5 December 2019
Professor Hulk?
That was the unexpected headline that flashed across the screen when I tuned into the news at midday, Tom.
It was accompanied by a photo of a very uncomfortable looking Bruce and a very long-winded spiel of hatred from a guest. The gist of which was that the Avengers still hadn't learned their lesson. We were still playing god.
Don't you hate it when people judge something they don't fully understand? They see a snippet of a situation and jump to conclusions and opinions so far from the original intention it's impossible to see the path that took them there.
I watched for a few seconds, it was enough to know the story they'd cobbled together was a putrid pile of BS. In the one video they replayed no one screamed, no one was panicked, there was no Hulkish behaviour. In fact people called out to him, greeted him a like a friend and he waved back. But the tale they weaved alongside the footage tried to paint a developing horror story.
In case you haven't realised, the media and I aren't the best of friends.
Sometimes reporters came in useful. Western media proved easy to manipulate when I worked for Russia, a fact me and my handlers often took advantage of it. Either to eradicate stories from existence or leak truths that were stranger than fiction in an attempt to destabilise.
And sometimes it's the articles and reports themselves that help. SHIELD had the best analysts in the world that combed through each story to help pinpoint enemy locations or strategies. Even they missed stuff. Tony's abduction by terrorists was an example. Our inability to track him down another. However, since the events in Washington I've suspected Hydra had something to do with those failures.
But since the Avengers it's been one of our worst enemies; beaten to the top spots by Thanos and ourselves. And the thing that angers me the most is that they ask logical questions. Do we make the world safer or more dangerous?
I don't know.
And that pisses me off.
So when I tuned in to see my friend being verbally ripped apart, I almost wanted to do a Clint and cut the fuckers down.
Once upon a time I would have, but I'm a public figure in charge of other public figures and murder, sadly, was off the table.
Now I was running the Avengers my relationship with the media had come full circle. I used them to my advantage. Except, rather than being under the guise of espionage it was called PR.
"FRIDAY."
"Yes Director."
"Why didn't you alert me to this sooner?"
"Sorry, Director, but you were busy with those reports and Doctor Banner requested I didn't bother you when he phoned."
"He phoned?"
"Tried to, yes."
"FRIDAY."
"Calling Doctor Banner," the AI said. Her voice faded away and was replaced by the empty ringing of the line before it connected to the other end. There was no background noise and a deep voice answered.
"I'm back home."
"Hey Prof," I said, "it's catchy. I like it."
He snorted. "Not even sure where they came up with that."
"Think it's the glasses. And the cardigan, kinda gives you that aura."
"I don't know what you've seen," he said, opting to cut the small talk short, "but I didn't do anything, Nat."
"Oh, I know you didn't. You're entitled to go for a walk, Bruce," I said. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah, just a little shook up," he said and I imagined him running a hand through his hair, one of his nervous tics, "I didn't expect it, you know. Which was stupid."
"A little stupid," was my reply and there was a rush of air the other end that I took to be an attempt at a laugh, "but no one's gonna blame you. There's a lot for you to think about right now."
"You wouldn't have made that mistake."
"I also wouldn't have figured out how to do what you did."
Instead of answering he opted for a silence. It was a habit he developed since returning from his space sabbatical. When he didn't know what to say next, or if he wanted the current conversation to end, he lapsed into a contemplative silence until the subject changed. It fooled no one but we humoured him because he humoured us.
"I'm afraid I do need to put my PR hat on," I said, "listening to the news anyone would think we'd built a giant ray of absolute evil and pointed it at the city."
"Sorry," he said.
"Hey, you have nothing to apologise for. Like I said, you're allowed to go for a walk without a whole PR strategy to keep you company. I'm sorry the world's full of dickheads."
We talked for a while. He answered my questions, no matter how random they seemed, and FRIDAY dictated his words into a document. By the time we were done I also had a rough version of the statement I needed to release on behalf of the team.
"Hey," Bruce said as we were on the cusp of hanging up, "about this whole thing. Did Clint know?"
Ah, he'd put voice to the other worry flashing in the back of my mind.
"No, I couldn't track him down," I said.
"Do you reckon this'll set him off again?"
"It's possible," I answered, downplaying the voice in my head shouting out 'yes' with one hundred percent confidence, "he missed a massive part of team history."
"And that's not your fault," Bruce said, reading my mind in a way that was almost scary over the phone, "whatever happens it's not on you."
I gave him a taste of his own medicine and lapsed into a strong silence. He half laughed, half sighed.
"Anyway, what do you reckon I do now that my secret is out?" He asked.
"Carry on living your life," I said, "and set up a YouTube channel. Quick, before someone steals the Professor Hulk name."
11 December 2019
We have Christmas cards.
Lifeless cardboard bunting. Steve found them and strung them up. Festive, huh?
They've trickled their way in through the post. At first I thought it was fan mail for the Prof. Some of them were, most were cards. I accidentally left one out and Steve spotted it. He went snooping until he found the rest crammed into my desk drawer. Then decided to combine them with his own stash.
Most of them were from the kids at WOOPS. I knew their names from our visits to the facilities in Wakanda and Canada, or from the competition visit.
"What you've done for these kids is amazing, Nat," Steve said as I tried to get him to take the new wall hangings down, "you should celebrate it. Even if it is just hanging the cards up."
He didn't get it. He didn't understand.
It wasn't a celebration. It was a reminder.
The charity wouldn't be necessary if I'd done my job properly in the first place. And all the warmest wishes and sincerest thanks couldn't hide the fact that every single one of those children were missing their family.
So, we have Christmas cards. Empty ones on my desk.
Because when life has you pegged down it's difficult to reach out to anyone, even with the simplest of platitudes.
They deserved more than silence for their efforts.
18 December 2019
Hi Tom,
It took the weather a while to get the memo that we were in December. Sunlight, though weak, filtered through our windows almost every day. Sometimes interrupted by passing showers. The temperature stayed steady and not a single flake of snow entered the realm of possibility.
Until, of course, morning dawned on the one day we had somewhere to be. The sun was hidden behind a thick blanket of dark grey clouds, from which poured a torrent of wind-whipped snow.
We were only supposed to be gone for the day, but I packed an overnight bag as well as a shit-I-really-shouldn't-have-driven-in-this-blizzard survival kit. Just in case we got stranded. When I bumped into Steve in the corridor I told him to do the same. There was a tiny flicker of surprise, as if he'd expected me to cancel our trip, or maybe it was because by suggesting the kit I was admitting something might just go wrong. Either way he set his jaw into a determined grimace and did as he was told.
FRIDAY kept us alerted to any changes in the weather as we made our preparations. Rather than get any better, the conditions worsened. But we still threw our bags in the car and clambered into the front seats. I claimed the driver's side again. Though I don't think Steve wanted to argue it too much.
As soon as the wheels crept from private land to public roads I knew it was a bad decision. Visibility was so poor I could have sworn the whole world had been erased. More than once I felt like the wise decision was to turn back, but kept the thought to myself. Steve's mind was running along the same tracks, but he decided not to keep it to himself and in fact share it every chance he got.
Sometimes I swerved on purpose just to get him to shut up. I did need to concentrate, after all.
"Would it be ironic if this is how we died?" Steve asked after one of the wheels hit a patch of ice and there were a few scary seconds before I managed to wrest control back from nature. "I mean, you have all your extensive training and I have that whole history with the ice, we've overcome extreme adversity and in the end we die in a car crash."
He tried to sound light and nonchalant but the death grip on his seat and the dash told a very different story.
"We're not going to crash Steve."
"How do you know that?"
"Because I don't like irony."
He shot me a dark look but rather than return it with interest I thought it was best to keep my eyes on the road. As much as I wanted to bomb it down the road I crept along at a safe pace, on the lookout for any familiar landmarks. Though we knew the route off by heart we stuck FRIDAY into GPS mode and she directed us.
We had the heating on in the car but it didn't do much to fight off the chill that came from just looking out at the scene around us. And right then I would have preferred something to stabilise the vehicle against the wind. A vicious gust had the car rocking and I was glad for the cautious speed I was forced to go at. Still, Steve wasn't a fan.
"Shit," he said.
"Language, soldier," I said with a smirk, "honestly, what would the you from our Hydra hunting days say if he heard you now?"
"That I'm an idiot for joining you on this suicide mission."
"I would hardly call it a mission," I said, "and anyway, this is nothing compared to Russia."
We made progress through the empty world. There were a couple of other cars on the road with us but for the most part people had the common sense to steer clear of the outside world. Though we didn't hit another patch of ice and we suffered through many gusts of wind buffeting us about, Steve never relinquished his grip on the car.
If he'd left dents I would have been seriously pissed.
At last the building loomed ahead, almost indistinct in the blizzard. We lingered in the car longer than we needed to, neither of us looking forward to the cold and wind that welcomed us as soon as we opened our doors.
"You sure you're up for this?" He said.
And I was transported to the night before when the tale of the arms dealer I was tracking for Okoye had taken a turn for the worst. Steve and I were called to a crime scene and it was worse than anything Clint had done. The victims there were all young and innocent, the only point in their deaths being the lesson the dealer was teaching to his enemies.
It must have been an old lesson. The bodies weren't very fresh. That was the only reason they were found.
We gathered enough information to know they were linked to the guy we were hunting. And there were enough local authorities and political figures involved for me to figure out keeping my promise to Okoye had just got a lot more complicated.
It was already gone midnight by the time we got home. The rotten taste of the discovery still at the back of my throat. Carol, Nebula and Rocket decided to phone. They were on their way back and had met up. They wanted to let me know about their progress. They should be with us in the next couple of days.
Sleep was once again elusive. The bodies haunting all the shadows, even the ones behind my eyelids.
"I better be, after battling the forces of nature to get here," I said, doing my best to hide the exhaustion set deep into my bones. "What about you?"
"I was hoping being round lots of people would help me forget. Do you think anyone else showed?"
"I'm sure they found a way."
The slamming doors were muffled in the howling wind. We grabbed our bags and fought our way to the front door. Snow tried to pile up in the doorway but it was ushered on by the relentless breeze. It opened before we could ring the bell.
"I can't believe guys came," Bruce said when he answered the door, "we could have pushed it back."
"Can't push your birthday back, Bruce," Steve said.
"Is it his birthday though?" Rhodey called out from the comfort of a deep looking chair. Tony, Pepper and Morgan were there too. Almost everyone accounted for. The usual suspects missing. The heating was up full blast and feeling started to come back to my hands, feet, ears and nose as I defrosted. "I mean, this is a new Bruce, maybe we should be celebrating on Halloween now."
"Man's got a point," Tony said, arms full of Morgan, "would be nice if the last few months of the year weren't so busy."
"You're part of the problem there," I said as I chucked my bag down next to Steve's, "with your anniversary in September."
"Says the woman whose birthday is in November," Steve muttered, though it was still loud enough for everyone to hear.
"What? When? Why didn't you say?" Pepper pulled her phone out her pocket to make a note. "What's the date?"
I just rolled my eyes and shot Steve a look that threatened to chuck him outside, though that didn't stop him from blabbing the date to her as he passed.
"Anyway, happy birthday Bruce," I said, "sorry we're late"
"You're not late, everyone else was early," he chuckled.
"Yeah Blondie," Tony said walking over and I soon found Morgan in my arms, "because we had the good sense to check the weather forecast in advance."
There was no point in mentioning we were working. It would lead to a debate I'd heard enough of and had no desire to dredge up. Plus, the images from the day before were ones Steve and I wanted to remove from our memories.
"Daddy's smug, isn't he?" I said to Morgan who laughed. "Yeah he is. A little too smug."
He just flashed me a smile when I looked at him. "Of course I'm smug, I'm Tony Stark."
I couldn't help but laugh.
It was another cosy evening. Friends hanging with friends. Warm in spite of the cold that pounded against the walls outside.
But I couldn't relax, not as I had on Thanksgiving. Steve couldn't either. This arms dealer was proving much more difficult to take down than we anticipated. And there were others, too. More gangs crawling out the woodwork, more heists and dealing and violence.
We were doing a good job of fighting it, but there was also more of it than a year ago. More threats to the fragile peace that had settled over the globe. And if something was missed, if something spilled over, well, neither of us were sure the Avengers were up to that task yet.
24 December 2019
I wish Clint was here.
I wish I'd managed to bring him back with me.
I should have forced him onto the jet and got FRIDAY to put him on lockdown as soon as we landed at the compound.
I should have hit him upside the head until he saw sense. Cognitive recalibration.
But I just left him there, in pain on his kitchen floor.
I owe him everything. And yet I give him nothing.
His favourite day of the year is Christmas Eve. Or it used to be. Not because the kids were good without convincing, not even because he got to sneak around and play Santa. But because of all the silly little traditions they had. The ones they all did together.
It was their own Christmas Day to themselves, no extended family there to stir the pot, no tension to dodge, no family arguments to rehash. Just the five of them doing the things they loved.
Nate was just a kid, it was all still new and exciting to him. He still saw the magic, waited for the man in red to pop down the chimney, listened for the sleigh to rattle and clatter on the roof. He was the last one to sleep the night before and the first one awake on Christmas morning. He loved every moment just as his dad did. And his naïve passion ignited Clint's inner child.
Cooper and Lila had learned to rein in their excitement. They still did the same old things but pretended they were doing their parents a favour. They kept on a passive mask in case anyone saw, because it wasn't cool to be into the lame family stuff. But they still loved it. Sometimes their masks slipped and the smiles shone.
Lying in bed, watching the clock count down. All I saw was the way Clint's eyes lit up whenever he talked about their Christmas. The familiar yet fond way his lips curved around their names, the goofy grin whenever he mentioned Laura. I always marvelled at that. How after so long he was still so in love.
Actually, no. Scratch that.
Laura's amazing. Of course he's still in love with her.
I marvelled at how time had never dulled it. At how every time I saw them they'd found a way to fall for each other a little bit more.
It was a little sickening.
Because it was so sweet.
And because it was about to be Christmas again and Clint was alone. None of those traditions done. No one to share it with.
Damn it. I wish Clint was here.
25 December 2019
Have you ever celebrated Christmas with aliens?
No?
I don't think Rocket and Nebula have either.
Rocket knew what it was. Quill had to explain when the raccoon caught him hanging some makeshift baubles on a sleeping Groot. And Nebula knew only because her father made a point of understanding how other races lived before he massacred them.
Both were confused when they strolled off their ship, a little surprised by the snow but more shocked at the transformation of the compound they'd come to know. Even Carol did a double take.
No surprise it wasn't a tradition we shared with the Kree, and in the intervening years since the initial visit to Earth that revealed who she truly was, she'd only celebrated a couple of times. With who, I had no idea. She was still quiet on that front. And I couldn't imagine Nick donning a Christmas pudding eye patch and pulling out a festive leather trench coat.
I expected Rocket to be full on Grinch, but he showed a curiosity for all festive things. He pointed at the stockings and asked what they were, looked up at the tree and I swear he thought about trying to climb it before asking why it didn't smell like a forest, he laughed himself hoarse at Steve's Christmas jumper, and I had to stop him from eating mistletoe -which he'd managed to fish out of the box of the very few unused decorations - and almost lost a finger for my trouble.
"I better not need to get a rabies shot," I said as I cleaned the wound out.
"Maybe you do, maybe you don't," he said then muttered, "hell if I know what that is. What kinda moron shoves their hand in someone's face?"
"The kinda moron stopping a different sorta moron from chewing on fake berries," I said and started to bandage the bite. "If you ever see those in the wild, feel free to go take your fill."
"Umm, aren't they poisonous?" Steve said.
"Oh, are they," I said with feigned ignorance, "then by all means, fill your boots."
Carol snorted and Steve managed to direct the conversation away from the violence threatening to pop up. The upside to the whole incident was that Rocket curbed his impulses. The downside was that the amount of questions he asked went up.
It was more difficult than babysitting Morgan.
And he was here for longer.
In contrast to her fellow Guardian, Nebula spent the days quieter than usual. I would walk into her unexpectedly, or she would come and sit with me while I worked, but never spared a word. Even when Steve joined us and tried talking to her, she was reluctant to utter anything. She kept everything close to her chest, helped by the enhancements her father forced upon her. The only thing that had anything to say were her eyes. And even then I wasn't sure what they screamed.
So when this morning dawned, Christmas morning, I wasn't sure what to expect.
Surely a bunch of questions right? Maybe a sullen silence? Some awkward stories from the captains?
I awoke to a sleepy compound, feeling worse than if I'd stayed awake the entire night. My body wanted more of the unconscious bliss but my mind denied it the pleasure. My first thoughts were of Clint and the foolish notion to steal the Quinjet and head to the farm. Then my ever-busy train of thought smashed through the idea without slowing down. He wouldn't be there. He wouldn't be anywhere I knew to look.
Does that mean I shouldn't look, though?
A question I grappled with until the moment I slid into my chair and had FRIDAY load everything up. With no one else around I was free to work.
Call me Scrooge if you want, but at least I'm not taking anyone else down with me.
A couple of hours passed. I used them wisely, trudging through some of the essential crap that had built up while I took care of the more interesting stuff. All the while FRIDAY ran a search in the background. Keeping an eye out for a swordsman who might look more comfortable with a bow and arrow in his hands.
When I heard the footsteps I swiped the search away. If FRIDAY found him while there were witnesses there'd be a full team of Avengers swooping in on his location quicker than it takes Santa to name his reindeer.
But it was Nebula who walked through the door. Until then my only company was a half drunk cup of coffee, the peeled skin of a few pieces of fruit, and my tablet.
"Merry Christmas," I said without thinking. She halted in her steps and looked around as if I could possibly be talking to someone else.
She gave me a sharp nod in response before she strolled the rest of the way into the room and took her usual seat. She was a tough one to figure out.
"First one up?" I asked.
"No," she said, "you were."
"The others?"
"I have not seen them."
And our conversation died before it had a chance to live. I made my way through a few more emails, saving my responses in my drafts folder to stop someone from accusing me of not acting in the spirit of the holiday (Steve).
I felt her presence all the while. Though we've known each other for some time now, she cut a lonely figure in her chair, looking out at the white world surrounding the building. Even more so than the other times I'd seen her. I remembered our conversation by the lake, the promise to have each other's back. And as much as I wanted to ignore whatever complexity she posed, I knew I couldn't.
She was part of this team. And a promise is a promise.
"C'mon," I said. I stood up and gestured for her to follow. She did so without hesitation. It was a sign of how used she was to orders that she didn't question our destination. "I figured we could spend some time in the gym."
"My enhancements ensure I am always ready for combat."
"No combat on Christmas," I said, "this is about blowing off steam."
"Blowing off steam?" she tilted her head.
"Yeah, a bit of fun."
"You find beating people up fun?"
"Would you judge me if I said yes?"
She thought for a second as we stepped into the lift. "Yes. I would judge you well." Though we stayed silent during the ride to the floor she seemed more comfortable in the quiet than she had done since touching down. I wondered if this was what I was like when I first defected.
"Now," I said as we walked into the cavernous space decked out with all sorts of workout equipment and a sizeable sparring area, "how would you usually train?"
"Against an opponent," she said and eyed me with caution.
"I'm resourceful and I like to take on a challenge, but I think right now let's get you some one on one with the punching bag."
Yeah, I'm resourceful and yeah I like a challenge, but I was also smart. Without knowing a bit more about her there was no way we were sparring. Technological advancements, from a different planet - did I stand a chance? I'm not too proud to say no. I was at peak physical condition for a human, that's what the programme at the Red Room was all about and no matter what I made sure I stayed that way. But how did humans compare to other alien species?
No way was I being that guinea pig.
I can honestly say I have never seen Nebula so involved. It took her less than five minutes to destroy the first punching bag. I expected her to knock it off the hook, but no, she punched right through it. It was the second one that was knocked off. And I just about managed to save the third as her intensity ramped up. The look on her face was one I knew well, having seen it in the mirror far too many times.
We practiced her aim too and this one I did join in on. Though hesitant at first she came to enjoy the competition. When she won I saw the first true smile from her, heard the first true laugh. We moved to the shooting range and I had the edge, she didn't seem to mind too much.
Sometimes we spoke and when we did she would talk of the times she competed against her sister. Not in too much depth, just the cold hard facts. But between the lines she painted a picture of two people suffering much deprivation, and hers made worse by the constant success of her sister.
I've often compared our lives, but the truth was by the time we finished our session in the gym I saw Yelena in her. I saw everything I caused her, whether I meant to or not. That brought up a lot of feelings but the loudest was that I was glad I didn't just leave her sitting while I worked.
We came across Steve, Rocket and Carol in the kitchen. The latter attempted breakfast while the raccoon gave his support in a range of colourful jeers. Nebula joined the captain, more relaxed and up for conversation than before. Steve hunched over the table as he scanned the paper. He looked up when I slipped into the seat beside him.
"Happy Christmas, Nat," he smiled.
"Merry Christmas Steve." There was a lull in the kitchen noise and his stomach rumbled, "waiting to get fuelled up before our foray outside?"
"You know it."
"Outside? What's happening outside?" Rocket said, directing his attention from the chefs to us.
"Just a tradition," Steve said with a shrug and the other guy turned away. I fell into the back of my chair, only just resisting the urge to rest my feet on the table. Judging from Steve's smirk he could tell.
"What are you idiots doing? It's like you've never cooked an egg before," Rocket jumped from his seat, dragged it along behind him and attempted to climb onto the counter tops to add his two cents worth.
"No," Carol said, "get out of it, I saw you shedding on the ship the other day. You'll get fur in everyone's food."
They continued to bicker and we let them, because what's Christmas without some frustration. Their voices washed over me and mixed with my memories of Sam and Wanda on the run. For the most part they got on but there were the odd times when tempers frayed, and being the closest in age they tended to take it out on each other. To be expected when you're stuck with the same people day in and day out with limited freedom and the very real threat of discovery. It wasn't often we could get out for a bit of R&R, so Steve and I would come up with a distraction. A way to bond the team.
Our little Christmas tradition was one of those.
"All I'm saying is you guys might appreciate the particular difficulties of my life a little bit more if you coughed up some fur balls too."
And with that sobering sentence I came crashing back to the present. Carol pulled a face at Rocket as he gestured towards the pan. "A lot of weird things have happened in my life, but getting cooking tips from a raccoon has to be near the top of the list."
"You can't just talk to me like that. Hey Nebula, whose side are you on here?"
Though the words and the issues were different, I saw the same thing I did after Sokovia.
"Maybe we should bring them along," I whispered after I nudged Steve. He looked up and I was transported back to our conversation last year. I wondered if his state of mind was any different. And if so, was it better or worse?
"For the snowman?" I nodded and he took a good look at them, the two woman and a rodent sniping at each other while they tried to cook a Christmas breakfast despite two thirds never having celebrated it before. And I knew he saw what I did.
"Yeah, okay. I think it'll be good for them."
And that's how we once again found ourselves outside in the snow, giving the unlikeliest of teams a lesson in how to build a snowman. There were plenty to add to our tally, better than last year's. Especially when Bruce and Rhodey turned up. The Starks wanted to spend their first Christmas with Morgan to themselves, which was fair enough. By the end of our fun outside we had a snow War Machine, Hulk, Rocket, and a passable version of Nebula to add to our gallery.
Then Carol threw a snowball in Rocket's face and we focussed on destruction rather than construction.
"Good day?" Steve asked when he joined me in the living area. Rocket had come back in with clumps of fur frozen together and had yet to re-emerge from his quarters. Nebula had gone back to the gym, this time with Carol joining her. Rhodey and Bruce were setting up their rooms for the night.
"Better than I expected," I said.
"Yeah, same." He gave me an odd look.
"Out with it soldier."
"I, uh. I may have got you something."
For the first time I noticed both hands were hidden behind his back and he shifted nervously on his feet. "You know you shouldn't have done that, right?"
"Couldn't think of a better use of my time." I sighed and shifted on the sofa so he could sit down. "It's nothing much, but here."
He handed me what looked like a roll of paper with a red ribbon tied around it. I wasn't far off. With as much delicacy as I could muster I untied the ribbon and what unfurled was something I never expected, though perhaps I should have.
Three sheets of paper, each with a lovingly rendered and breathtaking sketch. The first that presented itself was of the full team. Me, Clint, Steve, Bruce, Tony, Thor, Sam, Rhodey, Wanda and Vision. We looked at ease with each other. At home. Before the troubles started, or before we'd realised they'd started. It was so realistic my breath caught at seeing Wanda, Sam and Vision after so long.
"You probably coulda put Bucky in this," I said trying to draw the attention away from the emotions I knew were swimming in my eyes.
"I thought about it but then I figured you wouldn't appreciate the reminder of the guy who shot you twice."
I laughed. It was such a typical Steve thought. The whole thing. I can imagine him umming and ahhing, wondering how I was going to react to seeing their faces.
I slid the first sheet and put it on the side table. The next picture was of the new team. Recently drawn because the Bruce that stood at the back was the hulking yet not Hulkish version. Steve and Tony were there too, as were Rocket, Nebula, Rhodey and Okoye. Steve wasn't the naïve sort to sketch a happy face on a team formed during the hardest of times. What I saw in the image was a group of people, determined and ready to take anything on. And I marvelled at how he managed to fit all of that into the delicate pencil markings and shading.
"Steve," I said, not entirely sure what was going to come next, "you really did miss your calling."
"Can't say I lived a wasted life though." He smiled, though he looked nervous and I knew what was coming next. A lump formed in my throat and I did my best to push it back down before placing the second sheet on the first and looking at the third.
Exactly what I thought it would be.
The Bartons. All of them. Happy and smiling and waving and just like I last remembered seeing them. Nate writhing in Laura's arms, a slight scowl on his face as he was refused his freedom. For her part Laura managing to keep her son on her hip with one arm while bidding me farewell with the other. Lila leaning away from Clint as he grabbed her around the middle. She was laughing as she waved, Clint had that all too common boyish grin. Then there was Cooper. Hanging out at the back, looking far too shy to be the boy I watched grow up. But Steve was his idol and that's what happened when presented with your heroes.
I didn't know what to do so I just continued to stare. I felt the burning in my eyes and the slight pounding in my head as I forced the emotion away. How Steve had done this from memory I would never fully understand. How did he have the ability to recreate life in such beautiful drawings? I didn't have the words then to tell him how much I appreciated what he'd given me. I still don't.
"Steve," I said, "these are - these are beautiful. I can't believe you did this."
"I was going to do one of Tony, Pepper and Morgan too," he said, "but I don't think he would have appreciated me drawing them."
I put the last sketch with the others and threw my arms around him. It was the only way I knew to make sure he fully understood my feelings on the matter. "I don't know what I did to deserve you as a friend. But thank you."
He returned my hug and we sat like that for a few seconds until I broke it. He watched as I reached behind the cushion and pulled out a wrapped gift for him.
"Of course I got something for you too." I didn't know what he was more embarrassed about my uncharacteristic display of emotion or that he was now the centre of attention. He held it in his hands and just looked at it. I was tempted to make a joke, but knowing what he was holding I held my tongue. At last he started to unwrap it and I had the distinct impression he knew what it was before he'd fully revealed it.
"Nat," he said, barely able to say my name, "how?"
"A lot of searching. A lot of favours."
He opened then lifted the aging book to his nose and breathed it in. He wiped his eyes before any tears could land on the pages. "I haven't seen her handwriting in so long."
"I figured if anyone could fix your skills in the kitchen it would be your mum." He gave a watery smile and a choked laugh before hugging Sarah Rogers' recipe book to his chest. For a moment I saw the boy from before the serum. The one with no expectation on his shoulders. The kid who struggled through his life and loved the woman who supported him all the way. And then he hugged me.
"Thank you," he said when he pulled away, "I thought I'd lost everything of hers. I don't know anyone else who would do this for me, Nat."
"Pretty much everyone, Steve. You mean a lot to a lot of people."
"Then you should know it's the same for you."