Archive of Our Own ^beta

The message is simple: coordinates and a code that only Steve would know.

One minute after Natasha encrypts it, she takes a long sip of her coffee, leaves a few bills for the waiter, and disappears into the crowds along the Champs-Élysée.

Four hours after receiving the message, she lets a security camera catch her boarding a train to Madrid. Twenty minutes after that, she's off the train and making her way north in a stolen car, new clothes and a short blond wig. Sometimes the classics are classic for a reason.

Thirteen hours after receiving the message, she's standing in front of an unassuming building in a small port town on the west coast of Denmark. The sign out front says it's an electronics repair shop, and there are no lights visible from the street. It's close to 10 o'clock at night, so there's nothing surprising about that. But when she rings the doorbell, the door buzzes open immediately. This is the place.

Inside, there's a tiny reception area with an empty counter, and a hallway that leads to the back. She isn't quite sure what to expect when she goes inside, but Steve Rogers and the King of Wakanda huddled around a console projecting weapons schematics isn't it.

"But what about the—" Steve's saying, then breaks off at the sight of her, a look of relief passing over his face. "Natasha."

It's been four days since she last saw him in that hangar in Leipzig, and even with his enhanced healing abilities, she can tell he's still a little worse for wear. He didn't get that damage from their airport dustup, and not for the first time, she wonders what really happened in Siberia. Tony had been uncharacteristically unforthcoming with the details in their brief communication afterward.

Steve comes around the table and pauses uncertainly before opening his arms in invitation, a reverse of their last truly friendly moment at the church in London. Something unclenches inside her: even after everything, she hadn't truly been sure that things would be okay between them until this moment.

"Don't look so surprised, Rogers," she says, accepting the hug. "You invited me."

It's strange to see him without Sam; the two of them have been a matched set for so long. But of course, that's why she's here. Instead of Sam's reassuring presence, there's only Barnes, lurking in the corner like a shaggy-haired ghost, his metal arm conspicuously absent. She swallows her shock at the sight—Tony hadn't mentioned that either. Barnes seems smaller without it, precarious and unbalanced, and she finds it strangely unnerving even though it should be a relief. Five days ago, that hand was on her throat. Now he won't even look in her direction.

"But we were not certain you would come," T'Challa says, nodding to her over Steve's shoulder. Four days ago, she betrayed him and he made her an international fugitive. Now he's sheltering the very man he sought to kill. She supposes they've all come full circle on this one.

"Your Highness." She pulls back from Steve, inclining her head respectfully. "I'm glad to see you again under less… contentious circumstances."

His lips quirk. "As am I."

Steve nods at Barnes, a cautious look on his face. "I guess you two have already met."

"Not really," Natasha demurs. She'd met someone, but she's pretty damn sure it wasn't Bucky Barnes. She's not sure this is either, but broaching that conversation with Steve will have to wait.

Barnes says nothing, and when she glances his way, he is still conspicuously not looking at her. She supposes that’s for the best. They haven't been in the same room without trying to kill each other for a very long time.

"As much as I enjoy your company, there is another reason we asked you here," T'Challa continues.

"Clint, Sam, and the others," she says, nodding. "They're in the Raft, but its location is constantly on the move."

"Way ahead of you."

Steve jerks a thumb at T'Challa, who says only, "I thought it prudent to leave a tracking device when I was last there." He waves a finger over the display, and a map appears, a large red dot blinking insistently in the middle of the North Sea.

"Well," she says, and inserts the thumb drive Tony gave her into the console. "That makes these a lot more useful." A 3D diagram of the prison pops up.

They exchange a look. "Indeed," T'Challa answers slowly, coming closer to examine them. With a flick of his wrist, the plans expand, twisting to reveal access corridors and a path to the control room. He looks up at Natasha. "How did you come by these?"

"Tony," Steve guesses flatly.

Natasha hesitates, then nods. "He was involved with some of the upgrades after SHIELD fell."

"Are you sure we can trust him?"

"When it comes to this? Yes," she says firmly. "He never wanted any of us locked up."

Steve cuts a look at Barnes, clearly thinking that there were some of them Tony would rather see dead. For his part, Barnes says nothing, but drifts closer, eyeing the plans. "It's not gonna work," he says after a minute. "Not by force."

Natasha raises an eyebrow. That's exactly what she had been going to say. "He's right. The Raft was built to be nearly impenetrable—even to enhanced individuals. We have to be invited in."

Steve takes a deep breath. "All right, then. I turn myself in."

"No," Bucky says immediately, face finally losing that dead-eyed calm.

"Buck—"

"No," he repeats, glaring. "You think they won't be ready for you? You even listen to what she just said? This is a prison built to hold people just like you."

Steve's face is taking on a familiarly mulish cast. Natasha rolls her eyes. "Calm down, boys. I've got a better way." She pulls up the second file on the thumb drive. A list of dates and locations appears next to the plans. "This is the schedule for the next resupply drop from the mainland. We hijack one of them and we've got an easy in."

Steve's jaw drops. "How did you—"

She shrugs. "Paid a little visit to the quartermaster's office right before you sent me that message. Good timing, by the way. The only thing I couldn't get were the verification codes we'll need to get into the facility. They change them constantly."

"There, I may be of assistance," T'Challa interjects.

Natasha raises an eyebrow. "Your friend Ross is sharing security codes with you these days?"

There's slightly more bitterness in her voice than she'd like, but T'Challa doesn't blink.

"In fact, no," he replies, unfazed. "We parted on rather bad terms after I voiced my objections to the lack of due process afforded the prisoners."

He doesn't apologize for ratting her out to Ross, and she finds she likes him better for it. She's also not about to apologize for turning on him to let Steve and Barnes escape. They both had their reasons, and there's no point in dwelling on regrets.

"But this will do the job." T'Challa pulls a small device out of his pocket. "Once you have the supply shuttle, it should be able to find and break the codes."

Natasha eyes it curiously. Wakanda keeps getting more and more interesting.

"Well, then," Steve says, smiling grimly. "This might not be the worst plan we've ever come up with."

Barnes mutters, "Low bar," which only makes Steve’s smile widen.

"Don't get ahead of yourselves," Natasha warns. "Getting in is only half the battle. We've still got to get down to the cells and back out again before they trigger a complete lockdown."

"I can provide equipment and transportation, but I cannot be more directly involved in this," T'Challa says. She thinks the regret in his voice is sincere. "Not now that my identity is known. It would compromise Wakanda's efforts at diplomacy in these matters. And I must return home for my coronation. The country has been too long without a king already."

"We understand," Steve says. "You've done more than enough already. And I'm grateful."

"Steve," Barnes says quietly. "I can't go with you either."

Steve looks up, surprise and relief flashing across his face in quick succession. He'd clearly thought he would have to talk Barnes out of coming. "Believe me, Buck," he says, heartfelt. "After everything we just went through, I have no intention of delivering you right to their door. You should go back to Wakanda with T'Challa. We'll take care of this. They're our team."

Natasha blinks. Wakanda has always been notoriously reclusive, and after seeing T'Challa in action, she can only begin to guess why. Offering Barnes sanctuary is more than just a huge turn around from trying to kill him a few days before: it must also mean they truly trust him.

Barnes frowns unhappily. "They've got Zemo. That means they could have the trigger words. Anyone uses them on me..." he trails off, lips flattening. "You don't want to be trapped underwater with that, even with only one arm."

Steve's face does something complicated. He clasps a hand on Barnes' remaining arm. "That's not going to happen." They lock eyes, some silent communication passing between them.

Natasha stares openly, fascinated. It isn't like she'd imagined, seeing them together. She'd been picturing the version of Barnes as she'd known him. And that person is in front of her now, but he's only one piece of the whole. Here, with Steve, he's a three dimensional person come to life, not the flattened copy of a man who she remembered.

"Then," T'Challa says, "I believe we have work to do."

*

It's the early hours of the morning by the time they have a plan that might not end up with her and Steve locked in adjoining cells next to the others. T'Challa's people show up soon after, landing on the roof in a sleek, cloaked jet that Natasha would dearly love to examine more closely. His bodyguards glare at her as if they can read her mind—and maybe they can. It wouldn't be the strangest thing that's happened lately, and anything seems possible, considering the level of tech they've apparently been hiding all this time.

But the mysteries of Wakanda will have to wait. For now, she will happily accept the compliment of his trust. And the bag of weaponry one of his bodyguards hands over. Even Barnes perks up at the sight, poking at it with interest. The guns will have to stay behind if they want to avoid killing anyone, but Natasha grabs a pair of tasers

"Nothing that can be traced back to Wakanda," T'Challa explains. "Conventional weaponry only. But it may be of use." He turns to her. "Where will you go after this?"

She smiles. "I've got some places." Clint's family's been relocated with Maria's help. Letting the kids be spoiled by their Auntie Nat has some appeal.

He nods, watching her, then seems to come to a decision. "If you find yourself in need of shelter, you would be welcome in Wakanda."

"That's... very generous," she says, surprised and a bit pleased. "You know if anyone finds out you're operating a halfway house for wayward superheroes, there will be hell to pay."

He shakes his head. "I am not afraid of General Ross. Only of standing by while an injustice is done."

He was going to make a magnificent king.

"You do your father proud," she murmurs in Xhosa. T'Challa looks startled, then breaks into a laugh.

"You are full of surprises, Ms. Romanoff." He offers a hand and she clasps it, gratefully. "I wish you very well on all of your journeys."

"My King, we are ready," one of the bodyguards announces. They're off to Berlin. If all goes well, T'Challa will be very publicly attending a memorial for the victims of the UN bombing at the exact time the rest of them are breaking into the Raft later that night.

"Your Highness," Steve says. "You've done so much for us already, but if I can ask one more favor—" he hands T'Challa an envelope, "—can you make sure this gets to Tony? I don't want to wait until after. Just in case…"

T'Challa nods gravely. "I hope you can repair what has been severed, Captain." He looks at Bucky again. "Good luck, all of you. I hope to see you again soon."

*

After T'Challa's departure, the rest of them return downstairs. Barnes silently clasps Steve's shoulder, then slips away to one of the bedrooms in the rear of the safe house. Steve's head turns to watch him go, a marionette on a string. Once Barnes is out of sight, he gives himself a shake and slumps in his chair, strings neatly cut.

"Tired, old man?" she teases.

"Yes," he says simply. "I—God, Nat. I'm so tired." He pauses. "I'm sorry about Rhodes."

"So is Vision, I imagine."

Steve winces. "T'Challa told me he's in recovery, but there's some paralysis?"

"Then you know more than I do," she says evenly, feeling her heart clench. Tony said it was likely, but she'd hoped… "They were still checking him out when I left."

Steve slumps even more, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "What a mess," he murmurs. "No, Vision was right: a catastrophe."

She considers him silently for a moment, then sits on the table beside his chair. "How is he, really? Barnes, I mean."

Steve exhales slowly. "He's Bucky. In every way that counts." He smiles without humor. "He's holding up better than I am, I think."

"He's had more practice living as a fugitive."

Steve turns to her with knowing eyes. "And what about you? How are you holding up?"

"Oh, you know me. I adapt."

"Nat," Steve says, voice gone soft.

"Don't," she warns him. The last thing she wants is Steve Rogers peering too deeply into her soul at three in the morning.

"All right." he agrees, then raises an eyebrow. "You haven't asked what happened with Tony."

"He asked me if I knew how his parents died. Seemed like a pretty big clue."

"Did you?"

"I knew as much as you, Rogers." Which was exactly as much as either of them had wanted to know, she suspected. Some threads really weren't meant to be tugged. "With no proof? Nothing but the word of a megalomaniac Nazi computer program? Not telling him was a mercy."

"Maybe," Steve acknowledges. "But it was also selfish. And Bucky paid the price for my failure. Again." He looks at her. "Why did you let us go that day?"

She shakes her head. "You know why."

"Because how we stay together matters less than staying together." At her look of surprise, he smiles again. "I do listen to you sometimes."

"Only when it's what you want to hear." The worst part is she can't even be angry with him. Because what tore them apart in the end wasn't the accords, or Steve's stubbornness, but a lie that she had also been a party to.

He takes her hand in his and squeezes it gently. "We'll get them out, Nat. All of them. And this thing with Tony… I don't know if it can be fixed. But I'm damn well gonna try."

"And if he can't forgive Barnes?"

Steve says nothing.

"Right," she says. "That's what I thought."

*

Steve disappears into the same room as Barnes. She falls asleep to the low rumble of their voices through the wall, and dreams of another voice—both different and the same—murmuring Natalia in her ear.

*

The next morning, she wakes to the scent of coconut and cardamom and warm bread, and follows it to find Steve and Barnes downstairs, eating breakfast. Her stomach growls. She feels like she hasn't eaten in a year, although in reality it's been more like half a day. Steve smiles and beckons at her.

"One of the perks of being a guest of the king," Steve says, taking a second—or knowing his appetite, third or even fourth—helping.

Barnes nods but avoids her eyes as she sits down and takes a plate. She tries to see him through Steve's eyes, this still, sullen man. Ragged and unkempt, every inch of him screaming wariness. By all accounts, Bucky Barnes had been extremely charming and outgoing. Likable, smart, handsome in a clean cut kind of way. Loyal to a fault, or so the legend goes. A popular guy, a guy's guy. She's sure some of that has been exaggerated over time, but Steve wouldn't be so hung up on him if some of it hadn't also been true.

The man standing before her is a remnant, a shade with Bucky Barnes' blue eyes. Oh, he's still smart, judging by the way he evaded the world these last two years. Still good looking too, although now his beauty is all danger and sharp edges. His body might be young, but he carries the weight of his long years in the hunch of his shoulders, the shadow of deep, lingering sadness that hangs off of him. Tired. Worn thin.

But his loyalty. That's the real question. After spending two years hiding from him, does the Winter Soldier still feel the same way about Steve Rogers that Bucky Barnes did? Or is he here now because his cover's been blown and he has nowhere else to go?

Natasha pours herself some tea and takes a bite of a donut-like confection that's crisp on the outside and soft in the hollow middle. "It's good," she says in Russian, "but I would rather some syrniki, wouldn't you?"

Steve frowns, brow crinkling in confusion. "Natasha—"

Barnes has gone very still. "I wouldn't know," he answers in Russian, then gets up and stalks away.

Steve turns to her, tone wary and slightly accusing. "What was that about?"

Natasha takes another delicate bit of her pastry. "Not everything's about you, Rogers."

*

The supply ship is leaving from an airfield a little ways outside the city. They'll need to leave by noon to make the rendezvous. Preparations take up most of the morning—she'd have preferred another week and a lot more manpower for a mission like this. But if they miss this opportunity, they won't have another one for a month. Natasha's been to the Raft, back when it was under SHIELD control. She has no intention of leaving any of their people in there that long.

Steve has already donned his uniform for this mission: black t-shirt, khakis, and a dark blue jacket. Even in civilian clothes and missing the shield, he is unmistakably the most famous fugitive in the world.

Barnes watches without reaction as he pulls on the photostatic veil she brought for him. After Steve's face shimmers into that of the regular delivery man, he reaches out curiously to poke at his cheek.

"Hydra had this," he says finally. It isn't exactly a question. "When they sent me after you."

Natasha nods. "SHIELD had it. So Hydra had it too."

"Idiots. They could have hidden my face completely."

"I think they wanted me to see you, Buck. They knew it would distract me." Steve lets out a little self-deprecating laugh, eyes on Barnes. Natasha wonders if he knows exactly how obvious his feelings are when he looks at him. He's wide open, defenses completely down. "They were right about that much." He shrugs. "I guess they didn't think it'd make any difference to you."

Barnes' lip curls. "Like I said. Idiots."

*

As always, once the plan is set in motion, it starts breaking down almost immediately.

"What is it?" Steve asks when Natasha frowns at the list manifest.

"It looks like they had a last minute addition. Transport for a new guard being added to the rotation."

They turn in unison to stare down at the three people lying unconscious at their feet.

"So—"

"So, they'll be expecting three life signs in the ship, not two. And if they don't see them—"

"Nat," Steve says warningly.

"Maybe we can convince them there's a valid reason." She shrugs. "But it's a change they're not expecting, and that means they'll be on alert."

Steve's jaw is set. "Then they'll be on alert. The plan doesn't change."

"Not worth the risk," Barnes breaks in. "If Ross gets trigger happy on you, this whole thing's over before it even starts."

"Buck, if they catch me, they'll lock me up. If they catch you, they'll kill you on sight."

"Nah." Barnes grins, sharp and mean. "I know his type. Not the sort to waste an asset."

"He's right," Natasha admits. She looks at Steve. "Ross hounded Bruce halfway across the world trying to recreate the serum, make it something he could control. He'd love nothing more than a matched set, especially if he can do it out of sight."

Steve sets his jaw. "Even more reason not to let Bucky anywhere hear him."

"Are you my handler now?" Barnes bites out. "Because you sure as hell aren't my commanding officer anymore."

The hit lands; Steve looks stricken. "Buck—"

"We don't have time for this." Barnes turns to her. "You got another one of those masks?" She nods. "I'll stay in the transport, guard your retreat.

"Here," Natasha says, digging a pair of noise canceling headphones out of her pocket. "Anyone gets close enough to start saying the wrong words, put these on."

Steve watches Barnes pocket the headphones, mouth turned down unhappily. "I don't like this."

"What's to like?" Barnes claps a hand on his shoulder, then turns to strip the uniform off the guard closest to his size. "We play the cards we're dealt."

*

The thing about the Raft is that it's almost as unpleasant a place to work as it is to be a prisoner. The US Marshals staffing it are trapped within the same dank, depressing walls in the middle of the ocean. They may have a bit more room to stretch their legs, but they're eating the same stale supplies and missing the same sunlight.

Its security system is impressive, but like all security systems, it's vulnerable to hubris. It's tiresome to maintain constant vigilance, so unless a lockdown is triggered, they'll be able to move about pretty freely. Once you're in, there's an assumption you must belong.

They just have to get in.

"This is Raft prison control," a tinny voice comes from the shuttle radio. "Identify yourself."

"Raft prison control, this is shuttle Echo-Delta-Niner requesting permission to dock," Natasha answers.

"Roger that, Echo-Delta-Niner. Please transmit your identification code."

"Transmitting now."

Natasha meets Steve's eyes as they wait. This is the first test. If T'Challa's gift doesn't work, then they'll be lucky if they're not immediately shot out of the sky. But after a tense moment, the confirmation comes through and they're cleared to land.

Five guards are waiting when they lower the ramp. All armed, but none look particularly tense. Just a regular Friday evening, she reminds herself. She and Steve hold still while they're scanned, the second test of T'Challa's tech.

The head guard squints at them. Mitchell, according to Natasha's crew manifest; thankfully, she doesn't think they've ever crossed paths before in person. "There's supposed to be three of you. Where's Daniels?"

Steve points his thumb over his shoulder, and the guard follows them up the ramp to the small shuttle latrine. Behind the thin door, the sounds of violent retching are hard to ignore.

Mitchell makes a disgusted face. "What's with him?"

Natasha rolls her eyes. "Says he ate some bad seafood or something," she says, but mimes tipping back a bottle.

"Had to listen to that the whole way over," Steve complains. He bangs on the door. "Hey! Get out here and let them scan you so we can unload." A groan is his only answer, followed by more retching.

After a second, the door cracks open, the smell of sick wafting out. Natasha has to hand it to Barnes: he puts on a good show, face pale and listing against the door frame in a way that suggests he might tip over without it, while also conveniently hiding his missing arm.

Mitchell makes another face. "I should write you up for this." He quickly scans him, then waves him off when Barnes purses his lips like he's just barely holding back more vomit. Barnes retreats back behind the door, and the sounds resume. Natasha wonders how he has anything left, honestly.

"Sorry about that," Steve tells him with a shrug. "We'll get everything unloaded, just might take a little longer."

Mitchell crouches down to look at one of the boxes, face brightening. "Hey, is this the Cinnamon Toast Crunch I asked for?"

Natasha glances down at her pad. "Could be. I'd have to check the manifest."

"Never mind. Hey, get in here and help unload this stuff," he calls down to the other guards. "I've been craving this for a month."

And just like that, they're in.

*

Once they've started unloading, Natasha sidles up to Mitchell. "Hey, you mind if I use the facilities?" She shifts back and forth a little restlessly. "I'd had to go since we left port, but…" she gestures back at the closed lavatory door, where Barnes is still holed up.

He pauses, hefting a large box, but nods. "Fine. Be quick about it. There's a storm coming."

"Thanks," she says with a wink and a grateful smile. "I'll remember this next time. Try to pack some extra cereal."

According to Tony's schematics, there's surveillance in nearly every inch of the Raft. But even SHIELD's paranoia draws the line at cameras in the actual bathroom stalls. So it's from one of those that she clambers into an air vent that's almost too small and makes her way to the control room.

A few minutes later, she's standing surrounded by the comatose bodies of what were, a few days ago, her colleagues. Turns out those tasers came in handy after all. She quickly finds Steve's fuzzy face on one of the many monitors. "All right, Cap," she says on their private frequency. "Control room secure. Do your thing." Then watches as he efficiently knocks out most of the unsuspecting guards before any of them can even reach for a weapon.

The last two are in the shuttle. There are no cameras inside, but Barnes must take them both literally one-handed, because he pops his head out a moment later and gives Steve a nod. They restrain the guards with their own cuffs and leave them piled in a corner.

Steve says something to Barnes too quiet for the cameras to pick up, and they share a long look before he turns to leave.

But then Steve hesitates.

Natasha goes tense, checking the rest of the room for movement. There's nothing. Steve turns back, casting a brief, defiant look at the surveillance camera. And then he leans down, takes Barnes' face in his hands, and kisses him right there in the hangar bay.

Natasha's eyebrows raise. She can't see Barnes' face from this angle, but he doesn't seem to object, his one hand sliding around Steve's waist like it belongs there. The moment doesn't last long, but it's certainly not just a chaste peck on the lips. Steve pulls back, giving Barnes one more look before turning to leave.

Barnes' eyes follow him until he's gone, and then flicker up to the camera—just long enough to let her know that he knows that she saw. His mouth lifts a little sardonically, more hint of personality than she'd seen yet, and then he turns and retreats to the shuttle.

Natasha swallows and erases the footage, feeling a sharp twinge of something she most definitely doesn't have time to dissect.

"Finally found someone with that shared life experience?" she murmurs into her earpiece, following him on the monitor as he makes his way to meet her.

"Guess so," Steve answers shortly.

"Interesting," she says, and then adds, just to rile him, "Didn't think you old guys got up to stuff like that. Take the next left."

Steve snorts, taking the turn. "Why does every generation think they invented sex?"

"Why Captain Rogers!" she gasps, faux-scandalized. "I had no idea you even knew that word."

"All right, all right—"

"Someone's coming," she cut him off sharply. Three guards just exited a room around the corner and were now on a direct collision course. She scanned the schematics. "Storage closet on your right. I can unlock it from here."

Steve swiftly ducks inside, door closing just before the guards come into sight.

"Kind of ironic, you hiding in a closet right now," she says while they're waiting for them to pass. "Considering you just came out of one." There are no cameras in there with him, so she has to settle for imagining his eye roll. "I get it, though. You've got this whole star crossed lovers thing going. It's sweet. And he's a good looking guy. Trying to kill you a few times is a bit of a red flag, but…" The guards pass around the corner. "Okay, you're clear."

"Could we stay focused on the mission, please?" Steve whispers somewhat plaintively as he creeps out of the closet

"Multitasking," she reminds him, and he just sighs.

Fortunately, the control room is close by and he makes it without further incident.

"No, but seriously," she complains, meeting him at the doors, "you couldn't have told me you were batting for the other team before letting me strike out so many times trying to set you up?"

"The word is bisexual," Steve says dryly. "And no, you guys didn't invent that either."

"Learn something every day," she murmurs.

They certainly hadn't covered that in the museum exhibit. But there had always been something about the intensity of Steve's attachment to Barnes that went beyond simple friendship or even brothers in arms. Maybe the real question is why didn't she see it sooner?

One thing's for certain: it will make it much harder if Barnes really does need to be put down after all this. The soldier is more than capable of using any and all weapons at his disposal, including the feelings of others. Natasha understands that possibly more than most.

Steve just looks past her into the control room, impassively taking in the knocked out bodies. "Did you find them?"

Natasha forces her mind back to the immediate mission. They have a job to do, and that means feelings can wait. She nods. "Level ten."

"Then let's go."

*

When they get to the cells, all four of the prisoners look up in unison. Steve and Natasha share a look and then remove their masks at the same time.

"Captain America!" a man who must be Scott Lang exclaims, bouncing to his feet. She hadn't actually seen his face during the fight, but he looks exactly as genial and sort of goofy as his voice had sounded.

Sam just smiles. "Man, you sure took your sweet time," he says as Steve approaches his cell.

Natasha locks eyes with Clint, reassuring in his solidness. He nods his head toward Wanda, sitting silently in the corner of her cell. She's wrapped in a straight jacket, and there's some sort of collar around her neck, a light blinking ominously on its front. Natasha swallows down a wave of anger and keys open the cell, crossing to kneel down in front of her.

"Are you all right?" she asks quietly, undoing the buckles on the jacket one by one.

There are dark circles under Wanda's eyes, and every few seconds, she twitches slightly. Her blank expression reminds Natasha of how she looked when they first brought her back to the compound after losing Pietro. "I'll live," she says, voice slurring slightly.

Drugged, probably. But there's also damage here that won't be healed in a day or even a month, Natasha knows. She loosens the last clasp and Wanda pulls her arms free, hand immediately flying up to the collar. Natasha gently pulls Wanda's hands away and turns her head for a better look. "What does it do?"

Wanda's wan smile has a sharp bite. "It controls their fear."

The outside of the collar doesn't have an obvious release mechanism, but Natasha's seen things like this before, and she's loath to experiment. Most control collars have some nasty surprises in store for anyone who tries to remove them without saying the password first.

"We can't take it off here. Too risky. It'll have to wait. Can you walk?"

Wanda swallows, determination leaking into her sallow face. "To get out of here? I will crawl naked over broken glass."

"That's my girl," Clint says, coming up to the cell door. "Nat," he greets her.

"Clint," she says. Then, quietly for his ears only: "They're fine. Maria's got them." A bit of tension visibly goes out of him.

"Thank you," he murmurs. The last time they were face to face, she'd asked if they were still friends. Even though she'd known they would be, the look on his face right now is enough to quell any remaining doubts.

He takes a deep breath and offers Wanda, clearly unsteady on her feet, an arm for support. The fact that she accepts it makes Natasha worry even more, but there's nothing they can do about it until they can get that collar off safely.

The others are already free as they exit Wanda's cell. Sam nods at her from his place at Steve's side.

"Hey, weren't we fighting you?" Lang says. He perks up. "Are you a double agent?"

"Let's move," Steve says, ignoring him. "We need to get out before they realize we were here."

"Oh, I am more than ready," Sam says, rubbing his hands together. "I think I've already memorized every square inch of these four walls."

Steve claps him on the back, face twisting with regret. "Sorry it took so long."

Sam shakes his head. "I knew you were coming. Just wasn't sure how. Or when."

"How is without much backup, so we really do need to go," Natasha reminds them, putting her mask back on.

Steve nods and does the same, taking the lead while she brings up the rear. The others are lined up two by two in between them; just a routine prisoner transfer. The odds they'll be able to fool anyone they run into is slim, but the illusion doesn't need to last very long.

Except she needn't have worried—the halls are eerily empty as they make their way back to the hangar bay. Too empty, Natasha thinks, the bad feeling only growing stronger the longer they go without meeting any resistance.

Predictably, it's just when they're nearly out that everything goes to shit.

"This is weird, right?" Sam asks as they near the hangar. "Where is everyone?"

"Maybe we just got lucky," Natasha says, not believing it even as the words leave her mouth.

And then sirens start screaming, flashing emergency lights lighting everything in red. Everyone skids to a halt as blast doors immediately drop at either end of the hallway.

"Was that supposed to happen? I feel like that was not supposed to happen," Lang says nervously.

Clint exchanges a look with Natasha, still bracing Wanda. His fingers flex uselessly in the absence of his bow. "Guess our luck just ran out."

"Can you override the lockdown?" Steve asks her. She's sure he's also missing his shield right about now.

She shakes her head with a grimace, peering down at the screen. Every foothold mini-Friday makes is almost immediately being circumvented, an endless game of hacker whack-a-mole. "They're blocking me now. I can still block surveillance but the doors are running on a different system."

"We've got trouble." Barnes' voice suddenly comes over the comms, tense but calm. He'd been quiet so long, Natasha had almost forgotten he was there.

"We noticed," Steve tells him, voice tense. "Are you all right?"

"Where are you?" Barnes demands, ignoring the question.

Natasha looks around. They're almost below the hangar bay. "Level five. Subsection… B-11. They've got us boxed in." So close… but not quite close enough.

"Roger that. Sit tight."

"Buck, no," Steve says, looking even more alarmed than he did when the siren went off. "Do not leave the shuttle."

"Sorry, Rogers… getting some interference here. Can you repeat?"

"God damnit, Bucky—"

Clint catches her eye, mouths, "Barnes?"

Natasha shrugs.

"Stand down," a voice comes over the loudspeaker. "You are outnumbered and surrounded."

Before it's even done speaking, gas has already started hissing out of the ceiling vents, as if whoever was watching knew damn well there was no chance of that happening.

"Oh, that is not good," Lang groans.

"Cover your face," Natasha snaps. The gas smells acrid and her eyes are already beginning to sting. She can think of several nasty possibilities off the top of her head, and anything on the Raft will be calibrated for enhanced metabolisms.

A booming sound echoes somewhere behind the doors, followed by an ominous crash. A moment later, Barnes's voice returns. "Back away from the northwest corner."

"Bucky, there's some kind of gas in here. You need to stand clear," Steve says, words slightly muffled behind the hand he's holding to his mouth. Even so, he moves to obey, motioning the others to follow.

"Are you clear?" Barnes says instead of answering, which seems like answer enough.

Natasha hastily takes Wanda's other arm. "Move faster, everyone."

Steve waits until they're all as far back as they can go. The air's really begun to fill now, and it's hard to see the far wall. "We're clear. But Bucky, I told you—"

The blast door at the far end of the corridor explodes. Steve immediately throws himself in front of Natasha and the others, trying to make his whole body a shield in the absence of the vibranium version. But for all the noise and power, the explosion is remarkably controlled.

Natasha peers around him, coughing. Through the gas and smoke, she can just make out a Quinjet on the other side of the large hole that it apparently just blasted into the middle of the heavy metal doors. It's a slightly unreal sight. The Quinjet's wings are folded inward, but it still only barely fits in the corridor.

The hatch drops open and a figure appears, face covered in a mask and goggles. For a split second, Natasha back in the chase from the bridge, death stalking behind her, masked and relentless. In front of her, Steve stiffens.

And then Barnes calls, "What are you waiting for?" His voice is slightly muffled and definitely irritated. "Get over here."

Natasha jolts back to reality. "Come on," Steve orders, and like a spell has broken, they all begin to move. The explosion had temporarily cleared some of the gas, but it's still pouring in from the vents, quickly refilling the space and spilling out into the corridor beyond as they run through.

Wanda stumbles over some rubble, coughing, and Steve swoops her up into a bridal carry without losing a beat, and then they're all scrambling through the hole into the relatively clear air. Natasha only has a moment to gape at the enormous hole in the ceiling leading up to the hangar bay, and then she's following Sam up the ramp, where Barnes has already retreated to make way for them.

She raises an eyebrow as she passes him on the way to the cockpit.

"I improvised," he says, expressionless, even after removing his mask. And then Steve reaches him, and everyone else clearly becomes an afterthought.

"Bucky," he says, gripping his arm tightly while his eyes scan him up and down. He's already handed Wanda off to Clint, wh0 settles her on the bench before sliding into the co-pilot's chair next to Natasha.

"I left the shuttle," Barnes says from behind them. "Sorry." He does not sound sorry in the slightest. He lets out a muffled grunt, and she glances back to find Steve has his arms locked around him. "All right, Rogers," Barnes says irritably after a moment, he also doesn't shrug out of Steve's hold. "Quit your sniffling, I'm fine."

Clint leans over. "Strange times."

"Stranger bedfellows," she murmurs back. "Everyone strap in," she says louder, and out of the corner of her eye, she sees Steve break away from Barnes with a slightly chagrined expression. "We'll have time for reunions later."

The Quinjet radio crackles to life as she begins lifting them back up into the hangar bay.

"Captain Rogers," Thaddeus goddamn Ross says, calm and patronizing as ever. "Agent Romanov. This is a new low."

Natasha ignores him, checking out the instruments.

"You've got no way out," Ross continues. "Give up now, and no one else needs to get hurt."

Steve leans over the back of her chair. "It's a little late for that, General," he says. "Don't you think?"

"If you want your friends to ever legally see the light of day again, you'll surrender now and let justice take its course."

"Your justice?" Sam calls. "No, thanks." He looks at Natasha. "Can we blow this popsicle stand already?"

"I think you'll find that a little difficult unless you're ready for a long swim," Ross says, and Natasha cuts the radio with a curse.

"What?" Steve says, looking at her.

"They've submerged the Raft."

That could only mean the control room had been completely secured again. Their time was up.

Lang makes a face. "I don't get it. Can't this thing fly under water?"

"Maybe?" Natasha says with a grimace. It wasn't impossible, but this model certainly hadn't been built for that. "But if it can't, I really don't want to find out when we're five hundred feet down."

Even if they were sure the Quinjet could handle the pressure, the hangar bay doors were closed. The Raft had been designed to handle a certain amount of flooding, but blasting their way out would not only kill all the guards still tied up in the corner, but endanger everyone else in the rest of the prison. She grimly meets Steve's eyes and sees the same realization there.

They're stuck.

"I can get us up." Everyone turns at the sound of Wanda's low voice. She's been sitting quietly in the corner, head down. But now, it rises, exposing the collar. "Get this thing off of me, and I'll get us up."

Removing the collar is a risk, but staying here is a bigger one. Natasha has no doubt that if they fail to escape now, all of them will be buried so deep, no one will ever be able to find them, much less attempt another rescue. Still, she hesitates.

It's Barnes who moves first, leaning down to examine the collar. "I've seen this before," he says shortly. "Or something like it. They tested it on me." He looks at Wanda. "I think I can get it off, but if I'm wrong..." He smiles grimly. "Well. You won't enjoy it, trust me."

"Bucky," Steve says intently. "Are you sure?" His face had blanched at the mention of Hydra using the collar on Barnes, but he'd mastered himself again now. Only someone who really knew him would be able to hear the quiet devastation underneath the words.

"No." Barnes looks at Wanda again. "But it's her choice."

She nods, no hesitation. "Do it."

Beside Natasha, Clint sucks in a breath, but he doesn't intervene. They all know the stakes. And Barnes is right: it's Wanda's decision.

He reaches for the collar, then makes a face. "It takes two hands."

Clint steps up. "Show me where."

Together, they press the sequence. "Now," Barnes directs, and they hit the last two buttons, one on either side of the collar, together. It clicks open.

Wanda gasps, her whole body spasming once. Her hands spark red, as if the magic inside her is overflowing after living so long restrained. Then she slumps back in her seat.

"You all right?" Clint asks, holding her steady.

After a moment, she nods. "Yes, I… just give me a moment." She looks down at her hands in wonder. "It feels like a limb that's fallen asleep."

Natasha lets out a slow breath of relief, and sees the same feeling echoed on Steve's face. If nothing else, she won't have to add watching Wanda's brain get fried to the list of bad memories this week.

The radio beeps. "This is your final warning," Ross says when she turns it back on. "Surrender now."

"Sorry, General," Natasha tells him. "This has been fun, but I'm afraid we have a prior engagement."

A brief silence. Then: "Your choice," Ross says with a finality that Natasha doesn't like.

And then a new voice echoes over both the Quinjet radio and the loudspeaker outside. "Longing," it says in badly accented but still understandable Russian. "Rusted."

Natasha stiffens, a terrible suspicion rising, and whips around to find Barnes has gone white as a sheet. His hand fumbles for his pocket, pulling out the earbuds she'd given him.

She slams the radio controls off at the same time as the voice says, "Furnace." But outside the Quinjet, the loudspeaker continues, relentless. "Daybreak."

Barnes' face spasms and he drops the earbuds. "Bucky!" Steve cries, catching him as his knees buckle.

"Shit," Sam exclaims. The others are looking on uncertainly, but he knows exactly how dangerous the soldier can be, even with only one arm.

"Seventeen."

"Knock me out," Barnes pants, "you gotta—"

Steve ignores him and grabs for the earbuds, determination and panic clearing warring with each other on his face. Natasha stands up, grimly grabbing her taser even though she's not a hundred percent sure it will work. Steve's been able to take on the soldier before, but can he do the same when it's Bucky Barnes looking him in the eye? And what would it cost him if he did?

"Okay, what's happening?" Lang asks. "Does everyone else understand what's happening right now?"

"Benig—" the voice continues, and Barnes lets out a terrible groan. Natasha's muscles tense. It's now or never.

And then the loudspeaker cuts off with an abrupt and horrible screech. Everyone freezes, except Barnes, who slumps further into Steve's arms, exhausted relief on his face. In the sudden resulting silence, Wanda stands up.

She's glowing red.

"Wanda," Clint says cautiously."Are you—"

Wanda makes a complex gesture, and the floor begins to shake. Natasha grabs onto her seat. Outside the Quinjet, the hangar floor has developed a distinct tilt. As she watches, boxes start sliding past the cockpit window. In the far corner, one of the unconscious guards falls over and begins to roll. "Wanda," Natasha says warningly, and the tilt evens out, although the shaking continues

"Sorry," Wanda says, voice tense and strained. "It's a little bigger than I'm used to."

"Slow and steady," Clint advises.

Natasha slides back into the pilot's chair, eying the instruments. They are, in fact, steadily rising. When the Raft breaks the surface, the enormous hangar bay doors begin to slowly open above their heads, water dripping down. As soon as there's enough space to fly through, she lifts off.

Just before they pass from sight, she sees the other two ships in the hangar crumple, as if smashed flat by an invisible hand. Natasha swallows, glancing back at Wanda, then meeting Steve's wide eyes, where he's still holding Barnes.

And then they're in the open air again.

"Get ready," Natasha warns, because there's no way Ross will let them go without a fight. Sure enough, a missile shoots after them. Natasha prepares for evasive maneuvers, but Wanda motions, and the missile is batted out of the air.

Sam whistles appreciatively, while Lang gives a slow clap.

"Glad you're on our side," he says, and Wanda gives him a tired but pleased smile.

Natasha waits tensely, but no more missiles follow. Probably because Ross knows it would just be a waste of resources. She heaves a deep breath, finally letting herself relax. It won't stop him from following as soon as he's able, but for now?

They're free.

*

"So, what's the plan?" Clint asks once they've put enough distance between them and the Raft to feel safe.

Natasha turns in her seat, waiting for the answer as well. Steve has been hovering over the seat where Barnes sits, hunched and haunted looking, though his breathing has finally calmed. Now he places a hand on Barnes' slumped shoulder and rises to his feet, looking at each of them in turn.

"That's up to you. I know you've all got lives and families. Helping me has already taken you away from them for too long. But…"

"We can't go back," Lang says flatly. "Not without putting them in danger."

It's the first time she's heard him sound that serious, and Natasha realizes with a little chagrin that she doesn't actually know who Lang left behind when he joined this ill-advised circus. A partner? A child? Friends and a regular job? The rest of them were already involved, but Lang had volunteered, and now his life would certainly never be the same.

"Don't get me wrong," he adds, "I wasn't a fan of the whole extrajudicial black site prison with no visiting hours thing. Really not a fan of all that. Glad to be out, loving the sunlight, yada yada. But…"

"We'll find a way to get your arrest warrants lifted," Steve promises with more certainty than Natasha thinks he really feels. She's pretty sure Captain America's last bit of faith in the system was burned out long before Ross tried to turn Barnes into his pet assassin, but if it somehow wasn't, then that surely must have finished the job.

"We need to go around Ross somehow," she says. Another agency was their best bet—the vacuum left by the fall of SHIELD had left a number of organizations squabbling over its territory, and there were certainly plenty of people who didn't relish the thought of Thaddeus Ross' hands on all the treasure. "Let me put out some feelers. Once things cool off, maybe we can make some sort of a deal."

"Oh, hey, I know a guy at the FBI," Lang offers, face brightening. They all turn to look at him and he shrugs. "What? This isn't the first time I've been arrested."

Sam laughs, shaking his head. "Hey, none of us are exactly in a position to throw stones right now." He looks at the others. "So we try to make a deal. Where do we go in the meantime?"

"Vision…" Wanda breaks in, a quiet question in her voice.

"He was back at the compound last time I saw him." Natasha hesitates. "But I don't know if it's a good idea to make contact. He might feel obligated to turn you in."

"He won't." Wanda shakes her head. "I know he won't."

Natasha exchanges a wary look with Clint. Wanda might be right, but Natasha wouldn't want to bet the freedom they've so narrowly won on it.

"Everyone can come with me," Clint says, neatly stepping around that entire landmine. "I've got a place that's off the books, out in the middle of nowhere. It'll be safe for now." When no one objects, he comes over to enter the coordinates.

"Tracking's disabled," Natasha tells him. Mini-Friday had assured her of that much. "You can call Maria, have her meet us there."

Some of the tension in Clint's jaw eases almost imperceptibly. "Nat," he says softly. "I—"

There's no need for apologies, not between the two of them. "Shut up, Barton," she says, smiling to soften the words. "I didn't hit you that hard."

Clint holds her eyes for a moment, then nods before turning back to controls. Over the sound of him calling Maria, she hears Sam quietly ask, "What about you, Cap?"

Steve glances at Barnes. "Buck and I are heading back to Wakanda, at least for a little bit. T'Challa offered some help with… a few things."

"Fixing my broken brain," Barnes cuts in, finally looking up. His face is sallow, but wry. "So any asshole with the magic words can't turn me into his own private super soldier again."

Sam nods, eyes sharp and a little too knowing. "And then?"

"And then we'll see." Steve's eyes cut to Barnes again. "I don't imagine I'll particularly like the terms of any deal they offer me."

Barnes smiles humorlessly. "I don't imagine I'll be getting a deal at all."

Natasha meets Sam's eyes, seeing the same realization there. They're going to lose him. There's no deal for Steve without one for Barnes. He'll take him and run, find some place to shack up and be cranky old men together. And maybe he'll be happier for it, even.

But god, she's going to miss him.

*

Even with the Quinjet's speed, it will take a few hours to reach Clint's safe house. Once everything's been settled, Natasha leaves him to monitor things and stands up to stretch. The others have all found places to bunk down in various corners, but there are a few seats still open. She bypasses them all, heading to the back of the hold.

That's where Barnes finds her a few minutes later.

The smallest scuff of footsteps are her only warning before she turns to find him melting out of the shadows. He'd made the noise on purpose; she has no doubt that if he really wanted to sneak up on her, he could. Changed back into his civilian clothes, left sleeve hanging empty but for the stub of metal peaking out at the edge, he paints a strikingly vulnerable figure. If she didn't know better, she might even think him harmless.

She does know better, though, and watches him warily as he stops a good distance away.

She's gotten so used to his eyes sliding right past hers that it's something of a shock when he finally looks at her directly. Natasha had been lifting the borrowed uniform top over her head. Covering herself would mean taking her eyes off of him for a split-second, but that's not why she drops it to the side, letting him look. His eyes drift, but with curiosity rather than heat. She sees the moment they catch on the ugly scar in the middle of her belly.

"I did that," he says with a small frown.

Her breath catches. "You remember that?"

But he only shakes his head, eyes still fixed on the spot where his bullet had ripped through her. "No, but… I did. Didn't I." The words aren't really a question.

"The soldier did that," she says finally. "Jury's still out on whether that's you."

His eyes raise to finally meet hers. "You don't trust me."

"Should I?"

"No."

She lifts one eyebrow.

"I don't trust myself," he says, mouth twisting sardonically. "You saw what nearly happened back there. No one else with half a brain should either."

"Steve does."

"Like I said," he says with a grimace, the expression unable to hide the warmth in his voice.

Natasha snorts, finally bending to pick up her own shirt and slide it over her head. "Why are you here, Barnes?"

"I need a favor." The words hang in the air. She waits. "I need you to protect Steve from himself."

Whatever Natasha was expecting, this wasn't exactly it. "I don't know if you've noticed," she says slowly, "but he doesn't exactly listen to me when he's already got his mind set on something."

"He listens. He just… ignores what he doesn't want to hear," Barnes says with fond resignation, and they share a brief moment of silent solidarity. He's quiet for a long moment, staring at the ceiling. "Spent two years trying to avoid this. So I wouldn't ruin him." He laughs, a little meanly. "Two days and he's ruined anyway."

"He's not—"

"He is. And I did it." Barnes turns to look at her. "And I'm gonna figure out a way to fix it too. But in the meantime, I'm gonna have this." His voice suddenly turns defiant. "Because fuck them. Fuck Hydra and fuck everyone else. And fuck you too if you don't approve."

"You've got a funny way of asking for a favor," she says mildly, and has the satisfaction of seeing him wince.

"Sorry, I—I don't know what will happen once we get to Wakanda," he admits, bravado slipping. He scratches his neck. "Maybe they can help, but if they can't…" He looks at her. "I need to know you'll do what needs to be done. Because Steve won't."

That much had been obvious from the moment the soldier's mask had come off. "T'Challa—" she begins.

Barnes cuts her off with a shake of his head. "Seems like a good man. But he already feels guilty. I know you won't hesitate."

She fights the urge to cross her arms defensively. "One assassin to the other, right? You think you know me that well?"

"I think you understand the past doesn't go away just because you want it to. I got a lot of things to atone for. But Steve, he doesn't see it that way. He thinks we can just—" He stops, looking frustrated. "You're Steve's friend," he finally says, and she freezes, surprised. "Doesn't matter what you've done or what you will do. That's how he is. And that's how I know you'll do what it takes to protect him from himself."

It's possibly the longest speech she's heard him give. And like a practiced marksman, he's hit every spot with amazing precision.

"I will," she finally agrees. Because it's true: there isn't a world where she'd watch Steve Rogers run into danger and not have his back. "Even if he never speaks to me again."

Barnes holds her gaze for a long moment, then nods and turns away, apparently satisfied by whatever assurance he saw there.

"It will kill him to lose you again," she finds herself calling after him. "You know that, right?" He stops, back to her. "He already chose you over everyone and everything. If you run again, he'll chase you. If you die…"

"You think I don't know that?" Barnes lets out a small, bitter laugh. "I know better than anyone. He was always my choice. Even when I didn't know his name." His head turns, eyes dipping again to her covered midriff then back up to her face, focused and intent. "I'm sorry about a lot of things, Natalia. But not that."

Natasha sucks in a breath. When he walks away this time, she doesn't stop him.

*

It's midday when they reach the homestead, the sun shining brightly over the field outside Clint's small farm. Birds are chirping in the distance. There's a truck that's seen better days parked in front of the barn, and a flag waving lazily in the breeze. They've beaten Maria and the family there, but the place still exudes a cheerful charm that seems surreal after the events of the last few days.

Clint takes one look at her and knows.

"You're not staying," he says. "Are you?"

She smiles. Shakes her head. "Sounds like you're going to have enough house guests on your hands as it is." She's not in the right headspace to be Auntie Nat right now. Too much past stirred up that needs to be put to bed. He opens his mouth to protest, and she quickly adds, "I need some time on my own, Clint." She puts a hand on his arm. "Not forever."

He sighs. "Don't spend too much time punishing yourself for things that weren't your fault."

"I'm not," she says, then, at his look: "Really. Give Laura and the kids a hug from me."

"You know I will."

A few feet away, Sam is giving Steve a long hug of his own. "Watch your back." He pulls back, giving him a sharp look. "You need backup, you call me, you hear?"

"I will," Steve tells him. "And I will fix this, get you back to your sister. I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," Sam says, adding over Steve's protest, "Hey, I made my own choices. I can handle the consequences like a big boy." He turns to Barnes and gives him a long look before offering his hand. Barnes blinks in surprise, but accepts the handshake. "Take care of him."

Barnes glances at Steve, then at her. "Whatever it takes," he promises.

The rest of the goodbyes take a while, but finally, it's just the three of them watching from the ramp of the Quinjet as the others troop into the house.

"You could come with us," Steve offers as they head back into the cockpit, Barnes slipping away to do whatever he does when he and Steve aren't gazing into each other's eyes. "T'Challa said you'd be welcome."

The thought is even less tempting; a week ago she would have done just about anything to keep the band together. But the band's already split. And she has no desire to third wheel Steve and Bucky's new, two person solo act.

Natasha shakes her head. "It was a kind offer, but he's got enough on his plate. And I need some time. Got some stuff to sort through—" She points at her head. "—up here."

Steve frowns, but nods in understanding. "What will you do?"

"What I've always done," Natasha says with a weary smile. "Start over. Lay low for a bit. Figure out who I want to be next."

Steve gives her a long look. "For what it's worth, I like who you are right now just fine."

"All right, sweet talker," she says to cover the sudden warmth in her chest. "Save it for your boyfriend."

Steve gives her a pained look. "Boyfriend, really? That makes us sound like teenagers."

"Would you prefer lover?" she teases, then laughs at the face he makes. "Senior citizens have boyfriends too, Rogers." She shakes a finger at him. "Don't be ageist."

Steve sighs. "Fine. But really, Nat. Where will you go? Ross will be hunting you down hard."

"About that," she says, "let's make a little pit stop." She pulls out her deactivated tracker. "Lead him on a little goose chase."

"And then?"

It's been a long time since Natasha felt any sort of homesickness, but something in her is calling for the far north.

"Norway," she says on impulse. Mason had a safe house there, he'd told her once. "I'm pining for the fjords." She pauses. "That's a reference—"

"I got it," Steve says with a small grimace. "Sam introduced me to Monty Python. You're an ex-parrot."

She grins. "Ex-spy, maybe. Though I've been told there's no such thing. Maybe I'll try being a lumberjack for a while instead."

Steve gives her a look when she starts humming the first few bars of the lumberjack song. "Don't—"

"I cut down trees, I wear high heels, suspendies' and a bra," she sings, and Steve groans.

"I mean it, do not get that song in my head now…"

There's a clatter behind them and they both turn to find Barnes staring at them, looking comically baffled. "What in the hell are you two talking about?"

She and Steve share a look, and then he pulls out his phone with an exaggerated sigh. "We've got a few hours to kill. Let me show you…"

"Oh, this, I've got to see," Natasha teases, awash in a sudden warmth. "Geriatric pop culture hour."

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," Steve says, but there's a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he pulls Barnes down beside him. "You're in charge of snacks."

It's good to see him like this, free of the grief that's dogged him for as long as she's known him, if only for a little while. Everything else still looms: Peggy Carter's loss, whatever happened with Tony, half the world braying for his head on a platter… but at least he can set it all down for these few brief moments.

Natasha wants that for him, she realizes—wants it with a fierceness and a tenderness that aches a little. And not just for him. Barnes is leaning wearily against his shoulder, head is tucked down over the phone, watching the Ministry of Silly Walks with a dubious expression.

She tries to imagine the soldier doing the same, but can't quite get the image to coalesce. He's not the soldier, and not the man she knew. Not Bucky Barnes as he was either. They all have to reinvent themselves, children of the Red Room.

She hopes he gets to.

*

They drop her off on the coast. This far north, the evening air is cool and brisk, even in June, and Natasha takes a deep breath as she steps off the ramp of the Quinjet, feeling it sink into her bones.

"If you need me, all you have to do is call," Steve says, giving her the full force of those ridiculously earnest blue eyes. She's no more immune to it than anyone else, and lets him fold her into a hug. "I'll be there."

"You do the same, okay?"

Over his shoulder, Barnes hovers in the shadows. In the deepening twilight, his face is half-hidden, cold and alien as the soldier's. A ghost from their shared past of horrors. The illusion lasts until he steps closer, out into the light, and then it's only Barnes standing there in his t-shirt and jeans, tired and bruised, but still alive.

"Remember what I said," she tells him, and he considers her for a moment before nodding solemnly.

"I will," he says in Russian, and then surprises her with a three fingered Boy Scout salute and just a hint of a roguish smile that probably broke hearts all over Brooklyn back in the day. "I promise."

If it has the same effect on some small part of her, long since dead and buried, that's no one's business but hers.

She feels Steve's curiosity as she pulls back from the hug, but he's much too polite to ask. "Steve," she says, hefting the small bag of clothes and supplies she'd scavenged from the Quinjet, "Bucky." She tosses them a sloppy salute of her own, enjoying the way Barnes' eyes widen. "Until next time."

Time to do some reinventing of her own.