Romanogers - Oneshots

I just want him back (2)

'He's gone' sequel.

Today is the anniversary. The first anniversary. The first annual one, at any rate. The first anniversary since the death of Steve Rogers. One year. One whole year.

Nobody will do anything much today. They might train all day, use the adrenaline and burn in their exhausted muscles to dull the ache in the pit of their stomach. They might sit in front of the television for hours, only getting up for a glass of water, binge watching a show, but not really caring about the characters or storyline. Or they might not move at all, just sit on their bed for hours on end, staring at the ceiling. That's what Natasha plans to do, at least.

Slowly, over the past year, she has pulled herself back together. They all have. The shards, the tiny fragments she was left in at first, have managed to fuse together into something resembling herself. The edges, before as sharp as her knife and willing to stab her from the inside whenever she so much as breathed, are now dull, and just make an uncomfortable grate in the pit of her stomach whenever she sees the empty space at the dinner table, the extra chair when they all sit together in the lounge, or strolls past his room, still filled with all his belongings, as they didn't clear it out. There was no need. And who's going to move in anyway? There are plenty of other rooms.
If she was a glass ball, before she would have been perfect on the outside. Smooth and untarnished. There would have been a few visible cracks and scars on the inside, but they were slowly healing over time. There simply was no glass ball for a while after, just shards. Now, the sphere had come back together. The cracks now ran all over the surface, deep and rough to the touch, but day by day, week by week, month by month, they would slowly heal, smooth over, sink below the surface as before. At a geriatric pace, yes, but it would, was happening.

Natasha sat on her bed cross legged, still in her pyjamas, thoughts and memories swirling in her head.
She still sees him sometimes when she closes her eyes, and he often visits her dreams, not with the stab of agony of before, but with a soft, warm glow, and a slight pull of longing in the pit of her stomach. She can hear his voice, even as if he's in the room if she concentrates. She was terrified, a few weeks after, that she'd forget what he looked like, what he sounded like, that the edges would blur until the memory became intangible. But there were photographs, on her phone and in frames, and there was a voice mail she found that she never opened, from exactly a week before, and she would listen to that when she felt that crushing feeling setting on again.

"Hey Nat, it's Steve, obviously. We're still on for tonight, yeah? It's Chinese this week, I can pick it up on my way home. And I'm thinking maybe 'Lucy' for the movie? Anyway, I'll be back soon. Looking forward to it."

She could pretend that he was coming home, that he'd be there soon, and they'd curl up in front of the television with a movie and takeaway, and fall asleep in each other's arms. It was painful of course when her fantasy vanished, and she couldn't decide whether the dreamworld was worth the torment after.

——-

Wanda was one of those in the living room. She, Vision, and Sam had left their respective bedrooms, made coffee and promptly sat down on the sofa together. She had flicked on 'Friends' and they were now halfway through season one. Wanda estimated they could get at least halfway through season three by the end of the day.

She left the television and trekked up to her room to retrieve a jumper, or some kind of blanket she could wear, as it was rather draughty downstairs. As she walks down the hallway lazily, she spies Natasha. Their rooms are neighbouring, and the two have grown close, being two of the only females on the team.
Her door is slightly open, and she can see her looking at something on her phone, a sad smile curving the corners of her mouth. It appears as if she's scrolling, so Wanda guesses they're photos, most likely containing Steve. A tiny tear rolls down Natasha's cheek, which she quickly wipes away with the sleeve of her hoodie and blinks fast, eyes glistening.

"Hey." Wanda leans against the door frame.
Natasha's eyes flit up to rest on her visitor and she leans back on the bed, resting against the headboard, her phone facing up on the ruffled covers. "Hey."
"How're you doing?"
There's a slight pause before she answers.
"Yeah, I'm okay. You?"
"Mmm. Fine. We're bingeing Friends, if you want to join us."
Natasha gives a faint smile. "I think I'll pass."
Wanda goes over to sit next to her on the bed, shuffling into the same position. They both say nothing, just stare at the ceiling. She gets a glimpse of the phone contents before the screen darkens; she was right, photos of her and Steve, sometimes with the other Avengers, sometimes just that duo, smiling, pulling faces, anything. He brought out the fun in her. She watches as Natasha picks it up again and resumes scrolling. Her heart breaks a little more at each one. They looked so happy, she thinks. They were so happy.

And there's something about the way Natasha looks at those pictures. Not with the sorrow of a grieving friend, but the wistfulness and reverence of someone much, much more. The many photos only confirm it. In each one they look at each other like they're the only person in the room, like they're everything.
Slide after slide. Natasha with her eyes closed and a warm beam as Steve kisses her cheek. Steve looking down at her with his arm slung around her shoulders, she looking up at his face. The infamous team photo, her head thrown slightly back in laughter as he gazes at her in reverence. The passion and longing jumps off the screen. They were in love, Wanda realises. They were so in love. Now she casts her mind back, it was so obvious. The way they looked at each other, talked about each other. Sometimes she would walk past this room and they'd just be lying on the bed together, deep in a conversation. The way they were in battle, the unspoken communication, the well oiled machine she'd always admired. They were in love. They were so in love.

Nothing ever happened, to her knowledge, and the longing on her face speaks of wasted time and many missed opportunities. Nobody ever pressed Natasha about it afterwards, but she was sure the others had connected the dots, same as her. Wanda looks back at Natasha, to the phone, then away. She feels as if she's intruding on something private, personal.

"It's just..." Natasha's whisper breaks Wanda's train of thought. "I just want him back, you know?"
She reaches for Natasha's hand and clutches it tight, feeling the tears bead on her lashes. Grief for her two friends, for what they had and what they lost.
"I know. I know."

I might do a part 3 which could be another time jump, Steve's funeral perhaps?
As always, please vote and comment your thoughts.