See You In A Minute

PART III

It was only five of them now. Five people, making up what was left of the original team. Her family. Every time Natasha had to recount because she always expected one more. She'd reach the last person and realise she had added one without even noticing. Perhaps because even in her worst nightmares she couldn't imagine Steve not being there. He was like a rock, or the tide, or the sun. Something larger than life itself, never compromising, always there, no matter what.

And now he wasn't. Natasha had to find a way to live with that fact, to cope with the hole he left behind. Worst of all, she had to do it alone.

"Why would he do that?" she heard Tony murmur from her side, which was something of a relief. This was the first he had spoken since they returned to the compound - since the news broke that Steve wasn't coming back.

"Cause that's who he was," Natasha replied quietly. This was exactly the kind of thing he'd do. He was always the best of them. If anyone was willing to make that kind of sacrifice, it was him. Natasha had always admired that about him, as much as she also hated him for it.

"Was?" Thor spoke from the other side of the gazebo, his voice confused and agitated. He walked right up to Tony, allowing Natasha a closer look at his shaking hands. "What are we doing? What are we…?"

"Okay, I was just asking one question," Tony quickly tried to placate him, but the Asgardian refused to listen.

"You're acting like he's dead," Thor hissed. "Why are we acting like he's dead? We have the stones, okay? As long as we have the stones we can bring him back, isn't that right? So stop this shit. We're the Avengers. Get it together."

"We can't get him back," Clint's voice called from somewhere in front of her. Natasha wasn't quite sure where. She was too busy staring at the floor, trying and failing to keep tears from running down her cheeks. "It can't be undone."

"I'm sorry, no- no offence," Thor replied, turning to Clint, "but you're a very Earthly being. We're talking about space magic, here, and 'can't' sounds very definitive, doesn't it?"

"Look, I know" Clint responded tersely, "that I'm way outside my pay-grade here, but he still isn't here, is he?"

"No," Thor stammered, "that's not my point."

"It can't be undone," Clint insisted. "Or at least that's what the Red Skull had to say. Yeah, he was there. You know anything about that? What does your space magic say about him? He was there. Told us it was an 'eternal exchange', no refunds. Unless you wanna go talk to him. How about that? Go grab your hammer, and you go find and talk to him!"

The moment the words left his mouth, Natasha could Clint regretted them. She saw out of the corner of her as both Clint and Thor shrank into themselves, Thor out of anxiety and Clint out of shame. Clint knew that Thor wasn't the one he was angry with; it wasn't him who deserved his ire. It wasn't him who let Steve Rogers die.

"It should have been me," Clint choked, his hands gripping the railing so tight that his knuckles became pallid. "It was gonna be me. And he did it anyway."

A choked cry of rage sounded from the far edge of the platform as a bench was launched across the lake. It landed in nearby woodland, and the green giant threw was none the better for it. Bruce exhaled tensely, trying to contain himself against another outburst.

"He's not coming back," he said solemnly. "We have to make it worth it."

"Nat?"

Tony's voice drew her head up, allowing everyone a chance to stare at her ruined face. What little facade she still had amongst them was gone.

"How long before you can get the gauntlet up and running?" she asked, her gaze fixed on the calm waters stretching to the forest. She couldn't bear to look any of them in the eye. She had to be strong.

"Twelve hours," Tony replied, "max."

Natasha nodded, rising from her seat, stealthily wiping her cheek.

"Then you know what to do."

Without another word, she turned and began marching up to the compound, leaving the rest of the team to their own devices. Only one made any attempt to follow her.

"Nat," Clint called after her, only to be stopped by Tony.

"Give her some space, man."

"Screw you," Clint spat, trying to push past him.

"Barton," Tony insisted - almost growled - holding him back. "Don't. You weren't here. They were close. She needs time."

Clint wanted to argue back, to throw him away and follow her anyway. He didn't, because he knew Tony was right. He wasn't there for her, not like Steve was. Clint wasn't the one who helped her through the past five years. He wasn't the one who there to provide the support she so desperately needed. He was the one who abandoned her, who never answered her hundreds of calls, who ignored her messages begging him to come home, who turned to murder to bury the pain of his loss.

In hindsight, it was apparent just how close the two of them had become. Clint saw it himself, in the small moments where they thought no one was looking when their eyes would meet from across the room, and a whole conversation would occur without a single word spoken. As if they knew one another better than anyone ever could.

Natasha didn't just lose a friend. She lost so much more than that.

Because when Steve Rogers died, a part of Natasha Romanoff died with him.

Natasha didn't know where she was going, not immediately. In fact, she couldn't remember most of the walk from the gazebo to the compound, through its winding corridors. She just knew she had to get away from people, and the more she kept on walking, the more likely it would be that she would accomplish that goal. So, of course, Natasha hadn't meant to end up in the shooting gallery, all alone, loading a six-round pistol and aiming it at the target in front of her. But since she was here, she might as well make the most of it.

Natasha pulled the trigger. The sound of the blast rumbled against her ear protectors. The knockback collided firmly with her palm, and out of instinct, she pulled the trigger again. And again. And again. Barely a moment passed before another bullet was out of the chamber until the sensation became one long blast of metal and fire.

She only stopped when no more bullets would come, only then, with the speed and skill only years of experience could allow, she would remove the magazine, replacing it just as swiftly. Then the firing would continue.

Natasha only noticed the damage she had dealt on the target once she had entirely run out of ammo, forced to stare at the barrage of holes at the centre of the rings. Perfect, just as always. If it had been a person's head in her way, there would be little left but a bloody stump.

And yet, it brought her no satisfaction, no relief. A cold, sharp fist still clenched her heart and refused to let go.

So, she moved on. She found the gym, along with a collection of reinforced punching bags - ones specially designed for... for him.

Natasha hooked one up to a link, squaring up to it as she wrapped her knuckles.

The first punch came like a bolt of lightning. The pain soon followed. It was like punching stone, hard enough to sting, soft enough to not break her fingers.

Nothing. Natasha felt nothing.

She punched again. And again. Another, harder right hook, then a left, then a right, then one straight-on, then another left. Now she was just punching, as hard as she could, for as long as she could, trying to rip the thing apart. The abuse continued, until eventually, she took to using whatever she could, her head, her knees, her feet, whatever she could use to inflict some damage. Of course, the bag never responded. It simply hung there, taking every ounce of her abuse as if it were nothing.

As if - whatever she did, no matter how hard she tried - none of it meant a damn thing.

It didn't. Natasha certainly didn't feel any better than when she started. Except now she was in pain, as well as alone. Well, more pain, because whatever was eating away at her from the inside was perhaps the most painful thing she had ever experienced.

Movement from the far corner of the room drew her eye. Something big and green. She recognised him instantly.

"Hey."

She didn't reply. Instead, she continued to punch the bag in front of her.

"The gauntlet's coming along nicely. Should be done by tomorrow morning," Bruce continued. "Just wanted to make sure you knew. How are you holding up?"

Natasha landed one swift punch before answering.

"How do you think?"

Despite her tempestuous mood, she had the decency to feel a little ashamed as she watched him squirm. Not enough to stop, though. She was in no mood for apologising to anyone. All she was in the mood for was seeing how long it took for this stupid punching bag to finally give up the ghost.

Bruce rested on a nearby bench, his head hung in something close to guilt.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she shrugged, her voice flat. "He knew the risks."

She heard Bruce sigh, like the wind passing through a forest.

"It's okay to be angry, Nat," he tried to reassure her.

Natasha responded with a tight, lifeless smile.

"Says the guy who used to have breath-taking anger management issues."

Bruce continued to stare at her, rubbing his hands together, as if to quell his nervous energy.

"How can we help?"

"Depends," she replied. "Can you bring him back?"

His silence was all the answer she needed.

Natasha shook her head, unhooking the bag and laying it on the floor next to her. Bruce didn't deserve this, it wasn't his fault. It wasn't anyone's fault, in the end. At least he was trying. She couldn't fault him for that, even if she wanted to scream her lungs out any given moment.

"Have you called Betty lately?" she asked as she took a seat beside him. He shook his head.

"Not really."

"You should. While you still have time. While she's still breathing."

He shrugged.

"Maybe after we're done-"

"No," she interrupted. "Don't wait. Not for a moment. Do it now, before you lose your chance. Like how I lost mine."

Bruce glanced at her as if he were seeing her clearly for the first time.

"I didn't know-"

"Neither did I." She shook her head. "But now he's gone, forever, and now I know for sure. I thought we had so much time, and I wasted it because I was scared. Scared of losing something I cared about. And now it's happened, and it hurts… more than I ever thought it could."

Natasha felt something vast and warm wrap around her, and suddenly she pulled up against Bruce's side. She didn't know why she chose that moment to suddenly let go. Maybe it was the feeling of his jumper, soft and inviting, or the way his arms cocooned her from the rest of the world. Maybe it was the fact that she had kept all bottled up inside with no reprieve. At that moment, it all came flooding out in violent sobs.

She continued to cry until long after thesunset, and the whole while Bruce stayed with her, saying nothing, letting her mourn, occasionally wiping away tears of his own.

That evening, Bruce called Betty Brant, for the first time in years, and told her everything.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y.? Do me a favour and activate Barn-Door Protocol, will you?"

The time had come, the moment that Natasha never thought she'd see. The gauntlet was ready. The stones had been attached and were glowing softly amongst each other, like a spectrum of supernatural power. Bruce was going to be the one to use them, to bring back half the universe.

If it didn't kill him first.

As he stepped up, picking up the gauntlet and holding it carefully as if it were made of china, the rest of them prepared for the worst.

Large sheets of reinforced steel slid across the windows and doorways, sealing them - and whatever the hell was about to happen - inside the laboratory. The thunk of helmets falling into place met her ears. Across from her, Tony's nanotech armour slithered across his skin, his right arm conjuring a forcefield in front of Clint. She glanced to her side, seeing from across the way how Thor was ushering Rocket behind him. All of them were accounted for. All that was left was herself.

Nat clutched the leather strap around her knuckles, lifting Steve's shield to cover her body. She gently stroked the material with her free thumb, the image of his face forcing its way to the forefront of her mind. If only he could've been here to see it. Of all people, he deserved to see it happen. At least she had one part of him, the part that she was currently holding against her arm. The feeling of it, the broad, bright surface encompassing her, it made her feel safer than she had ever felt before.

While she held his shield, Natasha was sure no harm would come to her.

The preparations were made. It was now or never, and Bruce knew, as he slowly adjusted the gauntlet in his grip, readying his dominant arm.

"Everybody comes home," he announced, as much for himself as for the rest of the team. This was happening, Natasha realised. She was going to see her family again.

The gauntlet opened itself up, allowing Bruce to slip his hand inside gracefully.

Immediately, the stones erupted, send surge after surge of energy rippling across the metal. The groan of the universe bending under their weight filled the air.

Along with Bruce's tortured cries.

The energy was rapidly running up his arm, neon streams of light running up his muscles and tendons, reaching up to his neck, leaving charred skin in its wake.

He's not going to make it, Natasha suddenly thought. He's going to die.

"Take it off," Thor shouted. "Take it off!"

"Tony!" Natasha cried, the man himself looked just as shocked as she did.

"Okay, Bruce, abort now!" he ordered.

"No!" Bruce refused, bringing her attention back to him. He had quietened down, composing himself against the influx of power rippling through him. "No, I'm fine. I can do this."

Natasha was about to protest further, to make Tony force him to take off the gauntlet. But she trusted Bruce. If he said he could do it, she believed him. There was no one else who could take the damage like he could. It had to be him. He had to finish this. And so Natasha reluctantly nodded, praying that Bruce could pull this off and come out the other side alive.

It seemed that Tony agreed, because he took a step back, ushering Clint further behind him. Thor anxiously gave him a thumbs up, clearly distressed, but he too had enough faith in his friend to stop him now.

With all the strength he had left, Bruce raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

There was a moment of nothingness as if all things had stopped just a fraction of a second. And then they were back.

The next moment, Bruce's eyes rolled into the back of his head, and the gauntlet slipped from his arm as he tumbled to the floor.

Natasha sprung into action immediately.

"Bruce!"

The other soon followed, with Clint hurrying to the gauntlet, kicking it into the corner.

"Don't move him," Natasha ordered, just as the rest of the team gathered around him. "Check his vitals!"

"Talk to me, man," Tony called, spraying a thin layer of protective gel across Bruce's blackened, shrivelled arm.

Bruce emitted a soft groan, his eyelids fluttering open wearily.

"Did we do it?" he whispered.

"We're- We're not sure," Thor replied, his hands shaking as he went to comfort the green giant. "It's o- okay. Shh, shh, shh."

Natasha out of the corner of her eye as the steel barriers lifted, and Lang took the first few tentative steps out of the lab. Just at the edge of her hearing, beyond the anxious chatter of the men surrounding her, she heard something she hadn't heard in a long time.

It was birdsong.

A small flock of little brown birds had found their way to the tree in the courtyard and had begun to chirp happily.

Life, springing anew. The brightest day, after a cold, long, dark night. It was the most beautiful thing that Natasha had ever heard.

"Guys…" Lang choked, gasping in something kin to shock and awe, emotions so similar to her own. "I-I think it worked."

Suddenly, another sound caught Natasha's attention, a slight buzz of a phone, vibrating against the glass counter. Clint's phone. He hesitantly walked towards it, turning it over, his eyes widening when he saw the contact on the screen.

"Who is it?" Natasha asked, having some idea who it was already, but not daring to presume, just in case…

Tears pooled at the edges of Clint's eyes, a melancholy smile appearing on his face.

"It's Laura," he confirmed.

Natasha's heart soared, and she smiled, her vision glazing over. The moment she had wanted for so long that she had clung to for five long years was finally here. She wished now more than ever that Steve was here to share in her joy. Now she could only imagine his face, his beaming smile, his shining eyes, his firm arms wrapping around her as they hugged. His reaction after she'd finally give her answer. And the years they could have had afterwards.

There was something ironic, swapping one dream for the other, wishing so desperately for one scenario, only to lose one she didn't even know she wanted. Until it was gone.

Waited too long, she realised. Waited too long.

"Nat," she heard. She looked down to see Bruce gazing up at her, holding her arm between his fingers. "Nat, I saw him."

Natasha stared at Bruce, her heart leaping into her chest.

"What?"

"I saw him," Bruce instead, as if it were obvious. "He talked to me. He said… he said to tell you that he… he…"

His head turned upwards, up into the glass ceiling, into the open sky.

Before Natasha could urge him on, his eyes widened, and he screamed.

"HOLY SH-"

The next moment, the whole world disappeared in fire and rubble.

Clint resurfaced in a pool of still, dark water.

He stood up, grabbing his bow, quickly glancing around. He was alone. And stuck, apparently, underneath the main compound. He was surrounded by piping, lying beside a walkway above the surface of the water. Must be some kind of plumbing system. Whatever it was, it didn't matter. He had to get back up to the surface.

Clint could hardly remember what happened. One moment he was answering a call from his wife, the next, explosions were coming from everywhere, and he was falling, swallowing up by dust and concrete as the compound collapsed in on itself.

A thousand thoughts fired through his head. Was it an accident? Did the stones do this? Were they under attack? What happened to the others? Was he the only survivor?

What now?

A faint rattling sound caught his ear, somewhere nearby. Clint swivelled, his bow ready, only to be met with the glow of multicoloured light. The gauntlet.

He vaulted the rubble in front of him, landing on his feet in front of the red, metal glove. He checked it over, counting over the stones. Six, all there. All safe. Except, one of them was far more active than the others. The soul stone, glowing bright orange, was rattling violently in its place, causing the gauntlet itself to jut round on the floor.

"What the hell?" Clint murmured, reaching his hand forward to pick it up.

Before his fingers had even touched the metallic surface, the gauntlet gave a mighty lurch. The should stone broke free, shattering its constraints. Clint flew back, knocking an arrow and aiming it at the stone. The amber relic didn't respond. Instead, it chose to hover silently just a couple of feet from the walkway, so that it sat at Clint's eye level. It glowed intensely, refusing to move. For some reason, Clint felt like it was staring at him, almost as if it recognised him somehow.

Then, without warning, the stone took off, flying past his shoulder into the depths of the tunnel.

"Hey, wait!"

But it was no use. The stone was long gone.

At least the rest of them were still there, Clint reassured himself. At least he had found the gauntlet. He had to keep it safe.

He reached down and clasped his hands around the device, just as the sounds of guttural chattering met his ears. Clint looked up, knocking a flare arrow and releasing it down the tunnel.

The bodies of several, large, multi-limbed creatures were illuminated in the darkness, and Clint's blood ran cold.

And he didn't think his day could get any worse.

Natasha's eyes flew open, taking in the world around her. All that met her was dust and darkness. The compound was gone. The laboratory was nothing more than concrete and shattered glass. Steve's shield, once strapped to her arm, was missing.

She sat up, glancing around wildly, trying to find someone, anyone whom she recognised. The sound of stone shifting heavily sounded from her side, and she turned, seeing a familiar, welcome face.

Tony, slightly bruised but still alive, stood over her, concern wracked across his face.

"Romanoff, you okay?"

Natasha groaned in response, taking his hand and pulling herself up.

"Getting there."

"You drop something?" Tony asked, offering her Steve's shield. Her heart flipped, and a warm glow erupted in her chest at the sight of it.

"Thank you," she said as she took it from his hands and strapped it back on to her arm. Immediately, she felt herself stand taller. "What the hell was that?"

"Well, you mess with time, time tends to mess back."

He gestured towards a hole in the wall, where Thor was already standing, staring out onto a wasteland that used to be their home. She made her way over to him, spotting what, or who he had been staring at. Thanos, back from the dead, sitting a hundred yards away from them.

"What's he doing?" Natasha asked.

"Nothing," Thor replied, "just like he's been doing for the past five minutes."

Her brow furrowed, her mind flooded with all sorts of possibilities, the who, what, when, why he was there. Thanos was a tactical man, a schemer, and a brutal one at that. There was a reason he wasn't on them already. There was a reason he had time to sit and wait.

"It's obviously a trap," Natasha deduced, more for their sake than for hers.

"Yeah," Tony nodded. "Don't care much. You?"

"Not really," Natasha replied. Far from it, in fact. If Thanos wanted a fight, he was going to get one. Safe to say she had plenty of pent up hatred towards that man, for everything he had taken from her, and from everyone else in the universe. "Then again, the last time we did this didn't go so well."

"That's when he had the stones," Thor reminded her.

"Where are they now?"

"He doesn't have them," Tony clarified, "if that's what you're asking."

Natasha nodded dutifully.

"Let's keep it that way." She turned the Asgardian by her side. "You ready, Thor?"

"Absolutely," he replied casually, holding his hands in front of him.

His trusty weapons, Mjolnir and Stormbreaker, flew into his hands in a show of lighting, and his where his pyjamas used to hand form his body appeared a brand new set of Asgardian armour. A suit fit for a warrior.

"Let's kill him properly this time."

Thanos was going to destroy the universe.

The mad man was going to go so far as to destroy everything that ever existed. All so that his ludicrous utopia could happen. It made Natasha sick to her stomach to hear how callously he talked about genocide on that scale, to listen to the man she hated more than anyone else in existence - plucked straight from her nightmares - talking about himself as if he were a god. As if he had any right to decide who lived and who died.

He really was the monster Nebula said he was. The worst of the worst. And they had to stop him, or at least try.

Natasha knew, deep down, the three of them - she, Thor and Tony - stood little chance against him. He could crush each of them to a pulp if he really wanted to. But that was never the point. If they couldn't beat him, if they couldn't stop him for good, they could delay him. As long as they were alive, he wasn't looking for the stones, and the universe was safe.

For now.

They could only go for so long. Thanos was handling them like they were nothing. Tony was already down, sprawled somewhere in the rubble of the main building. Natasha had already tried calling him, but it had no effect. He was already unconscious, and it didn't look like he'd be getting up for a while.

Now it was Thor and her facing off against the towering, armoured titan.

Natasha drew her pistols, aiming carefully and firing in the open sections of Thanos' helmet. The bullets hit true, landing in the middle of his eyes, bouncing off as if they had hit kevlar. Thanos flinched, raising his arm in front of his face to shield himself, leaving his midsection wide open to a blow from Stormbreaker.

Natasha was about to fire again when the sound of her receiver crackled in her ear.

"Na… Nata… Nat! Come in!"

She recognised his voice immediately.

"Clint?" she shouted, ducking behind cover as Thor and Thanos brawled. "You okay?"

"I'm fine. I've got the gauntlet. Nebula's with me. The real one."

For a moment, she thought she had misheard him.

"The real one?" Natasha repeated.

"Guess we've both been duped," she could practically hear his shrug. Natasha shook her head.

"Look, Clint, you need to get that gauntlet as far away from here are you can."

"I'll try, but there's a problem. A big one."

"Yeah?" Natasha groaned, glance over the debris at the ensuring fight. "Try mine."

"The soul stone," Clint hurriedly explained. "It's gone."

Natasha's heart stopped.

"What do you mean gone?" she exclaimed.

"It's just gone," Clint insisted. "It took off before I could catch it."

"Wha-?" Natasha paused for a moment, composing herself. Too many questions, too little time. "Are the others still there, at least?"

"Yep, all there."

She sighed in relief.

"Okay. Look, it doesn't matter for now. You need to run. Thanos is here. He's coming for the stones."

"Thanos? I thought he was dead."

"This is a different one."

She heard him sigh down the line.

"Of course it is." There was a short pause before she heard Clint yell, "Wait, Nat, don't tell me you're fighting him?"

"Not by myself," Nat clarified weakly.

"You need to get out of there!" he shouted. "You can't match him hand-to-hand!"

Natasha raised a single eyebrow.

"Thanks, Clint," she quipped. She vaulted over the side of the rock she was leaning against, rejoining the battle. "Thor! We've got a problem!"

Thor turned his head in her direction only a moment. A moment too long.

Thanos' fist connected with the side of Thor's face, knocking him to the ground. His weapons were jostled out of his hands, as he landed on a charred tree stump. The mad titan was on top of him in the blink of an eye. Thor reached out his hand, calling Stormbreaker to him. The weapon flew through the air, only to be caught by Thanos, who began pushing the blade of the axe towards Thor's chest. Thor frantically grabbed it at the hilt, pushing back with almost the same force. Almost, because even with his full strength behind him, Thor was losing the fight. The blade was inching closer and closer to his chest. Any moment now, it would penetrate the armour, then the skin, then the bone.

Natasha knew she had to act.

She spotted Mjolnir, flung to the side. For a moment, Natasha considered, weighing her options.

She ran straight past it. She knew the answer to that question, she'd known it for a long time.

Natasha readied Steve's shield, sprinting up behind Thanos. She found the gap between his boot and his leg-plates, where the knee joint was open. She produced a small knife from her pocket, tearing at the material, slashing it away. It was swiftly followed by a swing of her shield, the lip hitting him right in the sweet spot of the tendons.

Thanos buckled, his grip of Stormbreaker slipping, allowing Thor the leeway to escape his hold.

Thor twisted the battle axe out of Thanos' hands, kicking him in the face as the mad titan fell to the ground. The alien growled, turning towards Natasha with a murderous glint in his eye.

"Insect."

He stood, advancing towards her menacingly, brushing off Thor's continued blows.

The Asgardian roared, jumping up onto Thanos' back, wrapping his arms around his neck in a chokehold. Thanos snarled, grabbing Thor's arm and flipping him over his head, onto the ground. The mad titan, with all of his weight, brought his boot down on the Asgardian's face, burying him into the dirt. Thor lay still, fighting no more.

Thanos's lips curled in a horrifying, vindictive smile, his eyes returning to Natasha, standing her ground, gripping the shield as if her life depended on it. It most likely did.

"You're not getting those stones," she said defiantly. "Not while we're still alive."

"Noble sentiments," Thanos remarked, picking up his sword that he had dropped earlier in the fight. "Unfounded, stupid but noble."

With all the courage she had left, Natasha smirked, readying herself.

"I knew a man who lived by them."

Thanos nonchalantly wiped the dirt off of his blade, like a butcher sharpening a knife.

"And now," he grinned, "you'll die by them."

With that, he pounced. Natasha raised the shield just in time as Thanos brought his sword crashing down. The hit made her teeth vibrate, her arms barely holding up against the attack. She barely had time to recover, as yet another blow landed down on the shield. And another, and another; so many in quick succession that she could hardly believe it.

Her knees burned as she tried to withstand the constant barrage of hits. One after the other, never letting up, not even for a moment. Until, eventually, her knee buckled and the shield slipped.

Natasha felt the kick before she even saw the blur of Thanos' foot.

The pain spread through her chest, and her body went flying. She felt the air rush by her, her limbs flying out in all directions. It was only as she was approaching the ground that she rolled, placing the shield between her and the pile of broken wood beneath her. They collided, and Natasha rolled. Her back hit the jagged remnants of a great oak, and a spike of pain leapt through her body. Eventually, she came to a halt, collapsing bodily against a block on concrete.

A searing agony in her side told her a rib was broken, maybe even her arm after Thanos' onslaught. She couldn't take another one of those, not now. Except, there was no one else to do so. She was alone. Alone, and judging by the rate her heart was beating out of her chest, very, very scared.

Yet, still, she tried to stand, gathering up Steve's shield, baring barely a scratch and hoisting it up.

Only for Thanos to rip it out of her hands.

She tried reaching for it, only for him to slap her back into the concrete. Stars erupted in front of her eyes, her limbs feeling like distant memories. She could barely feel a warm glow of orange fire by her side, one of many that had been created in the aftermath of Thanos' attack.

That was what the compound - her home - had been reduced to. Fire and rubble. All because of the man currently standing over her, the one that was about to kill her.

The one that took everything from her.

She tried raising her fist, sitting up, breathing. Anything. She had nothing left. The fight had left her.

Natasha always knew she'd die fighting. Some part of her wanted it that way, to go down protecting her family, and friends. Even now, knowing that it would be Thanos that took her life, she felt fulfilled, knowing that had at least bought them some time. At least she had gone down doing all she could to stop him.

She gazed up, past Thanos, into the sky, watching the sun basking amid the clouds. She knew he was there. She knew he was watching her, from wherever he was. She felt it in her heart. She could only hope that he was proud of her.

Her final thoughts were of Steve, as Thanos raised his sword. How she loved him, how she knew he loved her. Natasha closed her eyes, ready for the inevitable.

It never came.

From out of nowhere, the sound of Uru metal hurling through the air met her ears.

Natasha opened her eyes just in time to see Mjolnir collide into Thanos' side. The titan stumbled, his gaze following the hammer as it returned to its wielder.

A man materialising in a glow of amber light.

The stranger caught it, and the hammer sparked in a furious display of power. His eyes glowed a subtle blue as he once again took a fighting stance.

The eyes that usually shone a mighty blue, now endowed with the power of the gods.

The eyes that Natasha had fallen in love with, and that she never thought she'd see again.

If Thanos wanted a fight, he had one. If he wanted to face the full might of the Avengers, he was going to get it.

Because Steve Rogers - armed with Mjolnir in one hand, and his ever-faithful shield in the other - was going to give it to him.