𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 — farewell, natasha romanoff

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 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐅 having one's body shrunken to the size of an atom was a strange thing; as though somebody has tried to grab you and force you into the tiniest little box, ready to be shipped around the world. In simpler terms; Emilia found it somewhat suffocating.

 But it lasted only a short while before she was soon back in the Avengers compound, full-sized and only slightly queasy. She wobbled on her feet, and Bruce — who had eagerly rid himself of muscles and that hideous shade of green before sliding back into the clothes Emilia had taken from him — did the very same, having to dart a hand out to clamp on Emilia's shoulder for some semblance of balance.

 Everybody, or so they thought, had returned on two feet with a stone — or an odd tube of sludge — clutched with greedy hands; Emilia could sense them all, their power resonating in light pulses that made her shudder, that made her skin crawl as though she'd become infested with bugs.

 There was a hesitant beat in which each quantum suit fled their bodies, revealing the flushed faces of Avengers, Guardians of the Galaxy, and... Emilia and Scott. There was a light glow on each of their features, be it from the layer of sweat that had poured amidst their missions, or from the mere thought of being home, ready to fix the mess they'd made.

 But Emilia scanned their faces properly; once more locking the door to her heart that would allow hope to trail on through. Bruce had returned with her, and his sweaty palm was still seeping warmth into her should; she was oddly thankful for the sensation.

 Her eyes were drawn to Tony first, the man who had helped carry her broken parts, never giving up in his attempt to weld them back together — ever the mechanic. There he was, throwing her a nod, looking more relieved than she'd ever seen him. Steve was beside him, then there was Scott, Thor and Rocket. Rhodey and Nebula were side by side... and then there was Clint.

 But the moment Emilia took in the state of him, he'd fallen to his knees with a heavy thud.

There was no need for Bruce to ask where Natasha Romanoff was, there was no need for Steve to repeat those words. It was all too heart-breakingly obvious — from the look of utter despair upon Clint Barton's face to the barren space by his side.

 Natasha was gone. Emilia knew it before Clint parted his trembling lips. His sodden hair had fallen around his face and clung to his skin just as he clung to the Stone he'd managed to swipe. He looked up at them, finding every set of eyes full of a weight unlike any other.

 No words came from his lips, they merely clamped together once more, shaking tremendously.

 Emilia could feel the tremors wracking Bruce's hand, the way his fingertips dug into her shoulder. She reached up, her own calloused digits smoothing over his own, as she scooped them up and held them tight.

 Her free hand blindly reached to her right and within a breath, she felt Tony take her hand and use her as a crutch.

 Emilia could feel that sting in her throat, see the blur beginning to appear before her eyes but with a forceful swallow, she shoved it away like a kicking and screaming child. Her friends were in pain, and after five long years of the pair of them holding her up, she only felt as though it was time to repay the favour.

 Natasha would have scolded her for that.

 The lake rippled amongst their silence. Old leaves simmered on the surface and lightly wavered with every breeze that jostled the water.

 Natasha had always loved it. She had once told Emilia amidst a conversation at the lake's edge of the Stark cabin that the sound of a light breeze and the smooth ripple of water helped her think. Not quite being reduced to suffer in silence, but to be able to quiet the thoughts she didn't dare entertain as she listened to the water gurgle.

 She had done a lot of that over the past five years, thinking, that is. Natasha had always gone from battle to battle, fight to fight; never quite allowing time for rest, nor time for her mind to catch up with her actions. She had thought herself desensitised; someone of her standing should have been able to push it away. But Natasha Romanoff was a feeler.

 Every life she had taken, every life she had saved; she felt them all, and she thought of each and every one of them.

 Those people she had saved, some of them would never know that she had been the one to preserve their life. Not that Natasha would have been irritated by that, no, but Emilia was. Emilia had sat and she had listened to Natasha in a way some of her team had never done so before.

 Emilia knew how it had felt to be a slave to power, to commit actions that could never be undone. Natasha had found comfort in her, and Emilia would always find pride within that.

 But now, those small talks by glittering lakes or those laughs shared over dinner with the Starks, hell, even the grunts and groans of pain amidst a training session would never occur again.

 Emilia dropped her head onto Bruce's shoulder as he twiddled with his fingers in his lap before he cocked his own head to the side, salt and pepper curls tickling her forehead.

 Emilia was in the company of the remaining Avengers; Tony, Bruce, Thor, Steve and Clint. She felt somewhat out of place until she recalled all of those moments with Natasha; moments that those around her might not have ever shared. No, Emilia needed to be there, mourning with those that had known her longest.

 Against her own will, Emilia's fingers trailed to the artefact still dangling around her neck; even if the Stones worked in sync with their plans and everyone they'd lost all that time ago were finally brought home... Natasha would be left behind. She couldn't be brought back.

 This, Emilia thought, wasn't the funeral Natasha deserved. She deserved people parading in the streets as she had once seen in New Orleans. She deserved people to shout her name and sing her praises.

 But while it wasn't what Nat deserved... It's what she would have wanted. Natasha didn't care about the fame that followed the title of Avenger and Earth's Mightiest Heroes. No, Natasha only wanted to help people in tandem with her teammates. So it was only right that those teammates clustered together in silence, by the very lake that Natasha adored.

 Tony had proclaimed that a grand funeral could be held, but then even he had shaken his head and slumped onto the wooden seats perched upon the dock. His hooded brown eyes were strained on the horizon, as though waiting for the Widow to suddenly appear in some jacked-up Quinjet with Clint by her side. Tony would have found some way to blast ACDC through the speakers, only to grin as Natasha groaned, of course.

 He'd known her the longest — apart from Clint — and though he'd never said it to her aloud, he really did think of her as a dear friend. He'd probably have died all those years ago without her and Nick to bring him back from the edge. He'd never properly thanked her, and so he muttered those words that were so very rare for him to say. The others hadn't heard him, his back was to them all, but they were out there all the same. He hoped that was enough. He hoped she was out there gloating that she had made Tony Stark thank somebody.

 Oh, she would definitely gloat.

 Somewhere along their coordinated silence, Thor had piped up with all the desperation of a man who had lost every and proclaimed that they would bring her home with the Stones — all heads had swivelled to Emilia. It was cruel, for her to be the one to break his heart and tell him that Natasha was gone. There were no if's, and's, or buts about it. He'd recoiled as though she'd slapped him, even with the small and soft voice she'd picked specifically for him.

 But Emilia knew grief, and she knew it well; hell she could feel it crawling up her throat as she watched Thor wave his arms wildly... Until he finally gave up. His face crumbled, and her own tears built. Emilia might have sought to suffer alone, but she would never allow those around her to do the same. A hypocrite you might point out, and she would agree in a heartbeat.

 So Emilia had departed Bruce's side with a final squeeze of his hand and approached the God of Thunder; the man who had lost everything in a domino effect.

 Wordlessly, Emilia had opened her arms.

 Silently, Thor had sought respite within them.

  Sometime later, when everybody except Clint Barton had returned inside the compound, Emilia found herself at the very desk Natasha had worked from. There were stray papers everywhere, bundles of notes crumbled into balls that had been haphazardly tossed towards the bin.

 You'd think for a former assassin, all of those crumpled pieces of paper would have made it inside.

There were her notes of the stones written in that scrawled font of hers that seemed to appear when she scurried to jot everything down. Her silly drawings of the Stones; they looked like coloured blobs on the pages.

 A snapped pencil was abandoned by the leg of her chair, and as Emilia crouched to pluck it from the ground, her eyes landed on a pair of pale ballet slippers. Emilia twisted her hair, eyes narrowing on the item with bewilderment.

 She had never known that Natasha danced.

 She, Emilia realised as her heart fell to her stomach, probably didn't know a lot of things about her. Now she never would.

 "You wouldn't think she danced, would you?" The grit in Clint's voice brought Emilia's hair to stand on end. The lilt of roughness trying to bury his pain; she's always heard it on Stephen and so she'd grown to decipher it.

 Emilia hummed, "Was she good?"

 "The best."

 "My mama... she had signed me up when we first moved to America."

 "Any good?"

 "The worst."

 Clint almost laughed at that, almost snorted at the utter horror in Emilia's voice.

 She had probably been around six at the time, still settling into their sparse home in a new country that deemed them as outsiders. Their neighbours hadn't been the kindest of people, yet as ever, Emilia's mother and father had always worked themselves to the bone for their family, and the community.

 It was just their way of life. You shared what you had, and they shared what they didn't.

 So when Emilia's father had brought a paycheque home after they'd settled in — and settled in was absolutely a loose way to describe things — her mother had signed her straight up for ballet. They had slept on the cold wooden floor with old blankets they'd gathered over the years, they huddled together for warmth... all so that their money would give Emilia the life her parents believed she deserved.

 Her first ballet lesson had been after school with a bunch of giggling girls with porcelain skin and glistening eyes. They had somehow been so very light on their feet that as Emilia thought back, she truly embodied the Hulk when her feet had gotten to moving.

 The silly tutu had itched her skin, the leotard had dug into her flesh and her missing front tooth had made all of the girls giggle at her. She had only taken three steps before toppling to the ground, scowling at the tulle around her hips. But she persisted, even if she had loathed the lessons, all because she knew money had been tight.

 When her mother had caught her darling daughter glaring holes into the precariously pink outfit, she had stolen the leotard away and gifted it to a neighbour.

 Emilia grimaced, finally looking at Clint. She didn't speak of the dark smudges beneath his eyes, nor the redness that crawled through his scaleras, "I think I had all the grace of one of those Chiaturi."

 "So..." He drawled out, finally stepping into the room and abandoning the dark doorway he'd hidden within, "You can do magic, but you can't dance?"

 "I can dance." Emilia defended. She really wasn't all that bad at a simple dance but ballet hardly fitted into that... genre, if you will, "I can't do ballet."

 "She'd have taught you."

 "She'd have tossed me into the lake."

 "Maybe." Clint pondered before nodding, "Probably."

 Emilia trailed her hand over the desk, stopping short as her fingertips hovered over a locked — or at least, formerly locked — drawer. Emilia had tried to find a key, she'd hunted high and low; maybe it was a slight invasion of privacy, even for a woman who could no longer look at Emilia as her mother once had... But Emilia just wanted... She huffed a breath of warm air, and it jostled the papers strewn on the desk. She just wanted to do something for Natasha, even if she wasn't there to see it.

 Emilia pulled the drawer open, promptly ignoring as the lock crumbled to the floor — she might have used her abilities to crush it, but there would be no talk on the matter. There was just one item within the locked drawer; an envelope.

 It was dusty and the ink atop the paper had smeared over time. There was but one word, or rather, a name to which the envelope was addressed to. It was in Russian, but Emilia had always prided herself on her knowledge and had, with utmost ease, might she mention, deciphered the name.

 "Yelena?" Emilia muttered softly as she held the envelope out for Clint to take, "She never mentioned that name to me, what about you?"

 Clint stared at the envelope for a solid few seconds, and Emilia suddenly crumbled beneath the weight that she really might have intervened in a place she shouldn't have. Her hand began to fall and Clint swiftly plucked the Envelope from her fingertips. He stared down at the letters with an intensity Emilia had yet to see on his features.

 "Well," Emilia breathed as she slowly closed the drawer, "I just thought that if Nat had taken the time to write that, and keep it, then it was probably for someone who isn't around. I just wanted to make sure it got to them. For her, if anything."

 Clint said nothing, only looked up with a thankful expression, and Emilia took that as her cue to leave him be. To let him make peace with the room he stood within, and the lingering memories of his friend that decorated the walls.

 Emilia had heard him slump to the ground upon her departure, and she could just about feel the grief that spilled from him. It resonated with her own, and Emilia made her way to the room in which Tony, Bruce and Rocket would have already begun their efforts on creating a new gauntlet for the Stones they'd gathered.

 Emilia... No, they would all make sure that Natasha Romanoff didn't lose her life for a lost cause. They would win. They would bring everyone home. They would do the very thing Natasha had focused all of her energy on doing.

 They would do it for those they'd lost, but they'd do it for her most of all.

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DATE: 03-03-2023

:･ﾟ★ damn. rip to my gay ginger icon... we only have FIVE chapers left for this act (plus four oneshots) which is actually BAFFLING BABES? 

(this is update two of the day, make sure you've read the previous!)

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