A/N
Spoiler warning for WandaVision episode 4 - if you haven't watched it yet then avoid the last diary entry of this chapter, which is dated 24 July 2020. Sorry that it's in there, it just fit in well with a section I'd already planned for the chapter.
4 July 2020
Laced with red.
Threaded with white.
Sprinkled with blue.
Sometimes spun with gold and given the odd hint of green.
That was the sky as I looked upon it tonight. Cloudless but colourful.
Each change of colour came with a flash and a bang, a puff of smoke. Things that belonged on the battlefield. Things I found difficult to appreciate anywhere else.
I knew the man beside me felt similar.
His eyes were wide. Pale face and blonde hair painted the colours he had worn into battle so often.
Tonight was different though. Tonight, it was beautiful.
We stood side by side, watching from afar. The compound roof our own private viewing platform as the show took place miles away. I breathed deeply, each time expecting that gunpowder tang and always getting a lungful of clean air.
We didn't speak. There were moments where words threatened, but we swallowed them back, ushered our thoughts into silence. Content with just the company and this surprising stroke of normality.
Fireworks on the Fourth of July.
From the moment the first rocket went off, right until the very last, nostalgia loomed all around us.
It was a little bit sweet and a little bit bitter.
A symbol of our resilience as a species. Yes, an alien may have arrived from space and wiped away half of our population, but no we're not going to stay down.
Resilience, though, it lead to moving on and sometimes moving on meant forgetting. A couple of years, that's all it took for the first signs of national amnesia to appear.
Should I even be surprised? I look at the people in my life and they've found ways to move forward.
I stayed resolute. Firm in my fervour to remain in the same place. Did that mean there was something wrong with society, or with me? Moving on from Thanos, from the Snapped, from the belief that this nightmare could be undone.
There I stood, a shadow of a shadow, clinging as if my life depended on it to the flimsy thought that there was something we could do. That there was an answer.
I was stuck in a crowd of people walking one way while I looked the other, because those who weren't able to move either way, those forever etched into one moment in history, deserved for someone to at least glance back. To remember that they had existed.
"Nat," Steve's voice rumbled through the now silent air and into my thoughts. The colours were gone and we stood beneath a sky of stars and possibilities, not all of them good.
"Hmmm?"
"Maybe we should head back in, before the rest of the takeout goes cold."
"Whatever you say, birthday boy." I shot him a playful smile and hoped it was enough to cover my lapse in concentration. Rather than the bashful smile I was so used to, he gave me the piercing look that went straight past whatever mask I'd fixed on and sought out anything that might help him understand what was going on in my head.
I looked away but, I suspect, not before he'd found more than I would have liked.
He kept catching me off guard. A habit I wasn't keen on. I knew living alone would see a deterioration in the barriers I kept up, much as withdrawing from the field had slightly blunted my fighting skills, but I didn't expect it to be as fast as it was.
I walked ahead of him, he grabbed the door after I pulled it open to make sure it didn't swing back on me, and we walked in a not so comfortable silence back to the communal living area.
The Chinese food sat waiting for us on the table, the different smells mingled together in a way that I would have once found so appetising but now reminded me of one more chore I had to force my way through to keep up the pretence I was in danger of losing. The film we'd chosen also waited; the cartoonish fantasies of the Pixar animation a contrast to the stark realities that surrounded us.
We settled back into the sofa, both trying to achieve different things as we chewed our food and pretended to pay attention to the on-screen shenanigans. He, no doubt, was attempting to figure out what he'd glimpsed behind my mask up on the roof. And I did my best to pretend there was nothing to figure.
6 July 2020
Hi Tom,
I handed my collection of undeniable truths about Thor to the UN the day after I returned from New Asgard. And I can tell you, that was no easy feat. I weaved the report from many threads of evidence.
It was in depth, impartial, and infallible. Though the last one was only true because I was careful to keep out anything that might be seen as an admission to ill gotten gains. Rhodey poured over it. Twice. Every word considered and weighed and judged before he agreed that there was no way anyone in their right mind could look at what I'd gathered and still think Thor was responsible for the freak anomaly in the weather system.
Of course, both of us had failed to take into consideration the fact that politicians were very unique creatures indeed.
The UN had yet to commit to a view on the matter at large. And that meant, as far as the world was concerned it was the god's fault.
I could just sit and twiddle my thumbs as good citizens of the world are supposed to do while they wait for officials to actually do something. But I've never been one to let something as trivial as their support, or lack thereof, stop me from cleaning up their mess.
Cue a late afternoon call to the only super genius I knew who might be able to help.
"S'up Blondie? Or maybe I should start calling you Rusty, now. Good look you got going there. Nice to see some of that natural colour back. Makes you look a little more like you."
"Always a pleasure, Tony."
He flashed me a smirk and for one disorientating moment I understood just how annoying it was. It didn't matter that he was on a screen and miles away, there was still something that made me want to punch it off.
"I would say the pleasure's all mine, Rusty, but you look as if you'd rather be causing me a lot of pain. I can't imagine why." He held his hands up palms forward, the picture of innocence as he slipped the new nickname in.
"Let's save that mystery for another time, shall we," I said, "will you help me with something?"
"Well," he leant back on his seat and stroked his beard, "that entirely depends. Is this a casual helping out or is this a you really need me to get it done kinda deal?"
"Stark," I growled.
"No no, hear me out," he got up and stood behind his chair instead, never one for sitting still too long, I imagined if a sniper ever had him in their crosshairs they never had long to take the shot. As he moved I was given a glimpse of the workshop behind him, littered with projects that had spilled from his mind and onto his worktops, "because, you know, it's nice to help out a friend, get to spend some quality time together, right. But it's also nice to be needed. especially if the person making the call is my daughter's godmother-"
"I never-"
"Unofficial godmother then," he waved away my interruption, "we told you you're not getting out of that one. Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, especially if the person phoning is my daughter's godmother, who has been doing her utmost to dodge visits and invitations."
"Tony, I-"
"We understand you're busy, Nat. And I get what it feels like being the one with the weight of everything on your shoulders, but you can't keep pushing yourself. So, I guess what I'm saying is, if you need my help with something, I need you to take a break every once in a while."
I sighed and fixed 2D Tony with a glare that had him squirming on the spot. "Are you done?"
"Hmm, let me see," he held his hand up and pretended to tick off a list, "make fun of your hair, check, remind you of your godmother status, check, berate you for your obsessive working hours, check. Sure looks like I'm done, floor's all yours."
"Who're you talking to?" In the silence between his words and my reply there were footsteps behind him on the stairs and Pepper's voice floated down. Tony span with surprising elegance.
"Our old employee Natalie just wanted to say hi."
Pepper bounced into view with a smile plastered on her face, slipped into Tony's vacated seat and waved at the camera. "Hi Nat, how're you doing? Look, did you get the email I sent this morning? I think it's a solid proposal, don't you?"
"I did," I said, "though I haven't looked at the attachment yet, it's on my list of things to do." Alongside a million other things like mission plans and reports, purchase orders, an outline for Bruce's four-week performance review, a report on what our space branch was up to, and an inbox full of emails. I kept my mouth shut and face neutral, though. The last thing I wanted was to prove Tony's last point too well.
"There's just a couple of things I want to go over-"
"Nah uh, nope. Shoo, woman, shoo," Tony stepped behind the chair, span Pepper around until she was no longer facing the screen, and gently tipped her out of it, "this is my call. Wanna chat, get your own."
"But-"
"Nope," Tony said and plonked himself in his chair with his arms folded. He shot a look off screen, I could only imagine it was challenging her to argue, it softened as he watched her go up the stairs and he called after her, "love you honey."
"I think you're gonna pay for that one."
"Yeah, me too. But she's already got me on this diet so it can't get much worse. What's this thing you need my help for?"
"Thor," I said, "he's innocent of all this crap they've said and I've proved it. The bastards seem to have a reluctance to give an official statement, and I seem to have a reluctance to sit by and let them tarnish the name of a man who's unable to defend himself."
"What did you do?" He asked with a knowing glint in his eyes and a wry smile twisting his lips.
"I started coding a programme to take down anything spreading malicious lies about Thor, I'm a competent coder but I'm a busy gal and I'm not above admitting you'd do a better job of it than me."
"Flattery will get you everywhere, Rusty. Send over what you have."
I did and there were a couple of minutes of silence as he inspected my work. He drummed his fingers on the table top and made some thoughtful noises. I sipped at my coffee and kept silent. Friday flashed me an alert to let me know I'd missed yet another call from yet another person.
"My, my, Natasha, this almost looked like a virus. How very villainous of you."
"Thought it was the best way for it to work." I shrugged.
"You might be onto something. I can work with this," he said, "leave it with me and we'll take care of those big, bad bullies."
"Tony."
"Yeah, yeah. I know, it's serious. I'll let you know when I'm done."
Once he was gone I was left in silence. It rang all the louder for the very real absence that came from the lack of his virtual presence. I took a moment to close my eyes and breath the quietness in, yet another attempt to get used to something I should have gotten used to by now.
Empty halls in an empty building in an empty life.
I thought I was okay with silence. Sensory deprivation was one of the many things we were subjected to at the Red Room to make us stronger. You know, on the basis that if we were used to such treatment then our enemies couldn't use it against us.
But those moments between jobs, those seconds of nothing and something and everything, were my own personal hell.
10 July 2020
Snarls and screeching and hot, putrid blood.
African landscape gutted and scorched.
Aliens with leathery skin, all tongue and teeth and spittle.
Attacking hoards. Blades and spears and teeth ripped through air, skin, flesh and bone.
Bullets rattled out of guns, missiles left behind molten messes of things that had once been alive.
Outnumbered and desperate against an infinite supply of expendable life.
Battle and death and survival.
Just another nightmare that haunted my nights. The precursor to the ones that haunted my days. These full of holograms and paperwork and news that was never good. Side-long glances and muttered whispers and constant reminders of a shattered world.
The consequences of our loss.
Political unrest in Wakanda: It was small. Nothing Okoye can't handle. She was a great leader whose actions had earned her a lot of support from the tribal council, but there were still some itching to install someone that came with lineage onto the throne. It didn't matter that she forged new global alliances across the world while strengthening the traditional ones. It didn't matter she kept the country strong when it could have ended up at its weakest. It didn't matter that she had settled Wakanda comfortably into its new position in the world order. There would always be those who challenged her.
The allegations against Thor: Continued silence from the UN stoked the ever-raging flames of hate for anything that was different. Fuelled by illogical logic. Thanos was an alien and he hurt us. Thor is an alien, therefore he will hurt us too. If he hasn't yet, then he must in the future. They aren't taking my calls or reading my emails. Even Rhodey is kept at arm's length. with feeble excuse after feeble excuse.
Ronin: The figure that was once Clint has struck again. His rage and hatred so very clear in every splatter of blood, in every corpse he leaves behind. What isn't clear is who he's going after next, is how to find him, is how to break through to him, is how to make him Clint again. Part of me wants to let his reign of terror continue. He's taking out the bad guys, people we might have had our hands full with had they still been around. But the rest of me wants my friend back.
The Avengers: Try as we might we're a makeshift outfit, spread too thin across the world. We do what we can but it doesn't make much of a difference. How can it? We amount to four people on Earth and three people in space. Seven people to serve and protect the galaxy. I can stretch that to nine if I take Tony and Steve's willingness to offer their assistance when needed. Crime is rising, here and amongst the stars. One day we'll be inadequate.
The most vulnerable victim's of the Snap: Pepper and I set up our organisation to help the orphaned children. I'm not sure how much help I've been. Even when I do work on it my attention is drawn to one thing then another thing and then spares a second for this thing. Pepper doesn't say anything because Pepper is far too polite. There is always lots to do and she deserves someone who can focus on it full-time. But I'm as selfish as Pepper is polite. I can't pass this over to someone else. I can't watch someone else do the work I want to do. I can't trust a stranger to take care of the kids in a way I was never taken care of.
Which is why, when I finally read Pepper's proposal I went along with it. Despite having my hands full with the uptick in crime, despite Okoye's political inconveniences, despite Clint's unquenchable bloodlust.
Because at the very heart, beneath all those words and carefully-crafted phrases designed to win over the rest of the board members, was the desire to keep on helping those children. She wanted to make a difference that was more than just financial. She wanted the facilities to be a home not a convenient roof over their heads. She wanted everyone to be a surrogate family, not just people struggling through life together.
She wanted. We wanted.
Our vision.
It meant more visits. The public faces of the organisation actually facing the public. Talks at the facilities, getting to know the children at our local ones, taking trips to those further afield. Organising sports tournaments and exchange programmes and anything else that encourages friendship and camaraderie.
As well as all that she's asked if the Avengers could visit. No matter what's happened in the past and what some adults say, to kids the misfit heroes were still figures to look up to and admire. It was community outreach, and that was something I wanted the team to get better at. Help out on a smaller scale, show that we cared about more than just the big fight. Maybe try and convince a few people we didn't do our job because we were a bunch of careless adrenaline junkies, but because we thought it was the right thing to do. If we did that then maybe things like the situation with Thor wouldn't be allowed to happen.
All this, of course, means mountains of paperwork. Paperwork I have to fill out. Paperwork I can't just get on with because it means liaising with facilities across the world, the team and the board. It means logistics and forethought, plenty of pre-planning and preparation.
Steve has agreed to take part, though he's not sure he wants to put on the uniform. Rhodey's happy to help out too, though his appearances are subject to all his other commitments. Bruce is excited by it all. He's already chattering away about using it as an opportunity to get kids excited about science. Pepper's even asked Tony, who's agreed to turn up at some point.
I didn't need to ask Okoye, she already visits the ones in Africa, knows the one in Wakanda inside out.
It's something that feels good, Tom. Like it'll make a difference more than anything else I'm working on. Though I haven't put my name down for any talks. I'm not sure there's much I can talk about.
15 July 2020
Hi Tom,
Very few meetings stick in my mind. They're all a much of a muchness. I remember them long enough to make an appearance and to sometimes put together a report afterwards.
Otherwise the faces blend into one. Pleasantries are exchanged in a performance of mindless recitation. Very little news given, very little progress made.
I sometimes wonder what Clint would think. He hated the boardroom life, said it sounded much too like boredom for a reason. If he were in my shoes would he stick to this tortuous schedule of appointments and meetings and catch ups and progress reports? Would he keep on chugging away at the fruitless coordination of our galactic enterprise? Or would he have packed it all in?
I wish he were in my shoes because then I'd be in his. I'd be the one to shoulder the burden of blame for the kill count he's notching up. I carry guilt with me every day. How much can a little more hurt?
Anyway, to get back on topic.
We had yet another meeting today. But this one was different. This one was needed and helpful and, though many of the faces were new, nostalgic.
For once the compound rang with voices that didn't belong to me or Friday. It might have been the flickering lights of the holograms that filled the empty space, but it felt as if they were all right there, sharing the table with me.
"Explain," Okoye said when I announced my reason behind the emergency meeting, she kept her voice steady but there was no mistaking the predatory gleam in her eyes at the news.
"Friday," I said and looked from Okoye to Steve, "pinged me an alert a little over two hours ago. Our guy, this arms dealer we're tracking, popped up. Not one of his lackeys, him."
"If you were alerted two hours ago," Rocket said, arms folded and snarky mode fully engaged, "why are we only finding out about it now?"
"Artificial intelligence is not infallible," I said. In truth I'd spent the time absorbing the information, mapping all the different possibilities and explanations, calculating the probability of success.
After all, this was the same guy T'challa was tracking before the Snap, the same guy who remained under the radar post Snap by pretending to be one of the victims. He kept himself and a large part of his operation out of reach by cutting off the dead weight as he went. People, places and product he was willing to sacrifice to us and the authorities to keep ahead.
"And?" Rocket said.
"Use your mind before speaking, rodent," Okoye said, "we are having this meeting, which means Friday was correct. Nat?"
"It's legit," I nodded, "everything matches up. But we need to be cautious-"
Rocket scoffed.
"Have something to say or just clearing your throat?"
"Oh no fearless leader, please do carry on. I believe you were just telling us why you're chickening out."
I wished there was a haptic link to the hologram, that way if I throttled his virtual self in the compound he would have felt it wherever he was in space. Instead I settled for a glare that made it clear I would very much enjoy skinning him alive if he talked back to me one more time. I walked behind my desk and leant against it, pressing the tips of each finger against the hard surface.
"We need to be cautious. There are only two reasons for him to turn up now. The first is sloppiness. Given his history that's unlikely. The second is that he had to. And he would only have to if something big was about to happen. He's stayed out of our grasp for so long he's not about risk falling into it, we can expect him to be difficult to get to. He does not take chances. But we have to."
"Not that I wanna go on record as agreeing with the disagreeable," Rhodey said with a glance towards Rocket, "but if this is our chance, why are we waiting a couple more days to act?"
"We're scattered everywhere," I said with a shrug. And it was true. Okoye was in her counsel chamber in Wakanda, joined only by her head of the War Dogs. Rhodey joined from his apartment in Washington, having dashed there from a top secret side-room of a top secret building he'd ensconced himself in. Bruce was fresh from one of his WOOPs talks in Mexico, wearing a lab coat that gave off some serious Professor Hulk vibes. And Steve, having also attended to his WOOPs duties, was in a hotel in London. It was his work on the stakeout, which ended up being his final mission, that helped get us here. Even Carol, Rocket and Nebula had joined just to be kept in the loop. Though the former Air Force pilot seemed a little subdued.
"So let's unscatter ourselves and take him down," Rhodey threw out there.
"That's exactly what we're doing," I said, "but we're doing it my way. We chat, we plan, we get into position, then we act. Anyone goes off script then you have me to answer to. Understood?"
Everyone nodded. Including the raccoon.
"Where is he?" Steve asked and it was odd to hear the deep rumble of his voice come from over the line instead of by my side.
"California," I said and Friday brought up a map with a pulsating spot to mark the sighting, next to it was a clear picture of the guy on his phone just before ducking into a car. "He's not central to any of us but I've already spoken to Pepper, there's a fully automated Stark Industries warehouse in the area you guys can use as a base. I'll send you the coordinates. As soon as we've finished here I want you to wrap up whatever you're doing and head there."
We spent the next few hours or so stitching a plan together. Despite the months we spent looking for him and the sighting this morning we were still lacking a lot of intel. No job should be launched on the back of speculation and assumptions, but they were all we had.
"You're not joining us in the field, are you?" Bruce asked after we came up with our fourth contingency plan.
"No," I said, "but I'm not leaving you to it either. Friday will keep me in contact and I'll have an overview of what's going on. You know, I'll be the voice in your ear and your eye in the sky."
Rocket muttered something under his breath but I'd found ignoring his comments was a far effective tactic than anything else so far. I wanted to be in the field. It was where my heart sang and my soul was free, it's where I made a difference, and if there was anywhere I could belong it was always in the thick of the action. Fighting the fight and beating the crap out of the bad guys - that's when I always felt the most alive. There was no justifying my physical involvement though. That wasn't my job anymore. That's the thing about being management, all that extra responsibility takes the place of the stuff you love to do.
"Want us to bring you back a souvenir?" Rhodey asked.
"Yes," I said with a smile, "your paperwork."
"When did you get so boring?" He said, though he glanced at the ever darkening circles under my eyes and decided not to make another comment. The only reason I didn't try to make him feel uncomfortable was because he sounded so much like Clint in that moment.
"Friday will take care of the logistics," I said mostly to keep my mind from wondering back down the rabbit hole. "Our target knows we're sniffing around and him surfacing is as much a taunt as it is a necessity. Get this right and we take a shitload of dodgy weapons off the streets. Take him alive, if you can. As soon as he's in our custody the Avengers will officially hand him over to Wakanda."
That predatory gleam was still in Okoye's eyes and I fancied I saw it in the leader of the War Dogs, too. All the time spent tracking this man and at long last they could taste blood. Justice was finally within their grasp. This man, who had caused death and unrest across the globe but whose epicentre for a long time had been their home continent, would get the punishment he deserved.
"Thank you, Nat," she said when I finished speaking, she ducked her head before meeting my eyes again, "Wakanda will owe you a great debt if we catch him."
I thought back to one of my many nightmares, based on the very real events of what had happened on her back doorstep.
"No, we're the ones who owe you."
16 July 2020
Hi Tom,
There was a long time, not even that long ago, when I would have scoffed at sentimental fools and their sentimental actions.
Sentimentality only happened when you'd attached yourself to something, and you were only ever attached if you were weak.
Or stupid.
I keep emailing Thor.
He isn't the most technically gifted of us, Korg was the one who set up his account, so his lack of replies don't bother me.
What does though, is the suspicion that he never reads them.
I imagine the loneliness he must feel, the weight and pain of everything that's happened coated with a thin sheen of denial and knowledge that his self-imposed solitude is a long way from fixing his woes. I also know that the longer he's vilified the longer he'll stay away.
Amongst it all, all the bad things and all the news stories, I just want him to know that there's someone out there thinking of him. Someone out there who has his back. Someone out there who wants him to focus only on himself and get better, rather than focus on what people are saying about him and getting worse.
Like I said, I don't know if he reads them but I keep on writing like he does. Whether it's for his benefit or mine I have yet to figure out.
A sentimental fool and my sentimental actions.
Because everything I do nowadays seems to be anchored in sentimentality.
18 July 2020
Local authorities threw up a perimeter. No one was going anywhere.
The Hulk smashed. Totalled a whole bunch of vehicles and stock. Drew people out and absorbed their fire.
War Machine supported him. Mini explosions everywhere as yet more stock was destroyed. I heard the clinking of bullets against his armour as he swooped through the airspace.
Captain America, followed by Okoye and her War Dog entourage used the distraction to sneak their way into the facility that looked to be the centre of their production line.
I flitted from satellite footage of the outside on one screen, to a blueprint with a heat map overlay of the facility itself on another. I flung out instructions and warnings in equal measure.
Minutes flew by, too much going on for them to even consider going slow.
Steve and his team made good progress, incapacitating as many people as they could on the way. No one was a match for Bruce and Rhodey.
And then we had him.
The arms dealer who had eluded us for so long, was finally in our custody. Along with a bunch of his right hand men and women.
I let the authorities know the criminals were apprehended and watched as my team made their way to the facility Pepper promised we could use. It was already set up with a detention centre. Though I'd promised Wakanda could take custody, the post-mission paperwork was needed.
At the end of it all two aircrafts left. One on its way back to New York, full of people at different stages of their avenging career. The other going to Wakanda, justice within their grasp.
21 July 2020
Hi Tom,
I never thought Tony and I would create something together. Sure, Nick might have said we had a particular gift for creating chaos, but something actually useful? No way.
Then along came our little virus offspring.
He released it onto the internet the other day. When he told me, I had flashbacks to the last thing he created that was let loose online.
I waited for all the bad stuff, the downsides we glanced away from because we were so focused on solving the problem right in front of us. Yet it never happened.
The virus did us proud.
Some groups were knocked offline and no matter how much they tried to re-establish themselves they just couldn't. It teamed up with Friday to detect burgeoning extremism and the authorities didn't know what hit them with the uptick in anonymous tip-offs. Some of the work was even siphoned towards us.
And yet the veil of blame was still firmly around Thor. Every time there's a weather anomaly anywhere in the world I feel everyone connecting his name to it like it was all some big conspiracy.
Organisations issued official statements, accompanied by empirical evidence, which all said there was no divine weather intervention. But it never stuck because the one statement that did matter never came.
From the assholes at the UN. The guys who made no secret of their investigation.
And, as much success as the virus was having, it was nothing more than a very tiny drop in a very large ocean. The internet is a tough thing to monitor. There was even a small part of me that felt uneasy, called our move censorship. The same sort of crap any government in any part of the world would be pulled up on if it was found out they had any part in it. But I didn't care. As long as the benefits outweighed the bad.
Naturally I kept it quiet when Rhodey and I had our meeting with a few representatives from the UN.
It was far from my first contact with them since handing in my report. But there was something about my attitude they didn't like, probably my unwillingness to back down on the issue. In the end they were very keen not to talk to me.
So I told them to go fuck themselves, via Rhodey of course. Who I'm sure put it through his diplomacy filter to make it much more palatable.
There was much toing and froing and they eventually came to the realisation avoidance was futile, we organised a holo-conference for today.
I planned on treating it like every other conference; give them my deadly glower from across my desk and let them sweat it out in the surroundings of what had become my natural habitat. Rhodey, however, wasn't too keen on the idea.
"Nuh uh, good conference room Nat."
"But-"
"Trust me, half the battle with these guys is about appearances. You need to look like the fearsome leader of a very powerful organisation full of very powerful people, not a...well-" His words fizzled out but his eyes kept talking as he looked around him.
"'Not a...' what?"
"Don't make me say it."
"You know I'm gonna."
"A, uh, well a slob."
He was lucky none of my hidden weapons were within arm's reach. I looked around the room and noticed the usual things and in the back of my mind realised they'd sort of just assumed the space but didn't actually belong there.
"It's not that bad."
"You and I both know the only reason there aren't more dishes stacked on the table is because you haven't been eating properly. Don't look at me like that," he said when I glanced his way, "my name might not be Vision or Hawkeye but I still notice these things. And anyway, all these research books. You what, look at them once and then leave them on the nearest available surface? Why do you even need books anyway, can't you just Google it?"
"Don't underestimate the value of a book," I said as I picked one up and weighed its heft with one hand, "for instance, I reckon this one will give you a pretty decent concussion. Maybe we can just clean up."
"Whoah, whoah. What's this we? I'm not your cleaning crew, lady. And anyway, I'm not sure we have time."
I took another look at the room and this time spotted the layer of dust over everything, the half empty cups in the unlikeliest of places, the dying plants, the scraps of paper, the dead pens with chewed lids. I looked at it all and winced.
I wasn't this untidy. Usually.
In fact, I wasn't untidy at all. My life was spent not leaving a trace of my existence anywhere. It took excessive begging from Tony to add any personal touches to the floor I had in the tower, and even then it was just a rug and some cushions because the ones he'd chosen, with all the wisdom of his inner five-year-old interior designer, deeply offended my eyes.
The worst thing about it all. Even having my eyes opened to it, I felt no desire sort the mess out.
"Yeah, you're probably right."
So we moved to the conference room. The one that looked out on the land with the trees towering in the background, the one that still looked fresh because it had barely been used in the years since the workforce was wiped out. And we waited for them to call.
When they did, I wished they hadn't.
"We didn't ask you for excuses, Miss Romanova," one of the bland-faced men said an hour into it, emphasising his Russian accent as if to say he had a right to call me by the name I still wasn't sure was given to me by my parents or by my former government.
"The truth is not an excuse," I said in my best I-want-to-pull-your-tongue-out-and-choke-you-with-it-but-I-won't-because-I-have-to-play-nice-for-the-sake-of-my-friend voice.
"Be that as it may-" some British guy piped up and I mused at how much the UN was really living up to the 'U' part of its name before I interrupted.
"No, there's none of this 'be that as it may' cr-rubbish," I tempered my language, remembering at the last second this wasn't my standard type of meeting, "he isn't to blame. I know it, you know, we all know it. But for some reason you aren't acknowledging it."
"Because it's only a matter of time. Thor is powerful and you've lost control of him. If I'd lost control of something that powerful you bet there would be consequences." There were echoes of Ross to his words and they pissed me off as much as they did before.
"Thor is not a weapon," I said and stood very slowly from my seat, crossing my arms in an attempt to stop my heavy breathing, "he is a person. A person who has helped us during our greatest times of need across this past decade. And when it comes to his greatest time of need you turn to him only to point this ridiculous finger of blame in his direction for something that has a far more reasonable and simpler explanation. You have my report and the evidence that goes with it. This cowardice needs to stop. It is corrosive."
"Miss Romanova," the Russian guy piped up again.
"Romanoff, " I said, not needing any reminders of my past creeping out.
"Miss Romanoff," he amended with a patronising nod, "I am not sure what you want us to do."
"Your jobs," I said.
"You agree?" A mostly silent Swede asked, turning to Rhodey.
"I do," he said, "the guy deserves more respect from you. Like Nat said, all he's done is help protect the planet. What you're doing right now is trying to save face. You allowed yourselves to be swayed by a bunch of online haters, despite the excessive amount of resources you have at your disposal to find out the things we've found out for you. No matter what's happened, Thor's protective nature isn't just going to up and disappear."
Though, in the past I've stepped up to the diplomatic stage, it was far from my favourite place to be. Meaning I had rarely seen Rhodey in action. While he spoke I wondered how well the people on the other side of the world knew him. I wondered if they knew the clenching of his fist was a last attempt at restraint, or if they knew that the lack of any upturn to his lip meant there was a burning rage building up beneath the cool exterior, or if the way he tapped his foot meant that he was doing his best to channel his energy into something constructive instead destructive.
"He has lost a lot of his people, his home and his entire family," the Swede said, "people have changed their personalities for less."
"And we offered them a place to settle right here on Earth. This is his home now. He won't damage it."
No one outside of the Avengers and the Asgardians knew the details of what had happened and now probably wasn't the best time to tell everyone Thor had destroyed his home world.
"The Avengers signed the Accords," the Brit said, "you've agreed to work with us."
Rhodey went to open his mouth but all the signs I'd noted before, and more, warned me that he was very close to destroying the professional bar he'd set himself over years of military and diplomatic work.
"Yes," I said, "we signed them, and so did you. We agreed to work together and, as far as I can see, we're holding up our end of the bargain." If one of us was going to dig a hole it might as well be the one they disapproved of.
All three of the main speakers bristled and I considered it a job well done, there were some silent members of the party who nodded, though. I was gratified to see not everyone was on board with the official approach.
"The goal here," Rhodey said, having calmed himself enough to unclench his fists, "is to keep this new world we find ourselves in as peaceful as possible. This new world includes the survivors of Asgard. If you refuse to trust their leader, who is a great friend of Earth's, then you're saying you can't trust them. And that, to me, sounds like a far cry from keeping the peace."
Silence met his little speech and it was soon clear they'd muted themselves as they whispered to each other. Whatever they were saying looked heated. There was a clear divide, though it looked like one side was starting to overwhelm the other. I went to stand at the window, needing to see something other than holographic politicians.
"What do you reckon?" I asked Rhodey after making sure we couldn't be heard either.
"I reckon our fearsome leader turned up after all. Good thing too, I almost derailed."
"Got things back on track then, though," I said and turned back to face him, resting against the glass pane and folded my arms, again, "but what do you think they're going to do?"
"Haven't really got much choice have they," he said, "not when you've accused them of not following their own Accords."
"Very well," the Russian said and Rhodey quickly unmuted us, "we will look at your evidence and we won't pursue the Asgardian. That should be sufficient."
"You need to issue a statement of your belief in his innocence," I said.
The three main speakers looked at each other and someone in the background cleared their throat. "Very well. But you must continue to be vigilant. We won't tolerate another breach."
Before either of us could argue that there was never any breach from our end in the first place, they ended the call.
"Assholes," Rhodey said.
"We got what we wanted," I said, "although, I have to admit, I thought diplomats were supposed to be a little more diplomatic than that."
24 July 2020
(A/N: Remember, spoiler alert)
There are days when I just want to fall apart.
Days when I wish I wasn't what I was made to be, when I wanted to be the person that gives into the temptation - no, that's wrong - the need to fall in on myself. I have moments. With all the things I've done and all the things I've seen of course I have moments.
The 'am I worthy' moments. The 'I deserve this' thoughts. The whispers of 'he should have stuck the arrow in my heart'.
But that's all they are. Moments and thoughts and whispers.
I can't fall apart.
There's too much to do.
And maybe because that's how the Red Room forged me. Made of marble, she used to say. Tough to break if it's made right.
It still erodes though.
Over time.
Those are the days I need someone else with me. Focusing on them, thinking of them, knowing they're there makes it so much easier to get past that feeling, that need. Or, at least, easier to bury it again.
And needing people, for so long considered a weakness in the aftermath of my upbringing, was the lesser of those two evils.
I never do get a choice on when those days sneak up. Since Steve left I've found Friday isn't a good substitute. Not much of a conversationalist, you see. Not much to focus on.
But when she interrupted my unscheduled brooding to say Carol was calling, the AI gave me what I needed.
"S'up Danvers?" I said as soon as the call connected. My voice was steady but a day of disuse left it hoarse.
"Hey ballerina," she said and I was surprised to hear my own hollowness parroted back. Was she another marble creature? Told to never break but nevertheless longing to, "not much, I'm afraid."
Or maybe it was the signal. I'd grown so used to clear and crisp calls no matter where they came from. This call was far from that. In fact, I was surprised it was audio only.
"A social call then?" I asked, going through the motions of the social niceties Clint spent an unfathomable amount of time teaching me.
"I guess," was her reply and I swear I heard the shrug over the line. "Meant to say good job with that guy. The arms dealer. Team did a great job."
She was subdued then too, I remembered. Not as forthcoming with ideas. Distracted.
"That's because we're a great team." I think I sounded harsher than I meant to. I don't know, it's hard to tell when you're the one talking. So I tacked on a few more words to try and soften the blow. "All of us."
They just delayed the awkward silence that came to envelope us. Her breathing hummed across the line as we both wondered what to say next. Then there was another sound. A drip. Small and unobtrusive. Well, unobtrusive until I noticed it, then it was all I could hear. The plink, plink, plink of it. Only there was a long silence between each. I imagined a cavernous space, high ceiling and craggy ground.
"Yeah," she said and once I knew there was space around her I heard the effect on her words, the little echo that shadowed each letter, "I guess we are."
I stretched in my chair and thought about pacing the room. My legs screamed for movement as they slowly lost all feeling, propped as they were on my desk. Sunlight streamed through the window with a distinct feeling of late afternoon, landing on all the bits and pieces that should have been elsewhere but instead cluttered the one space I spent most of my time. Could she tell all this from the sound of my voice?
"Where are you Carol?"
"Somewhere I shouldn't be."
"That's reassuring."
"Relax," she said and I heard the first bit of character, if only slight, "the planet's of the mostly abandoned variety. There are a whole bunch of catacombs littered beneath the surface. Sort of places you might find some powerful and valuable things."
"Also the sort of places that come with traps to keep those powerful and valuable things hidden?" I asked.
"Pretty much."
"And you got yourself caught up in one?"
"Pretty much."
"Didn't take you for a grave robber Danvers. Should I be concerned?"
"Don't waste your energy," she said, "it'll reset itself in a couple of days. I'll be out of here then."
"A couple of days?" How she wasn't more alarmed was beyond me. Then a suspicion struck. "How long have you been stuck there?"
"A couple of days."
I sighed.
"You know, I don't think I've told you how much I appreciate you not being a vague person."
She laughed and it echoed across the light years between us. I pictured the space she was in again. Damp and dark and large. Empty except for her. Silent except for her laughter. And that dripping.
"I thought I might find something here," she said, "you know, the antithesis of the stones and the gauntlet. Something that will help us on our way to undoing all the shit that was done."
"But nothing?" The words left my mouth without any real conviction behind them. I was scrambling for something to say, taken aback by the sudden jump from nothing to something. Yet, even then, I was more than a little aware of the importance it held. An iceberg conversation; the words weren't much but there was something much bigger and deeper driving them.
"Isn't it always." And there it was. The first crack, the first glimpse at why we were talking to each other and not idling away our isolation alone. "Thought I'd phone you. Kill some time."
"Better than killing anything else," I said.
"Shame I can't boost the signal enough to get visual," she said, "could show you around my new digs."
"You really have been in space for a long time if you think anyone still says that." A notification flashed up on Friday's interface and I swiped it away as Carol gave a small laugh. Someone I really didn't care about trying to get a hold of me.
"What can I say, some things will live forever in my memory," she said and I knew she was trying to keep it light but something about her own words brought her to another silence, deeper than any from before.
"Carol-"
"Found myself thinking a lot, and I didn't want to. I wanted to do. You know, you get it. I'm sure you do."
"I do," I said.
"Went exploring. Got stuck. The universe has a way of making you face the things you don't want to, doesn't it?"
I thought about all the times I found myself caught up in things I thought I was done with, alongside people I'd never thought I'd see again, tying up loose ends I would have happily left untied if I had my own way. I didn't answer. Carol needed the silence. She needed to let her words grow into it.
"Ended up thinking more than before. More than I wanted. And it was all about them."
Them.
One word.
I knew what she meant.
I had a them.
We all had a them.
"It's tough," I said, chewing on the words before letting them out, knowing that whatever I said it wouldn't be enough, because no matter what anyone said to me it wasn't, "being here when they're not. The toughest thing I've done."
I waited for her to ask, to pry. But she didn't. She was more likeable than our mutual raccoon friend, but she often had that same disregard for personal barriers. She was open so she expected others to be open. Not this time though. She didn't take the opportunity to dig a bit deeper, to add to her repertoire of knowledge. She let it pass her by as she thought about the people she was trying not to think about.
She continued that way for a while and I wasn't a fan of the silence that overwhelmed the conversation as seconds ticked by. I restrained myself, though. I didn't speak the words that came to mind, I didn't cough when the urge struck, I didn't even dare move in case it resonated over the line. Every instinct instilled and honed in me throughout my childhood sensed the moment was close. The one of extraction, the one of sharing. Those same instincts said to endure the silence.
"Everything just feels so empty without them," she said at last and sounded nothing like the space vigilante I'd come to know and respect and admire. "Lieutenant Trouble. Monica. Good kid. Smart, too. Me and her mum were pilots together, but she had to go one better. The sky wasn't enough for her. Only space would do. Shouldn't have been surprised."
There was a small indulgent silence. I knew memories flitted through her head, bitter and sweet in equal measure.
"She came up on your little display before I went to find Stark."
"But her mum didn't?" I asked, hoping it would lead us to safer territory, it didn't take long for me to realise how wrong I was.
"Maria," she whispered, "no, she wasn't taken by Thanos. But she watched him take her daughter. From her hospital bed. Coming round from an operation to remove cancer and she sees her daughter disappear right in front of her eyes. She was always strong, though others might think stubborn was a better fit. When I disappeared she never stopped believing I'd come back, never trusted the official plane crash story. And she never stopped believing Monica would come back. But it was the cancer that did."
She breathed deeply and there was no need for her to say anything more. I just sat in my chair, with clenched heart and burning eyes, and listened as she negotiated her way through the grief that reared its head. The emptiness that had followed her through the entire conversation, her recklessness in entering the catacombs, the uncharacteristic reticence to take part in the mission briefing.
"When?" I asked.
"Last week," she said, "Maria Rambeau died last week. She died never seeing her daughter again. She died trusting we would find a way to bring her back. She died of cancer and there's nothing we can do about that. With all the power I have and everything I've seen, there's nothing I can do. Nothing except make sure we get Monica back, because then at least there's some part of Maria in the world."
"We will," I said and it was a promise I intended to keep, even though there was no way to tell if it was possible. Most other people would offer their condolences, but I found they were often empty things and I think Carol was as much a fan of empty sentiment as I was.
"I imagine this is what it's like for you," she said and I had no idea what she meant, apparently my confusion was evident as we both heard another drip echo in the background, "stuck in a catacomb, all this space and no one to share it with, just a voice to keep me company. Is it? What it's like for you?"
The answer slipped out before I had a chance to think or edit myself.
"Yes."
"I'm sorry," she said and far from being empty it was warm and empathetic and, to my surprise, my own offering was the same.
"I'm sorry too, Carol."
A/N:
Hi guys! Sorry, again, for the delay in posting. Just know that I have every intention of finishing this fic and I'm not abandoning it. I have loads of ideas for future chapters and can't wait to share them with you. I would like to say a massive thank you to everyone who's left a review (I don't think I can reply to guest reviews), particularly between this chapter and the last. You're extremely kind and generous with your words and they help me whenever I'm struggling to write down what's in my head. I never expected the reaction that this story has had and I'm amazed whenever any of you take the time to leave your thoughts. I love and appreciate every single one of them.
I hope you continue to enjoy the story. And that you continue to stay safe and well.