3 January 2020

2019 is gone.

I'm not entirely sure I'm glad to see the year go. Yes, it's yet another new year on the calendar since everything went to shit. And there were difficulties that included the whole Clint revelation. Plus the one year mark since everyone disappeared, and Thor's continued downward spiral.

But they weren't the only things to happen, not even the sole focus of my attention.

Because 2019 was also the year Morgan was born. So tiny and so young but she's a beacon to us all. A reminder of what's still possible, of why we carry on doing what we're doing. And Bruce was reborn; the once gentle man now a gentle giant. Potential fulfilled in the face of adversity. A strength the Hulk never had but Banner always did. And, despite the circumstances, I saw my best friend again.

It was a mixed bag, but in the midst of those months I knew where I stood. At the start of the next twelve, anything seemed possible. And when a pessimist looked at a blank slate, the possibilities were never good.

In the end, 2019 grew on me.

We'll see how 2020 follows up.

It does have a ring to it.

One of truth, maybe.

They say hindsight is 2020.

And looking back there's plenty I would do differently. A lot of people would leave their past untouched, if given the opportunity. Preaching on about how they wouldn't have grown as people without their mistakes and regrets. But then my mistakes led to Thanos.

Was he preventable? Or was he inevitable, as he boasted before Thor severed head from body? Had our paths always meant to lead to him?

When Clint spared my life and I found myself whiling away a few days in the SHIELD holding cells I convinced myself it was my one chance to right the many wrongs I'd committed. It felt like the best opportunity I had to live beyond the short expiration date that came with every Black Widow. What it never felt like was a long gallows walk to meet the unmaker of the universe.

But then it never felt like the path to the Avengers either. See it from my view Tom. An orphan, as far as I'm aware. An assassin. Starved, neglected, deprived. A killer before I was anything else. I slipped from atrocity to atrocity in the name of my country.

I was cut from shadow.

And shadows aren't Avenger material.

In spite of the obstacle of my past I made it onto that team, I made a difference in the world. I never thought my path would take me there either. I used to think they were the destination. That, despite knowing better, nothing would change. They were just a pit-stop though. So was Thanos.

The real destination? I guess I won't know that until I'm there. But considering the stops along the way, I'm expecting it to be one hell of a place.

In the meantime...

...2020.

Not just a new year, but a new decade.

What do the next ten years hold?

Well in the last ten I infiltrated Stark Industries, tricked a god, joined a band of super heroes, befriended a living fossil, watched my mentor die then found him very much alive, destroyed the organisation I called home, saved the world, then failed to protect half the universe from a madman with a fancy glove and a bunch of shiny stones.

I guess there's not much point in trying to predict it.

Is it off to a good start though? Well, it looks like major crime has a hangover. Nothing's crept its way onto FRIDAY's radar so far. And there weren't any fireworks to whip the raccoon up into a battle frenzy.

Which is always a plus.

7 January 2020

Blood on the wooden floor. Coppery on the air. Old floorboards soaking up the life of yet another person. Except this was my first. Of many, as it turned out.

Bullets pinging off and through the plane. Melina bleeding heavily at my side as she taught me how to pilot the vehicle. Carnage happening on the runway and all around. Yelena crying in the back.

The Winter Soldier, fuzzy and fading, turning his back on me. My own blood making its bid for freedom. In that moment, if I turn, I know I'll find the body of the engineer I was assigned to protect.

A sterile room. Coulson's body atop a metal slab; a shell on display. Sometimes it's Nick Fury instead, lying on his death bed and through his teeth.

The numbers of the Snapped ticking up and up and up.

There are some images that stick with you, no matter how long you live and no matter what else you see. They spring unbidden from the darkness. One moment you're reading a report or brushing your teeth and the next the past is in front of you, fresh as the day it happened.

They stay for different reasons. Some you're glad of. Some you're not.

The ghosts that haunt the darkest part of your mind are the ones happiest to step into the light of day. Sometimes, though, it's the nicer ones that make an appearance, when your mind decides to give you just what you need to make it through a day, or even a moment.

A rooftop. The cityscape behind me. An archer in front of me. A nameless something shining in his eyes as he puts the arrow back in the quiver. I later came to identify it as compassion.

A picture on the fridge. A crude house and five stick people. Including one with red hair. Also the first of many.

Sitting across from Steve after our informative yet destructive trip to Camp Lehigh. The smell of a cooked breakfast invading the air as Sam clattered around his kitchen. The World War Two vet is overflowing with sincerity but it doesn't bother me so much because he said he trusted me. And no matter how I analysed, I couldn't find a lie in his words.

Tony staggering off the ship. Worse for wear but very much alive.

The good things. The momentous things. The ones that drive you on to take the opportunities landed at your feet. That's how I see them, anyway.

Each of them defining moments. The good and the bad. No matter how much I might wish I could forget some.

And there were those I didn't know if I wanted to forget or cherish.

My best friend's face, under lit by the growing number of candles on his cake. A party hat sat lopsided on his head, not doing a great job of covering the confetti and glitter attack both Coop and Lila had launched on him when he walked into the kitchen. He blew the candles out and the smokiness lingered long after the source was gone.

That's the one that keeps following me today.

Wherever you are, happy birthday Clint.

15 January 2020

Hi Tom,

I remember when the compound first opened. It was busy and bustling and the absolute power-centre of the Avengers. Everyone essential to the day-to-day running of such a crime-fighting outfit walked its halls and enjoyed the benefits of a FRIDAY-driven building.

There were people who got on and people who didn't, laughter and angry words bounced down the corridors as often as each other. Excitement sat on the air, and it was an odd experience because it didn't differ that much from SHIELD yet excitement wasn't something I'd associate with the organisation. Anticipation, sure, anxiousness, yes. But not excitement.

Maybe that had something to do with the untended weed that was Hydra.

The compound had it though. In fact, it brought it to life. It was a good place to work, and live.

It was never meant for two people and an AI.

It was never meant to be left empty and uncared for.

It was never meant for what it was being used for now.

And while I once had to search high and low for some peace and quiet, they were things that were no longer hard to come by.

Especially with Steve on another mission for the long haul and me acting as the annoying voice in his ear, questioning his choices and warning him of potential danger.

Still, it was home. And that gave it a charm that could never be taken away.

I think the others appreciate it, too. At the very least the space triplets enjoy the novelty of it. Steve's always glad to be back, and even Rhodey is his most relaxed when he's here, except for maybe when he's round the Starks'.

No, the compound isn't the problem.

The missions are.

Though nothing has been said yet. Steve's not happy when they take him out of the city. He's not happy when they keep him from his meetings. He's not happy. Despite all the self-help books he's bought.

And he hides it. He carries on and does the job because that's what Steve does. Internalising stuff is one of his specialties. Though who am I to judge? I do have him beat in that department.

The defeated sighs and sullen silences are a giveaway though. As someone who's spent a lifetime mastering those finer touches it's second nature to pick up on them in others.

He's frustrated. It's not aimed at me; it's not aimed at any person, except maybe himself. He thinks like he should be doing one thing but feels like he should be doing another. It's wearing down on him.

There's no point in confronting him about it. I'm already the annoying voice in his ear at work, being the same thing away from that will make the problem worse.

Sometimes I wish I hadn't taught him to be a little more closed off from others. Sometimes I wish I hadn't made a promise to respect the boundaries he put up.

But I had and I did.

All I can do is wait for him to find his solution and just hope it doesn't come too late.

17 January 2020

Hi Tom,

There are a lot of things in the world I don't understand, and that was before aliens and magic was a thing.

And I was okay with not knowing those things, because you can't know everything - despite how some people might think otherwise. Ignorance is a part of humanity, the natural antidote to which is education. Whatever your approach to life, whether it's knowing a little about a lot or a lot about a little, full and complete knowledge is not possible.

And yet, there was one gap in my knowledge I wish I could fill.

First birthday parties.

What was the point?

It was a question I pondered as I ferried Rocket and Nebula to Morgan's, and from the questions they bombarded me with before climbing into the car, I had a sense I wasn't the only one thinking along those lines. Even as I wondered how my parents would have marked my first birthday under Soviet rule, I suspected my Guardian friends were thinking back to theirs.

Our thoughts remained a mystery to each other.

Everyone was invited; but Steve was still on his mission and Carol had already committed to visiting Wakanda to see Okoye, the two having struck up a friendship since the Anniversary last year. Rocket was given the choice to go and he'd opted to keep his feet on solid ground, which meant the party, and a lot of regret on his part when he realised what he was going to be sitting in for the journey.

I looked in the rear view mirror and smirked. Rocket didn't look very happy, I'd be hard pressed to name a time when he did. But he scowled at his reflection in the window, arms folded as best he could manage strapped into a car seat as he was.

Nebula was next to me also looking out her window, but she sat straight and kept her hands on her knees. I'd been on the ship with them both before, but take away the backdrop of space and the high tech gadgetry of the craft, and it felt surreal.

Actual aliens, in my car, abiding by the highway code.

Though all were invited, Tony told Nebula she was not allowed to refuse. She didn't let on, but it was something that kept her mind whirring as she tried to figure it out. It took her out of her comfort zone, not just beyond the four walls of the compound, but away from the things she knew how to address and deal with.

An invitation born from friendship. Not an order given in a thirst for conquest.

"I do not understand," she said as the car rolled to a stop and a couple of pedestrians crossed the road, they glanced at the car and did a double take at the blue woman with intense eyes in the passenger seat, "the time we spent together was not good. The ship was damaged, hope was gone, death stood before him, and he was not good at the game we played. Why would he want a reminder of that experience at his daughter's birthday? I thought he was supposed to be intelligent."

"He is," I said, "he doesn't want a repeat. He just wants to spend time with his friend. Have you heard the saying 'every cloud has a silver lining'?"

"That ain't true," Rocket chimed in from the back, "be too heavy if that were true. And Quill and I woulda looted them a long time ago."

"It's a metaphor," I said, getting the car going again.

"Drax woulda got me," Rocket said, waving a dismissive paw.

"Like Drax, I'm not sure I care for metaphors."

"Hmmm," I said to distract my mouth from the very sarcastic retort ready to spring from it, "it means for every bad situation there's something good that can be taken from it."

"That is applicable here?" She stared at me as we drove, those eyes as intense as ever. I didn't answer right away, I wasn't sure what the best one would be. None of us in that car were equipped for the soppy territory the conversation had the potential to lead us into. If ever there was a more emotionally stunted carpool, I'd never heard of it.

And yet, it seemed to be the only way to go.

"Yes," I said, fixing my eyes on the road ahead, "you're the silver lining he found."

I expected the following silence to be awkward. Instead it was thoughtful. Nebula analysed my words and everything she knew about Tony. Rocket pretended not to be listening but it was a small car and we weren't talking any quieter than earlier.

"Is he a good friend to have?" Nebula finally asked. I smirked.

"Tony Stark is a pain in the ass. He's loud and arrogant and thinks he's the smartest guy in the room. Then you get to know him, and you understand. He's loud because it was the only way he knew how to get his father's attention. He's arrogant because it's learned behaviour. He thinks he's the smartest guy in the room because he usually is. And when he isn't he gives up the crown.

"Beneath all of that is a man with insecurities like the rest of us. And there's nothing he wouldn't do for his friends. While I've known him he's matured into someone who cares deeply for the world around him as well as the people in his life. There are worse friends to have."

"I assume these are words you'd rather he did not hear?"

"Doesn't matter, he'd never believe I'd said them."

"I have an upgrade that records my interactions with others. I can confront him with proof."

"And I thought we had each other's backs."

She laughed and let the conversation come to an end. Her eyes roamed the scenery outside and, once or twice I'm sure I spotted a gentle drum of her fingers in time to the music on the radio. Though she and Rocket had both visited the planet a few times they'd never been beyond the walls of the compound, with the exception of Rocket battling in Wakanda. This trip was their first chance to see a little of what Earth had to offer. If it even offered anything in comparison to the more advanced civilisations out there.

We pulled up outside the Starks', a birthday banner was strung across the stoop railings and, from the sound of it, there was a Banner in the garden. His gentle voice just about audible above the chaotic kids music they had playing.

Nebula and I got out and slammed our doors shut. We exchanged a look over the car roof about who was going to free Rocket from his car prison. I conceded, it was my car and I should take on the risks that came with it.

I unclipped him and offered him a hand, but he bared his teeth and jumped onto the gravel below. Footsteps hurried across the wooden decking and we all looked up to see Pepper there to greet us.

"It's so good to see you, thanks for coming," she said. We joined her on the stoop and rather than take us round to the back garden she ushered us in through the front door. "Warm drinks for everyone first, I think."

"Nice place you got here," Rocket said, eying up the art and ornaments on display, though he had the good sense to keep his paws to himself.

"Thanks," Pepper said, "we designed it ourselves, made it as sustainable as possible."

"So, tell me, how flashy he's gone?" I said. The debate over whether they should go all out or enjoy a small gathering of people had waged right until the last minute. Pepper had vented to me over the phone a few times.

"It's not," she said with a triumphant smile.

"Interested to know how you convinced him."

She brought us into the kitchen, took our orders and started to put them together. From there we could see a table under a gazebo, surrounded by patio heaters, with chairs that had balloons tied to them. On top of it was a small pile of gifts and, already claiming one of the chairs, Rhodey was pulling a series of silly faces at the birthday girl, who was perched on his knee.

"Told him if he gave me the first three for quiet family get-togethers then he could run with it from her fourth and onwards, until she starts to object. He's already put together a party planning folder," she passed drinks to Rocket and Nebula while she spoke, "man used to be CEO of one of the biggest companies on the planet and this is the most organised I've ever seen him."

She handed me my coffee and stirred whatever herbal mess she'd made for herself; it smelled far too healthy to be nice. A moment passed in which we listened to Morgan's high-pitched laugh and watched Tony take photos of her and his best friend.

"Steve's sorry not to be here, he didn't want to miss her first birthday," I said, "but this might be our chance to get a guy we've been after for months."

"Does that mean you're on call too?" She asked and I nodded. "I think Tony's sorry he's not here either. I'm beginning to think we need to bang their heads together and lock them in a room until they start speaking properly again."

"Why are you congregating in the kitchen like a bunch of boring grownups?" Tony called from the doorway, "c'mon."

He waved us out and it was a relief to realise none of the January cold penetrated the bubble of warmth thrown out by the heaters. He didn't even give Nebula a chance to follow me before guiding her to the chair next to his. Despite what they went through together, they hadn't spent much time with each other since. The eagerness with which he threw himself into conversation with her showed how keen he was to rectify that.

At some point since Thanksgiving Morgan had found her voice, but lacked the vocabulary to go with it. Instead she decided her babbling noises were the only thing people needed to hear, unless they paid her enough attention and they got a break from it.

Her other tactic was to pull herself up onto her wobbly legs. Each time she threatened to walk, a look of intense concentration on her face, but each time she plonked back down without any harm.

Bruce, Rhodey and Rocket struck up conversation. I was surprised the latter was so interested at first, but then he hadn't heard all of Rhodey's war stories yet, and the guy had a fascination with weapons.

And Pepper and I continued to talk. It was only ever easy with her. At one point we were joined by Morgan.

I've decided I like my days with Morgan in. It doesn't matter what's going on she lifts the mood. Tony and Pepper are lucky, not only to have her, but to have found their little slice of happiness in a world that's pretty stingy on such a thing at the moment. So much could have gone away from them. And yet, somehow, the pieces fell in their favour.

It can't be easy. I see it in their eyes at times. Guilt at having been more fortunate than most. guilt at still having almost everything when there were plenty of people who had lost almost everything.

Just more proof for my this-isn't-as-random-as-Thanos-would-like-us-to-think theory.

But they ploughed on anyway, they lived their lives and gave what they could. Though their roles may have changed, they didn't shy away from the world. They faced it and helped.

They would never give up. And I knew without looking at the pile on the table, that resilience was the greatest gift Morgan would ever get from them.

31 January 2020

Hi Tom,

The news is bored with the Professor Hulk story. Bruce was very careful not to give them much new content to splash around their channels.

The damage is done though. Media interest in one former Avenger means the spark has jumped to the rest of us and is threatening to turn into a blaze. Every morning FRIDAY greets me with the live feed at the front gate where a few hopeful photographers are usually camped out. So far none of them have attempted to trespass and I'm glad our security measures were still fresh in their minds.

But Steve and I weren't the ones they were interested in. Former fugitives? Ugh, so boring. No, give us the god that's gone missing.

Whenever it's a slow news day they dredge up some old photos or videos and either go with an opinion piece or try and link the new team to current crime levels. Sometimes they even put on a poll (not to brag but 72% of people have high confidence in the Avengers). But the thing that comes up the most often is the video of the anniversary in Wakanda and, without fail, someone always asks where Thor is.

There were those who thought he was at the compound, others who thought he might be hiding out in Wakanda, following the logic that it was the last place he was seen, after all. And some are pretty certain he's hanging in New Asgard with the rest of his people. Let's be honest, you don't have to be smart to figure that one out.

I sent Valkyrie a warning, the last thing they want to be dealing with is an intrepid journalist. As of yet nothing of Thor has turned up on the news. I hope it never does.

He doesn't need the worry or the stress. Doesn't deserve it.

News is unforgiving. Unflattering.

Sometimes it's used for good. Often times the darker side takes over.

All I want is for this year to give the god kindness. To cut him some slack and show him the way to come to peace with the demons that haunt him.

2018 took so much. Surely we deserve a little something in return.