Archive of Our Own

“It’s going to be okay Natasha, just hold on.” 

She jerks awake, gasping and inhaling a mouthful of water. A solid body is suddenly behind her own, gently turning her on her side as she purges the water from her lungs. Disorientated, Natasha feels the chest she’s pressed up to rumble as they say something, a stream of “it’s okay, you’re okay,” but the words don’t register in her subconscious as she coughs, struggling to pull in a full breath of air. She can’t make out any sounds that would clue her in to her surroundings other than the incessant ringing, but she thinks that must be all in her head. She feels her body being lifted from the pool of water before gently being placed on a flat outcropping. 

Natasha’s head pounds in time with her hammering heartbeat, and each beat sends a pulse throughout her body, her muscles twitching involuntarily. Her anxiety spikes at her inability to open her eyes, left shoulder in agony, and she can barely even muster the energy to move her hand out of the water's surface to her right. 

The cool sensation grounds her, however ironically, and she focuses on cataloging what she can about her current state. She tries to focus on her breathing, the stuttering inhale, exhale of her aching chest, but every inhale of her burning lungs feels excruciating, sending a blaze of white-hot flames licking their way through her body. 

She can feel hands on her face, pushing wet strands of hair off her forehead. Those same hands gently skim her aching body checking for surface injuries. 

Her thoughts are jumbled as the pounding in her head increases in time with the probing fingers. She thinks she should feel worried that she can’t feel the incessant prodding below the waist, but everything is just too much all at once, and she can’t focus with the ringing in her ears.  

Why am I alive , she wonders briefly before she falls back unconscious, the muffled sound of someone’s frantic voice following her under.  

***

The next time she wakes, she registers a cacophony of indistinguishable voices, all tumbling over each other, making it difficult for her foggy brain to pinpoint one sound from another. She feels supportive hands around her head and neck while her body is rolled on her side. A tugging sensation on her back and arms, and her tactical suit is eased off her upper body. Something is prodding her back again, sending bursts of pain throughout her battered body, followed by a beat of nothing before she’s placed flat on her back again. She lets out a pained groan at the agony that shoots through her at the action. 

Ostanovka, she thinks, then- “Stop,” she pleas faintly, her natural accent slipping through heavily. 

“She’s awake!” A voice shouts, unbeknownst to her, before a collective intake of breath is taken, and suddenly, eager fingers are pulling at her eyelids, and shining lights are blinding her. 

Natasha fights the hands on her face, squeezing her eyes tight against the onslaught of sensations. She unsuccessfully attempts to roll her head away from the source of light, the holder of her head doing their job well. An extra arm stretches across her chest for good measure, but the pressure only feeds her panic. She manages to loosen the hold by jerking her right shoulder, the arm releasing in surprise, and Natasha snarls at the offender as she lashes out again, trying and failing to keep her eyes open for longer than a couple of seconds. 

“Natasha, hold still; we're trying to help!” A brash, stressed voice shouts. A hand goes to restrain her right arm instead. “Stop trying to bite!” 

“She doesn’t know that!” A second voice replies. “Please keep your neck still!” the speaker pleads, as their thumbs brush Natasha's temple reassuringly from their grip behind her head. The Widow has no idea what the voice is saying, but judging by the change of pitch, she thinks it must be a woman speaking. 

“Natasha, knock it off! Clint quit antagonizing her! Wanda, keep her still; we need this X-Ray.” 

“What the hell is going on here!” A concerned but authoritative voice commands, and the bickering stops for a moment. Natasha continues to struggle, groaning in pain all the while. 

“She woke up!” The feminine voice pipes up, redoubling her efforts to keep her charge still.

 A hand grabs her own and squeezes twice. A signal she can’t seem to remember, but her body must. She calms at once, focusing on the tether as it soothes her against the panic that threatens to consume her. The hand that had been holding her arm to the table slowly releases. 

“I was gone for ten minutes!” the voice attached to her hand grumbles. 

“Natasha, can you hear me? Do you understand what I’m saying, Natasha? I need you to say something if you can,” someone prompts. When no answer comes from the redhead, the voice repeats the question. She feels her hair being brushed away from her ears, trickling blood now dried, and the speaker gasps. “I don’t think she can hear us!”

She knows she should be wary of the way the panicked hands from earlier have stilled in their prodding, but it’s a temporary relief. The ringing in her ears still hasn’t let up, but she’s starting to recognize a difference in the tones of voices that manage to penetrate the haze, and that seems promising. 

The voice closest to her rumbles a panicked “What do you mean she can’t hear us!?”, and although she’s not quite sure what’s being said, she cracks her eyes open briefly, and turns her gaze in its direction. 

“Wait, look-”

“She looked my way; she’s got to be able to hear, right?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t dealt with anything like this before-”

She’s quickly growing tired of the mental gymnastics her hazy brain is completing, trying to figure out where and to whom the voices belong. She groans in a mixture of frustration and pain, and the voices still once more. 

A beat of silence from the group follows as Natasha’s throat works a few times before she’s able to muster a weak “C’n hear, not un’erstand.” 

Someone lets a relieved laugh out, and the hand holding hers gives another long squeeze. Chatter fills the room as the group ponders her words, but she can barely focus on anything other than the wrongness of her body. 

The lights are somewhat dim now, and she chances a quick scan of the group. Her gaze lands on Bruce first before settling on Clint and finally Steve before she clamps her eyes shut again. She can only assume that the higher-pitched voice belongs to Wanda- and that she’s the one stabilizing her neck so unyieldingly. 

She’s resigned herself to just going along with whatever’s to come, too tired and in too much pain to do much else. She feels Bruce’s large hand graze her injured arm, grabbing her attention as she winces. 

“Natasha, I need to reset this shoulder, or your arm will get worse. This is going to hurt.” Bruce’s warning falls on deaf ears as he grabs her left wrist, gently guiding her arm up and giving a solid tug. 

She thinks she must have blacked out for a while because the next thing she knows, she’s slipping slowly back into consciousness, her mind shrouded in a haze of panic. Through the dimly lit room, she can just make out Bruce’s back to her, fiddling with a machine. The other presence is quick to reassure her that she’s okay, but she’s skeptical. The unceasing throbbing everywhere leads her to believe otherwise. Not to mention the unmistakable bulk of bandages she could sense, secured around her ribs and across her back. 

The placating voice she recognizes as Steve says something, but the only words she can really pick out are ‘just out of surgery’, and ‘recovery now’. An accident then, she concludes, before closing her eyes again. 

She feels a sudden pressure against her uninjured shoulder, her head rolling in its direction as she unhappily opens her eyes again. Bruce is looking at her expectantly, and when it becomes clear she hasn’t understood a word he just said, he repeats his statement slowly. 

She stares at him blankly as she processes his request- a quick exam- before she nods and fingers start prodding her again, more focused than before on that damned planet. She’s happy she can at least make out words now, even if they still sound like they’re being whispered through a tunnel. 

Bruce asks her questions all the while, like “Can you feel this? Sharp and dull?” all the way down her arms and torso. She replies with simple grunts, vaguely sounding like ‘yes,’ and then he asks her to squeeze his fingers as hard as she can, which is not very hard- but excusable. Steve’s hand immediately reaches for hers afterward. 

Bruce’s voice takes on an optimistic tone until he reaches her legs. Natasha stays silent instead of responding to his repeated questions, and she knows it can’t be good when she detects the faint false note of positivity he’s trying so hard to convey. 

Steve tries whispering reassurances, but she just squeezes her eyes shut and tries not to think what that could mean for her. Tears well in her eyes, and her breath hitches. She feels the newly familiar claws of panic creeping their way around her heart, squeezing until she’s gasping for breath. 

A quick cool sensation in her shoulder distracts her from her panic briefly, and she’s silently grateful when she feels herself fading. 

I might prefer death, she thinks, before she passes out again. 

***

She’s drifting in and out of consciousness, unable to hold onto waking for long before she’s out cold again. The cycle repeats for hours, days, she’s not really sure. 

While she’s briefly alert, she hears faint sniffles and quiet chattering. She feels a steady presence at her side, a hand always holding her own. Sometimes she even feels the ghost of someone's lips against her hand or temple,  and gentle fingers caressing her face, or her hair. 

When she finally fully awakes, it's a gradual sort of thing. Her mind is groggy from her medicated slumber, and it takes her a minute to orient herself when her eyelids eventually flutter open. She takes a moment to scan herself and take in her surroundings, noticing the crisp white walls paired with the semi transparent glass doors of the room she’s in. She’s propped up in bed, hooked up to a million monitors, and she spots the IVs pumping presumably pain medication into her veins. Natasha shifts, noting the pillow under her left hip and sling encasing her left arm, resting atop the blanket across her lap. 

A dull throb still accompanies each intake of breath, but the tightness from the bandages around her torso is markedly absent. 

She stretches her neck from side to side gently, trying to alleviate some of the tension that’s built up while she’d been unconscious, before giving her shoulders a small roll to do the same. She frowns in disappointment as the action sends pricks of pain shooting through her left shoulder. 

It takes her too long in her addled state to recognize the presence to her right. She reaches over, giving a gentle squeeze to the hand resting near her side. Her visitor shoots straight up from where he's been lying with his head on his folded arms. His blue eyes scan the room before finally landing on her, and his frantic gaze takes on a gentler hue at seeing her awake at last. 

“Hey soldier,” Natasha rasps, her throat dry from disuse. Steve is quick to grab a cup of water from the side table, bringing it to her lips. She gives him a grateful nod when she’s had enough, the cool water soothing her throat and banishing some of the mist that still shrouds her mind. 

“How are you feeling?” Steve questions, shifting closer. Relief floods her at the clarity in which she’s able to hear again.

“Like I’m floating on a cloud,” she deadpans, staring into space for a moment, before coming back to herself. Steve smiles a little at her response. “What kind of drugs do you have me on?”

“Only the best,” comes his quick reply, and Natasha finally asks the question that’s been weighing on both their minds. 

“What happened?” 

She watches as the smile gracing his lips slowly fades. “How much do you remember?” 

Natasha thinks back for a moment. “I remember going to Vormir,” she starts. “Clint and I fought and-” she stops abruptly, closing  her eyes as the memory plays through her head. “I guess I won.” 

There’s a pained look on Steve’s face when she looks at him again. “You died,” he breathes. 

Huh. That would explain the sudden gap in her memory, but- “How am I here? Why am I- Where is here?” The questions roll off her tongue in quick succession, anxiety growing. “Did we lose, did we-”

“We won,” Steve interrupts, before she can spiral. “We won Nat, thanks to you. We got everyone back. Thanos is gone.” His face takes on a melancholy expression, and she can tell he’s not being completely honest with her. 

“But?” She prompts. “At what cost? I can’t be the only one.”

“Tony,” Steve states sadly. They may not have been on the best of terms, but Steve had truly hoped that they’d become friends again. 

It feels like a slap to the face, and Natasha stares at him for a solid couple of seconds before she clamps her jaw back shut. Although her relationship with Tony was not easily defined, more of an allegiance to a common cause than anything until their falling out, the hurt still remains, like a solid weight in the pit of her stomach. She swallows hard, composing herself before remembering her origin of miraculous revival. 

“That still doesn’t explain how I’m back,” she looks at him expectantly. 

“We had to return all the stones,” he begins cautiously. “I volunteered-” because of course he had she thinks, “-I saved Vormir for last.” She looks away from him at that. “I dropped the stone, and when I turned around, suddenly I was in a pool of water and you were there and-” he cuts himself off, choking back the emotion in his voice. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and she truly is. She never wanted to leave any of them, least of all Steve, especially considering all the steps they’d been taking towards building something more the past few years. The trust was always there, and with their defences lowered thanks to their mutual heartbreak and grief, it seems that was all all they needed to push them to the precise. Shared life experiences and all that. 

She’s gotten used to waking up by his side more often than not, and the kissing aspect wasn’t half bad either. 

“Natasha, please don’t apologize. I know you did what you did to save us, but I’m just so glad you’re alive! I swear, if you ever do anything like that again, I don’t know what I’ll do with myself.”

“Roger that, won’t happen again.” She goes for a joking tone, but it comes out sounding more dejected. 

A heavy silence rings throughout the room for a few minutes before Steve speaks up again. 

“I should probably go get the others. Wanda and Clint were in here not too long ago. And Bruce will probably want to run some tests. Let Shuri know too.” 

Natasha looks at him, confusion lacing her question. “Shuri?”

“Yeah, Shuri was the one to lead the surgical team who treated most of your injuries. We're in her lab, in Wakanda.” 

At her persistent stare, he continues awkwardly, “There was a lot of damage to your spine from the fall. Bruce could probably explain it all better than me.”

Noticing his obvious discomfort, Natasha nods, letting Steve get up to gather the others. 

As he leaves, she feels the pressure in her chest tighten- a warning perhaps, for what’s to come. 

***

A few minutes later, her attention is drawn to the thunderous sound of footsteps nearing her room. Wiping her eyes and taking a calming breath, she prepares for the imminent reunion. 

The glass doors open with a soft ‘whoosh’ as the remaining team barrels into her room. Wanda reaches her first, arms extended for a hug, but promptly pulls them to her chest just short of contact. Natasha grabs the younger woman’s hand and gently tugs, an encouraging smile gracing her face. Wanda leans in and slowly wraps her arms around the other woman, mindful of her fresh injuries. 

“I missed you,” Natasha whispers, her hand coming to rest on Wanda’s back. “I’m sorry about Vision. I‘m sorry we couldn’t save you all in the first place.” 

“Don’t be. Vis made his choice. He’s a hero, even if it’s not how we wanted it to end. I will just have to learn to accept that, I suppose...” Wanda trails off, pursing her lips against the emotion that accompanies the still fresh passing of her love. 

Seeing the way the younger woman is trying desperately to keep her features neutral, Natasha holds her tongue, not wanting to cause further upset, even if it was done with pure intentions. 

Wanda shakes herself internally, and refocuses on her mentor. “Enough about me. How do you feel?’

“I’ll let you know once I’m off these drugs. Steve says they’re the good stuff,” Natasha jokes, as Wanda pulls away to give the others a turn. Steve smirks from where he’s leaning against the wall, allowing the others to take their turn embracing the redhead. 

Bruce gives her a small wave from where he’s standing near the door, and Natasha rolls her eyes before reaching her arm out again. 

“Come here you. I hear I have you to thank for helping save my life.”

Bruce approaches bashfully, and Natasha‘s gaze is drawn to his arm, still in a sling. Noticing her gaze, Bruce chuckles, mumbling “Twins,” gesturing to her own arm. Natasha gives him a tight smile before she’s engulfed in a quick hug. 

Clint is the last to approach Natasha, tears glistening in his eyes. Natasha picks up on the guilt that is radiating off him in waves. 

“Clint-” 

“Tasha, I’m so, so sorry,” Clint murmurs in her ear, quiet enough that only she can hear as he embraces her. Her grip tightens as he takes a stuttering breath. 

“Nuh uh, we’re not doing that. It was my choice, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat if it meant keeping you all alive,” she replies, keeping her voice low as well. 

“But-”

“Nope, you’re forgiven. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” Natasha states, and Clint senses the finality in her tone. 

She knows he’ll never completely forgive himself for Vormir, but she hopes that he takes her unneeded forgiveness to heart anyways. Clint gives her one last squeeze before releasing her, and joining the rest of the group, all chattering about the final battle. Some tears ensue at the mention of their fallen friends- new and old, and the five years lost, but the undercurrent of joy in the room is palpable throughout. 

Eventually, Bruce breaks up the happy reunion, getting straight to business, assessing her, and repeating the tests from the last time she was conscious. 

“Everything looks as to be expected,” Bruce reassures. “We’ll bring Shuri in to explain further”

***

“You had some pretty severe breaks. Your spinal column was crushed from the impact when you fell, and you shattered a decent number of ribs as well. We fixed them of course, but you’ll still have some pretty intense bruising for a while, even with your accelerated healing,” Shuri states clinically. 

“Is that all?” Natasha asks weakly, feeling overwhelmed at the amount of damage done to her body. 

“A dislocated shoulder, and a concussion. Oh, and a broken pelvis.” Bruce states matter-of-factly. Well, I did ask , her mind supplies unhelpfully, and she must be showing some distress on her face, because Bruce immediately tries to assuage her. “Look, it sounds bad, but most of it is healable! It’s incredibly fortunate that your spinal cord was affected so low. It could have been much worse. Overall I’d say you got out pretty lucky.”

She certainly doesn’t feel very lucky, and she suspects if she wasn’t high on painkillers at present, she’d be feeling a lot more. 

“We want you to take a couple weeks of bedrest at minimum- ” Bruce stresses, “-to let Shuri’s serums on top of your own, finish mending what they can, but we’re confident that you should be able to start rehab right after.”

Natasha senses there’s still more, and Shuri picks up on her unease. 

“We did the best we could to repair your spinal cord, but-” Shuri pauses, and shoots an evaluating gaze over Natasha. The other woman takes a breath, a sense of dread pooling in her belly. “We honestly don’t know how much mobility you’ll recover, if you’ll walk again. Even accounting for the serum- it’s not meant for this much damage. It will accelerate the healing process exponentially, but it’s not a cure. I’m sorry.”

Although she knew it was coming, it still knocks the breath out of her lungs. 

“There’s still a couple of things I’d like to try, but our main priority was dealing with the damage that we knew we could fix. I have a couple simulations running right now, and I’ll let you know if any of them might be feasible, but I just want you to be prepared.” 

The redhead barely hears a word she says after “not walk again”, her thoughts tumbling over themselves, analyzing her situation. She can’t seem to wrap her head around the whole ordeal. 

She’d been alive, struggling through her day to day existence but slowly learning to appreciate the happy moments that life still had to offer in between. And then she’d been dead. Now she feels as though she's stuck in some weird limbo between living and dying, despite now knowing she is one hundred percent alive, and half healed apparently. 

She vaguely hears Steve mutter a grateful ‘thank you’ to Shuri, as the door closes on her way out. 

Bruce takes in Natasha’s woeful demeanor, and quietly makes his way to the door as well. He wasn’t the only one that noticed the increasing closeness between the two during the heist. If he’s being honest, he’s always noticed a spark between the two, and he’s happy that Natasha has someone she can lean on right now. She’s gonna need it. 

He meets Steve’s eyes before he leaves, and he can see the same sadness there that he’s sure is reflected in his own. 

Steve shifts, waiting for the other man to leave before leaning in closer and bringing his face into her line of sight. “Nat, are you okay?” When he receives no answer, he sighs and leans back. The best he can do right now is just be present, he figures. Give her some time to come to terms and process all the information she’s received. God knows it took him the entirety of the time she was unconscious to do the same. Even now he’s not quite sure he fully understands the gravity of her situation. 

“Do you have a mirror?” She asks abruptly. 

“Uh, I think I can find you one,” Steve replies cautiously. He’s not really sure where she’s heading with this new train of thought, and it doesn’t look like she’s about to enlighten him either. 

He steps into the bathroom, returning with a small handheld mirror. “Care to tell me what you want to do with it?” He implores, sitting at the edge of her bed. 

Natasha ignores him again, struggling to lift the back of her shirt up one handed. Steve clues in to what she’s trying to do and holds her shirt to the top of her neck while angling the mirror to best show her back. She cranes her neck, and she’s finally able to see the damage that marrs her back. 

She’s hoping that if she can see the marks left from the fall, from the surgery, it might help trick her brain into accepting her fate. 

A thin, angry scar runs the length of her spine, surrounded by an explosion of black and blue. The worst of the bruising seems to be located towards the middle of her back, the rest radiating down and around her ribs like swirls of ink in water. Now that she’s looking, she notices the bruises peeking out from her t-shirt sleeves, running down the back of her arms as well. She stares for a few minutes before turning to Steve. 

“I’ve dealt with a lot of shit during my life, Rogers, but this takes the cake,” she says, her throat tight. Well I’m alive, alright, she muses.

Steve takes the cue, lowering her shirt and putting the mirror down. 

“The inflammation and bruising should heal up pretty soon. Bruce thinks maybe a week or so for those, and another couple for your broken bones.”

Natasha huffs. She’s never been good at playing the patient, has usually been back to completing whatever task she’d been doing as soon as physically possible. Whatever was in the watered-down serum the Red Room had injected the Widows with usually took care of injuries quicker than average. 

But she’s never sustained this much damage before, never had to worry about relearning basic functions like walking, if she can ever walk again. 

“I know it’s not ideal, but Bruce wants to get you back on your feet as soon as possible.” Steve cringes internally as the words slip from his mouth. Luckily, either Natasha doesn’t notice his bad choice in wording, or just ignores it so he continues, voice softening. “We’ll be here every step of the way.”

Now, Natasha was never one to let others see her cry, but the emotions of the day just keep building up, and she doesn’t think she can bear to hold them in any more. As soon as she feels the first treacherous tear fall from her eyes, she buries her head in Steve’s chest. The soldier's arms automatically come around her smaller form, mindful of her tender back. He allows her a few minutes to collect herself as she tries to calm her tumultuous mind. Usually, she’s better at managing her emotions. She blames the concussion. 

***

After the initial shock of waking up and having all her extensive issues dropped on her, her first few official days back as a member of the living are filled with a whole lot of nothing. Apart from the visitors and the video calls, she’s not allowed to do anything, which is doing nothing for the weariness in her soul. The silent stretches of nothing allow her to think , and that’s the last thing she feels she should be doing. 

But the messages keep coming, as do the visitors. She’d already gotten ‘congrats, you’re alive’ calls from Pepper and Morgan, Rhodey, and even Nebula and the Raccoon. Carol had sent a message, and Okoye had popped in to give her a quick hug, T’Challa following close behind. 

Her latest caller in the endless amount of people she apparently knows is the Falcon himself. 

Of course Steve had called him the moment Natasha had first been whisked to surgery, but Sam still couldn’t mask the surprise on his face at the sight of Natasha alive and well. He’d wanted to stay and keep Steve company, but he’d gotten a panicked call from his sister soon after the final battle, and had to make an emergency trip out to see his family. Bucky had tagged along, citing that it was his duty to keep the newly anointed Cap out of too much trouble, although Steve assumed that it was more likely just to annoy Sam.  

When the shock wears off, a sly grin crosses his face as he teases, “Natasha! You look like shit.”

“Wow Sam, you really know how to flatter a woman,” she deadpans. “It’s a travesty that no one‘s locked you down yet.”

“Oh please, you know you love me,” he coos. “On a serious note, how are you holding up?”

“Well, I’m alive.”

“You sure? Because those eye bags could rival the dead.”

“Oh fuck off,” Natasha replies exasperatedly, then, “I can't believe I missed you.”

Sam's grin widens.

They trade a few more affectionate insults before the conversation turns more serious. Sam tells her about his current predicament, trying to reclaim his family’s home, and all about his nephews’ antics. In return, Natasha tells him about the five years he was gone, and what’s changed with their new world.  Steve joins the redhead at some point, and Sam can't help but notice the way the two seem to gravitate towards one another. He files that information away for a more stable day. 

Bucky pops his head in at some point, nodding his head in Natashas’s direction and acknowledging Steve with a brief “Punk,” before Sam shoos him out of the room. The glint in his eye tells Sam that he hasn’t missed the way their friends have gotten closer either. 

They talk for a while longer, before eventually saying their goodbyes, promising to see each other soon. 

That’s a promise she’s gotten from way too many people for her liking. 

For the following weeks, the rest of the group makes a point of never straying too far from her room, one of them always keeping her company and catching up. Natasha isn’t afraid to admit how much she’s missed them, even if their constant presence can often be a source of anxiety. She’s never really been a people person, and she isn’t about to start being one now. 

***

Steve’s walking down the hall to Natasha’s room, just returning from a quick trip down to the gym, when he pauses at the door. She’d still been sleeping when he left a couple hours ago, and he’d been glad. Her sleep schedule has always been pretty erratic- he knew she often suffered from insomnia, but he worries now more than ever about her odd sleeping hours, especially since when she did sleep, though frequent as of late, she was only out for a couple hours at a time. 

When he’d brought his concerns to a doctor after a week of this odd pattern, she’d reassured him that that was to be expected. Sleeping allows her brain a chance to mend, and also contributes to the body’s healing process. And regarding her odd hours, even though her body is under an incredible amount of stress, you can’t undo years of routine. It’s kind of like muscle memory, the doctor explains. 

Natasha never seemed to mind however, that he still sleeps during the expected sleeping hours, even when she lies awake. She’s content to watch him from his little cot beside her bed that he’s absolutely too big for. Sometimes, just counting his steady breaths is enough to lull her back to sleep. 

This was the first time however that she’d actually slept through the night without the help of the sedatives since returning. Steve hadn’t been the only one surprised. 

When she had finally peeled her heavy eyelids open and glanced at the clock, she nearly did a double take when she read 10:00 AM. Having  fallen asleep around 9:00 PM, she didn't think she’d ever actually slept so  many hours consecutively in her lifetime. She’d promptly struggled into a somewhat seated position, and started to straighten herself out. Some doctors were coming by later to run some more tests, and she’d like to look at least a little presentable. 

After straightening the sheets a little, her right hand reaches to pat her hair down. Realizing the state her hair is currently in from her dead sleep, she grabs her brush from the side table and gets to work detangling. 

Steve takes a breath, taking another moment to observe through the glass doors. He can see her struggling to brush her hair one-armed, frustration evident on her face. 

The swooshing off the automatic doors alerts her to his presence and she quickly slips her mask into place as she glances to see who’s coming. She angles her head up when he leans in to press a kiss to her forehead, before gently grabbing the brush and working on the troublesome knots. She’s glad she’s facing away from him, too tired to keep her mask in place, and lets her thoughts drift as Steve detangles the unruly curls. 

She’s become increasingly frustrated lately with the amount of assistance she’s needing, every little thing becoming a struggle- from feeding and dressing herself to everything in between, all leaving her exhausted.

She can’t even brush her hair on her own anymore, can’t get all the knots out with the use of only one hand, and even that small action leaves her wiped and sullen. 

But the way Steve’s fingers are combing soothingly through her hair,  helps to make up for it a bit, she thinks. But only a little. 

She’d let her hair grow long again during the Snap, and he was happy when she didn’t immediately chop it when her roots started growing in. Of course she looks gorgeous whatever hair colour she has, but he’s partial to her vibrant red locks. Fiery hair to match her fiery spirit. He’d missed the colour while they were on the run. 

His fingers play with the blonde tips, and Natasha hums thoughtfully. “I was thinking maybe I should cut my hair again. It’s more manageable when it’s short.”

Steve hums in acknowledgement. “I like it this length,” he replies softly, splitting her hair into two sections, and gathers up the first section, deftly splitting it into three parts. 

“Well then you can braid it everyday,” she grumbles halfheartedly. 

“I’d love to,” he answers seriously, and Natasha glances over her shoulder. He wears an adorably focused expression on his face, and Natasha looks straight ahead again, at his gentle tug of her hair. 

Once he’s done the first braid, he moves on to the second section, repeating the process. They sit in a comfortable silence until Steve declares he’s done. 

She runs her good hand over her hair, feeling the two Dutch braids. They’re actually surprisingly well done. “Where did Captain America learn to braid hair like this?” she questions teasingly. 

“My ma,” Steve answers, before moving to sit on her right side. “She used to let me practice on her hair, before she went to work.”

Natasha grabs his hand and gives it a quick kiss. “I can’t believe I’ve never let you do this before. If you’re serious about doing this more often, maybe I’ll reconsider the haircut.” She doesn’t say that she quite enjoys the feeling of his fingers in her hair, so tender and loving. She thinks the soft blush on her cheeks might be the only clue he needs though. 

“I’ll do it as long as you’d like me too. Though as soon as you get that arm back to working condition, you won’t need me,” he replies. 

She glances away, fidgeting with the covers. She doesn’t even want to think about what’s yet to come. 

“You’ll get through this, Nat.” He says determinedly, and oh , the way he looks at her makes her heart squeeze. 

He’s so hopeful and optimistic and she really doesn’t want to disappoint him, not when he’s looking at her with pure adoration in his eyes. She looks down, unnecessarily self-conscious. Natasha never really understood how he could look at her like that, how someone like him could put so much faith and trust in someone like her, but she’s going to do her best to prove him right, even if she does it more for him than for herself. 

Steve stifles his smirk as she yawns again, pulling her against his chest and plays with the ends of her hair as she makes herself comfortable against his shoulder. 

***

Doctors' orders are for her to take things easy until the concussion clears, but Natasha is nothing if not persistent, and her constant badgering of the staff to fix her arm pays off the third week she’s back. Their excuses usually revolved around ‘we need to give your brain time to heal before doing anything too strenuous’, and ‘what about your pain?’ to which Natasha actually laughed in their faces. Did they seriously not know who she was? Pain was practically her middle name. 

More like pain in the ass, Steve thinks, watching their debate one day. She always leads with “I’m left handed,” followed by a small pout until one day a nameless staff member takes pity, and convinces the others that rehabbing her arm shouldn’t affect her concussion too much. 

The day they’re due to start, Natasha’s relaxing in bed, reveling in her success when Bruce walks in. He just stares at her for a few seconds, before shaking his head. “You are the worst patient I have ever dealt with.”

“How would you know? Considering you’re not technically a medical doctor and all,” Natasha smirks playfully. “I’m the perfect patient, just ask anyone. They love me,” she bluffs. 

Bruce scowls, knowing what she’s doing. “You know what I mean. You’ve played half the staff with your ‘woe is me, I can’t use my arm’ act, and the other half are terrified of you.”

“My evil plan is falling into place,” she cackles mockingly. “I don't know why it's such a big deal anyways. Don’t you want me to get better? I can't possibly do that when I can't even use my dominant arm, now can I?” Natasha bats her lashes pointedly.

“You’re proving my point,” Bruce grumbles and she laughs.

***

Getting her arm back to usable condition is as tedious as she’d expected. Her days are still bleak, but now with the added bonus of a self induced pain. She adamantly refuses any painkillers other than Ibuprofen, which does nothing against the dull throb that shoots through her body everytime she moves her left shoulder. 

She states her distaste of stronger painkillers comes from the lack of mental clarity they seem to bring upon her. Steve can't fault her for that, especially knowing that control over her body and mind is the most important thing to her, after years of being used with no choice but to comply. 

Especially now, with her extensive list of physical trauma and the lack of control she has over her situation and her own body, he thinks it's more important than ever to let her take charge of her recovery. Yet seeing her in pain, trying to push through it anyways sends a wave of awe through him. He doesn’t think he’d be able to do it if he were in her shoes instead. 

The process is slow going, and the days seem to blur into one long mass of repetition and boredom.  

Natasha doesn’t even realize her birthday has arrived until Steve tells her. She doesn’t allow anything more than a cupcake and a brief kiss in celebration. She’s more surprised than anything that it’s been just over a month since she’s returned, and the reminder that she’s still on this earth is bittersweet. She doesn’t dwell on it too long though, and swears Steve to secrecy. Maybe she’ll feel better about it next year. But for now, she doubles down on her physio, ignoring the date all together. After all, it’s the only thing that really keeps her occupied during the day. 

Three weeks total of stretching and mobility exercises to restore her range of motion and her arm is practically back to normal. She’s encouraged to keep up the stretching, but her shoulder is healed enough to support weight now, so there’s not much else to do anyways. 

She’s subsequently cleared for light activity, and she rolls her eyes when they tell her not to lift anything heavy or work out for the next couple of weeks. She asks them what kind of work out exactly she’s going to be doing confined to a bed all day and delights in the discomfort her innuendo brings as the doctors squirm and Steve tries to keep a straight face. She can see the colour rising in his cheeks and smiles up at him innocently as he avoids her eyes.

Having full use of both arms is a huge relief, and she’s happy to be able to do more things on her own again. However, the brush still goes to Steve more often than not, who doesn’t need to be told to get braiding. Yah she could do it on her own now, but why would she when she can make her doting romantically-unlabelled-partner do it instead? Plus, she knows he’s enjoying the open intimacy that she so rarely gives in to, so it's win-win. 

Her concussion is cleared soon after, but the relief that fills her at the announcement is bittersweet. On one hand, she’s thrilled at her progress and the leaps she’s been making, but on the other, she was hoping the morose mood that has overtaken her was due to the head injury.

Looking at the excitement on her friends’ faces when she tells them her progress, she decides she doesn’t want to dampen their moods with her own doubts, so she resolves to keep it to herself for the time being at least. 

***

Natasha’s lying in the lounge, legs extended over a luxurious couch, a book on her lap and a blanket draped around her shoulders. She’d made Steve carry her out earlier, too tired of being cooped up in their bed, craving a change of scenery. 

That had been happening quite frequently as of late, Natasha making Steve carry her from one place to another in their little suite, which T‘Challa had graciously moved them to as soon as she’d been deemed stable enough to go  without constant monitoring. They’d been offered separate apartments of course- T’Challa didn’t want to presume- but Steve kindly declined, stating one suite was fine. Everyone just assumed it was so that Steve could keep a closer eye on their newly revived member, and in part, it was true. Natasha wasn’t about to say anything either way.

What the others didn’t know was that he and Nat had been unofficially living together for the past five years, romantically involved the last four. They’d become accustomed to sharing a bed while on the run, having to learn each other's quirks and habits, and after Thanos had won, they’d found solace in each other’s company. They’d started in their own rooms at the compound, but, seeing as someone always ended up in the other's bed anyway, it was easier just to move into one room permanently.

When a particularly rough night just shy of the Snap’s one year anniversary filled with night terrors and tears led to stolen kisses and tearful middle of the night exchanges, a tentative relationship had bloomed. 

If they were being honest with themselves, it was years in the making. Their partnership turning to something more was as inevitable as the sun rising each morning. Taking the leap to finally give them a chance has been scary as hell, and there’s been days where Natasha doubts her worthiness, but Steve’s always been there to reassure her that she’s enough- even back when they were just partners. 

Now, it’s not like they were keeping it a secret or anything, but no one’s asked, so they haven’t told. And anyways, half their friends were Snapped, and the other half left, so if they all wanted a straight answer, they could ask. Plus, it’s kind of amusing watching as their friends' eyes widen at their little acts of intimacy, thinking they’re seeing something new and biting their tongues, eager to gossip amongst themselves later on. 

Although neither Steve nor Natasha are big on PDA, they’ve found little ways to show their appreciation of each other that means just as much. Lately, that means Steve carrying the redhead from area to area without complaint, while said redhead permits the super soldier’s fussing- in private at least. 

Today, Clint and his family were finally coming to visit. They didn’t have a set arrival time, so after some breakfast and a couple cups of caffeine each, Steve had deposited Nat on the couch with her book to wait, before he’d left for his morning jog. Natasha was only a little bitter she wasn’t able to join him anymore, but she couldn’t complain about the quiet mornings to herself. 

She’d managed to get through a couple pages when  she heard a quick rap on the door. Right as she calls out for the visitor to enter, Clint opens it, a smile on his face as he walks across the room, hugging her when he’s close enough. 

It had been about a month since she last saw him. He had gone home to his family shortly after she’d awoken. After confirming that she’d be okay, he felt safe enough to leave, promising to return with them all in tow. 

“Before everyone comes in, I have a message for you. It’s from Yelena.” Clint whispers, eyes darting around the empty room. 

“What? Yelena?” Shock colours Natasha’s face at the mention of her little sister. “How did she get a message to you? I’ve been trying to contact her all month.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a long story.”

“Then make it a short story.”

At her insistence he sighs, “Look, you know I did some pretty shitty things during the Blip- they’re trying to catch up to me. And as far as the world is concerned, you died. Yelena said that someone approached her and hired her for a job- against me obviously- and they used my part in your death to manipulate her.”

Natasha listens intently, horrified at the notion that someone tried coming after Clint, and that apparently the criminals also know how she died. 

“Oh, Clint-”

“Hey, don’t worry. I’m okay. And so is Yelena. She sends her love… I think,” he hands her a burner phone, and gets up to gather the rest of his family. 

Natasha looks at the phone in her hand, simultaneously cursing her sister out and feeling relief flood her at knowing she was back. There’s only one contact in the phone, and Natasha hits dial. It  rings a few times before someone picks up. 

“You idiot! You died ? What, did you really miss me so much that you had to meet me in the afterlife?” a strong Russian accent greets her. 

“Oh, Yelena…” the redhead whispers, still not believing her ears. 

“That was a stupid move, even from you,” the blonde continues, ignoring her sister. “And I went through all this trouble trying to avenge you only to find out you’re alive!”

“You almost killed Clint! How would that have avenged me?”

“I kill the person that killed you. Avenged.”

“Yelena, Clint is one of my best friends, and besides, it was my choice to die!” Natasha exclaims. 

“Well I know that now,” Yelena replies defensively. 

Natasha huffs at the absurdity of her little sister, and changes the subject. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“You’re not getting soft on me are you? Because I definitely don’t want to come see you if you’re just going to cry.” 

“You’re such a brat. I hate you.”

“You love me. Melina and Alexei say hi. I told them about your idiocy, and you are in so much trouble.” 

“You tattled? How old are you?”

“Younger than you. How old are you now? Certainly not still 34,” Yelena teases, glad she’s not saying this in person, lest she get smacked. 

“Suchka,” Natasha grumbles. Bitch . 

Yelena laughs. “I have to go now, but I will come see you soon,” then softer, “YA lyublyu vas.” I love you. 

“Now who’s soft?” The redhead hears her sister scoff before returning the sentiment and ending the call. 

***

Her visit with Clint and his family is short, but sweet. Since she’s been back, she’s found that she tires faster than usual. However, she tries to make the most of their time together, getting news about  the outside world, and catching up with Laura and the kids, who talk her ear off about anything and everything. 

Natasha won’t admit it, but hearing ‘Auntie Nat’ for the first time in years brings tears to her eyes, as Lila shares her nerves over the approaching school year and Cooper regales her with a story of how his then-best friend is now older than him. Her namesake is simply content to curl up by her side, and draw while the others catch up. 

Steve returns from his morning run halfway through the visit, hugging Laura and Clint in turn before dropping a quick kiss to Nats temple with promises of catching up after a quick shower. Of course the Barton couple notices the intimate moment, exchanging a knowing glance. Clint decided to save this particular topic for later, excited at the prospect of embarrassing his two friends. 

When Steve gets back from his shower, he easily joins in on the conversation, and is even happier just to draw alongside Nathaniel. 

Natasha feels a pang through chest, a melancholy mood overtaking her at the sight of Steve, so calm and wonderful with the children, knowing that choice has long since been taken from her, and from Steve as well. He’d make an incredible father, but she’s not mom material, and honestly she doesn’t even think she deserves that chance. She quickly sobers, saving that thought to examine later, and rejoins the conversation before anyone senses her temporary mood lapse . 

Clint brings up the fast approaching holidays, critiquing the couple's lack of seasonal decor to which Natasha just shrugs. She’s never really celebrated Christmas, but Steve used to set up a tree to try and summon a glimpse of the holiday spirit anyways. It’s not to say she’s against the holiday season since she does enjoy the sense of togetherness it brings. She’s mostly just bummed that she won’t be celebrating with all their returned friends this year like she secretly had hoped. 

The Barton’s gently query into what’s next for Natasha, before Laura questions whether she plans on slowing down once she’s back to the real world. She tells them about her upcoming physiotherapy sessions geared towards her body as a whole, and jokes that she’s already technically worked herself to death, so she’s keeping her options open. Retirement isn’t something she wants to think about right now, and thankfully, they don’t push any further.

Natasha’s been keeping Clint up to date thus far via texts and the occasional phone calls, so they understand just how far she’s come already. She tells them  she’s excited to start, and at least it’s not a complete lie- she’s also nervous and anxious as well but she keeps those feelings on the down-low. 

Eventually, they say their goodbyes, with promises of visiting again soon. Steve sees them out before returning to her side and checking if she needs anything, noticing her wince as she shifts. 

“How’s your back?” he questions. Although externally she appears mostly healed, the bruising on her back now faded to a light yellowish hue and the incision line a soft pink, he knows she’s been having more pain than she’s letting on. 

“It’s okay,” she lies, fully aware he knows she’s lying. 

“Bullshit,” he calls her out on it.

Natasha opens her mouth to retort and Steve can see the word on the tip of her tongue. He cuts it off quickly with a stern “Don’t even think about it,” and she smirks. “Now scoot if you want a massage, before I change my mind.”

She shifts forward, allowing Steve to claim the spot she’d just vacated against the arm of the couch. He secures one arm around her middle as she leans forward, using his other hand to start gently working the knots out of her stiff shoulders and back. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Steve prods gently, after a few minutes of silence, broken only by Natasha’s occasional hum of approval when he hits a particularly sore knot. 

“No.” she replies quickly, before- “I don’t know. I’m just disappointed I guess. I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up for a miracle,” she sighs unhappily. 

Steve’s heart sinks at her confession. He’d seen the disappointment cross her face unbidden at Shuri’s words, before the mask slipped back into place. She’d told them a couple of days ago that her simulations hadn’t brought any feasible results yet, and she wasn’t sure if they ever would. He’d tried a few words of encouragement after the news broke, but Natasha promptly shut him down, asking for some space. It was a fair request, and he’d left her to process. 

“I’m sorry Nat,” he says. And he truly was. If he could have traded places, he would’ve in a heartbeat. 

“I asked Bruce to give it to me bluntly because Shuri’s too nice. He said  it’s possible I could get some strength back with these new therapies, but I won’t be walking again.” 

She sounds resigned now, and Steve just wants to make everything better. “You’ve barely been back for a month and a half. Look at all you’ve accomplished so far,” he reminds her.

She glances over her shoulder, and his ministrations pause briefly. “Those were fixable. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before. This is different, Steve. I’m not gonna bounce back from a spinal injury this severe.”

Steve senses the finality in her tone, and he wisely drops the subject. 

***

Steve sticks around for her first few days of physio. They’re mostly just explaining their plans and how each step will affect her recovery, so she isn’t too hesitant to stop him. Of course when asked, his excuse is he just wants to see what they’re doing so that he can help her when they’re at home. Obviously Natasha isn't an idiot. She sees right through Steve’s lousy excuse, knows he just wants to keep an eye on her and she’s torn between being annoyed and being touched. It’s sweet, really, but his constant presence is sometimes suffocating. He, along with all of her friends have seen her at her absolute lowest, and she doesn’t like feeling this vulnerable. Having Steve in her space like this, seeing her struggle to readapt to her own body makes her feel self conscious. 

It’s a ridiculous notion, she knows, that Steve would ever judge her based on her physicality, but she can’t help feeling inadequate compared to America’s golden boy. She’s the Black Widow, known for her prowess amidst the intelligence community, toppling governments and terrorist ploys with her carefully honed skill set. She used to be able to keep up with the Supersoldier, to exceed him even, and now she could barely do anything on her own. It’s humiliating. 

Of course she wouldn’t tell anyone that, though. She does not need to be psychoanalyzed right now. She’s aware that she’s fucked up, but she doesn’t want everyone she knows to know it too. 

***

After a couple days, she finally manages to convince Steve she’ll be fine on her own, and he relents albeit resignedly. 

The first thing she’s taught is how to safely transfer from one surface to her wheelchair and vice versa. They say it will help return to her some independence, and Natasha nods goodnaturedly. Yet on the inside she’s screaming. Talking to a world class assassin- a lonesome profession- about independence. What a joke. 

That particular lesson consumes the entire week, until Aaron- her therapist of the day- deems her proficient. She wonders briefly if maybe she should stop glaring at the staff so much, then maybe she’d have a consistent teacher. 

They move on to strengthening exercises next, working out her arms and core, rebuilding the definition she’d started to lose. It’s nice to be able to work her muscles again, to be able to see the progress rather than just be told. 

Her least favourite part of this new development in her rehab is the leg. The physio staff give her exercises to stretch out those muscles. She doesn’t really see the point, since it’s not like she’s going to be using them again. Plus, it’s uncomfortable, and always leaves her with an unpleasant tingling at the base of her spine. 

It’s to preserve her range of motion, they explain the first day after she makes her displeasure known. They go on to elaborate that the stretches help maintain what muscle they can and prevent atrophy, since she still has no sensation, nor movement yet. She’s trying not to think too hard on that fact, how it forces her to confront the reality of her situation. 

She goes along with whatever they tell her to do over the next few weeks however, suppressing her instincts to hide somewhere and never show herself again. She wants to disappear, but those days are long behind her now. 

So when Wanda questions her about how everything is going, she replies with “It’s great!” which isn’t a total lie. The mental numbness that’s pretty much been a constant recently, while doing their ridiculous regiment is truly a wonderful reprieve from the unruly emotional state plaguing her since she’d woken up. 

She gives Steve reassuring smiles paired with placating words when it’s just the two of them, but she can feel his eyes studying her, looking for any cracks in her armor. She knows she’s not being convincing and she doesn’t really care, but Steve doesn’t push her to open up, so she doesn’t offer. 

***

Natasha makes her way down to the physio gym, unable to shake the ominous feeling that shrouds her. She had barely slept the previous night, having woken up with a new sense of dread looming over her way too early in the morning.

Try as she might, she couldn’t manage to fall back asleep which wasn’t abnormal for her and normally wouldn’t have bothered her, but now she’s tired and anxious which is just annoying. She never used to let her emotions consume her like this, had in fact been trained not to let her emotions guide her. Well, been trained not to have emotions at all, but that lesson didn’t really stick. 

Tired of laying around and waiting for the feeling to pass, she’d gotten up as quietly as she could so as to not disrupt her sleeping partner, and tried to relax in the calming early morning Wakandan air on their patio. When that didn’t help either, she’d just said ‘fuck it’ and left for the gym early. 

Upon entering, she finds her physiotherapist, Hayden, chatting with a man she can't quite seem to place, but he introduces himself as a neurosurgery specialist, Dr. Spinefell. 

A nervous energy settles around her as she reminds herself to breathe. A shaky inhale through the nose, and exhale through pursed lips. 

“Miss Romanoff, I’d like us to have a talk today,” Hayden starts. If the somber atmosphere in the room and a freaking neuro specialist present hadn’t already tipped her off to whatever depressing news was to come, her therapist's greeting certainly would have. Maybe this was what her gut had been getting at, she considers crossly as she nods for him to continue.

“There’s no easy way to say this, but I’m going to be honest with you. I’ve nearly taught you all I can which  will contribute to your recovery. There’s a couple more things I’d like to go over, but otherwise you’ve got all the tools you need to return to a normal life... A new normal, I mean. I know this isn’t what you’d  have expected but it's a good thing. It means you’re progressing well,“ Hayden rambles uncomfortably. Although he may not show it, he is aware of who his patient is, and he really doesn’t want to end up on her hit list. 

“A good thing, huh?” Natasha asks absently. She feels her pulse pick up and hears her heart pounding in her ears as she tries to take in what has just been said. 

This is it. Nearly all done. All the work she’s put in and it still isn’t enough to fix her.

She wants to puke. Her identity is so inherently entwined with her body, and all she can- could- do. It is a tool to be used in combat, a shield to protect, and most importantly, her means of survival. She’s done terrible things, yes, but she’s also been able to make amends and to use her specialized skill set, created and honed through years of abuse and dedication to her survival, to better the world- whether it had a lasting impact or not. She never thought a day would come when she’d take her former life for granted, the red coating her ledger and all. 

But they’re saying this is all they can do for her. 

She’d still been holding out hope despite the odds that maybe Bruce, Shuri, and all the other surgeons were wrong, that there was still a chance- however slim- that she could recover fully. That maybe this was all just one more cruel joke the universe was playing on her, just a test. But if it was a test, then she’s failed it dearly. 

But this specialist is telling her that unfortunately, there’s really nothing else he can recommend either.

“Spinal injuries are tricky,” the doctor continues. “Sometimes there’s a chance to recover more function, but not in your case unfortunately. I’ve seen your scans, and based on everything your doctors as well as recovery staff have told me, there’s really nothing else to be done except to continue the exercises.”

The silence stretches just long enough to make it uncomfortable while Natasha considers what to do next. 

“Thanks for everything,” she says abruptly, turning in her chair to leave. She hears her name being called as she leaves the room as quickly as she can, but she pays it no attention. No one tries to stop her either, to be fair. 

She prays Steve is still on his morning run by the time she gets back because she is about ten seconds from screaming, and she doesn’t need Steve to witness another breakdown. He's not however, and her living room is filled with voices as she opens the door. 

She just wants to be alone to process the morning’s harsh revelations, and she plans on slipping by unannounced, but Steve sees her and waves her over. She attempts a calming breath, but it does nothing to calm the turmoil raging inside of her.

“Hey Nat! Bruce just stopped by to drop off some research he’s been doing. It’s quite interesting.” 

“Great,” she replies, sarcasm lacing her tone. “I bet it’s fascinating.”

“It’s mostly just some studies I’ve found that relate to your case and they might be helpful. There’s a lot of literature suggesting-” Natasha’s glare cuts him off, and he glances to Steve for reassurance. The other man just shrugs unhelpfully. “Natasha, I just want to help,” Bruce rambles, running a hand nervously through his hair, trying to pacify the Widow. 

Wanda watches the exchange closely from across the coffee table, wisely choosing to stay silent. 

“Are you okay, Nat? You seem off.” Steve rounds the table and comes to rest at her side, and she just wants to escape. She doesn’t want to tell him just yet what’s eating at her, especially not in front of the others. 

“I didn’t sleep well,” she opts for the half truth. She tries to move past them, but Steve’s still in her way and they’re all looking at her like they know something is up and she can’t help but to tense up.

The lights are suddenly too bright and their stares too much. She can feel her pulse pounding against her chest, her breaths coming in shallow gasps. She tries to calm down before anyone can question her further, trying to suck in enough air to soothe her growing panic but it’s no use. She can feel the start of a migraine as the throbbing in her head matches the pounding in her chest. A cold sweat breaks out on her forehead as her vision goes dark and she feels like she’s falling, falling-

A constant drone penetrates the mist in her head as she blinks a couple of times before coming back to herself. The background noise slowly clarifies as she digs her nails into the palm of her hand, using the sharp pain to shake the rest of the dread from her consciousness, and she’s finally able to take in her surroundings. 

Bruce is waving a hand in front of her face and Wanda is repeatedly asking if she’s okay, if she needs anything, resting her hand on Nat's shoulder comfortingly. 

Steve's hand is holding hers between his own, and his eyes shine with concern when she glances at him.

“I’m fine,” she snarls, jerking her hand out of Steve’s grip, and roughly batting Bruce’s frantic hands away, before shaking Wanda off none too gently. “Can everyone just get out of my face for five minutes?” She's not one to let herself explode, usually so controlled, but these are unusual times, and she's feeling desperately disorientated. Plus it’s not like she has much dignity amongst this group anymore. She thought they had already seen her at her lowest, but as it turns out, she can still sink even lower.

The young witch recoils from the harsh tone of voice, and Bruce takes a step back, flinching at the uncharacteristic outburst.

She just wants to be alone but they’re all still here- why are they still here? She’s on the verge of snapping again and that cannot happen before she’s recovered from the last episode, or she knows she won’t be getting up again. 

“I don’t need you to tell me what else I can try! There’s nothing left to do so save it! I don't want to be your pet project anymore,” she barks and Bruce stands abruptly, stealing a glance at the door. 

There’s fire in her eyes despite the unsettled feeling running through her veins as her gaze moves to Wanda, who looks like she's trying not to cry. The words are on her lips, when Steve cuts her off with a stern “Enough, Nat. They’re just trying to help.”

“You,” she sneers, attention drawn to Steve. “I’m not an invalid, you’re not my knight in shining armor. Just leave me alone!” Steve stands, and she catches the flash of hurt that crosses his face before he shuts it down. She takes it as her opportunity to escape.

She doesn’t look back as Steve reassures Wanda that she didn’t mean anything, all the while ushering the two Avengers out of the apartment. 

As soon as she hears the door close, Natasha slides into bed and covers her face. The first of many tears begin to fall.

*** 

Steve decided he should give her some alone time to cool down before going in. The last thing he wants is to upset her further. He knows she’s stressed, and hasn’t been sleeping much despite the lies she keeps telling everyone when they ask. 

He’s been trying to help where he can, brushing or braiding her hair at first, fluffing her pillows, bringing her whatever she needs before she can even get the words fully out, and just trying to keep up the happy facade for her sake. He doesn’t want to add onto her burden with his own shit, and their friends feel the same. So he distracts her when he sees the pained look in Wanda’s eyes or the guilty look in Clint’s. Bruce spends hours researching, gathering new techniques and trials to share in the hopes that something might be possible. They’re all doing their best to cope however they can, and they’ve been taking her aloof demeanor in stride up until this point. 

But enough is enough. Her outburst, though understandable, was cruel. Their friends didn’t ask for her harsh words, and he certainly didn’t either. 

He intends to subtly bring it up, but as soon as he sees the stubborn way she’s crossing her arms and glaring daggers at him through puffy eyes the moment he walks in, all rational thought leaves him. 

“What the hell was that about, Natasha?” Steve waits for an answer, but when none comes forth, he continues. “We’ve all been doing our best here, to try and support you and-”

“Oh, fuck off with that ‘holier than thou’ bullshit, Steve. You’ve been doing your best? To what? To prop yourself up and say you’re all doing such a good job taking care of poor, weak Natasha?” she spits out, her anger flaring up again. 

“Nat, you know that’s not what I mean-” he tries to interject. 

“Then what do you mean, Steve? Because I sure as shit didn’t ask you all to help.” She’s looking him straight in the eyes now, practically begging him to yell back. 

His steady tone is laced with anger as he takes the bait, despite knowing that all she wants is a rise out of him. “What is this really about, Nat?” 

Natasha snaps again, tired of holding it in. 

“I didn’t want this!” She yells, taking notice of the stricken look on Steve’s face, but unable to stop now that she’s started. “I didn’t ask to be brought back. I didn’t ask for this-” she breaks off, gesturing to herself absently. She can feel pressure building at the back of her eyes again. She looks away quickly, pinching the bridge of her nose in an attempt to ward off the oncoming tears. 

His own righteous anger evaporates immediately at her words, and Steve takes a cautious step forward. Kneeling on the bed beside her, he cautiously places a hand on her knee. When he’s not immediately slapped away, he gently grabs her hand away from her face, encasing it in both of his. “Nat-“ he starts before being interrupted. 

“I didn’t want this. I didn’t ask for this,” she whispers, still not looking at him. “I can’t walk. And now apparently there’s nothing else anyone can do to fix me. I’ve reached my limit, and I don’t even recognize myself anymore! I miss my old life so much sometimes that it actually hurts and I was barely functioning the last few years!  You know that better than anyone. And I feel weak all the time and it’s infuriating! I feel like my body is constantly on fire a-and-“ her throat constricts as the stubborn tears start to fall. How she still has tears left to cry, she’s unsure. “I died , Steve. I died for a plan that worked and I can’t even be happy about it right now. And I’ve been so scared. I can’t process it, and everyone is always around, so I’ve been trying to push it down and act like everything’s fine when really I don’t even know what fine means anymore!”

Steve takes a breath at that, trying hard not to show how her confession is shaking him to his core. Natasha has never been one to admit her problems out loud, not even when it had just been the two of them tucked away late at night while on the run. 

He hadn’t realized how affected Natasha was by everything, and maybe it was partly on him for not pushing her to open up and share. Yet he also knows she never would have told him the full truth anyways, just enough to get him to stop worrying, because that was who she was. 

Of course Steve didn’t miss the grimaces after Clint’s kids had hugged her goodbye a little too tightly, or the frustration when the nameless PT of the week wouldn’t push her harder at her request, even though he knew her muscles were screaming at her to stop . He recognized the mask she’d kept in place, because pain was a weakness and the Black Widow was not weak. 

He’d heard her muffled cries through the door to their bedroom, but he’d knock before he came in, giving her a moment to pull herself together, even for him. He’d turn a blind eye when he should have encouraged her to tell him what was bothering her. Instead, he’d act like he didn’t just see her have a breakdown, because despite everything, she still had hope for a miracle. 

He felt awful now, realizing that she felt like she couldn’t tell anyone how she’s really feeling, and he’d inadvertently contributed to that. He’s been trying so hard to look to the future and act like nothing has changed, like this will be all better one day, when she’s still grieving for her before .

“I’m alive, but I don’t feel like I’m living . And maybe I don’t want to be.” She gasps, barely audible. 

At that, Steve gathers her up in his arms, holding her as she cries. He doesn’t know what to do to make it better, doesn’t think anything can make it better, so he just traces gentle circles over her arms and prays it might be enough. Her cries slowly turn to stuttering sobs as she buries her head in his chest, her hand grasping his shirt in a vice-like grip. 

When her sobs at last start to quieten, he begins softly. “Natasha I am so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of that. I shouldn’t have made this about me. I’m sorry I’ve made you feel smothered. And I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like your death meant nothing to me. I-” He pauses for a moment to gather his thoughts. “You were dead for fourteen of the longest days of my life, and I thought you would be gone forever.”

Sniffles from the redhead in his arms are the only sounds for a moment while he takes a breath. 

“I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re going through. But I think you are incredible and I thank God that I got you back. And I know it’s selfish. I know we’re all selfish because we’re happy you’re back while you’re struggling every day.” 

He pauses to steady his pounding heart before continuing. 

“Honestly, I didn’t even think that I’d ever see you again when Clint came back without you. I didn’t think that you’d come back to me when I returned the stone. I’m just sorry.” He chances a peak at her face, and is relieved to see that she’s already looking at him through wet lashes. 

“I don’t blame you, not really,” she says softly. At the patient look on his face she elaborates. “I know it’s not your fault. I know no one really knew what returning the stone would do. We’re not used to all this space shit, even five years on,” she lets out a watery chuckle before her face turns somber again. “I’m just so damn tired all the time. And I’m tired of being like this, tired of being weak,” she says as she hides her face again. 

Steve lets out a small huff at that, fingers stroking through her hair. “Natasha, you’re the strongest person I know. You sacrificed yourself for the universe. I don’t think that’s weak, I think that’s amazing. And I’m sorry I’ve made you feel so small. I just wanted to help, because I feel useless when I can’t help you like you need.” 

His fingers pause as he feels a palm rest on his cheek. Natasha looks up at him, sad green eyes staring into his own emotional blue as she places a gentle kiss on his chin before leaning up and giving him a proper kiss on the lips. 

“Steve, you’ve been helping since the day you brought me back. I don’t think you even slept while I was unconscious. Bruce told me he had to force you to go shower.” She scrunches her nose teasingly, knowing damn well that Steve knew she couldn’t really smell that well anyways. “And don’t sell yourself too short. You’ve been by my side every step of the way, and sometimes your support is the only thing keeping me going. And I’m sorry I can’t be better right now. Maybe ever again,” she looks down, guilt written plainly across her features. 

“Natasha you don’t have to be sorry for feeling how you are. In fact, I think you would be crazy if you weren’t upset. Even superheroes are allowed to grieve their incredible losses. You know that.” Steve gives her a pointed look, and Natasha feels her cheeks warm at his statement, before she looks back up at him. “But I think we really do need to have a proper conversation.”

“Okay,” she whispers, tears still shining in her eyes, and he knows she’ll try. “Can you just hold me for now, please?” He murmurs a soft “Yes, ma’am,” before shifting himself into a lying position and pulling Natasha to rest against his side. She places her head on his chest, listening to the steady cadence of his heart, feeling his arms encircle her torso. His fingers ghost up and down her back, and the soothing motion lulls her into a dreamless sleep. 

***

Natasha wakes gradually, her joints stiff from the  unusual sleeping position making their displeasure known. Glancing down, she notices that she and Steve must have switched positions at some point during their accidental mid-day slumber, because she's now on her back, with Steve half draped over her own body. One arm is thrown across her waist, while his legs are tangled with hers and his head rests on her shoulder. 

She gives herself a moment to feel the calm their position brings her, before remembering all the apologizing she’s going to have to do. When she gently shoves Steve’s shoulder, he rouses with a dopey smile, and places a sloppy kiss on her cheek. 

Natasha grumbles half-heartedly at the action, which only seems to spur him on as he peppers her face with kisses, and she splutters out a laugh, pushing at his chest weakly. 

Steve relents and gives them both a minute to calm down before getting up. 

Natasha’s quiet while Steve changes his rumpled clothes, staring absently at the ceiling  with her arms resting atop her abdomen and bottom lip worrying between her teeth when he comes to rest at her side again. 

“You want to tell me what’s up?”

Natasha turns her head, meeting his gaze. He can see her throat working a few times before she finally gets out what’s bothering her. “This morning, there was a neuro specialist with Hayden. They both told me there’s nothing else they can do for me. In a few weeks, I’ll be good to go. And I know that means I’m good enough to go home, but I still hoped there'd be something more to do, you know?”

“I’m sorry Nat,” Steve says softly, then a thought occurs to him. “Is that what set off your panic attack earlier?”

“It wasn’t a-”

“Nat, you know very well it was.”

“Alright, fine. It was a panic attack, alright? My emotions have been all over the place lately, and I can’t get them under control, so having you all around me earlier probably set it off.”

It wasn’t the first time she’s had a panic episode, and he’s sure it won’t be the last, but he’s never wanted to be a trigger. He doesn’t know what to say, so he just settles for apologizing again. 

“You don’t have to keep apologizing. It’s not your fault. And before you get on me about that ‘emotions are normal and okay to express’ bullshit, I know. I’ve just never felt this much before,” Natasha says weakly, averting her gaze. 

Steve’s quiet for a moment, processing. “Well, we were gonna retire at some point, right? Why not now? I think we’ve more than earned a break.”

“Yah…” she whispers, and Steve can see the way she’s trying to pull her mask back into place. Grabbing her hand, he squeezes twice, and a small smile plays on her lips. 

“How about I go make dinner, and you get washed up? Then we can watch a movie or something. We’ll figure out what to do tomorrow.”

“I should probably apologize to Bruce and Wanda first,” she sighs, hauling herself into a seated position. She runs her hands through her hair, scrunching her nose. “Alright. Go make dinner; I’d better shower first. I’ll be out soon.” 

***

Natasha sits in the shower for a long while, letting the steam billow around her. The hot water helps soothe her muscles and clear her mind as she reflects on the events of the day. Shame floods her again as she recalls the harsh words she used, and although she may have felt justified in her actions in the moment, now she just feels shitty. 

After a few more minutes of wallowing, she scrubs herself clean before turning the water off and pushing the guilt from her mind for the time being. 

Of course, as soon as she sees Bruce make his way into her apartment, his demeanour uneasy, it flares right back up again. She waits for him to sit before she starts. 

“I feel awful. I don’t even know how to apologize properly,” she begins earnestly. Bruce’s posture relaxes immediately. 

“Nat, it was never my intention to make you feel pressured or put on the spot. I guess sometimes I forget that this is real life- your life, and I just get carried away; I’m sorry for that.” Bruce reassures. 

“You’re right. It is my life. I'm alive now, and you’ve done a lot for me. You helped save me, so I have no right to have acted as I did.” She explains. “So I’m sorry too.”

“This isn’t transactional, Natasha. I helped save your life because it’s the right thing to do. You’re my friend; I don’t expect anything from you. You’re allowed to be upset and lose control once in a while.”

“Yah, yah, so everyone’s been saying,” she grumbles. 

“Well, we're all right, so maybe you should listen,” Bruce teases gently. “But seriously, if you want me to back off, just say so.” 

“You can keep looking, but I doubt you’ll find anything. This is pretty much it for me, so I guess we can all go home soon.”

“That’s… good?”

“Sure,” she replies uncomfortably. 

Noticing her discomfort, Bruce tries for reassurance. “Oh, come on. You're a badass! You still have so much to give. Don’t let this bring you down, okay?” He leans in for a hug, and Natasha accepts, his large form dwarfing her petite frame. 

He excuses himself not long after, and Natasha bids him farewell. She follows, intent on finding Wanda, and sends a quick text to Steve- who took a rather convenient phone call right as Bruce entered- telling him that she’d be back soon. 

Wanda’s a little harder to track down. Either her phone is off, or she’s screening Natasha’s calls. The latter couldn’t even blame her. After a bit of searching, she finds her sitting out in the gardens behind the apartment building. It’s a beautiful evening, like most in Wakanda are, and Natasha comes to rest at the other woman’s side. A gentle breeze caresses them as they sit side by side, silent. 

Right off the bat and as blunt as ever, the Sokovian gets right to the point. “You had a panic attack, right?” 

“Yup,” comes Natasha’s answer, just as forthright. 

“And we caused it?” 

The Widow detects the note of unease in the younger woman’s voice. She doesn’t want to lie and say no, but she also doesn’t want to say what led up to it in the first place. So she settles on a simple half-truth. “Partly.”

Wanda's quiet for a moment before finally turning to meet Natasha’s gaze. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles. 

“You know, I was coming out here to say the same thing,” Natasha replies, a tinge of humour in her voice before turning sincere. “I shouldn’t have said what I did to the boys. I shouldn’t have taken my frustration out on all of you. I’m sorry for that.”

“After all you’ve been through, I think I can forgive you. You’ve always been so calm and controlled, I don’t think I could ever be as strong as you’ve been. This is a crazy situation, and I think you’d be crazy not to let it get to you.”

“This keeps happening to me,” Natasha mutters. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” she deflects quickly. “How about you join Steve and me for dinner?” The breeze picks up again, blowing strands of hair across her face. Pushing it over her shoulder with one hand, she grabs the younger woman’s own with the other. “We were just going to watch a movie after dinner anyway. Hmm?”

“I don’t want to intrude-“

“You won’t; it’s an invitation. Plus, we definitely haven’t spent enough time together lately. I worry about you, you know.”

The Russian laughs at Wanda’s startled face as she splutters, “Wha- Me? I’m sorry, who died again?”

“Me, so you should do what I say since I gave my life to save yours. Let’s go.”

Her tone is light, and Wanda can’t help but give in. Natasha smiles again as she tugs the hand she’s still holding onto. Maybe she should play the guilt card more often. She’ll admit easily that it gets results. 

Taking one last look at the clear evening sky, the two Avengers make their way back inside, a lightness resting within both their chests. 

***

“Okay, don’t be mad,” Bruce announces, walking into the common area where Steve and Natasha are sitting on opposite sides of the couch, Nat’s feet in Steve’s lap. 

The suddenness of Bruce’s declaration piques the Widow’s interest. “Well, now I'm curious. What’s up?” 

Bruce glances nervously over at Steve, who gives him a quick nod. Natasha’s eyes narrow with suspicion at the exchange. 

“Out with it,” she states firmly. 

“I called in a therapist.”

“I'm sorry, I think I heard you wrong. I heard ‘I called in a therapist,’ which would be crazy if I heard you right.”

“Natasha, just hear us out-”

“No fucking way.”

“I'm sorry!” Bruce stresses from the other side of the couch, slowly backing away as the redhead’s glare deepens. Steve can see the obvious anger and betrayal in her eyes as she lets loose a stream of Russian curses. 

“Whoa, okay!” Steve exclaims when she utters a particularly nasty phrase, trying to defuse the situation. “Bruce, you'd better leave. Natasha, can I talk to you?” he hisses, glaring at his feisty partner and monitoring through his peripheral vision as Bruce exits the apartment as quickly as he can possibly manage without sprinting.

“You’re in on this?”

“Nat, this isn’t an attack. Just listen-”

“I’ve had therapists before, Steve. I know the deal. There’s no way I’m spilling my secrets to someone I don’t know,” she states firmly. 

“This isn’t just any therapist, Natasha. We did our research, and Dr. Raynor is very good at dealing with complex trauma cases as well as PTSD. You’re basically the poster child here. Just think of her as someone removed from this situation. She has no attachments to anything. You can tell her whatever it is that you can’t tell us.”

She scowls. “I’m not-”

“Please, Natasha, I’m not ignorant. I know there’s stuff you're not telling us, not telling me , and that’s okay. But maybe she can help you work through whatever those things are.” With that, Steve exits, leaving a fuming Natasha seated alone. 

A few minutes later, she finds herself across from a professional-looking woman who introduces herself as Dr. Raynor, and spends the first few minutes sizing the intruder up. 

“I don’t need a therapist. I don’t know what the others told you, but I’m fine.”

“I'm not here for them; I’m here for you.”

“How sweet,” Natasha snaps, tone laced with loathing. 

“Indeed. And while we’re on the subject, yes, your friends do think that you require an impartial party to talk to about the tribulations of the past few months,” the other woman replied curtly. “So why don’t you tell me why I’m here.”

“Look, I’m adjusting fine. Middle-of-the-night breakdowns do not count. Did Steve say something to you?” Natasha questions.

“Mr. Rogers requested that I be here to support you. He did not provide any private details, but it certainly does not take a clairvoyant to see that your friends are worried about you.”

“Frankly, it’s none of their business. I’m sorry they brought you all the way out here.” Natasha dismisses. 

“I’ve read your files, Miss Romanoff. I know as much as anyone with internet access knows about your past, and I’m well aware of your- shall we say- complicated history.”

You don’t know the half of it, Natasha scoffs to herself. 

“No offense, but I’m not just going to tell you all my deep dark secrets,” she says coldly before continuing. “And even if I did, nothing you can say will fix me. This isn’t going to work.”

The doctor smiles faintly. She’s found that asking complex patients outright often gives her an opening into a deeper conversation. The shock always gets a reaction started, presenting the opportunity she needs to prod further. With that in mind- “What will work then, Natasha?” At the other woman’s blank stare, she continues. “Let me ask you something, and be honest. Do you even want to be alive?” 

Natasha feels as though she’s been winded. “Excuse me? Who the fuck do you think you are?” 

The Widow’s affronted look doesn’t deter the doctor as she deadpans:  “Just a measly therapist,” before, “Look, Natasha, I may not know you personally or know much about you at all over the past few years, but I’ve read the mission reports you so kindly leaked. A person doesn’t just stray from habit and you have a history of making the sacrificial play. Putting your life on the line so that your colleagues don't have to.” 

Natasha looks like she wants to say something, but the doctor continues before she can interrupt. “I’m not saying that isn’t noble or completely unavoidable in your line of work, but I also know you’re quite smart. You could have easily found alternative ways out of many situations without putting yourself in further  danger.”

“You got all that from a couple of redacted SHIELD documents I dumped over a decade ago?”

“All what?”

“Oh, please. You know exactly what I mean. You’re suggesting I’m suicidal, and I’m not. I don’t know how you’re getting that idea.”

“I’m suggesting no such thing. I’m simply trying to make you understand that you have a pattern of making impulsive decisions that have left you more vulnerable than necessary. And I’m afraid that your abhorrence for my profession has left you undiagnosed and untreated.”

“I don’t need a psychologist to tell me how fucked up I am, okay? I don’t need anyone knowing my business and making judgements based on what they think is best for me or why I’m the way I am.”

“I’m going to put this as simply as I can because I don’t think you’re hearing me, but refusing help will get you nowhere. And that’s the same for your psychological and physical well-being. If you keep this pattern up, you will undo everything you’ve been working towards. Whether you realize it or not, it’s the truth. I’m sure if you asked any of your friends, they’d tell you exactly that.”

Affronted, Natasha thinks about all the times she could have done something on a mission differently, perhaps safer even. Personal safety isn’t a guarantee though, and she’d rather it be her own life on the line, so why is that such a bad thing? It's not like she’d wanted to die; it just so happened that her death could be of better service to the world that she’s fought so hard to save than her life ever could. 

And realistically, she thinks she’s pretty well adjusted for someone who’s gone through all that she has. What would therapy have done? Other than dredge up old memories she’d much rather keep buried and force her to confront the fact that she’s not invulnerable? (She’s already learnt that lesson, and is currently in the middle of its aftermath, so ha.)

That might be precisely  the point the doctor was trying to make however, but she doesn’t want the other woman to be right. “I don’t-” she starts to argue. 

Ignoring her charge’s attempt at making excuses, the doctor cuts the ex-assassin off. “You know, people run away from this line between life and death. You seem to stand on it and wait for a strong wind to sway you one way or the other. You may not actively be seeking out death, but you're not against it either. Probably because you were raised to believe you were only worthy as long as you were of use. The problem is, you still believe this.”

Natasha gawks, astounded at the nerve the other woman has to suggest that she’s careless. To speak about her past so calmly, as if she has any idea how utterly traumatized she is because of it.

But she’s right, a small part of her mind whispers. The only thing that matters is the mission and that her family is safe. She’s done everything in her power to ensure that no one else was used like she was. She took down the Red Room for fucks sake. And giving her life in exchange for her crimes? There was no question there. How could she not when her hands were  still stained red? And how does that make her careless?

“I don’t need to be psychoanalyzed, okay? You weren’t there during those missions. You can’t possibly understand the decisions I’ve had to make and that I still make now. I’m not ‘toeing the line’ or whatever bullshit you’re suggesting.”

“You need to actively want this, Natasha. You need to want life. You can’t just expect to get better without wanting to.”

She’s about ready to start screaming, and the rising indignation clouds her mind, loosening her tongue. “What makes you think I don’t want to be here? I'm here, aren‘t I? I’m trying to move on, to get better.”

“You don’t tell anyone about your pain or open up about your thoughts.”

“I never do that normally, so why should I start now? How is that even remotely relevant?”

“You quite literally went through a life-changing experience. You died, and you were miraculously brought back against your will. You had come to terms with your sacrifice which takes a really strong person. Although, given your history, I'm amazed that you haven’t ‘accidentally’ ended up dead sooner.”

Natasha can admit that it's solid advice, and she appreciates the fact that this woman isn’t coddling her, but- “You have no idea what we did, what I had to do. I didn’t purposely pick the one mission that would either kill me or kill someone I love,” she states coldly.

“You're right; I don't know what happened. But I know you’re here now, and you need to come to terms with the fact that your death was not the answer you were looking for before you can hope to recover. Maybe you’ll be mostly fine physically, but until you accept that you’re alive and actively seek to live, you’ll never be better.”

“I think I’m done for the day.”

“Let me ask you this,” Dr. Raynor presses on. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say you’re depressed, which is the least of our issues today, but I think you know that too. You need help, Natasha. You need to let your friends help. And just by sitting with you, I know you’re stubborn. I also know that depression is the silent killer, and it will make you feel like you can’t ask for anything, so I hope you see the problem here.”

“I said I’m done,” the Widow repeats through clenched teeth, fighting the turmoil in her head. The offended majority of her mind is cursing the other woman something fierce. Still, the remaining minority tells her that the therapist has yet to utter one wrong thing about herself. 

Dr. Raynor stands, eyeing Natasha knowingly. “Take what was said here today to heart, Ms. Romanoff. I want to see you live your life. Your family wants to see you live it. I hope to see you again soon.”

The redhead scowls as the doctor makes her way out. Her incensed anger from earlier leaves in a flash. Although she doesn’t want to admit it, the doctor is right. She has not been living. She’d even admitted that exact thing to Steve not a few days prior, but she doesn’t know how to want it, how to crawl out of the darkness she’s been surrounded with since she can remember. 

“Wait!” 

The doctor turns around, hand on the doorknob. “How? How do I get through this?”

The other woman takes a few steps in her direction. “You need to remember why you sacrificed yourself- why you always sacrifice yourself. You did it for your friends, your family. And they are all still here. So why aren't you?”

Natasha takes a moment to consider. “I don't know. I haven't felt like myself in years. I just feel like something’s missing I guess.”

“That is completely valid. The blip was an incredibly traumatic event for everyone. You were at the front lines when it first happened. No one would be able to brush that off.” Natasha seems to be taking her words in, and Dr. Raynor suppresses a smile. The Widow is not the first difficult patient with multiple lives worth of unresolved trauma she’s had. “Start small. I want you to think of a few positive things about yourself and your life. And then I want you to think of some things or people that make life worth living. Whenever you’re feeling unstable or out of touch with yourself, think of them. Hopefully, you’ll find that it grounds you and reminds you what you have to live for.”

Natasha nods in affirmation, and the doctor considers her carefully. Not wanting to push her luck, she adds, “And maybe consider some more therapy at the very least. We’ve hardly scratched the surface, and it’s only been one, albeit forced, session.” 

A genuine, slightly embarrassed smile crosses the assassin’s face at that. “Thank you, doctor, truly. And... I apologize for earlier. I’m not the best at sharing,” the redhead admits. The understatement of the millennia. 

“My pleasure, Ms. Romanoff, but please, keep in touch. I’d like to see you again once you’ve considered some of the things revealed today. And remember that you have people in your corner who want to see you succeed, so keep them closest.”

***

Later that week, Natasha assembles Shuri and Steve for a conversation. She’d been thinking nearly constantly about her conversation with Dr. Raynor. She still doesn’t feel like herself, but the doctor was right. Reminding herself of who she fought for and why she’d made the sacrifice in the first place helps to center herself. The steps she takes don’t need to be big; they just need to take her in the right direction, after all. 

Once everyone has gathered, Natasha states bluntly: “I want to know if there’s anything else we can try. I’ve been doing everything the therapists have asked for months, and there’s still barely any improvement. I don’t expect a miracle, but anything would be better than what it is now,” she finishes almost desperately. 

The atmosphere in the room stills as they take in her request. 

“I didn’t want to say anything until I was certain it would be possible, but one of my simulations has potential,” Shuri mentions nervously. Natasha can feel her heartbeat pick up at the princess’s  words, and she stares eagerly at the younger woman. “There’s been some success, but it's not a cure. Maybe forty percent improvement of function.”

“Compared to what? To me now?”

Shuri nods sadly. “Unfortunately.”

“When can we try it?”

The determination in Natasha’s voice shocks the scientist. “Again, it’s not a cure. It’s all experimental at this phase. We don't have any practical data,” Shuri apprises. 

“But it could give me more function?”

“Natasha, we don’t even know if this would realistically work-”

“I know. But what’s the harm in trying? You can't make me worse, and this could give me a better chance, right?”

Shuri still looks unsure, but she nods. “It will take some time to finalize. I’d need to confer with the medical staff to see if this is even physically possible. We are advanced, but-” 

“If you think it will work, that’s all I need,” Natasha says softly, cutting off the princess’s rambling. “You’ve gotten me this far, so what’s a little experimental procedure among friends?”

Shuri blushes before excusing herself with the promise of letting her know soon. 

Steve joins her on the couch, squeezing her hand. 

“This will work, Steve. It has to,” Natasha mutters, hoping she doesn’t sound as nervous as she feels. 

“I know,” Steve assures. He recognizes the effort she's been putting in recently, the newfound determination she tackles her physio with. His heart squeezes a little at the thought of how incredible she is, and he has to avert his gaze before he truly gives away how in love he is with her. 

Natasha still notices of course, a smile tugging at her lips before she leans over to press a chaste kiss to his cheek.

***

Shuri informs the pair a few days later that she’ll give the procedure a go. She reiterates again that it's purely experimental and will most likely return only a moderate portion of function, if it works at all.

Natasha brushes off her concerns and jokes that there will be no hard feelings if it fails. Honestly, she's just excited to have something to look forward to, something that could give her a hint of control again. Although the doubts still plague her late at night, she pushes them down, focusing determinedly on the positive alone.

On the day of, Natasha finds herself surrounded by her friends, exchanging hugs and words of encouragement. Throughout, she tries to maintain the nonchalant attitude she's recently adopted as if this procedure might not change the outcome of her future- again. Of course, the others still pick up on the redhead’s nerves but wisely choose not to say anything. Sam calls to wish her luck, and Clint sends her a care package full of drawings and mementos from the kids. Her heart fills at the realization of all the love she's been given from her team, her family.

Later that afternoon, when everyone has left, and it's just her and Steve before she’s whisked off, she allows herself a moment of weakness. 

“I’m scared,” she whispers, half hoping he doesn’t hear. 

He’s braiding her hair when she tells him, his hands stalling, before continuing their delicate weaving. “What are you scared about?”

“What if this doesn’t work? What if I never get any movement back?”

“Then we’ll go from there. You’re always going to be a badass; it doesn’t matter if you can throw a high kick or not.”

Natasha huffs at that, “I don’t know who I'll be if this doesn't work. My body is quite literally my weapon. I don’t know what I’ll do if that part of me is gone.”

Steve ties off the plait before coming to face her. “Maybe we’ll retire.” Natasha frowns at him, and he continues. “There are plenty of amazing people with spinal injuries, Nat. Besides, science and technology have come a long way. I'm sure we can figure something out that can help. Think about Rhodey.”

Natasha knows he’s just trying to cheer her up, to get her to look on the bright side, but at this moment, she can’t. She doesn’t want an exoskeleton like Rhodey or a career change. She wants her old body back. The one thing she could always rely on to keep her alive. She hadn’t realized that was something she’d been taking for granted. She feels selfish just for thinking that. 

Steve sighs as if reading her mind. Gently cupping her cheek, he angles her face so he can look in her eyes. “You’re not selfish for mourning the old you, Natasha. What you’ve been through is- I don't even have the words to describe it. But you always pull through. You are so incredibly brave and powerful, whether you realize it or not. You’ve always been the best of us-” he cuts himself off, a soft blush dusting the tips of his ears. 

Natasha can’t help but smile at the man sitting across from her. My incredible, loveable idiot, she thinks, tears welling in her eyes as she pulls him into a crushing hug.

“Let’s go into this thinking positively, hm? I read somewhere that believing the treatment will work affects the outcome.” 

“You're so full of shit,” she laughs into his shoulder, and he just shrugs. 

She’s taken into surgery not long after, and Steve is sent to wait in Nat’s old room. His stomach lurches at the memory of first seeing her here after he’d brought her back from Vormir, frantically shouting for anyone around to get a medic. The first few hours of touch and go before she was whisked away to surgery. The sleepless nights where he waited beside her bed until she finally woke up. The heartbroken feeling he experienced when she finally learned of all the damage done. 

As he makes his way down the hall, he’s quick to remember all the positives that are associated with the place as well. Morbid or not, this event seems to have pulled the remaining team members together, and the team is stronger than ever. 

He takes a breath and thinks about the incredible resilience she's displayed thus far, even when she felt like the world was caving in around her. Rounding the corner of the hall, he’s not too surprised to see Wanda and Bruce sitting in chairs along the wall. What does surprise him is the two new faces sitting beside them. 

Sam stands, clasping Steve’s hand before pulling him into a quick hug. Bucky does the same before pulling back and immediately critiquing the beard he’s started to re-grow. 

“Watch it, Buck,” Steve warns jokingly before joining the others. Really, he quite likes the beard. (So does Natasha, and that’s all that really matters, so there.)

The small group trade stories for a while, and Sam regales them of how he single-handedly restored his parent’s boat while Bucky did nothing but flirt with his sister. Bucky makes an indignant noise at the falsehood, clarifying that he did all the heavy lifting, and if it just so happens that Sarah was watching as he tore up the old lumber, then what can he do? Sam scowls at his retelling of events, and the group just laughs. 

Time passes quickly as they all catch up and reminisce. In no time it seems, a doctor approaches, alerting them that Natasha will be returning any moment.

Everyone speaks at the same time, all wanting to know whether the procedure was successful, but the doctor just shrugs mildly, informing the group that it's too early to tell and they’d have to wait for Natasha to come out of anesthesia first. 

They all sit in a circle around Nat’s bed, impatiently awaiting for her to wake up. It takes a painstakingly long thirty minutes before her eyelids begin to flutter. Natasha cracks one eye open, taking a quick glance at all of their excited faces before mumbling, “Stop staring; it's creepy.”

That gets a laugh out of the group, and Wanda questions how she's feeling. Natasha scrubs a hand across her face, trying to push the fog from the anesthesia away. A brief sense of Deja Vu flashes through her mind to the last time Wanda asked her that question. “Exhausted,” she replies, then, “Now leave. I don't need you all staring at me while I sleep. It’s weird.” 

Her tone is joking, but the rest of the group understands her desire for some privacy. They each take turns offering her a hug or a gentle pat to the shoulder before shuffling out. Steve’s on his way out as well before Natasha’s voice calls out to him again. 

“Not you, you dummy. Come here,” she says, stretching her arm in his direction. 

Once he reaches the edge of the bed, she pulls at his arm until he’s gingerly lying beside her, trying desperately not to catch on any of the wires or IVs sticking out from her. It’s an impressive feat for someone his size. She mutters a soft goodnight and is asleep before he can even return the sentiment. 

***

A few days pass in which Natasha is forbidden from moving unless she needs the restroom. She’s tired of being cooped up in bed again, and her hair is greasy. All she wants is a long hot shower to release the tension.  

She’s trying not to be grouchy, honestly, since she knows where the doctors are coming from. They don’t want her to over-exert herself while she’s still healing from the recent procedure, but if she has to sit in this bed for one more fucking day, she’s going to lose it. 

The team comes to play games with her, and Wanda smuggles in some of her favourite snacks along with some books, but the boredom is truly catching up to her. There’s only so much internet sleuthing and Uno playing one can do before they feel like combusting. 

Sam fills her in on the gossip from the outside world, like what the world thinks happened to her, along with half the other Avengers-in-hiding, 

Steve and Bucky take the opportunity to catch up as well, and their individual conversations soon overlap when Sam launches into another heavily edited rendition of his latest mission as Captain America. Bucky interjects here and there, and Sam scowls when Bucky tells his much less exaggerated version of the story, muttering “Details, man,” under his breath. 

The visit is cut short however, when they’re called back into action. 

Sam gives her a dramatic wave, a parting ‘Girl, you know a Captain’s work is never done’ sent in her direction. Natasha scowls, wanting nothing more than to knock the smug grin off his face, before he’s dancing out of the room, Bucky in tow. 

Steve’s quick to assure her that that’ll be them in no time, and if looks could kill, he thinks he’d be about six feet under, judging by the look on his lovely partner's face. 

On the fifth day post-surgery, she’s deemed healed enough to shower. She’s allowed to return to their borrowed apartment on the condition that she calls them with any update, good or bad, and she’s not allowed any physical activity until the incision is completely healed. They predict a couple more days at most to assuage her concern. 

Her relief is palpable as Steve takes her back to their place. He helps her onto the showers ledge before giving her some privacy. The hot water feels heavenly, and she scrubs herself clean before focusing on her tangled hair. She washes it before brushing the accumulated tangles out gently under the showers spray, cursing Steve and his stupid love of her long hair. He's been holding up his end of the bargain though, braiding her hair unasked, so she can’t be too angry at her decision to keep the extra length. 

When she’s done, she dries herself off and dons a pair of sweatpants and a loose tee, a fair amount of shifting and leaning to keep herself dry before she calls out to Steve. Really, she could make her way out on her own, but the doctors did tell her to take it easy, and besides, it’s way more fun making Steve carry her. 

He rolls his eyes at her antics before acquiescing, and carrying her to the dining room to eat. They eventually make their way back to their room, cuddling up under the covers. Her back twinges as she shifts, settling herself against Steve’s side. His arm reaches around her shoulders, holding her close before turning on a movie that neither of them have seen before.

It’s not the most interesting in her opinion, but Steve seems to be liking it, so she distracts herself by tracing his features with her eyes. His laugh lines have become more pronounced over the years, and a light sprinkle of grey appears amidst the blonde at his temples. It suits him , she thinks, this version of Steve so different yet so alike the Steve she’d first met. Her eyes rove over his face, landing on his beard. She quite enjoys this addition. It gives him a certain ruggedness like he’s rebelling from the golden boy image the world has given him. Her eyes finally settle on his lips, and oh, how she enjoys kissing them. 

Their relationship is something that she never thought she’d have. The fondness in her heart was accompanied by something she dares not name but overtakes her just the same every time he gazes at her affectionately, the same emotion shining in his ridiculously blue eyes. 

Steve notices her staring, glancing at her before raising an eyebrow questioningly. She looks at him through her lashes, not embarrassed at being caught staring, and moves to gently kiss her way along his jaw. She feels him hum underneath her hand, where it’s placed over his heart. Feeling the uptick in his pulse the more she kisses him, her smirk grows at the fact that she can still do this to him, even after all these years. 

Natasha kisses the corners of his mouth, teasing him before finally landing on his lips. It starts soft, not cautious, but comfortable in its familiarity before it turns hungrier. She can feel him return her fervor, his hand coming to rest on her hip, thumb slipping beneath her shirt. She feels butterflies in her stomach at the touch, and when she pulls back to look at him, she can see the hunger in his eyes- mirroring her own, she’s sure. 

Steve moves his head closer, ever so slowly, and Natasha’s eyes flutter closed in anticipation. He quickly changes course, pecking her on the nose instead, and chuckles at the crinkle in her brow and the huff that she lets slip. She grumbles at the pathetic excuse of a kiss before surging forward to capture his lips with her own again. It doesn’t take long before he’s deepening the kiss, hands roaming down her sides as he rolls her onto her back, her own hands coming to rest behind his neck. 

She pulls away briefly to settle, and Steve takes the opportunity to kiss his way down the column of her throat, paying special attention to the spot just above her collarbone that he knows drives her crazy. Natasha’s breath catches in her chest as she rakes her fingers down his back encouragingly. She’s helpless to stop the soft, needy noises growing in the back of her throat. 

Steve smiles against her skin, pleased with the reaction he’s elicited, before slanting his lips over hers once more. Their breaths are heavy as they slow, kisses soon turning languid. The passion from earlier is still there, flickering in their chests as they follow one another’s lead. 

Steve eventually pulls away- too soon for her liking- not wanting to take things too far while she's still healing, and she chases his mouth for a moment, breaths mingling. Her eyes flutter open, the haze of lust slowly fading in time with her slowing heartbeat, only to be met by Steve’s adoring gaze. Her shirts pushed up, a fair amount of smooth midriff exposed, and Steve’s missing his shirt entirely. She doesn’t even remember when he took it off. 

He’s propped up on his elbows on either side of her head now, supporting his weight above as he gazes down at her. She’s still lying on her back, hair fanning out around her on the pillows and cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink. At that moment, he thinks she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

That must have also been said out loud because her face flushes anew. He can tell she’s embarrassed, but the smile on her face grows, and she leans up to give him one more peck before he lays back down beside her, pulling her close.

This is it , she thinks as she lays content in his arms. Maybe this is what makes life worth living, having someone so dedicated to her despite everything, having someone who she can rely on and trust implicitly. Someone she can love and someone who can love her back. She finds that the pang that usually accompanies the sentiment is absent, and maybe, just maybe, she’s finally starting to heal. 

She goes to sleep that night feeling lighter than she has in ages and thinks that maybe bedrest isn’t so bad. 

***

An uncomfortable itch building at the bottom of her left foot pulls her from her slumber. She hadn’t been dreaming, a rare reprieve from her onslaught of disconcerting dreams the last few weeks. Annoyance flashes through her when her attempt to move her foot closer is thwarted by her ever uncooperative legs. Instinctually, she goes to wiggle her foot to dispel the unwelcome sensation, and it takes her a minute to realize that she in fact, did move her toes. 

Natasha does it again, joy filling her at the small action. 

“Steve,” she whispers, nudging his shoulder. The supersoldier mumbles incoherently, shifting away from whatever’s disturbing his sleep. “Steve,” she says louder, amused exasperation evident. She gives him another good shake. When that attempt is also unsuccessful, she opts for the extreme option. Pinching his nose closed, she’s soon rewarded by his annoyed grumbles. She retracts her hand before he can push it away. 

Sitting upright beside her, he rubs his eyes, groaning; “Nat- what the hell?” She only feels slightly sorry, but-

“I did shake you twice,” she gives as an explanation for his rude awakening. Pushing the covers off her body and mirroring his position, she answers his question by wiggling her sock clad-toes. 

“Wait, did you just-“ he cuts himself off, eyes wide. 

She’s slightly breathless, feeding off his excitement on top of her own. For the first time since she’s been brought back, the heavy weight on her chest lightens. Hope and determination filter through the anxiety that’s been plaguing her since. 

Steve places a hand over her knee, and Natasha actually laughs at the slight pressure she can feel. She grabs his hand, squeezing twice, and Steve returns the gesture. 

Overwhelmed by her excitement and a frenzy of other emotions, she buries her face in his chest, head resting over his heart, and relaxes for the first time in what feels like ages. Steve’s arms come up to shift her closer, bringing her legs over his so she’s practically in his lap. 

Natasha wants to stay in this moment, wants to feel this excitement, this love forever, but is content to just bask in it for now. She knows when the sun rises, this little spell they’re under will break, and she’ll have to think about the future and all the work she’s yet to do. But sitting here in Steve’s arms, knowing the rest of her team, her family are just on the other side of the building, she thinks she can do anything. 

***

Come morning, Shuri returns to assess her charge. Natasha excitedly tells her about the night before, a light in her eyes that Shuri hasn’t seen much recently. Steve has the same look the young genius realizes, although it is undetectable at first glance, as his eyes haven’t left Nat once. 

Shuri listens intently, excited at the success of her painstaking research and simulations. After running some tests and jotting down some notes, she explains what she did. Most of the explanation goes right over the two Avengers’ heads, but for once, Natasha doesn’t particularly care that she doesn’t understand what the scientist is saying. It’s a scientific miracle, and she’s so incredibly grateful. She tells Shuri just that, and the girl blushes when Natasha pulls her into a quick hug. 

Shuri leaves soon after, eager to return to her lab and study the test results further. Maybe one day, she’ll even be able to share this new technique with the medical community and, with luck, improve the lives of others as well. 

***

Over the next several weeks, Natasha’s eased into a more challenging exercise regiment now that she's recovered some function, and she's grateful for it. Since the first toe wiggle, she’s since regained almost full range of motion. She’s stiff and uncoordinated, and it takes her a few attempts to actually hold the position of her knee or her foot, but at least she’s able to move again. 

Somatosensation is the technical term, she’s told, in response to her uncooperative joints. A fancy word for an array of other fancy words, all describing body sensation and joint and limb positioning. Basically, her spatial awareness is on the outs, which isn’t uncommon in people with spinal or neurological injuries. 

It’s too soon to really tell what the long-term effects will look like, but as of present, it just means she’ll have to work a little extra hard and pay a little extra attention to how she’s interacting with her environment. 

It’s good information, really, but it’s a lot to take in. Natasha never really considered this part of her recovery. There wasn’t any need before to tell her all the side effects of restored function when she was essentially paralyzed. 

But now she’s learning all this new information, seemingly at once, as they discover new issues to be dealt with or new achievements to be celebrated. She knew that the procedure wasn’t a guarantee of complete return of control (if any at all), but now there are just so many things to take under consideration, and it leaves her a little overwhelmed. 

But she’ll soldier on regardless. Moving like a disjointed, uncoordinated mess for a while is better than not moving at all, so she’ll take the win for what it is and tackle her new regiment with more determination than before.  

She begrudgingly admits that the strengthening exercises she’d been doing previously weren’t for naught, despite feeling the opposite not too long ago. Although she’s lost most of her hard-earned muscle definition, she’s pleased to see that she's managed to maintain at least some of the bulk she’d gained over the past few decades. 

They start with simple resistance exercises, getting her comfortable with actually moving against an opposing force before they even think about standing- let alone walking. Resistance bands become her new best friends for a while until she’s upgraded to an assortment of machines. The Widow’s relieved to see that they’re nothing fancy, just regular machines you could find at any gym. 

(She’s accepted that her back will seemingly be forever sore, so the dull throb of her muscles post-workout becomes a pleasant distraction.) 

She’s missed the normalcy that the simple act of working out brings, the familiar pull of muscles and the sense of accomplishment that go along with it. Sometimes the others join her in the gym, Steve steadily going at the punching bag and Wanda flipping between actually using the weights versus using her magic to float the equipment around the room- the latter always drawing a laugh from the other occupants. 

By the end of the month, Natasha is itching to start walking- or at least to get on her feet. She's tired of sitting around and relying on others to get her places or using the wheelchair. She’s finally regained some strength and can hold most of her weight against resistance. It’s a fraction of what she used to have, of course, but she’s satisfied with her progress nonetheless. 

Shuri had estimated a forty percent margin of returning function, and although it seems that she’s surpassed that, she's still cautious of her expectations. Since the procedure, Natasha’s noticed not only an increase in strength but also some returning sensation to both legs- some being the key word. It’s strange, being able to move her body again but not necessarily being able to feel where she is or what she’s doing, below the waistline.

(It’s better than not feeling anything at all, but she digresses.)

The light pressure sensation is still irritatingly absent, but at least the deep pressure sensation has returned. Bruce had explained the reasoning as to why that is, how deep pressure is easier for the spinal cord to perceive as opposed to the former. She supposed it made sense, but it was still annoying. 

Natasha also found that her left leg tends to be significantly stronger than her right, which leaves her unfairly frustrated with the therapists when they tell her not to push herself so hard. She’d been under the impression that she’d be more or less balanced by the outcome of the procedure. She hadn’t expected the disparity between her limbs. 

She’d managed to guess why before Shuri had explained the reasoning: this surgery was new, and there was no way of predicting the outcome, especially when everyone’s body reacts differently to such an extensive injury. 

*** 

Her rehab team had talked to her after her physio session today, telling her that they wanted to try to get her walking soon. If she hadn’t been a trained spy all her life, she might’ve yelled ‘hoorah.’ With the progress she’d made over the past weeks, they felt she was strong enough to attempt standing, at the very least. 

Natasha had questioned them, of course, worried about her discrepancy in strength, but they’d brushed off her concerns, stating they’d cross that bridge when it became a problem. The conversation had left her with much to ruminate on.

She’s been trying to look on the brighter side or at least consider the positives, before she lets herself spiral. She’s not always successful though, and she finds herself more ambivalent than not as she sorts through her emotions, finding herself needing some sort of outlet. 

That used to be a punching bag or a gun range, but since that’s not currently possible, she chooses to confide in Steve. Her mind is supplying that this new development could either be very good for her or very bad, and the anticipation is killing her. The outcome of this new chapter will define her future, which terriies her because she can’t do anything about it. How she mourns her independence and the complete surety in herself she used to have. 

They're both lying in bed, his arms wrapped around her smaller frame, tracing nonsensical patterns over her arms absentmindedly. She’s been making an effort to talk through her anxiety and slow the onslaught of panic before it consumes her. It’s a big step for her to open up and share willingly, Steve acknowledges, and he tells her so before assuring her she’ll be able to handle whatever might happen. 

Natasha isn’t completely sure she believes him but chooses to try anyway. His complete and utter faith in her, even after everything, still manages to make her feel stronger. She holds on to that feeling and carries it close to her chest. She’s going to need it in the coming weeks.

***

Natasha grunts in frustration, sweat clinging to her forehead as she goes to lessen her grip on the bars. She’s been at this for three days now, trying to get her uncooperative legs to support her body rather than her arms. So far, she’s only managed to stand- if you can call it standing- by holding herself up on the parallel bars. Every  time she goes to loosen her grip and transfer her weight, her knees buckle, and she narrowly avoids crashing to the ground. Alanna, her current (and hopefully permanent) physiotherapist, had told her that they would continue at whatever pace she was going. Unfortunately for Natasha, her current pace wasn’t good enough. 

She’d been the model pupil all her early life, the ideal weapon for the Red Room’s army and later the perfect soldier for S.H.I.E.L.D. There was no room for error or weakness, and despite her lifelong effort to release its destructive hold on her self-worth, the values her upbringing instilled in her remain. If she wasn’t strong enough or fast enough, what good was she to the team? How could she prove herself useful when she couldn't even stand?

No , she thinks, stopping her train of thought with finality. Her value on the team isn't measured by her usefulness, like how many people she can take down or how many missions she can successfully undertake. It’s taken her years to unlearn that sentiment, and she’s still working on it. The team is her family, and they aren’t going to kick her out because she’s no longer of physical use to them. That's not how families work.

Yet she finds herself pushing her limits anyways, despite the warnings her therapist is giving her. She’s fought for this progress, and like hell she’s going to squander it. She has the chance to walk again, and will not waste it by playing it safe. 

“You need to ease up, Natasha. If you push yourself too hard, you cowhich lf, which will push your recovery back,” Alanna explains, not for the first time. “Remember, we’re just looking at lacement right now and working on balance. I want to see where the problems are.”

The redhead rolls her eyes as she focuses on her stance, keeping her feet shoulder width apart and shoulders back, core engaged. She’s been building up a sweat all afternoon, rotating through different balancing techniques. So far, she’s only managed to keep somewhat steady on both feet, keeping her weight central. As soon as she shifts even a fraction, she’s clutching at the bars again so as not to land on her ass. 

“Do that again, but take it slow,” the therapist suggests. 

Natasha ignores the warning and pulls herself back up from her seated position. Making sure her feet are in the correct stance, she slowly releases her grip on the bars, gritting her teeth in concentration. Trying desperately to keep her knees from locking, she lets go of the bars, praying that she’ll miraculously regain her previously impeccable equilibrium soon.

For three glorious seconds, she's standing tall, and the rush she feels is incredible before-

Thump!

The therapist looks down at her and sighs exasperatedly, shaking her head before asking if the other woman is okay.

Natasha nods from her place on the ground, blowing strands of hair out of her face.

“I think we should call it a day,” Alanna starts, ignoring the scowl on the redhead's face. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”

Natasha pushes herself upright and silently thanks the foam mats beneath her for cushioning her fall before pulling herself back into the chair. “It’s been three days of this, and nothing has changed. Every time I let up, my knees buckle, and my ankle rolls. I’m not strong enough,” she finishes angrily, and the thought sends a pang through her chest.

“Exactly. It’s been three days. You’ve barely given yourself a chance. You aren’t going to instantly be able to hold yourself upright again, especially after all you’ve gone through. Need I remind you that we’re retraining you to walk after a severe spinal injury.”

Natasha’s frown deepens, and the therapist continues with a sigh. 

“Look, it might be too early, but I’m going to bring in some braces to try.” The redhead's glare catches her off guard for a moment before she continues. “From what I can tell, you have the capacity and range to walk, just not at what you’re used to. Now, that’s most likely due to the injury, not to your strength, so working out more is not going to fix the problem,” she stresses. “Your body works, Natasha. You need to trust it and understand that it’s not going to be like before and that it’s going to take time to get to your new normal.”

Her ‘new normal’ has been talked about quite often as of late. From what her limitations are presently, to what she might come to expect as a result, it’s all been a bit overwhelming. 

She’s not naive, she knows things won’t be like they were before, but that doesn’t mean she wants to think about it. She doesn’t want to admit how much the thought of being different scares her. But she doesn’t want to ruminate on that now. 

With that thought in mind, Natasha gives her a quick nod before bidding the other woman goodbye and heading back for her apartment. Disappointment bubbles in the pit of her stomach, and anxiety lingers at the back of her mind, but she pushes it down before entering. 

“Hey, Nat!” Steve calls from somewhere in the apartment. “How long do you need to get ready?”

“For?” She calls back before sliding into the bathroom to shower off the day’s stress.

Steve pops his head into the bathroom, looking at her funny. “The others are coming over for Wanda’s goodbye dinner tonight, remember? Clint’s coming to pick her up.”

Crap . She’d forgotten all about that, too focused on everything else. She’d even confirmed with him two days prior that he was coming and checked to make sure that the Witch was all packed. 

Natasha had noticed lately that Wanda wasn’t doing the greatest, despite her objections, and understandably so. T’challa was very generous in his offer to host and provide for the current extra inhabitants, but being away in a country where you don’t know the culture or speak the language can be quite isolating, especially when you’re mostly just there for company. With Bruce busy in the lab that Shuri so kindly temporarily donated or chatting with medical and scientific experts globally, she’s not had much to do. 

Of course, Steve was in a similar boat, as Natasha’s days were primarily spent out of the apartment, he was also finding it difficult sometimes to fill his days. But he had Natasha at the end of the day to talk with, eat with, hold at night. 

Wanda didn’t have that opportunity. So Natasha had called Clint, knowing that the two had some sort of bond, and brought up her concerns regarding the younger woman and how she thought that some quality time away from the isolation could be just what she needed. 

Clint had agreed readily, and Laura didn’t even need any convincing before she scolded the former spies for not thinking of offering sooner. Laura had a bigger heart than most, and they both knew what grieving could do to a person. 

Wanda was initially uncertain when Natasha had first broached the subject but started to open up to the idea after a bit of convincing. After all, everyone needed a tether in this new world, and Natasha knew she wouldn’t be able to be that for the younger woman at present, and hasn't been able to be that for quite some time. 

She wishes she’d thought of this months ago. 

After a little bit of planning, arrangements were made for Wanda to stay at the Barton farm for a bit. Wanda’s always been searching for a place to call her own, a family, much like all the other Avengers, and Clint's farm provides the perfect opportunity for her to relax and get a taste of the quiet life she longs for. 

Clint also promised to introduce her to his new mentee, a young girl named Kate, who just so happens to know a thing or two about the Avengers and is very eager to soak in every little drop of knowledge about the team that she possibly can. 

Steve and Natasha had already had Wanda over for a lovely brunch after the plans were finalized so that they could say their goodbyes in private, with the promise of meeting up again as soon as possible. Tonight was more of a loose celebration, not really a going away party, but a get-together nonetheless. 

But plans are always made when you actually feel like doing something, aren’t they? 

And now the day is here, and although she’s going to miss her young protégée, Natasha’s not in the mood to socialize. Reminding herself that this is for Wanda, she puts on her game face and tells Steve to give her twenty minutes.  

He can tell that something isn’t quite right, but he chooses to bite his tongue and heads to the kitchen to start on dinner. 

When she emerges from the bathroom, a comforting aroma fills the apartment. Steve’s busy putting a dish into the oven while a jazz record plays softly in the background.

It’s been a while since they’ve enjoyed a proper home-cooked meal, maybe even since before the Time Heist that had led to all of this happening, she realizes. With everything going on then, it had been easier to make quick meals that they didn’t have to think about, and she finds the same excuse applies to the present as well. 

“Do you need any help?” Natasha’s voice breaks the calm.

“From you? No thanks. I thought Sam banned you from the kitchen after that fiasco in Italy,” Steve teases lightly, and a small smile ghosts across her face. A fiasco it was indeed, and Sam would never let her live it down. The one time she had volunteered to cook while on the run, and suddenly the kitchen was on fire, and a man was bleeding out on the floor. Luckily it was high time they moved location, and the man was a corrupt Hydra agent anyways.

***

Wanda is the first to arrive, a dish in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. Steve scoffs, halfheartedly offended that the young redhead brought a dish and a drink to her own party , as Wanda laughs. Steve grabs the plate and sets it out on the table while Wanda makes herself comfortable alongside Natasha. They exchange small talk while Steve putters around before a knock sounds at the door. 

Natasha calls across the apartment for them to come in. The door is unlocked, and Bruce makes his way in, exchanging pleasantries with the two hosts before settling at the table as well. He teasingly asks the redhead what she did for the dinner, and great, does everyone know how much of a failure she is in the kitchen? Natasha assures him she hasn’t stepped foot into the kitchen and smirks at the shocked look on the other man’s face. She’s using dark humor to cope, so what?

Just as Steve pulls the chicken out of the oven, Clint walks through the door with a bottle of vodka in hand and deposits it on the table before engulfing Nat in a tight hug. 

“How are you doing?” he questions quietly.

“I’m fine,” she replies, and he catches Steve’s watchful eye above her head. Steve nods minutely, and Clint releases her. Next, he pulls the super soldier into a quick hug before they join the rest of the group. They’d invited T’Challa and Shuri as well, but they kindly declined, stating, “Maybe next time.”

Dinner goes by smoothly, and Natasha tries to relax and forget about the disappointment and worry that linger, at least for now. She even has a drink of the God-awful vodka Clint brought. She can see him holding in a smile when she takes a sip and wrinkles her nose in distaste. She thinks he picked the shittiest bottle on purpose, but she can’t be sure- Clint has awful taste in booze. 

The alcohol doesn’t end up helping, but she has another glass anyway. Maybe this one will , she muses. The room is filled with laughter and the sounds of cutlery clinking. The wine flows freely, and the conversation is thankfully light.

After dinner, Steve and the others clear the table, and Clint slips into the recently vacated seat beside Natasha. He repeats his question from earlier, away from listening ears, but receives the same response.

The redhead can tell that he doesn’t believe her, but before he can press, she speaks up somewhat irritably. “Honestly Clint, what do you want me to say? I’m fine. I’m just tired, that’s all.” 

She knows it isn't fair to Clint, he’s her best friend, but she doesn’t want to talk right now for fear that she’ll break down on the spot. She tells him tonight isn't about her, and he relents, giving her a sad smile. The others choose that moment to rejoin, and Steve suggests they move out onto the patio. 

The super soldier lights a fire, and the fresh Wakandan atmosphere is a breath of fresh air. The conversation starts up again, and Bruce tells them about his new exploits in the scientific field. 

Wanda tells them about her new foray into cooking, a tribute to Vision and his love for the art. Natasha grabs her hand, holding fast as the younger woman sniffles before the group takes turns asking her about her favorite dishes thus far. Clint butts in, stating that he’s relieved someone else can take a turn cooking. Feeding three growing kids is hard work, alright?

Natasha’s head is buzzing, and she thinks she shouldn’t have had that second drink. She’d hoped the booze would loosen her up, and shake the anxiety from her mind, but it seemed that the alcohol only seemed to strengthen its hold. 

She stays out as long as she can, but she’s tired, and her social battery has run empty by the time she excuses herself, but not before giving Wanda a tight hug, knowing that the girl and Clint will be gone by the time she wakes up tomorrow. The girl is generous enough to brush off Natasha’s whispered apologies about cutting the night short and insists on meeting up as soon as the Widow is back on her feet (metaphorically and physically). The latter appreciates the dark humor. 

She waves a quick goodbye to Clint, and tells him to text her with updates on her niece and nephews. He makes an ‘X’ motion over his heart before saluting. A flash of the middle finger is all he needs to lower his mock salute, laughing along as she makes her way inside. 

She doesn’t miss how the others exchange looks across the patio, but thankfully no one speaks up, and she leaves without complaint. Steve follows her in, asking if she wants him to send the others home, but Natasha shoos him back out, promising that she’ll be okay without him for a couple of hours. Steve rolls his eyes good-naturedly and places a quick kiss on her lips before heading back out to rejoin the conversation. 

Once alone, Natasha lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The pressure in her chest tightens as her mind wanders, fixating on her current issues, all while changing into her night clothes and pulling back the covers. She’s exhausted, the events of the past few days catching up to her and contributing to the building anxiety. She’d been getting better at catching and putting an end to the troubled thoughts sooner, but today she can’t be bothered. 

These moods come and go in waves, and she knows that it isn’t healthy, that she should try something to keep them at bay, but for now, she endures. She knows this bout of anxiety is on the cusp of crashing back down, that in a few days (barring any major stressors), she’ll be back to relatively still waters. An ongoing annoying yet predictable cycle. 

Running the water hot, she washes her face and brushes her teeth. The Widow tries to focus on the mundanity of the routine, tries to let the repetitive actions ground her. 

This isn’t the end, she knows. It’s only a mere hiccup, one that can be easily solved with a little patience and a lot of practice. She didn’t expect to walk overnight. 

But after months of work and pain, she just wants a win, something to tell her that she’s not that different from the woman who went on a suicide mission to save the universe. 

Finishing up, she shuts the water off before wheeling herself to the bedroom and sliding into bed. From what she gathered from Alanna that afternoon, the following weeks were going to be a pain- both mentally and physically- but what else was new? She lets that thought guide her into an uneasy slumber.

***

He’s just making his way back into the suite from bidding their last guest goodnight when he hears it. A crash resonates from his and Nat’s room, and Steve breaks out into a sprint. 

“Natasha!” His heart skips a beat at seeing her on the ground, lying on her side and propped up on her elbow. A smashed cup lays next to her, glass scattered across the floor. She must have knocked it off the bedside table, he figures. 

“I-I panicked, I’m o-okay,” she stutters when he comes into view. He slows his steps, approaching cautiously. He can read the embarrassment on her face from where he’s standing a few feet away. “It was just a nightmare.”

They’re no strangers to each other’s nightmares, but he’s learned throughout the years that there are two ways of dealing with them. One- to give her space to calm down on her own until she seeks him out again (if she seeks him out again), or two- sometimes, she just needs to be held.

It seems that tonight it’s the latter. She looks at him, her breaths coming in uneven gasps and her face screwed up in an attempt not to cry. One look is all he needs to gather her up, falling to his knees beside her. Once he rights her, her arms tug on his own, and he takes the cue to squeeze. 

Sometimes she just needed the extra compression to trick her nervous system into calming. She had explained the science behind the action to him one day after they had reunited on the run when they had stopped at some shitty motel in the middle of nowhere. She’d been thrashing in her sleep, in the grip of nightmares, only to bolt awake and stumble through the dingy room they were sharing to his bed. He’d been downright terrified, waking up to his panicked partner and not knowing what to do, but trying to follow along to her panicked command of ‘hold me tight and don‘t let go ’ until she’d calmed enough to form coherent sentences and share. 

She hadn’t given him the full story as to what had triggered such an intense reaction, but he gathered it stemmed from the fall of the Red Room not too long before. 

He’d felt their relationship shift that night as they took turns sharing their fears and doubts in the relative safety of darkness. When the sun rose the next day, he was surprised when she didn’t act like nothing had happened, and had given him a chaste kiss and her thanks instead.

So that’s what he does now, holding her tight and stroking his hands up and down her sides as he exaggerates his breathing, counting in and out.

“I thought I- Bu-but I couldn’t and-” 

He shushes her lightly, tightening his hold on her, one arm rubbing up and down her back. Encouraging her to mimic his exaggerated breaths, he places her clammy hands on his chest, so she can feel the steady inhale-exhale. It takes some time, but her erratic breathing begins to gradually even out. 

Pressing a kiss to her temple, he slowly releases her when he feels her shift in his embrace, signaling her need for space to process this recent event. Steve sits back but keeps within arms reach. 

Her eyes are closed, and he can see her throat working. When she finally looks at him, shame floods her face when she sees his hand. 

“You’re bleeding,” she whispers, reaching out again. He hadn’t even realized; must have cut himself on the glass on the floor in his haste to get to her. 

“So are you,” he replies gently, and she notices, maybe for the first time too, the cuts running up her forearm. “I’m going to get you back to bed, okay? And then I’m going to get some dry clothes and a first aid kit and bandage your arm.” 

At her slight nod, he scoops her up and delicately places her on the bed, back leaning against her pillows. 

He helps her ease out of her sweat-soaked t-shirt into a dry one of his own before turning on a lamp and assessing her arm. The cuts don’t look too deep, but they’re bleeding quite a bit, and he can see the glint of glass poking through. 

Carefully removing the shards, he takes a moment to gauge her mood. She’s pointedly not looking at him as he holds her arm in one hand and the tweezers in the other. A pretty standard coping technique for such an emotional display, he surmises. When he’s done, he cleans her cuts before bandaging her arm with gauze. 

Without saying a word, Natasha takes an extra cloth and pulls his hand towards her lap, ignoring his attempts to dissuade her. Repeating the process for him, Natasha cleans and dresses his own cuts. She knows he’ll heal in no time, but doing something allows her to have an excuse not to talk. 

While she settles, Steve busies himself by sweeping the floor and replacing her water before changing into a pair of sweats and an old t-shirt. When he lies down, her back is to him, and he knows the embarrassment and guilt from earlier still linger, lurking in her subconscious. The soldier tentatively places an arm around her waist, and when she doesn’t push him away, he classifies it as a small victory. Testing his luck, he pulls her until her back is flush with his chest and whispers into the darkness.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He’s met with silence, but he can sense her considering the question, carefully weighing how much she wants to divulge while her emotions run rampant still. He’s become an expert in interpreting her silences, he likes to think. 

She must decide that it can’t do any more harm because- 

“It was just a nightmare- I think I was falling. I woke up tangled in the sheets and panicked, and the next thing I know, I’m on the ground.” She doesn’t turn over, but Steve understands that sometimes it’s easier to be open when you can’t see the other person's reaction. “Sometimes I feel like I’m falling, and there’s nothing to catch me. Usually, I can pull myself out of spiraling before it’s too late, but when I’m asleep…” she trails off shakily. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, unsure what else to say. 

“It's just- I thought I was getting better. I felt better. And now it‘s like I’m stuck again, and it’s fucking frustrating. I thought I was done feeling like this.”

“Feeling like what?”

“Like I’m broken,” she whispers. 

”Oh, Nat,” he sighs, heart squeezing. “You are getting better- we see it every day. This isn’t even a setback. Look at all the progress you’ve made so far! And it's okay to be broken, as long as you don’t let it define you.”

“But I don’t want to be. No matter what I do, I can’t seem to fix myself.” 

“We don’t need to fix you. The sharp edges are a part of you, whether you want them to be or not. Everyone’s got ‘em, and all we can do is try our best not to let them shatter us. And I know you’ve been giving it your all. Your determination amazes me, and I love you even more for it.” 

Natasha’s breath hitches, and it takes a moment for him to realize what he said to cause the reaction. When he realizes, he stills against her, afraid of her reaction. 

“You mean it?” she asks quietly, turning in his grasp to look him in the eyes, and he softens. 

“Nat, when have I ever lied to you?” he asks seriously, but he knows she can see the affection shining in his eyes, mirroring her own. 

“So is that a yes, or-” she jokes, a little breathless as a smirk plays at the corners of her mouth. 

“Yes, I mean it, you insufferable woman. I love you. Now can we please go to sleep? You have another busy day tomorrow.” He says sternly, but the smile on his lips downplays the intensity of his tone. 

She acquiesces, kissing his jaw before tucking her head into his shoulder, and he thinks he can make out a soft ‘ I love you too’ before a peaceful silence overtakes them. 

*** 

Natasha wakes to the sound of chirping birds filtering through the open window. Light streams through the cracks in the curtains, fluttering gently in the breeze. However, the peaceful atmosphere in the bedroom contrasts sharply with her current mood. Shame floods her as she shifts, catching sight of the stark white bandages against the dark sheets, a matching set on her blissfully unaware bedmate. 

Her mind wanders as she thinks of the previous night. She’s never been good at being vulnerable, at allowing others to see her at her weakest. Even though Steve has almost always been there to comfort her after a particularly sensitive situation, be it a nightmare or an injury, she’s still never quite been able to repress the shame of being caught so exposed. 

She hasn’t had many nightmares since she returned, and for that, she’s grateful. During the blip years, she was plagued with them, and she wasn’t the only one. One of the main reasons she and Steve had officially decided to share a room back before they were even involved was just to facilitate post-night terror comfort. Being the only two avengers in the compound made the whole decision easier as well. 

Everyone, save for Clint, had stayed post-battle to help deal with the immediate catastrophes. Tony had been the first to leave, not long after the dust had settled- metaphorically, of course. He’d found a nice lake lot to settle down in, and after the news that Pepper was pregnant, he’d dropped contact. 

Bruce was the next to go, waiting a couple of weeks before packing up, his excuses sounding lame to his own ears. They’d gotten a few postcards over the following years, explaining what he was up to, what he’d seen since. One such card was from Mexico, a photo of a quaint little beach-themed bar tucked into the envelope. 

She’d never been able to track down Clint. 

Steve had helped lead for about a year, helping for as long as he could, but she could tell his heart wasn’t in it, so she’d sent him on his way, and when he came back a week later with a new job in Brooklyn and a spark of hope in his eyes, Natasha had put on her brave face and reassured him that she’d be okay.  

Of course, he’d found her crying that night, the pressure of her job without Steve simply overwhelming. She hadn’t expected him to be back so soon, and having a breakdown in her office wasn’t exactly planned, so she was easy to find. He’d hugged her tightly, whispering platitudes that he knew meant nothing, but the sentiment was there all the same. When Natasha had finally calmed enough to form coherent sentences, she’d begged him not to leave her too. 

He’d been stunned, the thought of leaving her alone not even crossing his mind. But misunderstandings always seemed to lead into heartfelt conversations, and he’d never been good at those, so instead, he kissed her with everything he had. Natasha was startled but quickly responded in kind. Steve was the first to pull away, brushing the stray tears from her cheeks and reassuring her that he wasn’t going anywhere, even if it meant driving nearly two hours every day into the city. 

That night was a first step, and a second chance blended into one. 

Over the following years, the cautious space they’d initially kept between them shrank, taking turns comforting one another and offering desperate encouragements to just keep going . Some days it was easier said than done, and Natasha knew that Steve was struggling as well, but on those days when she could barely get out of bed, she was relieved to have another person to rely on. To force her to shower and eat and train. To live her life, even if she felt like shriveling up and disappearing. And she returned the favor willingly. 

Steve eventually became a master at deciphering the ever-changing puzzle of Natasha, and even though he would fret over her well-being, taking on so much alone, he let her at her insistence. It kept her busy and out of her head, and wasn’t that what they all needed? 

But now the world is different. They put their lives on the line to save it, and it paid off. An unprecedented time of peace washed over the earth, one they knew wouldn’t last for long, but with no major catastrophes to contend with at present, they were left to adjust once again. Natasha knows that she should be relieved, all the trials of the past five years are over, but she still can’t pull herself out of the shell she’d tucked herself into all those years ago. 

She’s been getting better, slowly crawling out, working towards a place where she could survive happily. But surviving isn’t the same as living, and maybe it was the fact that she was starting to feel like her old self again, only to be reminded of everything that she’s yet to overcome that triggered the events of the previous night. 

Yet despite the guilt she’s feeling now, and the fact that this pattern of loneliness and desperation may never go away, she will not let it control her any longer. 

Remembering the advice that Dr. Raynor had given her, the redhead closes her eyes and inhales deeply. While exhaling, she remembers why she’s fighting, and what she wants to accomplish. She remembers who she’s fighting for. 

She’s fighting for Steve, her steady companion and faithful partner. She’s fighting for Yelena. For Clint and Laura, and the kids. For her friends. For her love. 

She’s fighting for a life that she’s been longing for, for years. 

But most importantly, she’s fighting for herself. 

She has a second chance to live in a world that she’s given her life to save, and like hell, she’s going to let go. 

For now, she’s going to lay here in the quiet company of her resting lover and remind herself that she has so much to look forward to. And in a little while, she’s going to kiss him awake before getting ready to face whatever the day throws her way. 

***

“Okay, today we’re going to start with identifying what’s hindering your ability to hold yourself up,”

Alanna starts as soon as Natasha enters the room. 

The redhead nods cautiously, and the therapist picks up on the nervous energy her charge is trying to suppress. 

“I know it’s nerve-wracking, but once we figure this out, we can start getting some supportive equipment involved,” she continues, gesturing for the redhead to follow her over to the parallel bars. “Whenever you’re ready, I want you to stand as best you can. Alex is gonna help support your weight, alright?” A timid wave comes from the other member in the room, and he holds up a thick plastic belt. 

Natasha nods for him to slip it around her waist, mentally preparing herself for whatever is to come. She winces briefly at the snugness of the belt but recognizes that they simply don’t want her falling on her face again. So far, she’s managed to keep the staff pretty hands-off, but maybe that's to her detriment. She thinks the bruise on her hip and the twinge in her shoulder from the previous day would agree. 

One more steadying breath, and she’s pulling herself up. She immediately feels her knees start to give, and Alex maneuvers himself behind her, grabbing onto the belt and supporting some of her weight. 

She suddenly wonders why she has to always be so stubborn. Although she’s still a little uncomfortable that she needs so much hands-on assistance, she’s quickly gotten over the embarrassment that had been initially present following her first surgery. 

Alanna directs her to keep her weight central and hold the position as long as she can. Natasha has a death grip on the bars however, and is grateful that her upper body strength is what it is, or she’d be on the ground by now, her poor assistant along with her. 

Next, Alanna instructs her to shift her weight to the right, noting how her knee immediately buckles. The left is stronger but could benefit from some additional support, at least for the time being. 

All the balance exercises she’s learnt over the past few days come to the forefront of her mind as she does what she’s told. As soon as she’s done, Natasha requests a quick break, wiping the sweat from her forehead as soon as she’s sitting.

The room is silent save for the clicking of the laptop keys as Alanna jots down some notes. “So?” she inquires apprehensively. 

“Your left side is quite sturdier than your right side-” duh, she already knew that . “If you’re up to it, I want to try a few steps today. Alex can do all the heavy lifting, but I want to see how your body reacts. You’ll need some support, definitely on the right. The left as well, but we’ll get to that later,” the therapist finishes matter of factly. 

Natasha absorbs the assessment, considering what the other woman is implying. She’ll need some support for the immediate future, maybe even permanently. 

She’s not quite sure what to feel about everything at the moment, but better to jump in right away and find out, right?

“Okay, I’m good. Get me walking, I guess.”

Alanna grabs a few small devices, placing one a few feet in front and beside Natasha as she continues. “Alright, we're set.”

 At the redhead's questioning gaze, she explains, “Those are going to track your movements, pick up anything I don’t catch. It’s basically a fancy 3D scan; I’ll show you later.” The latter gives a hum of approval before nodding. “Okay, we’re gonna take it slow. When you’re ready, you’re just gonna start with one step. I want you to break down the movement as you go.” 

Natasha stands again, cautiously eager to finally get walking. Butterflies settle in her stomach, and she’s unsure if it's the nerves or the anticipation, but she’s ready nonetheless. Her trusty assistant at her side steadies her, and she settles into the position she was taught. Head up, shoulders back, feet apart. 

“Pick your leg fully up, focus on placing the heel down first before rolling your weight through your toes, and repeat.”

The Widow does her best to follow the directions. She feels very unsteady, but knowing Alex is there to prevent her from falling even if she stumbles reassures her. 

Focusing on the task, she lifts her leg, bending her knee and placing her heel down first. Once she’s cleared her first step, albeit small, Alanna gives her the go-ahead to continue. Lifting her right leg to imitate her previous actions, all is well until she goes to place her foot. The toe of her shoe catches on the floor, and she stumbles, falling forwards. She’s relieved that her impending impact with the floor is slowed by her aide's quick reaction as Alex grabs the belt and gently lowers her to the ground. 

“That’s good!” Alanna praises excitedly. 

“Are you serious? I’m on the floor!” Natasha exclaims, disbelief seeping into her tone. 

“Yes! I want you to try again and do the same as before, but lift the right leg a little more. We already know that’s the troublesome knee, and it looks like your ankle might be a problem too, but I want to be sure.”

“I thought it was just a strength difference; I didn’t think it was an actual weakness,” Natasha grumbles. 

“I suspected, but this is still good. Everything we learn here will help in the long run. I want to keep up with the balance training this week. Next week I’ll bring in some braces for you to try, and we’ll combine.”

The former looks skeptical, but nods. 

They repeat the process for a while longer, with results being more of the same. Alanna confirms that the right ankle is not supporting properly, and Natasha adds it to the list of ongoing issues she still needs to deal with. 

It’s a lengthy list, but luckily, she doesn’t have to deal with it alone. How she got so lucky as to have such a supportive team, she’s unsure but she sends her thanks out to the cosmos anyways. 

Natasha returns home that day feeling accomplished for the first time in a while. Knowing there’s a plan of action is a relief, a step-by-step guide for her to focus on and take control of. Her anxiety is temporarily soothed with the new goals, and she hopes she can keep it that way. 

Steve can barely contain his excitement when she tells him she took a couple of steps, gathering her up in a crushing hug. 

She relaxes into it, laughing at the difference in her mood compared to that morning. If anything, she feels ridiculous for the previous night’s events. The stress and fear that had fueled her nightmare feel obsolete now, and she’s hopeful. 

By the time she’s showered and redressed, she’d been able to take the bandages off, the cuts lining her forearm now closed, though still tinged bright red. Steve’s are all but gone, with no evidence of ever being there, and Natasha knows hers will be the same in a few days. 

She’s ready to put this all behind her, she knows it’s not her fault, that she can’t control everything, but in this moment, she can choose to look to the future with optimism as opposed to the ever-familiar dreary uncertainty. 

It’s about time that she starts accepting this new version of herself. She thinks Dr. Raynor would be proud. She feels that perhaps she should request a session, just to be sure. 

Steve jokingly asks if she’s alright, if someone swapped places and would kindly bring back the real Nat. He gets a playful swat in return, along with a muttered ‘jerk,’ and he laughs before insisting they do something to commemorate the accomplishment. 

Natasha doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it, and feels that the celebration should wait until she can walk without someone holding her up, but Steve insists they celebrate anyway. She convinces him not to tell any of their friends just yet, and he acquiesces. He’ll let her take this achievement in at her own pace, let her lead. Instead, he suggests they at least go for some celebratory ice cream, and who can say no to that?

***

After an uneventful weekend, Natasha invites Steve to join her for her next therapy session. She’s got some idea of what they’re about to do and thinks that maybe a little extra emotional support might be warranted. 

Steve’s just excited to tag along. He hasn’t attended since just after she started following her first surgery, and that was a few months ago. She’d not been exactly forthright when she returned from her sessions and would usually only give short answers to his questions, so he’d pretty much stopped asking unless she opened up first. 

Natasha had told him they would try some braces today, and he felt that was why he was coming. He knows this is big for her and that she’s been struggling with how to feel. Most of her thoughts were telling her just to be grateful that she’s gotten this far, that she’ll be walking at all. But Steve knows her, and he knows that she’s still mourning who she used to be. 

He tells her that those thoughts are valid, that she’s allowed to be disappointed, angry, and hurt. He repeats himself from weeks ago, telling her that he wouldn’t have been able to accomplish all that she has if he was in her place and that he’s so, so proud. She’d kissed him gently in reply, sending her thanks in the seal of their lips. But today was another big step, so Steve pulls himself out of his reminiscing and keeps pace. 

When they enter the gym, he’s quickly introduced to Alanna, who gives him a quick rundown of their plans. He nods along, already partially aware. The pile of splints and braces by the parallel bars catch his eye, and he knows they also catch Natasha’s. 

Alanna moves her laptop in front of the pair, pressing a few keys before a video from the previous session pops onto the screen. Most of the background has been masked out, and the Nat on the screen has little dots and lines strategically placed overtop where joints should be. It reminds Steve of the first steps of sketching a figure, placing the joints and determining their pose. 

The therapist hits play, and they watch as the overlay follows Natasha’s movements, highlighting her form. Alanna switched the angle, and Natasha cringed briefly at the new perspective. 

The therapist points at the screen, where the circles over the Widow’s knees and foot pulse. “You can see here that it’s mostly just confirming what we guessed the other day. Now, discrepancies in weight-bearing capabilities in injuries like yours are common. For your case, in particular, we’re not sure if it's due to a nerve problem or just generalized muscle weakness related to the injury. Still,either won’t affect the outcome here anyways. So don’t worry too much about that.”

Natasha nods consideringly. She supposes that makes sense and knows that the spine is tricky to understand. She’s never had a reason to think about how much the spinal cord controls until recently. 

She’s quite lucky, she decides, thinking back on some of Bruce’s first words when describing the physical trauma she’d received. She wasn’t ready to admit it then, but she could now. Though maybe she’ll have a chat with him about having a little more tact when dumping one's list of life-changing injuries into their lap. Maybe telling them they’re ‘lucky’ because they don’t have it as bad as they could have isn’t quite the right thing to say right away. 

But she digresses. 

Now, she leans closer to peer at the screen as Steve continues to watch, still intrigued by what technology can do, even eleven years on. 

“You can see your foot drop here as well,” the therapist pauses, zooming into the screen. “You're doing all the physical steps correctly, but your ankle doesn’t seem to want to flex properly. That’s what’s tripping you up.”

Great . 

More silence as she resumes the video, then, “You’ve also mentioned that you don’t have much sensation, right?”

“That’s right,” Natasha replies, nose wrinkling slightly in annoyance. 

“That’s fine. I want to check since it could pose a bit of a problem long term. I’m sure you’ve already guessed, but walking relies heavily on feeling where your feet are stepping. But as long as we can stop that foot from tripping you up, you should be okay.”

They watch the rest of the video in silence, with Alanna commenting here and there. When it’s done, she moves the laptop away before asking if there are any questions. When none arise, she gets right to business, bringing over the tote of splints. Recognizing that this may be overwhelming for the pair, she explains them one at a time, how to use them and what they do. She informs them that these are all temporary, and that Natasha will be measured properly and have her own custom-made eventually, but they need to get an idea of which ones work best first. 

Starting with the right foot, the therapist slips on a hard plastic-like shell that covers the bottom of her foot and works its way up, ending mid-calf. 

“This is called an ankle-foot orthosis, or AFO for short. We often use these when someone needs extra ankle support. It keeps your ankle in a neutral position, so you won’t have to worry about your foot dragging when you walk,” Alanna explains, securing the straps. “This will be pretty different once we get you your permanent piece. Depending on whether or not you end up regaining more control here, we might even get rid of it in the future, but that’ll do for now.”

Natasha gives her foot an experimental shake, unsure of the new device. It's rigid, not allowing for much movement by design. It’s not the most uncomfortable thing she’s ever had (the two weeks in a cast after getting her arm reset because it had healed wrong during a mission takes the cake), but she’ll wait to make her final judgment. Steve grabs her hand and squeezes. If he’s overwhelmed with the options and information, he can’t imagine how his partner must feel. 

Next, Alanna brings out a set of identical knee braces to try. They’re both big and clunky looking, with too many straps for the redhead’s liking, and she can feel the spots where they’re secured around her thighs and upper calves. It’s not the most pleasant feeling, and it will take some time to get used to, but she’ll live. 

When she’s all strapped in and secured, Alanna encourages her to get acquainted with the new additions. Standing up, Natasha is instantly impressed at the lack of instability she usually feels. The snugness of the knee braces contrasts with the newfound levity however, but she can’t say that she’s against them per se. She’ll gladly take a little discomfort if it means her freedom. Shifting a little experimentally, she chances a glance at her reflection in the floor-length mirrors that adorn one wall. 

She’s never been one for vanity, not in any serious sense. She takes pride in her physical appearance, yes, but it's all dependent on the situation she finds herself in. She’ll dress to the nines if need be, but otherwise, she’ll be content to sport her everyday street clothes, which won’t give much about her away. Standing out is generally not in the super-spy handbook. 

But wearing anything slightly different or unexpected is always bound to put a target on the individual's head, and now she can’t help but think how much she’ll draw unwanted attention in public. The thought leaves her a little uneasy, just another thing for her to push through. 

Steve notices the slight crease in her brow and gently calls her name. 

Natasha glances back in his direction, catching his gaze instead, a soft ‘hmm’ leaving her throat. 

“What are you thinking?” he pries carefully. 

Her lips purse in thought, and she takes a minute to consider the question. On the one hand, she’s excited to try walking with support at last, but with that thought comes the realization that not only is it going to be different, she’s going to feel different as well. And frankly, she’s not in the mood to have another identity crisis at the moment. 

“Undecided,” she eventually settles on, giving Steve a quick smile. 

“Let’s see how you feel after a few steps, then. Steve, I think you can stand by today. What do you think?”

The soldier looks to Natasha for confirmation before moving to her side at her nod in affirmative. 

She goes slow, focusing on breaking down the movements like she’s learned. The knee supports provide an interesting challenge, as her knees are essentially locked in a straight position, with very little bend. It also takes a little effort to transfer her weight through on her right foot, now basically immobilized as well. 

However, not tripping every time she takes a step makes it a little better. Although it takes a little adjusting to get used to the extra weight, overall, her steps are pretty smooth, all things considered. 

After a few laps on the parallel bars, she seems to be getting into a rhythm with Alanna’s steady guidance. She can feel the excitement that underlies Steve’s steady demeanor as he follows just behind. 

It’s a new start in this ever-evolving endeavor to get her back to herself again. She’s not foolish enough to think that once she gets to being physically independent again that she’ll be 100% okay. Natasha’s aware of the lifelong battle she’s going to be continuing with her body, how the fatigue and numbness won’t just go away, but she hopes that at least she’ll be in a good enough head space to finally accept this. 

***

Surprisingly, the fitting process is practically hands-free. A small device similar to the one that mapped her movements previously is used to take a 3D scan of her body, and the manufacturers can go from there. 

It’s a little awkward, holding herself in a standing position without any support, but she supposes that enduring a little awkwardness now will pay off later. 

For the next week, she’s forced to practice with the generalized splints, and though it’s indeed an adjustment getting used to walking around again, she’s soon pulled away from the trusty parallel bars and given a set of crutches instead. 

Alanna and the physio team have her doing all sorts of balance and strengthening work outside of her sessions as well. She’s been encouraged to wear the splints as long as possible to get used to their presence and even start familiarizing herself anew in the apartment, completely upright.

Knowing Natasha and her determination and stubbornness, Steve’s also been given direct orders to monitor her progress and ensure she’s taking breaks and not pushing herself too hard. He’s doing his best not to hover, especially when he notices that she should be taking a break, but the light in her eyes is slowly brightening, and he can’t quite force himself to scold her. 

She’s honestly not trying to push herself too far too fast, but freedom’s never tasted so sweet, and after months of sitting constantly, she’s taking every opportunity possible to stretch her legs, Especially since it’s been months in the making. 

She still has her doubts about what life will be like when they get to leave, and how she’s going to go back to heading the Avengers, but Steve’s been pushing for her to take a step back (no pun intended) from leading for quite some time, and she’s starting to consider. 

After all, she died saving the world. If that isn’t a sign to retire or cut down at the very least, then Natasha doesn’t know what is. 

She knows that Steve will be supportive of whatever she decides, but lately, a serene life doesn’t sound too bad, especially when she still needs to take an afternoon nap every other day. Can’t be doing that on a full-time work schedule, alright. 

Between bouts of physio and rest, she’s been getting pretty good at hobbling around the apartment, ditching her crutches in favor of using various furniture and countertops to steady herself. 

She uses the extra aides whenever Steve’s around, however. He’s developed this look for whenever he catches her sans crutches, a mix of concern and exasperation.  Her sheepish smile in return is usually enough to get him to relax, though. 

Natasha wonders briefly if this is how it will be now, Steve worrying after her every step. She can see it getting annoying very soon, but… no. Steve trusts her to know her limits and to take her safety into account (her therapist would argue, but at least Natasha’s trying to change that), so if she feels confident enough to get back up if she falls, then she knows Steve will back down. 

(And if she falls and needs a little help to get back up, she knows that Steve will be there to lend a hand whenever. 

… And once he makes sure she’s okay, he’ll totally not say, ‘I told you so.’

P.S: She's totally not speaking from experience.)

***

“So,” Natasha starts nonchalantly the following week. “When can I start training again?”

Alanna stares, the sudden question catching her off guard. She blinks a few times as the redhead returns her stare innocently. 

“I don’t think we’re ready for that conversation yet,” Alanna replies carefully.

“And when will that be?” she pries, then adds hastily, “Not that I’m trying to sound ungrateful or anything! Just- curious.” 

“Natasha, we just got you walking. We don’t even have your full splints in yet,” the therapist explains, not unkindly. She watches as the other woman’s face drops slightly. This woman might actually be the most stubborn person she’s ever worked with, she thinks . She will need a vacation and a bottle of hair dye to cover all the grays she’s sure she’ll have once they're done. 

“Look, I’m not a miracle worker, okay? I can see maybe getting you boxing, but fighting? You’re good, but I’m just not confident that that will be possible. I’m sorry.”

“I get it. It was a lot to ask. I figured I was going to have to retire anyways; I just hoped that maybe I could at least spar, you know? Then maybe I could start feeling a little bit more like myself. I don’t know, that’s stupid, I guess. Never mind…” Natasha trails off dejectedly. 

The dispirited look in the redhead’s eyes has Alanna’s heart squeezing in sympathy. “I’ll tell you what. If you manage to stay steady on your feet, take breaks, and take care of yourself first, I’ll look into modified martial arts for you.”

“Great!” the widow replies cheerfully, an innocent smile settling on her lips once more. It takes Alanna a minute to realize she’s been played. 

“That’s dirty, even from you,” she scowls, and Natasha’s smile widens. “Also, your balance is still shit. Don’t think you'll  be doing any roundhouse kicks on your first day. Or any kicks, for that matter.”

The Widow nods, a mock solemn expression replacing her smile. 

“Now, can I get on with my job? I don’t get paid for chatting. Oh, and save your manipulation for the other therapists, yeah?” She pauses for a moment before continuing, seriously interested in her next idea. “ Actually, I’d genuinely like to see that, so think of something else you can wheedle out of them so I can watch how you do it. I’ve been trying to get us a better coffee maker for ages.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Excellent. Now do a couple of laps while I get a few things together. And don't forget to pick your feet up. Unless you want to add to that bruise collection on your arm.”

“That’s not from-”

Alanna cuts her denial off with a raised eyebrow. 

“Alright, fine.” Natasha surrenders, admitting that she’s underestimated the other woman’s observational skills. 

Saluting jokingly, she grabs her crutches and starts her circuit around the large room. The therapist busies herself, gathering various equipment before popping out of the room for a minute. 

She returns shortly after with a large case in her hands and gestures for the redhead to join her. 

Once settled, Alanna pops the case open, revealing the awaited custom brace. It’s larger than Natasha thought it would be, all one piece with a deep gray liner and a plain white shell. 

“This isn’t the final version,” Alanna informs, lifting the device from the box. “I just want to make sure it fits properly, and then we can finalize it.” 

Natasha slips her shoes off and unbuckles her temporary knee brace in preparation. Alanna slips the AFO off her foot and carefully guides the Widow’s leg into the contraption. 

“This one’s called a KAFO, the ‘K’ standing for ‘knee.’ We figured this would be best long term, as it’ll support the whole leg and take pressure off your knee and ankle. I have a more streamlined brace coming for your left knee since you’ve been working well with the one you have right now,” she explains as she buckles the two straps at the top of the brace. 

It’s another adjustment, Natasha finds, as she stands for the first time with the device that’ll probably be with her the rest of her life. She can sense some pressure along the back of her thigh and the front of her shin from where the KAFO rests against her leg. She shifts a little, getting a feel for how it fits snugly and gives the straps a little pull to tighten comfortably. 

Her therapist slips her shoe back on before handing her the crutches, and Natasha understands the prompt. 

Taking a few steps, she’s pleasantly surprised that it’s infinitely easier to walk with than her previous affixments. Though covering most of her leg, it’s much less bulky around the knee, so she doesn’t have to worry as much about catching against her opposite knee’s brace. The joints flex in time with her movement, allowing for a more natural stride, and although her ankle is still fixed in the neutral position, the footplate only extends about mid foot as opposed to heel to toe, making it easier to discern her footing. 

Alanna gives her an encouraging thumbs up, already liking how the redhead’s gait seems to improve. There was a lot of deliberation over which brand and type to go with, but she’s glad to see that she chose the right style. Natasha seems to agree if the pleased smile on her face is anything to go off of. 

“How does it feel?” the therapist asks when her charge comes to sit for a break. 

“I barely feel it,” she starts, enamored. Then, “Which I guess doesn’t mean a lot considering I have pretty shitty sensation.”

“That’s the point,” Alanna explains. “The fit looks pretty good, just by watching you walk. This brand is top-of-the-line. The knee joint is meant to mimic your actual gait, so it locks and unlocks in time with your steps. Much less stress on your joints, and as a bonus, it engages all your walking muscles as opposed to the temporary splints.”

Natasha doesn't really care about the science behind the mechanism. She’s mostly just grateful for the freedom that she’s feeling at the moment. She hopes the feeling will increase once she’s steady enough to not need the crutches. 

“As long as it can support me fighting, I don’t care.” The physiotherapist shoots her a sharp look, and the redhead clarifies. “Look, even if I retire, I still intend to keep up my routine once I’m good enough to leave. I’m not expecting too much, though, so don’t worry.”

Alanna's gaze softens before she moves to make some notes. “Why don’t you do a couple more laps, and then we’ll talk about colour choices.”

The rest of the afternoon goes by pretty quickly as Alanna checks pressure points and footing. She makes a few more notes for some minor adjustments before Natasha selects a colour. She figures since it’s not like she can hide it, she might as well go with something bold. If people are going to stare anyway, why not give them something to stare about. She fights her first instinct to pick just plain black and settles on a deep maroon. 

Unfortunately, she has to part with the KAFO for the time being until it can be finalized. Alanna assures her it won’t be more than a few days' time. 

Natasha keeps the brief flare of disappointment suppressed and her face carefully neutral, but Alanna knows from previous patients that it can be frustrating, especially after already waiting so long. She offers a cane in lieu of crutches as a peace offering, and the redhead smirks at her attempt to lighten the mood but happily accepts. 

She goes home that afternoon, radiating elation. Steve picks up on her demeanor as soon as she crosses the threshold, and Natasha regales him with her day and all the promises it’s revealed. 

He’s missed seeing her like this, he realizes. She’s been opening up slowly, like a flower blooming in the spring, and he can see the dark cloud that’s overtaken her the last couple of years diminish steadily, the playful glint in her eyes becoming stronger. 

He’s truly excited for her and so, so incredibly proud, and she doesn’t even try to brush his admiration off when he tells her so. 

Engulfing his steady form in a hug, she kisses him sweetly as his arms wrap around her waist in return. 

She’s not fully back to one hundred percent, and maybe she’ll never be, but right here in his embrace, she thinks it’ll be okay either way.  

***

Thankfully, Alanna’s predicted timeline wasn’t that far off, and Natasha only had to wait a few days for the finished product. The deep red of the shell stands out sharply against the black of her workout gear, but she finds that it’s not nearly as off-putting as she’d imagined. 

Alanna had also given her a new brace to trial for her left knee, a sleeker, more compact version of the previous, and she’s finding it much more lightweight and efficient. 

The combination of the two new devices has reinvigorated Natasha, and anyone looking would be able to see a difference. She’s starting to feel more confident in her own body again, in what it can still do, after months of self-doubt and distrust. 

Donning the braces every morning has become a regular part of her routine, and they’ve become a sort of tangible tracker of her progress. Through crutches and canes to splints and braces, they’re always changing and evolving, much like her. 

She’s never been one to shy away from who she is, always projecting strength and confidence, so why should her various accouterments make her feel any different now? 

At this point, she almost doesn’t recognize herself without, and she finds the thought not as difficult to swallow as previously. 

Maybe change isn’t such a bad thing after all. Maybe this is growth . 

She used to look back on her past self with envy, cursing the universe out for killing her, only to bring her back broken and used after a lifetime of being just that. 

Looking back on the past few months, she knows that she wasn’t really living, wasn't trying to do anything more than to make it to the next day, if that. Much like before the Heist- hell, before the first battle, she was shell-shocked, avoidant, downright miserable. Going through the motions each day, doing just enough to stay afloat. 

She’d thought that maybe the universe had seen her suffering and offered her a chance for release under the guise of heroism, taking the chance to leave this life of struggle and strife behind, while still fulfilling her last mission. And if she felt a little relief hanging off the edge of that cliff, knowing it would be over and she could finally breathe, well, no one had to know. 

But as soon as she felt her arm slip from Clint’s grip, she knew she was wrong. It was the right thing to do, and she’ll defend it to anyone that says otherwise, but she was terrified as she fell.  Breath caught in her lungs and her mind racing in panic, a small part of her prayed for it to be quick because she hadn’t thought this through-

And then she’d awoken, soul trapped once more in the prison that was her body, engulfed in pain, and she thought her life was over even as the cruel claws of death slowly relinquished their hold. 

But Natasha’s starting to think that maybe the universe wasn’t spiteful to bring her back the way it did. Maybe it gave her this body as a second chance, an opportunity to do better, to be better. 

To learn that life is a gift and permanence isn’t promised. To realize that despite all the hardship she’s still had to endure and all the fighting she’d still have, she’s happier than ever. 

That after surrounding herself all her life with carefully crafted lies and deceit to hide from the world and others whose intentions were anything but pure, she’s now found herself surrounded by friends, and love, and life. 

How even on the days when the darkness still lingers, there’ll always be a light for her to follow and pull herself out. 

And every day brings something new. 

She’s been promoted to walking sans cane after much pestering on her part ( untrue ), and it’s going quite well, in her opinion, although she’s only been without it for a few days. 

Alanna can see the redhead’s eagerness and determination and offers an incentive in the form of a promise to try jogging as soon as she regains enough balance without the latest addition. 

Natasha thinks her physiotherapist is just delaying her promise of reintroducing martial arts, but she can’t prove it and won’t ask outright. That would be rude. 

But despite that thought, she goes along with the program because she trusts in her team. They’ve gotten her to where she is now, and they haven’t given up on her yet, even when she’s been a right terror to work with some days. They’ve kept her motivated, accountable and matched her energy every step of the way. 

Natasha’s never been one to shy away from a challenge, and if this isn’t one of the biggest challenges she’s ever had to face, then who’s to say what is. 

This is not her first rodeo, rediscovering herself, that is, but this time it feels different. More honest. Like all the times before, she was trying to pick a new facade, a new version of herself to show the world without revealing anything. But she’s not who she was five years ago, not even who she was five weeks ago, and it feels good to know that she’s not stuck in that awful limbo between hating herself and hating her life anymore. 

No, choosing what to do and who to be is not new to her. 

But relearning how to just be certainly is. She’s not trying to show anyone anything in particular. She’s not trying to establish herself in a new organization, putting on a show saying ‘look at me!’ without actually revealing anything about her . 

She’s just trying to exist for once, without the pressure of how society, her superiors,  colleagues, and friends will view her. This is her, stripped clean of her carefully cultivated persona. And it feels more freeing than anything before. 

And though her demise and subsequent revival had brought a lot of pain and fear, it’s also brought a lot of good.

It’s reacquainted her with her innermost self, someone she’s never really been able to meet. 

It’s given her team a chance to save the world, something that she’d been working towards for years, bringing back her friends, her sister, and pseudo parents. 

It also brought innovation and experimentation, which may not have been attempted had Steve not dropped her on Shuri’s doorstep (metaphorically, of course, the scientific team had to practically force him to put her unconscious body down), begging the young genius to do something. The princess could have easily turned him away, she doesn’t owe them anything, and she already helped Bucky, but she’s not one to shy away from a challenge. Besides, she’s collecting broken white people like seashells on the beach, so why stop now when they seem so willing to supply her with opportunities? 

It’s given Natasha a chance to finally slow down and think . She used to be afraid of the long pauses offered by stretches of forced rest, but now she appreciates the breaks. Because now, she lets herself think and feel and want instead of suppressing the voice that screams for her to just listen . Because now she isn’t doing anything out of some skewed sense of obligation, killing herself to be the best or do the most. She’s doing this for herself, for her future. For a life that seemed so impossible to achieve, but that Steve promises is right at her fingertips. 

And putting her trust in others has never been easy, why would it when you're raised to expect that nothing is ever truly permanent? But she’s grown a lot since then. Her circle is still small, she could probably count all the people she trusts on two hands, but her therapy team has earned an honourable mention after all they’ve done for her because now, after days, weeks, months of trial and effort, they have her jogging. 

It’s choppy and brief, but she’s moving faster than a snail's pace, and if she tears up the first time she jogs for a solid ten seconds, well, only she needs to know (and Alanna, who was definitely not also tearing up at her pupil’s most recent success).  

She knows now more than ever that life is fleeting, and hers has never been easy, not before and most certainly not now. She’s still working through shit earned through years of trauma and hardship, but at least she can see now where she’s going and where she could end up if she can force herself to keep going. 

***

“Have I ever told you how sexy you look in red?”

The unexpected question draws her attention from where she’s lounging on the sofa, startling a chuckle from her as Steve crosses the threshold, planting a kiss to her awaiting lips. Joining her, he perches at the edge of the couch facing her. 

She’d needed to rest, having accompanied Steve for a short walk around the courtyard, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere while it lasted. 

Steve had decided to go for a quick run once they’d finished their circuit, so she returned to the apartment and settled herself on the couch to kick her feet up. 

Although her stamina’s been steadily increasing, she finds that her endurance still fluctuates day to day, and today she just needed a little extra break. 

She couldn’t complain too much, though, Wanda’s been texting her book recommendations like crazy, and she’ll take any chance she can get to catch up to the younger woman. 

(Clearly, the girl’s been enjoying her newfound peace on the farm at the rate she’s going through Laura’s extensive book collection.)

After the initial shock passes, Natasha lifts her KAFO-clad leg and taps the hard shell against his arm, teasing, “What, this old thing?” 

He hums in response, eyes filling with something akin to desire as they rove over her body appreciatively. He carefully places her discarded book on the table, grabbing it from where it was balanced against her bent knees. 

This drastic change in his demeanor since this morning has a curious excitement brewing deep in her belly. She wants to ask him what she’s done to earn this unexpected, although not unwanted, attention, but she doesn’t get a chance to before he’s eagerly capturing her lips with his own. 

Her hands immediately come up to cup his cheeks, thumbs brushing against his beard, and she decides it doesn’t matter anyways if it means he’ll keep kissing her like he hasn’t been able to in weeks. 

Desire clouds her mind, this sudden need for more begins to spread through her subconscious, and she can feel her body responding to his advances. The excitement shifts towards arousal, and she knows Steve feels the same as he drags his tongue along the seam of her lips, practically inviting himself in. 

She doesn’t need much encouragement to deepen the kiss, a moan building in the back of her throat. His hands come to rest against her waist, fiddling with the hem of her t-shirt. 

Natasha’s hands move down his chest, appreciating his incredible musculature before settling on his toned stomach beneath his shirt. When he fails to return the gesture after an unfair amount of time (a few seconds, really), she breaks the kiss with a huff. 

Glancing up, she can tell by the look on his face that he’s toying with her, seeing how long her patience will last before she gives up and takes some initiative. 

But he’s not quite ready to relinquish control yet. 

In one swift motion, he scoops his arm beneath her knees, shifting her down the couch, so she’s lying flat against the cushions. She yelps as her head lands amongst the pillows, eagerly awaiting his next move. He wastes no time nudging her knees apart and creating a space for himself to occupy instead.  

Oh, this is really happening , she thinks, somewhat surprised as she brackets his waist with her thighs. 

He’s not usually this forward, especially not recently, but she appreciates the fact that he’s not treating her like she’s made of glass anymore. Like she might crumble if he applies too much pressure. 

Instead, he brushes the stray hair out of her face gently, his other hand giving her ribs a warning squeeze when she tries to impatiently bring his mouth back to her own. Breathless laughter escapes the redhead beneath him as she pushes at the offending appendage, and he easily captures her lithe hands in one of his own, holding them both above her head. 

He lets her catch her breath before finally resuming their previous engagement. He’s still leading, still calling the shots, but he can feel her trying to take control, her body raising to meet his own, only to be met with space, a deliciously cruel game of cat and mouse. 

“Steve,” she pants against his mouth, craving other forms of stimulation, some friction or his touch, anything at this point. “I want- I need -“

Whatever she was going to say was cut off by the press of his lips against the tender flesh of her neck. He takes pity, however, and helps her out of her shirt, exposing her toned midriff. 

His eyes meet hers, searching for confirmation that he can continue, that despite her best efforts to the contrary, she’ll let him stay in charge for a while longer at least. 

She nods, cheeks flushed and lips swollen as he releases her hands slowly before moving his own to her hips. 

He takes his time, kissing at random down her neck, her chest, her stomach. He pays special attention to the scars littering her abdomen, hands trailing up and down her sides with purpose. 

The combination of sensations nearly breaks her resolve, and Natasha has to fight to keep her unspoken promise and her hands to herself. He finds the waistband of her leggings, his kisses dipping lower, lower-

A knock at the door has Steve pulling away, but Natasha pulls him back to face her. 

“Leave it,” she murmurs against his lips, but Steve presses a peck to her cheek before untangling himself and standing up. 

“I’m just going to see who’s at the door,” he states, apparently unaffected by her displeased protestations nor the fact that they were just at the precipice of euphoria. “And then we can get back to… Whatever we’re gonna do today.”

“You won’t be doing anything now,” she grumbles, double entendre clear. She forces herself to calm down and let her heartbeat settle. 

If Steve heard her (which she’s sure he did, with his super-hearing and all), he’s doing a fine job pretending he hasn’t, save for the slight smirk he fails to keep suppressed. 

Natasha sits upright, searching briefly for her shirt before pulling it back over her head and running a hand through her mussed hair just as her tease of a lover opens the door. 

“Am I interrupting something?” Bruce asks, taking in the rumpled state of the super soldier's shirt and the faint blush dusting the redhead’s cheeks. 

“No,” Steve replies at the same time as Natasha calls “yes.”

“I can, uh, I can come back,” Bruce stutters awkwardly. “If this isn’t a good time, I can come back-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve interrupts, then, “She’s just in a mood.” He faux-whispers the last part, causing the larger man to crack a nervous smile in response. 

Natasha scowls. Yeah, a ravenous mood. Hungry for a little Grade-A all American a-

“So, what's up?” Steve questions, switching gears easily and ignoring his partner, gesturing for Bruce to join them in the living room. 

His question pulls Natasha out of her thoughts, and her frown deepens at the casualness of his tone as if he wasn’t the one that got her all worked up in the first place. Unamused, she quirks an eyebrow in Bruce’s direction. 

“I just wanted to let you guys know that I’m going to leave soon. My cousin’s been pestering me for weeks to come and visit the family, so I’m going to take a trip out to see her.”

Steve nods thoughtfully, but it’s Natasha who voices the next question 

“How long until then?”

“I’ll leave in a day or two. I still have the lab to pack up, and then I’ll be on my way.” 

The pair lets the new information sit for a moment. Steve supposes they were always going to be the last two in Wakanda anyways. 

“Don’t be a stranger,” he says, extending a hand for the larger man to clasp. “Unless these past five-ish months have made you want to drop us completely.”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” Natasha deadpans. “Steve’s been a real pain to get along with sometimes.”

Bruce laughs as he returns the gesture, assuring her that ‘Steve’ was going through a lot, and he still likes them both just fine. 

“I know that these weren’t necessarily ideal bonding circumstances, but I think it’s brought the rest of us closer together,” the redhead starts, only half-jokingly. 

“I was thinking that earlier as well,” Steve is quick to add. 

“You two are so morbid,” Bruce grumbles, though he can’t deny the truth of the statement. 

Natasha crosses her heart exaggeratedly. “No more cliff jumping, promise.”

“I’ve already spoken with a tailor about putting parachutes in all her catsuits,” Steve adds. 

“You two deserve each other.”

The pair laugh at the disgusted look on their visitor’s faces. 

“Dark humour is a valid coping strategy, Bruce. Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”

“I think your therapist would disagree, Nat,” he retorts. 

“Good thing I didn’t ask then.” This reminds her she really should book another session. Maybe therapy isn’t so bad, okay? “Seriously though, I owe you for real.”

“Just call me with an excuse to escape when I’m at my cousin’s, okay? I love her, but boy is she a smart ass sometimes,” he jokes. “Then we’ll be even.” 

A small smile settles on Natasha’s face, and the trio exchange hugs and promises of dinner at the Barton’s once they’re officially released from Wakanda. 

The Widow holds on a little extra tight to the hug, afraid her immense gratitude isn’t being properly received through words, even as Bruce assures her to the contrary. 

The couple stand by as he exits the apartment soon after, and as soon as the door closes, Steve stands in front of Natasha, arms encircling her waist and pulling her close. 

“So,” he starts innocently, drawing her attention, her arms wrapping around his neck. “Where did we leave off?”

A mischievous smirk pulls at her lips as she stands on her tiptoes before kissing him hard. He feels like he really should be wary because nothing good can ever come from that expression, but it’s just so easy to give into her and-

She pulls away abruptly, sliding out of his grip easily. Her smirk remains, watching as the dazed look on his face quickly turns to confusion. 

Two can play this game , she thinks . 

“What-” 

“You’re not getting anything until you apologize,” she states, taking a few steps backward. 

“For what?” he asks, mock exasperation lacing his tone as he moves toward her. 

The intensity in his gaze and confidence in his steps rekindle the flame of arousal that’s been flickering impatiently in her chest since earlier, and his posture tells a similar story. 

“For not listening to me,” she says, fighting to keep her voice even, not ready to give in just yet. 

“About what?!”

“I told you not to get the door. You could’ve had all this already-” she gestures to herself loosely, “-had you just listened.”

At his dumbfounded look, she continues. “I’m being generous here. All I ask is an apology in return.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” he states, continuing to walk toward her. 

“Yeah, ridiculously hot. So what’s it gonna be, Cap?” Natasha’s back hits the wall, and she gazes at him through sultry lashes, carefully deciphering his next move. 

Steve stops just short of contact, hands going to either side of her head against the wall. He brings his mouth level with her ear, his breath ghosting against her skin, sending shivers down her spine as he whispers the words she wants to hear. 

“Fine, I’m sorry. Forgive me?” he questions, punctuating each statement with a kiss to her throat. 

She hums in response, the low sound reverberating against Steve’s lips, and he smiles triumphantly.

“I’ll consider it,” she replies, her eyelids slipping shut as he continues to travel down her neck and along her collarbones. His lips finally settle against the spot he knows drives her crazy, the scratch of his beard contrasting thrillingly against his soft yet insistent lips. 

A needy moan escapes her unbidden, head thrown back to offer easier access for Steve’s ministrations. Her hands come to rest against his chest, and her breath catches as he allows a flash of teeth, nipping at delicate skin. He’s quick to soothe the sting with his tongue before moving to torture her other side with equal fervor. 

Natasha’s not proud to admit it, but she whines as he detaches himself from her neck. His hands settle possessively against her waist, bringing their bodies flush together. 

She briefly wonders how many hickeys she will have to cover tomorrow before her thoughts are silenced once more with the zealous seal of his lips over hers. 

Damn him for somehow breaking her down again! She was supposed to be the one in control this time. Some master spy she is. 

Natasha’s practically melting at this point, her heart crashing against her chest, and she can’t tell if she’s feeling weak in the knees because of him or because of, well- you know. She errs on the side of caution anyway, hooking her brace-clad leg around his. 

Steve takes the hint, hands sliding downwards, savoring the dips and curves of her body before stopping at her thighs, lifting her as if she weighs nothing. She wraps her legs as best she can around his waist, but she knows there’s no chance he’ll drop her. 

She pulls back again, this time in adoration rather than irritation. She’ll still make him pay for leaving her high and dry, but he’s so careful with her regardless, and her heart swells as she takes a minute to appreciate him properly.  

Pressing her against the wall, he squeezes the leg not covered by hard plastic. 

“You’re right. I’ll listen to you from now on about everything.” His voice has taken on a husky tone, and damn if it doesn't send another bolt of want through her. “I promise to never get the door again.”

Jackass , she thinks, as she reaches up and cards her hands through his hair, watching as a lovesick smile crosses his face. She suspects its pair is mirrored on her own, and she leans down to kiss him gently. 

“I suppose you’re forgiven then,” Natasha rasps, eyelids fluttering closed one more. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she sighs blissfully against his lips as he walks her back to the bedroom. 

***

Natasha’s surprised when a few days later, a certain princess comes to check-in. She hasn’t seen the younger woman since just after the second procedure, which was weeks ago. 

After a polite exchange of pleasantries, Shuri jumps straight in, bombarding the Widow with questions ranging from her progress thus far to her concerns and everything in between. 

She does her best to answer honestly. Some of her replies are more thought out than others, and some are nothing more than one-word answers. 

Pain? Some . Numbness? No . Muscle cramps or spasms? Sometimes and not really . Any other significant or adverse changes that she’s noted since the second procedure, other than the obvious? Well, I can walk now, so that’s pretty significant. Knees are both weak, and the right ankle is slacking when supporting any weight other than adjusting my position. 

Shuri nods along, tapping away on a holo-screen as Natasha answers. She seems pleased, and Natasha knows it’s probably because the young scientist has managed to surpass even her own expectations. 

The Widow assures the princess, not for the first time, that she was under no such belief that she’d be 100% cured. Being where she is now is a miracle as far as she’s concerned, and her expectations were on the ground going in. 

Shuri nods, having secretly been afraid that her best wasn’t good enough but relieved that Natasha seems to think it was. After allowing herself a brief moment to bask in the praise, she refocuses, asking for a quick exam, to which the redhead easily agrees. 

Natasha had forsaken any sense of privacy a while ago, resigning herself to a life where she’s now an open book with no secrets to be had. 

Steve tells her to quit being so dramatic; it’s only temporary and that she has more secrets in her pinky finger than most people do in their entire body. 

She’d scowled in response, of course, mock outrage present. How dare he suggest she’s being dramatic and does that analogy even make sense? She doesn’t think so, but-

She’s become an excellent patient lately, used to the poking and prodding. She’s had plenty of practice surrendering herself to the studious hands of others, so she lets herself be malleable and relaxes as much as possible. 

Starting with the basics, the princess runs through a list known only to herself. 

Vital signs: stable. Reflexes: weak (as expected in patients with an injury like Nat’s). Sensation: shit (Natasha’s words, not Shuri’s. The princess would prefer to say poor or something with a little more tact). 

A lone pink scar running the length of the redhead’s back is the only physical evidence from the fall and subsequent recovery. 

Shuri is proud of her work, her healing serums and interventions have worked quite well with Natasha’s already altered blood chemistry. 

Natasha offers to take a lap so that the princess can see all her research and effort in action. 

Her gait is still stiff, with a slight limp present, but she’s not particularly bothered, not anymore, at least- so long as she doesn’t end up on her ass. 

Shuri’s eyes are alight as she witnesses the result of months of research and development pay off. She rambles excitedly about the benefit this research could provide in other real-world applications and how eager she is about the possibility of collaborating with some of the greatest medical minds the earth has to offer. 

Natasha listens and thinks that the other woman may have found her calling. She’d been aware of Shuri’s gifted mind long before the Blip; Steve had told her all about the generosity and intelligence the princess displayed in helping Bucky. 

And with all the resources at the fingertips of the young prodigy, Natasha looks forward to all she’s yet to do. After all, she’s regained her ability to walk again due to an unlikely idea. It was only a hypothesis, barely a chance, yet look at the results. 

Thinking about it leaves the redhead genuinely happy that the experiment has been thus far successful, not only for herself but for all the other people who may be in a similar situation injury-wise. 

When she’s done showing off, the princess pauses her animated rambling, suddenly uncharacteristically shy. At the redhead’s questioning gaze, Shuri cautiously asks whether she can use the redhead’s recent medical diagnoses and following treatment in a published setting. She would understand if the other woman said no, it’s a big thing for a super-spy to agree to her personal issues being made public, even if it would be anonymous. 

Natasha had assumed that she was already being used as some sort of progressive science and medicine guinea pig, so it’s easy enough to agree, and the stunned look on Shuri’s face makes her laugh. 

Shuri assures her that her name will not be published, nor any identifying markers, and that the cause of her predicament will be altered, as ‘falling from an extremely high cliff and dying, only to be resurrected’ would not go over well with the scientific community. 

Natasha agrees and offers her thanks repeatedly, feeling as though there’s nothing she can do to express her gratitude properly. The princess disagrees, brushing off the praise and insisting on the opposite. After all, offering her extensive services in exchange is the least Shuri can do for the woman that made the ultimate sacrifice for all of humanity, herself included. 

As they part ways, Shuri reminds the other woman to call should she need anything at all. Natasha acquiesces and, in turn, offers her services for any connections the scientist may need and a promise to keep an eye out for her future endeavors. 

***

True to her physiotherapist’s word, the next time Natasha walks into the gym, she spies a punching bag hanging from the rafters. 

Excitement floods through her, and she’d be jumping for joy if she could. She settles for an energetic little bounce on her toes instead, fighting to keep the smile off her face. 

She honestly doesn’t know why she’d doubted Alanna, after everything the other woman’s managed to accomplish for her. 

(She’ll blame it on her childhood and lack of trust in people in general- that’s the root of most of her issues anyways, so it’s plausible enough.)

A brushes off the half-apology when the redhead tells her so, encouraging the latter to also take some credit. She may have provided the tools, but Natasha is the only one that could have gotten herself to where she is. 

Natasha wrinkles her nose at the sentiment, both flattered and embarrassed, but she recognizes the truth behind the other woman’s words. 

She’s lucky that she’s too stubborn for her own good, otherwise she’s not sure she would have been able to come as far as she has. 

Pulling herself from her musings, she grabs the roll of tape off a nearby table, wrapping her hands on autopilot. Once finished, she gives a joyful little wiggle of her fingers, adjusting to the familiar snug sensation on her hands. 

“Excited much?” Alanna asks teasingly. 

Natasha smiles bashfully, a hint of blush dusting the tips of her ears, and tucks the loose strands of hair out of her way. 

As Alanna has her assume her stance, the Widow can’t help but think that this moment holds a sense of finality. 

Like everything she’s had to go through since her revival culminates here, into one final step. 

She’s gone from standing, to walking, to jogging (albeit brief, but all the same), and now this feels like the last item on her twisted to-do list that needs to be crossed off before she can return to reality. 

Alanna helps her into the proper position, hands light on Natasha’s hips as they gently guide the adjustments, accounting for her decreased balance, and (temporary) unsteadiness, before the former mirrors the position to demonstrate. 

The redhead watches intently as the therapist gives her tips to keep her alignment while staying steady, and she files them carefully away for the future. 

When she gets the go-ahead to start, she's pleasantly surprised to find that she’s still able to sink right back into the steady rhythm of deft hands meeting solid canvas. 

She’s not as nimble on her feet, still a little clunky when turning into the jabs, but she hasn’t fallen over yet, so that’s a good sign, she decides. 

Over the next week, Alanna mainly stands back, encouraging Natasha to practice how she normally would, but keeping close to offer support and pointers when need be. 

Steve joins her once or twice, excited to see what she’s doing and thinking of ways to modify their training in the future. He discusses some of his ideas while the two women are present, and Alanna gives them recommendations for a New York-based gym specializing in modified training techniques. 

That seems good enough for Natasha, and Steve doesn’t know who’s more excited to start sparring again between the two of them. 

He’s missed his sparring partner, the person who always forces him to think on his feet, deciphering her next moves and countering accordingly. They were pretty evenly matched, his enhanced strength meeting Natasha’s equally crafty advances, creating an exhilarating duel of strength and grace. 

Neither thought this would ever be possible again after Vormir if they’re being honest. And although they both know that it won’t be like before, the prospect of learning together is comforting. 

Especially when Natasha’s sent away every day with the same warnings; to take it easy and to be aware of the risks. One well-placed hit could quite literally undo everything she’s worked towards and could do more damage than she may expect. 

She promises to heed the warnings, convinced to not attempt anything too risky, but eager to reach out to the specialist once she gets home.

Steve knows better than to try to stop her once she has her mind set, and besidess as eager as she is. But he also promises to keep himself in check, holding back where maybe he didn't need to before. Even if it pisses Natasha off, knowing that he’s doing it on her behalf, righteous anger on both their behalf for something they can’t change. 

And honestly, she’s not expecting to be doing any roundhouse kicks (or most kicks in general), but if sn just throw a potential opponent over her shoulder, at the very least, she’ll be content. 

Seeing that the majority of her go-to ninja moves are now sufficiently out of the question, that’s the least the universe owes her. 

But the temporary disappointment that comes with that thought is short-lived, as she progresses little by little. Her upper body strength remains unchanged, and she’s still able to land jabs and uppercuts like no one's business, even throwing a few elbows. 

She’s found enough balance (through much practice and many falls)  to execute quick little spins to spice up her hits, hoping that she’ll still be able to dodge once she fights someone that can actually hit back. No offense to the punching bag, but it’s a pretty passive opponent. 

She’s getting pretty good with Alanna’s steady encouragement to back her up, and she can confidently cross that final task off her mental list by the end of the week. 

It’s not perfect, not by a long shot, but it’s more than she could have asked for, considering her woeful beginnings. 

And when she even manages to throw a few kicks without overbalancing and landing on the ground, well, that’s just the icing on the metaphoric cake. 

***

It's on an unassuming Tuesday near the start of April when Natasha gets the news. 

Alanna greets her like always, a pleasant smile on her lips. But instead of giving her directions for the day’s work ahead, she sits the redhead down for a chat. 

As soon as the words leave the therapist's mouth, Natasha freezes. 

She’s going home. 

She stares blankly for a few seconds, her jaw hanging wide before the revelation finally registers. Tears well in her eyes, and for once, she isn’t even ashamed when the first few start rolling down her cheeks. 

Our work here is done.  

She flashes back to the last time she’d heard that phrase. Although not in the same context, nor the same tone, her heart had seized momentarily before relief replaced it instead. 

She thinks back to her headspace just over two months ago and how drastically different she’d felt compared to now. How different she was then. 

“...Natasha? Are you okay?” Alanna asks, worry lacing her tone. 

Natasha is quick to snap back to reality, realizing she hasn’t said or done anything other than stare blankly and cry. Registering how absurd that must look to an outsider delivering good news, she pulls herself together enough to utter a weak “Yes.”

Wiping her eyes, she repeats herself more assuredly. “Yes!”

Alanna lets out a relieved breath as the redhead pulls her into a tight embrace. “Thank you,” the latter whispers honestly into the hug, and when she pulls back, the therapist can read all the sincerity in her expression. 

Brushing the rest of the tears off her cheeks, Natasha gives a quick explanation. “It’s just- last time I heard those words, I honestly didn’t think I was gonna make it. So… thank you, truly. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

Alanna blushes, joking, “Well, there would have been someone else. We do this for a living, after all.” She takes a slight pause before saying- “Who am I kidding? I’m a miracle worker. This-” she gestures to Natasha, standing proud, “-this was all thanks to me.”

Natasha laughs, but she picks up on the hyperbolic dismissal for what it is. “You're too modest.” 

The two women hug once more before exchanging information. Natasha thanks her again, and Alanna wishes her the best of luck before sending her away with a list of exercises to continue on her own and a firm reminder to take care of herself. 

Steve’s not yet back from whatever it is he does while she’s gone by the time she returns, and she takes the time to compose herself and reflect on her choices regarding her not-so-far-away future. 

Over the past five months, give or take, she’s been focused on one main goal: to find herself again. 

Though she started rough, with her anxiety and depression meeting her at every corner, she feels it’s now safe to say that she’s in a relatively healthy mindset compared to previously, which has to count for something. Especially now, after everything she’s overcome and still has to look forward to. 

Since returning from Vormir, she’s had to constantly make decisions about her survival, how to function, how to feel, how to act. 

But now, she has the rest of her life ahead of her, and she needs to choose how she wants to spend it. 

For as long as she can remember, she’s dedicated her skills, her loyalty, her life to a cause. The Red Room. The KGB. SHIELD. The Avengers. 

And now, she can choose to continue the pattern or maybe try something new. Maybe take a page out of her friends’ book and explore, or teach, or heal. 

She’s always wanted her life to mean something, to affect some bigger picture-type nonsense. She supposes she’s achieved that particular notion. 

Giving her life had been the ultimate sacrifice, a chance to atone for the sins she’s committed and ease the guilt embedded in her conscience. A choice she’d make again and again if it meant the same outcome, but she’s tired of fighting. She’s tired of the suffering and death she seems to constantly be in the middle of. 

Now she wants to embrace the sliver of peace they’ve earned. 

But along with this revelation comes the doubt. She’s never let herself be in a place where she’s unsure of her next steps. And it’s scary because her actions, thoughts, and choices have always been dictated by something bigger than her. Both good and bad, whether she wants to admit it or not, it’s the truth. 

But everything's different, she’s different now, and she’s not taking orders anymore- she hasn’t been for years. 

Now she wants to live , and now’s as good as any other time to try. 

Besides, Steve will be by her side for whatever’s to come. Natasha figures maybe she should take notes from the Supersoldier. After all, if he can adjust to a whole new century and find a whole new purpose several times over, then maybe she can choose a less strenuous job and figure out what she wants to do for once. 

She’s still musing when Steve returns, surprised to see her back so soon. Grabbing a towel from the closet, he wipes the sweat from his brow before unceremoniously plopping on the couch beside Natasha, making her bounce slightly.  

The action seems to pull her from her reverie, and the curious glint in Steve’s eye is all the prompting she needs to spill. 

He starts tearing up almost immediately, and his crying makes Natasha cry, and now they’re just one big weepy, happy mess. 

(This she’ll gladly deny to anyone that asks. She is not a cryer. She usually prefers to just bottle everything up until she has to get it out somehow. Well, that is until Steve went on about the importance of emotional regulation and it’s healthy to cry . Blah, blah, typical emotional garbage nonsense that she may or may not have internalized. Wow. Maybe his counseling gig is paying off.)

Steve engulfs her in a sweaty hug, and she holds fast, fingers digging into his shirt. When they’re both sufficiently calm, her hands cup his cheeks, brushing the tears away with her thumbs. Pulling him into a crushing kiss, she hopes he can feel all the love and appreciation she has for him and her gratitude for staying at her side through everything. 

Not that she had any doubts, but he’s just so loyal and kind and good, and oh , how she loves him. 

In turn, he peppers her face with kisses, lips brushing over damp skin as he kisses her tear-stained cheeks, hands grabbing at her hips in a reassuring squeeze. 

She can’t help the breathless laughter that escapes her as he pulls her flush against his side, arms settling around her once more. Resting her head against his chest, she searches for his hand as she lets the steady cadence of his heartbeat lull her into a haze of serenity. 

He squeezes her hand twice, a secret little code meaning I love you , and she returns the gesture wholeheartedly. 

They still have a lot of things to figure out, like where they’re going to go and what they’re going to do, but in this brief moment that they’ve stolen for themselves, she finally allows herself to breathe . 

Inhale, exhale . They’re going to be fine.