“See you in a minute.”
“See you in a minute.”
“See you in a minute.”
Those five words played in Steve’s head; stuck on a permanent loop that he couldn’t turn off no matter how hard he tried. The last words Natasha spoke to him.
“See you in a minute,” followed by a confident, closed-lipped grin that he returned without a second thought.
Her smile, the last one she ever gave to him, would be imprinted on his brain until the day he stopped breathing. The smile that had him convinced that he would, in fact, see her in just a minute.
He didn’t, though. He never would again. And that was something Steve still couldn’t reconcile. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever understand how to live in a world where Natasha Romanoff was dead.
Sometimes Steve wished he’d been the one to go to Vormir with Natasha. He thought that maybe, just maybe, he would’ve been able to save her, to make that sacrifice himself. Physically, he was stronger than Barton. He could’ve pulled her back to the edge of the cliff, to safety, and then dropped to the bottom of the chasm, sending her home with the Soul Stone.
Somehow, he knew it wouldn’t have happened that way, though. Natasha was nothing if not strong-willed. She decided it would be her, and so it was.
Steve pulled the key from the motorcycle ignition and sat back on the seat, looking out into the cemetery at her headstone. Per usual, it was surrounded by flowers, stuffed animals, photos and letters, most of which were from people who never actually knew her.
Six feet under the pile, resting atop her empty casket, was a folded-up sketch of Natasha lacing her pointe shoes inside the gym at Stark Tower. Steve had drawn it nearly a decade ago, and it had always been his favorite. Coincidentally, it had been her favorite, too, so he left it there for her on the day of her service.
The gray marble headstone, engraved with her name and the Black Widow symbol, read “Daughter, Sister, Avenger”. Three words that, on the surface, seemed to tie her life into a tidy bow. After all, that’s who she was, right? Maybe to the public, but not to the people who really knew her. Not to Steve.
To Steve, Natasha was so much more than a trained assassin and hero. She was complicated and kind and so smart. She loved with a ferocity only those in her inner circle were lucky enough to experience. She was funny and charismatic and oftentimes a little frightening, if Steve was being completely honest. She was damaged in ways he could never understand, but that never stopped her from giving everything left in her. She’d lost so much but never her heart. Natasha kept her heart until the very end.
He'd come to the cemetery every day since the service, every day for three months, but he hadn’t been able to go to her. Instead, he’d park his bike on the road and walk to a large oak tree that was close enough so the headstone was within view but not so close that someone could see him there. Then he'd watched their friends come and go; Clint and Laura and their kids, Fury, Maria, Bruce, Wanda, Sam and Bucky. Some days Steve would stay leaned against that tree for hours, others he couldn’t bear more than a few minutes.
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, holding the breath for a few seconds before letting it out through his nose. Would today be the day he finally broke the invisible chains that tethered him to that tree?
Steve opened his eyes, and to his surprise, saw a blonde woman sitting cross-legged in front of the headstone. And though Steve had never met Yelena Belova and had only seen her face in a tattered photo Nat kept in her pocket at all times, he knew the woman was her sister.
Yelena reached out and pressed the palm of one hand against the front of the headstone, her head dipping down slightly. Steve felt like he was intruding on a private moment, but he couldn’t make his feet move. So, he stood perfectly still, not wanting to make any noise.
He watched for several minutes as she talked animatedly to Natasha's headstone and couldn’t help but smile when Yelena sat back on her hands and tiled her head up to the sunny sky. She looked comfortable there, as if she’d done it 100 times. Hell, she probably had, unlike Steve who was too much of a coward to leave the comfort of his tree. He was in the throes of mentally berating himself when he heard her speak.
“I know you’re back there, Steve Rogers.”
Yelena hadn’t turned around, and the sound of her voice startled Steve so much that he nearly dropped his keys. He cleared his throat but was at a loss for words.
He saw her shoulders rise then drop in what could only be described as a resigned sigh before she turned her head slightly to look over her shoulder at him.
“Will you just come over here and stop being such a creep?”
Steve choked back a nervous laugh at her brazenness and pushed off the tree, closing the distance in a handful of long strides. Yelena scooted over on the ground, making room for him to sit next to her. He did so, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke. Eventually, it was Steve who broke the charged silence.
“How’d you know it was me back there?” he asked, glancing at Yelena, who’d resumed her previous relaxed position.
She sat up and quirked an eyebrow in Steve’s general direction, “You ask that like I wasn’t trained in the same place as my sister.”
Steve had the sudden urge to apologize for intruding on what Yelena probably assumed was a moment alone at Natasha’s grave. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to impose.”
“It’s ok,” she said, smiling softly. “I see you here a lot, but you never actually come to the grave. Why is that?”
Something clenched tight inside Steve’s chest. It was a question he should have expected but not one he was prepared to answer. He took another deep breath in and let it go slowly, “I don’t really know.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Steve’s head snapped to Yelena, whose expression was unchanged. What was it with these Widows? Was learning to read him like a book part of all their training? No, obviously not. Yelena was apparently just as intuitive as her sister.
“I get it,” Yelena said before he had a chance to respond. “You don’t know me. Why would you talk to me about Natasha.”
“It’s not that at all,” Steve said, shifting slightly so he could look at her. “It’s just… I know she’s gone; I do. But something about coming here, sitting at her grave, it’s so final.”
“Death is final,” Yelena said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Her words were like a knife to Steve’s chest, and he was suddenly acutely aware that he was sitting in front of Natasha’s headstone chatting with her little sister. Natasha’s headstone. There’s a headstone. Because she’s dead. She died three months ago. She's been gone for three months. Steve would never see her face again, hear her laugh again, feel her body pressed into his at night again as they helped one another fend off the demons brought on by sleeping alone. Never again.
Because Natasha was dead.
He couldn’t breathe. The collar of his tee shirt felt like a boa constrictor winding its way around his windpipe. He bent over where he sat, tugging it away from his throat and sucking in air. His heart was racing, and his fingers felt numb. Was he dying, too?
No. No, he was very much alive. And apparently having a panic attack.
“Well, this is new,” Steve thought in between trying to force air into his burning lungs.
Just as he thought he might pass out, a warm, steady hand pressed against the back of his neck. Another hand gripped his bicep, gently pulling him back into a seated position. Yelena’s touch, much like Natasha’s always did, immediately grounded Steve, and after a few seconds his heart rate slowed, and his breathing evened out.
“Are you all right?” she asked, still holding onto his arm.
After another long inhale, Steve shook his head and looked over at Yelena, “I think so. Thank you.”
She dropped her hand back into her lap and regarded him for a moment, as if she was trying to figure out what was going on inside his head. The intensity of Yelena’s stare was beginning to make Steve uncomfortable, but just as he was about to say something, anything to break the silence, she spoke.
“You loved her.”
It wasn’t a question. And Steve wasn’t at all prepared for it. He’d known this woman for all of 30 minutes, and she’d already figured out the thing that it took he, himself, years to admit. And even then, he’d never said it out loud to anyone, especially not to Natasha.
The words were out of Steve’s mouth before he could stop himself, “Love her. Present tense.”
Yelena’s observation of him softened to an almost sorrowful look, “But you never told her?”
“No. I Never told her,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “There was always a reason why I shouldn’t, you know? Another mission, another bad guy, another person who needed saving.”
“That sounds a lot like an excuse, to me,” Yelena said, sweeping her long, blonde hair into a ponytail, and turning to face Steve.
Steve scoffed, “You’re not wrong.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, “Can I tell you what I think?”
“I have a feeling you’re going to, regardless,” he said, sending a sidelong glance in her direction.
Yelena rolled her eyes, feigning annoyance, “I think you were afraid. I think you both were.”
Steve didn’t say anything. What could he say? She was absolutely right.
“I think you both pretended your feelings weren’t real and used The Avengers as an excuse so you wouldn’t have to admit what you meant to each other and risk getting hurt,” she said matter-of-factly.
“She didn’t…” he started, but Yelena cut him off.
“Yes, she did,” Yelena said, tilting her head and giving him a small, knowing smile. “She loved you so much.”
Once again, Steve was without words. Had he spent the last decade not only in denial about his own feelings, but about Natasha’s as well? It was certainly possible, probable, even. He thought back to the moment he knew he trusted her completely. It was the same moment their relationship went from partners to friends to something neither of them could never really describe.
“Where did Captain America learn how to steal a car?” Natasha asked. Her face was passive, but Steve could tell she was teasing him.
He sighed inwardly and responded with more bite than he’d intended, “Nazi Germany. And we’re borrowing. Take your feet off the dash.”
Natasha lowered her foot to the floor of the truck and smirked, “All right, I have a question for you, which you do not have to answer. I feel like if you don’t answer it though, you’re kind of answering it…”
Before she even finished, Steve snapped back again, unsure of why he was so annoyed with the conversation, “What?”
She was unfazed, however, “Was that your first kiss since 1945?”
Steve’s heart rate picked up as he thought back to earlier in the day, on the escalator in that mall when her lips had pressed into his. It was a cover kiss to throw Rumlow off their tail, but the effects of her mouth on his and her body pressed against him lingered even now.
“That bad, huh?” he asked, attempting to sound unbothered.
“I didn’t say that,” a hint of a smile still playing on her face.
“Well, it kind of sounds like that’s what you were saying.”
“No, I was just wondering how much practice you’ve had,” Natasha needled.
“You don’t need practice.”
“Everybody needs practice.”
“It was not my first kiss since 1945,” he said, hoping she’d drop it. “I’m 95. I’m not dead.”
But she didn’t drop it. And Steve wasn’t at all surprised.
“Nobody special though?” she asked, genuinely.
He scoffed, “Believe it or not, it’s kind of hard to find someone with shared life experience.”
“Well, that’s all right, you just make something up,” she shrugged, like it was the most obvious answer.
“What, like you?” As soon as the words left Steve’s mouth, he wished he hadn’t said them.
“I don’t know. The truth is a matter of circumstance. It’s not all things to all people all the time,” Natasha’s eyes fell to her lap, and her head lulled back against the seat before she looked back up at Steve. “Neither am I.”
“That’s a tough way to live.”
She looked out the front window and dropped her voice, “It’s a good way not to die though.”
Sometimes Steve forgot that Natasha had spent her entire life simply trying to stay alive. There was so much he didn’t know about her, and he suddenly wanted more than anything to keep her close.
“You know, it’s kind of hard to trust someone when you don’t know who that someone really is.”
“Yeah,” she said, looking up at him and pausing momentarily. “Who do you want me to be?”
“How ‘bout a friend?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and a pit settled in his gut, sinking deeper when he saw Natasha’s face drop.
She slid her mask back into place, “Well, there’s a chance you might be in the wrong business Rogers.”
Steve puffed out a breath of air, unsure of how long he’d been lost in the memory. When he looked over at Yelena she was staring straight ahead at Natasha’s headstone.
“How do you know?” he asked, the question tight in his throat. “How do you know she felt the same way?”
Without looking at him, Yelena responded, “Because she told me.”
A wave of emotion washed over Steve. He could feel his body begin to shake, and Yelena must have sensed it, too, because her hand found one of his much larger ones and squeezed.
“Ok, well, she didn’t say it directly,” Yelena said. “But she might as well have. She talked about you constantly. It was always, 'Steve this and Steve that,' and it only got worse the longer you were on the run. I’ve never heard her talk about someone the way she talked about you. Natasha loved you.”
Steve bit his lip and felt his face begin to burn hot as he tried to keep his emotions in check. The knowledge that she loved him back was overwhelming. Why hadn’t he just told her? They’d both wasted so much time, and now it was too late.
"I miss her," Steve breathed out, unable to keep the tears from falling down his face any longer.
Yelena slid closer, linking her arm through his. Something about the contact was comforting for the both of them, "I miss her, too."
They'd started the day strangers, a pair of names and faces who only knew one another from stories Natasha shared. And here they sat now, sharing the pain from the loss of the one person who tied them together. Steve could feel tears drip down his face and onto his shirt, making no attempt to wipe them away. For the first time since it happened, he wanted to let himself feel the loss of her. He allowed all the grief he'd held in for three months to wash over him, grateful that Yelena did nothing but squeeze his arm tighter as silent sobs shook his body.
Steve stopped crying after a while, but they stayed cemented in place, neither of them speaking, until the sun began to dip below the horizon.
Yelena's phone pinged beside her, and she began gathering her things to leave. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to the front of Natasha's headstone and whistled a short tune, not caring that Steve was still right there, "YA lyublyu tebya vsegda, sestra.”
She stood and turned toward Steve who was getting to his feet. Before he could say anything she pulled him into a hug, "Thank you for taking care of her. Thank you for loving her."
Steve nodded against her shoulder and smiled, "Thank you, for calling me out for hovering over by that tree."
Yelena laughed loudly and stepped back, "Someone had to."
He nodded, still smiling, and watched as she retreated toward a white Volvo parked on the street. Just as she reached his tree she turned back and called out, "Tell her, Steve."
Steve didn't have to ask what she meant. He sat back down in front of the headstone, close enough this time, to reach out and rest his palm on the cool marble.
"There are so many things I need to say to you. Things I should have said a long, long time ago. I can only hope that where ever you are now, you know them to be true," Steve drew in a shaky breath and traced the carved letters of her name with his index finger. "I'm sorry I didn't come before today. I miss you, so much."
Glancing down, a photo half-buried under a bouquet of daisies caught Steve's eye. It was one he'd never seen before, taken of the original six team members during Tony's party at Stark Tower in 2015. Clint stood in front of the coffee table with a pained expression on his face as he pretended to lift Mjolnir. Steve and Thor stood next to Clint, arms crossed over their chests laughing; Bruce and Tony sat on the sofa, arms draped across one another's shoulders, and Natasha was perched on the sofa's arm.
Steve's heart leapt into his throat when he noticed that while everyone else was smiling at the camera, Natasha was looking at him. Her expression was soft, and the smile on her face was one of adoration. She was looking at him like he was the only one in the room. It was a look he'd seen a hundred times before but it never clicked until that very moment.
Before he could stop himself, Steve tucked the photo into his jacket pocket. "I met Yelena today, and she's amazing, just like you said. And she told me something that I think I always knew but never allowed myself to believe. I love you, too, you know. I have for as long as I can remember, and I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."
Steve stood, pressing a kiss to his fingertips and letting them linger on the headstone. It was a promise to never leave her alone again. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the photo, etching the look on Natasha's face into his brain. It was this smile, he decided, that he would always remember when he thought of her.