Chapter Text
On nice days, you can see the ocean from the windows of the new inpatient building at South Brooklyn Health Center. It’s almost gray-blue, and sometimes a gray shape darts quickly across the narrow beach, It's usually a seagull snatching French fries from tourists.
Natasha dragged a comfortable chair between the window and the hospital bed, so she could read while keeping an eye on Steve. She planned to apply for a PhD program in trauma psychology, while writing her dissertation, she could help the next wave of superheroes save the world at the same time.
Steve on the bed wasn’t fully awake yet. Because of his brain injury, the doctor had given him small doses of sedatives for three days, in order to stop him from waking up too soon, which could raise his intracranial pressure and cause brain bleeding. He frowned in his half-asleep state, wanting to open his eyes in the dream, but he had to take it slow.
Natasha had never thought she was the caring type. Back when she’d been on the run with Cap (and Sam, most of the time), he had taken care of her more in daily life. But these past few days, she had learned it all on her own: talking to the medical staff smoothly, turning Steve over and massaging him to stop poor blood flow from causing bedsores—though she wasn’t even sure if a Super Soldier could get bedsores.
Sam and Bucky took turns coming to relieve her for a few hours each day. That way, she could go back to her apartment to shower and sleep on a soft bed instead of the hospital recliner. But most of the time, Natasha stayed by the bed. She wanted to be the first person Steve saw when he woke up. Thinking that way comforted her, and made up for some vague guilt she felt.
On the day Wanda was discharged, her injured arm was still in a sling around her neck. Natasha had called Clint in advance, and Clint and Laura drove over to pick Wanda up. With Natasha chipping in to help, the couple finally convinced Wanda to stay at Clint’s place until her arm healed.
“Once your arm’s better, we can find you a nice house nearby—quiet, but only a 15-minute drive to our get-togethers,” Laura mumbled, planning ahead. “We need to save up to widen the backyard, so everyone can have barbecues there later. New York land prices are way higher than Iowa’s.”
Natasha’s lips curved into a tricky smile. “Oh, I can sponsor you 100 grand. Don’t look at me like that. Who doesn’t know I’m the richest Avenger in the working class, besides the capitalists and lords?”
Clint shrugged. “True, you spend little and earn a lot. But as a guy and a friend, Nat, I still can’t take this money.”
“It’s not just for your family,” Natasha glanced at Wanda and shook her head. “I definitely can’t build a compound for everyone like Tony did. But us who’re left still need our friends’ care. So I want to use this money as a starting fund for a friends’ place—not an Avenger training ground, just a place where friends can gather and relax. If you two agree, I hope Laura can run this fund.”
Laura looked at Natasha, her eyes clearly said “yes.” But she still wanted to confirm. “Will this money affect your life with Cap later?”
Natasha laughed softly. She realized everyone already knew about her and Steve, and she didn’t deny it this time.
“No, it’s just a part of my savings. And I’m also planning to ask Wakanda, Stark Industries, and the federal government for sponsorship once we finish the plan and financial report.”
Laura agreed quickly. Two of her three kids barely needed her care anymore, and Natasha knew Laura had been wanting something to do. Hosting friends had always been something Laura loved.
Wanda didn’t say a word until right before they left the hospital. Then she asked to talk to Natasha alone.
Clint and Laura stepped out. Natasha and Wanda stood by the window together, watching the blonde man on the bed frown in his sleep.
“I’ve saved up a bunch of hellish jokes about Captain America in the ICU. I’ll tell him when he wakes up,” Natasha looked at Steve, her lips lifting. “Soon—they’ll stop the sedatives tomorrow.”
“Tell Steve I owe him an apology.”
Natasha crossed her arms and shook her head. “Tell him yourself when he wakes up. By the way, how was that wedding? No trouble, right?”
Wanda looked at her and smiled. “I don’t know. I haven’t used Dreamwalk since then. Let the Wanda in that universe deal with the problem. But… Nat, I still have a question.”
When Natasha raised her eyebrows to ask, Wanda sighed deeply. “How did you get through those ten years? Through his funeral? And still keep a clear mind?”
Natasha was stunned. She had never labeled herself as such a boaster. Of course, she had been angry with Steve before.
“I just… got used to it. Used to living with pain, waiting for hope with pain.” she said, gently placing her hand over Steve’s. “But this isn’t some life lesson. I’ve never walked in your shoes.”
Wanda nodded. “You and Cap will make up, right?”
“When he wakes up—if he hasn’t changed his mind.”
Wanda’s eyes crinkled. “That’s great. By the way, nice pendant.”
*
Steve was still dreaming.
He dreamed he was old, so old he was just skin and bones. His thin hand rested on his wheelchair armrest. Friends pushed him through a quiet cemetery, one after another, until they stopped at a tombstone under a tree.
In the soft autumn sun, the tombstone was surrounded by flowers and toys. The words on it were clear, he didn’t even need his reading glasses. Her name was carved there. A dead leaf fell on the stone. He reached out, struggling to brush it away.
“Natasha Romanoff.”
“Daughter, sister, Avenger.”
He narrowed his eyes. A tombstone is a place where families remember their deceased loved ones. What right did he have to be here? In what identity could he leave his name on it?
He hadn’t even found her body.
The chisel marks from the engraving were still fresh, but it was clear that she had been away from him for more than seventy years.
Time rushed backward. He watched himself stand up from the wheelchair. Dead leaves flew back to the green branches. Wrinkles faded, white hair turned gold. He went from 2024 back to 1948, then jumped back to 2023.
Natasha sat tiredly behind a command table, her feet propped on it. Her red roots had grown out to cover two-thirds of her hair.
“You here to do the laundry?” she asked him.
He leaned against a bookshelf, staring at her without blinking. She smiled weakly, there were still traces of tears in her green eyes.
“And to see a friend.”
The word “friend” was too plain for what they were. Friends who had watched each other’s backs. Friends who had been through thick and thin. Friends who had had feelings for each other.
Why had he let so many unsaid words hang between them? Why hadn’t he stepped forward, wrapped his arms around her thin shoulders, and let her cry on him?
The Avengers Compound faded away in a morning fog. Suddenly, he found himself driving. In the thick mist, the borrowed car was heading toward New Jersey. Only her face next to him was clear.
He knew he was in a dream. So he hoped this drive in the fog would never end.
“Who do you want me to be?” the red-haired girl next to him turned her head. Her green eyes dim and a bit melancholy.
He knew the right answer to this question.
“How about a friend?”
It was what he had said that year. It was a fitting statement for this scene, a self-fulfilling prophecy that kept them stuck where they were.
But this might be the last time he dreamed of Natasha. He was afraid that his consciousness might fade into eternal sleep.
So he decided to grab his throat to hold back the first word he was about to say.
The fog grew thicker. She was still waiting for his answer. He felt the dream was about to end. What should he say?
He stared at her, his lips moving. He said the words that had crossed his mind a thousand times.
“Nat, I’m... so sorry.”
It was the words he hadn’t said under the cliff on Vormir, or in front of that empty grave.
*
“Sorry for what?”
The thick white fog turned into pale pink walls. Steve blinked in confusion, not knowing where the dream had jumped to.
The face he had missed so much came close. Their noses touching, eyes locked. Finally, a soft kiss landed on the corner of his mouth. Light, like a feather brushing his skin. Then it was gone.
All memories rushed back. He remembered. Natasha wasn’t dead. He wasn’t dead either. She’d kissed him. His heart beat fast. There was still time…
“I’m not in heaven, am I?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
The red-haired woman raised one eyebrow, grinning. “Actually, you’re in South Brooklyn Health Center, which used to be Coney Island Hospital. I have to say, Rogers, your standards for heaven are pretty low. You’re still wrapped in all these bandages.”
“Waking up and seeing the person from my dream right here…I wouldn't ask for more.”
His words made her laugh, but her eyebrows furrowed. Dark circles under her eyes showed she hadn’t slept well.
“You have over 20 broken bones. Who knows how many have healed.”
“I feel great, except for these damn bandages and casts.”
“The doctor will take them off once they confirm all your fractures have healed. Until then, stay in bed and let us take care of you.” She lowered her eyes, skillfully squeezing each of his knuckles. Her expression looked awkward under his gaze. “Are your fingers numb?”
Steve looked at Natasha. For a second, the scene felt unreal.
“My hands are fine. By the way, how’s Wanda?” he asked, clearing his throat.
“She hurt one arm. She’s recovering at Clint’s place,” she answered shortly.
He opened and closed his hand a few times, pretending to test its flexibility. Then he quietly curled his fingers around Natasha’s hand. He noticed her expression stiffen. She looked at him, but didn’t pull away. A smile still lingered on her lips.
That seemed like a good sign.
“Nat,” he called.
“What?”
He held her hand in silence. His tongue felt stuck. He didn’t know how to phrase the next sentence.
“Nat.”
She laughed, helpless. “What is it?”
“About this time last year,” he lowered his eyes. “I had auditory hallucinations. I thought I heard you talking in the room, thought your ghost had come back. So I turned around and called your name… then the sound was gone.”
“—You won’t disappear again, right?” he asked carefully.
She sighed. “I didn’t know I had hurt you this much, Steve.”
“I hope you’re not mocking me,” he laughed at himself. “No matter how I explain it… the Steve Rogers who grew old with another woman is still buried in Washington Memorial Cemetery.”
Natasha said nothing. She pulled the heart pendant out from under her collar. A cold glint from the silver chain reflected in both their eyes. Their gazes met in mid-air.
“I think I’ll never forget those bad memories. But I also can’t forget everything you did for me, Steve Rogers.”
She took off her shoes, stepping barefoot on the floor. Then she climbed onto the bed and lay down next to him—luckily, the hospital bed was wide enough. Her fingers cupped his face. He hadn’t shaved in days, so it must have felt scratchy.
“We’ve never tried, have we? So let’s try. Fill our hearts with more memories… until those painful ones fade.”
He stared at her without blinking, wanting to remember Natasha like this: clear, determined, bright. Even with tiredness on her face, she looked alive—finally believing she was strong enough to love, and that she was deeply loved by him.
He tried not to crush the cast on his leg. Carefully, he turned to his side and put his bandaged arm around her shoulders. He felt her bury her head in his chest, felt his heartbeat mix with her breath.
Maybe there were still people counting on Captain America and Black Widow. Maybe there was still work to do outside. But this moment—this moment belonged only to Natasha and Steve.
They had fought their battle. They had finished their race. They had kept their faith. They had gotten through endless hardship, despair, pain, sorrow and joy. This is the moment they deserved.
“I hate that we’re in a hospital bed right now,” he suddenly said.
He lowered his head and gently nipped her ear. Then he lay back, taking a few deep breaths to calm down.
She rolled her eyes softly.
“Oh, boys.”
*
Three days later, when they were discharged, Steve claimed he was “as strong as a bull”, and he really was. But the doctor insisted the CT scan showed his right fibula was still broken. To avoid re-injury from strenuous activity, he had to use crutches with the cast for one more week.
“Three days—can’t go any shorter, Mr. Rogers. I know you have the serum. But your injuries would have killed a lion twice over. Staying in the hospital for only eight days is already excessive. For your quality of life in old age, please listen to me.”
So Steve had to use crutches and get into Natasha’s four-seater sports car.
First, they went back to Steve’s apartment. With Natasha’s help, he shaved and took a nice shower, though the cast on his leg made both of them sweat. They had to shower again.
“Honestly, I still prefer being in bed,” she said. They lay down for a short rest. Steve’s hand slipped under the blanket, stroking her smooth back on and off.
“You’re so beautiful, Nat,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I’d happily die in bed with you like this.”
She kissed his wet forehead.
“I’m honored. But we have to go support Bucky’s campaign this afternoon, and Laura’s barbecue tonight. Everyone’s celebrating your recovery. So get some sleep.”
That afternoon, Natasha and Steve went to Bucky’s congressional debate together. To be honest, Bucky did pretty badly compared to his opponent. He still hadn’t fully caught up with modern political topics. But he didn’t seem to care. Instead, he waved happily at them in the audience.
“Coming with us? To Clint’s place?” After the debate, Steve leaned on his crutches, holding Natasha’s hand as they walked down from the audience. He patted Bucky’s shoulder.
“No, I still need to knock on voters’ doors—an entire neighborhood. See you at seven.” Bucky smiled, hugged Natasha and Steve, then gestured for them to leave.
It was still early, so they went for a walk on the George Washington Bridge. The Hudson River was back to its unclear state. No whales seemed willing to visit anymore.
They stood on the bridge’s sidewalk, leaning on the rail, feeling the wind from the estuary. December’s sun set early. It was just past five, and the sky was filled with sunset glow.
Natasha got a call from her sister Yelena. She chatted with her for a while in the evening wind.
Steve put his arm around her waist, kissed her, and said regretfully, “So… you don’t want to get married yet, huh?”
Natasha shook her head, leaning on his shoulder.
“Maybe later. Not now.”
He was silent for a few seconds, then asked, “Is there anything I can change for that?”
Her green eyes reflected the sunset. “No, don’t worry, it’s not that you did something wrong. I just went to your funeral and two of your weddings in a row. It feels a little weird considering the third wedding.”
Steve turned to look at her, forcing a laugh. “I'm deeply sorry about this, ma’am.”
“It doesn’t stop us from being together, does it?”
The sun set between the coastline and the city skyline. Natasha squinted at the sunset in his arms.
“Of course not. But I still want to ask one thing.”
She looked at him, raising her eyebrows in curiosity.
“Let me put your name in my will, and let me be in yours,” Steve said, looking into her eyes seriously. “If you go first, let me take care of your family as your widower. If I go first, I want you to handle all my affairs as my partner. Let me grow old with you in this century, and be buried in the same cemetery.”
“That’s sweet, Steve Rogers,” she stood on her tiptoes slightly, kissing his cheek. “I will take it.”
They leaned on each other, walking slowly into New York’s night as the lights turned on one by one.
*
In March 2025, whales were spotted in the Hudson River again.