Closer

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/19932856.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Category: F/M
Fandom: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Marvel
Cinematic Universe
Relationship: Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov, Wanda Maximoff & Natasha
Romanov, Wanda Maximoff/Vision
Character: Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Wanda Maximoff, Sam
Wilson (Marvel), Vision (Marvel)
Additional Tags: Drama, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Unplanned Pregnancy, Hurt
Steve Rogers, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Protective Natasha Romanov,
Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), BAMF Wanda Maximoff
Series: Part 2 of Not Us
Stats: Published: 2019-07-23 Completed: 2019-08-30 Chapters: 3/3 Words:
31971

Closer
by thegraytigress

Summary

They get closer and closer as their days as fugitives go on and on. It's on one of them that
Natasha makes an unbelievable discovery. She's struggling with what it means just as Steve
goes missing on a mission. Getting him home safe is the only thing she can think about
now. When – not if but when – she does that, she'll tell him what she has to tell him.

He's going to be a father.

Notes

This work was created purely for enjoyment. No money was made, and no infringement
was intended. Please don't repost this story to other archives or websites.

RATING: M (for language, violence)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, here is where things get interesting :-) This is the first chapter
of three. As usual, extra special thanks for junker5 for beta-reading and cheer-leading.
Warnings for brief mentions of abortion and the stress of an unplanned pregnancy. Hope
you like where we're going! Got lots more coming, so thanks for reading!
 Chapter 1

Her life has been reduced to three minutes.

Three long, horrible, endless minutes.

Unable to will herself to face her fate, she waits. She waits and paces and glances at her watch
incessantly, walking the small length of the bathroom over and over again. Her shoes softly thud
against white tile like the second hand of her watch marching across the tiny numbers. She can
barely breathe, barely feel, barely think. Barely count the moments as they slowly, painfully slip
away. Her heart’s thundering, her stomach tied in painful knots, her lungs tight and tortured. It’s
taking forever, the seconds slowly summing to minutes, and when the three minutes are finally
over, she hesitates, staring at the ugly green tiles under her feet. She’s terrified of what she will
find if she looks. She can’t look. In fact, she doesn’t need to, because this isn’t possible. It can’t
happen, right? This is absolutely stupid, totally crazy, so there’s no reason to check.

But she looks. She can’t stop herself.

And when she does, she glances at the box in her hand to confirm the meaning of what she sees,
what she’s been denying for the past month. Like there can be any other meaning. She doesn’t
know why she bothered. She’s known the answer long before she finally summoned the courage
to sneak down to a drug store in the middle of nowhere and buy one of these things and hide it for
days and days until they found a safe place to take a breath and a minute. For her to finally find the
privacy and the courage to take the test. Now she stares at the result, stares and tries to think but
her thoughts still won’t come and her chest feels heavy and her heart’s absolutely pounding.
There’s no denying it anymore.

She and Steve are having a baby.

Natasha has no idea how this happened. It shouldn’t have happened. The Red Room sterilized her
when she was a girl, along with every other young female assassin. They considered the mere
possibility of her “activities” on their behalf leading to an unwanted pregnancy to be such an
anathema that they didn’t even permit the opportunity. They chemically scarred her reproductive
organs so badly that successful procreation is impossible, a fact that doctors in SHIELD confirmed
years ago when she was first brought into the organization by Clint. Back then, she didn’t care. It
was simply another fact about her, another scar from her past, only this one meant less. This
wasn’t a life she took or secrets she stole or peace she destroyed on behalf of one handler or
another. This was a life that could never be, so it didn’t matter. She never thought about it. She
hasn’t thought about it ever.

Only now she’s sitting on the closed toilet seat in this tiny bathroom inside their safe house in
Romania, staring at the pregnancy test with its pink plus sign vibrantly, solidly, undeniably
apparent and wondering how this happened.

Of course, the answer to that is pretty damn obvious, if her brain can function enough to reach it.
Steve Rogers – goddamn Captain America with his super soldier serum and his enhanced body and
enhanced mind and obviously enhanced sperm – is a reproductive force much stronger than the
Red Room’s sterilization procedure ever considered encountering. That’s what she assumes, what
had to have happened. She can’t know for sure, and it doesn’t matter how really.

I’m pregnant.
“Shit,” she whispers, staring blankly at that symbol. She brushes her thumb over it like that can
wipe it away. It can’t, of course. The plus sign stays stubbornly in place, firmly declaring its truth
with what feels like the weight of a suddenly even more uncertain world behind it. Natasha feels
like she’s being crushed by it. For a second she considers sneaking out again, finding another store
and buying another test, but what’s the point? She knows it’s true. She’s never had regular cycles
thanks to the damage the Red Room did to her, but it’s been pretty undeniable nonetheless. The
nausea. The exhaustion. The way certain smells that never used to bother her set her stomach
roiling now. Her freaking breasts hurt. Everything is too sensitive, and for someone who’s used to
having her body perfectly under her control, lately it seems said body is staging a coup. Nothing is
right, and she can’t convince herself otherwise. She can feel it inside her, maybe not literally yet,
but that’ll be coming, and she’s not ready, not doing this, and–

How could I let this happen? The answer to that’s more obvious, though probably not any more
meaningful. She and Steve have been having sex like it’s a religion. Every second alone they can
steal they’ve been intimate. There are times it’s the only pleasure to be had, the only sense of
comfort and security. And never once did she mention using protection to him, and he never
asked, and they never did, but they should have, because normally babies get made this way. Of
course they do. She gasps a shocked sob, burying her face into her hands and raking her hands
through her hair. “Shit!”

“Natasha?”

Alarmed and horrified, she hauls in a desperate breath, standing so fast that the pregnancy test
clatters from her lap to the floor. She crouches to scoop it up, struggling to get control of herself.
“I’ll be out in a second!” she calls, jabbing the white and pink stick back in the box. She clambers
to clean up everything else, stuffing the pamphlet that has the instructions in the box as well before
burying the wrapper in the trash. She throws a couple handfuls of toilet paper on top of that, like
that’ll be some kind of cover. It’s not like the plastic wrap is all that obvious anyway, but this is an
old SHIELD safe house. No one has been here in years, so any sign of anything may be
suspicious. This is so stupid!

“Natasha, are you alright?”

She can’t stay in here, so she crushes down the little cardboard box of the pregnancy test and
pushes it into the back pocket of her jeans where her sweater’s hanging down low enough to hide
it. There’s no mirror in this bathroom, so she can’t even check if she looks halfway decent. She
needs to. She’s goddamn Black Widow. She’s been through significantly worse things than this,
turmoil far more painful and situations significantly more hazardous, so why can’t she get her shit
together? “Yeah,” she responds. She smooths her hair, smooths her clothes, wipes at her face, and
takes a deep breath. Compartmentalize. She’s been trained to do that. She can bury anything, push
through anything, hide anything.

Of course, that’s before she had a traveling companion who can read minds or very close to it. The
second she opens the bathroom door, she finds Wanda there looking very concerned. Wanda’s
turned into a close friend during the last few years. She first became an Avenger after the Ultron
debacle, driven by a need (not unlike the one still influencing Natasha herself) to amend for past
mistakes. Though she was coerced by Baron von Strucker to engage in his dangerous and illegal
experiments (totally unaware the bastard was HYDRA), she did so much damage at his bidding.
Swayed by the pain of her childhood and a need for revenge, she was used by HYDRA and then
used by Ultron in his maniacal quest for the extinction of mankind. She killed people, innocents,
and hurt each member of the team deeply. She was extremely powerful thanks to Strucker infusing
her with energy from Loki’s scepter, and that once made her a dangerous enemy.
Now she’s an ally. Ever since she and her twin brother switched sides during the Battle of
Sokovia, ever since the home she tried so desperately to protect was destroyed and her beloved
twin was slain, she’s worked hard to find absolution. Steve let her join the team instantly, and
before everything went to hell with Stark and Ross, he was mentoring her. They all were and still
are. Wanda is a good five years Natasha’s junior, a young adult just coming into her own, and
she’s blessed and cursed with unimaginable power. She can manipulate thoughts, change
emotions, interface with others in ways they can’t begin to understand. It’s telepathy and
telekinesis fay beyond anything Natasha ever thought possible. Wanda wanted the guidance,
looked to Steve for so much of it, for a way to use her powers to do right and good instead of evil.
For ways to overcome the pain and trauma of her youth and do the best she can to protect people.
She was on her way to becoming one of the strongest Avengers.

But then the Accords happened. The disaster in Lagos still troubles her; she blames herself for
something beyond her control, for terrible circumstances from which there was no good
resolution. And then public sentiment turned away from her sharply, filled with fear and hate.
And then she was locked away (by Stark) only to escape and join Steve’s cause. That led to her
capture, and she ended up in the Raft prison with Clint, Sam, and Scott Lang, being dehumanized
and degraded. Then Steve rescued her, and since then, she’s been in and out of their lives. To be
fair, she’s with them more often than not, but the times she disappears to be with Vision and find
her own path seem striking. They all understand it. She and Vision really seem to be in love, and
Natasha’s glad for that, but she worries about Wanda when she’s gone.

Wanda’s right here now, staring at her with those perceptive eyes of hers. “What’s wrong?”

Natasha just stares back. She doesn’t know what she was thinking (she hasn’t known that since she
started to suspect). There’s no way she can hide this from Wanda. Wanda met up with them just
that morning, so the last few weeks as Natasha has realized more and more that something’s off
she’s been able to keep it secret. With her here now? Natasha’s never sure if Wanda can actually
read her mind or just sense her emotions, but either way… There’s probably no hiding the truth,
no matter the calm visage she hopes she’s donned.

But she tries anyway, because she’s still reeling, and she can’t admit the truth. “Rogers and Wilson
back yet?”

Wanda frowns, since that’s probably not what she expected Natasha to say. Natasha pushes by her,
heading down the narrow hallway of the safe house. She does so with what she thinks is decent
aplomb and nonchalance, like this is any other day on the run, any other mission Sam and Steve
are conducting, and any other evening spent waiting for their safe return. This time they’re
infiltrating an office building that’s a bogus front for a bioweapons dealer, trying to get intel on
where a sale is going to go down in Serbia. The mission’s an easy one, just a two man job, and
though this kind of espionage is typically Natasha’s territory, she opted to stay behind. Steve
looked at her strangely when she said that yesterday evening, but she quickly covered up the truth
with an excuse, that someone should be at the safe house should Wanda arrive early and to take
inventory of their supplies. Steve seemed to buy that, and off he went with Sam.

Of course the truth is burning a hole through her back jeans pocket, and her lower belly suddenly
feels tingly and tight even though the baby – God, there’s a baby – must be tiny. “They’re
supposed to be,” she reminds the other girl as she walks down the hall. She doesn’t even look over
her shoulder. She’s never felt so uncertain of her acting skills.

Wanda trails. She’s dressed in leggings and a baggy sweater, her hair done up in a messy bun.
Despite all the changes in her life, she’s still wearing tons of somewhat cheap jewelry, a couple of
necklaces that combine to be gaudy and silver rings on every finger. One of them doesn’t look so
cheap actually, and Natasha is pretty sure she didn’t have it when their team last saw her. “Not
yet. Are you–”

“I’m fine,” Natasha replies, more curtly than she means to. They reach the safe house’s “command
center”, which is a misnomer if there’s ever been one. Some of the SHIELD houses have them –
or had them when they were operational – big spaces with computers and satellite connections and
communications equipment. The sort of stuff needed to conduct a fairly large scale op in secrecy
and without much backup. This place hardly has anything, a couple laptops that she managed to
jury-rig with her phone to get them onto the internet (hopefully she’s still outwitting Stark, but she
doubts it after all these months). She hacked into the Romanian police force and Interpol, and
she’s been keeping an eye on their feeds, looking for any sign of law enforcement movement
toward the part of Bucharest where Sam and Steve should be. She’s also monitoring for suspicious
activity around the city, but she can’t see everything well or with the resolution she prefers. It’s
just a precaution, anyway. They already ran through this op, checking for the usual dangers and
pitfalls and problems, and everything came up clean.

Which is why she thought taking this damn test would be okay now. She didn’t consider the how
she would feel when the thing came back positive. She didn’t consider that it could come back
positive, even though she knew it was true and knows it now more than ever. Actually having this
happen though seemed impossible at the time, so there was really no reason to think beyond it to
anticipate just how much she’d be reeling, how much she is reeling, how she can’t focus, can’t
think, can’t make any sense of what she’s seeing on the laptop or what she’s trying to type or the
fact that she’s freaking revealing everything but just how damn shaky she is…

“Something’s bothering you,” Wanda declares from behind her, and Natasha softly sucks in a
breath, furious with herself. She sits in the rolling chair and pulls herself closer to the laptops, fully
intending to log in and run intel checks on the mission. Sam and Steve really are running late.
Focus. “Is their mission–”

There’s a soft clunk. Natasha’s so scattered and distracted that she doesn’t realize what it is at
first, so she doesn’t turn right away. Then her blood turns to ice, and she feels herself go pale and
her eyes widen in horror. She twists in the rolling chair, but it’s too late.

Wanda is already crouching to pick up the fallen pregnancy test. The stick didn’t fall out, but it
didn’t need to. The mere possession of the test itself is pretty incriminating. In the endless, endless
silence that follows, Natasha can hardly breathe, watching in utter mortification as the younger girl
slowly lifts the long box and stares at it. And here she was so worried about Wanda looking into
her thoughts or sensing something off or her own damn behavior betraying her.

Nope. The box is all the evidence necessary.

“Nat,” Wanda says finally. She doesn’t pull anything out, sweeping a thumb over the logo and the
text on the box written in Romanian. Another interminable stretch of vacuous quiet follows, and
Wanda could say or ask anything. The simple questions. Confirmation of what seems obvious.
When this happened. How this happened. Who the father is (although there’s no way that’s not
obvious, either. She and Steve haven’t been overly outward about their relationship, but both Sam
and Wanda know). Or Wanda could offer something innocuous or humorous to cut through the
tension. She can even ignore the whole thing and move on or react like this isn’t happening at all.
She doesn’t do any of those things, though. She sets the box carefully to the table where the
laptops are, right between them where Natasha’s sitting, and takes a deep breath.

Then she simply cuts right to the chase, right to the only thing that really matters. “What are you
going to do?”
That’s the question Natasha hasn’t let herself think, not once throughout this entire ordeal. She
figured before, as the days turned to weeks, that she’ll deal with it when she knew for sure. That’s
just a way of putting it all off; she sees that now. And now she knows for sure and that means it’s
time. She’s not the type who’s ever been prone to indecisiveness. When she was an assassin for
the Red Room, there was no need to think, no need to choose. Her life was not her own. When she
was an agent of SHIELD, learning to do right under Clint’s wing, there was still little need to
consider her choices; she followed Clint, and she followed orders, no matter what they were. But
when she became an Avenger, that all changed. For the first time in her life, she was her own
person, with her own mind and heart and soul. She had choices then, and she has choices now.

And this is perhaps the biggest she has ever had to make. Leaving the Avengers, the country, and
going on the run… That was – is – monumental, but it’s not so different from a life she’s known
before. This? “This wasn’t supposed to happen.” She hears herself say that. Her fingers are
shaking as she takes the box and pulls out the test again. There’s still that plus sign in the
window. But, again, it’s not like it can go away or change or somehow disappear. It’s there for
good, because this is real, and it’s happening. “I don’t know what to do.”

Wanda takes a step closer in quiet that follows. She’s hesitating. They have gotten closer, sure,
and become friends, but there are things they don’t talk about, their respective pasts included. The
scars their childhoods left on them. And they don’t do “girl talk”, whether it be silly and inane or
more serious. Natasha has never done that unless the mission or situation required it. She doesn’t
know how to confide in people. She has in the past with Clint, but even with Steve… It’s hard to
be open about herself, to be that trusting, especially now when she feels this vulnerable.

Still, the cat’s out of the bag, so to speak. A touch to her shoulder has her jerking in surprise. She
got lost so quickly that Wanda’s gentle hand came so unexpectedly. She can’t remember the last
time someone startled her. “Sorry,” she gasps.

Wanda’s eyes are filled with nothing but concern and understanding. “I assume Steve doesn’t
know.”

Natasha glowers, blankly staring at the laptop with its login screen plastered over the SHIELD
logo. “He doesn’t even know it’s possible.” Bitterness tightens her throat. “How can he? I didn’t
know.”

Despite the lightness of that simple touch, the weight of Wanda’s gaze feels astronomical. She
pulls over another rolling chair and sits to the side of Natasha. “Are you worried he’ll be upset?”
she asks. “Unhappy?”

Natasha’s tempted to answer right away that Steve wouldn’t be, but then she stops. Does she really
know that? In another place, another time… They’ve grown so much closer, far more so than she
could have imagined when she first met a very flustered and displaced young Captain America five
years ago. She knows Steve loves her. He’s never said it. Neither of them has to each other, but
it’s steadfast even if it’s silent and unspoken. She knows she loves him. She knows it deep inside,
in the quiet places of her heart where she’s been healed and made whole again. She’s always had
affection for him, but it’s grown so much and become far more than it was. It’s this quiet, calm,
beautiful thing that nourishes her, strengthens her, absolves her and encourages her. So if they
weren’t here like this, if they were away from this difficult life as fugitives and safe and peaceful
and at home…

Having a family with him is a dream she’s never allowed herself to have.

And she thinks, given the chance to escape all this and have a perfect life somewhere… He’d take
it. She thinks. Again, it’s not something they’ve ever talked about. This thing that’s between
them… It’s not like that. It’s not about talk. There’s lust, yes, but that’s too simple and too
demeaning. She knows there’s deep love between them, but she’s not really sure… Well, when
the doubts come screaming into her head, she has a hard time ignoring them. Is it just love born
from their situation? Does Steve love her just because they’re together in this and he feels
responsible for that? Ever since the first time they had sex, where she grounded him after that
close call with Ross’ men, it’s become a release for both of them, an affirmation, a promise that
they’ll both keep going even as their world gets harder and darker. In that different time and place,
would they have fallen for each other? They don’t have much in common. They are very different
people with very different pasts. Strip away the danger and trauma and their existences as soldiers
and spies and the constant, crushing weight of the world… Without that, would they love one
another? Are they meant to be together?

Does it matter?

She’s been thinking about this a lot, driving herself crazy with it as it’s gotten more and more
entangled and directly related to her fears about being pregnant. She can never reach any
conclusions. In the last few years as she’s become more driven to be a hero and her own person
rather than an instrument wielded by others, she’s quite often based her perspectives on Steve’s.
The situation with the Accords was the first time they really disagreed, and during the disaster that
followed she realized she couldn’t abide by the evil the Accords are trying to sell as oversight.
Since then, she’s doubled down on following Steve’s lead, his example, which isn’t to say she’s
some sort of mindless automaton or that she doesn’t think things through. She comes to her own
opinions. She questions. That’s one of the things Steve’s taught her to do, to make sure her actions
and the actions of those she’s supporting align with what she knows is moral. Steve’s actions and
opinions always do, because Steve is so inherently good, even this far away from who he was as
Captain America. Even branded a war criminal with half the world still hunting him or deriding
him, he always does what’s right.

So what’s right here? Is having a baby in this hell the right thing to do? She never fathomed even
asking that question. Would he think so? She knows he feels lost, anchorless, that he’s not sure of
who he is anymore even if he does know what’s best and what they should do. Whatever dreams
he may have once had about a different life, a home with family and stability, he thinks are long
lost, just like he was when he was frozen for seventy years. Nothing is simple now. Nothing is
safe. For God’s sake, he’s been living his life in a constant state of terror that Sam or Natasha
herself will be hurt or captured or killed on his account. Would he want this?

She has no idea. She can't even get her head above the churning sea of her thoughts. It’s black and
depthless and she feels like she’s drowning all the sudden. It’s a terrible sensation, one she hasn’t
experienced too often in the past. When she came to SHIELD. When Fury was shot. When she
stood at odds with the only family she’s ever had at that airport in Germany.

When Steve thought the only way out of this nightmare was to sacrifice himself a few months
back. A lot has changed since then, and Steve hasn’t mentioned those dark, desperate hours since,
but it scared her to her core. It still does, that a situation may arise in which he feels there’s no
choice, in which there is no choice. And this? A baby? Steve will burn the world down to protect
that, to protect her and the life inside her. He’ll give himself up to Ross in a heartbeat.

She can’t imagine that. “I don’t know how he’ll feel.” That’s bullshit, and as she thinks about it
more, she comes to a harsh conclusion. “I’m not sure I can tell him. I’m not sure.” She looks back
to the pregnancy test. “How can I put this on him?”

Wanda frowns sadly. “It’s not a this,” she reminds, “and this situation is not your fault.”
Natasha balks a bit. “It doesn’t matter how it happened or whose fault it is. It’s a problem.”

“Nat…”

“It’s a problem,” she says again, trying to sound forceful and certain about it. It tastes awful to say
it, and something pangs inside her, something that wasn’t there before. “My problem.”

Wanda’s already pale face seems whiter. She looks worried, and that only makes Natasha feel
worse. “You can’t think about it this way. It’s not a problem.”

Natasha shakes her head sternly. “Yes, it is.” Anger comes, anger and fear, and before she thinks
twice about it, she’s standing and walking away and dumping the test into a trash can beside the
shadowy shelves in the back of the room. Like throwing it out can make it go away any more than
hiding the positive result. It can’t.

It does seem rather symbolic, though. Wanda seems to pick up on that. “You can’t be saying…”
She trails off. Honestly, Natasha doesn’t know what she’s saying. That she’ll leave, run off and
have this child alone? Or… Throw it away. It’d be simple. Easy. Being pregnant is not
something she even thought about until a few days ago. How can she have any attachment at all to
something so small and insignificant inside of her? It’s small and insignificant. A problem. An
inconvenience. That emboldens her, and she lets herself truly contemplate it, about actually ending
it. Surely she can find someone here to do it. She snuck off for a couple hours to buy the test. She
can do the same to fix this. She can take care of it, and Steve never has to know. She won’t have
to burden him with her mistake. It can be over like it never happened, and now she’s aware of the
danger to their relationship, so she can find a way to protect against it. Like addressing
complications that have arisen in a mission, she can compensate, compartmentalize, and carry on.

No. She feels sick just thinking about it like that. No, no, no. The Black Widow of five years ago
wouldn’t have hesitated, but here and now?

This is Steve’s baby.

She drops her hand to her lower stomach, so flat and it doesn’t feel any different to her but it’s still
tingling and twinging because there’s a life inside her now. Something she and Steve created,
unwittingly and unintentionally but created all the same. Here and now, she knows she can’t
terminate this pregnancy, not by sneaking and skulking off by herself. She can’t do that to Steve.
And even if Steve knows about it and is okay with her doing that… She’s not sure she can.

And he’ll never be okay with that.

So where does that leave her? “I can’t,” she finally whispers. She closes her eyes and leans into
the shelves, wanting to sink into the shadows. I can’t end it. I can’t do that to him. But I can’t tell
him, either. How can I? I can’t.

I can’t do this.

There’s a gentle hand to her shoulder again. This time it’s even more startling, which it shouldn’t
be. She thinks she’s long overcome that harsh reaction to an unexpected touch, when everyone
around her treated her with malice or cruelty. She supposes she’s made herself so rattled that old
instincts are even harder to ignore.

As she stands there, Wanda seems to sense that. She’s slow but not uncertain or daunted as she
pulls Natasha closer, and Natasha simply goes. She’s never hugged Wanda before, never really
hugged or been hugged by anyone other than Clint and Steve. This doesn’t come easily to her, but
there’s just no choice. She wraps her arms around the other woman and sinks into the comfort.
“I’m scared,” she finally admits. She feels so stupid feeling that way and even more pathetic
admitting it. This isn’t her. She doesn’t get frightened, doesn’t falter, doesn’t let it affect her.
Doesn’t screw up like this. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I know,” Wanda replies, rubbing her back. Surely she does, even without the confession.

“This can’t happen.” Natasha takes a deep breath, biting the inside of her cheek hard enough to
hurt. “I can’t let it happen. There’s just no place in this for a… for…” She can’t even say it.

Wanda can, though. “A baby.”

Hearing that makes it real all over again. A baby. Steve’s baby. Not for the first time in her life,
she wishes she were someone else. An average, every day, normal woman, who doesn’t live and
fight and kill like she does, who has the freedom to be overjoyed at the prospect of being pregnant.
Who can be excited about it, who can have the wonderful memory of telling the father, who can
rush to the store to buy clothes and blankets and whatever else babies need, who can share in the
joy with her friends and count down the days until her due date and have sonograms and baby
showers and... That’s not me. She’s a master assassin, an ex-Avenger, a fugitive, and this won’t
work. “There’s no place. Not now. Not out here. This life… Maybe if we were back at the
complex…” Maybe. Even then… A baby, born to two people who regularly put their lives at
risk. Who have a list of enemies a mile long. That makes the ill feeling churning in her gut worse.
She swears in Russian, pulling away from Wanda. “And if Ross finds out–”

“Don’t think about that,” Wanda says firmly. “He won’t.”

“If I keep it and I do this… I don’t even see how. I don’t see how there can be a baby! Not like
this!”

Wanda nods. “I know. It’s–”

“Not possible,” Natasha finishes, sniffling and going back to the laptop. “It’s just not. We’re
secret Avengers.” That’s what they had taken to calling their little group. One of the papers in
Europe is tracking them, and after they thwarted a bombing in Antwerp, the journalist branded
them with that stupid term, and the name stuck. As dumb as it is, it brings something official to
their lives spent running under the radar and avoiding the governments seeking to imprison them
while trying to fight crime and save lives. It’s something permanent and established in an existence
where the sand keeps shifting under their feet and the only constant is the lack of constancy.

The sand is shifting now like never before. She sighs, sitting and starting to type again. She
doesn’t even know what she’s typing. “We’re Avengers.”

“Yeah, we are,” Wanda softly agrees.

“We – we shut down terrorists and stops arms dealers and go after the bad guys! We’re not
mothers and fathers!”

Wanda’s quiet a moment. “We’re people, though.” Natasha sighs. Her fingers are trembling too
much to even get her goddamn username and password into the laptop, so she curls them into
frustrated fists. She can hear Wanda step closer. “And this happens to people all the time.”

“Not us,” Natasha whispers. “Not me.”

“Nat, I don’t think you can just… will this to change. And I don’t necessarily think you should or
that you need to.”
“I have to.”

“Nat–”

“I can’t do this!” she shouts, like making the words louder will make them mean more this time.
“Don’t you see? I just can’t. I can’t!”

The silence that follows seems damning. Natasha makes the mistake of looking at Wanda. She
expected disgust or condemnation at her stupid outburst, but there’s still just worry in her
perceptive brown eyes. That makes the shame worse, and she just wants to throw up. She’s not
sure how much of that is the persistent nausea that’s been bugging her for days or horror. God. Or
how much of it is all this fear and anxiety that she’s been ignoring, that’s been building beneath the
surface. These things she subconsciously promised herself not to think about. All of it, putting this
on Steve and the danger of being on the run and the threat of having a baby at all let alone having
a baby here, with no allies and no medical care and no help.

At the heart of it all, though... “This isn’t who I am.”

Those soft words feel monumental, grave. The core of the issue. Her doubts and insecurities.
What everything boils down to. She’s not a mother. The mere presence of this life inside her, that
stupid test and everything it implies… It doesn’t make her a mother. It’s not just their lives that
aren’t conducive to this. It’s her, the very fundamentals of her, what she was made to be, that’s
completely unsuitable. The Red Room poisoned her body, stained her hands with blood, darkened
her soul forever. No matter how many missions she ran as a SHIELD operative or an Avenger,
that’s never going to go away. The red in her ledger is always going to be there. She’s not good.
Not pure. Unworthy. Not right. This is Steve’s baby, Captain America’s baby, and it’s inside her.

That just can’t happen.

She’s going in circles, getting nowhere, treading water in that vast, black, empty sea of her thoughts
with no sign of land. Drowning more and more. Frustration has her battling a sob – I am not going
to cry! – and she turns away in her chair.

Even if Wanda can’t or won’t read her mind, it’s obvious what’s happening, and she lays her hand
on Natasha’s arm again. “You can be anything you want to be,” she says after a moment. “You
were the one who taught me that.”

Natasha gasps, and that little stupid sob breaks free. She turns her eyes to the ceiling to compose
herself, shaking her head. She can hardly make herself breathe. “That’s… That’s different.”

“Is it?” Natasha wants to argue, but the words won’t come, because she’s not sure. Wanda sighs.
“I can’t imagine what this is like, but I really don’t think you should worry so much. Not about
that and not now. Maybe not ever.”

“You don’t–”

“Yes, it is dangerous, Nat. And you are who you are, which is a far better person than you ever
give yourself credit for. You have so much confidence, so much strength, and I can’t stand to see
you like this.” Natasha looks down, even more ashamed. It’s quiet for just a moment as Wanda
takes another long, slow breath. “Things happen for a reason. I firmly believe that. Things
happen because they’re meant to.”

To that, Natasha shakes her head. Her voice is soft and tremulous as she turns to Wanda. “I don’t
know if I can have faith in something like that.” It’s never been much consolation in the past. In
this life, in her life… It’s too hard to have hope.

Wanda’s not put off. “Our lives… You’re absolutely right. Now more than ever they’re dark and
difficult. That means every moment of happiness and freedom we have is a gift. That’s what Viz
tells me every time I start to lose my faith. Every time I have to say goodbye to him, and he goes
back to Stark and I have to come back here because there’s a horrible law and world of
misunderstanding and fear all around us. Every time it hurts, Nat.” It’s very clear that it does and
how much. It’s fresh for Wanda now, because her eyes get a little wet, and her words shake a
little. To be honest, Natasha can’t imagine living like that. She misses Clint like crazy, misses
Laura and the kids. She misses Rhodey and even Tony, despite the hard feelings over the Accords
and Barnes and everything else. But she has Sam and Wanda herself. She has Steve. And she
doesn’t have to leave them, over and over again, sustain herself off of a brief moment together…

Wanda smiles sadly. “But Viz always says that we must love what little we do have. Cherish it,
because it is a gift, and something so beautiful is not always meant to last. The wonderful things
we share… Every moment we have with the people we love. We don’t need to question why
they’ve come to us or what it means or if we’re good enough for them. We just need to have
them.”

We have what we have when we have it. Natasha swallows down the rock in her throat and turns
back to the computer, still sitting uselessly on its login screen. That idea is struggling to take hold
in her. She’s thought it many times before, placated herself with it, but inexplicably it has more
meaning now. Don’t question so much. Don’t doubt. Live, because life changes too fast and
without remorse.

“And if you ask me,” Wanda continues, rubbing her arm gently, “a baby? Even here and even like
this with all the trouble we’re in?” Her smile grows warmer and wider. “That’s the greatest gift of
them all.”

Those words are so gentle, kind, and unassuming. And Wanda’s smile is so genuine, so
affectionate. Natasha’s never had another woman smile at her like that, like a sister offering the
sort of comfort only another woman – a sister – can. It’s really nice, more than she ever imagined
it could be. Wanda tips her head a little, and her grin gets stronger. “Plus, if anyone can do this,
have a baby and raise a child in a life like ours… It’s you and it’s Steve.”

Natasha gasps a wet chuckle, smiling herself. She wipes at her eyes. It’s probably stupid and
premature to be at all consoled. A few nice words don’t make the problems any less serious. Still,
she feels calmer. The knot inside loosens, and she can breathe again. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah.”

“So when he gets back, tell him.” Natasha can’t stop another wince, but Wanda is emphatic. “Tell
him. I can’t imagine he won’t be thrilled. He will be. He loves you, and he’ll be with you, and
everything else you can take as it comes together.”

Tell him. It’s really the only choice. Natasha knew it before, and she knows it now, and it’s… It’s
fine. It’s right. She can do that. She has to. Start there. She takes a deep breath, a cleansing one,
and pats Wanda’s hand where it’s on her arm. Wanda takes her fingers firmly and squeezes,
offering another encouraging nod. Feeling stronger, Natasha stands and goes to where she threw
the pregnancy test into the trash can. It’s there at the bottom, obvious despite the shadows pushing
it down, and she crouches to pull it out. She stares at it a moment more, the bent box with the
simple instructions on the front, and lets herself feel that tingling flutter low in her belly. The baby.

Maybe… Maybe this can be okay.

But then there’s a scuffle behind them. Natasha barely gets the test behind her, yanking a gun from
the holster under her sweater and whirling. She quickly falls into that place inside where there’s no
fear, nothing but the cold, singular purpose of survival, and aims at the intruder.

It’s not an intruder. “Sam!” she gasps in surprise, fumbling to get her weapon down and away
from him.

Sam’s there. In her emotional upheaval, she let down her guard and stopped monitoring the safe
house. He must have just limped in. He looks like he’s been through hell, bruised and covered in
dust and sweat. Blood’s marring the side of his head, and he has the beginnings of a black eye.
He’s not standing straight, barely standing at all, arm around his belly and a wince tight on his
face. One step closer nearly has him crumpling.

“Sam!” Wanda cries, and she’s out of her chair to catch him as he goes down. “Sam, are you
alright?”

“’m fine!” Sam says breathlessly. It’s clearly a lie. His eyes close and he collapses into Wanda.
Natasha leaps forward to help her bear Sam’s weight, and together they get him to one of the
rolling chairs in front of the desk. Sam slumps there the second he’s seated, sagging and shivering.

Natasha crouches beside him, holding him up. “What happened?” Sam grimaces more, his eyes
clouded with pain. He can’t seem to catch his breath to talk, though he’s trying. Natasha cups his
face to ground him. “Easy! Easy, Sam.” Sam groans. “Wanda, there’s a first aid kit right in the
closet there! And get water!” Wanda nods and rushes off to retrieve the supplies. Natasha shakes
her head worriedly, trying to steady Sam more, staring into his dazed eyes. “What happened?”

“Ambushed,” Sam finally grits out. “He – he was there. Waiting. Trap. It was a – a goddamn
trap!”

Natasha feels the blood drain from her face all over again. Suddenly she can’t breathe anew. “No,
no, no. That’s not possible! We ran the intel on this, and it was good!”

Sam shakes his head. “Nat–”

“I ran it myself!” She turns to the computers, but Sam immediately folds down, and she curses
herself and rips back around to him to catch him. His side feels wet, and she pulls away her hand to
find it red and sticky with blood. “Wanda!”

Wanda sprints back with the kit. She sets that to the table and immediately flips the lid of the
metal case open, quickly rummaging for bandages. She hands a couple sterile pads to Natasha,
which Natasha tears open and immediately presses to Sam’s side. The wound looks like a bullet
graze. He’s got another on his thigh, she sees now, a dark splotch of blood on his jeans. Shit. She
presses harder to stop the bleeding. “Wanda–”

“It was Ross,” Sam groans. He shakes his head, and his expression is locked in horror and pain.
“Ross was fucking – fucking right there!”

Oh, God. “Wanda!” Natasha yells again, and Wanda comes right over to take her place, holding
Sam up and pressing the bandage over the injury. Natasha fumbles at the laptop, and now her
bloody fingers fly over the keys, getting her username and password in. Immediately all the
surveillance information comes up and she frantically glances through it, looking, hunting,
searching, going back to the time before the mission, the time when she was freaking out in the
bathroom over taking the fucking pregnancy test instead of monitoring the situation–

There. It’s a text report from Interpol sent to all its area offices that US special ops had clearance to
move into the city. The Romanian police assisted, guided them right to… No. “Oh, God,” she
whimpers, tears flooding her eyes. She shakes her head. While she was off doing what she did,
goddamn distracted… No, no, no. “No!”

“Nat!” Wanda says, horrified herself. “What is it?”

Sam spits a curse that’s mangled and twisted up with a sob, squirming. “We ran! Tried to get out.
But–”

“Steve!” Natasha turns back, practically panicked. She tries to stay calm, tries to breathe again,
tries to think. “Where’s Steve?” Sam doesn’t answer, shaking his head, and the horror on his face
tells the story. Natasha can’t bear to read it. She grasps his cheeks again, probably harder than she
should. “Sam, where is he?”

Sam’s mouth falls limply open. His lips shift for a moment wordlessly before he finally speaks.
“He held them off so I could – so I–”

“Is he alright? Did he get away?” Sam shakes his head, but it’s obvious right away that’s not a
negative response to her question. It’s out of fear, because he doesn’t know. Natasha can’t make
herself accept that. “Does Ross have him?” she whispers, voice tremoring. “Does he?”

Sam’s eyes fill with agony. “I don’t know. I don’t know!”

Everything goes still. Eerily quiet. Natasha can’t do anything but stare at Sam’s terrified face, and
Sam stares back, unmoving and unblinking. Then he slumps with a moan, and she slowly stands
straight. She’s not thinking, not feeling, just moving, rushing to the back room where she knows
there’s a stash of guns and ammunition. She’s grabbing an extra holster that she puts around her
shoulders and another for her thigh. She doesn’t give a damn if they’re visible. She’s just quick
and methodical as she loads them with handguns and extra magazines of bullets. Then she’s
grabbing her coat where she left it earlier by the laptops. “Nat,” Wanda gasps, still holding the
bandage to Sam’s side, holding their friend upright as he trembles. “What’re you–”

“I’m going to find him,” she explains sternly, tucking everything under her jacket. “Right now.”

Wanda rises, eyes wide. “No, you can’t–”

“If Steve’s out there – if he’s not here, he needs help.”

The other woman steps around Sam’s chair. Sam grabs the edge of the desk, barely keeping the
sodden bandage to his side. Wanda grasps him to steady him again, but her attention is squarely on
Natasha. “Or he’s running. Or hiding, waiting for a chance to get back here or contact us and
maybe we should wait–”

“Or he’s hurt,” Natasha argues. “Or Ross has him already. We can’t wait! If he needs us–”

“You don’t know that he does!”

Natasha narrows her eyes. “I can’t trust that he doesn’t!”

Her shout echoes in the beat of tense silence that follows. Rattled and afraid, Wanda stares at her.
It takes her only a moment or two to regain herself though. That’s something else she’s learned
from Natasha and from Steve himself. So is the ability to trust and follow orders, so Natasha feels
fairly resolved as she turns to leave. Then Wanda calls after her. She looks terribly uncertain,
doing something only because she knows it needs to be. “If you’re going, I’m coming with you.”
Natasha pivots and shakes her head. “No, no. You need to stay with Sam.”

“I need to help you,” Wanda insists. “You can’t do this alone.”

Panic and fear and all the upset from the monumental discovery just moments ago overwhelms
Natasha. “Yes, I can, and I will, and you need to stay–”

“No,” Sam groans. He grimaces, leaning forward and reaching a bloody hand across the desk.
Natasha’s eyes widen, and horror works over her all over again, as he sees Steve’s friend –
probably his best friend – take hold of the pregnancy test she apparently left there in her frenzy to
deal with Sam’s injuries. Sam’s eyes are as huge as saucers as he slowly shifts in the chair to look
at Natasha. For a moment she expects him to tell her to stay, that she shouldn’t do this at all. She
shouldn’t. She’s pregnant. It’s Steve’s baby, and Steve’s in danger from the bastard who wants
the serum, and she shouldn’t.

But he doesn’t say that. “She needs to go with you,” he softly declares. Natasha opens her mouth
to object, but Sam vehemently shakes his head. “No. I’ll be fine. I can take care of myself. She
needs to go with you.” His deep brown eyes meet Natasha’s, and there’s so much there – terror and
pain and shock and guilt – that it feels like this tidal wave, rushing against Natasha. Pushing her
out the door. Driving her to fix this. “And you need to bring him back.”

That’s a plea more than anything, and to it Natasha nods. Wanda comes to her side. Worry is
bright in her eyes, worry for Sam and for Steve and for the danger they’re all in, but most of all
worry for the baby. For this new life, this new part of their dark, dangerous world that’s small and
tentative and so fragile. Natasha doesn’t let herself feel any of that, though. She sprints down the
narrow hallways of the safe house, racing to the exit with Wanda right behind her. She can’t let
herself worry. She can’t think about it. She’s not going to think about anything.

Not until she knows Steve’s safe. Not until he’s back with her, back in her arms, closer than ever
before and listening to what she’s going to tell him.
 Chapter 2

I have to find him.

That’s all Natasha can think as she and Wanda rush through the busy streets of Bucharest. This
area of the city is crowded. It’s a warm summer afternoon, and everywhere there are vendors and
musicians and people having a good time. It’s some sort of street festival, a loud, sprawling
distraction and the very reason they picked today to do this mission that has gone so horribly
wrong. This was supposed to be cover.

Now it’s an impediment more than anything else. Natasha wants to scream in frustration as she
weaves her way through the crowds. She can barely bring herself to breathe she’s so tense.
Everywhere she looks she thinks she sees Steve, and she’s looking everywhere. From face to face,
building to building, street to street. She can picture him perfectly. The dark blue jeans and his
black jacket and blue Henley he was wearing when he left. The little comforting smile he gave
her. It’s just her mind playing tricks on her because there’s no sign of him. The shape of his face.
The strength of his profile. His dirty blond hair that’s gotten long in the last few months. His
beard. The lines of his shoulders, his arms, his back and his legs. The sense of him. She’d know
it anywhere.

She doesn’t see it now. She doesn’t see him. And she knows better than to be panicked about
that. As a SHIELD agent and a spy for the Red Room before that, she’s done this more times than
she can remember. Scan a crowd for a target. Pick through a sea of people for her mark. Search
and hunt for the one person in a thousand she needs to find. It takes patience, the cold composure
that comes with strict focus on her mission objectives, perseverance and focus. Sometimes it can
take time, too.

She doesn’t have time.

“Shit,” she whispers as they reach a wider section of the street. The buildings are clustered tightly
together, and there are so many people. There are tents set up, carts loaded with food, and a
ramshackle stage was erected to the left. A band is atop of it, belting out a Romanian rock ballad,
and the crowd is really into it. The noise is near deafening. Natasha can hardly think it’s so loud.
The sheer mass of people (there must be hundreds crammed into this one spot) is incredibly dense
and the buildings are so closely packed that she actually feels claustrophobic, and that makes this
uproar inside her so much worse, and she thinks she’s falling apart.

No. Focus, goddamn it. Focus!

Steve needs her. She knows it. So she stands there just outside the crowd, scanning face after face
frantically, and seconds slip away. Nothing. He’s not here. Her voice is a weak whisper. “Shit.”

Behind her and to her left, Wanda shakes her head. She’s terrified, gazing at the festival crowd. “I
can’t… We can’t look through this many people.”

She’s right. There’s no way for that to happen, and Natasha knows it. Wishful thinking isn’t an
actual plan. She doesn’t have a plan. What she’s doing is pure desperation and nothing more.
“We have to get to where they were,” she says after a moment. She turns, looking around again,
and feels the gaze of someone on her. It’s just an older woman in the crowd, and she’s watching
them both, obviously noticing that they don’t belong. The lady seems like a local, not a spy or one
of Ross’ people or something worse. Still, Natasha clamps down on this emotional bullshit. She’s
better than this, an Avenger and a master spy, so she can handle a simple locate and extract op.
That’s what this is: locate and extract. Who she’s locating and extracting doesn’t matter.

And the fact that she’s pregnant? That this baby who’s barely anything may have already lost its
father? Or that she could be endangering herself and this child? She cannot think about that right
now. “We need to get across,” she murmurs, stepping into the throng.

Wanda follows. They’re forced so close together by the density of the crowd that her voice is right
at Natasha’s ear. “Is that wise? Steve will come back here if he can.” Her tone sounds like she’s
desperate for Natasha to validate her.

“If he can.” Natasha’s sharp eyes flitter from face to face as they weave through the waves of
people. “If he can’t, he’ll be trapped.”

“Or arrested.” Wanda’s voice is worried, loud so she can be heard in the noise. Natasha winces
and glances around again, this time to see if anyone is listening and watching. No one is. They
were training Wanda before Lagos to be an Avenger, to handle special ops missions, but they
haven’t been so diligent about it since, which is pretty stupidly ironic because they need that
skillset now more than ever before. Wanda seems to sense (telepathically or otherwise) that
Natasha’s even more rattled and lowers her voice. “He could be anywhere.”

“Which is why we need to start where they were.” Natasha can’t entertain any other idea, not that
Ross captured Steve and is already taking him away. She’s going to find him. “Come on.”

The two young women slip deeper into the crowd. Just moving through is difficult and
obnoxious. Every brush against Natasha’s skin feels like too much, her nerves hypersensitive and
her senses acutely aware to the point of pain, like she should run and get away from this madness
to protect… No. She has to do this, go forward, and she needs Steve with her. She needs him. So
she breathes shallowly but evenly, looks around while making a point of not looking like she’s
looking around, and goes on with Wanda right behind her. If they push forward through this and
can move faster on the other side, it won’t take them much more than fifteen or twenty minutes to
get to the rundown business complex that Sam and Steve tried to infiltrate. It’s just on the other
side of this section of the city, where the more industrial areas are. Sam walked all the way back to
the safe house like this, so they should be able to handle that distance, should be able to get
through and start searching, should be able to find him. Although if Steve did escape Ross and
came back this way, wouldn’t he try to hide in a place like this? Is she making a mistake? Or
would he try to lure their pursuers, these fucking bastards who have been after them for months, to
spare her and Sam and Wanda? Sam basically said as much. Would Steve sacrifice himself for
them?

God. The thing she’s been terrified of since that moment weeks ago when they first slept
together… Steve was so close to it then, to turning himself in to save them – her – and it was only
her grip on his hand and his heart that stopped him. Now the circumstances are so much worse,
the stakes so much higher, and ironically he doesn’t even know just how high. He doesn’t know
and he could be on his way to the Raft right now–

No. He’s going to be okay. I’m going to find him.

Indecision is making her even more nauseous. She’s going in circles in her mind, in the crowd
almost. She’s lost, but she has to pick a path. She can’t be everywhere at once, and there’s no time
to wonder like this, so she has to take her best guess and go with her gut, and her gut – her heart – is
telling her that Steve needs her, that he’s trapped somewhere by that office building and he needs
her.

Hold on.
They finally get through the festival. It’s like a breath of fresh air, however brief it is. Natasha
stands at the edge of the crowd, loitering and not only not to avoid looking suspicious. She’s
checking for Steve again, scanning the massive assembly one more time for him. Face after face.
Every pair of eyes. There’s nothing familiar. That throb of panic inside coils tighter, and she feels
more out of control than she can ever remember.

Someone grips her hand. She jerks, startled, and rips around before she can stop herself. Wanda is
right there, stiffly pressing close. “Behind you,” she whispers, “three o’clock.”

This time Natasha catches herself, turning around more slowly. She glances elsewhere before
focusing in the direction Wanda mentioned. There are cops there. Interpol and Romanian police.
They’re scanning the crowd, too. “Don’t run,” Natasha breathes. Doing that now would be a
disaster.

Wanda is extremely nervous, as if she hasn’t run ops like this before. She turns to the stage,
focusing on that and the music and trying to appear relaxed. She’s still holding Natasha’s hand
with an iron grip. “They’re looking for Sam.”

“You can sense that?” Wanda gives a small, jerky nod. Natasha wants to scream. “Do they know
where the safe house is?” If they do, they’ll have to go back now. They can’t leave Sam to them,
not when he’s hurt.

Wanda squints, hesitating, but then her eyes glow just the faintest shade of red. Sometimes it’s
disturbingly easy to forget just how powerful she is. “No,” she murmurs.

There’s no time for relief. “What about Steve? Do they know where he is?”

Wanda’s eyes shine an even deeper shade of crimson, narrowing as she concentrates. Natasha
glances around and chances another brief look toward the cops. They’re preparing to search the
crowd. She and Wanda are both recognizable to anyone looking for them. Their faces are planted
on wanted lists worldwide. They have to get out of here. “Wanda,” she prods.

An infinitely long moment passes before Wanda looks away, wincing as she speaks. “They don’t.
They’re not searching for him that I can tell.”

“Are you sure?” Natasha hisses.

“They’re acting on orders,” Wanda explains, “and not happily. They’re too far away to know for
sure–”

“Can you sense Steve?” The thought comes from nowhere, sudden and upsetting for how damn
obvious it is. Wanda’s powers are telepathic, empathic, the capacity to manipulate minds and
sense souls. She is extremely powerful, and she’s familiar with Steve, and maybe she can perceive
him even at this distance and with all these people around.

Wanda frowns and gives a small shake of her head that’s both apologetic and frightened. “Not
unless he’s close.”

“How close?”

She considers. She’s sworn repeatedly never to turn her powers on her friends again. This isn’t
what she did before, but Natasha knows she harbors a great deal of worry and shame over her past
actions and that she fears tremendously that she will lose control of herself and hurt them again.
This isn’t that. “Wanda, please,” Natasha begs, trying to keep her voice level. “How close?”
“He’d have to be like them. Within a hundred feet? Maybe.”

That’s less resolution than Natasha would like. It means they’ll have to get in the vicinity of Steve
to know where he is, which is still a huge task given the size of this city. She turns back to the
police officers. The small group of them – small for now, and there are probably reinforcements
coming – is starting to weave through the crowds. They’re not nearly so concerned with being
discreet, faces tight with anger as they search. For a brief second Natasha considers just grabbing
one and beating information from him – something to go on at least. But that’s ridiculous and
crazy, and she grips Wanda’s hand tighter and pulls her out of the festival and down the next street.

It’s hard not to run. She forces herself to stick to the briskest pace she thinks is safe. Wanda is
right beside her and glancing around more than she should. Natasha can tell she’s reaching out
with her powers, eyes just a bit glazed as she looks about. She’s more vulnerable like this, but they
can’t not try. If he’s close enough, if Ross didn’t take him too far, if he’s conscious… If he’s
alive. Natasha swallows down the knot in her throat, trying not to feel. Not now.

The crowd is thinning significantly the farther away they get, which is a relief, both in terms of
less suspicion and the fewer minds through which Wanda has to sift. Sadly it doesn’t matter. The
younger girl focuses as they turn a corner and worriedly shakes her head. Natasha pauses there,
considering what to do. She brings up a mental image of the map she, Sam, and Steve have been
studying the last couple days. A couple more blocks west will take them completely out of this
residential and shopping area and into the industrial parks. If they move fast, they can get there in
fifteen minutes. God, the amount of time it must have taken Sam to limp and struggle all the way
home, injured as he is… She’s not going to think about that means, what it could mean.

“Nat,” Wanda hisses, gripping her elbow, and Natasha turns to see Interpol cars coming down a
narrow side street. The sirens and lights are going, shrill and shattering the quiet. Either they’re
not here for them or they don’t care at all about being subtle. Natasha drops her gaze and puts an
arm around Wanda, managing a smile and a little laugh as the cars pass. Wanda’s shoulders are
stiff as wood under her arm, but she follows with a fake giggle of her own, and the police cars
never even slow.

The two women walk on, silent and trying to not to seem frazzled. Wanda is barely breathing.
Natasha can’t tell if she’s searching with her powers anymore, and she doesn’t feel with it enough
to ask. She stuck her hands in her pockets subconsciously, and she can feel the outline of one of
her guns through the fabric of her coat. That’s a small piece of comfort. To the rage that’s
simmering inside her, it’s the only thing that matters.

I’ll burn Ross down to bring him back.

They finally reach their destination. The buildings are larger here, warehouses and factories
adjoined with business parks and the occasional multi-story office building. It’s not a very big
area, hardly as sprawling or clean as others in the city, and their research has determined that a lot
of it is a front for unscrupulous and illegal dealings.

Right now it’s absolutely swarming with police.

“Damn it,” Natasha whispers, staying out of sight in an alley just a bit beyond where the sea of cop
cars and trucks are blocking the road further. She peeks around the corner of a building, barely
breathing. Ahead it’s a blur of flashing red and blue lights, the chaotic color reflecting on the
buildings. There are police barricades in the street. Interpol officers are loitering about,
conferring with local law enforcement. There are dozens of officers, and they’ve completely
blocked the area, which makes sense. They’re doing what Ross has paid or made them do:
keeping everyone else away while the United States hunts Captain America.
And they may well have already captured him.

Don’t think about that!

There’s no way they can slip through this. They’re going to have to go around, and that’ll take
time. Natasha gives up on observing and pushes her back to the wall. She tries to picture that map.
Her thoughts won’t come, and she finds herself closing her eyes and pressing a hand to her lower
abdomen. The frustration tightens further inside her, like the baby is restless and kicking and
clawing within (which is impossible because it’s not that big, not that powerful, not anything), and
she wants to sob. She’s had her back to other fucking walls before, worst walls, and made it out.
She’s better than this, so much better, and she can’t give up, can’t fall apart, can’t be so fucking
weak, can’t–

“They don’t have him.” Wanda’s whisper is hardly anything beside her. Natasha’s eyes open, and
she glances frantically at her friend. Wanda is always so pale, but in the shadows of the alley with
her eyes glowing again, she seems ethereal. The scarlet hue fades, and she shakes her head,
focusing on Natasha. “They’re holding the perimeter for Ross.”

Natasha can barely stand the sweet rush of hope. “Where do they think he is?”

Wanda winces, searching the thoughts of those nearby again. “I can’t tell. There’s a lot of them…
I’m not sure they know.” She shakes her head. “We have to get closer.”

That’s absolutely true, but how? There’s no one around, so Natasha pulls her gun, inching closer to
the edge of the building to glance out of the alley again. Nothing’s changed, Interpol and the
Romanian police still blocking the road. She doesn’t know why she even considered it would.
Stupid. Taking a deeper breath to calm herself, she desperately tries to think, tries to picture that
map. There’s no other way through, not one that makes any sense. Assuming Steve is near where
their mission was, that means traveling another few blocks deeper into the area. Even the routes
that go around and approach from less obvious directions are likely to be shut down. Plus they’re
not all that subtle or well-hidden, and any police force worth a damn will have anticipated them.
They can’t get in that way.

And while Wanda can probably level this entire company of men before them, that’s not an option,
no matter how much Natasha wants to take it. One of Steve’s mostly unspoken mantras
throughout this whole hellish nightmare on the run is that innocents should not pay for their
mistakes and misfortune. Killing a bunch of Interpol and Romanian police just doing their jobs…
They can’t, no excuses.

A helicopter speeds overhead. Natasha presses back into the shadows, squeezing her eyes shut.
Wanda is right beside her, trembling, clearly hoping the chopper simply flies over. It does.
Natasha waits until the sounds of its rotors are muted and then looks up in helplessness, battling
tears again (goddamn it!). They can’t stop here. They can’t. They have to find a way forward. If
Steve is trapped somewhere, inside this perimeter the police have set up… If Ross’ people don’t
have him yet, they’ll get him. They probably have him cornered. If she and Wanda can’t get in,
he’s not going to be able to get out.

Breathing is all Natasha can do to stay calm. After all this, after months on the run, barely staying
ahead of the people after them… The baby. It’s all going to end up meaningless. Steve will be
abducted by Ross under the guise of the Accords, taken to the Raft for God knows what or for how
long – forever – and there’s nothing she can do–

She’s so stupid.
The rooftops. “Wanda, we have to go up,” she whispers, jolting back from the ally wall to get a
better look. The sky’s blue, sharply so against the top of the four-story building. There’s no doubt
in her heart. “Up to the roof.”

Wanda comes to her side, looking up as well. She seems far less certain. “The roof?”

Excitement shoots through Natasha, an electrifying jolt of it that has her heart pounding and her
nerves tingling. “From up there, we’ll be able to get past them. And see everything.” The
building Steve and Sam tried to infiltrate. The US special ops forces. Interpol and Romanian
officers. Anyone else. She’ll have a bird’s eye view, and her own time as a spy in addition to
training from Clint and Sam has taught her the value of that.

Wanda’s shaking her head. “What if there are snipers? The helicopter!”

“Then we deal with them,” Natasha replies.

“Someone might see!”

“I don’t see any other way, do you?” Wanda has nothing to say to that. She just stands there,
mouth agape, staring at the top of the building. They may be going up, but this is like jumping
down, down into a dangerous abyss from which there will be no easy escape. They’ve spent
months avoiding situations like this, and now she’s suggesting they rush into one, headlong and
with no information to shield themselves. This is beyond dangerous.

But there truly is no choice. “You can get me up there,” Natasha says on a breath, nodding at her
plan. “Just like you practiced with Steve.”

That’s not the right thing to say. Wanda grimaces, and Natasha feels like an idiot when she realizes
why. She has to be thinking back to the last time they tried this, the last time she ran a true mission
in public with the Avengers. The disastrous outing that began the fight within the team, that thrust
them into this danger. The mission that cost lives. Natasha bites her lip, inwardly chastising
herself. How can she not have seen this before? Why Wanda seems so scared and reluctant and
anxious. It’s not just losing Steve or the baby that’s now involved or their little family. It’s the
horror and the guilt and the shame that’s been wearing on her.

She’s Wanda’s teacher. Her mentor. That’s what she needs to be right now. So she takes
Wanda’s arms and has her look at her. “This is going to be okay. You’re not going to hurt
anyone. You’re better than that. You know you are. And you won’t be this threat they made you
out to be. You’re not someone that needs to be feared.” Wanda bites her lip and shakes her head.
“No, you’re not. Listen, a vindictive bastard throwing a bomb at Steve… That wasn’t your fault.
It wasn’t. And what happened afterward? That was not your fault either. It’s time to stop letting it
control you.”

Wanda eyes fill with anger. She’s not looking at Natasha but at the wall, dark and still so
damaged, even months later. “Nat, people died because of me. Innocent people, like these people
here. And the Avengers fell apart.”

“People died,” Natasha counters, “because of Crossbones. And the team was falling apart long
before Lagos.”

Wanda still seems hesitant to meet her gaze, but eventually she does. Natasha nods firmly. “It’s
like you said. Remember? If anyone can do this, it’s you and me. And you and me? We’re going
to keep our team together. We’re going to get Captain America home.”
Wanda searches her face. She’s the one looking for strength now, for resolution, for the
confidence to use her powers in a very public area, and Natasha has it. She knows they can do
this. Get up and over and past the innocent people drawn into this. Find Steve. Put down his
attackers and save him.

They’re still Avengers, even here and even like this. They can do anything.

At long last Wanda takes a deep breath. Then she takes a step back, and for the first time in
months that Natasha’s seen, she has determination on her face. Her hands glow red at her side.
“Ready?”

Natasha grips her gun harder. “Ready.”

Wanda raises her hands, and this strange tingling crawls over Natasha. It feels like it’s coming
from her core. It’s really weird and not entirely pleasant, not that or the weightless sensation that’s
tugging at her after it. How the hell does Steve tolerate this? She can barely choke down a yell as
she’s catapulted up dozens of feet to the roof of the building. Not prepared at all, she lands hard,
and her knees nearly buckle. She doesn’t go down though, stumbling and running across the filthy
roof. Wanda lands behind her far more gently and follows.

At the other end of the roof, Natasha looks down. There are still a ton of cops below them. She
can hear their radios going off and people talking. Beside her, Wanda simply shakes her head.
Nothing. Natasha grits her teeth. Jumping to the building across the street will take them closer to
where Steve and Sam were. She doesn’t think twice, taking a few huge strides back before
charging at the edge of the roof. Without a word, Wanda propels her up and over the street.
Natasha lands on the other side, far more gracefully this time, and doesn’t wait, bolting across the
rooftop and heading toward the next. She’s fast, jumping like she’s flying, and she is in some
respects. She’s flying from roof to roof, running across the city to go deeper, closer to where Steve
is. I’m coming. Hold on. I’m coming.

Wanda throws her further across a particularly wide street, and she ends up on a narrow section of
the next building’s roof. She barely gets a glimpse of a black smear ahead – smoke – before she
hears the tell-tale sound of the helicopter again. Dropping flat and sliding off the taller section
down to the lower areas below is all she can do. This is another rough landing, and she staggers,
barely getting herself into the cover of shadows. She very nearly collides with a smokestack of
some sort, her midriff almost slamming into the rusty edge of it, and the close call has her panting
and shaking in horror. She grabs her stomach, wrapping an arm protectively around it, and lifts her
gun to point at the chopper.

But it doesn’t pass over her. At the last second the roar of the rotors changes, shifts in its pitch,
and turns away. Natasha can’t believe her good fortune, chancing a glance over where the
helicopter is flying. Wanda lands silently next to her, and the red fades from her eyes. She cocks
her head, frowning. She made the helicopter pilots go the way they did, which turns this moment
simultaneously amazing that Natasha has this powerhouse on her side and horrifying (because if
she loses Wanda too, what will she do then?). Irritated at herself, Natasha grits her teeth and nods
at Wanda. Wanda nods back, and together they take off across the roof towards the smoke.

This must be a warehouse of some sort; the structure is long and not as tall as some of the others.
Despite being above the street and presumably hidden from the eyes there, Natasha feels
uncomfortably exposed. Her skin is crawling with it, and all she wants to do is get down, get
Steve, and the get the hell out. Unfortunately, it’s still not going to be that simple. Once they get
to the other end, she can see where the smoke is coming from. That’s definitely the office building
Steve and Sam tried to infiltrate. Some part of it must be on fire, and it looks like they’re letting it
burn. Obviously capturing Captain America is more important than preserving the safety of the
surrounding area. Natasha grunts softly, shaking her head and peering as much as she can down
into the streets. She sees black vans – Ross – and a few men in tac gear running around.
“Anything?” she whispers, turning to Wanda.

Wanda looks rattled. “They’re too many people. I can’t sense Steve in the storm.”

Damn it. That means there’s no choice but to continue. Natasha glances about quickly, checking
behind them, in the sky, all around them. There’s no one after them and no sign of anyone
coming. So she tips her head toward another building down a ways across a vacant lot. “There?”

Wanda doesn’t appear certain, but she nods. Natasha hops over the side of the roof, and Wanda
slows her descent so that she lands on the ground lightly. Instantly the other girl follows, and then
they’re running across the lot. That exposed feeling gets even worse, but Natasha pushes it away,
driving it down deep so it doesn’t slow her. She has to get across, get further into the area, get
closer. Get to Steve.

I’m coming. Hold on.

They reach the other side of the lot, and Wanda propels them both onto the next roof. Immediately
when they touch down on the concrete top Natasha sees the sniper. Her heart lurches into her
throat, but she’s too skilled to be slowed by her alarm. She doesn’t wait for Wanda, creeping
across the small rooftop to where the soldier is hiding by some massive fans for the ventilation
system. She holsters her gun and slips closer.

“Roger, Alpha,” the sniper says into his radio. Natasha can’t hear the reply. She slows. “Street’s
clear.” There’s more chatter, but she can’t quite make it out. Maybe there’s something to be said
for waiting and listening now. Maybe she can learn something – where Steve is – from the man’s
responses to his superiors. Obviously Ross or whichever of his stooges is running this op doesn’t
care much about radio silence. Maybe they’ll let something slip.

But she can’t make herself be that patient. The man is completely unaware, his rifle pointed at the
streets below. There’s that little dark thrill that comes sometimes in moments like these, the small
rush of heady satisfaction that her target won’t even see her coming. Pride instilled into her by the
Red Room all those years ago. She lets it embolden her now, and she pounces.

The soldier has no warning as her hand slams into the back of his head and drives it into the edge
of the fan’s enclosure. He gives a cry, slumping, and Black Widow is utterly ruthless. She yanks
him back from his gun, disarming him lightning quick. As he’s scrambling to his feet, she whirls,
landing a fierce kick to his chest. Unfortunately he’s got body armor on, so her blow isn’t as
devastating as she likes. She still has the element of surprise, though, and she wields it like a
weapon, bearing down on him with a flurry of fast punches and kicks that force him back across
the roof. The man staggers, scrambles for his handgun, but Natasha drives her heel into his palm,
kicking the gun away. In a lithe flip, she swings around him, throwing her weight exactly as
necessary to destroy his balance. He goes down with her knee driving into the small of his back
and her arm around tight his neck, choking him. “Where’s Captain America?” she growls. She
doesn’t care if that sounds vicious or furious or unhinged. She’s feeling all of those things.
“Where is he?”

The man can hardly breathe, gurgling pathetically where she’s strangling him. Natasha doesn’t
care, shaking him. He’s completely at her mercy, and she’s not feeling particularly merciful. All
she can think about is Sam, having to struggle all the way back to the safe house shot and bleeding
and bruised. All she can think about is Wanda beside her, how she’s been forced away from the
person she loves, how she’s suffered with her guilt. All she can think about are the long months
they’ve spent on the run, struggling in squalor and terrified for their lives. All she can think about
is Steve, how he’s been bending under the weight of keeping them safe, how he’s feared and
fought and faltered.

And the baby inside her, who may lose its father before it’s even born thanks to these people.
That’s all she can feel. “Answer me!” she snarls. “Where is Captain Rogers?”

The man’s got one hand around her forearm, and he’s trying to pull free. He’s losing
consciousness. Natasha loosens her grip just enough for him to get a breath, for him to answer, but
instead he yanks a knife free from a holster on his thigh. It slashes toward her in a wink of silver,
and Natasha lets go – has to let go because she’s pregnant and she can’t be this damn sloppy – and
the blade barely misses her coat. She backpedals, reeling with how close that was so she doesn’t
move in time to block his next strike.

Thankfully, she doesn’t have to. Red ensnares the knife, the sniper’s hand, his whole damn arm.
The crimson tendrils hold him back, endlessly powerful tethers that render him immobile. With a
blink Wanda’s there, fingers twitching as she binds and constricts the man’s whole body with her
powers. He jerks senselessly, suffocating even faster, until he loses consciousness. Then she drops
him to the rooftop.

Natasha’s sick to her stomach. A cold sweat is tickling at the small of her back. She’s got her
palm on her lower belly, and she’s trembling with just how close that blade came. She swears
softly in Russian, turning what she knows are wide eyes to Wanda. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs.

Wanda nods sympathetically. “It’s alright. I’ve got your back.” That’s not the absolution it might
have been just yesterday, when they were only teammates and Natasha wasn’t in this condition.
Wanda doesn’t let her dwell on that, though. She kneels at the fallen sniper and pulls his radio
free. That she hands to Natasha. Natasha snaps out of her horror and takes that before clipping it to
her jeans. Then she kicks the knife away. “He doesn’t know where Steve is,” Wanda says after a
beat, a little breathlessly. She gestures to the smoky area ahead. The stench of the plume is diluted
because the burning building is still a couple blocks away. “But he and his team were ordered to
watch a three block perimeter around that area.” She points to just beside the smoking mess.
“Which means–”

“Steve could be there,” Natasha whispers, stepping to the edge of the roof again.

Wanda nods. “And they might not have him yet.”

They have to get inside that perimeter. Natasha lifts the man’s fallen sniper rifle and peers through
the scope. Frantically she scans for Steve, but of course there’s no sign of him. Not with how their
luck has been (plus he’s too damn smart to try to run through something like this). If he hasn’t
been arrested, he’s definitely trapped somewhere like she thought before, and that means it’s only a
matter of time before Ross’ men close in on him. She quickly takes stock of the trucks, the ground
troops she can see, the other snipers; there are at least four more of those, stationed around the
burning building. Two of them she can easily take out from here, but murdering them… No. Not
even these monster who’ve been tormenting them for months. She sighs and lowers the rifle. “We
going to have to get through this. Somehow we have to.”

Wanda comes to her side. Her eyes are dark with that newfound determination, with danger. “We
will,” she says solemnly. Her fingers shimmer in red, and then Natasha feels that tugging inside
her again. A blink and a breath later, they’re on the street below. Natasha holds her breath,
surprised that they’re taking this approach. Not sneaking. Not hiding. Not skulking about in the
shadows as they have been for months. This. Walking as plain as day down the road toward the
fight. There was a time not too long ago where she often did this, charge in as an Avenger led by
Captain America and supported by her team. She’s gotten so used to staying down that walking
tall feels more foreign than it ever has.

But she does. She has the sniper rifle, and Wanda is right beside, and together the two women
head down the nearly deserted street toward the burning building. It doesn’t take long for them to
be noticed. Natasha can hear the alarmed shouts over the sniper’s radio. The commanders are
scrambling, shock clear in their cries, and it’s strange to hear people yelling and barking orders in
English. All the missions they ran as fugitives in foreign nations, this is the first time they’ve
encountered US forces. It’s infuriating, but it won’t matter. The snipers atop the other buildings
open fire. The cracking of their rifles is loud, echoing snaps in the afternoon, and were these
streets inhabited or busy with midday day activity it’d be horrifying. But they’re not, and the
bullets never hit because Wanda throws her arms out and surrounds them both with a sphere of
fizzling red light. The shots slam into the energy field and disintegrate. Natasha has seen Wanda
do things like this before, reflect and destroy bullets and protect others on the team, but this is the
first time she’s done it for her.

And it’s so damn incredible.

Despite everything, she can’t help this surge of pride and power, and she lifts the rifle. The other
snipers have revealed their positions, and she fires back. She can take the second to aim well with
Wanda guarding them both, so her shots strike true. The snipers go down, but their attacks alert the
rest of the black ops forces around the street (not that it’s not obvious with the two Avengers
stalking closer). Ahead there’s a group of armored trucks and vans blocking the way to the
building Sam and Steve tried to infiltrate. They’re obviously stationed to block the road and
maybe provide means to transport a high profile prisoner out of the area. The soldiers there
immediately turn and start shooting at them. Below the racket, Natasha can hear the panic on the
radio, harried, desperate orders to kill them both.

The words are about as effective and potent as the bullets slamming uselessly into Wanda’s
barrier. Natasha stands beside her and fires the rifle at the trucks. Her barrage of bullets smacks
into the armored exteriors, ricocheting dangerously and causing the soldiers to take cover. They
don’t move fast enough, and as Natasha rushes closer, she picks them off, taking out legs and
shoulders and feet. Wounds that shut the men down but aren’t fatal. One of the trucks turns on,
and its engine roars as the soldier behind the wheel wildly pulls into the street and barrels toward
them. Obviously this person figured brute force may do the trick where weapons are failing.

It doesn’t. Wanda raises her hands again, and the air sizzles with energy. The truck speeding at
them is flung to the side as though tossed by an angry toddler mad at his toys. It slams into another
of the buildings with a huge crash. Wanda doesn’t stop there. Her body levitates off the ground,
her eyes deeply and menacingly red, as she dismantles the blockade. Metal shrieks and squeals,
and the buildings around them seem to shake. The thick line of trucks and SUVs is pushed apart
like it’s nothing, revealing the way toward the building. Soldiers scramble everywhere as their
cover is lost. Some shoot at them. Some run away. Natasha lets them go and charges into fray.

It feels strange to fight like this. Everything is different – her mind and her heart and her body
most of all – but this seems to be exactly the same. The cold composure. The focus and fluidity of
engrained moves and well-learned strategies. The way she doesn’t need to think, her muscles
reacting far faster than conscious decision can manage. This is who she is, who she’s always been,
and she cuts through her enemies like no one else. Her fists fly, her feet jump and kick, her body
twists in this murderous, beautiful dance she mastered so young and has known all her life. These
people who’ve hunted them and tormented them and loomed as such an awful threat… They’re
not a threat. They’re not better than she is, not stronger. Not faster. She’s Black Widow.
And she’s saving Captain America.

Behind her, Wanda is savage. Together the two of them are laying Ross’ perimeter to waste.
Natasha bats a gun away before kicking the black ops soldier into one of the vans, and Wanda
effortlessly tosses the next group of attackers all the way back up the street. She uproots a damn
tree and swings it at the remaining forces. Guns go off, but they’re of no consequence. The trunk
slams into the few remaining SUVs with a spray of glass, a crunch of metal, and leaves flying
everywhere. Natasha catapults over the trunk and lands on the other side. Two soldiers greet her,
but they’re so positively flummoxed by what just happened that she’s able to take them easily,
disarming the one on her right first before throwing the woman into the other assailant. Agilely
she feints, dodging a sloppy attack, before wielding her now empty rifle like a club. She smacks
that hard across the face of one soldier, almost shattering his helmet, and then drops him with a
massive roundhouse kick. Whirling, she throws the recovering woman hard into the tree truck,
where she collides with a bone-crunching thud. She falls unconscious.

Wanda lands right next to her, and they continue down the road toward the building. Natasha pulls
out a pair of handguns as they walk. The radio she still has clipped to her jeans is alive with
terrified shouts. “Perimeter’s breached! It’s breached!”

“What the fuck is going on?”

“It’s Scarlet Witch and Black Widow! They destroyed our blockade! Caravan’s gone!”

“Shit, this is bad.”

“Status report,” comes a voice Natasha knows. She recognizes it instantly and shares a furious
look with Wanda. Ross. The Secretary’s tone is tense, frustrated, and angry. “Do you have
Rogers yet? Can you extract?”

“Negative.” That has to be the commander on the scene. “We have the warehouse secure but we
haven’t been able to find–”

“No goddamn excuses!” Ross snaps. “I want Rogers in custody! I want it done now!”

“Sir, the mission is compromised,” the commander argues desperately. “We have to pull back and
regroup.”

Ross’ response is sharp and predictable. “Absolutely not. How fast can we get reinforcements into
the city?”

Someone else answers. Natasha isn’t sure if it’s one of Ross’ men or a contact with Interpol, though
the voice is accented. “We can mobilize another company in minutes.”

“Call in everything.”

Shit.

“And hold your position, commander,” Ross demands in an icy tone. “Do you hear me? I don’t
care what’s happening. You already let Wilson escape. That will not happen again. You stay put
and get the job done. I want Rogers arrested and begging for our good graces. This is the closest
we have been in months to apprehending him, and this time we’re getting it done!”

“Sir–”

“Find him!” Ross shouts. “And kill the other two.”

Natasha can’t listen to anymore. If there are reinforcements coming, they have to move fast. She
looks down the smoky road toward the building they’ve been trying to reach. Steve’s not in there.
That much is obvious at this point. “Come on!” she calls to Wanda, and they take off in a run.

The closer they get to the area, the more obvious it is that a nasty brawl took place here. There’s
debris in the streets, broken cars and smoldering vans, like someone busted through a blockade.
Half the building is a pile of concrete and rubble. Natasha can practically picture Ross’ thugs firing
an RPG or something like that at the lobby, trying to flush Steve and Sam out. Obviously they did
get out and fought their way through this warzone. Sam ran one way and Steve went the other.
And they chased him down the road. Ross mentioned a warehouse. She can see two from where
they are, further along a bit of the curving street and too the left. Not wasting a second, she takes
off in a run.

It’s immediately obvious which of the two warehouses is the right one. Another whole slew of
Ross’ men is outside the long, flat building. If it wasn’t evident before that Ross pulled out all the
stops to catch Captain America, it is now. There are dozens of men and five more military-grade,
armored trucks and Humvees. A pair of helicopters are hovering overhead, clearly scanning the
grounds around the huge warehouse for signs of movement. Their radio blares with talk; there are
soldiers inside the building, hunting for Steve. The commander is bellowing at them to find
Captain America and bring him out by whatever means necessary. Natasha grits her teeth in fury.
That’s not happening!

Thankfully, the men are distracted by their mission, so they don’t see the two Avengers coming,
even with the warning from their now incapacitated peers. It wouldn’t have mattered if they did
truthfully. Wanda is a wraith, glowing in brilliant red as she attacks, throwing ruby energy at one
of the trucks and knocking it to the side. Immediately Ross’ forces turn to counter, firing without
restraint or hesitation. Wanda plants herself at Natasha’s side, bring up more barriers, and the
bullets never reach them. Natasha’s hit their marks, though. She fires both her handguns, eyes
quick to aim and hands incredibly steady. This is with deadly accuracy, because she cares less this
time if she does serious damage to them. They’re trying to take Steve from them, from her. Trying
to take him from the life they’ve made. She is not going to let them get away with that.

There’s screaming over the radio that she can barely hear over the din, and then one of the
helicopters catches wises to their assault. The aircraft comes around, and a minigun lowers from
the side of it. Somehow the sound of that gun powering up is distinct over the cacophony of battle,
and Natasha goes cold with horror. “Take cover!” Wanda screams, and the air around her glows
red. She gives a cry of effort, throwing out a wave of energy that knocks both helicopters from
their positions. The one firing on them nearly collides with the other. Bullets fly chaotically,
peppering the warehouse and everything around it. Natasha winces as something clips her arm,
ducking to get out of the way. She fires at a soldier trying to take advantage of the situation,
dropping him with a spurt of blood. Then she scrambles to get behind a car that was parked in
front of the warehouse. Gunfire slams into it. Natasha holds her breath. There’s no way and
nowhere she can run.

Then there’s a terrific explosion. Wanda gives a scream, and the first helicopter bursts into flames.
It spins about wildly in the air or second or two before crashing violently into the top of the
warehouse. The roof clearly wasn’t built for that sort of stress, so that section collapses. The other
chopper turns on them, its guns lowering, but before it can even fire at them, Wanda’s taking it
down. The fuselage is coated in red energy, and it simply crunches under the stress, imploding and
collapsing inwardly. The rotors bend and break, and the whole thing goes down in seeming slow
motion, falling into the fire. The explosion rocks the area, and part of the front of the warehouse
simply falls in a spray of flames, metal, and concrete.
Wanda lowers her hand with a short breath, eyes narrowed. The red light fades around her. She
turns and looks to Natasha. For her own part, Natasha slips from behind the car, still gripping her
guns and so very thankful Wanda’s on her side. The other girl quirks a knowing smile, clearly
amazed and pleased with herself. Despite everything, Natasha grins back. Damn straight.

The moment of revelry is short-lived. Ross’ forces come out of hiding, firing openly at them.
Natasha dives back behind the car, wondering how many more shots this poor thing can take
before it explodes too. She doesn’t get to worry much, though. With a whoosh of air, the car is
gone, and Wanda is throwing it at their adversaries. She levitates it through the air and then
gestures with her hands, sending it sailing into the company of soldiers. It crashes into them and
one of their armored trucks. Something else detonates, and everything in front of them erupts yet
again into a massive wall of fire.

Which makes a really convenient distraction. Both of them realize it at once. “Go,” Wanda
commands.

Natasha desperately wants to, but it’s not as if they’ve got this under control. Plus they know there
are reinforcements on their way. She can’t just leave. “What about you?”

Wanda’s eyes glow. “I’ll handle this. Go and find him!” Then she turns to the soldiers daring to
emerge from the flaming wreckage. She lowers her hands, fingers working as though she’s
strumming the air, and scarlet light shines around them. One of the tenants of functioning well as a
team is to trust your teammates; they’ve been instilling this into Wanda for months. What sort of
mentor would Natasha be if she doesn’t follow her own lessons?

So she runs, swinging wide around the side of the warehouse, dodging gunfire turned in her
direction. Charging through the front entrance isn’t an option, not with it blocked by Ross’ people
and the fire. She’s got to find another way. She reloads her guns as she sprints, and when she
rushes through smoke and wayward bullets, she spots one of the loading bays down the way that’s
partway open. The door looks damaged and jammed, maybe during the initial pursuit Ross’
soldiers made of Steve. There are a few men there guarding it, and they’re frantically shouting
into their radios to find out what’s happening at the front of the warehouse. Natasha charges in and
attacks, vaulting onto the dock. She’s a whirlwind of fists, giving into the cold drive once more to
be more a machine than a person. Gripping one soldier’s tac vest, she throws him into his
companion, and they both tumble down onto the concrete below. She follows them, slamming one
into the ground with her weight. The other clumsily struggles to get up, but she’s on him before he
can, getting him into a chokehold.

The third guy is already shooting at them. The Black Widow of years ago wouldn’t have batted an
eye at using someone as a human shield. Now she feels awful doing it, but there’s no choice. The
soldier she’s holding yelps as the bullets strike his body armor. One hits home in the guy’s
shoulder, and he slumps. Natasha lets him go down so she can bring her gun up. Two shots into
each of the third man’s boots have him tumbling down to the ground. She kicks his gun away and
then socks him in the jaw.

With all three guys disabled, she leaps up into the loading bay. What lies beyond is not quite what
she expected, although to be honest she doesn’t know how else this can be. The warehouse is dark
and surprisingly. The power is clearly out; not even the emergency exit signs are lit. She wonders
if that’s from the damage done to the building or if Ross cut the electricity on purpose. It sure as
hell is creepy, and a cold chill crawls up Natasha’s back as she slowly makes her way inside.
There’s no telling how many of Ross’ thugs are in here. Or where Steve is. If Steve’s okay. He
has to be. He kept them engaged in this cat and mouse game all this time. He’s been fighting all
this time. He’s fine.
And I’m going to find him.

She walks silently in deeper. The warehouse is huge and hundreds of feet long and loaded with
massive shelves. It’s obviously some sort of shipping facility because the shelves are loaded with
crates and boxes. Some of the walks between them are terribly narrow, like so as to increase
storage space, but some are wide enough to fit a forklift through. In the darkness, the rows of
shelves look like lumbering giants, and Natasha’s not sure if they’re protective or forbidding.
She’s not sure of anything, save the tickling shudder is back at the base of her spine. “Shit,” she
breathes. How is she going to do this? She can’t exactly call to Steve or search this entire place by
herself with Ross’ guys searching too. She can’t see. And there’s no time. “Shit.”

“Delta Team, status. Are you sweeping the–”

Natasha jerks at the radio, so loud in the quiet, and fumbles to lower the volume to something only
she’ll be able to hear. After that, she skitters for cover behind the nearest shelf. She stays there,
stiff and utterly motionless, as she listens. At first there’s nothing. Then she hears footsteps and
quite a few of them. Ross’ guys. Peering around the edge of the huge shelf, she spots them.
They’re wearing night vision, the faint glow of the green goggles barely detectible as the team
quietly walks away. They didn’t spot her. Thank God.

She doesn’t waste a second in relief, though, following them on the other side of the shelf. Unlike
theirs, her footsteps are silent. She can track them easily, staying low so as not to be detected
through the items on the shelves. As she moves, her mind races. Where is he? It’s impossible to
tell how long Steve’s been in here. Five minutes. Fifteen. Thirty or longer. Where would he
hide? He has to be here. Wanda didn’t say anything about being able to sense him, but she sent
her in here, and Ross’ people are still looking, so he has to be alive, hiding somewhere in this maze
of stuff, and she has to figure this out–

Her foot slips. She’s jolted from her thoughts, barely avoiding falling as she grabs the shelf to
regain her balance. A loud clank echoes through the warehouse as a box falls and lands. Terror
washes over her. “Hold!” hisses one of the soldiers. Holding her breath in sheer terror and fury,
Natasha goes perfectly still, and endless, silent seconds tick away. It’s not enough to undo the
damage. “Target potentially acquired. All units converge on our position.”

She could have screamed. Instead she glances around rapidly, trying to find anything she can use
to hide. It’s so damn dark she can barely make out anything. It’s only because another company of
soldiers with far less interest in stealth arrives that she’s able to escape. Their rifles have lights on
them, which chaotically whip across the area and drive back the darkness. The illumination lasts
only a moment, but it’s enough for her to spot a large crate across the way near another shelf. She
darts behind it and ducks down.

The soldiers all have their lights on now, probably figuring they’ve trapped their quarry. Lights
flash wildly around the crate. Natasha can barely make herself breathe. She chances a look around
the side of the box and counts more than a dozen soldiers. They’re converging on her spot and
quickly. She’s not sure she can take that many out, not in this darkness and in such close quarters.
She’s effectively trapped herself. Damn it. How could she have been so clumsy?

Then, in the winking light, she catches sight of something on her right boot. Something red. It
takes her beleaguered mind a moment to realize what it is. Blood. Blood right on the heel of her
shoe. It’s what made her slip. There’s fresh blood on the floor near the shelf. And it’s not hers.
She supposes it could be from any one of the soldiers, but she knows it’s not.

It has to be Steve’s.
He’s hiding here, and she’s led them right to him.

Now there’s no choice. She has to fight these bastards or at the very least get them away from
Steve. She has to. And she knows she can. Even with learning she’s pregnant, with their world
ripped out from under them and everything different and so very dark, she knows she can do this.
She’s still Black Widow. She can protect herself and this life inside her and Steve. She can. That
quiet place inside beckons her, only it’s warm now, warm because she’s fighting for something.
She’s fighting for love, and she’s closer than she ever has been to who she’s meant to be.

Nothing can stop her.

So she doesn’t think twice, waiting for the perfect moment to attack and then launching herself into
it. She’s a shadow among shadows, still so much faster and stronger than her enemies. She drops
a couple right away with her guns, firing rapidly and indiscriminately until both magazines are
empty. She sweeps out legs and rams into bodies and shoves them into the shelves. She punches
and kicks and uses her whole body as a weapon. And she darts in and out of the darkness, around
the narrow space and using it to create further fear and mania. She’s too fast for them to see much
less stop. The radio explodes with chatter, and people are shouting helplessly in panic and
frustration. Guns go off without care. The soldiers are trying to aim, but in the pitch, they can’t
see her, so their weapons are useless. She uses that to her advantage, letting them fumble to try to
aim, letting them hurt each other in the tight confines. She slips into melee range to strike only to
rush right back out again and let them flounder. It’s maddening for them, but she doesn’t for one
breath lose her cool. The brawl is fast, furious, and though she’s outnumbered, her skill and
patience prevails. One by one she begins picking them off.

Until only one man remains. Natasha didn’t really see him before. Now he’s the last one standing,
and he’s got his rifle light right on her where’s she climbing off the guy she just knocked
unconscious. “Stop!” the soldier bellows, aiming carefully. She chances turning around. The
light from the rifle is blindingly bright, so much so that Natasha can’t really see his face. “Hands
up! Hands up right now!” She stands very still, doesn’t move a muscle. If she surrenders now,
none of this will matter. The man loses his patience. “Get your fucking hands up!”

She’s not going down like this.

The soldier growls. He lifts his radio to his mouth. “Alpha, I have eyes on Romanoff. I need
backup immediately in the ware–”

The man’s words cut off in cry, and the light swings upward just in time to illuminate a huge, black
shadow dropping down from the top shelf high above. There’s a heavy thud, and then the gun’s
going off. Bullets fly everywhere, clinking against the shelves in a spray of sparks, driving into the
concrete of the floor, smashing left and right. Natasha dives for cover, but there’s no need. The
gun stops shooting as the rifle is knocked from the soldier’s hand, clattering to the floor. The light
shines to the side, showing where the man is.

Steve’s standing over the crumpled body. He’s there. And he’s okay. His long, blond hair is a
sweaty mess, and he’s covered in cuts and bruises, and he’s not standing straight and breathing
hard, and his face is pale and pinched in pain… But he’s okay. He’s alive and safe and right in
front of her. He turns to look at her, blue eyes bright in the light.

She can’t hold back. Before she’s even thinking about it, she’s rushing across the short distance
and grabbing him with a soft sob. Steve chokes on his breath, hesitating only a second like he can’t
quite believe what he’s seeing before throwing his arms around her. He’s shaking, and he stinks of
blood and smoke, but Natasha breathes deeply of him anyway and holds him tight. She found
him. I’ve got you.
Then Steve moans and sags into the shelves, pulling out of her embrace. Now the light from the
rifle’s more directly on him. She sees the source of the blood she smelled; he’s been shot in the
lower abdomen and again in the shoulder. Under his jacket, his shirt’s dark with the wound, a
huge, glistening stain that’s indicative of an injury bleeding badly for a while. She’s furious and
horrified, and even though she knows he’s capable of taking hits far worse than this and surviving,
it’s still serious. He’s very pale and glassy-eyed. Running and fighting in such a state has probably
been torturous.

He shakes his head now, squinting still like he can’t recognize the fact that she’s come. “What’re
you doing here?” he gasps.

“Rescuing you,” she replies, and she’s crouching to grab the fallen rifle.

He still looks positively flummoxed. “You – you shouldn’t have come.”

“And let you have all the fun?” she quips mirthlessly. She rushes back to his side and takes his
good arm. Just how bad it is becomes more apparent as he whimpers, trembling in agony even
when he leans his weight onto her. Christ, he’s heavy. She struggles a second with the gun and his
weight, breathless with effort. “Told you. Not letting you sacrifice yourself for us.”

To that Steve only grunts. He’s barely conscious. If she didn’t come when she did… “We have to
get you out of here.” She lugs him forward, but he’s barely walking, slumping and staggering. It’s
as if jumping down on that guy and knocking him out sucked the last bit of his strength. She’s
strong, but she’s tired, and she doesn’t think she can move him along, at least not across this huge
warehouse and with their enemies pressing close. “Steve, please. Help me.”

He gasps. She can hardly see his face in the pitch darkness, but his eyes are feverish and his skin
glistens with perspiration. He manages a shaky step, still practically crushing her with his weight.
“Sorry.”

“Don’t start with that,” she orders. “You can apologize for scaring the shit out of me later. Just
walk now.”

He tries, but it’s slow going. Natasha grips him tighter to keep him upright, mind racing. There’s
no way they can make it out of here fast, and they need to. She has no idea what’s going on
outside, but if those reinforcements get here, if there are more of Ross’ people they haven’t put
down, if Ross finds out she’s trying to steal his prize out from under his nose… He’ll never let
them escape this trap, not if he can help it. They have to go faster. She can hardly see a damn
thing, hardly feel, hardly think, but she knows that. She has to go faster.

The lights suddenly turn on. Her eyes have adjusted to the pitch, so the sudden blast of brightness
is excruciating. She doesn’t know if the soldiers fixed the damaged electrical systems, or if
they’re simply through with this game they’ve been playing with Steve. And she doesn’t know if
it’s from the blood loss or the abrupt, dizzying illumination, but Steve stumbles and falls, slipping
from her grip and going down hard on his knees before slumping to the side. Horrified, she drops
down beside him. “Steve!” she whispers, panicked. She shakes his arm. “Steve, get up! Get up!”

He doesn’t. His eyes are closed. In the full, harsh fluorescent light, she can see it’s worse than she
thought, that there’s red all over him, on chest and shoulder but his lower back too. The super
soldier serum can heal him from this but not if he bleeds out first. She needs to get him back to the
safe house.

Which isn’t happening. “Steve, please!” she begs. There’s a loud bang, doors being forced open
ahead, and the thundering of more boots. “Come on! We have to go now! Get up!”
He’s hardly aware, but he follows her voice, planting reddened hands on the floor and trying to
push himself up. He can’t. His endurance, worn down from all the fighting and running and
hiding it took to get him this far against this nightmare alone, is all but gone. She can’t force him
up, and she can’t carry him. Her heart stutters in terror. They’re trapped here.

Steve groans. “Run,” he whimpers. His eyes are squeezed shut now, but he obviously knows
enough of what’s happening to do the same thing he always does. “Leave me… Get out of here,
Nat!”

No. She’ll die before she lets Ross take him.

But then she thinks of the baby, and her heart stops. She can’t fight. And she can’t let herself be
captured. Yet she can’t leave him. She can’t. Oh, God, no, no, no–

“Drop the gun and move away from him!”

The split second she spends hesitating turns damning. She looks up from Steve’s crumpled form
and sees another dozen men running at them. Surrounding them. Their guns are up, pointed at
them. She never even raised hers. “Now, goddamn it!” one shouts furiously. Natasha recognizes
his voice from the radio. It’s the commander. “We will shoot you if you don’t comply! Drop the
gun and step away now!”

There’s no choice. With Steve moaning his defiance, Natasha lets go of him. She steps away and
bends to put the rifle on the ground, aching with helpless defeat, shocked that it’s come to this.
And she can only glare when the commander puts a hand to his ear and says, “Yes, sir, we have
them both.”

The roof rips open. It simply tears in half, metal wailing and concrete crumbling. Debris comes
raining down on them, and Natasha immediately dives to cover Steve and press her belly
protectively to his body. She peers over his shoulder as she clutches him, watching as wreckage
drops on the men, as the shelves around them teeter and topple, as the world is shaken and broken
by unimaginable power. Unimaginable to these soldiers, anyway. They’re scrambling and
shouting and shooting wildly at the threat like it’ll do them any good.

It won’t. Natasha watches with sweet satisfaction as Wanda floats above them, bathed in red. Her
hair’s loose from its bun, flowing in the waves of power radiating from her, and she just hovers
there above the hole she made in the building. The bullets the soldiers fire never reach her, never
do a thing. With a wave of her hand, she throws them all, almost one at a time, up and out of the
building. She simply plucks them up and tosses them aside. They scream as they’re thrown.
Natasha can’t see where they land, but it doesn’t matter. They’re gone like they were never there,
and Wanda slowly descends to stand in the spot where they once stood.

The red haze fades, and the young woman rushes over, and suddenly she’s not Scarlet Witch or an
Avenger or this unstoppable powerhouse anymore. She’s back to being just a kid, a little sister,
and she’s trembling with relief. “Steve!” she cries, falling to his side. She glances at Natasha.
“Are you okay? Are you?”

Natasha’s horror disappears, and just like that her composure returns. “I’m fine. We have to go.
He’s bleeding bad.”

Wanda nods worriedly. “The path’s clear if we hurry. Ross has nothing left outside.”

Jesus. Natasha can’t help a small, proud smile. “Good.”

Despite the circumstances, the younger woman beams with pride. Then she drops her hand to
Steve’s head. “Steve?”

Steve blinks hazy eyes. “Wanda?”

“Let’s get you out of here,” she replies, and then she’s helping Natasha get Steve to his feet. They
each take one of his arms, and they manage to lift him. He wobbles, but they keep him steady.
“Hold on, Cap.”

Steve shivers. “You shouldn’t…”

“Yeah, still not yet with your apologies,” Natasha chastises. “Not until we get you some place
safe.” Steve’s lips curl in just a bit of a smile, and the relief she feels is indescribable. I’ve found
him. He’s okay.

It’s alright now.

Just as they take a step, the radio clipped to Natasha’s jeans crackles. She turned it down before,
so it’s very quiet, and she reaches behind to pull it out. She turns the volume up. “Status!” Ross
demands. “What the hell is going on in there? Do you have Rogers? Do you?” Obviously he has
no idea how things have turned out. “Somebody answer me!”

Natasha shares a knowing glance with Wanda, and Wanda nods. She thumbs the respond button
the radio. “We have him,” she replies coldly.

There’s a pause. “Who is this?”

“Black Widow.” She takes a breath, feeling that tingling inside her, warmer and stronger than ever
before. “And if you ever try to touch him again, I’ll kill you.” Then she turns the radio off, drops
it to the floor, and leads her team – her family – away from danger.
 Chapter 3
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

They steal a truck that’s mostly working and take the most roundabout way imaginable back to the
safe house. All the while Natasha holds Steve in the back as Wanda drives. Steve lost
consciousness the second after they got into the vehicle, which was a little frightening then and still
is. Wanda in particular seemed very rattled to watch their leader go down so fast. She’s never seen
Steve this hurt before. Natasha has, so she was calm – is calm – and she swore the serum will save
him if they can just get him somewhere safe and get fluids into him.

So they quickly tried to control the bleeding with Natasha’s jacket and tucked Steve as tightly as
they could into Natasha’s embrace and drove off. The ride’s bumpy, and Natasha’s trying to keep
steady pressure on Steve’s wounds and shouting from the back of the van which way to go (which
is damn hard to do when she can’t really see). They have no idea if Ross still has people in the
area; if they’re lucky, he took off with his tail tucked between his legs. That’s not his style,
though, and prudence indicates they should assume the worst, hence the meandering and indirect
path. Wanda is looking everywhere as she drives, keeping an eye out for pursuers or any sign
they’re being tracked. Natasha, on the other hand, has a careful eye on Steve, watching him
breathe, watching his face. A pair of her fingers are nearly continually pressed to his neck. His
pulse isn’t right, but neither is it terribly wrong either. She wants to rush back, but that’s not wise,
and she’s fairly certain Steve can last through a delay.

He does, and they make it back to the safe house. There’s a little slipshod garage attached to it,
which provides them with just enough cover to park. Sam comes limping down to them as fast as
he can the second they pull up. He looks unbelievably worried, scared like he was before they left,
and when he sees the state Steve’s in his fear only gets worse. Instead of letting him climb in the
van, though, Natasha sends him to retrieve the first aid supplies and their bags. They can’t stay
here. If Ross really is looking for them, he’ll rally, come back stronger, tear this city apart to find
them. Natasha knows that in her bones, so they can’t be here when he does.

Therefore it’s a mad rush to get what they need. Wanda hops out to help Sam (who’s not able to
move fast at all with that limp and his own injuries), and the two of them rush back into the safe
house. Natasha holds Steve while they’re gone. She goes through this tense cycle, watching Steve
and then scanning their surroundings and then making sure her one remaining handgun is within
reach before checking Steve’s bleeding and then monitoring his pulse and his breathing again.
Nothing changes, and her skin crawls with how exposed and unsteady she feels. None of this
seems quite real, her senses still wavering with the close call, and she’s foolishly terrified that if
she closes her eyes for just a second, if she lets down her guard and lets herself believe this can be
true, she’ll wake up and have everything stripped from her again. This miserable stasis goes on and
on until eventually she wears herself out with her anxiety. She succumbs to clutching Steve close
and letting her mind go blissfully blank.

It’s okay. I have him.

It feels like it takes forever, but after a few minutes Sam and Wanda are back. They throw their
gear – duffels of clothes, weapons, food, and medical supplies – into the back of the van. Wanda
goes to the driver’s seat again, which seems weird given Natasha has never really seen her drive
before this escapade. Here she is, assuming that pivotal role without even being asked. She’s
backing up and pulling out onto the road the second Sam has the rear doors closed. Sam himself
looks like hell: bruised, exhausted, and battered. Plus the worry on his face is even worse now that
he’s closer. More than this, though, is his relief, and he turns to Natasha with such deep gratitude in
his eyes. “Thank you,” he murmurs, and it’s more than obvious that he blames himself for
everything.

She knows Sam should rest, but she asks anyway. “Do you think we can patch him up bit like
this?”

It’s the absolution Sam’s looking for but definitely doesn’t need, and it’s something familiar,
something concrete that she knows he can do. He takes a deep breath, quickly switching into the
comfort of something he knows well and digging in the bag of supplies. Out comes gauze and
suture kits and combat pressure bandages. Natasha watches a moment before shifting enough so
she can lay Steve flatter in the back of the van. Then she starts working his jacket off to see how
bad the damage really is. All this time and she really hasn’t had the courage to look closely. A
particularly rough jolt has her nearly falling onto him, and Steve moans beneath her. She gasps
and grasps his face, cupping it with bloody hands and hushing him, pressing a kiss to his lips that
he doesn’t return.

Then she pulls away, because she didn’t mean to – shouldn’t have – done that. Not with Sam
watching with wide, sad eyes. All these months she and Steve have kept their relationship hidden.
Now it’s been ripped open and laid bare, with the damn pregnancy test and everything else, and she
feels more exposed than ever. And it’s not like Sam hasn’t known. More than anyone else he has.
But he hasn’t seen it, seen just how far this has come, that it’s not even just sex, that she’s kissing
Steve and holding Steve and terrified for Steve because she’s in love with him.

Sam doesn’t judge, though. Of course he doesn’t, and she’s stupid to even consider it. Instead he
reaches into his coat pocket. He winces as he does, and she’s about to tell him that maybe he
should lay back and just tell her what to do, but he pulls something out. In the darkness of the van,
she can’t quite see what it is first. Then she catches a flash of pink. Oh, God. A lot of crazy shit
has happened to her in her life, but having her lover’s best friend hand her positive pregnancy test to
her across said lover’s unconscious body in the back of a stolen van as they speed out of a foreign
city with the US Government probably chasing them… This is the craziest. “Thought you might
want this,” Sam finally says.

Natasha doesn’t know what to feel. It’s not like she’s forgotten about being pregnant throughout
all this – not in the least – but the implications of it… Other people knowing. Steve knowing.
What this is going to mean. It’s been all too easy to ignore that.

And she’s not thinking about it now. She just takes the stick and puts into her own sweater
pocket. “Thanks.”

They don’t talk much after that, turning their attention to Steve. Quickly and methodically, they
work to get at his injuries. It’s worse than she thought. He got hit once in the shoulder, once in the
lower left abdomen, and again in the back. The shoulder wound is a through-and-through. The
shot to the back doesn’t look too bad; she holds Steve steady while Sam examines it. It bled rather
profusely, but that’s already much better. Sam can’t find the bullet, so either it’s deeply inside
Steve (which doesn’t seem likely given the lack of internal damage) or the serum already forced it
out. She’s seen the serum accomplish that before, working foreign objects from his flesh like they
were never there. It’s amazing (if not a little gross).

The abdominal wound is the most disturbing. It’s definitely the most recent; he probably got shot
when he dropped down on that soldier threatening her. Again, she thinks the serum should handle
it, but there are a lot of very vital organs in that area of the body, and his abdomen is rigid. The
bullet may still be in there, considering that the serum hasn’t put a stop to the bleeding even an
hour later. That probably means he needs a surgeon. He definitely needs blood. And that means
they need to get help.

Where the hell can they get help?

“I’ll call Viz,” Wanda suggests as they reach the outskirts of the city. “He’ll know what to do.”

Natasha sighs. After they packed Steve’s wounds and did the best they could with the supplies
they have, she scooched up to the front of the van. Her earlier suspicion that Sam’s not quite
capable of doing this proved true. Sam’s burst of adrenaline-fueled strength failed him, and he
crashed hard. He’s practically passed out next to Steve. Natasha checked his wounds a few
minutes ago. He needs medical attention as well.

And Vision’s not a surgeon or even a doctor. Hell, since the battle at the airport in Germany and
her leaving Stark’s team, she’s hardly seen the android. She doesn’t know him very well at all.
Everything she does know has been learned through observation and Wanda. Of course, there’s
doubt festering in the back of her mind. Stark made Vision. He’s comprised of part of Tony’s AI
and part of Ultron and forged by Loki’s scepter and who knows what else. Natasha has never pried
about Vision’s allegiances; she knows he’s in love with Wanda, and that was enough to console her
before.

But Sam and Steve weren’t on the line then. Their lives and safety and well-being. And the baby.

“There’s a place right outside Novi Grad. We used to visit there before…” Wanda doesn’t finish.
It’s clearly a recollection from before Sokovia was destroyed and her brother was lost. She’s rattled
enough that she doesn’t seem to want to even remember. She sighs, making a turn onto the
highway, glancing in the rearview mirror. That has Natasha looking as well, but there’s no one
there aside from evening traffic and nothing suspicious. Her skin is crawling.

Wanda’s voice, which is surprisingly steady, pulls her from her fears. “Viz can meet us there.”

There’s a pause, a chance to doubt or argue, but Natasha can’t make herself do it. On top of having
to rely on Vision, there are no SHIELD safe houses in that area, at least not that she knows of.
That means they’ll be cut off even more, with no fallback plan and no secure location to hide
should things go south. But it’s all meaningless, just paranoia manifesting itself, because a safe
house doesn’t mean they’re safe (this disaster being a prime example of how not true that is, and
what a mistake it was to let her guard down for even a moment). There’s no choice, and she trusts
Wanda if nothing else. “How long?”

Wanda sighs. “Three or four hours from here?” Her hazel eyes flick to the mirror again but this
time to search the shadowy back of the van before meeting Natasha’s gaze. “Is that okay?”

Natasha turns. Neither Steve nor Sam has moved. They’re lying together, Sam with his good arm
under Steve’s shoulders and head. Steve’s bandages are red, and Sam’s wheezing. She can’t see if
either is awake. It’s damn terrifying. They are two of the strongest soldiers, the most valorous and
bravest men she’s ever known, and they’re broken and battered and bleeding. They’ll make it.
“It’s going to have to be.”

The rest of the ride is spent in silence. There simply isn’t much to say. Wanda seems to know the
way, though whether or not she has ever been on this road before isn’t clear. She may be gleaning
the directions from the minds of the other drivers. It’s impossible to say, but thinking it makes
Natasha feel a bit better as they venture into what is, for all intents and purposes, a huge unknown.
She’s learned over the years that having a plan, especially when so little can be predicted, is really
important. Even if the plan is impractical and meaningless and forged from nothing more than a
bunch of hopes and ambiguities, it provides mental stability and comfort. The illusion of control
can be potent. Right now, she makes herself think this is going to be okay, because they have
Wanda on their side, and Wanda can parse the thoughts of all the people around them to find her
way, and Wanda can take out anything Ross throws at them, and Wanda is unbelievably powerful.

Of course, Wanda was arrested at that airport in Germany just like the rest of Steve’s team. And
Ross had her on that Raft, in solitary confinement and in full restraints with her powers
neutralized. Even the strongest of them has been brutalized by that bastard.

No. She is not going to think about any of this. They’re driving, and they’re going to get away
from this trap, and they’re going to get help for Steve and Sam. They got Steve back, got him out
of that close call, and they can do this, too. So this is going to be okay.

She makes herself believe that, clears her mind of everything else, and bolsters herself on her faith.
That’s never come naturally to her, at least not before standing at Steve’s side as she has these last
few years. It’s surprisingly easy now, now that things are quiet. The road evens, with fewer
vicious bumps and only the monotonous hum of concrete below them. The van is dark, cool, and
steady. Everything is calmer, not quite peaceful, but the stink of danger and horror dissipates as
the minutes slip away and neither Steve nor Sam gets worse. She can focus again, so she does,
sitting beside Steve and pulling him gently to her and settling back into that pattern of checking
him only without the terror and harried misery. She focuses on his bleeding. On his color and his
temperature. On his pulse and breathing. On the fact that he’s alive, and he’ll be alright, and
everything is going to work out, because even though she’s never had faith in God or fate or
whatever powers control the strings of existence, she knows nothing can be so cruel as to do this to
them. This life inside her… It’s a miracle, forged of their love against all odds with their world
crumbling around them. It’s a gift, now that she has the courage to truly believe it. A gift she’s
been given, and one she can give to Steve.

It’s going to be okay, because she has to tell him. She promised herself that she would, and she
will.

Those few hours are simultaneously excruciatingly long and somehow no time at all. Despite her
best efforts to stay awake and sharp to aid Wanda, Natasha finds herself dozing. In the back of her
mind, she knows that’s weak and somewhat selfish, but she can’t stop herself as her exhaustion
finally overcomes her. The deep fatigue is unstoppable, wrought from worry, from the tremendous
battle she just underwent, from the nights and nights she spent sleepless before this with Steve in
her arms or her in his with her face tucked into his chest as he breathes. Even before she began to
suspect she was pregnant, she didn’t sleep, holding him and praying that even pace of his breathing
and his heart beating meant he was sleeping, that he was finding some measure of peace. She was
always worrying, no matter how well they planned for the next mission the next day. She was
always scared that night of love and comfort would be their last, that at any moment their world
will shatter with an ambush, with a surprise attack, and Steve will be taken from her…

Only as she sleeps now, she doesn’t fear that. She stopped their enemies, pushed them back for the
first time in what seems like forever, and she feels strong for it. So she smiles to herself and
nuzzles into the warm, smooth skin of Steve’s chest, closer to him than she’s ever been. Nothing is
going to take him from her, and so her world is safe and perfect.

…No, it’s not. Her eyes pop open, and she looks down her body, down the surprisingly nice
pajamas she’s wearing and the soft sheets of this bed, and sees she’s not pregnant. Her belly is flat,
but more than that, she can simply feel it. There’s nothing there. She should be pregnant,
shouldn’t she?
But then she hears a cry, a baby’s squawk. It should be an alien sound to her, but it’s not anymore.
And she’s not pregnant because she had the baby. Of course she did. This world is a good world,
and everything is right in it. She’s with Steve, with their family, and there’s no danger. The baby
wails again, and she actually smiles with bliss and relief, and she kisses Steve’s chest before she
slips out of bed.

She doesn’t quite know the way, though. Things get hazier the more she walks. Outside their
room, she finds herself in a hallway that she thinks should seem familiar, but she can’t remember
where the baby’s room is. The baby is crying louder and more insistently, and she tries to follow
the sound, but nothing seems right. The hallway is long and twisted, becoming more and more so
the further she goes, and there are so many rooms. Every time she thinks she’s getting closer, she’s
not, and the hallway stretches on in this endless, impossible maze. Her sense of peace and
wellbeing begins to dissolve into panic. Fear has her moving faster, heart pounding, breath coming
fast, bare feet thundering against the floor as she checks room after room. How can there be so
many? Each one is gray and dark and empty, and the baby’s screaming now – her baby is
screaming for her – and she gasps a sob. I’m coming. I’m coming. I’ll find you!

Only the wailing stops. Even its echoes vanish, and she goes cold and still. The silence is
damning. There’s a room ahead, no different than any of the others, but she knows. Terror has her
captive for what feels like forever before she manages a step forward. Another. And another.
Pretty soon she’s running, running as fast as she can and calling out her baby’s name, and she
bursts through the door and rushes toward the crib, only it’s empty–

“Nat!”

Natasha comes awake with a gasp. Nothing makes sense, the world a heated smear of confusion
and shadows and fear, but she blinks the blur away and forces her senses to settle. This is the van,
and Steve’s unconscious in her arms, and Wanda’s there at the back with the doors open. There’s
someone with her. Have they stopped? Shit. She should never have let herself fall asleep!

“Natasha, are you alright?”

The other person is asking that, and for a second Natasha can only stare in shock. There’s a man
with Wanda, a nice-looking one with narrow features and brown hair. He’s wearing jeans and a
sweater, and Natasha knows she’s never met this person before, but his facial features are
strikingly familiar, and that voice… “Vision?”

It doesn’t seem possible, but the man in front of her gives a bit a smile, and that’s so damn like
Vision that Natasha practically does a double take. “In the flesh,” he says, “if you’ll forgive the
pun.” She just stares. “Are you well?”

Shit! That gets her moving. She carefully but quickly slides out from under Steve, every single
muscle in her back, neck, and shoulders loudly decrying the movement. “I’m fine,” she barks, her
voice rough with sleep. “It’s Steve.”

“Wanda informed me,” Vision replied grimly. “I have supplies inside. Can you help me move
him?”

Perhaps it’s not wise (and it certainly isn’t in her character) to forget past transgressions and trust
this so easily, but Natasha doesn’t even spare a thought to her earlier doubts. The only thing she
can think about is Steve, Steve who’s still breathing (she quickly makes sure of that – how could
she let herself sleep while he’s so hurt?) but incredibly pale and limp and practically lifeless.
There’s blood soaked through the bandages and pooled on the floor of the van, covering everything
as she carefully pushes his huge frame out of the back. Vision is there to take to him, turning his
body as Natasha and then Wanda move him, and a moment later, Steve’s in his embrace in a
fireman’s carry. Steve moans softly; the pressure on his abdomen likely hurts, but Natasha just
wants him inside somewhere safe as fast as possible.

Behind them, Sam’s groaning and shifting, the movement having roused him. “Where are we?” he
slurs.

“I have him,” Wanda promises. “Get Steve inside!”

Vision doesn’t waste any time. There’s barely a second for Natasha to take a look at where they
are before they run. This place is some sort of clinic in a village, if the Romanian words and the
red cross symbol on the back of the building are any indication. Clearly it’s closed, which makes
senses given it seems like it’s late at night. The ground is wet with recent rain, and it’s chilly, and
all of them are breathing jets of mist as they move toward the rear doors.

Except Vision, which makes this illusion of him being human all the stranger. But there’s no time
to consider it or even ask as Vision rushes inside. It’s a nice place, clean and well-stocked if not a
bit dated both in equipment and décor. There’s a bit of dust on everything, and the air’s stale, but
it’s like a goddamn sanctuary. Natasha’s absolutely flummoxed. “Did you break in?”

“Yes,” Vision replies, and he goes directly to a room he’s obviously already prepped. It’s interior,
so they can turn the lights on without anyone noticing outside. It’s also not very large, but there’s
enough room to work. Vision pulled a stretcher inside before, likely for Sam since he sets Steve
directly to the main examination bed. “Exigent circumstances.”

Natasha’s not about to argue. She leans close as Vision quickly begins to work, ripping Steve’s
shirt open and off him. Vision clips a pulse oximeter onto Steve’s finger and activates the outdated
monitors beside the bed. “I’ll tend to Captain Rogers first,” he declares quietly. “But we should
get an IV into Mr. Wilson for fluids and pain relief.” Wanda has just helped Sam limp in. She
looks around at the shelves of supplies with wide eyes and hesitant hands. Clearly she doesn’t
know how to do that. Vision turns back to Natasha. “Can you aid her?”

Natasha doesn’t want to leave Steve, but she can’t be that selfish or childish. She grits her teeth
and rushes over to the stretcher, where Sam is more awake and very clearly in quite a bit of pain.
“Is Steve okay?” he manages through clenched teeth.

“He’ll be fine,” Natasha assures. She forces her hands to stop trembling as she gets the supplies
they’ll need, the catheter and tubing and a bag of saline. Vision apparently already raided the
clinic’s repository of medicine because there are also bags of antibiotics and morphine. Beside
them are a few smaller pouches of red. Blood. That makes her worried again, so she ignores it and
brings back the other things.

Wanda is trying to comfort Sam, not to much avail. “He’s gonna need… He still bleeding bad?”
Sam’s eyes are glazed with pain and delirium, wild with panic. He grasps Natasha’s arm with
blood-stained hands and frantically pulls her closer. “He needs a hospital.”

“It’s not an option,” she replies grimly. “You know it’s not.”

“Can we trust him?”

It’s obvious he’s not talking about Steve anymore. Natasha glances at Vision before she can stop
herself, but the android – man – is too busy trying to get an IV into Steve’s limp arm. She turns
back to Sam but not before sharing a tense look with Wanda. “Yeah,” Natasha says on a long
breath. She doesn’t know why she feels so damn uncertain again. “Of course we can.”
Sam’s too out of it to be consoled. “But Stark–”

“Viz disabled his tracker,” Wanda says softly. “Remember? Weeks ago.”

She’s talking about the damn device Tony installed into him as per the Accords. When Wanda
first started visiting Vision regularly, they were all concerned about that, but again she said to trust
him, and they had. Mentioning it heightens Natasha’s discomfort again, and Sam stiffens. That’s
how fucking easy it would be for Ross to find them. Flip on Vision’s tracker and their location
would be delivered on a silver platter. And even if Vision’s being truthful and they can trust him,
who’s to say Tony hasn’t found a way around whatever the android did to shut it down?

They just can’t think about this now. For better or worse, they’re here, and Steve needs help badly
so the risk is worth it. Natasha shakes herself free of her worry and starts unwrapping supplies.
She dons a pair of gloves. “Don’t worry, okay? Just lay back and let us get you something for the
pain.”

It seems Sam’s not going to let it go for a moment, glancing fearfully between them, but then he
obeys and slumps down onto the bed. Wanda grips his free hand, which seems a little unnecessary
since Sam’s a war veteran and a trained field medic aside. Then Natasha catches the soft shine of
red in Wanda’s eyes, and Sam’s pain seems lessened before she even gets the IV in. Sam’s eyes
close, the tension fading from his form, and he licks his lips as he settles. “Just make sure he’s
okay,” he murmurs.

“You know I will,” Natasha assures. “Hang tight.” She finishes securing the needle and the port
with tape and then pulls over the IV pole. Up go the bags of saline and morphine, and Natasha
makes sure the line’s clear and not occluded before turning to Wanda. Wanda nods to her
unspoken request to stay with Sam, keeping a tight hold on Sam’s hand. With her other, she gets a
blanket unfolded and draped over him. Natasha watches only a moment more to make sure Sam’s
comfortable before returning to the examination bed.

Vision’s got some sort of machine next to the bed. It looks as old and outdated as everything else
here, but it’s working, and he’s running the probe attached to it across Steve’s bloody abdomen.
He’s removed the saturated bandages, revealing the bullet hole which looks inflamed and swollen.
It’s not bleeding as much now, but Vision is mopping up stray rivulets as they seep out. He’s very
clearly searching with the instrument, watching a grainy image on the screen attached to the cart
intently. It takes Natasha’s beleaguered mind to realize it’s an ultrasound machine, and he’s
looking for the bullet.

He seems to sense her confusion. “This is the best diagnostic tool I could find.”

She shakes her head. “No, no. Can you see it?”

“Not as yet,” Vision responds worriedly. “There is a great deal of internal hemorrhage.”

Natasha isn’t certain of what she’s seeing on the screen, but she felt how stiff Steve’s midsection
was all through the drive here. “If we can get it out, the serum should handle it.”

“Yes. Some of the damage has already begun to heal.” He angles the probe, pushing harder on
Steve’s belly. Steve groans, eyelids fluttering, and Natasha takes his hand. Vision doesn’t seem to
notice the very open display of affection. His strange eyes narrow. “Though I fear should we
attempt some sort of surgery, the bleeding would be significant.”

Natasha shakes her head. “How are we going to get it out then?”
“This place is hardly equipped for major operation, let alone one that would be this exploratory,”
Vision cautions. “There.” He turns the probe again, putting his hand on Steve’s stomach to keep
him still. Natasha glances between Steve’s face, which is becoming increasingly taut with pain,
and the screen. “It’s lodged near the hepatic artery.”

That explains the bleeding, but that also heightens the need for action. “If we can’t do surgery,
then what can we do?”

Vision doesn’t hesitate. “Wanda,” he calls, gesturing the younger girl closer. Wanda looks
alarmed. Sam’s fallen asleep in the last few minutes, but she seems unwilling to leave him. Vision
doesn’t look away. “I need you.”

She remains there a moment more, and Natasha has no idea what’s going on. Then the younger
girl finally comes closer. “Why?” she asks, and there’s this tone to her voice that suggests she
knows why. Vision simply looks at her for another second, and in that second whatever suspicion
she has turns to cold and horrifying realization. She shakes her head. “No.”

“The bullet is in very deep. It traveled far from its entrance, and to get to it, we would need to do
extensive surgery,” Vision explains quickly. “You can likely pull it back to the entrance wound, to
a distance where I can extract it without a more invasive procedure.”

Wanda goes from horrified to absolutely terrified. Natasha doesn’t feel much better. “Wait,” she
gasps, looking between Vision and Wanda. “You want her to get the bullet out? With – with her
mind?”

“It is possible, though not without risk,” Vision declares. “We have considered the possibility
before for emergency conditions. Before the Avengers disbanded, I even mentioned it to Captain
Rogers and Mr. Stark. We never had the occasion to test it.” He sets down the probe to pull
another cart over, this one with scalpels and forceps and other medical tools. “Still, I believe this
approach is safer than–”

“I can’t do that,” Wanda interjects, and the shaking of her head has gone from slow to sharp and
decisive. “No.”

Vision frowns. “Wanda–”

“No. Doing what I did today? Going out to fight? That was one thing, okay, one thing.” She
shivers through an agitated breath. “And I did it because I had to.”

“You have to now,” Vision argues, though with no heat. His tone is utterly calm and his hands are
gentle as he reaches for her.

She backpedals. “No, this is too dangerous. I told you before. I don’t have that kind of control. I
– I’m not strong enough.”

“You are.” Vision’s voice is cool, cutting through the grief and tension. It’s almost like a balm,
and Natasha’s downright shocked at how comforting it is. She stares as Vision pulls Wanda
against him, into his embrace with his arms around her, and she seems so young and small. He’s
nothing but tender, protective, loving. Human. And he’s murmuring something into her hair,
something quiet and meant for only her. Natasha has never seen them openly affectionate, never
seen Vision do for Wanda what Steve has done for her so many times in the past. It’s an entirely
new perspective, one that’s surprising and encouraging despite these dangerous and harried
circumstances.
She turns away, though. This moment isn’t hers to have, and she can’t slow down to have it at any
rate. Not with Steve lying there, bleeding still and so badly hurt. Not with the truth she still has to
tell. She reaches for Steve’s hand, checking the monitors again for his vital signs. She can’t read
much of the language, but she knows what the low numbers mean. Hang on, she silently
implores. The other two aren’t watching her, so she lets herself do the things she wants to, lifting
his bruised, scraped knuckles to kiss them. She breathes her sobs away, closing her eyes. Hang
on.

The next thing she knows, Wanda is at the bedside. She looks incredibly frazzled, paler than ever
with wide, worried eyes, but she’s there, and then Vision is beside her. He’s got the ultrasound
probe again, pressing in that same place in the center of Steve’s abdomen. “You see the bullet?”
he asks Wanda, pointing toward the screen. Wanda gathers herself and nods. He traces a line with
his finger, sliding the probe toward the still oozing hole in Steve’s body. “The likely trajectory.
Bring it back this way carefully. There has been some healing, so you may feel resistance.”

That makes Wanda look ill. In truth, even though Vision said that before and what this whole
process entails is pretty damn obvious, Natasha feels just as sick. It’s a false analogy, and she
knows that, but she can’t help but think this is like shooting Steve again only in reverse. She bites
her lip until it hurts. “What can I do?” she whispers.

“Keep him still,” Vision advises, “and keep watch of his vitals, particularly his blood pressure.”
Natasha nods with far more bravado than actual strength. Vision returns his gaze to Wanda, and
the human mask shifts. His eyes seem stranger, more like they used to be, and the color of his skin
is tinged red. “I suggest expediency.” He brings the ultrasound image back to where the bullet is
and holds it there.

Wanda is statuesque, dragging her eyes from the monitor to Steve’s limp body and then back to the
monitor again. She looks so uncertain, lingering in the moment, and Natasha doesn’t know if she
wants her to go forward with this or stop and demand they find another way. There is no other
way, not right now and in these conditions. She was right about what she said to Sam; they can’t
take Steve to a hospital or a proper doctor. If Ross is smart, he’ll have an eye on every conceivable
place they could get help within driving distance. And if they don’t deal with this, Steve won’t get
better. This would be a fatal wound in a normal man. It’ll be incapacitating for him, maybe even
deadly over time if the bleeding never comes under control or infection takes advantage of the
situation. For all of its wonders, the serum’s not infallible.

So Natasha’s relieved when Wanda rests her hand just above Steve’s stomach. She looks at the
monitor again, at the oddly lit shape that’s the bullet. Then her fingertips glow crimson, and red
tendrils snake towards the hills of Steve’s abdominal muscles. Natasha watches only a second
more, just enough to see the energy slip through Steve’s skin, before shifting her gaze to the
monitors. Steve’s pulse and blood pressure are unchanged, low but not dangerously so, and Steve’s
face is fairly lax. He’s not awake, not yet, though Natasha fears the bliss of unconsciousness isn’t
going to last them.

She’s right a few more seconds into it. Steve groans, shifting slightly, and both Natasha’s hand
and Vision’s free one grip his shoulders to keep him in place. “Don’t move, Captain,” Vision says
sternly, like Steve’s aware enough to listen and obey.

He isn’t, of course, trembling and crying out quietly as Wanda begins to telepathically shift the
bullet inside him. She has both hands over his quivering midsection now, fingers twitching as
though she’s jerkily plucking at the strings of an instrument. Natasha’s gaze drifts downward just
in time to see blood spilling from the bullet hole and Vision trying to mop it up and hold Steve still
at once. There’s something moving under Steve’s skin. Things don’t normally make her
squeamish, but she can’t take this, the idea that Wanda’s manipulating Steve’s insides to get that
bullet out of him. Her stomach heaves, and she feels bile burn the back of her throat. Holding her
breath, she averts her gaze and closes her eyes until the nausea lessens.

Then Steve jerks hard. “Steve!” Natasha gasps, coming out of herself and leaning down on Steve’s
upper body. She can never hold him down even with all her strength, but she’s hoping just being
there, being close, will be enough to calm him. “Lie still,” she implores. “It’s not going to be
long.”

Grunting, Steve arches his back a bit, and the bed rattles as he senselessly kicks. Vision is stronger
than them all, and his arm comes down over Steve’s thighs. The monitor beeps faster and faster as
Steve’s pulse picks up. All the sudden he’s rigid with agony, and Natasha just holds him as tightly
as she can. She gets right in front of him, not wanting him to see what’s going on if he comes
around. “Hold on. Just breathe, okay? I know it hurts, but hold on.”

Steve’s eyelids flutter, and he breathes through clenched teeth, and he’s just bathed in sweat.
Another hoarse cry is wrenched from his mouth. “You’re almost there, Wanda,” Vision promises.
Natasha glances over her shoulder to see he’s given up on his disguise completely, the human flesh
and hair replaced by his customary red vibranium body and green eyes. The yellow gem in his
forehead glows, and his hand phases, shifting so it’s not entirely real and made of matter, before
dipping inside Steve.

Steve screams. Natasha has no idea what Vision’s doing, and she irrationally wants to get him to
stop, but then she realizes he must be suturing the damage Wanda’s causing, the damage the bullet
did to begin with. He’s likely plugging the holes in the arteries and organs to prevent him from
bleeding out.

So she turns and grabs Steve’s hand harder. “Just hold on,” she implores firmly. “Hold on!”

He’s conscious enough to recognize her voice. He squirms helplessly, and he’s squeezing her hand
hard enough to hurt. Natasha’s afraid he may break her fingers. “Nat,” he chokes out, writhing.
“’tasha!”

She manages to get her hand away, cupping his face instead before brushing his hair from his
face. “I’m right here,” she promises. “Breathe. It’s almost over. I swear, Steve, just breathe
and–”

“I’ve got it!” Wanda gasps, and Natasha turns over her shoulder again to see the younger girl
shaking and raising her hands and taking the bullet with them, a mangled lump of metal that was
once a large caliber round. There’s a huge spurt of blood behind it, like a hole’s been opened and
now a torrent is spilling out, and alarms on the monitor wail. Natasha watches helplessly as
Steve’s blood pressure plummets.

But the scare doesn’t last. Vision’s fingers comes free of Steve’s body, and with both hands he
presses Steve into the bed to keep him still. The gem in his forehead glows again, and the air
suddenly tastes metallic ionized, and light shoots from the jewel to the gunshot wound. Steve goes
stiff, mouth open in a soundless scream, as the energy cauterizes the injury, just like that. The
smell of blood and burning flesh is utterly nauseating, but it doesn’t compare much to the
incredible rush of relief as Steve slumps and loses consciousness again. Now, though, the
bleeding’s stopped completely, and the damaged bullet that was in his belly is in a little bowl on
the cart of supplies. Steve’s pulse and blood pressure start to stabilize; she checks the former
herself, pressing her fingers to Steve’s neck and finding his heartbeat steadier and slower. It’s all
over.
Swallowing down her nausea, Natasha turns to Wanda and Vision. Wanda is shaken and surprised
but so proud of herself. Vision gives her a fond smile, clearly proud as well. His strange skin
flickers a moment, and then the illusion of true human flesh and hair returns, and he’s a man
again. His hands are fast, getting the mangled lump of the bullet into a bowl beside the bed,
grabbing for the bags of blood and attaching them to Steve’s IV now that it’s more likely to stay in
his body and do some good, checking his vitals again. Finally, after an eternity, he exhales slowly
and turns to them, offering a little smile. “He should be okay now,” he quietly assures.

Wanda slumps, pressing her lips together in a smile and wiping at wet eyes. “It’s okay,” she
repeats, almost to herself. “It’s over.”

Natasha nods. She sags too, leaning wearily into the bed, rubbing her throbbing forehead with the
back of her bloody hand. Finally she lets herself breathe.

Hours quietly slip away. Steve’s sleeping through them, surprisingly peaceful despite his injuries
and the day’s trauma. Natasha’s incredibly grateful for that, that he’ll spend the first period of his
recovery unconscious and therefore not subjected to any pain. It’s a small blessing.

That and the fact they’re still safe where they are. It’s well past midnight, and there’s been no sign
of Ross or his thugs. Apparently this little town was evacuated in the wake of the disaster in
Sokovia, given its close proximity to the dangerous debris. No one has returned to it in the two
years since. It’s been utterly abandoned, which certainly lends to their security, but the silent,
tomb-like atmosphere only adds to the tension and disquiet. The idea that they could be tracked to
this place has them on edge.

Well, it has Natasha on edge. Steve is sleeping. Sam is sleeping; they moved his stretcher to one
of the other rooms. Wanda conked out the room with him not long after under Vision’s advice that
she rest while she can. Without Natasha saying anything, he’s come to the same conclusion she
has: they need to move in the morning. Frankly, she prefers to go now, but that’s just not an option
given the condition they’re in. Hopefully getting that bullet out, administering fluids and blood, a
solid stretch of sleep will restore Steve enough to function so they can run tomorrow. It should.

But she’s still too anxious to let herself fully believe that, that he’s okay now and will be okay, so
she can’t sleep. She sits at his bedside and watches him breathe, and the night crawls by. She
knows she should rest as well, take Vision’s advice and rest while he’s out. It’s crazy too, because
she’s not really thinking. Her head’s empty, thoughts blank and as sluggish as a sloth. She can’t
think of anything to think, as weird as that is. Today’s disaster. Her own guilt for taking a costly
moment to herself. The horror of fighting through Ross’ forces to get to Steve. The terror of
nearly losing him. The stink of blood and the hellish last few hours and how it’s utterly staggering
to her that she’s lived a life of violence and war and it’s never truly touched her until now, now
when it’s someone she deeply loves and really needs at risk.

And the baby. There are a million things she should think about the baby. She should be figuring
out what to do, deciding how to act and what to feel, determining what her options are. Thinking
past the moment where she speaks wit Steve (as if that’s something minor she can think past) to
what they’re going to do about it. Sure, she’s told herself a lot of stuff over the last day, this
eternity since she took that test and finally admitted the truth. She’s told herself it will be okay,
that they can figure this out and make this work, but she was just saying what she needed to hear in
order to compartmentalize and focus. Now…

She needs to focus on this, on what will happen tomorrow and the day after, on the future which
was impossible to foresee and predict before the added stress of a child. She needs to come up with
a plan, right, because having a plan is still comforting. It’s still like having a smidge of control.
She needs to do these things.

Try as she might, she just can’t. All she can do is watch Steve sleep, running through that silly
pattern of checks again. Her gun. Listening for any sign of activity around them. Watching the
monitor to be certain Steve’s pulse and blood pressure are good. Making sure he’s free of pain.
Keeping the IV lines clear and the blanket over his body. Smoothing back his messy hair. Holding
his hand. Breathing through sobs that won’t leave her be no matter how hard she forces them
down. The rhythm of it is comforting, something she can do, so she does it and tries not to let her
fears get the better of her.

What now?

“He will be okay.”

The soft call has Natasha turning in her seat beside the bed. Vision is in the doorway of the small
room. The lights have been dimmed, and for some reason that makes him seem even stranger and
less human despite his appearance. He comes inside only after a few quiet moments Natasha
belatedly realizes were there for her to send him away should she desire. She’s not sure what she
desires right now. Vision checks over Steve’s vitals before nodding, as though he’s assuring
himself of his earlier proclamation. Then comes the obvious recommendation. “You should rest.”

“I’m fine,” Natasha declares wearily.

“There is nothing more to be done right now. The super soldier serum will contend with the
internal damage, and with another few hours of treatment and rest, he will recover. His
convalescence should last no more than four to seven days.”

That’s true; that was about how long it took Steve to get back on his feet and heal almost
completely in the wake of stopping Project: Insight. However, in the times where Vision was an
Avenger and Steve led the team, he was never hurt seriously enough for Vision to know that.

Vision seems to recognize her unspoken dismay. “JARVIS had medical knowledge of each of you,
including your physiology, for use in emergencies. In addition…” He hesitates. “SHIELD of
course had extensive data.” Which meant HYDRA had the data. When meant Strucker did, which
in turn meant Ultron might have as well (since the crazy machine probably researched his
enemies). And Vision knowing this just makes that persistent nauseous ache in her belly worse,
because does Tony know? Probably. Does Ross know? And isn’t that the whole point of Ross’
obsession? Knowing what the serum can do? Getting his hands on it? Natasha’s hand goes to her
stomach before she can stop herself, and she feels like a fucking fool, because of course Vision
sees it. His soft smile slips. “I truly mean you no harm. Mr. Stark does not know I am here.”

She shakes herself free of this stupid paranoia pushes her hand through her hair, sucking in a
deeper breath. “I know.”

“Our last meeting was in very strained circumstances.” She nods to that, thinking back to those
hours after the airport battle in Germany, where Vision himself accidentally shot down Rhodes and
broke his back. That shook everyone, and the last Natasha saw Vision, he was waiting to learn
something of Rhodes’ condition. She slipped away without him noticing, only to learn days later
that Steve and Tony fought, that the rest of Steve’s team – Sam and Wanda and Clint and Scott –
ended up in some heinous underwater prison. She can see the very human shame in Vision’s eyes
now. “And I am sorry for that. I should have seen the error in my thinking. I believed in
oversight, yes, but truly what I wanted was to keep Wanda – to keep us all – safe. We ended up
causing the very strife I feared. Had it not been for Captain Rogers’ determination and bravery…”
He shakes his head, staring at Steve’s slumbering form. “I can assure you that my gratitude
towards him for freeing Wanda and protecting her these last months far outweighs any allegiance I
hold to anyone else, Mr. Stark included.”

That’s said with great sincerity. Natasha believes him. “I know,” she says again.

It gets quiet. Awkward, though not so much that Natasha can find the energy to tell him to leave.
It’s clear that he wants to be of service. She’s not sure what he can do. After the long pause, he
goes back to his original approach. “There’s truly no cause to keep a vigil like this.” Natasha bites
her lower lip. She sighs, bending under her own fatigue. She doesn’t have it within herself to
argue or explain.

As it turns out, she doesn’t need to. Vision hesitates a moment more, but then he simply says what
he wishes to. “It is not wise for you or for the child.”

Natasha startles. Some part of her saw this coming, but she’s been too muzzy with everything
that’s happened and her own exhaustion that she hasn’t actually considered the possibility.
Now… She struggles through her shock. “Wanda told you.”

Vision has the decency to look embarrassed. “Well, yes.” Of course. “A few hours ago.” Of
course. Natasha’s too tired even to be angry or irritated. Expecting that Wanda would keep her
secret is goddamn laughable. Was there any chance she wouldn’t tell the man she loves of this
huge change in their team? Their family? No. And it’s not like Natasha can hide this. By
definition, she’s going to get bigger with a baby. There’s no stopping that.

But she can’t deny the betrayal. God, everyone in her life knows about this baby except said
baby’s father.

“It wasn’t just that, though,” Vision adds after a moment. Natasha looks back at him sharply, on
edge and confused. The android offers a very human shrug. He still looks sufficiently ashamed.
“Well, it seemed a likely outcome. When Wanda told me weeks ago that she thought you and
Captain Rogers’ were intimately involved, I immediately deduced this result. SHIELD had many
theories about Captain Rogers’ virility, and given the assumptions concerning your sterilization–”
Assumptions? She can hardly believe that. “–this scenario was statistically quite probable.”

She doesn’t know what to make of that. Maybe she should feel threatened; Vision is yet again
proving that he knows (and can figure out) a lot, possibly too much. And maybe this level of
“scientific” detachment is cruel, that she and Steve and their fertility are a scenario to be calculated
and studied. But she’s not considering any of that.

Vision stares at her. “I imagine this makes a difficult situation even more so.”

The way he says that, so matter-of-fact, makes Natasha grunt a rueful, surprised chuckle. “That’s
one way to put it.”

“Have you confirmed it?”

Natasha can’t quite process the question. “Confirmed it? I took a test.”

Vision turns, shuffling quietly around the room. “As with any test, there is a chance of a false
positive. How old is the fetus?”

She squints in confusion. Honestly, she doesn’t know. “Um… Well, I think it can’t be more than
three months. Maybe? You don’t exactly pay attention when your world’s burning down around
your ears every day.” That was one of the points of the Red Room sterilizing its agents to begin
with. She can’t remember when she last had a normal period. Months at least. Well before she
and Steve first slept together.

Vision comes back, and he’s quietly pushing something over. It’s the outdated ultrasound machine
again, the one he used to find the bullet in Steve’s abdomen. Now he clearly wants to use it to find
life in Natasha’s. “Confirmation,” he says again. “There is something to be said for knowing
exactly with what you are dealing.”

Natasha just stares. It seems strange to want to do this, because she knows in her heart that
pregnancy test is right. There’s really no reason to question it. Then she understands. This isn’t
about confirming that she’s pregnant. It’s about the next step. It’s about knowing it in a way a
vague plus sign on a stick can’t manage. It’s putting a visible image to this idea that, until now,
has been utterly abstract. He’s offering her a chance to see the baby inside her, to make this very
real and far more than a simple complication.

She’s not sure she wants that.

But, then again, she is sure she needs it. Those fleeting thoughts she had with Wanda before, a
lifetime ago for everything that’s happened, about terminating the pregnancy… They make her
feel ill now. They make that nauseous knot in her stomach twist tighter and tighter. They’re ugly
and awful and so very wrong. It’s the same as she thought before. This child is a miracle, and she
can’t take that for granted.

So she swallows her trepidation and self-doubt and nods. Vision offers a nod of his own, relieved.
He brings the machine to her side. The bed’s obviously in use, and there’s really no other room, so
Natasha flounders a moment before Vision comes with a pillow for her back and a foot stool.
“Sorry,” he murmurs sheepishly. “Exigent circumstances. Again.”

That’s strangely comforting, and she musters an uncertain smile. The pillow goes behind her back,
and the foot stool is pushed under calves. This way she can lay flatter, which she does. It’s
awkward and not entirely comfortable, but it works. Nervously she watches Vision turn the
ultrasound on and get it ready. Then he’s coming with the probe. Natasha watches it like it’s some
horrible enemy. This whole thing is just weird as hell. Another weird thing, anyway. At least he
cleaned it of Steve’s blood. “What do I…”

“Lift your shirt up,” Vision instructs, “and push the top of your pants down. This will likely be
cold.” He waits for her to obey before squirting some of the gel to her bare stomach. It is cold, but
that’s not the only reason Natasha jerks. This is incredibly unnerving, and she has second thoughts,
laying there with her vulnerable midriff bared and Vision – not an enemy but perhaps not quite an
ally – observing at her.

It ends up not being her choice to continue, because Vision puts the probe to her lower stomach.
The touch is surprisingly low, and she jerks, unprepared despite everything. He lifts the probe and
looks down on her in genuine concern. “Is this–”

“I’m fine,” she says, and she is. She can do this. Vision waits a moment more before pressing the
probe once more gently to her lower stomach. Natasha exhales and looks to the monitor.

For a second, she really doesn’t know what she’s seeing. It’s a blur of white, black, and gray,
grainy and difficult to perceive and shifting as Vision adjusts the probe and then the image itself.
But the distortion is short-lived, and then it’s striking just how obvious everything becomes. The
dark area of her womb. The profile. A head and a spinal column. Hands and feet. A face, with a
nose and lips. She stares, awestruck. Maybe it’s just her mind, so overcome with amazement,
because the image isn’t great, and she’s not sure she can really see what she thinks she’s seeing, but
that face… It’s Steve’s.
This is their baby.

Vision’s staring at the monitor. “Judging by the fetal size, I would say you are between thirteen
and fifteen weeks pregnant.” More than three months. Natasha’s eyes widen, and she feels so
stupid. That means she conceived almost immediately after she and Steve started sleeping
together. All this time, she ignored her body’s signals. She carried on like nothing was
happening. Sticking her head in the sand. Willful ignorance. All this time, she was putting her
child in danger by fighting and running missions and doing her job.

But her anger and shame aren’t hardly more than a blip in her mind. Vision’s speaking more.
“Amniotic sac looks good. The placenta does as well. Healthy. And the fetal heartrate is very
strong. Would you like to hear it?”

Natasha’s too shocked to answer. “What?”

Vision offers a small smile. “The baby’s heartbeat. Would you like to hear it?”

She just stares dumbly before nodding. Vision touches a switch on the machine, and this soft, fast-
paced swishing sound fills the quiet room. It’s strange, not what she imagined, but in that steady,
rhythmic noise… Life. She can’t help a little gasp, looking back at the monitor, at the tiny baby
she can see moving inside her.

“I may be able to tell the gender, if you wish. Though at this early stage, my determination may be
in error.”

That’s even more alarming. She can’t think, too overwhelmed. Finding out if it’s a boy or a girl.
Reflexively she shakes her head because that’s too much, and it’s not something she wants to know
without Steve. It’s not her choice alone. None of this is. Vision nods and says nothing more of it,
instead carefully studying the ultrasound screen. He’s obviously examining more about the health
of the fetus and the pregnancy. Natasha can’t focus on that. She’s too utterly engrossed in that
blurry image that looks like Steve. On this baby they made together. She turns and looks at
Steve’s sleeping face and can’t help a smile.

“Everything looks perfect, Natasha,” Vision finally declares, breaking what has become a deep and
calm silence. She turns to him. He grimaces and grins at once. “Were this someplace else,
someplace normal, as much as I hate that term, I’d offer you a picture.” He sets the probe back to
the machine and turns everything off. “But there’s no paper for the printer and it’s not working
anyway.”

Just like that, the image of her baby is gone. Disappointment prickles her heart, and she takes a
deep breath to center herself. Then she grabs a paper towel to wipe the gel from her stomach.
“That’s okay.”

“But I will congratulate you nonetheless,” Vision says. Congratulations. That’s what normally
happens when friends learn you’re pregnant. It sounds so weird to hear it. He watches her a
moment as she sits up and gathers herself. The scrutiny isn’t comfortable. “What will you do?”

After all of this, she’s back to where she started. She pulls in a deep breath and reaches over and
takes Steve’s hand. There’s no reason to hide anything anymore. What good does lying do? She
can’t even convince herself. “I don’t know.”

Vision is quiet then. He cleans up for a bit longer, and she thinks it’s mostly for show. She’s
never seen him fidget. Eventually he turns back to them, to Steve where he’s still sleeping and
completely unaware of the huge thing that’s just happened and to Natasha. She’s cradling her
stomach without realizing, mind still so blank. It takes her a moment to realize he’s watching, that
he wants to say more. “It isn’t my place,” he concedes, and there’s genuine nervousness in his
eyes. He doubts himself another second before finally offering his piece. “But I would suggest
you and Captain Rogers stop now. Find a safe place to hide and stay there. Mr. Stark’s allegiance
with Secretary Ross is flimsy, and if you and the others cease your efforts to do good… Fall of
their radar, so to speak. I believe Ross will lose the support he has within the government should
you no longer draw attention to yourselves.”

Natasha can’t help but see the logic in that. “Steve won’t be happy with that. He feels like he has
to do what he can, even like this.”

“He will see that he must,” Vision replies quietly, “because he is a good man. Because he loves
you, and he will love this child.”

That’s so blunt and said so undeniably that it makes tears flood Natasha’s eyes. She looks down at
her lap and her hands, at her stomach. “If anyone finds out…” She can’t finish.

“If you hide, no one will. I will do everything I can to protect you when I return to the complex.
Wanda and Sam will be at your side. And Steve. You will be as free from danger as possible.”
It’s hard to fathom that. She’s lived in danger for so long. And staying in one place for months?
Years, after this baby is born? The same questions come. What kind of life is that, hiding forever
to protect themselves? What kind of mother can she possibly be?

And what safe haven is there?

“Natasha.” Vision crouches before her and takes her hands where they’ve been nervously
clenching themselves. “You can have this child peacefully and safely. Hiding is truly the only
option. Perhaps with false identities in another country where you are not known, you can even
receive routine prenatal care. Even without that, though… Childbirth is a natural process, and you
are strong enough to endure.” She doesn’t want to think about that, even though she supposes
that’s true. And she won’t be alone. Vision’s right about that, too. Sam would be there. And
Wanda. And Steve, of course.

So would it be so wrong? For how much she never imagined herself in this situation, she wants it
now. Steve’s not Captain America anymore. She’s not Black Widow. They’re not SHIELD
agents or Avengers, not really. Why cling to the past when the future is right before them? She
imagines it, finding a tiny, remote corner of the world somewhere, far from Ross’ eyes and ears, far
from his vicious reach, far from everything but each other… A small house. Just the basics that
they need to survive. They could be safe. Peaceful. Happy. Watching their child grow inside
her. Steve will be with her when she gives birth. They’ll be together. Raising the baby together.

A family.

“Yeah,” she finally murmurs. “I know I can.”

To that, Vision has a very human, very compassionate smile, and Natasha smiles back. Then he
rises. “I must insist you sleep. Come dawn, I will have to leave. I assume you will as well.” She
sighs and nods. “Then rest.”

When she nods again, he rises and pushes the ultrasound away. Then he turns back to Steve,
checking his IV lines and his vital signs one more time. Satisfied, he heads toward the door of the
small room.

“Vision,” Natasha calls, and he stops before he can depart. She stares at him, at this strange
creature who’s not human yet has been more empathetic, intelligent, and understanding in the last
hours than many of the people she’s known in her life. Another small, very sincere smile graces
her face. “Thank you.”

He looks down at his shoes a moment, clearly mulling something over and wondering anew if he
should say what he thinks. He decides to. “I signed the Accords because I thought sacrifice was
necessary to protect the greater good. Surrendering some personal freedoms is painful, yes, but
keeping the world safe is a worthy reward. I believed there could be a fair and just balance
between the needs of the many and the needs of the few. But… I realize now I was chasing an
ideal in an imperfect system. Ultron did call me unbearably naïve.” He pauses and shakes his
head. “Perhaps I was. Power corrupts, and corruption breeds cruelty. There can be no justice and
safety for the many when the few are treated so poorly. And I understand that there are limits to
what we can lose and still be who we are.” His eyes twinkle. She can’t help but wonder if that’s
from tears. “It is in love that I have found myself. It is not selfish to want to protect that. If the
system is asking us to sacrifice who we are and what we love in order to serve its cause… That is
not a choice any of us should have to make.”

Those words stay with her long after he’s gone. She turns them around and over and around again
in her head. Sacrifice. That’s really what it comes down to: what she’s willing to give to continue
this endless fight. The image from the ultrasounds slips through her thoughts, the baby’s tiny
body, its hands and feet, the face that looks so much like Steve’s…

She’s not willing to sacrifice that.

She falls asleep again. This time, she doesn’t dream. The slumber is deep, empty, bereft of
anything but recuperation. When she wakes, she has no idea where she is or what time it is or
what’s happening. There’s a soft, wet swishing sound and a hazy shadow in front of her that she
blinks into focus. “Steve?”

Steve’s back is to her. He’s standing at the tiny counter in the exam room – right, the clinic – and
he’s clearly washing himself. He doesn’t have a shirt on. In the dim light, she can see he’s gotten
the dirt and blood off of most of him, and he’s wiping tenderly at his side. He’s a mess of bruises.
The gunshot wound in his back is a sore, crusty hole that already looks like days of healing have
occurred. The injury to his shoulder is similarly improved. The place where Vision and Wanda
operated appears the worst, which makes sense. The cauterized flesh is angry and red, and Steve’s
standing in such a way that suggests it hurts a great deal. He’ll never admit that, though, or that he
shouldn’t be up and about less than twenty-four hours after being brutally attacked. Clearly hours
have passed since she fell asleep, since he lost consciousness after they saved him. The serum is
utterly amazing, but even he’ll need more time than that to fully recover from this.

Time they don’t have. Panicked, she sits up, her back flaring in agony from sleeping in such a
terrible position in that chair. She can’t stifle a groan, leaning onto the examination bed for
support, and immediately Steve is limping toward her. Sleep still has her hazy, so she doesn’t
really realize that he’s there until his hands are around her shoulders. “Easy,” he says. His voice is
hoarse, but just hearing it… She can’t stop herself. She throws her arms around him, buries her
face into his shoulder and holds him tight. It’s not like her to be so desperate, so damn weak, but
after everything… She chokes on a sob and squeezes him just to know he’s there before she
remembers he’s probably beyond sore and tender.

But he only groans, taking her weight like he’s taken the weight of the world without a thought for
himself before lifting her to sit on the bed. “I’m okay,” he promises, rubbing her back. His voice
is level, but it sounds stressed. “Okay? I’m fine.”
“Steve,” she murmurs. “Oh, God.”

“I’m fine,” he says again. “And you should sleep more because we have to go soon. A couple
hours, if that, and the sun will be up. Vision was in here and told me what happened, and we have
to get out of here. We can’t risk staying.”

That’s too much. How can he focus on what they need to do? She can’t. And she can’t find the
words she wants to say. Instead she pulls back and grasps his face and pulls him into a feverish
kiss. It feels so good, like it’s been far longer than a day since she’s last been able to kiss him.
He’s just as desperate, shaking, his pragmatism dying, pressing into her mouth as if he needs to
taste her the way he needs air to breathe. She loses herself in her relief, in the sweet joy of this
moment where there’s nothing else.

Then he pulls away with a gasp and cups her face. His eyes are wet and dark with so much
emotion. It’s like that day after she got hurt months before, right before they made love that first
time. The relief. The terrified desperation. “You shouldn’t have come for me.”

She can’t help a rough chuckle. “You’re seriously going to give me shit about saving your ass?”

Steve’s not laughing. “No, I just… God, Nat, I’m grateful that you did, but – it wasn’t worth the
risk. And I was ready.” She closes her eyes. “I knew I wasn’t getting out of there, and I thought…
at least you’d be safe. That’d be the end of it. Either I was going to die, or Ross would get me, but
at least you’d be okay.”

“You promised me you wouldn’t–” Her voice fails her, but she grits her teeth and goes on because
she almost lost him. “You can’t surrender yourself. I told you that.”

He shivers through a sigh, shaking his head. “I didn’t, Nat. I fought to get them off Sam, and then
I ran. I tried to get away, but the whole damn thing was a trap, and they were all over the area, and
I couldn’t. There was no way out. I tried, Nat!”

The shame in his voice is crushing. “No, no,” she gasps, kissing him more, harder, cupping his
face to keep him close. “No. I’m not blaming you.” She presses her lips to his forehead, enfolding
him into her arms again. “I was scared.”

“I know,” he murmurs into her neck. He does know. It’s what almost happened to her a few
months back. It’s the damn cycle of it all, the inevitability, the dangerous hell that surrounds
them. “’m sorry. I’m sorry!”

She can’t take it anymore. It needs to change, to end. They need to break free. “I need you!”

“I know!”

“Now more than ever.” And now this is it. Somehow she’s here, at this moment where it changes,
where she keeps the promise she made to herself. The strange thing is, for all her worrying and
doubt and anxiety, the moment has finally arrived with so little fanfare. It’s simply here, and she
knows what she has to do, because this baby… It’s a miracle. It’s a gift. It’s a sign.

And she has whole-heartedly put her faith into that, as crazy and difficult as that is. So she pulls
back from him, staring into his wet, pained eyes, and reaches into her pocket. Slowly she takes out
the very thing that’s changed everything.

The look on his face would be comical were it not for their situation. His eyes narrow, and his
brow furrows, and he just stares at the stick like he has no idea what he’s looking at. Maybe he
doesn’t. Maybe she needs to actually say something. She feels like a coward, the words stuck in
her throat, and she just stands there like a useless statue. She’s too afraid, because he looks so
confused and utterly lost, and fear again holds her captive.

Steve finally takes the test from her. His confusion seems to intensify, a wince claiming his face.
Then she sees the realization hit him. It’s remarkable, the shift of emotions in his blue eyes, and
the tension leaves his face. His jaw goes lax, eyes widening, and he looks up. “You’re pregnant?”
he whispers.

Natasha takes a deep breath. “Yeah.”

He doesn’t seem to process that. His shocked gaze drops from her face to the test in his hand
before returning to her face, as if he can’t reconcile how one links with the other. The silence that
comes is loaded with anxious hope, and she can’t breathe. He shakes his head. “You never
said…”

“I didn’t know,” she explains softly. “I didn’t think this could happen. And I just found out. I…”
She doesn’t finish, and he doesn’t answer, turning away a bit. He sags into the side of the
examining bed, chest heaving a bit. He’s still studying the pregnancy test like it’s not real. His
face is blank, and Natasha’s horror is mounting. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She doesn’t know
why she’s apologizing. This isn’t her fault. This isn’t mistake, either. Is it? All this doubt comes
rushing back. She just needs to say something – anything – to make him react, because everything
is riding on this moment.

But he keeps staring at that white and pink stick with its silly plus sign. He seems frozen. She
can’t see his face, and she can’t stand this. “Steve,” she whispers, “please. Please say something.”

Finally, finally, he looks up. His eyes are full of tears, and his lips are turned into a smile that
starts small but then gets bigger and broader and happier. “We’re having a baby.” That’s not a
question. It’s not an accusation, either, or a statement one makes just to hear a refutation. There’s
no misgiving or disbelief or anger in his voice. No fear. There’s only wonder.

Hesitantly she nods. “If… if you want.”

His answer is powerful and immediate. Before she even realizes what’s happening, he’s engulfing
her in his arms, bringing her close and kissing her desperately. “Oh, God, Nat… Nat, I love you,”
he says into her trembling lips. “I love you!”

She’s known that. Been certain of it. Believed it. But hearing it? It’s indescribable, driving deep
into her heart and freeing her own courage. Her voice is soft, but it’s never been so sure, and the
words have never been so powerful. “I love you, too.”

Time passes. The sun starts to rise. They should be preparing to run again, to find that haven
where they can hide and start this new life, but they end up on the bed. It’s small, barely big
enough for them both, but it’s fine. She’s in Steve’s arms, and Steve is holding her like he can’t
bear the thought of letting her go. They’re so close. Like this, she can feel him breathing, feel his
heart beating, feels the things that have come to mean that she’s right and strong and safe. And she
takes his hand, kissing his knuckles and then his lips, before pressing it to her stomach. To the
baby they’re going to have.

Their baby.

For the first time in forever, she has hope.

THE END
Chapter End Notes

Thanks so much for reading this story! All the comments and kudos and support has
really made writing it a pleasure. We'll see the next story in this series in a couple
months. Hope to see you then!

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