Chapter 2
Natasha sat cross-legged on the bed, the heat of her laptop a dull discomfort through her black leggings. Steve had apparently told the truth about what happened to Thanos in what was being called the Final Battle. It seemed apt. She clicked through to a tribute article at the end, amidst the titles calling for five years gone politicians to have their positions back, just above an advertisement for a connection company guaranteed to find anyone who may have moved since the snap. The world had indeed moved on, and now half the population would like it to stop and let them catch up for a moment.
Ignoring them, Natasha focused on the article she had selected. She skimmed through Tony’s achievements, the author’s praise and thinly veiled attraction, the highlights of his life culminating of course in the Final Battle, where he wielded the gauntlet, sacrificing his life for all others, one last heroic gesture.
She leaned back against the wall, letting the computer sitting on her lap dim, only the weak glow lighting her face. The room was dark, the window closed with the curtains tightly closed. It was small enough that the bareness of the room, the presence of only the bed, tiny closet, and a single light bulb was hardly striking. A glance at the lower right corner of the screen let her know the time, 9:18. She knew she should feel something, loss, grief, emotions she certainly was no stranger to, as she stared at the screen which looked back at her unchanging, as unapologetic as her own blank mind. She had been friends with the man, been closer than friends, they had worked alongside for so long, he had been, well he’d been family really. They’d been family and now Natasha could only look dry-eyed at the screen telling the story of his death and feel nothing at all, just a slight emptiness in her stomach letting her know she hadn’t eaten since she’d been back.
A quick flick of her fingers on the mouse pad brought light back, brightness bursting forth to illuminate her face as she read the last paragraph, a stupid way to portray the man really, although she was sure Tony would love hearing about how everyone was talking about his sacrifice now.
“Always have to have the last word, don’t you, Stark?”
The silence she got in response was somehow louder than the quiet before she had spoken but she had never minded the quiet. Still, this article really was annoying, all cloying pandering praise. Perhaps that was it. Yes, that could be why she wasn’t feeling upset, it wasn’t that she wasn’t upset he was gone, it was this stupid article, reducing him to these ridiculous events and accomplishments. This author, this, she scrolled to the top quickly, this Regina Quire, even the name sounded ridiculous, it was her who made him sound unreal and fake, her who made his death seem meaningless. She grasped onto the explanation and held tight, weaving a tale from the straw. It made sense after a while after she thought about it. It was this Quire woman’s fault. All she had to do was remove her. Without noticing, her shoulders lowered almost imperceptibly, untensing ever so slightly as everything cleared up. She had a solution now, a target. She’d be fine.
She stood from the bed, letting the laptop fall onto the blanket and crossed over to the closet, swinging open the door. Dresses hung from the bar trailing over the shoes on the rack. Carefully, methodically, Natasha moved the shoe racks aside to reveal the weaponry behind, guns and knives that would put the armory at any SHIELD safehouse to shame, as well as one sleek black box on top. The reason she’d chosen this place to come to over any other. Gently, she reached out and picked it up, spit on her index finger and placed it gently on the red hourglass on front. A barely audible click and it opened, two of her very special Widow’s Bites gauntlets resting on creamy silk within. Natasha let a small grin onto her lips. Yes, she’d be just fine.
“Hey, Pigeon.”
Sam didn’t even bother to look up from the papers on his desk.
“First of all, it’s Falcon. Second of all, it’s not falcon anymore. Third of all, do you ever knock?”
“So what I’m getting is, it’s not actually Falcon so I’m fine?” Bucky moved into the office and looked around. “This Steve’s old office here?”
Even if he wasn’t trained to read people Bucky would have been able to see the effect his words had on him, Sam’s eyes jerking up to meet his, his jaw setting and shoulders tensing.
“Well, Steve hasn’t worked here with SHIELD for a while, as you know,” he said, choosing his words with care. “But yes, when he did, this was Captain America’s office. Now that I’ve uh, inherited the position, the office goes to me.” He glared at Bucky, daring him to defy his statement.
“Calm down, I’m not here to challenge you or anything.” Bucky grabbed a chair from the corner by the window, noting the closed blinds and sat.
“Why’re you here then?” Sam asked, curiosity breaking through his defensiveness despite himself. Bucky shrugged.
“You haven’t been by the compound in a while. Would’ve thought you’d be there all day what with your new position and all.”
Now it was Sam’s turn to shrug.
“I’ve still got to fill out the paperwork after the missions. Besides, the compounds pretty full as it is.”
“Yeah, okay.” Bucky plucked the folder he was looking at from his desk before he could react. He flicked through the newspaper articles, big flashy headlines decrying the new Captain America, detailing the faults and flaws of one Sam Wilson, editorials and opinion pieces explaining in great detail why the America of Tomorrow needed the Captain of Yesterday and why this one could never match up. “Paperwork, huh?”
“Give those back, Barnes.” Sam stood and reached for them, sighing when Bucky held them out of reach. “Don’t make me come and get them.”
“You shouldn’t be looking at this shit at all, Wilson.” Bucky darted around the desk as Sam moved to grab them. “Why do you want it?”
“Captain America should care about public opinion. SHIELD has made that clear.” Sam answered, rolling under the desk to grab at Bucky’s legs.
“Well, maybe SHIELD doesn’t know what Captain America should care about.” Bucky jumped onto the desk just as Sam emerged, knocking his computer to the tile floor. “Steve never cared abou-”
“Well maybe I’m-” Sam began loudly when the door opened and they both froze at the sight of Maria Hill in the doorway. Bucky dropped the folder and Sam stood to attention.
“Am I interrupting?” She asked, taking in the scene, gaze lingering on the broken computer lying on the floor. Bucky sheepishly got down from the desk.
“No, ma’am.”
“Good. Captain, there’s a matter I wanted to speak to you about, but well, Barnes may as well stay. We could use you here. If that’s all right with you, Wilson?” Without waiting for an answer she continued, tapping through to a file on her tablet apparently oblivious to the glares being exchanged above her head as she found what she was looking for and shoved it forward for the two to see.
The men looked down at the woman's body on the screen, covered to the neck in a sheet that was just a shade whiter than her skin now. There were no visible wounds, except, Sam tilted his head, a spot that seemed almost charred, like a small burn.
“Regina Quire.” Maria placed the tablet on the desk and folded her arms. “Low-level journalist, generally irrelevant to us except her method of death-”
“Electrocution.” Bucky pushed away the screen. “Right?”
Maria nodded.
“Thought you might recognize it,” she said
“Why?”
“What does she have to do with us? With me?” Sam asked, looking up.
“We have reason to believe whoever killed her did so with a very specific weapon. Weapons, to be exact. We want you to bring them to justice and recover the weapons for us.” Maria said, retrieving her tablet.
“No. There’s no way.” Bucky said, shaking his head. “They’re all hidden. And DNA locked.”
“We have reason to believe that regardless, whoever the killer is, has them anyway. And therefore may have some of her DNA.” Maria said, pausing to let him take in the impact of her words.
“Anyone wanna let me know what any of this means?” Sam broke in. “Any time about now would be good.”
The two turned to look at him as though they forgot he was there, a bit rude considering it was his office really, and Bucky was the first to speak.
“She thinks whoever did this has Nat’s gauntlets. Which is ridiculous because they’re all hidden and Natalia knows how to hide.” Something in his face changed as he spoke of her, but just as quickly as it was there it was gone, forced back away. “They’re also all DNA and fingerprint locked. So if someone did have it they’d have her DNA. And she’s been kind of, well…”
“Genetically enhanced. Her DNA in the wrong hands could be a mess. We need you to clean it up.” Maria finished for him.
Sam nodded.
“So I just track down this possibly enhanced guy and we go in and apprehend him?”
“Apprehend?” Maria repeated. “Yeah, sure. Just take care of the situation.”
Sam paused, unsure how to respond for a moment. Luckily, his new partner had no such hesitations.
“We will,” Bucky spoke up, flexing his metal fist. “If you’re really right, if someone out there really is using those gauntlets, we’ll take care of them for you.”
Natasha walked through the streets jauntily, earbuds in and bag swinging freely, the picture of casual merriment. One observing her, although she had made sure there was none, would have been shocked at the transformation that took place as soon as she stepped through her door as though the threshold had some magic power over her. Gone was any sort of happy spirit. In its place was a fierce determinism. She ripped the useless earbuds from her ears, shoving them into the bag she hung on the hook by the door. Withdrawing the gun from within she carefully replaced it in the cupboard where it belonged before sitting down and assessing her mission.
It was successful. Technically. The annoying woman, the false reporter was now dead and could ruin Tony no longer. And yet the emotions she was waiting for still evaded her, nothing but a blank absence of anything in their place. Her determinism seemed to drain away just for a moment and this time there was nothing to replace it, just a blank emptiness. Just for a moment before she pulled it back with a sheer force of will she didn’t know she had, just a moment of the terrible blank nothing before she yanked back her determination and will but a moment was enough. She wouldn’t return to emptiness ever again. And while she may not have gotten the emotions she wished for from the woman she had gotten success from her. That wasn’t nothing. That was worth. Yes, Natasha would figure this out. She could get success, from her own missions. She had done it once and she’d do it again and again. Gather success and worth until it filled her up until there was no more to be had. So she’d never be empty again.