerously, fingers curling into fists.

"Who was with her?"

Natasha did not want to answer. She did not want to say it. She did not want to say the name. She did not want to feel the punch again. Saying it made it real, saying it made it hurt all over again.

"Her... partner. From the Olympics." She said eventually, barely above a murmur.

Both Clint and Yelena groaned.

"Seriously?" He muttered. "That woman’s everywhere. On billboards. And magazine covers. I swear she’s on Cooper's cereal boxes now. And dating her? I mean-yeah, okay, I’d be jealous too-ow!" He grunted, glaring at his wife after she smacked his arm.

"I am not jealous." Natasha snapped instantly, glaring at him.

Clint raised an eyebrow.

"Sure. I didn’t spend the last hour watching you silently brood."

"I wasn’t brooding."

Clint scoffed, turning towards Yelena.

"She frowned so hard in the car that the wind turbine we passed slowed down under her glare."

Yelena rolled her eyes before looking straight at her sister.

"Are you sure they’re together?" She asked quietly this time.

Natasha shrugged uselessly, picking at her pasta again.

"I don’t know... I just asked her to come to my game tomorrow when that girl showed up. She called her ‘babe’ or some shit."

"Fuck." Yelena slammed her hand down, mouth turning downwards. Laura’s lips pressed together, sympathy softening her features.

"Wait a minute, you asked her to come?" Clint asked, eyebrows raised. 

"And how did you react? When her partner appeared." Laura questioned, eyeing her friend curiously.

Natasha tried to shrug for what felt like the hundredth time, she felt completely useless.

"It doesn’t matter, does it?"

Yelena scoffed, leaning forward abruptly.

"It matters if you’re sitting here looking like someone murdered your cat!"

Natasha squeezed her eyes shut, fingers pressing hard into the bridge of her nose as if she could physically pinch the emotion back inside her skull.

Because the worst part was not the jealousy.

It was not even the partner. 

It was the look in your eyes when you saw her.

Like she still mattered. Like something inside you had shifted, too.

And the way that hope - stupid, reckless, fragile hope - had flared in her chest before being extinguished just as fast.

She had walked into that rink thinking maybe, just maybe, she could survive seeing you.

Instead, she was sitting in a crowded restaurant, surrounded by her team and family, feeling more alone than she had in years.

"Well, it shouldn’t matter, okay?" She snapped, her voice cracking at the edges despite her effort to hold it steady. "It fucking bothers me, and it sucks, and yeah, okay-I wanted to throw that... redhead-ish woman through the glass. But it should not matter."

Clint and Yelena exchanged a look. Not amused, not judgmental, just knowing.

Laura was the first to soften, her shoulders relaxing as she leaned back slightly.

"Oh, Nat..." She murmured gently. "You still love her."

Natasha stiffened, but she did not deny it right away like they expected her to. She could not without lying. Any attempt would have been an insult to you and everyone at the table - including herself.

Clint set his fork down carefully, his usual humor absent for once.

"You never moved on." He said quietly. 

Yelena nodded.

"I never saw you try, Nat. Not a single person. Not even one date."

"Not even a bad decision that lasted longer than sunrise." Laura added, giving her a knowing look.

"It’s not like that..." Natasha muttered, staring at her plate, wishing it could open and hide her from this conversation.

"Then what’s it like?" Laura asked gently.

Natasha rolled her eyes at the words dancing in her mind. She took another bite of her food, taking her time to finish it, taking her time coming to terms with what she was about to confess.

"She was it for me." Her voice came out small, fragile, not fit for someone who took body checks for a living and who had built her career from headlines that had called her finished.

Laura went very still, eyes flickering over her. Yelena’s face softened with something like heartbreak. Clint bit the inside of his cheek.

"I don’t know," Natasha continued, staring at her food like it might swallow her whole instead, her gaze fixed on the swirl of pasta she had been pushing around for the last minute. "I guess I thought it was temporary, you know? I thought I’d fix myself. Fix my knee. Fix my head. And then... maybe."

Maybe you would still be there. Maybe you would forgive her. Maybe she would not feel like she was bringing you down with her. 

Her throat tightened.

"But I didn’t fix anything between us. I just spent all my time... missing her." She finished quietly, finally casting a glance at them - the closest people in her life.

But what immediately followed was silence. Heavy, real and raw - as if they needed to let the confession settle in just as much as her. The restaurant noise continued around them, laughter, forks scraping plates, but it felt far away.

Yelena reached along the table and grabbed Natasha’s hand before she could pull away from them. Her grip was firm, warm and grounding.

"You can still get her back." She said softly, eyes burning with new-found purpose.

Natasha shook her head, fingers tightening instinctively around her sister’s.

“No. She’s with someone. Have you not been listening?"

"You don’t know that." Yelena countered.

"And even if she is... doesn’t mean she doesn’t still care about you." Clint added, gentler than expected.

Natasha looked back - eyes tired, sad and burning.

"Don’t do that."

"Do what?" Clint frowned.

"Don't give me hope..." She whispered. "She looked happy with her, okay?"

The image replayed in cruel clarity - the hand on your back. The easy closeness.

Yelena scoffed.

"I’m sure she looked polite. There is a difference. The way she used to look at you back then? I wanted to die because that was disgusting as hell."

A faint, unwilling curve tugged at Natasha’s mouth at her sister’s antics.

It did not reach her eyes.

"Okay listen," Clint said, leaning forward slightly to pat her shoulder. "What you did actually isn’t so bad. That way, tomorrow you’re gonna skate, and she’ll either come... or she won’t. And if she does, great. If she doesn’t..." He shrugged, pursing his lips. "You got your closure, no more what-ifs. There's nothing much more you can do about it anyway."

No more maybes. No more staring at ceilings at three a.m. No more closing her eyes to pretend as rough lips pressed against hers. No more biting down her tongue to keep herself from moaning the wrong name. No more hand pressed against her mouth to murmur something she definitely should not late at night.

No more wondering, fighting the temptation to ask if one thing had been different, would everything be different today?

If she had not broken up with you then, would you have made it to now, together?

If she had not held back and had reached out earlier, would you have even answered?

If she had not broken your heart and hers seven long years ago, would you still feel the same way?

If she had kissed you longer, embraced you longer. If she had held you tighter. If she had cried harder, so that you could hear her and come back into her orbit. If she had not listened to her brain but to the organ in her chest. If she had turned around after those horrible words, her knees slamming on the harsh and unforgiving ground as she begged you to start over the last five minutes. If she had let you stay at her home when you visited her instead of kicking you out like she did. If she had never kissed you. If she had never taken mistletoe and hidden it in her pocket, ready to pull it out at the right moment. If she had never taken you to that lake that day. If she had never run into you at practice.

If she had never fallen in love with you.

Yelena squeezed Natasha’s hand once more, firmly.

"What if she does come?" The redhead asked quietly, pursing her lips.

"You better not play like a little bitch." Yelena replied immediately, smirking.

Natasha snorted despite herself. Clint grinned while Laura shook her head.

"There she is."

Natasha exhaled slowly. The ache was still there. The jealousy still sharp. The longing still unbearable.

But sitting across from the only three people who had seen her at her worst and stayed anyway, the three people who always knew how to drag her truth out of her... she felt anchored.

Still hurting but anchored, because at least she was not alone in it.

"To tomorrow." Yelena declared, lifting her glass.

Clint nodded, lifting his drink.

"To yearning."

Natasha huffed and picked up her water.

"To not humiliating myself if she actually shows up."

Yelena and Clint exchanged matching smirks.

"Oh, you will." She said confidently.

"But we love you anyway." Laura added, lifting her own drink.

Natasha rolled her eyes so hard it hurt.

But her lips twitched.

Just a little.

And for tonight, just for a moment, it felt like enough.

⧗

The Rink

The gala was loud in the way expensive things were most of the time.

Music hummed beneath polite conversations. Crystal glasses clinked in delicate collisions. Laughter rose and fell on cue. Warm lights spilled everywhere - gold against white, catching on sequins and cufflinks and polished smiles, making everything look softer than it really was.

Everything gleamed. Everything performed. You performed too.

You smiled when you were supposed to.

You nodded, you laughed at the right moments, you accepted praise like it belonged to someone else - your skating, your discipline, your legacy spoken about as if you were already done, already history. Already cemented. Already something to be remembered instead of something still breathing and right fucking here.

Beside you, your partner, Wanda, looked radiant.

She always did.

Her auburn hair swept back elegantly, her short dress tailored and effortless in the way that came from years of cameras, mirrors backstage, reflections caught in rink glass at ungodly hours and rink-side interviews. Her hand rested at the small of your back, grounding. Possessive, but quietly so.

People looked at you and saw gold.

Olympians, champions, partners... A unit.

What they did not see was how your chest still felt too tight to breathe properly.

What they did not see was the way your pulse still had not slowed since this morning.

And what they definitely had not seen was Natasha Romanoff standing in the doorway of the practice rink, hood pulled low, eyes cutting straight through seven years of carefully built distance like it was nothing.

You excused yourself early. Blamed a headache, fatigue, the kind that came with travel and pressure and perhaps performing perfection for too long. No one questioned it. 

You offered quiet goodbyes, thank-yous and let Wanda guide you out with a warm hand at your back like always.

The door clicked shut behind you back in the hotel room, muting the city, the praise, the constant noise. The silence rushed in fast, pressing against your ears until it felt almost too loud in its own way. You kicked off your shoes and sat on the edge of the bed, elbows braced on your knees, hands twisting together like you were bracing for something that was never coming.

Gosh, you had not been ready for her face.

Or the way your stomach had dropped to your feet.

Or for the sound of your name in her voice - older now, rougher, hoarser in a seductive way but still unmistakably hers. A rasp that had not been there at twenty. But still able to undo you with a few syllables.

She looked different. But somehow exactly the same.

She had broader shoulders, the faintest limp she probably thought no one noticed. Her confidence wore a little closer to the surface now, like an armor she had learned not to take off. But beautiful, still so painfully beautiful in a way that made something deep in your chest ache.

You had told yourself you were over it.

Over her.

You had needed to be.

Seven years was a long time to build walls, to pack memories into neat little boxes, tape them shut and label them past. You had done the work. You had moved forward. You had learned how to exist without looking back.

You had found a love again - or something close enough.

It was not that what you had with Wanda was a lie.

You loved her, just not in the way people expected when they imagined the word girlfriend. 

What you shared had started the way most of your partnerships did: long hours, shared pain, bodies moving in sync before words ever did. A friendship first. Trust, the kind of closeness that came from bleeding onto the same ice day after day. It was intimacy born of endurance.

But somewhere along the way, the lines blurred. 

It started with a kiss after a celebratory win, then with hands lingering a little too long in mostly empty rooms, a soft shoulder to lean on, a familiar warmth on cold nights when the world felt too big and too demanding. It was safe. It was comfortable and most of all easy. 

And when the press noticed, when the rumors started and fans built narratives, neither of you rushed to deny them. Because it worked. It softened the narrative, gave people something romantic to root for instead of dissecting your technique or your stamina or your age. Olympic power couple sounded better than two women clinging to the end of a career. 

You never said it out loud, but you both knew. 

What you had was closer to friends with benefits than a great love story. Deep affection, shared history, a bed that did not feel lonely - but no consuming pull, no terrifying love that rewired your bones. And lately, since the Olympics, maybe even before - even that had felt thinner. Fewer stolen kisses. More space between you in hotel beds. Not broken per se, just... drifting. 

You had chosen not to look too closely at it. Because it was easier to stay in something warm and familiar than to admit you had never fallen the way you once had. 

Not like with Natasha. Never like that.

And yet.

Seeing her again had cracked something open you did not know was still sealed until today.

It was not longing at first, it was grief.

Grief for the girl you had been - disciplined, hopeful, recklessly in love enough to fall in love without calculating the cost. Grief for the future you had once imagined in dorm rooms and empty rinks, snow-lit campus nights and whispered promises that had felt unbreakable at the time.

Natasha had been your first everything.

Your first kiss that meant something. Your first love that scared you. Your first heartbreak that taught you how much it hurt to lose control. It had felt like jumping off somewhere high without knowing if you would land.

You stood with a deep sigh and moved to the window, pressing your forehead briefly to the cool glass. The city stretched out below, lights blurred, distant and unreachable.

Behind you, the bathroom door opened.

Wanda stepped out, already changed into her soft sleep clothes, her movements familiar, easy. She watched you for a moment - the way she always did when something felt slightly off - before choosing her words carefully.

"You okay?"

You hesitated, just a beat too long.

"Yeah, just... tired."

She hummed, unconvinced but unwilling to push and came to stand beside you. Her shoulder brushed yours at first, her warmth a quiet contrast to the chill still clinging to you from the rink.

"You skated beautifully tonight," she said gently, offering an easy smile. "The crowd loved you."

You nodded, agreeing. 

"We always do."

There was a pause, a heavy silence. A long one that stretched because you could not find anything to add, you did not have it in you. Wanda leaned back against the window to face you, crossing her arms loosely as she studied you. 

"You’re quiet."

You swallowed, nodding again.

"I... I didn’t know she was here. This morning," you started, voice low as if confessing something. "I mean-I knew there was a game, but I didn’t think-"

"It’s okay," Wanda said gently, cutting you off. She did not ask who you were talking about. She did not need to. "You don’t have to explain."

But that was the thing, you wanted to.

You wanted to say her name out loud. You wanted to tell someone how it felt to see Natasha again, to hear her laugh, to realize that no matter how much time passed, some loves did not fade - they just went quiet, waiting for the right moment to remind you they were still alive. Burning, consuming and inevitable.

But instead, you stayed silent.

Wanda reached for your hand, fingers lacing easily with yours. It was comforting. Familiar. Safe. 

And so goddamn easy.

But your mind betrayed you.

Because that was part of the problem, you never wanted easy. You had never wanted easy.

You wanted passion that scared you, annoyance that borderlined affection, love that demanded something - the kinds that made you feel alive and terrified at the same time.

You thought of Natasha’s eyes following you on the ice. The way her voice had softened when she praised you. The way she had asked you to come to her game like the thread had not completely snapped. Like this thing between you still mattered.

You hated yourself a little for how much you felt like it did.

Later, in bed, Wanda’s arm draped loosely around your waist, her breathing slow and even as sleep claimed her without struggle - you laid awake.

You stared at the ceiling, listening to the distant hum of the city outside. Thinking of another rink, another life. Another version of you that had loved Natasha Romanoff with everything you had and had not known how to survive losing her.

And then you wondered if Natasha was awake too. If she was replaying the moment your eyes met.

If she had seen the flicker in your eyes as you looked at her like you used to, like she was still home.

You wondered if she had felt it.

You wonder if she meant the invitation, really meant it. Asked you because she wanted to see you there.

You wondered if you would go.

Guilt curled in your stomach, sharp and unwelcome. You loved Wanda. You did.

However, you had never fallen in love with Wanda.

And love was not always enough. 

Sometimes it was timing. Sometimes it was wounds that never healed properly. Sometimes it was the way one name could still undo you, years later.

You turned onto your side, facing away from the warm body laying in bed, blinking hard against the sting behind your eyes. You did not cry. You just ached inside.

And somewhere across the city, Natasha Romanoff was playing the same game - pretending she was fine, pretending she had not seen the future she almost had skating just out of reach.

Tomorrow, there was a game. And you told yourself you would not go. 

You told yourself you should not.

But your heart had never been very good at following the rules, or at least not when Natasha was involved.

"I’m just here to check the ice. See what the country’s rinks are like before tomorrow’s game. That’s all."

Except Natasha was not checking the rink her team would be playing in.

Except there were at least three practice rinks closer to the hotel.

Except most of the team was probably napping right now, resting for tomorrow’s big game.

Except she had known for weeks - weeks - that you would be here.

Natasha had seen the announcement at two, or maybe three in the morning. Her phone glowing too bright in another dark hotel room she ended her night in. Her eyes had burned at the brightness of it, and perhaps at the words catching up with her too. Her chest had tightened with a familiar ache that never really left, just settled deeper with time. 

She had stared at the screen until your name blurred, until it felt unreal - like a hallucination she might blink away if she dared, trying hard enough.

She had stared until the warm body pressed next to her groaned at the still way too high brightness of her screen. 

Natasha had shuffled closer to the edge of the bed to put some distance between them. She had checked the time - the thing she had entailed before ultimately answering her sister’s texts that had this post sent in between unrelated messages. 

You saw this? Your girl’s still famous.

Yeah.

She had quietly slipped out of the bed to find and put on her clothes, whispering her goodbye - not really waiting for an answer before leaving, they both knew what this was about. She was sure the woman remembered that, whatever her name was. 

And then she had wished - foolishly, desperately - that if the universe was kind for once, she might catch a glimpse of you today.

Not talk, not approach, that would be too much. Even if it had been years. 

Especially because it had been years.

But just... to see you.

To make sure you were still real. And happy.

God, she hoped you were happy.

The entrance of the practice rink was quiet when she eventually stepped inside. The air was sharper here, colder, the kind that crept under skin and into bone. 

The soft and familiar echo of blades on ice carried faintly, layered over the hum of distant machinery. Natasha pulled her cap lower, hood of her sweater up to fight the cold air nipping at her cheeks, her breath fogging slightly in front of her. Her knee twinged faintly as she walked, not as sharply as it used to, but enough that it reminded her of everything she had lost and sacrificed once. 

But, with every loss there was a gain, right?

But then, what about all the things she had thrown away?

Well, apparently, she was chasing after them years later.

She inhaled before freezing entirely.

Because there you were.

On the ice, among others skaters that darted around, moving in intersecting paths. She did not pay much attention to them, though. She always had eyes only for you, and that did not seem to change with time.

She recognized you instantly, the way she always had too, her eyes locking onto your moving form like muscle memory. Your blades whispered across the shiny surface, carving clean, effortless lines. And something in her chest quietly caved in.

That sound haunted her sweetest dreams, her sleepy thoughts in the softest hours of the night drifting to performances each one more beautiful than the last. Sometimes, she dreamed of being alone with you on the ice, your body spinning around hers - dancing just for her, close enough that she could feel the rush of air from your movements. Other times, she imagined skating beside you, as your partner. It was ridiculous, impossible - trying to match your choreography. She knew she could not land half your jumps if not all of them, but it was a dream, so sue her and her intoxicated brain.

Because dreams did not care about impossibility. Dreams did not care about torn ligaments or shattered timelines. 

But now... You moved differently than she remembered or imagined you to. You seemed stronger, sharper in your turns, even more assured, your arms extending with graceful ease.

More polished.

And free. So, so free.

Your jumps were higher, your landings cleaner, your posture relaxed in a way it never quite used to be. You had always been breathtaking. 

Now you were... devastatingly stupendous.

Her breath caught in her throat and did not seem to want to come back any time soon. Natasha simply forgot how to breathe as her eyes trailed over the flex of muscle in your arms, the elegant line of your throat, until they stopped on your face-

Shit.

Oh God, she needed to leave. 

Coming here was such a bad idea, a big mistake - a terrible, self indulgent one. If she wanted to see you so desperately, she could always just watch the videos later, safe and distant and in control - where she could pause you if it hurt too much. 

She did not need to be here. 

She did not need to stand in the same air as you again.

Her hands curled into fists, nails not biting into her palms only thanks to the gloves she was wearing. She tried to shake herself out of it, to break the spell you put her under without even having to try. 

She needed to go.

She needed to slip out, unnoticed, before it was too late.

She needed to pretend she had never been here in the first place.

But her feet, traitorous things as they were, were not moving.

Her heart would not let her fight them either, instead anchoring her in place.

You landed a jump, clean and effortless. A small smile curved at the corner of your lips as you bowed absently, to no one, to you, to everyone else. To her.

A blonde woman, who seemed to have been watching you for a while as she was leaning against the edge of the rink with a water bottle tucked under her arm, applauded you with a genuine and warm smile.

You laughed softly, waving her off as you skated away.

That was new, too.

You were much more relaxed than before. You used to absorb praise like it was a test you had not studied enough for, like you waited for the other shoe to drop at the end of a kind sentence. Now you wore it lightly, like you finally truly believed you deserved it. Like the weight that once sat on your shoulders had finally lifted. 

Well, if she really thought about it, she supposed it was difficult to feel pressure when you had already won nearly everything there was to win, and the end of your career was approaching. Applause that followed you city rink to another.

Now you were just... enjoying yourself.

Attending some sort of charity gala thing that Natasha had not really taken the time to remember. She had just seen you on the poster, her eyes skimming the information just to make sure she was not imagining it. 

She had imagined you often enough already.

You started skating closer to the boards and Natasha's heart began to beat so fast that she had to press one of her hands flat against her chest to make sure it did not try to escape.

Well, some things never changed, it seemed.

Her jaw tightened when she realized you were heading for the exit door of the ice rink - the one directly in front of her. And, of course, it was far too late to move.

Your blades hissed against the ice as you came to a stop, finally noticing a figure in the doorway. Your eyes lifted before widening at the sight.

For a second, you just stared at her, softness entering your gaze.

But Natasha caught it, the flicker of hurt before it eventually turned into surprise. Something else too, something she could not name without reopening a wound she had stitched closed herself.

"Natasha...? Is that you?" You asked in a soft, careful tone, eyes narrowing to make sure of what - or who - you were seeing. 

The way you said her name - soft, careful, like something breakable - nearly made her knees give out. Her chest contracting like she just took a puck straight to the sternum. 

Seven years.

But she managed a smile. Albeit small, stiff and uncertain.

"Hey."

You leaned against the boards, delicate gloved hands resting on the edge. Up close, the changes were undeniable. You looked older - not worn, not tired. Just... beautifully shaped by time instead of shattered by it. You were glowing in ways she did not know how to handle.

Beautiful in a way that hurt her all over again, and again and again.

Natasha swallowed hard, because you were way more pretty than she remembered you to be. You looked like a fever dream. Her throat felt too tight, too dry.

"Oh wow, I, uh, I didn’t expect to see you here." You eventually replied in a gentle tone, your lips stretching into a smile against your better judgement - because Natasha always had this power over you, it seemed.

She used to live for that look.

"Yeah," Natasha murmured before her brain could catch up with her mouth. "Me neither."

Lie.

Massive lie.

Embarrassing lie.

You blinked, surprised, clearly not buying it, but you did not push.

You never pushed her where it hurt.

"I mean, I was just passing by, and that’s when I saw the flyers," her eyes sparkled for a second, your breath caught before her next words were out. "Pretty much everywhere for those with eyes to see. You're the headline." She chuckled, licking her chapped lips.

You wanted to cry, you squeezed your eyes shut briefly.

The movement was subtle, but she caught it. The way your shoulders dipped, the way your chin lowered. A memory had hit you. And she knew exactly which one.

"Yeah?" You shot back, opening your eyes again, teasing. "Surprised you can still read cursive..." You murmured, lips stretching into a smile - exactly like you had done years ago.

It felt like a lifetime ago now. And somehow like yesterday. And yet, it was still hitting you all the same. It was the same feeling all over again.

You inhaled slowly, grounding yourself as you tried to come up with something else to say - because the look she was giving you right now was too much, and you just could not.

"You’re in town for a game?" You asked, the careful politeness sliding back into place.

Natasha nodded, fingers tightening around her biceps as she crossed her arms over her chest. Not defensive, just containing herself from doing something stupid, probably.

"Yeah. It’s tomorrow night."

You nodded back, the faintest smile ghosting your mouth.

Her stomach twisted violently at the sight. She found herself hanging on the next breath you took.

"You went pro..." You murmured.

Her breath shook. She had imagined this moment so many times, too. She had waited years to talk about this with you, for you to say those words, to see her dream finally become reality with your eyes, seeing the proof that she had made it - that the years off the ice had not broken her like she half expected them to, that the injury had not ended her, not completely. She had always wanted to share this victory with you just as much as you would share your dream with her. An undeniable double happiness. But of course, she ruined those plans, handing you heartbreak and disappearing instead.

"I did, yeah. Took a few too many years for my liking, but... yeah, guess I’m stubborn," she said softly, returning your smile. "Who would have thought, right?" She huffed out a laugh.

You shook your head, looking at her for a moment, studying her. 

Of course, you had thought about it. She did as well. Half the school had thought about it. 

You always knew she would arrive there. You had always known. 

She could probably see it in your eyes again now, too - that unwavering belief you had had in her back at the Academy.

Because she was Natasha Romanoff. And once she had a clear goal and set her mind on something, nothing and no one was going to stop her - not even an injury that could stop the career of some of the pros. She had come back, stronger. And now she stood there wearing the cap with her team’s logo embroidered on it hidden by the hood of her sweater.

You hesitated, then your expression softened in a way that made her pulse stutter.

"I’m happy for you, Nat. Truly."

It hit harder than she anticipated. She swallowed tightly, chest suddenly too warm, too tight. It was overwhelming.

"I-yeah, thanks, me too. I mean, for you. I’m happy for you too," she forced a grin, gesturing vaguely to your whole being with one hand. "I almost lost the hearing of my left side when you guys won gold at the Olympics. Yelena went insane. I literally never saw her like that in my entire life, she screamed so loud I thought the neighbors would call the cops or something." Natasha chuckled softly at the memory, her smile widening as you laughed.

Oh, how much she missed that sound. Missed being the reason for it.

There was a sting behind her eyes now. Her fingers flexed at her sides to ground herself.

"You should come." She suddenly blurted before she could stop herself, before you could reply anything at all. The words tumbled out fast, before she could stop them, before she could weigh them, before she could protect herself. She made a face, wincing at her own impulsiveness as she watched you pinch your lips together to not laugh at her. 

"You know-if you want. To my game. Tomorrow," she amended quickly. "You can text Yelena, she always figures out those stuff, she could get you in easily."

Your eyebrows shot up, cheeks faintly warming up. You shook your head at the ridiculousness of it all.

You parted your lips to answer when a voice cut in behind you, bright and warm.

"Oh! Babe, there you are!"

Natasha’s world stopped.

Completely.

And almost collapsed.

A striking auburn, almost red, haired woman, tall - taller than her, toned too, annoyingly beautiful, actually - glided up to your side. Her hand brushed your lower back with devastating ease that punched the air straight out of Natasha’s lungs. Like it belonged there, like it had learned the shape of you.

She knew that face.

Everyone did.

Your Olympics partner.

Your partner in-nevermind, she did not want to finish the thought, her plan was not to come here and throw up all over, thank you very much.

Natasha’s fingers curled so tightly inside her gloves she felt the seams strain.

You smiled, soft and apologetic.

"Oh, um, Nat, this i-"

"It’s okay," Natasha cut in smoothly, before you could finish. Before she had to hear it framed properly and make her want to run away. "I know who she is." She nodded in greeting.

Your Olympics partner beamed at her politely.

Natasha wanted to throw her through the closest glass.

"So, you’re Natasha?" The woman said brightly. "I’ve heard... quite a lot about you, actually."

Natasha did not trust herself to speak. Her jaw clenched hard enough it hurt. Her pulse hammered in her throat as she forced herself to offer a tight smile back.

Your partner leaned closer to you slightly - too close for Natasha’s taste - her hand casually brushing your arm in a way that made her vision narrow.

"Anyway, you ready to run the short program again?" The auburned haired woman asked you, glancing at her watch.

Natasha burned. That was the only word for it.

Your eyes flicked toward Natasha again, guarded now, uncertain. The familiar teasing was gone, ruined.

She hated it.

She hated that she had put that uncertain look there years ago. Hated that she had once been the person you looked at without hesitation.

Your partner gave Natasha a cheerful wave before skating away.

"Nice meeting you! We’ll be done in a bit if you need her."

Natasha forced another smile so tight it hurt her chapped lips.

"Don’t worry. I was just leaving."

You opened your mouth-

But Natasha did not let herself stay any longer.

Could not.

If she stayed, she might say something reckless.

If she stayed, she might ask a question she did not want answered.

So, she turned and walked out before her heart could crawl out of her ribcage.

Her knee screamed.

But it was not the thing that ached most.

⧗

Natasha made it down the hallway before the mask cracked.

The door swung shut behind her with a dull thud, sealing off the rink - cutting off the echo of blades on ice, the sound of your voice, the life you were clearly living out there, without her.

Her breath stuttered, uneven - like her lungs had forgotten how to work properly, forgetting the rhythm they had known her whole life.

Her hands started to shake. She stared at them like they did not belong to her, fingers trembling inside her gloves, useless. The same hands that could steady a stick mid-impact. The same hands that had rebuilt her career from nothing.

But here they were, shaking because of you.

You had someone.

Of course, you had someone.

After seven fucking years.

And she was perfect. Olympic-level perfect. Not-broken perfect. Didn’t-pull-away perfect. Didn’t-throw-you-away perfect.

Natasha pressed her back against the cold concrete wall harder than she first intended. The chill seeped through layers of fabric, grounding and cruel all at once. She tipped her head back, eyes burning as her jaw clenched so tight it ached.

She was not jealous.

She was not.

She was-

She was absolutely jealous.

And fucking stupid.

She felt pathetic.

For showing up like that... And hoping for what? For a second chance?

Seriously, what had she expected? That you would still be waiting? Frozen in time like she had been?

You had moved on. You were happy. Radiant.

A broken laugh scraped out of her throat before she could stop it. She scrubbed a hand over her face roughly, dragging her palm across her eyes, refusing to let anything spill over - because she had no right to cry.

She had done this.

Every fractured silence. Every year of distance that stretched longer than the last. Every missed birthdays and competitions watched from screens. Every door she had closed because she had been too afraid to let you be what she needed, convincing herself she was protecting you. You had deserved better than her at that time. And some part of her thought you still did.

The heavy ache that flooded her chest was still the same years later.

She sighed, looking down at her black combat boots. You would not come to the game tomorrow.

You should not.

You were happy.

Taken.

Successful.

Golden.

Taken.

And Natasha...

She had not dated anyone.

Not once. Not for a week. Not for a day. Not for a night, not in any way that meant anything. There had been bodies, hotel bedsheets, names she barely remembered and did not care to. But never once had she let someone, or herself, stay long enough to matter. Not like you did.

Because she knew. She had always known.

She did not believe in a soulmate, she did not believe the universe carved one person for another. But it was the closest thing she could find to describe who you were, are, to her. She knew she did not get a second chance at that, a second once-in-a-lifetime.

She knew she had already had her shot and lost it. She did not get a do-over when she let the first one slip through her fingers.

She pushed off the wall slowly, forcing her breathing to even out, shoulders squaring by habit alone. The mask slid back into place, practiced and automatic.

Tomorrow, she would skate like a professional.

Because that was exactly what she was.

She would skate like her knee did not ache in the cold, like she was not dying inside. Like she had not just watched the love of her life get claimed by someone else right in front of her very eyes.

She walked down the hallway without looking back. Her hands still shaking, jaw tight, heart splintering for the second time in her life.

She really should not have come.

Yelena had warned her - called it a bad idea, a terrible idea, a pathetic one.

And she had been right. Because all of it had been true.

But God, part of her was so glad she did.

Because even if it meant nothing to you, it meant everything to her.

She managed to leave that shitty place - burned it down behind her after exposing every ugly, manipulative trick they had tried to pass off as discipline. She was spotted by Fury and joined his Academy. For the first time, she had landed somewhere that did not feel like a trap.

She met her best friend. Clint, loud and infuriating and somehow capable of understanding her silences better than anyone else ever had. She made other friends too, real ones. They were kind and caring. It bothered her at first, she was not used to it, their care unsettled her. She was not used to being looked after. She was used to surviving. To protecting Yelena. To grinding herself into something sharp enough to win.

The ice had always been the constant. The only thing she was undeniably good at.

And here, she was thriving.

So, honestly, nothing seemed to be able to get better. Nothing could possibly top all of this. Nothing should.

But then, there was you.

Somehow like the cherry on top of the cake. The final, impossible addition. Like the universe had gotten greedy.

Because everything was going well in her life. And then she met you and everything got even better. And in there, somehow, she kissed you - and for a moment she had genuinely believed she was dreaming. Because all of this... this, could not be her life, could it? It was too good to be true.

And yet, it was. It was her life.

Or at least for a little over a year.

Until it was not.

Because something always had to be taken from her. That was the rule. It was inevitable.

She should have noticed the warning signs. Should have read between the lines, really. Then she would have known, she would have been prepared to take the blow.

But Natasha had not known how to read between the lines, too busy enjoying her new life. Perfect. Too perfect. 

She had been careless. She had been happy. Perfectly, disastrously happy.

And her life had never allowed that without consequence.

So yes, looking back, she should have seen it all coming.

⧗

It did not happen during an important game.

No glory. No heroic save to justify the damage. No goal at the last second of the last  minute of the last period of the game. No dramatic story to tell later - well, actually yes, but not the kind she was imagining.

It was just an awkward collision with two players and the boards. And one sickening crack that still replayed in the back of her skull every time she closed her eyes.

One second she was skating - pushing harder than usual, reckless with it, desperate to prove Fury wrong. To prove everyone wrong.

The next, she was sprawled across the ice, breath punched from her lungs, pain exploding so brightly it felt like white noise had swallowed the world.

Nothing else.

She heard her name being yelled, panicked in their tones at the same moment the referee’s whistle shrieked loud enough to split the air. Skates scraped, shadows loomed, hands hovered.

But none of that mattered.

What mattered came hours later, spoken calmly in a voice far too gentle for the damage it described.

"Torn ACL. Sprained MCL. Bone bruise. Minimum six months off the ice. Very likely more. 

Full-strength skating? Maybe a year. Pro tryouts...? Well, very unlikely this season, or the next one."

If not ever, Natasha supplied silently.

The words passed through her all at once and not at all. Fury was still talking - asking questions, pressing for options - one hand heavy on her shoulder, grounding her as if she might bolt.

As if she could. Her leg burned, throbbed, screamed - a brutal reminder that running was no longer an option.

She nodded, thanked the Doctor absently. Then joked, because that was what she did when the alternative was screaming or breaking down in tears. Or both.

But then she shut down.

Completely.

⧗

February 14th

Ohio

The winter sun was a pale smear outside her bedroom window, barely able to cut through the frost clinging to the glass. The room was dim despite the lamps her mother had insisted on turning on, because apparently moping was only allowed in the lights for some reason that Natasha did not care to understand. Her curtains were half-drawn. Her hockey gear was shoved into corners of her messy room as if rejecting the light.

She sat on her mattress, one crutch propped uselessly against the bed, the other fallen to the floor. Her knee was wrapped and elevated, the cold pack long since melted and warm against her skin.

She stared at nothing.

Or maybe she stared at everything she had just lost.

Until footsteps padded down the hall, quiet but familiar. It was Yelena. 

But Natasha did not move even after realizing who it was.

Her sister knocked on the door once, too polite for her, it was usually loud before she barged in after barely waiting for an answer. The differences made her skin crawl.

"Sestra?" Yelena’s voice sounded cautious. That was not right, Yelena was never cautious. "Can I come in?"

Natasha did not answer just yet, pondering her reply, but the handle moved anyway.

Yelena slipped inside, carrying a bowl of soup and wearing that particular Belova expression that meant eat or I will make you. She set it on the nightstand, offering a careful smile that did not quite fit her face.

It looked weird.

"Mama said you haven’t eaten all day."

She waited.

Natasha did not react.

So Yelena sat beside her with a grunt.

"It’s just soup," she tried again. "She made it. And it does not even taste like poison this time, you know."

Yelena’s foot tapped the floor, restless as the silence stretched. Her patience was never long, and that had not changed apparently.

The blonde leaned forward, trying to catch Natasha’s eyes that were still staring out the window since she entered.

"Hey. Could you at least look at me?"

Natasha did not. Not at the soup. Not at her sister. Not at anything. Just the wall, the suffocating walls of her room.

Yelena exhaled sharply through her nose.

"Okay, now you’re being dramatic," she snapped, voice rising. "People get hurt. They recover. You will recover too, you know, even if it doesn’t look like it right now." She grumbled, making a face.

Natasha turned, glaring at her sister’s now worried gaze above her shoulder. 

"Thanks for the soup." She croaked out, half-surprised by the hoarse tone of her voice, unused for hours now.

"Oh, don’t give me that dead-fish stare. It’s not intimidating, it is annoying." Yelena’s jaw clenched hard enough to shake at the following lack of words from her sister as she turned away from her again. 

"Fine. Be stubborn," she eventually grumbled, stopping by the door. "Also today's the fourteenth in case you forgot. I don't know if your girl is into that insane shit, but you might wanna say happy Valentine's Day to her," she scowled. "She’s been texting me like crazy." 

Yelena left the room with more force than necessary, muttering in Russian under her breath, the door clicking shut like a slap.

The familiar silence returned and Natasha sighed heavily.

She sank further into the mattress, eyes burning as her throat closed on itself until it hurt to breathe. Natasha stared at the closed door. Of all Yelena’s words, it was not the scolding that lingered.

Happy Valentine’s Day?

Nothing about today was happy.

Her fingers curled into a fist on her thigh.  

She had not thought about it. Could not think about it. Not when every second felt like sand slipping through her hands - her season gone, her body broken, that dream she had carried since she was a child barely old enough to lace skates suddenly gasping on life support.

And now? What could she possibly give you today?

Not a kiss on cold ice after practice. Not a stolen moment between drills or lazy morning tangled in your sheets and whispered jokes against your warm skin.

Just this. Her, completely broken and still in her sweats from yesterday, staring at a bowl of soup like it held answers to things that could not be fixed.

Pathetic.

Her hand reached slowly for the phone beside the bed - slightly cracked screen, very low battery... and seven missed messages from you.

Her eyes swept over the last one, lips pursed into a tight line.

‘Thinking of you today <3 Call me whenever. I love you.’

Natasha swallowed hard, thumb hovering over the screen before pulling back just as quickly. She watched as it lost its last percentage of battery and died in her hand as she placed it on her nightstand. 

No words came out right anymore.

⧗

February 16th

The house was slightly warmer today. Not just in temperature.

The smell of cooking drifted from the kitchen where Melina and Alexei were bickering over something domestic and absurd, the way they always did. It pulled at Natasha in a way she did not expect.

It felt... alive. Just like her stomach suddenly roaring to life.

She supposed she could not stay in her room forever. Eventually, she would have to move. To exist again.

So she tried.

Her crutches thudded against the floor as she made her way into the living room in slow, jerky and awkward movements. Her knee throbbed in sharp pulses, a constant reminder of everything she could no longer do.

The TV flickered with some awful comedy, all warm colors and canned laughter - an assault she had no patience for. Thankfully, Melina muted it the moment she saw her.

"There you are!" She smiled, voice soft but lined with worry. "Come. Sit. Rest your leg."

Natasha leaned heavily on her crutches, instinctively putting space between herself and her hovering mother.

"I’m fine."

"You’re not fine, moya malen'kaya lisichka. But it’s going to be okay."

My little fox

The endearment made Natasha pause. She looked up at Melina, a frown pulling at her brow.

"Don't call me that," she muttered stubbornly, voice lacking any real heat. "I said I'm fine."

Melina exchanged a look with Alexei. He cleared his throat and approached slowly, like one would approach a cornered wolf.

"Natasha," he began gently, "this is not the end. You’re strong. Stronger than anyone! You will-"

Natasha’s eyes shot up, sharp as blades.

"Don’t you dare."

Alexei blinked, suddenly confused. 

"Don’t what?"

Natasha scoffed, shoulders lifting defensively, as if bracing for impact even though she was the one swinging.

"Don’t tell me I’ll come back stronger. Don’t say this happens to everyone, okay? Because it doesn’t and we both know it. And do not pretend this is something I can just fucking shake off," her voice cracked on the last word. "I can’t even walk without sounding like a damn woodpecker."

"Natalia..." Melina stepped forward, hand reaching for her arm.

Natasha recoiled as if burned, nearly losing her balance.

"Don’t touch me."

Melina froze. Alexei’s expression folded into something painful.

"Natasha, listen to us," Melina tried again, softer. "You are grieving, this is normal. Let us help you."

"No," her voice dropped low, trembling despite her effort to steady it. She lifted her chin, refusing to let the tears win. "What are you talking about? I’m not grieving. I’m... I’m just adapting."

Melina shook her head slowly. 

"This is not adapting and you know it. This is shutting down."

Natasha’s grip on her crutch tightened until her knuckles paled.

"Same damn thing." 

She turned, painfully, and limped away without letting either of them speak to her again.

She could hear Alexei’s sigh behind her, heavy and helpless.

But she did not look back. She regretted leaving her room. Regretted hoping they would treat her normally instead of like something fragile, something already half-broken.

She should have known better.

⧗

February 18th

Natasha had stopped answering her teammates’ texts.

Stopped reacting to Clint’s dumb memes and picking up Yelena’s aggressive calls from Campus pleading for her to talk to someone.

Stopped opening Kate’s messages, usually twenty-five per hour.

Stopped responding to Fury’s weirdly gentle but still strict check-ins.

She even muted the group chat she once called home.

Silence was easier. It always had been.

But then there was you.

Her girlfriend.

The only person she could not stop thinking about in the quiet, suffocating hours between physio sessions and sleepless nights.

And the one person she refused to let find her.

Because if she heard your voice - your soft, patient, always-too-understanding voice - she would shatter. She knew it with terrifying certainty.

And Natasha Romanoff did not shatter.

So she pushed you away.

Made sure to keep you out of her visiting hours at physio and barely replied to your messages.

You did not deserve that. She knew it. It made her stomach twist with heavy guilt. 

But she did it anyway.

Because every time she pictured you watching her limp into another cold therapy session... Or every time she imagined the pity in your eyes... Or every time she pictured you reaching out to help her stand...

She wanted to scream.

And she did not want you to see her like this.

Not broken. 

Not bitter. 

Not stuck.

⧗

February 21th

The snow outside had begun to melt, leaving wet slush that reflected the streetlamps in dull, distorted light. The world looked tired. Heavy. Natasha sat on the back porch leading to the yard of the house she shared with her family. She stared out at nothing, hoodie pulled tight around her head. One of her crutches lay across her lap like she usually did with her hockey stick. Her knee still throbbed like an angry pulse.

The door creaked open behind her.

She stiffened but did not turn.

"Natasha," Yelena said quietly. She was back for the weekend, Natasha had not even noticed. "You have a visitor."

The redhead did not ask who. She did not need to because she felt you in the air before your footsteps even reached the porch. She smelled the perfume she inhaled so many times before falling asleep tucked into your side.

She should have seen it coming. She could only hide from you for so long.

Her heart kicked painfully against her ribs. 

"...Nat?"

Your voice reached her ears like the beginning of a song, soft and tentative. Too gentle. Too fucking much.

Natasha swallowed hard because she did not deserve any of it. Her fingers tightened around the crutch as she stared at the trees, jaw clenched.

"Hi, sweetheart," you said in a soft tone, too scared to break the seemingly quiet and sacred moment. Too scared to spook her and make her disappear again. You approached slowly, eventually sitting down next to her and pressing a light kiss on her cold cheek. You tried not to think about how unusual that was. One, for the coldness of her skin and second, for her lack of reaction to your touch. "I missed you."

The words twisted cruelly inside her chest.

"What are you doing here?" She eventually asked, sighing softly as she finally glanced at you.

The expression on her face made your heart drop. 

She looked exhausted, hollowed out, like someone who had not slept or eaten properly in days.

"I just told you, I missed you. I wanted to know how you were doing, you know... since you stopped answering me." You admitted in a quiet tone, your hands stayed folded in your lap, fighting the instinct to reach for her. That did not seem quite the good thing to do right now.

"Go home..." Natasha whispered with a tired sigh. "Please."

Quietly and coldly. Cruelly.

She felt you shift next to her, as if she had physically pushed you away now, too. And God, hurt radiated off you like heat.

"I thought I was."

Natasha squeezed her eyes shut to keep the unwanted tears from spilling over. That was the worst thing you could have said. Because it made something inside her break.

The last part of her that had been holding on to everything by threads.

The part that wanted to reach for you.

Wanted to pull you close.

Wanted to bury her face in your neck and sob until her ribs ached and she was dehydrated from all the tears left.

She could not. She would not. 

Instead, she forced her jaw tight and forced herself to lie, louder, harsher.

"I said go. I don’t need you here."

Your eyes flicked from her rigid jaw to the way her fingers trembled despite her efforts.

"I-I’m sorry, I just thought I could help you."

"You can. By not seeing me in this... state."

"Come on, Nat. It’s me." You replied, tone almost pleading. Pleading her to open her eyes and see you for who you were again. Her girlfriend, a shoulder to lean on, to cry on. A welcomed help.

The silence was loud.

You wanted to cry for some reason, unable to understand how to cross the bridge separating you all of the sudden, a gap that had not existed weeks ago. You just wanted her back. You wanted her to take you back, because as much as you tried to pretend it was not the case, she did push you away. 

"I-I promise I’ll text you, okay?" Natasha said, voice fraying despite her effort to keep it steady. "Can you... please go now?"

Your breath hitched at the desperation in her tone. She truly did not want you here. She did not want you around her. 

Natasha was not just pushing you away, she was choosing to be alone.

The realization was worse than anger would have been. Worse than yelling. Worse than a clean argument. This was her asking you - quietly, politely - to step back while she burned, alone. Your throat tightened around all the things you wanted to say.

That you did not need her to be strong. 

That you did not care if she limped or fell or cried. 

That you loved her like this, too.

That you would stay.

But you also saw it then - the locked door behind her eyes. The way she had already retreated somewhere you could not follow without hurting her more.

You had always prided yourself on knowing when to fight and when to step back. On reading the ice, adjusting your edges, choosing control over force.

This was not a battle.

Not one you were meant to fight in, anyway.

"Alright, if that’s what you want..." You nodded slowly, the movement small and careful, as if anything sharper might break what little was left of this moment. Tears burned behind your eyes, but you swallowed them down, along with the reassurance, the I love you, the I’ll stay anyway.

You stood, heart cracking with every inch of distance. The porch creaked as the door closed with a soft click behind you.

Natasha did not move. 

Only when she was sure you were gone did she let her head drop into her hands - shoulders shaking, breaths uneven. The tears, the ones she had refused to let anyone else see win, suddenly soaked into her palms.

And for the first time since the injury... Natasha Romanoff completely broke down.

Alone.

Because she had made sure of it.

⧗

March 8th

Avengers Academy

The campus did not feel the same without the familiar bite of ice beneath your skates.

It was not the same without her either.

Showcase posters had been taken down. Rinks defrosted under the slow insistence of spring. Students returned from the weekend with new stories, sunburns (seriously, how rich were they?) and hangovers.

Life moved on.

Except for Natasha Romanoff who moved across campus like a ghost. With her hoodie pulled low, crutches under her arms, her jaw clenched in permanent frustration so tight that it looked painful and a storm cloud where her eyes used to be.

And you watched her, every day, from a distance.

She had not spoken more than five sentences to you since the day she told you to go home. A couple of texts, cordial and pretty short if not cold, but that was it. Nothing that resembled the girl who used to kiss you breathless at the end of practices. 

You tried to give her space. You tried to be patient. You tried to understand.

You told yourself she needed it.

But watching her limp around campus, alone, shoulders hunched like someone had clipped her wings hurt more than her words ever could.

And you were done letting her drown silently. You could not take it anymore.

So when you spotted her outside the athletic building - usual hood up, backpack slung over one shoulder, expression emptied of everything - you made your choice.

Perhaps it was the wrong one, but you would never know.

You walked straight toward her. No hesitation. Not this time.

Natasha saw you coming too late to escape. Her posture stiffened, hand tightening on her crutches.

"Nat." You stopped in front of her, breath visible in the cold.

Natasha’s jaw flexed, her eyes darting around to avoid yours. 

"Don’t, please," that was it. A couple of words. One warning, one foreign pleading tone. "You should go, class is gonna start soon."

You ignored it all. Enough was enough.

"No." You said firmly. 

"Let it go."

"Absolutely not."

Natasha shut her eyes, like she was bracing for a hit - readying herself to take it this time.

"Listen, I don’t have the energy for this right now..." She mumbled.

"I’m worried about you." You said quietly, pursing your lips.

"And I don’t need you to be worried about me."

"Then tell me how you’re doing!"

Natasha scoffed, sharp and humorless.

"I tore my fucking ACL, can’t skate for a year and my entire future just burned down. How do you think I’m doing?"

You swallowed, licking your dry lips.

"Which is why I’m not doing this anymore, Natasha." You replied.

Her eyes flicked away, a wounded animal ready to bolt.

"Doing what?" She muttered, voice flat, empty.

"Letting you push me away like I’m some... option you can mute when you feel broken," your voice trembled from sheer pent-up frustration. "I care about you. I’m not apologizing for that."

Natasha’s throat bobbed. Her fingers whitened around the handle of her crutch.

"You don’t get it," she said. "You don’t know what it feels like."

"I do know," you snapped. "I know what an ACL tear does. I’m literally studying sports medicine, you think I don’t understand what you’re going through?"

Her eyes snapped to yours, sharp and defensive.

"That’s not the same."

"Why? Because it’s you?" You challenged, eyes narrowing at the fury in hers. This was a long way off how you thought and hoped this discussion would go, but at least she was talking to you now. "Because you’re Natasha Romanoff, queen of untouchable confidence?" Your voice softened, throat closing around her name. 

"Yes." Her voice cracked with the force of it. "Because everything I am is tied to the ice. And now I’m nothing at all."

You frowned, eyes glistening.

"Come on, you’re more than that. You’re allowed to fall apart, Nat. You’re human."

That hit her judging by the way she flinched like the words cut.

"Just leave it alone, okay?" She replied. "I don’t nee-"

"I know you don’t need help," your voice rose, echoing in the empty walkway. "You never need help. You never ask! You never let anyone in unless they claw their way inside. I know that."

Natasha’s glare flickered, teeth gnawing at her lip.

"That's not fair." She murmured, her eyes travelling over your angry features.

"Well, it’s the truth."

Silence stretched between you, tight and ready to snap, your breaths trembling. You exhaled, stepping closer. You did not touch her, you were not sure you would survive it if she pushed you away yet again.

"But I want to help you," you said softly. "Not because I pity you. Not because I think you’re weak. Because I-" Your voice caught, face pleading. "Because I love you, Natasha. Just let me help."

Her breath stuttered at your words. Her eyes widened, suddenly looking terrified. She looked away fast - so fast it was almost painful to see.

"Don’t say that, please..."

"Why not? We used to say it all the time."

"Because I can’t give you anything right now!" Her voice cracked open, raw and unfiltered. "I can’t skate. I can’t train. I can’t even walk without feeling like my knee’s going to fucking snap in two again. Everything I’ve worked for is gone. It’s gone, okay? It’s over. Everything I am is-" She stopped herself, chest rising and falling too fast, glistening eyes darting around.

You could see it, the fear she never let anyone witness.

"Natasha..." You reached out gently, despite yourself - slow enough to give her time to refuse.

She recoiled anyway.

Your hand froze mid-air, your heart dropping with it.

"I don’t want you to see me like this. So please, you have to leave me alone or this is not going to work." Her voice grew quieter, trembling. Cold dipping into desperation.

You shook your head, chest twisting painfully.

"I’m trying," you replied, sighing tiredly. "I’ve been trying since the day it happened. I know you wanted space but it’s been what feels like forever and you won’t let me in. Ever. You won’t let anyone in. Your sister called me worrying about you, Nat... We all are. You have to talk to us."

Natasha looked away again, regret flickering across her face at your words - but it did not stop her next words.

"I can’t do this," she muttered, shaking her head at the realization. "I can’t be... whatever you need."

"I don’t need anything," you insisted. "I just want you to let me in, please. Please, let me in again." You whispered, pleading eyes staring at her as you fought everything in yourself to not move closer to her. 

You sighed, eventually stepped into her space, close enough to smell the once familiar, sharp and clean scent of her laundry soap, close enough to see the exhaustion bruising her eyes. Close enough to make sure she could see the honesty on your face, the quiet pleading in your shiny eyes, the trembling of your tired breath.

"You can’t fix me." Natasha replied, looking down to stare at the end of her clutch when holding your gaze was too much.

"I’m not trying to."

"Yes, you are," her voice dropped to a whisper, surely you would not have been able to hear her if you were not so close to her. "And I can’t be fixed."

"Natasha-"

"Stop, just... stop. You don’t understand. I-I-" She shook her head, breath coming in fast. "I’m ending this before I ruin you too."

Your stomach dropped. This was not how it was supposed to go.

"What, no! You don’t get to make that choice for me." You replied, eyes widening at her words.

Natasha inhaled shakily, seemingly bracing herself like she was about to jump off a cliff.

"I’m serious, I can’t be what you deserve. Not now."

"But... you don’t have to be anything. Just-Just let me-"

"I can’t, detka. I can’t," her voice broke, she sniffled once. "I can’t let you love me when all I feel is empty. I don’t even love myself right now. I just-I..."

Your throat tightened painfully at the admission, feeling her slipping through your fingers.

"Natasha, please, don’t do this."

She shook her head once. Final. Fatal. You felt it like you had been knocked onto the ice.

"I’m sorry, I’m ending it."

The words landed like a blade. Cold, clean and precise. Straight to the heart. You could not breathe for a moment, tears welling up full force in your eyes.

"I’m sorry," she whispered, blinking to contain the wetness in her eyes. "You deserve someone whole."

The world swayed, you bit down your lip to keep your eyes on her, your face breaking down and letting your emotions spill over.

"And I’m not," Natasha continued, eyes shining. "I don’t know if I ever will be again."

Silence stretched between you again, thick and devastating this time. Your mouth opened, but nothing came out - what were you even supposed to reply to that?

Natasha quickly wiped away the stubborn tear falling over her cheek with her sleeve and forced herself to meet your gaze.

"This is the only way. You have to let me go." She added, offering you a trembling smile.

You stared at her - the girl you loved, the first girl you ever loved, the girl breaking her own heart just to try to save you from hers. A girl who always believed pain was something she should shoulder alone.

You found your voice again, small and crushed.

"But, I-I don’t want this...?"

Natasha swallowed, nodding slightly.

"I know."

"I still love you..." You whispered, the words coming out in a disbelieving tone.

Her face crumpled, she clenched her jaw so hard you thought it would snap or at least crack.

"I..." Natasha exhaled a trembling breath, teeth gnawing at her lower lip in thought. "I know."

She leaned in to press a quick, desperate kiss to the corner of your mouth before turning away so you could not see the tears finally falling freely. Her shoulders were shaking under the cold fabric of her hoodie, her crutches clicked unevenly across the pavements.

You stayed rooted to the spot. You could still feel the faint brush of her chapped lips on yours, a ghost of what used to be everything. You watched through your blurry vision as she walked away not just from the conversation, but from you. 

You prayed she would turn around, realized she was wrong and came back to you, just... look back.

But Natasha did not look back. Because she knew if she did that she would not be able to keep walking.

She made it around the corner of the building.

Barely... Just far enough that you could not see her anymore - because if you had, if you had taken even one step toward her, she would have folded back into your arms like a coward.

One of her crutches slipped on the pavement as soon as she was out of sight. And then, she fell, but not because her body was weak and broken. She fell because her heart gave out first.

Natasha braced herself against the brick wall of the athletic building, chest heaving like she had sprinted, even though she could hardly walk.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. The mantra beat through her skull like a steady pulse.

She squeezed her eyes shut. But God, of course it did not help.

Tears slipped out anyway, hot and furious. They ran down her cheeks faster than she could wipe them.

"Fuck," she choked, pressing her forehead to the cold brick. Her breath shook violently, scrunching up her nose in frustration. "Fuck, fuck-"

She did not even get to finish the word before her entire body started trembling. Because she had just destroyed the best thing she ever had.

Her hands shook so badly she dropped her other crutch. It clattered against the sidewalk, loud enough to echo. She completely sagged against the wall then, both palms slapping onto the rough surface like it was the only thing keeping her upright. It was, in a way.

She could not breathe. Not properly, at least. Not deeply like she would like to. Her chest felt like it was being crushed inward from all sides. Because she had just thrown you away, because she had watched your face crumble. Watched the hope drain out of your eyes. Watched you break because of her own words. 

Words she could not take back. Words she did not mean entirely. Words she had to say anyway.

Had to.

So she did. 

She fucking did.

"Fuck." Natasha whispered again, but it was not angry now, it was desperate. She squeezed her eyes tighter, wishing the pressure could hold her together.

A ragged, broken sob tore out of her throat before she could clamp her hand over her mouth.

It hurt.

God, it hurt worse than her knee ever had.

Your trembling voice replayed in her head on a loop. Her chest constricted violently, breath hitching in a way she had not felt since she was a kid - when crying was not permitted and feelings were not safe.

And now she was right back there. Alone. Shaking. Trying to stay quiet, even though there was no one around to hear her.

"Come on. You’re better off." She whispered to no one. To herself. 

To the ghost of you still standing in front of her.

She said it again, in her mind. Then again, until the voice inside her head cracked apart like splintered glass, too. Because if she did not keep saying it, she knew she would turn around and run back to you - broken knee be damned - drop to her knees, grab your hands and beg you not to walk away.

Beg for something she did not deserve, something she could not give back. Natasha pressed her palms to her eyes, digging her short nails against her brows, trying to ground herself, trying to pull air into lungs that would not cooperate.

Her heart pounded hard enough to hurt. Her ribs refused to expand.

Slowly, she sank to the concrete, her back flat against the wall, her knee screaming but she did not really care.

For the first time in months, years - besides the injury - she let herself cry out loud. And it was ugly. She was shaking. Full-body grief.

Not for hockey.

Not for her torn dream future.

For you. For what she had done to you. For the look in your eyes. For the sound of your voice when it cracked. For the way her name softens in your mouth, and how she would never hear it the same again. For the words she had not been strong enough to say to you.

She pressed her forehead to her knees and cried silently, fingers slipping into her hair. A group of students passed at the far end of the walkway. None of them seemed to notice her, or even look her way. For some reason, she had never felt more invisible.

Eventually the sobs slowed, not because she felt better but because she was too exhausted to cry anymore.

She wiped her face clean with her sleeves, hands shaky and unsteady, and forced herself to pick up her crutches.

Her knee ached, her throat burned, her eyes stung. So she swallowed hard and stood. Every step away from where she had left you felt like ripping a fresh stitch open. But she kept moving, because she had to.

Because turning back would have destroyed you both.

Natasha limped toward the dorms, hollow, shaking and broken in more ways than one.

⧗ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

"Nat," you murmured, breathless, palms braced against her chest as she crowded you back against your desk. "You’re going to be late."

Her mouth curved into that infuriating, lazy smirk just before she dipped her head and stole another kiss. Unhurried. The kind that told you she heard you perfectly well and decided you were wrong.

"Mhm," she sighed against your lips. "Worth it."

Her hands were warm where they slid along your waist, thumbs brushing the hem of your shirt like she had not already memorized every inch of you by heart for months now. She kissed you like she had nowhere else to be, like hockey practice was not waiting, like the ice was not calling her name.

This was certainly new.

Not the kissing - that had been happening for months now. Over a year, actually. Learned and relearned in stolen moments between classes, practices and perhaps way too late at nights or in quiet corners of the rink when everyone else has gone home. But this... this disregard, was very new. 

Natasha Romanoff did not show up late.

She was the first on the ice, last off it. Fury’s golden girl. The ex-Red Room’s prodigy. The one who never missed a drill, never slacked, never let anything - anyone - get between her and the game, the goal.

Well, until you.

Her forehead rested against yours now, hot breaths mingling, eyes half-lidded and warm in that way that still startled you sometimes. On the ice she was lethal, precision and borderline violence wrapped in grace. But here, with you... the usual sharp edges softened. Melted.

You slid your hands up her toned shoulders, fingers brushing the familiar tension knotted there. 

"Seriously, Nat," you said, quieter now. "Fury’s going to lose it if you’re late and we both know it."

"Lose it," she echoed, amused, eyes traveling over your face like she was committing it to memory again. "You say that like it’s a problem."

"It is a problem," you insisted, though you did not push her away. You never did. "You’re not exactly on his good side lately."

Her smile faded, just a fraction, replaced by something thoughtful. And then something dangerous.

"Let him talk then..." Natasha said with a small shrug. "In the meantime, we're still winning." She leaned in, her lips pressing against yours in a soft kiss before she pulled away when she realized you were not responding to her touches like you usually did. You did not melt into it the way you usually did.

She pulled back enough to study you.

You studied right back, her face first, the sharp line of her jaw, the faint but dark circles under her eyes she had been pretending were not there for months, then the minor bruise blooming near her collarbone from her last game she had waved off as nothing. There was a tension humming under her skin lately. A restlessness. A recklessness. 

"That’s not the point," you replied, eyes narrowing. "You’re distracted."

Her gaze sharpened, not defensive, not really. It was not an angry way either. Natasha was never angry at you. 

She was just... caught.

"Yeah? And whose fault is that?" She murmured. 

Before you could answer, she kissed you again, slower this time, deeper, her tongue coaxing your mouth open with practiced ease. One of her hands cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone with an intimacy that always made your chest ache. 

You melted into her despite yourself, despite the warning bells ringing softly in the back of your mind. Because she was going to be late late now - and it was going to be partially because of you.

When she finally pulled away, your lips were swollen and your breaths uneven.

Natasha glanced at the clock.

Three minutes.

She exhaled sharply, a quiet sound of irritation escaping her - not at you. Never at you. At the world beyond these walls. The real world. The world of expectations and drills and pressure. The world of responsibilities she more times than not found herself wanting to escape from. Just to lock herself away in this little pocket of reality with you.

Just for a little while longer.

She pressed one last kiss to your mouth, then another one to your forehead, lingering there.

"You’re trouble." She said fondly against your skin, lips eventually stretching into a smile.

You snorted, playfully pushing her away. 

"Says the girl risking Fury’s wrath."

Natasha shrugged as she grabbed her jacket in one hand, her bag in the other, her usual confidence snapping back into place like armor, the armor she liked to wear whenever she had to go back to face the real world that she could not seem to be able to escape. No matter how many times she tried to keep you in there with her. 

"He’ll survive."

She paused at the door before turning back, fingers curling around the handle. 

Natasha looked at you like you were the only solid thing in a world that was starting to tilt, her lips pulling into a small smile.

"You’ll be at the rink later?" 

"Always." You replied, smiling back at her.

Natasha could not help herself, she crossed the room and stole one more kiss from your addicting lips before finally slipping out the door.

Unfortunately, the clock kept ticking.

⧗

The locker room already smelled like sweat, cold metal and worn leather as Natasha followed a few teammates inside. Black and red sticks leaned against the walls, pieces of gears hung in neat rows, and the distant thunder of the rink echoed through the vents.

This was her home base. Sanctuary. The place Natasha Romanoff never let herself stumble.

So, when the door slammed behind her - hard enough to rattle one of the bench bolts - she did not flinch. She frowned, then turned, ready to glare at whoever thought that was a good idea... and froze when she recognized who it was.

Fury stood in the doorway, arms folded behind his back, his jaw tight.

Never a good sign.

The rest of her teammates scattered out of the room like spooked pigeons. Clint mouthed a dramatic good luck from behind Fury’s shoulder, only to get clipped on the back of the head by Laura as she herded him and the others out the opposite door toward the rink for warm-ups. Clint grumbled, shoving at his girlfriend the water bottle he apparently brought her.

Natasha straightened, her helmet tucked under one arm like it weighed nothing at all but was somehow the only thing grounding her in the moment, and met Fury’s gaze head-on.

"Coach," she said evenly, nodding in greeting. "Something wrong?"

She turned away, tossing her stick onto the bench, and knelt to unzip her bag with her usual lazy precision.

"Practice hasn't even started."

Fury did not answer right away. He just stared at her with that one raised brow - the one that said you are already in trouble in three different languages. A look she had been receiving more often lately than perhaps ever before.

"Mhm, just wanted a quick word," he said at last. "I see you’re late. Or at least here later than usual. Which means... late for you."

"By, like, five minutes." Natasha replied easily, not bothering to look at him as she closed her bag with a little more force than necessary after grabbing her gloves. A part of her knew where this was going, and that part was not looking forward to it.

"Five minutes you’ve never been late before."

"Wind slowed me down," she said matter-of-factly, crossing her arms. "Sorry."

"Sure it did." His tone was dry enough to crack ice.

Natasha’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. She exhaled slowly, eyebrows lifting in faint challenge.

"Is this going somewhere, Coach?"

"It is," Fury stepped closer, stopping just short of her personal space. His voice dropped to that dangerous rumble that never needed to rise to be heard. Everyone listened whenever he opened his mouth. "Your head’s not in the game, Romanoff."

Natasha stared up at him, keeping her face schooled in passive curiosity. 

She blinked.

Then chuckled.

Actually chuckled right in his face.

"Are you serious? I literally outplayed half the line yesterday," she replied, shaking her head. "And the last time I checked, I was still leading the league in assists. And second in goals."

"You’re playing well, Romanoff, but you’re distracted," he snapped, leveling her with a stare so direct she felt it like a tap to the sternum. "I know you. You’re better than this."

She held his gaze, jaw tight. She did not like the words, the implications, but most of all, she hated that he could see through her.

"I'm fine."

"No," Fury replied. "You’re not." He said it with the same certainty he would say the sun will rise or the ice is cold and it made her want to scream for some reason. How dare he proclaim things like these as if he knew the answer to everything.

Natasha clenched her jaw, nostrils flaring. She pushed off the locker, pacing once like she could shake the tension out of her body.

"Okay, listen, I don’t know what you think is going on-"

"Don’t you?" Fury cut in. "Miss heart-eyes?"

Natasha groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"It is not affecting my performance," she bit out, her voice tight. She froze mid-step. It was small, barely noticeable. But it was enough for Fury to narrow his good eye and tilt his head like he had just cornered the puck. "I don't-"

"You do." He sighed, shrugging like it was the simplest fact in the world.

"There's nothi-"

"Except there is." His tone was final, leaving no room for argument.

"It's not a big deal!" Natasha exclaimed with a scoff, having enough playing at whatever this was as she pushed her helmet aside to glare at him properly. "I'm not the first person to have a relationship while playing."

"True. Except you’re missing passes you never miss. Your reaction time’s off. In drills, you watch the doors when you should be watching the puck. You skate half the time like you’re already somewhere else. Or with someone else."

Natasha felt heat rising at the back of her neck. Annoyance, defensive anger, something else she absolutely refused to name.

Fury’s gaze cut through her like a scalpel.

"Listen kid, I'm not here to lecture you. But your dream is to go pro," he continued, quieter now but his tone heavier in meaning. "I know that. You know that. Half this damn school knows that. But you don’t get there if you let your emotions walk you around like a dog on a leash."

Natasha’s fingers curled at her sides, brows furrowed.

"Emotions don't control me." She replied, her voice calm and precise. Rehearsed.

Fury exhaled through his nose. 

"And yet, you were skating like a lovesick golden retriever in warmups yesterday. I’m just saying... be careful, remember your goal here."

"Oh, you think I forgot it? I'm in love, not fucking incompetent." Natasha snapped, then instantly regretted it the second the words left her mouth.

She froze, her eyes slightly widening like she had just let a secret spill mid-check. The silence filled the space between them, her teeth catching her lip to keep herself from saying something else and digging herself into a deeper hole.

Natasha turned sharply toward her locker, grabbing her helmet, her gloves, her stick - anything solid - like she needed something to hold onto before she lost more ground.

Fury’s stare softened. Not much, but enough as he cleared his throat.

"Romanoff," he said, voice dipping into something almost fatherly. "Natasha... listen, I’m not telling you to stop... whatever you’re doing. I’m telling you to remember what you’ve been fighting for your whole damn life. Because the second you get careless, someone else takes your spot. Trust me on this."

Natasha inhaled sharply from the sudden ache in her chest, fingers clenching around her helmet.

"I get it," she whispered eventually, but in the stillness there was no mistaking how much the words bit. "Hockey comes first."

Fury nodded, satisfied before turning to go, but paused at the door.

"And Romanoff?"

Natasha did not answer, but he knew she was listening.

"Get your head back, wherever you left it. We’ll need you at your best."

The door shut behind him.

Silence filled in the locker room again, heavy and cold.

Natasha sagged against the wall, the weight of his words pressing into her bones. She closed her eyes, letting her head fall back, exhaling slowly, trying not to think.

She hated how the words twisted something low in her stomach - with dread and recognition. 

Her fingers scraped over her own knuckles, still faintly bruised from her last game. She shook her head, refusing to listen to the part of her that had listened to and acknowledged his words. She refused to name the ache that the thought of you left behind, silently praying that love did not have to cost everything just because it always had before.

She was not going to break up with you. She was not even entertaining the thought. 

Not when kissing you felt like lightning under her skin. Not when holding your hand had felt like everything she had never let herself want out loud. Not when the moonlit lake still flickered behind her eyes like a film she could not shut off.

She was not about to give that up.

For anything.

Not even for her dream.

She would just have to hold onto it all.

So she shoved Fury’s words into the coldest corner of her mind, strapped on her gear, gripped her stick, and pushed through the door with a deep, steadying breath.

She would prove him wrong. Her head was fine. She was fine.

Totally, ridiculously, absolutely fucking fine.

And she absolutely, definitely was not thinking about you-

Bare skin under her fingertips, moonlight on your lashes, warm breath ghosting over her chapped lips.

Nope.

Not at all.