They’re in Iceland, of all places. A quiet country, though the world itself has been quiet since…then. The beach is silent save for the soft tide and forlorn call of birds.
Natasha reclines on a towel, toes digging into the damp, black sand. It’s the warm season but overcast. Even if Thanos had never snapped his fingers, the beach would be empty under grey skies. But Natasha knew it was best to lie low until she had some answers, and ever since that day, she’s had nothing.
So she bought two one-way tickets and took her girl far, far away from home.
Every few minutes, she opens one eye and glances at the shoreline where Darcy is kneeling in the sand, just to make sure she hasn’t disappeared, too.
“Tide’s coming in,” Darcy says. She’s in a blue and white bikini and wrapped in a light purple shawl, her hands and knees darkened from the sand. She brushes her hair out of her eyes and smiles softly at Natasha. “We should probably head inside.”
Natasha nods, but remains where she’s seated, watching Darcy. Her little sandcastle sits only feet from the nearing waves, topped with a flag made from a leaf. Maybe it’s a home for those they lost. For Bucky. For Sam. For Jane and Selvig.
The waves come closer as Darcy stands and holds out a hand for Natasha. The sandcastle will be washed away soon, and it will be just the two of them once more.