A/N: Another massive thank you to JarvisDaBest!

8 May 2021

Club doors opened and closed as people stumbled out and filed in. The thumping, thudding bass leaked out behind them.

Blue lights splashed across the layer of leftover rain and the wailing sirens echoed down the bustling streets.

Traffic lights switched from green to red and brakes squealed. Pedestrians swarmed the crossing. Me among them.

On the other side of the road there was a street food cart. Oil sizzled and spat. The aroma tempted anyone with enough alcohol in their system or not enough money in their wallets for better.

I hid amongst a queue of the drunk, budgeting, and strong-stomached. The smell of fried onions and grease-soaked meat hung so thick in the air that my clothes were going to need a deep clean.

Someone bumped into me but I kept my head down.

A few metres away stood a man admiring a storefront window, his reflection obscured by the cap slanted low over the top third of his face. Shoulders hunched, fists thrust deep into his pockets.

There are some real scumbags in the world. Scumbags who get to carry on being scumbags because they were blessed with power to hide behind.

He was one of them.

He used the window to survey the area. I used the queue to survey him unnoticed.

A gaggle of excited night-outers passed him and he used them as cover to peel away from his position. A paranoid scumbag, which meant a scumbag with sense.

I left my spot and walked against the tide, slipping between the people. A shadow in their shadows.

He was not so graceful cutting through the people, used to being flanked by crowd-bullying bodyguards. They buffeted him; sometimes he stumbled back but most of the time he forged onward and undaunted. A few people muttered after him in his wake.

A cruel gust of wind sprung up, trapped between the tall buildings. It lashed out in its frenzy. Wind-whipped tendrils clawed at my cheeks and almost ripped the low-hanging hat from his head. He caught it and pulled it down once again before turning right into a street that was a little less busy.

But it wasn't any quieter.

Teeth-rattling, bone-shaking music.

A club was nestled in the shadows halfway up the street. Doors flung open even while the looming bouncer stopped people from entering. The queue of wannabe-revellers built up like a terrible game of Tetris.

The acrid stench of vomit wafted by on a calmer breeze.

"Alright." A deep voice rumbled through the music. My target looked up at the bouncer and lifted his cap, letting the man in on the secret of his identity. It was enough to grant him entry.

Complaints flew up from the queue when he stepped past the bouncer and into the building without any argument. He disappeared into the darkening depths of the doorway, swallowed whole.

Still heading for the spot my target went, I paced myself so it didn't look like I was tailing him. More sounds of discontent escaped from the queue as they saw how it was going to go.

The bouncer leered at me. Eyes looked over my carefully-considered clothing, raked through the chestnut brown wig without suspicion, and explored every inch of my body. A smirk of pure perversion crept onto his lips while a thick, acidic bubble of rage expanded in my gut.

He let me in.

It was claustrophobic, like the container that took me back to Russia. People on people on people.

Lights flashed bright and quick and lasered themselves onto people's vision.

Air was in short supply.

Space was non-existent.

And still, I managed to spot him forcing his way through the crowd. He paid no mind to the music or the dancing or the atmosphere. He was determined.

So was I.

I weaved through the spaces he created before they fixed themselves. Ducked beneath arms and dodged anyone who saw a lone woman and decided she needed company.

The bar was hidden behind a three-person deep crowd. Orders were thrown out at the bartenders and they rushed to keep up. My target was in as much mood to drink as he was to dance.

To the right was a tiny pocket of space. A single man occupied it, his bodyguards no doubt hidden by the crowds. Always prepared for danger since he rose to the top of what was left of Fisk's crew.

It looked like he was the man my target was here to meet.

A couple of metres away and the cap came off at last. A show of respect or a way to battle the heat, it didn't matter. His face was on show.

I joined the crowd at the bar and silently clamoured for the bartender's attention. All the while I kept the small camera hidden in my sequined top pointed in their direction.

It watched as the son of the man in charge of the Sokovia Accords Committee shook hands with the man who had delusions of being Wilson Fisk's replacement.

13 May 2021

Meetings.

Over breakfast. Working lunches. Dinners made for schmoozing.

In-person. Over calls. Always never welcome.

They were intangible shackles I couldn't shake because I'd accepted them willingly. That didn't mean I couldn't resent them.

All the time talking in circles instead of being out in the field and just doing something. The effort spent reassuring those who saw themselves as stakeholders was effort needed for people who actually needed it.

Adrenaline-killing, boredom-summoning, insomnia-curing meeting after meeting after meeting.

The only saving grace about today's meeting was that it was heavy on the number of people I liked. I sat between Pepper and Steve; neither active members of the Avengers but both invested in the team's success, in battle and on the public stage. To Pepper's left was Rhodey and rounding out that half of the table was Bruce, who took up the entire end. On Steve's right was the holo-contingent, starting with Okoye, then Carol, Nebula and Rocket. The latter of which was loud and aggressive in his complaints about his compulsory attendance until Nebula boxed him around the ear.

Opposite us were two representatives from the government and two from the UN, one of which was the man whose son I'd followed the other night. Did he know who his son liked to hang out with?

"Where is your husband Mrs Stark?" One of the so-wrinkled-he-could-be-crumpled-paper government guys said, apparently having no qualms about kicking the meeting off on a sour note.

"I'm representing both of us today," Pepper said with the smile of a woman who'd fended off many an attempt to undermine her right to an identity outside of her marriage, "and since this is a professional situation, call me Ms Potts."

"That does not answer my question Mrs-" He paused and the glare he fixed Pepper with convinced us all it wasn't an accident, "sorry, Ms Potts. Where is your husband?"

I watched the almost imperceptible tic of her jaw that yelled "where the fuck do you think he is, he's looking after his daughter." She took a breath and translated those thoughts into something more productive.

"As it's not relevant to today's proceedings, you'll forgive me for not answering." It looked very much like he wasn't going to, but she carried on. "Anyway, I think we can all agree, given his history, PR is not Tony's strong suit." Gentle chuckling rippled around the table and the man of many wrinkles slowly wound his neck in.

What was the point of today's proceedings, you may ask?

To decide what further community outreach the Avengers may be allowed to undergo. What was once a quiet decision between me and the team had been latched onto by more than a few parasitic politicians and now there was a vetting process in place.

Score one for bureaucracy.

A process that seemed very keen to keep me away from the community while my colleagues integrated further. Apparently, a washed-up, ex-Russian spy, with a knack for the fugitive lifestyle, giving free self-defence lessons wasn't an attractive proposition. Can't imagine why.

It was also a process Pepper knew was much more likely to be harmful than helpful, which is why she offered us help and we took it.

And I was happy about it.

Until the woman on my left, who had the gall to call herself my friend, made a suggestion I hated and then bribed me into supporting her.

It was about halfway through the meeting, by which point the movie theatre in the back of my mind was playing a highlights reel of my much-missed adventures with Clint. The guys from the government and the UN had opened the floor to suggestions, which was a whole half a meeting longer than it would have taken us to reach that point by ourselves.

Even then, they kicked off with some of their own ideas.

"We're keen on this one," said the not-so-wrinkled government guy, "more informational videos."

Steve groaned on my right. "Never again."

The four strangers looked put out. Their best idea was shot down in a barrage of smiles and laughter. They stumbled through the list in front of them until Pepper was forced to intervene.

"People just want to know more. The report Nat published on the activity and effectiveness of the Avengers was a good idea." A look passed between the representatives, which said they had some opinions about that particular info dump. "Instead of piecing things together from media coverage, they have solid information to draw conclusions from. It's natural people might have some questions about it.

"So, let's give them a chance to ask those questions directly. There's nothing better for trust and public image than open communication. Let them hear straight from the Avengers," she clasped my shoulder, "straight from the woman in charge."

"Like a town hall meeting?" Steve asked. I just about stopped myself from glaring at him. It was moments like this when the initial bitterness I'd felt at him throwing me under the leadership bus came back.

"Yes."

There was more she could say but Pepper, being Pepper, knew when to leave others to stew. Muttering erupted all along the table as everyone thought about it. Instead of letting my shoulder go, Pepper's grip tightened and pulled me a little closer.

"I know it's not your sort of idea," she whispered, "but I think it's needed. It'll create some good faith between the team and the wider world. Being accessible like that, it'll ground the Avengers into their lives a bit more."

"We're already stopping a hell of a lot of incidents with minimal damage to property and infrastructure. There's quite a bit of good faith."

"Can always do more." I looked at her and there was a slight crease to her brow as she took in my doubt. I'm not sure what warned me I was about to be outmanoeuvred; possibly the little upturn of her mouth, maybe the brow-crease smoothing out, perhaps the glint in her eye I knew I got whenever someone tangled themselves in my web. "Back me up and I'll make sure your self-defence classes get the go-ahead."

Since I first encouraged community outreach, Bruce had started going out there and showing off the wonders of science with simple experiments like a souped-up version of Bill Nye the Science Guy. Steve got to speak to whoever he could, whether it was through his support meetings or guest lectures. Not to forget Rhodey, who had visited military bases and serving soldiers; unable to do more than a quick meet-and-greet given his schedule.

I just wanted to share my skills. Give the defenceless a way to defend themselves. Make the vulnerable less vulnerable, the streets a little less safe for predators.

"You really are ruthless in the boardroom," I whispered back but the grin was already bright on her face, something in my own features having telegraphed her victory as something in hers had my downfall. I cleared my throat and the table around us fell into silence. I looked the wrinkled guy in the eye until he squirmed under the weight of my stare. "Pepper's right. A regular face-to-face meeting with the public is the best way to build trust."

"So, uhh, a monthly meeting?" The UN delegate with a criminally-linked son asked.

"I said it was a good idea, didn't say we weren't doing anything," I turned my glare to him. "Quarterly. After each report is published. Gives us all something to talk about."

The people who knew me were surprised at how easily I gave my support to something they knew I would have hated. By the end of the meeting they understood.

"Congratulations on finally getting those classes." Rhodey drew level with me as we filed out of the door. "Did you bribe Pepper or did she bribe you?"

"Me? Bribe anyone? I'm offended you think I'm capable of such a thing." He laughed and it drew the eyes of the four people waiting for him to escort them off the property. Their raised eyebrows brought those stupid media articles to the back of my mind, which was then overshadowed by my actions the other night. "Look, have you had a chance to read my report?"

"Not yet," he said with a shake of his head, "sorry, I'm a little behind on my reading. With today's meeting and some White House stuff, I've been a bit stretched."

"You should," I said, keeping my voice low to stop it from carrying. Politicians were just as obsessed with intel as spies, they were just really bad at being subtle about it. "It's important. Let me know once you have."

He crinkled his forehead in his slight confusion but he nodded. "Sure. As soon as I've read it. See you later." He patted me on the arm and went to gather the representatives, ushering them out of the building.

Rhodey was doing everything he could to facilitate good relationships where they often didn't thrive.

Tailing that guy the other night threatened that. The report waiting in his to-read pile threatened that.

Dread and anxiety fluttered together in my stomach as I wondered if it threatened anything else.

15 May 2021

There are many things in this world that make Rhodey unhappy: boozing Tony Starks, bullshitting politicians, invading aliens.

And, apparently, report-writing assassins.

They really upset the War Machine applecart.

He announced himself with furious footsteps, whirring braces, and an angered growl. "Is this really necessary?" He waved the fifteen-page report about in his vice-like grip.

"Sitting outside and soaking up the sun?" I asked with feigned innocence. "Maybe not necessary but definitely a little bit needed."

He clomped and stomped across the boards. I only spared him a glance up from the book in my hands when his shadow darkened the words. With a sigh, I removed my sunglasses and placed them on the pages, though that didn't stop the breeze trying to turn them. All in all, it was a pleasant day.

One look at Rhodey and it was clear it wasn't going to last much longer.

Here, at last, was the answer I was waiting on.

"You know what I mean," he said, refusing to sit on the bench beside me.

Today was one of his looming days.

"Do I?"

"Natasha."

And one of his don't-test-me-I'm-this-close-to-losing-my-shit days.

"Clear communication, Rhodes." I stood up. I didn't like being loomed over, it brought back too many dark memories, "isn't that what we agreed when we took the Avengers on? You know, to avoid the absolute cluster fuck of a situation that was the Accords the first time round."

There was a very un-Rhodey like glare directed at me, accompanied by a stony silence.

"Maybe," I said, knowing I was about to chuck fuel on the fire but unable to reel myself in, "you should try speaking your words instead of thinking them and this conversation might be a little easier."

Look, Tom. There are some things I'm proud of and some things I'm not. Those words fell pretty heavily under the latter. I needled him and I did it on purpose. I was feeling defensive and that's not something I'm used to feeling. From the moment I wrote it, I knew the report was going to cause contention. That had led to days spent waiting in a haze of unfamiliar anxiety, which left me on edge. In he comes. No hello. No warning. Just straight to questioning my methods. Instead of living up to my day-to-day expectations of Rhodey, he was living down to my expectations of this, hopefully, one-off situation.

"You have the son of the head of the Sokovia Accords Committee under surveillance."

"Yes."

"Based on...?" He dragged out the 'n', waiting for me to fill the gap.

"Tailing him to a meeting with a highly suspicious individual."

"Highly suspicious? Fuck it, Nat, he was just one of Fisks's grunts trying to step up."

Stick to the facts, Natasha. Keep emotion out of it, Natasha. Stay level-headed, Natasha. I ignored each warning I gave myself because, even since the Snap, emotion always had a way of creeping in.

"Correction," I said with heat, "he is one of Fisk's grunts who has stepped up."

"And?" He brought his arm down so the rapidly-crinkling paper slapped against his leg. "So what, he's doing a little drugs here and there. It doesn't warrant a goddamn full-scale operation."

"It's not drugs. Nothing exchanged hands."

"Not sure how you think that helps your case." He rubbed his brow with a thumb and forefinger and released a long-suffering sigh.

"The individual in question is not known for his drugs connections. He was always the weapons guy for Fisk. A decade ago it was the more traditional guns, grenades, knives. Enter Toomes with his backstreet, black market weapons adapted from Chitauri tech and he starts to get a bit more adventurous. The sort of adventurous that goes beyond gang warfare and dabbles in domestic terrorism. I had a good reason to ask FRIDAY to keep an eye."

"FRIDAY? Let me get this right, not only have you overreacted, but you've gone ahead and disregarded all privacy laws." He paced from one side of the dock to the other, followed by his constant whirring, to keep himself calm. Or, maybe, it was because he didn't want to look at me while I wrestled back the anger that had reared up at the accusation of overreacting. The longer we were stuck in this quagmire of a conversation the more our tempers bubbled beneath the surface.

"Wasn't a problem when it was about rescuing Tony."

"I wasn't involved in any of that until after the fact," he said, glossing over the fact that he never complained about it once he found out.

"Oh, so this completely uncharacteristic blow-up is because you want to keep your hands clean."

He turned on me then, with so much speed he almost toppled over. Fists clenched. Lips thin. "This completely in-character blow-up is because you're endangering everything we've worked towards."

"I'm not turning a blind eye—"

"You're wasting resources when there are things that are so much more important." He tried to cut me off but I kept going.

"—to this because that does endanger everything we've worked towards. Doing nothing because we're scared of a slapped wrist and a few soured relationships, that undermines what we stand for."

"Jesus Nat, when did you stop being so pragmatic and become an idealist?" The ever-increasing volume of his voice evened out into something calmer. "we're not talking about a few soured relationships. We're talking about the agreement we signed to keep our world safe."

"And where in the agreement does it say we're not allowed to do our job if the people threatening that safety are related to members of the committee?"

"It doesn't," he sighed, "but this is playing with fire."

"So we just drop it? Is that what you're saying?"

"No. I'm saying this isn't our jurisdiction. We hand it over to the right people and they take care of it."

"Now who's idealistic?" I laughed. It was harsh and it was bitter and it dropped heavily into the space between us. "Hey, I wonder. Do you remember that time Steve was really concerned that if the UN had any control over the Avengers that wouldn't let us do the things we needed to do?"

"What?"

"On fucking point, don't you think?" Externally I kept a cool facade fixed firmly in place. Internally I berated myself for allowing that much emotion through.

"I don't see why handing it over to the appropriate authorities is a problem." He scratched his cheek and it was my turn to narrow my eyes. Rhodey was not a naïve man but he was displaying the downside of working with soldiers.

Blind loyalty.

"Because they all have pressure points. They can all be leaned on until they agree to turn the blind eye we refuse to. Funding cuts, promotions, anything like that."

"And why are we any different?"

"We don't get paid for this. Everything we have comes from the generosity of Tony Stark. There are no pressure points."

"Everyone has pressure points, Nat. Especially the Avengers." He sighed. "How do you think it's going to look when it comes out the Avengers, led by someone who was a fugitive for two years because of the Accords, is investigating the son of the man in charge of making sure they're followed?"

"Is that what's got you so bothered? Optics." I sighed and massaged my temple. It was always difficult arguing with friends when your opinions on important matters differed. "Obviously it's not going to look good. But it won't look as bad as us backing off because we're scared."

I took a deep breath because there was more to say on the matter, but it was dangerous. It could push our friendship, working relationship, partnership to its limits. And was this guy skulking around clubs really worth it?

No. He wasn't. But the lives he might take were.

"It's not the first time he's been seen with someone questionable," I said, "not even the second, which gives you an idea of the sort of company he keeps. The sort that attracts a certain sword-wielding gang-hater. You're worried about optics? Then how is it going to look if Ronin kills him and we just let it happen?"

He stepped back and swore. The curse rang out over the lake as he thought it all through. He considered my argument, I had already considered his and knew I wouldn't be swayed.

"We can't just go and arrest the guy," he said at last.

"Of course not."

"We should approach the father, explain what we know."

"There's a huge chance he won't stay neutral," I said.

"Yeah. Massive. But we have to be seen taking the right steps. Like you said, clear communication. If he doesn't like it, then I guess we'll cross that bridge together."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Even if you did strong arm me."

"You tried to do the same," I said.

"Which is why I can't be bitter about it." He smiled. "Would be nice if we could take the easy path every once in a while, though."

"If it makes you feel any better," I said, "I think your way starts off easy and gets harder the further you go. My way looks treacherous at first, but then it all levels out."

"Ha. Yeah." He finally took a seat on the bench and it was greeted by a crack as my sunglasses broke beneath his weight. He winced a little when he held them up. "Sorry."

"Consider it my penance for disagreeing."

He laughed and, despite the broken glasses in his hand, it was a nice reminder that we were still a team.

21 May 2021

There's a ghost town inside my head.

Maybe more of a ghost village.

I end up there more and more these days. I don't like to visit.

I know all the faces. I know the agony they cause.

They've all pitched up their own tents. The back porch for Laura, the training room for Sam, the garden of my remotest Australian safehouse for Wanda.

More of a ghost campsite, then.

Yelena's patch of my headspace was a hill. It was steep and blessed with thick, green grass, and taken straight from Greenwich Park in South London.

We'd been there once. Sat cross-legged on the grass, her failed daisy chains scattered all around her, fingers a little greener than before. People had surrounded us, chatting about their busy lives and enjoying the view of Canary Wharf, not one noticed a fugitive Avenger sitting just metres away.

We had been content in each other's company.

Blinding smile.

Loud, barking laughter.

Mischievous eyes.

My sister.

Both versions of her.

The little girl from Ohio and the woman I met in Budapest. As if the Red Room was never a part of her life.

She soothed an ache I had ignored for so long.

And on that day, which seemed an eternity ago, she'd fixed me with those mischievous eyes and pointed a finger at me that was early-stage Hulk-transformation green.

"The vest, I want it back."

I'd batted her finger away but she embraced her long-discarded playful side and let it spring back into position.

"No chance. Only an idiot would give up that many pockets." Her mouth fell open and an indignant gasp tumbled out. My ever-present smirk bloomed into a proper smile.

Smiling was easy when she was around.

"Cruel. You are cruel, poser." She had just hummed and looked towards the skyscrapers twinkling under the sun. "So cruel. You wait till I tell papa." Her hair hung loose around her face, and I remember studying the faint traces of her eyeliner and eye shadow. We'd gotten to know each other again, over the course of our get-togethers. It hadn't taken me long to recognise the different masks she painted on.

The barely-there mask. Put on when she dared to be the self Dreykov had suppressed with his chemicals. She wanted to hide as little of that self as possible.

The Widow-freer mask. Whenever she continued Oksana's work she drew up the lines between personal Yelena and professional Yelena with a little more eye makeup and the addition of lipstick a few shades off neutral.

The Black Widow mask. If she was going for the kill it became war paint as thick as her accent. Like all of the most dangerous animals in the world used the bright colour of their skin, she wore it as a warning. Except the colours she chose were deep and dark and violent.

She'd tried to shove me when I didn't answer fast enough. An echo of our much, much earlier days together. I'd grabbed her hand and couldn't bring myself to let go.

Her fingers were heavy with rings. They were more than ornamental. The same with her bracelets. I ran my fingers over the one I gave her the last time we'd seen each other. Easy to unsnap from her wrist. Easy to twist apart and reveal the wire garrotte. My own has come in useful on many occasions.

I squeezed her fingers. "Back to calling him papa?"

"Alexei? Da." She'd peered at me with those eyes that had always been able to pierce through my defences. When she blinked it was slow and deliberate. "He has many things wrong. But as he say himself, he is a simple man. And he tries. He will be dad again. One day."

"I don't know," I'd said, running a thumb over her knuckles. Just as I had learned about her makeup masks, she had learned of my tactile neediness. Tom, I'm not a touchy-feely person but when it came to Yelena I lived by different rules. I guess after twenty-one years I had the insatiable desperation to make sure she was really there. She never once commented, just let me take the comfort I'd needed. "He'll always be the guy who made me put my gun down and watched as they tranqued us."

"He saved your life," she'd said and threw her free arm in the air, some of her hair caught right up with it. "Or you really think ten-year-old Natasha stood a chance against a dozen guards."

I'd just rolled my eyes and threw her hand back at her. She pouted. Melina had wondered how I'd kept my heart; I wondered how Yelena had kept her playfulness. "Maybe. That one guard was sloppy."

We both knew he hadn't been. We both knew I'd stood a chance. We both knew I hadn't wanted to risk her.

"Ha! Sloppy! He was surprised. Ten-year-old girl steal gun. Who'd think it?" She took a moment to laugh again and some people had looked over at us, sparing a few seconds of their day to witness something they'd never realise was a miracle. "Sloppy. Honestly. All that time with those Avengers. I think it has inflated your head."

"It was skill."

"It was luck!"

It was for you.

Silent words that rang clear between us and when she grabbed my hand and didn't let go her silent answer echoed back.

I know.

She'd pulled at me then, made me shuffle closer until she could rest her head on my shoulder. I didn't even try to fight the temptation to lay my cheek against her hair. The sun was creeping lower and it had been easy to close my eyes and think of our Ohio days.

They were lazy and hectic and rainy days. Days at school, at the park, at home. Sometimes family days out, sometimes sister days imagining the backyard into impossible places.

They were ours.

"Papa said you were younger than me."

"Hmmm?"

"On the airstrip. You said they couldn't take me because I was only six. But papa said you were younger. How young?"

"How long have you been holding onto that question?" I'd asked, trying to ignore the chill it had brought to the day.

"Since then."

"I don't know," I'd whispered. "But the Red Room was all I knew before Ohio."

We kept looking out towards the city and it continued to shine in the sun, just like Yelena. All those years trained and punished and controlled. Her soul was gentle before it became Red-Room hard.

But like this, under the sun, she was who I remembered.

"What about mama?" I'd asked, grasping at the floating thread of our earlier conversation.

"Back to calling her mama?" And there had been a devilishness to her voice as she threw my words back at me.

"Sometimes." It was what I had started calling her in my mind but it tasted mostly foreign on my tongue. "She is the reason I've survived all these years. And the reason we were able to take down the Red Room."

Yelena straightened up and looked at me, contemplative. An echo of the haunted look she'd had around the dinner table when I'd claimed none of our shared past was real. My stomach sank.

"She is also the reason they subjugate me." The mission we went on. The work Melina did. It was a cold hard fact I couldn't argue with. Yet, my sister's face softened as she took a breath and argued it herself. "But she is only mama I know. She is a Widow. Like us."

"No wonder we're so fucked up, huh?"

"Speak for yourself, poser."

The awkwardness of our initial reunion in Budapest had melted away until all that was left were the two little girls torn apart all those years ago.

With Yelena, I was only ever Natasha.

But that moment on the hill, on a sunny South London day, came to an end with a beep of my watch.

Safe to say it was never our favourite sound.

Her eyes had grown glassy as I watched. Most people would laugh at that; a deadly assassin so quickly moved to tears. She was not the deadly assassin then, she was my little sister, who had always worn her heart on her sleeve.

"Ignore it," she'd said with the foundations of frantic desperation, laid down by our traumatic childhood separation. "Let's stay here."

I'd wanted to say yes. But yes was not possible. Not then.

I'd moved round until we faced each other and our crossed legs touched at the knees. With a deep breath, I pressed our foreheads together, then wrapped her in a hug and buried my face in her hair, committing everything I could to memory.

Twenty-one years of silence, of thinking she might be dead, of missing her, had that effect.

She'd smelled like apple shampoo, exhaust fumes, and coffee.

And she felt like little Lena with her teddy, clinging to me as the guards tried to take her away.

"Can't." A small word that had so much trouble squeezing through my throat. "Gotta take Wanda to Scotland. She's meeting Vision." I pulled back from our hug and took a moment to wipe away her tears and unstick a few strands of errant hair from her sodden cheeks.

"Isn't that a little Romeo and Juliet?"

"Let's hope not," I laughed. "Don't you have a Widow to track down?"

"Ana. Almost got her, I think."

"Afterwards, then." Our hands sought each other out and held onto their counterparts. "Once Wanda's back and you've freed Ana. Somewhere we haven't met before. Tallinn, maybe."

She scrunched her eyes shut and the dregs of her emotions leaked out. She lifted her hand, mine still attached, to erase the evidence. When she opened her eyes again she was closer to the Yelena before my watch beeped. "Hurry up and prove the UN wrong. There is a New York apartment with our names on."

I could still feel the soft grass of that hill, where my sister and I dared to tread together for the last time.

But, instead of plotting to kill our noisy neighbours in that New York apartment, I was sat on the edge of the compound's roof, dangling my sock-clad feet and looking up at the star-studded sky.

The last image I had of her was when I looked over my shoulder to see her walking backwards. She threw an arm aloft and she waved, golden rings glinted and smile dazzling in the sunlight.

She whistled two notes. Low then high.

I whistled back. High then low.

"Nat."

The sun-hazed images drained away and I was left blinking up at the twinkling nighttime. My hands had leached some of the coolness from the stone, stiffening my fingers. They screamed out in unhappy agony as I shifted just the slightest to face who was behind me. My spine clicked.

Pepper and Rhodey stood together, she was just half a step behind him. Worry was etched deep into their faces, though there was a jolt of concern that flashed through them both when my eyes met theirs.

"You okay?" Rhodey asked. Pepper trailed a finger down her cheek. I pressed a fingertip to mine and it came back wet.

"Yeah," I said, swinging my legs over so there was something solid beneath my feet. I wiped away the tears then, dragged my hands across my jeans to further get rid of the proof. "Just thinking."

My voice trailed off on the last word as a flash of memory-Yelena shone through my thoughts. Pepper and Rhodey waited, hoping I'd pick the trail back up. Until curiosity grew too much. "About?" He asked.

My sister.

My mac-and-cheese-obsessed, American-Pie-crooning, pocket-loving little sister.

Who was the best of our Ohio family.

Who was free for the very first time since our state-side life.

Who was the first person I ever loved and the person I loved fiercest.

Who was.

"Things," I said because if just the memory of her reduced me to unnoticed tears I couldn't fathom what talking about her might cause. "What's up?"

They shared a look and their concern for me wilted under the intense blaze of the shared worry that had made them seek me out. With some effort, I shoved my memories to one side and stood from where I was perched.

"We've got a bit of a problem," he said, ignoring the arched 'well, obviously' eyebrow that leapt to my hairline. "The Sokovia Accords Committee has reported your investigation."

"It was always a risk he wouldn't stay neutral."

"They're requesting we shut the investigation down."

"Or?" Because it definitely sounded like there was an 'or' hanging between us.

"Well," Pepper said, "the UN is threatening to withdraw their support of WOOPS."

A/N: Now might be a good time to point out I actually have no idea how politics at the UN level really works, but here we are. Though, I do think I've got a better grasp on politics than the politicians here in the UK do. Geez, what a clown show.