Chapter 30 : The Divider

                                    

                                          
A few hours pass into the flight. The live tracker is up on your screen, predicted to be on time in late afternoon. You'd barely made use of any of the exclusive amenities of flying in luxury. 
The divider between yourself and Natasha stayed stowed away for the entirety of the flight. 
She was leant forward from her side, practically draped over the ledge. You sat relaxed in your seat, your arm resting against the same ledge. Always a little skin to skin. 
You caught up on so much missed time, neither of you daring to interrupt whilst the other spoke in fear of retraction. It made you sick to find out that she was married to Steve, and you had a truly difficult time hiding it. Especially when she'd admitted that when you called on your birthday, she was with him and he'd forced her to pick it up. You're unsure if you find that fact worse than the prospect of her ignoring it out of choice. However, through all this, you were just thankful she hadn't breached the subject of your relationship status. 
"Are you seeing anyone, then? If you don't mind me asking, obviously."
Clearly you'd thanked your lucky starts too soon. 
This topic discomforted you without good reason. You were proud to be with Wanda, though some undiscovered part of you felt iniquitous. 
Natasha had picked up on your squirming and was revelling in it. 
"You can tell me, I won't be jealous." She jested. 
Why not?  
You quickly pushed the notion to the back of your mind. 
"I'm actually seeing Wanda, if you remember her."
Natasha's face is flat as ever. She shuffles in her seat a little. 
"Of course I do. How long?"
"Pretty much since right after you left." 
There was stagnant tension hanging between you. There were only so many niceties to be discussed. 
"I never wanted to leave." She confessed.
"You never had to." 
Her expression remained obscure. 
"I wouldn't expect you to understand." 
Ageing has made her rude. 
"You're right, I don't." 
You've become very short with one another, though it seems for differing reasons. 
You continue on in order to fill the space she's leaving. 
"You could've called me, at least." 
As she goes to speak, you interrupt her. 
"In fact, this is in the past and I don't want to re-hash old wounds. Forget it." 
She seems pained by your bluntness, though you find it difficult to sympathise.
"I will always have a space in my heart for you, and if you ever decide you want it, it will always be there." 
The skin of your forearm was pressed against hers and only now did you notice her drawing shapes on your wrist with her middle finger. You didn't know if she truly meant what she said, though you chose to believe it. 
"You know I'd always want to take that space." 
Natasha inched forward only a little, it would've gone unnoticed if you weren't already touching. Just as you shuffled to meet her, the seatbelt light sounded as it was illuminated above your head. 
You were shaken from the moment, as was she, since you both sprung backwards to fasten in. The cabin crew were now doing their rounds and you realised they were getting ready to land. 
An attendant appeared round Natasha's side, requesting that she close the divider. She spoke quietly to her, then the woman disappeared after a nod and smile. 
Before you could question her, Natasha had reached round and taken your hand in hers. 
She didn't offer you an explanation, nor did you dare press for one. It felt natural to be there. It felt like coming home.
Once you'd departed the plane, you were standing awkwardly by Natasha's side waiting for the driver. She'd yet to say anything to you, so you assumed the consensus of reverting back to acquaintance-friend-colleagues was under way. 
When the driver finally arrived, Natasha left her luggage and opened the passenger door. She was holding it aside, expecting you to slip in before her. Instead, to her surprise, you were at the boot of the car accompanying the driver as you both loaded up the luggage. 
Once you'd slipped in through her open door, you noticed her grinning to herself. Then, she'd noticed you. 
"You're much more chivalrous than I remember." 
She's resting her hands on her thighs and you're inspecting her. This is the closest you'd been in good lighting for a long time.
"That's because I'm not a teenager anymore." 
Your words sting as they hit her. Immediately, you feel guilty for being so crude and harsh. 
"Anyways," you continue in poor taste "not that you were ever the most gallant partner I've had." 
She gifts you a laugh, probably out of relief that you're no longer stale. 
"I apologise if our relationship wasn't all fancy dinners and roses," she responds in sickly sweet sarcasm "but I thought the sex made up for it."