Chapter Text
November 2009, The Triskelion.
Mama and Maria are looking at each other like they’re going to tell me I have a third eye. We’re sitting in the crowded S.H.I.E.L.D cafeteria and we’re supposed to be having dinner, they aren’t eating. They’re opposite me, I’m in a chair which I’m far too small for; I’m too small for almost everything here. I don’t feel small though. Well, sometimes I do. But not today. The cafeteria worker gave me the same portion size as the adults, Nick Fury personally told me I was super brave after I had some testing done and I finally managed to tape my hands for boxing without Maria’s help at all. So yeah, I feel pretty grown up. Natasha and Maria aren’t looking at me like that though, they have something to tell me.
“Lizaveta <Elizabeth>,” Mama hums gently, she’s nervous, that much is clear. I continue to pick at the slop of mashed potatoes on my plate. “Maria and I have something we wanted to talk to you about,” they share a look, the kind of look adults don’t think I notice - or maybe they don’t care because they’re too wrapped up in the world of being three heads taller than me.
“Your Mama and I,” Maria starts, but I don’t think she really wants to because she lets Natasha’s voice float over hers.
“Maria and I are dating.” Oh. It comes out fast and spluttered like Mama has been choking on it for days. I suddenly feel very small in the swamping plastic dining chair, swinging my legs so they lightly hit the cold, metal base of the chair. I wish the chair would swallow me up like quicksand. My shoulders are barely above the top of the table as it is and I think maybe it would be easiest if I let it swallow me whole. Not for any other reason than the indescribable emotions bubbling inside of me. How long haven’t I known? Mama’s never kept any secrets from me before. It makes sense - in fact, It’s not surprising at all. Maria probably spends more time in our bunk than her own and she holds hands with Natasha sometimes and they look at each other the same way Clint looks at Laura. I feel very silly for not noticing before, I’m supposed to be good at this stuff; Mama always says I am.
“Lizzie?” Maria urges, I’ve been too quiet, she’s nervous. What am I supposed to say? Will Maria move into our quarters now? Clint and Laura share but they’re engaged, which means they’ll get married. Mama says it’s like dating though. Will Nat and Maria get married?
“Do I have to call you Mum now?” I question, because if they get married I think that would make sense, I wouldn’t call her mama - too Russian. Maria’s American though and that’s what Americans say.
“You can call me whatever you want to,” Maria’s face is gently, slightly uncomfortable too. I wonder if I look like that? Mama’s analysing me, her eyes are warm but calculating and I challenge her to keep looking at mine. I think they’ll expect me to be angry, or confused, I am not. I know Maria is not my mum, and even though I don’t know him she will not be replacing my dad. But if they’re dating, and because she already looks after me just as much, I think she needs a name too.
“I think I’ll call you Masha.” I decide proudly, because it sounds like ‘Mama’ but is still a diminutive of her name. Masha. It sounds warm on my tongue and Natasha parrots it back with a smile, I know I’ve done something right. Having a name for it makes me feel bigger, like I have had some control in the situation. Naming someone is a very important and grownup role. They’re both smiling now, Mama even begins to eat her dinner. I feel warm under they’re approving glances. It feels nice. I think this makes us a family now.
November 2025, apartment in Washington D.C
There has to be a reason. Some unknown universally conspired reason why I’m still here and they are not. Written in some fucking burning stars a million light years away there has to be an explanation. I’ve seen stars, galaxies and moons - none of them seem to show me the answers I long for.
“Will you be alright here, Lizzie?” Right. Nicholas J. Fury, my mentor, closest thing to a father I've ever known, the man currently informing me that I may as well be an orphan. He's asking if I'll be ok, like that's possible after the news he's just told me. But he seems uneasy, like he's in a rush to be out of here. I'd rather not worry a man as busy as Nick Fury.
“Yeah, I’m not alone…” I tilt my head towards Liho who’s pawing at his plate greedily. He doesn’t quite seem to grasp the news we’re receiving. Though, sometimes I think he still expects Natasha to come back so I doubt he’d understand this. The older man, I sometimes question how he’s still here out of everyone, reaches over to scratch Liho’s ears. The cat bats his hand away with a swift hiss. Maybe Liho does understand after all.
I know I should feel something more as Fury walks out of my apartment, leaving me with nothing more than the end of the world at my feet. But it's quiet, familiar, I know this grief like the back of my hand.
Returning from the blip was the most disorienting thing I've ever experienced. My face reconstructed first, then I watched my hands rematerialise slowly. It felt like the world's worst case of pins and needles. There wasn’t much time to understand what had happened. One moment I'd been watching Thor bring a hammer down on Thanos, the next I was stumbling blindly through a glittering gold portal. Despite the seeming immediacy of being plunged from one battle to another I knew deep down that something was awfully different. The compound was gone, I realised that very quickly, though I hadn’t lived there for years. Thanos was back, great. I didn’t question it too much as I fought off his odd alien army - flashbacks to New York never ceasing. I could see almost everyone. Tony, Wanda, Steve, Bucky, Carol. I’d been counting a list in my head. It seemed like everyone who was anyone was there. None of them were who I really wanted to see through. Between beating up Thanos and his army with nothing more than my bare hands and batons (Bad idea) I continued the list. Peter Parker, Thor, Pepper, Clint… Clint. I knew that man almost as well as his own wife did. Not once had he avoided my eyes like he did in that battle. A shower of fiery chunks of burning alien littered the battlefield as I tried to reach him. He knew something. I could sense it.
“Clint,” I cried out over the roaring thunder of a thousand soldiers. His head snapped to me on reflex, I felt my stomach drop. I didn’t need anyone to tell me that Natasha was gone after that.
It suddenly all made sense. I’m not exactly a scientist but in that moment I could feel one half of myself disintegrate into greying dust. It did not die, no. It rustled and it burned. I could feel it in my body. Half my DNA, hers - gone. I felt it in my chest, in my arms, in my bones. And then it rose, like a Phoenix. In an angry storm, I was reborn. Still Natasha’s child - always Natasha’s child. Just now with the rage she’d tried to raise out of me.
Maria Hill was not my mother, at least not in any biological sense. But in every other sense she might as well have been. I was named after her, raised by her, held by her, loved by her. There isn’t much else to a mother is there? I suppose it doesn’t matter an awful lot now. Maria Hill is dead. I got her belongings, I guess that should count for something, Natasha’s were all blown up. I didn’t feel it when she died, Fury didn’t even specify the exact time. I suppose I must’ve been sleeping, or doing my laundry, or feeding Liho. There was no battle to lash out through, no population destroying villain to throw my rage into, no revenge to grasp onto. Just me and my cat, and an apartment meant for four.
I feed Liho just to shut him up. I wash the dishes I’d meant to do this morning. I pick up Maria’s box to dispose of in her bedroom. I open the door, the world keeps spinning but I feel very still. The entire room is how she’d left it, perfectly clean ( Something only achievable once it stopped being shared with Natasha) , her laptop is open, her laundry basket half full. Just two days ago she hugged me goodbye in the hallway where I stand now. She is so alive in this room, perhaps it is the only place left. Maria taught me how to feel, I curse her for it now. Feelings suck shit. At least i'm crying now, she’d tell me it’s healthy. At least that’s what she said about Nat, and Wanda, and Steve. I’m starting to realise I’m far too practised at this for a 23 year old.
The light is off, I don’t bother turning it on. I don’t want to see the tiny details… The burn in the carpet from the first time Natasha tried to make breakfast in bed, the bump in the wall from when I was five and jumped too hard on their bed, the lipstick stain from the first time Maria tried to do my dance makeup. I don’t want to remember who once lived here. I drop the box, less gently than it deserves, by the foot of the bed where Cookie, our long gone dalmatian, used to sleep. I remember the day she died. I’d been at the Triskelion with Clint and Laura. They’d let me into meetings and rooms way above my ranking and I'd never questioned why. Not until we returned home that evening. I’d rarely seen Maria cry back then, most of that happened after the Blip. I hadn’t known grief until we lost Cookie, at least I hadn’t understood it. 17 years later and I’m kind of a professional.
I crawl across the worn king sized bed, remembering how much Natasha had loved the flowery duvet - Maria never told her how much she hated it. The sacrifices we make for those we love (Natasha still managed to make the biggest sacrifice) . As I curl up against their plethora of pillows I try to remember what it smelt like before, when both of them laid together. It smells like dust now, and they smell like death. Me? I only feel like it.
I need to come up with a next move. I’ve trained my whole life for situations like this, worst case scenarios. It was why I was created, born. Natasha never liked that term. Revenge seems like a logical next step, though I know the craving for revenge is just hardwired into my DNA. I know well enough that it takes a lot of energy, I don’t think I even have the energy to answer my phone which has just now begun ringing in the living room, I doubt I’ll be seeking revenge any time soon.
When I wake up I'm crying, I can't afford the tears to any particular dream, its reality causing most of my problems these days. My ears are ringing, loudly and insistently. Part of me expects Maria to bring me a glass of water and insist I take a shower, until I remember that I’ll die of dehydration before that ever happens again. I’d wipe the tears away but I know they’ll just replace themselves. Besides, they're rather helpful for my new found plan of death by dehydration. The ringing in my ears stops momentarily before restarting again and I realise that it sounds suspiciously like my phone. “Barton.” I curse quietly under my breath, the only person on earth with such irritatingly insistent phone habits. I struggle to my feet, this time I do rub petulantly at my eyes, my plan becoming irrelevant in comparison to the irritation I feel towards Clint.
It’s dark out the window now, I estimate it's close to midnight. “Clint I swear to fucking god-”
“Lizzie? It’s Lila.” Her voice is gentle, raw and so very young. My heart stops, guilt rattling my chest.
“Liels, is everything ok?” I can only think of a few ways in which tonight could get worse, most of which include the Barton family.
I hear a shaky breath on the other side of the phone, it’s late, there can’t be any good reason why Lila is awake. “Fury sent dad a message, he’s asleep… only I saw it.”
“Oh kiddo, you shouldn’t have seen that, I'm sorry.”
“No, no. I’m sorry.” I can feel the maturity drip off her tongue. How long ago did that develop? I remember painfully clearly the days when it was not there. “Lizzie?” She calls gently,
“Hm? Yeah Lila,”
“Are you going to come to the farm?”
“I don’t know. I really should stay here, figure out the funeral arrangements and… you know.”
“Please?” My heart twinges, I've always had a soft spot for the Barton kids, my cousins. They taught me how to be a child, how to enjoy childhood.
“Alright Lila, I’ll talk to your dad in the morning. Go to sleep now,”
The phone hums quietly for a moment. “Can’t,” I sigh softly, she’s certainly not alone in that one. “Aunt Ria’s really gone?”
“Yeah…” I murmur, curling myself into the smallest ball possible at the foot of the couch.
“Fury swears?”
“I’m sorry kid,”
“I’m sorry, she was your mum.” Now that stings. Maria was my mother, Natasha too. Neither are here now. My mind briefly flicks to Bucky, the only person standing between me and being an orphan. He won’t know yet, otherwise there’d at least be a message. “I’m sorry Lizzie.” I can hear a rustling of movement on the other side of the door, Laura’s muffled voice, Lila’s quietly following.
“Betty, darling.” Laura. Only two people have ever called me Betty, the other, Bobbi Morse, has been off the map for years.
“Hi,” I mumble sleepily, wondering if she can hear the pain in my voice.
“Would you rather I come to you or you come down here?” I can certainly hear the pain in hers.
“I’ll come.” That’s the last significant part of the phone call. Laura says she’s sorry, she loves me, she’ll send the plane ticket first thing in the morning. All things I could’ve predicted.
Sleep doesn’t come for me so easily now. I dread entering my own bedroom so I settle for the couch. I marvel at how we managed to keep this apartment for so long, it was under Maria’s name so it was never compromised. I suppose it’ll be gone soon, I certainly can’t afford it by myself and what use do I have for a three bedroom apartment anyway.
I suppose I can find something nice, smaller. Maybe closer to Bucky or Yelena… though I'm not sure if either of them exactly have permanent residency anywhere.
When I wake up the next morning there is a brief moment of light where the sun filters through the curtain just right and I forget that my whole world has ended.
Then it hits me all over again.