Chapter Text
WASHINGTON, D.C. | APRIL 2014
Fury was late.
It was Natasha’s day off. It was six-twenty in the morning. She’d been called in. And Fury was late.
She’d been sitting in his office for at least ten minutes. Ten extra minutes she could have stayed in the comfort and warmth of her bed, or taken to stop at Starbucks on the way to the Triskelion. If this was so urgent that Nick needed her to come in on a Friday morning, less than five hours after she’d returned from another one of his little side errands, “as soon as possible, Romanoff,” then why was he not here already?
She shot him a bitter glare when he finally pushed the doors open, but he ignored her and took a seat at his desk. She remained where she was, leaning back in one of the chairs on the opposite side of it, arms crossed tightly across her chest.
“Thank you for getting here so quickly,” he said.
“I would have taken my time, but I thought I might be punctual for once,” she replied evenly, expression on her face unchanging. If anyone else spoke to him like that, they’d be stripped of all clearance levels and be demoted to filing paperwork in some lonely corner of SHIELD, if they kept their jobs at all. But Natasha wasn’t anyone else, and she could have sworn she saw the faintest smirk cross his face.
“I know you got in late last night,” Nick began, leaning forward in his chair and tapping on the glass surface of his desk. “But something came up.”
“If things didn’t come up, we wouldn’t have jobs.” He ignored that too, sliding his fingers across the display. The windows behind him suddenly darkened, and she heard the doors to his office click shut behind her. He’d been doing this often lately, whenever he sent her out on her own. It had only been a handful of times over the last few weeks, but she’d suspected from the start that these side missions he’d been assigning her may not be official. She’d been sent with no backup, no pilot, no extraction plan, and wasn’t required to file any reports once she returned. Get in, plug in a flash drive, back up whatever she could, and get out. No debrief, no reports. Hand Fury the drive and that was that. She had no idea what she was supposed to be looking for, just that he clearly hadn’t found it yet.
“I have intel that this ship-“ he flicked his fingers and the holographic display filled the air between them, revealing a satellite image of a giant ship; she could barely make out a SHIELD logo on the side of it- “will be overrun by pirates in approximately fourteen minutes.”
“Approximately,” she repeated. He gave her a look. “And what else does this intel say?”
“It says that this ship isn’t where it’s supposed to be, Agent Romanoff.”
He watched her digest the information, and something about that didn’t sit well. A SHIELD vessel was off course. Purposefully? Why was Fury concerned about a boat in the middle of the Indian Ocean? Surely he had better things to do. She averted her eyes from the hologram and met his. He reached into the top drawer of his desk and whatever he pulled out clacked against the glass when he set it down and slid towards her. Another flash drive. She glanced down at it.
“In fourteen minutes, twenty-five pirates will take the entire ship hostage. Rogers and the STRIKE team will take care of it. This will keep them busy long enough for you to find the control room, copy everything on their hard drive, and get back to the hostages.” Natasha nodded, staring at the drive in front of her, the things he wasn’t telling her gnawing at the back of her mind. “And Agent Romanoff-“ She lifted her eyes to meet Nick’s again- “I want to emphasize that this is your mission.”
Just like all the rest of them. Don’t tell Rogers. Natasha agreed that Steve didn’t need to know everything, even though he thought he wanted to. She knew that, although it had gotten better over the last couple years, his trust of SHIELD was still rather limited. But he was her partner. They were the same clearance level, and she led the STRIKE team as much as he did. It didn’t feel right to keep things from him, and not just on a professional level.
“With all due respect, Sir.” Fury lifted an eyebrow, clearly anticipating what she was going to say, what she had held back all the other times. “Captain Rogers and I are partners. Solo missions I understand, but he has a right to know the details of a mission he’s meant to lead.”
“Natasha.” He regarded her evenly, but she still caught the small sigh as he said her name. “Rogers is an excellent agent. You two work exceptionally well together and he’s an incredible asset to SHIELD. But you’re my best agent.” She wanted to roll her eyes. She didn’t. “I understand your apprehension. I do. But some things need to be kept quiet. Some secrets need to be kept a secret, and the more people who know them, the higher the risk.”
She knew that. Of course she did. She didn’t become one of the most highly trained spies in the world - with the exception of maybe the man sitting in front of her - without understanding how an agency like SHIELD needed to exist. But something still didn’t feel right. Her gut was telling her there was a lot he wasn’t telling her. In what world did Nick Fury not trust Steve Rogers? Who didn’t trust the guy? If Nick didn’t want Steve knowing something, it had to be important.
“He’s not going to be happy if he finds out,” she warned him.
“Natasha,” Nick said again his eyes narrowing, but not maliciously. It was more like…pleading. “I would really prefer that he doesn’t.”
Natasha watched him carefully for a few more seconds, before finally nodding and swiping the flash drive off of his desk and standing.
“The alert will be sent to you in about ten minutes. Go get Rogers and be back here as soon as possible.”
“Yes, Sir.” She turned towards the door, exiting without another word and pocketing the drive, trading it for her phone. It was almost six-thirty, meaning he was most likely finishing his morning run. She accompanied him sometimes (when she actually felt like dragging herself out of bed at the ass crack of dawn), and she happened to know he ran the same route every morning. At this point he’d be heading east on Constitution Avenue on his final lap around the park before looping back around to head back to his apartment.
Sure enough, after she’d taken the seven-and-a-half minute drive from the Triskelion to the Capitol building, she she caught a glimpse of Steve talking to someone about halfway down the street. She pulled out her phone while stopped at the light at the corner.
MISSION ALERT. EXTRACTION IMMINENT. MEET AT THE CURB.
She added a smiley face for good measure and dropped her phone back down into the cupholder. She briefly saw him glancing down at his own before the light turned green and she turned. Steve had already seen her pull up, but the guy he was talking to was checking out her car, so she revved the engine purely for dramatic effect before she rolled the window down.
“Hey fellas.” She paused when Steve turned towards her, because jesus, does that man own a single shirt that fits him? “Either of you know where the Smithsonian is? I’m here to pick up a fossil.”
Steve rolled his eyes.
“That’s hilarious,” he replied flatly, approaching the car and pulling the door open. Natasha just smirked at him before catching the eye of the man he’d been talking to before she arrived. He knelt down, still admiring her Corvette (she was used to it, working with so many men) until he realized who was driving it.
“How you doin’?” he said with a grin.
“Hey,” she replied with a smile. Steve slid into the passenger seat, his large frame taking up more space than a normal man would have, filling the air with the smell of his laundry soap, aftershave, and sweat. She gritted her teeth when his arm brushed against hers as he pulled the door shut.
“Can’t run everywhere,” Steve said to the guy, who just continued to grin.
“No you can’t.” She revved the engine a couple more times (just to show off, something that never got old) and sped away, not missing Steve throwing his hand against the dashboard to brace himself. She knew he hated the way she drove, even if he never came out and said it.
“Who’s that?” she asked, once she’d turned the corner to head back to the Triskelion.
“We run the same route most mornings. His name is Sam, he works at the VA,” Steve answered. Both of their phones chimed at the same time, and Steve lifted his to read the mission alert Fury had told her they’d be getting.
“Nice to see you finally make a friend, old man,” she chided, and she glanced over as he rolled his eyes again.
“Ha ha,” he replied flatly, scrolling through the message on his phone. “You know what this is about?”
“Not really.” She kept her eyes straight ahead of her, but could still see him watching her. She had no doubt he’d wonder why she knew about this before SHIELD had sent out the alert. And, for that matter, why she was awake this goddamn early in the first place. “Fury just told me to find you,” she added by way of an explanation. His gaze lingered on her for a few more seconds - she could feel his eyes on her - but then he just nodded and went back to the memo.
“You just get back?” Her hands tightened on the steering wheel, hopefully not enough for him to notice. After her conversation with Fury this morning, she felt a bit uneasy about what she’d been keeping from him the last few weeks. Ever since they’d been partnered together, he never really sent her out without Steve. She could tell he’d noticed but never questioned it.
“Yep.” He didn’t seem wholly satisfied with that answer but didn’t push her.
They returned to the Triskelion a few minutes later, gearing up in the armory before meeting the rest of the STRIKE team on the quinjet.
“Nice of the Avengers to finally show up,” Rumlow muttered. He’d phrased it as a joke, but it fell flat. She and Steve both ignored him as the ramp shut behind them and the jet lifted smoothly off the ground.
Natasha worked with him for years and never liked him. Part of it had to do with the simple fact that he was a dick. But Natasha also happened to know he’d been gunning for Steve’s position, and resented the two of them for being his commanding officers and having a higher clearance level despite his seniority (and overall narcissism and misogyny). It gave her quite a bit of satisfaction every time he begrudgingly followed her orders because, no matter how much he hated having a woman for a CO, she was still in charge.
It only took them about an hour to reach the middle of the Indian Ocean. Once the jet started closing in on the location of the ship, Rumlow started bringing up the details of the operation on the screen above the cockpit.
“The target is a mobile satellite launch platform,” he said, flicking through images on the screen. He pulled up one of the ship Fury had showed her, this time a three-dimensional rendering rather than a satellite image. “The Lumerian Star, that was sending up their last payload before pirates took over, ninety-three minutes ago.” Exactly when Fury said they would. Natasha rested her chin on her fist, eyes scouring the diagram of the ship. Find the control room. Back up everything on the hard drive.
“Any demands?” Steve asked from next to her.
“Billion and a half.”
“Why so steep?”
“Because it’s SHIELD’s.”
Steve paused, letting that sink in. “So it’s not off course, it’s trespassing,” he sighed, and turned to her. Like she’d known about it.
He didn’t have to know she did.
“I’m sure they have a good reason,” she replied coolly. She glanced over at him, met with an irritated frown. He searched her eyes, trying to get information from her that she wasn’t going to give.
It annoyed her. She didn’t blame him for not trusting her - he knew enough about her not to - but considering how long they’d been partners, constantly convincing him she wasn’t one of the bad guys when something like this came up was exhausting. It felt a bit hypocritical considering there were things she wasn’t telling him - that she wasn’t allowed to tell him - but she still found herself wishing he’d give her the benefit of the doubt every once in a while.
“Yeah, well I’m getting a little tired of being Fury’s janitor-“
“Relax, it’s not that complicated,” she cut him off, shooting him an irritated, fake smile, attempting (almost painfully) not to roll her eyes. It shouldn’t bother her so much. He treated everyone at SHIELD the same way. But I should be different.
She immediately cut off her own thoughts, using the excuse that she was just tired.
“How many pirates?” he asked, finally looking past her and at Rumlow.
Twenty-five, she wanted to answer, mostly out of pettiness so all these idiot men were aware that she knew what the hell she was doing. But she wasn’t supposed to have that information. She let Rumlow answer instead.
“Twenty-five. Top mercs, led by this guy. George Batroc.” He pulled up a mugshot onto the screen and listed off all of the information SHIELD had on him. Natasha narrowed her eyes at the photo. The guy looked familiar. He was French, but that wasn’t a guarantee she hadn’t encountered him through the KGB. If she had, it wasn’t recent. Steve would have remembered. She’d have to look into it when she returned to HQ.
“Any hostages?” Steve asked.
“Uhh, mostly techs. One officer.” The way Rumlow answered the question seemed odd. It almost sounded like hesitation. “Jasper Sitwell.” He pulled up Sitwell’s photo, then quickly added, “They’re in the galley.”
Sitwell? Natasha worked with him often but he mostly remained either on the helicarrier or the Triskelion these days.
“What’s Sitwell doing on a launch ship?” Steve muttered to himself, fiddling with the strap on his glove, and she glanced over at him again. She wasn’t sure if Rumlow had heard him, but considering how odd the situation was and Fury’s desperate request for discretion about this entire operation, she hoped he didn’t. “Alright, I’m gonna sweep the deck and find Batroc. Nat, you kill the engines and wait for instructions.”
She nodded absentmindedly, her chin still resting on her fist, taking in as much as she could from the screen in front of them while he directed the rest of the STRIKE team. The entire situation made her uneasy and she didn’t like being as in the dark as she was. She needed information.
They were just a couple miles out when she felt the jet shift in the air. Steve turned towards the back of the jet and she followed, Steve securing the team’s communication channel while she went to work stocking her belt and ensuring her widow’s bites were in working order. He seemed a bit cold, and she wondered if he picked up on her irritation before. Something about that bothered her.
“You doin’ anything fun Saturday night?” He was close enough to her that she could practically feel him relax a bit.
“Well, all the guys from my barbershop quartet are dead, so…” He shoved his earpiece into his ear, smirking at her. “No. Not really.”
Natasha glanced over at him with the intention of shooting back an equally smartass answer, but the crooked little grin he was giving her made her mind go suddenly - and uncharacteristically - blank. It threw her off and she allowed herself a half-second of panic before she played it off with a sarcastic smile and averted her gaze, busying herself with securing and re-securing and re-securing again her bracelets.
“Coming up on the drop zone, Cap.”
He finally looked away, reaching over to punch the controls for the ramp of the jet, completely oblivious to how much she was scrambling to divert from her reaction.
“You know-“ She glanced back up at him, expertly cool. “-if you asked Kristin out from Statistics, she’d probably say yes.”
That was stating the obvious. The girl was practically drooling at him when they’d seen her in the Triskelion’s massive training center earlier that week. Granted, that wasn’t really an uncommon occurrence. Natasha found herself staring a little too long at him more often than she would ever admit to anyone, especially herself.
“That’s why I don’t ask,” he called over the roar of the engines and wind whipping by through the open ramp. He pulled on his helmet and glanced back over at her while he secured the strap. He reached over and pulled his shield up from where it had been leaning against the wall and secured it on his back.
“Too shy or too scared?” she replied with a raised eyebrow, very pointedly ignoring the slight twist in the pit of her stomach that was always there whenever he shot down anyone she tried to set him up with. God, what the fuck is wrong with me?
“Too busy,” he called back with a smirk, taking a few long steps towards the end of the ramp before taking a dramatic leap off of it. She rolled her eyes, desperately trying to control the involuntary upward twitch of her lips. She turned away from Rollins and Rumlow, who were standing behind her preparing to drop down to the ship and pulled on her parachute.
Rumlow jumped first, followed by a few more members of the STRIKE team before Natasha followed. As soon as she dropped she was plunged into darkness and near silence, the only sound meeting her ears from the wind rushing by. For some reason she’d always loved this part, the way her heart lurched in her chest as she plummeted towards the ground, then the freeing feeling of flying through the air once she pulled her parachute. Her job was nothing but chaos but this was almost relaxing. It was nice and cool this far up, the salty smell of the ocean surrounding her, pitch black in all directions besides the lit up ship below her.
Clint, who routinely scaled and leaped across tall buildings and preferred being as high as possible, absolutely detested jumping from planes and accused her of being an adrenaline junkie. At least, she’d reminded him once with a very pointed glare at Steve, she used a goddamn parachute.
As she glided closer to the water’s surface, she could see Steve making his way towards the front of the ship. He effectively knocked out one pirate after another, speeding efficiently and effortlessly across the deck. Right before she landed one of the thugs pointed a gun at him from behind and he froze, feigning surrender - she taught him that move, and she couldn’t help be both proud and a little smug - but before he could twist himself around and knock him to the ground, Rumlow lifted his gun and shot the guy in the shoulder as he landed.
Natasha’s boots hit the deck much closer to Steve than she wanted. Her gut twisted again and she silently cursed and busied herself with releasing her parachute. It fell with a soft thud behind them.
“What about the nurse that lives across the hall from you? She seems kinda nice.”
The second she mentioned her, regret flooded through her. More lies. More secrets. What the hell was she thinking? She couldn’t set him up with Sharon. Fury would be beyond pissed if she was the reason Sharon’s cover was blown. Besides, they couldn’t risk him finding out who she was. Sharon wasn’t really comfortable with anyone finding out she was related to Peggy Carter, and she especially didn’t want Steve to figure it out.
“Secure the engine room. Then find me a date.”
Natasha crossed behind him, grabbing ahold of the railing they were walking along to hop over it.
“I’m multi-tasking.”
She could have sworn she heard him snort out a laugh as she dropped down and away from him.
The engine room was easy enough to locate, especially with all of the additional memorization she’d done of the ship’s layout. She effectively took out five more of the pirates, using one as an anchor for her grappling hook to slide all the way down to land on a walkway a few levels up from the bottom. She stepped over the now corpse next to where she’d landed, leaping silently down two sets of steps.
“Target’s acquired,” someone’s voice whispered over the comm link.
“STRIKE in position,” Rumlow added softly.
“Natasha, what’s your status?” That was Steve. She ignored him, sprinting down a small hallway towards the center of the engine room. She landed silently on another lower level, jumping up and rounding the corner towards the thug that had just walked by. “Status, Natasha!”
“Hang on!” she yelled angrily into her wrist, leaping out from her hiding spot.
She’d caught the attention of the thug who’d just walked by and he spun around, gearing up to attack. She was much too quick, launching herself onto his shoulders and bringing her widow’s bites to either side of his neck. The guy didn’t even have time to scream, just grunted and fell to the ground.
Another pirate appeared around the corner but she’d been ready for him, launching off of the first thug and rolling towards the newcomer. He whipped out his gun but before he had time to aim she jabbed him in the side and grabbed his wrist, twisting his arm until it clattered to the ground. He yelled out and Natasha twisted herself to knee him in the ribs. He staggered backwards with a grunt and she used that split second to drop to the ground and spin again, this time knocking his feet out from underneath him with her outstretched leg. He fell backwards, landing hard on his ass. It slowed him down enough for her to turn to a third pirate just as he’d lunged at her. She took him down quite efficiently too, and when all three men were lying on the floor either unconscious or groaning in pain, she finally lifted her wrist.
“Engine room secure,” she panted. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the first thug apparently getting his second wind. He pushed himself onto his knees but before he could come at her she pulled a giant metal tool off of a work bench and smacked him right across the face. He fell to the ground with a thud.
With that taken care of, she left the mess of the engine room and recalled the layout of the ship. Between her and Steve they’d taken out all of the pirates besides the ones the rest of the STRIKE team were in the process of cornering. She took off down hall, sure enough finding the rest of the ship deserted.
“On my mark,” Steve whispered lowly into the comm line. “Three…two…one…”
She pushed through a door, sprinting down another hallway, leaping up a couple flights of stairs and taking a few more turns - effectively avoiding the galley, where the rest of the team would be leading hostages to safety very shortly - before finding the set of steps that would take her where she needed to go. She flew through another door to find a large room, filing cabinets lining the perimeter and a long row of computers in the center. As she expected, it was deserted.
“Hostages in route to extraction,” came Rumlow’s voice in her ear. “Romanoff missed the rendezvous point, Cap.”
“Mind your own goddamn business, asshole,” Natasha muttered to herself, rolling her eyes. She crossed the room, picking a computer terminal at random, plugging in the drive and getting right to work.
“Hostiles are still in play,” he added.
“No they’re not, you’re fuckin’ welcome.”
“Natasha,” Steve breathed. It wasn’t forceful. Rumlow was a dick, but Steve seemed genuinely concerned, even if it was only the slight waver in his voice giving it away. It used to irritate the hell out of her, but she’d learned to accept it. She wouldn’t admit it, but it felt kinda nice having someone watching her back as much as Steve did. Clint did too, but he was too much like her that it wasn’t as obvious. “Batroc’s still on the move. Circle back to Rumlow and protect the hostages.” She still didn’t reply. “Natasha!”
A fresh wave of guilt flooded through her, and she swallowed thickly, forcing herself to ignore him. She kept typing, fingers flying across the keyboard as she copied everything in the system onto Fury’s drive. She tried to distract herself and make sense of what she was copying, but it all flew by too fast for her to catch anything. Whatever was stored on this ship was infinitely more than she’d seen any of the other times he’d sent her out.
Steve didn’t push again and she urged herself to move faster. She’d have to come up a reason for ignoring him. Rumlow would probably bitch about it, whine to Fury about insubordination or something, but she could handle idiots like him in her sleep. Steve was the one she was worried about. Everything could be great between them but the second she did something he didn’t approve of he got very crabby very fast. It drove her crazy at first but after a while the sinking feeling that she’d let him down and betrayed him started creeping into her thoughts.
She heard the faint sounds of a fight outside and stilled, just for a second. The sounds were getting closer so she resumed typing, picking up the pace even more. Suddenly there was a loud bang, and something crashed through a door opposite from where she’d entered the room. It was Steve. Shit.
He was on top of someone - Batroc, probably - and punched him hard on the jaw before the man was out cold. He hadn’t noticed her.
“Well, this is awkward,” she drawled sarcastically. He glanced over at her, panting, brows furrowing. She met his gaze briefly, offering him an innocent smile before turning back to the screen in front of her.
“What are you doing?” he demanded, rising to his feet.
“Backing up the hard drive. It’s a good habit to get into.” He didn’t find her amusing, if the hard look on his face was any indication. She glanced over at him when he started to approach her, checking that Batroc was indeed passed out before closing the distance between them.
“Rumlow needed your help. What the hell are you doing here?” He was pissed. Her jaw tightened but she ignored him. He stood next to her and lifted his gaze up to the giant screen against the back wall of the room. “You’re saving SHIELD intel.” It wasn’t a question. She braved a quick glance up at him, her heart pounding in her chest.
“Whatever I can get my hands on-“
“Our mission was to rescue hostages!”
“No, that’s your mission.” It came out a bit harsher than she’d intended, but the way he just stared at her, dumbfounded, was getting on her nerves. The backup hit a hundred percent so she yanked the drive out of the USB slot, slipped it into a secure pocket on her belt, and turned to him. “And you’ve done it beautifully,” she added with a smirk.
She tried to brush past him but he grabbed her arm, forcing her to turn towards him. They usually worked seamlessly as partners, each leading when the mission called for it and splitting the responsibility equally. When it was just the two of them, they were a well-oiled machine. Even when she took charge without his permission she usually respected and trusted her decision enough to let it go. But it was clear by the way he was glaring at her, a deep crease between his brows, that he wasn’t going to this time.
“You just jeopardized this whole operation,” he seethed, hand tightening around her arm. Her mind - the traitor - brought to her attention how close he was, and suddenly it was the only thing she could focus on. His breath on her nose, the feeling of his strong fingertips digging into her forearm, a brief whiff of his aftershave, still prominent from earlier. She wasn’t sure why that was the one thing she always picked up on whenever he was close enough to her. His eyes sparkled, bluer than normal, reflecting the lights of the computer screens surrounding them. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest and she desperately hoped he couldn’t hear it, or feel her pulse quicken in her veins where he was holding to her tightly.
“I think that’s over-stating things,” she said, rolling her eyes, after what felt like several minutes but was probably about a second.
He opened his mouth to argue but before he got the chance, they heard movement behind them. Steve spun around just in time for Batroc to come to. He leapt to his feet and Steve instinctively shoved Natasha backwards as a grenade came flying towards them. He knocked it out of the way, spinning on his heels and reaching out for her. As soon as he had a good hold on her he leapt on top of one of the computer terminals, using the momentum to hop over another identical row. They moved together, perfectly in-sync, having done this a thousand times. Natasha whipped her gun out from its holster and shot through the window of a small office to break it so they didn’t have to. He flung his shield out in front of them to protect her from the glass and launched the two of them through the window just as the control room exploded behind them.
Heat washed over them as they flew into the next room and crashed to the floor. Natasha landed hard on her shoulder, grunting at the impact. Her thigh slammed against something hard on the floor; a giant piece of glass, it looked like. It sliced through her suit and into her skin, stinging harshly. It wasn’t deep, but damn, it hurt. She immediately rolled onto her back and used her good leg to push herself backwards so it was against the wall. Glass fell on top of her and she squeezed her eyes shut against the pain throbbing up her leg and spreading across her hip. Steve also pushed himself against the wall of the office, briefly lifting himself up to check the damage they’d just narrowly avoided.
“Okay,” she panted, once he’d fallen back to sit on the floor. She braved a glance over at him. “That one’s on me.”
She’d meant it to be a joke, a deflection, making light of something that was technically not her fault, but that she couldn’t fully explain to him. He didn’t find it remotely funny.
“You’re damn right,” he hissed, pushing himself aggressively off the floor and storming out.
God, he was pissed.
“Shit,” she breathed, leaning her head back against the wall. She closed her eyes, letting out a long sigh. The tightness in her chest - a culmination of adrenaline and guilt and anger at Fury for making her lie to him and the sinking feeling caused by knowing she was the reason he was so upset - suddenly hurt more than the giant gash in her leg. She pushed herself to her feet, carefully testing her right leg to make sure she could put weight on it. It ached fiercely but she’d had worse. She’d live.
She tried her damndest not to limp after Steve, jaw clenching against the pain in her leg but making it easily back to the deck. The hostages were already lifted to a second quinjet that had been waiting a few minutes out from their own. Steve barely even looked at her, just a brief glance down at her thigh when he realized she was favoring it. No one said a thing when they’d both emerged from an explosion, Rumlow just rolling his eyes and calling for extraction.
The ride back to the Triskelion was quiet. Steve practically seethed the entire time. The rest of the STRIKE team looked almost terrified of him and gravitated towards cockpit. Finally he grabbed a first aid kit and knelt down next to her where she’d collapsed on the floor against the wall, injured leg stretched in front of her with a bloody towel pressed against it, other bent tightly up against her chest.
“You okay?” he asked quietly, the tension still very present in his voice.
“I’m fine,” she replied shortly. “And I can do that myself.” His jaw tightened and she thought he was going get up and walk away again, but he didn’t. Instead he popped open the kit and reached over, forcing her hand away from her wound. He wordlessly got to work cleaning and stitching it up. She stared straight ahead the entire time, muscles tense. Maybe it was petty of her, but she wanted him to know she was ignoring him just as much as he was ignoring her. He seemed to be doing the exact same thing.
She didn’t thank him when he’d finished, instead adjusting her body away from him just enough for him to get the hint. She thought she saw him roll his eyes before he stood, turned away, and avoided her for the rest of the trip.
Once they’d arrived back in DC they were ushered upstairs into a conference room to debrief with Maria Hill. When she asked what the hell happened Steve explained, leaving out exactly why they’d been in the control room, never mentioning her by name. However, when he mentioned that Natasha had been in the room with him and the explosion was how she’d been injured, Rumlow rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, something about how Natasha couldn’t submit to Steve being in charge. Natasha glared at him.
“You know we both have enhanced hearing, right?” she snapped. “We can hear all your shitty commentary.”
“Natasha,” Steve warned, but he’d clearly heard it too.
Technically, Rumlow was right. Steve was her CO, regardless of seniority or whether they were the same clearance level. But they were partners and he’d never once betrayed that, both of them leading the team together depending on the op. She knew it bothered him to no end that the STRIKE team constantly undermined her authority, even if she was still above them in the chain of command.
“Batroc escaped,” Rumlow replied, looking straight at Natasha, ignoring Steve. “He escaped a fucking ship in the middle of the ocean. How the hell does that happen?”
“Maybe he teleported,” she replied sarcastically, rolling her eyes. He seemed to be ignoring the fact that Batroc had run clear across the middle deck of the ship, where they’d all been loading the hostages, and somehow he’d vanished.
“You were supposed to help us with the hostages, Romanoff,” Rollins cut in. “Clear the engine room and wait for instructions. Those were your orders. Which you didn’t fucking follow.”
“Hey-“ Steve started, but Rumlow deliberately turned away from him to glare at Natasha.
“Just because Cap seems to think you’re a valuable asset to this team doesn’t mean-“
“Hey-!“ Maria called, but it was in vain. Natasha was practically vibrating with anger, her hands curled in fists around armrests on the chair she’d been sitting in.
“Fuck off, Rumlow,” she spat out.
“That’s enough!” Steve’s voice echoed through the room. Natasha stood up, her chair shooting out from beneath her and rolling backwards into the wall. “Natasha-“
She brushed past him and into the hall, ignoring him and the fresh pain shooting through her thigh. Then she stormed down the hall towards the elevator, demanding it take her up to Fury’s office.
“I hear that went well,” he said flatly as she stormed into the room. He’d been staring out the window, but swiveled in his chair to face her. She approached his desk and slammed the flash drive down on top of it.
“I’m done,” she said, ignoring his comment. “I don’t care what you’re looking for, or why you have me sneaking around, or your trust issues. I’m not lying to him anymore.”
“You didn’t lie to him, Agent Romanoff.”
He’s your boss, she reminded herself, her fists clenching at her sides.
“Nick.” She huffed angrily to cover up how much it sounded like she was pleading with him. Maybe she was. “He’s my partner. I can’t keep stuff like this from him. You know damn well you wouldn’t have made me do this to Barton.” Fury regarded her evenly. The fact that he didn’t argue was enough of an agreement as she was going to get. That calmed her down enough to take a deep breath before continuing. “I know my place. You know I do. But you wanted this relationship to work, you wanted Rogers to trust me. And he doesn’t.” She hated herself for the tiny crack in her voice. Shit. “I need him to trust me or we’ll never work as well together as Clint and I did. And you know that.”
“I do,” Fury said finally.
“I’ll do my job and I won’t ask questions. But from now on I’m not shutting him out. I run ops with Rogers or I don’t do them at all.”
Fury narrowed his eyes at her. She knew he could discipline her for this, for barging into his office making demands and refusing to do her job unless they were met. But she also knew he respected her enough to consider what she was saying and why she was so upset.
“Understood, Agent Romanoff,” he said finally, with a simple nod.
“Thank you,” she replied. Suddenly she felt all riled up for no reason. Like an idiot. “Now, if you don’t mind, Sir, it’s my day off. I’m going home.”
If she was anyone else, she wouldn’t have noticed the slight upwards twitch of his lips into what was considered a smile. “Of course.”
Natasha spun around, but paused before pulling open the door.
“By the way, Brock Rumlow deserves to be suspended,” she stated, hand resting on the door handle.
“On what grounds?” Fury asked behind her. She glanced around and looked him straight in the eye.
“Insubordination. He’s a dick.”
She pulled the door open and she could have sworn she heard a chuckle as the door swung closed.
Natasha turned down the hall and was about to round the corner back towards the elevator when she almost ran right into Steve. He stopped, staring at her for a few seconds. He glanced in the direction of Fury’s office, then back at her.
“Stay here.” It was an order, but not a malicious one.
“Can I at least go change?” She snapped, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. He narrowed his eyes at her, considering.
“Locker room. Ten minutes.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
He ignored her sarcastic reply, brushed past her, and stormed into Fury’s office. She continued down the hall to the elevator, desperately hoping the STRIKE’s locker room would be empty.
It was. Thank god. If she saw Rumlow right now he’d probably end up with a knee to the balls before he got a chance to open his mouth. Then she’d definitely get in trouble.
Worth it.
She peeled off her suit, ripped and covered in ash and blood, and threw it against a wall of lockers out of frustration. She wiped herself down - good enough until she could get home and wash this shit day off of her in the shower - and redressed in her jeans, black tank top and leather jacket. She’d tossed her ruined suit in the trash, shoved the rest of her gear in her duffle bag, and pulled on her boots by the time Steve pushed open the door.
He stopped when he saw her, as if he wasn’t actually expecting her to stay. She just raised an eyebrow at him - he needed to know exactly how much she didn’t want to be here - and leaned back against her locker, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. He didn’t say anything at first, just averted his eyes and turned to his own locker.
They hadn’t been at each other’s throats like this in over a year, not since they started working together. Except now it was different, because they weren’t being forced into a partnership neither of them wanted. Now they were friends, now she cared about him and what he thought of her. Now she felt awful when she pissed him off and happy when they got along and-
Fuck.
“If you’re going to yell at me, can you hurry up? It’s supposed to be my day off.”
Steve had just pulled his locker open, but he slammed it shut again, rattling the entire row of them, then finally turned to face her.
“What the hell is wrong with you today?” he snapped. Natasha narrowed her eyes at him but felt herself shrink away from him. She didn’t answer, so he continued. “How long has Fury been doing this? Giving you orders, making you go behind me like that?”
“That’s classified,” she shot back. He let out a hard breath that was practically a growl. She sighed irritably. “Just today. And trust me, he knows I wasn’t happy about it.” Judging by how angry he was when he’d stormed up to Fury’s office not long ago, she assumed he’d gotten an earful from Steve too.
“You can’t do that. You can’t shut me out like that.”
“I had orders.”
“I’m your commanding officer. I give you orders.”
The second he said it he froze, eyes widening just slightly. Natasha felt a fresh wave of anger flare up inside her and she pushed herself upright, taking a few steps towards him. He practically shrank away from her.
“Are you really going to pull rank on me, Rogers?” she seethed. He swallowed hard, but found his confidence and stepped back towards her again.
“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” he replied lowly.
“Enlighten me.” He opened his mouth to respond, but she suddenly realized she wasn’t done. “Fury’s above you too, in case you forgot. Just because you’re not technically employed by SHIELD doesn’t mean you can flat out disobey a direct order.”
“Natasha-“
She didn’t let him finish. “He specifically told me not to tell you. I don’t know why, it’s not my place to ask questions. Just like I don’t question you and you don’t question me. Unless that’s a problem.”
“It’s not-“
“I’ll tell you again what I told you six months ago. Barton is cleared for active duty. I could request a transfer and leave you to lead your team of assholes, since I’m clearly just an inconvenience-“
“Natasha, stop.” She finally did, not realizing how fast her heart was racing in her chest, how quickly she was taking one breath after another. She tensed, realizing how far she’d let her irritation and exhaustion take her. And then her brain - her stupid fucking brain - realized how close he was to her, like he’d been on the Lumerian Star. The only difference was this time he wasn’t holding her in place while he fumed at her. “I’m mad at Fury, not you,” he said quickly, before she had the chance to keep going. “But you can’t hide things like this from me. I can’t effectively do my job if I can’t trust my team to do theirs. We got lucky today but that could have gone so much worse.”
Of course he didn’t trust her. Why would he? She’d been lying to him for weeks, keeping things - important things - from him since the day he became her partner. He had no reason to. She forced herself to step back, out of his space.
“And I don’t want you to transfer,” he added incredulously. He’d said the same thing months ago, when she assumed she’d be going back to working exclusively with Clint again. “I mean, christ, if almost getting blown up was all it took we wouldn’t have made it past the Battle of New York.” He was trying to make a joke, a dumb one, to lighten the mood. Typical. Had she been in the mood, she would have rolled her eyes and told him he was an idiot. Instead she turned away and slung her duffle bag over her shoulder. “Rumlow and Rollins are assholes.”
She finally huffed out a laugh, as humorless as it may have been.
“Finally, we agree on something,” she muttered. She brushed past him towards the door. “I’m going home. I’ll see you Monday.”