Chapter 2
“I’ll need to leave Midgard immediately,” Thor decides, his voice low. “Loki, call Brunnhilde. She should know about this and even might want to join. We’ll assemble a—”
“Slow down, please,” Loki interjects, an annoyed smile on his face. “I am not your servant, Thor. If you want to contact her, you can call her yourself.”
“Hold on,” Natasha says, leaning forward in her seat. “Thor, you told us Hela died when your home planet was destroyed.”
“Evidently that’s not the case, if the dead are being brought back to life,” Thor swiftly counters. Natasha bristles at his tone. He may be hundreds of years older than her, but he doesn’t need to speak to her like she has no idea what’s going on. She’s the one that brought this to his attention, after all.
“There are other ways to bring the dead back to life, though, right?” Natasha replies evenly. “Thanos used the Time Stone to undo what Wanda had done to Vision in Wakanda almost six years ago. Loki was killed in this universe, but lived in another and was transported here. It’s possible that this wasn’t Hela. I just needed to come talk to you to see what you think.”
Thor ponders this for a minute. “If a Stone were used again,” he muses, “many, not just us, would have been alerted to it. I don’t think it’s possible. As for an alternate universe…” He shakes his head. “It’s no coincidence that over a billion people who were dead are now alive. That many people missing from an alternate universe would have—” He rests his face in his hands. When he looks back up at Natasha, he seems to have aged ten years. “This is my sister. I know it.”
Loki holds up a finger, recognizing an opportunity to enter the conversation again. “Now, I have never had the pleasure of meeting our dear sister whom I’ve heard so much about, but…and correct me if I’m wrong, now…didn’t she hand our asses to us? We had to destroy Asgard to defeat her.”
“I see Midgardian expressions are making their way into your vernacular,” Natasha comments.
Loki scowls at her before looking back to Thor. “Asgard has even less people now, and you aren’t even their ruler. How do you expect to defeat Hela?”
Thor blinks. “I may not hold the title of king now, but I lived with everyone under Brunnhilde for over 1500 years. They will be loyal to the one named Odinson. They will be loyal to me.”
“After you spent their first five years on this planet hiding away and drinking?” Loki asks incredulously. “It seems your brains aren’t better in this reality either, brother. If Brunnhilde doesn’t want them running toward their inevitable deaths, they won’t. You aren’t their king.”
Natasha senses the escalating and impending fight between the two. She holds up her hands.
“We don’t have to necessarily defeat Hela,” she points out. “If she did this, then logically, she can undo it too, right? We just somehow have to get her to undo it.”
“And why would she undo it if she did it in the first place?” Thor asks.
Natasha shrugs. “That’s why I’m here. You know her. I don’t.”
Thor’s strong demeanor crumples, and he leans back on the couch, staring off into the distance. “She held Mjolnir,” he says quietly, “and she shattered it. Made it look like a child’s toy. Hela is not an enemy to be taken lightly.”
“I didn’t say we have to go light,” Natasha says. She smirks. “But come on, Thor. We watched half the world die and then got them back ourselves. We defeated Thanos. We’ve at least got a fighting chance.”
Loki scoffs at her. “You keep using the word ‘we,’” he mentions. “What makes you think you would come along on this endeavor? You’re a human.”
“Who’s outsmarted you more than once,” Natasha reminds him. She looks into his eyes seriously. “And I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve.”
Loki goes quiet at that. Natasha knows he’d almost forgotten that she and Tony had been injected with Sovereign alien DNA and, while they maybe weren’t quite on Asgardian level in terms of strength, they were a hell of a lot stronger than the average human.
Natasha quickly glances at Thor, but he seems oblivious to her comment. She’d told Clint about her new abilities, mainly because he would’ve figured it out sooner or later after sparring with her. But she hadn’t told anyone else yet, and had urged Tony and Loki to keep quiet about it also. She wasn’t sure how people would react to the information, and based on their track records, they’d most likely react negatively.
“If Natasha wants to come, she can,” Thor says finally. Natasha smiles to herself; it’s cute that he thinks he was the one who was going to stop her. “We would be blind to this news without her.”
“Come where, exactly?” Loki asks. “Hela could be anywhere in the galaxy.”
“We’ll have to do some recon for a little bit first,” Natasha says, working on autopilot. This is what she did for five years—organized and ordered the Avengers. She feels an odd sense of familiarity wash over her. “I’ll get Tony to see if there’s been any weird activity going on this planet. I’ll contact Rhodey, too. The military might have something but just not know what they’re looking at. I’ll ask Carol if anything like this has been happening on other planets. Thor, do you still have contact with Quill?”
Thor nods. “I’ll ask them if they’ve seen anything odd lately. We can also speak with others in space.”
“Alright,” Natasha says. She pulls out her phone, mind whirling. “Alright. Well…I’ll contact some more people. You do the same. We’ll rendezvous at the Compound in two days?”
“Sounds good,” Thor says, rubbing his hands together and grinning. “You know, we may die, but I think this is going to be fun.”
~
Natasha leans forward, panting hard, her legs aching, and her head feeling fuzzy from the high altitude and lack of oxygen. She’s been running uphill for four miles. She feels exhausted. She feels free.
Finally, finally, she reaches the summit point, indicated by an old, large rock with faded spray paint on it. Immediately, she rests her hands on top of her head, attempting to draw in as much oxygen as possible, and paces slowly in a circle, hopefully preventing her legs from cramping up.
“Took you awhile,” Steve comments from his perch on top of the rock. He dramatically stretches, yawns, and leisure stands up before hopping off the rock and landing in front of Natasha. “Thought you said you could beat me.”
“I had you during the first mile and a half. Don’t front,” Natasha wheezes, still out of breath. She graciously takes a long gulp of water from the bottle Steve hands to her. “If I had a super soldier serum in me, I would’ve been up here way before you.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Steve says, grinning.
The two of them climb onto the rock. Natasha begins stretching her legs while Steve reaches into the backpack he’d worn while running and pulls out two Ziploc bags with peanut butter and banana sandwiches in them. He tosses one in front of Natasha and begins chewing on his own sandwich.
“How long you think until Sam joins us?” Natasha asks, her breathing back to normal. She takes a bite of her sandwich. “God, who made this?”
“Sam did this morning,” Steve answers.
“Way too much banana and not enough peanut butter,” Natasha criticizes. “He should’ve just gone for the classic PB&J. That’s my personal favorite. I always make them for Cooper and Li—” She abruptly pauses, clearing her throat.
Steve gives her a sympathetic smile. “How long’s it been since you saw them?”
“Almost seven months now,” Natasha whispers. She shrugs her shoulders. “I’ve been on video calls with them, but it’s not the same. Clint wanted to meet somewhere with me so I could see them, but he’s on house arrest, and I don’t want to risk anything.”
“If anyone could sneak by Ross for a day, it’s you two,” Steve points out.
“Tell me something I don’t know, Rogers,” Natasha retorts, smirking at him jokingly. “If it was just us we would’ve already seen each other. But the kids wouldn’t know what to do if something went south.” She stares off into the distance, reminding herself to relax and enjoy the view. She’d damn near killed her legs just to see it. “I think we’ll be good to take on some of the chatter that’s been going on in the States soon, though. It’ll be my first time in the States in six months.”
Steve shakes his head. “It’s crazy it’s been that long already.”
Natasha hums in agreement. When she, Steve, and Sam had decided to go on the run together after the fight in Germany, she’d thought she was prepared. She’d been on the run countless times before, and now she had two people to keep her company. But it was proving to be harder than she thought. The last time she’d gone off the grid when she’d been wanted, the whole world hadn’t been able to Google her photo. There also hadn’t been three Barton children to miss while she was away.
Uneven footsteps alert Natasha and Steve to Sam’s presence. He half-jogs, half-limps over to the rock they’re sitting on and leans up against it, panting hard.
“I,” he says in between breaths, “hate. Both. Of you.”
Natasha and Steve both grin at his misfortune.
“You never even took the lead, Sam,” Steve chastises, tossing him a water bottle. “What happened to the infamous Thunder Thighs?”
“That’s,” Sam pants, “only for. Special. Occasions. You guys. Aren’t special. I’m thinking of.” He coughs for a moment, pauses to chug half the water bottle, and then glares at them. “Thinking of turning you both in. To the government. Right now.”
Natasha laughs. She spreads her arms, gesturing to the expanse of mountains around them, their beautiful view, the closest town thousands of meters away from them.
“Let them come,” she says. “They’d never find us here.”
Steve chuckles in agreement, staring at the view in appreciation.
“Oh, I’d make sure they found your asses,” Sam counters. He climbs onto the rock and sits in between them, making dramatic grunts and groans as he does. “I thought running away from the government would save my life. I think you two want me dead.”
“Damn, Steve, our plan is foiled,” Natasha sighs sarcastically.
Steve shakes his head dejectedly. “Now we can never steal Redwing.”
“Hey, hey, not funny!” Sam calls, pointing at both of them. “I’m sleeping with one eye open tonight. Y’all aren’t getting anything past me.”
Natasha grins at both of them. It’s moments like this one that make giving up her life worth it – a reminder that, despite the shitty outcome of the Sokovia Accords, happiness is still possible.
“Christmas and New Year’s are coming up,” Steve suddenly mentions. “I know we’re planning on going back to the US soon to look into some bunkers there, but…are we staying for the holidays?”
Natasha’s voice is tight when she answers. “You know we can’t, Steve. It’s too dangerous.”
“We can just be extra cautious,” Sam suggests. “I know my aunties would love to see me just for a couple hours. They think I’m deployed right now.”
“And you want to put their lives at risk for some eggnog and hanging ornaments?” Natasha asks scathingly. She shakes her head. “No. We need to be out of the US at least a week before Christmas.”
Steve and Sam are silent, but Natasha knows they think she’s right. She would love to go to the Barton farm for the holidays; she wants to so badly she can feel it in her bones. But she’s not that selfish. She wouldn’t put it past Ross to send in a platoon in the middle of Christmas dinner.
“Well, we can pick our own destination for the holidays, then,” Steve says, attempting to lighten the mood. “We could go anywhere.”
Sam smirks at him. “Man, you’re just optimistic because all your buddies are a hundred years old and can’t do anything fun for Christmas.”
Steve laughs. “You’re not wrong.” Then his expression sobers. “But you guys know I’d pick you, right?”
“What are you on, Rogers?” Natasha teases. “Is the lack of oxygen making you loopy?” She knows Sam is confused, but she’s only putting on an act. She knows what Steve is trying to say. She just isn’t prepared for anyone to get sentimental right now.
Steve lightly kicks her foot. “Shut up. I’m serious.” He gazes into both of their eyes. “If you ever need someone…and you’re not even sure if I can help…I’ll be there for you. Without question.”
Sam clasps Steve’s shoulder appreciatively, and it makes Natasha’s chest hurt for reasons she can’t explain. “Captain America on speed dial,” he muses. “If only Riley could see me now.”
~
Natasha hasn’t been afraid of many people in her life. There are only a handful of individuals that have truly made her feel uncomfortable, who could get her backed into a corner if they wanted her there.
Virginia “Pepper” Potts Stark was one of them. Even her name was intimidating.
The fact that Pepper can wield a fourteen-inch meat cleaver in her one hand and a glass of wine in the other while reciting phonics just adds to Natasha’s discomfort.
She’s standing in the Stark kitchen, leaning against the island, wishing she were anywhere else.
“Okay, and if you change the first letter of ‘hat,’ can you make a different word for me?” Pepper asks her daughter sweetly, who’s dutifully setting the kitchen table, laying out napkins and silverware.
“Um…bat!” Morgan enthusiastically says after a beat. She tucks her hair behind her ear and beams at Natasha, who manages to give her a smile. “Ms. Natasha, can you do one?”
Natasha takes this opportunity to walk over to Morgan and sit across from her at the table. Her legs are killing her after a quick workout she’d completed with Thor, but Pepper hadn’t offered her a seat, so she hadn’t dared to take one.
“Bat’s a pretty hard one to top,” Natasha says thoughtfully, looking up to the ceiling. “Let me think…oh, I’ve got one. How about pat?”
Morgan excitedly gasps and clasps her hands together. “Mommy, did you hear that?”
Pepper slams the cleaver down onto the cutting board in front of her, slicing through the innocent chicken breast placed on it. Her voice is sickly sweet. “I did, sweetie. It was very good. I think before we eat dinner though you should probably go wash up and put away your toys, okay? No dessert if your room is messy.”
Morgan gives Natasha a shy wave before sprinting up the stairs.
Pepper waits until her daughter is out of earshot before walking over to the kitchen table and sitting across from Natasha. She still has the meat cleaver in her hand.
“Nat, I am forever grateful for what you’ve done for me and Morgan,” she says lowly, looking at Natasha from under her blonde lashes. “I really am. I know it couldn’t have been easy out there, and Tony probably wouldn’t have been your first choice for a companion.”
Natasha raises the left side of her lips into a smirk. “It sounds like there’s a ‘but’ after that.”
“There is,” Pepper sighs. “But…I can’t have you over here all the time asking him to help you. He’ll never admit it, and I don’t even know if he realizes it, but he feels compelled to say yes to you every time you ask for something because he thinks he would have died without you.”
Natasha resists the urge to tell Pepper that her husband would have died without her.
“I understand,” Natasha says evenly, not betraying any emotion. She likes Pepper, she does; it takes an admirable human being to have been able to put up with Tony for as long as she has, along with Pepper’s impeccable sense of business and marketing. But she doesn’t like what Pepper’s requesting, and she’s certainly not going to act like she does. “Would you like me to leave?”
Pepper purses her lips before leaning back in her chair in thought. “No, no. I’m coming off as a bitch. I’m sorry. I’m just worried that every little thing he does is just one step closer to him remembering how much he misses avenging, and I’m worried he’s going to…” She trails off, eyes watering.
“Pepper, Tony loves you,” Natasha assures her, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t ever doubt that. He’ll choose you over avenging. Any day.” The words sound hollow even to her. She wishes it were Laura in front of her instead of Pepper, and they were talking about Clint instead of Tony. That would be so much easier. She wouldn’t have to lie, at least.
Pepper laughs cynically. “Yeah. I’m sure he would. I—” She’s silenced by the man in question entering the room from the back door, bags of groceries balanced in his arms.
“Romanoff! What a lovely surprise,” Tony greets cheerily, setting the bags on the kitchen table. He walks over to Pepper to peck her on the lips before leaning over to give Natasha a side hug. “You came for dinner? Pep makes a mean chicken valdostano.”
“That sounds lovely, but unfortunately, I can’t,” Natasha apologizes. “I actually came here to ask you—” She purposefully glances at Pepper, who at least has the decency to look somewhat embarrassed, “—if you had Rhodey’s current location. My phone was dead, and I didn’t want to risk using any payphones.”
Tony looks disappointed for a brief second before plastering a smile on his face. “Yeah, yeah, of course. I always know where he is, although if he asks, I don’t. Come on into my study.”
Natasha follows Tony through the house until they reach his state-of-the-art computer, surrounded by holograms and 3D renderings of different elements.
“Been working on some orgo when I’m bored,” Tony explains, waving his hand at it all. “The chemistry professors at Cal Tech send me some of their students’ work to look over sometimes to see if I want to recommend any of them for grad school.”
“Helping the next generation,” Natasha quips.
“It’s what we do,” Tony agrees quietly.
The two of them stand in a comfortable silence for a couple of minutes before Natasha gestures to the screens. “So. Rhodey?”
“Right! Right,” Tony exclaims, jogging over to the computer. Of course the keyboard is simply built-in to the table so that he can slide around the touch-screen as he likes. He pulls up some coordinates and orders Jarvis to print them out.
Tony suddenly exhales hard, sitting down in the desk chair. Natasha studies him silently, remembering a time when it was seemingly just the two of them against the world, with a thirty-six hour time limit to bring in some of the world’s best fighters.
You alright?
Always.
Natasha graciously accepts the papers when Tony hands them to her. She quickly memorizes the coordinates, cursing to herself that she has to go to the Midwest, and gives Tony a slight smile.
“I appreciate it. I’ll see you around, Tony,” she says, leaning down to kiss his cheek in a rare display of emotion. “Stay out of trouble. The world can’t lose you twice.”
“I can help,” Tony blurts quietly, glancing at the entryway to his study to make sure Pepper can’t hear. “Nat, you know I can help. We’ve got goddamn alien DNA coursing through us, and you want me to waste it and—”
“Yes,” Natasha interrupts sharply, her eyes flashing dangerously. She furrows her eyebrows. “You got your second chance, Tony. Don’t play with fate and ask for a third.”
I can’t roll the dice again.
Tony looks like he’s about to contemplate arguing, but then Morgan’s voice is heard, announcing that she’s finished cleaning her bedroom, and his expression softens. Natasha gestures toward the kitchen, where his wife and daughter are waiting for him.
“You’re not putting them through that again,” Natasha decides firmly. “We’ll handle this. We’ll figure it out.” The words sound cliché even to her, but she’ll be damned if she’s going to have to do her job with Pepper to answer to if things go south.
“We,” Tony muses, running his hand over his face. “You don’t even know if Rhodey will say yes. Even if he does, I doubt the military’s going to let him go run on a little field trip with Thor and…whoever else you’re bringing in to do…whatever it is that you’re doing. I’m just saying, think about it.”
“Think about what?” Natasha asks, chuckling as she pulls her car keys out of her pocket.
Tony rests a hand on her wrist, forcing her to look into his eyes, wide and uncharacteristically serious.
“You’re going out of your way into something you probably don’t understand to try and save people. If anything happens…who’s going to save you?”
~
“You know, when they told me I had a visitor, I was expecting my mom,” Rhodey teases, making Natasha look up from the floor tiles she’d been staring at.
She breaks out into a genuine grin, standing to pull him into a hug. It isn’t lost on her that, had she not come back after Vormir, Rhodey would have been the last one she’d ever hugged.
“Sorry to disappoint,” she says jokingly.
“No, no, this is better. Mom’s been up my ass about living out here. Says I’m not meant to be a country man,” he chuckles. He places his hands on his hips, looking at her expectantly. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, Natasha, but what are you doing here? This place isn’t exactly on Google maps.”
“Got your location from Tony,” Natasha explains. She looks around. They’re in a basic, brick government-looking building, but she knows that her face will be recognized here, and she doesn’t know if she can trust anyone. “Do you have some place we can talk?”
Rhodey nods silently. He leads her down a side hallway, taking caution to check to see if it’s clear before making every turn, and eventually they reach a basement. He enters a code in front of a metal door and quickly pulls her in.
He pointedly looks into Natasha’s eyes before glancing up at the right side of the ceiling, raising his eyebrows. Natasha nods, understanding. She pulls a baseball cap out of her back pocket and tucks her hair into it, moving to stand on Rhodey’s left side, hiding her face and hair from the view of the cameras.
The two of them quietly venture further into the basement before reaching another door with a code. Rhodey punches in the code quickly, and Natasha hates that her instincts make her do it, but she catches the code, storing it in her mind. She trusts Rhodey; she doesn’t need the code. But sometimes Madame B’s lessons just stick with her, no matter how hard she tries to flush them out.
The room behind the door is a modest office, sleekly decorated and looks like it would fare better in a Manhattan sky rise as opposed to a brick building in Iowa.
“Nice place,” Natasha compliments, running her fingers along the expensive-looking leather seat placed in front of the desk. She lowers herself into it.
Rhodey scoffs in thanks and sits across from her behind his desk. “Ross’s way of apologizing without saying he’s sorry. Of course, not on the main floor, because that would be too nice.” He folds his hands together. “So. What can I do for you?”
“Has the government noticed anything strange since the blip?” Natasha queries. “In terms of…let’s say, population?”
Rhodey exhales, leaning back in his seat. “A little bit. A lot actually, yeah. What do you know about it?”
“I don’t think it’s anything the government can stop,” Natasha replies vaguely. She contemplates whether she should disclose to Rhodey everything she knows, or if he’d be better off being kept in the dark. “Do you want to know?”
Rhodey stares at his desk, obviously thinking hard. After a couple of minutes, he shakes his head, looking angry.
“Shit. I do, but I shouldn’t. The less I know the better, probably, if you don’t want Ross and the higher-ups knowing what you’re doing,” Rhodey admits. Natasha smiles to herself; Rhodey’s definitely one of the good ones. “I’ll cover for you if I can, though. Do you need anything?”
“Some backup,” Natasha answers truthfully. “Can you think of anyone that wouldn’t mind being thrust into a potentially supernatural threat? I told Clint and Tony no, already.”
“Yeah, yeah. Let me—” Rhodey begins shuffling through some of the papers on his desk when the phone on his desk rings. He sighs, holding up a finger to Natasha. “Rhodes, what can I do for you?” After a pause, he curses. “Damn. Alright. I’ll be there ASAP.” He slams down the phone and rapidly scribbles an address on a post-it note, pointing to it.
“Go there,” he tells Natasha. “I’ve got to run. You think you can sneak out of here by yourself?”
Natasha stuffs the note into her pocket and gives him a falsely offended gasp. “I hate that you have to ask, Rhodes.”
He flips her off with a smile before entering the code on the wall and then jogs out of the office, the door shutting and locking behind him.
Well, maybe it was a good thing Natasha watched him enter the code.
~
Natasha stands outside the address Rhodey had provided for her, contemplating if she should knock politely, or just go in; if this person can help her in the way Rhodey can, she figures they already know she’s there anyway.
Against her better judgement, she knocks and waits, letting whoever’s in this house get the upper hand. They can see her as they walk to the front door; she can’t see anything through the tinted front windows. God, who has tinted front windows?
Sam Wilson, apparently.
“Natasha? The hell are you doing here, girl?” Sam greets happily, pushing open the front door and opening his arms wide.
Not wanting to make it obvious that she’s caught off guard, Natasha simply smiles back at him and wraps him in a hug. When his chin is resting on her shoulder and he can’t see her face, Natasha furrows her eyebrows in thought. Rhodey thought Sam was going to help her? Natasha loves Sam, she does, but she doesn’t want to put anyone else she knows in danger.
Plus, Steve would totally kill her, elderly or not.
“Rhodey gave me this address,” Natasha explains when they pull apart. She looks around at the porch, cutely decorated as if an elderly couple resides inside. “I didn’t know it was you. Last time we talked you were still in DC.”
“That was three months ago,” Sam says, and Natasha would be lying if she said she didn’t feel slightly guilty about it being so long. “Hey, hey, I get it. Busy woman, back from the dead on her own, too good for those of us that died and got brought back by someone else.”
Natasha laughs along with him and punches his shoulder. Sam nods toward the front door, and the two of them walk inside.
It’s a small, modest house. Natasha can see two bedroom doors up the stairs from the foyer, and the living room is right next to the staircase. There’s a worn leather sofa and a dark green loveseat placed in front of a small television with a record player on a table in the corner. Sam leads her past that into a kitchen behind the staircase. There’s a small dinner table with three mismatched chairs in the center of the room, surrounded by white cabinets and countertops.
“Nice place,” Natasha comments. “Who’re your roommates?”
She already has an idea of who Sam has been living with, but she needs to hear him say it, to solidify her thoughts, to prepare for seeing him.
“Barnes,” Sam answers, oblivious to the storm of emotions inside Natasha. “You know, I hated the guy, but I guess when Captain America gives you his shield, you’re sort of obligated to take his best friend under your wing, too.” He smirks at his pun, and Natasha rolls her eyes.
“Is he home?”
“Yeah,” Sam says. “BARNES! We got a visitor!”
Natasha gives Sam a smile to mask the nervous anticipation she feels. She knows Barnes doesn’t remember her, doesn’t remember being Natalia and Zima and dreams of running away together, but she does. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever forget it.
The man himself walks into the room a minute later, his footsteps silent, just like their trainers taught them in Russia. He isn’t wearing his metal arm, and there’s a scarf wrapped around his shoulder.
“Ms. Romanoff,” he says, friendly enough, but Natasha knows she was never his favorite person, not after she fought on Tony’s side over the Accords. “How are you?”
“Apparently not as well as you two,” Natasha answers, smiling slightly, gesturing to the kitchen. “This is cute. Very homey.” She specifically points at a framed picture of the elderly Steve, Sam, and Barnes, all grinning at the camera, sitting on a park bench.
Barnes actually blushes. “Ah, wasn’t our idea. That was all Stevie.”
Sam sits in one of the chairs at the kitchen table, and Natasha and Barnes follow suit.
“I’m not sure if you’ve heard anything,” Natasha begins, folding her hands together, “but there was a surge in population after the blip. An unexpected surge – more people came back then the number of people who disappeared.”
Sam and Barnes share a look before turning back to Natasha. If she weren’t about to offer them roles to help in a supernatural mission where death was highly probable, she might joke that they are like an old married couple who can communicate without speaking.
“Who are the people?” Barnes asks.
“People who died,” Natasha answers. “Well, people who died before the snap in the first place. I talked to Thor already. We have reason to believe his sister, Hela, could be involved. She’s the goddess of death and apparently has reign over this type of thing.”
Sam raises his eyebrows and exhales. “Talk about family issues.” He shakes his head. “What do you need us to do?”
“I don’t need you to do anything,” Natasha corrects him, tilting her head. “I’m offering you a job just to help out. It’s going to be dangerous. I’m not even sure what the hell we’re going to be doing, exactly. I already told Tony and Clint they’re not allowed to come.”
Bucky stares the table thoughtfully. Silently.
“I’m in,” Sam says firmly, nodding, as if convincing himself that he actually wants to do this. “Captain America would go in and try and figure this out. I’ll do whatever I can.”
“Steve gave you that shield to be your version of Captain America,” Natasha reminds him, not wanting him to feel obligated to help. “You can still be Captain America and not deal with monsters and aliens and gods, you know.”
“I know,” Sam answers, smiling at her. “But this is the right thing to do. I know it is.”
Bucky clears his throat, and Natasha turns to him to hear what he has to say.
“There’s a chance I could’ve killed some of those people,” he points out finally. “What if, by chance, one of my targets was one of the people to come back to life? They deserve a chance to live the life I took from them.”
“Most of your targets weren’t good people,” Natasha counters.
“And how would you know, Ms. Romanoff?”
Natasha’s eyes snap up to meet his. For a moment, she’s eighteen again, rolling around in the snow, willing to believe everything that Zima tells her.
She blinks, and the moment fades. She’s not Natalia Romanova anymore, and he’s not the nameless Winter Soldier; they are Natasha Romanoff and James Barnes, and they don’t know each other like that.
“Just a guess, from a former assassin,” she says dryly.
“Come on, man. We’ve been talking about doing good. We don’t need Hela and the Fates or whoever the hell is out there messing with Earth even more,” Sam says encouragingly.
Barnes grimaces at him before sliding his chair back and quietly exiting the kitchen.
“Sorry about that,” Sam sighs. “I mean, if you need me, count me in. I’ll be there. I’ll do my best.”
Natasha grips his shoulder in silent thanks. She glances up at the ceiling. “This isn’t gonna cause any roommate conflicts? I’d hate to break up the happy couple.”
“Screw you, Romanoff,” Sam laughs, removing her hand from his shoulder. He shrugs them. “Man, I can’t force him to do something he don’t want to. That’s all his whole life has ever been. I’m sure he’ll change his mind, though, when he sees how much fun I’m having training with gods. That’s something I bet he’s never seen before.”
Natasha smirks. “I might give it a go. He already doesn’t like me, so what’s the harm?” Without waiting for a response, she walks toward the staircase and begins ascending them, not bothering to try and be quiet. She peeks in the bedroom on the left, which appears to be Sam’s bedroom, of course, and then knocks twice on the bedroom on the right.
There’s no answer.
Natasha rolls her eyes. “You know I can kick down this door if I wanted to. It’s in your best interest to just let me in.”
A moment later, the door opens slightly. Natasha pushes it open to let herself in and closes it behind her, taking in the room.
She thought she kept her room bare. It’s what she’d been taught; a bedroom was exactly that, a place for sleeping and resting. Pictures of friends on the wall meant making them a liability, and paintings and tapestries and décor gave away facets of your personality. It was dangerous. It was dumb.
Still, Natasha’s current apartment had a few plants placed on the windowsills and side tables, and she kept a single photo of the Barton children on her refrigerator. Her furniture was all color coordinated and she kept low-lit amber lights on the walls to give her place a more comfortable vibe.
Barnes’ bedroom makes a hospital room look inviting.
The lights are fluorescent and bright, not flattering to anyone or anything, and they accentuate the plain white, bare walls. His bed is a twin-sized mattress perched upon a standard black metal frame, with a dull gray blanket neatly tucked over it. He has two wooden dressers pushed up against the wall in the corner, matching the style of the wooden desk next to his bed, which holds only his vibraniam metal arm and a lamp. Some sunlight spills through the blinds over the window.
“Jesus, no wonder you’re so moody,” Natasha quips, walking around. “This place is depressing.”
“I’m not an interior designer,” Barnes retorts, sounding somewhat offended.
“No, but would it kill you to add a few posters on the wall? Get some colored bedsheets? And you’re a grown man now. That twin is seriously comfortable to sleep on?”
“Now?” Barnes questions, sitting on his bed.
Natasha bites her tongue. “I mean, I’m sure this isn’t different compared to the type of room you had in the army, when you and Steve were kids.”
Barnes shrugs. “I guess. Just feels wrong, decorating a bedroom and having a…normal life, when I’m not even supposed to be here.”
“Don’t say that,” Natasha chastises, knowing exactly how he feels.
A third voice joins in. “No, he’s right. He’s not supposed to be here.”
In less than a second, Barnes has rolled backwards on his bed, placing the vibraniam arm on himself, and is standing with his legs crouched, ready to attack the intruder. Natasha has her gun out and kneels beside the desk, ready to also use the chair as a weapon if she needs to. Their backs are slightly facing each other so that they can both cover themselves and the other person, and Natasha wonders if he remembers doing this together, back when they were still young.
The intruder raises his hands innocently, looking amused.
“Stephen Strange,” Natasha says evenly, not lowering her weapon. She’s never a had one-on-one conversation with the man, but she’s heard things. Mainly from Tony, so who knows how credible he was being, but Natasha figures if even Tony Stark says someone is narcissistic... “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“Dr. Stephen Strange, actually,” the man corrects casually. He flicks his wrist, and Natasha’s gun floats out of her reach through the air until it’s securely in his own grip. “Nice gun. Was this supposed to harm me?”
“If I wanted to, you’d be dead already,” Natasha replies sweetly. He may be able to shift reality, or whatever the hell it is he does, but she’s willing to bet he doesn’t have half the resilience that she does. Or alien DNA. “And you didn’t answer my question.”
“I can help you with your mission,” Dr. Strange says bluntly. “I need you to come with me, Ms. Romanoff.”
“She isn’t going anywhere with you, Doc,” Barnes says, finally speaking. He relaxes his legs, but Natasha knows that his true power is in his arm.
Dr. Strange shrugs. “Fine, then. You’ll both come.” He waves his hands, and orange sparks begin flying around. Natasha had heard from Loki what the sorcerer can do.
She quickly turns to the window, prepared to jump out of it, but suddenly the floor beneath them disappears, and she and Barnes are falling through a portal, into darkness.