fic: Come Back (Just a Little Closer)
Rating: PG-13 Word Count: ~5500 Characters: Steve/Natasha Summary: She’d give anything not to relive the fleeting hurt in his eyes when she told him that all she had was this job. Because even when she had nothing, she had Steve.
For: @mamaladykt and three anons
A/N: Yes, I already wrote a fanfic with almost this exact same concept but this one has Sarah Rogers and it also has James Rogers again and - yeah, that's it. That's my reasoning.
ALSO I THOUGHT I WAS BURNT OUT FROM FANFICS BUT THANK FUCK I WAS WRONG
Read On: [ ao3 ]
“I would offer to cook you dinner, but you seem pretty miserable already,” a voice says, lilting ever so slightly at the end—bittersweet and melancholic, even as he attempts to crack a joke—and Natasha feels her breath catch in her throat as she pulls her hands from her face. She can feel that her eyes are wet, her arms shaking ever so slightly.
No. No.
She wants to laugh, wondering how the universe could possibly stand to be even crueler to her, somehow, by making her relive her memories in death. She supposes that the saying that one’s life flashes before their eyes must hold some kind of truth if she finds herself back in this moment in time, what had been only days ago. Before she’d jumped off the edge of that cliff. Before she and Clint had ever heard of this godforsaken planet. There must be some saving grace that she can’t remember hitting the bottom. That she can’t remember feeling any sort of pain, just before her world had gone black, bringing her here. But her mind could have picked a better memory. One where those blue eyes—bright and clear and endless—didn’t look quite so solemn. One where she wasn’t fighting back tears. One where she couldn’t feel the helplessness in her chest, squeezing tight.
Her lips move on their own, reciting the same quip she’d given him before: “You come here to do your laundry?”
“And to see a friend,” Steve replies easily, his lip twitching ever so slightly on the last word, fingers fidgeting with the keys in his hand. She hadn’t quite noticed it the first time.
She exhales a breath, forcing nonchalance in her voice as she folds her hands across her stomach. “Clearly your friend is fine,” she murmurs, her words sounding faraway, even to her own ears. She remembers what Steve had said to her next, about seeing whales in the Hudson. Remembers how, even in that moment, at the lowest moment she’d ever felt—that the both of them had ever felt—he wanted to cheer her up. He wanted to give her some glimmer of hope to cling onto. The memory plays out as she recites the same empty threat that she’d given him before, acting as though she didn’t want his comfort, and he’d seen through it easily. He always had. She wishes she didn’t have to be stuck in this memory. She would rather relive any of the horrors she’d gone through, the terrible acts she’d committed, than remember the self-deprecating speech she’d given Steve.
She’d rather be smothered in her guilt over and over again than relive the words she’d recited to Steve. She’d give anything not to relive the fleeting hurt in his eyes when she told him that all she had was this job.
Because even when she had nothing, she had Steve. The last five years had seemed like a haze of anger and heartbreak, going in the same cycle, over and over—and now that it’s over, now that she’s gone, she realizes just how stubborn she had been to push him away. By not accepting his comfort.
She hadn’t wanted to forget. She hadn’t wanted to move on and feel like she’d given up, and she knows he hadn’t, either, no matter what he told preached to everyone else.
“I keep telling people that they should move on, and some do. But not us.” Not us.
But there hadn’t been an us in that moment. Not for years. They were both drowning in their guilt, but she thought if she didn’t cling onto him and pull him under, he’d find his way out. He’s moved on from worse once before, and he’d do it again. She was convinced of it.
Except he refused to leave her. He refused to let her be consumed by her grief alone, and if he couldn’t convince her to move on with him, then he’d live in the past with her.
“Staying together is more important than how we stay together,” she’d told him once, and he had asked her what they were giving up to do it. He felt it wasn’t worth it to give up their freedom to work within the law. He was ready to surrender his shield, his suit, his right to fight for others, because he didn’t want to compromise his beliefs for it.
But his future? He’d given that up in a heartbeat for her. He’d given up five years of healing and rebuilding his own life, of moving on, so they could do it together.
She simply hadn’t seen it until now, now that it’s too late.
“Sounds like we both need to get a life,” Steve says, voice barely above a whisper—and now that she’s paying attention, she recognizes the plea in his voice. She recognizes the longing in his eyes.
“You first,” she echoes, reciting the words from her memory, even though she knows they’re the worst words she could have said to him in this moment. Even though he had practically begged her to move on with him, had expected her to hear the real meaning in his words, like she used to so easily, but she didn’t.
The room grows quiet, just as it had before, and she waits for the message to come in. She waits for Scott to save Steve from the rejection of those two little words.
Except, he doesn’t.
She watches Steve’s expression shift as he holds her gaze, his jaw setting almost stubbornly, eyelashes fluttering—unlike her memory. She watches with her breath caught in her throat as he stands from his chair, walks around the table, an odd sensation squeezing at her chest as her heart beats wildly against her ribcage. This is wrong. This memory is all wrong, and she doesn’t quite know what’s happening. She can’t find her words, can’t find her voice, as Steve gently takes her hand in his. It feels just as large and warm and calloused as she remembers. He squeezes her fingers lightly and it feels real, even though she knows without a doubt that this never happened. This isn’t how it had gone.
He moves to kneel by her chair, his thumb running over the tops of her knuckles. “Not without you,” he says, his voice low and rough. Determined.
“What?”
She’s afraid to say more. She’s afraid to move an inch out of place and break whatever delusion she’s found herself in. For once, she wants to indulge herself. For once, she wants to pretend, if only for a little.
“Not without you,” he repeats, a little louder this time, a little clearer, the wisps of a smile tugging at his lips. “Never without you, Nat.”
“Steve,” she breathes.
“I should have said so sooner. I should have done more in the last five years, more than just watch the woman I love”—his voice cracks on the word, just a for a second, but that’s all it takes for the pressure squeezing down on her chest to crack wide open—“drift further and further away from me.”
She lifts her other hand – the hand that Steve isn’t gripping onto for dear life, like she’s the only thing keeping him tethered to this world – and covers her mouth. She feels a tear drift down her cheek. She feels her bottom lip quiver just under her fingertips. The woman I love. She feels a little bit like she can’t breathe, but then Steve is reaching up and gently prying her hand off of her mouth, cupping her cheek, and she exhales shakily as he runs the pad of his thumb over her lips, then moves to brush another tear away.
“Marry me, Nat,” he says, the words coming out in a rush, like he can’t possibly hold them in any longer.
“You don’t mean that,” she whispers, but rather than being upset – rather than pulling away at another rejection – his smile only grows. His hold on her hand tightens.
“The life I want—the one I wanted to work toward for the last five years—it’s built around you.” He strokes her cheek with his thumb and she leans into his palm, needing his warmth, his touch. “I know what it’s like to wait too long,” he tells her, drawing her closer, until his breath is warm against her face. “I’m not taking that chance again.”
Then his lips are pressing against hers – gentle, almost tentative at first, skimming over her in a tease of a touch that has her chasing his kiss when he starts to lean away. She pries her hands from his and cradles his face, thumbs skimming along the lines of his jaw, relishing in the slight prickle of his stubble against her skin. It feels real. It feels so damn real, and she wants to drown in it, in him. She wants to pretend that this is real. She wants to pretend that she knew how she felt about him before it was too late. That they carried each other through their grief. That, in some version of reality, in another lifetime, she heard him begging for her to take his hand and she held on for dear life—
“Natasha?”
She blinks once, twice, then quickly, turning quickly—perhaps a little too quickly as she feels her body sway, but only for a moment, until someone is catching her and drawing her back against a broad chest, letting her lean her weight against them as their arms wrap around her from behind.
Lips press against her temple, lingering, as his voice is low and clear as he murmurs against her skin. “Is there something particularly interesting about this wall?”
Steve. She reaches up, wraps her hands around his forearms as she turns to meet his gaze over her shoulder. His mouth is curved in amusement, eyes twinkling as he gives her a dimpled, boyish sort of grin. Something in his expression seems – lighter, almost, despite the fact that they stand in a small, shadowed hallway, and warmth tugs at her chest as she glances around them. She knows that this – whatever this is – is another memory that doesn’t exist. She doesn’t recognize where they are, though it only takes a matter of moments for her to realize that it must be a house. Picture frames line the wall, and, just down the staircase a few paces from where they stand, she can make out the vague shapes of furniture in what must be a living room. She turns to Steve again, still grinning down at her in amused affection, though something over his shoulder catches her eye.
Her. She finds herself staring at her own likeness in a photo. Even with her head turned away from the camera, her red hair half-falling over her face, she recognizes herself in an instant. Just as she recognizes Steve beside her, his eyes wrinkled in a bright, wide smile, lips parted in a laugh. Seated beside Steve is a little girl with scarlet hair falling in wild curls around her sweet face, her clear blue eyes framed with ridiculously long eyelashes, both of her little arms wrapped around Steve in a hug as she laughs right into the camera. Beside Natasha is a little boy, not much older than the girl, with the same red hair falling over his forehead and the same blue eyes wrinkled in a smile for the camera.
And seated between herself and Steve, pulling their attention from the camera to where she’s perched on Natasha’s knee, is a baby girl with wisps of blonde hair tucked under a birthday crown. Her smile is bright and wide and giddy, her little hands touching her flushed cheeks, the photo having caught her in the midst of a delighted fit of laughter.
“I know it was only two weeks ago,” Steve says, his gaze having followed hers onto the picture, “but it’s my favorite one of all of us.”
“You say that about every family photo,” she quips, the words falling from her lips with ease despite the fact that, in the back of her mind, she knows this is another false memory. Maybe death is being kind to her after all, by giving her something pleasant to part with.
By giving her one last chance to hope.
His chest vibrates in a low chuckle, not denying her words, and she lets herself lean into him a little more as her eyes travel down the hallway. The two doors behind Steve are both left open, just a few inches, each adorned with a small chalkboard with words swirled across the surface.
Not words, she realizes—names. Tatiana Antoinette and Sarah Laurel. They send a warmth through her veins, though she can’t quite place why.
Not until her eyes land on the door in front of them, with the name James Samuel written across. James, as in James Barnes—Bucky—and Samuel, as in Sam. Two people Steve considers his best friends. Two people Steve wouldn’t hesitate to name his son after.
Natasha feels her heart flutter, feels her chest tighten ever so slightly as her eyes shift back to the other two names: Tatiana Antoinette, as in Anthony. Tony. Tony Stark. Someone of undeniable importance to both her and Steve. And Sarah Laurel, as in Laura—Laura Barton, the first woman Natasha had ever called her family—and Sarah.
Sarah Rogers. Steve’s mother.
Natasha swallows lightly, her throat feeling just a little tight as her gaze catches on that same photo, her eyes settling on the image of those children—their children, the ones she and Steve had named after some of the most important people in their lives—as a strange warmth unfurls in her stomach, fluttering, making her feel airy and light. Making her feel happy. It’s an odd sensation to have such affection and adoration flowing through her veins, to have it feel so real, even though she knows all of this is simply a dream.
“Come on,” Steve says, his grin hitching up at the corner of his lips again as he guides her toward the door in front of them. “Let’s see what’s keeping this little guy up.”
Natasha feels a smile pull at her lips as he guides her into the room, faintly illuminated by a nightlight plugged into the wall. The low glow of it casts shadows over a small silhouette as it squirms under the blankets, sitting up against the pillows, and then a small voice, rasping with sleep, asks, “Mommy?”
Her body takes her forward before she can even think to respond, crossing the short distance to the bed as she gently sits herself on the edge of the mattress. Clear, bright blue eyes—Steve’s eyes—gaze back at her, and she reaches over to run her fingers through his disheveled hair, drawing a sleepy smile to his lips. He carries so much of Steve in his face, even at this age, that Natasha knows that, one day, he’ll look exactly like his father. It’s ridiculous, but she wishes that she could see it. That she could watch him grow.
“Hey, buddy,” Steve says softly as he kneels beside the bed, one of his hands finding Natasha’s in her lap. “Bad dream?”
James shakes his head, rubs a fist over his eyes. “No,” he mumbles, then shrugs his shoulders, as if to say that he doesn’t know what else could have woken him.
“How about a quick story?” Steve asks, and James’s sleepy smile grows wider as he nods, then burrows himself further under his blankets, tucking his hands under his head. His gaze shifts onto Natasha, and it’s instinctive, the way Natasha trails her knuckles lightly down his cheek and taps her index finger against his nose. As if she’s done it a thousand times. “There once was a soldier who was brought back from another time,” Steve starts, his eyes twinkling in amusement when Natasha glances at him, one eyebrow arched.
But James shakes his head, tugging his blanket over his shoulders, all the way up to his chin. “Just the end,” he says, his smile widening. “The part about Mommy.”
“Well, isn’t that a coincidence?” Steve laughs softly, squeezing Natasha’s hand in his as he winks at her. “That’s my favorite part.”
“Mine, too,” James declares, peering up at Natasha once more, and the pure adoration in his eyes is enough to make her heart stutter in her chest.
“Close your eyes, buddy,” Steve says gently, and James does exactly that, his long eyelashes fluttering as he lets his eyes fall closed. “There once was a soldier who had won a great war,” Steve starts again, drawing Natasha’s hand close to his lips and brushing a quick, soft kiss to her fingers, as if he needs her touch before continuing. “It was a battle of good and evil—a force of evil so strong that, for the first time ever, the soldier felt like he was truly going to lose. He’d lost almost all of his family. He’d lost so much,” he says, his voice cracking ever so slightly as his gaze shifts onto Natasha, hurt flitting through his eyes, “that when he was knocked down what felt like the last time, he didn’t know if he could get back up.” He squeezes her hand in his. Not tight enough to hurt, but enough to feel just a little bit of the desperation in his voice. “But he knew he had to.”
Natasha slips her other hand over his, brushing her thumb over his knuckles, urging him to continue, even as her breaths grow a little quicker and a little shallower.
“And so, he got up,” Steve goes on, holding her gaze as he whispers, “ready to fight to his very last breath, even if that meant fighting alone. Because if he didn’t, then everything he’d lost would have been for nothing.”
Because if I didn’t, then losing you would have been for nothing. She knows those are the words he wants to say. She can see it in his eyes.
“But just when the soldier thought he was finally at the end of the line, a miracle happened. The stones he and his family collected had brought back their friends, and with all of them together again—with all that goodness and strength and hope—the evil force didn’t stand a chance. They used the stones to banish the evil from the galaxy one last time. And, with their purpose served, they had to return the stones back to their rightful place in time.” Under the blanket, James squirms, only for a moment, clearly anticipating the next part of the story. Natasha rubs her lips together, stifling a soft laugh as she glances at Steve, the two of them sharing a smile. “You’re trying to sleep, right, bud?” he asks.
“I am,” James promises quickly.
“Okay,” Steve indulges, eyes glinting as he continues. “Now the soldier realized that, as he returned the stones, he had a chance to return to his past. To get back the life he thought he’d lost after he’d woken up in a different era. And it was tempting. There was a woman from his past—the first woman he had ever loved—and he thought he could stay in that past with her. His fight in the future was over, and it was time for him to come home.” His gaze shifts onto Natasha, eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly, almost as though he’s bemused by his own words. “But when he danced with his first love like he had always promised, he felt content, but he didn’t feel relieved. He didn’t feel whole.”
Natasha blinks once, twice, her vision blurring ever so slightly at the edges. He rubs his thumb over her knuckles, his expression softening into a smile as he gazes at her, his eyes filled with affection, with awe.
“Because even though the solider had lost his life from the past, he’d found a new one in the future, with a family all his own, and a love unlike anything he’d ever felt,” he goes on, his voice barely above a whisper. Natasha brings her hand up to cover her mouth, not quite trusting herself to keep quiet for James. “And even though he had lost this love to the stones, he knew he couldn’t walk away from the life he’d wanted for them together. He couldn’t walk away from the family they’d found. His first love would always have a place in his heart, but that part of his life was over, and it wasn’t until the soldier was about to leave everything that he’d come to know did he realize his home had changed.”
Steve draws her hand to his lips once more, letting his kiss linger against her skin, gentle but palpable, sending a warmth rushing through her veins.
“And so, once the soldier finished his dance with his first love, he parted ways with her one last time. He had one last stone to return—the stone that he’d lost his love to,” he says, the words coming out in a pained sort of rush, “so that they could undo the evil that had torn their family apart. It would be the hardest thing the soldier had ever done. He had been prepared to say goodbye to the love of his life, as properly as he could—but when he returned the stone, it had one last miracle for him.” Steve’s eyes are on hers – glinting and glassy with tears, but bright – and she lets a soft noise slip from the back of her throat. “Now that it no longer needed her soul, the stone brought back his love.”
James is laying so still now, his shoulders rising and falling in gentle, steady breaths—fast asleep. But still, Steve goes on.
“Then the soldier took her in his arms, and he took them back home, ready to live the rest of their lives together, ready to return to their family. Ready to live out their new dream together.”
A soft, breathy cry falls from her lips as she leans forward, grasping his face in her hands, and her cheeks are wet with tears as she kisses him. Just as it had the first time, in the first dream, this kiss feels. He feels real under her fingertips, against her lips, and she lets herself get pulled into the illusion. She lets herself drown in the dream.
Until she pulls away, blinking her eyes open, and finds herself alone in James’s bedroom. The bed is empty, and Steve has disappeared from where he’d been kneeling, and yet—
Yet, she still feels warm. Her heart still flutters in her chest, happy, content.
“Natasha.”
She turns at her name, the voice gentle and sweet, and feminine, drawing Natasha’s attention to a woman standing in the doorway to the room.
Natasha knows that she’d never quite believed in angels, but if she did, she’s certain one would look just like the woman smiling back at her. With her fair skin and light, elegant curls of hair falling around her gentle face. With her cheeks pink with a blush and her lips full and curved into a smile.
A smile that tugs at Natasha’s chest, squeezing over her heart, especially as she brings her gaze back up to the woman’s clear, bright blue eyes. It takes Natasha only seconds to recognize those eyes—to recognize Steve in this woman’s face, in her glowing, ethereal smile—and realize who she is. Or rather, who Natasha’s imagination has pictured her to be. Sarah. It’s easy to see how much Steve takes after his mother in this illusion that Natasha’s mind has pieced together, and Natasha clings onto the belief that there must be a truth to this. She may never have met Sarah Rogers, never caught a glimpse of her in a salvaged photograph. But somehow, Natasha knows there’s a truth in her likeness.
Everything seems brighter now, and Natasha isn’t entirely certain if it’s no longer night in this false memory, or if it’s simply because of Sarah.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” Sarah says, her voice light and lilting, chiming like bells. She watches with a warm smile as Natasha stands from the bed, her eyes wrinkling in a smile. Just like Steve. “It’s not nearly your time to leave your reality. Not when you’ve finally found your place in it.”
“I fulfilled my purpose,” Natasha points out. This illusion, this dream, only exists because this is true. Because Natasha had jumped off of that cliff and fell to the bottom for that stone. She wouldn’t have escaped that kind of death.
“You didn’t,” Sarah answers, as if Natasha had spoken the thought out loud. “A soul for a soul—an exchange you were so ready to complete.”
Natasha feels her chest tighten, feels herself shake her head. “I—” I didn’t want to. As selfish as the words are, they’re the truth. She would have never let Clint sacrifice himself. She would have never chosen for his family to live without him. But that doesn’t mean it had been an easy choice, and before, maybe she would have felt guilt over it.
Before Steve, she would have given it all up without hesitation. Before Steve, there had been nothing she truly wanted in her life above redeeming for her past.
Of course, it wasn’t until she had been falling that she realized this.
Sarah holds her hand out to Natasha, her smile gentle and warm and encouraging – motherly – and Natasha finds herself walking forward to take it without a moment to consider. Without an ounce of hesitation. Somehow, she’s not surprised that Sarah’s hand feels solid and real to the touch, and she lets the woman guide her out of the room and down the staircase. She can hear the sound of laughter—faint at first, but growing louder as they descend the steps, and Natasha turns toward the sound of it, her feet halting just a few steps from the bottom as she catches sight of them – of her and Steve, and James and Tatiana and Baby Sarah, gathered together in the living room, all of them spread out on the plush carpet. Natasha stares at her other self as she holds up a picture book above their heads, Baby Sarah babbling happily as she points up at it.
Natasha watches as James rolls over and whispers something to Tatiana that makes his sister burst into giggles, and Baby Sarah lets out a delighted peel of laughter in response, her head turning toward the sound of her siblings as she stares at them with pure fascination in her eyes.
Natasha watches as Steve reaches for her other self, hooking a hand over her hip and pulling her toward him, rolling her over until she’s half on top of him. She dips her head lower, her hair falling in curtain around their faces just as her lips touch his, though, as her hand moves to cup his cheek, the glinting diamond on her finger is easy to see.
“I’ve watched over my son all his life,” Sarah says, her voice soft, almost faraway, and Natasha turns to find the woman giving her this little, knowing sort of grin. “Over the last few years, this means that I’ve also watched over you.”
Natasha doesn’t quite know why she’s holding her breath, but then Sarah squeezes her hand, just as Steve had done countless times before, and the air rushes from her lungs.
“Leave it to my son to find a woman just as stubborn as he is,” Sarah muses with a light laugh, turning her gaze forward once more, and Natasha can’t quite help but do the same. Her other self has rolled off of Steve now, her fingers tickling at James and Tatiana, who squirm and squeal in laughter, and Steve sits up and draws Baby Sarah into his lap, bouncing her atop his knee as she watches her mother and her siblings with bright, innocent glee in her eyes, clapping her hands in front of her from all of the excitement.
“He’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met,” Natasha whispers, her gaze fixed on Steve. On the wide smile on his lips, and the adoration in his eyes as he peers down at Baby Sarah.
“He thinks the same of you,” Sarah tells her. “He always has. That’s why he protects you the most, even from himself.”
Natasha turns to look at Sarah, her gaze still fixed forward, her expression soft and wistful. “Why would I need protection from him?”
“From his uncertainty,” she answers easily, her smile widening ever so slightly, glinting in amusement over the truth of her words. “It took death for you to realize what your soul truly wanted,” Sarah points out, turning to Natasha with one eyebrow quirked up, the expression reminding Natasha so much of Steve that it almost hurts, even as a grin pulls at her lips in response. “My son is no different. Just as you couldn’t look past your years of guilt, Steve couldn’t let go of his old life. He felt he wasn’t ready to move on.”
“And now he is,” Natasha says, as the story he had told James floats back to her thoughts, settling over her heart.
He may have never spoken the words himself. It may have been a figment of her imagination, conjured by a dream, but she knows that every single part of it had been born out of truth. A truth the both of them knew, down to their bones, down to the corners of their souls—and yet, they’d been too stubborn and too afraid to acknowledge it.
Until now. Until it was too late.
“I would tell him,” Natasha whispers, her voice soft, even to her own ears. Sarah gives her a patient, motherly smile, waiting for her to get the words out. Natasha swallows past the tightness in her throat, feeling the tension in her chest ebb as the truth cracks it wide open, pouring out of her in a rush. “If I got another chance, I’d tell him.”
“Tell him what?” Sarah asks, though Natasha can see it in the woman’s eyes that she knew the answer. She’s known it all along.
“That I love him.” She exhales a shaky breath, feeling her smile widen, her gaze finding Steve once more. Just as it always does. “That I want a life with him.”
“You lived a life with him,” Sarah points out, and Natasha can practically hear the smile in the woman’s voice.
“I want a life together.” The confession tumbles out of her in an exhale, making her feel warm and light, and though she expects the sensation to taper off—for reality to settle in and remind her that she’s dreaming of impossible things—it never does. It only grows warmer, and brighter, and greater. “I want the life we’ve earned. The life we want.”
Sarah turns toward her, eyes twinkling, eyelashes dotting with tears as her eyes wrinkle in another smile. She reaches up, gently tucks Natasha’s hair behind her ear.
“Well, then it’s a good thing my son is coming back for you,” she whispers, gently cupping Natasha’s cheek, “because you two deserve a second chance.” Natasha feels her eyebrows furrow, feels her question tug at her own expression, and Sarah only smiles brighter. “A soul for a soul, Natasha. But what if the stone is brought back?” Natasha sucks in a breath—an eternal exchange, a second chance—but before she can begin to react, before she can think, Sarah tilts her head, glancing over her shoulder. Natasha follows her gaze to the front door of the house, left open just enough for a voice to filter through, the words muffled, but it doesn’t matter. Natasha recognizes it in seconds.
Steve.
Natasha shifts her gaze back onto Sarah as the woman squeezes her hand again, a little tighter.
“Will you do me a favor when you see my son again?” Sarah asks, and Natasha exhales a shaky sort of laugh as she nods, her vision blurring at the edges. Steve’s voice grows louder and clearer beyond the door, stealing Natasha’s attention for a moment, but Sarah hardly seems to mind. Her eyes twinkle. “Make sure he knows that I love him.”
He already does. Natasha knows it. She’s certain that Sarah does, too.
“And make sure he knows that you love him,” Sarah tells her, her grip loosening on Natasha until she lets go of her entirely.
“I will,” Natasha promises, her gaze drifting back to her other self as she lays between her children, a lightness in her smile that Natasha has only ever come close to feeling with Steve. Always with Steve. Her gaze shifts to him, lingering on the sight of him holding their daughter as his voice reaches out for her from their reality, coaxing her home.
See you in a minute.
