"I think I'm losing it," Clint muttered to himself in the privacy of the barn. He paused and realised he was waiting for someone to answer, "yeah, I'm definitely losing it."

The night was so old it could almost be called a new day. From what Clint saw through the open barn door, the moon was shining bright. There was more than just his lamplight keeping him company.

It was colder than he expected. Enough to make him regret rushing out of the house without picking up extra layers. Then again, he hadn't planned to work through the night. Truth be told, he only noticed the cold when his fingers trembled so much that the pieces of the music box tumbled out of his grip. The tremors were violent and more than once he had to get on his hands and knees to seek out the escaped bits.

The light from the lamp and the moon weren't very helpful.

Clint was driven to the shadows of the barn by the memories of Nat. Or rather, Nat's memories. As he read that last entry the only thing swirling through his head were Fury's words from earlier that day.

He soon realised he didn't give a shit if his emotions were clear on his face. The only thing he gave a shit about, as he read about the name plate, was that she was right. He had been the death of her.

And he needed to get away from the proof of that.

But, in that respect, the barn also wasn't very helpful. In here she'd tried to help him fix the tractor. She played hide and seek with the kids. She endured his husbandly and fatherly venting. She snuck in and stuck to the shadows before scaring the living crap out of him. These things would knock against the walls he'd put up around his consciousness and leave wisps of memory that were almost unendurable.

He sharpened his focus on the task at hand.

Rebuild Lila's music box.

As long as he worked on that he could keep the memories away.

That's what he told himself.

But, of course, he was wrong.

The thing about the mission at the abandoned hospital that was most clear to him was after she was shot. Blood gushed out of her leg and he fumbled the first aid. Most people would yell out or push the offender away.

Not Natasha.

She didn't even hitch a breath.

No, the thing that had branded itself so deep into his mind, that it could slip past any defences he put up, was the look of annoyance on her face that anchored itself there. It was the first expression of hers he could properly read. It was something along the lines of 'what the hell, moron. I've just taken a bullet for you and you can't even be bothered to stem the bleeding correctly.'

He burst out laughing at the time. Three dead bodies circled them, more were in the hospital behind, and some of the smaller fires had merged together to form something much fiercer. For all intents and purposes there wasn't much to laugh about. But he was high on the adrenaline of near death and it felt ridiculous, yet oh so right, that she was annoyed with him.

They laughed their way onto the evac jet.

He wished it could make him laugh now.

It was a memory Clint couldn't fight, so he did his best to work through it instead. All the cogs, gears, and bits and bobs found their way to each other again. The archer was diligent in his work as he mapped the configuration of the music box in his mind. Once he was certain he had everything and nothing was beyond repair, he reconstructed the box. Fingers brushed over the inscription he couldn't read.

Every time he took a moment to regain focus or to force the cramp to release his hand, that look of annoyance flashed into view.

Just as the first light of day lapped against the barn, Clint straightened from his hunched position over the workbench. The box was in one piece again, though he didn't dare test it until he was sure the glue was dry. Which gave him more than a few empty moments when he could almost hear the clang of the name plate being thrown into the bin.

What did he expect? It was her way of dealing with things she didn't know how to deal with.

Physical pain, not a problem. It was one of the most consistent things of her childhood. Mental pain, as much a description of her early years as physical. Emotional hurt, well now. there's something she wasn't prepared for. It stumped her, and things that stumped her got dumped.

He was just thankful that Steve and Tony, in their own way, told her not to give up hope. Not to give up on him. As much as she might have wanted to, she never did. Instead of seeing the name plate as a symbol of what their friendship once was, she saw it as a beacon of what it could become once again. A return to the easy jokes between them, the thousands of anecdotes they'd collected together, and the ability to hold their hands up and say 'yeah, you were right'.

Clint's throat tightened and the eyes that had burned from exhaustion just moments before were now burning with the intensity of the emotion that welled up within him. As sick as he was of the unplanned crying sessions, he didn't want the day to come that the mere thought of Natasha didn't turn him to a blubbering mess. He was of the firm belief that he deserved to hurt for the rest of his days, and if tears weren't so forthcoming in the future he was afraid that meant he wouldn't be hurting.

"No, Clint," he said to himself and the shadows, "you're not losing it. You've already lost it." He slapped his thighs to bring him back to focus. There was a dull ache in both his legs and fingers that said, in no uncertain terms, there was more pain to feel as soon as he defrosted a little.

He opened the lid of the box and listened to the song. It was far from perfect. Broken and jumpy, but it was the best he could do. There was a chance Lila might throw it on the floor just because he'd touched it, but he was hoping her love for her aunt would outweigh any distaste she felt for him at the moment.

As he listened, the dark thoughts tried to come back to him, they circled and snapped and yelled words that reminded him of what a terrible person he'd become.

There was a squeak, maybe more of a grunt, as Liho jumped onto the bench and sniffed at his handiwork.

"Careful, you devil cat. Don't wanna get your nose stuck in some drying glue."

She turned to look at him, eyes reflecting the lamplight and Clint saw his own miserable face in them. She blinked, just the once. And before he realised what had happened the cat pressed her head to his forehead. A fleeting moment of comfort before she leapt to the ground and strolled out the door.

Leaving Clint behind to wonder if Liho took after Nat or if Nat took after Liho.

A couple of hours later, Laura came down the stairs to find her husband curled up on the sofa. His eyes were closed but the bags under them said they hadn't been for long.

She shushed everyone who came downstairs or into the kitchen, and scooped Nate up just before he jumped on his father's head. She figured it was much nicer for him to wake up to the smell of bacon than it was to an attack from his youngest child, who was way too energetic in the mornings.

And when everyone came round to the journals again, Laura took to the book from Clint's tired hands and let him rest his voice for the day.

30 July 2018

Hi Tom,

Have I mentioned Cassie Lang to you before?

I'm not sure. And I'm not really up for taking a trip down memory lane to find out, either. But whatever. Her dad is Scott Lang, otherwise known as Ant-man. Before the Snap he served out a two-year stint under house arrest for siding with Steve against the Accords.

A couple of days after he was granted his freedom, he disappeared like half of the universe. So did Scott's partner, Hope van Dyne, his ex-wife Maggie and her fiancé Jim Paxton.

Leaving Cassie with no one but Paxton's aging parents.

Steve followed the proceedings from afar, he feels responsible for getting the guy locked up for two years. The day the Paxton's were assigned as Cassie's legal guardians a sense of relief settled over him.

In the back of our minds it was settled. No need to think about the logistics of the thing. Until, of course, they paid us a visit today. Well, the Paxton's did. Cassie was kept far away from the people that led her father further astray than he'd ever been before.

They buzzed at the front gate and Friday let them in, after a quick conference with me. It took them five minutes to drive the meandering, yet otherwise clear, road from the gate to the compound entrance. Their car looked like it was the victim of more than one vandal.

I met them as they clambered out of the vehicle. Steve not far behind, intrigued by the novelty of people we don't know.

Greying and wrinkled, their backs held straight with a dignity that belied the strong will hidden beneath their advanced years. Mr Paxton shuffled his way into the building, his wife holding tight to his elbow.

They kept each other steady and eyed us in a way I don't think Steve was used to. Hesitant to trust, daring us to try something. But, you know, he is a former fugitive so he's gonna have to get used to it.

When they were settled down with a pot of tea between them, they showed us a photo of Cassie. The same curve of Scott's eyes settled around her own.

"Scott fought by your side," Mr Paxton said. He looked at Steve, hard.

"Yes sir," Steve said as he refused to flinch away from the gaze.

The elderly man moved his eyes to me.

"And you kicked his ass."

"Yes sir," I said and tried not to smirk at the ever so panicked stiffening of Steve's jaw. Mrs Paxton sipped her tea and Mr Paxton laughed.

"Can't say I haven't thought about it," he said, "but, the fact of the matter is, he helped you out with a fight that wasn't his and paid the price."

"I owe him," Steve said in that solemn way of his that made me want to roll my eyes.

"Miss Romanoff," Mrs Paxton said, setting her cup on the table. I straightened without thinking and I wanted to scoff at myself, but it was a long time since someone had addressed me like that. "You're involved with that organisation looking after those orphaned by the events in Africa."

"I am."

She nodded and the two of them looked at each other, sharing thoughts and words with a single glance. If I ever doubted telepathy existed in this world of gods, monsters, magic and aliens, I would have believed in it then.

"It doesn't please me to say this," the woman said with a sigh behind her words, "but we need your help. Before what happened our life was very frugal. We had what we needed and nothing more. And we love Cassie, she's a sweet girl, but she refuses to leave her home. We can't afford to keep two houses."

"And we're old," Mr Paxton carried on, "we won't always be around and who will look after her then?"

Question: Who was the least fortunate in all of this? Those who had a lot to lose or those who never had much to begin with and ended up losing everything?

The kids from the port, they didn't have much before the Snap. Maybe like one parent each who disappeared and couldn't stop them from falling into the enterprising hands of human traffickers. Their whole way of life crumbled away.

Then there was Cassie. She was different, three parents who doted on her. She went to school, had friends and was safe. Then that entire net of people went poof. Her safety was in question, even after her guardianship was transferred over to the two people sat in front of me. Life as she knew it was gone.

Answer: They're all as fucking unlucky as each other.

"Scott was one of us," Steve said, "how can we help?"

They didn't know. Not for sure. They just knew they needed help.

They stayed for half an hour, exchanged a few stories about Cassie and filled in a few more details on their situation. The financial side of things were dire. They had their pensions to live on, which weren't that great. And since death was so difficult to prove unless the disappearance was caught on camera, insurance companies weren't jumping to the rescue.

Which is why, by the time they got back to the Lang-Paxton household they would find everything paid for and in their name, on the condition that ownership was to be transferred to Cassie once she was old enough.

Sometimes it's good to have friends in high places.

If only it was so easy dealing with the Barton farm.

31 July 2018

Another group of assholes made it onto our radar. Steve was going stir crazy so I sent him off to do some recon.

Looks like they're trafficking drugs instead of people.

Meanwhile, I'm looking into property. There's one company that's come into a lot of real estate in the last couple of months. I'm not convinced it's all legal. There are reports of Snap survivors turfed out of their homes because it was their other half, or their parents who owned it. And the owners were dusted.

It's the same old story. The rich get richer and the poor get poorer.

2 August 2018

Hi Tom,

I don't really have anything new to say at the moment.

Nothing's changing.

Thor still spends all of his time in his room. Steve is still in that phase of trying to act normal. Bruce is still buried behind a wall of books and paper. From some of the frenzied pacing I've witnessed I think he's nearing a breakthrough.

I've never got that about science. Yeah, sure, I can understand the theories and follow along as my genius friends spout off their excitement in words most people can't understand. But that feeling of knowing you're close, knowing that any second now an answer is going to pop up behind one complicated equation or another. How can you possibly know?

I suppose it's like combat. You spend however long fighting your opponent and even though they keep putting up a fight you know there's a way through. You just have to be strategic; think about the placement of your fists, your footing and guess how the enemy will react. And when they start doing what you want them to, well then you know you're about to have a breakthrough of your own. Right through their defences.

But anyway, there isn't anything to write about. And still, I feel the need to write. Sometimes I think if I'd always done this I would have settled in better right at the start. When I defected, just before I went through the deprogramming, SHIELD assigned me a therapist. She was a nervous little thing, jumped every time I moved and only calmed when she realised the cuffs were staying on. Glad I never told her it was easy to get out of them.

In one of the sessions she suggested I start a diary, or write a letter to four-year old me about the intervening years. I laughed, cursed at her in my mother tongue, and managed to summon the willpower not to spit at her.

She never suggested it again. I think my laugh unnerved her more than the sour expression I reserved just for those sessions.

Maybe I should have listened.

Or maybe I filed the idea away for a time I needed it most.

Who knows.

Did I mention Tony got a little tipsy the other night when he and Pepper forced me to have dinner with them? There are two types of alcohol fuelled Tony Stark. The shit-we-could-all-die-tomorrow-so-better-live-it-up-tonight version and the everything's-sad-so-so-sad one.

The former was more prominent before the Avengers, when he blew stuff up just because he could. I was lucky enough to witness one of these appearances when I spied on him for SHIELD. The latter started after Wanda screwed with his mind. It also happened to be the side of him that came out as the evening matured.

We tried to keep the tone bright, knowing there was too much despair lapping at the three of us to even consider dipping our toes in that particular body of water. But something pushed him over the edge and he started talking about Peter Parker.

I only met the kid before the fight at the airport. T'challa was concerned about his age. I didn't even notice until it was pointed out. Sometimes I forget it's not normal for kids to be involved in the murky going ons of the world. He was a bright kid, dealt a shit hand in life and he refused to buckle. While we were on the run I caught the story about what went down in New York with him and the Toomes guy. It was impressive.

Listening to Tony berate himself over the kid dying in his arms was unbearable. The grimace from Pepper was all I needed to know it wasn't the first time she'd heard it. Whatever we said he wouldn't listen, and tipsy Tony cast a maudlin cloud over the table. Neither of us could blame him. We all lean towards the maudlin right now.

Ever since they left that night, I've been wondering what it was like for Laura and the kids. I think about what they might have been doing. Were any of them alone? Were they all together? Did they try and hold on like Peter did? Or did they just disappear in a breath of wind?

I try not to write about them often, it's too painful. But I know Laura would have twigged what was happening and worried for the children's safety. I can imagine Nate running around and coming to a standstill as he realised part of his arm was gone and, as he watched, even more of it was going. Cooper would have panicked, who wouldn't? It's just hard to imagine. He's always so laid back, it takes a lot to ruffle his feathers. Even with my teasing.

And then there's Lila. She acts tough because she is tough. I think she inherited it from both her parents. Underneath that though, there's a fear of not being in control. If she had a chance to notice what was happening to her, the panic would have been full blown. If that was the case, I hope she had someone there to comfort her like Peter did.

3 August 2018

Hi Tom,

Got to beat up some bad guys today.

That drug trafficking ring Steve was looking into.

Fisk is a pile of dust with enemies to spare and petty criminals are ruling the streets. His territory snapped up quick, but not everyone is happy. Whether they've missed out or they think they should have more.

Steve and I spent a couple of hours letting our rage out on the men. Then we threw them behind bars. A short-term solution. There were always two more people ready to fill up the space left by one. Still, mini-power vacuums everywhere was better than having someone rise to the top.

4 August 2018

Hi Tom,

I told Rocket that people on this planet were scared of me.

If those same people caught me tasting wedding cakes with Pepper, would they still be scared?

Apparently, her taste buds are going haywire and she doesn't trust Tony not to go for something insane just because he can. So she's enlisted my help with all food related wedding planning.

They're getting married next month.

It was going to be super fancy with all the thrills and frills you'd expect to come with the event of the year.

Then the Snap happened and they both felt going big wasn't appropriate anymore. Something intimate and personal was called for. It's going to be at their home, beside the lake at midday. A handful of people will be there.

I think they sometimes feel guilty that they're even going ahead with it. But in times of such adversity, it takes real strength to find something to celebrate.

And Tony and Pepper have always been a couple of the strongest people I know.

7 August 2018

Hi Tom,

Went on a field trip today. Had to go to a bank then see a lawyer about the farm. Clint has become Schrödinger's Archer.

Sort of.

Dead enough to put his property back on the market. Not dead enough for his will to be released.

Vintage Clint.

I am not letting someone else own their home. Either I would buy it or I would inherit it. I'm not being presumptuous about the latter. Clint gave me the heads up once that if anything ever happened to him and his family, the farm was mine. We often got that morbid. Hard not to when you faced death on an almost daily basis.

Either way, I plan to sign the ownership over to them, as soon as they're back.

When I got back to the compound I stepped out of the car and watched as a small ship hurtled from the sky. It slowed just before it touched down and landed on the grass with more grace than I expected. I took a moment to imagine the sheer panic unfolding in secret facilities across the world as they tracked the UFO entering the orbit and making a beeline for America. I wondered if there was a sigh of relief as they realised where it was heading.

"False alarm guys, it's just those bloody Avengers scaring the shit out of us," some desk-bound scientist yelled in my head as a hatch opened and someone started to descend. It wasn't the ship Rocket and Nebula had, so I didn't expect them. And I doubted it was Carol, it wasn't her style.

I made my way over. If they meant any harm they would have shot me down before landing. A woman alighted and patted the back of the spacecraft as it closed itself up. She looked bone weary and was a little unsteady on her feet. A blue cloak billowed behind her and a sword hung at her side.

"This your place?" She called across the space between us and nodded at the compound.

"Sort of."

Blue cloak, sword, and white armour. This was the woman who helped Thor and Bruce on Sakaar.

"Thor in there?"

"Yeah."

"Good. I need to talk with him. But first, I need rest." She held her hand out, awkward as if she wasn't one for such niceties. "Most people call me Valkyrie."

I shook her hand and said "most people call me Natasha."

"Ah, the Black Widow," she saw the question in my eyes and added, "Thor speaks fondly of his Midgardian friends. You once outwitted the god of mischief himself."

"Wasn't that hard."

Our visitor is resting now. I can just tell she's going to make an entrance tomorrow.