?? Romanogers Scenes We All Need ??

Moving On with You

He gave a small smile back as he set his jacket down on the chair and sat across, facing her.

'Sorry. Force of habit.'

She saw the dark circles and slightly hazy eyes. His irises were murkier, like the ocean in them were caught in a silent storm.

She handed over the plate to him, who chose to slide it to her.

'You know, I keep telling everybody they should move on and . . . grow.'

She subconsciously shook her head.

'Some do. But not us.'

A new message popped up from Rhodey on her phone. It was a gruesome photo of a new crime scene, with a simple "Please think about it again Nat".

She sighed, rubbing her eyes.

'If I move on, who does this?'

'Maybe it doesn't need to be done,' he said, staring impassively at her.

She looked at the ballet shoes, the hourglass, the photoframes she had in her drawers she secretly looked at, and then faced him.

'I used to have nothing. And then I got this. This job . . . ' she smiled, remembering Melina, Alexei, and Yelena mewting them all those years ago. ' . . . this family. And I was . . . I was better because of it. And even though . . . they're gone . . . I'm still trying to be better. Trying to make people better . . . So that they don't turn out like me.'

'I think we both need to get a life,' he said wistfully. 'Something to ourselves.'

She smiled, 'You first.'

They stared at each other, their hopeful smiles turning melancholic.

She cleared her throat. 'Uh, your clothes - I'll put them - '

He jumped up to find the duffel bag he brought his clothes in and handed them over. 'I'll go be in my room. I'll make dinner.'

'Good.' She grinned, immediately retracting when she felt the amount of clothes in them. How long had he been holding on to them?

She heard her phone buzz again. She swiped up and jumped back. Another crime scene. Judging by the wardrobe that wasn't covered by blood, and the fully bloodied sword left inside his throat, it was a Yakuza member. What made Natasha burst into tears was the second picture: a woman with two boys and girl, covered in his blood, weeping over the corpse.

Another text, "Say the word, and I'll turn him in".

She switched off her phone and hurried along to do the laundry, unable to hide the tears.

'Tasha?' his voice came. 'Nat? What happened?'

'Clint's gone.'

He stopped dead. 'How? Where had he been?'

'No. He is dead to me. This isn't him, the man who saved me. He is now . . .' She laughed scornfully. 'Me. He is who I was before he saved me . . . A murderer.

'The worst part is . . . I can't even be hypocritical, I was him. That's what makes it so hard to find him. Would I be able to see him again, and not kill him myself for not following his own morals, the ones he gave me?'

He looked shocked at her words. 'You and I both know that he is lost. He needs you. He needed us. But then he went missing for four years. We thought that he . . . ' he trailed off, knowing suicide was a sensitive topic for the both of them, especially her. 'We will find him, make him better, and . . . We'll be okay, Nat.'