What to do when the world has gone mad? It was the question they’d been left with in those first, wild moments on the battlefield; when the smoke shifted, when the silence fell -- and when, slowly, as they took stock of what ( and who ) remained, that sense of creeping horror moved in to fill ( all ) that terrible vacancy.
What to do when something as real, as undaunted, as gravity fails you? When the world turns upside down, what do you hang on to? How do you save yourself, much less anyone, everyone, else? The weight of responsibility is enough to buckle the knees, to break the spine; the question, familiar and loud and agonizing: what now?
She didn't really have the answer for that either. What Natasha had, in excruciating supply, was experience -- in madness; in loss; in failure. In saving herself and anyone else she could bring with her; and, most importantly of all: in responsibility; in finishing what she started.
Shock, horror, numb dissociation. All of it familiar. She gave her surviving teammates the space to do whatever they needed, whatever it took to pull through those first few days -- ( she put her grief in a box with a lock, pushed it down and back and away for later, another time, another day ) -- and then she took a deep breath, and got to work.
Sticking close to Steve was easy, almost second-nature by now. He was a leader, all but ordained for it, and her skillset dovetailed with his nicely; she'd played his right-hand for a while now, in and out of the field, so it was natural enough. But the staggering loss had also hit Cap hard. Oh, he was still fearless, still doggedly determined to do what had to be done -- but behind closed doors, he was worn down and bone-achingly tired; jaded, and hurting, and a little too quiet.
Natasha shouldered the details, the plans, the regrouping effort, and the team, and she kept an eye on Steve. She ran interference, offered counsel, made judgement calls, and generally ( for those first excruciating hours, days, weeks ) focused on keeping their allies anchored to the earth, even if it was only long enough for them to pick themselves up and get ready for the fight.
Loki dropping into their midsts, injured but innocuous? Probably the least likely curveball the universe might have thrown them -- but maybe, post-Thanos, the universe had lost its endless good humor, its taste for the laissez-fair; why else send them Loki? Still, the security concern was worth it, just to see the light come back into Thor’s face. There was that, at least -- and in any case, there was something to be said for the prospect of a familiar face, even if it belonged to an old adversary.
It must be the Russian in her.
And yet, crossing the medical lab at an unhurried saunter, Natasha thinks it could be something else too -- something else that makes the corner of her mouth lift in a small, crooked smile as she meets the injured god's emerald gaze.
"Surprise, huh?" She cut the uneasy med-tech a sidelong look and jerked her head toward the door; the kid scuttled out of the room with a relieved sigh and whipped the door shut behind him with just a little too much enthusiasm. Natasha ignored it in favor of sweeping the trickster with an assessing glance, considering.
"Of all the secured facilities on the all planets in all the universe, you walk into ours." She braced her arms over the top of the rolling surgical tray the tech had abandoned, leaning into it casually. "Wanna explain that?"
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