There's Worse Ways To Go

Fifteen

In the morning, Nat is curled around my back, hugging my middle into her as her breath fans over my cheek. The sunlight from the window streams across the bed, warming us underneath the sheets. I lay in the bliss of this moment, a sleeping Nat around me, the warmth and safety of it all.

I turn my head into her, kissing the corner of her mouth, then her cheek, then her temple, until she wakes with a dreamy smile and catches my lips with hers.

"What are we going to do today?" I whisper, turning around in her arms so I can face her.

"Whatever you desire, my darling," she says, nuzzling into my face.

The sound of pans clanging in the kitchen makes Nat smile and she laughs into my mouth. "Yelena's cooking. Might be the only thing that keeps us here longer. Come on, let's see what she has planned."

She gets out of bed, Nat slipping on shorts and a tee while I don't bother with pants and put on her shirt from yesterday.

We shuffle down the hall following the smells from the kitchen. Yelena looks up and smiles. "Morning."

We nod and mumble back, and Yelena catches my attire and looks down at her own, sporting the same just t-shirt and no pants outfit.

She honks a laugh and points at me with her spatula. "Ha! Twins."

I chuckle, sitting at her island. Natasha kisses the back of my head and grabs her burner phone from her bag in the living room.

"I'm going to make a call. Save some for me," she says, making her way to the balcony.

"No promises!" Yelena shouts.

"Hi, Mason..." Nat's voice trails off as she shuts the door behind her.

Yelena huffs, turning back to whatever is in her pan. "I have never seen her like this."

"Like what?" I ask.

She turns and pours a cup of coffee, setting it in front of me. "That... affectionate. The kissy and the touching and the smiling... She smiles with you! She used to only do it for me, and when we were children. I watch her on the news doing her talks and interviews and something funny happens but she just does that little Nat smirk, you know the one I'm talking about."

I chuckle, nodding. "I do."

"I think she loves you."

"I think she loves me too."

"Do you?"

"I do."

Yelena smiles, happy with that answer. "She has been through a lot, Natasha. Death and chaos seem to follow her everywhere. But I do not see any shadows behind her when you are here. I think you cleansed her."

She puts a pile of what looks like little pancakes on a plate, spreading a spoonful of jam over them instead of syrup. She sets it down in front of me, carrying on.

"I'm glad you got her out of the Avengers. A part of me believed she never really wanted to be with them. I think she loved it, that team, not being alone. But everything they stand for, it's just not her, you know?"

"I get it. When I was recruited it felt like I was being selected to be a part of an elite group. We still all work for the same people, still kill when we need to, still put ourselves in danger every day. That's how I spent half of my life, Natasha even longer. I didn't need to put myself through that again. But it's hard to turn away."

"A golden ticket," Yelena says, spreading her arms across the counter and leaning.

Nat comes in from the balcony, grinning. She comes up behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist where I sit.

"We have a house," she says.

"What?" I ask, looking at her.

She nods, biting her lip. "I got us a house. Not terribly far from here. No neighbors, shit roads, hills and mountains surrounding us."

"You got us a house."

"I got us a house."

Yelena gifts us an old bike of hers as a housewarming present, sending us on our way with hugs and leftovers. We have plans to stay in touch with her about the widows, we just have to get settled first.

I'm wrapped around Nat's waist as she cruises through the cobblestone streets. After a few hours, the stones turn to gravel, then to dirt, then to just two dusty tracks with a line of grass in the middle. We twist and turn over hills, mountains climbing high around us, and then she finally pulls up to a two-story farmhouse, long and big, a small river streams in the backyard.

I fall off the bike, ripping off my helmet as I stumble toward the house, too eager to get inside.

"Key's under the flower pot!" Nat calls after me, walking in my wake.

"Hurry up!" I shout, lifting a flower pot that rests on the railing of the porch and uncovering the key.

As I open the door and lift my foot to step through, Nat swoops in and picks me up, carrying me over the threshold like a groom carries a bride. I come down from her arms as we stand in the foyer, speechless to the home around us.

Pots and pans and kitchen utensils hang from nails in the ceiling in the kitchen, hand-tiled backsplash above the counters. Bookcases hold novels and knick-knacks. Rugs fray underneath leather couches. Tacky art hangs from the walls. It's well-loved. It's well lived-in.

"This was a safehouse up until this morning," Nat explains, taking in our home.

"One hell of a safehouse," I say, walking around admiring it.

I walk up the stairs, looking into several bedrooms, bathrooms, a closet. The master bedroom has half of the entire wall covered in windows looking out to the stream and the mountains. I can't help it. A tear rolls down my cheek as I take in the view, the bed, the house.

Ours.

Nat comes in and holds me from behind, resting her chin on my shoulder.

"This is ours," I say, laughing a little from the shock of it all.

She kisses my cheek. "This is ours."

I turn in her arms, placing my hands on her face, dragging my fingertips over her features. Ones I've kissed so many times, that I've touched so fondly. I peck her gently, barely a kiss, then move to her nose, her cheeks, her eyelids, her forehead. I shower her with kisses the same way I did the first night she crawled into my bed, when I wanted to tell her I loved her but it wasn't the right time. The right place.

"I love you," I whisper, pressing our foreheads together. "And you were made to be loved, Natalia. Black Widow wasn't, and she is a part of you, and I love her too. But you, Natalia, I love you more."

She smiles softly, tears brimming in her eyes. Her hands come up to my chest, resting over my collarbone and heart as if feeling my heartbeat like a lie detector.

"I love you," she gasps out, the words being dusted off as she speaks them, new to her vocabulary. "It's been so long since I've said that."

"Well, you better get used to it," I tease, and it makes her smile. 

She kisses me tenderly, sweetly, and her softness makes new tears sting in my eyes.

"Us to the end of the world," I whisper.

"There's worse ways to go."