Chapter Text
Not Alone
Natasha's black SUV powered through New York's streets, tires screeching as Natasha pushed the engine to its limits. Neon lights from storefronts and flickering street lamps blurred past the windows, casting streaks of colour against the rain-slicked pavement.
The heavy vehicle barely fit between the tight alleyways and sharp turns Natasha manoeuvred through, but she handled it with expert precision.
In the back seat, Roman's gaze flickered between the side mirrors, their muscles tensed like a coiled spring. Their breathing was slow, measured, but their fingers flexed against their knees, waiting, anticipating. They weren’t just looking for pursuit; they were analysing every shadow, every shift in the headlights behind them.
Beside Natasha, Wanda pressed a hand to the glass, her fingers tingling with red energy. Her brow furrowed, lips parting slightly as an unsettling sensation crawled up her spine. The air had changed. A disturbance, something unnatural, something closing in.
Then, impact.
The world exploded in a violent shockwave as an unseen force slammed into the side of their SUV, metal crumpling with a loud groan. The force sent the vehicle into a deadly spiral, tires screeching as rubber scraped against asphalt. Roman’s body slammed against the door, the impact jarring, but they barely registered the pain. Wanda’s fingers flared with her scarlet energy, just barely slowing her own collision against the dashboard.
Natasha gritted her teeth, hands locked onto the wheel as she fought against the spin, but control had already been ripped from her grasp. The car careened toward the curb, its weight shifting dangerously as it lifted onto two wheels, then crashed down hard, flipping once before slamming into a street barrier. The deafening sound of twisted metal and shattering glass echoed through the city.
For a moment, it was silent.
Smoke curled from the crumpled hood. A flickering streetlamp above them buzzed, casting eerie light over the wreckage. The air was thick with the scent of burning rubber and gasoline.
Then, through the haze, a shadow moved.
A figure emerged from the chaos, their steps slow, deliberate. The streetlights reflected off dark, segmented armour, the skull-like mask concealing any trace of humanity. A shield hung at their side, the worn metal surface catching the glow of the city. Taskmaster.
Roman's eyes locked onto them, heart hammering but not from fear, anticipation. They could feel it, the weight of the assassin’s stare, the quiet calculation behind that unemotional mask. Taskmaster wasn’t just approaching, they were analysing. Studying every twitch of movement, every sign of weakness.
A challenge.
Roman didn’t hesitate. With a sharp inhale, they threw their shoulder into the door, forcing it open so hard it nearly snapped off its hinges. The cool night air hit them like a shock, but they were already moving. Natasha was right behind them, gun in hand, but Roman’s voice cut through the tension, low and commanding.
“Natty... activate Chameleon Mode.”
Natasha hesitated, just for a fraction of a second. Her green eyes met Roman’s, a silent exchange passing between them. She knew what it meant, knew the risk. But there was no other choice.
She gave a single, sharp nod. “648, Chameleon Mode: Engage.”
Something in Roman shifted. Their posture changed, loose but ready, an eerie stillness settling over them. Their breathing slowed, every muscle honing itself into something controlled, something adaptable. Their pupils dilated as they took in Taskmaster’s stance, the way their weight shifted, the way their fingers flexed over their shield.
And then, Taskmaster moved.
A blur of motion, impossibly fast, the shield slicing through the air like a guillotine. But Roman was faster.
They leaned back at the last possible second, the edge of the shield barely missing their throat. Before the assassin could recover, Roman lunged forward, twisting into a low sweep that forced Taskmaster to adjust.
Steel clashed. A brutal exchange of blows, the sound of impact sharp against the night. Roman’s movements were fluid, shifting unpredictably with each strike. Taskmaster adapted, trying to mimic, trying to predict. But Roman wasn’t following a pattern. They were becoming the fight itself.
Natasha barely had time to react. She grabbed Wanda by the wrist, pulling her toward the cover of a nearby wrecked car. “Are you hurt?”
Wanda shook her head, but her eyes were locked on the battle. “What... what did you do to them?”
Natasha didn’t answer immediately. Her grip on Wanda’s arm tightened as she watched Roman move, watched them evolve. “Roman can analyse and replicate their opponent’s fighting style,” she murmured. “Chameleon mode.” Her expression darkened. “First time I've ordered it...”
Out in the street, Roman was relentless. Every time Taskmaster adjusted, Roman was already three steps ahead. The assassin struck high, Roman ducked low. A spinning kick, Roman countered mid-motion, twisting their body in an impossible way to land a strike of their own.
Taskmaster swung their sword. Roman dodged.
A shield strike, Roman caught it midair, twisting on their heel and hurling it back. The metal disc ricocheted off the pavement, forcing Taskmaster to step back.
For the first time, the assassin hesitated.
Roman grinned, sharp and dangerous. “You cannot keep up?”
Taskmaster lunged again, but Roman was done playing. They blocked, twisted their body like liquid shadow, and drove a brutal elbow into Taskmaster’s helmet. The crack of impact echoed through the street. A sharp knee to the ribs followed, forcing the soldier to stagger.
Then... sirens.
Distant, but getting closer. Taskmaster’s visor flicked toward the approaching threat, recalculating. A heartbeat later, they fired a grapple line, launching themselves upward. Within seconds, they vanished into the rooftops, disappearing into the night.
Roman remained where they stood, chest rising and falling with controlled breaths. The beast inside them, the one that adapted, that consumed battles like oxygen, slowly retreated. Their fists uncurled.
Natasha was beside them in seconds, her hand pressing firmly against their back. “You with me?”
Roman exhaled sharply, rolling their shoulders. Their lips twitched, not quite a smile. “Still standing.”
Wanda stared at them, eyes wide. “That was—”
“Necessary.” Roman wiped a smear of blood from their lip, gaze still locked on the spot where Taskmaster had disappeared. “We need to move.”
Natasha nodded. No argument.
Back at the compound...
Natasha was quiet, dangerously so. She sat at her desk, her fingers tracing over the worn leather of a small yellow case. It had arrived days ago, unmarked but unmistakable. She had ignored it's presence until now.
With a gentle breath, Natasha unclasped it.
Inside, rows of vials, neatly placed, the liquid inside shifting under the dim light. And nestled between them, a photograph. Her breath hitched as she picked it up, fingertips ghosting over the image.
Her and Yelena.
A younger version of herself, arms slung around her sister’s shoulders. The moment frozen in time, yet carrying a weight that nearly crushed her chest.
“I need to go to Budapest…” she murmured.
Behind her, Wanda stood at Roman’s side, her hands gripping their arm. Roman’s expression didn’t change, their voice quiet but firm.
“Natty does not go alone. Roman will join her…”
Wanda’s jaw tightened. She hated the idea. But she knew Roman wouldn't change their mind. Her grip on them tightened before she exhaled, voice softer, resigned.
“Nat… take them with you… bring Yelena home. I’ll keep the compound running. Take Roman… find your sister.”
Natasha looked at her, emotions flickering across her face, before finally nodding.
It only took a few hours, she was moving through the room with the kind of precision that came with years of experience. Each step was purposeful, each motion calculated. A duffel bag lay open on the bed, its interior organised with the familiar essentials, tactical suits, weapons, extra ammunition, all packed with military-like efficiency.
Her fingers brushed over the weight of her batons, the smooth metal warm under her touch, before slipping them inside the bag. It was second nature, the routine of gearing up, but this time, her focus was sharper than usual.
She didn’t have to think twice as she reached for the next item. For Roman, she packed with the same level of care.
Their combat boots, a pair of black gloves, and extra knives. She knew Roman’s preferences well, so she tucked a few of their favourite protein bars into the side pocket, along with the gum they always kept on hand.
It was a small thing, packing their needs with meticulous attention, but it was an unspoken act of care, a way of showing her concern without words.
The weight of the yellow case still lingered in her thoughts. The vials. The photo. Yelena.
Budapest. The name tasted bitter, an undercurrent of something she couldn’t shake. She exhaled through her nose, trying to push the thought away as her hand hovered over another weapon. There was too much history tied to that place, too much unfinished business.
But right now, there was no time for it. She forced herself to focus on the task at hand, methodically checking each pocket of their bags.
Across the room, Roman stood in front of Wanda, their hands resting against her waist as if they were trying to memorise the feel of her. The warmth of her body was a comfort, Wanda was always their calm.
Her fingers traced small, soothing circles against their back, her eyes scanning every inch of Roman’s face, as if she could read the thoughts behind their eyes.
“I do not wish for you to go,” Wanda admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, laden with the vulnerability she seldom allowed herself. “But I know you must.” Roman nodded, their hand coming up to gently touch her cheek.
“Natty needs me.”
Wanda swallowed hard, her lips parting as she took a shaky breath, trying to keep her emotions in check. “You keep her safe,” she said, her voice wavering ever so slightly, betraying the fear that clung to her. “And yourself.”
Roman reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind Wanda’s ear, their thumb lingering against her skin, almost as though they were trying to draw comfort from her presence.
“Always,” they murmured, their voice a low promise.
Wanda exhaled sharply, her heart pounding in her chest. She stepped forward, gripping Roman’s jacket, pulling them close. In one fluid motion, she crushed them against her, letting the warmth of their embrace fill the empty space between them. Roman buried their face against her shoulder, inhaling her familiar scent, letting her warmth seep into them, grounding them in the moment.
After a long pause, Roman slowly knelt before her, their hands finding her hips as they looked up, their expression soft and reverent.
Wanda sucked in a breath, her fingers threading through their hair, her thumb gently tracing the curve of their temple.
The touch was tender, intimate, a silent acknowledgment of the love they shared.
Roman leaned forward, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to Wanda’s stomach, just beneath her ribs. It was a silent vow, a promise without words. A promise that they would return, no matter what. Wanda let out a shaky breath, her fingers tightening in Roman’s hair, pulling them closer as her chest tightened with the weight of their parting.
“You better come back,” she whispered, her voice breaking just slightly.
Roman tilted their head up, meeting her gaze. Their eyes were full of determination, a quiet confidence that spoke volumes.
“Roman... will.”
Wanda swallowed, forcing a small, wobbly smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Then go,” she said, her voice thick with emotion, “before I try to make Roman stay.”
Roman stood smoothly, lingering just long enough to press one final kiss to her lips. The kiss was gentle, lingering, filled with unspoken love. Then, they stepped back, their hands still lingering on her shoulders before they turned to leave.
Natasha was at the door, watching with an unreadable expression, one hand gripping the strap of her bag. She didn’t need to say anything, but her eyes, dark and intense, spoke volumes.
“Grab your suit carrier,” Natasha said, her voice softer than usual, the command still clear. “Pack it into the back pocket of your duffel.”
Roman nodded in response, stepping over to grab the sleek, palm-sized container, before slinging their duffel bag over their shoulder with ease. Their gaze flicked back to Wanda one last time, silent, but full of meaning, before they turned toward the door.
Natasha’s eyes softened slightly as she watched Roman’s departure. She turned to Wanda, her mask of control slipping just enough for the emotion to break through.
It was fleeting, but in that moment, Wanda saw it, the weight Natasha carried, the fierce protectiveness she felt for both Roman and herself.
Wanda reached for Natasha, fingers curling around her wrist, pulling her in closer. They held each other tight, no words needed to convey the depth of their bond. It was a quiet conversation, one of understanding, of unspoken promises. Natasha pressed a kiss to Wanda’s hair, inhaling deeply before pulling back just enough to meet her gaze.
“I’ll bring them back,” Natasha promised, her voice steady, firm.
Wanda’s fingers curled into her jacket, her expression soft but laced with worry.
“Bring yourself back, too.”
Natasha gave a small smirk, the flicker of reassurance in her eyes. She pressed a kiss to Wanda’s forehead, lingering for a moment before finally stepping back.
Then, with one last glance, Natasha turned toward Roman, her expression shifting back to business as she said, “Let’s go.”
Without another word, they disappeared into the night, the door closing softly behind them, leaving Wanda standing in the silence of their absence, her heart heavy with both fear and hope.