1 January 2019

Happy New Year. I guess.

Not that anyone's happy.

It feels like a failure. A deadline reached but not met.

People who should see it, who should cheer and celebrate and usher in the next batch of 365 days, weren't. Life had left them behind.

They existed last year. Lived and breathed and hurt and cried and screamed and shouted and...

...and died.

No.

Don't say that, Natasha.

Don't think it.

And don't fucking write it again.

If I do then the door closes on them. It becomes a one way journey. But now, right now, there's still possibility. I have to remember that. I have to.

Giving up is not an option.

This can't be how history goes.

We'll get them back.

However long it takes we'll get them back, because they're entitled to the futures taken from them.

I don't do New Year resolutions. They're bullshit to make people feel better about themselves. Rather than thinking about the time past and all the things they have yet to do, they look ahead and make up a single thing they will accomplish just so they can look back and say 'ahhh, progress'.

And yet, before the clock ticked over to midnight last night, I crept out to the lake. To the spot we held the memorial. I looked out at the black ice then above to the clouded sky. I felt the cold seep into me, urged it to fill the void I carried within. As the minutes ticked down to 2019 I ticked off the names of those I had a duty to remember, because memory was the only way to keep them alive until they were able to resume their lives.

Laura and Cooper and Lila and Nate.

Wanda and Sam and Vision and Bucky.

Then there was Scott, the spider-kid, T'challa, Shuri. Hell, even Strange, Gamora, Groot, Quill, Mantis and Drax.

Even Liho, my fucking cat.

And the others. The ones I don't like to think about. The ghosts from my past I can't get my head around.

How had we let this happen? How had we let them down so much?

I looked to the skies, again, then the trees, then back to the frozen water. And yeah, I made a resolution.

No more fucking around.

Feel bad chained to a desk? Get the fuck over it Natasha.

Want to go and beat up some bad guys? Save it for after everyone's back.

Because you know what? That's your goddamned priority.

Bring them the hell back.

8 January 2019

I went out to the Barton Farm.

Guess I can change the name to Romanoff Ranch now.

I didn't want to go. So many things were piled in that empty house, ready to crash over me as soon as I stepped through the door. Memories and thoughts and experiences I'd managed to keep at bay so far. But, I knew there would be no holding them back anymore the moment I walked in.

Even out in the yard, as I contemplated approaching the lifeless house, I struggled against the strength of what I was feeling.

I could have let it whisk me away. Instead I took a step forward and felt sick. The nausea grew every time I moved closer. It was weighed down with dread. And that was an odd feeling because I have never not wanted to be in the house. Not even the first time Clint brought me.

I unlocked the door and swung it open. Dust swam out at me first, smelling a little musty. Then came everything else. The citrus hints from a now depleted air freshener, faded in the wake of the homeowners disappearing. There were other familiar smells, all things that make up the Barton experience. But they were overpowered by the dark scents of neglect, expected of a house long abandoned.

Instead of walking straight in I stood in the doorway. I looked into the living room and down the hallway and all I could think was that it's incomplete. Something's missing. The same old furniture sat where it always had. Photos adorned the walls and plants, once luscious, sat beyond rescue in their dry pots.

It's amazing how everything was the same but oh so different.

Even on the threshold memories pulled at me. The first time I stood there and tried to understand where I was. The last time I stood there, looking for Clint and finding nothing but his broken ankle monitor.

I heard the same laughter that haunted me at Christmas. It used to rejuvenate me. Now it killed me. Against the many protests that bubbled to the front of my mind, I stepped inside and closed the door behind me.

And, as I waded through memories of some of the best times of my life, I searched. I didn't know if it was for squatters or for Clint himself.

It was his birthday, after all. There was a chance he might turn up there.

The old Clint would.

The old Clint also wouldn't drop out of my life.

The reality was, I had no idea what this new Clint would do.

And that scared the shit out of me.

I crept into each room, thinking if I didn't disturb the memories they wouldn't fling themselves at me. But they did and the trail of footprints I left in the dust stuttered as I stopped and started. In the kitchen I could taste Laura's infamous cookies, hear her chatting away as I stared without emotion at my surroundings, and her gasps of delight when I showed her a cooking tip.

"I never expected you to be a whizz in the kitchen," she had said.

"Need to be able to fit in anywhere." Was my reply.

I finished looking downstairs and headed up.

Nothing.

There was one room I'd avoided. One room I knew I couldn't fight.

As I went back down the stairs I dodged the creaky step out of habit. As if I was never away.

The door to my room stood ajar. And all I could wonder was who went in there last? Who left the door like that? Laura, one of the kids, Clint? What were they doing? Something boring like cleaning the bedding, maybe. Laura never knew when I was going to arrive so she always made sure the bed was made up and fresh. Perhaps the kids were playing hide and seek. Or Clint, for some sentimental reason.

I placed a hand on the door frame to settle me before pushing the door open the rest of the way and I saw the family measurements. All their names recorded on the wood. And mine, on level with Laura's.

I didn't see the point in taking part at first. It was just another of those stupid things people did. But Lila wouldn't leave me alone. She pestered and pestered and normally I wouldn't give in but Clint took up the cause, talking about it during missions over the comms link. And he was where she got her persistent streak from.

I never told them how accepted I felt every time I saw my name there.

Like I was one of them.

Everything was as I left it. Almost.

A postcard lay on my bed. One from out of town. A trip they must have taken, minus Clint, since the last time I saw them. Whenever they head somewhere the kids get me one of those, but never know where to send it to, so leave it there for when I get back. Laura told me once it was because they didn't think it was fair that I always brought them something back from my travels but they never got me anything.

I turned it over and there were three different types of handwriting staring back at me. Cramped into the small space, fitting in as much as possible while remaining legible. Coop first, then Lila, then Nate. All of them ending it with a 'we miss you, come home soon'.

That's when my legs gave way and I sat on the bed, sinking into it in a cloud of dust. I didn't care because it came with the faint smell of the fabric softener Laura used. Familiar and comforting. It eased the pain, if only a little.

Clutching the postcard to my chest I curled up and drifted off to sleep.

It was the best I'd had for a long time.

Which was surprising.

It was still light outside when I woke. I checked my phone to make sure it was the same day. A couple of hours had passed, yet I felt rested in a way I hadn't since before the whole Accords thing.

Something had brought me out of my slumber. So I listened. The usual house noises. No sound of anyone in the hallway. I rolled off the bed and had my gun in my hands in a matter of seconds. I held it in front of me and crept down the hallway.

The strangeness almost disorientated me. It was always a safe space. Never did I think I would walk through it armed and ready to shoot.

And shoot I almost did when there was a snuffling at the back door.

I opened it and a stray dog looked back at me.

It smelled wet and looked starved. And then it ran away, limping as it went. Probably sensing there wasn't any food to be had.

I holstered the gun, closed the door and leant against the kitchen counter. It was something I'd done a thousand times before. Chatting to Laura or Clint, watching the kids. Sipping tea or coffee or whatever fruit juice they had available. Sometimes downing a shot or two of vodka, depending on the happenings of whatever mission I'd come back from. Never had I placed my hand there for my finger tips to come back covered in dust.

Laura would never let that happen.

She loved this room, more than any other room in the house.

I went on automatic as I opened the cupboard under the sink and pulled out all the cleaning supplies. Organised them and then went off to strip down the beds.

And that was my day.

I scrubbed and washed and polished and had the washing machine on constant spin. I vacuumed and dusted and aired the house out. I worked so I didn't have to think but it didn't work like I wanted. Even though my body was busy my mind insisted on thinking.

I remembered Laura when we first met. She was unsure. Knew I was Clint's new partner but she was shaken by my youth. She was wary but not unkind. She took one look at me and ushered me into her home, gave me a warm drink and never pried. In that first hour of our acquaintance she lay the foundation of a strong friendship. It was up to me to take the steps.

I did. In the end.

I always helped out. No matter what state I was in. We'd cook together, clean, take the kids to school, pick them up. Sometimes I distracted them outside so she could rest. The only time I didn't do any of this was when Clint made me stay for my recovery after the Winter Soldier sent me over a cliff and shot me in Odessa.

And then I'm in the living room and Cooper and Lila are climbing over me or begging me for a story or asking for help with their Lego. Their smiles the brightest things I'd ever seen.

I put the vacuum on again; to drown them out.

But I still heard them stampeding up and down the stairs. Heard Clint and Laura playing with them. I felt the same sense of awe I did when I witnessed what a real family was supposed to be.

I see myself surrendering to the sofa with a book in my hands. Remember all the late night conversations with one or both of the adult Bartons, and the quiet revelations about my life I made in the safety of their walls.

I went over my room with the duster and an echo of the time I finally understood this wasn't some spare room I crashed in when I passed through; it was mine.

I carried spiders outside before I cleared away their webs. And my mind flicked through all the times I did it when the house was occupied. Cooper hid behind his hands, afraid the spiders would escape from mine.

And then I moved my cleaning frenzy upstairs and it was the almost nightmares of babysitting. The frustration of bath time and coaxing them into bed. The stories they demanded that had nothing to do with the books we'd picked out just five minutes earlier. The guilt of lying to them when they asked what I do and later watching them realise I'm something else entirely. The 'oh my god the red head jumping from Cap's shield in New York was the same red head who teaches us Russian words' look of awe. And of horror. They came to understand the world was a dangerous place but, more than that, two people they knew stayed on the frontline to keep the danger at bay.

I let the memories flit by and I kept on cleaning. I stripped layer after layer of dust away. Made the beds again and considered going through all the closets and drawers to wash their clothes. I didn't dare stop moving because when I did the house around me was silent. It rang out and I did put the washing machine on again, just to banish it.

Then I went back to my room, hoping there was something I missed in there. But everything's cleaned, the most recent postcard was already in the tin. The fresh bedding put back, the floor vacuumed, all surfaces dusted, polishable things polished. There was nothing to do but sit. So I did, feeling the mattress shift beneath my weight, as it did when Cooper and Lila climbed on to curl up against me. Nate did too, much later.

I remembered sitting in this spot after the whole Capitol Hill incident. And again after I came back from the Motherland, not sure if I found any real answers.

But between all of those memories, in the moments when I stopped thinking and doing, were my conversations with Clint. A bustle of words and meanings and personal growth. He was my guide, always.

The rest of the team thought of him as a joker but no one got just how sincere he was. How deeply he felt things. One of the most intuitive people I'd ever met. He always knew when something was eating at my mind before I did. He was patient and kind and found some of the humanity within me I thought was extracted a long time ago. He talked me through realisations that were simple to him but almost unfathomable to me; things he'd known as a kid but the Red Room never enlightened us to because weapons didn't need to know it was okay to make mistakes. Sure as shit didn't need to know free will was something we were entitled to.

He let me speak. He let me feel my way through to a conclusion. He never judged me for the things I did wrong and never let me judge myself for them either (at least not out loud, he had no say on what I thought). But more than that, and perhaps the most important of all, he was there and he listened.

And I just want to be that for him.

I want to be the person he was to me.

To bring him in from the cold. Tell him that whatever he's feeling is okay because he has a right to feel those things. If he wants to yell and scream at the world and call it shit then he could. Because it is. It had gone to shit even before Thanos. But that didn't give the purple megalomaniac the right to do what he did.

I wanted to tell him that whatever he'd done I'd forgive him, if it even needed forgiving. To tell him that it was okay for him to blame me if that's what he needed to cope. It was okay to hate me if it helped him through.

It's okay, Clint.

Really.

It's okay.

But he wasn't here to say any of that to.

I spent the whole day at the farm. Left late at night. I almost brought the tin box back with me but it belongs there in the house.

It's a haunted house, of that I'm certain.

But I'm not sure if yesterday it was haunted by memories or by me.

17 January 2019

Hey Tom,

Some good news.

Amazing news, actually.

Pepper gave birth earlier today. Morgan Stark. A happy and healthy baby girl.

We all got a photo from Tony, the three of them together. Pepper looked exhausted but there was a bleary smile as she cradled Morgan and looked at her as if she was the only thing that mattered. Tony had one arm wrapped around Pepper, his free hand was rested over hers on their baby girl.

He's never looked so complete.

A man who'd found the happiness he never thought he'd get.

Rhodey and Happy are godfathers.

She's not even a day old and Morgan Stark is already one lucky kid.

22 January 2019

Whenever there's something to celebrate, Tony and Pepper seem to be at the centre of it. Even if not all of us always attend.

Their wedding.

Thanksgiving.

Christmas.

And now baby Morgan.

Those two are a decent reminder of the things we still have in this world. It's so easy to just think about what we had.

I found myself once again sitting in my car in front of their house. Nothing about it looked different but behind those doors everything had changed. I stepped out of the car, climbed onto the stoop and listened for cooing or crying.

I heard nothing.

I raised a hand to knock but the door opened before I had a chance. Tony was there. A bright, if somewhat dazed, smile filled most of his face as he pulled me into a hug.

"She's amazing, Nat," he said and I'd never known him to be so relaxed, "I still can't believe she's here."

The slight click of the door as Tony shut it was the only sound as I walked towards the living room. Light fell through the windows, lightening the dark walls, and glinted off Pepper's hair. She was sprawled across the sofa, enjoying the hush settled over the house as she lay there with eyes half closed and a hand dangled in the bassinet beside her.

Tony settled on the arm of the sofa and stroked Pepper's hair, she started and noticed the extra person in the room with them.

"Nat, hi."

"Hey," I said. "Long night?"

Pepper lifted herself up and gave me the same bright smile Tony was wearing. There were bags under her eyes and things around the room were not their usual tidy self. But they didn't care.

"This one's inherited her father's insomnia," she said.

"What can I say, Pep. Strong genes." He leant down to brush his lips across her forehead and bustled away to the kitchen to make drinks. Rather than stand over the bassinet and risk startling the child awake, I took a seat on the other sofa and made small talk.

Things didn't sound much different from Clint and Laura. Middle of the night feeding adventures, and mysterious cries that seemed to have no solution. Tony was adapting to it better because of his years of habitual working through the night, and the one after that, oh and maybe the one after that, too.

"He's more than happy to look after everything that comes up at night, but once I'm awake I can't go back to sleep knowing she's hungry," Pepper said. And, as if on cue, Morgan started to get restless and was awake within moments.

"I can get her, if you don't mind?" I was up before Pepper could move and she nodded, looking for all the world like she needed to sleep for a month. I bent over the bassinet and found sharp eyes (sharper than they should be for a newborn) looking up at me. A Stark she definitely was.

She took in a deep breath to start crying but found herself lifted from the comfort of her bed. Her little arms and legs stretched out into the empty air around her and she forgot to start wailing. I held her close, the whiff of talc filled the gap between us, and her tiny fingers curled against my collarbone.

That was how I met Morgan Stark for the first time.

"Never thought the Black Widow would be good with kids," Tony said as he came back in with the drinks, "we'll have to get you to babysit. You know, so we can get some sleep."

"Can go and get some sleep now, if you want. Clint was my partner for years, if that doesn't count as babysitting experience then I don't know what does."

Tony laughed and Pepper smiled over her cup. The warm herbal mixture overpowered the talc smell that had surrounded me since holding Morgan. "Well, I think you'll be a good auntie Nat."

I froze mid-step and Morgan started at the sudden stillness. She stopped when I bounced her gently in my arms. One thing I learned with the Bartons is don't bore the baby.

I hadn't heard Pepper's last two words outside of my head for months. And then it had been from Nate as a waved goodbye before I jumped back onto the Quinjet. I looked down at the tiny human in my arms and imagined her in his place. Imagined her running at me whenever I turned up, only ever knowing me as auntie Nat.

And it was a little bit harder to breathe.

Because it was a bitter thought. And a sweet one.

A painful thought.

I would watch her grow up. Happy and wild and excited. And that would be amazing. Time would give me memories, similar to all those that haunted me at the farm. And in all of them she would call me a name that had always only ever been reserved for three others.

Replacing them?

God, that thought hurt. Thinking about them only ever hurts.

I held Morgan a little closer, kissed her forehead, breathed in her ever soothing scent and wished with everything I had that she never had to face the type of pain the world was living through. That she never suffered the way everyone around her was suffering.

"Maybe just Nat," I said as I handed her over to Tony, who seemed to know where my thoughts went and sidled up to me. I worked to put my mask back on, but the damage was done. Pepper looked aghast and I wanted to tell her not to worry, that Morgan deserved a better aunt than me, but my phone went off. As I stepped out to take it, I felt them exchange looks and I wished I hadn't come.

I considered just grabbing the stuff from the car and making my excuses.

I answered the phone to hear the pushy tones of some sort of journalistic vulture who wanted a quote about the recent upswing in street violence. I managed to tell them to go fuck themselves in a long and complicated way that might take them a while to figure out. When I hung up Tony was at my side again, having swapped his offspring for my so far untouched drink.

"Pep's sorry-" He started but I held a hand up. Apologies weren't needed.

"I know, Tony. She doesn't need to worry. I just miss them, you know. It caught me off guard."

"Caught you off guard? That's got to be more unlikely than you being good with children."

I gave a polite smile and sipped at the tea. The air was thickening and the earthiness of our surroundings was more pronounced. Rain was on the horizon; I could already smell it. Tony eyed the sky, expecting it to start falling at any moment.

"I've got some stuff for you in the car. Nothing exciting, a few baby things."

"Funny you should say that," he brightened and looked more awake than I'd seen him so far, "I have something for you."

I quirked an eyebrow at him but he only wiggled his before walking away. I followed him back through the house and smiled at Pepper as we passed by the living room. She cradled Morgan in her arms.

"Not even gonna give me a clue?" I said behind him. He wagged a finger, his only acknowledgement before we headed down to the basement. It was his dedicated workspace in the house; kitted out with some of his top tech. He could work anywhere in the house but I think he wanted to have somewhere to retreat to so he didn't risk waking Pepper, and now Morgan, when he had trouble sleeping.

As always, it was like something out of a sci-fi movie. Gadgets here and gadgets there. Automated machines that anticipated his every want and need, somehow programmed with their own personality. The current displays were running tests on his nanotech, though I was interrupted before I could quite figure out why.

"Over there," he said, and the previously wagging finger now pointed to an alcove hidden beside the stairs. I looked at a suit, but not one of his usual creations. Not one I was expecting. "Your current one is looking a bit battered."

I stared at him unable to answer and he looked a little sheepish.

"I may have gone exploring after your little adventure in November, just to see the state of things."

I stepped forward to inspect it, not knowing what to say to him. The Black Widow suit that stood before us didn't look all that different to all the others I'd worn, the cut was a little different, more grey was thrown into the colour scheme, and my symbol was a little more prominent on the belt, but knowing Tony the changes he'd made were less of the superficial and more of the practical.

I ran a hand up the arm and the material felt different, though I couldn't quite place how. I counted the bites and there were more. If I had to guess there were a few new tricks up my sleeve. There were more places to keep weapons, and that always made me happier.

"I've made it super impact resistant, so like if we ever get an evil version of Steve it goes some way to counteracting the super strength, but don't go flinging yourself off any buildings. It's smart material, too," he said, "so I've linked Friday up to it and she can keep an eye on your vitals. I know how you feel about having an iron suit, but I wouldn't feel right not being able to keep an eye on you somehow."

I don't like to be coddled. I was made to fight. Whether it was with my hands or any type of weapon didn't matter. I was a master of them all. But I thrived on feeling my feet on the ground, the whooshing of bullets as they sailed past, fist against flesh as I punched whoever attacked. That was how I did things and it would always be how I do things. I couldn't help but smile, though. He'd still found a way to improve upon my suit, and while others might balk at his words, claiming a lack of privacy, I knew it came from a good place.

"Tony, this is amazing. I can't believe you've done this."

"I'm sensing a but."

"But, I might not need it. I'm staying behind the desk from now on. I need to focus on bringing everyone back. Getting stabbed by some fuckwit in a human trafficking ring doesn't exactly help with that."

"Take it anyway," he said and did a good job of hiding the flash of doubt in his eyes, "you never know when all the Avengers will be needed and you don't want to be caught short."

"Tony-"

"No, seriously, take it. Think of it as a late Christmas present. Or a gift to butter you up."

I had difficulty finding the words to reply with until he said the last part.

"Butter me up for what, Stark?"

He fiddled with something on his workbench and refused to look at me until the wrench he was playing with slipped and clattered to the floor. With a sigh he dragged his dark eyes to look at mine and I saw apprehension flicker in their depths.

"We have a complicated history, you and I," he said and I snorted.

"No more so than everyone else in our group. Actually, aside from Thor I'd say my back story with you is less complicated than the ones I have with everyone else."

He looked at me with one of his trademark glares, as if trying to figure out if I was being honest or not. So I gave him my trademark smirk, comfortable in the knowledge that each word from my lips was truthful. Let's check it, shall we:

Clint: Sent to kill me. Decided not to. Knocked a god out of his head, and maybe some common sense into it. Have a history of fighting each other. And for the longest time we were BFFs. Current status of friendship: unknown.

Bruce: Recruited him right out of India using a child to trick him. His alter ego then proceeded to chase me through the confines of the helicarrier, getting a good hit in before Thor came to the rescue. For some reason the Hulk reacted to me and responded well to the lullaby when we tried it out. There might have been something between us but it disappeared when I literally pushed him over the edge. Current status of friendship: intact.

Steve: The programme I was forced into trained me to hold my own against and kill people like him. Our first interactions came about because a Norse god came to Earth and threatened it, using my aforementioned BFF as a weapon. We partnered up when he joined SHIELD; uncovered Hydra and destroyed the agency I thought had put me on the straight and narrow. Fought Ultron together, raised the new Avengers together, sided against each other on the Accords, let him go at the airport and spent two years on the run with him. Current status of friendship: intact.

Thor: Threw a table at me once and his brother was a bit of a prick, but otherwise unproblematic. Current status of friendship: intact.

Tony: Infiltrated his company while he was dying. Provoked him into a display of terrible behaviour to see how bad things were. Sided with him on the Accords in an attempt to keep the team together before going on the run. Current status of friendship: intact, I think.

"Okay, right, yeah. So, I forgot normal isn't your speed," he said after scrutinising the smirk, "I guess I mean it's no secret we've had our differences, you know. We met, I was dying, you were lying and we sort of just went from there.

"And, well, turns out I really respect you. I mean, obviously you respect me too, that goes without saying. Who doesn't respect this?" He gestured to himself and winked. "No matter what's going on you find the bigger picture and always keep it as your focus. Even if the rest of us don't always listen. You find a way to stand for what you believe in and make the best of a shit situation. How can I not respect the hell out of that?"

He picked up another of his many tools and started playing with that, too, before remembering what happened with the wrench and putting it back down.

"You know, and in spite of, or maybe even because of, the life you used to have I think you have some of the strongest morals of any of us. No matter what I might have said or implied before."

"What's your point Tony?" In case you were wondering, Tom, I don't take compliments well. There's usually some sort of ulterior motive behind them. So when they're sincere I fend them off with a joke or make a hasty retreat. Neither of those options were forthcoming here.

"My point is, Nat, you're strong and intelligent and don't take any shit from anyone. Pep is all those things too, but she's not trained to kill men a thousand and one different ways. It's pretty obvious there's no such thing as having too many strong women in your life and that's what I want for Morgan. I want her to have a role model for every day of the week. I want her to become like the amazing women in my life. And she can do a lot worse than having an auntie Nat."

I knew Tony liked to ramble at times, but only when he was trying to distract people or piss them off. I've never known him to go off on a tangent when he knew what he wanted.

"Tony-"

"I want- no. We want you to be her godmother," he paused then added, "please."

With the request out the way he seemed more confident, fell into his relaxed state and watched me intently as I processed his words. Should I have expected this? Was I even that close to the Starks? Necessity had thrown us together over and over again. Or, maybe, there was no tearing us apart. No matter what happened we found the threads of friendship again. It's amazing how that keeps happening with our merry band of super heroes.

I couldn't accept though. I'd gone down that path with Clint and Laura. Promised them I'd protect their children. I'd failed. When it came to those three kids I'd failed at all the important things, in the end. I couldn't subject Morgan to that.

"I want to be involved in her life, Tony. But I can't be what you want me to be."

"So, I'll take that as a maybe."

"Tony-"

"Honestly," he held up his hands and went to pack up my new suit, "I heard that as a maybe."

30 January 2019

Hi Tom,

I never thought it would be easy saying goodbye to the year when I last saw my colleagues and friends, but I never expected it to be this difficult.

It feels like 2018 was one more link we had between us, but now that was gone and over and they're one step to being gone and over, too.

Someone else out there is struggling.

There was a massacre in a penthouse apartment in the city. One of the one's Fisk owned. Fifteen men slaughtered. Evidence suggested they were behind the increased drug trafficking in the area. Which might even have national links. Rhodey was on their trail.

But someone else was a few steps ahead. Or they just got lucky with who they killed.

Part of me wonders if the public announcement of the anniversary commemorations triggered the killer.

I know I vowed to stay behind my desk, but I had to go and see the scene. Plus, it's not like I was getting into any fights. Rhodey and Steve came along, too.

Some bodies were whole. Others weren't so lucky. Blood had seeped across the room, at times it was easy to forget the carpet was white.

The nature of the wounds suggested a sword was used. Nothing else was strong enough to bite through all that muscle and bone in the neck with a single swing. Except maybe an axe, but other wounds on the bodies made it clear it was something long.

Steve paled at the sight within the apartment, afterwards he said he felt sick the entire time. He'd fought in one of the bloodiest conflicts in history and he still couldn't get used to the gore that sometimes came with death.

Rhodey requested the security footage. There wasn't any. I asked if any other cameras pointed towards this building had anything to show. They hadn't recorded anything either.

It was too well planned. Almost professional.

All we could do was wait for forensics to come back. There was a chance the killer left something behind; maybe a hair, maybe a drop of blood. I was doubtful, so were the other two. If whoever it was knew enough to kill the camera feed, they knew enough not to leave any DNA evidence behind.

We spent a good few hours there, overseeing things, making sure no one fucked anything up. Think it pissed the cops off but we could sense this was important.

The scene is sticking with me. I feel like I'm missing something. That maybe I should know more about what happened. But I don't.

The killer would strike again, that was obvious. There were more of Fisk's men out there and the killer had just declared war on the organised crime industry, they weren't about to sink back into the shadows.

Rhodey and I asked FRIDAY to flag any other crime scenes like this. She'll notify us immediately.

Whoever this was, they are dangerous.