August 4 2012
Dear Natasha,
I've been thinking about you a lot and what you've done to deserve this. You haven't done anything to deserve what happened to you—it isn't fair, yet, here we are: you in a comatose state with machines keeping you alive and me in my living room writing a letter to you. About the letter, I knew that you couldn't hear me if I talked to you, so I decided to write a letter to you instead. Just like in the movies, hey, Romanoff? So here we go, I will write to you every day until you wake up.
August 5 2012
Dear Natasha,
You haven't woken up yet and your vitals haven't changed. Of course, you know that but I just felt the need to tell you.
I miss you Tasha, I really do. I don't just miss the way you were around me, but the way you acted when you thought no one was looking; I miss the way you would lick the lid of your coffee before anything else. Honestly, I could list of everything that I missed about you, but, as you would say: "there is no point Barton, it's not as though I could hear you anyway." Is it wrong that I can hear your high-pitched annoying voice when I wrote that? Ah, screw it if it is. Just come back to me one day Natasha, I don't care if it's in a day or a thousand, just come back to me.
August 20 2012
Dear Natasha,
I just went on my first mission without you. To Budapest of all places! It rained when I was there, and do you know the first thing I noticed when the rain ended? Petrichor, your favourite smell. It was raining the first time I kissed you. Do you remember? I sure do. We were fighting, over something; I don't remember what we were fighting about, but all I remember was that I kissed you that night and to my surprise, you kissed me back.
Do you know that I still whisper, "Come back to bed Tasha," at night. It's almost as though my mind refuses to admit that you aren't coming home anymore. I used that word again; the word you hated: home. I still don't understand why you hate that word Natasha; it's a stable word, a word that won't change no matter what happens. Maybe that's what you hate about it; the fact that it doesn't change. You like change. That's why you cut your hair short. Was it because you never had a home as a child?
Look at me will you? I'm rambling again.
August 31 2012
Dear Natasha,
Can you hear me? Do these unsent letters make it to you? I really hope that they do; I'd like to think that you could still see me.
Do you dream? Are you dreaming now? What are you dreaming about? That's the one thing you wouldn't talk to me about. It didn't matter how much I pressured you; you refused to talk about what you dreamed about? I used to wish that you dreamed about me or at least something happy. Maybe you dreamed about wearing a white dress; lord knows that I dreamed about you in that dress. So do you dream in a coma? If you do, then I hope that you're dreaming about something happy.
We got another world threat today. This time it's from a mutant called Erik Lencher and he wants 'world peace.' That's always the way isn't it? The bad guy wanting peace.
We haven't seen Loki in a few months; maybe we well and truly scared him off. We probably didn't, but at least we gave it our best shot.
September 10 2012
Dear Natasha,
Autumn has arrived. Autumn was your favourite time of the year wasn't it? Yeah, it was. I remember once—when we were in Australia (It was spring over there but I still think of it as Autumn)—you were sitting in a garden. You were just sitting there but you looked beautiful; serene and at peace. I think that was the only time that I ever saw without a gun by your side. You looked normal…domestic, almost. Could you imagine that, us being domestic? Raising a child, watching it go to school and the like? We never spoke about children. I suppose we should have. That's what normal couples do isn't it? Talk about their future? Their hopes and dreams? Well, here is mine: in my dream-future, I see you waking up and marrying me. We'll go and save the world in our spare time. The married-avengers: Natasha Barton. It has a nice ring to it doesn't it? Mrs. Clint Barton.
Natasha, come back please. The house is empty and cold without you; literally, I don't know how to fix the heating.
Dear Natasha,
I've been thinking about you a lot and what you've done to deserve this. You haven't done anything to deserve what happened to you—it isn't fair, yet, here we are: you in a comatose state with machines keeping you alive and me in my living room writing a letter to you. About the letter, I knew that you couldn't hear me if I talked to you, so I decided to write a letter to you instead. Just like in the movies, hey, Romanoff? So here we go, I will write to you every day until you wake up.
August 5 2012
Dear Natasha,
You haven't woken up yet and your vitals haven't changed. Of course, you know that but I just felt the need to tell you.
I miss you Tasha, I really do. I don't just miss the way you were around me, but the way you acted when you thought no one was looking; I miss the way you would lick the lid of your coffee before anything else. Honestly, I could list of everything that I missed about you, but, as you would say: "there is no point Barton, it's not as though I could hear you anyway." Is it wrong that I can hear your high-pitched annoying voice when I wrote that? Ah, screw it if it is. Just come back to me one day Natasha, I don't care if it's in a day or a thousand, just come back to me.
August 20 2012
Dear Natasha,
I just went on my first mission without you. To Budapest of all places! It rained when I was there, and do you know the first thing I noticed when the rain ended? Petrichor, your favourite smell. It was raining the first time I kissed you. Do you remember? I sure do. We were fighting, over something; I don't remember what we were fighting about, but all I remember was that I kissed you that night and to my surprise, you kissed me back.
Do you know that I still whisper, "Come back to bed Tasha," at night. It's almost as though my mind refuses to admit that you aren't coming home anymore. I used that word again; the word you hated: home. I still don't understand why you hate that word Natasha; it's a stable word, a word that won't change no matter what happens. Maybe that's what you hate about it; the fact that it doesn't change. You like change. That's why you cut your hair short. Was it because you never had a home as a child?
Look at me will you? I'm rambling again.
August 31 2012
Dear Natasha,
Can you hear me? Do these unsent letters make it to you? I really hope that they do; I'd like to think that you could still see me.
Do you dream? Are you dreaming now? What are you dreaming about? That's the one thing you wouldn't talk to me about. It didn't matter how much I pressured you; you refused to talk about what you dreamed about? I used to wish that you dreamed about me or at least something happy. Maybe you dreamed about wearing a white dress; lord knows that I dreamed about you in that dress. So do you dream in a coma? If you do, then I hope that you're dreaming about something happy.
We got another world threat today. This time it's from a mutant called Erik Lencher and he wants 'world peace.' That's always the way isn't it? The bad guy wanting peace.
We haven't seen Loki in a few months; maybe we well and truly scared him off. We probably didn't, but at least we gave it our best shot.
September 10 2012
Dear Natasha,
Autumn has arrived. Autumn was your favourite time of the year wasn't it? Yeah, it was. I remember once—when we were in Australia (It was spring over there but I still think of it as Autumn)—you were sitting in a garden. You were just sitting there but you looked beautiful; serene and at peace. I think that was the only time that I ever saw without a gun by your side. You looked normal…domestic, almost. Could you imagine that, us being domestic? Raising a child, watching it go to school and the like? We never spoke about children. I suppose we should have. That's what normal couples do isn't it? Talk about their future? Their hopes and dreams? Well, here is mine: in my dream-future, I see you waking up and marrying me. We'll go and save the world in our spare time. The married-avengers: Natasha Barton. It has a nice ring to it doesn't it? Mrs. Clint Barton.
Natasha, come back please. The house is empty and cold without you; literally, I don't know how to fix the heating.