It was fitting it was raining. Cold water slid down her skin, plastering the black dress she wore to her. She felt none of it. Sitting there, staring at the ground, her mind still couldn't quite grasp it. Her heart though... her heart was empty, numb. Rain ran down her face, giving her the tears she had been unable to cry.
Hand rested on her knee and she looked down at it, fingers flexing slighty, light glinting off the ring she wore on her left hand. It felt as if it rooted her there, to this spot, not allowing her to go anywhere else.
"I thought you might still be here," the voice behind her was soft, worried. He'd hoped she'd gone off alone, licking her wounds, pulling herself together. That meant she wasn't lost. Wasn't sinking into oblivion. Staying here... she'd been here for hours now. The rain started more than two hours ago and it didn't look like she'd moved since the service had ended.
"He's gone." Her voice was small and weak. The reality of it not quite able to sink in somehow. It had to be a dream. Had to be some kind of horrible nightmare she would wake up from any time now.
"I know Tasha." Barton sighed heavily before leaning down to scoop her up from the ground, lifting her as if she weighed nothing. Her pain radiated from her in waves, choking him. "You can't stay at his grave forever."
Arms lay limply against her, not even making an effort to wrap around his neck as he carried her to the car. She was shivering but he doubted she even knew it, so wrapped up in her loss that she couldn't feel it. Once he fastened her into the front seat he started the car, turning the heater on high.
"Let's go home Tasha."
Her head lolled against the glass, no effort to keep it upright. "Nowhere is home," she answered finally, voice barely audible. "He was home."
Clint felt helpless. Maybe even more so than when they stole her memories, stripped her of the person she had loved. This... this was different. He'd never seen her give herself over to a person as much as she had to him. Never seen her love with no reserve. She held no part of herself back from him.
"He's gone," she whispered again.
"If you don't get off me I swear I will kill you where you stand." Words were cold, ruthless and left no doubt as to the truth of them. The grip that held her faltered and she jerked away from the unfamiliar hands, shoving through the crowded waiting room. He was here and she would find him.
The call had only been a half hour ago and she had arrived as quickly as possible. The nurse at the desk had given her the run around, telling her she couldn't go back. That he was serious and they were working on him.
There was a scattering of security guards on the ground. None of them dead, but all disabled now, unable to stop her. She felt a sharp prick in her shoulder and reached out in a backhand, taking down another nurse with the violence of it. The drug hit her system quickly and she went to a knee, fighting the toxin, not even allowing her body a chance to process it before shoving up off the white tile. Head swam but rage wiped the fog of the drug away and she headed to the double doors again.
When the doctor came through them he looked startled to see her there, even more so when she grasped the front of his lab coat, jerking him to her.
"James Bond. Where is he?"
The doctor stuttered, unsure of what to do with the seething mass of rage and worry that was this woman.
"Where is my husband?"
The call had been vague. An accident while he was on the way home. Multiple vehicles involved. Several people who were in serious to critical condition. No other information other than a request she come to the hospital. She was his next of kin. And now they were giving her the run around.
Snarling, she cast the man aside with a strength born of fear. She heard movement behind her, knew they were going to try to take her down again. As she spun she heard the new voice, barely believing it.
"Let her see him." Mallory stood next to a nurse, his hand on her arm, pushing it down, mindful of the syringe and uncapped needle. "You're just going to piss her off more with that."
"We gave her enough Geodon to drop a horse," the nurse muttered to him.
"But not enough to stop her," Gareth answered evenly. "Just let her go to him. She'll tear this place apart if you don't."
If there had ever been any doubt as to their relationship, ever been any hesitation on M.'s part as to the depth of their feelings for one another, they were gone now. What he was seeing was terror, a blinding fear of losing the one thing in life you couldn't live without.
He looked composed in the middle of chaos, suit unrumpled, an air of authority coming from him. The look he gave her chilled her. The sympathy there shooting a denial to her lips.
"No," she whispered coming to a complete stop. Stillness for a brief second before she forged forward, shoving through the doors. The bang reverberated through the halls, heads turning to see what had caused it. No one else got in her way.
"James Bond," she demanded from the middle of the hall.
With a finger a small, dark haired woman in scrubs pointed to a room.
Crashing inside without concern to anyone else who might be in there she felt the air leave her lungs.
Covered with a sheet he was too still, unmoving. Even though his face was covered she knew with a bone chilling certainty it was him. "No." A sob torn from her throat, full of agony. "No. Nonononononono..."
This time when she went to her knees she didn't rise. The loss so heavy it crushed her to the ground, made her gasp for air.
"Natasha," she heard him a beat before his arm went around her, pulling her from the floor. "I'm sorry Natasha." The head of MI6 pulled her to him, holding on to her to keep her from falling again. "He loved you so much."
Somehow he eased her into a chair and crouched down until he was eye level with her. "He passed not long after they called you."
Grief rolled through her, crashing against her heart in a wave that felt like it would suffocate her. She forgot how to breathe. Hands folded together in her lap, eyes resting on the wedding band she wore. It was still new, barely scuffed from wear. The inscription inside seemed to burn against her skin. Ty moy, i ya tvoy, i ya vsegda budu lyubit' tebya.
"Gone." The word was a whimper. An accident. Nothing she could fight against. No one she could punish for taking him from her. No outlet for the rage at the unfairness of it all.
Everything after that was a blur. She remembered sitting next to the bed, holding his cold hand, not willing to let it go when Gareth tried to take her back to their flat. Remembered giving Barton's number to someone. At some point the man himself showed up, pulling her away from James, holding her against him so they could walk out together.
Arrangements had been made but she could recall none of them. She spent three days in their bed, refusing to leave it unless she had to, wrapped in his scent coming from the sheets. It wasn't until Barton threatened to dump her in the shower and dress her that she moved.
The service was a haze. Well wishes falling on deaf ears until Barton and Moneypenny flanked her, diverting as much attention from her as they could. Even Mallory, giving the eulogy because she couldn't speak.
"Mr. Bond is survived by his wife..."
The words nearly made her scream. Only Moneypenny's arm around her shoulders stopped it.
She stood next to the grave while they filled in the hole, dirt covering his coffin too fast. Making the whole thing final before she was ready. They tried to get her to move, offered to bring her inside. But she refused. Eventually they packed up the chairs, leaving only the one she had sat in for a while. When the rain began she sat next to the bare earth that held him now.
Their home. The unlikely place they had made together somehow. Their books scattered on the shelves they bought. Pictures hanging on the walls. Some of them had been there before her, but they were a part of him and she had never had any desire to get rid of them.
A picture of them sat on a side table. She was facing towards the camera, smiling, eyes closed. He was kissing her cheek, the look on his face warm and full of love. It was faintly blurry as if the person who had taken it was moving. A finger traced across his cheek and she broke, sobs heaving from her, the numbness she felt replaced with a grief so deep it threatened to swallow her whole. Sitting next to her on the sofa, Clint pulled her close, holding her as the sobs shook her body. She hadn't cried until now, retreating into a place where pain couldn't touch her.
He pressed her face into his shoulder allowing her anguish to wash over them both.
"Shhh, Natasha." Arms tightened around her.
"Natasha..." A strength in the voice. A change in timbre. Arms were nearly uncomfortably tight around her. "Natasha." Her name was sharp now.
Tears rolled down her face, eyes opened and she looked around, confused.
"Natasha." The voice was deeper now and her eyes snapped up as his hands cupped her face. "Hey, are you with me?"
His name was a sob and she threw her arms around him, clinging to him as if she though she'd never see him again.
"I'm here," hands soothed down her back. "It's all right. I'm here."
"You were gone." Her heart was racing, beating in her chest so hard surely he could feel it against his own. "Gone."
A hand smoothed her hair away from her face, then thumbs wiped away the tears. A press of kisses to her cheeks. "Hey..." His voice gentle now. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm here." She was trembling in his arms, whatever her dream contained shaking her to the core. Pulling her tighter to him concern welled inside of him. "It's ok. I'm here. Everything is fine."
"James." His name was repeated, like a mantra, mixed with words running together to make some kind of gibberish. His hand went to a hip, fingers tracing the scar that rode it. A familiar line, familiar touch. It was enough to begin bringing her around.
When her grip on him loosened he cupped her face again, thumb running along her lower lip. The contact pulled her fully from the dream and slowly the tremors subsided. Eventually they lay back down, him holding her close.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Natasha shook her head. Giving voice to it would tempt fate. Open the door and run the risk of making it true.
"Just a dream." But God it had seemed so real. "It was just a dream."