The coffee shop stood there, same as it ever was, saved for the closed sign that Eva had put up the last time she had left. It didn't look like anyone had come back since then. None of Mr G's family, or any of the neighbors, or the other employees.

Eva scratched the back of her neck. She was down on the rota for an eight-hour shift today. Did she still have to do it? Would anyone pay her? If nobody was left to check on the place beside her, then who even owned it now? There wasn't exactly precedent for when your boss turned to ash in front of you without leaving any instructions like he did over the Christmas break.

Fortunately, Eva had spare keys. She went round the back alley, unlocked the loading door and switched the lights on to see a dusty, silent break room. Someone's half-eaten lunch had been left on the table, and there was a coat draped across the back of the chair.

Eva chucked the now-rotten food in the garbage and hung up the coat on the back door before dropping her own bag underneath the table and, automatically, pulling on her apron. Will anybody even want coffee? she thought to herself, walking into the front of the café. I don't think brunch is top of anyone's priorities, right now.

What the hell am I doing?

She had woken up in the armchair that morning, aching from the odd position and with her stomach grumbling louder than Rachel Carson's snores. She had forced herself to get up and get dressed for lack of anything better to do, and instead of taking the subway or her motorbike had decided to walk through the eerily empty streets to work. There had been a couple of open liquor stores en route. It took a lot of self-control not to go inside. She'd got a phone call from Natasha on the way too, checking to see where she was and how she was doing, where she was going and when she was planning on going back to the compound. It was like they needed her, or something.

Instead of opening up straight away, Eva made herself a cup of breakfast tea, dropped into one of the overstuffed leather sofas and checked her emails, carefully avoiding all the news and social media alerts popping up on her phone that she didn't want to see. Since only a couple of days ago the universe had still been fine and dandy, there was a couple about gardening projects sitting at the top that she had yet to read, as well as one marked URGENT that had been sent that morning from the New York City Department of Parks and Recreation. Frowning a little, she opened it and was greeted by a lot of red text and exclamation marks.

It appeared that half the public greenery in the city had vanished.

Well, technically half the greenery in the universe had, as well as all the people and animals and every other living thing. But this didn't seem nearly as important to the director of the Parks department, who was faced with the problem of some of the most famous public spaces in the world looking as though they had been pillaged by a very large and very hungry herd of herbivores.

Given your previous work in curating the Charles Spencer Memorial Garden, the email said,not to mention your references from Stark Industries lauding your ability to remain calm in a crisis, I have no choice but to consider you as the only candidate suitable for the replenishment of our public gardens. Please respond with your answer by noon today, and note that if you decline, the city will surely be barren forever because of your choices.

Yours thankfully…

Eva looked up at the old-fashioned clock on the wall. It read as being 11:53am.

"Bloody hell," she said. Then her phone started ringing. "Crap! Crap balls ass – hey, who is it?"

"Eva! It's me!"

"It's who?"

"Scott!"

"Scott who?"

"Scott Lang! Your buddy! Ant-Man!" the other voice shouted down the line at her. The reception was poor, and his voice kept on crackling like he was driving through a series of tunnels.

"Oh," said Eva. "Where the hell are you? The line's freaking out, and you came through as a private number."

"Don't ask. Oh, man. I'm so glad you're alive! Are you at the Avengers compound?"

"No. Why?"

"They're not picking up the phone and I need security clearance to get past the front gate, let alone into the actual place. I was wondering if you can buzz me in."

"I can't," she said. "But last I saw, they were there. The ones that were left, anyway." Her voice broke on the last word and she took a deep breath. "Scott, what're you trying to –"

"Great. That's great. I'll just drive up and throw rocks at the window until someone notices I'm there."

"You'll get lasered if you try," she informed him, "but there's cameras. Just keep ringing, and someone'll pick up eventually."

"Great. Thanks, Eva. You're amazing. Since I got back from HzzzzK! -pkrrrrw!"

"Scott? Scott! I'm losing you!"

"FZZZZZZZZZZZT-schkpaaAAAAAzzznnnnNNNN – Luis' van on the top of the building like nothing had ever happened. Crazy, right?"

"Scott, I can barely hear what you're saying –"

"Awesome. Sounds fun. See ya round."

"Wait a minute –"

Beep.

"God damn it," she said, under her breath, and looked back up at the clock. 11:57.

I can't do it. It's too much work. I'm not good enough. Not now. Not with… not without him.

11:58.

He'd want me to do it. She could see him now, sat across from her on the chintz armchair stained with coffee, leaning forward with his forearms on the edge of the table since putting his elbows up would be impolite. "You can do it," he would say. "You may not believe that, but I do. Nobody would be better for it than you. And you must keep moving forward, Eva." She imagined him swilling his undrunk chamomile around in his teacup, strange-colored fingers not flinching at the boiling heat coming through the china. "Please. If not for yourself, then for me."

11:59.

Drat.

She pulled up the email and dialled the number at the bottom. "It's Eva Kresk," she said into the answering machine. "I'm taking the job. You're right. Anyone else would screw it up."

A/N honestly, the amount of Tony Stark pain in the Endgame trailer is unnecessary. UNNECESSARY, I TELL YOU.