The world kept moving, even when Steve Rogers felt like his had ended.
He knew loss. He’d lost Bucky—twice, lost Peggy to time, lost his whole world in the blink of an eye when he crashed that plane into the ice. But losing Natasha felt different. There was no war to fight in the aftermath, no righteous battle to throw himself into to drown out the ache in his chest. The fight was over. They had won. And yet, Steve felt like he had lost everything. She was his whole world
Every morning, he expected to see her walking into the Avengers Compound with a cup of coffee in hand, rolling her eyes at him when he told her she needed to get more sleep. Every night, he half-expected his phone to buzz with a cryptic text from her, something sarcastic or teasing, anything to remind him she was still out there.
But she wasn’t.
Clint had been the one to tell Steve. Clint had watched the light drain from his friend’s eyes as he whispered her name like it was a prayer. Steve had seen Thor crumble beneath the weight of yet another loss. Bruce had locked himself away, unable to look at anyone. And Steve? Steve had stood at the edge of a lake, his hands clenched into fists, feeling more helpless than he ever had before.
Because there was no getting her back.
Vormir had taken her, swallowed her whole, and there was no battlefield where he could reclaim what was lost.
The others were moving forward. Tony had left behind a family, a legacy that lived on in Morgan and Pepper. Clint had his kids, a reason to keep going. Even Thor, despite his grief, had found purpose. But Steve—Steve had spent his whole life being a soldier. And Natasha had been his last mission.
He carried her memory in the quiet moments. He went to their usual coffee shop in Brooklyn, ordered her favorite drink just to feel close to her. He visited the training room late at night, standing in the dim light of the empty space where they used to spar. He even found himself sitting on the roof of the compound some nights, staring up at the stars, remembering the way she used to talk about seeing the world from above—how she wished she had more time.
Sometimes, he thought he saw her. A flash of red in the corner of his eye, the sound of her laughter echoing in his ears. He dreamed of her constantly—her smirk, her voice, the way she had looked at him that last time before she let go. He would wake up reaching for her, his fingers grasping nothing but empty sheets.
He wanted to be angry. He wanted to scream at the universe, demand why it had to be her, why it had to be someone who had already given so much. But he knew Natasha. He knew the way she thought, the way she loved without ever saying it outright. She had made a choice—her life for everyone else’s. Her life for his.
And that was the part that hurt the most.
The world was healing. Steve saw it in the faces of the people he passed on the street, the way families reunited, the way life found a way to keep going. But for him, every day was just a reminder that she wasn’t here to see it. That she wasn’t standing beside him, rolling her eyes at how sentimental he was, calling him ‘old man’ just to make him smile.
Time moved forward, but Steve didn’t know how to move with it.
One night, he sat on the rooftop, the cool breeze brushing against his skin. He held the compass in his hands, the one that had once held Peggy’s picture. He had replaced it, a long time ago, with a photo of Natasha. A small thing, just for him. He traced the edges of the worn image, his thumb brushing over her face.
“I don’t know how to do this without you,” he admitted to the wind.
There was no answer. Just the distant hum of the city, the stars blinking above him. But in the quiet, he could almost hear her voice.
Steve liked to imagine he heard her whispering to her, whispering things would be just fine and work out in the end.
And maybe—just maybe—she was right. But Steve wasn’t too sure. He knew he’d just have to keep going and find out.