"All anyone ever wants to do is remember the best of people once they're gone and that's bullshit," Fury's voice travelled from the Quinjet and over the air, stomping its way on every bit of breeze as if it was wearing those heavy duty boots the man himself was so taken with. "Take Stark for example, history will brush over the womanising and the wild child behaviour as he grew up. Hell, even after he grew up. But he'd be the first person to say that was an important part of him. It made him the man he was. And without that man we wouldn't be watching the world memorialising him like he was the second coming of Jesus.

"Even Natasha, now she's gone they're happy to forget they hated her for a good long while. I'm willing to bet my reputation she didn't want to be remembered as a saint."

Clint was on his way to the barn, where he'd set up a makeshift workshop, when he heard the voices. He decided to hang around in the shadow of the jet. The remnants of Lila's music box were jostling about on the tray in his hands. He didn't know how to fix his relationship with her, but he could at least fix this.

They'd all realised the day was getting away from them and decided to take a break from the journals in an attempt to get something else done. Someone had put the radio on where they all heard that a TV studio was planning on airing a docu-series on Tony's life story.

It seemed to irk Fury.

Clint wasn't a fan of the news either. No doubt the Avengers would play a supporting role when it came to that part of the story, but that's not what bothered him. The man was still warm in his grave and already companies were coming forward to cash in on his name. It was something Tony wasn't fond of in life, that's why he was never backward in coming forward. He beat everyone else to the punch and claimed the attention and the gains before anyone else could. The only person cashing in on his name was him. Even then, Clint was sure that money found its way into the bank accounts of several charities. Now he was gone, and everyone he kept at bay was pecking at him like vultures.

"I wouldn't bet against you," Hill said, "she took pride in how difficult she made life for people. She was a pain in the ass. Did what we all wanted to do and dared us to punish her for it."

"Did you?" Wanda's voice sounded light. More so than it had for a long time. To Clint, there was a shadow of laughter colouring her words.

"Had to," Fury growled, "would make us look soft otherwise."

"Whatever punishment we gave her, she wore it with grace. The only time she came close to cracking was when we confined her to her quarters for a month. She might've too, if we didn't have a carefree archer sneaking in to keep her company. Even then, she just paced a lot," Hill said, there was a hint of admiration in her voice.

"Those two together caused more trouble than my job was worth," Fury sighed, "but that's what made them great agents. Bringing me back to my point, Natasha would never want to be remembered as the golden girl who didn't put a foot wrong. If she was to be remembered she'd want it to be with warts and all. Like with Stark, it makes her achievements all the more incredible. I just think editing how we remember Stark is a disservice to the man. If we're gonna remember the person, we ought to remember the whole."

"Why did you confine her to her quarters?" Wanda asked.

"She beat the crap outta Rumlow. Bastard deserved it but SHIELD couldn't turn the other cheek when a rookie agent was going round beating up her peers," Fury said. Clint smiled. Everyone was so wrapped up in the stories from her they hadn't heard, no one had much thought for the ones they already knew. Cooper and Lila talking about their version of her had opened a floodgate. Even Fury and Hill were swept up in the current. "If I'd known then what he was a part of and what he was gonna do I would have let her finish him off."

Hill laughed and Wanda didn't say anything. Despite all the good she'd done since, Rumlow was a sore point for her. Clint hoped she could get past it, forget about what his actions cost her. But in that regard she was too much like Nat, always focused on the negative she'd been a part of and never looked at the good she'd achieved.

"How do you reckon Clint's holding up?" Hill said once the silence had grown a little too long. "Every time I remember it hurts like a son of a bitch. It's got to be a thousand times worse for him."

The man in question shifted, regretting his choice to linger. He wanted to share in their memories of Nat, not in their speculation about his wellbeing.

"He's clinging on," Fury said, "by just a thread mind you. Have you watched him as he reads those journals? Everything is so clear on his face, sometimes I wonder if he's the same man I once thought of as one of my best spies."

"Course he's not, sir," Hill said with heat to her voice, "how can he be when he's lost a huge part of himself? First his family, then his partner. The two of them together were something special. If it weren't such a romantic notion I'd say they were like soul mates. But maybe like siblings is a better description."

"Still doesn't encompass their relationship."

Silence interrupted them again, Wanda sniffled. Clint imagined she wiped at her eyes with her sleeve, furious that she'd let the tears fall.

"He dreams about her," came Wanda's cracked voice as she gave words to a knowledge she couldn't bear to carry anymore, "whenever he manages to sleep it's all he sees. And something else. I think it's the first time they met. But he's swimming in guilt and I don't know how to stop him from feeling it."

"Does he have anything to feel guilty for?" Fury's words were sharp, like Clint's were whenever he found out one of his kids had lied.

"No."

"Then there's no stopping it. That's up to him."

"You've seen his dreams?" Hill rejoined the conversation, unable to contain her curiosity as Steve had his, earlier that day.

"I don't mean to. But they're just so strong they become a part of mine. That's why I want to stay in here with you."

"What happened with her?" Both the spies asked.

"That's not my memory to share."

"But Nat. What was-? How-?"

"She was brave," Wanda said, "determined."

Her voice cracked again on the last word and Clint slipped away, silent. Around the jet and towards the barn so no one saw.

He spent the next half an hour trying to focus on the box. Except memories of Vormir wouldn't leave him alone. So he thought of other things.

He thought of the time she was stretchered in after her first run in with the Winter Soldier. The realisation she wasn't invulnerable came crashing down on him and fear choked all sense out of him. He refused to leave her bedside while she recovered.

Of when he came to after the Loki incident and she was there, ready to talk him through it and being that someone he needed to lean on or vent at or fight against, so his marriage didn't have to take on that burden. Knowing what it's like to come to yourself after losing control.

The fear she felt when she confronted him in Tokyo. Not afraid that he might hurt her physically, but that he was too far gone to come back.

The smile that grew wider and brighter as they headed back to the compound, the air full of the stories she had to tell instead of the grief he'd spent years giving into. The only smile brighter was the one she wore as they sped off to Vormir.

But most of all, he remembered when he introduced her to his family and later when he gave her the arrow necklace because he realised she was a part of that family. Her smile might have been dimmed by the tears haunting her eyes but he knew, as much as he knew anything, that she'd never been happier in those moments.

"Hey," Steve's voice rumbled from the entrance, drawing Clint back to the present and the realisation that he'd made no progress with the music box, "Nate's asking about the auntie Nat stories. Laura said dinner will take a while so we can fit a couple more in. If you're up to it."

"How're you finding them?" Clint asked as he stood from the workbench, satisfied by the clicking of his knees as they straightened.

"I was there for most of it, so far," Steve ducked his head, "but it's like I'm hearing it all for the first time. I was so wrapped up in my own thing."

"We all were, buddy. Even Nat."

Clint patted the soldier's shoulder and they walked out of the barn together. He left the box behind to work on tomorrow.

16 July 2018

I was suffocating. I couldn't breathe.

When I tried, something thick and coppery filled my mouth and attempted to slip down my throat and clog my lungs. It was relentless, swallowing me whole as someone held me under. I wanted out but wasn't strong enough to fight back.

The lapping liquid drained my strength.

I thrashed like I never had in real life. Desperate to escape, desperate to live.

And in the desperation-induced-commotion I swallowed some of what was drowning me. I choked, spluttered and gagged at the warmth as much as I could beneath the surface. My only achievement was swallowing more.

I was trapped. My hands found the edge of whatever contained the liquid. They slipped. My ribs complained at the sudden bashing they received but I couldn't listen. My lungs hurt more.

Then, whoever held me under pulled me up. They grasped at my hair and broke a few loose. I felt the air trying to get into my system. I told my body to calm itself. To regulate itself. But it didn't listen. I gasped for oxygen and it made the choking worse. It was a struggle not to vomit.

Through all of this I kept my eyes closed. Feeling the viscous liquid dripping from my forehead, my nose, my chin. I felt it in the creases of my scrunched up eyelids and the furrow of my brow. It was in my ears and the tang of it peppered my mouth.

Whoever had hold of my hair yanked my head back and wiped my eyes clear. The cloth was rough and scratchy. When I did open my eyes I couldn't see who was with me, they were too blurred.

All I saw was the red.

Everywhere.

Up the walls and over the floor because of my struggle. Stained into my clothes, hands and arms so my skin matched my hair.

The taste remained on my tongue. I wanted to heave.

Thick and warm and all over me.

I wanted to scream. The desire bubbled within. To scream my vocal cords raw. Because I knew I would never be free of it. Whatever I do, however far I travel, it will always be right behind me.

My captor was still there. They watched as I blinked and absorbed all that was around me. Then offered me water to swill my mouth with. I accepted and watched as it swirled amidst the other liquid when I spat it out.

They said something then. I didn't hear the words. They echoed and they were muffled in a way that words could never be. What I did hear was the voice. It could have been Nick's, or Maria's, or Wanda's, or Sam's. Maybe it was Steve's.

Maybe they were all there. Maybe the echoes weren't echoes, just other voices. The shadows moved and more blurry figures stepped into view before dissolving.

Ash choking the air.

Covering every surface.

It stuck to me, settled into the sticky red liquid so I was nothing but a collage of blood and ash.

My ledger.

That's all it was.

Blood and ash.

...

...

When I woke it was to shaking and the patented Rogers furrowed brow of concern. I'm not sure if I managed to form a few words, if I did they were incoherent because the concern flickered to confusion for a micro-second.

The first word I remember saying was "Steve."

"I'm here, Nat," was his reply. He lifted me up as he sat on the sofa then held me close as I clawed the rest of the way out of my nightmare. He squeezed my shoulders, rubbed my arms and brushed aside the hair sticking to my face.

It was only when I heard the gentle thud thud thud that I realised my head rested on his chest. I thought about moving but I couldn't. The visions were still there. Imprinted on the backs of my eyelids.

I stayed.

"This is why I don't sleep anymore," I said.

His laugh was small and polite, but it was enough.

His heartbeat was normal. Mine was fast.

His heart was calm. Mine was frantic.

So I clung to him without knowing what I was doing. I ignored the taste of salt on my lips because I wasn't sure if it was sweat or tears.

I held on to him and listened to his heart, soaked in the calm.

I held on to him because I was glad he was flesh and bone and in front of me.

That he was still alive.

17 July 2018

Hi Tom,

Tony phoned yesterday. Said I was cordially invited to dinner with him, Pepper and Rhodey. I don't feel up to it. Rhodey said he was going, though. I don't feel so bad for turning them down.

19 July 2018

I haven't slept since Steve rescued me from my dreams.

I haven't felt like this since I first defected from the Red Room. When every trip to the land of nod would result in a visit from Madame B, or Dreykov, or myself. All the parts I wanted to bury deep that always found a way of resurfacing. All those things I did that I could never be forgiven for.

Instead I work all hours. If I'm not looking at the screens at my desk I'm walking the corridors, shoulders hunched over as I squint at the tablet pretty much glued to my hands.

Steve's made a habit of popping by at odd times, I think he's checking in to make sure I'm not being bothered by those pesky dreams.

We've settled into an easier companionship now. I'm not so pissed about all the Avenger responsibility being dumped on me and he's not so huffy about the paperwork I send his way.

Updates come in from Nebula and Rocket about three times a week. They've checked in on a couple of places and it's pretty much like Earth. Whoever's left is banding together to do their best in the face of disaster. But behind that cracking facade there are those who are doing their worst.

Carol sends something once a week, sometimes twice. Reporting the same as the other two. She's keeping her ear to the ground but the only thing she's really heard is that the Kree are staying as secretive as they always have, some are scared they might make a move to conquer other worlds as they did before. This time taking advantage of the disorder left behind after the Snap.

I hear from Okoye and Rhodey every day.

I've even heard from Wong, things seem to be ticking along nicely with him.

21 July 2018

Never let it be said Russians are easy to please.

For as long as they hammered and clamoured, I couldn't wait for Rocket and Nebula's side project to be over.

Now they were gone it was easier to concentrate. There was no grumpy Thor complaining about the persistent noise, nor did I find myself clutching my head, trying to keep a headache at bay.

And yet, I can't help but miss the sound. It always reminded me there was life within our walls. The silence made it easy to forget there was anyone else around. Sometimes it's easy to believe I'm the only one left.

I zone out sometimes.

Taken me a while to figure out I'm listening for their work. Waiting for the hammering, muffled swearing and the clash of metal on metal as the fur ball loses his temper. I listen for it all. It never comes.

Instead I've started trying to fill the empty space with other things. Thought it might be a good idea to get everyone together for a meal.

Not the most successful experiment.

The guys turned up, including Thor, who was wasted. If I ever get hold of that raccoon again he's gonna have hell to pay.

"I smell Mexican," Rhodey said as he strolled in, clapping his hands together. He failed to notice Thor giving the food on the hob an extra long inspection, his hand just inches away from the heat.

"You'll smell burning Asgardian in a minute." I nodded towards Thor, hands full with everything I took to the table. With Steve's help he managed to bring the god to his chair. Bruce helped me lay the table.

We ate. We spoke. The meal passed without incident.

"We must have drink," Thor said, stumbling to his feet, I'm sure, with every intention of searching the communal kitchen for alcohol.

"Thor, I'm not sure that's a good idea," Bruce followed him.

"But I think it is, Banner. It makes me feel better," Thor clapped a hand on Bruce's shoulder and held the other to his own heart, "isn't that what we're trying to do? Make ourselves feel better. Tell me, man of science, if this is not a good idea, what is?"

Bruce looked over his shoulder to the rest of us, at a complete loss.

"Uh, I. Umm," the scientist stepped back and scratched his head, still coming up short. Rhodey looked at the table, keeping his gaze away from the two guys in the kitchen. Steve was looking right at them but the question was clear on his face; would him getting involved make things worse? I found myself wishing for a high-strength tranquiliser to diffuse the situation.

"It takes time Thor," were the words Bruce landed on, "you won't heal if you keep on hiding from what's making you drink."

"I do not hide," Thor punched his way through one of the cupboards, "I am Asgardian. A god to some of your Midgardian peers. If I do not wish to feel this pain then I should not have to."

"Thor," Steve tried, finding an answer to his question. The god gave a huge roar. For a moment I thought the Hulk was in the room, the last thing we needed.

"Fine. Tell me what to do instead. I am Thor. I am mighty. I can do anything. I don't need to imbibe your Midgardian concoctions." He span around the room and almost hit Bruce in the head with his wild arms. His eyes found the lake outside, glinting in the sunset. "Perhaps a swim, my brothers and sister. Let us take our frivolities outside. Bask in the sun and ask the water to cleanse us of this failure, which reeks so strong."

The halls echoed with his footsteps and we followed them as fast as we could. My gut wrenched with each one. His pain festered with every day that passed and I had no idea how to clean the wound.

By the time we reached the lake he was jumping in, fully clothed. We stood by and watched as he punched and kicked the water with all the force he had.

"Uhh, can he swim?" Rhodey asked.

"I think so," was Bruce's small answer.

"Good. Cos, I'm not going in there. He might call down lightening or something. And, you know," he gestured to the lower half of his body, "legs."

As we watched we each broke a little more. We all hid how we were feeling, but this pain was something Thor was not used to. It was piled on top of all the grief he felt for his family and his people. All his life he had succeeded. With Thanos all he tasted was failure.

He refused to relieve himself of even a little bit of that responsibility. He'd forgotten that he was not the only one to fight the Titan and fall.

It sucked that the only comfort to offer him was that he didn't fail alone. He failed with the rest of us.

He was so broken and so shattered, in a way none of us had seen. I'm sure there's still more to see.

Rhodey and Steve disappeared inside. Someone was trying to get hold of the Avengers, they decided to answer.

Bruce and I watched over Thor.

"You know, when I said I missed talking to you, I didn't mean we should catch up like this," Bruce ducked his head as he spoke.

I snorted. His sense of humour was as dry as mine. It was something I came to appreciate in the days we spent living at the Avengers Tower. Before Ultron ruined everything.

We didn't say anything more. Neither one in the mood to make conversation between splashes of water and boastful god-of-thunder stories. Instead, we stood on the shore and watched as the waves and ripples shot away from the drunken god.

24 July 2018

There was a call from Pepper today. She's invited me over for dinner.

First Tony, then her. A week apart. I know a conspiracy when I smell one, I am paranoid after all.

All this work though, and a few missions in the field, I had to turn her down.

27 July 2018

We had our first team call today.

Pleased to report Rocket and Nebula's modifications are holding up. They're somewhere I don't know how to spell. So is Carol.

Okoye gave her report on anything they've noticed in the territories surrounding Wakanda. There's an increase in arms deals and desperate poachers taking risks. No world-ending threats, so far.

Rhodey heard word of more human trafficking, said he'll follow up on any leads and let me know. Steve sat silent behind the desk as I leant against it. Arms folded.

"Each planet I've been to has their own problems," Carol said, "so far nothing I've been able to link together. It doesn't look like there's a larger plot afoot at the moment."

"Same here," Rocket added.

"Right," I sighed, "thank you, all of you. It's good to keep an eye on everything. Do what you can and keep the rest of us in the loop."

There was a chorus of goodbyes and the room was a little darker once the holograms disappeared.

"Got nothing to say?" I asked the soldier.

He moved forward in his seat and I adjusted my position so I was half sat on the desk. There were bags under his eyes and he needed to shave again. I wondered what waited for him when he tried to sleep and I almost missed the mischievous glint in his eye.

"Yeah, actually. I was going through our stuff, the bits we left behind after Germany and I found this in yours."

From somewhere hidden underneath the desk he pulled out a name plate. Agent Romanoff was engraved on it.

"You were going through my stuff?"

"Well, it was just sat there on top begging me to ask the question."

"And what question would that be?"

At some point during the exchange I became aware of two presences, they hung back not wanting to interrupt. Or, more likely, not wanting to enter into an argument. I recognised the cologne anywhere and I thanked him in the back of my mind for not barging in. Even if it was his property. The light in Steve's eyes had been missing for a while, and as he teased me I saw a little glimmer of it again.

"Why on Earth do you have it?"

Steve held it between his hands so I was faced with my name. I took it from him and weighed it in my palms.

"Clint," I said. The atmosphere in the room changed with that single word. I didn't mean for it to, but there was an emotion lurking beneath that we all seemed to be attuned to these days. I didn't take my eyes off the name plate as I explained.

"There was a mission nine months after I defected, back in our Strike Team Delta days before Coulson managed to get a handle on us," the mission was still clear in my head and my leg throbbed as an unnecessary reminder, "everything that could go wrong did. Long story short, we were in an abandoned hospital, just us two. Dozens of hostiles taken out, fires blazing from grenades and evidence of gunfire everywhere. We were crouched in the entrance, just needed to secure the area outside. He'd taken shrapnel to the shoulder and I had a nasty cut above my eye. Both of us were pretty much at the end of our tether. But he saw a kid on the ground outside. He didn't even think about it, just ran straight out to her. Left me to clear up the mess his thoughtlessness created.

"There were three men out there waiting for us. I got the first two right between the eyes as I ran after Clint, who was crouched over the girl. He got the third after I pushed him to the ground and caught a bullet in my leg. The kid disappeared and Clint called for an extraction. He applied pressure to the wound but his hands slipped and it hurt like hell. Running into a trap like that and failing at basic first aid, I told him he was going to be the death of me. He just laughed and said 'of course not. You're going to live long enough to be shuffled into a desk job with SHIELD and wish I had been.' I was still in the medical wing when he gave this to me. For my desk."

I stopped talking and thought more about the mission. It was a pretty run-of-the-mill one for us. There was worse to come, there had even been worse before. But it was one of the ones that stuck with me.

It was a milestone I never thought I'd achieve. The first time I'd put someone else's life before my own. With all the years of training and conditioning and bullying, it had taken nine months with SHIELD and one intelligent man with a family doing one stupid thing to undo it all. With that mission my survival wasn't my only priority anymore.

We both needed to come back.

And, no one knew this though I think Clint suspected, that name plate was the first thing anyone had ever given me. In the hospital bed I remember thinking it was silly. Then the next thought to flash through my head was 'but it's mine'.

Steve covered my hand with his, when I looked in his eyes that glimmer of light was gone.

"We'll find him, Nat. We'll bring him home."

I wanted to say his home is ash and dust, floating in the air like so many other people's. There was no finding him until there was a home to bring him back to.

I threw the plate in the bin and stood, letting my mask click back into place.

"Better stop lurking in the shadows, you two. Otherwise we might think we have intruders."

"Sorry to interrupt the pity party," Tony said, stepping from the shadows and into our line of view.

"Tony," Pepper said, shaking her head and looking apologetic.

Steve stiffened. His surprise was a sign of how off his game he was. He was almost as good at sensing people as I was, and Tony wasn't the most subtle. The last time they saw each other was at the memorial. Where they were frosty but civil.

Neither one looked at the other.

"Come on, Pep, you know she'd be the first to admit that's what this is."

"Guilty," I said as I hugged the taller woman.

"Sorry about him," Pepper said, behind me there was a creaking of the chair as Steve hefted himself from it and a small clunk that only the most practised ear could pick up. I knew that once I turned around the name plate would be out of the bin and sitting front and centre on the desk. "How are you, Steve?"

"Oh, I'm - you know. I should probably go, I have someone's paperwork to do." He gave me a sidelong glance on his way towards the door.

"I gave it to you. It's your paperwork, Steve. Like I said, one of the perks of this whole thing," I called after him.

"Oh yeah, you're in charge of all this now," Tony walked along the floor to ceiling windows, sweeping his arms around him to take in the whole room. "What is it they say? With great power comes-"

"A hell of a lot of work," I cut in. He laughed.

"Yeah, something like that."

"What brings you both all the way here?"

"We invited you to dinner," Pepper said, "and Tony's a little hurt you turned us down both times."

"Yeah, so I figured we'd give you an invitation you couldn't refuse."

"You mean, turn up and not give me a choice?"

"Pretty much. You reckon Bruce is free? I spoke to him this morning and he said he was busy, but I think he could use a break."

"Leave him be," I said, "he's on the brink of figuring something out and I don't think he'll thank anyone for steering him off track, even if it is for food."

"Guess it's just us then," Pepper said, "Nat, come with me. I wanted to go over a couple of things before we eat."

They stayed a few hours. Pepper and I worked together and it made a change from the email tag and interrupted phone calls. I offered to cook but Pepper made me go for a walk around the compound with Tony.

"He needs to burn some energy off otherwise he'll be a nightmare in the car on the way home," was her reasoning.

They went and everything I'd put to the back of my mind came hurtling back. There was a mission to prepare. Intel from Rhodey to go over. Information from our three galactic travellers to sift through. Another proposal for WOOPS to go over and so much more.

With all that saturating my thoughts I didn't notice the change to my desk straight away. When I did, I stopped short. Steve had indeed pulled the discarded plate from the bin, it sat on my desk, half of it covered in paper sellotaped to cover the word 'Agent'. As I stepped closer I saw Tony's scrawling script.

He'd written 'Director'.

I laughed.

I've left it where it is. When we do bring Clint back I can tell him he was right. That I did live long enough to get a desk job. That he wasn't the death of me after all.

A/N: Thanks for reading :)

As always, keep yourself safe and healthy. And thank you to everyone helping others.