[Natasha is still catching her breath from the exertion, the memory that slipped between them sitting like a heavy weight between her lungs and keeping them from expanding fully. She feels like a deep sea diver bursting through to the surface and trying to take a clean breath only to find saltwater rushing into her mouth and down her throat.
This might all be new to her, but she can't pretend that Steve didn't get any of that. She could feel his confusion -- his feelings simultaneously alien and as natural as breathing as they swept through her chest -- and the struggle towards the end of it.
Her vision swims for a second. Belated vertigo, perhaps. The receding adrenaline has left a weak tremble in her muscles and she braces for the questions she can see written clear across his face. His mouth opens and her whole body stiffens, waiting for the first blow.
Except it doesn't come. Natasha winces in time with the pained twist of his features. It's gratitude, laced with guilt, that shifts through her. Deep and hard like a punch.
Sometimes, the mission comes first. It's a simple fact, and one that they both know.
Never better. The sad attempt at a joke dies on her tongue and she settles for a tired, almost apologetic:]
Yeah, I'm good. [Natasha's face shuts down at the hesitation, whatever vulnerability might've shone through, gone in an instant. She presses a hand against the ground and pushes to her feet in one quick and fluid movement. She dusts her hands off against her pants and avoids looking straight at him.
It feels almost like a betrayal. He was never supposed to know--]
Steve-- [On her path to the door -- they have to get those kids to somewhere safer than this -- she stops right next to him. Shoulder parallel to his shoulder. Her fingers tap absently against the side of her thigh, and she looks ahead at the closed door rather than at him.]
I'm here. I'm fine. [The reassurance is at least fifty percent true. It's less than he'd normally get, but under the circumstances it's the best she's got. She opens the mouth to add something, thinks better and lets it click shut again.
They need to get those kids to safety. She strides forward towards the door.]
no subject
This might all be new to her, but she can't pretend that Steve didn't get any of that. She could feel his confusion -- his feelings simultaneously alien and as natural as breathing as they swept through her chest -- and the struggle towards the end of it.
Her vision swims for a second. Belated vertigo, perhaps. The receding adrenaline has left a weak tremble in her muscles and she braces for the questions she can see written clear across his face. His mouth opens and her whole body stiffens, waiting for the first blow.
Except it doesn't come. Natasha winces in time with the pained twist of his features. It's gratitude, laced with guilt, that shifts through her. Deep and hard like a punch.
Sometimes, the mission comes first. It's a simple fact, and one that they both know.
Never better. The sad attempt at a joke dies on her tongue and she settles for a tired, almost apologetic:]
Yeah, I'm good. [Natasha's face shuts down at the hesitation, whatever vulnerability might've shone through, gone in an instant. She presses a hand against the ground and pushes to her feet in one quick and fluid movement. She dusts her hands off against her pants and avoids looking straight at him.
It feels almost like a betrayal. He was never supposed to know--]
Steve-- [On her path to the door -- they have to get those kids to somewhere safer than this -- she stops right next to him. Shoulder parallel to his shoulder. Her fingers tap absently against the side of her thigh, and she looks ahead at the closed door rather than at him.]
I'm here. I'm fine. [The reassurance is at least fifty percent true. It's less than he'd normally get, but under the circumstances it's the best she's got. She opens the mouth to add something, thinks better and lets it click shut again.
They need to get those kids to safety. She strides forward towards the door.]