After All - Chapter 1/5
Cover art by @faith2nyc Read on AO3
In the history of work-life balances, The Daily’s has to be the most bizarre of any company, and Natasha knows that it has nothing to do with the reasonable work hours Pepper is a stickler for implementing. One would truly be hard-pressed to find another work environment where the people get along so seamlessly. Sure, they have their disagreements, and their instincts are always to engage in debate rather than shy away from it, but for the most part, the second the clock strikes five p.m., all spats are forgotten in lieu of brainstorming which watering hole to head to (Dalton’s, always Dalton’s).
To say that her coworkers are like family seems like a banality on the surface, the type of line an HR Department would print in the welcome packet for a new employee before their first day on the job. But as she stands by the doorway of Tony and Pepper’s living room, watching the very people she works with on a daily basis joyously mingle with members of her actual family, she does not know how else she could possibly define them. These people are the best of the best in the respective subjects, their combined accomplishments the envy of anyone with even a scintilla of ambition to succeed in the media. And yet here they are, holding plates filled with rainbow cake and sporting unicorn party hats, all because these happen to be her daughter’s latest obsession and they’re all powerless to deny her – especially on her first birthday.
In some ways, she knew they would be fond of Isabel, but she never expected them to adore her quite like this – for Thor to bring her a strawberry cupcake every eleventh to celebrate each new month of her life, or for Stephen and Christine to insist that they come over so the latter can personally perform routine checkups, or for Tony to customize a double stroller for when he takes both Isabel and Maria to his workshop. What’s more, they’ve all rallied around her as well, none of them ever more than a text message away when she’s in need of anything, which proved invaluable as she navigated motherhood for the first time.
This outpour of love from a group of people who are not by any stretch obligated to go so above and beyond is an anomaly, she knows. It’s going to take some kind of miracle for her to find another group of genuinely kind people who would go up to bat for her and Isabel. And it’s that very thought that wrests the sadness she’s been trying to keep at bay all day as she ponders how this may be the last time in a long while that they will gather like this.
“Are you sure you have to go?”
The question breaks her out of her reverie, and she turns to see Darcy next to her, holding up two forks in one hand and a plate of cake in the other. She chuckles, reaching for the other fork as they both take a bite and moan at the perfection that is Sarah Roger’s baking. “I already paid the security deposit on the flat we’re staying in,” she says. “So that’s going to be a yes.”
“Flat, huh? Look at you, getting in on the lingo,” Darcy teases before groaning. “But until your butt is officially across the pond, it is an apartment. And it is take-out, not take-away. Which, coincidentally, we happen to have the best of here. Where are you going to get your Nom Wah fix in London, Nat, huh? Where?”
“They have a Chinatown there too, last I checked,” she counters, laughing when Darcy rolls her eyes. “Besides, I have to go anyway on the account of me being out of a job. I do have a child to support, you know.”
“First of all, the only reason you’re out of a job is because you got a big promotion,” Darcy says matter-of-factly. “Stupid corporate ladder.”
“Big words coming from the newly minted editor of The Daily’s International section,” she says, suddenly brimming with pride.
“Only because I learned everything from you,” Darcy says quietly before sighing in concession. “Ugh! You better not forget us when you’re out there being a hotshot editor-in-chief. And you better make sure Boss Baby doesn’t forget who her favorite is!”
“Darcy, Darcy, Darcy,” she says, wrapping an arm around the shoulders of the first person to truly become her constant at work. “You are many things, but forgettable is not one of them.”
“Yeah, true,” Darcy concedes easily, causing them both to laugh.
“Speaking of the Boss Baby though,” she says, checking her watch. “It’s almost her bedtime, so I better go make sure none of her grandparents have let her eat all the icing.”
“I think what you really have to be concerned about is an aunt and uncle helpless over her charms,” Darcy says, smiling knowingly. “Last I saw her she was in the kitchen with Bucky and Wanda.”
She’s about to thank her, but before she can, Darcy’s already running towards the center of the living room at Thor’s roaring announcement that a game of Pictionary is about to commence. For a second, she allows herself a moment to watch the pandemonium unfold as her friends – her fully grown adult friends, no less – vie for the positions of team captains. “Hooligans,” she says, shaking her head fondly before making a beeline for the kitchen. She pokes her head in, finding Bucky and Wanda poring over the cheese and cold cuts selection laid out on the island before knocking on the wall to get their attention. “Any of you know where Izzie is?”
“Nat!” Bucky exclaims, “you have to try this cheese. It smells like something died in it, but it’s so damn delicious!”
She tilts her head to the side, the corner of her mouth tugging up in amusement. “Maybe later, Buck.”
“Ignore him. He’s inhaled too much cheese,” Wanda says over the rim of her wine glass before pointing upwards. “Steve took her upstairs for a diaper change.”
“Thank you,” she says, turning to leave. She makes it to the stairs, climbing it two steps at a time until she reaches the top and stops in front of the framed collage of Maria on the wall. As her eyes scan the plethora of pictures, she can’t help but smile. She’s seen this frame countless times before, can practically name where each photo was taken and how old her goddaughter is in every one of them, but for some reason, she finds herself lingering before it, as if she needs to recommit everything to her memory lest she forget. She gives herself another minute, and with a sigh, forces herself to look away and walk down the familiar path to the nursery.
“Do you know how much Daddy loves you?”
Steve’s words stop her dead in her tracks, and through the door left cracked open, she catches a glimpse of him sitting on the rocking chair with Isabel across his lap, their daughter staring up at him as he feeds her a bottle. The sight of them gazing affectionately at each other punches the breath out of her lungs, and it’s only by instinct that she moves out of view, pressing her back against the nearest wall.
“I don’t even know if I have the right words to describe how much,” she hears Steve confess with a little chuckle, to which Isabel coos, and in her heart of hearts, she knows that she should not be eavesdropping on this moment – it isn’t hers, and yet, she finds herself unable to move. “I guess it’s a good thing that you don’t understand me all that well yet, so I have some time to figure them out...” He sighs, long and winded. “Though, if I’m being honest, I don’t know if I ever will. There couldn’t possibly be words in existence that will encapsulate how much I love every little inch of you.” Steve’s voice cracks by the end, followed closely by a sniffle. “I’m going to miss you like crazy, fig. And I’ll call you all the time, so please don’t forget Daddy while you’re over there, okay? You’re my whole world, baby girl…”
The hallway and the stairs and the foyer are all a blur as she bolts, the air around her suddenly too thick. She makes it out the front door, but by the time she gets to the bottom step of the brownstone, her legs feel too heavy to keep herself upright and she slumps down, placing her head in her hands as the Summer night’s air blows by and the sound of the traffic on the Upper East Side rings ambiently around her. She sighs. Steve’s words weren’t even meant for her to hear. It shouldn’t affect her this way – shouldn’t hurt her this way – especially when they’re full of adulation for their daughter. And yet, it’s as if she’s taken another dagger to her already crippled heart.
“Natasha.”
She looks up in time to see her mother take a seat next to her, and in the warmth of Melinda’s embrace, she finally lets the tears fall. “Would you believe me if I said I was just tired?”
“Oh, Nat,” Melinda says, reaching over to thumb her tears away. “You don’t have to do this. You know that, right?”
“Only I do,” she says, the words tumbling out of her mouth almost immediately. “He’s had a year. Heck, he’s had more than that to say something, give me a sign.” Melinda’s expression softens at her words, and she knows that it’s because despite offering her a way out only moments ago, Melinda’s one of the few people who knows she’s right. It’s been too long since that fateful night she asked Steve if she had a reason to stay, only to be met by silence. It was damning then, and it’s even more so in the time that’s passed since they’d agreed to postpone both her move to London and the implementation of their custody agreement until Isabel turned one. If he wanted her, if he felt even a fraction for her of what she felt for him, he had countless opportunities and ample time to say so. But now here they are, their daughter past her first year of life, and a day away from each of them getting her six months out of the year. She shakes her head. “He loves her so much. That’s more than I could have ever asked for, and in some ways, that’s always been the deal.” She turns to Melinda, smiling sadly. “I can’t keep hoping anymore. I have to move on.”
With a sad smile, Melinda drops a kiss to her temple. “Okay.”
In the months leading up to this day, there were countless times Natasha had caught herself imaging how it would play out. She expected a tear or two to be shed – Sarah and Melinda being the most obvious culprits – but at the very least, she thought the massive crowds at JFK would prove a compelling enough reason for them to not only keep it together, but also to keep their goodbyes short and sweet. But here, on the tarmac in Teterboro, with the Stark Industries jet before her and her entire family close by, she realizes that this is quickly morphing into her worst-case scenario – drawn out goodbyes, too many sad eyes, and her heart feeling all too heavy in her chest.
“You tell T’Challa that I will never forgive him for this.”
Pepper’s words elicit a laugh from her. “Oh please,” she says, scoffing even as she wraps her arms tighter around Pepper and pretends not to feel the warmth of the tear that drips down to her shoulder. “If you were at all capable of holding a grudge, the three of us would’ve stopped being friends long ago.”
“That was before he plotted to steal my best friend from me,” Pepper mumbles, making them both laugh. “Do you realize that this is the first time since college that we’re not going to live within a subway’s ride from each other?”
“We’ll drop by for Christmas,” she offers quietly, unable to trust that her voice won’t falter if she dares answer the question directly. Over Pepper’s shoulder, her eyes quickly glance at the group by the stairs of the jet – Sarah, Nick and Melinda, and Bucky and Wanda all gathered around Steve and Isabel – and she finds herself relieved that she had already said her lengthy goodbyes to most of them last night. She takes a step back from Pepper as she says, “These next six months will fly by.”
“Alright, alright,” Tony interjects as he comes up next to them with Maria on his hip. “Let’s not act like there’s not going to be a Stark Industries emergency in the London office in two weeks that only the CEO can solve.” He eyes Pepper and then her knowingly before nodding towards the jet. “Best not to misuse company property more than we already are.”
She rolls her eyes, breaking away from Pepper’s embrace completely. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you the one who insisted on this whole spectacle?”
“You were gonna fly commercial,” Tony says, his expression twisting in disgust. “We’re not savages, Red.”
Her lips quirk up at that. To anyone else, Tony’s quip drips with arrogance and reeks of privilege from a life defined by exuberant wealth. But she’s known the man for over a decade now, and though most of the time his tact leaves much to be desired, she understands him enough to know how to read between the lines. Their friendship has never been defined by heartfelt tête-à-têtes, and part of her is glad that he doesn’t seem keen on starting that now. Nevertheless, she knows that making sure she and Isabel are nothing short of exceedingly comfortable on an already difficult trip, is Tony’s ultimate way of showing just how much he cares.
“Come here,” she says, stepping forward to engulf both him and Maria in a hug.
“Oh, we’re doing this?” Tony says. “Okay, we’re really doing this.” She ignores him, but it only takes a beat before she feels his free arm wrap around her as well, squeezing back. When they pull away, he has his signature smirk on his face. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
She chuckles just as she drops a kiss to Maria’s forehead. “Bye sweetheart,” she tells her goddaughter before turning back to Tony, raising an eyebrow at him. “Does that list even exist?”
Tony winks at her, prompting Pepper to shake her head at the both of them.
“Indeed, it does not,” Pepper says, linking arms with her. “Come on.”
The pit in her stomach that she’s been trying to ignore since she got up this morning rears its ugly head once more. It’s for the best, she reminds herself. These four words have become her mantra ever since she uttered them that night in Steve’s office when she had first given him the custody agreement, and though her heart had never felt as eviscerated as it had in that moment, the fact that she’s only minutes away from jetting off to a different continent is testament to the fact that there’s truth in it. That, despite all that she’d hoped would change, this is how their lives must play out if they are to make their arrangement work. She sucks in a breath at the thought, at the finality of it all, and as she huffs out, the reassuring squeeze from Pepper grounds her enough to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
Sarah is the first to notice them as they near, and she’s quick to offer her a warm smile before turning to Steve, whispering in his ear and giving Isabel one last kiss.
“Be safe, darling,” Sarah says when she makes her way over to her, cupping her face in her hands. “And please, don’t be a stranger.”
“I won’t,” she says, smiling earnestly. “Thank you, Sarah.” Sarah’s barely stepped away from her when she feels two pairs of arms wrap around her simultaneously, and she can’t help but laugh when she finds herself sandwiched between Nick and Melinda. “Sucking up all my oxygen here, guys.”
“Call us the second you land,” Melinda orders. “And not a second later, you hear? We have your flight plan.”
“Or by God, I will order an F-35 to come find you,” Nick adds.
She scoffs. “You’ve been saying that since I was sixteen.”
“It was true then and it’s even truer now that you’re taking my grandbaby with you,” Nick says, eyeing her pointedly. “Don’t try me.”
“Fine,” she says, chuckling softly. “We’ll FaceTime you the second we land. How’s that?”
“Excellent,” Melinda says, hugging her tightly once more. “Our girl, we love you so.”
“Love you too,” she says to each of them. Wanda and Bucky are last in line, and as she accepts a hug from the former and a kiss on the cheek from the latter, she begins to make her way towards the landing of the stairs where Steve stands cradling a sleeping Isabel. She stops a foot short of them, tucking her hands into her pockets and mustering the best smile she can. “We should get going.”
Steve nods, turning to nuzzle the top of Isabel’s head. “Be a good girl for momma, okay?” he says, and she has to avert her gaze elsewhere at the way his voice breaks at the end. “Daddy loves you so much, fig.”
Just as she had the night before, she finds herself once again an intruder in a moment she has no business being a part of as she listens to Steve whisper sweet nothings to their daughter. But despite the feeling of being so unwelcome, so unwanted, she swallows it all down along with the lump that’s formed in her throat in an attempt to keep it together. It’s only when she hears Steve mutter a soft okay that she dares look back, watching as he steps forward to place Isabel into her arms.
“Shh,” she says gently when Isabel stirs at the movement, carefully shifting her so she can rest her head on her shoulder before turning to Steve. “I’ll text you when we land and again when we get to our flat, so you know she’s safe.”
“Yeah, thanks,” he says, letting a beat pass before shaking his head. “Natasha…”
For a moment, she can only stand there, letting his utterance of her name hang in the air between them. Where she finds the courage to look in his eyes, she isn’t certain, but she does. The pain in them is clear as the sky above them, but for whom it’s for, she can only surmise. Surely, for being separated for the next six months from their daughter, who’s oblivious to the loaded silence between them as she slumbers peacefully against her. And though she knows she shouldn’t, she lets herself wonder – wish, really – if only for a fraction of a second, and perhaps for the last time, that maybe that pain is for her, too. And that maybe, just maybe, now he would say the words she’s been longing to hear.
Steve sighs, and she holds her breath as he leans down to kiss her cheek. “Knock ‘em dead, Natasha Romanoff.”
Her eyes fall shut at that, and though he’s close enough that she can smell the familiar scent of his cologne and feel the warmth of his skin, they might as well be continents apart already. “Thanks,” she whispers, giving him a final nod before she turns to ascend the stairs.
There’s only the whirr of the jet taxiing towards the runway as she settles further back against the softness of the leather seat. Across her chest, Isabel sleeps peacefully, her curls glowing russet in the sunlight streaming through the window and her weight a welcome distraction from the hollowness burrowing deep inside of her, settling in. By now, she realizes, the sensation is just an old friend. She sighs, running her hand up and down Isabel’s back, holding her closer. “It’s just you and me, fig.”
I’m not freaking out, you are!
Steve’s brow arches as he reads the words in the blue bubble, and he does not waste time pressing down on the file attachment, eagerly waiting for the video to take up the entirety of the screen. Once it does, Isabel comes into view, sporting a gray Dodgers jersey with her hair pulled up in two symmetric pigtails as she clings onto the edge of a coffee table. The sight pulls his lips up into a beaming smile, all but threatening to split his face.
“Come to momma, fig,” he hears Natasha encourage in the background. “You can do it!”
Despite Natasha’s message alluding to the fact that this had been a fruitful exercise, he finds himself holding his breath as he watches Isabel blink, her eyebrows furrowing in suspicion as if she’s contemplating her mother’s words. On the lower part of the screen, her foot inches forward ever so slightly, though whether it is to test the waters or tease her mother, he can only guess. But then her dubious expression fades as quickly as it had come, making way for a toothy grin, and then his eyes widen as he witnesses her take one wobbly step and then trot the rest of the way.
“Yay!” Natasha cheers, eliciting an elated giggle from Isabel, and he can’t help but laugh along as the camera flips to show Natasha with Isabel now on her lap. “We’re walking!”
He types back a quick Yes! followed by But also, uh oh! 😬 before pressing play on the video once more, this time watching Isabel walk on her own without the nervousness that had plagued him only moments ago. It seems ridiculous – though he’s willing to bet that most parents feel the same way – but he feels pride surge right through him. Isabel was just beginning to get the hang of walking while her hands were being held up during her first birthday, and now, less than six months later, she’s already cruising along by herself. Time, he muses, truly does zip on by.
Placing his phone down on the counter, he stops to ponder his last thought. If there’s one thing he’s come to realize about time, it is that it can be a real conundrum – moving faster than you wish it would when you least want it to and slowing down to an agonizing crawl when you’re all but begging for it to fly. Only, these two facets seemed to be happening simultaneously in the last six months since his custody agreement with Natasha had taken effect. On one hand, Isabel is growing and changing faster than he can keep up with, becoming her own person with every day that passes. But at the same time, it feels as if his turn to have her, to witness these milestones unfold in real time, is an eternity away.
“I don’t like that face. Not one bit.”
He turns towards the sound of the voice, chuckling when he sees his mother walking into his kitchen, a box from her bakery in hand. “So much for a face only a mother can love.”
“Of course I love that face,” Sarah says, setting the box and her purse down on the island before hopping on the stool next to his. “I made it.” Sarah snickers as he rolls his eyes. “What I don’t love is when it’s all broody and scrunched up” – she points to his head – “means something’s going on up there.”
With a sigh, he unlocks his phone, opening the video back up before pushing it towards Sarah. His mother squeals upon seeing her granddaughter, picking up the device to get a closer look.
“She’s gotten so big!” she says, her eyes on the screen. “Goodness, she’s walking. Really walking!”
“She finally fit into the jersey Thor gave her before she was born, too,” he adds, shaking his head in disbelief. “Now it’s just right.” It’s probably the tone of his voice – crestfallen, though he hadn’t meant for it to come out that way – that causes Sarah to look at him, her eyes rueful. He waves off her concern. “I’m fine, ma. Some days are just harder than most. Technology’s great and all, but I still feel like I’m missing so much. And now...”
Sarah reaches over to place her hand over his. “I’m sorry they’re not going to make it for Christmas, darling.”
“It’s fine,” he repeats. While he isn’t due to have Isabel until after New Years’, with some cajolery from Melinda, Nick, and Pepper, Natasha had agreed that she and Isabel would come visit for Christmas. That’d been the plan even before they left for London almost six months ago, and if he’s being completely honest, it’s been the day he’s been counting down to since. But then an emergency at Natasha’s work came up, preventing her and Isabel from traveling until after the holiday and successfully upending everything he had been looking forward to. He sighs. “It’s still technically Natasha’s time with her and she was being really magnanimous about sharing Izzie for Christmas anyway.” He swipes his hand out, as if to dismiss his melancholy, but even that is half-hearted. “I was just really looking forward to it, you know? Bucky already bought her a beanie with Reindeer antlers that light up and I thought maybe she could still see the Rockefeller tree.”
“Still might,” Sarah says, to which he gives a non-committal nod. “They don’t take it down right away anyway. But have you maybe considered asking Natasha if you can fly there for Christmas?”
“What?” he nearly spits out the word in surprise, tilting his head to the side as he looks at his mother like she’s grown three heads. “What’re- I mean, what in the world makes you think she’d agree to that?”
This time, it’s Sarah’s turn to look at him incredulously. “You two have been getting along great these past few months, haven’t you?”
“We text about Izzie,” he says, “and yes, Natasha’s there when we FaceTime too, but that’s because she has to hold up the phone on the account of Izzie wanting to put everything in her mouth. That is not the same as getting along great.” He sits up straighter, shaking his head. “Besides, spending Christmas together? In London? That’s not even remotely in our-”
“Oh please,” Sarah interrupts. “I don’t care what you two have written down in your contract-”
“Custody agreement,” he corrects.
“Semantics,” Sarah counters. “Like it or not, you and Natasha are forever bonded by the beautiful baby girl you two brought into this world. That makes you family, and families spend Christmas together.” Sarah shrugs, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip and seemingly deliberating her next words. “Unless…”
He looks at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue. “Unless?”
“Steven, hon, you know I don’t like to pry,” Sarah says carefully. “But ever since… well, okay. I suppose I thought that maybe things between you and Natasha… especially after Izzie was born… I thought maybe you two would give it a chance. But then nothing happened, and I said I’d leave you two to it. It’s your lives. But now she’s over there, making a life for herself and you know what? Good on her. But then I see you, and I… It just seems to me like you’re stuck. And I feel like I’ve seen this before, so I have to ask… Do you maybe still have feelings for Natasha?”
His eyebrows shoot into his hairline. “That is not what-”
“And that is not an answer.”
“I…” he begins, only to pause to collect his thoughts. “I have had the tremendous opportunity of curating for a successful gallery and overseeing its expansions. And that is on top of my day job at the paper and making sure I am pulling my weight as a co-parent. I’m barely in the same place for five minutes, so quite frankly, ma, by definition I think that’s the opposite of being stuck.” When Sarah’s pointed glance does not let up, he sighs. “Look… if the lack of two more seats at our Christmas table this year is any indication, I’d say my feelings weren’t any good on a one-way street. If I were stuck, I’d still be standing on it, but like I just said...”
Sarah puts her hands up. “Well, if all the hatchets are buried…” she says as she moves off the stool and slings her purse over her shoulder. “No harm in asking then, is there?” She reaches over to the counter, pushing his phone back to him and nodding towards the screen. “You don’t get any of these moments back, Steve. So if there’s any chance you can be a part of them instead of watching from afar, try.” With a smile, she leans in to kiss his cheek. “I’ll see you Sunday at brunch.”
Sleep eludes him later that night as he watches the shadows dance across the ceiling, his mind replaying the conversation he had with Sarah. As he ruminates on its substance, he’s suddenly transported back to that night almost two years ago when Natasha had received her award from the Journalists’ Guild. At that point, their relationship had plunged into this strange and confusing pitfall. They had gone from living together as Natasha recovered from her awful fall, falling into domestic bliss as they did, to her serving him a custody agreement in his office seemingly in a blink of an eye. When he approached her that night for a dance, all he truly wanted was to erase the distance and the silence that had grown between them. But sometime in the middle of them swaying along to a soft string tune, she had informed him that she was going to take the job in London, and as he remembers how her words had made him feel then, hurt washes over him anew. She had pulled the rug from underneath him, sending him into free fall that, by the time she was accusing him of having never wanted their child in the first place, and asking him if she had a reason to stay, he was frozen. Speechless. Powerless to stop her from walking away and disappearing into the crowd.
Navigating their relationship after that night was incredibly difficult. They were both hurt, and understandably so, but giving each other space became nearly impossible when Natasha’s pregnancy spurned more health complications. They weren’t grave, thankfully, but it was enough to bring them to the sober realization that regardless of what had transpired between them, they couldn’t let their feelings get in the way of prioritizing the one thing that meant the world to the both of them. And by the time Isabel was born, the effort they’d both put in to make their circumstances work was so much that he told himself that it did not matter that his feelings for Natasha were not only lingering, but also brewing deep – rocking the boat was the last thing the three of them needed.
Further, what he had told his mother hadn’t been a lie. Feelings are no good on a one-way street. Perhaps there was a point where Natasha had felt the same way about him as he felt about her, but that was all moot now. In the end, she had gotten on the plane to London, and though he wanted nothing more than to tell her how he truly felt as they said their goodbyes at the airport, he still did not know with a certainty if that would have been enough. That, his love was a compelling enough reason for her to forego an opportunity that she’d been working towards her whole life. So instead, he told her the one thing he knew she’d do anyway – go and succeed. And if the reviews of the paper she’s helming and their cordial co-parenting relationship are anything to go by, it’s clear that staying mum was the right call.
It’s then that the merit of Sarah’s earlier argument becomes clear. While spending Christmas together isn’t something they’ve ever discussed, with the both of them moving forward, perhaps there really was no harm in asking. Perhaps what’s in the past can stay in the past. Perhaps Christmas didn’t have to be so somber this year.Before he can change his mind, he reaches for his phone.
Natasha holds her breath as she creeps out into the hallway, relief crashing down on her like a ton of bricks when she successfully clicks the door shut without hearing a cry. With a sigh, she brings a hand up to the bridge of her nose, pinching down and letting her eyes fall shut in exhaustion. Isabel’s been restless the last couple of days, waking up intermittently and distraught for reasons that she cannot seem to figure out. To top it all off, despite the holidays fast approaching, her workload only seems to grow exponentially, and with the recent lack of sleep, the fatigue is getting harder to stave off.With a heavy exhale, she straightens up, willing herself back to her living room and to where she left her laptop on the couch.
The words on the open document on her screen are ones she’s read enough times that she can recite them verbatim from memory, and yet, as she tries to come up with the next sentence, her mind draws a blank. With a groan, she pushes her screen down shut. Writing has always been her outlet of choice, allowing her to clear her head by losing herself in the topic of her current piece, and for it to fail her now when she’s most in need of a catharsis, she can’t help but feel even more untethered.The ding of her phone cuts through the silence, and she looks towards where it’s resting on the cushion to see an email notification pop up.
Picking it up, she glides a finger over the bubble on the screen and sighs when she sees the subject line read:
URGENT – Meeting w/ PR tomorrow
Without reading the contents, she closes her email app, deciding that at two in the morning, she just does not have the mental bandwidth to deal with any more work woes. But as she does, her photo stream appears, and a video begins to play. The camera zooms in, showing Steve carefully lifting a six-month-old Isabel up to blow bubbles on her belly, and she stops to watch Isabel giggle. In her desperation to soothe Isabel tonight, she had decided to play the video as she rocked her to sleep, and much to her relief, it had worked. Within minutes, and with Steve’s voice on loop in the background, Isabel had finally gone to bed.It’s when the frame switches to Steve and Isabel playing peek-a-boo that she finds her throat tightening. When she had moved six months ago, she had believed that not only was it the right decision, but also that the challenge of a new job and readjusting to a different country would aid her in moving on. But as Isabel’s soft coos and Steve’s laughter from the video fills the room, the sounds only seem to further underscore how big and empty her flat feels.
Her thoughts are interrupted by the audio cutting off, and she glares at the screen in anticipation of another work-related email, but her eyes only widen in surprise when she sees a text from Steve.
Hey, do you have time to talk tomorrow morning (late afternoon your time)? Just had a question…
As she reads the text, her eyebrows furrow. While they communicate several times a week, it’s only so he can video chat with Isabel or so she can send him Isabel’s latest photo. It’s not like him to shoot her a text out of the blue, and it’s even more so unusual for him to be vague about the subject. She bites her lip as she contemplates a reply, typing something out only to delete it. By her fourth attempt, her mind begins to race with a deluge of questions. With a huff, she puts her phone down, and finds herself almost grateful when she catches the porch light next door flicker on through her window. Hurriedly, she gets up, running through her foyer and hastily throwing her door open just as her neighbor is about to place their key into the lock. “Any chance you’re up for a nightcap?” she asks, biting her lip.
Her neighbor turns, looking every bit as tired as any reasonable person returning home at this hour should. Nevertheless, he smirks. “When you’re offering?” he asks. “Always.”
“Long week, huh?” she asks later on as they sit on her couch, each clutching a glass of wine.
“Endless,” he says as he angles to face her. “Two back-to-back shifts with a twelve-hour surgery somewhere in between that nearly went critical, to be exact.”
“Nothing the great Dr. Laufeyson couldn’t handle, I’m sure,” she says, eyeing him knowingly.
“The patient survived, if that’s what you’re alluding to,” Loki says, prompting them both to laugh.
Her gaze falls to her wine, watching the dark liquid swirl as she rotates the glass in her hand. “Must be nice, though,” she says, “knowing what you do saves lives.” She looks over at him as she adds, “That of children, especially.”
“It is,” he agrees. “They’re wonderful and pure, as I’m sure you know. Not yet privy to the trickery and harshness of the world at large like we adults are... But that’s a conversation for a different time.” He takes a sip of his wine before arching a brow at her. “So, tell me, Miss Romanoff. What is it that has you keeping me from my bed?”
She scoffs. “Didn’t realize I had the power to make you do things you didn’t want to do.”
“I’d do anything for you and that little angel of yours,” he says before shrugging. “You know that.”
Loki’s words bring a smile to her face. For all her struggles in the last six months, meeting and getting to know him has been one of the bright spots that’s kept her going. That, and the fact that he lives next door and is up at ungodly hours like she is, is convenient – especially on nights like this when she could really use someone to talk to. It’s with that reminder that she sighs and goes about catching him up on everything that’s been plaguing her mind since the last time she saw him. When she finally gets to Steve’s text, she hands him her phone. “I’m probably just over analyzing it,” she says. “For all I know, he probably just wants to FaceTime with Izzie more.”
“Then why not just get to it then?” Loki challenges. “Natasha, let’s be honest about what this is really about.”
She shakes her head. “I just said that he-”
“I don’t mean about him,” Loki says, sighing when she stares confusedly at him. “You’ve basically just admitted to missing the man-”
“I said no such thing!”
Loki shoots her a withering look. “Do you’ve any idea how many parents deny how much sugar they’ve fed their kids as I hold the results of their child’s blood work in my hands?” He scoffs. “It’s easy to say things, Natasha, but you cannot deny what is so. I assume you sulking in the dark and watching videos of him and Izzie aren’t just because you’re feeling nostalgic.”
“What do you want me to say, Loki?” she asks. “That I’m freaking out about this because I’m... lonely? Tired? Tipsy?” She chuckles, but it’s humorless, hollow. Her voice is barely above a whisper as she adds, “or that moving thousands of miles away was for nothing seeing as I’m still so pathetically in love with someone who clearly doesn’t love me back and who can seemingly pull me apart with a single text?”
“Only if that’s the truth,” Loki says, making her shoulders sag in defeat. “Natasha, I didn’t mean to upset you.” He takes her hand in his, causing her to look at him. “I simply wanted you to be honest about what’s at play here.” He sighs. “I don’t claim to know what or how he feels. And for that matter, what you truly do, and I will not pry. But what I do know is that you are smart, strong, gorgeous, and any man would be lucky to have you. The ones that don’t see that? They’re idiots and they don’t deserve you.” Her lips quirk at that, and he smiles. “Remember that the next time you think one text from someone can pull you apart, hm?”
Loki punctuates his words with a gentle squeeze to her hand, and as she lets the gravity of his sentiment sink in, she nods. “Thanks,” she says, laughing when he only winks and brings her hand up to kiss her knuckles.
By the time Loki bids her goodnight and she makes it to bed, her mind feels a little clearer. Maybe she’s right and that whatever it is Steve wants to ask her is something as small as wanting more time to talk to Isabel, but the reality is that she’ll never know if she doesn’t find out. And if it turns out to be something that takes a wrecking ball to her heart all over again, if what Loki said is anything to go by, then maybe she isn’t giving herself enough credit. She has made it this far – scars and all.
With that in mind, she reaches for her phone and searches for Steve’s message to type out her reply.
Sure! Talk to you then.
Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5
