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{Chapter: 104 - After the Storm II}
Aiden looked at her then—not just at the figure in his shirt, not just at the femme fatale with trained reflexes and daggered words—but at the woman beneath the history. "Then I won't ask you to pretend. I'll just ask you not to run from it."
A long silence stretched between them, thick and meaningful.
He stepped forward and brushed a strand of her red hair behind her ear. Natasha's breath caught, but she didn't pull away.
Aiden reached down and gently took her hand, his fingers folding around hers as though she might disappear. "Today, your mission is to rest. Physically. Mentally. Let me carry the burden for a few hours."
She stared at him, brow twitching as if a war was raging just behind her calm exterior. "I hate being benched."
He smirked. "Then consider it strategic repositioning."
That drew a faint laugh from her—a dry, humorless sound, but a laugh nonetheless. "God, you're insufferable."
"I've heard that before. Usually right before someone kisses me."
She rolled her eyes. "Don't get used to it."
"What are you thinking about?" he asked, watching her expression shift again.
Natasha shrugged lightly, though her voice had softened. "Just… I'm not used to being looked after. Not without a price. It's strange. Not bad—just… different."
"You better get used to it," he said, stepping behind her and lowering his voice to a whisper, lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Because I plan to make it a habit."
Her shoulders twitched slightly under his breath, but she didn't pull away. If anything, she leaned into it. "That sounds dangerously close to a promise."
"I'm good at keeping those," he murmured.
She turned, just enough to meet his gaze over her shoulder, the morning sun painting her red hair with glints of flame. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but… you actually meant what you said last night, didn't you?"
He nodded, his voice low and certain. "Every word. You're mine now, Natasha. And I don't share what's mine."
The statement lingered in the air like smoke, daring her to challenge it. But instead of scoffing, her lips curled ever so slightly.
"I didn't think my joke last night would actually come true," she said, her fingers brushing lightly down his chest. "But here we are. I guess I do have a knack for predicting the future too."
He chuckled. "Should I start calling you Madame Natasha, the all-knowing oracle?"
She smirked. "Don't push it."
They stood quietly for a moment, the tension between them no longer sharp but settling into something denser—weighted, but bearable.
Then Natasha's eyes sparked with a familiar gleam, the mischievous glint he'd come to know all too well. "Speaking of sharing…"
Aiden blinked. "Uh-oh."
She stepped back just enough to cross her arms. "What about Daisy?"
Aiden raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"
"Well, I figured I should strike while the iron's hot—while I'm still tangled in your sheets and before reality sinks in."
He laughed, but it was cautious. "You really want to bring that up now?"
"I'm nothing if not thorough," she said smoothly. "Besides, I'm Russian. I don't believe in ignoring the elephant in the room. I shoot it in the head and drag it into the light."
"You're dangerous when you're like this."
"I aim to impress." She leaned in, voice low, lips nearly brushing his. "So? What's the story, lover boy?"
"You didn't think I forgot about her, did you?" she asked, her tone light but her eyes sharp. "Are you planning to juggle both of us like some charming little circus act?"
Aiden sighed but met her gaze unflinchingly. "What do you think?"
She studied him for a long beat, then smirked again. "I think you're walking a tightrope, and I'm watching to see if you fall."
He chuckled. "You going to catch me?"
Her voice dropped to a near-whisper. "That depends. Do you deserve to be caught?"
Aiden smirked, holding her gaze without flinching. "What do you think?"
Natasha narrowed her eyes, her arms folding tightly under her chest. The flicker of a smirk ghosted over her lips, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I think you're dangerously close to getting slapped."
"I like danger," Aiden replied smoothly, though there was the briefest flicker of caution behind his words. "Besides…" He exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair, clearly bracing for impact. "Daisy is my girlfriend. I care about her. A lot. But now you're in the picture too. And I care about you just as much. Giving up either of you? That's not something I'm prepared to do."
Natasha scoffed, more in disbelief than anger. "How utterly generous of you," she said with a sardonic smile. "So noble. So gallant. Offering your affections like party favors at a royal banquet."
"I'm being honest," he countered, flashing that same maddening grin. "I'm loyal. I just happen to be loyal to more than one woman."
"That's not loyalty," she replied, cool and sharp. "That's indulgence dressed up in poetic bullshit."
"Says who?" he challenged, brow rising. "Monogamy is a modern invention. In ancient times, kings and emperors had wives, concubines, mistresses—they called it tradition."
Emperor? king?
Is this your goal?
She folded her arms. "Ah, tradition," she echoed bitterly, her voice laced with venom. "The sacred excuse men cling to when they can't make up their minds. That, and hormones."
"Well," he said with a shrug, "excuse me for having royal standards. You're both amazing. Beautiful. Powerful. Brilliant in your own terrifying way. Why should I pretend I only want one of you when it's not true?"
"Because it's the right thing to do," she snapped, her tone like a crack of a whip. "Because women aren't trophies. They're not prizes you get to collect like a megalomaniac with a harem complex."
He paused, staring at her. Then, almost too softly, he said, "I don't see you as a trophy."
"No?" she asked, voice low and dangerous. "Then what do you see me as?"
His eyes didn't waver. "As someone I can't afford to lose. And someone I sure as hell won't let walk away just because the world likes to slap labels on what's 'decent' and 'acceptable.' I'm not here to make everyone comfortable. I follow my instincts. Call it primal, selfish, even archaic—but it's mine."
She studied him in silence, the storm in her eyes swirling with thought. She had heard every excuse, every rationale. In her lifetime—stretching far longer than her youthful appearance would ever betray—she had learned to recognize lies, especially the ones people told themselves.
Aiden wasn't lying. That was the worst part.
Natasha Romanoff had outlived regimes. Outlived generations of lovers, allies, and enemies. The world had spun through wars, revolutions, and empires crumbling to dust under her watchful gaze. And in all that time—eight, maybe nine decades of life—she had mastered the art of silencing emotion, of locking it away behind steel doors. Vulnerability was dangerous. Trust, even more so. She had long since filed away dreams of fairy tales and white picket fences in the "never gonna happen" drawer.
But Aiden… he was complicated. Irritating. Reckless. And brutally honest in ways that made her want to strangle him and kiss him in the same breath.
She gave a soft, incredulous laugh, shaking her head.
"So, what now?" she asked, voice a little quieter. "You're going to crown yourself emperor of hearts and expect us to kneel?"
Aiden's lips curled. "Would you call me 'Your Majesty' if I asked nicely?"
"Only if I can watch your coronation with popcorn and a sniper scope."
"Harsh."
"Realistic."
He stepped forward, closing the space between them. His voice lowered, losing some of its playful edge. "Let me be even more clear, then. You think I'd let anyone else touch you? Look at you the way I do? If some other man even tried, I'd bury him. No warning. No games."
She met his gaze, unflinching. "You do realize how insane that sounds, right?"
"Maybe," he admitted. "But I've seen what I want. And I don't share what's mine."
There was no menace in his tone—just certainty. A dangerous, absolute certainty. And for all her sarcasm and cynicism, Natasha recognized that certainty for what it was: real.
"Fine," she said, letting out a long breath. "You win. Not because I'm surrendering, but because... I don't feel like pretending this doesn't mean something. I'm not running to anyone else. Not now. You're enough."
"For now?" he teased.
"Don't push it."
He chuckled, eyes twinkling. "Deal."
She tilted her head slightly, studying him again. "Alright, Emperor. Since we've sorted out your dynasty of affection, tell me what I actually missed while I was half-conscious."
He straightened, almost shifting into another version of himself—less the teasing rogue, more the tactician. "The staff. It's not just a relic. It's a piece of something much bigger. The Berserker Staff. Asgardian origin. Old magic. Older than stories. It's designed to feed on negative emotion—rage, pain, grief. Amplify it. Twist it. Turn good people into monsters if they hold onto it too long."
She frowned. "Sounds like something you should bury in a very deep hole."
"I would… if there weren't two more pieces out there. And if someone else finds them first, we'll have more than just mood swings to worry about."
"So you want to collect them," she said, eyes narrowing. "To keep them from falling into the wrong hands?"
"Yes. And maybe," he added, almost hesitantly, "maybe keep them close to mine. I can resist it. I've touched it. It didn't twist me."
"Yet," she replied sharply.
He nodded. "Yet. But I'm preparing for the worst. That's not heroism. It's survival."
Natasha exhaled through her nose, something unreadable dancing behind her eyes. "You're a mystery, Aiden. A threat. A conundrum wrapped in cheap cologne and way too much confidence."
"And yet," he murmured, brushing a knuckle down her jawline, "you still stayed the night."
She gave a quiet laugh—low, unexpected, and entirely sincere. "You're lucky I did."
"I know."
She leaned back slightly, folding her arms again. "Alright. Since I'm clearly the queen in this delusional empire you're building, I'll play along."
He smiled. "My Queen."
"Good. Then you can start your royal duties by making me breakfast."
He grinned. "As you command."
*****
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