Eva looked up from her muddy hands at the church hall filled – well, half-filled, which was as close to full as anywhere could get nowadays – with kids that had, for the past twenty minutes, been listening to and copying every word and movement she had put out to them. She had managed not to swear for twenty whole minutes.

"Okay," she said, "so the seed bombs should be the size of your fist – oh, God, no. That's too big. Break it in half. Get your mom to break it in – yeah, that'll work too. We'll clean the floor later. Where was I? … Right."

She held up the lump of clay and wildflower seeds in her hands. "The clay will air dry over the next couple hours," she said, "so make sure to wrap it up in some newspaper on your way out so you don't get any on – any more on your clothes. Now! The official recommendations, as endorsed by the Stark Foundation that are funding these sessions, is that you can chuck these anywhere on your own property. Got that? I do not condone you chucking these through the windows of all those big fancy houses that are sitting empty since the assh – since the people who own them would rather nobody lived there than leasing them out to poor people. Throwing them into those abandoned building sites that they've left instead of replanting forests there since we don't need them anymore would be a very! Bad! Idea! For the last time: do not use wildflower bombs as a method of peaceful protest! Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Miss K," the children chorused back at her.

"Awesome. Now get out and sow some chaos, gang," she ordered.

As the youth of the Harlem block she was running the session at today filtered out, the volunteers started picking over the debris that had been left behind. Morgan, one year old and incredibly precocious, smashed her tiny ravioli fist into a ball of wet clay and screeched with delight as it squelched. Pepper beamed at her.

"Are you making a mess, sweetheart?" she asked. "You're just like your father."

"You know," Eva said, walking over to them, "the session is intended for kids aged ten and older."

"Well, she is very advanced for her age."

"Right," said Eva. "Advanced enough to eat clay?"

"Oh, sugar," Pepper muttered, intercepting her daughter's handful before it reached her mouth. Eva sniggered, and as she did a second laugh joined in from behind. She turned and saw Father Wilson approaching, swinging his wheelchair between the fold-down tables with ease.

"Sorry for trashing your church," Eva said. "But also, thanks for letting us trash your church."

"We've seen worse mess here," Father Wilson smiled. "At least this one did some good. Hello, beautiful baby," he added, cooing at a giggling Morgan. Eva, who still did not quite know what to do around children under the age of five, nodded awkwardly.

"Say hello, Morgie," Pepper said.

"Eh," Morgan proclaimed.

"She's very advanced," Eva told Father Wilson, in case it was not obvious.

"I've just come to thank you both," he said, diverting his attention from the star of the show for a moment. "Eva, what you're doing with your gardening in the community projects is really wonderful. And Ms Potts, I should thank you again for the support of your foundation in my parish."

"Well, between Eva and your son we heard a lot about you over the years," she said. "Work like this is the least we can do to honor Sam after everything he did as part of the Avengers."

One day, Eva thought, we might be able to have a conversation without bringing up someone we lost. "I'm gonna start gathering up the spare material," she said, looking for an out before someone started crying.

"Do you want a hand?" Pepper asked.

"No, no. I'll leave the rest of the mess to you lot and beside, I'll chuck it all over the Oscorp perimeter on my way home so it doesn't go to waste."

"Are you still coming to lunch next Sunday?" Pepper asked.

"I thought it was mine and Alvie's turn to host."

"No, no. You had us last month. Besides, I've already bought ingredients to make quiche."

Eva groaned inwardly. Pepper Potts-Stark had many skills, but cooking was not one of them. Vegetable quiche with added crunchiness from rogue bits of eggshells was one of her specialities. "That sounds wonderful," she said, as earnestly as she could. Pepper seemed to believe her, but Father Wilson's smiled seemed a little too knowing for her liking. After a few years of being the guest at family dinners with Sam, he must have learnt her lying voice pretty well after the countless probing questions from Mrs Wilson. Yes, ma'am. She was absolutely waiting until marriage.

"Thanks for having me, father, Pep," she said, and patted Morgan on her downy head. "See y'all round!"

And she darted out of the side door before anyone could hand her a mop and tell her to start getting clay out of the floor.

A/N shout out to the reader who requested some more info about plants/gardening in this chapter, who forced me to confront the fact that I know ABSOLUTELY NOTHING about gardening. I've had about a dozen house plants in the last three years and the only one that isn't dead yet is the one I bought three months ago. Instead accept what I know about wildflower bombs, which are very cool and I thought would suit Eva's outlook quite well.

Also, thank you all so much for the congratulations! My life is very weird at the moment and I'm not quite sure what's gonna happen next, but hopefully it involved monthly updates of this for up to a year (I estimate) until it's finally finished. We're also SO CLOSE to a million views on this thing, which is insane (if any of you fancied a reread, now's the time) and I'll try and do some funky milestone things in anticipation of hitting it.