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The doctors said it wasn’t healthy. His therapist agreed. The few friends that visited thought he should be at least beginning to move on. Even his kids worried, but they at least were kind about expressing their wonder if his actions were dangerous.
Only his wife agreed. She let him deal with his grief as he needed to, however he had to.
So once a month or so, he’d climb to the top of their house, out of sight of the kids. From the roof, he’d silently grieve the best friend he’d lost, the one who’s sacrifice gave him his wife and children back. He’d stare off into the darkening distance and remember those last moments on Vormir, staring down helplessly as she fell to her death, to help save everyone.
Every emotion would pour out of him during those few hours each month. Loss and regret, pain and mourning. He’d hold one of his old radio earpieces, trying to hear her voice one last time, knowing that no one was on the other side.
It went like this for months. Long enough for the seasons to change, for him to find a new protegee in Kate, for him to finally find a bit of forgiveness and peace in the form of Yelena. Long enough to finally start to heal.
But he wouldn’t stop honoring Nat. He couldn’t. She was his partner, after all.