We'll Always Have This

Chapter 9

"Agent Romanoff?"

Natasha stood looking at the monitors within their temporary base of operations. The footage had shown Rumlow's squad was dispersing, some back to America, the others to Nigeria.

"Pack it up. You follow the team home, Miller; I'll head to Nigeria."

"Are you sure?"

She turned and smiled at Agent 27, Joe Miller, "Yeah, Joe, go see your wife and kids. Be prepared to debrief me in four days of whatever you hear from that side of the water."

Agent 27 nodded, "Thanks. What about you?"

"No such commitments, Agent Miller, you know me. You go ahead. I'll inform Captain Rogers and wrap everything up here."

Natasha stood silently as Agent 27 and the rest of their team gathered what they needed and left. So many things work-wise needed to be done, but the list was already forged in her mind. It was a long list but easy to accomplish; done hundreds of times before and perhaps would be done hundreds of times again. Unfortunately, what her mind was contemplating was not so simple- James.

It was late when she'd finished backing up the files and collecting all the necessary equipment and paperwork. Some would return to America with Miller; the rest would accompany her to Nigeria. She needed to travel light as a single agent, but some information was too valuable and had come from Bucky directly. Her personals, clothes and weapons were packed in a large holdall. A Quinjet would be at her disposal soon to fly her to Nigeria; there, she'd rendezvous with Steve, Sam and Wanda. She'd already told Rogers what she knew. Some more recon, a chance for Wanda to get some in-the-field training, but what was clear was that Rumlow could not escape, not this time.

The night was crisp; the moon was full, shining brightly, giving a silvery glow to the streets as she walked to James's apartment. It was very late when she arrived, but he'd be awake, he usually was. Everything was done but this, and she couldn't leave until it was resolved.

She stood outside his door in the empty, dingy, flickering corridor, trying to calm a rising sense of panic. She'd known this was coming, yet somehow she wasn't prepared. She lowered her head, shaking herself; this was absurd; she was being ridiculous. How had she let it come to this? She'd never been one for regret, but it was all too late now. She took a breath, straightened her shoulders and knocked on the door. She heard cautious footsteps within the apartment, breath held, and almost felt the heat emanating through the door as he looked through the peephole. Her skin unwillingly prickled with anticipation, and she chastised herself silently to have more composure.

He had that half-smile on his face as he opened the door, and the sight of him made her breath catch. It had only been a few days since she'd last seen him, since she'd lain sleepless at his side, willing the night never to end after they'd broken his kitchen counter.
Pull yourself together, Romanoff.

He stepped back, walked into the apartment, collected a glass of something from the table, got another and poured a drink for her. She closed the door behind her but entered no more than that, lingering by the closed threshold.

He turned, noticed the difference in her behaviour and frowned, "What? What is it?"

She shrugged and pursed her lips, "Mission's done. I'm leaving. Gotta be in Nigeria by tomorrow."

There was a pause as they let her words hang heavy in the air.

"OK," he nodded and kept nodding, looking at his feet, hands in his pockets, chewing on his lip. Then he picked up the glass he'd just filled for her and drank it in one go, "So this is goodbye." He stared at the broken kitchen island, refusing to look at her, his body rigid.