2021
They decorated this year.
Maria had insisted on it. The tree was bright and full, pushed into the corner where it always sat, covered in mismatched ornaments that had survived the years. Twinkling lights lined the window frames, casting faint glows against the falling snow outside. There was music playing softly in the background—Natasha’s playlist, Val realized after a moment—and the apartment smelled like rosemary and roasted chicken.
Maria had cooked. Really cooked. The table was set properly, candles flickering between plates, as if she was trying to wrestle some sense of normalcy out of the chaos the year had thrown at them.
For the most part, Val had let her.
They exchanged gifts, just the two of them. Maria had wrapped hers neatly—three small boxes stacked together, all tied with the same silver ribbon. Val unwrapped them slowly, his fingers careful on the paper. A pair of warm gloves, a new book she’d heard him mention once in passing, and a small photograph in a frame.
The photo was of Natasha. She was leaning against a car, smirking faintly at the camera, her arms crossed over her chest. It wasn’t a perfect picture—she was squinting slightly in the sun—but Val could almost hear her laughing through it.
“She would’ve wanted you to have it,” Maria said quietly.
Val swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around the frame. “Thanks.”
Maria smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’re welcome.”
Val didn’t get her much—a simple scarf he’d picked out at a store downtown, soft and deep red, close to Nat’s old suit color. Maria had smiled when she pulled it out of the box, brushing the fabric with her thumb.
“It’s perfect,” she said softly.
It was almost normal, Val thought. Almost. But there were too many empty spaces tonight, too much silence lingering in the corners of the room.
Val was on the couch, curled into the corner with a book in his lap when the knock came at the door.
Maria opened it, and the apartment was suddenly full of voices.
Yelena was first through the door, her coat dusted with snow and her arms full of something that looked suspiciously like food. Clint followed close behind, lugging a poorly wrapped box under one arm and Kate trailing after him, grinning brightly as she shook snow from her hair.
“Merry Christmas!” Kate announced cheerfully, like she didn’t notice the weight lingering in the room.
Val closed his book with a quiet sigh.
Maria smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Come in, come in,” she said, ushering them inside.
Yelena dropped the containers of food onto the counter, and Clint pushed the gift toward Maria with a faint shrug. “Don’t ask me what it is. Kate picked it.”
“It’s festive,” Kate shot back, rolling her eyes.
Val sat frozen on the couch, staring at the suddenly crowded living room. They were talking and unpacking food and moving around like it was a normal day, but the noise was too much. Too bright. Too cheerful for a Christmas that didn’t feel like one.
It was too much.
“I’m going out for some air,” Val said abruptly, cutting through the conversation.
Maria turned sharply toward him. “Val—”
He didn’t let her finish. He was already at the door, grabbing his jacket and stepping out into the snow.
The roof was quiet.
Snow fell steadily, settling into his hair and onto his shoulders as Val leaned against the edge, staring down at the lights of the city below. The cold bit at his fingers, but he barely noticed. His head was full of static—memories and voices and the overwhelming weight of being surrounded by people trying so hard to act like everything was fine.
“God,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing at his face.
He heard the door creak open behind him, but he didn’t turn. Footsteps followed, quick and uneven on the snow-dusted roof.
“Valerik!” Yelena’s voice was sharp, but underneath it, there was something tight and worried. “Are you serious right now?”
Val didn’t answer. He kept his eyes on the edge, his knuckles white where they gripped the ledge.
“Val,” Maria’s voice came next, softer but no less firm. “You shouldn’t be up here.”
“I’m not going to jump,” Val said flatly, though he didn’t turn around.
There was a beat of silence, broken only by the faint sound of Clint’s footsteps and Kate’s quick breath.
“Yeah, well,” Clint said dryly, “we’re not exactly willing to risk it.”
Val exhaled slowly through his nose, the cold air burning his lungs. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” Yelena snapped. “You disappeared without saying a word. What were we supposed to think?”
Val didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure how to.
Kate edged closer to Yelena, her voice quieter but still firm. “We’re just worried about you, okay?”
Val’s grip on the ledge loosened slightly. He glanced over his shoulder, his expression tight. “I just… I can’t do this tonight.”
The words hung in the cold air, heavy and raw.
Yelena shot a glance at Clint, her face still tight with worry, and Clint gave her a subtle nod. The two of them exchanged a few quiet words before Clint clapped a hand to Yelena’s shoulder, gently guiding her and Kate inside. They didn’t need to say more.
Maria stepped forward, her footsteps soft in the snow. “It’s okay,” she said gently. “But you don’t have to do it alone.”
She closed the distance between them slowly, carefully, as though afraid he might slip further away. Val didn’t move as she wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close the way she had before.
“I’ve got you,” Maria whispered, her voice soft.
Val froze for a moment, stiff in her hold. Then, slowly, his shoulders slumped, and he let himself lean into her.
For a long time, it was just the two of them—Maria and Val—on the roof. The snow still fell softly, a blanket of white in the dim light from the window behind them. Maria didn’t say anything else. She just held him, the weight of everything pressing down on them both. He didn’t have to speak for her to know the ache, the grief. The loss.
They stood like that for what felt like an eternity, and slowly, Val's shoulders began to ease. His breath came in shallow bursts, but he wasn’t pulling away anymore.
Finally, Maria whispered, “Come on. Let’s go back inside.”
Val didn’t answer, but he let her guide him toward the door, the warmth of the apartment already pulling him in as they stepped back inside.
The living room was still filled with the sounds of chatter and clinking dishes, but the weight of it felt lighter somehow. Kate and Clint were at the counter, fixing plates, and Yelena was already sitting back on the couch, leaning her head back with a quiet sigh.
Maria sat next to Val on the couch, and she pulled the blanket back around him, as if she could shield him from the rest of the world for just a little longer.
“You’re not alone,” she said softly, looking at him, her eyes steady. “Not now. Not ever.”
Val didn’t respond. Instead, he settled into the couch, his head leaning against Maria’s shoulder. He let his eyes drift to the tree again, the soft glow of the lights, and for a moment, the emptiness didn’t feel so loud.
Maybe this wasn’t the Christmas they’d wanted. But for the first time in a long time, it felt like they might just be able to make it through together.