For the past few years that he had left her all alone in this compound, she never lost the habit of stealing his shirts and labelling it as her own. In fact, it even got worse, because he wasn't there, and so the closest thing she had to having him right beside her was the set of his tees and hoodies left inside his closet. They always carried his scent. The whole room—even when he didn't stay there for long—smelled like him, that she couldn't help but spend some of her counted rest nights sleeping on his bed instead of her own. Because it made her feel like she was safe, like she was in his arms. And every day, she'd hope to wake up with him right there, like how she used to when they were running from the government and their budget only allowed them to rent a single bedroom that they'd share in the entirety of their stay at whatever country or continent they are in.
Right now he could only wish that it stayed that way.
Steve curled up in one dark corner of his bed, chin above his knees as he stared at the teal-colored crew neck shirt that he bought from some local store at Berlin. The shirt was both him and Natasha's favorite, they practically shared it even though it was his and she'd casually steal it from his duffle bag to wear as a nightie. She loved it so much even though it made her look tinier than she already was. And unlike all of the clothes he had given up to her, he didn't let her have this one. He'd steal it back every opportunity he got, and so it was there in his closet first thing when he looked.
He squeezed it inside his fists, pulling it closer to his nose as tears rolled down simultaneously from both his eyes, all of them seemingly trying to win a race to the ends of his chin.
The shirt still smelled like Nat.
He thought the place was normal not until they had that screaming match at the dock. From the moment Clint stepped down the machine without Nat, everything appeared lifeless in his eyes. He still tried denying it and hoping that there'd be a loophole just like how Thor wanted to see things earlier, but then all of them realized that it really is what it is.She's gone.And she's not coming back. But every single corner and pathway and even the empty chairs still made him see her, going back and forth in every inch of the floor. This facility was hers to keep for the previous years and there wasn't a single space here that she hasn't been in. But if there's one room in particular that she surely enjoyed staying in, that's this room.Hisroom.
His lungs felt painful against his chest as he continuously inhaled the air that only passed through the shirt he's clasping with both hands. Each corner held a memory of her, standing, sitting, he can even imagine her feet up his nightstand as she read one of the modern books he bought just to catch up with time. Everything still smelled likeher.Even his pillows, his sheets, because she's probably the only one who cared to change them and use them. The strawberry scent of her hand cream remained in every surface she'd ever touched, and it still lingered in him as well. The way she tucked his shirt inside her fists and held his face. Every single thing was just too poisoning for him but he can't howl or scream or call her name out until his voice runs out.
Because she's not coming back.
With shaking feet, he tried to get down from the bed, shrugging off the haunting echoes of her voice inside his head as she told him her very last words. But his efforts were all for nothing, because one single stretch from his bed is the cupboard wherefive picture frames stood, containing pictures of him and Natasha and Sam,from when they were still running.
In the span of those years, he never thought that they would have random week-long experiences of a normal life. Like a normal family. When they got into a remote island with the perfect view of sunset and clear, blue waters, they felt like being on a vacation. Because there, no one could recognize them and they don't have to worry about being caught after. On the leftmost side, near the edge of the shelves is the picture of Nat when they were at some Hawaiian mountain with a lot of waterfalls. She's far in front of the gushing waters and near to the camera when Sam took the shot, opening her mouth wide below the ends of the falls so it looks like she's drinking from it. He doesn't exactly know why of all the pictures he could've developed, that one was what he chose for her. Even the next picture—which had Sam in it—is also a fairly odd one to put, because it was a candid shot taken by Natasha when he's jiving with a rap song, pretending to be the one singing, all dressed up with loose shorts and a loose shirt, colorful long socks, bright-colored sneakers, a pair of sunglasses, a hippie cap, and with two of his middle fingers sticking out.
He could've sworn he hated bad language not until his best friends do it.
The third picture that stood in the middle were the three of them dressed up with the same black shirt as if members of some type of cult. Natasha was in between him and Sam, all of them posing peace signs and smiles. It was when they transformed to another group of people again, with him having long, hipster hair that's tied up from his forehead so he looks like an apple; Sam showing off his curls that tend to bounce a lot; and finally, Nat, who looked ethereal with her straight, back-length brown hair, styled in a sleek ponytail just so she could tuck it through the hole of the hat she wore.
Nothing matched the smiles they had that day, when they were enjoying themselves in an amusement park for the first time ever. Nat obviously loved experiencing childhood even at her age, and he didn't judge her for that. Her lips were smeared with ice cream and cotton candy that she got from winning the balloon shooting game she's definitely good at and it looked adorable in every angle. When they rode bump cars, she would always target him. But most importantly—while she's being childish in that span of time—she held his hand while walking like he's her guardian.
A dry chuckle escaped his mouth as he moved to the fourth picture. It was Bucky's, a picture of him from 1943 when he got enlisted in the military and wore his uniform for the first time. He was the happiest.
And finally, the fifth picture. Where he'd probably never take his gaze off of.
That was a rainy Sunday night at Melbourne, where they rented an inn in the outskirts. He and Nat were the only ones who had to dye their hair in a regular basis, and that night was one of the few when their original roots would surface and they'd have to recolor it. So to make the work easier—and since they're already used to it—they shared the bathroom sink, both facing the mirror as he ran his gloved hand through the strands of her hair, making sure that everything is covered with the amber-colored dye. When he was done with her head, it was her turn to color his hair, and since she was too short compared to his height, he had to carry her above the sink, making her sit there just so she could level on his head and get a better look of it. However, she didn't look where she was supposed to. Instead of his hair, it was his eyes and lips she alternated looking at.
The heat of the moment fell on them hard that they didn't realize no one was moving. Their eyes were glued on each other's. Attraction was always an undeniable thing between the two of them and one of the few things that made them control the temptation is taking it as a joke. Natasha opened the bottle of dye and intentionally squeezed what it contained, just so Steve's searing gaze would be taken off of her. The liquid came out like a fountain that hit his face and smeared all over his cheeks. She laughed at it and then it was his time for revenge, getting the bottle from her and using it as a water gun aimed at her. None of them seemed to want to ward it off and they kept going, playing with colors like children until the walls were already dripping with water and hair dye and every single bottle they were able to grasp and squeeze and throw. The sound of their laughter in unison echoed in the small room and it made its way outside, where Sam prepared their dinner at the little round table directly adjacent to the bathroom.
The noise joyed him more than it concerned him, because maybe the laughter they were sharing already meant something else. Something he had been rooting for in a very long time now. So he opened the door silently, none of them hearing him go, or even if they did, no one cared. The bathroom's a mess of chestnut brown and amber and bleach and purple shampoo and water. Everything's dripping down the wall and smeared on their clothes and skin. Nat continued drawing lines on Steve's messed up face and he was all but countering it. He was laughing so hard while trying get to her tickle areas just so she could refrain, but it just got even messier, ending up in a fit of laughter and colors. A very little moment of happiness and yet the most memorable one.
Steve didn't know that every single one of his unspoken feelings were all bursting out of him in that very moment. If Sam didn't take his phone out to capture the precious juncture, he will never have a way to know just how much love there was in between their eyes. The plain share of games and laughter revealedthatlove they had for each other.
The kind of love that holds on tight and refuses to let go.
The kind of love that took too long for him to realize and even longer to confess. Now it's just too late.
Taking his eyes off the photograph that for sure Natasha also did stare for a couple of hours, he opened the drawer underneath it. Where his dusty old sketch pad is kept under a couple more legal papers and somewhat thicker notebooks. When they got back with the other avengers, he had an unfinished drawing. One that occupied the last page of his sketchpad. That's also where a developed picture of Natasha hid in between pages—it was his reference.
He still remembers the night he took that. Steve was more of a mechanical artist than a photographer, so he wasn't really fond of digital art. He didn't know how to use Sam's camera and he'd rather stare at something while drawing it, but that moment in the golden hour was something so hard to miss. Natasha barely slept—it was actually the first time he ever saw her cozied on a couch with her then blonde curls falling perfectly on the pillow she was using. Her other hand was above her tummy and the other one is next to her tilted head. The golden yellow light peeking through the blinds cast rectangular exposures on his salmon pink shirt that she was wearing.
The sunset will soon be over, and she will wake up shortly for sure, so without second thought, he stole Sam's camera from the table and took a picture of her coming from his angle. It was such a blessed encounter that the gadget didn't make a sound or popped a flash in sync with the shutter, because if it did, he would've been dead.
Drawing portraits was never his expertise. More detailed and bigger pictures perhaps would go easier with his hand, just like drawing his view of the fifth avenue 1940. But when he started seeing Natasha in every different light, he wanted to draw her and save the moment in one of the pages of his pad that he'd browse and maybe brag to hisfuture wifesomeday. Nat could literally just sit there and do nothing but he'd still find her beautiful enough to be put on a page, framed, and hung on a wall. At first he thought he was just bored and finding a new art style would be a good way to pass the time, but then he realized that none of his pages contained another person's face. It was always Natasha. If it was just another hobby, it could've been anyone, and yet it wasn't Sam nor Bucky—and Peggy's beauty might still be engraved in his memory but she was never included in his portraits.Everythingwas Natasha, because he's all about her. He always has been.
His fingers halved the spine of the sketchpad and found that photograph in the middle of the pages. He then took it in between his fingers and rummaged to the last page, where he'd only finished drawing her torso and the window next to her. Her features were still incomplete, but had he shown it to her sooner even if it wasn't yet done, it could've drawn a smile on her face. She might've asked why on earth are all her silent moments sketched in every page, and he would've told her the truth that he could only think of her whenever he wants to pour his heart into art.
They would've made up sooner, and she wouldn't have left. She wouldn't have died. Because he will accompany her to get the soul stone for sure. And if it goes down to him and her dangling by the edge of the cliff, he wouldn't let her go. She could use her widow's bite or even shoot him but he won't ever let her hand go if it was his to hold on to.
Steve was cut out from his thoughts when the alert beeps of the speakers sounded in his room as the doors opened to welcome Clint Barton inside. The guy's eyes were still puffy and red, he was no longer crying but will do anytime. A black journal is tucked in between in his hands as he approached Steve, who was also holding what seemed to be a bigger version of a journal. Clint's eyes never failed him and he can see what he's looking at from afar. Natasha's picture, and an undone sketch. Still, he asked what it was.
"Mind sharing?" His brown eyes went down the thing in Steve's hands and then he received a bitter laugh.
"Nothing. Just some... unfinished gift I failed to give someone."
Clint saw it already from a meter away before Steve clapped the thing closed. Either way, he'd still know what it was, it's evident in his eyes. They mirrored the same grief he had but there was something way more than that.
The pain of losing someone helovesso damn much. That's what his blue eyes held. That's what his tears carried. And no matter how much he tries to keep it hidden, it's impossible, especially to someone who always knew what his best friend thought of the guy with the shield—from the very first time he came to her sight. Not to mention that every single one of them always found it obvious that Natasha Romanoff held a place in Captain America's heart.
They always knew, but Steve and Natasha were idiots about it that even if it was theirs to know first, none of them were informed.
They always meant something to each other, and because of Natasha's sudden death, Clint felt responsible of letting Steve know what Natalwaystried to. She was never ready, but when they were having that conversation in the dining hall earlier, he saw it in her eyes that she was finally deciding to take the risk. Maybe it was her soul's own instinct that she already had to tell him before it goes too late that's why she suddenly had the urge and the push coming from all of them who saw her cuddled up with Steve this morning. She was finally taking up the courage, and today perhaps was the day she meant to say it, but time always has been cruel to her that it didn't allow even one last minute for her to finally be complete.
That's the reason why he's carrying her journal now, to give it to Steve. But it didn't feel enough. So he decided to stay there for a few minutes more, leaning by the wall to open up something still so fresh that it still made them all bleed internally.
"Do you remember that time in the airport when we were fighting each other? Two teams, with the opponents being the closest people to us?" He started roughly, holding back tears.
Steve nodded. "I do."
"You know? Natasha fought me. A literal combat. Not that we're very used to doing that but it's because she knows we'd still be friends. She can shoot me with a bullet and I can pierce her with my arrow and we'd still be there for each other. The same thing you did with Tony. You fought him, right?"
Confusion clouded his face, nevertheless, he affirmed this question.
"But when it came to you and her... did she even hurt you? Was it a deadly glare or a loving one? Did she punch you or did she do everything in her power to assure you that you were safe with her?"
Clint's question was rhetorical, and it was a proper reaction to be speechless. Finally, little by little, clues came to him and he finally had a knick of where this conversation is going.
Tears dripped down Barton's face as he looked down. "You see, Steve, Natashalovedyou. She loved you maybe longer than I knew she did and that love she had for you was..." he paused, choking in air. "...was the love she always wanted to have."
Steve staggered back, Hawkeye's words shot him like his arrows. Straight to the center of his heart.
He knew... he always did. But was too shy to admit and too scared to confess. He was definitely not too busy, yet he never found the time.
"She can hurt anyone and shewillhurt anyone if she was told to do so but you're the exception to that because she had you once upon a time and you're the miracle she held on to and refused to let go of. Losing you would be losing the only reason why she didn't feel like a monster." His voice cracked saying that and it was followed by racing drops of water along his cheeks, but he was brave enough to put another facade and face Cap again. "Take it from me; she never loved anyone like she loved you. That even if it hurt so much, she continuously chose you. Ever since it had been you, it has been you, all the time, Rogers. She gave her heart to you without thinking twice, there wasn't a plan B or a leverage to get it back because that's how sure she was, but she didn't get the chance to tell you just how much."
Barton pressed his lips in a thin line, swallowing the lump in his throat before continuing.
"When you became partners in certain missions especially the one that involved HYDRA infiltrating S.H.I.E.LD., I saw how she looked at you. After that encounter, I knew you earned a place in her heart and that's why she can't stop looking at you with heart eyes. Laura and I and even Hill would tease her about you, she'd always say no, not until we had that talk about her getting a normal life like I have outside of being an agent." He took a deep breath. "I asked her what she felt for you, and she told me it was only yours to know that's why I didn't ask any further. I knew exactly what it was. And I was happy... because my best friend was finally getting there, investing in her emotions. That's why every chance I got, I'd ask her if she told you..."
He paused. The memory of what Natasha would always tell him whenever he asks the same question pained his heart especially now. Meanwhile, Steve was patiently waiting. he didn't want to interrupt or to intervene, he knew Clint was supposed to say something after that so he remained silent and composed himself for whatever it was he is to hear. The reason why Natasha never told him.
"I'd ask her if she already confessed, and she'd just scoff and tell me she cantell you tomorrow. The same response every time. Because also, every damn time she tried to look you in the eye and tell you, you'd always be staring at this compass... or if she starts a conversation you'd always find a way to put Peggy in the topic."
"I still wanted her to have the chance to tell you... that's why I wanted to be the one to jump. But I know she expected you to move on so easily from this. If only she knew that she meant something to you, too," he added. Paused again to gather air and resumed. "I want you to know that until her very last breath, she had been thinking of you and those words you said.Whatever it takes.And she didn't fail you."
Clint wasn't angry. His voice is actually surprisingly calm. Because what's the point of fighting now, right?
"I just wish you looked her way sooner, Steve. You never know the amount of times she tried until she can't anymore." He reached for Steve's shoulder and tapped ot twice before pressing the unfamiliar black journal on his chest. It had a silly little heart-shaped padlock with the keys hanging by the end of the spine. Barton even laughed at it.
"Nat used to help my daughter with her diary and she ended up getting one, too. I know it belongs to you, she'd want me to give it to you at least. Your name is practically written in the first page." He said and then smiled, before deciding to exit the room. Leaving him with Natasha's journal.
He put the sketchpad on top of the cupboard, next to their photograph, and then he returned to the bed, already beginning to find which side of the key will fit inside the lock. He put the stick to fit the pins inside before twisting it and it came undone. He only had to unhook it and there was the first page, greeting him with a surprise. His full name is written in all caps using red ink, followed by her name, and then followed by a heart, and then a smiley.Thatsmiley she'd put in alert messages, but now it's her handwriting.
She's a messy writer. The journal wasn't filled with much, because she tends to keep her secrets to herself instead of writing them. What he found instead were stickman drawings. A taller figure holding a circle with a star in the center and another figure next to him, holding his other hand. Her eyebrows furrowed while holding a gun in the left hand.
The thought of her trying to draw them put a bittersweet smile on his face.If only she knew he had been drawing her, too.
He switched through pages, hoping to find something he can at least discover about her, but the leaves were empty and writings are in random pages. He quickly thought of the very last page, because it never fails.
He switched there abruptly, and he was right. The uppermost corner in the left had seven of its lines occupied by a poem.
She kept her heart in the last page of the journal like how he did in the sketchpad.
Foreign letters, yet his soul was able to comprehend what she had written. It was absolutelyfor him.
Я люблю вас
И я буду любить тебя снова
Снова и снова
В этой жизни и в следующей
В этой вселенной и в другой
Где бы ты ни был
Все, что нужно
"I love you
And I'd love you again
Over and over
In this life and in the next
In this universe and the other
Wherever you are
Whatever it takes"
The tears he was able to hold back earlier came out again, this time even stronger. They were flooding his face while making it so hard to breathe that he's already hiccuping.
"I love you, too..."the back of his mind spoke. His tears wetting the paper as he ran his fingers through the letters, specifically in the last line. He made up his mind that this isn't something he'd give up just because the woman he loves is gone.
Steve recomposed himself and shut the journal closed, gripping it tight in his hands. The decision has already been made.
He will have her back. In this life and in the next. In this universe and all the others. Wherever she is.
"Whatever it takes."