till forever falls apart

bad timing

"Well, crazy alien," Steve grabbed the recipe sheet, and shoved it in her face, "This called for basil, we put cilantro. No wonder it tasted so bad."

"Big whoop, no one else in this house cooks anyway," Natasha brushed off, breaking off a piece and offering it to Steve.

Steve waved the chocolate in the air as he spoke, "Wanda does. You'd know that if you talked to her."

Later that night, Wanda's sound asleep and Natasha's still awake. It's times like this that she's almost thankful for some of the training that she's had - this time particularly she finds herself thankful for when the Red Room instilled the ability for them to be still.

Natasha's good at staying still, falling asleep without having to toss and turn, whatever. It's made her better at her job, even though it was probably because she remembers how the cuffs would rub at her wrists and make them chafe if they moved too much. (It also makes her wonder where Yelena got all of her fidgety movement from, but that's a problem for another time.)

Wanda's arm is slung around her waist, holding her close and twisting the fabric of her shirt in her fist every once in a while.

She wonders how Wanda puts up with this, how she's okay with Natasha shutting down and being snippy and sometimes resentful even though they've been together for three years and she feels like she's past it.

Well, they've been together for three years without the blip and her being dead. With the blip, it's eight years, with the her being dead, it's ten. Ten years since they first kissed and started whatever this is. It hurts her brain that she was technically only alive for eight of them and Wanda for five.

She turns her head, glancing at Wanda. She's not easy to see in the dark of their room, but Natasha can still see some of the broader features of Wanda's face in the light that filters in through the curtains. Her hair - brunette roots perfectly blended with the blonde that she got it dyed, is pulled into a loose braid. She was talking the other day about how she hates waking up with insanely tangled hair and Natasha suggested braiding it. Though, she now finds herself regretting it and wanting to run her fingers through it.

She holds back.

"I don't like you."

Wanda hummed, oddly understanding of the blunt comment, "Any reason?"

Natasha sighed, burying her fists in her hoodie pocket. Her wet hair tickled her neck as she looked around the room, "You..." she looked to the floor and then at Wanda again, not enjoying how scrambled Wanda's eyes on her made her feel, "you remind me of me."

Wanda raised an eyebrow.

"Our stories are... they're different," Natasha pursed her lips, "but similar. I... I never had parents, so I don't know if anyone would count them being lost when there's nothing to remember losing. And then," her voice cracked and she immediately wanted to punch herself. She doesn't cry in front of strangers, yet here she was, tears begging to overflow and tightness all through her chest, "I got a new family and lost them all at the same time."

Natasha bit her lip, "I've lost everything before. And the way... the way you lurk and don't trust anyone and know you've fucked up with the people around you, it reminds me of when I started at SHIELD. I burned bridges that I didn't even know I had. And I don't like being reminded of that and that's not your fault or your burden, but... it makes you hard to talk to."

She let out a deep breath, "I'm willing to try, though."

Wanda nodded, "Do you want to sit in for a while?"