˗ˏˋ romanogers oneshots ˎˊ˗

betray me

Steve knew what he had signed up for when he took this mission. And he knew he had to learn to separate feelings from the mission. The mission was to capture, not kil, but use lethal force if necessary. But when he saw her, he couldn't help it. When it came to her it was never one or the other. And that's how he ended up in this position. 

Natasha stands over Steve, gun in her hand. Her catsuit, tight on her, cleavage showing. Her tool belt looped around her waist filled with the various knives and guns. Steve, in his Captain America ensemble, shield and helmet, drops the shield with a sigh. He kneels on the ground as instructed, hands behind his head, glaring up at the Red Head pointing a gun at his head.

He knows it's not her. But there's nothing he can do. She's programmed to do this. He only hopes he can stop her before it's too late.

This feels familiar. They've done this before, under different circumstances. They first met like that, when they were both sent on the same mission and contending for the same thing, only to find they stood on the same side of different justice, just working for different agencies. And everything just got better from there. They got together and all that rom-com worthy shit.

But she had gotten kidnapped by HYDRA and she returned different. Brainwashed. He knew the moment he saw her. Because despite how unsteady they were, he was sure of two things, the sparkle in her green eyes when she smirked at him was gone, and she would never ever betray him.

So here they were, back where they started. Fucking Deja Vu. Damn it.

"Natasha," he chokes on her name, not wanting to taunt her but not wanting his life to end either.

It's true what people say, your life does flash before your eyes as it is about to end. And his life does flash, just the bits with her. Their first kiss, their first date, their first... them.

"Don't call me that," she snarls, holding the gun against his head, as if to emphasise her point.

She tightens her grip on the gun. The name feels oddly familiar, and rolling from his lips makes it even more significant. She's heard it before, but she can't put her finger on it.

"Remember me," he begs. Funny that people often beg when a gun is pointed to their head. But this feels different, like he knows her. Perhaps he knew her before, but none of that mattered now.

"I don't even know who you are," she replies with a condescending smirk, ready to pull the trigger.

He sighs. He's heard this before, first Bucky, now Natasha. Why was fate this cruel? And her smirk, it wasn't like the flirty smirk she gave him with the twinkle in her eyes. It was the "I'm gonna kiss you" smirk. And her green eyes were lost and far away, like the stars had drifted far off into space beyond reach.

He draws a sharp breathe. "Fine, do it. I guarantee you can't."

It's luck. He doesn't know if she will relent. But it's the last ray of hope, and he can only hope that hope is enough to compensate for all the darkness. for the darkness planted within her from HYDRA and the darkness in him for thinking of letting go.

And he hopes right, because she squeezes her eyes shut, fingers closing around the trigger, only to drop the gun, raising her hands in defeat. "Fuck, I can't do it." She seems angry at herself. "Why can't I do it? Why can't I do the only thing I was meant to do?" She picks up the gun that clattered to the floor, checks the magazine, before raising it to her own head. Fuck.

His first reaction is to leap up and knock the gun from her hand on instinct, without thinking. Saving her from harming herself, like he has always done. And in doing so, he accidentally firing the bullet into his own shoulder instead. It wasn't the first time he had stopped her from hurting herself, but the first time he had gotten hurt.

He lets out a groan and stumbles back from the impact of the bullet. He lightly

"Shit," she whispers, as he stumbles back. She drops the gun, bringing her hands to is shoulder, feeling the warm blood on her hands. "You're bleeding." She presses down on the wound, in an attempt to stop him from bleeding out.

"I'm okay," he assures her. But he's not. He winces as she presses down on the wound.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, tears unbeknownst to her, falling.

He mumbles something along the lines of "Not your fault love," before his world becomes a blur.

"Damn it, stay with me." She whispers, planting a kiss to his lips.

It feels familiar. Like she's done it before. And she has, one too many times. And it all comes rushing back. The memories, the smiles, the laughter, the pain, the angst, the trauma. Everything. Fuck. They were idiots in love, and she was the idiot who shot him.

"Steve?" She whispers, unsure of the meaning of the word. But the word feels familiar, like it's something she's said before, on countless occasions. She doesn't know what it would do to him but the word suddenly wakes him into a stir.

He gives her a soft smile, still grimacing in pain. "You remembered." He gives her one last smile before drifting off.

She presses her hands against the bullet wound, blood stains her hands. Red, red, red. Like her ledger. She had just added another onto her list. She grabs his comms. It's on. With a sigh, she says, "S.H.I.E.L.D., this is Agent Romanoff, I need a medic and an extract. I'm coming home."

There's a crackle from the other end, and the familiar commanding voice of Fury comes on, "Romanoff?"

"Yes, Sir." She replies. 

"Hang in there, I'll send a team to get you."

"Yes, Sir."

A/N:: what a sad beautiful tragic love affair indeed but at least she remembered and lets hope he survived and they got together okays thanks. vote comment and share and whatever yalls and lmk what you think. also im holidaying so i literally got no school homework done or any productive writing so enjoy this rough draft from like a few months ago ish i guess. xoxo, bern.