Fragments of Us: A WinterWidow Short Story

Chapter Three

Training the younger agents was draining, even on the best of days. Today had been far from even a good day. She could usually find satisfaction in pushing the recruit's limits, testing their nerves and refluxes. Gauging who really had potential to stay and grow within the ranks. But today had felt like wrestling shadows. They lacked any form of conviction, afraid to move, afraid to act. Hesitation in every one of their eyes, quivering in movements. Where had S.H.I.E.L.D. got these kids? Surely they were meant to be on the tech team? Or medics? There was not way they could possibly make it into the field with out years of intensive work from both the recruits and whoever got stuck training them. 

Most of them looked like they had never held a gun in their lives, let alone shot one. They stared at them like an ancient artifact that they couldn't believe they were seeing up close. Those looks had told her it would be better to hold out on the shooting range for a few days. So they had stuck with hand to hand combat for the time being.

One in particular, red-faced and glistening with sweat, had dodged her and almost made her proud. Until he tripped, and landed on another agent - shattering her wrist. Uneasy glances had exchanged between the rest of the trainees and the girl whimpered in pain. Natasha had stepped in to examine it and see how bad it was. Just as she did the red face agent had felt it the perfect time to allow his lunch to come back up. All over her boots and the bottom half of her suit. 

By the time Nat endured two back-to-back meetings reeking of sweat and bile she could hardly wait to remove it. The suit had come off at S.H.I.E.L.D., left to the laundry team to clean while she slipped into a pair of sweats and a hoodie that she found in the lost and found. Of course she had forgotten a change of clothes today of all days. But she had managed to stay composed through her meetings even if her mind was on autopilot, anxiously awaiting the chance to get home. 

The very first thing she had done upon getting home was turn on the shower, allowing it to steam up her bathroom before she slipped into the hot water. She relaxed under it, letting it wash away the filth and grime of the day. Her tensions melting along with them. She stayed until the scalding water turned her skin pink and she felt that she had scrubbed enough times with soap to remove any trace of evidence from the day. Though the memories would stick around for a while. Surprisingly it was the first time she could recall having a trainee throw up on her. Barton had done it before though. And that was something she couldn't ever let him live down. 

When she finally stepped out, cool air greeted her warm skin. She grabbed a plush towel wrapping it snuggly around herself before swiping a hand across to fogged mirror to catch her reflection. Her eyes were tired, shadowed with the weight of sleepless nights and buried thoughts. She hadn't slept well since returning from the hospital. The bed felt wrong, too big for her. Too cold and empty. Countless times she had rolled over to place her hand in the empty space and been surprised she hadn't landed on skin. Perhaps she was just that lonely that she was dreaming of men in her bed. But it felt deeper.

She rubbed the moisture from her hair and let her mind wander as water dropped into the sink. She wasn't sure why, but after stepping out of the shower she half expected to see someone laying in the neatly made bed. It was a fleeting thought, the wisp of a memory she couldn't quite grasp. It left a strange warmth in its wake, unlike what she would expect. She didn't feel the need to get defensive. She felt safer but then the memory was gone. 

The chirp of her phone broke her attention, she reached for it eyes catching the time. She had just over an hour left before she was meant to meet Matt. She hadn't wanted to agree to go. But Matt's voice was insistent, gentle but firm. Just a friendly check-in, wanted to make sure she was okay after her last hospital visit. They had been a couple a lifetime ago, but work and fate intervened proving they were not meant to be. He had moved on and found happiness with Karen, but their bound of friendship remained.

Natasha scanned the closet, finding a pair of worn jeans and a fitted long-sleeved tee. She dressed quickly, easing into the soft and, more importantly, fresh smelling clothing. Outside the rain rattled against the window, a constant drumming that reminded her to grab the umbrella from the closet she had seen earlier that week. Tonight was proving that it had been a good purchase. 

Tossing her boots and a dark trench coat onto the be, she retreated to the bathroom to apply her makeup. The process was simple, memorized after days of wearing the same style aside from undercover work. She finished with a touch of mascara. Setting the tube back on the counter and turning to get her boots on. But the jewelry box caught her eye, daring her attention to it and stopping her track towards her bed and awaiting shoes. 

She reached for the box, opening the lid and brushing her fingers over the small collection inside. She selected a pair of simple pearls and began placing one in each ear, but her hold on the second faltered causing it to tumble to the ground and skittering across the floor to it's final resting place under her bed.

She groaned and dropped to her knees, leaning to peer into the dim space beneath it. The pearl glistened just out of her reach, forcing her to drop to her stomach and stretch. Her hand brushed against something she hadn't expected to see, a small, worn shoe box. One she couldn't remember placing there. Her pulse quickened with curiosity. 

She grabbed the box, pulling it out and leaving the earing forgotten. She sat and leaned against the bedframe, slowly lifting the lid to reveal a stack of photos and older papers. The first was one of her, caught mid laugh, rain soaked into front of the Eiffel Tower. Her brow furrowed; the last time she had been in Paris she'd been alone. And even before that she couldn't recall any one taking her picture, at least not like this. She flipped through the stack, each moment more intimate than the last -- a candid shot walking hand in hand with whoever was holding the camera, another of her laying in the very bed she now leaned against. 

Her breath stopped as she flipped to another photo. It was much older, the edges yellowing. When she flipped it she caught sight of a family portrait. A young dark haired boy, eyes shining with familiarity. Bucky. Her fingers fumbled as she tried to flip to the next photo, one of a much younger Steve and Bucky together, arms across each others shoulders. 

She set the pictures aside, fingers still shaking. Unease filling her stomach as she pulled out a metal chain from the box. Dog tags dangled against each other, the name etched so clearly in the metal.

James Buchanan Barnes

Her breath shuddered, the familiarity of everything fitting in perfectly with each tug she'd felt in the past. With the moment she caught his eyes earlier that day. He had meant something to her before. Other wise why would she have his things. Things that should have meant something to him. Her eyes darted back to the box, papers rustling as she pushed them aside until she brushed against velvet. A small, black ring box. The kind filled with promises and declarations of love. 

She hesitated, her thumb brushing over the edge of the box. A battle raged within her - curiosity against caution. But curiosity slowly won out. She cracked the lid, revealing a simple silver band nestled between two cushions made to match the outside of the box. It was crowned with a modest diamond, glinting softly in the dim light of her room. 

With trembling hands she lifted the band from the box, the metal casting a soft glow on her fingers. Slowly she slipped it onto her ring finger, a perfect fit. As if it had always belonged there. A shiver ran down her spine. Was it hers? Or had it once been meant for her? Why couldn't she remember? The idea that she had loved someone so deeply - or that they had loved her so deeply to have chosen a ring, to have decided on marriage - gnawed at her. But it wasn't just someone. Agent Barnes. It was the only answer. 

A loud chirp broke the silence, causing her to jump. She pulled the phone off the nightstand, charger coming with it. The pile of photos she had set aside scattered across the floor as she fumbled with the mess. Heart thudding she snatched the device, the screen already lit with a text from Matt.

"I got here a little early, no rush but I saved a table in the back. Want me to order anything so it's ready when you get here?'"

Panic surged in her chest, the weight of the ring suddenly intensifying. A piece of the past that didn't fit in with her present. With a rush she pulled the ring off, the metal catching on her knuckle before it came loose. She tucked it back into the box, snapping the lid shut. She quickly picked up the photographs and dog tags, tucking them into the old shoe box.

She rushed to pull on her boots and coat before shoving her phone into her pocket. She had so many questions now, but she couldn't throw them on Matt. He wouldn't have the right answers. She needed to see Bucky. If no one else would or could answer her surely he would. If he had loved her enough to propose then whatever had separated them he must remember if she couldn't. It wasn't until she ran into the cold, needle like rain that her mind traveled back to the umbrella still resting in the front closet.