Winter's Widow

Chapter 23

Natasha's pov:

I'm sitting alone in my room. It's around 3 in the evening. I really want to die right now. The only thing stopping me from grabbing the gun on my desk and pulling the trigger is that fact that the others are home and they would be alerted by the sound. I'll consider putting a bullet through my head when everyone is gone. For now, it'll have to wait. If I were to try leaving now they would probably try saving me. I don't want to put them through that. It would be a bit traumatic for them. Not Bucky though. He's seen so much death, I'm sure it doesn't even phase him anymore. Even if it is a friend. It probably wouldn't effect him.

That's a good thing.

I grab the one of the guns off my desk to examine it. I run my fingers over the bumps and curves of the glock 26 as I kick my legs up onto the desk. It's my favorite gun, the one I bring on all of my missions. The twin glocks. I grab the soft rag on my desk that I use to clean my guns, and run it over the gun. The black metal looks shinier as I wipe the gun clean.

Tap tap.

I hear the familiar sound of metal on metal.

"Enter."

I don't spare the soldier a glance when he enters the room quietly.

He stares for a moment.

"What do you need Barnes?" I ask fairly monotone.

"What are you doing?" He asks.

"Take a wild guess." I sigh.

"What's wrong?" He asks after a pause.

"Nothing. Why?" I ask, still not looking at him.

I put down my gun and grab the knife that was laying on my desk. I begin to polish that one too.

"You sound mad, and you haven't looked at me yet." He responds, I detect the concern in his voice.

I stop running the rag over the blade for a moment and look up at him.

"I'm fine." I go back to polishing my knife.

"Mhm."

"Fine. Don't believe me." I say.

He leans on the desk with his hand.

"Can I help you, Barnes?" I ask, still not looking up from what I was doing.

"No, but can I help you?" He asks.

There is a pause.

"No." I answer.

He just sighs and looks down.

"Why do you do this? Why wont you let me help you?" he asks, looking up.

I stop polishing the knife and look up at him to catch his eyes. My stomach drops.

"Stop." I hate this feeling. I almost feel sick.

He's leaning on the desk with his left arm. I think he's trying to show off. He's trying to intimidate me. It's working.

"Stop what?" He asks, but it sounds more like a statement.

I can't find the words to say right now. I see it again. It's back. I need to stop staring him in the eyes. It'll only make it worse. Even after I stop looking him in the eyes, I still smell the ash. The screaming wont stop. I taste the blood again. Why does this always happen? I hate it.

"You know what you're doing." I respond finally.

He starts tapping his metal finger on the desk; reminding me it's there.