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The words that Pierce had said to her played in her head at night, like a scratched disk.
Are you ready for the world to see you as you really are?
She remembered hesitating after he said that. She wasn’t ready. Natasha Romanoff was a women drawn with an erasable pen, so that it would be easy for her to disappear, though still leaving some marks behind. She lived off of shadows, and breathed different covers. Her secrets had secrets that she didn’t even have the answers to. How could she expect the innocent, and naive world to see her, when she couldn’t even see herself, when she didn’t even know where to start looking for the broken pieces of her mind. So was she ready? No, not at all, but she sure as hell wasn’t ready to watch the world go up in flames, because she put herself ahead of other people.
Her life was about taking risks, about being comfortable feeling uncomfortable, but the disguise that she had plastered on her face long ago, was becoming worn, and stiff. Yes she had done bad things in her past, but she was trying to rid them of their red. Andrew Peirce on the other hand was the definition of red. She had her past regrets to lose, but he had Hydra’s future on the line, and somehow that settled the nauseous in her gut to finish the job.
Are you?
***
Anger is a secondary emotion. It follows pain, disappoint, grief, shock, and sadness. Anger is a secondary emotion, but it always seems to come first.
To say Natasha was angry would be an understatement because she wasn’t angry, she was tired, and sometimes to feel no pain, is worse than being struck by lightning because it means that your time is almost up.
She was mad that Steve got to feel happiness from simple tasks, she was mad that he had a purpose, and she was even more mad that he got a second chance to do better, while she only got a second chance to clean up her already messed up life. Natasha was furious with Steve Rogers, but she didn’t hate him, she couldn’t hate him because none of these things were his choice, they were just the person he was, and it’s hard to hate a good man.
If anything, she felt like it was her job to help him adjust to the new world, which is why she kept setting him up on so many dates. None of them would work out, and she knew that going in, but somehow the possibility that he had a chance to make a future for himself made that okay. They were both just two people out of time, except his clock needed some repairs, and hers was already lost.
Natasha Romanoff wasn’t angry with Steve, she was angry with herself, for never giving herself the option to find a new watch; the choice to make a path for herself, instead of following the worn out one off a cliff.
***
She and Steve had meant back up in Kiev after she had to take a little break from their hunt for the Winter Soldiers, or ‘Bucky’ whoever that may be. Natasha told him that she had to take care of some unfinished business in Moscow, but that was a lie. Honestly she just needed a break from the feeling that she knew would arise soon. The feeling of disappointment. They had been looking for Bucky for almost a month and a half, and every lead they got turned out to be another dead end, and Natasha feared that that term would become literal soon.
She owed Steve a lot, maybe not as much as she owed Clint, but somehow this debt was different. With Clint it was just between him and her, so it was only the two of them that could get hurt in the crosshairs, but with Steve there was Sam, and Maria hill and Fury, and even Bucky. He was counting on her connections to get his friend back, but the thing about connections is that they are often scarce and run out too quick.
Natasha felt herself suffocating, but this time she wasn’t the only one being dragged down.
***
The turnout was bad. They had gotten a reading off of some security camera in some mall in central London, but it wasn’t good enough. Steve was strong, but she was faster, and when she confronted the Winter Sold—Bucky, everything went to hell. Natasha was able to stab him in the right leg, but not before being shot in the abdomen. Her adrenaline was on a high, so at first all she felt was some extra pressure. It wasn’t until he put his metal arm around her throat, and slammed her much smaller body against some nearby parked car, that the pain began to set in.
She tried to use her legs to hopefully kick him in attempt to getting him to release his grasp on her, but it was to no avail. She was losing too much blood too fast, and the lack of oxygen to her brain was making it hard to focus on anything let alone getting free.
The last thing Natasha remembered was looking into his cold and dark eyes, recognizing them as the same ones that taught her how to lie, how to survive, and how to live even when you’re close to death. She saw a flash of a red, white, and blue shield fly by her, but then her vision went dark.
A few hours later when she woke up in some grimy hospital, with Steve tightly clenching her hand, she realized how it must feel to see a ghost.
Natasha moved her free hand across her stomach and felt the tightly wrapped gauze.
“He got away didn’t he?” whispered Natasha.
Steve’s response, or lack of it was the thing that answered her question.
“The doctor said you should make a full recovery,” said Steve, changing the subject.
“How long was I out for?” she mumbled, surprised at how hoarse her voice sounded.
“Around eleven hours,” he said, and she nodded slightly. “Look, if you want to stop searching that’s fine,” said Steve with an increasingly worried face, if that was even possible.
“Steve, I-I’m fine, just a little scratch,” she said.
“Natasha you almost died! My best friend almost killed you, so this is on me,” he said firmly.
“I’m not afraid to die Steve; I’m just a little bit scared of what comes next,” she said the last part in a low whisper.
Steve sighed. “Get some rest,” he said noticing her trying to hide her constant yawns. He noticed she was about to protest, and he added, “That’s an order.”
Natasha closed her eyes, and before she went under she mumbled, “You need sleep too Steve, you look like shit.”
When Sam walked in a few hours later, he saw the soldier and spy sound asleep; Natasha still in the hospital bed, and Steve leaned back in the plastic chair that looked like it might break any moment. His hand was still tightly held around hers, and he was surprised that the normally stubborn redhead allowed that.
He put aside his curiosity, and walked back out of the room feeling like he was invading their privacy. He gently closed the door and realized that if he was on Steve’s left, Steve was going to need someone on his right, and Natasha wasn’t a bad pick at all.