It was not raining, and yet the woman could feel droplets trickling down her skin. Unstoppable ones, that always came back, even after she had wiped them for what may be the tenth time.
But Natasha is firm, and she says she does not crying, refusing the comfort that some of her mates were trying to provide.
She doesn't need it.
Or, more exactly, she knew they couldn't give her the comfort she was craving, their gentleness being nothing more than a painful reminder of the things she had lost.
Their soft words could never be as significant as yours, and their embrace as reassuring.
She doesn't need it, she repeats, over, and over again, in her head but it is not enough to make the words more true.
Long ago, she was taught that pain only makes her stronger, and yet she has never felt so in pain, and so weak, at the same time.
Get up, a voice was whispering in the back of her mind, but her body felt so heavy than even breathing became an impossible task.
These words, along side with the belief that emotions, and love, were weaknesses, were engraved in her being. It is an indelible mark she had never really rid herself of, a ghost from her past that sometimes still haunted the woman.
Ever since she was a kid, the redhead had danced with Death. She taunted It, played its sick games, but she never folded, and never a tear rolled down her cheek, never a cry shook her body.
Even when she became one of her henchwoman, taking more lives than she could ever count, painting her ledger with so much scarlet that she might never be able to get rid of it. Even when she had lost some of the people she considered as her friends.
Her visage has always been marked by indifference, Death never being as painful as it was right now.
Today, as she was standing in front of your grave, she could felt every barrier she had ever built shattering, to weak to prevent the tears from flowing.
She had tried to stop them, the woman bitting her trembling lips until she draws blood, but no amount of pretending could ever be enough to stop the feelings that were hitting her. These were comparable to an unstoppable, and huge, wave that was about to take everything away in its path.
But things were different this time.
You taught her that love may be a weakness, but that it could also be the greatest thing. One that makes it worth living. You taught her how to be vulnerable, even thought she was frightened by the idea of trusting someone.
Because you are the one who taught her that some risks were worth being taken.
And your story may have ended in a messy way, with blood, and tears, and words that will never be spoken, but the woman realized that she wouldn't have it any other way, cherishing every moment you had shared together.
Two years went by since you left, and yet it is as if you were never really gone as the woman was constantly thinking about you — How could she not? You were in every night she has spent starring at the ceiling, in every corner of the compound, her memories of you being permanent reminder of the things she has lost.
Or, more exactly, of the things she has ruined because she was too scared to admit the truth.
The woman had looked at those pictures so many times that they were engraved in her mind, hauting her when she closed her eyes. She held into these as the reminder of the things you have done, as the evidence that she was right for the way she treated you.
Yet, deep down, she knew.
The women has always knew that something wasn't right with those, that it doesn't sound like something you would ever do — But don't we say that we never really know the people we are living with?
She had been so angry when she learned about what happened that it clouded her jugdment, and when the hatred of the first days eventually washed out, it was only to be replaced by somethong more vicious — Denial.
The thought that you were better without her, that she would've ended up hurting you anyway, eventually crept inside her. But the woman knows now that it was only an excuse, and a pitful one, to not admit her mistakes, to not face her fears. It is an old habit of hers that she went back to at the first difficulties — Running away.
She was scared, and as lost as when you met for the first time, and thought that, if she left first, if it was her decision, then maybe the situation would hurt less.
A false impression of doing the right thing, encouraged by the others, led her to think that everything was right.
Yet, she knew it wasn't true.
All these nights, when she had to listen to them sharing their hatred about you as if this mistake was the only think you have ever done in your life, and all these days, when she had to walk on the streets, reading the articles that were spreading lies about the person you were, as if this one mistake could erase the hero you once were, she knew that things weren't right.
Yet, her lips remained shut, and as time went by, it only became harder to speak out, the silence being oddly comfortable despite the price it came with. She should have spoken up, and at least try to defend you, but the woman never found the courage to do so.
Despite the soft promises, she had let you down, and that more times than she is willing to admit.
The woman had loose herself in her flaws, acting selfishly, and this is a crime she would never forgive herself for comitting. Especially because she had no explanation for her attitude, or at least none that would be more than an excuse for her cowardice.
She choose to act as if you have never existed, because she thought that it would make things easier, because that is what she does when her life becomes complicated — She runs away, and bury her emotions deep in her heart with the hope they won't resurface.
But if she thought that it would be easier to turn her back on you completely, the woman eventually realized that she was wrong, and that hiding didn't make any of it more bearable. The regrets she had buried deep inside of her, the ones she had hidden under a thick layer of anger and hatred, eventually resurfaced to hit her twice as hard as before once she realized that she was not hating you as much as she thought she was.
The truth is that her whole soul was longing for your presence, and she was angry at herself for that. The woman would have gave up everything she has only to see your smile one more time, to regain the comfort of your embrace.
But the realization came too late.
Two years went by since you left. Two years during which she preferred the comfort of ignorance instead of taking the decision to pursue you, ruining her own oppurtunity for a second chance.
Natasha could never forget the moment you left, and for ever this time — How could she, when felt you slipping through her arms, and your body becoming limp in her grasp. When she saw your eyes closing, only to never open again. When she noticed the way your lips stopped trembling, and your chest stopped rising.
She heard it, your last shaky breath before a heavy silence settled in, but she still refused to admit you were gone.
The woman had screamed, this day. She had begged deities that she doesn't even believe in, and pray anyone that could hear her pleas to give you back. But despite her cries, your body remained cold against her chest, and no amount of tears will ever be enough to bring back someone from the deads.
Death can't be changed, it is for ever.
Yet, some days, it was like you were never gone. From your favorite dish in the fridge to your favorite movie on television, everything was then a painful reminder of your absence. She could see your smile in the sun's rays, and hear your soft voice in the night, and as every corner of the city was associated with a memory of you, it was impossible for the woman to escape your ghost.
You were everywhere, hauting her life every minute, and especially her thoughts. She had replayed the events thousands of time in her mind, imagining all the things she could have done for your story to end diffirently. She had thought about all the things she should have said but kept for herself, all the times she wasn't brave enough to do the right thing.
You wouldn't be dead if she had listened to you, that day.
You wouldn't be dead if she didn't decide to be selfish, and to choose to save herself over yours.
She vowed to protect you, swore to always be by your side, promised under the stars that she would never stop loving you, but she eventually broke every of her words.
She should have been here, by your side, and not only in your last moment, but also the years that came before. She thought the situation was unfair to her, being deceived by the woman she loved, but she was so far from the truth. But, when the reality of the events has eventually been revealed, it was already too late.
A part of her died that day
A part of her that she will never be able to get back, the best of her, the hero she used to be — If she couldn't save you, what was the point? Why continuing when she couldn't save the only live that really mattered?
Slowly, the woman pulled away from the team. At first, she requested only a break of a few weeks, and it was granted to her without a question. Everyone knew she was affected by the events, but none of them could have guessed that it would led her to never come back — How could she?
She wasn't feeling like a hero anymore.
The desire to do good had been drowned out by anger and hatred, and if she was blaming herself, she was also blaming every of her coworkers. She was angry at Fury who kept sending you on dangerous missions despite your state, at Clint who convinced her to rest, and at the rest team who lost the only track they had of you.
The woman was sure that if you didn't go on that mission, if she had been with them, or if they hadn't fail to find you a few hours earlier, then you would still be here. Maybe not by her side, but at least alive.
Your funerals were held in secrecy. You didn't have much family anyway, and so only the team has been here. Not a word was exchanged during the ceremony, and no one dared to give speech.
What could they have said, anyway?
She could've explained what a beautiful soul you were, how she had loved you, and how the world should be grateful for your services, but it felt wrong, especially after all the things she had done.
It is when you were still alive that you needed to be loved.
And now that you were gone it was too late to repare the damages that she had caused to your heart, and reputation.
Despite her attempts to make the truth known, the world wasn't willing to listen, and the hatred that raised after the original events couldn't be undone, and even thought you died as a hero, no one is ever going to treat you as one.
The beast is dead, along with some other harmul words has been written on your tomb. When the rumors about your death eventually spread, some found your grave, but their intentions were everything but pure. The sight of your beautiful grave being damaged made the woman angry, because she couldn't stand the way they kept disrupting your slumber, as if you hadn't suffered enough in the last years of your life.
The world should have remained thankful for the things you've done for them, instead of hating you at the first occasion. If she had her reasons for the way she acted, they didn't.
She came regurarly, almost every day, to clean your tombstone, making sure that the flowers never wither. They are probably going to be stolen soon, by someone that thinks they deserve them more than you do, but it is not enough to convince her to stop.
Under her breath, the woman is whispering sweet words that she can only hope you will here from where you are. It is all the words that she couldn't bring herself to tell you when she should have, when it wasn't already too late. It is all the excuses and regrets she had never been courageous enough to share, and all the "I love you" that were stuck in her mind.
It is all the things that she couldn't gather the courage to say, at least not before you were already gone, unable to hear them. If words could heal hearts, they couldn't reverse death, and it is a lesson the woman learned too late.