meadowlarklogs | august catch-all

[ They're lucky that they're apartment building remained relatively unscathed. He's spent the past day after the news came back of the monster retreat doing something unthinkable: resting. Sleeping, mostly.

It takes some time to catch her. Bothers him that he has to, that even when she's not avoiding him she's making sure they aren't alone, usually with Bucky in the apartment.

Usually he likes this time, all three of them together.

Bucky's in the shower though, and he approaches her while she's in the kitchen. ]

Natasha.

[ He stands on the other side the island counter, the tone set with how he says her name: weary and unyielding at the same time. Concerned.

We need to talk. ]

[With buildings down or torn through all over the city, it's a relief when theirs is still standing. They're all exhausted at first -- Steve especially -- so it's easy enough to keep her distance without seeming like that's what she's doing.

Once they're all better rested, it becomes a little trickier. But, Natasha has been very good at timing her presence in the common areas with Barnes'. Finding excuses to leave the apartment entirely or slip back into her bedroom as needed.

It's not that she thinks she's been entirely successful in making it seem coincidental. Steve knows what she's doing, and she's pretty sure Barnes is on the cusp of figuring it out, if he hasn't already. But mostly, she thinks, it's been pretty organic.

It was inevitable, of course. Living together, there's no way she can avoid him forever. Just part of her was hoping she could stretch it out a little longer.

It's her turn to do the dishes. Barnes does the cooking, she and Steve take turns with the dishes. Most of them go in the dishwasher -- high speed, energy and water efficient -- but pots and pans still need some one on one attention.

When Barnes goes to get in the shower, she's already committed to the dishes. No way to escape without seeming like a shitty room mate. Except she's zero percent surprised when Steve comes to find her in the kitchen the moment the door closes around Barnes.

Slowly, Natasha pulls her hands out of the dish water, wipes them on the towel she's been keeping next to the sink to dry as she goes.]

Steve. [His name is light on her lips, easy. Like she doesn't feel the weight of his question behind her name. Like she doesn't feel pinned down and caught.]

If you want to make yourself useful, you can dry as I wash. [Natasha offers him the towel across the kitchen island, half convinced he'll turn her down. This seems like the kind of conversation he wants to give his full attention.]

[ He seriously consider it. Telling her later, quietly demanding that they go out on the little balcony where Bucky won't walk in on them if he's quick in the shower. His pause gives that all away, but then he reaches for the towel and circles around the island, picking up the next pot in need of drying.

He doesn't particularly feel good about pinning her down, either.

He's just tired of pretending he didn't see anything.

The hand with the cloth circles the bottom of the pot, his eyes lowered and his mouth twisting to one side, unconvinced. ]

This really gonna help? [ With their conversation. ]

Edited 2020-08-11 02:55 (UTC)

[They didn't make a mountain of dishes. Even if Barnes runs through one of his efficiency showers, they'll be done long before he walks back out again.

But, really? If Steve could pick anywhere in this whole apartment to have this conversation it'd be on the balcony?]

I guess they drip-dry even if you don't, but-- [Natasha glances over at him.] this way we can get them put away right now. It's more efficient.

[Yeah, she knows what you mean, Steve, But she is tired and getting the memory back from Barnes seemed important but she hasn't slept through the night since.

Natasha dips her hands back into the water, starting in on the frying pan and the stubborn stains sticking to its bottom.]

[ He sucks in a breath, watching her attack the pan for half a minute with his mouth closed, resisting the sudden urge to ask her to swap places (such is his confidence in his ability to remove pan crud).

That's not the point.

Another long, pregnant pause. ]

So what happened to looking out for each other?

[ His voice is solemn, eyes narrowing slightly as he glances over at her, finally. He's seen through her cracks before. Knows that letting her hold this in hasn't done her any favors.

You're not letting him do his job, you know.

(if he had to predict who he'd have more trouble communicating with when he first arrived, it would've been Bucky, not you) ]

[The crud is sticking hard. If Steve wasn't standing right there, if they weren't doing this now, she'd fill the pan with water, put it back on the stove and let it boil for half a minute.

But Steve is standing right there, they are doing this now. So she just works the sponge harder over the bottom of the pan. Leans forward and frowns at the water, like that will make a difference.

Her chest feels hollowed out, her molars clenching together.]

Nothing happened to it. [Her tone is even. Calm. Natasha isn't one to raise her voice or snap in anger. It takes a lot to get her there.

The sponge takes on a distinctly brownish color as she works it in small circles around the pan. Over and over and over. Her eyes staring unseeing down at the water as it sloshes around her wrists. She's definitely not looking up at him.

It's been a long time since she felt like this. Like the weight of his expectations are crushing her chest. The last time, she reorganized herself so she could meet them. She's not sure if she can do that again.]

You know, I'm trying to look out for you here, Rogers.

I know. [ He gets that.

But he's not the one who needs looking out for right now. Not where he's standing.

His mouth forms a line in faint frustration, brow furrowing as he gives up on the pan. The towel's still in his hand when he reaches over and grips her by the forearm, the fabric keeping the empathy bond from activating while he moves to stop her from her distracted scrubbing. ]

Natasha. Enough.

[ Because it's her, it's a request bordering on a plea. This is a side of him that approximately three people get to see, and two of the are living in this apartment right now. He's grimacing, eyes narrowed at her profile. ]

We both know what I saw. You... gotta stop shutting me out.

[ He tried giving her space. Not gonna work anymore. ]

[Only the sight of the towel wrapped around Steve’s arm keeps Natasha from flinching away when he reaches for her. As it is, he can probably still feel the sudden tension in her muscles under his hand. Natasha’s whole body stills at the way shape and the weight of her name as it falls from his lips.

There’s a pause.

A too deep breath.

Then Natasha pulls her hands up out of the water.

She sets the sponge down right next to the tap.

Gives her hands a quick shake over the surface of the muddled water.

A muscle jumps in her cheek from the force of her jaw clamping down.

She shouldn’t have asked Barnes for the memory back. It sits there again, at her center. Her every action a little off-balance for the weight of it.

Natasha braces her wrists against the smooth and cold marble of the kitchen island, her eyes squeezing shut for a moment. Like that can ward off the empty ache sitting right beneath her breastbone and radiating out through her limbs.]

What you saw— It doesn’t matter. [It’s the mantra she’s been telling herself for weeks now. Ever since she woke up alive in a world where she never sacrificed herself for anything. A branch so far away from their universe she can’t even be sure she ever existed in this one. There are no records of it. Not as far as she can find, at least.

There is no way back. All they can do is keep moving forward.

Except it’s still weighing her down.

Water drips down from her hands onto the edge of the sink and the counter.]

It’s in the past. Irrelevant. [Her eyes finally dart up to meet his, her throat working around the next set of words. She hates this. The distance between them. Keeping secrets. Feeling like she just keeps disappointing him.

Her face screws up with something that might be apology, or maybe grief.]

I’ll get over it. [There. A promise. She’ll do better.]

[ His hand falls away from her wrist and the kitchen goes still and silent except for the drip of water. ]

I'm not asking you to get over it-- [ Christ ] -- I'm asking you to talk to me. Explain to me why--

[ His expression goes tight and hard, exasperation slipping into his tone. ]

Whatever we did, we got a do over. [ You wanna talk about going forward? This is how he does it. ] You're here, we can go back.

[When his face hardens, Natasha looks away. She reaches back into the sink and pulls the plug out. She watches the water swirl down around the pan. She turns the tap on, rinses off her hands and the pan both.

Turns the tap back off again. Wipes her hands on her pants rather than ask for the towel back as her jaw works around the words she can't quite untangle into sentences.]

Go back how, Steve? [Does he really think the people here haven't tried and failed already?]

Edited 2020-08-12 02:55 (UTC)

[ Call it hubris. Call him stubborn. ]

Time travel, alternate universes-- [ Listing all the impossible things that have happened to them here. And he's not exactly shouting, but his voice is raising-- ] --we figure it out.

[ Just because someone else hasn't so far doesn't mean that they can't.

That's what they're supposed to do. ]

Natasha, you won't even told me what you were doing.

[ You gotta give him something here. ]

[Steve's voice raises, and Natasha's whole face shutters even tighter than before. Her eyes flicker over towards Barnes' bathroom. Through the shared wall, she can still hear the gentle rush of water, but that's not going to last forever.

Barnes might already know a whole hell of a lot more about this than Steve does thanks to the memory sharing, but she doesn't particularly want him to overhear this conversation.

The idea of going back, going through it all again-- It's exhausting in a way she doesn't think she can even begin to explain to Steve.]

Let's not do this here. [With that, she turns and leaves. One dried pot, a wet pan still sitting at the bottom of the sink. She'll deal with it later after all. Let Barnes think she's a bad room mate for just one night.

Without so much as a glance back, implicitly trusting that he will follow, Natasha walks to her room. The door unlocks soon as her fingers turn the knob and she leaves the door wide open behind her in quiet invitation.

The room is neat and clean. No mess. No additions yet to what was there when Barnes moved them in. Just the bed, two night stands with matching lamps, and a dresser. The bed is neatly made. A half full glass of water on her night stand the only real clue someone lives there.

No place to sit except the bed. Nowhere near the same space as in Barnes' room. She walks around the bed, picks the wall that opens up onto the balcony and leans back against it. Right by the balcony door. It puts the bed between them and the dizzying height firmly out of her eyeline. She doesn't think she could talk about it at all if she had to face the distance to the ground as she did.

Patiently, she waits until he has joined her in the room and closed the door behind him. When she speaks, she's addressing a crease in her bedspread rather than him.]

The way it's been explained to me-- Our universe is like a tree. Our time line, is the tree trunk. Or that's where it starts off. Each decision we make creates a branch. One branch, I make a left turn. Another, I go to the right.

I have to believe you and I started off on the same time line. That our branches run pretty much the same until Lebanon. [The alternative is too unthinkable. Even considering it briefly has Natasha's head swimming and her gut clenching.]

That's when you wake up here. But, you didn't disappear from our universe. A version of you carried on. So, a new branch must have been created.

Five years later, I wake up here. But it follows that a version of me is still carrying on back home. One branch, I wake up here. One branch, I-- [Natasha swallows and looks away, her voice softening on the last word.] die.

[A moment of silence, though it's obvious she's not through talking.]

Our universe, our branches, they're carrying on without us. What you want to go back, do over-- It's done.

There's no figuring out or fixing what I did. Take me back to that exact point, Steve, and I am going to make the same choice.

[They have to try to make a life here -- at least she does -- because there is nothing back there for her except Vormir and a fall that lasts too long.]

[ He follows, tight-lipped and steps silent. Must be one of the only, if not first time he's been in this room that's now hers. Shuts the door behind him, glancing up to where she's settled against the balcony wall.

His jaw clenches. Bracing himself, exhausted already. Stands not too far from the door, giving her the space she seems to want or need, for now anyway.

And then, she explains.

There's a point early on where she can read on his face that doesn't make any sense. Around the part about tree trunks and branches. He bites his tongue.

He listens. Tries to.

Take me back to that exact point, Steve, and I am going to make the same choice.

He's wordless, eyes narrowed at her, then some empty point between them. His shoulders held tense and his jaw tight, clinging to his disbelief like a lifeline, until-- ]

Just... [ jesus fucking christ, nat ] --tell me why.

[ There's a brittle hardness to his tone, his questions.

Why was it you?

Where were the rest of them? Where was he, where was Sam?

Why'd you have to make that choice? ]

[Natasha tips her head back against the wall, her eyes catching and sticking at an uneven spot in the ceiling. An extra layer of paint or something.

There's a tired edge of frustration to Steve, and it's making her teeth clamp together so hard it sets an ache radiating through her jaw.

In her chest, the empty spot that sits right beneath the hard ridges that line the thing there that occasionally glows blue, pulses with a familiar ache.

There's so much she's not ready to tell him. Their failure, half the world gone, Bucky falling into dust-- This version of him is so much lighter than the one she knew. Like the weight of the world hasn't worn him down yet.]

One life in exchange for the fate of the world. [Natasha measures her words carefully. Tilting her head back down at the end of the sentence to give him a tight smile.]

It's an easy trade. [We don't trade lives, says her Steve in her head, and her gaze dips down to the tips of her bare toes. Like a chastised child]

I was the logical play.

Easy for who? [ he counters, eyebrows raised and asking for her to give him something more, like he didn't just hear her say fate of the world.

He sees Clint's face staring down at her.

They don't trade lives. ]

You gotta explain to me the rest of it. [ Make him understand. Give him something more than these half-explanations. Even if it's not fair of him to ask. He shakes his head quickly, demanding: ] Or show me.

[ If she can't tell him like this.

Already seen part of it. ]

[Easy for the only one who mattered at the time.

Hard for everyone else, Natasha supposes. Death is a quick end only to the one who passes. Everyone else have to live with it. Grief. Loss. It all lingers.

Barnes warned her, right before the monsters started tearing through the city, that she needed to get out ahead of this. That she should tell Steve before her recurring nightmare pulled him in and forced her hand. He said it'd be easier to control the narrative if she took the first step.

Barnes was right. Except, instead of a vague dreamscape, Steve got a front row seat to her death. There's no controlling the narrative now. It's just damage control.

The demand that she show him is met by a twist of her features, and without thinking about it, she tucks her hands into her pockets.]

I don't know what to tell you. [Natasha's shoulders lift in a small shrug, her mouth a thin and miserable line.

Steve, she hates this as much as you do. You have to know that.

The pane of glass between them has shattered but it took the ground out beneath it as it went, and now they're staring at each other from opposite sides of a seemingly bottomless chasm. Natasha's spent days trying to sort out the right words to tell Steve. To somehow bridge the chasm and set them both right.

So far, she hasn't found them.]

What is it you need to hear? That it was worth it? [Natasha wets her lips and looks at him full on. There's no helping the bright sheen to her eyes.

Five years, she would've thought she'd gotten used to crying in front him.]

It was. Even if all I bought us was a shot-- It was worth it.

[Maybe he can trust her enough to take her word for it. If he can't-- Natasha doesn't even know where to start showing him what he wants to see. Needs to see, to settle this.]

[ He watches her hands go in her pockets, hit with a sting of regret that does nothing to for his frustration, for his denial.

Going through the stages of grief for someone standing in front of him doesn't make much sense, but that's how it feels.

This is what she was asking that day they arrived together. Because she was--

He runs a hand backwards through his hair and from there for a few minutes he can't seem to settle on how to stand: hand on a hip, arms crossed, fists clenched at either side, facing her or the wall.

Tell him none of it is true, or tell him there's something for him to fight.

That's what he needs to hear.

He knows she must want him to be some measure of okay with her decision. To respect her choice and sacrifice, whether they know it succeeded or not.

The anger in him never coalesces into anything violent. No putting his fist through the wall or shouting any more than he already has. It's not acceptance, though. Tension buzzes through his body as he stares at her, features twisting up.

She's right there. ]

I'm sorry.

[ He's sorry he can't wrap his head around this. Sorry he can't give her some kind of peace, for what she's been going through holding this in. Sorry he wasn't there. Sorry that it's going to take him time to accept that he can't change things, if he ever can accept it. ]

Edited 2020-08-18 03:07 (UTC)

[The apology cuts deeper than his raised voice, accusations, or a fist through the wall ever could.

Slowly, joints stiff and sticking, she pushes away from the wall. There's none of her usual liquid grace as she walks around the bed, a kind of exhaustion lining her limbs. For a moment, it almost looks like she means to close the distance between them completely. But then she hesitates. Takes a step back. Sinks down on the edge of the bed instead.

It's still a peace offering. She's just giving him space to meet her in the middle.]

Yeah, me too. [For what it's worth.

For keeping secrets.
For lying to him by omission.
For being so tangled up in the question mark she left behind.
For dying.

The Steve she first met, fresh out of the war, knew that any fight worth winning comes with loss.

Is this the first time you've lost a soldier?

But somewhere along the line, his view on acceptable losses changed.

We don't trade lives.

Natasha braces her elbows against her thighs, clasps her hands in front of her. Absently, she works a thumb over the heel of her palm, pressing down hard on the fleshy part until she can feel the bone below. Her eyes settle against his knees, following the creases in the fabric of his pants.]

We were gathering the Infinity Stones. [She already gave that much away on the day they both arrived.]

We split up to get them. Small teams. Two and two. Clint and I-- we went for the Soul Stone. We didn't realize... None of us did... [She pauses for breath. Fills her lungs to the point of aching before breathing out and continuing.] The only way to get the Soul Stone is an even trade. A soul for a soul.

[Her eyes flicker up to meet his now, her jaw tight and her thumb pushing hard against the knot of bone at the base of her opposite thumb.

She can't quite keep the doubt from flickering through her eyes: Maybe her being here now messed it all up.]

[ Yeah, me too and his shoulders release some of their tension as he pads toward the bed, finding a spot to sit next to her with just enough space between them to fit another person. She leans forward and he sits straight, almost, hands pressing on the edge of the mattress and taking some of his weight.

He doesn't expect that she's going to tell him anything else. At best, he figures they've hit a wall again. That she's still not ready, and he'll just have to get used to this.

His expression is tense, a little surprised at the revelation as it begins, and then pained by the time their eyes meet again. He pulls in a breath, his features hardening and softening as he fluctuates between opposing forces. ]

If that's the price... we damn well made sure it worked. [ His tone is careful, and without question in his low simmering anger. A beat, and he seems to smother it entirely, chin dipping slightly as he reaches over, placing a hand on one of her fidgeting ones. ]

You remember London, what you said at the funeral?

[ You didn't want him to be alone.

He doesn't want you to be alone either. ]

[There's a war that rages across Steve's face. It throbs through Natasha's empty chest like a second heartbeat. His words snag at her breath, makes it skitter hard in her chest.

When he reaches out, Natasha sees it coming, and she braces for it like a blow. (There's a second, when she thinks about pulling away, dodging the touch. But, the memory of the look of disappointment on Steve's face keeps her still like a statue.)

Steve's skin touches hers and their chests both glow a soft blue. Natasha's fingers flutter beneath Steve's hand, and he can likely feel the effort it takes for her to keep still underneath his touch.

There are so many layers to her -- walls upon walls, chainmail covered with platemail armor, probably a damn mote thrown in somewhere for good measure -- and he's gotten closer than most, but this is the first time he'll get a glimpse at the true her. Pure and undiluted with no attempts at misdirection.

An abyss lives in Natasha's chest. Five years of unresolved grief compounded on itself. The kind of bone deep weary that comes with never stopping, never slowing down because it would mean admitting defeat. Becoming complacent in their loss was never an option for her.

Steve won't get the full weight of it, just an echo. It comes along with a pulse of the loneliness that's taken up residence just beneath her breastbone ever since she woke up here. That's the problem with walls. They might keep her safe, but they also keep everyone out.

There're more immediate emotions that flood through the bond.

Exhaustion. (She just needs one night of uninterrupted rest.)
Regret. (She hates the wedge between her and Steve, and its existence is all her fault.)
Fear. (That she threw herself off a cliff for nothing. That Steve will see something in her that will finally drive him away.)
Comfort. (In the the careful and almost heated promise. Like if Steve Rogers says it's so, the world will bend to accommodate his will.)

Natasha tries to direct her thoughts to London, to the scent of stone walls and burning wax candles, to Steve's shoulders sloping with the weight that's been put on them. Anything rather than his hand on top of hers and what secrets might be spilling through the bond.]

Staying together is more important than how we stay together. [It's not what he means, Natasha knows. But she meant the words then, and she means them now.]

Edited 2020-09-05 02:51 (UTC)

[ The truth is, in the moment he forgot. All that self control and he finally slips up.

For all of her walls he's reminded of the first time he did this with Bucky. A chasm. The weight of it. The sense that it might pull him in too if he weren't used to this, able to hold himself steady.

What flows back through the bond is his own instinctual response, though she could have just as easily read most of it on his face: the resistance to his own pain, the quick slip of fear and apology when he realizes what he just did, the comfort echoed back, the love and deep affection of family, because that's what they've become even if time doesn't match up all the way-- the sense that he'd offer more, but he's holding back for her.

He's all steel and warmth.

His hand slips back to his lap when she speaks, understanding. That's not the part he meant, but it works.

His head cants to the side a degree, gaze fixed on the floor as his brow pinches. ]

I won't spring that on you again. [ Both eyebrows raise like a question. Won't give the excuse that he didn't mean to, doesn't matter now that it's done. But-- ]

I can handle it. I want to.

[ The offer's out there. ]

[Natasha almost laughs. She can feel it lodging in her throat, a sharp and brittle thing. It was a mistake. Of course it was. He slipped up and she saw it coming. She chose to let him in. Despite her better judgment. Because she thought that's what he wanted.

The moment the connection is broken, like a candle snuffing out, Natasha misses it. Like she was warming herself on the flame, and now that it's gone, the cold is beginning to seep back into her joints.

It would be so achingly easy, to reach back out again, to wrap herself up in the solid warmth of him. But what if her cold leeches all the heat from him?]

I'm not sure I can. [The admission is low like Natasha hates saying it out loud.]

There's so much-- [The secrets she's keeping from him -- slowly ticking away until perhaps only the biggest one will remain: Bucky Barnes flying into dust -- are only part of it. Perhaps without them, she could risk the rest.

It's not a matter of trust. Natasha trusts Steve with her life. The things she's done, the person she is on the inside-- It might stain him, she thinks, to feel the darkness she keeps locked up deep inside.

If she cracks herself open for him-- and he doesn't like what he sees-- She swallows and looks away. Out through the glass door leading onto the balcony, her chest tightening. She's holding herself together so carefully. Broken glass wrapped tight with duct tape. One crack, and it might all come tumbling down.

She doesn't look at him, doesn't reach out, but she shifts closer on the bed, leans over until her shoulder is pressed against his. No skin contact, but the warmth of their bodies still mingling through two layers of clothes. It's a smaller intimacy perhaps, but it's still there.]

You've always made me want to be a better person.

Edited 2020-09-05 04:32 (UTC)

I know.

[ It's okay. He's not demanding anything she isn't ready to turn over. But her and Bucky-- Christ.

He feels her weight gently pressed against his shoulder, leans back into it just a little himself. And it's good, the two of them like this. It's enough for now.

At her words he lets out a light huff, not completely mirthless even if he's light on it after this talk-- shaking his head as he tilts it just enough to eye the top of her head. ]

Yeah, well-- you didn't really need me for that. [ He nudges her with their shoulders. ]

But I couldn't ask for a better partner. Or friend.

[ Through everything. ]

[I know.

A knot loosens in Natasha's chest.

Steve's shoulder pushes back against hers and another knot unwinds. Maybe if they keep this up all of them will come untied.

The smile Natasha shoots him is jagged. Maybe she would've changed without him. But he's so tied into the choices she made back then, it's hard to separate out the motivations.

Sometimes, she thinks he's the closest thing she's got to a conscience. He's certainly her moral compass.]

I need you more than you think. [The tone is joking even around the sudden lump that's lodged itself in Natasha's throat, but the words are true. As a partner, leader, and friend.

They almost feel like them again.

Natasha wants nothing more than to fall back into step with him. It's times like these she almost wishes Barnes could wipe her memory of the past five years. Just reset her to the Natasha Steve remembers.

Natasha five years ago could touch him, she thinks, and not worry about contaminating him with her memories. Could feel the firm warmth of him rushing in through her and chasing away the shadows that linger in the corners of her mind.

A strange kind of longing aches through her chest, and the dim blue glow lights it up even though they're not touching. Unseen by her, the red fades out of her hair until it's the bleached white blonde he'd remember. At the same time, five year's worth of lines smooth out from her face.

The glow fades quickly, but her appearance stays changed. Natasha frowns down at her chest, fingers tracing the place that just glowed.]

Edited (changed the icon, also hair stays short but definitely noticeably changes color) 2020-09-08 17:00 (UTC)

[ He wants to touch her hand again just then, but this time he keeps himself in check. Offers back a smile that can only convey an ounce of what he means--

but it's overtaken by a flicker of surprise, his gaze shifting to the blue glow and back again to her face, then her hair. A small divot forms at his brow. ]

Nat... [ nodding at her, an eyebrow raised. ] ... your hair.

[ It's blonde.

His lips part, then close as he frowns. The change in her face takes him a half second longer to clock, it's subtler, could wave it off as a shift in the lighting. As close as they're sitting his peering is obvious. ]

august catch-all

POST EVENT (natasha)

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