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It’s cold on Vormir, and the sky is bleak with colours of dust and decay, and Schmidt's face is still set in that hideous scowl and -
(“there's worse ways to go,
where else am i gonna get a view like this?”)
Steve’s feet curl over the edge of the cliff. He tries, tries to imagine the aching fear in Natasha’s heart the last moments before her death. Tries to imagine the fall.
Steve imagines she felt free.
(i’ll see you -)
“You can’t bring her back.” The Red Skull sounds unamused. “There have been others before you. One who obtains the power of the stone often attempts to reverse their actions because of their guilt. But the exchange is everlasting.”
A dry laugh escapes Steve’s throat, or maybe it was a sob. A lie would be saying he didn’t hold out a bit of hope. Another lie would be saying he didn’t already know the truth.
“I’m here for her body,” he says hoarsely, setting the soul stone on the ground.
Schmidt’s face tightens into something unreadable. “Very well,” he says and flicks his finger.
Natasha’s body, lifted up from the depth of the cavern and settled into Steve’s arms, is as fragile as it is pale. Funny, Steve thinks, of how he has never associated her with either, of how she was so vibrant and full of life just a couple days ago.
(i’ll see you in a -)
There’s dried blood on her head, blending into the red of her hair and dying the blonde tips. Her eyes, clear and gemlike, are wide open; alert, almost in a determined glare like she’s ready for the next task, the next mission, the -
Steve, ever so gently, closes them.
“Rest now,” he says to her quietly, tucking away a piece of her hair and wiping his tears from her cheeks. “You’re free. You can rest.”
He clears his throat and stands, cradling her body close. He walks, walks away from all the death and sorrow, from the blood and dust and the Red Skull’s cold, dark eyes. Away from that damned hilltop.
Steve, captain, soldier, friend, finds a spot where the grass stands tall and buries Natasha deep under Vormir, where no one can touch her. He had considered finding a way back to Earth, giving her a proper burial somewhere closer to home.
But Natasha was never tied down to anywhere, always slipping in and out of the shadows, pulling on new identities and leaving without a trace. Natasha, spy, friend, family, was at home wherever the Avengers were, and the Avengers are
gone.
Steve finds a slab of rock for the tombstone and a sharp stick for carving. He wants to make this meaningful, make this something that would make Natasha smile and make the next passerby seeking for power think twice before acting.
Somewhere on Vormir, far, faraway from the tall, doomed mountains, there is a patch of dirt surrounded by blades of grass, with a gravestone that reads:
Natasha Romanoff
family to the Avengers
savior to all
Steve can almost hear her voice, so distinctly with her teasing smile and sparkling eyes saying you going soft on me, Rogers?
“Yeah,” Steve chuckles, tasting the bitterness in his tears, “I guess I am.”
(i’ll see you in a minute.)