To a stranger, she looked to be nearly whole again. Her laughter was loud once more, complimented by the dulcet tones of birdsong and chimes. Her hair blazing elegantly like the fire of her love, her eyes sparkling like the sky on a July day.
There were no words uttered about Wakanda, the blood and ashes of your loved ones lost. Life before was a fading memory, and the anguish was alleviated by each other's embrace.
She'd hold you in her arms and shield you from the harshness of the new world, whispering words of comfort and praise in your hair. And she'd laugh and smile, dazzling and pure. Her purpose was gone; she didn't have the energy to hate anymore. She decided the red on her ledger was no more.
But a melancholy enveloped her, perhaps she fantasised about one more mission. One last shot to prove herself. A silent vow made not to mention her sorrow.
- -
Even though half of the population disappeared, the streets of New York were still busy. The two of you were hiding underneath caps, concealing yourselves from the rest of the crowd.
Her hand rested in yours, calloused from decades of combat, accompanied by a little squeeze every once in a while.
You got to know Natasha over your time as an Avenger.
Both having relatable histories, you were drawn towards each other. Even though you were cycled into the Red Room after her departure, you had heard of the infamous Black Widow. The one that betrayed Mother Russia for the American dream.
You continue to walk in silence.
The sight of Imperia vodka amongst an array of different alcohols in a store window catches your attention. Alcohol was banned from the compound. A decision made solely by you due to Natasha’s incline to drown her sorrows in vodka. A liquor - familiar to you both- in more ways than one.
In your other hand, was a large soda. Black Grape. You introduced Natasha to the drink, letting her take a sip. Her face scrunched in disgust. Apparently, she could already feel the diabetes in her blood. But what was your favourite, soon became hers. Days where you and Natasha would hang out always ended with Black Grape. It was your vodka.
A sudden jolt tugs you from your memory. Natasha’s grip on you tightens. All the muscles in her body solid as concrete. She stares ahead, eyes wide open.
People begrudgingly move around you both, but not without a sigh, or a weird look. You ignore them.
“You okay?” Your voice soft, trying to hide the growing concern.
She remains frozen.
“Hey.” You slide over into her line of vision.
She blinks, diamond tears flutter across her lashes.
“What’s wrong?”
Her eyes dart to you before she extends her neck, standing on her toes to look over the sea of heads. She frantically searches.
She bolts, dragging you along as she weaves through bodies. Apologies tumble from your mouth as you knock into the sides of people.
“Hey, what-, Natasha!” Your voice lost to the wind.
She stops by the corner, chest heaving.
“I saw Wanda.”
- -
Before the snap, Natasha and Wanda were engaged. They were planning a spring wedding, and being Natasha’s best friend, you were maid of honour. You even helped in the selection of the rings and the proposal. It was in Canada. The couple had spent the day visiting Niagara Falls and when night fell, they were engaged.
Wanda was among those who disappeared and Natasha suffered deeply. The rings were now stashed deep inside her bedside table.
She was always nursing a coffee in the early hours of the morning because she hadn't slept the night before.
She’d lost muscle easily, refusing to keep active or do anything other than lay in her room. You couldn’t blame her though. Once again, she was alone.
Bereavement had been her companion these past few years, a shadow that in time lessened until gone. Because of you.
She was a ghost by the time you decided to say something. Confronting the grieving woman ended in a heated argument. She forced a slew of nasty names down your throat, but you never yielded. You needed her as much as she needed you.
Months passed, and a new flame of love was lit.
Natasha was hesitant.
Every time you touched, guilt flared in her chest. A part of her believed she had wronged Wanda by pursuing this - for giving up on her. You could see it every time she let her guard down. The constant back and forth - pulling you in to push you out - was taking its toll. The anguish in Natasha's eyes began to reflect in yours.
The beginning was hard but you let set the pace. All the cards were on her side of the table. It was up to her if she wanted this.
And now, Natasha sleeps at night.
- -
“Tasha.” You have no idea what to do.
How do you even respond to that?
There’s no way whoever she saw was Wanda. You’d seen the witch turn into ash. Accepting her fate, she left comfortably. Natasha was holding her.
It’s been five years and no one has come back. If they did, you two would know.
The rest that remained left. There was no need for them to wallow in the vacant compound.
No hope. No duty.
Some had families to return to.
Some didn’t.
Normally, Natasha would avoid talking about Wanda with you, preferring to keep her past and present separate. However, this time was different.
“I know it’s not her.” A moment passes. “My mind just wants to hurt me.”
You hum in acknowledgement.
“I miss her.” She whispers, her throat constricting.
“I know, baby. I miss her too.” You gently squeeze her hand.
And all of a sudden, everything clicked.
The urge to hold you close and kiss you endlessly overwhelmed the woman.
She wants to make this work. She's had enough of being what keeps her from being happy.
She’s in love.
“I...” She began unsure, goosebumps tingling up her spine. “The guilt is still there. Some days are better than others. But I’m tired of being uncertain of this - of how I feel about you.”
She screws her eyes shut, as if in pain, and tears roll freely. “You’re so important to me, and I want forever for us. I love you.”
A short gasp- only heard between you both- falls from your lips. Natasha’s eyes shoot open. Her head is angled down slightly; a soft vulnerability in her eyes.
She wears her heart on her sleeve, waiting for your reply.
With a newly found shyness, your reach, a thumb strokes a flushed cheek, guiding her chin forward to connect your lips.
The kiss was gentle and meaningful all the same. It meant everything. It was you choosing each other.
“I love you.” You confess, a warm palm still cradling her face.