A/N: Something that I came up with, when I couldn't sleep
Darkness had fallen on the city. Natasha climbed the stairs to her quarters. On her way up, she passed Steve's floor. She glanced in his room as she went. He was sitting on his bed, back arched, head in his hands.
He looked broken. Defeated. She pressed her back against the wall to hide, wrestling with herself if she should let him be, or go in. She waited a minute, chancing another glance at him. When she looked back, he was looking forward now, his eyes unblinking. He looked like a ghost. Natasha had never seen Steve look so, to it plainly, sad.
She had never seen him like this. He was always in Captain America mode, serious, mission-ready. When he wasn't in uniform, he had a calmness about him. His features were usually relaxed, content. But this...this was something she had never encountered. Her indecisiveness continued. Should she go talk to him, or let him be? She wasn't sure what he would do if she went into the room. He hadn't moved an inch. She had to do something.
Tentatively, she knocked twice against the doorframe, pushing the door slightly more open. He looked up at her with a hint of surprise, and then his Captain America mask came on. He smiled at her, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Hey, Natasha. What can I do for you?" He gestured her to sit, laying his hand out toward a desk chair. Instead, Natasha sat next to him on the bed.
Natasha wasn't sure where to begin. So she just did, and asked, "How are you?" Natasha tried to keep her face neutral.
As she expected, Steve put on a facade. A smile plastered on his face. "I'm fine. How are you?"
Natasha shook her head. "You're lying, Steve." Steve stared blankly at her, and then accepted defeat.
"Yeah. I'm lying. I'm sorry." Steve's eyes fell to his feet.
A beat of silence passed between them. "Steve, look at me." He looked up at her through his eyelashes, a look of guilt plain on his face.
"Steve, please. What is it?" She reached her hand out and covered his hand with hers. He started to move his hand toward hers, but stopped himself. He started to move it back towards himself, but Natasha latched onto it with both of her hands. His hands balled up into fists. Natasha massaged them open, laying one of her hands in his, palm to palm. She laced her fingers through his slowly, as if asking for permission. Steve didn't protest, allowing her fingers to curl around. He squeezed her hand lightly. Natasha continued the small gesture of comfort until Steve spoke again.
"I just feel," he started quietly. "I feel weighed down. Like—like at any moment, I could collapse from the weight of everything." He spoke to the floor, hurt and anger flickering back and forth on his face. Natasha didn't say anything, waiting him to continue. He looked at her, a small tremble in his lip. "The-the guilt," he practically spit the word out, "and the feeling of not knowing what the hell I'm supposed to be doing. I'm not a soldier anymore, I'm not a spy, I'm not—" he gulped, "I don't feel like a person anymore. I feel like I have to be Captain America all the time. I'm not allowed to be me, because I have to be him." He gestured to the red, white, and blue shield laying by the door. He stood up abruptly and started pacing. "I'm not allowed to be angry or upset, or anything but stoic, battle-ready. Captain America is strong, and always up to defend those who need defending. He doesn't take vacations. But—" he stopped.
"You are allowed to have feelings, Steve." Natasha stood up from the bed, facing him. "You're a man who has fought for the lives of others. You've saved more people than you probably know. No one is going to think less of you if you take a day for yourself."
"But what if I can't?" Steve swallowed hard. "What happens if I'm not there? I can't go and tell the team, 'Sorry, can't go today. Need some time to wallow in my self-pity and remember all of the people I've lost. Good luck, though." He mock-saluted, exasperated.
Natasha's jaw fell open. She wracked her brain for an idea, any idea. Her eyes fell on a candle, the flame whipped and flickered. The smoke swirled up toward the ceiling. She got it. She walked to Steve's shelves where he had his books. She grabbed a spiral notebook and a pen from a jar. She rummaged around until she had found what she was looking for: a lighter. She handed them to Steve and said, "Come with me." Steve opened his mouth as of to ask a question, and then thought better of it and accepted the items. Natasha walked out the door. Steve fell in step behind her, not saying a word. They reached the garage, Natasha grabbed a stack of logs and tossed them in her car. She went back and grabbed a stack of old newspapers. Steve got in the passenger seat silently and buckled his seatbelt. And they were off...
Neither said a word. Natasha just drove, and drove, until finally stopping at a darkened beach. She killed the engine, and stepped out of the car. Steve mimicked her movements. Steve filled his arms up with the supplies, and followed Natasha onto the beach. She stopped in front of a cemented circle full of ashes. She dropped the supplies and started placing pieces of wood in an orderly fashion. Steve joined her. Once the wood was placed, Natasha stuffed newspapers in the center. Steve added some dried leaves from the ground and stuck them in with the newspapers. Natasha offered Steve the lighter. He took it and brought the flame over to the kindling. The papers caught fire. Natasha stoked the flames, and a few minutes later, the flame was a few feet tall.
Natasha sat by the fire, and handed Steve something. It was the notebook. On it, she lay a pen for him to take. He did. "What am I doing with this?" Steve asked her.
"You're gonna write them down." Natasha said simply.
"Write what?"
"Your doubts, your fears, any feelings you can't say out loud. Get them out from inside you."
"And throw them in the fire?" Steve asked.
Natasha shrugged. "It's up to you what you do with them." Natasha reached for the notebook and ripped out a piece of paper. She sat a few feet away from Steve and started writing.
Steve stared at the blank paper. His pen hovered above, until ultimately making contact with the paper below, and he started writing, and writing, and writing. The pen flew across the paper. Drops of clear fell onto the page, smudging the ink. He wiped his face furiously, clearing his vision the best he could. His guilt flooded the pages. Guilt over Bucky, the Commandos, his fellow Avengers, himself. It all came out on the page. His feelings of weakness, rage, and sadness spilled out all over. He wrote, and wrote, and wrote, until—
SNAP.
The ink splattered onto the page and onto his hands. He looked down at his hands, and they were shaking. He blinked away more tears. Natasha came over and kneeled next to him. She took his hands in hers. She stopped them from shaking. Steve felt a coolness weave through him, starting at his hands, and reaching his shoulders, his back, his legs. He fell forward onto his knees, melting into the sand. He let out a sob, and collapsed against Natasha. She held him in her arms, stroking his hair back. She didn't say anything, just let him get it out.
Once his breathing returned to normal, he sat up and turned towards her. "I'm—" she put a finger to his mouth.
"Don't." Natasha shook her head. "Don't you apologize, Steven Rogers. Do you hear me?" Her voice was quiet but stern. "Don't apologize to me for not being okay. You're allowed to not be okay." Steve nodded. His eyes stayed on her as she reached beside her and grabbed her piece of paper, and ripped it up. She balled up the pieces and threw them into the flame. Steve copied her. He ripped a corner off and tossed it to the orange-ish glow. His eyes followed it as it crumpled and burned. As he watched it, he felt a small weight lift off of his back. He did it again. He felt the weights being lifted, one by one. Ashes piled up in the flame with every burden he set aflame. He stood up, tossing one paper ball after another, until the last piece of paper was burned.
When he ran out, he was standing taller, he lifted his chin to the sky, and he breathed in the cool night air. The tightness in his chest was lessened, his feet less heavy. Natasha had joined him, standing shoulder to shoulder with him. Her hand grazed his. He touched a finger to the back of her hand. She slid her hand next to his, and they intertwined their fingers. They stood watching the flames for a few minutes until Steve turned to Natasha and enveloped her with his arms. He lay his forehead on top of her shoulder and brought her body closer to his until they were chest-to-chest. Natasha snaked her arms around Steve's neck and pulled him closer.
"Thank you, Natasha." Steve whispered into her neck. Natasha pulled back slightly, placing her hand on his cheek.
"I'm here for you, Steve. Always. I promise", Natasha vowed.
Steve grabbed her hand and pressed her palm against his lips. "And I'm here for you."
