It was night, and Natasha Romanoff was tired. She was sitting in a lounge inside Avengers headquarters, contemplating the sandwich on her plate. There was an open jar of peanut butter next to the plate, the knife sticking out of it. She looked at the bread, and sighed. Then she picked up the knife, and cut the sandwich diagonally. She hated sandwiches that were cut in half on the perpendicular. Couldn't explain why, she just did.

“Yeah, we boarded that highly-suspect warship Danvers pinged,” a voice complained.

It was Rocket, providing an update.

Natasha turned to look at the hologram of Rocket projected above the table in front of her. Standing next to Rocket was Nebula. Separate holograms revealed Carol Danvers, James Rhodes, and Okoye, all checking in from different locations.

“It was an infectious garbage scow,” Nebula said flatly.

“So, thanks for the hot tip,” Rocket added.

“Well, you were closer,” Carol pointed out.

“Yeah. And now we smell like garbage,” Rocket replied. He was tired of these waste-of-time assignments.

Natasha could see this was going nowhere, and quickly changed the subject. “You get a reading on those tremors?” she inquired of Okoye.

Okoye nodded. “ 'Twas a mild subduction under the African plate.”

Natasha appeared concerned. “Do we have a visual? How are we handling it?”

Okoye smiled. “Nat,” she answered, reassuringly. “It's an earthquake under the ocean. We handle it by not handling it.” They had more pressing problems.

Natasha heard what Okoye was saying, but she didn't like it. She didn't like feeling helpless. Or useless.

They were the Avengers. They needed to help, wherever they could, whenever they could. Especially now, more than ever.

“Carol, are we seeing you here next month?” Natasha asked.

“Not likely,” Carol replied.

“What? You gonna get another haircut?” Rocket cracked. Carol had recently cut her hair short, and for some reason, Rocket thought that was funny. As with so many things to do with humans, Rocket was wrong.

“Listen, fur face,” Carol jabbed back, “I'm covering a lot of territory. The things that are happening on Earth are happening everywhere. On thousands of planets.” Even she could only take care of so much.

“Eh, all right, all right,” Rocket allowed, dropping it. “That's a good point. That's a good point.”

“So you might not see me for a long time,” Carol advised them.

Natasha nodded. “All right. Well, this channel's always active. So if anything goes sideways, anyone's making trouble where they shouldn't, comes through me.” If she couldn't control what was happening, at least she could coordinate it.

“Kulungile,” Okoye said in Xhosa, accepting this directive.

“Okay,” Rocket agreed.

Then Rocket and Nebula, and Okoye stepped back, and their holograms disappeared from the array.

“Good luck,” Carol wished them all, as her hologram disappeared as well.

That left only Rhodey, who so far hadn't said a word.

“Where are you?” Natasha asked.

“Mexico,” Rhodey said. “The Federales found a room full of bodies. Looks like a bunch of cartel guys, never even had a chance to get their guns off.” He knew what this meant as well as she did. They were getting closer to their target.

“It was probably a rival gang,” Natasha suggested, knowing that she was wrong.

“Except it isn't,” Rhodey confirmed. “It's definitely Barton. What he's done here, what he's been doing for the last few years ... I mean, the scene he left ...”

Natasha didn't nod, she didn't respond in any way. She just reached out to the plate in front of her, picked up a half of peanut-butter sandwich, and took a bite.

“I gotta tell you, there's a part of me that doesn't even wanna find him,” Rhodey conceded.

It was like Rhodey hadn't said a word as far as Natasha was concerned. “Will you find out where he's going next?” she followed up, chewing.

“Nat?” Rhodey started to say something to her but she wouldn't let him finish.

“Please?” Natasha pleaded. They needed to find him. She needed to find him.

Rhodey nodded, his face grim, as he took a step backward, as his hologram disappeared, Natasha could hear him say, “Okay.”

Natasha felt numb. She put down the sandwich, then closed her eyes, putting her hands to her face. Tears were ready to flow, but she wouldn't let them. Not now.

“You know, I'd offer to cook you dinner, but you seem pretty miserable already,” a kind voice teased.

Natasha lowered her hands from her face, only to see Steve Rogers standing in the doorway.

“You here to do your laundry?” she shot back, aiming for levity.

“And to see a friend.” His voice was filled with compassion and shared sorrow.

“Clearly, your friend is fine,” Natasha lied, knowing that Steve could see otherwise.

Steve looked down at his hands, regarding the car keys he held. “You know, I saw a pod of whales when I was coming over the bridge.”

“In the Hudson?” she tried to feign interest or at least surprise.

“There's fewer ships. Cleaner water,” Steve attempted to sound positive.

“You know, if you're about to tell me to look on the bright side, um, I'm about to hit you in the head with a peanut-butter sandwich,” Natasha jokingly threatened, pointing at the sandwich on the table.

Steve moved away from the door, and walked over to Natasha. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

He put his jacket on a chair, and set his keys on the table. Pulling out a chair, Steve sat down across the table from Natasha. Then she pushed the plate with the peanut-butter sandwich over to Steve, offering it to him.

“You know, I keep telling everybody they should move on, and grow. Some do. But not us,” Steve reflected.

“If I move on, who does this?” Natasha wondered, looking around the room.

Steve knew exactly what she meant.

“Maybe it doesn't need to be done,” he offered. Maybe they weren't needed anymore ... or just couldn't help.

“I used to have nothing,” Natasha recalled her earlier, lonelier life. “And then I got this. This job. This family. And I was ... I was better because of it. And even though they're gone ... I'm still trying to be better.” She wanted to believe in a purpose, a reason, for her still being there.

There was a moment of silence. Then Steve said, “I think we both need to get a life.”

They smiled.

“You first,” Natasha kidded him wryly.

The conversation was cut short as a hologram appeared in the air above the table. Natasha reached up, flicking at the hologram, changing the image. It was a view of the outside of the Avengers compound, at the security checkpoint.

There was a van parked at the gate, and a man standing outside.

Both Steve and Natasha recognized him.

“Oh, hi, hi, uh, is anyone home? This is, uh, Scott Lang. We met a few years ago at the airport in Germany?” The man smiled up gamely at the camera.

Both Steve and Natasha stood up.

“I was the guy that got really big. I had a mask on. You wouldn't recognize me,” he acknowledged.

“Is this an old message?” Steve asked. They hadn't heard from Scott in five years. The automatic assumption was that he had vanished in the Blip, just like Thanos' other victims.

“Ant-Man?” the hologram Scott explained. “I know you know me. I really need to talk to you guys.”

* * *

Inside Avengers headquarters, Scott was pacing nervously.

“Scott. Are you okay?” Steve both sought information from their guest and hoped to get him to sit down in one place.

Trying to calm himself, Scott touched his face and closed his eyes. “Yeah,” he said, not sure if he actually was okay. “Have either of you guys ever studied quantum physics?”

“Only to make conversation,” Natasha joked.

Her sarcasm was lost on Scott. “All right,” he continued, “so ... five years ago, right ... right before ... Thanos. I was in a place called the Quantum Realm. And the Quantum Realm is like its own microscopic universe. To get in there, you have to be incredibly small. Hope, she's my, um ... she wa ... she was my ... she was ... she was supposed to pull me out. And then, Thanos happened and I got stuck in there.”

Natasha suddenly grew quite serious. “I'm sorry, that must have been a very long five years.”

“Yeah. But that's just it,” Scott tried to explain. “It wasn't. For me, it was five hours. See, the rules of the Quantum Realm aren't like they are up here. Everything is unpredictable.”

Scott took a breath, letting the information sink in. “Is that anybody's sandwich?” he asked, distracted, pointing at the peanut-butter sandwich on the table. “I'm starving.”

“Scott, what are you talking about?” Steve needed clarity and for Scott to focus.

Scott picked up the half sandwich, and started to eat.

“So ...” he began, mouth full of food, “What I'm saying is, time works differently in the Quantum Realm. The only problem is right now, we don't have a way to navigate it. But what if we did?”

Steve and Natasha leaned in, intrigued.

“I can't stop thinking about it. What if we could somehow control the chaos and we could navigate it? What if there was a way that we could enter the quantum realm at a certain point in time, but then exit the quantum realm at another point in time? Like ... like before Thanos.” Scott looked at the pair, wondering if they saw the same potential he did.

“Wait. Are you talking about a time machine?” Steve asked incredulously.

“No. No, of course not. No, not a time machine,” Scott dismissed the idea. “This—this is more like um ... yeah, like a time machine. I know, it's crazy. It's crazy. But I can't stop thinking about it. There's gotta be some way ... it's crazy.” But was it maybe worth trying ? He couldn't help but wonder.

“Scott, I get e-mails from a raccoon,” Natasha revealed dryly. “So, nothing sounds crazy anymore.”

“So, who do we talk to about this?” Scott was ready. zSLHSTwXLYGXutzL4WLuCDINoZhvXyxUGg2h3AnAyweVEhGl0ud5cLT1pZ4pb92b