Shock. Disbelief. Denial. She'd felt it all when she'd first gotten the call. Nick Fury couldn't be dying; he wasn't dying. It was impossible.
She'd rushed to the hospital as fast as she could; speeding the whole way and breaking multiple traffic laws. She faintly remembered the shrill whine of sirens and the flashing of red and blue lights when she'd first arrived at the hospital; but it was all a blur as she'd numbly jumped out of her car and raced into the hospital.
She remembered running through the halls and finding Steve and Maria; and the renewed shock of seeing him lying there, helpless, in the surgery room, covered with blood and bullet holes. Surrounded by doctors and nurses and the high-pitched beeping of the machines that had been keeping him alive.
She remembered the physical pain she'd felt in her chest when they were defibrillating him; almost as though she'd been the one they were defibrillating. And the empty, hopeless feeling she'd felt as they'd turned off the machines and left him. Given up.
And now, here she was, standing beside him in the morgue. Trying to convince herself that this was all just a terrible dream; trying to hold back the tears. She'd always hated crying; it made her feel weak and vulnerable and childish. She hated the way it made her eyes sting and her throat hurt. But she couldn't help it.
He was dead. Dead. It was impossible. But it was true. Nick Fury, the man who'd always been such a good friend to her, the closest thing she'd had to a father, was dead.
She could still remember the first time she'd met him, when Barton had introduced them, how nervous she had felt. Not afraid of him, but afraid that he would reject her because of all she'd done. Because of all the red in her ledger. And she had wondered if she would intimidate him, being a renowned assassin, but he'd seemed perfectly calm as he shook her hand and introduced himself.
"I'm Nicholas J. Fury," he'd said. "Welcome to Shield, Black Widow." S.H.I.E.L.D. – the place that would be her home for many years to come. She hadn't known then what a huge impact Nick would have on her life, and how much she would come to trust and respect him, both as a fellow soldier, and as a friend.
Even as he lay there, covered by a white sheet in this place that reeked of death, she kept expecting him to wake up. To sit up and speak to her in his familiar voice, telling her that it was going to be alright.
But it wasn't.
She heard Steve and Maria conversing in low tones behind her. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore except for the body that lay in front of her.
A moment later, she felt Steve come up behind her.
"Natasha," he said, his voice full of concern. She didn't respond, didn't look up.
But she knew it was time to go; time to leave him. Forever. And this was her last chance to say goodbye.
Gently, she reached forward and rested her hand on his cold forehead. And then all the emotions swelled, almost choking her, threatening to escape her. Because he was gone. And he was never coming back.
She tore herself away from the body and stalked towards the door, wiping tears from her eyes. She didn't say anything to Steve and Maria. She didn't trust herself to speak.
Nick Fury was dead.