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Dear Natasha,
I don’t know where you are, and I’m probably never going to send this because of that, but being able to write this down is supposed to help. So here it goes.
I’m sorry I lied. I’m sorry I let Fury talk me into lying to you. And I’m sorry I didn’t trust you enough to tell you what was going on.
Clint said that there have been reports of you in Rio de Janeiro, and I know you wouldn’t be so careless as to be seen without it meaning something. So I’m hoping this is your way of telling us you’re okay.
I’m not going to give up on you, no matter what Fury and Clint say. I love you, Nat.
Steve and Clint watched her from the other side of the two-way mirror. She looked exhausted; there were dark circles under her eyes, her hair looked as if it hadn’t been washed in a few days, and Steve was sure there was some dried blood on her on her burgundy shirt. She wasn’t moving, wasn’t looking around, but Steve noticed a minute tremble in her hands.
He turned and moved to the other two-way mirror available to them. Bucky looked more rested, Steve noted, and freshly showered. SHIELD had taken measures to remove Bucky’s metal arm, but had discover that it was grafted to his spine. It would take an engineer far more precise than what Fury could come with last minute to separate the man from the machine.
“What do you think they were doing?” Clint asked. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of Natasha. “I mean other than hunting down the scum who did this to them and serving borscht.”
Steve looked back and forth at the Russian spy and the man who had been his best friend. It hurt him to think that there was a chance she had been lying to Steve the entire time, that they had been planning on killing him and destabilizing the American intelligence community, but the situation didn’t look too good.
Dear Bucky,
You won’t believe where I am.
I met this German scientist at the Stark Expo, and he brought me to Jersey to train for some experiment he’s conducting for the Army!
Buck, I know you’re going to say that I’m better off at home. But I know I could do great things in this war. I just want to help.
I hope I’ll see you soon. Stay safe.
Steve
Bucky had only uttered one word since being brought into interrogation in SHIELD’s basement. Vdova. He was asking about Natasha, and Steve couldn’t help but feel a slight flicker of anger deep in his chest.
Natasha had, of course, started talking as soon as Fury walked into her room. Steve had listened as Natasha told him about the walls, the brainwashing, and the measures she and James — Bucky— had taken to breaking down those walls. Steve wanted desperately to go in there and hold her, to kiss her and take her out of that depressing room, back to the home he had bought her. He wanted to pretend none of this had ever happened.
Steve reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring. He wondered if she would take it back now that she had finally broken the programming in her brain. Probably not, he figured. Love had made Natasha emotional, Clint said. Emotions were a weakness, Natasha had told him once.
Sighing, Steve left the observation room, but not before pressing the intercom button to Bucky’s room.
“She’s fine, Bucky. She’s safe.”
Back at the house in Brooklyn, Steve found himself in the office he had set up in one of the bedroom. He had written dozens of letters to Natasha while she had been in the wind, all unsent of course. He read through them, wondering if he should leave them for her or if he should burn them. Emotions were a weakness, and these letters were filled with them.
A noise outside caught his attention, and he looked out the window to see a black SUV pull up to the curb. Two SHEILD agents exited the vehicle, followed by a small red-haired woman. Natasha had come home.
He met them at the door, stepping aside to let them in without a word. Natasha avoided his gaze as she made her way to the sitting room, where she collapsed on the couch and curled into a ball.
“I trust you’ve got it from here,” one of the agents said to him, arching an eyebrow. “Fury will be by later. She has a monitor on her. Any tampering will immediately release enough of an electrical charge to kill her. If she leaves the house, the same thing.”
Steve glared at the agents and slammed the door after them as they left. Then he turned and went to Natasha.
He sat on the floor next to her, his back against the couch. He was surprised to feel her fingers gently grip at his shirt. She was trembling still, and it sounded like she was trying not to cry.
“I’m sorry, Steve,” she whispered after a while. “I’m so sorry.”
He leaned his head back against her, eyes closed. He couldn’t handle seeing her like this right now. She looked so broken. Finally, he stood. Turning, he lifted her in his arms and carried her upstairs and into the bedroom they were meant to share. Laying her gently on the new bed, he climbed in next to her and pulled her close. They fell asleep like that, curled into each other, as if they were two pieces of a puzzle, perfectly fitted together.