#cxptrxgers

Send a ♚ if you like my writing. Bonus points for why!

send a ♚ if you like my writing bonus points for why!

The past 2 weeks for Natasha had been like a rehashing of a nightmare. Her own past coming back to haunt her in the most vicious and cruel way. Perhaps somewhere in the back of her mind, she had always known of James return, as if he had some form of magnetic pull on her whenever he was near, and regardless of the circumstances, it was always a pull she was just shy of answering. He was such a monumental part of her past, that it took all she had to stay where she was and not go running after him. She had been brought back from the brink once, no longer considered the enemy, but to go back on all of that, regardless of who for, simply wasn’t worth it. The day they had received the order to put James down, was the day she felt her heart stop in her chest. Simply by fooling herself, she had thought she had left all harboured feelings towards him back in the past, but the moment she had set eyes on him, they came rushing back like a theoretical slap to the face.

The man who made her what she was, stood looking at her equally torn and broken. It felt like just yesterday; the image of him falling to his knees before her before his body remained lifeless on the ground still caused her to wake up screaming, it had just become such a regular occurrence now, that other members of the team within the tower had stopped coming to check on her, they were still waiting it out. It was one such night that she woke up, the gunshot ringing out in her subconscious mind even after she woke.

The sheets peeled back from her body. Looking to the clock, it read 3am, that in itself causing a huff to fall from her lips. Shrugging on a cardigan she ran her hands through her hair before pulling her door open and padding through to the kitchen area.

Seeing the light on, she frowned, perhaps no more than Tony rooting around for something to eat after another long night in the workshop, the scene that greeted her however was completely unexpected. Steve, perched at the kitchen table, head held in his hands, dozens upon dozens of old photos scattered in front of him.