Summary: Natasha has feelings and love is not all its cracked up to be, especially when you think it's unrequited but can't stop the feelings. 

Natasha sat at the bar alone, stirring her drink and lost in thought. The rest of the Avengers and their significant others sat around the living area, laughing and sharing stories as if it was any normal family gathering. But not Natasha. She'd gotten up from her place on the couch, sandwiched between Clint and Thor, a few minutes ago, and so far no one had come to check on her.

That just fed her recent mood of self-pity and hopelessness. No one even cared about her enough to see why she went to be alone, her mind told her, she clearly wasn't wanted here. She should just leave. Good decision to come over here.

It all started when she was in her quarters earlier that evening, just after Tony had announced (demanded) that everyone gather in the common area for a small family-only gathering. There was no particular reason - it was just that everyone was there at the same time, for once, and he wanted to get everyone together for a hang out that didn't involve fighting aliens or Fury lecturing them.

As much as Tony annoyed them, everyone also saw this effort for what it was - a manifestation of loneliness and desire for connection, so they all agreed, Natasha included. She was tired and was smart enough to know to pick her battles, plus she didn't really see the harm that could come of it. Stupid, she thought now. Of course harm would come of it — to herself.

As she'd been getting dressed and applying some minimal makeup just before heading downstairs, her mind started reminding her that if everyone was going, that would mean Steve would be there. And that would mean she'd have to see him, maybe even talk to him. All of a sudden the thought of sneaking out the window or begging Fury for a mission didn't seem so bad.

See, over the last few weeks Natasha had begun having ... feelings, and thoughts... all about Steve Rogers. Her friend, Steve Rogers. Her very best friend, Steve Rogers. She'd found herself forgetting to put up her walls around him — and yes, that had happened long ago in their friendship, but never to the point that she didn't even think about it or realize it. Those other times, it had been a conscious decision, to try to make him feel more comfortable, to make an effort into being a friend, just like he'd asked once upon a time.

But somewhere along the way, she figured, she'd actually wanted to do it for herself. Because — and here's the problem — Steve made her feel safe, and warm, and valued. When she was with him, she wasn't the monster that she'd once thought she was. If he was good, and she was his friend, then that had to mean she was good, even if just a little.

And her subconscious — that traitor — pushed her to spend more time with him, to be physically closer to him, to share more smiles and long gazes with him. She found that she'd shared almost all of what she remembered about her past with him... some things that even Clint didn't know.

The only logical conclusion was that she cared about Steve in ... a special way. An L word came to mind a few days ago when she was ruminating on this very subject, but she shot it down right away — no matter how good she may have become, that was still for children, and she sure as hell wasn't some innocent child.

But, yes, she did admit that there was something inside her that was drawn to Steve in an honestly terrifying way. A week ago he'd come to her secret apartment and just knocked on the door, bearing pizza and a rented DVD like he hadn't just discovered her very covert hideout. She'd opened the door for him to come in but didn't move out of the way, still in a bit of shock, so Steve had just chuckled, shook his head lightly, and shifted the items to one arm, picking her up and carrying her inside with his other.

Natasha didn't think she'd ever made this noise before, but she squealed. And snapped into action and tried to wriggle away but he just tightened his grip. After he kicked the door shut behind him, he set her on the floor but didn't let go yet. Instead he set the pizza and DVD down on the counter and drew her in for a hug. In those brief few seconds, she felt his arms tighten around her and she couldn't help but bury her face in his chest, inhaling deeply and just soaking in the warmth from his embrace.

She found that she never wanted to leave, but he let go after a few moments and then she was shocked back into reality. Steve let her gather her wits but quickly moved away to grab the pizza and DVD and head to the couch. For a moment, she just stared at his back, blushing at how completely obvious she had probably just been. She chastised herself and made sure to sit far away for that night and actively avoided looking him in the eyes more than was necessary. She was thankful she knew the things about him that got to her, and the things she did that made her feelings apparent, so she could stop herself from doing them.

The night passed and after he left, without so much as another hug, Natasha sank down onto the couch where he'd been sitting and stuffed her face into the cushion, hoping to catch his scent one last time. As she lay there, her mind spoke up again, chastising her and feeding her well, not the nicest thoughts.

He's clearly not interested in you, Natasha, so just leave him alone. You're supposed to be his friend, and you get along great as friends, so just be happy with that. Go back to that. Only be that, it told her. That then spiraled into her usual self-hatred-filled line of thinking and she went to sleep only after fighting with herself for an hour — going back and forth about how she was unworthy and a stupid stupid child. She ultimately made herself promise not to reach out to him for anything other than professional or strictly friendly, though she wasn't even sure about that because she realized the lines had blurred together long ago.

And that was a week ago. Then Tony had decided to have this damn party and she was suddenly faced with the realization that she'd see Steve again. She gave herself a firm talking-to before she left — she would go, and she would be physically present, maybe even laugh at jokes and smile along with the stories, but she would most definitely not speak unless spoken to. She would sit and try not to look at him and make herself small and not touch him for fear of falling into his arms. She would be silent, but not obviously so. She knew how to fake her way through a social gathering — thank God.

Still, she found herself conjuring up images of his sparking, ocean blue eyes, and the scruff that had grown on his face. She closed her eyes, trying to ward them off, but more came — his arms - muscular but so gentle, and the soft-looking hair that she longed to just reach out and touch. Forcefully, she shook herself out of that and brushed a hand through her hair before standing up and leaving, heading into sharks territory, she half-humorously thought to herself.

She'd done well for the first 30 minutes, but eventually the pull became too strong and she didn't want to disobey her own rules, so she left. She stood smoothly and muttered something about fixing another drink and that was how she ended up at the bar, alone, stirring a vodka tonic that was probably more water than alcohol from the melted ice cubes, at this point.

She let her thoughts run free, noting that the laughter and chatter hadn't paused, so she felt safe to allow herself a moment. All she could think of, though, was Steve - his image was everywhere in her mind's eye, and she was replaying moments in her mind that had seemed so significant a couple weeks ago when she'd tried convincing herself that maybe he did want her in that way, too.

It was so peaceful, so blissful in that dream world that she didn't hear steps approaching her left. She stayed swinging her legs gently and vacantly staring at the counter, but then suddenly a body nudged her side and she stopped immediately, looking up to her left to find none other than Steven Grant Rodgers on her left. He stayed close enough that she could feel his tricep brushing hers and she just stared for a few moments before he spoke.

"You're awfully quiet tonight," his low voice prompted.

She swiveled her head back to the drink and resumed her absent-minded stirring once again. Her response was a casual shrug and a "yeah, I guess."

This got Steve's attention and he pulled up a chair, placing his hand tentatively on the arm she had resting on the table. "Come on, Nat, what's wrong? I know something's up... you never let good vodka go to waste," he teased to lighten the mood.

Natasha cracked a little smile but it disappeared just as quickly as it had materialized. "I'm fine, Steve," she replied, a little snippy but not finding it in herself to care. She knew she wasn't really mad at him for not returning her feelings — she couldn't blame him — but her hurt came across that way.

He lifted his hand at her harsh tone but tried again, more careful this time. "Okay, well... if there is something bothering you, I'm always here to talk. You know that, right?" He was basically whispering at this point, with how low his voice had dropped.

"I know," she nodded and swallowed down the sudden rock that had formed in her throat.

"Okay just checking... because it hasn't seemed like it lately. I feel like I've barely seen you this week..."

"Yeah, well, I've been busy." She meant for her voice to come out as hardened but instead her emotion betrayed her and it came out soft, almost defeated.

"Oh. I know how that is. Well, you probably want your alone time then, I know these guys can be a lot," he motioned to the group sitting behind them with a jerk of his thumb over his shoulder. He stood and looked hesitant for a moment before leaving her with one final reminder, "I'm here, though, if you ever want." Then he patted her shoulder and left her alone again, returning to the group.

She didn't turn around, but she could hear how when he sat down the conversation turned quieter, and she was sure everyone was asking him if she was okay. She felt his eyes on her one last time before he turned back to the group and told them in that same low octave that she was just tired.

Suddenly shame and embarrassment flooded her, at her feelings, at letting them get to her, at letting herself feel them in the first place. Also among all that, anger at herself for letting him go. He was right there! Within arms reach! She could've just... asked him for a hug, and she knew he would've given it! She could've had what she wanted, but she let him walk away, faked her feelings and lied through her teeth, something that she promised him a long time ago she'd never do again. Jesus! What the hell was wrong with her? A masochist and a filthy, horrible person.

She could feel tears burning in her eyes and quickly decided she'd had enough of this. She wasn't going to subject herself to this masochism anymore.

So she quickly and quietly, with all the practiced skill of a master spy, abandoned her drink and snuck away to her room. With a shaky voice she asked Friday to set her personal security protocol and then screamed and cried out all her feelings into her pillow. She fell asleep that way, red, puffy eyes and all.

She was sleeping a dreamless but not entirely peaceful sleep when her super-spy hearing caught the sound of her bedroom door opening. She was off her bed and pushing a knife against the intruder's throat in a flash.

"Nat! Whoa! Hey! It's just me! It's Steve!" He had his hands up in the universal sign of surrender and she backed away with a gasp.

"Steve? What are you doing here? How did you get in here?! I could've killed you!"

He stepped away from the wall and began walking towards her bed. "You gave me your code a month ago, remember?" She did. "And I know you wouldn't have hurt me," his gaze was knowing but soft. "I came to check on you," now at least he had the decency to look a bit sheepish.

Natasha sighed heavily and moved back to her bed, returning the knife to its place under her pillow before sitting and pulling a leg up onto the bed. "I'm fine, Steve."

But she didn't sound convincing and they both knew it. Steve sat down across from her and sent her a pleading look. "Nat... please talk to me."

Natasha looked torn. "I ... I can't, Steve. I'm sorry. I just can't."

"Hey, I thought we said no more secrets, no more lies," he prompted gently as he moved closer.

Natasha dropped her forehead to his shoulder and whispered, "I can't tell you this." Steve could feel her eyes shutting tightly then opening again, as if she was fighting with herself. He brought a hand up to rub soothing circles on her back. He kissed her temple and let out a breath.

"Okay, then let me talk." She didn't move or say anything so he took it as a sign to continue. "Natasha, you're my best friend. And I love you, but I also... like you." She stilled and he almost stopped there but forced himself to continue, as he'd promised himself earlier that he'd do. "I care about you in a way that is different than the other team members, than anyone else in my life, even Peggy." Now Natasha lifted her head to look at him fully, but he wasn't done. "I want to be able to hold you when you're hurting like this and share in the joys of life with you. I want to be with you."

Steve held his breath as he waited for her response. None came for a few moments, but then she spoke. "Steve...." then she smiled a bit as she looked down and shook her head, "I love you."

"What? Like you —"

"I love you, Steve."

"You.. really? You're not just being nice and saying that?"

"No, Steve," now Natasha's voice was soft, "I'd never do that to you. I told you I wouldn't lie again and I'm sorry because I was lying earlier. I wasn't okay. Because I love you. Because I thought that we could never be together, that you didn't feel the same way. I was hurting, and I'm sorry for being a petulant child and snapping at you and running away. But I do.. I love you, Steven Grant Rogers."

Steve just gawked at her and Natasha smiled, eyes watery at the incredible feeling of this finally and actually happening.

Then he was moving — towards her. He brought a tentative hand up to cup her cheek and brushed his thumb across her cheekbone. His eyes dropped down to her lips and Natasha exhaled all the pent up negative emotion as she gave in to the bliss and leaned forward to connect their lips.

It was slow and long — they were both savoring this moment — and when they pulled away, they maintained contact still, holding each other's faces as if they were afraid they would disappear. Suddenly Natasha yawned and Steve backed away.

"I didn't realize how late it was... I'm sorry I woke you. I'll see you in the morning? We'll talk about this tomorrow." He was standing now and pressed a kiss to her forehead, then made to walk away but was stopped by Natasha's hand on his arm.

"Wait."

He met her eyes and saw hesitation still there.

"Stay?" she asked. "We don't have to.. I don't want to do anything.. I just .. don't want to let you go yet. I just want to sleep."

Steve needed no convincing and climbed right over her to lay next to her. She smiled and turned over to face him, shuffling closer. He took her in his arms and tucked her head under his chin, tangling their legs together. They didn't even need sheets because Steve was a human furnace, and Natasha fell asleep not long after.

That night was the first night in a long time that they both slept without nightmares, and nearly every night for the rest of their lives would be spent in blessedly the same way.