Natasha walked up the stairs, cardboard box in her hands, and followed Steve Rogers up to his new apartment. She had been one of the people Fury called to help pick it out, but Steve didn’t know that. Rogers didn’t know a lot of things.
Fury told her that he was a sensitive case, and she could understand. Waking up almost seventy years in the future wasn’t exactly the norm. She first heard about his case back when he was discovered, but Fury hadn’t clarified anything until the Battle of New York, which wasn’t exactly the welcome wagon to a new century.
But he handled it well. Or, that’s what he told everyone. Natasha could see through it, though she could see through most facades. He had died in the war, a war he still hasn’t fully recovered from, only to be pulled into a battle with aliens, which brought even more trauma. He wasn’t fine, but it wasn’t her job to tell him that.
Natasha’s job was to get him recruited into SHIELD, and she rarely failed an assignment. It’s why she was one of their most valuable agents. She may have extenuating circumstances for her skills, but no one was concerned about that. They cared if she was useful, and she was, so she got the job.
The move to SHIELD’s Headquarters in DC was an easy one at that. Stark had offered everyone a private room at the newly titled Avengers Tower back in New York, but considering he and Steve’s quarrels of the past, Steve declined, and that’s when Natasha struck. She had offered him a job, along with a suit that wasn’t glorified pajamas, and Rogers was eager to agree. Whether he wanted different gear or needed to get out of the city, Natasha didn’t care, and neither did Fury. She’d done her job, and she did it well. Rogers had an apartment, SHIELD approved, and he was an agent of SHIELD.
The assignment today was helping Steve move into the apartment. It was more of a personal project, as Steve asked her, but when she told Fury, he made it a mission, and she’s to report anything out of the ordinary. She knew they bugged the apartment while Steve was out moving his stuff, and she felt a little bad about it, but not enough to do something. At least, not now.
You coming, Romanoff?” Steve’s face peered over his shoulder, and he looked down at Natasha. He had two boxes in his hands, and that was their last trip to the car.
Steve told her that he hadn’t had much in this new world, most of it being held in the Smithsonian exhibit, and he was going to try and get everything back. She hadn’t voiced her agreement in returning his things, like his old sketchbook or the stuff they confiscated from his apartment after the war, but Fury was already working on it. Natasha knew he wouldn’t admit it, but Fury was definitely on the super soldier’s side.
Steve already had some things—stuff the museum felt was too personal to put on display—but those have been sitting for the better part of seven decades. It was mostly family photos, but that didn’t matter to Steve. He put everything they gave him in frames, and those frames were wrapped in bubble wrap (once Natasha told him what bubble wrap was), and then they were placed in a box that he hid whenever someone came over, including her. He must’ve already moved it in because she wasn’t holding it, and she didn’t see him with it either.
“I will if you hurry up, Rogers,” she retorted. Steve only responded by moving up the steps at a quicker pace, forcing her to move faster as well. She struggled slightly, but not enough for someone to see, especially Rogers.
They reached the door, and he twisted the knob, letting them in. There was furniture already in place, so Natasha placed the box on the dining room table. Steve followed by putting his boxes on the kitchen counter, and then he went back to the door, locking it. She was pleased she didn’t have to tell him to do that.
“I don’t really have a lot for you to do,” Steve said, walking over to her. He pocketed the keys and shoved his hands in his pockets, looking a little sheepish.
“That’s fine.” Natasha moved over to his boxes and sat on a stool in front of one. “We can just sort these bad boys out.”
She opened the small box titled Photos and reached in, grabbing the first one. It was small, barely fitting in the frame, but Natasha could still make out a face in the photo. A woman with light hair, smile similar to Rogers’, but she was frail, sickly even. She was donned in a nurse’s uniform, hair pinned up behind her cap. Natasha would ask who it was if she hadn’t heard Steve talk about his mother, who used to be a nurse.
“Is this the Sarah Rogers you never talk about?” Natasha looked over at him, and his head was down with a sad smile and dewy eyes. She moved the picture, handing it to him, and he took it. He looked up with a blush, but his eyes went back down to the photo. “Why don’t you tell me about her?”
Steve shook his head, smile becoming joyful and eyes starting to crinkle, before looking up and asking, “What do you wanna know?”
“Whatever you wanna tell me.” This wasn’t part of Natasha’s assignment, but no one needed to know that.
“Well,” Steve paused, gathering his thoughts, before continuing, “She was a nurse; worked in a TB ward. Uh, got hit in ‘36 and died that October.”
Natasha wasn’t expecting the bluntness, and it was as if the response was practiced, like he always said it if people asked. She waited for him to say more, but when he stayed silent, she said, “I’m gonna need more than that, Rogers.”
“I don’t know what you want to hear,” he said.
“I want to hear whatever you want to say.” She waited once more, and he still wouldn’t speak. “What was she like?” He started opening his mouth, but she cut him off with a pointed look. “Other than her being a nurse.”
Steve was still standing, but he walked over to sit at one of the bar stools, right next to her. He placed the photo down in front of them and crossed his arms. He looked much smaller than the 6’2” super-soldier he actually was.
“She taught me everything I know,” he said after a few minutes of silence. He looked up from his lap and went on. “Everything I am today is because of her.”
“So it’s her fault you jump out of planes without a parachute?” Natasha teased with a smile.
Steve smiled right back. “I wasn’t exactly jumping out of planes back in Brooklyn.”
“No? I thought you’ve been doing that for years.”
“’ve only been doing that since the war began,” he said with a headshake. He stayed silent again but then went on. “She taught me a lot, though, that wasn’t what she taught me.”
“What’d she teach you?”
Steve looked over at her for the first time since the conversation started. “She taught me to be brave. Didn’t let me be pushed around or let others be pushed around. Told me to never back down and to always stand up, no matter what.” His words were said with a gentle smile.
“She sounds like a badass,” Natasha grinned.
“She definitely was,” Steve agreed. “And she wasn’t the only one. After Ma died, my, um...” Steve avoided her eyes and cleared his throat, “my friend’s ma, Winnie, was there for me. I lived with Buck, but we always went over to his parent’s house; had dinner with ’em on Sundays. She taught me a lot, too.”
“I’m sure she did,” Natasha said. She let the conversation lull for a bit, giving Steve’s emotions a moment to settle. Once she felt he was okay, she asked, “What would Sarah think of you now?”
He shrugged, moving his head side-to-side, and said, “She probably wouldn’t believe it. She’d call you crazy if you told her her son was over six foot, healthy as a horse, living in the 21st century.” He shook his head again. “Sometimes, I don’t believe it.”
“I get what you mean,” Natasha admitted. “When Clint found me all those years ago, I didn’t think I’d be fighting aliens in New York.”
“Yeah, superhero life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“It’s not like we signed up for it, though,” Natasha said. “We have a particular skill set that most people don’t, and we’re kinda obligated to use it.”
“You may not have signed up for it,” Steve stated, “but I did.”
“You signed up for an experiment that could’ve gone wrong and killed you, which, not smart,” she chided. “What you didn’t sign up for was giving your life away, so some government agency can control you.” Natasha realized that it was her job to get him into SHIELD, but that didn’t mean she was 100% on board. She was starting to feel bad for the guy. But she wouldn’t tell him that.
Steve just shrugged. “I got nothing else to do anyway. Playing the hero isn’t exactly new. I just have to do it in a century with more cameras and more fans.”
Natasha nodded and crossed her arms, moving over so her whole body faced him. “What would your mom think about all that? The superhero, Captain America.”
Steve shook his head, unknowing look on his face. “I don’t think she’d care. She’d want me to be safe, but honestly, she said I played hero every day, so I don’t think it’d be much of a surprise.” Steve then grinned, leaning against the counter. “I got my heroics from her, y’ know?” He looked back at her, and she couldn’t help but smile back.
“Oh yeah? Explain that to me.”
“Well, she was a nurse,” he explained. “She saved lives every day, and she did it directly. I know people say I’m a hero for all I’ve done and everyone I saved, but I don’t feel like I’ve done that. I saved lives indirectly, and, yeah, that’s still great, but it’s not as impressive as saving someone’s life directly.” Steve leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms again. “As a kid, I was always so mad when she had to work late, and one of our neighbors had to stay with me, but now I get it. She did what she had to do because who else was gonna do it?”
The question was rhetorical, but Natasha wasn’t going to answer anyway. She didn’t know the answer. “Did you look up to her? Not just physically, I mean.”
Steve smiled at the quip and said, “I did. I looked up to a lot of people, but she was definitely the first. She was what today’s kids would call a ‘superhero.’” He put quotations around the last word.
“You really sound your age when you say things like that.”
Steve chuckled and moved to stand, prompting Natasha to do the same. “Tony said I should say ‘Back in my day’ more often.” He walked over to the ‘Photos’ box, Sarah Rogers frame in hand, and Natasha followed him a step behind.
“That’s why I told you not to listen to Tony,” she said.
Steve stopped in front of the box and put the frame he was holding inside it before turning to Natasha. “Want to help me put these up?”
She gave him a smile and said, “I thought you’d never ask.” He grinned and moved away, taking the box where he wanted his pictures.
She followed him through the apartment, taking note of windows, doors, and anything out of the ordinary: one door leading to a bedroom, three windows all along the southeast side of the room, and two bookshelves. Both bookshelves were in the living room, but those were the only pieces of furniture, other than the fireplace, which Natasha didn’t think counted.
It was almost as barren as the kitchen, but the kitchen at least had the essentials. Steve’s living room was nothing but a few boxes plus the bookshelves, and Natasha was just beginning to realize how little he owned.
Steve ended up in front of one of the bookshelves, the one between two windows, and he set the box on the ground before he started digging through it. The picture of his mother was placed first, right dead center, and the sunlight made the image that much brighter. Natasha was so mesmerized she hadn’t noticed he was pulling more out.
She noticed the sketchbook first, as it was larger than the tiny frame in his other hand. She went to grab it, but he jerked back, not letting her within reach.
“This one isn’t getting displayed,” Steve said. He handed her the photo in his other hand, and she took it, watching him turn his back to leave for his bedroom. The door opened, and Natasha was allowed to see inside. She didn’t have to move her feet to see the large bed, probably king-sized, and there was sunlight pouring in from the right side, evidence of another window.
She didn’t have much time to look because Steve was already walking out, closing the door behind him. He walked back over in silence and started rummaging through the box, ignoring whatever just happened. Natasha could take a hint.
She gazed down at the photo she was handed and saw an image of a young couple, arms wrapped around each other. One was dressed in a military uniform; the other appeared to be six months pregnant. Natasha could tell she was a younger Sarah Rogers.
“What was your father’s name?” she asked, placing the photo next to the other.
“Joseph,” Steve said. “He met Ma in 1917 when the Great War was going on. His regiment got stationed in Ireland, and on one of his nights out, he met her. When he got discharged a few months later, he found her again.” He stood with another small frame and put it on the opposite side of his parents’ photo. It was a closer look at the man dressed in uniform.
“How’d he get discharged?”
“He lost hearing out of his right ear,” he said. “Ma said he got too close to a bomb and he couldn’t hear anything for days. He only got the left ear back after a week, but the army already honorably discharged him, and he wasn’t gonna ask to stay. Plus, after the Selective Service Act, they weren’t in a shortage of men. Anyway,” Steve looked up from his crouched position, “he found Ma, and they made plans to move to the U-S-of-A.”
“I heard that he was killed in action,” Natasha said softly, not meaning to upset him. “If you don’t mind me asking-”
“I don’t,” Steve cut her off and looked back down. “Mustard gas, May 8, 1918. Apparently, in April, an officer came in town and saw him, asked about his hearing, and if he lied. When they found out he had some hearing, they recruited him again to the 107th, ’cause he was from Manhattan. He was there a month before their barracks got attacked.” He rubbed his forehead and kept his eyes on the floor.
Natasha felt contrite for bringing it up. The entire conversation was rather maudlin and focused on the death of Steve’s family. Natasha was no stranger to death; she had seen and brought it plenty of times. But it seemed to affect Rogers differently. Both of her parents were dead, but she didn’t know them, so there wasn’t any love lost. Steve obviously had a mother and grew up hearing stories about his father, so he respected and admired them.
“Was he why you wanted to join the army?” she questioned after a minute.
“No,” Steve smiled. He had a larger frame in hand and stood up with it. “I joined the army to stop what was happening in Germany. I didn’t know I’d play such a big part, but I’m glad I did.”
This time, the image was of an old paper, a little torn at the top, but there was no mistaking what it was. A promotional poster, Captain America salutes you for buying war bonds, and an awfully outfitted Steve saluting at the camera. Natasha repressed the laugh but let herself grin.
“Where’d they find that?”
“I found it,” Steve said. “Took a while, but this thing called eBay helped me out. ’s got the address from my old post office on it, and I really wanted it.” He smiled at the picture and turned to her. “Most people think I joined the war cause of my father, but my Ma didn’t want me to be obsessed with that. She said that losing him was the greatest pain she’d ever faced, and I didn’t want to put someone through that.”
“So the reason you joined was to punch some Nazis?” she joked.
“Yeah, basically,” he chuckled. “I just didn’t want to do it for the reasons others were doing. Some were joining because they thought it would make them tough, others did it so they could impress dames, some did it just to get out of the house. Thing was, no one cared how you were going; as long as you went, that’s all they needed.
“I met some pretty good guys, though.” He bent back over the box, putting the propaganda photo away, and brought out a landscape frame. He placed it further down, on the edge of the shelf. “I assume you’ve heard of the Howling Commandos?” At her nod, he continued. “They were an exceptional bunch. I looked up to all of them, and I still find myself looking over to tell Morita a joke or thump Dugan on the head for being a smartass. They were a hard group to control.”
“I always thought Agent Carter was the one in charge?” Natasha watched as his expression softened, and she remembered that Peggy was the only one from his unit that was still alive, but she wasn’t in the best health. She almost went to apologize, but he started speaking.
“Yeah,” he said with a smile, “she was.”
When he didn’t say more, she tried to keep the conversation going. “A lot of people looked up to her, little girls, especially.”
“Were you one of them?” Steve asked.
“I didn’t know she existed until I was an adult.” Natasha still remembered reading through every SHIELD file she was allowed access to before signing on. Agent Carter’s was the most prominent in her memory, being one of the few women important to SHIELD’s history.
“Who did you admire as a child, then?” Steve asked. Natasha started to shake her head, but Steve kept going. “Nuh-uh ah, I’ve been talking about myself for the past forty minutes. Time for you to spill.”
Natasha knew how stubborn he could get, spending the last few weeks with him, so she gave in. “What was the question again?”
“Who did you admire as a child? Who’d you look up to?”
Who came first to her mind was Madame B, but that was a trained response, one she’d been working out of her brain since she defected. She shook the thought and went to the next.
She thought about steel eyes and a metal arm. Dark, shoulder-length hair and stubble that only showed after not shaving for a few days. A small smile sat above a cleft chin, only visible for her and the other Widows in the Red Room, whenever Madame B and Dreykov weren’t in the room.
They introduced him as the Winter Soldier, and the Widows were afraid of him at first until they discovered the real him. They never found out his name, and it didn’t seem like he had one, but none of that mattered. He was gentle with them as if they would break, and he showed up when they started the physical part of their training. He corrected Melina, praised Yelena, and criticized Natasha.
“You can’t allow yourself to be jealous of her,” he told her once, in Russian, while braiding her hair. He noticed she had become fixated on Yelena, trying to mimic her moves. “Focusing on how well she’s doing isn’t helping you get better.”
He usually gave them more detailed critics when they prepared for bed, as he could only give monotonous ones when in front of the trainers. He would brush and braid their hair while he provided them guidance to get better. It was Natasha’s favorite part of the day.
Critiques had begun a few weeks after he showed up, and Natasha learned he only started to remember things when they didn’t take him away. She didn’t know what happened to him when they took him, but he never remembered them when he came back, and they wouldn’t get critiques until a few weeks later when he started to remember again.
He rarely messed up, but Natasha remembered when he did. Sometimes, he’d call one of them “Becca” before he realized his mistake and corrected it. They all acted like it didn’t happen. He never acted out, and they had nothing to penalize him, so they usually left him alone.
At some point, they just stopped taking him away, and he wasn’t gone for over a year. He remembered them every day, but Natasha, as a teenager, could see the conflict in his mind. It was like he finally realized what they were doing was wrong. She still got chills when his words to all of them came back at night.
“I’m gonna help you get out of here,” he whispered one night, the other girls gathered around. “We won’t have much time, but I’ll cause a distraction. Whenever you have the chance, take it. Don’t let them stop you.”
“What about you?” Natasha remembered asking.
“Don’t worry about me, myshka. Just get out.”
It had been one of the scariest moments of her life, waiting for his signal before they tried to escape. When it came, some ran out immediately, but others were stopped by trainers and guards, forced to fight. Some of the Widows didn’t even try, opting to stay smart rather than face punishment.
Natasha had tried to run, following Melina out, but she’d heard him scream, and she had turned to help him. By the time she got over to him, he had yelled at her, tears in his eyes, and she’d been grabbed.
The last time she saw him in the Red Room, she was kicking and screaming in Dreykov’s arms, and he was knocked out with a cattle prod, dragged out of the house.
The next time she saw him, they were on an international mission that would take two days. They were to take out a high profile military leader. It was years later, and Natasha had already been sterilized. Like the others, she should’ve been let out into the world, but she and Yelena were deemed too powerful and intelligent, and the Red Room held onto them. Plus, Melina had gotten out again, and they couldn’t afford another high-profile loss.
She recognized him immediately, even when the medal arm was covered, and he didn’t look a day older than the first day she saw him. He didn’t know who they were, and it was back to square one. By the time the mission was over, he had a far off look in his eyes, like his brain was trying to know them, but they were separated before he remembered.
When Natasha had defected a few years later, his words from earlier had run through her mind.
“Whenever you have the chance, take it. Don’t let them stop you.”
She had left Yelena, and she still felt the awful pull in her stomach, thinking about the younger blonde. But she had to leave. She had fled the country, trying to throw them off her scent. She hid in hotels, snuck on boats, and slipped in airplanes, all while trying to find her own identity.
It wasn’t long before SHIELD found her, and she was desperate enough to join so she could have some security. Clint had been there at the beginning, and she didn’t know how she would’ve made it without him. He’d been everything she needed. A friend, a teacher, and a rock she could lean on. He reminded her of the Soldier, though not as gentle. But she didn’t need that at the time.
She still thought about the Soldier, especially since they ran into each other three years ago in Odessa. She was assigned to protect a nuclear scientist, and he was ordered to exterminate the scientist. That time, there were no blue eyes, and she never saw him coming. She knew it was him, though, because only one person could shoot through someone to kill someone else.
Natasha hadn’t allowed herself to think about him a lot, as it only brought pain. She’d looked for him after Odessa, but that search came up empty. His words from the past came forward again.
“Don’t let them know what you love,” he told them after they explained Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, one of the regular movies shown. “They take it away and use it against you. Love is for children. Don’t let them know.”
He had that faraway look again, the same one he always had when he remembered something. That was the one time Natasha didn’t want to know what he remembered.
She didn’t think she loved him, but she definitely cared for him, just like he cared for her. Like he cared for all of them. Without him, she wouldn’t have found the courage to getaway. She wouldn’t be here, with SHIELD, meeting amazing people like Fury, Maria, and Clint. And now, Steve.
And Steve was looking at her waiting for a response.
She looked back over to him and shrugged again. “I didn’t really have anyone.”
Steve gave her a look. “I highly doubt that, but I’ll let it go.”
He moved back down to the box, and Natasha saw that there were only two photos left. He picked them up, and she immediately snatched the smaller one, as it was the oldest looking.
It was a picture of two young boys, arms wrapped around each other, and full smiles on their faces. Natasha had seen pictures of Steve before the serum, and the smaller one with straw blond hair was too similar not to be him.
The other had darker hair, and his smile was broader than Steve’s. Natasha flipped over the picture and read the writing on the back.
Steve & Bucky, Coney Island, July 3, 1932
“That was for my 14th birthday,” Steve said. “We had to celebrate the day before because Ma couldn’t get off for my actual birthday, but she still wanted to spend a day with me.”
“So this is Bucky,” Natasha asked, setting the photo down.
Steve was quick to pick it back up, getting a look at it, smile brighter than she’d seen it all day. “Yeah.”
His voice was small, but he had memories in his eyes, and Natasha knew that this was Steve Rogers. This was the guy before the war, before the icon, and she couldn’t wait to know him.
“I don’t know a lot about him,” Natasha said. “That’s actually the first picture I’ve seen of him.”
“Really?” Steve looked at her. “Usually, people are telling me how great he was and that it must be so hard to miss my best friend.” It was said with slight bitterness, but his next sentence wasn’t. “Thanks for not saying that, by the way.”
“You don’t like being reminded?” He nodded with sad eyes and turned back to the old photo.
“Not really. I mean, I knew Buck for over twenty years. I don’t like being reminded he’s dead. Plus, people forget that it wasn’t 70 years ago for me. Everyone’s had decades to move on and get over it, but I’ve had less than a year. It’s tough.”
Natasha felt they were back on the death subject, so she redirected. “What was he like?”
“Huh?” It seemed Steve wasn’t expecting the question.
“What was he like?” Natasha repeated. “I know you’ve spoken about his family. What was he like with them?”
Steve’s eyebrows raised, and he blew out a big breath, cheeks puffing out in the process. “Gosh, I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do,” Natasha said quickly.
“Well, yeah, I do,” Steve said. “I just don’t know where to begin. He was a nerd, always liked space and science. He read while I drew, and that was what we did. He was kind but also a prankster. He always had a joke ready, no matter the situation, and it always made everyone laugh.
“He had a sister, and he was great with her. Braided her hair a lot. Even if she didn’t ask for it, he just wanted to do it. He was protective of her. He never let any boys around, and it made her so mad, but he just laughed about it. He was protective of everyone, really. Didn’t want to see anyone get knocked down and tried to help when he could.
“That was before the war, though. He was different after.” Steve’s eyes glazed over, a thin, sheer layer of wetness forming. “We all were.”
Natasha knew what PTSD was, especially for soldiers. She also knew Steve had it and hadn’t addressed it himself yet. She’ll have to work on that.
“Was he mean?” Natasha asked.
“No!” Steve said quickly, a little loud. “No, uh... he was just quiet. Didn’t really speak unless spoken to. He always put a smile on when others were looking. He didn’t want to seem weak.”
She nodded and gave him a small smile, one he barely returned. “I assume he didn’t put a face on for you?”
“He tried at the beginning, but I called him out on it,” Steve said. “He’d been through more than the average soldier by the time I got to him. Did you know he was a POW?”
Natasha nodded.
“Yeah, HYDRA got to him. He said they didn’t do anything to him, but I could tell something was up.
“He healed quicker, almost as fast as me. He didn’t sleep as much, but he never looked tired. At least, no more than anyone else did. He barely ate, but I could tell he was starving, needing more food.”
“You think he received a serum like yours,” Natasha stated, a little in disbelief. Nowhere had it said that anyone else received a serum, and she sensed she was uncovering a secret.
“I think so, but we didn’t get any confirmation,” Steve said. “He didn’t want to be around doctors anymore.”
She let it stay silent before she asked, “Do you think he got it?”
Steve nodded. “HYDRA had been trying to recreate the serum for years. They thought it would help them win the war. Bucky said that he wasn’t the first prisoner to be taken, but he thought he might’ve been the first one to survive.”
Natasha winced and avoided his gaze. She didn’t know how they always ended up on the topic of death, but she was done with it. She looked back at Steve, who also averted his eyes, and stuffed her fists in her jacket.
Steve shook his head and put both pictures in his hands. “Thanks for doing this with me.” He bent down to put them back in the box and then placed the box under his armpit, holding the bottom with one hand. “I’ll just put these away, and we can go get lunch.”
“Hey, wait,” she said as he walked to his bedroom. “You didn’t show me that last picture.”
Steve barely turned around, almost not acknowledging her. “What picture?”
“The one you didn’t show me.” She walked over to him and reached for the box, but he shifted away from her.
“Natasha, there weren’t any more pictures.” He tried to sidestep her, but she placed a hand on his bicep, not letting him move.
“Steve,” she said sweetly, “I can either knock you out and look at it, or you can politely hand it over without receiving head trauma.” She smiled at his panicked eyes. “Your choice.”
He sighed and moved the box, placing it in his hand, then reached in to find the second frame. He picked it up and looked at the image, smiling a little to himself.
“Sergeant James Barnes of the 107th infantry.” He turned the photo around and gently handed it to her. “I drew that night before he died.”
It was a detailed sketch, obviously done by Steve, and it showed a man leaned against a tree. It was drawn with a pencil, so there was no color, but the image didn’t need it. It was like a photograph; the only indication that it wasn’t was the little SGR signed in cursive in the corner of the page.
Natasha saw a man, rifle in hand, leaning against a tree, surrounded by what she made out to be snow. She heard Steve speak, but it didn’t register.
Her mind was focused on the small smile that sat above a cleft chin. Eyes that were squinting, but they didn’t need to be open for her to know that steel-blue eyes were behind those lids. Instead of shoulder-length hair, it was cut short in a military way. The stubble on the chin was the same stubble she saw years ago, only this illustration was made decades before she was born.
The metal arm seemed to be missing.
Natasha held her breath and looked at Steve, who was watching her with observant eyes. She smiled and feigned nonchalance, saying, “You said he had a sister?” At Steve’s nod, she asked, “What was her name?”
Steve smiled at some memory and answered. “Rebecca.”
Natasha’s mind was running a mile a minute, trying to piece together a puzzle she hadn’t realized was right in front of her. She schooled her expression, not letting her thoughts show.
“Did he spoil her?” she asked, handing him back the framed sketch.
“Oh, yeah,” Steve said, putting the picture back inside the box, candidly unaware of Natasha’s inner monologue. “He was always worried about Becca. She was his younger sister, so he felt overprotective.”
“Because she was younger?” Natasha was barely paying attention to the conversation.
“Well, that, but also because he wanted her to be happy.”
Steve shuffled over to the shelf to the right of his bedroom door. On it was a record player, obviously from the ’30s, though refurbished. He sat the box on it and leaned his hip against it, crossing his arms before he continued.
“Before the war really started, Becca met a guy—Michael—and she was in love. It wasn’t hard to see that she was in love.
“The thing was, Michael didn’t have a family. They kinda disowned him when they found out he didn’t believe in the church. So, when Becs told her parents, they weren’t very accepting. Well, Winnie was, but George wasn’t.” Steve’s brows furrowed, and his lips twisted. “Which didn’t really make sense because he was committing one of the worst sins of all: infidelity.”
Steve shook his head lightly, as if he already gave up on that topic and said, “That’s not the point. Anyway, George didn’t approve, and Bucky helped Becca and Michael move out. Becs was twenty-one at the time, and while she didn’t want to marry yet, she didn’t want to be in the house, so she and Michael moved.”
“They’d stay in Brooklyn?” Natasha asked.
“No, they moved down to Indiana. That was where George was from, but he was from a different area. She went to Shelbyville and lived her life out there.”
Natasha watched the small smile on his face and asked, “Did she get married?”
“Yep,” Steve said, eyes now on the floorboard.
“Were you there?”
“She wanted to wait till Buck and I were out of the war, so...” He trailed off and looked up, smile nowhere to be seen, “no.”
“I’m sorry,” Natasha said.
“‘S not your fault,” Steve shook his head. “I know she got married, and that’s enough for me.”
Natasha nodded and gave a smile, trying to lighten the mood. When he smiled back, she said, “So Bucky tried to help her move out?”
Steve’s grin came back in full force. “Yeah, he was great. He took it seriously, and it all happened in one night. We had to hide her in our apartment for two nights, and we almost got caught.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, it was pretty hilarious,” Steve started laughing. “There Winnie was in our doorway, saying, ‘Steven, don’t you lie to me. Have you seen my daughter?’ and I’m lying-”
“Which you’re terrible at,” Natasha interjected.
“Right, and that didn’t help. When I finally got Winnie to leave, Becca came out of the bathroom, laughing harder than I’ve ever seen.”
Natasha found herself smiling at Steve’s reminiscence, though a little tightly. “He sounds like a good brother.”
“He was the best,” Steve agreed. “He never let them get in trouble, fought any guy that tried something they didn’t like. He protected them. He protected everyone, really.” Steve looked forlorn, memories turning sad now.
Natasha patted his shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze. “I’m glad you got to know him. I wish I did.” Steve would never know how true that statement was.
Natasha wished she could’ve met the man before the Soldier. The man that wasn’t forced to train little girls into killing machines. The man who brushed and braided their hair after he taught them how to give a chokehold properly.
She wasn’t resentful towards Steve; she was envious.
“I think you would’ve liked him,” Steve said after Natasha removed her hand. “Though, I don’t think I would’ve wanted you two to meet.”
Natasha was taken aback. “Why?” she asked, more than a little vexed.
“You two would’ve ganged up on me and gave me more shit than you do now,” Steve joked.
“Oh, really now.” Natasha’s eyebrows raised. “Might wanna watch your language there, Steve. Don’t let anyone else hear you.”
“Geez, don’t remind me,” Steve groaned. “If I said that in front of Tony, he’d try to court-martial me or something.”
“Maybe you should say it in front of Tony.” At Steve’s confused look, she said, “I wanna see what that looks like.”
Steve rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. “Yeah, it’s good you two didn’t meet.” Natasha chuckled but didn’t say anything, letting Steve know their conversation was finished. “Okay, well, I’m gonna put these up.”
Steve picked up the box and turned to his room, and Natasha walked to the kitchen, giving him his privacy. He just shared a lot about himself, and Natasha felt like she knew too much, even though she wanted to learn more.
She still couldn’t wrap her brain around Bucky Barnes and the Winter Soldier. If they even are the same person, how that happened is still a mystery, how he got turned into an assassin-trainer is unexplained, how long he’d had to do it is unclear, and if he’s still alive is unknown.
And if there was one thing Natasha hated, it was the unknown.
She kept going over theories and plots, trying to find an escape as quickly as possible, when Steve walked out of the bedroom.
“Hey,” he said. “Ready to get lunch?”
Natasha patted her left pocket, where the apparent phone-shaped bulge was. “Fury just told me he had an assignment. I leave in twenty.” Steve looked sad for a moment, so Natasha amended, “I can call Maria. It’s her day off, so she shouldn’t be doing anything.”
“I don’t want to put her out,” Steve said, walking to a stool and sitting.
“You won’t put her out,” Natasha said. “I’ll give you her number, and you can call.” Natasha waited till he pulled out his cell and rattled off the number when he was ready.
“Are you sure this isn’t another one of your date things?” Steve asked while pocketing his phone. “Because I’ll kill you.”
“If Hill thought I was trying to set you and her up, you’d probably have an accomplice in the murder.” Natasha smiled and walked over to the little hallway that led to the exit. “Seriously, Steve, call her. She will go.”
“Okay, I will,” Steve said. “Good luck on the mission.”
“Do you really think I need it?”
“No, but it’s the nice thing to say.”
Natasha laughed and turned down the corridor, then yelled over her shoulder, “Speaking of nice, if you ask her nicely, Maria might help you get the bugs out of your apartment. All eighteen of ’em.”
She heard the heavy footfall of the super-soldier, and when she turned to look back, he stood in the entryway, face shocked with the mouth in an ‘o’ shape. “What?”
Natasha just shook her head, smiled, and turned away. “Bye, Rogers.”
She made her way out of the apartment and down the hall. She passed Sharon’s fake apartment, as she’s undercover as a nurse named Kate so she can report on Steve. Natasha helped pick her out after Pierce suggested Rumlow should pick, and Fury disagreed, giving Natasha the task. She felt indifferent when Sharon was chosen to portray a nurse, but now she realized it was for Steve to trust her. It was smart, but Natasha knew Steve wouldn’t appreciate it. Hopefully, he never found out.
Plus, Sharon was Peggy’s niece, which was why Natasha suggested her. It was no secret that Steve and Peggy had some sort of love affair during the Second World War, and considering how Steve spoke about her earlier, Natasha knew her pick was right. Steve still admired the woman, who had just turned ninety-one earlier this year, and it was another reason Natasha got him to relocate to DC. Peggy’s care home was here, and Natasha promised Steve she’d show him where it was. She’d get Maria on it as soon as possible.
As Natasha walked out of the apartment building, her mind drifted back to Bucky Barnes. Steve had told her that HYDRA had gotten Barnes and did something similar to the serum Steve received, which explained the vast mass of muscles the man sported. Natasha had remembered researching Steve and finding that Barnes had fallen off a train during a 1945 mission, just before the war ended, and instead of being listed as KIA, he was listed as MIA.
Which meant they hadn’t found a body.
Meaning he could have fallen off the train, survived, only to be found by the enemy. But that didn’t explain the metal arm. Natasha knew a lot about evil corporations, but she didn’t think they’d go to the extreme of cutting off one’s limb just to enhance their skills. There had to be some other reason.
The last time she went after him, it had led to a dead-end, and Natasha wasn’t happy with it. She wanted to find him, and it would be more challenging this time, as she had nowhere to start and nothing to go from. She could look back at the list she and Fury made—a private project that only her, Fury, and Hill knew of. The list contained names of suspected assassinations that the Soldier committed over the past fifty years, including political leaders and technicians that could’ve changed the world.
Natasha needed to find him, no matter how long it took. And if she can’t find him, she can find something. Any information would help.
It was different, now that she knew the Soldier was Barnes because not only was she looking for a man who trained her, she was looking for Steve’s old best friend.
She walked all the way back to her apartment, the one she owned in DC, and opened the door, letting herself in. It was dark, just the way she liked, and nothing seemed out of place. There was light coming from the kitchen window, but she left the blinds open, so it was expected.
She walked over to her bedroom and headed toward her closet, opening it to find what she needed; her weapons. Whatever she was going to face, she was going to need all the help she can get. She grabbed the bag on the floor in the corner and filled it with what she thought she needed. She could get more later if it was warranted.
With her weapons packed, she moved on to gathering clothes, trying to find things that weren’t too flashy. Considering her attire consisted of dark neutrals, it took less than two minutes to finish.
After zipping up her bag, she pulled out her phone and dialed the one person who would understand this mission.
“Romanoff,” Fury answered. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Oh, Nick, why can’t I just call you as a friend?” She walked back to the bag and crouched down to pick it up.
“Because I saw you two days ago,” Fury said. “‘sides, you don’t have any friends.”
“Neither do you,” she countered, putting the straps around her shoulders.
“You say that like it would hurt my feelings.”
“It didn’t?”
“Not in the slightest,” he said. Natasha knew the question was coming before he asked it. “Alright, what is it you want?”
“I’m just letting you know I’m going on a vacation for a few weeks, so I’ll be unavailable for any of the upcoming ops.” She made her way out of her bedroom, closing the door shut behind her.
Fury paused, letting her words settle in his mind. “A vacation, you say? Where you going this time, Uruguay? Or, are you planning a road trip?”
“Neither,” she said, then she turned serious. “Remember when I went to Santo Domingo back in ’09?” She waited for a response. The line was silent. “I wanted to go back. Do a little ghosthunting.”
There were a few moments before Fury’s deep voice spoke again. “You gonna come home first? Say bye to the kids?”
“No, I’m kinda in a rush,” she replied, reaching the kitchen to find keys for a vehicle. She’d gone with the motorcycle this time.
“Do you need a babysitter?”
She smirked, knowing he understood. “No, but I’ll call if the nanny needs help.”
“I’ll be waiting for that phone call.”
The line went dead, and she put the phone back in her back pocket. Reaching for the door, she opened, closed, then locked it, leaving almost as if she was never there. She put her hood up, walked to the bike, starting it up, and driving away to the nearest airport possible.
As she put the kickstand up, her phone buzzed, so she pulled it out and checked it. It was a text from Fury, which gave her a link to a plane ticket. She smiled and pocketed the device before grabbing her helmet and putting it on. She revved the engine and drove it out onto the street, heading to her first destination.
Natasha was going to find Barnes. He’d helped her once, and she now owed him a debt. She wouldn’t fail this time.