Chapter Text
How can you just leave me?
You hadn’t meant to say it aloud. Not again. Before you registered the sound of your own voice, you watched her face fall.
You hadn’t meant to, but you did.
Your hands grabbed at her waist without hesitation, a thoughtless impulse that you couldn’t help but regret. It wouldn’t do you any good to start begging, you would surely lose the fight. Your hands limply fell to your sides as the heavy weight of defeat washed over you. Her pin-straight scarlet hair cloaked her face when she looked down at your hands.
“You can’t make me fight over this again,” she groaned, exasperated, taking a step away from you. It was as if you had slapped her square in the face. On the contrary, it was you who felt a sting as she distanced herself from you.
“I’m not mad, Natasha, I just can’t breathe at the very thought,” you whispered. Your throat felt swollen, straining with each attempt to take a full breath.
“Have you ever considered that you’re the one hurting me?” Those words were laced with venom, but her pale green eyes revealed the anguish. She looked exhausted and tortured, yet she couldn’t speak her true feelings aloud.
Years of companionship and she still couldn’t articulate exactly how she felt.
“I don’t ever want to be the one to hurt you. I just don’t see how…” Your voice breaks and you swallow a sob, desperate to stop yourself from crying. She didn’t cry in front of you, it was always you. You felt weak.
She clenched her fists, the muscles in her arms flexing beneath the stark black material of her suit. You would melt at the sight of her in a pair of jeans, but nothing was as mystical as Natasha Romanova in her Black Widow uniform. She was breathtaking; looking more powerful, slender and strong than anyone you had ever met.
“Every time I have a mission, I leave you. I worry about the enemies I make, and whether or not they will find you while I’m gone. I wonder what it would mean to die and leave you with that grief. Then I have to miss you. Do you know how hard it is to leave you?” She takes a small breath and licks a tear from her lips, the single tear you’ve followed intently as it travelled down her face. “You cry and beg me to stay. Do I get credit, for the burden I bear?”
Her chest heaved, but she kept the sob from releasing in an attempt to calm herself. There weren’t any more tears, but they were present in the tone of her voice.
You shut your mouth, realizing it was agape as you were hearing her out. Perhaps you had made her strength and composure into an impenetrable monument. You suddenly felt unexplainably cruel. How long had you held her to this impossible standard?
“I’m so sorry. Love has made me so blind,” you admitted solemnly.
“I think I love you too much,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from defending herself. She took a step closer to you and wiped a stray tear from the side of your face. Her cold fingers brushed your cheek, then ghosted over the curve of your bottom lip.
You reached for her waist again and pulled her against you, breathing in the familiar herbal scent that wafted from her hair. As she traced the lines of your face, you tried to memorize the small things that you loved about her. The crease between her brows, a small scar on the left side of her nose, and the permanent pout on her lips. You loved to study her perfections and flaws whenever you had the chance, in case she didn't come home, and you lost the chance.
You always had hope though, unwavering hope and confidence in her abilities. There had never been a risk as great as this one. This time there was barely any hope to muster.
"What about James?" Your voice was low and restrained, fuelled by desperation to keep some control over the situation. It wasn’t time yet, you couldn’t break.
Natasha shook her head, her lower lip trembling. It wasn’t just you that she was to leave behind. Before you, there was Bucky Barnes.
Many partners were bonded by a force felt in the depths of their chests, a charge that drew them to each other, no matter how far apart. When Natasha found you, there was no hesitation in accepting that she was the one you would follow anywhere. It took a long time for her to explain that it was different for her. Maybe she felt you in her chest, right beneath her heart. But woven into her ribs was the ache for a man known as the Winter Soldier. The one who, a long time ago, trained her in the Red Room Academy. Adam and Eve of reformed assassins. All it took was fifty years apart and your encouragement for her to find him once again.
Another superhero, and assassin, to compare yourself to was complicated. Both James and Natasha were constantly fighting for their lives. Meanwhile, you were at home begging the Gods to keep your family safe and bring them home. The power you had was not the kind you could take to the front lines of any fight. It was too dangerous for you to join the Avengers and fight alongside them. Instead, you used your visions of the past to teach others. You penned novels correcting historical inaccuracies and outlined lessons in universities. A safe profession. To stay home, write, and wait.
"He knows this is goodbye. It’s the risk we take on every mission. He’s faced the end so many times, he’s prepared for every outcome. Especially losing me. But you--" She swallowed a sob and her nostrils flared; the pain was all too clear in her face. "You are the one I truly leave behind. You're my peace of home, the only constant in my life.
You have given me a piece of the life that was stolen from me when I entered the Academy. I will always, completely, be indebted to you for that."
You cried freely, embracing Natasha so tightly that it most likely took her breath away. The tighter you gripped her back, the more you were determined to make her stay. How could you simply watch her go? This was not like the other goodbyes. Just minutes ago, you thought you had a few more days, as surely, she would warn you. But you could feel it, intensely. She was slipping away sooner than that.
And this time she wouldn’t come home.
"Will I know?" You couldn't say it out loud, those impending words of doom. Will you know when she is dead? Will your heart sear with white-hot pain as it’s shredded by grief? Will you take a breath and realize there is no air, suffocating on the absence of life? Will you just feel empty?
One of her hands rubbed your lower back and the other gently combed through your hair. She didn't respond, most likely because she didn't know. It wasn’t fair to ask anyway. She was wondering what it would feel like to die, and you were wondering what it would feel like to live despite that. You wanted to tell her that she didn't have to be strong, that she could break down as well, but a piece of you didn't want her to. Selfishly. She knew that as well, and somehow, she stayed composed.
"I have a mission for you," she murmured through your hair. You stifled a sob and pulled back slightly, putting a hand on her warm cheek. She covered your hand with her own and stilled the tremors, rubbing her thumb gently across yours.
You didn't want to ever forget the feeling of her calloused hand against your skin or the feminine softness of her cheek. But one day you knew that you would wake up and realize you had forgotten. Those were not the types of things that stayed with a person forever. Only the idea of it.
"I’ll do anything," you choked out. Always, whatever the cost. She was your soulmate, the closest person to you in the world.
"I need you to be a hero, for Bucky. He won't have me to share his dreams with, his darkest thoughts. You’re the only one who can champion his success and offer calm when he falls. Stand by his side. Not just because I’m asking, but because your friendship goes so much deeper than a connection to me. You can understand each other."
Your breath hitched, thoughts spiralling in your brain so fast that you couldn’t keep track.
James. He was your friend, after a strange period of feeling out the dynamic. He was the stocky figure who brought you coffee to your desk, asked about every vision you had and always shared stories about his history. The gentle giant that bought you purple band-aids when you smacked your head off of the cupboards. He had patched you up as if it were just as serious as every injury he’d experienced. Sometimes he gave you a hug when Natasha was gone for weeks at a time, always knowing exactly when you needed it. What could you do to be there for him?
"Nat, what if I can’t take care of anyone?”
She smiled sadly and didn't say a word as she touched her lips to yours and inhaled deeply through her nose. You figured hers were the softest lips any mortal had ever felt. There was no hesitance in every motion, just hungrily tugging and gliding as a result of many years of practice.
You had kissed her hundreds of times, felt the damp heat of her tongue as it brushed yours and moaned each time she nipped your bottom lip. This kiss was more desperate and yet delicious than any one that came before it. Your fingers dug into the swell of her hips and her fingers were tangled in your hair, pulling your mouth closer to hers. The tears had stopped flowing and dried on your flushed cheeks. One kiss from Natasha and it was as if she had healed you of your suffering.
If only you didn't know that it was the last.
You didn't hear the door to your bedroom open, or hear the footsteps come from behind you. You did, however, feel Natasha slowly break from your embrace, releasing you from the passionate kiss. Before you had time to make one more desperate attempt at begging for her to stay a little longer, a hand touched your back from behind you.
No.
You weren’t done yet. It wasn’t time. You shrugged off the gentle touch and tried to step away from the looming figure. A cold arm wrapped around your waist, followed by a warm one that wound across your chest. A hand gripped your shoulder.
You were restrained, as carefully as possible, against the body of Bucky Barnes. You couldn’t quite register the action—no, the betrayal—until Natasha backed away and slipped past you both.
A wail escaped your lips before you felt the wet tears trail down your face. You struggled against James’ tight embrace, but he just held you closer. Your head hung forward in nauseating defeat and he mumbled something that you couldn't hear over the sound of your sobs. Your chest felt as if it were collapsing, and your stomach churned painfully. You desperately willed yourself not to scream again as Bucky loosened his grip just enough for you to turn your head to watch the love of your life leave the room.
"No, no, no-- Nat--You can't, no," you begged. "You can't leave now! It doesn’t feel like it’s time. This is wrong!”
James spoke again but you still couldn’t hear what he said. Nat turned around to face you, just a step outside the bedroom door. Your eyes locked onto hers and you finally heard James over the sound of your delirious cries.
"Just let her go," he said in his gravelly, calm voice. How could he be so okay? How could his heartbeat be so slow against your back?
Why wasn't he dying too?
As much as he loved her, maybe he didn't need her as much as you did. He knew how to deal with loss and pain on a different level than you. He’d been apart from her for over fifty years, once upon a time.
Natasha took a deep breath.
"See you around, baby," she lied thickly, her swollen lips forming a sad smile. That image would never leave your thoughts.
And then she was gone.
When there was no chance you could ever catch up to her, Bucky released you. You could have run and tried to find her even if it were no use. Instead, you turned to James and allowed him to cradle you against the swell of his chest. His body was firm and looming, making you feel small against him. It was the very opposite of the soft curves of Natasha. You sobbed against his shirt; the material balled up in your fists.
He tried his best to soothe you by stroking your back with the cool, solid metal of his hand. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you were thankful to have him hold you back. But through endless amounts of suffering and delirium, you could only fixate on the ache in your chest as Natasha grew further and further away. Away from the life you worked so hard to build with her.
And hours later when you are curled into a ball, enveloped by the body of your best friend, the first vision of Natasha will break through your tortured thoughts. You will wipe your tears on Bucky's worn-out shirt and watch the memory like a movie. This vision is the moment Natasha Romanova walks into the library where you are asleep in a chair. You will see how fondly she gazes down at you and how obvious the internal debate (whether or not she should wake you up) is on her face. You will feel the instant spark, like electricity, that shocks you awake when she finally shakes your shoulder to ask you your name.
You will watch how much she falls in love with you at that very moment. How she knows you are her soulmate before a formal introduction.
The moments leading up to the very first time you felt undying love.
And then weeks from that vision of the past that put you soundly asleep, the electricity will pulse through you again. Sharper, and paralyzing. You will fall to your knees in the kitchen, feeling the pain ripple through your body. Your bowl of cereal with smash against the tiles without warning. You will scream for Bucky even though you know that he is in the same position as you, somewhere else in your shared home.
Your hands will shake violently as your body convulses with tremoring sobs.
Because you will just know.