Chapter Text
The Avengers Compound had always been noisy, but that day the silence was heavy.
Natasha was sitting on the living room floor, her back resting against the leather couch.
Her fingers traced meaningless patterns on the cold floor, while her green eyes were fixed on a single spot on the wall.
In the background, she could hear the muffled sound of Steve talking to Tony. They were trying to put together an inventory. Who was left? Who was gone? The list of names only kept growing.
Bruce wasn’t speaking. He just stared at his own fingers, as if counting who still existed.
Thor… Thor had broken something. Maybe several things.
Sam was gone. Wanda was gone. T’Challa… the kid from Queens…
Dust.
That was all that remained.
— Nat? — Steve’s voice was a rough whisper.
She didn’t lift her head. She couldn’t look at his face and see the same emptiness she felt in her own chest.
— We’re putting together a search network — Steve continued, approaching carefully. — We need to know the status of all our contacts. If you have anyone… any civilian who needs extraction, or—
— I don’t have anyone, Steve. You know that.
— We all have someone — Steve insisted, placing a hand on her shoulder. — Don’t do this alone.
Natasha closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, the image came without asking permission.
Y/N.
The name crossed her mind like a slow, precise punch.
She hadn’t thought about her in years, not consciously. Natasha was an expert at locking emotions away in tightly sealed drawers. That was how she survived. That was how she kept breathing.
But now… now there weren’t enough drawers.
Three years had passed.
Three years of a life Natasha had almost believed could be normal. Quiet conversations in the middle of the night. Comfortable silences. The way y/n always noticed when she was about to shut down and simply stayed there, without demanding explanations.
Until Sokovia. Until she betrayed the government. Until the day Natasha decided that loving someone was too dangerous.
She remembered the breakup with cruel clarity.
“It’s for your safety,” Natasha had said. As if that explained everything. As if it were enough.
It wasn’t.
It never was.
Natasha took a deep breath, running a hand over her face. Her chest tightened in a strange way—different from guilt, different from the collective grief hanging over everyone there.
It was fear.
What if she had disappeared? What if the Blip had taken the one person Natasha had never managed to forget?
The thought made her throat close. Natasha stood abruptly and walked down the narrow hallway to a window. Outside, the sky was far too clear.
She had survived gods, armies, betrayals. But the possibility of never having the chance to see her again felt unbearable.
Because now there was no more civil war. No more sides. No more excuses.
Natasha rested her forehead against the cold glass. For the first time she could remember, she didn’t have a plan. She didn’t know what the next step was. She didn’t know how to fix a world that had lost half of itself.
After a few minutes in silence, she found Steve in the smaller meeting room, the one they almost never used. He was standing, hands braced on the table, staring at a deactivated hologram. His shield rested against the wall.
Steve looked up as soon as he sensed her presence.
— Nat.
She approached and sat in the chair across from him, crossing her arms as if trying to keep herself together.
— Did you talk to Clint? — she asked quietly.
Steve took a deep breath before answering. A brief, heavy silence that already said everything.
— He went home… — he began. — Or what’s left of it.
Natasha felt her stomach twist. Even before hearing the rest, she already knew.
— Laura… — Steve continued, struggling. — The kids. All of them. There’s no one left.
The words hung in the air, too unreal to be accepted right away.
Natasha looked away, clenching her jaw. Clint. Of all people. The man who fought to get back home after every mission, who spoke of his family as the anchor that kept him human.
She rubbed her arm, an automatic, nervous gesture. The image of Clint alone in that house blended with another—old, buried far too deep.
Steve noticed.
He always did.
— You’re thinking about her, aren’t you? — he said carefully.
Natasha didn’t answer right away. She looked at the table, at her own hands. There was no reason to deny it.
— I tried not to — she admitted. — For years. But now… — her voice faltered slightly, something rare. — Now half the universe just stopped existing. People who were here yesterday… gone. — She swallowed. — What if she’s one of them?
Steve walked around the table and sat across from her, resting his forearms on the cold surface.
— You still love her.
It wasn’t a question.
Natasha let out a short breath through her nose, almost a bitter laugh.
— That was never the problem.
— Then what is?
She lifted her gaze, meeting his. For the first time since the Blip, there was fear there. Real fear.
— Going after her… — she began slowly — means two things. Either I find out she’s alive… and I’ll have to face everything I destroyed when I walked away. Or I find out I lost the only person who ever made me believe I could have something beyond all of this.
Steve stayed silent for a few seconds, absorbing it. Then he spoke, his voice firm but gentle.
— Nat, Clint didn’t have a choice. His family was ripped away from him. — He looked at her . — If she´s alive, you still have a choice.
She shook her head.
— I don’t know if I’m strong enough for that.
— You’ve faced gods — Steve countered. — You’ve faced your past, the Red Room, things no one here could have survived. This isn’t about strength. — He stood and placed a hand on her shoulder. — If she’s alive and you don’t go… that loss will be your choice. — Steve paused. — And I know you’ll survive it. But I also know you’ll hate yourself for the rest of your life.
Natasha felt her eyes burn, but she didn’t cry. She never cried. She just took a deep breath, trying to reorganize the pieces in her chest.
— And if I get there… and she’s not? — she asked, almost in a whisper.
Steve squeezed her shoulder lightly.
— Then you’ll suffer. A lot. — He didn’t soften it. — But you’ll suffer knowing you tried.
— If I go… — she said — I don’t know if I’ll come back the same.
Steve gave a small, sad smile.
— None of us are going to be the same after all this.
Natasha’s bedroom was extremely minimalist and functional. She closed the door behind her and leaned her back against it for a few seconds, breathing deeply.
She walked to the wardrobe and opened it. Rows of dark clothes.
She crouched down and pulled out a box stored at the very bottom, almost hidden behind coats she no longer wore. It was simple, with no identification at all. A box she had never had the courage to throw away, even after years of pretending that chapter had been closed.
She sat on the bed with the box in her lap.
Her fingers hovered over the lid for a few seconds. It was curious how Natasha Romanoff—who never hesitated in front of weapons or enemies—felt her heart race at the sight of a small box of memories.
The first thing she took out was a crumpled movie ticket. The film had been a cliché romantic comedy that Natasha spent the entire time criticizing for its lack of realism in the fight scenes. She remembered Y/N laughing and shoving a handful of popcorn into her mouth just to make her shut up.
“Enjoy the moment, Romanoff. Not everything is about your job,” she had said.
Natasha smiled at the memory, but the smile faded seconds later. That had been the day she realized she would rather be in a bad movie theater with Y/N than on any mission.
Next, she found a small metal key with a rubber keychain shaped like a slice of pizza. It was the key to the first apartment they had tried to share, a small place that never truly became theirs because they broke up before moving in.
Natasha clenched the key tightly, the cold metal digging into her palm.
Six months earlier, she had passed by that apartment and seen new people living there.
That key represented the future she herself had destroyed in the name of a safety that she now saw had only been an excuse for her fear of being vulnerable.
Almost at the bottom, there was a paper napkin from a cheap café in Queens, its edges yellowed. Y/N’s handwriting was rushed and slanted:
“Went to buy bread and more coffee. Didn’t wake you because you finally looked at peace. Love you, grumpy spy.”
There was also a neatly folded T-shirt, one of Y/N’s favorites, forgotten there after a night they had stayed up late talking about nothing and everything at the same time. Natasha brought the fabric to her face without realizing it, closing her eyes for a moment. The scent was gone.
The next item was a Polaroid photograph. The colors were slightly faded. In the image, Natasha was asleep, her face partially buried in the pillows, while Y/N appeared in the corner of the photo, smiling and flashing a peace sign, clearly having taken the picture in secret.
She set the box beside the bed, but didn’t close it completely.
There was something there she still didn’t have the courage—or the strength—to touch until that moment. The old phone, turned off, kept at the bottom, separated from everything else.
The device took a few seconds to turn on. Long enough for Natasha to almost give up.
The screen lit up. No notifications. No signal.
She swiped to the gallery.
And suddenly, Y/N was there.
Sitting on the kitchen counter late at night, wearing one of Natasha’s T-shirts. Hair tied up carelessly, face tired but smiling.
She swiped.
Another photo. The two of them reflected in an elevator mirror. Y/N serious, focused. Natasha, deliberately, making a face behind her.
The next one was blurry, taken in motion: the two of them running in the rain, laughing. Natasha felt her chest tighten.
She didn’t remember laughing like that afterward.
She swiped again.
Y/N asleep on the couch, a book open on her chest.
Y/N focused, chewing on the cap of a pen.
There was a photo taken early in the morning, soft light coming through the window. Y/N was sleeping on her side, face partially buried in the pillow, one hand clutching Natasha’s T-shirt as if, even asleep, she was afraid of losing her. Natasha remembered that moment exactly. She had woken up first and stayed there for long minutes, trying to memorize every detail.
No one had ever slept like that beside her. Trusting.
Another photo showed the two of them sitting on the bathroom floor, backs against the bathtub, towels tossed carelessly. The mirror was fogged from the steam of the shower and someone—probably Y/N—had drawn a crooked heart on the glass. Natasha was laughing, wet hair dripping over her shoulders, completely unguarded.
She barely recognized herself there.
There was a sequence of photos taken on the same day. In all of them, Y/N was trying to steal quick kisses while Natasha pretended to be far too serious for that. In one of them, Natasha had an arched eyebrow, clearly trying to keep her composure while Y/N smiled against her cheek.
The corner of Natasha’s mouth tugged upward involuntarily.
She swiped to a photo on the couch, the two of them curled under an oversized blanket. Y/N’s head rested on Natasha’s lap, and Natasha was absentmindedly running her fingers through her hair.
There was a photo taken in front of the bedroom mirror at night. Natasha stood behind Y/N, arms wrapped around her waist, chin resting on her shoulder. Y/N held the phone, but her gaze was turned toward Natasha’s reflection.
Another photo showed Natasha cooking, clearly annoyed, while Y/N sat on the counter watching as if it were the most beautiful scene in the world. Natasha remembered complaining the entire time and still doing everything exactly the way Y/N liked it.
In another photo, Natasha’s arm wrapped around Y/N’s shoulders, and Y/N’s head fit perfectly there, as if that space had been made to measure.
Natasha felt her chest tighten, but she took a deep breath before swiping again.
This one was darker, taken at night. The light came only from the bedside lamp. The two of them were lying down, and Y/N was on top of the redhead, her lips touching the corner of Natasha’s mouth, as if she had just pulled away enough to smile.
There was also a series of photos Y/N took just to annoy her.
Natasha seriously analyzing the expiration date on a carton of milk as if it were a dangerous artifact, while Y/N made a face in the background. Another photo of Natasha sleeping with her face squished into the pillow. A selfie where Natasha was trying to do sit-ups and Y/N was sitting on her legs, preventing the exercise.
Natasha swiped once more and opened the videos folder.
The first video was short. Shaky. Clearly recorded in a rush. The two of them were lying on the living room floor, the camera pointed at the ceiling. Only their voices could be heard.
— If you could go anywhere right now, where would you go? — Y/N asked.
There was a brief silence before the answer.
— Here is already perfect — Natasha said. — As long as you’re with me.
Y/N didn’t respond right away. She just moved closer, and the video ended with the sound of a quick kiss.
Natasha closed her eyes for a moment before continuing.
Airport. Noise in the background. Y/N held the camera while walking beside Natasha.
— Say something romantic — Y/N asked.
— No.
— Natasha…
Natasha sighed, clearly annoyed, then leaned in and murmured something too low for the camera to catch. Y/N’s smile appeared instantly.
— See? — she laughed. — She’s romantic. She just hates admitting it.
One of the videos began with the camera very close to Y/N’s face. She frowned, confused.
— Why are you filming me like this?
— Because you look pretty when you wake up — Natasha replied without thinking.
Y/N’s eyes widened.
— Was that a compliment?
— Don’t get used to it.
Natasha scrolled a little more through the gallery and stopped.
She remembered this video perfectly.
The recording began with Y/N holding the phone, clearly far too excited for someone who claimed not to care about parties.
— Okay, now it’s serious — Y/N said, laughing. — Turn around slowly.
Natasha appeared in the bedroom mirror, dressed for Tony’s party. Nothing over the top, but elegant enough to be impossible to ignore. A dark, simple dress. Hair pulled back.
— Stop looking at me like that — Natasha laughed, crossing her arms.
— You know you’re going to wreck half the party like this, right?
Natasha rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.
— You’re exaggerating.
— I’m not exaggerating. I’m warning you.
Y/N moved the camera a little closer, capturing Natasha’s reflection from head to toe.
— You look beautiful.
Natasha looked away for a second, clearly unsure what to do with the compliment.
— My turn — she said, reaching out her hand.
The video cut for a second and came back with Natasha now holding the phone.
Y/N stood in the middle of the room, wearing a light-colored dress, simple, but as if it had been made just for her. Restless hands, a nervous smile.
She slowly turned around, clearly showing off just for Natasha.
— Why are you looking at me like that? — Y/N asked, smiling.
— Because you’re beautiful.
Y/N blinked, surprised.
— Approved, Agent Romanoff?
— Very — Natasha replied. — Extremely.
They both laughed, at each other, at their own silliness. It was obvious. They were nervous, excited, far too happy to hide it.
Y/N moved closer to the mirror, standing beside Natasha, and the camera captured the two of them together in the reflection.
— We’re a very good-looking couple — Y/N commented, half joking.
— We really are. — Natasha looked at her through the mirror.
— What?
— You — the redhead said simply. — Come here.
Y/N leaned in, and Natasha completely forgot about the camera for a moment. The kiss came easily, naturally, unhurried. The phone lowered slightly, the image tilting, but it still captured the most important detail: the two of them smiling against each other’s lips, as if nothing beyond that moment existed.
— We’re going to be late.
— It’s worth it — Y/N replied.
Natasha dropped the phone onto the bed and stared at the ceiling for long seconds. She thought about how, before Y/N, her life had been built around missions, extractions, and cover identities. She never planned beyond survival. But Y/N taught her how to think about the future.
She remembered Sunday afternoons when she found herself doing things that the Natasha from ten years earlier would have found pathetic or impossible.
Natasha never really learned how to cook. She ate whatever was available, and that was fine. But she found herself learning the recipe for the strawberry cake Y/N liked, just to see that look of surprise when she came home. The spy who could disarm bombs wasted precious minutes choosing the right kind of tomato sauce at the grocery store, because Y/N loved pasta.
For Natasha, sleeping was a vulnerability. But with Y/N, she learned to lower her guard. She remembered how she came to appreciate slow mornings, staying in bed just to feel Y/N’s body warmth against her own, without checking the windows or emergency exits every five minutes.
Natasha knew that the decision to end the relationship, even though it had been motivated by safety, had been a desperate attempt to return to being the ice-cold woman with nothing to lose. If she didn’t have Y/N, she wouldn’t have a weakness.
Y/N had only shown her that Natasha could exist without being at war all the time.
And that was exactly why Natasha walked away. Because loving Y/N didn’t make her weak.
It made her human.
And back then, Natasha believed that humanity was a luxury she couldn’t afford. Now, sitting on that bed, surrounded by memories, Natasha understood her mistake with painful clarity.
If Y/N were still alive… Natasha wouldn’t just go looking for her to ask for forgiveness. She would go to reclaim the part of herself that had learned, with her, how to exist—how to live.