Archive of Our Own

The first thing she became aware of as she came to was broken glass biting into her forehead.

The next was the cold.

For a moment her mind tricked her into believing that she was back in the frozen wastelands of Siberia, the pleading screams of the other girls echoing inside her skull. But as her consciousness solidified, she became more alert. The ambient temperature was positively balmy compared to a Russian winter. She was cold because her skin was bare – all of it.

With a moan, she tried to roll her head away from the glass. Her muscles felt sluggish, not obeying her commands. She had no idea where she was or how she’d gotten there. Her head ached as she tried to put the pieces together.

Moving to press a hand to her forehead, her wrist was jerked short almost immediately. Panic roared through her until she managed to push it back down. Wriggling her joints slightly, she was able to better assess the situation - her limbs had been hogtied together with almost no give.

After a couple of tries, she managed to roll onto her side, curling her knees toward her chest. It put a painful strain on her shoulders but she was far beyond caring.

Things were slowly starting to come back. She’d been at the compound. She’d been sent intel. It was time sensitive – no time to put together an op or wait for back up… but why?

Looking around, she realized she was in a narrow alleyway, nestled amongst trashcans and heaps of refuse. Something about that tugged at her memory but she wasn’t sure why. Clenching her hands into fists she tried to think harder.

The intel… she remembered that she didn’t recognize the source but it had used SHEILD encryption. And it had been a supposed location for Bucky Barnes. Her brow creased as more memories came flooding back.

Against her better judgment she’d gone for Steve’s sake. It had led her to a warehouse in Maryland. She’d still been staking out the place when… what?

Something had obviously happened.

A gust of wind licked up her bare spine and she tried to curl in closer. The movement caused a harsh throb in her lower abdomen and she cried out, her stomach churning.

A little bit of the fog shrouding her brain pulled back even further, revealing a set of cruel brown eyes gleaming at her from a deeply scarred face twisted by a malicious smirk. Rumlow.

“I’m going to leave you out with the trash where you belong, Widow.”

She squeezed her eyes closed.

She remembered more now. She’d been so focused on the warehouse that she hadn’t realized he’d come up behind her until it was too late. He’d hit her with a taser, stunning her just long enough to disarm her. He’d then used her own widow’s bite against her, firing repeatedly until it felt like her chest might burst and she’d lost consciousness. No wonder she was feeling so muddled.

She tried testing her bonds yet again, but it was no use. He’d been sure to tie her in such a way that it was completely impossible for her to free herself. And yet he hadn’t gagged her. She could see people walking by on the street beyond, completely oblivious to the distress of the naked woman lying helplessly nearby. He hadn’t cared that she’d be able to call out for help – because he knew that she wouldn’t.

It was yet another one of his fucked up mind games.

A quiet whimper escaped her lips as a single tear rolled down her cheek. Her chest tightened. She couldn’t deal with the humiliation of being found in this state by civilians. Never in her life had she felt so utterly powerless.

“Natasha?!”

A deep voice echoed from the mouth of the alley. She’d recognize it anywhere. She wished the ground would open up beneath her and swallow her whole.

His heavy footsteps echoed as he raced to her side. “Nat, oh my god…” he crouched down beside her. Her gaze was instantly drawn to his glistening blue eyes, and her heart rate kicked up. She didn’t want him to see her like this.

Gently, he brushed the hair from her eyes, grimacing as it caught in the bloody mess on her forehead. She tried not to flinch away from his touch. She’d never seen Steve’s expression look so pained. An involuntary sob ripped free from her throat.

His jaw tightened as he pulled his hand away. “It’s okay,” he told her softly. “I’m just going to work on getting you free alright?”

She couldn’t respond.

Swallowing tightly, he shifted down her body and began working at the knots. The second the ropes around her wrists loosened, she was scrambling back. Her hand slipped on a small rectangular object and she looked down. It was her phone – the dim light of the screen pulsing languidly with a distress beacon.

“Send my regards to Captain America. I hope he enjoys his present.”

The air caught in her lungs. For a second, she was afraid that she would choke. She continued to crawl backwards until her shoulders pressed against the uneven brick of the building behind her.

Steve shrugged out of his leather jacket, draping it over her body. It engulfed her smaller frame almost entirely. As soon as the fabric had settled he backed away, holding his hands up placatingly, trying to give her space. Her eyes flickered down to the asphalt.

Silence hung heavily between them for several long minutes. She didn’t move. Finally, anxiety seemed to get the better of her partner, stopping him from holding off any longer. “I need to get you to a hospital Nat.”

She felt her expression turn stony as she hugged her legs closer and shook her head resolutely.

The gravel crunched beneath his boots as he shifted. “You’re-“ she heard him swallow thickly. “You’re bleeding. You need to-“

She cut him off. “I said no Rogers.” The angry bite in her tone left no room for argument. She took a deep breath through her nose, trying her damnedest to pull her calm façade firmly back into place. “I just want to go home,” she told him in a much more measured voice. She finally looked up.

Steve looked lost, his hands resting on his hips as his eyes darted toward the entrance to the alley. “I rode my bike here. I can’t-“

Natasha’s jaw set. “Just find me some clothes. I’m okay.” Her voice was raspy – little more than a breathy whisper. She cleared her throat to try again. It felt like swallowing glass. “I’ll be okay.” Despite her best efforts, the words didn’t come out any stronger.

Steve’s eyebrows crinkled together. “No. I’m not leaving you-“

She pulled herself taller. Pain was starting to spill through the numbness that had overtaken her, but she wouldn’t let it show. “Please.” She’d never asked him for anything in her life, and the way that his face crumpled, she knew he was well aware of that fact. “He’s not coming back. I’ll be fine,” she assured him more gently.

He hesitated a moment longer before finally turning away.

He was almost at the end of the narrow corridor when his name burst past her lips before she could stop herself from speaking. “Steve.”

He froze immediately, his shoulders stiffening as he waited for her to go on. Damn his enhanced hearing.

Her fingers tightened around the collar of his jacket. “Don’t get me anything expensive. I don’t want to feel bad when I burn it.”

He flinched, but didn’t comment.

As soon as his broad shoulders disappeared, she huddled tighter into his jacket. It was still warm from Steve’s body heat and smelled like him – a mix of spicy soap and laundry detergent. Snow had begun to fall – tiny white flakes drifting lazily down and dissolving the moment they encountered the dirty puddles littering the ground. She started to shiver, but she wasn’t sure how much of it was due to the temperature and how much was due to the memories that were continuing to resurface.

Rumlow had had everything carefully planned. He’d taken away her autonomy, made sure that she knew that she was powerless to stop anything that was happening to her. Something about that made everything so much worse. She’d been taught from a young age that her body was a tool, but it was a tool that she was in control of. She’d been in nightmarish situations before, but she’d always had the comfort of knowing that she still held the upper hand – she could kill her mark on a whim, his life was ultimately in her hands.

This had been the opposite. There was absolutely nothing she could do, right down to being able to choose how she had been found. Bile rolled in her stomach, threatening to make its way up. She swallowed it down, forcing herself to hold it together.

Steve returned before long, handing her a package. As soon as it was in her grasp, he turned around, protecting her privacy. Nat tried not to scoff – as if his enhanced vision hadn’t picked up on every detail already.

Opening the bag, she found the necessities – underwear, socks, shoes… and a soft flannel pajama set. He hadn’t listened to her, the quality was apparent the moment she ran her fingers across the material. She got dressed without much fuss, ignoring whenever a wound pulled or a bruise ached. She left the top he’d provided untouched, choosing instead to pull Steve’s jacket tighter around her body. As much as she loathed to admit it, it made her feel safe and she highly doubted that he’d complain about the cold.

Getting to her feet was a struggle. Her legs wobbled and she had to practically claw at the wall for leverage. As soon as Steve heard her attempt to get up, he was at her side trying to help, but she pushed him away and he didn’t put up much of a fight.

Her walk was stilted, especially with the way the world seemed to tilt and swirl around her, but she still managed to make it to the street unassisted. Small victories.

Steve’s Harley was parked right outside of the alley’s mouth. Leaning against the corner of the building, she looked at him pointedly.

He sighed in frustration. “I really think you need to-“

She hardened her stance, feeling her eyebrows knit. “No.”

He gave her an exasperated look, but moved forward. Leaning over the bike, he produced a helmet from somewhere, then slipped it over her head. “No way am I letting you ride on the back of the bike where you’re liable to fall off Natasha.” He used one hand to gently steer her towards the seat.

She bristled, grinding her teeth, but swung a leg over the contoured leather anyway, trying not to wince as she scooted closer to the handlebars. He climbed on behind her, reaching around her smaller form to turn the key. Encased by his larger body, she felt like a child. His warm thighs pressing along the outside of hers made her feel torn between wanting to scream and wanting to melt into his embrace. Black spots danced along her vision. She fought against it as he pulled away from the curb, cringing every time they hit even the smallest bump.

Her chest tightened and the enclosed space of the helmet no longer seemed to contain enough oxygen. She started to sink, her head bobbing slightly. One of Steve’s arms wrapped around her waist, securing her tightly before she could slump over. The world continued to dim until everything was swallowed in an inky black silence.

***

The next time she came to, her body was swaying gently. A muscular arm curled beneath the crook of her knees, while another supported her back. She stiffened.

Steve’s familiar scent washed over her and she forced herself to relax. Her eyes fluttered open just as they were coming up to a door. It took her a moment, but she managed to recognize it – Steve’s apartment in DC.

She pushed against his shoulder, letting out a soft groan. Reluctantly he put her down. Her legs were still unsteady and her whole body protested having to hold itself up, but she managed to stay upright, at least for the time being.

Steve must have read the question in her eyes. “I couldn’t drive all the way to New York with you passed out Nat,” he chided wearily. He unlocked the door and motioned her inside.

She stood awkwardly in the entryway for a moment, before she couldn’t stand it any longer. “I need a shower,” her voice hadn’t gained any strength since the last time she’d used it. Bringing up a hand she massaged at her throat. That was a mistake – her touch sent pain shooting out from her fingers in all directions.

Shaking his head, Steve looked supremely uncomfortable. “You should see someone. There could be evidence…” he trailed off, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

“I don’t need evidence,” she told him flatly before brushing past him. She could figure out where the bathroom was all on her own.

The first doorway led to a bedroom, as did the next. That only left one other option.

“…should have taken you to the hospital while you were unconscious…” The words were muttered, but she still heard them clearly enough.

She stumbled. She knew he meant well and was just trying to take care of her, but it would have been yet another choice that was taken away from her. She leaned an elbow heavily against the wall as her shoulders shook.

“Nat, I’m sorry, I-“

Ducking into the washroom she slammed the door.

Before she did anything else, she turned the taps on full – the water hitting the bottom of the basin drowning out the quiet hitches in her breath. As the room filled with steam, she struggled out of her clothes and nearly tumbled as she tried to get into the tub. The adrenalin had long since worn off and her muscles were completely spent, refusing to cooperate for even a second longer. Sinking down on her haunches, she let the water cascade over her skin, watching it turn a muted pink before meandering toward the drain.

Fetching a washcloth off the counter, she lathered it with soap and began to methodically scrub every inch of her skin. It wasn’t the first time she’d been in this position. By this point it felt almost as if she had a ritual, as horrible as that sounded. But this time somehow felt impossibly different. No matter how much she scoured at her already aching flesh it didn’t have the same cleansing effect. She still felt dirty – tainted.

This wouldn’t just rinse away.

Panic began to bubble its way back up, seizing her within its grip and refusing to let go. Flipping the shower off, she tried to clear the steam from the air, hoping it would thin enough to pass through her narrowing throat. Her nails bit into the flesh of her palms and her teeth burrowed into her lip until a coppery tang danced along her tongue.

Focusing on the pain –its uncomplicated presence like an old friend - allowed her to center herself once again – bury everything else.

Slowly, she was able to unfurl her fingers, using them to grip the edge of the bathtub instead. Pulling herself to her feet felt like a journey in itself, but it was one that was attainable with a bit of sweat and effort. She swiped a fluffy towel from beneath the sink and wrapped it around her body – its downy caress feeling so out of place against her skin that it made her dizzy.

A light tap on the door caused her spine to tingle uncomfortably.

“Nat can I come in?”

She didn’t answer him, leaning heavily into the sink. The reflection staring back at her was nearly unrecognizable, and it wasn’t just because of the deep red handprint on her neck or the cuts still slowly oozing blood on her forehead.

Steve tried again. He’d always been too stubborn for his own good. “Tasha please – I want to help you.”

Reluctantly she undid the lock on the door and left it up to him to figure out whether that was permission or not.

Apparently he wasn’t sure either, because it took him nearly a full five minutes before he actually opened the door. He slid into the room timidly, holding a fresh stack of clothes in one hand and his field first aid kit in the other. Without a word, she took the bundle of material from him, then turned away, letting her towel drop. She quickly pulled the old t-shirt and sweatpants he’d offered over her limbs. The fabric was soft and worn, supple against her skin. She fingered the hem for a moment before sinking down onto the toilet seat.

Steve squatted down in front of her, opening up his kit and taking out the supplies he’d need. He didn’t say anything - he’d put his foot in his mouth enough times already. As he started to remove fragments of glass from her temple, she could tell that he was aching to make a comment but somehow he managed to hold his tongue. Her eyes traced the hard line of his brow and caught on the way that a muscle in his jaw jumped every so often.

His gaze never met hers. He was too focused on the task at hand. He pulled out his suture kit then hesitated, his question easily apparent.

“Just do it,” she gritted out. She didn’t need anything to numb the pain. More of a distraction would be welcome.

His forehead pinched, but he didn’t challenge her – his hands steady as he expertly placed the stitches. She focused on the drag and pull of the needle and thread, the sensation so off-putting that it was able to drown out everything else, at least for the time being.

He taped a tidy white square of gauze in place with gentle fingers before letting them fall away.

“You asked me once if I could trust you. I thought that that ran both ways.” His eyes seemed to be studying the tile floor intently.

She bristled, hands clenching back into fists.

“I know that I couldn’t possibly understand Natasha. But you can talk to me. I… I care okay? I can’t stand seeing you like this.” His eyes flickered back up to hers, piercing right through her with the deep sadness that they held.

“This might even hurt your dear Cap more than it hurts you… the whore that you are.”

Her stomach clenched as her gorge rose. Pushing him out of the way, she scrambled down off of the toilet seat and hurriedly flipped around, retching with everything that she had. After a moment, cool air swept up the back of her neck. Steve had gathered her hair, pulling it out of the way. She continued to heave and gag until there was nothing left, a sharp pain lancing between her ribs every time she inhaled. She’d pulled something at the very least.

A cool compress pressed to the back of her neck made her shiver and pull away.

“Sorry,” Steve muttered, shifting the cloth to mop up the clammy sweat coating her brow.

Wiping at her mouth with the back of her wrist, she reached up and yanked on the handle before using the toilet seat to unsteadily draw herself back to her feet.

Steve didn’t try to push her to talk again, just wordlessly handed her a glass of water. She was grateful.

Swishing the cool liquid around her mouth a few times, she spit into the sink, then wavered. Steve’s hand made its way to the small of her back. She longed to shout at him not to touch her. She remained silent.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he murmured. The hallway swirled past in a muted kaleidoscope of color. Before she knew it, she was under the covers, Steve tucking her in with military precision. The light dimmed as he drew the curtains. He paused at the door. “I’ll be just down the hall if you need me.”

His footsteps faded until the silence returned.

-silence that she couldn’t stand. Rumlow’s voice carried back into her head, as clear as day.

“You must enjoy it, don’t you? Why else would you keep letting SHEILD use you for their honey pot missions? Guess I’m just helping you out.”

 She squeezed her eyes tighter, her spine crawling.

“Why don’t you scream? Come on bitch. Make it worth my while.”

Rolling over onto her stomach, she buried her face into the pillow, the smell of Steve’s shampoo flooding her nostrils. She bit into the thick material and finally did exactly what he’d been asking for. She screamed - the sound coming right from the base of her lungs. It was stupid. With Steve’s enhanced senses he could almost certainly hear her. But once she’d started, she couldn’t stop. She screamed and screamed until she wasn’t taking in enough air anymore and her mind could no longer fight the fog encroaching in from its shadowed corners. And then it was back to the black void.

***

The sound of a phone vibrating in the next room was what brought her around again.

She groaned. It felt like every cell in her body had been electrified – probably because it had. She had no idea how long she’d been out again but it didn’t seem like too much time had passed – the angle of the little bit of sunlight penetrating the drapes hadn’t changed by much.

The low rumble of Steve’s voice was barely audible from the other side of the apartment. Rolling out of bed she crept down the hall, light as ever on her feet despite the deep-seated soreness overwhelming her muscles.

Poking her head around the corner, she found Steve slumped on the couch, his cell pressed to his ear. He hadn’t noticed her presence.

“Yeah, I found her,” his voice was devoid of its usual strength.

Natasha shifted her weight from her heels to her toes, wondering who he was talking to.

“No, she’s not,” he responded flatly to whatever question he’d been asked. After a slight pause he spoke again. “It’s bad, Sam.”

Well, that answered her question. Her stomach rolled uncomfortably and her shoulders tensed as she waited for him to spill everything she wanted to keep secret.

He scraped a hand roughly through his hair and sighed. “It’s really not my place to say.”

Her eyebrows scrunched together. That hadn’t been what she was expecting.

He continued listening to whatever the former airman had to say with a contemplative expression on his face. Her eyes caught on the way he chewed at his bottom lip agitatedly. This was a side of Steve Rogers that he didn’t let show very often. Knowing that almost made her feel worse.

“I appreciate it. Take care of yourself.” Exhaling heavily, he ended the call and dropped his phone onto the coffee table. From there he just stared off into space for a long moment and Nat swore he was looking right through her because he still had yet to acknowledge her presence. She’d never seen him look so heartbroken before - not even when he’d realized Bucky was still alive. Her stomach clenched – at least that situation had come with a sprinkle of hope.

Pressing his elbows into his knees, Steve scrubbed his hands harshly over his face a few times, as if he was trying to pull himself together. It must not have helped, because he ended up just sitting there with his head in his hands.

She felt like she needed to comfort him. It was a ridiculous notion – but it was still one she couldn’t shake. Before she could really think things through, her mouth was opening. “It wasn’t the first time,” she admitted quietly, her strained voice cracking.

Steve jumped. She felt a weird glimmer of satisfaction that even after everything, she could still sneak up on him. His hands dropped, clasping between his knees as he looked at her, puzzled. Then his expression slowly morphed into one of horrified realization as her words started to sink in.

“I’m okay,” she reassured him. Even to her trained ear, the statement sounded much more convincing than it had earlier.

Steve studied her for a long tense moment, then dropped his gaze. “You shouldn’t have to be.”

His words landed like an unexpected blow. She didn’t know what to do with them. Biting at the inside of her lip, her arms unconsciously wrapped their way around her abdomen as she rocked her weight slowly from foot to foot.

He stood up, shoving his hands self-consciously into his pockets. When the awkward silence seemed too heavy to let it go on for a second longer, he brushed past her, heading to the kitchen. He’d left a kettle on the stove and he flipped the burner on underneath it.

While he waited for the water to come to a boil, he turned back to face her. “I was with Sam when I got the distress call,” he informed her, as if to explain what he knew she’d just overheard.

She accepted the change in topic gratefully. “He didn’t come with you?” She was a little taken aback by that.

Steve swallowed, his gaze intent on the hardwood near his feet. “We were on a trail – Bucky. Sam stayed in the hopes that we wouldn’t lose him.” The kettle started to whistle, and he pulled a mug out of the cupboard, rummaged around for a teabag, then put everything together to steep.

Nat’s mouth opened and closed a few times, guilt forming a heavy weight that settled somewhere behind her sternum. “You need to go.”

Steve shook his head. “Sam says he’s gone – the trail’s cold. And you need me here.”

Her mouth was dry – tongue sticking like sandpaper to the roof of her mouth. “I don’t.” She wanted that to be the truth and that was enough to lend conviction to her voice. “I… I didn’t send that beacon. You know that Steve. You shouldn’t feel obligated to stay on my behalf.”

His eyes flickered to hers briefly and she thought she saw a flash of hurt spark through them. “I’m not leaving you to deal with this Natasha. Get that notion out of your head.” He handed her the mug, a wash of peppermint-scented steam sweeping over her face.

She took a tentative sip. The warm liquid soothed as it ran down her throat. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. It didn’t seem right to feel better – she wanted to go back to feeling numb. “Got any vodka?” she asked, putting the cup down on the kitchen table.

“I can’t get drunk,” he reminded her, leaning back against the counter.

She sighed, letting her head fall forward. The news about Bucky compounded with the guilt she’d already been feeling. Steve didn’t deserve to share in the oppressive weight that was making her skin feel tight, her organs unsettled. “I want you to go Steve,” she admitted quietly. Maybe it was also that she couldn’t stand the constant reminder of what happened that his continued presence made impossible to forget.

A loud crack caused her to look in his direction. His white knuckled grip on the counter gave her a pretty good clue as to where the damage had been done.

Steve swallowed, his gaze dipping once again. “I may be naïve, but I’m not an idiot.” He paused. “I know that there’s more that you’re not telling me.”

She didn’t respond, her breath quickening involuntarily.

“There’s a reason that that rescue beacon was sent to me.” He speculated, then waited for her to try to deny his statement. She still remained silent.

His hand clenched into a fist. “Dammit Natasha, stop trying to protect my feelings.”

The words came out unbidden before she could stop them. “It was Rumlow okay? Is that what you want to hear?!” she retorted angrily. And then it was like the flood gates had opened and nothing could stem the tide. “It was fucking Rumlow out to get his revenge and figuring he could hit two birds with one stone. And he knew just how to do that didn’t he?”

Steve looked absolutely stricken, but she couldn’t stop.

“I played right into his hands. So who’s the naïve one now Rogers? There’s no one to blame for this but me, so don’t you dare even fucking start.” At some point she’d started to hyperventilate. The room threatened to spin again. She gripped the back of the chair beside her to stay upright.

“Nat-“ Steve tried quietly.

“I didn’t want to talk about this.” Her voice was cracking, betraying emotions she hadn’t let herself feel since she was a child – before she’d been molded into marble, constructed to show nothing but a cool exterior.

She wondered idly if being electrocuted had somehow scrambled her brain.

Her ribs were back to aching sharply every time she inhaled - it felt like she was sipping air through a narrow straw. She blinked and a pair of deep blue eyes was swimming in front of her. She could feel his warm hands pressing on the tops of her shoulders. “Is this okay?” he asked hurriedly.

She would have snorted if she’d had any control over her breathing. Always the gentleman – even when she was in danger of causing herself to pass out.

She didn’t verbally answer him. Instead, she wound her fingers into the fabric of his shirt, clenching them tightly, and burrowed her head into the valley of his chest.

Without hesitation, his arms wound around her, one hand threading up into her hair. His embrace was tight, the pressure helping to ground her, giving her a solid foundation.

“Just breathe Nat.” His chest rumbled as he whispered the words.

Squeezing her eyes closed, she did her best, trying to match the pattern of his ribs expanding and contracting under her hands. Gradually her chest loosened, and she started to melt, Steve’s arm around her waist practically the only thing keeping her upright.

“Absolutely nothing that that piece of shit did to you is your fault, do you hear me?” his low voice held a dangerous growl.

“Language,” the word just slipped out, muttered into his shirt. Steve stiffened slightly, but then relaxed, burying his nose into her hair.

“You’re allowed to fall apart Natasha.”

Again, she didn’t respond. She’d always prided herself on her restraint and in that moment she didn’t trust her ability to say anything without it coming out as a sob.

His hand travelled the length of her spine a couple of times, kneading into the tense muscles. “It’s okay.”

She shook her head, the cuts on her forehead throbbing as they were irritated anew. “You’ve read my file,” she tried to remind him of why that was impossible.

Steve stilled. “I haven’t,” he admitted quietly.

Natasha pulled away from him slightly, her brow wrinkling in confusion.

“I don’t need to read judgments passed down by a corrupt agency to know who you are Nat.”

The bridge of her nose stung as she leaned even further away from him. She scrubbed roughly at one of her eyes, hoping to erase any trace of moisture that might have been building up. Taking a shuddering breath, she quickly changed the subject. “We should warn Sam. It wasn’t as personal with him, but Rumlow could still go after him next.”

A hint of alarm pulsed at Steve’s temple before he tamped it down. “He’s safe enough for now.”

She opened her mouth, about to tell him off – but the words stuck in her throat.  Her vision blurred for a moment, before she was overcome by a disorienting feeling, like she was no longer physically inside her body. She tried to nudge Steve to get his attention but nothing happened.

The last thing she saw before her vision whited out was Steve’s quizzical expression.

The floor fell out from underneath her.

“Nat?!”

The next thing she knew, she was on her back lying on a soft surface. Her muscles ached even worse than they had before. She groaned, curling onto her side. A damp cloth flopped onto the pillow beside her, having obviously fallen from her forehead. The dewy remnants on the back of her neck indicated that another one had been pressed there. She felt like she would have been sick again if there had been anything left in her stomach.

Steve was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking extremely worried. “You had a seizure,” he informed her, sounding more than a little scared. She noted the phone he was clenching tightly in one hand.

She tried to swallow, but her mouth was drier than a desert in a sandstorm. “I’m fine,” she rasped, trying to prop herself up with one arm.

Steve instantly pushed her back down. “You’re not.” His tone told her that he had zero interest in arguing the topic.

Grabbing a bottle of Gatorade off of the bedside table, he placed it firmly in her hand. “You need to rehydrate. Then you’re getting some sleep.”

Her lips parted, a fresh retort poised on the tip of her tongue, but he stopped her.

“Do it or I swear to god Natasha I will drag you to the hospital – damn the consequences.” His voice was strained, almost sounding close to tears.

She relented, pressing the bottle to her lips then nearly choking when the sickly sweet liquid flooded her throat. She managed to get half of the bottle down before her stomach revolted and she pushed it away. “I can’t,” she gasped, ducking her head in embarrassment.

He still looked upset, but he took the drink away nonetheless, then adjusted the covers on the bed so that she was tucked in properly. “At least try to sleep. Please - don’t fight me on this.” He stood up shakily and headed for the door.

As soon as he was no longer nearby, the memory of the way that Rumlow’s voice had reverberated in her skull the last time she’d been left alone brought a wave of panic right back to the surface. “Steve,” she blurted, then pressed a fist to her mouth, blocking anything else from coming out.

He’d stopped to turn off the light. At the sound of her voice he slowly rotated back to face her, his eyes glistening softly in the dim glow from the hallway.

“Stay,” she begged. Her voice sounded pathetic and she wanted to take the word back as soon as it’d left her lips.

But Steve softened as soon as he heard it. He crossed back to her in a few long strides and laid down. He stayed on top of the blankets and aligned himself with the very edge of the bed, giving her plenty of space.

Tentatively, she reached for his hand, threading their fingers together. He squeezed back, but didn’t say anything – not commenting on her weakness or trying to push for anything more.

Nat was still unsure, but she eventually relaxed, their hands still entwined on the bedspread between them. She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but in the end sleep came for her, Steve staying protectively at her side.

***

The next morning she awoke to an empty bed. If possible, she felt even worse than she had the night before. Her head pounded with a steady throb and it felt like her mouth and throat had been scrapped out with steel wool. And all of that had nothing on the constant ache that had settled between her legs. She bit into her bottom lip, trying to hold in a gasp as she forced herself to her feet. Suffice it to say, she had never felt this awful in her life – and that was saying a lot.

Stumbling down the hall, she found Steve sitting at the kitchen island, a mug of coffee clutched in one hand. He looked exhausted, heavy circles settled deep beneath his eyes. His gaze flickered up to hers as he heard her footsteps approach. “I rented a car – we’re leaving for the compound in an hour.”

She raised an eyebrow but was too worn out to question him. Besides, she’d give anything to be back in her own apartment without Steve hovering – or at least she told herself that.

He slid a fresh bottle of Gatorade across the counter to her. She eyed it warily, but slumped into a chair and took a few careful sips anyway. Steve walked to the fridge and surveyed the shelves. “Do you think you could manage some food?”

“Nope,” she let the ‘p’ pop, trying to sound like her old self – covering the fact that her stomach was still twisting into painful knots.

Steve’s head drooped as he sighed. “We can leave earlier if you’re ready to go.”

Pushing back to her feet, she ran a hand through her hair and tried not to grimace as her fingers snagged in the greasy tangles. “Lead the way Cap,” her voice was flat, lacking the usual teasing tone she’d meant to use.

His shoulders tensed but he nodded, heading toward the door. She followed, stooping down to grab her shoes. Drops of blood had dried to a rusty brown on the toes. Her gorge rose, but she managed to shove it down – it wasn’t like she had any other option.

The first few hours of the drive were spent in silence, Nat pressing her forehead against the cool glass of the passenger side window. Steve glanced over at her every so often, but once again he managed to hold his tongue.

When they were about half an hour away, he finally spoke, his voice lancing through the stagnant air. “I shouldn’t have pushed so hard for you to talk about it.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, before letting them flicker down to the floor mat, zoning in intently on a candy wrapper that the person who’d last cleaned the vehicle had missed.

“You need to go to medical Nat.” She bristled, but he wasn’t finished speaking. “I’m not forcing you to tell anyone what happened – though for the record I think you should – but even if you don’t, you still need to get checked out.”

“Steve.” She said his name curtly, her fingers digging into the door handle in agitation.

He swallowed, his jaw visibly tensing. “How many times did he shock you?”

She looked over at him sharply, her mouth falling open to deny whatever he was implying.

“I saw the electrical burns Natasha.”

Her teeth clicked together. “I don’t know,” she eventually admitted, feeling a flush heat her cheeks. It was the honest truth – she’d passed out, and a lot of what had happened was still a blur.

He looked at her a little longer, taking in the stubborn resistance still set in her features. His eyes went back to the road. “Repeatedly losing consciousness isn’t normal. Seizing isn’t normal. You need to make sure there’s no permanent damage.”

She chewed it over, watching the open fields of upstate New York fly past. He had a point. And had her injuries been the result of a mission, she never would have even questioned it. This just felt different. But that wasn’t an excuse.

“I’ll go,” she relented quietly.

Steve’s shoulders sagged.

“Tomorrow,” she amended.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened.

“I’m feeling better.” It was only partially a lie. Sure the pain was significantly worse, but most of the dysphoria she’d been feeling had faded away. And she had more than her fair share of experience dealing with physical discomfort. “I need to do this at my own pace Steve,” she added.

He didn’t seem happy with her decision, but he let it go.

Arriving at the Avengers Compound, she went directly to her quarters, trying to minimize her chances of running into anyone else.

As the door slid shut behind her, she leaned back into the cool metal “Privacy mode Friday.”

“Of course Ms Romanoff,” the AI’s calming voice echoed out immediately.

She let out a long breath.

Not quite knowing what to do with herself, she ran a bath, sprinkling in some of the essential oils Wanda had given her at some point. The strong scent did little for her headache, but she climbed into the scalding water anyway, letting it rise until it was skimming the tops of her collarbones. Steam swirled through the air, clouding her vision and giving everything a heavy sensation. She sank even deeper, until the surface brushed her chin.

Closing her eyes, she relaxed her head back against the porcelain, focusing on each individual muscle and coaxing it to relax. She must have done too good of a job, because without realizing it, she faded away from consciousness…

And was right back into a nightmare – her shoulder blades digging painfully into the cement floor, a large hand constricting her airway, foul breath washing across her face, as a voice that made her skin crawl whispered threatening words against her ear.

She woke with a start, tepid water spraying across the tile floor. Her grip on the edges of the tub was white knuckled as she attempted to get her wildly galloping heart back under control. When she managed to get her breathing back to an almost normal pace, she let her head fall back against the ledge with a dull thud.

“Ms Romanoff, if I may – Captain Rogers has inquired repeatedly about your wellbeing. He is beginning to sound quite agitated.” Friday’s voice needled into her awareness.

“Tell him I’m fine,” she snapped. She pulled herself out of the water, wrapping herself in a towel. “And I asked for privacy,” she added as a frustrated afterthought.

“Yes Ms Romanoff.” If she didn’t know any better, Natasha would have thought the AI sounded properly chastened.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and groaned. She looked a mess. Her hair obviously hadn’t been combed in days, and the bruises had darkened to an ominous deep purple. The gauze on her head had grown soggy, so she ripped it off and tossed it in the trash, not having the energy to properly replace it.

She knew she should actually put some effort into taking care of herself but she just couldn’t bring herself to do anything about it. So what if her appearance matched how she was feeling internally? For once there was no one around to see it.

Fetching Steve’s t-shirt from off of the floor, she slipped it back over her head and walked out into the main apartment. She needed to give herself something to do – a distraction from the nightmare still buzzing around her skull.

Pulling a box out from under her bed, she grabbed a pair of pointe shoes. There was nothing like taking out one’s frustrations on the torturous contraptions. Throwing the set of Grishkos onto the dining table, she began working them, warming the glue between her palms.

Natasha had never been one to be weak. She’d been shot, stabbed, kidnapped, used and abused, and yet never once had she felt this absolutely shaken. It made her angry with herself, feeling almost betrayed by her own feelings. She smacked the shank of the shoe against the edge of the table with a satisfying crunch, working the demi-pointe to a more practical level of malleability.

She didn’t know how to fix herself. This wasn’t something she’d ever had to deal with before – at least not to this extent. And the more she thought about it, the more it just served to make her feel even more unlike herself. It was almost as if she’d been deposited into someone else’s consciousness – their unfamiliar emotions like an unwelcome visitor.

She was dissociating.

The toe box cracked beneath her thumb, the pale pink satin rumpling along the deformity. She tossed the shoes off to the side before she mangled them beyond utility.

Standing up, she began pacing the small living space of her quarters. She was acting like a caged animal – restless and unable to settle, even the Red Room’s brutal teachings incapable of compelling her into stillness.

She thought about calling Clint, but she couldn’t do it – couldn’t bring herself to reveal her fragility to someone else, even if he might be able to convince her to pull it together. Because that’s what he’d do. He’d be sympathetic and listen and try to reassure her, there was no question – but then he’d tell her to buck up and get back to being the Natasha Romanoff that could take out 5 HYDRA agents without breaking a sweat. And she just wasn’t capable of that yet.

She wasn’t the strong, independent woman her teammates knew – at least not in that moment – and that was too humiliating to face.

Searching for normalcy, she dug into the back of her closet and pulled out one of her spare glocks. Rumlow had taken all of the weapons she’d had on her, but she wouldn’t be the Black Widow if she didn’t have a few additional firearms stored in inconspicuous places. Sitting on the edge of her bed she cleaned the handgun meticulously, then re-cleaned it as she watched the sun go down.

She reloaded it, then checked it twice, making sure that it was ready to fire at a moment’s notice. Then she placed it on her nightstand within easy reach.

Crawling backwards until her shoulders hit the headboard, she pulled her legs against her chest, burying her face in her knees. Despite the fact that she’d done next to nothing all day, she felt exhausted. And yet she didn’t want to go to sleep, worried that the nightmares would come surging back.

She stared at a spot on the wall where the paint had been dinged for at least an hour. Eventually her eyelids started to droop, but every time she caught herself, she would jolt back awake, then pinch her forearm until the steady throb roused her for at least another 10 minutes. When that was no longer enough, she groaned.

She’d slept relatively soundly the previous night. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why that was. Still, she was reluctant to get Steve involved again. She knew him. She knew he was already beating himself up over this. Confirming to him that she was falling apart was just going to make things worse.

Her eyes closed once again. She jerked back awake – her head smarting after it bounced off of the headboard. That was it.

With a groan she slipped off of her bed, padding barefoot across the apartment before she could change her mind.  She was outside of his door within minutes, but when she saw the familiar panel, she hesitated once again, her raised fist hovering a hairsbreadth away from the door.

She chewed into her lip, about to turn away. Then the barrier slid open, revealing Steve’s startling blue eyes.

She jumped. Then she cursed, her heart hammering against her ribs.

His expression immediately softened, seeing her standing there - looking for all the world like a skittish baby deer. “I’m sorry. Friday told me you were outside.”

Her jaw clenched. “Damn AI,” she muttered under her breath.

Steve ducked his head. She looked him over – taking in the pajama pants and the white muscle shirt. It reminded her of what she was wearing… or the lack thereof. She shifted, trying to shrink in on herself.

He swallowed. “It’s okay, Nat.” He looked up, his gaze staying glued respectfully to her face. “It’s okay to need someone.”

“It’s not.” Her response was lifeless. “But I do anyway.”

She turned on her heel knowing he would follow.

When they got to her apartment, her spine tingled. She’d never let anyone inside before – it was her space. If she’d wanted to mingle she’d go to a common area.

She knew Steve was taking in the sparse furnishings, the lack of any personal touches. When she turned back to him she noted that his eyes had caught on the gun beside the bed. He looked troubled, but he didn’t comment.

“I’ll take the couch,” he assured her, grabbing a cushion and a throw blanket that had been haphazardly tossed in the living space.

She nodded. The way they’d slept the night before had been too intimate. They both knew it.

She climbed under the covers then just laid there. Paradoxically, sleep had become illusive once again. Burying her face deeper into her pillow, she tried not to alert Steve to her distress. She wished she’d never gone to his quarters. She was grateful that she had. She stared towards the couch, waiting for the morning sun to arrive.

***

The next day, she pulled herself together – actually styling her hair and putting on normal clothes before her guest had even woken up. She went straight to medical before Steve could say anything. She should have known he’d be waiting for her when she got out.

“I’m fine. Clean bill,” she muttered stiffly, brushing past him. She prayed he wouldn’t follow. He didn’t.

At first she wasn’t quite sure where her feet were taking her. Arriving on the roof she couldn’t help but thank her subconscious. The air was cool, biting at her cheeks, but it was also soothing. No one else ever came up here – she doubted most of the other Avengers even knew how to. She’d have solitude without feeling like she was cooped up in her room – the best of both worlds.

Making her way toward the side of the building closest to the lake, she sat on the edge and swung her legs over the side, letting her toes dangle down towards the ground far below. Everything was so calm. The wind barely even rustled the trees. She took a deep breath, watching as the air crystallized in front of her face.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there… long enough for her fingers and toes to go numb – but that was a small price to pay for the feeling of peace.

The door to the roof opened and she bristled. Turning her head she was slightly startled to see Sam striding toward her, his hands shoved deeply into his pockets. “It’s a little cold to be hanging out outside without a jacket, don’t you think?” he asked drily.

“This is a summer day in Siberia,” she informed him impassively. After a long pause in which she stared him down she added, “Steve shouldn’t have said anything to you.”

He leaned his hip against the ledge beside her. “He didn’t.” The airman shook his head for a moment. “He didn’t have to. I can see how torn up he is right now. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that you wouldn’t be okay either.”

Her throat tightened - a denial springing to her lips then falling short.

Sam kicked at a pile of gravel near his foot idly. “Steve ever tell you I worked at the VA?”

Her lips twitched. “Once or twice.”

He looked out over the forest beyond. “A lot of the people that I worked with had lived through some really horrible shit. Stuff I couldn’t even begin to imagine. You know what helped them deal with it?”

“An entire bottle of tequila and a steamy night in a Miami hotel room?”

He ignored her attempt at humor. He wasn’t going to let her deflect. “They talked about it.”

She stiffened, turning her head so that her hair caught the breeze, hiding her face.

“Keeping things bottled up isn’t going to help anyone Natasha. Whatever happened – it’s going to eat at you until you’re ready to explode. You need some type of release.”

Keeping her eyes trained straight ahead, she dug her heels into the cement wall behind them, refusing to let any emotion show. If she was going to talk to anyone it certainly wouldn’t be Sam.

As if he was reading her mind, Sam continued, “I’m not saying me. I know we’re not close. For some people that helps but I know you like to keep your secrets close to your vest. But there has to be someone that you trust enough to open up to,” he added hopefully. “It’s something to think on.”

Nibbling at her lower lip she did just that, trying not to let out a derisive snort. She’d already ruled out Clint. As much as she loved Laura, the woman had an almost naïve perception of her and she’d like to keep it that way. Wanda was too young and had more than enough burdens of her own. Tony? – Yeah right.

She changed the subject.

“How’d you know I was up here?”

Sam stared at her for a moment. She could feel his eyes peeling off layers of her skin.

Then something in his demeanor shifted and the laid back Sam she was used to came back. He shot her a cocky grin. “Couldn’t be the Falcon if I never bothered to look up.”

She smirked in return, then gingerly pulled her legs back onto the roof. “Maybe it’s time to thaw out.”

Sam blew into his hands animatedly. “I’ll say. Hey – Wanda told me once that you have some special Russian blend of tea.”

She rolled her eyes, walking stiffly toward the door. Sam stayed behind her. She knew he was assessing her gait, checking her for less visible damage. “It’d knock you on your ass.”

He gave her a low whistle. “Sounds like a challenge.”

***

She spent the rest of the day in the common areas of the compound – trying to show that she wasn’t hiding, though she still managed to always keep herself distanced, never engaging in conversation with anyone.

When even that became too exhausting, she retired to her quarters, shoulders drawn up nearly to her ears.

Steve knocked on her door about an hour later, this time carrying his own pillow under his arm. Without a word, he made his way to her couch. She slipped under her blankets and curled into herself, facing away from him.

It became a ritual for them – not exactly avoiding each other during the day, then he’d show up at her room every night. They never spoke to each other unless it was a part of a larger conversation. But he was still a protective presence and very slowly, despite the fact that internally she still felt like she was fighting a war, she started to calm.

A week later, she awoke to find Wanda was the one sitting at her dining table sipping coffee instead of Steve.

She was embarrassed by how long it took her to figure out why.

Sam was gone too. That was to be expected.

She paced the hangar bay for hours, her skin crawling and her stomach twisting in knots, threatening to let loose all of the food that she hadn’t eaten over the last several days.

She hated the fact that Steve and Sam had chosen to fight her battles for her. She loathed the knowledge that Steve wouldn’t kill him – not unless there was no other option. He’d want Rumlow to suffer the consequences and face justice, but no more than that.

And a small part of her despised knowing that she’d have done the opposite. Despite all of the morality she’d worked so hard to gain over years and years of trying to be better, she’d still have killed him without a second thought. She’d have made it hurt too.

Being stuck at the compound was torture.

A cold sweat broke out along her hairline and her hands began to shake. She felt Wanda reaching out to her with her powers, trying to soothe her. She whirled on the girl. Apparently the look on her face was enough to frighten the empath into backing off.

When the Quinjet finally reappeared, she stuck around just long enough to confirm that Steve and Sam were still in one piece before storming off to her quarters.

“Privacy mode Friday and I fucking mean it. Don’t think that I don’t have the skill to dismantle you to the point that even Tony wouldn’t know how to put you back together.”

She wanted to curse and scream and throw things. Instead she curled onto her side and just drifted. Alone, she no longer slept, but it wasn’t like she was doing anything else either. Time passed, but she had no idea how much. Meaning seemed to evaporate as she simply existed in a near catatonic state.

A hand on her back caused her to nearly jump out of her skin.

She tried to lash out, but after remaining immobile for so long, her muscles no longer listened and she simply spasmed uncoordinatedly. She would have been humiliated if she could actually bring herself to feel.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” She was shocked by just how painful speaking was.

Steve’s jaw clenched, the skin around his eyes tightening.

Stubbornly, she crawled away from where he was sitting on the edge of the mattress. “How'd you even get in?” she rasped.

He stared at her for a moment longer. “As the team leader I overrode Friday’s orders to do a wellness check. It’s been almost 3 days Nat.”

She should have felt surprised – instead she felt nothing.

He sighed. “Get up,” his tone was firm. “Eat something. We’re sparring in an hour.”

Her eyebrow rose but she didn’t move.

“That wasn’t a request Romanoff.” He stood up and walked out the door without a backward glance.

Tempted as she was to just stay in bed and see how riled up he would get, she forced herself to move. After she’d rinsed off, drank at least a liter of water and gotten through a few stale crackers she’d found in a cupboard, she at least started to feel more human. That didn’t mean she was ready to get back to her usual duties though.

True to his word, Steve showed up once again exactly an hour later, dressed for a workout. She thought she glimpsed a hint of relief in his expression when he saw that she’d actually tried to put herself together, but if it had truly been there he covered it up quickly. “Let’s go.”

She stood her ground. “I’m really not in the mood Steve.”

He slanted a look at her. “Still not a request.”

Grudgingly, she followed behind him as he made his way to the gym. He stopped at the center of the wrestling mat.

She folded her arms across her chest, grinding her teeth. “You actually think I’m in any condition to train?” she asked him bitterly. He wasn’t stupid. He obviously knew that she hadn’t been taking care of herself.

He opened his palms toward her, arms at his sides. “Hit me.”

She just stared. “I’m not fighting you Rogers. I don’t need to add having my ass handed to me to all of my other problems.”

Darting a leg forward, he hooked his foot behind her heel and pulled. In her weakened state it was enough to send her crashing flat onto her back, the air rushing from her lungs.

Gingerly, she sat up, then pushed herself tenderly to her feet, pulling her hair back from her face. Normally she would have seen a move like that coming from a mile away. It made her mad.

“Hit me.” Steve repeated.

She still didn’t move.

He swung a left hook at her, but this time she dodged it, dancing back out of his reach. “Why are you doing this?” she asked him, exasperated and still a little out of breath.

“Just hit me dammit,” he grunted, lunging forward and aiming a shoulder at her midsection.

Finally she snapped, spinning into his attack and glancing an elbow off of the back of his head. He made to grab her arm but she was faster, driving a knee into his solar plexus before shifting her weight and sending him sprawling.

In a blink, he was back on his feet and coming back at her, but she gave in to autopilot, telegraphing his moves before his thoughts were even fully formed and using them to her advantage.

It was no secret that he was going easy on her. It was even more obvious when he switched away from being on the offensive, simply fending off her more daring blows, but never actually attacking in return.

It didn’t matter – once she’d started, she couldn’t stop, continuously raining down punches and kicks with abandon, most of them finding their target.

She began to wonder whether he was doing this to get her to let off some steam, or to punish himself for whatever perceived failure he’d committed. She also wondered if it mattered.

Her shin connected with his side with a loud snap – bone giving away under the force. Steve grunted but didn’t otherwise react.

She stumbled back, her hands flying to her mouth.

He held up his hands trying to placate her. “It’s okay Tash – it’ll be as good as new in a couple of days.”

She just shook her head, her vision blurring. Something inside of her had cracked along with his ribs. Her legs shook, threatening to give out.

But then Steve was right there, catching her under the arms and slowly lowering her to the floor, her body cradled half in his lap.

“I don’t understand,” she sobbed, her breath hitching. “I don’t understand why this hurt so much more – why I let him break me.”

His grip tightened, pulling her closer to his chest. “You’re not broken Nat,” he whispered into her hair.

Traitorous tears coated her cheeks, the foreign feeling proving him wrong. “It shouldn’t feel like this,” she breathed on a low moan.

“I’m so sorry I don’t have answers Nat. But I’m here okay?” He pressed a firm kiss into her tangled red hair. “I promise you I’m here for whatever you need and I’m not going anywhere.”

She let his words sink in – allowed herself to feel the press of his strong arms holding her together when it felt like everything inside of her was threatening to shatter into a million jagged pieces; sensed the warmth of his body starting to thaw through the cold shield she’d barricaded in place; felt the steady beat of his heart against her chest, encouraging hers to keep going.

She let go.