ok so this is my new story bc i've had this idea in my head for awhile. i'm super happy to be doing a regular story again my other story is entirely dialogue and i hate dialogue so yay. Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or elements in this story, those belong to their respective owners. I did not write this for monetary benefit.

The first thing she felt was pain. Sharp, biting pain from her neck and head and chest, pain that spread its throbbing sensation throughout her body, down to her fingertips.

One by one came her senses. The first was touch. She slowly became aware of something wet and sticky dripping down her skin, of the sharp press of rocks beneath her body. Next came sound and smell, but there was nothing to hear and nothing to smell except something metallic and the whisper of the wind on the rocks, so she paid those senses little mind.

The last sense that came was her sight. She slowly opened her eyes, but then quickly shut them again, for the world was too bright to look at. Slowly she tried again, and this time she could see the blurry outline of a red sky against dark cliffs. She blinked a couple times, and the image became clearer.

Now that she could see, and feel, and do all the things she was supposed to, the next question that came to her mind was, what had happened? And slowly, the answer came to her brain too. She was Natasha, daughter of Ivan (though that was new), and she had died. That much, she was certain. She remembered falling, and Clint being there, and then dying.

But then, if she had died, how was she alive? She assumed she was alive, because she still had her uniform on and never really believed in afterlives or religion anyway. She should probably find Clint.

It took her awhile to get to the top of the cliff from where she had fallen. Simply getting up was a challenge, because with every movement she made pain like she had never felt before lanced across her body. But she got there, and looked down, and saw the blood her body had left. And it was strange because there was proof she had died, there was her blood and brain matter, and yet here she was, perfectly fine except for the aches.

She heard the guardian come before she saw him. Turned around to face him. The Red Skull's cloak billowed in the wind (she wasn't stupid she knew who he was).

"Why am I here?" she asked. "I died, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did," he replied. "But it seems the universe isn't done with you yet."

"That's not a very good explanation!" she burst, but he gave no response.

She sighed. Time to try a new tactic.

"How do I get back?"

"Back?" the Red Skull questioned.

"Yes, back. How do I leave this planet? I don't have a ship, or any more particles." She looked down at her wrist. The device was shattered, presumably in her fall.

"I don't know," the Skull replied. "This has never happened before."

Anger rose in her, frustration. "Well there must be some way. You said the universe needed me, right? Well how can I help the universe if I'm dead from starvation on an empty planet?"

"You're right, and wrong." The man who had once been Johann Schmidt turned and pointed to the horizon, to the east. "You're right that you must go, but this planet is not empty. There should be a spaceport 150 kilometers that way. You can arrange transport offplanet there."

"Thank you," she said, and turned to go, but stopped.

"One more question. When is it? What year?"

"You are back in the time that you left. 2023, is it?"

"And how can I trust you?"

"I am not the Red Skull, or Johann Schmidt any longer. I am simply the Guardian, and it is my duty to assist all those who come here. Besides, I once heard tales of the Department, the one you grew up in. Their work was rather impressive. Any Widow would gain my assistance, however I cannot understand why you are working for those Americans. And Captain Rogers at that. You are a traitor, Natalia."

"Yeah, well. So are you," she scoffed, and started on her journey.

The journey took a long time. She was already weak, and the hot sun and absence of resources didn't help. As she shuffled along the rocky ground, her mind drifted. If only her old handlers could see her now. Trapped in an alien planet all because she cared too much. Empathy is a weakness. Maybe they were right, her mind supplied. Maybe if she had never cared about the Bartons or Wanda or any of them, maybe she wouldn't have died. But then again, she countered, the world would still be broken. And she then she knew that the boys had succeeded. The feeling of despair, of wrongness that had pertained after the Decimation was gone. Or maybe that was just because she had died. Nevertheless, she had hope that the plan had worked.

The sun never set on this planet, stuck in a constant eclipse, but she had the sense that several hours had passed while walking. Eventually, she could see the outline of buildings in the distance. Red Skull was right.

She stopped and sat down on a rock. She had to be smart about this. She was approaching an unknown situation, with no backup or extraction plan. She had to blend in.

The first step: get out of her clothes. While she could not bear the thought of parting with the last remnant of her team that she had, she had no idea what the standard attire for this part of the galaxy is. She'd lift some clothes, maybe some money, and then find the nearest ship accepting passengers. She had to get home.

Determined, she approached the outskirts of the town. As she had expected, she received a few strange looks. The majority of the population were some sort of lizard-thing (humanoid, however), but there were definitely some other species mixed in. She even saw a human, once. This must be some sort of trading post, or hub.

Luckily, what everyone was wearing didn't seem too odd, and so she grabbed a jacket, pants, boots, shirt from a vendor. Simple, nothing outstanding. The general theme seemed to be military meets grunge. She could work with that.

Surveying the market, everyone seemed to be buying things with some sort of circular coin. She slipped her hand into the pocket of a man's coat and grabbed a handful. There was a strange design on both sides, but she couldn't figure out what they meant. That made sense. She was on an alien planet after all.

Now she had currency, which was a good thing. The only problem was, she had no idea what value the coins held, or how much a ride cost.

She looked out at the market once more. Sliding into a new persona, she walked over to an open vendor, who (she hoped) had a translator.

"Excuse me," she said sweetly. Right now, she was Natalie, a bumbling person whose husband had brought her along for a business trip. She had decided to explore the city, even though there didn't seem to be many tourist attractions.

"I just can't figure out these coins. Where I'm from we use something different. Can you help me?"

The vendor huffed. He did have a translator, after all.

"Well I don't know where you're from 'cause everybody use these coins. These Galactic Standard Credits," he said gruffly.

"Oh, I'm from far away, you've never heard of my planet." She gave him a sheepish smile. "Can you tell me how much they're worth?"

"Well how am I supposed to do that?" The man frowned. He scratched his face with a dirty hand.

"Oh, I don't know. I've got some coins here. Can you tell me what I could buy with them?" She pulled the handful out of her pocket. The man inspected the coins, counted them.

"That there's five credits," he said. "I reckon you could buy onea those hats Jef's selling over there." He pointed to an old woman who was indeed selling hats.

"No thanks," she said, and turned away. Five credits wasn't enough to buy her way onto a ship. She would have to either sneak on, or sell herself as some sort of labor. Neither seemed particularly inviting, but Natasha would prefer not to be an indentured servant. Sneaking on it is.

She made her way to the spaceport by following a young woman in a pilot's uniform. Or at least what she assumed was a pilot's uniform. It seemed very pilot-y. Sure enough, the buildings opened up, and rows of spaceships were lined up on the sandy ground.

The ships were unlike anything she had seen before. Actually, well, no - she had seen a spaceship before. She had been on the Milano when the team went to kill Thanos, before they had known the stones were gone. These new ships were somewhat similar. They all had what she assumed was a cockpit and engines. However where the Milano was sleek, made of smooth lines and curves, birdlike, the ships she saw before her were square and boxy. None of the refined elegance of Peter Quill's ship. Various species bustled around the port, loading on (floating?) boxes or hunching over the sides of the ships, repair tools sending up showers of sparks.

As she gazed about the space, she became aware of a commotion behind her. Some sort of creature was roaring, and someone else was yelling back in an alien language.

She whipped around.

Some big furry thing roared, and then took its paws? Hands? And shoved a smaller scaly thing away. The scaly thing screeched in anger? And then drew a long baton, which then flickered with what Natasha assumed was electricity as the scaly one drove it into the furry one's side. The furry one roared again, and the scaly thing shocked it again and again.

Natasha sighed.

"Hey!" she yelled, striding sharply over to where the two were quarreling. She seized the scaly thing by the shirt collar and threw it away. It hit the wall with a thud.

"Let's use our words next time, okay?" she said, stepping between the two.

The scaly one spat something at her (nothing flattering, she assumed) but skittered away. Natasha turned towards the person still on the ground.

"You okay?" she asked. It moaned in response. Of course it doesn't speak the same language, she thought.

"Next time avoid… you know…" she made a stabbing motion vaguely reminiscent of the electric wand the other person had used. "Stay out of fights." She turned to go, when a hand clamped down on her shoulder. She turned back around.

A young woman, 19 or 20ish, was standing before her. She was dressed in beige robes, and her hair in a complicated series of buns.

"Are you the one who saved Chewie, here?" the woman asked. Her voice had an English accent, which was strange because Natasha was in space. Natasha still didn't understand how she could understand the woman, but she would deal with that question later.

"Yeah," she said. "What's it to you?"

"Nothing," the woman replied. "Just thank you. Are you from around here?"

"No. I'm from… far away. Just looking for passage out of here. Do you know a good one?"

"You could come with us, actually. We owe you a debt for helping out Chewie," the woman gestured to the furry creathre. "We're heading out to D'Qar, but we could probably drop you nearby. Does that sound okay?"

"Yeah. Sounds great."

"My name is Rey," the woman said. "What's yours?"

"Natasha. Natasha Romanov."