11 October 2018
Hi Tom,
A whole week gone since the attack on the Benetar.
They haven't turned up yet. Each day that passes the more alert we become. Even Rhodey and Okoye.
God how boring am I? Writing down how I watched other people salvage a dire situation. Talking about how I'm using my immense skills to push paper. And it's not even real paper. Just digital files. I'm not even at risk of a paper cut.
Way to go Natasha.
Nebula, Rocket and Carol are out there facing danger. You know, danger that more people out there are trying to finish the job. Danger that the ship will fall to pieces around them. Danger that they might tear each other apart before they make it back to Earth.
Is it bad I'm jealous? I mean, sure, I'll always treasure the memory of Pepper's wedding. But all that was energy I'd usually put into taking down a bad guy. Instead of exploring actual space and facing down aliens, trading with them, or setting up a network we could later rely on, I was finding a dress and threatening the caterer.
I want to be in the thick of it again. So bad.
It's true I didn't choose this life. Not at first. Not really. I was forced through the Red Room like a lab rat is ushered through a maze, but I enjoyed SHIELD. It showed me my skills didn't have to be used for bad. I lived for the action. The missions however small. However big. Termination, extraction, intel-gathering, recon. All of it, and not just because it wiped away some of the red.
The adrenaline was addictive. It still calls to me. It keeps me alert and awake and active, and that keeps the bad memories and dreams away. It gave me calm. A sense of self.
And I'm denied it now, shoved behind the desk. Watching others put in the hard work. All I have is an emptiness and no amount of gym time or runs around the perimeter can fill it.
Doesn't stop me from trying though.
It keeps me mission-ready, but at some point it became a way to fool myself into thinking I might get into the field sometime soon. A small luxury taken away when I witnessed the new Avengers fighting the fight I was a part of, not so long ago.
Even Steve gets to knock some heads together, and I'm not sure his heart is in it anymore. It's alright for Bruce, he's not a fan of adrenaline. He prefers to be cooped up. Circumstances in his life made him shy away from the action.
Mine made me search it out.
But I can't. Not anymore. It's taking every ounce of willpower I've gathered over the years because the job behind the desk needs to be done, and I know how to do it. When I imagine Steve here instead of me, it's flashes of piles of teetering paperwork. Rushing from mission to admin because he can't quit the feeling of making a difference. It's as addictive as adrenaline. Even before the serum he was a man of action, couldn't sit still even though his doctors advised it.
Having spent years on ice, the pull was stronger than ever before.
I often think about what I would have done with my life if I wasn't trained to kill. It's hard to be sure. I have few memories of my life before, and I'm not sure if the ones that linger are real. But I do know paperwork is not in my blood. I would be doing something, whatever kept me busy and fit.
Or maybe it's all part of the conditioning.
Does choosing to believe it's real make a difference?
The world is weird. I've said it a few times, I know. But every year seems to bring another surprise with it. I honed my skills and added to them so that I would always be of use. But how can I fit in now? What possible use can I be in this strange new world?
Well, would you look at that. I've gone from boring to self-pitying.
There are some days, you know, when I really think I can do it. Escape from the pull of the black hole that's threatening to swallow us all up.
Then there are others when I think it's best to just give in.
Anyway, I'm all over the place. I'm not sure what I've written even makes sense.
Better sign off for the day.
15 October 2018
Hi Tom,
The Benetar arrived last night.
They were slowed down by the state of the ship. It wasn't as bad as when Carol fished it out of space with Tony on board, but still enough to delay their triumphant return.
Steve and I spent the day shooting glances through the window in case the massive machine had found a way to sneak up on us. The sun sunk lower and the clock put up a decent argument of it being dinnertime. Bruce wandered in, realised we weren't up for even the smallest bit of conversation, and wandered back out.
That was when we felt it. The air vibrated. Non-stop and strong. The sort of vibration you felt in your bones and caused windows to rattle in their panes and glasses in their cupboards. My tablet tried to tremble its way over the edge of my desk. If there was a cup of water anywhere it would be shaking like hell. (Which reminds me, I need to add Jurassic Park to Steve's list of things to catch up on.)
It grew stronger until it became noise and there was no doubt we were hearing the damaged ship coming in to land. We made it outside just in time to see it touchdown on the lawn that seems to have become the unofficial parking space for our inter-galactic visitors.
I'm no expert when it comes to spaceships but I don't think this one had any right to still be in one piece. They were lucky to keep it afloat in the sea of stars they'd just travelled across, let alone keep it together once it entered the atmosphere. Some parts were still smoking, pieces of metal were hanging off, there were holes with makeshift patches, cracks along windows, and sparks flying. Thankfully the grass beneath was sodden.
It was a wreck of a ship. And I couldn't help but admire the resourcefulness needed to keep it running long enough to reach us. We were lucky to have this team of people working with us.
Though, judging from the state of them, they could quite happily rethink their commitment to the team. The raccoon muttered under his breath, little jaw working as he kept his temper in check. Hands were balled into fists at his side, clenching tighter as he limped. His usual gun was strapped to his back and his jumpsuit was stained by combat; blackened and torn. Fur had matted itself along his arms and around a gash on his cheek. A few of his whiskers were singed. Nebula had no trouble walking, but there was a whirring noise that followed her around. The arm I'd seen sparking during the conflict was patched up but she fiddled with it. There were smudges of fuel and little burn marks that suggested she spent much of the journey back keeping the ship in a working state.
Carol, however, was in the best nick. There were bags under her eyes and a bandage wrapped tight around her hand. Other than that, you could mistake her for a passenger stepping off a plane. A little worse for wear, annoyed with the people she was stuck in a confined space with, but okay for the most part.
"Heap of junk," Rocket muttered as he kicked a part of the ship he could reach. It responded by letting the ramp fall open behind him and refusing to close.
"Well done, fur ball."
"Shut it you-"
"Welcome back, guys," Steve said. Rocket and Nebula eyed him with a tired contempt as they walked past, Carol patted him on the shoulder. All made their way in silence, eager to have their own space once again.
"Friendly bunch."
"A tired bunch," I said to him.
The ache of a long mission. The relief of having somewhere safe to return to. The luxury of comfort and food and people who weren't targets. It burned deep within me. I hoped he couldn't hear the longing in my voice.
The next morning they were more talkative. Rocket had groomed his fur and, the wound on his cheek even looked less aggressive. The patching on Nebula's arm looked less makeshift and more permanent. Carol had changed the bandage on her hand.
"What happened there?" Steve asked.
"She put her hand where it didn't belong," Rocket said.
"I was just trying to help you stay on course."
"Doesn't make it okay for you to grab the steering controls."
"Wait," Steve said, "did he bite you?"
"What do you expect," Carol said, "he is a wild animal."
"Say one more thing and I'll show you exactly what a wild animal can do."
"God, I've missed this," I whispered to Steve, who snorted into his coffee. As it turns out, the joke was on me. Once the recent arrivals filled their stomachs, they all decided it was a good idea to ambush me at my desk, cutting off any chance I had of escape. Of course, just because they ended up cornering me together didn't mean they had any intention of giving me a clear view of what the hell had gone on.
"It was not my source-"
"Yeah, well it was someone-"
"Shut it fur ball, let her finish-"
"I was recognised as a child of Thanos-"
"We're lucky the ship even made it here."
"Wasn't luck, it was my help. You're welcome."
"They hated him, so they hate me. Black Order followers got involved later-"
"Nice of you to show up after we won, by the way. Real heroic, you know."
"You won because of the people I-"
"-and they followed as we entered orbit, shooting without warning-"
"Hey Nat," a new voice joined in and the telltale blue tinge heralded the arrival of holo-Rhodey, "we've had more reports of - uhhhhh there's a lot of people here."
"-well tell your people to get better aim, they almost did as much damage as Thanos' goons-"
"As if their aim was bad, getting rid of you sounds like a good idea."
"Alright, that's enough. You're giving me a headache," I said. It was true, there was a faint pain threatening to spread and worsen if these morons didn't start acting their age. Though, if Rocket acted his age wouldn't he be dead? I'm not too clear on the life expectancy of raccoons, gun-toting or otherwise. To be fair, the glare from the hologram didn't do my tired eyes much good either. "Rhodey, is it urgent?" He shook his head. "Good, I'll bring forward our group meeting, we can discuss it then."
He nodded and hung up without a word, not wanting to get caught up in the circus he found himself in the middle of.
"Right. The rest of you. Talk one at a time or don't talk at all." I didn't like headaches. They reminded me too much of when the Red Room would play around with my head. Before the others could open their mouths, Nebula stepped forward and relayed her version of events.
"We went to meet my source, who had some information about my father's research. We retrieved the information without any trouble, but as we made our way back to the ship a couple of men-"
"They were drunk," Rocket said and all eyes turned to him, "what, that felt like something you needed to know."
"A couple of drunk men," Nebula continued, "recognised me. They were victims of my father, one way or another, and they wanted revenge. They advanced on me and Rocket started shooting. His distraction gave us an opportunity to run. It also drew the attention of some nearby Black Order allies who recognised him as one of the people who stood against Ronan on Xandar. I do not know if they realised who I was, if they did then they would have known I was a traitor to my father as Gamora was. It is possible they have sent an alert out to other surviving members."
Even though we lost the Battle of Wakanda we still carved our way through a lot of Thanos's troops. It was possible they wouldn't waste people on a hunting party to bring down a traitor. But, you know, just as possible that they would. Nebula's anonymity was an armour and I just hoped it was still intact.
"The information I found-"
"Save it for the meeting," I said, "so the others can hear."
"It might be important."
"If it was you would have said something when you landed, or anytime over comms. I'm just sorry it caused all this trouble."
"It may yet prove useful," Nebula said.
"Hang on," Rocket barged his way into the conversation, "you not keeping this secret? I thought these little side quests were on the down low."
"Nah, I don't wanna be a Fury about it."
"It just kinda takes the fun out of it, you know. Sucks all the cool away. Terrans always ruining the fun."
I dismissed them and they walked away in a cloud of Rocket's disappointment. I smiled. It was for a short while and it wasn't for the best reasons. But they were back and, for now, they were okay.
19 October 2018
Hi Tom,
Soooooooooooo...
Remember when I might have implied I was happy the space triplets were back? Yeah, I take it back.
You'd think after all that time cooped up together they'd take the opportunity to have a breather. Find some peace and enjoy their own company. Or at least speak to someone different. The only one with enough common sense to do that is Carol. But it comes with the unfortunate side effect of her popping up out of nowhere and scaring the shit out of people. The amount of times Steve's hit the punching bag off its hook because she made him jump, or I've heard a yelp and the fluttering of paper piles collapsing to the floor when she's scared Bruce.
Rocket and Nebula, however, are joined at the hip. And for two people who don't have the best track record of getting along, it's not healthy for them (or for the rest of us). No matter where you are in the compound, you hear their arguments.
They behaved themselves during the team meeting but since then their feelings towards each other are a bit hit and miss. It doesn't help much because they need to concentrate to fix the ship. A lot of what's wrong extends beyond the superficial, but it's nothing they can't sort if they work together. It's especially important because the information Nebula got from her source leads to another planet. Thanos was paranoid and hoarded his knowledge. It wasn't clear if we'd find information there, or another scrap in what could become a galactic treasure hunt. Either way, we needed a strategy on approaching the next planet and we couldn't work on that because it was one Rocket had never heard of and Nebula was only vaguely aware of. But the information was available on their ship's system, which was damaged.
Soooooooooooo...
We're kinda stuck
And it's frustrating.
Though it's sort of made more bearable by the appearance of a shitload of ice cream.
Yesterday I went out for my run around the perimeter and came back to an email from Wong. He sent over some more references he found to the Time Stone and said I should check the freezer. It was full of my Halloween ice cream. Good thing I like cherry.
When I asked, FRIDAY showed me security footage of the sorcerer portalling in minutes after I left that morning and smuggling in the frozen dessert. He even smiled at the camera before he disappeared.
Did you know ice cream was one of the first things I ate when I came to America after defecting?
Not that healthy but that's what you get when Clint attaches himself to your case and becomes your guide in the 'So, you want to go from bad guy to good guy' programme. A programme he founded and, no surprise, I was the first person to be subjected to its confusing and contradictory lessons. Again, a Barton special.
Porridge, or something like it, was the designated foodstuffs for new prisoners. It was the same stuff that came from the canteen but Clint called it a poor excuse for sludge. When he was entrusted with bringing me said sludge, he swapped it out for a bowl full of ice-cold sugary goodness. Considering my malnourished state, the sludge was the sensible option but I was hungry so I ate what was on offer.
A lot of the things back then are fuzzy. The first stage of my deprogramming started not long after I was brought in. It drew out memories I'd repressed, or that the Red Room had tried to get rid of. It erased the triggers they'd cultivated in my brain, and had a short-term affect on my short-term memory. It was the most vulnerable I'd ever been and I was grateful to Nick and Coulson for keeping me out of sight of the rest of SHIELD.
And even though I didn't remember much from then I remembered Clint and his ice cream visits. I also remembered my arrival at the place that would later come to feel like home. It was far from a warm welcome, for either of us. They'd heard rumours about me and every single person there to witness me stepping from the jet had a gun trained on me. No one spoke to Clint as he lead me to Nick, no one so much as glanced at him. But he knew his boss well enough to know what was coming.
They accompanied me partway to a cell, then stopped just at a guard station and I was carried away. I was patient as I sat in my cuffs. They were easy to break out of. The Red Room's use of them gave me a healthy respect of what they represented. SHIELD wanted to feel like it was in control, I wanted to see how this opportunity would pan out. The cuffs stayed on but my mind remained free, so when the shouting started I didn't even pretend not to hear.
Clint was treated to a chewing out. He was reminded that it was Nick's job to give orders and Clint's job to follow them. And if he was any sort of good at it, there wouldn't be a skinny red-head sitting in one of their cells.
I didn't hear Clint's reply but my thoughts kept going back to the Director and how he spoke. There was heat to his words but it wasn't real. He shouted but it was all bluster. It scared the crap out of everyone else but I knew true anger and hate. I knew what it felt like to be shouted at and it never had that hint of pride underneath it all.
That was a puzzle I couldn't figure out. It was my first introduction to a place that valued people over skill, and it remained a foreign concept to me for far longer than it should have.
I'm not sure why I've wasted paper and ink writing this. Call it a fit of nostalgia.
One thing I am sure of though. I adore Steve and Bruce and the others.
But I miss Clint.
23 October 2018
Hi Tom,
It's been a tough month. How anyone can be so busy yet so bored is beyond me
More criminals have decided to rear their ugly heads. Kind of like the promise of Halloween is luring them all out of hiding. Rhodey's spent the last few days chasing down leads across the country. Leaving me to deal with one of our mandatory check ins. To make sure we're behaving ourselves. So much fun.
Steve's stepped in for a few things. I've kept him away from the UN, though. Captain America might be the darling of the United States but the rest of the world isn't so quick to forget he turned his back on them to protect a Nazi-employed assassin. It speaks to how far public figures can fall in the eyes of the world that they're more civil dealing with me than they are him.
The work is a little different, but the rest of it is kind of like old times. Comfortable silence as we make steady progress through the tasks before us. Before it might have been training plans for new recruits and mission reports for recent outings. Now it's agendas for meetings to come and reading over minutes for meetings already done. It was boring but having someone else there suffering with me made all the difference.
We joked and we complained and if I pushed my thoughts and feelings far to one side I could imagine Sam and Wanda in the training rooms. Pushed to their limits and complaining just as bitterly as us. He was practising aerial manoeuvres, swooping through the air and catching whatever he'd convinced someone to throw at him to make it feel less like training. Wanda was surrounded by red as she tapped into her powers, persuading the strands to do her bidding, maybe even throwing items up at her fellow recruit without using her hands.
Then, of course, Vision was studying them. Contemplation etched deep into his face as he got accustomed to what sentience meant.
It's all so clear in my head, it's so easy to forget it hadn't been like that for years. I pine for the time before the Snap but that's when we were divided and on the run. How much longer could we have continued like that? It was a world I knew well but Steve and Sam were proud military men. They served their country and they hated being considered its enemies. Wanda was happy as long as she wasn't kept in a cell anywhere, the only thing that bothered her was not seeing Vision.
What I really pined for was the time when our biggest worries were getting the newbies in shape while not letting them burn themselves out. Sam tried too hard to emulate Steve, he pushed his body to limits it had no business reaching and was in danger of causing real harm. Forgetting that Steve had the serum coursing through his veins. And, while Wanda would push her mind further each session, sometimes causing her to collapse from sheer exhaustion, she was more interested in blending in. Her years with just her brother gifted her with strong survival instincts and they told her she needed to pass as an American. She modified her accent, updated her wardrobe, learned some of the history and went through the long and arduous process of coaxing her taste buds into accepting the Western cuisine. As she did all this she realised she wasn't much sold on the combat side of things but had fallen in love with the thrill of espionage.
She was good at it too. My only rule was that she only used her powers as a last resort when she was in spy mode. If she ever found herself without them she'd be thankful for the extra skills.
But I tried not to think about any of that. I tried to keep my thoughts on the present and focus on the words on my screen.
Not thinking is more challenging than anyone would have you believe.
31 October 2018
Happy Halloween Tom,
Do you know what that means? It's been over six months since the Snap.
Six months.
Six long months
And yet sometimes, it doesn't feel like that long at all.
Just like it feels like nothing has changed since Thanos' actions, yet everything has.
Half a year.
No one's celebrating Halloween this year. The country can't quite bring itself to poke fun at ghosts and ghouls and all things terrifying when, six months ago, all things terrifying paid us a visit and turned friends and family into ghostly memories.
Charities all over benefitted from corporate donations. Money intended for parties finding a new home.
I realised today that we haven't celebrated anything, aside from the wedding, since the Snap happened. Tony, Steve and Rhodey. All three of them have had a birthday. And not a single one wanted to mark it. Even the Fourth of July celebrations and fireworks on Steve's birthday were muted and half-hearted.
No one wants to admit that time is moving on and dragging us with it. It was a sad state of affairs, us all still in denial. The only thing I wanted to do about it was the usual. Carry on working until I forced a solution to appear.
Carol had other ideas. She strolled into the room where the rest of us were sat. Steve and I were working, I'm not sure what Rocket and Nebula were doing. Bruce was flicking through one of his scientific journals.
"A shame no one's trick-or-treating tonight, you two would fit right in," she said and pointed at the remaining Guardians.
"I have no idea what words you just said," Rocket snapped out of habit.
"Halloween, numbskull."
"What is Halloween?" Nebula asked.
"People dress up in costumes, kids tend to go door-to-door asking for sweets or threatening to vandalise houses."
"Sounds like something I might enjoy," Rocket said.
"Oh really," Carol said. She smiled and picked something up from the table. She threw it over the raccoon and he jumped off his chair covered in a white sheet.
"What the hell."
"Gotta dress up if you're going out. You're a ghost, all you gotta do is say 'boo'."
Rocket struggled to get out of the sheet and a few of us laughed.
"Thought you said he'd fit right in," Steve said.
"Yeah but this is more fun."
"Does that count as animal cruelty?" Bruce asked.
"Ugh, I guess you've got a point. Trust the scientist to make me feel guilty," Carol said and went to pull the sheet from Rocket. As soon as he was free he pounced at her but she grabbed him by the collar and put him back on his chair.
"One of these days," he said under his breath as she went to find her own seat.
"What else do you do on Halloween?" Nebula asked.
"Watch scary movies, tell scary stories. That sort of thing," I said.
"It's not scary, but I do have one about a man named Nick Fury and a cat called Goose. If you're interested," Carol said.
Steve, Bruce and I all perked up.
"Interested. Definitely interested," I said. I'd forgotten she'd promised to tell me this tale, but I recalled I said something about having the vodka ready. I went and poured some for everyone.
Carol leaned back in her chair, taking as much comfort from it as she could and as much pleasure from telling the story as there was to find.
"Who else knows Fury?" She asked before starting. Steve and Bruce raised their hands, "good, more people will appreciate it then. For the non-Terrans, Fury is the guy who brought the original Avengers together. He likes to go around acting like he's scary as hell, and he has an eye patch to cement that reputation. Truth is, underneath it all, he's the furthest thing from scary..."
"Give me that book," Fury said. His voice boomed throughout the living room and startled everyone out of the story. Clint had never heard the man panicked or flustered and he fancied he could hear a bit of both in his usually very controlled voice. He grabbed the journal from Laura's hands, careful to keep it open on the right page.
"Why? What's got you so bothered, boss man?"
"Give me the damn book, Barton. That's an order."
"Oh, but I don't take your orders anymore," Clint said and pointed at Laura, "I only take hers. Retired, remember." As he spoke he inched his way atop the back of the sofa and rolled over it so he could have that and the coffee table between him and the man with a secret he wanted kept.
"Oh god dad, you're so embarrassing," Lila said from behind her hands.
"It's not smart to mess with me Barton. I'll have you back in the Raft if you don't give me that book right now," Fury said, leather coat flapping behind him as he stood from his seat. They both did an admirable job of circling the room. Clint kept whatever he could between them while Fury calculated the best way to get a hold of him.
"Sorry, Nick. Your threats don't scare me anymore since you headed up a disgraced agency and have a death certificate that predates the Snap, no one's gonna listen to you." Clint glanced at the page again and found where Laura had left off. He opened his mouth to start reading but Fury played a different card.
"Hill, grab that damned book from him."
"Sorry sir, you ordered me to take compassionate leave and ignore any orders you tried to give me for the duration," Hill said, watching the entertainment unfold.
"Who on Earth takes compassionate leave with their boss? Clint asked, forgetting the journal entry for the moment.
"I haven't taken it with him, we just ended up going to the same place. Do you want me to switch sides, Barton?"
"Good point. I won't question your dynamic again. Anyway, where was I?" He paused for just a second then read from the book.
"'Carol interrupted herself and considered us for a moment and asked if we knew what a Flerken was. This time Rocket and Nebula nodded, the raccoon even shivered a bit while the rest of us shook our heads. Turns out they're a super dangerous alien species that look a lot like cats on Earth. When Nick and Carol searched for her files, Goose found them and decided to tag along for the ride, stowing away on a Quadjet with them. It was only when Talos, the Skrull leader, saw the cat that they knew she was a Flerken-'
"Am I saying that right?" Clint cut himself off to ask Fury, who still regarded him as if he was one of the most dangerous criminals he'd come across.
"Yes."
"Oh good. I'd hate to ruin this experience in any way," the archer said before continuing. "'Fury kept the cat at his side, not trusting the Skrull. Long story short, after travelling to a lab hidden in orbit, fighting Starforce, and witnessing Goose swallow the Tesseract, the mighty Nick Fury-'"
Clint was interrupted as Fury abandoned all strategy and lunged for him. The former Director wasn't as spry as he used to be but he was still more agile than most people his age. He almost got the book from the Clint's hands, but the archer twirled out of the way and carried on.
"-fussed the cat so much that she swatted at him, catching his left eye. I laughed so hard once she stopped speaking and it infected Steve and Bruce who had also been subjected to some of his 'you better be careful or you might lose an eye' stories. At least it explained why he was so concerned when I mentioned Liho.'"
Clint closed the book and grinned at his former boss before dissolving into laughter like everyone else in the room. Even the ones who only knew Fury from stories. Even Steve, who already knew the truth.
"But you said," Clint said as he tried to calm himself down enough to speak.
"Yeah, yeah. I said a lot of things, Barton."
"A cat, Nick. Really?" Hill tried to keep a straight face, she was the one who'd have to put up with the fallout later, but even she couldn't fight it.
"Romanoff, you really screwed me over," he said to himself.
"Oh don't blame her," Steve said, "the cat would have been let out of the bag eventually."
It took a good few minutes for everyone to calm down, but every now and then a smile would turn into more laughter. Fury was under no illusion the revelation would be forgotten. In fact, he knew it would haunt him for the rest of his life. Or for as long as he kept these people in his life.
"Hey," Hill clapped her hands and went to stand beside her boss, "do you reckon we can get a custom made scratching post for Liho that looks like Nick?"