The sun had set far beyond the canyon. It almost looked like the canyon had swallowed the star. All that was left to admire was the afterglow- the kind that clings to rock and sky like a final burning breath.
"The darkness after the sunset is quite bittersweet, is it not?" I said as I poured her sixteenth drink, the liquid catching the last threads of dying light.
"It's the kind of darkness that stays quiet. It doesn't consume. It just... arrives. Like it's always been there, waiting for the noise to stop. Waiting for the light to fade."
I handed it to her. She took it without a word.
"There's something honest about it." I continued. "Sunsets put on a show. All that color, all that fire. It's desperate. Beautiful, sure, but desperate. Like the sky's trying to convince you it's not afraid of endings."
I looked past the glass. Past the canyon. Into nothing.
"But the moment the light's gone... the darkness doesn't pretend. It doesn't apologize. It doesn't need to. It spectates the show. It just is."
I turned to her.
"And that's the part people call bitter. Not because it hurts- but because it's quiet. Because it doesn't lie to you. No warmth, no glory. Just truth. A bitter truth. That the day is over. That what's done is done."
She didn't interrupt. She didn't have to.
"But it's sweet too." I added, softer now. "Because in that silence, after the light dies... there is no more pretending. No more masks. No show to play. No one expects you to shine. You're allowed to be tired. You are allowed to just exist."
"Some of us weren't built for sunlight, Natasha. Some of us feel more human in the dark."
She was still staring out into the dark, glass resting loose in her fingers. Her profile lit only by the slow dying glow on the horizon.
I didn't look at her when I spoke next. It wasn't the kind of thing you say while making eye contact.
"Most people are afraid of the dark because they think it means they are alone."
"But the dark.... it is the only place where you can really tell who's still there. Who stayed when no one was watching. When there was nothing left to prove."
She shifted slightly. Barely perceptible. But I noticed.
"Lights attracts everyone. Shadows don't. They are quiet. Crowded with ghosts of the past, sure. But at least they don't lie."
I took a breath. A long one.
"If you ever find yourself there, at the edge of it all... where the noise is gone and the show's over... look around."
I turned my head just enough to catch her reflection in the window.
"You won't see me. Not right away. But I'll be there. Just far enough to give you space. just close enough to make sure you are not alone. Never alone."
She didn't speak. Didn't move. Just let the silence answer for her.
She downed her sixteenth drink. She handed me the glass. I could see my reflection reflect in her eyes. I poured her seventeenth drink, this time the liquid catching her light.
She took the drink and looked me in my eyes.
"That sounded dangerously close to a promise, Ranger."
"If you intend it to be, Natasha."
----------
We sat on opposite sides of the room now. The drinks were quieter than they had been. The canyon had gone black. Just outlines and echoes.
She didn't look at me when she spoke.
"She was fourteen."
I didn't move. Just listened.
"Daughter of a mob boss. Intel said she was being groomed to take over if he went down. Untraceable funds deposited regularly in her names to offshore accounts. One of the Red Room's analyst said she was involved. Said she was a criminal mastermind. A criminal trained from an early age to be the very best. So we moved."
She turned her glass in her hand like she was trying to see the bottom.
"The house was clean. The mission wasn't."
She finally glanced up at me.
"She was innocent. No blood, no deals, no intent. Just a girl with her father's name. She wanted to be an artist. Express everything in color. In light. She was drawing her dream with her father. A happy family where they stayed happy."
I said nothing.
"I watched as her paintbrush drew a line, a smile on her father's face. She looked so happy."
"I broke in through the roof. Silent. I fired three shots. One ended the father's life. The second didn't kill her outright. The third ended her misery."
The air between us chilled. Not from cold. From memory.
"You ever kill someone like that?" she asked. "Someone who didn't deserve it- but got you promoted anyway?"
"Deserving's a funny word." I said. "Some people think innocence is about what you've done. Others think it's about what you would've done. Either way... bullets don't wait for context."
She nodded like she hated how much that made sense.
"Sometimes I wish bullets waited for context. Judged the target before they hit." she said. "At least the one who shoots won't feel as guilty."
"Will it ever be like that?"
"Never."
"You remember her name?"
She hesitated. Then:
"Irina."
I let the silence rest there.
Then:
"And do you remember why you pulled the trigger?"
She didn't answer. Not at first.
"Because I was told to." she said eventually. "And because I didn't ask enough questions to stop myself."
We sat with that for a while.
Then I said:
"You asked the right question now."
She looked at me—tired, but not broken.
"So what? That makes it better?"
"No." I said. "But it means you still feel it. Which means there's still something left of you to save."
She didn't reply.
But she didn't walk away.
----------------------
The Irina part of the story didn't happen in movies neither in comics to my knowledge. It's more of a added content to make them stay closer and a factor that plays well later on in the story. And if the romance feels a bit off.
It's cause I am maiden less.