Chapter 3
Even though she can’t see anything as she’s falling, Natasha’s perception has been refined enough that she can tell when she’s about to land. A split second before her body would slam into the ground, she bends her legs and tucks her neck, gracefully somersaulting on the floor and launching upright into a standing position.
Barnes does the same. Natasha wonders if he learned that in Russia or the States.
Dr. Strange even has the audacity to look slightly impressed, as if he hadn’t expected either of them to stick the landing.
Natasha looks around. They’re in some sort of older-looking library or museum, with sleek wood and gold furniture and foreign-looking motifs scattered around the room.
“Welcome,” Dr. Strange says, “to the Sanctum Santorum.”
“What is this, some sort of…magical library?” Barnes questions.
“It’s the location of the most occult esoterica and mystical phenomena that’s been discovered,” Dr. Strange says, not really answering the question, in Natasha’s opinion. “It’s also a brownstone located at 177A Bleecker Street.”
“In the Village?” Barnes questions, raising his eyebrows. He whistles. “I’d hate to see what your rent is.”
Natasha’s lips twitch, a ghost of a smile. You can take the man out of New York – and God knows they took this one far – but you can’t take New York out of the man.
“Why are we here?” Natasha demands, not forgetting that they’d just been transported away to New York, hundreds of miles away from Barnes’ and Sam’s house. “You didn’t have to—”
“Oh, he didn’t, but he does like to show off,” an unamused voice drawls.
Natasha turns to look at the stairs, where Loki is descending, followed by Thor, who looks rather unhappy about being there. His expression lights up when he catches sight of Natasha, though, and he quickly pushes past his brother to greet her.
“Natasha! How nice to see a familiar, friendly face,” Thor rumbles, pointedly looking at Loki. “What brings you here?”
“I’m not really sure,” Natasha muses, raising an eyebrow at Dr. Strange. “Why did you have to transport us all the way here?”
Dr. Strange’s somewhat friendly expression disappears and is replaced by a look of pure dread. “You aren’t the only ones who’ve noticed the…population issue on this planet,” he says gravely. “We have a lot to discuss. Have a seat.”
“There aren’t any—” Barnes starts, just as Dr. Strange waves his hands and suddenly four elegant, velvet single sofas appear in a row, out of thin air.
Natasha shrugs her shoulders at him and sits. The other men follow suit and all look at Dr. Strange expectedly.
“I’ve invited a few others who I think can assist in this issue,” he vaguely provides. “I have to go contact them and ensure their arrivals are soon. Time is of the essence.”
“Because you no longer possess the Time Stone,” Thor adds.
Natasha has known him long enough to recognize the statement is said in jest, but Dr. Strange obviously doesn’t. The sorcerer immediately lashes his hand out at Thor, and the red cloak flies off his back and onto Thor’s neck, wrapping tightly around it. Thor’s face turns concerning shades of red and then blue as he claws at the fabric, attempting to loosen it.
Natasha glances at Barnes. She could outwit Dr. Strange in any topics non-time or surgery-related, and she’s willing to bet before he mastered the mystical arts, she could’ve taken him in hand-to-hand combat. But she knows when to back down from a fight; she’s had enough of meddling with magic.
Still, there’s someone among them who could be a match for Dr. Strange’s powers.
She raises an eyebrow at Loki. “You’re not going to help your brother?”
Loki opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, Barnes has stepped forward toward Strange and punched him in the face with his metal arm. Hard.
The force of the blow knocks Dr. Strange back a few feet as he stumbles, and the cloak loosens from Thor’s neck, giving him an opening to wriggle free from it. Natasha’s heard pounds hard in her chest; the next few seconds could be either very peaceful or chaotic.
Looking at the men around her, she figures it’s up to her to ensure the peace.
“Alright, step back, Barnes,” she says, her tone authoritative, but not too demanding. “You got Thor free. Good job.”
His fingers twitch, as if he’s contemplating landing another one on Strange, but he stares into her eyes and finally nods.
“He got me free, no thanks to my brother,” Thor spits, his voice slightly hoarse. His neck is an ugly shade of red, but Natasha knows that the godly blood in him will have it back to normal in a matter of hours. He turns to Loki menacingly. “I take you in, after what you did to this planet and its people, and you make no attempt to fight for me? Do they have no loyalty in your dimension, brother?”
“No one’s fighting,” Natasha cuts in warningly, crossing her arms. Thor glares at her for a second, but she matches the look with her own scathing scowl that makes him falter. “All that matters is that you’re good now. We’re good. Right?” She looks around for approval.
Dr. Strange waves his hand and the cloak floats back onto his back. He stares at Thor with an unreadable expression. “We’re good,” he says simply. “I would appreciate if you didn’t make jokes about the Infinity Stones again. You don’t know what kind of power words can hold.”
“What’s that mean?” Barnes asks.
Dr. Strange raises an eyebrow at him, and to Natasha’s surprise, Barnes ducks his head, looking embarrassed. Unless she’s missing something, to her knowledge, the two men haven’t been acquainted before. Except…
Except for after the snap.
Natasha had always assumed that there hadn’t been anything for those who had died in the snap. From what she’d gathered from Sam and Laura and the kids, it was an immediately loss of feeling, like after you’ve had too much to drink and can’t feel your face, but they hadn’t remembered much after that. But maybe the experience was different for enhanced individuals…
A loud knocking noise interrupts her thoughts.
Dr. Strange straightens up. “I wasn’t going to kill you,” he tells Thor amicably. “I was just going to cut off your air supply until you fell unconscious. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go see who that is. Feel free to rest here for a bit.”
As he talks off, Thor mutters, “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”
Loki rolls his eyes. “Come. I have a healing ointment that will get rid of those hideous marks on your neck. It’s best not to let the guests know the mighty Thor can get taken down by a piece of clothing.”
The two of them walk back up the stairs, leaving Natasha and Barnes alone.
“What was that look Strange gave you?” she asks him, sitting down in one of the sofas. “Shut you up pretty quickly.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, doll,” Barnes says tiredly, a distant, distracted look in his eyes. Natasha furrows her brows at the nickname, and Barnes seems to notice what he’d just said, because his eyes widen as his gaze snaps back to her. “Shit. Sorry, Ms. Romanoff. Kind of out of it right now. I guess getting transported to a magical library has got me out of my head.”
“Steve mentioned to me awhile back you were on some meds from Wakanda,” Natasha replies easily, knowing that he meant something different. “Are you off them?”
Barnes gives her a grateful look, knowing she’s purposefully avoiding the conversation about him and Strange. “I take a pill every other day. Weaning off them, you know. I don’t want to bother them too much, especially now, you know. They have a lot of rebuilding to do.”
Natasha shrugs. “We all do.”
Barnes takes a deep breath. “I’m going to take a walk around this place, get a feel for it. I don’t like how fast this all is moving.”
“Neither do I,” Natasha admits. “But I trust Thor. And Loki, to a degree. I don’t trust Strange—”
“No, no, he’s good,” Barnes assures her. Then he backtracks. “I mean, I think so. He helped save this reality, right? That’s good enough for me.” He studies her. “You look tired. Get some shuteye. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night.”
Natasha doesn’t argue with him on that. She doesn’t particularly like the circumstances she’s in, but she’s certainly slept in worse, so she closes her eyes and lets herself drift off.
~
Natalia’s biggest secret is—
“Get up,” Madame B commands, so sharp, so apathetic, that Natalia can no longer focus on anything except her order. “Up, Natalia. Now.”
Natalia blinks and struggles to sit up, chest heaving. She shakily manages to stand on her two feet, blood dripping out of her nose and onto her lips. It tastes like metal.
It tastes like worthiness.
She’s just finished sparring all the girls left in her class. There’s only ten of them now. Natalia is firmly number one, but both Yelena and Katya have been improving. It worries Natasha slightly sometimes. Her biggest secret is—
“Give the girl a break, yes? She just defeated nine of her comrades,” the man behind Madame B chides. He had arrived three days prior and had spent every waking moment of each day watching the girls. They didn’t know who he was, but they did know not to ask.
Madame B gives him a tight smile, and if Natalia knew any better, she would say Madame B almost looks embarrassed. “Yes. Quick break, Natalia. Five minutes.” She turns on her heel and beckons to the rest of the girls to follow her. They wordlessly follow, Katya bending down to let Margaret lean on her; Natalia had sprained Margaret’s knee when sparring.
Left alone with the man in the training room, Natalia reaches over to grab her water bottle and greedily chugs half of it. She bends over to stretch her legs, her breathing slowing back to normal.
She doesn’t look at the man. She isn’t sure why he’s here or what he wants.
Natalia’s biggest secret is—
“You turn fifteen soon, is that right?” the man asks suddenly, leaning against the wall. He seems to be in his forties, with a slightly receding hairline and a stomach that had clearly consumed its fair amount of alcohol. He has an America accent, and Natalia decides to test him.
“Da,” she says. “Moy den’ rozhdeniya 23 fevralya.” My birthday is February 23.
The man chuckles humorlessly, not phased by her switch in language. He steadfastly remains in English. “They made your birthday Defender of the Fatherland Day?”
Natalia smiles slightly, aware of the irony. She switches back to English to humor the man. “Yelena got Women’s day,” she says, shrugging, stretching her arms. “And Katya got New Year’s. Those were the two I preferred. The rest didn’t matter to me.”
“When did you pick your birthdays?” the man asks, sounding genuinely curious. “And when did you celebrate them before you picked?”
Natalia regards him warily. She isn’t sure if he’s testing her on behalf of Madame B to see how much she’ll reveal about the Red Room, or if he truly doesn’t know all the Red Room practices and wants to. Either way, Natalia doesn’t want to disclose much information to him.
“We were little,” she answers vaguely. “You’ll have to ask Madame B for more details.”
“You don’t remember?”
“Why do you care?” Natalia asks, genuinely curious. “Why are you questioning me?”
“I’m from America,” the man starts.
“I can hear, yes. Your accent is so heavy,” Natalia remarks.
“We’re thinking of...kickstarting a program similar to this. My boss is old friends with Madame B. He sent me to inspect it, see what I think. Get some feedback.”
Natalia ponders this. Another Red Room? She isn’t sure how to feel about that. On one hand, it means potentially more comrades and sisters, in another country no less, which could prove to be useful.
On the other hand, it means more competition for her. She needs to be the best.
Natalia’s biggest secret is—
“What feedback are you getting right now in watching me stretch?” Natalia asks.
“I wanted your opinion, actually. Just talking,” the man says, sounding surprisingly friendly for someone who wants to start a female youth assassin training program. “Do you like it here?”
“I am loyal to the Red Room,” Natalia answers without thinking, years of practice ingrained in her.
“Oh, I know. I’m not trying to disrupt your system or anything with Madame B here,” the man explains. “But, on a scale of one to ten, how much do you like it here?”
“Ten,” Natalia replies shortly.
“Really? You wouldn’t change anything? At all?”
“I would make it so that we are not allowed visitors,” Natalia counters, false sweetness in her voice. She takes another gulp of water. “I am fourteen years old and could kill you in less than two minutes. I am not bragging, I am stating a fact. If that’s what you want your program to lead to, then tell your boss to go ahead.”
She begins walking toward the door to leave. Before she can reach it, the man has her exit blocked, having moved much faster than she originally gave him credit for. Even faster, he has his left hand wrapped around her throat, his right hand holding a blade against her stomach.
“That’s something we would definitely change with our program. The bitches would not be so arrogant, so disrespectful,” he whispers, pressing the blade into her stomach; not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to make her wince.
Natalia’s biggest secret is—
“This does not scare me,” she whispers back, smirking. She reaches up to jab the man’s own throat, loosening his grip, and twists around to kick his legs out from underneath him.
As he falls, Natalia wrenches the knife out of his grip and plunges it into his thigh, missing any major arteries, but sticking it where it will hurt. The man grunts in pain and reaches forward to grab her, but she easily sidesteps him and wraps one leg around his throat, squatting behind him with her other.
“If you ever try that on me or any of my sisters,” she sings sweetly, brushing his hair out of his now sweaty face, “I will make you beg for the sweet release of death. Understand, yes?”
The man spits in her face but says nothing, grounded to his position by the knife in his leg. Natalia simply wipes the spit off of her cheek, stands, and walks out of the room confidently.
As soon as she turns the corner, she wraps her arms around herself, taking a shuddering breath. Had Madame B known what that man would do? Was it a test? Was she supposed to kill him?
Could she have killed him?
Natalia's biggest secret is that this life terrifies her.
“But you’ve had such a worthy life, my dear.”
Natalia whips around, crouching down to prepare to launch at her new company.
She studies the unfamiliar woman. She has a pale skin and striking eyes, cheekbones resting above an all-knowing smirk, looking almost...proud of Natalia. She has jet-black hair and an even darker demeanor about her. Natalia is instantly uncomfortable, but she won’t show it.
“Can you read my thoughts?” Natalia asks the woman. She’s heard of magic and witches before, and never believed any of it, but her training has taught her to never doubt what she cannot see. “Who are you?”
“Read thoughts? No, I’m afraid that’s not one of my skills,” the woman laughs, her tone suggesting she perhaps knows someone who possesses that skill. “I’ve just had practice studying people, is all. I figured you were feeling...shall we say, disillusioned with your life. I wanted to assure you that your life has been rather valuable to me.”
“Why?” Natalia asks, crossing her arms and relaxing her posture. If she’s right in her thinking, this woman isn’t here to harm her.
If she’s wrong, she’ll probably die.
“You’ve brought me many lives, Natasha,” the woman says appreciatively. “You’re ambitious. You remind me of myself, so long ago. I do hope you know you haven’t even scratched the surface of your potential.”
“You don’t look very old,” Natalia comments. She furrows her brow. “I think you have the wrong girl. My name is Natalia, not Natasha.”
“Not yet, at least,” the woman murmurs knowingly, stepping forward to Natalia. She plays with her red hair for a moment, admiring it. “My, my. You have no idea the great things you’ll do, little one. You’re one of the few humans I would bother saving under my rule.”
“Your rule?” Natalia questions, on edge again. This woman is talking like she’s not human, like she’s not from here. “Does Madame B know you’re here?”
The woman smiles, an almost terrifying expression, and Natalia unconsciously takes a step back.
“I’m not here,” she says simply. “Not really. But I’m waiting for you to find me.”
Natalia is fed up with the vague answers. She rests her weight on her back leg before springing forward to tackle the woman, and ends up falling on her side on the floor.
The woman is gone.
Natalia scrambles to her feet, looking around frantically, chest heaving. What the hell just happened?
She shakily makes her way to the dining hall. Before she can enter the room, something orange and sparkly appears in front of her before she can process what it is, and engulfs her whole.
~
Natasha’s eyes fly open.
“Sorry for such an abrupt awakening, but I figured you’d want to be awake for this,” Dr. Strange says, emotionless, walking past her. “We’re having a discussion with our guests.”
Natasha slides off of the sofa and follows him through the sanctum, simultaneously admiring and hating the way he’s always down to business.
“I think my dream could’ve been connected to this. It—”
“Bring it up with the entire group, please,” Dr. Strange interrupts, not rudely, but not politely, either. “I don’t want to hear it alone and have my judgement clouded should a decision need to be reached that requires a majority opinion.”
Natasha raises an eyebrow but says nothing, keeping up with his brisk walking pace.
She thinks about her dream. The woman hadn’t been there in the real memory; she knows that for a fact. Natasha doesn’t want to believe it, but she knows that that was Hela. How she found her way into Natasha’s memories while she was sleeping, Natasha doesn’t want to know, but she needs to tell the others.
Before she can bring it up, Dr. Strange leads her into a large kitchen area, where a congregation of people are sitting around a long conference table.
Barnes waves her over to an empty seat beside him. “You recognize any of these folks?” he whispers, glancing around the room with a relaxed expression on his face, his mouth barely moving to indicate he’s saying anything to her.
Natasha nonchalantly glances around at the new arrivals. They all appear human, but she knows how guileless that line of thinking is. Regardless, though, none of them appear familiar to her.
“No,” Natasha whispers back, her lips not moving, so that anyone looking at her wouldn’t know she was talking to him. “Stay cautious, though.”
“You too.”
Thor and Loki are sitting across the table and further down from them, so they don’t have a clear view of Natasha. She doesn’t like this setup, but she’ll roll with it. For now.
Dr. Strange stands at the head of table, and everyone quiets down. He politely nods to them and sighs.
“Welcome, and thank you to everyone for coming here on such short notice,” he says. “Wong sends his regards as well, but he’s upstairs right now, and couldn’t afford to lose any time today. I’ve called you here today due to the recent population surge on this planet.”
The man across from Natasha scoffs. “This planet has had more than one population fluctuation. Why should this particular one concern us?” Around the table, over half of the individuals present nodded in agreement. So, they weren’t from Earth. Nothing surprising there.
“The source of it,” Dr. Strange replies, clearly dissatisfied with the way the man spoke to him. “Believe me, I wouldn’t call you here if I thought this wouldn’t affect you.”
“Well, do enlighten us,” the man encourages, a sarcastic smile on his face.
“The population surge wasn’t due to the creation of new people or the transportation of already exiting beings from other planets,” Dr. Strange says, waving his hands around.
As he does, holographic images of people flash in front of him at a rapid pace, accompanied by what look like medical records and legal documents beside each one. They appear too fast for Natasha to read what any of them say, but they keep coming. Hundreds, thousands of faces, all staring at everyone in the room.
“People who died, had documented proof of death, are suddenly back, living and breathing as if they’d never died in the first place,” he finishes, the faces still rapidly playing in a demented sort of horror video. “These are all the people who weren’t here a year ago, because they were dead. They’re all back now.”
Natasha has to hand it to him, he’s been busy. The pictures of the people and their papers were more information than Coulson had. Or at least more information than he’d provided for her – he tended to withhold stuff sometimes.
“That certainly is an anomaly,” a woman comments from further down the table. “However, the point remains. What is the source? How does it affect those of us not from Midgard?”
Thor suddenly stands, his chair scooting back loudly. Loki visibly winces next to him, clearly not wanting him to speak. Natasha wants to roll her eyes at Loki.
“You all are disgraceful,” Thor announces, gesturing to the room. Inhales and gasps are collectively heard from multiple individuals, and Natasha feels the angry energy ignite from the group. She suddenly empathizes with Loki.
“This is clearly the work of an otherworldly being. Midgardians don’t have the power or tools to do such a thing,” Thor continues, ignoring the glares he’s receiving. “I am not of this planet, but I have risked my life to save it, and I would do it again. The people here are good. They deserve better than what we’ve given them. This is a problem they cannot solve on their own. I know that I, and the rest of Asgard, will do whatever we can to help.”
“You and Asgard?” the first man who spoke scoffs. “The people of Asgard live on this planet now. You all would be compelled to help Midgardians, regardless of the threat.”
Murmurs of agreement break out among the room. Natasha wants to rub her temples. She feels like she’s on Capitol Hill.
“I agree with Odinson,” a man speaks up, prompting everyone to quiet down. He stands and nods at Thor. “It is our duty to help those who cannot fight by themselves combat this threat.”
“Thank you, Primus,” Dr. Strange says. He raises his eyebrows. “Now, I respect everyone’s respective decisions, but I would like to share with you the source of this problem before you make a definitive decision. We suspect that Odin’s firstborn, Hela, had something to do with this. An act of this nature is right up her alley, and Thor is a known acquaintance of this planet. It makes sense.”
“I thought you were Odin’s firstborn,” someone Natasha can’t see calls out to Thor.
Thor’s expression darkens. “As did I,” he says gravely. “But apparently not. Before I was born, Hela ruled Asgard with Odin. She is the goddess of death. She was imprisoned but broke free after Odin’s death. I…I destroyed Asgard with Ragnarok to kill her. It seems I failed at that.”
Natasha doesn’t like his bitter tone. It’s self-deprecating and vengeful, both very dangerous things for someone to be. Especially someone as powerful as Thor. She makes a mental note to speak with him later.
“Nonetheless, we have reason to believe that Hela is acting, and we don’t know how. Those of you who are familiar with her know the power she possesses,” Dr. Strange continues, and Natasha sees some people nod in agreement. “I called you all here to not only ask for any help you can provide, but also as a warning so that you can prepare and defend your own homes as well. If Hela supposedly died, or at the very least was injured and trapped on a destroyed planet, chances are she’s got allies. We need to figure out who they are, what they can do, and what they have planned. If you want to stay and discuss that, please do. If not, I thank you for taking the time and making the distance here to listen to what I had to say.”
Natasha observes curiously as some of the people slowly make their way out, while others stay. She also notes that no one from Sovereign appears to be present. She wonders if that’s just a coincidence, or a deliberate choice on Dr. Strange’s part. What does he know about her time in the alternate dimension?
When only those wanting to help are left, Dr. Strange begins planning communication, defense strategies, trading weapons, and more. Most of it goes over Natasha’s head as she realizes some of them are fellow sorcerers, and she doesn’t know what half of the terms they’re using means. She patiently listens as everyone speaks.
Finally, when they’re finished, Dr. Strange offers rooms for everyone. They slowly trickle out of the room, and Natasha goes over to Thor and Loki. One of the men who had agreed with Thor, Primus, approaches them. He shakes Thor’s and Loki’s hands and then reaches out to Natasha.
“I don’t think I managed to catch your name,” he says, giving her a friendly smile. “You are friends with Odinson, I take it?”
“Natasha Romanoff. And yes, we’ve been fighting alongside each other for a few years now,” Natasha answers, knowing that her definition of ‘a few’ probably differs from theirs. “Thank you, again, on behalf of Earth for doing what you can to help. I appreciate anyone who doesn’t want to see my planet fall apart.”
Primus looks surprised. “You’re from…here?”
“That’s what she just said,” Loki replies, rolling his eyes. “Were you not listening?”
“Yes, I’m from Earth. I’m human,” Natasha speaks up over him.
Primus studies her curiously, not saying anything else. An uneasy feeling washes over Natasha. Can he somehow sense that she has Sovereign DNA in her?
“How do you know each other?” Natasha asks Thor, changing the subject.
“Primus helped me father in a battle, many years ago,” Thor answers, smiling fondly at the memory. “He’s trained by the Shadow Realm. It was an impressive sight.”
“Although technically, no one saw it,” Primus adds, grinning. “I can turn into a living shadow, the closest I can describe without actually doing it. It proves to be quite advantageous when my enemies are looking for me.”
“Sounds like it,” Natasha agrees.
She follows the men out of the room. Barnes is waiting for them in the foyer. Primus leaves them, and Natasha uses this opportunity to huddle together with Thor, Loki, and Barnes.
“I think I saw Hela,” she whispers, cutting straight to the chase. “When I fell asleep earlier, I was reliving a memory, but she was there. I know for a fact that woman wasn’t there originally. It felt like she was talking to me now, not my younger self. Is that even possible?”
Loki furrows his brows, thinking. “It’s definitely possible,” he admits. “Although why Hela would waste her energy on something like that, I know not. And you haven’t encountered her before…”
“So she knows you’re caught up in this,” Barnes finishes, running a hand through his hair. “Jesus, is she going to come to me in my sleep, too? I’ve had enough mind games to last three lifetimes.”
Natasha frowns sympathetically at him. Thor looks around. They’re alone in the foyer right now, but Natasha knows that he’s wondering who was paying attention to them at the meeting, who could be listening to them right now. She’s wondering the same damn things.
“Strange said we’ll reconvene tomorrow evening. Many of those who volunteered to assist with this have to contact others and update them first,” Loki says. “I suggest we leave for the night. Go somewhere more secure.”
“I have a safehouse not far from here,” Natasha agrees.
The four of them quickly leave Bleecker Street. It’s dark outside, nearly midnight, and Natasha realizes with a start that they must have spent over five hours at Strange’s place. It had felt much shorter.
They walk together for awhile, not having to worry about being spotted together, since the streets aren’t terribly crowded tonight. When they get closer, Natasha tells Thor and Loki the apartment number, and tells them to wait five minutes after she goes up to enter. She turns to tell Barnes to wait ten minutes after them and hide somewhere, but he’s already out of sight, knowing what she was going to say. She wonders if he remembers doing the same routine just like this, when they were both different people.
Natasha jogs up the stairs to the top floor of the apartment building and makes her way to her door. She hasn’t been here since she’d been on the run with Steve and Sam, and even then, she’d stayed here on a night when the three of them split up, just to throw anyone on their trail off. This was one of the few safehouses that only she and Clint and Coulson knew about.
She freezes when she gets to the door. To the average eye, nothing might seem out of place, but alarms are going off in her head. The welcome mat outside the door is fresh-looking and appears almost brand new. She distinctly remembers wiping muddy, bloody boots on the welcome mat more than once before, and she knows Clint and Coulson wouldn’t take the time to clean it. The door is also pulled shut closer to the frame than they normally leave it.
Someone’s been inside.
Thor and Loki start walking down the hall toward her. She turns to look at them with serious eyes.
“Someone’s been in. It’s compromised. Let’s get a hotel,” she whispers, a sinking feeling in her stomach. She can’t tell if the safehouse had been compromised a week ago or years ago, but either way, it’s not safe to go in.
“How do you know?” Loki asks. “We’ve got two gods and two assassins. I’m sure we’ll be fine for one night.”
“I just know,” Natasha answers gravely. If anyone is good enough to break into one of her safehouses, they’re in danger. “We wait for Barnes, and then we leave.”
When Barnes eventually comes down the hallway, he looks more shaken than Natasha.
“Why aren’t you inside?” he demands. “We can’t let people see us!”
“What are you talking about?” Natasha hisses. “We can’t go in. It’s been compromised. We were waiting for you to go somewhere else.”
Barnes turns around to look behind him, as if to check to ensure no one’s there. “No, no, we can’t leave now. Come on. We have to go inside for just a little, at least. To figure this out.”
“To figure what out?” Thor asks. “If Natasha doesn’t want to go inside—”
“Screw this,” Bucky mutters. He bends down in front of the door shoves one of the fingers from his metal arm against the knob. It clicks into the lock, and the door easily opens. “We need to get inside. Now. I’ll explain, just hurry.”
He makes a show of checking for any wires or bugs when he’s inside for Natasha’s sake, and she rolls her eyes at him. She turns on the lights and locks the door behind them. The apartment looks the same; Clint hadn’t redecorated, to her relief. The furniture is all in place, but still, Natasha can’t shake the feeling that the safehouse has been messed with somehow.
She and Barnes inspect the apartment, making sure there’s no video or audio bugs inside. When they both deem it safe for the time being, they all meet in the living room on the couch.
“I was waiting by a fast food place with the news on,” Barnes explains. “Can you turn on the TV?”
Natasha silently nods. She reaches into the basket on the coffee table for the remote, but grabs nothing but air. She swears to herself and bends down to look under the coffee table. She makes the men check under the couch cushions, but they don’t find it, either. The remote is gone.
A small detail like that might seem insignificant to most people, and they might simply just utilize the buttons on the side of the television, but this is bad news for Natasha. Clint and Coulson are always very good about keeping their safehouses in check so that they all know if one’s been messed with. The remote always goes in the basket. Always.
“Look, we’ll deal with the intruder later,” Barnes says. “You’ve got bigger problems right now, Romanoff.”
“What happened?” Natasha asks, running a hand through her hair anxiously and collapsing on the couch.
Barnes takes a deep breath. “There’s been a string of murders all throughout this month, apparently. They finally have a suspect.”
“Oh, is it Hela?” Loki asks sarcastically. “That is the biggest concern currently.”
“Not Hela,” Barnes says, shaking his head. His eyes zero in on Natasha, making her sit up cautiously. “It’s you. They think Natasha Romanoff killed ten people this month, and there’re orders to kill on sight.”