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There’s a dark spot on the otherwise crisp white wall of the cafeteria, starting out in a perfect oval shape before elongating into the thin remains of whatever had caused the mark. Natasha found herself staring at this flaw intently as she chewed the bland, nutritional food. The dull chews faded into white noise, another sound amidst the muffled slaps of boots against cement, plastic utensils tapping against metal plates. There was no buzz of indistinct conversations, like there would be at a park or even another cafeteria, seemingly so far removed from their world yet also featuring teenage girls their age.

Those girls were not like them –nowhere close, not after years in the Red Room. Madame Boleslava had always framed this as something positive –a sign of how special they were, how uniquely qualified they would become to make a difference for Mother Russia, for their people. Her words were what they repeated to themselves, like a chant that possessed powers of rejuvenation, whenever those sweet words were swapped with venom.

Natasha repeated those words to herself now, adding in a final promise that she would see the light again, inhale the fresh, almost painfully cold air of a Russian winter. It had been so long, and she was so close to being granted a minor mission, perhaps surveillance or assistance on another agent’s case. Her skin itched, and she told herself that this was just restlessness, anticipation, rather than an increasingly pervasive sense of déjà vu.

She redirected her thoughts, stared at that grey mark on the wall again. She didn’t look behind her. Didn’t look at the guards and minders that she knew from memory would be patrolling the aisles, making sure that no one skimped on their daily calories or hid pills in their pocket to be flushed down the toilet later.

Natasha didn’t look, because the last time she did, the guards didn’t have any faces. Their heads had been merely flesh covered ovals, with the faint impression of features that were too blurry to distinguish any of them. It had taken all of the control ingrained in her not to react beyond a twitch of a finger.

At first, she’d wondered if she’d been dreaming. Then, theorized that this may have been a test, a hallucinogen slipped into one of the pills in their regimen. The subsequent right hook to the side of her head, and the struggle to escape the headlock by one of the still faceless guards as she’d tried to stash the pill had cured her of either delusion. Natasha has had nightmares and been drugged before plenty, and none of them had left a decent sized lump on her head, or a hoarse voice for several days afterwards.

That night, she had scoured her memories for any trigger that may have brought this on, but found nothing. All she remembered was a faint sense of unease with the monotony of the days, how they never seemed to progress in their training. Every time she thought that, though, Madame Boleslava would grace them with another speech on the work they are preparing to do, how they must be patient and allow the Red Room to sharpen them to their finest point before they can unleash their talents onto the world.

Doubt. That was all that had changed. But in Natasha’s admittedly limited experiences, doubt alone was not enough for a normal person’s mind to start subtracting people’s noses, eyes, and mouths from others’ faces. Her own features were certainly intact to her mind’s eye –she’d checked. And if there was truly no external source causing this, how can she say anything? It would only mark her as defective, slotted as a wash out, and a dangerous one to boot.

Still, there was an oddly sentimental, oddly foolish part of her that wanted to tell someone. That wanted to share these uncertainties and be comforted by the gentle pressure of someone’s shoulders bumping against her own.

Natasha frowned, resuming her laser focus on that damned grey spot, whose details had not dulled in the slightest even as the people inhabiting the world around her had. It was a weak impulse, one that would lead directly to her ruin.

There may have been some girls, once, who she could have confided in. They were the ones who had snuck morsels of their dinner back to peers who had been punished with sitting in the dark while their stomachs growled miserably. The ones who had gently corrected another’s stance to improve their balance in training, who pulled back when sparring with the smallest and youngest of them. But their kind had all washed out long ago, never to be seen again.

Natasha, though –Natasha remained.

Natasha reported for yet another firearm drill. She pulled on the earmuffs and assembled her gun with rote precision, her mind hardly even focusing on the task. The exercise, at least, was marginally different than what felt like the last hundred times. In an attempt to sharpen them to perfect points, the Red Room conditioned them to be operating at peak effectiveness even when bullets were whizzing over their heads or bombs rattling their teeth with their close proximity. They simulated firing under those bursts of adrenaline flooding through their bodies by running a 6 minute mile first before completing the actual firearms course.

Today, they were instructed to do it in five.

Natasha was winded, but performed within acceptable rates of accuracy as she emptied her magazine on a crowd of paper cut out hostiles, as she shot a traitor of the State in the neck while he held a young hostage close to his chest. She ended up clipping the hostage on the arm with her first shot, lungs still heaving with exertion despite her best attempts to temper their rise and fall into something more manageable. It’s something she can work on tomorrow.

Earlier, Olga had tripped on a crack in the concrete and fell, which ended up setting her back several seconds past the five minute requirement. Natasha had heard Olga’s cry of pain and surprise, and her steps had stuttered against her will as though some unknown instinct was guiding her to turn around.

It was only a momentary lapse, though, and Natasha had kept running. They all heard the slapping sounds of a belt against flesh later, but remained steadfast to their silent pilgrimage back to the dorms.

“You will face many trials out there, as Widows,” Madame Boleslava said the next day, “People will hurt you, by either your own design or theirs, and we need to prepare you for that eventuality. You are all so special, so precious, and we want to give you all the tools you need to survive in the world. Pushing through the pain,” she added, head inclining at Olga, whose head was bowed, “is one of the most important.”

Natasha snuck a glance at Olga, and her eyes widened as she noted the beady blue eyes and thin wisps of a beard on the face of the guard looming over her.

She thought that what she should be feeling is relief, but there is a distinct sinking stone in her stomach instead.

The days passed in a blur, filled with constantly sore muscles and exercises that grow gradually challenging over time. There was a small part of her that still thought the progress was too slow, that even the dullest blade eventually would find no more use for a whetstone, but she told herself that it was merely eagerness to leave this place that was testing her patience.

That illusion didn’t last much longer than the last time, though. As much as she sought to enter the business of lies, Natasha has never been one to lie to herself. She knew exactly what she was. She was no one, but a nobody with a particular set of skills, including pattern recognition.

That’s what made the conflicting instincts raging within her so confusing. It’s both all too easy and painfully difficult to stay out of others’ business, to hold back a suggestion that could make the difference between life and death, a beating and a relatively painless slumber.

But she knew to do so meant consequences, and what was the point of all that work just to throw it away? To make all of it –everything she has done– mean nothing?

The dreams were not particularly alarming at first. Nightmares were more familiar than the faces of her nameless parents, so although the feeling of falling, of the wind sweeping through her body with a chill that seeped into her bones, forced her awake in a cold sweat, she knew how to handle it.

Take deep breaths and keep the rattling to a minimum. Bury her head under the covers. Squeeze her eyes shut and think of nothing until the images faded away.

These dreams, though –Natasha didn’t know what to do with these. Instead of exaggerating reruns of her most embarrassing defeats, of monsters cloaked in human flesh or obfuscated in shadow, she saw herself. Older. More lines around the mouth and deeper shadows under the eyes. This dream self suffered, but she found herself delving less and less into the adrenaline rush of a firefight, the shock to the nervous system as metal slices through her abdomen.

Instead, Natasha dreamt about the sense of peace, of stillness, as she gazed out the window of the Eurail, watching the lush green landscape and historic homes pass by with a passivity that should grate against her every instinct. The Red Room taught her to always be alert, to never let her guard down anywhere or with anyone. To stay grounded in her life’s work.

Yet in her dreams, she flew. She leapt out of planes, but not in a tactical suit. Natasha free fell and imagined the whoops of her fellow skydivers, the actual sound lost to the roaring wind and the expanse of sky. She felt herself grin against the wind, glanced to the side to see the more hesitant divers transform their nervous laughter into almost mad giggles of triumph. In her dreams, she had no covers to hide behind, so she immersed herself in the world instead, forsaking the shadows for the light.

At least, for a little while.

Recently, Natasha tended not to wake up anymore with a barely stifled shout. Instead, coming back to reality is slow, first situating herself in time and place with the coarse blanket curled around her fingers and the swift breathing of several others around her. More often than not, she had to blink away salt from her eyes, the silent tears’ sting bringing her crashing back to the dark and silent Red Room.

This is new, but why fix what’s not broken? She buried her head beneath the blanket. Inhale slowly and deeply. Try to forget.

Her two selves come to a head at last when the Red Room decided that the knowledge of punishment upon failure is not enough –they needed to witness it. Natasha didn’t flinch, didn’t cringe, doesn’t wince in sympathy. Instead, she felt heat in her chest as her hands clenched into fists of their own accord. Her shoulders squared as she watched a grown man two times bigger than the budding widow’s slight adolescent frame poured her into the ground.

Natasha, of all people, knew how lethal they all were, young and small though they may be. They’ve been taught to use their agility and creativity against larger opponents such as these, to distract with rapid strikes until the parts that everyone is vulnerable in –the throat, the pelvis, that sweet spot under the ribs– are open for the taking. She knew that Irina could hold her own against the massive guard, maybe even beat him.

No, what seemed to be fogging up her head, her carefully cultivated and hard-won self-preservation instincts, is the fact that Irina can, but won’t. Can, but also can’t, not while she is trapped behind the bars of the cement cage the Red Room has built for them, for their bodies, hearts, and minds. Not while she feared a worse fate than this should she show disobedience.

Not when she could see no way out. Not when the Red Room won’t let her even entertain the possibility.

Before she quite realized what she was doing, Natasha had darted behind the guard and slammed her feet into the soft joints of his kneecap. She doesn’t wait for his leg to buckle before firing a hook and catching that sweet spot right under the ribcage. The guard is muscular, with much more padding on any of them, but hit them in the right place and he will crumple all the same.

Natasha’s breathing hard, but it’s not the same as the guard’s labored wheezing. It’s the kind of adrenaline kick that left her giddy, her head finally feeling clear for the first time in days. It felt like triumph –it felt right.

She’s still riding that wave of clarity when the crackle of electricity reaches her ears, a split second before the volts sent shocks through her body. Natasha fell hard, boneless, to the ground. Groaning, she managed to look up, her limbs still twitching from the aftershocks.

Madame Boleslava loomed over her, steel toed boots slamming down right next to Natasha’s ear. She’s proud of herself for not wincing. Madame Boleslava lectured her about disappointments, about wasting potential, about robbing Irina of a valuable lesson with her selfish intervention. Natasha only half listened, her skin still buzzing from the high of her disobedience, on the sense that something has finally settled within her.

Her attention drifted, scanning the crowd of her rivals, her peers, her bullies. Girls who may have, in another life, laughed alongside her at inside jokes, tried out ridiculous hairstyles on each other, listened intently to their troubles –big and small– and provided either solemn advice or solace because that was what you did for the people you cared about.

Natasha had never had such connections –the Red Room had never allowed it, had even actively stamped away any seedlings of it. And yet –she longed for it, this feeling that is both familiar and alien. Looking at the fear, and wide-eyed awe, and even disgust in the expressions of the girls she spent day in and day out with, she knew that she will find no such camaraderie here. She didn’t know how it was possible to miss something that she’d never had, but there it was. An aching emptiness that she couldn’t fill.

The guards hauled her to her feet and she went without protest. The guard she’d attacked, who had since lost all traces of his eyes and nose on his way up from the ground, spat in her face and promised to return the favor. Natasha merely stared him down, unable to even summon the energy to formulate a sharp response in the safety of her own head.

She’s tired all of a sudden. Tired in a bone deep way that went beyond the physical. But the craziest part of it all was that she still didn’t regret what she had done.

As the guards escorted her out of the room, they all became less defined. The lights in the room flickered and Natasha’s vision fuzzed in and out the longer they navigated the corridors. She blinked heavily, trying to correct the flaws in her vision so that whenever they got to where they were going, at least it won’t be a surprise. Her vision sharpened as she found herself putting her training to good use in cataloguing escape routes, camera locations, traffic density in certain areas.

They came to a stop. Natasha squinted at the blood red door –and suddenly all that fear came rushing back. She jerked her body to the side and slipped out of the grasp of the guard, but the other grabbed her legs and slammed her to the ground before she could make her escape. The floor is cold and unforgiving beneath her as she heard herself scream. A distant part of herself knew she’s never been in that room before, yet she also felt deep in her bones that she has, that this is the place where they turned an orphan into no one.

She trashed and kicked and bit, but they overpowered her, shoved her through the threshold and forced her onto a steel table. Her screams are muffled by the device they wrap around her head, her vision blurred by the helpless tears that water her eyes without her permission. She blinked them away as she yanked a leg free from the leather strap with a sudden burst of strength, but her coup didn’t last long.

Natasha’s breathing picked up in uncontrolled panic as she heard the whirs of machinery warming up. She doesn’t want to look up at the faceless guards, at Madame Boleslava’s face, pinched in pain as she spoke nonsense about how this will be more painful for her than it would be for Natasha.

Natasha jerked her head to the side as the metallic grinding grew louder, choosing instead to focus on the dark corner of the room, looking for a dark spot to think about instead. Her breath hitched.

“It will be alright,” Madame Boleslava said, “You will wake up good as new tomorrow. No pain, no distractions.”

Natasha wasn’t listening. Instead, she stared at the little girl nestled in the corner, her skin painted green and her hair dyed with pink at the tips. The little girl stared back with big dark eyes, mouth forming an “o” of surprise, or distress.

“Who –” Natasha started to say, before everything went white.

She knows that she’s supposed to forget the room with the red door and the machinery, but she didn’t.

What’s even harder to forget is the little girl that keeps appearing. The first time it happened, Natasha couldn’t help staring, only for her alarm to increase once she got a rap on the wrist for not paying attention. Natasha had let her mouth thin into a tight line, the better to hold back her words. Because Madame Boleslava and several students had glanced at the corner –right where the little girl silently watched them– and never once commented on her presence.

It isn’t until lunch when the little girl spoke, materializing on the bench next to her with no warning.

“I don’t like this place,” the girl said, “Why do you stay here?”

Natasha subtly glanced around. “Not here,” she muttered.

The girl turned to face her, lips pulled down into a childish pout. But even though her chubby cheeks and big eyes made her seem very young, there was a wisdom behind that expression that somehow settled the familiar restlessness churning in her gut. Up close, Natasha could see the pores of her luminescent green skin –and it was skin, not paint. There were faint silver markings on her face that almost appeared carved in, but Natasha couldn’t see any signs of scarring that would be associated with such a wound.

“Why do you keep bringing me here?” The girl asked, brows furrowing as she inspected the admittedly unappetizing lump on Natasha’s plate.

“Me?”

“I told you, I don’t like it here.” The little girl’s gaze lost its focus, went distant. “Even if it’s different at home now, it’s still home.”

Natasha couldn’t help but shake the feeling that this is important. She ignored Madame Boleslava’s voice in her head, telling her that feelings can’t be trusted, not at this stage. “Come back later, we’ll talk.”

“But you’re the one –”

“Just go!”

The little girl huffed and squeezed her eyes shut as Natasha watched expectedly. After a moment, the girl opened one eye. Natasha is struck by the intensity in that gaze. “I’m Gamora,” she whispered, before blinking out of existence.

As much as Gamora complained that Natasha was the one bringing her here, she did seem to appear whenever she pleased. Natasha nearly jumped out of her skin when she exited the shower to see Gamora standing there, inspecting her own reflection in the fogged up mirror. There was a crack in the glass, and Gamora traced the thin line to its point of origin, a circle of shattered glass that created a pattern that Natasha supposed was beautiful, in its own way.

“They’re not very nice here,” Gamora said suddenly. “I don’t understand why you don’t leave.”

So you’ve said, Natasha thought. “I’m here to serve my country.”

“Oh.” Gamora frowned. “So you can leave if you want to?”

“I –” Natasha hesitated, and wrapped the towel tighter around herself. “Of course I can.”

Gamora just eyed her warily from the corner of her eye as she continued her inspection, tracing the rusted metal after the glass had been broken and long swept away. Natasha thought she should probably find it more strange that she kept getting visits from a green-skinned little girl, but it felt surprisingly normal to be carrying on the conversation.

I get e-mails from a raccoon. Nothing sounds crazy anymore. Natasha very carefully did not react to the thought that had just materialized in her head.

“You keep saying that I brought you here,” Natasha said instead, affecting a nonchalant drawl. “What do you mean by that?”

Gamora’s small fingers freeze. Her eyes drifted down towards her feet. “I heard you screaming,” she whispered. “I didn’t like it.”

Natasha frowned. “So I didn’t bring you here –you did.”

The little girl shook her head, pink dipped braids whacking her shoulders forcefully. You don’t –I think I’ve heard it before…not you, but –” She scrunched her nose, and if it weren’t for the way her voice cracked with distress, Natasha might have found it cute. “I think I’ve heard it before…and didn’t do anything. I don’t like that. So when I heard you –” She shrugged, casual, but Natasha only peered at her shrewdly. The affected indifference seemed to be a very adult reaction.

Then again, she was starting to understand that not much was making sense about her limited world of grey concrete, indistinguishable guards, and stagnant routine. It had started as a restless unease beneath her skin, but the oddities kept adding up. How much longer can she remain willfully ignorant, head down, focused on the selfish goal of tasting the fresh air or feeling the breaks of sunshine on her face? A promise that felt more and more like it would never be fulfilled.

Natasha turned to Gamora again, finding her large dark eyes staring at her with an intensity that felt both familiar and out of place on such a small body. It was also the same gaze that met Natasha’s gaze in the mirror very morning –hard, and assessing.

“Come with me.”

“What?” Natasha grit her teeth. “Why? I’m where I’m meant to be –where I have to be.”

Gamora’s braids shifted from side to side as she shook her head. “This is a bad place. Why do you have to be here?”

“I –I just do.”

“Come with me,” Gamora repeated. “Let me help you.” Her eyes grew distant as she seemed to look past Natasha, as though she were speaking to someone else. “Please.”

Natasha inhaled sharply. It was insane, to agree to such a promise made by an apparition that only she could touch and feel. Use your emotions to manipulate the target, Madame Boleslava echoed in the back of her mind. Don’t let them manipulate you. But if she really thought about it, it wasn’t her gut reaction that told her that something was wrong –a feeling, yes, but rooted in observation, rooted in tradecraft.

And, perhaps, also supported by that inclination to help, to grab the whip before it struck another recruit instead of walking away and pretending she hadn’t heard their cries.

“How?” Natasha heard herself whisper.

Gamora’s eyes widened. “Really?” She bit her lip, revealing a pointed tooth. “Last time, the walls…moved or something when you were…”

“When they took me through the red door?”

Gamora nodded. “That was after you stood up to that mean lady. Did anything else ever happen before?”

Natasha’s lips quirked. “You mean besides you?”

“Yes,” Gamora whined, rolling her eyes. Natasha could almost imagine her stomping her feet in frustration.

She told Gamora everything, spilling the worries about her own sanity and odd occurrences that had plagued her for what felt like an eternity. By the end, her chest felt strangely light, scattered thoughts more settled.

“So…every time you doubt the mean lady or your life, weird things happen? And the worst was when you actually did something.” Gamora paused and seemed to almost draw herself up in an authoritative stance, both hands interlocked behind her back. “Then I think it’s time to do something again…and keep doing it.”

Natasha barely restrained a flinch, knowing that this path led to more pain, to more barely remembered trips beyond the red door.

But Gamora was right –she did not belong here. Maybe she had, once, maybe she had been able to bury these doubts and instincts to protect down deep where no one –not even her– could reach them. For whatever reason, things were different now. She was different, even if she could not recall when that change had occurred.

Natasha took a deep breath. “Ok.”

Gamora smiled, a small uptick of the mouth that didn’t reveal any of her teeth. It was a very adult smile. “I’ll be here to help you. I promise.”

That promise, spoken in the high octave of a little girl, echoed in the room, seeming to wrap the small space in its power. It made Natasha square her shoulders, a fierce sense of responsibility curling in her chest. Maybe, together, they could leave and see the sun again.

Either way, this will end.

They started small, with an extending of a hand to help a fallen comrade back up after a punishment, slipping a roll of bread to someone who had their dinner privileges revoked, offering to treat and place gauze over a back wound that would have been difficult to reach. The guards’ faces started blurring into obscurity, doors appeared to blink in and out of existence every few seconds, and Madame Boleslava’s words warped from sharp and harsh notes to an unintelligible screech that was almost inhuman in pitch.

She came away with cuts and bruises, as expected, but they never took her to the Red Room again. Gamora was there each time, speaking in soft tones about her parents, friends, and home world as Natasha dressed the injuries.

“You’ll like it,” she declared. “We don’t have much, but it’s a lot better than here. Papa’s a great cook…I think you can eat it?” Gamora frowned. “We don’t have anyone like you there.”

“It’s so much more colorful and bright at home,” Gamora explained on another day. “Everything here is so…um, ugly?” Gamora cringed but relaxed at Natasha’s soft laugh. “What, it is! The colors are so muted. Your hair is the only nice color to look at.”

On a particularly bad day, when Natasha wasn’t able to hold in the hiss of pain as she carefully applied antiseptic to the cut on her cheek with her only working hand, Gamora had been quiet, merely staring at her with wide, slightly watering eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“For what? You didn’t do this.” Natasha resisted the urge to switch to her disabled hand, broken fingers be damned. She could use her non-dominant hand in a pinch, but it wasn’t the easiest thing to do.

“It was my idea.”

“I agreed to it. Besides, it’s the only way to leave right? It’s not like they can see or do anything to you.”

Gamora rubbed her thumb over her forefinger on her right hand while the other clenched and unclenched into a fist. “But even if they could see me…would I let them? Or would I just let them keep hurting you?”

Natasha paused, turning to she could fully face her. “What do you mean? You’re, what, eight years old? Why would I let them hurt you instead of me? I can take it.”

“I –” Gamora frowned, the crease between her eyebrows deepening. “What if you couldn’t? What if they took you apart?” She squeezed her eyes shut, her voice growing louder and shriller the longer she spoke. “Took pieces and pieces and I just let it happen and I’m too scared to stop it because I don’t want to have my eyes pulled out but also I don’t want to disappoint him, and –”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Natasha grasped Gamora’s clenched fist, awkwardly kneeling in front of her. “Slow down. Nobody’s taking my eyes –or any other parts.”

“Not yet,” Gamora whispered, eyes still shut tight. “It starts with broken bones and ends with them being replaced by metal.”

“Nobody’s taking anything from me,” Natasha repeated. “Bones or otherwise. We’re getting me out, remember?”

“They tried to take your memories.”

Natasha exhaled sharply. “It’s not the same.”

Gamora finally opened her eyes, directing her eerily solemn gaze at Natasha. “Who are we without our memories? How can we grow, make amends, right wrongs…move on, if we don’t know what we’re atoning for?”

“We make new memories,” Natasha said firmly. “Try to do some good in the world. It can’t erase what happened before, but all we can do is try.” She hesitated. “Where is this coming from? Does someone at home…hurt people?”

Gamora blinked, the intensity melting away into confusion. “Huh? No, not at home…”

“Then who are you talking about?”

“I –I don’t know.”

Natasha squeezed her hand. “Was this from a bad dream then?”

“No…I don’t know.” Gamora wrenched her hand out of Natasha’s grasp and turned away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Natasha stared at those pink tipped braids, the silver markings that stood out against green skin. “Ok,” she said softly, as her suspicions clicked into place. Once they were done here, Natasha was not the only one who needed to escape, the only one who was stuck in her own personal purgatory.

In the end, all it took was a simple act of kindness. As soon as she stepped in to relieve a hyperventilating recruit during sparring, Natasha was whisked off to the Red Room for “recalibration.” Gamora appeared by her side, shouting encouragement as Natasha’s vision swirled until her head pounded with vertigo. The walls seemed to shift from side to side, the only points of clarity being Gamora and that blood red door.

“There!” Gamora cried, pointing to the corner of the room. Natasha turned her head as they slammed her onto the metal table, seeing the unstable visage of the wall flicking back and forth, switching between solid and transparent.

Natasha wrenched her leg out before the faceless guard could secure her into the leather restraints, kicking him right in the throat before flinging her body to the side to catch the second guard in the chest. She darted around him as he grabbed for her, trying to maneuver towards the corner where Gamora stood waiting. As she flung a lamp onto his head, the light bulb shattering out of existence as it smashed, she made a break for it, running towards Gamora’s outstretched hand.

Their hands interlocked, and an instant later Gamora yanked her towards the wall until –

The first thing Natasha felt was the sun. The second was the sweaty grip of a smaller hand in hers, soon accompanied by the delayed sounds of their heavy breathing, adrenaline still pumping through their bloodstreams. Natasha tilted her head upwards, felt heat on her skin for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Her eyes blinked, forced to adjust to the suddenly bright and colorful surroundings. She tilted her head, hearing a rushing of water somewhat nearby.

Suddenly her arm was yanked up as whoops of joy erupted from the green little girl beside her. “We did it!” Gamora yelled, the noise disturbing the nearby wildlife as strange purple creatures took flight out of the trees towards the horizon. Gamora turned towards her, eyes bright. “We saved you.”

Natasha still remembered Gamora’s distress from earlier, still remembered her earlier revelation about both of their circumstances, but couldn’t help but smile back. “Yes, we did. Thank you.”

Gamora beamed. “I can’t wait for you to meet my parents!” She peered up at the sun, currently sitting high in the sky. “They will still be in the mines for a while –I wanna show you my favorite spot!” With that, Gamora took off at a brisk pace, clearly expecting Natasha to follow.

Slightly bemused, Natasha traced Gamora’s steps on the path, all the while absorbing the alien landscape before her. All in all, it was not as strange as she thought it might have been –there were still rocky landscapes and rolling hills and yellowed vegetation that had not received enough nutrients. The air tasted different, though she could not pinpoint what it was exactly –if anything, it reminded her of the tang of salt near the sea. Mainly, though, her thoughts kept circling back to the fact that she was free.

Those dreams of exploration, of free falling through the sky for pleasure rather than infiltration –those seemed within her grasp now. Dreams that may become more than dreams. Dreams that were, perhaps, memories that were currently inaccessible to her.

“Hurry up!”

Natasha’s gaze focused back on Gamora, taking them further up the hill, closer to the rushing water. She smiled. “I just escaped the Red Room, can’t you take it easy on me?”

“This will be worth it, trust me!” Gamora insisted. She still stopped to wait for Natasha, perching atop a large rock as she glanced down at the flora below. “We need to celebrate!”

There was a sudden ache in her chest. There had not been much to celebrate recently, but that wasn’t new in the Red Room. She didn’t know why it suddenly affected her so much now.

Gamora squinted at her. “Are you OK?”

“Yeah,” Natasha said, forcing her lips to turn up into a smile. “Of course I am.”

Her companion frowned, but didn’t press the issue. Instead, Gamora jumped off the rock and continued up the trail. Natasha followed, relishing the crunch of dirt beneath her boots, the uneven cadence caused by roots and rocks on the trail. She knew, on one level, how removed from the world the Red Room had been, but it hadn’t hit her as hard until she’d seen the contrast with her own two eyes. The Red Room had dangled promises of sunlight and fresh air and free will but were, of course, limited to within mission parameters.

A part of her –that submerged aspect that had kept getting her into trouble– knew that she’d learned that lesson a long time ago, and then forgotten it. Known that she had changed, that she had sought to wipe the red from her ledger, had sought to make the world a little better than she’d left it, and in despair decided that she had been disposable in the pursuit of that goal. Natasha was no stranger to sacrifice, knew that it could be a worthy choice in the right circumstances. But, as she inhaled deeply that strange, alien air and gazed across an unexplored landscape, she couldn’t help but think that her story was not over yet.

Recognizing and remembering where she had come from –a cold, abusive mill meant to churn out obedient and lethal agents– only solidified how far she had come. She wasn’t quite sure how or why she and Gamora –who she was coming to believe had more in common with Natasha than she’d initially thought– had come to be here, but was glad that she had accepted the green girl’s help. She didn’t have the context, but Natasha somehow knew that she was no longer that self-serving teenager craving validation from who she had believed to be her betters, to latch onto any sense of purpose to give her life meaning, sharpened to a precise point to deal death to her employers’ enemies.

No –she was Natasha Romanoff, someone who had turned away from that life. Who had friends and family that she had chosen, people who supported and encouraged her pursuits –even if she couldn’t quite recall their faces at the moment.

There was still a thorough line between the Natasha trapped in the concrete walls of the Red Room, and that dream Natasha flying through the skies –they were both survivors. The Natasha of now made her choice –she was going to survive, she was going to thrive, she was going to continue to help whoever she could with the skills that had been drilled into her.

In the end, that may mean dropping unpleasant truths on her companion, on the strange alien girl who had suddenly appeared in her life and helped her break through the haze of lies that she had been trapped in. But that didn’t need to be right this very second. For now, she should let them both enjoy the victory, and see where Gamora led them.

“We’re here!”

Natasha stepped next to Gamora, peering down at the waterfall’s long drop. “Is the water –orange?”

Gamora grinned, bobbing her head up and down. “Mama said it has something to do with the minerals in the mine nearby –it’s pretty, right?”

Natasha smiled and nodded in agreement. “Thank you for showing me this.” What she has to say can wait –Natasha is no stranger to breaking bad news, but she can’t quite bring herself to wipe that happy expression off of Gamora’s face, not after she had just helped her.

They sat there together for a while in comfortable silence, listening to the rushing of water and the light chirps and calls of the local wildlife as they basked in the sun. On a whim, Natasha bumped her shoulder lightly against Gamora’s smaller frame. Gamora jolted, surprised, but soon leaned against Natasha, spreading her warmth along Natasha’s side. Natasha closed her eyes, the feeling bringing up phantom memories of comfort and safety that she cannot remember ever experiencing.

Finally, as the sun began its sluggish descent towards the horizon, Gamora stood up. “We should start heading back so we have time to make it for supper.”

“Ok,” Natasha said, dusting the dirt off her pants. Time to see if her suspicions were correct.

They made quicker work down the hill and soon saw the lights of civilization as they broke through the tree line. Dusk had set over the town, a hazy orange and purple casting across the sky. Gamora practically skipped as she led them through alley ways and the occasional fenced area until they reached a worn down home with tiles peeling off of the roof.

Gamora halted at the door, turning to Natasha. “Let me explain everything. I’m sure once I tell my parents where you came from, they’ll let you stay.”

Natasha tried not to make her smile too strained. “Ok.”

“Wait here.”

Natasha leaned against the wall outside the door, listening to muffled voices inside and gazing out at the darkening skyline. She watched as Gamora’s neighbors hurried into their homes, smelled the undeniable scent of spices wafting through the windows, and wondered if any of their faces and become blurred to Gamora.

“Come in, come in!” Gamora said, bursting out of the door.

Natasha followed her in and observed two other green skinned figures, both of whom also carried silver markings on their faces. Their eyes followed Gamora as she sprang back into the room, before flickering to the space right next to Natasha, and returning to Gamora.

“This is Natasha, see she looks different like I told you, but her hair is really pretty and we rescued her from a bad place! Grabbed her and pulled her right through the wall all the way back home –”

“Gamora, dear,” her mother interrupted. “Aren’t you getting a little old for imaginary friends? You know that Anu has been begging and begging you to play with him and his friends after school for a while –”

“I don’t like him,” Gamora whined, “He always wants to play the same game every day and doesn’t want to talk about anything interesting. But Natasha –did you say ‘imaginary friend’?”

Her mother smiled patiently, smoothing out her skirt. “You are very creative, dear, but you’re growing up. It may be time to start spending time with the neighborhood kids or the kids at school instead of by yourself exploring.”

“But –” Gamora’s brow furrowed, glancing uncertainly at Natasha. “You can’t see her? She’s right here!”

“No, Gamora,” her father said gently. “Now why don’t you help me with dinner? We’re making your favorite –”

“How can you not see her?” Gamora demanded.

“Gamora –”

“She’s real, I know she is!”

“Gamora!” her mother snapped. “That’s enough. Come help with dinner.”

Helplessly, Gamora looked over at Natasha, her lower lip trembling as she bowed her head and followed her father to the kitchen. Natasha sighed, uncrossing her arms as she walked around the small home. Unsure of what exactly to do, but knowing that she shouldn’t leave, she spent the remainder of the evening listening to Gamora’s parents trying to soothe her out of her silent sulk or poking around the living room. Just like the planet itself, there were many things here that were undeniably alien –like the living vines that remained curled up on the ceiling until Gamora’s father extended a newly washed dish upwards. She’d nearly jumped out of her skin when a vine wrapped it up and left it suspended above the ceiling. But there were also plenty aspects of Gamora’s home that seemed familiar too –a family photo, a soft blanket draped over the arm of a wooden chair. Of course, Natasha thought with a pang, I don’t remember ever having these.

Soon, it was time for bed. Natasha watched Gamora’s parents nuzzle her forehead before sending her trudging off to her room. She followed and perched herself on the windowsill, momentarily distracted by the way the purple moonlight cast her crimson hair in a swirl of otherworldly color. Natasha turned back towards Gamora, who had huddled in the corner of her bed with both knees up, evidentially trying to make herself as small as possible.

“How are you holding up?” Natasha asked softly.

Gamora’s grip on her knees tightened. “I don’t understand –why couldn’t they see you?”

“Why couldn’t everyone else in the Red Room see you?”

“…because they weren’t real.” Gamora raised her head and met Natasha’s gaze, her eyes glinting in the dark. “But we are.”

Natasha nodded.

Gamora looked away, burying her head deeper into her knees.

“You’ve made comments about home not seeming exactly right,” Natasha said after a few minutes of silence. “You believed me immediately when I told you all of the strange things that had been happening to me –anyone else would have thought I was crazy, but not you. Is it because you’ve noticed the same here?”

It took a while, but eventually, Gamora’s head bobbed up and down slightly.

“I think something happened to us both,” Natasha said, “something that connected us together somehow. We were never meant to get out, but thanks to you, I did. Now it’s time for us to get back to reality –whatever that looks like.”

“What if –” Gamora stared at her knees, her fingers biting into her palm. “What if we stay here? They can’t see you, but we can go exploring there’s a bunch more waterfalls to –”

“Gamora.” Natasha waited until the little girl met her gaze. “You know that something isn’t right. You’ve known for a while. This isn’t real –you have to move on.”

Tears filled Gamora’s eyes as she exhaled a shaky breath. “It’s not fair.”

“I know. But we can’t change that. You helped me before –it’s my turn to help you. Let me.”

Gamora slowly uncurled herself, spreading her legs out as she leaned back against the wall. She looked around her bedroom, at the stick sculptures and worn furniture. When she finally spoke, Natasha had to strain her ears to hear. “I feel sad sometimes,” Gamora said softly, “for no reason. I feel mad too, but it’s not at Papa, or Mama, or the other kids…I’m mad at me. But I don’t remember why.”

Cautiously, Natasha walked over, the bed creaking as she sat down next to Gamora.

“My dreams have been weird,” Gamora said, tilting her head back to stare at the ceiling. “Ever since I met you. Maybe even before, but all that seems…fuzzy.”

“I know the feeling,” Natasha said, thinking back to the haze of routine that had consumed all of her days and nights.

Gamora’s eyes met hers. “You do, don’t you?” She sighed. “The night I got home, after I met you, I dreamed of a me –an older me. I was yelling at someone. I was mad at them, I hated them, but…I also loved them. It wasn’t quite the same as how I love Mama and Papa, but I just…I didn’t want them to be nice to me, but also, I did.” Her tears glinted in the moonlight. “It was so confusing. I told them ‘everything I hate about myself, you told me.’”

Natasha rested her shoulder lightly on Gamora’s smaller frame. “And then what happened?”

Gamora exhaled a shaky breath. “They told me: ‘and it made you the fiercest woman in the galaxy.’” Messy tears slipped down her face and she turned towards Natasha. “What does that mean?”

Natasha hesitated, but that buried instinct, the one that had both gotten her into so much trouble and freed her, seemed to know what to do. She gently brushed the tears off of Gamora’s cheeks with her thumb, quirking her lips up. “I think it means that it’s time that you and I solve the mystery.”

Gamora raised her eyes up and seemed to search Natasha’s face. She smiled. “It’s a deal,” she said, holding out her hand. Natasha grasped it for a firm handshake. “Tomorrow, we go find some answers.”

Natasha jolted upright as a loud boom shook the walls of Gamora’s home, sending the blankets she’d laid on the floor to sleep last night sprawling haphazardly. Screams pierced the air as she turned rapidly to Gamora, who was already pulling herself out of bed and towards the window. Natasha quickly joined her –they were not able to see much, but the alien sky was definitely obfuscated with smoke.

Smoke, and massive ships firing what looked like lasers out of science fiction movies at the town.

“Mama! Papa!” Before Natasha could say anything, Gamora shot out through her bedroom door. She returned empty handed and confused. “They’re gone –why would they leave without me?”

“Remember what happened when I started disobeying?”

Gamora’s nose wrinkled. “The walls and people started getting blurry?”

Natasha gritted her teeth as another shockwave rocked the house. “Exactly. I don’t think whatever’s holding us here liked the pact we made last night.”

Nodding in determination, Gamora pulled on her shoes. “We need to get out of town.”

Together, they navigated the chaos in the streets, keeping to the shadows as leathery grey aliens plated in gold armor patrolled the streets and corralled the locals to an unknown location. When Natasha hastily yanked Gamora back behind some concrete stairs to avoid another patrol, she could feel the other girl trembling. Gamora met her questioning gaze, tried to smile. “This feels familiar,” she mumbled.

“Well, I’d rather not get too familiar with those soldiers,” Natasha quipped as she tugged Gamora down another side street.

Eventually, they made it to the edge of town. “The tree will give us some cover,” Natasha said, but stopped when she realized that she couldn’t hear a second pair of steps following her. She turned and focused on where Gamora was looking –a glimpse of the town square, with Gamora’s townsfolk on their knees facing the strange alien weapons of the invaders. In the distance, a large figure that appeared to be purple and gold stood above the rest.

“Let’s go, Gamora.”

Gamora turned her head jerkily, blinking as her eyes focused back on Natasha. She nodded and joined her up the trail. They followed the familiar trail up to the waterfall in silence, occasionally looking behind them to make sure there was no sign of anyone following them. The hike, which had been so peaceful the day before, now felt ominous. Even the distance could not mask the muffled booms and shrieks of laser gunfire.

When they finally reached the waterfall, Gamora sat heavily onto a rock and looked out onto the town, which now looked so small. “What now?”

“Now, we must put everything back where it belongs.”

Natasha and Gamora whirled around at the new voice. Natasha dimly noted that she had automatically shifted into a defensive stance and, surprisingly, so had Gamora, her small fists raised up close to her face. The figure before them hovered slightly above the ground, was clad in tattered grey robes, and peered at them with bulging eyes set within –

“Red Skull.”

Gamora’s eyes darted to Natasha, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “You know him?”

“No.” Natasha frowned. “Yes. I think we’ve met.”

“I have met both of you,” the Red Skull confirmed, floating a little closer to them. “I am the guardian of the Soul Stone –my privilege, or punishment, for daring to meddle in forces that I was arrogant enough to believe I understood.”

With his words, grey wisps of smoke twisted and elongated into two figures –a hulking purple alien and a green-skinned female with silver markings on her face and pink dipped hair.

“That’s me,” Gamora whispered to Natasha urgently. “The me in my dreams.”

The Red Skull spoke again, but this time his words seemed to echo throughout the valley, carrying an otherworldly quality as it overpowered the sound of rushing water and distant destruction. “It has a certain wisdom.”

The purple alien spoke, his voice booming and his gaze intent. “Tell me what it needs.”

“To ensure that whoever possesses it understands its power, the stone demands a sacrifice…in order to take the stone, you must lose that which you love. A soul –”

“– for a soul,” Gamora finished, eyes wide.

The adult Gamora’s laughter pierced the air, sending scaled flying creatures soaring into the air. “The universe has judged you. You asked for a prize and it told you no. You failed and do you wanna know why?” She stepped right into the purple alien’s space, triumphant. “Because you love nothing, no one.”

Her laughter faded as the purple alien turned towards her, his eyes glistening “Really?” Gamora asked incredulously. “Tears?”

The Red Skull’s mouth turns down, still playing his part in the reenactment, but his eyes are trained on Natasha and Gamora. “They’re not for him.”

Gamora’s breath hitches next to Natasha as she lowers her fists in favor of hugging herself, holding in the shaking. Natasha stepped next to Gamora, wrapping an arm around her as they watched as a horrifying realization bloomed across her adult self’s face.

“No.” Gamora, grey wisps of smoke still surrounding her, stepped backwards towards the waterfall. “This isn’t love.”

“I ignored my destiny once. I cannot do that again. Not even for you. I’m sorry.”

Natasha gripped Gamora tighter when she screamed, noted that the girl had squeezed her eyes shut as her adult self was thrown over the waterfall, disappearing without a trace into the stream below. “It’s ok,” Natasha whispered. “It’s over, it’s done.”

“When will you learn, my child?”

Both of their heads jerked up as the purple alien spoke clearly at a normal volume, losing the otherworldly echo his voice had taken on before. They watched in horror as the grey wisps that had surrounded him vanished, as the muted colors of his skin and armor brightened in the sunlight. He spread his huge purple hands outwards, allowing his gold chest plate to glint and gleam. “Everything I do has a purpose. And I will never forget your sacrifice.”

“I didn’t sacrifice anything!” Gamora growled, wrenching out of Natasha’s grasp and marching up to the purple alien. “You murdered me!”

The purple alien appeared unfazed, merely holding a hand up in a calming gesture. “Every life has a purpose, Gamora, as you well know…and sometimes, that purpose is to pave the way for something better. Remember, our conquests had a lot of collateral damage –but it ultimately led to a more peaceful, abundant existence for those that remained.”

“Sounds like a flimsy excuse to me,” Natasha snarled, walking up next to Gamora and staring up at the alien.

“Black Widow,” the Red Skull said in a warning tone, clucking his tongue. “You of all people have no place in making judgments.”

“Actually,” Natasha drawled, “I can because I’ve been there. And I know a power hungry tyrant when I see one.”

But while Natasha’s confidence grew, Gamora seemed to shrink back, her fingers anxiously playing with her pink braid. “But how can you kill someone you love? How can that mean you loved me?”

“She’s too young to understand, Thanos,” the Red Skull said.

Thanos. Natasha’s eyes widened, the name raising warning flags in her mind, though the reason for them remained infuriatingly buried in her subconscious.

The purple alien –Thanos– knelt in front of Gamora. Natasha moved to drag her away, but found herself frozen in place. She strained to move, grunting with exertion, to no avail. All she could do was watch as Thanos tipped Gamora’s face with his finger, forcing her to look at him. “Little one, precious one,” he said softly. “I chose you all those years ago and molded you into the fiercest warrior in the galaxy. But you strayed from the path. And look where it got you.” Thanos sighed heavily, and Natasha could almost believe that the regret in his voice was genuine. “I did love you. The fact that I got the stone proves it. But you were not punished for your disobedience, not really. Instead, you get to live eternity with the parents you lost all those years ago, in the life that I know you never quite stopped mourning.”

Thanos stepped up and gestured to the side. Gamora’s lower lip trembled as her parents appeared, arms wrapped around each other and smiling encouragingly at her. “You never liked what you had to do as my warrior, precious one –I know that now. But here, none of that has happened. Not yet. That blood is no longer on your hands, not if you stay.” Thanos pointed to the village in the distance. Gamora’s tear stained face turned to follow his gaze. “See that there? I can return it to the way it was. You can stay with your parents, be happy.”

“And how does that logic work with me?” Natasha demanded. “Was I at my happiest in that hell?”

“You were a sword at your bluntest state in the Red Room,” the Red Skull replied. “You were capable, but contained. You were not yet unleashed upon the world, had not yet caused so much pain. That is your greatest regret, is it not? What you spent part of your life futilely trying to reverse or atone for? We thought that would be the best place where you would be content and protected.”

“Bullshit,” Natasha hissed. “What you’re doing isn’t love or protection –it’s control. I know how to recognize that when I see it.” Natasha stared at Gamora, waiting until she finally met her eyes. “And you know it too. Maybe in his twisted heart what he felt for you was the closest thing to love he could get to –but sacrificing you wasn’t an act of love. Forcing you to do horrible things, to kill, isn’t love.” Against her will, she felt tears nearly blinding her vision. “Telling you that you can never even try to atone, that there isn’t a point, isn’t love.”

Thanos shook his head and snapped his fingers. Suddenly, a boom rocketed through the landscape as the village was suddenly transformed into a hollow graveyard. Gamora whimpered, turning towards the smoking crater. “It is, as it always was, your choice, precious one. Either the destruction of your ancestral home is your fault or –” With another snap of his fingers, the village was restored. “You can be its savior. Which story would you like to be a part of?”

Gamora was silent for a while, staring at her feet while her fingers anxiously fiddled with her braid. Finally, she looked up, her expression unreadable. Her eyes slid over to Natasha, still frozen in place, and then back to Thanos.

“Neither,” Gamora said, her voice ringing out throughout the valley with an authority that belied her years. Natasha blinked rapidly, at first thinking her mind was playing tricks on her as Gamora seemed to shift taller and then back to her normal height. “I’m done playing your games, Thanos.” As she stepped forward with sure steps, the dirt crunching beneath her boots, their captors exchanged glances before stepping back, allowing her parents to move forward.

“Dear,” her father said, reaching out towards her. “Let’s stop this nonsense and go home –we can play a game of kawrat if you’d like –”

Gamora leapt forward and wrapped her arms around her father’s waist in a tight hug, before doing the same for her mother. “Thank you for everything,” she said, stepping back. “But from what I remember of my parents…you would not want me trapped in a fantasy. Because you loved me.”

“We just want you safe,” her mother protested.

Gamora shook her head. “Safe is not where I need to be. The fight is. As much as I love you…you’re long gone. I’ll never forget you, but my family right now is deep in the fight, among the stars.” She turned towards Thanos and was met with his stony expression. “I see your game now. I saw it then too, really, but I didn’t want to. I craved your approval too much.”

She extended her hand outwards and thin green wisps formed into the image of Gamora fighting another little girl, into Gamora’s victory, into the other girl’s pain and torment. “It’s true, I let you hurt my sister. I never let her win, and I never showed her a fragment of regret or kindness even as she came back with more and more of herself replaced. All because I wanted to impress you. All because I was proud of being your best solider.” Gamora straightened her spine, set her shoulders back. She seemed to switch back and forth between an adult and child, but both versions stood tall. “But I didn’t do that to her. You did. You hurt her and you created an environment that meant we would never support each other –because if we did, maybe we would have seen through you so much sooner.”

“There are a lot of things that I needed to take responsibility for –that I did take responsibility for– but that? That is not my fault.” Gamora gestured to the village, its visage flickering between demolished and thriving. “And neither is this.”

Natasha yelped in surprise as she suddenly fell hard onto the ground, the invisible chains released. A sturdy green hand helped her up, and she stared up to see Gamora, her face longer and features sharper than they had been before, but just as determined.

“You cannot do this,” the Red Skull and Thanos warned in unison. “It is not possible.”

“It is already done,” Gamora said.

The Red Skull slammed his staff to the ground and the landscape shifted –gone was the alien wildlife and colorful flora. Instead, they faced a cold grey landscape, mist rolling in from the distance. The waterfall was gone, replaced by a gaping cavern and a long, long descent. Thanos, too, faded away into wisps of grey smoke.

“Are you satisfied?” the Red Skull demanded. “You could have continued to live in relative peace, but you had to shatter the soul world’s illusions!”

“It wasn’t really our style,” Natasha drawled. “And I think we’ve overstayed our welcome.”

The Red Skull laughed. “Well, stay you will. For all of eternity in this barren landscape, sharing in the punishment of my chosen vessel.”

“Chosen vessel?” Gamora echoed. “You mean this Red Skull?”

But the “Red Skull” merely smirked. Natasha was suddenly hit with memories of a similar creature, but one that had been much more subdued, almost sorrowful with the weight of the burden he carried. “You’re not the Red Skull,” she said.

“With your vaunted powers of observations, Black Widow, I would have expected you to have figured out my little game earlier.”

“Again with the games,” Gamora muttered.

“You…you’re the stone.” Natasha whispered.

“Yes, although this vessel cannot hope to encompass the extent of my power.”

Gamora’s brow furrowed. “The Red Skull did speak of it as though it were sentient.”

“Your souls, your conflict…were very delicious.” The entity bearing the Red Skull’s face smiled, cheekbones lurching forward at the movement. “It had been so long since I had been provided a new offering. I will admit, you both gave me more excitement in centuries with our little game of cat and mouse –but all games must come to an end.”

“Yes,” Natasha said between gritted teeth. “It does.” She turned to Gamora. “Do you trust me?”

Gamora searched her face, the solemn intensity of her gaze finally fitting into her adult features. She grabbed Natasha’s hand. “I do.”

“We know the game can be beat. He wouldn’t be here if it couldn’t. So if the rules are only one may sacrifice to get the stone…what happens if two fall together?”

The Red Skull’s smirk suddenly fell. “You fools –that way leads to death! You’ve already done this!”

“No,” Gamora said, yanking Natasha towards the edge. “Not quite like this.”

“Besides,” Natasha yells behind her, “We’re already dead, so why not?” We have everything to gain.

As the Red Skull’s voice howls into the grey, misty twilight, Natasha and Gamora leapt. The wind rushed through their hair, bit into their skin, but their strong grips kept them tethered together. Natasha met Gamora’s eyes, and she can see a lifetime of pain and death reflected in them, something Natasha also knew very well. But there was also laughter, and reunions, and forgiveness. Her own memories come flooding back to her: identities shed, gentle teasing and pop culture references, shared exhaustion as the team tended to each other’s wounds, picking up the pieces after half her family –half the world– disappeared, and the satisfaction of saving just one more life so they could see another sunrise.

Natasha can’t help but grin. It would be fun to have Gamora around. “Who run the world?”

Gamora squinted an eye at her. “What –”

When Natasha’s senses returned, all she could think at first was why am I soaking wet? She moved to stand out of the water, only to belatedly realize that her hand still had a firm grip on a very green arm.

“We did it,” she said, more breath than words.

Gamora pulled herself up and dropped Natasha’s hand, but she was smiling. “It appears that we did.”

They both gazed at the distant rock formation, where the Soul Stone laid just beyond the horizon. Natasha closed her eyes, breathing in the slightly misty texture of the alien air. “Do you think he’ll come after us?”

Gamora did not respond for a moment. “No,” she said slowly, “I believe he is bound by certain rules and cannot reverse what we’ve done. Otherwise he would be here right now.”

“True.”

They stood there for a while, listening to the silence. It wasn’t like the waterfall on Gamora’s home world, full of life and sounds and movement. This was a dead planet, home only to a parasite who fed off the souls of others. Natasha still wasn’t sure what the exact rules were that they were able to break, she may never truly know the answer to that, but one thing she was certain of was that she had only been able to do so because of the woman standing next to her.

“What were you saying?” Gamora asked suddenly. “As we fell. Something about ruling the world?”

Natasha grinned. “Run the world. It’s a popular song lyric. The answer is ‘girls’ if you were wondering.”

“Are all Terrans like this?” Gamora demanded, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

“What do you mean?”

“Half of the words that come out of Peter’s mouth are references to movies, or music, or people that he knows we don’t know about! And yet, he persists in rambling endlessly on as though we will suddenly comprehend his meaning through osmosis!”

Natasha smiled. “Sounds like someone I need to meet.”

“No, you two should never meet –Earth is a long journey away and we’d never hear the end of it!”

“Don’t worry, Gamora,” Natasha said. “I’ll try to keep it to a minimum. “I owe you, anyway.”

Gamora frowned. “What for?”

Natasha gestured to the rock formation. “You got me out. If it weren’t for you I’d probably be chow for some intergalactic entity for all of eternity.”

“No, Natasha, we saved each other.” Gamora rested a hand on Natasha’s shoulder.

She has changed a lot since she was a recruit in the Red Room, but one thing that had not changed was that she did not lie to herself if she could help it. Natasha knew that she could fake emotion with the best of them, to manipulate a target or to bluff her way out of a sticky situation. There were only a handful of people that she had allowed herself to let go a little, allow herself some vulnerability –and she found that Gamora had become one of them in a short period of time.

“Yes,” she said, feeling the sting of tears in the corner of her eyes, “we did.”

Gamora smiled and ducked her head at the show of emotion. She looked up at the grey sky. “What now? I did not fight my way out only to die of starvation here.”

“I think I’ve got us covered,” Natasha said, pointing to the pod in the distance. “Maybe we can signal for help –assuming they’re not too busy fighting Thanos.”

“Who’s to say they haven’t won? We have no idea how much time has passed.”

Luckily, Gamora was more familiar with space ships than Natasha. She did something with the wiring and gave her a thumbs up when her distress signal was sent successfully. Natasha leaned against the bulkhead, exhaling slowly. “Who’d you call?”

“My team.” Gamora peered out towards rolling wisps of white and grey across the sky. “I used my code, but who knows if they will dismiss it as suspicious or not.” She shifted uncomfortably, her features in a hard line and her fists clenching.

Natasha placed a hand on her arm, remembering how touch had seemed to soothe her. “They love you,” she said, remembering the phantom parents, the self-appointed father who had thrown a young child into the business of blood and violence and expected her to be grateful for it. “Because of that, they will come.”

Gamora raised her gaze to Natasha, eyes widening. “They do, don’t they?” she said softly, almost in wonder, before shifting her arm so that she could squeeze Natasha’s hand. “They will find us, and we will get you home too.”

Home. For so long, she had not really had one. Natasha’s life had been so transitory –first by necessity, then by trade. She had spaces, safe houses, residences –but no home that truly felt like hers. But if she’s learned anything by now, it’s that places can be compromised, can be destroyed. She knows that –she’s even been the cause of it before. But people she can rely on, can let down her guard around…

Natasha thought of the memories that had plagued her amnesiac self in her dreams, how affected she had been by the notion of freedom, of relaxation and enjoying what the world had to offer rather than staying close to the shadows. She’d had all that, but in her grief had locked herself in isolation at the Avengers Headquarters. A necessity, perhaps, in some way, but Natasha had failed to tend to those strands of connections, to feed that foolish, sentimental part of herself that had taken her so long to feel like she’d earned.

No more, she thought. She’d gotten a second chance at life, and she was going to take advantage of it. As Natasha looked at Gamora, she could help but think again how similar they were –perhaps that was what had saved them in the end. They had echoed each other in the Soul Stone’s prison, and their spirits had reached out to its own kin. She knew that when they left this planet, both of them would keep trying to do some good in the world. But this time, it wouldn’t be to wipe red off their ledgers, to balance out an account that was already irreparably tipped out of their favor –because they could not change what they’d already done. They could only control what they do. So they would fight, because it fed the need in their souls to protect those who could not protect themselves.

And perhaps, Natasha thought, her chest feeling lighter than it had in years, finally being okay with letting ourselves be at peace.

“You know,” Natasha said. “We have a lot of hikes and waterfalls on Earth too. The water isn’t orange, but they’re beautiful. We can go if you’d like.”

Gamora smiled. “I’d like that.”