It had been a journey of anxious anticipation, coupled with a sense of excitement. Worry mixed with wonder at the sight out of the windows. But, now, finally, the ship is approaching a planet, almost Earth-like on one side, a cloud of purple-tinged smoke on the other, with a concentrated purple light striking the center of it. It becomes quickly obvious that it's Vormir with how the ship keeps getting closer.

"Wow," Clint says. "Under different circumstances, this would be totally awesome."

Nat shrugs. "Still pretty awesome."

The ship lands, and they get off onto a desert-like terrain, only with water. Small lakes — ponds maybe, by definition — litter the spaces between something like sand dunes, a purple tinge to it all. Light wind blows the alien sand around. It's dark, though a sort of eclipsed sun shines, along with that purple light. In the distance is a mountain, the place Nebula instructed them to go to. Towards the light, where it hits at the top.

Nat groans a little, her wonder beginning to dull. "Why couldn't we land on the mountain?" she asks.

Clint chuckles. "You took the words right out of my mouth."

They trudge on, hardly talking — hardly needing to — and then they finally reach the mountain. A sense of relief floods Nat before she remembers that she now has to actually climb up it. She groans again, and Clint laughs, going ahead of her.

"Not so awesome now, is it?" he says.

She follows after him, up the steep path. "Oh, shut up."

It becomes colder the higher they go, the blowing sand turning to snow. Nat grows weary, worry and anticipation now increasing.

They stop — now high up and near the light— next to two tall pillars. Nat sighs. "I bet the raccoon didn't have to climb a mountain."

"Technically, he's not a raccoon, you know?" Clint replies, a bit breathless.

"Oh, whatever; he eats garbage," Nat says, and Clint doesn't get a chance to reply.

An echoing voice behind him says, "Welcome." Clint draws his sword and Nat draws her gun, both of them aiming at a floating, hooded figure that wasn't there a few seconds ago. He speaks again. "Natasha, daughter of Ivan. Clint, son of Edith."

Clint moves first, heading towards the figure, his sword now in front of him, and Nat follows not a second later, both of them cautious. He's said no more, so Nat lowly asks, "Who are you?"

"Consider me a guide," he answers, "to you, and to all who seek the Soul Stone."

Nat's voice is laced with sarcasm. "Oh, good. You tell us where it is, then we'll be on our way."

He sighs, stepping forward, revealing his face. "Liebchen... if only it were that easy." His face is red — bright, blood red, like the worst sunburn anyone ever had, and his nose was gone, only the holes left, his bones almost poking through his red skin. Nat recognizes him not only from photos, but from Steve's description, when he'd told her about crashing the plane, what happened before the ice.

Red Skull.

He turns and walks through the pillars, and, cautiously, Clint and Nat follow. The ends of his hood look like smoke as they blow in the strong wind.

What he leads them to is a cliff edge, the ground with straight lines carved into it. One leads to the edge, where two stones just out almost like a plank on a pirate ship. A circle was carved in the very middle, in the stones behind the plank.

"What you seek lies in front of you," Red Skull says, "as does what you fear."

Nat walks to the edge of the plank, looking down over it, at the long, long way down to the bottom. The purple light hits there, and she knows.

"The Stone's down there," she says to Clint.

Red Skull answers her. "For one of you. For the other..." He only trails off as Clint comes to stand next to Nat. Red Skull explains, then. "In order to take the Stone, you must lose that which you love... An everlasting exchange. A soul, for a soul."

Nat looks at Clint, though she doesn't fully turn to him. She doesn't want to see his expression, know what he's thinking.

"Nat," he says, forcing calm into his voice. "Step away from the edge, please."

"Only if you do," she replies, and they back away from it as the dread settles in, makes itself at home. Nat shakily sits down on a fallen tree trunk, through how anything had ever grown up here, she doesn't know. Clint stands further away, and Red Skull waits patiently, watching them think. And they think for a long time. Nat stares at the ground, seeing nothing actually in vision, only what's in her mind. She deliberates, remembers, reasons. She doesn't know what Clint's thinking. She won't ask.

"How's it going?" Clint finally asks, looking at Red Skull, who makes no reply as Clint laughs without mirth. He walks over to Nat, quietly saying, "Maybe he's making it all up."

Nat shakes her head. "No. I don't think so."

"Why, 'cause he knows your daddy's name?" Clint asks, half joking as he paces slowly.

"I didn't," Nat replies seriously, looking up. "Thanos left here with the Stone... and without his daughter. It's not a coincidence."

Clint already knew that, but denial kept him from admitting it — until now. "Yeah," he breathes.

"Whatever it takes," Nat whispers, looking ahead.

Clint looks at the cliff, echoing, "Whatever it takes."

Nat looks at Clint, her stomach dropping at the thought she really let take shape. Take precedence over everything else, every other consideration. She stands, walks over to Clint. "If we don't get that Stone, billions of people stay dead."

Clint nods. "Yeah." He looks back at the cliff again. "Then I guess we both know who it's gotta be."

And Nat knows.

She knows, with everything in her.

"I guess we do," she whispers.

Clint looks back at her, and he takes her hand — her left in his right — and she folds her right hand over the back of his. He looks up at her, sees the resigned gloss of tears in her eyes, the hint of fear on her face. And he realizes. "I'm starting to think we mean different people here, Natasha." He tries to smile, like it's a joke. Like she thinks the way he does.

She doesn't.

"For the last five years, I've been trying to do one thing: Get to right here," she says. "That's all it's been about — bringing everybody back."

Clint shakes his head slightly, trying to joke, trying to use denial again, but the forced humor fades before he even finishes his sentence. "No, don't you get all decent on me now."

"What, you think I wanna do it?" Nat asks, using a bit of humor too. "I'm trying to save your life, you idiot."

"Yeah, well, I don't want you to. How's that?" Clint replies. His face contorts in pain, guilt. "Natasha, you know what I've done. You know what I've become." The people he's hurt — and worse — in the last five years flash through his mind.

"I don't judge people on their worst mistakes," Nat replies.

He looks at her for a moment, then says, "Maybe you should."

"You didn't," she argues quietly.

Clint laughs, and it's choked. "You're a pain, you know that?"

Nat tries to smile. "Well, let me help you with that, then. If I'm gone-"

"Don't say that," Clint interrupts, his voice raising. "Don't... Just... don't, Nat. Don't..."

"What else am I supposed to do?" she asks.

"Get the Stone and bring it back to everybody yourself."

"What about your family, Clint?" she says, and she squeezes his hand. "They're gonna need you. Not me. I'm the only play here, Clint."

"Really?" he says, incredulous. "Really?"

Nat nods a bit. "Yes."

"What about everybody else at home? Everyone else coming back?" Clint asks. "You're the glue, Nat. That much is obvious. They need you."

She shrugs a little, waves it off, though the tears prick her eyes and there's a lump in her throat. "They'll get on without me."

And then he hits her where it hurts. "What about Grace?" he asks. If anything will get her to see reason, it's this. She doesn't reply, only looks down. "Huh? You didn't think about that, did you?"

"I did. And I am," Nat replies, her voice choked.

"She needs you, Nat," Clint says. "Just as much as she needs Tony, or Pepper, or Happy, or-or Rhodey. More than she needs me, that's for sure."

Nat looks up. "But she needs Wanda too. And more than that, she needs Peter." Nat shakes their hands once, trying to get him to understand. "You didn't see her, Clint. You don't know. When she found out Peter was gone..." The image hits her: Grace collapsing into Tony's arms, sobbing on the grass, her voice grating and pained and heart-shattering. Nat closes her eyes, breathes out. "She was so in denial it hurt me. She cried for so long. She hurt for so long. You could see it on her face. When she wasn't crying it was like she was hardly there at all. And then after Tony and Pepper got married and they all moved away, she'd come back to the compound to visit, and for months it was just the same. I'd mention him, try to get her to talk about it, and she'd shut me down instantly. Wouldn't even say his name. The only thing that helped was Morgan being born, but that doesn't mean she misses him any less. Clint, she told me once that she was gonna marry Peter. There's no one else for her, that's what she said."

Clint is crying now too, and his voice is quiet yet insistent. "And you think she doesn't want you to be there? At the wedding? You think that, if she were here right now, she would tell you to do this because she wants Peter back more? No way, Nat. I know she wouldn't want this."

"Well, she isn't here, so it doesn't matter, does it?" Nat replies, her heart aching.

Clint shakes his head. "Nat, it'll kill her."

"She'll have everyone to help her through it. She'll have Tony and Peter and-"

"Nat, you're in denial now-"

"Let me do this for her, okay?" Nat cuts in, voice raising a bit. Somewhere, Grace is crying, she's hurting, and she's eight and seventeen all at once and Nat was helpless, but not anymore. "I- I can teach her art and self defense and- and bake and talk with her all day long, but I can't give her anything. I can't help her, I can't leave her anything." Nat swallows, past the lump in her throat. "What else do I have but my family? And Grace — she's the closest thing I'll ever have to a daughter, you know that? She's taught me... more than she can ever know. And I want to leave her something."

"Nat, you already have-"

"And I want to do something for you too, you know," she says. "I don't know where I'd be right now without you, so at least let me try to return the favor, okay? Let me do something for you. For her. For my family. And... And the universe... Please." Her voice breaks when she pleads with him, and, slowly, he leans forward, resting his forehead on hers. He's silent for a while, and Nat's eyes are closed. She's resigned. She's determined.

Clint lifts his head. "Okay. You win."

Nat looks at him, half surprised, ready to turn, to walk off the edge. But before she can move, Clint grabs her arm and knocks her foot out from under her, taking her the ground.

He looks down at her. "Tell my family I love them."

She quickly grabs his arm and flips him over, to the left, getting to her feet as she does. She aims her taser at him, then replies, "Tell them yourself," before firing. He cries out as it shocks him, but he'll be okay. Nat knows that. It's the only way.

She turns, she looks at the edge, and she hesitates only a moment before running toward it. Toward her fate.

"Nat!" Clint shouts, and it's right there, the edge is right there, but then he's up and he shoots an explosive arrow to the left of her, flinging her the right. She hits the ground hard. Stone jabs her in the side.

She looks up, and Clint is looking right at her as he runs for the edge, determined, hardly apologetic. Nat scrambles to her feet, even as he jumps, leaping off the plank, gallantly trying to make the sacrifice.

But Nat jumps too. She grabs him midair, then turns, shooting a sort of grappling hook at the rock, and they fall for a moment, barely a third of the way down before they stop. Nat attaches the end of the hook to his belt, lets herself fall, but he manages to catch her wrist.

He looks up, pulls on the rope, but then he realizes what she's done. "Nat," he says, angry, upset. He reaches with his other hand to grab her, to somehow get her back up there, safe and sound. "Wait," he pleads, crying now.

She looks down at the drop below, a sense of calm resignation taking over the fear. It's there, it's present, but it's weaker. It's not enough. She looks back up at him. "You'll tell her I love her, won't you?"

"Nat, no," he pleads, and she knows it's not in answer to her question. She knows he will.

"Tell everyone I love them. But... But her especially. She already knows, but... tell her anyway."

"You tell her," he says, knowing she won't.

"I love you too, you know," she says. His grip is slipping; he can't hold her much longer. "You're my best friend, okay? I love you. Don't forget that."

"I love you too, Nat."

He just looks at her. He's pained. Softly, she says, "Now let me go."

He can't. He can't hold onto her, but he can't let her go. "No," he says. "No, Nat, no. Please, no."

She nods a little. "It's okay," she assures him. And it is. It's going to be okay. The universe will be okay. Those she loves will be okay. In time, it'll hurt less. For everyone. She's wiping out the red in her ledger. She's repaying the world.

"Please," Clint repeats.

And Nat knows he won't, knows he can't, and she doesn't blame him. Not one bit. She wouldn't be able to either, if the roles were reversed. And she's so glad they're not.

His expression pleads with her as well as his words, and, in her mind, she hears a scared girl begging her, "Please don't go, Nat. Please don't go. Don't go, don't go, don't go."

Silently, she replies, "But I have to."

And she lifts her foot, kicking off the side of the cliff, and Clint can't hold her. His grip slips, and she's free. She's free from hold, free from ground, free from guilt. She's falling, the air rushing up around her.

Clint wants to look away, but he can't. He reaches for her, even as she get farther away. Until he can't see her anymore. Below, she's merely a dot, too far away to see. Maybe it's for the best. He'd keep that image with him for the rest of his life, he knew, if he saw.

Eyes unseeing, looking up into nothing, blood on the ground, almost the same red as her hair.

Her hair.

The roots were red again. The rest was still blonde. It was in a braid, a smaller one going into a larger one, wisps near her forehead framing her face. Grace had done it. Before they left. Grace had put it up that way.

He chokes on a sob.

It hurts. It hurts like a fresh wound. It hurts like he's inches from death. Like she shoved a knife in his heart and twisted it. He wants to retch, he wants to start over, to go back, to do it differently. He should've knocked her out. Why didn't he?

Why didn't he run faster? Why didn't he hold her tighter? Why? Why?

A light shines above him, there's the sound of thunder, and it's a punch to the gut.

And then he's somewhere else, dark colors swimming around him, small specks of light like stars. He's laying in a shallow pool.

He sits up.

The desert. He's in a lake. They all looked deeper before, from a distance.

He looks around, searching for the Stone, for what she sacrificed herself for, and then he lifts his hand — the one he'd held onto her with — and opens it.

It glows yellow in his palm. It brings tears to his eyes. It makes him angry. He sits for a moment, feeling it, and then knows it's time for him to go back.

Without her.