The mission had ended with a bang and Natasha Romanoff welcomed it with her back against the afire HYDRA facility. As usual, she’d taken a jeep to accompany her throughout the sullen night, the low rumbling of the alive engine whispering in her ears as a comrade would have, and the wind lapping through the movement a cold embrace. It was almost as if she wasn’t alone, almost as if she couldn’t feel the weight of the loneness on her chest.
It was ridiculous, really, for her to suddenly feel the heaviness of solitude, the sadness in the tunes of silence, and the emptiness of hearing only the voices in her head. She’d never felt its clutch on her before, never felt the pang that came alongside it. Usually, she didn’t mind. Usually, she preferred it over everything. But nowadays, it felt like she couldn’t stand it, like it was too much of a baggage that was bedridden on her shoulders. She’d never admit to it, of course, but the solitude was beginning to gnaw at her, it was beginning to become an ache she couldn’t soothe. Of course, she could always ask Coulson to partner her up with someone, but she’d never allow her the privilege as she knew she’d still feel the solitude. It was funny to deflect company yet, crave it; funny how even if she was around Clint she never felt whole. It was funny to suddenly feel the hollowness inside of her as if it was something new, a guest making itself home in her system. She’d felt emptiness before, but she couldn’t understand why she was suddenly aching for a cure, why she was even thinking of the fact that there was a hole inside of her. There were many questions about her countenance with this new albeit familiar feeling, questions she couldn’t answer on her own, or better said, not wanting to do so as she was terrified. But of what? She knew of what, but acknowledging it could only mean that it’s a fact and not only some nightmare conjured by her very active imagination. She wanted to lull inside what she believed, wanted to stay in the illusion, wanting to continue to ward of the truth, wanted to keep on turning a blind eye. She wasn’t ready to admit it, wasn’t ready to commit to another multitude of sadness, another wave of grievance that she knew that would gravely compromise her. Though she knew there was no good coming out from oblivion, she still chose to continue on the path with her eyes closed, handkerchief bound around her head to avoid her from seeing what was really in front of her.
She was lying to herself and she knew that too well, but she didn’t mind as she always did. In fact, with all the self-deception, she failed to see who she really was. It wasn’t that much of a big deal. It was routine; so why did she suddenly felt that it was time to unwrap the binds? Why was there suddenly a feeling that she should cease all of this nonsense? Why was a part of her willing herself to face the music and deal with it? She had no idea, or maybe she did, she just didn’t want to hear it.
When she neared the fork on the road or the point of extraction, she ceased the engine, turning its low rumbles into silence. Nothing new. She’d managed to swing her leg by the side, dangling them out in the open for a stretch as she simultaneously checked for the pistol resting on her waistband just in case. A sigh was let out as she lowered herself onto the console, using it as a pillow, then diverting her olive hues towards the expanse of the sky. It was stark, blanketed by subtle winks of stars; nonetheless, they were still diamonds on the sky and they still managed to remind her of Steve. A lump had formed on her throat as she tried to look away, as she tried to not let the truth impact her just as hard as she feared, but it was of no use. Her eyes, disobedient, had stayed where they were planted, gazing onto what lay above them. She’d found it hard to will them away just like how hard it was to drop Steve’s sapphirine gaze.
Another lump had knotted itself with the other, forming a unison that choked her. Natasha Romanoff didn’t cry, or maybe that was Natalia, but suddenly she didn’t know anymore and had refused to care which backbone belonged to whom as she let copious tears flock her face and dress her slim cheeks with sadness. It was a silent grievance, one that was two parts prayer and one part wishful thinking. She was praying hard for him to come back, praying hard that she hadn’t known, and wishing too damn hard for him to be just hiding from the government.
She scolded herself for being too weak, scolded herself for letting him compromise her, but most of all, she scolded herself because she wasn’t able to keep her promise. She wasn’t able to keep him alive and for the past six months she’d been blaming herself for choosing the wrong side, for betraying him because she had to wipe out her bloodied ledger.
But this was his fault as he was as stubborn just as she was. It was his fault because he didn’t listen to her. It was all of his fault because he had to be that hero he always was; keeping his promise despite the risks. I’ll be with you till the end of the line – absolute bullshit. She resented him for countering Stark’s bullheadedness with a greater one. She resented him for thinking that everything was so goddamned black and white. She resented him for leaving a thousand trails of complications. She resented him for participating in the war instead of yelling a cease fire. She resented him for making her be this way. She resented him for making her fall in love with him. But most of all, she resented herself for finally admitting it to herself now that he was gone with the wind. So much for timing.
A frown marred her features as she erased the tears she’d shed, pulling herself together, then wrapping them all up as they were blown in proportions. One of her many talents, she supposed and she had to thank the Red Room for that. But even so as she glanced back at the sky’s thousand eyes, she knew she wouldn’t be able to stow away the memories they’d shared with each other. All of them were innocent, lacking any dirt, lacking anything that could imply that there had been something going on between them. The Red Room may have taught her more than a few things, but it had never taught her how to forget the moment she’d realized that fuck, she was fucking in love.
And as she blinked back at those stars, she could see him and hoped that he was beside her just as he was in the last mission they’d shared as partners, as friends, as maybe something else. As she blinked back one last time, she hoped that when she looked past her shoulder, she’d see him smiling at her in wonder and she’d realize again that God, she was in love with this man.
Wherever he may be, she hoped he was enjoying the stars just as she was.