Inheritance of ash

sulk

The kitchen is still buzzing with chatter and sarcasm when the elevator pings again.

Natasha Romanoff steps out. Calm. Collected. Holding a coffee in her hands and setting it down next to Sam's empty plate.

She surveys the chaos - Clint balancing a spoon on his nose, Thor telling Peter an obviously fabricated Asgardian proverb, Tony rolling his eyes - and her gaze locks on Vicky.

Without a word, she walks over, grabs Wanda's arm with her left hand, Vicky's with her right, and spins them both toward the door.

Vicky blinks, a half eaten sandwich still in her free hand. "Um-hello?"

Wanda barely has time to set her coffee down. "Nat, what-?"

"You're coming with me," Natasha says, not stopping.

"To...?"

"The training room."

Vicky immediately digs in her heels. "Wait, what?! I literally just got here. Can I at least finish-"

"Nope."

Steve follows them out, rubbing his temple with a sigh. "Nat, I thought you were going to ask them."

"I changed my mind," Natasha replies, not breaking stride.

Vicky is half-sprinting to keep up. "You kidnapped me with carbs still in my mouth."

"You'll survive."

Wanda raises a brow. "You think this is a good idea?"

"Not sure yet," Nat says. "That's why we're going to test it."

"I feel very tested already," Vicky mutters.

They enter the training room - a sleek, high-tech gym the size of a basketball court, complete with holographic panels, reinforced glass, and at least five things that look like they could kill someone on accident.

Steve enters behind them, arms crossed. "Natasha, maybe let her warm up first."

Vicky glares. "Maybe let me breathe first."

Nat shrugs. "You can glare at me all you want later. Right now? Show me what you can do."

"I don't even know what I can do," Vicky snaps.

Nat gestures toward a stack of training bots in the corner. "Then now's a good time to find out."

Wanda steps in between them, her voice soft but firm. "She doesn't have to do this alone. I'll help."

Vicky looks at Wanda, something flickering in her eyes. Gratitude? Uncertainty? Probably both.

Steve mutters under his breath as he walks past the doorway, "This is why I said maybe ask."

Tony, from behind the glass window, calls out lazily, "I like this approach. A little fire builds character."

Natasha smirks. "We're about to find you out."

Vicky exhales sharply, flexes her fingers, and steps onto the mat like she's walking toward a firing squad.

The room hums with energy as the training bot powers up, metal limbs whirring into motion.

Vicky stands in the center of the mat, jaw tight, hands curled into fists at her sides. Her bracelet thrums faintly against her wrist, like it's watching her - waiting.

Steve stays by the wall, arms folded. Tony leans in the doorway, doing his best not to look like he's holding his breath.

"Alright," Natasha says, circling. "No pressure. Just... try something. Throw a punch. Flick the lights. Anything."