It doesn't register at first, what he means when he finds enough air in his lungs to speak. Natasha is too distracted in making sure that he's okay, and too wrapped up in keeping track of his inhale, to comprehend exactly what Steve had done, but instead of trying to comfort him anyway like others might and telling him that it's all going to be alright, Natasha stays silent. She doesn't know if it's going to be alright because she doesn't know what's happened, but she also knows that pushing him for more information isn't going to get her anywhere right now. Steve doesn't speak in riddles, he speaks in certainty and with conviction, even in times like this. All of the information that he's able to give has been given in that moment, and it doesn't take much for Natasha to think about her earlier interaction with Tony that night. Tony, who's okay but isn't good, and Steve, who spent the night watching Stark from across the room so intently that it was hard for her not to notice. She just thought that he was worried about Tony in the way that she was, but his comment has her thinking back at just how long Steve was staring at him, and just what kind of look he held in his eye when he did. Her own gaze goes off for a moment as she replays the image of it in her head, trying to pinpoint exactly what it is about it that seems off to her, and she realizes that the way that Steve watched Tony with gaze full of concern and something... else, is familiar. She hasn't seen that look, or experienced it, in quite some time now, but it's how Clint would look at Laura after calling Natasha over in the middle of the night because he was worried about her during the first pregnancy. It's how, after a mission, after things got too heated, Natasha would look at -
Oh.
Oh.
It hits her with the power of a train, like being plunged in a vat of cold water, and every hair on the back of her neck stands on end as her eyes snap back to Steve's face. She's studying him this time, analyzing every line in his face and every micro-expression he makes in search for confirmation... but she doesn't need it. It makes sense. Lord, it suddenly makes so much sense.
Natasha had her suspicions about Steve before tonight, but not because of Tony. She's never said it aloud, because she's never found it to be relevant, but she felt as if there was something there not between the two Avengers, but between Steve and Bucky that drove him to search so passionately. It wasn't until Natasha actually because Steve's friend that she realized that's just what he does, but it's always been a question in the back of her mind; one too irrelevant to think too much about and one too dangerous for someone like Steve to acknowledge, even if she did ask. She knows what it was like when he was young, the beliefs and systems that were in place, and being persecuted for emotion isn't something that Natasha is unfamiliar with. But it runs deeper than that for him, and she knows it; this isn't just about feelings for a man. This is about feelings for Tony, and that makes it complicated. Worse. They were already broken because of their own stupidity on both ends, and for Steve to feel like he had wronged Tony in some way meant that he must have done something outwardly about whatever connection he's recognized between them. The way she sees it, there are only two options; he told Tony how he felt, or he pulled away. If it was the first then Tony would have had to let him down easy and that's why Steve is here, on the track trembling in the arms of a woman quite literally half his size. If it was the second, though, then that would explain why Tony drank the entire bar and why Steve feels as if he hurt him; Tony doesn't drink when he feels bad about hurting someone's feelings. He drinks to hide his own. That's her answer.
"Steve..." She wants to tell him that this is too much. She can't do this, this isn't something that Natasha is good at. It's something that she can relate to but on a level that she doesn't speak about, and she told herself she would never speak about because it's a level of pathetic weakness that she swore she'd never let the outside world see again. Let it rot. Keep it in, let it die. That was the plan, and yet to stick to that plan it would mean that she would have to pat Steve on the shoulder and tell him that it would all work itself out. She would have to take the trust he's putting in her, and return it with an outward wall of closed security, and that's not why she's here. Natasha has already promised that she won't let him drown, and she's quickly realizing that it's a promise she might not be able to keep. Friends, though, do their damnedest to try, and if she can't give Steve his own lifeboat then she can at least invite him into hers. Maybe they'll both sink... but then, at least, they'd drown together, and that's better than leaving him alone. He taught her that.
The sound of her dress against the ground can barely be heard as she moves, this time shifting herself so she can sit in front of him instead of beside him and keep his attention. Something has changed; the compassion in her face has gone, but not for malice. Her brow is pinched with uncertainty and now she can't look at him, instead staring at the space between them with the corner of her lip between her teeth. She doesn't know if she can do this, but she knows that she has to. So it seems that she'll find out. "You can't-" she stops before she can even begin, her lips pressing together in a thin line before she inhales deeply through her nose.
'Stop. Breathe. Disconnect. Go.'
The process happens almost instantaneously, one that she wishes she didn't still need, but she does, and she uses it. She says nothing aloud, but suddenly, she can look at him. "You can't be upset with yourself for feeling something." 'Hypocrite. Irrelevant. Continue.' "For being human. ...I remember my first friend. Her name was Anna, she was a year older than me. She taught me how to braid my hair." The vague quirk of a smile that pinches at the corner of Natasha's mouth isn't real, and she doesn't know why she does it. Sometimes she can't shut off the need to be someone else; especially in the moments where she's being herself because that person is, more than anything, a stranger to her. "I met her when I was eight, as soon as I was recruited to the Red Room. She slept in the bed next to mine, we were... handcuffed," she stops for a brief moment to clear her throat, but she continues quickly, "to the bed frames with one hand so none of us ran away or got out of bed without permission. At night, though, sometimes, if one of us was crying, the other would try to reach over with our other hand. We would try to touch each other's arm, just so we knew that we weren't alone. She was better at it than I was. Longer arms." She says the last part like it's a dry joke. Like humor can be found in something like this, but it's that part of her that can't shut off when she feels exposed. When some animals get backed into a corner they bite; others camouflage.
"They let us get close, watched us grow together. Anna helped me settle, she was... good to me. We were good to each other, always, and when I turned eleven they started to thin our numbers. It was expensive, feeding all of those little girls, and you only want to spend your money on the horse you know is going to win a race or two. They would pit us against each other but it's not - it wasn't like other sessions. These weren't for practice anymore, you killed your opponent or you were killed. See, we thought we were clever." Natasha's gaze had fallen again, and when the wind blows her hair into her face this time she lets it. She wants as much of a veil as possible. "We thought that, if neither of us fought, they couldn't make us. The first two girls did that and they were both shot... defiance was never an option back then. We knew that. So we all watched as each pair went up and only one girl walked away, or neither walked away... either way they were opening up a lot of beds, I don't think they really cared in the end. And then it was my turn, and they put me up against Anna. I didn't want to." The last part is tacked on quickly and for a second, a fleeting moment, Natasha's voice cracks on the tail end of the last syllable. Of course she didn't want to. No little girl wants to find themselves in that position, but she still needs to say it aloud. Natasha still needs to justify it.
"Neither of us wanted to get shot. So we fought, and I killed her. That's when I learned that friends weren't something that I was supposed to have. Emotional connection is only allowed when approved. No matter how I felt about it, and that followed me. Even after Clint made the call he made and I came to SHIELD, that followed me, and Clint became the exception to the rule, not the change. And then there was you." It's only then that Natasha manages to look back up at Steve and push her hair behind her ear, face stoic with a lack of expression that doesn't come from training, but comes with necessity. "And I felt important, and trusted. Then Tony, and Thor, and then there was -"
That's when she stops again, and the mask cracks when her tongue darts out to wet her lips quickly and her brow furrows. The frustration that's there now is with herself, but not because she has to keep stopping. It's the content, not the delivery. "And then there was Bruce, and Bruce was different. He was sweet, and gentle and kind and I couldn't hurt him, Steve." There it is... the true reason, the one that started Natasha's spiral downward in the first place that she's never been able to say aloud. The change in pitch is angry this time, and Natasha can feel the heat rising to her eyes as they begin to burn. "No matter what I did or who I listened to or who got a hold of me I couldn't hurt him. It was impossible, and that made him - he made me feel-" the sentence finishes with a grunt of frustration and she can feel the warmth running down her cheek, a tear that she struggled to keep to herself. Her hand moves quickly to wipe it away, skin smeared with black from her mascara, but now that she's speaking she can't stop. If she stops, she'll never start again.
"It made me feel safe, like there was finally something that I found that I couldn't ruin. If we were ever put against each other I would lose, not him. If we refused to fight and we both got shot, he'd be okay, you know? He'd never get hurt because of me, and that made me feel... normal. Human. I felt like a person." It's the only way she can explain it to this day, perhaps because she still can't fully understand it. She can't comprehend how deeply she felt what she felt for him. She doesn't bother wiping away her tears anymore because it's pointless, and Natasha isn't crying because of Bruce. She isn't crying for Bruce, she's crying because she's furious with herself for being so foolish. She's smarter than that. She was supposed to be smarter than that.
"I told him things about myself that I had never told anyone, he knows things about me that I - I can't get that back. I can't get that back from him, it's his now forever whether I like it or not and I trusted him with that. And it doesn't matter what he did with it and how it all ended, because what matters - Steve," she's come to the end, and the wet laugh that Natasha manages to give this time is one of realization. It's genuine, and she moves closer to take his face in both of her hands this time, her eyes wet, and hurt and frightened, but still hopeful. Somehow, there's still good intent there, and it's not for her; it's for him, because of course. Of course it didn't work for Natasha, because she's Natasha and she was stupid to think that it could, but it can work for Steve. If it can work for anybody, it can work for Steve. "All that matters is how it made me feel and it felt... human. I wasn't anyone else, I was me and for the first time in my life that was okay. Feeling, and caring, no matter what I was told or what it would have meant for me ten years ago, was okay, and it was worth it. Do you understand what I'm telling you? It's worth it."
Hands fall from his face and Natasha wets her lips again before sucking in a rattling breath, her eyes tinted with the signs of her crying and cheeks streaked with black ink. "It's not going to be easy and I'm not saying that it is, but sometimes you need to let go and realize that it can be worth it." Natasha isn't sure if this is the first time that she's ever given advice that has nothing to do with covert operations, but if it is she certainly doesn't sound it. Her confidence is strong and steady, and it's weaved within every word. "It isn't about pros and cons, it's not about who's better with than without or risk and reward - none of that matters. It's about you, and him, and finding someone who makes you better than you are when you're alone. And he does that for you. You do it for him, I see it. When you two are working, really working, you're better than you've ever been apart. When you're on opposite sides of the field you can spend all day knocking each other over but when you're both on the same side? I've never seen you fail, and that's not just teamwork. I know teamwork. That's something else." She's seen the change in both Tony and Steve after they met each other, and she sees how different they are when they're around each other. It's significant. They're just too wrapped up in their own self doubt and fear to notice.
"Don't let anything from your past tell you how to feel. You've never let anyone tell you how to live, so why would you let anyone dictate how you love?" Her jaw sets firmly, flexing with a effort to bite back another sudden wave of emotion that catches her off guard. "I still can't braid my hair. Don't let them do that to you."
no subject
Oh.
Oh.
It hits her with the power of a train, like being plunged in a vat of cold water, and every hair on the back of her neck stands on end as her eyes snap back to Steve's face. She's studying him this time, analyzing every line in his face and every micro-expression he makes in search for confirmation... but she doesn't need it. It makes sense. Lord, it suddenly makes so much sense.
Natasha had her suspicions about Steve before tonight, but not because of Tony. She's never said it aloud, because she's never found it to be relevant, but she felt as if there was something there not between the two Avengers, but between Steve and Bucky that drove him to search so passionately. It wasn't until Natasha actually because Steve's friend that she realized that's just what he does, but it's always been a question in the back of her mind; one too irrelevant to think too much about and one too dangerous for someone like Steve to acknowledge, even if she did ask. She knows what it was like when he was young, the beliefs and systems that were in place, and being persecuted for emotion isn't something that Natasha is unfamiliar with. But it runs deeper than that for him, and she knows it; this isn't just about feelings for a man. This is about feelings for Tony, and that makes it complicated. Worse. They were already broken because of their own stupidity on both ends, and for Steve to feel like he had wronged Tony in some way meant that he must have done something outwardly about whatever connection he's recognized between them. The way she sees it, there are only two options; he told Tony how he felt, or he pulled away. If it was the first then Tony would have had to let him down easy and that's why Steve is here, on the track trembling in the arms of a woman quite literally half his size. If it was the second, though, then that would explain why Tony drank the entire bar and why Steve feels as if he hurt him; Tony doesn't drink when he feels bad about hurting someone's feelings. He drinks to hide his own. That's her answer.
"Steve..." She wants to tell him that this is too much. She can't do this, this isn't something that Natasha is good at. It's something that she can relate to but on a level that she doesn't speak about, and she told herself she would never speak about because it's a level of pathetic weakness that she swore she'd never let the outside world see again. Let it rot. Keep it in, let it die. That was the plan, and yet to stick to that plan it would mean that she would have to pat Steve on the shoulder and tell him that it would all work itself out. She would have to take the trust he's putting in her, and return it with an outward wall of closed security, and that's not why she's here. Natasha has already promised that she won't let him drown, and she's quickly realizing that it's a promise she might not be able to keep. Friends, though, do their damnedest to try, and if she can't give Steve his own lifeboat then she can at least invite him into hers. Maybe they'll both sink... but then, at least, they'd drown together, and that's better than leaving him alone. He taught her that.
The sound of her dress against the ground can barely be heard as she moves, this time shifting herself so she can sit in front of him instead of beside him and keep his attention. Something has changed; the compassion in her face has gone, but not for malice. Her brow is pinched with uncertainty and now she can't look at him, instead staring at the space between them with the corner of her lip between her teeth. She doesn't know if she can do this, but she knows that she has to. So it seems that she'll find out. "You can't-" she stops before she can even begin, her lips pressing together in a thin line before she inhales deeply through her nose.
'Stop.
Breathe.
Disconnect.
Go.'
The process happens almost instantaneously, one that she wishes she didn't still need, but she does, and she uses it. She says nothing aloud, but suddenly, she can look at him. "You can't be upset with yourself for feeling something." 'Hypocrite. Irrelevant. Continue.' "For being human. ...I remember my first friend. Her name was Anna, she was a year older than me. She taught me how to braid my hair." The vague quirk of a smile that pinches at the corner of Natasha's mouth isn't real, and she doesn't know why she does it. Sometimes she can't shut off the need to be someone else; especially in the moments where she's being herself because that person is, more than anything, a stranger to her. "I met her when I was eight, as soon as I was recruited to the Red Room. She slept in the bed next to mine, we were... handcuffed," she stops for a brief moment to clear her throat, but she continues quickly, "to the bed frames with one hand so none of us ran away or got out of bed without permission. At night, though, sometimes, if one of us was crying, the other would try to reach over with our other hand. We would try to touch each other's arm, just so we knew that we weren't alone. She was better at it than I was. Longer arms." She says the last part like it's a dry joke. Like humor can be found in something like this, but it's that part of her that can't shut off when she feels exposed. When some animals get backed into a corner they bite; others camouflage.
"They let us get close, watched us grow together. Anna helped me settle, she was... good to me. We were good to each other, always, and when I turned eleven they started to thin our numbers. It was expensive, feeding all of those little girls, and you only want to spend your money on the horse you know is going to win a race or two. They would pit us against each other but it's not - it wasn't like other sessions. These weren't for practice anymore, you killed your opponent or you were killed. See, we thought we were clever." Natasha's gaze had fallen again, and when the wind blows her hair into her face this time she lets it. She wants as much of a veil as possible. "We thought that, if neither of us fought, they couldn't make us. The first two girls did that and they were both shot... defiance was never an option back then. We knew that. So we all watched as each pair went up and only one girl walked away, or neither walked away... either way they were opening up a lot of beds, I don't think they really cared in the end. And then it was my turn, and they put me up against Anna. I didn't want to." The last part is tacked on quickly and for a second, a fleeting moment, Natasha's voice cracks on the tail end of the last syllable. Of course she didn't want to. No little girl wants to find themselves in that position, but she still needs to say it aloud. Natasha still needs to justify it.
"Neither of us wanted to get shot. So we fought, and I killed her. That's when I learned that friends weren't something that I was supposed to have. Emotional connection is only allowed when approved. No matter how I felt about it, and that followed me. Even after Clint made the call he made and I came to SHIELD, that followed me, and Clint became the exception to the rule, not the change. And then there was you." It's only then that Natasha manages to look back up at Steve and push her hair behind her ear, face stoic with a lack of expression that doesn't come from training, but comes with necessity. "And I felt important, and trusted. Then Tony, and Thor, and then there was -"
That's when she stops again, and the mask cracks when her tongue darts out to wet her lips quickly and her brow furrows. The frustration that's there now is with herself, but not because she has to keep stopping. It's the content, not the delivery. "And then there was Bruce, and Bruce was different. He was sweet, and gentle and kind and I couldn't hurt him, Steve." There it is... the true reason, the one that started Natasha's spiral downward in the first place that she's never been able to say aloud. The change in pitch is angry this time, and Natasha can feel the heat rising to her eyes as they begin to burn. "No matter what I did or who I listened to or who got a hold of me I couldn't hurt him. It was impossible, and that made him - he made me feel-" the sentence finishes with a grunt of frustration and she can feel the warmth running down her cheek, a tear that she struggled to keep to herself. Her hand moves quickly to wipe it away, skin smeared with black from her mascara, but now that she's speaking she can't stop. If she stops, she'll never start again.
"It made me feel safe, like there was finally something that I found that I couldn't ruin. If we were ever put against each other I would lose, not him. If we refused to fight and we both got shot, he'd be okay, you know? He'd never get hurt because of me, and that made me feel... normal. Human. I felt like a person." It's the only way she can explain it to this day, perhaps because she still can't fully understand it. She can't comprehend how deeply she felt what she felt for him. She doesn't bother wiping away her tears anymore because it's pointless, and Natasha isn't crying because of Bruce. She isn't crying for Bruce, she's crying because she's furious with herself for being so foolish. She's smarter than that. She was supposed to be smarter than that.
"I told him things about myself that I had never told anyone, he knows things about me that I - I can't get that back. I can't get that back from him, it's his now forever whether I like it or not and I trusted him with that. And it doesn't matter what he did with it and how it all ended, because what matters - Steve," she's come to the end, and the wet laugh that Natasha manages to give this time is one of realization. It's genuine, and she moves closer to take his face in both of her hands this time, her eyes wet, and hurt and frightened, but still hopeful. Somehow, there's still good intent there, and it's not for her; it's for him, because of course. Of course it didn't work for Natasha, because she's Natasha and she was stupid to think that it could, but it can work for Steve. If it can work for anybody, it can work for Steve. "All that matters is how it made me feel and it felt... human. I wasn't anyone else, I was me and for the first time in my life that was okay. Feeling, and caring, no matter what I was told or what it would have meant for me ten years ago, was okay, and it was worth it. Do you understand what I'm telling you? It's worth it."
Hands fall from his face and Natasha wets her lips again before sucking in a rattling breath, her eyes tinted with the signs of her crying and cheeks streaked with black ink. "It's not going to be easy and I'm not saying that it is, but sometimes you need to let go and realize that it can be worth it." Natasha isn't sure if this is the first time that she's ever given advice that has nothing to do with covert operations, but if it is she certainly doesn't sound it. Her confidence is strong and steady, and it's weaved within every word. "It isn't about pros and cons, it's not about who's better with than without or risk and reward - none of that matters. It's about you, and him, and finding someone who makes you better than you are when you're alone. And he does that for you. You do it for him, I see it. When you two are working, really working, you're better than you've ever been apart. When you're on opposite sides of the field you can spend all day knocking each other over but when you're both on the same side? I've never seen you fail, and that's not just teamwork. I know teamwork. That's something else." She's seen the change in both Tony and Steve after they met each other, and she sees how different they are when they're around each other. It's significant. They're just too wrapped up in their own self doubt and fear to notice.
"Don't let anything from your past tell you how to feel. You've never let anyone tell you how to live, so why would you let anyone dictate how you love?" Her jaw sets firmly, flexing with a effort to bite back another sudden wave of emotion that catches her off guard. "I still can't braid my hair. Don't let them do that to you."