28 May 2018

I feel like I make progress and then it all unravels.

It unspools like thread. Once uniform and ordered, it can never be put back as pristine as it was. Instead it's crumpled, looser around the spool and so things that once wouldn't have bothered me are finding a way to slip through.

And they bring these emotions out, or try to, and it's overwhelming because I'm not used to them. At least, I'm not used to not being able to control them.

I hate not having control. Hate it. Call me a control freak if you want (or if you dare), but through my childhood and teens I never had it. Not in any sense of the word. Not over what I ate, when I slept, how long I slept, when I showered, who I fought, who I killed. It was all decided for me. And I did gain freedom when I defected, but my choices were still governed by others, if not my past.

It puts me in a spin, losing control this much.

But I keep my epiphany from yesterday in mind. And tell myself that things aren't magically going to get better just because I had one. Everything has to come together, and it was up to me to keep hold of all these threads and not lose a single piece.

I guess what I'm saying is, it's to be expected when I'm filled with the overwhelming urge to murder Steve and Bruce.

Yes, it feels like things are unravelling and no matter what I do it's impossible to stop. But I won't be able to get anything done if I don't start looking for positives. The positive from today - despite the rage and the anger and the frustration my two dim-witted friends caused, I refrained from killing them.

Pat on the back for Natasha.

A couple of weeks ago we started talking about having a memorial for Vision. No matter what happens in the future he stays dead, he wasn't one of the Snapped and we wouldn't be able to bring him back. Then we thought we might be able to undo what Thanos did and figured we should wait until we'd done so, because there's one person who definitely should be there.

But the thing with the stones went wrong and we ended up back at square one, except it felt so much worse than that. No one spoke about the memorial, I wasn't sure if anyone was even thinking about it because what was pressing down on each of us was so much heavier than all of that.

Cue Steve walking in and interrupting my latest act in my current role of team hypocrite. Chopping vegetables for soup. Not just any soup. It was Thor's soup. Because even though I could barely stomach a single mouthful, I wasn't going to let Thor starve himself. So far I haven't had to resort to pretending the spoon is plane, but the way he looks at the empty bottles of alcohol across his floor has me thinking he might be open to some form of bribery if I could find a non-alcoholic drink decent enough to fool him. That should be fine, I'd managed to outwit his brother, the actual God of Mischief once, I could do it for the God of Thunder too.

I wish I could say Steve's sudden talent for popping up everywhere was an improvement in his state of mind. But it wasn't. He had a mask on, was going through the motions, pushing everything to one side and forcing himself to get through it quicker than he should. I was trained to see through the most well-crafted of masks. And his definitely wasn't well-crafted. He was a smaller part of my reasoning for a home-cooked meal. It might do him some good, too. I just hoped he liked soup.

He sat across the island from me and asked if I needed any help, I waved him off. A sigh escaped his lips, just a little puff of air but it was happening more and more lately. As if he was a valve letting some of the pressure off.

"I've been thinking," he said.

"Sounds dangerous."

I looked up from my chopping and into his eyes, the usual baby blue stormy instead. He looked as confused as I felt. That wasn't his voice, and it most certainly wasn't mine. Together, we looked towards the door and found Bruce, looking a little sheepish. It was a while since the three of us were in a room together. Silence came back as the scientist sat with us.

So I stabbed at it rhythmically as I sliced and diced more of the veg, ignoring the sweet, fresh smell that made my stomach want to either rumble or heave. I wasn't in the best mood with him. Once again he'd disappeared without telling anyone and he abandoned Thor right when he was vulnerable. Seemed to be turning into a habit.

Except it's not really fair, is it. He didn't know what was going on with Thor when he went. And it's not like he needed to report into us every time he does something. So I pushed the emotion aside, glad that on some small scale I could do this one thing, and looked up with a smirk.

"The wanderer returns. Everything alright?"

"All good," he shrugged, "I'm sure I'll tell you all about it at some point."

I raised an eyebrow it him while trying my best not to look threatening with a knife in my hand. I didn't want to risk the big guy making an unexpected visit.

He shrugged before his eyes darted back to Steve. "You were saying?"

I went back to chopping vegetables.

"We should hold that memorial," Steve said, "for Vision."

It didn't feel right without the others. It was wrong, they should be able to say goodbye and he deserved to have so many people paying their respects. What he did was heroic. Him or the universe and he chose the universe, until time was no longer on his side.

It didn't feel right without Wanda. God, she'd tried so hard to keep him alive.

But time was moving on. The others weren't here. He deserved to be remembered.

I nodded.

Bruce mumbled his agreement before adding; "we should do one for Loki, too."

Steve hesitated.

"Ummm, he destroyed New York."

And that was the spark that lit the fuse we'd all avoided. We didn't spend time together because there was blame in the air. In the privacy of our own thoughts, in the solitude of our isolation, we blamed ourselves. And it was painful, of course it was. The universe was a big thing and resting the fate of it on our shoulders wasn't a task we took up because it was easy. So when we were around each other we tried to ease that pain by making someone else take the burden. We threw the blame at them just so there was a moment's peace. It always made things worse.

"He died fighting Thanos."

"And Coulson died fighting him."

"He was different to the Loki you met."

As they argued I flashed back to Thor, huddled in his room. Grieving so hard he barely knew the days were passing by. His home, his people, his brother. All gone. His father, his mother, his friends. What an empty existence.

Then idly my eyes flicked to Bruce as he listened to Steve. There was real anger in his features. All Bruce, no Hulk.

"You know that, do you? After running away and travelling through space with him."

"Yeah, while you were busy tearing everything apart."

"That's n-"

"Guys."

Calm. Serene. Enticing like deadly waters. Knife shaking in my hand, poised above the board. I didn't need to yell. That was the thing with anger, it was always much more effective when it came on silently.

They knew my anger well.

"Is this really helping? Comparing who did the shittiest thing over the past few years. I mean, if you want a contest I think I got you both beat."

I pointed the knife at Bruce. Still, not even a flicker of green, I vaguely registered how royally fucked we were if Bruce couldn't get control of himself. It's not like the big guy was more useful than the scientist, but there were some things he could do that Bruce just couldn't. And vice versa.

"If I remember correctly, I pushed you over a precipice to force the other guy to come out and you were stuck that way for, what was it, two years?"

I turned the knife on Steve.

"And with you, I betrayed your trust and sided with Tony because I figured it was the best way to keep everyone together. I failed to get either of you to listen so then I betrayed Tony's trust. I joined you in hiding, did everything I could to keep you off the grid and hoped one day I'd get the both of you to see sense. And my failure there was in not seeing how impossible that was. Because Thanos and his children turned up, Tony got stranded in space, and we ended up in this huge steaming pile of shit that we keep trying to throw at each other. And the two of you still can't put your differences aside and talk."

My voice was still even, at least this part of me hadn't crumbled away yet.

"Bruce is right. We should include Loki."

"Nat-"

"I'll never forgive him for what he did to Clint. But this is what Thor needs and Clint's not here, so fuck him."

Steve nodded and I went back to the chopping board. If it sounded louder and harsher than before, no one had the bad sense to comment. I breathed out and added another name to the list.

"Gamora, too. She died standing against her father. She deserves something. Nebula deserves something."

I didn't need to look at them to know they agreed. Nebula had spoken of her, well not quite often but...enough. Enough for us to know she went far too soon.

"And, uh, the others."

I stiffened. His words were so soft and hesitant, like he knew he shouldn't be saying them. So if you knew Steve, why did you say them, huh? Why even go there? And why not back out when I decided to play dumb.

"What others?"

"Everyone else."

I span around and threw my knife. Aiming in his general direction it flew past his head and buried itself in the wall behind.

At least, I imagined it so vividly I could have sworn I'd done it.

I think he could guess what was going through my head because when I looked him in the eye once again, Steve had his hands up.

"No."

"Nat. They deserve it too."

"If they were gone, maybe."

"You saw them disappear, Nat. You saw the gauntlet when we found Thanos."

"They're not gone. We're not memorialising them."

"Nat," it was Bruce this time.

I slammed the knife down on the counter and faced them both properly. With a calmness so surreal and unnatural I had no clue where it came from, I placed my hands, palm down, on the table, looking between the both of them.

They flinched.

"Don't 'Nat' me. There's a way to get them back. There's something else we can do. And I swear to you that I will not rest until we find it. I will never give up. So, no. This memorial. It's for the actual dead. Because I don't believe we can't win this one. We are not losing this."

When I finished I was looking at Steve again. There was pity in his eyes as he took in my words. Mirrored in Bruce's.

I slapped the table and walked away.

"Fuck the both of you," I called over my shoulder as I stalked back to my screens, "and make sure Thor eats."

So yeah, there's some unravelling. Tempers are a bit frayed. But on the positive side, I'm not digging a couple of graves in the woods next to the compound.

29 May 2018

Today I lived for the aches and pains.

And yet, they just didn't do what I wanted.

I found escaping memories particularly difficult during the night, I blame all the talk of the memorial. It meant I was up bright and early to hit the gym.

By up I mean I stopped trying to get to sleep.

By bright and early, it was still dark outside.

Fine by me,

The gym was my refuge. The punching bag my company.

On nights or mornings like this it was almost sacred.

So I devoutly honoured it by peppering hit after hit all over it.

One. Two. Punch.

One. Two. Kick.

I settled into the rhythm, jabbing my fists, swinging my arms. Occasionally I'd dart in with my foot. Then I'd sidle round to a new angle and continued my assault. Breathing evenly. In and out. Never forgetting the routine, the order, the rhythm.

The punch bag never stood a chance.

None of this was normal. None of this settled around me quite right. My entire life was spent jumping from country to country, life to life. Until one I never expected wrapped itself around me and refused to let go. I was trained to move on, to shed these lives like empty shells and start afresh on the next mission. That's why I had no place in the world, because I had to fit in everywhere, had to be willing to fit in everywhere.

And being here just didn't feel right because of it. Even when I was free of the Motherland I kept certain aspects of my old way of living. I stepped out from the husk of Natalia Romanova and became Natasha Romanoff, as a spy I had multiple aliases. Multiple lives to live, which I did. I still went from country to country but there were moments in between where I actually got to be myself.

Even so, I had never settled in one place for as long or as often as the compound. Not since the Red Room. And those memories crept up on me, the blood and the screaming and the breaking. They crept up on me along with those of Thanos.

One. Two. Sidestep.

One. Two. Jab.

I stayed focused on the routine. It was what I needed more than anything. The knowing there was something I could go back to, something that felt normal.

With it things were more bearable. It said there was a moment in my day where I didn't have to think about everything that needed thinking about. A time where, if I didn't know any better, everything was back to how it was. I was strong and whole. I was myself. I was the Black Widow and Natasha Romanoff.

In the Red Room you could never be too sure what was around the corner but the one constant was this physical training.

It kept me sane then.

It kept me sane now.

The surety of landing a punch, feeling the shockwave ripple up my arms. The jarring impact whenever I landed a kick and that ache of my legs as I stayed poised at all times. The familiarity of it, the predictability.

It was so good to get lost in.

So I punched. I kicked. I jabbed and swerved. Sweat flying off in arcs as I threw my all into the fight. The bag swung beneath the impact. Doing its part as a half-hearted opponent.

I used the stones to destroy the stones.

Several swift jabs to the middle of the bag. Hard, destructive. More to me than anything else.

The universe required correction.

A roundhouse kick on the right, followed by a couple of strategic blows on the left. Holding back. Refusing to let the intrusive memories make me erratic.

After that, the stones served no purpose beyond temptation.

A flurry of furious punches, mixed with accurate, rib-crunching kicks. And I yelled with each hit. Forgetting the time. So totally pissed that the one thing that usually cleared my mind wasn't working.

I grabbed a nearby towel and swiped it over my face. Trying to get back under control. Telling myself I would get him out from beneath my skin. Get him out of my mind. If I could get the Red Room out after years of conditioning I could get the Titan out.

I slapped the towel against the mat and yelled again.

Sometimes fighting just didn't do it.

And that's when I turned back to ballet.

I hated it and loved it in equal measure. It came with so many awful memories, so many things forced on me. It was a painful art form and it drove many of the girls to the edge until they were finally pushed over it by Madame B. But for me it was an escape. It took me from the oppressive walls and put me on stages, swept me away in the glory of getting the dance right. If only in my mind.

I was tired and sweaty, but I didn't have what I wanted. What I needed. I didn't have freedom from that awful voice and those terrible words. Or from the frustration and worry of Clint's disappearance. So I headed to my room and pulled out the pair of ballet slippers I always kept on me. More out of sentimentality than anything practical.

Back in the gym I cleared a space, strapped them on and flexed my feet, testing the movement. It was years since I last did this. Before the Avengers. I never even danced for Lila, no matter how much she begged. I just couldn't bring myself to invite the demons along, the monsters that came with the slippers and the dance. Those thoughts and memories had no place in the Barton household.

But maybe, once she's back, maybe I'll show her.

I bulldozed my way through a couple of practise routines. Blowing away the rust of years. Focusing on how my body felt, how it moved, how I breathed. There were a couple of stumbles to start with but they soon disappeared and it was like I never stopped.

At some point I paused to put music on. I don't remember what piece it was but it was familiar and challenging. I fell into each position as if I'd danced it only yesterday, my back arching and legs twisting. My arms fell about gracefully. Each transition was seamless and I was swept away in the music, forgetting everything. Just letting it disappear so I could focus on this. Just this one thing. This single unimportant thing that felt, right then, as if it was the only thing ever.

I closed my eyes and still landed everything perfectly. The fear of extreme punishment as a child making sure this was branded deep into my mind.

Everything ached and burned. The shoes chafed and my toes were exploding with each bit of pressure put on them. But I pushed on, kept spinning with utmost precision and throwing my whole self and my whole effort into the leaping and twirling and stepping. And it was bliss, because I was free, uncluttered. It was like when I was on my bike heading into the city. At some point I just left it all behind.

Until the end was signalled.

This is gonna work Steve.

I pushed the words away, the thoughts. Tried to slam the walls back up but more of them came slipping through.

I know it is. Cos I don't know what I'm gonna do if it doesn't.

Stupid words from stupid people. How can we keep on being so naive? The final swell of the music and I kept going. Urging my body to go harder and faster. The more I ached, the more pain there was, the less I'd be able to hear my thoughts. On the final note, during the final move the text came flashing into my mind.

You chose wrong. They're gone because you chose wrong.

I stopped when the music did. Breathing deeply, fighting the tears. I couldn't let him get to me. I couldn't act like it was the Clint I knew who sent that. This was a different version of him. A dying, heartbroken version and that's why I needed to find him.

Someone shuffled behind me and I span round to see not only Steve but Danvers and Nebula. A strange trio.

Thank fuck Rocket wasn't there.

Steve looked a little shell-shocked, his mouth hanging open slightly. I didn't dare look at the almost strangers. I settled onto the floor, scrabbling at the straps, desperate to get the shoes off. It took all of my willpower not to throw them across the room, the text still playing in my head.

"I-uh, I didn't know you danced," Steve finally managed to say.

"I don't."

"But, umm-"

With my shoes off I stood in front him, nowhere near his height but still threatening enough for the glower in my eyes to be taken seriously.

"Not usually. What do you want?"

"Carol's back," he pointed at her.

"I can see that."

"Uhh, you mentioned before that you had an idea you wanted to talk to her about. Rhodey was supposed to be here but one of his army friends needed to speak to him. Something about gangs."

I looked away from him, turned my back on them even. The anger and shame and guilt was still burning brightly. The order and routine were fading fast, the little comfort they brought slipping away. Reality seeped in.

One hand rested on my hip while my other rested on my forehead.

"Nat?"

"Go to the office. I'll be a minute."

The emotions came so easily and they were so hard to control, so hard to hold back. I wasn't used to this. This helplessness. This is what other people were like. Not me. Never me. This wreck of a woman.

"Okay," he paused, and I could hear the smile creeping across his face, "see you in a minute."

A warmth rushed through me and I held back the grateful intake of breath until he was safely through the door. Those five words did something the punch bag and impromptu dancing session hadn't. They pushed aside all other thought and gave me focus.

30 May 2018

A flock of birds.

They flew above the trees.

I saw them from the common area and ran straight outside. It felt like an age since I last saw so many birds together. Weaving and dipping and diving.

They called out to each other, singing their soft songs. The melody so natural and joyful. True acrobats, they enjoyed the air doing every tumble they could think of.

And then they were gone. Just like that.

To witness such natural grace and beauty, to watch life go on like that. It was a privilege.

1 June 2018

We said goodbye.

Vision is gone. He deserved more than he got. In life and in death.

The sun came out today, which was handy.

It was weak and held no warmth, but it looked nice. Much like the handshake between Tony and Steve when they bumped into each other. The billionaire was back on his feet and looked so much better, but he clung to Pepper the entire time.

The lake reflected the sunlight, sparkling as the wind caused it to move.

Everyone was there. Gathered round. Looking glum. Everyone except Clint.

Nothing cheesy happened. No Chinese lanterns set free to float into the sky, or anything like that. None of the people we were there to remember would have appreciated it.

Sometimes, all we're reduced to in the end is a bunch of words beside a lake, or whatever.

In the end I was glad Wanda wasn't there. It sounds horrible, I know. But, at least for this, it was good she was gone. That she didn't have to deal with the pain of losing Vision for long. Then I couldn't help but wonder how she'd be once everyone was back. How would she feel returning to life only to remember she'd much rather be dead? The least I could do was be there for her, remind her that there was much to stick around for. Recycle some of the things Clint and I said after Pietro.

It wouldn't be easy, but she's strong enough to get through it.

Tony, Steve, Bruce, Thor and I all said something about Vision. Tony made some sort of joke about how 'Viz' was his and Bruce's brain child and Thor just swooped in to play Doctor Frankenstein.

Then Nebula and Rocket started talking about Gamora. At some point Steve nudged me and mumbled a 'sounds like you' and I gave him a half-hearted smile.

There was some silence before Thor started talking about Loki. I was intrigued to hear about the young god but I just couldn't reign my attention in. The back of my neck was prickling, as if there were eyes on them. When I turned round no one was there. Bruce spoke quietly about the change he saw in Loki. The difference between New York and Sakaar.

And then there was nothing left to say. Or do. Without words we agreed to have a moment's silence. A chance to remember the fallen.

And that's when I started laughing. There wasn't even a chance to try and hide it. And in all honesty I didn't think I was capable of laughing like this anymore. I didn't think any of us were.

All I could think about was Vision and the mortified look when he came and sat with me on the sofa one evening.

"What's up, Vision?" I said, looking up from my paperwork.

"I fear I may have seen something I shouldn't have, Ms. Romanoff. So I dare say my embarrassment levels are up."

I smiled. He acted as British as he sounded.

"You're telling me. You've gone red all over."

"I'm afraid I don't understand. I am always red."

"No I mean. Oh, d'you know what, don't even worry about it. It was just a bad joke."

He opened his mouth to reply but Tony burst in, annoyance and frustration all over his face.

"Hey you, yeah you - Bionic Man," he pointed a finger, "you need to start learning how to use doors. Ever hear of this little thing called knocking, huh? Try it some time."

"Mr Stark, I did not mean to intrude."

"You know, just because you can float through walls doesn't mean you should."

I did my best to hide my smirk, I really did, but I caught sight of a very flustered looking Pepper and couldn't stop it from creeping across my face. Naturally Tony saw it straight away.

"Stop that smirking, Russian Red. Stop it now. What did he tell you, huh?"

"Relax, Stark, he didn't tell me anything."

"So what's with the smirk?"

I shrugged.

"You're telling me enough without even trying."

Tony threw his hands up in the air, muttered something unintelligible and stalked back out of the room, grabbing Pepper's hand.

"Thank you, Ms. Romanoff," he paused, "I have never encountered that before."

"Really? Aren't you, like, hooked up to the internet at all times?"

"Well yes, I've come across mention of it on there and I'm well aware what people do. But never in real life. I'm still not used to how you humans behave."

"Those two just can't keep their hands off each other. You're not the only one who's walked in on them. It's their own fault."

I stopped talking, he'd switched off about halfway through, when Wanda walked past on her way to the kitchen.

"I am just pleased," he shook his head slightly, "that I did not interrupt them later on. Do you need any help with your paperwork."

"No," I shook my head, "but maybe help Wanda in the kitchen. I don't want her almost burning it down again. That was not a fun night."

Laughter filled the air as I recounted the story. It floated over the water and danced meekly with the sunlight. Adding a sort of ethereal touch to the afternoon.

Pepper blushed a little at the anecdote. Unsurprisingly, so did Steve. Then more stories were dusted off and given an airing as we said goodbye to our comrades, thanking them for the lighter times they brought to our lives.

2 June 2018

Hi Tom,

I've said it before and I'll say it again.

Fuck you, Clint Barton.

I never asked for this, for any of what you gave me. But you forced it on me anyway. Said you'd be there always, every step of the way and the first sign of something difficult and you vanish.

I know, god I know how selfish this sounds. Because it's not just any old difficulty. It's your family. Gone before your very eyes and I can't imagine how difficult that is. Except I can. I can because I was there in Wakanda. I was there at the complex before the Accords.

Each time watching something fall apart.

Those were some pretty big steps and you weren't there. For either. You weren't there.

All I want to do is help. Bring you back, get you through this and find them for you. Find a way to bring them back, whatever it is.

I don't want to see you fall apart. I want to help you keep it together.

So why are you playing these games?

Why block my number then turn up at the compound and not bother to tell any of us you were here?

Does none of what we've been through mean anything to you anymore? New York? Rio? Kiev? Bucharest? What about Budapest?

Maybe I was being naive. Are you kicking me to the kerb because the stray has disappointed you?

This is so far beyond anything the Red Room has ever done. They fucked up my head, sure. But they never crushed my heart like this. Never crushed my soul. Instead they did their best to make me believe I didn't have either. And it was you. It was you, Clint, who showed me they were wrong. Who gave both those things back.

So fuck you. Fuck you for your games.

I knew I felt something at the memorial, Tom. I knew it. Something familiar but also so entirely different. The prickling on the back of my neck.

It was him.

Today, in the midday sun, I saw something in the trees. A shadow skulking through, it looked so much like him but I couldn't believe it was. It had to be my mind projecting. But I saw it again and then I pulled up the CCTV footage and it was definitely there.

He knew I'd see.

There was no way I'd ever miss a potential intruder.

He also knew I'd come out alone.

So I investigated. Came to where I saw the shadow and there was nothing there. Just a trail. Small, so small most people would call it insignificant but years of working together and you just know.

A broken twig here.

A scratch in the tree there.

I followed it all. Desperate to catch him. To talk some sense into him. To bring him home. Before it was too late.

But he wasn't there.

Well, he probably was, somewhere, but he wasn't going to let me see him.

The trail ended when I found an arrow in a tree and a half empty packet of instant hot chocolate nestled in the roots.

The arrowhead was struck through a photo. One from yesterday. The story about Vision. We were all laughing. A brief moment in time where it looked like none of us were weighed down by a single ounce of worry.

"That's hardly fair," I called out.

One moment, one moment against all the others that seemed intent on crushing each and every one of us into a bloody pulp. And he was rubbing it in my face.

I ripped the photo down and looked at the back.

My truth: I'll do what Thanos should have done.

What's yours?

This was the purest thing in my life. This ritual with him. This way of getting to know him. Of opening myself up. It was how I learned to trust. How he made himself my friend.

And he'd twisted it into some sick, distorted version of itself.

My truth, Barton. You really wanna know? My truth is that you have pissed me off, you've pushed me and pushed me and I'm peering over the edge. But I'm not letting you push me any further. Do what you want to me, say what you will. None of it will ever break what we have because I'm too stubborn to let go. You made me care and now you're gonna feel those consequences. I'm in this with you, whether you want me to be or not.

Each pair of eyes was sharp. Stabbing into him like daggers. Clint could feel the anger flaring off all of them without looking up. Anger and disappointment, both felt as bad as each other.

Uh oh. He thought. I'm really in trouble now.