2 April 2020
Routine after routine.
Twists and turns. Leaps and spins.
Again.
Again.
Always again.
A dance of beauty. A test of strength.
Again and again.
The weakest killed in front of us. Shot in the head. Necks twisted beyond snapping point. They called it mercy. Putting animals out of their suffering.
But it was a lesson; they did not know what mercy was.
The weak do not belong. The weak must die.
Do. Not. Be. Weak.
We danced on.
And on and on.
Twists and leaps and spins and turns. Plie and pirouette. En Pointe, always. The herd thinned, lasting long enough that they were only beaten.
Hours passed.
Again.
The light dimmed.
Again.
We tired.
Again.
A test of endurance. A dance of obedience.
One by one the others went. Unable to do more.
Just me and Madame B.
"Again," She said and I would dance for her.
Perfect execution, perfect finish.
Every time.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Until...
..."Enough."
And I would stop. Rest was the enemy. Rest let the pain come in, let my lungs scream and the aches roar.
She circled me. Studying. She was the spider and I was caught in her web.
En pointe, always.
I ignored my lungs, kept my breathing measured.
"Your shoes, Natalia. Take them off."
A dance of obedience.
I slipped them off. She took them. The insides smeared with blood. I stood on my bloodied, bruised and broken feet. Hot against the cool mat.
"You sully the things Mother Russia sees fit to provide with your ungrateful blood," she looked at me, waiting for me to break. When I didn't she turned her back, shoes still in hand, "this will not do."
A test of endurance.
"Again," she said without turning around.
Of all the waking memories that followed me through each day, this was the most persistent. For years it had remained dormant, resting with all the others I'd retained from my spying for Russia days. I knew it was there, a shadow at the back of mind. But it never bothered me.
And now.
Now it walks with me night and day. It flashes up when I blink. Pounces when there's a second I'm not busy. I knew there was a reason I never wanted to be stuck behind a desk. There were a lot of things that could catch up with me if I stayed still for too long.
When it's too much I go to the gym and do the routine. Hoping I can work it out of my system.
It worked. Until yesterday.
When it drove me further and further. Faster and faster. No music, no audience. Alone, without anchor, pointless.
Routine after routine.
I looked in the mirror.
Hollow eyes stared back. Flashing with memory.
"Again," the woman in the glass said.
15 April 2020
Hi Tom,
One thing I've discovered during the past couple of years is that doing the same thing over and over again is only so challenging.
For weeks now, months even, I've itched for something more, needed something else to fill my days. Instead I just pushed harder in the gym. Used and reused what was there. Honed the skills it catered for but felt the others rust, and jam. No matter what I tried, I could not shake it off.
So I made an obstacle course.
When I say 'made' I mean designed, ordered the parts, and installed it myself. Something to keep me busy when I should be sleeping. It had Tony's blessing. In fact, I suspect he intercepted my order and made it himself, if the N. Rushman engravings on each part are anything to go by.
He didn't say anything though. And neither did I. Our needs can show our desperation; I needed this something new, and he needed to help. And no one likes to have their desperation witnessed.
It was a nice course, it slotted in with the current gym without changing it too much. A lot of it took place on the walls or the ceiling, testing the skills not often worked unless in the field.
Once it was installed I ran through it once, pretty slow - to make sure everything was secure. Then I did it again, because I didn't like having such an atrocious time attributed to me. Then I did it a third time because I could. And a fourth because I wanted to keep my mind off the world at large. And a fifth because I found I quite liked not thinking about the world.
By the time I stopped I was bone weary. My legs ached. My arms even more. My breath came in short, sharp bursts and it felt good to have worked every muscle.
Whether FRIDAY had sensed my need or dared not interrupt me, I was surprised to find I was no longer alone in the compound. As I made my way to my quarters, in desperate need of a shower, I heard the noises of a hungry modern-day man foraging for food in the face of the dangers presented by a dark kitchen. I crept up to the doorway and just about made out Steve's silhouette, cast by the moonlight filtering through the windows. He dropped something on the floor with a hollow clatter and swore. The sweet smell suggested he'd dropped hot chocolate powder.
"This is why electricity was invented, you know," I said and flipped the light on.
"To avoid hot chocolate spillages?"
"Exactly the reason. Though my teacher on all things non-Russian was Clint and I've heard some of his lessons have been disputed."
He laughed and straightened up to look at me. "What have you been doing?"
"Gym. Actually, you might like what I've added."
"What?"
"Follow me." I headed back down the corridor and didn't bother to look back. He might feign coolness and an ability to be above something as mundane as curiosity, but even he couldn't help himself sometimes.
"I'm hungry," he called after me.
"Then earn your dinner, soldier."
He followed, as I knew he would.
The thing with the obstacle course was that it required a certain amount of gymnastic skill. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if most gymnasts took one look at it and walked away. That was very much the expression I caught on Steve's face when he walked into the room. It disappeared in a breath and he cracked his knuckles.
"Alright then, challenge accepted."
"You don't even know what the challenge is yet," I said, "but of course, when do you ever turn one down?"
"Careful Nat, sounding dangerously close to arrogant there."
"Me? Never."
I pointed at the screen I'd put up at the end of the course, where FRIDAY dutifully recorded my times (I argued with her until she put test next to my very first one). Steve studied the numbers and, again, I fancied I saw a flicker of doubt.
"Beat my time," I said.
"I'll do more than that," he said, "I'll smash it."
"Careful Steve, sounding dangerously close to arrogant there."
He laughed. "Let me back it up then. If I don't beat it, I'll do your paperwork for two months."
"Hmmmm, make it three and you have a deal."
I liked it when it was this easy between us. That somehow, despite everything, we found something that was normal to us and used it to keep ourselves both going. Having this time together, as if nothing had changed, was one of the things that took me from day to day. I've written so often about all the things that have changed and not enough about the things that haven't. My ramblings would be a lot shorter; they would have just been about this friendship.
Unchanged. Maybe entrenched a little deeper because we faced down yet another catastrophe together. But otherwise unchanged. And that's what I liked. Until he went and said something stupid like:
"Great, and if I do beat it, which I will, you come to a meeting with me."
I let the shock of it pass me by, not willing to let him know how much it affected me, and let my natural smirk come to the fore. "I'm not going to one of those meetings to have some crackpot root around for the deeper feelings behind my actions in front of a bunch of strangers."
"I'm one of those crackpots," he said, tilting his head to one side in a strange mixture of offended and embarrassed, "they asked me just before Christmas."
"To be a crackpot?"
"To lead a group," he rubbed the back of his neck and any offence disappeared as he decided embarrassment was the way to go.
"Good for you," I said, "I mean it. But I'm still not going to one of those meetings because you're not going to beat my time. One shot, soldier, use it wisely."
"One shot? You didn't say that."
"Art of the deal, my friend. Always make sure you have all the information before agreeing to anything. Now, when you're ready."
To be honest, Tom, I was going to give him three chances. Thought it was fair. But I really didn't want to go to one of those meetings.
He studied the course, tracked where he was meant to go and what was required for each section. I was sure there were some finer details he missed. Which proved true once FRIDAY counted him in and he made a start. Of course the run up to the wall was taken at speed and he used his strength to jump higher than I could, but that overzealous behaviour led him to the handholds purposefully designed not to hold his weight. He landed back on the floor with a huff and stepped back to study the wall some more. He picked out the ones that were hidden from sight, and identified that ones he shouldn't put his weight on.
After a false start he tried again and this time made it up. I was pleased to note he was lagging behind me. Sure, I had an advantage because I created the thing and put it together, not to mention I had a few chances to drill my time down.
But, like I said, I did not want to go to that meeting.
He swung his way across the room without incident but stumbled a few times through the balancing section, when he didn't pay enough attention to realise there was rotation to deal with as well.
Steve regained enough ground towards the end of the course that I was genuinely worried I'd have to concede defeat. But it wasn't enough.
He didn't smash my time. Didn't even beat it. I was safe, and I had three months of no paperwork to look forward to.
"I still think you should go," he said with a pant when he approached me.
"Bet's a bet, I won. No meeting for me but loads and loads of paperwork for you."
"It'll be good for you Nat. I think-"
"No, Steve. No meeting. No talking. None of that."
"But-"
"I don't need it." The anger came up on me quickly and I couldn't quite bring myself to regret it.
"Come on," he almost yelled, "all you do it work."
"That's all I did before." I kept my voice even.
"You can't honestly think you're dealing with all of this well?" There was desperation burning in his eyes. Despite what I said earlier I think he wanted someone to bear witness to it. So I looked away, because his worry for me was a burden too far. I couldn't carry that too.
"You're not my therapist, Steve. Just because you've gone to a few group sessions doesn't make you an expert on everyone's psyche. Especially not mine." I walked away from him, which was something I was used to doing to other people. But I still heard his words.
"No, but I thought being your friend did."
16 April 2020
Hi Tom,
If I'd sat and written to you this morning, the day would have been unremarkable.
I would have told you about the birds I heard calling to each other amongst the trees; they were so calm and unflustered. Going about their lives, simple lives. I would have mentioned the slight lift in temperature, not that it mattered much with the constant breeze, which sometimes brought rain spatter with it. And I definitely would have said how fresh and new everything outside smelled because of how fresh and new everything is.
And that would have been it; unremarkable yet somehow remarked upon.
But I didn't write this morning. I have written this evening instead. And a lot has happened between those two points in time.
Or perhaps hardly anything has happened, but a lot has changed.
Something has shifted, at the very least.
I didn't write in you earlier because my conversation with Steve yesterday was still buzzing in my ear. I replayed parts of it; sometimes all of it. And each time I found something new. Of that I wasn't ashamed. A big part of spy craft is the ability to analyse a person and their conversations and that doesn't always happen right away. I soon realised the scene that played out in front of me was not the real one. Of that I was ashamed.
He'd needed me to listen. I hadn't.
When I found him he was sitting on the sofa being all old school and reading a newspaper. For a few seconds the only noise between us was the rustling of said paper and our breaths. It was then that I realised stale coffee lingered on the air and I used the task of gathering my all-day-used and half-full cup to get his attention. I knew I had it when the rustling stopped for a millisecond.
"Wanna go for a walk?"
"Why?" He asked without even peering over the pages.
"Because I think all your talk of talking yesterday means there's something you wanted to talk about."
"You're difficult to keep up with, you know," he said and I just knew that even though he'd criticised my words he was hiding a smile behind that paper.
"Yep," I said, "but you do just fine."
This time he did look over the pages, flicking the corners down so he could study me. Then he folded the paper up and threw it onto the empty cushion beside him.
"I could do with a walk."
"Let me just go sort this out," I gestured with my cup, "and I'll meet you outside."
When I got there he had a jacket on, because of that breeze I mentioned earlier, and was holding mine out for me. I grabbed it and pulled it on over my thin-sleeved top.
"Thanks."
We walked down the path a little and headed onto the grass, which painted the hems of our trousers with settled rain drops as we went. Neither of us said anything because, I suspected, both of us were waiting for the other to start.
There was no doubt in my mind he would be the first one to talk. I was not disappointed.
"You want me to talk even though you won't?"
"Yes."
"Why do you think that'll work?"
"Because you're the one who wants to talk." We lapsed into a silence again as we continued through the grass. At some point we'd made the separate, but joint, decision to skirt the lake. I looped an arm through his. In the brief lull of the breeze I felt my words had fallen with a harshness I didn't intend.
"And you don't want to?"
"Not to a room full of strangers, no."
"But not even to me, either." I felt him tense, which I didn't want. I hadn't asked him out here to ambush him.
"I talk to you."
"About hardly anything."
Though it seems he'd agreed only so he could try and ambush me. Again.
"That's more than most people get."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better." He stopped and pulled away from me so our arms were no longer joined. "Nat, why don't you see it? I'm just trying to be a good friend. I just want to help. You need an outlet that isn't work or isn't the gym. You need something else."
I thought of you, Tom, tucked away in my bedside table. I thought of all those hours I spent doubled over and scribbling down thought after thought after thought. All those things I've said to you I would never say to anyone else. The hand cramp and the back ache and relief of having unburdened some of the feelings bottled up inside of me, even if it was only in the written word.
"I have that, Steve. I have an outlet. A non-destructive one," I added as he raised an eyebrow.
"Really? I haven't seen it."
"Maybe that's the point," I said. Then I paused for a little bit and thought. Because I wanted to say how important he was to me, how I doubted very much I'd have made it through the aftermath of Thanos if he wasn't there, how he kept me sane in a world that was mad, how the only reason I was strong enough to stand and lead the Avengers and work on WOOPS was because he had leant me his strength and I wished that I was able to repay that debt. Instead all that came out was: "For the record, you are a good friend."
And all I could do was hope that he'd hear everything else I wanted him to know. I'll never know if he did, I was too proud to ask, and he'd turned towards the lake, thumbs hooked through his belt loops. He sighed, gentle but loud enough for me to hear as it was carried away on a current of air.
"I don't know about that, Nat. I don't know if I'm good at anything anymore."
I moved to stand in front of him and for the first time in a long time, he let me see the full truth of his eyes. I didn't have to scrutinise. I didn't have to needle him. I didn't have to guess. He just let his guard down. He showed me everything.
And it was chaos.
"Steve-"
"I can't believe it's come to this, you know," he interrupted me and there was a hitch in his voice, it was razor sharp as it washed over me. "I told Buck I was with him until the end of the line. The thing is, I never thought the end of the line would look like this."
"Hey there solider, you're sounding a little pessimistic for a guy with terminal optimism," I said and placed a hand on his shoulder. He slumped at my touch, as if I'd sapped him of the last of his strength. We ended up in a hug, him clinging to me as he breathed out words that were like a dagger to my heart. Not quite as painful as the two Soviet slugs to my hip and shoulder, but a little more deadly.
"I dunno if there's any more left in me, Nat."
"We both know that isn't true," I pulled away from him and made him stand up straight, Melina's voice bubbled up from the past, 'you will get the back hunch'. It hurt just as much as Steve's words. I didn't want to be out there anymore. "You wanna head back?"
He shook his head and took a deep breath; he was content to look out across the lake and get lost in whatever memories were churned up by the storm of his emotions.
"I can't do it, Nat. I can't pretend anymore," he spoke in a rush as if the words had taken him by surprise. "I keep trying to find something to cling to. I thought the Avengers would help but it doesn't and I don't even know why. It just - It doesn't - It..."
"It doesn't feel the same anymore. We're all just imposters playing a part, and not even playing it that well," I finished for him.
"Yeah. You feel it too?"
"Of course."
"But everything you're doing."
"I do what I can, Steve, because it's all I can do."
"You keep hoping. Doesn't matter what happens, you still believe they're coming back. But this, to me, it looks a hell of a lot like the end of the line. And clinging to all this, this, hope, the Avengers, it just keeps the wounds open and it hurts so much more every day that goes by, for so little reward. It just keeps building and I want it to stop."
It was the most un-Captain America speech I'd ever heard pass his lips, but then again, it wasn't Captain America speaking. He looked so lost. Deep in those eyes he was pleading with me, for me to understand.
"The meetings, they make it stop," I said.
He took in another deep breath and I swear it was almost a sob. He swallowed it though, and set his shoulders straight again.
"They make it better, for a while. Talking to them, it really helps. There's no judgement there."
"There's no judgement here." I don't know what it was about my voice that made him reach out but he did and we were hugging once again. Outside of my many aliases, I used to find such things awkward but with Steve it was always natural.
"I know."
His voice reverberated through our hug and it - I don't know. It's hard to explain. It was like the very pinnacle of our friendship, maybe. But also like the end of an era.
Because I didn't just hear the hesitation behind the moment. I felt it.
"Say it," I said into his shoulder and I kept my eyes closed, is if that would soften the blow.
"Earth needs more than the Avengers right now. It doesn't need superheroes. It needs the everyday sort. People who help with the smaller but no less important day-to-day problems. Sam was one of those people. He's gone now, and someone needs to step into his shoes. Maybe that's what I can do."
This was a man who had given serious thought to handing in his notice.
I wanted to say 'so you're leaving', instead I stepped back and said:
"It makes sense, Steve."
He gave me a look. The guarded one where he's not exactly sure where he stood. I saw the question bubbling up in his eyes and I was glad for the air between us, afraid he would feel the heat of the anger that had blossomed so suddenly. I made my eyes as honest as I was able. They begged him to come out and say it instead of making me the one to acknowledge it. We both knew I knew, it was pointless to pretend otherwise.
Acceptance flooded through his pupils.
"Me moving out?" He finally said, unable to keep the hint of a question out of his voice.
"Yes."
"How did you know?"
"I'm not a world-class spy for nothing, Steve." That sheepish smile of his made an appearance while I kept up appearances with the casual smirk I found so easy to slip on in all occasions.
"It's just, I think - I think I need to. The compound is full of ghosts. It's hard to stay there when that's all that's there."
I wanted to say that I was there, too. Instead I said:
"You don't need to explain yourself to me."
"I'll come over every week, you know," he said, "probably more than once."
"Nice try," I said, "I know you still haven't got the hang of using washing machines, you'll be here to do your laundry."
He smiled. "And to see a friend." He turned towards the compound and with a look back at me I knew he thought it was time we go back. "There was a time when I thought nothing would break me. I had the serum in my veins, America at my back, and justice leading me onward. But this - god this has broken me beyond anything I ever imagined."
I wanted to say 'don't you see? I'm broken too'. Instead I said:
"It's fine. Take the time to heal. Just don't think it gets you out of all that paperwork."
"But what about you, Nat?"
"What about me?"
"Will you be okay?"
I wanted to say something truthful, give him something honest. Instead I said:
"I'm always okay, Steve."
18 April 2020
The rest of the team did not take the news well.
"That's a choice? I didn't know that was a choice. Can I go too?" Was Rocket's response.
Nebula just blinked and kept her arms folded.
"It will be a shame to not work with you as often," Okoye said, a woman who had not shirked her responsibilities and had, in fact, stepped up. A person Steve would compare himself to and find himself lacking, forgetting that they were incomparable forces. "I hope it brings what you're seeking."
Carol was certain he would rejoin us. "Once a soldier, always a soldier," she said. But accepted he was choosing to serve in a different way.
Rhodey side-eyed him the entire time. Biting back his words because of the sharp looks I kept sending him.
I stood by him during that meeting. Defended his position when it came under attack and assured those assembled that he would still help if we found it necessary. He was stepping back, yes, but not stepping away.
Though, I'm not sure if that was for their benefit, or mine.
25 April 2020
Hi Tom,
Dread.
That's the thing I've felt most this month.
It's taken root deep in my gut and twists and turns in my stomach. I feel it most at night when there's nothing left to distract me. But it hits hardest after I wake and there's a moment's blurry reprieve.
We grew ever closer to the one date of the year I wish I was able to ignore but couldn't. Sometimes I think it's easier knowing I wasn't the only one who felt it. And sometimes I think that makes it harder.
Even in Wakanda nothing could make the dread lift. Not the sprawling landscape of green fields, not the flower scents that lingered everywhere on the air, not even the morning sunshine that always brought warmth no matter the time of the year.
Steve and I arrived late last night, ushered into the palace by the nightshift entourage and shown to our rooms. The same as we had last year. A small bit of familiarity.
It wasn't yet the anniversary I could only imagine it would get worse until tomorrow dawned. Hoping for something to uproot the feeling in my gut, I went for a walk. The corridors were as busy as I remembered them being, preparations still underway but close to completion. There was less interest from global governments this year, they would still take part, of course, but the appetite for interfering had gone. Sated by the knowledge they had micromanaged the inaugural event into a hum-drum of dull clichés that would see their involvement cemented in history. Either they weren't aware, or they didn't care, that Wakanda was reclaiming much of those plans. Personally, I think their lack of involvement would make it all the better, all the more authentic.
Those thoughts took me to the gardens. A beautiful place in the centre of the palace that could have been in the middle of the countryside. Trees stood tall, surrounded by plants and shrubbery and nuanced touches of an artistic gardener that knew how to make a place magical.
A marble bench sat empty along a path and I ignored it in favour of the statue just a few metres away from it, in the very centre of the garden. A tribute to T'chaka. It looked so simple, so elegant, and steeped in history. As with almost everything in Wakanda.
I looked at it and pictured the man I met briefly in Vienna. Even in that small time it was clear he was a dignified man with much pride in his country. It wasn't difficult to see why.
When I turned back I found the marble bench was no longer empty.
"Nice morning for a walk," Steve said.
"When did sitting count as walking?"
He just shrugged and looked around, relaxing into the seat. I joined him, putting the book I planned on reading in the space between us. We listened to the noise that came from the palace, and to the silence in between.
"This place is always beautiful," Steve said, "sometimes I think I'd like to sketch it. And then I remember the ugliness that happened."
"I'm sure you will one day, when you're ready."
"You would be most welcome," Okoye said from behind us, though sly and graceful her entrance was not a surprise to us, "I'm told you're quite the artist, Captain."
"I wouldn't say that. I dabble."
She raised an eyebrow and looked at me. I shrugged a shoulder. "It's pretty good dabbling," I said. "What, no entourage?"
With a smile she ushered us out of the garden and back into the palace. "I managed to give them the slip. I'm sure I have another twenty minutes before they track me down."
"Really? When I hear there's a known assassin in the building?"
Okoye laughed. "They know to leave me alone when I disappear, anyone who bothers me before twenty minutes is up gets kicked down to nightshift on the outskirts for six months."
She lead us through the maze of corridors that took us from the guest wing to the main part of the building. Voices surrounded us but they never solidified into people. Steve craned his neck to take in the decor and the vastness of the building surrounding us. We'd never explored much during our stays here, and there was much left unseen. And yet, we soon found ourselves in a place we had been before. It was pretty close to the entrance, the buzz of activity louder but still no one crossed our path.
There was a single metal chain, with a sign written in their language, hanging across where she was taking us, and two people guarding it. They didn't react when she approached and I wondered if the threat applied to them too. We ducked our way under the mostly ineffectual blockade, except Steve who almost managed to wrap himself up in it.
"If you could pretend that didn't happen I'd be grateful," he said as he righted himself and stepped away from the chain.
"Depends, what do I get for it?" I asked.
"I already said, my gratitude."
"And me?" Okoye said and I had to stifle a laugh as Steve blanched.
"Umm, uh. I uh-"
"Relax, Captain. I'm just joking."
He did relax, but that didn't stop the blush from creeping up his cheeks. I think there was a lot the two of them had in common but neither had had much time to get to know each other. And apparently that left Steve feeling more uncomfortable than it did Okoye.
"This is not a joke, however," she said as we turned a corner and came to a corridor with the wall partially covered by curtains, "there was much discussion about a more permanent memorial. Then arguments about who should have it. Nothing felt appropriate. So many people from so many places. Billions of names to think of. It was decided that each city, town and village would pay tribute to their fallen in whatever form they wish. This is ours." She was stood in front of the covered wall and looked up at it, eyes clouded with some emotion and I could tell much care had gone into whatever was behind it. "We'll unveil it tomorrow, but I wanted you two to see it first."
She pulled a cord attached to the curtains and they separated to reveal yet another deceptively simple design. Before I even looked at the names my eyes skated over the borders and picked out the figures of feline goddesses weaved into the free flowing lines and shapes. At the bottom were flowers, from which everything seemed to stem.
Then, despite the thousands of names carved into the wall, I was drawn to a single patch. High up towards the upper right corner. I heard Steve's intake of breath when he got there, mine wasn't far behind.
Sam Wilson, Wanda Maximoff, Vision, and James Buchanan Barnes. Around them I spotted the missing Guardians, including Nebula's sister.
Silence ruled as both Steve and I absorbed what we saw. I was glad Okoye had given us a preview, otherwise we would have been dumbstruck at the ceremony.
"Thank you," Steve said and it was clear he was at a loss for anything else to say, "But why?"
"We were not sure if your governments planned to honour them. Vision was an android. Miss Maximoff and Mr Wilson were fugitives at the time of their deaths. And Sergeant Barnes had a complicated history with his country. This is where they all fell, so this is where we remember them."
"The others?"
"For once we faced something that we were all in together. Their standing in the galaxy was a mystery to us, but I do know each of them deserve to be honoured."
Steve nodded and finally looked away from the wall.
"What about the spider-kid and Doctor Strange?" I asked, "And Loki."
"The one they call Valkyrie agreed, on behalf of Thor and New Asgard, to include his name. The other two will be on the New York memorial."
I stared at the names for a little longer. Taking in each individual letter. I had only ever spoken about the Guardians in person. Seeing their names etched out and given form, somehow that made them all the more real.
"I'm assuming we're not meant to tell anyone," I said, dragging my eyes away from the wall and down to Okoye, "but can I take a photo, for Rocket and Nebula."
She nodded her permission and I took the shots; one of the whole thing and then of each name.
I'm not sure how long Steve and I stayed there, stood side by side, looking up. But for the first time, if you believed in such things, it felt like we didn't stand there alone. It was as if the memorial had provided a place for their presence to manifest.
I could imagine some form of Sam standing between me and Steve, that cheeky almost boyish smile spreading across his face as he watched his two loser friends float in their misery. Or Wanda standing the other side of me, that lost look in her eyes as she remembers none of the people named in front of her, but her brother instead. He who she will always remember. Maybe there was even a bit of red around her. Vision the other side of her, analysing as he always does, asking questions that might seem insensitive but were him just learning. Then Bucky, the other side of Steve, shuffling his feet and keeping an eye on the exit at all times.
It was only Okoye speaking that brought us back to the real world:
"They run with Bast and Sekhmet now."