FLYBY (b. bradshaw)

𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙀𝙉𝘿 - 𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙀 𝙔𝙀𝘼𝙍𝙎 𝙇𝘼𝙏𝙀𝙍

Her grave was simple, a nice white marble.

It was not blemished, or worn. It was new and bright.

Flowers of light pinks and whites lay in front of it.

The wind blew slightly, as if alerting the observer that she was no longer alone.

She didn't need to turn her head to know that it would be a little girl, blonde and eyes full of life. They would be green, her eyes, and she would have a dimple on her left cheek. Thousands of freckles covered her nose.

"Hello, Sadie," Natasha Trace said quietly, afraid she was going to disturb the peace of the cemetery.

The little girl - Sadie - backed away as Natasha turned in her crouch, the knees of her jeans mud stained from kneeling down.

"Where are your brothers? I know that they can't be far."

"You know my brothers?" the girl asked, suspicion in her tone. Her eyes were slit and her little arms crossed over her chest.

"Yes, and I know who you are."

Sadie bit her lip. "I know who you are, too, I think. I've seen you in some of Mommy's photos, Daddy's too. He hides them all, or flips them over so we can't see them, but Charlie's tall enough to flip them back to the right way, and Nickie loves to go on a hunt for the missing ones."

A tear welled in Natasha's eyes without warning. She quickly swiped it away so the little girl in front of her wouldn't see.

"Is your father here with you?"

"Yes, he was with Charlie, calming him down. He had another fit. Daddy says it's because he remembers our mommy better then Nickie and I do."

Natasha didn't need the girl to elaborate. She'd been on the receiving end of Charlie Bradshaw's fits, the day of the funeral, in fact.

"Ziggy's here, too, do you know who Ziggy is?" the girl didn't pause for Natasha's answer. "Daddy doesn't like when we go somewhere without him, says that Ziggy's the loyalist dog you'll ever meet."

Natasha put a hand over her mouth to contain a sob. The little girl gave her a funny look, as if not understanding why.

"Sadie."

The hoarse voice rang out from behind the little girl, and within seconds, she had her arms wrapped around her father's leg.

Old, bleach stained jeans, a Hawaiian shirt, those damn sunglasses that Natasha had always hated.

"Aunt Tasha?"

The boy peaked his head out from behind his father. His blond curls fell into his shaded, protected eyes.

The boy was in Natasha's arm before she could breath, his arms wrapped around her neck, his tears soaking into his shirt. She smoothed down his hair, murmuring small comforts into his ears. He squeezed tighter, almost choking her, but she didn't care.

"Oh, sweet boy." Natasha sobbed, the words tumbling out. "I'm so sorry, I'm sorry."

"Where have you been?" His words were blubbering and out of breath. "It's been a year. You left."

Natasha met eyes with Bradley's best she could and the sharp jerk of the head gave her all she needed to know.

"I needed some time away, buddy." Natasha stroked his hair. "I'm sorry I had to leave you."

"Like Uncle Jamie? And Poppa Mav?"

"Yes, like Uncle Jamie, and Poppa Mav." Natasha said.

Her brain flashed to the text message she received from Jake the day after the funeral, saying that Maverick had resigned from his position. Two weeks later, a package with keys and a note had turned up on Natasha's door from Jamie Kazansky.