Shield and Gun Pt. 02

Despite the fact that he came off aloof and assured, Steve couldn't help but feel he had done something wrong. Looking up from his cup of coffee, he saw Natasha daydreaming out the window, seated across from him.

It had been months since their illicit affair - and that's what he was calling it now. An affair. She had taken him to her bed almost a year ago and they had never spoken of it since. What he thought was a transcendental experience of sharing was obviously a mistake to his long time friend. Part of him felt dirty, like he had succumbed to her wiles, only to be tossed aside when she had her fill.

"And I guess one time was enough for her," his mind taunted him.

"Natasha..." He started, his voice low but forever commanding.

Startled, she blinked rapidly to focus and turned to him.

He couldn't help but notice the way the light of the afternoon sun played with the many red and auburn hues of her hair, neatly pulled back into a functional, low bun on the nape of her slender neck. She was beautifully defined by the light, the rays caressing the smooth slope of her brow, the fine tip of her nose and speckling on her freshly licked lips.

"What?" She asked abruptly, breaking his train of thought.

His mind scrambled for an excuse for saying her name, as he hadn't had a reason TO say her name, "Don't worry, Nat. We'll find him."

Him.

It.

Bruce.

For weeks, Natasha had been flirting with disaster and he could do nothing to stop her. Normally, he had offered his advice to her as she was courting Bruce, knowing full well it would end badly for them both. But their tryst in the woods had put a strain on their relationship and he felt he not only couldn't be objective in talking to her about her infatuation, but that he was painfully aware that he was riddled with jealousy.

And now Bruce had abandoned her. Abandoned the Avengers. Not only did the ranks need to be replenished but Natasha seemed genuinely heartbroken. And that didn't sit well with Steve.

"Thanks, Steve..." her voice whispered across the diner's table to him. He thought she was going to say something more, but she stopped herself.

He needed to get over her, he thought to himself, first Peggy, now Nat? He had a bad habit of falling for unattainable women. Maybe he liked the challenge? Or maybe the years of being bullied had somehow made him think he was undeserving of someone who actually wanted him for him. He didn't know. All he knew was he knew he was in love with Natasha, even though she was clearly not in love with him.

---

She could see the question in his eyes.

And the pain.

Natasha had no idea what to say to him.

After their affair, she got scared. Scared for herself and scared for him. Their encounter was too intense - it had too much energy, too much emotion...

"Too much potential?" Her mind asked her mockingly.

She knew what those kinds of relationships lead to - heartbreak, emotional turmoil, a complete loss of self in one another. They were ultimately destructive no matter how well-intentioned both parties were. While she had never experienced it herself, she had witnessed it enough to recognize it when it came her way.

So she ran, like she always did when things became untenable. And to throw him completely off, she had started a ham-fisted relationship with Bruce, of all people. Bruce was nice and all, but she had almost nothing in common with the guy and pitied his situation as a friend, nothing more. She also knew that Bruce's own fear of himself would never allow for them to become an actual item - he was a semi-safe pawn in her scheme to keep Steve away and protect herself.

To keep up appearances, she played the saddened damsel, especially in front of Steve. She needed him to get over her. Once he did, once he moved on, then maybe - maybe she could stop replaying that night over and over in head.

And just as she thought to not think of it - flashes of their naked forms tangled in one another glanced across her memory, making her heart skip a beat.

She was looking past him in the diner, her eyes almost glazed over in reminiscing.

"Well, I'm going to pay my check and head home. I have..." his voice barely broke through her haze, "uhhh, laundry to do," he finished lamely.

And with that, he got up, leaving a fist full of cash on the table, his large frame gracefully exiting through the flimsy glass door. Her eyes locked onto his long limbs as they strolled effortlessly on the pavement.

"Damn it, Steve..." she said to no one. Her head falling back onto the old-timey cushioned booth seating, closing her eyes.

---

That weekend, in her apartment, she tried to keep herself busy. For months, after her work outs, she had been picking random household projects to tackle - last week it was repainting a shelf with crackled lacquer, this week it was constructing a table for her laptop. Sure, she could buy one, but this gave her mind and her hands something to do.

She was wrist deep in sanding some wood that it took a minute for her to hear her phone going off.

*bih-beep-beep*

*bih-beep-beep*

Shaking her hands free of sawdust she grabbed at her phone without seeing who it was.

"Hello?" Her voice sounded a little annoyed.

"Hey Nat, I was wondering if you wanted to go get something to eat, I'm a few blocks from you?"

It was Steve.

Yes. Her heart said.

No. Her head retorted.

"I'm kind of busy right now with a project." She excused herself.

"What kind of project?"

"Uhhh...I'm building a laptop table."

"Really?" He sounded genuinely surprised.

"I found a YouTube video," she explained before he could ask her how she figured out how to do it, knowing full well she had a strong reputation with him about not being very handy .

"I didn't mean it like tha-" he began to pseudo apologize.

"Anyway, I should go..." she cut him off.

"Nat..." he started again, followed by a very thick, overhanging silence, "come on, aren't we still friends?"

It was the first time either of them had made any kind of implication towards anything being out of the norm. A precarious silence on the subject existed between them, both parties too terrified to disturb it, lest it crumble from the pressure.

Like so many times before, she didn't know what to say to him. She just bit her lip, her mind racing before saying with a tone of casualness no one would believe, "Of course we are, why would you ever think otherwise?"

She was met with more silence on the other end of the line - for so long that she thought the call dropped, "Steve?" she asked tentatively.

"I'm coming up." He stated matter of factly and ended the call.

She completely panicked. She had no idea why he would come up. Why he would say it like that. He wasn't that guy - he was always polite, always respectful, he never demanded anything of anyone or do something that would make them uncomfortable.

And 'uncomfortable' was a pale euphemism for the sheer dread she was feeling now.

Tripping slightly over the strewn bits of wood, she ran by a hallway mirror and checked her hair. All in all, she didn't look too shabby, except that there was a very fine film of saw dust covering her entire body. Her ratty tank top and house shorts were at once exactly how she wanted Steve to see her and exactly NOT how she wanted Steve to see her.

The bold knock at the door moments later stopped her frantic tamping down of her wild red mane.

"Coming!" she called, even though she was but a few feet away.

She hesitated.

Shit.

But he knew she was home.

Well, it's Steve. You know how to get him to leave. Just talk about Bruce. A lot.

With her half-assed plan in her head, she swung the door open, a cheerleader like smile on her face, greeting him, "HI!"

---

Bounding up several flights of stairs was no trouble for him. He wasn't sure what exactly was compelling him to go up to her apartment, after having ran three blocks to get to her building, but it was something in her tone.

A small twinkle of hope was now tentatively running a muck inside of him that he had read that tone correctly - that he had been wrong all of this time. Could she still care about him and he caught her so unawares that she failed in veiling it? Maybe this wasn't about Bruce at all.

He lifted his hand, pausing for just a breath and then knocked firmly on the door.

"Coming!" Her voice came muffled through the heavy metal door.

And he waited.

And waited.

Suddenly the metal frame creaked and swung open, Natasha's bright eyes and the world's fakest smile plastered on her face, "HI!"

Steve suddenly doubted himself, and his motives, "Uh hi," he responded.

She smiled up at him, her small stature exaggerated with her being barefoot, her lithe arms motioned to herself - she was a bit of a mess, her hair flying in every direction and an inconsistent dusting of her work covering her head to toe, "I told you I was busy." She had a light tone with him, and now looking at her, he couldn't tell if it was genuine or not.

"Can I come in?" He asked cautiously.

There. He saw it. Something in her eyes as he asked that question. It wasn't fear. It was...

"Sure..." she offered, silently wishing she had pictures of Bruce around her living room as she led him to the den.

Steve had never been in her apartment before, and he was both surprised and not surprised by how bare it was. No television. Only one single seated couch. A solitary end table. No coffee table. A bookshelf bursting with books, half of which were in Russian, and a haphazard pile of wood, tools, and a dust covered laptop on the ground where she had been doing her construction.

"Did you get robbed?" Steve joked with her.

Natasha smirked, spinning in place to look up at him, a sardonic lilt to her voice, "Har har. I try not to get attached to things..."

He nodded silently before she finished, "Or people."

He knew an inadvertent opening when he heard one.

Bearing down on her with a bold gaze, his blue eyes crystal clear in their intent, he asked, "People like me?"

She internally balked, not knowing if she had thrown that out on purpose or not, "You're not Bruce."

The words stung him and she could see it. Instinctively, she wanted to go to him, comfort him, and apologize. But she had to be strong. Not just for her. But for him.

"No. I'm not..." he started slowly, struggling to find the words that were a nothing more than a maelstrom of feelings inside of him.

"Natasha, we need to ta—" but he was cut off by a sharp rebuke.

"No, Steve, we don't."

Hurt grew in the silence between them.

"If I'm your friend, don't I deserve an explanation?" He offered the question almost timidly.

"Why? It was what it was and it's in the past. I know you like living in the past, but like I said - you're not Bruce."

Seeing the words form in his head at first before they started to rapid fire out of him, her casual insult to him triggered a scathing response, "Right, I'm just the guy you slept with a year ago out of...what I can only call desperation."

She shot him a look that would crumble a weaker man to his knees, but he stood firm. She didn't say anything. So he tried to push his point, and he could feel the anger building up in him as he let the words fly.

"I'd think that as a woman you would be against the idle disregard of emotional and sexual partners - I would never do that to someone - but I guess you're not like me - I guess those Russians really messed you up..."

He saw her finger twitch and pressed on, "If it was just sex you wanted, you could have told me that from the beginnin—"

"Oh shut up!" Her eyes rolled as she snapped at him, "You can't come into MY apartment and start giving me that holier than thou bullshit."

His eyebrows raised a little, his annoyance, months of anger and hurt barely held at bay, "Holier than thou?" he asked incredulously.

"You're just going through what every teenager goes through - you're infatuated with me because I was your first."

Her words cut through him and he momentarily doubted his feelings as she went on, "You've put such a ridiculous amount of importance on sex that now I'm on some unrealistic pedestal!"

She knew she was getting to him, but there was a sick wonder at just how mad she could get him. She had never seen him angry - Steve was the calm one - centered, rational, sometimes emotional but in a really earnest, innocent way. She kept on, "And it kills you that you, Mr. Captain America, Mr. Justice and Freedom, doesn't get to get the gal at the end. Because that's what you expect, isn't it?"

He blankly stared at her as her words volleyed themselves haphazardly in his direction.

"You're just like every other man - with some glory prize expectation of women," Her hands flew up in full swing of mocking him as she spoke, melodramatically emphasizing her words, "Well guess what? Boohoo, Avenger. This isn't the 50s and I can sleep with whoever I want and I don't have to feel any guilt over it, old man."

Suddenly he stepped towards her, his broad hands gripping her shoulder - not in threat, but in plea - his voice both cracking and growling out, "This isn't about the sex, Nat, and you know it."

She sneered at him, "You're just another notch in my belt, Steve."

His eyes were boring holes into her, the blue shining with an intensity she had never seen before - it was intoxicating to look at...

"Am I?"

Before she could answer, his mouth was on hers, the kiss so intense that it took her breath away.

She immediately took the kiss, her eyes half closing, her knees shaking, a rush of excitement running through her as her blood caught fire from his attention.

She melted against him, her body responding in a way that surprised her as he wrapped one thick and sure arm around her waist, pulling her ever closer to him.

The kiss was deep, their mouths molding to one another naturally, their breaths mingling as a tentative tongue sought reciprocation from the other. She couldn't tell if it was him or her who was seeking.

Her head began to spin, a torrent of emotions pouring themselves through their kiss in a passionate outburst that she remembered only too well. Knees almost buckling, she could feel her rational mind begin to slip away as she got swept into the intensity of his longing for her.

No, Natalia!

Her eyes sprung open and she pushed him away violently, catching him off guard, causing him to stumble back. With her hands at her mouth, she stared at him.

What had she done? Months of work to try to save the both of them from pain, only to kowtow to the will of their attraction at the drop of a dime.

Weak.

She looked at him wildly, with a mixture of horror and relief on her face, her hands shaking as they touched her lips where his had just been, head still spinning, heart pounding.

Breathing raggedly from the kiss, Steve fought to catch his breath, his anger and determination still spilling out of his every movement. His feet automatically took an offensive stance, "This was never about Bruce, was it?" His voice was low, almost threatening, and it chilled her to the bone to hear his normally pleasant and comforting voice so harsh with emotion - this was a side of Steve she didn't know existed. She had seen hints of it that night in the cabin, but nothing ever since.

She sighed, knowing the ruse was up and opted for honesty instead of more lies, "Steve...we can't be together."

"Why?" He immediately reacted; the words hit her like a jab.

She looked down for a moment, thinking on how best to put the truth, "What we have...it's unique..."

"That doesn't sound like a con to me."

One corner of her mouth pinched as she grew frustrated, "It's too much. What I felt that night, I've seen it before."

She saw a part of him soften as she admitted to her feelings for him, but he was still worked up - she had to talk him down before they both did something they regretted.

"That kind of intensity destroys people. It's unsustainable..." she continued in earnest, "If it had just been a physical thing, it'd have been fine, but it wasn't...Jesus Christ, you know it wasn't, Steve."

"Still doesn't sound like a con to me."

"It won't last, you idiot! And the world needs someone like you - and maybe the world needs someone like me - we can't afford to be selfish and get wrapped up in ourselves."

He didn't look convinced, standing straight, his towering height accentuated by the setting sunlight beaming through her living room windows. She watched him as he moved towards her with purpose, his voice eerily calm, "So you thought because of my fragile emotions that you'd spare us the potential pain?"

Without her permission, her eyes were watering as she tried to keep her feelings in check, "Yes."

"Isn't that exactly what Nick Fury tried to do before we found out Hydra was in control of SHIELD?"

Her brows furrowed, "What?"

"He tried to stop a war before it started," he explained, "And in the process ended up hurting a lot of people."

He saw a glimmer of understanding and continued, "You don't get to decide for others what's right and what's wrong. You are not responsible for my emotional welfare..."

He moved closer to her now, almost menacingly, a leashed power that reminded her of that night they shared, with a hint of danger and a world of promise.

Bringing himself a few inches from her stalk still body he spoke with meaning, "Just like I'm not responsible for your emotional welfare..." before turning into a hush, gruff whisper, "...but I want to be."

Tilting her head up, she looked at him pleadingly, once again, unsure of what to say, her eyes moments from spilling over from the well of emotions she was desperately trying to control.

Standing in silence, the sun set around them, the light slowly inching its way out of her apartment before the cool embrace of night began to envelop them.

The words were circling in her head, "but I want to be," and she knew he meant it. She tried to muster a defense, tried to come up with some other reasoning against the words, but found nothing. Absolutely nothing to counter his call of responsibility of self.

And suddenly, she felt guilty - she had chosen the wrong path, again. While she had tried to protect him, and her, it was a farce and the realization of it stung. She had used Bruce as collateral in her own selfish protective efforts, and hurt the man she actually cared for, for nearly a year.

Beginning to withdraw into herself and her thoughts, and as if in slow motion, she sensed his hand move to tuck itself under her chin, holding her gaze in place.

Steve could see her pulling away from the moment, and moved to stop it, wanting to keep her there with him in the pit of their shared emotions. While their first night together it was she who guided him through the emotional roller coaster, it was his job to do the same right now for her.

"Kiss me," He ordered.

Whispering a by rote response, "You're not my boss..." and he tightened his grip on her chin.

"Do you want to me?" He growled the words out, words that she had used a year ago in the dark cabin with him. Words she had thrown at him callously and with confidence then. He was confident now.

Searching his eyes, she saw him - not the super soldier, leader of the Avengers, but simply a man in pain, in need, a friend asking nothing of her except for her honesty, something she was in short supply of in her life.

Almost whimpering, she sighed breathlessly, "Yes," cutting herself off as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him wholeheartedly.

Allowing for a sincere embrace, no more lies around them, she suddenly felt free until the hands she had gently wrapped around his neck were gripped by his own broad embrace. With his mouth on hers, deepening their kiss still, he peeled her away from him and roughly pinned her hands above her head. A quick moment of fear jolted through her, but he stopped her pulling away by bracing his knee between her legs, rubbing the apex of her thighs as he spoke into their kiss, "You've made enough decisions for now..."