You should’ve jumped. It should’ve been you. He was having another one of his crashes again. This one was particularly jarring though, coming out of literal nowhere. Why? He looked down at his watch, what had once been an extravagant gift from…his friend years ago, and had now been battered to bits. The time read 3:52 in the afternoon, and off to the right of the watch, was the date.
Oh.
You’d think that after seven years, he’d stop feeling guilty. He’d stop belittling himself over something that he knew he couldn’t have stopped. He’d move on, and live the life she knew he wanted him to live.
He felt stupid, rubbing away the tears that ran down his face. What was taking so long? Why was he still suffering from nightmares that would paralyze him, and bawling like a baby when no one was looking? Why hadn’t he moved on?
From the very beginning, he’d been taught not to show emotion. It would only make the situation worse. A lot of shit had come his way during his time on Earth, and he always dealt with it internally, staying true to the lessons he’d learned. Emotions were unique to the individual itself. What good was it to show them to others?
They’d made a pact, he suddenly remembered, practically eons ago. If one of them had died, and the other lived, they’d be buried in the spot of their choice in Budapest. If it had been him, he’d have been buried by the Fisherman’s Bastion. He was never exactly a sucker for sculptures, but something about it had spoken to him.
She was supposed to be buried by the Citadel. He remembered when they first walked by it, he saw her visibly relax as she stared out across the vividly green lawn. Before the Avengers, she’d been rougher around the edges, hard and closed-off from the rest of the world. So when the pact had been made, and she told him she wanted to be buried there, he knew that place was special to her.
You failed her. The voice in his head interrupted his reminiscing, and he realized, slumping against the side of the barn, he had.
It was almost laughable at how awful the situation was.
Here he was, looking out over the pristine lake that the farm sat next to, raising kids and being a part of a family, and she was dead, decomposing on a strange planet, all alone. They never went back for her body. They never had a service for her. She was never buried by the Citadel. Her one true wish and he couldn’t even grant it for her.
He’d been told that she knew they had won, seven years ago. But did she really? His breathing grew more rapid at the thought of her probably being terrified that they wouldn’t pull this off as she fell to her death. There was no way to stop the tears now.
What had she been thinking as she fell? That, if they hadn’t pulled it off, she would’ve died for nothing? That, when she died, and no one would remember her? Would she be forgotten?
He collapsed and stared out blankly over the lake. What he would give to speak to her for just five more minutes. He ached to hug her again, to see the smile she so rarely flashed and cup her face and tell her that they’d won. Tell her that people had been reunited with their families because of her. That she didn’t die for nothing. That they still remembered her.
He’d tell her that her room at the compound was exactly the way she left it. That Bruce had named his kid after her. That they had named the museum built out of the compound after her. That he still carried a photo of her in is pocket everywhere he went.
If Clint had just five more minutes, he’d make sure Natasha knew she was anything but forgotten.