Archive of Our Own

The snow crunched underfoot, even as the black boots sunk deep into the icy white crystals. It was early January and more than a foot of the stuff covered the ground, even in sheltered areas like this. The figure, bundled in a heavy coat against the Arctic chill, moved laboriously. It wasn’t just the volume of snow itself, but the way it transformed the place, hid familiar sights and reference points, leaving even those intimately acquainted with the spot lost in the vast, white wasteland.

The figure stopped, catching its breath after trudging this far and at the same time scanning the amorphous white for any signs of something familiar. Why did it have to be this place?! The figure shook its head at its own frustration; it knew why, and it was the one who had chosen to come today, in this season. After all, what would one expect from Ohio in January but snow? And this day, well, it couldn’t be moved.

“Why?” she found herself asking aloud, not that there was anyone here who could answer her. Not here, not anywhere…not ever. She knew the answer, of course, at least in the broad sense—‘For you. To save you.’ She would have done it, too, and that was the problem…with two people determined to do whatever it took to save the other, one of them was always going to end up alone. It was an immutable law of nature, just as two minus one could never equal anything but one.

It had been chaotic, and it wasn’t like either of them had superpowers that could have changed the outcome. Still, they fought, just as they always had…for each other, for justice, for the innocent and powerless. Because that’s what heroes did. That’s what Avengers did. All they had were the weapons in their hands, and then the weapons that were their hands—the frail and fragile things that were human bodies.

She shook her head, then wiped a tear from her cheek before it froze. Finally, she recognized a gnarled tree, bereft of leaves and buried at the base under the snow cover. She reoriented herself and trudged in the direction of her destination. Maybe she should have brought the cane after all.

In front of a pair of grey stones, rounded tops peeking out from the snow, she stopped. She reached out and steadied herself as her knees wobbled and threatened to give out. Then she took a deep breath and started to sing.

▶️

🎶 If I should stay 🎶

She had told her once that she had a voice like an angel, but she had brushed it off, assuming that was what anyone would say to someone they loved. They had laughed about it, but now…now she was the angel, and she was the one left behind, with her voice shaking, on the verge of tears, as she sang to her, so much like Dolly Parton did.

🎶 Bittersweet memories
That’s all I’m taking with me 🎶

The time they had spent together was far too short; they had deserved a lifetime together. She had deserved a lifetime, not a life cut short in its prime. A life of happiness. Of quiet. Of tenderness. And, most of all, of love.

She had tried to give that to her, every single day that they were together. Every single minute, every single second. And she had tried to give it to her, too. Because they were a team—not just friends, not just lovers, but partners, in every sense of the word.

🎶 I hope life treats you kind
And I hope that you have all
That you ever dreamed of
And I wish you joy and happiness
But above all of this, I wish you love

And I will always love you
I will always love you
I will always love you 🎶

As she sang that final chorus, she was joined by two howls, perfectly in sync, perfectly in tune, as though they had practiced this for days, rather than making a spontaneous decision to sing to her.

This time, her battered knees finally gave out, and she collapsed to the ground, sinking into the deep snowbank, sobbing.

Sobbing like she had that awful day.

“Go, Kate. Go!”

“Yelena, no! We can still…”

“We cannot. I know this, you know this. Only one of us is making it out of here today.”

“Yelena, no! Please…!” she pleaded, sobbing.

Yelena grasped her face in both hands and pulled it close, kissing her on the lips…one last time, just for a moment. She broke the kiss, then pressed their foreheads together, a count of three breaths, and then shoved the archer away, in the direction of safety.

“Go, moya lyubovʹ моя любовь (Translation: my love) . Kate Bishop, please…live for me.”

Kate wondered—then as now—did Yelena know what she was asking?! What that burden would be for her, to live without her…to have lost her Widow, just like Clint had lost his? Hawkeyes were not meant to live without their Black Widows…

She also contemplated whether in that moment Yelena had now understood the horrifying choice her sister had made?

Love made you do crazy things. Stupid things. Self-sacrificial things. Love, and guilt…and hope.

The raven-haired woman once had considered whether Yelena had felt that she would have been unable to live, having lost Natasha before and now Kate. That if the New Hawkeye had died on the fields of that gods-forsaken planet, her Black Widow would still have thrown herself into the breach without a chance of survival.

This way, one of them got to live…no, to survive. (This…this was not living. Not without her bow. Not without her Widow. Not without Yelena.) Maybe the other way, they would both be together now, in Valhalla or something of the sort.

Maybe Kate wouldn’t be here, half-buried in the snow of the Ohio winter, crying in front of another empty grave three days into the new year.

She felt warmth on her cheeks—both of them—and realized that Lucky and Fanny were there, on either side of her, licking away her tears and trying to counteract the chill.

She struggled back to her feet, and once she was reasonably certain she wouldn’t tumble over again, wiped the snow off the top of Yelena’s headstone. Kate reached into one of her coat pockets and pulled out two shot glasses, placing them on the polished granite. Then she pulled out a small bottle of vodka, opened it, and shakily drained it into the glasses.

Exchanging the bottle for one of the glasses, Kate offered the traditional toast, her voice struggling not to break. “Vechnaya pamyatʹ Вечная память (Translation: eternal memory – a toast for the dead) .” She downed the shot of vodka before her fingers lost their grip on the glass.

Then, as tears overtook her once again, “And I will always love you….”