natasha remembers war, a battefield, a cacophony of gunshots and people screaming. she remembers agony as bullets graze her back and knives bite into her skin, and she remembers the adrenaline. she remembers feeling a l i v e.

natasha remembers a man, a faceless, nameless man, and how the light leaves his eyes as it slowly bleeds out of him. she remembers the red, the ocean of red, dripping from her fingers and threatening to drown her –

natasha remembers the blood, and the guilt, and how long can she keep doing this?

clint remembers a sleepless city of blue skies and pretty flowers, of whispered secrets under a blanket of lies. he remembers a warm body pressed to his under the cover of moonlight, he remembers soft lips on his own, and the sound of two hearts racing.

clint remembers skin as smooth as silk, and hair as fine as a spider's web, and the feeling of not knowing where his body ended and hers began.

clint remembers half-formed promises in the recess of his mind – you could marry me, tasha, we could run away from all this and never look back – but perhaps some things are better left unspoken.

natasha remembers red, staining her soul, stinging her eyes. red on her ledger that will never quite wash away.

clint remembers the beauty of the woman he loves, and a warmth he will never quite feel from anyone else.

(natasha remembers clint's arms, and it's not home, but it's a place where she'll always be welcome.)