Willing and Able - Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader
short summary: You're both assigned on a two-month-long journey, delivering information across a few United States. In a world built on survival, falling in love might be the most terrifying thing Natasha Romanoff has ever done.
word count: 9k
!!! warnings !!! : *** blood, gore, killing, swearing, guns, knives, reader has scars, apocalyptic world, mutated human beings, clickers / zombies, drinking ***
Pairings: The Last of Us x Marvel, Apocalyptic!Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader
(These events are based on TLOU games, but not completely necessary to know!!)
Some lore that might be helpful!
** Infected = Humans that have been infected by a Cordyceps brain infection (fungal), who mutate into aggressive creatures
** Clicker = Zombie / infected human (Stage 3. Blind, but can use echolocation)
** Firefly = A revolutionary militia group against the current government
** FEDRA = U.S. military, responds to disasters and manages emergencies
-
The first time Natasha considered you a liability, you were laughing.
You were leaning against a deserted gas station counter, shaking your head at something one of the smugglers had said before they left, like this was any normal day. Like the past few hours were already brushed off your shoulders.
Natasha could feel every muscle in her body. Tense. She had watched the door, not you. This was her usual, always the door, any exit she could find.
“Try and keep it down,” she’d said.
You glanced at her, still smiling. “Are you always this fun?”
She pressed her lips together before answering.
“I’m alive.”
Your smile didn’t fall. It should have, just like so many others did around her. People quickly learned what kind of person Natasha was.
They respected it, so they kept quiet around her.
“Good,” you said. “Me too.”
-
That was your first assignment.
Easy enough, something you and Natasha could do in your sleep. Deliver information, then get the hell out.
She’d heard about you before this, of course, she had.
The infamous rogue Firefly.
Before your boots ever even touched the coarse soil of Wyoming, everyone in Jackson had heard about you. Now, without the Fireflies to run with, the safe town of Jackson took you in with open arms.
To Natasha, it only became a problem when you’d return after months of long, grueling assignments, only given to those who could really handle themselves.
You became something to the town, stretched miles away from any real settlement, miles from anything resembling safety.
You weren’t whispered about in fear, not spoken about like a warning.
But admiration.
It was careless, the way people talked about you.
Like the world hadn’t ended, and being known didn’t get you killed.
Sure, there were some days Natasha could forget everything and submerge herself in this safe town. Maybe years ago, she didn’t have a family, a sister she looked after. Her only friends were those that she’d made in Jackson, and her days were spent getting groceries, assisting farmers, and teaching languages to young children.
She’d return to her room, forgetting that it was designed to look like everyone else’s, and she’d drift off to sleep, a small smile at the edge of her lips.
And then, in the blink of an eye, she’d be right back. 5 am.
Heavy black boots tightly squeezed the soles of her feet. Knives and guns clanged slightly in her slim backpack as she prepared the horses to be ridden. Remembering why she fought, why she dragged herself out of bed.
A new assignment, more infected to wipe out, more ground to cover, and new paths to secure.
Just like that, everything comes back.
Natasha knew better than anyone that being wanted was dangerous. She didn’t trust people like that. Didn’t trust people who let others get close enough to talk, she couldn’t afford it anymore.
-
Natasha was called for a meeting, a new assignment that would take place effective immediately.
“You’ve gotta be kidding,” Natasha had said, flat.
Maria just crossed her arms.
“She’s the best shot we have.”
“She’s loud.”
“She’s effective.”
“She’s known,” Natasha shot back. “That’s a problem for a job of this nature.”
Maria gives her a look, and silence fills the room. Natasha doesn’t realize how hard her arms are pressed into her chest, her muscles beginning to tremble from it. She forgets how many eyes of the council are on her.
“So are you.”
Natasha looks away, teeth grazing the inside of her cheek. She gives a final nod in defeat. Who did she think she was, arguing back to those who’d pulled her out of the worst situation of her life?
Voices fill the room again, discussing everything this upcoming job entailed. Usually, Natasha would be laser-focused on the council members, eyes sharp, knuckles tightening like how they would over a shiv.
But her eyes drift to the window, people clamoring over a figure sliding off a horse, and she blinks at the sight.
Being known wasn’t the same as being liked.
-
The meeting ends with a decision, never a discussion. For being as well known in this town, rather well needed, Natasha would like to think she’d have more of a say in missions she was willing to risk her life over.
Each time she didn’t, she’d have to close her eyes and remember everything they’d provided.
Routes were assigned, supplies were rationed, and they were already being packed up by able hands. Pairs were finalized.
“Romanoff. You’ll also be running point on the Oregon route. It’ll take anywhere from 40 to 60 days to complete.”
And there you were. Natasha leaves the meeting with precise movements, gathering her things quickly while lively chatter fills the room, the loud scrape of chairs against wooden floors.
You’re still outside, speaking to the same group of people that’d greeted you, but it’s a growing crowd. A stable hand had taken your horse; you were surrounded by gifts of all kinds, arms of those around you full of canteens, burlap sacs placed at your toes full of food and supplies.
The shape of your name floats back to her amongst conversations.
“… entire route was clear because of her-”
“...turned against the Fireflies-”
“Are you heading out again?”
“Looks like it,” you say, giving the old man an honest nod. Your eyes are lit up, lines covering your face from your aching smile.
“But you just got back!”
A young voice rings out from the crowd, and you kneel, your jeans hitting the gravel. You playfully poke the girl's nose, a small scrunch following. She giggles, throwing her arms around your neck.
“She’ll still have tonight. We leave early tomorrow morning.” The crowd parts slightly as Natasha’s tone carries over the voices.
The small girl detaches from your embrace, and you stand, brushing dust off your pants.
“Natasha,” you say. “It’s good to see you.”
Her blonde hair was well past her shoulders, showing you just how long it’d been since you saw her last. She gives you a quick nod as a response.
You watch as she walks over to you, the sea of bodies falling back to its original shape, with her now in the center. Her boots stop right in front of yours.
“Been a while,” you add.
“Not long enough,” Natasha replies. Her arms are folded over her chest as she looks at you. The group around you quiets at her words, and you grin.
Her feet move quickly, separating herself from the group, no longer wanting to feel their collective burning stare. Or yours, for that matter.
“I’m glad you’ve stayed the same,” your voice catches up to her, leaving the crowd without hesitation.
“Oh yeah?”
“Really. Looks like we’re paired up,” you say.
“Looks like it,” she echoes.
Natasha catches a small glimpse of you as you walk, not daring to look too long. There’s still dirt smudged on your face, and holes in your long-sleeve shirt. Mud caked over your boots. A faint split in your lower lip from your previous assignment.
She stops dead in her tracks when she feels the soft grasp of her arm in your hand. It’s warm, and it has her turning towards you.
“Do you have a problem with that?” you ask.
Natasha’s eyes narrow slightly. She could feel heat in her face, and she ignored it.
“Why would I?”
Before you can answer her, your name is called from the same group you and Natasha were just standing in. They’re saying something that she can’t hear, but she watches you, the way your attention leaves her. The way your hand drops from her arm.
She’s gone before you can get another word in.
-
3 weeks later. Eastern Idaho.
Natasha stares into the light of the fire, flames engulf the reflection in her pupils. It had been a while since she’d been on an assignment this long. But if there was anything this life had taught her, assignments were stripped down to what mattered.
Routine, survival, and silence.
Do what worked, watch each other's back, and don't get killed trying.
In the first few days, Natasha had kept her distance from you with the clearest of intentions. You could tell she didn't trust easily, and she certainly didn't trust you.
But you didn't mind. Conversations with Natasha were kept short, narrowed down to directions, timing, and risk.
The whole world was quieter out here. There were no crowds, no patrol rotations. No distant chatter from the town of Jackson to remind her that life still went on.
Infected seemed to round each corner you and Natasha turned. Twitching through the forests, stuck inside crumbled buildings, unable to do anything but wander and search for something to feast on.
There was the occasional peaceful day, where it would just be you, Natasha, and the overgrown Earth.
Tonight, there was only wind brushing through dry grass and the occasional crackle of burning wood.
And you.
Across from her, sitting on the opposite side of the fire. You’d taken your first watch yesterday, insisted on it, and it began to show in the way your blinks slowed. She didn’t protest, mostly because she wanted to see if you’d slack off.
These past few weeks, she'd kept her distance with a careful watch over you. Slowly, she was beginning to see why everyone spoke about you the way they did.
Like you were this higher being, something people looked up to.
Within these quiet forests, on trail dirt roads, among abandoned buildings surrounded by infected, you came alive.
Of course, you didn't slack off.
You were careful, calculated, and you seemed to know what to do in every situation. By the end of the first week, Natasha realized you were loud, but not in the way she'd originally thought.
You talked when it mattered least. When the road stretched long and empty, when the air felt too still. Stories that didn’t ask for anything in return. About your life, your last assignment, and details about the Fireflies.
Comments thrown into the space between you that Natasha never really answered.
She watched you observe the Earth, the way your footprints were silent in beds of grass, how you knew everything about the terrains you passed through. The way you never hesitated to aid Natasha’s side.
And slowly, somewhere between Idaho’s border and the stretch of nothing that followed, Natasha stopped questioning whether you were a liability.
-
“Three.” Your eyes are closed, brows slightly furrowed from concentration. Your ear is pressed against a wall, hand in the air as you count the amount of vocalization from the infected that surrounded this building.
“Three,” you say again, giving a final nod.
Natasha’s grip on her weapon tightens, shaking wisps of her bangs from her sight. You crouch, inching yourself closer to the ground, as if you were becoming one with the wooden panels.
You move silently through hallways, taking each opportunity to shield yourself with any other object you come into contact with. Clicks become louder the further you both venture, and you give Natasha a signal.
She nods, scanning her surroundings for a brief second before she lunges. Her arm wraps around a clicker's chest, stabbing her shiv through the side of its neck. You watch her lower it to the ground, what was once a moving, tweaking creature, lay stagnant. She then wiped the blood from the metal against the cloth wraps of her arm.
You suppress a comment of awe, giving her only a nod and a directional signal to continue forward. The floor groans under your weight, and you freeze. The click comes again, closer now, and you can tell it’s intrigued.
You manage another silent kill, stabbing your knife into the side of its fungus-clustered throat.
You signal ‘one’ to Natasha with your index finger, but when you arrive at the destination where you’d first heard the final clicker’s echolocation, there’s nothing there. Carefully, you unhook your flashlight from your belt, checking your surroundings with the beam of light.
A sharp inhale cuts through the quiet, but it’s not yours. Natasha’s head snaps up as the third clicker emerges from the doorway to your left. Closer than it should’ve been based on your calculations, faster than anticipated.
Its hands are grasping, jaw splitting open with a wet, choking sound as it lunges for Natasha. Her hand balls into a fist, gripping her shiv with built-up anticipation, but Natasha stumbles back, boot catching against uneven flooring. A raspy cry leaves her mouth in a sharp burst as she hits the wall, and the clicker follows instantly.
Her shiv is knocked out of her grasp due to the force, and her arm braces against its chest, straining to keep it back as it thrashes against her, shrieking, jerking violently, hungry.
A gunshot rings out loudly through the building.
Before Natasha can process what’s just happened, the clicker falls to the ground with a loud thud. The barrel of your revolver leaves a faint line of smoke, your hand clutching it tightly, arm straightened with experience.
“Are you okay?”
Natasha’s chest heaves with adrenaline, and it takes her a moment to gather her thoughts. Her hands rest on her thighs, bent over as she tries to catch her breath.
Your touch is on her a moment later, holding her shoulders and examining her body for any bites. “Did it get you? Natasha?”
Natasha shakes your touch off her like you possessed the infection itself.
“What the hell did you do that for?”
You're surprised, taking a step back. “What do you mean? It-”
“I know what it was doing,” Natasha spits. “Now everyone within a mile radius knows exactly where we are.”
She wasn’t wrong. The outside of the city you were trying to get through was crawling with FEDRA soldiers. The easiest way in and out was through abandoned buildings, houses, hotels, anything that wasn’t protected by soldiers, loaded with weapons.
Any infected that came your way inside could be killed stealthily, a shiv or knife to any major blood flow would do.
“I wasn’t about to stand and watch you get killed!”
Natasha looks bewildered, like it was your first day on Earth, your first time dealing with a situation like this.
“Sometimes that’s what has to happen.”
You stare at her. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
“No, you don’t.”
Natasha looks you sternly in the eye, her tone laced with venom. “Our orders were stealth. No noise, no attention.”
You grab her arm when she tries to walk away, your jaw tight.
“If soldiers come, then we'll deal with it. Don’t think for a second I’d let you get bit by one of those.”
“That’s not how this works,” Natasha says, not missing a single beat.
“It is when it comes to you.”
The words slip out before you can stop them, and you nearly catch yourself after trying to think of a response to justify it. But it’s already said, and the look of surprise on Natasha’s face is unreadable.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Natasha snaps, frowning. A deep twist of regret churns through your stomach, and you stumble.
“I just mean I-”
Your face burns, but you can’t finish your words.
Natasha’s gaze drops briefly to your hand on her arm, then back to your face. She doesn’t do anything to move out of your hold.
“And then what? We get shot on sight, or arrested and tortured-”
“Then we deal with it,” you repeat.
You don’t back down. Your grip on her arm tightens, and there’s an honesty that shines within your eyes. She can tell you mean it. Every word. Especially the part about not letting her die.
Silence fills the room, and your concentration falters when Natasha takes a step closer to you.
“You’re reckless,” Natasha says finally.
“And you’re alive.”
Natasha’s eyes scan your entire face, and they fall to your lips.
“I know what you’re doing, Natasha. You were waiting for me to mess up. Well, you got your moment. Now you’re angry because I might be right.”
She studies you, not missing a single detail. The scar she’d noticed before is healing. There’s dirt and sweat on your skin, and your hair clings to the edges of your jaw. You smell of the Earth, of the clothes you both’d been wearing for too long.
You’re close. Closer than you’ve ever been to her, and she doesn’t know how to feel.
She takes a small breath, looking back into your eyes, until she hears it. Them. Male voices, getting louder by the second. She can hear the heaviness of their boots and armor, shouting signals and warnings.
Her facial expression hardens, and she takes her arm out of your hold, this time gentler than the last.
“Move.”
-
The two of you are settled into the shell of what used to be a house, walls half-standing, roof barely holding. You’d raided it the best you could, as you did to all houses and buildings, taking pills or small tools. Anything that could fit easily in your backpacks.
The night air slips through cracks in the wood, carrying the distant echo of wind through broken streets. It was agony, how hot the days could be, the unbearable sun beating down on your skin, all for nightfall to have you wishing for daylight.
Natasha sits opposite you, closest to the nearest exit. Her back rests against the wall, her rifle laid neatly next to her, supplies tucked perfectly in her backpack after she’d finished counting her rations.
She watches as you clean your revolver, carefully, making sure not to miss a single spot. You’re quieter tonight, ever since the building with the clickers. You were able to get past the soldiers without trouble and hadn’t run into any more infected for the rest of the day.
But you’re different from before, from the girl in Jackson surrounded by crowds.
The woman who fired a gun without hesitation.
And Natasha found herself missing the familiarity of it more than she’d like to admit.
“You’re staring,” you murmur. “Like what you see?”
Natasha doesn’t look away, and you keep your eyes on your gun. “I’m thinking,” she says.
“Uh-oh,” you say, a small smile working its way to the edge of your lips, giving her a glance through your eyelashes. You reload your gun, setting it down after a satisfying click. “What’re you thinking about?”
“You.” Natasha shifts slightly against the wall, arms folding tightly across her chest.
“Should I be worried?”
“Probably.”
You exhale a quiet breath, turning your face away as you grin. “Tell me you did not just try to make a joke.”
Natasha presses her lips together, biting down a smile that begins to surface. Because God forbid she shows you something you knew was one of the most beautiful things you’d ever seen.
It’s small, the faintest curve at the corner of her mouth before she smooths it out like it never existed. Still, it was enough to make something warm settle low in your stomach, quiet and unexpected.
“Careful,” you say, softer now. “Keep doing that, and I might think you like me.”
Natasha smiles, for real this time. It’s bashful and bright, just like every other time you’d seen it. This time, it came from you.
It reminds you of a moment in Jackson, the night before this journey.
“Well. We wouldn’t want that,” she whispers.
The wind howls through broken glass and rotting wood, filling the shared space with freezing air once again.
“I wasn’t waiting for you to mess up,” Natasha says after a moment, timidly. Honest in a way that feels unfamiliar coming from her. Like you were getting a glimpse into this side of her that she obviously didn’t show most people.
Your brows lift slightly. “You weren’t?”
“Maybe at first. You’re just this-” Natasha’s face scrunches up, and she shakes her head, dismissing the thought completely. You don't pry. “You fired a gun in a FEDRA zone today.”
You shrug those words off instantly, as if you’re waiting for her to say something worse. Like that sentence didn’t mean anything to you. Natasha blinks, waiting for you to understand. For her words to sink in.
“That kind of thinking gets people killed.”
“I meant what I said earlier,” you tell her, voice low. “About not letting anything happen to you.”
Natasha lets your words settle before answering. “You put both of us in a more dangerous situation because of it. Directly disobeying orders.”
“I chose you,” you say instead. Natasha’s stare is so intense, you have to look away for a moment.
You realize how suggestive your words sound. Reluctantly, you add, “Same as I would anyone I’m partnered with.”
It doesn’t sound as convincing as you want it to.
“That’s the job,” Natasha says, not missing a single beat. She sounds as if she were programmed to say that, and you catch her off guard once again by laughing.
You shake your head, leaning back against the wall, arms resting over your knees. “No,” you say, eyes closing. “It’s really not.”
The rest of the night falls quiet, just like the day had been. You can see Natasha wanted to say more, her mouth opening with hesitation, but she doesn’t. Instead, she promptly decides to take first watch.
“Are you sure?”
Natasha nods, giving you a faint smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. You position your backpack on the ground, taking out your jacket for you to lay your head on. You know you’re tired; you have been since your last assignment, but sleep doesn’t come easily as it usually does.
The memory comes in pieces at first, as your mind drifts.
Music, low and uneven, something plucky and replayed too many times. The smell of cheap alcohol, of smoke, of people packed too close together in a space that felt safe enough. Bodies huddled in the warmth of the wooden barn doors, some dancing, some talking, everyone drinking.
Jackson. The night before you and Natasha left.
She hadn’t planned to stay long, she never did at these kinds of events. Crowds of happy people were too loud, and the townspeople were known for drinking too much on special occasions.
She’d much rather be curled up under covers with her nose in a good book, but for some reason, she’d let her friends talk her into socializing. Somehow, a bottle wound up wedged in her hands.
Light conversation was being held among them as they caught up on life, on their own kids. And for a few good moments, she forgot everything she hated about these events. About the world.
“You’re terrible at this,” Wanda says beside her, laughing.
Natasha arches a brow. “At what?”
“Relaxing.”
She huffs out something that almost resembles a laugh, shaking her head as she brings the bottle to her lips. “I’m doing just fine.”
Wanda rolls her eyes, but decides to ignore Natasha’s predictable behavior, droning on about something her two children said the other day. Natasha listens with careful intent, a light smile forming without realizing it. She lets her shoulders ease, taking more sips of her beer, hanging onto every word her friend says.
Across from the bar, you don’t catch a single word.
“-and then, they wouldn’t even let me in the building, when I literally have clearance,” the girl in front of you says, hands gesturing wildly, passionate about the subject at hand.
She’s pretty. You’d seen her around before your last assignment. You’d barely gotten to the gathering, and she’d let you know she was interested in you the minute her fingers wrapped around your arm, striking up a random conversation.
She’s leaning in just enough to make it obvious, and before, you’d been leaning in too.
But you stopped the second you heard Natasha laugh. No matter how hard you tried, your eyes kept flickering back to her. Quiet, serious, impossible Natasha Romanoff, smiling with her friends in a way you’d never seen before.
“…are you even listening?” The girl in front of you asks.
You blink, shaking your head slightly, giving her a small grin. “Yeah. I- sorry. Go on.”
The girl’s voice continues in the same light-hearted tone, the room still plays the same music, there’s loud talking, and sounds of dancing bounce off the walls in the small barn. There’s a room full of interesting people, but Natasha, in this moment, with the glow of string lights above her head and a faint blush over her face, you’d never seen anything like it.
The pretty girl in front of you laughs. It’s something sweet and inviting to your ears, and you should be paying attention, like you usually would.
But all you can focus on is her. Your gaze wanders back to Natasha, the brown beer bottle pressed against her mouth, eyes closing as she tilts her head back in more laughter.
And you watch.
-
The days blurred together in a way that only being on the road could provide. Two weeks had passed since the incident in the FEDRA zone.
Mornings greeted you both with frost or dust, depending on where you’d stopped, and nights always ended the same. A crackling fire, weapons within reach, one of you awake while the other tried to sleep.
The rhythm settled into each other’s bones before either of you acknowledged it. Pack supplies, walk on trails, scan every area, repeat. Kill whoever threatened the routine.
It was survival reduced to something mechanical. And yet, Natasha was beginning to find peace in it all.
-
The trail opens into a stretch of uneven land, tall grass brushing against your legs as you step through it. A comment is made, one of stopping, just for a little while, and you ignore the frustrated sigh you hear in response.
The wind moves softly through the field, bending the grass, sending a quiet hush over the Earth. You sink into the ground beneath you, the weeds swallowing your legs as your knees feel the cool mud below.
Natasha’s looking at you as you sit on a hill, hands feeling the long stems of grass that surround you. Your eyes close as you take in the sunlight. They open a moment later, and you find her watching.
Natasha stills, then looks away, just a second too late. She turns away from you, heat rising where it’s not welcome, desperately trying to make herself look like she’d been watching the horizon.
Anywhere else but you.
-
The body by Natasha’s side was one now accustomed, and she could picture what you were doing without having to look at you at all. Natasha learned the sound of you, the way you operated. The noise of your footsteps, the way your breathing evened out when you finally slept, the quiet hum you let past your lips as you admired the scenery around you.
She found herself listening for your voice to continue in the silence. You filled it when it felt too heavy, let it settle when it didn’t. You spoke to her like she was someone important to you, not minding when she shut down or refused to talk about her past.
It was like you didn’t even care what she thought of you.
Deep into Western Idaho, you moved through abandoned towns that still held remnants of what they used to be. Through abandoned quarantine zones, towns that didn’t get hit with the infection immediately.
Rusted swing sets creaking in empty parks, kitchens left half-set as if someone meant to return, photographs yellowed at the edges. Letters written to family members or significant others.
Natasha would pause, noticing you were not by her side anymore as you took in the sights. Your fingers would brush over something human, as if you could feel the emotions it withheld.
She could read every expression on your face.
There were close calls, like there always were. That was part of the job.
You encounter nearly every stage of infected, sometimes feeling like too many at a time. Some floors gave out without warning, and injuries followed. Patrol routes shifted and added extra time to the journey, along with unsuspected thugs who’d kill to have the information that you possessed.
You and Natasha fell into something throughout it all. Without needing to speak, you covered each other’s angles, watched each other’s blind spots, and took care of each other as if it had always been that way.
-
It came in a simpler form.
Through the eerily quiet forests or abandoned houses, Natasha would wake up and see her rations already laid out for her. Sometimes, even steaming, showing her that you’d warmed it up over the fire.
“Morning,” you smiled. “Did you sleep okay?”
Natasha would nod, reaching for her canteen of water, and stop. Forgetting that your jacket would be draped over her torso, every time.
It was heavier than hers. It smelled like smoke, worn fabric, and you. A faint lingering of soap that she could only catch sometimes. Natasha came to learn that it had four holes and three patches sewn into the sides.
She would shrug it off quietly and place it next to your backpack.
-
A narrow passage between collapsed concrete forced you closer than usual, shoulders brushing as you squeezed through. Natasha had stilled at the contact, instinctively pulling away, but there had been nowhere to go.
“Hope you’re not claustrophobic,” you joked, flashing her a smile.
Your arm slid along hers as you moved ahead, guiding her without thinking. Warm was the first thing to come to Natasha’s mind. The second your hand left her, she nearly reached for you again before catching herself.
-
Another day, another winding road. It was the same as always, but tonight, Natasha’s mind orbits back to you. It had been mid-afternoon, and you were crossing a shallow drop, the ground uneven and slick with gravel. Natasha had gone first, landing cleanly below, turning back just in time to see your footing shift.
“Shit,” you’d muttered under your breath. Your fingers wrapped around Natasha’s wrist, holding onto her as you eased your way down.
“Careful,” Natasha said, her arm tensing underneath your fingertips. Her other arm was ready to brace you if needed, her reaction immediate, watching you carefully place your boots into the ground.
“Thank you,” you said. You’d made it on the ground now, giving her a knowing smile.
Natasha was about to question your growing smirk, but she looked down at your arm, where her hand lay. It was wrapped around your bicep, tighter than your grip on her wrist.
“Oh, I- must’ve,” Natasha stumbles, moving a step backwards, taking her hand with her. Blonde hair whips over her face, covering half of her view of you. She can hear you laughing, shaking your head slightly.
“Come on, we’ve still got some daylight left.”
-
“Hold still,” you said.
The dim lighting of an abandoned school made it nearly impossible to see, and you’d grabbed your flashlight out of frustration, trying to angle it at Natasha’s forearm as best you could.
Your hand was steady as you’d torn the seal off an antiseptic wipe, now rubbing it straight over her wound. She hissed, hand covering her mouth, muffling any noises that threatened to surface.
“I know, I’m sorry,” you said gently, blowing cool air over the gash.
It happened more times than she’d like to admit. You’d spot a trickling wound, and there you were, crouching against her, cleaning it with expertise.
“You do this a lot?” Natasha asked once.
“Enough.”
She nods. You wrap her shin tightly, tucking the edges of the tattered cloth in itself, securing the new bandage.
“For everyone?”
You glanced up at her, something softer passing through your expression. Green eyes search yours, looking for truth, but they travel to your face. The scar on your lip had now healed completely. There was a slight amount of sun damage over the bridge of your nose, a little patch of dust over your eyebrow.
“No,” you said.
-
The fire had died out a while ago. All that remained were burning embers and small drifts of smoke that disappeared into thin air. Natasha had volunteered to take first watch, so you were curled in your shared sleeping bag. She didn’t have to look at you to know you weren’t asleep yet.
The chill of the forest crept through, blowing whatever smoke was left around in different directions, and making the hair on Natasha’s arm stand.
“You’ll freeze like that,” you say.
Natasha tears her eyes away from the sky.
“I’m fine.”
“Liar.”
You scoot yourself up, crossing the small space between you before she can protest. The sound of a zipper is heard, and Natasha feels you drape your jacket over her shoulders, your fingers brushing the back of her neck for a second.
“You don’t have to keep doing that,” she says quietly. Contrary to her words, she immediately puts her arms through the sleeves, hugging herself, feeling the warmth your jacket possessed.
Her chin rests lightly on her shoulder, and she can smell you all over again. Her eyes close for half a second longer than they should.
“I know,” you say. You’re tucked back into the communal sleeping bag, the palms of your hands resting on the back of your head, shifting your gaze back up to the sky. You catch a glimpse of Natasha, who’s doing the same.
There were no clouds, no smoke to prevent the view. Just black, empty, nothingness, showered with lights.
You follow her line of sight up to the night sky. “Do you know any of them?” you ask after a moment.
“Yes,” Natasha says.
“Yeah?”
She nods faintly, lifting a hand. Her arm moves slowly, like she’s not entirely sure why she’s doing this.
“That one,” she says, pointing. “See the three in a line?”
You squint up at the sky, shifting where you sit to get a better angle. You follow Natasha’s pointed finger, and you see them. Three bright stars, like they were stacked on top of each other.
“Orion’s belt. There are more stars in it, look upwards,” Natasha pauses, looking at your concentrated face in the dark. She sees the moment you realize, a small smile inching over her lips.
“Right above the belt,” you say, looking to Natasha for approval. “Two stars.”
She hums, turning her eyes back to the sky. Jackson's sky views were beautiful, thanks to its high altitude and minimal light pollution. But out here, there was not a trace of human life. She hadn’t seen so many stars like this in such a long time.
“Show me another one,” you say.
Natasha’s hand lowers slightly, but not all the way. It lingers in the air, like she’s deciding something.
“There’s another,” she says. You trail your eyes from her index finger, looking up to the sky again, but all you can depict is Orion’s belt, along with the two stars above it. You squint harder.
“Look,” she murmurs.
You tilt your head back, trying to circle the sky, but you can’t see what she wants. “That’s just… a lot of stars.”
“It isn’t,” she says. “You’re looking too far left.” Natasha sighs when she sees you tilt your head dramatically to the right. You keep your head in the same position until you hear the scrape of Natasha’s boots in the dirt beside you.
You attempt to sit up to give her space, but she shakes her head. She lies down directly next to you, the tops of your shoulders brushing as she tries to get comfortable. Natasha studies the sky for a moment, finding her place again.
Then her hand lifts.
“Not there,” she murmurs when you immediately point in the wrong direction.
You sigh. “They all look the same.”
“They don’t.”
“They do.”
Natasha laughs as your hand falls to your chest, giving up in defeat.
“You’re not even trying,” Natasha says, a slight rasp breaking her voice. You turn your head to her, seeing her smiling, her eyes wandering all over your face.
She blinks slowly, so close to you that you can hear the soft exhales of air from her nose. All you can see of her is illuminated by the full moon, bright against the paleness of her skin.
Her hair looks angelic, her green eyes darkening the longer she stares at you.
“I am,” you say. “You’re just bad at explaining.”
That earns you a look and an eyeroll. You turn your face away from Natasha, afraid of what she might think if you gave in to the thoughts running around your mind.
You look back helplessly to the sky until you feel your stomach drop. Her fingers close around your wrist.
“Here,” she says gently. She lifts your arm, guiding it upward, adjusting the angle with careful precision. Her touch is warm despite the cold; her hands are soft in a way that makes it hard to focus on anything else.
You can hear your heart in your ears, and you desperately try to see what she was pointing at.
“Follow my hand,” she murmurs. She traces your fingers along the three stars, Orion’s belt. “You see those stars?”
“Yeah,” you breathe.
“Good.” Her thumb shifts against your skin. “Now follow it down.”
She moves your arm again, slower. At first, it’s just another bunch of stars, with no distinct lines that you can see. Then, she stops. “Here,” she says.
It’s brighter than the rest. Impossible to miss once you actually see it, bigger than any of the stars you’d seen tonight.
“I see it,” you say excitedly. “That one’s different.”
“Sirius,” Natasha nods. “The brightest star in the sky,” she adds.
Your hand moves again, shifting slightly to the right, then back to Sirius, then down again. Two smaller stars directly next to it. She points your finger back to the brightest star, then further down. An entire array of more stars, all in a line, all belonging together.
“Canis Major,” Natasha says, her voice low, her breath warm against your ear. “It follows Orion,” she says, nodding back toward where she’d pointed before. “The hunter and his dog.”
You look at her. She’s still fixated on the sky, eyes moving back and forth, the light from the moon reflecting over her pupils.
“You know a lot about this,” you say.
Her grip on your wrist loosens, but doesn’t disappear completely. It lowers, slowly, into the space between you two. You feel like you can’t breathe, unable to do anything but watch her face, like it would cross a line if you dared to catch a glimpse at her fingers, sliding between yours.
Natasha takes a deep breath before answering. “My sister.”
The words sit between you, and you don’t speak right away. You offer a slight brush of your thumb over her hand. You knew Yelena. Worked with her even, long before meeting Natasha or anyone in Jackson, for that matter.
A fellow Firefly, always looking to do the right thing.
“She used to point them out,” Natasha adds after a moment, quieter. “Every time we were outside long enough.”
“Natasha, I’m so sorry…” You trail off, and she smiles, giving your hand a final squeeze before her touch leaves you. Her hand settles back against her own chest, fingers curling into the sleeve of your jacket.
“You should get some sleep,” she says.
There’s a pang of disappointment in your heart that you can’t ignore.
You shift into the comforts of your sleeping bag, nestling your chin into the fabric, eyes back on the bright sky from above. Natasha remains next to you, but she sits up so as not to drift off to sleep, creating a slight distance between the two of you.
You turn your head toward her. “Natasha?”
“Yeah?”
You hesitate, mouth opening slightly. Whatever you were about to say wouldn’t come out the way you planned. Her stare was intense, and half of you wished she would say something so you didn’t have to.
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” she says softly.
-
Days later. North-Western Idaho.
“Oregon’s close,” you say, adjusting the strap of your backpack as you move along the trail.
You could tell from the lush, mountain terrain that was begging to overtake the trails of Idaho.
Natasha’s eyes study the tree line, then the road ahead.
“I know.”
A deep breath follows as you observe the new vibrant green, and you can smell it. It’s subtle at first, the way the wind carries something cooler with it, less dry than the wind back in Wyoming. There’s less dust in the ground you and Natasha follow, weeds and overgrown grass peaking through cracked mud.
“At least pretend like you’re excited, yeah?” You joke, giving Natasha a small nudge with your arm.
You continue, compasses pointed steadily, boots splashing through puddles. So far deep into Idaho’s border into Oregon, you almost don’t see the symbol. It’s not obvious, just a splatter of paint, beneath green overgrowth. Easy to miss if you didn’t know what to look out for.
Natasha notices you stop instantly, turning around.
“What is it?”
“Fireflies,” you say, quietly.
“They’re gone.”
“Most of them,” you correct.
She doesn’t question when you step off the trail, almost like she was expecting it. That doesn’t deter the twinge of annoyance that builds in her chest.
“Let’s not stay long,” she says, following you almost instantly. Her footprints align with yours, marking the Earth as the two of you walk.
The building is barely standing.
An old ranger station, maybe, what was left of them. The roof sags in the middle, windows are shattered, and the door hangs open just enough to make it clear someone’s been through here recently. Lights flicker from within, sparks flying from a few loose wires.
“She’s seen better days,” you mutter, looking up at all the graffiti. Some of the groups’ logos, others of words of cruelty and vulgarity, covering the white painted fireflies.
Natasha moves ahead of you this time, weapon drawn as her footsteps slow, eyes scanning every inch of ground. The building smells like rotted wood and sewage, telling you it’d been the kind of place that had been reused too many times.
There’s movement before either of you speaks, a shift in the shadows, and both of your weapons are drawn as soon as the figure emerges into the light.
“Easy,” it says. “Didn’t think you’d bring company.”
Natasha instantly tightens the grip on her gun, arms locking into position. It’s a shorter woman, with long tattered hair, her arms covered in tattoos. A slick smile grows on her face at the sight of Natasha so tense, but she still puts her hands in the air.
“Carol,” you say, with a slight fondness. Your gun is stored on your belt holder, and you embrace the woman, your arms wrapping tightly around her back. Carol laughs, her hands finding their way to your hair, ruffling it slightly.
Natasha lowers her pistol at the sight, something unreadable passing over her face.
Her gaze flicks to you, then back to the woman, arms still around her back as you pull away, taking in the sight of her.
“Look at you,” Carol says. “Still alive.”
“I could say the same. Don’t tell me you’re alone out here?”
The woman grins.
You talk like time hasn’t passed, like the world didn’t end between then and now. From the last time you had seen this woman, Natasha can’t decipher when.
It’s not obvious, not at first, but it’s there in the way Carol stands too close, in the way you don’t step back, in the ease of your voice when you respond to her. Natasha finds a small corner of the floor to sit down on, looking at the two of you from below.
“Didn’t think I’d ever see you out here again,” Carol says, arms crossing loosely over her chest. “You always did have a habit of disappearing.”
You shrug slightly. “You knew my reasons. I think I made that very clear.”
Natasha runs her eyes over Carol’s arms, tattoos covering every square inch- words of rebellion, symbols she doesn’t know the meaning of. A trail of fireflies that disappear underneath the strap of her tank top.
“Yeah,” Carol sighs. “Guess so.”
Natasha’s jaw tightens, watching a look pass between you. She finds anything else to focus on, the grime of the tiled floors, the water leaking from the drywall ceiling.
Her interest only peaks when you begin asking for information. It was no surprise that Carol had no issue sparing details, going over trail routes, FEDRA plans, everything the last few Fireflies knew- something about a girl with an immunity.
You’d snorted. “Yeah, right.”
Natasha knows now that the detour wasn’t wasted, but her patience begins to run thin when the conversation doesn’t end there, because Carol doesn’t let it.
“Still patching people up?” she asks suddenly, her gaze dropping briefly to Natasha, looking at the tight cloth wrapped over her forearm.
You give her a questioning look.
Carol smirks, smacking your arm playfully. “Don’t play dumb. You stitched me up back near Telluride, remember?”
Natasha’s gaze moves to your hands without thinking, as she remembers. The dim lighting of an abandoned place, your skin against hers. The careful way your fingers worked, making sure your movements were limited so as not to hurt her as much.
The way her green eyes held yours.
“For everyone?” She’d asked.
“Yeah,” you say after a second, a small laugh leaving you. Your eyes flicker back to Natasha briefly, a shine of panic through them. “I remember.”
“You always were good with that kind of thing.” You watch as Carol lifts her tank-top, exposing the long scar across the side of her hip.
“Okay,” Natasha’s voice cuts through the tension, standing to her feet suddenly. “I think we have what we need,” she says.
She takes her place next to you, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. Carol’s eyes travel to her, then back to you, something amused settling in her expression.
“Alright, I see what this is.”
“Will that be all?” Natasha asks, her voice steady. She stares down the woman, anger bubbling within her as Carol smiles, her teeth on display.
“That depends,” she says lightly. “You in a hurry?”
“Yes,” Natasha says before you can answer. You open your mouth to protest, but Natasha looks at you, eyes piercing yours, a look of sternness passing through them. Natasha’s hand finds your arm, holding it firmly.
Carol lets out a chuckle, turning into something louder as her head tilts back. It raises panic in both you and Natasha, not having made a sound that loud since the safety of Jackson. A town surrounded by thick walls, patrolled and meant to keep infected away. Out here, there still could be anyone watching. Anything.
“You always pick the intense ones,” Carol says, gesturing at Natasha. “Good to see that hasn’t changed.”
“I uh- yeah. We should go. Sorry,” you say, giving Carol an apologetic smile.
Natasha’s fingers curl around your sleeve as she takes a step towards the exit, not even acknowledging the woman anymore. Her hold was firm enough that it almost feels like she’s pulling you away. Her eyes are on you, nodding at you as you look back at her.
“Thank you, Carol. Take care of yourself, yeah?”
She smiles, nodding in acknowledgement, giving you a two-fingered salute.
“You know I will.”
Natasha doesn’t let go of your arm, guiding you the whole way outside of the building. You turn your head slightly out of her sight, a small smile forming that you keep hidden.
The lush forest eventually swallows the building behind you, your steps in sync with each other, feeling like your skin underneath her hand was on fire.
“You’re going to rip my shirt,” you murmur, carefully watching her expression.
“Then keep up.”
Seconds later, Natasha’s hand slides down your sleeve, slowing near your wrist. Her fingers find their way in between yours, feeling the roughness and warmth of your palm, hesitant for a second before settling.
Your breath catches, but Natasha doesn’t look at you. Her eyes remain forward, jaw set, but her grip tightens just enough, like she’s checking you’re still here.
And when the path narrows, when your boots hit softer Earth, when there are branches you have to raise your arms over, she doesn’t let go.
You don’t say anything about it, too afraid she might stop if you do.
-
Two days later. Western Oregon. 5 days until the rendezvous for information.
The path slopes downward as the ground softens beneath your boots. Dirt turns to mud, darker, giving slightly with each step. The air shifts with it, cooler as it brushes against your skin. The only noises that can be heard are your steps and a loud rustling from the trees above you.
You slow down, your pace faltering just enough when you hear something else, head tilting slightly as you listen.
Natasha nearly runs into you, her hand comes up on instinct, catching your arm to steady herself before her eyes snap to your face, already searching for an answer.
“What is it?” she asks. Her hand moves to the gun secured in her belt holder.
It’s faint, but you can’t ignore it, the rushing sounds, nearly blanketed by the shaking of tree leaves.
“I think… there’s water.”
“Okay- well, we don’t know what’s around it,” she says. “Could be-”
She trails off, mouth hanging open as she watches you move.
“Hey!”
“Natasha,” you call over your shoulder, a grin working its way into your voice. “Sounds like a river.”
Natasha follows you, pulling the large map from her back pocket, her fingers travelling throughout the lines of Oregon. Stopping now would mean you’d have to take another shorter route tomorrow to ensure you’d meet the group you were supposed to at the correct time.
Before Natasha can protest, you interject.
“I’ve been here before. Camped out in these exact woods for days. Not a single group of infected or people for miles out here. Not until we hit the main roads tomorrow.”
Branches brush against your arms as you push through the clearing, boots slipping slightly on moss-covered rocks. The sound grows louder, clearer, until the trees finally part.
“But-”
“We’ll get up earlier tomorrow, yes,” you cut her off, knowing exactly what she’d say. You can see the gears working in her head, and Natasha purses her lips in frustration.
It’s wide, but nothing like a massive lake with a waterfall. A crystal clear river, stretching for a few miles East, water moving steadily over smooth rocks, catching the late afternoon light in a way that almost looks unreal after weeks of dust and decay.
Small beds of wildflowers coat the edges, swaying gently in the breeze, and you feel yourself let out a sigh of pure relief.
You’re shrugging your backpack off before Natasha can say another word, dropping it near the bank.
“No,” she says, sharply. “We don't know what could’ve changed since the last time you were here. Anything-”
“I know,” you say. “That’s why you’re taking first watch.”
Natasha’s eyebrows draw together, confused. You turn to her, already pulling your jacket off, your smile softer this time.
“We take turns.”
Her eyes move over the treeline, the opposite bank, the way the water curves out of sight. Calculating the potential risk, searching for the easiest way out of this clearing and into the comforting camouflage of the forest.
“Five minutes,” you say. “That’s all I’m asking.”
That earns you a look, but you’ve already made your decision before she can respond, pulling your shirt over your head and dropping it onto your bag.
Natasha looks away immediately.
Her gaze snaps to the trees, scanning every opening, every shift of shadow. The wind moves through the leaves in uneven patterns, the water babbles in the background, and white clouds travel in the sky.
She swallows tightly at the sound of your belt unbuckling, the soft drop of your pants onto the grass.
“Fine,” she says, knowing her permission didn’t mean anything. You were already in your garments, for crying out loud. “But if I say get out, you get out. No arguments.”
You nod immediately. “Yes, ma’am.”
There’s a soft sound of your boots being kicked off before the faint splash of water as you step in. “Cold,” you mumble, a sharp inhale following as the water climbs higher. “Jesus…”
Your hands slowly trail over the surface, allowing the water to glide through your fingers, smooth and uninterrupted. You can feel the slippery rocks beneath your feet, the growth of tall grass underneath layers of mud and sand.
Natasha’s grip tightens on her rifle, adjusting her stance slightly. Her attention moves across the treeline again, scanning every square inch of the clearing. She closes one eye, using her scope to thoroughly check every possible path.
Just like you’d said, there’s nothing, but she’s not easily convinced.
She starts her method over again, eyes returning to the same patch of trees.
Then, just for a second, her gaze slips.
To you. You’re knee-deep now, water pulling at you as you move further in, the current catching against your legs. Your hands drag through the surface, pushing water up over your arms, your shoulders.
Natasha looks away immediately, back to the trees, to the tall clusters of grass. She shifts her weight on her feet, steadying her breath.
But it happens again. Her eyes wander back, and she doesn’t pull away as easily as she did before.
The water runs over your skin, carrying dirt with it in thin streams, revealing what’s underneath in pieces. You gather the cold water with your hands, pressing it into your face, the beads running down your chest, your stomach, your hips… skin that Natasha had never seen.
Her eyes trail your body, slowing on old scars, faded and pale against your skin. There are newer ones too, still rough at the edges.
Muscle built from repetition, from survival, from years of doing this over and over again.
You continue to cup the fresh water, back over your face, then over your arms, your neck, scrubbing at your skin as you try to erase the physical evidence these few weeks have left on you. Your scars stay, as well as your bruises. The river doesn’t take those.
The colors beneath your skin stand out sharper in the shifting light, reminders of every moment Natasha had been close enough to witness an injury but never close enough to stop it.
You looked real.
Different again from the woman she knew back in Jackson. Not the version crowds talk about.
Looking at you now, your eyes closing slowly, the sunlight reflecting off the river, your skin exposed to the Earth, Natasha wondered how many people had ever seen you like this.
Natasha swallows, dragging her eyes back to the treeline harder this time, forcing herself to focus. Her eyes close for a moment, the image of you flashing in her mind immediately.
Focus.
She hears something- a sound, maybe the snapping of a branch, and her eyes fly open. Her grip tightens on her gun, eyes narrowing as she scans again, sharper now, overcorrecting.
But there’s nothing, just the familiar sounds of the wind traveling through the land.
Behind her, you move deeper without hesitation, water climbing until it catches at your waist, then your chest. You dip under for a moment before breaking the surface again with a quiet gasp.
Your hair sticks to your face. Droplets fall down your shoulders, your collarbone, disappearing into the current.
When you come back up, your hair clings to your face, water dripping down your chin. You laugh quietly to yourself, pushing strands back, blinking against the warmth of the sun.
Natasha hears it. The sound of it replays it in her mind, her stomach dropping in a way she doesn’t understand.
You were her partner. It was what you’d been this entire time. Orchestrated on a mission she’d barely planned, narrowed down to following orders and making sure you both didn’t die in the process.
That’s all it was supposed to be.
Nearly two months of this. The routine and survival, the loud and quiet moments, by each other’s side for all of it.
Her eyes return to you again before she can stop them. You’re smiling, repeatedly bringing water back over your face and hair, like you're mesmerized by the feeling it gives.
Something settles in her chest, quiet and heavy.
She watches you bring cups of water to your lips, drinking the cold liquid slowly. There’s a flush over your cheeks from the temperature of the water. There’s a jagged scar over your ribs, the stretch of your skin over your thighs and shoulders, where muscle has grown.
Your body was human. And in Natasha’s eyes, the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.
The realization sits there, sharp and still, refusing to be ignored any longer.
She wants you.
All of you. Every version of you that she’d ever seen.
Natasha exhales slowly, like forcing the thought out of her mind might make it less true, waiting for herself to regret the pure thought, but it doesn’t come.
Her grip shifts on her rifle, fingers tightening, and she brings her focus back to the trees, the sky, every possible route and exit out of this place, trying to make every thought in her head not about you.
“Alright,” Natasha says, her voice steadier than she expected. “Time’s up.”
There’s a quiet splash as you move back toward the bank, water slipping off your skin in thin streams. The sound of your steps becomes clearer through the shallows until you’re directly behind her.
She doesn’t turn this time. Not even when she wants to, when she hears the soft noises of fabric rustling, of your shirt against damp skin, the sounds of your pants being re-fastened.
“You’re good,” you say quietly behind her.
Natasha nods. You step past her a second later, close enough that she feels you, the lingering cold from the water, the faint brush of your arm near hers.
Your hand wraps around her rifle, smiling gently. For a moment, she doesn’t move, can’t breathe quite right with the sight of you before her.
“I’ve got this,” you say, reminding her that it’s her turn now.
The river keeps moving behind you, steady and unchanged, as if none of it mattered. As if Natasha could just erase everything she’d just seen, the lingering feeling deep within her.
She waits a second longer than necessary, then lets go.
-
The trail had been kind to you for once.
No infected, no groups of hunters or soldiers. No sudden detours through collapsed buildings or sprinting through forests with your lungs burning. A day where you and Natasha didn’t have to take the life of any living soul. Just miles of quiet Oregon wilderness and the steady rhythm of leather boots.
The bath in the river had left something behind that neither of you could quite name. For the first time in weeks, grime, sweat, the blood of your own, and others had been washed away. The scent of smoke clung to everything now instead of sweat and rot, and you felt lighter from it all.
Refreshed in the same way towns like Jackson once made you feel.
By sunset, the forest had turned golden.
Orange light spilled through the trees in fractured beams, catching against Natasha’s hair every time she moved. The temperature had cooled down with the dipping of the sun, but the sky contrasted that. Swirls of pink and purple bled into the sky, completely taking over the white clouds from earlier.
The fire crackled loudly between you, fed with thick branches that burned hot and bright against the air.
Dinner had been simple, something that quickly grew old on this trip. Beans heated over the fire, stale bread softened in a pan, the last of the dried fruit you'd been stashing since Idaho.
But it felt good. With your stomach full, your hair finally dry, and your skin cleaned from the river, everything in this moment was perfect. The warmth of the fire brushed the side of your face, eyes stuck on the array of colors above you.
By your side, Natasha felt the same. There was a peaceful look over her, one that she hadn’t had these past few weeks.
She wasn’t relaxed entirely. You could tell in the way her weapons were still laid neatly next to her, the way she’d held onto her spoon too tightly at dinner. The way her eyes drifted toward you before snapping back like she'd been caught doing something wrong.
She was always quiet like this, but more today than she usually was. Not cold like she had been in the beginning, but thoughtful. Glancing at her now, you could see she was still thinking deeply, a small wrinkle between her eyebrows.
The light of the fire danced across her face, softening the sharpness she carried so naturally. There was still dirt beneath her fingernails from collecting branches, and a faint cut near her jaw that had mostly healed over.
You wondered if she knew how beautiful she was. The pink sky that’d stolen your attention before was nothing compared to the sight of her in this exact moment.
“Why did you leave the Fireflies?” Natasha asks suddenly.
Your eyebrows raise slightly, caught off guard. You leaned back slightly against your pack, eyes drifting toward the fire, giving a small shrug.”
“I just knew,” you say after a moment. “When I couldn’t tell the difference between them and FEDRA anymore.”
The flames cracked, a loud pop echoing off the grass and trees that surrounded you. Natasha’s expression didn’t change immediately, but you saw it settle somewhere behind her eyes. Understanding, and she gives you a slow nod.
“When you realized that, how long did it take you to leave?” The rasp in her voice softens into something barely above a whisper.
“No time at all. I just…left.”
Silence stretched comfortably after that.
The sky darkened slowly overhead, streaks of pink disappearing behind distant mountains while the fire roared brighter in the growing dark. The moon began to appear overhead, a thin crescent surrounded by stars following her lead.
You spotted Sirius on your own.
Somewhere between dinner and now, Natasha had made her way over to you, sharing coordinates and your route for tomorrow, the tattered map shaking slightly in the wind. She folds it carefully once the conversation dies again, smoothing the paper with the palm of her hand before setting it aside near her backpack.
The space between your shoulders is small enough now that you can feel her warmth every time the wind changes direction, but neither of you moves to change it.
You don’t think she notices at first. Or maybe she does, and for once, she just doesn’t pull away.
You glance at her from the corner of your eye. “You’ve been thinking all day.”
Natasha’s fingers go still over the sleeve of her jacket.
“So have you.”
“Not this hard.”
The corners of her lips tug upwards in a lazy smile, shaking her head in amusement. Her eyes drift back toward the fire, watching the rising orange spikes, the faintest bit of blue burning at the bottom. “I’m not very good at this.”
“At what?”
Natasha exhales quietly through her nose, matching the rustle of wind through the fire. You can tell she’s nervous. Her hands are back to shifting over her clothes, leaving fabric lines on her jacket.
“Feeling things I can’t control.” There’s a small waver in her voice, a look that she gives you when her eyes find yours again. Half of her face is lit by the flames, the other darkened by the shadows of the night.
Your chest tightens slightly at the confession, heart moving quicker than it had been. It sounds so unlike her, even though it’s the most honest thing you’ve heard her say. The wind covers the trees again, stirring loose strands of blonde hair across her face.
Your hand lifts, fingers catching the strand gently before it can fall into her eyes. Your contact lingers, dragging her hair back behind her ear. Your hand lingers near her cheek for a moment before you begin pulling away, suddenly aware of yourself.
You realize just how close you are, how Natasha’s eyes have dropped to your mouth.
“You were right,” Natasha says quietly.
“About what?” You whisper back, frowning.
“Back there. With the gun.”
You nod in understanding, urging her to continue. There’s hesitation in her that you can see, but you want this. Her. You want it all, everything that has to do with her, every word she says, you feel yourself clinging to.
“It’s been a long time since…” She says, jaw tightening slightly. “Since I’ve been able to think like you.”
You stay silent, eyes never leaving her.
“Care about someone like this,” she admits softly.
For a second, all you can hear is the fire and your own heartbeat. The shaky shudder that passes through Natasha’s lips. Her fingers circle the ground in the space between each other’s legs. Like she’s thinking about reaching for you.
You stare at her, trying to process the look on her face. Natasha Romanoff, terrified in a way that had nothing to do with the state of the world. Nothing about the infected, soldiers, or dying.
“What changed?” you ask.
Natasha looks away first, like the answer physically hurts to hold onto.
When she looks at you again, her face is closer than you remember. Close enough to see the faint sun exposure over her skin that was hidden beneath the firelight. Close enough to feel the warmth of her breath when she exhales.
Her eyes drift to your mouth again.
Your free hand lifts slowly, carefully, resting against the side of her neck. Natasha goes still beneath your touch, her breath catching hard enough that you feel it against your skin.
“You can stop me,” you whisper, scanning her face for any sign of regret, any passing of guilt that could form.
But it never comes.
With a slight shake of her head, Natasha leans in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. Her mouth is all over yours, her nose pressing into your face, savoring the taste of you like she’d been denying herself for far too long.
Your hands slide to her face, dragging her closer, like your proximity from before wasn’t enough. Her lips move smoothly against yours, parting slightly, opening her mouth against you. The sounds of your shared breath make you feel dizzy, and the smell of smoke and dirt fills your nose.
You can feel the heat radiating from her face, the brushing of her skin over yours that you can’t see. Natasha kisses you like she’s been holding herself back for weeks and no longer knows how to stop. Overwhelming your senses in the quietest way possible.
Your hands cup her face fully now, thumbs brushing over warm skin as you pull her impossibly closer. Natasha lets out a soft sound against your mouth at the contact, somewhere between a breath and a sigh, and it goes straight through you.
There’s crickets chirping around you, the rustling of branches, and somewhere deep in the forest is the river you were at hours ago, but you can’t hear any of it.
To you, there’s only her. The sounds of her breathing, the fast paced beating of your heart caused by her. The urgent need to be closer, the crossing of a line both of you had been waiting for.
Natasha’s other hand finds your waist carefully, almost hesitant at first, like she still can’t fully believe she’s allowed to touch you like this. But the second you lean further into her, kissing her deeper, that hesitation breaks apart completely.
She’s leaning into you more than before and you fall with her, head hitting the soft bed of grass beneath your back. Above you now, her hands hit the ground around your body, kissing you desperately.
You feel it everywhere.
The weeks of restraint, the touches between you that’d lingered. Catching her stolen glances, the sleepless nights beside each other. Everything you’d learned about each other since being on the road.
It all crashes together at once.
Your forehead bumps lightly against hers when you pull back for air, but Natasha follows immediately, unwilling to let the distance settle back between you. Her lips brush yours again, softer this time, memorizing the feeling.
Your eyes flutter open, and you stare at her.
The firelight flickers across her face, catching on parted lips swollen pink from kissing you, green eyes darkened beneath half-moon eyelids. There’s still disbelief there, buried underneath her need for closeness.
Your thumb drags along her jaw, and Natasha’s eyes close for half a second at the touch. You trace her lower lip, your calloused hand brushing against soft skin.
“I kept waiting,” she says. “For you to prove me right.”
You smile. “Did I?”
“No,” she murmurs, pausing a moment, choosing her next words. “I think you ruined me.”
The grin that spreads across your face makes something soften in Natasha’s eyes, copying your smile without realizing it. She shakes her head faintly, looking at you like she doesn’t know what to do with how badly she wants you.
She kisses you.
Her hand slides from your waist to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as she falls closer to the ground, her chest against yours now.
Outside the firelight, the forest stays still, everything the same, just as you’d seen it at sunset.
You knew that wouldn’t be the case forever, even for tomorrow.
But right now, with Natasha’s hand tangled in your hair and her smile brushing against your lips, nothing else in the world felt close enough to matter.
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a/n: Thank you all so much for all the love on you with me!!! < 3 I love all the comments and messages and everything, I am so greatful!!! Thank you all so much again 💕