26 April 2019 Continued
Fucking Clint.
Fucking Thanos.
Fuck the both of them.
Those were the thoughts that swirled through my head. Those and several thanks yous to the person who now had my eternal gratitude for creating auto-pilot as I flew back to America.
Standing on ceremony, being passed from one dignitary to another, one Black-Widow-hating politician to another, that wasn't something I could bear.
Not then.
I never wanted to be in Wakanda for the anniversary. I went because I had to. And I would always have to.
But the revelation sent me spinning. Spinning away from the huddle of current and former Avengers with nothing but an 'I need to go'. Spinning away from the shouts they sent after me, Steve and Rhodey the loudest. Spinning towards the Quinjet, every intent of going to where I wanted to be.
Once I left African airspace, clouds smothered the jet and stayed there for the rest of the journey. The monotony of it helped me pull some strands of self together. I breathed deep and willed my mask back in place. Willed my walls to rebuild themselves.
I needed to function.
I needed to have control.
Reaction was neither of those things.
And yet the fact I was alone in a Quinjet heading to the farm was evidence that reacting was all I had done since seeing the footage.
So I summoned more of those strands. Focussed them through my pen and jotted everything down. Shared all the snippets and the snapshots of the day with you.
Thinking that was all I needed to write. That nothing else could possibly happen that would be worth noting down.
I was wrong.
I was wrong because right now I'm sat in my clearing, nursing a few bruises, a split lip, a cut above my forehead.
It's my favourite place in the whole world, you know. I've been to a lot of places. Seen a lot of things. But nothing compares to here.
It was something I never used to understand.
Grew up in Russia, climbed mountains, been to Niagara Falls, crept through jungles, seen too many deserts for my liking, admired the wild countryside of Scotland, as well as the manicured lawns of aristocratic France. I've seen a planet full of gardens and foliage much more exotic than what's around me now.
But here, right here, was always the best.
And I guess I get it, now. Now that I know what it's missing.
Like the house, it's lifeless without the family that came with it. The miscreants who could always be heard in the distance.
In hindsight I think I knew he'd be here. Some sixth sense guided me.
Or maybe just common sense.
Where else would he go to pay his respects? It was the place he last saw them. The place he felt closest to them. Their essence was imbued in the building and the land, whether they were around or not. Hell, that's why I fought to get the house. That's why I fled Wakanda for the farm.
Familiarity and comfort.
When I stepped through the front door it didn't have that same empty feeling as it did the last time. It was heavy with the presence of a someone and you didn't have to be a genius to know who that someone was. Even before a door slammed shut. Even before footsteps echoed along the upstairs landing.
Two noises that followed me everywhere. Since childhood.
Echo. Slam.
In the Red Room.
At SHIELD HQ.
The Avengers compound.
The Wakandan Palace.
Now the farm. A place that has suffered many a slammed door throughout the adolescence of its younger inhabitants. Never an echo.
There was stillness in the wake of the activity upstairs. As if the presence up there had felt mine on the floor below. So I moved. Slipped into the kitchen. Spotted the empty beer bottles, a new addition since my last visit.
They clinked and tinkled when I cleared them away.
He radiated wild energy and stale alcohol. The silence crackled as he stood in the doorway and I didn't dare turn to face him. A part of me thought that as long as we stayed as we were nothing would change. No conversation would happen. No emotions would spiral out of control. We wouldn't throw words at each other as if they were knives.
I wanted it to stay that way, for the moment to stretch on until we found a way to escape it that didn't result in confrontation. The trash bag grew warm in my grip. Some idiot bird decided to treat us to a song.
"You're trespassing," Clint said. His voice was so familiar it ached. And so different it ached even more. There was a current beneath them. Danger weaved its way through those two words, lighting the fuse so anger boiled my nerves.
"No, I'm not," I said and it took all the willpower I had not to slam my fist on the countertop as I finally turned, "if you'd been playing responsible adult instead of vigilante then you'd know that."
The chuckle that leaked from his mouth was as dark as my past and it did everything it needed to bring my temper to the surface.
I put the dining table between us.
I tried to remember how I felt the last time I was here. The desire to help him. To be there for him. To stand by him. But it was being overshadowed by the constant reminders of his overwhelming moronics. The glazed look in his eyes, as if he'd drunk so much his body had produced a film of alcohol over them. The torn clothing; damaged in the name of their owner's war. The fact that he looked like an intruder in his own home.
"Saw you on TV," he said and staggered into the table as he nodded towards the living room. He tried to clap but couldn't coordinate his hands together effectively. Bet he could still operate a bow, though. "Great speech, really. Thought you looked a little distracted though."
"I guess that's what happens when you find out your best friend is going round cutting people in half."
"Thought I should get a hobby." He tried to walk around the table but had to hold onto a chair for support. How did he even make it down the stairs without falling? "What are you doing, chaining yourself to a desk, dipping your toe into diplomacy and charity work?"
"I'm doing what needs to be done."
"No! I am." He beat his hands against his chest with each word. "I'm doing what needs to be done. I'm cleaning up the streets your guys are ignoring." There was a flash of a moment when I knew he considered picking up the chair supporting him and smashing it on the ground. The only thing that stopped him was the echo of Laura's admonishment. Both of us knew what she would say.
And rather than let that shared moment bring us closer, I took the advantage to yell right back at him. Because he wasn't the only moron in the room.
"Rhodey was already on them, Barton. He was going down the legal route."
"Ha! The legal route! Bullshit Romanoff, since when do you care about that? Haven't you heard, I'm killing killers."
A retort sprang to my lips but I swallowed it. Didn't matter though. This was Clint. He saw the words in my eyes, heard the tone in the set of my jaw and the slight tension in my shoulders. I'm a killer.
He smirked.
And anger was all I knew as I leaped over the table.
Knuckles cracked against his jaw, pounded his stomach. Nails scratched at him as the rulebook went out the window.
And he fought back.
We spared no effort as we did our best to beat the crap out of each other. Every time I went for the attack I thought of the crime scenes, the blood and the bodies. I used it to fuel the anger that kept me going.
Knowing that he chose to leave us. That he chose to do this instead. That he chose to throw everything away.
That somehow, at some point, we'd passed each other on our respective paths. That he'd become everything I'd fought so hard to leave behind.
It was that thought which made me stop what I'd started. And I had time for another thought before Clint got the memo.
Almost everything. He wasn't killing innocent people.
That might not mean much to people not in our line of work. But it was a distinction that mattered.
We looked at each other for a long time, questioning what we saw. Both wondering who the person before us was. Neither sure what was going to happen next. Or if there were any words to say.
At some point during our scuffle we ended up on the floor, I scooted up until my back was resting against one of the units. He joined me a few seconds later. We studied the forest of chair legs in front of us and I heard him catch his breath.
There was a time in my past when I would have rather died than get taken in by a bow and arrow-wielding American. That was where he was at. I wanted to plead with him, tell him he needed to come back before his actions grew worse, before he lost himself as well. But there was a look in his eyes as I studied him and it told me it would only push him further away.
I'm not sure who initiated it but at some point our hands found each other on the floor and we clung on. With anger out of the way we were faced with the stone cold facts.
We were all we had left. From this life on the farm.
And we were on two very different paths. All we could do was hope they'd intersect again.
"Is this what Hawkeye is now?"
He turned his head to look at me and there were tears in the corners of his eyes. "Hawkeye isn't around anymore."
"Then who is?"
"I was thinking of Ronin. Seems suitable."
I leant back until my head rested against the cupboard door. Wanderer. Drifter. Unemployed.
Untethered.
Suitable indeed.
He sighed and did the same with his head but he wasn't gentle about it and banged it hard against the wood.
"Idiot," I said.
"Yeah, well. This is drunk Clint."
"No, no. This is almost normal Clint," I said. And then, so low even I had trouble hearing the words, "I'm sorry. About Laura and the kids."
"Yeah. Me too," he paused as if he wasn't sure he wanted to know, but barrelled forward anyway, "who else?"
"Vision's dead. Personally killed by Thanos. Wanda, Sam, Bucky, T'challa, Scott, that spider-kid." I looked at him and wondered if he knew about the next two. "Nick and Maria."
He cursed and used his free hand to rub at his eyes. It was grubby and scratched up from our fight. He cursed again.
"Fury huh, didn't think anything was gonna take that old bastard down."
"Unless he's faking it. Does have a history of it." He gave me a small smile with no amount of sincerity in it all.
"You're not going to drop the investigation, are you?"
"Course not," I said as reality swooped back in with all haste, "but I'm also not going to arrest you here."
"Ever?"
"Ever."
"No big speeches? No forcing me back to the compound? No warnings not to kill people?"
"As if you'd listen. I don't want you doing this to yourself. I want you back with us. But I also understand, and you stood by me while I tried to purge the world of my demons."
"Going back to the compound and burying your head in the sand is hardly standing by me."
I snatched my hand away as I felt the anger boil within again, but I kept my voice even. "Take what you can get, Clint. We're playing on a much bigger stage now." He opened his mouth to say something else but I ended the conversation as I stood and headed for the door. It was best to end this encounter on a neutral note if it couldn't end on a friendly one.
Attacking him definitely wasn't the best idea I'd had.
Unless...
"Come back with me Clint. Please. You don't even have to join the team. Just sit around eating cereal from the box, drinking milk from the carton. You know you've never been good in your own company."
It was a long shot.
And it missed.
He looked at the hand I offered, gave it some consideration and there was even some conflict running across his face. But in the end he shook his head. "I can't."
And I knew he wanted to be alone then. I opened the door and was in the process of stepping out.
"Hey, Nat," he called after me, I turned to look at him and he brought a hand to his hair and nodded my way, "the blonde, still not sure I like it."
I let my lip quirk upwards in a sad sort of smirk. "Join the club."
How can one day fuck everything up so much, Tom?
I wish I could bury my head in the sand , like he said. I wish I could just wait for everything to sort itself out. Wait for Clint to come to his senses. Instead I have to live through it all. My failure in being unable to help him. In making no progress with my research. In letting my emotions control me when I should be cool and logical.
If I was going to get through the pain of surviving then I needed to be the Black Widow. But that mask was broken, and I'm beginning to think it was beyond repair.
And even as I write that, tucked up against a tree in my clearing, all I can really think is that I'm so angry. At him for doing what he's done. For being the type of man that doesn't suit him. For being so fucking arrogant.
Really, though. Really, I'm angry with myself. For playing it wrong. For hitting him with the hand I wanted to hold out in peace. For not being able to reel him back in.
27 April 2019
It's amazing how fast priorities change.
I knew as soon as I woke up in the clearing it was going to be a difficult day. One full of words and arguments and desperation as I try to convince two very patriotic men to lie to their government.
I said to Clint we wouldn't drop the investigation, and that was true, but I also didn't want it to get out that he was the one behind it all. He was a man on thin ice before the Decimation. A man they would make an example out of.
It was with dread I messaged Rhodey when I got back onto the Quinjet. Plans and ideas bubbled in my mind as towns and cities skated past. My brain once again functioning as it needed to. The sooner I told them what I knew, the better for all involved. Secrets always have a way of coming out, some even have the power to destroy. And Rhodes was a smart man. He'd figure out that I knew.
But I couldn't just hand Clint over to the authorities. I owed him more than that. No, we owed him more than that. He was one of us, no matter what he's done, and he deserved us to stand by him, right?
At the very least we owed it to Laura and the kids.
It was overcast when I touched down at the compound. I stepped from the jet and the cuts across my face were accosted by the air. The stinging accompanied me inside, where the hope of slipping into my room and hiding the evidence of my run in with Clint and his fists was dashed when Steve met me at the door.
"What the hell happened?"
"Nothing."
"Tell that to your face," he said and I couldn't tell if he was trying to make a joke or not. He followed me as I kept on walking. "You left your team, Nat. You don't do that for nothing."
And there went the hope I had of breaking the news being even a little bit easy. It wasn't a very hopeful day.
There was a sound from the living area as we drew up to it and floor numbers counted down on the lift. For a second it felt like an ambush, as if I'd walked into something I had no idea of.
"Who else is here?"
"Tony, Pepper, Bruce. Carol too, she hasn't flown away yet." There was something left unsaid and I wished he wasn't so easy to read. They were all concerned with my behaviour, all the more worrying when they came to the compound and I wasn't there.
"Okay." I massaged the bridge of my nose. "Okay. Rhodey is on his way. Meet me in the conference room in twenty."
Tired and achy, I ran up the stairs and straight to my quarters, not wanting to wait and face whoever was about to step out of the lift. Bits of grass and leaves trailed in my wake. The chill of the night followed though, refused to let go of its grip on my bones.
A hot shower should take care of that.
And hopefully give me time to gather more of my thoughts. Though clearer than yesterday they were still somewhat wild. Pinging around and bouncing against my skull.
As the water washed away the dirt and grime from the day before, I let my emotions swirl down the drain too. When I was dried and dressed I covered up the cuts as best I could and sighed my way through the door and down the stairs.
On the way I uploaded the grainy footage of Clint to FRIDAY and looked up to find a full room. Steve, Bruce, Tony, Pepper, Rhodey and Carol all looked back at me. I felt their eyes follow me as I went to stand at the head of the table and refused to sit.
"This is footage from the latest mass killing," I said without preamble and FRIDAY played it. "And this," I waited for it to loop back round to the beginning with the shadow in full view, "is Ronin. He's responsible for all those deaths."
I had a second to wonder if using the new name was cowardice on my part, a way to put off what I had to do. But smart-guy-Rhodey didn't give me more than that.
"Care to tell us how you know that?" He eyed me with suspicion. "Or did you develop some precognitive abilities we weren't aware of?"
"Do we care? It's a lead," Tony jumped in. "If we know the name we're closer to bringing him in."
"I ran into him," I said, if they were going to disagree about something there was no point in letting them waste their energy on this. As I did so I brought an absent-minded-finger to trace the cut on my lip, the slight sting the only reason I knew it had happened. "Last night, on the farm."
This time it took longer for the silence to break, as comprehension took a while to click. And when it did it was deafening.
"Holy shit," Tony said, "Hawkeye's gone to the dark side?"
"Are you sure it's him?" Rhodey asked.
"And he hit you?" Was Steve's almost growl.
"Stand down," I said, "I threw the first punch."
"That's why you disappeared yesterday. You saw this and knew?" Bruce said and I nodded. Somehow he'd managed to keep his voice calm as the rest of the guys lost their cool. Carol and Pepper just looked at each other, both content to watch the circus unfold around them. As the noise reached a level I was almost certain the compound had never heard, I thought maybe there was a better way for me to break the news. No, this would always have been the outcome.
"We're not going to get anything sorted if you're all talking at once," I said and most of them shut up but Steve took the opportunity to make me want to punch him too, caught up as he was in the evolving complexities of his nonsensical moral code.
"What is there to sort out? We bring him in and hand him over to the authorities."
I don't really know how to explain my friendship with Steve. It took me by surprise and it didn't come from any overly fucked up situations, like with Clint and Tony. I mean, the circumstances weren't normal, sure, but unconventional and fucked up are two different things. Steve got to know me without any of the preconceptions that most people never bothered to get past. He saw me and not my history.
But, in that moment as he suggested we do to Clint what he wouldn't allow for Bucky, I wanted to give the preconceptions credence. Everyone else seemed to feel the atmosphere change as I let more of my Black Widow persona out. As cracked and damaged as she might be, she was still someone people didn't want to mess with. Yet, even though he knew he'd landed himself in hot water, Steve continued.
"It's the right thing to do."
"I'm not handing my partner over to the police in a world that has a very complex relationship with vigilantism." I crossed my arms and dared him to carry on down the path he was walking.
He was always up for a challenge.
"It's the law, now, Nat. You signed it."
"Huh, I guess I see how it is," I said in that cold voice of mine reserved for marks and interrogations, and when I'm furious but don't want people to know, "when it comes to Bucky there's no limit to what we can do, but with Clint we should just let someone else handle it." It was a low blow. I knew it when I thought it. Knew it when I said it. But the Black Widow doesn't play nice.
"Bucky didn't kill anyone in Vienna, Nat, and he wasn't in his right mind in Washington."
"Given the circumstances you can hardly say Clint's in his right mind either."
"She's got a point, Cap," Tony said.
"So do I."
"Now is not the time for a pissing contest, you two," I said as Tony opened his mouth to snap back. As they settled back into the depths of their seats I had FRIDAY bring up images of Clint in his Hawkeye days. Some were from missions with just the two of us, others were from jobs with the rest of the Avengers and social nights at the tower. "You weren't there yesterday, Steve. What I saw wasn't him. Wasn't even close. But he's still one of us. He had his mind warped by Loki and we didn't toss him aside then. He was the only one of us who fought off Wanda in South Africa, and he opened his home to you so we could regroup and recover. His family is everything to him. Always the most important thing in his life. And he risked everything when he let the Avengers into his house. And he fought with you, Steve, when you asked him to. No questions asked. Look at him and think about those murder scenes. We can sit here and judge him if we want, but the reality is that it's damage our failure caused. Failure that happened because we didn't stand as a team. But, as a team, we need to be there for him, now."
"I understand, Nat. But he's killed people. He can't just get away with that." This time it was Rhodey who spoke.
"Then you might as well hand me over too, because I've done a lot worse. He's the reason I'm not still doing those things."
"But-"
"The world isn't as simple as black and white. Never has been, never will be," Carol said, "no matter where you go. Bad things happen when you choose to remain blind to the grey areas. I fought with the Kree and played my part in the genocide of a people. The Hulk kills and he's a part of Doctor Banner. Stark's company manufactured weapons that have killed so many all across the world. Do you blame those two for those consequences?
"Now, I don't know this Clint. I've never met him and I can't vouch for his character. But in my experience when one of your own is suffering it's beneficial for all of you to help rather than disown them. And I know if Fury trusted him, so should all of you."
"You sure do put a lot of stock in what Patch says, don't you," Tony said.
"Might have one eye but he gets a good read on people."
Steve stood and paced the room, he came to a stop with his hands on his hips. Give the man time to think about breaking the rules and it was always a problem. Otherwise breaking them was his natural instinct. Rhodey was having his own trouble, but he dealt with it in stillness.
"Just so I'm clear," Steve said, "we're seriously considering turning a blind eye to murder, here? We just let him roam the streets and do what he wants?"
"Course not. We're still going to try and stop him. Bring him in on our own terms, set him up here instead of some prison under the sea." Tony shifted in his seat and cleared his throat at the reminder of what happened after Germany. "He's going to be hard to track. It is Clint after all, if he doesn't want to be found then he won't be. I know how he thinks but that also means he knows how I think and we're more than capable of disappearing from each other. I'm just saying that perhaps we choose not to reveal his identity."
No one said anything for a minute or two, I refused to look at anyone though I felt several pairs of eyes land on me at varying intervals. Instead I looked at the pictures floating in front of us but saw only the man from yesterday.
As always, it was Steve who cut the silence short.
"But he just gets away with it."
"You know him, Steve, you really think he's not going to punish himself?"
I watched each emotion chase through his eyes and hated myself for being such a hypocrite in that moment. Pretending none of his thoughts hadn't been mine at some point. But acting in anger was dangerous. Consigning Clint to a future with no chance of redemption just because I was pissed at his life choices. That wasn't fair. Neither was it fair that I punched and kicked him in greeting, but I could only restrain my anger so much.
Steve leaned against the back wall, arms folded. Then he gave the smallest of nods. It eased the tension in the room. Yet, it wasn't him who was going to have to bear the brunt of government disapproval.
"Look, I have to give them something, Nat. I can't keep saying we're not making progress. That's a sure way to get the case taken out of our hands," Rhodey said.
"So give them Ronin. And a rough profile to go with it. Driven to action by the loss he suffered in the Decimation, he operates under the belief that he's ridding the world of the evil it's been left with. Say we know he's set his sights on gangs, we just don't know which ones and when. But he is enough of threat to require the Avengers."
Rhodey wasn't fully on board, and I doubted he ever would be. Which is fine, I was asking a lot. But he nodded. He agreed and I felt the worry shift a bit from my soul. He knew a thing or two about camaraderie, about sticking it out even in the face of huge challenges. He also knew the consequences of what happened the last time we disagreed on something, more than most of us.
"Thank you," I said, knowing I'd never be able to express my gratitude in full.
The discussion hadn't ended but there was no more need for my brand of persuasion. Carol had helped get the job done, though I'm not sure she realised how effective her words were with the people around her.
We would be ready to help Clint. The problem, of course, was waiting for him to ask for it.
Everyone started to file out of the room and I moved to the window. Letting the thoughts swirl once again. Trying to figure out what his next move would be, trying to think of how I could convince him to come back. And Pepper sidled up to me.
"I get he's your best friend and the two of you have been through a lot together, but you're talking about throwing another eff you at the government. I'm pretty sure it's a three strikes and you're out sort of thing. Is it worth it?"
"For Clint, yes," I said and turned to her and felt foolish for expecting to see some sort of judgement written all over her face. Instead there was understanding and an annoyed sort of acceptance as if she knew what I was going to say.
"Had to ask." She placed a hand on my shoulder. "Though, this right here, that's why we want you to be Morgan's godmother."
Someone caught their foot on a chair and we both turned to see Steve. He had that apologetic half-smile he'd perfected before doing something batshit crazy. Pepper flashed us both a smile and left. When I didn't say anything Steve took Pepper's place looking out the window, taking in the view we knew every inch of.
"If you're gonna tell me to reconsider I would walk away if I were you," I said.
"Actually, I was planning on saying sorry for questioning you. You're right, he's one of us and deserves our support."
"Oh," I said. "I'm, uh, I'm sorry for bringing up Bucky."
Silence fell over the room again. There were words on the tips of both our tongues but neither of us knew what they were. Seconds ticked by and I could almost feel the emails slipping into my inbox; piling on top of the ones I'd ignored yesterday.
"We'll find him, Nat. He can't keep doing it forever."
"But how many more people is he going to kill between now and then?"
Steve was right, the thirst for vengeance wasn't sustainable. And indulging it was never worth it. Not in the face of the pain that came afterwards; the struggle to make amends, to face up to the truth of who you are and what you've done. It all makes you regret the moment of weakness when you gave in. It's not long before the regret turns into self-hatred. A hatred so vicious it's enough to convince you that carrying on isn't an option.
It hurts to know what Clint's going through now. But it's torture to know the agony that awaits him in the future.
2 May 2019
Hi Tom,
Steve's spent the last few days shooting worried looks my way. So has Bruce, when his head isn't buried in his work.
At this point I would usually feign ignorance. Distract them with my usual smirk and eyebrow quirk combo. Except, even I can't act like I don't know why they're doing it.
I haven't been eating. I haven't even pretended.
I've lost weight I can ill afford to lose, only recently reclaimed after my previous bout of not wanting to eat. Add to that the compulsive need to head to the gym or go for a run and I'm lighter than I was the first time round.
And the thing is, Tom, I know it's not good for me. I know I need the food to fuel the work out stints and to get my brain into gear. But I just can't bring myself to do it.
Seeing Clint. Knowing what he's done. It's so...
...Crushing? Depressing? Painful?
Take your pick. All of the above. I don't know.
I could easily curl up in my chair and let myself starve. Sometimes it's tempting. Especially when Steve is trying to coax nutrition into me one way or another. He's started trying to replace my morning coffee with some sort of super-healthy-kale's-probably-involved-smoothie-monstrosity.
So, this evening, I figured that was a good enough reason to sit down and think of something edible I could link to something happy. Untouchable, incorruptible memories. As Rhodey suggested.
Ice cream. The first thing I ate in America, courtesy of Clint. Except I'm pretty sure that was a SHIELD special. It was a little chalky, a little grainy but the sweetest thing I'd ever eaten. It held a soft spot in my heart. When all of SHIELD's files ended up on the internet, I regretted that the recipe wasn't part of them.
Then of course there was the hot chocolate thing. Another Clint-related memory and this one already ruined. So there was a big, fat cross next to it.
Pizza. Team nights at the tower, leftovers (on the rare occasion Thor and Steve couldn't quite demolish what remained in the leaning tower of pizza boxes the night before) a more than satisfying breakfast. Back when everyone was together, before our little fall out. And way before I witnessed a struggling Thor fish a slice from a box at his feet. A no to that one as well then.
Borscht, pelmini, pirozhki. Anything from Russia was crossed off the list too. Ain't too many happy memories from there.
I was starting to think it was impossible. That just because it was something that helped Rhodey didn't mean it would help me. He was more in tune with emotions than I was and maybe there wasn't anything out there I could pick.
Or maybe I was thinking too hard.
I shut my eyes and closed off all active thoughts. I let the less dominant ones wonder, just let them be. I felt the cold air around me and the muted atmosphere of a building meant for many reduced to three inhabitants. And then I thought of the farm. That had a good people to building ratio. Even when the kids were at school it still felt alive. Even when Clint and Laura were out and I was babysitting, there was life in those four walls. And laughter, always laughter.
Screeching laughter and uncontrollable giggles of the kids as they mucked themselves up when they helped me make their lunch. Always Cooper's favourite, which also became Lila's and later Nate's. Without fail they ended up sticky, the kitchen a mess, and chasing me as they tried to see who could cover me with the most handprints.
I opened my eyes. It would have been a good time for my stomach to rumble. In truth it roiled a little bit more.
Steve found me in the kitchen a little later; too late for dinner, too early for a midnight snack.
"Nutritional," he said, eyebrows skirted his hairline as he took in the bread, jelly and peanut butter still on the counter.
I swallowed the last of my sandwich. "Better than air."
"I guess." He shrugged and bustled about the kitchen while I closed my eyes to assess my stomach, hoping it would accept what I'd given and not return it a sloppy mess. When he came to the table, Steve placed something in front of me with a mild thunk.
"I hope that's orange juice," I said when I opened my eyes, "because if it turns out you've found some sort of genetically modified orange kale and turned it into another of your smoothies, this is going over your head."
11 May 2019
Nights are a struggle, still.
Sleep is elusive or haunted by ugly visions.
I've taken to heading to the roof and watching the night sky. On the way I tend to bump into Steve, who likes to wonder the halls before retiring for the night.
It's gotten so regular he's rekindled the 'see you in a minute' joke whenever I say I'm going to bed.
The sky always looks the same. As if nothing is happening. Content in the status quo. Looks are deceiving though. It's busy up there. Less of a status quo and more of a constant flux.
Every now and then it hits me that I've been up there. Travelled between those lonely stars.
And that usually makes me laugh at myself. A one-time visitor to space and I'm thinking I can defend it. I have no clue what's going on up there. No clue what I'm doing. I move the pieces across the board and pretend I know the rules. A dangerous way to play the game.
In the end I decided to do something about it.
There isn't an Intergalactic Guide for Dummies available. But, there is a seasoned space traveller happy to talk as long as I supply the good booze.
Carol likes exploring and getting back to nature. When she was with the Kree she lived in a metropolis. Buildings and vehicles and people everywhere. And then she started flying through space without a ship and she learned to be alone. To be comfortable with herself. Surrounded by the biggest natural phenomenon of all.
So she's often outside. Sometimes lounging on the dock, sometimes diving into the lake, sometimes flying through the trees around the property; testing her reflexes. If there was anything to be done outside then she would do it.
Including drinking.
The sun was becoming more of a regular visitor. There was heat behind its light but not enough to make me shed the thin hoody I had on. Everything smelled fresh and it was the sort of day where you couldn't help but feel a little hopeful about things in general.
I headed to the dock. Left the shot glasses and bottles of vodka in view on the bench and dropped the bag of food on the floor beside it.
Despite the day's fragile warmth, the glistening lake was too tempting. I pulled off my shoes and socks and trailed one foot through the water, sharp with cold. I spent the next few minutes buried in work on my tablet, though not deep enough to not notice when she landed.
"Need a drinking buddy?" She asked as she inspected one of the bottles.
"There's food, too." I nodded at the bag.
"Ah, so lunch date it is." She brought everything over and made sure it was all within arm's reach, then sat in front of me and mirrored my foot in the water.
"Busy day?" She asked as she poured shots for both of us.
"Always. Seems people can never stay out of trouble."
"Sounds like something Fury might say."
"I may have paraphrased him," I said and clinked my glass against hers before downing the contents. "Thanks for your help with Clint."
She shrugged as if it was the obvious thing to do. "Seems like he's important to you. Plus, he's part of the team. Not right to turn our back on him."
"We've turned our backs on each other before. Not always great at the whole team thing."
"Preaching to the choir," she said and we clinked glasses again, "I do prefer working alone."
I pulled the bag closer and foraged for the food within, and shoved the bag her way when I had what I wanted.
"What's it like out there?" I asked as she took a generous bite of her sandwich and I nibbled at mine.
"You asking for personal curiosity or for work?"
"Both."
"It's complicated, you know. You think it's tough here on Earth but it's worse out there."
I looked her dead in the eyes and wondered if she was putting me to some sort of test. In the end I decided to just bite the bullet.
"I want to learn. I need to know."
She leaned forward with smiling eyes and made sure we had full glasses again, then raised hers. "A toast. To Fury. His taste in people is as good as your taste in alcohol."
And so she started to teach me. Launched into Space Knowledge 101. Explained the general view of Earth amongst the skies. That it was a bit of a backwater and plenty of people are questioning how the most cataclysmic event in the universe originated from here. She told me about the most dominant forces across the different territories. Outlined alliances and feuds and the races that preferred to keep to themselves.
To hear her tell it there were almost an infinite amount of races with just as many histories and cultures to match. And there are a billion or so ways to insult each and every one. Rules and politics got in the way just as much as they did here, wrapping the worlds up in a twisted film of bullshit that kept any real harmony at bay. In fact, the Decimation was the most united they had ever been.
In their hatred of Thanos.
She told me about places like Knowhere and Xandar and Hala. When she started in on the details about the conflict between the Skrull and the Kree the sun was beginning to set. She had spoken so much and I was so enthralled by her words that the second bottle of vodka was left untouched.
"Huh," she said once she noticed the sun, "I think that's probably enough for the moment. Didn't meant to get so carried away. So, ballerina, why don't you tell me some of your story?"
"That," I said, "is far too long and there's no enough vodka to get me through it." She seemed to understand my reluctance to delve into the past.
"Okay, then tell me why you want to learn about the worlds out there?"
"Like I said, I need to know what's going on. I might be here, but how can I help you guys if I don't understand even the basics of what you're in the middle of. I can't be effective if I keep myself in the dark."
"Done pretty well so far."
"But I could do better."
My brain buzzed, nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with the new information. It was barely a scratch on the surface of what she knew, but it was a start.
Regardless of what else I might want to achieve, this was my life now. Rooted to one spot while conducting affairs in the skies. To run it, to succeed, I needed to be what I always strived for.
The best.
20 May 2019
Hi Tom,
So, I've joined a book club.
Don't ask me why, it just sort of happened.
Probably because I wanted to know what Korg thought of Animal Farm once he'd actually read it. I got what I wanted in just the subject line of his email. Animal Farm: Not so cute.
Bruce is part of it too, said he'd missed Korg and Miek in the chaos of everything that happened. He says it's good to have something to focus on when his brain hits a wall and he just can't get any further. I have to agree with him.
The next book is The Once and Future King because, and I quote 'it sounded like it should be about my buddy Thor, but then I saw the first part is called The Sword in the Stone and it made me think it might be thriller. Could be fun. Let's find out.'
I've already read it, back during the great reading frenzy during the first years of my defection. So I decided to clear my mind by bothering Rocket with a few racoon memes.
He sent back a picture of himself banging his head against the table with the caption: When you're genetically engineered but your a-hole creator leaves you to float in the middle of space without any explanation and the only mail you get is from some woman on a shitty planet.
And so we've started a bit of an email war.
Making my inbox a lighter place to be.