Titanium (Ti)
Atomic Number: 22
Atomic Weight: 47.867 amu
Solid at room temperature; strong metal resistant to sea water, chlorine, and aqua regia; easily oxidized; relatively abundant in the atmosphere
Warnings: Fire hazard, potentially explosive
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Handing in her resignation was difficult. The Avengers are a part of her life, her friends, yet Malka knows she could not stay. Facing Natasha was the worst part, but the former spy understood.
It was a quick farewell with the remaining members of her team. Thor was already gone, Banner long since disappeared, so it only really left Barton, who went home to his family after the funeral, Tony, who also decided to take a break, Natasha, and Steve.
She and the super-soldier shared a drink before her departure. He helped her out of the airport, despite being stopped at security and the gate. Though he was not there to help her with passport control on the other side, Malka managed on her own and slipped through the cracks of bureaucracy.
To escape the public eye and any private ones that may be following her, Malka may have landed in Spain, but she did not stay long. She backpacked her way across Europe, ditching all forms of technology except for the emergency phone. Natasha has the number.
Against her better judgment, Malka stopped by her hometown and stayed for a few weeks, basking in the country life. She tried so hard to remain invisible, but governments still found her. People still talked, just like the old days. Malka had to run before any government could grab her again. Severing her connection to the Avengers makes her fair game, and most shadow organizations have outstanding warrants with her name. Especially in America.
In Poland, she did not truly try to hide, but now she does. There are always eyes in Romania, but it has too many places to hide not to be perfect. She currently resides in one deep in the city, but she only sleeps there. Every other waking moment is usually spent wandering around, exploring the underground, even sightseeing. The last time she was in Romania was to kill; she never had time to do anything else.
Today, she went on a castle tour. It lessened the pain in her burdened heart. As she trudges up to the apartment, her feet drag behind her as she bids goodnight to her neighbor who smirks at her like he always does and invites her in. As always, she declines with a laugh and shakes her head.
When she pushes into the dark apartment, her body goes still. She quietly reaches for the gun on the side table and points it forward as she carefully steps further into the room.
She spins towards the light that flicks on, her grip on the gun faltering when she sees who sits in the old chair, his metal arm glinting in the light even as his eyes trail up and down her face. "Come to kill me, солдат?" She asks.
"I heard about Sokovia," he says, "and about the Maximoff kid. Sorry."
"Not my problem anymore." It stings to think of Pietro, her failure, again. Though, at least now, she knows he was never truly there. It was all in her mind, broken as it is. "What are you doing here?"
