I can't do this. I can't stand here and watch that arrogant bastard strut around. Ok, strut is an exaggeration considering he's in shackles and joined at the arm with Thor. But still too much alive for my liking.
In lieu of an arrow to the eye I'd settle for a fist to the face. Who could blame me? The guy pushed himself inside my head, poked and prodded every corner of my psyche, even the ones SHIELD made sure I forgot about. He forced me to kill coworkers, friends, innocent people, and damned-near the one person in this world I can't live without. If she hadn't been the superior fighter that day, I would have... Oh, yeah, Loki has to pay.
Just as I decide to lunge, I see a flash of red hair shift and her face looks up at me. In her low, effortlessly sultry voice she whispers to me, "I wonder if our ant knows the size of the Asgaardian boot that's coming for him?"
How the hell does she do that? How does one quip lower my level of rage? I swear she could talk Bruce out of becoming the Big Guy half way through the process. Then again, maybe it's just me letting her wield her powers of control over me. I can't help it and I feel a goofy grin develop on my face. Even in this volatile situation, I let her know she's got the upper hand. She can stand down. I'm back in control.
With a flash of light Loki and Thor are gone. Just like that. He got off way too easy. I only hope what's waiting for him is a worthy punishment. As I move to the driver's side of the SHIELD vehicle, I take a second to take in the scene around me - not just the other periphery agents strategically positioned around the area, but the squirrels, and the birds in the trees. They don't call me Hawkeye for nothin'.
And my new teammates. I never thought about being part of a team. A larger team, anyway. I figured Nat was the only teammate I needed. But when I see how they helped her and SHIELD while I was, oh let's call it detained, I can see these mismatched, troubled souls are good people. Even Stark. I hear he's taking Bruce to the airport. My money's on a "plan B" for him. And as I watch Cap ride away, I can feel his loneliness but also a sense of accomplishment. He really carried us through. He's a strong leader and I'd follow him into battle any day. And he trusts Nat. And oddly enough, he trusts me. I don't understand how anybody can trust me ever again. As I watch Nat climb into the passenger seat, I question her sanity for even being in the same vehicle with me. After what I put her through...
I slam the door and turn the key. Suddenly both of our phones buzz. I take a quick glance. Agent Hill. Looks like SHIELD isn't taking anything for granted. Glad there's still some sanity left in the world. Leave it to them to check in and make sure I kept it together.
"We'll, looks like comm is back up," comments Nat.
"Don't we get a lunch break?"
She gives a nasally little chuckle and reads the text out loud.
"Agents, at your earliest convenience report to HQ. There are items within Agent Coulson's effects that are designated to go to you upon his demise. They are marked as such and are available to you in his office. As discussed, you are granted a paid leave of absence for a time frame of your discretion. Keep in mind that your report is expected in my in box within 48 hours from the time of this message. You are encouraged to stay away for a period of time to physically recoup and, honestly, give your brain and body a break. However, if you wish to return sooner rather than later to retrieve the items, this is understood and you will receive no grief from SHIELD (specifically Director Fury because I will keep him in the dark). Let me know if you need a lift to the helicarrier."
Silently, I wondered what Coulson had that he designated to give to us. I have no idea.
I focus on the road ahead of me and drive in comfortable silence. We never discussed where we were going after the send off. I figured Nat would give me a destination by now, but she hasn't made a sound since receiving the text from SHIELD. She's just sitting quietly with her own thoughts. As for me, I'm trying not to think about anything. I want to push the last few days out of my head forever. The level of frustration is infuriating. The physical pain, the emotional pain, the body count. How am I going to get over this? How do I reconcile the loss of life? I've killed on command the entire second half of my life, but it was my job. And I'd like to think that those statistics were in the "bad guy" column. SHIELD agents are far from virtuous, but they were my brothers-in-arms, my friends. This was no friendly fire situation. I murdered them. No psych eval or weeks locked away with a shrink is going to make me think any differently. How do I live my life now? How can I be trusted? How do I continue my work with SHIELD? And most importantly, how do I continue my partnership with Nat?
And then it hits me. I swerve onto the berm, but quickly and smoothly guide the vehicle back on to the pavement. It must've shocked Nat because she gripped the door handle in a death grip. I travel a little further before letting my mind wrap around the sudden realization. The letter.
Could it really be? Did he still have it and plan to honor my wishes? It was a momentary lapse of reason, an "if-I-get –out-of-this-alive-I'll-spill-my-innermost-thoughts" manifesto? Sonofabitch.
I try to recall the events that led up to my decision to write the damned missive. Budapest. Bullets. Arrows. Out numbered three-to-one, bloody, battered, broken bones, wounded spirits. It was an impossible mission to begin with compounded by the fact that it was a deeply seeded mole within SHIELD that set the whole thing in motion. I was hit hard and early in the battle. As I sat mostly useless, Nat was a whirlwind of activity. When I didn't have enough strength to use my bow she handed me a gun and even reloaded for me when I'd exhausted each magazine. She took charge and saved my life. She always talks about owing me a debt for sparing her life. She more than paid it off that day. I don't know why she thinks she still owes me anything.
As we were rushed to SHIELD's secret medical facility, we insisted on being in the same ambulance, in the same exam room, always in each other's sight. I never slept. I rested my eyes from time to time to make sure she thought I was asleep, but I couldn't bare the thought of not being alert and risking anything happening to her. Nobody knew how deeply SHIELD had been compromised and after coming through so much, I wasn't about to let anything happen to her in a supposedly safe area. I already knew that I had powerful feelings for her, but Budapest made me realize that I was in love with her and nothing in my life – in the whole world – was more important than Nat.
How do you tell the world's deadliest woman that you're in love with her? In a letter, of course. Not only that, but in a letter that she would only read after I was long dead and wouldn't be able to see her reaction to. Not only was I afraid of endangering her life further if anyone thought they could use her against me, but I was also afraid of her reaction. Only in a fairy tale did someone like me get a happily ever after. But she deserved to know that she was special for all the right reasons. She deserved to know that she was loved unconditionally and beyond reason. Even if it was just me. I wrote the letter as soon as we got back. Instead of writing my post-mission report, I sat down to pour my most private thoughts on paper.
I can still remember every word:
Nat,
As you well know I'm a man of few words. That goes for writing as well as talking. But if you're reading this, it means we'll never speak again and I couldn't let these words die with my voice. From the moment I first met you, you consumed me. It was supposed to be the other way around, but it was you who pierced MY heart. Our time together was too short. It could've been 50 years and it would still be too short. I never knew love before you. You are as beautiful as you are strong, as tender as you are stubborn, as loving as you are loyal. You are a priceless treasure and I hope you are able to see the relative peace you brought to my life. I was never much, but I would've been nothing without you. I love you, Nat.
Always,
Clint
Before I could change my mind, I folded the letter and put it into plain white envelope and simply write "NAT." I then put it into a standard 9x12 yellow envelope and walked right into Agent Coulson's office. I only trusted him with this and I had to do it while I still had my nerve.
When I gave it to Coulson, he didn't show any emotion. He listened to my verbal instructions: he was to personally hand her the envelope and then leave her in private. I watched as he placed the envelope on top of a similar envelope in a drawer in the safe and locked the safe. That's where the envelope would stay until such time that my instructions were to be followed. I never thought Coulson would go first. I don't think he did either.
I can still see him looking at me with a quizzical tilt to his head. I turned to leave and as I grabbed the door handle he said, "Have you considered how those written words will affect Agent Romanov? If you have something to say to her don't you think it's better to tell her face to face?"
"No. Not this. It's better this way. For her safety. And my sanity." I didn't even look at him. I just walked out. He never brought it up again. Obviously, neither did I.
Now realizing that the letter could see the light of day, I was forced to consider Coulson's question. It's too much after all that's happened. I have got to get that letter back.
I broke the silence in the car. "You know, Nat, if it were anyone else I'd say save it for later, but this is Coulson. I know there's no way I can ever fix what happened, but I feel like I have an opportunity to maybe ease the pain a little. Would you be ok if we head back to HQ to pick up what he left for us?"
"I think that's exactly what we should do. I can even run in by myself and pick everything up if you'd like."
Oh, hell no. As painful as it will be to walk onto the helicarrier again and face Hill, Fury, and the other agents, I will not let her go alone if there's even the slightest possibility that that letter still exists and could be within her reach. I'm going.
"No. I want to go into his office, too. I'm going to have to face these agents and SHIELD head-on if I've got any chance of coming to terms with what happened. What I caused." That may have come out harsher than I anticipated, but I wanted to make my point.
In reply Nat said firmly, "Hey. I'm already tired of saying this, but you can't continue to beat yourself up. It wasn't you. It was Loki. You had no control over your actions. Your focus was on the task he put in front of you. You did what you always do. You followed orders. And as always you did an exemplary job. Start dealing with it." She squeezed my forearm to drive home the point. "I'm here for whatever you need. You are not facing this alone."
And there it is again. Her effect on me is absolute. I want to scream, to punch something, to vent all this frustration. Her voice and simple touch bring a momentary sense of calm. Not much, but enough. After a half mile I made the decision. A quick turn of the wheel and we did a 180-degree turn up over the median and headed back to base. Without a word, Nat sent a text to Assistant Director Hill to let her know we needed a ride to the helicarrier.
I could feel her watching me out of the corner of her eye. What was she looking for? Was she expecting me to snap? I know I was. So much to say, to apologize for, to confess. It was overwhelming. Was this some after effect from the Tesseract and Loki's influence? Or was I just getting tired of fighting all my internal battles? If I were honest with myself, I'd say all of the above. But, since I'm an expert at avoiding emotions, I just let the questions float around my head as I drove. She knows me better than I know myself, but I'm pretty sure not even the great Natasha Romanov can make heads or tails of this crazy mess.
As we approach the helicarrier pick up location, the tension is thick in the car. Is she having a change of heart about going back on board? I turn off the ignition and look over at her. She tilts her head slightly over her right shoulder. Anyone else would miss it completely, but that's all I need to know that she's ready to go. No turning back now.
As we board the quinjet, we are met on the ramp by Hill herself. "Agents, thank you for your prompt response to my request. Director Fury has quite the itinerary planned out for the massive clean up and overhaul. I'm glad to get this wrapped up before all that gets underway in earnest." As she turns quickly to glance over her shoulder at us, I catch what can only be categorized as moist eyes. Had she been crying? She turns her back to us and continues walking. In a much lower and slower tone she adds, "It's good to see you two together. Best damn partnership in all of SHIELD."
Once on the helicarrier, we make our way through the long gray hallways, stepping over debris and crouching to avoid hanging wires and beams. I make sure to look every agent we pass directly in the eye. I need to show a confidence that I certainly don't feel. I notice that Nat does the same. I can't tell if she's walking so close to me avoid the debris or to, in her own way, offer me her support. No matter what the reason, I add this to my mental list of memories. On the coldest and loneliest of nights I recall this list in an attempt to gain some comfort. I concentrate on her presence and try to keep the guilt locked inside. Hill keeps up a steady pace and has us at Coulson's door in record time.
"Agents, I'll open the door and leave you alone. The boxes are on his desk and clearly marked. Take all the time you need. Just know that when you leave the door will close and lock automatically. You won't be able to get back in. You'll be on your own when exiting the base. I wasn't supposed to escort you but I wanted to see you both for myself and say, well, say thank you. While you're here I'll be running interference to keep Fury and everyone else otherwise occupied and away from you. Oh, and don't forget I'll need your reports in... 47.5 hours. Good day, agents."
She punched in the code and a smooth click indicated the door was open. Without a word she strode away. I stared at the back of Nat's head, unable to move. I saw her take a very deep breath and turn the doorknob. We were about to enter a space where we spent many hours making plans, determining marks, discussing strategy, even had a few lighthearted moments. I felt a sense of dread as I stepped in. This time would be different. Coulson wasn't here. He wouldn't ever be here again. And it was my fault.
Just as we were told, there were two small neatly arranged boxes on either end of the desk. Each box had a yellow post it note with a last name on it. The handwriting was actually Coulson's. Well, his scribble, anyway. For all his obsessive neatness and organization, the man had terrible penmanship. I noticed the tiniest of smiles grace Nat's face. I wonder what memory had just crossed her mind. I wanted to ask her, to share it with her, but I realized this a personal moment for each of us. We will deal with this in our own way. So, I left her to her musings.
As we approached the desk, I stopped short of reaching for my box. A thousand questions ran through my mind. And one popped up several times: would the letter actually be in the box?
I don't know how long I stood there. It was so quiet. I glanced to my left and saw Nat perched over her box, her eyes a million miles away. "Nat, you ok?" I asked just as something caught my eye in my own box.
"Of course. I'm fine," I heard her say in a clipped response, but I couldn't pull my eyes away from what I was seeing in my box.
"Of course you are," I muttered as my complete attention turned to the contents of the box. I carefully picked up the book and started flipping through the pages. I thought to myself: Coulson, you tricky bastard, you told me everything from that mission was destroyed in the fire. And here I am holding something I thought was lost forever.
That Cambodian solo mission was one of the worst ever. It was nothing more than tedious surveillance of opium operations run by careless, over-confident drug lords. SHIELD must've really pissed somebody off to be put in charge of that. And I know I really pissed off Fury, which is how I got to be the unlucky agent assigned. Two months of no contact with anybody, including Nat. I had no idea at the time if she was sent on her own mission and I worried constantly about who would have her back. Once I figured out the drug runner's routine, I had lots of down time. My logbook turned into a sketch book. Before I knew it, there were pages full of pencil shadings of Nat. A few action poses done from memory of our sparring sessions, but mostly sketches of her gorgeous face and hair. With so much time on my hands, I honed my artistic side and even imaged what she would look like with a smile. Most of her smiles were drawn with a hint of sadness, but I allowed myself to indulge in some of those rare fairy tale moments and added a glint to her eyes on a few pages.
One night I saw flames pop up out of nowhere. The operation had been compromised, the fields were set on fire. There was only one way out. An extraction team was on its way. I was to have all the evidence gathered up and be ready to be airlifted out of my location. But the fire was fast. Really fast. Coulson and the extraction team weren't even on the ground for two minutes before we scrapped what was left and just barely escaped with our butts intact. I was badly burned and spent the first three days back in the burn ward with a pacing Natasha outside in the hallway. When Coulson came to check on me he told me only the digital surveillance evidence made it through. All paper reports and evidence had been burned. Given that information, I never even considered the fact that the sketches survived. I was inwardly relieved, actually. I didn't need those falling into the wrong hands. And now here they were in my hands. I couldn't help the smile that crept across my lips. I shake my head in awe. Never thought anything could surprise me anymore.
And there was the 9x12 envelope under the logbook.
I pick up the lid that was sitting behind the box and give it a good tap to secure it. I turn to Nat and see that her box is already packed up. I put my hand on her shoulder. "I am so ready to get off this flying boat and not think about world domination or cosmic cubes or avenging an untimely death or anything else." I softly trail my hand down her arm, hold her hand in mine and gave a firm squeeze. "Are you ready to go?"
She dipped her head slightly and raised it back up. As I looked into her deep, green eyes she said, "I am so ready to get the hell out of here." I gave her a genuine smile and picked up my box.
"Want me to grab yours?" I asked.
"NO!" she yelled. Then more softly, "That's ok, I got it."
As I reached for the door handle, I said, "Ya know, we planned some great missions in here. I hope Coulson knew that I had no control, that I never would've allowed those events to happen if I had even the slightest ability to stop it. I hope he knew that."
"Hey, I'm telling you he knew. He was sick over what happened to you. The sound of his voice when he told me you'd been compromised chilled me to the bone. Believe me, he knew."
I nodded my head in acknowledgement, and slowly turned around for one last look at the office. Then I opened the door and tucked the box under my right arm. In an uncharacteristic move, I put my left hand at the small of Nat's back and gently guided her through the door.
Our pace was even quicker on the way out than it had been on the way in. We passed far fewer people on the way out, too. I wondered if that was Hill's doing. In the end I didn't care. I wanted to be back on the ground. Back in the vehicle driving us… where? Where did I want to spend the next few days? Water. Wind. Far enough away, but close enough to get back if needed. I knew exactly where to go.
The quinjet pilot was a young man who seemed very nervous to be in the seat. He didn't look at either of us as we boarded. He expertly put the bird down mere feet from our SHIELD-issue vehicle. He fidgeted as he waited for us to pick up our boxes and exit the jet. Of the three of us, I think he wanted us out of there even more than we wanted out of there. And that was saying something.
With the boxes packed in the trunk, I get back on the highway and begin to weave our way back out of the city. This time there's a plan.
"Do you have a destination in mind?" She asks.
"How does Mystic, Connecticut sound?" I reply.
"Never heard of it," is her matter-of-fact, non-committal response.
"There's a safe house there. Check and see if it's still available."
I had little doubt that anyone else was there. I was the only one who used it, as far as I knew. My assumption is confirmed and I watch peripherally as Nat relaxes into the seat. I'm relieved there's no argument about who should drive to Mystic.
I can feel her gaze on me for the first few miles. She wants to ask me something. Why doesn't she just ask? Is she afraid of the answer? That the Black Widow is afraid of anything is ridiculous. Maybe she's still unsure of my mental state. And she wouldn't be the only one. So much to sort out, so little time. After a few more miles I notice her breathing has evened out. She fell asleep. I find that very comforting and actually relax myself. It's a quick and uneventful drive up I95 into Connecticut.
I park the car in the garage. It's as well-armored as I remember. We could make quite a stand in this little tourist town if we had to. That helps put my mind even more at ease. Yes, this was a good choice. I can begin the healing process here.
I gently nudge her left shoulder and quickly remove my hand. No need to add a broken wrist to the long list of injuries. I know she's going to be pissed when she realizes she fell asleep. "Nat? Do you want to sleep in the car or get comfortable in the house?"
"I'm so sorry. I can't believe I did that."
"Don't be sorry. Obviously, you needed the rest. Besides you were only out about an hour or so."
"Oh, please. You need rest more than I do. I should've been awake to drive or keep you awake while you drove. Although, as usual, you didn't ask for my help and got us where we needed to be." She let an exasperated smirk spread across her face to let me know she was giving me a hard time but in good humor. That was a pleasant surprise, but I can't let her get the upper hand again. I scowl and tap the armrest.
"I'll get the bags. Do you want to keep your box in the car?"
"No, I'll bring it in with me."
We gathered everything up and I watched as she admired the firepower in the garage. Once in the small, unassuming seaside Cape Cod residence, the mid afternoon sunlight shone brightly in the modern kitchen. As with all SHIELD safe houses, the outward appearance was normal and fit in with the surrounding neighborhood, usually in touristy locations, if in highly-populated areas. The cabinets and refrigerator were always filled with basic but fresh options. Before the send off in Central Park, we stopped for our own special additions: vodka for Nat and a special micro brew for me. As soon as I put the bags down, she immediately opened hers and pulled out the bottle of Grey Goose. It went directly to the freezer.
I made a second trip out to the vehicle to grab my case of beer. I was finally winding down and looking forward to sitting on the front porch overlooking Long Island Sound and fading off to a dreamless sleep. I could hear the wind whistling off the water and around the house. This is exactly what I wanted. Somehow I knew Nat would find this as comforting as I did.
When I got back into the kitchen, she was nowhere to be found. Hopefully she claimed one of the bedrooms and was settling back to sleep. We were both running on fumes at this point.
I loaded the beer bottles into the large refrigerator. I took one and popped off the cap. It wasn't as cold as I would like, but it sure tasted good. I stood up and moved over to the table and took the lid off of my box.
As tempted as I was to look through the sketches again, I picked up the large envelope. I unfolded the hinges that held the top flap closed and pulled out the plain white envelope. What was I going to do the letter? Read it, of course. Then probably take a match to it in the sink. To think that Coulson held on to it all this time and took steps to have it returned if anything happened to him – well, it was a whole lot to comprehend. Things will never be the same again. Coulson was the best handler, but only now do I realize he was actually a friend.
He knew I had feelings for Nat and he never let on. Never jeopardized the delicate situation he had created for himself. So many things made sense now – the mission assignments, the bending of visitation rules in the infirmary, even some of his dry, backhanded remarks made sense now. Dammit, Coulson. After all that and this is how it ends. If I have to fly to Asgaard myself, I will make sure Loki pays for this. I promise you that.
When I turned over the envelope, I was shocked to see my name written in Nat's handwriting. Something wasn't right. As I unfold the letter, I realize this isn't the paper I wrote on. The ink isn't blue, it's black. The handwriting is… Nat's? What the hell?
Agent Barton,
I hope this letter finds you healthy and unhurt. I have not been so lucky. And it all comes down to luck, doesn't it? All the hours of training, practicing, sparring, and conditioning won't make a difference if it's just your time to go, right? My luck ran out. But not before I was the luckiest girl in the world. My life wasn't always lucky but that changed when you spared my life. Not only was I lucky enough to live, but I was incredibly lucky to live a life with you. Not in the traditional sense, of course. We were a force in the field, as well as in those rare moments of off time. Whether you knew it not, you were my rock, my sanity, my conscience, my heart and my soul. You allowed me to believe that I was worthy - though just barely- of your time and attention. What I never allowed myself to believe was that I could handle your response to my telling you my most personal confession. I couldn't convince myself that you felt the same. And I'd rather be with you in some way than be without you in any way. Please forgive my selfishness. Know that my spirit lives on in your determination, your skill, your humanity, and your heart. I love you, Clint Barton.
Always,
Nat
I read the letter again. Is this a joke? There's no denying Nat's handwriting. This was hers. She wrote me a letter. She loves me? She's in love with me? Get a grip Barton. This is way too much. I finish off the bottle of beer set it down in the sink. I put the envelopes back in the box and put the top back on. I set the letter on top of the box. My mind is blank. Or is it too full? I can't tell anymore. I can't focus on one single thought. Finally, after everything that's happened, I'm going to snap. I could handle mind control, working for the demi-god enemy, murdering my fellow agents, destroying a state-of-the-art multi-million dollar war ship, attempting to kill my partner, battling an alien army, and facing the death of a man I never knew was my friend. I was dealing with all of it. And this single paragraph is what hurls me over the edge of sanity?
I pace around the kitchen looking for some outlet for this energy. So this is what a mental breakdown feels like. Not a fan. Nope, don't like it all. Suck it up, Barton. Deal with this.
How long ago was it written? Surely she can't still feel the same. After everything that's happened. There's only one way to find out. Well, Coulson, I guess you'll get your answer about whether it's better to deal with this face-to-face because here I go.
I walk down the hallway and see the door to the front bedroom is slightly closed, but not all the way. I'm about to knock when I peer in and see Nat intently staring at piece of paper. Well, that answers the other obvious question of "if I read Nat's letter to me then where is my letter to Nat?" It's in her hand right now. Oh, Christ. But it could be written in one of the few languages she doesn't read for as much as she seems to be comprehending it. How long is she going to…
What's happening? Why is the paper shaking? My God, she's crying. In 15 years and more heartache in a lifetime than any one person should have to endure she has never cried. Never teared-up. Never hitched a breath. And yet here she is reading my confession and crying. No, check that. Sobbing. The letter, my letter to her, clutched to her chest and tears streaming into her lap. That can't be.
And then I feel a drop on my hand that holds her letter. I lower my eyes and realize I'm crying. I'm crying? Holy shit, I'm crying. Only you, Natasha, could move me to tears. Only you sitting there sobbing over a piece of paper could destroy my balance and reduce me to tears. I hate to see you hurt so much. Get a grip before I walk over there and shake some sense into you. You have to pull it together. On your own. For the both of us.
And just like that, just as if I'd said it out loud, she stops. She takes a big breath and begins to put the paper back in her box. And then she senses me. I didn't move, didn't speak, made no noise whatsoever, but she suddenly knew I was there. No turning back now.
When she turns and meets my gaze I don't know what expression I have on my face. I hadn't thought that far ahead. I just stand there and let her process the situation. She furrows her brows and looks closely at my face. She realizes I've been crying. No way to hide that. And I don't think I want to. I watch as her eyes leave my face and rest on my hand. Specifically, the letter in my hand. Instantly she understands the situation.
She brings her eyes back to meet mine. A lifetime passes between us in the 3 seconds before she speaks. "We need to talk."
The enormity of this situation hits me again and I can't immediately respond to her. Finally I force out, "Still trying to find my voice."
Suddenly her demeanor completely changed. She no longer looked fragile and sad. There was a calm determination about her, almost as if a switch was flicked and she could see everything in the light. She had all the answers and was going to share them with me. She was going to make me believe.
She rose steadily from the bed and walked over to me, her eyes never waivering from mine. When she was right in front of me I cautiously cocked my head slightly to the right. I couldn't read her actions and didn't know what to expect. Then she raised her right arm and wrapped her hand around the back of my neck. She pulled me gently but confidently down to her face and said, "For once, let me help you."
It took only a split second of pleading from her half opened eyes burning into mine. I lowered my head the rest of the way down and met her lips. So tender. Not hesitant, but not forceful. Not what one would image a kiss nearly 15 years in the making between the Black Widow and the Hawk would be. It was possible. It was perfect. It was us.
Yes, my salvation would begin right here, right now with the only person in the entire universe who mattered.