This will have more chapters to come with eventual Steve/Natasha. Let me know what you think or what you want to see more of! If you like, read my other fic as well!

Thanks for reading,
Whales

The Captain & The Breakable Heart
by WhalesForSale

I would now.

The flicker of surprise that crossed Natasha's face had broken his heart, just a little. Steve wondered not for the first or last time, what happened in Natasha's past to make her feel so ashamed and untrustworthy.

Eight months had passed since the destruction of S.H.I.E.L.D. and now he and Natasha sat side by side on a bullet train headed for Beijing. From there they would take a small military jet back to the States. After that, would be the funeral.

Peggy was gone and Natasha was taking him home.

They had sent her to find him, but how they found her was a mystery. It didn't surprise him that they'd sent Natasha to seek him out. Besides Sam, she was his closest ally…a friend, even. He was humbled and grateful for Sam's presence and friendship, but there was a bond that existed with between him and Natasha that spoke of their mutual past, fights for freedom, ghosts and monsters in the dark.

What did surprise Steve was the sadness in her eyes, her sorrow for him. The rising sun had lit the golden halo of Natasha's hair as she stood waiting for him and Sam in the courtyard of the small temp house they were using in Qinghai. Chickens scurried underfoot, goats bleated to each other across the tea fields, and there stood Natasha—morning mist floating around her black boots in wisps, the dew settling on her brow and the sun striking her like a goddess borne of fire.

For a moment Steve's breath was taken away. So powerful was the image that his fingers twitched as he committed the moment to memory—a moment he planned to sketch later. Sam walked up beside him.

"Tasha?! What the hell—girl how did you—man, you're alright! But how did you-?"

Natasha's eyes never left Steve's. There was a question and there was an answer between them.

"Steve…"

Understanding struck him deep in his chest. It felt like a gong reverberating from the center of his being, racing up his spine, spreading outward to his limbs and bursting forth from his head. The internal resonance momentarily deafened him.

"Peggy?" he managed.

"I'm so sorry Steve."

Please don't say it, please don't say it, please don't—

"She's gone," Natasha whispered. Her hand was flat against his chest. He didn't remember her moving. Her green eyes were reflective pools of grief for him. He didn't want it.

Steve took a step back from her. "Why are you here, Nat?"

"I've come, I've come to take you home."

Steve nodded and turned away, moving back into the house. Emptiness swept in and filled him to the brim.

The train ride was quiet. Natasha didn't speak; there was nothing to say. Anyway she knew he needed silence and she acquiesced. Though he stared out the window he wasn't watching the scene of landscape that flitted by, but instead the memories that spread out before him like the sea. A sea so vast and fathomless that it would swallow the world and him besides. That was his grief and he longed for it to take him.

Natasha took him to a hotel suite near the Beijing airport for the night. The jet wouldn't leave for another 16 hours and she didn't see fit to have them wait at the base. Steve didn't care.

Natasha set their bags down next to sofa where he sat staring out at the city below. "Do you want to eat?" He shook his head and Natasha nodded, already having known the answer.

She sat next to him on the armrest and was silent for a few minutes. "If you want me to," she paused and looked down briefly before looking him in the eye, "I can help take some of the pain away. Not forever, but at least for a little while."

Steve knew what she was offering and was shocked that he wasn't offended by it. The compassion in her eyes revealed the purest desire to ameliorate his despair, and it moved him deeply. "Tasha," he whispered. He cupped her cheek and ran his thumb across her chin. "Natasha," he whispered again. He felt his throat tighten and the words wouldn't come. She looked at him questioningly, her lips parting to speak. He shook his head and pulled her into his lap.

He swallowed and when he spoke his voice was rough with emotion. "Thank you, but I don't want to use you that way. You-you mean more to me than that, and you deserve more than that from me."

The flicker of surprise that crossed Natasha's face broke his heart, just a little…again. Her eyes grew bright and she looked away from him then, but not in shame. Perhaps this was the first time that she felt valued by a man beyond her body. A small part of him was happy that he was the one to do it. When she looked back up there was wetness on her eyelashes.

"I was sitting on the train, thinking about her…Peggy, and telling myself that I should be ashamed because I couldn't cry. She's the love—she was the love of my life and I can't shed a goddamned tear for her. I feel like…I feel like…" he fumbled, unable to explain.

"Like every emotion wants to come out at once, and you can't decide which one to let out first. And the hurt is so deep that crying seems useless because it can never make it go away," she offered.

Steve stared at her, stunned. "You lost someone." It wasn't a question, but she nodded anyway.

Steve sighed and closed his eyes. "My heart hurts," he whispered.

"I know," she murmured and caressed his cheek. "Let it hurt, let it break." He pulled her to him and buried his face in her neck. She stroked his hair and the nape of his neck, soothing.

They stayed that way for a long time. Steve felt her breath even out and knew that she had fallen asleep—it had already been a long day for her. She startled when he stood with her cradled in his arms. "Steve? I'm sorry, I didn't—I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"Shhh," he hushed and carried her into the bedroom. He sat her gently on the end of the bed and began tossing away the overstuffed pillows and pulling back the covers. Natasha raised her eyebrow but he held up a hand. "You've been up for what? 36 hours?"

"I've been up for longer," she countered, her cheeks coloring a bit. "I can make some coffee and we can talk if you want. I—"

"Nat, you're tired and so am I. Besides, I don't know if I can talk yet, and plus I could use a cuddle."

Her lips quirked. "Did Captain America just say cuddle?" Steve chucked a pillow at her, which she caught, and waved a hand over the bed as if to say you comin' or what?

Natasha pulled off her shoes and unabashedly stripped down to her tank top and underwear. Steve did likewise. It wasn't erotic. They'd been partners for two years and had seen each other in various stages of undress more times than he could remember. He thought it was strange that he sometimes felt utterly comfortable around her and at other times she was still like a perfect stranger.

Natasha turned off the lights before slipping in next to him. The city lights leaked in through the curtains and diffused the room in a soft, amber glow. As usual the bed was too soft and he shifted around a bit, trying to get comfortable. She propped herself up on an elbow and looked at him. Her green eyes held so many secrets.

"Tell me something that I don't know about you," he prompted. "It can be whatever you want." Natasha gave him one of her half smiles and paused while she thought.

"Okay," she said. "When I was a little girl, with the Red Room, one of many things they trained me in was ballet. I loved, loved dancing. I used to watch old footage of Mikhail Baryshnikov, totally had a crush on him, and I would make believe that I was his ballerina. He danced like a god, so perfect, and everybody in Russia loved him—before he defected, anyway.

I worked hard not just because they made us, but because I wanted to be perfect too. In my little mind I thought you know, this is my way out! I convinced myself that if my grand jeté was higher, my pirouette smoother, or if my feet could move fast enough, then they would let me go and be a dancer. And not do…what they did to us." Natasha paused, frowning at the bed. A tear dashed across the bridge of her nose and she smiled wanly at him. "So something you don't know about me Steve is that every day that I wake up, I wish they'd just forgotten about me and let me dance."

Natasha hastily wiped her eyes and turned away from him. "Sorry, that was stupid I should have said something happy."

Steve shook his head. "No, that was perfect," he said softly. "Come here, Nat."

"Sorry. I shouldn't be crying." Natasha swung her legs off the bed and he could see that she was struggling hard to control her emotions.

Steve scooted to her side of the bed and hooked an arm around her waist. She was so much smaller than she seemed in normal life and he had no problem pulling her back into bed. She opened her mouth to protest, but all that came out was a stifled sob. Steve held her tight against his chest and molded his body around hers.

"You were just a little girl, Nat. It's okay to cry for her." And she did. For the most part she wept silently, her small frame quaking in his arms. After a while her breathing evened out and he thought she'd fallen asleep until she squeezed his hand.

Natasha rolled over to face him. Her face was red and blotchy, her makeup gone. But she had never seemed more beautiful to him as she did now. "I…I'm…"

"You don't have to say anything," he said. "This is what friends do."

She stared at him with an unreadable expression on her face. After a moment she kissed the bridge of his nose. "You're a rare person, Steve Rogers," she whispered and gave him a tentative smile. "I-I'm glad you're my friend."

"Me too."

Natasha nestled her head against the crook of his shoulder and soon fell asleep. He could guess that not many people had held her in her life. But then not many people had held him either. They were both waifs in the world; out of time and out of place. It had made them both tougher, but also brittle. Everyone assumed that Captain Steve Rogers was indestructible, but even the strongest metal needed to have some bend in it or it would break.

The truth was, when he saw Natasha standing in that morning sun, his heart had shattered.