A/N:

Hi guys,

I hope everyone is doing well and staying safe.

We're back with Nat in this chapter.

5 June 2018

Once upon a time there used to be something happening everywhere in this compound.

Now, there's a lot of silence. It sits uneasily. The memories of people and noise filling it up are so fresh the scars are still healing.

Every now and then one bleeds through. A voice floating in the air that shouldn't be there. Well, actually it should. All the voices taken from us should be here. But they're not. Until the past comes a knocking.

I'm beginning to think my late-night vodka sessions aren't a good idea. Or maybe it's the lack of sleep. Or food.

Conversations used to be so numerous. The gentle murmur of other people and the ease of stumbling in and out of discussions were things I'd never considered a luxury before. The company of people something I picked up and dropped at will, so used to living an isolated life and still adapting to one where people wanted me around.

And it wasn't necessarily conversation I was after now. But rather a distraction from the lack of them.

Now, if I wanted to talk, I had to go searching for it, or try and strike something up with FRIDAY.

And FRIDAY was usually the only one who answers.

So, I go to the gym. I punch a few things or run myself into a frustrated exhaustion where I can neither sleep nor do anything else. I put my music on and have it full blast, not caring about anyone else in the building. If someone asked me to turn it down, it was a chat at least.

The problem is, right now, if I hit another thing, I think my knuckles might split deep enough to see bone. And if I were to run it would send me straight towards the memories rather than away from them.

That left music as the only option to quell the restlessness within.

With my ears ringing loud enough to keep past whisperings at bay, I threw myself into my emails.

There were a whole bunch of media requests. The press learned long ago they'd never be able to get hold of Steve and given my much more divisive character they preferred to try me anyway. I cleared all of them away with one click of the delete button and found myself staring at the emails from Pepper I'd dutifully ignored for a few days. There was an unread from Rhodey, which looked to be a quick update. And another from a guy called Wong.

Hearing Tony's side of the story I decided pretty quickly Wong was someone I wanted on my contact list. He alone had access to the inner knowledge on the ancient artefacts housed within the Sanctum Sanctorum, which included the Time Stone, until recently. Even with all the stones gone I figured it wouldn't hurt to try and get a better understanding of the wider world emerging all around me.

He was wary at first, but I think I was getting him on side. I hoped he would trust me with the information. As the most senior sorcerer left, he was wise to be cautious.

There was one form Okoye too, we'd kept in constant contact since the battle. Or as constant as possible. The struggles in America were mirrored all over the world, and Wakanda had lost its entire royal family. While they were learning how to cope, she was stepping into the void to keep her beloved home from completely collapsing.

I didn't much fancy research, and I wasn't sure I could be of any help to the General right now. So, Pepper it was.

Before we realised Thanos had fucked us over for a second time, I wanted to jump into this project. Clean up the cities and help the children. I was burning with the desire to help.

And now I could barely stomach even reading about it.

People were excited about getting it off the ground, the only person slowing it down was me. Dragging my feet as I fought through this fog. Pepper was taking it all on, doing what she could with what was left of her team. Keeping busy, even though she probably had enough on her plate with looking after Tony and preparing for welcoming new life. My delay definitely wasn't making any of it easier for her.

And yet, something stopped me from committing. Maybe I was scared it meant I was giving up. If I focused on this project, would I be able to carry on searching for a way out of this mess?

I should say yes. I should get this moving. But every time I went to type it, I froze. Who did I think I was to help children? To work on the post-decimation cleanup. I was trained to lie and kill. I had spent a lot of time doing those two things. Wouldn't I just taint the project?

But if I didn't jump on board with Pepper it could end up with people worse than myself.

In her latest email she'd gently pointed out that if we didn't go ahead with it, the government would take our ideas and source them out to contractors who wouldn't care at all about the human factor, only bothering to think about the numbers and the funding.

Her follow up was to make sure I'd seen it.

I had. Several times. But I was at a loss for words, which was new. So, she got a simple reply.

I'm still thinking.

8 June 2018

I don't like sitting still, Tom.

I can do it, but I don't like it.

You know what I do like? Hitting things.

Real, living things.

The punching bag is alright, but it's not satisfying. It just swings back, listless in the air as it waits for the next hit. But people, they try and be clever. They're a bit more challenging. And there's just something so good about a fist or a foot connecting with them and hearing that 'oof' of surprise or the crunch of bone.

I can have fun with living targets.

So when I heard rumours of a gang taking root in the city, one that enjoyed making its money and reputation in human trafficking, how could I pass it up?

It didn't matter that I was on a self-imposed punching ban, still willing my knuckles to heal. There was a flag in my head that said these fuckers needed taking down. So that's exactly what I was going to do.

I thought I'd be alone in the urge to pummel, bruise and bloody. But Steve was right there too. The rage bubbling within him driving him to action. When I bumped into him, or to be more accurate - strategically accidentally came across him, his eyes were haunted. Sleep eluded him as much as me and the frown on his face said we shared the same restlessness. While he preferred peaceful resolutions, he wasn't one to walk away from a fight. And if that fight happened to be against a few scumbags, then all the better.

He didn't need much convincing.

Bruce was drowning himself in books and stacks of paper, throwing complicated formulas up on his whiteboards as if they were the only lifeline he had. Though cold cups of tea dotted his makeshift office it was reassuring to see the food was eaten.

Thor was still holed up in his room. I doubted he would want Steve to see him. He was a 'worthy warrior', a man he enjoyed fighting beside on the battlefield and boasting of his victories to. He didn't want that comradeship to be tainted. It didn't matter that Steve was as broken as he was. With me he didn't get a choice. I let myself in and offered him food, comfort or silent companionship. Nor did he get a choice with Bruce, the 'worthy worrier'. When he was around. It was an unexpected friendship. But it helped them both.

Anyway, the point being, he didn't need another conflict. He needed resolution, and this wasn't about that.

Rhodey wasn't around but given his new position between here and the Whitehouse he probably couldn't come out to play.

I wanted to jump on the bike again. Race ahead of everything, feel it all fall away in the slipstream. But it wasn't quick, and it wasn't quiet.

The Quinjet shot through the night, sleek in the air. Steve and I traded gentle banter and soft words, but they faded into silence. There was no point in trying to make it like before, things were too different now. Whatever happened from here on out, whether we never got our people back or whether it took months, years or decades, things would never be the same again.

He stared hard out the window, eyes eating up everything that came before them. Knuckles growing whiter the harder he clutched the controls. I studied where we were heading, flicking my way through each screen.

Easy for the gang to smuggle people.

Easy for us to take them out.

Anticipation bubbled in the small space and the only thing to keep me in my seat were the tightly fastened buckles.

The river glistened in the moonlight, reflecting the dingy port in its wind-rippled waters. Clouds drifted past, darkening the night ever so slightly. Unnoticed with help from totally awesome piloting skills (mine, no matter what Steve says) and the high-end tech ever present in our lives (courtesy of Stark) we touched down.

As soon as the jet settled on the ground, I unhooked everything keeping me strapped in and waited for the exit to open.

"Thought you were going to throw that suit away?" Steve asked, coming up from the cockpit.

"Cos of all the bad luck mojo? I did, it's an older one."

"But that looks the same."

He nodded at my jacket, pretending not to see the looseness of it or my suit around my frame. Just as I pretended not to see it on him.

"It is. And it's not something I plan to get rid of," I thought back to its previous owner, a mix of emotions weaving together beneath the surface, emotions I didn't have the capacity to deal with so I shoved them further down as the fresh air from the now open doorway helped clear them away. "Any last-minute motivational speech to share, Cap?"

"Let's go get 'em."

The jet was nestled behind some containers. An industrial warehouse, abandoned by businesses of repute long before the Snap, was our goal. There were only a couple of guards, it was a cinch knocking them out silently and trussing them up like the pigs they are. Our feet were swift over the ground, footsteps nonexistent.

The building loomed large as we split. Me right through the front door and Steve up to the rooftop, because the man loves to make an entrance.

Enough shadows huddled around the entrance to hide my arrival. A few crates towered towards the ceiling and broken machinery filled some of the empty space. Some chains hung from rusty rafters and netting was caught up against the walls. The smell of damp welcomed me.

I crept along until I caught sight of the party that really didn't want any crashers. Three men guarded a group of people, all tied to one another. Even at this distance I could tell the rope was cutting into their skin.

One of the guys was on the phone, no doubt finalising the details of whatever deal he had for his prisoners, his gun on a table beside him. The other two held theirs, circling the people we were there to rescue. Occasionally they'd look elsewhere, just to make sure no one else was about.

I clocked another guy treading a steady pace up and down at the back of the vast room, and a fifth near me, doing the rounds. He was looking towards the entrance when a shadow flickered across a window set high in the walls.

No accident.

Steve was taking every precaution.

When I looked back my eyes settled on those all tied together and I realised for the first time they were children.

Just children.

The rage that had weeks to seep and settle into every pore of my skin and every inch of my bones roared outwards. It inflamed my muscles and sharpened my mind; all I could see were the children and I damn well wasn't going to let them down.

Our last two missions were a bust, losing half the universe then losing the stones. Now was when we were putting a stop to that streak. Now was going to change the tide of things. It had to. These kids needed to get through this.

Plus, if we lost a third one on the trot, I was probably going to need to get rid of the vest, and I wasn't ready for that yet.

As soon as the fifth guy came close enough, I pulled him into the shadows with me, unbalancing him enough that the gun wasn't effective as either a projectile weapon or one in close combat. My arms wrapped around his neck, a hand covered his mouth and nose and I squeezed the oxygen out of him until he fell unconscious. His legs flailed, but caught nothing, he tried to scratch at my eyes, but I'd long been experienced enough to cover that base.

Once he was out, I kicked the gun away and tied his hands and legs. It all took about a minute and happened in relative silence. It would have been quicker to break his neck, but this wasn't about killing, it was about rescuing. And none of the others were any the wiser by the time their colleague was captured, so the extra time didn't matter.

Taking him out felt good. But it wasn't enough. It didn't scratch that itch. It just made me want - no.

It made me need more.

A quick check and the fourth guy was still at the back. Apart from the man on the phone no one was speaking. If I tried to talk to Steve over the comms they'd hear.

Only one thing for it then.

I skulked to the edge of the shadows, leaving it until the last possible moment - hoping my partner saw, hoping he knew from our years of working together what I was about to do.

I stepped out.

"Hey boys, looks like I'm a bit late to the party."

The guy on the phone froze, mouth hanging uselessly open. The two by the prisoners turned and pointed their guns, as did the fourth, running to join the others. They might have gotten away with whatever ring they were running for a while, but nothing they'd done so far suggested they were any sort of intelligent.

"Who the fuck are you?" Phone Guy yelled, going to pull his pistol from its holster only to find it wasn't there.

"Aww, and here I thought my reputation preceded me."

All three with guns advanced while the other patted himself down as if the pistol could have been hidden elsewhere on his body. One of them squinted at me.

"Boss, I think she's that one from the Avengers. Hair's different but it's her."

"Black Mamba or something."

"Ouch, two years out of the limelight and this is what happens," I looked down and shifted my feet a little, "kinda hurts."

"Get the bitch," Phone Guy called as he finally twigged where his weapon was and went for it, "we need this deal."

The other three rushed me, the children started to cry and scream. It only got worse when the window shattered above, and glass flew everywhere. Steve somersaulted down between Phone Guy and his gun. With a crack of knuckles against jaw the enemy flew into the wall.

I didn't have much time to admire the handiwork.

The first one to reach me got a face full of his gun, nose breaking and blood spurting everywhere.

The red spatter was a masterpiece.

As he yelled out, I grabbed his shoulder with both hands and used him as a platform from which to assault one of his friends with a double kick to the face. I landed behind my quarry with the broken nose as his friend became acquainted with the ground, head no doubt spinning from the force.

I pulled my broken-nosed buddy's arms behind him, keeping his body between me and the one man left untouched, who also happened to be pointing a gun my way.

Adrenaline sprinted through my body; blood pumped in my ears. I heard everything. Saw everything. Could even taste their fear in the air as their arrogance swiftly switched to a dawning realisation of how outmatched they were.

It felt so good.

Taking a running leap, Steve knocked the remaining guy to the ground, whose gun skittered away. He tried to fight back but Steve started to pummel on his face.

I stamped down on the inside of my guy's leg and heard a satisfying crack, the sound sweeter than expected, before he screamed. Threw him to one side to deal with the other, who was getting over the blows to his head. Just not quick enough.

I feinted a punch to his face, which he blocked, and instead caught him with a knee to his stomach. As he doubled over Broken Nose grabbed me from behind. Looping his arms through mine and clasping his hands on each of my shoulders.

"Get her good," he growled. I felt him tremble, fighting the urge to give his broken leg a reprieve. I jumped up in his grip and threw the weight of my body outwards. The guy, taken by surprise, overbalanced and lost his hold. I gained my footing, aimed a kick at his head before switching legs and hitting the other man in the chest and punching him one, two, three times in the face.

Both writhed on the ground.

Neither put up any resistance as I tied them up.

Steve's guys were taken care of as well. I made my way over to him beside the children.

"Good work, Cap."

"You too, Widow." A small glint in his eye said he had missed being in the midst of action.

He tried to make the children feel safe but none of them seemed to understand what he was saying. As we went around untying them, he did his usual adopting comforting tones, crouching so he was eyelevel and even offering a smile or two. One girl whispered something to another, tears still trickling from her eyes. It sounded like Lithuanian.

So, I took over the talking.

"I count ten of them," Steve said once I was finished.

"Yeah."

"What're you thinking?"

I hesitated before I spoke. It sounded insane in my head. It would only sound worse out loud.

"We should take them to the compound."

"Nat, we should get them back to their family."

"They don't have any," I said, thinking of the emails languishing in my inbox. The things I knew were going to happen were finally before my eyes. "Taken in the Snap."

"Okay," he cleared his throat, "I'll let the police know they have a few more lowlifes for their cells."

I coaxed the kids onto the jet and got them all settled in. They were very good, didn't push any buttons or anything. Steve strolled on and the jet closed up behind him. We set it to autopilot so we could keep one eye on our guests.

"Want to get something to eat?"

"Yeah," Steve paused for a second, "how about shawarma?"

"Careful, say it three times and Tony will appear."

The slight curl of his lip was more relaxed than the others I'd seen recently. Our little jaunt to the docks working out some of the kinks building up from the long days of thinking. Or maybe it's just a temporary balm. Whatever it was, in that moment, it was welcome.

Because behind us we had a jet-load of people who could easily have disappeared into the world of human trafficking.

Not just any people.

Children.

They were meant to be innocent and looked after. Protected.

And those men planned to take that innocence from them, to throw them into a dark world with no hope or future.

So, every hit was worth it. Even if my knuckles complained.

I'm back at my desk now, the adrenaline is gone but the satisfaction of having done something, having achieved something is still there. As is the very real horror of what those children were facing.

Tom, I have a job to do. I very big job. Yes, it involves doing everything I can to bring those we lost back, but it also includes protecting those left behind.

I need to do what I can to make sure that when half the universe returns, they're coming back to something worth coming back to.

That means keeping Clint out of trouble and finding a way to reach the man I once knew, for the sake of Laura and the kids.

That means helping Thor to survive until he's in a state to find himself again.

That means cleaning up all the physical devastation caused by the Snap.

And that means setting up this organisation with Pepper.

She has an email from me waiting to be opened in the morning. Well, later this morning. I hope she's not awake. That woman needs her rest.

9 June 2018 - Morning

Hi Tom,

Incidentally, that also means setting up the Avengers again.

Our little escapade didn't go unnoticed. In fact, the apprehension of players in this particular human trafficking ring caught the eyes of quite a few up in the big house looking for a victory. The guys we picked off weren't nefarious or scheming but they did place a value on their own necks that was at odds with their employer's need for discretion.

Just as they were willing to kidnap and sell people without guilt, they were just as happy to sell out their boss. Loyalty a distant memory in these times.

Which is why a pompous and longwinded email landed in my inbox not too long after sunrise. It had Rhodey's name attached. It might have been typed by him, but they definitely weren't his words.

Translated from politician to English it said the government wanted the Avengers back. Not as simple as that of course, but it was there. They didn't just want those who'd signed the Accords, they wanted us rogues too.

Which meant there was room for negotiation.

Steve and I might have been forgiven for our sins, but that doesn't mean all was forgotten. The Accords are still there. The measures that Steve chafed against are still in place. But it meant we were in the position we wanted to be in. The one I was aiming for two years ago but was scuppered by the immense stubbornness of Shellhead and Cap, the most combustible duo since oil met flame.

As I thought about it there was this little thrill of excitement that had nothing to do with the promise of hitting people. We could be out there again. Making a difference. Helping people. Doing something.

Fighting side by side like we were supposed to, instead of being at each other's throats. Instead of distancing ourselves from each other.

I'm not saying it'll happen straight away, but a step is a step, right? Whatever direction it's in, it has to be better than here.

Steve would take that step. He's as restless as I am. Rhodey would come along too, even if it was forced on him by his higher ups. Maybe Bruce would. Depending on how deep he was in his work. Or even if he felt confident lending a hand while the Big Guy was incommunicado.

Thor? He was a tough one. One of my essential skills for SHIELD, and even for the Avengers, was profiling people. Figuring what makes them tick and knowing exactly how to get under their skin. Everything screamed that Thor was not ready and wouldn't be for a long time. There had to be another way to get him back with us. Integrating and socialising.

And Tony. Well, I wasn't going to prod that hornet's nest. The man deserved a break. He was on the cusp of getting everything he wanted.

Maybe, if he saw we were still fighting, Clint would come home.

I could recruit a few more, too. It didn't have to be just a domestic operation anymore. We had the means to reach beyond our atmosphere. A galactic network of allies was a very tempting ambition.

And I'm sure it must have belonged to Fury at some point.

If I'm honest, on the run, there were times I struggled to see us coming back into the light. The thought of officially being a part of the team again, allowed to operate in the open, it just felt so farfetched.

A shame it took halving the universe for it to happen.

9 June 2018 - Evening

I thought I was exhausted, Tom.

But then I went and brought ten kids into the compound. Who, for reasons I can't comprehend, think I'm the safest person around.

Anything scares them and they're right here hugging my legs or hiding behind my chair. To be fair, I am the one person who speaks their language.

They were braver at first. Glad to be away from their captors. Giddy at the sudden freedom they found before them and the wide-open space to explore all around.

Then they saw Rocket.

Some were wary, a raccoon balancing on a kitchen countertop and foraging through the cupboards as it muttered to itself isn't exactly something you see every day (unless he lives with you, of course). The others were fascinated.

For his part, Rocket did try to ignore the attention building up behind him, even when the braver ones started to coo and whistle, as if he were a dog. It was only once one of the younger ones stumbled over to pet him that he raised his hackles and he bared his fangs.

"Wanna keep your little pack of rats under control?" He mumbled on his way out the door.

"Want me to get you a muzzle?" I replied.

It took the better part of an hour to calm them down, they fed off of each other's fear and there was always one who would wind the others up just as the mood-o-meter was swinging back to calm.

Naturally, that peace only lasted half an hour. A girl with mousy-brown hair decided she needed to visit the toilet. And guess who was walking down the corridor as she came out of the bathroom.

Nebula.

Which now means, wherever I am so are they. Whenever one needed to go somewhere like the toilet I went too and stood outside. I had to rope Steve in to babysit just to stop the other nine from following.

"What's in it for me?" he said.

"Uh, I think you still owe me for saving your ass in Dublin."

"I don't think so, Romanoff. That made up for me coming to your rescue in Valetta."

"C'mon Rogers, we both know it was Sam who was in trouble there and Wanda saved the day."

"Guess you got a point. Not sure you answered my question though."

"Call it a talent," I smirked at him.

He's currently passed out on the sofa, snoring softly. Every now and then there are little hitches to his breath. I'm listening as much as I can, hoping he doesn't have a nightmare.

The last thing I need is ten wailing children and a crestfallen Captain America.

All the children are sleeping now, we've turned the living area into a makeshift room for them. And I'm tired in a way that I thought was only possible after an intense several days long mission. It's weird Tom. The tasks were menial, the conversation not exactly sparkling and yet I would gladly keep on having days like this.

The guilt of our loss loosened a little. The pressure of finding a way back for everyone eased ever so. The abyss that wanted to swallow me whole was, for the moment, not looming so large.

It was a drop of almost normality. A very small drop diluted swiftly by the vast ocean of despair, desperation and failure we were set adrift in.

A small relief that meant everything.

In the blur of the day I didn't see Pepper's reply until a few minutes ago. She wants me to go round.

Judging from the address they're not in the city anymore.

A/N: Tony's back in the next chapter, at long last. I have lots of ideas for the story floating around so we'll see what happens.

Oh. and I should probably just mention again that I own nothing but the story. all the rest belongs to Marvel.