Alrighty, so I lied a bit about updating every day- I wasn't finished this part yesterday, because it has 2 spirits innit! So here we go! Again, sorry for errors, Un beta'd.

Awaking from the middle of a tumultuous sleep, and sitting up in bed to get her thoughts together, Natasha had no occasion to be told that her alarm clock was again upon the stroke of One. She felt that she was restored to consciousness in the right nick of time, for the especial purpose of holding a conference with the second messenger dispatched to her through Anya's intervention. But, finding that she turned uncomfortably cold when she began to wonder from which wall would the spirit jump out from, she grabbed her gun (despite the fact they were deadish already) and established a sharp look-out all around. For, she wished to challenge the Spirit on the moment of its appearance, and did not wish to be taken by surprise, and it made her nervous.

Given that Natasha was a spy, and once called aliens and mutants her colleagues, and even in her advanced years very adaptable, I don't mind calling on you to believe that she was ready for a good broad field of strange appearances, and that nothing between a baby and rhinoceros would have astonished her very much.

Now, being prepared for almost anything, she was not by any means prepared for nothing; and, consequently, when the Bell struck One, and no shape appeared, she was taken with a violent fit of trembling. Five minutes, ten minutes, a quarter of an hour went by, yet nothing came. All this time, she sat upon her bed, the very core and centre of a blaze of blue light, which streamed upon it when the clock proclaimed the hour; and which, being only light, was more alarming than a dozen ghosts, as she was powerless to make out what it meant, or would be at; and was sometimes apprehensive that she might be at that very moment an interesting case of spontaneous combustion, without having the consolation of knowing it. At last, however, she began to think - as you or I would have thought at first; for it is always the person not in the predicament who knows what ought to have been done in it, and would unquestionably have done it too - at last, I say, he began to think that the source and secret of this ghostly light might be in the adjoining room, from whence, on further tracing it, it seemed to shine. This idea taking full possession of her mind, she tentatively got up softly and shuffled to the door.

Natasha turned the handle and peered inside and was taken aback.

It was her living room. There was no doubt about that. But it had undergone a surprising transformation. The walls and ceiling were so hung with what appeared to be high end Christmas decorations, it looked as if Martha Stewart was using her home for a spread in a magazine. Heaped up on the floor, to form a kind of throne, was almost every type of liquor you could think of, and the expensive stuff too. However, the source of the blue light, sitting in a lounge chair, dressed in a fitted white business shirt and slacks was none other than;

"STARK!? Oh damn me now. I should've known. These spirits are from hell rather than heaven."

"hey, Romanov, you better watch what you say. And besides. Did Stevie not explain this to you proper? I'm NOT Stark. I just look like 'im. Tony Stark is the shining example of this age; of course he represents Christmas present; it's who I really am after all."Natasha snorted.

"Stark? Really?"

"He's a philanthropist. He works on mass producing medicines with Bruce Banner. He's given up his maverick ways; his kids are all grown up. He's been married to Potts for at least 20 years now, and by learning to play with others" Natasha glowered at the mention of her report "He's saved the world a couple times. Like it or not Romanov, he's got his shit together."

"Let's just get this over with then. I'm NOT touching your chest, by the way."

"Fine, take my hand then." Natasha, chanting to herself ;

"It's not really Stark, it's not really Stark" reluctantly took Tony's hand, and everything from the crystal snowflakes to the fine appetizers all vanished instantly, and they stood in the city streets on Christmas morning, where (for the weather was severe) the people made a rough, but brisk and not unpleasant kind of music, in scraping the snow from the pavement in front of the city's buildings; the tall skyscrapers looked black enough, for no one was at work, but the Christmas decorations still sparkled with as much force as ever. There was nothing very cheerful in the climate or the city, and yet was there an air of cheerfulness abroad that the clearest summer air and brightest summer sun might have endeavoured to diffuse in vain.

For, the people who were out and about, even on Christmas were jovial and full of glee; calling out to one another from across the streets, and now and then exchanging a facetious snowball - better-natured missile far than many a wordy jest - laughing heartily if it went right and not less heartily if it went wrong.

The churches were still lit up however, and early Christmas services could be heard around town. In time the bells ceased, and the sky became dark and Natasha and Tony stopped in front of a high rise, where Natasha knew Maria Hill lived.

It was a great surprise to Natasha, who was still not used to appearing and disappearing, to one moment be looking at a door and the next hear a laugh that could only belong to Thor. It was a much greater surprise to find herself in a bright, dry, gleaming room, with the Tony Spirit standing smiling by his side, and looking at that same ThunderGod with approving affability.

"Ha, ha!" laughed Thor. "Ha, ha, ha!" It seemed that Maria wasn't kidding when she said she'd invited some old friends; Cap (the real one this time), Bruce, Thor and surprisingly,

"Now there's a handsome devil" interjected the spirit as Natasha also sighted the real Tony, who sat beside Pepper grinning his signature Stark grin. (With greyed hair however.)

If you should happen, by any unlikely chance, to know a man more blest in a laugh than Thor, all I can say is, I should like to know him too. Introduce him to me, and I'll cultivate his acquaintance.

It is a fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of things, that while there is infection in disease and sorrow, there is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good-humour. When Thor laughed in this way: holding his sides, rolling his head, and twisting his face into the most extravagant contortions: his wife laughed as heartily as he. And their assembled friends being not a bit behindhand, roared out lustily.

"Ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha, ha!"

"She said that Christmas was for children as I live!" cried Maria "She believed it too."

"More shame for her, Maria." said Pepper, indignantly.

"She's gotten even more reclusive," said Maria, "that's the truth: and not so pleasant as she might be. However, her offenses carry their own punishment, and I have nothing to say against her."

"You might not Maria" began the real Tony with his usual better than thou air "but after what she did to poor Legolas, I could say a whole lot against her, but it's Christmas, and I'm behaving myself now apparently, so I won't"

"I have no patience with her," observed Pepper. "I used to think we were friends, But I wonder if that was all a ruse too."

"I am sorry for her; I couldn't be angry with her if I tried." Bruce had always been of the forgiving nature. "Who suffers by her ill whims? Herself, always. Clint knew what he was getting into. Here, she takes it into her head to distance herself from us, and she won't come and dine with us. What's the consequence?"

"Indeed, I think she loses a very good dinner," interrupted Thor "Where is Barton, by the way?" Maria answered

"He's stationed in Alaska; he's still on active duty since he's a sniper. I tried getting him to reject the mission, but he wouldn't" Bruce continued.

"Anyway, I think that the consequence of her distancing herself, and not being friendly, is, as I think, that she loses some pleasant moments, which could do her no harm. I am sure she loses pleasanter companions than she can find in her own thoughts. I mean to give her the same chance every year, now that she's retired, whether she likes it or not, for I pity her. She may rail at Christmas till she dies, but even she can't want to be forever alone."

The real Tony spoke up.

"Whatever the ice Queen's problem is, I don't give a damn. It's Christmas eve and Pep and I haven't had any real fun since the kids were born-" Steve interrupted him.

"No matter what we think of her, she was still once our friend, and I don't think us debating her is going to do any good except make us all upset." The conversation then changed direction and after some time, first from how Tony was monitoring his grown children with technology that should really only be used for defence, and once one parent starts talking about their child, the rest have to as well. By then, Tony had drunk enough to demand that they start playing party games; because after all, they only lived once.

They began with 20 questions, and Tony, who volunteered to go first, went under the brisk fire of questioning elicited from him that he was thinking of an animal, a live animal, rather a disagreeable animal, a savage animal, an animal that growled sometimes, and talked sometimes, and lived in the city, and walked about the streets, and wasn't made a show of, and wasn't led by anybody, and didn't live in a menagerie, and was never killed in a market, and was not a horse, or an ass, or a cow, or a bull, or a tiger, or a dog, or a pig, or a cat, or a bear. At every fresh question that was put to him, Tony burst into a fresh roar of laughter; and was so inexpressibly tickled, that he was obliged to get up off the sofa and stamp. At last the Thor, falling into a similar state, cried out:

"I have found it out! I know what it is, Tony! I know what it is!"

"What is it?" cried Tony.

"It's Natasha!"

Half the party doubled over, and the other half went silent. Tony continued his joke that he should have replied yes to the question "Is it a bear?" when Pepper scolded him for being inconsiderate.

"Why Pep? These past years she's been horrible to work with, horrible to poor Clint, and although she might've been an asset, I hear from Maria that she treats the new agents horribly."

"We don't know if there's something behind that Tony, maybe there's something Clint isn't telling us."

At this point, Natasha turned away from the scene and muttered;

"I guess I deserved that"

"Hell yes you did" replied the Tony-Spectre. Natasha looked up and the whole scene passed off in the breath of the last word spoken by Pepper; and she and the Spirit were again upon their travels.

The air had become thick with snow, and Natasha spied a small wooden cabin, which would have been non descript, if it wasn't for the high tech antenna that was sticking out of it. Her and Tony walked through the wall and came upon Clint, cleaning his rifle. He aged well, she thought, even though there wasn't really a possibility to the otherwise. Had she been able to take her eyes off Clint, she would've noticed the tiny Christmas tree in the room, which Clint was very proud of cutting down himself, even though it was barely a branch. Suddenly he touched his ear, and replied:

"Barton. Yes, I'm monitoring the base. (Cough) No, no activity, (cough) yes, yes I'm fine. Alright. I'll check in again in a few hours." No sooner than he switched off the earpiece when a coughing fit overtook him; Natasha watched in horror as he doubled over, wheezing and ran a hand over his face.

"The extreme conditions are getting to him. He's either really hot or really cold. Perils of being the best shot in the world I suppose."

"Spirit," said Natasha, trying to mask her interest, "tell me if Clint will live much longer."

"I see a vacant locker," replied the Ghost, "and a bow without an owner, carefully preserved. If these shadows remain unaltered by the Future, the Clint will die soon."

"No, no," said Natasha. "Oh, no, Tony, please. Say you could save him!"

"If these shadows remain unaltered by the Future, none other of my race," returned the Ghost, "will find him alive."

Natasha's heart was again smashed when she heard Clint mutter in Russian:

"Merry Christmas Natasha"

Suddenly, Tony's Heart began to flicker. "My life upon this earth, isn't very long," said the Ghost. "the end is pretty much nigh."

"What? When!" cried Natasha.

"To-night at midnight. Look's like it's time to bow out."

They heard ringing the three quarters past eleven at that moment.

They were suddenly in an empty room, illuminated only by Tony's increasingly dimmer heart.

"Now, Romanov, see here. I'm warning you; the next spirit is different than us past two, you're going to see their real form. It's funny, they've requested this case, and to tell you the truth, they intimidate all of us even though they haven't been dead for that long. So long Romanov, try not to be such a pain in the ass, ok?"

His light went out. The bell struck twelve.

Natasha looked about for the Ghost, and saw it not. As the last stroke ceased to vibrate, she remembered the prediction of Anya, and lifting up her eyes, beheld a solemn figure suited and stoic as ever. Natasha couldn't believe her eyes. It was Coulson.

Coulson slowly, gravely, silently approached. His suit was blacker than it'd ever been, and his face looked ageless and at peace.

She felt that he was tall and stately when he came beside her, and that his mysterious presence was persevered, even in death. However, the Spirit neither spoke nor moved.

"Coulson, YOU'RE the Ghost of Christmas future?" asked Natasha. "I've- we've- missed you, I'm sorry I haven't taken care of Clint very well..."

The Spirit answered not, but pointed downward with his hand.

"You're going to show me shadows of the things that have not happened, but will happen in the time before us," Natasha pursued.

He nodded.

Although well used to ghostly company by this time, Natasha feared Coulson's silence so much that her legs trembled beneath her and she found that she could hardly stand when she prepared to follow him. Coulson pauses a moment, as observing her condition, and giving her time to recover. He, besides Clint, was the only person who ever had all of her respect.

But Natasha was all the worse for this. It thrilled her with a vague uncertain horror, to know that Coulson was working for whatever lay in the undiscover'd country, yet she was pleased he had found peace.

"Still a workaholic" she muttered, "Thank you for helping me Coulson, won't you speak to me?"

He gave her no reply. The hand was pointed straight before them.

"Lead on, then" sighed Natasha "Lead on. The night is waning fast, and it is precious time to me, I know. Lead on, Coulson"

They scarcely seemed to enter the helicarrier; for the helicarrier rather seemed to spring up about them, and encompass them of its own act. But there they were, in the heart of it; on Change, amongst the agents; who hurried up and down, carrying weapons and important documents, and conversed in groups, and looked at their tablets, and typed away at computers; and so forth, as Natasha had seen them often.

Coulson stopped beside one little knot of Agents who Natasha vaguely recognized. Observing that Coulson was pointed to them, Natasha advanced to listen to their talk.

"No," said the first," I don't know much about it, either way. I only know she's dead."

"When did she die?" inquired another.

"Last night, I believe."

"Why, what was the matter with her? I thought she'd never die."

"God knows," said the first, with a yawn.

"What has she done with her things?" asked another

"I haven't heard," said the second. "Left it to be destroyed, perhaps. Doesn't have anyone to leave it too. That's all I know."

This pleasantry was received with a general laugh.

"It's likely to be a very small funeral," said the same speaker; "I don't know of anybody to go to it. Suppose we make up a party and volunteer?"

"I don't mind going if a lunch is provided, but I must be fed, if I make one."

Another laugh.

"Well, I am the most disinterested among you, after all," said the first speaker," for I am as busy with this whole arms race as is everyone else. But I'll offer to go, if anybody else will. She was a good agent, even if a bit rough"

Speakers and listeners strolled away, and continued with their duties. Natasha looked towards Coulson for an explanation.

He glided into another room. His finger pointed to two persons meeting. Natasha listened again, thinking that the explanation might lie here.

She knew these men, also, perfectly. They were ones she had trained, and they had worked their way up in rank, they were shrewd and good fighters: she was almost proud of them.

"How are you?" said one.

"How are you?" returned the other.

"Well!" said the first. "Old Red has got her own at last."

"So I am told," returned the second. "Cold, isn't it."

"We are 1,000 feet in the air."

"I'll never get used to it. Good morning."

Not another word. That was their meeting, their conversation, and their parting.

Natasha was at first inclined to be surprised that Coulson should attach importance to conversations apparently so trivial; but feeling assured that they must have some hidden purpose, she set herself to consider what it was likely to be. They could scarcely be supposed to have any bearing on the death of Anya, since this was SHEILD, not the Red Room. Nor could she think of any one immediately connected with herself, to whom she could make a link. She hoped everything would be apparent when the shadow of herself appeared. For she had an expectation that the conduct of this future self would give her the clue she missed.

She never saw herself, however, as they roamed through the helicarrier, and soon left the busy airship and were transported to SHEILD's land base.

They entered a board meeting it seemed, and the committee seemed to be discussing what to do with the desceased's things.

"Well then, what do we got? A condo, furniture, clothing, a computer, quite the collection of weapons, some jewellery and documents such as photos and certificates."

"You're forgetting the money"

"Ah, yes, at least 10,000. We don't know if she had offshore accounts, so there's probably alot out there."

"Anything classified?"

"Not that we've found yet"

"we could sell it, absorb the profits into SHEILD, but it's not like it needs the money."

"We'll have to destroy her weapons- we can't let those into the wrong hands and no one will want to use them"

"Why couldn't she have family or friends? It would make this so much easier."

"If she had some, she'd have had somebody to look after her when she was struck with Death, instead of lying gasping out his last there, alone by herself."

"It's the truest word that ever was spoke, it's a judgment on her."

"This is the end of it, you see. She frightened every one away from him when she was alive, to mess about with us when she was dead. She didn't even specify any burial procedures!"

"Coulson," said Natasha, shuddering from head to foot. "I see, I see. The case of this unhappy woman might be my own. My life tends that way, now. Wait, what the hell is this?"

She recoiled in terror, for the scene had changed, and now he almost touched a bed: on which, beneath a ragged sheet, there lay a something covered up, which, though it was dumb, announced itself in awful language.

The room was very dark, too dark to be observed with any accuracy, though Natasha glanced round it in habit, anxious to know what kind of room it was. A pale light, rising in the outer air, fell straight upon the bed; and on it, unwatched, unwept, uncared for, was the body of this woman.

Natasha glanced towards the Coulson. His steady hand was pointed to the head. The cover was so carelessly adjusted that the slightest raising of it, the motion of a finger upon Natasha's part, would have disclosed the face. She had seen and made many dead bodies in her time, and she thought of it, felt how easy it would be to do, and longed to do it; but had no more power to withdraw the veil than to dismiss Coulson who stood at her side.

"Coulson,." she said, "this... this place, I can't stand it. I've learned the lesson. Can we go?"

Still the Coulson pointed with an unmoved finger to the head.

"I understand you," Natasha returned, "and I would do it, if I could. But I... I can't."

Again he looked at her.

"If there is anyone, who feels emotion caused by this woman's death," said Natasha quite agonised, "show them to me, Coulson, please." She had heard the anguish of mourning many times over her many years; the lack of it in this case was unsettling.

Coulson raised his eyebrow, and waved; revealed the training facility where new recruits were milling about.

"I wonder what's keeping her?"

"She's never late." One came running in.

"Well? Where is she?"

"She is dead." A gasp went around the room; Natasha heard snippets of conversation; apparently they were going to be tested today, but they all knew that not one of their number was ready, and would have been kicked out of the program if they failed. It was a happier house for this woman's death. The only emotion that the Ghost could show him, caused by the event, was one of pleasure.

"Let me see some tenderness connected with a death," said Natasha; "or that room, which we left just now, will be for ever present to me."

The Ghost conducted him through several streets familiar to her feet; and as they went along, Natasha looked here and there to find herself, but nowhere was he to be seen. They entered a cemetery, where she recognized Maria, Steve, Tony, and the rest of their core team and those who would join over the years; as well as very many agents, all dressed in black. It would seem that a funeral had just ended, as people were starting to leave. Quiet. Very quiet. Even the usually noisy Tony was still as a statues in one corner, and stood looking up. Thor spoke.

"I cannot believe he's parted this realm. He seemed at times the strongest of all of us, despite his handicap."

"He was a good agent, and a better friend" added Steve forlornly

"I'm glad I knew him." Everyone looked at Tony. "I really am. I remember being so astonished at his fucked up life once he told me about it, I understood why he was the way he was. I'll miss him. Terribly."

He broke down all at once. He couldn't help it. The other's faces were no longer dry soon after.

"She didn't even come. Couldn't show her face. Figures. She knows it was HER that drove him to an early grave. I wouldn't have been able to restrain myself if she did." Bruce laid a hand on Tony's shoulder.

"Natasha didn't kill him Tony, that's unfair to say he... he should have retired." Natasha felt the colour drain from her face. This was Clint's funeral. She suddenly was aware of Barney and his kids standing off to the side huddled together. Natasha felt as if she were to be sick.

"No, no, no no, Coulson, how could- I mean please, please take me away, please!" She was sobbing. "Let me see what I shall be, in days to come."

Coulson stopped; the hand was pointed elsewhere.

"Why do you point there? Was I watching from secret?" Natasha craned her neck and time suddenly began to fast forward, it was dark, yet inexorable finger underwent no change.

They walked toward a tombstone. Here, then, Natasha supposed, the wretched woman whose name she had now to learn, lay underneath the ground.

Coulson stood among the graves, and pointed down to One. She advanced towards it trembling. Coulson was exactly as it had been, but she dreaded that she saw new meaning in his solemn expression.

"Before I read this grave; are these only shadows, or can I change the future if I change my path?"

Still Coulson pointed downward to the grave by which he stood.

"Please, say I can change!"

Coulson was immovable as ever.

Natasha crept towards it, trembling as he went; and following the finger, read upon the stone of the neglected grave, her own name. She'd never feared death before, but she sure as hell feared it now.

"Am I that woman who lay upon the bed?" she cried, upon her knees.

The finger pointed from the grave to him, and back again.

"No, Coulson! Oh no, no!"

The finger still was there.

"Coulson!" she cried, tight clutching her chest together, as if afraid she'd burst, "hear me. I realize what I did wrong. I thought being alone was the best option, now I see that I was scared. Why show me this, if I am past all hope?"

For the first time the hand appeared to shake.

"Coulson," she pursued, as down upon the ground she fell before it: "You were always a good handler, and a better friend. Tell me I can change, please! Help me make Clint happy! Really cleanse my ledger!"

The kind hand trembled.

"I will reconcile with my friends, I won't shut away from the world. I'll try not to hurt those that love me, and I'll try to help those that need my guidance."

In her agony, she caught Coulson's hand. He sought to free himself, but she was strong and detained it.

Coulson leaned toward her, cupped her face in his hand, and finally whispered;

"I know you will Natasha," Before the world went black.