We Can Have This.

Chapter 8

"Let me go."

Her fingers inside her leather glove wriggled a little freer from Clint's grasp. He was desperate as he scanned for a different solution but already knew there wasn't one.

"Damn you."

"It's OK."

She smiled at him as she planted her feet upon the black cliff face and kicked off hard. His grip upon her wrist failed as expected, and she began to fall. She watched him and heard his cries as she descended. The dark purple sky was rather beautiful, the dusky atmosphere with its swirling snowflakes racing towards the heavens. Her friend's anguish was drowned out as she accelerated to the floor below, and the sound of the air rushing past her filled her ears. It was moments, but waiting for the inevitable seemed to be taking an eternity.

She hit the ground, searing pain and white light as her body collided with the solid rock.

Natasha had been twitching in her sleep, and then it was almost as though she'd hit something; her limbs ricocheted against where they lay upon his body, and she woke with a start, bolting out of his embrace and sitting up with a yelp.
Bucky clambered round to face her, "Natasha."

Her mouth was gaping; she was unable to breathe. She had a far-off look in her eyes as though unable to see her surroundings; perhaps she was still dreaming, a waking nightmare.
He touched her shoulders, "Natasha, focus on me. Breathe with me, come on, in and out."

Her eyes seemed to find his face, and she seemed to take in a little air, but her capacity seemed constricted as though the wind had been knocked from her.
"That's it, Natasha, with me in," Bucky breathed in and watched her attempt the same, "and out." He allowed a long exhale out and watched her mirroring him.

"That's it, two more; big breath in and out."

He watched her breathing normalise, nodding at her.
"You with me?" She nodded. "What did you dream about?"

"Falling." Bucky paused. No one had asked her; they'd avoided asking her, but maybe they couldn't/ shouldn't anymore. "Falling on Vormir," she confirmed.

He released her shoulders and sat back on the floor. Dawn had come an hour or so earlier, and he'd remained with her as promised. He rubbed his face wearily, feeling the need for coffee. He didn't want to have this conversation, but it wasn't about him.

"What do you remember, Natalia?" She lowered her head and stared at her hands silently as she flexed her fingers. "You don't have to tell me now if you don't want to, whenever you're ready, or never, you're choice."

"Everything." She looked back up at him. Bucky saw the truth in her eyes clear as glass; she hadn't been hiding. All their fears about her memories had been founded. "I remember everything, James. I remember wrestling with Clint; I remember winning. I remember making him let go and then falling. I remember hitting the ground, and I remember dying."

'Bucky, no!' despite his best efforts, Bucky's similar memory flashed before his eyes. The creak of the metal from the blown open train as it gave way, trying to reach Steve's hand, failing to grasp it, then falling through the snowy air and fighting that feeling, fighting the inevitable. The way it felt when the ground finally met him, but he hadn't died, had he? Only presumed dead; Natasha had.

"I chose it. Every moment in the five years after watching you disappear had been about getting to that place, making it right, and bringing everyone back. The alternative to my death was my best friend with his family sacrificing himself, or we failed. My life was always the price I was willing to pay."

Bucky knelt up and reached forward, cupping her face in his hands, "I know. But you paid it, Natalia, you paid it. It's over."

"I know. So now what?"