Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Of all the possible scenarios Steve had imagined, none involved being on a nearly empty train at midnight, staring out the window without truly seeing anything, because his mind was lost elsewhere. He barely registered the rhythmic sound of the tracks; it was just a constant noise in the background of his thoughts—relentless thoughts dragging him back to the moment that left his heart shattered.

The party. The proposal.

He squeezed his eyes shut, but that didn’t stop the image from playing again: Natasha’s hand slipping away from his, the way her green eyes refused to meet his, and her words, those damned words, still ringing in his ears. “I can’t, Steve.”

His breath hitched, and his chest tightened painfully. He had never felt pain like this, as if the ground had opened beneath him and he was falling, endlessly, with no bottom in sight. He had planned everything so carefully: their friends, people he considered family, the perfect moment to ask her to spend the rest of her life with him. For years, they had built something. He thought it was something solid. He thought she felt the same way.

But she didn’t.

He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the short strands until his scalp burned, as if the physical pain might somehow drown out the emotional one. It didn’t. He could still see it—the look on Natasha’s face in that moment: regret, fear, hesitation, something else he couldn’t quite place. But it didn’t matter. She had said no.

He blinked back the tears threatening to spill over, his jaw clenched tightly as if holding everything together. His fingers clenched into fists in his lap, the fabric of his coat wrinkling under his grip. It was suffocating to think of how things had ended, when everything had seemed so perfect before the party. He had never imagined their relationship would end like this, in front of everyone, in front of his family. He never thought he’d hear her say, “We shouldn’t be together.”

He wanted to be angry at her for doing this to him. He wanted to stop loving her, for breaking his heart and soul this way. He wanted to. But he couldn’t.

Because even now, with the overwhelming pain flooding his chest, he still loved her. God, he loved her so much.

He pressed his forehead against the cold glass, the chill numbing his skin, grounding him for a moment. But it was only a brief respite. His mind drifted back to the hours before the proposal: how he had looked at her from across the room, so sure, so convinced she was his destiny. The woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. The one he would fight for, the one he would die for.

Had he missed something? Was there something he didn’t see? Had he been so blinded by what he wanted that he failed to notice she didn’t want the same thing?

A part of him wanted to scream, curse the universe, curse life, curse himself. How could he have been so wrong?

But another part of him, the part that still clung to hope like a lifeline, whispered that there had to be more to the story. Natasha wouldn’t throw everything away—not without a reason.

And yet… yet she hadn’t given him one. She had left him standing there, his mom’s ring still in his hand and his heart in his throat, choking on the silence that followed her rejection. Because, as expected, no one dared to say anything—or rather, everyone was too stunned to speak a word.

The train slowed as it approached the next station, but Steve didn’t move. He wasn’t ready to go home. He wasn’t sure if he even had a home to go back to. 

The few people on the platform passed by in a blur as the train stopped, their lives moving on while his felt frozen in time.

He leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes for just a moment, but even then, she haunted him. The way she looked at him before turning and walking away—was it guilt? Fear? Or was it just relief, at not having to pretend anymore?

His chest ached. A dull, throbbing pain that spread through his entire body. It was part of life. You end a relationship and move on, get over it. But he didn’t know if he ever could. He thought he found his future in her and now he felt just so afraid of having to leave her in the past.

Chapter Text

October, 1936.

The days in Brooklyn had settled into an unchanging rhythm lately. They were all the same. Outside, the world carried on as it always did—people moved between work, school, and evenings spent with family. Winter was approaching, after all. The warmth of a home, coupled with the comfort of a cup of hot chocolate at the end of a long day, was something no one wanted to miss.

But reality for Steve was different. Inside the four walls of his apartment, a coldness lingered, a chill that gnawed at him, but not because of the season. No, this was a deeper kind of cold, one that settled in his bones, born from helplessness. Not even the lively voice of the radio announcer could chase away the gray mood that hung heavily in the air, casting shadows over everything. For the first time, Steve wished it were his own illnesses that kept him confined—something familiar, something he could handle—but it wasn’t. This time, it was his mother’s illness that had her bedridden, and that made all the difference.

The only sounds in the small room were the soft strains of a jazz melody playing from the radio, the steady rise and fall of his mother’s labored breathing, and the quiet scratch of graphite against paper as Steve sketched. That pencil, along with the brushes he treasured, were gifts from his mother. She had scrimped and saved for months to buy them for him. For Steve, who cherished art more than anything, they meant the world.

“When you get better, I’m going to take you out to the country, momma. You’d like that,” he murmured, adding the final strokes to the drawing before carefully lifting the notebook and setting it gently in front of her, hopeful. “I drew this for you, look—”

“Eat your stew, Stevie. It’s good food.”

Her response caught him off guard. He blinked, the drawing forgotten in his hands. “I don’t want it, momma, I’m not hungry.”

“You be strong, now. Eat your food.”

“I don’t like it, it has carrots in it.”

Sarah turned to look at him, her face worn and tired, but a faint, fleeting smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Even now, she found the strength for a bit of gentle humor.

“Carrots are good for memory. I want you to pay attention and learn. You keep studying and drawing like you do, and you’ll be someone.”

“Why would I want to remember this?” Steve’s voice cracked, faltering halfway through. The days of waiting for her to show even the slightest sign of improvement had bled into one another, a cruel blur of hope and heartbreak. Watching her grow weaker with each passing moment—these weren’t memories he wanted to keep. “I’d just as soon forget.”

“Oh, Stevie…” her voice softened, her hand weakly reaching for his. Her fingers, though frail, still held a warmth that reminded him of better days. “I want you to remember. Always be proud of who you are and where you came from. Never forget the people who helped you get to where you’re going, my dear.”

He lowered his gaze back to the drawing, his throat tightening with emotion. Each conversation with her felt like an unspoken goodbye, and he couldn’t bear it. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t want to face the thought of losing her.

“Put that down and sit here with me, darling,” she whispered, patting the space beside her on the bed. Her voice, though weak, still carried the same sweetness it had always held when she spoke to him. Steve set the notebook aside and moved to sit beside her, his heart heavy. Sarah’s hands trembled slightly as she reached for the wedding ring on her finger, slowly sliding it off. Steve watched, confused, his heart sinking as the small piece of jewelry was placed into his hands.

“I never had much to give you,” She began, pausing as a coughing fit overtook her. She waited, taking a shallow breath before continuing, “but I’m proud that I raised a good boy, a good boy who will one day become a great man.”

“M-Mom…” Steve’s voice was barely above a whisper, the lump in his throat making it hard to speak.

“Listen, darling.” She looked up at him with the same determined expression she had always worn when giving him advice. “One day you’re going to find a great woman for yourself, and you’ll just know.”

“Know what?”

“That she’s the one,” she replied, her voice steady despite the fatigue. She clasped Steve’s hands in hers, holding the ring between them. “And when you know—when you realize she’s the one you want to spend the rest of your life with—give her this ring. It’s the only thing of value I have to give you, Stevie.” Her eyes shone with love, but Steve’s throat tightened painfully.

He glanced down at the ring—small, simple, yet it felt heavier than anything he had ever held. It wasn’t just a piece of jewelry; it was a part of her, a piece of her life that she wanted to live on through him.

Steve’s blue eyes, usually as bright and clear as a summer sky, shimmered with unshed tears. In that moment, they looked more like a stormy sea, threatening to overflow.

Present day.

He sighed.

The memory felt different now. That old conversation with his mother stirred nostalgia, but not sadness. There was no way to feel sad when he was just hours away from the promise of a life with his better half.

The time had come, and everything was in place. Through the second-floor window of the vacation house Tony had graciously lent him, Steve gazed down at the patio, where the evening lights flickered softly under the darkening sky. The decorations were simple but elegant, carefully arranged by Pepper, who had disguised the whole event as a Stark Industries celebration. Steve’s heart thrummed in his chest. The weight of the small velvet box in his pocket seemed heavier now than it had all day.

The soft sound of a familiar laugh pulled him from his thoughts, grounding him back in the present. He turned, just in time to see Natasha walking toward him, her laughter still lingering in the air. The sight of her—her red hair falling in soft waves around her face, her green eyes glinting with amusement—stirred something deep inside him. He just knew she was the one. He had always known.

But tonight, the knowledge carried a new intensity. His pulse quickened as she approached, and though she was recounting some story about Sam tripping on the stairs, her words were distant in his ears. She was so beautiful, standing there before him, and all Steve could think about was what he was about to ask her. His gaze lingered on her delicate features, the soft pink of her lips, the way her cheeks flushed as she laughed, and the way her presence made everything feel right.

Natasha’s brow furrowed slightly, sensing his distraction. She slipped her arms around his neck, pulling him close. Instinctively, Steve’s hands found her waist, drawing her in as if holding onto the very center of his world.

“Did you hear? Sam—”

“—tripped on the stairs,” he finished, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He had heard her, but in that moment, there were other things occupying his thoughts, other details far more important to him—like the way her skin felt warm beneath his hands, the piercing green of her eyes, or the intoxicating scent of her perfume that made his head spin.

“You’re the most beautiful woman there is, Nat. I’m so lucky to have you,” Steve whispered, his voice low, almost reverent. His thumb gently brushed a loose strand of her red hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering at the soft curve of her neck.

Her gaze softened, and though she bit her lower lip to suppress a smile, the happiness shining in her eyes was unmistakable. He loved that look—so full of warmth and light, a side of Natasha that only a few got to see.

She slid her hands down his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his blazer. “You’re such a sap, Rogers,” she teased, standing on her toes to press a soft, sweet kiss to his lips. “And you’re also the most handsome guy I’ve ever seen.”

Her words made him chuckle, but the sound was quiet, almost nervous. His heart raced beneath her touch. He held her close, as if he didn’t want to let go of her. He didn’t. Not tonight. Not ever. “I love you,” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear.

Natasha sighed contentedly, her smile widening as she met his gaze. “I love you too, Steven, so much.”

Steve could have stayed in that moment forever, her words washing over him like a warm wave, filling him with certainty and hope. He wanted to hear her say those words every morning and every night for the rest of his life. It was why he had his mother’s ring tucked safely in his pocket, why Tony and Pepper had worked so hard to organize this night, and why Maria had brought the finest champagne to celebrate. Tonight was the beginning of everything he had dreamed of.

“We all agree it’s Natasha, right? She doesn’t do things like getting engaged or married,” Hill had said days earlier, when Steve gathered them to tell them about his plan.

“We definitely agree,” Tony added.

“I think she would,” Wanda looked at Steve from across the table, her expression calm and full of conviction, and she immediately transmitted that certainty to the Captain. “She’s very much in love with you, Steve. I think she would even do things she once thought she wouldn’t.”

“And that’s true,” Maria admitted, rolling her eyes at how corny the whole thing seemed, though she was happy her best friend had found the love she deserved. “I’ve seen Natasha do unimaginable things for you, Steve. I’m sure she can wear white and say yes to being your wife.”

‘Yes’ was what he was hoping for. In reality, it was the moment everyone awaited as they watched them dance to the rhythm of a slow, romantic song. Convincing Natasha to grant him that dance, with just the two of them on the floor, had been difficult but not impossible.

He could hear their friends talking nearby, the laughter and conversations blending into the background like white noise. Steve’s focus remained entirely on Natasha. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her body pressed against his, the way her breath mingled with his in the space between them—it was all he could feel.

The slow rhythm of the music guided their gentle swaying, and for a moment, it was just the two of them, their movements in perfect harmony.

“You’re the one who taught me to dance, remember?” Steve murmured, his lips close to her ear, trying to contain the nervous energy building in his chest.

“And I did a pretty good job,” she replied with a playful grin, teasing him. “You’re not bad at this.”

Steve smiled, though the nerves were now a dull throb in the pit of his stomach. “It’s easy when you’re with the right partner,” he responded earnestly, though his words carried more weight than he let on. He wasn’t just talking about dancing—everything felt easier, felt right, when she was with him. Every mission, every challenge, every moment of his life. With her, it all made sense. He was better because of her.

The music continued to carry them, and for a few seconds, Steve allowed himself to enjoy the feeling of her in his arms. But the weight in his pocket was a constant reminder of what was to come, and his heart beat faster as he knew the moment was near.

“Do you remember what we talked about a while ago? About how maybe it’s time to get a life, something more than just work…” He whispered, his voice barely audible as he pulled back slightly to look into her eyes. She nodded slowly, her gaze holding his. The soft lights reflected in her emerald eyes, and he allowed himself to get lost in them, trying to gather the courage for what he was about to do.

He was convinced there wasn’t a soul in the universe that fit so perfectly with his. Natasha was his other half, she had been his anchor since he woke up from the ice, and she had given him reasons to stay in this new world. And he wanted no one else, ever.

When she gifted him a smile, he decided it was time. His hand found hers, and with a deep breath, Steve gently spun her away from him, only to pull her back. It was then that he knelt, his heart racing in his chest, louder than the music, louder than the cheers around them. As he slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out the small black velvet box, he could barely hear the excited shouts from their friends, despite Sam whistling and Scott cheering him on with an "aye, Cap!". His focus was entirely on her—on Natasha. The woman who had changed his life, the woman he wanted to spend forever with.

His fingers trembled as he held the ring aloft, the jewel catching the light as it sparkled between them. But as his eyes met hers, the moment he had imagined so many times began to unravel before him.

The smile on Natasha’s face faltered, her lips parting in surprise. The joyous cheers faded into nothingness, and all Steve could see was her. The subtle tremble in her lips, the way her expression softened, but not in the way he had hoped.

“Steve…”

"Nat," he spoke, even though he sensed that the expression on Natasha's face was not a good sign. He kept talking, his voice trembling with hope—false hope that maybe, just maybe, he had misunderstood. She must have been surprised, caught off guard. If he could just say the right words, ask her properly, surely she would give him the answer he so desperately needed and wanted. "Love, would you make me the happiest man in the world by marrying me?"

“I…” her voice cracked, and though she didn’t say it yet, he knew. She swallowed and looked away for a second before looking back at him. The emotion in her green eyes was something he couldn't put a name to. He couldn't figure out if it was fear or rejection, but her voice... her voice was definitely filled with hesitation. "I can't, Steve."

The weight of the moment crashed down on him, a gut-wrenching realization that tore through him like a blade. He had seen it from the moment she stopped smiling, but still, he clung to the hope that he was wrong. He had to be wrong. She loved him—she had just said so.

Damn him. Damn his blind faith and his stubbornness.

“Nat…” His voice shook as he spoke her name, barely a whisper. He stood, slipping the ring back into his pocket, but reaching for her hand again, trying to hold onto something, anything. The world around them felt distant, blurry. His eyes, once full of hope, now searched hers with desperation, silently begging for an explanation, for something that could make sense. “What’s wrong? I thought we—”

“We shouldn’t be together,” she whispered, her words cutting through the air, final and cold. She didn’t even give him the chance to speak.

She let go of his hand and it felt like the last thread holding him together had snapped. He watched, frozen in place, as Natasha turned and walked away. The woman who had been his anchor, his guiding light, was leaving, and he couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. His heart was shattered, and yet, there were no pieces for him to gather—just an emptiness that consumed him whole.

Around them, their friends stood in silence. No one applauded, no one cheered. Even Tony, with the bottle of Dom Pérignon still clutched in his hand, seemed at a loss for words. The celebration, once so full of promise, now felt like a cruel joke.

Steve had rehearsed the words he would say, how he would tell everyone how lucky he was to be with her, how excited he was for their future. But now, all that was left was silence. He prepared a speech. Now he was speechless, crestfallen and devastated, just witnessing love slip beyond his reaches. Natasha had left without even giving him a reason.

Chapter Text

Steve stared blankly at the ceiling, the ache in his chest refused to fade even when a new day began. His mind was still trapped in the chaos of last night — Natasha’s hand slipping from his, her words still ringing in his ears, shattering everything he thought he knew about their future.

He turned on his side. It was a new day and Natasha wasn’t there. She hadn’t come back. She wasn’t coming back.

His phone buzzed, dragging him out of the endless spiral of thoughts. It was a text from Bucky.

«You up? Want to talk?»

He let out a sigh. Bucky had been there last night, had watched the whole thing unfold. He knew Steve was hurting. Hell, Steve could still see the pity in his eyes from across the place when Natasha had walked away. Steve hadn’t wanted pity. He’d wanted understanding — wanted someone to tell him why it happened, how everything had gone so wrong.

Another buzz.

«Alright. I’m coming over.»

Steve didn’t bother replying. He didn’t have the energy to tell Bucky no or to pretend he was okay when everything inside him felt like it was splintering apart.

About thirty minutes later, he could hear Bucky’s footsteps outside before the knock came, short and firm. He was just announcing his presence. He kept with him a spare key to the apartment, just in case, so he didn’t wait for permission to enter. He stepped inside, taking in the sight of Steve lying on the couch, still in the clothes from last night. Steve didn’t bother getting up. His body felt too heavy, weighed down by the aftermath of the heartbreak he hadn’t seen coming.

“Hey,” Bucky said quietly, sitting down beside him. He didn’t push right away, didn’t try to offer empty words. He just sat there, waiting for Steve to speak when he was ready.

After a long silence, Steve finally forced out, “I don’t… I don’t understand, Buck. I thought we were good. I thought—” His voice cracked, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “I thought she loved me.”

Bucky nodded slowly. “She does, Steve. I know she does.”

Steve let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Then why? Why’d she leave?”

Bucky leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he considered his next words carefully. “You ever think maybe she’s scared?”

“Scared of what?” Steve shot back, his tone sharper than he intended. “Scared of me? Of us?”

“Maybe of everything. You know her better than anyone. You know what she’s been through. She’s not the type to jump into things lightly. Marriage? That’s a big deal.”

Steve shook his head, sitting up now. “I planned everything, Buck. I had a ring. I wanted to spend my life with her. I was so sure…”

“I know,” Bucky said softly. “But Natasha’s… complicated. Maybe she didn’t think she was ready.”

Steve’s fists clenched as anger started to boil up alongside the sadness. “So what? She just leaves? Without talking to me? Without even giving me a chance to understand?”

Bucky let out a slow breath, eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “I don’t know, man. I can’t speak for her. But you know how she is. Running is easier for her. It’s how she deals.”

Steve pressed his palms into his eyes, trying to block out the wave of emotions crashing over him. “She could’ve just told me. She could’ve said something instead of… instead of just walking away.”

Bucky frowned. “Yeah, she messed up. I’m not defending that. But don’t throw away everything just yet. Talk to her when she gets back.”

“If she gets back,” Steve muttered, fearing she might not.

[…]

Natasha stared out the small window of the plane, the dull hum of the engine filling the silence around her. She should’ve felt relief. She was leaving, going far away from the wreckage of what she’d done, throwing herself into work like she always did when things got too complicated. But the pit in her stomach remained, deepening with every mile that put distance between her and Steve.

She hadn’t wanted to hurt him. That wasn’t the plan.

But when he’d gotten down on one knee, with that ring glinting under the soft lights, everything had crashed down around her. All the ghosts of her past, the scars she still carried, the belief that she didn’t deserve him, that she would ruin him if she stayed.

She couldn’t be what Steve needed. She couldn’t be the woman he wanted her to be, not with the blood on her hands, not with the broken pieces of herself she still couldn’t fit back together.

Marriage, kids... She wasn’t built for that kind of life. And she couldn’t give him a family, couldn’t give him the things she knew he dreamed about, the future he deserved.

So she ran.

That night after leaving the party, she headed straight to the SHIELD’s facility, where Fury was holed up in his office, working late as usual.

When she knocked on the door, he barely looked up. “Romanoff. It’s midnight. What the hell are you doing here?”

She stood in the doorway, her expression steely, but inside she was barely holding it together. “I need a mission. Something long, far away.”

Fury’s gaze flickered up, sharp and suspicious. “What’s this about?”

“Please. No questions. Just give me something.”

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he studied her. He wasn’t a man easily swayed by personal requests, but something in her voice — the quiet desperation she was trying so hard to hide — made him pause.

“You’ve got plenty of vacation days, Romanoff. Maybe use some of them instead of throwing yourself into another—”

“I don’t need time off,” she snapped, her control slipping for just a second. “I need to work.”

Fury’s eyes narrowed. He knew her well enough to realize there was more going on, but he wasn’t one to push unless absolutely necessary. “Fine,” he said slowly. “I’ve got something. You’ll be gone for a while. You sure that’s what you want?”

She nodded, forcing her voice to stay steady. “Yes.”

“Alright. Plane leaves at 0600,” He replied, with a tone neutral but laced with curiousity. “I’ll send you the details.”

Natasha gave a short nod, already turning on her heel to leave before he could ask anything else.

“Romanoff,” Fury called after her. “Whatever this is… don’t let it get you killed.”

She paused for a beat, her back still to him. “I won’t.”

With that, she walked out, her decision made. Work was the only thing she could rely on right now, the only thing that didn’t demand more of her than she was willing to give.

Now, as the world blurred beneath her on the plane, she wondered if she’d made the right choice. Maybe yes, maybe no — maybe she should’ve talked to Steve, explained why she couldn’t marry him instead of walking away in front of everyone.

But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

Her fingers twisted around the strap of her bag, gripping it tightly as she shut her eyes, trying to push away the image of Steve’s face, the way his eyes had shattered when she said no. The pain she’d seen there would haunt her for a long time, she knew that. But it was better this way.

At least, that’s what she kept telling herself, because maybe if she said it enough times, she’d believe it.

Chapter Text

The days blurred together for Steve Rogers. Two months had passed since Natasha walked away, and he felt stuck in the day she left. He threw himself into his work, hoping the missions and endless responsibilities would dull the ache in his chest, but it didn’t.

He often found himself scanning the place out of habit, half-expecting to see red hair, hear a familiar voice, or feel the subtle pull of Natasha Romanoff’s presence.

He hated how often his thoughts wandered back to her. It had been months, but the pain lingered, raw and unyielding.

Nights were the worst—quiet, heavy, and filled with memories of her. He’d call her sometimes, knowing full well she wouldn’t answer. Her phone always went straight to voicemail. He left a message once, twice, he lost count.

“Natasha, please… just call me back. I don’t understand. I need to understand. I—”

But even as he spoke the words, he knew she wouldn’t respond.

Sleep became a luxury he couldn’t afford. Instead, he’d lie awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying the moment she slipped away over and over. His apartment felt emptier than ever—hollow, like a shell of the life he thought he was building with her.

Work became his only escape. Early mornings bled into late nights at the facility, where he pushed himself harder than ever, both physically and mentally. But even in the chaos of missions and training sessions, she lingered in his mind. Every quiet moment was filled with the question he couldn’t stop asking: Why?

One evening, as Steve was cleaning up after a particularly grueling training session, his phone buzzed. It was Laura Barton.

“Steve,” her voice was gentle, the way it always was. He hadn’t hear from her since the proposal. “How are you holding up?”

He sighed, leaning against the counter. “I’m fine, Laura.”

“You’re not fine,” she replied softly. “Clint told me. He’s seen how hard you’re taking this.”

Steve didn’t respond.

“Listen,” Laura continued, hesitating for a moment before she said, “Clint’s leaving tomorrow. He’s going on a mission, and… he’s going to see her.”

Steve’s grip on the phone tightened. “Natasha?”

“Yes,” Laura said. “I thought you should know. Maybe… maybe you could write her a letter or something. Tell her how you feel.”

Steve swallowed hard, his heart pounding at the thought. “A letter won’t fix this.”

“Then tell Clint to deliver a message for you. He’d do it,” she said softly, though she didn’t sound entirely certain.

The idea lodged itself in Steve’s mind. He spent the rest of the evening debating whether he should do it. By the next morning, he’d made his decision.

When Clint came to say goodbye before leaving for the mission, Steve approached him, it was evident in his eyes how desperate he felt.

“I know Laura told you,” Steve said quietly.

Clint raised an eyebrow, already suspicious of his wife’s involvement. “Yeah, she mentioned it.”

“Clint,” Steve began, his voice thick, “please tell her… tell Natasha that I need to talk to her. Tell her I miss her. I still love her.”

Clint’s expression hardened slightly. “Steve…”

“Please,” Steve repeated, almost pleading.

Clint sighed, knowing perfectly well that he couldn’t do much. He tried before, and Natasha would just brush the matter off. “I can’t make any promises, Cap. But I’ll tell her.”

——

A week passed. Steve had been trying to contact Clint for updates, but Clint was always vague.

“She’s doing fine,” Clint would say whenever Steve asked. “But she doesn’t want to talk about… you know, you and the wedding thing.”, “She’s good, that’s all I can tell you”  

Each time, Steve felt the wound reopen. Eventually, after yet another evasive response, he stopped asking.

“Thank you for trying,” he said quietly before hanging up.

——

In a safehouse overseas, Natasha sat in silence. The mission had been grueling, but the physical exhaustion was nothing compared to how emotionally tired she looked. Clint watched her from across the room, his brow furrowed in concern.

“We need to talk, Nat” he said finally, breaking the heavy silence.

Natasha glanced up at him, her green eyes clouded with weariness. “About what?”

“You know what,” Clint said firmly.

Natasha looked away, unwilling to let him see the flicker of pain that crosse d her face. “I’m not talking about this.”

“Come on,” Clint said, getting closer to her and grabbing her arm gently. “You’ve been acting like a ghost since we got paired for this mission. You’ve barely said a word unless it’s about the op. And last night, when we set up camp? I caught you staring at your phone like it was going to bite you.”

Natasha jerked her arm away, a flicker of anger sparking in her eyes. “Drop it, Clint.”

But Clint didn’t back down. He crossed his arms, his expression firm. “Look, you don’t have to tell me everything. I get that. But whatever’s going on, it’s eating you alive. So, yeah, I’m going to push. Because that’s what friends do.”

Natasha’s jaw tightened, her defenses crumbling just enough for Clint to see the cracks beneath.

“I miss him,” she admitted finally, her voice barely above a whisper. She hated how vulnerable the words sounded, how much they revealed. “I miss him, Clint. And I don’t know if I made the right choice.”

Clint’s posture softened, his arms dropping to his sides. “Then why did you leave?”

Natasha exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. “Because I didn’t think I could give him what he wanted. What he deserved. Steve is… good. He should get the happy ending he deserves, a future. A family. I couldn’t give him that. And I thought… I thought if I stayed, I’d just ruin him.”

Clint was quiet for a moment, his gaze steady as he processed her words. “Nat, you’re not giving yourself enough credit. Steve didn’t propose to you because he wanted some perfect version of you. He did it because he loves you. All of you. The good, the bad, the… complicated.”

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Maybe. But love doesn’t fix everything, Clint. Sometimes it’s not enough.”

“Maybe not,” he conceded. “But running away doesn’t fix anything, either.”

“I wanted to go back,” she admitted. “After this mission. I thought maybe I could… I don’t know. Talk to him. Try to explain.”

“Then do it,” Clint said simply. “The mission’s almost over. What’s stopping you?”

Natasha hesitated, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. “What if he doesn’t want to hear it? What if I’ve already lost him?”

Clint placed a hand on her shoulder, his touch grounding her. “You won’t know until you try. But I know one thing for sure — Steve doesn’t give up on the people he loves. And I don’t think he’s given up on you.”

Her throat tightened, emotions she’d been burying for weeks threatening to surface. She nodded once, acknowledging his words in silence..

“Let’s try to get some sleep” she said, her voice steadier now. “We can talk about this later.”

Clint gave her a small smile, letting her change the subject. “Alright. But, Nat?”

She turned to look at him, her expression questioning.

“When you see Steve again, don’t overthink it. Just tell him the truth. You owe him that much.”

The truth. Natasha wasn’t sure she even knew how to tell it anymore. For now, she just knew that the weight on her chest felt a little lighter. Maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance to make things right.

———

Another month passed, and Clint returned to the States after completing his mission. The Avengers were having a relaxation moment at the facility, reunited and playing board games while sharing drinks. Clint joined them, but it didn’t take long for him to notice something unusual.

Steve and Sharon Carter were standing together, their conversation easy and light. Clint raised an eyebrow, watching as Sharon reached out to brush something off Steve’s shoulder, a smile tugging at her lips.

Nearby, Tony clapped his hands together. “Alright, everyone, gather round! Time for a little game .”

Sharon raised an eyebrow. “Should we be worried?”

“Always,” Steve said with a faint chuckle.

The group assembled around a makeshift circle, Tony showed an empty wine bottle.

“Spin the Bottle?” Steve asked skeptically.

“What, you too grown-up for a classic, Cap?” Tony quipped.

Wanda spun the bottle first. It landed on Sam, who blushed as she shyly kissed him on the cheek, earning a round of good-natured teasing.

Wanda grinned as she spun the bottle again, and this time it pointed directly at Sharon.

“Oh, boy,” Sharon said with a laugh, her eyes sparkling.

“Go on, Carter,” Sam encouraged, smirking. “Rules are rules.”

Sharon smiled and spun the bottle herself. When it stopped, the group collectively gasped, their attention snapping to its target.

Steve.

The room erupted into cheers and whistles as Sharon looked at Steve, her cheeks flushing.

“Looks like the Captain’s up,” Tony said with a smirk.

Steve felt his ears heat as Sharon gave him an amused look. “Rules are rules,” she teased.

She leaned forward and shared a brief but sweet kiss with Steve. Their lips brushed shortly, but when they pulled apart, he saw Sharon’s expression, open and hopeful, and something inside him shifted. Her smile was radiant.

It wasn’t a deep or passionate kiss, but it was enough to draw hoots and hollers from their teammates.

“Get a room!” Sam joked, earning a laugh from everyone.

Tony, however, wasn’t done. “Oh, come on, you two. Don’t act like it’s the first time you’ve kissed. We all know the truth!”

“Tony,” Steve warned, his tone good-natured but firm.

“What?” Tony said with mock innocence. “You think we didn’t notice you two getting cozy? I mean, the dinner date, the training sessions, the looks —”

“Enough, Stark,” Steve interrupted, though there was no real heat in his voice. He glanced at Sharon, who was chuckling but looking a little embarrassed.

Clint’s eyes narrowed slightly as he turned to Steve. “You and Sharon?” he asked casually, though there was an edge to his voice.

Steve hesitated, but Tony answered for him. “My idea,” he said with a smirk. “The guy needed a push. Can’t have Captain America moping around forever.”

——

It happened three weeks before the party. Steve was in the training room, punching the bag with relentless force. The gym was empty, save for Tony, who leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed.

“You’re gonna run out of punching bags at this rate,” Tony remarked casually.

Steve didn’t respond.

“Alright, Cap,” Stark said, stepping into the room. “We need to talk.”

Steve paused, letting the bag swing. “Not now, Tony.”

“Yeah, now,” Tony countered. “You’re a mess. And I get it—Natasha’s gone, you’re heartbroken, the world feels like it’s ending. But newsflash, Rogers: life doesn’t stop just because she walked out.”

Steve glared at him but said nothing.

Tony pressed on. “You’re miserable. And it’s not just affecting you—it’s affecting everyone. The team, the missions, hell, even the coffee tastes sad because you’re walking around like a kicked puppy. So, here’s my genius idea: you move on.”

Steve shook his head, wiping sweat from his brow. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is that simple,” Tony insisted. “She doesn’t answer your calls, does she? She left without giving a reason. She’s off doing whatever it is she does. You, on the other hand, are stuck. So, I’m giving you a nudge.”

“What kind of nudge?” Steve asked warily.

Tony smirked. “A date. With Sharon.”

Steve blinked, caught off guard. “Sharon?”

“She likes you. And before you say no, listen” Tony said quickly when Steve opened his mouth to protest. “She’s a great girl. Smart, funny, capable. Exactly what you need to get out of this funk.”

Steve hesitated, not sure that he wanted to hear more.

“Look, I’m not saying you have to marry her,” Tony continued. “Just… go out with her. See what happens. Worst case, you have a nice dinner. Best case, you start to feel like yourself again.”

Cap rubbed the back of his neck, conflicted.

“She’s not coming back, Steve,” Tony said quietly, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “I love her, you know I do. But you’re my friend too, I can’t just watch as you keep suffering”

The words hit Steve like a punch to the gut. He nodded slowly. Natasha was gone. If she wanted to come back, she would have by now.

“Alright,” he said finally. “I’ll give it a shot.”

——

Clint watched as the game continued, his thoughts heavy. Steve was laughing, genuinely smiling as Sharon leaned into him. It wasn’t forced or fake—it was real. Clint couldn’t blame him for trying to move on.

But his heart ached for Natasha. She didn’t know what she was walking back into, and Clint wasn’t sure how she would handle it. As he sat back, nursing his beer, he could only think that the reunion he had once hoped for might not be so simple after all.

When Steve finally slipped away from the group, Clint found him in the kitchen, rinsing out his glass.

“You okay?” The archer asked.

Steve nodded, though the gesture was unconvincing. “I think I’m getting there.”

Clint didn’t respond immediately, his expression was unreadable. After a long pause, he said, “You know, you’re allowed to miss her. Even if you’re trying to move on. I have to admit, though, I wasn’t expecting that you and Sharon were… you know, getting along.”

Steve stiffened slightly, his gaze shifting to where Sharon stood in the living room, laughing with Wanda. “We are.”

Clint raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.

“She’s great,” Steve added, his voice a touch defensive.

“But she’s not Natasha,” Clint said bluntly.

Steve froze, the name hitting him like a punch to the gut.

“I’m sorry,” Clint said after a beat. “That was out of line.”

Steve shook his head, exhaling slowly. He glanced at Barton, his eyes carried the pain that his voice refused to show. “Doesn’t matter. She’s gone.”

Clint’s voice was quiet but firm. “Yeah. But I don’t think she’s forgotten you.”

Before Steve could reply, someone else joined them.

“Hey, Cap,” Sam said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Why aren’t you two mingling?”

“Just wanted some water, but I’m here, aren’t I?” Steve replied with a small smile.

“Barely.” Sam gave him a knowing look. “Go talk to someone. Or better yet, dance with Sharon. She’s crazy about you, man”

Steve’s gaze drifted to Sharon, who was glancing his way now, a soft smile on her lips. She gave him a small wave, and he returned it, his chest tightening.

She looked beautiful, her golden hair falling in waves over her shoulders, her smile bright enough to light up the room.

Steve should have been happy.

He wanted to be happy.

“Yeah,” he said to Sam, more to convince himself than anything. “I’ll do that.”

“Steve…” Clint tried.

As Steve made his way to leave the kitchen, he stopped briefly to look at Clint.

“It’s alright, Clint.” He forced a small smile. “She made her choice, and I’m glad that she’s doing good as you said”. 

Chapter Text

There was nothing particularly special about that date, but Steve decided to take the day off from work so he could focus on some tasks at home. The soft hum of traffic outside filtered into his apartment as he adjusted the box of decorations under the couch. Sharon stood nearby, checking off items from a list for Sam’s birthday party next week. She had insisted on keeping the supplies hidden to avoid spoiling the surprise.

“This should do it,” she said in a cheerful voice as she looked around. “We’ve got everything we need. Sam’s going to love it.”

Steve agreed with a nod. As Sharon moved toward the kitchen to grab a drink, his eyes roamed the room. Even though it was his home, it had probably been a couple of weeks since the last night he spent there. That would explain the thin layer of dust he noticed when he ran a finger over the side table next to the couch.

“Should we give this place a good cleaning?” Sharon asked with a playful tone, her voice gradually fading as she disappeared down the hallway.

Steve barely registered her words, but even so, they stirred up memories—like the day he first moved into this place.

[…]

He had been beaming with pride as he unlocked the door, moving aside to let Natasha enter first.

She stepped inside, her green eyes scanning the bare walls and the old hardwood floors. The apartment was empty, save for a few boxes stacked neatly in the corner.

This wasn’t just any apartment. It was his apartment—the same one he’d grown up in with his mother. After returning to Brooklyn years ago, he’d been surprised to find it still standing, unchanged but for a few modern touches. The building was about to be closed down and probably destroyed, because the owners decided that it wasn’t worth its cost to maintain it. He couldn’t resist buying it back, feeling like he was reclaiming a piece of his past.

“Well?” he asked, his heart pounding. “What do you think?”

“Steve, are you serious?” she asked as she turned slowly, taking in the modest space with curiosity.

Steve closed the door behind them, putting the keys back into his pocket. “What?” he said with a small smile, watching her.

“This is where you grew up?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at him.

“Yep,” he said, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed.

“It’s… cozy”

“Cozy,” Steve repeated with a soft laugh. “You mean small.”

“It’s… very you,” she said with a small smile.

Steve raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

“It’s simple. A little outdated. But it’s got potential.” She smirked, her tone was teasing.

He laughed again, shaking his head. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

She stepped further inside, her boots clicking softly against the floor. “Seriously, though. I like it. It feels like you.”

Steve watched her as she wandered through the space, her fingers brushing over the windowsill. She stopped to look out at the street below, her expression thoughtful.

Steve pushed off the doorframe, his hands in his pockets as he moved further into the room. “It’s not much, I know. But it’s home. Always has been.”

Natasha softened at his tone, sensing the reverence in his voice. Her face thoughtful as she looked at kids playing soccer. “Why did you buy it back?”

“I guess… I just couldn’t let it go. It reminds me of her.”

“Your mom,” Natasha said, not as a question but a statement.

“Yeah,” Steve said quietly, his gaze distant. “She worked so hard for us. For me. She worked hard for this place, to give me a home. Even when I was just some sickly kid who couldn’t do much but cough my way through the day.” He gave a small, self-deprecating laugh.

Natasha turned to face him, her arms crossed loosely. “It was that bad, huh?”

“I was always in and out of hospitals,” Steve admitted. “Asthma, pneumonia, you name it. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. Mom used to say I spent more time in a hospital bed than in my own, but she never complained about taking care of me.”

He walked over to the small kitchen counter, tracing a finger along its edge. “She worked long hours at the hospital, but that wasn’t enough. So, she’d take on extra work—doing laundry for people around the neighborhood. I’d sit at the table and paint while she worked. I just… I just wanted to make her smile. Give her something beautiful after everything she did for me.”

“She must’ve loved that,” Natasha said softly.

He smiled, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat. “She did. I remember the way her face lit up when I’d show her what I’d made. She used to tell me I had an artist’s hands.”

Natasha walked over to him. She wasn’t exactly the kind of person to show emotions, but she still wanted to make him feel understood. “She sounds like she was incredible.”

“She was,” Steve said, meeting her gaze. “I wish you could’ve met her.”

To lighten the mood, she quipped. “And here I was thinking that you bought this place because you are in love with Brooklyn.”

“That’s certainly another reason. You’d love Brooklyn if you knew the good spots,” he stated.

And though they were there because Natasha offered to help him decorate, Steve insisted on first showing her around the neighborhood.

They strolled through the streets, Steve pointing out landmarks from his past. Natasha couldn’t help but think of Steve’s feelings—if he found it sad to see all those all places and notice how much they had changed, or if he felt some kind of comfort in the little rare things that remained almost the same.

They ended up at a tiny diner tucked away on a quiet street, a place he remembered from his youth. He held the door open for her, gesturing for her to step inside.

“Trust me,” he said. “This place has the best milkshakes in the whole world.”

“You’re overselling it,” Natasha had said, teasing as most the time, but still curious and amused because of the excitement in Steve’s words.

Maybe it was the casual clothes they were wearing, or perhaps the small, quiet atmosphere of the diner, but the pair of Avengers barely drew any attention.

The only one who seemed to recognize them was the waitress. Even so, she treated them like any other customers, though the warmth in her tone when speaking to Steve gave away that this wasn’t her first time interacting with him.

“He’s telling you the truth, miss. This young man here wouldn’t lie to you,” the woman said as she led them to a table. Then, with a friendly smile, she added, “It was high time I see you bringing a girl, Steve. I always thought you were way too handsome not to have a girlfriend.”

Her comment was far from being ill-intentioned. Her demeanor was playful, and Natasha found her words amusing. Though, in truth, what amused her the most was how quickly Steve seemed to feel embarrassed.

“That’s true; he is very handsome,” Natasha chimed in, fully aware that saying so would leave Steve at a loss for words. Sure enough, he cleared his throat awkwardly and ran a hand over the back of his neck. She smiled, enjoying the moment. She loved teasing him and messing with him.

It reminded her of the day at the mall when she’d kissed him on the escalator and watched the faint blush creep across his face.

“If today’s milkshake lets her down, I don’t think she’ll ever agree to be my girlfriend,” Steve replied, surprising himself with the playful remark. He avoided looking at Natasha, knowing full well she’d tease him endlessly for his sudden boldness.

The waitress laughed softly before taking their order. They asked for food and a large chocolate milkshake. After a first sip, Natasha raised her eyebrows in genuine surprise. “Okay, I’ll admit it. You weren’t wrong.”

Steve leaned back in his seat, his smile wide. “Told you.”

Seated across from each other in the booth, they took turns sipping from the milkshake and talked for what felt like hours. Steve spoke about how he used to come here with Bucky on weekends or how the two of them worked part-time at a nearby pizzeria just to earn enough for a trip to the fair.

Their conversation kept going as they strolled through the streets afterward. Steve pointed out an alley where he used to get into scraps with older kids and joked about sending a few of them to the hospital.

Eventually, they stopped in front of an old, abandoned building.

“Here it is,” Steve said, as he looked at the decaying structure. The walls were overgrown with weeds, the windows boarded up. The place looked like it had been untouched for decades. “The hospital I was talking about.”

“Your mom worked here?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, following her as she curiously explored the place. “She was a nurse. Spent most of her life in there, taking care of people.”

“She must’ve been great at her job,” Natasha said gently. “The way you talk about her… I can only imagine she was kind and caring.”

And she raised Steve all by herself, and he was a good man, Natasha thought.

“She was. She worked so hard. Always made sure I had enough, even if it meant she didn’t. There were days I could barely see her because she had to work double shifts. Some days were worse than others, when more patients came in. She dedicated her life to it, and it’s what made her sick in the end.”

The bittersweet tone in Steve’s voice, and the way he forced himself to say sick instead of another word, didn’t go unnoticed by Natasha. Sarah Rogers had fallen ill because of her work at that hospital, and ultimately, it was what had taken her life. Steve had to say goodbye to her far sooner than he ever wanted. And he missed her, though he kept those words to himself.

Natasha didn’t say anything. Instead, she gave him a look full of understanding and a reassuring squeeze on his forearm. Then, she tilted her head toward the building’s interior.

“It’s cold in here. Do you think there are ghosts or something?”

“Nat…”

She shrugged and kept walking, moving down a hallway that seemed to lead to the old patient rooms.

“No, but seriously, look at this place. In this condition, it does kind of look like a madhouse.”

“It really does, doesn’t it?”

“Yep,” she said, glancing into one of the rooms. Her gaze lingered on the rusted, decaying furniture, though her interest was feigned. “Not bad, though. A decent madhouse—could’ve been made for me.”

For someone who’s fucked in the head.

She laughed, disguising the darker thought she occasionally had with a joke. Her effort to lift Steve’s spirits worked, because soon enough he was laughing too, shaking his head.

“Being here is making you talk nonsense,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder toward the exit. “Let’s head back. It’s getting late, and someone promised to help me with the apartment.”

So they walked back to his home. As they stepped into Steve’s apartment, Natasha took another slow glance around the space, hands on her hips. The building’s age gave it charm, though charm alone wasn’t enough to distract from the musty smell or the peeling wallpaper.

“As I said, it has potential,” Natasha remarked, tilting her head as she studied the cracked paint on the walls. “You’re going to need more than just super-soldier strength to fix it, though. This place needs serious work.”

Steve chuckled, picking up the bags of supplies they’d brought with them earlier. “It’s not that bad,” he said, though the hesitant edge in his voice betrayed his optimism. “It just needs a little care. My mom used to make this place feel like home, so… I figure I can too.”

Natasha glanced at him, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. There was so much history in this place for Steve than he had said—she could see it in his expression, in the quiet way he surveyed the room as if he remembered every small detail of it. “Well,” she said, rolling up her sleeves, “lucky for you, I happen to be excellent at giving places a little care.”

“Didn’t realize interior design was one of your many talents,” he teased, grabbing a paint roller.

Oh, that little shit was learning fast. She was proud.

“Multifaceted,” Natasha shot back, smirking as she pulled her hair into a loose knot. “You better keep up, Rogers.”

They got to work immediately. Steve began patching up the walls, carefully smoothing over old nail holes and cracks while Natasha taped the edges of the windows and baseboards. Soon, they were painting, the scent of fresh paint filling the air as soft music played from a radio Steve had dug out of one of the boxes.

“You ever think about how ironic this is?” Natasha asked, holding her roller against the wall and turning to look at him.

“How so?”

“You—super-soldier, Avenger, national icon—spending your evening repainting a rundown apartment. Not exactly headline material.”

Steve laughed. “Hey, I’ve done enough big things. Sometimes it’s nice to focus on the small stuff.” He paused, glancing at her with a thoughtful expression. “And besides, this is where my life started. Feels right to come back to it.”

Natasha nodded, brushing a streak of paint across the wall. “You always have been the sentimental type.”

After an hour of painting, they moved on to cleaning. Natasha tackled the dust-covered shelves with a ferocity that made Steve grin. “Remind me to never underestimate your cleaning skills,” he joked as he watched her wipe down the surfaces with sharp, precise movements.

“Don’t let the spy thing fool you,” Natasha replied, straightening up with a smug look. “I’m very versatile.”

By the time the room started to come together, their casual banter turned into bursts of laughter. Natasha found an old photo frame buried in one of Steve’s boxes and teased him about the awkward haircut he had as a kid. Steve retaliated by dabbing a small streak of paint on her arm, which led to her smearing paint across his cheek in retaliation.

“Okay, truce!” Steve laughed, holding his hands up in surrender as Natasha advanced on him with the roller.

“Too late,” she said, mock-serious, before swiping paint across his forearm.

It was surprising to him—and even more so to her—the kind of person she could become when they were together. Being the one tasked with showing Steve the world, guiding him, and standing by his side as he adjusted to this new era had forged a bond between them that felt unshakable. He was her friend now, even if Natasha wasn’t entirely comfortable with labeling it that way. Steve was someone she could trust, and it was obvious she did, given how easily she let herself unwind around him. Watching movies to catch him up on decades of cinema, listening to music to introduce him to legendary artists, painting an apartment instead of filling out mission reports as she should be doing—she didn’t spend that much time with anyone.

When they finally called it a night, the apartment was transformed—or, at least, it was starting to feel that way. The walls were freshly painted, the floors cleared of dust, and while there were still boxes to unpack, the space felt more alive.

Natasha stretched her arms over her head, wincing slightly as she glanced at the clock. “It’s late,” she remarked. He agreed.

The exhaustion of the day had caught up with them. They didn’t feel like driving back to the facility, so they just ended up lying on the floor, using cardboard boxes as makeshift beds.

They settled onto the floor, side by side. Steve shrugged off his flannel and, without a word, draped it over Natasha’s body.

She glanced at him, surprised by the gesture. “Aren’t you going to get cold?”

Steve shook his head, smiling faintly. “I’ll be fine. You need it more.”

For a moment, there was only silence. Natasha pulled the flannel tighter around herself, the scent of paint and fresh air mixing with the faint scent of Steve’s cologne lingering in the fabric.

“Thanks, Steve,” she murmured, with a voice softer than usual.

He turned his head to look at her with gentle expression. “Anytime.”

The room fell into quiet stillness. Steve couldn’t help but feel a sense of peace. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start. And somehow, it felt like home already.

[…]

“Steve?” Sharon’s voice broke through the fog of his thoughts.

He blinked, snapping back to the present. She was standing by the counter, holding two glasses of lemonade and watching him with a concerned expression.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “Just got lost in thought.”

She smiled, handing him a glass. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, forcing a smile. “Just… thinking about how much this place means to me.”

And about the fact that it had been a long time since he and Natasha broke up. Or more accurately, since she left him as if they had never been anything at all. He hadn’t heard much about her since, except in passing — a report from Fury, a mention from Clint, little details that always felt too small, too far removed to matter. He hadn’t ask either. Painful as it was, he understood that she wasn’t coming back, she didn’t want to.

“Well,” Sharon said, getting closer to him, “it’s lucky you have it back. We should throw the next party here, for our first year as a couple”

After setting her glass down on a table, she threw her arms around his neck and Steve nodded as he held her waist. It’s been a year, he thought. A whole year.

He hadn’t wanted to move on. He wasn’t ready, but Tony had been relentless. “Sharon’s a good one. You need good people in your corner.”

Steve hadn’t believed him at first. How could anyone fill the void Natasha had left? Still, when Tony set a date for them, Steve found himself drawn to her in ways he hadn’t expected. She was kind yet strong, smart, with a quiet confidence and a generous soul. They laughed a little that night, shared stories, and for the first time in months, Steve felt like he could breathe again.

It was ridiculously ironic. Sharon, of all people. Sharon, the woman Natasha had insisted so many times he should ask out.

“Will you do me a favor? Call that nurse.”

“ She’s not a nurse. ”

“And you’re not a S.H.I.E.L.D agent.”

“What was her name again?”

“Sharon. She’s nice.”

In the end, Natasha hadn’t been wrong.

It wasn’t a whirlwind romance—not even close. Sharon hadn’t rushed him, and for that, he was grateful. They started small: coffee after meetings, the occasional dinner when their schedules aligned. She never pried into his silences or asked for more than he could give. On their first real date, he’d been honest with her.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for this,” he’d admitted as they walked along the quiet streets of D.C. “I still think of her. I can’t just… turn that off.”

Sharon had stopped then, looking at him with an understanding he hadn’t expected. “I’m not asking you to forget her, Steve,” she said softly. “I just want to be here with you. Whatever that looks like.”

He’d walked her to her door that night, his heart a mess of tangled emotions. She’d smiled at him, sweet and patient, and when he leaned in to kiss her goodnight, he’d hesitated. Instead, he kissed her cheek. It was a small gesture, but it felt monumental—like stepping into a new world while still keeping one foot firmly planted in the past.

That was how it had started: slowly, cautiously, but with a steady rhythm that Sharon had guided with her quiet warmth. Over time, she became a safe harbor. She listened when he needed to talk, gave him space when he needed to retreat, and reminded him that it was okay to carry the past while still moving forward. That someday he’d be ready to let it go, and she would be there, ready to love him.

Steve still thought about Natasha sometimes—more often than he cared to admit. There was a part of him that would always belong to her, a part that still wondered where she was and if she ever thought of him. But deep down, he knew that he’d have been a fool not to give Sharon a chance. She’d been nothing but patient and kind, offering him a love that didn’t demand anything in return.

“You’re so beautiful, have I told you that?” He gently caressed her chin with his thumb and leaned in to kiss her, and Sharon smiled against his lips.

The sound of a knock at the door pulled them apart. Sharon went to open it.

“Bucky!” she said, stepping aside to let him in. “What’re you doing here?”

“Thought I’d lend a hand,” Bucky said, hands into the pockets of his jacket.

Sharon smiled. “Perfect timing. We could use some extra muscle. I’ll get my phone and ask for pizza, I’m hungry.”

As she turned back to go and look for her purse, Bucky leaned closer to Steve. “I need to tell you something.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

Bucky hesitated, which earned him a worried look from his best friend. Finally, he sighed. “It’s Natasha,” he said quietly. “She’s coming back.”

The words hit Steve like cold water. “What?”

“She’s coming back,” Bucky repeated, his voice low. “Thought you should know, punk.”

Steve stared at him, his mind racing. Why? How? When? Questions swirled in his head as he tried to process the news. After all this time, after he’d finally convinced himself she wasn’t coming back…

Sharon’s voice broke through his thoughts, cheerful and unaware of the storm inside him. “Guys, delivery is coming in 30 minutes.”

But Steve barely heard her, the pounding of his own heartbeat was louder.

Natasha was coming back.

Chapter Text

The quinjet landed softly on the tarmac, the hum of its engines fading into the stillness of the night. Outside, the Avengers facility stood like a ghost of her past—quiet, stoic, and steeped in memories Natasha wasn’t sure she was ready to face. The stars above glittered faintly, but the pale glow of the place’s floodlights chased away their light. Natasha paused at the edge of the ramp, her boots hovering over the last step, as though crossing this threshold would irrevocably shatter the equilibrium she’d built for herself over the past year.

“You coming, or are we sleeping here tonight?” Clint’s voice broke the silence, laced with a teasing edge that didn’t quite mask the concern beneath it.

Natasha inhaled deeply, adjusting the strap of the bag slung over her shoulder. She stepped down onto the pavement, her stride steady, though her pulse thrummed against her ribs.

Clint fell into step beside her, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. He kept the tone light. “You know, I half expected you to turn this jet around halfway here. Figured I’d have to hogtie you to the seat.”

“Funny,” Natasha replied, her voice calm, though her gaze flitted to the shadows stretching across the facility’s exterior walls. “I didn’t think you’d miss me that much. I’ll tell them you came fetch me.”

“They’ll say somebody had to drag you out of your self-imposed exile,” Clint shot back, glancing at her sidelong. “Besides, you owe me a few rounds of babysitting after this.”

Natasha gave a faint smirk but said nothing. Clint didn’t press her. He didn’t need to—he could feel the tension radiating from her like static electricity, even if she didn’t show it.

As they entered the place, the quiet was amplified by the empty halls, save for the soft hum of security cameras swiveling to track their movement. The familiarity of the space hit Natasha like a wave of memories. Hurried missions, stolen moments with the team, and the ghosts of things left unsaid and undone.

Their path led them past the common room. The door was ajar, allowing the faint murmur of voices and laughter to spill into the corridor. Natasha’s steps slowed.

She saw them before she heard them—Steve and Sharon, seated on the couch. Sharon was laughing softly, her hand lightly resting on Steve’s arm. He smiled, a small, genuine smile, and that struck Natasha like a blow. She knew that smile, the way his eyes softened, the way the corners of his mouth twitched upward. She had been on the receiving end of it once.

She had been the one sitting beside him.

Her breath hitched before she could stop it. She froze, her eyes lingering on him longer than she should have. It shouldn’t even have surprised her. Clint told her they were together as soon as they began dating.

This is what he deserves. The thought was bitter, tinged with guilt. He’s happy as he should be.

Her heart twisted painfully in her chest, but her face remained impassive. The training kicked in — the ability to mask any emotion, any weakness. She had perfected it over the years, and now, it served her well. Still, Clint noticed. He always noticed. He didn’t have to look twice to notice the way her shoulders stiffened, the way her eyes lingered on Steve’s hand, resting casually over Sharon’s.

Clint cleared his throat. “Nat…” His voice was low, meant only for her, but it startled her all the same.

She turned to him, her expression carefully neutral, as though daring him to say more.

“Not the time,” he muttered, gently placing a firm hand on her arm. She let him guide her past the room without a word.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Sam glance up from his spot on another couch. His eyes widened slightly as he registered her presence, his mouth parting in surprise. He started to rise, but Clint shot him a quick wave, a silent plea for discretion. Sam hesitated, then sat back down.

“Stay here, I’ll go find Cho” Clint said once they reached the boardroom.

It was dimly lit, the glow of the city beyond its windows casted faint patterns on the walls. Natasha sat at the long table, her fingers tracing absent circles on the smooth surface.

She hadn’t been here in a long time, but it felt as though no time had passed. The room smelled the same and the chair creaked the same way when she shifted her weight. But her? She wasn’t the same woman she was when she left.

Her fingers drifted to the small stone pendant hanging around her neck. She rolled it between her fingers, grounding herself in its smooth texture. The flashbacks came unbidden.

Steve’s face—his hopeful face—flashed in her mind. She remembered the way his eyes had searched hers that night, the way his voice had trembled slightly as he asked her the question that changed everything.

She’d wanted to say yes. God, she’d wanted to. But fear had swallowed her whole, and she’d walked away. She could still see the hurt in his eyes when she said she couldn’t do it.

She should’ve been glad that he was happy now. He’d moved on. At least, that should have helped ease her guilt of breaking his heart.

The sound of the door opening pulled her out of her thoughts.

“Natasha.” Wanda’s voice was soft, warm, and welcoming. She stepped into the room, there was a smile on her face. “It’s good to see you.”

Natasha’s lips curved into a smile of her own. “Wanda. Didn’t expect to see you up this late.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Wanda replied, her tone light. She moved closer, leaning casually against the edge of the table. “I heard you were back. Figured I’d come say hi.”

Natasha nodded, her smile fading slightly.

“You look… different,” Wanda said, tilting her head as she observed Natasha more closely.

“Different how?”

Wanda hesitated, as if searching for the right words. “Like you’ve been carrying with so much over your shoulders…”

Natasha’s fingers tensed around her pendant, but she forced herself to relax. “Guess that’s just part of the job. I’ve been keeping busy.”

Wanda studied her for a moment longer, as though she could see straight through Natasha’s deflection. But she didn’t press. “It’s good you’re back. A lot’s changed, but some things haven’t.”

Natasha nodded. Wanda allowed herself to get closer and embrace the redhead. They were colleagues, then friends, then they became sisters. The hug was something Natasha very much needed.

When they pulled apart, Wanda offered a small, knowing smile. “Welcome home,” she said softly, before leaving.

Clint returned with Dr. Helen Cho shortly after Wanda left. The doctor’s eyes immediately honed in on Natasha, a hint of curiosity showing across her face.

“Natasha,” Dr. Cho greeted, her voice calm yet professional. “It’s been a while.”

“Helen,” Natasha replied, nodding. She extended a folder. “Everything you need is in here.”

Dr. Cho took the folder, her brow furrowing slightly as she opened it, scanning the first few pages. Her frown deepened slightly, her curiosity growing. She glanced at Natasha again, then closed the folder carefully. “I’ll review this tonight. You’ll hear from me soon.”

“Thank you,” Natasha said, her voice quieter now.

After that brief meeting, Clint and Natasha walked out of the facility together. As the cool night air hit them, Natasha exhaled, her shoulders relaxing slightly.

“You’re gonna have to face him eventually” Clint pointed out.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Natasha replied. “He’s already moved on, Clint. So have I.”

Clint frowned but said nothing. As they walked, he glanced at her again. She looked composed—calm, even—but he wasn’t fooled.

She can’t run from the reality forever, he thought.

Three days later.

Natasha hadn’t expected to be back at work immediately. It had only been three days since she returned and she’d already been summoned for an urgent mission.

The briefing room was a familiar place, yet it felt suffocating as she stepped inside. The sterile lighting illuminated the large table where Clint Barton and Sam Wilson were already seated, casually chatting.

“And officially our girl is back” Sam gave her a small nod and a smile, his easy demeanor was a comfort amidst the tension. “Glad to have you back, Nat”

Natasha offered a nod in return, slipping into the seat beside him. “Thanks, heard someone was needed to kick your ass” she murmured. She wouldn’t blame Sam if he resented her for what she did to Steve—since Cap was one his closest friends—, but if Sam felt that way, he didn’t show it. “So here I am.”

She tried to act cool, but the nerves were twisting in her chest. She was back, but she didn’t know how to feel about it. And the inevitable confrontation looming ahead—facing him —only tightened the knot inside her.

The door opened, and Nick Fury strode in, commanding the room with his usual authority. He placed a file on the table and scanned the group with his one good eye. “Alright, listen up,” he began “As you already know, we’ve got a mission—top priority. I expect nothing less than precision.”

Before he could dive into details, the door swung open again and Tony Stark entered the room. His sharp gaze landed on Natasha almost immediately. He paused for a beat, observing her before he spoke. His usual smirk twisted into something less playful.

“Well, look who finally decided to grace us with her presence,” he drawled, though there was no real hostility in his voice—just the biting sarcasm she had come to expect from him. “Natasha Romanoff, back from wherever spies go when they’re tired of us mere mortals. Welcome home.”

Natasha didn’t flinch, her expression remaining perfectly neutral. “Good to see you too, Tony,” she replied coolly.

Clint glanced between them, his lips twitching into an almost-smile, but Sam remained quiet, observing the interaction with a faint frown.

Then, the air shifted. Natasha felt it before she even heard the footsteps. Her spine stiffened instinctively, her breath catching in her throat. She knew who it was without looking.

Steve Rogers entered the room.

His steps faltered for a split second when his eyes landed on her. For a moment, everything seemed to pause. His blue eyes locked on her across the room, and Natasha felt as though the oxygen had been sucked out of the air. Her green eyes briefly looking toward him before she quickly forced herself to focus on Fury, on the mission screen, on anything but the magnetic pull of him. But she felt his presence as acutely as if he were standing right beside her.

For Steve, the world seemed to tilt the moment he saw her. He froze, just for a second. His face remained stoic, his jaw tight, but his eyes betrayed him. His emotions were clearly at war inside him. There was a flicker of shock, relief, anger, and something deeper—something raw. Frustration and hurt in equal measure. The room suddenly felt too small, too suffocating.

It had been over a year since she’d disappeared without a word, leaving nothing behind but a void in his heart.

How could she sit there so calmly, as if nothing had happened? As if the past year hadn’t existed. But it had. He had lived every excruciating day of it, trying to forget her, trying to understand why she’d left without a word. He’d spent sleepless nights replaying their last dance, the way she looked at him when she said she couldn’t marry him. The way she’d walked away, her hand slipping from his as if it had never belonged there at all.

And then, silence. For over a year.

She didn’t look at him again. Couldn’t.

Her chest tightened, but she buried the feeling beneath layers of discipline. She had no right to feel anything. She had chosen to leave, chosen to walk away from him, from them, from the life he had offered her. And in the end, they both have moved on. Dwelling into guilt and regret was useless.

Fury cleared his throat, pulling them both out of their moment. “Stark, Rogers, sit down. Let’s get this moving.”

After saying that, he launched into the mission details, laying out the objective. It was a high-risk infiltration of a Hydra base, and the team would be split for reconnaissance and extraction.

“Rogers. Romanoff. You’re together for infiltration. The rest of you, I’ll send pairings to your comms.”

The words were a slap to the face. Steve’s fists clenched. Natasha’s spine straightened imperceptibly.

“Look,” Fury added, his tone leaving no room for argument, “I know this isn’t ideal, but you two are the best at this. You’ve got the best track record when it comes to this type of mission. So whatever personal baggage is weighing you down, leave it at the door. This mission comes first.”

Natasha didn’t argue. She simply nodded, jaw tight, eyes forward. It was what she did best—compartmentalize. Push everything down until it couldn’t reach her. She wasn’t ready for this—not now, not yet. But she wasn’t going to let it affect the mission.

But Steve… Steve wasn’t built for that. His emotions burned bright and raw, and now, standing in the same room as het, he couldn’t stop the torrent of frustration rising in his chest. He didn’t want to be paired with her, not like this, not after everything. But there was no changing it. He would have to keep his emotions in check. He would have to work with her, even if it felt like tearing open old wounds.

Tony leaned back in his chair, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I know we’re supposed to be a team, but seriously? You couldn’t pair the fiery redhead with anyone else, Fury? Who knows—maybe they’ll kill Hydra while avoiding killing each other.”

“Enough, Stark,” Fury snapped, his voice brooking no argument. “If you can’t keep it together, you’re grounded.”

Tony put up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. No need to ground me. I’ll behave… for now.”

The tension in the room was palpable as Fury continued with the briefing. Natasha kept her eyes trained on the mission screen, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Steve, seated a few chairs away, stared straight ahead, though his mind was miles away. His thoughts were a storm of emotions.

As the briefing wrapped up, the team began to disperse, but Steve wasn’t going to let her go, not yet. He stood, moving toward her with purposeful strides.

“Natasha,” he called, his voice low and tense.

She paused but didn’t turn around immediately, taking a steadying breath first. When she did face him, her expression was calm, detached—a mask she had perfected over years. “What is it, Steve?”

“We need to talk,” he said, his eyes searched hers. “That day… you just left.”

Natasha’s stomach twisted. She knew this moment would come eventually, but she had hoped it wouldn’t be so soon. Her jaw tightened, but she kept her tone even. “And now I’m back. Let’s focus on the mission.”

Steve stepped closer, his frustration was evident. “It’s been over a year, Natasha. You walked away without a word. Don’t I deserve an explanation?”

For a fleeting second, guilt flickered in her eyes before she buried it again. She didn’t answer. Instead, she looked past him, toward the door. “I’m not here for us, Steve. Let it go.”

Fury’s voice cut through, commanding the room once more. “Enough. Get ready. We move out in twenty.”

Before Steve could press further, Clint interrupted the moment. Her best friend, her big brother, still there to support her. His timing impeccable. “Hey, Nat. Ready to roll?”

Natasha took the opportunity to escape, nodding curtly before walking out with Clint. She could feel Steve’s gaze on her, but she didn’t look back.

As the team prepared for the mission, Natasha steeled herself, pushing down the flood of feelings threatening to overwhelm her.

She pulled the suit on, the fabric clinging to her frame like a second skin. The zipper slid smoothly, sealing her inside the persona she had spent years perfecting. The woman who felt nothing. The woman who feared nothing.

She glanced at her reflection in the steel wall. The woman staring back was every bit the Black Widow: cold, lethal, composed.

She moved to the weapons table, her boots clicking softly against the floor. Rows of firearms and blades gleamed under the overhead light. She selected her twin Glock pistols first, checking each magazine with practiced ease. The familiar weight of the weapons in her hands steadied her, even as her mind raced.

“Focus,” she told herself, her inner voice sharp and commanding. “This isn’t the time.”

But the words felt hollow. She could still see Steve’s face, the storm in his eyes as he demanded answers she couldn’t give.

Shaking the thought away, she holstered the pistols at her sides, their placement as natural as breathing. Next came the blades—sleek, deadly knives sheathed in hidden compartments along her thighs and wrists.

Finally, she strapped on the gauntlets, their Widow’s Bite glowing faintly as they activated. The final step was the earpiece. She picked it up and placed it in her ear. The faint buzz of the comm line connected her to the team.

Once ready, Clint and Natasha walked toward the jet.

“You and Cap gonna be okay out there?” Clint asked, his tone teasing. “Or should I get popcorn for the inevitable fireworks?”

Natasha didn’t answer at first. She wasn’t ready to talk about it. She wasn’t even sure what she felt. She just wanted to get through this mission. She had to.

“I’ve been through worse.”

Clint studied her, his expression more serious now. “Seriously, Nat. You good?”

She shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “I’ll be fine.”

But as they continued toward the transport, Steve walked past them. He didn’t look at her. This time there was no confrontation, no words. Just two heroes heading into the unknown, each carrying their own burdens.

As she stepped onto the jet, she forced herself to focus, to push every feeling and every thought into a box she could lock away.

I can’t undo the past, she thought, her eyes fixed on the horizon. But I’ll be damned if I let it destroy me now.

Chapter Text

The night swallowed them whole. The Hydra base loomed in the distance as a cold, jagged silhouette against the dense forest, its harsh industrial lights cutting through the shadows. It was quiet, save for the sound of boots crunching on gravel and Sam’s voice crackling through the comms as he relayed intel from above.

“Alright, team,” Steve said, assuming command as he always did. “We’re splitting up. Stark and Barton, take the perimeter. Romanoff and I will head inside. Wilson, keep us updated on movement from above. Standard formation. No improvising.”

There was a beat of silence before Tony chimed in, his attitude light and teasing. “No improvising? That’s a bit ironic coming from Mr. Jump-On-A-Grenade. But sure, Cap, your orders.”

Clint chuckled, adjusting his quiver. “Careful, Tony. He might make you do push-ups later.”

Natasha’s voice  interrupted, low and professional, devoid of amusement. “Can we stay focused, boys?”

Her tone was calm, but there was a sharpness to it, subtle but unmistakable. Steve caught it immediately, the way she said “boys” with a slight edge that she wasn’t interested in hiding.

Sam cleared his throat over the comms. “Right. Eyes sharp, people. We’ve got a job to do.”

Steve didn’t respond, his focus shifting to the woman beside him as they slipped into the shadows.

Fury hadn’t lied—they were the best team for this job. Moving in near-perfect silence with synchronized steps, their bodies a testament to years of training together. Even with the tension hanging thick between them, their coordination was flawless. Steve knew her movements before she made them, and she anticipated his every decision.

And yet… it was undeniable that a wall had risen between them, an accumulation of bitter feelings corroding the air they shared, making it almost toxic.

Natasha moved with her usual precision, easily dismantling the first set of security barriers that allowed them access to the building.

“Nat, how’s it looking from your end?” Clint’s voice came through the comms.

“You already know it’s going to be tough,” she replied, and confident on her skills, she added, “But nothing I can’t handle.”

“Right, because you’re great at getting out of every situation, Romanoff, you’re good at getting out of tight spots” Steve muttered through the comms, his tone sharp. “Too good, I’d say.”

Natasha didn’t stop, slipping down a narrow corridor as she responded. “At least I know when to cut my losses, Rogers. You’d stand there and bleed if it meant proving a point.”

Steve clenched his jaw, her words stinging more than he expected. At the first checkpoint, Natasha moved faster, neutralizing the guards with ruthless efficiency, her movements fluid and unrelenting.

“You’re pushing too hard,” he said, his voice low but firm.

“Relax, Captain,” she replied, her tone calm but with an undercurrent of defiance he recognized all too well. “I’ve been doing this longer than you’ve been carrying that shield.”

“This is team work. If you’re planning on doing everything yourself and take a different route, maybe give a heads-up. It’d save the rest of us some guesswork”

“I didn’t realize Captain America needed a map. I thought you always knew where you were going.”

“Only when people don’t disappear without notice.”

The comms carried the tension for the rest of the team to hear.

Tony’s dry, sarcastic voice joined. “Looks like we’re playing house now.”

“Shut up, Stark,” Steve growled, his tone barely restrained.

“Uh, language,” Tony quipped but went quiet when Clint chuckled.

Natasha took a calculated risk, moving ahead of Steve to disable a security system. It was a deliberate move, but Steve didn’t see it that way.

“Romanoff,” he said sharply. “Slow down. You’re going to get yourself caught… or worse.”

“I told you to relax,” she repeated, her voice even as she worked. “I know what I’m doing.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to throw yourself into danger just to make a point,” he shot back as his frustration became more apparent.

Natasha froze for half a second, just enough to let his words sink in. When she spoke again, her tone was mocking but icy. “Didn’t know you cared so much. Or is it just that you’re worried of losing a colleague under your command?”

Steve’s grip on his shield tightened. “That’s not what this is about, and you know it.”

“Guess it doesn’t matter,” she said, her voice deceptively calm. “Seems like you recover quickly from a loss anyway.”

The comms went silent for a beat.

“That’s not fair, Natasha,” Steve said through clenched teeth.

Before things could escalate further, Sam’s exasperated voice broke in: “Wow, guys. Didn’t know Hydra bases doubled as couples’ therapy retreats. Are you done, or should I call a shrink?”

Tony added, “Yeah, and maybe let me focus on not getting shot instead of listening to your soap opera.”

Natasha let out a short, humorless laugh. “Didn’t know we had a referee.”

Steve exhaled, his frustration palpable “Then stop giving him a reason to step in.”

The tension was forced into the background as alarms blared, and Hydra soldiers swarmed the area. Steve and Natasha worked together like clockwork, their movements perfectly in sync as they fought their way through the base.

Tony and Clint created distractions with Stark tech, while Sam provided air support, taking out snipers from above.

Amid the chaos, Natasha moved with precision, but a misstep left her exposed. A Hydra agent got too close, landing a blow that sent her sprawling. Steve was at her side in an instant, his shield a barrier between her and the enemy.

His heart pounded as he helped her back to her feet. The impact hadn’t been severe—just enough to unsettle the spy without inflicting serious injuries. And yet, for Steve, time seemed to freeze in that instant. Everything else faded, his mind clouded by a memory that surged to the surface unbidden.

He couldn’t help but be transported back to the past—to one of their last missions together, just weeks before she left. The day he almost lost Natasha.

It began with a mission that seemed straightforward, but nothing in that superhero life had ever been simple. He remembered the details with a painful clarity: the quiet infiltration, the metallic floor reflecting the dim red of the alarms, and then… the explosion. A blinding white light swallowed everything, followed by the deafening roar of the blast.

He hadn’t seen the device until it was too late. Natasha had been standing ahead of him, her small frame somehow commanding, her arm outstretched toward the detonator as she yelled something he couldn’t hear over the chaos. And then, the impact.

The scene struck him like a hammer: Natasha being thrown backward, her body colliding with the ground, limp and lifeless. The world stopped. The clamor of the battle faded into a suffocating silence, the kind that comes when something too terrible to fathom has just happened.

He was at her side in seconds, his knees hitting the ground hard, but he didn’t feel the pain. His trembling hands reached for her, grasping at hope with a desperation that made his chest ache.

“Nat, please,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he gently turned her face toward him.

Her chest moved faintly, unevenly, each breath a monumental effort. Her face was streaked with blood and dust, her eyes closed.

The team carried her to the Quinjet in a blur of frantic movement. Clint and Sam worked in perfect, silent coordination, lifting Natasha’s unconscious form while Bucky gave Steve fast and clear instructions.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. has medics at the nearest base,” Bucky said in a steady voice. “If we get her there fast enough, they can stabilize her.”

Steve nodded, barely hearing him. His focus was entirely on Natasha—her shallow breaths, the way her head lolled to the side, the unnerving stillness of her body.

The flight was both too short and agonizingly long. Every time the monitor beside her beeped irregularly, his stomach twisted into knots.

When they reached the S.H.I.E.L.D. base, the medics were waiting. A small army of doctors in white coats swarmed around her, pulling her away from him before he could even think to protest.

Steve stood frozen in the hallway outside the makeshift operating room, Bucky and Sam nearby, their expressions mirroring his own dread. Through the crack in the door, he could hear fragments of the doctors’ conversation:

“The damage is extensive…”

“Severe traumatic brain injury…”

“Both lungs are collapsed. Her vitals are deteriorating rapidly.”

Every word was a dagger. Minutes felt like hours as he paced the hallway, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles ached. Then, one of the doctors emerged. The look on his face told Steve everything he needed to know before he even spoke.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor said quietly. “We’ve done everything we can. If there’s… any other option, any advanced technology, you’ll need to pursue it now.”

Steve couldn’t even think, not when his mind was clouded and his chest hurt so badly. Bucky reacted first.

“Wakanda,” he said firmly. “If anyone can save her, it’s them.”

Steve didn’t hesitate. There wasn’t time for hesitation anymore.

They were back in the air within minutes, heading for the one place in the world that might offer a glimmer of hope. Natasha was hooked up to machines, her body fragile and pale against the stark metal of the stretcher. Steve sat beside her, his hand resting on hers, as if willing his strength to flow into her.

Every moment felt like a betrayal of the time they didn’t have.

When they landed, T’Challa and Shuri were already waiting. Shuri’s gaze swept over Natasha, sharp and calculating, but her expression softened with a quiet determination.

“Bring her inside,” Shuri said, she spoke calmly yet urgently. “We’ll do everything we can.”

Shuri worked with a precision that left no room for doubt, guiding Natasha into a glowing capsule lined with Wakandan vibranium. As she adjusted the controls, she explained the gravity of the situation.

“Her body is in critical condition,” Shuri said, gesturing to the holographic scans above her. “Both lungs have collapsed. Her brain activity is dangerously low, and the radiation from the explosion is breaking down her cellular structure.”

Steve clenched his fists as he watched the holograms shift and pulse.

“What can you do for her?” he asked.

Shuri glanced at him, her expression steady. “I will use experimental regenerative technology to repair the damage. It will neutralize the radiation, rebuild her organs, and even restore neurological function. But this will push her body to its limits. It’s not without risks.”

“Do it,” Steve said without hesitation. His voice didn’t waver. “Whatever it takes.”

Steve stood behind the glass as the capsule lit up, the soft hum of vibranium energy filling the room. Natasha’s body was bathed in a pulsing blue light, her features illuminated in a way that made her look almost ethereal.

He didn’t move. Not when hours passed, not when Bucky and Sam tried to convince him to sit down. He couldn’t take his eyes off her—not when there was still a chance she might slip away.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Shuri stepped out of the lab, pulling off her gloves. She smiled—a small, victorious smile that made Steve’s knees nearly buckle.

“She’s stable,” Shuri said. “The treatment worked. Her organs have been repaired, her brain activity has returned to normal, and the radiation is completely gone. She’ll need rest, but she’s going to make a full recovery.”

The breath Steve had been holding since the explosion finally escaped him. He muttered a hoarse “Thank you” before stepping into the room.

Natasha lay on the table, still asleep, but color had returned to her face. She looked peaceful—not the terrifying stillness from before, but a calm that made his chest ache with relief. Steve knelt beside her, taking her hand in his, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.

“I almost lost you,” he murmured, his voice raw. “I can’t lose you.”

The golden Wakandan sun filtered through the windows, casting a warm light over her. In that moment, Steve made a silent promise. He wouldn’t waste another second. He wanted her to be his wife. He knew, with absolute clarity, that Natasha Romanoff was his world—and he couldn’t fathom a life without her.

“Guys, everything okay?” Sam’s voice came through the comms, he sounded concerned. “Need backup?”

“All good, Sam,” Natasha growled, gripping Steve’s shield and using it to take down a group of soldiers encircling her. “Rogers… Rogers! Snap out of it and move!”

The urgency in her voice shattered the haze of memories. Steve’s expression hardened, a mix of emotions flickering in his eyes. Had he really believed that once she was safe, nothing could tear them apart? Idiot.

Why did he still let himself dwell on something that happened so long ago? It was in the past. Just the past.

Focus, dammit.

There was no time to think about anything but the mission. Alarms blared like a constant roar throughout the Hydra base. Red lights flashed at every corner as Steve and Natasha pushed deeper into the complex. Sam’s voice came over the communicator, urgent:

“Team, heads up. Two full squads are heading your way from the north and east. You’ve got less than two minutes.”

“Understood,” Steve replied, quickening his pace with his shield raised. “Widow, this way.”

Natasha darted forward, deftly disabling a series of sensors before the alarms could escalate. Her fingers flew across the keypad, decoding a passcode with the efficiency of years of experience.

“You got it?” Steve asked, standing guard as the sound of boots grew louder.

“Just give me a second.”

“We don’t have a second,” Steve muttered, deflecting a shot with his shield as the first Hydra soldiers rounded the corner.

Unfazed, Natasha punched in the final code, and the door ahead of them slid open with a soft hum.

“Done,” she said, shooting him a brief glance before stepping into the next corridor.

The sound of gunfire and the hiss of arrows filled the air as Clint and Tony kept the guards occupied on the perimeter. Taking cover behind a column, Clint fired an explosive gas arrow into a group of advancing soldiers.

“How’s it looking in there, Cap?” he asked, his voice tight with adrenaline.

“Making progress,” Steve replied, deflecting another attack, this time from a soldier equipped with a portable flamethrower.

Meanwhile, Natasha was a whirlwind of precision. With a quick move, she fired her Taser, incapacitating one enemy before spinning around to disarm another. Her movements were swift and calculated, deadly in their grace. But when one soldier managed to corner her, Steve acted immediately. His shield flew through the air, striking the attacker before they could land a blow.

“I’ve got you. Keep moving,” he said firmly, leaving no room for argument. He wanted this mission done and over with.

Natasha nodded and moved forward, heading toward the central server of the base. Their objective was within reach: extracting crucial intelligence about Hydra’s operations.

In the server room, Natasha faced a security system so advanced that even she had to admit it was sophisticated. She refused to let it slow her down. Her mind raced as lines of code scrolled across the screens, her fingers a blur on the keyboard. Behind her, Steve stood guard at the entrance, his shield raised, intercepting any soldier who tried to get through.

“How much time do you need?” Steve’s voice carried urgency, cutting through the muffled roar of distant explosions. He hurled his shield with precision, knocking back another squad of soldiers charging toward them.

“Three minutes—if you stop distracting me,” Natasha shot back, trying to keep her concentration.

“We don’t have three minutes.”

The ground trembled beneath them as a deafening boom reverberated through the base, the shockwave rattling loose debris from the ceiling. Tony’s voice crackled in through the comms. “I just blew up a couple of watchtowers! That should keep them distracted for a bit.”

“Don’t get cocky, Stark,” Sam interrupted. “I’ve got eyes on a squad heading straight for the server room. They’ll be on you in less than a minute.”

Steve adjusted his stance, shoulders tense as he prepared for the incoming onslaught. Natasha didn’t so much as flinch, her focus glued to the cascading code.

“Two minutes,” she muttered under her breath, barely loud enough for him to hear.

The sound of boots pounding against steel floors grew louder. The soldiers burst into the room, their weapons gleaming under the flickering red emergency lights. Steve was on them instantly. The first three fell to a series of expertly executed moves as his shield flew through the air like a boomerang. But there were too many. One soldier managed to break through, landing a brutal blow that sent Steve crashing against the wall with a pained grunt.

Natasha’s head snapped up, her sharp green eyes locking on him. “You good?”

Steve clenched his jaw, forcing himself upright. “Keep working,” he growled, gripping his shield.

Natasha turned back to the keyboard, pushing everything else to the back of her mind. The sound of gunfire, the scrape of metal against concrete, and Steve’s grunts of effort all blurred into white noise.

The final line of code fell into place with seconds to spare. Natasha pulled a flash drive from her belt and inserted it with practiced precision.

“Got it,” she said with steady voice, despite the adrenaline pumping through her veins. The system beeped in defeat, the screens shifting to display a complete data transfer.

But the moment of triumph shattered as an explosion tore through the base. The blast wave slammed into them, the intense heat licking at their skin as they were thrown to the ground.

The acrid smell of smoke filled Natasha’s lungs as she scrambled to her feet. Steve was beside her in an instant, his hand gripping her arm to steady her.

“We’ve got to move. Now.”

Natasha instinctively checked the flash drive and relief flooded her when she saw it was intact.

“It’s safe. But this place is coming down fast.”

“The structure’s compromised,” Sam spoke. “Clint and Tony are already at the extraction point. You’ve got less than five minutes before this whole place collapses.”

Steve nodded, gripping his shield tightly. Together, they bolted down the hallways, moving in a blur of practiced coordination and fighting off every soldier who dared to stand in their way.

When they finally reached the exit, Tony stood waiting, his face lit with a smug grin.

“What took you so long? Sorting out your personal issues?”

Clint, panting as he knocked an arrow, glared at him. “Not the time, Stark.”

Natasha ran past Tony without a glance. Steve lingered just long enough to shield their retreat, standing firm until everyone was aboard the jet.

The ground shook violently as they took off, the fiery explosion below illuminating the night sky. From the air, the base was nothing more than a collapsing inferno, swallowed by chaos.

The atmosphere on the jet was suffocatingly tense. Sam kept his focus on piloting, while Tony and Clint exchanged lighthearted remarks in an attempt to cut through the silence. But neither Steve nor Natasha said a word.

Steve stood near the cockpit, his broad frame stiff as he stared out the window, watching the flames of the Hydra base shrink into the distance.

Natasha, seated in a shadowed corner, silently scrolled through the data on the flash drive, trying to keep her mind occupied.

Despite the mission’s success, both of them knew the real battle was far from over. The unresolved tension simmered between them, like a boiling undercurrent of unspoken words and unhealed wounds.

When Natasha finally stood, walking toward the back of the jet to put more distance between them, Steve couldn’t take it in anymore.

“What the hell was that? Is that your idea of teamwork?” He demanded an answer as he followed her, cornering her.

Natasha turned to him, her green eyes flashing with defiance. Her voice was ice when she spoke, the words sharp enough to cut.

“Oh, we’re going to talk about teamwork now? Funny. I thought you were doing just fine without me.”

“Not by choice,” he shot back, his words razor-sharp.

She let out a bitter, humorless laugh. Her chest rose and fell faster now, her anger igniting like a slow-burning fuse.

“Well, looks like it was a smooth adjustment.”

The air between them crackled, the tension ready to snap. Steve’s frustration was barely contained, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

“Do you think I wanted to adjust? I didn’t have a choice. You made that decision for me.”

“Oh, really, Rogers? Aren’t you tired of this?” Natasha’s voice stayed low and frigid, she wouldn’t let guilt take control over her this time. “I think it’s clear to everyone by now that you hate me for leaving.”

Steve stepped closer, his voice growing sharper, more pointed.

“It’s not just that you left. You ran . No explanation, no warning—you just vanished. Do you have any idea what that did to us? What that did to me ?”

Her green eyes sparked with anger, her voice rising to meet his. “Do you think it was easy for me? Leaving was the only way to—”

“ The only way to what? ” Steve interrupted. “Protect yourself? Don’t you dare play the martyr, Natasha.”

She shoved past him, her shoulder brushing his as she moved away. When she spoke again, her words were colder than ever, delivered without a flicker of hesitation. “And you don’t get to stand there like some wounded hero, pretending you didn’t find exactly what you needed the moment I left.”

Steve froze, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. He stared after her as his frustration and hurt threatened to spill. But he didn’t respond.

The rest of the flight passed in heavy, oppressive quiet. Natasha kept her gaze locked on the horizon as though it could distract her from everything spiraling out of control. Steve remained near the cockpit with a rigid posture. He was terribly failing at pushing his thoughts away.

It was meant to be a complicated mission, sure, but no one inside the jet had imagined that things would turn out so badly.

The team arrived at the S.H.I.E.L.D. base just as the first rays of dawn spilled across the horizon, painting the sky in muted hues of orange and pink. They were exhausted, but none of them slowed their steps as they made their way through the corridors, boots scuffing faintly against the polished floors.

Steve walked ahead of the group, his thoughts were still a tangled mess, waves of doubt and frustration crashing through his mind. He wondered if he should speak to Natasha again, to settle the unresolved tension between them, but the bitterness of their last argument kept his words locked in his throat.

Would talking to her even fix anything? Or would it just open wounds that didn’t need to be opened? He just wanted a damn explanation.

Before he could dwell on it any longer, a familiar voice pulled him back.

“Steve!”

He turned to see Sharon walking briskly toward him, her blonde hair pulled back neatly, and a relieved smile lighting up her face.

“You’re back,” she said, slowing as she reached him, her gaze flickering to the shallow cut on his forehead. “Are you okay?”

For the first time since stepping off the jet, Steve’s face softened, a small smile breaking through his otherwise tense expression. “I’m fine, Shar” he assured her. As she stepped closer, he leaned down to place a gentle kiss on her lips—a brief but comforting gesture that made her sigh with relief.

“What happened there?” Sharon asked, her hand lightly brushing his arm as she took in the weariness etched across his features.

“It was a rough mission,” Steve replied. “But we got what we needed.”

Sharon’s shoulders relaxed slightly as she exhaled. “Well, that’s a relief.”

Her eyes scanned the group behind him before landing on Natasha. Her smile didn’t falter. She stepped slightly closer to Steve, her hand still resting lightly on his arm.

“Natasha, I heard you were back,” Sharon said. “It’s great. These boys needed you. It’s not the Avengers without you.” Her voice softened as she leaned in slightly, adding, “And you came just in time—we’re throwing a party for Sam’s birthday. You should come.”

Natasha nodded slightly, her green eyes meeting Sharon’s without hesitation. “Thanks. I’ll see if I can make it.”

Sharon’s gaze lingered a moment longer, her polite smile unwavering. She knew what Natasha had once meant to Steve, and while she harbored no resentment, she wasn’t a fool. The way she reached for Steve’s hand and held it carried the subtle weight of her stake in the situation—a quiet, unyielding reminder that he was hers now.

“You should join us for breakfast,” Sharon said warmly, glancing between Natasha and Clint, who had just entered the hallway. “You’ve all earned it, and I bet you’re hungry.”

Before Natasha could respond, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She glanced at the screen, and for the briefest moment, a small, genuine smile curved her lips—one so rare that it caught even Steve’s attention.

Then, just as quickly as it appeared, it vanished, her face returning to its usual composed mask as she looked up. “Thanks, but I have to go,” she said simply, tucking the phone away.

Sharon tilted her head, her voice light and teasing. “Oh, I see. Someone’s waiting for you, huh? I don’t recall seeing you smiling at your phone before. A special someone?”

It was unusual for Natasha to share anything about her personal life, especially so openly. Yet this time, she didn’t hesitate, her calm demeanor intact as she replied, “Yeah. A very special someone, actually.”

Sharon’s smile stayed in place, but her blue eyes flicked briefly toward Steve, gauging his reaction. When he didn’t move or speak, she turned back to Natasha, her tone as friendly as ever. “That’s wonderful. I’m glad you have someone.”

Steve’s stomach twisted at Natasha’s words, the ease in her tone made him uncomfortable. He found it ridiculous that just a couple of hours ago, she was accusing him of moving on easily, when it seemed like she had done the same. He forced his expression into neutrality as he averted his gaze from her entirely.

Clint smirked as he slung an arm over Natasha’s shoulders. “Bet he’s dying to see you,” he said in a low voice, meant only for her. “Told him I’d bring you back in one piece. Let’s go.” he looked at his colleagues and nodded. “Enjoy the breakfast, you guys.”

Without another glance at Steve or Sharon, Natasha walked off with Barton.

Chapter Text

Natasha came back to the facility two days later. It was early in the morning when she stepped into the kitchen. Wanda was already there, standing at the counter with a mug in her hand and enjoying the rays of sunshine streaming through the windows.

“Morning,” the younger woman greeted, her Sokovian accent wrapping the word with a familiar lilt. She gestured toward the steaming mug in her hands. “Coffee?”

Natasha’s lips twitched, and she gave a nod. “Always.” She pulled out a chair at the kitchen island, sitting down and leaning her elbows on the table.

Wanda poured the dark brew into a ceramic cup and set it in front of Natasha, sliding the sugar toward her. “You look like you didn’t sleep.”

Natasha took a sip and let the warmth ground her. “I didn’t,” she admitted, flat but not harsh. She stirred the coffee absentmindedly, her gaze fixed somewhere past Wanda’s shoulder.

Wanda sat down across from her, resting her chin in her hand. “Are you okay?”

Natasha shrugged. “Define okay.”

The corner of the witch’s mouth quirked up. “Well, for starters, not having that look like you’ve been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

Those words made Natasha exhale sharply, almost a laugh. Steve’s voice came to her mind. Don’t you dare play the martyr, Natasha . “Yeah, well… I guess it’s just life.”

Wanda didn’t push, sensing that Natasha needed the space to open up on her own terms. Instead, she shifted the conversation. “You know, you missed a lot while you were gone.”

“Yeah?” the redhead asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, it’s been over a year, Nat!” she feigned to be offended, though in reality, she didn’t keep resentment towards someone she considered a big sister, even when Natasha left and didn’t say a word about it. She leaned back in her chair. “Sam’s taken over more leadership responsibilities, Peter’s growing into himself—he’s taller now, by the way—and Steve…” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “Steve tried to keep everything together. You know how he is.”

The mention of that name and the way Wanda tried hard not to delve too deep into what she said, warned her that there was much that she was silent about. It was expected. Steve was more than just Captain America for her, he was a friend, always taking care of her, always looking for her as an older brother.

Natasha clenched her jaw, and hid her reaction by taking another sip of coffee. Wanda noticed but didn’t call her out.

“And Sharon?” the spy asked, her tone neutral.

There it was. The question. Soon or later they’d end up talking about that. Wanda’s expression softened. “She’s good for him. They found each other when they needed someone.”

Natasha nodded slowly, dropping her gaze to her coffee cup. For a moment, they sat in silence, the only sound was the faint clink of the spoon against the ceramic mug. Finally, Natasha broke it.

“Did he…” She hesitated, then forced herself to continue. “Did he have anyone to lean on after I left?”

Wanda frowned slightly, not out of judgment but concern. She didn’t have to be too intuitive to know the reason for that question. “Nat, why are you doing this to yourself?”

“I just want to know,” Natasha said, quietly but resolutely. Masochist . “Please. And don’t sugarcoat it for me. Just tell me.”

Sighing, Wanda crossed her arms on the table. To say that she was one of those that tried to help Steve, was an understatement. “He tried to act like he was fine, like he could handle it. But you know Steve. He takes everything on himself, blames himself for things that aren’t even his fault.” She paused, gauging Natasha’s reaction before continuing. “For a while, it was… hard to watch. He was quieter than usual. Spent a lot of time in the gym or sketching alone. He looked lost.”

Natasha swallowed, her throat tightening. “And then Sharon happened,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion, as though saying it plainly would make it less significant.

“Yeah,” Wanda said softly. “It didn’t happen right away, though. It took time. She was just… there for him when he needed someone to talk to.”

Natasha stared down at her coffee, the tension in her shoulders kept growing.

Being far away, and as time went by, she had convinced herself she had made peace with her choices. From the moment she walked away, she had been conscious that she was the only one to blame. She had acted out of fear—cowardly, selfishly, and with a cruelty she thought she had left behind; at least when it came to the people she cared for. When it came to Steve. It wasn’t just that she had rejected the life he had offered her. She had left him alone, abandoned with no answers, forced to make sense of her silence.

Every call she ignored, every message left unanswered, had been a choice. Her choice. She hurt him and she hurt those around them. Their friends, their family. Her family.

So she accepted it. Long ago, she accepted that she did wrong and that she couldn’t expect him—them to be okay with it. She thought she had made peace with that too. She had been buried in her work, halfway across the world, blocking her emotions. But now that she was back—now that she had seen the storm in his blue eyes, the way anger and hurt lingered in every word he spoke to her—she could feel the guilt roaring back to life, threatening to consume her from the inside out.

She had shattered the trust she was given by the people she cared the most about.

She always hated that. Having to navigate through the complexity of emotions. Feeling so confused as she felt in that moment, because as much as she knew that she had no right to feel annoyed about Steve’s attitude, the feeling was still there. She was angry at him for the way he was demanding answers from her, the way he treated her as if he hated her, and she was angrier at herself for not being capable of giving him the explanation he deserved.

She wished she had a shot of vodka in her hand instead of coffee. It was frustrating to feel guilty about something that was supposedly already in the past. Steve got over it. She got over it. He moved on and she did too; she had something else, something new and better.

“It’s not your fault, Natasha,” Wanda said gently, her voice pulling her back. “You were scared, and that’s okay. You don’t owe anyone an explanation for that. But you need to stop punishing yourself for it.”

Natasha’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You think I’m punishing myself?”

“I know you are. You’re carrying guilt that doesn’t belong to you. You don’t have to do that anymore.”

Even if she was not part of the last mission they faced, Sam had told Wanda what happened during it. Those uncomfortable arguments between Natasha and Steve. And she loved them both too much to allow them to believe that they deserved punishment for what they felt, or for what they ever came to feel.

Natasha didn’t respond right away. Wanda reached across the table, placing her hand over the spy’s. She could sense the turmoil beneath the composed exterior, the struggle. She knew there were things bothering Natasha, things hurting her.

“You don’t have to tell me everything,”she said, “but whatever it is you’re going through, you don’t have to face it alone.”

Natasha met her gaze, and for a moment, she considered telling her everything—her thoughts, her feelings, tell her about the life she built while being away—but the words stayed lodged in her throat. Instead, she gave Wanda’s hand a small squeeze and nodded.

Before the conversation could turn heavier, the sound of hurried footsteps approached, and Peter Parker burst into the kitchen, his face lighting up the moment he saw Natasha.

“Natasha!” he exclaimed, almost tripping over his own feet in his excitement.

Natasha turned, genuinely surprised, and a smile broke through her guarded expression. “Hey, kid.”

Peter rushed over to her, his enthusiasm bubbling over. “You’re back! I mean, Clint told me you were, but I didn’t actually believe it until now. It’s so good to see you!”

Natasha stood up just in time for Peter to throw his arms around her. She let the hug linger, ruffling his hair when he finally stepped back. “Good to see you too. How’s the friendly neighborhood business?”

“Not bad! You know, some minor scuffles, the occasional alien tech theft. Typical New York stuff,” Peter said quickly, then paused, “Where were you? Did you have to fight anyone? Wait, is that classified?”

Natasha raised a hand to stop his barrage of questions. “Slow down, Spider-Boy. One question at a time.”

He blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right, sorry. I just… missed you. You’re, like, the coolest person ever.”

Wanda chuckled softly, and Natasha tilted her head, her smile widening just a fraction. “I missed you too, Peter. And yes, it’s classified.”

Peter slumped dramatically, but his grin remained. “Figures. You spies never tell me anything.”

As the conversation continued, Peter’s curiosity lightened the mood, his questions tender rather than probing. He asked about small, inconsequential things—what kind of food Natasha missed the most, whether she brought back anything interesting, and if she thought he’d improved as an Avenger since she last saw him. There was something about Peter that disarmed her. He was the kind of person she wanted to protect, even from herself.

Natasha answered each question with patience and a hint of dry humor, her demeanor softening as she saw the genuine affection in Peter’s eyes. It was moments like these that reminded her of the bonds she’d built with the team, the family she’d chosen.

As they talked and enjoyed their coffee, Wanda and Natasha couldn’t help but notice that Peter was clearly working up the courage to say something. They shared a knowing look. Natasha arched an eyebrow at him, already amused by his fidgeting.

“Alright, Parker,” she said finally, breaking the silence. “Spit it out. What’s on your mind?”

“He looks so nervous, it’s almost cute” Wanda added.

Peter perked up, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. “Uh, okay, so… you were gone for so long, right?”

“Right,” Natasha said, watching him with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

“And, uh, well… Mr. Stark, Tony, he kinda said—he joked, probably—but he said you’d, uh, retired or something,” Peter continued, stumbling over his words. “Like, he said you got married there and that we’d, you know… never see you again.”

Natasha froze mid-sip, lowering her mug. “Really?” she asked, feigning casual curiosity. “He said that?”

“Yeah!” Peter nodded, before suddenly realizing how it might sound. “I mean, I didn’t believe him, obviously! You’re not—well, I mean, are you? Did you—?” He gestured vaguely, his cheeks flushing bright red.

Wanda was having too much fun, she had to bit her lip to keep for laughing. And yet she had to admit, now that Peter talked about it, she was curious too.

Natasha tilted her head, enjoying his discomfort far too much. “Did I what?” she asked, with mock innocence.

“You know…” Peter swallowed hard. “Get married. Or, uh… do you have a… boyfriend? Or something?”

The spy blinked at him, her green eyes narrowing slightly, though her lips twitched with the hint of a smirk. “A boyfriend that would take me away from you all?”

Peter’s face flushed even deeper, and he waved his hands defensively. “No! I didn’t mean it like that! I mean… I’d be happy for you, obviously, if you did. But I’d probably need to meet the guy first, you know, just to make sure he’s cool. I mean, you deserve someone nice, you know? Not that it’s any of my business or anything…” He trailed off, scratching the back of his neck, looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him.

Natasha let the silence hang for a moment, savoring his awkwardness. Then, with a slow shake of her head, she reached out to pat his shoulder lightly. “Maybe,” she said vaguely, her lips quirking into a teasing smile. “But I wouldn’t tell you if I did.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “Wait, so—”

She interrupted him with a small laugh. “Relax, kid. You’ve got nothing to worry about. I’m not going anywhere.”

Peter let out a long breath, visibly relieved, though his curiosity lingered in his eyes. Natasha’s smirk deepened as she turned back to her coffee.

When the boy excused himself to find something in the lab, Wanda took the opportunity to lean forward. “He’s right, you know,” she said carefully.

“About what?” Natasha asked, though she knew where this was going.

“You deserve someone who makes you happy.”

“Okaaay, we’re done here,” she replied quickly, though she said it in a light tone, shaking her head in amusement. “Too much of you playing Cupid today.”

She left the kitchen as soon as she said that. The morning passed quietly, though she had kept herself busy. She spent the early hours finishing paperwork for S.H.I.E.L.D., her eyes scanning mission reports. It was mechanical, a way to occupy her hands while her mind swirled elsewhere.

She’d spent the better part of the last hour catching up with her friends. Sam had enthusiastically told her about a recent mission that had gone sideways but somehow ended with him sharing lunch with an elderly couple who mistook him for their grandson. Wanda had laughed as she recounted a failed attempt to teach Vision how to cook lasagna, complete with fire alarms and a slightly singed oven mitt. Natasha had smiled and listened, letting their voices drown out her own thoughts.

Eventually, curiosity drew her back to her old room in the facility. It had been untouched since she left. The neatly made bed, the sparse décor, even the faint scent of lavender from an old candle she used to light—all of it felt foreign now.

Patience wasn’t her strong suit, but she was trying. Trying not to overthink, trying to focus, trying to wait for Dr. Cho’s call with answers. But the waiting was eating at her.

By the time she wandered into the living room, her exhaustion was evident. She found a few of the team lounging around. Sam flipping through channels, Wanda curled up with a book, Clint sprawled across an armchair, and Steve sitting in the corner with a newspaper in his hands. His presence made her pause, but she gave no outward indication, her expression remaining neutral as she walked in.

Clint was the first to notice her yawn. Not once, but twice. “Late night?”

Natasha nodded, stretching her neck to one side. “Two hours of sleep. My body is exhausted. I just need a massage and a nap.”

The team exchanged glances, curiosity flashing between them, though Natasha didn’t seem to notice. Steve’s fingers froze on the edge of the newspaper, his eyes flickering toward her. He tensed at her words, at the casualness with which she said them, as though it wasn’t a big deal. Well, it wasn’t. Was it? His gaze shifted between Clint and Natasha as the exchange unfolded.

“I thought the Black Widow was the one in charge.”Clint smirked, breaking the silence. “It’s a shame, anyway. I thought you wanted to spar today.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk playing on her lips. “I still do. Seems like you need to be kicked in the ass, you jerk.”

Clint grinned, pushing himself out of the chair. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got.”

Wanda’s voice cut through the moment, but it was soft, directed at Steve. “You okay?”

Steve blinked, realizing he’d been staring at the door Natasha and Clint had just walked through. He forced a smile and nodded. “Yeah. Just lost in thought.”

But Wanda didn’t look convinced.

The sparring session between Natasha and Clint unfolded as it always did, though it was obvious to Clint that something was off. Natasha moved sluggishly, her punches lacked precision, and her focus wasn’t where it should be.

When she stumbled, Clint caught her arm, concerned. “Tasha, you’re not okay.”

“I’m fine. Just tired. Stop worrying.”

“You really haven’t slept much, have you?”

“Can’t,” Natasha admitted quietly, wiping sweat from her brow. “But I’m okay, Clint. Really.”

“I don’t know. Have you heard from Cho? Has she said anything yet?”

“No. Nothing yet.”

Clint sighed, studying her for a moment before nodding. “Maybe we should stop for today. You’re not focused, and you’ll just end up hurting yourself. Wait for Helen to call, okay?”

Reluctantly, Natasha nodded. She hated admitting defeat, even to Clint, but she couldn’t deny how drained she felt.

As she turned to leave the gym, Clint called out, stopping her in her tracks.

“Wait.”

She turned back, raising an eyebrow. “What is it now, Barton?”

“Were you being serious about what you said this morning?”

Natasha tilted her head. “About what?”

“Nikolai,” Clint said, folding his arms. “Are you really going to bring him here?”

She kept silent for a brief moment, then her answer was firm. “Yeah,” she said with a small nod. “I was being serious.”

Chapter Text

Fresh air. A break from the uncomfortable haze that clouded his mind was exactly what Steve needed, so he went out for a walk to clear his head, to put some distance between himself and the thoughts that had been clawing at him ever since Natasha’s unexpected return.

The late afternoon sun painted the park in golden hues, the place was filled with people—joggers, dog-walkers, and families. Steve let himself inhale deeply, savoring the crisp air, but the tension in his chest didn’t quite ease. No matter how far his boots carried him, the memories followed.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, pulling him from his thoughts. Sharon’s name lit up the screen.

“Hey, pretty” he answered as he pressed the phone to his ear.

“Hi, babe” Sharon’s tone was warm, her smile audible through the line. “I just wrapped up my meeting. Where are you? I was hoping I could steal some time with you before the day ends.”

A genuine smile tugged at his lips. “I’m at the park, actually. Needing some fresh air. Want to join me?”

“Be there in ten,” she said, and he could hear the excitement in her voice before the call ended.

The park had become, in fact, one of their favorite places to spend time together. It was close to the facility, quiet yet huge, always full of people, dogs, and children enjoying their free time. In some ways, it was a good place to feel like they had a more civilian life, and get away from work for a while.

By the time Sharon arrived, the sun had dipped lower, casting a soft amber glow over the park. She looked radiant, her blonde hair catching the light, her posture relaxed as she approached. Steve found himself instinctively smiling at the sight of her. Sharon was a grounding presence, someone who made the world feel just a little less chaotic.

“You look like you’ve been walking for miles,” she teased, reaching up to adjust the lapel of his jacket as though it were second nature.

“Maybe I have,” he replied with a slight chuckle.

Taking his hand, she tugged him forward. “Come on, let’s walk together. I’ve got a story that’ll cheer you up.”

Steve fell into step beside her, their hands entwined. Sharon’s voice was lively as she recounted a recent S.H.I.E.L.D. mission that had gone hilariously off-course due to a rookie agent’s mistake. She painted the scene vividly, and Steve couldn’t help but laugh at her witty retelling. Her laughter joined his, and the sound seemed to chase away the lingering clouds in his mind. Yet, even as they walked and talked, a part of him remained distant. His responses were genuine, his smiles sincere, but his thoughts drifted. Back to the living room earlier. Back to Natasha. Back to the unanswered questions he couldn’t shake.

“Are you okay?” Sharon asked. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze and searched for his face.

Steve hesitated, his instinct to deflect warring with his desire to be honest. He didn’t want to lie to her—not Sharon, who’d been nothing but supportive since they’d started dating. But he also didn’t want to risk saying the wrong thing and ruining the calm between them.

“I’ve just been… thinking,” he admitted finally, glancing down at her. “About Natasha.”

There it was—the name she had hoped wouldn’t come up. Sharon kept her expression neutral, didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away, but the familiar pang of discomfort twisted in her chest. Of course, he was thinking about Natasha. How could he not? They had history, a bond that Sharon felt would never die completely, no matter how much Steve reassured her it was in the past. She hated that she felt this way, hated that Natasha’s mere presence could unsettle her, even if she trusted Steve completely.

“That’s understandable.” she said though, keeping her tone even. “It’s got to be strange for you, having her back after all this time.”

“It is,” he said in a low voice. “I’m… annoyed, I guess. At the way she’s acting, like nothing’s happened. Like she can just come back and expect things to be normal.” He paused, his grip on Sharon’s hand tightened slightly. “But I don’t want you to think that… that I’m stuck on her, because I’m not. I feel good with you, Shar. I really do.”

Her heart softened at his words, and a small part of her tension melted away. She knew Steve meant what he said. He wasn’t the kind of man to offer empty reassurances. Still, it was hard not to feel the shadow of Natasha Romanoff looming over them. Natasha wasn’t just another person from Steve’s past—she was someone who had truly mattered to him, someone he once wanted to marry. That kind of connection wasn’t easy to forget, no matter how much time had passed.

She leaned into him slightly. “I know, Steve,” she said quietly. “I trust you. It’s okay if you’re still sorting through how you feel about her coming back. That doesn’t take away from us.”

Steve let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Sharon’s understanding was a balm he hadn’t known he needed. “Thank you,” he said with quiet gratitude.

As they passed a small cart selling flowers, he stopped, his eyes catching on a bouquet of sunflowers with bright and cheerful petals that seemed to mirror Sharon’s warmth.

“Hold on a second,” he said, stepping up to the cart. He handed over a few bills, then turned and presented the bouquet to Sharon.

“For me?” she asked, her eyes lighting up.

“For you,” he confirmed, watching as her smile grew.

“You’re really sweet, you know that?” she said, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you.”

The rest of their walk passed in a comfortable rhythm. Their conversation was lighter now and Steve finally felt the tightness in his chest ease completely.

Meanwhile, in the facility, things weren’t as relaxing for Natasha. She went straight to take a shower after her sparring session with Clint, hoping to enjoy nice hot water and then leave for the night. She wasn’t expecting Jarvis’ voice to interrupt the quiet of the room as soon as she stepped out of the bathroom. 

“Ms. Romanoff, Director Fury is requesting to speak with you. Shall I connect the call?”

She sighed, running a hand through her damp red hair. “Sure, Jarvis. Patch him through.”

An instant later, a hologram of Nick Fury materialized in the center of her room, his one good eye fixed on her.

“Romanoff,” he greeted.

“Director,” Natasha replied flatly, tightening the towel around her. She crossed her arms, waiting for him to explain what the call was for.

“I need a favor,” Fury began, his tone just vague enough to make her wary.

“That doesn’t sound promising,” she quipped, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s not that kind of favor,” Fury said, though his lips twitched with the barest hint of a smirk. “I need you to give a speech tomorrow night. At the charity gala.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “The what now?”

“The gala,” he repeated, leaning back slightly. “The high-profile event we’ve organized to remind people that we in S.H.I.E.L.D. are the good guys. You know, public relations, morale boosting, all that stuff. We need a strong face up there, someone the world respects.”

“And you thought of me?” Natasha deadpanned, tilting her head. “You have all these people in your team and I’m your best choice.”

“Don’t sound so surprised. People actually like you.” He paused, giving her a knowing look. “Well, most people.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, stepping over to her dresser. “I wasn’t even aware that you organized an event, to begin with.”

“Don’t play dumb. I sent you the invitation the day you got back,” Fury said, sharpening his tone slightly.

The redhead paused, frowning as she thought back. Then it clicked. “Oh, that event? I didn’t reply. I thought that was answer enough. I’m not attending.”

“Romanoff…”

“I’m not going, Fury,” she said again as she opened a drawer to rummage for clothes. “I have more important things to deal with right now.”

“I know you’ve got a lot on your plate. I know you’re dealing with hard stuff right now, I get it. But this is important too. You know I wouldn’t be asking if it weren’t necessary,” he said, pausing a moment before continuing. “It’s one night. Smile, shake a few hands, say a few words. You’re one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s best assets, and you are the female face of the team, and whether you like it or not, people look up to you. Seeing you there—it makes a difference.”

Natasha hesitated, brushing her fingers against the edge of a T-shirt. She certainly owed him a favor. Fury had pulled more strings for her than she could count. 

“We’ve had three public events before this one, and you weren’t there. People, the media, you know they notice. Little kids want to look at the news and watch their favorite superhero saving lives. They wonder where the Black Widow is, let them know you’re still here, Romanoff.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Do you ever take no for an answer?”

“I wouldn’t be where I am if I did,” Fury shot back, giving her a pointed look. “Think about it, Romanoff. It’s tomorrow night. You’ve got plenty of time to decide. I expect to see you there.”

Before Natasha could argue further, the hologram flickered and disappeared. She let out a frustrated sigh, shaking her head. Fury should’ve known better when to back off, and she had no intention of going to the gala. 

[...]

The night of the event came. The ballroom was breathtaking, a showcase of elegance and splendor. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and their light reflected off the polished marble floors. Round tables draped in white linen bordered the space, while a live orchestra played soft, melodic tunes from the far corner. It was a gathering of SHIELD’s finest and an array of political figures, celebrities, and benefactors, all dressed in their finest attire. Conversations hummed like a quiet buzz beneath the music, punctuated occasionally by polite laughter or the clinking of glasses.

The Avengers were scattered throughout the room, each bringing their unique energy to the event.

Steve Rogers stood near one of the tables, he was wearing a navy-blue suit that fitted him perfectly, and an American flag pin gleamed on his lapel. His hand rested lightly on Sharon’s lower back as they mingled with a few high-ranking SHIELD officials. Sharon wore a sleek black dress, her blonde hair styled in soft waves. They looked picture-perfect, the kind of couple that drew admiring glances wherever they went. The truth was that he was not too fond of public events, nor of being among so many strangers for so long. But so far the atmosphere had been pleasant. The officers they were talking to had a pleasant conversation that made Sharon and him laugh.

Nearby, Tony and Pepper were a force of charisma, engaging a group of donors with ease. Pepper’s emerald-green gown shimmered under the light, perfectly complementing Tony’s tailored black tuxedo. Not far from them, Scott and Hope were locked in playful banter with Peter and MJ. Their group was lively, and laughter spilled over as Scott recounted an exaggerated version of an Ant-Man escapade.

At one of the quieter corners, Sam Wilson leaned against a wall with Wanda Maximoff and Bucky Barnes. Wanda wore a flowing deep-blue dress, her crimson hair framing her face beautifully, while Sam and Bucky opted for classic tuxedos. They were watching the room, quietly speculating about who might show up and commenting on those who were already there.

"I still get a bit surprised when I see Hill at events like this, don't you?" Sam asked, looking at them. “I mean, she always has this tough demeanor, rarely smiles, and some agents even call her ‘the ice queen’, but she comes here and looks like a really, really hot woman who you want to buy a drink for.”

“She is a hot woman,” Wanda remarked, nodding. “But she’s unattainable for every man here, I fear.”

“What I find strange is that Natasha is not with her right now, at every party they are always each other's company.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Wanda shrugged and looked around the room just to sigh at the fact that her redhead friend wasn’t there. She didn’t mind spending time with the guys, she actually had a lot of fun in their company, but she wished she could spend a little more time with Natasha now that she was back. “She said she wouldn’t come.”

“She’s unpredictable,” Bucky added, swirling his drink. “Wouldn’t count her out just yet.”

It seemed that Clint was also convinced of the same thing. On the other side of the room, he stood near the bar, nursing a glass of whiskey. He was scanning the entrance every so often, he had a feeling Natasha wouldn’t fail to attend, no matter how vehemently she claimed otherwise.

And then it happened.

The orchestra played on, but the room seemed to shift as the doors opened, and in walked Black Widow.

All heads turned as she stepped into the ballroom, with her usual confident demeanour that effortlessly commanded the attention of those around. She wore a striking red dress that hugged her frame perfectly, its thin straps rested on her shoulders and a daring slit ran dangerously high along one leg to her mid-thigh, highlighting her sculpted figure. Her fiery hair was styled in loose waves that fell over her shoulders, the natural elegance of her appearance amplified by the nice high-heels that complimented her look.

And she wasn’t alone.

There was a man accompanying her and walking beside her as she held onto his arm. He was just as striking. Tall, dark-haired and sharp-jawed, with piercing blue eyes and a confidence that radiated from him and was impossible to ignore. His tuxedo was classic black, perfectly tailored to his athletic frame.

The Avengers took notice immediately. Wanda froze, her wine glass halfway to her lips.

Sam nudged Bucky lightly, gesturing toward the pair. “Guess who decided to show up after all.”

“Okay,” Bucky said slowly. “Who’s that?”

“No idea,” Wanda murmured, her eyes narrowing slightly.

Steve noticed the shift in the room before he actually saw her. Conversations grew quieter, heads turned, and it wasn’t hard to figure out what—or who—was causing the commotion. His chest tightened as his gaze landed on her. Natasha. And… who the hell was that with her?

His hand tightened around Sharon’s just slightly, the movement so subtle that Sharon might not have noticed. Or perhaps she did and chose not to say anything. Instead, she glanced toward the entrance with polite interest, her smile faltering for only a brief moment.

“Oh. Is that—” Sharon stopped herself. “She looks... good.”

Yeah. That was one word for it. Steve forced himself to nod.

Natasha’s green eyes swept the room, taking in the reactions without acknowledging them. She stepped further into the ballroom, carrying herself with effortless grace, her red dress skimming the floor as she moved through the elegant space, greeting figures of importance with a polite nod, a firm handshake, or a brief exchange of words.

The man stayed close to her side, mirroring her confidence without overstepping. He was an enigma to most of the people in the room, but he didn’t seem fazed by the attention. When a few well-dressed political figures reached for Natasha, he hung back just enough to let her handle it on her own, watching the exchange with quiet ease. She handled the sudden attention like she always did—with a mixture of charm and detachment, offering enough conversation to be polite but never more than what was necessary.

And then, of course, the journalists came.

A small group of them had been circling the room all night, getting the most they could from the important attendants. Natasha’s presence was a gift. Cameras flashed, and a few eager voices called her name, requesting a moment of her time.

She exhaled silently but offered them a polite smile, answering only the safest of questions. “No comment” was her go-to response for most, but she gave them just enough to satisfy their curiosity. She could already feel regret settling in. She hated these events.

As she smoothly excused herself from the reporters, Tony watched from a distance, swirling the champagne in his glass before leaning toward Pepper.

“Well, well, well,” he mused, his gaze flicking between Natasha and her companion. “Looks like our dear Black Widow didn’t return alone. Wonder who the guy is. Secret boyfriend, maybe?”

Pepper didn’t even glance at him as she reached for her drink. “Don’t start.”

“What? I’m just saying.”

“Tony.”

He sighed, lifting his hands in surrender. “Fine. But if it turns out I’m right, I want everyone to acknowledge my superior deduction skills.”

Peter, standing nearby, wasn’t as vocal as Tony, but he was just as curious. He observed the pair carefully, noting the way Natasha moved beside that man—fluid, effortless, completely at ease. It wasn’t just that they looked good together, though they undeniably did. It was the familiarity between them, the way they leaned toward each other when they spoke, the occasional glance exchanged as if they were in on a secret the rest of the world wasn’t privy to.

Yeah. They definitely looked good.

As the night went on, they seemed wrapped in their own world. They spoke in quiet tones, heads tilted toward each other to cut through the hum of voices around them. It was  the way his fingers brushed against hers when he handed her a drink, the way she leaned in slightly when he spoke close to her ear, the comfortable way they occupied the same space without seeming aware of anyone else.

Steve noticed.

He wasn’t watching her. Not really. He was just… aware.

Every so often, as the speeches carried on and the night unfolded, his gaze drifted—just for a second—to wherever she was. And every time, she was still there, standing close to him. The stranger who had walked into this event beside her, like he belonged there.

Steve turned his attention back to Sharon, feeling the gentle squeeze of her hand in his.

She had noticed, of course.

Sharon didn’t say anything, but she smiled up at him, shifting just slightly to bring his attention back to her. “Having fun?” she asked lightly.

He nodded, returning her smile. “Yeah. Of course.”

She didn’t push further.

Across the room, Wanda approached the bar, reaching for a glass of red wine just as Natasha turned in her direction. Their eyes met, and Natasha offered a small smile.

“Wanda,” she greeted. “How many drinks do you need to put up with Sam and Bucky?”

That made Wanda laugh. Her gaze flicked toward the stranger beside Natasha, and before she could ask, the spy tilted her head slightly toward him.

“This is Nikolai.”

He extended a hand, his grip firm but polite and his deep voice laced with a faint Russian accent. “Nice to meet you.”

Wanda nodded, giving him a friendly smile. “Likewise, Nikolai.”

There was no elaboration. No explanation of who he was or why he was here, and before Wanda could ask further, Clint appeared out of nowhere, resting a casual arm on her shoulder. “I found you.”

Wanda frowned slightly. “Found me for what?”

“To dance, obviously.” Without waiting for her response, Clint snagged her wine glass and set it back on the bar before pulling her toward the dance floor.

Wanda shot Natasha a look, somewhere between exasperation and amusement, but Natasha only smirked as she watched them disappear into the sea of dancing couples. More and more people had made their way onto the floor, the music shifting into something softer, something meant for slow, easy movement.

Nikolai turned to her, offering a hand without hesitation.

“Shall we?”

Natasha hesitated, her first instinct was to decline. But there was something so effortless about the way he stood there, completely unbothered by the night, by the attention, by any of it.

So she took his hand. And, just like that, they moved together.

Nikolai was an excellent dancer, his movements smooth and deliberate. His hand rested lightly at her waist, guiding her in a way that made it clear he knew exactly what he was doing. And Natasha—well, she was Natasha. She followed with perfect ease, their steps fluid as they moved across the dance floor. From an outsider’s perspective, they looked like a perfect match. Nikolai’s focus never wavered. His attention was entirely on her, his posture one of someone who had no interest in any other woman in the room.

And from a distance, Steve watched.

He hadn’t meant to. He was dancing with Sharon, his arm around her waist, their movements in sync. But at some point, his gaze lifted, and it happened.

His eyes met Natasha’s.

It was brief. Fleeting. But it happened. A moment where time seemed to stretch impossibly long, where the music faded, and nothing else in the room existed. Her expression didn’t change, not really. But she held his gaze.

You don’t get to stand there like some wounded hero, pretending you didn’t find exactly what you needed the moment I left , she told him that night during the last mission. And he said that it wasn’t fair, but she wasn’t lying.

This was them now. And Steve found the real thing, someone who would patch up the tapestry that she shred. Someone to hold while dancing, that would never leave him standing with a ring on his hand and a broken heart.

It was how it was supposed to be.

Natasha blinked, turning her head slightly, her attention returning to Nikolai. The man had said something—Steve couldn’t hear what—and he saw the corner of her lips lift slightly as a response.

Steve exhaled slowly, forcing himself to look away. Sharon pressed closer, resting her cheek against his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around her waist just a little tighter.

It didn’t matter.

It shouldn’t matter.

But somehow, it did.

Just a few minutes later, after another song, Natasha and Nikolai left the event.

Chapter Text

Bucky had never been the kind of person who enjoyed waking up early. Still, discipline had stitched itself back into his routine ever since Steve pulled him out of the wreckage of who he used to be. Working with the Avengers meant alarms, training schedules, debriefs; order, where chaos had once ruled. So, at first light, he was already walking the hallways of SHIELD’s headquarters.

His mind was elsewhere, occupied by the pile of mission reports waiting for him. But still, his sharp senses registered movement ahead. A door opened just a few meters away, and instinctively, he turned his head toward it.

Natasha stepped into the corridor first. A small white prescription bottle was in her hand and she tucked it into her bag. Behind her came Helen Cho.

“Make sure you take the pills exactly as prescribed,” the doctor said, firm and clear. “And don’t forget your checkup in three days. Call me if you notice anything unusual before that.”

Nikolai was the last to emerge, moving like a shadow at Natasha’s back. Dark suit jacket, composed features, eyes fixed on her instead of the doctor. Protective, in a way.

Bucky slowed without meaning to, his steps drawing quieter. Pills? A checkup? Something about Cho’s tone… it wasn’t casual or a minor inconvenience.

“I will,” Natasha simply said, after nodding.

Whatever it was, it was personal. He should have kept walking. Shouldn’t have noticed. Shouldn’t have cared. But he did. The three of them spotted him at the same time. For a heartbeat, silence pressed thick between them.

Nikolai inclined his head ever so slightly, studying him with eyes as deep and blue as an open sea. There was no hostility there, no arrogance either, but he was being watchful for sure.

Natasha’s gaze, though, was sharper. She looked at him as if expecting some kind of comment or reaction. But none came. He dipped his chin in a single, silent greeting.

Bucky owed her a deep respect, forged through years of shared battles and unspoken understanding. He cared for Natasha in a way that didn’t fade with time, and even though he still didn’t fully understand why she had left and returned without explanations —bringing this man along with her— he had no intention of questioning her.

[ … ]

The next time he saw her was hours later, when they both attended an Avengers meeting.

The conference room was already alive with low voices. Clint leaned back in his chair, already cracking some remark to Wanda. Sam scrolled through his tablet, expression flat.

Natasha was there and Nikolai kept her company. At least that’s what Bucky noticed when him and Steve entered, slipping into the seats near the far end of the table. He hadn’t expected that.

The man leaned near her shoulder, his tone low but clear enough.

“You can’t keep skipping meals, you know?” Nikolai’s voice was low, edged with a softness that surprised Bucky. “I’ll go out and bring something back once you’re free. I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, but there wasn’t malice in it. “You’re insufferable,” she muttered, though the corner of her mouth tugged upward. “But thank you.”

The knot in Bucky’s chest pulled tighter.

From the corner of his eye, he caught Steve’s posture stiffen, tension flickering across his shoulders. His friend’s jaw flexed, fingers curling on the armrest of the chair. Steve didn’t look at Natasha directly, but he didn’t need to, his attention was tethered to her all the same.

Bucky leaned back in his seat, silent. He said nothing, asked nothing, though the questions burned through him. Who was this man, this Nikolai who spoke to Natasha with such ease, such familiarity? Why did Natasha —who trusted so few— let him close?

He didn’t want the answers.

Not because he didn’t care, but because he cared too much. He knew Steve, knew the way his friend’s heart worked. Even if Sharon was sitting at his side now, even if Steve’s hand would reach for hers in public, there was a fracture inside him that Natasha had carved long ago. A fracture that still hurt.

And Bucky, maybe more than anyone, understood what it was to live with the weight of “what if”. So he kept the questions to himself and stayed quiet.

[ … ]

About an hour later, the meeting ended. The team members began to leave the room to attend to their own business. Comments could be heard here and there, some laughter, chairs being moved, and folders being closed on the table. The comments began to sound more and more distant. Behind Tony and Wanda, who were leaving the room at that very moment, Natasha stood up to leave as well.

However, as she began to walk toward the door, Steve's voice tried to stop her.

“Romanoff,” he said evenly, stepping closer. “We need to go over details. You, Barton, Barnes and me. Now.”

Natasha swung her bag over her shoulder, her movements deliberate. She didn’t stop walking. “I can’t.”

His voice sharpened. “This is important.”

She turned slightly, enough to meet his eyes, calm but unyielding. “It’s not urgent. You don’t really need me here for that.”

The words hit harder than he expected, and he opened his mouth to argue when her phone buzzed in her hand. Natasha glanced at the screen and answered without hesitation.

“Oh, Nikolai,” her voice softened, just faintly. “Already here? I’m coming.”

Steve froze. Something bitter and familiar coiled in his chest, too raw to be swallowed.

“Really?” he asked, his tone low and edged. “Leaving again just like that?”

“Yes, Steve, the meeting is over and I need to go”

“You’re leaving for a man”

Her eyes snapped back to his, sharp as glass. “Yes. And it’s none of your business.”

At that moment, Jarvis’s calm voice echoed through the room:

“Miss Romanoff, your car is waiting at the entrance.”

Natasha slipped her phone into her bag and gave Steve one final, cold and definitive look before heading to the door, heels clicking against the floor.

Steve remained where he was, shoulders rigid, jaw clenched, fists curling once at his sides. Natasha was back but this wasn’t really her. Not the Natasha he remembered, and he was getting tired of it.