Sharon’s hand closed around a pale red apple, twisting it gently and feeling it pop loose from its stem effortlessly. Firm and coral-colored, she let it fall gently with the other apples into the wicker basket dangling from her arm.
A gust of wind breezed through the trees, rustling leaves in the branches and on the ground. The fallen dead leaves danced a path for Sharon as she pushed her hair behind her ears for the twentieth time. Apple trees hugged an old family cottage no one but her could enjoy in these times. Her parents had dusted away like the leaves did now, five years ago.
Time was healing. Memories of her parents brought a smile soft like the wind, rather than panicked gasps and hours of sobbing with no tears.
No one lived in the surrounding cabins. They were just monuments for something lost, rusted roofs and peeling paint, vines clawing their way into abandoned bedrooms.
The village nearby hustled as it could. Sharon brought in just enough by selling fruits and vegetables at the tiny market, but most times water had to be distilled from the river running past her home, and light came from candles rather than electricity. She used to make more, selling funeral flowers, but mourners today were looked on with pity rather than sympathy, by the many who had moved on. It had indeed taken years to get used to this life, especially considering what Sharon used to do. She knew there were still guns in the walls, knives under pillows, but they weren’t hers, and that slowly she adjusted to looking ahead, instead of over her shoulder.
Looking ahead proved very pretty. Pinks and purples blossomed wildly among green bushes and moss, while a dirt path imprinted endlessly with Sharon’s footsteps led to a wooden door, and a dark brown, wooded cottage, white rimmed windows, pastel curtains hiding the inside. The river swam like silk to her left, and she could hear birds chirping in a nest she secured on one of the oak trees to her right.
The door creaked open. The ceiling lamp in the hallway was lit, spreading golden light throughout the foyer and into the living room. Sharon shrugged off her rain jacket and stepped out of her ankle boots, aligning them perfectly next to the other shoes.
The living room ahead was packed snugly with a fluffy brown couch, chipped wooden shelves weighed down by books of every genre, a TV turned permanently off, old, golden framed paintings of fantastical nature, mementos hanging on walls or resting by the fireplace that took up most of one wall.
An uneven staircase ascended ahead of her, splitting the living room and kitchen in half. Sharon brushed the blonde strands behind her ear again, and sauntered towards the kitchen on her right. Cramped and cozy was what she was used to, plus it was almost acrobatic to cook when everything was in arms or legs reach.
Her stomach was begging for apple pie. Sharon placed the wicker basket on the counter, checking for sugar, butter, eggs and flour. She’d have to use the electricity allotted for this home for the week, but hopefully, Sharon thought, hopefully it might cheer her up.
Her.
Sharon hadn’t looked into the living room, but she knew she was there, waiting. Sharon wondered if the guns had been taken out of the cupboards, and if the knives no longer slept in their bed.
Apple pie, Sharon thought to herself cheerfully. Maybe a little more sugar this time.
Afternoon was bleeding into evening, blue melting into gold, clouds darkening. Sharon stared at the looming clouds rolling in. She’d have to start now, or storms would cut her power.
She pulled out bowls, cups, whisks, and every ingredient she needed. She tied a homemade apron, with flowers and suns and strawberries sewn on. Then she breathed out.
Sharon could hear her breathing too. So she left the kitchen to face the storm.
Natasha was curled up on the couch, sinking into the cushions. Her hair, red streaks growing out, was stuffed into a bun and buried in her hoodie, some old thing Sharon had found, with the logo of an American university and mascot. Natasha’s hands were shoved into the front pockets, legs up on the couch. She didn’t jump when Sharon walked in, she just looked up, emotionless.
Or at least Natasha thought she looked emotionless. Sharon tried her best to help, but the dark circles stayed, the bones still showed. When Natasha smiled, or on a blue moon laughed, it made Sharon’s week, filling her heart with more light than the candles and lamps ever gave the room. Sometimes Natasha would let slip a sarcastic reply, and Sharon would think she was choosing forward. Then she’d go to bed gripping a knife and wake up crying, and Sharon could feel it all reset.
Oh, Sharon knew it was up to Natasha to move forward. She knew she could only do so much, she knew she can’t save everyone. But she tried regardless. What else was there to do anymore, anyway?
“I’m making apple pie,” Sharon said, her hands twiddling with the fabric of her apron.
“Good harvest?”
Sharon nodded. “Last one of the year, I think. October rains are coming.”
The storm was here, she could feel the thick clouds between her and Natasha.
“Sharon…”
“Not tonight, please,” Sharon whispered. The rain was here too. She could feel it on her cheeks.
Natasha stayed impassive. “They need me.”
“I need you,” Sharon said in a fierce whisper. “You don’t have to leave me, you really don’t.”
“You’re a survivor, Sharon,” Natasha said, unfurling from her position on the couch. Sharon could see the holsters on her thighs, and her hair braided instead, falling out of the hoodie. “You’ve done it before and you’ll do it again.”
“I don’t want to talk about this again,” Sharon begged. “I really can’t.”
“I’m leaving tonight.”
Raindrops pattered gently on the window panes. Light enough to keep cooking, but bearing warning of something to come.
“They’re waiting for me at base, Rogers and Stark, Clint--”
“And then?”
Natasha blinked.
Sharon pursed her lips. “What’s the plan? I’m guessing you have one.”
Natasha lifted her chin. “They have hope. I have hope. For now, that’s enough.”
Sharon shook her head, shaking away the tears. “You’re lying. You know I know you better than that. Because you know I used to have hope. Then you told me there isn’t a thing more dangerous.”
“Sharon, it’s a chance.”
“A chance?” Sharon didn’t know if she laughed or cried the words out. “You’re willing to let this all go for a chance?”
She didn’t know if she wanted an answer, maybe because she knew Natasha well enough to know it anyway. And Natasha’s hard look was the answer, enough to strike lightning into Sharon’s heart. But she answered.
“I am.”
It was like those two words pulled the wind out of Sharon’s lungs, rendering her whole body empty. She was frozen, but spinning. Natasha’s hand wrapped around her own, tying her to the ground, but it wasn’t enough and Sharon couldn’t meet her eyes.
“I know you understand,” Natasha said softly. Her other hand reached up, cupping Sharon’s cheek, her thumb stroking away tears. Sharon blinked rapidly, and met Natasha’s beautiful, elusive green eyes.
“Sharon I failed. I lost people. I lost my people’s people. I failed and you know me so well, you know I can’t end the story like that when I have a chance at writing a better ending.”
Sharon squeezed Natasha’s hand tight. The thought pained, but she knew it had to be spoken. “And if you fail again?”
Natasha smiled for the first time today, but it wasn’t a happy one. “You know I won’t let that happen. For the life of me, I won’t fail again.”
Sharon could still hear birds chirping outside, the last of the tweets before the inevitable nighttime storms.
“And what if you don’t come back?”
Natasha squeezed her hand back. “I told you I won’t fail--”
“That’s not what I mean.”
Natasha’s facade was breaking. It cracked where her lips trembled and how she started avoiding Sharon’s eyes.
Sharon let go of her hand, and stepped back. “If you win? You go back to the other normal, fighting aliens and robots with them, right? I found a new happy, Nat. Despite it all I found it again, and you’re a part of it. I’m selfish, I know, but I’m not ashamed knowing I need you because you’re just that important to me.”
“Don’t say that,” Natasha whispered.
“This is reality,” Sharon said. “Nothing about this world is happy. Maybe it never has been. And it took a lot of pain to accept that. But life isn’t happy, you find happy moments in it.”
“You’re not happy, Sharon, you’re in limbo,” Natasha said quietly.
“It doesn’t matter what I’m in. I’m picking apples we grow together and washing clothes we share in the river and sleeping beside you under quilts we made. That’s happy to me. I know you’ve lost people, I’ve lost my family. You know damn well we can only move on, and find happiness in different moments. Life and time is a painful relationship that we live everything in.”
“I can’t sleep!” Natasha exploded. Her sobbing scream was louder than any storm Sharon had experienced here. And her face was even more painful. Her eyes were sinking deeper, her lips were cracking, there was a brokenness in Natasha’s expression that Sharon never thought was possible. No anger, no intimidation. Just fear and misery.
“Trauma isn’t cured in a day,” Sharon said, not standing down. Natasha collapsed on the couch, her face falling into her hands, palms digging into her eyes.
“It’s not trauma!” Natasha cried. “It’s...it’s an unanswered question.”
Knowing what Natasha had lived though, it still amused and saddened Sharon sometimes how naive to herself Natasha could be. She stepped carefully towards her and sat down beside her, wrapping Natasha’s body around her arms and leaning into her.
“Nat…” Sharon said gently. “The world is filled with what ifs. Part of life is realizing you can’t go back, you can’t do things differently. There are two ways of being, going forward, or staying stuck.”
“What if there was a way back?”
Sharon didn’t answer.
“What if I could bring them back, I could save everyone?”
“You can’t save everyone.”
Natasha looked at her with a sad smile. “You’re right, you can’t.”
Sharon bit her lip, begging for something she’d never get. “Please. Please don’t leave me.”
“Stark thinks he found a way back--”
Sharon stood up, shaking her head. “Natasha you are not this naive.”
“You don’t think he’s clever enough to figure out time travel?” Natasha said with a smirk.
“I don’t doubt it,” Sharon said. “But I’m not stupid either. Even if you bring everyone back, real life doesn’t give everyone happy endings.”
“You said it yourself.” Natasha smiled. “You’ll have to just go forward, find new happiness.”
“Not without you,” Sharon whispered.
“You can’t lie to me, Sharon. You miss it too. You miss being an agent, you miss the action, the fighting, the saving. I can bring that back.”
“Of course I miss it! But what I have now, is enough to make me just miss it, not need it.”
And then Sharon’s heart broke, the realization crushing the pieces.
“I’m not enough.”
Natasha didn’t move a muscle.
“A sliver of hope is worth more to you than me.”
“Do not play that game with me Sharon.”
“I’ve been competing with the Avengers for five years, and I just realized I’ve been in second place for that long as well.”
“No--”
“It’s okay, Natasha,” Sharon said calmly, looking out the window. “I love you. And it hurts, that’s how I know I do. And I love you enough to let you go, if what you love is somewhere else.”
Natasha had to know the battle was over. Natasha couldn’t win anymore, but then again Sharon didn’t feel anyone could ever win. The Avengers were toxic for her, but she wondered if that truly was the only therapy that could help.
Only moments later, Natasha’s hand was on the front door handle. “I won’t leave this story unfinished, Sharon, I promise.”
Sharon met Natasha’s eyes one last time.
Natasha smiled again, softly and sadly. “I’ll come back.”
The door closing clapped like thunder.
The apples rotted away, the butter melted in the tray, the lamp flickered out with the storm. Sharon watched the leaves on the trees change color with autumn, turning a certain shade of red that she couldn’t keep her eyes from, no matter how much it hurt.
The red leaves fell. The wind tossed them off the branches and they danced to the ground, and the ice came soon after, freezing the red leaves into the dirt. The frost glazed over the red, and it became another painful memory. Their cottage began to mirror the houses around it. She moved on. The red stayed fallen.