natasha romanoff one-shots (gxg)

𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞

a/n: one year after nat's death, you get to spend 24 hours with her for one last time
+ some references to 'i miss you, i'm sorry' and 'take me back to the night we met'
tw: death and mentions of suicidal thoughts i think? or at least not caring about dying

angst

sobbed twice while writing this so have fun 😃

. . .

Your hands shake as you rummage through the box in your lap, the amount of memories and feelings it encloses overwhelming you. Polaroid pictures, cinema tickets, receipts. Each one hurts more than the other, making it almost unbearable for you to look at it.

You exhale shakily, shutting the box and pushing it away. That doesn't help much — every corner, every inch of your room reminds you of Natasha. The leather jacket in your closet; her lion plushie on your bed; her Doc Martens that she kicked under your bed, which you refuse to move even by an inch.

Your room is haunted, but you can't bring yourself to change it in the slightest. You're scared that if you do, she'll disappear entirely.

One year since her death, 365 days and counting. A trip around the sun, as some may say — but yours is gone.

Nothing about this seems fair to you, none of it. And none of it makes sense, either. You remember Clint coming back from Vormir, him telling you about what happened. You remember breaking down in front of the others, your heart torn apart and the violent sobs escaping your mouth making your lungs ache. Clint crying with you on the floor, holding you and apologizing over and over again.

Months of burying yourself in your bed followed, clutching her jacket and inhaling her lingering scent, quietly praying it wouldn't fade away. Her voice replaying in your head, soft whispers of 'I love you' and the countless nicknames she'd come up with for you. Crying until you were drained, only for you to fall asleep and dream of her.

The feeling of her fingers braiding your hair, or her lips kissing your cheek. Her hand loosely intertwined with yours wherever you went, never letting go as to make sure you wouldn't just vanish. And in the end, she was the one to leave.

You're not over her death, and you never will be.

You slowly get up from the floor, your eyes meeting the ballerina shoes on your bookshelf. You hate them, yet you can't bring yourself to throw them away.

You turn around as you wipe your tearstained cheeks with the sleeve of your hoodie, inhaling silently as you try to gather your thoughts. A million things that you still have to do pop into your head, but, as always, you only focus on the one you still somewhat care about.

The drive there is long and quiet. At first, you let her playlist play; but when the tears start filling your eyes again, you quickly turn off the radio, your finger hitting the button a bit too harshly. Too many near miss car crashes caused by panic attacks and a blurry vision. Not that you'd mind, to be honest — but then you remember Natasha's sacrifice, and dying starts sounding selfish to you.

The orchard appears in front of you, as well as a small farmhouse. You park your car nearby, unbuckle your seatbelt and get out. The cobblestone path in front of you is full of tiny petals, pinkish-white and emitting a sweet, floral scent. Every time you see them, you can't help but think that Natasha would've loved them. You pick up a few and put them into your pocket before continuing to approach the side door.