Carol staggers past the rubble on the battlefield, clutching her left arm to her chest, determined to find someone with some damn ability to help. She’s tempted to lift off the ground so she can get a better view of the landscape, but knows that it’ll sap what little is left of her energy. Damn it.
“Captain Danvers!”
She stops, and turns her neck slightly, groaning when something in her neck protests - her collarbone or muscles, she’s not sure. Emerging from her peripheral vision, Okoye skids to a halt in front of her.
Okoye’s eyes are wide, clearly horrified at the state that Carol is in. She knows she must look a mess, blue blood everywhere, possibly concussed, definitely with a broken and dislocated arm, and what feels like a broken collarbone. She shouldn't even be standing, but for now, she’s running on sheer adrenaline.
“Okoye, I need a ship, a plane, anything,” she rasps.
“What are you talking about?” Okoye barks, utterly confused and concerned. Her hands rise up, presumably to hold Carol steady, but she hesitates, not sure when to place her hands without hurting the other woman. “You’re not going anywhere. We need you to get you to the med-tents. You took quite a hit.”
Carol shakes her head stubbornly, tiredly. “I need a plane, I need to find my daughter.”
Okoye sighs and shakes her head once firmly, and this time her hand comes up to hold Carol’s right elbow. “I know you want to see her, but you’re in no state to go anywhere. You can barely walk, let alone fly a plane. I’m taking you to the med-tent - “
With a frustrated, almost animalistic growl, Carol yanks her arm out of Okoye’s grip, ignoring the pain that ripples through her body at the sudden movement, and stumbles away in the opposite direction. “Then I’ll find someone who can help me.”
She hears Okoye cursing loudly in her native language behind her as she gives chase, catching up to her easily. “Captain Rogers, help me with this one!” Okoye bellows, and Carol inwardly groans. Not the boy scout.
“Danvers!” Steve’s baritone voice booms from behind her. She continues on, ignoring him, but within seconds, Steve is in front of her, his eyes wide at her dishevelled state. He holds up his hands in gesture partly to placate her, partly to stop her. “Damn it, Danvers, what are you doing?”
“I’m fine,” she grinds out dismissively, and she can see the disbelief and concern on Steve’s face. She gets straight to the point. “I was telling Okoye I need a plane, or a ride, I don’t care - “
Steve gapes at her for a short moment before interrupting her. “You’re not going anywhere other than the med-tents, Danvers. I don’t know what internal bleeding you have after that Power Stone hit, but I’ve already lost two good friends today. I’m not losing another one.”
His words barely register with Carol. Steve has lost Tony, but she has no idea who the other one is, she doesn’t have time for this. “I haven’t seen my kid in six years, Steve, I think I’m owed that, at the very least,” she snaps.
“You can barely stand,” Steve counters exasperatedly. “Your arm is a mess, who knows what your insides even look like after that hit.”
Carol shakes her head. She needs a ride, and she’s damn well going to get it. She stumbles past him with a huff. Her lungs are burning, her heart fluttering against her ribcage at the exertion she’s putting herself through.
“Oh for fuck’s sake, Danvers! You need medical attention!” Steve growls, striding towards her and this time, he catches her by her good arm.
Carol whips around, throwing a glare full of daggers at him. “What I need is someone who can help me,” she snarls. “Where’s Nat? She’d understand. Where is she?”
The guilty and devastated look on Steve’s face sends a trill of alarm through her. His lips move hesitantly, but he remains silent. Carol freezes, then takes one shaky step forward, her next words full of urgency and fear. “Steve?”
“I - “ Steve starts, but his voice trails off.
“Steve, where’s Nat?” Carol asks slowly.
When Steve only shakes his head, Carol feels her heart plummet down her chest. Pushing past the blinding pain that shoots through the left side of her body, she seizes him by the collar, yanking him forward. “Where the fuck is she?”
He places a gentle hand on her trembling arm, tears now glittering in his eyes, a quiet pain in his voice. “She’s gone, Carol."
"What?"
"Because of her, we got the stone, she gave us a fighting chance.”
His words ring hollow in her head, and she feels like all the breath has been sucked out of her lungs. She shakes her head rapidly, not wanting it to be true, not believing it to be true.
“I don’t believe you,” she whispers, her grip weakening on his shirt. “I just spoke with her last week.” Before Steve can react, she sinks down heavily onto her knees, one hand clapped over her face. Bile is rising up her throat, she feels like she’s going to throw up.
They had grown close over the three years that Carol spent on Earth, and Natasha had been her rock while Maria was fighting her losing battle against cancer. Her fingers reach out for the necklace around her neck, a parting gift from Natasha before Carol had left Earth. Her fingers smooth over the familiar texture of the Wakandan metal, and she feels overwhelmed by a fresh wave of grief.
Steve drops to a crouch next to her. “Carol, let’s get you to the med-tents, okay? You need to get that arm looked at.”
But Carol can barely hear him. Biting back a howl of pain, she pushes herself slowly to her feet. “I’m going to find my daughter,” she slurs, and takes an unsteady step forward, but her right knee buckles under her. She blinks furiously, trying to focus, but darkness closes in around her. As she falls forward, she vaguely hears Steve shouting in alarm as he catches her.
She lets herself mercifully be consumed by the darkness.
1 week later
Sitting by the edge of the jetty overlooking the lake, Carol lets her bare feet dangle, brushing the water lightly. She takes a sip from her flask, then looks down at the crumpled envelope in her hands.
Clint had handed it to her after she had woken up in the hospital, having found it in the bottom of his quiver. “It’s addressed to you,” was all he seemed capable of saying without bursting into tears.
For the past week, she had held off on reading the letter, but after Tony’s funeral this afternoon, she figures she owes it to Natasha to hear what she has to say.
She fumbles with the envelope, finding it difficult to open the envelope neatly with one only one good hand. She curses Thanos and her crippled left limb, settling for ripping the envelope open with her teeth. She can already hear Maria sighing in disapproval at the savagery of it.
Pulling out the letter, Carol can’t help a small fond smile that pulls at the corner of her lips at Natasha’s familiar chicken scratch.
“Carol, if you’re reading this, well it means I’m already gone. But hopefully it would also mean that we’ve won. This is the only way to get the Stone, and I won’t let anyone take this responsibility. We’ve had a good run, though I wish I met you and Maria earlier. But we take what we can get. Thank you for your friendship, and thank you for showing me, teaching me, what unconditional love and a real family feels like. Yours is a wonderful family, and I hope you reconcile with Monica when she comes back. Don’t give up on her, whatever happens, I’m sure she’ll come round. Family is important, you’ve taught me that. So I hope you can check in on my sister for me, and make sure she doesn’t get into too much trouble? Stay strong and keep fighting the good fight. Yours always, Natasha.”
Carol shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut, reaching up to wipe away her tears. “Damn it Nat.” Her chest aches, not just with the physical pain of her mending ribcage, but also the emotional weight of her grief that is crushing down on her.
She doesn’t know how long she sits at the jetty for, but eventually she hears footsteps behind her. She cranes her neck to see Fury standing behind her.
“Fury,” she greets him, tipping her head.
“It’s been a while, Danvers,” he says, sitting down next to her with a grunt. His good eye roves over the sling that her left arm is tucked in. “You gave us quite a fright.”
She purses her lips. “Power Stone isn’t to be trifled with,” she says softly, not able to hold back a shudder that goes through her body at the memory of the impact, and feeling everything in her left side - arm, shoulder, and ribs shatter.
Fury looks at her knowingly. He’d seen her medical report, and had to stop himself from throwing up after reading the gruesome details of the damage. “I think it’s time you took a holiday. You deserve it, more than anyone I know.”
Carol indicates her arm in the sling with a self-deprecating smile. “Not going anywhere, trust me. I’ll be on Earth for a while.”
Fury nods slowly, his expression unusually soft. “Rest up. The last five years haven’t been kind to you. I’m sorry I wasn’t around.”
She averts her gaze, not wanting to see the sympathy and pity playing on his face. She lifts the flask to her lips again, taking comfort from the burn of the whiskey down her throat. She stiffens when he lays a firm heavy hand on her shoulder. “You did the best you could, given the circumstances. Frankly, there was nothing you could have done.”
“You talking about Maria or Natasha? Because I couldn’t save either.”
Fury frowns a little at how bitter she sounds. “Both, I suppose. They did the best they could too. Don’t dishonour their memory by taking away their agency.”
Carol turns to look at him indignantly. “I’m not - “
“You are,” he says firmly. “Romanoff sacrificed herself so we’d get a chance to save everyone. And Rambeau,” he chokes up a little then, and Carol feels a flare of guilt. Maria was his friend too. “She accepted her mortality a long time ago. She’d rather do that than to put you through a fresh sort of hell in scrambling to find a cure, when there may be nothing out there. There’s nothing braver than that.”
Carol lets out a shuddering breath, squeezing her eyes shut. She knows she hasn’t done a particularly good job of compartmentalizing her grief over the last two years, but in an instant, Fury has managed to tear open the barely healed wound.
“This pain won’t go away,” she admits quietly, brokenly, feeling like she had to tell Fury the truth, that it might eat her up inside if she didn’t give voice to it. “At times, it felt like I was just cruising, with no real meaning, no real heart to anything. And at other times, I feel it so deeply, so painfully, it feels like it’s crushing me from within. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. Because if I sleep, I dream about her. And then I wake up and she’s not there. I can't - " she pauses and sucks in a deep breath. "I don't know how to carry on like this."
Fury turns to fully face her, noting the errant tears that trickle down her cheeks. “Maria may be gone, but you still have a daughter to look out for,” he reminds her.
She snorts a bitter laugh, as though she needed to be reminded. “She’s not interested. She’s made that very clear. Trust me, I tried. I just got the door slammed in my face.”
“Then try again. You’re not one to give up.”
“I’m not giving up,” Carol huffs. “I’m just… going to give her space and time, before I try again. It’s been two years for me and it’s still not getting any better - “
“So you’re going to let her grieve alone, like you’ve done for the last two years, and still doing now?” Fury interrupts her, an eyebrow raised in challenge.
“She’s not alone,” Carol retorts sullenly. “She’s crashing with Tali. I asked her to let me know once Monica cools off a little.”
“Tali’s her best friend, but you’re her mom. You’re family.” Fury throws his hands up in exasperation.
Carol sighs, looking gloomy. “She might not see it that way. Still, I’ll give her time. It’s not like I can get back into her good graces by taking her out for ice cream. She’s not twelve anymore.” Not for the first time, Carol's heart aches at how much time she's lost with Monica, from the moment she'd been taken by the Kree, to her own self-imposed absence from their lives for long stretches of time, and the last five years.
Fury must sense the fresh melancholy that sweeps over her, and he leans a little closer, offering her a knowing smile. “Well, she’s got your stubbornness, unfortunately.”
Carol shakes her head, unable to help a warm affection for Monica swelling in her chest, despite her rocky relationship with her daughter right now. “Shut up.” She punches him good-naturedly on the shoulder.
He chuckles, jokingly going with the motion. After the brief moment of levity, he fixes his gaze squarely on Carol again. "You did a good thing for Romanoff, by the way."
"I just wish there was more I could've done for her," she murmurs, desolation creeping back into her tone, and her shoulders slump a little.
Fury's expression softens. "You're giving her a final resting place, for people to visit, to speak with her, to remember her. Don’t underestimate the importance of that.”
Carol's fingers smooth absentmindedly over the paper, tracing the outlines of the letters. Her last real link to her friend. "I don't think I could have made it the last few years without her, after Maria…" her voice trails off, and her throat tightens with emotion.
Fury’s hand settles her on a good shoulder. “I’m going to miss her too. We need to honour them, not only by continuing to fight the good fight, but also to live our lives, because that’s what they fought for, what they sacrificed themselves for. Don’t let any of it go to waste, you hear me?”
“Yeah, I hear you.”
5 months later
Carol sits down next to the stone, pulls out a bottle of whiskey and glass from her bag, pours out a finger of whiskey, and sets the glass firmly in front of the stone. She fishes out a leather-bound flask from her jacket pocket, and taps it gently against the whiskey glass.
“Na Zdorovie,” she says quietly, and takes a sip of her own whiskey. Enjoying the burn of the whiskey down her throat, she leans back on her elbows, eyes sweeping over the various items left for Natasha on the ground in front of her headstone.
“Brought your favourite whiskey, so you can’t accuse me of not bringing you anything nice. Gosh, I miss you, other than Brunn, you were probably my favourite drinking buddy.” She shakes her head with a fond chuckle.
“I checked in on your sister, she seems to be doing okay, got a new job with some sketchy woman. I’ll keep an eye on her as best as I can. As for me, I finally reconciled with Monica. I guess it took me getting shot for her to forgive me. But we had a good talk, she’s coming with me when I leave tomorrow. There are whispers of a Kree encroachment on neutral territories, so I need to go take a look. You told me to continue fighting the good fight, so that’s what I’m going to do.”
She takes another sip of her whiskey, then shifts to a crouch, and presses her forehead to the cold stone where Natasha’s name is engraved. “I’ll see you around, Romanoff. Say hi to Maria for me."
Straightening back up, she places the whiskey bottle back in her bag, but leaves the glass with the poured out whiskey there. With a precision drilled into her from her Air Force and Starforce days, she snaps her heels together smartly and throws a crisp salute.
With a sigh, she relaxes, and turns back around, walking back up the well-worn path to where her car was. She comes out of the forest clearing, and sees Monica leaning against the hood of the car. Her daughter pushes herself away from the car and pulls off her sunglasses. "You okay?" she asks softly.
Carol bobs her head with a small smile. "Yeah, I'm good." She can't help the pride that swells in her chest from just looking at her grown-up daughter. "You ready?"
Monica practically beams at her. "Hell yeah."
With a grin, Carol claps a hand on her shoulder. "Then let's get going, it's going to be a long way to go before we get up there."