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No. No no no no no.
No. Not her. Not—
Nat. It’s been a month now and somehow he’s already started to only remember her in fragments. It’s scary how fast the memory goes, terrifying, really, and he tries so hard to hold onto them when they’re slipping like sand from his fingertips.
But she’s still everywhere: in the car, singing along to that Queen song she always loved; in the bathroom, drying her hair with a towel while catching his eye through the mirror; in the kitchen, making peanut butter sandwiches and cutting the crust off of his; hell, even in his bedroom, lying on the bed with a book in her hands because “his room had the best light in the building.” And now the color red reminds him of the hair he never got to run his fingers through and the lips he never touched with his own. And green suddenly isn’t as beautiful of a color as he used to think it was because it just reminds him of the laughter in her eyes. And it hurts. Everything hurts.
They never recovered her body, but he knew this was where she would have wanted to be. Not next to her parents in front of a chain link fence in Russia, but here, home, where she had found her true family. The gravestone was nothing big, just a foot tall marble slab with her name on it, but it was surrounded by wildflowers that seemed to thrive effortlessly. Clint was the one who set it all up after they rebuilt the Avengers facility. Of course, Pepper offered a memorial statue, but they all knew Nat would have preferred something simpler.
Steve laid the bouquet of fresh roses down in front of the memorial, pressing a hand to where her name was engraved in the cold marble, and suddenly everything he had been feeling seemed to pour out of him in sobs.
That’s how it was now, the grief, the pain. It came in waves. Sometimes it would come crashing in full force, relentless, tormenting, and he’d feel like he’d lost her all over again. Sometimes it would be a lingering sadness inside of him, barely there, but there enough for him to find himself incapable of enjoying the simple things he used to.
And sometimes, god, sometimes, he catches himself wishing he could join her there.
A familiar voice brought him back from the darkness of his thoughts.
“On your left.”
Steve turned to see Sam, standing beside him in the Falcon’s armor, head lowered as he took off his sunglasses, revealing reddened eyes. It was nice having Sam back, but the news of Natasha’s death hit him hard. The three had spent over two years together since the fall of SHIELD, and now with Nat gone, there was an emptiness, a void that both could feel, but neither wanted to acknowledge.
“I still hear her sometimes. Is that weird?” Sam laughed softly. “Man, it’s like a car can go by and I’ll hear her laugh in it or something, and then all of a sudden I’m crying on the street, you know? I feel like I’m going crazy sometimes, but maybe I am.”
“You’re not crazy, Sam,” Steve gave him a reassuring glance, “And you’re not alone, either.” He stood up as he wiped at the tears with the back of his hand. Tears don’t bring people back. That’s what she had said after Fury’s funeral service all those years ago. They’d helped each other through their most vulnerable moments since then, he just never thought he would ever have to pull through something like this one.
“She loved you, Steve. She really did. I mean, she was probably the most complicated person I’ve ever met in my life, but if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that she loved you. There’s nothing simpler than that.”
I loved her too. But he couldn’t bring himself to say it. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything at all.
They stood in a silence that somehow seemed...right, a silence that said more than either of them could.
“Do you think she knew then, what was gonna happen?” Sam asked softly.
“It’s Nat, she always knew.” She knew the second she left for Vormir. And he let her go. “It should’ve been me.”
“Steve, she—”
“It should’ve been me,” he says again, and this time the suredness in his voice almost makes Sam flinch. “I should’ve gone with her. I should’ve—I should’ve been there. She died for us, all of us. She told me we were the only family she ever had, and I let it—I let it fall apart. She died alone. And I never even got to say goodbye.”
Sam put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “She knew, Steve. It’s Nat, she always knew.” It hurt to see him like this, so lost, after everything they’d been through. But he let him have his grief; sometimes it was the only thing left to remind him that Captain America was human.
“Look, I know now’s not the best time, but they want our statements in DC. Bucky and I are gonna go help them clear things up. You can come with us if you want, we could always use your help.”
“I’m sorry, Sam. I don’t think I can.” There’s a pained smile on his face and Sam knows, but he asks anyway.
“Where’ll you be going then?”
Steve looked down at the marble stone as if all the answers laid with her. “Home.”
“Well, you call us when you need us.”
“When? Is that how it is?”
“Oh, that’s how it is.” Sam pulled Steve into a warm embrace. “You take care, Cap.”
“You too, Sam.”
Sam pressed a hand to the Natasha’s gravestone, and Steve could’ve sworn he heard him say “miss you every day, Nat” under his breath. With that, Sam opened the wings of his suit and took off as Steve watched his figure disappear into the clouds.
Part of Steve wanted to go with him, because maybe, just maybe, things could go back to the way they were. But his days as that soldier were over.
Maybe we should both get a life.
You first.
He knelt down in front of the headstone one more time. This time, he would tell her everything. Everything.
“I loved you, too. But you don’t have to worry about me anymore, Nat. I’m home now. I’m home.”