Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Let me go.”
“No, please no.”
 “It’s okay.”
 “Please,”
 “Tell her I love her.”

Chapter Text

            Beads of sweat drip from my forehead. My ponytail has come loose, and strands of hair stick to my cheeks. The only light comes from the emergency exits, casting eerie looming shadows across the room. The metal that had been suspended in the air begins to fall.
            I dive forward to try and get the right angle, trying to catch it all before it comes crashing down. It balances centimeters from my face. One sharp corner points directly at my nose. The tile is cold against my arms. I try to remember to breathe. It is easy to get an item up, but much harder to stop it once the free fall begins. I am fairly certain Peter would explain it as having to do with kinetic and potential energy, in addition to physics. It is why I am a humanities major. This is the first time I have been able to complete the feat without any of the shelves hitting the ground. Then my music cuts off.
            “Call from Mom,” Siri reads out.
            “Shit,” I throw the metal shelves to the side and run over to the speaker, unplugging my phone. “Hi Mom,” I answer, out of breath.
            “Hi Love, how are you? You sound out of breath.”
            “Just finishing up a run.”
            “Alone, at night?”
            “I can protect myself.” I assure her.
            “Mhm,” She clearly doesn’t believe me. “I just wanted to check in. See how everything is going?”
            “Same as it was yesterday,” I reply cheekily, “I miss you.”
            “I miss you too, Little Witch. Saturday isn’t far away.” I hear Steve in the background, saying something about having to go. “That’s my cue. Whatever you’re up to, be safe. Okay? And give Yelena and Peter my best at dinner tonight. I love you.”
            “Love you too.” I hang up and look around at the mess I made. The metal shelves are dented from my hasty throw. I put them all right side up again, more, or less in their proper place. There are still promotional signs on the wall for same day delivery and printer repair. It is a good spot for training, though Nat would probably blow a gasket if she knew what I was doing. Unsupervised training is dangerous, even in an abandoned office supply superstore. But I can’t exactly do this in Cambridge. There is also a certain pressure that goes away when no one else is around. It seems impossible that a few months ago I was struggling to make a house of cards.
            I shove the speaker into my backpack and head out the back exit I had propped open and unlock my car. There are only two hours until my dinner with Yelena and Peter. The drive from Somerville back to school doesn’t take long at this hour, most people are heading away from the city. I roll back my shoulders, beginning to feel sore, I shouldn’t have gone so hard.
            Campus is fairly quiet as I hurry through, my hoodie obscuring my face. I take the elevator up to my dorm and think of how Steve would comment that these used to play music. The sun has completely set by the time I get into my room, and the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling are the only source of light as I fumble for the switch.
            My room is a mess. Natasha would be horrified. Sheets are pushed onto the floor, tossed from my bed. Clothes cover every surface. Notebooks and textbooks are scattered. I sigh at the sight. The thought of putting it all away is a daunting task. And definitely not on for tonight. I pull off my leg and change into my bathrobe, grab my crutches, and head to the communal showers. Showering is now a conscious effort. I have to use my powers to help balance as I wash my hair. They are wheelchair accessible, but I haven’t touched my wheelchair since I got here, and I have no intention of doing so.
            I arrive back to the mess of my room. I will have to sort through the notebooks, but I can at least use my powers to put all the clothes in a pile. It also makes it easier to find what I am wearing tonight. I put black jeans and a blouse, grabbing my favorite red leather jacket, and head out the door, locking it behind me. The Uber is waiting for me downstairs to take me to tonight’s restaurant, Yelena’s turn to pick. The past two times it has been her turn, we have ended up at five-star dining establishments, while Peter has picked places like Shake Shack. However, that doesn’t appear to be the case with this restaurant.
            The car pulls into the North End. The narrow streets and short brick buildings are synonymous with the best Italian food in the city. A crowd is forever gathered outside Mike’s Pastries trying to get cannolis. I head down an alleyway and open a squat wooden door. Inside, hushed conversation melts with classical music. I spy them both in a back corner, Yelena waving me over. The old hardwood floors shift underfoot as I walk between the tightly laid out tables.
            “Took you long enough,” Yelena huffs.
            “Good to see you too.” I roll my eyes. The restaurant is dimly lit with candles on each table, providing more light than those on the wall. I strain to read the menu.
            “How are classes?” Peter asks, reaching for dinner roll. 
            “Fine, working on a group project right now. We have assigned partners.”
            “The worst,” Yelena frowns, while Peter says the opposite. “I am bored in my classes, nothing challenging yet.”
            “You already know it all,” Peter points out.
             “Yes, but I’d like to have the official qualifications. Unfortunately, the Red Room is not an accredited university.”
            If Nat were here, she would probably scold Yelena for being so blasé about the Red Room. On the same token, she’d also be impressed by her little sister’s English. Though still thickly accented, her conversational language skills have improved since we started school.
            “MJ is coming to tour on Veteran’s Day, right?” I look up from the menu. Peter beams.
            “Yep! She is going to stay in my room. My roommate is going to be going home that weekend. You’re still up for giving the tour of Harvard?”
            “Of course.”
            “I talked to Tasha earlier. She asked if I knew where you were training.” I choke on my ice water.
            “How did she know?”
            “I think is sweet that she pretends she couldn’t just track your location.”
            “Mr. Stark reminds me all the time that my suit has a tracker.” Peter adds, trying not to pout.
            “I didn’t tell her I was training.”
            “You are very bad at keeping secrets from her,” Yelena puts down her menu, seeming to have settled on what she wants.
            “Thank you, I had no idea.”
            Yelena and I each order a glass of wine while Peter sticks to his Coke. The two of them talk about a professor they share and an event on campus this week. I try to hold back a yawn as we wait for the check. Next time, I will train after dinner.
            “What are you and Nat going to do when she comes up this weekend?” Peter grabs a peppermint as we head out the door.
            “I think we’re going to go shopping. Get dinner.” I zip my coat up.
            “I will keep Captain America company.” Yelena swears. I walk with them to the subway station, clicking to order my car. “I will ride with you to your stop,” She offers, hesitating.
            “No, it’s fine. I don’t like taking the T. Me in a metal tube with a few hundred strangers? We tried that,” I nod to Peter.
            “We wait then.” Yelena sits down on a bench, stretching out her legs. Peter is jittery as he begins to explain how excited he is to put back on the suit this weekend, and to be home. I try not to think about home. About our apartment and Liho. Of sitting in the library reading books until dawn. How is perpetually smells of chamomile and clean laundry.
            “I don’t miss hearing sound of weights being thrown above me at all hours.”
            “Sometimes it’s not weights, sometimes it is Steve.” I point out, rejoining the conversation. A car backfires and I flinch, my fingertips lighting up. They hardly miss a beat, just pausing to see if I am okay, before continuing the conversation. This time, about Boot Camp 2.0, taking place the weekend after Thanksgiving.
            “Manhunt is going to be amazing,” Peter gushes, “I want Wanda on my team.”
            “Nat and Steve are team captains, they will get to pick.”
            “They are so competitive, going to come down to the two of them.” Yelena scoffs.
            “The two of you can scale trees like monkeys,” I point out.
            “Hold on tight, spider monkey.” Peter laughs.
            “I don’t get it,” Yelena looks between the two of us.
            “It is from an old movie,” I explain. My Uber pulls up to the sidewalk. “I’ll see you around,”
            “Text us when,”
            “I get back.” I finish. I’m careful not to call my dorm home. It is where I am staying, but most definitely not home.

In the morning, I get dressed and head to class. The leaves have started to change, and it looks like the set of a movie. Of Legally Blonde. I had watched that with Peter when Natasha,
            I pull myself out of that destructive train of thought. Instead, I take a photo of the campus and send it to Peter with a note, “What? Like it’s hard?”
            In the classroom, I take my usual seat in the back, trying to remain as invisible as possible. If only my powers could do that. I take a sip of my coffee. No one tries to strike up a conversation with me, but perhaps that is for the best. For my ethics and civics gen ed, I had wanted to take Moral Inquiry in the Novels of Tolstoy and Dostoevsky. But Natasha said that is cheating. The purpose of college is to learn and get outside my comfort zone. Which is how I ended up siting in Human Trafficking, Slavery, and Abolition in the Modern World. The professor begins to lecture on the reading about Somali child soldiers, which I actually did do. I take notes, trying to pay attention. Then someone in the front raises their hand.
            “What if a kid chooses to join the army? Because it beats the alternative. Are they still a victim?”
            “Everything is circumstantial, but I would say yes,” Another person speaks up.
            “But isn’t it their own choice? Isn’t it kind of like an age of consent?” I feel the grip on my pencil tighten. “Doesn’t it become their choice?”
            “Is it a choice when there isn’t another option?”
            “What if it is the only way to survive?”
            “Does it justify killing people?” I don’t like the way this conversation is devolving. The professor clears his throat, and I relax.
            “Someone told me that last spring, you showed an interview from a former child soldier.”
            “I didn’t schedule time for it this semester.” He explains, trying to redirect the conversation.
            “I think we should watch it.” The first kid speaks up. “We can just do more reading tonight.” There are a few groans at the offer of extra homework.
            “I don’t think everyone in the class would be comfortable watching this.”
            “Can you at least provide the link? And then we can discuss it next week?” Another person offers, “Like for extra credit?”
            “Is it the interview of Scarlett Witch on 60 Minutes?” A girl asks, raising her hand. This is my largest class, one of the larger ones on campus as well. As a gen ed, there are over a hundred people in here. There is no group work, just lecture. Attendance is taken through a clicker, and the professor lets me wear a hood. No one has really noticed me. I don’t know if anyone even knows I am in the class. Just that I am on campus. But hearing this, my stomach plummets.
            “I don’t think this is an appropriate topic for discussion.”
            “Why? Because she goes here now? Wouldn’t it be even better? She could even tell us directly.” I slump lower in my seat, trying even harder to disappear.
            “We are moving on.”
            “She committed war crimes too. Doesn’t that make it worse? And that she was like fifteen?”
            “But she was only thirteen when she was recruited.” I want to get up and leave. But that would only draw attention to myself. I feel someone’s eyes on me. I look over and see a guy give me a sympathetic smile. At least he hasn’t said anything to expose me. That would be worse.
            “We are changing units next week. I expect you all to stay up to date on the reading, even with the long weekend. Now, back to my presentation, which I know you all want to see the slides for,”
            When class ends, I know the professor will want me to stay and chat. That is the last thing I want, however. Instead, I flee as soon as class is over. Shame has settled on my chest like a weight. I skip my afternoon class, opting instead to huddle under the blankets in my room, watching The Office on my phone.
            “Wanda, are you in here?” I poke my head up, alarmed, pausing the show as Bandit the cat is thrown in the air.
            “Vision?”
            “Was it not the plan to meet today? You were not at the restaurant for lunch. I wanted to check on you.” He looks around, “Your room is quite messy.”
            “I know.” I crawl out of the blankets and use my powers to bring my leg up onto the bed so I can pull it on. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
            “Are you alright?”
            “Rough day, that’s all. It is good to see you.” I jump off the bed and wrap my arms around him.
            “Perhaps I can help you clean?” I pull back, hands on my hips. “That is what you want to do?” I sigh and instead use my powers to put everything into neat piles, along with folding my clean clothes and putting them in their drawers. “Better?”
             “Less distracting,” he assures me. This had been unexpected. Him. Us. Two weeks ago, he flew out here to check on something Avengers related and popped by to say hello.
            I haven’t told anyone, even Nat. It is something that is mine. I can also just imagine the lecture about making sure I am staying focused on school. About not letting my heart getting broken again. But things are different now, I am older. There is no reason for us not to be together, aside from the discomfort of making out in a twin XL bed. We lie back together on the bed, sheets once again on the floor.
            “That was,” he begins.
            “Distracting?” I finish.
            “This is nice, Wanda.” I look into his unnaturally blue eyes. Unmistakably him.
            “It is,” I agree, trying not to think of how everything else is not. Of how I wake up thrashing and crying. However at the end of each day, my leg aches from running around campus. How Peter and Yelena seem to be getting closer, with me off to the side. How I can’t make any friends. How the public still sees me as a threat. My own classmates debate me like a concept. How I haven’t seen Natasha’s face in weeks as she has been unable to FaceTime, instead calling and texting. How even surrounded by thousands of people, I still feel alone. “This is nice,” I echo back, lying to myself.

Chapter Text

            Waves crash against the seawall outside. A seagull caws, and the sea spray can be smelt from my spot on the bed, the slider to the balcony open. I put down my coffee and card my fingers through his blonde hair, lying back on the bed. He needs a haircut. His hand begins to drift downward, and I gently guide it back up.
            “Getting a little cocky, aren’t we?” I laugh and roll over so that I am on top of him, straddling. My lips are rough against his. I kiss my way down his chest, getting lower and lower.
            Then the alarm goes off. I hop off the bed, heading towards the bathroom.
            “Oh, come on!” He groans.
            “Sorry, I have to take a shower.” I answer, not looking back.
            “I can join,” He jokes, “You know, help.”
            “How generous. No. I think I can manage.”
            “So, you’re just going to let me go to work like this?”
            “There is a second bathroom if you need to take care of it.” I am getting impatient. I close the door behind me, locking it.
            The mark, Mark funny enough, had left his pants on the floor of the bathroom just fifteen minutes earlier. While he was making the coffee, I had gone through his wallet and taken out the small plastic keycard. It is currently under the bathroom sink, being copied over via computer to a blank one. I turn on the shower and let it run while I quickly check the status. Ten more minutes.
            I step into the tiled shower and pour shampoo into my hands. I’m still not used to it, as I wash my hair. The way the hair stops at my chin. The blonde is shocking as well, as I pass mirrors and windows. It is like I am not looking at me. Madame would tell me that is good. My sense of self should be fluid. I’m nothing except for who I am supposed to be on missions.
            I leave the shower just as it hits the ten-minute mark. And the doorknob jiggles. Mark.
            “Nik, are my pants in there?”
            “It’s Nikki, you asshole,” I mutter, “Yes, sorry just finishing up!” I yell back, pulling out the card and replacing it, after wiping it of my fingerprints.
            “Did you lock the door?”
            “Of course, otherwise you would have tried to help,” I pull it open a crack, passing through his pants.
            “I still could,”
            “You’re going to have to work harder than that. I will see you at the office.”
            “We could carpool.” I step out in my bathrobe.
            “Maybe we can get a drink tonight.” We won’t, but if it will get him out of here quicker, I am happy to lie. It seems to do the trick, as I am in the closet changing, I hear his car start up. Steve picks up on the first ring.
            “He’s gone. You can come up.”
            “Thank God.” I hear the basement door open. “Nat, I slept in a lawn chair.” He groans, stretching. His hair is tousled, his clothes wrinkled. I poke my head out and laugh, before going back in to zip up my skirt.
            “Well, I slept with Mark from R&D, you’re fine.” I step out of the closet, finishing buttoning up my blouse. His joking demeanor is gone.
            “Are you okay? Do you need me to call Clint? Fury said not to take it that far. That it wasn’t,”
            “Hey, hey, hey,” I cut him off, putting my hands on his shoulders. “I’m okay. I meant I literally slept next to him. He snored like a bear. Luckily, my alarm saved me from pleasuring him orally this morning.
            “No mission is that important.” He assures me.  
            “That’s not true.” I go up on my toes and kiss his cheek, “He also sweat like a pig though, so the sheets should probably be stripped.”
            “Sounds like a real charmer,” He calls after me as I tug on my heels.
            “Well, he’s no Captain America!” I start the coffee in the kitchen. If all goes well, we could be heading out off here tonight. Maybe head into Boston early. I pour my coffee into a to-go cup and a mug for Steve.
            “My shift starts at 4:30, I will meet you on the backstairs at 8:00?”
            “Sounds good.” I hand him the coffee.
            “Wait, wasn’t there already coffee? I could smell it.”
            “Mark made it. I am not letting a drop of that touch my tongue.”
            “I highly doubt a guy who collects Chia Pets would poison you.”
            “Better to not risk it,” I smile at him, “It is the mundane ones you have to watch out for.”
            “Like the secretary who keeps bowls of hard candies and flower pens on her desk?”
            “Don’t think I didn’t notice that you took one. There were only twenty-three left when I came into work yesterday.”
            “Do you think you can survive one more day in corporate America?”
            “I was in Stark’s legal department for months; I will be fine.” I get in the car, ra small Prius, which is far less suitable than my Porsche, and pull out of the driveway of the condo. Unfortunately, the current lack of a smartphone has made seeing Wanda impossible over the past few weeks. I call her on the temporary satellite phone.
            “Hi Nat,” She picks up on the third ring, sounding slightly out of breath.
            “Hi, are you okay?”
            “Yes, fine. My phone was on the ground,”
            “How are classes going? You have a quiz tomorrow, right?”
            “How can you remember that?” She groans.
            “You mentioned it a few days ago,” I put on my blinker.
            “I miss you.” She rasps, suddenly serious.
            “I miss you too, love. Maybe I can try and get there a few days early.”
            “No, we should stick with Saturday. I have to do schoolwork, and when I see you I actually want to be able to enjoy it.”
            “Maybe Friday night?”
            “Okay,” She sounds slightly relieved. I wish I could be there for her now. There is so much I can tell she isn’t telling me.
            “I love you, Wanda.”
            “I love you too, Mom.” The phone disconnects. However, I do not have time to dwell on our short conversation as I pull up to the research facility.
            “Hi Garret,” I smile at the security guard as he scans my ID. We exchange pleasantries and I continue through. Panakeia Pharmaceuticals. I have been here a month, and Steve arrived just a few days earlier than me. My heels click against the tile floors as I swipe my access card and walk through the turnstile.
            Someone holds the elevator for me as we go up to the fifth floor, once again having to swipe access cards. There are a mix of suits and scientists in the elevator. And besides one appreciative up and down glance, no one pays me any mind. I get off at my floor and have to swipe yet again to get into the office suites. Despite being half an hour early, there are already a number of people in the office.
            My desk is the first, visible to everyone, but angled at a way that I too can see all of them. Steve jokingly called us Pam and Jim a few nights ago at dinner.
            “Good morning, Nicole,” My boss enters, barely giving me time to respond before closing himself off in his private office. Likely to watch porn on his phone. Like everyone doesn’t know. Just like how everyone pretends Karen from accounting isn’t sleeping with Tim in statistics, despite both being married with children. I get a ping from another secretary, asking if I want to join them for after work drinks today. I politely decline. Instead, I will be back at the condo packing, so we can head out tonight. Sam texts me daily updates about Liho, claiming the kitten has it out for him. I field calls and emails throughout the day. And lunch is spent out back, making out with Mark.
            “How is your day going?” I ask, taking a bite of my chicken wrap.
            “Great!” He is beaming, “We are finally finishing up testing on the project. It looks promising.”
            “That’s awesome.” Which means it is perfect timing for us to swoop in.
            “So, drink tonight?”
            “Sorry, it isn’t going to happen. My mom is flying in tomorrow morning, and I have to clean my house.”
            “It was spotless,” Until you left toothpaste on the sink and spilt coffee on the counter.
            “My mom is a bit more discerning,” I laugh. “How about Friday? Maybe you could even meet her?” He nods eagerly. I feel a twinge of guilt but quickly push it away. He is part of this too.
            “I should get back, but I will text you tonight.” He gives me one final kiss and then heads back into the building. He had tuna for lunch.
            The rest of the day is dull, with a birthday party for someone on the floor and a man telling me I am too young to remember, or understand, the Dot-Com Bubble. This morning Steve was joking when he said he hoped I could survive one more day in corporate America, but at this point I am far more concerned for those around me. At least working for Stark was more interesting on the day to day.
            At five, I head back to the house and pack up our clothes. Someone will come through and clear out any possible DNA left behind, but I do a cursory cleaning anyway. At seven, I change into my Black Widow suit and put a sweatshirt over it. Then I head out for a run. I get back to the campus by seven thirty and begin to hack into the security camera for this corner of the fence. It take minutes and then I hop the fence before returning it back to its normal loop. The back loading dock door as been left open as usual by one of the maintenance men. He uses it to go on smoke breaks undetected. By eight, I am waiting in our rendezvous point for Steve.
            He appears, lunchbox in hand.
            “Hey,” I stand up from the perch on the steps. “You ready?”
            “Yes, everything is good to go. The last guy left for the day fifteen minutes ago.”
            “Cutting in close,” I point out, “Workaholics.”
            “You’re one to talk,” 
            “And you’re not the first to make that joke.” We head out into the hall. “You put the flash drive I made into the security computers, right?”
            “All set there. They are playing on a loop now.” In the elevator, I swipe the copy of Mark’s keycard and press sublevel B3. “In my experience, multiple basements is never a good sign.”
            “Okay, Sean,” I tease, using his alias. I wasn’t the only one to change my appearance for this mission. Steve had grown a beard, and his normally trimmed hair is longer.
            “Since we’re going to be done a day early, do you want to head out to our project? It’s on the way to Boston. Put on the last finishing touches?” He smiles at me.
            “You are amazingly thoughtful sometimes; did you know that?” I give him a peck, “But I also can’t wait for you to shave off the beard.”
            “I kind of like it.”
            “Oh God. Are you going to become a beard guy?” I ask, as we get off the elevator, “Get into craft beer and Mumford and Sons?” He laughs and we head over to the first set of doors, swiping in. Followed by two more before reaching the lab. “Ready?” I ask.
            “Yes, Ma’am.” I reach into my belt and pull out the jelly fingerprint of Mark’s, sticking it to my index finger. Steve is logging into the server to download data. We have about ten minutes before they are notified of someone accessing the data. The second fingerprint is my boss’s, dual biometric data needed to unlock it. The freezer opens. The vials sit, waiting.
            I take Steve’s lunch bag, designed by Tony, and put the vials in. Hopefully, we are creating enough of a delay in their work.
            “You finish copying over the data?” I come over. He nods and I take my seat. Five minutes for us to get out.
            Steve goes to take watch and I type through quickly, wiping the server. Anything from the past five days will be unrecoverable, and it will take a few weeks for the rest to be retrieved. Which is plenty of time for Fury’s people.
            “This was a boring mission. We didn’t even get to do anything.”
            “We sparred in the basement,” He points out.
            “Next mission, we need something more exciting. I’d even take aliens at this point.” 
            “I’ll be sure to let Thor know. Maybe he can pull something together for you.” The elevator doors open, and we are met with a familiar face, with barely disguised surprise. He immediately pulls out a gun, as do his accomplices.
            “You had to say it,” Steve sighs.
            “Put down the gun and just walk away,” I look Rollins in the eye. We are not in a good spot for this, and currently carrying a deadly bioweapon in a glorified lunch bag.
            “We both know that isn’t going to happen.” We step out of the elevator, the guns following us. “You’re clearly outnumbered, and outgunned. You want to give me the bag? Or are we going to have to do this,” I don’t let him finish. He is quickly disarmed, the gun now trained on him, while Steve goes for his cohorts. Rollins swings at me, reaching for the bag as well. I duck and dodge. We now only have three minutes until the security for the company is alerted- a group of guns for hire. Where does Rollins come into play? He swings again, and I catch his fist in my hand, twisting it until it breaks and then throw him to the side, going to help Steve. The goons had fired their guns at us both, missing. Instead, the large glass panels at the entrance have been shot out. Our time is undoubtedly even shorter now, as the regular security has been alerted of our presence. I take down the final two and we cuff them all. Then I turn to Rollins. His has risen from the ground, his broken right arm hanging. He sneers and charges me. I grab him, cuffing him. But he smiles.
            “What is it that I said?” His eyes light up, “Ready to comply?” My breath catches in my throat, and I feel my hands slide away as I step back. No. No. He worked with Rumlow. Rumlow knew the words. He could know. Ready to comply. 
            A fist collides with his jaw, and he starts screaming, snapping me out of the stupor. The bone looks like it has shattered. I stare at him a moment longer, then go back over to the elevator doors, picking up the lunchbox.
            “Natasha,” I sigh. He had to say my name. We could have taken Rollins with us, but we can’t take them all. Cap seems to notice his mistake as well. His face goes white. I pull out my gun and make quick work of it, putting the last bullet in Rollins’ head. The white tile floor begins to flood with red.
            “Do you have the data? We have thirty seconds.” He nods. I head out towards the back, to the same service entrance as before, and Cap follows. I lead us to the point in the fence that is safe to cross, climbing and hopping over. It is my fault that we had to kill them. If I hadn’t reacted like I did, he wouldn’t have said my name. Everything would have been fine. We would have been okay.
            “Hey, can we stop of a second?” He grabs my arm, and I hate myself when I flinch. His touch instantly drops away. “I’m sorry. What can I do?”
            “I’m fine. We need to get back to the house and head out. Our bags are already packed.”
            “You don’t have to be fine.” I ignore him, trying to shut down the emotions that are threatening to bubble up.
            We reach the condo and I look around, making sure everything is gathered. Cap goes and close the door behind us as we head to the car. I pull out the sat phone, sending a text to Maria about the bodies and that the house is clear. He puts the bags in the trunk before climbing into the passenger seat.
            “You haven’t had to kill that many people in a long time.”
            “I know.” I pull out of the neighborhood. “I’m sorry.”
            “What? No, I screwed up. I shouldn’t have,”
            “They were criminals. It is fine.” We get on the highway. “It was a mission. And we completed it. We got the data, and it will save millions of lives.” We continue our way north to DC, to hand over the vials and files.
            “After we hand over everything, we could go to the diner.” I look over at Cap, briefly. “Spend the night at your apartment before heading to Massachusetts.”
            “Okay,” I agree.
            “You’re okay?”
            “I’m okay." 

Chapter Text

            “I think it is great,” Yelena leans over my shoulder, looking in the mirror. “You look just like Tasha,” My once long dark auburn hair, which used to hit the small of my back, now ends at the bottom of my shoulder blades. The true difference, however, is the color. It is exactly the same shade as Nat’s. I lean in, admiring it. She managed to get the red just right. I run my fingers through it, smiling.
            “It is different, a good different.” I stand up from the chair and pay, following Yelena out into the street. Peter had already left for the weekend, heading to New York, and now it is just us.
            “It will be good to see her. I miss her.” Yelena adjusts the small collection of shopping bags she has acquired.  
            “Me too.”
            “She talks to you more, how is she doing?” We head into Chanel where Yelena begins to try on different purses.
            “She was sounding good.”
            “Was?”
             “I don’t know, last time I talked to her on the phone she sounded distracted. That was on Wednesday. We have only texted since.” I pause as I walk by a mirror, and it is like I have a piece of her with me. I feel a little lighter.
            “She is on mission, probably in her head. Maybe in the middle of killing someone when you were on the phone.”
            “I don’t think,” I pause, maybe she is right. Yelena buys a purse, and we continue down the street. “They should get here late tonight. I have dinner plans but then we could all meet up.”
            “You have dinner plans?”
            “Thanks,” I roll my eyes.
            “Sorry, but you are hermit. A hermit.” She corrects herself and pauses in front of Cartier to view the bracelets. “So, you’re making friends?”
            “I guess,” I lie. “How about you?” Yelena shrugs noncommittally. Perhaps things aren’t going as well for her as I thought.
            “I am bored. Classes are boring. Life is boring. I am old and young at same time.” We head into a coffee shop.
            “What is it like?”
             “Conflicting.” She orders us each a latte and sits down at a table. “Who you getting dinner with?”
            “No one important,” I wave it off.
            “If wasn’t important, you’d tell.” Yelena takes a sip of her drink.
            “Whatever,” I huff.
            “Are you going to tell Tasha about your date?”
            “No,” I pinch my lips, “Wait,”
            “So, is a date,” She leans back in her seat, clearly proud of herself.
            “That was a dirty trick.”
            “You know who you are talking to.” I look down at the table. “Don’t be mad,” I ignore her. “Wanda, I can help you get ready, like we did with Natasha.”
            “I’ll be fine.”
            “Grumpy witch,” She teases. I use my powers to pop the lid off her coffee, the plastic landing on the ground. “Okay, okay. I stop.”
            “Good.” I stand up. “I have to get ready.”
            “Wanda, wait,” She follows me out of the café. “I worry about you.”
            “You don’t have to.”
            “I’m your aunt. I care. You seem sad lately. And you’re injured a little.” She pokes my shoulder, right on the bruise.
            “You must have noticed by now that life generally sucks.”
            “No, life is good. This is good life, trust me. It was worse before. You did not have it easy either. This life, this is easy.” She zips up her jacket. I don’t give much thought to my time before the Avengers. It isn’t on purpose; it just feels like a different life. “You are no longer a street urchin.”
            “Yelena!” I whack her arm.
            “Please sir, may I have some more? Tasha isn’t the only one who knows classic literature.”
            “You can only make that joke because you grew up in shitty circumstances too.”
            “Oh I know. Watching classmates die around you at five is an experience. They grab the bodies floating in water with nets. Like they nothing more than fish.” Her jovial tone melts away by the time she finishes speaking. “I know earlier I said I am bored. But it isn’t always bad. It is a privilege to be bored.” I don’t know how to respond to that. It is true. When Pietro and I were on the streets, we were never bored. Boredom is a luxury. It means there is time to sit still, to not worry about where the next meal is coming from, or if someone is going to try and kill you while you sleep. “I am sorry, that was a lot. You give me a ride home to my apartment.”
            “I am?”
            “Yes. I bought you a coffee.” Yelena sits in the passenger seat of the car, and I can feel her watching me.
            “What?”
            “Why don’t you tell Tasha you don’t like it?”
            “Because I don’t want her to worry.”
            “Oh God, tell her not to worry? She worry about me when she was supposed to be killing me.”
            “Don’t tell her.”
            “She will know as soon as she sees your face. I say nothing.”
            “I am trying to be normal.”
            “Your hands glow and you move things with your mind.”
            “I am trying to seem normal. Better?”
            “You touchy today.” We pull up to Yelena’s apartment building, or rather Natasha’s. “Come inside?”
            “No, thank you.”
            “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, ved’ma.”
            “Just a lot on my mind. We’re okay.”
            “Good!” She climbs out of the car, “I will see you tonight. Maybe we can have nice mission as family.” Her shopping bags sway as she heads inside, turning around briefly to blow a kiss.
            Back at my dorm, I empty my books out of my backpack and shove clothes in instead. I can see my duffel now, sitting in my closet at home. There didn’t seem to be a point to bringing it to school. My phone rings, and I see a selfie of Nat and I flash across the screen.
            “Hi,”
            “Hi love,” She sounds better than last time, lighter and more present. “I can’t wait to see you tonight.”
            “Me too.”
            “Sam might join us for breakfast tomorrow. He is going to be in the city.”
            “Who is watching Liho then?”
            “Conor is going to check in on her, no worries.” I grab some pajamas and try to fit them in. “I hope you are folding those clothes. I am not going to iron for you.”
            “How? Do you have a camera in here?” I actually look around with a cursory glance.
            “No, I just know you. Do you want to do a spa day this weekend? Just you and I. Steve and Yelena can entertain each other.”
            “I would love to see how that would go,” I can imagine the two super soldiers together, complete opposites. “What would they even do?”
            “I honestly don’t know,” She lets out a breathy laugh. “We are heading out soon and will meet you at the hotel around 7:30. Does that sound good?”
            “Yes. Maybe we can go out for ice cream or something,” I sit down on the edge of my bed, pulling my sleeves over my hands.
            “That sounds perfect. I love you.”
            “Love you too,” I hang up the phone. The room is still a mess, and there is a steady pile of takeout boxes growing next to my trash. I quickly take it down the hall and come back, making my bed. It looks a little more presentable in case Nat insists on coming back Monday.
            I pick up my backpack and head out the door, scarcely recognizing myself in the reflected metal of the elevator doors. In this blurry, warped view, I would pass for Natasha.
            The drive downtown is quick, most people are out of the city for the weekend. Likely off to New Hampshire or pretending that it is a good weekend to be on Cape. The valet takes my keys and I see him admiring my car. The car is custom through and through. Even the color is the only one is the world like it, Scarlet Witch Red. It borders on maroon. What Yelena said earlier is true. I used to be homeless and on the streets. In the past few years, I have become spoiled. This hotel is just further proof.
            In the lobby of the art nouveau style hotel, I am greeted by no less than three people and quickly given a keycard. I do decline the offer to be shown to my room. Instead, I wander a bit. There is a café and a small French restaurant. The café is mostly empty, save for a mother with two children, a girl and a boy. They look familiar but I can’t place where.
            I make my way to the elevator and head up to the room. None of the other guests have paid me any mind. My jeans hide the prosthetic, and my new hair is a disguise in and of itself. I swipe my card to the room and open the door.
            It is a stately, if old fashioned, space, matching the rest of the hotel. It is the type of place Natasha and Steve would pick. I am yet to Google the price, though it wouldn’t surprise me if it was over a grand each night. I look into the bathroom before heading into the main portion of the space.
            “Wanda,” Vision smiles. I drop my bag and meet him halfway across the room. Our lips meet in a forceful kiss. But I feel hesitation bleed in. When I pull away, he is frowning.
            “What’s wrong?”
            “Just a bit of a headache.
            “Can you get headaches?” I eye the stone as it glows through his human façade.
            “I suppose so. It is the stone.”
            “Should we call Tony or Bruce? Yelena is just a few minutes away.”
            “No, let’s not shorten our time together with this. I am worrying over nothing.”
            “If you’re sure,”
            “Quite. And your hair looks wonderful, you had it done.”
            “Today,” I play with the ends.
            “It matches Ms. Romanoff’s. Was that the purpose?”
            “I just wanted to change it up a little.” I defend.
            “Of course. What would you like to do?”
            “Nat will be here in two hours.”
            “We can get something to eat.”
            “I feel bad going out to eat, given that you can’t eat anything.”
            “Perhaps a movie?”
            “In here,” I agree, “I will change into something more comfortable.” I head into the bathroom and pull off my jeans and sweater. I had been training too hard this week. Pushing myself too far. There are fading bruises up and down my body. Last night, I had tried flying again. It went well, but not as well as I would hope.
            I head back into the bedroom and sit down on the bed, removing my leg. I sat down on the wrong side, my stump is in the middle of the bed, next to Vis. He doesn’t seem to care, sitting down next to me.
            “Do you remember what you first said to me when I lost my leg?”
            “I rather wish I didn’t. I believe I lacked any sort of tact.” I look down at the residual limb, my wand. Every witch has to have one. “What made you think of it?”
            “I think about it a lot. About everything.”
            “Does it hurt?”
            “Sometimes. Less than it use to.” We put on a romantic comedy starring Rachel McAdams and I rest my head on his shoulder. He gets up to make me a cup of tea before returning to his spot, my head going back to its resting place.
            “Do you ever wish that were your life, Wanda?” The characters go through the seasons in the London underground station. Heading to work, to parties, date nights.
            “I don’t know. Not much use for wishing for something I can’t have.”
            “We could, perhaps. Go to England, or maybe Scottland. Try this, us.”
            “Maybe someday. Once I graduate, maybe we can get a little apartment,”
            “A flat,” Vision corrects.
            “Right, a flat. One that overlooks a busy part of the city. So we can people watch.”
            “And gets natural light.”
            “Someday, maybe.” I take a sip of the tea. Its bitter. The movie ends and Vision gets up from Vision gets up from the bed, and goes over to the windows, pulling open one set of curtains and then another. He winces gripping his head. The stone shines through his glamour.
            “Vis? Is it the stone again?”
            “It’s as if it’s speaking to me,” I get up from the bed, grabbing my crutches, and head over to him.
            “What does it say?”
             “I don’t, I don’t know. But something,” He winces again, and the stone trills. I drop my crutches, reaching up and resting my hand on his cheek. His lips press against my palm, he then takes is gently in his, moving it up to the stone. “Tell me what you feel,” 
            I pull my hand away and let tendrils of red float out. They dive into the stone. I feel waves of what can only be described as Vision. Their very essence feels like him, as though he and the stone are one in the same.
             “I just feel you.” He leans down and kisses me.
            “Perhaps we can go for a stroll before the rain starts.”
             “I could go for a walk, just have to get changed.” I don’t bother heading into the bathroom this time and begin to strip down to my underwear in the bedroom. “Maybe you can join us tomorrow for whatever we are doing. I think Yelena wants to do the Boston Tea Party, not a hundred percent sure she knows what it is. Or maybe she does and that is exactly why she wants to do it. Viva la revolution and all that.
            “What is funny?” Vision asks.
            “What?”
            “You were smiling.”
            “Just thinking about Yelena.” I finish getting dressed. “Where to?”
            “It is your city, wherever you would like to go.”

We walk through the narrow streets of Boston. Old cow paths. Natasha said that is how the city was planned.
            “Are you going to head back to the West Coast? Or go to New York?”
            “I am considering your idea, of staying for the weekend.”  
            “I haven’t told Nat about us, I haven’t told anyone.”
            “I have not either. I don’t think Miss Romanoff would take too kindly to the idea.”
            “Scared she’ll beat you up?” I tease.
            “She is formidable.” Vis smiles. “Would you like for us to try again? Truly? I think we could,”
            “Work?” I finish.
            “Yes,” he agrees, “It could work. Perhaps I could stay, spend,” My eyes catch on the TV in a bar we had stopped in front of. I sidestep Vision, moving closer. Breaking News. New York Attacked. Two humanoid things stand among the destruction. My home. My city once again being destroyed.
            “What are they?” My voice shakes, and I notice my sleeves have been pulled over my hands. Natasha should be on her way by now. Out of the city of that is where she had been. Right?
            “What the stone was warning me about,” Vision moves forward, standing next to me. The screen changes. Tony is missing. He takes my hand, raising it to his lips. “I have to go,”
            “No. Vision. If that’s true,” I shake my head, “Then maybe going isn’t the best idea,” He backs away, getting ready to take flight.
            “Wanda, I,” He begins.
             I scream as a blade rips through his abdomen.

Chapter Text

            My powers are screaming, ready to be unleashed. Anger, fury, ripples through. He is thrown to the side and I raise my hands. Something hits me from behind. 
            I soar through the air and crash through a window. Blood drips from my hairline. I pull myself up, patrons have scattered, running out the backdoor. Vision.
            I use my powers to blast back the creatures as they try to extract the stone from his head and let my powers encase him, soaring up into the sky to get as far away from them as possible.
            They begin to die out and we tumble onto the cobblestone street, my shoulder slamming into the ground, Vis skidding behind me. I pull him back towards me, and help him up, hiding us in an alley. He leans back against a stonewall, yellow light rippling through him.
            “The blade. It stopped my from phasing,” He gasps.
            “Is that even possible?” I look down at the wound and pray my powers can fix it, even if they couldn’t fix my own. Synthetic material, hopefully, maybe.
            “It isn’t supposed to be,” My powers lace up the gash like a thread. “My systems are failing,” his voice distorts and he continues to gasp for air. “I’m beginning to think, we should have stayed in bed.” I meet his eyes and smile, only for him to push me away. I fall back just as one of the creatures grabs Vision.
            “Vis!” I pull myself off the ground. Before I have a chance to go after him, the female arrives, swinging at me with the glowing staff. I duck and deflect, before it becomes obvious I am going to have to go on the defensive. I spin around, sending her staff into the stone. She pulls it out like a knife going through butter.
            I try to deflect her, blow for blow. But she has me walking backwards. I can feel my prosthetic struggling to keep with the movement. She lands a blow, and I surge back, my powers cushioning me at the last second. I roll onto my back, about to get up, when I see a blue glow. The blade of the staff is met by my powers just inches from my chest. A pulse sends her off of me, crashing into a statue. My heart hammers in my chest as she comes at me again.
            Golden beams shine down, exploding a nearby car and giving me a chance to recenter myself. She goes for another strike and I catch it, then I hear Vision scream. There is a tug deep in my chest and my I feel a renewed strength as I throw the creature into the flaming car, and shoot upwards to the rooftop of the church.
            The larger creature has Vision pinned, once again going for the stone.
            “Hands off,” I stead my feet. With a pulse, thing is sent back into the bell tower and down the shaft. I grab vision and fly off the roof. We have to find Natasha and Steve. Yelena. We crawl higher into the air, Vision barely conscious. Something cool hits us a force knocking my powers into dormancy. We are falling. And falling fast. I look for Vision and grab him, willing my powers to once again take control. They shield us from the glass as we fall through the roof of the Park Street station, and then nothing. We hit the ground hard and fast, I lose my grip on Vision as I slam into the concreate, crying out. Vis slides forward, crashing into a supporting beam. I pull myself up, we can’t stay here. There are too close. They would have seen where we had fallen.
            “Come on,” I run over to him, limping, “Come on. Come on, you gotta get up. You gotta get up.” He falls back against the metal fencing, “Come on,” He leans back, looking up at me. Defeat lines his face. “Hey, hey. We have to go.” He can’t die. He can’t. His hand caresses my cheek.
            “Please. Please leave,” He asks.
            “I’m staying. I won’t leave you.”
            “Please,” The request morphs into a plea. There is a crash as the rest of the glass in the tiny roof blows out. We’re out of time. I stand up, turning around, blocking them from Vision, and drop into the fighting stance Nat had taught me three years ago. Red pulses in my hands and a train passes behind me. Then they pause, not advancing on me. Their eyes move to the side, looking behind me. I watch as the train moves past, seeing a figure in the gaps between the cars. Dread builds up in the pit of my stomach. I can’t fight off three of them and defend Vision. Then the woman throws her staff and the figure catching it, coming into the light. Steve.
            I feel her at the same moment, reaching out to me with her thoughts. She’s here. They’re here.
            Sam comes flying through, down the staircase. His wingspan nearly covers the entire space, and kicks back the woman, then sending missiles towards the male. Steve throws the staff and a blonde catches it, diving forward and landing a blow on the creature, plunging it deep into his stomach. Natasha. She tears it out, throwing it to the ground, when the staff flies out of her hand, ending back into the female thing’s grip. Suddenly, Yelena appears, grabbing the male’s weapon off the ground and stopping the weapon from sinking it into my mom. Steve jumps across the platform and joins in, the three of them making quick work of the woman. Natasha has pulled her own batons from her back, linking them into a single weapon. They go blow for blow, wearing her down. The female creature hesitates for a moment, in which Sam comes in with a flying kick, sending the thing to the ground, next to her partner.
             The four of them stand over the pair, surrounding them. The Avengers.
            “We don’t want to kill you,” Natasha is the first to speak, “But we will.”
            “You’ll never get the chance again.” The female monster replies. A beam shines down and they are shot into the sky, their weapons going with them. The team turns around, coming to us. Natasha unlinks her batons and puts them back into their place on her back.
            “Can you stand?” Sam asks Vision, coming over to help him up. Natasha crouches down in front of me, pushing my hair back from my face, her hand stills near the gash on my forehead. 
            “Let’s get you on the jet,” Steve looks to us both.
            “How’d you find us?” I ask, as Nat helps me off the ground.
            “I switched back to my iPhone about two hours ago. We heard the news in New York and were on our way to find you, you share your location with me.”
            “Then we saw the battle in the sky,” Yelena adds.
            “Do they know where Tony is?” Steve shakes his head.
            “Love,” Natasha’s voice drops, “We think Peter is with him.”
            “They are both gone? Where?”
            “We think they went out on that ship. We’re heading to the compound, and we will learn more once we get there.”
            “What hurts?” She asks, looking me up and down as we approach the quinjet, parked on Boston Common.
            “Everything.” I mutter.
            “Wanda,”
            “Shoulder more than anything.”
            “We’ll ice it on the jet.”
            “What were those things?” I ask the older members of our team as the gangplank drops.
            “Aliens,” Yelena answers, almost sounding smug.
            “Don’t you start,” Nat warns her.
            “Aliens? Like the Chitauri?”
            “Maybe. We’ll know more once we get to the compound.” Steve replies. On the jet, Sam and Steve try to make Vision comfortable while Yelena powers up the jet. Natasha pulls off my sweater, and bruises are already starting to form. I stare at her, working. The blunt bob ends just past her chin.
            “What?” She asks, smiling and meeting my eyes.
            “What did you do to your hair?” I ask. Though it has changed significantly over the past few years, the lengths varying greatly, the red was a constant.
            “My hair!” She laughs, “Look at yours,” She gives the loose ponytail I had pulled my hair into a gentle tug.
            “I thought you’d like it,” I defend
            “I do, sweet girl. It looks wonderful. It looks just like mine.”
            “You mean what yours used to look like.”
            “You and I can go to the salon this weekend and I’ll dye it back. How does that sound?” I nod. I look over at Vision, being tended by Steve. Yelena starts up the jet.
            “Where were you?”
            “Georgia, at a research facility There was a company party Labor Day weekend that involved some water, couldn’t wear a wig for it.”  
            “But it went okay?”
            “We got the data we needed,” I notice the non-answer. “How are you doing? How is school? I’ve missed you.”
            “It’s good. Nothing below an A minus.”
            “I’m proud of you and wondering where this faded bruise came from.”
            “Fell out of bed.”
            “Mhm, want to try that again?”
            “Not really,” I give a shaky smile.
            “Tasha,” Yelena hollers from the cockpit, “Wanda tell you what we are being for Halloween?” She looks to me, and eyebrow raised.
            “It’s not important,”
            “Wanda,”
            “Yelena is going as Alice in Wonderland, I’m going as the Queen of Hearts.”
            “You’re joking. Yelena, what the hell is wrong with you?”
            “A lot but was your girl’s idea.” Vision groans, distracting from the conversation.
            “You’ve got to rest, Wanda. Sam’s taking care of him.”
            “But,”
            “How long have you two been dating again?”
            “A few weeks. I was going to tell you this weekend.” She undoes my ponytail and starts to work through the tangles, “Is he going to be okay?”
            “Yes, he just needs some time to recover. You did really well. Your skills have improved a lot since August. Almost like you have been practicing. And not running like you said.”
             “Did Yelena tell you?”
            “She knew?” Nat frowns.
            “Suspected?” I try to backtrack.
            “Were you being safe?”
            “I was being careful.”
            “That is an awful answer.” The quinjet begins to descend and I rise from my seat. “Your prosthetic okay? We can adjust it when we land.”
            “No, its good, it didn’t break at all.”
            “Let’s hope they are just as generous today,” Steve looks to Natasha.
            “Who?” I ask, but instead of answering, we all brace in a rather rough landing from Yelena.
            “Sorry!” She stands up from her seat, “But we made it.”
            “Barely,” Sam mutters, heading back over to Vision.
            “I’ve got him,” I intercept, helping Vis off the bench. It feels like years since I have been back on the compound. We head out of the landing bay and towards the main building, Sam supporting Vision and Yelena keeping an annoyingly close eye on me as Nat and Steve whisper back and forth.
            Inside we can hear multiple voices Rhodes is standing in the conference room, talking to holograms of world leaders. I recognized Hawley’s son amongst them. However, upon seeing us, he bids them all a quick goodbye.
            “Took you guys long enough,” Rhodey turns to us. “You look like crap. Must have been a rough flight.”
            “Got a little sidetracked,” Nat explains.
            “Saw on the news. You really hate historic preservation, huh Wanda? Speaking of which, you call Clint?” Rhodes looks back to Natasha.
            “No. Lila just got out of the hospital this morning. She’s fine but spiked a fever and they wanted to play it safe.”
            “Hey guys, I’m back.” Bruce walks into the room.
            “You left?” Yelena crosses her arms.
             “You really know how to humble a guy. I’ve been on Asgard for a while. I sent around the notice.”
            “No one even reads Tasha’s notices.”
            “Enough, Lena.” She admonishes her sister.
            “This is awkward,” Sam mutters to me and Vision. I see Steve had tensed upon Bruce’s arrival. I didn’t know there were still tensions between them over Nat.
            For the first time, I go into Tony’s suite, where Rhodey seems to have setup up camp. It is infinitely nicer, and larger, than the rest of our rooms. There is a kitchen, living room, multiple bathrooms. But this is hardly the time to bring up inequities in living quarters. Bruce begins to give a laydown on what happened on Asgard.
            “So, we gotta assme they’re coming back, right?” Rhodes interrupts the doctor.
            “And they can clearly find us,” Yelena sits down on the couch.
            “We need all hands on deck,” Bruce continues.
            “What about that guy who attacked the compound?” Sam offers. Steve makes a slashing motion with hand.
            “What guy?” Nat turns on Steve. “Someone attacked the compound? You didn’t tell me? Where the hell was I?”
            “It was after Wanda broke her leg, and you were at the farm. Then the whole Boucher thing,” Steve trails off.
            “We’re talking about this later.” Natasha hisses.
            “I think he is on house arrest for something anyway,” Steve adds hastily.  
            “Okay, look,” Bruce brings the room back to the problem at hand, “Thanos has the biggest army in the universe and his is not going to stop until he gets Vision stone.”
            “Well then, we have to protect him.” Despite the Bruce’s statement, I feel a rush of pride at Nat’s. Her first instinct when facing the largest army in the world is to fight them, just a handful of us. But the Avengers can stop them. Then Vision speaks and my stomach bottoms out.
            “No, we have to destroy it. I’ve been giving a good deal of thought to this entity in my head, about its nature. But also, its composition. I think if it were exposed to a sufficiently powerful energy source, something, very similar to its own signature, perhaps, its molecular integrity could fail.” Vision walks towards me. 
            “And you with it,” I bite the inside of my cheeks, “We’re not having this conversation.”
            “Eliminating the stone is the only way to be certain that Thanos can’t get it.”
            “That’s too high a price,” I shake my head.
            “Only you have the power to pay it,” he reaches up to touch me and I pull away, heading over to Natasha, pressing my shoulder against hers. “Thanos threatens half the universe. One life cannot stand in the way of defeating him,”
            “But it should,” Steve interrupts, “We don’t trade lives, Vision.”
            “Captain, 70 years ago, you laid down your life to save how many millions of people. Tell me, why is this any different?” Vis walks towards Steve. Steve is about to speak, when Bruce steps in.
            “Because you might have a choice. Your mind is made up of a complex construct of overlays. Jarvis, Ultron, Tony, me, the Stone. All of them mixed together. All of them learning from one another.”
            “You’re saying Vision isn’t just the stone?” I clarify.
            “I’m saying that if we take out the stone, there’s still a whole lot of Vision left. Perhaps the best parts.”
            “Can we do that?” Nat asks
            “Not me, not here,” Bruce answers regretfully.
            “I can do it,” Yelena speaks, getting up from her spot on the couch. “Give me the right equipment and I can do it.”
            “We don’t have the computers. We’d have to build them. And frankly, we don’t have that kind of time.” Nat and Steve share a knowing look. They knew it was going to come to this, back on the jet. On the walk in. The two of them always have a plan.
            “I have an idea of where we can go.”
            “But we will be lucky if they don’t shoot us down on the way there,” she uncrosses her arms, “Wakanda isn’t exactly known for being friendly to outsiders.”
            “Wait, are you talking about that little country in Africa? One of the lowest GDPs in the world?” Rhodes clarifies. “We are going to take Vision there?”
            “Fallaces sunt rerum species,” Natasha smiles. “We’re going to figure this out, everything is going to be okay.” She reaches over and squeezes my hand.

            Yelena, Nat, and I head to the weapons and gear room first. Our closets are waiting for us, ready for battle. The suits hang neatly, weapons on the wall beside them. I see Yelena’s new suit for the first time, white with an army vest and pockets. She gives me a devilish grin. I pull on my coat and slide my knives into their pockets. Natasha slips into her suit and tucks her hair behind her ear.
            “How about I braid your hair while the boys change?” We head back to Tony’s suite, it even has a courtyard, and Yelena has her hair braided first. Then Nat does mine.
            “So, hair salon this weekend?” I ask, doubtful.
            “Might have to wait until Monday,” She concedes. The men rejoin, suited up in their tactical gear.
            “So, how do you two know about Wakanda?” Sam asks the pair of super soldiers.
            “We found out right about them after Ultron. Remember Ulysses Klaue?” Steve swipes up on the table, bring up the projection of the pirate. My neck gets hot.
            “Vibranium dealer in South Africa,” Bruce comes over.
            “Nat and I did some digging, found out some stuff. Thought we should repatriate what vibranium we could.”
            “It was right before Clint lost his hearing. Priorities changed, and we put it on the backburner.” I see a flash of a memory from Steve. He is calling Nat up from our training while I was sparring with Clint, up to the observation bridge. Clint said it was probably about the Winter Soldier. But it wasn’t. And Nat didn’t say anything because it would have obviously upset me. “And Tony reached out about a year ago and got some vibranium to make Wanda’s new leg.”
            “You guys didn’t think to clue the rest of us in?” Rhodes raises his eyebrows.
            “It wasn’t important. We developed a contact there, though I don’t think our arrival will be very welcomed either way.” Natasha swipes down the projection of Ulysses. “Everything was off book too. No files for anyone to find.”
            “And they just going to let us in?” Yelena questions.
            “Hopefully. Wheels up in five.”

On the quinjet, Natasha and Steve pilot together, leaving the rest of us in the back for the short flight. Yelena sits on one side of me, Vision on the other.
            “Have you called Maria?” I ask Sam.
            “She and Fury are handling New York. It is a mess.” He looks anxious and is fiddling with a ring on his finger. A ring. He is engaged. They are engaged. When he sees I have noticed, he tucks his hand into his pockets. Yelena gets me another ice pack for my shoulder and then begins to work away on a tablet. Looking over, I can see it is the original plans for Vision. She is swiping and reading quickly, making notes in Cyrillic.
            “Wanda, if the time comes,” I feel Bruce and Rhodes look up from their conversation, hearing ours.
            “We aren’t going to talk about it,” I reply. Voices rise from the cockpit as our pilots bicker.
            “You know, I’d feel a lot better about this if the super soldiers didn’t look so panicked.” Sam frowns.
            “I mean, they said they had a contact. They didn’t say it was a good one,” I point out, “Maybe that’s why it wasn’t developed?”
            “Couples need their secrets,” Yelena buts in. She had been uncharacteristically quiet during the flight. “But I don’t have good feeling about this.”
            “That is not a pep talk,” Sam crosses his arm.
            “Don’t die or I’ll kill you,” Natasha pokes her head up from the computer. “Lena, come here. I need your help.” I forgot they could hear everything we say, no matter how quiet. Yelena goes over to her sister.
            “Drop to 2600,” Steve commands, heading 0-30.”
            “I hope you two right about this,” Yelena sighs, “Or we going to land a lot faster than you want to.”
             My powers ripple through as something changes in the atmosphere. We passed through a shield of some sort
            We land and the gangplank drops. Nat and Steve disembark first, with the rest of us following suit. Bruce even asks Rhodey if they should bow.
            “Thank you for not shooting us down,” Steve grins.
            “Well, your messaged sounded pretty convincing. How big of an assault can we expect?” The man asks, he seems to be their leader, and turns to head into the building behind him. His guards accompanying. It doesn’t even give me time to admire the futuristic world around us.
            “Sir, I think you can expect quite a big assault.” Bruce rushes to the front, and Yelena huffs in annoyance.
            “What can you give us?” Nat asks.
            “All that we have, King’s guard. Dora Milaje. The Border Tribe.”
            “Hopefully that will be enough,” Steve looks back at the rest of us.
            “And you have computers that can help with the stone?”
            “Better than computers, I have my sister.”

            We walk into a lab and Yelena’s eyes light up as she takes in all the technology. I now know the man guiding us is T’Challa, and his sister is Shuri, a girl my age.
            “Let’s get him on the table, I need to scan him.” Vision moves from my side, lying back on the medical examination table. My skin crawls looking at it. Her bracelet lights up and does the job rather than bringing him over to a CT or MRI machine.
            “Whoa, the structure is polymorphic,”
            “Right, we had to attach each neuron non-sequentially.” Bruce explains.
            “My idea is that we reprogram synapses to work collectively.” Yelena hands Shuri her tablet. The young scientist nods.
            “Why didn’t you do that initially?” She asks. Bruce stares for a moment.
            “Because we didn’t think of it.”
            “I wasn’t there, I was dead at the time.” Yelena adds.
            “Presumed dead,” Natasha corrects as the Wakandans do a double take.
            “I’m sure you did your best,” Shuri placates.
            “Can you do it?” I speak up, finding my voice.
            “Yes, but there are more than two trillion neurons here. One misalignment could cause a cascade of circuit failures,” She turns to the king, “It will take time, brother.”
            “How long?” Steve asks.
            “As long as you can give us.” One of the guards has a piece of tech light up.
            “Something has entered the atmosphere.”  Steve and Nat reach up to their ears, someone speaking into their coms, likely Sam and Rhodes who stayed outside. We all gather around the window, watching explosions outside. Vision appears beside me.
            “It’s too late We need to destroy the stone now.”
            “Vision,” Natasha turns around, “Get your ass back on the table.”
            “We will hold them off,” The king agrees. Steve looks to me.
            “Wanda, as soon as the stone is out of his head, blow it to hell.”
            “I will,” I agree. Nat pauses in front of me on her way out the door.
            “I love you, Little Witch. You are my favorite person. Stay here, okay?”
            “Don’t make it sound like a goodbye, Mom.” I blink back tears. “God you’re going to mess up my makeup.”
            “I don’t think we’re making our dessert reservation.” She pulls me into a hug.
            “I love you too,”
            “You and me,” She pulls back, “We’ll give you guys as much time as we can. But work fast.”
            “Tasha, don’t worry. We will make sure your daughter’s toaster is okay.”
            “Love you too, Lena.” Natasha gives us one final smile before following the rest of them out. A chair has been brought over to the medical table. I sit down, holding Vision’s hand.
            “Wanda, everything will be okay.” Yelena works across the room with Shuri, both of them swiping and typing. “Natasha, she will be okay.” I rest my head on Vision’s chest.
            “We have to talk about it, my dear.”
            “No. We don’t.”
            “If it comes down to it,”
            “It won’t.”
            “If it does,”
            “I will.”
            “I am sorry to put you in this position.”
            “It isn’t your fault.”
            “I wish we had more time.”
            “You and me both, buddy.” Yelena mumbles from her station. I pick my head up and glare at her. “Sorry, yes private conversation.” There are more explosions outside. I rise from my seat, and see the forest being torn up, and the forcefield lifting  
            “I have to,” I turn back, looking to the three of them.
            “Go,” Yelena agrees. Her jaw is tight as her eyes momentarily flit to the windows. I take Visions hand once more, kissing it, and run out of the room. I reach a set of glass doors leading out to a balcony, and I jump. I let my powers completely take over and they immediately search for Nat. Then I begin to make a descent. Otherworldly tanks are rolling through, heading towards the battle I look for the familiar red hair and can’t find it. Then I see the blonde. I drop down in front of her, just as the tanks arrive, my powers encase them completely, stopping them in their tracks and floating into the air. I struggle under the weight of them, and we are being approached from the back. With all my strength, I throw them behind us, taking out the approaching hoard. Nat rises from the ground, smiling. The guard, the same one from the lab repositions her weapon.
            “Why was she up there all this time?”
            “So, you definitely weren’t secretly training?” She comes over, tucking a loose lock of hair behind my ear.
            “Definitely not.”
            “I would have just built you a facility had you asked,” She points out, then jumps away, swinging her staff, electricity pulsing through the ends. It strikes one of the aliens, killing him instantly. We work through the throngs of enemies that never seem to thin. Eventually, we are no longer beside each other. I begin to search for her when Sam speaks in our coms.
            “Guys, we’ve got a Vision situation here,”
            “Somebody get to Vision!” Steve commands.
            “I got him,” Bruce replies.
            “On my way,” I reply, getting ready to take off. A blow lands on the side of my head I hit the ground heavily, rolling down into a ditch. I try to pull myself up, to get away. The dirt and dust fills my lungs. A large claw-like hand grabs my injured shoulder, flipping me over. The same alien from Boston stands over me.
            “He’ll die alone,” She almost sneers, “As will you.”
             “She’s not alone.” Natasha. My head is swimming. There was something going on with Vision. A situation. And Natasha. I have to get up. One of the tanks rolls over us, barely missing as we crouch in the ditch. I struggle into a sitting position. Natasha flies back, her head bouncing off a rock as the alien deals a blow. However, Nat bounces back, breaking her staff into two batons and charging forward. She disarms the alien, and they begin to go at it in a modified version of hand to hand. I have to help. I stagger to my feet just as my mom loses the upper hand, falling to the ground. Metal clanks as the alien, who had retrieved her weapon, goes to kill her, and Nat tries to hold off the blow. No. Adrenaline pumps through me. I throw the alien into the air just as a tank rolls over and fall back to the ground. Natasha sits up, blue splattered across her face.

            “That was really gross.” She pushes back her hair. I laugh, delirious really.
            “Tasha, I’m on my way,” Echoes in our coms, “We couldn’t do it, almost.” My mom helps me off the ground, taking both my hands in hers. The battle seems to cease around us.
            “My Little Witch, lovely, headstrong, stubborn, smart.”
            “I can’t do it, Mom,” I bite back my tears. I feel as flash of a memory from Natasha. She is in a tree, injured. Blood is dripping onto the snow below. I feel her emotions. I see Yelena being shot, falling to the ground. She has gone through the same.
            “You are stronger than you know, sweet girl.”
            “I am going to try to save him first.”
            “I would expect nothing less.” She gives me hands a squeeze, our lifeline, and then lets go. I soar up into the sky, my powers seeking out Vision.
            I land in a small clearing and find him propped up against a log, injured.
            “Are you okay?” He groans, wincing and the stone glows.
            “What? What is it?” His eyes widen.
            “He’s here.” I can feel the team nearby, Nat and Yelena have arrived in this portion of the forest with the rest of the team. This is it. A purple humanoid appears from a cloud of mist. I stand in front of Vision, powering up once more. I haven’t asked so much of my powers in so long, and I am starting to feel worn. The team charges Thanos, each being tossed to the side with ease.
            “Wanda,” Vision gasps behind me. I look, expecting the worst. Instead, he is looking up at me, “It’s time.”
            “No,” I turn back to the fight.
            “They can’t stop him, Wanda, but we can. Look at me.” He grabs my arm, his grip tight, forcing me to face him. “You have the power to destroy the stone.”

      “Don’t,” I beg, my throat tight.
            “You must do it. Wanda, please,” He places my hand on his face. “We are out of time.”
            “I can’t,” I choke out, shaking.
            “Yes, you can. You can. If he gets the stone, half the universe dies.”
            “It’s not fair,” My teeth chatter. He raises my hand into position.
            “It’s not fair,” He agrees. “It shouldn’t be you, but it is. It’s all right. You could never hurt me. I just feel you.” I feel my powers trickling through my veins, making their way to my hand. I think of Natasha, shooting Yelena. We are always forced to make choices for the greater good at our own expense. Love, what makes life worth living, is tearing me apart. I finally had the chance. For a fulfilled life. I just need a little more time. Tears slide down my face and I look into his eyes as my powers meet the stone, as I begin to tear him apart. I turn and see Nat and Yelena encased in stone. I am running out of time. I raise my other hand, strengthening the flow. He gasps and closes his eyes. I can feel myself starting to break apart the stone, tiny fissures forming. I feel Natasha’s thoughts hit mine, a warning, and block Thanos as he charges. I keep my eyes on Vision.
            “It’s all right. It’s all right,” He repeats, his eyes open once more. “I love you.”
            The lines in his face begin to glow, and my heart fills my throat. Then I can sense it and see acceptance roll over his features. The stone shatters and I am thrown back in a wave of gold. Heavy footsteps approach and I force myself to sit up.
            “I understand, my child. Better than anyone.”
            “You could never,” I spit.
            “Today, I lost more than you can know,” He strokes the top of my head and my skin crawls. “But now is no time to mourn. Now, is not time at all.”
            I watch in horror as Vision appears once more, as my work is undone.
            “No!” I scream and jump up, only to be swatted aside, the wind is knocked out of me, and I am unable to move as I watch him lift Vision into the air, pulling out the stone. He drops him to the ground, lifeless. Lightning strikes overhead. Strong in the clear sky. Relief floods me. It wasn’t real. This is torture. It wasn’t real. None of this is real. Then Thor appears, and the dread returns like a crushing wave of black. I crawl forward, towards Vision.
            “Wanda,” I look up and see Natasha running towards me, Yelena not far behind. Something isn’t right. Something has changed. Nat. I have to get to my mom. I struggle back to my feet, staggering towards her. I reach out to grab her hand, and I slip through, my arm turning to dust.
            “Mom,” I cry out, “Mom!”  This isn’t how I die. Not yet. This isn’t it. I fall to the ground, into Nat’s arms. “What’s happening?”
            “Little Witch, it’s okay,” Her tears splash down, wetting my face. “I’m here,”
            “Mom,”
            “It’s okay. It’s you and,”

Chapter Text

            “And me.” She crumbles to dust in my hands, slipping through the cracks between my fingers. I failed her, my sweet girl. The terror on her face and she disappeared. I gasp for air, feeling as though none can enter my chest. “Lena,” I turn back to my sister.
            She had been behind me. Right behind me. A pile of dust sits where she stood. She should be right there.
            “No! No, no!” I struggle to gather as much as I can, as much of what is left of them as a gust of wind blows through, scattering their remains. I dive forward, trying to catch what I can. It's like grasping smoke. They are gone. They can’t be gone.
            There is screaming, wailing. So fraught with pain, it is near palpable. Like someone has had their insides torn out. It takes a moment to realize that it is coming from me.
            “Nat, we have to,” I ignore him, staring at the spot where she laid just moments ago. My daughter. The light of my life. Reduced to ash.
            “No!”
            “Natasha, they’re gone,”
            “No, they aren’t! This isn’t how the world works! It isn’t how it works! We can bring them back; I can bring them back. We just have, I just have to,”
            “Nat, you’re injured. The team,” The team. Clint. I have to get Clint. I stand up, fumbling with my phone. It rings once. Twice. Three times. I try again. And again. And again. The kids. Clint could be gone, what if Laura is too? What if the kids are alone? I have to get to the farm. Then bring back Wanda, Yelena, everyone. “We have to gather the team,” Steve repeats, trying to sound a little surer of himself.
            “What team?” I ask. Rhodes is staring at the open spot next to him, where Sam must have been. Okoye stumbles into the clearing, looking disoriented, calling the king’s name.
             Thor stands still, a death grip on his battle ax. And there is Bruce, walking without the suit he sported in the beginning of battle. Tony is gone, Peter. Possibly Clint. There are five Avengers left. “We’re it, Cap. This is it.” Steve’s face pales as he realizes that I am right. “I have to get to the farm.” My eyes travel back to where Wanda was. We are going to undo this. Everything is going to be fine. Everything will be back to normal but the end of the holiday weekend. She’ll be back at school in time for class on Tuesday. But Nicole or Nate could be at the farm alone.
            “We’ll head straight there.” Steve nods, seeming to be relieved that a plan has been established. It takes nearly an hour for us to get out. I keep trying different cell phones. Clint’s Laura’s, and Cooper’s. No one is answering. Do cell phones disappear too? Even if the lines are busy, Clint’s should be going through. It is a special issue cell from Tony, nothing should stop that call from connecting. I feel eyes on me on the jet. I turn and see Rhodes watching.
            “What?”
            “You’re handling this better than I thought you would, that’s all.”
            “First off, just because Sam is gone doesn’t mean I need you psychoanalyzing me. Second, I am not worried. We will get them all back by the end of the weekend. However, an infant can’t be alone very long.” I keep trying the phones, and at my encouragement, Steve flies faster. What remains of the team is typing and making calls of their own in the background. Fury and Maria are MIA. No matter how many calls I make, no one is picking up.
            The quinjet touches down at the farm. I’m out of my seat for the gangplank can finish dropping. The team hesitates behind me, and I’m glad.
            “I’ll go alone.” I decide for them and run up to the house. The door is unlocked. “Clint? Laura?” I yell out, praying for a response. Who I am praying to, I’m not quite sure. “Cooper?”
            In the kitchen, potato salad is on the counter, along with a pitcher of lemonade. It looks like they were getting ready for a cookout. I try stamping on the floors to alert Lila. There is no pattering of feet on the stairs. Upstairs, the nursery is empty. All the beds are made. I run to the backyard; the screen door had been left open. Out of desperation, I begin to call for Lucky. There is no one here. My sister. My daughter. My best friend. My family. All gone.
            I walk back to the jet, and they all look to me hopefully as I approach. Steve jogs out to meet me as I near the ship.
            “Anyone?”
            “Just a few chickens. Even the barn cat is gone.”
            “It’s okay, we’ll bring them all back, just like you said.”
            “I know, we should get to New York, start damage control and finding a way to undo this.”
            No one offers any words of comfort onboard. There is nothing to say, we just watched half the people around us disappear, and it is seeming increasingly likely that Thanos did what he set out to do.
            We touch down at the compound and head back to Tony’s suite. Less than twenty-four hours ago, I was in here with Wanda and Yelena. The world changed in an instant.
            “Nat,” A hand touches my shoulder and I shrug it off.
            “I’m fine. Rhodes, you serve as a liaison to governments. See what heads of state are still here. Bruce, set up a computer to track the energy signal of the stones. We need to know if he uses them again. Thor,” I turn to the god and see him talking to a stuffed animal. Or a live animal? “What the fuck is that thing?”
            “I think you mean who the fuck,” The creature bites back.
            “This is my travel companion, Rocket.” Thor explains. “He aided us in battle.”
            “You’re a talking racoon?” I nod, “Okay, honestly, I can’t even begin to think about this right now. See who off world you can contact. I guess the racoon can help?”
            “That was a talking racoon,” Steve stares as the pair retreat from the suite.
            “Yelena would love to meet it, him?” I smile tiredly. “I’m going to program Fri to try and get a count on how many people are left. And then I should go check on Liho.” The cat is going to be furious with me when I get back. But not as furious as Wanda and Yelena would be if they knew I neglected her while they were gone.
            Friday starts to comb through the internet, counting people in videos and photos since the snap. It will take a few hours to get a rough count.
            “I’m taking the jet to the apartment.”
            “Mind if I tag along?” Steve gets up from his spot on the couch.
            “I don’t need a babysitter. I’m fine.”
            “I’d like to do something besides sit here and pray.” I give a single nod and we head out to the hanger.
            “I’ll fly.” I intercept the controls, sitting down in the pilot’s seat.
            “You’re holding up okay?”
            “Fine. We will have them back in a few days.”
            “Nat,”
            “This isn’t permanent, Steve. Once I got over the shock of it,” My mind flashes back to the panic and fear on Wanda’s face, “I rationalized and know it will be okay. We just have to get the stones from Thanos and undo this.” I land on the roof of the apartment building. “How are you doing?”
            “I just hope you’re right.” Me too. But I can’t afford to think like that. To think that they are,
            “Come on, let’s go check on my cat.” I unlock the rooftop access door and head down the stairs. However, when I open the door to the apartment, there is no kitten to greet me. “Liho?” She isn’t by her food bowl, or in the litterbox. “Kotik?” I try.
            I strain to hear the sound of her heartbeat, checking under my bed and in my closet. Her favorite place, one of the windowsills in the library, is empty. After a second of hesitation, I head into Wanda’s room. It smells like her, even after her being away at school for the past few weeks. The end of her bed is rumpled from where the two of us sat before we left for Boston, looking around her room, taking it all in. I had asked if she was going to miss home. She said of course she would miss me.
            “She’s gone.” I head back out into the living room.
            “Maybe she got out,” Steve offers.
            “She didn’t. We should get back.” I head out of the apartment and wait for Steve to follow, locking the door behind us.
            Steve pilots on the way back to the compound while I check Friday’s scans. Neither of us speak, and when Steve rests his hand on my knee, I let it stay.
            I check in with Bruce and Rhodes, neither can offer a good update. The vice president is gone, but the Ellis is still here. At least eight prime ministers have been snapped. We are waiting for the world to fall into further chaos.
            I sit down at the computer running the tally of people left on earth.   Steve doesn’t rejoin us, instead leaving the suite.
            “Nat, here,” I turn away from the screen. He is holding out a plate of tacos. “Figure I’m not much use with this computer stuff,”
            “I’m not hungry, thank you though.” I give my attention back to the monitor, “Maybe you can help Rhodey make calls,” I click through, trying to see if Friday can get into some closed-circuit security cameras. She definitely isn’t as inherently invasive as Vision was.
            “Where’s Tony?” A voice rings out by the doorway. Pepper. “He hasn’t been answering, I saw your jet land, and what was on the news,”
            “We don’t know, Pep.” Rhodes walks over to her, “We’re trying to find him.”
            “They’re saying half the population,”
            “That’s what it looks like,” I cross my arms.
            “Oh my God, Nat. Wanda, she,”
            “We’re going to get them back. We’re going to get them all back.”
            “Morgan?” Steve asks.
            “She’s in a stroller, out in the common area. What can I do?”
            “Jump on PR. Maria’s gone.” Steve seems to be coming back into himself with the leadership role. I delve back into the computers, hoping to see something that is amiss. That the snap didn’t go quite as planned. A flaw. Something we can exploit. A loose thread we can tug.
            Pepper begins to talk on her cell phone with Morgan wrapped to her chest. Steve and Rhodes talk to heads of state, interim and permanent, while trying to quell fears. Bruce and I exchange notes. But hours drag on with no end in sight. Nothing that we can use. Thor and the racoon are yet to return. Hours turn into days. Friday finishes the count on the population, and now we just have to wait for governments to corroborate our data. So, I take Bruce’s spot, watching for any energy spikes. For anything entering the atmosphere or leaving.
            “Natasha, you’ll get an alert if anything changes. Why don’t you come eat with us? Rhodey made steak and potatoes.”
            “Not hungry.”
            “It’s been two days since you last ate anything.” He reminds me.
            “Fine.” I get up from the computer and head into the main common area. I eat quickly and chance a lightning-fast shower before returning to the screens.
            “Maybe we can go for a run? Or spar? We can even use weapons,”
            “Later.” I swipe between screens.
            “I’m worried about you.”
            “I’m fine.”
            Back in time for school on Tuesday, I had promised. Now it’s been two weeks. Two weeks without my sweet girl. Then an alert appears. The energy signature was duplicated, the same one from the Snap.
            “Where was it?” Steve leans in.
            “A few galaxies away,” I zoom out. Bruce, Rhodes, and Pepper run into the room.
            “We got the alert,” They watch the playback of the burst, like a solar flare covering an entire planet.
            “So, he used the stones again,” Bruce sits down, holding his tablet.
            “Why? What else could he want?”
            “More importantly,” I interrupt, “How are we going to get there?” The questions of what he did are irrelevant if he is there, and we are here. “He’s on some faraway planet. We’d have to build a ship to get out there. Not to mention how long it would take, even at the speed of light.”
            “Nat’s got a point,” Bruce sighs. “I don’t know how long it would take to build a ship like that, let alone test it.”
            “We’re going to have to figure out another way to get there. Maybe when Thor and Rocket get back, we can see if the racoon has a ship that can do it. We know it goes off-world.” Steve adds.
            I get up from my seat and head out of the room. Sitting here is no longer going to help. It isn’t going to bring Wanda back.
             I sit on the ground, surrounded by books, open to various chapters. Some are stacked off to the side, waiting their turn. It had been ages since I had dug them out. I don’t think I have read them since we were back at the tower.
            “You’re a hard woman to find.”
            “Maybe I didn’t want to be found,” I glance up and see Steve holding my butterfly mug. He puts it down on my desk, without using a coaster. I sigh, getting up and grabbing one off my coffee table.
            “What are you reading?”
            “Quantum physics.”
            “You know quantum physics?”
            “Enough to make conversation.”
            “Why are you researching it?”
            “We saw Thanos open a portal, which means that it is possible. Maybe with the right equations, we can recreate one ourselves. We already had something similar with Asgard, the one Loki came through.”
            “Once Thor gets back, we can ask him if he knows of any off-world tech.”
            “Nat,”
            “I’m fine. Once we get them back, I’ll be fine.” I pick up the mug of tea. “Everything will be okay.”
            “Until then, you should get some rest. You’ve barely slept,”
            “Steve,” I warn.
            “I’m worried about you, that’s all.”
            “You have a team, a world, to worry about,” I remind him, going back to my books. “Your girlfriend is fine.”
            “Okay, I guess I’ll leave you to it.” He hesitates in the doorway.
            “I love you, Steve.”
            “Love you too, Nat.”

            Bruce doesn’t end up giving me long with the books before calling me back to our War Room to help him. This is something for Yelena or Tony. I know this stuff, but it isn’t my specialty. This isn’t how to woo a man or kill someone. Or even to translate an obscure, dead language. This isn’t my place. And I think everyone would have been better off if they had survived instead of me. But I say none of this and work diligently beside him, combing through hundreds of logs, monitoring any kind of anomaly. Anything that might give us an access point. Pizza gets delivered; coffee is brewed. Rhodey, Pepper, and Steve continue to make phone calls, assuring that we are doing everything we can. No one promises that everything is going to be okay. Not even to each other. Only me. If Yelena were here, she would make a joke about the irony of me being the sole optimist in the room. The alternative is too hard to think about.
            By the evening of the second day since finding Thanos, the calls have slowed down. Governments have provided tentative tallies showing their populations, showing that Thanos succeeded. However, far worse news has been coming out of cities than the expected looting. The horror stories of infants and toddlers, whose parents have been snapped, found dead in their cribs. Rotting. No one knew to check on them, no one was there to even think they should. None of us spoke as we heard the news report. Pepper held Morgan tighter, and Steve cracked his knuckles. We have always lived in a world that is unjust and cruel, we just didn’t know it could get worse.
            I continue to read through outputs of energy across the universe. It feels ridiculous to even think about it. I thought after the 2012 invasion, we would never have to deal with them again. They seemed so far removed from life here on Earth. We were content warring with ourselves.
            The satellite monitoring Earth lights up, alarms starting to go off. Something is approaching, and fast. Based on the trajectory, heading to the compound. The screens begin to rattle.
            “We’ve got incoming,” I run outside, remaining team members close behind. It’s a single small ship, making a controlled landed. My hand drifts to my gun, preparing for who, or whatever, steps out.
            “We have Tony!” A booming voice announces as the gangplank drops. Pepper gasps behind me, sobbing in relief. Thor and the racoon disembark, followed by a blue woman helping an emaciated Tony. Pepper runs forward, embracing her husband.
            “I couldn’t stop him,” He hugs her back.
            “Neither could we,” Steve sighs.
            “I lost the kid, Peter. I lost Peter,”
            “We lost,” Steve trails off, looking over to me.
            “We were on our way back here when we saw their hunk of junk floating in space. Figured they could use a ride.” The raccoon reaches for the blue woman’s hand. They seem to know each other.
            “Morgan?” Tony asks, pulling away from Pepper, “Morgan,”
            “She is asleep in her crib.” He nods, and Steve rushes forward to help support Tony in the walk back to main building.
            “Lady Natasha, I’m sorry, but we didn’t find anything.”
            “It’s okay, we did.”
            “You did?”
            “We found Thanos.”
            Back inside, Tony is brought into his suite and Bruce hooks him up to an IV. Pepper holds her husband’s hand to her lips, sitting at his bedside.
            “There was a strange doctor with a cape,” He explains, delusional. “And it had a personality. And Peter,” He struggles to keep his eyes open.
            “Rest, Tony. We’ll talk about it in the morning,” Steve assures. “This can wait a few hours.” I am about to beg to differ until I get a warning glare from both Bruce and Steve.
            We head out into the main living area where the ragtag group of heroes waits. It is nearly one, and everyone looks exhausted. Rocket makes baseline introductions for the blue woman, Nebula. Thanos’s daughter. By the way she spits his name, I don’t think her loyalty needs to be questioned.
            “Everyone get some rest; we will catch up in the morning. Thor, can you show them our guest suites?” The god nods and leads the aliens out to another wing. I am about to head back to my office when Steve takes my hand.
            “Rogers,” I warn.
            “We’ve got Tony and we’ve got a way to get to Thanos. You’re going to need to rest if we are battling him tomorrow. And getting our family back.” I nod and follow him to his room.
            I take a shower, and slide on one of his larger t-shirts, serving as a nightgown. The tile floor is cold against my bare feet. I stare at the reflection in the mirror. There is a hint of red at the blonde roots. I’ll have to point it out to Wanda tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow everything will be better. I crawl into Steve’s bed, resting against the headboard. My stomach is in knots.
            “You don’t have to sleep in here. I just meant sleep in general.”
            “I don’t want to go to my room, and I’d really rather not be alone.” This admission oozes weakness.
            “I don’t want to be either.” He settles down beside me. He asks Friday to turn the lights off, and we fit together like puzzle pieces. I lie there, unable to sleep, for what feels like hours.
            “What if it doesn’t work?” I speak into the night, unsure if he is even awake.
            “That’s not an option.”

We all gather in Tony’s suite again in the morning. He sits in a wheelchair, the IV still in his arm. He is more cognizant this morning, and after some digging, we find out the Dr. Strange is in fact a real person, and one who possessed an Infinity Stone. I run through our list of lost associates on the hologram for Tony, seeing Wanda’s name flash first. Followed by Yelena.
            “World governments are in pieces, as you can imagine. But the parts that still work at trying to take a census. It looks like he did what he said he was going to do.” The Barton family comes across the screen. I take a deep breath, “Thanos wiped out fifty percent of all the living creatures on Earth. And based on what we gathered from Thor and Rocket’s data gathering, it is across the galaxy.”
            “Where is he now?”
            “We don’t know exactly. He opened a portal and ended up on another planet, lightyears away. Tony, you fought him, do you know,”
            “Who told you that? I didn’t fight him, he wiped my face with a planet while a Bleecker Street magician gave away the store. There was no fight because he’s not beatable.”
            “Did he give you anything to go on?” Tony scoffs at Steve. It is like they are new teammates again, bickering senselessly. I look to Bruce and Thor who are just as irritated.
            “I saw this coming a few years back. Didn’t want to believe. I thought I was dreaming,”
            “Tony, I need you to focus,”
            “We all needed something, Captain!” He stands up, ripping out his IV, blood begins to spurt from the vein. “I need to shave. And I remember telling all of you, alive and otherwise, that we needed a suit of armor around the world, whether it impacted our precious freedoms or not,”
            “Well, that didn’t work out, did it?”
            “I said we’d lose, you said we’d do that together too. Guess what, Cap, we lost, and you weren’t there. But that’s what we do, right? Our best work after the fact? We’re the Avengers, not the Pre-Vengers.”
            “You haven’t even acknowledged what we’ve lost. Do you see who is missing from this room?” Steve’s volume increases.
            “You’ve made your point,” Rhodey goes over to Tony, trying to placate him and get him back in the wheelchair.
            “I’ve got nothing for you, Cap. No clues, strategies, options. Zero. Zip. Nada.” He pulls away from Rhodey and rips off his arc reactor, shoving it at Steve, “You take this. You find him, you put this on, and hide.” The blood is rushing from his face.
            “Tony,” I step forward just as he collapses, being caught by Rhodey. This time, he is taken to the medical wing.
            “Bruce gave him a sedative,” Rhodes explains, coming out of the room. “Should keep him out for the rest of day.”
            “Grab Thor and the others,” He nods to Rhodey, “Meet back in the suite. We are going to go to Thanos today.”
            Nebula is able to tell us where Thanos is, even the name of the planet The Garden. A lush, perfect world.
            “That’s cute, Thanos has a retirement plan.”
            “We know where the planet it, we have means to get there” Steve looks around at everyone, trying to gauge their reactions.
            “You know, we’d be going in short-handed.” Bruce points out. We are missing some of our heaviest hitters. I can feel where they should be.
            “Even if there’s a small chance that we can undo this, I mean we owe it to everyone who’s not in this room to try.”  
            “If we do this, how do we know its going to end any differently than it did before?”
            “Because this time, we know what we’re walking into,” Thor rises from his seat.
            “Let’s go get this son of a bitch.”  

            I sit beside Steve on this rocket that puts our quinjets to shame. We shoot out of the atmosphere in a number of seconds, barely feeling the difference inside. Yelena would be having a field day right now.
            “Okay, who here hasn’t been to space?” Rocket looks back. Rhodes, Steve, and I raise our hands, almost sheepishly.
            “Why?” Steve whispers.
            “You better not throw up on my ship,” The raccoon glares at him.
            “Approaching jump in three, two,” Nebula counts down. Steve reaches over and grips my arm. “One.”
            My stomach jumps to my throat as we shoot through space, through a tunnel of some kind. It is breathtaking, in a horrifying way. Space and time flowing around you, neither quite tethered. Just as quickly as we entered, we exit. Landing in another galaxy entirely. We hover above the same planet we saw on our holograms back home. We begin our descent. I look over at Steve, who has since released his grip on my arm. He holds the compass I found so many years ago on his plane. It's flipped open and he stares at it. I look over, and see the photo of Peggy has been replaced, with one of the two of us. He closes it and looks back at me.
            “This is going to work, Nat.”
            “I know it will.” I nod, “Because I don’t know what I’m going to do if it doesn’t.” We check for oxygen levels and disembark. It really is a perfect planet. It is a dream. A garden.
            “No satellites or airships,” Rhodes confirms.
            “I’ve got recon,” I adjust the bites on my wrist, “If I’m not back in twenty minutes, leave.”
            “Or how about we come find you?” Steve raises his eyebrows.
            “I’m with Blondie on this one,” Rocket agrees. Blondie, that is Yelena’s nickname, not mine. But I give a tight smile to the racoon and head out into the woods.
            I listen for the sound of machinery, for chatter, or training. Instead, all I hear are birds chirping and water rushing. It is idyllic, like Eden before humanity. However, I can smell a campfire. I walk through the woods, waiting to find anything else amiss, and come across a stone house with a small chimney, a plume of smoke rising out of it. There is no one else around. Just this little cottage, and armor displayed like a scarecrow. I return to my teammates the same way I came.
            “No armies, just a house. I think he is the only one there.”
            “That’s enough.” Nebula states. We go over our plan of attack, our plan to get everyone back. Rhodey suits up and the Hulkbuster and Bruce deploy, heading in first.
            It soars in, and as we see it succeed, Rhodey and Thor follow, the rest of us not far behind. I step into the hut just in time to see Thor swing his ax, cutting off the gauntlet. The armor is burnt and charred, Rocket crouches, turning it over. The blood is rushing in my ears.
            “Where are they?” Steve demands.
            “Answer the question!” Rhodey tightens his grip on the alien’s neck.
            “The universe required correction. After that, the stones served no purpose beyond temptation.” My legs feel weak.
            “You murdered trillions,” Bruce shoves him into a wall.
            “You should be grateful.”
            “Where are the stones?” My voice breaks.  
            “Gone, reduced to atoms.” No. No. No.
            “You used them two days ago!”
            “I used the stones to destroy the stones. It nearly killed me. But the work is done. It always will be.” No. My knees hit the ground and I hold the burnt gauntlet to my chest. I try and scream, but nothing comes out. This isn’t it. This can’t be it. There has to be another way. My daughter. My sweet girl. My love. She isn’t gone. She can’t be gone. Wanda. My Wanda. The light of my life. Her laugh, her smile. The way her nose twitched when she was tired. Her stubbornness, determination, quick temper. Her. She is gone. My Little Witch.

Chapter Text

            Time continues on like a View-Master. It goes in flashes. From the cottage to the ship, back to the compound. My feet move on autopilot. I vaguely remember Steve carrying me from the ship to the common area at some point.
            “Natasha, can you look at me? Please,” Steve begs. I drag my eyes away from the window. “Can I get you anything? Can I do anything?”
            “No.”
            “I’m sorry.”
            “Everyone is gone.”
            “We’re still here.”
            “We’re still here,” I echo.
            “Do you want to go spar? Or maybe we can go for a run.”
            “Whatever you want to do.” I pull my knees up to my chest.
            “Nat,”
            “Do you need anything from me?” I look back out the window.
            “What?”
            “Do you need anything from me? Is there something I can do for you?”
            “I just, I’m worried. It has been three days.” Has it? Already? Three days since the last chance of seeing my daughter, my sister, and my best friend all fell to pieces? “You haven’t eaten. Or slept.”
            “I think I had some tea.”
            “Do you want to go for a ride on the bike?”
            “I’m okay.” I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m not. I’m not okay. I’m not okay. I’m not okay.
            “I don’t believe that.”
            “What does it matter if I’m not? No one is okay, Rogers. Not just here on Earth, but in the entire universe. Do you mourn the people who are gone or the fact that you were left behind? People are calling this the rapture. And honestly, it seems pretty accurate because I am fairly certain I am in hell!” I find myself standing up, fists clenched. My muscles are tight, ready for an attack. “Nothing is ever going to be okay again.” I feel something break in me in this moment. Something essential. The final threads snapping. The heartstrings.
            I head to Tony’s suite and pull up the programs we had going, monitoring the world. None of the headlines feeding out on the computer are positive. There has been looting, deaths, war, regime changes. Thor and the aliens have already left the compound. Rhodey had to go to D.C. Tony and Pepper went home. Bruce is God knows where. Steve and I are the only Avengers left on call.
            “We tried our best, Nat.”
            “It wasn’t enough.”

            Steve ends up leaving the compound after a few days. He heads down to the city to check on his place in Brooklyn. I rejected his invitation to join.
            The compound is completely empty. None of the staff is here. Agents from respective governmental agencies are still out trying to repair the world. I stare at the population count on the screen. Every country has submitted a number at this point. He did what he said he was going to do. Nothing will ever be the same again, and a part of that blame lies with me.
            There is an unfamiliar ping across the room on another computer, it takes me a moment to recognize it as the alert for the facial recognition program. Friday has been scanning for the faces of those who have been dusted, trying to see if they pop up anywhere else on Earth.
            I swipe the screen up in front of my face and can’t believe my eyes.
            “Friday, verify. Get multiple angles.” The computer scans, and a confirmation blinks in red. “Scan again.” Same results. “Again.” Same results. “Location?” The coordinates popup on my phone.
            I arrive in Chicago an hour later, walking through the southside. There are broken windows and turned-over cars from weeks of looting and riots. Shots fire in the distance, and dogs are barking. I find him exactly where Friday last picked up his face. He is sitting down, leaning against a wall. Beside him are a near empty-bottle of whiskey and a body.
            “Clint?” he doesn’t look over as I approach. He must not have in his hearing aids. I get closer, this time kicking a rock his way. He jumps up, swaying slightly and turning, a bloodied knife drawn. He stares at me, his face blank. “Clint?” I try again, this time signing as well. He reaches up to his ear, presumably turning his aids back on. “You’re alive? When did you,”
            “They just disappeared. All of them. Even the dog.”
            “You, you weren’t snapped?”
            “That is what you’re calling it?” He laughs.
            “I called you; I went to the farm.” I enter the alleyway, “You never picked up; you weren’t there.”
            “There wasn’t a reason to be there anymore.”
            “What about calling me? Clint, I thought you were,” I take a deep breath. “You’re here,”
            “And why are you?” He picks up the bottle and looks disparagingly at the body.
            “I got a hit on my facial recognition software that you’re alive. I came to see you, to help, or,”
            “I was practicing archery with Lila. Then she was gone. Laura, the boys, Nicole.”
            “I know. It, I lost,” I take a deep breath, “Wanda is gone. So is Yelena.” Saying it aloud is like swallowing razors.
            “And you’re here worrying about me.”
            “What is the alternative? What else can I do?” His eyes subconsciously flick to the man. “Did you kill him?” I look at the slice on his neck and then the bloody knife in his hand. “Why?”
            “I saw him as I was driving through the city. I saw him hit a woman, beat her until she was bloody. Someone else came to help her, I followed him. Why should he get to live when so many good people are gone? Why did he get to be the one to survive?”
            “So, you decided to kill him? That isn’t how things are done; you taught me that. You can’t kill someone as a form of justice,”
            “Why? You did. If I remember correctly, you tortured a room full of men to their deaths because of Boucher.”
            “And it was wrong,” I force myself to remain level. Weeks of emotions are sitting just beneath the surface.
            “Was it? I’m beginning to think Wanda was right.”
            “Don’t bring her into this! She is a child, you are an adult and,”
            “Was. She was a child Natasha. She is dead. Don’t you want to try to make what is left of this world better? Get rid of those who don’t deserve to be here?”
            “That isn’t our call, this isn’t how we make the world a better place. We aren’t judge, jury, and executioner. It isn’t what they would have wanted.”
            “They don’t want anything anymore. Don’t you get that? They are dead, Natasha. Gone. Dusted. Snapped. Whatever you want to call it. And as far as I’m concerned, Clint Barton is too.”
            “Please,”
            “Don’t find me again.”
            “Clint,” He shoves past me, disappearing into the fading light. I ignore the tightness in my chest and the panic building in my brain. Instead, I head to the jet and fly home.
            I arrive back at the compound, numb. He is alive, but just as gone as the rest of them. He chose to abandon me, knowing I was still here. Knowing what the world had lost. When I lost my family, the first thing I did was check on his. The first thing he did was disappear and kill someone.
            “Natasha,” Steve is running towards me, frantic.
            “What’s wrong?”
            “You were gone, and the quinjet,” I look down at my phone, six missed calls.
            “I’m sorry, I got lost in my thoughts I think.” I head back towards the main building.
            “Where were you?”
            “I was talking to Clint.”
            “He was brought back? Are people coming back? Nat,” He steps in front of me.
            “He was never gone. He was never snapped.” My voice is flat, but I can’t help it. I know Steve hates it.
            “But he,”
            “He is grieving. And you thought I was handling this poorly.” I try to joke.  
            “He’s alive?” Steve clarifies once more.
            “He said that as far as anyone should be concerned, Clint Barton died in the snap.”
            “We should go get him, maybe,”
            “He doesn’t want help, Steve. He doesn’t want me.”
            “Nat,”
            “I don’t have anything to offer him. We failed.” I push past him, heading inside. The cabinets slam as I tear through them, looking for a bottle of something. Anything.
            I find a bottle of vodka in the freezer and break off the cap, bringing the jagged edge to my lips. My mouth stings, and as I pull away, my blood swirls into the clear liquid like red smoke. I sink to the floor, watching it dissipate and give the liquor a pinkish hue. The chill of the open freezer pushes against my back, a contrast to the warm hand that wraps around mine. He peels my fingers off the bottle and sits down beside me.
            “I’m not ready for her to be gone, for any of them to be gone.”
            “I’m not either.”

            I am going through the motions of existing. Steve thinks I’m doing better. I get up and go for a run every day. Go to the shooting range. I’ve even started boxing. We head over to Tony’s house across the lake, visiting them. He is mostly recovered from what happened in space, at least physically. I start fielding calls, hoping for one that will send me out on a mission. Most of them are for the one thing we can’t help with- bringing everyone back. I am doing everything that is expected of me, except sleeping. I can’t sleep. I won’t sleep. When I do, I relive her death over and over. I can feel her disappearing in my arms. The specks of dust floating away. The fear in her eyes, the final pleading for me to save her. And I couldn’t. I didn’t just fail the world, I failed my daughter. What is a mother without a child?
            I have found a precarious balance of emptiness and grief. With one wrong thought, everything will tumble and fall. It is easier to hold it all back, like a dam. One single thought could cause a flood.
            Steve rolls over next to me in bed, stretching. He needs to shave, a shadow growing on his jaw.
            “How’d you sleep?” His eyes aren’t open yet as he poses the question.
            “Fine, thank you. You?”
            “Good,” We lie to each other. He had nightmares all night. Which I suppose is better than me. “I’m heading back down to the city today to that group I told you about. Think I might spend the night down there. You want to come?”
            “No.” I sit up. “Thanks,” I tack on.
            “You haven’t left the compound.”
            “No reason to.”
            “Maybe when I get back, we can visit Tony and Pepper. Or you could while I’m gone.” He pulls on a t-shirt.
            “Someone has to monitor in case we get a call.” No one is calling. We both know that.
            “Friday can alert our phones,”
            “I have to hire some people to take care of the farm,” Why? In case Clint changes his mind? In case someday, somehow, everyone is suddenly back?
            “Nat,”
            “I’m going for a run. Text me when you get to the city.”
            “I can come on the run; I have time.”
            “It’s okay.” I’m okay. Everything is okay. I change into running gear and head out to the woods. Frost covers the grass, and the rest of the leaves are beginning to drop. I can see my breath, little puffs of smoke. My eyes drift up to the treetops, checking to see if Yelena is scaling the branches. But she won’t be.
            “Fuck!” I sprawl out on the ground, turning over and glaring at the offending root, having caught my foot. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” I scream into the air. There is no one to hear. Push it all down. Push it down.
            I get back to the compound, covered in dirt and dead leaves. Steve is gone, but he left a plate of scrambled eggs and toast by the computer, along with a cup of coffee. I sit down and scroll through my emails. For most, I am just cc’d out of courtesy by Rhodey as he works with the United States government to get everything under control. There is a picture of Steve down in DC in one photo. I don’t even remember him going. When did he go?            
            There are news reports of further fallout. The economy is in a tailspin, yet to level out. Some countries have closed their borders. Wakanda being one of them. Since we left, I haven’t heard a word. A New York Times article grabs my attention, “Those Who Were Left Behind: The Kids Aren’t Alright”. Millions of children across the world became orphans overnight, thousands in New York alone. I think of the news story we saw of children dying in their cribs. Social services is overwhelmed in every way. Kids sleeping at YMCAs and nursing homes. Some have no extended family or lost them too. No home, no place to stay. That is something I can fix. I queue up an email to Rhodey to put me in contact with the right people and press send. Something other than dread flutters in my chest, and I instantly feel guilty.
            I turn away from my screen and take a bite of the cold eggs, forcing myself to eat them. My stomach clenches and I run to the bathroom, losing what little I had in my stomach. I head into the kitchenette, looking for protein mix.
            “Fri, does the kitchen have protein powder?”
            “No, there is some in the storage wing from before you moved. It expires in one year, two months, and three days.”
            “Alert me if anything happens?”
            “Of course, Ms. Romanoff.”
            I have never been down to the storage wing, just past archives. Wanda said she went down there once, it is where she found her guitar, but I never had a need. I should have just had the shake mix delivered. I could have waited a few days. I should have stayed by the computer or gone to the shooting range.
            My footsteps echo as I walk down the hall, past my old sanctuary from when I first lived here. Then, I reach the heavy metal doors to storage. It is like a warehouse of superhero junk. Old suits and broken weapons. Abandoned projects, half-finished, line shelves.
            “Friday, what aisle?”
            “Aisle S, shelf sixteen.” As I walk past rows, I spot a piece of metal once pulled out of my back; God knows why Stark decided to keep it. A prototype for the Hulkbuster is in another. Finally, I reach S and see the box labeled “Romanoff’s shakes”. But the orange case beside it catches my eye. On masking tape, in Tony’s handwriting, is Binarily Augmented Retro-Framing. B.A.R.F., I remember Tony developing this and who helped him.
            The locks on the case click as I undo them. Inside is foam padding, a pair of sunglasses, and a remote. Tony explained the premise to me once and how it conflicted with Beck’s ideas. I sit down on the floor, taking the case in my lap. He talked with his parents through this, his long-dead parents. I can see her again. My sweet girl. I can see Wanda, Yelena, everyone. The glasses shake in my hands as I raise them to my face, it powers on with a click of the remote, and the warehouse is no more.
            I’m in the apartment. Sun is shining in through the windows, and Liho is asleep on a windowsill, basking in the warmth. The air smells of chamomile and clean laundry. I walk across the cold hardwood floors. The doors in the hall are closed, save for the one at the end, open just a crack, light shining through. The library. My heart begins to race as I get closer. This hallway has never felt so long. I can scarcely breathe as my hand rests on the doorknob, and I push it open.
            “Hi Mom,”  

Chapter Text

            She sits in her seat with Peter Pan open in her lap. A mug of tea sits on the table between the chairs. Her feet swing, toenails painted cherry red. Feet, plural However, that is not the biggest surprise. The girl in the library is someone I had only seen in Wanda’s memory, but still unmistakably her. She is about eight or so, her two front teeth are missing in her smile.
            “Mom?”
            “Hi love,” I hesitate to move any closer, scared the illusion will break.
            “Are you okay?”
            “I just can’t believe its you.”
            “Who else would I be?” She snaps the book shut, jumping up.
            “I’ve missed you so much,” The lump in my throat grows and I blink back tears.
            “It’s only been a few minutes.”
            “Seems like a lifetime,” I crouch down, it has been so long since I have been taller than her, and never by this much. She walk over, and I place my hand on her cheek. Her big blue eyes look into me, then flashing red. I look down and see her hand flick, with her book flying back into place on the bookshelf. She gives me a mischievous smile, quirked up on side.
            “How was that for control?”
            “Impressive as always,” I find myself answering.
            “Can you make lunch? I’m starving.”
            “Starving, huh?”
            “Dying, really.”
            “PB&J?”
            “Cut into fourths,” She instructs, skipping ahead of me down the hall. In the kitchen Wanda uses her powers to push herself up onto the counter, nearly knocking over a bouquet of red carnations.
            “Careful,” We say at the same time, her mocking me. She sticks out her tongue.
            I pull out the jars of peanut butter and jelly. It takes me only a minute to make the sandwich, and I wish it had taken longer. It feels like time is running out.
            We head into the dining room and I sit beside her, watching her. Her hair is wild, untamed.
            “Do you want me to braid your hair after lunch?” She nods, humming as she eats a quarter of her sandwich.
            “You’re staring at me.”  
            “Am I?” I don’t stop.
            “I’m not going to disappear or something.” My heart skips a beat. “Mom?”
            “I’m okay, love. Finish your lunch and I’ll fix your hair.” She shoves the final quarter of the sandwich into her mouth, filling out her cheeks and grinning at me, nearly showing her teeth. “You goof,”
            “Two French braids?”
            “Whatever you want.”
            “Let’s go,” Wanda grabs my hand, pulling me out of the dining room and into her bedroom. It looks to mature for a little kid, and I’m hit with the stark reminder that this isn’t real. A comb is pressed into my hand. “It’s a rat’s nest.”
            “Detangler?”
            “Behind the aloe,” I open up the medicine cabinet and grab the spray. She sits down on a stool, and I work through the tangles. Wanda talks endlessly, about absolutely nothing. I missed her chatter.
            “I think Liho is learning Sokovian.”
            “She’s a smart girl.”
            “Or I’m a good teacher,” She looks over her shoulder, eyes sparkling.
            “Turn around,” I finish plaiting her hair and give a light tug on the two braids. “All done.” She shakes her head, braids whipping back and forth.
            “Thank you.”
            “Of course.”
            “You always say that.”
            “Hm?” I put away the styling supplies.
            “You say of course instead of you’re welcome or no problem.”
            “I guess I hadn’t really thought about it before.”
            “Why?”
            “I don’t know.”
            “Why?”
            “Wanda,”
            “Fine,” she huffs. “Can we watch a movie tonight? Stay up a little later?” Anything to make this last longer. We spend the rest of the afternoon together, starting off by playing boardgames and then training. We eat dinner, pierogies, on the roof, sitting the Adirondack chairs. I can’t get over the sight of her two feet dangling over the edge, swinging. Or the gap-toothed smile, and the round cheeks of childhood.
            After dinner and a bedtime routine, I fulfil my promise of a movie. Though within minutes, she is resting her head in my lap, and quickly falls asleep. I watch the steady rise and fall of her chest, the film fading into the background. As the movie ends, she stirs, stretching and looking up at me with her blue eyes.
            “Carry me?” She extends her arms and hooks around me.
            “I’m going to miss you when I have to go to school, once I can control my powers.” She mumbles, half asleep as I place her on her bed, folding down the covers.
            “I’ll miss you too. But you’ll always have me here,” I tap her hear, “And here,” I tap her head in turn.
            “You’ll have me there too,” she gives a tired smile, “When I’m not there. We’ll always be together, even when we’re not.”
            “Always,” I choke back a cry, stroking a stray lock of hair away from her forehead. “I love you, Little Witch.”
            “I love you too,” She snuggles down into the pillows, “Can you stay with me, until I fall asleep?”
            “Forever.” She reaches for my hand, squeezing once and then closing her eyes.
            I am back in the warehouse, curled up on the floor. My face is wet with tears that I can’t bring myself to wipe away. The battery on the side of the glasses blinks red, and I find a charger in the case, packing it up to bring back to the suite.
            No one called while I was gone. I don’t even know how long it was. I check the clock. Two hours. It felt like an entire day. I had a day with my sweet girl.
            My email pings, and I sit down at the computer. It’s from Rhodey.

            I stand outside of the school. It had officially shut down two weeks ago due to the population decrease. There is no reason for so many schools anymore. Not as many teachers either. And now I own it. It is just a half hour from the compound and has good bones.
             Formerly an elementary school, the two-story structure educated kids for almost one hundred years, brick with white trim and a grey slate roof. Five hundred children were spending every day here not long ago.
            I head inside, touring the building. The first floor houses the library, cafeteria, gym, and art rooms. The second floor has all of the classrooms and administrative offices. There is still schoolwork on some desks, and when I open a coat closet, I see backpacks hanging. Waiting for a child who isn’t coming. In one classroom, there is a fish tank, all the fish floating on top. It is a ghost town. Children’s artwork is still on the walls, bright and happy. A third-grade classroom has drawings of what the children were going to be for Halloween. One girl drew the Scarlet Witch. I carefully untack the picture from the bulletin board and slide it into my purse.
            I go through, classroom by classroom, gathering up the children’s personal items. Taking art off the walls and putting them into their respective backpacks. I had received a school list of emergency contacts from the former secretary so I can give their personal items back to their families. Those who are still around. It takes nearly fifteen hours before I am done. All the backpacks are labeled. Most of the art is stripped from the walls. I make calls and deliver the bags to those who would take them. For those who have no one, they go back to the school, into a supply closet. I don’t have the heart to throw them away.
            It is difficult, but I manage to hire some help to clear out the desks and replace them with beds. Plumbers come to install shower stalls in the bathroom. My phone vibrates. Another text from Steve. I feel bad. Over the past week, I had barely spoken to him, rebuffing all his attempts to come back up to the compound. I insist that I am too busy setting up the orphanage, trying to get it running. And I have been spending time with Wanda. Any other free time is used to train, hoping I get called out on a mission. I know in a few weeks, once this is up and running, they won’t need me day to day. That things should run fairly smoothly on their own with the staff I have hired. Maybe this can still be temporary. Maybe we can find a way to bring them all back. I mentioned it to Steve once, and he gave me a sad, pitying smile.
            I pull off the property and drive past the newly erected sign, The Avenger’s Home for Children.
            The drive is slow, as heavy, freezing rain pours down, accompanied by heavy wind. As I arrive back at the compound, the heavy gates pull open, my headlights cutting through the darkness. No one else is here. The maintenance staff comes by once a week, but they stay away from the residences.
            I had done my best to ignore the date. There were so many plans for today. A fantastic present. Dinner reservations that I had received a confirmation text for this morning. Yesterday, when I went to the pharmacy to pick up my new sleeping pills prescribed by Bruce, I had passed by the birthday cards. On a whim, I had picked one up. It is sitting on the counter, signed and sealed. I catch my reflection as I pass a window. My roots are starting to show, and I look unwell. After our last team video call, Bruce sent me the prescription. I call it a team video call, but it was only four of us. No one has heard from Thor in weeks. Clint is yet to return. I’m not sure he ever will.
            I have still been staying in Tony’s suite, unable to head into mine. It is connected to Wanda’s room. It feels wrong to be there without her. She had always been right next to me. I open the door to the suite and my heart plummets.
            “No, no, no!” I run forward, slamming the door to the patio shut, blown open by the storm. The entire living area is soaked, but my focus is on only one thing. The glasses sit on their charging dock, soaked. I pick them up, cradling them, desperately trying to turn them on, patting them dry with my shirt. “Please no, please, I can’t,” I try again, nothing. This time I run to the main kitchen, pulling out a box of rice, plunging the glasses in. “I can’t lose her again, I can’t. Please,” I beg someone, something, anything. The universe, God, gods, fate. Whatever it takes. But I know how cruel the world is. And I know that this last piece I had is gone. Another part of me shatters when I thought I could not be any more broken.
            I curl up on the bed, hyperaware of every inch of my being. It is like existing itself is painful. But then I realize this feeling isn’t new. It is a homecoming.

            I go through the motions of setting up the orphanage. I even stop spending so much time glued to the computer, instead beginning to retake the compound. Going through the motions. Surviving. No one needs the Avengers right now, or even wants them. The entire world is grieving. One foot in front of the other. A good little soldier. You’re a spy, not a soldier. But I am neither really. I am nothing.
            Food is setup on automatic deliveries, the bare minimum. Nothing fancy. Enough. Of course, these is a surplus on most things now. The housing market has bottomed out. I haven’t even looked at my portfolio. There isn’t a reason to. What difference will it make?
            “You know, that isn’t exactly Christmas dinner attire.” I look up from my book, a study on guerrilla warfare, to see Steve. He wears a sweater I gave him, a cream-colored cable knit and jeans.
            “You’re here,”
            “Of course. I brought you some clothes.” He doesn’t mention that I have a closet full of clothes just a few doors down. I open up the bag and pull out a red sweater and leggings. “We can walk over together.”
            I come out a few minutes later, portions of my hair braided back in an attempt to hide the roots.
            “You haven’t been answering my calls,” Steve begins as we start our walk around the lake.
            “I’ve been busy.”
            “I miss you.”
            “I miss you too.” I miss how things used to be. How we used to be. His hand slips into mine, and the rest of the stroll is in silence.
            The cabin glows in the darkness of the woods, and Bing Crosby hums out, like a siren beckoning us in. Steve knocks twice, and Tony pulls the door open, wearing a Christmas sweater.
            “Merry Christmas, come on in,” Inside, a tree is in the corner with a large pile of presents. The fireplace is unlit, and I know it is because of me. Killing the mood.
            “Merry Christmas, Tony, Pepper,” Steve adds, calling towards the kitchen.
            “Where’s Morgan?”
            “Taking a nap, should be up any minute. She is already crawling. Before we know it, she’ll be running the place.”
            “As if she doesn’t already,” Pepper brushes into the room, sporting a new diamond pendant. Tony goes to grab her and we all take turns holding her. She pulls on the end of my hair and has the same big brown eyes as Tony.
            We eat dinner, trying our best to avoid the most obvious topic. They don’t ask how I’m doing; they don’t ask Steve. We don’t ask them. No one is doing well. Though Tony seems to have physically recovered from his time in space.
            “So, Rhodey was telling me that the orphanage is up and running.”
            “Yes, I had presents delivered there by Santa this morning.” I take a sip of my wine.
            “You didn’t tell me you did that.” Steve turns to look at me.
            “They deserved some Christmas magic.”
            “Have you met any of the kids?” Pepper asks.
            “Yes. Most of them lost their parents in the snap. There is this one girl who was riding in a limo with her mom and aunt. The driver was snapped. She survived, but her only two living relatives didn’t. The backup guardian was in a plane that fell out of the sky.”
            “Jesus,” Tony rubs his face.
            “Her dad died in the Battle of New York. I’ve been told by the recreation director that she is a great little archer.” I smile weakly.
            “You’re doing an admirable thing, Nat.”
            “It’s our fault they are alone. This is the least I could do.” We fall into an uncomfortable silence. Then Pepper offers dessert. Steve gets up to help, leaving me with Tony.
            “Red,”
            “Barf,” I begin.
            “I don’t think the food was that bad,” He jokes.
            “No, the program. Do you still have the software for it?”
            “I don’t think you should be digging around in that right now.”
            “Tony,”
            “It should only be used under the supervision of a licensed psychologist. And honestly, I don’t think you are stable enough for it,”
            “I’m plenty stable.”
             “Fine. I think you’re in too deep and would just use it as an escape. I know because I would do the same thing in your shoes.”
            “I need to see her again, please.” I reach out, grabbing his hand, my grip possibly a hair too tight. “Please Tony, I had it, and then the rain,”
            “You used it? You found it?”
            “There was a prototype in storage.”
            “Natasha, you need to talk to someone. I can,”
            “I don’t want to talk to anyone.” I pull my hand away. “Will you help or not?”
            “With that? No. Maybe you should leave the compound, go stay with Steve,” Tony stops as they come back with apple pie and ice cream, ending our conversation.
            We leave not long after, heading back to the compound. Steve walks quickly in the cold, anxious to get back inside. Neither of us got the other presents. Exchanging gifts or watching Christmas movies feels wrong. Like we are disrespecting those who are gone. Instead, we drink. Asgardian mead warms our bodies and dulls our senses. We don’t speak, just exist, alone together. It is nearly two when we stumble into bed, in the suite that is quickly becoming mine. I stare up at the ceiling, my heart heavy with the words on my tongue.
            “You don’t have to wait for me.”
            “What?” I feel him shift beside me.
            “You don’t have to wait for me, Steve. I don’t know when, I can’t be,”
            “Nat,”
            “I’m not in a place where I can be that to you right now.”
            “That’s okay.
            “And I don’t know when I will be. I just want you to know, you don’t have to wait.” My heart doesn’t seem to beat through the length of his pause, as he considers his words.
            “I love you, Natasha. And if right now you need me as a friend, that’s who I am.”
            “I’m sorry.”  
            “You don’t have to hold it together. Hold all of this together,”
            “If I don’t, who will?”

Chapter Text

             I sit beside Steve in the rain. The weather is fitting, like mother nature herself is also in mourning. Tony, Pepper, and Morgan are on my other side. The president is seated next to Steve, having just flown in from his own service in DC. Rhodey is here as well. We are kept dry under a popup pavilion, but there are hundred, if not thousands, of people gathered in front of us, a crowd of black umbrellas.
            “We are gathered here today, one the one-year anniversary of the Snap, to honor those who are no longer with us,” The newly elected governor of New York in front of us, overlooking the crowd. It has been so long since I have made a public appearance. There are two living Avengers missing, Clint and Thor. Thor declined the invitation. I can hardly listen to the speech, and instead look out on the people. Individuals of every walk of life, every age, have come. There are memorial all over the world today and leading up to this week. This is my first time in the city since I went to check on Liho. Steve squeezes my hand, and I pull it away, clasping both together in my lap.
            The speech finishes, and the curtain behind us is dropped. I turn around and stare at the rows of glass that stretch back behind us. Tony and I anonymously paid for half of it. The other half was paid for by donations as small as a dollar, those left behind wanting a place to memorialize their loved ones, as there are no bodies to bury. No ashes to scatter.
             The memorial takes up nearly an entire acre of central park. Each panel is thirty feet wide and seven feet tall. Two hundred and sixty-four panels. Just under four million names. Each name an inch tall. 3,989,522 names. 3,989,522 residents of New York City, gone in an instant.
            We step off the podium and walk into the rain. The names are in alphabetical order, and I find Yelena’s first. We are nearly halfway through when I find Wanda. The others keep walking, giving me my space, or perhaps not even noticing my absence from the rest of the tour. She is on the bottom quarter of the wall, and I sink to my knees to see her at eyelevel. My nylons slide on the slick granite the memorial rests on.
            I run my finger over her name, carved into glass. The rain pours under my coat, drenching me underneath. My hair is slicked down against my head. I was supposed to maintain composure, I tried to. I tried to be a vision of strength. But I was a mother. A sister. An aunt. The rain stops drumming onto my back, and I look up from my crouch position, my neck stretching towards the sky, expecting the downpour to have cleared. Instead, my eyes meet the underside of an umbrella. I turn and see Steve, becoming soaked himself as he shelters me from the storm.
            He offers his hand and I take it, allowing myself to be helped off the ground. I try to push back my shoulders and hold my head high, but I want nothing more to than to crumble to the ground. I can’t bring out the Black Widow, who I was trained to be. A grieving mother overpowers her.
            We head back to the cars that await us. I had ridden down with the Starks. Happy is standing nearby, talking to them. Peter’s Aunt May is there as well. Her eyes are bloodshot. I ride with Steve to the restaurant where we are all getting lunch. He hand me a t-shirt as we get in the car.
            “What’s this for?”
            “To dry off, sorry I don’t have a towel or anything,”
            “You’re cold and wet too,”
            “That’s what the heater is for,” He turns it up high, warming the truck quickly. I slip off my coat, pooling it around my waist, and try to dry off with the t-shirt. It smells like him. I ring out my hair onto the floor and then lean back against the seat, slipping off my high heels, and propping my feet up on the dash. They warm quickly from the vents.
            “You can come down here more often, you can stay at my place, in the guest room.”
            “Someone has to stay up there, to keep things under control,” I turn to look at him, his hair starting to dry is a thousand different directions.
            “It doesn’t have to be you. Tony is there, he can pop by,”
            “He has a life,”
            “You can too.”
            “No, I can’t.”
            “That’s a tough way to live.”
            “I’m just trying to survive.” I look out the window, watching the city go by.
            “Natasha,”
            “You aren’t going to lose me, Steve. I’m not going anywhere. Someone has to be there. The last of Earth’s mightiest heroes, waiting for the call.”
            “That call might never come,”
            “But if it does, I’ll be there.”

            A few weeks later, a call does come through. Though not the one I was hoping for, it is welcome, nonetheless. I should be ashamed and embarrassed to be holding onto hope like this. Though, I suppose if I was delusional enough to think the Red Room would let me become a mother, that this is not much different. And that hope wasn’t so foolish. If I were to share this with anyone, I would get a pitying look, a few words of comfort. However, right now I am on a mission.
            It is from Rhodey, to look at some bodies down in Texas. They were once a gang of Coyotes who used illegal immigrants as drug mules. The crew also had a slew of human trafficking charges the feds were trying to pin on them prior to the Snap. And now I am standing over them, six of them, butchered. The phone rings once, twice. Then he answers.
            “Rhodes,” I crouch down by the bodies, already starting to rot in the heat, their baking on the dust. “I know I’m not an ME, but I am fairly certain this was done with a katana.” I inspect the wounds and the angles. The person was about six feet tall, and strong.
            “A Samuri did this? In El Paso?”
            “I am just letting you know what I see. Fed’s SUVs are pulling up now. I’ve taken photos and will send them your way.”
            “Thanks, Nat.’
            “Of course. Let me know if you need anything else. The channel is always open.”
            “How are you holding up? It was good to see you in person at,”
            “Let me know if you need me to follow up on anything.” I end the call and nod to the agents as I walk towards the quinjet.
            It is nearly sunset as I arrive back to the empty compound. There was a time where that was never the case. The compound was bustling with staff and visiting agents. Avengers always present. I pass by the dining room, my heart aches with the thought of team dinners and holidays. It seems like a lifetime ago.
             Following the memorial, I setup standing monthly meetings for check-ins, the first one was just a few days ago. I even sent an invitation to the racoon and Okoye in Wakanda. Steve is right. No one needs the Avenger’s help, my help. This was the only call I’ve gotten since the Snap. And it was just to look at some dead bodies. Maybe there is more to it that Rhodey is yet to share.
            I head down to the gym and run a quick twenty miles, followed by boxing. By the time I am done, I am drenched in sweat but feel no lighter.
            A scalding shower is like a balm, waking up my senses. I switch it to cold, feeling my body register the shock. The hair on my arm stick out, and chills run down my spine. I curl my toes against the smooth tile floor, my teeth starting to chatter.
            “Nat?” Steve’s voice rings out. “Natasha?” My eyes fly open.
            “Be right there!” I yell out of the shower, turning off the water. He hadn’t told me he was coming up. After drying off and wrapping my hair up in the towel, I slip on my bathrobe. Steve is waiting in the suite, a laundry bag in hand.
            “I’m not your maid, Rogers.”
            “Washing machine broke, figured I could bring it here,” he explains.
            “Suddenly Brooklyn doesn’t have any laundromats?” I cross my arms.
            “This is free,” He smiles. I don’t point out that he probably spent more on gas than the cost of running a washing machine.
            “Detergent is down there,”
            “Want to come?”
            “To the laundry room?” I want to get back to the computers, maybe go throw knives.
            “Why not?”
            “Give me a minute,” I head back into the bathroom and pull the towel off my head. The blonde is just barely starting to brush my shoulders. It should be much longer than that by now. It's also dull, matching my eyes. I wonder what people see when they look at me now. I take a deep breath and run the brush through my hair, changing into clean workout clothes.
            “Lead the way, oh Captain, my Captain,” I try to force out a joke, to sound like how I used to. It feels awkward, and I can’t deliver it with the proper gusto.
            “I would like it if you came down to Brooklyn, maybe come meet the group I am leading.”
            “If you are worried about me not getting out enough, I was gone all morning.”
            “Really?” He unties the bag.
            “Yes. A job from Rhodey.”
            “That’s great, Nat.” I sit on top of one of the dryers as he loads a washing machine. He pulls out the items one by one, separating by color and type.
            “You can just put all the clothes in one load.” Steve looks aghast. “Fine, keep doing what you’re doing,” I push the wet hair away from my face.
            “I was thinking I could make us dinner while I’m here.”
            “You are going to cook?” He smiles, closing the washing machine door and filling the next. There are still sheets to do, but only two machines.
             “I’m going to be here a while anyways. May as well make myself useful.”
            He takes over the full kitchen, not the kitchenette in the suite. There is an attempt at a roast that is somehow burnt, undercooked, and dry all at the same time. I eat the charred edges, swallowing with a glass of water.
            “You don’t have to eat it,”
            “You went to so much trouble,” I eye the salad bowl on the table, and would rather a second serving of that than whatever became of this poor cow. A timer goes off on his phone, the laundry is done.
            “What do you think about going for a run in the morning?”
            “You’re staying the night?”
            “It’s too late to drive back to the city. And I don’t have group tomorrow.”
            “You don’t have to do this, you know. I’m fine.”
            “This is just for me,” He lies, gathering the plates. As he starts on the dishes, I head back down to the laundry room, emptying the dryers and beginning to fold his clothes and sheets, sliding them into the bag.
             I take one of the sweatshirts, warm and smelling like dryer sheets, pulling it over my head. The sleeves cover my hands, and it hangs just past my waist.
            “You beat me to it,”
            “They would wrinkle if they were left in the dryer,” I explain, standing up. Then, it dawns on me that I am still wearing his sweatshirt. “Sorry,” I go to pull it off.
            “No, it’s cold tonight, you can keep it.” He takes the laundry bag from me, balancing it carefully as to not undo my work. We head back to the hall of suites, and he pauses at Tony’s, now mine.
            “Goodnight, Steve.” I feel a familiar heaviness returning, and a rush of guilt for it lessening in the first place. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
            “Night, Nat.” He gives me his Steve smile and disappears down the hall.

Chapter Text

            His vintage truck rumbles as it pulls up to the compound. The sound has become more routine as Steve comes up to the compound once or twice a month. Sometimes even three times.
            “I can’t find a technician,” he claims one week, followed by, “I found a technician, waiting on parts.” When he shows up again, I am informed the parts are on backorder. Then I stop receiving excuses. I just get Steve, laundry bag in hand. Does he think I don’t know? Or perhaps, he doesn’t care that I do. Neither of us bring it up. Perhaps we should.
            He tells me a story one day about one of the people in his group, a husband who calls his wife’s voicemail every day to hear her voice. And how he forgot to pay the bill on the phone, and he lost the message.
            A few days later, on what would be Wanda’s twentieth birthday, I get up the courage to call her phone. It rings and rings. Then it connects to her voicemail. It has been so long since I have heard her sweet voice.
            “Hi, this is Wanda. I’m not sure why you’re calling me instead of texting me. So, this must be Nat. Hi Mom, please text me. Or leave a message, I guess. Love you!”
            I laugh and sob at the same time, choking as I call again. And again, listening to her voice. I had no idea this was her message. The last two words play on repeat in my ears for the next few weeks. Love you. Love you. Love you.

            More often than not, I will find myself crying. It new for me, I never used to cry. Most of the time it isn’t sobbing. The memorial and Wanda’s birthday were exceptions. But now that I have begun, it seems as though I can’t stop. Birthdays and anniversaries cause me to close myself off from Steve when he is here. I don’t mean to. He will find me, somewhere on the compound or by the lake, and sit with me. We don’t speak of our grief either. Or that the last of me that was being held together broke when I saw her name etched in glass.
            When we were teenagers, Yelena told me about Kintsugi, a way the Japanese repair broken pottery with gold. I think my broken pieces are far too small at this point. Like they had been ground under the heel of a boot. Like dust.
            I begin to trim my hair as it gets too long, cutting off an inch here or there. Slowly, I see myself becoming a redhead once more. Wanda would be pleased. I could see her coming up behind me in the mirror, resting her head on my shoulder, our hair blending together.
            “We match,” she’d say, grinning.
            But that isn’t how life goes. The first time Morgan calls me Auntie Nat, I force out a smile and continue show her how to build a tower, with a strong base first. Tony calls her Morguna, from the drunken night in the tower years ago. I had pretended to be cross with Yelena and Wanda for sneaking into that gala, but I couldn’t have been happier to see them. I wish we had stayed up later, past the sunrise. I wish we had more time.
            Rhodey has me investigate more killings performed with a katana, and my suspicion regarding the task grows. But I am given no other details. No indication of who the attacker may be. The killings left the United States not long after the Coyotes in Texas, going down through South America and back up again.
            I lace up the ballet slippers that Steve gave me for the third Christmas post-Snap, just over two years in. They have become worn, and he was fascinated as I spent the morning showing him how they are broken in.
            I perform Cinderella, Prokofiev, choreographed by Rostislav Zakharov. Yelena would laugh at the morbidity. Or maybe be sad. She was forced to watch that day, as she was everything else.
            I don’t know what Steve hoped dancing would bring me, maybe peace. It offers a distraction. The movements fill up my mind and body as I repeat them over and over. I dance until my toes feel like breaking and my ankles swell. It is replacing on kind of pain with another. Maybe that is as close to peace as I can get.
            Time moves on, but I don’t. I try to spend a little more time at the orphanage, but every time I go, I miss Wanda more as I leave. I want my girl. My family. The one I worked so hard to build.
            I rarely have everyone at the monthly meetings, even though it is just a video call. Thor has never dialed in, Tony only once. By mistake. Steve occasionally. Okoye even less frequently than Steve, she is far too busy with Wakanda. I tend to have three people should up, and one of them is a raccoon.
            I swing a fist at the punching bag, and then I hit again, and again. But the punches are controlled. The bag doesn’t fly across the room. Restraint. I spend more time in the courtyard as well. Thinking not just of the conversation I had there with Wanda, but of my days with Yelena. Of us playing. Or her playing while I train her. I tried to make it so she could survive, and instead I’ve killed her twice.
            Steve finds me out there one day, in the middle of a rainstorm. It is early April the not yet warm. He brings me inside and dries me off.
            “You with me?” He asks, “Nat?”
            “I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” I admit. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”
            “I know. I’m sorry.”
            “I’m still trying to be better. I’m still trying to be who they deserve. I don’t even know who I am anymore.”
            “I’m sorry,” He repeats. Steve sits on the bed beside me all night, neither of us sleeping. I wonder if Bruce has given him the sleeping pills too.
            The worst day comes on the 1046^th day of the Snap. I wake up and exercise. Shooting range. Boxing. Monitoring the channels, sending a few emails. It is a perfectly normal day. That is the day I realize that this has become my new normal. This baseline of misery, going through the motions of existing. Empty beside the overflowing tide of grief.
            Upon this realization, anger comes in waves, far stronger than the anguish that had been lying below the surface. In a burst of unrestraint, my glass flies at the wall, vodka and glass spraying across the floor.
            I think of Wanda, all the plates flying out the cabinet and shattering in her own anger. I understand the release. And then the anger is replaced with guilt. I bend down on the floor, picking up the shards of glass. A particularly sharp sliver cuts my palm, the vodka stinging. I drop the broken glass into the trash and crawl into bed, despite the sun being high in the sky, and try not to float away.
            There comes a month where I don’t see Steve at all. And I wonder if he has finally given up on me. Not that I would blame him. But he returns as May rolls into June, stone-faced and sober. He lost two of his group members within days of each other. People are realizing that it is becoming increasingly likely that this will never end. Banks had already repossessed houses by the end of the first year, but the taboo of living in them is starting to fade. Orphans of the Snap have begun to get adopted. Parents turned childless wanting a place to redirect their love. Not all the kids are so willing. The older ones remember their parents and don’t want new ones. I don’t want a new daughter.
            Of course, not all of the new normal is good. There has been an increase in religious extremist groups, political instability, and crime is only just starting to return to pre-Snap levels. And all of it comes through this desk. I read every major news story around the world, Friday helping me filter through.
            There is a new normal unfolding, but it is not one I want to be a part of.
            “Will you take me there?” Steve asks one summer day; it is hotter than it ought to be in upstate New York and we avoided going outside for a run since his arrival a few hours earlier. I had gone for a run myself early this morning, my braid stuck to my bare back with sweat. The washer is still running down the hall filling the silence. “To the orphanage?” He clarifies.
            “I’ll drive.” We head out to the garage, and I take the cover off my bike.
            “You have a motorcycle?”
            “Yes, for about ten years now.” It hasn’t been ridden in forever, but the team’s mechanic maintains it. “You coming or not, Rogers?” I toss him a helmet and he climbs on the back. The ride isn’t long, but the rushing air is invigorating.
            I pull up to the former school and can hear kids squealing and laughing behind it. The building has expanded since I purchased it. It now has a wing of dorms, and the nursery has been replaced with a game room. The youngest of the children are almost four now. We’ve also added a pool and tennis courts, even a movie theater. It is its own little world, safe from the chaos around it.
            “Natasha, this is amazing,” Steve looks around. And I suppose it is nice. There are flowers planted everywhere, part of the gardening club, and the trim of the building shines.
            “Let’s go around back.” I shut off the bike and put our helmets away. There is a slate path leading around the edge of the building. We pass the greenhouse, where fresh fruits and vegetables are being grown, and a telescope setup for a makeshift observatory.
            In the back, there are kids playing in sprinklers and slip and slides. Others are off to the side eating popsicles. The fun stops as the two of us are noticed.
            “Miss Romanoff, you brought Captain America?” A kid exclaims, dropping his icy treat and racing towards us. Instantly, we are swarmed by kids ranging from five to fifteen.
            “Did you bring your shield?”
            “Can you really bench press a helicopter?”
            “What is it like being really old?” The pepper him with so many questions, until the staff tries to pull them away, they fail.
            “Will you stay for lunch?” another asks. I turn to Steve.
            “Depends on what you’re having.”

            We sit in the cafeteria, where the dining tables are a mix of sizes for the different ages. We find ourselves sitting with the teenagers. They aren’t as boisterous as the kids, and from my reports, I know that they have a harder time than the younger ones, understandably so.
            “What was it like? Waking up in the future?” A boy, sixteen, asks. Most of them focus on Steve throughout lunch. Except for a girl. She has dark hair and eyes, the later trained on me.
            “Hi Kate,” They widen.
            “You know my name?”
            “Of course. Haven’t you heard? I like to befriend archers.” She smiles.
            “You know about my archery?”
            “I’ve heard you could best Hawkeye.” Her smiles widens further. I also know that she is different than a lot of the kids here, with a trust fund as big as Wanda’s and she spends most of the school year at a boarding school in the Berkshires. “I’d love to see you shoot sometime.” I don’t know when I will come back. Being here, it is hard. I subconsciously search for Wanda in the sea of kids. And I think I catch sight of Nate. And of Lila and Cooper. It isn’t right.
            “Now?” She stands up, pushing back her chair.
            “Now?” I repeat.
            “Yes. Let’s go.” Kate Bishop is nothing like Wanda. She walks with her shoulders pushed back and head held high. She exudes confidence.
            “I’m almost fifteen,” She explains as we enter the range. “Hawkeye saved my life, back in the invasion of New York.”
             “He did?” I lean back on the fence, watching her take her position.
            “Our penthouse was blown up. My dad was just gone, his office and everything. Hawkeye saw me and saved me, bringing me down to the ground.” She fires her first arrow, hitting the bullseye. “You must miss him.
            “I do.” Everyone thinks he was snapped too. He might as well have been. I compliment her shooting and give her some pointers.
            “Do you shoot?”
            “Sometimes.”
            “So, what is it like being on stakeouts?” She continues to talk as we head back inside. “I can’t imagine not being able to talk for that long.”
            “You know,” I smile, thinking fondly of the memory, “Clint thought the same thing. So, we learned sign language so we could talk on stakeouts.”
            “Really? That is so cool. Do you guys use it all the time? Does everyone on the team know it? What are his kids like? His son is my age,” Cooper would be her age now? Fourteen? How is that possible? “Miss Romanoff?”
            “Sorry, Kate. It was great seeing you shoot today. If I ever get the chance, I’ll tell him all about you.”
            “Really?”
            “Of course.” I look to Steve, catching his eye, and nod to the front door.
            “This is an amazing thing you did. This school, it’s a home for them.”
            “Can we please leave?” I think of Lila, the little Hawkeye. Of Cooper and Nate. Wanda. Peter. Kids who aren’t growing older.
            When we get back to the compound, I head straight for the computers, checking for any messages, any calls to action.
            “Nat, Wanda and Yelena would want you to be happy. All of them would.” He sists down on the couch in the suite.
            “You first,” I spin the chair around, “You’re just as miserable as I am. You are throwing yourself into giving therapy to people who lost people in the snap. You aren’t even qualified; you have an art degree!”
            “What else am I supposed to do?”
            “Move on. Get a job, go on dates, get married, have kids. I don’t know.”
            “You aren’t being fair. You know,” The computer pings, a red banner flashing across in my peripheral vision.
            “Is that a guy with a sword?” Steve leans over my shoulder. I had Friday setup auto alerts for anytime there is a katana being used. Most of the time, it is false alarms. But this isn’t. And the location is New York City. The person on the screen is dressed in black, swinging the sword, slicing open another. I recognize the person’s build and movements. And the reasoning behind Rhodey sending me all throughout the Americas is now making sense. He had his suspicions. They are now confirmed.
            “We should call the police.”
            “Don’t,” I ask, “Please.”
            “Nat, we are witnessing,”
            “Please, Steve.” I turn to him, “Please.” He looks at me for a long moment. And then he nods.
            “Okay.”

            After that day with Steve at the orphanage and seeing Clint, I force myself to appear better. I try to joke more often, though my wry sense of humor seems to be long gone, and most of my jokes fall flat. I eat more consistently, even if it just sandwiches, and begin to tape up my hands again while boxing. On the outside, I look like I am going okay. Or better. Okay is a stretch, even I admit that. A week after our fight, or disagreement, Steve comes back with his laundry. He continues to show up, laundry bag in hand. Once, I catch him cleaning fresh laundry.
            “So, you just come to do laundry?” I ask one day, leaning on the door jam.
            “And to see a friend,” He admits. What do you want me to be? He had asked all those years ago. How ‘bout a friend? I had answered. But we were more than that, and I took it away.
            “You could at least continue to cook if you’re going to take up the washing machines,” I try to tease.
            “You want to eat whatever I manage to cook? After last time?”
            “I guess not,” I force out a smile. This banter used to come easy. I’m not sure if Steve notices how forced this all feels, trying to be my old self again.
            Upstate New York begins to thaw out by the second week of March, spring arriving early. Crocuses force their way up out of long frozen ground. I sort through the mail, paying the bills. Maintenance for the farm, including workers to harvest. Housekeepers for the apartments and vacation homes. Wanda’s phone bill, and Yelena’s.
            I get a notification, an earthquake off the coast of Africa. I send a message to Okoye, who rarely answers. There is a meeting today, maybe I can bring it up then, if she shows. Most of them don’t show for the monthly check-ins I have set up. Just Rhodey and me. Part of me thinks that soon he will tire of this game as well.
            I sign off and head to the gym and firing range, working out until my muscles are sore. As I get back to my acquired suite and catch my reflection in the mirror, I can see that I look healthier than I did a year or two ago. I don’t look so much like a ghost. After my shower, I wrap my hair up in a towel and sit down at the computer. Friday picked up on a small anomaly in San Francisco two days ago, and there is yet to be a reoccurrence based on current readings. There is an email from Rocket as well, pissed about his latest task. The little creature always seems angry about something.
             After brushing out my hair and changing into clean clothes, it just about time for the meeting. I even braided back a section, trying to look presentable. There should be just enough time for me to make lunch. I had just taken down the jar of peanut butter from the cabinet when the computer pings.
            “Got enough for two?” Rhodey asks.
            “Sorry, I’ll finish after,”
            “We’ve all got to eat, Nat. Listen, we have to talk about,” Nebula and Rocket appear, followed by Okoye. We have a full house.
            “Yeah, we boarded that highly suspect war ship Nebula pinged,” The raccoon starts, not even waiting for greetings. I finish making my sandwich, cutting it in half and heading over the table.
            “It was an infectious garbage scow,” The alien scoffs.
            “It was your idea,”
            “It appeared suspect,” She defends.
            “And now we smell like garbage!”
            “You get a reading on those tremors?” I cut off the bickering partners, directing my attention to Okoye.
            “Twas a mild subduction under the African plate.”
            “Do we have a visual? How are we handling it?”
            “Nat,” she sighs, “It’s an earthquake under the ocean. We handle it by not handling it.”
            “Anyone else have anything they’d like to add to the discussion? I saw something weird in San Francisco,”
            “We probably won’t make it in next month,” Rocket adds, “We’re headed into deep space. Not sure we’ll have a connection.”
            “All right, uh, well, this channel’s always active. So, if anything goes sideways, anyone’s making trouble where they shouldn’t, comes through me.”
            “Okay.” They begin to sign off, and I sink down into my seat, staring at my sandwich. There is a flicker out of the corner of my eye. Rhodey.
            “Where are you?” I cross my arms.
            “Mexico. The federales found a room full of bodies. Cartel guys. Never even had a chance to get their guns off.”
            “It was probably a rival gang,” I don’t meet his eyes, we both know who it is.
            “Except that it isn’t. It is definitely Barton. What he’s done here, what he’s been doing for the last few years,” Rhodes pauses, “I mean, the scene that he left, I got to tell you, there’s a part of me that doesn’t even want to find him.”
            “Will you find out where he’s going next?” I pick up my sandwich, taking a bite out of it, and look up for the first time in this conversation. There are tears in my eyes.
            “Nat?”
            “Please?” I ask again, swallowing the lump of peanut butter in my throat. But the feeling doesn’t go away.
            “Okay.” He sighs heavily and signs off, leaving me alone in the compound once more. I don’t know what I am going to do. How can I bring him back from this? I bury my face in my hands, taking a deep shaky breath. I can’t fall apart again. I can’t keep doing this.
            “You know, I’d offer to cook you dinner, but you seem pretty miserable already.” I glance over, seeing Steve leaning against Tony’s bookcase.
            “You here to do you laundry?” I fall into our routine.
            “And to see a friend.”
            “Clearly your friend is fine.” I clasp my hands together, giving a strained smile.
            “You know I saw a pod of whales when I was coming over the bridge.”
            “In the Hudson?” I ask, incredulously, sitting up slightly.
            “You know, there’s fewer ships, cleaner water.” I cross my arms, seeing where this is going. He must have had a group right before driving up here.
            “You know, if you’re about to tell me to look on the bright side, um, I’m about to hit you in the head with a peanut butter sandwich.” I raise my eyebrows, my smile tightening further.
            “Sorry, force of habit.” He comes over the dining table, setting down his keys. I slide my sandwich over to him, my appetite gone. We fall into silence for a beat. “You know I keep telling everyone they should move on, grow. Some do. But not us.
            “If I move on, who does this?” I gesture lightly to the room, choked up.
            “Maybe it doesn’t need to be done.”
            “I used to have nothing. And then I got this. This job. This family.” For the first time in a while, I find myself smiling as I think of my family, crowded around the table at the farm, a mix of languages and powers, pets running underfoot. The now familiar tears soon accompany the fond memory, “And I was better because of it. And even though they’re gone, I’m still trying to be better.”
            “I think we both need to try to move on.”
            “You first.” I hold his gaze. Steve hasn’t move on either. He is still here, with me. There is a chime from the computer, and a small hologram pops up in my face. I swipe, seeing who could possibly be at the front gates. Maybe Steve ordered food on his way here? It cuts to a video of a man, jumping up and down, waving. Yelling something about ants.
            “Who the hell is that?”

Chapter Text

              “Oh, hi, hi! Uh, is anyone home? This is, uh, Scott Lang. We met a few years ago, here. You might know Ant-Man?”
            “Is this an old message?” Steve jumps up from his seat.
            “It’s the front gate.”
            “Oh my God.”
            “Who the hell is that?” I repeat.
            “He attacked the compound a while back.”
            “He did what?” Steve unlocks the gate, and the man climbs back into his van. “And you’re letting him in? When did he attack the compound?” I ask, pulling on my sweatshirt.
            “You were at the farm; it was right before the Fourth of July, the one with the shaving cream?” He looks back to me, “But Nat, none of that matters. He was on the list.”
            “What? A terrorist watch list?” Steve goes over to the computer, clicking around and pulling up the database of those snapped in the United States. He goes to L, and then S. Scott Lang.
            “How? How is he back?” There is knocking on the front door.
            “I guess we’re about to find out.” Maybe people are coming back? One by one? Maybe others have come back, and it hasn’t been noticed yet? Maybe he is the first one. I can have my family back, my girl. I stride towards the front door, opening it wide. The man looks like he hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in a few days. He paces, mumbling to himself.
            “This guy attacked the compound?”
            “He gave Sam a real beating. I was sworn to secrecy. No way you would have let him live that down.” Steve jokes, looking more animated than he has in years. Hope has returned to him as well. The man seems lost in his head, and definitely not capable enough to have staged an attack on the Avenger’s compound.
            “What is going on with him?”
            “Scott,” Steve asks, transforming into Captain America with a change in tone, “Are you okay?
            “What? Yeah,” He rubs his face, “Have either of you guys ever studied quantum physics?”
            “Only to make conversation.” I can feel Steve’s gaze move towards me slightly. I have enough of an understanding, though I can’t imagine where this going.
            “Okay, well, five years ago, right before Thanos, I was in the quantum realm. It is like its own microscopic universe. To get in there, you have to be incredibly small. Hope, she’s my um,” He pauses, “She was my, she was supposed to pull me out. And then Thanos happened, and I got stuck in there.”
            “I’m sorry, that must have been a very long five years.” Five years of just waiting. Existing. Perhaps not all that different than this.
            “Except it wasn’t. For me, it was five hours. The rules of the quantum realm aren’t like they are up here. Everything is unpredictable. Is that anybody’s sandwich? I’m starving.” He runs over to the table, grabbing the peanut butter sandwich, seeming not to care that a bite was taken out of it.
            “Scott, what are you talking about?” Steve tries to get the man back on track.
            “So,” he talks with his mouth full, gesturing with the white bread, “So, what I’m saying is time works differently in the quantum realm. The only problem is right now, we don’t have a way to navigate it, but what if we did? I can’t stop thinking about it.” Steve looks at me almost apologetically for letting this man into the compound. “What if we could somehow control the chaos, and we could navigate it? What if there was a way that we could enter the quantum realm at a certain point in time but then exit the quantum realm at another point in time? Like, like before Thanos.” Honestly, it isn’t the worst idea I have ever heard. It almost makes sense. It might even work. We could go back and undo the Snap or stop it from happening in the first place.
            “Wait, are you talking about a time machine?” 
            “No. No, of course not. No, not a time machine. This is more like a, yeah, like a time machine. I know. I know it’s crazy, but I can’t stop thinking about it. There’s got to be a way to, some way, it’s crazy.” His shoulders slump as he begins to become dejected.
            “Scott,” I interject, “I get emails from a raccoon, so nothing sounds crazy anymore.”
            “So, who do we talk to about this?”
            “Tony, he is the only one who would be able to build something like this. Maybe with help from you two and Bruce?”
            “We can’t go to Tony with some half-baked idea about time travel. I’m not giving him false hope.” I try to curb my own expectations.
            “It can work,” Scott assures me. I pull up a projection, reading his profile.
            “You’re a convicted felon.”
            “I did bad things for the right reasons. And you’ve done some stuff too.” He seems to wither under my gaze.
            “But I’ve never been convicted.” I read further, “You have a master’s degree in electrical engineering from Stanford. And you have a daughter.”
            “Cassie, she’s older now. Sixteen.”
            “Okay.” I cross my arms.
            “Okay?” He looks between Steve and me.
            “Let’s give it a go. You develop a plan; we’ll propose it to Tony tomorrow. And you need to sleep. You look like shit. You can sleep in Sam’s room since apparently, you kicked his ass already.”
            I turn around and head towards the gym, my feet moving quickly, nearly a run. My footfalls echo in the empty halls against the tile floors.
            “Nat,” I spin around.
            “Where are you going?”
            “I don’t know, I just needed to,” I’m not sure what my plan was. “You all thought I was crazy.”
            “What?”
            “I mentioned it when it first happened. I told you, all of you, that we could use quantum physics to create a portal of some kind, maybe coupled with Asgardian magic. You all thought I was crazy.”
            “You were grieving; we didn’t think,”
            “No shit.” I stomp away, furious. Angry at myself for not pushing. At him, them, for not believing me. But I also know that Scott understands the quantum realm in ways that I don’t, that Tony doesn’t. Without him, we never would have gotten there. I try to talk myself down with logic. We also don’t even know if it will work.
            “Nat,”
            “What?” I throw the knife, and it is off-center, just barely inside the bullseye. Steve gently turns me around to face him.
            “We’re going to get them back. All of them.”
            “You can’t make that kind of promise.”
            “But I am, and we will.”

            In the morning, Scott seems to be at least slightly rested. He presents his idea to us before we get in the car to head over to Tony’s house on the other side of the lake. Though normally Steve and I run or walk there with ease, it doesn’t seem like the self-monikered Ant-Man has been hit with a super-soldier serum.
            We arrive in the compound’s car, a silver Audi coup, with Scott squeezed into the small backseat. Tony is carrying Morgan up the porch steps as we get out of the car, a piece of Pepper’s new surprise suit in hand. I nod to him, and Morgan jumps out of his arms.
            “Auntie Nat!” She exclaims, dashing toward me.
            “Morguna,” I sweep her up in my arms.
            “I found Mommy’s anniversary present.”
            “Which she won’t be telling Mommy about,” Tony comes down to join us. “Nat, good to see you. Steve, it’s been a bit.” His eyes move behind me, “Who is this?”           
            “Scott Lang,” He extends his hand towards the engineer, who doesn’t reciprocate.
            “The guy who attacked the compound?”
            “Did everyone know about that but me?” I put down Morgan, who reaches into my jacket pocket, pulling out the candy bar I brought her and rushing into the house with her present.
            “Tony, can we talk?”
            “I can’t imagine what you need to talk about with him here.”
            “Please, Tony?” He turns around and heads up onto the porch. The other two men look to me. I wave them forward to the house.
            Scott dives into the pitch he gave Steve and me this morning as Tony pours coffee into mugs.
            “We know what it sounds like,” Scott finishes. Steve jumps in,
            “Tony, after everything you’ve seen, is anything really impossible?” I take a mug from Tony, and I can already tell he hates the idea.
            “Quantum fluctuation messes with the Planck scale which then triggers the Deutsch Proposition. Can we agree on that?” Tony looks to Scott and me as he hands Steve his coffee as well. “In layman’s terms, it means you’re not coming home.”
             “I did.” Scott butts in.
            “No. You accidentally survived. It’s a billion to one cosmic fluke. And now you want to pull a, what do you call it?”
            “A time heist,” Scott names it. And it sounds ridiculous.
            “A time heist. Of course. Why didn’t we use this idea before when Nat came up with it? Because it’s a pipe dream.”
            “The stones are in the past. We could go back; we could get them,” Steve argues.
            “We can snap our own fingers,” I join the conversation, “We can bring everyone back.”
            “Or screw it up worse than he already has? Nat,”
            “I don’t believe we would,” Steve cuts Tony off.
            “Got to say, I sometimes miss that giddy optimism, been a while since I’ve seen it. However, high hopes won’t help if there’s no logical, tangible way for me to safely execute said time heist. I believe the most likely outcome will be our collective demise.”
            “Not if we strictly follow the rules of time travel, all right? That means no talking to our past selves. No betting on sporting events,” I should have done the pitch. Or the talking. I pinch the bridge of my nose.
            “I’m going to stop you right there, Scott. Are you seriously telling me that your plan to save the universe is based on Back to the Future?
            “No,”
            “Good, because that would be horseshit. That’s not how quantum physics works.
            “Tony, we have to take a stand.” I try to redirect the conversation away from Lang.
            “We did stand, yet here we are.”
            “We could bring Wanda back, Yelena. Sam. Maria. Peter.” He looks away. “We have a chance, Tony.
            “I’m sorry, Red. I know what you lost, what everyone lost. But,” The screen door swings open, and Morgan flies out, jumping into her dad’s arms.
            “Mommy told me to come save you,”
            “Good job, I’m saved.” He stands up from his seat, “I wish you were coming here to ask me something else, anything else. If you want to stay, the table is set for six.”
            “Tony, I get it. And I’m happy for you. I am. But this is a second chance.” Steve implores.
            “I got my second chance right here Cap. Can’t roll the dice on it. If you don’t talk shop, you can stay for lunch.”
            “I think we’re going to head out.” I stop leaning back on the wood porch post, speaking for the other two men. Tony puts down Morgan, sending her inside.
            “Natasha, it isn’t that I don’t want them all back,”
            “You’re just not willing to do what has to be done to do so.”
            “I’m sorry.”
            “You’re a coward.” I step off the porch and head toward the car.
            “He’s scared.”
            “That is never an excuse. Bravery is acting despite having fear, not the absence of it.”  I recall telling Wanda a similar sentiment seven years ago. It is ironic now that I realize it was while Scott attacked the compound. “He isn’t wrong to be scared. I don’t fault him for it. But he is no less of a coward.”
            “What are we going to do?” Scott asks as we get back in the car. “We need him.”
            “We have to ask someone else.”

Bruce is easy to get on board. He had been living with the guilt of failure like Steve and me, unable to move on. It is unnerving to see the Hulk in casual form, wearing a t-shirt and cardigan, but if it makes him happy. I did scooch closer to Steve in the diner when we sat down.
            But now, just a few days later, we are gathered in one of the hangars on the compound with Scott’s van parked inside. Steve and I had gone for a run earlier this morning, and I’m feeling lighter than I have in years.
            “We’re going to do it,” I nudge Steve as we head over to the controls Bruce set up. “We’re going to get them back.”
            “We’ll have to celebrate,” He smiles at me.
            “I’ll owe you a dance.”
            “I’ll hold you to it,” He goes to the other side of the Bruce-Hulk hybrid.
            “Okay, here we go. Time travel test number one.” He announces, “Scott, fire up the van thing.”
            “Breakers are set; emergency generators are on standby,” Steve confirms.
            “Good, because if we blow off the grid, I don’t want to lose Tiny here in the 1950s.” Bruce jokes.
            “Excuse me?” Scott’s face pales.
             “He’s kidding,” I assure the time traveler, “You can’t say things like that.” I hold back a laugh.
            “It was a bad joke.”
            “You were kidding, right?” I check, whispering to Bruce.
            “I have no idea. We’re talking about time travel here. Either it's all a joke or none of it is.” He directs his attention back to Scott, “We’re good. Get your helmet on. I’m going to send you back a week, let you walk around for an hour, then bring you back in ten seconds. Make sense?”
            “Perfectly not confusing.” Scott gives a thumbs up.
            “Good luck Scott. You’ve got this.”
            “You’re right. I do, Captain America.” Oh God, a fanboy.
            “On the count of three, two one,” Bruce tries to bring Scott back, but instead we get a young boy.
            “Guys, this doesn’t feel right,” The boy stares at us.
            “What is this?” Steve.
            “What’s going on?
            “Who is that? Is that Scott?” I step closer.
            “Yes, it's Scott.” Then an older man, then a baby. Steve runs over to me, and I reach out, grabbing his hand.
            “When I say kill the power, kill the power,” Bruce commands.
            “Oh my god.” I rush over to the breaker.
            “And kill it!” I pull the lever, and an adult, normal-aged Scott appears on the platform.  
            “That was horrible.”
            “Oh, thank God.” I put a hand to my chest. “I need to get some air.” I head outside, Steve close behind.
            “You okay?”
            “Fine. Just wondering if maybe bending the laws of space and time isn’t going to be as easy as I thought.” I give a wry smile.
            “We’ll get there. It will just take some more experimenting. Changing some things,” An engine roars in the distance. I glance out and see Tony’s car racing down the main roadway through the compound.
            “Is he here to gloat?” I cross my arms. His sportscar pulls to a stop in front of us, and Tony climbs out.
            “Why the long faces? Wild guess, he turned into a baby?”
            “Among other things,” Steve answers begrudgingly. “What are you doing here?
            “It’s the EPR paradox,” Tony explains.
            “Instead of pushing Scott through time, we pushed time through Scott,” I finish Tony’s explanation.
            “Regardless, I fixed it. Thank God I’m here.” He tosses a bracelet to Steve. “That is a fully functioning time-space GPS.”

            “We got a shot at getting these Stones. But I have to tell you my priorities. Bring back what we lost? I hope, yes. But keep what I’ve got? I have to, at all costs. And maybe not die trying would be nice.”
            “Sounds like a deal.” I agree.
            “We’re getting the whole team, right?” Tony asks me.
            “Now that we have a plan? Yes.”

            In the quinjet, I do something I promised I never would. I hack into Clint’s hearing aids for the location tracking. It was put in by Tony to sync with Clint’s phone to be able to find the pair if they were misplaced on the farm or lost during a mission.
            I log into the Stark databases, remove the lock on the location data, and match it up with the GPS on the quinjet. Tokyo. How in God’s name did he get to Japan?
            Bruce had called in the space cadets, and now they are on their way to get Thor. I rejected Steve’s offer to come with me to find Clint. Truth be told, I don’t know who I am going to find.
            It is raining when I land in Tokyo. This is my first time back here since my mission with Yelena five years ago. We sang karaoke. A lifetime ago. I follow the GPS on my phone, winding through the narrow streets. Of course Clint would pick a fight with the Yakuza. I can hear the clanking of metal swords. And as I round the corner, I see a black hooded figure plunge the sword into a man’s chest as he begs for help. The streets already wet with rain, begin to run with blood. There are other bodies littering the sideway, as killed in a similar fashion. The figure removes his hood and pulls off his mask, revealing my best friend.
            “You shouldn’t be here.” He acknowledges my presence for the first time.
            “Neither should you.” Clint turns around to face me, looking worn and haggard. The past five years haven’t been kind to him.
            “I’ve got a job to do.”
            “Is that what you’re calling this?” I try not to sound too hard, but I don’t think I succeed. “Killing all these people isn’t going to bring your family back.” He looks down. “We found something. A chance, maybe.” I come closer, staying dry under the shelter of my umbrella.
            “Don’t.”
            “Don’t what?”
            “Don’t give me hope.” His harsh demeanor cracks as tears form in his eyes.
            “I’m sorry I couldn’t give it to you sooner.” I take his hand in mine. “You’re coming back with me. We’re going to get them back, all of them.”
            He takes the umbrella from me, holding it over us both as we walk through the streets. Our last conversation plays in my mind, and I’m sure it does his as well.
            “I killed Ronan.” I look over at him under the safety of the umbrella.
            “What?”
            “No matter what happens after this, whether we fail or succeed, Ronan is dead. I stopped him and you witnessed it. He will never carry out justice again.” We get to the quinjet, and I open up the gangplank. It is warm and dry. “I packed you a change of clothes. Get changed and join me up front.”
            He does as I ask, and rejoins me in the cockpit, changed into the sweatpants and tank top I had prepared. A sleeve of tattoos now completely covers one arm.
            “That is a new look.”
            “I added to it with each kill.”
            “Surprised your whole body isn’t covered then.” 
            “How would you know?” He snaps.
            “Who do you think was investigating all those deaths? And I covered up a few as well. You got sloppy in New York.”
            “Nat,”
            “You left me. I was your family too, Clint.” I thought I was. I thought that I was his sister. Maybe I was wrong. Perhaps I overvalued my friendship with him, our relationship.
            “You still are.”
            “Am I?” I lean back in the seat, putting on cruise control.
            “I’m sorry, Tash. I just felt like I didn’t have any control. Like I was spiraling, like, well, you get it.”
            “Did you ever think about coming to see me?” I ask, not wanting to hear the answer. He doesn’t want to give it.
            “Your hair is red again,” is what he says instead, “And long. And you look older.”
            “So do you.”
            “I’m sorry for leaving you and for not coming back.”
            “You can buy me a drink when all of this is over. And I will pay for your tattoo removal.”
            “I think it’s kind of cool.”
            “Laura is going to hate it.”
            “Yeah, you’re right.” He smiles at me. “Maybe we get matching tattoos. I’ll get an hourglass, and you get an arrow.” He jokes, but it isn't funny. We aren't there yet.
            “You can’t go undercover if you have tattoos. It’s too risky.”
            “You’re not going to retire? Even after all this? You’ve been running the Avengers alone for five years.”
            “How would you know that?” I shift the jet out of cruise control as we near New York.
            “I did keep track of you a little bit. Saw some newspaper articles. Read about your orphanage.”
            “There is a girl there who claims to be the next Hawkeye. So if you want back on the team, just know you have competition.”
            “I’ve missed you, Nat.” He reaches over and places a hand on my arm.
            “I’ve missed you too.”

We arrive back at the compound and head into the main building. Inside, everyone is gathered around the dining table, about to eat dinner. Based on the food, spaghetti, my guess is that Steve cooked.
            Rhodey and Steve both glare at Clint when we come in, while Tony whistles upon seeing his tattoos.
            “Damn, Barton. You look like one of those stress-relieving coloring books.”
            “Is that a raccoon?”
            “That’s Rocket, and that’s Nebula.” I sit down at the table next to Steve, with Clint sitting on the other side. Somehow, I ended up at the head.
            “You know, Barton, you’ve caused me a lot of headaches over the past five years.” Rhodey rips off a piece of his bread.
            “Sorry about that.”
            “You done now? Or do I have to lock your ass up?”
            “I was doing the world a favor,” He mutters under his breath. I kick him in the shins.
            “Great job on dinner, Steve.” I forcefully shift the conversation. “Did you guys get a lot done while I was gone?”
            “We should be ready for our first test run tomorrow morning.”
            “Wow, we’re really doing this.” I feel a genuine smile blossom. Clint heads into his suite after dinner to shower and others head to the guest suites or their own. Tony heads home.
            “You want to see the machine?” Steve offers as we finish clearing the plates.
            “Of course.” The temperature has dropped with the sun, as the unseasonably warm weather seems to disappear. Steve removes his leather jacket, placing it over my shoulders.
            We arrive at the hangar, and I marvel at the giant glowing platform in the center of the room. I can’t believe how much they got done in the short amount of time I was gone.
            “This is it, isn’t it? It’s happening.” I lean against him.
            “You’re the only one who never gave up.”
            “I had to know we were going to get them back. There wasn’t another option.”
            “You know, I once told Wanda that I don’t have faith in much anymore, but I do have faith in you. And I’m sorry that I forgot that.”
            “You have faith in me?”
            “I’ve never been more sure about anything that I am about you. You’re my compass, Nat.” He presses a piece of cold metal into my hand. I look down and see the compass I rescued from the plane twelve years ago. When I pop it open, I see my picture there instead of Peggy’s.
            “I think you might need Tony’s GPS instead,” I joke, handing him back the compass.
            “I’ll need you too.”
            “Don’t be a hero, okay? Whatever happens over the next few days,”
            “Only if you can promise the same.”
            We get back to the main building and head into my suite. I wash up for bed and he joins me, an unspoken shift in our dynamic. He doesn’t move to kiss me, or anything passionate, but instead our sides touch, and our heartbeats match.
            I awake in the morning to yelling. Steve is gone, his spot still warm. I open up the door to see him and Clint at each other’s throats.
            “It is early, even for me. What the hell are you two doing?” I untangle my hair from its loose braid.
            “Just having a discussion.”
            “I’m pretty sure you woke the whole compound.”
            “I went to look for you, you weren’t in your suite. I got worried,” Clint explains.
            “So now you worry,” Steve bites. I cross my arms, looking at the two men.
            “Whatever this pissing contest is, it can wait until after breakfast. You are both angry and honestly, I don’t feel like playing ref.”
            I head back into the suite with Steve trailing behind me like a kicked dog. When I turn to face him, he at least has the sense to look embarrassed.
            “We were arguing about,”
            “I know what you were arguing about. And I don’t need you to defend me.”
            “But you just forgave him,”
            “I did.”
            “He hurt you.”
            “He did.”
            “I saw it, what it did to you. Nat,”
            “Steve, I used to go on killing sprees a lot. A few times a year. I’ve done what, maybe two or three since we met? I understand this need he had for justice, that he needed to right wrongs and balance the scales. Do I agree with what he did? No. But he took me in after every single time when I would show up on his doorstep covered in the blood of men, and he would take me in without a lick of judgement.”
            “But you weren’t abandoning him. He hadn’t just lost his entire family. You would have never done that. You didn’t do that. You stayed here; you have stayed here. When the rest of us couldn’t,”
            “Someone had to. If I hadn’t, no one would have been here for Scott or have found Clint or stayed connected with Rocket and Nebula.”
            “I was wrong when I said someone didn’t have to anymore.”
            “The world didn’t want the Avengers, but they needed them.”
            “Avenger. It was all you, Nat.” Steve's smile graces his face. We go for a run around the lake, and we wave to Pepper and Morgan, who are uncovering the plants from their burlap, officially welcoming spring. Tony is already on his way over.
            I take a quick shower and change into fresh clothes. And then I realize I am the only one left in this area of the compound. I enter the hangar just in time to see Clint step onto the platform.
            “Alright Clint, we’re going in three, two, one,”
            “What is he doing? Clint!” I rush forward and am held back by Steve. Then he is gone. “What the fuck Bruce?” I round on the Hulk, my fists tightening.
            “He volunteered, Nat.” He puts his large hands up in the air.
            “Then tell him no!”
            “We’ve got thirty seconds until he comes back.”
            “He shouldn’t have gone. Scott is the one with experience,”
            “Scott chickened out,” Rhodey cuts in. I send a scathing look over to the man, who withers under my gaze.
            “Ten seconds,” Bruce counts down, “Here he comes!
            Clint is screaming as he lands on the platform, crouching on all fours. I break away from the group, sprinting up the ramp.
            “Hey, hey,” I place a hand on his shoulder, “Hey, look at me. Are you okay?” I help him to his feet, touching his forehead, and checking his hearing aids.
            “Yeah,” He beams, “Yeah, it works,” He taps me with a baseball glove, Cooper’s baseball glove. He turns to Tony, tossing it to him, “It worked.”
            “It worked!” I turn to Steve, “It worked!” He picks me up, spinning me around.
            “Are they dating?” Rocket whispers.
            “Honestly, I don’t even know at this point,” Tony replies. Our celebration of being able to time travel is short-lived as we realize we now need to figure out a way to get the Stones with only eight Pym particles.
            “Worst case,” I point out, “We can always go back in time and get more if we screw up.”
            “But only if we have Pym particles near the Stones and we don’t know where the Stones are.”
            “I think we should first go back in time and get more, before any of this.” None of them seem to agree.
            “We could screw that up more,” Bruce disagrees.
            “But we have eight chances, rather than a single shot to get this right,” I argue.
            “We should have used the test run particle to go back and get more.”
            “It is too late now,” Scott points out, we only have enough to get the Stones.”
            “Okay, so the how works,” Steve begins, trying to get us back on track, “Now we’ve got to figure out the when and the where. Almost everyone in this room has had an encounter with at least one of the six Infinity Stones.”
            “Or substitute the word encounter for damn near been killed,” Tony cuts Steve off. This is not the part of being on a team that I missed. Perhaps I had romanticized it a bit, forgetting how much bickering went into every plan and every mission.
            “Well, I haven’t. But I don’t even know what the hell you’re all talking about.” Scott interrupts. Rhodey, who sits beside me, sighs. He seems fed up with the team thing already as well.

            “Regardless, as we just discussed, we only have enough Pym Particles for one round trip each. I just don’t think we should risk using them for anything other than getting the stones. And these stones have been in a lot of different places throughout history.”
            “Our history. So not a lot of convenient spots to just drop in, yeah?”
            “Which means we have to pick our targets,” Clint speaks up. After going into a crash course on each Stone, we are no closer to finding a way to get them.
            The next day we had moved from the conference room to my suite, and it has become a mess with papers and books from brainstorming. I look down at my notebook, descriptions of every Stone scrawled out.
            The sun is beginning to rise, and the only ones awake are me, Tony, and Bruce. We moved back to the conference room, and are surrounded by somehow even more books. Tony and I lie across the table, while Bruce is on the floor, all of us struggling to stay away.
            “The time stone guy,”
            “Dr. Strange,” Bruce answers.
            “Yeah, what kind of doctor was he?” I twirl my pen between my fingers.
            “Ear-nose-throat meets rabbit-from-hat,” Tony shifts on his pillow.
            “Nice place in the village, though.” The Village?
            “Yeah, on Sullivan Street?”
            “Bleeker Street,” 
            “Wait,” I stop them both, “He lived in New York?” My mind begins to race
            “Yeah,” Bruce confirms.
            “No, he lived in Toronto.”
            “No, on the corner of Bleeker and Sullivan! Have you been listening to anything?” The Hulk is starting to show a bit more, but I honestly couldn’t care.
            “Guys, if you pick the right year, there are three Stones in New York.”
            “Shut the front door,” They sit up, looking at me.
            “We’ve got our where and when.”

            The teams are broken up, and the plan begins to become more concrete. I sat with Steve, breaking up the team through the morning. He was hurt when I said I wanted to work with Clint.
            “It isn’t personal, Old Man,” I write our names together on the board, Barton and Romanoff.
            “I’m still mad at him,”
            “And you can continue to stay mad at him after we save the world, again.” At lunch, we present the list to our larger team, along with the assignments.
            “We need to talk about something else. Before we get the Stones.”
            “Let’s hear it, Red.”
            “How we are going to undo the Snap. I think that we should undo it entirely, bring us back to 2018.”
            “Woah, woah,” Tony intercepts.
            “I agree with Nat,” Steve nods. “So many people had suffered.”
            “We would be erasing people from existence by doing that,” Bruce joins Tony’s argument, “Anyone who had been born in the last five years.”
            “Would we know? You know, since we are doing the time heist? Or would we just not know too? I’d like to make it so it never happened, get to see my daughter grow up.”
            “Not to mention all the people who died in the Snap in car accidents and plane crashes," Rhodey adds.
            “And I know Morgan now. She was just an infant when the Snap happened. What if she isn’t the same in the new version of the world and I have to live with that?”
            “What are people going to do about their homes that were bought? This is going to create chaos. Or people who were snapped while in a plane or on a boat? They would just die as soon as they are brought back.” Rhodey disagrees with his best friend.
            “So, can everyone agree, we undo the Snap entirely? Bring us all back to 2018? Like none of this ever happened?” I look to Tony. “This isn’t a cut the wire situation, Tony.”
            “I guess I’m laying down on it.”
            “We’ll head out tomorrow at seven. Everyone get some rest.” Steve breaks up the meeting.
            I find Clint on the roof later in the afternoon and he hands me a bottle of vodka, the one I store in the vents.
            “It’s been a while since I’ve come up here.” We have a view of the lake with the setting sun reflecting off it.
            “You scared?” He asks as I sit down next to him, our feet dangling over the edge.
            “Of course. But by this time tomorrow, we could have our kids back. Our family. We could be having dinner at the farm, maybe not even knowing any of this ever happened.”
            “I think we’ll remember.”
            “Then that will be our burden to bear.”
            “I’ll remember abandoning you. And you still being kind and understanding, even when I don’t deserve it.”
            “Good, so you’ll remember how great of a friend I am.”
            “You’re my best friend, Nat. The best friend anyone could have. I love you.”
            “I love you too, Clint.” I wrap an arm around him, and surprise flickers across his face.
            “If I die tomorrow,”
            “You won’t,”
            “If I do, tell them I love them. Okay?”
            “You’ll tell them yourself, and they already know.”
            “Since when are you an optimist?”
            “I just can’t imagine this not working.” I stand up, “I’ll see you downstairs, okay? Don’t catch a cold and make me fly solo tomorrow.”
            I head down the metal stairs and into my suite where Steve is waiting, going over the plan. We regroup for dinner, chatting over leftover Chinese food and sharing things about loved ones lost. As I head to bed, my heart is full. For the first time since the Snap, I sleep soundly without the pills.
            In the morning I drink my coffee at the conference table next to Steve and Clint. None of us say anything, and for now it seems as though the animosity between the two has been set aside.
            We head back to our suites after, all of us too nervous to eat anything. I braid back a section of my hair in the front, and then gather the rest together, the long rope resting on my back. Then pull on the suit, it fits perfectly, just like my widow suit. This morning, I had gone for a run to the cabin and dropped some letters off with Pepper. Just in case. I look at myself in the mirror and recognize the person staring back at me. Her eyes are bright and full of light, her cheeks full and flushed. I look like me. I look like Wanda’s mom.
            We march towards the hangar, the air buzzing with hope. The white building is flooded with early morning light.  I give Tony a nod as we ascend the platform.
            “Five years ago, we lost. All of us. We lost friends. We lost family. We lost a part of ourselves.” Steve shifts closer to me, and our fingers brush. “Today, we have a chance to take it all back. You know your teams. You know your missions. Get the stones. Get them back. One round trip each. No mistakes. No do-overs. Most of us are going somewhere we know. That doesn’t mean we should know what to expect. Be careful. Look out for each other. This is the fight of our lives and we’re going to win.” They all look to me. Tony waves his hand expectantly.
            “Don’t die or I’ll kill you.” I joke, the new members of the team don’t get the inside joke. “But in all seriousness, this is it. This is our chance to undo our mistakes, to bring back those we love. This is a shot at redemption. There aren’t many times in life that you get a second chance, but I got one with this team, with all of you, and we have one now. I’m not one to waste a second chance. Whatever it takes.”
            “All right, you heard them. Stroke those keys Jolly Green,” Tony calls over to Bruce.
            “Trackers are engaged.” Bruce confirms. Rocket hands Clint a shrunken spaceship.
            “You promise to bring that back in one piece, right?”
            “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” The archer waves him off. “I’ll do my best.”
            “As promises go, that was pretty lame.” The raccoon comments. We reform in a circle, with me between Clint and Steve.
            “See you in a minute,” I look over to Steve, smiling. He opens up the palm of his hand, revealing the compass, before sliding it into his suit pocket.
            “In a minute,” He smiles back. Our helmets slide on, and the machine powers up, swirling overhead. And then we are gone.

            We end up on a planet that is dark, like it is in perpetual night. The others are gathered, discussing their plan. An alien skitters around our feet, biting at our ankles. With a swift kick it is sent flying.
            “Hey, can we hurry it up?” Clint looks at the skeletal creature as it runs away.
            “Guys, chop-chop. Come on. We’re on the clock,” We only have so much time.
            “All that, it’s really helpful,” Rhodey jokes. I roll my eyes, laughing. “But we’re ready for you two.” 
            “Take care,” I surprise us both by giving him a hug. Throughout the Snap, even when Steve was gone, Rhodey was still there. He checked in on me more than he had to, he gave me Clint’s info when he could have sent it to any other agent, and probably should have. We’ve known each other for thirteen years now.
            “Take care, okay?”
            “Get that stone and come back, alright? No messing around.”
            “Hey, we got this.” Clint assures him.
            “Let’s get it done.”
            “I’ll see you when we get back.”
            “You guys watch each other’s six,” Rhodey calls after us as we board the ship. Clint and I sit down in the ship, right at the front, and are able to see space fly by. It’s like we’re watching one of Peter and Tony’s Sci-Fi movies.
            “We’re a long way from Budapest.” Clint looks over to me.
            “And from the hotel in Miami.”
            “I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else.”
            “Me neither.” I reach over, grabbing his hand. The ship slows and begins its descent. Our time heist suits have since switched over to our usual uniforms. It has been so long since I had worn this suit. It is just as much a part of me as my hair or my skin.
            “Wow. Under different circumstances, this would be totally awesome.” A piece of my Clint before the Snap shows. The planet is under a solar eclipse, with sliver of lights reflecting off the water, and mountains casting heavy shadows. Thin clouds cover the sky, awash with purples and pinks. I listen to Wanda’s voicemail one more time. Upon hearing her voice, my heart surges, my chest tight. Love you. I love you too, Little Witch. Soon, it will be her and I again. Just a few hours.
            Clint and I begin our hike up the tallest mountain in the area, heading for the stone. The face is rough and uneven, and our steps have to be careful as ice begins to thicken the higher we go. Snow starts to balance on my lashes.
            “I bet the raccoon didn’t have to climb a mountain,” I lament to Clint.
            “Technically, he’s not a raccoon, you know?”
            “Oh, whatever, he eats garbage.” I huff and feel us falling back into a banter. I have my best friend back. All we needed was a mission.
            “Welcome,” A voice echoes. We immediately spin around, drawing our weapons. “Natasha, daughter of Ivan.” My eyebrows rise. Only two people know my parents' names, and it is Clint and me. “Clint, son of Edith.” A cloaked figure stands in the shadows.
            “Who are you?”
            “Consider me a guide to you and to all who see the soul stone.
            “Oh, good. You tell us where it is, then we’ll be on our way,” I assure, my weapon raised once more.
            “Oh, Liebchen,” Darling. “If only it were that easy.” He walks out, heading towards a cliff of ruins. “What you seek lies in front of you. As does what your fear.”
            “The stones down there,” I look over the edge, that never seems to end.
            “For one of you. For the other, in order to take the stone, you must lose that which you love. An everlasting exchange. A soul for a soul.” Clint comes up beside me. The meaning of the statement settles in my heart. I step away, sitting down on a dried-out log. I touch my belt, where a photo sits. Wanda and I reading in the library, a pot of tea between us. Yelena had taken the picture. Both of us were so engrossed in our books we didn’t even notice.
            Clint walks back to the way we came, and we both sit with our thoughts. I take the picture out, and another. It is from bootcamp. Everyone is gathered together, a rare occasion. Even the Barton’s. I know what needs to be done for everyone in that photo to be able to gather again. Almost everyone. I put the pictures back in their spots, and lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees.
            “How’s it going?” Clint walks back over, waving to the cloaked figure. He laughs, strolling over to me. Like he doesn’t get or care about the gravity of the situation. “Jesus. Maybe he's making this shit up.”
            “No. I don’t think so.”
            “Why, because he knows your daddy’s name?”
            “No. Thanos left here with the stone, and without his daughter. It's not a coincidence.”
            “Yeah.”
            “Whatever it takes.” I echo my earlier sentiment.
            “Whatever it takes,” Clint agrees. I stand up from my perch.
            “If we don’t get that stone, billions of people stay dead.”
            “I guess who both know who it's got to be.”
            “I guess we do.” He takes his hand in mine, and I place my other over his, and then look up, meeting his eyes.
            “I’m starting to think we mean different people here, Natasha.”
            “The last five years, I’ve been trying to do one thing: get to right here. That’s all it’s been about. Bringing everybody back.”
            “No, don’t you get all decent on me now.”
            “What, do you think I want to do it? I’m trying to save your life, you idiot.”
            “Yeah, well, I don’t want you to. How’s that? Natasha, you know what I’ve done. You know what I’ve become.”
            “Oh, I don’t judge people on their worst mistakes.”
            “Maybe you should.”
            “You didn’t.”
            “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?” I nod, holding back tears. He leans forward, pressing his forehead to mine. I’m twenty-one again, sitting next to him in the passenger seat of a truck. And now it is my turn.
            “Okay,” He pulls away. “You win.” He gives me a sad smile, his shoulders relaxing. This is it. After thirty-nine years. No widow has ever made it to forty. And neither will I.
            Then my feet are swept out from underneath me. My back slams into the rock, and Clint straddles me, holding me down.
            “Tell my family I love them.” I reach forward, punching him and throwing him off, gaining the upper hand in an instant.
            “You tell them yourself.” I raise my fist and fire a widow’s bite into his chest, electricity flowing through his suit.
            “You can’t kill yourself anyway, remember?” He growls through gritted teeth.
            “The Red Room has nothing on a mother’s love.” I think of Wanda, of her big eyes staring up at me,  her head resting on my chest, the feeling of her powers brushing up against me, of her laugh,  of the feeling over steady heartbeat as she lies beside me. Of her love.
            I look at Clint’s face for the last time, my best friend. He saved me. He gave me this chance at a beautiful life, and I am so grateful for every moment I had. Everything all of it, was worth it.
            I turn and sprint towards the edge, my feet pounding against the stone, each step echoing in my ears.
            Then an explosion throws me off to the side, fire at my feet. I grip my ribs feeling them shatter with the landing. The smoke fills my nose and lungs, but through it I see Clint running, tossing his bow to the side. No. No. He jumps.
            But I do too. My feet carry me faster than I thought possible, and I leap into the air, grabbing Clint. I fire my grappling hook and attach it to him in a single motion. The momentum slings us towards the wall, slamming against the face and my grip on my best friend loosens. Then his tight grip wraps around my wrist, desperate and determined. He looks up at the grappling hook and then down to me, realization hitting him.
            “Damn you,” He strains for my other hand, and I offer it, but it’s too far. This is it. After twenty-two years of fighting to survive. After nearly eighteen years of living. It is my time. My ledger is wiped clean; it is no longer dripping with red. A soul for a soul. And mine is at peace. This is my deliverance.
            I let my hand drop.
            “Wait,” His grip begins to slip.
            “Let me go,” I look up at him, my tears dry. I’m ready.
            “No, please, no,” He shakes his head, his voice breaking.
            “It’s okay,” I whisper, smiling. They call it my Nat smile, the one only my family can see.
            “Please,” He begs.
            “Tell her I love her.” I raise my foot and kick off the wall, The feel of Clint’s familiar hand disappears.
            For a moment, I am weightless. I am Natasha Romanoff. Avenger. Friend. Auntie Nat. Tash. Tasha. Mom. I saved my family. My girl, my little witch. I am Natasha Romanoff. Avenger. Friend. Auntie Nat. Tash. Tasha. Mom. It was her and me.
            I love you, Little Witch.

Chapter Text

            “It’s okay. It’s you and,” The leaves around me begin to change, and I am sitting on the forest floor. Natasha is gone, and Yelena is rising to her feet, her eyes wide.
            “Mom?” I call out, looking around, “Nat?” Only a small portion of our team remains, none of the senior team members nearby. They all look just as confused as I feel. The weather has changed in an instant, becoming colder, crisper. In the distance, the earth is no longer torn up, there is no evidence of a battle. Vision’s body is gone as well.
            “Where is everyone?” Sam adjusts his suit.
            “Mom?” I try again, I fumble for my phone, pulling it out my pocket. The screen is cracked. I call her and it just keeps ringing. “She didn’t answer,” I look to Yelena. “Why wouldn’t she answer? Where is she?” 
            Yelena’s gaze travels over my shoulder. She reaches out and grabs my arm, pulling me behind her. I look and see a hole opening in the sky where I stood seconds ago. She drops down, powering up her wrists. Peter stumbles out, looking worse for wear, accompanied by a man in a cloak.
            “Wanda!” He runs forward and Yelena steps out of the way as he crushes me in a hug. “You were snapped too?”
            “Snapped?” I pull back.
            “Dr. Strange, he’s a wizard,”
            “Who?”
            “He said it’s been five years.” Yelena barks out a laugh.
            “No, Spider-boy. Not possible.” She pats his arm. Based on the way the earth around us has healed from the battle, I’m not so sure. Five years. Nat and I couldn’t haven’t been apart for five years. I would know.
            “We have to go; they need our help.” The wizard begins to move his hands, much in the same way I do to control my powers.
            “What is going on?” The Black Panther demands.
            “Your fight isn’t over.” He looks to me. “Are you all ready?”
            “Five years,” Sam whispers, “That’s not right.”
            “Nat,” I bite my lip, “She can’t have been without us that long, right?” I need someone else to reassure me, as my own mind has already accepted it, even if my heart has not.
            “Is misunderstanding,” Yelena agrees, “But for now,” she removes her batons from her back, “We have a job to do.” The portals begin to open, growing larger by the second. Sam raises a hand to his ear.
            “Hey Cap, you read me? Cap, it’s Sam, can you hear me?” He tries, then steps through the first portal. The compound is before us, or what remains of it, “On your left,” He pops out his wings, flying into the battle.
            My powers search for her in the throes of battle, extending across the compound. And I can’t find her. I deflect a shot of a weapon absentmindedly as I continue to scan, trying to find any trace of her.
            “Where’s Nat?” I ask into the coms. No one answers me. Backup flows off the hillside, coming from behind me as numerous portals continue to open up. Wakandan soldiers march through. “Does anyone copy?” I finally spy Steve as he commands the crowd, calling for Avengers to assemble. Wherever he is in battle, his partner is never far. But Nat isn’t beside him. Maybe there is another battlefield further away, one she is commanding. Yet, everyone else is here but her. Maybe she is already hurt, she is in the city, she didn’t know. She is on her way up. I am forced forward in the battle as everyone around me charges.
            “Wanda,” Yelena runs up beside me, “Give me a boost,” With my powers, I levitate her in the air, encased in red. She nods to a nearby alien flying towards us, “Now!” I fling her forward and she lands on the alien, plunging her batons into his back and taking control, “Now this is fun!” She laughs into her coms.
            Steve is swinging with his shield, as it bounces around like a pinball machine. Everyone is moving quickly, and conversations are rippling through the coms. No one else is discussing how ridiculous this is, they are accepting that we have traveled thousands of miles in seconds. That the laws of space and time have been broken. That we are supposedly five years in the future. They are all focused on the battle. I just want my mom. It wasn’t even an hour ago that I killed Vision. That I felt myself slipping away as Nat held me in her arms.
            “Who gave Robinhood the glove?” Tony quips, his voice on the coms cuts through my thoughts.
             “I promise I don’t want it,” Clint replies.
             “We need to get them back from where they came.” Bruce replies. They are having a conversation of their own, and I finally reach Steve. Clint is otherwise occupied, and Steve is the only other person who will definitely know where she is.
            “Wanda,” He stares at me, catching his shield, and no longer moving with the flow of the war around us.
            “Where is she?” I am out of breath, just getting to him was a feat. “I can’t find her.”
            “I’m sorry,” Tear tracks begin to clear the dirt from his face. “I’m so sorry.”
            “She’s hurt?” My heart leaps into my throat. We took too long to get here. “I can get us to the hospital, fly a quinjet to Cho,” He shakes his head.
            “I’m sorry, Wanda. Nat’s,” His words catch in his throat, “Nat is,” My heart stops beating, and my existence seems to snap once more. Like I am once again disintegrating.
            “No.” I stop him. “No. She can’t be. Don’t say it. You can’t say that!” I shove him back, and he takes it. Steve takes it as I continue to push him back until he falls to the ground.
            The I seem Thanos. He catches my eye, running towards the Black Panther for that fucking glove that they are all going on about. I fly through the air, landing in his path. He pauses, staring at me. Rage builds in my chest, my eyes are filled with hot tears, that I blink away furiously, barely able to see. I feel something building within, swelling.
            “You took everything from me,” I feel my accent bleed through, and my powers are growing stronger by the second, filling every inch of my body.
            “I don’t even know who you are.” He raises his weapon and begins to lumber over to me.
            “You will,” I promise. He killed my mother. He killed my Natasha. The one person in this world who loved me unconditionally, who saw me for who I am, not for who they made me to be. My mom.
            I raise my hands and rise off the ground, with the wreckage of two ships rising as well. I throw one at him, then the other. He deflects them with ease. So, I charge. My hands fly, throwing blast after blast of pure power at him. He steps backward as he deflects each hit, rather than moving forwards. I’m winning. The rest of the battle melts away, and it is just me and him. Thanos makes a last-ditch effort, swinging his blade forward. I bend back as the weapon comes down on me, and my powers deflect it, breaking apart the individual atoms. He pushes harder, but it is futile. The weapons shatters and is flung from his hand.
            I lift him up from the ground, peeling off his armor, bits flake away like it is made of paper mâché. His arms and legs are hyper extended. A part of my wants to rip him limb from limb, slowly. To watch as his muscles begin to tear, for my powers to flow through and for me to feel his heart give out. But that is not what Natasha would want from me. Mercy. She would advocate for mercy. I feel my anger becoming replaced with grief as I think of what she would want. And this isn’t it.
            “Rain fire!” He cries out, catching my full attention once more, “I don’t care just do it,” Blasts start to come down from the sky, and one hits the ground in front of me, sending me flying. I land awkwardly, my powers cushioning me, but my anger returns as I see my teammates diving for cover. As merciful as Natasha is, was, she would not stand to see us hurt. I look to the sky and see the ship firing them. I can’t fly that high, but I know someone who can.
            “Tony,” I speak into the coms for the first time.
            “Little Red? You okay?” He sounds out of breath.
            “I need a lift.”
            “Wanda,” Yelena huffs, “Whatever you do, do not do it,”
            “Ironman, I am asking again as the Scarlet Witch.” I deflect another blast, “Get me on that ship.” 
            Tony swoops down from the sky, grabbing my shoulders.
            “I hope you know what you’re doing, kid.”
            “Drop me on top.” We dodge the laser comes down, and a deflect the ones that get too close. We are close enough now that I can feel the heat radiating off of it. He drops me down and I rip through the metal roof, and land on the floor in a crouch. I lift my head and meet the eyes of two aliens with a smile, immediately snapping their necks.
            It builds in my chest, and I can feel it in my fingers and toes. The power grows, expanding. I throw out my arms and feel the powers rip through me, the ship splitting at the seams. It begins to fall from the sky, and me along with it. I run for the edge, and blast through the window, beginning to dive. I get ready to make a landing as my powers boot up again, but a familiar pair of wings grabs the back of my coat.
            “You know, a heads up would have been nice,” Sam grunts, pulling us away from the falling airship.
             We land on the ground and turn to see Thanos throw something, followed by an explosion of white.
            “We’ve got a problem,” A new voice speaks into the coms. “We need a new plan, ASAP.”
            “Who the hell has the glove?” Tony asks.
            “I’m sorry,” Bruce’s deep voice echoes in our ears. “I shouldn’t have, I’m sorry,” I find him, standing on a mound, Thanos running towards him. One arm is singed, dead. He has slid the gauntlet onto the other. I suspend Thanos in the air, his progress towards Hulk deadened. Then he snaps.
            The ships around us begin to crumble to dust. My hold on Thanos is slipping, and struggle to maintain it, only to see the cause. I am holding him here; my magic is keeping him alive. My powers loosen and I watch as he disappears into the wind.
            I sink to my knees and let out a sob. The battle is gone, like it never even existed, but the carnage remains. Wakandan soldiers lie across the field, the wizard who brought us over from the country is dead, and Bruce lay dying just a few feet away. Just the man, the Hulk now gone. Just Bruce. Tony has gone to his best friend’s side, calling for help. The others around him take a knee. There is nothing any of us can do.
            My powers begin to search for her once more, extending through the remains of the compound. But she is not here. Then I feel Bruce’s thoughts fade away as well.
            People begin to move around me, gathering their dead and wounded. The stench that comes with a battle is never conveyed in films. It is what I imagine hell would smell like, though this isn’t far off.
             The ground is cold and damp. I gather it in my fists, trying to stop myself from causing more damage, more death. She is gone. My mom is dead. Natasha Romanoff, she no longer had death’s ear. She could no longer tell him off. I want nothing more than to hear her laugh, to see her little smile, her smell of clean laundry, rosewater, and coffee. To feel her tuck my hair behind my ear, away from my face. My only solace is the possibility that none of this is real. It is a nightmare, or maybe a drug induced hallucination. I am still at the hospital, undergoing treatments from Dr. Beck. Or on the raft. Or on that fucking banana plantation. Anything would be better than this.
            A hand rests on my shoulder, and I whip my head around, eyes glowing, wondering who would be dumb enough to try and touch me right now.
            But it is my aunt. She doesn’t flinch at the sight of me. Blood stains her white suit, and it is torn, revealing a gruesome shoulder wound.
            “You’re bleeding.”
            “This isn’t real, right?” I try, my voice cracking. “This is some kind of torture. Natasha, she is going to come save me. She always comes to save me.”
            “Wanda,”
            “She has to save me, this can’t be real.”
            “I know,”
            “No!” My powers pulse, forcing her hand off. The lake spans in front of me, the water having returned to its place. Behind me, what remains of my first home in America is in flames. The rest has collapsed, a smoldering pile of metal. “She is going to save me.”
            “I wait with you.” Instead of walking away or going to help with the work that needs to be done, she sits down beside me, her legs crisscrossed.
            She is still as a statue, as sunlight fades from the sky, replaced with the stars. I find mine, Parva Maga, looking brighter than the rest. Her little witch.

Chapter Text

             Yelena drags me through the remains of the compound. Only two spots remain standing, the medical wing and the smallest garage bay. The first seems to be helpful, the other not so much. Until Yelena emerges with a motorcycle.
            “Isn’t like you can walk to Stark’s house.” She tosses me a helmet. I look back over my shoulder to the battle area. “Is late, Wanda. I give you stitches at the house.” I’m guessing the medical wing is swamped. I get on the back of the motorcycle and hold onto Yelena as we pull out of the compound and head down the service road, reaching Tony’s house in a matter of minutes. The porchlight is on when we pull up, and Yelena helps me off the bike.
            “I’m fine,” I mumble, as she holds me up after I stumble. The adrenaline from the battle is gone and my powers have drained everything from me. As we near the porch, I can hear fighting coming from inside. Yelena opens the door, and all the yelling stops. It looks as though Steve and Tony were about to go at each other’s throats.
            “Hey kid,” Tony takes a step back. “There’s a first aid kit and a hot shower with your name on it.”
            “Everything okay?” Yelena asks, her back stiff. “Everything okay?”
            “Nothing,” Steve lies. “It’s too late now anyway.”
            “Bruce promised us he was undoing the Snap.” Rhodes steps in.
            “Which he did.” Yelena points out, “Clearly.”
            “No. The plan was we make it, so it never happened. Set time back five years.” Steve explains further. I just want to crawl into bed.
            “He is dead now. No point in arguing about it.” Tony snaps.
            “Except now the world is in shambles. Worse than it was before! We don’t even know why he did it like this,” Steve sits down at the table, rubbing his face, “No one would have known except us. It was our burden to carry, not to share with the world.”
            “Wanda, we need to get you cleaned up. Come,” Yelena tugs me forcefully, and helps me up the stairs to the second floor of the cabin. She fills up the bathtub as I sit on the toilet, feeling numb. “I get spare pajamas from Pepper. You clean up.”
            She leaves, closing the door behind her. I begin to strip off my uniform, caked in dirt and blood. Then I pull off my leg and lower myself into the hot bath. The water quickly becomes murky, and I dip under it, scrubbing my scalp. When I come up, the air is biting and cold. I touch the cut on my forehead and feel a bruise forming on my cheek. With my toes, I pull the plug on the drain, watching as water swirls down, the tub now empty. I grab a towel and wrap myself in it, climbing out of the tub. I catch my face in the mirror. There isn’t just a bruise forming on my cheek, it has been split across the bone, and the blood flow has started again on my forehead. There is a gash on my collarbone as well. Which wounds are from five years ago and which are from today? Bruises mottle my entire body, in the initial stages of forming. There is a light knock on the door.
            “Wanda, I come in?”
            “Yes.” She opens the door, holding a matching set of short pajamas. Her eyes are red from crying, her face is blotchy. “I thought you would trip on pants, Pepper is tall.”
            “Thank you.” I take the clothes, holding them to my chest.
            “Pepper showed me where we are sleeping tonight. It is nice.” She turns around, allowing me a bit of privacy as I pull on the clothes. When I sit back down on the closed toilet, she turns around and opens the cabinet under the sink. She cleans my wounds wordlessly, and not nearly as gentle as Natasha would be, but she is efficient. My forehead is glued shut, and butterfly bandages go on my cheek and chest. I go to put on my leg and see who swollen and puffy my stump is. “I help you to the room, okay?” I nod, holding my leg and sock. It is a small guest room, just a full-sized bed and a tiny dresser. There is a chair by the window, overlooking the lake.
            “Our last night in Red Room together, we shared a twin bed.” I think this is her way of apologizing for the small size. “She said there is only one way she wouldn’t come back for me.” The second part isn’t for me, almost directed to herself.
            I crawl into bed, my body aching almost as much as my heart. She has said nothing would stop her from being with me. I thought that, somehow when coming from her, that included death.
             I toss and turn in bed all night, unable to sleep until the sun is just about to come up. When I do wake, the vintage analog clock reads nine o’clock. Yelena isn’t in the room. I carefully make my way downstairs.
            The team is gathered around the dining table, with a little girl in Tony’s lap. She waves when she sees me. I wave back halfheartedly.
            “Hi Wanda, do you want breakfast?” Pepper offers. I shake my head, sitting down in an open seat.
            “After breakfast, we are going to the apartment.” Yelena informs me. I nod, not having it in me to argue that I don’t want to.
            “Wanda? You okay?” Steve pushes. I clench my jaw, keeping my eyes trained on my lap. A cup of coffee is placed in front of me, loaded with cream. I glance up briefly, surprised to see it came from Rhodey.
            “Nat mentioned once how you like it.” I take a sip and it is almost as good as when she makes it. Made it.
            Yelena flies us home on the quinjet, the roads are fraught with traffic, according to Steve. Due to half the world appearing yesterday. The streets of New York City are noisy with cheering and parades. It seems as though there is a band on every street corner. Though I know I can’t be the only one mourning a loss. Thousands of others would have died over these past five years, but the joy of everyone else outside is nearly overwhelming. At least at Tony and Pepper’s, we were surrounded by grief. I open up the door to the apartment, greeted by an indignant mewling Liho. Still a kitten. Nat had lost her too.
            “Hi, little thing,” Yelena smiles down at the cat, who weaves between our legs. The house is in impeccable shape for having been empty for five years. It smells like clean laundry, and the tables are dusted. I walk into the kitchen and see fresh flowers on the counter. In the fridge are strawberries and coffee cream. Yelena looks just as mystified. I expect Natasha to pop out at any moment, coming from the library or the gym, a book and gun in hand. Instead, the apartment remains still. Yelena holds the kitten in her arms.
            “I guess I will pack a bag.”
            “We aren’t staying?” Yelena clarifies.
            “I feel like we should be back there, with everyone.” Being alone in this apartment any longer than necessary would send me over the edge.
            “Okay, I pack a bag too.” She reaches forward and pats my arm awkwardly, “Mind yell or something if you need me.” She leaves the apartment, handing off the kitten to me. I head down the hall and open the door to my bedroom. It looks as though I had left for the afternoon. It had been months since I had stepped foot in here, having lived in a dorm at college since late August. Now it has been years. The bed smells like clean sheets, and all my clothes, including those I had brought to school, are hanging in my closet. I pick up the red leather jacket, holding the worn, supple fabric close. In my bathroom, I nearly jump when I see my appearance. Somehow, since last night, I had forgotten the red hair. I look like her. And I know she liked my dark auburn hair, this felt like a way to be close to her when I was at school. Now it just feels cruel. I grab my facewash from under the sink and my toothbrush before closing the door. The duffel bag quickly becomes stuffed with clothes, and I change out of Pepper’s pajamas and into jeans and a t-shirt, pulling on the leather jacket as well. Carefully, I fold in a black dress for Bruce’s funeral. The cat climbs atop the bag, as though I could forget her. She runs out of the room and stands at Natasha’s bedroom door, scratching at the base and then looking to me, like we are forgetting someone. I open it.
            Since that day I found her, I have hated coming in here. I had been cruel to her, and then she almost died. I can see the blood staining the bed, and the floors bright red. But that isn’t the scene today. The room is clean, the bed freshly made, everything dusted and vacuumed. There is a picture of us on her nightstand and Liho darts into the bathroom, before coming out and yelling at me, like it is my fault she isn’t here. Somehow, it probably is. I was always scared I was going to be the death of her. Maybe I was. When Yelena comes up stairs, she looks down at me, sitting outside the apartment door, Liho curled up beside me.
            “Let’s go.” She pulls me up off the floor and I take Liho by the leash. On the quinjet, it is a bit before she speaks. “My apartment looked the same. Bar had been stocked. And these,” She holds up a bag of gummy alligators, and swallows uncomfortably, refocusing on the sky.
            When the quinjet touches down, we are greeted by what remains of the team. Then I spy the Barton’s. Lila and Cooper come charging, engulfing me in a tight hug. I ignore the pain of my bruises being squeezed. They have been crying, like most everyone. Laura and Nate hug me next, and Clint nods.
            “Can we go for a walk?” I hand Lila Liho, and Cooper takes my bag. I turn to talk to Yelena but see her deep in a conversation with Sam and Steve. So, I nod, and we head towards the water. He takes it slow for my sake, and I get a good look at him for the first time since I returned, and he looks terrible. Like the past five years wore on his body and soul. His head is shaved into almost a mohawk, and I see the edges of a tattoo peeking through on his wrist. We near the water, and I look out at it. It is already calm once more, like the events of yesterday had never disturbed it. I take a seat on the bench at the water’s edge, but he doesn’t join me.
            “I’d like to go to her grave, to see where she’s buried.” It feels so final, speaking it aloud. He doesn’t answer me. He doesn’t respond with an ‘of course’ or an ‘I’ll take you tomorrow,” Instead, he runs his fingers through his hair. “Clint,” I try again, he won’t even look at me, “Clint,”
            “She doesn’t have one yet.”
            “What do you mean she doesn’t have one? It has been five years. You couldn’t give her the respect she deserves in five years? Were you just waiting for us to come back?” I scoff, angry on her behalf, and rising from the bench. I grab his arm, turn him to face me. “Look at me!”
            “She died two days ago.” I step back.
            “W-what?”
            “I’m sorry. She died when we went back to get the stones.”
            “She was just here?”
            “I’m sorry,”
            “I missed her by a day? That can’t be right,” I bite my cheeks, “She can’t have been, please, don’t say that,”
            “I’m sorry, Wanda.”
            “Was she okay? Before, was she, I’m not sure,” He looks away again. “Clint?”
            “I wasn’t here.”
            “What do you mean?”
            “I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t just stay here and,”
            “You left her? After everything? You abandoned that only family you had left?”
            “Laura, the kids,”
            “Do they know? Does Yelena? How could you do that to her? She was your best friend, your sister!” Red begins to flicker at my fingertips, and I do my best to force it down, “What were you doing that made it so you couldn’t be there for her?”
            “It isn’t important.”
            “And clearly she wasn’t either.” I pinch my lips and roughly wipe away my tears. “How did she die? You said it was on the mission to get the stones.”  
            “She was so determined to get you back Wanda,”
            “Tell me.”
            “We were on Vormir, for the soul stone. The trade is a soul for a soul.”
            “What do you mean?” It feels like a rock has settled at the bottom of my stomach.           “There is this ledge, and we fought, I tried to stop her, but she beat me. She jumped.”
            “No.” I shake my head. “No, that isn’t possible.”
            “Wanda,”
            “She couldn’t kill herself. We know that. The Red Room wouldn’t let her. She couldn’t kill herself.” My breathing becomes heavy as my anger grows. “Which means you killed her.” I feel my eyes changing, and powers growing.
            “Wanda,”
            “You killed her!” My voice is raw, “You killed her,”
            “The Red Room has nothing on a mother’s love. Her last words were for you. She told me to tell you that she loves you.”
            “This can’t be true; this can’t be how she died. It isn’t how she died.”
            “I’m,”
            “Stop saying you’re sorry!” The trees around us start to splinter, “You abandoned her, and then you killed her!” I take a step towards him, and he goes back, stepping into the water. “She loved you, she trusted you! You saved her just to bring her to slaughter.” I stride forward, and he stumbles back, landing in the water, I lean over him, trying not to let my powers go loose and snap his neck. “I want you gone. You don’t deserve to be here. You are no hero, Clint Barton. You don’t deserve to call yourself an Avenger, and you certainly don’t have the privilege to grieve my mother. It should have been you.” I spin around and stalk away, heading back towards the house. Everyone freezes as they see me, and I ignore them all, heading into the house and slamming the door behind me. I don’t even make it to the stairs before breaking down into sobs.
            “It's okay honey, let it out,” Pepper crouches down beside me, “I think I have some chamomile tea; I can make you a cup?” I try to say no, but instead nod my head. “Okay, okay,”
            “I want my mom,”
            “I know,” She brings me into the master suite, and guides me over to a couch. “I’m going to go make your tea, okay? But first, I have something for you,” She goes over to her nightstand and pulls out an envelope. My name is scrawled across is Nat’s impeccable cursive. Pepper leaves me with the letter, closing the door behind her. I carefully tear it open pulling out the folded piece of paper, the creases precise. She knew she was going to die, or at least she thought she might. I look at the date on the top right corner, just a few days ago. My courage disappears before I reach the body of the letter. My dearest Wanda, I carefully fold the letter back up, and put it into the envelope. I’m not ready to say goodbye to her. To read the last words she has for me. The finality of it all is too much. Everything is too much. All of it. We are five years in the future. Natasha is gone. Clint betrayed us. Morgan is older than Nate. The world is in chaos. Nat isn’t here. She could make everything okay. She could make sense of all of this.
            “She wrote you one too,” Yelena is leaning in the doorway, watching me. I didn’t even hear her come in. She holds a mug in her hand. “Did you read it?”
            “I can’t.” I chew my lip. “I can’t do this; I can’t be without her. I’m not ready.”
            “We never have choice in the matter. But I promise you are not alone. I want to run away, at first. Go back to Europe and go back into the shadows. But what I want is wrong. What I am doing is good, is what she would want. It is the hard, which is how I know it’s right. You don’t get to go away, da?”
            “I,”
            “You stay here, stay with us. You talk to Sam, me.” She hands me the mug, and I see blood on her knuckles. “I punched Clint.”
            “He deserved it.” I look down at the fragrant drink. “I’m scared what will happen if I lose my mind again. She isn’t here to walk me back from the edge. What if it gets to be too much? What if I can’t,”
            “You have whole team, whole family. You are not alone.”

              I still can’t read Nat’s letter. Instead, I go up and pack it into my duffel bag, safe in an inside pocket. I head back downstairs and find a smaller portion of our team remaining. Steve, Sam, Maria, Yelena, Pepper, and Tony are gathered around the dining table, there is a seat for me between Yelena and Steve. However, once I sit, I see the dining table of eight has one spot open at the head of the table.
            “Did we ever tell you about the time Natasha hacked into SHIELD and changed Fury’s profile picture to him as Santa Claus?” Maria asks.
            “I think we would be remiss not to mention that she once stabbed me in the neck,”
            “Honey, it was to save your life.”
            “But she enjoyed it!” They go around sharing Natasha stories.
            “Don’t forget about eating the stick of butter,” Steve gags. I gape, having not heard that store before, and wrinkle my nose in disgust upon hearing the whole tale. “She definitely never backed down. Even when the rest of us did. She kept fighting.”
            “She lived a full life, even if it was cut short.” Maria whispers, she inspects her nails of all things.
            “Saved the world a few times more than most,” Steve agrees with a smile.
            “Travelled the world, got married, had a kid,” Tony raises his glass. Got married?
            “You and Tasha got married?” Yelena whips her head to Steve, “During snap?”
            “No,” He shakes his head, “It was before she defected, you must have known,”
            “She was never married,” Yelena pushes back from the table, her teeth bared. “She was not married.”
            “But she said,”
            “No!” Yelena slams her hands on the table, daring anyone to challenge her again. I blink at my normally levelheaded aunt. I’ve only seen her lose her temper like this once before.
            “Yelena, please, come sit down,”
            “I need to go for walk.”
            “I can come,” Sam offers, speaking for the first time. She shakes her head and heads out of the cabin, into the dark woods. They all look to me, and I feel myself shrink. My powers flicker at my fingertips, and I pull the sleeves of my sweater over them.
            “I, um,” I sink lower.
            “You don’t have to say anything,” Steve offers softly. I nod, biting my lip. I don’t even know why I am crying. And I don’t understand Yelena’s outburst.
            “Wanda,” Sam begins.
            “I’m g-going to bed,” I stutter slightly and feel my cheeks flush in embarrassment. I go back upstairs, regretting my decision to join everyone, and lie down on top of the bed.
            My leg aches and I pull it off. Bruises still cover most of my body, everyone downstairs still looks battered as well. I roll over on the bed, trying to get comfortable. But this isn’t my bed, this isn’t my home. The idea of going into our, now my apartment, is too much. How long can I even stay here before I overstay my welcome? A few days? Weeks? I can’t even go back to the compound. All that is left is ash.
            I wake in the morning to find Yelena on the floor with a pillow and blanket, having given me the whole bed. The chair by the window is flipped over, and some pictures have come off the wall. It was a rough night. Liho looks at me from the foot of the bed, her big eyes like saucers. She pounces, landing in my lap and purring up a storm. I don’t have it in me to return the affection. The cat jumps off the bed, tired of waiting, and lands squarely on Yelena’s chest.
            “Ugh,” She groans, putting a pillow over her eyes. “Bad kitty, is sleeping time.”
            However, the sound of construction outside seems to disagree. I rise from the bed and hop over to one of the windows, looking out towards the lake. A platform of some kind is being built. Tony, Steve, Sam, and another man are hauling materials over.
            “What are they doing?” Yelena asks. I shrug and get back in bed, no longer interested. “You want to come see?” She folds the blanket, putting it atop the dresser, and returning the pillows to the bed.
            “I’m okay,”
            “Do you want coffee?” I shake my head. “Toast?”
            “I’m okay.”
            “Wanda,”
            “Please,” She nods, and leaves the room, the kitten on her heels. There are a few additional attempts to get me out of bed, but I can’t find the motivation. A legal drama plays out on Netflix on my phone but I don’t really pay attention to it. I clutch the red leather coat like a security blanket and wish my powers would take me away. They don’t. They don’t give me anything. A vision of her, as slip into a different reality. Anything. It is like they are mourning her as well.
            “You have to get up today. You smell.” Yelena declares. “You shower, now.” I turn the other way, “I let you wallow. But Tasha wouldn’t want this.”
            She is right, of course. Nat would have forced me out of bed by now. She probably would have made me a sandwich, cut into fourths, and stripped the bed, putting on new sheets. Combed out my hair.
            “Get up!” Yelena demands, hitting me with a pillow. “Steve needs to talk to you.” I pull myself out of bed, stiff and achy, and slide of my sock and leg. It has been at least three days since her outburst, I think. Maybe four. I head out in my pajamas, the early spring air is damp, almost warm enough to be comfortable. Steve sits stands under a dogwood tree, just starting to bloom, right near the platform they had been working on.
            “Hey kid,” He gives a fake smile that makes me want to head right back inside.
            “Yelena said you needed to talk to me.”
            “I’m sure you know what this is by now?” I shake my head, having not cared to ask. “It’s a time machine. Tomorrow, I’m going to return the stones.”
            “Oh. That’s cool.” I look over at the portal of sorts, feeling flat.
            “And I’m going to bring back Nat’s body.” It is like a knife to the stomach.
            “Her body,”
            “For her funeral. She left directions, she has a plot next to Pietro.” Without a body, she isn’t really gone. This is it. Once I see her,
            “Can I come?” I sound meek, nothing like the girl in battle just a few days ago.
            “I’m sorry, I don’t think that it a good idea.” He places a hand on my shoulder. “But I wanted to let you know, give you time to prepare.”
            “When you go, how long will you be gone? How long until you come back with her?”
            “Just a minute,” His eyes flash with something imperceptible. “We will give her the burial she deserves, she saved the world, Wanda. The universe.”
            “She did it for me. She died for me. I was the death of her.”
            “No, you gave her life.”

            The adults all crowd around the platform, going over the schematics and checking the math once more. I have learned the other man I have been seeing, and heard over the coms, and Scott Lang. He calls himself Ant-Man. I sit on top of a picnic table, with Liho swiping at me.
            “Stop it, you stupid cat!” I snap, and immediately regret. “I miss her too, it’s not just you,” The kitten nips at me, but then climbs into my lap, curling into a tight ball. She is as temperamental as Natasha is. Or was. Sam comes and sits beside me, leaving the rest of the team.
            “Hey,”
            “I really don’t want a therapist talk right now about moving through my grief or something,” I climb down off the tabletop and onto the seat, the cat still in my lap. Daffodils have sprouted around the table, a sign of spring.
            “I’m not going to tell you that,” Sam shrugs, “That isn’t what you need to hear.”
            “What is it then?”
            “One of my nieces died two years ago. The older one. She was nine. Cancer. I never got to say goodbye.”
            “I’m sorry,” I bite my cheek.
            “This situation sucks. I’m not going to sugarcoat it. The only way out is through, and it is going to be hell.”
            “But we’ll be stronger for it?” I roll my eyes, finishing the typical therapist statement.
            “No, we might not be. Not everything has to be a lesson in strength. Somethings just surviving is enough of a feat in itself.” I hear the time machine powering up, “But it helps to know you’re not alone.” I look over at the countdown by the platform, twenty seconds. Liho nuzzles against my chest.
            “I’m not ready to say goodbye.” Ten seconds, “I loved her most.”
            My powers flicker involuntarily, and I feel something on the edge of my consciousness. It is familiar and warm. It feels safe. It feels like home.

Chapter Text

“Here comes the sun, it’s alright.” -The Beatles, Abbey Road, 1969

            The feeling is one I never thought I’d have again. It floods my senses, feeling like hope, like love. I shove the cat to Sam and rush the platform. Just as I arrive, the machine powers up once again, and Steve steps through. A limp figure is cradled in his arms. Her unmistakable red hair is loose is dripping water, while an arm hangs, motionless. But he is screaming for help.
            My feet seem to freeze, unable to carry me any further as he drops down to the ground, doing compressions. You don’t do compressions on someone who is dead. Which means she is alive.
            Yelena runs past me, inexplicably dragging Dr. Fine behind her. He still holds his car keys in one hand. It is like everything is slowing down. I watch as they place a bag over her mouth, beginning to pump. They place her on a stretcher I didn’t even notice, Steve straddling her and pushing air into her lungs.
            I can see her on the floor of the bathroom, blood bubbling at her lips. Not again. This can’t happen again. Then I think of the pool. My legs are able to move once more, and I stumble up onto the platform. I ignore the yelling as I shove them aside with my powers. Instead, I raise a hand above Nat’s mouth. Red dances from my fingertips, flowing down her throat. Water rises up, encased in my powers, and then I release it, splashing onto my feet. Her eyes open, hooded with exhaustion, and land on me. My name begins to form on her lips, then her eyes roll back. Her body begins to convulse.
            Yelena pulls me back, and I watch as Steve and Dr. Fine begin treatment again, rushing towards a waiting ambulance. They bypass the driveway, heading towards the service road that stretches between the two properties.
 
            “Wanda, Wanda!” Yelena grabs my wrists. “Stop,” I look around and see lawn furniture floating in the air. They all fall unceremoniously to the ground.
            “Nat,” I pull my sleeves over my hands, “Nat,”
            “Come, we go and wait,” She tugs me towards the motorcycle, and we follow the ambulance. When did an ambulance ever get here?
            “She’s alive?” I am unable to comprehend it. Two minutes ago, I she was dead. Was she never dead? This can’t be real. It isn’t real. In real life people don’t come back from the dead. But the person I am clinging to did. But Yelena was never dead. Maybe they were wrong about Natasha. She didn’t die? Then how did they get the soul stone?
            We arrive at the remains of the compound, and I am grateful that the medical wing remained mostly undamaged. I see the back of Dr. Cho’s head as they rush in with my mom, Steve standing by and no longer riding the gurney.
            “This isn’t real,” I climb off the bike, stumbling. “This can’t be real.”
            “I promise, is real,” Yelena puts her hands up.
            “It can’t, you said, it was, that isn’t how it works. Death is permanent. You can’t undo it,” I look between the two of them. Are they even here? What if I’m not really at the compound? Or if my powers are taking control of me?
            “Steve brought her back,” Yelena interrupts my barrage of thoughts, “It worked.”
            “Hopefully,” Steve rubs the back of his neck.
            “She was alive? When you found her?” I confirm. Steve shakes his head.
            “I saw her die. I watched and couldn’t do anything about it. I just had to,” He chokes, cutting himself off. “Soul for a soul,” He explains, unable to say anything else.
            “You knew,” I turn to Yelena.
            “Da. I knew we try. Is why Fine is here with ambulance. Just in case.”
            “You didn’t tell me?” The betrayal stabs into my gut.
            “Didn’t want to get hopes up.” She heads towards the door, “Come, we go inside and wait.”
            We head up the steps and inside. The smell of smoke that lingers outside isn’t quite as strong in, but enough that the events of the past week cannot be forgotten. I settle down into the waiting area, only a few chairs are remaining, and wonder where the rest have gone. A few months ago, we were here while Morgan was born. But now Morgan is about to start kindergarten. Instead of being Nicole’s age, she is almost Lila’s. And Nat was alive, or at least not fighting for her life.
            Steve is leaning forward in his seat, hands clasped together in prayer while Yelena stares straight ahead, her lips drawn into a thin line.
            “Is she going to make it?” I interrupt their thoughts with my own invasive ones. “Will she survive?”
            “She is a fighter.” Steve murmurs, looking to the double doors that lead into the surgical suites and rooms.
            “She saw me,” I look down at my hands. If anything, she will get to know that her sacrifice worked. One I never wanted her to make. One that always terrified me. We sit in silence for what feels like hours but is only minutes.
            Yelena gets up abruptly from her seat, a panicked look in her eyes. She is nearing hyperventilating.
            “I need some air.” She mutters, hurrying outside. I look to Steve, who has begun to pray once more. I didn’t know he still believed in God. Then I remember what he said to me once, “I have faith in few things anymore, but Natasha is one of them.”

            The waiting room begins to fill up with team members. I wonder briefly if anyone has told Clint, and immediately push the thought away. It is his fault that she is here. Yelena has since returned, looking calmer, a careful mask back in place.  
            After two hours, the doctors emerge. We stand up from our seats, hoping for good news. Cho gives us a smile, and there is a collective sigh of relief.
            “We have her in a medically induced coma, just for the next few days, to give her time to rest.”
            “Let’s keep the number of visitors to a minimum, okay?” Fine looks around the room. Fury, Maria, Sam, Tony, and Pepper are here. Yelena has since returned. I’ve been told that Peter is watching Morgan. “One or two at a time,” I look around to see if anyone is going to try to claim the first spot before me.
            “Go ‘head, Wanda. Go see your mom,” Steve nods. I stand up from the chair unsteadily, forgetting about the injuries I have been ignoring since the battle. Yelena’s eyes zero in on me as she rises from her seat, and I know she is cursing herself for not checking me closer. But I rush ahead and follow the doctors down the hall, Yelena close behind.
            We reach the glass room, curtains drawn. The usual smell of a hospital is more present here, antiseptic and cleaning supplies. No smoke. No need for Nat to panic.
            “We should prepare you,” Fine and Cho glance at each other, “It doesn’t look good. She seized twice before we put her under, and her body has undergone a lot of stress.” The knot that has been in my stomach for the past few hours returns. “But she is stable, and we made sure she isn’t in any pain.”
            “Just talk to her,” Cho offers softly, “Let her know you’re here.” They open the door, and we enter the dimly lit room.
             Nat is more machine than person. There are tubes coming out in every direction, and monitors beep steadily. She is intubated and has an NG tube. They begin to explain more about the different machines and their purposes, but I step deeper into the room, taking the seat next to her bed. I tune out the medical jargon being spouted and focus on my mom.
            Parts of her skin is pink with burst blood vessels, but everywhere else is as white and thin as paper. Her hair is red again, the tips fading into blonde like the ends of a flame. Her chest moves up and down with the steady rhythm of a machine. But she is alive. She is here, with me.
            I carefully slip my hand into hers, hoping to get a squeeze upon contact. There isn’t even a twitch.
            “When we were children, she found injured baby bird in the courtyard,” Yelena starts, “It had been abandoned by its mama. Tasha built it a little nest in bush, and every day, she take care of it, make sure it is okay. She said she needed to give life when all we do is take.” I’ve heard this bird mentioned before, the one that would sit on Yelena’s windowsill. “I had never seen someone care for something helpless before. She fought for the bird. She fight for me. She kill without permissions three times in Red Room. Two for me. Tasha lose so much of herself for me. She fought for me. She fought for the world. Now, she fight for her.”
            Yelena eventually leaves and is replaced by Steve. Steve is replaced by someone else, and they continue to rotate out. No one asks me to leave. And I wouldn’t. Her hand is cold, sitting in mine. Then, for the first time, we are alone.
            I know this is different than the time she was in a coma from drowning in her own blood. This is like going down for surgery, but longer. It doesn’t make it any easier. I just want her to wake up, to be with me again.
            “Okay, you can open your eyes now,” I joke, but a part of me hopes they do open, no matter how childish that is. Of course, there is no change. Dr. Fine has been treating Nat for almost twenty years, he knows what he is doing, and how high to keep the sedatives. “It’s just us,” I swallow, a lump stuck in my throat, “You and me.”
            The monitors continue with their rhythm, no sign that she has heard me. It is selfish to want her to wake right now, she would be in pain and uncomfortable. She saved the world; she deserves to rest. And no matter how much I want her here, as I look at her struggling to survive, I wonder if we are selfish for bringing her back.

            “I brought you food and change of clothes,” Yelena comes in, holding a takeout bag and some sweats. She sits down next to me in the other chair, looking down at her sister.
            It has been two days of sitting by her side. She actually looks worse.
            “She broke one hundred and thirty-six bones.” Yelena speaks up, as if reading my mind. I take in a sharp breath. The bruises have fully formed, her entire body is littered with them, and now I know why.
            “But she should be healing faster, the serum should be working faster.”
            “One broken bone? Da. But all of that, and drowning, and coming back from dead. Wanda, she still human.”
            They say there is a moment when a child realizes their parents aren’t knights in shining armor, aren’t superheroes. That a child becomes disenchanted and sees how flawed the parent really is, that they are just a person and nothing more. The reverse has been true with Nat. Not only is she an actual superhero, but she has proven and reinforced the fact that she is remarkable.
            “She is going to be okay.” I say with only the certainty a child could have. Though I am no longer one, I am hers.
            Yelena goes to distribute the rest of the takeout among everyone, leaving me alone with my mom for a few more minutes, “You have to be okay,” I whisper, resting my face on her hand. “I love you most.”
            Then I feel it. The barest of twitches. Her index finger flinches against my cheek. I nearly sob with relief.
            The doctors force me to leave the room once I give them the update. Which is how I end up walking through the remains of the compound. Despite everyone’s insistence that I stay in the waiting room, and just wait. Just sit there and hope. Dwell. Her body could just be working through the sedative too quickly. Or she could be waking up. They could deem her well enough to come off the ventilator early.
            I can see a map in my head as my feet carry me through the wreckage. The living room where Pepper proposed to Tony, where I was given the keys to my car. The kitchen, where Nat and Clint made me pierogies for the first time, and where I broke all the plates in a fit of rage. Then Tony’s suite. Oddly enough, as I walk through, I find a ballet slipper, singed, under a bookcase. I use my powers to pick it up. It makes me think of the one in Yelena’s box, now a complete pair. There is a photo of Nat and I in a broke picture frame. I dust off the glass and put both items into the pocket of my sweatshirt, now bulging.
            After Tony’s suite, is mine. The reason I was so insistent on coming out here, despite the team looking at me like I was crazy. The room is almost entirely destroyed. Really no different than whenever I spent the night here. Nat would scold me for a disparaging thought like that. However, everything, what few things, I have kept here are likely destroyed. Spare sneakers and pajamas, nothing of sentimental value. Except for one. I reach my closet, or what was my closet. The metal door is lying on its side, the plain face of the exterior showing significant damage. I bite my cheek, hoping the other side is still intact.

            “What the fuck, Wanda?” Yelena exclaims while I drag the piece of wreckage into the hospital wing.
            “Language,” Steve admonishes.
            “It is important,” I promise, using my powers to assist.
            “It’s a door.” Tony raises his eyebrows. Pepper is no longer here, and neither are Fury and Sam. I sit down next to Yelena and hand her the ballet slipper.
            “I found it, thought you might want it, so you have a pair.” Yelena gives me a tight nod, turning it over in her hand. The slipper had been broken in, meaning Nat had started dancing again. What else changed for her in these five years?
            Steve and Yelena get up to talk to the doctors as they come back out. I know they are trying to protect me, but I am no longer distracted by having Nat in front of me. I just want to know what is happening. I strain to listen, hearing bits of the conversation. Pneumonia, fever. Shattered spine.
            Then my aunt looks over at me, her eyes narrowing. I look down, pretending to be busy with my phone.
            We are given permission to sit with her again, and the ventilator has been removed. She looks more like she is sleeping, a canula resting at her nose. Steve joins me after a few minutes, offering a cup of coffee. It is black.
            “Yelena and I talked. We were thinking that maybe we should tell you a little bit more about what is going on.”
            “That’d be nice,” I bite, harsher than I meant to be. He doesn’t seem to take it personally. It isn’t like the doctors didn’t try to tell me at first. I’m wondering if Steve and Yelena told them it was a bad idea. That I could lose it, damage the hospital wing. That I’m a loose cannon. None of it would be wrong.
            “She already told you that Nat broke almost a hundred and fifty bones, right?” I nod, staring at my mother. “They are all in the final stages of healing, still fragile. But it is a really good sign. They were mostly healed when we got back. She also had a fever of 106, which is why she seized.”
            “I heard them mention pneumonia,”
            “At the tail end of that, thanks to you,” Steve assures. “Wanda, when she wakes up, she is still going to be in a lot of pain.”
            “You were with her the past five years,” I hold her hand in mine once more.
            “Not as much as I should have been.”
            “Was she okay?”
            “A day didn’t go by where she didn’t miss you or think about how to bring you back. She is the only one who never gave up.”
            “She’s the best of us.”
            “I know.”
            I slept just a few hours when they first brought her in, but now I am too nervous I will miss her waking up. It would be more efficient to get coffee through an IV at this point. The door is propped up against the wall, and thankfully the doctors didn’t fight me too hard on bringing it in.
            Fine did say it won’t take too long now that they have started to wean her off the drugs. It should be just a few hours. Steve sits with me now instead of Yelena, and I’m not sure if it is some type of understanding they have. We have stopped speaking, both of us watching the most important person in our lives. Steve had started playing The Beatles on a small speaker last night, and I listened to them sing about hope, peace, and love. Of things so quintessentially Natasha.
            The sun begins to rise over the edge of the lake. Speckles of light dapple the white knitted bedding, the sun sneaking in through the cracks in the blinds. As though Natasha would have it any other way, she rises with the sun.

Chapter Text

            One of the first books Natasha ever gave me was a book of English idioms. Once in a blue moon. Break a leg. Add insult to injury. Birds of a feather flock together. Ignorance is bliss. But now, as I watch my mom open her eyes, I truly grasp the meaning of bated breath. Shakespeare was right; my ability to breathe has all but ceased.
            My hands are clasped so tightly that my fingers have begun to tingle. Steve seems unable to move from the foot of her bed, frozen in anticipation. Her eyes blink open, hooded and heavy. Her breaths are shallow and long like each one takes a conscious effort. She looks straight ahead at Steve, yet to notice me. But she doesn’t speak. So, Steve breaks the silence.
            “Hey Nat,” Steve gives her a half smile. She should reply with a witty remark or something snarky, along the lines of Hey yourself. But she is closing her eyes once more, and I want to jump up, demand she stays awake. That she notice me, but she is already falling asleep once more.
            “She didn’t notice me.” I look away from her; her breaths have now returned to the steady rhythm of sleep. “When has Nat not noticed someone in a room?”
            “She was barely awake. I’m sure next time she’ll be more aware.”
            “What if she came back wrong? What if she isn’t Nat?” I bite my cheeks.
            “Nat’s going to be okay.”
            “You’re not a doctor; you can’t say that.”
            “I have faith in her. Nothing is going to stop her from coming back to you.” Steve assures me. He switches off with Yelena, but Nat hasn't woken up when it comes time to alternate again.
            Finally, as the sun begins to set, enveloping the room in shadows, I feel the bed shift slightly as I read Childhood by Tolstoy aloud. I look up from my book, and Natasha’s eyes open. Steve has returned to his post while Yelena gets dinner, who should be back any minute. I grip the book in my hands. Natasha is yet to move her head to the side to see me. Though I don’t know how she can’t see in her peripheral vision. Her gaze rests on Steve. There must be some panic in her eyes as Steve speaks,
            “You’re okay; you’re safe.” I am too scared to move, too afraid that this is some spell. Steve gets up to turn on the lights, and Nat winces her, eyes flying shut. “Hey, sorry, I’ll turn them off.” She doesn’t tell him to stop treating her like a wounded baby animal. Her mouth does open slightly and then closes. She is falling back into the pillows, the little she was able to lift her head. “Wait, you can go back to sleep in a second. There is someone who you’ll want to see first. He nods to me. I get up from my seat, the book still held to stop my hands from shaking and move into her line of sight. Her eyes shift to the side and then widen, suddenly fully awake.
            The heart monitor begins to blare, beeping rapidly. She struggles on the bed, and each movement seems to send waves of pain through her body. The room quickly fills with doctors and nurses trying to help, pushing me out of the way in the process.
            “Mom,” I find my voice, “Mom,” I don’t think I can be heard among the machinery. I try to shove my way back through, receiving an elbow to my cracked ribs in the process.
            I cry out in pain, which I should have known better than to do. The beeping becomes more erratic, and Dr. Fine is trying to calm her down.
            “Nat,” I finally get past the well-meaning nurses with a burst of my powers and reach her bed once more. Her eyes are hazy with confusion, and it is obvious how much pain she is in. It lines her face. I take her hand in mine and raise it to my cheek. It cups it, ever so slightly. She relaxes back into the pillows, her body no longer rigid with an exhaustive effort to get out of bed, to help me. Because even now, in this state, she is trying to help me. Save me. Dr. Fine gives her something to relax her, and her eyes become heavy once more before being pulled back under.
            Yelena refuses to leave again, not wanting to miss the chances of seeing Natasha awake. Because lying here, if it weren’t for the rise and fall of her chest, it would be easy to think she is dead. Where not mottled by bruises, her skin is white as the sheets she lays on, and dark circles ring her eyes. Her hair is splayed out behind her head, the red fading into blonde like a tapering flame. Her lips are covered in Vaseline, Yelena’s attempt to stop them from being so dry and chapped. I feel bad for not thinking of it myself.
            “She looks older.” I speak, breaking the silence between us.
            “Five years is long time. Even for us.”
            “Have you been watching the news?” Yelena nods her head, “I haven’t.”
            “Good.” She pulls her hair back into a ponytail. “World is in chaos. Best to keep it out.”
            “I overheard something about Bruce,” She shoots me a glare, silencing me. Then I remember he is dead, and Nat doesn’t know. Would it upset her? Anything to set up her back. But we don’t know if she was understanding us; if she could hear us.
            “Right now, rest of the world doesn’t matter.” She leans forward on her knees, watching Nat sleep, seeming to try and will her to wake up. As if sensing her sister’s impatience, Nat shifts in her bed. “Tasha,” Yelena breathes. Her lips twitch, and her eyes flicker before opening.
            Natasha is calmer this time, the heart monitor only increases slightly. She watches Yelena, her eyes following as her sister comes closer, pressing her forehead against hers. They both close their eyes, and when the younger widow pulls away, her eyes are wet with tears.
            “Never do that to me again.”
            “Are you in any pain?” I ask. She doesn’t reply, her eyes drifting. “Mom?” They snap back into focus. “Can we get you anything?” The doctors interrupt our reunion, and I feel a surge of irritation. Yelena pulls me into my seat, insisting I let them work.
            The next few hours are a blur as Dr. Fine and Dr. Cho come in and out of the room. Natasha doesn’t seem entirely here as they treat her. Like she is gone. Maybe from the pain. I try to remind myself that she has come back from the dead, which must have been a lot. And her body seems to be reversing the process as we sit with her.
            Each time she wakes, she acts surprised to see Yelena and me, but nothing like the first reaction. I wonder if they have her on more drugs to prevent that. She is only able to stay awake for a few minutes at a time, which they assure is expected. She mumbles incoherent things, again expected. But it doesn’t make it any easier. Nat has never fit what is expected when it comes to medical treatment, even with those who have been treating her for years. She survived everything. Until she didn’t.
            Finally, she wakes up seeming coherent for the first time. There isn’t confusion or surprise when she sees us. Instead, she relaxes, her hand twitching in mine. ‘L.W.’ is tapped into my palm with the lightest touch, Little Witch.
            “Do you want to try and sit up?” Steve asks as we had finally been given permission for the three of us to be in here at once. Nat licks her lips, her voice comes out strained.
            “Da,” My eyes dart to Yelena, Nat never speaks Russian. Ever. But neither she nor Steve react. Steve presses the button on the side of the bed, and my powers instantly detect that she is in pain. But she doesn’t tell Steve to stop, and he goes until she is sitting halfway up.
            “Need anything?” Steve asks, “We can turn on the TV?” Steve fumbles for the remote and turns it on. The volume is all the way up, and there is a barely audible gasp from Nat, and she tries to turn her head to the side. But since I could hear it, the two super soldiers definitely could, and Steve clicks it off.
            “This thing is loud,” Yelena glares at the heart monitor, whose steady beep has all but faded into the background to me.
            “Don’t,’ Steve warns. But instead of pulling the stickers off, she turns off the machine. This slight tension she was holding in her shoulders lessens.
            “Cl,” Nat starts to say his name. Why would she ask for him? After what he has done?
            “On the farm,” Steve throws Yelena and me a warning glare, “With Laura and the kids.”
            “Do you remember what happened?” Yelena asks, daring to pose the question I haven’t been brave enough to.
            “Some, gaps,” her brows knit together. The words are stifled as she tries to speak without moving her jaw. “Whales?”
            “Yes, that’s right. We were talking about whales,” Steve encourages. I feel a flare of jealousy that they have this understanding between them. Something that we don’t. Five years of life together that we were robbed of.
            “Ants,”
            “You three need to let her rest.” Dr. Fine comes into the room, “Visiting hours are definitely over. And who unplugged the heart monitor?”
            “It beeped,” Yelena states as if that is enough of an explanation.
            “It has a mute button.” Dr. Fine turns the machine back on, quickly silencing it. “You can come by first thing tomorrow morning,” He tries to shoo us out, but instantly Natasha is struggling to sit up in bed while Dr. Fine begs her to lie back.
            “Wanda will stay, Tasha,” Yelena pulls me back over to the bed, “Don’t worry, your girl stays. You rest if she stays?” Natasha gives the barest of nods, fighting to stay awake after the exertion. Steve and Yelena leave without any more trouble while Dr. Fine checks the machines that Nat is hooked up to. After another fifteen minutes, we are alone for the first time since she has woken up. The room is dark, the lights turned off and the sun has long since set.
            “Mom,” I speak into the night, having remained silent for hours, “I was so scared,” Natasha doesn’t answer, and I listen to her even breaths. She is already asleep.
            In the morning, we are greeted by Yelena, who is carrying a tray of coffee and a pastry bag. She smiles widely. Nat wakes to her sister’s arrival.
            “You pass your swallow test, you get coffee,” She promises, placing Nat’s drink on the counter. I take my coffee and doughnut, chewing and listening to Yelena speak. She is talking about absolutely nothing but somehow making complete sense.
            “What year is it?” Nat asks, interrupting Yelena. It is clear she wasn’t listening in the first place, her own thoughts running. “It wasn’t supposed to,”
            “Everything worked out,” Yelena intercepts, trying to take control of the conversation once more. Apparently, we are going to try to hide things from Natasha. I don’t think that is going to go over well once she figures it out.
            Nat asks for Clint again, when she wakes up from a sleep that hadn’t been forced by drugs. Her eyes are glassy, and her voice is far away.
            “He’s on the farm, with Laura and the kids,” Steve promises once more. She looks like she doesn’t believe him but doesn’t have the energy to argue.
            One thing that doesn’t sit right with me is that Nat isn’t fighting to get out of bed, she isn’t pushing herself too hard. Which, despite sounding like good, is causing a knot to grow in my stomach.
            “She isn’t acting like herself,” I confide in Yelena as we freshen up at the Stark house. I had finally been convinced to leave Nat’s side.
            “You aren’t either.” Yelena shrugs, pulling on a jacket to go over her New York City t-shirt.
            “What does that mean?” I cross my arms.
            “You don’t talk to her. Just sit, staring.”
            “What am I supposed to say?”
            “I don’t know. Tasha says you are her little chatterbox. I see, sometimes.”
            “She, it’s just, she isn’t acting like her. Do you see when Dr. Fine and Cho are treating her? She doesn’t argue with them. She isn’t being difficult.”
            “I know.”
            “What is wrong? Did we play God? Was she trapped in some Hell dimension on another planet?”
             “Talk to her. Get her out of own head. She would listen to you.” Yelena insists.
            “What is wrong? Why is this time different?”
            “She died.”
            “She said she didn’t remember.”
            “You believe her?” Yelena raises an eyebrow, looking exactly like her older sister for a moment. “Finish getting ready, and we head back over.”
            “I killed her.” I speak up before Yelena can close the door. “I killed her.”
            “No. You didn’t. You weren’t existing.”
            “She died because of me. Clint said,”
            “You listen to him?”
            “He said that the only thing stronger than the Red Room is a mother’s love. If it weren’t for me, she wouldn’t have been able to jump.”
            “That is not you killing her.” Yelena comes back into the room, sitting down on the bed. “Is her dying for you.”
            “They feel the same.”
            “She love you, without hesitation. And she makes her own choices. She made ultimate choice, ultimate sacrifice. She didn’t die to die, she died so you could live.”
            “I never wanted her to die for me.”
            “We don’t always get what we want.” She gets up from the bed. “Change so we can go back to Tasha.”
            I pull my wet hair back into a ponytail and put on fresh clothes. When I pull up my shirt, I catch sight of my ribs, looking irritated after being shoved a few days ago.
            “Hurry up!” Yelena hollers. I hurry down the stairs and find Yelena sitting with Liho. The kitten is wearing a pink doll dress. She looks positively peeved. “Morgan,”
            “Oh,”
            “You not going to joke, asking if it was me?”
            “No,” I pull my sleeves over my hands.
            “Come on.” She sighs, heading out of the house. “Pepper and Morgan went to the store. I told them to pick up strawberries.”
            “Thank you.”
            “Maybe we can watch a movie, low sound with subtitles.”
            “She seems sensitive,” I broach carefully.
            “Maybe takes time to adjust senses after death, hers are at eleven.” We pull up to the ruined compound. Nat hasn’t asked to see outside yet. She would see rubble and her home destroyed. But she hasn’t even mentioned the door.
            Steve is sitting with Natasha, scrolling through his phone as she sleeps. Yelena’s spark of hope that she had developed as we walked in dies when Steve looks up. I’m not the only one feeling disheartened.
            Any illusion that everything is normal comes crashing down the minute they try to get Nat to stand on her own Steve and Dr. Fine hold Nat up at the edge of the bed. Any color she has regained since waking up four days ago has washed away, leaving a sickly pallor.
            “Okay, Nat,” Steve encourages. “You’ve got this.” Nat should lash out at him, roll her eyes, tell him off. Instead, she stares blankly at her feet.
            “Romanoff, are you listening to us? We don’t have to try this yet if you’re not ready.” Fine adds. After what seems like hours, she nods. They let go, and she holds for a second, before her legs crumble beneath her, like a wooden push puppet. Neither Steve nor Dr. Fine seem to have expected her to last such a short time, and the super soldier catches her at the last second, too roughly. Her eyes close in pain.
            “Maybe we should call Chad,” I offer.
            “I’ll give him a call,” Fine pulls off his glasses. “And need to consult with Dr. Cho.”
            “Morgan put Liho in doll dress,” Yelena hands Natasha her phone, photos pulled up, “We could sneak her in, disguised as baby.”
            “This isn’t a real hospital, we could probably bring the cat,” I mutter, retaking my seat at Nat’s side.
            “We can’t bring a cat into a hospital room. She could rip out cords or escape, get trapped in a machine,” Steve lists off reasons. Despite our bickering, Nat has managed to fall asleep.         Steve makes the executive decision the next morning that we should leave the compound. I had been thinking the same thing. Yelena, despite being usually contrarian to every suggestion Steve makes, agrees. None of us know what to do to help Natasha. She has spoken on a few words since coming back and practically ignores all visitors. The best reaction any of them got was Fury, whom Natasha followed with her eyes as he walked about the room.
            “I have the perfect place for us to go,” Steve announces.
            “The apartment.” Yelena crosses her arms, “No farm.”
             “Nat, what do you think that we bring them to the you-know?” Steve looks to her, but she has drifted, not present for the conversation.
            “I don’t like surprises.” Yelena curls her lip.
            “It is a surprise Nat planned for Wanda,” I turn my attention away from Nat and to the pair.
            “For me?”
            “Yes. Now, will you come?”
            “I have business, then I meet you there.” Yelena crosses her arms.
            “You don’t have to finish supervising the cleanup,” Steve offers gently. I hadn’t even known she had been doing that.
            “Is what Tasha would do.” She straightens her back, trying to appear taller. “I’ll bring cat when I come. Plan?”
            “Wanda?” Steve asks, as though I have any say in this. I shrug, pushing closer to the bed. I had painted Nat’s nails yesterday, blush pink. She’d probably never pick the color herself. She almost always had a clear coat on. “We’ll go in the morning.”

I hold my duffel bag to my chest as I wait outside. The air is almost biting, and I wish I had brought a heavier jacket. Yelena isn’t here to see us off, and most of the team has left for Bruce’s funeral. Right now, I don’t feel like we are much of anything, let alone a team.
            “Wanda, what are you doing? Jet’s this way,” Steve calls, heading over to the only partially standing hangar. Nat is in one of my own wheelchairs, faraway. She doesn’t even see everything in front of her. “I called Sam, he is going to come out. He just needs some time with his family after the funeral.”
            “Why aren’t we driving?”
            “Can’t drive where we’re going,” He smiles. We get to the quinjet, and he lays a hand on Nat’s shoulder. She flinches, snapped out of her stupor.        
            “Hey, you’re okay. We’re on the quinjet. Going to Wanda’s birthday present, okay?” What did she buy me? Nat actually nods and look over to me.
            “So, is it early or late?” I ask. Nat’s lips switch, the closest I have seen to a smile. Maybe Steve had the right idea.
            The ride is quick, not even an hour. Natasha wakes from a nightmare as we make our descent, the jolt looks like it sends a wave of paint.
            “Clint,” She looks around, disoriented. “We,”
            “He’s on the farm with Laura and the kids. I invited them to come out in a few days.”
            “You did what?” I snap, anger quickly erupting to the surface.
            “Wanda,” he warns.
            “You had no right,” I close my fists and try to take deep breaths. Natasha’s fragile hand closes around mine. Great, I’m upsetting her. I’m making everything worse. Maybe I should have stayed behind with Yelena. My powers could have made cleanup go by faster. Had I known, I should have been helping anyway. Instead, I have been sitting around doing nothing. Being useless. I’m not making Nat feel any better, I’m not helping the situation. The quinjet lands, and the gangplank drops. I hadn’t been paying attention while we were flying, and a number of places pop into my head for possibilities. Then the salty smell of the ocean wafts in.
            I step outside, shielding my eyes from the bright sun. Crushes seashells shift underfoot, the entire path lined with them, bleached by the sun. A hundred yards away, a sprawling shingle-style house spans across a grassy field, which turns into sand dunes, before stretching into the ocean. I turn back to my mom, my heart overflowing with excitement. But it deflates when I see Steve pushing Nat out.
            “Nat, remember this place?” Steve coaches. Her eyes are blank disks, the presence she had a few minutes ago is gone.
            “Mom, when did you buy it?” I ask, hoping to get something. She shivers in the wheelchair.
            “Let’s get inside,” Steve holds all of our bags and pushes Nat as well. As we get closer, I can see the details of the house. A large front porch and more windows than I thought a house could have. The white trim is bright against the sandy shingles and grey slate roof.
            “You’ve been here before?”
            “Yes, Nat took me. Before,” Before the Snap. A wheelchair ramp is well hidden behind hydrangea bushes, not yet in bloom. Steve asks Friday to disable the interior alarms as the door unlocks to his thumbprint.
             Inside, we are greeted by board and batten walls, a curving staircase, and rich hardwood floors. To one side is a living room, then a library. Steve walks us through into the house. The windows across the back have an unobstructed view of the ocean. There is a formal dining room, breakfast nook, another living room, and the kitchen.
            “Let’s go upstairs,” He offers, looking at Nat. I expect him to go to the staircase and maybe carry her up, but instead he goes over to a closet door. Inside, instead of a broom closet, is an elevator. Because Natasha thinks of everything. This was put in for me, for when I’m too sore for the stairs. I doubt she ever thought she would need it herself. “Your room is down the hall,” He nods, and then heads in the opposite direction, likely to his and Nat’s room. I reach a sturdy-looking door, ‘Little Witch’ is painted on a placard hung at eye level in Nat’s careful and elegant cursive. I think of what she once said to me, Wherever I live, there will always be a room for you. I’ll even put your name on the door. I turn the handle and step inside.
            The room is washed in natural light, and French doors lead to a balcony overlooking the ocean. A king-sized bed is against the wall, and there is a fireplace with a couch. Against one wall is a desk, and on another is the entrance to the closet and bathrooms. The bathroom is what I would expect Natasha to design. Fully, and subtly, accessible. The closet has been stocked with sundresses and swimsuits, out of season now, but ready for summer. Everything I could possibly need on a getaway to, based on the framed antique map on the wall, Nantucket.
            I head over to the bed and see a small white envelope resting on the front throw pillow. Addressed to Love. I find a letter opener in a desk drawer and carefully unseal the card.

To My Dearest Wanda,

 I love you. I love you more than words could ever describe. You are my greatest joy. You make life exciting, and there is never a dull moment when we are together. I love how your eyes light up when you figure out a problem, the warm familiarity of your powers, and how your nose twitches when you’re tired. Your determination, intelligence, and beauty are complemented by your kindness. It is my greatest honor to be your mom. Happy 19^th birthday, sweet girl, and don’t forget to look up.

Love,
Mom

            My eyes drift upwards, towards the ceiling. It has been painted as the most realistic night sky I have ever seen. The depth and placement of the stars is remarkable. She knew I would forget to look up when I came in. She knows me better than I know myself. I curl up on my bed, holding the letter tight. This house was supposed to be my nineteenth birthday present, which should have only been weeks away, not months. There is a knock at the door.
            “Come in,” I call, wiping at my tears. Steve carries in my duffel, placing it by the door. “So, you knew about this place,”
            “Yeah. That weekend we came to visit when everything started, we had just left here. Putting the finishing touches on the house. The last thing we did was puta topcoat on the ceiling.”
            “You guys painted this?”
            “Yes, took three days of almost nonstop work. You know how Nat w-is,” Neither of us misses how he almost said was, but neither of us acknowledges it either. “I’m going to head into town and pick up some groceries. There’s nothing in the fridge at all. Anything in particular you want?”
            “Lobster,”
            “You can’t,” Steve looks panicked.
            “It was a joke.” I pick at my nailbed.
            “Right. Well, will you guys be okay alone?”
            “Fine,” I assure him, heading over to the balcony. He says his goodbyes and I open the French doors, letting in the sea spray. There is a pool and pool house in the backyard, as well as what looks like a small guest cottage and boathouse. A carriage house is off to the left. My powers twinge, reaching out without my permission. I can feel Nat’s distress.
            I hurry out of my room and down the hall, getting to a set of double doors. Carefully, I push one open, trying not to startle her. She is asleep, her face tight with pain. I barely take in the grand room, heading straight to her bed. I crawl up on the other side.
            “Mom?” I try to gently wake her, “Mom it’s just a nightmare,” Her eyes fly open.
            “Clint,” She gasps, struggling to sit up on her own.
            “He’s on the farm,” I promise her.
            “No, it didn’t work,” She almost stares through me, tears in her eyes. “It didn’t work,”
            “We’re all back; it worked. Your plan worked, Nat. Maybe lay back down,” I lie beside her, and she finds my hand. Does she think this isn’t real? That this is some sort of dream? Maybe torture from whatever hell she was in? I itch to use my powers to understand what she thinks is going on, but refrain. I thought she has slipped again, but then she speaks.
            “I love you. I tried, I tried to save everyone.”
            “You did. I love you too,”
             “It didn’t work,” She whispers again, turning away and training her eyes on the sea.

Chapter Text

            Every inch of my body is in pain. I try to adjust to alleviate it, only to find the pain exacerbated and my movement constrained. When I open my eyes, I see the blurry outline of Steve. What happened to me? Where are we?
            “You’re okay; you’re safe,” He is louder than I expected. I watch as he crosses the room and flicks the lights. I wince, closing my eyes once more. My head is pounding, I must have a concussion. “Hey, sorry, I’ll turn them off.” I go to speak and finding moving my jaw causes a new wave of hurt. And I’m tired, more exhausted than I ever thought possible. I’m safe. I can rest. “Wait, you can go back to sleep in a second. There is someone who you’ll want to see first.”
            Speaking to anyone right now seems like a daunting task. Maybe it is Clint, maybe he heard I was injured and came back from wherever he was. There is movement and I shift my gaze to the side, unable to move my neck.
            I recognize her frame. The way her shoulders are folded in. I try to sit up, to reach for her, but my body isn’t cooperating. How is she here? My sweet girl, my Little Witch. I can’t move. The room fills with other people, faceless blobs of color, and I lose sight of Wanda. Is she here? Was she really here? How?
            “Mom, Mom,” I hear her voice, and then she cries out. No. They’re hurting her. I can’t let them hurt her, whoever they are.
            Someone is talking to me; I think it is Dr. Fine. How did he get here? How did Wanda get here? Thinking through the pain is near impossible. Nothing is making sense. Is she really here? Am I dying?
            “Nat,” I feel a familiar hand take mine, one I haven’t felt in so long. She is gentle as she raises it, but even then, pain radiates through my arm. But I feel my fingers brush her cheek. She is here. Somehow, she is here with me. I curve my hand around her cheek and feel my body relaxing. Sleep is about to pull me back under, and I am terrified she will be gone when I wake. But I seem to have no choice in the matter.
            The next time I open my eyes, Yelena is here. My vision is clearer, and I’m able to make out details. Her button nose and large blue eyes.
            “Tasha,” She breathes, quiet and calm. She comes to the head of the bed and presses her forehead against mine. An old memory flickers with the action, but I see Yelena’s tears when she pulls away. “Never do that to me again.” I don’t understand. Did no one get snapped? Did I imagine it? Some kind of coma dream? Have they been back for a while, and I just don’t remember? It doesn’t feel like blocks went up, but I can feel painkillers coursing through my veins, slowing everything.
            “Mom?” Wanda is looking at me expectantly. Wanda, Wanda is here. I want to hug her, to tell her I love her. Both of them. “Can we get you anything?” She asks, her voice is delicate, like crystal. Like she may break at any moment. I have already shattered. Dr. Fine and Cho interrupt us, and whatever they put in the IV, takes away some of the pain.
            Memories start to catch up with me. As does the significance of what my presence here means. My plan wasn’t followed. My best friend is dead. My soul is worthless, it wasn’t good enough for the soul stone. Someone, likely Steve, found me on the rock ground, broken and bloodied. Clint’s body next to mine. How did I ever survive a fall that far? Each time I ask for him, I am told that he is on the farm, reunited with Laura and the kids. But I saw the glare Steve first tossed Yelena and Wanda when I initially asked. They are hiding it from me. Even when I try to confirm the year and explain that the plan wasn’t supposed to work out like this, I am cut off. I don’t have the energy to argue, to force them to tell me anything. Sleep is hardly an escape.
            I feel Clint’s grip loosen, and I kick off. I can see his face, and I’m falling. Falling. About to greet death, I can hear Clint screaming as I fall, and then I wake up. At the time, it was peaceful. Reliving it is hell.
            And I know I am losing time when I am awake, slipping away as Wanda calls it. I’ll blink and the people in the room have changed, the position people are in. Even when Fury was here, I couldn’t bring myself to be fully present, to hold a conversation. Somehow, things always manage to get worse.
            “Okay, Nat,” Steve encourages, “You’ve got this,” I truly don’t think I do. Sweat has begun to drip from my hairline, and I feel as though I am going to be sick. Fine and Steve’s hold on me on either side burns. I don’t want to do this.
            “Romanoff, are you listening to us? We don’t have to try this yet, if you’re not ready.” He is kind in his words, but I think I should be able to do this by now. It is expected of me to be able to get up and walk around. People are relying on me. The pain in my legs is a strong deterrent. But they are all looking at me with so much hope. I give a short nod, and my arms are released. For just a moment, I am standing, and then it all comes crashing down. I am falling to the floor, unable to catch myself. But Steve does, and it sends blinding pain up through my arm and back. I close my eyes, trying not to vomit or cry. Maybe both.
            Then we are leaving. They are putting me into a wheelchair that increases my discomfort, and I recognize it as Wanda’s. I am no longer hooked up to machines, and the shame that accompanies a catheter and feeding tube is gone. The pain is starting to decrease, and the bruises that I saw on my arms and legs have faded to an ugly yellowish green. I imagine the same covers my entire body. Something lands on my shoulder.
            “Hey, you’re okay. We’re on the quinjet. Going to Wanda’s birthday present, okay?” Steve appears apologetic, and I’m embarrassed that something as simple as his hand on my shoulder could startle me so much. I nod and look over at Wanda.
            “So, is it early or late?” Wanda asks. I try to smile at her joke. I’ve figured out by now that they woke up five years in the future. The pain and chaos that must have come with it. Parents showing up to collect their children at my orphanage, only to see that their little kid is now a teenager. Or worse, a parent of those who died the first few days arriving home with their child gone.
            I wake with a start, the image of my best friend’s head shattered against the rock burned into my mind.
            “Clint,” I ignore the shockwaves running through my body at the sudden movement, “We,”
            “He’s on the farm with Laura and the kids. I invited them to come out in a few days,” Why keep lying to me?
            “You did what?” Wanda snaps, clearly, she isn’t thrilled with Steve’s lie either.
            “Wanda,
            “You had no right,” Her eyes begin to burn bright red, and I reach out, closing a hand around hers.
            Then I’m in my bedroom, here at the Nantucket house. It has been over five years since I’ve stepped foot in this house, in this room. I slowly, painfully, push myself over to the French doors leading out to the balcony.
            The ocean is angry, a contrast to the bright sunny sky, and a sign a storm is likely on the horizon.
            “Natasha? Natasha!” Panicked yelling echoes from inside. Steve bursts onto the balcony, his eyes wide. “Nat, you scared the hell out of me.”
            “Language, Rogers,” I look back out to the ocean.
            “It’s cold, you should come inside,”
            “Probably.”
            “You moved the chair yourself.” I don’t reply, instead watching the waves crash against the shore. “We should go back inside.” He tries again. I sigh, and he seems to take that as my consent, taking the chair. Part of me wants to demand a reason for why he is here, and what it means. Are we back together? Why would you want to be with someone who is worth so little to the world?
            Steve helps me into bed, and the stress off my lower spine is a relief. I lean back into the pillows, trying to keep my eyes open.
            “I’m going grocery shopping; we could do lunch when I get back? Maybe a movie?” I try to smile. He accepts it and bends down to kiss me, then stops and pulls away, his cheeks red. “I’ll um, see you soon.” I watch him leave, feeling empty, and then fall asleep.
            My body slams against the face of the cliff, ribs shattering. Holding Clint close. My skin smells like smoke from the earlier explosion. Tears are running down Clint’s face, and he struggles to hold me as I slip. I kick off the wall, but this time he comes with me. We’re falling, falling, the resistance in the air giving us far too much time to contemplate our life, our decision. I see him land beside me, his body shattering, the ground slowly becoming drenched with his blood. His head lolls to the side, blood trails out between his lips, neck bent to an impossible angle. His mouth begins to move.
            “Mom? Mom, it’s just a nightmare,” He is gone. Where?
            “Clint,” I struggle to sit up.
            “He’s on the farm,” Wanda is crouched beside me.
            “No, it didn’t work.” I try to explain, “It didn’t work.”
            “We’re all back; it worked. Your plan worked, Nat. Maybe lay back down?” She lies down next to me, and my hand slips into hers. Now that I’ve started crying, I can’t stop. I failed. I killed my best friend. I have done so many horrible things, have filled my ledger with so much red, that my soul was worth nothing. That I am worth nothing. Everything I have done, none of counted when I needed it to.
            “I love you, I tried, I tried to save everyone.” A sorry excuse. A fruitless effort.
            “You did,” She assures me, as though I am still a hero in her eyes, “I love you too,”
            “It didn’t work,” I turn away from her, ashamed, and watch the unforgiving ocean strengthen.

            I reject Steve’s suggestion to go down to lunch, though I’m unable to sleep. My body cries for it, but my brain is running. And my head is pounding. After what must be an hour, there is a knock at the door.
            “Hey, I brought you a protein shake,” Steve holds up the glass.
            “I’m not hungry.”
            “You seem to be doing better,”
            “You mean I’m speaking again.” I hold back a groan as I pull myself up into a sitting position. He at least looks slightly embarrassed about me calling him out. “My jaw doesn’t hurt as much.” And my head doesn’t feel so scrambled.
            “Maybe you can have burgers with Wanda and I tonight.”
            “Me and Wanda,” I correct halfheartedly.
            “Exactly!” He beams, and I realize I fell into his trap. I roll my eyes in annoyance. “Here,” He holds up the shake to me.
            “I’m not hungry,” I repeat.
            “You haven’t eaten today,”
            “You’re not my nurse,” I close my eyes, feeling my headache increasing, “Did you bring my laptop? There must be a lot going on,” Nausea swirls, creeping up my throat.
            “You can’t work, Nat. And your laptop was destroyed.”
            “What do you mean?” I pause, opening my eyes, which instantly makes everything worse. “Who broke it?”  
            “It isn’t important,”
            “Steve,”
            “You can’t,”
            “I’m going to throw up,” I swallow, trying to keep it down. He jumps up from the edge of the bed, looking around the room. His eyes land on a tree and it gets yanked out of its ceramic pot. He dashes back over to me, holding the planter to my chin just in time. “You’re okay,” He rubs my thigh.
            “No, I’m not. We both know I’m not,” I lift my head up from the pot, feeling like it weighs a ton. My eyes land on Wanda, who just appeared in the doorway. She looks at the uprooted olive tree and then at me and Steve.
            “What happened?”
            “Your mom needs to rest, let’s go play a board game.” He pulls the shades in the room as he leaves, and my migraine lessens almost instantly. What good am I here? I am just creating problems, cause for concern. Worthless, that is what the universe told me. And here, I can't even help my own daughter. Steve is scared to even touch me. I close my eyes, stomach churning for an entirely new reason. This time, I am able to fall asleep.
            When I do wake up, Steve is lying beside me. His chest is bare, and a hand is resting lightly on my abdomen. But I need to go to the bathroom, badly. The idea of asking Steve for help is humiliating, as is the idea of needing assistance from Wanda. Yelena, I would ask. But neither of them. The wheelchair is beside the bed. I just need to transfer to the chair, and then the toilet, and then repeat it. My existing empathy for Wanda post amputation has only grown in the last few days.
            It is not graceful, nor without pain, but I make it into the chair. And I push through the room, hoping I don’t wake the sleeping super soldier. The bathroom is well lit with the light of the moon. The ordeal is far more effort than any attempt to go to the bathroom should be. Then, as I wash my hands from the relative comfort of the chair, I realize I haven’t seen my face since waking up. Carefully, I pull myself up by the lip of the sink counter, the marble edge cool as it presses into my palms. My legs shake as they hold me up, but it is better than my previous attempt. The face that stares back at me is corpse-like. The eyes are hollow and rimmed with dark circles. Even in the dim lighting, I can tell my skin is sallow, and my red lips look almost vampiric. I look like the undead.
            I collapse back into the chair, my heart hammering. Despite feeling so awful, I had no idea that the outside reflected the same. This must have been horrible for all of them, and I have hardly been making it easier. This especially wasn’t fair to Wanda. My sweet girl.
            I push out of the bathroom and the bedroom, then down the hall. Thank God this chair has electric assistance, or I probably wouldn’t have made it. As it is, when I reach for the knob, my hand shakes.
            Almost immediately, as I open the door, she sits up. Her hair hangs loose around her shoulders.
            “You should be asleep.” I admonish quietly.
            “I could say the same to you,”
            “I’ve slept enough lately.” Rather than getting up from the bed, the wheelchair glows red and rolls forward. Her powers help me onto the mattress as well.
            “I was worried you weren’t here anymore.” She curls up beside me, resting her head on my chest. I don’t even care that it causes discomfort. Overhead, the stars, which were so carefully painted, glow. “That when Steve brought you back,”
            “I’m here, love.”
            “Do you want to talk about it?”
            “No,” I see it flash before my eyes. The falling, Clint screaming. Clint, who is now gone.
             “Those few days without you, before he went to get you,” Wanda takes a deep, shuttering breath, “I didn’t know how I was going to do it. I’ve been feeling angry again. Not at you,” She is quick to add, “Not at you at all. But at everyone else. At the world. And sometimes I worry that I’m not recovered from,” She swallows, “You know. I think I see something, and it isn’t,”
            “You can always tell me what is wrong, Little Witch. Didn’t we cover this lesson before?”
            “But you’re going through so much! I mean, you,” She sits up waving her hand, “And then the five years. And Clint,” She spits his name, “Abandoning you for five years. The coward,”
            “Wanda, he helped bring you back.”
            “He is a selfish,”
            “Please,” I hear my voice crack. She settles back down beside me.
            “I’m sorry, but what he did,”
            “He lost his family.”
            “So did you.” Her tears have begun to soak through my t-shirt. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
            “You are loved.” I hold back a yawn.
            “I love you too,”

            The activity of last night comes back to bite me in the morning. I overdid it. Steve insists that I come down for breakfast, and he plants me at the head of the table. Any possible appetite disappears when he announces that the Barton’s will be arriving in an hour, accompanied by Yelena. I stare down at the oatmeal and push it back, going for just the coffee.
            “How is your head today?”
            “Fine.” Honestly, the pain everywhere else makes it not seem so bad.
            “We could maybe go down to the beach today.”
            “It is going to storm.” I take a sip of my coffee, it sloshes inside the mug, but none spills. Maybe they won’t be able to fly in.
            “Maybe we can go out before it rains. Get some fresh air,”
            “Rogers, if you keep being so upbeat, I am going to stab you.” I put down cup, glaring at him. But he smiles at me, like this is exactly how he wanted me to react. He has been trying to get a rise out of me.
            “We should do a belated birthday party for Yelena. I mean, we all kind of need belated birthday parties, but hers was only like two weeks ago.” Wanda interrupts us, like the thought had been stewing for a while.
            “You and Lila could make a cake,” I agree, “I’m sure Yelena would appreciate it.” It might also distract the little girl from her father’s death. I’m not even sure why they are coming. It is my fault they are now fatherless. I left Laura a widow. I tried so hard to keep Clint alive for so many years. I stare down at the black liquid sitting in the stark white mug.
            “Nat?” Wanda is crouch in front of me, “They are going to be landing in a few minutes.”
            “I’m sorry, I didn’t,”
            “It’s fine,” She shrugs.
            “You were injured,” I realize now, which means there must have been a battle or a fight. “What happened?” Wanda opens her mouth, but is then cut off.
            “They’re here!” Steve yells, heading out the front door. I follow, with Wanda pushing me. A large SUV comes into view. By the way it taking the driveway, Yelena is likely driving. It comes to a stop just outside the front porch, seashell gravel spraying into the bushes.
            Laura climbs out of the passenger seat and the back doors fly open, obscuring the people behind them, if it weren’t for the telltale sign of children’s shoes- light up sneakers and ladybug rainboots. They all run up the front porch, crowding me. Laura crouches down, tears in her eyes.
            “Thank you,” She mouths, which further adds to my confusion. Lila, Cooper, and Nate are clamoring for attention. Yelena is holding baby Nicole, standing beside Steve. Then I hear the car door slam shut. I wince at the loud noise, and then do a head count. Everyone is already on the porch. I shield my eyes against the sun and look out to the car. He runs a hand through his hair as he gets closer. I can’t breathe. This doesn’t make sense. This isn’t possible. I can’t breathe. My nails dig into my palms, and the flesh begins to tear. This is impossible. This is impossible. 
            “Hi Tash,”

Chapter Text

            “Hi, Tash,” I stare at the approaching figure, weighed down by bags. How is he here? This isn’t possible. He died. He had to have died if I am here. This isn’t real. I’m imagining it.
            “Nat, you okay?” Steve crouches down next to me.
            “Do you see him?” I wonder if this is how Wanda always feels, questioning if the people around her are real. If the experience, one that feels tangible, is a figment of my imagination.
            “I told you he shouldn’t have come,” She hisses.
            “I don’t understand,” I cannot tear my eyes away. He stands awkwardly at the porch steps, not moving any closer. Then there is a crack of thunder overhead and a wall of dark clouds.
            “We should head inside,” Laura suggests.
            “Don’t have to tell me twice,” Yelena picks up the cat carrier and charges into the house.
            “Clint,” I try to twist around in the chair as I am pushed in, but my spine protests. “Clint,”
            “He is coming inside with us, don’t worry,” The mother of four rests a gentle hand on my shoulder. I relax, and then a black bundle flies onto my lap. It doesn’t hurt, but it is surprising. Two large green eyes stare back at me, and the kitten proceeds to yell as though I have done something to wrong her. When Yelena goes to remove the cat, she hisses in my sister’s direction before settling down and curling into a tight ball.
            “Auntie Nat, your cat, is nothing like Scratching Larry,” Lila looks at her with wide eyes, clearly comparing Liho to their semi-feral barn cat. Steve shows our new arrivals to their rooms. Laura and the youngest Barton's will be staying in the guest house. Clint too. Because Clint is really here, Yelena has her suite, while Cooper and Lila have two of the bunks in the bunkroom.
            “Wanda, he is here, right?” My daughter and I are now the only two on the main floor. Rain begins to patter against the windowpanes.
            “Yes, I’m sorry.” She looks up from her hands. The nails are bitten to the quick.
            “I thought he was dead. How isn’t he dead?” Nothing makes any sense. No one has offered anything resembling an explanation.
            “Trust me, Yelena and I both wanted to kill him.”
            “I don’t understand,” They’ve known he is alive, and they didn’t want him to be? Is it because of the five years on the run? How did they find out about it? Did Steve tell them? Clint?
            “So, I was thinking breakfast for dinner?” Steve asks, entering the living room where everyone had previously dispersed. “Maybe crepes,”
            “Pancakes!” Nate declares, running in from the backyard, shaking his hair of raindrops.
            “I would like mimosa,” Yelena adds, coming from behind. Not far behind Nate were his parents and baby sister. It is like seeing a ghost, watching as he swings Nicole. My head hurts. “Tasha, you stay with us?” She is crouched down in front of me. The others have moved to the dining table, with Steve taking out a board game.
            “How is he here?”
            “Clint? Flew in with kids and Laura. We met at airport and drive over together. You ask for him; I thought you’d want to see him. Against my better judgment. Come play with us, will be fun.”
            “I’m not,”
            “You’re on my team.” She takes the chair and unlocks it, pushing it towards the table.
            “All that is left is the thimble,” Cooper apologizes, handing Yelena the piece.
            “Is okay, Natasha says I am a prick anyway.” Yelena shrugs, and I know she is trying to get me riled up. But I see Clint bouncing Nate in his lap. He catches me staring and smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
            There is laughter around the board, and I feel like they are interacting around me. Like I’m not really here. A prop. A decoration. Maybe this is a dream. It would make sense. I have been sleeping a lot, and my subconscious is trying to give me what I want. This is idyllic. Nothing has been this good in five years.
             I pinch my arm, trying to wake myself. The skin twists, becoming bright red. My nails begin to tear into the flesh of my arm.
            “What are you doing?” Yelena pulls my hand away, her grip almost too tight.
            “Trying to wake up,” I stare at my arm. It didn’t work.
            “You are awake,” She whispers. “Come on; maybe you need to lie down.” She pulls me away from the table, announcing that she needs to nap after her flight, and heads up to my suite. “I am worried,”
            “Me too.”
            “Very reassuring,” She inspects me, her head cocked to the side. I stand up unsteadily from the chair, and Yelena helps me into bed. “But you are doing better physically. Few days ago, you couldn’t even sit up by yourself.”
            “Why am I alive?” I ask, primarily to myself and definitely rhetorically.
            “Because we love you,”
            “You aren’t going to rejoin them?”
            “No, just you.” She lies down next to me, our shoulders pressing against each other. “I’m sorry.”
            “For what?” I hold back a yawn, turning to look at my sister. We face each other, just inches apart, our noses almost touching. Her eyes are a shade lighter than Wanda’s, cornflower blue with a dark ring around the edge. Sometimes I can see a hint of green in Wanda’s eyes, almost reminding me of my own. Wishful thinking, surely.
            “I’m sorry for not being here. Again.”
            “It wasn’t your fault.”
            “Wasn’t yours either.”

            Yelena is still here when I wake up, scrolling through her phone. She locks it as soon as she senses me shifting.
            “You are up.”
            “What time is it?”
            “Almost five. Steve is in the middle of cooking dinner, and the kids are watching Disney movie.”
            “Wanda, Clint,”
            “Not killing each other. Laura is sitting between them. Honestly, I think they are both scared of her. Me too.” She laughs. “You don’t laugh,”
            “I’ll try harder,”
            “Is everything okay? You can talk to me. I know I say I don’t do emotion, but,”
            “Fine, Lena. Let’s rejoin the family.” Yelena grabs a long cardigan off a nearby chair and slides it on me. “I’m not ill.”
            “You looked cold!” She argues. Downstairs, almost everyone is watching the movie, except for Clint and Steve, who are in the kitchen.
            “Auntie Nat, come watch the movie with us.” Lila runs over, her eyes bright. It is a look I am not used to children having anymore. The ones at the orphanage frequently looked jaded, even when happy. They must be back with their families now. What if I have been getting emails? I need my laptop and phone; I should check in with everyone.
            “Lila-bear,” I gently tug one of her braids. Despite wanting to go with the little girl, whom I have missed so much, I need to talk to her father. However, she commandeers the chair, pushing it towards the couch. Getting in and out of the chair is becoming more manageable, and Wanda offers her hand as I turn around. Everyone seems itching to help me. A slight prickle of irritation has begun to form, but I push it away. I also want them to turn down the TV and dim the lights. Everything is still too bright and too loud. Too sharp. The concussion should be mostly gone by now, but the symptoms persist, nagging and pestering in the back of my mind.
            “Mom, are you okay?”
            “Tired,” Confused. In pain. No one else seems surprised that Clint is here. Everyone just keeps clustering around me. Cooper is sitting at my feet, and Lila is pressed against one side of me, with Wanda on the other. The latter has the sleeves of her sweatshirt pulled over her hands; it is one I had purchased for the house. I remember folding it and putting it in the dresser drawer. Nantucket is emblazoned across the chest in muted white letters. She rests her head on my shoulder, and I catch the scent of her strawberry shampoo. I missed her, missed her beyond comprehension. But I don’t deserve her, them. The stone showed me that.
             Laura keeps smiling at me as she nurses Nicole. They all act like I am a hero—someone worthy of admiration and celebration. I failed. Can’t they see that? The value of my intention, the thought behind my actions, is not applicable here. And the flippant remark from Yelena about Clint getting here by plane or Wanda wishing she had killed him. What does that mean?
            “Dinner is ready!” Clint calls. Everyone hops up from the couch with ease, racing to the dining table, which has since been cleared of the board game.
            “I can help y-” Wanda cuts herself off, “Do you want help?” she asks. I am grateful that she asked rather than just doing it as the others have been. Perhaps it is why I have begun to feel like a prop or a doll. I nod, and she offers her arm to steady me as I move to the chair.
            The table is covered with an assortment of breakfast food: pancakes, bacon, fruit, eggs, and toast. There are two champagne bottles on the table, and the room is overflowing with love and happiness. Maybe I am in a coma, and this is another world she created for me, another safe haven. I never woke up; I’m still in the hospital room at the,
            “Was that the compound?” I ask. Everyone stares at me. I had never looked out the window; I hadn’t cared to. But it must have been. It is unlikely we were in a regular hospital or the SHIELD hospital in D.C. It had to have been.
            “Was what the compound, Nat?” Steve serves me scrambled eggs.
            “The hospital room I was in,” The kids are staring, and it occurs to me that this might not be an appropriate conversation for them to be a part of. “Never mind.”

            I briefly fall asleep on the couch after dinner, and the kids have all gone to bed when I wake. The adults, and Wanda, are gathered around the kitchen island. She is as far away from Clint as possible. I push forward in the chair, having made the transfer from the couch on my own, and they smile when they see me.
            “Nat, you’re up,” Laura heads over to the fridge, “I’ll get you a glass of champagne.”
            “Here,” Steve offers his hand and helps me to a counter seat vacated by Clint. I reach out, and my fingers grace the edge of my best friend’s arm.
            “You okay?” He pauses, glancing at the spot I just touched, and then to me.
            “You’re really here,” I look at the intricate tattoo going up his bicep. His mohawk isn’t so prominent.
            “Of course. Steve said you asked for me,”
            “But how,” No one is listening to me. No one understands. I press my eyes with the heel of my hand, nails digging into my hairline, and then run them down my scalp, only to gasp in surprise, almost a yelp.
            “What’s wrong? What hurts?” Steve is immediately there, shoving Clint out of the way. I can feel a shift in the room; everyone is on alert.
            “My head, I felt something,” They are looking at me like I am crazy, “I felt it,”
            “It is your scar,” Yelena breaks the silence. “From your, um, fall.” I reach back up and outline it with my finger on the back of my skull. Like a starburst hidden by hair. How the fuck did I survive that? It feels like my head cracked open.
            “How are you here?” I ask Clint directly, looking past Steve. No one else is explaining it. Why isn’t anyone telling me? Why are they lying to me?
            “We took a plane?” He looks over at Laura. “She booked it,”
            “That isn’t what I mean!”
            “Tasha, tell us what you mean,”
            “How is Clint here if he is dead?” They all begin yelling over each other. My voice, asking them to be quiet, isn’t heard. The noise is making my headache so much worse. I said something wrong. Clint isn’t supposed to be dead. But how isn’t he supposed to be dead? The wind begins to pick up outside. What is the alternative? Who is? Panic begins to build, working its way up my chest. There is a large clap of thunder, and the lights go out.

            The room lights up with Wanda’s powers, her hands glowing. I can hear rustling as everyone else reaches for their phones; quickly, the room is dimly lit.
            “What do you mean I’m dead?” Clint asks.
            “Can we get the lights on first?” Yelena snaps, “This conversation is hard enough.”
            “Give it a second,” I murmur. Finally, a few lights flicker on, and the fridge begins its quiet background humming once more as the generator kicks in.
            “Nat, can you explain everything to us?” Laura is soft in her ask, but they are all staring at me. I’ve made some type of mistake. Maybe I was not supposed to mention it. Perhaps that isn’t how we got the soul stone at all. Maybe he never jumped. Maybe someone else showed up. No. We were the only ones who were there. There is no one else.
            “I think I need some air,”
            “There is hurricane outside; you’re not going out there,”
            “Nat, why do you think I’m dead?”  Clint’s eyes bore into my soul or, I suppose, my lack of one. “Why do you think I’m dead?” He asks again, leaning on the counter in front of me.
            “Because I’m not.”
            “Nat, that doesn’t make any sense.” Steve interrupts. Clint silences him with a glare.
            “Okay, why can’t we both be alive?”
            “If I’m here, that means my sacrifice didn’t work. My soul was rejected,” There is a sharp intake of breath around me, and Wanda chokes back a sob. I itch to pace back and forth; I’m feeling restless. Like maybe I should throw knives. I have no weapons; I haven’t had any in days. How have I gone so long without any? And I am causing everyone even more pain. “I’m sorry. Since I failed, you had to jump.”
            “Oh, oh, Tash,” He reaches forward and puts my hands in his.
            “Mom,” Wanda speaks up, her voice barely above a whisper, “You didn’t fail.”
            “No, sweet girl,”
            “You weren’t here when we got back.”
            “Steve had to get me from Vormir,” I had a shadow of a memory, so vague it could be false, of being picked up from a pool of water, barely having the strength to keep my heart beating.
            “Have you thought this whole time that you had failed?” Wanda’s eyes widen, and tears begin to fall down her cheeks, “I’m sorry, I should have,”  
            “Oh love, come here,” Wanda buries her face in my shirt. I hold her tight.
            “You didn’t fail,” she adds again, pulling away, wiping roughly at her cheeks.
            “What happened?”
            “I don’t know if,”
            “What happened?” I rise from my seat and ignore the feeling of fissures deepening in my legs. They feel like fault lines.
            “Nat,” Steve grabs my hand and tries to get me to sit back down. I wrench my arm away and nearly stumble as I step back. The anger and frustration that has been building beneath the surface bubbles over. My patience has been exhausted.
            “Someone tell me what the hell is going on,”
            "Natasha, you died.”

Chapter Text

            Natasha stares at Clint. Her face has lost any semblance of emotion, going completely flat. It is like a ceramic mask has been placed over her true face.
            “Please elaborate.” Her voice is just as flat. Her best friend shakes his head, though I don’t know if he is actually deserving of that title, nor if he still has it. He looks to the rest of us, almost desperate, but no one leaps in to help him. None of us can offer what he can, none of us were there.
            “You fell,” He begin, trepidation bleeding into the air.
            “I jumped,” She corrects, as though we had to be reminded. Maybe to her, we do. None of us have exactly been asking her how she is doing mentally. We’ve all been focused on her body, so clearly broken, that her mind never crossed ours.
            “You jumped,” He gulps, “And I woke up in a pool of water, with the stone. We came back here,”
            “And no one followed my plan.” She fills in the gap, “If my plan had been followed, someone would have answered me when I asked what year it was.”
            “Your plan wasn’t followed,” Steve concedes, taking over from Clint, whose face is pale and sort of green. It is almost enough to make me feel sorry for him. Almost. “Thanos showed up here, and we had to fight him. We won, but we lost some.” Nat listens, her expression yet to change. “Then, a few days later, I went to return the stones. I saved Vormir for last.”
            “So that you could either bring me or my body back.”
            “Yes.” 
            “What happened on Vormir?” Steve hesitates to answer her.
            “Nat, I don’t want to,”
            “I would like to know.”
            “Your body was lying there, at the bottom. It had only been a few minutes, but also a few days,” Steve rubs the back of his neck, “And there was no one there. No one to guard the stone like there had been for you and Clint. No stone to guard. So, I prayed, and I dropped it.”
            “Tasha I don’t know,” Yelena steps away from me, trying to end the conversation. Natasha turns her flat eyes to her, and Yelena puts her hands up.
             “We were in a pool of water, and you didn’t sit up, you breathed it in. The water was running red with your blood,” His eyes are far away, “You were barely alive, and I had to program our GPSs, it took me two tries to get yours working. I held you in my arms, and you,”
            “That is enough.” Laura is firm.
            “I asked.” Natasha looks to Laura. The mother of four looks guilty, and I realize that Clint must have told her what happened on Vormir, and the five years leading up to it.
            “I was treated at the compound?” She confirms.
            “What was left of it,” Clint shoves his hands in his pockets.
            “I guess that explains my phone and laptop.”
            “New ones should be here in the next few days. Tony is working on it.” Steve rushes to assure her.
            “I think I am going to go to bed.” Steve gets ready to help her, “Alone. I need some alone time.” She heads to the elevator, and we are left with our thoughts in the dimly lit kitchen. Had this been five years ago, Clint would have rushed off after her. Instead, he sits down on a chair in the breakfast nook, his age showing. Laura goes over to him, rubbing his shoulders. Yelena and Steve don’t race to help her either. Suddenly, everyone is respecting her wishes. And this time I don’t think they should.
             I leave them all and head upstairs, ignoring them all as they tell me to wait. The hallway is dark, the power not yet restored, and the generator doesn’t seem to extend to these lights. The kids haven’t been woken by the storm, even Nate and Nicole, sleeping here until their parents go to the guest house. I reach the end of the hall and knock on the door. There is no answer.
            I push it open and poke my head in. Natasha isn’t on the bed. My stomach churns as my mind flashes to a similar situation almost two years, no seven years, ago. The French doors to the balcony are open, and the hardwood floors are beginning to become slick. The wheelchair has been abandoned, and pushed off to the side.
            “Mom?” I head out, crossing my arms, trying to protect myself against the winds. Natasha is standing at the edge of the balcony, leaning up against the fence. She stares out at the water, unmoving. “Mom?” I try again, approaching her. Her hands are gripping the top railing of the balustrade, and I put my left over her right. She turns and I can’t figure out what is going on in her head. Instead, she takes her hand over mine and squeezes. Though her face doesn’t expose her feelings, that did. Neither of us makes any move to come inside, and it isn’t until a hint of saltiness graces my lips that I realize I am crying, the tears mixing with the rain. Maybe that is why she came out here. Or maybe it is because it is as far as she could get.
            “You’re going to catch a cold if we stay out here,” She pulls away and begins to head inside, pausing to wait for me. I get the feeling she wants me to follow her. The power has come back, and the hum of an alive house is present again. We head into the bathroom, and she nods to the vanity seat. “Take off that sweatshirt, it is soaked.” I do as she says, only in a sports bra. She wraps a warm towel around my shoulders, coming off the heater.
            My hair is in wet clumps, tangled by the wind and drenched by the rain. Nat gently works through it with a comb, and I can feel her hands shaking as she braids with none of her usual deftness. Two wet braids rest over the towel. I look at her through the mirror. Her face is pale, her own hair looking much like mine did a few minutes ago. I can also see she is struggling to continue standing, but she is too proud to exchange seats with me.
            “I want to lie down,” I say carefully, hoping she won’t see through me. She does, I’m sure, But I just get a subtle nod, as she walks towards the bed. Her arm ends up in mine as I help her make the last few steps. “Do you want me to grab you some dry clothes?” I ask, looking as the bedspread begins to dampen.
            “I have a silk set, top right drawer.” I hand her the towel and she begins to dry her hair. The closet is bigger than mine, but I find her pajama drawer and pull out a matching black button-down silk shirt and pants. An N and R are embroidered on the shirt pocket in white.
            She takes the clothes and I promise to be right back as I head to my own room to change into pajamas. Steve can sleep in one of the guest rooms tonight. I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror as I brush my teeth. The two French braids by Nat are something I never thought I would be able to have again. I thought she was gone forever. Even once we had her back, I worried that she wouldn’t be here. That we would have lost a part of her. But tonight, in the bathroom, she seemed like herself. Even if the braids are messier than she would normally allow. My head is feeling busier, like this cloud of grief is starting to lift. It feels dangerous like the intrusive thoughts can’t quiet down. I push them away as I splash cold water on my face and leave the bathroom.
            Natasha is struggling with the buttons on the shirt when I come in. She doesn’t look as present as she did fifteen minutes ago, and her face is flat once more. Her hands drop to her side in defeat, and I step in, doing the top two.
            “Do you need anything?”
            “No, thank you.” She lies down, shivering. I go to the other side of the bed and remove my leg. My pajamas of shorts and an oversized t-shirt are not nearly as fancy as hers. But I recognize the t-shirt that she put in the drawer. It is the same one we got Steve, who gifted it to Clint, on our first visit years ago. I’m sure tomorrow at breakfast, it will cause some uncomfortable conversations with the kids. Nat doesn’t comment on it like I hoped she would. She stares up at the ceiling.
            “I died.” She speaks into the darkness. A laugh bubbles out of her. “I finally died,”  
            “Mom,”
            “I honestly thought is might never happen,” She is laughing harder now, “I kept getting so close, for so long I just wanted it to end. And when I finally,” she pauses, taking a deep breath, “When I finally wanted to live, I died.” She continues laughing, and it starts to become choking sobs, her body jolting with each gasp. I lie beside her, resting my head on her shoulder, as the runoff of her tears christens me.

            She has nightmares all night. Her body wakes with a jolt each time, and I imagine it is like the sensation of when first falling asleep and it feels like falling. But infinitely worse. At one point, she wakes up dazed and confused, mumbling about my hair, and asking what happened. I witness in real-time as her brain wakes up, as her memory shoots her forward, and her face falls. She somehow manages to fall back asleep.
            Despite the nightmares Nat has, when I am asleep, I sleep relatively well. Just as I had the night before. Before that, I had barely slept at all. Natasha is still asleep now, even though it is nearly eight o’clock. She looks better, and healthier. I hope I’m not imagining it. She would probably want me to go downstairs and hang out with everyone. But by nine, my stomach is growling, and Nat is not yet awake.
            Reluctantly, I go downstairs where everyone else has gathered. Lila is teaching Yelena breakfast words in sign language, while Cooper is reading a comic book.
            “You slept long time,” Yelena takes a sip of her coffee.
            “Nat is still asleep,” I reply. Outside, the sky is blue, and the water is calm. The storm has passed, but there is a heaviness in the room.
            “I’m going to go check on her, see if she needs anything,” Steve abandons his cereal and disappears from the kitchen. Everyone resumes their tasks, with Clint serving Nate scrambled eggs, and Laura giving Nicole a bottle. She smiles at me, and I look away. I take my coffee.
            “Learning languages is hard,” Yelena groans, “Tasha is so good, it’s not fair.”
            “It’s not fair,” I cried.
            “It’s not fair,” He had agreed, his blue eyes staring into mine. “It shouldn’t be you, but it is. It’s all right. You could never hurt me. I just feel you.”
            “Wanda, hey, kid, you okay?” Clint is crouched in front of me. I spring back, surprised by his closeness. They are all staring at me. I see the mug shattered on the floor, the dark liquid pooling around my feet.
            “I’m fine,”
            “Don’t move, don’t want you to cut your feet,”
            “I’ve got it,” I growl, not liking that Clint of all people is trying to tell me what to do. With a swipe of my hand, the mug is whole again and the coffee is back in it. They gape, and I try to be nonchalant, but I’m surprised by my powers as well.
            “That was awesome,” Cooper looks at the mug and then picks up his breakfast plate.
            “Put that down, so help me God,” Clint warns his eldest. He gives his father the side-eye and sets the plate back on the table.
            “Wanda,” Yelena tries.
            “I’m okay.” I take the coffee and sit down in the breakfast nook beside Cooper. I know that if I run off, they will most definitely not let me be alone. Probably too high of a chance of me destroying the house. I finish my coffee, and no one tries to talk to me. After what feels like an adequate amount of time, I announce that I’m going to get dressed.
            “We can go sea glass hunting later?” Lila offers.
            “Sounds good,” I agree, going up the back stairs. I wander the upstairs hall for the first time during the day and see that all the doors have names just like mine. Yelena’s name is painted on a placard, and I open the door, curiosity winning over respect for privacy. It is slightly smaller than mine, but only a little. It is more bohemian, with white and sand colors throughout. A gauzy white canopy covers her bed. Guilt winning over, I close the door. The bunk room is labeled as such, and there are four queen-sized beds. There are three other bedrooms as well, labeled the White Room, the Blue Room, and the Green Room. All live up to their names. With a two-bedroom guest house, there is enough room to house the entire team comfortably, which was likely Nat’s intention. She knows how much I love when the team is together when we are like a family. The house could probably sleep twenty-five people. With the compound gone, besides the tower, this is probably the only place we will all fit. I take the elevator down to the basement and walk through here as well. Gym, movie theater, playroom, and lounge. She did this all for me. And she died for me. Because of me.
            I do as I originally intended and change out of my pajamas, and take a shower. On the main floor, the kids are playing with Legos, probably brought up from the playroom. Yelena is watching them, but Laura, Clint, and Nicole aren’t around.
            “Went for a walk on the beach,” Yelena explains.
            “I am going to head into town, get some coffee,”
            “You already had coffee.” Cooper looks up from the structure they are building.
            “I want something else,” I explain.
            “We can come,” Yelena sits up straighter.
            “It’s okay. I’ll be quick. Text me your order?” I offer, going to grab the car keys out of the catchall in the kitchen.
            “Wanda,”
            “Like lightning,” I swear, heading out the door. In truth, I need to get out of the house. I need space, air. Ironic in a house that size that I felt like the walls were closing in.
            I drive through the empty streets of the island, fairly deserted this time of year except for the locals. The stone streets and brick sidewalks look like a movie set. Many of the stores and restaurants are shuttered for a few more months until Memorial Day kicks off the season. However, I find an open coffee shop and pass by a hair salon on my way to the front door. My phone buzzes, likely with Yelena’s coffee order, but instead I look again at my reflection. The bright red hair pulled back into a ponytail doesn’t look like mine, like me. Natasha said as much this morning. I look like I am playing dress-up, trying to be someone I’m not. I have enough self-awareness to know that it was done because I missed Nat, and it became a cruel reminder in those days when she was dead and straddling the line. Now she is home. And we’re together again.
            The hairdressers do an excellent job masking their surprise about seeing me, and no one asks for a picture. I think of the hair color I had after our trip to Hawaii, where I had spent so much time in the sun that my auburn hair had more red shining through. Reminiscent of Nat’s, but also me. I show them a photo of what I want and put the phone in my purse. Two of them set to work. Music plays over the speakers, and I hear some of the women chatting about food shortages now that people are back. About another hairdresser whose husband returned only to find her married to his brother. There is a special edition of “Life Magazine” for those who were snapped of everything pop culture that we missed in the past five years, and the latest fashions. I read through it, mentally noting all of it. It didn’t really occur to me that movies would be made, new songs, and new TV shows. Time moved on, only Natasha didn’t. Then there she is, in the magazine. Her hair is much shorter than it is now, red roots prominent against the white blonde. She is kneeling in front of a memorial in the rain, drenched, and a second where Steve is holding an umbrella over her. I read the caption,
            Natasha Romanoff, also known as Black Widow, mourns the loss of her daughter, Wanda Maximoff, on the one-year anniversary of the Snap/Decimation and unveiling of the New York memorial. In the second photo, Steve Rogers, Captain America, can be seen holding an umbrella over the grieving mother.
            A lump forms in my throat. I catch the receptionist and third stylist casting not-so-subtle subtle glances my way. They are curious, I’m sure, about what I am doing on the island right now. Why I needed my hair dyed immediately. I’m questing the decision now. What if Nat is offended? What if she thinks I did it because I don’t want to look like her? I’m not making sense, my reasoning for this didn’t really make sense. Dying my hair the first time did, even if it was an emotional decision. But why wouldn’t I want to look like my mom? But she did want me to dye it back, it occurs to me. She said as much, she wanted to take me that weekend after we dealt with the alien invasion. We never got the chance. I should have come with her, that is the problem. Not that I am having it dyed back, but that I came alone.
            The stylists are finishing blow drying my hair when the door opens for the first time since my arrival.
            “What the fuck were you thinking?” I turn and see Yelena standing in the doorway. She is furious.
            “What are you doing here?” I hiss, flushing with embarrassment.
            “Is this where you have been?” Unlike how she usually speaks in public, her Russian accent is on display.
            “Yelena, you’re causing a scene,”
            “We’re leaving,” she tells me.
            “I have to pay,” I look apologetically at the hairdressers and take out my phone to pay. And see eighteen missed calls and dozens of text messages. It is one o’clock, I have been gone almost two and a half hours. Yelena is typing furiously on her phone while I have them run my card. I tip well, hoping it distracts from the scene my aunt has just caused.
            She rips the car keys from my hand and pulls me out of the salon like a misbehaving child. I yank my arm from her grip, my powers pulsing. It takes a bit of an effort to force them down.
            “What are you doing?” I try to control my temper, threatening to pool over.
            “You were gone for hours. I hack your phone!”  She is fuming, which ticks me off. Back in Boston, we were practically equal, and here she is treating me like a child.
            “I was only gone two hours,” I defend, “In case you forgot, I am an adult.”
            “An adult,” She barks out a laugh, “Get in car.”
            “The car,” I correct her. For a second, I think she is going to hit me, and I can see a glimmer of the dangerous woman she is.
            “Lose the attitude,” She snaps. I get in and sit in the passenger seat.
            “That is going to be all over social media,”
            “Tony’s taking care of it.” She tightens her grip on the steering wheel.
            “I wasn’t gone long, you are overreacting, like a lot.”
            “Your mom is worried sick.”
            “What?” My mouth goes dry. I upset Nat, which is the last thing she needs right now.
            “Do you remember what happen last time you said you were running quick errand and took too long?” I bite the inside of my cheek and am disgusted when I look down and see my arms wrapped around me, resting in that position.
            “I didn’t mean to, I didn’t think,” I start to tap my thigh. What did I do? The shock collar, the hospital. The Raft.
            “Obviously you didn’t think!” Yelena takes the long driveway too quickly. I feel carsick, or just sick.
            As we get closer to the house, I see a few people huddled on the porch, including one with bright red hair. As I climb out of the car, she stumbles off the porch, a blanket slipping off her shoulders. Yelena rushes to support her, until all her weight is on me, her hug surprisingly tight.
            “I’m sorry,”
            “I thought,” She trails off.
            “I’m sorry, Mom.”
            “I was worried that,” Her chest shutters with each breath.
            “I know,”
            “We should go inside.” Steve frowns at me with his Captain America disappointed face. Like I don’t know I screwed up.
            “That was so irresponsible, so stupid,” Yelena continues as we head inside.
            “That is enough.” Natasha’s voice is razor-thin. I haven’t heard her sound so strong since before. The tone doesn’t match the body it is coming out of. “She clearly feels bad, and I don’t need you to parent my child. In case you haven’t noticed, I am here to do it myself.” The other adults step out of Nat’s way as she guides me to the elevator. She leans back on the wall and is struggling to stay upright. All her energy has been zapped away.
            “Let’s go to your room,” She manages to walk across the hall and collapses onto the couch. Her index finger and thumb pinch the bridge of her nose. I can see crescent-shaped cuts on her palms that weren’t there last night. My fault. I can only imagine the pain I have caused in such a short period of time. “There is canker mouthwash under your sink.” I take her suggestion and then return to find her sitting up straight, and she pats the spot next to her on the couch. We face each other, and she reaches forward tucking my hair behind my ear.
            “I’m sorry,” I apologize again. “I didn’t want to hurt you, at all. That is the last thing I want,”
            “I know, love,”  
            “It was just an impulse decision. And I didn’t think about how long it would take, and I forgot to check my phone. There was this magazine about all the stuff I missed, and there was this song about a cowboy, and,” I think of the photo of her kneeling at the memorial, a hand on the glass panel. “And there was a photo of you,”
            “Of me?” She is listening to me, her face soft, nothing like the expressionless person of last night.
            “At the memorial.” She blinks. “Can I ask you a question?”
            “Of course,” she lies about it being okay, but I need to know. I pull my sleeves over my hands.
            “You never moved on. In those five years. You lived at the compound, you planned and waited, hoping for an opportunity for me to come back, to get me back. What would you have done if you couldn’t? If you, if I,” When I look up from my hands, she has an interesting expression that is a mix of sad and happy, wistful is the closest I can think of and even that isn’t quite right.
            “I was so tired. It was like this wave was washing over me, again and again. It would knock me down, and when I would try to stand, it would come for me again. There were times I thought it would drown me, that grief alone would kill me. I understood how people could die of a broken heart.”
            “It would have been easier if you had never known me,” She wouldn’t have died. So many bad things wouldn’t have happened. She wouldn’t have felt that pain. Or the pain she is in now. I look down at my lap, my throat tight. Yesterday she found out she died, yet here she is comforting me. What have I done to her? And causing all the panic today. She is barely able to walk, and I just keep hurting her.
            “No, no, sweet girl. She squeezes my hand, this time for me. “It wasn’t all sorrow. I had memories of you. I would have lived in that state forever if it meant that I got to have you in my life. The memories I had of you were worth all of the pain. Every moment. I would have done anything to get one more second with you. That grief, it meant you were still with me, still present.”
            “You would have grieved me forever?” I dare to meet her eyes and am met with nothing but pure love.
            “Oh, Little Witch, what is grief if not love persevering?”

Chapter Text

           Wanda rests her head on my shoulder, and I do my best not to wince at the added weight. I must succeed, as she doesn’t move away. I didn’t answer her question. It was yes. I would never have stopped. I would have grieved her until my last breath. I suppose I did.
            Her breaths are steady, and her hair smells of strawberries. It is like no time has passed.
            But it has been five years. I lost her longer than I had her. And I died. I died. Not momentarily, and then shocked back to life. I was dead for a few days. The people I love mourned me; they thought I was gone forever. The nightmares, the falling over and over again. The air whooshing around me, the rocky bottom getting closer and closer, and waking up just before I hit. I wake up because nothing came after. I died on impact. It is of little comfort to know I didn’t suffer. I have had plenty thereafter. And before. I almost laugh. Most of my life was constant suffering, but my death, somehow, was not.
            “Mom?” She stares up at me, her blue eyes wide.
            “Sorry, lost in my thoughts.”
            “I’m scared of what I would have done if you stayed dead.”
            “You have a whole family who would have supported you. You were never going to be alone.”
            “They aren’t you,” She bites her lip, “I don’t think I could have handled it. Losing you and killing Vision. Both at once. It would have; I’m scared of how my powers would have responded if they had another few days. If they had any more time to try and protect me.”
            “Yelena would have never left you. Steve would never give up. And as much as you are hating Clint right now,” She purses her lips, “He would move Heaven and Earth for you.”
            “Were you in heaven?” Her question is loaded and one I have been trying not to think about, so I answer honestly.
            “I don’t know.” She quiets for a moment, thinking.
            “I was practicing my powers in an abandoned Circuit City,” Wanda confesses.  
            “I know,” I run my fingers through her hair, glossy from the blowout.
            “You knew?” She sits up, turning to me. “And you didn’t say anything? What if I got hurt?”
            “I had plans to say something that weekend, but the Universe got in the way,” Her eyes land on my left side, where she was just resting. Bruises are forming up and down my bare arm. Likely my side and leg as well.
            “Did I do that? Just now? Were the bones not healed?”
            “No, no, you are okay,”
            “Where did you get those bruises?” She jumps up, “Did something happen while I was gone? Is that why Yelena was freaking out so much? Why you and Steve were? Did Beck come? Is that why you were nervous?”
            “Love, sit back down. I’m okay.”
            “What happened?”
            “It doesn’t matter; what does matter is that you are home safe.” Her lip begins to quiver, “Wanda,”
            “This is my fault! If I hadn’t left, if I hadn’t,” The furniture starts to shake.
            “Take some deep breaths,” I exaggerate breaths of four, seven, and eight until she matches me, staving off a panic attack and a round of expensive repairs.
            “I’m supposed to be comforting you,” She whines.
            “Having you here with me is all I need. But next time, text an update,”
            “Yes, Nat,” She ducks her head like she used to years ago, “We should probably head back down,”
            The task of walking from her room to the elevator feels insurmountable as I shift on the couch. I’m completely exhausted and could honestly use some rest.
            “I’m going to go grab your chair; I’ll be right back,” she promises, noticing my reluctance to get up. She races out of the room, and I feel a small glimmer of pride. My girl.
            “Tasha, wake up,” Yelena is just inches away from my face as I wake, and it is a miracle I manage not to jump out of my skin.
            “What are you doing?”
            “You fell asleep. I let you sleep for half hour.”
            “Thanks,” I sit up, feeling no more energetic than I did before. “I didn’t mean to,” I see her eying the bruises. “Not your fault, Lena.”
            “Completely my fault!”
            “You didn’t push me.” I gesture for help for the transfer, landing heavily. My neck is hot with embarrassment at my own behavior earlier. I fell apart at the seams.
            “I should have been gentler.”
            “I shouldn’t have tried to push you out of the way,” I had tried to go after Wanda myself, adrenaline pumping through my veins as I walked towards the front door. Yelena tried to stop me, grabbing my arm. I had wrenched it away, losing my balance in the process and landing against the front stairs. My left side, finally free of bruises, is becoming mottled once more.
            “Maybe you upset about more than just Wanda?”
            “Last time she was gone longer than planned it was Thanos. Time before that was Beck. Sorry for not having a little more faith in humanity.”
            “You learned a big thing last night,”
            “I died. It happens to everyone.” She doesn’t laugh at my joke; instead just stares at me with pity. “Stop that. I’m still me.”
            “I know. Technically I am older now since you were reborn. Older and wiser.”
            “I was dead for three days, I think that makes me the second coming of Christ.”
            “More like anti-Christ.” Her mouth twists into an impish grin.
            “Let’s go downstairs,” We go to the elevator, one that was only supposed to be for Wanda, just like this chair, and head into the living room.
            “I also get to tell people I beat you in a fight now,” She whispers as we enter, before redirecting her voice to the room, “Hi everyone.”
            “Auntie Nat, look at this rock I found!” Nate runs forward, stopping short of the chair. His parents seem to have instructed him not to climb on me. Irritation and appreciation mix.
            “Very cool bud,”
            “I found lots,” He goes over to a pile on a towel; there are at least a dozen. “This one is a wishing rock.” He runs back over and hands me a rock with a stripe wrapping around the middle. “I had two but used one up.”
            “What did you wish for?” I ask, giving him back the stone.
            “For you to be all better.” He smiles, and I know he is expecting thanks, but my chest is burning. Lila clears her throat, pulling our attention.
            “I love Wanda’s hair,” Lila signs, pausing from braiding her cousin’s new locks.
            “It looks beautiful,” I agree, thankful for the little girl. I had taught her to French braid weeks before Wanda came into our lives. It had been a rainy day around Cooper’s birthday; Laura and Clint had taken him to the batting cages for some one-on-one time prior to Nate’s impending arrival.
            “Can I do yours next, Auntie Nat?” She asks, her eyes bright.
            “Of course, Lila Bear,” I had taken to wearing my hair in braids again during the Snap. It reminded me of Wanda.
            “Do you want to sit on the couch?” Steve asks.
            “I’m fine.”
            “If you need,”
            “I’m okay, Steve.” I don’t want help. I am getting sick of it. And not having any of my devices. If I had, I could have found out where Wanda is with ease. I could have gone down there myself. I wouldn’t have fallen against the stairs, causing more trouble for everyone around me. For Laura who had to check for breaks from my fragile bones. I suppose I am finally like the doll I had been referred to as. I turn my focus back to the room, away from that train of thought. Clint is staring at me, his eyes bearing into me. However, he makes no move to speak to me. He has barely said a word besides the ones forced in order to explain my death.
            The TV drones on in the background, a sitcom that had started during the Snap. Most channels are doing marathons of their top shows in order to capture the returned. As though they can’t be binged on any app. But it has captured the attention of Yelena and Cooper, who are discussing it. Steve has forced himself to sit, avoiding Clint by sitting next to Laura and holding Nicole.
            Lila ties off Wanda’s braid and jumps off the couch, running off into the dining room. I hear the scraping of a dining chair across the hardwood floors. It is too quiet for Clint to hear, but Laura does and grimaces.
            “It’s fine,” I sign to her. She is pulled off the couch by Nate, to inspect his rocks, and the buffer between Clint and Steve is gone. I see Steve look down at the baby in his arms and then the empty spot on the couch, wondering if she can sit between them, but then she rests her head on his shoulder.
            Lila arrives with the dining chair and comes up behind the wheelchair. She climbs atop the seat, and her fingers begin to work through my hair, undoing the few tangles it has developed. Her hands work quickly, and the motions remind me of my own. I feel her fingers dance over the scar on the back of my head, not even stilling.
            Two French braids soon rest against my back, and then she reaches for one of my wrists. Unsatisfied, she touches another. I turn to look, aching with the movement, and see her remove the elastics to her own two braids. The bright pink bands adorn my hair, and she beams with triumph.
            “A perfect job.” I compliment.
            “You didn’t look in the mirror.”
            “I can tell without looking.” She hops down from the chair, and it glows red before gliding out of the room and saving my hardwood floors.
            Lila puts her hands on her hips at the retreating chair, and then looks at Wanda. Her lips are pursed.
            “I could have done it.” She signs with an eyeroll as punctuation before joining Nate and Laura to look at the stones.
            “What do you want to do for dinner?” Laura asks.
            “There are frozen pizzas in the fridge.” Wanda offers.
            “Maybe tacos?” Cooper adds, as the show goes to commercial.
            “Burritos,” Wanda amends.
            “I can make the salsa,” Heads swivel in my direction quicker than I though possible disbelief on their face. “Fine. I can chop the vegetables for the salsa.” I’m tempted to roll my eyes like Lila.
            The knife feels right in my hand as I chop at the kitchen table. Peppers, tomatoes, and mangoes slice under the blade. The chopping is rhythmic and satisfying. But I think of the range I have in the basement, behind a hidden door, and would much rather be throwing knives there instead. But this will do for now. I pick up the full cutting board and dump the contents into a bowl for Wanda to chef up. Laura is standing over the stove, searing chicken.
             “Hey Nat,” Steve comes in, a glittery yellow sticker on his cheek, “Is it okay if Tony, Pepper, and Morgan come tomorrow? He has a new phone and computer for you.”
            “Yes. Thank you,” I wipe the knife on the tea towel. Steve gives me a nod and heads back out.
            “Want to talk about it?” Laura asks, lowing the heat on the electric stove. I know she prefers to cook with gas, but because of me she had removed the gas stove in their home, replacing it with an electric one. “Nat?”
            “Talk about what?”
            “What’s going on between you and Steve,” She gestures with the spatula.
            “I don’t know what you mean.” I start chopping the lettuce.
            “Weird vibes between you,” Wanda explains.
            “Oh.” I pause my knifework, “We broke up.”
            “What?” Wanda slams down her bowl. “You broke up with him?”
            “Most people would think it is the other way around,” I point out.
            “Why on earth did you break up with him?” Laura asks.
            “If you love something set it free and all that,” My jaw twitches. “It wasn’t fair to him to have to wait.”
            “You guys have been sharing a bedroom. And sleeping together. I think I saw him kiss you,” Wanda lists.
            “I think all of that coupled with the breakup explains, as you so eloquently put it, the weird vibes." I try not to smile at Wanda’s frustration.
            “You could talk to him,” Yelena strolls into the kitchen, heading over to the fridge. “Most important part of relationship is communication.”
            “Since when are you the love guru?”
            “That is just basic relationship. I mean any relationship.” Yelena laughs.
            “Mutual respect is the basis of a healthy relationship,” I disagree.
            “But without communication,”
            “They are both important,” Laura interrupts. “You are both right.”
            “God, such a mom,” Yelena twists out the cork from a wine bottle.
            “I know how Cooper and Lila feel,” I push away from the table. The conversation moves over to Lila’s relationship with her Henry, who thankfully for her, was snapped. Same with her best friend, Chloe. However, Cooper was not so lucky, as his three best friends are now going to be juniors in high school.
            “Um, do you guys need any help?” Clint comes into the kitchen, “This is feeling a little too traditional. Ladies in the kitchen, us out there.”
            “Too many cooks in the kitchen already,” Laura swats Yelena’s hand away as she goes to grab a piece of chicken out of the pan, “It will be ready in a half hour. Make sure the kids wash their hands,”
            “On it, boss.” He salutes and heads back down to the game room where he and Steve are entertaining the kids. I can only imagine how tense it is.
            “How are things?” I ask once Clint’s steps descend the stairs.
            “It is different.” Laura bites her lower lip and goes back to the pan, focusing on the meat. We fall into silence, save for the sounds of the kitchen. None of us know what to say because everything is different. No matter how hard we try to pretend it's not. Within the family and out, things have changed.
            The burrito bar is a success, with only one mishap coming from Nate as his exploded all over his plate, which resulted in the gleeful toddler grabbing at the food with his fingers, and Laura trying to get him to use a fork. Cooper and Yelena talk about the new TV show they started and their predictions. While Steve, tries to hold back, as I know it is one of the few shows he has watched over the past few years. He even got me to sit in for an episode or two.
            We settle down for a movie night, and one by one, the kids are carried off to bed. Then the adults begin to leave. It is down to me, Clint, and Yelena. My sister is yawning as the clock reads two o’clock. She looks to Clint and I.
            “You can go to bed; no one would think less of you.” I tease lightly.
            “We can head up?” She stretches.
            “You can.”
            “Last time you two were alone, you died.”
            “Yelena,” I warn, “You can go to bed.”
            “Now you are sounding like a mom.” She grumbles, “Everyone a mother hen, even Mr. America.” She takes the throw that she had been snuggled under and turns it into a shawl. “You yell if you need anything. Da?”
            “Goodnight,” She goes up the back stairs, and then it is just the two of us. Clint shifts. He could have left with Laura. Even I am not clueless enough to know that he was hoping for some alone time with me. Yelena was aware of it as well. Despite finally being alone for the first time since Vormir, he doesn’t speak a word. Instead, we continue to watch the new movie we had picked, as Rachel McAdams illegally gets married at an art museum.
            “Okay,”
            “What?” He turns away from the TV.
            “Come on,” I turn off the screen, “Let’s go,”
            “Go where? It is the middle of the night. Nothing is open this late.”
            “We aren’t leaving the house, bird brain. I transfer, without much grace, to the wheelchair and head towards the elevator. “Clint, I swear to God.”
            “I’m coming,” He hastily jumps up from the couch and follows. We go up to the second floor and then into the Blue Room.
            “What are we doing?” I roll up to the closet and wait for him to join me. “Pull down the stairs.”
            “To the attic?”
            “No, to the moon.”
            “You are definitely sounding more like yourself.” I am glad it doesn't seem forced. The implications of my death float in and out of my head, mixing with the joy of being with my family again. It is like my brain doesn't know how to respond. I'm sure Sam would have something to say about it. And about my fight with Yelena when Wanda was gone. But for now, I focus on my best friend.
            “You bring that out of me, apparently.” He grabs the pull string, and the stairs fold out. I go up first, albeit at a pace so slow even I am getting annoyed with myself, and we reach the attic. It is short, barely tall enough to stand up in. Steve would hit his head.
            “What are we doing?” I go over to a hand crank and set to work. A panel unseals, much like a skylight, but it matches the roofing.
            “If I have to tell you to come on one more time,” I warn as I begin to climb out. His eyes widen in horror when he realizes what I am doing.
            “Natasha, stop, you aren’t steady enough, you could,”
            “Fall?” I finish for him before pulling myself outside. My arms shake with the effort, and the possibility of falling does cross my mind. “Open the crate next to the window, it’s a case of vodka,” I call, settling into the seat. This portion the roof is not nearly as steep as others, as the room below is a bedroom with a slightly vaulted ceiling.
            Clint’s head pokes out first, and he sees me sitting, waiting for him. I am not sprawled out on the pool deck, bleeding out.
            “It’s not slippery if that is what you are worried about.”
            “I was.” He hands me the bottle and then climbs out. “What is this?”
            “I had it added. Sometimes, you need a rooftop to hide on.”
            “That panel is pretty great.”
            “We’ll need a password.”
            “What?”
            “Isn’t that a thing kids do? You say you can only get into a clubhouse with a password. Maybe Black Hawk.”
            “Clever.”
            “I think so.” I turn to look out at the ocean; the waves are lapping quietly against the shore.
            “Are you cold?”
            “No. You?” He takes the bottle and breaks the seal, followed by a long sip.
            “Me too,” I hold out my hand and feel the alcohol coat my tongue and throat.
            “How was it? Seeing them again?”
            “It didn’t feel real. I kept thinking I was in a dream. Like it wasn’t happening.”
            “You told them I was dead.”
            “Yes. Lila kicked me.” The fierce little girl, I hold back a snort. “Laura is struggling with it all.”
            “Missing five years is hard,” I say diplomatically, unsure how he wants me to respond.
            “We both know that isn’t what I meant.” He takes another sip before placing the bottle down between us. “I told her everything that happened. She said she was disappointed in me. That she expected more, better.”
            “I’m sorry.”
            “Please don’t apologize to me. I am the last person you should ever have to apologize to.”
            “I wanted to be mad at you when I found you. I was a little. But mostly, I was just glad to have you back.”
            “I killed you.”
            “I killed myself.”
            “It was my job to protect you. I didn’t do it for five years, and when it mattered most, I failed.”
            “You never could beat me in a fight.” I pick up the bottle, and a shiver runs through me as a gust of wind blows.
            “Watching you die was the one of the worst moments of my life. Worse than my parents dying, than losing Barney, Coulson, my hearing. I felt like a part of myself had been ripped away all over again.”
            I lean over, pressing my shoulder against his. He stares out at the water, tears running down his cheeks. The only thing worse than watching me die, was watching his family disappear.
            “Why didn’t you ever come back? Come back to me?”
            “You deserved better than what I could offer.”
            “Isn’t that up to me to decide?”
            “You’re better than me, Tash. You are good, you know? Not just a hero, like saving people and shit. But good. You are the best the Avengers had, have. Whatever we are now. The soul of the team.”
            “It is ironic, for so long I thought I couldn’t possible have a soul, or one worth anything.”
            “It was worth the world.”
            “Universe,” I correct.
            “Right.” I feel a push on the edge of my consciousness, it is Wanda, searching for me. Just as I feel it, it goes away.
            “We should head inside.” I nod to the door. We climb inside, our skin sticky with salt. I am now fighting to stay awake, the nap I took after dinner has worn off. Clint closes the door and heads down the stairs first, spotting me on my way down.
            “Tash,” I turn to him, “I’m sorry,”
            “I know,” I take his hand in mine. It is familiar; the callouses and scars are just as much him as a fingerprint. “You’re only human, Clint.”
            “A flawed one.”
            “We all are.”  

Chapter Text

            I wake to a crash, my heart pounding.
            “Friday, turn on the lights,” The room shifts around me, and I take deep breaths, nausea pooling. I'm not there. I'm not there. I'm in my room on Nantucket. I close my eyes and twist the sheets in my fists. I'm not there. When I open them once more, it is just as it should be.
             I look around; nothing is broken. No lamps, no pictures. All my furniture is intact. Then yelling echoes down the hall, muffled by the heavy doors. I get up from my bed, using my crutches. When I poke my head out, I see Yelena, standing in shorts in a tank top, looking down the hall to Nat’s room. There is more yelling, this time arguing.
            “Back to bed,” She nods. I bite my lip, hesitating. “I will come.”
            “I’m fine.”
            “Don’t be like that.” Yelena rolls her eyes.
            “Like what?”
            “Like you hate me,” She tilts her head to the side.
            “You treated me like a child.” I raise my voice above a whisper, and her eyes shoot down the hall then, back to me.
            “Come on,” She opens the door to her bedroom and gestures for me to follow. If I don’t follow her, she’ll come to my room. At least if we are in hers, I can escape. I sit down on her bed, playing with the throw blanket at the end.
            “Why should I talk to you?”
            “Because I am here, you are not alone.”
            “Never said I was alone.”
            “Sometimes we feel alone when we aren’t.”
            “What does that mean?”
            “Once I see Natalia every day for months but can’t touch her. Can’t talk to her. She does not see me. We are not alone, only few feet separate us. But we felt alone. There were lots of times in Red Room where I felt alone but wasn’t.”
            “What does this have to do with me?”
            “Even when you feel alone or think you are, chances are you are not.”
            “What was it that you couldn’t talk to her for months but only see her?”
            “Not important.” She shakes her head, as though trying to remove the memory. “I am sorry for losing my cool.”
            “Losing your cool? What is this, 2006?” I raise my eyebrows and her lips twitch upward.
            “Natalia, Natasha, was scared. I failed her already too many times, I can’t again.”
            “It isn’t your job to stop bad things from happening. Avengers, not Preventers, remember?”
            “I love you, Wanda.” I think this is the first time Yelena has said this to me. Her eyes drift downward. “I am sorry for yelling and causing scene, a scene.” She amends.
            “I shouldn’t have just gone AWOL without telling anyone what I was doing.”
            “And you never brought me my coffee.”
            “That too.” I let my powers drift and find Nat, she is asleep again, but Steve isn’t. My powers pull back before they get too invasive.
            “Your eyes were glowing.”
            “Just checking on her. She’s asleep. Did you hear what they were arguing about?” I ask, crawling up to the top of the bed.
            “None of my business.”
            “That isn’t answering the question.”
            “You spend too much time with her,” She joins me up top and Liho jumps from the ground, curling between us.
            “She was so alone. She didn’t even have the cat.”
            “We’re here now.”  
            “I love you too, Lena.”

            In the morning, I come down to the kitchen via the elevator, crutches on my arms. I push my shoulders back stretching out the last bit of sleep. I try to hold back my surprise when I see Nat sitting on the kitchen counter as Steve cooks.
            “Morning, love.”
            “Hi,” I come over to the island, taking a seat. “Everything okay?”
            “Yes, why?” She sweeps her braid behind her shoulder.
            “You’re up early.”
            “I’m always up early,” Not lately.
            “Last night, I heard fighting.” I try instead. She looks away from me, her lips pinching. Steve’s free hand caresses her knee, a silent show of support. “Is everything okay?” I ask again.
            “I had a nightmare. I forgot, it was,” The rise and fall of her chest quickens, and I feel guilty for probing.
            “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,” I take out my phone, busying myself with social media. The reunion videos have been popular, filming these moments that should be private. That or the videos of food and housing shortages. Wars over who actually owns a property.
            “Wanda,” She begins, but it cut off by the arrival of the Barton’s from the guest house. Nate runs in first, charging when he sees his Auntie Nat.
            “Good morning!” He yells, likely waking Cooper and Yelena if they aren’t already up.
            “My tor-Nate-o!” She replies. He hugs the bottom of her feet, as high as he can reach. There are feet thundering down the back stairs, and the final three guests arrive in the kitchen.
            “What’s for breakfast?”
             “Crepes,” Steve replies.
            “Apple cake tomorrow?” She looks to Laura, “Belated birthday,”
            “If that is what you want,” Laura glances to the rest of us for approval, none of us dare argue. Yelena heads over to Nat and helps her carefully get down from the counter as Steve finishes laying out the crepes on plates. I notice now that the wheelchair is nowhere in sight. She moves slowly, with none of her familiar grace, but I fail to hold back a grin.
            “Uncle Steve, I help!” Nate declares, his hand just reaching the edge of the counter.  
            “Nate, no!” Clint rushes forward, just in time for a bowl of chocolate to splatter across the toddler’s light blue shirt. There is little hesitation as his father scoops him up and they head back out to the guest house.
            “There is another jar of Nutella in the pantry,” Nat assures Laura, leaving Yelena’s side to head into the small room. She emerges after a minute with the jar, handing it to Steve.
            “Sorry,” Laura sighs, pulling her hair back into a ponytail, and then grabbing the miraculously unbroken bowl.
            “It isn’t a big deal, Laur,” Nat promises. “Everyone, gather around for breakfast,”
            Clint and the now chocolate-less Nate come back inside, and the table is full, save for Steve’s seat to the left of Nat.
            “The Starks will be here in an hour,” the super soldier reminds us, as her serves the crepes. An assortment of fillers such as the aforementioned Nutella, chocolate chips, strawberries, and bananas line the dining table.
            “Have you met Morgan, Lila?” Nat asks.
            “For a minute, then we had to go.” She glares at her father. Lila normally idolizes Clint, not that I blame her for her attitude, but it is something that I hadn’t noticed when they first arrived.
            “It is funny, she was supposed to be Nicole’s best friend and now she’ll be yours,” her older brother points out.
            “Cooper,” Laura warns.
            “We were all snapped,” he rolls his eyes, and his mom seems too tired to argue. “Is Tony bringing Peter?”
            “No. They are only staying for a few days and then heading back out.” Steve answers.
            “We should be heading back. I have work to do.” Natasha takes a sip of her black coffee. She is looking more like herself this morning, sporting jeans and a black t-shirt rather than pajamas. Her braid is darker, still damp from a shower.
            “You can’t go back to work, Nat.” Clint puts down his fork.
            “Don’t tell her what to do,” Yelena scolds the archer before turning to her sister, “You can’t go back to work.” Yelena doesn’t care about the redundancy of her statement.
            “Not missions, obviously. It will be another few weeks. I also don’t think this argument is appropriate for the breakfast table. Had I known my personal agency was up for discussion, I would have put a post-it on the fridge to schedule a meeting.”  I smile into my coffee at her sharp tongue.
            “Wanda, why don’t you take the kids down to the playset?” Steve asks.
            “Seriously?” I huff.
            It was just getting good, Cooper directs his thoughts to me, and grins when he sees my reaction, as this was his first attempt at ever doing so.
            “I will put your coffee in a to-go cup,” Laura offers. I chug the last of it and shake my head. As I glance at my mom, I see her glaring at the other three Avengers. They aren’t going to win this one.
            We head out into the backyard, and my leg is cold as the ocean air blows against it. I should have taken the time to run upstairs and put on pants, and my leg. Lila and Nate run to the playset, while Cooper walks beside me. I’m obviously slower on crutches, but he doesn’t hurry up.
            “Did any of your friends not get snapped?”  He asks, shoving his hands in his jean pockets.
            “No, I don’t have many friends to begin with.”
            “My three closest friends are almost your age. They are on the varsity baseball team, at the high school.”
            “I’m sorry, Cooper.”
            “Lila is mad at our dad for abandoning Auntie Nat,” He looks at his little sister, using the monkey bars. Her hand slips and I catch her with my powers, and she resumes swinging.
            “He told you guys about that?”
            “No. Lila hid her Starkpad in the room while they were talking. It has a voice to text app.”  
            “You’re not mad at him?”
            “No. I get it. I think I’d run too. Lila wouldn’t though. You would.” My neck burns, and I know he is right. I would run. “Everyone says I’m like my mom and Lila is like my dad. But it isn’t that easy.”
            “Nothing is.”
            “People forget we kind of have three parents. Lila isn’t like Dad. She’s like Auntie Nat.” I watch the girl drop from the bars on purpose this time, landing in Natasha’s signature pose. She flips her head up, beaming, before bounding to the climbing wall.
            A light on the playground flashes, catching our attention. We turn to the door where Laura is standing, waving us in.
            “Uncle Tony just got onto the property,” Laura explains, reaching to smooth her daughter’s hair.
            “I’m going to get dressed,” I hurry to the elevator, brushing past everyone. I move as quickly as I can as, pulling on my leg and a clean sweater and shorts. Downstairs, I can hear the door starting to open. I jump off the landing and touch down beside Natasha. She has taken her hair out of its braid, and it hangs in loose waves.
            “Quite the entrance,” She teases me. It feels so normal. Pepper, Tony, and Morgan walk in, holding their overnight bags and smiles.
            “Like the place, Red. Quaint,” Tony jests.
            “It’s beautiful, Natasha.” Pepper elbows her husband. “And it is wonderful to see you,”
            “Mom,” Morgan tugs on her mother’s shirt.
            “Go ahead, sweetheart,” She nods her daughter forward.
            “Hi, my name is M-O-R-G-A-N,” She spells it out carefully in sign language to Lila, and then looks to Nat for approval. Nat gives her a subtle thumbs up.
            “Let’s get inside, everyone come sit down,” Steve offers.
            “Yelena,” Tony nods to his friend. “I brought an old computer, busted as hell.”
            “Swear jar,” Cooper pipes up, walking ahead with the other kids as the head down to the playroom.
            “Nat, you are looking so much better,” Pepper compliments.
            “When?”
            “At the compound when you first woke up. It doesn’t matter,” She assuages.
            “Wanda, is your leg okay?” Laura pauses as we walk in.
            “Fine.”
            “You aren’t putting any weight on it,” I hadn’t even realized, and shift my weight. It is a little sore, but that isn’t something I care to share with anyone.
            “Wasn’t thinking. I’m okay.”
            “You don’t have to stay up here with us, if you want to head down.”
            “I’m eighteen,” I remind her.
            “I just wanted to give you an out,” She hands Nicole off to Clint. Nat leans on Steve as they head in, her energy is beginning to wane. It isn’t surprising given that five days ago she couldn’t even sit up on her own. I wonder how hard she is pushing herself for our sake. For mine.        
            We gather in the kitchen and Steve helps her up onto a counter stool. There is pity in Tony’s eyes, and I know if Nat sees it, she’ll lose it.
            “How does Morgan like Peter?” She asks, breaking through the chatter.
            “They love each other, of course. Peter wants to take her patrolling, I nixed that of course.”
            “You mean I did,” Pepper nudges her husband, “You said okay, if you joined.”
            “Compound cleanup?” Yelena asks, sipping her coffee.
            “All done. You did a good job coordinating. You’d be proud of your little sister.” He nods to Nat.
            “Would be? She always is.” Yelena sniffs. Natasha smiles tiredly.
            “That reminds me, I have something for you,” He unzips a duffel bag and pulls out a new phone and laptop for Nat. The phone powers on, the Stark logo blazoned across the screen.
            “Thank you, Tony. Casualty of battle I guess,” She gives him a bitter smile, and Tony’s drops.
            “I’m sorry you couldn’t come to the funeral, Red.” We all freeze, and Natasha places the phone back down. I feel Clint tense up beside me.
            “What funeral?” Her exhaustion, so evident moments ago, is gone. Tony sees all of our faces, and it then registers on his. Pepper is staring at him disbelief.
            “Nothing,” As if that would dissuade her.
            “Whose funeral, Stark?”
            “I don’t think,” Steve begins.
            “Someone tell me who died, or I’ll google it myself.” She picks her newly delivered tech up off the counter.
            “We just didn’t think it would be the best idea while you’re recovering to,”
            “I swear to God, Steve,” She snaps, “Ten seconds.”
            “Someone tell her before I do.” I exclaim. They seem surprised by my outburst. I thought we should have told her form the beginning.
            “Bruce passed away at the end of the battle.” Tony shoves his hands in his pockets.
            “He’s gone?” her voice is soft, but then I see her push her shoulders back, sitting up straighter. The pain is still in her eyes.
            “I’m sorry Nat. I know you two had a history.”
            “Thank you. I’m sorry for your loss as well. He was one of your closest friends.” It sounds as though she is reading from a teleprompter.
            “Tasha,”
            “I’m going to make some drinks. Bloody marys maybe?” She gets up from her seat, shoving away Steve’s helping hand. However, that proves to be a mistake as she stumbles. Yelena catches her, steadying her older sister. They glare at each other, having a silent argument.
            “It’s okay if you’re upset. That’s a normal reaction to someone dying,” I cringe at Tony’s word choice, and it looks like Yelena, who has since released Nat, wants to strangle him. Natasha takes out a tray of glasses and a pitcher.
            “I’m aware that is the usual reaction to death. I have been around it enough to know that. I thought we should toast to him.” 
            “That is a nice sentiment.” Clint steps in.
            “Bruce drank beer, maybe we can do that?” Tony asks.
            “It isn’t even noon,” Yelena frowns.
            “There is some in the fridge downstairs,” Clint ignores the smaller widow.
            “We’ll grab it,” Steve agrees, forming a temporary alliance with Clint. Natasha is staring blankly at the glasses she has taken out. I bite my cheek. Yelena hesitates, unfamiliar with the relationship her and Bruce shared. Really, the only two who probably had any sort of idea just wen to grab beer. Shocking me, and likely the rest of us, Tony goes over to her.
            “Red, you with us?” He gently pulls the tray out of her hands, and she blinks slowly. “Hey y’know, I could go for something a little stronger than a beer. Do you have some of that disgusting vodka?” Her lips twist. “Knew it. Pour one for me and your little blonde.”
            Yelena opens her mouth to argue but thinks better of it upon seeing that Tony has managed to get Nat back in motion. Steve and Clint come up, each holding four beers.
            “Some of us need something stronger, Cap.” Nat makes her bloody marys for the three of them and I am handed a beer. Before noon. A single look from Yelena tells me I will be having a sip.
            “To Bruce, brave enough to snap twice. The best science bro a guy could have. Doctor of many things, unwillingly physician. A good friend and an even better person.”
            “To Bruce,” Everyone echoes. I take a sip of the beer, the cold drink fizzing on my tongue.
            Smaller conversations break out, while Nat is struggling to stay awake. Yelena beats me or Steve to it, helping her out of the room.
            “She is doing a lot better,” Tony comments as soon as the elevator begins to move, “Almost like herself.”
            “She can barely walk.”
            “She was dead last week, Legolas. I call that an improvement. Red also tried to bartend to avoid socializing, so she is definitely up to her usual tricks.”
            “We are happy to see her up and walking around, after seeing her in the compound,” Pepper runs her finger around the lip of the beer bottle. “Wanda, honey, how are you doing?” Everyone’s attention is now on me. I look down at my hands.
            “F-fine,” I pull my sweater sleeves over my hands. My aunt reenters the kitchen, saving me from further questioning.
            “Tasha’s asleep.”
            “I’m going to go check on the kids,” I rush out, taking the chance. Downstairs, the kids are all drawing, the TV on in the background. It is a Sesame Street special about the Snap.
            “Hi Wanda,” Coopers looks up from his sketching, it looks like the start of Steve and Nat’s tactical suits.
            “Want to draw with us?” Morgan asks, sliding a piece of paper to the edge of the table. Nate barely notices my arrival, too wrapped up in the TV. “Is it true you can take off your leg?”
            “Yes,” I nod, beginning to draw the view of central park from my bedroom. “It is a prosthetic.”
            “Has Wanda shown you her powers?” Lila asks, putting down the beige colored pencil. Cooper translates for his sister. Morgan shakes her head. “Please Wanda?”
            I avert my eyes, not wanting to scare the younger girl, and lift the paper I was drawing on into the air, fold it into a paper airplane, and send it flying around the room.
            “So cool! Can you make me float?”
            “Not right now, maybe if your mom says okay.” I hand her the paper airplane.
            “What is it like having Auntie Nat as a mom?” Lila watches Morgan talk, and I see a flash of jealousy when she say Auntie Nat. “She buys the best presents. Way better at giving gifts than my dad.”
            “Kids, lunch!” Laura calls from the top of the stairs. I sign to Lila who jumps up as well, racing Cooper and Morgan. I help Nate up the steep basement stairs and then leave him to chase after his siblings and cousin.
            My powers instinctively search for Nat, and they find her in her office. Just off the library, her office has windows on three sides, with a view of the driveway and the ocean.
            “Nat?” I poke my head into her office. It is rare that I find her alone lately. Normally, Steve, Yelena, or even Clint is glued to her. She is typing on her computer, eyes sharp.
            “Hi love,”
            “What are you doing?”
            “Work emails. Missed a lot. Thankfully, Maria stepped in for me while I was out of office. I’ll have to send her a bottle of scotch.”
            “What type of work emails?” I head over to her desk.
            “I was running an orphanage during the Snap. Looking at emails for reuniting parents with kids. Almost everyone is taken care of." I see an email labeled 'backpacks’ being sent out.
            “Did you ever think about adopting on of them?”
            “No, it never crossed my mind” She closes her laptop, “They weren’t a substitute for you, Wanda. No one could ever replace you,” Her hand is gentle as it cups my cheek.
            “How are you feeling?” I ask, wanting to move the conversation away from me.
            “Better. I am walking around, aren’t I?” I don’t comment that she has already take a nap today, and it juts past noon. Nor do I say that her walking and how she feels aren’t necessarily the same thing. There is a quiet mew and Liho prances in, lying down in the sunlight. “I don’t want you to worry about me, Little Witch. I’m okay and not going anywhere.”
            “What is it you say? Going to worry anyways?”
            “Something like that,” Her eyes drift back to the computer.
            “You can stop now,”
            “Stop what?” 
            “Being an Avenger. Your ledger is wiped clean.”
            “Wanda,”
            “You died for them. The world doesn’t deserve anymore of you.”
            “Honey,”
            “Do you still feel like you owe it to them all?”
            “No.” Her answer stops me in my tracks. “I still feel horrible for everything I have done. I will never be rid of that guilt. But I think I recompensed.”
            “Then why still do it?” Why still put yourself in danger? Put me at risk of losing my mom again?
            “Because it is the right thing to do.”
            “That is a really good answer and I need a minute to think of a rebuttal.”
            “Perhaps you shouldn’t have tried to get out of debate classes with training all the time.” She tugs on my ponytail, “Should we head back out to everyone?” She stands up, slowly, placing a hand on the heavy wooden desk.
            “You’re in pain.”
            “Less than before,”
            “No one would judge you if,”
            “Wanda,” She warns. “I appreciate your concern, but need I remind you that I’m your mother?”
            “Sorry, Mom,” I duck my head. I know her irritation is more with herself than me, but I still hate it when any of it is directed my way. “I fixed a cup,” I blurt out as we near the door.
            “I didn’t know you broke a cup. There isn’t a reason to glue it back together, honey. It won’t,”
            “No, I mean my powers.”
            “Okay,” She nods, understanding, “I’ll talk to Bruce and,” Natasha clenches her jaw, “I’ll talk with Yelena and pick her brain.”
            “I’m sorry about Bruce, Mom.”
            “He had wanted to die from the moment I met him, and that never changed. I just hope he found peace.”
            “I’m sorry no one told you; I wanted to,”
            “It’s okay, Little Witch.”

            When we arrive back in New York three days later, it is like entering a new world. On Nantucket, we were secluded, and it seemed almost like the Snap had never actually happened. We weren’t bearing witness to the destruction that had followed in the wake of its undoing. It is something that for those of us who know it could be different, mars Bruce’s memory. Nat had read the report of the battle. The Bruce snapped twice. She had spent nearly an hour alone with Tony after, in her office. And when they emerged, she changed the subject.
            But here, in the city, we aren’t so privileged. Storefronts have broken windows from riots. The food shortage is more intense here, and there is an exploding homeless population as people war over property ownership. We go into our building, and the noise of everything disappears. It seems incredibly out of touch. But then I look at Natasha and remember we have our own fallout to reckon with. For the first time since she has returned, we are truly alone. 
            Yelena is in her apartment. Steve is coordinating counseling at his grief center. So, we unlock the door to the apartment and open up the cat carrier. Liho dashes out, running to one of her favorite hiding spots.
            Nat surveys the apartment, not moving from the doorway. She turns to me, swallowing tightly.
            “It has been five years since I’ve been home.” 
            Five years without sleeping in her own bed. Five years without her gym. Without her books. Without me. I come forward, and she holds me in her arms. I try not to cry as everything threatens to come tumbling out. Before I unload on her, which is something she doesn't need.
            "My brave girl," She wipes a thumb below my eye, brushing away a sole tear, and then tucks back a loose lock of hair. 
            A familiar phone alert rings out. We both look down at our phones and then back up at each other. My stomach twists as I see determination glowing from Nat.
            Avengers, assemble.

Chapter Text

            I look down at the text, then up at Wanda. She is biting her cheeks, and her eyes are wide. Tears are threatening to run down her cheeks.
            “Love, what’s wrong?”
            “You’re going to get hurt,”
            “Whatever the mission is, I am running ops, I promise.”
            “You, what?” She roughly wipes her tears away.
            “I’m in no shape to go into the field, I could barely walk from the elevator.” All I want to do is sit down.
            “You aren’t going to insist that you join in combat? In the fighting?”
            “No. Now, we should get changed.”
            “You just said you weren’t going into battle,” Her voice borders on a whine.
            “I’m not going to show up to the quinjet in jeans and a t-shirt. If you would like to go on this mission, you can get changed and meet me right back here in five.”
            I make it to my closet before having to collapse onto the bench. The bench that I put in for pulling on and off difficult boots, not for this. I close my eyes for a minute, resting my head against the wall, then take a deep breath.
            “Fri, can you open the mission panel?”
            “Of course, Ms. Romanoff.” The clothing rack in front of me swings open, revealing a biometric scanner. I stand up and grip a shelf, then stick a finger onto the thumbpad as it scans my eye. My suit is there waiting, as it has been for years. I wore my backup suit in Wakanda, but this one is preferred. I strip down and pull on compression wear before carefully sliding into the suit. It is slightly loose, the loss of muscle mass from the past two weeks evident. My feet slide into the specially molded boots, and then I grab my batons and widow bites. And my gun, my favorite gun. The phone pings. Looks like we’re getting picked up.
            When I come out, Wanda is waiting with her arms crossed. She looks me up and down, apparently not trusting my promise that I have no intention of going into battle.
            “You have weapons.”
            “What if the quinjet is breached? Would you have me waiting like some damsel in distress?”
            “But Mom,” She calls after me as she shuts the door behind her, using her powers to secure all six locks in one swoop. I hesitate at the stairs. But I push my shoulders back and grab onto the railing. Wanda’s nervous energy can be felt like a wall pressing against my back.
            At the top, Steve is waiting with a ready arm. He searches my face, as though hoping he might find something, what, I can’t imagine. I reject his offer to help and walk to the jet on my own.
            “This better be important,” Wanda snaps at Steve as she struts by, heading to the quinjet. There are feet on the stairs, and Yelena bursts through, a bright smile adorned. It quickly dims when she sees me.
            “What are you doing here?”
            “Really feeling welcome,” I joke. Steve keeps close to me the entire walk over, hovering to the point where he might rival Clint. The walk to the co-pilot’s seat feels impossibly long. Nearly the entire team is here, save for my best friend. And Bruce.
            “We’ve been called in for a terrorist attack in Berlin. We’ll be briefed on the ground. What we do know should be airdropped onto your phones and tablets in the next few minutes.” Steve takes the controls, “Center console will have a hologram of the attacked area.”
            “Airdropped? I’m impressed.” I tease, leaning back in the chair.
            “The detectives sent them over, I just forwarded.” He smiles at me. Steve looks as though he is about to say something else when we are interrupted.
            “Why is she here?” Yelena demands, pointing at me. I sigh.
            “I’m a member of the team, Lena.”
            “Co-leader,” Steve corrects, “For five years, the only leader.”
            “Tasha, you could barely make it up the stairs.”
            “The blonde has a point,” Tony looks up from his tablet, Peter seated beside him.
            “Steve and I spoke, we have agreed that until I can pass the physical, I am riding the bench and doing ops.”
            “You agreed to this?” Maria clarifies, “It wasn’t an order?” She shoots a look at the other leader.
            “It was Nat’s idea,” He speaks up beside me.
            “Better get her head checked again,” Yelena mutters to Wanda. I glare at her.
            “I completely expect to be back in fighting shape within the next week or two. And my head is fine, but yours won’t be if you keep whispering about me, Belova.”
            “She last named you,” Wanda taunts, and Peter looks like he is trying not to laugh. As does Sam. I turn around, focusing on the sky. Things are feeling normal, the banter and laughter. The jet is in autopilot until we are near the city, so there isn’t much for us to do.
            “You okay?”
            “Fine.” I stretch out my legs. It had been my idea, of course Steve wouldn’t lie to the team. It was to stop a repeat incident of the one we had years ago after the paint factory explosion. I can’t be left off the alerts, but my messed-up brain can’t be thinking I am going into battle. So, Steve and I agreed no combat until I pass the fitness exam. The same one everyone on the team has to take. “Tired,” I admit. I had fully planned on taking a nap when we got back from travelling. We’ve been up since six, and it is now almost noon. Before I could go days without sleep.
            “You can nap,”
            “Have to read up on the mission,” I disagree, swiping open my tablet. This is the first mission in more than five years and I’m not even able to truly assist. Clint would insist I am helping, that running ops is an integral part of making sure the team is up and running. Bruce usually ran ops, it was frequently too dangerous to let Hulk out, especially in cities.
            “A second attack is expected within the next few hours. They are scouring the city not only for the terrorists but the second bomb.”
             “Thirty dead so far,” Sam frowns.
            “Sixteen in critical condition,” His fiancée adds.
            No manifesto released, no one has claimed responsibility. Unrest in the city, like most of the world, for the past week. The police and military are spread thin trying to stop riots throughout the country.
            I pull up 3-D maps of the city, combing through basements and old buildings. Something doesn’t feel right. Thirty dead for two buildings going down? That is insane luck.
            We touch down by triage. Everyone else begins to prep for disembarking. I head to the center console, swiping up so my map of the city transfers.
            “You going to be okay here?” Steve asks, snapping his shield in place.
            “I’m recovering from death, not dying.” I step away from him and the computer, heading over to Wanda. She is struggling with getting her hair in a ponytail without bumps. “Come here, love.” She sits and I braid the auburn hair back quickly, a single French plait rests on her back.
            “Mom, can you promise to stay on the jet?”
            “So long as I am definitely not needed, I will stay right here.”
            “You won’t be needed,” She promises, standing up.
            “I don’t trust you.” Yelena crosses her arms as everyone else, save for her and Wanda, proceed to leave. Though, Steve does hesitate at the gangplank until I wave him off. “Since when do you avoid fight?”
            “I am a pacifist,”
            “Yeah, and I’m Captain America.” She scoffs. “You don’t like violence and war, doesn’t make you a pacifist.”
            “I will see you when you get back and talk to you on coms.” Wanda gives me a final hug before they both head out, and I am left alone in the quinjet. The door closes and the sounds of the city disappear.
            I swipe through the landscape, trying to figure out what is off about this entire operation. With a single pushing motion, the map goes flat once more. Instead, I pull up news articles, speed reading through the material. One article is so old it is just a photo of a yellowed newspaper, detailing corners cut in the construction of new apartment buildings, similar to the one the jet is parked next to. In the earpiece, I can hear my teammates talking, praising Wanda for her rescue, or Tony making a joke.
            A picture of the two mid rises is on one of the articles. They look old, and not in a good way. In a brutalist-1960s Cold War style. But this story is from four years ago, not today.
            Outdated buildings abandoned as survivors move to nicer homes at a lower price.
            I pull up the census date for the last five years, DMV records, mail routes. No one had lived in those buildings since the Snap.
            “Widow, how we looking?” Steve asks.
            “I think I found something, get back to you in five. Continue with rescue efforts.”
            I need something more recent, something from the past few weeks since everything was undone. Housing shortages. All these people needed to go somewhere; their houses now occupied by those who were left behind. Sent to a dilapidated old building in the meantime.
            I hack into the city’s internal website, pulling a list of temporary housing for the returned. There are too many to search before the next bomb goes off.
            “Cap, I’ve got a list, but you’re not going to like it.” I drop the lists onto their phones.
            “There are too many on here,” I can hear Hill shaking her head.
            “I’m going to try to narrow it down, but this is what I’ve got so far. They are targeting abandoned buildings that became housing recently. Relay with local PD, but I’d start clearing them out ASAP.” 
             I turn off my mic and go back to reading through the data sets within the city’s intranet. Someone has the audacity to try and kick me out. I brush it off and keep going. The two buildings’ move-in date wasn’t supposed to be for another few days. There shouldn’t have been anyone in there yet. People aren’t the target.
            I filter through the dates for the buildings that aren’t supposed to have any residents yet. Twenty. Much more manageable. They can handle twenty with the help of the police. I send over the modified list.
            “That’s all of them.”
            “Local cops are trying to find the bombers, hopefully they have a remote detonator that they can stop from being set off.” Sam adds.
            “I don’t think they wanted anyone to die. That wasn’t the goal.” I add in the coordinates into the city map and press enter. Red dots splatter across the screen. One overlaps with the blue mark of the quinjet. “Fuck,”
            “Romanoff? What’s wrong?”
            “I’ve got to move the jet,” I head for the quinjet’s controls but I’m not fast enough.
            The ground rumbles. Heavy debris begins to land on the roof and the quinjet begins to rock.
            I fall into the nearest seat, buckling and pulling my legs to my chest, tucking my head and protecting my neck. The light filtering into the quinjet from the windshield starts to dim, and I caution a look. Tiny fissures begin to form on the glass as it is pummeled with cement. Spider webs expanding out. Threatening to break. Just as quickly as the destruction began, it ends. The rumbling and shaking stops. The quinjet stills, my heartbeat slows. Then I feel the gentle probing in my head, Wanda.
            I unfurl from the seat and unbuckle. The emergency lights have come on, casting eerie shadows, morphing the appearance of otherwise innocuous things. I feel around the floor, searching for my earpiece that fell out in my attempt to secure myself. Anything that wasn’t strapped down has ended up pushed against one wall, blocking my exit.
            “-asha, once again, do you copy?” Steve’s panicked tone greets me.
            “Hey guys, sorry about that,” I lean back against my seat. “Found the other bomb.”
            “Are you injured? We’re on our way.”
            “I’m fine. Trapped, maybe. But not hurt.” The jet begins to shift, and light fills the jet once more as the debris on the windshield disappears. I duck as the glass breaks, Wanda flying through. She skids on her feet as she lands in front of me, tackling me in a hug. “I’m okay, Little Witch.”
            She buries he head in the crook of my neck, tears flowing. She begins to cough with the exertion.
            “It’s okay, I’m okay.” She doesn’t lift up her head, instead her embrace tightens.
            “You can’t, you can’t,”
            “I know,” I stroke her back and look over her shoulder. Yelena is perched on the broken edge of the windshield like a little bird, she even looks like she is about to take flight. Her eyes are wide, and her bottom lip is pushed out just a little, her mouth turned down. Instead of coming in and joining us, she jumps back upon eye contact, heading back out into the city.
            Wanda’s sobs wrack my body, and she is beginning to devolve into hyperventilation. Her powers start to flicker around her hands. Going after Yelena isn’t an option.
            “Okay, okay. Wanda, I need you to look at me.” I gently pull her back. “Five things you see,” I put both hands on her arms, rubbing.
            “You,” she gasps, “Um, the wall,”
            “Keep going,”
            “A net, the table, the bench, your tablet.” She hiccups.
            “Four things you can feel,” I lead her over to the seats, “Your hands, the wind,” Coming from the hole she blasted through the windshield, “My uniform, my hair,” Loose strands stick to her face.
            “Three things you can hear,”
            “Your voice,” she stumbles, “Sirens.”
            “It’s okay, two things you can smell,” She has to pause, forcing her breaths to deepen.
            “Your perfume, my sweat.”
            “One thing you can taste?” She licks her lips.
            “Salt.” Her powers have died down, and her eyes are blue once more. Wanda’s tears have stopped as well. She has wrapped her arms around herself, hugging tight.
            “Let’s get out of here. We’re probably going to have to stay here the night while the jet is repaired,”
            “Liho,” She glances up at me.
            “Automatic feeder. I’ll have Friday put on the bird watching channel.” I step up onto the pilot seat and onto the dashboard. Shattered glass crunches underfoot, and I reach to steady myself, cutting my hand on a piece of broken metal.
            Wanda rushes forward to help me, but I give her a slight shake of my head. We are in public now. I push my shoulders back and carefully climb down. Normally, I would have jumped off without a problem.
            I have stepped into hell. Police, fire, and first aid had all been set up here. And now they are buried beneath the rubble.
            “They found the bombers,” Steve puts down his cell phone. “They said no one was supposed to die. They revealed the location of a third bomb, Stark took care of it.”
            “We need to get to work.” I head towards the wreckage. Blood stains the pavement, and nearby shorter buildings have been crushed by falling concrete.
            “You can run intake. Setup first aid?” Tony offers. I cross my arms.
            “There are people who need our help.”
            “We will all do what we can.” Steve interjects before I can verbally lash Tony, “Nat, can you go on first aid? They are going to need help.”
            I look over at Wanda. She is staring at the collapsed midrise, her cheeks sucked in. She turns as I slip my hand in hers.
            “I’m ready. Whatever you need me to do.”
            “You don’t have to,” I murmur to her.
            “I do.” She squares her shoulders and heads towards the building, eyes glowing.
            “It must remind her of,” Steve starts.
            “I know.” I walk towards the new triage that has been resurrected. Thankfully, it appears not all the help was injured. “What can I do to help?” I ask, the German flowing off my tongue.
            They gape at me, but I am brought over to a station, where I begin to do stitches. Ambulances come and take those with more serious injuries.
            Search and rescue continues, and soon people stop coming to us. By now, they are either at the hospital or it is too late.
            I get up from my designated spot as Maria approaches. She is covered in dust, her hair matted.
            “We got a hotel for the night, the quinjet won’t be repaired until tomorrow.”
            “I figured as much,” I push my hair over my shoulders, “How many died?”
            “Fifty-three including the first bombing. The third bomb that Stark disabled was in a fully occupied building,” I stumble, and Maria catches my arm. “You okay?”
            “Fine, I’m the one who has been sitting all day.” I pull away, embarrassed. We get to the group, where two cars are waiting for us. Wanda is resting her head on Yelena’s shoulder, her eyes barely open.
            The cars take us to a nicer hotel than we are dressed for, but no one else seems to care. We head into the attached restaurant, one of cloth napkins and fine crystal. However, they rush to accommodate us despite our appearance. Tables are pushed together, and menus dropped off. We are brought our favorite drinks without ordering. Vodka, champagne, scotch, Shirley Temple. Wanda sits so close to me that we are practically touching.
            “We’re a long way from shawarma.” I joke. Tony and Steve look up at me, surprised by jest. Out of the original six, only half of us are at this table.
            “It’s been more than ten years.” Tony takes a bite of his steak. “Sometimes I think we’re getting too old for this. But then once you do it, you remember why you keep coming back.”
            Tony is almost fifty-three, while Sam is nearing forty, what should be forty-five. I realized I am older than Maria now, rather than being two years her junior.
            “We’ve got to do press at seven before heading out. Nat and Steve, you’ve been summoned by Pep. Me too.” Tony rubs his face, then tilts back his glass, the rest of the amber liquid pouring down his throat. “Your go bags were brought to your rooms.”
            “Thank you, Mr. Stark.” Peter speaks up, I had almost forgot his was with us.
            “Let’s get to bed, kid,” He and Peter head up, and soon the rest of us begin to disperse. The problem arises when we arrive at our rooms.
            Steve, Yelena, Wanda, and I have all been placed in the same three-bedroom suite. Yelena figures out her situation quickly, heading for bed with a peace sign thrown up as her goodnight, while Wanda and Steve both look to me.
            “Wanda, I’ll see you after I clean up. Goodnight, Steve.” I hesitate, uncertain on what to do. Before I would have kissed him. He puts out a hand. I look at it, then him, and stick out mine, shaking it. When I turn away, Wanda is staring at me.
            She follows me to the bathroom and closes the door behind her. I grab a facecloth and sit down on the toilet, beginning to wash off my face.
            “What was that?”
            “He stuck out his hand. I shook it.”
            “He was going in for a hug!” Wanda exclaims, her voice almost exceeding a whisper.
            “I don’t think so.” I wring out the facecloth.
            “He wanted to kiss you,” She sits on the edge of the tub.
            “We broke up.” The terrycloth tears in my hands.
            “You guys slept together almost the entire time we were in Nantucket.”
            “To make sure I didn’t seize or die.”
            “Yeah, that is not why he was sharing a bed with you,” She scoffs. I’m too tired for this.
            “We can talk about this another time. I would like to take a bath and then go to bed. Some privacy would be appreciated.”
            She grumbles and gets up, closing the door behind her, a little rougher than necessary. I begin to fill up the bath and add some liquid body wash. My suit comes off easily, not glued into place with blood, not mine nor someone else’s. I catch my appearance in the mirror. There is a line at my neck where the dirt stops. I wince as I pull off the sports bra. Nothing else really hurts anymore, save for my back and the occasional headache. But as I dip into the hot water, the pain melts away. After washing my hair, I relax my head back on the lip of the bath. It is quiet. The sounds of the city are muted within the walls of the hotel. My arms float in the water, weightless.
            There is a sharp knock at the door, breaking the spell.
            “What is it?”
            “Are you okay?” Wanda speaks into the crack.
            “Fine, love.”
            “You’ve been in there a while.”
            “There are three other bathrooms.”
            “I am waiting for you.” She won’t lie down until I am in bed. I climb out and pull on a towel, wrapping it tight. In the bedroom, Wanda has changed into her pajamas.
            I pull on my bottoms and then a top before letting the towel drop, wrapping my hair with it.
            “You already showered?”
            “You were in there a while. Are you okay?” She is asking if I slipped.
            “Fine, it was just relaxing.” She squints. “You didn’t force yourself into the mission and now you’re relaxing?”
            “Second lease on life or something,” I head back into the bathroom and comb out my hair, brush my teeth, “Besides, I can live vicariously through your recount of everything.”
            I come back out to the bedroom, where Wanda is taking off her leg and beginning to massage her stump. It is slightly swollen and red, as it usually is when she overdoes it.
            “It barely hurts,” She promises, “I’ll be fine by morning.”
            “How was today?” I climb onto the other side of the bed, plugging in my phone.
            “Fine, I missed having you in the field. Not that I’m rushing you.” Wanda adds quickly, “It is just nice to know you’re right there. Not that you weren’t there, because you were in the jet nearby, but like physically right there.” She says all of this in a single breath.
            “I’ll be back before you know it.” Her blue eyes stare up at me, her lips twisted into a pout. I can see the hint of the scar above her chin. She is thinking about something, but instead, she lies back onto the pillows.
            “Goodnight, Nat.”
            “Sleep well, Little Witch.” I switch off the light.

            Wanda slept well, while I did not. Each time I fell into too deep a sleep, I was jolted awake. Just as I finally felt the rest I so desperately needed taking over, there is a loud knock at the door. When I don’t get up right away, the knock persists.
            “Coming,” I grumble. Wanda sits up, rubbing sleep from her eyes. When I open the door, Maria is standing there with a garment bag and a tray of coffee. I cross my arms.
            “There is a new leather blazer in here to make up for it,” She promises. I beckon her into the room, no more enthusiastic.
            “Why do we have to do a press conference? The work can speak for itself.”
            “You know why,” Maria unzips the bag, “Good morning, Wanda. One of those is for you. Cream and sugar. I’ll wait in the living room. Boots are out there as well.”
            I am handed a caramel-colored leather blazer, white top, and black pants, then Maria leaves. Wanda grabs her crutches and joins the former spy. The clothes fit well enough, and I pull my hair back into a ponytail.
            “So, we’re not doing uniforms?” Steve is waiting in a button down and khakis.
            “If the press conference were yesterday, yes, but you’ve slept.” She tosses me a tube of mascara. “Put this on in the elevator.”
            Yelena emerges from her room, bleary eyed, but wakes up when she sees Maria, trying to smooth out her wild hair.
            “We have ten minutes, let’s get down there.” I say goodbye to my daughter and sister, before Maria forces Steve and I out of the room. He looks as excited as I feel. I apply the mascara using the reflective metal of the elevator and hand the item back to Maria. She looks at us both and gives a singular nod. “I hope I don’t have to coach either of you?”
            “Can’t I just be seen, not heard?” I joke. “I’m sure Tony would be happy to do all the talking.”
            The elevator doors open, and said man is waiting in a full suit. He is talking on the phone, likely to Pepper. But hangs up when we approach.
            “Let’s get this show on the road. Morgan is wondering when we’ll be home.”
            “I think a single statement should be enough.” Steve agrees.
            “No.” Maria scrolls through her tablet, “Come.” We follow her down the hall to a room off the lobby. There are about two dozen seats in two rows of four. At the front of the room is a table with three seats.
            “I did not agree to this,” I hiss.
            “They get fifteen minutes, then we head out.” We head out the back door of the room to the holding area while the press arrives. I saw our place cards as we walked by and, somehow, I ended up in the middle. Both Tony and Steve refuse to switch with me. Maria looks down at her phone then gives us the all clear.
            Flashes nearly blind us as we walk into the room. It is my first press conference in I don’t even know how long. They are just as horrible as I remember. We take our seats, and I look out into the crowd. Everyone is waiting with their phones on record, paper and pen in hand. A TV camera is placed in the middle of the aisle, fixed on us.
            Steve gives the opening remarks, sounding as though they had been planned for weeks. Commending the job of local law enforcement and officials. Thanking the medical staff. Sharing honored we are to be once again serving as earth’s mightiest heroes.
            “We will now open the floor up for questions,” He finishes. There are a few that cannot be answered, as Steve replies with a boilerplate response about ongoing investigations, victims privacy.
            “Mary Watson, Daily Bugle, Ms. Romanoff, this is the first time you have been seen in public since before everyone came back. Where have you been?”
            “Like many people around the world, I have taken the past few weeks to be with my family, including my daughter and sister.” My answer sounds calm and collected, though I am far from it.
             “Mr. Stark,” A question goes to Tony next, then to Steve, then Tony. Then me. Asking how it was reuniting with my daughter, that they were all moved the photo of me at the memorial. I try to smile and be graceful, but I am more embarrassed, maybe slightly irked, that a personal moment has become the face of the Snap.
            “Ms. Romanoff, Christine Everhart, WHiH World News. I have received a tip that you did not participate in yesterday’s search and rescue efforts. Care to comment?”
            “I was running operations behind the scenes, and later aided in first aid and triage.” 
            “Does this mean you are stepping back from the leadership position that you have held for the past five years?”
            “It does not. And I have been working with the team in a leadership capacity for eight years, not five.”
            “Then why sit on the sidelines yesterday? Is there something you aren’t sharing? Perhaps, something between you and Captain Rogers? Something good to come of everything that has happened?” I look to Steve, confused. Does she think we are fighting? Would that be the good thing to come from all of this? But he looks furious. His fists are balled up beneath the table.
            “I would just like to say that no one has commented yet on the enhancements to my suit,” Tony interrupts. However, no one seems to care, much too focused on me and Steve.
            “Ms. Romanoff, are you sure there is nothing you wish to share? We have also heard rumors that you were not at the battle with Thanos a few weeks ago.”
            “There will be no more questions related to Black Widow’s medical status,” Steve slams his hand on the table. I didn’t expect the vitriol spewing from him, he is seething.
            “She does look ill,” A reporter mentions to the woman next to him.
            “This press conference is over.” He pushes back his chair and rips off his mic, while Tony and I follow.
            “I don’t blame you,” Is the first thing Maria says when we get back to the prep room, “I was about to cut the interview myself.
            “They were insinuating,” Tony glances at me.
            “What? What were they hinting at?”
            “They were trying to get you to say that you are pregnant with Steve’s child.” My stomach drops. She pulls out her phone, her jaw tight. “I have to call Pepper.”
            “They thought I was pregnant?” My body looks far from healthy enough to carry a child. “I,”
            “Nat, I’m sorry.”
            “I am going to head up to the room. Make sure Wanda is ready to go.” I walk out, leaving the two men alone. My heels click across the hardwood floors as I walk to the service elevator and take it up to the room’s floor and swipe the keycard.
            The door opens for me, and Yelena is in the threshold. I can hear the shower running. Wanda must not know.
            “They,”
            “Don’t matter.” My little sister, always so sure of herself, of everything. “You’ll be okay. Everything will be okay.”
             

Chapter Text

             When I emerge from the shower and head into the living area. The press conference ended early, as Natasha is sitting on the couch, her legs pulled to her chest. Yelena sits beside her, not saying anything, just their shoulders touching.
            “Everything okay?” I ask, my stomach churning. The door to the hotel room bursts open and Steve marches in. He is fuming, and by the way Nat tenses, it is clear she can sense it without looking up.
            “Nat, we need to talk about this.”
            “I agree. Please share your calendar availability with Maria and Pepper. They can coordinate a time for us to discuss our joint response. Now,” She rises from her seat, her movements just as mechanical as her voice, “Our bags need to be packed. We leave in fifteen minutes.”
            I follow Nat into our suite where she packs both of our go-bags. She doesn’t speak, and folds even the dirty clothes with precision. The duffel bags are zipped and brought to the front room.
            “Mom?” Her head snaps my way, momentarily broken from the trance she adopted. “What happened?”
            “Everything is fine, love. Nothing for you to worry about.” Her head swivels to Yelena’s room. And her shoulders sag upon seeing her sister.
            “Mr. America, hurry up!” Yelena hollers, and Steve comes out with his bag, an old army duffel.
            We head up to the roof, where the quinjet is waiting. Nat seems steadier on her feet than she did yesterday with a similar walk. However, alarm bells go off when, rather than heading to the cockpit, she sits down on one of the wall-bound seats.
            “Nat, want to pilot?” Steve asks. Tony looks at Steve incredulously, as Natasha piloting is something the boys generally try to avoid due to her flair.
            “I’m okay,”
            “Or ride shotgun?”
            “I’m tired, thank you though.”
            “Stark, you pilot. Spider-boy is copilot.” Yelena commands.
            “We don’t take orders from you, Blondie.”
            “What she said,” Steve nods to the controls. “Peter, this is a good chance for you to learn.” The two head to the cockpit, and Steve sits beside Nat, with Yelena on the other.
            “I’m fine.” She insists. I end up seated beside Maria, who is texting Pepper, but turns her phone away when she sees me looking. Yelena is whispering into Natasha’s ear, and Steve is sitting close, but not quite touching her. I pull out my phone, unable to wait any longer for someone to tell me what happened at the press conference. The top trending topics on Twitter make my stomach churn. One tabloid article reads Little Sister for Scarlet Witch? Another, Most Likely Names for Captain America and Black Widow’s Baby. I watch a clip of the interview, with Steve shutting down the interview and a bewildered Nat.
            She eventually falls asleep, sandwiched between the two of them. It was too soon for her to go back into the public eye. We should have waited longer. She should have waited longer. Another week on the island, or maybe even going to the farm. The compound is no longer an option. Maybe Tony will rebuild.
            “Wanda,” Sam reaches over, grabbing my hands and pulling me out my thoughts, “You okay?” I look down and see my hands have been wrung raw, the skin starting to peel and bleed.
            “Fine,” I pull them away, shoving them under my thighs. What if Nat does want a baby and that is why she is upset? She told me I was enough, more than once, but she could have lied. She was without me for five years, maybe something changed in that time. Maybe it was being at the orphanage with all those children, maybe it made her want more than one. A large family. Maybe she wants siblings for me. But I was a horrible sister to Pietro, I doubt I would be any better now. She can’t even have a baby, there is no reason for me to get so worked up about it. Though she could adopt another kid. When she returned from death, maybe her hysterectomy was reversed. Maybe she is pregnant. No, that is ridiculous. But is it any more ridiculous than coming back from the dead?
            I pull out my phone once more, trying to get out of my own head. My hand shakes slightly as I go to unlock the device. I put on a sitcom and hope the levity will quiet everything else.
            We land in New York as the city streets start to fill with investment bankers on their way to Wall Street and students head to school. Tony drops us off at the apartment, landing on the roof. Natasha rises from her seat with a grace I haven’t seen since before, her shoulders pushed back, and her head held high. Steve looks for some indication of whether or not to join us downstairs or to go home. After a moment of hesitation, he grabs his duffel and follows us out.
            When we walk into the apartment, Liho greets us by mewling loudly, nothing short of indignation. Wordlessly, Nat takes my bag and heads to the washer and dryer. Within minutes, a load begins.
            “I will make us something to eat. You all must be hungry.” She walks into the kitchen, and we follow like baby ducks.
            “Tasha,”
            “Do you want chocolate chips?” Nat interrupts before Yelena can probe any further.
            “Well, yes, but,”
            “Steve, will you please run to the bodega and get creamer for Wanda’s coffee?” She is treating breakfast like a mission, a task she has to complete. “Wanda, you can set the table. Yelena, go start your own laundry so your bag will be ready for next time.”
            “You could have washed my clothes too,” The younger widow sticks out her tongue, seemingly forgetting her sister’s state of mind, or purposefully trying to be a pain. Maybe there is a method to her antics, as Nat rolls her eyes.
            Per Nat’s request, I set the table, folding the napkins, and placing it on the left under the fork, with knife on the opposite side. Juice glass above the knife. Nat drilled me on proper table settings enough times. Pans clatter from the kitchen and I have a feeling that as much as I would like to help, she wants to do this on her own. Instead, I entertain the kitten, flying one of her toys above her head.
            Liho lunges for it, pouncing around and climbing on furniture, atop tables which Nat does not allow. Yelena returns with a bottle of champagne in hand, announcing that she told Steve to fetch orange juice as well.
            “I’ll get the champagne flutes,” I head back into the kitchen to grab the glasses. Natasha has a steadily growing stack of pancakes in various states of done-ness.
            “I asked Steve to get strawberries as well.”
            “So, he’s doing a grocery run for us?” I tease.
            “Do you think it was asking too much?” Nat’s head shoots up from the pan.
            “No, it was a joke. He’s already at the store. Worst case there aren’t any strawberries. Maybe he’ll get me one of those bananas they keep at the front counter.” 
            “I’m sorry, you’re right. Will you start the pot of coffee rather than the Keurig?” I pull it out from under the counter and add the water.
            “Do you think things are going to level out? Like with everything going on out there,”
            “Yes, regression to the mean. Everything returns to normal eventually.” She flips a pancake, filled with chocolate chips and likely for Yelena. “It can’t be one extreme or the other forever.”
            “Like when we were gone, things were normal. How long did it take?”
            “It wasn’t quite there yet when the Snap was undone. I think it would have taken maybe twenty years. The lingering scars were the deepest. Those who lost children, it was felt heavily,” She rolls back her shoulders, and I can tell I am upsetting her, she is struggling to maintain her composure. “Truthfully, it probably would have taken a hundred years. It is said that is the amount of time it takes to be able to look objectively back at history. Sok that no one who had remembered what had happened was still around.” But she would have been. Physically, she would only be in her late forties.
            “For the record, I’m glad I’m back.”
            “Me too, Little Witch. Now, go hang out with Yelena and make sure she shares some champagne for me and Steve.” This is her subtle way of saying I can’t have any.
            Yelena is lounging on the couch, flipping through the channels, cradling Liho. She pauses on Lifetime, where the Unauthorized Avengers Story is airing.
            “We watched this during team bonding.”
            “They need a sequel, with us. We are most interesting,”
            “I’m sure the TV execs would love to get a letter from you requesting it,”
            “Do you ever miss Sokovia?” I look away from the TV, surprised by the question.
            “I try not to think about it. Sometimes I miss the Sokovia from before the war, but nothing that came after.”
            “Sometimes I miss Russia. But then I realize everything I miss about Russia was Tasha.”
            “I think nostalgia is a normal emotion to have.”
            “Not for Red Room.” 
            The door to the apartment opens, with Steve walking in, arms full of groceries. Liho jumps off Yelena and charges like a guard dog.
            Natasha exits the kitchen and takes both bags from Steve before shooing him into the living room.
            “Did they have strawberries?”
            “Only strawberry ice cream, so I got that.” Steve joins us on the couch, but he sits stiffly. We lapse into an awkward silence, watching the actor version of him throw fake Nat into the air off his shield.
            “Breakfast is ready,” She calls, “Yelena, please grab the rest of the stuff off the counter?” In the dining room, two plates of pancakes have been set out, one chocolate chip and one plain. There is also the carton of strawberry ice cream with a scoop. Yelena carries in the champagne, orange juice, and syrup.
            “Whipped cream,” Nat begins to head for the door, “I forgot whipped cream.”
            “It’s fine, Steve got Scarlet Witch Strawberry Swirl, happy to change it up a bit.” I assure her. She heads back to her seat, and we serve ourselves the pancakes. I head into the kitchen and get us all mugs of coffee, spying the butterfly mug in the back of the cabinet. I’m grateful that at some point, it migrated from the compound to the apartment.
            Nat barely speaks throughout breakfast, Yelena does most of the talking, trying to fill the silence. She is fading. And I know what she would normally do when she is in this headspace, but because of the three of us, she hasn’t done so.
            “I think we should go to the farm.” I announce as I finish eating, placing the silverware across the plate. I’m careful in my phrasing to not lie saying I want to go to the farm. Nat would catch it in a second.
            “You what?” Yelena glares at me.
            “I think we should go to the farm.” I repeat.
            “I thought you were upset with Clint,” My mom puts down her mug.
            “I miss the kids,” Not a lie, “And the city is a mess,” Also not a lie.
            “We just got back, I’m not sure we should be heading out again so soon,” She adjusts the napkin on her lap, creasing the fold. Steve is watching, trying to figure out where he can jump in to help.
            “I’m with Tasha,”
            “I think we should go. Please, Mom?” Yelena kicks me under the table, but I ignore her. Instead, I keep my attention on Nat. She wraps her hands around the butterfly mug, her eyes lingering on it.
            “Okay, we can head out to the farm.”
            “When?”
            “I will have to ask Clint. We can’t just show up at his house, Wanda.”
            “Now we’ve got to go to farm? Great!”
            “No one is making you go,” I snap at her.
            “Of course I go! You hypocrite,”
            “Yelena, watch it.” Natasha scolds, “I’ll text Clint. Attendance is optional.” She gets up from the table and leaves the room. Rather than heading to the library or even her bedroom, she goes to the gym, the door slamming behind her.
            “You think you are so subtle!” Yelena turns on me.
            “Is it a good thing or bad that she went to throw knives?” I ask Steve.
            “Don’t change subject! Farm is bad idea,”
            “She needs it,” I argue.
            “She needs space from man who killed her.”
            “I have to agree with Wanda, Yelena.” Steve steps in. “I think we rushed everything. We didn’t give her much time.”
            “We? You got a frog in your pocket?” Yelena retorts. “I didn’t put her in front of cameras, in battlefield.”
            “I’m going to do the dishes,” I gather the dishes and bring them into the kitchen, rinsing and loading the dishwasher.
            The front door slams, and Steve joins me in the kitchen. He cleans the counters and puts away the syrup and orange juice.
            “She is scared,” He speaks up, “And mad at herself.”
            “Nat?”
            “No, Yelena. She’s worried about Nat, like we all are. She isn’t mad at you for the farm idea, it is the right move.”
            “Are you going to come?”
            “I think Nat needs some space from me. I’m going to head home. Need to work with my group, hire a new counselor for them.”
            “You’re not going to keep doing it?”
            “The world needs me as an Avenger right now.” He looks down the hall, towards the gym. He wants to work with his partner again. I want to say something on her behalf, to try to steer him to the gym, to get him to proclaim his love for her so she can know where she stands. But I don’t know what happened between the time they walked out of the conference and when stepped out of the shower. My interference would not be appreciated.
            “Maybe come out after we’ve been there a few days?”
            “That is kind of you, Wanda. Thank you.” He folds the dishtowel and leaves the apartment. All I have wanted for week is to be alone in the apartment with Nat, but now, I just feel alone.
            I head to my room with Liho trotting at my heels. The plush mattress sinks as I sit down on it, and the cat jumps up onto my desk chair, curling up tight. I get up from the bed and change into sweatpants. When I sit back down once more, I just want to get up again, my feet itching to move. To do something. I flop back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, littered with stars. Unlike on Nantucket, these are the plastic glow in the dark stars. However, Natasha made sure they were no less accurate. My powers start to search for her, and I pull them back. She doesn’t need me to be bothering her right now.
            I manage to doze off, and when I wake, the sun is lower in the sky. A peanut butter sandwich is on my desk, cut into fourths. As I pick up my phone, it lights up, three o’clock.
            “Nat?” I take the sandwich and head down the hall. She is in the library, sitting behind her desk with her new laptop.
            “Sleep well?” She briefly looks up before going back to her computer.
            “Thank you for the sandwich,” I sit down in my armchair, watching her type. “What are you working on?”
            “Just a few loose ends to tie up for the orphanage. Almost everyone has been reunited with their families. We had a few kids come back and their parents had passed away. Thankfully, we were able to find family members who can take them in. In the meantime, they were staying at the property.”
            “Can we visit it some time?”
            “If you’d like.” She closes her laptop.
            “Did you get close with any of the kids?”
            “Not really. But I made sure they were well cared for. They had nutritious food, excellent education, and in-house psychologists.” The last feature surprises me, though it shouldn’t. Despite being vehemently opposed to therapy for herself, she did recommend it before eventually forcing it on me. I want to ask her to try it again, but that seems like it isn’t my place. I think the only people who could ever convince her are Clint and Yelena, tag teaming. Or maybe Fury.
            “Did Clint get back to you?”
            “I booked our flight, we leave in two days.”
            “We’re flying commercial? Why?” I slump in the chair.
            “The quinjet needs to be here in case there is an emergency. Tony’s jet is in the shop. Fury is using his quinjet.”
            “This is so unfair. Can’t we charter a private plane?” I cross my arms.
            “I will see about getting a plane for the ride home. Okay?”
            “If I lose it on the plane, it isn’t my fault.” Nat pinches the bridge of her nose. Her morning, right. “But I’m sure everything will be fine.” 
            “There has been a sudden increase in CO2 emissions with the return of so many people. It wouldn’t look good for us to charter a private plane right now. I’m sorry.”
            “It’s okay, really. I’m just worried about Liho being left alone.”
            “Albert loves checking in on her, usually visits a few times a day when we’re gone. Sometimes her sneaks her downstairs and she greets everyone as they enter the building.”
            “Really?”
            “Yes, I am not letting this kitten get neglected.” She opens her laptop once more, “But this time I asked Peter to watch her, he is picking her up tomorrow night after his patrol.”
            “Can I patrol with him?”
            “If you would like,” She eyes me. “I’m not sure if that is the best idea. Maybe we should take is slow,”
            “Don’t sound so suspicious.”
            “You’ve never expressed interest in it before, that’s all.”
            “Well I don’t know, I guess it never occurred to me that I could.”
            “The Jr. Avengers,” Nat jokes. “If that is something you want to do, I support you.” She types quickly, her fingers flying across the keyboard, and then rubs her eyes. “I need to lie down. Wake me if you need anything or are ready to have dinner, okay?” I hear her bedroom door click shut and I’m alone once again.
            I text Peter about my idea, and I get a reply immediately, in all caps. Excited would be an understatement. I finish off my sandwich and bring the plate into the kitchen.
            Still, the antsy feeling hasn’t gone away, even with the prospect of going out with Peter tonight. When I knock twice on the door downstairs, she doesn’t even seem surprised to see me.
            “I am watching TV and doing yoga,”
            “You do yoga?”
            “How else do you think I stay so fucking calm all the time? I am Zen,” There is a yoga mat in front of the TV, the coffee table pushed off to the side. A crime fighting show, heavy on violence, plays on the flatscreen, completely contrasting the activity. “Yoga cancels it out. I have spare mat in closet,” Yelena nods to her coat closet. Inside, a pink flowered mat is rolled up tight with a carrying strap.
            “Do you go to yoga classes?”
            “I have life you know, hobbies.” She scoffs.
            “Nat said you tried ax throwing.”
            “Da, and knitting. Crotchet, painting.”
            “How did you try so many hobbies?”
            “I do each one really fast.” She shrugs and goes back to her mat, her body contorting in an impossible way. “Maybe you try Shavasana.”
            “What pose is that?”
            “I help,” She unpretzels herself, “Lie on your back.” I do as she asks, “Arms,” She pulls them out to the side slightly, spreads my ankles apart, and then goes back to her mat.
            “What is this?”
            “Corpse pose.” Her feet are somehow behind her head. “Will be hardest for you.”
            “I can lie down.”
            “Point is to relax, do nothing. You are bad at relaxing.”
            “I came down here to do something, I could do this in my bedroom.” My phone vibrates, and I go to reach for it.
            “No! No phones, is mindfulness time,” Gunshots ring out on the TV. I think I would have been better off staying upstairs.
             Ten minutes in, Yelena turns the TV to a station playing the sounds of the rain forest. When I try to copy her pose, she scolds me, reminding me of the position I have been assigned.
            “Thoughts are river, you are rocks.”
            “What does that mean?” I turn to face her.
            “River water flows around rocks, doesn’t cling.”
            “Since when are you a yogi?”
            “My therapist recommends it. It helps.”
            “You’re in therapy? How come you’ve never said anything?”
            “Shush,” Whatever the rock and riverbed thing is, it doesn’t make sense to me. I just keep thinking of Natasha. Of her face this morning on the plane, and how she has been masking since then. Like everything is fine. Like I don’t know her well enough to know when she is faking. And I know she has probably seen through my idea to go to the farm. She isn’t clueless. Even if I did manage to avoid lying to her once during the discussion. It’s like I am parent trapping her with Clint, just trying to help her. I don’t know why we left the island, we could have stayed longer. Just her and I. Or maybe Steve and Yelena as well. But like Yelena said, she does have a life outside of us. Even in Boston, I do remember her being busy all the time. Though we made sure to see each other at least every other day, we were working around her schedule. But she had no problem moving back here to be with Nat. And Steve has his group he runs. But is shifting away from it, recentering his focus on Nat. It is no wonder we were such a mess when she was gone. We all orbit around her, and then must be an insurmountable amount of pressure.
            “Okay, now we drink cucumber water.” Yelena turns off the TV and heads to her kitchen. There is a stack of cookbooks on the counter, new. All types of cooking for beginners books. She drops her sweatshirt over the pile when she sees me looking. I am given a glass of cucumber water, and though I would never admit it to her, it is refreshing.
            “Thank you for the yoga,”
            “You didn’t follow instructions,” She crosses her arms, “You let thoughts have you.”
            “I have a lot on my mind.”
            “Shut it off. You’ll go crazy.”
            “Again?”
            “You are pain,” Her lips twist into a smile. “I make mac and cheese later if Tasha sleeps through dinner.”
            “How did you know she was asleep?”
            “You came down here, she is not up to entertain you.”
            “I don’t need to be entertained,”
            “Bye Wanda,”
            The apartment is quiet when I step inside, only the quiet hum of the refrigerator. The dryer has been emptied of our clothes from Berlin, and the go bags are in the coat closet, packed once more. Her bedroom door is open, but she isn’t in there. Nor is she in the library. There isn’t the clanging of equipment in the gym, but there is nowhere else she could be. I open the door.
            Nat isn’t running or throwing knives. Though a set does sit in the target, all six perfect bullseyes. She stands next to the full board, staring in the mirror, turned slightly to the side. Her shirt is pulled up, and her hands rest on her pelvis, cupping a belly that isn’t there.
            “Mom?” She snaps her head up, seeing me in her reflection, and hastily pulls down her shirt. My neck burns with embarrassment from walking in on this private moment. Something else twists in my chest that I can’t pin. I push it away, knowing it can be nothing good.
            “How was yoga with Yelena?”
            “How did you know?”
            “She texted me so I wouldn’t worry.” She pulls the knives out, “You should have seen her tumbling class when we were little.”
            “Gymnastics was a course in the Red Room?”
            “Of course. She loved it. Not as much as climbing, but,” Nat shrugs. She rarely mentions anything of the Red Room, even in regard to the slightly rosier memories of Yelena.
            “Did you like gymnastics?”
            “I liked ballet, cosmetology, and academics.”
            “Yelena told me a story once about you going undercover in class and ripping off your wig, surprising everyone.” Nat’s smile, one so small it can barely be seen, graces her lips for half a second before fading.
            “Playing pretend, I have always been very good at that.”
            “Well, I used to pretend to be a witch as a kid, look at me now,” I joke. “Self-fulfilling prophecy.” But she didn’t pretend-play. “Not that yours were self-fulfilling prophecies or anything. That isn’t what I meant. It isn’t that. Sorry, I was thinking of pretend-play differently. Like pretending to be a mom or superhero. You got to be both.” The words flood out of my mouth quickly, and she reaches forward, tucking my hair behind my ear.
            “Lena and I used to spin until the world felt like it was moving around us. I told her we make the world go ‘round. That is the closest I ever got to anything of the sort.”
            “I think that just proves that imagination serves as some kind of self-fulfilling prophecy.”
            “And how did you come up with that?”
            “Because you’re the center of our world, you make it go ‘round. You’re our sun.” She blinks quickly and reaches forward, squeezing both my hands.
            “I’m going to go pick out a movie for us to watch,” She leaves me in the gym, and I hope I said something right for once in my life.
            We watch a romantic comedy with a bowl of popcorn between us. Yelena wanders in halfway through, joining in an armchair. She sports leather pants, heals, and a black silk camisole.
            “You wore this for salads in my apartment?” Nat asks as the credits begin to roll. 
            “No, I am going out tonight. I have date. A date,” She corrects before Natasha has the chance.
            “With who?” I ask, flying the empty bowl to the kitchen.  
            “I don’t know.”
            “A blind date, that is dangerous in our field, Yelena.”
            “No, they don’t know they have a date yet either. Not kidnapping,” She tacks on quickly, “I believe male term in English is ‘prowling for bitches’?”
            “On the prowl,” Nat sighs. “Moving around in search or as if in search of prey. In this case, you mean in the vernacular, wherein the term is used in reference to the search for a sexual companion.”
            “I think prowling for bitches was a meme, like on a dog collar or something? I don’t know if people actually say it.” I cross my arms.
            “Fine! I am looking for casual hookup. Sound good? You two, I swear to God. And you talk like professor. Walking dictionaries.” Despite her flippant tone, her eyes linger on Natasha, inspecting her. If I notice it, I know Nat does. “You come?”
            “Out on the town with you?”
            “You said yourself, single woman. Or you can be my wing woman.”
            “I’m going to go make that salad we’re having.”
            Groceries seem to have magically appeared in the fridge, and I get started on the Ceasar salad. We crowd around the kitchen island a few minutes later.
            “I like that you chopped it. Salads should always come chopped,” Yelena comments, skewering her lettuce.
            “Stabbed it twenty-three times.” I take a bite myself, and Nat snorts.
            “That was funny,” She takes a sip of her water. Since the gym, she is starting to seem more like herself, the real her and not the one she puts on.
            “Ides of March, I am few days early.”
            “I think the world couldn’t handle your birthday and the Ides on the same day,” Nat yawns.
            “You know, I could go for night in. Last night Berlin, too much. We leave in a few days.”
            “You don’t have to stay in for my sake,”
            “For you? No. I need quality time with Liho. She forgets who adopted her.”  
            There is a knock from inside my bedroom on the door, traveling down the hall. I hesitate, looking at Nat. Maybe I should stay in.
            “I’m fine, love. Have fun with Peter.”
            “But,”
            “I’m okay, go,”
            I give her a hug and head down to my bedroom, opening up the door. When I open, Peter is waiting for me, one of my bedroom windows has been opened.
            “Figured it would be easier than going to Albert and explaining why Spiderman came out instead.”
            “I have to change, then we can go?” I head into my closet and closet door, quickly changing into my uniform and pulling my hair up in a ponytail.  
            “Ready?”
            “I’m so ready. This is kind of our first mission.”
            “I’m excited to have a partner.”
            “Not your sidekick?” I tease as he swings us out the window.
            “If anything, I’m the sidekick!” He yells as we go to a nearby rooftop. He pulls out a police scanner, listening in.
            “So, is this what you do all night?”
            “Sometimes I help old ladies cross the street and save cats from trees.”
            “Someone has to do it.” It doesn’t take long for the police scanner to light up. An alarm is going off at a jewelry store a block away. We make it there faster than any cop could.
            Two men in ski masks raise their guns.
            “Could they be any more stereotypical?” I swipe my hand just as Peter sends out web fluid, each of us disarming one of the robbers. We tie them up and wait for the cops to arrive.
            “What I don’t understand is why they didn’t dress like they owned or worked at the jewelry store. Like he could say the guys ran that way, and then we chase after this other guy while they sneak off.”
            “Or dress like the police,”
            “Like The Town!” Peter exclaims, “Exactly. This was just poor planning, guys,” He shakes his head at the two unmasked criminals. “Haven’t you ever seen a crime movie?’
            “The Town is a great movie,” One of them speaks, “One of the actors kind of looks like Hawkeye,”
            “Don’t talk to them!” The second guys scolds. Finally, the cops show up and we go on our way. We actually do help an old woman cross the street with her groceries. And we go back to Peter’s favorite churro cart, still there after five years. One of the places to survive the Snap. As we swing and fly through the city, and it is my first time really seeing it since we’ve been back. Some storefronts have been deserted, not looted by clearly abandoned. I suppose it makes sense, half as many people to shop. Then we reach a homeless camp. People in limbo as they wait for the courts to figure out what to do about housing, shelters are flooded. I’m sure Nat opened up her school to shelter those upstate, but that does nothing for those right here.
            “Come on,” I take Peter’s hand and we head into the nearest convenience store. Prices are skyrocketing with the shortages, and I’m sure people are rightfully claiming price gauging. The people out there can’t afford a hotel for the night to get off the street, can’t afford this food.
            “Get a few baskets,” I take them and begin to fill them with the most nutritious food I can find, not the easiest here, and Peter begins to fill his baskets with water, milk, and Gatorade. Another basket I fill with feminine products and diapers. When we get to the front counter, the man does not even react, likely worn down by these past few weeks, fighting off looters. This is his livelihood as well. Everyone was a victim of Thanos.
            We head back outside, bags full of goods, and head to the tents with obvious signs of children first, then the elderly. I see Peter grabbed some first aid supplies as well. We cleaned out that bodega, and with the way supply is, it will take weeks for the shelves to be filled once more. The planet wasn’t ready for us to come back. Manufacturers, farmers, distributors. This isn’t anyone’s fault, except maybe Bruce’s. That is a seed of anger that does not need to be nurtured. Instead, I focus on the people in front of us, and helping them. The Avengers can only do so much, and I feel incredibly, impossibly, powerless.
            “You just helped a lot of people.” Peter drops me off at my house as it nears midnight, he sits on my window ledge, one foot dangling over the side against the exterior wall.
            “I hope it makes a difference,”
            “It did for them. Goodnight, Wanda.”
            “Night, Peter. Do it again soon?”
            “Oh you bet, I’ll make a playlist for us and everything.” He gives me a bright smile and pulls back down his mask, swinging off into the night.
            I head into the bathroom and wash my face, change into my pajamas, crawl into bed. How easy it was to forget about living on the streets. The young faces of children staring back at me, dirty and scared. That was once me, living in constant fear. I clutch the sheets in my hands, my heart thumping. Memories fill my head, ones that can only be described as a feeling of nostalgia that has twisted and warped the word into something bitter and unrecognizable.
            The door to my room creaks open, a sliver of light from the hall shining onto my bed. Her steps are light as she crosses the room and climbs in beside me. I rest my head on her shoulder, and she runs her fingers through my tangled hair.
            “How did you know?”
            “I’m your mother.”

Chapter Text

            I go over the schematics for updating the Tower to be the new Avenger’s base. Having not been used in almost ten years, the current system is dated. There was even a sticky note for Steve on how to best utilize Jarvis. The floors have to be moved around as well. Bruce’s floor is going to be for Clint and his family. Right now, I have to approve whether my floor and Steve’s should be linked for me, him, Yelena, and Wanda. I haven’t seen Steve’s comments on the plans. Does he want our floors to be linked? Do we even need a floor? We have our own places in the city now. The only time we would realistically need to stay there is when on call. A suite would be enough for that. The tower does lack the communal space that was so loved at the compound. Going to Tony’s floor isn’t quite the same, even if it was treated as common space. There was always a sense of being a guest in the space. I close my laptop and lean forward on my desk, pinching the bridge of my nose. The headaches are not as severe as before, but they are still strong enough, and I can feel one building up. Even without looking at the clock, I know I don’t have time to lie down. We have to be leaving for our flight soon. And we’re flying commercial. It will be a miracle if we arrive in Iowa without incident. There is a creaking outside the door. Wanda.
            “Hi, love,” I pick my head up.
            “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” She opens the door, hovering. “Just wondering how much I should pack? How long are we staying?”
            “Pack for a week; we’ll probably stay less than that.”
            “Are you sure? We can stay longer.”
            “If we stay longer, I'll take you shopping,”
            “Okay, sounds good.” She hurries out of the room. My back and legs ache more than my head as I rise from my seat.
            “So, this is what feeling old is like,” I scratch Liho’s head as I head out of the room. She mews in response. Early this morning, around four, I tried running on the treadmill. That is the true source of my pain. I had increased the speed, not nearly to what I used to, and fell. The belt shot me backward, crashing into some weights. I’m sure ugly bruises are covering my body.
            I had already packed my bag last night. The suitcase is waiting by the door, the items within carefully folded, shoes in protective bags. After a moment of hesitation, I bring my carry-on into the library, packing up my laptop. Wanda is waiting in the hallway with her arms crossed as I hastily exit.
            “You’re going to work on our trip.”
            “Emergencies only. And for approving work on the tower.”
            “Sure,” she pulls her suitcase down the hall.
            I stand by the door, waiting for Wanda to finish saying goodbye to Liho. The kitten sits dutifully through her goodbye pets and then races off as Wanda rises from the ground.
            “I’m not sure she really cares when we are gone.”
            “But she does like it when we are here. Peter is picking her up tonight anyway.” I go to take her bag, and she shakes her head.
            “I’ve got it. We’re meeting Yelena in the lobby?”
            “Yes,” I open the front door, and she slips out beside me. The locks all glow red for a moment, and I can hear the locks clicking. Nervous energy flows off of her in waves. “You okay?”
            “Fine, you?” Wanda shifts from one foot to the other as we wait for the elevator.
            “We could cancel,”
            “No!” Her eyes flash red, “I mean, no. It’s okay. I’m fine. Just a little nervous about flying commercial.”
            “I’m sorry. Maybe we could drive,”
            “You would insist on driving the whole way.” She pouts. “And I am not sitting in the back seat for two days.”
            “We should stay home,” I look back to the door, “There is a lot of work I could get done,”
            “We’re going.” The doors slide open, and we step inside. Wanda taps her thigh as the number ticks lower and lower. Guilt knots in my stomach. We are only going because of me. Because I’m not coping as well as I pretend to. I am doing such a piss poor job that my daughter even noticed. And I have been so wrapped up in myself this morning that I have been doing a terrible job comforting her. It isn’t even eight o’clock.
            “Finally, you two were taking forever,” Yelena exclaims as we enter the lobby. She is sporting all black with a baseball hat, and sunglasses hanging off the neck of her t-shirt. Her blonde hair is pulled into a ponytail.
            “Sorry, I felt bad leaving Liho,” Wanda flashes a small smile to Albert, who will be looking after our kitten over the next few days after Peter’s night, or however long we stay at the farm. Wanda isn’t wrong about the cat not seeming to care while we are gone; the video footage from the security cameras supports the argument.
            “Let’s go before we miss our flight. Car is waiting.” Sure enough, a car is waiting for us, with Happy as the driver.
            “Was in the city already. Tony asked me to give you guys a ride.” He says as we climb in, making it clear that this is no longer his job. He is the head of security, not a driver.
            “Thank you for driving us.” I buckle the seatbelt and lean back. The headache has fully formed in the back of my skull, dull and aching. I am sandwiched between Wanda and Yelena, the latter trying to talk to Happy about a security system upgrade.
            We arrive at JFK, and Happy gets out of the car to help us with our suitcases and carry-ons. He hands me mine directly.  
            “Thanks,” I try to take it from him, but he hesitates.
            “Thank you, Natasha.” His hand releases and he heads back to the driver’s side door, waiting for us to get up on the sidewalk before pulling away. Already, phones have been pulled out. As we step inside, someone’s flash goes off. Wanda is tense beside me, close enough that our clothes brush.
            We wait in line to check our bags with everyone else. Yelena, unlike Wanda and me, has no issue with recognition. She poses for pictures with fans. Though not normally a morning person, the time doesn’t seem to bother her right now as she interacts with the crowd. We check our bags and go through TSA pre-check. On the other side of the gate, people gawk. But I learned my lesson from the incident we had years ago and bought us passes to a private lounge. Inside, it is blessedly quiet, and no one pays us much mind.
            There is something still quite jarring about the noise and the lights. This is supposed to be my normal, but everything feels too loud, too bright. The world didn’t feel like this before. I close my eyes, hoping that it will ease my headache. Every sound is impossible to ignore.
            “Nat? Are you okay?”
            “Fine,” I hold back a sigh. Wanda is staring at me; phone clutched in her hand. Her big doe eyes are wide with concern. “I’m good, really.”
            “You’re usually a much better liar.” I begin to feel her powers prodding and mentally scold her. She lets out an irritated humph before slouching in her seat. And then straightening, “I know, I know. Sit up straight.”
            Yelena returns from the public portion of the terminal, carrying Starbucks. An iced coffee for herself and two hot drinks.
            “You both look like you need tea.”
            “You aren’t wrong, but I’m not sure how to take that.” Wanda takes the drink without thanks which I add instead. The paper cup is hot and grounding, and the flowery aroma releases a modicum of tension from my shoulders.
             “We should have chartered private jet.”
            “Bad optics.” I need to lie down.
            “So is losing it in a metal tube.”
            “Stop. Is what you are saying helpful, necessary, or kind?”
            “No.”
            “Then why would you share?”
            “Did you steal that from one of Lila’s homework assignments?” Wanda looks up from her phone.
            “Yes, I did.” Yelena rolls her eyes at me, but I feel her gaze linger as I check our flight info. She is worried about me, and I don’t want her to be. I am fine. I will be fine. Everything is going to be fine. 

            On the plane, Wanda puts on headphones within seconds, pulling some new comedy on her phone. Across the aisle, Yelena is chatting with a businessman, who is surely wondering how he got stuck with her. I want to sleep, but I can’t. Having a nightmare in public would be less than ideal. A nightmare was my reason for being awake at four this morning after not falling asleep until nearly one.
            The flight isn’t long, and Wanda maintains control. I see her trying to occupy her mind, though, not let it stray. She has a Sudoku book, a game, and a TV show running at once. Yelena is watching some comedy with Adam Sandler and Drew Barrymore.
            We finally get off the plane and head to baggage claim. Our bags are the first to come out, and Yelena takes mine before I have the chance. Clint is waiting out by his truck, waving wildly when he sees us, sporting a large grin.
            “You made it,”
            “Didn’t notice,” Yelena rolls her eyes, tossing our luggage into the bed of the truck. She and Wanda squeeze into the small backseat, my daughter complaining that Yelena is taking up too much room.
            “Do you need help? Clint asks, pausing from heading over to the driver’s side.
            “I’ve got it,” My voice projects confidence that I do not feel. I pull myself into the truck after a moment of hesitation. Inside, sports radio is playing loudly, and I reach over to turn it down.
            “Everyone is really excited to see you guys. Feel free to nap if you want; we’ve got a bit of a drive.”
            “I’m fine.” I snap.
            “Nat,”
            “Clint, I will get out of this car and walk.” The threat is hollow, and we both know it, but he drops it. He also turns off the radio, and we drive in silence.
            We pull up to the gates, and they swing open. Lucky runs beside the car, his tongue out. Clint rolls down the windows, fresh country air filling the car.
            “Mom, look,” Wanda points to the house coming into view and a banner made by the kids strung above the porch steps. Pieces of computer paper have been taped together, with welcome written across in crayon.
            “Sweet,”
            “Laura is going crazy with the kids not in school. It is going to be like a six-month summer break.” That had been the decision most states went with. Finish out the school year with current students, and the snapped coming back in the fall with the new school year, as their last had only been a few weeks in. The front door flings open as we park, the kids race out, with Laura not far behind, with a very wiggly Nicole in her grasp.
            We climb out of the truck, and the kids crowd around us with enthusiasm equivalent to a long separation.
            They chatter in a mix of English and ASL up the front porch steps and into the house. In the kitchen, there is a lunch of cucumber sandwiches on the table, with pasta salad.
            “Cooper’s baseball season starts up this week,” Laura explains as we eye a collection of baseball gear. “Unfortunately, he needed a new glove. His went missing.” Clint shrugs. The glove, the one Clint brought back from the past.
            “And Lila is back in horseback riding. Nate has a playgroup he goes to.”
            “You guys are keeping busy.” I take a bite of the pasta salad.
            “I miss school,” Lila laments. “But my friends and I get to see each other all the time. Chloe goes to the same riding school. And I went to Henry’s house yesterday.”
            “Cooper, I’m sure you’ll make some new friends on this team.” Wanda tries. The preteen slumps back in his chair.
            “We are doing some work once a week to make sure this is no learning loss over this extended break,” Laura assures, putting cut-up grapes on Nicole’s highchair tray. “Wanda, are you going to go back to school in the fall? Yelena?”
            “I haven’t really thought about it,” Wanda looks down, clearly not wanting the conversation on her or her future. I make a mental note to talk to her about school while we’re here.
            “I am signing up for online classes.” Yelena takes over the conversation and somehow steers it to a discussion about a mission she went on right before starting at MIT. I don’t think I ever had the chance to ask her how school was going. I barely spoke to her while on that mission. Really, I shouldn’t have even been in contact with Wanda so frequently when undercover.
            “Okay, let’s let everyone settle in, and then we can figure out what we’re going to do over the next few days. Coop, can you help your dad with the bags?”
            He jumps up from his seat, heading to the front door where our suitcases sit. Yelena joins them to help, while Lila pulls Wanda out of the kitchen to show her something. Nate has already climbed out of his booster seat into the sunroom, where a Lego Duplo tower is being constructed.
            “How is everything, Laur?” Even with two weeks together on the island, this is my first time alone with her. I pick up Nicole; she has a blue bow in her hair, bringing out her eyes.
            “Things are,” She takes a deep breath, “Fine. You?”
            “Fine and dandy,” I blow a kiss to the baby; she giggles and blows one back. “Thank you for having us.”
            “We’re together, and that’s what matters.” She says this as though it has become a mantra, not even hearing my thanks. She finishes loading up the dishwasher from lunch and takes Nicole. “I have to put this little one down for her nap,” She kisses the top of her daughter’s head, “I’m happy you’re here, Nat.”
            “Thanks,” I get up from the table and head through the house, going up the back staircase. Upstairs, my suitcase is already in my room, and I begin to unpack it. Wood hangers are in my closet, mostly empty, save for the few items I keep here. Then I move onto the dresser, similarly bare.
            “You look like shit,” Clint leans against the door jam.
            “Such a poet.” I finish putting away my clothes.
            “I’m serious, Nat. You looked better last week. What happened?”
            “I’m fine, just tired.”
            “I saw the press conference.”
            “I’m fairly certain the whole world saw it. What was your favorite suspected baby name? Mine was Margaret. God, I didn’t even know what she was talking about.”
            “Have you talked to Steve about it?”
            “No. We’re not together anymore. We broke up. You know that.”
            “On Nantucket,”
            “I want everyone to stop bringing that up.”
            “You’re walking better.”
            “Thanks.”
            “But you still look awful.”
            “Clint,”
            “Sleep, Tash. I’ll take first watch.”
            “I don’t need someone to watch over me. We’re safe here. I know that.”
            “I’ll still take first watch.” I sigh. I am too tired to argue with him any longer.
            “You can go do stuff, you really don’t have to wait here while I sleep.”
            “I’m not leaving. I promise.” There is more weight to his words than this pledge of his presence while I take an afternoon nap.
            I’m falling. I grasp for something, anything. Something to stop me, to stop what is coming. My hand makes contact, and my eyes fly open. Clint’s hand is gripped in mine, and my heart is beating out of my chest.
            “You’re okay. We’re on the farm.” I nod, taking deep breaths, calming myself. My hand still grips his, and I pull it away, embarrassed. “You want to talk about it?”
            “Nothing to talk about. Just need a few more days. A few more days and I’ll be okay again. I’ll be me again.” I check my phone, two hours have passed.
            “That is a lot of pressure to put on yourself.”
            “It has been weeks, Clint. I can’t just wait around.”
            “That is what healing is.”
            “It isn’t an option. It isn’t productive.”
            “Isn’t that why you’re here, though?”
            “No. I’m here because Wanda requested it. It was the only way to stop her from worrying about me. That isn’t what she should be doing.”
            “Do you think maybe part of you agreed to it because this will force you to slow down? I heard you ran first aid in Germany. That couldn’t have been low stress on your body.”
            “I wasn’t climbing through rubble. I just want everyone to stop looking at me like this, like how you are right now!” I pace across the room.
            “Like what?”
            “Like I am worthy of whatever pedestal I am being placed on. And this pity at the same time. How can you admire and pity someone at once?”
            “You died to save the world, Nat.”
            “Anyone else would have done the same.”
            “No, they wouldn’t have.”
            “You would have.”
            “To save my family. To save the world if my family was safe? I don’t think I would’ve.” He is blunt, and honest. “You deserve to be on that pedestal.”
            “And for the pity?”
            “Well, I guess you could beat them up.”
            “Sure.”
            “I’ll be your backup.”
            “And if things go south, I’m Russian, and you’re Deaf.”

We go downstairs, albeit slowly, and head out to the backyard. The kids are on the playset, with Wanda pushing Nate in the toddler swing, Clint goes to sit by Laura, and there is a wall between them, despite touching. Yelena is nowhere to be found.
            “I’m going to go for a walk.”
            “I can come,” Wanda stops the swing, and Nate begins to yell at her.
            “No, its okay. I could use some alone time.” I can feel Laura inspecting me, and head off towards the woods, past the pool. The trails that were once prominent have become overgrown over five years. The path to the pond is no longer obvious, nor the one to the treehouse. I wonder what has happened to it, or to Lila’s fairy village. Has nature taken over? I didn’t even consider if they should have been maintained along with the house and farm.
            Signs of spring arrival are abound, with the death of winter being taken over by fresh green leaves and budding flowers. My feet remember the trails that the earth doesn’t carry me forward. There is a rustling of leaves overheard as the animals awaken as well. But not just animals wait overhead. I pause from my stroll, waiting for her to appear. It is why I came out in the first place. She will show herself when she is ready. I reach the small clearing I have been hoping to find. It is right near Lila’s fairy garden, and a stone bench is in the center.
            I sit down, leaning back. It predates the Barton's, and it is covered with moss. Laura showed it to me once, when pregnant with Nate. I close my eyes, listening to the sounds of the forest. Her landing is almost silent, barely shifting the leaves underfoot. I open my eyes and see Yelena, still in her travel clothes, but the hat and sunglasses are gone. It is just her, my sister.
            “Hi Lena,”
            “I didn’t mean for you to come and find me. You make me feel bad.”
            “That wasn’t my intention.”
            “I know that.” She sits beside me on the bench. “How did you know where to find me?”
            “I just knew.”
            “I hate him.”
            “You didn’t have to come.”
            “Of course I did. Like that was even a question.” Her English, though now more frequently correct, is still heavily accented. I find myself missing it broken.
            “I appreciate you stepping up, while I was gone.”
            “Dead. You were dead.”
            “Thank you, I was going for a euphemism,” I reply dryly, looking over at her. I see, unlike myself, she was not watching the woods. Her gaze has been trained on me.
            “Without you, nothing was right. Your girl, she was disappearing. No matter how hard I held on. I try to be you. I could never be you.”
            “I never wanted you to be me, and I don’t recall my letter saying anything of the sort.”
            “Your letter said opposite.”
            “I know, I wrote it,” I butt her lightly with my shoulder.
            “But someone needed to. Part of me hated you for leaving.”
            “I don’t blame you. I don’t blame you if you are still angry with me either. You have every right to be.”
            “I’m not. Just sad.”
            “Why?” She shrugs.
            “Emotions don’t always make sense. Sometimes you just need to feel them.”
            “Did you like school?” I ask, remembering lunch’s discussion.
            “I’m not going back in fall. The fall. Just online. They too young for me. And older people too old. Somehow, I am both.”
            “I’m sorry.”
            “What, you were going to fight Madame B as a toddler to stop her from giving me the serum?”
            “I don’t know, Yelena. I’m sorry in the way of my condolences.”
            “If any toddler could have done it, would have been you.” A shadow crosses over her face as she gets lost in a memory. “You still saved me. More than you know.”
            “That is kind of you,”
            “No, just accept the thank you.”
            “Okay, okay,”
            “And how did you bruise your back? What did you do?”
            “I am fine,” I insist. She reaches around and pokes the bruise directly. I pull away.
            “What the hell?”
            “See? I knew it.”
            “No, I just don’t want you poking me.” I stand up, “Can you stop being an annoying little sister?”
            “Only if you admit you hurt yourself, pushing too hard.” She jumps up as well, crossing her arms.
            “I’m fine. Just ran too fast on the treadmill.”
            “Oh you mean the deathtrap hamster wheel in your gym?”
             “Please,” I huff.
            “That thing goes thirty-five miles per hour. What you have it at, twenty-five?”
            “Twenty. An unenhanced level.”
            “Average female running speed is six and half miles per hour. You died two weeks ago,”
            “Six and a half,” I correct.
            “Bozhe,”
            “Just a few more days, and I’ll be back to normal,”
            “Natalia, get it through your thick skull,”
            “Natasha.” I interrupt.
            “What?”
            “Natasha. My name is Natasha.” Yelena’s features soften.
            “I’m sorry.” I nod. “Let’s get back to your girl.” As much as everyone around me seems to be in denial, I can tell that in the next few days my body will be back to normal. Aside from being a little weaker and the occasional headache, I am already back to myself. I am normal again. Me again. I’m who I was before. I slowed down for two weeks. Isn’t that enough for everyone? I took baths for Christ’s sake. Even proposed to sit out on missions until I could pass a physical. I have don’t everything I could to assure everyone I took this seriously. They are acting as though I am about to fall apart at the slightest breeze.
            We take a longer way back to the farmhouse, almost skirting the edge of the property. Yelena bumps me as we walk, but her eyes are still serious. I miss my lighthearted sister and hope my death didn’t kill that piece of her, something I worked so hard to preserve.
            “I think I am going to teach Lila how to climb trees.”
            “I’m sure Laura will be thrilled.”
            “Imagine the snowball fights this winter.” Her eyes glint, maybe I don’t have to worry too much.
            We get back to the house and everyone has gone inside, likely to prep dinner. Yelena and I loop around front, seeing some kind of fort constructed on the back porch. An alert starts to go off on my phone, and metal plates slide over the windows and doors of the farmhouse. Yelena has pulled out a gun as well. I have a knives hidden on my leg, and pull out two. Clint will be out any second with weapons.
            “Hello?” A young voice yells from the gate. She has partially climbed over, hanging off the top by her bow. “A little help? Hello?”
            “Who the hell is that?” Yelena asks. I sigh and begin to walk towards the gate, typing a deactivation code into my phone for Friday.
            “That,” I look at the girl, kicking at the gate and trying to free herself, “is Kate Bishop.”  

Chapter Text

            The girl kicks at the gate, waving franticly to me and Yelena. My sister looks amused but is trying to hide it. They seem like they would get along well.
            “Help! Help! Jesus Christ,” She continues to attempt to free herself as we walk over. I hear the screen door slam behind us back at the house. Poor Kate has an audience.
            “What are you doing here?” I ask as we reach her, “You’re supposed to be at school.”
            “I wanted,”
            “No talking while I am trying to free you,” Yelena scolds. The teen looks to me, but I shrug. Yelena takes a knife from her pocket and cuts the string of the bow. I catch Kate before she can hit the ground, and then let go.
            “Are you injured?” I look up and down for any obvious injuries.
            “No.” She huffs.
            “Then what the hell are you doing here?”
            “I don’t want to be at school, I want to train to be an Avenger, like Hawkeye.”
            “You want to be like the stupid American? God help us.” I shoot the younger widow a glare. No need to air our dirty laundry.
            “I didn’t know you’d be here,” She scuffs her shoe against the gravel.
            “Why would you climb the gate?”
            “The AI said I wasn’t on the approved list!” The girl whines. She is lucky that she wasn’t shot by the computer. One person trying to loot the farm during the Snap wasn’t so fortunate. I am yet to share that tidbit with Clint and Laura.
            “Come on, let’s get you inside while we wait for someone from school to pick you up.”
            “Please don’t send me back,” She begs. Yelena looks at me, colored with concern. She has picked up that Kate attends a boarding school. Given our experience, I’m not surprised she is wary.
            “It is a great school, safe. They care about you.”
            “Too much,” Kate adds. Yelena’s shoulders relax. Then Kate stops in her tracks, staring up at the house. Clint is leaning against a post, watching us.
            “Another one of your strays, Nat?”
            “Oh my God!” She grabs Yelena’s arm, tugging it, and jumping up and down, “Oh my God! You’re Hawkeye! That’s Hawkeye!”  
            Yelena seems surprised anyone would tug on her, usually people tend to be cautious.
            “Clint, nice to meet you,” He steps off the porch and extends a hand. Kate lets go of Yelena and shakes it vigorously. “You know you saved my life once? At the battle of New York! And because of that, I got into archery. They think I could qualify for the Olympics in a few years. Why haven’t you done the Olympics? Is it because you’re a hero to the world without like an allegiance to one country? Or are you just too busy? I could totally understand being too busy. Can you sign my bow?”
            “Wow, kid. You talk more than my oldest girl.”
            “Lila!”
            “Um, that’s right.” Clint runs his fingers through his hair.
            “Kate here is a superfan,” I explain, “She was a resident of my orphanage.”
            “Oh, I’m sorry. You must be happy to be back with your family.” The young teen’s light dims slightly.
            “My dad died in the battle of New York. My mom and aunt died in a car crash when the driver was snapped.”
            “Well, I hope Nat has taken good care of you.”
            “Are you kidding? She is the best! I snuck into the headmistress’s office at school and read that she paid for the new archery range at my school.”
            “That was supposed to be an anonymous donation.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. It is my own fault. I probably sent it through my bank account instead of a Cayman.
            “Who is this?” A crowd has formed at the door, all the kids and Laura looking out.
            “I’m Kate,” She bounds up the steps of the porch.
            “Let’s get her something to eat.” The door opens and the crowd parts. Kate marvels at everyone, and addresses them all by name, down to baby Nicole.
            “How long is she staying with us?” Laura asks me and Clint. I can see her already planning another grocery trip to make sure there is enough food.
            “Just until I can get someone from school to pick her up.”
            “You know, we were neighbors at one point?” She asks Wanda, her grin wide. “I can’t believe I am in Hawkeye’s house. I mean, thank you for having me.”
            “Very smooth,” Yelena walks past us, towards the kitchen.
            “I have to put Nicole and Nate down for a nap,”
            “I’ll make her something to eat,” I promise. “And I’m so sorry for the intrusion.”
            “It isn’t a problem, really. I don’t think we’d even notice one more kid at this point,” Clint jokes. Laura looks at him for a moment, before heading upstairs with the two youngest. Despite being welcoming to Kate, and seemingly happy to have her, there is another conversation entirely occurring between the couple.
            I pause at the scene in the kitchen when walking in. Yelena has a pot of water on the stove, a hand on her hip.
            “What are you doing?”
            “You were taking too long. I start cooking. Kate Bishop, do you like macaroni and cheese?”
            “Um, yes?”
            “Good. That is what you are eating.”
            “How come you never cook for me?” Wanda asks.
            “Because you would cook better. She looks like she would cook worse.”
            “Thank you? Was that a compliment?” Kate asks.
            “No.” Cooper sits down at the kitchen table. “Why are you at our house?”
            “I want to train to be an Avenger, and I’m an archer like your dad.”
            “My sister is an archer too.”
            “Is he a good teacher?” She turns to Lila, eager. Lila nods.
            “You are going back to school, Kate.”
            “After like a few lessons, right?”
            “No, hopefully today or tomorrow morning.” I pull out my phone and begin to search through my contacts. There is actually an email from her school.
            “You were suspended?”
            “Just for a week, and it took me a few days to get out here, so a few more days here and I should be set to go back.”
            “What did you do?” Yelena, ever the troublemaker, has turned away from the pasta.
            “Nothing, I mean basically nothing.”
            “It says here you destroyed a landmark.”
            “It was a bell tower, there are so many of them. And so loud,”
            “You know you’re paying for it to be rebuilt, right?”
            “Exactly, which is why I can’t believe they suspended me.”
            Wanda sports a guarded expression, watching the conversation. I was honestly surprised she even made a comment to Yelena about cooking. She sits beside Cooper, inspecting Kate. Her eyes don’t glow red, so at least I know she isn’t reading her mind.
            Lucky bounds into the room, tail wagging. Kate emits an excited squeal as she bends down to pet the dog. 
            “Aren’t you the cutest boy in the whole world! What is his name?”
            “Lucky,” Cooper pours himself a glass of water.
            “He’s lucky to be a part of this family,” The young archer beams. Despite having gone through so much at such a young age, she is far less jaded than everyone else in the room, even bubbly Lila. Yelena turns around with the pan, now filled with the cheesy concoction.
            “You want hot sauce?”
            “What?”
            “It is the best way to have it, Kate Bishop.”
            “I’m okay, thank you.” Yelena shrugs and empties it into a bowl, handing it to her.
            “So, you really came all the way out here just to meet our dad?” Cooper asks.
            “Of course, he is amazing. He saved the world.” Yelena pinches her lips but says nothing in front of the Barton children.
            “I’m going to see if Chloe wants to hang out.” Lila hops up from her seat, heading out of the room.
            “She is Deaf,” Cooper explains.
            “Oh.”
            “Like my Dad.”
            “What?” Kate slams her fork on the table.
            “Not public knowledge, Coop.” I remind him.
            “She’s in our house. I figured she made the cut.”
            “Wait, am I like in the inner circle now?”
            “Kate,”
            “Does this mean I get to be an Avenger? Or like Avenger in training?”
            “You’re in high school,”
            “Wanda was an Avenger in high school.” My daughter’s eyes widen at being brought into the conversation, and she slouches slightly in her seat.
            “Cooper, you and Wanda go make sure the other guest room is all set for Kate. Maybe put a fresh towel out.”
            “But Auntie Nat,”
            “You can interrogate her about the last five years later.”
            “How did she even know I was going to ask that?” He mutters to Wanda as the two of them leave.
            “I am sorry for dropping in, but I had no where else to go.”
            “Why didn’t you call the orphanage?”
            “I figured it was closed now.”
            “I still have staff on hand for a few more weeks.”  
            “Are you really not hungry?” Yelena eyes the food she made Kate, “That trip was so long.”
            Kate picks half heartedly at the food, before pushing it away.
            “I don’t want to be sent back. I want to stay here, to train. Or go whenever it is that you train Avengers.”
            “Eh, doesn’t exist anymore.” Yelena takes the bowl and adds hot sauce.
            “How will you train new Avengers then?”
            “Kate,”
            “He is the best, I need to learn from him. He is the best archer in the world. He is my hero. He saved everyone from the Snap.”
            “No.” Yelena is not motivated to hold her tongue any longer with the kids gone, the lightness that had begun to shine through again is snuffed, “The trail of blood that follows him you could wrap around the entire world.”
            “Wow, um, okay.” Kate puffs out her cheeks.
            “Yelena, she is a kid,” I remind my sister.
            “I am not a kid,”
            “I’m going to bring Kate to get cleaned up before dinner. Since you ate hers.”
            “It is boxed mac and cheese, even I not screw it up. Is delicious.”  
            Kate follows me out of the room, trailing to look at pictures that adorn the walls.
            “Thank you for not sending me to a hotel or something.”
            “You’d just try to break in again. And then I’d have to come watch you.”
            “What did your sister mean about the blood?”
            “It is nothing. Come on,” We go up the stairs, my slow pace giving Kate time to look at every detail, every family photo.
            “Do you think he’d like do a Q&A session with me?”
            “You’re having dinner with him in an hour.
            “I am? He is going to eat with us?”
            “It is a family dinner, at his house.”  A ghost of a smile plays on my lips. We reach the top of the stairs, and head down the hall to the other guest room, the one Wanda used to stay in before she had her own room. There is another spare room, right near my suite, which is currently occupied by Yelena. I don’t give it long until Laura redecorates it just for her.
            “You’ll sleep in here tonight.” As I requested, a fresh towel has been laid out on the bed.
            “You’re really going to let me stay here?” Her expression reminds me of Wanda when she found out she would be staying with us. With the Avengers. But she is not Wanda. She is a normal girl, who just needs to go back to her life. Not get any more tangled up with this mess.
            “Just for tonight. And,” I hold back a sigh, knowing that what I am about to say is a bad idea, “I will talk to Clint about you training with him sometime.”
            She crushes me in a hug, but lets go within seconds.
            “You will not regret it. I am going to be amazing. Almost as good as him, I know it. I am going to keep practicing so hard.”
            “I know. And please don’t destroy any more of your school. You being able to train with Clint also hinges on good behavior.”
            “I will be the best behaved girl at school.”
            “Or just don’t get caught,” Yelena leans in the doorway.
            “Please don’t’ encourage her,” I scold, Yelena drops off Kate’s backpack and bow, string still broken. I do see a familiar signature on it now, however. She broke her silent treatment with Clint to get it signed for Kae. Yelena has a soft spot, and Kate seems to have unknowingly found it.
            “I will see you at dinner.”
            The old floor boards creak underfoot in the original part of the house until I enter the addition, though it blends seamlessly. When I open the door to my room, I see Wanda sitting on the bed.
            “I figured you’d be up in the attic with Cooper. Maybe playing a video game.”
            “Are you guys close? You seemed to know a lot about her.”
            “Kate and I have only talked once or twice before now.”
            “You know a lot about her,” Wanda accuses, not believing me.
            “Her case is different than the others at the orphanage. Her guardians died in the Snap; they weren’t snapped. She also didn’t spend all her time at the home, only school breaks. Her mom had her enrolled in a boarding school.” I let my hair out of its ponytail, “She required a different kind of attention, more like hiring estate managers and accountants. I didn’t spend much time there, I told you that.”
            “So, even though she is like a female version of Clint,”
            “Wanda, no one could ever replace you. There was a Wanda sized hole in my life for five years. There was no filling it, or any substitutes.”
            “I wouldn’t blame you, if you did. Like if you found another kid.” The fear in her voice crushes me.
            “Just you,” I think of BARF, and how that is a partial lie. But it was still her, a version of her.
            “What was the school like?”
            “It was sad, mostly. We had counselors on staff, teachers. It was the best that could be offered to these kids who had no family left. It is the best I could offer.”
            “I read stories, about babies dying in their cribs.” Wanda’s eyes are large, “Don’t you hate him, just a little? For doing this?”
            “There is no point in wishing things were different. And he is dead, I can’t change anything about that. It isn’t in my power. I can only focus on the now.”
            “That doesn’t sound like you.” She swings her feet over the side of the bed, dangling them. “You have been weirdly focused on the present. Like normally, no offense, you’re kind of stuck on the past.”
            “In the past, I’m dead.” I regret the words as they slip out of my mouth and try to rework them. “And I can’t change that. I have wiped the red from my ledger. I don’t need to dwell on that anymore.” I begin to put away the clothes in the laundry basket at my dresser, courtesy of Laura. I don’t even know when she found the time to do it. Upon closer inspection, I see these are actually the clothes I keep here. They must have become musty over the past five years, and Laura wanted them to be fresh and clean for me.
            “You’re still you though, right?”
            “Of course, love,” I stop putting away my clothes and join her on the bed. My back is starting to hurt, but nowhere near where it was a few days ago. I could even go for a jog with Clint tomorrow. Not Yelena, as she would run laps around me, but definitely Clint.
            “You don’t feel different?”
            “Maybe a little, but not in a bad way.”
            “Then in what way?” She is wringing her hands.
            “I’m not sure,” I am honest, truly honest, about how I am doing for the first time. “But it isn’t in a bad way. I also don’t know if it is good. Different isn’t always one or the other, sometimes different is just different.” I take her hand in mine, tracing the lines on her palms with my finger. “But one thing that will never change is how much I love you.”
             “That is cheesy,”
            “Cheesy can be okay,” I kiss the top of her head.
            “Like Steve? He’s kind of cheesy.” She sing songs.
            “And that is none of your business, Little Witch.”
            “You need to talk to him.”
            “We broke up.” I drop her hand and head back to the dresser, putting away the folded clothes.
            “But you still love him, right? That hasn’t changed.” She scoots to the end of the bed, closer to me.
            “Wanda,”
            “Its just like, such a shame. You are perfect together. And he loves you.”
            “I left him. During the Snap.” My skin is starting to prickle.
            “You guys were together all the time, though. At the compound.”
            “I don’t want to talk about this with you.” I push in one of the dresser doors to roughly. Wanda falls silent, her questions ending. I feel that I did leave him, abandon him, in a way not too different than how Clint left me. Physically, I was there, but that is just about the only way. In all others, I was absent. I offered him little to no comfort. As far as companions go, my company was lackluster.
            Wanda’s eyes drift over my shoulder, her eyes flickering. She shakes her head, and they go to a steady blue once more.
            “You okay?”
            “I know its not there.” She pinches her lips.
            “Let’s go help Laura with dinner. Burgers and corn on the cob.”
            “Are you going to let Kate stay?” She asks as we head down the hall.
            “For one or two nights. Until her suspension is lifted.”
            “Won’t she just get suspended again if she gets to come back here? That is what I would do.”
            “Great, that really inspires faith in the next generation, Wanda. No, Kate and I have an understanding, one that requires her to do well in school.” We go down the backstairs into the family room. It is usually empty, as not much TV is watched in the Barton household, save for the Saturday morning cartoons. The TV in the living room is barely on, let alone to the degree where a room needs to be dedicated to it.  
            “Chloe is coming over tomorrow!” Lila signs excitedly to us as we enter the kitchen, “You finally get to meet her!” Chloe had missed Lila’s birthday party, and she wasn’t in school when we visited before Thanksgiving all those years ago.
            “I am very excited to meet the elusive Chloe,” I sign Chloe’s name back, ‘blonde’ with a C.
            I have heard stories about Chloe since Lila was in preschool, it will truly be great to finally meet her.
            “Is there anything I can do to help? I used to help Cook on summer breaks,” Kate bounds into the kitchen, a bundle of eagerness. Wanda’s expression becomes closed off, still wary around the younger teen.
            “I think we are all set, thank you though. Not much to do.” Laura finished cutting the tomatoes for the burgers. My phone pings, a text from Steve. He was driving past Coney Island.
            “Should we dine al fresco?” Clint asks, breezing in with Nate on his hip, apparently the attempt at getting him to nap during his sister’s second of the day was a failure.
            Kate’s head follows Clint’s movements, as he heads towards the fridge, taking out the patties.
            “Can Yelena take the patio furniture out of the barn?” He asks.
            “I can do it,” Wanda and I both say at the same time. Wanda looks to me, like my volunteering was out of the ordinary.
            “Oh, I can help too!” Kate adds, “And I can see you use your powers; that would be amazing!” She addresses Wanda. Clint puts down Nate, who heads back to his Lego city. Lila sits beside Laura, watching her mother finish dinner prep.
            “Mom, I can do it,” Wanda tone is pointed, though I have no idea why.
            “We can do it,” Kate corrects.
            “As can I,” Whatever this challenge is coming from with Wanda, it is not welcome. I get up from my seat. “Keep up, then.” Wanda huffs, her eyes flashing red in irritation, but trying to bite her tongue in the presence of company.
            We head out to the barn. Kate marvels at the makeshift archery range inside, with bales of hay and targets abound. Within one of the old horse stalls are the table and chairs, the ones Clint had custom made.
            Kate grabs a chair, while Wanda and I both go for the table. Her jaw tightens. And I can’t for the life of me figure out what about this is bothering her.
            “You can get all the chairs at once, and I can grab the table,”
            “I can do all of it at once.”  
            “But you don’t need to do it on your own.”
            “Neither do you!” She snaps, and a bale of hay explodes. Kate’s eyes widen, her mouth forming a little ‘o’.
            “Fine, if you want to bring out the table and chairs, on your own, have at it.” Wanda opens the larger barn doors, and the dining set floats out. Wanda follows after it, glowering.
            “Um, do you want this one?” Kate asks, holding out the teak chair.
            “No, thank you. You can bring it out there. Appreciate your help.” When I leave the barn, Wanda is gone, and Kate is talking to Clint, or rather at him. The swing in Wanda’s mood is mystifying, in the five minutes from my bedroom to the kitchen.
            Inside, Laura still insists she doesn’t need any help in the kitchen, and I head upstairs. The aches are easy enough to ignore. I go to check in on Nicole and see Yelena bouncing her in her arms.
            “Oh, Tasha,”
            “No, it’s okay, I have some work I can do,” I promise, heading back into my room. I take out my computer, and go to look at the tower plans, only to see that have have been finished in the few hours I was away. Steve’s signature is scrawled across the last page, just waiting for my approval. I don’t even bother looking at what the decision was for our floors, clearly whatever he agreed to is what he wanted. No emails from the orphanage. Nothing from Fury or Hill. No texts waiting for me. Wanda went from loving me to hating me in minutes. The Barton’s are faring just fine without me. Steve and I aren’t together anymore.
            Yelena’s precise knock raps on my door. She does not wait for me to answer as she blows in, Nicole in her arms. The youngest Hawkling waves at me, her two front teeth filling her smile. And her onesie is on backwards.
            “Yelena,”
            “Babies, I am inexperienced.” Yelena hands me the infant, holding the baby out in front of her. I turn around Nicole’s romper, if she is anything like Lila, it won’t be long before she is running around to keep up with her older siblings.
            “They are darling, but a lot of work,” I pick her up off my bed, tickling her stomach. It also isn’t as though I don’t know what Yelena just did, but some things are better left unsaid, unaddressed.
            “You changed when Kate Bishop got here,” My sister accuses. She does not live by my aforementioned philosophy, clearly. Yelena has the tact of a bull. “You are acting like you before, but not in a good way. I wonder if you are worse off tan we know, and you were just pretending to be just almost okay by now. And now you pretend to be all good.”
            “Yelena, that is a lot of mental gymnastics, even for you.”
            “You forget sestra,” She strokes back Nicole’s hair, smoothing her bedhead, “You and I are cut from the same cloth.”
            “Dinner!” Laura calls. I hear Cooper’s feet pattering on the attic stairs. Yelena and I lock eyes for a moment. She is the first to break.
            “You heard Laura, she is in charge.”  I nod and We head downstairs with Nicole, bumping into Cooper. Outside, string lights have been strung across the patio as a substitute for candles, and the table has been set. Wanda is staring up at the lights with a note of pride. This must be her handiwork.
            “They look lovely.”
            “Thank you,”
            “If you want to talk,”
            “I’m okay.”
            “It’s okay not to be,” Wanda raises her eyebrows, an expression so like one I sport. My daughter.
            “Come on, eat it while it’s hot.”  
            A stick of butter is passed around to roll the corn in, and Nate manages to squirt ketchup all over himself.
            “You see, this is why I dressed him in red,” Clint explains.
            “Black would hide all stains. Like our suits.” Yelena bites into her burger.
            “How did you learn archery? There is no information on it. It is such a niche weapon choice.”
            “The circus,” Clint deadpans, amusement twinkling in his eye. Kate can’t tell if he is joking, looking to the rest of us for help.
            “Can you please pass the mustard?” Kate signs to Lila, a mix of words and fingerspelling.
            “You know sign language?”
            “Ms. Romanoff told me you learned for stakeouts, and I wanted to be able to be effective in the field. You know, some people have actually called the me world’s greatest archer,” She boasts.
            “Is one of them yourself?” Cooper teases. Laura scolds him, but Kate laughs good naturedly.  
            “I’ve been taking martial arts since I was five, too. I am so ready to be on the team, to really train. And I already started thinking of superhero names. Lady Hawk, Hawk Eve, Hawk Shot. You get it, like Hot Shot?”  
            “We can shoot together tomorrow morning.” Clint offers.
            “Wait, really? Like I am actually going to shoot with the Hawkeye, this is the best moment of my life.”
            “Can we go to the drive in?” Lila asks, pulling the conversation. I don’t know if she has shot with her dad once since coming back. “Or do something tomorrow?”
            “Mini golf?” Cooper asks.
            “I have not tried it yet,” Yelena grins.
            “Mom?” Lila pleads, “Auntie Nat?”
            “I’ve never been,” Wanda adds softly.
            “I will have to call about security,”
            “I think we’ll be okay, Nat.” Laura assures.
            “Okay,” I acquiesce, “We can go.”  
            “Lila, you are going down,” Cooper teases.  
            “I will be beating all of you in miniature golf.” Yelena declares. “And if I lose, I buy everyone ice cream.”
            Wanda’s eyes light up, formulating a plan. One that probably hinges ore on Yelena losing than Wanda winning.
            We clean up dinner and the kids go upstairs to get ready for bed, pleading for Clint to open the pool soon.
            “It isn’t pool weather yet,” Clint explains as the eldest three Barton’s go upstairs.
            “Open the pool, Clint. We have four very bored children.”
            “I will call the guy tomorrow,” Clint promises, loading up the dishwasher.
            “I’m going to go help the kids get ready, Wanda, you and Kate can pick out a movie for tonight if you’d like.” Laura offers. Wanda defers to Kate, who to no one’s surprise, picked Brave.
            Cooper and I groan, but Clint and Lila are excited, the little girl actually changes out of her Ariel nightgown and into her Merida one. And brings the giant stuffed unicorn back down with her. We curl up on the giant sectional in the family room, the room I thought was a waste, and see how wrong I was. Wanda is on one side of me, resting her head on my shoulder. Yelena is on the other side, her arm just brushing mine. At my feet, Lila holds onto one leg, and Cooper leans against the right, poking his sister every few minutes. Clint and Laura are actually seated next to each other, and I watch her hand slip into his.
            Kate jumps up and performs for us, speaking alone with Merida’s parts, causing fits of laughter from the kids. Especially as Nate roars at her, pretending to be a bear. Popcorn litters the floor, and mugs of tea cover the side tables. Everything else has melted away, the pain, the suffering, The guilt. It is what I have been missing for five years. Living.

Chapter Text

            I don’t know what to make of Kate. She is lively and energetic, but also has a sharp edge. Like she knew when to stop the world from wearing her down. I wish I had such foresight.
            Kate talks to, or rather at, Yelena. The latter is amused by the chatter, as Kate seems to be able to talk about anything and everything to anybody. Papa would have said she’d make a good politician. Mama would say knowing when to stop makes one great. It is one of those conversations I didn’t understand when I was younger, but now, I get it.
            I toss in bed, unable to get comfortable. Everything feels slightly off kilter and has for weeks. My powers reach out for me, finding Nat. She is asleep in the next room. Still here. She’s still here. My legs itch, not in the way they need to be scratched, but that they need to move. Like they are just as restless as my head. It is the danger of being alone with my thoughts. They are building up at the edge of my head, wanting to be front and center.
            Maybe some tea would help. I know Nat would want me to wake her up, to have her make me a mug. But I feel bad waking her, even if she does seem to be doing better. My instincts about going to the farm were correct. At least I got something right.
            I pull on my leg and head downstairs towards the kitchen and come across Clint, sitting on the couch. He holds a pint of Ben and Jerry’s, Hawkeye’s Bullseye Butterscotch, and the TV on. He sees me before I can go back upstairs.
            “Hey,”
            “Hi,” I hover at the edge of the living room, knowing I have to walk through to get to the kitchen.
            “What are you doing up?”
            “I could ask you the same thing.” I counter. My powers continue to feel out for Nat every few seconds, and I know Clint is looking at my eyes. Probably trying to figure out if I am reading his mind. After last time, I have no desire to ever do so again.
            “Feel free to grab another spoon or pint, having a movie marathon,” He offers after a beat.
             There is something sad about him, sitting here in the dark. I make my cup of tea and do grab a spoon out of the kitchen drawer, before joining him on the couch. Matt Damon is scaling the side of a building.
            “I did that a few times, just about as hard as it looks,” He comments, not looking over at me. I sip my tea, unsure how to respond. “You should have seen your mom on some missions when we were younger. This one time, she dove through a window from a building across an alley. The amount of math and guts that took,” He shakes his head. The conversation ceases as the movie goes on. Then he starts the second one.
            “Have you seen We Bought a Zoo?” I ask, putting down my now empty mug, “It stars Matt Damon. There is a character in it who looks like Nat. It’s a cute movie.”
            “It was one of Cooper’s favorites when he was little,”
            “We watched in when Lila was in the hospital last year,” I twirl the spoon with my powers, “Or I guess six years ago.” The spoon lands heavily in my palm. “So, did Laura send you to the couch?” Clint falls silent at my question, which, I will admit, might have crossed the line.
            “No,” That isn’t the answer I was expecting, but I try not to show it, “I’ve been waking her up. She deserves a good night’s rest.”
            “Oh.”
            “I know everyone thinks I should have been the one to die, not your mom. And I agree. I’m not a good person, selfish. But I couldn’t beat her, I never had a chance, no matter how hard I fought.”
            “I think it is good you’re not dead,” I say awkwardly, unsure how to comfort him. It wouldn’t be genuine, if I said I was glad he survived instead of Nat, and he knows that. I also think, somehow, that if he had been the one to jump, Steve returning the stone  wouldn’t have brought him back. I get up from the couch, the restlessness gone. Even breathing seems easier.
            “Thanks,”
            “They’ll come around,” I stand at the edge of the room. The man on the couch in front of me is not the same man who recruited me to join the Avengers, or the one who I saw as an uncle for years. He is not the same hero I imagined as I left to fight Ultron. But I am not that same girl. “We’re only people, Clint.”
            I head back into my room and lie down on the bed, my head feels less full, like I checked something off an imaginary list, lightened my load. Never again can I trust Clint like I once did, but he isn’t evil. He has made mistakes, just like I have. And maybe it isn’t fair that I held him to such a high standard. It is a benchmark a child would set, and I feel so far from being one.

            I wake to a steaming mug of coffee on my nightstand, a sign that Nat had been here only moments ago. Sunlight streams in through the cracks between the curtains. I rise from my bed, pulling back the sheets. We are going mini-golfing today, it is probably outside, right? And Nat said she would be looking into the security of the place. I put on jeans, a baby tee, and white sneakers and head downstairs.
            Conversation and laughter flow out of the dining room and kitchen, and I see Lila darting back and forth, forgetting something each time.
            “PopTarts, cereal, or Toaster Strudels,” Nat lists off the menu, placing a fistful of Cheerios onto Nicole’s tray. I pop one of the flaky pastries into the toaster and sip on my coffee. Outside, Lucky is racing back and forth, chasing squirrels.
             I head back into the dining room, as with Kate’s arrival we have outgrown the kitchen table. She is already sitting at the table, eating a bowl of cereal. There are two open seats at the table for ten, one between Kate and Nat, and one between Lila and Cooper. My hesitation makes the decision for me, as Yelena enters the room, throwing herself dramatically into the seat between the eldest Hawklings.
            “You all get up so early.” She bemoans.
            “I will make you a cup of coffee,” Nat offers, starting to rise from her seat.
            “No!” Her younger sister snaps, jumping up from her seat, suddenly awake. “I’ve got,”
            “Yelena,”
            “I have got it,” She repeats, passing me on the way to the kitchen. The only sign that Nat is bothered is her eyes following her sister for just a moment before going back to feeding Nicole.
            “So, are you excited to go mini golfing, Wanda?” Kate asks. I nod, feeling my neck heat up. “I used to go golfing with my mom sometime on summer break. And we took a fieldtrip at the home to go mini golfing a few times. And this one time, in Wisconsin,”
            “What was it like living in an orphanage? Was it like Annie?” Lila asks.
            “Lila, that’s rude,” Laura scolds her daughter instead of translating for her.
            “It wasn’t anything like Annie.” Kate replies, likely figuring out the question from the finger spelling of the name. “We didn’t have to work or really do chores. I was only there on school breaks, but there were extracurriculars and stuff. I think it was just more like a boarding school.”
            Yelena rejoins us, foil pastry package and coffee mug in hand. I look over at Clint, who has been quiet through breakfast.
            “Lila, Chloe will be here in an hour. Bed made and teeth brushed.” Laura reminds, as her eldest daughter finishes breakfast. One by one, the number of people at the table dwindles. Soon, it is just me, Clint, Nat, and Yelena.
            “I should head over to the mini golf place, make sure it is secure.”
            “It is fine, Nat. I made us a reservation for eleven o’clock,” Clint assures, “And you can always bring your gun,”
            “As if she wasn’t going to bring a gun,” Yelena scoffs. “Stupid American. I am going to shower. And win at mini golf.”
            “Do not try to beat the children, Yelena.”
            “Fine. We play our own game.” She sniffs. “Spoilsport.”
            “Wanda, why don’t you go check on Kate? Make sure she doesn’t need anything.”
            “I’m sure she’s okay.” I finish my coffee.
            “Then help Lila pick out her outfit,” She insists. Clint isn’t wearing his hearing aids, which explains his lack of vocalization this morning. And he looks no better than he did last night. Though he is glaring at Nat.
            “Fine.” I get up from my seat and head upstairs. Lila is standing in the center of her room, clothes laid out on her bed. She has a hand on her hip and taps her lips with one finger. It reminds me of Laura.
            I flicker the lights to alert her of my presence. She lights up when she sees me, waving me over to her bed.
            “Shorts or skirt?”

            We get an alert that a car has pulled up to the gate, and Friday lets them through. A large white SUV heads down the gravel driveway. Lila races out the front door, dragging Nat with her.
            I follow, intrigued, as does Laura, though she is more amused. The car pulls to a stop in front of the house and a rear door swings open. A small girl with light blonde hair that hangs to her waist humps out.
            “Lila!” She signs, rushing towards her friend. Then she freezes, staring at my mom. “Oh my God you’re Auntie Nat!” Natasha laughs, actually laughs.
            “I am, and you are Chloe. It is very nice to finally meet you.”
            “That means you can braid my hair, my mom says she is hopeless.”
            “Thank you, honey,” Chloe is a clone of her mother, save for the lob, “Pick her up at four, Laur?”
            “See you then, Steph.” The little girl says goodbye to her mom and then turns to me.
            “I hear you’re good at Monopoly.”
            I end up in a game with Chloe, Lila, and Kate. Nat has braid Chloe’s hair as requested, and two Frech fishtails hang down her back. As soon as Lila buys Boardwalk, I know this game is over. But Lila insists that we continue, colluding with Chloe to take buy out most of the board. Lila giggles with her best friend constantly, a single look between them sending them into a fit of giggles. They break for a snack before going to play house, with Nicole as their baby. But then, I am left with Kate.
            I am tempted to hide in my bedroom, but I know Nat would tell me it is rude. Kate is a guest. And I wish I could pawn her off Cooper, but is in his bedroom. I don’t know how I would tactfully hand her off.
            “What do you want to do?” Not be on babysitting duty. But instead I head to the kitchen and pour myself another cup of coffee. Kate follows happily, seemingly oblivious to my reluctance.
            “I guess watch TV until it is time to go.”
            “Cool, cool, cool,” I sit down on the couch and Kate plops down next to me. Some irritancy must have shown, as she hops over to the next couch cushion, giving a little space between us. “Oh this show is great, it started after the Snap. At school, on Tuesdays, we all crowd into the common room to watch. Its about this girl, who when she is snapped, is actually put into a parallel universe where she didn’t exist and is trying to form a new life,”
            “That sound sad,”
            “Until! You find out in the season one finale that her best friend, and later boyfriend, is starting to remember her! I swear we went wild,”
            It sounds like a really good TV show and she just ruined the first few season in a single sentence.
            “Sorry, did I give away too much?”
            “No, its fine. Probably wouldn’t have watched anyway.”
            “Well in the new season,”
            “Girls, will you be ready in twenty minutes?” Nat walks in, perfect timing. She takes my empty coffee mug and looks up at the TV.
            “I watched this with Pepper one night, I remember thinking you would like it,” She smiles at me. “And I mean twenty minutes, go make sure you are set,” She waves us out of the room on her way to the kitchen, straightening pillows as she goes.
            “It is so cool she is your mom,” Kate sighs.
            “I have to go put on some makeup,” I explain, fixing my hair, pausing as steps into the front staircase.
            “Oh of course! No problem, I’ll wait here.” She gestures around and grabs onto the newel, swinging off it back into the ground floor. I look at the three steps she jumped out of and then head upstairs.
            I wonder just how long I can hide in my room before I am called out on it. It isn’t as though Kate is bad, she is just a lot. Footsteps pass by my door, and at least I know it isn’t Nat, until the interior one to the bathroom has a knock.
            “Come in,” I look for my makeup case, to back up my planned excuse, and realize too late it is in the bathroom.
            “What are you doing up here?”
            “Looking for my makeup,” Nat sees right through me, raising her eyebrows. “Have you seen it?”
            “Yes, on your face. You did it before coming down to breakfast.”
            “Funny, I forgot.”
            “You’re avoiding Kate,”
            “Why can’t Cooper babysit her?” I ask, bordering on a whine.
            “Because you two are bound to have more in common.”
            “Oh, because we’re both teenage girls we just have to get along?”
             “You both lost parents in a traumatic way at a very young age.”
            “Well,” I huff, “Well I don’t like your reasoning.” And hate that she may have a point I didn’t consider.
            “Please try to get to know her, love. She is a good kid, and she doesn’t have many people.”
            “She talks a lot.”
            “So do you,”
            “Why can’t I hang out with you?” I thought maybe we would finally get some alone time together, real alone time. Not ten minutes between people coming and leaving a room. She needs the farm, but I need her.
            “I am going mini-golfing,” She reminds me, pushing a dresser drawer shut.
            “What have you been doing this morning?” I prod, watching as she heads back to the bathroom connecting our rooms.
            “Wanda, do not interrogate me.” I pinch my lips. “Now, we will be leaving in a few minutes. I will meet you downstairs.” 
            I want to complain that it isn’t fair, but instead stalk down the hall, heading back to the first floor. Kate is waiting right where she promised she would be, though now with Cooper and Yelena.
            “Are you ready for putt-putt, Wanda?”
            “Can’t wait.”
            “It can be a lot of fun, I’ve gone a few times,” Kate takes out her phone, “I know I have some picture in here somewhere. There is an Avengers-themed place in Wisconsin. I know, random. But my mom had a conference in the area there once, and her assistant took me,”
            “You guys ready?” Clint walks in, clapping his hands together. “Where are the girls and Nat?”
            Lila and Chloe race downstairs, each with fresh braids. One looks like Elsa, and the other like Anna. Nat strolls down behind them.
            “The girls needed a new do,”
            “Let’s go, let’s go, can’t wait anymore,” Cooper sings to the tune of Let it Go, signing to his sister. We all turn to look at him, “I can make jokes.” He defends.
            “And you’re very funny, sweetheart,” Laura assures, ushering everyone out.
            “I think you’re funny, Coop.” Nat nudges him as she walks by. We take two cars, and Yelena claims shotgun before I can.
            I sit beside Kate in the backseat of Clint’s truck as Nat drives, slightly surprised Clint would let her drive it at all, let alone without him here to nag her.
            “Thank you so much for taking me with you guys. This is going to be so much fun. I kind of can’t believe it is happening, you know? Like, this is so normal, I never really imagined you guys doing normal things. I pictured it all to be like crime fighting and futuristic houses. Maybe galas and stuff too.”
            “You have a lot to say, Kate Bishop.”
            “I have questions too. Can I ask you questions? There is so much we don’t know about you and Ms. Romanoff. Like are you really sisters? If not, how did you meet? There is a rumor that you guys can dance, like ballet. Is that true? I took ballet when I was little. My mom thought it was more ladylike than archery. Then I ruined the Nutcracker by shooting the Mouse King with a toy arrow from the wings and making up my own dance. My mom was mortified. But at least it wasn’t like a real ballet show, just the company’s recital. Wanda what sports did you do as a kid?” Kate turns to me. My voice gets caught in my throat. “I bet you did soccer; you seem like you would be great at it.” What does that even mean?
            “I grew up in a warzone. We didn’t have afterschool activities.” The mood in the car sours instantly. I slouch down in my seat.
            “Well, Wanda once you got here, you did have an afterschool sport, Avenging is fairly active,” Natasha is trying resurrect the conversation. I cringe at my own internal choice of words.
            “I did lots of sports,” Yelena adds, “Ballet, horseback riding, skating, swimming,”
            “Yelena,” Natasha hisses, scolding her on the last one, “Why don’t just check to make sure you have your wallet for when you lose and have to buy us all ice cream.”
            “Spicy today,”  She teases her older sister, but holds up her crossbody as proof.
            We pull up to the minigolf course, complete multiple other entertainment features. Immediately, I see batting cages and a go-cart track.
            “That is the arcade,” Cooper explains, nodding to the largest building on the property, “And the party room and bathrooms.”
            “Henry had his sixth birthday here,” Chloe adds, “Tyler, a kid in our class, puked on one of the carts.”
             “Great, thanks for that visual, Chlo,” Laura laughs.
            “Let’s get our gear,” Clubs and balls are handed out in coordinating colors. I toss the red ball up in the air and catch it in my hand.
            We step up to the first hole, where it is just hitting it in a straight line. Ahead, I can see it gets harder with obstacles like a windmill and an elephant.
            “This is so classic American. We need milkshakes and rollerblades.” Yelena swings, getting the ball in on her first try.
            It took fifteen minutes just to get to the third hole, and since arriving there, it has been ten minutes. The early enthusiasm is starting to run out. I stand next to a miniature waterfall as Nate swings at his ball. The toddler’s movements are overzealous, completely missing the ball. However, I use my powers to roll it forward, causing cheers of triumph to erupt from him, holding the club above his head like a barbell.
            As we move onto the next hole, Nat is up first, and starting to get competitive with Clint and Yelena.
            “Don’t overshoot,” Clint taunts. She raises her club at him instead.
            “This is boring,” Cooper laments, “Can we go to the arcade?”
             “You can play video games at home,” Laura reminds him, taking Nicole from Clint so he can shoot.
            “Okay, what about the climbing wall? Or batting cages? Or,”
            “Cooper, if you make it through nine holes, you can do batting cages,” Laura promises. This quiets him down. Lila and Chloe keep bursting into giggles as the other hits the ball, an inside joke between them.
            “Yelena, your turn,” Kate prances back with her ball.
            She pulls back her club and goes to swing it forward with vigor, but I use my powers to keep it in place above her head, causing her feet to go out from under her.
            “Wanda!”
            “You put too much force into your swing,”
            “I’ll take a swing at you,”
            “That counts as one,” Nat adds, marking the scorecard, and fueling her sister’s irritation.
            “Does not count!”
            “You swung,”
            “Interference.”
            “Likely story,” Natasha sniffs.
            “It turned red, you all saw it!”
            “I didn’t see anything,” Kate fails to hold back a grin, and she starts to grow on me.
            “You are all cheaters. Where is your integrity?”
            “Just take your turn for Christ’s sake.”
            “Fine, but know,” Nat glares and Yelena swings, sinking the ball. By the time we reach the ninth hole, out of eighteen, the kids are over it. Really, the only three still engaged are disputing whether or not the wind counts as cheating.
            “The defenders of the universe,” Cooper deadpans, watching as Yelena shoves her phone in Clint’s face about today’s wind report. And Nat is brandishing the scorecard. Kate, however, is watching the display with awe.
            “I know this may sound weird. But I’ve dreamed of this for as long as I can remember.”
            “Playing mini golf in Iowa?”
            “Spending the day with Clint Barton.” The respect I had growing for Kate disappears.
            “Let’s let the three of them finish and we can get pizza.” Laura suggests, leading us toward the main building. I hesitate, not wanting to leave Nat, but she nods encouragingly to me, before refocusing on the game.
            Inside, there is an interesting mix of the 80s, 90s, and early 2000s décor. The carpet is psychedelic and sticky, with neon signs adorning the walls. Behind neon signs are faded murals of Pac-Man, ET, a lion jumping through a hoop, and an off-brand Mario.
            Lila and Chloe run up to the food counter to order, while Cooper makes a beeline for the video games. I head over to the soda fountain with Kate and look at the array of choices.
            “When I was a kid, I used to mix every flavor of soda together. I called it Soda-licious, get it? Like 'So Delicious'?” I get lemonade while Kate mixes Coke and Sprite. “My palette has matured.”
            “I got two pizzas, garlic knots, pretzels, and boneless chicken wings.”
            “Thank you, Laura.”
            “Let’s see if the kids actually eat any of it.” I look over and see the girls have joined Cooper in the arcade. Lila is on a dance game where she has to step in certain spots, and Chloe is cheering her on. Cooper is riding a fake motorcycle. The doors to the building open once more, and I turn to look.
            A proud Nat, irritated Yelena, and an amused Cint. It is the best spirits I have seen two of them in for a while.
            “I won, and Yelena has to buy us all ice cream.”
            “I lost by two,”
            “So, even with my supposed interference, you still would have lost,” I tease.
            “Oh, we will have rematch.”
            “And she had to give the attendant fifty dollars for bending the golf club in half.”
            “You bent it in half?” Laura snorts. “One time a saw a guy go at the windmill, so I guess it could have been worse.”
            They sit down at the table, eating our lunch. Nate goes to join his siblings in the arcade, with Kate following, and with an encouraging look from Nat, I go as well.
            “Wanda, come play Skee-Ball,” Cooper waves me over. I take one of the heavy balls in my hand. “No powers, no cheating,”
            “Scouts honor,” I promise. He grins and we start going head-to-head, with him beating me by just thirty points. The triumph on his face was worth throwing the game. The kids run back and forth from the table to the arcade, grabbing bites of food between rounds.
            “Tasha, come here!” Yelena has arrived in the arcade, stopping into front of a shooting game. “We have to play,”
            “Yelena,”
            “Unless you think you’re going to lose,” She taunts.
            “As if, I just don’t want you to get upset again. This seems more expensive to replace than a golf club.”
            “Come on,” My mom relents, getting up from the table with Laura and Clint, the latter beginning to clean up as Laura comes to join us, wrangling Nate.
            “So, we’re killing aliens.”
            “Life imitates art, da?” Nat picks up the gun on the right, and they begin to shoot.
            The game is going into best three out of five when Laura announces ten more minutes and then we are doing batting cages, sensing that we will be in here all day unless she does something. Clint is doing the dance game with Chloe, while Lila and Cooper are almost rolling on the floor with laughter.
            “I have to go to the bathroom, be right back.” I rise from the Deal or No Deal stool I was sitting and head towards the bathroom.
            “Wait! I’ll come,” Kate skips after me.
            “This has been the most amazing day, right? Thank you so much for hanging out with me. I know this must have been a little weird for you, me crashing this time with your family. So, I really appreciate,”
            “Oh,” I feel bad that I may have made it obvious that she wasn’t welcome, “Thank you for joining us. Clint seems to really like you,” I push open the door to the bathroom.
            “You really think so? That would be amazing, I mean,” Her voice fades out as I stare at the wall. No. No, no, no. It can’t. It’s not there. I’m not there. I’m not there. I’m in Iowa. I was visiting the Barton’s, right? With Nat and Yelena. I’m not there. But he’s here. If he’s here. Maybe it isn’t him. But if I look and he is still there. He shouldn’t be here. He was never there. No he was, Nat said he was. But sometimes he wasn’t. Painting the roses red, and many a tear be shed.
            “Wanda,”
            “In fact they’ll soon be dead,”
            “Little Witch,”
            “It isn’t real,”  
            “You’re safe, love. You’re safe, you can come out. Just open your eyes and look at me, just me.” I shake my head. I can’t be back there. “Okay, what if I guide you out and you can keep your eyes closed. Does that work?”
            “I don’t want to see the clown,”
            “You don’t have to.”
            “Is he here? He is in prison, right? I didn’t,” I run my hands down my neck, checking for the collar. It isn’t there, and my hands are free. I’m not there. Or I was good, getting better. I was getting better. No. He lied.
            “You and I are the only ones in here,” I hear shifting, but don’t raise my head from my knees. Nat’s arm wraps around me, and I lean into it. “Okay, there you are. Let’s get out from under here. Head home?” I nod. “Okay, keep your head down so you don’t bump it climbing out.”
            I open my eyes and see the clown staring back at me.
            “Mom,”
            “Focus on me, okay love?” Natasha steps into my line of sight, blocking the painting. “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere,” She guides me out of the bathroom and outside. The spring sun is bright, and my cheeks burn hot with shame.
            “I want to go back to the farm,”
            “We can do that.” We get to the truck and Nat helps me climb in, and she seems to be hiding discomfort she has as she getting into the driver’s seat. We were supposed to be out here for her, and I made it about me. I hate myself. Humiliating. Shameful.
            “Wanda, I love you.”
            “Kate must have seen that,”
            “She came and grabbed me. She was just worried. No one is judging you, Wanda.”
            “They are, how could they not? It’s been months, I should be okay. You’d be okay.”
            “Don’t give yourself a timeline based on some ingrained expectation,” She turns on her blinker, “And I wouldn’t be.”
            “Sure,” I lean against the window.
            “We could stop for ice cream,”
            “I just want to lie down,”
            “Of course.”
            We get back to the farmhouse and I head upstairs, going straight for my bedroom. With a flick of my wrists the blackout curtains send the room into night, and I collapse onto the bed.
            There is a gentle knock at my door and it opens. Nat is holding a cup of tea, and her red-blonde hair has been pulled up into a bun.
            She crosses the room silently, putting the steaming drink down on the coaster before going to the foot of the bed, untying my sneakers. I sit up, taking off my leg.
            “Do you think its pointless?”
            “What?” She pulls the blankets down from underneath me, then tucking me under them. I expect her to sit on the edge of the bed, instead she goes to the other side, climbing under the layers of blankets.
            “I think I might be too broken to fix.”
            “Nonsense,”
            “It was a painting.”
            “It looked just like the one in the hospital, I don’t blame you.” She pulls my hair back from my face. “And you’re not broken beyond repair. You’re still here. That is all that matters. As long as you are here, you can grow and change. Life isn’t stagnant.”
            “It was just a mural.”
            “I had the same reaction to Snow White, and that is just a cartoon.”
            “That’s different.”
            “No, it isn’t.” Her hand stills from running her fingers through my hair. “You’re here, Wanda. As long as you’re here, things can get better.”  

Chapter Text

            In dance, there is something called a pivot turn. A dancer is able to change directions without traveling, though the future trajectory has changed. There are also pivot pins: a pin or rivet connecting the two parts. A before, and an after. Pivot points are used in trading, an average between the highs and the lows, where the market turned one way or the other, where something irreparably changed for better or worse. It is not until 1813 that the word pivot’s definition does unto itself. Becoming a turning point, that one which some matter hinges or depends. Three decades later, the word pivotal becomes part of the lexicon. What was used before then? Life changing, altering, metamorphic? The problem with those words, are that they indicate a sudden changed, one that is noticeable. A pivotal moment does not have to be so dramatic. To change directions, not change locations, just as a pivot turn is on stage. It is easy to separate pivotal moments from the other life changing, altering, momentous moments, as I categorize them as decisions I have made.
            The first of which is the day I met Yelena, her face peeking over the banister. I chose to befriend her.
            The next truly pivotal moment would not come for another fifteen years, as Clint gave me the option to go with him. This is a moment that is both life-altering and pivotal. The change was immediate, the effects ongoing.
            Buying a car. Then holding Cooper for the first time. Getting Steve’s compass out of the plane. Deciding to go to the bookstore before we got burgers. Buying a red leather jacket. Stealing a flash drive from a vending machine. Draping a blanket over a grieving child.
             Was my decision to die a pivot point or a life changing event for those around me? As of yet, I worry it is both.
            As my daughter sleeps beside me in her bed, her face smooth and restful, no nightmares plaguing her, I worry I have caused further irreparable damage. Not just to me, but to her.
            I have tried to keep my distance and be as close as possible, a contradictory goal. But I don’t want her to care for me, to worry about me as I do her. She is my daughter, and it is my job to protect her, even if it means protecting her from me.
            And I know she would tell me I am being ridiculous, that her caring for me would not hurt our relationship, but I don’t want to shoulder her with that burden. Even if it means being around other people constantly, and staying farther away than I would like. Or staying up for most of the night to lie beside her in bed, making sure that her sleep isn’t disturbed.
            Early morning sunlight starts to filter into the room through spaces in the curtains. The rest of the farm will be waking up soon, starting the day. But I’m almost better. I’m fine, really. Everything is fine.
            I get up from Wanda’s bed and slip into the bathroom, washing up and brushing my teeth before heading into my bedroom to get dressed. And ignoring the prickling under my skin, the restlessness in my legs.
            There are a few conversations I need to have today that I have been avoiding. Clint. Yelena. Neither of their behavior has really changed since my last attempt. Apparently, I need to be more direct. I sit down in the armchair, tying my sneakers, and lean back into the chair for a moment. I’m tired. A day here, at the farm, sounds lovely. Reading in the sunroom, maybe building a blanket fort with the kids. But it isn’t in the cards.
            I’ll rest when I’m dead.
            I’m entering the hall just as Laura does, meeting the mother of four by the stairs. She smiles tiredly at me.
            “I’ll get Nate, you get Nicole?”
            “You’re a lifesaver, Nat.” I head into Nate’s room. It is safari themed, for their wild child. Nate’s bed, having transitioned to a bed from a converted crib just before the Snap, is designed to look like a canvas tent. There is even a giraffe stuffed animal large enough to hold Lila.
            He is just waking up as I enter, still sleepy and sweet. I sist down on the mattress, brushing back his hair. My own exhaustion is pushed to the wayside as he blinks his eyes open.
            “Hi little man, ready for breakfast?” He nods and puts out his arms. “What are you thinking of wearing today?” He shakes his head, nuzzling into my chest. “Well, nothing isn’t an option, what about your dinosaur t-shirt? Or maybe the Captain America one?” I stand by his closet, showing him the items. He points tiredly to the shirt with the t-rex. I get him dressed and into the bathroom before we go downstairs. He is starting to wake up and jumps out of my arms, racing into the kitchen to see what our options are for breakfast. Clint is already down here, though I’m not surprised.
            Last night, I had heard Wanda leave her room. As I went to help, their whispers traveled from downstairs. It felt like I shouldn’t interrupt.
             Cooper comes down next, followed by Kate, then Lila. I find Wanda’s mug in the cabinet and make her a cup of coffee, heading back up to her room.
            Because despite giving her space to try to clear the air with Clint, I couldn’t truly distance myself. I had gone into her room once she had come back up, but she had fallen asleep within seconds of hitting the pillow. It seems like it should be impossible to love someone this much.
            I open her bedroom door and head inside, placing the coffee on her nightstand and opening the curtains. The warm morning sun washes into the room. I take a moment to brush her hair away from her face before heading back downstairs.
            The dining room is starting to bustle with life, and I sit beside Nicole to feed her, hopefully giving Laura a bit of a break.
            She picks up the cheerios one by one, smushing them in her tiny fists and raising it to her mouth. I place a few more on the tray. She is the only one of the four children that has Clint’s coloring, with blonde hair and blue eyes, but she has Laura’s nose and lips. My chest feels tight, and the banging of plates in the kitchen reverberates in my ears with the scrapes of the chairs against the hardwood floors.
            I hear slightly uneven footsteps behind me, and turn, smiling.
            “PopTarts, cereal, or Toaster Strudels,” I let Wanda know; she nods, heading into the kitchen with her coffee held securely in her hand.
            Cooper starts talking about doing a summer baseball clinic while Nate starts yelling, “You’re out”, accompanied by the same hand motion as an ump. Kate, one seat away from me, is taking it all in with bright eyes.
            Wanda hesitates in the doorway from the kitchen, looking at the table. She is biting her cheeks. She wants to sit next to me, but not next to Kate. Then Yelena bursts in with her usual dramatics, throwing herself down between Lila and Cooper.
            “You all get up so early,” She groans, resting her head on the table.
            “I will make you a cup of coffee,” Then Wanda can take my seat and she can sit next to me but not next to Kate.
            “No!” Yelena snaps, “I’ve got,” I stare at my sister, skin prickling.
            “Yelena,”
            “I have got it,” I watch her go into the kitchen, my jaw tightening. Wanda sits between me and Kate, her shoulders folded in. As my sister reenters the dining room, she nudges Clint’s chair, bumping the archer’s elbow into the table. He doesn’t even glare at her.
            Everyone begins to finish breakfast, and despite my need to talk to Yelena, she excuses herself to take a shower. Clint is next on the list.
            Wanda, rather begrudgingly, goes to help Lila get ready. Clint is less than amused right now but I don’t really care. I begin to clear the table, loading the dishwasher. He fiddles with his ears, putting in his hearing aids, sitting at the kitchen table.
            “Come on,”
            “Nat,”
             “Let’s go,”
            “Where?”
            “Get off your ass and find out.” He narrows his eyes but does follow me.
            “Slow down, I don’t want you to fall,” He rushes after me as I go out the backdoor.
            “Where was that when you let me clean the kitchen?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. He doesn’t take the bait and give into my teasing. We get to the barn, and I sit down on a bale of hay. I need to run, or throw knives, or do something. Some type of release. But my back still hurts from the mishap on the treadmill. And I’m scared to admit, even to myself, that I have been pushing too hard. “You aren’t sleeping in your room.”
            “My nightmares are keeping Laura up.”
            “She’s up anyway. Didn’t you see her at breakfast?
            “I fucked up, Nat.”
            “Then fix it.”
            “If I could go back in time, I would. She hasn’t looked at me the same since I told her everything.”
            “You were killing criminals.”
            “Not that.”
            “Then what?”
            “Leaving you.”
            “Well, I forgive you.”
            “It isn’t that simple, Tash.”
            “I hated you for a while. In five years, I saw you three times.” I see him doing the counting in his head. “The second time, Steve and I watched you slaughter five people. It was on a security camera, grainy, poor quality. But I knew it was you. And you were only a few hours’ drive from me. I just couldn’t believe you chose killing people over being with me.”
             “And you don’t still hate me?”
            “No. You did what I have done a dozen times when I don’t feel in control, when I felt the universe has acted unjustly. You tried to balance the scales.”
            “But,”
            “But you’re supposed to be better. Because you are fully human. Because your brain wasn’t put in a blender on repeat from the age of three. Because this, that, and whatever other excuse you would say and then rush to apologize, you didn’t mean it like that.” I sigh, “Here’s the thing, Clint, something you apparently couldn’t get through your thick skull on Nantucket, you made a mistake. People make mistakes. For Christ’s sake, stopping punishing yourself and stop letting Yelena punish you.” I stand up and go over to a wall panel, punching in a code to unlock it. Inside is a set of arrows and a bow.
            “How did you know the code for that one? I didn’t give you the code,”
            “It is a six-digit code, and based on the worn pads, the numbers used are zero, one, two, and five. That is very obviously Lila’s birthday. February 15, 2011. Get better security.”
            “You don’t use Wanda’s birthday as a password?”
            “Nothing that would be a matter of public record should be a password, Clint. You are a spy for Christ’s sake.” I shove the bow and arrow at him. “Shoot.”
            I’m fairly pleased with myself, picking the one panel he never explicitly gave me the code for in the barn, knowing it would get a reaction out of him and change the subject, to act like himself.
            “You need to talk to Laura, Clint. She’ll come around, give her time.”
            “I’m not who she thought I was.”
            “You are, though. You’re the same guy she fell in love with.” He lowers his bow, looking at me.
            “You feeling okay? You’re acting,” He pauses, “Different.” 
            “I’m fine. I do have one more intervention to stage before we go mini golfing, though. Talk to your wife.”
            The walk back to the house seems longer than the walk to the barn. I am about to head upstairs to find Yelena when I get an alert on my phone of a car entering the property. Lila races down the stairs, and grabs my hand, pulling me out the front door.
            “Chloe!” Lila signs, as though I could forget her best friend since preschool was arriving. The Escalade pulls to stop outside the house. And a girl jumps out, running towards us.
            “Lila!” She skids to a stop, gravel spraying at her feet. “Oh my God.” She punctuates each word, “You’re Auntie Nat!” A laugh bubbles up from my chest. So often, I have been identified as Black Widow first, rarely, if ever, anything else. And this little girl is only seeing me as Lila’s aunt.
            “I am, and you are Chloe. It is very nice to meet you,” She shakes my hand. After I braid the little girls’ hair, they head down to the playroom with Kate and Wanda, the later lacking enthusiasm that the former makes up for. But Kate will be gone by tomorrow. I could take Wanda to lunch. But that is tomorrow.
            I head upstairs and knock on the door to Yelena’s room. It swings open moments later, Yelena’s hair wet from a shower and changed out of her pajamas.
            “You are looking more serious than usual.”
            “We need to talk, Yelena.” She steps aside, letting me in, “You don’t hate Clint.”
            “I do. He abandoned you. He let you die.”
            “You need to stop punishing him. You don’t hate him.” I sit down on her bed, watching as she shoves a folded comforter back into the closet, each time falling out and increasing her frustration.
            “I do hate him!”
            “No, you don’t. You hate me.” She spins around, the blanket clutched in her fists.
            “Never.”  
            “It’s okay, Lena.”
            “I could never hate you, Tasha.”
            “You’re mad at me. You can be mad at me. I understand. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair to you.”
            “I said in the woods, a part of me hated you. That was a lie. I never hate you.”
            “Why?”
            “Clint, he was here. He promised me, and he broke that promise. And then you left. You chose to leave me.
            “I didn’t choose to leave you. I chose to bring you all back.”
            “It could have been him.”
            “It never could have been him.” I reach out, taking her hands and pulling her over onto the bed beside me. We lie down on our backs, laying beside each other. Her shoulder presses against mine. “You can’t keep punishing Clint for your frustration with me.”
            “He left you. You are too easy about it,”
            “Blasé, I think that is the term you’re looking for.”
            “Don’t try to change the subject with some word snob trick. You forgive him, you forgive everyone, even when they don’t deserve it.” It all clicks then. The littlest Widow, always trying to measure up.
            “Thank you, Yelena.” I turn on my side, and she hers, so we face each other, our noses only inches apart.
            “Thank you?”
            “Thank you for stepping up when I couldn’t.”
            “I wasn’t here for you. For years. You are always here for me.”
            “You were here for them, and that matters more to me than anything else. Spasibo.”
            “I wasn’t enough.”
            “You were. You are.”
            “I have to finish getting ready,” Yelena, never one to dwell on emotions, sits up suddenly.
            “Of course, I’ll go make sure Wanda and Kate are all set.”
            “Are you okay?” She asks, watching me.
            “Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?” Yelena hesitates but nods, grabbing her hairbrush off the nightstand.
            I hear the TV and find the two teenagers in front of it, with Wanda sulking. My mention of her liking this TV show doesn’t seem to help. I head into the kitchen to unload the dishwasher but hesitate. Maybe I could help create a bond between the two. They have more in common than Wanda would think. But when I come back out, only Kate is still downstairs, looking at family photos.
            I pass Laura on my way into my room, heading into the Jack and Jill bathroom. After a knock, I’m invited in. Wanda is standing in the center of the room, looking guilty.
            “What are you doing up here?” I ask.
            “Looking for my makeup,” She lies, “Have you seen it?” My girl, such a bad liar. I try to gently call her out on it, to get her to tell me what is wrong. To get some of our old dynamic back. Let me fix things.
            I try to tell her that her and Kate could be friends, that this could be good for her. Someone else her age to hang out with.
            “I am going mini golfing,” I promise, as she asks to hang out with me, my heart hurting. I am not well enough to be exactly who she remembers. I’m worried that she will see through this carefully crafted version of myself. That she will see I am a liar. That they will all see. I should be fine. I am taking too long. Their patience is going to run out, I am not fitting back into this role everyone reverted back to who we were five years ago.
            But I am getting there. I’m almost there.
            My chest is getting tight again, my palms are damp. I sit down in my armchair, resting my head in my hands, and rubbing the heel of them into my eyes until I see stars. The weightlessness. My hair whipping around my face. Clint’s scream.
            There is a swift and deliberate knock at my door, pulling me back to the present.
            “Come in,” My voice sounds a lot more confident than I feel. Lila and Chloe race in, ready for a fresh set of braids. They want Elsa and Anna. I oblige, genuinely happy to do it for them. My hands are steadier than they were back in Nantucket, really back to the usual deftness. This is proof. I am getting better. Everything is fine.
             I grab the keys to Clint’s truck before anyone else can offer to drive me. Getting driven around has gotten old. This is something I can do, something I can control. As we climb in, I want to mention how I taught Wanda to drive again in this car, but she slouches down in her seat.
            Kate starts a conversation, which Wanda tries to shut down, and Yelena takes in an uncomfortable direction. Though, perhaps that is fairly close to normal.

            We get to the mini-golf place, and I immediately set to work on hacking into the security cameras from my phone. Yelena is eyeing me as we walk over.
            “Talking to your boyfriend?”
            “Stop it,” I scold, putting my phone back in crossbody as Clint hands me my club and ball.
            We are really in the middle of a flat parking lot covered with fake grass. Besides the few obstacles, there is not much obstructing other’s view of us. Anyone who pulls into the venue would be able to see that we are here. Or anyone overhead. But I know Yelena brought weapons as well, not just me. Clint probably has a gun in his car.
            I smile and laugh at jokes and pretend to take the game far too seriously as Yelena puts on a show of being nice to Clint, and Clint does his best to act like he is okay.
            Yelena’s acting morphs into reality as her competitive spirit kicks in. But the kids are getting antsy. I’m relieved when Laura suggests that the kids all go inside.
            The building is safer than being out in the open, I have the security cameras on my phone, and can quickly walk the perimeter of the property while Yelena and Clint finish the game. As soon as they are all inside, I pick up my ball and start to head to the drop-off.
            “Tasha,” Yelena calls. Clint and Yelena’s footfalls are light as they catch up with me, “You forfeiting?”
            “I just want to walk around and see what else there is.”
            “We can split it into thirds,” Clint offers. “What do you want us to look at?” They look at me, no irritation or pity lines their face.
            “Yelena, minigolf and parking lot. Clint, go-carts. I’ll take the back of the building.”
            We meet back up at the entrance to the food hall and arcade.
            “So, who won?” Yelena asks.
            “Nat would’ve,” Clint replies with a shrug.
            “I was going to buy ice cream even if I won. Is called being a good sport.”
            Inside, there is a spread of food across Formica tables. I check my phone every few minutes, looking at the outside security cameras.
             Yelena manages to rope me into a shooting game as the kids play others nearby. The tightness in my chest lessens slightly. The kids are laughing at Clint’s attempt to dance. Wanda heads to the bathroom with Kate. She didn’t tell the other to stay. A normal teenage girl thing.
            I’m starting the third round with Yelena when Kate comes racing out of the bathroom, her eyes wide, and without Wanda.
            I drop the toy gun and draw my real one, racing to the bathroom. Inside, Wanda is cowering under the sink, her legs pulled up to her chest. She sings under her breath, the haunting lyrics seeming to fill the small space.
            I crouch down on the floor in front of her, and she doesn’t react until I call her Little Witch. With gentle coaxing, she comes out, and I step into her line of sight, blocking the clown. The clown that looks eerily similar to the one in the hospital.
            In the car, she curls up, leaning against the window, her eyes clear and blue. I want nothing more than to protect her from the world, to keep her safe. I walked the perimeter of the complex, hacked into the security, made sure I knew the nearest hospital, police station, landing strip. But there was no security camera in the bathroom for me to check. I should have gone inside first; I should have made sure everything was okay.
            When we arrive at the farmhouse, Wanda makes a beeline for the stairs. I head to the kitchen, making a cup of chamomile tea. The tightness is back in two-fold. My heart feels like it is blocking my throat. I lean over the kitchen sink, trying to take deep breaths. My hands grip the edge of the counters too tight, it feels like it could crumble.
            The microwave beeps. I turn on the faucet once more, splashing my face with cold water and twisting my hair up into a bun. I’m fine. Everything is fine.
            I drop a teabag into the honeyed water, the sweet flowery steam rises up to my cheeks as I bring it upstairs.
            In Wanda’s room, the curtains have been drawn shut, and she leans back against the headboard. I sit at the end of her bed, removing her sneaker from her foot as she removes her leg. She pulls off the sock, and absentmindedly rubs her residual limb.
            “Do you think its pointless?”
            “What?” I ask, gently pulling the covers out from underneath her, and over her. She looks at me expectantly, and against my better judgement, I go to the other side, kicking off my shoes and crawling under the blankets.
            “I think I might be too broken to fix.”
            “Nonsense,” I disagree. If either of us is too broken, it is not her.
            “It was a painting,” Her words are strained.
            “It looked just like the one in the hospital, I don’t blame you,” I brush her hair back from her face, her eyes are wet, tears ready to pool over. “And you’re not broken beyond repair. You’re still here. That is all that matters.” She is here. “As long as you are here, you can grow and change. Life isn’t stagnant.” I think the little girl I saw in the simulation during the Snap. As version of Wanda that was stuck, forever a child. It wasn’t real. I have her back. She rests her head on my shoulder, and I run my fingers through her hair.
            “It was just a mural.”
            “I had the same reaction to Snow White, and that is just a cartoon,”
            “That’s different.”
            “No, it isn’t. You’re here, Wanda. As long as you’re here, things can get better.” As long as she is here, I can get better. I can find who I was again. I can be who she remembers. I’m still her mom. She isn’t leaving. As long as she’s here, I can be better.
            She falls asleep, her hand tightly gripping my wrist. Dried tear tracks stain her cheeks. I failed to protect her, again. I should have done a sweep of the property. I should have checked pictures online. I should have been more attentive.
            I shouldn’t have come here.
            It was selfish. This is not what was best for Wanda. This isn’t where she wants or needs to be. But we don’t have the compound anymore. And she needs someone. I am not enough right now. But its fine. I’m fine.
            But everyone is looking at me like I have all the answers. I died and came back, I must have come back for a reason, to ensure that everyone else is okay. They have been saying they didn’t know how they would go on without me. How any of them would survive. How Wanda would survive. That everything was falling apart. But would I prefer them to say everything was okay? My absence wasn’t felt? No. There is no right answer here. Nothing is black and white.
            And with Laura and Clint, I am causing a rift in their marriage, just like Mary said years ago. I should have tried harder to bring Clint back. When I saw him killing those people in New York, I could have taken a quinjet down and taken him back to the compound. And what though? Held him hostage until he repented like some superhero cleansing ritual?
            And Steve. I have been fully avoiding him. Ignoring calls and texts. After he was with me on Nantucket, took care of me. This is how I repay him. Running away to the farm. Maybe I haven’t actually changed at all, as running is still deep in my bones.
            I just need to be able to go on missions again. To help. Maybe I should reach out to Chad. No. I can do it myself.
            Heavy, dark clouds have begun to form outside as I rock back on my heels. The rubbery soles of my sneakers sink into the grass. And I run.
            The woods envelope me as I enter, shadows long, and light dimmed. Large raindrops begin to slip through the canopy above, landing on my shoulders, water dripping from my nose. Within minutes, I am drenched, but I keep running. Branches scrape my arms as I push through, ducking and weaving. Thunder claps overhead, and lightning responds in turn. The tightness in my chest lessens and is replaced with a pounding in my ears. Drums beating with every footfall. I push harder.
             I slide down a hill, slipping on damp leaves, mud plasters itself to my knees and forearms. Loose strands of hair fall into my face as I push myself off the ground.
            I run faster and farther. My back is aching, my feet stumbling, my lungs burning with each breath. The rain begins to lessen, dulling to a drizzle. I reach the end of the woods, opening to a field, and collapse onto my back. The earth shifts in my fingers, dirt caking under my fingernails as the grass tears. In another life, it would be reclaiming me, the six feet of soil slowly cracking my casket, seeping in. Its force pressing down on the lid, causing it to cave in crushing my body. The bones breaking, the skin shrinking back, shriveling up. The pressure that would be on my chest, the prickling under my skin. The weight of death.
            I need to keep running. To keep going until I recognize myself again. A gust of wind blows, and the cuts on my legs and arms sting. The metallic taste of blood is faint in my mouth, and the smell of the spring rain has clouded over all others.
            I feel alive. But I am most definitely not fine.

Chapter Text

            I wander through the halls, lights flickering overhead. Dust has created a carpet on the tile floors, and each of my steps sweeps it away. I can hear screams a few doors down, long and agonizing. They mirror my own so well, it could be an echo.
            The speakers mounted on the wall crackle as they come to life, ancient and straining to be heard.
            “How doth the little crocodile improve his shining tail. And pour the waters of the Nile, on every golden scale.” Beck’s voice travels through, sending chills down my spine. “How cheerfully he seems to grin, how neatly spreads his claws. And welcomes little fishes in with gently smiling jaws.”
            I will my feet to turn me around, to turn to a sprint, to take me out of here. Instead, I continue down the endless hallway, pausing only when I reach the next door. I resist as best I can, turning away as my hand reaches for the doorknob. Some invisible force whips my head as it creaks open. A figure cloaks in shadows hovers in the corner. Inexplicably, the light from the broken window bounces off of him. I take another step forward.
            The mattress in the opposite corner is bare saved for a torn, bloody sheet. No more than a rag.
            “Now... are you ready for your sentence?” The figure taunts, his voice warped and shrill.
            “My sentence?” I glance back towards the door, firmly shut behind me. The figure begins to turn, stepping out of the shadows. It is like he had melted off the wall. He steps forward, growing in height. His makeup is smeared and melted, dripping down his neck.
            My heartbeat quickens and finally, my feet break from the trance. I spin around and lunch for the door, my hands closing around the knob. The brass doesn’t budge as my hands twist and turn. His footsteps get closer.
            I throw my weight against the wooden door, willing it to break, give just a little. A hand clamps down on my shoulder.

            I wake in my bedroom at the farm, my back slick with sweat, and sheets bundled in my hands.
            “Mom?” I look around the room, and sit up, looking through the two open doors of the Jack and Jill bathroom. Nat is gone.
            But there is a neon pink sticky note on my nightstand, with Run scribbled across in her handwriting. She went for a run.
            Did I cause so much stress for her that it forced her to do this? What if she gets hurt? What if her body isn’t ready? And it is also entirely possible that she just wanted to go for a run. That’s it.
            I look outside and see cars in the driveway, everyone is home. Which means I eventually have to face them. I bury my face in the pillows, trying to put it off for a moment longer. Nat would tell me there is nothing to be embarrassed about, but she would be in this situation. If I stay here too long, Yelena will probably come barging in with good intentions. Maybe Nat is already down there.
            I get up and put on my leg, then head to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. Run a brush through my hair.
            Downstairs, the kids are sitting on the couch watching TV, Lucky snuggled between Kate and Lila.
            “Hey Wanda, how are you feeling? Mom said you had a stomachache.” Cooper looks away from the TV.
            “Much better, thanks,” My neck burns. Kate is looking at me knowingly, and I hurry past them into the kitchen. Unfortunately, Nat is not yet back from her run. Yelena, Clint, and Laura are at the kitchen table drinking iced tea.
            “Wanda, let me get you a glass,” Laura gets up from her seat heading over to the fridge. My plan for a quick apology and exit is thwarted.
            “How you doing, kid?” Clint asks.
            “I’m fine. Sorry for ruining everything.”
            “You definitely didn’t ruin anything,” Laura promises, setting down a glass.
            “Where is Tasha?” Yelena looks behind me.
            “She went for a run.”
            “A run? When did she go?”
            “I’m not sure, I was asleep.”
            “There was a big storm. What if she fell? Did she bring her phone?” I hadn’t thought to check. Yelena pulls out hers, calling. And waits. “It is upstairs.” She hangs up.
             “We should go look for her.”
            “No, I go look.” Yelena glares at Clint. Whatever truce there was between them is over. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep. Or at least should have noticed her leaving. How could I sleep through both her leaving and a storm?
            “This is not your fault, Wanda.” Laura speaks up, “And they are overreacting.” She glares at the two other adults.
            “Overreacting? Laura,”
            “Are you sure she went for a run?” Yelena asks.
            “She left a note,”
            “I am sure she is on her way back now. We should start getting dinner ready. Wanda, I could use your help with,”
            A low, heavy alarm starts to blare. Yelena whips out a gun, and I feel my powers wake up. I wait for Clint to draw his gun as Yelena has done, but instead he just sighs, grabbing a raincoat. Raindrops start to patter against the window.
             “Tornado,” Clint replies curtly, looking outside. “I have to get the chickens in their coop. Laura, gather the kids, I’ll meet you in the basement. You two need to get down there too,”
            “As if I go without Tasha,”
            “Nat knows what the alarm means. I want both of you down there with me, now.” Laura orders.
            “But,” I start to argue.
            “Now, Wanda. If anything were to happen to either of you, Nat would never forgive me. Help me with the kids.”
            “You are not the boss,” Yelena states, watching as Clint heads outside.
            “On my farm, I am. If I ever join you in the field, I will be sure to keep that pecking order top of mind. Downstairs, now, Yelena.”
            The kids and Kate stand in the doorway to the kitchen. Cooper is holding Nicole, who is starting to scream.
            We head downstairs, with Laura bringing up the rear, closing the door behind her. She takes Nicole, who is in the midst of a competition with the alarm for who can be louder, as Cooper heads to the back of the playroom with Kate.
            “I need to find Nat,”  
            “She will be here in a few minutes. She knows what the alarm means. What if she comes back and you are out there looking for her?”
            Cooper returns with Kate and two plastic bins of supplies. Kate distributes the flashlights, her hands shaking. It is the only sign that she is anything other than calm. She sits down on the couch by the TV, Lucky jumping up beside her.
            I sit down at the craft table, watching the stairs and waiting. Lila joins me, her hand slipping into mine. Yelena has begun to pace, her hands flexing in and out of fists at her sides.
            What if she dies out there What if she dies and it’s because I fell asleep? Because I screwed up. If I had woken up, she wouldn’t have gone out there. If I hadn’t freaked out about the clown, we wouldn’t have left early. We wouldn’t have been home early and she wouldn’t have had time to go out for a run. The door opens and Yelena stops her pacing, but deflates as Clint comes down the stairs, shedding his raingear.
            “She isn’t down here?”
            “No, why you come down without her?”
            “I figured she’d be back already,”
            “She’ll be back,” Laura whispers. The lights flicker. If I hadn’t had to go to the bathroom, if I just got over it. If I just got over it, everything would be fine. Maybe I can redirect the tornado with my powers. Just make it disappear. I go to stand up, but Lila’s grip on my hand stays strong. The lights go out and flashlights flick on. Laura is right, if Nat comes back and I’m not here it will make everything worse. But staying here, waiting here it makes my skin crawl. I feel my powers flicker beneath the surface and will them back down. I cannot lose it down here in this enclosed space with my family. I cannot make the shelter more dangerous than the storm.
            “You are not going out there. You stay,” Yelena commands, pointing at me.
            “I am not a little kid, you can’t just tell me what to do, I can help.” I feel my powers ripple again.
            “No, I am going out there and finding Tasha.”
            “I’m coming,” Clint puts back on his raincoat.
            “She’ll be here,” Laura repeats, her lips form a thin line.
            “I can’t leave her out there, Laur. Not again. I can’t leave her again.”
            “You,” Yelena nods to me, “You can find her with your powers, right?” The thought didn’t even cross my mind. I was so wrapped up in blaming myself that the obvious solution slipped by. Useless in a crisis. It is probably why my powers were trying to come out in the first place, and I ignored them. “Wanda!”
            “Yes,”
            “Text me where she is, I am going out to grab her,”
            Yelena takes the first step and the door swings open, illuminating the figure at the top. Immediately, my mind shifts to my nightmare, but this figure is far smaller. And I recognize the shape of her shoulders and height. Relief floods every inch of me.
            She walks down the stairs, the sound of squelching sneakers accompanying each step. And oddly enough, hissing.
            Nat stands in the beams of our flashlights, dripping with water and covered in mud. Her knees as skinned and bloody. And in her arms is Scratching Larry, holding true to his name.
            “You forgot the cat,” She puts down the ornery creature and pushes her hair out of her face.
            “What the fuck happened to you?” Clint exclaims. .
            “I went for a run and picked up the cat on my way in.” She shrugs, “Laura, do you have any band-aids? Maybe a towel?”
            “I thought you were dying on the ground somewhere, waiting to be swept up in a big wind and go Dororthy on us,”
            “I left a note,” Natasha crosses the room, heading towards me, “How are you doing Little Witch?” Lila looks between all of us and gets up from the table with her iPad, heading over to the sofa with the other kids.
            “Are you okay?”
            “I’m fine. Just a few scrapes.” I notice that, despite her otherwise horrible appearance, her eyes are bright and look alive. Like fully alive. Like her. “Thankfully, I remembered Scratching Larry on my way in. But I’m pretty sure he could claw his way out of a twister,”
            She sits down at the craft table beside me as Laura comes over with the first aid kit. Yelena and Clint are fuming.
            “I’m sorry if I scared you all.”
            “You forgot your phone,” Clint scolds.
            “Watch your tone, Barton.” Nat snaps, wiping her knees and arms with antiseptic wipes. I can hear the wind whistle above us and slamming against the house.
            Thankfully, Nicole has quieted. Clint holds Nate, having joined Kate on the couch. Cooper is sitting by the plastic bins, seeming to take inventory.
            Yelena still stands at the base of the stairs.
            “Come sit down, Yelena. You are being ridiculous.”
            “I can’t storm off because of tornado, so now I am stuck down here with you. Does not mean I have to forgive you.”
            “For going on a run,”
            “You forgot your phone! You could be hurt, what about Wanda? What if she need you?”
            “I just forgot it,” She maintains, her voice level.
            “People need to reach you, Tasha!”
            “Well, for five years they didn’t. I will work on getting back in the habit.” Nat’s temper flares and Yelena falls silent. My mom reaches over and squeezes my hand, the band-aids are rough against my skin. “I promise I will do better, okay? I won’t leave the house without my phone anymore.”
            “Who comes back from a run look like that? You are mess,” Yelena goes over to the dress up station with her flashlight and returns with a princess comb and glittered detangler. “This is a rat’s nest.”
            Yelena begins to work through the tangles in Nat’s hair. She isn’t gentle, nor rough, she is focused on efficiency.  
            “Lena, I’m okay.”
            “Let me fix your hair,”
            “I’m okay, really.
            “You can’t walk around like this. Bird will make a home in your hair.”
            “That is what I told you.” Yelena finishes getting out the tangles and braids it back, the wet rope dropping against Nat’s back. “Love, you’ve been awful quiet.”
            “I should have used my powers to find where you were. I messed up.”
            “I should have brought my phone or waited until everyone got back. It was irresponsible of me to leave you alone. I’m sorry.”
            “This wasn’t supposed to be you apologizing!” I cry, my hands start to glow.
            “Okay, okay. We can talk about this,” I feel everyone staring and shrink down in my seat.
            “Wanda,” I hear Lila’s voice in my head, “Do you want to come play a game?”
            “Little Witch?”
            “Lila wants to play a game,” I get up from my seat and head over to the coffee table. The little girl has the Game of Life open on her iPad for us to play.
            “You are the red car, I’m purple,” She puts her voice in my head again, too dark to sign. Laura, Nat, and Yelena migrate over from the craft table, joining us around the couch.
            The radio plays weather reports and news of the tornado, as it makes its way east, heading towards the farm.
            “At school, we made tornados with two soda bottles and some water.” Cooper explains, “It is an example of centripetal force, forcing the water towards the circular path.”
            “We should watch the Wizard of Oz later,” Kate jokes, her voice shaking, “Or maybe play Twister.”
            “You know,” Laura rocks Nicole, “Kate hasn’t heard the museum story,” Clint groans.
            “Oh, I’ll tell it,” Nat laughs.
            “No, you do a horrible job,”
             “And honest one,” She jabs back, teasing. The story ends in the same beat as the tornado warning, and we head up from the basement. The house is still intact, it doesn’t look like any windows even broke.
            “I’m going to go check on the chickens,” Clint heads out the backdoor, Cooper volunteering to help. Outside, there are a few down branches, but nothing too bad.
            “We got lucky, last one, the Johnson’s up the street lost their barn and part of their roof.”
            “That’s horrible,” Nat helps Nate with his shoes, and he then races off after his brother and father. “Have they set up a Go-Fund-Me? I’ll donate.”
            “Why not just give them the money?” I ask.
            “Because I don’t want to make it about me.” She replies. “I’m going to go hop in the shower. Get some of this glitter out,”
            I watch her leave the kitchen and head through the living room. Lila pulls a stool over to the counter to start helping Laura with dinner, limited due to the power outage.
            “Hamburgers and salad?” She asks us.
            “I will help chop vegetables.” Yelena declares, opening up the fridge.
            “Was that your first tornado?” Kate stands beside me.
            “Yeah, you?”
            “Yeah. Thank God it missed us.” She rolls her shoulders back. “Do you ever shoot archery?”
            “No, I don’t think,”
            “Awesome, that means I can teach you! Come on, it will be fun.” She races upstairs before I can say no, and then appears downstairs seconds later. If I didn’t know better, I would think she is a speedster. “Let’s go,” She takes my hand and pulls me outside. There is a target that managed to stay pinned to a tree throughout the storm.
            “One sec,” I look around at the debris around the yard. With a swipe of my hand, it all ends up in a neat pile.
            “That was awesome!”
            “Thanks,” I look down at my feet.
            “Okay, so have you ever shot an arrow?”
            “With my powers,”
            “Hm, I guess you don’t have much use for a bow, right?”
            “I’ll shoot with you, Kate,” Clint strolls over.
            “Really? That would be awesome. Can you show me how you shoot upside down? Because I would love to learn how you do that,”
            “I’d be happy to help with that,” I smile.
            “No, thank you, Wanda. That won’t be needed. We can just do some normal shooting,”
            “I don’t get it,” Cooper shrugs, heading over to me, holding Nate’s hand.
            “Cooper, Nate, come wash up for dinner,” Laura calls. I follow them back inside, and see Nat has rejoined in the kitchen, glitter still in her hair.
            “You look like a princess,” Lila signs.
            “Adorable,” Yelena reaches to pinch Natasha’s cheek, and Nat replies as to be expected.
            “That was not a nice sign, Auntie Nat,” She crosses her arms. Nat smiles and holds back a yawn.
            “Wanda, can I steal you for a minute?”  She asks. I follow her out the front door and into the yard. She bends down and begins to pick up branches and other debris. “Come on,” She gestures to the yard. I step down off the porch.
            She works in silence, nodding to me every few minutes. It would be much easier to do what I did in the backyard, but that doesn’t feel like the point.
            “Sometimes idle work is nice, meditative,” Nat finally speaks, “Like running too,”
            “Or throwing knives?”
            “Yes. I am sorry for leaving while you were asleep. That wasn’t fair.”
            “You needed a release, I get it.” I put down my bundle of sticks. “Kind of like why I trained in an abandoned office supply store.”
            “Still, it wasn’t responsible.” She drops her collection on top of mine. “It has been an adjustment, a welcomed and wanted one, but still an adjustment.”
             “Coming back from the dead?” I deadpan, and instantly feel guilty. She is trying to be serious and open up to me. And I just made a joke about her dying.  
            “Not just that,” She gives a half smile, “But having people around. People who rely on me, who need me. It is the most wonderful feeling, and don’t think for a second that it is not everything I wanted, it is. I thought about you every day, nearly every moment. There was a day I discovered your voicemail and,” She cuts off, choking up, “All I wanted was to have you back.’
            “I’m here,”
            “And I haven’t been. I’ve been,” She pauses again, “Maybe tomorrow we can have a girl’s day, just the two of us. Get lunch and manicures, go out for coffee, maybe talk some more. What do you say?”
            “Mom, you,”
            There is a gust of wind overhead, and I briefly wonder if there is another tornado, when the cloaking device is turned off. The quinjet makes its descent, landing on its pad hidden in the field.
            “Who’s that?” I turn to Nat.
            “I’m not sure,” We head down the yard to the edge of the field, joined by Clint and the boys. Nate is about to race ahead, but Clint holds him back.
            “Did you call for a cleanup crew?” She asks. Clint shakes his head.
            As I see who breaks through the field, I know my plans with Nat tomorrow are most definitely cancelled.

Chapter Text

            I can hear his steps, normally so quiet, as he runs through the field, as though taking the path to the house would take too long.
            He bursts through the tall grass, and I cross my arms. Steve envelopes me in a hug, not even noticing that I don’t reciprocate.
            “I was so worried. I saw the tornado on the news, and it was right near here. No one was answering their phones,” He lets go, taking a deep breath.
            “What are you doing here, Steve?”
            “I was worried about you.”
            “What are the rest of us, chopped liver?” Yelena snarks, having joined us outside.
            “I’m fine, there is no need to worry.”
            “I think we’re all fine,” Yelena adds, gesturing to the group. I turn back to Steve. He looks around at the small crowd that has developed. As though his thoughts are finally catching up to his actions. Lila prances forward, breaking the tension.
            “I will set you a plate at the table, Uncle Steve.” She takes his hand, and starts to skip towards the house, only letting go to let Steve know he has to skip as well. Laura stands on the deck, a hand on her hip.
            “Dinner’s ready,” She hollers.
            “Want me to kick him out?” Clint asks.
             “Of course not, I just wasn’t expecting him.”
            “Did you snub Captain America?” Kate gapes.
            “I don’t appreciate being ambushed here. Again.”
            “First time was romantic, this time not so much?” Clint teases. Wanda remains quiet, looking out where the quinjet landed.
            “If you’re planning an escape, you better take me with you,” I whisper as the others head to the house. Exhaustion is seeping into my bones. Somehow, it was just this afternoon that we went mini golfing. And the day just keeps going. “Love, you okay?” I prompt when she doesn’t reply.
            “Fine, just hungry.” She turns and walks back towards the house.
            In the kitchen everyone has begun serving themselves and heading into the dining room.
            “Steve, what a nice surprise to have you here.”
            “Thank you for having me last minute, Laura. I hope this isn’t an imposition.”
            “Not at all, there is always room for one more.”
            “Actually, I think this is the last open seat at the table,” Cooper grabs some carrots.
            “Then your father will add the leaves to the table,” Laura states, adding extra vegetables to Cooper’s plate. “But to confirm, are there any more of you coming?”
            “As far as I know, I’m it.”
            We crowd into the dining room, and I am trying to figure out how the only open seat is between Wanda and our newest arrival.
            “Nat, after dinner,”
            “Honestly, I am exhausted,” Not a lie, “And am going to skip tonight’s family activity.”
            “I think we’ve had enough family time today,” Cooper mumbles, mostly joking.
            “Nat, I was hoping,”
            “I think it would be great for you to talk to Kate, Steve. About destroying historical landmarks and the importance of going to school.”
            “School is very important, as is historical preservation” He turns to Kate, and then back to me, “But,”
            “This is better than The Bachelor,” Yelena takes a bite of her burger.
            “Nat,”
            “Steve, I believe whatever conversation you are trying to start here would be better spoken about in private unless you are trying to strongarm and manipulate an answer out of me.” My words cut and the table falls into silence. Almost everyone is staring, wide-eyed. Yelena is smiling like a goon and my neck warms. “I’m sorry, that was a bit much. I meant, you and I can talk after dinner, in private.”
            As dinner finishes, albeit much quieter than normal, I start to clear the table, and Yelena, who is never eager to help, jumps in.
            “Wanda, Kate, and I have this. You go talk,” Steve looks less than enthusiastic after how I scolded him at dinner. But there is no getting out of it.
            I head out of the dining room and into Clint’s office, and Steve closes the door behind him. He rubs the back of his neck, looking at the arrow display on the wall.
            “So, you hit any tornados on your way in?” I ask, leaning back on the edge of Clint’s desk. He glances over at me, trying to tell if I am teasing or mocking. I think it is somewhere in between.
            “I had to know you were okay, I couldn’t reach you.”
            “You had to have known phones were down.”
            “You have a SAT phone extension on your cell, and you weren’t answering.”
            “I left it in my bedroom.”
            “During a tornado?”
            “I went for a run and then the tornado happened, I didn’t have time to run upstairs and check my texts.”
            “You went for a run? Your first run since you came back and went without your phone?”
            “Watch it, Rogers, you aren’t my keeper.”
            “But Nat,”
            “It took a supernatural rock and jumping off a mountain to kill me. I don’t think a run through the woods, or a tornado could do the job.” I reply dryly. “It takes a bit more tenacity.”
            “That isn’t funny,” he snaps, “And why are you mad at me? If anything, it should be the other way around,”
             “The other way around? Jesus Christ, Steve. I am not some damsel in distress that needs rescuing. And I don’t need you to corner me here at the farm.”
            “How else am I supposed to talk to you?”
            “All because I didn’t answer my phone? I don’t exist to be at your beck and call!”
            “I am not talking about the cell phone, or the tornado, or dying,” I pinch the bridge of my nose,
            “Then what, pray tell, could it be?”
            “We haven’t talked about us.”
            “We are both leaders of the Avengers again, what else is there to talk about?”
            “Just before the time heist, and then on Nantucket,”
            “You miss spending time together?” I clarify.
            “Not that, or not just that,”
            “Oh,” I curl my toes in my sneakers. “Yes.” I think of lying beside him, his arm stretched over my abdomen, our heartbeats matching. I think of before, our legs entangled, kisses being peppered down my collarbone and inching lower.
            “Nat, please, just tell me where we stand.” I want to reply in Clint’s office at the farm, but I don’t think the literalism would be appreciated.  
            “We are broken up.” As much as I wish we weren’t. Steve stares at me, ranges of emotions crossing his face. He doesn’t reply and seems to be thinking. Then he takes a deep breath.
            “Is that what you want?” Is that what he wants? But it can’t be. He flew all the way out here just to talk to me. But I’m also one of his best friends. What if he is trying to figure out if we are still together because he has another offer? Maybe Sharon, as she is back now. They have likely caught up. However, if that were the case, the questions would have stopped at whether or not I considered us together, not with what I wanted.
            “No, that isn’t what I want,” I look up, and he is beaming.
            “Awesome, good.”
            “Is that what you want?” I check.
            “No, not at all.” He rushes to assure.
            “Okay,” I smile back, “I’m going to go help get the kids ready for bed.” I open the door and head into the hall, but Steve doesn’t follow, still standing in the office.
            Upstairs, Laura is trying to convince the kids to get ready early, as the electricity is still out, and cold showers with sunlight are better than ones in the dark.
            “Might be a toothbrushing and face washing night, Laura,” I lean on the bathroom door jam. “You know,” I sign to Lila who stands in her bathrobe, “Washing your hair with cold water makes it shiny.” She crosses her arms. “And Nate the Great,” I turn to the toddler, “A cold bath is exactly like swimming in a mini pool. I will even grab your goggles. How does that sound?"
            “Indoor swimming!” he cheers.
            “For the record, I’m not happy about this.” Lila signs as she shoos the three of us out of the bathroom so she can shower.
            “How’d it go with Steve?” Laura asks as Nate runs to his bedroom, likely looking for his goggles. “Is he still here?”
            “Yes, downstairs.
            “Then why are you upstairs?”
            “We finished our conversation.”
            “Mommy! I can’t find them!”
            “Keep looking honey,” Laura yells back. “Why are you up here if he is down there?”
            “We finished our conversation,” I repeat.
            “It must have been positive if he hasn’t left. Which means you should be with him right now, not helping me wrangle the children.”
            “What else is there to say?”
            “Nothing, Nat. That is the point.” An uncharacteristic smirk eeks out of Laura. “Yes, exactly,”
            “I’m going to,” I gesture towards the stairs. Laura nods.
            My feet barely touch the steps as I dash down. Steve has since left the office and isn’t in the sunroom or living room either. In the kitchen, I find him sitting at the kitchen table.
            He rises when he sees me, putting down his lemonade.
            “Natasha,”
            I go up on my toes and reach up, tilting his head down. Our lips meet and my shoulders fall back. We pull away, breathless. Endorphins flood my brain.
            Then there is clapping. I turn and see Yelena standing in the doorway from the half-bath.
            “Please don’t stop on my account.”
            “Sorry, I didn’t see you there,” I smooth down my hair, “You could have said something,”
            “You are the perceptive one, percept.” Yelena shrugs. “I am done with dishes and got no help. But my advice was not free, Mr. America. I will come to you with a price.”
            “What were you two talking about?”
            “How to get this to happen,”
            “Glad I could speed up the process.”
            “What does Yelena mean the I owe her now? That there was a price?”
            “I’m not sure, but what was her advice?”
            “I throw knives with you and have you show me how to throw them the proper way. She referenced a pottery wheel and Patrick Swayze.”
            I hate that it probably would have worked, but I will never give Yelena the satisfaction of telling her as much.
            “We should probably head upstairs, sun’s setting and not much to do down here in the dark.”  
            Upstairs is a different story. There is a shadow puppet show in Clint and Laura’s room, with Wanda helping float different objects to add to the theatrics.
            “I know some great ones,” Steve volunteers. He forms a bear, a swan, and even an old man’s face.
            The house comes to life again just as bedtime approaches. Lila crosses her arms, glaring at me.
            “I took a cold shower for nothing.”
            “I’ll do an extra pretty braid tomorrow to make up for it,” I promise. She nods as though anything less would be offensive.
            I say goodnight to the kids and then go to Wanda’s room. She is watching TV on her phone, the tiny screen lighting up the space.
            “You have a TV in here,” I nod to the Frame TV on the opposite wall from her bed.
            “I know, but then I’d have to log into the account, and it would just be a lot.”
            “I’m sorry again if I scared you today,”
            “No, its okay. You needed to go for a run.” She pauses her show. I notice it is the same show I told her she would like, that her and Kate were watching. Maybe they are becoming friends.
            “I should have brought my phone, and that thing will be glued to me from now on. Widow’s honor,” I cross my heart, sitting on the edge of her bed. Her dark hair is piled on top of her head in a bun, a few stray locks have escaped, hanging in her face. I rush forward, tucking them back.
            “So, are you and Steve going to stop being weird now?”
            “I don’t know what you mean,”
            “Yes you do. Like this weird thing you guys were doing. A ‘will they won’t they’ that only the two of you were in on,”
            “We’ve talked,”
            “And?”  
            “Yes, we’re going to stop being weird now.”
            “Good. I like you guys together.” Wanda looks down, running her finger along the edge of her comforter, “You seemed better, after your run. Even if Scratching Larry was doing his version of death by a thousand cuts.”
             “I feel a lot better. I feel a lot more like me.” I kiss her forehead, “Now today has been the longest day ever. So, I am going to sleep and recommend you do the same. Goodnight, Little Witch.”
            “Night, Mom.” I cross into our shared bathroom and get ready for bed. As I come out to the other side, Steve is standing awkwardly in the center of the room.
            “I’m too tired for this dance. Just get in bed,” I cross the room and climb into my side.
            “Always the romantic.”
            “I can be very romantic. Just not after entertaining two little girls, mini golfing, helping my daughter, going for a run, saving a cat, surviving a tornado, and getting back together with my boyfriend.”
            “You get a pass,” He agrees, turning off the bedside lamp.
            “Steve,” I hesitate from turning off lamp.
            “Yes?”
            “If you ever come and corner me at the farm again, I will castrate you.”
            “Understood.”
            “Good. Sleep well,” I shut the light, smiling to myself.

            In the morning, I wake beside Steve. After Nantucket, it is something I missed. I rest my head on his chest and his arm wraps around me.
            “I love you,” He whispers into my hair.
             “I love you too.”
            “This is kind of cheesy.”
            “That’s just because you are,” I sit up, stretching.
            “So, I was thinking that today,”
            “Sorry, no can do.”
            “You don’t even know what I was going to say.” He complains as I begin to pick out my clothes for the day.
            “Doesn’t matter, I have plans with Wanda, we’re having a mother-daughter day. You can help Clint around the farm. I’m sure there’s some cleanup from the wind. But maybe we can fit in a jog right now?” I look at my phone, it is only six.
            Within twenty minutes, we are in the woods. It seems to be more of a rushed walk for Steve, as he holds himself back.
            “Don’t start,” I snap at him.
            “I didn’t say anything,”
            “You were going to say something patronizing.”
            “Nat, your current jog is still faster than most people’s running speed. I don’t have any comments.”
            “Give me another two weeks and I’ll be ready to wipe the floor with you.”
            “I look forward to it.” He sidesteps a root.
            “No more talking.”
            “You started the conversation.” I push ahead, breaking a sweat. We arrive back at the farm just as a breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast is being served.
            “I picked the eggs, Auntie Nat,” Nate informs
            “You did an egg-celent job, buddy.”
            “Boo!” Clint teases from the frying pan, “Bad pun.”

            Lila and I do the breakfast dishes and she dutifully reminds me of how I promised to do her hair. A Dutch crown braid satisfies her, and I head upstairs to get ready myself.
            We are inching closer to summer, but not quite there yet. I grab a cardigan to go over my tank top and pull my hair up into a ponytail. The blonde tips catch my eye. When we get back to New York, I will have them cut off. Erase the final, physical, remnants of the last five years. But that is a few days from now, not today. Today is about my girl.
            “Wanda,” I knock on her bedroom door and enter. She is splayed out in her sleep, arms reaching either side of the queen bed. I pull open the curtains, letting in the morning light. Immediately, Wanda pulls the covers over her eyes. “Come on love, time to get up,” I sit beside her. “It’s nine o’clock.”
            “Ten more minutes,”
            “We are heading out in two hours,” She sits up, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
            “We’re leaving the farm?”
            “Our girls’ day, I made us a reservation for manicures and then lunch.”
            “But Steve is here.”
            “You want him to come?”
            “No. Nope. This is good.” She swings her leg over the edge of the bed. “I will take a shower and be ready to go at eleven.”
            I head out into the hall and run into Yelena and Kate, arguing outside the bathroom, both wearing bathrobes and holding towels.
            “Tasha!”
            “Kate gets first shower, the school is picking her up in an hour.”
            “But,”
            “Thank you, Ms. Romanoff.” Kate smiles, most definitely teasing Yelena.
            Downstairs, Lila and Cooper are doing schoolwork assigned by Laura, while Nate is working with wood building blocks.
            “Clint took Nicole for a walk,” Laura explains as she finishes wiping down the kitchen counters. “Is Wanda still asleep?”
            “Just woke up.”
            “I think it is nice that you two will have some one-on-one time today. It is important, and hard when there are this many people clamoring for your attention at all times.”
            “I only have one kid,”
            “But you have a whole team who needs you. Plus, my four. And me,” Laura bumps my shoulder as she walks by to grab the Swiffer.
            “Can I help?”
            “No, no. Almost done, and you helped with the dishes. I put a pot of coffee on for Wanda, should be done brewing in a minute.”
            “Do you need a day off before we head out? A day for just you and Clint?”
            “We are okay, I don’t think Clint really wants to be away from the kids right now. Which is fine by me, I like the family time.”
            “Have you spoken to your family?” I ask, getting Wanda’s coffee ready, “I know two of the kids and your Dad we’re Snapped.”
            “I spoke to Mary on the phone, and my mom. They are fine. We have no plans to see them any time soon.”
            “I’m sorry about your dad.”
            “Thank you, Nat.” Laura bites her lip. “We’re lucky we didn’t lose anyone else. And that you came back to us. We couldn’t do it without you.”
            “I think you’re giving me a little too much credit.”
            “No, she’s not.” Clint walks in with Nicole, taking off her tiny sweatshirt.
            “I’m going to bring this coffee up to Wanda, thank you for having us. Plus the two unexpected guests.”
            “I’m actually going to go check on Kate,” Laura goes to the fridge, “I made her a sandwich for the trip, and packaged up some cookies.”

            “I brought your coffee up,” I bring put down a coaster before putting the mug on Wanda’s dresser.
            “Thank you!” Her voice travels from the bathroom. “Where are we going? How nice should I dress?”
            “Whatever you feel comfortable in,” I reply, making her bed. Her sheets still smell like clean cotton. I straighten the pillows. Her leg is propped up against a side chair, her limb sock and socket on the cushion. “Do you want me to grab you anything?”
            “Nope, all good.” I hear the shower turn on.
            Both the washer and dryer are running, there is no laundry to put away, no one to help get ready. There is nothing that needs to be done.
            “Tasha, you okay?”
            “There is nothing for me to do.”
            “You could just sit. You know, like rest.” Yelena’s hair is still wet from her shower.
            “I could do your hair?”
            “I am letting air dry.”
            “Oh.”
            “You are doing the thing where you are throwing yourself into things. Now you are physically able.”
            “I don’t need you psychoanalyzing me.” I hiss, looking up and down the hallway, empty save for the two of us.
            “Someone should.”
            “Thanks.”
            “No, I mean, you should be seeing someone. You have been through a lot.”
            “I’m not talking to Sam,”
            “No shit, huge conflict of interest.” Yelena rolls her eyes, “Maria found me a good one. She can find you one too.” I try to walk away into my bedroom, but my sister follows.
            “I’m glad therapy works for you, Yelena. But it isn’t for me.”
            “Why?”
            “I tried it. It didn’t work.”
            “You mean the one session where lady gave you horse tranquilizers? Does not count.”
            “It just isn’t for me.”
            “Therapy was made for you. Like you are why therapy exists.”
            “You have zero tact,” I start refolding my clothes, getting the lines cleaner.
            “Just think about it, Tasha? Please, for me? I actually do have a favor to ask.”
            “What?” I look up, closing the drawer.
            “Will you come to one of my sessions? To talk about me? Not you, at all. All about me.”
            “Isn’t it always?” I muse, teasing.
            “So, is that a, yes?”
            “I will think about it, okay?” Wanda’s shower shuts off.
            “Thank you, really.”
            “Mhm, and don’t forget to tell me to give you your belated birthday present when we get back to New York.”
            “I’ve been wondering what is taking you so long.”
            “You’re supposed to say thank you,” I remind her as she prances out of the room.

At ten o’clock, Friday alerts that a new car has entered the property. The rental car doesn’t easily take the curves of the gravel driveway. I imagine the headmistress will get ribbed by Kate for her driving skills the entire way to the airport.
            Downstairs, everyone is crowded by the door, and Kate is looking sullen.
            “It was really nice to meet you Kate, you’re pretty good with a bow,” Clint praises, and I think that Kate may melt.
            “We look forward to your visit this summer,” Laura adds, handing Kate a brown paper bag of food. Everyone else says their goodbyes, and she looks hopefully at Wanda.
            “I’ll text you. And I followed you on Instagram.” Wanda states.
            “Thanks!” She hugs my daughter.
            “I’ll walk you out,” I open up the door and see the head mistress waiting by the car. She is standing stiffly, looking less than pleased about the situation.
            “Katherine Elizabeth Bishop, the amount of trouble you have caused. I am so sorry, Miss Romanoff.”
            “It is fine, we enjoyed having Kate here. She has been very apologetic to both me and Mr. Barton. Mr. Rogers also gave her a talking to last night about the importance of education.” This is all a blatant lie, but the head mistress eases, and Kate looking about me with adoration.
            “Well, I suppose some time with the Avengers ought whip her into shape.”
            “We run a tight ship. I think she’s learned her lesson. Thank you for coming out to get her.”
            “Of course. Come, Katherine. But your items in the trunk.” Kate reaches forward and hugs me, which I return with a pat on the back, and then does as her teacher asks.
            The car pulls off the property and I returns inside, where the family is still waiting. 
            “There is an open place at the dinner table again. Who are you bringing next, Auntie Nat? Can it be Peter?” Cooper asks.
            “Fresh,” Laura scolds lightly, “Go back to your schoolwork, both of you,” The kids run along.
            “She wasn’t that bad,” Wanda admits, “I got used to her.”
            “She’ll be spending two weeks here this summer. An archery clinic, both her and Lila.” Clint lets me know as we break apart. “Help out around the farm a bit.”
            “Speaking of helping out around the farm,” I touch Steve’s arm, “Steve is going to help while Wanda and I head out. You guys can finally spend some time together.”
            “Tash,” Clint groans. “Don’t force us to spend time together like this, it isn’t your style.”
            “I hate to agree with him, but,”
            “Then have Yelena be your buffer.”
            “Now I have to do farm work because your two Americans can’t get along?”
            “Clint, I’m borrowing your truck too,” I take the keys out of the bowl. “Wanda, we’re leaving in fifteen.”
            “Can’t I come with you, I am a girl,” Yelena points out as we wait by the door for Wanda to come back down from finishing her makeup.
            “I need some alone time with Wanda. We’ve haven’t really had any since all of this happened. Really, since she left for college.”
            “You are right but doesn’t mean I agree.”
            Wanda bounces down the steps in jeans and a cropped sweater, her hair falling in loose curls.
            “Ready?”
            “Ready,” She grins. We get in the truck, and I turn on the ignition. “This is your first time driving since you came back, right?”
            “Wanda, I didn’t forget how to drive. Not everything has to be a first,” I reverse the truck and turn around.
            “Yeah, just seems monumental.” She leans back, “So what are we doing first?”
            “We are going to get our nails done, then lunch, and a bit of shopping.”
            “Do you remember that time we got coffee here and pretended we were undercover? We had on like big hats and sunglasses.”
            “Yes,” I smile over at her, “That was so long ago. You were so little,”
            “Younger, not smaller.”
            “A little bit smaller,” I joke. We arrive at the nail salon and it is mostly empty save for a single other customer, a woman in her fifties sitting in a pedicure chair, completely asleep.
            We pick out our polishes and Wanda is quiet, watching them work on her hands. She is probably concentrating so that they don’t accidentally glow. Maybe I should have picked a different activity, like facials.
            “What do you think?” She shows me the coral nails, “Cute, right?”
            “Very, I love them.”
            “Blush pink, your usual?” She glances over at my hands.
            “Why fix something that isn’t broken?”
            “So, I started that new show you recommended. The one about the girl who gets snapped into another reality.”  
            “Do you like it?”
            “A lot. Did anyone here ever think that is what happened to us? That we were living in a different reality.”
            “There were a lot of different theories. There was the idea that you were in heaven, the less kind theory that you were in hell. Some people thought it was The Rapture. Or that you were brought to another universe. The prevailing theory was that you ceased to exist.”
            “Which is what was true.” A heaviness has fallen.
            “But that isn’t true anymore. You are here, and back, and alive.” We move to the dryers. “I am so grateful you are back, Little Witch.”
            “Me too, about you.”
            “Things are going to go back to normal, you and I will spend more time in New York, go on missions. I am getting better; we will have a lot more time of the two of us.”
             “You started dancing again, right?” She asks as we leave the salon, walking towards the small French bistro in town.
            “I did,”
            “Can you show me sometime?”
            “You want to see me dance?”
            “If that’s okay,” I grabs the door, “I kind of imagine it would be like how you fight. When you fight, you are twisting and dodging and moving like a dance.”
            “I can show you, I’ll have to pick up a new pair of slippers though. I think mine might be a bit charred.”
             “Yelena has one of them,”
            “Why?” We sit down at the same table we sat at for my birthday, when Wanda gave me throwing stars in an engraved case.
            “I found it in the rubble of the compound, looking for the door.”
            “The door?”
            “That I brought into your room when you were waking up,” She prompts. I have vague memories of being in the room, of pain, and of people floating in and out. And an object propped up against the wall, out of place. Large.
            “I’m sorry love, I don’t remember much from being there,”
            “Do you remember when we found out,” She leans forward, her voice dropping, “That my life span was above average?”
            “Yes,” I remember feeling sorry for her, our emotions about the situation so contrasting.
            “And I carved the door, of thirty-two things for us to do together.”
            “I remember number thirty-two,” I smile at her.
            “Well, I dug through the rubble and found it, and brought it to your room. Because we still have to check a lot of things off that list. And I can’t do it without you.”
            “I love you, so much. You are so kind and thoughtful. That was so sweet. And so dangerous though. There must have been so many chemicals and live wires,”
            “But I was fine, and Yelena got to have another singed slipper to match her other one.” Then Wanda’s mouth clamps shut.
            “Yelena has another burnt ballet slipper?”
            “It’s nothing,” Our lunches are brought over.
            “Why does she have two?” Wanda shrugs, looking down at her panini. I am about to ask another question when my cell vibrates.  
            “So, you are keeping it on you now”
            “As I promised, but we don’t need any distractions right now.”
            “But it must be important if Friday filtered it out to notify you,” Wanda prods, “What is if it is a mission,”
            “Then my phone would have pinged,”
            “Or like a message from Clint, or Tony,”
            “Okay, okay, I will look,” It is an email. I open up the app and hesitate when I see the sender. “I’m not sure,”
            “Come on, Mom,” Wanda coaches. I open up the email and my stomach drops. I can’t imagine why they are reaching out to me, why they want to speak to us. “Mom?” The eagerness in her tone has disappeared, replaced by worry. I swallow, a knot forming in my stomach, and I put down the phone. “What is it?”
             “Upon our return to New York, it has been requested that we report to the Sokovian Consulate.”

Chapter Text

            I sit numbly beside Nat in the car. She had quickly closed out the tab and took our food to-go. The plastic containers sit on my lap, oddly grounding.
            “We don’t have to go; they can’t force us.” Natasha states, starting the car.
            “I need to.” I knew it as soon as she said it. I don’t know what they could possibly want with me. Maybe they have found my parents’ remains. They could be buried with Pietro. Have a proper funeral. Or maybe they finally want to arrest me for the crimes I have committed.  “If we do go, they can arrest me, us, right?”
           “That is my concern. I would feel better about it if we could meet somewhere neutral. Maybe another country’s office.” She is yet to pull out of the parking space, her focus on me.
            “I want to hear what they have to say,”
            “Wanda,”
            “I’m going.” She falls silent, and our girls’ day has been promptly spoiled. After all she tried to do was make it nice for me. She even blew off Steve. “Sorry. It’s just, they wouldn’t reach out if it was nothing. And arresting an Avenger wouldn’t exactly be the PR move of the century. And I didn’t ask your permissions.” That was too harsh, “Sorry,” I add again.
            “You’re fine, love. I just worry, that’s all. And wondering if this will do more harm than good.”   
            “Or it could give me closure.” I counter.
            “It is your decision, and I will support you in whatever you choose.” She pulls out of the space, “Steve brought the quinjet, so we can leave whenever you would like.”
            “I want to get it over with,” Rip the band-aid off.
            “Do you think you might be rushing into,”
            “You just said you would support my decision,” I argue, cutting her off, “Are you going to or not?”
            “I will support you, but it does not mean I will agree with you.” I reach forward and turn on the radio, blasting the music. Our eyes meet, and she looks frustratingly calm. I slam my head back on the seat and we continue driving in the insanely loud music, for which I am too stubborn to turn down.
            We get back to the farm, and the spot that held Laura’s SUV is now empty. Clint is sitting on the front porch with Cooper, drinking lemonade.
            “You guys are back early. I thought you were going shopping after lunch.” Clint stands up from the swing.
            “I decided to ruin everything.” I walk past them, heading into the house, my powers starting to itch under my skin.
            “Wanda, you didn’t ruin everything” Nat yells after me, following me up the porch steps. “We can ignore the request,”
            “No we can’t. My home country summoned us, me. What if they just show up at our house?”
            “They have no jurisdiction in the United States. They couldn’t.”
            “You were summoned by the Sokovian government?” Steve asks, coming in from the kitchen with his own drink.
            “And Wanda would like to go.” Nat explains, catching everyone up, “And not meet on neutral ground or at least find out the nature of the visit.”
            “I’m an adult, and I can, and will, make my own decisions.” The tightness in my chest grows.
            “You, you are free to make your own bad decisions, but I don’t necessarily agree with them.”
            “You just said you’d support whatever I wanted to do.”
            “Because I thought you would come to your senses.” Nat turns to Steve and Clint, “Where is my sister?”
            “Her and Lila ran to the store to get stuff for dinner.”
            “I want to go after dinner and head to the embassy tomorrow.” I state.
            “The consulate.”
            “Same difference.” I spin around, heading back outside, my nerves fraying.
            “Honey, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Nat keeps in pace with me. “Deep breaths.”
             “What do they want with me? What if my parents are alive? Or they found their bodies? Or I’m finally being arrested. Is there are statute of limitations? Does the Snap affect it?”        “You’re okay,” She takes my hands in hers, squeezing, and her thumbs making rhythmic circles. I meet her eyes, and they are calm, caring, collected. She will take care of this. She is back now. “You’re okay. I will email back asking for more info, for the purpose of the visit. How does that sound?” I nod and hear a crash. Looking around, I see farm equipment has moved, some on its side.  
            “Damn it,”
            “It’s okay, this stuff is at least five years old anyways. And Clint owes me,” She jokes dryly.
            I watch as she pulls out her phone, fingers flying across the screen.
            “There, I have emailed. Depending on their response, we can decide how to move forward. How does that sound?”
            “Couldn’t they lie?”
            “Love, I mean this in the best possible way, but you could level them if they tried to arrest you. They stand absolutely zero chance.”
            “I guess I never really thought of it that way.”
            “It is also not a good look to arrest someone who helped bring back half the universe. I believe you called it the PR move of the century. And they are just getting back on their feet.”
            “And you’ll be there.”
            “And I will be there.” She tucks a lock of hair behind my ears, “Now, let’s head inside and pack.”
             “I’m sorry for cutting our day short.” I finally had alone time with her, finally had my mom to myself.
             “We are going to have a lot of time together, one day is such a small fraction.” 
            Everyone has scattered since my tantrum, the ground floor now empty. Upstairs, the washer and dryer are running, and Nate shoots out of his parents’ room, running down the hall in just his underwear, with Laura chasing after.
            “I guess I will go pack.”
             “Do you want help?” Nat asks, pausing as she heads to her room.
            I shake my head and close the door. Clean clothes are folded at the foot of the bed, likely Laura’s doing. I carefully put them in my bag, along with everything else I brought. We will probably leave after dinner. I shouldn’t have asked Nat to read the email. We’re leaving now because of me. Nat didn’t initiate this. She might not even be ready to go home. No matter how much like herself she is being, or seems, or maybe is. I sit down in the arm chair by the window.          On Instagram, I see Kate has posted a selfie to her story of her on the plane beside the sleeping headmaster. Zoe, a girl I met years ago has posted one of her horse, Cooper has one of his new high score in a video game. Peter has posted as well, him and MJ at Coney Island getting hot dogs.
            “We are back!” Yelena’s voice travels upstairs. The doors across the floor open, and two sets of steps come down from the attic, both Clint and Cooper, while Nat and Steve emerge from her room.
             In the kitchen, Lila is on a step stool helping Yelena unload the groceries, handing each item to her aunt with a thumbs up or down.
            “You guys were gone a while.” Clint heads over to help.
            “We had detours.”
            “A mission.” Lila corrects, to which Yelena nods.
            “Mhm.”
             “And look what we found,” Yelena pulls out a bag of pre roasted marshmallows, with chocolate inside. “When was last time you had s’more, Tasha?” Yelena tosses the package across the kitchen.
             “That is very considerate of you, Lena.” I can’t tell if Nat is being sarcastic or not as she holds the bag.
            “You all look worse than when we left. Why?”
            “Not important right now,” Nat glides over, “What is in this?” She reaches for a bag that is different than the paper grocer ones.
            “It is a gift, I have to give it to you.”
            “Okay,” She puts her hands up, stepping away from the present.
            “I got you something too,” She throws a look at Clint that I can’t interpret.
             “It is a good present,” Lila grins. Laura and Steve start to put away the groceries as Yelena hands both Nat and Clint the bags.
            “Open,” She gestures. Nat laughs as she pulls out her present, a pair of socks that say Fuck off I’m Reading. I look to see Clint’s, that read Selective Hearing Specialist. “They are funny.”
             “Debatable,” Clint holds the pair.
            “Oh, you love them. They are great. Are for missions.”
            “For missions?” Nat clarifies.
            “Yes! Personality for uniforms, better than the socks that come with outfits.”
             “I picked those out, they are sensible.” Steve objects.
            “Is why I didn’t buy you socks, Mr. America.”
            “You wouldn’t approve of the language, anyhow,” Nat adds, a small smile twisting on her lips.
            “Very funny.”
            “Yelena, what are these ingredients for? What are we having for dinner?” Laura asks.         “I let Lila plan the meal,” She shrugs, heading out of the kitchen.    
            “Grapes, spaghetti, and corn on the cob,”
            “None of that goes together, sweetheart,” Laura says gently.
            “We aren’t going to cook them in one pot, Mom.” She rolls her eyes. “I will help.”            “We should probably catch Yelena up,” Steve adds, “Let her know to pack.”
            I follow Nat to the other room, where Yelena is scrolling through Netflix.
            “Picking a movie for tonight,”
            “Yelena, we were thinking of leaving after dinner.”
             “What? Why? Are you okay?” She stands up, rushing over to Nat. “You hurt?”
            “The Sokovian Consulate has asked for Wanda to come by,”
            “And you are doing it?” A pang of annoyance hits as she asks Nat rather than me.
            “My choice.” I interject. Regardless of what they want, it is my choice.
            “Is stupid idea. You are letting her?”
            “She won’t go in alone, and it isn’t like I can stop her.”
            “Thanks.” I cross my arms. “Have they responded to you yet?”
            “No, not yet. But it is nearly five in New York. They might have left for the day.”
            “You let me talk about socks when Wanda is being arrested for war crimes?”
            “She is not being arrested,” Nat hisses, “I’m sure they wouldn’t send a polite email requesting her to come by.”
            “United States does not have extradition treaty with Sokovia, so maybe. Would be good ploy,” Yelena muses.
            “I want to go no matter what. It is my decision.” I repeat.
            “So, you just let her make decisions now?”
            “I am standing right here.” I resist the urge to stomp my foot. Yelena is talking about me as if I am not in the room.
            “You are child, you don’t make decisions. She is child, Tasha.”
            “I’m eighteen, I am an adult.”
            “Baby adult. Like infant and toddler. One older, one younger. You don’t leave either alone with stove.”
            “For the record I think,” Steve starts.
            “You don’t get opinion on this, Captain.”
            “It is a bad idea,” He finishes.
            “We should listen to Captain; he is our co-leader.”
            Natasha’s phone pings, and she hesitates to grab it out of her pocket.
            “Who is it?”
            “Wanda, maybe we should talk about this in private.”
            “What did they say?”
            “They found some personal documents of yours that they want to give you, that’s all. They have to be given in person to ensure the right person receives them.”
            “That’s it?” Yelena raises her eyebrows. “That is, as kids say, sus A.F. I use that right?” She looks over at me. “But if they are lying, we can use violence, yes?”
            “You hoping for something that could warrant it?” Nat crosses her arms.
             “It has been a bit.” She shrugs, “I go pack.”
            “Wanda, I have to reiterate, that I don’t think we should go there. It would be better to plan it out, meet on neutral ground. I am sure the UK would,”
            “I am going, Mom, I’d like your support but I don’t need it.” That is a lie, I most definitely need it.
            “Then I’ll make some calls tonight, check their story out.”
            “You still have contacts in Sokovia?” Steve asks.
            “I still have contacts everywhere, Rogers. Enemies too,” She stands up on her toes and kisses his cheek. “I’m going to use Clint’s office, please let me know when dinner is ready.” She disappears down the hall.
            “Sometimes she scares me,” I joke, trying to ignore my heart thumping in my chest.   
            “I know, isn’t she amazing?” Steve smiles after her. I head into the kitchen to help with the cooking. Hopefully, keeping my hands busy will fill my mind too.
            “Wanda, you and Lila want to go on the porch and shuck corn?”
            “Sure,” I carry out the bag and Lila joins, skipping beside me.
            “Can’t hear with these ears either,” She jokes as I take them out. She works methodically, getting all the hairs off. “Aren’t you going to do yours?” I wave my hand over my pile, cleanly shucking them.
            “Is that cheating?”
            “One hundred percent, do mine,” I clean her remaining ears of corn as well, finishing a task that should have lasted thirty minutes in seconds. Too late, I remember my original reason for wanting to cook was to occupy my mind. We bring the corn back into the kitchen, where Laura is boiling pasta.
            “I am thinking pasta salad instead of spaghetti, and some grilled chicken. Did you two finish already?”
            “We are really fast,” Lila smiles. “And we are going to go play in my room.” She takes my hand and pulls through the house and up to the second floor. Her room is currently spotless, but based on how Lila plays, this will not last for long.
            She dumps her Barbies out on the floor, tiny rubber shoes scattering. She hands me the Wanda Barbie, while she takes the one with the hearing aid. And finds a bow and arrow among the mess.
            “We have to save the city from the giant pony,” She explains, dropping a stuffed horse on top of her dollhouse.
            After nearly an hour of saving the Dreamhouse from the now mutant-robot ponies, Laura calls us down for dinner.
             We eat outside at the custom table Clint had made for team parties. It seems like forever since everyone was together.
            Nat comes out, her face impassive, giving nothing away. I roll my corn on the butter, waiting for her to say something.
            “We have no reason to believe that they are being duplicitous in any way.”
            “So, we can go tomorrow?”
            “Once again, I don’t think,”
            “Thank you,” I serve myself some pasta salad, knowing that means yes.
            “We have an appointment with Tony in New York in a few weeks,” Clint looks around the table. “I guess five years gave him some time to work on things.”
            “Can I hang out with Peter when we go?” Cooper asks. “And go to a baseball game?”
            “I will look into it.” Lila is glaring at Clint, her lips pinched.
            “Lila, what do you think about going to the American Girl store while we are there?” Laura asks, “And get lunch with Auntie Nat, Lena, and Wanda?”
            “That’s a bribe.” She argues.
            “Yes, is it working?” Clint buts in. Lila nods, stabbing at her tortellini.
            “Well, I’m glad we will be seeing you all again so soon.” Nat ruffles Nate’s hair, “We also have Tony and Clint’s birthdays coming up.”
            “Stupid American is going to be forty-nine. One more and you will be old man.”
            “Ugh, don’t remind me.”

            Dinner finishes and I help clear the table as Nat goes to grab our bags. Cooper loads the dishwasher after I rinse.
            “I think it would be fun; you, me, and Peter doing something.” He closes the machine, “Maybe laser tag.”
            “That sounds fun,”
            “You guys are leaving all the sudden. You have a mission?”
            “No, something else. I don’t know what it is really.”
            “Well, good luck.”
            “Thanks, Coop.”  I give him a quick hug as Nat comes down with our bags, Steve and Yelena not far behind.
            “Let’s get going, I want to beat the traffic.”
            “We are flying in the air, Yelena.”
            “Da, but I sound like an American dad, no? Let’s hit the road. Blow this popsicle stand.”
            “Great job, Lena.” Nat smirks, “But I’m still piloting.”
            “At least you know we’ll make good time,” Steve adds.  
            We make our goodbyes and head out to the field and the quinjet. Nat does take the pilot’s seat, while Steve slides into the one next to her.
            “Everything is going to be okay, Wanda. Nothing bad will happen tomorrow.”
            “How do you know?”
            “I hacked into the security cameras. Captain and I will watch outside in flower van, ready to go to war.”
            “Thank you.”
            “And Tasha will sneak in many weapons.”
            “Am I one of those weapons?”
            “You are funny.” She pats my knee. We land at Stark Tower in seemingly record time, and Nat has a bounce in her step, while Steve looks sickened.
            “Death did not impact my flying abilities.”
            “Unfortunately,”
            “Smooth ride back here,” Yelena shrugs, grabbing her duffel bag. We take an Uber to the apartment building, with the girl looking absolutely starstruck the whole way. Not for Steve, Nat, or me, but for Yelena. My aunt switched to the front seat mid-drive, sending Nat to the back during a very short red light. They took selfies and videos, before Nat finally said that we had to get inside. Steve stands awkwardly at our door, with Albert holding it open as he and Nat silently debate whether he is sleeping over or not.
            “Steve, in the morning, can you make crepes?” I ask, deciding for them.
            “Um, sure,” He follows us into the lobby and to the elevator. Upstairs, we are greeted by Liho, and fresh flowers.  
            “I am going to take a shower,” I head down the hall, my stomach twisting as the reality of tomorrow gets closer. Blasting music does not drown out my thoughts, nor does the scalding hot water. I shut it all off and sit down at my desk. My playing cards slide out of their case and float, creating more and more complicated houses. The sole photo I have of Pietro and I stares back at me. My twin, two sides of the same coin.
            “Do you want me to braid your hair?” Nat stands in the doorway. I nod and she goes into the bathroom, emerging with a comb and elastic. Her hands move slowly and deliberately. Steady. Consistent. Natasha. “I can lie with you for a bit if you want.”
            I hop over to the bed and she pulls down the covers before tucking me in, smoothing the comforter down.
            “I’m sorry we came back early.”
            “You have nothing to be sorry for, love. Whatever tomorrow brings, we will face it together, okay? And I am doing a lot better. In a few days, I’m going to take the fitness test, and we both know I will pass. Then we can go on missions, save the world, relax a little.”
            “I like the relaxing a little idea.”
            “We can do whatever we’d like. Maybe go on a vacation. I have some homes we could check on.”
            “What do you think they are going to tell me tomorrow?”
            “I don’t know. I tried to find out, and all I could get was that Sokovia has been cleaning up the city, finding a lot of personal files. For all we know, it could be some old report cards. Anything you’d like to share now before I see them?”
            “I was a straight-A student.”
            “Likely story,” She sits up. “I love you, Little Witch. Sleep well.”

            As requested, Steve makes crepes, but I can’t bring myself to eat them, they are like sawdust in my mouth. I barely slept last night, tossing and turning as my anxieties about today grew. I should have listened to Nat and had us meet at a neutral location. But I also very much don’t want to admit that I was wrong. Even when Nat prompts twice during the failed breakfast to change the plan. I manage to drink some coffee get dressed.
            Nat drives us over to the consulate, and per Yelena’s promise, there is a flower van outside. But we could be back on the farm. Having a pool party. Going for a hike. Creating a fort. Instead, I proposed this. Stupid. So stupid.
            She opens the door to the building and we head inside. The front desk worker nods to us as we enter, barely looking up from his computer. This is all too casual.
            I stand beside Nat in the elevator, my hands sweating. What could be the personal documents? Maybe death certificates for my parents and Pietro, that would make the most sense. Natasha reaches over, her hand sliding into mine. She squeezes once and releases as the door opens to the fourth floor.
            The office is new, pictures are on the floor next to their spots to be hung. The furniture is not yet worn in from those waiting for help from their home country. There is an intern standing with a tablet clutched to their chest who smiles when she sees us.
            “Good afternoon,” Sokovian flows out of her mouth, and I cannot remember the last time I heard my mother tongue. It is both foreign and familiar. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. I am Helga, and you will be meeting with First Councilor Dmitri Lakatos.”
            The walk down the hall seems impossibly long, the stiff Berber fabric hardly gives with each step.  We reach a nondescript door, the space for a name plate empty.
            “Still setting up, we only moved into the office a few days ago. This is actually our first consulate since,” She trails off and turns away, knocking on the door.
            “Come in,” A muffle reply comes through the door. She opens it, introducing us, and then leaves, the door clicking shut behind her.
            There are stacks of cardboard file boxes and an unplugged printer with a manual draped over it.
            “Wanda Maximoff, welcome back to Sokovia.” He switches to English. I nod, my voice failing me. He has a miniature version of our flag on his desk, just beside the phone.
            “As soon as we have the papers, we will be on our way.” Nat states, a comforting hand resting on my shoulder.
            “Please sit, there are some things we will need to discuss before I can give you the papers. I do assure you, Ms. Maximoff, that you are completely safe here. We have no plans of pursuing any charges against you.” He gestures to the two chairs in front of his desk and goes behind to his seat.
             In the center of the desk is a file, his laptop pushed off to the side. The manilla folder is filthy and folded. Spots of mold crowd the edges. That must be my file.
            “During the Snap, we had the time to go through the rubble of what remained of Novi Grad. Among that rubble was the hospital, and there was a safe of files that remained fairly protected. The files were stored behind an electric panel, one that failed about a year after the war started. Thus, the files could not be accessed.”
            “So, you found mine?” I find my voice.
            “And your brother’s. K through P were stored in there.”
            “And you can give them to us?” What is with all this pretext? Can’t he just hand us the file so I can get out of here? I imagine Strucker coming out of the literal woodwork, melting through the panels on the wall.
            “Do you remember,” His accented English brings me back to the room “not long after the war started, when there was a program to get children out of the cities and to the country side? It started with children under the age of eight, and the intention was for eight and up to follow in the coming months.”
            “A little.” I think of one our neighbors, who had a little boy one day, and he was gone the next.
            “Unfortunately, there were not enough volunteers and we were unable continue sending children to safety. They remained in the cities.”
            “What does this have to do with me? I was already eight when that happened. Almost nine.” He looks over at Natasha, and then back at me. Nat has stiffened beside me, understanding something I am not. “Did my parents try to sneak me onto the trains? How would that be in the files?”
            He opens up the folder.
            “Some parents lied about their children’s ages to get them on the train, others lied to keep them in the city. Thinking the safest place would be with family.”
            “What are you saying?”
            He slides over the file, and there are two birth certificates. One for Pietro, and one for me.
            Pietro Maximoff, 26 November, 1999. Wanda Maximoff, November 26, 2000.
            My blood runs cold.
            “No, this can’t be true.” These files can’t be real. They have to be forgeries.
            “We have all of your medical records up until 2007,”
            “But, no. I am eighteen. We are both supposed to be eighteen. Or twenty-four. He is my twin. That’s how twins work.”
            “It is actually why we had to email your mother and not you, you are seventeen. A minor.”
            “He is my twin.”        
            “You shared a birthday, just not a year.”
            “This can’t be true. Nat, tell him it isn’t true.” I turn to my mom, who takes the file, looking over the documents.
            “And you have verified these?” She asks.
            “Yes, in regards to Wanda, we actually tracked down the doctor who delivered her. He moved to Austria in 2005. You see, with an Avenger, we didn’t want any potential mishaps.”
            “But he is my twin. We started school together, kindergarten, first grade. I remember.”
            “I checked into that as well, not to worry.” He opens up his desk drawer, “This is not an original, but I copy. I do hope that is okay,” He holds a picture. “Ms. Klein, your kindergarten teacher. She was actually aboard the ship that you were on to America after,” He trails off, “She lives in Hoboken. She had a photo album she carried with her.” He hands it to me. There I am, beside Pietro. My brother. The two of us, so young. My hair is in pigtails, with a blue dress and white cardigan. Pietro is wearing khakis that he hated, but Mama had spent a week’s grocery budget on them. “You tested into her class, testing above your classmates even, closer to a third-grade level. I believe you are attending Harvard, correct?”
            “I don’t understand.”
            “Wanda,” Nat rests a hand on my back.
            “Why would they do this? They could have made him younger, gotten us both out! We could have, I could have,”
            “I know, love.” She rubs my back. The minister slides over a box of tissues.
            “Please do know, your parents were not alone in these actions. I have dozens of these files to deliver throughout the world. They were acting in your best interest.”
            “Your parents wanted you to stay together, as a family. They loved you, sweet girl. And your brother.”
            “Ms. Klein, my teacher,”
            “She has requested that she not be contacted again. But we do have two people confirming your age, and sworn affidavits. Ms. Romanoff, I can email you copies.”
            “I want to go home.” I don’t understand. How could this be true? How could my parents do this? Just skip a year of my life, lie to me? To Pietro?
            “Thank you, Mr. Lakatos, for your time and the information. I will reach out if we have any other questions.” Natasha takes the file and my hand, guiding me out of the office. I feel like my feet are on autopilot. This can’t be real. None of this can be real. This is some cruel prank. Some kind of torture.
            “Mom,”
            “I am going to send the documents to someone to verify. We don’t know anything for sure yet.”
            We reach the car and I sit down, looking at this new photo of me and Pietro. And other children, most of them are dead. Maybe all of them but me. My best friend, Adela, stands behind me in a polka dot dress.
            “Wait, I want to go see him.” Nat nods and we pull out into the street. The flower van starts to follow, but I see my mom tap her breaks twice, and the van turns.
            “Your bond with your brother isn’t any less now, love. What you meant to each other, it isn’t diminished by this.”
            “This is a part of who I was for eighteen, well I guess seventeen years. Or not even. Only for what, ten years? How did I just forget before that we weren’t twins? Was I brainwashed? Hit in the head?”
            “I think you were so close with your brother that it was easy to accept, especially given you were already in the same grade.”
            We pull into the parking lot of the cemetery. Nat heads to the trunk before walking with me, pulling out a slightly wilted bouquet of flowers.
            “I thought you might want to visit him after this, grabbed them off the kitchen counter,”
            “Thank you,” I take them and walk through the paths, Nat instep beside me. Save for a single, older gentleman, it is just us.
            I feel like I am going to be sick when we reach the grave. The earth nearby is recently disturbed, fresh sod laid on top. Natasha stiffens, and I see her roll her shoulders back. She then steps forward, heading to Pietro’s grave, and her feet passing over her own.
            I avoid hers, walking around it, and lay the flowers at the base of Pietro’s, and stand in limbo, unsure of what to do. I want to kick and scream, to yell at the universe for being so unfair, so unjust. To take a connection, one of the few limited connections I still had to my brother, my family, away. For tainting the memory of my parents. My memory of Pietro. Instead, I sit, and Nat joins me.
            “Do you think he knew?”
            “No, I don’t.”
            “We were a set, that’s what twins are. Something that comes together. A pair. But I haven’t been part of a set, a twin, or even a sister for years. Why does this change anything? Why do I feel like it does? It doesn’t bring him, them, back. All this does is make me one year younger and one degree more alone.”
            “Just because he is no longer here, doesn’t mean that you stopped being siblings, and you are not alone, Little Witch. This does change things, I’m not sure how yet, but it will. It is okay to be angry, scared, confused. Hurt. Your feelings are valid. But your parents loved you, and so did Pietro. Nothing could ever change that.”
            “This did.”

Chapter Text

            We arrive back at the apartment and Wanda goes straight to her bedroom, the door slamming behind her.
            “Love, do you want anything to eat? Maybe I can queue up a movie?” The only reply is the sound of the lock clicking. I head into the kitchen and begin cutting up strawberries, while Liho weaves between my legs. A ping comes from my pocket.
            It is a digital copy of the files we received today, as well as a link with instructions on how to update legal documents. This goes far beyond the new licenses being issued to the snapped- a small circle is being added for those who will be under twenty-one and eighteen despite what their birth year would suggest. For this, there are so many forms.
            I’m met with a flood of sunlight as I open the door to the library. My laptop hums to life and I begin to fill out the papers. One form to another, hopping from PDF to website and back to PDF. I am just exiting out of the last government portal as I hear the front door open. Yelena appears only moments later.
            “How did it go?”
            “I honestly can’t say if it is worse or better than expected. Different.” I close my computer. “They aren’t going to arrest her. So at least there’s that.”
            “And?”  Yelena crosses the room and takes a seat, her legs draping over one arm of my leather chair, “What happened?” She kicks off her sneakers. They fall to the floor, the rubber bouncing on the hardwood.
            “Wanda is seventeen. Her age was wrong.” Saying it aloud feels ridiculous.
            “What? How does that happen?” She sits up straight, instantly sobering.
            “Her parents lied about her age to try and keep her safe. They were doing what they thought was best at the time.”
            “Holy shit.”
            “I know.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. This is going to be so hard on her. I already texted Sam, hopefully he can come over and help.
            “So, her brother,”
            “Not her twin. Same birthday, different year.
            “So, she is still a child? What does this change?”
            “Not much for now. She can’t vote, thankfully she hadn’t done that yet. I can’t imagine the scandal that would cause. But I’m much more worried about how she is going to handle it, knowing that her family lied to her.”
            “How is she?” Her eyes drift to the door, likely imaging Wanda holed up in her bedroom.
            “Upset, locked me out of her room. We went to visit Pietro, but she’s mad at her parents, and I think she’s scared. It’s hard to not trust what you think you know about yourself.”
            “Are you going to break into her room? Force her to talk to you?”
            “I don’t think that would work, nor have the desired effect. Forcing Wanda to do anything doesn’t go well.”
            “So, does that mean you all fought a fourteen-year-old?”
            “Yes,” I feel a migraine coming on.
            “That is messed up.”
            “I know! I let a fifteen-year-old go on missions. That bomb, the kidnappings.”
            “So, Peter is older than her? Not younger.”
            “We rushed through so much school; I pushed her so hard.” I could have had another year of her under my roof, not away at school. It was because of my encouragement that she even applied to college. I would have had an extra two months with her before the Snap.
            “It is one year younger, Tasha. It is not like you sent ten-year-old to Harvard. She’s seventeen.”
            “I need to lie down.” I leave the library and Yelena follows, climbing into the other side of the bed. The mattress shifts with her weight.
            “You not feeling good?”
            “Well,” I correct, “And just, this is a lot.”
            “I think the past thirty-eight years have been lot for you.”
            “Thanks.”
            “I mean, like you can’t catch a break.”
            “I know.”
            “Do you ever think about the fact that they could have lied to us about when we were born? Put us in cryostasis and you and I were actually born in like the 1930s or something.”
            “We have our birth certificates.”
            “Well, now we know. But like before that.”
            “I try not to think too much about anything before coming here.”
            “But you will still go to my therapy, yes?” I close my eyes. I had hoped she would forget I would agree to that. Or at least pretend I didn’t.
            “Of course, when is it?”
            “Tomorrow.” I hold back a sigh. This week is going to kill me. “Tasha?”
            “I will be there.”
            “Means a lot to me.”
            “I know. You’re lucky I love you.”
            “I am lucky you didn’t want me dead.” 
            “Same thing.”
            “I know.”

            Yelena and I lie in silence, my eyes closed, but I know she is likely staring at the ceiling. Her shoulder is pressed against mine, and I remember being so little that our bodies fit comfortably beside each other on a cot. In a room full of girls too scared of me to tattle or too tired to even wake. But Madame knew, there is no way she didn’t.
            “Imagine if the news was that her parents were actually alive.” Yelena speaks up after nearly twenty minutes.
            “I’d be happy for her.”
            “Liar.”
            “I can feel more than one emotion at a time, Yelena. Unlike you, I am an evolved species.” I flick her arm teasingly.
            “Hey!” She shoves, and I sit up, opening my eyes. For a second, I worry I offended her, but see lightness sparkling in her eyes. “I am very evolved. Could a caveman do this?” She sticks out her tongue, touching the tip to her nose.
            “You are very immature,” I laugh.
            “Do you ever wonder if our mothers tried to protect us?”
            “No. I know they would have. Or did.” I know Yelena’s did. Died for her. Mine died for defying the Communist Regime. For trying to make the world safer.
            “You’ve got all the answers.”
            “They don’t call me a know-it-all for nothing.” I stand up, “I’m going to go try Wanda again, will you give Steve an update?”
            “On it, boss,” Yelena hops up and salutes me, then pulls out her phone. I grab the fruit from the fridge and go back down the hall.
            “Wanda,” my knock seems to echo, “I have some strawberries for you,” The lock unclicks and the door opens just a tad. I push it open the rest of the way with my foot, entering with a bowl of berries and a can of whipped cream. Wanda is sitting with her back against her headboard, head resting on her knee. “Hi Little Witch,”
            “You aren’t going to ask me how I’m doing?”
            “Can’t imagine you are doing well,” I cross the room and sit across from her.
            “And you’re going to let me eat in bed?”
            “Extenuating circumstances.” She takes the can of whipped cream and squirts it into her mouth, then pops in a strawberry. Her eyes are bloodshot and her neck is red and splotchy.
            “Why wouldn’t they have told me the truth after school stopped?”
            “That is a difficult thing to explain to a kid. To anyone. It would be a lot to put on you.”
            “They should have just made Pietro younger, then we would have gotten out of the city, we would have been safe.”
            “Staying together was more important than how you stayed together. You got more time with them. This was the best they knew how to do.”
            “We all could have left the city! Gone to another country, I don’t know! Something. This was selfish. And cruel. Everything that has happened to me is their fault.”
            “Oh, love,”
            “And I know it means I wouldn’t have met you. And that isn’t what I want, obviously. But I wish there was a way that I could have had none of the bad and all of the good. But the countryside was bombed a bit too, so I could have even died there. What life could have been, you know?”
            “Trust me, I do. I thought about it a lot during the Snap.”
            “Really?”
            “Yes. I wondered how life could have been different. I used Tony’s VR headset before it got destroyed. It is completely understandable to wonder what if, and what could have been, but it can cause more harm than good.”
            “What did you see?”
            “That I had more time with you.” I reach forward and tuck her hair behind her ear. “That’s what I wanted, more than anything. And I think your parents probably felt the same.”
            “Why are you defending them? They almost got me killed,”
            “Because they loved you as much as I do.” She pinches her lips. “I know this isn’t easy, and I can’t imagine what you’re feeling, but I will be with you every step of the way.”
            “Can we have pancakes for dinner?”
            “Of course,” I stand up. “I’ll place a grocery order for more strawberries. Maybe some bananas and chocolate chips?” She nods.
            “I always worry if they would like who I am today, I never worried whether or not I would like them.”
            Yelena is waiting in the living room, flipping through the channels, Liho curled up on her lap.
            “What do you want for pancake mix ins?”
            “Apples and cinnamon,” She pauses on a show that features a woman who looks strangely like Sif, “If we are doing breakfast for dinner, we need champagne,”
            “There is some in the fridge.” She flicks to the next channel, and then another. My sister is almost as bad as Tony when it comes to channel surfing.
             I place a grocery order and take out a frying pan and them mixing bowls. We have hours until dinner, but I can’t go for a run. It doesn’t feel right to leave Wanda. I’ll settle for the gym.
            The last time I was in here did not go so well. Nevertheless, I turn on the treadmill, gradually increasing the speed. I reach fifteen miles per hour and my mind quiets. My feet pound against the rubber, rhythmic and even.
            “Aren’t you supposed to be taking it easy?” I stop the machine. Yelena is standing in the doorway, changed into workout gear.
            “I’d have to go to a doctor for them to tell me that,” I take a long sip of my water.
            “Fair enough. Want to spar?”
            “I can still kick your ass,”
            “Prove it.”
            We push the machinery off to the side, clearing the center of the room. Then we unroll the mats.
            “Just so you know, winning does not get you out of therapy.”
            “No, but it might give you something to gripe about that isn’t me.” She lunges forward and I jump lithely out of the way. “Remember, you can’t throw the gym equipment,” I admonish as she eyes the barbells.
            “You are no fun,” I block another blow and this time get her stomach. She lets out a huff and I see her try to press down her irritation. When Yelena takes it personally, she gets messy.  We go blow for blow; our hits being blocked one by one. And honestly, I need to get started on dinner. My phone pinged a few minutes ago with the delivery, currently held by Albert.
            I let Yelena land a blow and land on the ground harder than warranted, and pretend to clutch my head, letting out a moan. Instantly, Yelena is beside me, and I grab her, flipping her onto her back and pinning her to the mat.
            “That was a dirty trick,” She hisses as I release her, the match over.
            “But effective.” I laugh, “Sorry, Lena.”
            “Eh, if all fights were clean, they would be boring. I will get your groceries.” She heads downstairs and I begin to prep the pancake batter.
            We then prep together, and it feels strange to be so domestic with my rather feral sister. She sings along to “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” and makes quick work of slicing the fruit.
            “Did you know bananas are berries but strawberries are not?” I ask as I start frying up a few plain pancakes before adding the mix-ins.
            “I don’t like that.” She looks over at me, unimpressed. I hear Wanda’s crutches coming down the hall.
            “Hi love, you are just in time.”  I look over my shoulder and see she has taken a shower, her hair darker in its ponytail.
            “I’ll set the table,”
            “Yelena has it,” I assure her and she younger widow looks offended,
            “As if I didn’t just slave away in kitchen with you.”
            “Think of it as payment for losing our sparring match.”
            “You guys sparred?” Wanda bites her fingernail.
            “I’m fine, and I won.” I flip over the last plain pancake and then add it to the others under the warming light. Then comes a few chocolate-chip banana and Yelena’s apple pancakes.
            In the end, there is a large tower.
            “How are we going to eat all those?” Yelena asks, grabbing them to bring to the dining table. It feels comically large, to only ever seat the three of us, maybe four when Steve is here. Perhaps we should have eaten at the island.
            “Did you pick out a movie for us to watch?” I ask Wanda as she layers her pancakes with whipped cream, syrup, and strawberries.
            “Yes, I was thinking 17 Again.” Yelena snorts and I shoot her a glare.
            “If you think that is the movie you want to watch, maybe we could watch something else,”
            “Have a sense of humor, Tasha.”
            “It was a joke. Kind of.” Wanda takes a bite of her pancakes.
            “Sam is going to come over tomorrow while I go out with Yelena for a bit. I think it could be good for you.”
            “And you are having him come in person so I can’t ignore my phone.”
            “Yes.”
            “Great,” She skewers a strawberry. “So, now that I’m seventeen again, I can commit crimes without real consequences, right?”  
            “I really don’t think that should be the takeaway here,”
            “Silver linings.”
            “Everything is legal if you don’t get caught,” Yelena shrugs.
            “That is not good life advice,” I look back to Wanda, “Do not take that advice.”
            “Do you have any memories of your mom?” Wanda asks, changing the topic, “You were taken by the Red Room when you were like a year and a half, right?” The teasing from criminality is gone at breakneck speed. My throat feels tight.
            “Sometimes I think I do,” I admit, and can see Yelena leaning forward, shocked by the admission, “Sometimes I think I can remember a woman smiling down at me from a crib with a mobile spinning above my head. But early memories are unreliable, and it is just as likely that it is wishful thinking.”

            We do end up watching 17 Again, despite my protests. Yelena was unable to get over the oedipal nature of the film, harping on it and throwing popcorn at the screen. She left in good spirits, mentioning something about texting MJ about Zac Efron, and heading to bed. 
            I now tuck in Wanda, who’s dark lashes flutter as she resists sleep.
            “My parents died on family movie night. We watched American films to learn English. My mother liked classics; my dad liked cheesy eighties movies.”  She yawns, “Pietro would always pick a superhero film, and I’d pick Disney princess.”
            “That is a good memory, Little Witch.”
            “I wouldn’t have it if they had told the truth about my age,”
            “That is true.”
            “I wouldn’t have the memory of being stuck under a bed for days waiting to be rescued as my city burned around me and my parents had been incinerated, and the smell of burning flesh.” She is now fully awake, rapidly blinking away tears.
            “I’m sorry. There is nothing that I can say that can make it better, that can undo this. Just that I love you, and your parents loved you. You are loved, Wanda. So, so, much.”
            “Can you lay with me?” A lie down beside her, rubbing her back until her breaths become long and deep.  

“Tasha, you can breathe you know, move? It is allowed,” Yelena teases. I force myself to relax my posture, try to appear more languid.
            “I am breathing,”
            “Sure,” She scrolls through her phone.
            I look around the room. There is no fish tank. There are outdated copies of magazines on the table. Including one featuring me on the cover. It is three years old, a reprint of the photo of me at the memorial.
            “Just to remind you, Maria picked her. She passed background checks and has signed mountain of confidentiality agreements. Got her PHD and MD at Columbia.”
            The door with the nameplate ‘Dr. Hugh’ opens just as the clock strikes eleven. A woman in her mid-forties walks out, reading glasses pushing back her hair.
            “Good morning, please, come in.” She steps aside and Yelena hops up from her seat, eager. There is a knife on my back. Batons, bites, and a gun in my purse. Throwing knives hidden on my calves under my loose jeans. Bobby pins. Garrot bracelet. I continue to take inventory of my weapons, and in the room, Yelena throws herself onto a loveseat.
            “Natasha, it is nice to meet you. My name is Dr. Hugh, but you can call me Olivia,” She sticks out her hand. I shake it twice and sit in an armchair.
            It is far too plush, and I sink it, like I am drowning in the feathers. There are throw pillows and a blanket draped over the side. A sound machine hums to prevent any eavesdroppers. However, rather than motivational posters on the walls, there are landscapes.
            “I painted those myself. I like to do it in my free time, a hobby. Yelena has mentioned you like to read, correct?”
            “Yes.” I look back at her.
            “She has almost an eidetic memory, but still re-reads things,” Yelena adds, almost bragging.
            “I would like to start of by thanking you for coming in, it means a lot to me and Yelena, I  know it isn’t easy for you,” I wait for her to continue. “I would like to hear about your childhood, if you can share,”
            “Hasn’t Yelena already filled you in?
            “From her perspective, I would like to hear yours,”
            “It was unpleasant.” I feel the knife on my back, weighty and assuring.
            “You see, Tasha, part of therapy is talking.” I shoot daggers at my sister, thinking of the actual ones on me.
            “How did you meet Yelena?”
            “She wanted to know how I didn’t die when learning to swim. She had snuck out of bed. And I told her.” To Dr. Hugh’s credit, she does not flinch when I mention dying and learning to swim in a single sentence. “I decided then that I did not want her to die. And I did everything I could to uphold that promise.”
            “God Natasha, you make it sound like you are a knight or something. Stop being so formal.”
            “Yelena, your sister agreed to come here against her own wishes to support you. Perhaps you can show her some courtesy?” Amusement nearly slips out as I look at Yelena, now sitting up on the loveseat, properly miffed. “If you would prefer, we can do this without you in the room,”
            “No.” I interrupt the doctor, “Yelena stays.” I think of Wanda, when Sam asked if I should leave.
            “I promise she isn’t going to hurt you, sestra.”
            “You mean try to stab me with a horse tranquilizer?”
            “I don’t even like horses,” The doctor assures, “Now, what was Yelena like as a child?”
            “Curious, energetic, innocent, enthusiastic.”
            “Innocent, because of you?”
            “I did my best. The innocence didn’t last long, Yelena has likely told you as much.”
            “She has also told me the paint story, and the forbidden word, one she just used.”
            “Family was not allowed. They saw it as a weakness to care about others.”
            “Why did you break the rules?” My stomach tightens. I had broken the rules. And I was supposed to be the perfect Widow. But from day two, I had been breaking them.
            “I couldn’t save everyone, but I could save her.”
            “It must be difficult, to have memories of each other that the other doesn’t have.” Yelena makes a noise of dissent, not liking this line of questioning.
            “Let’s pivot, Liv,” Yelena suggests.
            “Can you tell me a story about Yelena, from when you were young?” I look over at my sister.
            “It was my tenth birthday. She come running into the courtyard five minutes late from our usual time, the front of her pinafore staining red. I thought she might have been stabbed. When I ran to meet her, she was smiling though, grinning ear to ear. Like she had just gotten away with the biggest thing.” The Yelena in the room is grinning, remembering this day, “She undoes the straps of her pinafore and holds it open, exposing a dozen ripe raspberries. She had found a bush growing by the outdoor athletic facilities when she went to grab a javelin that was thrown too far. So, for my birthday, we got to have a treat. It is one of few fond childhood memories.”
            “They relocated the bush after, moved it to cook’s garden. The bamboo slaps I got for taking them was worth it.” Yelena laughs.     
            “No one owned the food, but she was still punished for taking it. And she wouldn’t let me claim it.”
            “You took so many punishments for me. Is least I could do for your birthday.”
             “All I wanted to do was protect you. That was all that mattered. I never wanted you to put yourself at risk for me, Lena.”
            “I never asked you to, either.”
            “Protecting you was the most important thing,”
            “But look what they did to you,” Her voice cracks and she attempts to harden her face, but I can see her mask slipping. I look away, back to the doctor to explain.
            “They punished me more than anyone else. Wipes, injections, beatings.” I turn to Yelena once more, “But I’d do it all again to keep you safe.”
            “And I am grateful to you, Tasha. If it weren’t for you, I’d be dead. But I had to sit there and watch them torture you for fifteen years. And it was my fault! It is my fault that you,”
            “That my brain is wrong?” I turn to the doctor, “I am sure she has told you about that, how my brain doesn’t function normally.”
            “Don’t say that, Tasha, please.”
            “I don’t respond to things correctly; I am less emotional than I should be.”
            “You are fine.” Yelena argues. “You are you.”
            “I am what is left of me. And I have accepted that. But it is not a full picture of who I could have been.”
            “But you love. You have Steve, Clint, Wanda, kids, me.” She points out, “You said you don’t think about before, why think about could haves? I think about before all the time. You don’t think about Nina, Eva, Alina, Lelya, Karine?”
            “I killed four of the five girls you just named, Yelena. I try hard not to think about them.”
            “That must have been hard, having to kill your friends.”
             “Bit of an understatement, Dr. Hugh.” I raise my eyebrows. “And they weren’t my friends. They were people who were not yet enemies. I once heard Clint refer to Yelena as my favorite sister, assuming that we were all sisters. That is so far from the truth. Only Yelena. We only had each other. Everyone else was waiting for their opportunity to kill us.”
            “That is lonely,” For the first twenty-one, almost twenty-two, years of my life, I only had Yelena. And briefly, one other.
            “They gave me love, once. A husband, Alexei.”
            “Don’t talk about him.” Yelena interrupts. “We change topics.” She never wants to hear about him. Even after it was all through, and I came back from being away, she never let me speak his name. Like she was jealous. After everything I had done for her.
            “Maybe I want to talk about him, for once I’d like to talk about this.”
            “I don’t want to hear.”
            “Don’t you know what it did to me?”
            “More than you know.”
            “You weren’t there. You weren’t in our apartment for those months. Where we would dance and he’d sing in the shower. Each Sunday he would bring home a loaf of bread straight from the bakery oven.”
            “Stop talking.”
            “Yelena, Natasha, I think,”
            “Isn’t this what you wanted? For me to talk? Well, you got what you wanted Yelena! He was the first person to ever love me.”
            “That’s a lie!” Her voice rises.
            “No, it isn’t. We had sex on a creaky wooden bed, with one leg shorter than the others. His hands were warm and strong. He’d chop wood for the fireplace and add rosemary from my windowsill garden. He was sweet, and kind, and,” I feel my chest getting tight. And I shot him. I killed him. You know better than to think that something like you should or could be loved. You can love, or you can live. You can’t do both.
            “Natalia, I said shut the fuck up!” Yelena jumps up from her seat, hands bunched into fists. “Zamolchi, Iisus chertovski Khristos!”
            She storms out of the room, slamming the door behind her. The doctor and I stare at the now cracked wooden board.
            “Please send me an invoice for the door. Apologies for the outburst, it is very unlike her.” I rise from the too-plush seat and head to the street. That was also unlike me. I pushed when Yelena said stop, I let my emotions get the best of me.
            Yelena did not wait for me; the blonde is no where to be seen. I text her and am left on read. She turned on read receipts purposely so I’d know I am being ignored. Therapy sucks.
            I sigh and text Steve, asking if he wants to meet for a run in Central Park. His response is affirmative, to meet outside my building in twenty minutes.
            The streets of New York are crowded, as they always are now, as I weave my way back home. I’m tempted to stop at Yelena’s apartment, but maybe she needs her space. Though I don’t know how my killing of Alexei could hurt her so much. Perhaps she loved him. He was a gentle guard and interacted with us daily, one of the younger ones too, only five years our senior.
            I step into the apartment and see the library door is closed, meaning Sam and Wanda are still in their session. I make two sandwiches and put them in the fridge, then add a note on the counter before changing into running gear. Just as I finish lacing up my sneakers, Steve texts his arrival. 
            I take the stairs down, two at a time and surprise poor Albert as I burst through in the lobby.
            “Miss Romanoff, may I recommend the main stairs or the elevator in the future?”
            “Emergency stairs are more convenient, Al,” I smile and head back outside. Steve is waiting, baseball hat pushed down like it will conceal his identity. Like people wouldn’t notice he is at my building.
            “Hey, hey,”
            “Hi,”
            “Not hi, hey, what’s wrong?” He puts a hand on my arm.
            “Why would you assume somethings wrong?”
            “You’ve got your press tour smile on,”
            “Let’s just run, okay?” I push past him and cross the street into Central Park. The park has exploded with flowers, and the trees are rich with vibrant greens. There are children running around, a guy playing fetch with his dog, and Shakespeare in the Park doing a dress rehearsal for this Spring’s play, Hamlet.
            “It must be hard, for Wanda,” He starts, and I push myself harder, my feet pounding on the tar, “And you went to therapy with Yelena today, right? How did that go?”
            “Great. We wove flower crowns and shared fond childhood memories.” I huff, “She stormed out.” I stop running, turning to Steve. “She forces me to go to talk, and as soon as I start talking, she leaves. She runs. And then she ignores my texts.”
            “I’m sorry, Nat.”
            “And it wasn’t even something that happened to her, it happened to me. She wasn’t even there.”
            “What was it about?”
            “Alexei.”
            “She got upset when Tony brought him up once,”
            “When?” I ask, starting an easy jog.
            “You know,” He trails off. When I was dead. “She disappeared for a few hours. Maybe there’s more to it than we know.”
            “Maybe.” Both of our phones light up. The New York Avengers group text, Tony is inviting us to an impromptu dinner at the cabin. I’m about to decline, when I see both Yelena and Wanda have given his message a thumbs up. “You’re coming?”
            “Of course,”

             I arrive at Tony’s with Wanda and Steve; the former is holding a strawberry rhubarb pie that she and I baked this afternoon. Or rather, she baked and I watched. I knock on the door and hear Tony yelling for us to come in. Yelena isn’t here yet, and Sam has flown down to DC for one of his niece’s birthdays. Tony and Pepper are in the kitchen, prepping dinner.
            “Oh, you didn’t have to bring anything,” Pepper accepts the pie.
            “You said they’d probably bring dessert and not to get any from the store,” Tony points out, pouring his wife another glass of white wine.
            “No Morgan?” I look around for the young girl.
            “Hanging with Happy, I think they are out for cheeseburgers,” Tony explains.
            “I picked up some vanilla bean ice cream to go with the pie,” Steve adds, holding a damp paper grocery bag with a sweating container.
             “So, how’d it all go with the embassy?” Pepper asks, “Everything in order?”
            “Great. Peter gets to babysit me now.”  The two Starks look to me for an explanation.
            “We found out Wanda is actually seventeen.”
            “So, with Ultron,”
            “Yes.” I force out a tight smile, “That is correct.” 
            “Clint electrocuted a fourteen-year-old.”
            Wanda sits down at the kitchen island, shoulders sagging. The mood has turned sour very quickly.
            “Red, I’m working on updating your boots so the heels have a hollow space for weapons,”
            “Wanda, maybe we can make some updates to your suit. Add some more features,”
            “You’re still going to let me go on missions?” She perks up.
            “With supervision. You went on missions at seventeen before.” 
            We are about to sit down to dinner when the front door opens and Yelena walks in with a bottle of wine.
            “Hope I am not too late,”
            “Perfect timing, just about to carve the chicken.” Tony nods to the seat across from me.
            “Yelena, this is a lovely bottle, thank you so much for bringing it,” Pepper looks at the label. We begin to serve ourselves, and I can feel Yelena glaring at me as she bites into her Brussel sprouts.
            “This is delicious, Pepper. Thank you for making it,” Wanda’s voice cuts through the tension.
            “The chicken is great; you’ll have to send over the recipe.” Steve adds. The conversation falls again.
            Yelena’s knife scrapes across her plate. When I look over, she is still glaring at me. I pinch my lips and push back my shoulders.
            “What’s gotten into to you two? Should we take away the knives?” Tony jokes. Yelena, normally one to indulge Tony, doesn’t react.
            “Yelena, you are being immature,”
            “No. I’m not. I asked you not to talk about it, and you did anyways.” Anger ripples through each word. And something else. Hurt.
            “It is my story to tell.” My voice is even, almost flat.
            “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
            “Then enlighten me.”
            “What’s this about?” Tony asks.
            “My husband, Alexei.” I see Wanda now staring at Yelena, and it looks like wheels are turning in her brain.
            “The Black Widow type,”
            “Yes,” I answer Tony and take a sip of my wine. If only it were something stronger.
            “I asked you not to talk about him.”
            “But why? You never told me why it bothers you!”
            “Well I can’t fucking lie about it to you. You are a human polygraph.” Her volume begins to increase.  
            “Then please, tell me the truth. Are you jealous or something? I killed this man point blank after he professed his love for me without being given a reason. And I did not question it. This was a man, my husband, who was kind, and good,”  
            “Stop it!” Yelena throws down her fork, “Stop talking about him! You were never married, he did not sing romance songs in the shower, or bring you fresh baked bread. You were never forced to kill him. You chose to. It was choice.”
            “What are you talking about?” I frown. I was told I could live or love. That was a choice. That was the choice. Which means there never really was one at all.
            “You killed him for me.”  
            “Yelena,”
            “He raped me.” She states, staring me dead in the eyes. 
            “What?” I look around the table, “Maybe we should,”
            “He raped me.” Yelena repeats. “You heard me screaming for you.” The table clears in an instant, leaving just the two of us. “I had been walking down the hall and he pulled me into an empty classroom. He had been denied permission. You ran into the room and pulled him off me. You beat him with your fists until his skull caved in. Then you held me. You held me until they came.” I stare at my sister.
            “No.”
            “Tasha,”
            “No, it isn’t, no!” I push back from the table, shaking my head, “He was my husband and,”
            “You did not have permission to kill him. They put you in this room and tortured you for months and made me watch! They brainwashed and drugged you, Natalia.”
            “Natasha! My name is Natasha! Stop lying, stop,” Bright flashes of color blind me in the periphery. I shake my head. I need air. I can’t. This can’t. 
            I head out the front door, hearing people call after me. I ignore them, and my feet slap against the ground as I run through the woods. The branches scrape my bare arms. I skid to a stop, sinking down at the base of a tree. Why would she lie like that? But she wasn’t lying. I would know. Or, she believes she is telling the truth. That can’t be the truth. I would know. There are no blocks around this. They couldn’t have taken this away. They couldn’t have given me a false memory. Right? How many of my memories would be fake? Would they truly waste six months of training or missions, for both of us, to prove a point? No. They couldn’t. She is wrong, she is mistaken. But my skin feels like it is crawling, and I’m barely holding down dinner.
            “Mom?” Wanda’s delicate voice rings out, “Nat?” I force my breathing to slow. Swallowing down the panic and anguish that is threatening to take over. I can’t slip. Running like this was irresponsible. Wanda needs me.
            “Hi love,” I rise as she comes into view, languid and face relaxed.
            “Are you okay? We kind of heard it all,”
            “I’m fine, don’t worry.” I brush back her hair. My blood rushes in my ears. I can hear my own heartbeat, and focus on that rather than the deluge of intrusive thoughts. “Let’s head back and have some of that delicious pie you made.”
            “Mom,”
            “Don’t worry, love. Everything is fine.”

Chapter Text

            I hear the front door slam and Steve runs out of the kitchen, calling for Nat. Pepper briefly takes Tony’s hand, and they begin to clean up the kitchen.
            I head into the dining room. Yelena is sitting at the table, her face blank, but her fists are closed tightly, I’m sure her nails are digging into her palms.
            “Yelena?”
            “She needed to know.” I think she is lying, or at least she doesn’t believe that.
            “Are her blocks,”
            “No blocks. Just torture.” Her expression or tone is yet to change. It is the first time I have seen her speak like Natasha. Usually, she is almost overly expressive.
            Steve walks back in, without Nat.
            “You couldn’t find her?”
            “She was gone by the time I got out there.”
            “I’ll go get her,” I promise, heading towards the door. Though, I don’t know if I am the one she would want right now, or if we should even go after her. Sometimes, Nat needs her alone time. And this was a lot.
            But I head out, and my powers find her without any effort, guiding me through the woods.
            “Mom?” I call out as I get closer, “Nat?”
             She is sitting at the base of a tree, her head cradled in her hands, knees to her chest. A shuttering breath seems to fill her body. When she rises, her face is calm, almost serene, her posture relaxed.
            “Hi love,” It is a stark contrast to how I expected to find her.
            “Are you okay? We kind of heard it all,” I bite my cheeks.
            “I’m fine, don’t worry,” She reaches forward and brushes my hair away from my face, “Let’s head back and have some of that delicious pie you made,”
            “Mom,” Did she block out what just happened? Is she pushing everything down? Does she not believe Yelena? Was Yelena wrong and Nat, right?
            “Don’t worry, love. Everything is fine.”
            “But,” 
            “I shouldn’t have run out like that. I owe Pepper and Tony a bottle of wine for ruining dinner.” She practically glides through the woods, and a pit develops in my stomach.
            We arrive back at the house, and Yelena’s car is gone. Natasha doesn’t comment, and walks inside.
            “Nat,” Steve crowds her and she goes up on her toes, kissing his cheek.
            “Let’s get started on dessert. It would be a shame to let it go to waste.” She heads into the kitchen and Pepper and Tony exit, looking as confused as well feel. Or concerned. Both. A lot of emotions swirl around the table.
            Nat carries out servings of the pie with vanilla ice cream melting around the edge. She eats robotically, almost like it is a trained action rather than natural.
            “So, Morgan starts first grade in the fall. That is a big step.”
            “Yes,” Pepper glances at Tony, “Is there anything we can do Nat? Do,”
            “No, everything is fine. Just a disagreement among sisters. Sorry you had to listen to us bicker,”
            Five minutes into the drive back to the city, Nat turns on the radio.

            Steve stays with us when we get back, rather than heading to his Brooklyn apartment. We watch a movie, some comedy, and Nat makes popcorn. It is like she turned off a part of herself.
            Then, in the middle of the night, I feel a wave of distress so powerful it wakes me. I rush into her room, as fast as my crutches will allow me. In the light of the moon, I can see Steve crouched down, his back to me. I step further in, he is bent down in front of Nat. She has a knife clutched in her hand, a shallow cut bleeding on her arm.
            “Come on Nat, come back to bed,”
            “One of the legs was shorter than the other, it rocked. I know. And the bread. It was, I can see it,” I wonder if Yelena is having a similar night downstairs. Nat’s gaze slips past Steve and lands on me. Her distraught expression falters. “Wanda, I’m okay.” She gets up from the floor. “Did I wake you up?” She still grips the knife, her free hand shakes.
            “No, I was getting a glass of water.” I lie. She catches me in it, even in this state.
            “Go back to bed, love. I’m fine.” Her eyes meet mine, and I nod, leaving the room. And I hear Nat ask Steve to grab something out of her nightstand drawer. In the tour that she gave Yelena, the brass on her bed was worn at the headboards, and nights like this are why. Yelena.
            Instead of going back to bed, I leave the apartment, heading down in the elevator. Yelena’s floor has four apartments, and I knock on the door to hers. There is a mat that reads Go Away. Not very welcoming.
            “Do you know what time it is?” She pulls open the door, her eyes are bloodshot, and hair in a tangled bun, “Wanda?”
            “Hi,”
            “What are you doing here?”
            “I came to check on you.”
            “I’m fine,” She goes to close the door.
            “You have his file,” Yelena pauses, “In the box, the one you brought from D.C. I recognized his name when you said it tonight.”
            She steps aside and I walk into the apartment. It is a mess and smells like weed. Takeout containers a strewn about, as well as empty bottles of vodka.
            “One woman party tonight, wasn’t expecting company.” She sits down on the couch, picking up a container of lo mein. “Come on, don’t just stand, you will fall on those things.” She gestures to the couch with her chopsticks.
            “I’m sorry, for,”
            “For it happening? For dinner? For my life?”
            “All of the above?” She puts down the container, replacing it with a half-full bottle.
            “I try telling Natalia before, many times. She shuts down, blocks it out herself. But she won’t forget this.”
            “Why didn’t they take it from you? Block it out?”
            “They did not think it would make me bad at my job. It was just experience,” She spits the word. “Something clicked in me, I understood what was happening. With guards, with Winter Soldier. I started feeling different. There was something wrong with the way they were treating us.” She bends over and tosses me the file on the table. “I grab this when burning down Red Room.”
            “I don’t,”
            “Read it.” She commands.
            I open the manilla folder. Inside are yellowed pages. The first has a picture of a stern looking man with a mustache, deceased is stamped across his face in faded red ink. Alexei Shostakov, born in 1979. Cause of death: blunt force trauma to the head.
            “She says he is first person to ever love her. But that is not true. She held me after, in the minutes before they came. She held me and told me she loved me. We thought they were going to kill her. We were not children anymore. This would have consequences. And she knew it before she did it. It was the first time anyone told me they loved me.” She holds a joint to her lips and lights it, the flame flickering on the lighter. She offers me a puff, and I decline.
            “I’m sorry, Yelena. I am really sorry.”
            “They punished her for loving me, and me for loving her. All she ever wanted to do was protect me. To keep me as safe as possible. And I fucked it up, I put her in this situation. I walked through the hallway alone, in our skin tight suit. I was new Widow, thought I was untouchable. Strong. And he surprised me, held gun to my head and,”
            “It wasn’t your fault,”
            “I should have been,”
            “His actions aren’t your fault. In any way.”
            “I watched her slowly fall in love with him. She fought at first, but day by day, they pick away. Convince her it wasn’t real. They showed her pictures of the apartment, tell stories. And I sit there, on the other side of the wall for months, unable to do anything but watch.” She takes a final long drag of the joint and puts it out on a marble ashtray. “She didn’t come out unscathed. I know that. I see now what this did to her. But I am still angry.”
            “She chose to do it because she loves you. Her actions aren’t your responsibility either.”
            “I let her love me. Love isn’t something that just happens to a person. We have power over who we love. I loved her. And it almost broke us both.”
            “I think it saved you.”
            Yelena’s lips twist into a bitter smile and she looks up at the ceiling. Her blonde hair has fallen out of its bun.
            “They can be the same thing.”

            I head back upstairs before Natasha can notice my absence. I think of what she has said, how she didn’t give herself permission to love Yelena until they were out of the Red Room. And how at one point, that wasn’t true. She loved her sister with all her heart, enough to die for her. And they twisted it. Warped it.
            “How is she?” Nat is sitting on the couch as I walk back in, a mug in her hand. A bandage is wrapped on her forearm. I had expected her to be in her room with Steve, handcuffed to the bed. But of course she would come to check on me before doing that, and see that I am not there.
            “Crying. Drunk. High.”
            “She’s lying. Or she thinks she is telling the truth.” The conviction I heard earlier is gone.
            “Mom,”
            “I remember him. He started before I became a Widow, when I was still training. A junior guard. Couldn’t even grow proper facial hair yet. He used to sneak girls extra food.”
             Probably as a bride to get them alone. But given Nat’s reaction earlier, I don’t want to push her.
            “Maybe just talk to Yelena?”
            “I think space would be best for now.” She stands up, “I’ll tuck you in, come on,”
            In my room, she sits down at the foot of my bed as she waits for me to climb in. Nat pulls up the blankets, smoothing them out up top.
            “How are you doing, love? With everything? Did talking with Sam help?” I think of how I demanded he find some example of being lied to like this, of some case study he can reference. He said he’d look into it. And for now, we need to work on identifying and processing my emotions. I wasn’t too kind.
            “Great, it is going really well.”
            “You can lie to me about it, as long as you aren’t lying to yourself.”
            “Isn’t that what you’re doing?” I regret the words instantly, as I see her stiffen, pulling away.
            “Goodnight. I love you.” She leaves the room, flicking off the light.

            I’m woken up by yelling, nearly screaming, and the sound of glass shattering. It is rare that something breaking around here isn’t caused by me. I rush out into the living room just in time to see the door to the apartment slam, and Steve standing next to Natasha, a hand on her shoulder.
            “Was that Yelena?”
            “Yes.” Nat pushes her shoulders back. “I have to get a broom,” I flick my wrist, putting the vase back together before she can go look for the item. “I, that was what you were talking about on Nantucket?”
            “Yes, new powers.”  
            “I have to run, I have a meeting at the center in an hour,” Steve apologizes.
            “Go, I’m fine. I’ll see you tonight,” She gives him a quick kiss and Steve heads out as well, leaving us alone. “How are you doing, Little Witch?” She takes a deep breath.
            “Me?”
            “Yes, with everything. Your new ID should be here in a few days.” I had honestly forgotten with all the craziness the past twelve hours.
            “I’m okay.”
            “If you want to talk or vent, I am here to listen.”
            “Honestly, Nat, I don’t want to think about it.” I don’t want to think about the betrayal. That had my parents sent me away, I wouldn’t have become a guinea pig for Strucker. But I also wouldn’t have met Nat. It is conflicting. Or I wish they had told me once school had stopped, when the only family we saw was Adela’s, as we hid in the woods outside the city during raids.
            I remember when Adela died. Unlike my parents, there was a body. Her whole family was crushed by their townhouse. They were wealthier and lived in a pre-Communist building, in a neighborhood that had been largely untouched. Before the war, her father was a hydroelectric engineer. There had been no warning that the bombs were coming, just as there was no warning for the bombing of my home. My father climbed through the wreckage of their home. Adela’s mother was still alive, she lived for another twelve hours as rescuers tried to save her. Mama didn’t let me look, but Pietro snuck away, and he saw Adela, her brother Kole, and her father lined up with ten others in the street. Three weeks later, it would be our turn.
            “Wanda,” Nat touches my arm.
             “I’m fine,” I pull away, “Just thinking about what to have for breakfast.”
            “I can make some oatmeal, and we should have some bananas.” I follow Nat into the kitchen, feeling guilty for concerning her, when she is also worrying about Yelena. She turns on the Keurig and the machine whirrs. If I said anything, she’d probably dryly remark that worrying is her default state.
            “What happened this morning?”
            “Yelena came up to talk, as you heard, she did more than talking.”
            “Have you thought about hearing her out?” I hedge. 
            “Wanda,” Her voice becomes razor thin.
            “You know I talked to her last night,” I try changing tactics. “And,”
            “I do not want to talk about this with you, or anyone for that matter.”
            “So, I’m supposed to open up to you, but not you to me?”
            “I’m the parent, you are the child.” She places a bowl of oatmeal topped with slice bananas and maple syrup. “This is something Yelena and I will need to work out for ourselves.”
            “But she has,”
            “This conversation is over.” She has his file. But fine. Whatever. Natasha brings over my coffee as well. “Maybe you should hang out with Peter today. I think he is around.”
            “Are you kicking me out?”
            “Of course not. But maybe hanging out with your friends would be a nice change of pace.”
            Her back turns to me and the sink runs, her movements as she washes the dishes are stiff.
            “Why don’t you go to Steve’s meetings?”
            “Lots of questions this morning.” Nat rolls back her shoulders. “Text Peter, Wanda.”
            The door to the gym slams shut. As much as I would prefer not to do what she has suggested, hanging out with Peter does seem like a good idea. And he seems to think so too, as I get a response almost immediately. He’ll be here in fifteen minutes.
            I inhale the rest of my breakfast and coffee, putting both in the dishwasher, and rushing into my bedroom for a quick shower. As Peter’s arrival text pings, I finish tying my laces.
            “Mom, I’m heading out with Peter,”
            “Have fun,” She calls, not leaving the gym. Maybe I pushed too hard.
            The elevator stops on the way down, until the car is almost full. I force my breathing to slow, being in an enclosed space this small with six people is a lot. All of their thoughts, so unguarded. The doors open and I am last to get out, unable to push past them. Peter is chatting with Connor, the bellhop/valet.
            “Hey Wanda,”
            “Hi,” I smile, its felt like it has been a while since we last saw each other, “Ready to go?”
             “And you can get me an autographed picture from him?” Connor confirms as we head out.
            “Of course! Mr. Stark is an Avenger, he knows Spiderman.”
            “Connor, I work with Spiderman, I could get you, his autograph.” I remind him.
            “Either of you, that would be great,” He grins.
            “He gets off at nine if you wanted to stop by and make his year,”
            “I just might,” Peter nods to Albert as we walk out.
            We walk through the park, and I can see the remains of what was an encampment for those who were brought back to find their houses gone. Now, hotels have come to a tentative agreement with the city, at least for the next few months. I’ve heard stories about ghost towns being revitalized, and it is like a rebirth of the Wild West.
            “So, you’re seventeen again?”
            “Yeah, still older than you though,” I try to joke.
            “We would’ve been in the same grade in school though.”
            “I know.” He was born August 10, 2001, me, November 26, 2000.
            “I don’t really know what to say, I’m sorry.”
            “It’s okay, I don’t either. It is weird, you know? I don’t feel any different, nothing really is different. Mostly, I’m upset with my parents for lying to me.”
            “They must’ve had their reasons. Its like that expression, hindsight is 20/20. It’s a little cliché, but we know a lot more looking back than your parents did at the time.”
            “That was surprisingly insightful.”
            “Thanks,” he laughs. “It is hard losing parents when you’re young. But like they never stop being perfect you know? Like I never got to know my parents as people, and I’m lucky. I’m sorry you didn’t get to have the same.” It is an odd way to phrase it, I never really knew my parents as people. But he is right. I knew them as Mama and Papa, not Iryna and Olek.
            “I just hope Nat lets me go on missions soon now that I am seventeen.”
            “She let you go on missions before,”
            “Yeah, but she is a lot more protective now. I think she’d keep me wrapped in bubble wrap at all times if could.”
            “Didn’t she actually wrap you in bubble wrap once?”
            “Yes,” I laugh, “We did a homemade slip’n’slide,”
            Peter catches me up on MJ, Ned, and Betty while we walk. He was lucky enough that they were all Snapped. Especially MJ, for his sake. For MJ, not so much. No one else in her family was Snapped.
            I come back to apartment after spending the day and having dinner at Peter’s with May and MJ. Rather than use the stairs, I used my powers to get up and down from his walkup. I’m sure Chad would say that I should have at least used the stairs going down.
            “Nat, I’m back,” I call out. Nat and Steve are sitting on the couch, papers on the coffee table with two open laptops.
            “Hi Little Witch,”
            “What’s this?”
            “We’ve been asked to attend a security conference and gala in D.C. in two weeks. Do you want to come?”
            “I’m all set,” I head into the kitchen and come out with a water bottle. “If it wasn’t D.C., sure.”
            “At least we can visit Flora while we are there,” Steve points out to Nat.
            “Is that your way of bribing me?” She picks up a folder, “This will be right in the middle of the Barton’s visit.”
            “They are visiting?” I sit down on an armchair, and Liho hops up.
            “Lila has an appointment, remember? With the hearing specialist and Tony. They are going to test her candidacy for some new hearing aids. Lila isn’t going to be happy.”
            “I’m sure she’d rather go to the gala,” I joke.
            “That little girl has gala written all over her. She probably has a dress drawn up in her head.” Nat picks up her mug of tea, “Are you sure you don’t want to come? We could go to some museums,”
            “I went with Yelena last summer, that was enough D.C. for me for the next few years.”
            “I don’t want you staying alone.” Nat presses her should against Steve.
            “The Barton’s will be here, and Yelena.” I honestly don’t want to leave Nat, but it will only be for a few days.
            “Maybe I should skip,” She frowns. “I’d rather not leave you, love.”
            “I’ll be fine, Mom.” I take a sip of my water, “I’m sure it isn’t exactly optional.”

            A little over a week later, and tensions are still high between Nat and Yelena. The later hasn’t been in our apartment since the vase broke, but I have seen her out running from my spot in the library.  
            Nat has been reading up on every UN country’s response to the Snap being undone and how some are faring.
             But today, we are training. She has on boxing pads as I punch, sweat dripping from my forehead.
            “Harder, Little Witch. I am not feeling it,”
            “Well I sure am,” I huff, throwing another punch. The alarm on Nat’s phone goes off, signaling the end of the workout and that it is time to get ready to go.
            “Quick shower, okay? We should be there in less than an hour.”
            “On it,” Saved by the bell. I hurry to my room and wash off, then blow dry my hair. It feels right for it to be dark auburn again.  
            I change into jeans and a cropped tank, throwing a green button down over it. After putting on my makeup and sneakers, I am ready to go. And beat Natasha, who comes out just seconds later.
            “What do you think of me getting my belly button pierced?” I ask in the elevator, looking down at my exposed midriff.
            “You can get yours when I get mine.” Nat replies, pleased with her response. Connor brings around the car and we get in, I look over at Nat.
            “Wait a minute,” I reach over and touch her earlobe. “What are these?”
            “What are you doing?” She pulls away, laughing.
            “You have multiple piercings!” I accuse, “Those are earring holes.”
            “Yes, I do.” Nat laughs, pulling into the street.
            “Since when?”
            “Since my early twenties. I don’t put earrings in them very often.”
            “The Red Room let you get multiple piercings?”
            “Oh no, it was in Australia. A bonding experience. By the time I got back to Russia, the holes had healed too well.”
            We reach the tower and pull into the underground garage. Clint’s parking spot, usually empty, has a rental SUV in the space.
             “So does that mean I can get my third hole?”
            “How about for your eighteenth birthday, I will take you? Sound like a plan?” She presses the button for the penthouse.
            “Can it be retroactive? Like my first eighteenth birthday?”
            “Sorry, you already got presents for that one.” The doors open and we are ambushed by the two middle Barton children. Nate practically climbs Nat, while Lila talks about her upcoming visit to the American Girl Store, not even issuing a greeting.
            “Hi,” Nat smiles at Clint and Laura. “Good flight?”
            “Nicole slept the whole way, so definitely.”
            “Where’s Cooper?” I look around for the preteen.
            “Already with Tony in the lab working on some new weapons.” Clint sits down.
            “Robots,” Laura corrects, “No weapons yet.”
            “I’m sorry we’ll be missing part of your trip, Steve and I head out in two days.”
            “You’ll have four more days off us when you get back.”
            “Pepper invited us to go to her Hamptons house, I think it would be good for Lila and Morgan to get to know each other.” Laura adds.
            “Where’s Auntie Lena?” Lila asks.
            “I think she is busy, but she should be by later.” Nat sets down Nate. Laura gives her a look I can’t figure out, and she seems to know more on the topic than Clint who looks away, bouncing Nicole. I forget that Laura and Nat are also friends. And that some topics would be easier to discuss with another woman. “Maybe we can do a family dinner before Steve and I leave for D.C.”
            The next few days are full as we go to lunch, a Yankees game, and I have physical therapy with Chad. During the family dinner at the tower, Yelena and Nat sit at opposite ends of the table. But it doesn’t seem like either of them are actually mad. More like they are avoiding having a conversation about everything. And when I brought this up to Sam, he asked if I was doing the same.
            Yelena doesn’t come to say goodbye. I hug Nat one more time as she heads out the door. She offered numerous times to stay back with me, and in this moment, I wish I had taken her up on them.
            “I love you, Little Witch.” She whispers in my ear, her hug tight. As she pulls away, she gives my hand a squeeze. The door clicks behind them, and I am alone.  
            Liho yowls, quick to remind me that is not entirely true. I pick up the kitten and head down to Yelena’s apartment. It is in much better shape than my last visit, entirely in order. Like it just came out of a catalog.
            “You could knock,” Yelena leans in the door jamb of her bedroom, towel wrapped around her head.
            “Door was unlocked,”
            “No it wasn’t.”
            “I had a key,” I hold up a hand, it glowing red, and release Liho, who dashes to Yelena. She picks her up and gives her a kiss on the nose.
            “Tasha and Steve are gone?”
            “Yes, catching the train now.”
            “Train?”
            “Something about promoting cleaner transportation with the increase in air travel recently.” I flop down on the couch, “What are we watching?”
            “I am still catching up on TV from missing years, and now Snap TV too. You like sitcoms, pick one.”
            We are six episodes into the first season of Modern Family when Yelena’s phone pings with a familiar sound, overriding the fact that her phone is on vibrate.
            “Solo mission,” She stands up, stretching. “I drop you off at the tower to be with the Barton’s.”
            I look over at her phone.
            “Your mission is in the UK. That is practically a vacation. I can come.”
            “No, you can’t.”
            “It says transport, you are a glorified chauffeur. I haven’t been on a mission in weeks, and I’ve been training with Nat.” 
            “I am not Tasha. Not doing anything without her permissions.”
            “Okay,” I shoot Nat a text, waiting for a reply. Instead, I get a call. Yelena smiles triumphantly. “Hi Mom,”
            “Hi. So, you don’t want to go to D.C., but London is okay?”
            “Please?”
            “I’m not sure it is such a good idea. You can still with Clint and Laura, hang out with the kids. I think they are going to the zoo tomorrow,”
            “This wouldn’t have even been a discussion a few weeks ago. You would have let me go on the mission. Why do you have to treat me differently now? Its not fair.” I am sounding my age, but I don’t really care. It isn’t fair.
            “Wanda, if I were going on the mission, I would be happy to have you come along, but I won’t be there.”
            “I have been on missions without you before, and everything was fine.”
            “But that,”
            “Was before you found out how old I am,”
            “Before the Snap, love. I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”
            “Please, Nat?” She asks me to hand the phone to Yelena, and the latter takes it, leaving the room. I think this is the first time they have actually spoken complete sentences to each other in weeks. When she comes back a few minutes later, I am handed the phone again.
            “You need to listen to Yelena, do you understand? She is running point on this mission, she has far more experience than you. And I want updates whenever possible, do you understand?”
            “Yes, thank you!”
            “Wanda, no unnecessary risks, okay? I don’t want anything happening to you.”
            “Don’t die or you’ll kill me?” I joke, referencing her pre-mission speech.
            “Don’t be reckless or you’re grounded. And I want to state, that I would prefer you stay with the Barton’s at the tower.”
            “I will be careful, Mom. I promise.”
            “Yelena, watch my girl?” Despite not being on speaker, the super soldier easily hears.
            “Always.”
            “Love you both.”
            “Love you too,” I chime back, hanging up the phone. There is a ghost of something on Yelena’s face that quickly passes.
            “Well, go get dressed. I have less patience for tardiness than Tasha.”

Chapter Text

            “I’m surprised you’re letting her go.” Steve comments as I hang up the phone.
            “If I didn’t, she’d find a way to be there anyway. At least this way she isn’t putting her life in danger sneaking onto the mission.” I sigh, “I should’ve forced her to come to D.C., or maybe not come.”
            “Do you want to go back?” Steve asks, folding his newspaper.
            “No, we need to go, it is the right thing to do.”
            The Amtrack gets closer to the city. Over the next three days, we will wine, dine, and schmooze with the best of them. I miss when galas meant clandestine operations, not politicking.
            “Maybe you’ll still get to shoot someone,” Steve offers, as if reading my mind.
            “I know you’re only half-joking. You almost hate this as much as me.”
            “We have to do all this so we can keep protecting the world, this is just part of it.”
            “Tony actually kind of likes this stuff, at least when he has Pepper with him,”
            “When we get back to New York, we can meet the Barton’s and everyone at Pepper’s place in the Hamptons, a summer kickoff. Celebrate Clint’s birthday,”
            “Mhm,” I look out the window, my thoughts going back to Wanda. I know Yelena will look out for her, regardless of what is going on between us. She’d never let anything happen to her, but I’d still feel better if I were there with her.
            “She’s going to be okay, Nat.”
            “I know, won’t stop me from worrying though.” The train pulls into Union Station in D.C., and it will be crowded with paparazzi as soon as we disembark. “Do I look okay?” I glance at my warped reflection in the window of the train. During my last official public appearance, I was still weak. And it showed. But now, in June, I feel a lot better; nearly myself again.
            “Beautiful, Natasha.”
            “I mean, do I look good?”
            “Healthy, strong,” He promises. I nod and we stand up, taking our small carry-ons with us. The platform is crowded with others travelers trying to get off and on trains, obscuring us from view. But that is not the point of this trip, as easy as it would be to disappear. I can slip out of any place unnoticed, especially one as busy as this. Steve lightly touches my arm, and I follow him up the track towards the historical portion of the train station. Sunlight streams through and people stop to take pictures. I pose with a group of teenage girls for a selfie, and a mother has Steve hold her baby for a photo.
            We walk slowly so the paparazzi can get their snaps as well. If I didn’t know Pepper and Maria better, I would have thought they called the vultures themselves.
            My hand brushes Steve’s as we walk, but he does not push for PDA, and as we exit the station, a large Tahoe is waiting for us. We climb into the backseat, putting our bags at our feet.
            “About damn time. You two taking a Sunday stroll in there?”
            “Nick!” I lean forward into the front seat.
            “Romanoff, Rogers. Smooth train ride?”
            “Unfortunately, a derailment would be a great excuse to skip.
            “We weren’t expecting you to be the one to pick us up, it’s a nice surprise.” Steve clicks his seatbelt.
            “How long are you here for?” I ask.
            “Just for a few more hours, then I’m on the road. Have some people to visit. You seem like you’re doing well. Recovered?”
            “Yes, taking the physical when we get back to New York. I’m hoping to be cleared for the field next week.”
            “Good.”
            “We’d be lost without her,” Steve nudges me.
            “I know. You are all a disaster. Why is it that I’m always cleaning up the rest of your messes?” I tease.
            We pull up to the apartment building and Steve gets out to unload the suitcases.
            “I am glad to see you up, Natasha. You had me worried. Its good to see you.”
            “You too. Thank you for the ride.”
            “Give Wanda my best, I plan to come and visit you all soon.” I climb out of the car and as I turn to say goodbye, Fury is already pulling away. Steve is holding our suitcases and garment bags.
            “Ready?” I take mine and we head inside and walk up the stairs. The building is largely unchanged, even though it has been more than ten years since I have lived here full time, or really at all. Once SHIELD fell, there was little reason to be in D.C. instead of New York. I can’t even recall the last time I visited this little place.
            Sheets cover most of the furniture, and we pull open the blinds, letting in the afternoon sun.
            “I’ll order the pizza from across the street,”
            “It’s gone, replaced by that cycling place, remember?” I pull over a chair, checking the smoke detector batteries. “We can go visit Gianni and Mia. I reached out to Flora, tonight’s her night off, so we’ll have to wait until after the gala tomorrow.”
            “We could go a round up on the roof,” Steve offers.
            “I’m okay, really.”
            “No, I know.” He comes over, and with me on the chair, we are at eye level, “I just think it would be fun.”
            “I’ll get changed,” I bring the suitcase to my bedroom and change into workout gear. When I come out, Steve is in his as well. We climb out through the dining room window onto the fire escape and up to the roof.
            “Do you remember how terrified you were that I would miss when I showed you how I threw knives up here?”
            “I thought you would kill someone, how can anyone be that good?”
            “I just am,” I tease, relaxing into a fighting stance. “You ready, Rogers?”
            “Always,” 
            We finish round four at a tie, two-two. I know he let me get in a few shots though, and that last round should have been his. As much as I want to be angry with him about it, I don’t want to ruin this trip when that politicians can do that just fine without my help.
            “I could do this all,”
            “Day, I know,” I laugh. It feels so different, being back here. Life was so wildly different when we lived in this apartment.
            “Nat,”
            “I don’t like your tone.” I get up from the ground. “Whatever it is, don’t ruin this.”
            “I just want to talk about,”
            “Stop, Steve. Please. We should go walk to the gym before they close and get dinner.” We head down from the roof and walk to the boxing gym, still in our workout gear. My plaque sign stating Managed by Rushman Properties is still up on the exterior wall.
            The bell on the side door jingles as we walk in and there are a handful of clients at the bags, all pausing as they see us.
            “Who let you two in here?” The door to the office opens and Gianni steps out.
            “Heard this gym lets just about anybody box,” Steve joins in.
            “Honestly, you should take it up with the landlord,” I add.
            “Mia is going to be so excited. Her last class just got out.” He turns to the others in the gym, “Victor, you’re locking up.” He nods to a guy holding a punching bag.
            We leave head out front into the yoga studio. It is much different than the boxing gym, light, airy, and pastels.
            “Mia-more,” Gianni calls, “We have visitors,” A very pregnant Mia comes out from behind the counter.
            “It is so good to see you both. It has been way, way too long.”
            “Not to mention you two being a couple. Who would have thought,” Gianni winks at Steve. “For weeks when he was boxing here, the only comments I could get out of him were about you. Singing your praises up and down.”
            “Did he?” I turn to Steve.
            “Come on, there is a good Greek place that just opened. They should be able to squeeze us in.”
            Despite our requests to run home and change, they insist that we are fine as is, and they point out they are wearing workout gear as well.
            We get to a small restaurant with a full patio, and it seems like there isn’t a table to be had.
            “Christos,” Gianni waves to a guy behind the bar. His eyes widen taking in me and Steve. Suddenly, in this packed restaurant, there is a table in the back corner. I sit beside Steve, and his foot brushes my ankle under the table. We order an appetizer of tzatziki and wine for all of us, except Mia.
            “It is a boy, due in three weeks. Carlo Roman.”
            “That is a lovely name,” I compliment.
            “We met your daughter when she visited with your sister last year,” Mia adds. I see Gianni look at her and sadness passing over his features. “Oh, I guess more than five years ago now,” She sees Gianni staring and slips her hand into his. The two of them used to look the same age, but now he looks years older. And given that Mia is almost due, and the Snap was undone only a few months ago, Gianni lost his wife and unborn child in the same instant. And he never moved on.
            “They never told me that they met you.” I try to move the conversation forward.
            “Yelena was using us as a storage facility. They are very kind. You have a good family.”
            “So, what brings you to the city?” Gianni asks, sipping his wine.
            “Work, just meetings and conferences.”
            “None of the action, huh?”
            “It will be nice when things return to normal,” Steve adds, which could mean a multitude of things. We get our dinners and they catch us up on other changes to the neighborhood. They live only a block from here, but we politely decline their invitation to go over.
            “Next time you are in New York, drop by. We’d love for you to meet the rest of the team,” I tell them as well part ways.
            “So, this is normal couple stuff,” Steve puts his hands in his pockets as we walk through the streets. “We have couple friends.”
            “We have couple friends!” I laugh. “Should we start playing doubles tennis?”
            “Maybe, or I think the popular sport now is pickleball.”
            We get back to our building and head up to the apartment, kicking off our sneakers and turning on the TV. We curl up on the dated couch. The apartment is frozen in time, very little has changed since the first time I decorated it, plucking everything out of a single page of a magazine. I drape my legs over his and we watch a late-night talk show. Steve doesn’t try to take it any further. It is amazing how we have fallen back into routine, as though the break was never there. I send Wanda a good morning text for her to wake to in a few hours as the show ends and we unfurl from the couch. Steve stretches and begins to walk down the hall.
            “Where are you going?” I ask, watching him head towards the guest room.
            “To bed? It’s late.”
            “Why are you sleeping in there?”
            “It was my room,”
            “We sleep together at home all the time,”
            “I didn’t want to impose. This is different, this was before,”
            “Come to bed, Rogers.” I take his hand and we crawl under the covers. Our legs are entwined, and we face each other, light from the moon slipping through the cracks of the blinds.
            “I love you,” He smiles, his eyes crinkling.
            “I love you too.”

            I wake in the morning wrapped in Steve’s arms; our legs hooked around each other. It is like where one of us stops, the other begins. I carefully disentangled myself from Steve, trying not wake him and head to the bathroom.
            “Not thinking of trying to get out of a run together, are you?” He calls from his spot in the bed.
            “I was trying to let you sleep in,” I reply, walking back into the bedroom, face washed and hair up in a ponytail.
            “Slept for 70 years. It was plenty of time.”
            “Sure,” I lie back down on the bed beside him. “Sleep well?”
            “With you? Always,” He takes my hand in his, kissing my knuckles one by one.
            “Well, aren’t you just the romantic this morning? Don’t think I’ll go easy on you. And we have to be at the White House to meet with Ritson for brunch at eleven. And I have a hair appointment after,”
            “You do?”
            “Yes, for the gala. I thought it might be nice to have someone other than me cut my hair for a change. Maria recommended someone her mother goes to. Now, we should get going.”
            I head over to my suitcase and pull out my running gear. Steve gets up and heads to the bathroom to wash up as well. When he emerges from the master suite, I offer him a cup of coffee. 
            “Do you remember the Christmas we spent together here?”
            “Of course, you took me to church and I had a panic attack.”
            “You got me my motorcycle,”
             “And you got me a Fabergé egg.” A wistful look settles on Steve’s face, “Come on, just because you’re old doesn’t mean you need to live in the past. That’s the whole reason we got shoved together. And you need to be in the present so you can see my kick your ass on this run,” I slam back the rest of my coffee and race out the door, “Don’t forget to lock up behind you!” I call. 
            Steve eventually catches up as we near the Potomac. The city is starting to become muggy as the sun inches higher into the sky and summer slips in. We slow to a jog taking in the city and looping back around.
            “Have you talked to Yelena?”
            “Rogers,” I warn. This is the exact conversation I was trying to avoid on the roof yesterday.
            “I just think you should consider talking to her, Nat. Maybe hearing her out,”
            “I know what I remember.” I ignore the doubt that has been building for the past week. They had done so many other horrible things, what if they had done what Yelena had described as well? But that would lead to many other questions. How many other memories would be fabricated by them? How much of what I know is real?
            “I think it is best if Yelena and I leave this be. There is no reason to dredge it up.”
            “I support you no matter what, but,”
            “Thank you.” I end the conversation and our steps are in sync as we jog through the streets.
            However, as we enter our old neighborhood, the competitiveness reemerges. Steve reaches the front door before me, but as he arrives, an older gentleman is exiting, slowly.
            In his politeness, Steve can do nothing but hold the door for the man and his seemingly even older dachshund. I run around the side the and jump up onto the fire escape, pulling myself up and then scaling the rest. By the time Steve is undoing the six locks on the door, I have already started running the shower.
            We arrive at the White House fifteen minutes early, and the Secret Service has the audacity to ask to take my weapons.
            “As if take my gun would be what stops me from killing the president.”
            “Natasha, you can’t say things like that in here,” Steve whispers back, clearly trying not to laugh. The brunch is a small affair of only the president, vice president, secretary of state, and their respective spouses. Geopolitics are discussed, as are the topics for tomorrow’s conferences. After which, we will be heading back to New York. Wanda would love the strawberry butter that is being served with the toast.
            “Natasha, I love your library,” The First Lady begins, “I saw it on the 60 Minutes interview your daughter did. A truly moving interview. Who did the design?”
            “I did,” I slice my quiche. “It was inspired by traditional home libraries and designed around the windows.”
            “It is just marvelous. We are updating our library at our home in Philadelphia. I sent our designer every angle I could find of the space.”
            “That is very kind, thank you.”
            “I’m actually far more interested in your bracelet. Is that what I think it is?” The secretary of state leans over, eying it.
            “I had Tony make it for me,”
            “Well, I just have to get one. A garrote, George,” She turns to her husband, “Much better than my silly little bangle.”

            Brunch ends at two, and having taken the photos before the meal, we are free to go. I’m sure Pepper has already posted them to the Avenger’s social media page.
            Steve heads back to the apartment while I go directly to my hair and nail appointment. They work on both simultaneously, and I try my best to relax. Though I am largely unsuccessful.        Following my salon appointment, I call Wanda and it is brief, as she sounds out breath, and I can only imagine what her and Yelena are up to.
            “I love you, Mom,” She breathes before hanging up.
            “I love you too, Little Witch,”
            I return to the apartment and frown in the hall mirror, unsatisfied with the updo, and shake it out.
            “You got rid of the blonde,” Steve comments as he walks out.
            “I thought it was time to leave that behind. What do you think?”
            “I like it, a lot.”
            “Me too.” I smile past him. During the Blip, I could not bring myself to care that I had such horrible roots, and eventually, that I had this tapered blonde from chopping every time it got too long. But we are beyond that now. Everyone is home, and that blonde is a reminder of what was. “However, I hate the updo they did. I’ll have to figure out what to do.”
            “Bathroom is all yours,”
            I tug and pull at my hair, twisting it and turning it with a collections of bobby pins and elastics until I get what I want, a braided low bun. A peach lip and light blush, a swipe of mascara. I pull the gown out of the garment bag hanging on the door and step into it, holding it to my chest.
            “Steve,” I call as I enter the bedroom, “Can you please button it for me?” His hands start at the bottom, fingers lightly brushing my tailbone, and carefully works his way up to shoulder blades. “Thanks,” I turn around and adjust his bowtie.
            “You look stunning,” Steve steps back, taking my hand, and I pretend to curtsy.
            “You look handsome.”
            “Thank you,”
            “You know,” I sit down at the desk chair and put on my heels, and check my makeup once more, “It wasn’t too long ago that the Avengers would be the security for this gala and conference, not guests.”
            “Times change, weren’t you the one who just said not to live in the past?”
            “Maybe,” I open my clutch, putting my lipstick beside my gun.
            “They are going to take that at the door, you know that.” He leans over my shoulder.
            “I’m still bringing some knives, and my garotte.”
            “I’d expect nothing less.”

            We arrive at the Reynold’s Center where the gala is being held. There is a slew of paparazzi and I count fifteen snipers within seconds of exiting the SUV.
            “See? High security.”
            “We would have been better.” Steve offers his arm and I loop mine through. We are momentarily blinded by the flashes and I smile brightly. Steve dazzles the crowd with his Captain America smile. I pose appropriately, putting a hand on his chest as one of his rests on my lower back. For a moment, briefly, as the cameras are between flashes, we catch each other’s eye. I have my partner. We glide through like we were made for this and not for war. But this feels eerily similar to crossing a battlefield.
            Inside, security has the audacity to take the four knives I brought. But thankfully, they pay no mind to my bracelet. I’ll need to have Tony make me a pair of shoes where the heel pull out as knives. Not that stilettos don’t work in a pinch.
            “You should have him make you a laser lipstick tube too,”
            “What?”
            “I was sure you were imagining what weapons you could hide as everyday objects.”
            “I was, but am not too thrilled you could read me so easily, Rogers.”
            We enter the glass covered courtyard between the National Portrait Gallery and the Smithsonian Art Museum. Cocktail tables are scattered and a dancefloor is illuminated in blue light.
            After an hour of small talk and waiting for the last of the guests to arrive, we begin to make our way to The Great Hall in the portrait gallery for the sit-down dinner. My hopes are that I will be seated next to Steve and not the representatives out of Russia. There are guards stationed at nearly every balcony overhead, unflinching.
            The table is impossibly long, seeming to stretch the entire length of the hall. We are shown to our seats and I am greeted by a pleasantly familiar face seated to my left: Tate Hawley.
            “My old pal from Oxford,” I muse, sitting down.
            “My favorite classmate,” He raises his glass, “This affair became much more bearable when I saw you were to be seated next to me.”
            “Tate, good to see you again.” Steve nods, sitting to my right.
            “How are things in London?”
            “Rough, people got used to there being more space. I honestly hope the conferences tomorrow can offer some good insight on how others are faring. Here, New York?”
            “New York has a tentative agreement with the hotels in the area to house people as things get sorted. But it is only a six-month contract, and it is such a long time for people to be without a home.”
            “There is some encouragement to repopulate the cities that were hardest hit in the middle of America,” Steve adds, “Financial incentives, free housing. So far, people aren’t too keen.”
            “I get that, coming back to a changed world only to be asked to move 3,000 kilometers away?”
            Steve breaks away from the conversation to talk to the person on his other side, a representative from Canada.  I sweep my eyes above once more and to the other guards on the floor. We are likely the most well protected people in the country tonight, but I would feel a lot better with my gun and knives.
            “I have a daughter now, a little girl.” Tate reveals as the first course arrives.
            “How old? Do you have photos?” He pulls out his phone and I lean over, looking.
            “She just turned three. Her name is Pamela, goes by Ella.”
            “After your mom?” I smile, “She is beautiful.”
            “How is your daughter?”
            “Wanda is great, she is adjusting surprisingly well to everything.”
            “And you? I’m sure you know the security council was read in,” I did not know, and I will most definitely be bringing that up with Steve tonight.
            “I’m fine, really. Thank you.” Tate turns the topic back to kids, sensing that my death is not something I wish to discuss, even when not mentioned directly.
            As we make it to the third course, the representative from Brazil joins in on our conversation, speaking about her six-year-old grandson who was brought back. Then the fourth course comes, and it is feeling excessive. Waitstaff pours wine and scotch, while a dozen or more languages swirl around the table. Steve’s hand brushes my thigh under the table and I turn to look at him, a smile playing on my lips, and my eyes instinctually sweep up once more.
            Something is off. One of the guards has changed. At the new guard’s feet is a growing pool of blood. I see the glint of shining metal and have just enough time to pull Steve and Tate under the table as two shots ring out. My heart hammers in my chest as I jump up with Steve moving as well. The representative from Russia, who I was hoping not to be sat near, is dead.
            “Emergency exit is this way,” I yell to Steve, not even turning around. My heels click on the tile floors as we run through. We can both hear the heavy creak of the fire door opening and an alarm starts to blare. I see the back of the sniper slipping through the door, and it means Steve can too. To his credit, he does not falter.
            We run out into the street, where a light mist has begun to coat the streets, and we keep just a few steps behind. Steve grabs a lid off a nearby trashcan, throwing it like his shield, but the assassin dodges, turning down an alleyway, which opens up to a building: Ideal Federal Savings Bank. It has been under construction for ten years, funding issues and historical status causing numerous hurdles. The padlock on the front door has been broken, the door pushed open.
            “Natasha,”
            “We should call backup.” The mist has begun to progress to rain.
            “He’ll be gone by then. This is my, our, chance.”
            “We should call backup, Steve.” He proceeds up the front steps, “Doesn’t this feel too easy?”
            “What if he wanted to get caught?”
            “Exactly.” Steve steps into the building, and against my better judgement, I follow him. The teller lines are still in place, ornate wood and marble at every turn. There is a seal in the center of the floor, and floor to ceiling windows allow the street lights to illuminate the space, casting eerie shadows. “We can call Tony, he can be here in less than an hour in the suit,”
            “Please, Nat.” My abdomen hurts with the thought. I reach into my clutch and quickly text Clint S.O.S. before sliding it back in. Hopefully they will do a trace on my phone and we will still be here, fighting him, when help arrives. With any luck, it is not to recover our bodies. I can see where the dust has been disturbed with boot prints.
             “You are being irrational,” I grab his arm as he begins to follow the trail.
            “Imagine if it was Yelena,” He implores. We have no weapons, no backup, and going into an unfamiliar subterranean space. What if it was Yelena? Steve wants to save him; he still believes he can be saved. After everything I have told him. “We can try blocks, with Wanda’s powers or new technology,” he pleads.
            “Let’s go,” I nod. Steve lights up with hope, and my stomach twinges with guilt at the true reason for my assent: I am going to kill the Winter Soldier.
             We go down a winding metal staircase that groans under our combined weight. We must be twenty feet underground; cell phone service is likely nonexistent. Any replies Clint may have will go unanswered. My hands are slick with sweat as they touch the railing of the iron stairs. Emergency lights flicker and offer a quiet hum.
            Steve signs to go right, and I go left.  There are small rooms off to the sides, private safes, long since emptied. Nearby is a desk with files that looks newer, and the familiar insignia on the top of the paper causes my blood to run cold. I look for Steve, but he isn’t nearby. There is the lightest breath,
            I rip off my bracelet is spin around, the Vibranium cord wrapping around his metal wrist. He tries to reach for me with the other arm, and I duck down, sliding between his legs, and causing his metal arm to be pulled beneath him. The fabric of my dress rips with the movement.
            “Now, doll, what does that remind you of?” I think of my uniform tearing at sixteen, and then pull at my garrote, releasing it from his wrist. Where the fuck is Steve?
             “Rogers, could use a little help here!” I call out, ducking from another blow. Soldat is toying with me, he has a gun. I just hope I don’t bore him into using it.
            I run down the hall, back towards the staircase, and hear banging coming from one of the safes. Great. So, I’m the target.
            I climb up the steps and jump down as he comes into view, landing on his shoulders and wrapping my thighs around his neck. Soldat throws himself back against the stairs, and I wince as the metal presses into my back and begins to fall. Our only certain exit is gone. We are fish in a barrel.
            As he throws me off, I grab the hand gun on his side, sliding against the floor and crashing into a wall of safe deposit boxes, the weapon slipping out of my hand. Before I can get up, I feel cool metal wrap around my shoulder, flipping me over. I rear my head back, ready to crack skulls,
            “Konstatin, Ulyana, Konstatin, Leonid, Anna.” The fight drains out of me. The trigger doll, to make me go limp. Panic surges in my chest, blood pounding in my ears. “Oh Natalia, as fun as that was, I do not have time for games.” He drags me through a hall, and it opens up to a cavernous space filled with more safe deposit boxes, and a ladder leading up. Nausea swirls at what I see past the ladder, and it is telling of what this place was, but Soldat is heading directly for the exit.
            Whatever he has planned for me, I have no intentions of finding out. I can’t leave Wanda.
             Finally, I hear the heavy scrape of a safe opening, and Steve exiting. I have Wanda to think about. My sweet girl.
            “I am not Natalia,” I force the words out of my mouth, “I am Natasha Romanoff. And I am most certainly not your doll.” I wrap my arm around his neck and throw my weight to the side pulling him to the ground. Enough of a commotion is caused for the thundering of Steve’s footsteps to come in this direction. A blow lands on the side of my head, and my vision blurs.
            “You are weaker this time, they were right.” I feel myself lifted once more, and then placed down again. Something tightens across my chest. I blink, dazedly, and realizing where I am, instantly bucking. “Your resistance to trigger words have impressed me, Natalia.”  
            Steve skids into the room, gun in hand, and takes in the scene, raising the weapon towards Soldat.
            “Bucky, let her go,” I try to blink away my swimming vision once more.
            “We were about to go together, but she just couldn’t help herself. You always did like a woman with some fight her in her, didn’t ya, punk?” I see Steve falter in his conviction upon hearing Soldat speak. Likely programmed for this mission. But Steve won’t see it that way,
            “Steve, shoot him! It’s not Bucky, it’s not,” A leather bit and gag is shoved into my mouth, between my teeth. I arch my back, trying to pull against the restraints. Not this. Not this.
            “We can help you, get you back to yourself again,”
            “She’s my mission, alive. But if I can’t take her, I am walking out of here. And I can always come back.” I thrash trying to free myself. Steve’s eyes flick between the two of us.
            He raises the gun, his hand shaking in the dim light. Soldat’s finger rests near the power button.
            “Don’t shoot me, or I turn it on. Do you know what this is? What it will do?” His face is flat. Steve needs to shoot to kill, or I,
            “Bucky, please,” Steve tries again, “Please,” I see a semblance of emotion pass over Soldat’s face and my heart plumets. Tears start to roll down my cheeks.
            “’Til the end of the line?” He hand hasn’t moved off switch though, and Steve sees it as well. The gun fires, but it is not a kill shot. Even if death is what Steve intended, he does not have the strength to follow through. I think I hear Steve screaming my name. However, I do not close my eyes in fear, but look straight ahead, thinking only of Wanda. Of her laugh, her smile, the way her nose scrunches up, how she takes her coffee. Her stubbornness, her fortitude, her kindness. My daughter, my Little Witch.
            And then, it begins.

Chapter Text

            My jaw hurts, this is the first thing I notice as I drift into consciousness. And my ears are ringing. Someone is brushing my hair away from my face.
            “You’re okay, you’re going to be okay,” Their voice sounds far away, like I’m under water. I open my eyes and meet the face of the person holding me, “Oh, thank God,” It is like I have broken through to the surface.
            I push out myself out of his arms, suddenly aware of how exposed I am. How vulnerable. My whole body aches.
            “He’s gone. I don’t think he’ll be coming back. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He is wearing a tuxedo, and I look down at myself. I’m wearing a full-length gown, now torn. The coppery taste of blood coats my tongue. We’re in a basement of sorts, surrounded by machinery, including chair that makes my blood run cold. “How are you feeling?” He asks, taking a step towards me. I step back, my head pounding. Safe deposit boxes line the walls. Are we in a bank? My bones feel like they are vibrating. “Are you good to leave? I was scared to move you. I called for an extraction team. We can get cleaned up, have some water.” My knees start to knock together. He is speaking English, American English. We’re in the U.S. “Are you okay?”
            “I am okay.” I close my eyes,
            “We should get going, do you need help? Do you want my jacket? You’re shivering.”
            “I can walk.” Sorry, he said sorry. The torn dress, the aching. Is this his fault? He takes my arm and I flinch. He immediately releases. 
            “I should’ve asked, this must be a lot for you. I wasn’t thinking, I’m sorry,”
            Something isn’t right. I walk slowly towards the ladder nearby. He hovers close to me, as though waiting to catch me. I calm my heartbeat, coming up with a plan.
            “You can go first, I’ll spot you.” I am about to say I don’t need to be spotted, when I see this is my chance.
            After mustering what feels to be the last of my strength, I fly up the rungs. As I reach the top, I jump out and throw the pushed aside floor tile back down, hopefully slowing the man down. I’m in an abandoned bank, as suspected, on the teller line. I hear the man call out a name, Natasha, and race towards the back, ignoring the open front entrance. It is too obvious.
            There should be another exit in the rear of the building, one for deliveries, an emergency exit. I pass a number of safes before finally reaching a door that looks to lead to the outside. It is laden with locks, and I rip them off, pulling open the door. I can hardly even consider that the heavy metal tore in my grip, or that it even occurred to me to tear at them.
            My feet skid on the wet concrete, slowed down by the spiky heel. It smells like rain, and it is warm, muggy. So humid, the air could be sipped.
            I need to get to an airport, or a port. Go somewhere. But my mind comes up blank. Its blank. Panic begins to force its way up from my chest, a tightness growing, I squash it down. That won’t be helpful. I’ll just walk until something feels right, or I come up with a plan. Staying in one place is dangerous, I’d be a sitting duck. And I don’t know anything about the man I was with, I should have asked him questions when I had the chance.
            I stick to the back alleys for as long as I can, my thoughts thick and slow. At one point, the headache becomes so bad that I vomit, barely anything coming up besides stomach acid and alcohol. Maybe that could explain it. I catch sight of my appearance in the glass of a door.
            Red hair falling out of an updo, a single earring, mascara smudged. I lick my finger and wipe under my eyes, erasing the smudged makeup. The updo comes down with ease, as it was already on its way without my help. I run my fingers through my hair and tie it back in a braid. I’m wearing a necklace, a silver arrow, the tip sharp against the pad of my thumb.
            The night feels never ending. I spy American flags everywhere, but this gives me little idea as to where in the country I am, given America’s rampant nationalism and obsession with their flag. Then I see a parked delivery van, Washington D.C. This helps. I am near the water, and an international airport. But it would be more difficult to sneak onto an aircraft than a ship. I think I need to get to Europe. A boat would be a better bet. I just need to find a place to rest until morning, when I can find docks and come up with a plan. Probably a change of clothes as well, a gown is hardly inconspicuous.
             I stumble through the streets, at some point I lost the shoes I had. My feet have become scraped and bloodied. I fall, landing on my knees in a puddle, bits of tar forcing their way into my hands. Panic begins to work its way up once more from the bottom of my chest and getting caught in my throat. Each breath is too shallow, to fast, and following in in quick succession. The ripped dress, the pain, the confusion. The emptiness. Empty. Blank. Nothingness. Nothing! There is nothing! I want to slam my head against a wall, to get something, anything. I shiver despite being warm, logic dictates it is likely shock. At least my mind can produce something useful. Why could I tear at metal like it was paper? And why are my thoughts in English when it doesn’t feel like my mother tongue? Who was that man in the basement? My thoughts begin to spiral, and I claw my way out of the destructive path. That will do me no good. I need a change of clothes, to get to a port. That was the goal. I push myself off the ground, feeling dizzy.
            The sun is just nearing the horizon. I’ve been walking all night, my sense of direction shot. Perhaps I would have been better off staying with that man, or at least taking the suit jacket he offered. I trip over my feet once more, falling against a set of stone stairs.  
            “Oh my, honey, are you okay?” An older woman rushes over to me, a takeout bag in one arm, and a purse on the other, “Oh,” She looks at me, blinking, and I stare back at her, exhausted. I give up. “This is my building, do you want to come inside, have something to eat?”
            “I don’t know,” I don’t know. I don’t know. I shiver despite the heat. She removes her raincoat, revealing a waitress uniform underneath, and drapes the coat over my shoulders.  
            “I can make you a cup of chamomile tea, how about that?” She offers her hand. I stand up unsteadily and follow her up the stairs of the stoop. “I will get a first aid kit for your feet as well,” 
            We get in the elevator and I curl my feet against the rough carpet as she presses the fourth floor.
            “Do you want to call anyone?” She offers her cell phone. I shake my head slightly, exacerbating my headache. 
            She unlocks the door to her apartment. It is quaint. There are pictures of what must be grandkids on the wall. A few books. Lots of throw blankets and pillows. She hands me a cup of water, “I’m going to change. You make yourself comfortable and then I’ll get started on that tea.”
            I stand in the center of the room, trying to take in as much as possible. There is a calendar on the wall, flipped to June. June 2023. I sip the water slowly.
            She comes out in jeans and a pink button-down, and smiles at me.
            “Okay, let’s get started on that tea,” I follow her into the kitchen. “Sit down, I’ve got this,” I do as she asks, watching as the flame on the stove flicks to life, a kettle placed on top. There is a nametag next to the range. Flora. “That’s where that damn thing is, I was wondering,” She opens up the window next to it, leading out to a fire escape. “What happened honey?”
            “I don’t know,” I answer honestly. Maybe I should go back to that man. I don’t know where he is or who.
            “I have some hydrogen peroxide under the sink,” She bends down, surprisingly spry for an older woman. The kettle whistles and she pours the hot water into a mug, adding the teabag. “Do you take honey?” I hesitate and she adds some, placing it in front of me.
             “Thank you, Flora.” She smiles kindly. There is a knock on the door. She places the kettle on a trivet and heads over, opening it up.
            “She’s here?” I recognize the voice and stiffen.
            “Yes, found her on the front steps. She isn’t well,” The man rushes into the kitchen.
            “Natasha, thank God,” My grip on the mug tightens and it shatters in my hands. “Nat,” He puts his hands out in front of him, hands open. He doesn’t appear to have any weapons.  
            “How did you find me?”
            “Flora is a friend,” He promises. The old woman stands behind him, wringing her hands. I back up into the counter, and see a knife block out of the corner of my eye. “Nat, you’re okay, you’re safe. No one is trying to hurt you,” I grab the chef’s knife, and the hilt feels familiar in my hand.
            “You found me. How did you find me?”
            “I will always find you, I promise.” I stare at the man, feeling sick. He will always find me? Who is he? Why? He is tall, well built. Strong. But I can almost guarantee I am faster. I dive for the window, bursting through the screen and grip the edge of the fire escape with one hand. I put the handle of the knife in my mouth and drop the rest of the way. I land on one knee, the opposite arm aiding in the landing, and the other leg pushes me off. My body automatically landed in the position, like I had done this before. As I break into a sprint, I hear the man jump from the window as well. He is not as quiet as I was.
            I tear off a piece of my dress and throw it into the street before heading in the opposite direction, doubling back to the apartment that I came from. The sun is rising in that direction, meaning I will be close to water, and the docks.
            I slip past expensive looking buildings and restaurants, keeping close to the water. There will probably a boathouse or yacht club where I can commandeer something to get me out to Virginia or Delaware’s waters and to a shipping center.
            Thompson Boat Center. A sign directs me exactly where I need to go. I head into the park, and reach the boathouse. Outside, kayaks and paddleboards are stacked, locked to prevent theft. Hopefully inside there will be something with at least a small motor. From my spot a few feet from the building, still obscured, I gather a handful of rocks. This would be easier with a phone, I could just hack in. Why don’t I have a phone?
            Nevertheless, I need to get in without being seen. I spot four security cameras and make perfect throws, taking each out with precision.
            Now, I can approach the building. I try the door, locked, and try a window. Also locked, unfortunately. My hair. The extra pins from the updo, I slipped them into my braid. I pull out one and made quick work of the knob, and then pull on the padlock, breaking it.
            At the front, there is much of the same. Kayaks and paddleboards. I head through the rows, searching for the smallest skiff. They would have to have something for staff with a motor. Maybe in a second storage room.
            A creak travels from the door a few rows back. I freeze, my grip on my knife tightening. It could be a rat or a racoon, or maybe the manager of the building. In my head, I know I could take them down, but I’d rather not hurt someone.
            “Natasha?” Someone calls. This voice is new, but that name is not. It is what the other man called me. My name. It must be my name. “Natalia?” When he calls this name, his voice wavers, unsure. There was a staircase to the second floor by the entrance, maybe he will think I went up there. For now, I have to find another way out. “It’s okay, Tash. No one is mad at you, no one is trying to hurt you.” His voice gets closer. And I’m not seeing another exit, besides the garage bays, which he has just as easy access to.
            I eye the racks of boats, and give one row a shove, in the man’s general direction. There is a slurry of curses as I dash towards the exit, but the man beats me to it, rather than being stuck under dozens of paddleboats. 
            “Tash,” He has no weapons in his hands, but he is wearing tactical gear. He is not a civilian, and he knows my name. I see a gun on his belt and what looks to be a bow slung across his back. There has to be a back exit. I don’t know if, in this condition, I can fight and win against someone trained in combat. Especially since he has a gun. The American idiom of bringing a knife to a gunfight comes to mind. I turn and run, and the man curses again. I try pushing over more racks as I run, but the man somehow dodges them all. I reach a back corner, and see a hallway nearby, a red exit sign glowing.
             Something whirs through the air, and then my foot catches, and I splay out on the ground, my knife skidding away from me. An arrow sticks out of the wall at ankle height. Then he is in front of me, out of breath. I push back into the corner as he stands between me and my knife, weighing my options. I realize too late I should have pulled the arrow out of the wall, wielded it as a weapon.
            The man crouches down a few feet from me so we are at eye level. He is heavily tattooed, his entire left arm covered. His hand is extended in front of him, like how one would approach a wounded animal. The other palm is open, pointed towards me. He is trying to show me he isn’t a threat.
            “We need to bandage up your feet, you don’t want them to get infected,” He isn’t wrong. He looks like he is in pain. “Would it make you feel better if I gave you this?” He reaches into his pocket, and I tense, getting ready for the worst. Instead, he slides a Swiss army knife towards me. I grab it quickly, and it rests comfortably in my hand. The blade flicks out and I put it back in.
            “Do you know where we are?”
            “America, Washington D.C.”
            “Yeah, we’re in D.C. Of course, it had to be fucking D.C.” The man seems to have a strong disdain for the city. He runs his fingers through his hair.
            “I’m not American,” Despite my accent-less English and my own thoughts, I know this is not my first language.
            “Dual citizenship,” He smiles, one side quirking up slightly higher than the other.
            “That makes sense,” I inspect the knife in my hand. My brain supplies me with a hundred way to kill the man in front of me with it. And it makes me nauseous once more.
            “Do you know who I am?” I am tempted to lie, to tell him that I do. But depending on if I know him personally or not, it could backfire. He takes my lack of answer as one, and I see him swallow. Personally then. “Do you know who you are?”
            “Natasha, Nat, Tash, Natalia.” I list off the names I was given. He inspects me with such intense scrutiny, I question if I answered correctly.
            “Last name?” There is a light of something in his eyes that is dashed when I don’t answer. Hope. “Can you come with me?” He asks.
            “Why should I trust you?”
            “I just handed you a weapon, even though I know you could kill me a hundred different ways with it.” My muscles tighten as he shifts, but he moves from a crouch to a sitting position. He then starts to unlace his boots, sliding them to me as well, but not moving any closer. He puts his feet out in front of him, knees to his chest. The socks don’t match the rest of the uniform.
            “Your sister gave me these,” He pulls up the ankle of one of his pant legs. The side of the sock reads Selective Hearing Specialist. “Trust me, it’s funny.”
            “Sister?” 
            “Yelena, she’s a few years younger than you.” That gives me no idea of how old she is, or me for that matter.  
            “How did you find me?”
            “I figured you were looking for an escape. Found the nearest boathouse. Laura worked here one summer in college. She gave me a tour once. My wife, Laura, sorry.” He looks at the shoes he gave me. I pull them on, keeping the knife in my hand the whole time. “The least surprising thing happening right now is finding you without shoes.” He jokes. It’s an inside joke, one I am supposed to be a part of. “Will you come with me?” The archer asks again.
            “You are giving me a choice?” He nods, “I can pick.”
            “You choose.” Though I doubt he would actually let me walk out of here alone, I appreciate the kind lie. I rise from the ground, my feet sliding in the too-big boots, and adjust my grip on the knife.
            “Do you know the man I was with earlier?”
            “Steve,”
             “What should I call you?”
            “My name is Clint,”
            “Clint,” I let the name rest in my mouth, “and mine?”
            “Natasha Romanoff.”

Chapter Text

            “So, you need a bedtime now?”
            “Yelena,” I glare at her as New York disappears behind us.
            “We are not at the joking stage yet, understood.” She pilots the quinjet, her flying a little bit smoother than Natasha, though I would never give her the satisfaction of saying so.
            “Why didn’t you want me to come?”
            “Because if you get hurt, Tasha will kill me.”
            “If I was eighteen, you wouldn’t have had the same issue.”
            “I don’t know.” Yelena admits, looking over at me, “Maybe? You are a minor and you are your mother’s daughter.”
            “Didn’t you get your first mission at like six? And I have been going on missions for years.”
            “Yes, but it is different.”
            “It doesn’t have to be. Nothing has changed since Boston,”
            “Nothing has changed? Really, Wanda?” Yelena laughs, “You killed your robot boyfriend, we disappeared for five years, and Natalia died! Everything is very different.” She falls silent, staring back out at the sky.
            “But we don’t have to be.”
            “If Natasha hadn’t come back, I would be your legal guardian. I am your next of kin, Wanda. It would be my job to keep you safe.”
            “That’s not the world we live in though,”
            “I know.” Yelena ends the conversation. I read through them mission report. We are transporting an imprisoned professor from one facility to the next. He specializes in alien powered weapons and was arrested for distributing them. But then he was hired by the government for a reduced sentence to research some weapons they came across.
            “I can see why they needed the Avengers to come in on this.”
            “Lot of people don’t like this guy. It is not glorified vacation as you say. I don’t know why,”
            “Why Nat agreed to let me come?”
            “Yes.”
            “Probably figured I’m less likely to get into trouble with you.”
            “Pretty sure that is not it.”
            “Or maybe you are less likely to get into trouble with me around.”

            We land the quinjet and step outside, greeted by Sharon Carter. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a ponytail and Yelena crosses her arms.
            “Who are you?”
            “Sharon Carter, CIA.”
            “I need proof, Steve messaged saying you were borrowing our quinjet.”
            “We need to make some extractions; your jet is the best way to do that.”
            “I still don’t see an ID,” Yelena taps her foot, arms crossed.
            “That’s Sharon,” I offer. We’ve met only one, at Tony’s wedding.
            “Nice to see you again, Wanda. Your aunt skipped over the pleasantries.”
            “Politeness is another form of lying. You don’t want me to be polite.”
            “I’ll have it back to you by tomorrow,” She promises.
            “You worked with Natasha, at SHIELD.”
            “Yes, I did. I started not long after her.”
            “We should spar sometime.” Yelena steps aside, uncrossing her arms. “Your biometrics are uploaded to the jet. Let us know if you run into trouble, we will be here for a few days.”
            “I will keep that in mind,” She smiles at my aunt and then nods to me.
            We switch, climbing into her SUV that was left idling.
            “You know her?” Yelena asks as I buckle my seatbelt.
            “A little. Nat knows her better, I think Sharon and Steve dated a bit too, but it didn’t work out, obviously.”
            “I see,”
            “She’ll be fine with the quinjet. Maria and Nat trust her.”
            “I never met her during SHIELD days, I will ask Tasha about that.”
            “It’s kind of wild that you were a part of SHIELD,” I mention casually, knowing it will get a rise out of Yelena.
            “I was not!” Yelena huffs, hand flying to her chest, “I said it was a terrorist organization, I called it. But no, apparently Americans can’t be corrupted.”
            “To be fair, I think the views on American exceptionalism have changed a bit since the early 2000s.”
            “Still have those flags everywhere though,” Yelena huffs, pulling out onto the road, “Maybe we can extend trip by a day after we finish the mission. Do some touristy things.”
            “Yeah?”
            “Yes.” We drive, the traffic increasing the closer we get to London.
            “We could go to Shakespeare’s house, take pictures for Natasha.”
            “Our next family vacation should be here; I’m sure Nat would fangirl over Abbey Road.”
            “But while we are in England, I want to see the Royal Armories. What is your museum?”
            “I’m not sure,” I shrug, “I guess the Narnia Door in Oxford? During the war, my brother and I read those books and imagined that we had been shipped off to,” I stop, my voice catching.
            “We will do that over my thing it is our drop off anyway. Maybe we can steal a dictionary for Tasha.”
            “Or buy one?”
            “Nothing worth having can be bought.” She turns on her blinker, changing lanes. “Did you finish reading the case file?”
            “Yes, all caught up.” I look around the city, streets bustling with people. We reach our hotel and the Yelena refuses to valet the car, instead driving it down to the garage herself and ensuring there are cameras so she can watch it at every angle. Only then are we able to check in.
            The hotel is a converted regency mansion, and our room still holds its original features. Yelena flops down on the queen-sized bed closest to the window, her arms extending.
            “We need to sleep soon,”
            “It’s the afternoon back home,”
            “Yes, but we need to be alert tomorrow. We order room service and then sleep.”
            In the morning, I’m woken by a pillow hitting me in the face. I roll over, irritated by the rude awakening.
            “Since when do you get up early?” I groan, putting the offended pillow over my head and lying back down.
            “Since we are on mission. I already got us coffee and croissants. And went to the gym. Get up.”
            “At least Natasha is nice about getting me up early,” I grumble, sitting up and pulling on my sock followed by my leg.
            “Thirty minutes,” Yelena informs me, loading her gun.

           We check out of the hotel and bring out bags to the car before driving off, heading towards the British equivalent of a supermax prison. It is a short drive, short enough that I don’t have time to take a nap. I’m not used to seeing Yelena in work mode, it is unnerving. However, she does hum happily as she takes a sip of her coffee.
            A red brick apartment complex is to our right as we idle, waiting for the light to change. A sign reads that to the left, is HMP Belmarsh. We turn, and a short treelined way opens up to a compound. There are high metal fences and brick buildings not entirely dissimilar to the apartments just a block away. We drive past the courts and have our car waved through to the front entrance.
            “Aren’t they going to search us for weapons?”
            “We’re supposed to have weapons Wanda, and you are one.”
            “Right,” We climb out of the car, shutting it off. The governor of the prison greets us, extending her hand.
            “Nice to meet you both, we appreciate you crossing the pond for this.”
            “Of course, we’re happy to help any way we can.” Yelena’s Russian accent is now gone, replaced by a clipped American one. We don’t have to walk far, as the scientist is waiting just inside, four guards on him.
            “This is for his protection, not yours.” She assures me, seeing my hesitation. “It is just a precaution.” Yelena signs a mountain of paperwork and we are both fingerprinted before he is transferred to us. We are led out a different door than we came in, and I see our car has been moved to this exit, one that doesn’t have such an open line of sight to the street.
            “Dr. Holmes,” Yelena nods to the handcuffed professor, opening the car door. He climbs into the backseat, and a guard secures his seatbelt.
            “We will send confirmation when the transfer is complete. It is only a two-hour drive. Do you like podcasts, Dr. Holmes?” The doctor sighs.
            “Just for that, Wanda gets to pick what music we listen to instead.” I brighten, thrilled as no one ever lets me pick.
            “Miss Maximoff, if I may ask some questions regarding your powers,” Dr. Holmes begins. Yelena turns up the volumes of the music and GPS, Siri competing with Taylor Swift.  
            We have just finished crossing Vauxhall Bridge, “I Forgot That You Existed” filling the car, when Yelena stiffens. She turns down the music, her eyes flicking up to the rearview mirror.  
            The car turns, ignoring Siri as she asks us to return to our route. The professor, who had seemed largely indifferent up to this point, is sitting up straight in his seat.
            “We are being followed,” He surmises.
            “No shit, Sherlock.” Yelena hisses.
            “Definitely not the first time I have heard that one,” he retorts.
            “Any stabs at who is following us?” Yelena turns again, trying to lose the car.
            “Anyone, really. Any of the guards could have tipped people off.”
            “Illegal weapons distribution, always brings out worst in people,” She turns to me, “Can’t you do something?”
            “Right!” I unbuckle and turn around, bringing down a lamp post, stopping the car in its tracks.
            “Subtle.”
            “It worked,” I reason, turning back around. Until I see two motorcycles come into view.
            “You have got to be kidding me,” Yelena turns out of the neighborhood we had entered back onto a main street, gunning it.
            “You’re driving on the right side of the road!” I yell, panicked.
            “What? Of course I am!”
            “I mean, you’re on the right side!”
            “I am going to die,” The professor groans.
            “You are on the right side of the road!” She turns to look at me just as a car approaches, I grab the wheel jerking to the left, “The wrong side!”
            “Why wouldn’t you just say the wrong side or the left side? Why did you have to say right?” She shouts back, swerving between cars as the lay on their horns.
             The motorcycles are getting closer. I roll down the window and stick my head out, seeing one brandishing a gun. That is not good. Quickly, with a swipe of my hand, I send both into a metal guard rail.
            “Thank you,” Yelena sighs, “And please buckle up.”
            “How are you doing, Dr. Holmes?” I ask the prisoner.
            “Fine,” his tone is short, I turn and see his face is ashen, like he’s going to be sick.
            “Should we pull over?”
            “You did not just ask that,” Yelena shoots back.  
            He does manage not to vomit, and despite the traffic, we make fairly good time. Though I do lose control of the aux, having to relinquish it to Yelena and a true crime podcast.
            “You know, the worst part about screaming in the countryside is that no one can hear you, the worst part about the screaming in the city is that everyone can. It really depends on why you are screaming, or if you are the one causing it.” She explains, as though is a common topic.
            “All I asked was if you have any water,” Dr. Holmes groans, very much done with me and Yelena, who has relaxed considerably now that we are out of London. She also did make a pitstop twenty minutes past Heathrow to switch out the license plates with the spare Sharon kept in the trunk. It is there we noticed some bullets lodged into the rear of the car.
            We get a text update from Nat that she is at the White House for brunch, and checking in to make sure everything is going smoothly. Neither of us mention the people who were chasing us. She can find out when she reads the mission report in a few days.  
            Dr. Holmes is dropped off at Oxford University to a slew of guards to help with a research project. To say he looks relieved is an understatement. I thought he was going to kiss the ground.
            “What is it that your singer says, ‘It’s me, hi, I’m the problem it’s me,’?” Yelena shrugs, walking back to the car. “Let’s go, there is something near here Tasha would want to see.”
            We drive into a neighborhood and pull up to a large brick house with a blue plaque and red letterbox. Yelena parks the car and climbs out, leaving me to scramble after her. She is holding up her phone, and I see it is to FaceTime Nat.
            Natasha answers, and there are foils in her hair, the hum of dryers around her.
            “Are you getting your hair done?” Yelena asks, looking at her sister.
            “What else would I be doing with foil in my hair, Lena?” Nat laughs, “Thought it was time to get rid of the blonde. “What’s up?”
            “We have something to show you,” She turns the phone to me quickly and I wave, before she flips the camera. “I Google attractions for word nerds and this comes up.”
            “That is where the scriptorium was for the Oxford dictionary,” Nat’s voice picks up in excitement. Yelena goes over to the plaque and post box for my mom to see. “Did you know they named the house Sunnyside? And that,”
            “Thank you, Tasha. I am glad you like it. But we are on a tight schedule. We have to go find a door for Wanda before dinner.”
            “A door?” Yelena hands the phone to me.
            “The door that inspired Narnia. Pietro and I used to read the books as kids.”
            “Be sure to get a photo for me,” Nat smiles, “I will talk to you tomorrow morning, okay? Have fun and be safe,”
            “We will,”
            “I love you, Little Witch,”
            “Love you too,”
            “What am I? Chopped liver?” my aunt yanks the phone back.
            “I love you as well, Yelena.”
            “I know,” She smirks, disconnecting the call. “Come on, let’s go to your door.”
            We do find the door, and Yelena takes my picture with it before going into a rare bookstore and picking up an expensive antique copy of an Oxford dictionary for Natasha’s birthday, just a few weeks away.
            Both our phones ping, and it is from Sharon. She is just a few minutes away with the quinjet. We meet her in a grocery store parking lot, largely empty at this time.
            “How did it go?” The agent asks, disembarking from the jet.
            “Your car got shot, but we didn’t.”
            “Good, that means it did its job. There’s a Vibranium coating on the back, it’s a paint I got from Steve, well I guess six years ago now. Stark developed it,”
            “We are getting dinner if you want to come,” Yelena offers, “I would like to try fish and chips.”
            “I actually know a great place near here,” Sharon smiles at Yelena. The cloaking is turn on for the quinjet, masking it, and we climb back into the car, with me relegated to the backseat.
            The restaurant is a tiny pub with sticky wood floors and worn leather booths. We slide into a table, the two of us facing Sharon. We order three beers and the fish, and I am able to flash my old ID, the one with my new birthday not yet arriving in the mail.
            “How long are you in the UK?” Yelena asks.
            “Worried about how long you have to prep for our sparring session?” Sharon asks lightly, taking a sip of her Guiness.
            “Worried how long fear of losing will hang over your head,” Yelena shoots back, her eyes lighting up.
            “I should be back stateside in the next month or two. Things are starting to rap up here. The quinjet saved us about six weeks’ worth of work last night. Thank you, again.”
            “Any time,” Our meals arrive and the fish is better than what I have had in New York. Our dinner wraps up and Sharon gives us a ride to our hotel, just a block from the grocery story where the quinjet is parked.
            “See you soon for our fight,” Sharon leans against her door.
            “We will see who comes out on top,” Yelena nods.
            “Goodnight,” I add, feeling like I need to at least say something.
            In the hotel room, Yelena is surprising quiet, reading away on her phone, but she is smiling to herself, so it can’t be bad. I lie beside her on the queen-sized bed and we watch another two episodes of Modern Family before falling asleep.
            The morning comes quicker than I would like, sunlight pouring in through the crack in the shades. I shower and then head down to the lobby, grabbing breakfast sandwiches and coffee for the room. Yelena is awake when I get back, now dressed and eyes the goodies in my hands.
            We sit down on the bed, having a picnic when Yelena’s phone starts to ring. She picks it up and presses ignore. Then it pings, followed by ringing again. With a sigh she answers and heads into the bathroom taking the call. I scroll through social media as I sip my coffee, waiting for her to come back. It is nearly five minutes before she does.
            “Everything okay?” I ask Yelena as she emerges, her phone gripped tightly in her hand.
            “Fine,” She lies through her teeth, hardly even trying.
            “Who was that?”
            “Clint.” She didn’t say Stupid American or even Barton, but Clint. “Come on, we have to pack.”
            “Why?”
            “Because the mission is over.”
            “I thought we were going to stay an extra day, go to the weapons museum in London or something,”
            “We are going home.” Yelena states without further explanation. She gets another text and frowns, rapidly replying. She continues to text as I pack my bag, she shoves everything into hers.
            “What’s going on? Everything is obviously not okay.” Lila had a doctor’s appointment today, maybe it didn’t go well. 
            “You don’t need to worry.”
            “Was the tower attached or something? Is Natasha okay? Is it Lila?”
            “The tower wasn’t attacked. Finish packing so we can go.”
            As we are boarding the jet, another text comes through Yelena’s phone, and I see the color drain from her face.
            “Yelena?”
            “We are going to fly fast, put on your seatbelt.” I do as I’m asked and my head jerks back with how quickly we take off. I reach up, rubbing my neck. My skin prickles with anxiety. I pull my sleeves over my hands. 
            “What’s going on?”
            “Tasha is sick,” She says carefully, and my stomach drops “We are heading for the tower.”
            “Is she going to be okay? What’s wrong?”
            “She is going to be fine. Doctor is there with Clint and Steve.”
            “But,”
            “Everything is fine, okay? Natasha is going to be okay.”

            We touchdown on the landing pad and Yelena is out of her seat so quickly, the quinjet’s engines are still powering down. I race after her, jumping into the elevator.
            “Yelena,”
            “She is going to be okay. It is fine. She has recovered before, she will again.” Yelena is talking more to herself than me, and I feel the tightness in my chest growing, constricting. Yelena slams on the elevator button again, even though Friday is already bringing us down to the medical floor at top speed. I bite my cheeks. The doors open and she races out. Steve, Clint, and Dr. Fine turn, relief spreading across their face upon our arrival.
            “Yelena,” Clint starts. Both him and Steve look as though they have been up all night.
            “What the fuck happened?”
            Then I feel her, or rather my powers do. But she feels off, like something isn’t quite right. I push through the doors, the adults wrapped up in their own conversation, and race down the hall. My powers guide me and I burst into Natasha’s room.
            My mom is sitting in an armchair, reading a book. She stands up when she sees me, and she looks, okay. Good, even. I press forward and wrap my arms around her, hugging her tight. She’s okay. She’s okay. Natasha gently pulls me off, her hands soft on my bare arms.
            “I’m sorry, love.”

Chapter Text

            I exit the boathouse and into the early morning sun. The man, Clint, is just steps ahead of me, heading towards what appears to be a jet of some kind waiting under the shadow of trees. I adjust my grip on the knife.
            The sun is nearly past the horizon, and at this hour, employees should be arriving to open this place up. There should be joggers hitting the trails before starting their workday. Yet, the area remains empty. A part of me suspects it is Clint’s doing, which seems like an awful lot of power to wield.
            “Hey, you okay?” Clint turns, looking back. I realize now that I have halted, the distance between us growing.
            “I don’t trust you.” I state plainly, “How do I know you are who you say you are?” It would be foolish to take this man’s word at blind faith. “And where are we going?”
            “I’ll show you, c'mere,” He pulls up the photo app on his phone and types in ‘Natasha’. I see dozens of photos of me with many different people. He clicks one, it is of the two us. I recognize myself from the warped reflection of the glass door. We’re on a porch, each holding a beer bottle. There is a swing behind us. I look comfortable, at ease. “And we’re going to New York. It’s where you live, and where there are people who can help you.”
            “What happened to me?” I ask, pushing through the quiver that wants to enter my voice.
             “You were attacked,”
            “By Steve?”
            “No, he was attacked as well,” There is a hint of bitterness in Clint’s voice. As though he blames Steve. “We should get going.”
            I consider running. At least I now have shoes, even if they are too big. But there are the arrows he shot, we perfect precision. Steve is also likely with him, or at least somewhere in the area. Two versus one, and both seem formidable. Despite the kindness Clint has shown me, the idea of this being a choice is likely a farce. They also managed to find me in a matter of hours, even though we are in a large city. It seems my best choice is to go quietly and assess from there. Maybe after medical treatment for my feet. So, reluctantly, I nod.  
            We approach the jet and a gangplank drops down. As suspected, the man from earlier, Steve, stands at the top.
            He gives a tightlipped smile to hide a mix of relief and discomfort, based on the way his shoulders relax but his body is turned slightly away. His eyes linger on my as we walk up the gangplank. The English idiom of walking the plank comes to mind, or more so the fact that this is the antithesis of it. This plank is forcing me toward something, rather than away from.
            “Just, thank God you’re okay,” He manages to speak, unsure of his words.
            “Or thank me,” Clint jokes, passing larger man. “We heading to the Tower?”
            “Yeah, I think so,” Steve turns and I enter, looking around the jet. There are seats along the edge and in the center.
            “This is the larger quinjet that we have. It has a medical bay and all that.” Clint’s tone is cavalier, as though it is a normal statement. But this jet must cost a fortune. I sit down near him, leaving a single seat between us. He seems pleased, perhaps because I didn’t sit on the opposite wall as far away at possible.
            Steve heads to the cockpit, and Clint leans back. “Normally, you copilot, or pilot.” And apparently, I am well versed on how to fly this thing. If I were to go up there, would muscle memory take over? Would I be able to land it?
            The jet powers on and I turn at the faint mechanical whir. The gangplank slides up and closes, locking us in. My chest tightens. Now, I am trapped in here. I willingly left with these two men, whom I do not know. They could be kidnapping me, or be the reason I am hurt. Those photos could have been doctored; Clint could have been lying. Maybe I could have taken them both on, at least had a fighting chance. How could I go so willingly?
            Because Clint wasn’t lying, he was earnest and open. Or maybe I am just naïve.
            “Hey, it’s okay.” Clint takes my hands, unfurling them. I didn’t even realize that my nails were cutting into my palms. “This will only take about twenty minutes,”
            “The average speed of a commercial aircraft at cruising altitude is 550 miles per hour. At approximately 210 miles between Washington D.C. and New York City, the flight should take us, including takeoff and landing times, about forty minutes.”
            “This is not a commercial jet, and Steve is moderately obeying air traffic laws. I got here in fifteen minutes. You could probably make the flight in twelve.” Clint shrugs.
            “This jet can reach over 1,000 miles per hour?” I can barely even feel us moving.
            “Yeah, the doctor is about ten minutes from the tower, and he wants to beat us there.” I think of my bloodied feet ruining the boots, and Clint hasn’t procured new shoes. And the fact that my head is entirely blank.
            “I agree a doctor is probably the right course of action,” Steve’s head whips back at my statement. This must have been out of character for me, maybe I have a fear of doctors. Or a strong dislike? “I should have a cell phone,” This much I know for sure.
            “You do, it broke. We’ll get a new one for you when we land,” He promises, turning his eyes back towards the sky.
            “Do I live in this tower?” I ask Clint, who is typing quickly on his phone. It looks like he has communication devices in his ears as well.
            “You used to, but now you have an apartment.” I look down at the knife in my hand. I don’t have a wedding ring on, so I’m not married. Unless I lost the ring, but there is no tan line, so unlikely. Based on my reflection, I’m in my mid-twenties. As is Steve. Clint looks like late forties. Maybe he is my uncle. Or boss? He said we’re coworkers.
            “How long have we known each other?” I ask, trying to find more out about our relationship. 
            “More than fifteen years.” He knew me as a child then. Not a boss, or not just a boss. Maybe we are private military contractors. It would explain the jet, communication devices, weapons. But if we met through work, when I was a child, it implies that I was a child soldier or existing in the realm of war. He looks up from his phone, “He’ll be waiting for us when we land, just arrived.”
            We begin to lower in altitude, making our descent. My heart starts to hammer, but I calm it quickly. Going into this panicked wouldn’t help anything. I don’t know who is going to be there, who we are going to see.
            “Will my sister be there?” We must be close if she gifted this man those socks, close enough to have an inside joke with him. Clint and I are close based on the photos together, so the three of us must be.
            “She’s on her way back from London now, she has our smaller quinjet.”
            “Do I have other family?” Parents? I’m not that old, they are probably still alive.
            “You have a daughter, and a bunch of nieces and nephews,”
            “Yelena’s?” I ask, trying to get a headcount. Clint holds back a laugh, covering it with a cough. Not Yelena’s then. Maybe she is too young to have kids. Clint said she is younger than me. So, I have another sibling. And I have a daughter. How old? What’s her name? I am about to ask, but the time for questions ends as we land, touching down on top of a building.
            “No greeting committee, right?” Clint asks Steve.
            “Just Fine.”
            “What’s just fine?” How many people have been looking for me? Why were Steve and I attacked? Now that I’m not running, my head is starting to fill with questions. I stand up, my formal gown catching on the edge of the seat. It just adds to the ridiculousness of the situation. I rock back on my heels, curling in my toes.
            “Your doctor’s name is Fine,” I nod, my ability to speak disappearing as the door opens. We are on a landing pad, wind blowing. It is much cooler here than in D.C., the heaviness of the humidity is not nearly as prevalent.
            I follow Clint and Steve, trying to take it all in. We are in a penthouse of some kind. It is modern, with sharp angles and glass.
            “This is the common floor, and Tony’s. We’ll head down to medical. Fri, will you let Fine know we’re here?” Who is Tony?
            “Of course, Agent Barton.” A disembodied voice fills the room. I try to hide my alarm with mild interest and catch Steve’s eye.
            “Friday is our AI,” he explains, “Like a virtual assistant.” We get in the elevator and it starts to move without any buttons being pressed. Both men keep looking at me, waiting for something, likely hoping my memory will be jogged.
             The doors open and we arrive on what looks like a normal hospital. There is a waiting room with TVs and then a set of double doors leading to exam rooms and an OR based on signage.
            The man who must be my doctor greets us, introducing himself to me. I nod, still unable to find my words an anxiety ramps up.
            “Let’s get you to an exam room and then we’ll run some tests.” He begins to lead me away, and I hesitate, looking back at the men. The two of them look at each other, having a silent conversation.
            “I can join, if you want, Tash.”
            “Yes,” I break my silence, throat tight.
            “I should call Maria and Fury, give them an update.” Steve gives me a fake smile, his eyes betraying him, and heads back into the elevator.
            “Okay, Natasha. We are going to give you some privacy to change into a johnny. Let us know when you are ready,”  
            The men step out of the room, and I reach back, unzipping the dress. It drops to the floor unceremoniously, landing in an inky heap. I look down at my body for the first time. It is taught and toned, and my eyes land on my abdomen. There is a thick scar, and I touch my back, feeling the exit wound. I had been shot. The scar is only slightly raised, its old.
            I put on the johnny and sit on the papered exam table, my hand hovering around the wound.
            “Nat, you ready?” Clint calls, and I realize I forgot to call them in.
            “Yes,” The door opens and the doctor begins to clean my feet, going in with tweezers. Small bits of rock and debris are pulled out and dropped on a tray. I itch for more details of the attack. Why were we in the basement of a bank? And everything aching, my bones feeling like they had been vibrating. What type of attack can wipe a person’s memory? Especially without a concussion of some kind.
            “Have you ever heard of nominative determinism, Doctor?” I ask, trying to pull myself out of my own head.
            “I don’t think so,” he wraps my feet and tapes off the bandages.
            “It is the idea that our name can determine our fate. You make people feel fine.” He laughs.
            “I like that, can I quote you on it in the future?”
            “Um, sure?” I look to Clint, who is hovering off to the side, having barely said a word.
            “How are you feeling other than your feet?” Confused. Nervous. Anxious. But the pain and the migraine have gone away.
            “Tired,” I answer, not a lie, if not the whole truth.
            “I’m going to need to run a few tests. PET scan, MRI, and CT. I’d also like you to stay overnight for observation.” He clicks through his tablet.
            “Why? If something were to happen, it would have by now, right?” I am not a huge fan of this clinical space. There are so many questions running through my head, and I don’t think I will be getting answers here.
            “Doctor’s orders,” Clint replies still standing guard by the door. Like he is preventing people from coming in. Or me from getting out.
            Clint leaves at one point as Dr. Fine goes through the tests, having me answer questions at different points. He then brings me to a new room, one with a hospital bed, bathroom, and a slew of machines.
            “I think I’m okay,” I muse as he puts on a portable heart monitor. Apparently, he has the expectation that I won’t be staying put for long.
            “Me too, but I’d rather take every precaution.”
            “So, you’ve been my doctor for a while, right?”
            “Fifteen years,”
            “So, as long as I’ve known Clint?”
            “We met the same day.”
            “Oh,”
            “Don’t worry, Natasha. You’ll be fine in no time.” He has a lot of confidence for someone without a diagnosis.
            Clint comes in with a change of clothes as well as some books.
            “You doing okay?”
            “Yes, Dr. Fine is going over my scans. Thank you,” I take the clothes, and go into the bathroom to change. The pants fit, but the sweatshirt is a few sizes too large. I come back out and see Clint has brought some food as well. “So, we are close?”
            “Yes, best friends.” I am surprised my best friend is someone who looks to be almost thirty years older than me. “My wife and kids are here; we were visiting when all of this happened. They call you Auntie Nat.” The nieces and nephews he mentioned on the jet. We are so close he considers me family.
            “You don’t live here?”
            “No, I live in Iowa on a farm. I’m mostly retired now.”
            “I don’t think most people would consider farming a retirement,” I muse, crossing the room to look at the books he brought.
            “Compared to our usual jobs, it is,” He laughs. “Don’t worry about that though. You’ll remember everything in no time.”
            “You seem confident,” I don’t share the sentiment. His phone buzzes.
            “Yelena and Wanda are here, I’ll be right back.” I want to ask who Wanda is, but he is gone before I have the chance. The door is closed firmly shut behind him. Each interaction I have with anyone seems to breed more questions than answers.
            I sit down on the armchair and select one of the books. There is an odd poking feeling in my brain that I push aside.  I halfheartedly skim it, thinking more of meeting my family. How old is my daughter? What does she look like? Does she have red hair like me?
            The door swings open and a teenage girl bursts in, her eyes wide and a smile blossoming when she sees me.
            I stand up and she throws herself into my arms, smothering me in a hug. For a moment, I am too surprised to do anything, then I gently pull her off.
            “I’m sorry, love,” I start.
            “No, it’s okay! You just scared me, I’m so glad you’re okay.”
            “I think you might have the wrong room,”
            “What?” Her brows furrow, smile melting.
            “Are you a patient here too?” Perhaps they specialize in memory care, despite the AI referring to Clint as Agent Barton, and every other indicator that this is a paramilitary group. Maybe more than military contractors? “I can call a nurse, have them help you,”
            “Mom, its me,” Mom? This girl looks to be in her late teens, only a few years younger than me. “It’s me, its Wanda.” Her voice cracks.
            “I’m sorry, I think you have me confused with someone else,” The girl’s eyes begin to pool with tears. “Oh, love, please don’t cry,” I look over and see Clint running in through the open door.
            “Wanda,” he scolds.
            “You know her, she’s look for her mom,” I inform him. He had mentioned a Wanda coming in with Yelena, perhaps she was bringing a patient in as well. Or we are both prisoners.
            “Tash, remember I told you that you have a daughter,”
            “Yes,” I step back from the pair, clutching my book to my chest. There is a tension in the room now, and the girl is staring at me.
            “This is your daughter, Wanda.”
            “She can’t be my daughter. Is this some kind of joke?” I frown, not enjoying this game.
            “Mom, Nat,” The girls tries again, “Please,”
            “She is too old, only a few years younger than me.” I would have only been six or so when she would have been born.
            “Why doesn’t she know who I am?” the girl, Wanda, turns to Clint, her voice rising an octave, “What happened?”
            “We should go, Wanda. Nat, your sister is going to come in and talk to you, okay?”
            “Okay,” I look at the teenage girl again, who has tears running down her cheeks. My child or not, I have upset her. “I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you, it wasn’t my intention.” The girl doesn’t look at me, instead she has the sleeves of her cardigan pulled over her hands, her shoulders folded in. She leaves the room with Clint following.
            Guilt hammers at my heart. That went horribly. What if she is my daughter? Or, this is some horrible mind game and torture, to trick the amnesiac.
            There is a knock at the door a few minutes later, and a young blonde walks in. She is short but sure of herself, her eyes bright and vibrant.
            “I’m Yelena, and you saved my life.”
            After three hours, the brightness in her eyes is gone. She had been talking for hours with vague stories, trying to get me to fill in the gaps. Apparently, this happened when we were young, at the boarding school we attended.
            However, her frustration is becoming obvious. Though she insists it is with the situation not with me. She did offer, at least, more information that anyone else has provided.
            I grew up in Russia, but I couldn’t fill in exactly where in the country. I did ballet, but couldn’t tell her my least favorite dance, an odd question to ask instead of someone’s favorite. I couldn’t tell her how we learned to swim, what happened with red paint, makeup and wigs, sneaking alcohol, immigrating to America. Everything is blank.
            “I’m sorry,” I apologize, it is starting to feel like I am a broken record, repeating the phrase every few minutes.
            “It is okay, Tasha.” Unlike me, she still has her Russian accent. Though I can now tell it is my mother tongue, the one I felt was missing as I wandered the streets of D.C. “I am going to check in with everyone.”
            “Wanda,”
            “Your girl,” she affirms.
            “She really is my daughter?”
            “Yes, of course. Would be fucked up thing to lie about.” Yelena’s blunt and honest; she is not cagey about answering my questions.
            “She seems too old to be my kid.”
            “How old do you think you are?” Yelena asks, as though the thought just occurred to her for the first time.
            “Twenty-five, twenty-six maybe?” I venture.
            “Natasha, you are thirty-eight.”
            “I, I don’t look that age,” I go over to a mirror above the sink, and realize my feet barely even hurt anymore. “I can’t be thirty-eight.” I lean forward, closer, looking for any sign of age.
            “I am thirty-three,”
            “But you said you were two years under me in school,” I turn back to her, “How?”
            “There was an incident, but you don’t have to worry about it right now,”
            “Don’t have to worry about it? Our age gap changed, that is insane. This has to be some elaborate joke. This can’t be real. None of this is real. I am going to wake up and know who I am, know everything. This is just a nightmare. A really fucking elaborate nightmare.”
            “Tasha, you need to take some deep breaths.”          
            “What is going on? I don’t understand, I don’t,” I feel sick, “I shouldn’t have gotten on that plane, what was I thinking? This is crazy, you are all crazy,”
            “Natalia, you are working yourself up,” She winces, “Sorry, I know, not Natalia.” I stare at her, “That means nothing to you,”
            “I know it means nothing to me! That is the problem.” I lie down on the bed. I’m so tired. “And no one is giving me any details on how this happened!”
            “We can talk about that later. It is not something for now, sestra. I need to go talk to everyone. I can come back later?” I don’t say anything, facing the wall. The door opens and closes, leaving me alone. I don’t even know how I will get out of here. That specialized elevator with the AI probably won’t let me go anywhere. We are in a skyscraper, so I can’t exactly jump out a window. Maybe emergency stairs? If the doors to them aren’t monitored. Maybe I can commandeer that jet, Clint said I know how to pilot it.
            There is a knock at the door, and Steve steps in. I sit up, looking at him. He holds a bag of red candies and appears extremely uncomfortable.
            “Hi Nat,”
            “Steve,” I sigh, “I don’t even know your last name.”
            “Rogers,”
            “Like Captain America?” I laugh. Instead, he looks hurt. “I’m sorry, I’m sure you get that all the time.”
            “Well, yeah.”
            “You a hundred years old too?” I muse.
            “And thirty-nine,”
            “What do you mean and thirty-nine?”
            “Sorry, this must be a lot for you. It can be really overwhelming, waking up somewhere entirely unfamiliar and having people say things to you that seem impossible.”
            “Are you Captain America?” I ask, unbelieving, “The American hero that died in the forties?”
            “Yes, but I didn’t die.”
            “This is all absolutely insane.” I am in a madhouse. But worse than that, I am starting to believe them.
            “I just came to check on you, see how you’re doing.”
            “Not well.” I sigh, and then think of the teenager I scared, “Do you know my daughter?”
            “Wanda, yes,” he nods, based on his poorly hidden grimace, he knows what happened.
            “How is she?”
            “She is with Clint’s wife, Laura”
            “I was unkind, I didn’t mean to be.”
            “She knows that Nat, she’s just sensitive. We all understand that you must be feeling,”
            “Unbalanced, disoriented, confused?” My patience for the entire situation is running out.
            “Well, yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Here, they are your favorite,” I am handed the bag of hard candies, “Clint will be in in a few minutes, just wanted to check in.”
            It is like a rotating door of visitors. Clint brings me a sandwich and a cup of chamomile tea. I bypass the food, going for the warm drink. The fragrant steam rises up, warming my cheeks. As it hits my tongue, its on the verge of being too hot.
            “It’s your favorite, Laura made it for the first night we met.” I look down at the mug, it has a black widow spider on it, an interesting choice.
            “It’s delicious, and I think still my favorite,” The warmth from the cup is spreading to my hands. “German chamomile is the most commonly used in tea, its scientific name is Matricaria chamomilla” I offer the info, unable to supply any personal anecdote to add to the conversation.
            “How do you know that?” Clint asks, leaning forward.
            “I’m not sure, I just do.” I pick up the book, Anna Karenina, off the bedside table, “I can tell you the entire plot of this book, but I don’t remember reading it or learning it.” It is like my sense of self has been wiped. My identity was removed. I ready for bed and change into pajamas, and this top fits. Unlike the shirt from earlier that was oversized, and I miss it.
            Clint is still sitting in the armchair when I come back out, his feet propped up on an end tables.
            “Are you staying?”
            “If you want me to, or I’ll be out in the hall.”
            “Aren’t you tired?”
            “I have slept in much worse places, and Laura is happy to get a break from my snoring.” He offers a half smile.
            “You can stay,” I climb into bed, exhaustion from the day creeping up on me. I ask Friday to dim the lights, and surreally, they do. Silence blankets the room, and I stare up at the ceiling. “None of you have been lying.” I finally say it aloud, I believe them.
            “I’m sorry.”
            “I had this life, full of people who loved me. A home, a family, and its just gone.”
            “We’re not gone, we’re here.”
            I worry your Natasha, is not. 

Chapter Text

            “Wanda, come on,” He pulls me down the hall, almost back to the waiting room.
            “What happened to her? What is wrong with her?” I turn to him, feeling my powers rise to the surface, to protect me. Even if it means protecting me from myself.
            “In for four, hold for seven, out for eight,” He coaches, his hands resting on my shoulders. I feel fourteen again, feeling a part of myself being ripped away, with him here to assess the damage.
            “What, what,” I begin to stutter and stumble over my words like I haven’t in months, panic mounting, “What happened to her?” I finally get out. “I talked to her yesterday,”
            “There was an assassination attempt at the gala. Nat and Steve went after the shooter.”
            “And?” I see him hesitating.
            “It was the Winter Soldier. He lured them into an old Hydra base.”
            “But she doesn’t remember anything. Why doesn’t she remember anything?” Is it some trauma response? Does she have a concussion?  
            “They had the machine for wipes.”
            “Like, blocks? They put up a block? That isn’t how they work,” I look back towards the hallway we just exited.
            “No, Wanda. A wipe.” I think of Yelena showing young Nat a dinner roll, taking a bite first. A wipe.
            “She will be okay,” Yelena appears almost silently, sure of herself and shoulders back. “It happened when we were in Red Room, the Red Room.”
            “You can remind her,” I wipe roughly at my tear tracks.
            “Yes. I sit with her for few hours, and everything will be okay.”
            “Oh.” I feel my panic dimming, my powers receding somewhere within.
            “If you had stayed instead of running off,” Yelena starts to scold.
            “Sorry,” I duck my head. I just caused everyone, Nat included, unnecessary pain.
            “Why don’t we head to my floor while Yelena talks with Nat? Laura is making lunch.” I nod, biting my cheeks. Steve is no longer on the floor, and I wonder if he is dealing with the public fallout of all this. The Winter Soldier attacking people in D.C. would be all over the news. And Steve must be confronting the Bucky of it all.  
            The elevator doors open up to the floor and there are kids racing around. Nicole is crawling across the floor at rapid speed, chasing after Nate who is wearing a cape. Lila and Cooper are playing catch with a foam baseball, while I can see Laura in the back trying to make lunch and parent.
            However, the two oldest kids and Laura stop when they see us emerging from the elevator.
            “How is Nat?” She rushes over, drying her hands on a dishtowel.
            “Yelena’s with her now,”
            “Is she hurt?” Cooper asks.
            “Hurt her head, but Yelena should be able to help.” Clint assures. Lila crosses her arms.
            “I could use your expertise in the kitchen, Wanda. Care to help prepare lunch?”
            “Sure,” I follow Laura into the kitchen where she looks to have been kneading bread.
            “You get on that, while I prepare the patties. I thought homemade hamburger buns could make this a little better.” I knead the dough, moving back and forth.
            “I saw her,”
            “You did?”
            “I wasn’t supposed to, I ran off. And it was horrible.” I meet Laura’s eyes, looking up from the dough. “It was like Nat was there, but wasn’t. Her body is there, her voice, but she isn’t. And what if Yelena can’t make her remember? What if,” the heel of my hand presses into the dough, “What if she is gone forever? What if Nat doesn’t exist anymore? Then what happens to me? If she’s gone,” I take a deep breath, “What if the person in her place doesn’t want me?” She can’t be my daughter. Her words echo in my head.
            “Its going to be okay,” Laura wraps her arms around me. “She will always come back to you, Wanda. Nothing, not time, space, life, nor death, could keep her from you.”
            My throat feels tight.
            “Oh, sweetheart, its okay,” She brushes my hair with her hand, “Its okay to be scared, it means you care, that you love her. For now, all we can do is wait. And I wish there was more I could offer you, but Yelena is going to do everything she can. Natasha will always come back for you, Wanda. What is it that she says?”
            “It’s her and me,”
            “Exactly.” Laura pulls back and looks at me.  
            “I think I got tears on your dough.”
            “I forgot to add salt to it anyways,” She places it in a bowl and covers it.
            I sit with the family as we have turkey and cheese sandwiches for lunch. Nicole gnaws on bread, and somehow the infant is on the cusp of being a toddler.
            “Lila had her hearing appointment yesterday,” Clint starts, “Tony sat in as well.” I look over to Lila, who is staring straight down at her lunch, purposely avoiding eye contact. “We should have a surgery date in a week or two. Likely sometime this fall.”
            “Lila,” I tap in front of her plate to get her attention, “Are you trying out for Clara this year?” I ask her. She brightens up, sailing into a story about ballet. One that leaves Cooper groaning and trying to cut in until he can finally share his baseball story.
            After lunch, Clint heads back downstairs, promising to give me any updates. Steve stops by, clearly coming from a press conference with his hair slicked back. I haven’t checked the news once and I have no plans to.
            He holds up a chessboard and bag of game pieces. We play at the kitchen counter while the kids are in the playroom, jumping on a trampoline. The plans of going to the Central Park Zoo today were scrapped.  
            Steve’s phone pings just as we setup our second game, and he flips over the device.  
            “I’m going to go check on Nat, I’ll be back up soon.” He leaves the board, our pieces poised to move.
            “How does a cup of chamomile sound?” Laura offers, already having a mug ready.
            “I’m going to go get changed, I’ve been in these clothes all day,” I finish the mug of tea and set it down in the sink. “I’m okay, Laura. Really. Thank you.” I see her considering following me down. “I promise I won’t go back to the medical floor. I’ll be back here in fifteen minutes.”
            “I’m holding you to that, Wanda.” I nod get in the elevator, just pressing a button rather than sending a request to Friday. It is odd, for the doors to open up to our apartment here, so unlike at home. Nat is so focused on security, she would never allow it.
            I begin to head to my room when I hear gunshots going off in rapid succession. My heart soars, hoping it is Natasha blowing of steam or frustration before coming to see me. Feeling guilty. That is what she does, she avoids. But she has no reason to feel guilty. I flash the lights outside the firing range and open the door. Instead, I see Yelena. She throws her headphones at the ground.
            “Lena?” I caution, my throat getting tight.
            “Hey,” Her voice is rough, catching. I should have known. Nat would be throwing knives.
            “What happened?”
            “They hurt her, so much. I try and I try. I got her out in time. I did it. And now,” She leans against the wall, her head tilted up towards the ceiling in some kind of silent plea.
            “You couldn’t,”
            “Nothing, not even the courtyard. Always easy. Nothing. Not me. Not you.” It feels like a knife to the stomach.
            “She must remember something,”
            “I need a drink.” She goes to brush by me and I grab her wrist.
            “No, you have to go back down there. You need to make her remember,” Yelena shakes me off.
            “That isn’t how it works. I try, I do it. I do everything that I can. I talk and talk, and nothing. No lightbulb. No spark. Nothing. Like I was telling someone else’s story. Not ours.”
            “Yelena, please,” I follow her into the living room. “You have to go help her, you said you could help,”
            “I can pour you a shot but I am useless otherwise,” She holds up a bottle of vodka. “I had one job. I got her out. I got her out!” She slams the bottle down on the coffee table too hard, and it shatters, glass and liquor spraying everywhere. She doesn’t react, just staring at the mess. “I got her out,” her voice drops to a whisper.
            “Maybe I can,”
            “No.” Yelena looks up, her eyes fiery, a stark contrast to the despondence just moments ago. “Natasha was very clear. She does not want you in head or try to fix anything unless is to put up blocks.”
            “But,”
            “No. She said no and I say no.”
            “You are being cruel,” My lips pinch.
            “You are being,” Yelena starts to fire back and then cuts herself off, sighing. “I’m sorry. I will make us something to eat. Mac and cheese, maybe.” I don’t tell her I had lunch with the Barton’s only two hours ago.
            “What about the vodka and glass?” I say instead, looking at the liquid, dripping off the table and onto the cold floors.
            “That is later’s problem. We change into comfy clothes.”
            “Laura has homemade bread resting upstairs,”
            “That is good, we will do that.” She turns, heading towards her room. I go over to the coffee table and wave a hand above the mess. The bottle is whole once more, liquor and all.
            Clint skips dinner, instead making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich to take down to Nat. Laura insists on a cup of tea as well, and Lila picks out the mug, one with a black widow spider. Have they told her? Do the kids know that their aunt has no idea who they are? Who she is?
            “Wanda, can you please pass the ketchup?” Cooper asks, looking at me expectantly. By the look on his face, this is at least the second time he has asked. I hand over the bottle for his burger.  
            “What do you all think about a family game night?” Laura prompts.
            “Movie?” Cooper asks instead.
            “You guys have been getting enough screen time, this is good bonding time.”
            “Just not Monopoly,” Yelena grumbles, signing sloppily as well.
            “Why not?” Lila demands.
            “You and Wanda form a duopoly and clean rest of us out,” She moans dramatically, getting a laugh out of the two middle Hawklings. But her heart isn’t truly in it, like it is elsewhere. A few floors below, just like mine.
            With Nate and Nicole in bed, we play a few rounds of Uno. Cooper tries to reach out a few times with his thoughts but I ignore them, not wanting to answer questions or think about any of it. I bow out after the third round of the card game, heading to bed down in our apartment, with Yelena following. I lie there, staring up at the ceiling. There are no stars on this one. Nat hasn’t had the chance to actually personalize any of this. We only know the floor plans from what Tony sent. I’m sure the assumption was that we would never be here. It isn’t like the compound, which was a few hours from home. This is only a few blocks.
            But maybe it will be like those old movies, where she goes to sleep and wakes up with her memory back. Like a TV show, when the program ends everything is back to normal, nothing ever happened. Tomorrow, Nat will wake me up with a cup of coffee. She’ll ask if I want to train or maybe go on a daytrip. We’ll head back to the apartment and feed Liho, read in the library. This will all be a memory, one hopefully, that can be easily forgotten.
            I toss and turn most of the night, being jolted awake by nightmares. Nat’s words continue to repeat in my head, She can’t be my daughter. Around three, my bedroom door cracks open and Yelena slips in. She slides into my bed and wraps her arm around my shoulders, holding me tight. It is only then that I am able to get some sleep.

            Yelena is gone when I wake in the morning, and I know if I were to say anything to her about last night, she would get flustered and uncomfortable. If Nat were to have an intolerance to emotions, Yelena has an allergy.
            My aunt is in the kitchen as I exit my room. She has a carafe of coffee brewing.
            “Any updates on Nat?” I ask, leaning my crutches against the counter and climbing up onto a barstool.
            “She’s still asleep.” I look over at the clock, it is nearly eight.
            “Is she feeling okay?”
            “Dr. Fine said her vitals are normal. Didn’t try to escape either.” Yelena slides me a cup of coffee, there is a touch too much cream. But I drink it without complaint. My thoughts keep drifting back to Nat. She hasn’t woken up yet. There is still the chance something came back when she was sleep. Something, anything. Even if it just the courtyard with Yelena, that would be enough. A sign that she’s still in there. “We are doing family breakfast in penthouse. Get dressed.” This is not so much of an invitation but a demand.
            I finish my coffee and get ready, wanting nothing more than to climb back into bed and ignore everything and everyone until Nat is better.
            “Wanda, hurry up! We wait on you.” Great, no pressure. But I’m sure pressure is entirely the point. Yelena is in workout gear when I come out and her face is devoid of emotion again. At least I’m not alone.
            The penthouse is bustling with people when the doors open. Besides the Barton’s, a majority of the team and family have also arrived. The Stark’s, Peter, Maria, Sam, and Thor are milling about. Steve and Clint are notably absent.
            “I will be back in few.” Minutes? Hours? Days? So much for not being alone. Yelena disappears back down the elevator, and Laura sweeps in. Like I am being passed around to different babysitters. Not that I blame them. I don’t have the best track record.
            “Wanda, how about some scrambled eggs? We have fruit salad too, extra strawberries,” She guides me towards the buffet style spread of food. Tony nods to me from the other side of the counter, mimosa in hand.
            “We are playing air hockey, do you want to play?” Cooper asks, finishing up his breakfast at the large dining table. It reminds me of the one in the apartment.
            “No thanks,” I sit down, staring at the food. I have zero appetite.  Why are Clint, Steve, and Yelena meeting without me? And Fury isn’t up here either. Is he down there with them? Is anyone hunting for the Winter Soldier? I look up and see Sam gearing up to approach. “Actually, yeah, air hockey sounds great.
            Cooper lights up and I abandon my food, following him. Lila and Morgan are involved in a game. Laura finds us, this time handing me a toasted bagel with cream cheese and a strong stare before departing. Peter joins us, sitting down between Cooper and I as we wait for the girls’ game to finish.
            “How are you doing?”
            “I’ll be better once I know what is going on.” I reply, ripping a piece of the doughy bread. But, I’ll probably only be doing better if it is good news. Peter joins Cooper’s air hockey game instead when he sees my less than enthusiastic rise from the couch. I sit back down and Morgan races off to find her parents. Lila, however, sits down next to me, and rests her head on my arm. I want to cry again, but I can’t. And I should. I feel like crying. The tears are right there, but none come.
            It is ten o’clock when Yelena returns to the penthouse. She offers a fake, weak, smile as the kids race to greet her. Laura pries them off and I walk over to her, the bagel sits like lead in my stomach.
            “We need to talk.” I follow her down to the medical floor and into Dr. Fine’s office. Steve is standing by the window while Clint sits in a chair, leaning forward on his elbows. I’m offered the seat next to Clint, which he tries to give up for Yelena but the young widow doesn’t take it, instead standing next to Dr. Fines’ desk. I notice he isn’t wearing his white coat; it has been shoved to the side, thrown on a file cabinet.
            “Wanda,” the doctor begins, he looks briefly to Yelena, “I’m afraid I have some bad news,”
            It is like I’m underwater. My head shoved under and I’m struggling to breathe. Everything is dulled and painful and then I feel a hand wrap around mine. It squeezes once, and pulls me to the surface. But I realize quickly that it is not the hand I had hoped it was. It’s Yelena, crouched in front of me.
            “Have some water,” She hands me a bottle, the cap unscrewed. I take a shakily take a sip. “You good?” She rises up.
             “As of yet, Natasha shows no signs of regaining her memory. Based on Yelena’s accounts, this exceeds the number of hours for her to recall anything by almost a full day.”
            “But it is still early. She could remember something.”
            “Wanda, we want to prepare you that this could be a longer process than expected. And there is also the possibility,”
             “I don’t want you to say that,” I shake my head, “Please don’t say what you are going to say.” Fine hesitates, “Let me go in and get her memories, I can retrieve them or something, like how I can put up blocks. I can bring her back,”
            “No.” Yelena crosses her arms, “We already had this conversation.”
             “Steve, Clint,” I ask the two men.
            “Yelena is medical proxy she gets final say,” Steve turns back from the window to look at us.
            “And I agree with her.” Clint’s admission shocks me. This is the man who had me crawl into her brain all those years ago to bring her back. Who has forced me into his own head. Who has had so few boundaries around what to do to protect or save Natasha.
            “You don’t want her remembering the five years you abandoned her?” I snap. Clint takes it in stride, not even flinching.
            “I think we should respect Natasha’s wishes. She has made it very clear on multiple occasions that she does not want you in her head, even has it written in her medical directives. She made Yelena her proxy instead of me because she doesn’t think I would be objective enough to say no.”
            “We can’t act against her explicit wishes,” Dr. Fine adds.
            “But, she wouldn’t have known this would happen! She couldn’t have,”
            “She knew there was a possibility of something similar, of some occasion where you might need to, want to, step in. And she doesn’t want you to go through that. Or her.”
            “But I can help!” I cry, and the glass panel by Steve spiders, cracks appearing. He steps back from the window. “I want my mom, I want Nat,”
            “I know,”
            “No! You don’t know, she is right there, down the hall. I can bring her back, I don’t even need your permissions, I can just,”
            “You won’t.” Yelena calmly interrupts.
            “I, what?”
            “You won’t. Because as much as you would like to, you won’t go against Natasha’s wishes either, not without permission from someone who can change that.”
            “This isn’t right. You could let me; you can let me.”
            “I’m sorry Wanda. The four of us are in agreeance,” Dr. Fine takes off his glasses, cleaning them.  
            My mom has died all over again.
            “We can go see her,” Yelena offers, her tone softer. “She is still Tasha,”
            She can’t be my daughter. Is this some kind of joke?
            “I,” They stare at me expectantly. “I’m going to go lie down.” I push back the chair and rush out of the room, slamming the door shut behind me. The elevator is waiting and I step inside, my knees starting to knock together. When the lift finally arrives at the apartment, I stumble out, landing hard on the floor. My palms press against the stone, and I sob, no sound able to come out, air struggling to reach my lungs.
            “Wanda,” Yelena’s hand lands on my shoulder, “I know you are upset. At least cry on couch or bed, the floor is uncomfortable and you are tripping hazard.” I look up, glaring. “Better. Come,” She pulls me up by my arms and directs me towards the sofa. I sit down, pulling my legs to my chest, my back against the armrest. Yelena mirrors me, our feet nearly touching.
            “She’s gone.”
            “No, she is downstairs.”
            “I don’t understand,”
            “You ever read Natasha’s red book?”
            “She kept an actual ledger?” I always assumed it was metaphorical.
            “No, her red book, from the Red Room. It is a childhood notebook. Natasha put info about Red Room in there. She showed me one night at Barton Farm, Laura keeps it for her.”
            “That’s how Bruce learned to do the blocks,”
            “Da. But have you read book?”
            “No.”
            “Before we burnt down the Red Room, we read files and explanations of everything. Learn about us. Natasha wrote it down in this little notebook. Is how we learned more about serum, more about blocks, wipes.”
            “She wrote about this?”
            “She came up with explanation, one I am not going to do as good of job explaining. Memory is neurons and synapses. Synapses are like bridges. The more the bridges are used, more they are fortified to stop from breaking down. The blocks are like roadblocks. Backtrack to before the bridge and find a new route. A wipe is burning all bridges. In her theory, memories are still there, but no way to access them.”
            “How does this help?”
            “Understanding something makes it seem not so scary.”
            “I don’t feel any better.”
            “You should go see her again. New bridges are being built, and she will remember this.” Yelena gets up from the couch, leaving me alone in the apartment.
            I stare at my phone in my hand, the lock screen is me and Nat, sitting on a bench at the Harvard campus during move-in day. She interacted with other parents like she wasn’t a superhero or one of the most famous people in the world. She even went into the room beside me to help loft the girl’s bed. And now, the woman downstairs doesn’t remember any of that. Or any of me.
            I get up from the couch and change into jeans and a blouse, then head for the elevator. My warped reflection stares back at my on the metal doors. I press the button, not having the courage to even speak to Friday. It would be nice if these things still played music as they did in Steve’s day, at least to just allow my mind to focus on something else.

            The doors slide open and I step out, pulling on my baseball cap. I turn, walking past the Avengers’ Museum and completely avoiding the front entrance. The back entrance is blessedly quiet, save for a security guard eating Doritos on his break. I give him a quick nod and keep walking, disappearing into the crowds of New York City.
            There’s a surge of thoughts that I block out as I walk through the streets, until I am meeting the familiar face of Albert. He greets me warmly and I step into our lobby. I just want to be home.
            Liho weaves between my legs as I enter our front hallway. It smells like home, like rosewater, clean laundry, and chamomile.
            My feet carry me to the library, and the cat jumps up onto a windowsill, basking in the sunlight. I sink into my armchair and Nat’s absence is felt like a vacuum. I don’t even know why I am here. Why did I even leave the tower?
            But right now, sitting here, I can feel as though everything is normal. Nat and Steve are going to come home from the conference in D.C. They will have food from the diner with them, and some story about a foreign dignitary. After eating, we’d retreat to the library and get lost in books and mugs of tea. Instead, the house remains quiet, still. No one is coming. Nat is not coming.
            Liho sits up in the windowsill, jumping down and racing towards the front door. I follow, and hear the sound of locks clicking, all six. Yelena, likely here to collect me. To scold me for leaving without telling anyone where I was going. Instead, I am face to face with Clint. We stare at each other for a moment, neither moving.
            “What are you doing here, Wanda?”
            “I live here, why are you here?” I retort, crossing my arms.
            “Came to get Nat a change of clothes, assuming you are here to get some fresh clothes as well?” He is giving me an out, he fully knows that is not why I am here.
            “Yeah.”
            “Great, we can ride back together. Is ten minutes good?” I nod and go to my room. The book I was reading before we left for the UK, Little Women, sits on my bedside table. It is one I read when I was a kid in Sokovia. I had hoped to bring Nat to the Alcott’s Orchard House when she came to visit around Thanksgiving. The universe had other plans.
            With my duffle being already at the tower, I pull down a backpack and shove some clothes in, as well as some spare socks for my leg. I also head back to the library and grab another Tolstoy novel for Nat, which doubles the weight of the backpack.
            “Ready?” Clint calls.
            “How is she?” I ask as we get into Nat’s SUV.
            “Asking for you,” he starts the car, “She wants to apologize. She didn’t mean to hurt you, Wanda. She is overwhelmed and scared.”
            “So, she believes you now?” I can’t keep the contempt from bleeding into my voice.
            “That’s not fair,” he pulls out of the garage.
            “She said I can’t be hers.”
            “She thought she was twenty-five, she meant physically.” Oh. I cross my arms. Clint’s phone starts to ring, popping up on the dashboard computer, Yelena’s name and a picture of her filling the space. “Hey Yel-”
            “Wanda is missing. I am going to hack her phone. We will need to,”
            “I’m with Clint.” I interrupt her. There is a flurry of Russian swears.
            “I come to bring you a coffee and you were gone, not in the tower. There was video of you leaving. I am in the middle of interrogating Dorito Fingers.”
            “She was grabbing spare clothes.”
            “Did you at least get some for me?” She sighs, exasperated. We both forgot to get clothes for Yelena, the lengthy pause answers for her.
            “Fine, fine. I will buy more with Tony’s black card. And buy Dorito Fingers an apology card.”
            “No wonder Happy has trouble keeping security staffed,” Clint ends the call. “Will you please come see her again, Wanda? Even if it is just to drop off lunch today?”
             I stare down at my hands and let a few red tendrils flow out before they die off.
            “Does she know what I am?”
            “We thought you would want to be the one to tell her and show her.” What if I scare her? What if I disgust her? What if she doesn’t want me?
            “I’ll bring down her lunch.” I agree reluctantly as we approach Avengers Tower.  “How much longer are you going to keep her on the medical floor?”
            “Just until this afternoon. I’m thinking maybe we should all head out to the farm,”
            “Why?” I sit up straighter, I just want to be home, in my bed. Try to find some kind of normalcy. Though, I guess that would be kind of hard with a woman who does not even know me sleeping across the hall.
            “New York City isn’t the best place for Nat to recover, there are paparazzi and fans. It would be overwhelming. It isn’t like we can keep her locked in the tower or your apartment.”
            “What does Yelena think of this plan?”
            “It was her idea. We’ll be picking up Liho before we go.” We pull into the underground parking for the tower, and the number climb higher as we get to Clint’s floor.
            “You,” Yelena glares at me.
            “I was checking on the cat and getting a change of clothes,” Her eyes narrow.
            “We are having salmon with orzo and cucumber salad for lunch,” Laura intercepts.
            “Can Auntie Nat come eat with us?” Cooper asks. Clint looks at Laura and then to me and Yelena.
            “I can see if she is feeling up to it,” Yelena hesitantly offers. She disappears into the elevator and Lila begins to set another place at the table, filling to table for eight.
            “I’ll grab the salad,” I offer, trying to feel useful. Laura is in step beside me as she picks up the fish and pasta salad.
            “Auntie Nat!” Nate’s little voice rings out. Laura hurries out of the kitchen and places the food on the dining table, I follow behind a little slower, my stomach churning. Natasha, or Not-Natasha, is bent down in front of the toddler. Her red hair is up in a ponytail and she wears cutoffs with an oversized white button down. She looks like Nat. As she rises from her crouch, she pushes a loch of hair that escaped the pony behind her ear.
            “Natasha, I’m Laura,” she mother of four heads closer to the elevators, extending her hand.
            “It’s nice to meet you, or I guess meet you again,” She smiles, and it crinkles around her eyes. Cooper and Lila are hanging back by me, seemingly also unsure about everything. The woman’s gaze travels past Laura’s shoulder to where the three of us stand. She bites her lip. Clint nods to his two eldest kids.
            “Hi Auntie Nat,” Lila starts, a brief slip of surprise passes her face at Lila’s signing, but she immediately signs back with a hello, “I’m Lila,”
            “I’m Cooper,” he lacks the confidence of his sister, almost as putt off by all of this as I am.
            “It’s nice to meet you both.” She turns to me.
            “Wanda,” I don’t move any closer, not meeting her halfway, and she hesitates. Laura watches this interaction and interrupts.
            “Let’s have lunch before it gets cold.”
            “I’m starved,” Clint agrees. Everyone fills in the table, and I notice that I am sat at her right, like how I sat next to Nat. Every other spot at the table is full. Reluctantly, I sit down. I try not to look at her, focusing instead on Lila on my other side. She happily laps up the attention, thrilled to tell me about her visit to the American Girl Store.
            “So, Nat, how are you doing?” Laura asks.
            “Steve, Yelena, and Clint have been great. Thank you for letting me borrow your husband,” she jokes. “It is nice to get out of that room, I was starting to go stir crazy. Apparently, this is the longest I’ve ever lasted without trying to break out.”
            “I was named after you,” Nate declares, slamming his little hands on the table.
            “Well, then, I am very lucky to have such a great eponym.”
            “You hear that, Cooper? I’m an epo-myn,” he declares to his older brother.
            “Wanda, how was Liho doing when you went home?” Yelena asks pointedly from across the table.
            “Fine,” I take a bite of my fish to avoid having to say anything else.
            “Our house is only a few blocks from here, correct?”
            “We can go after lunch if you want, pack bag for farm,”
            The rest of lunch is filled with conversations from Lila and Nate, who were happy to talk to this not-Nat about themselves. Laura insists that she can clear the table and do dishes when I try to help, insisting that I go to the apartment.
            Which is how for the second time in an hour, I am back in the SUV. This time, the backseat, as Yelena drives to the apartment. She, like Clint, bypasses the valet and goes to the underground garage. The three of us stand in the elevator, and I scroll through Instagram in an effort to avoid looking at either of the woman. When we get to our floor, she watches in fascination as Yelena undoes all six locks, and I know it would have been much faster for me to use my powers. But even as far as this woman is from my mom, I don’t want to see the look of horror on her face as she finds out what I am.
            We step inside and Liho greets us. She picks up the kitten, who purrs loudly, nuzzling into her neck.
            “I will give you a tour. I live downstairs.” Yelena shuts the door behind us. She shows first the den, and then the laundry room, powder room, kitchen, dining, living. “Do you want to see your bedroom?” Yelena asks. Nat, or almost-Nat, nods. I trail behind them as Yelena leads the way. She opens up the door, and inside the bed is made, the room washed with sunlight. I hover in the doorway as she shows her the closet and the bathroom. I wonder if she included the Black Widow suit in the tour of the closet. Unlikely.
            “We passed two other doors,”
            “The gym and Wanda’s room,” She wants to see them, I can tell. Instead, she nods.
            “This is your favorite room,” Yelena pushes open the library door. Not-Nat’s eyes widen and a smiles spreads across her face. Not the timid one that I have seen since lunch.
            “These are ours?”
            “Yours,” Yelena corrects. She zeroes in on the Russian literature titles first, and continues to look around.
            “Should we leave you alone?” Yelena teases.
            “I’m sorry,” She turns around, “I guess I like reading?”
            “Understatement of the century,” the younger widow jokes. Not-Nat looks at me and I feel a rush of panic.
            “Do you like to read?” I nod, pulling my sleeves over my hands. And I beg my powers to stay down, for my eyes not to glow. “What books?”
            “Classics,” I want to disappear into my room, but there is no way Yelena would allow that, or it would become a tour of my bedroom and bathroom. My bathroom. Has anyone told her that I am missing a leg? That I am beyond damaged? It is a miracle that Natasha wanted me, for this person in her place to want me, all of me, would be impossible odds.
            “Can we see the gym?” she asks, taking her attention off me.
            “Thought you’d never ask!” Yelena nearly bounds out of the library and down the hall. This room is much different than the library, and not-Nat’s reaction matches with interest rather than excitement.
            “This is quite the facility,”
            “Here,” Yelena hands her a sleeve of knives. I want to yell at her; that this Nat isn’t our Nat. But she turns them over in her hands and throws each knife with perfect precision. Her shoulders lower, relaxing. I can feel Yelena bursting with pride at her success.
            “I am guess I do this a lot?”
            “Your yoga,”
            “Clearly I am very balanced,” the older widow jokes, “Or at least my knives are.”
            “Wanda, show Tasha your room,”
            “I don’t want to impose, that is your space.” She insists. Yelena is staring at me. I just won’t show her the bathroom. It is fine. No big deal.
            “I can show you,” We go into the hallway and I open my bedroom door but don’t go in. It is organized, the bed made and dirty clothes in the hamper. She looks around without venturing in.
            “We need to pack you a bag, clothes for the farm.” The two of them head back to Nat’s room and I go into mine. I have some clothes there, though I would have grabbed more this morning had I known that was the plan. “Wanda, pack up Liho!” Yelena yells.
            I go to the laundry room and find the cat carrier. Packing Liho is easier said than done, usually that is Natasha’s job. I find the cat lounging on the couch and she sees me approaching with the bag, which means either the farm or the vet. Instantly, she is jumping off the couch and making a dash for the library, her preferred hiding area. I check quickly to make sure not-Nat won’t see and use my powers to secure the kitten, gently putting her into the carrier.
            “We are taking the quinjet, kids are excited.” Yelena rolls a suitcase behind her. “I think is their first time.”
            “It was interesting flying up in it. I’d love to get the blueprints for it,”
            “Fury would be happy to give to you. I’m sure you, me, and Stark could build a better one.” Yelena keeps talking to this person like she is our Nat. I don’t get it. This Nat has no connection to either of us, she could leave us at any moment without a second thought. “Let’s go, Cooper is hoping to make it to his baseball class tonight.” I wait to see if not-Nat will correct Yelena, but she doesn’t, her eyebrows just lift in amusement.
            The Barton’s are already packed when we arrive back to the tower. We don’t see anyone else except Steve by the landing pad, promising to be out in a few days. The kids are running around, checking out the different parts of our largest quinjet and I make a beeline towards my usual seat. Only to see almost-Nat sitting in Nat’s seat.
            “I’m sorry, am I in your seat?” she asks, starting to rise. I feel tears starting to come back and I’m not sure why. I shake my head and head towards the cockpit instead, surprising both Clint and Yelena as the discuss the course.
            “You want to copilot?”
            “Yeah, I don’t sit up here very often.” Yelena wants to confront me, but in this small space, anything said will be heard by all.
            “Wanda, if you just talked to her,” Clint signs as we ascend into the sky, everyone now settled into their seats. I turn away, looking at the clouds.
            The longer I avoid her, the longer we go without this Natasha meeting me, the longer I can pretend that she will still want me once she knows me. I’m a minor now, and she is my only parent. Where would I go? To live with Yelena, or on the farm? In the tower? Could the adoption be undone? She already rejected me without knowing me, once she finds out everything, I could hardly blame her.
 

Chapter Text

            When I wake, Clint is sitting in the chair at my bedside, dozing, his head propped up on his hand. I quietly get up, careful to not wake him, and head to the bathroom. A face that is becoming more familiar stares back at me. One who is inexplicably almost forty, but would likely be carded at any bar. My hair this sticky with hairspray from the updo, having not showered since I was found. I rock back on my heels as I wait for the shower to heat up, noticing now the heated floors. Despite being hot outside, the room has been chilly.
            I step into the shower and feel the shock of the steaming shower, alighting my senses. It feels amazing, cleansing. Obviously, though. It is its entire purpose. There are tiny shampoo and conditioner bottles like those found in hotels, and I squirt some of the former into my palm, and begin to lather, working my way back on my scalp. My fingers pause midway, feeling something out of place. I run my fingers over the section again, and feel a large scar across the back of my skull. Like my head had been split open. A shuttering breath exits my lungs and I continue with the shower. That, accompanied by the scar on my abdomen, does not give an indication of a peaceful life. Maybe the head wound is why I am having memory troubles? But unlikely, given that the scar is healed.
            I untangle my hair with the conditioner and wash my face and body before turning off the water and grabbing a towel. Its fluffy and warm. I slip back into my pajamas and wipe away the condensation on the mirror. This face, my face, still stares back at me. I stick out my tongue, and the woman in the mirror does the same. Close one eye, touch my nose. I lean in close, seeing every pore, every eyelash, the green eyes. I pull back and smile, showing two rows of perfect teeth, but immediately hide them. The smile, for some reason, reminds me of a predator. 
            “Nat, you in there?” Clint knocks.
            “Yes, just took a quick shower,” I open the door.
            “Steve is going to bring breakfast down,”
            “Okay,” I sit down on the bed, “When can I leave?”
            “Today, Fine just wants to run a few more tests, then you can meet my kids, Laura.”
            “I still don’t remember anything,” I admit, “I remember everything from yesterday though,” I tack on, hoping to give him some form of good news. He still looks disheartened. I walk across the room and realize my feet don’t hurt at all. In fact, they are completely healed. I hadn’t even noticed when I went to take a shower. “What,”
            “You heal quickly,”
            “That is a bit of an understatement. I’m guessing it has to do with the age slowing and the fact I could rip metal as well?” I deduce, exhaustion robbing the restfulness of my good night’s sleep. He nods, “So, like Captain America?”
            “Like Captain America,” He seems relieved that he doesn’t have to be the one to explain it. To explain that I am a super soldier. I want to panic, I think I should panic, but instead I am just relieved to finally have some kind of answer. “You okay?”
.           “Fine,”
            “So, you know who Captain America is?” Clint asks.
            “Steve Rogers, born July 4, 1918, son of Joseph and Sarah Rogers. He became Captain America in 1943 and performed on USO tours before launching a rescue mission against orders to save P.O.Ws. In 1945, Captain America died crashing the plane, Valkyrie, into the Arctic to save New York and dying.” I recite, the information readily available, “Though, he seems very much alive.”
            “Do you know Steve?” Clint asks.
            “Steve Rogers is Captain America,” I had just said this, perhaps this is what his socks meant by ‘Selective Hearing Specialist’.
            “But do you personally know Steve?”
            “No.” I cross my arms. “No, I don’t know him.”
            “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,”
            “Is Wanda here?”
            “She’s upstairs, probably at breakfast with everyone, with my kids”
            “How many kids do you have?”
            “Four,”
            “Four?”
            “I know,” He laughs, “Two boys and two girls. But we’re done. Laura made sure of it,”
            “So you and I, how did we meet?” Now that I know we were both adults when we met, if we met fifteen years ago.
            “You were in the United States for work,” he is avoiding some details, a lie of omission, “In Florida. And I was there too. We bumped into each other, and I asked if you wanted to join my company.”
            “You’re leave out a lot,” I comb through my hair.
            “I am, I’m just not sure,”
            “There are details I wouldn’t want to know?”
            “I think not ready for would be a better way to phrase it.”
            “My life, it hasn’t been easy, has it?” I look down at the teeth of the comb, running my finger along my points.
            “What makes you say that?”
            “The scars, the one on my stomach and the one of the back of my head.” He blanches when I mentioned the scar on my skull. So, that one is a source of pain for him. Likely more recent then. And given the rate that my feet healed, I wonder if it is more recent than I initially assessed.
            “You have not had an easy life, no.”
            “Hey, I brought breakfast,” Steve walks in with a plate of two muffins and a tray of coffee. “Sorry, is,”
            “Now is fine,” I assure him, rising from the bed to greet him. “Thank you,” He looks past me to Clint, “I haven’t remembered anything, if that is what you are wondering.”
            “How are you doing?” He looks almost as uncomfortable as Wanda was, being in here with me.
            “Fine, all things considered, but what happened?”
            “You were attacked, we told you that last night,” Clint interrupts, concern creeping into his voice.
            “No, no. I know that. But you were there, Steve. What happened? The details, why we were attacked, how?
            “We were at a dinner, and there was an assassination. We chased after the assassin at my insistence, but it was a trap.”
            “We chased after an assassin?” But we’re both super soldiers.
            “Its kind of our job,” He casts a desperate look at Clint, who looks at him passively.
            “Our job?”
            “This was my fault, all of it. I had the chance to save you, but I couldn’t kill him.”
            “At least you admit it,” Clint mutters disparagingly.
            “You know him? The killer?”
            “Yes, and so do you. He’s a part of both our pasts. Do you know about JFK’s death?”
            “On November 22^nd, 1963, JFK was assassinated in his motorcade in Dallas, Texas at 12:30 pm. Lee Harvey Oswald was arrested for the crime, but he was killed before he could be tried. Yet, this killing was not executed by Oswald, but rather by an assassin who is known by the alias of Winter Soldier.”
            “Do you know James Buchanen Barnes?”
            “The childhood friend of Captain America,” I pause, “Sorry, your childhood friend, who later on became a Howling Commando before dying in 1945 in a mission in which he fell from the train and died.”
            “Yes,”
            “I should have been gentler in my delivery.”
            “Bucky, he is the Winter Soldier.”
            “And this Winter Soldier, he was the one who did this to me? And how is my past connected to him?”
            “Tasha, did you have breakfast? If not, I can grab food from upstairs. I just talk to Fine and,” Yelena bursts into the room, her own coffee in hand. “What happened? You all look so serious.”
            “Tash has had some questions,”
            “What the fuck did you tell her?” Yelena’s happy-go-lucky demeanor immediately disappears. There are things to tell me that Yelena isn’t ready for me to hear yet.
            “Nothing, really. Not yet.”
            “We agree that I lead point on this,”
            “They weren’t just going to plead the fifth with my questions, Yelena. I just want to know what happened to me.”
            “But,”
            “How is my past connected to the Winter Soldier?” I ask the three of them.
            “He was teacher at our school,” Yelena says carefully.
            “An assassin was a teacher at our school?” She throws desperate glances to Steve and Clint.
            “Can we please drop it for now? Please?” She asks, but I have nothing but questions swimming in my head. Given the desperation in Yelena voice and eyes, I oblige. For now.
            “Is Wanda going to come visit?”
            “Maybe later, she is hanging out with the other kids right now.” Yelena dodges another question, “Do you remember anything? Like anything, smallest thing?”
            “I’m sorry,” I apologize. There is a knock on the frame of the open door, Dr. Fine is waiting with a tablet.
            “Good morning, Natasha. Do you mind sitting in for a few more tests?” Honestly, it beats sitting in this room.
            I walk barefoot down the hall, following Fine. The three others walk with us, and I lie down on bed that leads into a tube.
            “This is a PET scan for me to view your brain activity, I am going to play certain sounds or show you pictures on the screen. All you need to do is lie there, okay? Your brain will do the rest. Please lie completely still,”
            “Okay,” I look over and see Clint, Steve, and Yelena waiting on the other side of a window. I slide in and hear the whirring of the machine. Above my head, a screen flickers on, doing a countdown. There is an image of a cat, then a ballerina. A design of an ‘A’, followed by a sportscar. A black widow spider. A bouquet of honeysuckle. The poster for the Disney movie Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. A picture of a little girl with brown hair in two braids. A birthday cake with candles. It is an entirely random assortment of photos. A song starts to play on the speakers, it is melodic and slow. You were only waiting for this moment to arrive. Its beautiful. There are a few more photos, a red leather jacket, and photos of different cities and monuments around the world.
            Finally, the screen goes black and I slide back out. The machine has gone quiet, and I wait for them to come back in. They are speaking to each other in the sound proof booth. Finally, the door opens.
            “Let’s head down to my office,” Dr. Fine offers. My three companions, friends possibly, do not look me in the eye. I failed this test. The office Berber carpet is rough on my feet. There is only one entrance and exit to this office, and it looks like the windows don’t open, however, even if they did, it is a long way down to the street. Above the printer is a vent, likely leading to the rest of the tower. My desire for this information unnerves me.
            “Natasha, sit down,” I quickly do as I am told, the floor stiff and lacking carpet padding. There is a sharp intake of breaths around me. I have done something wrong. Clint looks as though he is going to cry. Yelena won’t look at me at all. 
            “Nat, its okay, why don’t you come sit in a chair?” A chair. Right. That would make sense. My chest feels tight. Why the hell did I sit on the floor? He said sit, but didn’t say where. I assumed right then and there. “You know,” Steve adds, “You were asking about our job. Technically, Fine works for you.”
            “He,” A doctor works for me?
            “Yes, you and I are co-bosses here. We manage a whole team,”
            “I’m sorry, Natasha. I didn’t think,” Dr. Fine begins, but trails off. This has happened before, or at least something similar. What am I?
            “Why did I do that?” I ask. There must be an explanation, a reasonable explanation.
            “It is side effect from attack.” Yelena speaks up. “Damage to your limbic system.” I look back to Dr. Fine for confirmation.
            “But I feel okay,”
            “You are perfectly healthy,” the doctor assures. “Your neurons are all firing normally. Brain activity is healthy.”
            “But?”
            “But the parts of the brain that we expected to light up for the different photos given your association to them, did not.”
            “There was no recognition, not even in my subconscious?” I was hoping a part of me would know them all.
            “I’m sorry, Natasha.”
            “You said this happened before,” I get up from the chair, turning to Yelena. She takes a step back.
            “Yes,”
            “Well, how did you get my memories back then?”
            “What I did yesterday, just talking to you. Everything would be back within few hours,”
            “But it has been two days, pozhaluysta,” Please. Whatever that sitting thing was, I don’t want anyone to look at me like that again. This sad pity. The feeling of helplessness.
            “Tony is going to reach out to some trusted neuroscientists, but for now, the best I can offer is the recommendation that you try to live life normally and that things may eventually come back.”
            “Who is Tony?”
            “We need to make you a PowerPoint or something,” Clint half-jokes.
            “I want to go back to my room,”
            “Of course,” I get up and head down the hall, going into my room and closing the door behind me before the others can enter. None of this makes sense. Its exhausting. I still don’t have a phone; all answers are only half-truths. How did I end in in situations as a child where this would occur? Why was an assassin teaching at a boarding school?
            But Yelena and I are both super soldiers. It is entirely possible that this wasn’t a normal boarding school. What life have I stepped into?  
            There is a knock at the door and I am extremely tempted to tell the person to go away, but a part of me hopes it is Wanda, so I can finally apologize. Instead, I am face to face with Steve.
            “This is a lot, and its my fault.”
            “Because you couldn’t kill your best friend?”
            “My best friend has been dead for years, instead I let him,” Steve looks down at me. “I’m sorry, Natasha. Friday is running a search for him on every camera in the world, we are going to find him.”
            “I can’t blame you for not wanting to kill him.”
            “If you were in that situation, you wouldn’t have missed. You would have done what needed to be done.” It is supposed to be a compliment, but I take it in a rather different way. Was I really so ruthless? So, calculating?
            “Steve, what am I?”
            “You’re a hero.”

            Dr. Fine returns to the room before Steve can elaborate further, wanting to go over discharge information. The super soldier takes this moment to leave the room. Fine asks for me to report to him an headaches, nausea, or irregular heartbeat. Changes in vision, tinnitus. Any return of any memories, even the smallest thing.
            “We should have you out of here in a few hours, just waiting for a few more test results, but I think we will be good to go.”
            How is it I have only been here for just over 24 hours?
            Yelena comes in again, only briefly, to check in on how I am doing. Something has changed in her since the incident in the office. I think I have embarrassed her.
 

           She leaves shortly after, and then Clint arrives with a change of clothes for discharge and I pull my hair into a ponytail. Then he leaves again.
            The girl, Wanda, is still yet to return. I still don’t have a phone. So little information on the people around me has been shared, except for perhaps too much from Yelena in some categories. But even then, it wasn’t actionable information. Nothing that would tip me off to what is actually going on, what kind of attack from the Winter Soldier could cause this. How the age gap between my sister and I grew, how I became a super soldier, and how Steve is Captain America and still this young.
            I tie my sneakers a get up from the chair, heading into the hallway. The unknowns are threatening to overwhelm me, and the only way to fix that is to make them known. I walk towards Dr. Fine’s office, where a computer is waiting, likely with internet access. Maybe I can find out more about me, about the people I am with, or my elusive daughter. I walk down the hall like I have a purpose, hoping no one questions me.
            “Tasha?” I bite back a sigh of frustration and turn around. Yelena crosses her arms, looking amused, “Making break for it?”
            “Depends,” I hedge
            “Do you want to come have lunch with our family?”
            “Wanda? I ask hopefully. Maybe I will be able to talk to her, to apologize.
            “Da, and Clint’s wife and children.”
            “I’d love that,” I tell her truthfully.
            “Good, we can go.”
            “Now?” I hesitate, what if I say the wrong thing? Do the wrong thing like in the office? If this scares them? How old are the kids? What are their names? Why hasn’t anyone told me something so basic?
            “It is lunchtime, they are upstairs. Let’s go,” I follow her towards the elevator and stand up straighter, pushing my shoulders back. “It isn’t your last meal, this isn’t an execution, cheer up a little.”
            “Wanda, she loved me, right? Was I a good mother?” I ask as the floors tick higher.
            “She thinks you hang stars in the sky. You love her so much; you bought her one. You’re a good mother.”
            “Thank you.”
            A bell dings and we step out onto the floor. I barely have time to take in the space when a small body crashes into my legs.
            “Auntie Nat!” A little boy squeals. He tries to begin to climb me and I bend down to his level. Pure joy radiates off him and I can’t help but reflect the same back.
            “Hi little man, what’s your name?”
            “It’s me, Nate!” He informs me, pointing at his chest. “I got bigger, but still me.” I notice a crowd gathering and rise from the floor. A woman and two older children approach, and Wanda stands behind them.
            “Natasha, I’m Laura,” The woman approaches, offering her hand. I feel as though she wants to hug me, but I accept the handshake. Her eyes are kind.
            “It’s nice to meet you,” Though she already knows me, “Or I guess meet you again,” I try to correct, hiding my discomfort with a smile, careful not to show my teeth after the predatory grin I saw in the bathroom this morning. My eyes find Wanda again, who is yet to come closer, but the two children do.
            “Hi Auntie Nat,” The girl signs, spelling out Nat. Clint didn’t tell me that his daughter is deaf, perhaps he thought we had time before we met.
            “Hello,”
            “I’m Lila,” She informs me confidently, finger spelling her name.
            “I’m Cooper,” the boy adds, staying a step behind his younger sister.
            “It’s nice to meet you both,” my gaze travels to my daughter, who hasn’t moved despite the rest of us moving closer to the center of the room.
            “Wanda,” Yelena starts to scold. I hesitate, unsure how to approach her.
            “Let’s have lunch before it gets cold,” Laura saves us from the interaction.
            “I’m starved,” Clint agrees, and the statement seems to release everyone as they crowd around the dining table. I’m not sure where to sit, are there assigned seats? There is a seat open next to Yelena, and I take it.  Wanda is the only one not at the table yet, and the last open seat is next to me. I didn’t mean to force her hand like this. She scarcely looks at me, and I try to join in the conversation. I somehow end up agreeing to go to my house and pack a bag to visit Clint’s farm.
            “Auntie Nat, tell the story about the art and the mustache,” The little boy, Nate, requests. I look around the table for help, unsure how to explain the toddler I have no clue what he’s talking about.
            “So, I was texting Peter and we were thinking about working together remotely on a project this summer,” The older boy, Cooper, speaks up and changes the conversation. I hold back a sigh of relief and see Clint staring at me, looking sad. He looks down, embarrassed to be caught.
            Finally, I am getting out of this tower. Despite the thrill of seeing more of my world, I’m hit with apprehension. What if I don’t like my home? Or if something goes wrong? We run into more people I’m supposed to know?
            I climb into the passenger door of a black SUV with tinted windows. My jean shorts slide against the smooth leather seats. Music starts playing as the car powers on, and Yelena instantly goes to silence it. Wanda says nothing from the back seat.
            When I try to roll down the window, Yelena puts it right back up. My look to her for explanation is met with a tight smile.
            “Trust me, you want to keep it up.” So, through the darkened window I try to take in as much of New York City as I can, despite the short drive. We pull up to a building on a corner, facing Central Park. Yelena goes around to the side, acknowledging the valet with a polite wave, and pulls around to the side where a garage door opens, leading to another underground parking garage. Somehow, I managed to go from one tower to another without a lick of fresh air.
            In the elevator, Wanda scrolls obsessively through her phone, an item I am, still, yet to be given, and the numbers continue to tick up until we reach the top floor. It opens up to a hallway with only three doors: one for roof access, one labelled for utilities, and one that is clearly an apartment door. I almost laugh at the six locks the blonde needs to undo to get into the apartment. But then I realize this is my house, and I likely had them installed. Something happened that made me want that many locks on my door. She twists the knob and we enter, a small black kitten greets us, Liho. Yelena had mentioned her previously, and again at lunch. The cat rushes to me, and I pick her up, her whole body vibrating with purrs and nuzzling against me.
            “I will give you a tour. I live downstairs,” I’m informed, as the door closes behind me. The apartment is huge, especially for New York. To my right is what looks to be a den, and to my left another hallway. Straight ahead, looks to be a living room. “I lived in here when I first moved to the city, on a pullout couch. You could have at least bought me a real bed.”
            “I’m sorry,”
            “Is a joke, Tasha. My arrival was unexpected. Come on, more to see,” I’m shown a bathroom and laundry room, then a kitchen. It is a chef’s kitchen, top of the line. I must love to cook if I had this put in. There is a huge dining table, and a cozy living room. Wanda follows along with the tour, a beat behind. She brings me to the bedroom next. There is a king-sized bed and a sitting area. A walk-in closet, and a bathroom with a large soaking tub. In the closet, there is a panel between racks, almost looking out of place. Almost. I stare at it a moment longer, before Yelena encourages me to move along with the tour. I realize Wanda never came in, hovering in the hall.  
            “We passed two other doors,” I mention.
            “The gym and Wanda’s room,” I’m curious, I wonder if Wanda’s room will give me any more insight on my daughter.
            “This is your favorite room,” I’m nudged along to the end of the hall. The door opens and floor to ceiling bookshelves surround me. The dappled sunlight splatters on the floor. Two well worn arm chairs sit by a window, with a chess table and chairs on the opposite wall. By the door, facing the rest of the room, is a heavy wooden desk.
            “These are ours?” I can’t keep the awe out of my voice. I run my fingers along the spine of Russian literature.
            “Yours,” Yelena corrects as I crouch down to look at the Greek classics. “Should we leave you alone?”  
            “I’m sorry,” I spin around, feeling embarrassed, “I guess I like reading.”
            “Understatement of the century,” she jokes. Wanda has ventured further into this room than others, she must like it as well.
            “Do you like to read?” I ask her, hoping for something, anything. She nods, still not looking me in the eyes, her sleeves cover her hands, “What books?”
            “Classics,” She seems to want to get away from me as quickly as possible, her neck is flushed. I am making her uncomfortable, which is not what I want at all.
            “Can we see the gym?” I ask, and see her shoulders relax.
            “Thought you’d never ask!” Yelena cheers and we enter a room in similar size to the library.
            There are treadmills, weight machines, targets, and oddly enough, parallel bars. Yelena mentioned we did ballet growing up, and I recently got back into it but it seems like I would have bought actual ballet bars.
            “Here,” She hands me a canvas sleeve. I unfurl it. There are six knives. What on earth am I supposed to do with these? She nods to the target, which upon closer inspection, I can see has holes in it. I take one out, and feel it rest in my hand, like it is supposed to be there. Similar to how I felt with Clint’s knife. I throw the knife and watch as it lands on the board, a bullseye. Then two more. And a fourth, a fifth. A sixth. The knives all fight for space in the center of the target. Despite my enjoyment of it, a layer of concern hides beneath at the fact that I am so good with a weapon.
            “I guess I do this a lot?” I turn to the other two women.
            “Your yoga,” Yelena explains.
            “Clearly I am very balanced, or at least my knives are,” I joke, hoping to get something out of Wanda.
            “Wanda, show Tasha your room,” Yelena, clearly, has the tact of a bull in a China shop.
            “I don’t want to impose,” I rush to assure the girl. “That is your space,” The brunette stares at her aunt for a moment before turn around to head towards the door.
            “I can show you,” her voice is barely above a whisper, and is very unsure. This isn’t how I wanted my first time being with her to go. She opens the door, but barely ventures in herself, and I take the hint, just looking around from the doorway. There is a desk against the wall, and I can see pictures pinned onto a bulletin board, a globe with pins in it. Her bed is overflowing with pillows. There are two doors, likely to a bathroom and a closet.
            Yelena ushers me away before I can comment, insisting that it is time to pack a bag. I follow her back to my room and into the closet. She is pushing aside clothes and pulling out others, making a mess of the immaculate space. I can only imagine what her apartment looks like downstairs.
            “I think I’ve got it,” I offer, picking up the clothes that had been tossed on the ground. She hollers for the cat to be packed up as well. Yelena, I am finding, moves like a hurricane.
            “We will be there for your birthday, pack one nice outfit.”
            “July 4^th, right?”
            “Yes,”
            “Is this enough?” I show her the suitcase, everything laid in neatly.
            “Swimsuit,” She pulls out of black bikini and tosses it my way.
            “Wanda, is she still mad at me?”
            “No, she is um,” Yelena hesitates, “Skittish? Like stray cat. And shy. Took like six months to get her to talk to me.”  
            “I’d appreciate a crash course in everyone, so I can know people. Currently, the only people I really know are in the books I have been reading since my arrival in New York.”
            “Not fair, you know me! I am very open, like public social media page.”
            “You telling me about your last few dates in extreme detail does not seem like most important information.” She rolls her eyes, “What about our parents? And why don’t we speak Russian to each other?” Yelena pinches her lips.
            “We aren’t blood sisters; you took care of me at boarding school. Kept me safe, we were orphans. You tried to erase any hint of Russia when you came to America.” Given that I now know that the Winter Soldier was a teacher at our school, I don’t like the implication that I kept her safe. It is also likely that when she said I saved her life by teaching her how to swim. Originally, I found that statement to be facetious, but now I am not so sure.
            “Steve, he seems to be feeling guilty,” I try, hoping to get more information on the Winter Soldier and how it connects to us.
            “It is his fault. He couldn’t kill a guy.” The way she says it implies the two of us definitely could.
             I try not to read into her statement. There has to be more into it. Yelena mentions we are taking the quinjet again and my interest is piqued. When I mention wanting the blueprints, names I have heard a few times are mentioned again: Fury and Stark. She calls baseball practice class, but I don’t correct her, as she pulls my suitcase out into the hall. I want to request that we use the valet, so I can step outside, but Yelena presses B, bringing us down to the basement.
            At the tower, we go back to the floor I had first arrived in, somehow only yesterday. I spy Steve standing by, talking to Clint, and head over.
            “I’ll be out in a few days, a few things to tie up here for the investigation.”  
            “You sure you should be running point on this?” Clint questions.
            “I’m not, Sam is.” Steve and Clint seem to silently communicate for a moment, before Clint nods.
            “Tasha! We have to get going, I have your new phone,” Yelena calls. Finally.
            “Alright, well, um, bye,” Steve awkwardly extends his hand and I shake it.
            “Nat, can you do me a favor?” Clint asks as we approach the ship, “Please don’t google anything.”
            “So, there is stuff online about me?”
            “About all of us, a lot. And it would be better coming from us, we want to tell you, we do. We just don’t want to overwhelm you. When all is said and done, you can google away, just give us a chance first, please.” I appraise Clint for a moment, considering.
            “Okay. I will hold off, but please be a little more forthcoming with information.”
            “Deal,” His lips quirk up into a half smile and picks up the youngest of his children, Nicole.
            I take a seat on the jet and lean my head back, then see Wanda quickly approaching. She freezes upon seeing me.
            “I’m sorry, am I in your seat?” I start to get up, feeling guilty. The girl looks like she is going to cry. She shakes her head and pivots to the cockpit. Excellent. I lean back into the seat. The older girl, Lila, comes bounding over and sits next to me.
            “Auntie Nat, do you want to hear about my horse? And my dog?”
            “I would love to,” I reply, looking more closely at her. She is the girl I was shown a picture of in the PET scan, the one they expected a reaction to. Likely, the expected my brain to show signs of love.

             By the time the jet descends, I can see why. I step out of the jet and see a farmhouse nearby, as well as a barn. This is Clint’s home. We walk through a trail that has been well worn, and I see Wanda is limping, her gait uneven. Did she twist her ankle disembarking?
            We reach the house and are greeted by the one-eyed golden retriever that Lila told me about on our flight. He bounds forward, making a beeline for Yelena with the Liho in the cat carrier, which the blonde quickly holds higher.
            “Don’t worry, they get along,” The older boy, Cooper, assures me. “Mom, can we go swimming before practice?” He asks Laura.
            “If you change quickly,” she replies. The two older kids drop their bags by the door and race upstairs to put on their swimsuits. “You’re welcome to go swimming as well, Wanda,” Laura offers kindly to the teen. But Wanda shakes her head.
            “I will go swimming,” Yelena declares, releasing the cat into the house. Immediately, Liho and Lucky begin a game of chase, surprisingly, the kitten is doing the chasing.
            “Wanda, are you,” Clint begins, but she is already going down the hall to what I presume must be the guest room or a second staircase.
            “I will show you around,” Laura offers, giving me a quick tour of the first floor and then showing me the second. “This is your room,”
            It is cozy, the queen bed has a triangle patterned quilt and a blue comforter. The bed itself is wrought iron with brass finials. There are two short built-in bookcases, filled, with a large armchair between them, a blanket neatly folded.
            “This is my room?” I clarify.
            “Yes, you should have some clothes in the closet, and the dresser. I also have spare blankets if you get cold.” We are so close, that I have my own room at their house. “Bathroom is through that door, you share it with Wanda,”
            “Thank you,”
            “I’ll leave you to get settled, we’d love to have you join us outside if you’re feeling up to it.”
            She leaves, closing the door behind her. I walk the perimeter of the room, running my finger along the chair rail. This room was slowly curated over years, I filled this room.
            There is a swift knock at the door and it opens before I can reply, Yelena strutting in sporting a cherry red one piece.
            “We’re heading outside. Do you want to come?”
            “Sure,” I look around the room once more before following the blonde.
            “Very Baywatch, da? Going to run into pool in slow motion. I will have Wanda video for TikTok. Is social media, I am very popular.”
             We head out to the pool where everyone else has already gathered, save for Wanda. I sit down on a lounger and watch the kids, and Yelena, swim.
            “You know, the longer I put this off, the weirder it is going to get,” Clint sits down beside me. “Laura is giving me shit for not telling you already.”
            “As long as you aren’t about to tell me aliens are real or something,” I joke, looking over at him, pushing my sunglasses up. A glimmer of discomfort passes over his face.
            “I’m Deaf,” Clint signs, and pulls out his hearing aids, what I believed were coms. “Happened about eight years ago. There was an explosion, busted both my ears.” He slides the hearing aids back in.
            “So, the socks,”
            “Your sister thinks she’s funny,” he huffs, but he must like them if he wears them. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. It is just that, I didn’t know how to bring it up.”
            “I don’t think any less of you,”
            “I didn’t think you would! That isn’t how you were, at all. It is just, I don’t know.” He sighs.
            “Thank you for sharing this with me, for trusting me with this information.”
            “You’re one of the most important people in my life, Natasha.” He goes back to watching the kids swim.
            “I’m going to head inside, it’s a little warm out here.” I want to talk to Wanda.  
            “There are popsicles in the freezer if you want one,” He yells after me as I head inside. Laura is in the kitchen with Nate, helping him color a picture.
            “Wanda is up in her room,” she answers for me before I can ask.
            “Clint said I could have a popsicle?”
            “Oh, of course. Help yourself to any food in the house. Seriously, I am going grocery shopping tomorrow. We’ll probably do takeout tonight if you’re craving anything.”
            I grab a strawberry ice pop from the freezer and head upstairs. My feet carry me to the bedroom door next to mine, and I knock before I can lose my courage.
            “I brought something for you,” I speak into the crack of the door, hoping that will sway her. Her hesitation is causing my skin to itch.
            “Come in,” Relief floods me and I open the door, entering her room. It is bright white and airy, save for a mural of a forest on one wall. Wanda sits in bed, covered with a throw, her phone in hand.
            “I brought you a popsicle,” I hand her the frozen treat.
            “Its strawberry,” she bites her cheeks.
            “I can go grab a different one,” I can’t screw this up.
            “It’s my favorite,” she tears open the rapper and takes a bite.
            “Popsicle is actually a portmanteau, a combination of two words, like brunch. It is pop and icicle. It is also thought to be a genericized trademark, meaning that despite one point being trademarked, it was so epitomic with the product as a whole, that it becomes generic. It is more aptly described as a synecdoche,”
            “Why are you in here?” She cuts me off, but it lacks the rudeness I would expect from those words. Instead, she is looking down at the treat, avoiding eye contact, and the words themselves are fragile.
            “I’m sorry for my reaction when we first met. I was disoriented and overwhelmed, which really isn’t an excuse. I hadn’t meant to hurt you.” I will her to look up at me, hoping she will at least say or do something. It is hard to reconcile the confident girl who threw herself into my arms and the one sitting on this bed. “I would really love to get to know you. No one has even told me how old you are,”
            “Seventeen,” She takes a bite of the popsicle. Is her dad in the picture? Is it just the two of us?
            “I can imagine that this is really hard for you.” She takes a long, shuttering, breath. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me? Anything you want me to know?” Everyone has been so evasive about Wanda stating that they want her to relay information first hand, but the teen is very clearly reluctant to do so.
             “Thank you for the popsicle,” her words are timid, but I take them for what they are, a dismissal.
            “Of course,” I head towards the door and leave, my heart pounding. She rejected me, however gently. I head into the bathroom and splash cold water on my face, trying to collect myself. I can go outside, rejoin everyone by the pool. Get to know everyone. Wanda will have to come around eventually, right? It hasn’t even been two days. I hold back a laugh. It hasn’t even been two days.
             I should be freaking out more, right? Am I taking this all too well? Just thrust into this world, accepting everything. Who thought it was a good idea to release me into the world? Though I had no reason to stay in the hospital, given all those tests, it was almost like they were searching for one. But a clean bill of health. I straighten the collar of my shirt, one corner darkened with water droplets, and head downstairs.
            Everyone is sitting in the kitchen, with the three swimmers wrapped in towels. Drinks have been distributed, what looked to be lemonade and iced tea.
            “Cooper, we have to leave in practice in a half hour,” Clint reminds his son as I walk in, holding Nicole, the youngest of the children, on his hip.
            “Got it,” he promises, sipping on his drink.
            “Hi Tasha,” Yelena greets as I walk in the room. “Water was great,”
            “Maybe I will join you next time.”
            “Oh, we can play Marco Polo,” Lila signs, “We splash instead of yell,” She adds for explanation.
            “I look forward to it,” I smile, and hover hesitantly at the edge of the kitchen, unsure where I belong and what I should do.
            “We’re doing pizza tonight, what kind do you want, Nat?” Clint asks, throwing me a paper airplane. I unfold it, seeing it is a takeout menu. “Whatever feels right,” I stare down at the page, there must be thirty toppings to choose from. What if I pick something I don’t like? Or that I am allergic to?
            “I don’t have any allergies, right?”
            “No, Wanda is allergic to shellfish, Cooper is allergic to bees, and Yelena is allergic to basic human decency,” Clint lists off. The blonde sticks her tongue out at the man, and mutters something about a swear jar.
            “What do I usually get?” Why is this like a book? Plus, the sauce and cheese options, crusts. I look up to see Laura glaring at Clint.
            “You usually get veggie or cheese,” she offers, looking away from her husband.
            “I guess I will go with veggie,” I walk the menu back over, placing it on the table.
            “Wanda! Come pick out your dinner!” Yelena hollers. After a few moments, I hear steps on the stairs, and then she appears in the kitchen, the stained popsicle stick in hand.
            “Tomorrow, you should come swimming and do the waves again,” Cooper suggests to her. Her face turns crimson and she ducks her head, slipping past me to the table.
            “We’ll pick up on our way home from practice,” Clint adds, “Cooper, go get ready.” The preteen gets up from his chair and shakes his wet hair at his younger sister before dashing away.
            “I’ll have the pineapple,” I am so busy watching Wanda, that I don’t realize until my hand is nudged that Lila has approached me with a hairbrush and two elastics.
            “Can you please do two Dutch braids?”
            “Lila, remember we said to give Auntie Nat space?” Laura reminds the girl. Her shoulders fall, and I instantly feel guilty.
            “I can try, but no promises that they look good.” She sits down on a stool and I carefully detangle it, then separate it into two sections. My fingers seem to remember what I do not, and soon enough, two perfect Dutch braids are running down her back.
            “Thank you!” Lila hops down from the chair. “Wanda, your turn,” She freezes, like a deer caught in headlights.
            “Its okay, I think Wanda’s hair is looking pretty down right now,” I quickly respond. Lila and Nate leave the kitchen at Laura’s gentle suggestion, heading down to the playroom in the basement. A tension has filled the kitchen, and I would like nothing more than to get out.
            “I think I am going to go lie down,” I excuse myself and head upstairs, closing the door behind me. The bedroom is a small sanctuary, and I’m grateful for it. As I was going up the stairs, I heard them arguing and tried to tune out their voices, but I know it was about me. This must be torturous for all of them, for someone they know and love to be gone. It must be liked I died, but I’m still here. Kind of. Yelena said this used to happen, but my memory came back quickly, within a few hours. This has not been a few hours. My phone could answer so many questions with a quick Google search, but I promised Clint. Instead, I head over to the bookshelf and grab a novel, hoping it will fill my thoughts rather than my nerves.
            I get a text that dinner has arrived when it is nearly six. Downstairs, the kitchen table is full, and Cooper has red dirt on his cheeks.
            “Auntie Nat, you should have seen,” he lights up when I walk in, and then his face falls, “Never mind.”
            “No, I’d love to hear it. What position do you play?” I sit down at the last open seat, between Lila and Yelena. Cooper regales me with a summary of his practice, and the hit that he made that went over the fence, as well as his progress in shortstop.
            “Lila starts ballet again in a few days,” Laura adds.
            “I would love to practice with you sometime,” I offer, remembering what Yelena said.
            “Really?” Lila’s eyes open wide. Have I said something wrong? “That would be amazing!”
            “Wanda, do you do any sports?” I ask.
            “No,” She takes a large bite of pizza to avoid any further conversation.
            “We should go for a run tomorrow morning,” Clint suggests, eating his meat lovers. “For the first few years we knew each other, we were next door neighbors and would run together every day. Usually to the Potomac and back.”
            “We used to live in D.C., and you used to work at a boathouse, correct?” I direct to Laura.
            “Yes, when I was in nursing school,” she confirms. “Clint told me you two recently met up there,”
            “She tried to squish me with a bunch of kayaks.”
            “Launching an attack with a naval fleet sounds much more exciting,” I take a sip of my water.
            “Semantics,” he jokes, and I am relieved to know there are no hard feelings for the events in D.C.
            “Movie night?” Lila asks as we finish up dinner. “It’s my turn to pick,”
            “Oh no,” Cooper slides down in his seat.  
            “Brave,” Lila announces.
            “Again,” her brother adds.
            “Go get ready for bed and then we can queue up the movie. Nat, do you want to help me get the little ones ready while these guys prep and clean?”
            “Okay,” I accept the offer, which is accompanied by a cheer from Nate.
            “Three stories tonight,” He bargains as he gets down from his booster chair.
            “One,” Laura counters.
            “Two,” he takes my hand, dragging me upstairs. By seven thirty, both younger kids are asleep, and I carefully slip out of Nate’s room before he wakes.
            “He is so sweet,”
            “He’s a handful,” Laura laughs, “You call him a tor-Nate-o sometimes. I can’t believe he is down before eight. You’re magic with the kids.”
            We go into the family room where extra blankets have been taken out of bins, and there are bowls of freshly popped popcorn.
            “Auntie Nat, I saved you a spot,” Lila pulls me over to the couch, sandwiching me between herself and Wanda, who instantly scooches a few inches away. The little girl is wearing a green nightgown and has a felt bow and arrow strung across her chest.
            “Favorite Disney princess,” Clint explains, “Not that I can blame her.”
            Yelena keeps looking over at me ever few minutes from her spot, thinking she is being subtle, while Clint is struggling to keep his eyes open by the time the credits roll. Lila insists that I do a bedtime story for her as well, given that one was already given for her younger brother, and I read her a ballet picture book. Clint nods to me as I head down the hall, him coming from upstairs, Cooper’s room based on Laura’s tour.
            “Night, Nat,”
            “Goodnight,” I close my bedroom door behind me. This was my life, all of this. And I lost it, I forgot it. I had movie nights and bedtime stories, meals filled with laughter, a family. I had people that loved and cared for me, and I reciprocated.
            But there is another side that I am not being shown. The two scars on my body, Clint losing his hearing in an explosion, part of our job being investigating assassins. And that one of the assassins was a teacher at my school. One side of my life seems to juxtapose the other.
            I need to sleep. Hopefully sleep will offer clarity, and maybe an idea on how to connect with my daughter. I open the door to the bathroom, and the one opposite to Wanda’s room does the same. She stares at me for a moment, and I at her. The jeans and t-shirt from earlier have been replaced with pajama shorts and a sweatshirt.
            “Wanda,” her face begins to crumble. She spins around, slamming the door shut, and I can hear her sobbing on the other side. Somehow, no one thought to tell me that my daughter is missing a limb.

Chapter Text

            “Wanda,” She stares at me, and I spin around, slamming the door shut. My heart is clawing its way up my throat, getting tighter and tighter. I sink to the ground, throwing my crutches across the room. A heavy sob escapes my mouth. She knows. She knows. She’s going to find everything out.
            I rest my head back on the door. This isn’t what is supposed to be happening.  I should have talked to her more before she found this out. What stranger would want to just take in a crippled teenager? Especially a stranger who has zero baggage. She could just get up and leave us all. There is no attachment here. She has no reason to stay. Do I even want her to? This woman is not my Nat, she can’t be my Nat. But for some reason, I still want her to want me.
            “Wanda?” There is a knock on my bedroom door. Laura. “Can I come in, sweetheart?” It opens a crack and she pokes her head in.
            I look over at her, feeling pathetic. Worthless. Would they take me in if Nat doesn’t want me? Yelena is supposed to be my guardian if something happens to Nat, but she’d choose being with not-Nat over me. In a heartbeat. Would the Barton’s pick me? 
            “It’s okay,” she sits down next to me against the bathroom door and extends her arm, wrapping it around me, “Let it all out,” I lean into her, cries shaking my body. “Okay, okay. Now, let’s talk about this, why you’re so upset.”
            “She saw it,” I nod down to my leg, or lack thereof. “She saw that I’m a cripple!”
            “How did she react when she saw that you are an amputee?”
            “I didn’t give her the chance, I don’t want to know.”
            “Do you think maybe you should give Nat the benefit of the doubt?”
            “She’s not Nat!” I snap, “You all keep pretending that she is, but that is not our Nat!”
            “Why do you say that?”
            “Because she isn’t. All of her memories are gone, she’s just this shell. She doesn’t remember any of us, or care about us. We are nothing to her.”
             “From my conversations with her, she still seems like Nat. Have you tried talking to her?”
            “She told me I could never be her daughter. That I was a joke.”
             “That doesn’t sound like her,”
             “Exactly.”
            “Can I have some context?”
             “I ran into her room when we got back from the UK, and she said I can’t be her daughter and it had to be some kind of joke.”
            “This was when she thought she was twenty-six, right? And she just learned her name about an hour before that.”
            “Yeah,” I feel a twist in my stomach.
            “Do you think she might’ve been scared people were trying to take advantage of her situation? Maybe trying to hurt her?”
            “But we wouldn’t do that,” And I hear how childish it sounds as the words leave my mouth. “But she didn’t know that.”
            “From what I have seen, this version of Nat really wants to get to know you.”
            “What if she doesn’t like me? What if she doesn’t want me?”
            “She will, I promise.” I bite my cheeks, “But, you will always be wanted here at the farm, Wanda. You always have a place here.”
            “This Nat, she hasn’t done anything bad.” Laura waits for me to continue, “I have. I’ve done some really bad things.”
            “You were just a little kid, honey. You didn’t know,”
            “But I’m a monster. Look at me, my powers. My past. My powers alone are enough,”
            “We can take it one step at a time. But she isn’t going to scare easy. I mean, this first meeting with Clint went a lot like the last one. Attempted murder and then boarding a jet to one of Fury’s pet projects. I think our Nat is still here. Just, maybe, a little different, a little lighter.” Laura pauses, removing her arm from the embrace, “Now, we should get to bed. It’s late.” She helps me up off the ground and over to the bed, then brings the crutches over to my nightstand.
            “Thank you,”
            “Anytime. And for the record, I think you should tell Nat everything sooner rather than later. She’s going to love you, Wanda. I think she might already.” Laura pulls the covers up and turns off the light.  

            I wake up still tired and my mouth dry. Light is coming in from the crack in the curtain, and I grab my phone, looking at the time. Eight o’clock. Breakfast is probably just getting started. With some hesitancy, I put on my leg and head downstairs. As I comes down, I can hear the chatter flowing out from the kitchen. The room is full, everyone else having already come down. Scrambled eggs, toast, and sausage fill the table, with the kids reaching to grab more. Nat is bouncing Nicole on her lap, and Lila’s hair is in fresh braids.
            “Morning everyone,” I greet, entering the kitchen. Nat looks over at me, a nervous smile passing over her face before going back to eating with the baby in her lap.
            “Morning Wanda, I’ve got coffee coming your way,” Clint promises from his usual breakfast station of the frying pan. I nod, taking the seat between Yelena and Lila. “Nat and I went for a run. She smoked me,” Clint adds, handing me my coffee.
            “You are slow. Nicole could run laps around you, Stupid American.” Yelena teases.
            “I also don’t have to feed you, Belova. You’re not one of my children.”
            “No, your children are far more mature.” Almost-Nat teases back, taking a sip of her coffee. Cooper grins at me, as if trying to ask if I’m seeing this. Their normal banter. But instead, I feel nauseous. Despite my talk with Laura last night, I still feel uneasy.
             Breakfast begins to finish up, and Laura lets her two oldest known it is a school day, and they groan, trying to get out of it. They go off to the sunroom with their packets, begrudgingly.
            “Why are your kids doing schoolwork? Late June is traditionally summer break in the United States.” Her question is innocent, but it gives all of us at the table pause, unsure how to answer.
             “They missed a lot of school, got to catch up.” Clint replies quickly and a little gruffly. “Nate and I are going to go check on the chickens,” He takes his youngest son and gets up from the table.
            “I said something wrong,” She places Nicole into her high chair. “I’m sorry,”
            “No, Tasha. You are okay. Just something we have to get you catched up on.”
            “Caught,” Nat corrects, “That was rude, I shouldn’t,” But Yelena is beaming.
            “Yeah, need you to correct my English.” Not-Nat’s shoulders relax slightly.
            “I’ll help clean up,” She rises from her seat.
            “You don’t need to do that, Wanda has it.” Yelena interjects, sending a smile my way.
            “Oh, okay.” Not-Nat hesitates, “Is it okay if I go up to my room for a bit?” She asks, looking around the table.
            “Of course, Natasha. You don’t need our permission,” Laura assures. The woman who looks so much like my mom rises from the table and heads upstairs. I clean up the kitchen with Yelena and Laura while Nicole babbles from her high chair. What is she even doing up there? Why doesn’t she want to be down here? Does she not like everyone? Or is it me? She seemed fine with sitting here until I arrived.
            “Do you two want to go grocery shopping with me?” Laura asks, wiping down the counter.
            “Can we make apple cake?”
            “Actually, we are shopping for Clint’s birthday dinner, it’s tomorrow.”  
            “I completely forgot.” We were supposed to go to Pepper’s house in the Hamptons to celebrate.
            “You will make your famous yellow cake?” Yelena confirms.
            “Yes, I will make the Defection Day cake, it is Clint’s favorite,” Laura smiles. “Wanda, do you want to come?” The alternative is staying here facing a possible run in with the amnesiac upstairs.
            “Sure, I’ll get dressed.” I head upstairs and change into shorts and a graphic t-shirt, then quickly brush my teeth and wash my face. Downstairs, Yelena is chatting with Laura, holding the reusable grocery bags in her arms. Nicole is on her hip.
            “If you guys finish your chapters by the time we get back, you can be done for the day,” Laura signs as Cooper and Lila come in for a drink. “And the answers are correct,” She adds, looking at Lila, who would write down any answer if it meant being done with summer work sooner.
            I sit in the backseat with Nicole, who is looking at herself in a suspended mirror. Yelena and Laura discuss Clint’s birthday meal like everything is normal. Of grilling burgers and what kind of toppings.
            “Wanda, Wanda,” I feel a shove at my knee.
             “What?”
            “Your eyes were glowing. You good?” Yelena has twisted around to look back at me.
            “Fine,” I slump down in the seat.
            We arrive at the grocery store grab a cart. Nicole has a pretend set of keys she plays with as we go through the aisles. People stare at us, but no one takes any pictures. It is like there is an agreement in the town for the sake of the Barton’s. I kind of envy them.
            “I got strawberries,” Yelena rejoins Laura and I at the meat counter, “And raspberries.”
            “Anything else?”
            “Peanut butter, pierogies, dinner rolls,” Yelena lists off.
            “Clint ordered gummy alligators off Amazon last night,” Laura mentions quietly as she waits for our name to be called, “And a local bakery to make khvorost,”
            “You guys haven’t given up?” I’m surprised, based on everything else they’ve been saying.
            “Of course not,” Yelena puts the items in the cart, “But there is a difference between acceptance of what is, and hope for what could be.” Our number is called and Laura gets orders of hamburgers and hotdogs. “They are very American,”
            “Its German food,”
            “The Barton’s are very American,” Yelena reiterates as Laura orders American cheese, emphasizing Yelena’s point. The magazines at the checkout have photos of those assassinated at the dinner and their legacy. As well as photos of Nat and Steve at the train station in D.C., holding hands.
            “Lila asked me to pick up the latest addition of People magazine for her,” Laura hesitates, Nat is on the cover in the corner with Steve. “They were sold out.” She decides, passing it and loading everything onto the conveyer belt.
            “Did you tell her we were leaving?” I ask as we get in the car.
            “I text her, asking if she wants anything. She said no, unless we were out of tea she had last night.”
            “Oh.”
            “When are you going to tell her you are a witch?” Yelena changes the subject, “Your eyes will flash red soon, or you will make something float,”
            “I have more control than I did a few months ago. I’m fine.”
            “Tell her soon, before she finds out from Nate or Lila.” Yelena turns back around.
            The gate to the property opens as we pull up and Lucky runs beside the car. The kids jump off the porch to greet us, helping with the groceries.
            “Auntie Nat helped me with my math homework,” Cooper informs us as we go up the steps.
            “Did you have her do it for you?” Laura’s voice takes on a sharp tone.
            “He tried,” Lila tattles on her brother. “She said she lost her memory, not her common sense.”
            “She taught it better than my teacher last year anyways.” Cooper shrugs. I don’t correct him that it was five years ago. We unload the groceries and I hear laughter coming out from the backyard. It is a sound I have rarely heard- Natasha’s laugh.
            “This chick-um is Peep,” He holds up the chicken to Nat who is struggling to keep a straight face as the toddler holds up the chicken. He goes over to a pile of spilt corn, grabbing a another bringing it over to her, “This one is Yolko Uno, you named her.”
            “Did I?”
            “The Beatles is your favorite.”
            “Nate loves the chickens,” Laura explains.
            “I can tell,”
            “He’s going to run the farm one day, I know it won’t be those two,” Clint exits the chicken coop, nodding to the two on the porch with us.
            “Yeah, we’re all set,” Lila agrees, eliciting another laugh from not-Nat.
            “Wanda, did you name any of the chickens?” She asks, looking to me.
            “Hennifer Aniston,” I reply, feeling everyone’s eyes on me.
            “Wanda loves sitcoms,” Clint adds, starting to direct the chickens back to their coop.
            “I’m going to go finish putting away the groceries,” I turn around, heading inside.           Everyone else eventually filters in, and I try to just focus on helping around the house. Unfortunately, it is nearly spotless, and I am left with little to do. I end up joining Lila in the basement for princess tea time with cucumber sandwiches, which are cut into little crowns.
            “Auntie Nat cut them for me,” she lets me know, taking a bite. I don’t have it in me to tell her that the woman upstairs is not her aunt. Thankfully, it is not a night for family bonding. There are no games or movies required. Instead, I hide upstairs in my bedroom, watching Ted Lasso. I hear not-Nat getting ready for bed around eleven, and once I am sure she is done, I head in. There is a sticky note on the mirror with ‘Q: Favorite sitcom?’ written in a familiar scrawl, below the question is an ‘A:’ for my answer, a pen on the counter. I take a shower and ignore the note, heading to bed.
            Morning comes far earlier than I would like, with Lila tugging on my covers. Liho mews in annoyance, jumping down to curl up in my armchair.
            “What time is it?” I sign, turning on the light.
            “Six, we’ve got to decorate before he wakes up, and I’m not supposed to use the stove without supervision.” I’m not sure how those two sentences are related, but I don’t want Lila burning the farm down, so I head downstairs with her. Cooper is already in the dining room, standing on a chair, looping crepe paper streamers through the chandelier. Half blown-up balloons litter the table.
            “I made a sign too, look,” Lila opens up a cabinet and pulls out a banner that is made of six pieces of computer paper taped together. “Can you hang it?” I nod and once there is tape on the back, use my powers to put it up high on the wall.
            “Now, we have to make pancakes,” The stove she mentioned, “Cooper already made the batter. And I tested the chocolate chips.” I really do only have to watch as Lila starts to create a mountain of pancakes, her flipping skills surprisingly adept. As it nears seven, there are footsteps upstairs, the rest of the household waking up.
            “Cooper, put on the coffee,” She signs to her brother, who does her bidding, but I hear him mutter bossy under his breath.  
            “Anything else, Lila?” I ask, looking at the spread she has orchestrated. The little girl jumps down from the stepstool, admiring her work.
            “I think we are good.”
            “He’s coming,” I sign to her as I hear Clint and Laura talking on the stairs. She grabs a confetti popper and races to the entrance of the kitchen. As Clint enters, she pulls, confetti raining down on him.
            “Happy birthday!” Lila signs, chorused by Cooper.
            “Oh wow, thank you guys! This is such a surprise,” He picks up Lila, spinning her around, and ruffles Cooper’s hair. “And you made breakfast?”
            “This was a nice surprise,” I say to Laura as settles Nicole into her high chair.  
            “Lila came in at ten last night asking where we keep the balloons,” Laura whispers, laughing. Yelena joins us with Nate after a few minutes, and then the other woman enters.
            “Happy birthday, Clint.” She grabs herself a cup of coffee.
            “Back in the day, when we lived in D.C.,” Clint starts, “We used to go out to Virginia Beach to celebrate my birthday, the kick off to summer.”
            “You and I’d go to the zoo,” Cooper informs, taking a bite of his pancakes.
            “You and Steve usually do a joint celebration for your birthday,” Laura adds, “We mix it in with the Fourth of July.”
            “He texted me this morning,” she sets down his fork and gets up from the table, “He let me know he’ll be arriving tomorrow.”
            “I’ll get one of the beds in the guestroom made up for him,”
            “Why isn’t he staying in Auntie Nat’s room?” Lila asks.
            “Lila!” Clint scolds. However, not-Natasha was in the kitchen grabbing pancakes, missing the entire interaction.
            “Cooper has a baseball game this afternoon, after we can come back here and grill?” Clint offers.
            “I would like to go to the game,” she returns to her seat.
            “You would?” Cooper lights up.
            “I don’t think that is a good idea,” Yelena interrupts at the same time.
            “Why?” the preteen frowns.  
             “Just too soon, it would be too much.” Not-Nat’s jaw tightens slightly.
            “When would be a good time, then?”
            “A few days, once Steve is here. We will give you crash course, promise.”
            “I’ll hold you to that.” Clint is now glaring at Yelena and a tension has settled over the birthday breakfast. I head upstairs after we’re done eating and get ready for the day. In the bathroom, the sticky note is still on the mirror, the writing now smeared from steam.
            I help Laura make the cake later in the morning, and see my opportunity to escape, volunteering to go to Cooper’s game. Clint looks as though he is about to say no, until Cooper gets excited.
            I sit in the front seat of the truck on the drive over to the park. Cooper is chatting about a paper that Peter sent him about the physics of baseball.
            “Wanda, you can join us in the dugout,” Clint hands me the bag of helmets from the bed of the truck. “You can be the bat girl since Lila is home.”
            “Great,” I force out a smile, I put myself in this situation. Back at the house, they are doing a mini spa day, with Lila painting everyone’s nails. But this gets me out of interacting with her.
            “Wanda, we’re up. Look alive.” Clint coaches. The team brings out a mini cake for Clint during the seventh inning. And Cooper is playing a really great game. He’s made three of the outs and hit a triple. “You look like you’re getting along with your new teammates, bud.”
            “Yeah, they’re nice.” I forgot none of Cooper’s friends were snapped, they are all my age now, in a very different place in life than him. “Ryan invited me to go over his house tomorrow. Can I?”
            “Of course, maybe we can have a pool party later this summer with the team.” Clint suggests. “I think Chloe is coming over tomorrow too, so you might want to run unless you want to be tied up in a game of princesses.”
            “Yeah, I am definitely getting out of there.” Cooper laughs. Chloe, Lila’s best friend, will be a welcome diversion. I will happily get roped into a game of princesses in the treehouse.
            Back at the house, a trampoline has been pulled out from one of the barns. Cooper goes running, kicking off his cleats.
            “Come on, Wanda!” He calls.
            “Go ‘head, I’ve got the equipment.” Clint nods. I use my powers to quickly grab it, putting it into a storage bin.
            “It’s your birthday,” I say in way of explanation and run off to the trampoline.
            “Wanda! Yes!” Lila signs, hopping higher. I sit down and untie my sneakers, then climb up onto it, careful not to use my powers in case Nat, not-Nat, is watching. Lila jumps up and does a flip, and then her and Cooper proceed to have a jumping contest.  
            “Popcorn?” Cooper asks. Lila curls up into a ball, clutching her legs to her chest as we jump, trying to get her to unfurl.
            “Kids, dinner!” Laura calls, just as Lila’s legs loosen. The outdoor dining table that Clint had made is not nearly as full as well the whole team is here, but the spread of food Laura has prepared helps. There are burgers, hot dogs, pasta salad, potato salad, actual salad, and corn on the cob.
            “Laura, you have outdone yourself,”
            “Wait until you see dessert.” She promises. Natasha’s body double is strangely quiet during dinner. Even when everyone is teasing Cooper for putting mayo on his hot dog. When it is time for cake, I get ready for them to distract her somehow, but they have one of the flameless candles on Clint’s cake that he blows out, just like Nat has done for me.
            “Can we roast mallows?” Nate asks as we clear the table and head into the kitchen. Her cars the now empty plate that held the burger buns.
            “Nate,” Cooper groans, “You know Auntie Nat won’t want to do that,”
            “I think that could be fun,” Almost Nat offer hesitatingly, her first time speaking since dinner before dinner.
            “I don’t know,” Clint starts. Cooper is staring at her like she has three heads.
            “I would like to try a s’more, and Nate seems to really want to do it.”
            “We do it,” Yelena steps in. She looks at Clint, trying to communicate something. And I don’t know if this is such a good idea. The sun has started to set once we are done clearing the table, and Clint pulls out the fire pit, while Yelena and Nat setup the chairs. Cooper and Lila seem as nervous as I feel as we stand on the back porch, watching the area be prepared.  Is this something we should really be testing right now?
            Laura steps out onto the porch with Nate, Nicole now down for the night. She holds a tray with marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate, her grip is so tight that her knuckles are turning white. Clint has a pile of sticks he is sharpening to a point as we all take a seat around the pit.
            “Did I really hate s’mores that much?” She laughs nervously, glancing around at everyone.
            “No, is fine. Right all?” Yelena asks pointedly, daring anyone to say something. We nod our heads. Clint piles in the wood and brush, looping in copper wire to make the flames colorful.
            There is a weird feeling in my chest, almost light and fluttery, as I see that firepit stacked with wood. I try to avoid giving the feeling a name, as I know what it is, and I think it makes me a bad person.
            His hand shakes as he holds the matchbook. He strikes it, a small flame dances at his fingertips. The wood quickly catches, and the pit glows, warmth radiating. Nate squeals with delight and climbs up onto the redhead’s lap. She smiles and accepts a stick with a marshmallow at the end- graciously giving her perfectly browned one to Nate who set his on fire the moment he had the chance.
            She is actually enjoying herself. Yelena goes into the house and returns with beers for the adults, the night goes on and heads start to droop. But I am far from tired. Around ten, we head inside, everyone immediately heading to the showers to wash off the smoke. But I follow Yelena into her bedroom, so close I nearly step on her heals.
            “What if she had remembered?” I demand as soon as the door closes. “What would you have done? How would you have explained that to her?”
            “I didn’t think she would, which is why I thought it was good idea. A good idea.”
            “She might’ve, and just pretended for our sake,”
            “Wanda,”
            “It’s only been a few days,”
            “You need to consider,”
             “Stop.”
            “Please get to know this Tasha. She is just like the one you remember.”
            “No she isn’t! She’s better.”
            “What?”
            “Our Nat, my Nat, did bad things. She doesn’t remember any of it. Her ledger is clean.”
            “This is good for her, lighter.”
            “Then how could this Nat possibly accept me? Accept the things I’ve done? What I am?”
            “Oh, but,”
            “You didn’t even want to accept me, you only did because Nat, my Nat, forced you. Same with everyone else in our lives. The only ones who ever wanted me were Clint and Nat. Clint is unreliable at best, so I only had her. I had Natasha. She loved me, she loved me without hesitation, without conditions. She is the only one who loves me!”
            “Wanda, I love you,” Yelena’s voice cracks.
            “You’re not her.” Yelena’s face hardens.
            “You need to get with the program, Wanda. We all want Natasha’s memory back, but we didn’t lose Natasha. She is across the hall. You are so wrapped up in yourself, you have not once considered how hard this is for her. If you had lost your memory, would Nat abandon you? What about when you were kidnapped by Beck and thought you were in fucking Wonderland? She was going to be there whether or not you found yourself again. You owe her the same, at a minimum.”
            “I want my mom,” I bite my cheeks.
            “Then go talk to her. Get out of my room.” Yelena shoves me out and slams the door behind her.  
            I fail to hold back tears as I head into my bedroom. No one gets it. Natasha would get it. Yelena says she is next door but she isn’t. That woman, that Natasha, she wouldn’t want this, want me. Despite what Yelena and Laura say. If I had the choice, I wouldn’t choose me. I would never choose me.
            The bathroom smells like her rosewater.
            I take a shower, washing off the campfire and red dirt from the baseball game. The air smells like my strawberry shampoo and eucalyptus, over powering the gentle smell of when I first stepped in. I stand at the vanity, wiping the steam away from the mirror. My eyes are glowing red, and I force them down, it takes more effort than I would like. The person that looks back at me is selfish and spoiled, and scared. What if doesn’t want me once she learns the truth? That may be Natasha on the other side of the wall, but what are the odds she would choose to love me twice? What are the odds I get that lucky? What are the chances that someone who is truly free would want to be tied down by loving someone like me?
                     Still stuck to the mirror, the Post-it note is damp and curled. I pick the pen up from the counter and write The Office, before heading to bed.
 

Chapter Text

            I shouldn’t have pushed for the fire. Everyone besides Nate was uncomfortable, but he had looked so excited. I was trying to be Auntie Nat. The one he remembers. It took nearly an hour for everyone to relax, and Wanda never did. In fact, we seem to be in a worse place now than before we left New York City, which I did not think was possible.
            I stare up at the ceiling, dread pooling in my stomach. Wanda. I hadn’t meant to walk on her like that two nights ago. Nor had I expected to see,
            I can’t believe no one told me. She walks so well, beyond a minor limp that could have been contributed to anything- a twisted ankle, a rock in a shoe. I definitely did not suspect that she was missing most of her right leg.
            She hates me, no matter what I do. Was our relationship always like this? This contentious? But it can’t have been. Not with the way she hugged me that first day. It was pure joy just to see me. Yelena said she thinks I hang the stars in the sky. Perhaps I am putting too much pressure on her, not letting it happen naturally. I should take down the sticky note in the bathroom. It was stupid.
            I get up from the bed, my feet meeting the pleasantly cold floor. Steve will be arriving at the farm today, and hopefully, they will keep their promises and finally tell me everything. Or at least something more about my life. Despite how kind they are being, I am starting to feel like a prisoner. I couldn’t open the window of the car driving through New York City, I couldn’t go grocery shopping, not even attend a little league baseball game. It is ridiculous, I am not a child. And I can’t wait much longer. My phone is charging on the nightstand, Safari right there. But I promised.
            My heart soars as I walk into the bathroom and see my Post-it has been added to- The Office. That’s progress. Maybe I am doing something right. I get ready for the day and change into proper clothes.
            Downstairs, the house has begun to wake up. Clint, Laura, and baby Nicole are preparing breakfast.
            “Good morning,” I head over to the coffee maker.
            “Morning Nat,” Laura replies and taps Clint’s shoulder. He turns around.
            “Hey Nat,” He signs. “Sorry, replacing the batteries on my hearing aids,” He holds up the tech.
            “Can I help make breakfast?” I offer, watching as Laura takes a pan of muffins out of the oven. I think of my chef’s kitchen back in New York, I must have been a good cook.
            “Oh, that’s okay. You just sit down and enjoy your coffee.” There is a thundering of feet on the stairs as the three oldest Barton children arrive in the kitchen.
            “Don’t worry, Auntie Lena isn’t a morning person, she’ll be down soon. Wanda will probably beat her,” Cooper sits down next to me.
             “Cooper, it’s your day for the chickens,” Lila reminds her older brother. “Auntie Nat, can you braid my hair?” She holds out two hair elastics.
            I do two French braids that turn into pigtails and she whips them around, a smile blooming. There are uneven steps I can now recognize as Wanda’s on the stairs, and I sit up straighter, feeling hopeful after the note.
            “Hi Wanda!” Nate chirps to his older cousin as she enters. Her cheeks flush and she nods to us, sitting on the opposite end of the table from me. I read too much into the reply on the Post-it.
            “Chloe is coming over today,” Lila adds as scrambled eggs are brought to the table. Clint is pan searing sausages, his hearing aids now in. “Chloe is my best friend.” She informs me, “I was so lucky she wasn’t snapped like Cooper’s friends. Neither was Henry.”
            “Snapped?” I ask. All movement in the kitchen freezes, including Yelena in the archway.
            “Nothing, Tasha.”
            “No, what is it?”
            “We will go over it when Steve gets here, okay?” I hold back a biting remark, getting impatient. I have respected everyone’s wishes, but it is wearing on me. Even the photos app on this phone is empty, as are most of the contacts. Did they think I wouldn’t notice?
            “Can we get a cow?” Nate asks, breaking the tension, or rather oblivious to it.
            “No,” Clint and Laura answer at the same time.
            “Why?”
            “It’s a moo point,” Wanda jokes. I look over, meeting her eyes, and smile. This is the first time I’ve heard her willingly contributed to a mealtime conversation. She quickly looks away, staring down at her breakfast.
            Cooper rejoins us, sitting next to Wanda after washing his hands. His plans for the day include leaving before Chloe arrives, and it feels as though my presence is no longer causing a disruption, everyone is going about their lives.
            “What time is Steve arriving? And is he bringing anyone else?” Laura asks as we eat.
            “He should be here after lunch, and as far as I know, no. He hasn’t mentioned anyone else.” Besides Dr. Fine and Steve, everyone I know is seated around this table. I can count every person I know on my fingers. Our text exchanges have minimal, just informing me of travel plans and asking how I am doing. He has supplied no information about my past, though to be fair, I haven’t asked. I would likely get stonewalled the same way I am here.
            “Nat, you okay?” I blink, and Clint is staring at me.
            “Yes, I’m fine.”
            “So once Steve gets here, you’ll remember everything and we can say whatever we want again?” Lila clarifies.
            “No, that is not what is happening, Lila,” Clint scolds his daughter. I feel guilty that the kids have been policing what they say because of me. But what could possibly be so bad that even the kids know not to mention it?
            “Wanda, you will talk to your mom before Steve comes.”
            “What?” Her eyes widen in panic, head lifting up from staring at her plate.
            “She doesn’t have to,” I start.
            “If you don’t tell her, we will. You have until lunch.” Yelena states, taking a bite of her breakfast.
            “If she doesn’t want to tell me,” I try again. As much as I would like to know more about her, I worry forcing her will only push her further away.
            “No, you should know. Is getting ridiculous.” I look to Laura for support, but she only gives a sympathetic smile. I just learned my daughter is an amputee, what bigger news could there possibly be? Breakfast finishes and I help clear the table with the oldest Barton kid as Wanda goes up to change. Everyone else has scattered throughout the large farmhouse.
            “So, is this a new friend you’re hanging out with today?” I ask Cooper, drying off a frying pan.
            “Yeah, we just started playing baseball together this year.”
            “Hopefully my house arrest will end soon and I’ll be able to watch you play.” I joke, hanging him the pan. He stares at me, his eyes nearly starting to tear up. “What’s wrong?”
            “Nothing,” He blinks, “It’s just, its you. I was worried when Dad told us what happened. He promised us you were still you, though. And you are.”
            “Am I?”
            “Dad said you have a strong sense of self, whatever that means.”
            “So, this Chloe that is coming over,”
            “Oh, her and Lila are probably going to rope everyone into their princess game, or playing mermaids in the pool. The two of them are scary together, very persuasive.”
            We are interrupted by Yelena and Wanda, the former pulling in the latter.
            “Time to communicate,”  
            “You’re one to talk,” Wanda huffs.
            “I am, after you,” Yelena replies with a tight smile, “Come on Cooper, I will drive you to your friends house.”
            “I think I’d rather Nate drive me,” he mutters but then tosses his aunt a cheeky smile.
            “Would you like to go for a walk through the trails?” I ask Wanda, hopefully it will be more comfortable than the two of us just sitting across from each other. Wait. Her leg. “I’m sorry, if you can’t,”
            “A walk would be good,” She nods, not making eye contact with me.
            It looks like she might be biting her cheeks. The sleeves of her light sweater are pulled over her hands, and her arms become crossed within a few minutes of our stroll. Whatever this is, she is terrified of telling me, and I feel terrible that she has been backed into this corner.
            Am I going to find out who her father is? He must not be in the picture, as I haven’t met him yet, or he hasn’t been mentioned. She would have been born when I was young, only twenty-two. Or it could be something else entirely.
            Under the canopy of the trees, it is a few degrees cooler, we wind our way through an overgrown trail that looks as though it has seen some recent use, like it is becoming worn again. Like no one used it for a long time. If Clint runs these trails, like he said he did during our last run, though a different route than this one currently, why would they become overgrown like this?
            “So, I don’t know if they’ve told you yet, but I’m adopted,” Wanda speaks suddenly, “That’s not the thing I’m supposed to be telling you right now, but it is something you should know, I think.”
            “I didn’t know that,” She isn’t my biological child. “How old were you when I adopted you?”
            “You took me in a few days before my fifteenth birthday, we thought it was my sixteenth. Found out a few weeks ago that my birthday was wrong.” I’ve only had her for a few years? What circumstances brought me to adopt her as a teen? And to cause her birthday to be off by an entire year?
            “That must have been really hard to deal with, altering your perspective on the world. I’m so sorry,”
            “Yeah, it is something. Not every day you de-age a year.” She steps carefully over a root, and I can hear her mechanical leg whirring. “Tony made it.”
            “People have mentioned him a few times.”
            “He’s on your team, works for you. He’s an engineer and an inventor. Made Clint’s hearing aids too.” This is the most I have heard her say since we met, but I recognize it for what it is, an evasion tactic. Whether subconscious or not. Despite this, I don’t want to ruin it, I want to listen to her talk, to get to know her. Her arms are no longer crossed, but hang at her side as we walk.
            “I was born in Sokovia, in Novigrad. I had a twin named Pietro. You met him once, before he died.” She pauses from walking, blinking rapidly, warding off tears, “Actually, I guess he wasn’t my twin. God, I was so used to always saying that, my twin, Pietro. My brother. My brother Pietro.” I want to hug her, but I don’t know how that will be received. So, I reach over and take her hand, squeezing it once, before letting go. Her head whips up, gaze no longer trained on the ground.
            “Why did you do that?” She demands, but it oddly sounds like a plea.
            “I wanted to comfort you,” I have crossed a line. I have made a mistake, just when she was opening up to me, telling me about her life. “I’m,”
            “Thank you.” The words are genuine, but sleeves are covering her hands once more. We walk by a tiny fairy village that Wanda tells me belongs to Lila, and then reach a treehouse.
            Wanda begins to climb the structure without a word, she struggles slightly on the ladder up, boards nailed to the trunk of the tree. Based on what little I know about her; I am sure she would not take me offering to help too kindly. I follow her up and inside. There is an old army trunk and a milk crate. A butterfly net is resting across, as well as a telescope. Wanda opens up the army trunk, pulling out two old patio cushions.
            “Clint built it,” Wanda sits down on her pillow, then folders her prosthetic so she can sit cross-legged.  
            “Does it hurt?”
            “Sometimes,” she shrugs, “But not today.” Is she telling me how it happened? Is that the thing that Yelena has forced her into? Or maybe how her brother died. “I don’t know how to tell you this. I never had to tell you; you just always knew.”
            “How would you usually tell other people?”
            “They usually already know.” She is staring at her hands, clenched into fists. Maybe she had done something bad? Why I was told not to google anything?
            “Whatever it is, it isn’t going to scare me off.” Maybe that is what she has been nervous about the past few days, this fear that I would reject her.
            “I’m a witch.” She states, her eyes still on her hands.
            “Like Wicca? Are you a Wiccan?” I try to understand.
            “No.” Does she mean she is a bad person? That she is wicked? 
            “Can you please explain?”
            “Neural-electric interfacing, telekinesis, mental manipulation, levitation. A few other things.” I take a deep breath. Okay. She is coming across as very serious, and is far too nervous or scared to be messing with me. Maybe she is mentally ill, and that is what Yelena was trying to get her to tell me. “I’m not mentally ill, it isn’t what Yelena was trying to get me to tell you.”
            “I,” I recognize that prodding, I felt it in the tower, just seconds before she burst into the room.
             “I can read minds. I don’t usually without permission.” She looks up from her lap and I force myself not to jump back. Her once blue eyes are now glowing red. Her hands start to glow as well, and the telescope floats over, landing between us. It spins, turning slowly, stopping at true north.
            Magic is real or she is an amazing magician. But I know in my gut, it is the first. This young girl, my daughter, is a witch. She has powers. To what extent, I don’t know. Could she pick up a car with her powers? And mental manipulation, what does that entail? But I used to know all of this, and I accepted her, loved her. I can still feel her arms as she threw herself at me. She loved me as well.
            Wanda’s entire body is tense, like she is waiting for me to hit or insult her. This poor girl, what else has she gone through? This is someone who has had a hard life, and any perceived rejection of her is going to hurt.
            “It’s okay, Wanda. I won’t run away.”
            “You should.”
            “I won’t lie, this is a bit, unexpected,” she snorts, “But, so was finding out I’m a super soldier, that I am almost forty, and that Steve is Captain America.
            “You should be scared of me.”
            But I just see this baby-faced teen. She has sucked in her lips, and a scar glints just above her chin. But it does not compare to the ones on her leg. There is a patchwork of thick scars. She has long auburn hair, thick and shiny. Her skin is glowing, cheeks red. She is cared for, loved. By me.
            “I’m not scared of you.”
            “Please, be afraid of me.”
            “I can’t. You are just a kid.” You were my kid.
            A shadow passes overhead, darkening the light streaming in from the windows.
            “That would be Steve.” Wanda gets up, and it looks like she is relieved our conversation is ending, but I have so many more questions.
            Rather than climb down the ladder, she jumps through the hole with a pulse of red surrounding her. She looks up at me as I join her on the ground, jumping as well, and landing in a crouch, one knee on the ground, and the other leg out beside me. When I stand back up, Wanda is staring at me, but then pinches her lips and starts walking.
            We take a shorter route back to the house, and there is a smaller version of the quinjet we took to the farm parked in the driveway. There are three newcomers standing nearby, talking to Laura and Clint.
            “Hey Nat, Wanda,” Steve greets as we get closer, “This is Maria, and that’s Sam.”
            “Nice to meet you,” I greet them both. Did I know them, or are the genuinely new people?
            “We’re on your team,” Sam speaks up, “We’ve worked together for a while now.” They lean towards each other despite their feet facing us, and they stand a hair closer than most would be comfortable with. Both have rings on their fingers. They are together, engaged if not married.
            “Let’s head inside, I can pack you both some food for your trip.”
            “You don’t have to do that, Laura,” Maria insists.
            “No, I do. Otherwise, you’ll be eating MREs. We have leftover muffins from breakfast too.”
            Laura herds everyone inside with efficiency, likely similar to getting all of her children to go in one direction.
            “I’m going to go say hi to Chloe,” Wanda races down the basement stairs as soon as we get inside.
            “I’ll talk to her before we go,” Sam promises. I wait for further explanation. “I’m her therapist.”
            “That seems like a conflict of interest, my employee being my daughter’s therapist.”
            “You could trust me, that’s what you picked me.” Sam promises, “But we did have discussions about the ethics of it.” I nod, still unsure. “No hard feelings if you drop me, Wanda has tried many times.”
            Laura carries over the leftover muffins and Clint carries a pitcher of iced coffee as well as a stack of cups. Yelena is staring at the two of them, with little subtlety.
            “You two make a cute couple,” I compliment, trying to make conversation.
            “So, they’ve talked to you?” Maria sits up straighter, no longer picking at her blueberry pastry.
            “No, sorry. I just noticed. The plan is to tell me some things today,” I add pointedly, looking at Clint, Steve, and Yelena. “I did talk to Wanda, she told me she’s a witch.”
            “She is a good kid,” Captain America, Steve, jumps in, “A really good kid.”
            “I know, I can tell.”
            “You’re not scared?” Yelena confirms, taking her eyes off Maria and Sam.
            “No.”
            “I can’t imagine what this must be like for you, Natasha.” Maria comments, “I met you the same day you met Clint, we’ve worked closely together for a long time.”
            “I’m curious about this team I manage.” I hedge, seeing if Maria and Sam will give anything away. Nate races into the room being chased by Lucky, who is being chased by Liho, interrupting the entire conversation. Clint swiftly picks up his son and brings him over to a coloring book to distract him.
            “Who else is coming out for the Fourth?” Sam asks.
            “You guys, Tony, Pepper, Morgan, Rhodey, Peter, MJ, Happy, and Mae. Thor and Jane are about fifty-fifty right now,” Clint rattles off some names, “Trying to convince Fury to come too.”
            “I invited Sharon,” Yelena adds.
            “You what?” Steve turns to her. “Why?”
            I grip the cup of iced coffee in my hand. That is a dozen more people, and to be coming here, they must be close friends.
            “We should get going. We have to get to Toronto.” Sam interrupts, “We’ve got a small window.”
            “Of course. I’ll throw together some sandwiches right now. Nat, want to help?” Laura asks. I follow her into the kitchen.
            “Getting me out of the room so they can talk about me?” I ask, half-teasing.
            “Thought I was a little subtler than that,” She takes out a loaf of bread as well as deli meat and leftover cheese from the burgers. “The Fourth of July is one of the few days a year most of the team is together in a nonwork setting.”
            “They are all on my team?”
            “Or they are tied to someone on the team in some way.” I nod, tying off the bag of bread. “We will make sure you know everyone before they arrive for the holiday, so you don’t feel like you’re in a room of strangers.”
            “My memories aren’t coming back, are they?” She hands me a finished sandwich and a knife. I cut the sandwich into fourths.
            “I’m not sure.” She passes over another. At least she is honest.
            “I want to remember you all. Please know that,”
            “We love you. All of you, Nat. With or without your memories,” She wraps the sandwiches in wax paper.
            They join us in the kitchen, save for Sam who has gone down to the basement to talk to Wanda. Laura puts the sandwiches in a bag with water bottles and lunch bags of chips.
            “I made Defection Day cake for Clint’s birthday,”
            “Can we have some slices to go?” Maria asks, her eyes lighting up.
            “Why do you call it Defection Day cake?” A silence hangs in the room, “Let me guess, I will learn soon?” My words drips with sarcasm.
            “Sorry, Nat.” Steve rubs the back of his neck. Sam comes up the cellar stairs.
            “Ready?”
            “As I’ll ever be.” Maria takes the bag of food for Laura, which now has the yellow cake as well. “Thank you for the food, we’ll see you all in a few weeks.”
            “Good luck, and call if you need any help.” Clint offers.
            “I’ll walk you out.” Laura heads out with the pair, to wherever they are going. Part of me thinks it has something to do with my memory loss.
            “So, did you make a PowerPoint?” I turn to the three left with me in the kitchen.
            “The idea was floated around.” Steve replies, and I can’t tell if he is joking. “We’re sorry for keeping you in a dark so long. Its just, we didn’t know how to have this conversation. We still don’t, not really.”
            “You guys have to give me something, this is starting to border on cruel. I am walking around with an empty head.” At least they have the decency to look ashamed of themselves.  
            “We don’t want to scare you off, or have you think we’re crazy.”
            “At this point, I doubt anything would surprise me.” I just found out my daughter is a witch. What else could there possibly be?
            “Ten bucks says you’re wrong,” Steve replies quickly, as though it were a bit. I had a repertoire with these people. Giggles float up the stairs and two little girls fill the kitchen.
            “Auntie Nat, you know Chloe,” Lila signs with a wink.
            “Hi Chloe, it is good to see you again.” I reply.
            “Can you do crown braids on us?” Looks like our conversation will have to wait. Wanda joins us a few minutes later with Nate, who has drawn on himself with marker.
            “It’s washable, sorry I got distracted.” She hands the toddler off to Clint who brings him upstairs. Yelena takes Wanda’s hand and says something about needing to talk, leaving me with Steve and the girls. Lila hangs off one of Steve’s biceps as I braid her best friend’s hair. She chats about horseback riding with Lila and her pony named Fairy.
            Lila is next, and a little less wiggly than her friend. By the time I’m finished, both girls are racing upstairs to change into princess dresses.
            “Girlhood,” I smile to Steve.
            “My friend’s sister Rebecca used to love to play dress up, would sometimes rope me and my friend in. Honestly thought it would be the only time in my life I would be someone’s knight in shining armor.”
            “Is that what you think of the spandex uniform?” I tease. “I know your USO tour uniform, I’m sorry if that isn’t what you wear today.”
            “No, its fine. Really. I’ve missed getting ribbed by you.”
            “You all really don’t want to tell me about my past.”
            “Its not that we don’t want you to know, it is just going to be a hard conversation. Your life hasn’t been easy, Nat.”
            “I can tell. And you’re probably not going to share anything without your accomplices?”
            “Sorry,” He leans back against the counter.
            “What about something about you, then?”
            “Like what?”
            “Your hobbies?”
            “I like to draw and paint, exercise. I also run a grief center. But that has moved to the backburner lately.”
            “Because of me?”
            “No, because of me. I can’t focus right now. Haven’t been able to for a few months.”
            “I hope whatever you’re dealing with, you have someone to talk to. From what I can see, we’re not alone.” I get up from the table. “If we aren’t going to do that talk now, I’m going to go for a run. Care to join?”
            “I’m in.” He stands up straighter, “Meet on the back porch in ten?”
            “Make it five.” I jog up the stairs and change into workout gear and beat Steve to the back porch. It is hotter now than it was this morning on my walk with Wanda. The morning dew on the grass has evaporated.
            “Do you want to lead the way? I’m still learning the ground.”
            “Sure, let’s do it.”  

            We miss lunch and arrive back at the house around two, both of us are drenched in sweat. But I feel better than I have since waking up in that bank. For the past day or so, I have seesawed between guilt over not remembering everyone and frustration with being kept in the dark. Now, I feel like my soul has settled a little, like I satiated it at least temporarily.
             Steve had turned down my suggestion of swimming in our underwear at the pond we came across, it even had a rope swing. In fact, his face had blushed beet red and stammered over his words before he started running again.
            But the kids are swimming when we get back, with Cooper now home from his friend’s house. Wanda is in the pool as well, and her powers are on display. I watch before we are noticed, seeing her create waves for the kids on their boogie boards.
            “Took her a long time to get that comfortable with her powers.” Steve comments, standing beside me. “She used to think they were only good for destruction. You helped get her there.”
            “Tasha!” Yelena yells, waving to us, “We saved you sandwiches!” In the kitchen, there are two plates of sandwiches set out and I take the smaller. I eat quickly and head upstairs to shower.
             Steam fills the bathroom and when I step out, the sticky note has fallen from the mirror. I slip it into the pocket of my robe, not wanting anything to happen to it. A physical proof that I have made progress with Wanda.
            I rejoin everyone outside in black cutoffs and a t-shirt. Chloe is still here, and it seems as though her and Lila are instructing the older children on how to properly play mermaids, as Cooper predicted.
            “Not going to swim?”
            “The cold shower was enough.” I sit down beside Laura. “How did you meet Clint?”
            “I was a trauma nurse and he came into my ER after having been shot, it was a flesh wound, barely anything. But then his appendix burst and we had to rush him to surgery. He made me promise if he survived, to go on a date with him.”
            “An appendectomy has a success rate of over 95%, and a mortality rate of .1%. It is very unlikely he would have died.”
            “Yes, but he said it gave him something to live for, and it gave me something to look forward to.”
            “He loves you very much.”
            “And I love him. We have built a good life.”

            Chloe leaves after dinner, we made pizzas on the grill. The tiny blonde actually preferred Steve’s meat lovers. Dessert are these small cookies called angel wings, khvorost.
            But I haven’t forgotten their promise. And I know that the trio hasn’t either. As the sun is setting, Clint nods his head towards the backyard. I follow him out and into the barn. Wordlessly, he climbs up the loft ladder. I follow him, hoping he will lead me to some answers.
             He opens a bin, pulling out a blanket and bottle of vodka, before heading over to a window and stepping sideways out of it to a ladder leading to the roof.  It is a convoluted way to end up in such a simple space.
            “Liquid courage?” I ask as he places the bottle between us, settling down on the old picnic blanket.
            “Nah, its for you. I’ve got to do this sober, and you shouldn’t.” I twist off the top and it is like lighter fluid going down my throat.
            “You drew the short straw? I figured the three of you would be telling me all at once.”
            “That was the original plan, but it felt too confrontational. This, you and me on a roof, it felt right.”
            “That our thing?”
            “Yeah. Problems feel smaller under the sky. Words are easier.”
            “That’s Saturn,” I point out to the sky, “It is nine times wider than Earth with a radius of 36,183.7 miles. It actually takes the planet 10,756 Earth days to orbit the Sun. And each of Saturn’s rings moves at a different speed around the planet. Saturn was named after the Roman god of agriculture and wealth, with the Greek equivalent being Cronus.”
            “Wow,” Clint rests his arms on his knees, “Sometimes, I forget how smart you are, like I know you’re smart, but how much information you know. You didn’t usually share stuff unprompted.
            “I’m sorry,” I am not being like her.
            “No, its okay. I like hearing it, really. I actually knew none of that, except that it was named for a Roman god.”
            “Thank you for doing this,” His nods tightly.
            “I guess I’ll start in the beginning,”
            “All the best stories usually do.” I bump my shoulder against his. He looks over at me, one side of his mouth twisting up in a smile, and then bumping me back. But the moment doesn’t last as he leans back and runs his fingers through his hair.
            We are surrounded by an impossible number of stars. They look so close, that I could reach up and put it in my pocket. Clint takes a deep breath, drawing my attention.
            “You were kidnapped as an infant when your parents were killed by the KGB for going against the regime. They injected you with the serum and inserted you in their Black Widow program at a school called the Red Room. Yelena wasn’t lying when she said it is where you met and grew up. They tortured you there and forced you to do and endure horrible things. And I wasn’t lying when I said we met through work. You were twenty-one and on a mission to the United States for the Red Room, and I was sent to stop you, and kill you. You’d gotten on SHIELD’s radar in a bad way. Instead of killing you, I offered you a chance to defect and you accepted. You worked really hard, Tash. You overcame what they did to you and got to be who you’ve always been, kind and just. Merciful. Good.”
             I take a long sip of the vodka, taking it in.
            “I hurt people?” I ask. There is an uncomfortable mix of disconnect and guilt. Like I am hearing the actions of someone else. But not quite so removed.
            “Not by choice, never by choice.” Clint assures, “You’re good Nat, the best person I know, that any of us know. When Steve defrosted into the twenty-first century, you helped him acclimate and then we all became a part of the Avenger’s initiative, it’s a task force. Basically, a team of superheroes. There are about a dozen of us on the team. You and Steve lead it, with Fury providing extra supervision and Tony helping with funding. Eventually, through the Avengers, we met Wanda. You took her in and fostered her before adopting.”
            “Who is on this team?” I try to focus on this latter half, not the first. Not those early years that Clint mentioned. Those questions, the ones from before Clint, will be better directed toward Yelena.
            “Originally it was six of us. You, me, Steve, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, and Thor.”
             “Stark, of Stark Industries, the weapons manufacturer?”
            “Only makes weapons for us now, they’ve pivoted to other industries, but yeah. And five years ago, the universe was invaded. Earth specifically was attacked. I know it sounds crazy, aliens. But it did happen. This guy, Thanos, he got rid of the half the universe. We lost a lot, Nat. Laura, the kids, Wanda, and Yelena. All gone. Maria and Sam, who you met today, gone. You brought everyone back though,” his throat catches, “I was in a bad place those five years. Did some bad things, abandoned you. But you brought me back from the edge, and you saved everyone. After five years, you saved us all.”
            “The Snap that Lila mentioned, and my age difference with Yelena changing.”
            “Yes,”
            “I saved everyone?”
            “Yeah,” he chokes out, “You did.”
            “How?” My grip is tight on the neck of the bottle. The air has cooled considerably since we climbed out here, and my arms are marked with goosebumps. I think of the wound on the back of my head, the one that when mentioned, caused all the color to wash from his face. The one that feels like someone couldn’t have survived that and still be walking. My hand has unconsciously drifted to it, and I lower it.
            “You sacrificed yourself to undo what had been done five years ago. Steve brought you back, it was complicated. But he brought you back. We got you back.”
            “I died.”
            “You died.”
            “The dwarf planet Pluto was named for the Roman god of the underworld, the Greek equivalent being Hades. Its moons are named for Greco-Roman figures as well. The largest moon is Charon, the ferryman for death, Thanatos, a guide through to the next side.” I pass Clint the bottle, “There are also rivers in the underworld, the most famous being Styx. But do you know about the river, Lethe?”
            “I don’t,”
            “It is the river of forgetfulness. It wipes the memory of all who drink from it. Some ancient Greeks believed that in order to be reborn anew, one had to drink from the river. It wipes a person, so their mortal memories no longer exist. What if mine no longer exist, Clint? It is ironic, I died defending the world from a man who called himself death, only to be brought back and still encounter what the Greeks thought would come after. This Lethean torture device that I was put in,” I pause, “I want to say that I think you’re lying, that you are messing with me. That you are crazy for everything you have said in the past hour. But I think you are sincere. But this machine, this torture device, what if it has truly wiped me, if your Natasha is really gone?”
            “You’re Natasha.”
            “Am I? Or will I be a reminder and poor substitute of someone you’ve lost?”  
            “You’re Natasha Romanoff, Tasha, Nat, Tash, Auntie Nat, Mom, Avenger. With or without your memories, you are those things. Your memories didn’t make you, you. It is just a part of you, something that the machine didn’t take away. I see it when you interact with the kids, when we chat. The thing that is intrinsically you is still there.”  
            “Psyche.” I whisper, taking back the bottle.
            “What?”
            “The Greek goddess of the soul.”

Chapter Text

            “What do you think Clint is telling her?” I ask Yelena, lying on her bed. I swirl my finger in the air, lazily moving the ceiling fan.
            “The truth, hopefully a little bit rose-colored and still true.” 
            “That’s a fine line to walk.” I sit up on my elbows.
            “Yes, but Clint can do it.”
            “Really?” I never expected Yelena to have so much confidence in Clint of all people. Steve, maybe. But not Clint.
            “He is bad in a lot of ways, a lot to atone for, but he will do right by Tasha here.”
            “That is a lot of faith in him.”
            “It is what Natasha would do.” She finishes brushing out her hair and braids it back. “Sit up more and I will do yours.” She is not nearly as gentle as Nat, but the results are just as neat. I feel the two uniform French braids at my shoulder blades.
            “What if this Nat doesn’t want to be our Nat? Like if she rejects what Clint is telling her? If she doesn’t want to be a superhero or a mom,”
            “She wants to be in your life, Wanda,” Yelena cuts me off, “I can tell.”
             “That’s different than being a mother.”
            “You would know if you gave her a chance.” Yelena sits down beside me. “You barely talk to her.”
            “I spoke to her today, in the treehouse.”       
            “Like twenty minutes total. Talk to her, like over food or something.”
             “What would I even say?”
            “I don’t know, you never shut up with her. Say that stuff.”
            “That’s only with Nat.”
            “Wanda, I am sick of this conversation. You talk in circles, same problem over and over. Either do something about it or stop complaining,” Yelena snaps. I swallow my hurt, trying not to cry.
            “Sorry.”
            “It is just, we are all dealing with this, da? It is not just you. You are not alone in this.”
            “You’re handling it better,” I accuse, “Everyone is.”
            “I want to be alone. Goodnight, Wanda.”  Yelena dismisses me. I get up off the bed and close the door behind me.
            It is well past ten o’clock when I hear the shower begin to run in our adjoining bathroom. I wish we had waited downstairs until they came in, but Laura thought it would be overwhelming, feel like an ambush. But they were out there for hours. How much does she know now? Does she know about the fact that I am a war criminal? That I tried to hurt her? That I was committed to a mental institution?
            No. That’s not true. Beck held me there, but it was not an active psychiatric hospital. I was not a patient; I was a prisoner.
            Sam had been concerned when he was here earlier, I’ve been avoiding him more than usual. But I don’t want to talk about it, to talk about Nat, about being snapped, about any of it.
            The shower stops running. She must be scared. If it were me in this situation, Nat wouldn’t hesitate to comfort me, to put aside as discomfort she had. I can ask her how it went, but that would open to the door to her asking me questions. Questions I am not ready to answer. But she is alone. And Nat wouldn’t leave me alone.
            I wait until I hear the door to her bedroom close and enter the bathroom, knocking on the door she just exited through.
            Nat opens it, her face blank, that’s not great. Her hair is dripping with water. She has changed into pajamas, shorts and one of Steve’s old t-shirts.
            “Hi Wanda,” her tone doesn’t match her face, which gives me hope. It is warm and soft.
            “Hi,” I’m unsure what to say now that I’m in here, I never used to be at a loss for words around her. But that was my Nat, not this new one. Unless they are the same.
            “Do you want me to braid your hair?” she offers. My hair is currently wildly loose down my back. In my anger with Yelena, I had undone her careful work. I nod. We go over to her bed and I sit down at the end of it with her behind me. My feet dangle over the footboard. Her fingers run through from the roots, gently detangling the strands. I feel her gather hair at the crown and begin to weave it, adding as she goes down until a French braid is tied off with an elastic.
            “Thank you,” I twist to look at her. She has begun to comb out her own hair, and braiding it back with none of the care mine was given.
            “Was I a good mom?” She asks suddenly, looking up.
            “The best,” I reply without hesitation.
            “I’m sorry this has happened to you. This isn’t something isolated. Me losing my memory has affected a lot of people, you more than anyone else. It must be hard, to have lost your mom a second time in just a few short months.”
            “You know? About the Snap and dying?”
            “Yes, and that I came back.”
            “It must be a lot to take in.”
            “It is.” We fall into silence, “I think I liked my life, at least, I like the one I am learning. Even with the bad, it seems the good outweighed it.”
            I lie down beside her on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, our breath matching as we fall asleep.
            But of course, none of this happens. Because I am a coward. Instead, I hear the water shut off for her shower. The door to her room closes, and I still lie on my bed, with layers of blankets pooled around me, Liho on my armchair. Because I am a coward, I ignore the feelings of stress and anguish flowing from her room like a tidal wave, and I turn off the light.

            Rain patters against my bedroom windows when I wake. Despite being eight-o’clock, the room is still dark from the heavy clouds. Liho has migrated from the chair to my bed, curled up in a tight ball on the left side of the mattress. When I try to wake her, she curls up tighter.
             I get up from the bed and head to the bathroom, washing my face and brushing my teeth. My hair is mussed from sleep, and I lean against the counter to use both my arms to put my hair up into a rushed ponytail.
            I hope we aren’t going anywhere today, as it is not a leg day. I’m not feeling it. All I want to do is crawl back into bed. The weather is to blame. But I head back into my bedroom and then the hallway. Lila is up, wearing riding gear and her hair back in a single plait.
            “You seeing Clara today?” I ask her as we head down the hall.
             “Going riding with Chloe, her mom is picking me up at nine.” Lila takes the stairs slowly beside me and I almost wish she would rush ahead.
            The dining table is starting to fill up when we arrive, Nat and Steve are already there, both wet from rain and a hint of sweat gleaning off them.
            “We are having acai bowls for breakfast, changing it up,” Clint informs me and Lila as we sit down. Nat smiles at me and I briefly return it before looking down at the smoothie bowl.
            “Auntie Lena better get down here soon or hers is going to melt,” Cooper looks at the clock. Eight-thirty. It is getting a little late.
            “You feeling okay, honey?” Laura asks, bringing me over a coffee.
            “I’m fine.” I promise, curling my hands around the mug.  
            “Lila, when you get back from riding with Chloe, you have schoolwork.” The little girl crinkles her nose, “Cooper, you have history work to do before signing on to game with Peter. And I will be checking it.” Laura hands Nate a banana without missing a beat as the toddler opens his mouth.
            “You’re on a roll this morning,” Clint compliments his wife as he gives Nicole Cheerios.
            Yelena’s bowl is mostly melted by the time she makes it downstairs, nine o’clock. She takes one look at it and goes over to a cabinet, grabbing a large glass and pouring the contents of her bowl in.
            “Good morning to you too,” Clint greets. Yelena flips him the bird and drops a dollar into the swear jar before one of the kids can comment.
            “Rough night?” Steve asks.
            “I’m fine.” She replies, sipping on her acai bowl. Dark circles surround her eyes.  
            “Auntie Lena, do you want to play video games with me and Peter this afternoon?”
            “Sure,” she brightens a bit at Cooper’s offer. We get an alert from Friday that Chloe and her mom are here, breaking up breakfast. Steve grabs my bowl for me before I can get up and brings it over to the dishwasher. I have my coffee float up the stairs beside me as I hop back up with my crutching thrown to the second floor.
            My room is still dark and cozy, though Liho has since disappeared. I crawl back under the covers and pull up the Netflix app. Then a knock at the door interrupts my rainy-day plans. I pop up from under the blankets, pulling them down. Natasha stands in the door way, hovering.
            “Hi,” she begins.
            “Hi,” I parrot, unsure what she could want. Probably to ask about something Clint told her last night, which causes my stomach to twist.
            “Would you like to get lunch together?”
            “Just the two of us?” I clarify, “Like, out?”
            “You don’t have to,” Natasha rushes, “If you don’t want to. I just thought it would be nice to spend some time together, one on one. I heard Laura mention a French café in town, I can make us a reservation for this afternoon?”
            “Today? It is kind of gross out.” The wind blows to emphasize my point.
            “Oh, of course. Maybe tomorrow, or whenever the storm clears up.” She turns away, and I feel instant guilt.
            “Wait,” Hope is painted brightly across her face when she looks over her shoulder. “Can we do one o’clock?”
            “Perfect,” She closes the door softly behind her and I put a pillow over my head. This is not what I wanted to do today. Ideally, I would stay in bed and binge some TV show, maybe sit in on Cooper and Peter’s video game. Today was supposed to be a lazy day. And the storm has irritated my leg. But instead, I am going to an audition with this new Nat to see if I can be her daughter.
            I stand up and head into the bathroom. The shower fills the room with steam as I forgot to turn on the fan, and when I step out, the mirror is fogged up. I reach forward, drawing a smiley face in the mirror. My own eyes stare back in the expression, and they look just as lifeless as a cartoon’s. I reach forward and wipe away the rest of steam.
            After putting on my leg, I head back into the bathroom, tightening my robe. My hair hangs in wet clumps that I carefully detangle and blow dry. Normally, I am far more hurried in my effort to get ready, but I have hours before we have to leave for lunch. At least this gives me something to do.
            I miss my long hair, when it went down to the middle of my back. It was impulsive, chopping off so much and dying it red, only to dye it back to my chestnut in a similar fit of impulsivity. A kinder voice would call it spontaneous; I am not feeling very kind.
            Makeup doesn’t take as long as I would hope, and I change into a baby tee and jeans. We are going out in public, and I definitely don’t want everyone staring at my leg. I collapse back onto the bed. I don’t want to go. What is the point of this lunch? We could just have lunch here. And doesn’t she want to get to know Steve? She’s hardly spent any time with him outside of running, and I’m sure they don’t talk about anything.
            The door to my room bursts open, and Yelena strides in, looking like she just came in from a run in the rain. She even has a kitchen towel draped around her shoulders, likely courtesy of Laura. Her toes are painted blue, I’m sure she was forced to remove her sneakers before walking through the house.
            “Don’t you knock?”
            “I listen and you weren’t doing anything,” she shrugs. “I came to apologize.”
            “What?”
            “You are going to make me say it again?” she wrings out her ponytail into the towel. “I am sorry for snapping last night. We are all doing our best. Sometimes my best not very good.  I don’t have Tasha’s patience.”
            “I’m having lunch with her.”
            “You are supposed to say, ‘Thank you, Yelena. I accept your apology. I am sorry for being whiny.’ Your turn.” I cast her a disdainful glare. “Fine. I know you are sorry. And I know about lunch, she told me. Is very excited. Had me and Laura help pick out her outfit. Was cute.”
            “I don’t want to go.”
            “Yes, you doing your hair and makeup and putting on favorite jeans definitely screams that you don’t want to go. You are just nervous, first mother-daughter date jitters.”
            “You are dripping all over my floor.” I gesture to the small puddle forming where she stands.
            “I think you need to talk to Sam more, or go to another therapist if you don’t like talking to him.”
            “You’ve got a lot of opinions today.” I shoot her a glare.
            “Phone died on my run, had time to think. I am going to shower.” Yelena leaves the room but her words stick. And I’m irritated with her for it.
            I help Laura put together the kids’ lunch, turkey sandwiches with apple slices. The rain has tapered off into a drizzle, but it is still wet enough that the doors are kept locked in an effort to stop Nate from discovering the mud outside.
            “Are you excited for your lunch?” Laura asks, cutting the sandwiches into triangles. She begins to make extra, likely for Steve. I shrug noncommittally. “You had a similar lunch with Nat years ago, if I remember correctly. She took you to a food court,”
            “We went shopping for clothes and then afterwards, Clint had me put on a fashion show. I learned the word twirl. I had a hamburger and she had pizza, with split the French fries.” Nat had been in a bad place then, I learned after. And it was my fault.
            “She called me when you guys got back,” Laura begins to make a caramel sauce at the stove for the apples.
            “After our lunch?”
            “Yes, she was worried about how to take care of a teenage girl, if she said the wrong things. Of course, I could only speak from my experience as a teenager.”
            “What did you tell her?”
            “Laura, what time is Lila getting back? We’re taking the kids to the indoor trampoline park,” Clint walks in, eyes trained on his phone, interrupting our conversation.
            “We?” Laura raises her eyebrows, clearly having no plan to go to the park.
            “Me, Yelena, and Steve. Figured it’s a rainy day,”
            “I am getting the house to myself?” Laura confirms.
            “Depending on what time Lila gets back,”
            “She’ll be home in fifteen minutes and you’re taking Nicole.” She yells out lunch and her two boys come running, as does Yelena.
            “We leave once Lila gets back and has a chance to change,” Clint informs them.
            “I am so curious as to how this is going to go, I’m tempted to come, just to observe,” Laura jokes, cleaning up the dishes.
            Natasha and Steve join us, the latter grabbing a sandwich. Nat is wearing a black sundress and white sneakers, her hair pulled up in a ponytail. She crosses the room and grabs the truck keys from the bowl on the counter.
            “We can come with you guys, if you want,” Clint offers, with Steve nodding. Yelena is strangely quiet.
            “I think Natasha can handle going to lunch, she is not made of glass,” Laura interrupts. “You two get going, have fun.”
            Natasha gives me a nervous smile and we head into the front hallway and out the door. Nat pops open an umbrella and offers me room underneath, but I pretend not to notice, scrolling on my phone until we reach the truck. I climb into the passenger side, and can feel a fine frizz starting to poof on my hair from the rain. This is the same truck I learned to drive again in when I first lost my leg. Sweat clings to my palms and I wipe them on my pants.
            The driver’s side door opens and Nat climbs in, shaking out the umbrella before closing the door. She hesitates, staring at the wheel.
            “Do you remember how to drive?” I ask, trying not to sound snarky, but genuine.
            “Yes,” She starts the car and the engine rumbles to life, and before she can shift the gear, she fiddles with the radio, settling on a classics station. It isn’t right.
            But then she shifts the gear, smooth as ever. The truck takes the curving driveway with ease, her muscles remembering what she can’t. We reach the end of the driveway and she flicks on the blinker to turn right. How does she remember how to get there?”
            “I looked it up on Google Maps before we left,” Nat explains, like she is the one with mind-reading powers.
            We are in town within ten minutes. The streets and storefronts are quiet, most people have likely stayed home due to the rain. Nat probably decided today was the day to go back out in public for that reason. Or maybe she finally got the all clear from the others. This Nat wouldn’t worry about being in public like my Nat would.
            We are quickly seated at the restaurant, right by a window overlooking the park in the square. There are only two other seated tables in the restaurant, and both look at us before returning to their meals. The two of us being here isn’t nearly as exciting as it would be for them to see Nat here with Steve. Does she know they are, or were, a couple? Does she find him attractive now? Have they talked about it at all? Is it ethical for Steve to try and push them back into a relationship, or is it worse to pretend it doesn’t exist?
            “Wanda,” Natasha is staring at my expectantly, and I see a waitress is as well.
            “What would you like to drink?”
            “Oh, um, water is fine.” I fumble. The waitress leaves us, promising to be by with bread.
            “What is your favorite thing to eat here?”
            “I’ve only been here once or twice.” We fall into silence. “I’m getting the spinach and artichoke galette,” Natasha continues to read the menu. The waitress comes back over with our waters, and I order my lunch, then it’s Natasha’s turn.
            “I will have the same,” She hands over the leatherbound menu.
            “Actually,” I think of my earlier conversation with Laura, “Can we have a side of fries as well?”
            “What is your favorite color?” Nat asks, jumping right in.
            “Dark red, like crimson.” She nods and we fall into silence. What did I even used to talk about to fill our time? Nat never spoke much.
            “I lost my leg in a mission gone wrong after I joined the Avengers.” I don’t know why I said that. She must have wondered at some point, but she never asked. Should I have said anything?
            “That must have been really hard, especially being young in a relatively new environment.”
            “You found me and rescued me, you were sick and not supposed to be in the field. My leg was only hanging on by a few tendons. They had to amputate.”
            “I imagine you must have been scared, and felt alone.”
            “But I wasn’t alone, you made sure of that.” To your detriment. At the cost of your own health. “You haven’t googled us yet?”
            “No. I don’t want to anymore. Not after talking with Clint last night. I would rather get to know you all for who you are, not how the media portrays you or the world perceives you.”
            “Have you talked to Yelena?”
            “We are having dinner tonight,” That is probably why she was so short with me last night and why she looked terrible this morning, plus the run in the rain. She is stressed about having to tell Natasha about their childhood.
            “The first time we hung out you took me shopping and we had lunch. I got this duffel bag that has gone everywhere in the world, and you helped me pick things out to decorate my room. I hadn’t decorate a room since I was in grade school.”
            “Do you have pictures? I’d love to see it, unless it is the one at our apartment?”
            “I think I have a picture,” I pull up my phone and scroll, having to go back far. I find a picture with my room in the background, I am wearing Nat’s baseball uniform for the game I went to with Steve. “I have a globe that I stick a pin in for every place we go, missions or vacations.”
            “I still let you go on missions?” Her eyes widen in horror.
            “It was more of an issue of preventing me,” I admit, my neck getting hot, and grabbing a roll out of the basket to busy my hands.
            “I think we probably have that in common, given the fact that I told everyone we were going out today and best of luck stopping us.”
            “What?” I look up from my bread.
            “Oh, Clint and Steve, even Yelena, were worried. The number of what-ifs they came up with was staggering. But I was beginning to feel suffocated. Clint, I know he means well, but he hovers, a lot.”
            “Laura usually kicks him out if he is home too long, especially after giving birth.” She laughs, actually laughs.
            “So, what do you and I like to do for fun?”
            “We read together, you saw the library in the apartment. The two chairs, we will sit there for hours with tea, just reading.”
             “That sounds really nice, peaceful.” Her smile looks sad for a moment but is quickly replaced as the waitress comes over with our food.
            “We also get a lot of takeout from different restaurants, train in the gym, shopping. We go on little trips too, come to the farm a lot. You also have houses everywhere, so but I’ve only been to the ones on Nantucket and in Aspen.”
            “Really?”
            “Most of them I don’t know about. I actually don’t know now what happens to them since you were the only one who knew where they were.”
            “I’m sure I kept a file of them, in case this were to happen. Sh, I seem to have been meticulous.” She goes quiet for a moment, “They are safe houses, right? The ones you don’t know about.”
            “Yeah, they are.”
            “Here is what I really want to know about,” She leans forward, looking serious, but her eyes glow with mirth, “Can you tell me about The Office?”
            Lunch was delicious, and once I got talking to Nat, it felt like talking to Nat. Like her, once removed, or something. She has the same mannerisms, talks the same, just one key piece missing.
            We walk through the town square, with a gazebo in the center. The sky opens up and rain begins to fall once more in heavy buckets. We race under the structure, waiting for the rain to pass.
            I want her to pull me up to dance, to twirl me around or play The Beatles “Twist and Shout”, twisting and making me laugh. Instead, she watches the rain fall. My Nat, I would ask, this Nat, I can’t. I’d feel awkward, forcing things. We barely know each other.
             I bite back my disappointment, and remind myself that this is not the same Nat, but it doesn’t make her bad. And it isn’t true that we don’t know each other. I still know her; she just doesn’t know me.  
      The rain quickly begins to taper off and we head back to the truck. We’ve fallen back into silence, but it doesn’t feel awkward like before, more comfortable. 
She turns on the blinker and pulls out into the street. The clouds part, revealing the sun for the first time today.
       “Sun, sun, sun, here it comes,” she sings quietly, and looks over to me, her eyes shining. And I say, it’s alright.           

      Everything is going to be alright.
 

Chapter Text

            Wanda doesn’t talk for the ride home, but that’s okay. I think we’ve made progress, she seems more comfortable around me now, not so tense. She goes through the radio stations, turning the dial. I finally did something right.
            We arrive back at the farm and the house is quiet as we walk in, near silent if not for the sound of 90s acoustic music floating down from upstairs. Laura, likely having a spa day with her alone time.
            “I’m going out to the barn to shoot,” I offer, and Wanda nods.
            “I think I’m going to head upstairs and catch up on my show.”
            “I really enjoyed having lunch with you, Wanda,”
            “I had fun too,” she murmurs, ducking her head, cheeks flaming red She races up the stairs and I head out to the barn.
            It smells like hay and bow polish. The barn wall panel opens with my fingerprint and I take out the gun. The weight feels good in my hand. Clint had shown me the shooting setup last night after our talk, telling me I could come out here to shoot whenever I want. Knowing so much about our lives, it does not sound nearly as odd as I would have though two days ago.
            I load the chamber and raise the weapon, shotting once. Dead center. I shoot again, going through the hole I just punctured. And again. Again. Again. Six rounds. Again. Again. All perfect.
            What am I?
            The light in the barn flashes overheard. I turn around, lowering the weapon. Steve is leaning in the doorway, watching.
            “You should really protect your ears.”
            “How much did you see?”
            “Last four rounds.”
            “Is that normal for me? I ask, nodding to the paper target. He walks over to it and whistles.
            “That’s good, even for you.”
            “Must be the empty head.” I clean the gun carefully before putting it away.
            “How’d it go with Wanda?”
            “Really, really well actually. She is a sweet kid. How was the trampoline park?”
            “An experience that I will be happy never to have again.” He laughs.
            “Well, now I have to go. My curiosity is piqued.”
            “You’re having dinner with Yelena, right?” He asks as I replace the paper target.
            “Yes, she said she’d plan it. Honestly, I am still full from lunch so I’m not sure I could manage another giant meal.”
            “Yelena is more observant that I usually give her credit for, I’m sure she is taking that into consideration.” I wish there were a way to ask him why he is out here without sounding rude. But, Yelena strolls in before I can ask.
            “You ready, Tasha? We are going now.” She holds up a picnic basket.
             “Where are we going?”
            “On a picnic, is very obvious.”
            “That is all you’re going to get out of her.” Steve laughs.
            “Sorry, max two super soldiers on this picnic. Come on,” Yelena gestures for me to hurry up. I follow her out the barn and through an overgrown trail, it looks like we are heading to the small pond, but I don’t let on that I know.
            “It is pretty here, better. And no one to ease drop.” She proclaims as we arrive.
            “Eavesdrop,” I correct, helping her lay out the blanket. The water ripples under the gentle breeze. I’m thankful the blanket has a waterproof bottom, given that the ground is still soft from the downpours of earlier. I kick off my shoes and stretch out my legs. Yelena opens up the picnic basket and pulls out a Ziploc bag of leftover angelwing cookies, and two bottle of vodka. “This is an interesting meal.”
            “We ate it when we were young, on our way home from a mission. I was seventeen and you were nineteen. You stole these for me and I stole this for us,” she gestures to the cookies and liquor in turn. “Then we got in so much trouble, but was worth it. It is a good memory.”
            “That sounds nice,” I don’t know what else to say, I have no emotion tied to what she is saying, despite it clearly meaning so much to her.
            “You saved my life. All the time. But first time we met, you really did. I mean of course we knew of each other, there weren’t that many of us and I was just a grade below you. But the first time we really met, as Natalia and Yelena. The first thaw of each year the kindergarten girls would be brought out to the center of a lake in their winter clothes, and be thrown off. Sink or swim. You die or you live. Cuts down class sizes, weeds out those without survival instinct. You were five and third in like. You saw the first two girls die, saw that their fear killed them. So, instead of waiting to be thrown into the water, you jumped. You took off your heavy winter coat, and jumped into the water. The rest of your class followed you, you already being a leader at that age. The first two ended up being the only ones in your class who died. It was the largest starting class in the history of the Widow Program. After the first thaw, it is when they started training us.”
            Most of what Yelena had said was spoken with fondness, nostalgia, and I can feel nothing but horror. The place where I grew up, they killed children for sport.
            “You said it is the day you stopped being a child. But it is because of that day I was allowed to be one.”
            “Oh,”
            “You were nine the first time you killed someone, if you were wondering. I would be wondering.”
            “Nine?” I choke on the vodka.
            “It was you or the other girl, you snapped her neck.”
            “Stop,” I breathe.
            “Our classes start off with twenty girls, by the time we are eighteen, there are only one or two girls left.”
            “Stop.” I repeat, my voice rising slightly.
            “After you taught me how to survive the first night, you save me in writing class. At so little, we would only be cut with letter openers when bad, but you still defended me. Got hit with Madame’s cane for the first time,”
            “Stop!” I stand up, and I hadn’t realized just how much of the vodka I had drank. My head feels light.
            “Natalia, I am sorry, I didn’t mean,”
            “I don’t want to hear anymore, please.”
            “It is your life,”
            “I don’t want to remember it. Remember that. It sounds horrible. How did I survive that? How could I? You said I did ballet, studied languages, taught you how to drive,”
            “I didn’t want to overwhelm you the first night,”
            “I don’t want to know any more about this. I am thankful that I was able to save you, but if I never remember any of that, I will be okay with it.”
            I hurry away form the scene, trying to forget what Yelena had been describing. Why does she want me to remember all of that? Can’t she just go reminisce with the other girls? It doesn’t have to be me. And why in God’s name would anyone want to reminisce about that?
            I burst into the kitchen and skid to a halt. Every is sitting at the kitchen table eating dinner, and now stare at me, mid-bite. I feel frozen, all their eyes on me.  
            Laura rises from her seat, placing a gentle hand on my arm, guiding me out of the room. We go to a bathroom off the sunroom.
            “Why don’t you sit down?” I stumble over and sit on the closed toilet. For the first time, I notice how filthy my feet are. Mud reaches up to my midcalf. There are bits of grass, and some blood seems to seep its way through.
            She begins to run the sink water, and pulls out a tub from a cabinet, the kind used for washing babies.
            “I guess this is what Clint meant when he said the least surprising thing was finding me without shoes.” I realize now I have also tracked mud through her pristine house. She begins to fill the tub with hot water and adds soap, the smell of lavender filling the small room.
            “Its okay, Nat.” Laura lowers it to the floor and I dip my feet it. She takes a wash cloth and begins to wipe the dirt from my feet, “It’s okay.”
            “How am I alive?” I whisper. Laura changes over the water, and begins the process again. “Who does that to children?”
            “I know,”
            “You know?” I meet her eyes, some of her brown hair has escaped its bun.
            “Enough, not all. You’ve told me, and so has Clint.”
            “I didn’t let her finish; we didn’t even get past kindergarten.”
            “You survived,”
            “How much surviving did I have to do? With every story I just hear more and more surviving, where is the living?”
            “Two nights before my wedding to Clint, you and I had a sleepover,” She removes my feet from the bath and begins to dry them with a soft towel, then takes out a first aid kit. “We got drunk in my childhood bedroom and painted each other’s nails. We listened to my old CDs and exchanged riding stories. You braided my hair and we looked through my yearbook.” Laura carefully applies Neosporin and Band-Aids. “You lived, Natasha, and you are loved.”
            I spend the rest of the evening in my room, embarrassed with how I crashed into the kitchen. It was not a mature, rational reaction. I also wasn’t fair to Yelena, who was just trying to share our childhood with me. I didn’t exactly give her much of an explanation for my reaction and running off. Reluctantly, I rise from the bed and head down the hall to her room, knocking once. She opens the door almost instantly, standing in her pajamas. She has on a pair of socks that say ‘Aunts are the shit’.  
            “Hi Tasha,”
            “Hi,” I rock back on my heels.
            “Cooper already got me for the swear jar, a dollar each since it’s two socks.” She explains gesturing down. I’m not sure what to say to that. “Do you want to come in?” I nod and she steps aside, closing the door behind me. “What’s up?”
            “I came to apologize. I shouldn’t have run off like that, it wasn’t fair to you.”
            “I forget what it sounds like to most people. What it is. Children being tortured.”
            “I’m sorry for what I said too, I do want to remember my past, all of you.”
            “When we were kids, and I would need to remind you, we did not have luxury of omitting bad stuff. I need to get you on page as soon as possible. I rush into telling you today.”
            “Maybe we can go a little slower. You can tell me something small?”
            “The headmistress was Madame B, you were her favorite, you were everyone’s favorite. Ivan and Soldat too. They were other two trainers. Soldat for older girls, Ivan for younger. I was the chef’s favorite though, Povar. He used to sneak me extra bread.”
            “Thank you,”
            “We are the only two left, Natasha. There are no more Black Widows, not more Red Room; you made sure of it. We are all that is left.”
            “And him.”
            “And him,” She concedes.
            “I’m going to go to bed, thank you. And I’m sorry, again.”
            “You don’t need to apologize, you are last person who ever has to apologize.”
            “Was I really so great? You all seem to hold me in such high regard,”
            “You are.” I head back into my room and begin to turn down my bed when there is a knock from the bathroom door. Wanda. Wanda is coming to me.
            “Come in,” I turn around and see Wanda standing in pajama shorts, her prosthetic still on.
            “Ijustwantedtosaythankyouforlunchtoday,” she says in a rush, the words blending together.
            “You’re welcome, I really enjoyed spending time with you.” She bobs her head, avoiding eye contact.
            “Well, goodnight.”
            “Goodnight, Wanda,” She rushes out of the room, the door glowing red and clicking shut behind her.
            I settle down onto the bed and open up the nightstand drawer, trying to find Chapstick. Metal jingles as I jostle the small sewing kit. Curious, I pick up the embossed leather case and open it. Inside, are two pairs of handcuffs. Despite being alone, I blush in embarrassment, feeling like I am intruding, and zip it shut once more, putting it away and grabbing the lip balm. It is mine, in theory. There is no reason to be embarrassed, but I am.
            I pick up Alias Grace and begin reading, hoping that soon I will begin to feel tired enough to sleep.
            It nears one o’clock in the morning and I stare at the ceiling, sleep yet to find me. Reluctantly, I put on slippers and head downstairs, turning on the TV. It is a re-airing of the ten o’clock news and are discussing baseball. I sit down on the couch, sinking into the cushions and covering myself in a knit throw.
            “Coming up next, we talk to Christine Everhart about Natasha Romanoff,” I sit up straighter, staring at the TV as it switches to a lawncare commercial.
            “Nat, are you okay?” I look over and see Steve standing by the staircase.
            “Couldn’t sleep, came down to watch TV.” I blink.
            “I’ll make some tea,” Steve offers, heading to the kitchen. He returns a few minutes later with a mug and a glass of water.
            “Thank you,” I watch as the news logo comes back on, “They are talking about me,” I nod to the glowing screen. Steve sits beside me. A bright faced blonde smiles at the screen before morphing her face into something that I l think is supposed to be serious.
            “Natasha Romanoff, the face of the Avengers since the Snap more than five years ago, has seemingly disappeared. There are reports of other Avengers being seen out and about in Iowa, near the home of Avenger Clint Barton and his family, however the town is notoriously tightlipped about their famous residents, social media photos rarely surfacing. Barton was spotted with his children, Steve Rogers, and Yelena Belova at a children’s place play today, with Romanoff and her daughter Wanda missing. However, Wanda was reportedly seen at a grocery store just a few days ago. This leads to the question, where is Natasha Romanoff?
            “Her last official appearance was at the gala where the assassination occurred. There was a brief statement released stating that the Black Widow was injured, but nothing else has been relayed. It has led to conspiracy theories running rampant on social media. The prevailing theories being that Ms. Romanoff is in a coma, or even worse, dead. As a public figure, we have a right to know whether or not she is okay. The public is concerned, and frankly, so am I.”
            I power of the TV, plunging the room into darkness.
            “I guess no one at the restaurant told the media about my lunch today.”
            “You don’t owe them anything. You’re a person and entitled to your privacy.”
            “Did people suspect I was dead when I was dead?”
            “No, there was a lot going on at the time, people were distracted. We were able to keep that quiet until you could come back.”
            “So, no one knows?”
            “Outside of our circle? No.”
            I can’t fathom that there are so many people thinking about me, that I matter to so many. My tea has gone cold.
            “I’m still not tired, you?”
            “No,”
            “More TV?” Steve nods and I hand him the clicker. I rest my head on his shoulder and feed him stiffen before relaxing. Like my touch was unexpected. Hopefully not unwelcome.
           
            “You two look cozy,” I blink open my eyes and see Yelena standing before me, her arms crossed and a smirk twisting her face. I look over and realize I had fallen asleep on Steve, who looks to be just waking up as well. Early morning streams into the living room.
            “You’re up early,” I reply, trying to cool the heat that has risen to my cheeks.
            “I went to bed too early last night, screwed everything up.” She shrugs with nonchalance. But I know she couldn’t sleep because of yesterday, of our disagreement.
            “We can join,” I offer.
            “No, you two rest, I like to run alone.” She tightens her ponytail and heads into the kitchen where I hear the screen door slam.  
            “Do you know a lot about my childhood?”
            “Enough, you don’t talk about it much. I think Clint probably knows the most after Yelena. Anything before joining SHIELD is kept close to the chest.”
            “that is the agency I defected to, and later took down. Clint mentioned it on the roof.”
            “Yeah, you and I took it down, turned out to be Nazis.”
            “The Winter Soldier was involved then too.”
            “I should have taken him down then, but I didn’t. I thought, I held out hope. Captain America, you’d think I would have learned by then, or at least by now. Instead, I was naïve.”
            “You have honor,” I look at him, “And you’re honest. They are good qualities in a person, a friend.”
            “Yeah,” He leans forward on his knees, “Great qualities.” His shoulders seem to weigh him down.
            “Well, there’s a chance you might be in the wrong business, Rogers,” I tease. His head whips towards me at lightning speed, and I lean away.
            “What did you say?”
            “Just, it seems like we are kind of political figures and also heroes with a hint of espionage. That is hard to balance with integrity. What’s wrong?”
            “Nothing, it’s nothing.” He rubs the back of his neck.
            “I didn’t mean to upset you,”
            “No, it’s not that,” he stands, and I know I have screwed something up, “You haven’t remembered anything, right?” he turns, towering over me.
            “No, I haven’t. I would have said something,” I rise from the couch as well, crossing my arms.
            “I know, yeah, I know you would have.”
            “Then what?”
            “It’s just, you said something similar to me years ago, actually word for word.”
            “Oh.”
            “Yeah.”
            “I’m sorry, Steve,”
            “Don’t apologize, it was like,” he stops.
            “Like she is still here? Like I am still here?” This person that people hold in such high regard. Someone selfless, brave, kind, caring, patient, smart. It is a never-ending list of compliments and accolades. How could anyone be this good? This perfect?
            “You are.”
            “Can I ask you a question?”
            “Of course.”
            “Was I really this good of a person? This person everyone is painting? Be honest with me.”
            “You were, you are, and I’m always honest.”