2017
The tree was smaller this year. Natasha had set it up herself, and it leaned slightly to one side. She didn’t care enough to fix it.
Val sat at the kitchen table, picking idly at the remains of a dinner that neither of them had eaten much of. Natasha stood by the window, watching the empty street below. Snow fell softly, the kind of snow that used to make everything feel quiet and peaceful. Now it just made everything seem empty.
When the knock finally came, neither of them moved right away.
Natasha glanced at Val. “That’ll be Steve.”
Val pushed his chair back with a sigh and went to open the door. Steve stood there, snow dusting his shoulders, holding a small bag. His face was lined with exhaustion, but his smile was soft, as if he wasn’t entirely sure how to act in the space between them.
“Hey,” he said. “Hope I’m not late.”
“Not much to miss,” Val muttered, but he stepped aside and let Steve in.
Steve’s eyes lingered on the dimly lit apartment, the small tree in the corner barely holding its shape, the scattered gifts wrapped half-heartedly. He let out a breath, but he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, he shook the snow off his coat and shrugged it off, stepping inside with a tentative ease.
“Seems quieter this year,” Steve commented as he made his way to the small kitchen table. “I brought a few things for you both.”
He handed Natasha a small, intricately knitted scarf. She took it with a quiet thanks, eyes already flicking back to the window. It wasn’t a spectacular gift, but it was something. For Val, Steve had a pocketknife, small and polished. Practical. He held it out to him, and Val hesitated for a second before taking it with a murmured, “Thanks.”
Steve lingered in the kitchen, fiddling with his coffee mug as the lights from the crooked tree blinked against the wall, flickering like they couldn’t decide if they should stay on. His voice filled the space between them, though there was no joy in it. He asked Val what he’d been up to, if Natasha had heard from anyone, but their answers were clipped, the words leaving their mouths as quickly as they came. There was no conversation to hold onto—just the quiet between each sentence, the awkwardness in the pauses.
Finally, after sitting there for a while, Steve set his mug down, his posture slumped as if he carried a weight that no one had seen. “I should head out,” he said, standing. His voice softened, and for a moment, he hesitated. “You know where I’ll be, right?”
Val’s gaze flickered toward Natasha before he gave a brief nod, not trusting his voice to hold any more than that. Natasha’s response was the same, just a quiet acknowledgment.
When Steve left, the apartment felt colder.
The door clicked shut behind him, and the sound of the winter wind outside settled into a heavy silence. Natasha sank into the couch, not bothering to change out of her worn jacket, and Val followed, curling up beside her. The weight of the night pressed in on them, suffocating in its quiet.
Val pulled his knees to his chest, resting his chin against them, the cold air from the open window brushing against his skin. Natasha sat next to him, close enough to let him know she was still there, her hand brushing his arm lightly.
“It’s just another day,” he muttered, his voice rough with something unspoken. His fingers toyed with the edge of his jeans, his eyes distant as they stared into nothing.
Natasha didn’t respond. She never did, not really. She just rested her hand on his arm, staring at the flickering lights of the tree, the snow falling softly outside. The world kept turning, but it felt like they were stuck in place.
The knock at the door was unexpected. Natasha and Val both turned toward it, their silence broken only by the soft shuffle of footsteps. This time, Natasha didn’t hesitate to get up.
She opened the door to find Steve’s face again, but this time it was different—softer, more hesitant. He wasn’t alone. Tony Stark stood beside him, a bottle of alcohol in hand and a half-smile on his face. He didn’t seem to care that the apartment was barely decorated or that the lights flickered awkwardly. It was something.
“Thought we’d bring the party to you guys,” Tony said with a grin, pushing past Steve into the small apartment. “You were planning on having fun, right?”
Val blinked in surprise but didn’t move. Natasha raised an eyebrow but didn’t seem as surprised as she probably should’ve been. She stepped aside to let them in, her expression unreadable.
“Well, Tony,” Natasha muttered dryly, “I think the only party I’m planning is a drinking party.”
Tony waved her off, setting the bottle down on the table with a little more force than necessary. “Just a little whiskey. We can pretend it’s festive.”
He slid into the chair across from Val, pouring generously into four glasses without asking. Steve sat down beside Natasha, offering her a small, thoughtful smile before looking at his own glass.
Tony handed Val a drink, clinking their glasses together with a soft, “Cheers.” Steve followed suit, though his smile was less bright than usual.
“What are we celebrating?” Val asked, taking a small sip of the whiskey. It burned, but it felt appropriate.
Tony leaned back in his chair, watching them, his eyes darkening for a moment. “Well,” he began, his voice softer than it had been when he entered, “Maybe just... surviving. You know? Some days, that’s enough.”
Natasha took a deep breath, and for a moment, they all just sat there, silent in their collective grief. The snow continued to fall, the faint light from the tree flickering in the corner. The world outside felt as empty as the space between them, but in that moment, they didn’t have to talk. They could just drink, let the alcohol do the talking for them.
Hours passed, and the bottle of whiskey had dwindled down to nearly nothing. The apartment was foggy with the smell of alcohol and the lingering warmth that only came from too much too quickly. Natasha, leaning against Val now, was quieter than usual, her face flushed from the alcohol, her eyes glassy as she looked at nothing in particular. Steve had his head back, eyes closed, his words coming slower, like he was trying to hold onto whatever fragments of himself that hadn’t already slipped away.
Tony, for once, wasn’t cracking jokes. He sat with his hands resting on his knees, staring into his glass, a haunted look in his eyes. Every word he spoke was laced with something more—regret, perhaps, or something deeper. Something that none of them really wanted to acknowledge.
Val’s thoughts drifted, the whiskey making it all hazy. His hand slid to Natasha’s, and for once, he didn’t pull away when she leaned into him, her breath soft and even.
By the time the alcohol had taken hold of them all, they were barely coherent, the weight of the year settling between their shoulders. They had mourned, in their own ways, and it was enough for tonight.
In the midst of the drunken haze, the snow continued to fall outside the window. Quiet. Peaceful. Empty. But for once, they were together in the emptiness, and it felt like something.