Grin and Bear It

You'd never visited New York City. Kilroy always called it an "oversaturated market," and refused to take any jobs that brought him within spitting distance of the five boroughs. You'd always joke with Louis and Seb that Kilroy had crossed some big mobster or mafia don and refused to go back for fear of getting whacked. Turns out, the truth hit a little closer to home.

"Y/N?" Seb whispered the night before you were set to steal the serum.

"What?" You were already falling asleep, exhausted from getting out of prison and less than thrilled at teaming up with Kilroy again. The way you saw it, the only positive in the whole situation was a good night's sleep, and you weren't even getting that.

You felt the mattress sag as Seb settled onto the edge of your bed, something clearly on his mind. You sat up, reluctant to let the blanket slip off your shoulders.

"You know I've been learning how to hack into stuff, right?" Seb looked at you and you knew this wasn't going to be a quick conversation.

"Yeah. It sounds like you're getting pretty good at it. Better use of your time than pumping iron in the prison yard."

Seb grabbed your wrist and held it tight. "Well, I've been digging into a lot of databases. Government ones. And... I found her."

The hair stood up on your arms. You didn't need Seb to elaborate; it was something the two of you had fantasized about for years. Louis had entered the system later, so he didn't understand. But for orphans like you and Seb, find your birth mother was all you could talk about.

"You did? Who is she? Where is she? Is she still alive?" The questions tumbled out of you without a breath in-between.

Seb pulled out a folded piece of paper but hesitated handing it to you. "It's an old record, Y/N. I couldn't find any info about her beyond a few years after you were born."

"That's good, right?" you asked. "If she died there would be some sort of paper trail?"

Seb nodded, unsure. He handed you the paper. "Her name's Lydia. And her last-known address is in Brooklyn."

But you didn't make it to Brooklyn. In fact, you barely made it to the tip of Manhattan when your hand felt something moist on your side. You'd ripped your stitches.

"Fuck." You slipped into an alley, hand covering your abdomen. It didn't hurt, but it had managed to leave an obvious red stain on your shirt. And, seeing as you fled the compound with only the grey t-shirt and shorts you had on, it was liable to draw attention, which was the last thing you wanted. Pair that with your unusually ripped muscles and you were in desperate need of a change of clothes.

"I'm gonna fail this exam," an exasperated voice caught your attention a few floors up. You quickly located its source behind a partially cracked window.

"If we don't leave now, we're not going to make it in time to fail."

You heard the duo leave the apartment and then appear on the sidewalk outside the building a few minutes later, shuffling in the opposite direction. Once you were sure they were gone, you quickly scaled the fire escape and pushed open the cracked window.

It all felt a bit cliche, something you'd seen portrayed a thousand times in movies. But it was also incredibly effective. You stared around the apartment, which it was now clear was actually a college dorm. Not messy but not neat, textbooks and clothes were scattered between two identical everything: two beds, two desks, two college pennants.

You tried the drawers first, hoping that's where the cleanest clothes lived. It didn't take long for you to pull together an outfit of brown cargo pants and an oversized sweatshirt with the college's name in big, raised letters, a detail that you were hoping would help you blend in. You hadn't thought about it before, but in another life, maybe you would've gone to college somewhere just like this, complete with roommates and parties and cramming for exams. It was an alluring thought and one you quickly shoved to the back of your brain. You'd have time for what ifs later, preferably when you weren't in the middle of a break-in.

You had serious doubts you'd find a sewing kit to redo your stitches, but if the cliche movies taught you anything, it was that nervous, helicopter parents always sent their kids off to college with a first aid kit. And, sure enough, there was a small kit buried on a bathroom shelf. Dusty and unused, it was exactly what you needed. Less than fifteen minutes after sneaking in, you were patched up, dressed, and ready to resume your sightseeing. But then, your stomach grumbled.

"This is bad," Bruce mumbled, holding both halves of what used to be your vibranium tracking bracelet. It was the only phrase he seemed able to say and Nat was at her wits end as she paced the conference room.

"Please, Bruce," she pleaded, "please tell me something I don't know."

Tony set down his tablet. "Good news is that there don't seem to be any police reports matching Y/N's description. So, wherever she is, it seems like she's keeping her hands to herself."

"Exactly," Steve spoke loud enough to address the room but directed his words at Nat. "I'm not wasting precious resources tracking down someone who isn't a threat. We'll monitor reports for Y/N's description but unless she does something that requires an Avenger-level response, I need you all back on your regular assignments. Understood?"

"Aye, aye, Cap," Tony said, jumping out of his seat and leaving the room.

Bruce simply sat there, trying to fit the bracelet back together. Steve walked over to Nat; her arms crossed tightly across her chest.

"We good?" Nat simply nodded her head. Steve left the room, smart enough to give Natasha her space.

She cast one last look at Bruce before heading to the common room, unusually unsure of her next move. Part of her knew Steve was right; that being a member of the team was ultimately your decision. Nat knew all too well what it was like to be used as a weapon against your will, and she'd meant what she said to you back in the forest, that all your decisions from that moment forward belonged to you. Still, she couldn't help but feel let down, like you'd run away before you'd truly gotten to know the team. True, their first impressions had been a bit rough but, no matter how long she'd been an Avenger, at her core, Natasha was still a spy. And something in her said that if she could just talk to you, pitch you one more time, you'd say yes. If only she knew where you were.

"Natasha?" Wanda's timid voice pulled Nat out of her head, and she was surprised to find Wanda standing in front of her, looking nervous.

"Hey, Wands," Nat began. "How are you doing? Finally get Bruce to let you off bed rest?"

"I'm fine, thank you," Wanda replied robotically. She stood still as an ice statue and Nat couldn't help but feel a touch uneasy.

Nat walked behind the counter and grabbed a bottle of vodka. "Would you like a drink? I think we could both use one after the day we've had."

The offer had its intended effect, and Nat could see Wanda melt a little as she nodded and stepped closer to the counter. "Thank you."

Though Nat did truly want a drink, mixing up two martinis also gave her time to study Wanda's body language. So much so that, as Nat set Wanda's martini in front of her, she confidently asked the young woman: "You know where Y/N is, don't you?"

Wanda's eyes went wide, and she almost spilled her drink. "I don't know..."

"Let me guess," Nat said, sipping her martini. "Whatever you did in Y/N's brain, it wasn't rainbows and bunny rabbits." Nat knew she should at least be disappointed, if not angry. She'd asked Wanda to help you through the pain of the surgery as a way of demonstrating that Wanda's powers could be used for good. And, more importantly, that Wanda wanted to use her powers that way. Clearly, things hadn't gone as planned, and the look on Wanda's face was all the proof Nat needed to know that it had been intentional.

"I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have." Wanda's face crumpled and she suddenly found her martini extremely interesting.

"Where is Y/N, Wanda?" Nat prodded, trying to keep the Sokovian on task. The rest she could deal with later.

Wanda shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure. But it seems like one of Y/N's brothers tracked her birth mother to Brooklyn. Finding her has always been one of Y/N's obsessions. So, if I was her..." Wanda trailed off, looking at Nat expectedly.

Nat couldn't help but crack a smile. "I'll turn you into a spy yet, Wanda Maximoff."

Nat quickly made a call, which was answered on the first ring by none other than a stressed-out Maria Hill. "Romanoff, what's wrong?"

"Relax, Hill," Nat chided the woman through the phone. "I'm not always calling with bad news. Where are you?"

"UN with Fury. If one more delegate asks about his fucking eye patch..."

"Sounds like you need a drink," Nat said, polishing off her own martini. "Why don't Wanda and I meet you in the city after you're done? We could have a girl's night." Nat watched Wanda's reaction as she roped the young woman into hanging out with Maria and it didn't disappoint. Wanda was terrified, which made Nat even more determined to get Maria on board.

"You want to have a girl's night?" Maria sounded more dubious than confused. "Is that a euphemism?"

"What? No! Come on, it's been forever since it's been just us. I miss the city, poor Wanda's going stir crazy, and boys are stupid. Ditch Fury and let's get drunk!"

Maria let out a long sigh and Natasha knew she'd convinced her. "Fine. But I pick the place, you pick up the tab. And there will be absolutely no karaoke."

"I love you too, Hill," Nat said as she hung up the phone.

"What just happened?" Wanda asked, her fearful eyes as big as saucers.

"I just got us an airtight alibi to go into the city and find Y/N. Come on, I'll let you borrow a dress. Maria has expensive taste."