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Tony puts the end of the pen between his teeth, eyes scanning the holograms around the room. Eyes flashing and shifting within seconds, his brain comprehending information faster than Natasha can read. Every time his eyes drift over a new piece of information, his brows raise and—Natasha will never admit it to anyone—his eyes kind of sparkle. It makes the corner of Natasha’s lips turn up, knowing that habit of his hasn’t changed.
Natasha brings the packet in front of her face, flipping a page, right before Tony turns around when he feels a pair of eyes on him.
———
Natasha sighs when she sees Tony still on the holograms, still putting as much information as he can into the plan. The schematics of the portal is filled with Tony’s hand written notes, the glass table littered with half-empty cold mugs of coffee. Even now, he still hasn’t kicked the habit of overworking himself until 3 am.
When Natasha sees him walk out of the lab, she enters the room that smells of stale air, coffee and Tony’s deodorant. She can’t stop herself from rolling her eyes. What is it with men and holding off showers as long as possible.
She places a yellow post-it note right next to where Tony left his pen, and a plate of heated up leftover dinner. She walks out of there, intending to get a few more hours of shut-eye before a new day of planning begins. Natasha can feel the exhaustion settle into her bones and bites back a yawn, heading to her room.
When Tony comes back from his toilet break, he doesn’t expect to see a plate of steaming leftovers and a note that reads ‘Call them. It’s been three days since they last heard from you.’
He can instantly tell it’s Natasha from her cursive handwriting and lets himself crack a small tired grin.
Natasha brings another can of beer to Thor, not suppressing the look of disgust when he burps after throwing back a handful of peanuts. “Hey.”
Thor looks up, and grins—but he seems more happy to see the beer than her— then takes the can from her outstretched hand, “Thanks, Nat. I see you’ve finally made yourself useful.”
There’s a playful lilt to his voice and Natasha cracks a smile, the look a touch mischievous. “I can say the same for you.”
Thor laughs, but there is a missing feeling behind it, seeming a little forced. Natasha doesn’t point it out.
She takes the couch next to him, resting her arm on the back of seat as she curls her legs under her and winces. Her legs still a little sore from dancing, considering it’s been years since she last did ballet and she overestimated how much she could take.
There’s a beat of silence between them, before Thor opens the can. “How are you doing?”
“I’ve never been better, Nat. Can’t you see? I’m living the stress free life I’ve always wondered why humans like so much.” It’s because they’re depressed, not because they actually like being like this. Natasha keeps the words she wants to say to herself.
“How are you?” he asks, and he seems a little genuine, at least more genuine than he’d been during the discussion of the stones. “I’ve been doing ballet again. Legs and feet are kinda sore though. Cap’s old age might be contagious.”
They share a small chuckle. She lets her eyes trail over him. The matted hair, the crumbs in his unkempt beard, the beer stained t-shirt and the belly that hides underneath it. She settles on the beer belly Thor sports and gives a little smile.
Thor follows her eyes and suddenly the playful mood of his is downtrodden, his eyes now shifting to the side and avoiding her gaze. He takes gulps of his beer now, instead of the sips he was taking seconds before.
Natasha obviously notices this—how could she not? She’s a spy—and starts to feel the prick of guilt poking her heart. Her small grin becomes a little shaky, softly exhaling.
Instead of saying anything, she just shifts closer to Thor—until her knees were pressed into his side—and relaxes, stretching out her legs across his lap and making sure her knees touched his stomach. She watches for any negative reaction, if he wants her off of him but doesn’t find any fight in his movements. Natasha lets go of the reluctance in her unexpected actions and gives out an easy breath. She wants to let him know she doesn’t see him any differently than before.
Thor freezes, his eyes shooting to her in question. He hesitates when he sees the look in her eyes—pure acceptance—and just looks down to his lap. He glances at his belly and feels a wave of shame wash over him. Thor pushes that feeling deep in the back of his head, not keen on dealing with that at the moment. He then slowly places a hand on her calf and gently presses down on the sore muscle.
Natasha winces but nods, already feeling the tightness in her legs loosen up a little. She shoots him a kind smile but doesn’t say anything else. They talk about Nat’s ballet, about the new time travelling suits, and about the team. They talk about the safe stuff, completely avoiding taking about what just transpired. They both didn’t feel the need to, it’s silent agreement and for that, Thor is thankful.
Natasha can already sense him coming up into the training room, so she doesn’t act surprised when he asks, “You started dancing again?”
Natasha doesn’t move from her poised pose; feet together, arms still, neck straight, head high, back straight as a rod. Although there weren’t any more strict ballet instructors who would not hesitate to punish those in the incorrect position, Natasha still forced her body to achieve that graceful, swan-like look.
When Clint lets out a breath of air, Natasha lets her muscles relax, moving out from her pose with slow movements. “Yeah. Started again a few months ago. Needed a way to let out the stress.”
“Usually that’d be shooting targets at a range,” he quips, walking into the room. Natasha smirks, “Who said I stopped?”
Clint moves in closer to Natasha, until they were a few feet apart only. Clint does a once over on her, his eyes softening and shoulders dropping like a weight was lifted off. He only came back two days ago, and he was still processing after doing that test run earlier this morning. He can still feel the soft leather of Cooper’s baseball glove burning his fingertips and the soft comforting scent of his home in his nostrils. “Uh, Cap cooked dinner, got me to call you up.”
Natasha nods, and slowly drops down to the floor, sitting with her legs stretched out in front of her. She slowly starts to untie the ribbons of her pointe shoes, eyes peering up at Clint and with a gesture of her head, offers him to sit next to her.
He settles onto the ground, watching her unwrap the pink ribbons from her legs. He glances up at her, and notices that she’s purposely avoiding his gaze. “Tasha.”
She doesn’t reply, just giving a small tilt to her head, as if asking him to continue. Clint hesitates, letting a beat of silence pass by. It is slightly awkward. They both haven’t had the chance to talk about anything yet, with everything seeming like it’s going too fast, too rushed and no time to take a breather when there’s half the universe waiting to be saved. To them, there’s no time for heart to heart conversations that will just bring up hard memories. But Clint realises they have to, for the sake of their friendship. Even if Natasha is right beside him, he can still feel her being distant and hesitant, and Clint hates himself for making Tasha feel that way. Making her feel like their friendship is worth less to him, less than his family. But can’t she see she’s family as well?
He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, taking in the comfort of Natasha’s familiar scent. Eventually, he says, “I miss them, Nat.”
Her fingers stop moving, her eyes flickering up to his face. There’s this dark expression etched into his features. Sadness, definitely but there is something else that seems to be plaguing his thoughts. A dark look that’s been there ever since he saw her in Tokyo three days ago. Rain pattering around them, blood running down the drain from the man he’d just killed, the absolutely ruined look on his features when he says Don’t give me hope. It’s the shadow of a man who has lost everything. “I miss them everyday.”
Natasha just shifts over to him, slinking her arm under his so she can intertwine their fingers together. She lays her head on his shoulder. “It will work, Clint. Everyone is involved in this and we have the biggest brain in he world behind the plans. This is our second chance at fixing everything. To bring back everyone.”
God, her voice is so hopeful it hurts Clint. It hurts because even he can start to feel the small prickle of hope in the back of his head, and he knows he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t ever feel hopeful in these situations because there’s always a chance they can ruin things more than it already is. Clint knows he shouldn’t hold out hope, because if it doesn’t work? If everything falls apart again, the team failing the universe again? Clint doesn’t know what he’ll do. He doesn’t know what he’ll do when that last chance, that last shred of hope is taken away from him as quickly as his family had vanished. The only thing that can make things worse now, is a promise that they will safe everyone. And it seems like Natasha read his mind because—
“This will work, Clint. I promise you. I promise you on my life that it will work.”
And Clint can’t do anything else but take Natasha into his arms, and feel hot tears escape his eyes. Because for once—for the first time in a very long time—Clint can finally let himself hope, let himself rid some of the pain that’s been weighing down on him ever since he first saw the ashes.
Clint can finally breathe.
Natasha finds Steve lying down on the couch, his eyes stuck on the ceiling and an arm bent behind his head. She stops at the door and knocks on the frame. “If I offer to cook you dinner, do you think you’d be more miserable or…”
A half smile with no feeling behind it forms on his face. “Depends on the food.”
“Uh, I’m thinking of cooking curry tonight. If you’re up for that.” Natasha moves into the room, bare feet soft as she steps towards the couch. Steve hums, “I think there’s nothing that can make me feel worse so, curry it is.”
Natasha goes down to her knees next to the couch, and sits back on her calves. Her striking green eyes are sympathetic and she hesitates to place a hand on Steve. He glances over to see her raise her hand but he doesn’t stop it. So she reaches out and places a warm, comforting hand on his broad shoulder.
“It’s the day, you know?” Natasha nods. She knows. She knows it’s Peggy’s death anniversary. It’s a notification on her phone that she made ever since that debacle in Leipzig. (which seems like a century ago. So much has happened) It’s the only day in the entire year that she sees Steve so beaten down, shoulders drawn in and eyes glassy. Like a weight he never seems to get rid of.
“I know. And I don’t want to be that person who says it, but I think I have to be.” Natasha continuously rubs gentle circles into his muscle, her eyes closing. She draws in a breath, and Steve watches her face.
“She wouldn’t want you to be like this. Especially now, here in this time.” Her voice is so soft, curling around Steve’s subconscious like a familiar tug. He frowns but he keeps quiet. “She’d tell you what she told you when Bucky died. Remember that?”
A ghost of a smile appears and Natasha lets out a part of a relieved breath—not yet. “She’d want you to keep fighting, keep doing the right thing. Even when you lose someone in the fight.”
Steve turns to his side to face her, and he grabs her hand in his own. His brows furrow and—there it is, the small glint of righteousness in his eye and Natasha knows she’s almost got him.
“You can mourn all you can, Steve. That’s alright. But we can’t lose you again, like those other years.” A rueful smile makes it to her pink lips. She can feel Steve tighten his hold.
“It took us a while to bring you back, and we don’t want that to happen. Not now, especially in a time where we all need a leader.” Natasha takes another breath, tilting her head as she purses her lips almost sheepishly. “We need you, Steve. All of us. All those people.”
Steve stares at her, deep into her eyes as his own blue orbs go slightly glassy. Natasha doesn’t stray from the gaze, keeping her eyes on him and even rubbing her thumb over his hand. When Steve blinks, breaking the spell, he nods.
The sadness is still in his eyes, Natasha can see. And it will be there for a while, Natasha knows that. But she’s relieved enough to take the worst of the edge off, before he spirals. That’s the best thing she can do at the moment.
And not for the first time, Steve considers himself lucky to have her on his side.
Everyone is gone from the lab, whether to sleep or do whatever, and only Natasha and Bruce are left. The atmosphere is light-hearted, not much of tension in the air despite their looming mission.
Natasha hides it well, but there is a small sparkle in her eye when she looks at Bruce. Usually, the genius would be oblivious to these looks, but they’ve known each other for so long and have such a long history together, that Bruce just considers that glint in her eye a part of Natasha.
Bruce’s laughter dies down, “Yeah, I remember wearing Tony’s clothes cause I basically destroyed the quinjet. I calmed down because a hologram of you showed up. And there I was, human again.”
Natasha chuckles and leans back in her seat. She glances up to the ceiling, seeming to think about something. Bruce appears to be typing something into the glass screens, but his hand stops mid air when Natasha says, “Do you think of it sometimes?”
Bruce gulps. He knows what she’s talking about. “How different it would’ve been? Yeah, definitely.”
A pause.
“Sometimes I imagine not being like the… person I am. Only sometimes. I imagine having a kid, or kids, and a white picket fence and the two storey house with a dog. The whole jig. But… I never really imagine who’s man of the house.”
Bruce’s head snaps to her. She smirks, “It’s a dumb fantasy. Cause I don’t think I’d like a two storey house and a dog anyway. Besides, I don’t think… I’d want any other family than the one I have right here.”
His eyes go soft, the creases on his green forehead going away. He smiles but Natasha isn’t finished, “For a while, your face was in my dumb fantasy.”
Her green eyes glance over to him, the same sparkle and meaningful look in them. “But I think that’s because I just wanted a face to put into that dream. Even with all of the complications.”
Bruce breathes out in amusement, and rolls his chair over to her. She sits upright, her arms crossed over her chest. Bruce leans in, his elbows on his knees. “Me too, actually. I didn’t see much harm in creating a fantasy I knew was impossible. But it was nice. Thinking about the alternate possibilities.”
Natasha nods. A pinched look is on her face. Her tone is soft and almost shy, which is very uncharacteristic of her but Bruce listens anyway. “There is one thing, though. I think I’d rather have dumb fantasies that make me wish some things were different, than to not have you in my life at all.”
Bruce grins. There it is—the reason for that sparkle in her eye. He considers it a part of her because she looks at the entire team with that gleam. At first, it was only at him, only seeing Bruce—the only real potential love interest—with that special sparkle. But that changed over the years. It became more platonic, and even extended to other four of the team. It became less of a show of romantic love, and more of a familial love to everyone close to her. That gleam—the one filled with love and care—is what makes Natasha, the soft hearted teammate who just wants everyone together, Natasha.
“Me too, Nat.”
Natasha can almost smile, the familiarity of being around the same people who she first saved the world with. If it were not for the circumstances that brought them all here, she would have let herself feel relieved and maybe even happy. It is kind of ironic, how Natasha is one of those people who thoroughly believed they don’t have a heart. Well, a heart big enough to care for an entire team. Now, she’s the person who’s most at ease by everyone being here and around her, safe in her sight and working together.
She didn’t expect to feel for all these people, or aliens. Knowing some of them for a decade, others for five years, it’s expected to care for them in some way or another. But this is different. The bond she shares with each of them feels more deep and connected. More rooted and real than just a chain with a pendant that says ‘BFFs’. She tells herself that if it comes down to it, she would lay down her own life for anyone of these people, even if they wouldn’t.
She’d make the sacrifice play, in Steve’s words. She almost laughs at her thoughts. God, they were all so naïve back then. If anyone of them even tried getting to know the other—past the egos and facades—they would’ve found out that the team weren’t that different from each other.
Each of them are fucked up in their own way, each of them carved out and shaped by their own version of the guilt complex. That doesn’t erase the fact that any of them would die to save another. It’s not a healthy thing—she already knew that from the start—but then again, they are a chemical mixture that makes chaos, a time bomb.
A time bomb that’s about to save the world and the universe one last time.
And Natasha can’t be more proud of them.