crossing the line

calm skies

It's like she can breathe again.

It's like the clouds have receded, the rain has stopped pouring, and the only thing filling her lungs is fresh air. Like she had tripped into an icy lake and been plunged deep, watching the light fade above. She had begun to adapt to these harsh new surroundings, gills growing, but every second was agonisingly painful, like the part in the deepest depths of her soul was being carved out with a knife, breaths restricted and painful. Until she saw him too, at the other end of the lake, and they swam and touched palms with astonishment that they were not alone, and held each other until the warmth of human touch pushed out the chill they had begun to accept as part of their bones and rose above the surface, feeling the sun on their backs at last.

Natasha feels as if Atlas has passed the weight of the sky to her these last few weeks, and feeling free of the manacles of shame is the happiest she thinks she'll ever be.

Things are back to normal with Steve. Or as normal as can be. Their wordless agreement on her return seems to have rebuilt a bridge both thought was burned for good, a tacenda resting over them lightly. The dyad between them is restored, thoughts and feelings translated in glances and quirks of the lip and received in retrouvaille. They're not as physically close as before, Natasha notices. But of course, that's just them getting used to each other again, getting used to the new boundaries in their skinship.

It's hard to touch you and not...not want you.

She still catches him looking at her sometimes, eyes ambivalent in their pull and push, longing and hesitancy. It irritates her when he stares, not least because she knows he can't help it, and because neither can she. But it's going back on something he promised - though nonverbally - to abandon, and he keeps unintentionally nursing it back to life. When he stares it makes her stare, and she feels that stamped-down infatuation beginning to rise from the ashes. When she does feel it she often twitches suddenly, blinking hard and shuddering to shake off the feeling. He often does the same when her eyes look up, accusing, and he feels like she's caught him red-handed stuffing a body under a mattress or something. Natasha knows he's trying, but sometimes it feels like effort is few and far between on his part. That's what irritates her.

Sometimes I touch you and I need you, and I always wish you'd stay a little longer before letting go.

Otherwise, discord is nonexistent. The rhythm between them is easy, steps no longer out of time. Conversation is natural and invited rather than avoided and feared. And Natasha is glad of it. Frankly, she's not entirely sure what she'd do without Steve, because her 'surface wound' is still bandaged and debilitating, and there's no way she's bending to Helen's will and actually using that crutch. Steve is her human crutch, when needed. Tony would not be happy if she were simply grabbing onto the walls for balance.

The desire is no longer all-consuming, the intrinsic craving to simply love him and be loved no longer eats her up from the inside out. It's dim; light shining through a heavy lampshade. Frankly, they're just so relieved to have things back to normal that both will freely admit to the love left behind. Strictly platonic, of course. But it's a love that means more than the world, and they're not letting go of that any time soon.

I wish you would stay, but this is a pining I know can't be satisfied. For you are there and I am here. Be we miles or centimetres apart, I will always wish you would stay.

————

Centimetres apart indeed. To Peter's adoration, Natasha and Steve are relaxed besides the coffee table, atop which is their current project, a Lego Millenium Falcon. He had stopped in his tracks on the way out from his visit, all of a sudden practically vibrating with excitement. He'd already done one before of course, but the prospect of finding fellow fanatics amongst his second family was just too good to be true.