Grey sheets of heavy clouds hung in the endless sky as a gentle yet remarkably cool breeze descended down upon the ground. It was the end of June, and this was the first day in weeks that the heat was not unbearable. The dark grey clouds managed to shield away the bright light of the sun, but at the same time there was no chance for rain, even though Natasha wished it would.

Maybe this all wouldn't be as hard if this wasn't the first funeral she had ever attended, well, funeral for someone she cared about that is. Death was something she granted to others, and for the longest time it wasn't a threat to her. She had nothing to lose, because if she succeeded she would take a life, and if she failed her life would be taken. When she was a KGB agent there was no prolonged guilt or consequences, it was survival of the fittest. But now, she wasn't the one doing the killing, or having her life threatened, but she was in death's mockery. Now, death did not take mercy on her.

The simple thought of where she was and why she was here, was unbearably numbing. As people gathered out of their cars, talking amongst themselves as if everything were normal, she stood silently, waiting for the ceremony to start. She knew what she was feeling, but didn't know if it was right. She didn't know if her grief was enough, if it was doing Clint justice.

After all, no one tells you how your suppose to feel or react to grief. Society tends to give the impression that any emotion is the right one, and that you can react to triumph or tragedy in any way; that there is no right or wrong. But that wasn't true for Natasha, and after spending half her life as a brutally ruthless hunter, most emotions tended to be a foreign concept. For the longest time she didn't have to feel anything, for anyone. She was exactly what she was trained and made to be, a mindless killer. Like a dog whose only purpose in life is to fight, who knows no love, just survival.

But that was one of the many priceless contributions Clint Barton granted to the young woman's life. He showed her what emotions were, and essentially, taught her to be human. He loved her despite the fact that she didn't know what love was at first. His understanding and compassion, was what allowed her a second chance at life. Having the privilege of loving such a man made her nearly empty life, worth living.

Now here she stood, quietly trying to even fathom what to do now. Without Clint, would she slip back into her old self? Her insecurity of thought was evident as she clenched her hands tightly, and her head was gently tilted down, to avoid eye contact with others. Natasha was grateful that only a minimal amount of people showed up. There were less than twenty agents of SHIELD, several other government, police, and military officials. They all calmly stood around the gravesite, and Natasha remained silent as they waited.

The hearse arrived and behind it Steve, Sam, Rhodey, Tony, Thor, and Bruce. Since SHIELD respectfully served the U.S. government, an American flag was draped over Clint's casket. Natasha watched from afar as the six men carried Clint downhill. Despite being a super soldier, it took Steve all his energy to march forward. They carried the fallen Avenger, in one final act as a team. They beared the weight of the broken team.

After the casket was laid down before the crowd, the service began with a series of speeches. Natasha avoided looking up at the speakers, or the casket. Instead she looked down, at her white clenched hands, or at her black heels as they dug into the dirt. The dull shade of the clouds made her sleek ebony black dress even darker, and her fiery red hair a deep crimson. Her blank emotionless face was even paler in the unsaturated atmosphere, and her sharp eyes glazed with that of empty thoughts.

Finally, Steve stepped forward to deliver the team's eulogy for their fallen comrade. He had a confidently serious and formal look to his sophisticated gestures, but that was only masking an unstable layer of melancholy. Clearing his throat, the super soldier nodded to himself, taking a moment to gather himself before speaking in a doleful yet strong voice,

"I've been a soldier since the Second World War, seeing battles against the most dangerous of enemies. Anyone who has put their lives on the line for a greater good, another cause, in an act of selflessness has seen war's true devastation. We lose men, and we sometimes lose ourselves. But, despite this all, the impact of a sacrifice immortal."

The blonde haired man grit his large jaw for a moment, and took in a quick sharp inhale as his blue eyes gazed skyward for a brief second, before continuing right where he left off, his voice more resonant and clear as he gained composure,

"Clint Barton was not just one of the bravest men I have ever known, but one of the most admirable people I have met in the entire 90 years of my life. Yes, I worked closely with him, but it wasn't just his work that defined his absolute and devoted nature, but his personality. Being an Avenger, Clint was constantly surrounded by super humans with ungodly powers, but he was the one who kept us all grounded. He was the most genuine, the most human of us all, which is far from a flaw. As a team, we survived many hardships and battles because of Clint's level head of thinking. Ironically, at times he was so reasonably accurate in his way of fighting and his strategies, that we were all completely oblivious to how vulnerable a human life really can be. He defied many limits in his life, and not only that but he changed the lives of some of the most powerful beings on this earth."

As he spoke this Steve's deep blue eyes looked upward and towards where his other fellow Avengers stood, their gazes all laced with respect as he spoke on behalf of them all. All of them, besides Natasha, had helped to write the eulogy, but Steve did most of the writing and volunteered to speak.

" But Clint's ability to defy the limits should not overshadow who he really was. He was sensible in every way, but yet could be just as reckless as any of us. He was very cordial, but this mixed with his wry and sarcastic nature always kept our spirits lifted in the darkest of times. By nature he would act overconfident, but deep down he was humble, and kept us on the right track so we could succeed. Agent Barton may not have been the strongest Avenger physically, but it is because of him that the Avengers are here today."

As Steve described her late husband, Natasha's heart began to yearn. It made her think, truly and deeply, of why she had loved the man she did. It was almost enough to bring a small set of tears to the assassin's grief-stricken eyes, but she forced those burning tears away as she looked up at Steve.

"And here we are, celebrating his sadly short but fully lived life. A causality of war some may call him now, but it's unfair to say he was merely shot down. Clint Barton gave his life willingly, so people like us could fight on against the very evil he fought so hard against. Life is short and delicate, but shouldn't be treated as so, because in truth a life can be everlasting. After all, only those we let fade from our memory truly die. I know for a fact, that as long as myself and my other teammates live, so will Clint Barton. Yes, he will be missed, but his memory will make us stronger. He will be remembered, and not as a fallen soldier, but for the life he lived and died for. We are still whole as a team, for when we fight he fights beside us. And when more of us fall, he will still be beside us."

Natasha was still comprehending Steve's words as several military officials, folded the draped flag, and one of them handed it to Natasha. Steve walked forward and put a hand on her shoulder, as her thin and scarred hands took the soft folded fabric into her arms. The serviceman saluted her, and she nodded and exhaled slowly. It was then that everyone at the service knew Natasha was more than a combat partner to Clint. A wave of glances filled with empathy fell upon Natasha, but she was too numb to feel their stares. She looked down at the flag which she held against her chest, clinging to the few things Clint would leave behind.

As three rounds of seven riflemen fired, Natasha saw her and Clint being cornered by Hydra. She saw herself getting shot, and leaving to Clint to kill himself in order to save her. She held the flag harder, but this only made her feel worse as she realized her source of comfort was coming from a lifeless piece of cloth.

The solemn rhythm of Taps seronnated calmly, but even the pastoral melody of the trumpet conjured up images of seeing her husband's lifeless body. It was in peaceful moments, that her violated memories seemed to attack her. She held the flag closer to her chest, tipping her head so brief tears could fall onto the sea dark blue cloth. The melody faded, and soon everyone began to walk away, it was over.

Natasha stood silently under the ebony shade of a large tree as she waited for everyone to leave. She stayed clear of the crowd, not wanting to talk to anyone who felt sorry for her. Thankfully, Steve and the other Avengers tried their best to politely tell anyone who wished to give their condolences, that Natasha wanted to be alone.

Her eyes gazed over the beautiful descending hill as people made their way back to the cars they drove to the cemetery. The afternoon sun was starting to set slowly and the day's warmth seemed to seep away with it. As Steve and Sam were shaking hands to say thank you to the men in uniform, the four remaining avengers gathered around.

"I gotta say, you had a very smooth delivery there, Rogers. Nearly made me tear up," remarked Tony in a sober yet still sarcastic tone.

Steve only gave Tony a faint sad smile as he stood there quietly.

"It was well written though, it held much depth." Thor remarked quickly in his usual stoic deep tone.

"I think it gave him a good send of though, I mean I think it really captured his whole life and what he'll leave behind. Do we think Natasha...is alright?" Asked a very soft toned and worried Bruce Banner.

Steve shook his head as he looked over to where she still stood, alone.

"Of course she isn't, she's heartbroken."

Thor nodded, and added sadly,

"Yes, but I'm afraid if any of us tried to talk to her, it would only make things worse."

Tony looked over to where she stood silently by herself as he suddenly seemed to lose his slight sarcastic nature and said,

"Well at the least, someone should make sure she gets home alright. I'm heading out now, I work."

And with that he left without another word. Everyone knew Tony wasn't one for emotions, and felt insecure when he was experiencing his own personal troubles. Yet the Avengers had never faced such a tragedy of this size before.

As he climbed the hill towards his car, the force of gravity seemed to bear down upon him. His sleek blazer held a small red rose in the pocket of his suit, all the Avengers bore one. On his way back to his car, he once again passed where Clint's dark brown coffin was placed, and would be buried later in the day. He looked behind his shoulder to make sure no one was watching him, before deciding he'd pay one last respect to his fallen teammate, and friend, while he still had the strength to. The usually selfish and egocentric man seemed to be overwhelmed by his emotions for his friend as he clenched his jaw and quickly reached a shaky hand upward towards the rose as he fumbled it in his hands for a moment before placing the scarlet flower on top of the coffin before turning and walking away quickly.

Tony did he turn around after he walked away, and he would never again come to pay his respects. Tony was a realist, an atheist, and a logical thinker. In his mind there was no reason to even think of, or fondly remember the deceased, because they were gone. And maybe that's what made emotional traumas like this so hard for Tony, because they really were permanent goodbyes.

Bruce's keen observation caught Tony's final sentimental act and he quickly excused himself from the group of Avengers and walked down the lonely hill towards Natasha as he nervously unbuttoned and buttoned his black jacket. A soft breeze rustled through his hair as he approached her and cleared his throat to get her attention because she didn't seem to notice he was even there.

"Natasha...I..." His voice was soft and trailed off as he waited for her to look at him before continuing.

Her sharp eyes were not staring into empty space like some madly lost person, but rather around the green hills and beautiful trees of the land around her. Despite being emotionally unstable, her face reflected that of someone at peace, even if it was a tragic sense of peace. The breeze picked up and blew her dark red straightened locks as she turned her head to face Bruce, her expressions softer than they had been in the last couple days.

"I'm...I'm so sorry," he finished finally, his voice soft and filled with remorse.

It didn't even sound like the compassionate man could have the ability to turn into the Hulk. His eyes were also soft, and his voice almost soothingly calm, yet filled with so much care for the young Russian.

"Things will get better...I mean it's hard to think like that now, but they will."

The almost humbled man rolled on his heels and took a short break in his speech to pull his head up and look over the serene sight before him as he continued,

"It's beautiful out here"

"He would have liked it," Natasha said sadly yet approvingly.

Bruce turned to her and spoke, "He had one hell of a life though, and I'm sure he doesn't regret what he did. And no matter how hard it is for us to accept that, I suppose we have to. You'll be alright though...and so will he."

Bruce's gentle voice trailed off as his eyes looked from the ground to the beautiful sunset, and then back to Natasha.

She smiled sadly, looking down to the ground and nodded half to herself as she spoke in a hoarse voice that was nearly inaudible, more a breath than a voice,

"Thank you..."

He gave a sad smile and placed a reassuring hand on her very thin shoulder,

"Just take care of yourself. I'm here if you need anything, anything at all."

She faintly nodded again and their conversation ended with that. Bruce knew Natasha didn't want to talk long, but he just wanted her to know he was there, and that he cared. The older Avenger walked up the same hill Tony did, taking out his own darker red rose from his pocket, and placed it beside Tony's. He took a moment to stand there at the head of the wooden coffin, head bowed and hands folded as he took a moment just to pay his own respects before leaving as well.

Natasha began to walk uphill, her eyes gazing around at the few people who remained. It was as she walked that she hardly noticed who she was about to bump into, until she did. Gentle hands grabbed her thin arms as she looked up startled to the man she almost ran into, Phil Coulson. Her glossy eyes immediately darted down, knowing Phil of all people would be able to see past her emotionless state and see the true sorrow that had taken hold of her.

But he didn't say anything, he simply smiled dolefully and gently rubbed her arm, as he held her softly. She subtly, so not to attract attention, fell into his embrace, as he continued to rub her softly on the back. He hugged her gently, as he nodded and the smallest tear streamed down his face.

"It's hard...I know it is..." Phil said in a quiet voice as he continued to hold her.

She continued to nod, yet seeked comfort from Phil's embrace.

"As soon as I heard, I..."

His voice trailed off and his lip trembled slightly, as he let go of her form and looked down at her.

Natasha didn't say anything in return, nothing more needed to be said. She just let herself embrace the closest man she had to a father. Phil realized she didn't want to talks and so he simply just let her pour her feelings out in their brief sentimental moment. He continued to pat her back to try ease the distressed woman,

Phil had known Clint longer than Natasha had, and Phil had an almost mentoring like relationship with him, in many ways he was like a son to Phil. There was much grief that flooded Phil's eyes, as he tried to keep his composure, but as Natasha looked up at the man who had been through death and back, literally, she couldn't help but feel tears sting at her eyes, and she wasn't reluctant to let them flow now...because of all people who would understand why she would be crying, it would be Phil.

Higher up the hill of green vibrant grass next to the lonely yet peaceful spot where Clint Barton would be laid to rest, Steve Rogers stood tall and silent next to the casket, his hands in his pockets and his head down. The sun's rays silhouetted his form against the bright amber sky, but close up the sun's rays made his blonde locks golden and his blue eyes have a warm glean. Steve seemed to be almost gathering his thoughts, as the evening's incoming breeze blew through his hair as he finally began to talk out loud, his head remained bowed as he did so,

"You know, this is a lot harder than I thought it would be."

He started, and then quickly paused as if he was expecting an answer. His eyes gazed skyward and then quickly glanced back down at his black glossed shoes as he continued in a voice that was barely audible.

"Losing a soldier, a teammate, I mean. We started this team five... six years ago, and when we did, I knew as long as we continued like this...something was bound to happen. Soldiers die in war, and why would we be any different? But I mean, now you're...gone. And the team will never be the same, will never be whole,  without you."

Steve paused his soft speech, and as he looked up saw himself in the reflection of the casket's dark wood.

"People think just because I'm a super soldiers that I am stronger. Well...Clint god damn it, right now I feel weak, I feel helpless. I should be stronger than this, strong for Natasha...but I'll miss you. Everyone will. No matter how much time passes, and no matter what happens to the team, no one is going to forget you."

Steve, like all the other Avengers, pulled his large crimson red rose out of his suit pocket, and twirled the flower in his hand for a moment. He breathed in a slow shallow breath and closed his blue eyes for a moment as he laid the rose beside the other three that rested on the sleek dark wood.

Steve reached out his hand and placed it carefully on the smooth wood of the casket, which was very cold against the palm of his hand, as he spoke in the most soft spoken yet quietly respectful voice,

"Rest easy, my friend. you've served us, and this world, well. I promise you, I will look after her."

He backed up very stately, posture firm like the soldier he was, but eyes still pooling with emotions. With that Steve began to walk away from the casket, his eyes holding a respectful sadness to them, but there was a strength in his step. He looked upward to see the silhouetted form of a woman standing near her car, and he quickly walked up to her, immediately knowing who it was.

"Natasha..."

He spoke out softly as he approached her and her head quickly jerked towards him, her sharp eyes locking on his.

Her thin hands were fumbling with her keys, but her eyes and facial gestures suggested a distressed and almost lost look, which she tried desperately hard to hide. She clenched her jaw and pushed a strand of dark red hair behind her ear as she looked at him, raising a brow as if waiting for him to continue talking
.
Steve's shoes hit the asphalt as he walked up to her and nodded softly, finding himself embarrassingly lost in what to say. His eyes looked at hers, and for once she didn't immediately look the other way, but instead looked up right at him. A sudden gust of wind blew and made her hold the flag and her black jacket closer to her, as Steve finally spoke up.

"Do you want to sleep at the tower tonight, you know I have extra space on my floor."

She shook her head softly and said, her voice low and laced with a deep subtle sadness,

"No...Lucky's still at the house, and it's about time I go back home. But thank you for the offer."

Her voice was almost strained and Steve knew she was still having a hard time just coping in general, but yet while he was concerned for her he didn't want to be overpowering. He placed a gently hand on her arm and nodded.

"Call me if you need anything, I'll drop by sometime tomorrow morning, take care of yourself."

Steve knew how hard it would be for Natasha to go home and live again in the apartment her and Clint shared. He wished Natasha didn't have to face reminder after reminder that her best friend and husband was gone, and yet there was still something he needed to do. As Natasha opened the door to her car, and gently placed the folded flag on her seat, Steve pulled a small little velvet bag from his pocket and put it in her palm.

"Coulson wanted me to give you this. You sure you're okay?"

Natasha's thin hand stretched out and grasped the small little velvety drawstring bag, as she nodded faintly and looked Steve right in the eye again and said,

"No...but there's nothing really that can change that."

Steve nodded, regretting he even asked. Ne gently closed the car door for her, and turned around on his heel to walk towards his own car. Natasha sat for a moment in her car, looking back down over the cemetery and then to the blackish purplish sky. She carefully opened the small bag, and let the contents slide out onto her palm. A beautiful yet cold silver ring on a chain fell into her hand, and Natasha realized immediately what it was and a sharp pang quickly hit her heart. She felt a one last tear slowly make its way down her cheek as she clutched the ring in her hand and held it close to her chest, as she felt her whole body go numb, with the harrowing loneliness that suddenly fell upon her. She placed the ring on top of the flag, and drove away from her husband. It was a long and lonely drive home.