A/N: Hi everyone, I'll let you jump straight into this but there is a proper Author's Note at the end :)

2 March 2021

It's a rare day I'm not needed, yet today everything aligned.

Paperwork up to date.

Meetings completed.

Nothing looming.

No planetary threats.

The compound, in all its emptiness, was quick to become suffocating. Outside, the fresh air was still. Almost as lifeless as the atmosphere inside. I didn't want still. I wanted chaotic and frenzied and something that would rake through my mind and clear away all the detritus. And maybe that included all the thoughts about the impending anniversary.

I ended up in my car, windows down, going at an indecent speed. It created what I needed. The frenzied, chaotic breeze that swirled about the interior of my car and mind.

It cleared so much of my mind I didn't realise where I was going until I came to it. A tallish building just a little too close to the centre of the city to be considered part of the outskirts. The WOOPS facility was afforded as much privacy as possible, which wasn't much in the city where real estate reached upward and not outward. The entrance was right on the street, if not for the hi-tech security protecting it you could almost question the logic of having a safe living space for some of the city's most vulnerable citizens just a single door away from the unsafe world.

Most people employed at the facility were permanent residents, so Pepper bought the plot of land just behind it and repurposed it into an employee and visitor multi-storey car park. The two buildings were adjoined to allow for ease of access. Except the bridge was closed for maintenance, damaged by a crew of troublemakers Spider-man would have had no trouble tackling if he was around. Instead, it was Bruce who managed to put a stop to their antics before they got into too much mischief.

It meant there was no stealthy way to slip into the building, well not a way that didn't involve scaling the building and finding a way through the roof and that didn't exactly count as stealthy in the middle of the morning.

The street entrance would have to do.

Spring had decided to bathe the pavements in lukewarm sunlight and I was grateful the sunglasses I grabbed from the glove compartment didn't look so out of place. They were an added layer of disguise, not that I expected them to work too well. The blonde had been good cover for a while, but the red grew thicker with every day that passed and it became that little bit easier for people to tell it was me.

A gaggle of tourists gathered across the street, all the better for taking photos of what was, by all standards, a nondescript building. The only thing about it that stood out was the WOOPS sign affixed halfway up the front and the plaque beside the doorway that boasted it was the world's first WOOPS facility.

Cameras and phones clicked and flashed as I stood in the entranceway, packed full of all the latest security measures you'd expect of a building associated with Stark Industries, and waited for the scans to finish. Tourists were a more common sight again, confidence seeping back into the world after almost three years of not wanting to tempt fate. It was slow at first, then it gained momentum like one of the Hulk's temper tantrums of old. But with confidence came arrogance and it wouldn't be long before governments picked up some of their abandoned tricks.

At last I was admitted, and waiting on the other side was a guy clutching his side. "M-ms Romanoff, we - we weren't expecting y-you." Every word came on the exhale of a heavy breath, a rainbow of emotions flitted through his eyes. I looked at the name tag pinned to the left of his uniform.

"You were quick, Malcolm."

"How-?" He asked then looked at the tag and nodded at his own answer. He took in one last shuddering breath and straightened himself up. "Saw your name pop up when you went through security in the car park. Boss told me to leg it down here."

"Sorry, was in the neighbourhood, thought I'd pop in. See if there's anything I can do to help."

He fixed me with a look, made a little wilder by his body's attempts to regulate his heartbeat again. By the time I took my sunglasses off it had disappeared and I thought better than to prod.

"They're all in lessons at the moment," he said and gestured towards the lift, "but I'm sure no one would mind if you sit in."

The lift doors closed and he pushed one of the buttons. We watched together as the floors passed by. A thought struck him as we stepped out into the surprisingly well lit corridor.

"Actually, some of the older kids are learning about, ah, the Battle of New York. Um, I'm sure they'd love to hear from you."

Calling it a battle made it sound like it lasted a lot longer than it did. You hear the 'B' word and you think of long drawn out campaigns like Battle of Britain, the Somme - all the ones that lasted months on end. Then came the more recent ones, shortened to weeks but just as deadly.

And then there was the Battle of New York. Not months or weeks or even days, just a single afternoon.

It felt so long ago but some of those memories were still as fresh in my mind as the day they were made. Screaming all around, the leviathan crashing into the ground, the never-ending Chitari, looking up into the wormhole and witnessing the devastating explosion meant to take out Manhattan whilst trying to spot the tiny speck that was Tony, hours before all of that and looking into Clint's eyes but not seeing him look back.

"You mind if we save that for another day?"

"Not a problem," he said but I could hear the disappointment behind each word. Instead of feeling guilty I tried to figure out this recent development where I felt the need to explain myself whenever I didn't meet someone's expectations. I'd spent pretty much all my adult life not meeting expectations. So why did it matter so much now?

I didn't get much time to contemplate it. The day ahead was a busy one, even if I didn't know right then. I sat in on lessons that had nothing to do with the battle, spoke to the kids who lived there, spoke to the staff, made a list of improvements, ate lunch with them, and shared stories of what it was like to live in the tower with everyone before the days of the compound.

It was a day that helped me understand how all the others managed to move on. I could lose myself in this life, helping those children find a place for themselves in this world. It would be easy to find the same sense of purpose some of my other teammates had.

Easy didn't mean right.

No matter how tempting it was.

I had a chance to change things, no matter how small it was, no matter how difficult. I don't know if I could live with myself if I walked away from that.

All my childhood I was taught to be the sort of person that always took. This and that and everything in between. It didn't matter if it was truth or lives, the Motherland insisted I had permission - no - the right to take them.

So I did.

Over and over again without a single apology on my lips. I never wanted to be that person, and I wasn't always. But she was there, simmering away beneath the surface until she was branded all across my consciousness.

At some point I started to give back but it always came from elsewhere. I traded lives and I traded truths. For everything except this mission of mine.

To that I give everything.

5 March 2021

I think, Tom, you probably know that Bruce has overcome a lot in recent years, and I don't mean his stint in space.

I mean everything that came as consequence of the Hulk, perhaps even before they vied for control of the same body. The lack of confidence, the discomfort he felt being anywhere, the self-hatred.

He was on a trajectory he never expected to be on but that didn't mean he never suffered a relapse. I guess he was more prone to them when left alone. One of the most toxic cocktails known across the universe was loneliness and negative thoughts.

That didn't change even if you managed to turn your once failed science experiment into something successful. Maybe with two personalities, as much as they were melded together now, it was even worse.

My own internal struggles had taken much of my time, and then there were the missions and the revelation of the threats to Tony's safety. There hadn't been much time to check in with Bruce.

I guess that's why he checked in with me.

"I thought I might find you here." His voice was an unexpected addition to my day, especially when I was standing on the roof of the compound, looking out over the land that sprawled beneath the setting sun.

"At the compound? That's hardly a risky guess." I checked my watch for alerts and turned to look at him. "Friday never said you were here."

"Convinced her not to tell you," he said with a shrug that would have been barely noticeable if he wasn't a giant.

"Good thing you're not one of the bad guys."

"Come on Nat, I think you can give Friday more credit than that." Something about his Hulkish expression seemed offended, which matched the underlying tone to his words.

I turned back to the sunset and tried to shift the annoyance his unannounced intrusion stirred up to the back of my mind. Still, I patted the wall next to me. It was an ill-thought gesture, it's not like he could lean against it, and it was an awkward height that made it difficult for him to perch comfortably on it. Couldn't really blame him when he decided to stay put.

"It's not like you to try and be sneaky. That's my territory."

"Thought I might catch you in a candid moment if you didn't get any warning," he said, "feel like we haven't really spoken in months."

"We've talked."

"Not properly."

"Define properly."

"Nat," he said my name so forcefully it ended in a tut, followed by a sigh. If I'd turned around I just knew I would see him pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed in frustration.

"I'm not trying to be annoying," I said. My voice was neutral and my face gave nothing away, but he knew I wasn't one for meaningless words.

"I know," his voice softened.

He was right. We hadn't really spoken, not since Halloween and even then it wasn't much of a conversation.

"Had a lot on my mind," I shrugged and turned to look at him.

"I know," he said again and it was with so much sincerity in the way he looked at me I wondered if Steve had said something. It was a stupid thought, he would never. "What's on it at the moment?"

I dredged my thoughts and two things floated into focus. The first, the plot against Tony, wasn't anything I could share. The second, the looming anniversary next month, was something we both felt deeply.

"Coming up three years," I said and he didn't need any more context. I appreciated it, the swirling emotions that were released at Halloween threatened to get tangled with my words.

"Yeah," he said at last and then took a deep breath before he spoke again, "I never really lost anyone, you know. Well, not in the Snap."

"You lost everyone we did, Bruce."

"And it's not like I kept in touch with anyone from my life before the Hulk," he carried on as if I'd never said anything and there was a sharp anger that swept through me.

"Is this what you meant by talking properly?" I asked, still keeping my voice free of any emotion. "You complain and I listen?"

"That's not fai-"

"It's perfectly fucking fair."

He winced as if I'd shouted and the words were echoing into the evening air and across the whole compound. My voice never went above normal talking volume, I made sure.

"You can complain and I'll listen," he said and part of me wilted in disappointment, the same part that spoiled for an argument I could sink my teeth into. It was a small section hidden in the back of my mind and the rest of me was glad that, for the moment, there was no argument in sight.

"I just want some peace, Bruce. That's why I come up here. So I don't have to think. I don't want to complain. I don't want to listen. I just want to be."

"Okay," he said and settled himself on the floor. When I kept looking at him he gestured towards the horizon. I turned back round to face it and neither of us spoke.

The compound did, though. The lake lapped gently in the breeze as it shifted this way and that. The dock creaked. The grass rustled. Birds called out, a beautiful noise even in the dying daylight. There was a weather vane Clint had used his hit-and-miss DIY skills to put up when the compound first opened, it had loosened over time and rattled whenever it was caught by a sharp gust.

I let it all wash over me, bathed in the sounds of 'now' and forgot about the darkness that fell over us within minutes. All I knew was the calmness that seeped into every pore and relaxed my muscles and soothed the anger that burned in my soul. I breathed it in and allowed myself to be nothing more than a person enjoying the newly fallen night. Even if it did bring a chill with it.

I wasn't really sure how long I indulged myself for but when I turned back to Bruce even he looked calmer.

"Thank you," I said.

"I did say I thought I might catch you in a candid moment," he shrugged, "never really stopped to think if I'd be interrupting." His words were heavy with something I couldn't quite name and his voice was tight as if he wanted to hide it. When I looked him in the eye I couldn't see anything worth hiding; a little bit of awe, a little bit of something else.

I put it down to the moments just passed. I was often left feeling the same way.

I lifted myself onto the ledge to sit. The rough brick bit into the back of my legs and I saw Bruce flinch at the idea of me being so close to the edge. "Relax, big guy, I know what I'm doing. The only way I'm gonna fall is if I want to." I regarded him in the darkness. His eyes shone in the moonlight and the shadows fell across his face in a way that made it look a lot craggier than it was. "You feel like a fraud."

"Huh?" He started at the out-of-the-blue analysis.

"That's what you were gonna say, right? The whole thing about only bonding with the original Avengers and not keeping in touch with anyone PHD."

"PHD?" He asked. The crinkled brow said he was procrastinating.

"Pre Hulk, Duh."

He laughed and, unlike my harsh words from earlier, it did echo across the compound. "And you shortened it to PHD because-"

"You're always going on about your PhDs, yeah."

"I've only mentioned them, like, once." His smile faded as the seconds ticked by and he remembered the other thing I said. "And yes. That is what I was going to say."

"You're not getting out of it."

"Hmm?"

"The commemoration next month."

"I can't face it, Nat. Surrounded by all those people with real grief. People who have lost people."

"The only tie Rocket had to this planet was his friend, Quill. Someone this planet had long forgotten about. Nebula comes here each time with the Daughter of Thanos epithet hanging over her head. And you? You've come back home to a world that was difficult to recognise even before Thanos turned up. Thor might not be dead but he's lost in his depression and no one can guide him out, not even you and you're probably one of his closest friends. The PHD people might be from your past but there was always that hope of reconnecting in the future."

Bruce listened without interrupting and allowed each word to settle over him. If he heard anything he didn't like he never let it show. It struck me that perhaps he hadn't come to me refusing to grieve, he had turned up because he was looking for permission to.

Why he thought I could be the one to give it to him I didn't know.

"The battles you fight are different to mine, Rocket's, Nebula's. But they're no less valid, Bruce. The world you once knew, the friend who's withdrawn from you, the hope snatched away from you. All those are worth grieving, deserve to be grieved."

He breathed deeply and the moonlight that shone so bright in his eyes trailed down his face. Glistening tracks stood out in the shadows. When his breath hitched neither of us said anything. When it didn't happen again I knew he was still holding back.

"You're not a fraud," I said into the silence.

There are moments in life, sometimes brief and sometimes drawn out, that stand out from everything else. They're the ones that you just know will stick with you for the rest of your days. I never used to be good at spotting them because you can't live in the moment when all of them were about surviving.

But I started to learn.

That moment between me and Bruce, all the words that led up to it and the minutes he took to finally allow himself to feel what was bubbling away under the surface, was one of them.

10 March 2021

Hi Tom,

I hate stepping out of my shadows. Even after all these years of Avenger affiliation they're where I find my comfort and strength. I can appear in front of cameras and manipulate a room full of politicians and bring the fight to the streets of a city, but stick me in shadows and I'll do my best work.

I step out of them only when necessary because stepping back in gets harder with every bit of exposure. And those rare moments came as a conscious choice because it was needed. So imagine my fury when I'm pulled from the protections of the shadows for nothing more than gossip.

Either the snap-happy tourists outside the WOOPS building in the city weren't just tourists or one of them recognised me and sold their photos for some quick cash. The photos have since been splashed across the internet and a few print outlets, each accompanied by an article as speculative as the last.

In amongst the lazy journalism and not-so-veiled insults about the way I looked was an accusation that fuelled a fire I hadn't felt for a long time. The anger flashed through my veins, so hot they ached with the burn of it for hours after it had died down.

A claim that all the Avengers had done since Thanos was enjoy downtime.

The comment was so throwaway I doubt most people would have noticed they'd read it, yet it still would have burrowed into their subconscious and laid a rotten foundation from which to view the team.

The idea that they weren't doing anything when they were the busiest they'd ever been had me seeing so much red I spent half the day in the gym.

Domestic threats, international, planetary, galactic, intergalactic. Weapons and drugs off the streets, human trafficking halted, bank robberies stymied, persons of interest put away. Political battles waged and won behind closed doors, strengthened allegiances on earth and new ones struck up beyond it. Vulnerable children looked after, post-decimation clean up, post-disaster clean-up, welcoming refugees from space, visits into schools and hospitals and communities. And, quietest of all, the continued and determined search for a way to bring everyone back.

All while battling personal demons, finding a way to survive in a world full of reminders and, in one case, running a country.

The team didn't deserve the casual comments that lead to casual contempt for their very existence.

"Friday," I said into the empty room after a few hours of contemplation and much icing of my knuckles, which were left very much battered after my visit to the gym.

"Yes Director?"

I took a few seconds before answering, keen to make sure my thoughts were clear in my mind. Was it petty, what I was about to ask? Did it really matter, even if I instigated it without any petty intentions there was always bound to be people out there who thought otherwise.

"I need you to put together a report, please," I said, regardless of what people might think in the short-term it was probably something with a long-term benefit that I should have considered before, "an analysis of everything the Avengers have been involved in. All the crime and plots they've managed to stop. In progress, pre-emptively, anything you think is appropriate. And all their interactions with the world since losing half of it. For a balanced view you should probably include things we could have done better and the things we weren't able to stop. When you're done can you send a copy to Rhodey."

This sort of detailed report warranted an in depth discussion, it was the type of transparency that had the potential to be a curse of epic proportions.

"Right away, Director."

"And Friday, after this first report let's make it quarterly."

"Of course-" There was a hesitation as if something had caught her attention, which was the sort of touch only Tony could bring to technology. "It looks like your grocery delivery is here, Director. Aaron is already halfway to the compound."

"What, no warning?"

"It seems he followed the Boss through the gate."

"What?" I jumped from my chair and spoke over Friday, who took my surprise as a request to repeat herself. "Goddamn Tony Stark."

Aaron was already parked up by the time I made it outside. The slight chill in the air was more pronounced for having just left the warmth of central heating, my jacket lying comfortably on the sofa.

"Hey," he said as he stepped down from the van, "thought you were standing me up again." Aaron had a routine that was easy to pick up on.

Out of the van.

Say 'hello'.

Unlock the back.

Unload everything.

This time he paused somewhere between saying 'hello' and unlocking the back of the van to shoot another look my way. "How are you?"

Alarms blared in my head and not just because it was the sort of vaguely personal question I preferred to avoid, but because of his rigid shoulders and clenched jaw and eyes that never stopped darting.

It may as well have been tattooed across his face. He'd seen the latest gossip.

"You should know by now I never really answer that question," I said, enjoying the lighter evening despite knowing the route he was trying to steer the conversation down.

"One day you might slip up," he said and everything about him was a little more relaxed than when he'd first stopped, "and I'm good, thanks for asking."

"This is why you'll never make it as an interrogator," I said, "your willingness to give away information without being asked."

He sucked in a breath and there was an ever so noticeable pause as he held onto it before releasing it back into the wild. He'd thought better of whatever he'd interrupted his routine to say.

The doors to the back of the van were silent when he finally unlocked them, and the vehicle shook as he climbed aboard. "Good thing I'm happy as a humble delivery driver," he called from where he gathered my order, "and anyway, you can tell a lot about a person by what they order."

"Shopping lists do come in useful," I said as he stepped back out with the groceries, "what's caught your eye about mine?"

He rummaged through the top tote and picked up a couple of jumbo jars of peanut butter. "Every week. There's no way Tony Stark is here often enough to get through all of that. I think someone else has a mild addiction."

"We don't get through all of it," I sighed, still not comfortable revealing the Avengers Compound was actually the Avenger Compound, "there's loads in the kitchen. But Stark's locked me out of the grocery list so I can't remove it from the order. When he finds a joke he likes he's not all that willing to part from it."

He hummed as he put the jars back. "And you said I wouldn't make a good interrogator. I just gleaned vital insight into everyday life at the compound. Tony Stark is a pain in the ass."

"And you said you were happy as a humble delivery driver."

There was a small chuckle that faded away when his eyes landed on the totes again and I realised that the time it took him to suck in another breath was all I had left until he brought up the thing neither of us wanted to talk about. And I hated the timing of it because according to the countdown I kept running in my head Tony was going to turn up any second.

"I saw the article," he said and we both glossed over the squeak that crept in.

"Which one?"

"All pretty much the same," he shrugged, "doesn't really matter."

He was right. No matter where it was splashed across the internet the content was the same they just found different ways to suggest the Avengers weren't doing anything.

"Just someone with too much time on their hands." I tried to wave it away, feeling Tony getting closer but Aaron wasn't having any of it.

"Someone cruel with too much time on their hands." He looked over at me with a furrowed brow. "What they said about you wasn't fair."

"What people say about me is rarely fair, don't let it bother you," I said and, as someone who was very bothered by the way the team were spoken about, decided to ignore my hypocrisy.

"They called you a 'former fugitive' before they called you the 'current leader of the Avengers'. What's even up with that? And I haven't even started about the comments on your appearance."

"I'm just glad I had the foresight to grab my sunglasses, otherwise they'd have two whole paragraphs about the bags under my eyes."

Before Aaron could say anything my internal countdown hit zero and sure enough we were joined by the incoming Tony Stark. I knew the second he came into view because Aaron's eyes flickered to a point over my shoulder and widened when the recognition registered.

"Hey kid," Tony called out and I span around slowly to glare at him. "Nat."

"Oh wow," Aaron breathed out behind me, which only fanned the little embers of anger I felt bursting into existence.

"Nope. This is not happening," I said but Tony did what Tony does and ignored me. He drew level with the both of us and I saw the confusion in Aaron's eyes when I faced him again.

"How are ya?" Tony said, making a point of looking to the poor delivery driver who had no idea what he was in the middle of.

"Um..."

"What are you doing, Stark?"

"Just dropping by. Thought I'd introduce myself, not that I need introducing."

Aaron half laughed at that, though he stopped when he looked over and saw the tense set of my shoulders.

"We've been over this-"

"I just want to talk to him, Nat."

"There's nothing to talk about."

"There is if there's a chance he's involved."

Aaron's eyes darted from one face to another as we spoke, watching our verbal tennis match with no understanding of what we were actually talking about. One hand clutched the tower of totes, knuckles growing paler as a cocktail of confusion and frustration tightened his grip.

"What is wrong with you?" I pinned Tony with another glare and, to give him credit, he looked the most terrified I'd seen in a while.

"Afraid you need to be more specific," the billionaire said.

I pulled myself up to my full height, which wasn't the most impressive. But, mixed with the Black Widow glare I'd perfected over years and the menacing aura I could summon at will, it was enough to scare anyone. Tony managed to keep himself from stepping back, but Aaron backed up until he hit the van.

"Uh oh," Tony gulped, "I've poked the Black Widow out of hibernation. We're all gonna die."

"He's not involved, Tony."

"How can you be so sure, Rusty?"

"Because it's my fucking job to be sure and I'm pretty fucking good at my job."

"Then why haven't we caught anyone yet?" Rather than back off, his own rage was catching alight and while my voice grew lower and steadier, his grew louder.

"Because patience."

"I'm not good at patient," he yelled.

"Clearly."

The silence that fell between us echoed in my ears, the words we threw at each other scalding and scolding. Tony breathed heavily and I knew the anger I felt was still burning in my eyes. Aaron remained frozen in his spot, still confused at how a chat between the two of us had turned into a disagreement with me and someone else.

"It's not just me, Nat. It's my family. Whatever the hell is going on, they're threatened too. And, look, I know that's not really something you can comprehend-" He had the decency to interrupt himself when he realised what he was saying, but the damage was already done with the words that had already left his mouth. The silence turned deadly but there was something comical about the way his eyes widened.

Memories and images tried to flash through my mind but I didn't let them. Couldn't let them. If I did I would lose control.

"You have no idea what I can comprehend," I said, refusing to blink as I stared him down. He swallowed and the gulp was audible. I rocked back onto my heels and relaxed my shoulders, easing the tension from them to ease it from the conversation. "You're an asshole when you're scared."

"Only when I'm scared?"

I quirked an eyebrow at him and there was a hint of a grin when he breathed out. Not so long ago a conversation like this would have spiralled into something dangerous. We had both learned the hard way what happened if we allowed emotions to take the reins.

"Look, Red. I'm sorry. No, really I am. I was out of order, but it's just, it's my family." He said the last bit like it explained everything and I couldn't say that it didn't.

"Think you should apologise to him too." I nodded over at Aaron and he was taken aback at being remembered.

"Hey," he said, "I don't even know what I'm in the middle of."

Tony and I looked at each other and I shrugged. I might accept his apology but I wasn't going to take on the responsibility of telling Aaron what Tony suspected him of.

"Well," Tony sighed, "we-" I cleared my throat. "I thought you might be part of some plot that's going about to kidnap me and my family." He stopped talking again as he tried to clear out the images of his daughter becoming a victim of his celebrity so young. I cleared my throat again. "I wanted to question you a bit. Find out a bit more about it. Natasha, patron saint of delivery drivers, never thought you were part of it and has been trying to stop me from talking to you. And, well, you know - I'm sorry."

Aaron looked more than a little shell shocked that one of the most famous Avengers had just shared something with him that was not only confidential but affected the safety of his family.

"Um," he said and looked at me then switched back to Tony again, "well, it's okay, I guess. Though, if you want to make it up to me you can help me unpack the groceries, I'm running a bit late now. And I guess you can ask me a few questions."

25 March 2021

Confession number 1, Tom.

I figured out who was after Tony a few days ago.

How?

Well, let me enlighten you.

Step 1

Gather the evidence.

I knew it existed, Tony had already shown me the digital copies. Turns out the originals had been scattered across his workbench at home, collecting coffee stains and smudges until Pepper went on a mission of preservation. She slipped them into plastic sleeves, which in turn were secured in a bright red folder. I asked and they both agrees to hand it over.

Step 2

Examine the evidence in real life.

Friday was an awesome, almost fearsome, asset but sometimes it's better to figure things out when they're particles not pixels. My initial assessment when I first saw the projections on Morgan's birthday was right and wrong.

Some of the letters did come from a typewriter but some also came from a standard printer.

With the latter there was nothing to gain from the words or the ink. Quirk-free and dull, dull, dull. Threats with all the personality of an instruction booklet. The paper told a different story; good quality, so stiff it was almost cards, the sort used for invitations.

There was flair.

There was drama.

There was arrogance.

Their mistake.

Because those three words gave away so much about the sender and if there's one thing you don't want to give me it's any sort of trail to follow.

The ones from a typewriter weren't exciting on the paper front. This time the ink and words held everything I needed to know. The words were more hesitant, trying to mimic the other letters, almost apologetic. The spacing between letters wasn't always right.

It was wrapped in nostalgia.

No imagination.

Not used to being in charge.

But most important of all was the absolute certainty that the letters from the typewriter were different person. At least two people had their sights on Tony. While it would make them easier to find it also made things a little more difficult to control. The larger the group the more variables there were.

Step 3

Trace the evidence.

I might have insights into the senders and their personalities but I still didn't know who they were. I didn't know why the sent the letters, or when or from where. My best chance of getting those answers? Tracing the evidence. Otherwise everything I'd already gathered amounted to nothing more than stepping stones to nowhere.

So, I had to track the letters. The only way that was possible was if I knew more about them. What's that I hear you ask, Tom? What more could I possibly learn from ink and paper?

Plenty.

I claimed one of the lesser used meeting rooms, dragged a much neglected whiteboard from Bruce's old lab and surrounded myself with typewriters, ink ribbons and reams of paper. Spurred on by knowing if I found the typewriter, if I found the paper, I'd find the authors.

For a whole day I fed paper into typewriter after typewriter, sometimes just to run a few of the ink ribbons down, most of the time to memorise which ones smudged the full stops and nicked the 'a's or hung the 'g's lower while the 't's enjoyed a higher perch. I typed out the letters over and over across different devices and with varying levels of ink until I could pinpoint the exact make that was used by the author.

With that out of the way I settled into sifting through the paper. It was unglamorous work and not exactly adrenaline pumping when the biggest risk I faced was a paper cut. The technicalities of identifying the kidnapper's paper were as dull as what they wrote, but that didn't make the facts any less indisputable. By the time Friday started to insist I go to bed I knew enough to take a few more steps in the journey of discovery.

Type, make and manufacturer all meant I could turn my attention to finding the places that stocked them. Or rather, Friday could. It was a job that would take me days but her just minutes, if that.

But just because Friday could never meant Friday would. Programmed with much of Tony's stubbornness and petulance she claimed the results wouldn't be ready until tomorrow morning. And I had no choice but to play along with the ruse.

26 March 2021

Hi Tom,

Despite the AI's good intentions the night was not restful. Sleep was a reluctant visitor and when it did appear it never stayed around for long. There were dreams but they made no impression on my memory, I was left with an uncomfortable feeling like a bitter aftertaste. One that was washed away as soon as Friday, ever and AI of her word, notified me of completed work.

Step 3 continued

A map of the country popped up as soon as I re-entered the meeting room, it was decorated with what looked like an infinite amount of pins marking every place that fit the criteria. It would have been overwhelming if it wasn't what I expected.

I narrowed it down to show only the places that sold all three items and, just in case, stores close to each other that sold all three between them. A good chunk was eliminated but there was still a lot to wade through. And this leads me to...

Confession number 2

It didn't take me nearly as long as it should have to decide to use Friday to bypass all known privacy laws.

Cue the AI hacking into the CCTV and running facial recognition on everyone who bought the items of interest over the last eight months. She gathered everything in about half an hour.

It highlighted a lot of people with minor connections to:

Stark himself - selfies on the street or shyer snappers who caught him from afar, recently shared videos of him flying through the city or press conferences about how Stark Industries was going to continue to support the communities hot worst by the decimation, or even just those who hero-worshipped him like some guy called Gary with eerily familiar facial hair and a tattoo of my friend's face that had just been touched up.

Stark Industries - anyone who worked nearby, enjoyed a tour of the building or was connected, by degrees of separation, through clients and suppliers.

Stark's- friends and family - one guy was a friend of a friend of a friend of Happy's, there was a someone who went to the same college as Pepper at the same time, and someone else who served with Rhodey.

But there were two names in particular that raised the red flags and set the alarm bells ringing. Two names far apart in geography but more than capable of meeting up in the middle. Two names who had worked for two people whose existence was forever twisted into the story of Tony Stark.

Name one: Luke Dennis

Name two: Robin Mitchell.

And once upon a time they'd worked for Obadiah Stane and Justin Hammer respectively.

Step 4

Set our counter plan in motion.

29 March 2021

Darkness everywhere. Screams echoed. Two voices locked together. Hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

I stumbled across uneven ground. My toes caught on tufts of something and my knees hit the floor with a force that would have bruised had I been awake. Instead, my dream absorbed the impact and I carried on without issue.

The screams died down and the darkness lifted. Light and things snuck in as if they had always been there and my eyes needed no adjusting. It was a rural landscape. One I recognised as an isolated spot near one of my safe houses.

I climbed a hill, the steepest with a sheer drop on the other side. Wanda was at the top, too far away to hear me calling. She took another deep breath and gave voice to her anguish again, none of her scarlet magic amassed around her. It was just Wanda and the hill and the still, still air that took her pain.

Then I was beside her, doing the same. Only nature could hear us and it had no voice to answer back.

It was more than a dream. It was a memory. One lost in the crowd of everything that had happened since

We screamed and yelled and smiled until Wanda collapsed in on herself as the release of emotions made room for more. Tears flooded her face and sobs wracked her body.

The wind finally whispered back at us and I was surprised to find it had an Irish accent.

"Director."

It was almost drowned by Wanda's grief, which grew louder every second. I knew I didn't want to stick around. It was heartbreaking to witness the first time, I didn't need hear it again.

The Irish lilt floated on the air again and I followed it until dream-awareness turned into wakefulness and I sensed the room around me.

All as it had been before I fell asleep. All except the frantic sounding Friday who called out to me once more for good measure.

"S'up?" I mumbled as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes.

"It's the Boss," she said, "he's been taken."

A/N: Here comes another apology for yet another delay. I've struggled really badly with writer's block which has affected this fic, for which you have my utmost apologies. I know how frustrating it is when an author doesn't update regularly or disappears. My job is also very writing centric so I can't switch off the writing brain during work hours and I ended up taking some unplanned time away from this fic in the hopes of coming back and feeling refreshed enough give you the chapters and story you deserve.

It seems to have worked, I finished, and posted, a oneshot I started a couple of years ago to get back into the swing of things, and came back to this chapter this morning and knew it was missing something - one of these entries was supposed to be in the next chapter but it felt so much better here. Thank you, as always, for your patience.

I hope you're all safe and well in this incredibly unpredictable world x

P.S. For anyone who's interested, I've been convinced to get an AO3 account, I'm on there under the same username - R4ndomWr1t3r - and will be gradually adding this story onto there and will update on both sites until it's completed.