Inheritance of ash

The things we don't say

The Tower was too quiet that morning.

Kate stumbled down the stairs barefoot, wrapped in one of those oversized hoodies she always insisted weren't actually that oversized. Her hair was a mess. Her eyes were half-closed. She looked like a college student on finals week... who'd slept for five minutes and then been woken up by something offensively cheerful.

And that something?

A bird.

Somewhere outside her window. Singing. Chirping. Like it hadn't just traumatized her dreams with its Disney-princess-summoning shrillness at 6:03 AM.

She muttered to herself as she rounded the hallway. "I swear if this is some Sam thing—like a falcon-who-needs-friends situation..."

Her words trailed off as she reached the kitchen.

Natasha was already there.

She stood by the counter, unmoving, one hand resting against the edge of the sink, the other loosely holding a mug. She wasn't drinking it. She wasn't even glancing down. She just stared ahead—blank, like her thoughts were a thousand miles away and none of them were good.

Kate slowed down.

"...Morning?" she offered hesitantly, crossing toward the island. "You're up early. Or, uh... still up?"

Natasha didn't look at her. Just blinked once. Slowly.

Then she said, "Coffee's still warm."

It wasn't really an answer. Not a Natasha answer, anyway. Normally she'd be dry and smug and slightly terrifying before the sun even rose.

Kate frowned and opened the fridge half-heartedly, trying not to stare. Natasha looked... off.

Not like tired-off. Not like mission-tired or post-battle bruised or annoyed-at-Tony's-existence tired.

This was different.

She was pale. Her cheekbones were a little sharper. There were faint shadows under her eyes that not even her usual military composure could hide. She didn't move like herself either—too still, too far away.

Kate grabbed some orange juice, then hesitated.

"You okay?" she asked finally. Light tone. Not pushing. Just enough to say I see it without forcing it.

Natasha still didn't look away from whatever she wasn't really looking at. "Fine."

Kate took a breath, then made herself a glass of juice she didn't really want, just to have an excuse to stay in the room.

Clint strolled into the kitchen like he owned the place. Which, according to him, he sort of did — by sheer stubbornness and the fact that no one had ever successfully kicked him out.

Pietro zipped in right behind him, still mid-sentence.

"—I'm telling you, she skateboards, Clint. She did this trick with the tail of the board — flipped it and landed. I swear, it was like watching ballet with wheels."

Clint gave him a skeptical look. "Since when do you know anything about skateboarding?"

"I've watched two YouTube videos," Pietro declared proudly. "And one of them was Tony falling on his ass. It doesn't matter anymore, but I'm practically a pro."

Kate, walking in behind them, snorted. "You thought a kickflip was a shoe brand."

"I stand by that."

Clint made a beeline for the coffee machine. "Jesus, you two are loud. Who let the caffeine out this early?"