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She whispered Russian lullabies in broken syllables, sometimes inserting quotes from a translated Belarusian folklores that she had been fond when she was a child; and, again, another Russian lullabies. He caught some meaning at some points, but he couldn’t make the whole of it. All he knew that her fingers carding his locks and her meaningful gaze and her warm breath, all made him go through. She was mending the tattered seams, she was stitching some open wound, she was pressing the fact that she was alive and breathing and kissing him to his lips, pushing away his nightmare and blood and losing her soul in it.
This was the first night he woke up with the worst nightmare after three months on the run, and being the only one in the house because Sam had to do business out there for three days, she came immediately. Natasha had that horror looks on her face while he was drenched in his own sweat—partly because of the Indian humidity that he had to be used to, half because of running from anything in the dream.
“It’s gonna be alright, Steve. It is. They all are not real. This all is. We are.”
Steve didn’t say a word.
“Somebody died?”
“All,” his voice was hoarse and he struggled to find the next words, “I lost you. In my own hands. I saw you, betraying me. I saw you, bathing in your own blood for me. I saw you ... torturing yourself, I couldn’t stop it.”
“We all have fears.”
He nodded while she pushed him to the pillows, gracefully. She covered him, she kissed his temple. When she retreated, he caught her wrist. “You mind if I asked you to stay?”
It was easy for her to comply. She crawled back to his side like there was where she belonged to, like already doing it for a thousand years. “Actually it was you who are ready or not.”
He managed to chuckle, though nervously. “What? Are you fighting in your sleep too?”
Natasha didn’t respond to this, instead she placed a hand on his hip and rubbed circles there. “Sleep, Soldier.”
"Only with your lullabies."
Soft melody, humble tones, rightful lyrics. He drowned in no time.
And when she woke up again, it was hers that startled him. Natasha did not scream, though, but her hands moved wildly on his body, like searching for something in an empty soul. He hushed her with his still-cracking voice, and when she opened her eyes, his were full of worry.
"It's okay, it's okay," she reassured herself, immediately remembered that he might yet recovered from his own nightmare. "Only dreams. I've dealt with worse. Sorry to wake you up, Steve."
Steve pulled her closer, rubbing her back soothingly. Natasha did not waste her time to find his lips, a consolation, an award. Award for herself for being alive, making the right choices. It was a rare chance; where he was the most rational choice she made, not made to follow order. It came from within, pure want of a heart seeking a place to anchor. Like a soul calling and reaching for another soul, she found out in an instant that he was the answer all along.
His hands started to wander, between the kisses, he said, "Make love to me."
And that was the ring of something that was so long in their minds, but lost its way. She pulled away. "You sure?"
"When will be the more right time?" he whispered to her lips. This thought, lips on lips when hips met hips, had crossed his mind and hers several times, only there had been no exact time and place and occasion to make it on the surface. They were fugitives. Wanderers. Wonderers. Looking for the right shore, searching for the lighthouse. Their days were limited to what to eat, where to stop, and when to take a breath after a long flight. Sometimes, the unresolved tension was in the air, but they quickly put it aside, for time was still not right. Time. All they needed, all the requirement.
"This is a one-way journey. We both were failed in such thing, and yet we are still trying. Fate, though, because at one time I thought all I need was to give up. I don't want to fall in love again if one day you regret this."
"Is love that hard for you?" Steve sought for the answer in her eyes, but in the end he couldn't help but stare at her lips, inviting lips, still wet from his saliva and he still could see the words he made when he was kissing her a moment ago, imprinted deep there, I need you, I need—I. Need.
"I abandoned it years ago. Love is for children, I was sure."
"There's a child in you."
"And in you," she echoed his words, fingers tracing his cheek then down to his strong jawline. "Say it, stay with me and in me, always, will you? This is desperation, Steve, I know, because I believe in you, after all this time, after all the falling downs, after all the walls crumbling down."
"And I am more than that in you." He shifted closer, now his hips meeting hers. "I have lost so many things in my life. I would like to keep some until my last breath."
She took a deep breath right before slamming her lips on his again. This was desperation culminated in one languid kiss, like they had all the time in the world. Like they owned every bit of second, when love was filling their hungry soul.
He filled her in, removing all the nightmares, ameliorating. She took every fear away from him, her walls ensuring him, we are each other's, we are each other's, we will go down together if things get worse.
The second time they woke up, 7 in the morning. They emerged from the room to find Sam, just finished a cup of sugarless black coffee.
"Finally you two resolve the tension?" he teased her with a crisp laugh when Steve was making her light coffee, his tea. "About time."
"That obvious, huh? The tension?"
"Even a kid could name it."
"Well." Her lips formed a small, genuine smile, her eyes never leaving his back. "Love is not something you need to hide, though."
end.