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Chapter Text

Circa 2012

''Romanov.'' Fury's grave voice carried weight even over a phone call.

She looked at the bedside clock. Two a.m. ''Yes?''

''I need you on the Helicarier first thing in the morning. Have a new job for you.''

''Am I staying or going?'' Awake and ready to go at a moments notice, she started by fishing her slippers out from under the bed.

''Both.''

Natasha paused, staring down at the left slipper that had a ball of dust and hair stuck to its heel. ''Alright. See you in the morning, Boss.''

She hung up and continued to examine the fluffy white piece of footwear. What had possessed her to buy them instead of anything that didn't look like the magician's side-kick with a blow-out?

*

After meeting the man that was history itself, it was time to sit down with the man who signed her paychecks and held her passport hostage.

Fury was flipping through a file when she walked in. He pointed at the chair without looking up.

''What's your impression of Captain Rogers?'' the Director asked.

Natasha thought back to the meeting that had occurred less than an hour ago. ''He seems soft.''

At that Fury looked up, sporting a raised eyebrow. ''Take care, Agent Romanov, calling Captain America soft counts as treason.''

She lifted her own eyebrow in return. ''Does it?''

He sighed. ''Don't let Phil hear you say that. He's one of your biggest supporters here at the agency.''

''What is this about, Director?'' She cut right to it, breathing over the reminder of the fact that it still didn't matter how much she had done for SHIELD. It was all about weighing the good and the bad. And, so far, her bad was still heavier.

''I need you to be Captain's backup without him knowing you're his backup, do you understand?'' Fury gave her one of his famous ominous glares, finally letting go of the folder and crossing his fingers and resting his elbows on the table.

Of course Natasha knew what he meant. She did, however, need to know how far she was allowed to take it. ''Parameters?''

''No limits.''

Had she been a whistler there would be one rolling off her lips right now. In her experience, American intelligence organisations were rather more rule abiding than her previous employers. This was the first time Fury had given her freedom on a mission to go as far as was needed and it felt exhilarating.

''And for how long? Do you have a specific target or goal in mind?''

Fury's fingers twisted together even tighter. ''For now there is no time limit.''

Well, well, well, wasn't this interesting. Natasha smirked in response, a short and sharp movement with one side of her mouth. Standing up at the directors dismissive gesture, she set out to align herself with a new target. Time to make Captain America her best friend.

*

Circa 2013

They had changed and patched each other up before heading out to the diner Tony wouldn't stop gushing about.

She had Clint's and Bruce's orders in hand when the broad chest of Captain America blocked her way back to the table. He looked down at her, paying some attention to what food she was carrying, but mostly searching her face for something that was making her uncomfortable.

''How's your neck?'' Steve finally asked when she was starting to consider possible ways out of this odd stand-off, including throwing a smoke bomb between them and disappearing Houdini-style.

''Oh...'' She instinctively rolled her shoulders, feeling the soreness of the muscles. ''It's fine. Just a whiplash. Nothing as dramatic as you getting shot in the stomach,'' Nat answered offhandedly.

''I can take it,'' he said.

That implication in his tone irked Natasha. ''The food's getting cold.'' She looked down pointedly at the trays she was holding.

''Yeah,'' the man gruffed, but wouldn't step out of the way.

The weird intensity in his gaze was making a different kind of feeling creep up her neck, one that still made her hair stand on their ends whenever they were in the same room. She felt judged. The silly human girl playing with the big boys at being a hero. For a while she had thought it might be the remnants of the now extinct chivalry that Steve had brought out from ice with him, but lately her opinion tended towards the macho-jackass explanation.

She smiled bright and fake, sidestepping the Captain. ''Excuse me.'' 

Still smiling, Natasha returned to the table where the food trays were practically ripped out of her hands. 

A tightness in her chest wouldn't abet until Clint distracted her by spilling his soft drink all over his lap.

*

Circa 2014

''What is Homo-one-Kenobi?'' Steve asked baffled, but still stuffing popcorn in his mouth and following the TV show with interest. 

Natasha looked at him sideways. Nothing had prepared her for being an educator. To do that one needed to care for their charges and be interested in their growth. She did not care if Steve Rogers understood pop culture references.

''Just keep watching,'' Natasha growled, scowling at the too-small-of-a-distance between them on the coach. 

Where the fuck was Clint?

*

Circa 2015

Bruce had just left and taken whatever heart she didn't know she still had with him.

Every time. Every fucking time she slipped and allowed herself to care even a little bit, it was taken from her and a little bit of her humanity got chipped away. Piece by piece, it faded until there was nothing left but a grim determination of a woman who knew for a fact that in the end there was nobody else to rely on but herself.

If, at this moment, Clint had walked up and stuck a knife in her back, she wouldn't get upset. She would get even.

*

Circa 2016

''Least likely to die my ass,'' Natasha snarled to herself, looking at the phone that had just gone dead after Steve hung up.

That idiot was going to go after Barnes by himself and get his stupid American ass handed to him on that stupid shield of his.

She pushed a very slightly trembling fingers through her hair, pulling back when they found some debris from the explosion in there. Nat knew what Fury would tell her to do. What he had told her to do four years ago. 

Stay by his side. Support him in whatever he does.

Natasha had no qualms with gray areas, but her mind calculated that maybe this time the tally would ran a bit high. She foresaw treason, betrayal, hurt feelings, lost friendships and a lot of physical pain.

Shaking her head, Natasha pushed the phone in the jacket's pocket. Stay by his side. That's the primary mission. 

*

Circa 2017

Are you sure this is a good idea? 

Is what she wanted to ask but didn't. Nat watched Steve put a hand on Winter Soldier's shoulder as he was carried away by a levitating table and surrounded by Wakandan scientists, lead by Princess Shuri.

''He will be fine,'' she said instead of all the doubts that were cruising through her tired mind.

Steve didn't turn around or so much as look at her, his eyes still fixed on the corner around which the medical procession had just disappeared. He did, however, reach back and take her hand in his, squeezing it hard enough that Natasha's breath caught in her throat.

She didn't say any more or pull back and they remained like that for a very long time.

*

Circa 2018

She could understand why Thanos had chosen this place. It was perfect, if the view from the porch was any indicator.

Natasha slowly wrapped her arms around herself but it didn't stop her body from shaking. The clenched jaw barely prevented her teeth from clicking and clacking like one of those Halloween toys.

Steve came out of the hut and stopped next to her. They both gazed over the beautiful landscape, sun setting in throws of red and gold. The air was becoming noticeably colder as now there were misty white puffs every time they sighed.

This had all been for nothing. They had scrambled like mad, searching and chasing leads, growing more and more irritated and desperate every time it turned out to be a dead end. But still they plowed on, because there was a bad guy to find. Because there had been a wrong to right.

Then they finally found him. And killed him. And... it had done absolutely nothing to alleviate the existential dread that had drawn a permanent shadow over their lives.

Natasha wasn't entirely sure what had happened but from one moment to the next the coldness of the evening air was replaced by the heat of another human being.

''I know you won't, but I just want you to know that you can cry if you need to,'' he said somewhere above her head.

Nat considered that for a moment and then scolded herself for even entertaining the idea. ''There's nothing to cry about. We completed the mission. We found the bad guy and killed him.''

His hand found the nape of her neck, fingers brushing over the exposed skin. ''Doesn't feel like a win, does it?''

No. No it did not. Nothing felt good anymore.

Uninvited, unwanted couple of tears rolled down her cheeks and soaked into the man's uniform. This was an unfair end. And she didn't care that fairness was a concept for the simple minded.

Right now too many of the things that had happened felt unfair but Natasha, as a rule, didn't indulge in ideas of what ifs and buts. Instead, she let the sensations of warmth and solid muscle all around her take over and paid attention to the steady heart beat under her ear and not the lucid nightmares of a world irreversibly damaged.

Chapter Text

''Drying a widow's tears is one of the most dangerous occupations known to man.'' /Dorothy Dix/

*

Fury was gone, even Hill was gone and there was a gaping power vacuum in whatever still remained of their world. And one thing Natasha couldn't abide by was disorder. 

Soon after killing Thanos, she sat down with Stark, Pepper, Colonel Rhodes, Carol Danvers and Steve to try and restore some semblance of structure in the devastation left behind after half of the population perished.

''It's not just Earth, kids. Thanos decimated half of the universe,'' Captain Marvel pointed out at the very beginning.

Natasha expected a comment from Tony. By the looks of it everyone had, but the man was uncharacteristically quiet.

Steve spoke instead. ''We understand that, but our primary concern is this planet. We failed to defend it in the first place, the least we have to do is make sure that it doesn't fall to ruin in the coming days.''

She physically felt the lash of that one word. Failed. A chill ran down her spine and the room suddenly felt unbearably hot.

''We need to think about the infrastructure,'' Colonel weighed in, leaning heavily on the table. ''Military has plans in place for situations like this.''

Tony finally took part in the conversation by snorting loudly and startling Pepper sitting next to him. ''Situations like this?! Really? I want to meet the minds who imagined that there ever, in a thousand years, would be a situation like this one.''

The man's anger was palpable although he hadn't raised his voice.

Everyone around the table did their own little restless shuffles and looked anywhere but at each other. Except Natasha. She stared at Tony like she had never seen him before.

In a way it was true. She had never seen Tony Stark defeated. Or tired like the death was breathing down his neck, not even after the Siberia incident. And, if someone like him felt defeated, then what chance did the rest of them have? Another one of the daily illusions shattered under the pressure of the recent tragedy.

The meeting ended pretty much the same as it had started - depressingly. The only real decision made was between Captain Marvel and Rhodes, who were set on keeping peace, even if that meant doing that by themselves. After it concluded, she stayed behind to clean up. So did Steve.

They worked in silence, putting away note pads, pens, half empty coffee cups and untouched cookies. Not once did Natasha look up when their hands accidentally brushed or when she felt Steve's eyes on her. 

''So, you're staying here,'' the man finally spoke.

Turning her back on him, Natasha ran a shaky hand over the side of her face. Hot and cold.

''Yeah.''

''You're sure it's a good idea?'' There was the same doubt in Steve's voice that was worming its way through her gut.

No. Fuck no. Ten-times-cubed no.

But what else was there? She could already see that Tony was running away. Clint had lost his family and was nowhere to be found. SHIELD was practically defunct. At every turn she was cut off at the knees. There was nothing out there for her to do or find.

''Carol said she is taking Rocket and Groot with her to... Athara? I will follow up on that and keep you in the loop, OK?'' Natasha spun around and said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. 

''Right... sure... listen Nat-'' He put a hand on her lower arm and stepped up closer.

Natasha stopped breathing. In a violent and chaotic sequence, the events of the last year exploded behind her closed eyes and it was all she could do not to scream. Or laugh hysterically. Or die. She desired to do all of them, preferably at the same time. Because this was too much. Way, way too much.

There had been one war after another. Loosing people, finding people, killing people... it had become a blurr of indescribably highs and soul crushing lows. But never, not even once, had she allowed herself to so much as... the very idea of Steve... of loosing him, finding him, killing him...

''Natasha.''

Her eyes flew open in alarm as his voice sounded far too close and she did find herself staring in those concerned baby-blues, the colour of sky above a summer meadow, ever so worried.

The chant of woven n's and o's started at the back of her mind and soon it was all she could hear. Nonononononononononono-

''Nat.''

She flinched and shook off the warm hand. Steve let it fall back to his side but continued to loom over her. 

''Don't.''

''Don't what, Natasha?''

Her name sounded so deceptively sweet when he used it.  

''Just... don't.''

She stepped around him, balancing the two plates and a handful of pens, and made it towards the exit when two arms came from behind and arrested her movement. From head to heels, she was pressed against his body.

Natasha sighed. ''I said don't.'' 

''I'm not.''

''What do you call this?''

''A hug? Does that also count under the don't?''

''Definitely. We talked about this, remember?'' Her body relaxed and leaned against him despite her better judgement.

''It was a long time ago.''

''Two years, one month and seventeen days.''

He breathed out a snort and it tickled her neck. ''You counted the days. Shocking.''

She had counted the days from the first time they had a talk about not letting things go any further than an undercover kiss on the escalator. Steve had tried that evening again, but Nat persisted in convincing him what a horrifically bad idea it was to indulge. They didn't have time to play around, she didn't want to care for him any more than she already did (well, that plan had failed spectacularly) and Steve really wasn't anywhere near her type (except for completely having ruined all her already minimalist expectation of men).

''Yes, I counted the days, Steve. It's been 93 days since we fought Thanos in Wakanda. It has been 14 days since we finally located Thanos and Thor decapitated him. It has been less than a day since-''

His mouth had closed over the big pulse on her neck and - like magic! - Natasha lost her train of thoughts.

In an instant there was a volcano erupting in her lower half while the upper one slowly turned blush.

''I said don't, Steve.'' How that came out even remotely comprehensible was a mystery.

With a sigh, the man leaned back, but not far enough. She could still feel every ridge of his front pressing tightly against her back.

It was maddening how visceral the feeling of wanting him was, surging through her veins and threatening to boil her from the inside out.

This was wrong in a million different ways. It wasn't part of the job and she was good at her job. 

No attachments, Natasha. 

Love is for children, Natasha. 

Men are nothing but tools to use, Natasha. 

Never care for anyone because they will use that against you, Natasha.

She breathed in and stepped forward, ripping herself away from Steve's warm presence. Her heart was pounding so hard it physically hurt. 

Not worth a dime, not a single one.

Chapter Text

Maybe blending in the background of the society had taught her some bad habits. At the same time, being a worldly and educated woman, Natasha knew where the overwhelming feeling of anger was coming from.

Grief.

She had never had real family and coming to America, Natasha, for the first time, heard the saying that our real family is the one we choose. If not for Barton at her side, she would've written it off as just another liberal nonsense, created by people who thought tough times were when your mother didn't allow you to stay out after midnight. Or you didn't get a sports car at age sixteen.

These days Natasha often wondered if she'd been the one that chose her new family? Or had they chosen her?

The latter carried in itself a proxy for her anger. If it had been a choice of somebody else and not hers, then she was entitled to feel furious at having been put through the last few years. No relationship was worth having to watch your loved ones die and your heart being broken into a million pieces.

If, however, it had been a choice of her own volition... well then, she had become well and truly corrupted by the Western ideology of having to have other people around you to exist. To have to need other people for the sake of being seen as a human being.

I would rather be a bear in Siberia than this, she thought, punching the boxing bag.

Sweat was dripping down her temples, hair twisted and glued to her face. She kept hitting the bag day after day, over and over, and over again for hours, never really feeling any better afterwards.

Natasha wanted to eradicate everything and anything that she felt. All of those happy little moments with Bruce. The interludes of questionable safety with Barnes. The never ending discourses with Vision. The absolute peace she felt every time Clint held her and promised that everything was going to be OK.

All of that had to go or she wouldn't be able to return to being the same version of herself she had been before they met. Because that version could deal with this mess. That version could survive.

*

She knew Steve was checking up on her. There was no other reason for him to come by so often. He didn't live at the compound and spent most of his time either helping the remaining members of the Avengers with missions, or devoted his time to that survivors group he had started soon after the Blip.

Natasha hadn't even tried to hide her distaste at his suggestion that she should attend the meetings. The very idea made her skin crawl.

So, Steve did charity. Between the Avengers, the support group and her, his hands were full. And Natasha hated that he had made her into a charity case. On cold and dark nights, when sleep eluded her, she also hated herself for being so pathetic that she actually needed his charity.

The man was her only tangible connection to the rest of the world. As she sat in her glass and steel prison, Steve was the only one who was allowed and who dared to visit, as Natasha had alienated pretty much everyone else. She still ran logistics for the team but only because that was Tony's stipulation if she wanted to stay in his house.

Steve always brought food. This time it was a pepperoni pizza.

''Hi.'' He set the box down on the coffee table and leaned over to kiss the top of her head.

Natasha grumbled unintelligibly, reaching up and wiping her hair. ''You're here.''

But Steve had already wandered into the kitchen and she could hear dishes clinking. He re-emerged with a couple of glasses for drinks and a roll of paper towels under his arm.

''Did you hear back from Rhodes?'' the man asked, setting the table for their humble spread.

''No, not yet.'' Natasha repositioned herself to be able to reach the food from her spot on the couch.

Steve hummed. ''He should've called by now, it's been a week since they left for the space station. I hope everything going well with the repairs.''

She rolled her shoulders against the army of ants playing Mortal Combat down her back. The very idea of something happening with another one of her people-

''You OK?'' Steve had stopped, halfway through filling up one of the glasses with lemonade.

Channeling every person who had ever been 'not OK' when asked this question, Natasha shut down and retreated.

''I'm fine.''

But, of course, she wasn't. And she knew that Steve knew that too. But he didn't press and that was, perhaps, what she liked about the man the most.

Passing her the drink, Steve sat down, started shifting around and pulled the remote out from under himself.

''What do you want to watch?'' he asked, turning on the TV.

''I don't care,'' Natasha answered automatically, concentrating on not spilling her lemonade while also picking a slice of pizza.

''I heard that a Die Hard marathon is on tonight, again.'' Flipping through channels, he finally found the one that showed the movie. ''Oh, good, it just started.''

Dropping the remote on the table, he also picked a slice and leaned back, already fully engrossed in the cinematic marvel that was Die Hard.

Natasha watched him from the corner of her eye and, yet again, wondered. What was this? Really? She almost felt like her presence here was purely coincidental, optional even. He always did this, pretended that everything was normal when it clearly wasn't.

And, yes, Natasha was acutely aware of the hypocrisy of these thoughts. She was also aware that she couldn't help herself being a miserable, uncomfortable mess. So, why did he keep coming back? Why expose himself to someone like her for any period of time?

Maybe he- ... is a masochist! She crushed that weak, little voice with passion, because this was her fault. All of it. Someone like her didn't deserve hope.

Chapter Text

He carefully brushed a strand of stray hair away from her face, marveling at how unhappy she looked even while asleep.

Nat had inevitably fallen asleep during the third movie, slowly sliding down the couch, until her head rested against his shoulder. He wished there was a blanket he could pull over her, not because it was cold, but because she looked like she wanted to hide - brows furrowed, mouth pinched, shoulders hunched and knees pulled up to her chest.

It was that much more difficult to watch someone so seemingly strong be so destroyed by life. Hard on the outside, soft on the inside. Was that why he had been drawn to her almost from the very beginning? Someone like him, someone he looked at and saw his own worries, his own fears. Someone who met the world at its worst and pulled, and tore layer after layer of the ugliness away until something good and beautiful showed up. Ultimately, those tiny specs of goodness were why they did what they did.

The night after the Blip Natasha had held him while he wept until his heart was empty and light. And then she had walked away, returning to where the memories were the most alive and turned them all into ghosts. Steve wouldn't be surprised if at any moment Maria or Bucky would walk out from around the corner, summoned by the share stubbornness of Natasha not willing to let go. To some level she had followed suit and turned into a specter herself, too willful to perish and too stupid to move on.

Steve sighed carefully. What he wouldn't give to take her pain away.

A leg, an arm, his heart. But he knew of no one who traded the commodity of affection and Natasha herself wanted none of him.

He supposed it could be worse. They could be lonely and alone, and at least this way he could still be nearby to look over his friend.

Chapter Text

''Look, Tony, I cannot-'' Nat started, but was interrupted by the scientist.

''They need your help and I can't do it. We are out of the city and this needs to be dealt with immediately.''

She sighed, irritated and tired. ''I can't-''

''Yes, you can. I will tell you exactly what needs to be done and how, and you will do it, because we had a deal, Romanov,'' Tony said and his face on the screen rippled with signal interruption.

The way he said her name felt exactly like she imagined an ice pick through a temporal lobe would feel like.

''When are you coming back?''

''I'm not,'' the man answered, image glitching once more.

''What?'' That made Natasha sit up straight, a stack of papers falling to the ground as she lifted her feet off of the table. ''What do you mean you're not coming back?''

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. ''Look, this is not something I'm ready to discuss. Which is why I need your help, Natasha. I need someone I can trust to take care of the team. It would only be slightly more work than you do now. Carol needs someone to update her on what happens on Earth and Rhodes needs backup.''

''I'm not going out in the field, Tony.''

''And you don't have to. You would manage the phones, distribute troops, pay bills. Nothing you didn't do when you infiltrated the Stark Industries.''

Nat scoffed. ''You made me fight your driver as part of the interview.''

Tony snorted. ''Yeah, that was... that was... sorry, never mind. I know you can do it. Robson from the SHIELD has assured me that they will share information and lend support where and if possible. They are not in a good shape, you know. He asked about you.''

Natasha gritted her teeth, standing up and walking away in no particular direction. Robson had been calling and she had been ignoring it. She knew they needed help, but she couldn't-

''Natasha, one more thing. Robson also said that they have picked up some chatter from Asia and he thinks that's where Barton might be or might have been very recently.''

It was like she had walked into an invisible wall. Clint... Natasha had forbidden herself to think about him, because if she did, she would want to find him. And if she did, it could turn out that it was too late and he, too, was dead.

''Natasha?'' Tony called out. ''You still there?''

She walked over to the laptop, trepidation rising like stomach acid in her throat. But what if he wasn't dead? What if she could get him back?

It was hard to say what scared her more - the possibility that it wouldn't happen or that it actually could.

''Nat? Hello? I can see you standing there-''

''I'll do it. Send the rest of the info to my email,'' she said, leaning in and then disconnecting the call.

Sliding back into the chair, Natasha let her fingers rake through her messy hair until she could feel the back of her scull. Clint was out there and he was alive. Or had been very recently. The need to have him near was physical and heavy like one of those dreams where something alive is sitting on your chest. 

She needed him back. She had to save at least someone. 

*

Natasha stood at the holo table, examining the information that had been sent over by the SHIELD about Clint Barton. It was a lot and it was bloody. He had been hacking his way from South to East, leaving a trail of bodies larger than her whole carrier.

The world could barely cope with surviving from a day to day and now, on top of that chaos, famine and criminals running the streets with no policing force to speak of, Clint was taking his revenge. Natasha shuddered. He had been broken and was now breaking everything around himself. Had she been the same when Clint had found her?

Natasha packed a few bags and was on the quinjet an hour later, heading for Japan. She should've done it sooner and all this death was on her. Had she not been so self absorbed, all... maybe some of it could've been prevented. Perhaps, if she could find Clint, if she could save him, then maybe, just maybe there would be some redemption for her too.

*

She did find Clint just as he was stepping out of a tea house - or what was left of it - covered in blood and other, more chunkier, pieces of what she could only assume to be flesh.

''You shouldn't be here,'' the man growled, wiping his sword with a piece of fabric which he then threw away.

Natasha's eyes narrowed. ''Neither should you.''

He started to walk away, but she stepped in front of him.

''Natasha, you should get out of my way.''

''Or what?''

Their eyes locked and she was taken aback by the animal that stared back at her. This was not Clint Barton that she had known. This was a man who was not done punishing his demons yet.

She felt the heavy touch of sadness squeeze her, breath catching in her throat. ''Will you stop?''

That had been a curtsy she wouldn't afford to many. It was clear, he wouldn't. He was following his instincts and his instinct screamed at him to kill. 

Her hand shot out, stun-baton aiming for the man's neck, but he blocked it and jumped out of reach. Clint drew the sword once more, cold metal glinting in the yellow street light, and lunged at Natasha.

The fight was one of the most brutal she had been in since leaving the Red Room. Barton was not only brutal, he was determined to hurt her. Unlike when he had been brainwashed by Loki, this time he knew exactly what he was doing. It was heart breaking to see him so utterly grief-stricken that he would go after his friends, like a rabid beast snatching and snarling at everything.

Natasha ended up shooting him, with a tranquilizer, but still. Out of breath and starting to shiver as the adrenaline levels dropped, she stood over the unconscious body, waiting for it to move. The man's hand twitched and she shot him again. And once more, just to be sure. 

*

Natasha landed the jet in front of the house. Steve stood like a statue near the entrance and walked over when the ramp opened. She watched the man approach and started undoing the restraints holding Clint into place when he was inside the plane.

''You found him,'' Steve breathed out, stopping nearby.

''Yeah.'' 

The last strap sprung open and Clint's limp body folded sideways.

''Is he alive?'' Steve asked.

Natasha straightened and shot him an annoyed look. But, before she could say anything back, the man's hand was on her face, touching it gently. The pain, shooting from her jaw to the ear was anything but gentle, making her wince.

''You're hurt.'' He started inspecting in earnest, turning her head this way and that until Natasha swatted his hand away.

''I'm fine. And so is he. Or he will be when he wakes up. Help me move him to one of the cells.'' She busied herself with attending to Clint.

Steve's brows drew together. ''What happened, Natasha?''

She really didn't have time for this right now. ''Help me move him and we can do the twenty questions after, OK?''

They deposited Clint into an isolation cell in the basement. Natasha untied his hands and feet before leaving and locking the door.

Going upstairs, she convinced Steve to be a little bit more patient because right about now she could feel every single bruise on her body come to life. Shower and first aid, questions later. 

*

Somebody was knocking on the shower's wall and Natasha came to with a start. She hadn't fallen asleep, just lost the track of time.

''Nat? You OK in there?''

For fuck sake... ''I'm fine, Steve,'' she ground out.

To her surprise the man stepped around and came into full view.

''Erm... you do realize you're still fully dressed, right?'' His gaze slid down and so did hers.

What do you know, he was right. She was still in her combat suit, minus the weapons belt and boots. The water was running down her neck and she became acutely aware of wet clothes hugging her oversensitive skin.

She blinked, feeling sluggish and distant. 

''I always end up needing your help.'' The words weren't slurred, exactly, but it was difficult to speak.

Between her blinks Steve had moved closer, now standing just outside the splash radius. ''Do you need my help, Natasha?''

She looked down at herself again. ''It looks like I do.''

Stepping even closer, the man held her shoulders and gaze for a moment before turning her around.

''Open your jacket,'' he said, voice barely above the running water.

With a short sigh, Nat let go of something fundamental that had always been an obstacle in her life. She undid the zipper and allowed Steve to peel off the jacket. Then unbuttoned her pants and let the man peel those off too. He held up her lower leg while taking off the sock. Then the other one. Then the half gloves.

They stopped when Natasha was in her underwear and Steve was completely soaked. His hands roamed unobstructed, hovering above every injury site.

''Did Barton do this?''

Leaning against the wall with both palms, Natasha let the water wash down her back, wincing when the bra brushed against a sensitive spot. She wanted the pain to be gone, of course she did. But somehow it felt that if she got rid of the pain, Clint too would somehow be gone. And she wasn't going to give up on him. It was the least she owed him.

''Thank you, Steve,'' she said, looking over the shoulder at the only other person in her world right now. 

As much as she wanted for him to hold her and make her feel safe again, she needed to finish showering and deal with her best friend turning into a mass murderer.

Chapter Text

Steve watched the monitor in front of him, eyes following the very scarce movements and jumping from one person to the other as they spoke. This was, perhaps, the most uncomfortable situation he had become a part off, but Steve did his best to try and be as neutral as it was humanly possible. 

The people in the video were Natasha and Clint. It was an interrogation, no two ways about it, as Natasha sat on a chair in front of the containment room Clint occupied ever since being brought in. He hadn't said it out loud, but Steve was glad Natasha didn't attempt to be in the same room with the man. Unfortunately, this wasn't the first time in the last years when team mates and even close friends had become, for a lack of a better word, enemies.

''Do I need to ask why?'' Natasha spoke, tone candid but warm.

The man in the cell turned his head to look at her. ''If anyone knows the answer to that question, it's you.''

''I have a theory. I would like to know if we are on the same page.''

Steve remembered watching the security tapes from the Helicarrier when Nat had spoken to Loki and, as calculating as she had been that time, this moment was different. He knew, that more than anything, she wanted her friend to be innocent. Still, she was doing the due diligence as an Agent of SHIELD and as an Avenger, and he was hard pressed to not feel sorry for both of them.

The man scratched his forehead and sighed. ''Thanos fucked up. Those scumbags didn't deserve to live.''

''When Laura, Cooper, Lila and Nathaniel were killed.''

Steve knew... he knew she didn't say that to hurt Clint. But it did.

The man's calm facade crumbled as tears started rolling down his face. He let out a single howl, like an animal just before dying, punched the bed with his fist and sharply thrust the back of his head against the wall. And as horrible as it was to watch, he realized that what Natasha was looking for was humanity.

''Clint.''

She had moved to stand close to the glass wall, repeating his name over and over, never rising her voice. It took a while for Clint to calm down, but he eventually spoke again.

''I'm not sorry, Nat. I'm not. I know what I did and I am not sorry.'' 

He looked up at the woman, face twisted in a complicated cascade of anger, pain and desperation.

''I'm sorry, Nat...'' he said and continued sobbing as Natasha left the basement.

*

The woman walked past where he was sitting at the table and went for the mini bar in the corner. Steve followed her movements, consciously restraining himself from saying anything at all.

She poured herself a measure of whiskey and immediately drank it. Making another one, Nat turned and leaned against the bar.

''I have shot many men in my life,'' she declared.

Steve wasn't sure where this was going but he kept quiet and waited. The sharp, little pain shooting up the side of his neck indicated how tightly wound his shoulders were at the moment.

The woman had lifted the glass halfway up and was now looking at it as if she wasn't sure why she had done so.

''But I've never done it because I wanted to.''

Steve considered that. He certainly had to agree with the first statement. Her track record was a legend she wore like a protective shroud, even though the true extent of it was only known to a few, himself included. There was no denying that it had changed the way he saw this woman.

But he felt it was not his place to speculate on anyone's motivations.

''I think Barton was a victim of the circumstance, Natasha. Nobody really chooses to be good or bad, we just do the best that we can with the hand that we've been dealt.''

The woman scoffed at him. ''That is bullshit. You sure as hell can choose not to become a rampaging murderer,'' she said, emptied the glass and set it down with a thud.

''What am I supposed to do now? He can't sit in that cell forever.'' 

Steve stood from his chair. ''Look, we should at least tell Rhodes-''

''Absolutely not,'' Natasha cut him off. ''They will put him in jail.''

''As opposed to what you are doing now?''

She shot him an angry look and turned to pour another drink.

''Natasha, what are you going to do?'' It was an important question because he needed to know what he was supposed to do in this situation, apart from watching from the sidelines.

''I don't... fucking know,'' the woman said with a sigh.

Bringing the glass up, she drank the whiskey and put the tumbler back on the bar.

He wanted to help her, but this was her decision to make. He wanted to give her a hug and reassure that everything will eventually be OK, but he knew she wouldn't indulge in such a moment of weakness. So Steve changed the subject.

''How is that knife wound? Do you need help redressing it?'' He had turned back towards the table, to close the laptop.

Her irritated sigh didn't pass unnoticed.

''I'm fine,'' Natasha retorted in her usual, monotone way.

And something almost like pain or a sharp electric shock started buzzing at the base of Steve's skull. There were no other words in the English vocabulary that he despised more. Every fucking time she would say the same thing. And what would he do? Like an idiot, he would keep offering his help.

''If you need any supplies just let me know before I come next time.'' His jaw was, perhaps, a little clenched while saying that.

Steve packed up and left, saying he would be back in a couple of days, but Natasha didn't acknowledge him leaving in any way as she stood with another glass of alcohol, staring out of the window.

As he got to his motorcycle, he had to stop and compose himself. Natasha wasn't an easy person to be around these days. That is not to say that he missed the witty Russian assassin, who flirted professionally and could talk a wolf out of the forest. Steve knew that was a skill set rather than her actual personality.

But he was growing tired of not knowing how to get past all the walls she had built. It felt like every time they saw each other there was a new barrier between them and Steve feared that one day she would completely slip away and he would never be able to get her back.

Chapter Text

Against all rhyme and reason, he hadn't contacted anyone about Barton's whereabouts. And he knew - neither had Natasha.

This constituted a moral dilemma for Steve. As the team's leader, an Avenger, it was his duty to, at the very least, share the information he possessed with the authorities. The world was mad and any semblance of law and order brought people peace. So, it would stand to reason, that bringing a rogue agent who had gone on a killing spree to the justice would be, well, just.

However, as a friend... he knew how much it would hurt Natasha if he did. And somehow, even recognizing the puzzling situation, it had taken him less than a minute to decide to keep this whole thing a secret. To calm his conscience, Steve said that it would only be until a more opportune time would present itself.

And, due to even stranger line of thought, he had come to a conclusion that, to be sure that this situation didn't implode, he needed to be close to them both. To Natasha and Clint, of course.

Therefore, a couple of days later, Steve showed on the mansion's doorstep with a duffle bag in his hand and a roll of Bounty under the arm. 

Natasha looked him up and down once he had come to the second floor, eyes returning to the bag over and over. Steve dropped it on the table, keeping his hand on the handles.

''I'm moving in.''

The woman appraised him, face passive and pose seemingly relaxed. But just looking at her made the little hairs on Steve's neck stand up. For his own reasons he considered the fury she emanated to be a huge victory. At least she showed some emotion about the fact that he just pushed himself on her without even asking.

''The fuck you are,'' Natasha said steadily.

Decidedly ignoring the smell of wrath in the air, Steve plowed forth. ''I spoke with Pepper, well, actually, she called me, and we decided that it's for the best if I move in for a while.''

''You decided...'' Her eyes narrowed and she stalked forward stepping up to him. ''You know what...''

They stood there, Steve looking down and Natasha looking up, eye contact solid and heavy like a chain around the neck. He realized he was treating this like a wild animal encounter. No sudden movements, no aggressive vibes.

Natasha broke the staring contest with a snarl, mumbling something in Russian, and stalked out of the room leaving Steve finally able to exhale.

Well, that could've gone way worse.

*

Steve was watching the security cameras showing Nat speaking with Clint, but he couldn't hear anything. They were sitting near the glass wall, side by side and there was something very sad about the scene. They looked so young, both of them, barely halfway through their lives and yet there was so much gravity to their demeanors, it was hard not to think about the death that always surrounded them.

When Natasha finally returned, Steve immediately stood as she entered the room.

''What do you want for dinner?'' he asked. 

The woman stopped dead in her track, eyeing him. ''I don't feel like eating.''

Steve nodded at that. ''OK. What do you feel like then? Drinking? Taking a walk? Breaking something expensive of Tony's?''

At the last suggestion her eyebrow twitched just a tiny bit.

''Yeah, I would like to break something. You,'' she said, addressing him with a challenging thrust of a chin.

''No problem,'' Steve answered and worked hard to keep his face neutral. ''Should we go to the gym or are you in the mood to demolish the house?''

He was pretty sure Natasha called him an idiot as she moved to the door that lead out of the room and away to the gym.

*

They had trained together before and fought side by side. Many, many times. They had even fought on opposite sides for a short period. Therefore, before stepping on the mat, Steve had been pretty sure he was ready for whatever was going to happen. They would probably spar a little, throw some punches and then Nat would cop out like she did with everything else lately.

However, that was not the case this time. There was something a little deranged in the glint of her eyes as she went on the offensive relentlessly. She had always been a remarkably skilled fighter, inventive, like an artist, and today she was apparently discovering her inner Dali. Being honestly taken aback, Steve did his best to not get too badly maimed by the raging woman.

She was bound to run out of steam soon, he told himself while barely ducking in time to evade a roundhouse kick to the head. Or maybe she would keep going until her body just gave up, it was hard to tell at this point. 

''Nat...'' he tried to speak up, but quickly realized that might have been a mistake as she now doubled her efforts.

Steve could hear how heavily her heart was beating. The sound filled the huge room like a thunderstorm, snatching his attention away from the task at hand over and over. It thudded and, for those brief moments in between, he found himself anxiously waiting for the next one.

The fight did, finally, come to a stop and Steve felt exhausted. This was not what he had had in mind when they had entered the room, but it looked like it was exactly what Natasha had needed.

Still panting, even visibly shaking from overexertion, she walked over and pressed her forehead against his chest. He looked down at the crown of her head, mesmerized by how vivid the grown out red roots were. The contact had taken Steve by surprise, as he continued to stand completely still, not daring to do anything as rash as to hug her.

''I'm tired, Steve,'' she whispered and sighed heavily.

He watched her shoulders rise and fall, and said nothing. His mind raced, sifting through things that should be said, things that never should be heard, other things that most definitely needed to be considered more thoroughly before exposing other people to them.

''I'm tired. And I don't know what to do. I can't keep Clint locked up but I can't let him out. Not now, not in the state that he is in. I just... don't know what to do.''

Steve felt deep, guttural pang of sympathy for her. It was a terrible situation to be in on a good day, but now... after everything that had been happened this must have felt like the final betrayal. 

He knew her, had know her for a long time, and he knew how hard Natasha had taken the Blip. When first rumors about Barton had started to come into the SHIELD, Steve had not shared them with his friend because he was afraid of what she would do. Or what the news would do to her. 

For everything that Steve had lost, as one friend after another slipped through his fingers, he had always had her. Hard on the outside, soft on the inside. It wasn't empty pride or daring arrogance that made her so good at what she did. It was the fierceness with which she protected what was hers. What else could it be but love?

Steve finally hugged her, arms halting for just a moment before enveloping the trembling shoulders. She instantly softened and completely leaned into his touch.

''We're going to figure it out,'' he promised.

Natasha sniffled and turned her head to the side. ''Your heart is beating so...''

''Yes, it is.'' 

He hadn't waited for her to finish because not all the things that needed to be carefully thought about had been carefully thought about yet.

Chapter Text

By the smell coming from the kitchen Natasha could tell she was going to get pancakes for breakfast and it made her ridiculously happy.

She walked into the room that was filled with the sweet smell and smiled. Steve was busy over the stove, flipping pancakes and making coffee.

''What's the occasion?'' Natasha asked while picking up a steaming cup.

The man's face lit up with an easy smile. ''No occasion. Just felt like making something other than toast.''

The conversation was light and she caught herself a couple of times just staring at Steve while he concentrated on cooking. He was so... wholesome and she couldn't understand how one person could light up the room with so little effort. It also made her feel a little ashamed. Here she was, in the middle of a full-blown mental breakdown, and her negativity was nothing in comparison to his light.

They were in the middle of their breakfast when frantic banging started at the front door. Natasha went over to the holo table and brought up the security feed. She could see the top of a head with wild, short hair and then he looked up.

Natasha gasped. He was supposed to have perished during the Blip. Only now she realized that Steve was standing right next to her, watching the screen. They looked at each other, clearly surprised and confused, before the man at the door started to shout at the camera.

*

This... changed everything.

She understood about half of what Scott was explaining and that was probably because he himself didn't seem to understand the whole of it. The gist of it was... the gist of it was that there might be a way of fixing the last few years.

''We will need Bruce,'' Natasha finally said after a long pause between the three of them.

Steve caught her eye. ''And Tony.'' He sounded strained.

''OK, yes, let's go and talk to them!'' Scott had already stood up.

''I will take Scott and we will try to talk to Tony,'' she said while still not letting go of Steve's gaze. ''You find Bruce.''

They split and left before the newly found hope, that had started to worm its way into their hearts, morphed into fear and doubt about the task at hand.

*

Bruce had agreed readily, but instead of going to the mansion with Steve, he had left for the cabin to present the opportunity to Tony himself. 

While Scott and Bruce talked to a very reluctant Tony, she caught up with Pepper and Morgan. Natasha adored the little girl and didn't miss any chance to tell her how much smarter she was than her daddy.

''Here.'' Pepper passed her a cup of coffee and then poured herself one. ''How are you doing, Natasha?''

She sipped the hot beverage carefully but still burned her tongue a little. ''I'm fine.''

''You know, that is exactly what Tony used to say after Siberia.''

Natasha glanced at the statuesque woman sitting in the arm chair on the opposite side of her and bit the inside of her cheek because that was not a random comment. Pepper rarely said anything by accident while, at the same time, never talking in straight lines. She would've made one hell of a politician.

''You guys look like you're doing well.'' It was a clear change of subject and Natasha knew Pepper would know that too.

''Oh, yes!'' The woman laughed lightly. ''Ever since moving out here it's been amazing. Morgan loves nature. Tony has discovered a passion for fishing. I know, I know,'' Pepper said, waving her hand. ''He might not be very good at it, but it's a hobby.''

''It's something to do, I suppose.''

Pepper nodded. ''Speaking of which, what do you do these days?''

''You know what I do. I look after the house, run things for the team-''

The blonde interrupted her. ''No, no, that's not what I meant. I'm talking about fun stuff. You remember fun, right, Natasha?''

She rolled her eyes and heard Morgan, who sat next to her mother, giggle loudly. Natasha looked over to the little girl who immediately proceeded to roll her eyes dramatically and then glanced at her mother while snickering. Ah, the innocence of youth.

It made her smile. ''I know what you mean, Pep, and I appreciate your concern. As I said, I'm fine. And I do things for fun too.''

''Like what?''

She just wouldn't give up, would she? ''I read, I train-''

''Again, not exactly fun things,'' Pepper interrupted her once more, sounding clearly admonishing.

Natasha all but lifted her arms in surrender. ''I feel like there is a specific answer you want me to give and it irks me that I don't know what it is.''

''Oh, sure you do,'' Tony's wife said coolly, took a sip and proceeded to smile brightly. ''How's Steve? I heard he moved in.''

She held the woman's gaze for a long time and after a while there was no doubt in her mind that she knew that Pepper thought she knew something. It was anyone's guess what exactly she knew or suspected, but the mere fact was frustrating. Because Natasha herself didn't know what she thought Pepper knew. No part of her was allowed to even think about the elephant in the room - Steve.

It was... complicated. ''He certainly did. Thankfully the house is huge, so we don't see much of each other if we don't have to.''

Now Pepper all but glared at her. It was only for a moment, but still made her uncomfortable. She didn't want to talk about what Pepper was clearly hinting at. No. Noup. Na-ah.

''Do you want to know what Scott is telling Tony? I can give you the layman's version.''

Breaking out of her stillness, the blonde put down the cup and half embraced her daughter with one hand while patting her head with the other. 

''I'm sure it's important, otherwise you wouldn't be here. And it probably has something to do with the Avengers, otherwise, you three wouldn't be together. I am a bit surprised to see Scott, though, I thought he was gone.''

Natasha watched that hand slide over the girl's dark hair and was overwhelmed by the feeling of content Pepper radiated. Content and happy. Nothing even remotely close to how her's and Tony's relationship had been before the Blip. And now they had come to lure him away again. 

''We were too. And the reason for why he is back is the reason we needed to talk to Tony,'' Natasha explained.

Pepper looked up at her. ''You want his help with something, don't you?''

''Yes.'' 

They didn't talk for a long time. Natasha drank her coffee, Pepper played with Morgan and then Bruce showed up in the door to tell them it was time to leave. He looked a bit down, so she guessed that the conversation with Tony hadn't gone smoothly.

*

The guys were skeptical when Natasha had said that Tony will eventually change his mind. It was a shame she hadn't made a bet, because when the scientists walked into the mansion, already rolling up his sleeves and ordering everyone around, she could've made some good money.

And once they sat down and put their heads together it wasn't long until a plan was born. A massively idiotic one, even by their standards, but a plan nonetheless. They called in Rhodes, Thor was already emptying the fridge, Rocket and Nebula were on their way, but they were still one man short.

''No, Carol is never around and god only knows how long it would take for her to get here,'' Natasha said and the group groaned.

''Who else do we have left?'' Tony was impatient, pacing the room.

Everyone looked at each other and they were all running out of ideas.

Then Steve suddenly stood up. ''I might have an idea,'' he said and left the room immediately.

Tony looked after him, waving his arms in a questioning manner after the man. 

He turned to Natasha. ''What idea? Where is he going?''

She sighed in exasperation. ''I don't know.''

As if trying to rub off the lunacy of the past few days, she brushed her face furiously with both hands. Time travel. Fucking time travel. At this point Steve's whereabouts were the least of her concerns.

Chapter Text

Steve had needed to think how he was going to approach this but the walk downstairs was all the time he had. 

Barton had been sitting in the cell for a week and a half. Whatever therapeutic effect Natasha hoped the four walls were going to provide, he doubted it had had time to happen.

He hesitated before opening the basement door, hand heavily leaning on the handle. Natasha was not going to like this and it was generally a risky idea. Which meant, even if he succeeded in convincing Clint to join the mission, he would still have to deal with an upset Natasha. Which, at this time in their lives could mean anything from not speaking to him ever again to sticking a knife in him. As options went, this really was a lose-lose situation for him.

But the mission was too important to not at least try. There was a chance-

He opened the door and stepped into the holding cell unit, closing and locking up behind.

Clint was already at the glass wall and his face visibly hardened when he realized who had come to see him.

''Steve.'' The man crossed his arms, bracing.

Steve walked to where the solitary metal chair rested against the wall. He grabbed the back of it and dragged it closer to the glass.

''Clint,'' he acknowledged the greeting and sat down.

Barton kept standing and looking at him with suspicion. ''Where's Natasha?''

''She's upstairs, I think. There has been...'' He stopped and took a deep breath. No going back now. ''Some things have happened in the last few days...''

Steve proceeded to explain Scott's return and their subsequent plan to retrieve the Infinity Stones from different timelines so that they wouldn't fall into Thanos's hands in the first place. He laid out the plan, detailing the mission and, by the time Steve was finished speaking, Clint was almost pressed against the see-through wall, eyes wild.

''Are you certain that it will work?'' the man asked.

Steve chuckled ruefully. ''Certain? No. It's an outlandish idea. Time travel! But Rhodes has already done a test jump and it worked.''

''And it would bring them back? Bring everyone back?'' Clint's voice dropped slightly.

''That is the idea.'' He knew exactly who Barton was concerned about and pressing on that sentiment was his despicable plan. ''But we are one man short. Natasha needs a partner for her jump.''

''I will go,'' the man said without a pause. ''I need to go.''

Steve watched him, not missing the pulse hammering on the sides of his neck or the sweat forming on his temples. He knew Clint would say yes. He would never miss the chance to save his family. 

''And I want you to come along. That is why I'm here. But we have a problem.'' Steve sighed. ''You're a fugitive, a criminal and, frankly, I am not entirely convinced of how safe you are to be around.''

Barton frowned. ''I would never hurt Natasha.''

''Not intentionally. But if it was between saving her or saving your family...''

Unfortunately, they both knew the answer to that.

''The problem is that I can't put you with anyone else either,'' Steve continued. ''So, what I am forced to do is issue a threat.''

''Captain America? Threatening me with violence?'' The man laughed.

Steve gestured with his hands. ''Desperate times. I'm terrible at verbal insults,'' he said and smiled at his old team mate.

The silence stretched out, because Steve looked for the right words and Clint was becoming a little agitated, tapping the glass with his finger.

''Get on with it! Either say what you want to say or let me out, so we can get to it already!''

Steve stood up, pushing the chair back and walked over to the control panel. Pressing the right code, he watched as the glass wall slid into its groove revealing a free passage for Barton.

The man stepped forward gingerly, crossed the threshold and stopped to look at Steve.

''I'm trusting you, Clint, to have Natasha's back out there, the same way I'm trusting her to have yours. Only if we work together do we stand a chance to fix the world.''

Barton smirked. ''That's not much of a threat, Steve.''

He chuckled and nodded. ''Shall we?''

Clint started forward and just as he was side by side with Steve, he put a hand on the man's shoulder and looked down at him.

''Just so we are clear, if Natasha comes to any harm during your mission, I will drop you in the middle of the komodo dragon's reservoir with fresh paper cuts.''

The man stared back at him, mulling over the words. ''That's... very inventive. Seems like you've been spending a little too much time with Natasha.''

Steve smiled and clapped his shoulder a couple of times. ''I'm not a violent man, Clint. You know that. But I will protect what's mine, do you understand?''

The man nodded shortly and after that they finally exited the room and headed upstairs.

*

It was a good thing that time was of the essence for them to start the mission, because the moment Steve and Clint stepped into the large room, the atmosphere went from excited trepidation to ice cold foreboding. Everyone present - bar Scott due to his previous absence and the aliens due to their lack of interest - were more or less aware of what Barton had been up to for the last couple of years.

Tony and Rhodes stared daggers at Natasha. Natasha was burning holes in Steve's face. Barton was concentrating on the tips of his shoes while Bruce paid attention to the control panel in front of him.

''OK, guys, are we-'' The green man fell silent once he looked up and only now noticed the awkward stand off. ''Oh, hi Clint!''

Barton looked up and smiled at Bruce. ''Hi there, big guy.''

Meanwhile Natasha had stalked up to them. ''What the hell, Steve? We talked about-''

Steve put a hand up to stop her. ''Natasha, this is not the time to argue about this. We needed another person and I found the best guy I could on a short notice.''

''And the so called best guy is a mass murderer? Really, Cap, your standards have lowered dramatically. Then again, you did think that having the Winter Soldier for a-''

''Tony,'' Rhodes said with clear warning in his voice, having caught up with the brewing argument. ''As upsetting as it is to see that we have been kept out of the loop regarding Barton's situation, I trust Romanov and Rogers had good reasons for doing so.''

Steve and Natasha looked at each other, but didn't say anything.

Tony sighed. ''Fine, we will deal with this later. These days time travel trumps catching a fugitive, I suppose.''

He and Colonel walked away towards the raised platform in the middle of the room. Bruce came over and collected Clint to usher him away to the changing area for suit fitting.

They both watched the two men walk away before Natasha turned her attention back to Steve.

''I swear to God, Steve, I will-''

He placed both his hands on her upper arms and squeezed gently. ''Nat, you can yell at me all you want once we get back, OK? Just know that I did this for you.''

The woman glared back at him, eyes glinting and lips pressed into a thin line. 

''Oh, we will talk about this, I promise,'' she said and stalked away to where Tony and Rhodes were.

Steve sighed, rubbing the side of his face. It was a good thing he didn't have a habit of questioning his decision, because that would be another way of wasting precious time. Instead, he waited until Clint was dressed in the travel suit and both him and Bruce were ready to join everyone else on the platform.

While following Bruce's instruction on preparation for the journey, Steve didn't let go of Natasha's gaze. He wanted to say he was sorry. He wanted to hold her hand. He wanted to promise her one more time that everything was going to be alright before the currents of time swept them away.

Chapter Text

The dark, billowing figure stepped aside, letting the steep drop off to be in plain view.

Natasha had a very bad feeling that the soul-for-soul business meant exactly what it implied - somebody had to die for the Soul Stone to be revealed.

''It's a trap, isn't it?'' Clint said, thoughtfully looking down where the round platform could be barely seen underneath.

Natasha nodded. It wanted a sacrifice, a sacrifice that was loved. She looked at Clint who was still staring into the abyss.

Certain of the truth, she mused if this was one of those time traveling circumstances where something like this had to happen because it had already happened and would always happen. Bruce had said that their operation could work and that they would have a chance to undo what Thanos had done, therefore she just needed to follow the rules of the game. 

And the rules of the game called for a life to be given to get the Soul Stone. The conviction came to her with the lightness of pure epiphany. The pain, the sorrow, the anger... they were all the things she wished to purge from herself and she was more than willing to sacrifice them for the chance of redemption. What was her life in comparison to that of the universe?

Stepping back, Natasha undid her weapon's belt and laid it on a flat stone near the arc of the portal. She took out every weapon that was concealed on her person and, those too, were neatly laid out on the stone.

She started walking towards the ledge, steps light and sure, contrary to how she felt inside where survival instinct was growing stronger and stronger. She mourned to not have had a chance to tell Steve how much he meant to her. She regretted not having helped Clint sooner. There was also some old milk in the fridge-

''What are you doing?'' 

A hand on her arm stopped Natasha just on the side of the cliff. Clint was holding onto her and looked surprised and a tad angry.

''You heard the rules. I'm speeding this thing along so you can go back with the Soul Stone and get your family back.''

The man looked at her, not saying anything, but his face slowly morphed from surprised to determined and then blank.

''I see.'' He didn't let go of her arm and, instead, used the grip to push her further away from the cliff. ''Natasha...'' he started but stopped as if searching for the right words.

''Nat, I'm not the same person who was a husband and a father. I'm not the same person who saved you all those years ago. You know what I have done and I hope you realize that, no matter how this time travel experiment goes, there is no going back for me.''

He pulled her into a tight hug and kept whispering. ''I'm sorry for having caused you heartache, Nat, so allow me to do this one tiny thing for you.''

Clint leaned back. ''Please, tell my family I love them.''

He kissed her on the cheek and then pushed her back so hard she fell to the ground. By the time Natasha regained composure and managed to get back on her feet, she saw the back of her friend's head disappear over the side of the ledge.

She rushed to the edge, leaning over it and screamed after the falling man until there was a muffled thud at the bottom. Natasha fell silent abruptly, staring down to where his mangled body would come into the view as the wind cleared the tendrils of the mist. She watched him like a hawk, waiting, praying for a movement but none came.

That idiot had gone and killed himself. She cried and cried but all the tears were plucked away by the wicked gusts. Then the cloaked figure put his hand in front of her face with a tiny, yellow stone glowing in the middle of it. 

''The Soul Stone is yours, daughter of Ivan.''

Natasha took the stone and barely registered the vibrating little treasure warm up her palm. She gathered her things and stumbled down the hill, barely able to see where she was going.

*

Natasha appeared on the platform and blinked owlishly at the brightness of the lights in the room. She was back. 

She looked to her left, where Clint had been on their outbound journey and willed the empty space to take the form of her friend but, alas, it didn't happen. Because Clint was dead. No, not only dead, he had killed himself.

A sob escaped her and Natasha started to walk off the platform until Bruce intercepted her. She didn't hear anything he was saying, just pushed the Soul Stone into his hands and walked off, not seeing anything around herself but the narrow path in front, framed by the tunnel vision.

She ended up at the far side of the hallway on the floor where her apartment was, but instead of going in, she walked past the door and stopped at the end by the floor-to-ceiling window looking out over the courtyard.

Everything was green and blue, and bright. So full of life and indifferent to the human reality unfolding inside the mansion. Perhaps she had grown accustomed to a certain level of emotional pain because at this specific moment Natasha felt only a little bit of sadness. A manageable amount of sorrow and grief.

Maybe she wasn't capable of feeling anything more than this any longer and, to be honest, she was glad of that. Instead of being unable to comprehend what had happened, Natasha could rationalize what Clint had done and, more so, she completely understood why he had chosen to do it. 

Even if they succeeded, even if everything went according to the plan and they were able to return everyone who had disappeared, Clint had no home to return to. Had she been in his place, Natasha would've done the same thing. She almost did it anyway. Not knowing that there was hope, Clint had sacrificed his humanity for the sake of vengeance, forever eradicating any possibility of being who he had been.

The feeling of a kindred spirit was like a pang of a penny dropping in a silent room. They had both become unrecognizable shadows of themselves, distorted by grief and pain.

She looked at her own reflection, really looked for the first time in a very, very long while, and saw somebody who merely resembled Natasha Romanov. Had Clint felt the same, watching himself in the glass wall of the prison cell she had kept him in? She had forced the man to confront his reality and, therefore, was complicit in his decision to sacrifice himself.

As much as Natasha had wanted to blame Steve for involving Clint in the mission, she knew that none of the guilt she currently felt had been Steve's fault. He had done what had needed to be done. And so had Clint, in a way.

As the last moments of her friends life flashed before her eyes, Natasha saw a reflection of a figure approaching from the stairwell. It was Steve. The surge of joy seeing that he had returned was overwhelming.

Natasha turned around and walked towards the man to meet him in he middle of the hallway. She hugged him without hesitation, inhaling the mix of sweat, the new fabric of the suit, soap and aftershave. He smelled nothing like the sulfurous darkness and heat of Vormir.

''Hi there,'' the man hugged her back, one hand patting the back of her head.

The gesture, that usually irritated Natasha, now felt like something she had missed for years.

''Bruce said you came back alone.''

She squeezed her eyes shut and wanted to bury her face even deeper in the hollow of his neck, but forced herself to lean back enough to be able to see the man's face.

''The stone was a trick. Somebody had to die to get it and Clint sacrificed himself.'' She followed the small twitches in the man's face as he processed the news, how his eyebrows drew together and arched up, and the corners of his mouth drew down.

''I'm sorry, Natasha,'' he whispered and his hands tightened, drawing her back in against his chest.

Natasha didn't resist, pressing her ear close to his heart and listening to the steady beat. She had lost the first person who ever gave a damn about her as a human being, a friend who had saved her life over and over. He had left a hole in her heart, but he had also secured an opportunity for her to fix the world.

''We succeeded. All the stones are here. But Nebula also didn't come back,'' Steve said after a while.

Natasha opened her eyes, watching the gray wall. ''Is Rhodes OK?''

''Yes, he is fine.''

They continued to stand in the hall for a while longer until Natasha leaned back once more, gently caressing the side of his face with her fingers.

''I owe you a telling off for bringing Clint into this.''

His gaze was so very, very soft. ''I'm sorry, Natasha.''

For a second she considered digging her thumb into the man's eye socket, because a part of her felt that someone had to be punished for Clint's death. With effort, Natasha retreated her hand and drew it into a fist. Steve didn't deserve any punishment. 

''If nobody needs me, I will turn in,'' she said and stepped back.

''Bruce and Tony are all over the Infinity Stones. I think they are calling in Peter to help.''

Natasha looked him up and down, noticing the dirt, the few rips here and there, the look of someone who was lost. She took his hand and without a word walked over to her room and lead him inside.

They stripped, helping each other to get out of the tight suits. Natasha cleaned the bruises on his body with a wet towel. Steve re-braided her hair and they went to bed.

Natasha curled up against Steve's chest, face hidden in his shoulder while he gathered her in his arms as best as he could. She eventually fell into a deep sleep and dreamed of red rivers, white flower fields and blue skies.

Chapter Text

Tony and Bruce were fiddling with the glove they had just finished designing to hold the Infinity Stones. Everyone else in the room performed their own little idiosyncrasies to deal with the anxiety.

Scott was eating peanuts by the handful, his foot tapping a horrid rhythm. Steve was pacing up and down the room, trying to stay out of the way but still keeping an eye on the three men in the middle. Rocket kept butting into the only conversation going on between the scientists, providing eloquent social commentary of no actual value. Rhodes sat quietly in the corner, seemingly at ease with the situation. Thor, just like Steve, paced impatiently, twirling his hammer from one hand to the other.

Natasha stood leaning against the door frame, watching the scene. This was phase two of their mission and could easely fuck everything up even more than it already was. There was no guarantee that the glove would work. Tony was sure they had recreated it perfectly, but Natasha had a bad feeling that was eating at her.

They had had one win - retrieving the stones. The chances of another success right away were low, in her opinion. But they had to try.

''OK, we're ready,'' Tony announced, picking up the glove and handing it to Bruce.

The large scientist took in between two fingers and addressed it for a moment before laying it out on his outstretched right hand. The glove started moving and morphing to adjust to the size of his palm, mechanisms twirled and whirred rapidly until it had completely covered the man's arm.

''One snap, Banner. One snap,'' Tony said and took a few steps back away from his colleague.

Bruce nodded. ''One snap.''

The room went completely still. Some people had drawn in their breaths, others had stopped breathing all together. Everyone had moved into a circle around Bruce and as one stared at the glove glinting on Banner's lifted hand.

And there came the snap.

One beat, two, three... Natasha was rushing forward because Bruce had fallen to the ground, howling in pain as the glove on his hand smoked and threw off electrical fireworks. With the help of others they finally got the thing off of his hand which was badly damaged.

Somebody had brought the first aid kit and there was an organised chaos in the room when from he corner of her eye Natasha noticed something shiny outside the big window overlooking the front lawn. She turned her head to look properly and had no time to yell for everyone to duck before a missile hit the building and everything exploded.

*

Natasha came to and instantly felt pain almost everywhere. She coughed and rolled to her side and came into direct contact with a concrete wall. She fumbled around to the back of her belt and retrieved a flashlight. 

Quick glance around revealed that she was in a tunnel which had been cut off at the spot where she had been laying and extended in one direction. There was some rubble on the floor but otherwise the tunnel in the distance looked  intact. Standing up, Natasha assessed her situation and, to her surprise, found she was not that badly injured. Probably just generic cuts and bruises from the fall.

She started walking when her light caught a reflection of something inside a pile of rocks. Leaning in closer, Natasha saw that it was the gauntlet. There was not a scratch on it and when she picked it up the whole thing hummed with low energy. Putting it under her arm, she resumed her walk down the tunnel as quickly as the demolished building allowed it.

*

Natasha could hear the battle long before she was anywhere near the exit, but every other way out was completely inaccessible, forcing her to go all the way to the end of the tunnel which finally let her out nearby the cliff.

Or what used to be a cliff. Now it was a crater and there was a fight of epic proportions raging on below. Just from where she stood, Natasha could see Thor in the air and Wanda flying right next to him.

She did a double take, looking back at the redhead. Then she noticed the rest of them on the ground.

The creek on the far right was full of warrior from Wakanda. And there were hundreds of magical portal all around the side where their mansion used to be.

It had worked. It had bloody well worked! Natasha couldn't stop the surprised chuckle escaping her lips even if she had wanted to. We did it!

In the middle of the battle field the Mad Titan stood tall over his adversaries with his legions looming behind him like nightmares.

He looked up and right at her, making Natasha's smile drop instantly and her skin crawl. There was a finality in the way he waved his huge weapon in the air, pointing it in her direction and she absolutely felt the sickening feeling of terror as a massive pack of creatures broke off from their spot and started running her way.

''Come in! Can anyone hear me?'' she shouted while tapping at her comms, but there wasn't even the sound of static. 

So, she clutched the glove tighter and desperately looked around for anyone who would know what to do with it. Her gaze soon landed on none other than Stephen Strange.

To be fair, Natasha was under no illusion she could outrun the four legged beasts, but she hoped to get at least close enough to one of their allies before they caught up. While holding the gauntlet, she used her other hand to shoot her way through some of the ugly bastards in her way.

It went considerably well until the beasts caught up and cut her off, forcing Natasha to change her trajectory more towards the middle of the field. One tried to bite her head off but she shot him in the mouth. With the next one she wasn't so lucky, because their skin was tougher than their insides. Natasha adjusted her strategy and took out several more by shooting them through eyes, ears and throats.

But it had taken her too far off the target and she now found herself right next to Steve and Barnes. 

''Natasha! The van!'' Steve shouted as he and Barnes went to hold back Thanos who had started moving their way.

She looked in the direction he had pointed and saw a back end of an old van sticking out from rubble. It was very far away and there was a sea of enemies in her way. Natasha thought she saw Scott on top of the van, waving his arms. Readjusting her grip, she turned towards her new target and started to run.

But, before Natasha could pick up speed, she was caught up by rising rubble underneath her feet. It swirled all around, encompassing her legs and moving towards the Titan. A grin split his stern face as he jumped and reached for the glove she was holding in a death grip.

The Titan's fingers brushed against her arm but then he was gone in a blink of an eye, followed by a bright light and an explosion some way away where he, presumably, had landed. Only now Natasha noticed the big mechanical flying machines falling down to earth. They were mangled and burning.

But, as good as it was that something had taken out Thanos, she had a more pressing matter - the tornado of stones around her didn't let up, instead surging higher up and twisting towards one of the Black Order members. As hard as she tried, Natasha just couldn't fight back against the current of stones and with a sinking feeling she realized that she would soon loose the glove.

Over my dead body... teeth gritted, body still straining against the magical pull, Natasha did the only thing she thought gave her any chance of getting out of her current situation. She could already make out the glee on the tall man's face when she slid her right arm into the glove and held her breath.

For a terrifying second nothing happened and she started to panic, but then the gauntlet morphed, shrinking and molding to her hand. It felt like her fingers were touching something living. There was life flowing from the stones, wicked, daring, all consuming essence of...

... ecstasy. She looked down at her covered hand, moving her fingers experimentally. They were touching nothing, but to Natasha it felt like she was scratching a belly of an invisible beast, partly made out of infinite space, partly of her own self.

''That is not for filthy mortals like you.'' 

Natasha looked up, surprised by the voice that carried over the battle. It was the man from the Black Order. His hand was extended towards her arm, long fingers already wrapping around her wrist as he snarled in her face.

Without thinking, she produced a long knife in her free arm and proceeded to aim for the man's neck, but the tip of it stopped few inches away from the skin and he frowned at her. This time it was his free hand that drew back and slapped her across the face like she was an unruly child.

She could taste blood on the inside of her mouth and for a while all Natasha could hear was loud ringing and her own blood rushing in her ears. And she remembered all those times in the Red Room when she had been treated the same. Every man that had ever laid a hand on her, for business or otherwise. Every wretched night she had spent crying or screaming, or wishing to be able to do anything to stop the feeling of helplessness and inadequacy.

There was so much anger in her and she had spent a long time holding it in.

It just happened.

Her arm, the one with the glove on it, twisted and grabbed the lanky man's arm in return, pulling him in close. One glance in those black, empty eyes and she smiled. There was nothing in his head but fear and fear made for weak magic.

The second attempt at stabbing him was successful, as her knife went through his chin and up into his head, piercing the brain. He wore an expression of surprise and disbelief, tried to grab onto her more firmly, but as his body moved, the blade twisted and the presence in his eyes dimmed.

I've killed many men in my life...

Chapter Text

Steve hit the ground hard and yet again was reminded that being a super soldier didn't mean that there was no pain. His shoulder burned because his arm was bent behind his back and when he tried to dislodge it he realized it was stuck in the shield's holder which, in turn, was buried under a pile of rubble.

Only because of this mishap did he witness a scene happening nearby where Natasha almost decapitated one of Thanos's minions. When the man was dead, the pile of rocks that had been holding up her body dispersed and she landed on the ground with a backdrop of rain of stones.

To his horror Steve noticed that the glove was not under her arm anymore but rather on it. The dread that shot through him carried enough adrenaline that it made him jump up, dislodging the stuck half-shield from the rocks and brought it in front of his body just in time to deflect an incoming projectile.

Just as he was about to run to Natasha, he was dragged back into a hand to hand combat with Thanos who now had Captain Marvel hanging off of his back. He jumped and aimed the sharp edge of his shield for the man's face but, the half broken double-ended sword the Titan carried, came flying at Steve from the side, catching him square in the ribs. The blow sent him flying sideways and he landed right in front of Natasha's feet.

Without so much as a look, the woman jumped over his still sliding body and picked up speed, trying to run around the Mad Titan. She was clearly going towards the van, but Thanos soon noticed the gauntlet within his reach. He stepped in and grabbed for it but, like magic, Natasha was not where she had been a second ago. 

Steve blinked. She wasn't there. He blinked again. And then she was. The woman came up from below and slightly behind the purple giant, jumping to her feet and continuing to run, but Thanos was quicker this time.

The man reached back and grabbed her left arm, therefore stopping her momentum, but she came back flying around with a knife in her hand. Steve was scrambling to his feet and missed the moment during which Natasha had succeeded in her counter-attack and had plunged the blade deep into The Titan's neck.

Thanos roared. He clawed violently at the knife until it was pulled out and then proceeded to catch Natasha by the front of her uniform, flipping her over his shoulder and smashing her into the ground. 

As Steve was sprinting back towards the fight, he saw Natasha trying to get up, even as the man kept attacking her.

''Natasha!'' he screamed.

Steve ran as fast as he could, got barreled into by a mechanical beast and thrown aside, got back up and kept running. When the view in front cleared, he saw that Thanos had Natasha lifted in front of him, one hand on her neck, the other one drawn back.

She was not moving but the gauntlet on her arm was shining brightly.

Thanos reached for it and ripped the glove off her arm, watching it for a second as the shine in it went out.

At that moment Thor came down from above and severed The Titan's arm at the elbow. Captain Marvel picked that second of confusion and barreled into Thanos again, lifting him up and dragging him away across the battle field.

Steve rushed to Natasha's side and found her unconscious. She didn't respond to him calling or shaking her. 

*

He could swear it was only a few moments later that the noise of the battle abruptly stopped and the field was obscured by a mist.

Steve looked up from his kneeling position over Natasha and saw every enemy in close vicinity disintegrating. He immediately searched for Thanos and found him sitting on a stone across the clearing and he, too, was slowly fading. 

Somebody was yelling for Tony. Steve whipped around and saw the man crumpled on the ground, his blackened arm still sticking in the air. Pepper was next to him, cradling his limp body.

He looked back down at Natasha and, whatever triumph there might have been felt over the victory, paled in the face of the fact that she was dead. He had tried to revive her but had been unsuccessful. There wasn't much else he could do, so he sat down and drew her body into his lap, hugging her close.

What in the world had possessed her to put that thing on? He just couldn't understand why she would do that.

Steve picked a strand of blood soaked hair and tucked it behind her ear. He leaned over to press a gentle and tear-stained kiss to her forehead.

''I'm sorry, Natasha,'' he mumbled against her skin. 

She suddenly coughed and it almost gave Steve a heart attack.

''Nat? Nat?! Can you hear me?'' He held her head, watching as her eyelids fluttered and slowly opened.

''Yeah.''

It was weak but she was alive! Steve let out a startled laugh and drew her in for a tight hug, only letting go when there was angry mumbling coming from the woman.

''Steve, you're suffocating me,'' she grunted and tried to sit up by her self, but her arms kept giving out and she kept falling back against him.

''I'm sorry! I'm just happy you're alive.'' He tugged Natasha to help her sit up.

''Alive?'' the woman asked, looking dazed. ''Was I dead?''

Steve laughed. ''Yeah, for a bit there. But you're OK now. I got you,'' he said and once more hugged her tightly.

Natasha sighed. ''It looks like it's over. Is it over?''

''Yes, yes it's over. We won.''

They sat like that until Natasha started to struggle, trying to turn.

''What's going on there?'' she asked, pointing at the crowd a little ways away.

Steve looked at the group and all the joy he was feeling turned to cold shivers. ''Tony.''

Natasha looked up at him. ''Is he dead?''

He just nodded.

''We didn't win.'' She started to try and get up again, but kept falling down. ''Help me. I need to get to Tony.''

He didn't understand the urgency but obliged anyway, standing and drawing her up with him. He had to practically carry her over because her legs didn't work, but she kept urging him on. 

As they approached, Steve stopped at the edge of the crowd. They had formed a half circle around where Tony's body lay on the ground. It looked like everyone was taking turns saying goodbye. Peter went. So did Rhodes. And finally Pepper, at which point Natasha elbowed him in the side and nodded towards the body on the ground.

They walked through the silent crowd and Steve helped Natasha slide down next to Tony's body. He put a hand on the man's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. It was one war after another. Loosing one friend after another. And Steve already knew that the guilt he felt over not having helped Tony sooner would eat at him for the rest of his life.

He watched as Natasha repeated his own movements, her hand small and pale against the charred armor.

''Thank you,'' she said quietly.

Chapter Text

The first thing he felt was heat on his face. Groggily blinking, Steve opened his eyes and was instantly blinded by a stray ray of sunlight coming from a slit in the curtains.

Rubbing his eyes, Steve propped himself up against the headboard and let out a jaw splitting yawn. His gaze inadvertently fell onto the empty side of the bed. It was still perfectly made and sadly untouched.

Steve's fingers brushed over the gray pillow and it felt like he could almost feel the softness of her skin under his fingers. He had asked her to spend the night, she had said no and that was that.

All the fighting, the death of a good man, the return of a childhood friend were merely the latest distractions in his almost a decade long quest to understand this woman. One day Natasha would try to rip his head off and next night she would sneak into his bed for a nap.

With a groan, he wiped away the last remnants of sleep, and got out of bed. A quick shower and Steve was ready to go see Natasha. She had been in the med-bay since two days ago due to the injuries sustained during the battle.

But, as soon as he opened the door, he found the woman standing in the hallway with her hand raised ready to knock. 

''Natasha? What are you doing here?''

Her arm dropped back down. ''Bruce said he's finished re-purposing Scott's time-machine and is ready for you to take the stones back to where they belong.''

Steve frowned. ''And he asked you to deliver the message?''

The woman looked away. 

''You should be in bed, receiving medical care,'' he said and his fingers reached for the bright bruise on the side of her jaw, but Natasha evaded the contact. 

Steve's fingers withdrew and curled into a fist which he consciously had to loosen. Natasha always looked ready for a fight, never gave a straight answer to any questions and nobody, nobody could tell her what to do.

He sighed. ''Where's Bruce?''

''By the lake. They are setting up now,'' she answered over her shoulder, already heading down the hall to the stairs which lead to the first floor.

Steve noticed the slight limp and the uptight posture of someone holding their spine as straight as possible, but didn't say anything. He should've learned a long time ago who she was. Perhaps they were too different to ever be anything more than just good friends.

*

The platform was nestled in between some bushes, a huge oak tree and a park bench, which currently was occupied by James and Sam. They had just opened a couple of cans of soft drinks and were toasting.

''Still celebrating, I see,'' Steve commented, coming up behind the bench.

Both men looked up at him and grinned.

''Just a cold drink after a workout. We finished helping Bruce with the platform,'' Sam pointed a thumb at the podium in the middle of the little clearing.

''Hi, Steve!'' Bruce called from the other side of the clearing. ''I'm almost done with the calibration, give me a moment and we can start.''

Steve waved and nodded, and turned back to the men on the bench.

''You want me to go on this mission, Stevie?'' James asked out of the blue.

Steve's eyebrow shot up. ''Why?''

The man leaned back a little to look around Steve. ''You know this could easily become a one way trip and I don't have an incentive to stay here.''

He turned around to see what Bucky was looking at and saw Natasha walking up to Bruce and give him a hug. There was a couple of low chuckles from the bench.

''Can you be any more obvious?!'' James teased, outright laughing now.

''Bucky-'' Steve started but Sam interrupted him.

''Man, don't get mad at me, but doesn't it make more sense for James here to carry out the mission?''

Steve frowned down at him. ''How's that?''

James smirked the way he used to when they were young kids, all self assured. ''Well, first of all, I'm also a super soldier. Second, I've been trained by, arguably, the best spies during the Cold War and stand a much better chance at sneaking the stones to where they need to be than you do. Third, my timeline wouldn't cross any of the ones where the stones need to be, so no weird stuff needs to happen.''

Steve stared at the top of his friend's head and was surprised to admit that those were very valid points. He had been worried about having to interact with HYDRA or, more importantly, himself again. Once was more than enough.

''He's thinking about it,'' Sam said with a huge smile on his face.

''Well...'' Steve started but wasn't sure what to say.

At that point James stood up, walked around the bench and squared up to his friend. He reached and took the shield, not yanking it, just pulling enough to give an impression to Steve that he wanted him to give it up.

And Steve did. Instead of the shield he was now holding a can of cold soda.

''Relax,'' Bucky said with a smile and clapped him on the shoulder. ''I got this.''

Not waiting for a response, he walked off to talk to Banner. After a short exchange, with some glances in Steve's direction, the big guy produced all five Infinity Stones and gave them to James who then proceeded to step on the platform.

Natasha came up to his side, looking understandably confused.

''What's going on? James just said he was going to return the stones.''

Steve looked down at her and whatever he wanted to say died on his lips. He didn't quite understand what he was facing right now, but, whatever it was, had rendered him back to the fumbling young adult facing a beautiful girl for the first time.

''Steve?'' She touched his hand.

''Oh, for the love of God!'' Bucky shouted from his spot. ''Will you two k-'' 

He didn't have the chance to finish whatever it was he had wanted to say because Bruce had activated the accelerator and James was drawn away, but Steve blushed anyway. He was pretty sure he knew exactly what James had tried to say.

They both had looked at Bucky, just as he disappeared, and were now back to gazing at each other.

Steve was back to hearing his heart pound in his chest and the spot where Natasha's fingers touched his palm was on fire. For all the times he had wanted to be on the precipices of this moment, he now was completely at a loss for words.

He had hoped that one day he would be allowed to do what he had wanted to do ever since their undercover kiss on the escalator. Another first kiss, but a real one this time, not one forced by necessity or some other meaningless reason. And now he stood right on the edge of that kiss, or he thought he did, because she looked at him like she was expecting something to happen.

But the experience had taught him one thing about Natasha - things were never what he thought they were.

So, he hesitated. 

He hesitated for long enough that she finally just walked away and Steve was ready to ask Bruce to smack him over the head for being a coward.

Chapter Text

The funeral had been... she hated it. For all the death Natasha had seen in her life she had never attended a wake for anyone. And the farewell for Tony, combined with Clint's, had been a lot to handle.

What was worse, Steve had been right there by her side the whole time, being perfectly supporting and unintrusive. That was until he let the L word slip while consoling her.

The anger she felt was unreasonable, just another shadow cast by her fear of loosing someone else. But it didn't make it any easier to dispel. She was afraid that if she did anything, anything at all, Steve would be somehow taken away. So, Natasha couldn't tell him to sod off. Or that, not so deep down, she really wanted him to stay. That she missed him every time he wasn't nearby and had long since lost the sight of the clear line between doing a job and truly caring.

Natasha walked into their temporary safe house and slammed the front door so hard that the long frosted glass insert in the middle of it almost shattered.

She knew how to survive death, because practice had made her damn near perfect at it. But she didn't know how to do... this! The soft things.

The door opened and closed once more and she turned around to find Steve standing in the hallway. He looked caught off guard, stranded in the dimly lit corridor, one hand on the knot in his tie, pulling it loose.

Natasha wanted to fight, because she knew how to fight. But it was a stupid diversion and she was tired of repeating old patterns that lead to nothing but misery.

She turned around, walked into the living quarters and sat down. Steve followed soon after, padding across the room and sitting down on the other end of the sofa she had chosen.

''So...'' Natasha started and quickly ran out of courage to continue.

''So...'' the man echoed her sentiment note for note.

She chuckled nervously. ''This is stupid. We should be able to talk about it like adults.''

Steve nodded, still looking down at the carpet. ''Yeah.''

But they weren't, were they? Adults, that is. Up until now they had been dragged through life by forces greater than themselves without being able to experience things that were considered normal.

Maybe that was the point.

''Steve,'' she softly called his name and waited for the man to look at her. ''Here is the thing. I'm... I don't want to presume, but I think we both know that our... the relationship we have is, it's...''

''Complicated,'' the man offered.

''Yes.'' Natasha smiled nervously. ''And no. I think... I think we have gone about it the wrong way. There has always been high drama around us, most of the time it has been life or death, and I think sometimes we can confuse real feelings with the spur of the moment rush.''

''It's been ten years, Natasha.''

She sighed. ''It's been ten very confusing years, Steve. People can convince themselves of all kinds of things when they are under stress.''

The man looked away again and after a little while nodded. ''We have been under a lot of stress.''

She wished that they would be having this conversation a year from now, with clearer heads and stronger hearts. As it were, her head was not at all clear and her heart felt like a soap bubble, posed to burst at the smallest of pressures.

This wasn't the time to talk about something as serious as-

''It's never going to happen, is it?'' Steve asked all of a sudden and his voice was so small, so fragile.

Natasha reached over and took his large, warm hand in hers. ''What isn't?''

He looked away, almost in the opposite direction from where she sat. ''Us.''

It was like a stab and it felt so real, the possibility of them never finding each other again. And she could not afford that. Natasha scooted closer to Steve, grabbing his palm even firmer and brought it up to her chest.

''Only we can decide that. Nobody and nothing else, but us.''

Steve kept his head turned away and she had to lean over him to get a hold of his chin. She turned his head gently but firmly until their eyes met.

''I want to see where this goes, I do. But I want to try and do it right, so we can know for sure that this -'' her hand let go of Steve's face and pointed between both of them, ''- is real and not some prolonged, adrenaline induced delusion.''

He didn't look convinced. In fact, he looked even sadder. And the last thing Natasha wanted was to upset Steve.

Carefully, she leaned in closer, all the while keeping the eye contact with the man who now had gone completely still, it didn't even look like he was breathing. Her eyes dropped down to his mouth and his tongue immediately shot out to lick his lips and then swallowed heavily.

Looking back up, Natasha found Steve's eyes and they were wide, pupils huge, gaping holes allowing her to glimpse the hunger in his soul. Hunger and fear.

Her own heart was beating so loudly that it was the only sound she could hear. Now, that she was about to do it, all her courage went out of the proverbial window. They had survived horrible ordeals, so why did this feel like the most terrifying thing she had ever attempted?

Steve didn't make a move to close the distance and it was up to her to finish what she had started.

Natasha pressed her mouth to his. Delicately, because she too was afraid of too many things to name.

Slowly, with visible effort to hold back, Steve exhaled and his body relaxed. Natasha closed her eyes and moved her lips, just a fraction, but it felt like the Earth moved with them.

Like he was made of clay, Steve let her mold him to her needs for more contact. Without breaking the chaste kiss, she put one leg across him and sat on his lap.

Steve's hands instantly found their way to the lower parts of her hips, fingers digging in deeply. Mouth opening slightly, he breathed in shakily.

Perhaps it was the vulnerability or the years of steady buildup. Whatever the case, Natasha found it impossible to resist and deepened the kiss. It was exactly like she had imagined it would be. Hot, sweet and overwhelming. She kissed him in earnest, exploring the depth of his mouth and submission, and found both as intoxicating as the power of the universe at her fingertips.

Only the increasing pressure from Steve's fingers on her legs brought her out of the haze of lust and Natasha broke their connection, leaning back to put some distance between their bodies.

''I'm sorry,'' she exhaled. ''This is not exactly taking it slow.''

Without opening his eyes, the man let his head fall back against the back of the sofa. ''You are a wicked, wicked woman, Natasha.''

Grounded by his heavy touch, she felt bolder. ''You should take me out on a date. A real one. Flowers, dinner, movie. And, who knows, we might end up back on this couch again.''

''A date?'' he asked, sitting up straighter.

Natasha shrugged. ''Why not? We have to start somewhere.''

The man moved again, pulling her in closer. She had to put one of her hands against his chest to use for balance and her palm picked up the vibrations from his heavily beating heart. Wicked indeed. Natasha wanted to slide that hand of hers into Steve's hair and hold on to it while she rode him into oblivion right here and now. And, judging by the bulge she was sitting on, he would be more than ready for that.

They stared at each other, eyes bright and breathing shallow, but after the moment was gone Natasha got off his lap and extended a hand to help Steve up.

He shook his head. ''I need a minute.''

Not able to help herself, Natasha smirked down at the man, high on her own power, and walked away towards her room, almost running into the door frame on the way out. Perhaps she also needed a minute.