Chapter 5
Bucky’s eyes open slowly. They widen as he sees Steve.
He hastily steps out of the vessel, and almost falls over.
Steve catches him by the arms and steadies him.
They look at each other and in a split second, they are hugging.
“Mr. Barnes,” says a nurse hesitantly, “You might want to sit down, as the effects of the cryo-freeze are still waring off.”
But Bucky doesn’t appear to hear her, because over Steve’s shoulder, his eyes lock with Natasha’s.
He quickly releases Steve and stumbles towards her.
Sam puts a hand on his shoulder. “Hey man, you should really sit down.”
But Bucky brushes him off.
“Natalia,” he says, his voice croaky, but sounding sure and determined.
Natasha’s eyes widen.
He remembers.
Natasha’s heart begins to pound and her hands begin to shake.
The others all look surprised.
Sam looks between the two of them with confused eyes.
And Steve has a sudden look of realization on his face.
“Natalia,” Bucky says, wincing as he tries to stay standing, “I’m sorry. I remember you. The Red Room.”
Natasha keeps staring at him. At all of them.
They stare back. Steve’s stare hurts the most. A look of sadness and uncertainty rests on his face.
“Wait,” Sam says incredulously, “You two know each other?”
Natasha doesn’t answer.
“Nat,” says Steve accusingly, “How could you not tell me?”
A little spider, caught in her own web of lies.
She feels the walls close in on her, and a panic rise from deep within.
She has the sudden urge to hide, to escape, to run away.
Who was she kidding? This isn’t home. This palace, the gardens, her room, it isn’t home. Natasha never needed a home. She never planned on settling down in one place. She is the Black Widow. She doesn’t have a home. She doesn’t belong.
She doesn’t need anyone.
And so Natasha runs. She bolts away from the room, away from Bucky and the others. Away from Steve.
She runs and runs and keeps running until she gets out of the palace.
Her vision is blurry and her head is spinning.
She realizes she has entered the gardens.
She is hit with a feeling of safety, of familiarity. Of long walks with Steve and laughs with Clint and chats with Tony.
“No,” Natasha whispers, “No, no, no. This isn’t home.”
She needs to leave. She needs to disappear again.
So she takes a deep breath and clears her head.
She sprints back into the palace, almost colliding with T’challa, who gives her a very strange look as she mutters a quick “sorry” and continues to run.
She finally gets to her room. Well, it’s a suite, really.
There are only three objectives to coming here.
Get some gear.
Get some cash.
Get out.
No note. No apologies. No strings attached.
But suddenly she feels something soft and fluffy brush her shins.
It’s Francis.
Upon instinct, she reaches down and scratched his ears.
“You know I can’t take you with me,” Natasha says, not even caring about how her voice cracked.
She looks around herself.
“I can’t take any of this with me.”
Her oversized room is filled with little things that have been added in the time Natasha has been here. There’s a jewelry box that Tony gifted her, a big aloe vera plant that Clint gave her, and an oversized t-shirt that had to be something she stole from Steve.
There are other little things too, like the colour of the light blue walls that Natasha chose when T’challa insisted. The gold duvet on her bed that has little flowers embroidered on it. A dark blue rug that Scott had awkwardly given her, saying something about it matching the walls.The tiny spill on the rug that had been the result of a slightly drunk Sam who had given her a package of movies when he joined her and Steve for movie night.
There are three bottles of nail polish that Wanda had insisted she should try. A bouquet of flowers that Vision said would compliment her room. A pair of headphones that Rhodes claimed are “the real deal”.
And Natasha, who had welcomed all these presents with grace and joy, suddenly feels suffocated by them.
How did she let this happen? She has too many thing, too many connections, too many strings pulling her back.
She feels the panic rise again.
Steeling her shoulders, Natasha grabs the things she needs and determinedly walks out of the room.
She’s about to close the door when Francis peeks his head out, making little whimpers, almost as if he knows she is leaving.
And, never coming back.
Allowing herself to pet Francis’s fluffy head one more time, she murmurs “Clint will take care of you,” before shutting the door.
It’s time to go, she thinks.
She knows where T’challa keeps the palaces grand supply of cars. She could just use the fancy sports car that he had given her when she first arrived, as it is very fast, but definitely too flashy.
No, there is a selection of perfectly fast cars that are much more low profile in the palace garage. Natasha just has to get to them. She hopes no one is looking for her. Maybe they all want to give her space?
She creeps down the hallway and runs down the flight of stairs - too risky to take the elevator - and finds herself in the garage.
Panting from the decent, Natasha carefully and quietly breaks into the first car she sees (a dull-looking grey mini cooper) and before getting in, throws her cell phone to the ground in case T’challa installed a tracking device.
She climbs in, and with lightning speed, drives out of the garage. She shoots past the guard at the exit before he even has time to react.
Natasha eyes latch themselves onto the road before her. Her hands grip the steering wheel hard enough that they turn a stark white. Her foot presses into the pedal; she needs to be fast.
She’s going to have to ditch this car soon. Once the others find that she’s missing T’challa will surely check the tracking device that is no doubt planted on this car.
She just need to drive far enough away, and then she can find some deserted cabin in the forest to camp out in. The next day, she can set off to the airport.
Natasha adjusts her rearview mirror, making sure no one is behind her.
The road is cleanly paved, with no bumps or ditches or anything.
It is silent, except for the slight sound of a rain that is starting. There are no other cars, and the sky is growing darker and darker.
Natasha presses on at top speed for another 2 miles, before reluctantly stopping the car and getting off.
She starts running towards the forest.
She enters, the branches hitting her face and the rain starting to splash down as she starts to look for somewhere to spend the night.
Finally, she spots it. A little fort-like structure that is weathered and well hidden in all the trees.
It’s perfect.
She edges towards the fort, creeping around it, making sure there are no inhabitants.
When she’s sure it’s safe, Natasha opens the rickety door and finds herself in a tiny space filled with moss and one small blanket.
Not bad, Natasha thinks.
It’s not like she is planning to get much sleep anyways. No matter how hard she tries, her mind keeps going back to the others, to Clint, to Steve, to how disappointed they probably are at her.
To how they’ll never trust her again.
But that doesn’t matter. She’ll never see them again anyways.
The rain is loud now and the temperature is dropping by the minute.
And so Natasha sits down on the moss and wraps the small blanket around her shivering body, and she fights back the tears that she didn’t even know she is still capable of having.
It doesn’t work. She starts crying.
They’re quiet tears, trickling slowly down her face as Natasha covers her mouth with her hand to prevent the sobs.
There’s really no reason to, but she does it anyways.
She’s on her own again. There’s no home to go back to, there’s no one to care about her.
She’s all alone.
That is, until, she hears a crack of a branch to her left.
Natasha jumps up, almost hitting her head in the small space, and presses her hand to her gun.
There is someone out there.
She doesn’t even have time to react before the door swings open and reveals a rain sodden Steve Rogers at her doorway.
Her breath hitches in her throat and she quickly brushes at her tears, even though she knows he’ll notice.
He’s glaring at her. A exasperated frown on his face.
“What the hell were you thinking, Natasha?”