she has never been as loud or as public as tony stark, but everyone heard about her releasing shield’s files, everyone saw her protecting the earth for five long years when all of the other original avengers had walked away from the fight.
the black widow was not a shiny metal philanthrobot, or any kind of supersoldier, or a rooftop-jumping archer, or a god from an era long gone.
she was a spy; she tried to stay in the shadows, to keep to herself.
she was the last avenger for many of them.
she was their hero, and she still is.
it is quiet, at first, the grief. there are no mobs of people, no wailing in the streets.
but when the first iron man mural appears in new york city, a black widow one goes up right across from it.
slowly but surely, monuments appear, most homemade and small, but still there.
she is in textbooks and museums and articles, not always the focus but never left out.
if tony stark is the hero who’s name they shout, natasha is the one they whisper about, quiet reassurances and cries in the night.
she was a protector, fierce and selfless and loyal, fighting for a world that had never done her much good.
