marvel oneshots

romanoff | accidental ( c )

summary - after a battle, you begin to wonder if all you're meant to do is suffer, or if maybe, it was all accidental

word count - 1.5k

The lavender haze that settled around the compound brought peace to your mind. The days had only been getting longer since the last alien invasion you'd save New York City from, and despite the medals you'd won and magazine articles describing your heroics and praising you for your bravery, nothing felt lived up to enough to even calm your mind and save you one night of traumatic nightmares that wake you up with panting and cold flashes routinely.

You'd not been affected by a battle like this since Sokovia. Then, for almost an entire year, your nights were plagued with the echoing screams of Wanda calling for her brother. You jumped at every slammed door and couldn't wash your hands or take a shower without thinking the water you dipped your body in was the blood everyone lost. Fury retired you from combat for seven months, Maria called your personal cell three times a week just to make sure your head was above water at the bare minimum, Natasha didn't leave your side. For an Avenger, you were entirely human. But for a human, you were entirely too selfless. You were the heart of the team, the one who bore the most emotion, who thought of the innocence lost every time an invasion struck and children lost parents, parents lost kids, and those who were just lucky enough to lose nothing watched as everyone else lost everything. Nobody ever won, and you took it upon yourself to feel that hurt for them, because maybe, if you'd done something differently, if you'd acted quicker, or with more clarity, you might've been able to save somebody a funeral, or a house, or a car. Maybe if you'd been different, things wouldn't be so bad.

Outside of being an Avenger, Natasha Romanoff was many things. She was careful, incredibly so, but even more than that, she was adventurous. After battles like Sokovia or New York, the first thing the Widow made priority of doing was submerge herself in change. When asked, she would never be honest about how much these battles left her wounded inside, but you knew the truth. You knew her like the back of your hand, and you knew the reason she was so eager for something different was because she didn't want the remnants of who she was before a war suffocating how much she'd changed after it. If it was anything from dying her hair another color or cutting it all off, she was completely erasing who she was before from her appearance. She was all about new beginnings, and with all she'd overcome, you had no qualms about getting used to blonde hair, short hair, red hair, long hair.

This time was different though. Although her hair had been chopped a few nights ago, something in Natasha still craved for a new beginning. Her skin itched with the thought of how many lives had been lost, but mostly, her heart bled watching you suffocate in this city. The both of you needed out for a little, the both of you were so destroyed by selflessness that it left you nothing more than empty shells of lovers. Devoting your life to everyone else left so little time for devoting life for yourself and her, and maybe it was time to reclaim the moments you had left. If being an Avenger had forewarned you of anything, you'd learned how fragile life is.

Natasha left the bedroom hours ago, muttering something beneath her breath in russian. It was endearing, but you were too sedated by sadness to smile the way you would've under lighter circumstances. The sunset was lavender around the compound, and something about the gentle purple sky with impulsive strokes of blue and pink painted around the clouds let your mind wander from bloodshed to warmer days. It was the first time in weeks you hadn't been paralyzed by PTSD.

The hinges on the door creaked as Natasha came back into the bedroom, arms adorned in blankets and snacks. Your eyes creased, watching her silently scramble around the room until she found the two duffle bags that stayed folded in the bottom of your closet until there was a mission that pulled you away for weeks. The white embroidering of 'Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement Logistics Division' is beginning to fray from the long term heavy duty use, but you have no idea why Natasha would need them now. The both of you had been laid off pending clearance from your appointed trauma counselors. If Fury didn't play with two things, it was his favorite girls, albeit Maria, but she was usually safer off then you both.

She rustled through your closet and dresser drawers, folding odd articles of clothing and placing them in the duffle bags without consulting you on her motive. When she moved onto her clothes, you saw her brow pinch. She looked over you with flushed cheeks, nodding silently before moving on to grab shoes and chargers and shoving them into the duffles as well.

"You have my favorite hoodie on." She mumbled neither to you or to herself, just stating what she'd discovered now that she'd finally come out of her head enough to analyze you. The both of you had been on autopilot for weeks, right next to each other but not even in the same room. "Let's go."

You frowned, hugging the white comforter tighter around you while pulling your knees into your chest in a protective ball. "What?" You cocked your head to the side, a horrible habit that you'd picked up from Wanda after so many nights playing card games and cooking in the Tower. You hadn't done so much of that since moving into the compound, but things had changed exponentially since then. It seemed one of you was always traumatized.

"We're going on a road trip. Then Yelena's picking us up. Melina renovated the cabin. We're getting out of here." Natasha didn't give you any room to pose an argument. Her words were clear, and the direct edge to her words meant she wasn't about to let you object. Just like you knew her, she knew you. Maybe you weren't as inherently outgoing as she was, but you were always down to tag along.

"We can't just leave." You rebutted, grabbing her hand overtop of the duffle bag. Her skin was clammy, cold to the touch, trembling with anxiety that would've been untraceable had you been anyone else. You read her better than you read a third grade level chapter book.

She cocked an eyebrow, matching your curious head tilt that was meant to be threatening but came off as nothing but almost childish innocence. You could never be threatening to her, despite wielding knives and guns, and being marked with scars from battle where you've killed. She could never see you for any of that, just like you could never see her for an assassin. You were just Y/N and Natasha when alone together, and maybe that's why you worked so well. "Why not?"

"What if-"

"They need us? The world ends? Haven't we done our part, Y/N? Don't we deserve a few weeks away from a city that's painted with blood?" Natasha climbed onto the bed, sitting on her knees in front of you. Tears filled your eyes, your heart hammering in your throat, it was like the world faded around you. What if something happened when you were gone? What if somebody needed you? They'd blame you so easily if you weren't there. All your work in saving the city once would be undone in seconds. How did you get here? In a circumstance that left you paralyzed between choosing yourself and your girlfriend and choosing the lives of innocence?

"What if this is all we're meant to do, Nat. What if none of this is accidental."

"We're meant for more than laying in bed unable to sleep because all we can hear is gunshots, because when we close our eyes all we see is people dying. We're meant for more than panicking anytime our skin gets wet and thinking its blood, for mentally preparing for an attack anytime we turn a corner, for being scared of the dark in our twenties. We've done our part. We've made up for all the wrong we've been forced to do in life. You have to forgive yourself now. The world has forgiven you. I've forgiven you. You were never meant to be treated so harshly by the world, this was never meant to be your full purpose." Natasha reaches out to brush a tear from your cheek, smiling her own watery smile at you as she tries not to cry. She'd never have forgiven herself if it weren't for you, but she'd go to great lengths to make sure you understood how much nobody blamed you for your past.

"What if i'm not ready to forgive me?" You leaned into Natasha's hand, grabbing onto her wrist to keep it there, comforted by her skin on yours, despite it being clammy and cold.

Natasha shook her head, tears falling from her eyes despite trying to keep them at bay. "I'll do it until you're ready."