"The Story Thus Far"

By Darthelwig

*** I own nothing. I'm just having fun. ***

The first thing he noticed about her were her eyes. Fresh from the cradle, he felt those eyes burning him, branding him. The intensity of her gaze made him aware of the physicality of his own body, made him feel.

Then she challenged him, as nervous as he could tell she was. She stepped forward, facing her fear and facing him down, her eyes intent on him. Her stare followed him even as he walked away from the group to prepare for battle. It followed him as he spoke to Thor under the evening sky. He could feel her eyes on him, her heated gaze. He tried to ignore it, choosing instead to focus on Ultron and what needed to be done, but his awareness of her lived on in the back of his mind.

His only relief came when she turned those eyes from him to listen to Captain Rogers' words as they flew to Sokovia, and yet even though he no longer felt the immediacy of her attention on him, he still felt.

It was both unnerving and exhilarating. He chose to put all contemplation of the situation aside for the time being. He had the strength for that, at least.

When her eyes met his as he pulled her from the falling ruins that had been Novi Grad, he felt something spark between them. A connection, perhaps, securing them to each other, and he cradled her to his chest as something precious. He burned at every point of contact between them as he carried her away. Something about her parted lips and widened eyes told him she felt that heat as well, even through her grief.

Neither of them acknowledged it.

He was newly born, not a child, and so he noticed other things about her as well.

There was the casual grace she moved with, and the way her skirts swirled around her legs. He couldn't help but notice every one of her rare smiles, so brilliantly beautiful to him. She was, by nature, rather reserved, so each small show of happiness was like a light in the dark.

She was beautiful in every way, and he couldn't help but notice the gentle curves of her form, and the softness of her skin when he touched her. The remembered feel of her in his arms in Sokovia taunted him with wanting, the first person he ever touched, the only person he'd ever held. His body knew hers now, and wanted more.

He yearned for things he didn't understand and had no name for, not at first. It wasn't long before he knew the words. Lust, desire... love. His feelings for her revealed hidden depths in himself, though none but her could quite believe it.

As she reached out from her grief, he reached back, and they found companionship and friendship, a cure for the loneliness that had plagued him during his short life so far. Both outsiders, both unique, the bonded. He was patient with her pain, her sometimes mercurial moods, and she treated him as a living being no different from herself. He found himself more and more in her company.

He wanted to please her, wanted to be the cause of the smiles he valued so highly. He learned to speak to her in Sokovian, learned her likes and dislikes, taught her games and watched her movies. She opened the door to humanity to him, and he gladly walked through.

But they did nothing about what had sparked between them as Novi Grad fell in ruins. Neither acknowledged it, and it sat between them unspoken but never forgotten. At times, he brushed against it, suddenly and painfully aware of her, and sometimes he could see the answering heat in her eyes. Sometimes her gaze burned him as it had upon his birth, before she lost her brother, before the grief walled her away.

They found a balance, never too close, never too far. It was precarious, but it worked.

And then came Lagos, and more grief she was ill-prepared for, and he found he couldn't help her. He tried to protect her as best he could, cheer her in the only ways he knew, but she was a force that could not and would not be contained. As she forced him to his knees, he looked up at her, standing over him with fire in her eyes, and he wanted her more than he ever had before. In that moment, they each touched the spark and were burned.

He spent a great deal of time afterwards analyzing where he'd gone wrong, and realized he'd gone from comforting and understanding her to caging her. He had sworn to himself he would only ever help her, and instead had driven the blade of guilt deeper into her heart

He apologized at the first opportunity, as did she, though she had little reason to do so, in his eyes. He held her in his arms on the tarmac as she recovered, the spark once again alive and hot between them, his body aware of her in ways completely inappropriate for battle. Her eyes, hesitant to meet his, said she felt it too.

His body and mind distracted, he attempted to return to battle. He should've known better than to think there was any part of him unaffected enough by her to be able to fight at that moment. He would never blame her or his devotion to her for his miss and the subsequent destruction he caused, but he did reevaluate his ability to cope with the emotions she had stirred in him and discovered himself more human than even he could've believed. He had changed from something otherworldly to someone real, his very own Pinocchio, if he understood the reference correctly. He couldn't bring himself to regret it.

The guilt, he lived with. It was part of being human.

And then came her true prison. The Raft. He hated it in a way he didn't know he could. He could not abide her raw, chaotic nature being shackled and confined as she was. Her fire didn't burn as brightly, her light no longer shone the way he knew it should. He could do nothing on his own without betraying his position at Mr. Stark's side, and Mr. Stark did need him. He was adrift and hurting, lonely and betrayed.

He couldn't desert Mr. Stark. He couldn't desert her.

So he turned to Captain Rogers, provided him the means to mount a rescue, and waited with bated breath and a strange, helpless feeling he wasn't familiar with. It was too dangerous, so there would be no updates, no word from Captain Rogers or her, but he could sit, and wonder, and hope. He hoped for her safe return to freedom, and took great pains to hide his satisfaction when the day came he was informed of the breakout.

For her, he learned to lie. He had discovered before that there were very few things he wouldn't do for her. And after everything that had happened, perhaps fewer still.

So he spent nights thinking of her, remembering her gaze, scorching, intense, demanding he become more than he thought he could be. He thought of their spark, and his hunger for her. He grew familiar with the aching hole in his chest where she should be, completing him. He longed for her companionship and her smile.

When she reached out for him again, he reacted without thought, without planning, without consulting Mr. Stark or anyone else. He went to her, and he held her, and they mended what had been broken between them. They had soft conversations punctuated by long silences during which neither knew how to express what they wanted. They touched, chastely and briefly at first, but the spark quickly ignited and drove them to more.

In a dimly lit room, with rain falling against the windows, they kissed.