Natasha isn't naive. There are throngs of people back home who believe that the team - what was the team - is invincible. Men made of iron and stone, a woman carved of diamond. Solid. Strong. Faultless.
She's too wise to believe the same. Or perhaps despondent. Maybe Natasha is just broken, but whatever the reason is, she doesn't believe in those types of miracles. Natasha doesn't believe in heroes, because no matter how strong or fast or agile someone is they're still human, even when they're biologically not. They're vulnerable to the same human traits as everyone else, like envy or anger. Like pride.
Like love.
Natasha had spent so much time trying to convince everyone else that she was invulnerable to love that she actually managed to believe her own lie; the number one mistake to avoid. When one begins to believe their own lies that's when their true vulnerabilities show, and that's what happened to her. She believed her own lie, so when she saw someone who could be kind, and caring, and an escape from the terrible things she did in her past - the terrible things she knew were still to come - Natasha was blindsided. She had everything aligned, her own redemption was right in front of her if she just focused, and then she went and fell in love and threw it all away. The pursuit of happiness was paved in raw exposure and when she reached the end of the road she realized that she had shown her true face to someone who never wanted to meet the woman behind her cracked, porcelain mask. That wasn't Bruce's fault. That was hers. She's the one who fell in love. And Natasha knew better.
It was nice, though, that feeling. Waking up to a thought that wasn't who she was and what she had done. Going to sleep at night was easier when she was lulled off with the memories of someone else's smile to comfort her. Thinking about him meant that she had something to think about other than herself, and in the end maybe that's what Natasha loved the most. Not feeling like Natasha.
The point is that, in the end, she finally understood. Love isn't for children, it's for those who are able to be themselves when they're alone but are better when they're not. It's for people who need a reason to wake up in the morning, because when Natasha had that it was the first time she truly understood what it meant to be alive. She doesn't have it anymore, and she wishes that she never did, but she understands. She'll never view love as something fleeting ever again.
What she didn't - doesn't - understand in love, however, Natasha makes up for with her very deep and personal comprehension of pain. Everybody has something that rips them to their very core and makes them question their own worth; Natasha questions hers every day. It's her one ultimate secret, that when everyone else is trying to figure out who's side she's really on, Natasha herself is having the same battle. She doesn't know who's side she's on. In the end, she doesn't really believe that she's capable of telling the difference, so does it truly matter? Everybody has those battles, perhaps not to the same level but warring within oneself is another trait that comes with being human, and nobody wants to believe that the morality of a hero is gray. Natasha doesn't think that Steve is a hero. She doesn't believe him to be immune to any of the nasty things human nature has cursed upon both of them, and that's why she sees him as a friend.
That's why she follows him. Not because she can see the look on his face and believe that he's okay, but because she can see the look on his face and know that he's not.
Her dress flows silently behind her as she walks briskly after him, keeping enough of a distance to fall into the shadows if she has to. Her heels are silent on the tile floors, a skill that she perfected before the age of twelve, because god help any girl in that room who didn't. He's distracted, she can tell already, because no matter how good Natasha is at stealth she knows how to recognize someone's attention coming to focus, and his mind is elsewhere. She could be speaking to him and he probably wouldn't even realize it until several moments after, and that concerns her even more than the look on his face.
She stops far enough away to watch him get on the elevator and make his way up to GREEN and then... past. Natasha assumed that she would just confront him in his own apartment but apparently that's not the case, and she has to watch carefully to count just how many levels past his own he goes before she gets on the second elevator and presses the corresponding button. She suddenly realizes just how much trouble she could be in, wearing a very red dress and traveling so high, but security is focused on the gala tonight and Natasha's feared for her safety in situations much more dangerous than this. Something is going on with him, and she'd approach him about it now if she wasn't sure that doing so would make him shut down. She knows him. He'd smile. He'd tell her that he was fine. That he just needed fresh air. He'd lie, and Natasha can't hold that against him, because who is she to hold judgement?
When she gets off she lingers, watching him walk ahead of her and disembarking from the elevator right as the doors begin to close before following him to the outdoor track where the wind ferociously tears its way at her hair and gown. She keeps steady, watching from a distance until she finally sees it, and when she does Natasha has to grip at her own stomach when a knot of anxiety starts to form. He's breaking. She knows that he's breaking, because she knows what that looks like.
It really is pathetic, how, in this moment, Natasha relates to him more than she ever has before. Hero or not, Steve has always seemed so above her, so certain and so good. Of course he feels pain and of course he wars with himself but not like she does, surely. How could someone so genuine with so little secrets relate to the sort of self struggle that drives them to crumble in solitude? For the first time, Natasha realizes that, perhaps, she's not the only one on the team who knows how to wear a truly convincing mask. She's not the only one who broke the first rule, and believed their own lie.
At first she doesn't do anything, because Natasha isn't Steve. She doesn't know how to be good, and in times like this she's expected to be too human. Providing comfort makes her feel too vulnerable, and she's not deluded into thinking that he'd know she was ever there if she turned and left right now. Something in her doesn't allow it, though, because Natasha knows what it's like to wake up and be alone. She knows what it's like to open your eyes and find that the world around you has changed, and everybody is different. Nobody knows you. Perhaps nobody could have related to her when she experienced that moment, but Natasha can be the person that she needed. She can be that person for him.
When she walks it's with a strange sort of grace that keeps her steady on the track beneath her despite the wind. Her dress seems to cling to one side of her body while flowing freely from the other, as if trying to rip it's way from her because the illusion of tonight has ended. Feeling normal and in place at the gala, has ended. This is where they are now. This is what this place has done to them.
Her hair flies into her face in pieces, half of it falling out of the carefully placed bobby pins that she was so particular about earlier in the evening, but she doesn't care anymore. Who is she putting a face on for here? Not for Steve. He knows how ugly she is, how truly ugly she is, and a little part of her has hated him for it. Now she's glad, because she's not approaching him as a flawless masterpiece, but as a friend, and he could only know that if he knew how ugly she is.
When she reaches him she says nothing, and simply stands there at his side until he's ready to acknowledge her. It's when he doesn't that Natasha acknowledges him instead, and she reaches out a hand to place it on his white-knuckled grip on the railing. He's panicking, she can see it in his eyes and tense jaw, and Natasha doesn't know what's going on but she knows what she has to do because she knows that type of panic. It's not logical. He can't be talked down. It can only pass. Natasha tugs at his fingers to guide his grip into loosening from the railing that he clings to, and instead replaces it with her own grasp so he still has something to ground himself. It's a slow process, removing him from the rail, but she manages to get both of his hands off and that's when she guides him to sit down; right there on the track. She sinks with him, sits with him in a puddle of red fabric, and before he can protest Natasha's smaller form wraps around him, arms circling in a tight embrace around broad shoulders.
One of her hands moves to the back of Steve's head and she pulls him in, not asking him but forcing him to rest his head on her shoulder and his weight on her body, because she knows - god how she knows - how much this man needs to let go of that weight. Delicate fingers thread through his short hair and in a rare show of true affection her lips press against the top of his crown in a soft kiss that lingers, lipstick be damned. It's all she can do. Hold him close. Ground him. Make him realize that he's not alone. She waits patiently, and when his objections don't come hard and strong, that's when she speaks with a voice close to his ear, audible for him despite how quiet it is beneath the wind.
"Breathe with me. Whatever is going on in your head, I'm here. Whatever is happening and whatever it is, you're not going to be alone. You'll never be alone here." It matters. It's what she's always needed to hear. Maybe it's what Steve needs to hear too.
no subject
Natasha isn't naive. There are throngs of people back home who believe that the team - what was the team - is invincible. Men made of iron and stone, a woman carved of diamond. Solid. Strong. Faultless.
She's too wise to believe the same. Or perhaps despondent. Maybe Natasha is just broken, but whatever the reason is, she doesn't believe in those types of miracles. Natasha doesn't believe in heroes, because no matter how strong or fast or agile someone is they're still human, even when they're biologically not. They're vulnerable to the same human traits as everyone else, like envy or anger. Like pride.
Like love.
Natasha had spent so much time trying to convince everyone else that she was invulnerable to love that she actually managed to believe her own lie; the number one mistake to avoid. When one begins to believe their own lies that's when their true vulnerabilities show, and that's what happened to her. She believed her own lie, so when she saw someone who could be kind, and caring, and an escape from the terrible things she did in her past - the terrible things she knew were still to come - Natasha was blindsided. She had everything aligned, her own redemption was right in front of her if she just focused, and then she went and fell in love and threw it all away. The pursuit of happiness was paved in raw exposure and when she reached the end of the road she realized that she had shown her true face to someone who never wanted to meet the woman behind her cracked, porcelain mask. That wasn't Bruce's fault. That was hers. She's the one who fell in love. And Natasha knew better.
It was nice, though, that feeling. Waking up to a thought that wasn't who she was and what she had done. Going to sleep at night was easier when she was lulled off with the memories of someone else's smile to comfort her. Thinking about him meant that she had something to think about other than herself, and in the end maybe that's what Natasha loved the most. Not feeling like Natasha.
The point is that, in the end, she finally understood. Love isn't for children, it's for those who are able to be themselves when they're alone but are better when they're not. It's for people who need a reason to wake up in the morning, because when Natasha had that it was the first time she truly understood what it meant to be alive. She doesn't have it anymore, and she wishes that she never did, but she understands. She'll never view love as something fleeting ever again.
What she didn't - doesn't - understand in love, however, Natasha makes up for with her very deep and personal comprehension of pain. Everybody has something that rips them to their very core and makes them question their own worth; Natasha questions hers every day. It's her one ultimate secret, that when everyone else is trying to figure out who's side she's really on, Natasha herself is having the same battle. She doesn't know who's side she's on. In the end, she doesn't really believe that she's capable of telling the difference, so does it truly matter? Everybody has those battles, perhaps not to the same level but warring within oneself is another trait that comes with being human, and nobody wants to believe that the morality of a hero is gray. Natasha doesn't think that Steve is a hero. She doesn't believe him to be immune to any of the nasty things human nature has cursed upon both of them, and that's why she sees him as a friend.
That's why she follows him. Not because she can see the look on his face and believe that he's okay, but because she can see the look on his face and know that he's not.
Her dress flows silently behind her as she walks briskly after him, keeping enough of a distance to fall into the shadows if she has to. Her heels are silent on the tile floors, a skill that she perfected before the age of twelve, because god help any girl in that room who didn't. He's distracted, she can tell already, because no matter how good Natasha is at stealth she knows how to recognize someone's attention coming to focus, and his mind is elsewhere. She could be speaking to him and he probably wouldn't even realize it until several moments after, and that concerns her even more than the look on his face.
She stops far enough away to watch him get on the elevator and make his way up to GREEN and then... past. Natasha assumed that she would just confront him in his own apartment but apparently that's not the case, and she has to watch carefully to count just how many levels past his own he goes before she gets on the second elevator and presses the corresponding button. She suddenly realizes just how much trouble she could be in, wearing a very red dress and traveling so high, but security is focused on the gala tonight and Natasha's feared for her safety in situations much more dangerous than this. Something is going on with him, and she'd approach him about it now if she wasn't sure that doing so would make him shut down. She knows him. He'd smile. He'd tell her that he was fine. That he just needed fresh air. He'd lie, and Natasha can't hold that against him, because who is she to hold judgement?
When she gets off she lingers, watching him walk ahead of her and disembarking from the elevator right as the doors begin to close before following him to the outdoor track where the wind ferociously tears its way at her hair and gown. She keeps steady, watching from a distance until she finally sees it, and when she does Natasha has to grip at her own stomach when a knot of anxiety starts to form. He's breaking. She knows that he's breaking, because she knows what that looks like.
It really is pathetic, how, in this moment, Natasha relates to him more than she ever has before. Hero or not, Steve has always seemed so above her, so certain and so good. Of course he feels pain and of course he wars with himself but not like she does, surely. How could someone so genuine with so little secrets relate to the sort of self struggle that drives them to crumble in solitude? For the first time, Natasha realizes that, perhaps, she's not the only one on the team who knows how to wear a truly convincing mask. She's not the only one who broke the first rule, and believed their own lie.
At first she doesn't do anything, because Natasha isn't Steve. She doesn't know how to be good, and in times like this she's expected to be too human. Providing comfort makes her feel too vulnerable, and she's not deluded into thinking that he'd know she was ever there if she turned and left right now. Something in her doesn't allow it, though, because Natasha knows what it's like to wake up and be alone. She knows what it's like to open your eyes and find that the world around you has changed, and everybody is different. Nobody knows you. Perhaps nobody could have related to her when she experienced that moment, but Natasha can be the person that she needed. She can be that person for him.
When she walks it's with a strange sort of grace that keeps her steady on the track beneath her despite the wind. Her dress seems to cling to one side of her body while flowing freely from the other, as if trying to rip it's way from her because the illusion of tonight has ended. Feeling normal and in place at the gala, has ended. This is where they are now. This is what this place has done to them.
Her hair flies into her face in pieces, half of it falling out of the carefully placed bobby pins that she was so particular about earlier in the evening, but she doesn't care anymore. Who is she putting a face on for here? Not for Steve. He knows how ugly she is, how truly ugly she is, and a little part of her has hated him for it. Now she's glad, because she's not approaching him as a flawless masterpiece, but as a friend, and he could only know that if he knew how ugly she is.
When she reaches him she says nothing, and simply stands there at his side until he's ready to acknowledge her. It's when he doesn't that Natasha acknowledges him instead, and she reaches out a hand to place it on his white-knuckled grip on the railing. He's panicking, she can see it in his eyes and tense jaw, and Natasha doesn't know what's going on but she knows what she has to do because she knows that type of panic. It's not logical. He can't be talked down. It can only pass. Natasha tugs at his fingers to guide his grip into loosening from the railing that he clings to, and instead replaces it with her own grasp so he still has something to ground himself. It's a slow process, removing him from the rail, but she manages to get both of his hands off and that's when she guides him to sit down; right there on the track. She sinks with him, sits with him in a puddle of red fabric, and before he can protest Natasha's smaller form wraps around him, arms circling in a tight embrace around broad shoulders.
One of her hands moves to the back of Steve's head and she pulls him in, not asking him but forcing him to rest his head on her shoulder and his weight on her body, because she knows - god how she knows - how much this man needs to let go of that weight. Delicate fingers thread through his short hair and in a rare show of true affection her lips press against the top of his crown in a soft kiss that lingers, lipstick be damned. It's all she can do. Hold him close. Ground him. Make him realize that he's not alone. She waits patiently, and when his objections don't come hard and strong, that's when she speaks with a voice close to his ear, audible for him despite how quiet it is beneath the wind.
"Breathe with me. Whatever is going on in your head, I'm here. Whatever is happening and whatever it is, you're not going to be alone. You'll never be alone here." It matters. It's what she's always needed to hear. Maybe it's what Steve needs to hear too.
She repeats.
"Breathe with me."