Archive of Our Own ^beta

Natasha was tired. Tired of running. Tired of hiding. Tired of not being able to sleep more than an hour at a time before waking with a start, listening for the sounds of footsteps and guns cocking that weren’t there but could be at any moment.

More than that, she was tired of being alone.

It was an odd feeling. Being alone had always been her comfortable space. Slipping in and out of crowds without anyone knowing she was ever there. Not having to worry about which cover to slip into. Even when she left Steve at the cemetery back in D.C., it had been with a sense of relief that she didn’t have to be responsible for anyone else but herself.

But something had changed since then. She missed them. All of them. She hadn’t even realized at first that’s what it was, but it was like they were always around, haunting her dreams when she slept long enough to dream. Haunting her thoughts.

That unnerved her. A lot. Don’t get attached, her trainers had always warned her. But somehow she had gotten attached, and now she wasn’t completely sure what to do about it.

She checked the papers every day for word on them all. T’Challa was back in Wakanda, handling family matters. Tony and Rhodey and Vision were back at the compound. She’d heard that Maria was there now too.

There was nothing but rumors on the others after the break out at The Raft, but she knew — hoped — they were all still together, all still safe. Steve wouldn’t let any of them be harmed.

She had thought about trying to get a message to Clint, or to Laura, or to Steve, but it was too dangerous. Too many people were after her — after all, a free agent Black Widow was very valuable to a lot of people. Dead or alive — and she couldn’t risk accidentally leading anyone to them.

So instead she stayed hidden, stayed in the shadows, tried to remember that this had once been her life — a life that she was good at — and told herself when she started feeling antsy that she could do this forever if she had to.

She was the Black Widow after all.

•••

The knife was already in her hand, tucked in the front pocket of her sweatshirt. There was another down her shirt, a third in her hair underneath the ball cap and two in her boots. The taser was attached to the strap around her upper leg and her widow’s bites were activated.

She wasn’t sure which group was following her this time. Hydra, former KGB, freelance operatives, but they weren’t very subtle. She had felt their presence three hours ago, when she had been perched on a bench in the park, just like any other tourist, sipping her iced coffee and enjoying the final warmth of summer.

She had gotten up slowly, wandered through the park to the shops on the other side, careful not to move too fast but to always stay within range of crowds of other people. If it was the U.N. or other government officials, they wouldn’t hesitate to take her in public, but the others wanted her alone. They didn’t want anyone else to know.

She waited until the sun had dropped below the horizon before breaking away from the dinner crowds on the street, hurrying down back alleys and behind rundown apartment buildings.

She was in another back alley now, deserted except for her and reeking with the scent of moldy garbage. She walked down the center of the alley, her steps purposely slow. She stared straight ahead, using her peripheral vision to keep watch of the balconies and back doors and the shadows next to the overflowing trash bins.

Whoever was following her was behind her. She could hear the faint squeaks of his shoes, the slight brush of his pants rubbing against itself as he walked.

She waited until she was halfway through the alley before turning around.

He was there, a bulky, solid shadow against the night. She gritted her teeth, yanked the knife from her pocket, flew toward the figure.

“Nat.”

His voice cut across the rush of adrenaline she felt at the prospect of a fight. She stumbled, tripping forward, crashed right into his chest.

His arms wrapped around her, strong, steady, keeping her on her feet.

“Hey,” he whispered into her ear, and she had to close her eyes for a second, a rush of emotion surging up in her chest.

She pulled back, out of his grasp. “I could have killed you.” She smirked at him, just for effect.

“I could take you.”

“You’re so sure of yourself, Rogers.”

He smiled. “I’ve missed you.”

She took another step back, cast a look around. “About that,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “Had some intel you might be in trouble.”

She raised a brow. “And you thought you’d come to rescue me?”

He peered at her, his eyes intent, even in the dark. “I thought I’d come see if my friend could use some help. And, like I said, I missed you.”

She huffed out a breath, feeling her guard start to slip, just a little. “I’ve missed you, too.”

“Now come on.” He held a hand out. “Let’s get out of here so we can figure out who’s after you and make them stop.”

•••

Twenty-eight hours later, they boarded the private plane back to Wakanda, a multitude of bodies in their wake. She sat down beside him, her body bruised and sore, let him place an arm over her shoulders.

She leaned against his chest, peering out the window as they took off.

“Thank you for coming,” she said.

“I’ll always come for you,” Steve replied. He kissed her on the top of her head. Natasha closed her eyes, too tired to decipher his real meaning at the moment, and finally, finally, let herself drift off to sleep.