A/N: Hey guys! This a short one compared to the wait you've had since the last one, for which I apologise! The scenes have all been playing around in my head but actually getting the words to behave themselves is a struggle. This ended up being more filler than anything but I hope you still enjoy. Thanks to everyone again who's spending any amount time reading, reviewing, liking favouriting this story - you're all amazing and awesome :)

Stay safe and well

2 August 2020

What do you do after a long distance call with a long distance friend trapped on a mostly abandoned planet?

Well, the jury's still out on the official answer, but I cleaned. Much as I had done on my first visit back to the Barton farm. I'm beginning to suspect, in the absence of breaking people's noses, it was a coping mechanism.

Turned out Rhodey was right. Which sent me to levels of despairing realisation I'd had yet to hit. Of all the parts I'd played in my life, all the things I'd been, a slob was not one of them. And yet somehow, at some point, that's what I'd become.

I remember standing in the middle of the living area turned working space and taking it all in. Every little detail of every little thing that shouldn't be there. The dust and the tracks through it. So I went through the motions. Not because I cared about the mess but because I wanted to stay active. Like Carol said. I just wanted to do something.

When Steve found me the next day it was in an exhausted and frenzied state. I was shocked to see him and he tried to convince me to get some sleep. But it was the last thing I wanted. At my insistence and in spite of his resistance, we sparred in the gym.

It shoved my thoughts to one side, just enough.

It kept me focused, just enough.

It pushed my body to the brink of absolute collapse, just enough.

It was just enough.

And it has been each day since, though I've had to replace a battered and temporarily bruised Steve with a much abused punching bag for the most part.

I worked through the day and fought through the night.

It wasn't healthy and it wasn't wise, but it's all I could do. All I could manage. And if there's one thing in this world I know, it's how to survive, whatever the cost.

5 August 2020

Hi Tom,

I went for a walk.

Woohoo, big deal, right?

Yeah. Big deal.

I was going to run. Bury my head in exercise as normal. Except, I heard the birdsong. I paused, hands armed with headphones already halfway up to my ears. Playlist all cued up, ready and waiting to block out the real world.

But that birdsong, it was beyond anything I could have blared out. It was rare and real and right there for me to listen to.

So I did.

And before I realised, I was heading across the grass and towards the trees. And it was weird because instead of feet and heart pounding, they pattered. Instead of speeding past, I went slow. Instead of ignoring the world, I entered it.

As I listened I heard more and more. The insects in the grass, which tickled my ankles, and on the flowers, which tickled my nose. The casual breeze whispering past. Water lapping in the lake.

With it all came the overwhelming sense of connection. Between the birds and the trees and the grass and the insects and the flowers and the lake and the breeze. Everything all there, connected.

Breathing and singing and living as one.

Except me.

A bystander, an intruder, a stranger, standing on the outside and looking in.

The world beckoned for me to join but I didn't because Madame B's mantra was too hard to forget. Tattooed on my psyche as surely as the serum had merged itself with Steve's DNA.

But still, I walked. I followed the sound and allowed some of the world in through the cracks. I felt its touch and even though I saw it every day it was heartening to know it was still there. Still chugging onwards, still getting through and surviving no matter what happened to it. There was a strength in its stubbornness, I knew because it strengthened me.

I took on as much of it as I could, filled myself up because anything remotely positive was such a rare thing.

And that's when the deer showed up.

Beautiful. Fragile.

It crept and flinched its way through the thin protection nature offered. Grazed on grass and basked in sun. Then the wind changed direction, taking my scent with it, and the deer froze. Ever the predator, I watched its sleek body for any signs it would flee, but the tension never came.

How free it must be to have no worries.

At any other moment on other day I would have pondered that thought deeper. But the breeze resurfaced. Playful and refreshing, and ushered it away.

It did leap away in the end, bounding through the trees with ease and grace any ballerina would be jealous of.

I carried on with my walk. I watched the world around me.

Ants swarmed and nested and I thought of Scott. His stint with one half of the team was brief, but it was enough time for him to develop a bad case of verbal diarrhoea and breakdown exactly what he was capable of. So Clint had said. I'd also put two and two together and realised he was the one who'd kicked Sam's ass at the compound when a piece of old tech was stolen.

Flowers swayed in almost unnoticeable currents of air, leaves followed suit and sometimes the branches creaked but they were mostly silent. I passed between the trees and it was easy to think of them as sentient. I felt a sort of safety in their presence. It made no sense but I stood there a moment to really take it in, to explore it. Feelings like that didn't happen often. In my life, at least.

Birds fluttered from one bough to another, going about their avian lives. Strong wings flapped, stronger beaks pecked.

I walked the entire length of the perimeter and enjoyed it. The feel of the sun direct against my skin, no glass barrier for it to glare through. The freshness and warmth of the air was better than crisp coolness of the aircon.

As I traipsed again over the grass, heading towards the doors of the compound, unbidden emotions sprang to the fore. Tight and consuming and endless. Tears that wanted freedom.

So tired of the sudden shifts in feeling I took a deep breath.

Flowers and grass and warmth.

I took it all in and pushed the tears back.

17 August 2020

Imagine a job where you get a ringside seat to the triumphs and tragedies of humanity every day. All the feel good things that make you warm inside, happy families and jobs well done, victory for the good guys, last-ditch heroics overcoming all the odds. And all the atrocities that bring you back to reality. Sparks of decency and depravity.

All on show all of the time.

Imagine seeing it so often and finding time and time again that decency and feel-good are nothing more than bits of a thin and crumbling facade applied to an ugliness so horrific it's difficult to comprehend.

Cynicism. Looks good on me right?

But that was most of my life. Fuck it, that was me.

It's also why I err on the side of not liking people.

With some exceptions.

Including Rocket.

Sure, he has an off putting personality for most people. He's blunt to the point of abruptness, so rude it's almost unforgiveable, and he finds humour in the darkest of places. It's refreshing.

All the things people tend to hide away under a veneer of goodness, and he puts it right there for everyone to see. Scratch through that surface though and there's a person not so ugly and not so horrific. There really is a spark of decency at his core, even if it is well hidden. He might lash out at me if he ever knew this was written, but it doesn't stop it from being the truth.

I don't always say the nicest things about him and I may not be his biggest fan. But I get him, I feel his pain. It's different to mine but similar enough.

I like him.

And hearing he was hurt pretty bad in a goddamn space fight hit me harder in the gut than I expected.

Nebula flickered in and out of view, getting hazier and hazier as her ship continued to struggle through the damage it had sustained in the attack.

"I have tended to him as best I could." Worry saturated her voice, which in itself was worrying because she never sounded anything other than mildly bored. "He needs proper medical attention. I do not trust anyone except Earth."

"Looks like the ship's in a state," I said, "sure you're able to make it here?"

"I can fix it," she said, "we have spare material leftover from when we last took damage. It will be enough."

"Good. Then hurry. I'll make sure Bruce is ready and waiting for when you arrive. While Rocket is recuperating I want you and Danvers to team up."

There was a momentary pause as she weighed my words. "I do not need-"

"I know you can look after yourself," I interrupted, "but there are already so few of us I need the two of you to have each other's backs. It'll be good for you to keep each other company."

"Very well, Agent Romanoff."

She signed off and I was left wondering if perhaps I should assign someone else to space detail. Using Carol meant less coverage everywhere else. But sending Rhodey or Bruce was resource I couldn't spare from Earth, especially when neither of them had any idea how to work an alien ship.

Just a few years ago I would have jumped at the opportunity. But just a few years ago this set up wasn't necessary.

No, a Nebula-Danvers team up was the only choice. All I could do was hope that it was more promising than disastrous.

22 August 2020

Greece, 2016. Late in the year but the sun was still hot as the summer gave one last glorious bout of brilliance before it was tamed into autumn. It was ancient and proud, in places. It was slumped and desperate, in places. Economic struggles, governmental upheavals, and the implementation of foreign and domestic policies to plaster over the fiscal cracks had taken their toll. Making it a good place to hide, and a terrible one.

But, we too were slumped and desperate.

I was fresh from the Russian reunion - Yelena, Melina and Alexi still playing on my mind. Steve, Sam and Wanda were fresh from their adventures - an uncharacteristic spate of thefts just to put food in the stomachs. The stolen Quinjet the only shelter they knew.

Portugal, early 2017. It was wet and miserable. Winds raged and we were thankful to have an actual roof and actual beds. There were moments where it felt like we were on a mission or a holiday.

Except the shadow of the Raft hung over Wanda. Her fingers ran along her neck where the collar had firmly clasped. She would jerk awake, hands tinged red.

Except the ever chatty Sam had started to realised exactly what 'on the run' meant. No such thing as family time when the whole world was after you. Not for Christmas or birthdays, no secret messages or encoded calls, no contact whatsoever.

Except Steve was having a crisis of confidence, though he did it quietly so only I noticed, and even then he was under the foolish notion I wouldn't.

At some point we'd decided if we were going to do this whole thing then we needed to make it worthwhile. We'd already defied the Accords, so what possible harm was there in doing again and again and again.

Sam joked about the Secret Avengers and it stuck. Though Steve wasn't too happy because 'secret' meant 'underhand', but I glared him into silence because beggars can't be choosers, right? Wanda toyed with her powers, as a child would because she was still afraid she might hurt someone with them.

Romania, a few months later. A little too close to Hungary after my latest antics for my liking. We had money and equipment and missions under our belt. We were a functioning team once again. Heroes to some. A menace to others.

They were some of the places we stopped along our trip down memory lane. Such journeys are ill-advised at the moment. Too many pitfalls, too much darkness, too many traps. And those are the good memories, the happy ones, the treasured ones. Moth-eaten and tarnished, more often than not.

Steve decided to go for that stroll anyway. I wish I could say we navigated it well, stopped ourselves from tripping over gnarled roots and twisting our ankles in deep divots but we both collected our fair share of grazes and scrapes as we spoke.

His opening gambit was, "Do you regret it?" He leant against a counter in the kitchen, arms folded and head cocked slightly to one side as he let his thoughts swirl. There was a dramatic swell in the music as classical notes reached their end before shuffling into the next.

"How many times do I have to tell you old man," I said without looking up from the newspaper I defaced for the sake of a crossword puzzle, "be more specific."

But I knew. I'd expected it ever since he walked in with his sullen sigh and lost look combo. It gets harder and harder to find something to say because it's always the same thing.

In truth, I have a lot of regrets.

Gut-gnawing, peace-shattering regrets that flash up hot, burning, boiling at any given moment without warning. They are regrets that will follow me for as long as I draw breath and I accept them because they're a punishment I deserve.

Setting fire to a hospital. I regretted it.

Causing destruction in every country I went to. I regretted it.

Abandoning people in Russia who deserved so much better. I regretted it.

Letting my ballet background slip to Clint. God did I regret that one.

And more. So much more.

But there was one thing I don't. One thing I will stand by, always. One thing I know in the depths of my heart was right, no matter what happened afterwards. And it's the one thing Steve always returned to whenever he talked himself into a melancholy.

"Germany," he said.

I finished inking in an answer before dropping the pen on top of the puzzle and settling all my focus on my long-time friend. It was something I thought sent good friend vibes but he looked away, fixing his eyes on the window. Though they looked out at the shimmering summer scene, I doubted they really saw anything. His brow was creased, mouth downturned, shoulders slumped. I swallowed the sigh that threatened to escape. Sometimes the ability to read him so well was a curse. I knew it wouldn't matter what I said, he wouldn't believe me.

"Letting it get that far, sure," I said, because I had to try, right? "Tony getting the kid involved, definitely. Fighting my best friends, of course."

"Letting me and Buck go?" He asked in such a small voice I couldn't help but mentally query if that was what he'd sounded like before the serum pumped through his veins.

"Never."

"But-"

"Never." I said. A careful blend of soft and forceful, often the only tone that got through to Steve. If I was lucky it would stop him in his tracks before he let his mind wonder too far into the past.

I wasn't lucky.

He ignored the warning in my voice but shifted from his staring contest with the window to start making tea. Something he promised more than a few minutes ago. It lacked the strength of coffee that I so enjoyed, but there was something about the smell of tealeaves that was always soothing. Loose or bagged, I hoped they'd do the job of lifting him from this mood.

"You'd have every right," he said at last.

As used as I was to living on the run, I couldn't pretend there wasn't a certain amount of stress that came with it that time. No one else was experienced in the ways of staying off the radar. One person evading the clutches of 117 countries was hard enough. Throw in three other people without a single clue what they were doing and you'd be forgiven for thinking it was impossible.

Except, knowing the consequences waiting for us if we were caught, I couldn't let it be.

Sure, on the face of it Steve and Sam were likely to get a slap on the wrist - some public trials and a flogging in the press and then it would blow over. But with their past actions hanging over their heads they'd always be pawns of the government, forced to enact its will or be labelled traitors. Again. There wouldn't be any escaping it a second time.

Wanda's fate was a little more ambiguous. If she had a trial it would take place on the international stage. Lagos forever in question, the collar forever in action. But there was every chance they wouldn't try her. Every chance they'd make her disappear. The Raft wasn't the only place to vanish into.

And it was to one of those places I would go. According to Ross I'd used up my chances a long time ago. Straight to jail, do not pass go. Except, in this case 'jail' was a black site even more impenetrable than the Raft and 'go' meant without a whisper. One moment the Black Widow was there and the next she was not. No one would ever know.

So, maybe I did have every right to regret my decision. But I didn't. Though I was intrigued as to why Steve was so convinced I should.

"And why would that be?"

He sighed over the clattering of the spoon, it bashed against the side of the mugs as he stirred the contents. "Oh, you know, you gave up your freedom then spent the better part of the next two years lugging us about the world because only a quarter of our group was a competent spy."

"Excuse me," I said and shifted in my seat to point an accusing finger at him while he walked back, cups in hand, "competent is an insult."

"Fine, because only a quarter of our group was the best spy in the whole history of the world, ever."

"Laying it on a bit thick, but I'll accept." He put both cups on the table and I immediately wrapped my hands around one, enjoying the warmth that seeped into them.

"Might be true though, we never stood a chance without you."

"To be fair, you are Captain America, no one would expect you to be good at the fugitive life."

"Thought I might have picked up a few tricks from you, though," he said and pulled back a chair to join me at the dining table.

"Some of us just have our strengths."

"We stole more than I care to admit."

"Odd," I said, "the criminal activity usually goes up after my arrival."

He laughed. "It wasn't anything much, just enough to keep us going. I'm glad we had the jet even if we were living on top of each other. I'm not sure how it would have gone if we had to worry about shelter, too."

"Sam was in the military, it's not like everything they do is five-star. And Wanda, among other things, spent two days trapped in the rubble of her home staring at a literal ticking time bomb as a kid," I pointed out, trying my best to ignore the pang that surged at the reminder of Wanda's overly troubled life.

"Even so, your network of boltholes and hideaways was a lifesaver. Proper beds with proper cupboards topped up with proper food."

He trailed off but I heard the silent question. I sipped my drink and ignored the burn of just boiled water, and watched the contents swirl once I placed it back on the tabletop. The hint of bitterness that swilled around my mouth was a welcome refresher. "You accumulate a lot in my line of work."

We listened to the music for a few seconds. Not in the mood for the gym, I'd started the day dancing to Tchaikovsky and my need for classical music outlasted my need for activity. Steve understood and didn't mind that I'd kept it on as we spent the day together.

"And why on Earth would you need that many safe houses?"

"You also accumulate a lot of enemies in my line of work." I paused and thought back on more than just the worries. There was laughter shared and stories swapped, skills learned and a team brought closer and closer together. The thing is, and it's the thing Steve doesn't listen to, how can I regret letting him and Bucky go when it led to two years that gave me all that? "It was refreshing to share them with friends."