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OOC: ((This journal is officially retired from

nexus_crossings. I may use this journal going forward for PSLs but after thinking long and hard about what I wanted to achieve writing Natasha I'm pleased to let her keep the ending she chose. Anything else doesn't feel right.

It's been a fun run. Part of the journey is the end, right?))

This is what redemption looks like.

Natasha never thought she’d get to see it in person. It’s a horrible, beautiful thing. A precipice with only one absolute end in front of her. The chance to save seven and a half billion people and uncountable life across the galaxy requires a sacrifice. How cruel that she and Clint would be so briefly reunited before being faced with this. They’re uniquely fitted to obtain the soul stone. Natasha may not be Clint’s wife, but they’re lifelong friends. Closer than partners. A found family. Both more whole because of the other. Only one of them is going to walk away from here. She knows before Clint even looks up that this isn’t going to be easy.

He’s not going to let her make the choice without a fight. Why would he? Natasha sure as hell isn’t going to let Clint break himself for this.

No one else wanted to come. Dominion of death, the cold lifeless center of celestial existence. The gravesite of the cradle of the universe. The place Thanos murdered his own stolen daughter in his quest for the Soul Stone. In the end, only Nat and Clint were willing to go. Steve would have if they’d told him to, but his path was the one that they needed precise people involved with. By comparison heading to an unmarked grave in the center of the universe, the Who mattered a whole hell of a lot less in the equation. Neither one of the former SHIELD agents wanted Nebula to have to be the one facing this.

Hubris definitely played a part too.

Besides, each one of them thought while staring at the ceiling of their respective quarters night after night, what more do I have to lose?

The very air hangs stifling between the pair as their impossible guide explains the nuance to the Soul Stone. It’s a defense mechanism that they both spend the energy they surely don’t have to thank circumstances that Steve hadn’t been the one to come here considering the familiar face waiting at this horrible place. Hadn’t been the one to follow the face that once belonged to Red Skull, now more smoky apparition than a man all the way up the winding rocky cliffside until they stood with their prize but a leap away. Hadn’t had to have the face who took everything from him be the one to speak the truth.

“A soul for a soul. One of you will have to give up or neither of you will leave with what you seek. To manifest the stone you must lose that which you love.”

It’s Winter in the Nexus all over again. Natasha is so tired of these arbitrary spiritual cruelties being taxed for everything she does to save others. Hasn’t she given up enough? Surely Clint has already lost everything dear to him. Her fingers play with the end of her braid while she peers down the sheer drop to the stones below. Senses trained for a life of killing and espionage detect the spike in Clint’s heartrate as his breathing picks up. Her own is hardly any better.

“The stone’s down there, Clint.”

“For one of you, yes. For the other--” Whatever proselytizing the mystique of this decrepit place Red Skull wants to give neither human wants to hear.

“Shut. Up. Before I make the rest of you as unfortunate looking as your face.” Clint’s voice is tight with emotion. With despair; with the same hopelessness Natasha could hear when she came and brought him back to the complex. Before her life turned around Natasha didn’t think her heart functioned enough to break. She knows better now. It’s in pieces at her feet to hear the man who gave her a second chance and this found family of theirs convincing himself he needs to die. That he’ll never see his family again even if when they succeed.

And in this moment, Natalia Alianovna Romanoff chooses how her story ends.

In place of Clint’s despair her own heart steels itself in determination so solid she would shatter Steve’s shield if she were to face it. Her fear choked out by the sheer pride that fills her to know she will send Clint home to Laura. To Lailah and his sons. That the heart of the Avengers still beats long after her own stops.

Once, Clint Barton risked his life to change Natasha’s life for the better. Clint’s hand shakes in her own.

“Every mission we've ever been on. Every prank we've ever played. Forget the last five months, all our years working together lead me to here. To this moment. Saving everyone. Including you.” Her voice steady while Clint’s trembles as much as much as his grip. He knows, too. But Clint’s lost so much. It’s too much to ask to lose Natasha too.

“After what I’ve done...Nat. It’s gotta be me. You. They need you, going and getting all Decent on me like you’ve done.” It’s taking everything Clint has not to burst into tears right here. Especially when Natasha doesn’t hide the wetness slipping down her cheeks, doesn’t even try to brush her tears aside. They both know neither of them will let the other die. That’s what partners are for.

“I don’t judge everyone for their past mistakes.” Only the people who’ve hurt Him. Hurt Clint and everyone else in the small family Natasha has made for her own.

“Maybe you should’ve.” It’s not an argument Clint is going to win. He has to try anyway. Has to it’s not fair he can’t lose--not Natasha too.

“You didn’t.” Two simple words and the barest hints of a smile. Natasha doesn’t hurt to smile now. Not when Clint’s swearing and pulling her into a hug. Resting his forehead against hers because this is the last moment together they’re ever going to have. He has to throw himself first. Has to before she gets a chance to react. Before he loses Natasha. The man may as well be broadcasting his thoughts aloud because Natasha reads them loud and clear in the restlessness of his stance, the twitch in his fingers. The hitch in his breath.

She’s home.

Clint’s sweep is every sparring match they’ve ever had. The stone knocking the air from her lungs just like it always has. Tell his family he loves them? Ha. Clint hasn’t won one of these in years and he’s not about to start now. Tell them yourself, Hawkeye. Her tazers aren’t deadly but they’ll do the job long enough to leave him on the ground so she can take a run toward the cliff. Stone’s erupting at her feet, the blast from Clint's detonation arrow knocking her to the side. He’s desperate. Clint’s always been stubborn. It’s one of the many things that’s made him so great an asset all these years. He’ll take the jump--that’s fine. Natasha’s there to tackle him when he does, fire off a grappling hook into the stone and clip it to his gear before they slam into the side. Pinned just like he always is.

“Damn you…!” He can’t get it free. Hurts too much to just let it go and at this angle he can’t get a grip with his other hand around Natasha’s own. They dangle together one last time but he’s safe. He’s stuck in her web. A web crystal clear for the first time. There’s not a speck of red anywhere.

Except her own.

“Let me go.” Natasha’s voice is patient. This isn’t easy for either of them.

“No! No please don’t make me-- Natasha please. Please don’t…” He’s never begged before. Natasha’s heart is full with everything it means. She’s a part of his family. Has been all along.

“It’s okay, Clint. You have to let me go.” Maybe it is too cruel to ask him. Natasha’s foot finds purchase against the stone.

“Please--” She kicks off, wrenching herself from his grasp. “No!” This is what redemption looks like. A single choice. A friend saved.

A sudden.

It's two days before when Natasha finally remembers.

There's fewer channels than there used to be but the world has somehow kept on spinning after Thanos. People need a news source. There's a somber section tacked on at the end of the morning program reminding people to contact their remaining loved ones and be safe this coming Independence Day and that's it. The next thing Natasha knows she's shattering a perfectly good souvenir coffee mug Tony stocked this place up with and swearing up a storm because it's about to be the Fourth of July.

Now, Steve's never been big on birthday celebrations. Tony threw huge parties for him the first couple of years after they all came together on Independence Day half as a joke and half because no one actually knew when his real birthday was. It was Clint who finally got it out of him that, yes, all joking and propaganda aside this was his actual birthday. The jokes were twice as bad that year. Lately though things have been a lot quieter. The team started to fall apart. Steve and Tony never did see eye to eye.

And now...?

If Natasha doesn't do something for Steve there's a good chance no one will. Oh sure, people might make some blog posts or tag an abandoned building in Captain America's honor. It's touching. Sweet. But they're not friends nor are those wishes for Steve Rogers as a person. The man himself certainly isn't going to do it. If he remembers his birthday at all it'll be to sit in his room listening to old records sipping alcohol that won't affect him while he remembers people who are dead. Birthdays should be for the living.

It's about time Steve remembers he's got people here.

The spy scoops up her phone, fingers tapping impatiently at the lock screen so she can make a call.

"Rocket. Tell me you're in this sector. We've got work to do."

((This is meant to be set after the Nexus Crossings post. Because of that there are small spoilers for where everyones' characters is beginning to drift to post this movie leading into the very beginning of Endgame. Consider this your warning.))

When they regroup at the Avengers complex in what's left of New York (what's left of the United States, what's left of their world) there's too few of them there to do it. Natasha can hardly stand thinking about all the faces she knows are gone, having to tell Pepper Potts that she truthfully doesn't know if Tony is among those gone or if he's still just missing somewhere off in space. Nick Fury and Maria Hill are both gone--there's no way they'd be failing to get in touch if they were still around.

Barton hasn't answered any of Natasha's calls. He's likely gone as well.

Too few of them sit in the complex's kitchen with no appetite between them while they quietly discuss what to do next. It's not long before the calls start trickling in from what's left of governments. Forget The Accords. Forget everything that happened up until now. Everyone is going to need to work together to get through this. Those who are left, at any rate.

It's Natasha--Not Steve--who first puts forward the idea that they help whoever's left running things and work together with what powers remain to help out wherever, however they can. Okoye of Wakanda will vouch for her and the Avengers even though she herself is still in mourning over the loss of the royal family. It helps. And it's not much, but it's the start of a plan. Too many of them are gone. Natasha tries not to cry when she gives Rocket the key to what was once Vision's room to use as his own.

Rhodey's reaching out to his contacts in the...what was the military to try and see if they can track down anyone else like them. Thor's barely coming out of his room to eat and won't talk to hardly any of them. Steve's not much better but he'll come around first. It's only a couple of days before he's at Natasha's side working. Bruce is as withdrawn as ever, but he actually seems to be handling it better than most of them. His usual coping mechanisms seem to be working better than theirs. He's often the one cooking meals or prompting them to get out of bed. Find someone to talk to if they need it. Eat and take care of themselves.

The routine all of them are making is nothing like the ones any of them used to hold. But it's something.

It's a start.

There's a whole lot to like about Steve's new place in the Nexus.

It's in a quiet part of the multiverse, plenty of open air and room to train or scout undisturbed. It's a bigger place with a lot more room for furniture and a spare room that Natasha has already commandeered for a makeshift safe house including a bug out bag all ready to go at the drop of a hat. Ready for missions or trouble and ready to come back and have a safe place if her own place is compromised.

The other nice thing about it is having a perpetually warm doglike creature napping over her leg as she cleans her weapons next to one of the windows. Thanks to the Accords and Steve's determination to have that all go sideways and the fallout because of it they'd be on the run a lot more if they were frequenting their home. Having a safe place to escape to in the Nexus for a breather is every kind of good for the soul.

Natasha spies the bots PINpointing to the front walkway and tosses a look over her shoulder toward where Steve's sitting with his sketchbook in lap.

"Looks like the party's about to be started, Rogers."

She'll let Steve worry about getting up and answering the door for Blaze and Ghost. It buys her a minute to finish with her guns.

It's just getting on to dark in the Nexus when a familiar whine cuts through the muggy evening air. The noise from the open ramp of the Millenium Falcon grows until the underlying rumble of a motorcycle engine cuts through the thick air as Natasha pulls up just outside the ship.

Nat hops off the bike quickly, but takes her time removing all the gear she'd worn. The suit hadn't been cheap to get and getting it dirty before the onset was unheard of. She carefully removes the helmet, the track suit she'd worn over the nice clothes, and pulls the dress shoes she'd bought out of the bag of gear she'd carried along and carefully slips them on before making her way up the ramp and onto the ship.

Everything about the outfit Nat selected had been carefully considered all the way down to the cuff links. Granted, this getup is designed to impress her target and not so much a space pilot like Han is, but he should still be able to help judge the way she carries herself. Walks. Talks. She'd even taken a leaf out of the good captain's book when it came to styling her hair. Giving it a bit of the windswept wave instead of slicking it back or the like.

"Knock, knock."

It's still so weird hearing a mans voice when she talks. Wrong. But if this stays for a day or so, she'll be one more thread complete on her web.

In the aftermath of the attack the Underbelly still hums with a life that cannot be snuffed out no matter how dire the straits are. Shops have begun slowly reopening. People have returned to their businesses as the debris and the dead are tended to.

Every morning since Natasha Romanov has walked up the main streets of the district, silently watching the recovery process.

Steve Rogers is gone.

The spy had tried with no small amount of difficulty to keep herself out of his life in the Nexus. She knew his comings and goings. Knew his friends and where he lived. Knew far more than the smaller man would ever know about him. But he deserved a better life than the Steve Rogers the Black Widow knows so well. So she'd remained in shadows, doing her best to keep an eye out for him but never interfering.

The crystal shield Naugus and Harrowheart had designed for him she has cleaned up and mounted in one of the central squares of the district. Every day when she walks past, she wipes away any fingerprints or dust that has settled.

When Spider Man returns to the Nexus, she will ask her questions. Thank him for trying to save Steve, even if it was unsuccessful. He's done more than she had for a friend who didn't know she existed.

All Natasha can do is hope.

A body collapses on the mat laid out on the safe house floor.

"Ten more." Natasha urges, her back turned to the figure collapsed on her floor. Any groans of protest are promptly ignored. "I've got all afternoon to stand here and we're not eating until we're done." Natasha's got her hair up in a messy bun, black tank top and shorts as she examines her arsenal laid out on the desk in front of her.

"You're getting better at cleaning these. Good job. We'll head out to the shooting range after we eat."

It's a simple arrangement, really. Christopher keeps the apartment tidy (not that there's ever much of a mess unless he makes it) and cleans her gear, and Natasha lets him live there rent free in one of the safest places in the Nexus. She's also taken up becoming his personal trainer. She admires the spirit the kid has, even if she doesn't know him very well, yet.

She looks over her shoulder, a tiny glance and the barest hints of a smile on her face. Natasha still isn't sure why she brought Chris home with her, but she's finding that she doesn't mind the coompany as much as she thought she would.

Current Mood: relaxed

It's 2:03 am when Natasha arrives, geared to the teeth, in the Nexus.

Knives hidden in all the proper places, guns holstered, electrocharged bits in place, and lockpicks all accounted for on her person. There's a couple extra bags of gear she's carrying--equipment she'd grabbed from one of her Nexus safe houses. Her Arabic and French are as brushed up as her sign language. Ticking everything she's done off her mental list helps her compartmentalize. Helps her shut off the parts of her she doesn't need for the mission, leaving only Black Widow in place. The Natasha that desperately wanted to be a person instead of an asset isn't needed here.

She has no doubt Barton will show.

There's no backup or withdrawal order following them in. Natasha could go it alone, but a second set of eyes and ears would never be a bad thing on a mission like this. Beirut is coastal and covered in picturesque postcard snow this time of year. An ideal romantic getaway, if it weren't also touching Syria on two sides and the central hub for most human trafficking out of Asia and Africa for servitude or from Syria and their own people for sexual slaves.

Agent Romanov can't think of anywhere she'd rather be or anyone else she'd rather have watching her back.

Current Mood: predatory

Natasha literally cannot believe this worked.

They sure don't make henchmen assassins the way they used to.

The door is simple, nondescript. Standard hinge placement says it's American. The other side is equally ordinary, while being just bare enough to scream 'safe house' to any seasoned agent. It's a perfectly acceptable but sparsely decorated sitting room. Throw rug placed just randomly enough to likely be covering a cache of sorts, or a hidden room.

"Want anything to drink?"