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The mission was simple. Track. Eliminate. Disappear.
Natasha Romanoff had done it a hundred times before. The weight of a kill order no longer sat heavy on her conscience, it was just another part of her existence, as effortless as breathing.
And yet, tonight, her hands hesitated. Because the target standing in the glow of a dim streetlamp, unaware of the red dot tracing their silhouette, was someone she had already lost once.
Y/N.
She should have known. The moment she opened the mission file, she should have recognized the gaps in the intel, the way it all seemed too clean, too intentional. It wasn’t just a job. It was a test.
A gust of wind stirred the air. Natasha adjusted her grip on the silencer, her pulse steady, unnaturally so. She had trained herself to ignore the past, to sever every weakness before it could take root.
But memories had a way of resurfacing when you least expected them.
The ghost of laughter under cheap motel sheets. The quiet confessions whispered into the space between midnight and dawn. The way Y/N had once traced the scars on Natasha’s hands and swore they could be more than what they were made for.
She had let herself believe it.
For a while, she had let herself dream.
Then came the mission that tore them apart, the choice that left Natasha believing the person she loved most had died.
After all those years, fate had drawn them back into the same orbit.
Only this time, Natasha was the bullet waiting to be fired.
You shifted slightly, scanning the quiet street, the instinct of someone who had spent too long looking over your shoulder.
Natasha inhaled sharply. She had pulled the trigger on strangers, on threats, on people whose names she had never bothered to learn. But your were none of those things. Her finger hovered over the trigger. The directive in her earpiece was clear. Take the shot.
She let out a slow breath. And then, in one fluid movement, she turned the gun toward the empty alley and fired into the darkness.
The silence that followed felt deafening.
Natasha stood there for a second longer before speaking into her comm. “Target eliminated.”
She removed the earpiece and crushed it under her boot. But as she turned to leave, a cold weight settled in her chest, something too close to hesitation.
“You don’t miss.” Your voice cut through the silence. “That's not like you, моя любовь.”
“You should just be glad you’re still breathing,” Natasha replied, her tone unreadable.
“Should I be?”
The silence stretched between you, tense and heavy. Hidden in the dark alley, you watched as she searched for you, her movements careful. Natasha lingered at the edge of the shadows, her gun lowered but still in her grasp.
“You hesitated.” You took a slow step forward.
Her expression didn’t waver. “Maybe you’re not worth the bullet.”
You huffed out a quiet laugh, more disbelief than humor. “You've changed.”
"Or maybe you never knew me at all."
“I knew enough to take a bullet for you,” you said.
"I never asked you to take a bullet for me," she replied, her voice low, but firm. “I told you to run.”
“Then I guess you’re the one who never really knew me at all.”
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.
“Maybe,” she said quietly, “but at least I knew when to save myself.”
You swallowed hard, the weight of those words heavier than any bullet.
“And what about me?” Your voice cracked, barely a whisper. “Did you ever think about saving me?”
Natasha swallowed sharply. Her eyes flickered with regret.
"It was your choice—"
You cut her off. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”
"It wasn’t that simple.” She said quietly.
“Nothing worth saving ever is. But I guess I wasn't."
She scoffed, a quiet chuckle escaping her lips. A tear welled up at the edge of her eye. She looked down, but said nothing. Instead, she stepped back into the shadows.
"Is that it? You're just going to run away and hide like you always do?"
She hesitated briefly, one foot lingering just beyond the reach of the streetlamp’s glow.
“I never stopped looking for you. I never stopped caring.”
“Then don’t leave.”
She looked at you, her expression guarded.
“You still don’t get it, do you?” She let out a bitter laugh and stepped closer. “They won’t hesitate to kill both of us if they find out I failed my mission. It’s safer if they think you’re dead.”
"Am I just your mission, моя любовь?"
She looked at you with a sharp gaze and swallowed hard. “You were.”