When she tilts his head up so they can see each other, Steve nearly pulls away completely. His eyes, unsure of what too, wander adrift for a few seconds before wandering back. It’s not that Steve is afraid of showing her his vulnerabilities. It’s rather that … Steve doesn’t know how to hide anything in his eyes. It’s where you can always look to know exactly what he’s thinking, and he’s afraid that if they stay staring at each other for too long, Natasha will see straight down into his soul.
And maybe it’s because she can see the panic, but she’s hushing him before he can even say anything. She’s keeping his mind busy, speaking in languages he can’t understand, while using her body to help him remember how lungs can expand and how chests can rise. He understands. If he doesn’t know how to breathe anymore, she’d teach him, one inhale at a time.
Inhale, exhale.
It sounds easy. It should be easy, and Steve’s really trying but he can’t do it, at least not right away. He’s filling his lungs too much, he’s holding onto air for too long, and it’s not that he doesn’t appreciate her words, but the lack of consistent oxygen is making Steve groggy, and his mind feels so numb that he only hears some of what she’s saying.
But if she keeps going, if she doesn’t give up on him, the calm does come in the end.
A few minutes ago, Steve was terrified to meet her gaze, scared that he’d reveal what little secrets he had. But once Steve truly looks at her and looks into her, it’s the fierce determination he sees in Natasha’s eyes that starts to ground him. Love, friendship, and a fierce determination to keep him afloat. In that moment, Steve finally accepts that if Natasha knew everything, she wouldn’t abandon him. That thought alone steadies him in a way that Steve didn’t think would be possible tonight.
For a whole minute, he doesn’t stop looking at her, holding onto that sentiment in her eyes like the lifeboat he never gets when he crashes into water.
I’m not going to let you drown up here.
He remembers her saying that now, and there’s a slight twitch in his lips that’s nearly unreadable to everyone except Natasha. Under normal circumstances, Steve probably would have smiled, but right now, all he can do is look at her, his own eyes still moist, with a bit of awe and astonishment. He knows it’s a metaphor, and maybe it’s just coincidence, but Steve knows Natasha well enough to know that nearly nothing with her is coincidence anymore. Even if she didn’t consciously choose those words, something inside her has already picked up on the fact that he’d come up here to drown. In emotions, sure, that part he couldn’t control anymore. But also, in his mind, where he remembers exactly what the visceral pain of drowning feels like.
He doesn’t think about it very often, and it’s not because he’s afraid of it, or can’t bear the memory. It’s because he doesn’t regret his decision to go down with that plane. His conviction is as strong now as it was the moment he saw the water crack the windshields. The only thing he regrets, maybe, is the seventy years it put between him and the person he loved.
Steve nearly laughs when he suddenly remembers what he’d said to Bruce that night in Stark Tower, when he saw how he and Natasha acted around each other.
As the world's expert on waiting too long, don't. You both deserve a win.
Seventy years. Is that how long he’d wait again, before having the courage to love who he wants to love?
And suddenly, his strongest memory of the night returns, and Steve struggles to set it aside but he can’t this time. He can taste it once more, that imagined flavor of alcohol mixed with Tony’s mouth, and the sensation is so strong that it pulls Steve’s mind towards every single time he watched Tony return to the bar and drink and drink and drink-
“I hurt him, again — Tony.” His chest aches when he admits it, and when Steve gets to Tony’s name, he can’t even look at her when he says the word, but the way his voice sounds is honest in a way that’s hard to take. Grief. Shame. Guilt. They’re all there.
But he said the words. He can’t take them back.
Maybe the most striking part to Steve though, is how suddenly he realizes that he doesn’t want to.
no subject
And maybe it’s because she can see the panic, but she’s hushing him before he can even say anything. She’s keeping his mind busy, speaking in languages he can’t understand, while using her body to help him remember how lungs can expand and how chests can rise. He understands. If he doesn’t know how to breathe anymore, she’d teach him, one inhale at a time.
Inhale, exhale.
It sounds easy. It should be easy, and Steve’s really trying but he can’t do it, at least not right away. He’s filling his lungs too much, he’s holding onto air for too long, and it’s not that he doesn’t appreciate her words, but the lack of consistent oxygen is making Steve groggy, and his mind feels so numb that he only hears some of what she’s saying.
But if she keeps going, if she doesn’t give up on him, the calm does come in the end.
A few minutes ago, Steve was terrified to meet her gaze, scared that he’d reveal what little secrets he had. But once Steve truly looks at her and looks into her, it’s the fierce determination he sees in Natasha’s eyes that starts to ground him. Love, friendship, and a fierce determination to keep him afloat. In that moment, Steve finally accepts that if Natasha knew everything, she wouldn’t abandon him. That thought alone steadies him in a way that Steve didn’t think would be possible tonight.
For a whole minute, he doesn’t stop looking at her, holding onto that sentiment in her eyes like the lifeboat he never gets when he crashes into water.
I’m not going to let you drown up here.
He remembers her saying that now, and there’s a slight twitch in his lips that’s nearly unreadable to everyone except Natasha. Under normal circumstances, Steve probably would have smiled, but right now, all he can do is look at her, his own eyes still moist, with a bit of awe and astonishment. He knows it’s a metaphor, and maybe it’s just coincidence, but Steve knows Natasha well enough to know that nearly nothing with her is coincidence anymore. Even if she didn’t consciously choose those words, something inside her has already picked up on the fact that he’d come up here to drown. In emotions, sure, that part he couldn’t control anymore. But also, in his mind, where he remembers exactly what the visceral pain of drowning feels like.
He doesn’t think about it very often, and it’s not because he’s afraid of it, or can’t bear the memory. It’s because he doesn’t regret his decision to go down with that plane. His conviction is as strong now as it was the moment he saw the water crack the windshields. The only thing he regrets, maybe, is the seventy years it put between him and the person he loved.
Steve nearly laughs when he suddenly remembers what he’d said to Bruce that night in Stark Tower, when he saw how he and Natasha acted around each other.
As the world's expert on waiting too long, don't. You both deserve a win.
Seventy years. Is that how long he’d wait again, before having the courage to love who he wants to love?
And suddenly, his strongest memory of the night returns, and Steve struggles to set it aside but he can’t this time. He can taste it once more, that imagined flavor of alcohol mixed with Tony’s mouth, and the sensation is so strong that it pulls Steve’s mind towards every single time he watched Tony return to the bar and drink and drink and drink-
“I hurt him, again — Tony.” His chest aches when he admits it, and when Steve gets to Tony’s name, he can’t even look at her when he says the word, but the way his voice sounds is honest in a way that’s hard to take. Grief. Shame. Guilt. They’re all there.
But he said the words. He can’t take them back.
Maybe the most striking part to Steve though, is how suddenly he realizes that he doesn’t want to.