"So, I was thinking," Cooper said as a lull fell over the lunch table. There were far too many people to fit comfortably so Clint and Laura had taken to dragging a couple of garden chairs into the kitchen and eating their meals from trays on their laps. "Shouldn't we let Thor and Doctor Banner know about the journals? Auntie Nat talks about them a lot."

"I don't know if that's a good idea, Coop, honey," Laura said, all too aware that Clint and Steve had frozen.

"Why not, they'd want to hear them, wouldn't they?"

While Clint was on house arrest, his eldest had started to come into his own. He often gave wise counsel to his father, mother and even sister. Taking after Laura more than anyone else in the family. And he did a good impression of an adult, too. So good it was easy for Clint to forget he was still a teenager, one still lacking in life experience despite what he'd been through so far. His grief was no less important or real than that of Thor's and Bruce's, but it wasn't compounded by decades of struggle and loss. Coop was a kid who thought he knew himself, about to embark on life's never-ending adventure of self-discovery. Thor and Bruce had been on that journey for a long time. The former always had his destiny mapped out for him; Prince of Asgard and its future king and it was a path he walked with reluctance. Bruce had lost his way; going from scientist to the result of a compromised experiment. His very being split in two and he spent years thinking their differences were irreconcilable. And it was those two very different roads that led them to such pain.

Coop thought the journals would help them.

Clint thought they would hurt.

And so did Steve.

"It would be a mistake," the soldier said, and it was the most assertive he'd sounded since the battle at the compound. "None of you saw how bad they got. Nat's words don't do it justice. The reason she kept such a close eye on them, on all of us, was to make sure we were still alive. We made it through those five years thanks to her. Whenever we wanted to sit down and give up she dragged us along until we were ready to support ourselves again. After the Snap, Bruce managed by rebuilding himself. Thor didn't manage at all. He spiralled into a depression none of us could help him out of. Both are in mourning and are coping with their unique pain. The last thing Natasha would want is to break down Bruce's coping mechanisms or to send Thor back into despair. They need to fix themselves before we show them the journals."

Steve's eyes travelled from person to person as he spoke, he was so sure that no one said anything for a few seconds and his words dangled on the air, daring anyone to pick at them. Clint almost face-palmed when Cooper spoke up.

"But the journals are helping us. I feel like they're gluing parts of me back together. It's imperfect but it's repairing."

"Not all broken things are fixed the same way," Wanda said, eyes focused on something in the distance, or perhaps looking back several years when it was harder to lay her memories of Pietro to rest, "you give water to a wilting flower, but you wouldn't pour it on a phone with a cracked screen."

"That would just make things worse," Lila said and Cooper nodded his understanding. The young Bartons lapsed into silence, not even digging back into their food. Everyone else ate what was in front of them and tried not think about if the journals were the wrong solution for them.

Lila nudged her brother's leg with her knuckles, he gave her a smile back. The knuckles were white from clenching. The smile was small, barely more than a grim line on what was once such a cheery face. Clint looked at Laura and saw that the twinkle in her eyes was a dull knock-off of the one he remembered. Had it been this way since they returned?

It hit him then, a horrible and unexpected blow, that maybe those who had lived the five-year-blip weren't the only ones struggling mentally. Epiphanies had struck him before, but never with this clarity. Never with this severity.

He wanted so much to forget what had happened on Vormir and at the compound, to forget his killing rampage. So he threw himself into his family. All his energy was ploughed into making up for the time stolen from them. Maybe he hoped to create enough memories to fill the five-year void, maybe he was in denial. Whatever the reason, he didn't speak about anything important. The only moment of true realism they'd had was when he told them Natasha wasn't coming back. He didn't talk because it made him think, and thinking made him feel. And the one thing he didn't want to do was feel.

But they did.

Laura, Cooper, Lila and Nate. All of them needed to talk, wanted to. They wanted to think and feel and listen and be heard. They wanted to work through everything that had happened to them. Because, somehow, he'd forgotten that the Snap had happened to them. Not him.

Despite all that, they followed his lead, without question, because he'd never led them astray before.

First time for everything, he thought.

Instead of traipsing down the familiar path of blame and self-hatred, Clint found this revelation had sent him in a different direction. He'd turned his back on the reservoir of guilt waiting to drown him and instead walked towards the wave of relief.

He knew how to forge ahead. He knew the first step he needed to make to fix his family.

2 November 2018

Hi Tom,

Carol Danvers is a mystery.

That's my professional opinion.

She's gone again. Dropped her Fury truth bomb and headed off into space, or maybe to visit someone else on Earth. But she needn't have stayed so long. If you had the power to fly through space at will, what would keep you grounded?

I've asked myself that question just to find an answer.

A mission was the first thing that came to mind. If I was in a place because I had a particular goal or target, I wouldn't leave until it was accomplished. Though, mission doesn't seem like the right word, that would suggest she was working for someone else. I haven't seen her powers in action (apart from the whole flying business) but I'd read enough when I hacked into her files to know she packed a serious punch. The idea that she'd use those powers against us was disconcerting. More likely it was for her own purposes. She'd thrown her lot in with us but she didn't actually know us all that well.

Or she could be working up the nerve to visit someone. Earth was her old stomping ground, there was bound to be people from her past she knew. Maybe the Snap got them, maybe something else did. Or maybe they were still around. I catch her sometimes, zoned out. Her thoughts far from the compound and with them.

Then there's loneliness. Space is sort of massive, you know. Immeasurable. She flies through it as fast as she can but it still takes time. And time is the enemy when there are things that want to be thought. Maybe she just wants more time being distracted by the company of people, rather than reflect and regret over the things that went wrong.

Whatever she's feeling, whatever the reason for staying when she doesn't need to, she always finds it within herself to get going again. I get why Nick named the Avengers after her. It wasn't for her powers. It was for her spirit. She has grit and determination and never lets anyone get in her way.

The same can be said for the Avengers. Though, we did manage to get in our own way, didn't we?

8 November 2018

Hi Tom,

I analyse everything.

It's one of those automatic things I've come to rely on to help me feel my way through situations. It's how I spot things. Weaknesses, oddities, misbehaviour. I never paid it much mind and often acted on my hunches.

Until, with his dedicated tutoring, Clint pointed out that not everyone appreciated me coming up to them and blurting out my observations. That, in fact, to most it was considered a rejection of their privacy.

Since it's one of my essential tools for navigating a world I was kept separate from, I couldn't turn it off. I relied on those observations to keep me alive. Instead, I stopped saying anything. I pretended I hadn't noticed.

That worked out better for me than I ever hoped. Much more information fell into my web. And it became one of the ways I kept myself entertained living at the Avengers Tower. Biding my time then unleashing a well-placed comment or mystic quip to leave my teammates wondering just how I knew everything about them. It gave me a veil of omnipotence to hide behind. The only people it didn't freak out at first was Clint; who was used to my ways, and Thor; who knew actual omnipotent people in the form of Odin and Heimdall.

And I decided not to use it on Steve. When he went into the ice people knew of Captain America and when he came out they knew Steve Rogers too. Nothing was private anymore and it's something he's always struggled to come to terms with.

People thinking they knew him just because they studied him at school.

So, I figured he didn't need me spouting the knowledge I'd gathered since joining the Avengers. Or even what was drilled into my head about him as I grew up in Russia. In turn, he never judged me by my past.

And, with that wave of misty-eyed nostalgia out of the way, my long-cultivated knack for observation led me into a bit of trouble today.

When I say trouble, I mean causing it for other people.

I went into the city to finalise some of the details surrounding the Barton farm (long story short: I won), then a fit of whimsy more becoming of the archer than the spider overcame me, and I took a stroll through the snowy streets. I'd spent so long at the compound I had no idea what the general feeling was like amongst people who couldn't directly blame themselves for all that was wrong in the world. If the Avengers were going to make a special guest appearance at the anniversary event in Wakanda, general feeling was something we needed to know.

The results were mixed. There's still an undercurrent of anger and a well of sadness that felt bottomless. But they were angry together, they were sad together. From what I saw, people helped people. Offering comfort by sharing the pain. Easing that by sharing what joy there was to be found. These used to be streets and parks where almost everyone walked in their own little worlds, separate from the people they shared the space with. That was gone now, replaced with a sense of community.

This thought followed me back to my car. I slipped in, heated it up and watched as some of the snowfall melted. I only made it a couple of blocks when I pulled up again in one of the neighbourhoods that had become a haven for the displaced. This was another community, more desperate than the last I'd seen but no less compassionate for it. They lived on the streets and turned this stretch of abandoned buildings into a place for them to stay. It was an attempt to stay safe and warm.

People made their way in and out of their hideouts, the need for food gnawing at the back of their minds and in the depths of their stomachs. There were government backed schemes to help those forced onto the streets, but there were plenty here who'd rather take their chance under the night sky than place any amount of trust in the politicians that were supposed to look after them.

Can't say I blamed them.

As much as I sympathised with their plight, it wasn't any of this that made me stop. There were two guys; better fed than those around them and better groomed. Or, at the very least, they took great pains to cover up any signs of vagrancy. One of them was standing on the pavement beside a van, eyes darted everywhere. Every now and then his blond hair fell into his eyes and he shook it away. An ineffective lookout.

The other guy jumped from the van, which jolted at the sudden loss of weight and I swear I saw chains before he slammed the doors shut. That's when I saw the gun stuffed into the waistband of his jeans, no doubt copied from some hapless youth in a crime drama he spotted on TV.

They stood chatting and I tried to read their lips; until FRIDAY chirped from my phone.

"Director Romanoff, Boss would like to know when you're coming back to the compound."

I made a split second decision as I watched the guys walk towards a building and slide through a side door.

"I'll be there as soon as I can, FRIDAY. I'm a little busy right now. Can you do me a favour and patch the live security footage from that building to my phone."

I climbed out of the car and headed across the street, keeping one eye on my phone. This place still boasted its scars from the Snap. Gouged into the buildings themselves as well as the street. While the outside looked broken, the insides still worked. Big Brother was still watching. This was something people often overlooked but I was happy to take advantage of.

The two youths made their way up a lengthy corridor and turned right at the earliest opportunity. I crept through the door and didn't bother hugging the wall as I followed their path. There were plenty of doors dotted along the way, but they were interested only in the stairwell that took them to the basement level. I knew what would be down there before FRIDAY showed me.

I stopped in the corridor before the stairwell to study the footage. As much as I wanted to race down the stairs and beat the crap out of people, I was at every disadvantage save for my skills. Outnumbered, enemy territory, no backup, unknown layout, unknown number of opponents.

The odds were kinda stacked against me. Though Clint would say it was a level playing field because while they had all those other things going for them, I had the one thing that counts. I was the Black Widow.

I tried not to entertain complacency like that. It was a sure fire way to lose.

And I needed to think it through if I was going to bring those three teenage girls out if this safely. They were guarded by middle-aged men. The youths I followed in were nothing but lackeys and they eyed the girls in a way that made me want to aim a gun between their legs.

And...

And...

A door opened behind me.

Time was up.

I tucked my phone into my pocket and span around, armed only with a smile and a look of quiet puzzlement.

"Would you believe me if I told you I was lost?" I said. The man was much taller than me and he was one of those stereotypical henchmen that looked as ugly as he was stupid. Shame that stupidity didn't stretch to believing me.

He growled out a 'no' and reached for me. I was thankful I opted for heels instead of flats. They hurt a hell of a lot more when I smashed one into a knee. As my new friend found out. He staggered and I took the opportunity to get behind him and lock my arm around his throat. With a strength I think I must have borrowed from Steve, I dragged him back through the door he appeared from and regretted my choice when I realised it was a communal toilet in desperate need of a clean. I held my breath as he lost consciousness.

It was a close run thing as to who was gonna pass out first.

I patted him down and relieved him of any weapons about his person. Better I have them than him. According to FRIDAY's footage, no one had heard anything downstairs. As I left the pungent room I jammed the door so Mister Sleepy couldn't rejoin his friends if he woke up in time.

The stairwell was one of those that liked to absorb noise before throwing it back tenfold at the perpetrator. My footsteps stayed silent as I padded down each step, years of practice paying off. And, even though I felt confident enough with only my fists and feet, having the option of the gun and knife I'd just pilfered felt like a safety net. I would have brought my own, but lawyers tend to frown upon their clients walking into their offices armed and dangerous. Then of course, I kind of did a Steve and threw myself into this situation without thinking it through properly. So my favoured gun was enjoying some downtime in the glove compartment of my car. I did have my own knife in addition to my recently acquired one, but I trod a 'you can never have too many knives' way of life.

None of them were visible as the stairs levelled out and voices reached me from further on. If people with guns see guns, they tend to shoot first and ask questions later. I kept my hands unburdened and wished for a view from above. It was easier to take people on when I knew the layout, and this was far more enclosed than the warehouse at the docks.

Then I could have smacked myself upside the head as I remembered FRIDAY and her constant vigilance. The footage was still rolling on my phone and I made out the doorframe I was hiding behind. The two youths had claimed a patch on the right, they leant against the wall, joined by three more of their kind. One of them was scrolling through his phone while another rolled a cigarette. I heard them speak in low tones, a few words reached me. It was enough to know not a single one of them was from America but the only common language they shared was English.

Their area of choice was annoying. If I strolled through the door I'd have them at my back. They might not look the most competent but I knew at least one of them had a gun; and you don't have to be competent to cause damage with those. There were three other men and these ones looked dangerous. Stomping around in combat boots and dark clothes, my bet was they had plenty of experience in this type of business. Neither of them had weapons on display but that meant nothing. They were a different animal, even to the ones in June with the Lithuanian children.

I could barely see the captives on camera but if I peeked round the doorway I'd see them and they'd see me. Almost in the blind spot, they were huddled together, flinching whenever one of the men moved. None of them tried screaming. Either they saw the sense in saving their voices, or they'd already used them and had nothing more to give.

I sighed. The best strategy was to take some of them out before the others realised I was there. So much for not going in guns blazing.

"Well, FRIDAY, I hope you enjoy the show," I said as I slipped the phone into my pocket and replaced it with the gun. I stepped through the door and shot one of the more experienced guys twice. Once in the shoulder and once in the knee. He bellowed in pain as his colleagues span round, confused at what they should be looking for. Not helped by the girls who started screaming. One of them even managed to form the words:

"The Avengers are here!"

And that sent panic through the youths who didn't have much common sense, but had stumbled across enough in their life to know they were no match for a team of professional heroes.

In the chaos I shot another of the leaders, this time in the gut. Placed just right to cause him horrendous amounts of pain but not to kill him if he got medical attention some time soon. Then I grabbed one of the lackeys, who tried to run behind me, and smashed my gun against his head so he joined my buddy upstairs in the land of slumber. Three down, or at least incapacitated enough not to pose too much of a threat compared to the rest.

Those were better numbers.

Yells bounced off every available surface and ricocheted around the room but I stayed focused. Aware of all and allowing one of the other youths to grab me from behind to try and subdue me. I lost the gun but used his momentum and inexperience to turn us around so I was between him and the wall. As soon as it was close enough I lifted my feet and pushed them against it with force. It was enough to make my attacker lose balance and stumble to the floor. I flipped out of his grip, landed in a crouched position and launched myself at the next person stupid enough to advance on me.

It was another of the youths, the remaining leader was standing on the sidelines hoping I'd tire myself out.

That just spurred me on.

The youth got a punch to the gut and was thrown to the floor as I swept his feet out from under him. He whined as he realised what had happened, then hit his head on the ground. The muffled scream afterwards suggested he'd bitten through his tongue but I was too focussed on the remaining two from his little gang of friends who decided to team up against me.

One aimed a punch for my head. I dodged. I caught player two in my peripheral as he aimed a kick my way. I twirled beyond reach. He had the audacity to look confused as the foot met no resistance and it struck me these guys actually thought they were good at fighting.

The guy who'd grabbed me earlier was back in the fray and I enjoyed myself as I took all three of them on. None of them could touch me while none of them could block my hits. Then:

One. Downed with a broken arm and ribs.

Two. Felled by my signature move. He seemed impressed with my acrobatics until he realised I was squeezing the breath out of him as I sat atop his shoulders.

Three. Killed by several bullets once the last man standing realised getting tired wasn't my thing.

I didn't mean to use him as a human shield but instinct had me dodge one way and the guy chose to come after me, not seeing what his boss was doing. He took the bullets meant for me. Bullets that would have missed both of us if he'd paid attention to his surroundings. I took a moment to catch my breath behind a boiler.

"What, no back up?" The last guy said and he was American. His voice sounded like it was made of gravel. One of the girls caught her breath. On it I heard her hope dying.

"I'm offended you think I need it," I said.

He laughed and we moved at the same time. He brought his gun up again and I ran in a different direction, throwing one of my knives as I went. It sank into his hand and he dropped his weapon with a curse.

Good news, Natasha, I thought. You got the gun out of play. Bad news, you've given the angry man a knife.

He pulled it from his hand as I charged him, wielding my own.

The last item in my inventory.

I blocked his attack and my knife ran along his arm. Blood bursting out in its wake. He swung with his unarmed hand and I dodged, using the split second of his imbalance to push him to the floor. Except, he didn't quite make it and was back on the attack sooner than I expected, barrelling past my defences and sinking his knife into my side.

Fuck.

It was superficial but it pissed me off he even managed it.

I twisted away to deny him the weapon, wrenched it from my hip and used both knives to attack. Slashing at his arms as he threw them up to defend himself. He had no clue where he was going and soon stumbled over the prone form of one of his colleagues. The arms came down, his eyes darted to the man on the floor. I span round, hopping onto one leg and using the other to kick him in the throat. He fell to his knees, gasped for breath and then I acquainted the heel of my palm with his nose and revelled in the crunching noise as it broke.

He fell to the floor unconscious when I hit him in the side of the head with the hilt of my knife and the fight was over. My side throbbed but I ignored it. In the grand scheme of things the pain was nothing and I needed to get the girls out of there.

When we exited the building there were sirens in the distance. Invited by FRIDAY, no doubt. I ushered the teenagers past the van they had been destined for, and into my car on the other side of the street. As I drove back to the compound I tried to hold gauze against my wound. Until the girl sitting in the front passenger seat took it from my hand and held it in place for me.

"Thank you," I said. I don't like people I'm not familiar with touching me, especially if that touch is to administer first aid. But I needed two hands to traverse the snow-covered roads.

She shook her head and kept her focus on the wound. Blood had long since stained my blouse and jacket, which was a shame; I liked the jacket. She was quiet, shocked to timidity by her capture and the suddenness of her rescue. I almost missed her whisper.

"Thank you, Black Widow."

Along the way I asked them the basics. Where were they from, how long had they been captive, how were they taken. You know, the usual conversation starters. I got enough information back to know they were from the city and since the Snap they'd lived among the other displaced people. They weren't sure how long for but there were other girls; moved before I turned up.

There was silence after that. And some sniffling.

I pulled into the garage and the bright lights were blinding after the blackening night sky. I motioned for the others to get out of the car and grabbed my gun from the glove compartment.

The main building was quiet and that in itself was odd because I knew we were sporting an almost full house today. But the girls deserved a hot shower, hot food and a comfortable place to sleep, so I didn't get too caught up in the mystery. As soon as they were settled I retired to my room, keen on avoiding everyone, and set about cleaning and stitching my wound.

Other girls missing.

One more person dead.

Would sleep even dare to try and take me tonight?

9 November 2018

Turns out last night wasn't as sleepless as I thought it might be. Maybe handing out impromptu beatings was the way forward.

Still, it wasn't without its drawbacks. The dead guy from yesterday made an appearance. As did the missing girls. I know dreams are the brain's way of processing everything it had witnessed throughout the day, but I did have to wonder what sort of kick it got from focussing so much on the bad.

I woke up early enough that I expected to be the first one up and about but Pepper was in the kitchen, sipping on her herbal tea while breathing in the moreish fumes of the coffee she'd put on for everyone else. There was a paper on the table in front of her but she ignored it in favour of the tablet she was tapping against. She'd also discarded her bowl of half-eaten, healthy-looking goop.

"Spent the night," she said at my quizzical look, "neither of us fancied driving in the dark with all this snow and ice." I'd forgotten they were there. Tony wanted to see Nebula before she and Rocket disappeared again. Apparently facing death in the middle of space really brings people together.

There was a patter of paws and the raccoon himself made an appearance. He never looked ruffled after sleep. Did he have to brush his fur or did it just stay in place?

"Morning suckers," he said as he jumped into a chair, picked a mug from the pile Pepper had organised on the table and held it out to me as I began to pour my own drink. When I filled his cup he didn't take his eyes off me and I waited until I was settled before I prodded.

"What's up, whiskers?"

"You're fearless." I was going to ask what he was talking about but he carried on. "Jumping right in there, knowing jack about it, no gun. Fearless."

Whatever reaction he expected it wasn't the anger that I felt surge through me. Any trace of fatigue was burned away in the whiskery face of the annoying sack of bones sat in front of me.

"After all your stories I thought you were fearless too."

"Don't go anywhere without my gun, ain't stupid. Huh, maybe that's a better word for you."

I was about ready to lunge at him when Tony strolled through the door, acting oblivious to his surroundings as he gave Pepper a kiss and became the third person to go for the coffee. "Hey super spy," he said, "good adventure last night? Not sure about FRIDAY but I definitely enjoyed the show."

"Did everyone see what happened?"

"Pretty much," Pepper said, looking a little abashed. I downed what was left in my cup, scraped my chair back and ignored the Starks' protests as I started to make my way out of the room. I stopped when Rocket grabbed my hand, well a finger - it's not like his hands are that big. He sighed as I glared daggers at him.

"Look, alright, I'm sorry or whatever. I get mean when I'm pissed off. Quill was stupid, you know, when he punched Thanos, Gamora was stupid on Knowhere when she attacked him. Stupid again when she took him to the Soul Stone. I'd appreciate it if morons stop doing stupid things and dying on me."

"It may have escaped your notice, but I'm not dead."

"I woulda put money on Gamora outliving all of us, you know. That broad was resourceful-"

"'Broad'. What are you, a 40s PI?" I said and quirked an eyebrow.

"I really don't get your Terran humour, you know," he sighed but carried on regardless of the interruption. "My point is, you remind me of her. Too much. She's the only other person I know badass enough to take a knife used to stab her and go on the offensive with it.

"Just don't be stupid."

He let go of my hand and stood awkwardly on his chair, not sure where to go from there. I think he wanted to hide in the engine of his ship but before he could scurry away I grinned and patted the top of his head, doing my best to mess up the fur. He swatted at my hand with both of his, desperate to get me away from him.

"Or do. Whatever. Not like I care," he grumbled, patting down any errant strands of fur that dared to break the mould. I was about to tease him when I heard the rumble of Steve's voice and a cacophony of footsteps that meant he wasn't alone. Soon the kitchen was overcrowded as the three girls poured into the room. Steve hesitated only slightly as he noticed Tony standing with Pepper. He said morning to the room as a whole and the previously mentioned billionaire stiffened.

"Girls," Pepper said once they'd settled down at the sight of two famous people and a raccoon in a jumpsuit, "Natasha and I have spoken and we're going to set you up at one of our facilities."

I didn't hear the rest because Steve sidled up to me. He didn't say anything at first, opting to study me and glare at my side where my knife wound was.

"Can I help you?"

"Just wondering how you're doing."

"Well you're not going to get the answer from my hip. It's my mouth that speaks."

He smirked and dragged his eyes away from the offensive wound he couldn't even see. Though, it didn't erase the crease in his brow as he continued to worry. I grabbed him a cup and added him to the coffee club and we walked into the corridor, leaving the noise behind.

"I'm fine," I said and noticed as he got half a step in front, leading where we were going. I internalised a sigh; I'd bet everything by the end of this little walk we'd be at medical.

"You were stabbed, Natasha."

He used my full name, which meant he was more than just concerned. Again, I'd put my money on angry.

"Just a flesh wound, I've taken care of it."

"Funny, Claire says there was a lot of blood."

"Who's Claire?"

"One of the girls you saved. Honestly, you take a knife for them but you don't learn their names?"

I realised he was right. I'd asked them a whole bunch of other things but never what their names were. I shrugged. "Was focusing on getting them back safe."

We turned into the corridor that led to medical and I saw Bruce busying himself with setup through the floor to ceiling glass wall. Steve shot me a look, waiting for my admonishment. I'd hate to disappoint the man.

"You tricked me," I said as we came to the door.

"No I didn't. But I'm learning."

Bruce jumped as we came in and I had to wonder why. He couldn't not see us walking towards the room.

"I'm staying, just to make sure you don't sweet talk your way out of it," Steve said.

"I don't need a babysitter."

"And yet I think you do."

Another internalised sigh and I was sitting on the side of the bed, lifting one side of my top up so Bruce could inspect it. I was fine. I didn't need him to check my wound out, I'd been patching myself up for as long as I can remember. But I could endure the indignity of a non-medical doctor prodding the sore spot more than I could Steve's natural mother hen tendencies.

We stayed silent as Bruce did his work; gloved fingers traced the stitching and prodded at the area around the wound. He checked my vitals and, once he was done, straightened back up and rocked back onto his heels.

"Nothing vital hit, done a good job with the stitches."

"Not my first time, doc," I said and settled the fabric back over my wound.

"Still gotta hurt though. I'm going to prescribe you some painkillers until it heals up. Don't be a martyr about it Nat," he said the last bit in the correct belief I was just about to protest. This time I let the sigh out. Pick your battles, this one wasn't worth it.

"Fine. But you need to answer a question first."

"That's not how this works."

"Does when I'm involved. Seems I had a starring role in the movie you watched last night, you'd think I'd get paid for that sort of thing. What the hell happened?"

"Ah, well, um-" Bruce tried to speak but seemed unsure on how to actually start. Steve took pity on him.

"FRIDAY told Tony you were busy. When he persisted she mentioned that you'd requested access to security footage of that building. He demanded that we see it too and we sort of saw the whole thing."

"Great," I said. Even though my name was out there and people had started sort of recognising me since the debacle with SHIELD /Hydra, I still preferred not to show up anywhere.

"Don't worry, Tony made sure we have the only copy of the footage to exist. He did his magic and made it look like the cameras stopped working a few days ago. Said he's going to add it to his 'Reasons I'm scared of Romanoff' folder."

Steve stopped talking and both of them looked at me. For my part I looked straight ahead and did my best to ignore them. That grew a whole lot more difficult when they sat either side of me and Steve pulled me into a one-armed side hug.

"Try not to do that again, Nat," Bruce said. He spent a while trying to look me in the eye but I managed to dodge all attempts.

"Yeah," Steve agreed, "if you're not around who's going to stop us from doing something stupid?"

"You can stop your own damn selves from being stupid. All you gotta do is think. It's not hard."

After that I went and caught up on my work. People dropped by every now and then even though it was clear I wasn't in a talking mood. That didn't stop Rhodey though, he spent a lot of time stretched out on the sofa talking about all sorts of things. I think he was trying to get some sort of reaction out of me, judging by the smile when I almost snapped at him. After that he made a game of it and turned his stories into something even more ridiculous and we ended up laughing.

Pepper and Tony left with the three girls. In exchange I got an invite to theirs for Thanksgiving. I turned it down. Bruce was going and that would leave Steve alone.

Claire hugged me before she left and muttered another thank you. I was glad she was safe, now. The other two as well. But pissed that there were more that had disappeared.

14 November 2018

We waved Rocket and Nebula off today. Once they got the system up and running it was easy enough from there.

They were a lot more settled than when they first arrived and I think it's something that's taken them both by surprise. From what I gather they're both used to travelling, their ship is their home and they've never felt like that about anyplace else.

I hope they're starting to feel that about here. It's a lonely existence jumping from place to place without somewhere to relax.

We've been through the data that Nebula got and they're heading to the coordinates provided. It's a bit of a trek so they won't make it there for a while.

Steve knows I'm looking for information on the stones, he's started to go through the Time Stone texts with me.

We're all working towards something.

Hopefully it's something worth working towards.

22 November 2018

Happy Thanksgiving Tom,

My last one was in a safe house hidden away in a country that doesn't celebrate the holiday. Steve, Sam and Wanda were there, too

And I thought we didn't have much to be thankful for then.

Little did I know.

There were no parades today, no national events. Just a presidential speech to mark the sombre occasion of our first Thanksgiving since Thanos.

We tuned in for the first couple of minutes. Then Steve turned it off and disappeared. It was just the two of us; Bruce left yesterday for Tony and Pepper's.

No one was working and I caught up on everything pretty quick. I had a free day and nothing to fill it with. The weather was too miserable to go for a run outside. While it had been snowing earlier in the month, today we were treated to a torrential downpour.

I almost went to the roof, the desire to feel the rain pelting against my face, soaking my hair and clothes, was almost all-consuming. But if I went out there Steve would follow, and it didn't seem to be much in the spirit of Thanksgiving to force my friend into the rain.

I settled for the gym.

My little knife wound no longer twinged when I stretched or exercised, not that it stopped me much. It was just nice to train without the extra discomfort.

The seconds slipped by in quick succession and before I knew it a couple of hours had disappeared. I would have carried on but Steve's voice boomed over FRIDAY's intercom system.

"Romanoff, go grab a shower and meet me in the kitchen."

I ignored him and carried on working through my routine of linking swinging punches and spinning kicks into a lethal and indefensible combination.

"Now, Nat."

I grumbled and tried to convince FRIDAY to tell me what he wanted, but she refused and I was forced to head into the shower ignorant of what was so urgent. I turned my head to the cascading water and closed my eyes, pretending I did end up on the roof and I was feeling the rain drum against me. I don't know why it soothed the restlessness within, but it did.

A few minutes later I was walking down the main corridor and Steve was stood outside the kitchen, waiting and clearly failing at keeping his face neutral. He'd changed into something a little less casual since I saw him last.

"What's up soldier?" I asked and strolled past him into the kitchen and dining area. There was a meal laid out on the table. It wasn't your traditional Thanksgiving feast, but rather a mish mash of our favourite foods.

"Steve," I said, more than a little lost for words, "this is-"

"I mean, don't get ahead of yourself," he said as he walked past and to the table, "I'm the chef after all. We might need to order takeout."

"But, why?" I followed him to the table and sank into my seat. He'd gone all out and though I was eating more now, this was way too much.

"Because..." he paused and gathered the words he needed for something he didn't think he'd have to verbalise. "Because it's easy to say there's nothing to be thankful for, right now. It's easy to look at the negative and give up. Because we've lost a lot of people, a lot of good people. But not you, and I'm grateful for that. Thankful, even. That you're still here. I don't know how I'd get through this without you."

He gave an awkward cough as he finished but he didn't look away and the sincerity in his eyes, the same one behind his words, was something I didn't think I could ever get used to. Ever since the Battle of New York we'd worked side by side, getting used to each other and forming a formidable duo. One that lasted throughout SHIELD, brought the agency down, and led the Avengers together. Even the Accords didn't quite get in the way. The only person I'd been through more with was Clint. And the only reason I was able to carry on in his absence was because of the man in front of me. Somewhere along the way, he'd transferred over some of his passion for doing good and that insufferable optimism. And no words I could say would ever be good enough to tell him how much his support meant. So I jumped on his coattails.

"Same," I said and offered him my glass to clink against in a toast to our friendship.

"Oh, and Nat," he said and I looked up to see an impressive smirk, "happy birthday."

"I thought we weren't marking birthdays?"

"Well, maybe we should. And it didn't stop you from looking after me on mine, or even putting that sketchbook in my room."

"Let me guess, rumbled by FRIDAY?" Steve nodded as I looked up at nothing in particular. "Snitches get stitches, FRIDAY."

"Correction, Director Romanoff. The only one who had stitches was you."

We both laughed at the AI and spent the rest of the day in each other's company. We crossed a lot of films off Steve's list.

He is right Tom, it's easy to say there's nothing to be thankful for. But I am thankful Thanos didn't take him. I'm thankful we found Tony and brought him back and that he's going to become a father in a couple of months. I'm thankful Bruce has found a way to accept and embrace himself. I'm thankful that even though half the universe is gone, there's no lack of people wanting to step into the void and help, fight the fight, like the missing Avengers did.

Sam and Wanda weren't with us, like last year. Their infectious attitude is gone from our lives. I'm determined that a half-hearted gathering in a safe house won't be their last Thanksgiving.