Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Natasha waits by the San Diego airport baggage claim, counting down the minutes to when his plane is supposed to land. She focuses on the crowds of people that pass through those sliding doors, trying to spot a head of dirty-blonde hair and those glasses that magnify his bright blue eyes. The eyes that she couldn’t stop envisioning during this two month leave. FaceTiming him from across the country wasn’t the same. And if anything is an indicator for how eager she is to finally reunite with him again, it’s those butterflies swarming in her stomach.

There he is. She spots him and it feels like time stills. Without even needing to call out his name, Bob’s eyes are on her, and he’s rushing over. He runs a cautious half-jog so he doesn’t accidentally collide with the other airport goers, all while sporting this soft smile that’s just so uniquely Bob. There’s those butterflies again and Natasha can’t help but smile.

He’s in front of her, and before Natasha can think twice, she’s hugging him, and his arms quickly wrap around her. He’s a bit warm and smells like the air of a commercial plane, but she could care less. Natasha melts into his embrace. It feels like coming home.

“I missed you,” she breathes, tightening her grip. Even her subconscious knows she doesn’t want to let go quite yet.

“I missed you too,” he murmurs, finally dropping his duffle to the ground. She savors the moment, the way his hands tighten, his arms brushing against her lower back. Every little shift and touch, she’s aware of. She’s never had a hug feel more, right and it scares her.

Natasha breaks the hug, taking a step back, while Bob reaches down to grab his duffle bag. It’s military bleak green brings her back to reality—they’re here for a deployment.

“Ready?” she asks, deciding to not let the thought linger.

“Ready,” he nods.

Bob walks into the room, following Phoenix, right as the clock hits 07:55. They both learned from the last mission that they like to be punctual, which means being in the room five minutes early, on the dot.

Her head is high, her posture pristine, and Bob watches as Phoenix walks into the room with this self-assured confidence that’s become familiar to him. It’s the same confidence that caught his eye when she walked into the Hard-Deck all those months ago. It’s the type of confidence that’s not brash, but stable, not arrogant but earned. It makes heads turn, but in a way that commands respect, and can put macho-bravado to shame. Usually, that is. So far, he’s never seen her falter, and Bob has never failed to be impressed by that fact.

There’s a whistle from the other end of the room and immediately Bob is on edge. He looks to Phoenix, but she keeps her expression the same, and doesn’t even flinch. But Bob can tell, she’s uncomfortable in the way her lips tighten just so, like she’s bracing herself for a challenge.

“Hey, look who landed, little fire-birdie over here,” the same pilot calls out. He’s tall, muscular, with freckles and red hair, and his eyes flit around, mischievous and looking for trouble. Bob can already tell he doesn’t like him. He doesn’t trust him.

He’s sitting with three other aviators, one of which Bob recognizes: Kyle “Duke” Calloway. A WSO with a major ego, grew up rich, got everything he wanted, and whines like a duke, thus the call-sign, yet he took it with pride. If that is any indication on what type of group they’re flying with, Bob is already dreading it.

Phoenix nods towards the group, signaling for Bob to follow, before she makes her way over.

“Can’t ignore them forever,” she mutters underneath her breath.

The redhead’s eyes light up when he notices Phoenix walking towards them, like he’s planting a trap.

Bob has watched Phoenix deal with egos before. He’s watches her deal with Hangman for goodness-sake. But at least with Hangman he could tell the barbs weren’t truly loaded. In fact, he remembers Hangman drunkenly admitting to him that he respects Phoenix the most out of all the pilots. At first Bob didn’t believe his ears, but Hangman explained that he just likes to get her riled up and she does the same to him. Bob can sum those two up as some odd sibling-like rivalry, but the look on this aviator’s face is nothing like that.

“Always a joy to see you, Weasel,” Phoenix mutters, yet still her voice sounds smooth, confident. She doesn’t skip a beat when she follows up with, “I’d bet my last buck this is going to be a low-threat reconnaissance mission if you’re on the squad. Like an extra vacation.”

That seems to rub him the wrong way, because Bob watches as his smile falls just a touch, his expression darkening, “I just flew a mission in Ukraine. Squad leader.”

“Pft. You know you don’t need to show off in front of me. I’m not affected by all this,” she waves her hand around in front of the group.

“As if you could get a piece of me, Natasha,” Weasel challenges.

Phoenix narrows her eyes, “Keep my name out of your mouth.”

“Or what?”

And Bob is concerned that Phoenix is going to punch him right on the spot, but then the door opens and another group of aviators walk in.

Phoenix looks up, and Bob watches as her demeanor completely shifts in a way he hasn’t ever seen before. She suddenly stills, freezes, and her eyes train on one specific pilot, a black haired man Bob has never met before.

He freezes too, then shakes his head and turns around, walking back out of the room. All the other aviators notice.

“Let me guess, a one-night stand gone wrong?” Weasel taunts. His posse laugh alongside him at the joke.

Phoenix doesn’t say anything, still frozen, so Bob does. His voice is firm, slicing through the laughter, “Would you just shut-up?”

They stop for a moment, taken by surprise, until Bob sees that glint in Weasel’s eye, “So, the shadow speaks—“

And before he can get out another word, their CO is at the front of the room. Everyone quickly finds their table and stands at attention, holding a salute.

Once the CO nods, they sit down, all in synch, yet Bob can’t help but take the extra second to glance over at Phoenix.

She sits, her gaze focused, her posture pristine, like nothing ever happened.

Then he feels her leg shift closer to his, until their boots are touching, and he watches her take a slow breath. He moves his arm closer to her’s in return as he begins to take notes. He hopes she knows what he’s trying to say: no matter what’s about to happen, he’s got her back.

If there is one ghost of her past Natasha wouldn’t want to meet again, it would be Makai “Tiger” Acosta. She never would’ve guessed that he would walk right through that door. Their eyes barely even met for a second before he was walking right out, yet she felt the hatred. Then she felt the shame.

Bob’s been hovering, observing, she can feel it. She can sense it in the subtle touches, the way he pauses a moment before speaking to her, even if it’s strictly related to the deployment at hand. She feels it the most in the looks he gives her, when they can spare a glance at each other.

His concern is unrelenting, which is an unfamiliar feeling to her. And she knows he’s going to keep wondering. He’s going to keep gently prodding. She knows that eventually everything will have to come to light.

But that doesn’t have to be today.

So she puts her head down and focuses solely on the information given to them, writing her perfect notes with her perfect penmanship, sporting a perfectly focused gaze. Everything perfect. Because the reminder that anything but perfection costs lives is sitting a few rows behind her.

“There’s warnings related to the fuel levels, Trace.”

“We should be clear, Sousa. Levels looked good at pre-check. Could be a glitch?”

“Negative. I’m watching levels drop rapidly. We’re losing speed as a result.”

“I see it, Sousa. How far out are we from base?”

…

“Sousa, can we make it to base?”

“Negative. Emergency landing is needed.”

“What about another airport.”

“There’s one 200 km out, but Trace, I said it’s negative.”

“I might be able to—“

“Beginning emergency landing procedures.”

“Sousa, if we stay on course and stay at a cruising speed, we should have enough fuel. For the airport.”

…

“I’m trusting you here Natasha.”

“Slowing down to cruising speed.”

“Hey, Nat,” Natasha startles as Bob stands next to her. He doesn’t say anything, but clearly wants to in the way his eyes rack over her, thoughtful and calm. The remnants of the memory start to fade. He hands her a cup of water. “Our hop is in an half an hour. I thought we should start gearing up.”

“Yeah,” she takes a sip, “I lost track of time, sorry.”

She notices the way his face twists up slightly, confusion lacing his brow.

“It won’t happen again,” Natasha is quick to assure him, then hands him back the paper cup. Their fingers brush, but she’s already moving, far to quick to notice. “Promise.”

And before Bob can say another word she’s out of the room.

Bob is left alone, where he takes in a moment to look out the window that Natasha was staring off into space moments ago.

The service crew are refueling the jets.

Bob knows something is wrong when Phoenix’s presence feels different in the cockpit.

Usually she’s steady. Her voice smooth but confident as they exchange commands on pre-flight check. And then, once they switch the communal radio off, she chats. Usually, she chats a lot. Asking him questions, making jokes, adding in her own input. Some of his favorite conversations with her have taken place between pre-flight and taxiing.

Today she’s silent. Focused. But silent. And it unnerves him.

The smile he loves to catch in the mirror, the one that only shines through her eyes when her mask is on, is nowhere to be found.

She didn’t reach her hand back for him to fist bump, high five and then squeeze (an unspoken secrete handshake between them), like she usually did.

The only part of her ritual that she does keep is her quick prayer under her breath, “God, keep me safe. Protect my wingmen. Amen.” and her subtle point to the sky. It does little to ease him, not when she’s staring at the other jet beginning to taxi, Tiger’s jet, with this far of look in her eye.

“We good, Nix?” he asks into the com when she doesn’t begin her own taxi.

“Yes. Beginning our taxi,” she responds quickly. Almost too quickly.

Bob knew, she was lying. He’s getting good at reading her, so much so it’s became second nature. But he does’t say anything. He trusts her. He knows that if something is truly wrong, wrong enough that they can’t fly, she’ll tell him.

They’re only five minutes into the hop when Tiger starts taking his own course. Bob can see the moment when Natasha clocks it. Her eyes narrowing into confusion.

“Tiger, stay course southwest. Follow the given coordinates. Copy?” she says into the coms.

There’s silence. He’s far off course. In the simulation he would be heading down towards a canyon.

“Tiger, do you copy?” she calls again.

“I copy,” he replies, attitude heavy in his tone, but Bob isn’t sure why.

“Return to course,” Natasha repeats.

“The wind is going to be hell above the canyon, even though it isn’t in the simulation. We should fly below,” Tiger counters.

“Negative,” Natasha is quick to reply. “This is a reconnaissance mission. Hostiles won’t be part of the equation. We can handle the turbulence. The canyon is far too narrow—“

Tiger dives down, heading towards the hard deck, following his own coordinates.

“Shit, Tiger,” she mutters under her breath. “Pull up! Follow the mission!”

“Phoenix, we’re fifty kilometers from the surveying point,” Bob reports, sticking with the mission parameters.

“Dropping altitude,” Natasha smoothly lowers the plane, following the course.

Below them drops in Tiger, nearly caught in their blindspot.

“Jesus,” Bob let’s out a breath. “Phoenix, we have—”

“I know,” she snaps, more out of frustration than towards Bob. “Tiger, back down, we have right of way.”

He zooms out ahead, reaching the surveying point.

“Sorry, Phoenix. Can’t trust your word,” he spats, completing his portion of the hop.

Bob watches as Natasha flips off her coms before muttering something under her breath. He doesn’t catch the words, only the way her hands tighten around the joystick.

Natasha finds him walking towards the break room.

“Tiger.”

He keeps walking.

“Lt. Acosta.”

He enters the break room, Natasha follows.

“Makai!”

He freezes, and turns. His expression is neutral, unfazed, unbothered, and Natasha can’t hold in the swarm of emotions she’s been trying to silence anymore. Not when he went directly against her like that. Not when, if this wasn’t training, it would’ve costed him his life.

“That stunt you just pulled?! Are you fucking crazy?!”

Makai lets out a breath, like she’s some sort of annoyance. He knows it sends her over the edge.

Bob’s approaching now, but Natasha blocks him out. The combination of hurt and fury is molding together into something ugly, and it’s given her tunnel vision.

“You didn’t listen! And it could’ve gotten you killed!”

He lets out a sharp laugh, his eyes narrowing, his stare is intense and Natasha can feel the weight of it. She anticipates the blows that are about to be dealt. And she’ll face them head on. Like she always does. Never backing down from a fight.

“You care now? About life and death?”

“You know I always fucking did,” she snaps through gritted teeth and almost lunges at him, but suddenly, Bob’s arms are restricting her, holding her back.

“Phoenix, wait, calm down,” he attempts to de-escalate the situation. Natasha doesn’t struggle in his arms or try to break free. He’s right. She can’t get physical with Makai. It had never ended well in the past. And history has a funny way of repeating itself.

Makai shakes his head, “Phoenix. Pft. You don’t fucking deserve that name.”

Natasha stills, feeling her insides twist.

“You should’ve been grounded a long time ago. No, you should’ve been grounded before you even got your call sign,” he continues. His stare is sharp with nothing but disgust in his eyes.

Like it happened yesterday, Natasha can feel the burns on her back. The phantom pain searing her skin. The heat tearing at her insides.

And Natasha is frozen. All fight is lost and she can feel the tears pooling in her eyes as Tiger becomes more and more unfocused.

“It’s fucking shameful that you got your wings…”

Natasha grits her teeth. Her body tensing. Her lungs restricting. Anything to keep in the tears, because Natasha knows, that once she lets go of the tension, she’ll be lost in the pain. But she won’t cry in front of Makai.

“…when Corey lost his—”

“Get out,” Bob interrupts. His voice slicing through Makai’s words like a blade.

Makai doesn’t move, opening his mouth to speak, “You think you know her—?”

Natasha can feel her composure slipping. Her body shakes.

“I said get out!” Bob demands. His voice holding an assertive power Natasha hadn’t heard before.

Makai doesn’t say another word as he briskly leaves the break room.

Once the door closes shut, Natasha crumbles, heaving sobs as she sits on the floor.

It’s only because she’s so in tune with him, aware of his every move, that she feels him sitting down beside her. The side of his hip, arm and leg touches her own. It’s like he knows that this grounds her. He grounds her.

She feels him shift, and it forces her to look at him. He’s holding out his hand for her to take, his eyes asking a silent question. Natasha takes it without hesitation, and leans her head on his shoulder.

He doesn’t say a word, not until her sobs die down into sniffles, and then there’s just silence as she breathes.

“I have kept quiet, trying to respect your boundaries, but you’ve got to talk to me Natasha,” he says, his words firm but full of respect and care.

Natasha knows it’s the truth. And she knows she can’t hide it from him any longer.

“I rarely tell the story of my call-sign. And it’s for a reason,” she begins.

It’s because of his understanding eyes, the way he’s staring at her, with those hints of sea-glass green, that Natasha keeps talking. It’s the only thing giving her the strength to do so.

“It started with an error in the plane during training at the Academy. The meter for the fuel level had glitched during pre-check, meaning it probably did the same for the service staff. It was only when we were up in the air that we noticed. Myself and my WSO, Corey. Corey Sousa.”

Phoenix begins. She stares down at their joined hands, but Bob doesn’t mind. He listens patiently.

“Once we found out, it was too late. Corey requested we emergency land. But we were flying over a mountain range at high elevation. Finding a stretch of somewhat smooth or even to land on didn’t seem realistic and I just… at the time I thought it wasn’t smart. Nothing felt smart up there in that moment. I thought we could make it to an airport. There was one not too far away, I thought we could make it. Fuck, I thought we could make it.”

A tear slowly makes it’s way down her cheek. She doesn’t wipe it away. As if on instinct, Bob does. She nods a subtle thanks.

“We didn’t make it. Not even close. We couldn’t eject either, too close to the ground. I made the best emergency landing I could. The back portion of the plane caught fire only seconds after hitting the ground.”

Bob watches as her eyes become distant. He knows the look, the feeling, everything that comes with being forcefully pulled back into a memory. He squeezes her hand, hoping it does something, brings her some sort of comfort. She barely reacts, but brushes the tip of her thumb over his own. It’s something.

“I barely remember it. The landing. The fire. Pulling Corey out of the wreck before it exploded before us. He was passed out. Burns covering his entire body. How he looked. How he smelled. It comes in flashes, but I don’t remember it all.”

She lets out a shaky breath.

“What I do remember, in vivid detail, is waking up in a hospital bed. Burns being treated on my own back. Makai standing between our two beds but with his back facing mine. That’s when he yelled at me and I found out Corey got spinal damage from the crash and the burns. He wouldn’t be able to speak again, walk again, fly again.”

The tears return, and now she’s looking at Bob. Looking into his eyes, into his soul, and he sees her pain. He feels a part of it. And in that moment, he wishes he could just take it all from her.

“I remember Makai yelling at me, telling me I that I killed Corey. How even though his heart may still be beating, I took away his brother.”

She shakes her head, as if she’s trying not to believe her own words, her own memories.

“After a week of recovery I was back in that plane. And they gave me my call-sign: Phoenix.”

She scoffs.

“The woman that rose from the ashes and ‘saved’ her wizzo. I was ashamed of it for a while, but I knew I couldn’t exist with a label that stung every time I heard it. I learned how to wear it with pride, how to fly for the both of us, since Corey couldn’t.”

Bob nods, sympathetic. Understanding. Trying to be what she needs him to be. Still, it doesn’t feel like enough. He wants to do more.

“But everything changed after that, Bob. I wasn’t the same person. I wasn’t the same pilot. Corey and Makai were my best friends. They were my brothers. I had crashed at their houses during leaves and holidays. I knew their family, their siblings, their parents, their wives! After the crash… they saw me differently. I lost them too.”

It suddenly makes sense. The reason why she wasn’t at the dock. The reason why she rarely asked him about his family. The reason why Mav’s “don’t tell me, tell them” speech left Natasha completely frozen, resulting in her barely talking to him for the rest of the day.

It made sense — all those times they were so close to crossing that line, but Natasha was the one to pull away.

All he could think, in this moment, is God, she’s so strong. And he stares at her, in awe of her strength while also wondering why a woman so incredibly kind and caring is dealt such a harsh hand when it comes to life.

“Please tell me, you don’t blame yourself. That you don’t believe the words that Tig— Makai just yelled,” Bob speaks softly into the silence that began to spread between them.

“Honestly? How could I not. Not when everyone around me is telling me that I’m not supposed to be here, that this isn’t my place. The only thing that keeps me going is the voice in my head, telling myself that I deserve my title, my role, that I do belong,” she takes a shallow breath. Bob can feel her falter. “But it’s so fucking hard when I’m the only one, Bobby. I’m so tired of having to prove my worth.”

And Bob doesn’t think, he simply moves to hold her, hug her, hoping it keeps her feeling somewhat whole as the rest of her world begins to crumble.

“You never have to prove it to me, Nat,” he whispers, over and over.

He hopes it does something as the exhaustion overtakes her. All her walls finish crumbling down. But Natasha is also met with the relief of falling into safe arms. A feeling she had never known existed. Not until him.

“Never,” he repeats.

Natasha cherishes the two syllables like a prayer.

Bob feels her hug him tighter, clinging to him.

“But you’re wrong, Nat,” Bob says softly, after a moment.

Natasha leans back, defensive, “What?”

“About everyone else, you’re wrong. I trust you, and know you belong. And I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you know that you are the most skilled and talented pilot I’ve ever flown with. That your flying makes me feel free and your control makes me feel grounded. Your precision and mindfulness makes your flying feel like magic. And you are just… just absolutely pristine,” Bob finds himself rambling, but truly doesn’t mind. Not with how Natasha is staring at him. Her heart completely on her sleeve, every emotion shown through her eyes.

For the first time, they hold nothing back between the two of them. It makes Bob bold, free to say what he’s been thinking for so long, “You don’t deserve to feel this way, not when you’re the most incredible person I’ve gotten the privilege to know. Not when you’re the only person I want to be with.”

Bob heaves, the realization of what he just said washing over him. Over them both.

He isn’t just talking about their flying.

And she knows it.

She knows it in the way that she’s looking at his lips… then his eyes… and back again.

Back and forth, not uncertain, just…

Oh, fuck it.

Almost like they shared one mind, they both lean it. She grabs the back of his neck, he finds his hand reaching towards her hip. They shift. And…

It’s better than Natasha imagined.

It’s better than Bob dreamed.

It’s sweet, short, but leaves the two breathless.

Reality hits Bob and Natasha’s backing away, rather quickly, as she leans against the wall.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters quickly, overthinking.

“Are you?” she asks, but doesn’t turn to face him, scared of his rejection, his disapproval. She can’t take it, not after finally leaning into the feelings she’s been harboring for him for so long.

“No… no, not at all.”

Bob shakes his head, and Natasha can’t help but let out a breath. It comes out like a laugh. Her smile genuine and bright, relieved

“Me neither.”

She pulls him towards her again. Natasha swears she could get high from kissing him. His lips are soft but his kiss holds passion, meaning, almost force. His arms are strong, but his touch is tender. The feather like feel of his fingertips aren’t cautious but savoring.

Natasha thinks she could get addicted to him if he let her.

To her dismay, he breaks the kiss.

“I had wanted to do this for a long time, actually,” he admits, his cheeks reddening with a blush.

Natasha wouldn’t be surprised if she had one to match his own, “Me too.”

This time he pulls her in. Bob finds himself completely enamored with her. Her body is strong but graceful in it’s strength, just like her kiss. It has a powerful push and pull, demanding but giving in a way that makes his head spin. The smell of her shampoo and body spray engulfs him, something salty but smooth, a scent that reminds him of all those nights spent side by side in his bunk, tempting him to follow his heart for once.

Finally he feels at peace.

His heart beats rapidly under her hand pressed against his chest.