Work Text:
The sight of the water makes her feel nauseous. Nausea approaches the throat and presses on its walls, forcing to breathe more slowly, not to feel the salty smell. Water is everywhere.
It seems that it has filled her lungs to the brim, and it is rising higher and higher, but in no way will it finish what it started. It has no intentions to tear apart.
Natasha closes her eyes and focuses on the present, on the sounds of the city outside: the noise of cars, echoes of other people's conversations, sirens screaming somewhere in the next block. All of this reminds that they are still alive.
Unfortunately.
“Are you okay?”
She was too distracted and didn’t notice Steve, who managed to approach her. In the past this absent-mindedness would have scared her, forced her to raise the walls and be on the lookout, but now it is quite normal. Natasha has been one of the shadows of this city for a long time now.
Presumably, this happens when a global catastrophe happens and most of the world goes under the water. Human life is very fragile; as it turned out, half a day is enough to cut off billions of such lives. And leave the survivors to watch.
“I'm fine, Rogers.”
Steve smiles sympathetically and touches her elbow awkwardly. He is just like her, completely lost in a new reality. They equally lost:
he lost Bucky, she lost Maria.
A broken soul bond is like forcibly cut electrical wires. It burns, it hurts, and it doesn't make any sense.
Natasha tries not to think about Maria. And she hates herself a little for it. Memories are cruel thing. She saw what happened to those who dig into their memories too often. People pay her their last money, just to see their loved ones again, to relive everything what is left in the past.
Nat knows how easy it is to get lost in fragments of memories. But they are not real. All of them are notes on a card and a mechanism that can drive you crazy. Or kill you. She saw it happen.
She is sure that Maria wouldn’t want this for her.
Therefore, Natasha remains strong and slaps Steve lightly on the arm.
“Pepper said she’d come today. It would be Tony’s birthday tomorrow.”
Steve nods.
“Yes. Remember how he threw a party at the Tower and made everyone play hide and seek?”
“Big child.”
Even good memories hurt. Natasha remembers that party and how she and Maria literally bumped their heads while hiding from the birthday boy.
“Is that a bottle of brandy, Hill?"
Maria grins. Her blue eyes sparkle cheerfully, and she looks different from work hours, when she is giving commands or chastising rookies. Grin and loose hair suit her. Nat can't even remember the last time she saw her so relaxed. They crossed here and there, and the pull was easy to ignore. But now the SHIELD has fallen, and they find themselves close to each other without the crowd of agents around more often.
They are trying to get used to new circumstances. Natasha feels warmth spreading over her body. It feels like this minute means much more than a moment between friends.
“Will you share?”
Maria hums and takes a sip of brandy before handing her the bottle.
“You have to move on, Nat.”
Steve has shadows under his eyes, faded and grayish, as if someone tried to paint him with watercolors, but went too far with water.
Water. It always comes down to it.
Natasha swallows and sighs. He remembers the first alarming news about the global flood and Europe, which was flooded in eight and a half hours (there are islands somewhere, few of them, and they are a mockery).
She recalls how they fussed and tried to figure out what to do, and she barely had time to say a few words to Maria on the phone (damn meeting in Washington, where she and Fury flew to solve a couple of issues with the government, damn attempts to save everyone, instead of themselves) . She felt Maria's anxiety as if it was her own and tried not to panic in return. It turned out badly.
Nat catches Rogers' eyes. He uses their memory machine, she knows. She saw him sneaking here a couple of times. So she asks:
“Did you, Steve?”
He shakes his head.
***
She doesn't dream. This is more of a curse than a blessing. Maybe if she had dreams, like some other couples sharing a bond, she would not be standing near a buzzing device, slightly illuminated from the inside.
She has set the settings hundreds of times and immersed people in the right corners of their memory. Now she stands almost naked, looking at the capsule filled with water.
Just once.
(If she does this once, she will no longer be able to stop. She will return again.)
He dials the desired date and climbs inside. There is still a chance to retreat, but then she thinks: why does it matter? Is it necessary to maintain prudence and sobriety? It is foolish to pretend that she can live as before.
She closes her eyes and presses the button.
Cheek is pressed against the corner of the pillow and mouth is slightly open. The eyelids tremble slightly in sleep, and breathing is even and measured. A pile of dark hair in contrast to the white fabric. Sharp lines: cheekbones, jaw.
Natasha listens to her breathing. She is slightly angry at the rays of the sunshine, which penetrate through the loosely wrapped curtains. Maria's breathing changes and she grimaces a little without opening her eyes.
“I can feel your staring.”
“Good morning, krasavitsa.”
The fingers reach out to her face by themselves. Natasha slightly touches the temple, letting fingers through strands of hair and making their way down to the neck. Natasha's palm feels the pulse beating under Maria's skin. They have nowhere to rush.
Maria moistens her dry lips after sleep and smiles lazily.
“Good morning, babe.”
Her voice is a little hoarse and some sounds are lost. Natasha fleetingly kisses the corner of her lips. Outside the window of their apartment morning New York is already noisy. Feelings - her own, Maria's, theirs - are intertwined and bursting.
"How about to be a little late for work today?"
The water presses on the body. These are just memories.
(The flood happened three months after. But then it seemed that they would overcome everything that fate would throw at them. They were foolish.)