Loki was a thousand miles from Black Widow, yet so close.

They were so similar it hurt, and both of them knew it.

They knew this thinking was forbidden and would end badly.

But still they did not stop.

Black Widow admired him the first time she saw him.

Though she'd at first helped destroy him, they left each other with only scratches, while the others received fatal wounds.

They thought she felt for Bruce.

Loki knew they were wrong.

She'd been the one that wanted to free him when the Avengers caught him.

And yet they denied her of this though they didn't know.

She'd watched him, unable to speak a word through the binds around his mouth.

He'd forgave her, had never been angry in the first place.

She tried not to cry at his helpless gaze.

But he knew it ripped her apart on the inside.

And Loki was right: It felt like a burning, freezing, claw slashing her apart, brute strength knocking the breath out of her.

One day, he'd found her, choking on her own blood.

He'd helped her, and Black Widow kissed him.

That was the first time they'd kissed.

Nobody had found out yet, but one day that changed.

Black Widow fell to the floor.

Something had hit her bad.

Instantly Loki killed it and held her slashed-up form in his arms.

Bruce walked in as Black Widow rested her head against Loki's chest and wrapped an arm around him.

He turned into the Hulk, mad with rage and fury.

Loki subdued his attacks enough to not kill him, and Bruce never spoke of it.

One day Scarlett Witch read Bruce's mind, and she told Captain America.

He allowed them their space, calling her in only when they needed the Black Widow.

But this wasn't approved, and nobody favored them anymore.

In that way, they were away from each other.

And yet in that way, they were so close.

The End.