you won't lose me

"I can't sign it, Nat."

"I know."

"Then what are you going here?"

"I didn't want you to be alone."

Steve didn't know whether he should be overjoyed or in complete dismay. 

A short pause ensued, followed by Natasha's soft, "Come here." She pulled Steve into a tight hug, trying to give him all the strength she knew he needed. Not only was the entire world pressuring him into giving up his freedom, something he'd been fighting for for as long as he could remember, his search for Bucky had yielded almost no results. Now, on top of that, Peggy had left him, just like that. He would never get more words of wisdom or the comfort of the twentieth century from her- until he found Bucky, he would be a lone sheep in a pack of wolves.

Steve all but collapsed into her arms, savoring the warmth emanating from her small frame. If only he could freeze this moment forever, stay in this small bubble of safety, of peace. 

Slowly, Steve released his tight grip on Natasha but they didn't let each other go, not completely. They were still clutching at each other, like physical touch was the only thing keeping them grounded.

"I assume you have business to attend to?" Steve asked, looking down at his shiny black dress shoes.

"I don't, actually. My flight home is tomorrow."

Steve glanced up at Natasha. "If there's nothing for you to do here in London, why are you here? Why would you fly ten hours just to go home the next day?" His brow was furrowed in confusion and Natasha gave him a sad smile.

"I didn't want you to be alone," she repeated. 

Steve's eyes burned. His throat clogged up. Nobody, not Sam, not Tony, not one person on the team had every done anything like this for him. He never realized how much he yearned for someone to finally take care of him. His entire life had been a series of obstacles, always ready to tip off balance. It had never been a smooth ride for him, no matter how nice the car got or how well the roads were paved. He didn't have the words enough to thank Natasha so instead he let his emotions out in the form of tears. They trailed salty tracks down his cheeks but before they could drip down onto the floor, Natasha brushed them away with her thumbs, her fingers cupping Steve's face.

"Hey," she said. "Look at me. Everything's going to be alright."

Everything's already alright with you here, Steve wanted to reply. 

When Steve didn't answer, Natasha sighed. "Let's get you back to your hotel and get some rest, does that sound okay?"

Steve nodded. 

Lacing their fingers together, Natasha led Steve out of the church to her rental and shoved him into the passenger seat. "But my motorcycle-" he protested once she slid into the driver's seat. She shushed him. "It'll still be here tomorrow."

"You don't know that," he shot back.

"Yes I do. Who would want that rickety old thing anyway?"

"It's an antique model. Worth a lot of money, Nat," Steve insisted, eyes wide.

Natasha smirked. "Just saying, my Corvette is much better than your motorcycle."

Steve only snorted and looked out the window. Their playful banter had returned for a bit, but afterward, Steve felt the weight of the day's events weighing down on him again. 

The drive to the hotel passed by in a blur and Steve could only wonder how Natasha knew where he was staying. He took a deep breath to brace himself for Natasha's imminent goodbye and got out of the car gingerly, like that day's events were physical injuries instead of emotional.

Natasha's next words surprised him. 

"What room are you staying in?" she asked from the other side of the car.

Steve smirked. "You're telling me you know what hotel I'm staying at but you don't know my room number?"

"Fine," Natasha grumbled, rolling her eyes. "You're no fun, grandpa. I just didn't want to seem like a stalker."

Steve shut his eyes again and gripped the door of the car as a fresh wave of grief knocked him off balance. When would Natasha next call him a grandpa, or goad him into admitting that he'd aged? When would he next see that proud smirk on her face once she made him the butt of all her old-age jokes? 

"Hey, soldier, you might want to get your hands off my car before you leave dents." Natasha's voice was much closer now. Steve opened his eyes and realized his knuckles had turned white gripping the door. He wiped a hand over his face and wished that this horrible day would end. No, scratch that. If this day ended, then Natasha would be... gone. Why was the universe so cruel to him? He'd just lost Peggy, and now Natasha was leaving, too. He would see her, but they'd be on opposite teams. Steve knew he couldn't fight Natasha, but her? She could take him down in an instant, especially if all he was going to do was defend himself. 

Two warm hands on each arm and a soft voice pulled him out of his train of rather depressing thoughts. "Steve, you with me?"

He nodded. Natasha held out her hand and Steve dropped his room key into her palm. The fact that she hadn't stolen it from his pocket lightened his spirits just the tiniest bit- it meant that she was also dragging this out as long as possible. 

As soon as they got to his hotel room, Natasha locked his door and told him to sit while she headed to the bathroom to start running some water for a bath. Steve protested, saying he didn't need one and that he just wanted to lie down, but Natasha insisted.

While waiting for the tub to fill, Natasha tossed her jacket aside and began rummaging through Steve's drawers. 

"What are you doing?" 

"Looking for something more comfortable to wear." She gasped. "You brought my favorite shirt."

Steve snorted. "Your favorite shirt? Last I checked, that was mine."

"It was never yours, Rogers. Plus," she added, burying her nose into the fabric. "It smells so good." Steve looked away as Natasha stripped her dress off and threw on the t-shirt. Sharing clothes- or rather, him sharing clothes with her- was an essential to their friendship. Steve thought back to the rumors that started around the new Avengers base after she was seen wearing Steve's hoodies and shirts and they never fazed her, he realized. In fact, the rumors encouraged her to wear his clothes more often than necessary. Instead of wearing them when she was too tired to go back to her room for a change of clothing, she took to wearing them 'just because.' Plus, it was always nice to see Natasha happy. She joined Steve on the edge of his bed and leaned her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her and breathed in the scent of her hair, sharp and spicy with hints of gunpowder and just... Natasha. It was comforting, to say the least.

Home. 

"I don't want you to go," Steve confessed, his voice muffled.

"I know," Natasha replied quietly. She traced circles on Steve's palm. "I don't, either." After a moment of silence, Natasha began to untangle herself from Steve's tight grip. He let her go, defeated, and Natasha smiled. "Relax. Unlike you, I care about this hotel room not flooding." She padded over to the bathroom and Steve heard the rush of water stop. Before Natasha called him over, he trudged to the bathroom and leaned on the door frame. 

"Come in," Natasha said. Steve looked at her, confused. She rolled her eyes and pulled Steve into the bathroom. Everything felt so heavy at that moment. His legs, his arms, his heart- and Natasha seemed to notice. Her nimble hands quickly unbuttoned his his clothes and slipped off his shoes. Natasha peeled his undershirt away slowly and never once broke her gaze into Steve's eyes. It was odd, having someone undress him, and he knew he should be telling Natasha to stop, that he could do this on his own, but he yearned for this, for this level of intimacy. It wasn't in any way romantic, but it made him feel safe. It made him feel taken care of. 

Steve sighed and close his eyes as the hot water embraced him, leaning his head back onto the rim of the tub. His eyes snapped open as a finger tapped lightly on his shoulder. 

"Relax. I'm not going to hurt you." 

He closed his eyes once again and breathed deeply as the bath water lapped up against him. Tendrils of steam curled upward and all was quiet once again. 

"I'm gonna get your hair wet, okay?" Natasha's voice broke the silence and Steve tipped his head forward as she poured a cup of water onto his head. "Lean back," she ordered. Natasha squeezed soap into her hand and began lathering it all in Steve's short hair. She threaded her fingers through his strands and massaged his scalp softly. Steve closed his eyes and sighed as the soft pressure on his head lulled him into a trance. He could feel everything around him, sure, but for once, all the voices in his mind were quiet. Natasha had that effect on him.

He'd noticed when they first became partners and she was acting more out of pity than her confidence in his skill. Natasha, a former assassin went out of character and always gave him a small nudge before missions, teasing him for being "too uptight." And it worked- that was the most surprising thing. Natasha took serious missions and turned them into games, made them fun. They both knew that they could die on these missions yet Steve allowed himself to be himself around her, to let loose for once. 

If only life were a mission. Then they could stick together forever and work through sticky situations side by side because they knew they were partners. But now, with the Accords? They were thrown into this whole mess by force and Steve just wished he could rewind time back to the simpler days. Not the 40's, but the days when SHIELD was still alive. Then again, it was never really SHIELD, but as long as he had Natasha, everything would be fine. 

He sighed as a Natasha poured another cup of water onto his head, the warm rivulets running down his neck and his back. God, he loved this woman-

Wait.

Steve scrambled around in the tub, looking for something to grasp onto. Water splashed over the sides and onto the floor and Natasha gripped Steve's shoulder tightly."Hey, you all right? Sorry, your hair is just really soft and- well." She trailed off.

"You don't have to explain when we both know why we're both dragging this out as long as possible," Steve murmured softly, reaching up to his shoulder to squeeze Natasha's hand.

He loved her. 

"Steve..." Natasha whispered softly. She didn't know why, but her throat began to close up. In a few hours she'd be leaving Steve's life altogether and they'd be on opposite sides of a canyon without a bridge to cross it. She knew Clint was joining Steve, that he'd never liked Tony anyway and had taken Wanda under his wing. Even Laura and the kids had met her after Ultron. So why wasn't she upset about Clint? What was it about Steve that made her like this? 

He was too good. He was so fundamentally good that it was rubbing off on her. He was too good to her, to everyone, too good for her. 

"Why don't we go rest for a bit? I'll change by myself, okay?" Steve said, voice rough. It seemed he was having a moment as well, Natasha noticed. He released her hand and Natasha paused before standing up.

On impulse, she leaned down and pressed a light kiss to the crown of Steve's head and trailed her hands from his ears down to the base of his neck, giving his tense shoulders a soft squeeze before heading out of the bathroom. Steve felt the ghost of her touch lingering all over him as he slipped on a clean set of comfortable clothes. He padded over to the bed and slipped under the covers, turning to face Natasha. It was nothing they'd done hundreds of times before post missions and while they were on the run, both of them looking for safety in each other's arms, but this was different.

They weren't mourning their pasts, they were mourning their futures. 

"I don't want to fight you," Natasha whispered, closing her eyes in defeat.

Steve sighed. "It might not even come to that." He was hoping it wasn't, but...

"Knowing Tony, it probably will. You're a fugitive of the UN, Steve, and I signed the Accords. You know that I'll have you fight you one day."

"Doesn't mean that day will be soon."

"Look at you, Rogers, always looking on the bright side. You know full well the glass isn't half full this time. Our team being split in half is literally a glass half empty."

"At least I still have part of a team. You do, too."

Natasha opened her eyes, cupping Steve's cheek in the palm of her hand. "It's not a team without you, though."

"My team isn't one without you, either. You tried to get me to sign, so now-"

Natasha shook her head, her forehead creasing. She looked everywhere but at Steve's eyes before saying, "Now, you're going to shut up and not get me to run with you."

"Why, Nat?" He knew she understood his 'why.' He wasn't asking why she didn't want him to at least try to convince her to join him, he was asking why she didn't want to run. They were two halves of a whole, the leaders of the Avengers, and Steve just wished this Sokovia Accords debacle was all a really bad dream. 

"It's too tempting." Natasha's voice was barely a whisper. Her emerald eyes pierced into Steve's and he saw his own conflicting thoughts mirrored in them. 

Steve's eyebrows knitted together, his voice nothing short of a plead. "Then come. The team needs you. I need you."

"I need to be put under control. You've seen parts of my past," she replied, referring to her constant nightmares of her time serving the Red Room. "You've seen what I could do to people if I was let loose. They're right, Rogers. I'm a danger to society. There's nothing that can debunk that truth."

Steve almost laughed at her incredulously. "Really, Nat? You've saved the world hundreds of times-"

"- and killed hundreds more. My track record is far from clean. It's dripping with blood."

"So is mine. And Tony's, and Bruce's-" Natasha winced a bit at his name and Steve immediately regretting mentioning the scientist. "We've all had to kill and there are always people we can't save from pain." Steve's voice broke at the last sentence, his normally collected Captain America facade shattering into a million pieces for what seemed like the millionth time that day. 

"Steve," Natasha murmured, pulling him to her so that his head was nestled under her chin. "I know it hurts, милый." Steve wrapped his arms around Natasha tightly, almost as if he was afraid she would disappear. She reached her hand up to gently comb through Steve's hair, and at that gesture of affection, Steve broke down completely. Sobs wracked through his large frame and Natasha never ceased stroking his hair, rubbing circles on his back and whispering soft phrases in Russian. "Just let it all out. It's alright, let it out."

"I miss everything. I miss my mom, I miss Bucky and the Commandos and Peggy, I've lost them all. I can't lose you too, not over a stack of paper," Steve said between his sobs, voice muffled against Natasha's chest. 

"You won't lose me. You have photographic memory, remember? Just draw me or something."

"It's not the same, Nat. I need you."

"We need each other."

After a while, Steve calmed down and his shallow breaths became deep and slow, signaling that he had fallen asleep. Every so often his arms tightened around Natasha and she smiled, savoring every last moment she had with the man she loved. 

Wait.

This couldn't be happening. No, not this. This is what would kill her, this- this is why she never opened herself up to anyone. 

Love. In the Red Room Natasha had yearned for it but now, she knew it was a terrible punishment. This was the reason why she signed the Accords. Suddenly it all made sense. Subconsciously she was distancing herself from Steve and any drop of indecisiveness left in her evaporated immediately. She'd rather fight Steve that give in to these emotions like the weak person she had become.  

She was leaving. 

Natasha waited a bit longer until she was sure Steve couldn't be woken up and slithered out of his grasp. She stripped his shirt off and folded it neatly, placing it on his bedside table. Afterward, she put her dress back on and grabbed her coat and heels. Before slipping out of the room, Natasha scribbled a note on the hotel's stationary, quietly ripping it away from the pad and putting it on top of the shirt.

She was running away again. It was her only option.

-

Steve woke to nothing but a pillow in his arms. His heart raced. Maybe Natasha had stayed. 

He called out her name. "Natasha?"

No answer.

He bolted out of bed. "Natasha. Natasha!"

Still no answer.

He knew she'd left, but he couldn't let go of his hope. "Nat?"

No. 

Steve crumpled down onto the floor before a flutter of motion caught his eye. There, on the carpet beside him, was a note with two small words.

I'm sorry. 

Two small words with such heavy meaning. I'm sorry for leaving. I'm sorry I had to do this. I'm sorry you couldn't get me to stay. I'm sorry for everything you had to go through. But somehow Steve knew what she was most sorry for.

I'm sorry I'm not good enough for you.

Natasha had always hinted at it. Every time she woke up in the middle of the night beside Steve, sweat beading all over her, she left. She left, embarrassed even though she knew Steve had his own demons plaguing his sleep. He always asked about it the next day and she always replied that he had enough to worry about. She was always pushing him to go out on dates and when he said he wanted to hang out with her, she said that he would have no fun when in fact he had the most fun around her. 

Steve got up and sat on the edge of his bed, shoulders hunched over. He grabbed the shirt off his bedside table and attempted to inhale every last bit of Natasha's scent. Again and again he reread the note, trying to find something else, something more. A location? An agreement? But he knew there would be none. Steve didn't even know he was crying until his tears dropped down onto the paper and blotted the ink. Great. He'd destroyed the last thing he had of Natasha. 

You won't lose me. Steve laughed bitterly. How wrong that statement was. 

He'd never even had the chance to say I love you. 

That was how Sam found him hours later. Steve was still holding his shirt and the note in both his hands, curling into himself. 

"Hey man, your door was cracked open so I thought I would- oh my god. Steve, you alright?" Sam's cheerful voice broke through Steve's bubble of depression but it wasn't enough to pop it. He didn't answer.

"Steve?"

Sam walked over almost tentatively to get a glimpse of what Steve was holding. The shirt was weird enough, but the paper...

"Hey, can I see that?" Sam tapped on the note and Steve visibly loosened his hold on it. Sam slid the paper from his fingers and scoffed at the two words.

"I'm sorry? Are you kidding, man? Is this some note Peggy wrote to you for after she died? Oh, or was it Sharon apologizing for not telling you that Peggy was her great-aunt?"

He still got no answer from Steve but the shirt piqued his interest. "Isn't that the shirt that Natasha always wears around base?" He glanced down at the note. "And isn't this Natasha's handwr- oh, shit, Steve. Shit, I'm so sorry."

Steve looked up at Sam, his eyes red from crying. "She promised," he croaked out, voice rough. "She promised me."

Sam shook his head. "Look, man. I don't know what she promised but I can tell you this: you two are, like, connected or something. No matter how far away she is, you two are always together. It's weird, but it's true. Now, why don't we find some place to eat? I'm getting sick of all this dainty British tea and biscuits. McDonald's sounds really good right about now."

There was no answer from Steve. Sam sighed.

"Do you love her?"

"How could I not?" Steve almost choked on his words. 

"Then what are you waiting for? Go get your girl!"

"It's not that simple. You don't know how complicated Natasha is."

"Yes, but I do know how relationships work. Boy meets girl, boy likes girl, girl likes boy back, boy asks girl out, and boom! You're done. It's really that simple."

Steve just shook his head, a cracking a small smile. "You know, Wilson, I don't know how people put up with you. You're crazy."

"Says the guy mourning over someone who isn't even dead. Now get your ass off that bed and change. We're getting dinner."

"Thanks, Sam," Steve said.

"I'll be waiting outside."

But as soon as Sam left, Steve felt grief threatening to overwhelm him again. He shook his head. The Accords and Bucky were more important right now. He'd mess up if he didn't put his feelings in the back burner. But still, Natasha's words echoed in the back of his mind everywhere he went. Everything reminded him of her and he found himself drawing her every night before bed. It wasn't the same, but it was still her. 

Some promises were meant to be broken, it seemed.