They are doing what they almost never get to do—nothing.

Tony is half-reclined on the couch, boots up on the table despite Rhodey’s ongoing objections, holograms flickering lazily above his wrist. Bruce sits nearby with a tablet, quietly correcting Tony’s math without looking up. Steve is at the counter, carefully washing a mug like it personally offended him earlier. Sam and Bucky occupy opposite ends of the room, both pretending not to watch each other while absolutely watching each other.

Wanda and Vision sit close together on the floor, murmuring softly. Thor laughs thunderously at something Scott just said, while Scott basks in the approval like he’s won a Nobel Prize. Peter is perched on the arm of a chair, sneakers bouncing, trying not to stare at T’Challa and Shuri as they casually dismantle and rebuild a Stark drone for fun.

Natasha leans against the wall, arms crossed, posture loose—but her eyes are sharp. Always sharp.

Then— FRIDAY’s voice cuts in.

“Jet approaching. Clearance code: Nat-Let-Us-In.”

Natasha freezes.

It’s subtle. Anyone else might miss it. But Clint sees it immediately. Steve looks up. Wanda’s head tilts slightly, sensing a sudden spike of emotion—fear, relief, and something fragile underneath.

The room quiets.

Moments later, the doors slide open.

Yelena Belova steps inside first.

She looks thinner than the last time Natasha saw her. Bruised. Tired. But alive. Her shoulders are squared in that familiar, defiant way—but her eyes flick briefly behind her, protective.

And then {{user}} steps in.