Chapter Text
The wind slows down enough for her hair to calm down; she threads her fingers through it and continues scanning her surroundings. Clint, right beside her, does the same. They're currently on duty as guards for their secret hideout. Inside the little home is a wounded Winter Soldier being aided by Steve and Sam. The Winter Soldier had been rescued by them from a private Hydra base and he didn't come out without a fight. They finally got him out. Natasha owed Steve one, it's why she helped. Clint joined, and even offered this place of his for settlement. A small, comfy house near the mountains of Alaska. They'd all arrived in a quinjet that the two spies flew; with the unconscious, bleeding soviet soldier in the back.
Natasha turns her head to Clint from the sound of him unwrapping a snack bar.
"Hungry?" He raises his eyebrows, gesturing the chocolate bar to her.
"If it's not an energy bar, I don't want it," she replies.
He takes one bite out of it and slowly begins to chew the big chunk. "Suit ya'self," his voice muffles through all that chewing.
She sighs, observing once again. Her body wants to rest, her head is throbbing, and she's so hungry. But she doesn't want to go in there. There's a sensitive tension between the soldier and Steve ever since the guy had regained his consciousness. She hates being around all of that. It's all too dramatic and awkward for her. It's why she took being guard.
"You think he's not gonna go apeshit at some point and try to kill us?" Clint finally speaks his mind; still sucking on some chocolate bits.
She looks at him with an uncertain expression. "This guy's gonna need years of deprogramming to be trusted, if you ask me."
He frowns a little. "But you didn't." He points.
"Yeah, Barton, I didn't because I wasn't programmed for more than fifty years. I got ten years of that."
He nods. His face a little somber. "Still can't imagine what that does to your mind."
"Loki brainwashed you for less than three days. Now imagine if that lasted for decades," she says slowly, in thought.
"Still get nightmares." He shakes off a shiver.
"I do, too. But what he went through..." she slowly shakes her head before she finishes, "was far different, maybe even more nightmarish, than what happened in the Red Room." She lets out one pathetic chuckle. "I should never compare, but you get it."
His face contorts a little. "Jesus, Tasha..."
"Makes sense to think if he's still dangerous," she states with a more neutral tone. The wind comes back strong and disturbs her short curls again.
"He shot you, twice," Clint reminds. "I have my eye on him."
She pulls her hair back and looks at him with a little smile.
He smiles back at her. "That means, I got your back. I'm only here for you."
She stares at him fondly, and eventually turns her body to him. "Thank you, Clint. For everything. I owe you now."
He turns to her, as well, and walks closer. "No, Steve owes me." He grins. "I'll do anything for you, for free."
She can't believe the giggle that comes out of her, the smile which brightens her face more. She's about to, once again, push her hair back from the blowing wind but Clint is first to pull aside her hair out of her face very gently. Staring lovingly into her eyes. She puts on a straight face, "We're on duty, pal."
"I wanna kiss ya," he mischievously smiles.
"Then quick."
"Don't rush me."
She laughs. "Jesus, Barton--!"
A throat clears, interrupting the two spies who quickly tear apart from each other.
Sam is standing there with his arms crossed, grinning at the both of them when they're trying to awkwardly seem cool through mannerisms. "Bad timing?"
Clint chuckles, shaking his head while rubbing the back of his neck. "Couldn't have chosen a better time."
She clears her throat. "What's up?"
Sam's face turns a tad bit serious. "He's asking for you."
"Steve?" She raises her eyebrows.
Sam doesn't reply to that, instead saying, "Go ahead. I'll take your place."
"Alright..." She reluctantly moves.
"What's going on?" Clint carefully asks Sam.
"Don't worry."
She walks into the little cabin home through the opened door and can't help but catch her breath as she makes her way into the kitchen.
Immediately her eyes find his.
The Winter Soldier's.
Through the kitchen doorway, she can see him in the cramped living room where he's sitting. He's shirtless, his right side of his abdomen had been gushing in blood when they came in. Steve is sitting on a little stool across from him, tidying up after having treated and bandaged the injured soldier.
He's staring straight at her, not looking away for a second. It makes her heart race as if she's still getting more adrenaline from where they left off. She realizes her hands are clenched to fists.
"Steve," she forcibly speaks up, finally tearing her eyes from him to the occupied blonde who had his back facing her in his seat.
He quickly turns to her upon the sound of her voice. "Nat." The look of surprise on his face has her tilting her head at him.
"Rogers?"
He looks at the soldier, who Natasha doesn't look back to.
A long pause has her shifting her weight from one leg to another in discomfort. "Come on," she sighs. "Am I in trouble or what?"
"Bucky knows you. He says you know him," he finally lets out, his voice gruff.
Her eyes find the soldier again. Steve is already calling him Bucky. She wonders how that actually feels for him. His eyes look downward this time, making her sort of relieved. His shoulders seem slumped. He looks miserable. Ashamed. "We do know each other. He does know me, yes," she states. "Odessa, remember?" She looks at Steve and folds her arms across her chest. "So he's remembering me?"
Steve is narrowing his eyes at her, like she's really into trouble. She knows that look he gives her when she's pissed him off. She scoffs, "Okay, what did I do now? Sam told me you were asking for me."
"I wasn't the one asking for you," he clarifies.
"Do you remember... our-our time together?"
A heavy shiver runs down her spine just by the sound of his voice being so close. She stares at him, stunned. This is the first time she's ever heard him speak. The first time she's ever gone up close to him. He's staring right into her eyes and she's frozen right on the spot. His eyes are intense; a teary and melancholic touch to them that causes something to pool in her stomach. A feeling that she doesn't think is foreign to her body, yet still so new.
"Are you alright?" She sincerely asks after letting out a breath she didn't know she was holding in. "Need some rest?" She looks to Steve who jerks his head back from her response.
"Nat, he's not a kid. He's wounded, yes; tired, yes. But hear him out," he says sternly.
She didn't mean to sound condescending. But, with a sigh, she regards the soldier again and tries, "Our time together?"
"We were... acquainted," he speaks with a lot of reluctance, which clearly tells her that he's confused.
She's frozen, processing this very moment. "Huh... nope."
"You don't know what he's talking about?" Steve seems to be in perplexion, for a reason unknown to her.
"Seriously, what is going on?" She asks in concern, laughing nervously.
The Soldier slowly tries to stand up, grunting in the process of straightening his upper body. Steve immediately comes to help him up. "Easy there."
Natasha watches them in confusion, but her face falls when he comes closer to her, saying a name she never thought would come out of his mouth. "Natalia."
She gasps.
"I remember everything, Natalia." He inches closer, towering over her. "They wiped every memory of you from me over and over again because I kept remembering, trying to find you." An actual tear rolls down his cheek which takes her even more aback. "I hurt you. I almost killed you. I..." He shudders, looking down, his shoulder-length hair hiding his face as he struggles to finish.
She blinks rapidly, her jaw loose. "Hey, hey." She tries to overcome this shock she's feeling; placing her hand over his shoulder, not even predicting that he'd flinch - which he does. She quickly withdraws her hand just by his reaction alone, but when he leans closer to her, her hand touches his shoulder again and holds him. She allows him to sink into her embrace. And he holds her carefully in the hug. She's very gentle, not wanting to hurt him in his already weak state.
Her breath catches in her throat when words come out of his mouth again. "прости, прости, прости (forgive me, forgive me, forgive me)," he whispers in clear remorse.
"Всё в порядке. Ты в порядке (It's okay. You're okay.)," she responds soothingly, caressing his back, her chin resting on his shoulder.
Steve hesitantly leaves after collecting all the bloody gauze & the packed medical aid, walking away to the bathroom.
Natasha softly sighs and slowly detaches herself from the embrace. She looks back at the soldier while he's searching in her eyes. She tries a smile. "He give you some painkillers or you'll supersoldier your way out?" A little joke to even the tension out. But he looks so serious still.
He narrows his eyes at her. And when he says nothing, she thinks to wipe away the teardrop trail from his cheek, but she nearly flinches when he catches her wrist.
Her eyebrows furrow, her lips parted, as she waits in confusion.
"You don't remember," he coldly states.
She then casually pulls her wrist from his loose grip, regarding him cautiously.
"They wiped you." His face grows dark.
"What don't I remember?" She asks in intrigue, wondering what he's going to say next.
"Forget," he answers in a defeated tone, slowly walking past her whilst holding his bandaged wound area.
She turns around, her eyes following him. "Fine. Don't tell me. But 'Natalia'? No one's called me by that to my face in years. You obviously know who I am. I figure you've read about me, or have been made aware of me," her voice is sounding naturally straight and authoritative, her default tone. "Widow, would've been better. Or just... Natasha. I don't go by that name anymore."
He's walked towards the kitchen sink and takes out a glass from a top cupboard which he pours water into after turning the faucet on.
The metal arm. She finds it so fascinating, the way it mechanically and intricately moves. The way he's holding the glass in that metal hand and not breaking it. It works exactly like his other hand. He can apply the right amount of pressure to break it. It's clearly connected to his mind, this arm, in every way possible. Except there's not much sensory going on. Which is why she finds it so fascinating.
She follows him into the kitchen and stands behind the counter, leaning her folded arms on the surface.
"I'm sorry," he says, his back turned to her.
"What are you apologizing for?" She wonders.
He's drinking his water, so she waits. When he's done, he answers her sincerely, "For everything."
"It's fine. I mean..." She shrugs. "Things like that happen. You were on duty, and it wasn't even you. We're okay. Plus," she smiles at him when he finally turns around to her; she finishes, "you're Steve's best friend. Don't got much of a choice here but to move on, ya'know?"
She just made him painfully cringe. He's showing visible discomfort. She frowns. "What do you want me to call you?" She suddenly asks.
He looks down in thought. She can tell no one's asked him that so she lets that sink in for him.
Silence.
Then, "Don't call me Natalia. Call me Natasha," she tries. "What about you?"
"I don't know," he says very softly, looking back at her with panic.
She straightens and follows the urge to be close to him. She does stop close to him. The look on his face makes her want to be closer, for some reason. "Hey, it's alright. Don't worry at all. You'll figure it out. You're free now. It's all over. You'll figure everything out, I promise. For now, I don't have to call you by anything until you tell me otherwise. It's all solved already."
The urge to hug him from just the way he's staring at her is bugging her. This desire to comfort him is intoxicating the longer she maintains her eye contact with him. Why is he looking at her like that, though? Like the way Clint looks at her? But sorrowful. He looks like he's in deep anguish. He isn't making an effort to hide anything from her. She can read everything off of him. It's almost infuriating.
Natasha takes it as her cue to look away when Steve walks in.
Steve stares cautiously at the both of them. "I'm not interrupting something, am I?"
"Nah," Natasha answers with a relaxed smile.
"I don't wanna be called Bucky," the soldier announces suddenly, giving Steve a hard look.
Steve, whose eyes are widening, is clearly hurt by this. He looks exactly like a wounded puppy.
"I told you to stop calling me that," the soldier's voice is very stern as is his stare.
"Well, you sorta mumbled that in your sleep, buddy," Natasha tries to lighten the tension.
"Sorry," she quickly apologizes upon seeing Steve's glare. She laughs a little, though. "Can I leave, though?"
"Go ahead. You & I will talk later," Steve tips his head to the exit which she is heading straight for. She can't handle being in one of their intense, angsty moments.
She releases a sigh of relief once she is outside again. "Hey, Sam!"
He turns in response to his name being called.
"I'm back," she announces when she stops by them.
He sighs in exasperation. "I don't wanna go back in there."
"Why not?" Clint snorts.
He doesn't have to answer.
"Fine. Guess you staying with us for while?" She's back beside Clint and already sees his kiss coming from seconds away. She lets him have this kiss, and another one on her cheek, and another one in the crook of her neck which she tries to resist while laughing.
"Aouuu, gross!" Sam groans. "Right in my face!"
Natasha can't help but giggle from the affection she's receiving and Sam's apparent disgust on his face. She lightly knees Clint, pushing him away. "We're professionals," she remarks and straightens, standing more like a guard now. "Come on."
"You heard her. Go ahead and sit on those porch steps cause we got this," Clint cheekily quips.
"Fuck you," Sam retaliates, "you two boneheads go ahead and find a damn room, I got this."