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“Tell my family I love them.”
“You tell them yourself.”
The duo scuffled and traded stunning shots from their signature weapons, each gaining and losing the advantage.
“Tell Yelena I’m sorry I never got to meet her.”
Natasha froze.
Before she could regain her focus, Clint whistled the set of notes Natasha had taught him, the recognition code she’d used since childhood with her sister. This time, however, it was more of a signal to find him in the afterlife, whenever she made it there.
While his best friend and partner remained stunned by his reminder that she still had something to live for, the great Hawkeye hurled himself off the edge of the cliff. The notes of the whistle wafted upwards for a moment before falling silent—forever.
Natasha finally unfroze and dashed for the edge. She looked over and screamed, a primal “Noooooo!” tearing through her throat before she collapsed to the ground, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her ledger was drenched in blood, but no death had ever punched her in the gut before. All she could think of was that it should have been her. She had tried to save Clint and failed. How was she going to explain that to Laura? To the kids? To Nate? Auntie Nat had failed to keep the archer safe. They would never understand why he had done it; they hadn’t witnessed The Ronin and his legacy of blood. All they would know was that she couldn’t stop him. She had failed.
And for what? Where was the damn Stone? She had failed to stop Clint from killing himself, and she didn’t even end up with the Soul Stone!
‘Tell Yelena I’m sorry I never got to meet her.’
His final words echoed in her head, reminding her they both had families, both had loved ones they had lost. They were doing all of this to bring them—everyone’s loved ones—back. They were Avengers—heroes, no matter what they once had done.
She knew how to come back from darkness; he didn’t. She could have taught him! But not in this knot—only one of them could make it off this terrible planet. Clint had deserved to live—but he didn’t know how to come back from darkness…and she couldn’t teach him if she didn’t live. Fucking Thanos had stuck them in a vise once more, in an impossible situation. And Clint had chosen for the both of them.
Clint who had saved her life more times than she could count. Clint who always had her back, her partner of nearly two decades. Clint who had given her a new life, who had taken a chance on her…Clint who had chosen to let her live when he was ordered to take her out…he had made that choice again, chosen to let her live.
Natasha heard the echo of the whistle she and Yelena had always used to find each other, to make sure the other was OK…Clint had wanted her to know he was OK. He had wanted her to make sure her sister was OK…that both of their families were OK—and she was the only one who could do that, as horrible as half of that burden would be. She would have to do whatever it took to bring everyone back, and then…and then she would have to make sure Laura and Cooper and Lila and Nate and Yelena were OK. She was a fighter; Dreykov had seen to that. Alexei had seen to that. Melina had seen to that. Clint had seen to that. Maybe only someone who had seen and experienced the cruelties of this world could put it back together again, to make it better this time. That, too, was her.
The sky lit up around her, flashing something eerie and apocalyptic, and then…
When Natasha lifted her head from the ground, she was in another place, somewhere damp but…hopeful? It almost looked like a sun was trying to rise over this godsforsaken planet, even as she lay in a pool of water, far too deep to have been her own tears. She had a bow and quiver slung over her shoulder…and the Soul Stone clenched in her hand like something more precious than life itself. And she had a mission to complete. She couldn’t stop, or the reality of what had happened—the loss she had suffered, on top of all the other losses power-hungry men had inflicted upon her over her entire life—would overwhelm her. She might be a Black Widow, a human weapon, but she was still very much human; witnessing the fall of politicians and regimes was nothing compared to this. No, this was losing a part of her, and…
No, the mission. Natasha’s training, still carved into her head with the psychological equivalent of a knife all those years ago, kicked in, and she shook her head. Focus. Wiping her arm across her eyes, she dried them. She stood and got her bearings. They would succeed. She would do this. For Clint Barton, their Hawkeye—and for everyone they loved.
She couldn’t contemplate the alternative…and there wasn’t enough vodka in the entire universe if they failed.