Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Words.

It’s funny how something so small can amount to something so large. That one simple order of five simple letters can hold so much meaning; so much power, and honor.

Natasha Romanoff was running out of words to say.

It’s easy to talk; to make jokes a let the words spill off your tongue like a little kid going down a slide, but it’s harder when you don’t have your mom or dad waiting to catch you, waiting to make sure then you don’t hit the ground too hard.

Natasha didn’t have parents, well she assumed that she did once, but it didn’t matter much anymore. She spent years trying to find out the truth, trying to discover who she was before the Red Room, before all the training, blood, and regret, but there wasn’t much to find. The truth was that she was just a four year old girl who played with dolls, wore dresses, held hands, and blew kisses. A four year old girl that wanted to be a princess when she grew up, a four year old girl that still slept with a nightlight, and lastly a four year old girl that believed that the world was an adventure, not a punishment. So take away all that training, blood, and regret, and all you would have is that little four year old girl, and how important is a little girl?

That’s why when she would wake up in the middle of the night with a roaring fire burning at the back of her throat, and sweat dripping down her temple, she would come up with jokes to tell, and things to tease Steve Roger’s about because it’s a lot easier to laugh than it is to remember the reason why her finger nails leave indents in the palm of her hand when she clenches her fist to tight, trying to hold on to the memories that were true, even though the ones that weren’t seemed happier at the time.

***

They say that eyes are the pathway to the soul, but Natasha didn’t believe that. She was a trained spy, the best at what she did, and she knew that the eyes are simply a mask for what you want others to believe. She has looked into eyes colder than snow in winter, and knew that there was more than a soldier underneath, but she never said a word, because sometimes it’s easier to tell people what they want to hear, what they want to believe is true because the truth hurts in a way a lie cannot, and Natasha was still discovering the difference herself.

Her eyes no longer displayed how she felt, but what she wanted others to feel instead. If someone needed comfort, she would show them that, if someone needed strength, she would give them that too, but as time went on she found herself slowly dissipating in what others wanted her to be, what others needed her to be because the things that she needed started to seem less important. In a way she didn’t mind because Natasha was never one to wallow in self-glory or appreciation, and hiding herself under false layers was something that she became accustomed to over the years, but around Steve that became harder to do.

Maybe it was his honest face, or the fact that he didn’t do good because he was the definition of good, or maybe it was the reason that deep down he was just a lost man with a lonely soul with an unfair advantage against others, but every time Natasha looked at him, every second glance, and with every hidden touch, she felt as though she wanted, no needed to make him belong in the world because he deserved a second chance.

It’s almost funny how two people out of time, one with a gun, and one with a shield could find a place within each other’s walls, but they had to know that it wouldn’t last forever, nothing good ever does, and those were the last thoughts running through Natasha’s head before everything went dark.

Chapter Text

2 Days Earlier

Nothing was unusual, or so it seemed. Natasha had become an expert at assessing situations over the years, but it has been more years than she can count on her fingers, and people get rusty; she thinks that she’s just getting tired.

She used to wear a black ribbon around her finger. She told people that it held her together and that was the truth. They would laugh and roll their eyes, and Natasha would pretend not to notice, she was barely sixteen at the time. Through each mission and cold Russian winter, she would keep the little silk ribbon wrapped around her finger, a little bit of comfort on hands that held so much blood, hands that were no longer warm, and with each passing day the ribbon would become a little tighter, not because her finger was hurting, but because more of her needed to be held together; more of her was becoming broken like a window with a crack, and each day as the weather grows harsher, the crack grows as well, and soon the window will break, and become unrepairable. Soon the window will let in the cold, and will no longer do its job to keep the inside safe, and to shield the outside from creeping in, and maybe the ribbon was just a piece of silk, and maybe the window never did its job to begin with, but all Natasha knew for sure was that there was a part of her missing, and there was more to the story than she was being let on, but the ribbon was the extra pages that she never got, and for now that was enough.

As time went on she forgot who gave her the ribbon, and she started to forget why it was there in the first place, and she thinks that was because the ribbon started to become a piece of her, as important as her own blood, as real as her own flesh, and when she woke up in the middle of the night with her head on fire, with her body cold as ice, and with doctors pointing needles at her, she looked down at her finger and saw nothing but a bare hand, and Natasha couldn’t help but feel that she lost a part of herself that day, and maybe it was because she really did.

That was the past. She was a child then, or she should have been, but now she was merely a spy. That is why as she walked down the street in a little village somewhere near Venice, she knew she was being followed. That is why she decided to abandon her initially thoughts of going to the market place, and instead went to the little apartment she was renting from a friend.

The place was temporary, as was most things in her life. The walls were covered in old wallpaper that once used to be in style, but now they only served as a bitter reminder of change and how it always leaves something behind. There was only a mattress on the floor, and despite the out dated kitchen appliances and rusty bathroom, this place was as home as a home will ever be to Natasha; only someplace to be used, not somewhere to live.

She closed the door and waited with a gun between her fingers, balanced on her knee, as she sat up against the wall that was now so faded – full of regret, with the stain of life plastered everywhere. Natasha waited, hearing nothing but the footsteps, and quite whispers of those walking out on the street, of those enjoying a beautiful day, having no idea of the horrors that hid everywhere out of site. She waited and waited until the people’s whispers became shadows, and their footsteps became ghosts, and the sky went for blue to black, and that is when she decided to open the door, because she was tired of waiting for a knock that never came.

Natasha wrapped her hand around the rusty door knob that once used to be gold, and sturdy. The old metal was cold against her fingers, and sent a chill through her body, though she’d be lying to herself if she said it was the only reason. She then squeezed the door knob with hands that she wished were more firm, and steady. She opened the door with the same finger that once held the silk ribbon so long ago, and as the door moved it made a squeaky noise that could have woken a bear from hibernation.

The door opened and she was meant with the face of the man who she never thought she’d see again. The man that served as her ribbon after hers had been ripped away, and she’d done the same for him. But even though it’s been more years than she can count, and she’s been broken and remade more than she can count as well, he has too, and that’s why his name rolled out of her lips like she never stopped saying it all along.

“James?”

***

"James?"

She said his name like it was a question, but the truth is she knew that he was following her all along. His name wasn’t a question, it was a secret, it was something to be whispered in the dark, it was a name so common, but yet so mysterious, a name that deserved to be heard, but never got the chance to be said loud enough.

Natasha looked at his face and saw his dark hair back in a messy ponytail, stubble fresh on his cheeks, his clothes were faded, and worn, and like the wallpaper they reminded her of what could have been. His metal arm was covered by the loose hoodie he accompanied, and minus the slight glint of the moon reflecting off what was revealed of his metal hand, he looked almost normal. It wasn’t until she looked into his eyes that she saw a broken man, or what was left of one.

That was one thing they had in common, or one of the ones that still mattered.

When she looked into his eyes, she saw herself looking back. She saw eyes looking at nothing. She saw eyes that begged to see everything, but just forgot how to look.

James stood there, and she stood back looking at the shell of a man that was once the Winter Soldier, a name said in fear, and now one that only felt the same thing.

After she said his name, his mouth opened and closed, like he was trying to figure out what to say, or like he was trying to work up the courage to say something that he thought, something that he wanted to say, but he came of blank.

Natasha took his hand, his metal hand, and she wrapped her fingers around the cool material that had killed so many, and she wished she was more surprised to feel him squeeze back. It was a gentle touch, and she could barely feel it herself, but it sparked some sort of burning in the pit of her stomach.

It was still silent, and if the windows weren’t slightly open, it would be pitch dark as well. Natasha guided him to the mattress in the middle of the worn, wooden floor, and sat him down slowly. She then started to let go of his hand to light a candle, but he just tightened his grip on her hand, if by instinct.

His grip would have broken a normal person’s hand, but she wasn't normal; that was nothing new.

Natasha didn’t let go of his hand, instead she laid down of the mattress next to him, none of them saying a word. She wished that she could say that this felt like the way things used to, but that would be a lie. Spy’s were trained to be liars, they were made out of lies, and soon enough they became one as well, but through that all, spy’s were taught to never lie to themselves, but Natasha was never quite good with the truth.

It always amazed her how the stars were always shining. Day and night the stars were out there in space, somewhere far away, burning thousands of degrees, and shining the brightest, yet they could only be seen when the sun set, and the world faded to black. They were always shining, but you can only see them at the darkest times, and Natasha liked to believe that it was better that way.

In another life she wishes that she was an astronaut. She envies the freedom in space, she envies the unknown being completely, and utterly terrifying, yet breathtaking at the same time. In another life she wishes that she was a star, but that would be silly.

“Natalia,” he whispered in a hoarse voice.

He said her name like if he said it any louder it would be taken away, just like many times before. She wished those memories weren’t as vivid as the rest.

“It’s Natasha now,” she said, because what else was she supposed to say?

She was always supposed to know the right words to say, she was always supposed to be one step ahead, sometimes even two on the bad days, but with him, right now, there was no steps, only mountains, and she didn’t have time to climb them, and if she did she knew that she’d never come down.

“Natasha,” he said, testing it on his own tongue like he was speaking another language.

“You are a wanted man, James.”

She knew that Steve was out somewhere looking for him, she knew that Steve probably hasn’t slept in weeks trying to get his best friend back, but she also knew that there wasn’t much of that same friend to get back.

Natasha knew that she should call Steve, that she should tell Sam, hell even Fury, but she couldn’t find it in herself to get off the mattress, to let go of his hand.

“It’s been ages,” she said more quietly than she would have liked. “It has been so long, and I’ve missed you, but I know that you don’t really remember me – you remember who we once were together, you don’t remember me, and you definitely don’t remember yourself,” she said trying to ignore how increasingly hard it was becoming to talk.

“Natasha—“

“I’ve spent years trying to find you, and I have the scars to prove it,” she said with a humorless laugh. “But there is someone looking for you right now, someone who needs you more than I do.”

They see the same shadows, and she knows that. They have the same blood on their hands, and she’ll never forget that, but they come from different places. She comes from fire, and he comes from warmth, and no matter how hard she tries to tell herself that nothing has changed, and that they can just pick off where they left off – her screaming his name, as he got taken away, put back into ice to lay to rest until he was needed, what was left of her heart did the same – but she knows that despite the broken memories, despite the red in her hair, like the red star that once held a country on his arm, despite all the blood, and regret, and promises that will never be made, she knows that when they look off into the same direction it will be for different reasons.

He knows her as Natalia, but Natalia died a long time ago. She knows him as James, but he only knows himself as the Winter Soldier. She sees a path and he sees orders. She’s been trying to redeem herself for so long, and he doesn’t even know where to start.

Natasha wishes that things could be different, and in another life maybe they would, but she’ll always be a star, and he’ll be the sun, burning less each day, and she knows that she’ll only be seen shining once he sets, and when he rises, she will disappear once again, and she doesn’t think she can live with that.

Natasha cleared her throat and said “We wish on shooting stars, but we don’t see that after they shoot they will fall, and when they fall the light will die, and with that the stars will as well – they’re dying, yet we wish for ourselves, they’re fading away yet we hope in the future, they’re giving so much despite the cost, and we let them pay the price, and I can’t do that to you.”

It was silent again, when he said, “You haven’t changed at all,” and she knows that he’s lying, and she knows that he might not even know whether this is the truth or not, but for now that is okay.

Time passes like water in oil, and they stay hand in hand, side by side on the old mattress like no time has passed at all. His breath evens out, and just when she thinks that he is asleep, he says “I’ve missed you Natalia.”

She could correct him, tell him that it’s Natasha again, but old habits die hard, and he’s had enough of his taken away, that she doesn’t want to ruin the moment. How can two of the most dangerous people ever born, be so peaceful together? She’s still trying to figure out herself.

Soon after he will fall asleep, and dream of war, and trains, and memories that don’t fit, and she will fall asleep as well. She’ll dream of fire, and ballet, and a little black silk ribbon on her finger that is now tied around her heart keeping the blood in, and holding everything together just like it was meant to do all those years ago. Natasha won’t hear him whisper Steve’s name in his sleep, and he won’t hear her do the same. He whispers for recognition and she whispers for realization. He says it as something that could still be, and she says it as something that once was.

When she wakes up in the morning, he is gone without a trace, and even though she knows that it is better that way, she can’t help herself from wanting more. Natasha thinks about calling Steve and telling him, but she thinks it is too late. Later she thinks about calling Steve to ask him how he is, but like before it is too late.

Now she can only wish that she had pressed call, because she doesn’t know if she ever will hear his voice again, and the ribbon can only hold out for so long.

Chapter Text

It was dark. There was an explosion, or was it a car accident; she didn’t know, but did it really matter. All that mattered was that there was blood, so much blood, and Natasha didn’t know if it was hers.

6 Days Earlier

The rain was loud, but it left a silence that could haunt for hours. Natasha was back in New York, but she wasn’t there to enjoy the views. It was cold, and the cemetery gave her certain chills that the wind did not. She never liked cemeteries, and despite being in the line of work that leaves so many causalities, she never spent much time looking at a gravestone. If it was anyone else she wouldn’t be here right now; she’d be off kissing ass, and finding herself, but today she would make an exception.

Her black leather jacket did little to keep in the warmth, but it didn’t matter. Natasha was leaning up against some old tree, watching, observing, and staring at Steve Rogers. She didn’t know if he knew that she was there, she didn’t know if Sam told him, or if he just expected her to come, but either way she was here.

She slowly walked up to him, careful not to be too loud, but she was always too good at being invisible.

Natasha never meant Peggy Carter, but she knew about her before she saw her picture in the abandoned training facility in New Jersey months before. She never formally meant Peggy Carter, one of the founders of SHIELD, one of the strongest woman inspiration, and one of Captain America’s lost love, but in a way she felt like she already knew her.

Steve didn’t talk much about the past, and Natasha respected that. Sometimes the past is just the past, not a story, not a dream, just a memory long ago. Natasha wasn’t one to talk about her past mush, well at least until it all got openly spread on the web. She trusted Steve Rogers, and even before SHIELD fell, she thought that he was a good man, a honest man, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t curious to where he would run off to every so often after a bad mission, or a hard day. With some snooping she found out that it was a nursing home, and with some research, and many background checks she found out why he went there, or more so who he went to see. She never said anything to him though. It wasn’t because he would get mad, or hurt, it was because she thought that Steve at least deserved some privacy in a world where that rarely existed.

The past to everyone else was once the present to him, and for a part of him it still was, so when she got close enough to Steve to read the name of the grave stone, she couldn’t help the slight pain in her chest.

“They said that she went peacefully,” Steve said, in a stoic voice, not looking up.

Natasha just nodded her head in response.

“They said before she stopped breathing she wasn’t even in the present,” he said, his voice a little less steady.

Natasha moved slightly closer to him, as another gust of wind rolled out.

“They said in her last few moments that she was asking for me,” his voice cracked slightly, “That she was asking for one last dance.”

Natasha took his trembling hand in hers and despite the super soldier serum that was running through his veins, he felt frozen.

“How long have you been out here, Steve?” she asked.

“She was asking for me, while I was out searching for a man that doesn’t want to be found,” he said with a raised voice.

“It’s not your fault, Steve,” and all of this felt way too familiar.

Finally Steve turned to face, but the man she saw looking back at her wasn’t the man she knew. He stared at her momentarily like he was trying to decipher the real from the fake, and when he leaned down to kiss her, Natasha found herself kissing back. They were rough, desperate kisses, but this wasn’t right. It wasn’t that she didn’t want this, she did, but Steve needed a friend right now, so that was what she would have to give him.

Natasha pulled away, as a whimper escaped the soldier’s lips. He looked into her eyes once again, and she said “She’s gone, Steve.”

Steve paused, and then like lighting in a thunderstorm, his body started to shake, and his legs started to give out, and as the first cry erupted from his lips, the same lips that once led an army, Natasha wrapped her arms around his much larger frame, and let him bury his head in her hair, as he cried for the first time since he got the news.

“We never got our dance,” he whispered, and she could barely understand him.

Once his cries subsided, and the sky turned black, Natasha placed a single red rose on the grave stone, and stopped, to say a prayer. She didn’t believe in God, but she knew that Steve did, so she did this for him, for Peggy.

I’ll take care of him for you.

She guided Steve out of the cemetery, to her car that was no longer a corvette. They said nothing on the drive home, and nothing when she helped him get in bed. Natasha watched him sleep the whole night, and even though she knew that she would have to leave before the sun rose, and that she would have to go before saying goodbye, she just sat at watched him until it was time to leave.

Natasha knew that Sam would be there when he woke up, and she knew that they would probably continue their search not long after breakfast, but she also knew that Steve Rogers would be just fine.

Maybe there’s a good in goodbye, not because people enjoy saying those words, but because with every goodbye promises another hello; Natasha hoped that was true.

Chapter Text

15 Days Earlier

Sometimes all you want to do is sit on your couch, watch some Toddlers and Tiaras, and not be bothered by the stupidity of this generation, and while Natasha was doing that, very well to say the least, she was interrupted by the buzzing of her cell phone

Very few people had her number. Fury, Steve, Maria, and even Stark. Apparently being tracked down by your past, and other evil, German corporations came with all these new safety regulations. She wiped her hands clean of the sour crème and onion Pringles she was happily enjoying, and when she looked down at the phone, she was surprised to see that it showed an unknown caller ID.

Her first thought was that she had been made, and her second thought consisted on someone that wasn’t too far above that scenario at the moment.

She pushed answer, and said, “Clint.”

“Natasha,” he responded back in the same partially paranoid tone, and as much as she wanted to stab him with his own arrow, she couldn’t help but feel relieved at hearing his voice.

“Who gave you this number?” she said. “I swear if it was Stark--,”

“It was Fury. He said that it was important.”

“Bull shit. If he thinks that I’m just going to drop everything, and go on some stupid mission because everyone else was a part of Hydra then he should be more worried about his head, then his eyesight.”

“That’s what I need to talk to you about,” said Clint, sounding more serious than usual.

“Fine. Meet me in the diner on Churchill Square in five,” she said.

“How’d you know I was in London?” he asked.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

***

The place was called Ed’s Easy Diner. It had a nice 1950’s nostalgic décor to it. There was red leather booths, milkshakes, and Elvis playing in the background. Natasha thinks that Steve would like it here, or maybe it would just bring up bad memories.

Natasha walked through the doors, and waited for a waitress to seat her. Once she sat she ordered a vanilla milkshake because no one was going to stop her. Five minutes later, as if on cue, a man wearing a baggy hoodie, with ripped jeans, and three little band aids on his face to mask the bags under his yes walked in. He made contact with Natasha, and sat down opposite from her.

“The shakes are really good,” she said, taking a sip.

“I didn’t come here for a shake,” said Clint.

“No? Well then, how bout the fact that you look like hell?”

The pause was silent after that, awkward almost, but then Clint said, “Where are you staying?”

“You know I can’t tell you that,” she said.

“You used to be able to tell me,” he responded sounding frustrated.

“Yeah, well I’ve changed, we’ve both changed; I thought that you were dead! When I needed you, you weren’t there,” she said in a painfully low whisper.

“I was undercover! There was nothing I could do when SHIELD fell, when Hydra-.”

“We’ve both been undercover before, and we both know that there are other ways,” she said.

“Well I’m not dead okay? I’m here, I’m alive, and you’re alive – we’re both okay,” he said.

“Okay? Clint, everything that I ever did is out in the open, everyone that I ever hurt, and everyone that I’ve ever been. Fury was dead, our own people were trying to kill us, Steve almost died, I almost went to jail, and everything that I’ve ever believed in disappeared right in front of me, and I don’t know who to be anymore,” she said with a crack in her voice.

“Well then be Natasha; be the stubborn, badass, sarcastic, dark humored, person that you are,” he said.

“It’s easier said than done,” said Natasha.

“Be who you want to be, and then nothing can ever go wrong.”

“What you carry with you weighs you down, Clint,” she said.

“That doesn’t mean you have to get buried in it,” he said taking her hand in his from across the table. “Anyways, you could do without the extra weight,” Clint said with a smirk.

“You’re an ass,” she said with a smile, and for the first time in a long time it was a real one.

She finished her milkshake, and they both walked out of the diner without a second look, and it was because she had a feeling that she’d be seeing more of him; Natasha just wished that it wasn’t like this.

***

Her hands were raw from being bound. She could feel the cold air bite at her exposed skin like a shark looking for prey, and she couldn’t help but try to get free.

It was silent, and dark, not including the little crack from the small window with barbed wire in it on the top of the wall. All Natasha could hear was the dripping of the water on the hard concrete floor from the leaking rusty pipe somewhere. Her head was pounding, and her body was sore, but when she heard a noise from across the room she became instantly alert.

She squinted her eyes, and saw a shadow in the darkness, and she didn’t know if the fact that she wasn’t alone, or that someone else was in this hell with her was worse.

Natasha took a deep breath, about to say her first word since arriving in the hell hole. Her throat felt dry and scratchy, and she could taste the faint copper of blood in her mouth, but she had to say this, she had to know for sure.

“Clint is that you?”

Chapter Text

Black Widows are carnivorous spiders. Their poisonous venom can be fatal, and in a way Natasha Romanoff could be fatal as well.

26 Days Earlier

Nick Fury wasn’t her father figure; Natasha doesn’t remember her dad, so in a way she never really had one, therefore, she has no father to compare Fury to. Nick Fury wasn’t her father in any way, but he came pretty damn close.

It had been months since she last saw him in person. Yes, she had contacted him, he had informed her about Hydra activity, and she had informed him about her own activity, or as much as she could at least, but up until this point she hasn’t seen him in the flesh, and deep down she wished it stayed that way.

Her lip was bloody, she had a nasty gash on her forehead, and she was walking with a slight limp. Natasha was at a bar, when some guy, drunk or not, came up to her saying that he recognized her from the television, and that she killed her family, so summing up her injuries right now she could conclude that he was trying to get his revenged. Part of Natasha wished that he let him have it, it would be easier that way, but things were never that simple.

“Why did you do it?” he said in between punches.

“What? Are you such a monster that you can’t remember the horrors you’ve committed?”

“She was eight years old!”

“You made me watch!”

“People like you never change.”

The walk back to her apartment was slightly painful, but she deserved the pain. The blood trickling down her face was distracting, and the looks she was getting from people walking by were even more so, but she deserved that as well. Natasha wished that she could go home and be safe, but she was never safe, and she didn’t have a home either.

When she made it to her little apartment in Northern France she was surprised to find the door already open. Natasha drew her gun as she slowly made her way into the dark apartment. She got to the living room when she heard a noise behind her. She turned around quickly ready to face her opponent, when she heard a familiar voice.

“You really shouldn’t let people sneak up on you like this.”

“What the hell are you doing here Nick?” she said putting the gun away.

“Just came to check in,” he said taking a seat at the kitchen table, acting as if nothing has changed.

“What are you really doing here?” Natasha asked walking over to the chair across from him, not hiding a slight wince as she went to sit down.

“That can wait,” he said. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s just a scratch,” she said, him remaining unconvinced. “You should see the other guy,” she said with a painful laugh.

There was a cold silence when Fury said, “Back when SHIELD was being infiltrated by Hydra. Why’d you do it?”

“Why did I do what?”

“You knew what the plan was. You knew that all your information would be out in the open, but you did it anyway. Why?”

“I’m not really sure. I guess back in Russia it would have been no questions asked. I would have done it because it was an order, but you gave me a choice, you gave me a chance, so I guess I did it for you – for Steve, for what was left of SHIELD, and for all the people that trusted me enough to let me fight was what was right, instead of the other way around,” she said.

At first Fury said nothing, but than he pulled a file out from his coat. He place it on the table, and slid it towards her. “This is for you.”

Natasha didn’t open the file. She just looked at it, like it was a bomb that could explode any moment. When she did finally open it, she was shocked at what was inside. There were no files about the people she killed, or the organization she once worked for. There was just a picture of a little red headed girl with her mom and dad.

“What is this supposed to be?” she asked, as she slowly traced the outline of her younger self with her finger.

“While tracking some Hydra facilities in Russia a few months ago I came across a contact who handed me this picture, and I thought that you would like to have it,” he said.

“My parents are dead; they died a long time ago,” she said.

“They are dead, but it turns out that you have a younger sister. She was at the hospital being treated for the flu the time of the--,”

Fire.

“Does she know about me?” asked Natasha.

“She was only a baby when it happened. She got put into foster care right after, was adopted by a nice family; she’s a teacher now,” he said.

“She’s a teacher,” Natasha said more to herself than anyone else.

“Would you like to know where she lives?” he asked.

“I can’t,” said Natasha. “She doesn’t know me, and as far as we know, I don’t know her either; it’s better that way.”

“Natasha—,”

“Everyone I get to know gets hurt – I mean look at me; I’ve got a bloody lip, a broken rib. I can take the pain, but if someone I love got hurt because of me… I’m a spy, and she’s a teacher; she seems to have made it this far without me so why jeopardize that?” said Natasha.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to meet her sister, but meeting her would make it real, learning her name, seeing her face, that would make everything that Natasha lost, and everything that she became so much worse. She had spent her whole life dreaming a family in her imagination, but in her head she always forgot to add herself to the mix, and maybe it was better that way too.

Fury cleared his throat, obviously surprised, and asked “Is there anything you would like to know?”

Natasha paused thinking about this carefully. “Does anyone else know about this?”

“Just you, my contact, and I, but he won’t tell.”

“Good,” she breathed.

“You’re a good person, Natasha,” he said.

“Am I supposed to trust a dead man?” she said with a laugh.

“You know I almost killed Barton for bringing you in, but I can’t help but think that I should thank him.”

“Don’t do that. He’ll get full of himself, you know Clint,” Natasha said with a small grin.

“Don’t suppose you’ll take me up on my offer?” asked Nick.

“You know I can’t do that, not yet anyways.”

“Worth a shot,” he said as he stood up, about to leave.

“Take care of yourself Nick,” she said.

He just nodded his head, and continued his way to the door. He opened it and right before he left, he said “Get some rest Romanoff, you look like hell.”

Natasha laughed a genuine laugh, as he closed the door, and drove away. She stopped laughing once she looked at the picture of her with her family – her family that were complete strangers. They all looked happy, even the little baby in her mother’s arms.

In another life Natasha would have a family, she would call her parents after missions, and she would visit them on vacations. In another life Natasha would be that little red headed girl smiling back up at her, but that girl was gone.

Chapter Text

This was never your fight. Fights consist of two sides going against each other – two sides with each a chance of winning, and of getting out alive, but Natasha didn't had a chance, and maybe she never did.

She remembered long nights, she remembered ballerina lessons, she remembered training, she remembered play dates, she remembered cold nights, toasty evenings by the fireplace, pools of blood, and pool parties. The point is that Natasha remembered a lot of things, but she could only guess what really happened, and what was nothing more than a memory implanted into her head. Sometimes the faint dreams of being strapped down to a metal table, with shouting, and the smell of needles, and the image of a bright light that only got painfully brighter the harder she tried to close her eyes; the memory of that would make her almost envy the blank spaces in her head, but it wasn’t the memories they put into her head, false or not, it was the ones that they took away. What gave them the right to decide what she knew, what gave them the right to choose what she should remember – to control her own brain?

There were the days when Natasha would wish that her head would stop hurting, and there were the days when she wondered why her head felt so shallow, so empty?

She used to write everything down, when she first came to SHIELD, Natasha used to write every thought, every event, and every single word that someone said to her down in countless journals just in case anything happened, so she would be able to know for a fact what was the truth or not, what really happened or what was a lie. No one ever found out about this little habit. She burned them all after she trusted SHIELD enough, or at least when she started realizing what she was doing was a liability.

She thinks that Clint knew maybe. Not about the journals, but about her need to try to remember everything. He never said it out loud, but she knew. That’s why Natasha would tell Clint everything, just in case. She would use him as a journal, as her second memory, but she should have known that something would go wrong, that this plan would bite her in the ass one day, and maybe Clint was a liability too.

And now staring at him from across the muggy cell, she could only hope that no one else knew, but again, there were a lot of things that no one knew, and more that she was trying to keep a secret.

Unknown location

They were watching her from a van, disguised as a construction car. They’ve been watching for months now, but not for much longer because their time to make a move was getting closer and closer each day.

They followed her from New York, to France, to England, and more. They knew more about Natasha Romanoff then she did herself, but they needed more. The Black Widow had a lot of enemies, but enemies are only as good as the weakest link; it was loved ones that she was lacking. Love is a strong word, maybe people close to her would be more appropriate.

Nick Fury was one. She trusted him with her life, but her first mistake was trusting someone that is supposed to be dead. He made the call to bring her into SHIELD, so he must know things about her that no one else does, and vice versa; there’s always that handy dandy vice versa isn’t there?

Clint Barton was another one. Probably the best link for answers, having the most history with her, but history can also be a bad thing. There bond could mean that neither of them will talk, that they would both rather die than see the other one get hurt, but again that could be fun as well, and fun rarely came in this business. They were last spotted at a diner together, and don’t diners have it all?

The next one was Steve Rogers. That one could go either way. He’s a super soldier therefore making things slightly difficult when it comes to the torture department, but he’s is also a super soldier, and the first words that come to mind followed by super soldier is the super soldier serum. That’s a perk, but not the main goal; the main goal is pain. Natasha Romanoff flew all the way back to New York to comfort a weeping Captain America. If only he knew the truth of Miss Peggy Carter’s death. There’s surveillance of them kissing, but how could someone so pure being with someone so damaged? Opposites do attract, and maybe attraction is just what needs to be made, because of course when something interrupts two magnets from meeting each other, bad things are just bound to occur.

Lastly, there is the Winter Soldier. Having a man of that power on the same team is a benefit on its own, but James “Bucky” Barnes is a wanted man, which means unwanted attention. Agent Romanoff, and him have a past that not even we’re sure of, but we know it must be a good one if he still remembers her after all these years. He’s mentally unstable though? Easily deceived, and vulnerable, but still very paranoid. If only we could convince him what side he should be fighting on, and use their history against her.

The list was pretty short, but that makes it all the more interesting. Anyways, you mess with one avenger, you get them all, and isn’t that a party? Too bad she has no documented relatives, because blood is thicker than water after all, but we’re not quite done digging yet, and there’s still time.

The problem with a spider is that it always seems to wrap everything up in its web until even the predator becomes the prey. It might be a little late for an introduction, but aren’t all introductions where the story starts for good. Just remember that with every introduction comes a conclusion, and with every conclusion comes an end.

Chapter Text

1 Day Earlier

Her stomach hurt, but not in the bad way that makes you feel like you’re gonna be sick – okay maybe she did feel like she might throw up, but that was just because she was excited, anxious, or was it just nerves? She felt like a teenager, yet she never really was one, so all these emotions were strange and confusing, and she kind of wished that there was a better explanation for all of this.

Natasha hasn’t seen Steve since Peggy’s death. Yeah they texted occasionally, and she got updates about him from Sam, and sometimes Fury, but they hadn’t meant in person for a few weeks now. Normally Natasha wouldn’t mind. It was part of the job to not get close with people, to not become attached because relationships can be fatal, and out of experience, she knew that they often were.

The past month had been a wreck. She went from France to London to New York to Italy, and more. She learned about her sister, and she saw Fury for the first time in forever. She meant up with Clint despite some differences, and she helped Steve when he needed her back in New York. And to make matters worse, the Winter Soldier came for a visit last night, and if that didn’t bring up a whole bunch of unwanted memories she didn’t know what would. Between running from those trying to kill you, and running into people trying to hunt the killers and/or not be killed, Natasha still barely knew what her purpose was in the first place, and she often had to remind herself who she was looking for. The answer was her.

Sometimes she thought that there was no one to find. That she was just made up of a bunch of lies, different lives, and other people’s problems. Her life often felt like a rough draft full of mistakes, and errors, and things to change and rewrite, but it was too late because the book was already published. The only problem was that the critics were ex. KGB, or Hydra, or perverted men with nothing better to do.

On most days she felt like that, but not today. Today on this fine Monday in July, Natasha felt hopeful to say the least; something she didn’t feel very often. Steve had called out of the blue asking her if they could meet in D.C tomorrow, so she said yes, because she couldn’t come up with a good enough reason to say no.

Her worn out apartment in Italy felt emptier than ever now that James had left, and so did her heart, so she decided that seeing Steve would be a good thing. There was no death bringing them together this time, or Hydra facility, or even the topic of Bucky, and for that Natasha was thankful.

It has been so long since someone wanted to meet up with her so that they could see Natasha; not for her help, or advice, but because they just wanted to talk. It has been even longer since she has done something for herself just because, and not to stay alive, but maybe that was a lie because seeing Steve Rogers made her want to live, at least for today.

She drove to the airport in Italy, and purchased one ticket to New York, but she failed to notice the black cars tailing her. She than boarded the plane, but she didn’t see the three large looking men in dark suits board as well. Once the plane landed, she was planning to meet Steve at Central Park, but she never made it there.

Natasha was in the taxi when her phone rang. She looked at the screen, and smiled slightly to herself seeing that it was from Steve.

“Hello,” she answered.

The driver made a wrong turn.

“Natasha, how was your flight?” asked Steve, ever the gentleman.

“Not bad. I’m used to turbulence by now,” Natasha said.

The doors locked.

“But next time I think I should better hydrate myself before traveling,” she said while slowly moving her right hand towards the gun on her hip.

Steve was about to say something when the car went under a tunnel, and the line went dead. Natasha could only hope that he could connect the dots.

Her finger was on the trigger, and her face remained stoic, but her heart was beating fast. The driver showed no sign of threat as he continued to drive as if nothing was wrong, but that was the complete opposite of the problem – that Natasha was positive of.

She was just about to pull her gun out as the car drove through an intersection, when there was a loud noise from her side of the vehicle, and a sharp pain shot throughout her body as the car flipped through the air like a bird without its wings. Next thing she knew, the car was upside down, and she could smell smoke, and gasoline – two very bad combinations. Natasha opened her eyes, and her vision was blurry, but she could make out the lifeless body of the driver. She tried to undo her seatbelt but it was stuck, and her gun was nowhere in sight.

There was another loud noise, resulting in the color red clouding her vision. Natasha could taste blood, and she could feel the flames biting at her flesh like a wolf looking for food. The only difference was, this time Natasha was the prey, not the predator, and the thing about being something’s prey is that all you can do is hide, but there’s only a matter of time before you get hunted down, and caught, and her time was up.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the silhouette of someone walking towards the car. Her lungs were on fire, her throat was dry, and her body numb, but the footsteps kept getting louder and louder the closer they got, the way a clock tower rings after every hour. Right when the footsteps stopped, the car began to shake as if someone was trying to open the door, her door. The pounding in her head got louder, as the burning in her lungs grew stronger, and she tried to reach for her phone, but it was too far out of reach.

Her vision was becoming blurry around the edges, and she could feel something, or somebody trying to pull her out of the burning car. Any other day Natasha would have fought back, but right now she was simply too weak.

After what seemed like ages, she was meant with the cold New York air as she was pulled from the car. The wind was comforting, but that feeling left as fast as it came because when she willed herself to focus on the blurry face dragging her from what was left of the car, she couldn’t believe her eyes.

The car exploded right as Natasha realized who the person was. She had the same red hair, slim face, and green eyes that she recognized all too well; that person was herself.

“What are you doing?” Natasha choked out, the smoke still drowning her lungs.

“You’ll see soon enough,” said the women, in almost a matching voice, with the same sly grin that Natasha always used on targets.

The women got out a syringe, and stuck it in her neck. Natasha tried to resist, but she could feel the drugs making their way through her veins, slowing down her brain, and she only had one thought before her vision went black.

Shit.

Chapter Text

Silence.

There is 7 billion people in the whole world yet there are still moments where you could hear a pin drop, where it’s so quiet that your own breathing is the loudest thing in the room, and then there are times where there’s not a sound for miles, but your brain is screaming so loud that you pray for any type of noise to serve as a distraction – anything to stop your head from shouting the words that your lips can only whisper.

Steve was sitting on a bench in Central Park staring at his cell phone that read Connection Lost. Just seconds earlier he was hearing Natasha’s voice, and he couldn’t wait to see her say everything and anything in person. He missed everything about her, even the jokes she made about his age. Honestly he couldn’t wait to hear the new ones she came up with after all this time, as crazy as it sounded. All the missions he went on with her, all the dates she tried to set him up with, and all the time they spent together he realized that he took for granted.

She thought that she owed him, but it was the opposite. He wanted her to be a friend, but now he couldn’t help but want more – to be more.

She said something about not being hydrated, which was weird. Natasha wasn’t exactly the definition of normal, or even sane, but she wasn’t crazy. She was many things: stubborn, bossy, sarcastic, aggressive, controlling, and so many more, but crazy wasn’t on the list.

They were supposed to meet at noon, but it was 1:15, and she wasn’t there. Steve tried calling her, but it went immediately to voice mail each time, and it wasn’t like her to not answer her phone.

He knew that his head was a mess right now because of the search for Bucky, or the failed search in better words, but his gut was telling him that Natasha was in trouble, and he wasn’t about to give up on her now too.

Sitting on the park bench, he looked around the park full of flowers, animals, and so much green, and he instantly remembered 70 years ago back in the Great Depression when there wasn’t people out walking their dogs, but people living in boxes with not a dime to their name. It is funny how almost two completely different things can happen in the same place. It is even funnier how most people go their whole life without ever making the connection. Green means life, but his past memories of Central Park were full of people begging for food, wishing they were dead.

All that mattered now was that the boxes were replaced with trees, and the fires were replaced with fountains, and all the death was now hidden by all the life.

Life.

Something that Steve’s not sure has ever been in his control.

Something that he has fought for in trenches and battlefields in war torn countries where people never got the chance to stand up for themselves.

And something he was damn sure he was going to help Natasha Romanoff get back whether he was a part of it or not.

He stared back at his phone – at Natasha’s name it the call history, and that is when he knew what to do. Steve scrolled through his contact list, and stopped at one name he didn’t think he’d be calling anytime soon. He pressed call, and four rings later the other line picked up.

“Stark, I need your help.”

***

Her head was pounding so hard, it felt like someone was banging a hammer up against her temples. The ringing in her ears was nonstop, as she was being dragged through some long hallway in some strange, dark building.

There were two big looking man on either side of her, holding her up by her arms, though her feet still ripped through the ground as if they didn’t have any function at all.

Natasha didn’t remember much, and she blamed that on the unknown drug that was probably still in her system. All she remembered was a car accident, and then blank.

The hall was really dark, and she didn’t know how long she had been out for. Was it hours, or days? She wasn’t sure, and frankly it didn’t matter very much. All that mattered was trying to get out of this place, whatever it may be. She didn’t really plan on staying too long to find out.

As she was being dragged through the hall, she passed many doors, and inside them she could see glimpses of people – but not all of them looked very civilized. There were loud noises coming from some of the doors, but the ones that were completely silent scared her the most. There were posters on the wall that looked like advertisement, but the thing was, she had never heard of those products before. Everything else was too worn and faded to be recognized. The long hallway led up to a single door. The closer she got to it, the more she started to struggle, because the slimmer her chances to escape became. The grip on her arms got tighter, and she started to kick and scratch, but it was to no avail. Natasha was still too weak, for this to be a fair fight.

She was thrown into the room. It was empty and blank, but there was claw marks on the wall. Almost like someone was counting down their days in here. One of the men who brought her here turned to lock the door, but that was all she needed.

In only seconds Natasha had the guy on the floor, knocked out cold. On any other day she would have been able to sense the other goon from behind her, but her reflexes and senses were still a bit sluggish, as she was put into a tight head lock. People in lab coats started to rush into the room, but one face stuck out the most amongst them all.

Clint.

He walked over to her, making direct eye contact, probably trying to get across that she should stop trying to struggle, but this only made her struggle more. First she winds up in who knows where, taken by someone who looks like her, and then someone she trusts, or thought she did, shows up as well, and not for the rescue party.

Natasha kicked, and tried to get free of the man’s grasp, but there’s was a needle in her arm before she could even began. Her vision was getting blurrier by the second, as her limbs got number. But before her body shut off entirely, she heard someone say “Experiment Black Widow, is now in progress.”

It was Clint’s voice that she heard.