I Came to Thrive

by Philyra

AU. Natasha loved hockey once. It's time to take it back. Part Three of the Get Ready For It series.

It starts with smelly, old, moth-eaten equipment in the orphanage attic. It starts as a refuge, as an escape from the reality of the cold, unforgiving nature of being alone. She does what she can to catch glimpses of it on flickering screens, struggling with too-big equipment as she teaches herself to be good. No, to be great, because only greatness will get her out of this place.

It seems like a dream when Team Russia plucks her from the orphanage and gives her coaches and even equipment with the understanding she is to win for Russia at all costs. At any cost. And for a long time, it's enough. She's fed, clothed, warm. Above all, she can play as much hockey as she wants, so long as she helps her team win. Even when she becomes old enough to play in the long-integrated KHL, she is expected to continue to play for Team Russia and bring home championships and gold medals.

Then it changes. She has no clear recollection of the moment it does, but she remembers one tournament – the Four Nations Cup? The U18s? – where she looks across the dot at her opponents, at the way their faces are suffused with the utmost joy despite their intense focus, and thinks, I used to be like them, too.

It's like a hazy dream, the simple pleasure of flying up and down the ice, of hearing the crack of a stick against a puck, of outwitting wingers in order to defend her goalie. It's not like that now. That feeling is gone, crushed in the cogs of a machine that demands perfection at the cost of everything else.

The only clear answer is to leave Russia – but where can she go? The European leagues are too close to the sphere of Russia's influence. Playing there would not be like an escape, but merely an extended leave of absence. The CWHL is a possibility but there is no pay. Nat knows nothing but hockey, so how can she support herself?

Then word floats around the world that the NHL is finally allowing a woman to compete with one of their teams.

There. That is her opportunity. Perhaps she can rediscover the sport she loved by playing the best hockey in the world.

Dynamo's refusal to honor her signing with the New York Knights only cements her belief that she is doing the right thing. She is finished with allowing others to dictate her life. Russia, she is convinced, no longer knows what is best for her. She is grateful that they have given her hockey, but she has given them more than enough. Now, it is time to take something for herself.

And so she plans.

The first thing she does is contact Nick Fury as covertly as possible. He makes the arrangements to get her tourist visa and pays for her plane ticket, so all she needs to do is pick a date to escape.

Her chance comes when Dynamo goes to Estonia for a few days of hard partying. There are no coaches, no trainers, and most importantly, no roommate to question her movements.

She's lucky, she thinks, depositing her suitcase on the floor. She's never been an overly sentimental person and growing up in an orphanage taught her not to be attached to material things. Still, there are some items with special meaning that she cannot bring herself to leave behind, mostly medals from tournaments and her jersey from the Olympics.

At first Nat wonders if the problem is with her. Why is her attachment to Russia, to Dynamo, so very tenuous? Is there something lacking inside of her, something that leaves her unable to dredge up some measure of loyalty and devotion?

All she needs to do is look at how she feels about hockey to know that's wrong. Russia isn't what saved her. Hockey saved her. There is no place in the world where she feels more alive than on the ice. On the ice, anything is possible. On skates, she can fly. With a stick in her hand, she can accomplish anything.

Now she can discover who she truly is, both on and off the ice.

So no, there isn't a single doubt in her head.

"Natalia!" Sanja calls from down the hallway, accompanied by a number of their teammates. Nat turns on her heel, raising an eyebrow. "Where are you headed?"

"To the museum," she responds, smiling slightly as they all complain loudly at her. "Why are you surprised? You know I like to see the local museums."

"That's so boring, Natalia," Seryozha protests, making a face. "They are simply dusty old objects in glass boxes!"

Toly shakes his head and begins towing him away. "Come on, you know she likes those dusty old objects. You'll come meet us at the bars afterwards, yes?"

"You know I will," she responds easily. "Just make sure one of you is sober enough to answer and give me directions this time, okay? Let's not have a repeat of Helsinki!" Her statement is met with a jumble of good-natured jeers as they all pile into the elevator.

Toly's text is waiting when she surfaces from the museum, and he has vodka waiting for her when she arrives at the bar.

She glances around at her teammates, cataloguing these last moments. They've been good to her. She's lucky that hockey has been integrated long enough over here that none of them blinked twice to have her on the team, even if Dynamo had been without a female player for two years. They might not be her best friends, but they're her team.

"Such a serious face," Sanja comments, settling beside her. "Want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

His expression is far too knowing. Sanja's a veteran, and the captain to boot. "Is this about you leaving us?"

Nat's too controlled to do anything like jerk in surprise. Her hands tighten around her glass all the same. "What do you mean?"

Sanja snorts. "Natalia. Everyone knows what they've done to you. We've seen the spark disappear. It's you on the ice, but it's not you. Except for recently."

Fuck. She keeps her gaze riveted to the tabletop. While she has never been particularly close to her teammates in Dynamo, Sanja refused to allow her to remain a loner on the outskirts. For that he has her respect, but what can she do in this situation? She will fight all of them if they mean to keep her.

"Natalia." A hand comes beneath her chin. "Go. You cannot grow here."

Her eyes fly up without her consent, only to find the entire table has gone silent and they're staring at her with varying expressions, from understanding to downright gleeful. "What?"

Toly shakes his head. "Natalia. We've always known you were meant for the NHL. It was only a matter of time. You've been so quiet, you had to be planning something."

"I…" She doesn't know what to say.

"Don't tell us," Seryozha exclaims quickly. "So we can tell the team we know nothing."

She's stunned. "I don't know what to say." She never expected them to support her desire to go and play for the Knights.

Sanja pats her shoulder. "Just win a Stanley Cup for us."

Two days later, Nat splits up from the guys at the airport with a casual wave. The whole thing is surreal, and she keeps expecting someone to stop her. No one does, and the flight from Tallinn to Amsterdam to New York is uneventful.

She's recognized at JFK. The guard at customs takes one look at her passport and her eyes widen slightly. "Natasha Romanova? The hockey player?" she asks, flicking through Nat's passport to check out her visa.

"Romanoff is fine," Nat says with a slight smile, forcing her shoulders to go down. It's no matter if she is recognized here – well, it will be a problem if they try to deport her, but she hopes that won't be the case.

"And what is the purpose of your visit, Ms. Romanoff?" The woman grins as she stamps the customs form. "Are you finally here to play for us?"

Nat reflects on how lucky she is to have stumbled on possibly the only border guard in all of New York who knows who she is. She has never believed in signs or portents, but she'll take this one. "I sincerely hope so."

"I hope so too." She hands back her passport and forms. "Enjoy your stay here."

Nick Fury is a tall man, an intimidating man, Nat knows this from what she's seen on TV, but all she gets from him when he shows up is a sense of satisfaction and relief. He looks at her from head to toe, his gaze assessing, before he finally says, "Looks like you made it to the right place, Romanoff." He glances down at her little suitcase. "This all you got?"

"That's everything." She can actually see him thinking before he shrugs and puts it in the back.

"Pepper is flying in, but she won't be here for at least another hour. I need coffee and you probably need food, so we'll just wait."

There's a pretty blonde waiting for them at the Starbucks and Nat immediately recognizes her as Christine Everhart, head of Knights' PR. She's scowling as Nick enters, but her gaze falls on Nat and shifts right into pure astonishment. "Natasha Romanoff?" she asks, her gaze darting between the two of them. "How on Earth-?"

"Let's save the interrogation for now and just get some food in the girl, all right?" Nick asks pointedly, and waves Nat over to the counter.

The selections are pretty much what she expects from an American Starbucks, so she picks out a sandwich and some over-the-top sweet blended coffee drink that probably has no coffee and would make her trainers have a heart attack. Nat doesn't care, she's practically dead on her feet at this point and all she really wants is sleep. Nick doesn't so much as raise an eyebrow at her order, although Christine does.

"The team played last night, yes?" Nat asks when they all settle in around the table. "How did they do?"

Christine sends Nick a look but he just shrugs. "No point in talking business without the boss," he remarks idly. The other woman rolls her eyes but produces a tablet anyway, setting it up so that all three of them can watch.

Nat's eyes are riveted to the screen. This – this is why she wants to come play with the Knights. Their play is fluid and dynamic, specially designed for the players that are on the ice at that specific time. There's no external system for players to try and match, but a system designed to bring out the best in each person's play for the betterment of the team. There are differences from line to line, from pair to pair, and she wants to see how she can fit in with that.

She inundates Nick with questions and observations as the play goes on. "She's too fast for the pair playing with her, they can't keep up and keep the play going," she observes.

"Yeah? How do you figure?"

Nat motions at the screen. "Look at how Hill stretches out the play from north to south. It's too much open space for just her wingers to cover, you need defensemen that are quick enough to fill those gaps so that there's no chance for a turnover." She glances up. "You need me."

Nick doesn't even bother to refute her. He simply grins. "That we do, Romanoff." His phone buzzes. "The boss is back. Let's get Romanoff over there, shall we?"

Pepper Potts is a surprise. Nat has been expecting the sharp-eyed, steel-spined character from the news feeds and while Pepper certainly has those things and more, she is also kind and fair. While she has been taken off-guard, she still has her wits about her and looks at Nat like she's a person, not just an asset.

And she can make a mean cup of tea.

---

The next few days are a whirlwind of meetings. The corporate offices for the Knights are located in Midtown, tucked into a shining tower of glass and steel. It's such a far cry from Dynamo that it doesn't even occur to Nat to be scared or overwhelmed. Everything that has happened since Estonia is so far out of her frame of reference that it's simply better to just go with the flow.

"It's time to do some damage control," Nick comments as the elevator doors slide open to reveal polished wood and marble, tons of sunlight, and splashes of red, navy, and black throughout. A small seating area by the windows holds no less than three TVs, one tuned to the NHL Network, the other two playing what looks like Knights' games and promotional material. A glassed-in conference room to the left has a visual timeline of significant moments in the team's history, from its founding to Maria Hill's draft. There are framed jerseys from retired players everywhere, and a display case beside the white reception desk with three miniature Stanley Cups, with room for more.

Pepper grins and shakes her head. "This makes it the fifth bottle this year?" she asks, referring to the very expensive bottle of whisky he's holding in his hands.

Nick just shrugs.

Down the hallway are the offices. Waiting beside the door with the nameplate Jennifer Walters, Esq., is a tall, statuesque brunette whose sharp, assessing gaze goes from Pepper, to Nick, then Nat, then back to Nick. "No." She turns on her heel and the door slams behind her with a sharp crack.

Nat waits for a second, but the door doesn't open again. Neither Nick nor Pepper seem particularly disturbed. "Is she all right?" she finally asks.

"Jen will be out in a second. She's just calming herself down." Another man is leaning in the opposite doorway. He's very handsome, with a smile that is warm and engaging. It takes Nat a moment to realize that his glasses have red lenses, and a slim white cane dangles from his fingers. "Good morning Ms. Potts, Mr. Fury. What have you brought for us today?" He tilts his head in Nat's direction. "Judging from the accent, I'd have to guess it's Ms. Romanoff?"

"Natasha, this is Matt Murdock, part of our in-house counsel," Pepper says.

Suddenly, the day's plan is crystal clear. "Ah. I appreciate your help."

Matt's smile widens when she shakes his hand. "Oh, I'm going to have a lot of fun with this, Ms. Romanoff. I should be thanking you, honestly."

"You wouldn't even need him if you consulted me in the first place!" Jen is back in her doorway, scowling fiercely. "I would have been able negotiate a reasonable buyout, but no, you just had to be so goddamn dramatic. I should have known that you would pull this shit when you asked for help getting her tourist visa, Nick." She plucks the bottle of whisky from Nick's hand and jerks her head towards the conference room. "Come on, let's get this over with."

As Jen walks by, Nat hears her mutter, "Visiting the facility my ass." Judging by Matt's quiet snicker, she's not the only one.

"Jen's the best," he remarks, falling into step with her. "She's the most focused, meticulous person I know. In fact, she does her job so well that I usually don't have a lot to do."

"What do you do then?" He doesn't seem like the type of person who would be content to lounge around all day. Pepper doesn't seem to hire those kind of people, period.

Matt shrugs. "Some pro bono work for the city and some consulting with a friend of mine who has his own practice. I'm not a public defender, but I help out people who normally wouldn't be able to afford my services."

"Which will be on hold if you have to fly to Russia," Jen growls, marching over to the sleek coffee machine in the corner of the room and pouring what seems to be a generous amount of Irish cream into her mug. "First things first: does Natasha have an agent?"

"We have an appointment with Sue Storm in the afternoon," Pepper replies, hiding a smile.

"Oh good. Sue I can handle, her asshole husband not so much. We'll wait on her for the contract negotiations, then." She pulls out a slim tablet. "So: immigration. We'll need to get started on that work visa."

In the end, both Pepper and Matt fly out to Moscow to buy out the rest of Nat's contract from Dynamo. Only then does she sit down with Jen, Sue, and Nick to negotiate the terms of her first contract with the Knights. After a few days, she walks away with a shiny three-year contract and a great deal of respect for Jen. She and Sue speak a language of legal terms and figures that is at turns fascinating and deathly boring.

All that really means to Nat is that she can finally play in the NHL.

She cannot help the wariness she feels, walking into the practice facility with Pepper to meet the Knights' staff. Her coaches have only ever seen her as a part of the Russian machine and utilized her as such. How can she expect anything different here, when she knows how much work Pepper has put into pulling the Knights up from the very bottom?

All she has is hearsay, and what little observations she has been able to glean from international competitions.

Coach Melinda May is standing when Nick brings Nat into her office. The assistant coaches, Coulson and Sitwell, are there too and Nat knows she'll be spending a lot of time with Coulson. They may only be names and faces, but Nat feels like she already knows the Knights' organization inside and out.

Coach May's handshake is firm, as are Coulson and Sitwell's. "Please, have a seat, Natasha," the older woman offers. "I'm sure you've heard this already, but we're extremely happy to finally have you here."

"I'm ready to play," Nat replies without preamble. If they're really as serious about having her here as she hopes, that's exactly what they're going to do.

Sitwell snorts. "I think Carol's going to want to put some more muscle on you first."

"You're going to skate with the team first, and we'll see where you fit best," Coach May says, ignoring Sitwell, though he's probably right. She's lost some weight in the last few weeks and that's certainly not going to help her in the NHL, where the players are considerably bigger and faster than their counterparts in the KHL.

"I definitely have some ideas about that," Coulson says, and immediately launches into strategy.

The next fifteen to twenty minutes are absolutely surreal to her. She's not used to coaches including her in a discussion, let alone listening to her opinions. In Russia, you do as the coaches say or you're scratched.

"Well, I certainly think there are plenty of things we can work out," Coach May remarks at the end of the discussion, putting her pen down. "But now I think it's time for you to meet the rest of the team." She stops Natasha in the doorway though, allowing Coulson and Sitwell to go ahead. "One more thing, Natasha. As you're well aware, you and Maria are in a special position as the first women in the NHL."

"But Maria is different." Nat knows this from Pepper, how Maria was handpicked to be a pioneer, the first. "I'm here to play the best hockey. That's it." Sure, she'd joked to Maria about wanting to be the first but at the end of the day all she wants is to play. It doesn't matter if she's the first or the hundredth.

Coach May's smile is amused. "Oh? Well, you're still in pretty much the same position, so I'd have a think about it. After all, you're still the first female defenseman in the league. That's no small thing." She pats Nat on the shoulder and moves on, giving her time to think that over.

She's a role model now, more so than she ever was in Russia, where the leagues have been integrated for close to ten years now. She's good enough to have made the national team, and she is only the third woman to have played for Dynamo, which is no insignificant thing. However, the thought of being someone's inspiration has never crossed her mind. It occurs to her that simply playing at a professional level is something she has taken for granted.

She will not make that mistake again. If this is to be her home now, then she has a responsibility to afford this opportunity for others.

The rest of the team is simultaneously everything and yet nothing like she'd imagined. She has already met Maria, which was nerve-wracking enough considering how the other woman is a big reason why Nat chose to throw in her lot with the Knights. Her play is frankly spectacular and Nat cannot imagine being on the ice with anyone else.

She hopes that will be the case with the team.

There's silence when she's introduced, and more than a few hanging jaws. The seconds tick by and no one makes a move. Nat can feel her spine straighten, her hands balling into fists at her side. She will fight to prove her place is here if she has to-

"Shit, Romanoff, took you long enough," someone drawls. Blue eyes twinkle at her from across the room, set on a squashed face that looks like it's taken more than its fair share of punches. Clint Barton, she thinks. Second or third pair defenseman, known for the accuracy of his slapshots. She tilts her head at him and smirks and like that, the spell is broken.

Thor is quick to drag her over to the rest of the d corps. She cannot help but think that she definitely has a place here, amongst a crew that is known to be more traditional in its defensive strategy. Barring Clint and Wade Wilson, the rest are built along similar lines: big and bulky, meant for blocking shots and shoving opponents into the boards rather than joining the rush.

A little more offense in their defense could be one of the final pieces in the puzzle that finally wins the Knights the Stanley Cup. Luckily, Nat is more than willing to provide that final piece.

The moment her blades touch the ice, Nat finally feels like she can breathe. Despite her circumstances in Russiaa, the rink has always been her haven and sanctuary, the one place where she can go and clear her mind, emptying it of everything but hockey.

Everything feels different from the moment the team gets to work. The atmosphere is easy, relaxed. However, it is clear that everyone is here to work and work hard. There is no lack of discipline here, despite the jokes players throw back and forth and the little games they play with one another.

Mike sighs when his water bottle clatters to the ice once more. "Really?" he asks Lance.

The other man shrugs. "We're the only ones allowed to mess with your water bottle. Everyone else is going down."

Maria takes advantage of a lull to skate up to her. "Everything all right?" she asks in an undertone, propping her chin up on her stick. "I thought I was going to have to smash some heads together at first. They're good guys. Overprotective, but good."

It makes her think of Sanja and the others, and makes her smile. "I think I can manage them."

"They do need managing." Maria rolls her eyes, taps her glove against Nat's, and skates off.

Coach May is clearly the type of coach who encourages creativity within her players. The plays she explains to them after drills are never set, merely suggestions, giving them freedom to work. It's certainly something Nat's never encountered before, and it shows.

The whistle blows in the middle of a play. "Romanoff, why did you pass the puck?"

Because in Russia, she was only allowed to shoot from the point if the lane was clear, and she says so. Mack had come in to block her shot, so she'd done what she was trained to do. Her hands tighten on her stick. To be called out so soon…

Coach May hums thoughtfully. "And what did your instincts tell you?"

Wariness dies in pure shock. She'd noticed, seen the split second hesitation before Nat slid the puck across to Maria. "To shoot."

"You should have. You had a good position at the point, and you have good enough aim to probably get the goal. If not, someone like Maria could try to tip it in." Coach May skates closer while Coulson follows, jotting down notes. "You have excellent instincts when it comes to joining the rush. It's not something all defensemen have. Use it. Take the shot if you can, come in closer if you have to." She nods decisively. "Let's run it again and see what you got."

"Yes Coach," she replies, surprised beyond all measure. This time when they run the play, she takes the shot and it whizzes between Thor and Mike, right into the back of the net. Mike swears good-naturedly and there are more than a few admiring whistles from the bench.

"I'll be damned," Clint says cheerfully as they switch with the next shift. "You just might be the perfect partner, Romanoff."

"Might?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

He grins. "Well, we gotta win a few games first, huh? I tell you though, I think Coulson's about to explode, he's so happy."

She glances down to where Coulson is standing next to Sitwell. As far as she can tell, his facial expression hasn't changed one bit since practice started. "Really."

"You'll figure out how to read him soon enough. Trust me, he's practically dancing."

The next time she and Clint execute a perfect maneuver, she glances over at Coulson and sure enough, his eyes are ever-so-slightly crinkled at the corners.

"See? You've already made his season." Clint slings his stick over his shoulders. "So, where are you staying?"

Natasha doesn't want to continue living with Pepper. Pepper is wonderful, but she can't help but think it would be an awkward situation, to live with her boss, and she needs somewhere to stay until she can move in with Maria. Clint's offer to live with him in Hell's Kitchen is exactly what she needs.

The dog is an unexpected bonus.

"He's a rescue," Clint explains as Nat rubs the yellow lab's belly, completely entranced. "We had a calendar shoot and that was it for me, really."

"Who takes care of him when you are away?" Lucky gives her a doggy grin, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, and she melts.

"Oh, Vanessa – that's Wade's girlfriend, they live on the floor below – feeds and walks him. It works out really well."

"This will be temporary," she reminds him. "Maria and I intend to move in together once the season's over."

He shrugs. "Of course. Far be it from me to get in the way of that. I just figured it would be easier on you to stay with another player rather than the big boss."

She acknowledges that with a tilt of her head and smiles when Lucky bounds up and tries to smother her in kisses. "Even if you are on the other side of the city from everyone else."

"Hey, it's not my fault Rogers and Barnes made living in Brooklyn cool, okay?" Clint argues, pouting. "Anyway, Wade and Vanessa live in the same building, like I said, and Murdock lives just down the street so there are plenty of us represented here."

Nat just rolls her eyes. "Whatever, Barton. Come on, I thought you promised a shopping run?"

He brightens and bounces to his feet. Lucky immediately bounces up as well, expecting a game. "Oh, hell yes. We need to get you some stuff. Have I mentioned how badass it is that you escaped Russia with one suitcase?"

"Multiple times."

---

The media goes nuts when they find out she's here, of course. Christine refuses to let Nat speak to them until they've had a few more media training sessions. Normally Nat would chafe at that sort of restriction – Dynamo never let her talk to the press, either – but unlike them, Christine explains her reasoning. "They're going to eat you alive if we put you in front of them now. It has nothing to do with your English because your English is excellent. Even better than Thor's when he first came here. It's the entire situation, you see."

She thinks it over. "You don't want them to catch me off-guard with a question about Dynamo." While Pepper and Matt have smoothed everything out, there's still enough bad blood in Russia for them to want to avoid anything remotely incendiary.

"Exactly. By the time I'm finished with you, you'll be able to handle anything they throw at you. No one will be able to question the fact that you belong here."

Nat decides that she likes Christine. But then again, now that she's had a few days she's been truly able to appreciate the depth within the Knights' organization. Everyone, from the very top to the very bottom, is positively fantastic at what they do and love for the team itself is incredibly strong. Every day, Nat discovers another reason to believe that she's done the right thing by coming here.

The real test is her first game. It's a home game at Madison Square Garden, and Steve stops her at the gate. "Take one lap by yourself, Romanoff," he says with a grin. "Let the crowd see you."

She glances out to where the lights are flashing and the crowd's already on its feet. "What?"

A voice comes over the speakers, loud and clear. "And now, give a New York welcome to our newest Knight, Natasha Romanoff!"

Steve nudges her shoulder. "Go," he mouths, and over his shoulder, Maria nods.

Nat steps onto the ice and is nearly knocked off her skates by the wall of sound that comes back at her. The response is completely overwhelming, one she never received even in Russia. The fact that the fans have wanted her as badly as the team is humbling. She cannot, will not, let them down.

So she straightens her shoulders and raises a hand, waving as she does her solo lap around the ice. As the lights come up, she sees the signs too: Welcome to NYC, Natasha! and We love you, Natasha! It's a good thing she's not the crying type, otherwise she'd be a mess. As it is, there's a lump in her throat as she meets the eyes of the little girls behind the glass. She flips pucks to them, a small smile twitching at the corner of her mouth as they clutch the pucks in their hands, their eyes shining with excitement and gratitude.

Maria is with her the whole way. "We'll win it for them," she says. Her voice rings with certainty, her serious expression only cracking as she grins at the little girls.

"Of course we will."

The game starts and already Nat can see the differences between the NHL and the KHL. The players are bigger, the play is faster. The atmosphere in MSG is absolutely electrifying. Her blood flares hot beneath her skin as she watches the play, shouting encouragements to her fellow players and cursing at the opposing team (in Russian, of course).

The ice is a siren song, calling out to her and making her jittery until Clint presses against her side. "Easy. We'll get there, Tasha."

"Tasha?" she echoes. The staff and the team call her Romanoff. Pepper calls her Natasha. She hasn't had time to think about it, but she does miss that kind of familiarity. Even her teammates on Dynamo rarely strayed from the formal version of her name.

"You gotta have some sort of nickname," he reasons.

She smiles, rolling the sound of it around her head. "Tasha is fine."

Coulson's hand lands on her shoulder. "Show them, Romanoff," is all he says.

Nat grins and leaps over the boards, catching Maria's eye in silent communication. The Hurricanes dump the puck in preparation for their shift change and Nat rolls her eyes. Bad move. In another life, she could have played baseball because she excels at catching flying projectiles. She does so here, grabbing the puck out of the air and taking it down the ice towards the offensive zone. She makes the stretch pass to Hunter, who does something absolutely ridiculous with his stick that draws both the goalie and the opposing defensemen, before passing it to a wide-open Maria.

Goal.

To Nat's surprise, Maria skates right to her for the celly. "Fucking right!" she laughs, throwing an arm around her shoulders. "That's how you set up a play. They're not going to want to do that again."

"Nice job, Romanoff," Coach May says when they get back to the bench. Coulson also gives her an approving nod and Nat flushes with satisfaction.

There are 30 seconds left in the penalty kill and so far, the Knights' special teams have done a good job of keeping the puck well away from Mike, but Nat thinks they can do better than just icing the damn thing.

"You and Barton are in, Romanoff," Coulson says. "And…why don't you try going with the puck when it leaves our zone?" There's a wry twist to his mouth as Nat cranes her head around to look at him. "Coach's orders."

Clint throws out a jaunty salute. "Can do, boss. So, whaddya say, partner?" he says to Nat as they go over the boards. "Time to show off some of that fancy footwork of yours?"

"I can do that," she agrees, and promptly intercepts a pass between two of the opposing forwards. They're not anticipating the intercept at all, nor are they expecting her speed, so Nat's all alone as she streaks down the ice to go head-to-head with the Hurricanes' goalie.

Alone, that is, except for Clint, who is wide open and positioned perfectly in the opposite shooting lane. So she dekes, feints, and passes to him for the assist. This is hockey at its best, all speed and instinct and the simplicity of pass-shoot-score. Here with the Knights but especially Clint, she can feel it all clicking into place. Her place, Nat thinks with satisfaction as the goal light goes off.

Clint whoops and crushes Nat in a hug as she skates up to him. "I love it when a plan comes together!"

"You're quoting something." Her English might be excellent, but she's still coming to grips with idioms and cultural references. It's something she seems to share with Thor, even though he's been in the US for much longer.

"Of course I-wait, you've never seen 'The A-Team,' have you? First thing we're marathoning, I promise. Road trip's coming up, so there's plenty of time.

With two points under her belt for her first NHL game ever, it's no surprise that the media want to talk to her. "Have to talk slow, guys," Nat jokes, deliberately thickening her accent. She catches Christine's frown out of the corner of her eye but presses on. "My English not so good."

Clint chokes and drops his towel over his face on the pretense of wiping sweat away.

"Of course. Natalia-"

"Call me Natasha."

The reporter coughs. "Right. Um, Natasha, what was it like playing your first NHL game?"

Boring. But honestly, she'll take boring and predictable over anything else, so. "Is good game," she replies, jamming the Knights baseball cap over her head. "Fast, fun, and we win, so my kind of game." They all chuckle along with her.

"You had two points, two assists tonight. Do you think you had something to prove?"

The question makes her a little wary, and this is where feigning bad English comes in handy. "Prove?" she repeats quizzically, furrowing her brow.

"Yes, do you think you had to prove yourself, as one of only two women in this league? Or as a KHL player in the NHL? Or even against your old team?"

There are so many ways her answers can go, judging by the way Christine is scowling. Nat rolls the questions around in her head, carefully considering. "Came to play NHL hockey," she says slowly. "Best hockey. I just want to play, not prove anything." She grins inwardly at the reporter's disappointed look – they're not going to get any provocative soundbites out of her.

"What are the differences between the KHL and the NHL?" another asks and the rest of the scrum goes off without a hitch.

Clint is nearly blue in the face by the time they clear out, muffling his laughter in his towel. "Fuck, Tasha, that's the best thing I've ever seen. It's like when Thor pulls his dumb golden retriever act on them."

"I have no idea what you are talking about Clinton," Thor says loftily, passing from the showers to the dressing room. He has one of the As, so of course he always has the responsibility of talking to the press. When the questions get difficult, he likes to pretend to be amiable and not too bright. Nat's seen it in action and it is incredibly effective, especially since all he has to do is grin charmingly to make the reporter forget the what the question was in the first place.

"I have to admit, I didn't know where you were going with that, Natasha, but I can see why you did it," Christine admits. "It isn't exactly what we talked about, but if you want to keep it like this I can see it working for a little while, at least. Just give me a heads up next time, all right?"

Nat grins. "Of course."

Wade nudges her. "Showers, Romanoff. We're celebrating tonight, and we want to know if Russians really can hold their drink."

She raises an eyebrow. "Is that a challenge?"

"Only if you want it to be," is the cheerful response. "You can drink Shirley Temples all night and we won't really care."

Her nose wrinkles. "What's a Shirley Temple?"

"Wade's favorite drink," Maria says dryly, her towel slung over her shoulders.

"Lies!" he squawks, then reconsiders. "Well, I do like them better than Arnold Palmers."

The place they pick is in the East Village, casual enough that no one gives them a second look, even if the bartenders greet some of them by name.

Bucky waylays her the moment they step inside "That was one hell of a debut, Romanoff. Let me buy you a drink?"

"There's no need-"

He swings in front of her, frowning. "You were fucking amazing tonight, I mean, the way you grabbed the puck out of the air and just took it down the ice. Also, when you dug the puck out of the corner and dodged the guys that were trying to take it from you – I swear, one of them almost broke his ankles trying to keep up with you." His eyes are shining with pure admiration. "Please, it's the least I can do."

"Warning, he's not going to shut up," Sam tell her on his way to the bar.

Nat expects Bucky to laugh it off, but he actually looks affronted by the chirp. "Why would I? You've seen her play, right?"

Fascinating. Nat tilts her head to the side, eyeing him curiously. "Are we really going to talk about my hockey?"

"Your hockey. You. Whatever you want." He shrugs, and leads her towards the bar. Surprisingly enough, she allows him.

If Nat didn't know better, she'd say he was flirting. It's not that he isn't, because there is certainly a shade of that in every word and the easy, casual way he leans into her space as they talk. Bucky exudes charm effortlessly, but it's not charm that drives him to ask questions about how she learned to play hockey. No, it's genuine curiosity and admiration.

And in turn, she learns about how he and Steve gained their skill by playing ball hockey on the streets of Brooklyn. "It's grittier," he admits, lips curving upward at the memory. "Dirtier. It's more about grinding it out."

Nat can see that. Maria's line is arguably the more skilled line – she, Trip, and Lance have silky smooth hands and are fantastic skaters. They lead the Knights in goals. On any other team, they would be the top line.

Not on the Knights. No, the Knights prefer the complex blend of physicality and skill that Steve, Bucky, and Sam bring. They certainly bring the goals as well, but they know how to do all the little things that turn the tide in their favor. They backcheck. They deflect shots. They work behind the net. It's the kind of play that drives more skilled teams absolutely crazy.

It's so very different from anything Nat's ever known, and she's fascinated. "James," she begins.

"No, please, call me Bucky."

Nat snorts. "That is ridiculous, even for a hockey nickname."

"It's not a hockey nickname," he protests but Nat is already shaking her head.

"I will not call you Bucky. Or Barnes. I will call you James." In her mind, Bucky may suit his charisma and the way he can be a little shit, both on and off the ice, but that's not all of him. That's what her gut tells her, at least, and she's always trusted her gut.

The look he gives her is distinctly bemused. "Only my ma and grandma call me that, but okay."

Mack appears behind them, looming so big that he blocks out the dim lights in the bar. "Stop hogging her, Barnes," he laughs. "Come on, Romanoff, Thor's called for shots to celebrate the premiere of our newest d-man."

"It had better be vodka," Nat says, getting to her feet.

"Ladies' choice, of course."

Wade, as it turns out, can hold his vodka very well. Clint makes a valiant effort, but in the end falls short, so it is up to the two of them to pour him into the waiting Uber once the team disperses for the night. "Do you two even have livers?" he slurs at them.

"Nope!" Wade says cheerfully, patting his stomach. "All titanium."

"Russian," is Nat's reply.

Nat's loose enough to argue with Wade when it becomes clear Clint is going to have to be carried up to the apartment, elevator or not. "Do you really think I cannot carry him? I can deadlift his weight."

Wade beams and bounces on his toes. "Prove it!"

She stoops and slings Clint into a perfect fireman's carry.

"A little warning next time, please," Clint grunts. "I could have spewed all over the floor."

"Oh, this is excellent!" Wade pulls out his phone. "This is definitely going on-"

"Snapchat. And only to the team," Nat says quickly, because she's also gone through Darcy's social media orientation. Clint is very clearly inebriated, even if all Wade wants is a shot of her carrying him through the building.

He pouts. "Aw, you take all the fun out of things."

"But I like Snapchat!" Clint whines.

Nat rolls her eyes. But there's a smile tugging at her mouth as she heads towards the elevator with Clint warbling some country song the whole way because while she could never have imagined this, she can't imagine being anywhere else.

The Knights have not earned her loyalty, not quite yet. She's in this for herself, to rediscover everything hockey is to her. The way she sees it, she's either going to play for herself, or she's not going to play at all.

The second simply is not an option. But she can see herself believing in this team. Maybe she'll play for them too. Someday.

---

"So. The Mom's Trip is coming up." Clint plops onto the couch. There's a disconnect between the easiness of his body language and the tone of his voice, something that makes Nat sit up and pay attention.

"Mom's Trip," she repeats slowly, and draws a blank.

"Basically, the team's moms come with us for a few games. Last year it was to Florida. This year they're coming with us to Montreal and Ottawa."

Nat doesn't say anything in reply. What can she say? It's clear that this is a touchy subject with him, so there's nothing she can do until he says what's on his mind.

Finally, Clint heaves a sigh. "I thought I should bring it up just in case you're like me and Maria. The trip can be difficult for those of us who've never had that, you know?"

Because Maria's mother died in childbirth and Clint barely knew his. "I understand. My guardians in Russia were simply that. Guardians. They made sure I had food and a roof over my head. Team Russia provided for everything else. It was not very different from the orphanage." She no longer faced the competition for food and a warm bed, but there had still been plenty of competition on the ice. "But is it really so difficult?"

"Some of the moms can be overwhelming." Clint smiles fondly despite himself. "Sarah Rogers is a hurricane, but in the best way. No, what I mean is that sometimes you can't help but resent the others, you know? Like, why did they get such an amazing family and I got a piece of crap like my old man? And Maria never talks about her dad, so he must be a piece of work, too."

"But you had the Drews," she reminds him.

"Yeah. Maybe that's why it gets so bad sometimes, because I got to see what a real family was like." He shrugs. "It's a dumb feeling, but it can't be helped. Anyway, I thought I'd just let you know what you're in for."

"We'll have to see," she says pragmatically.

Family has always been an unknown factor. How is she to say how she will react? She never knew anything different, so how can she be resentful of something she does not know and has never had? As Clint said, he knew different because of his time with the Drews, so he had some idea of what a family should be like.

As far as Nat's concerned, her team is the closest thing she has ever had to a family, the Knights more so than any other. Where else can you find other such like-minded people, especially at this level of the game? They know what it is to work from sunup to sundown, pushing their bodies to their limits. They know the heartbreak of loss and the courage it takes to get up and start all over, all for the thrill of the win. She understands these people, and they her. That kind of feeling is more than enough for her.

Despite Clint's warning, nothing prepares her for the moment when the moms catch her on the tarmac. Strong hands close around her shoulders as Sarah Rogers looks down at her with eyes that miss absolutely nothing. "Well, it took some time but you're here now, and that's what matters," she declares after hugging her. It is so easy to see where Steve got his steel spine and iron-clad morals.

"Sarah, stop hogging the girl, some of us would like to say hello as well!" The next woman is about Nat's height, with long brown hair streaked with grey and a sunny smile. "So. You're the one my son's been blabbering nonstop about!"

"Mom," Bucky groans in the background and suddenly Nat realizes why Ruth Barnes' eyes are so familiar to her.

"Most of it is about your hockey, of course, but the way he goes on you'd think he was talking about Gordie Howe!" She pats Nat's cheek and hands her a small bag filled with black and white cookies. "For the plane, of course." Then she rolls her eyes and tosses similar bags to Steve, Sam, and Bucky when they complain.

"You gave Nat more!" Bucky says, his eyes round and accusing.

She smiles sweetly at him. "And?"

His jaw snaps shut and Ruth turns back to Nat with satisfaction. "I have had a hard time getting my hands on one of your jerseys, young lady! I actually had to get James to get one for me! But I will certainly be wearing it in Montreal."

"My jersey?" Nat asks blankly. "But surely-"

Ruth waves off her protests. "There's more than enough love to go around."

The words spark something in her, some deep corner of her that is still a little girl desperate to find a place where she belongs. It's that small part that reaches out to Ruth Barnes now, despite Nat not making a single move. There is simply something about her, something that tells Nat she will never, ever turn her away.

Ruth waits until it is just the two of them, the rest of the group gone ahead to board the plane. "I cannot imagine how this has been for you," she says quietly, and Nat gets the feeling that she can see past all her shields, straight through to that little girl. "Should you need anything – and I do mean anything, my dear girl, you come to me, all right?"

Nat doesn't need any of her considerable observation skills to know that Ruth is deathly serious, and it staggers her. She doesn't know this woman, has just met her, and yet…she honestly does not know what to think, or how to react.

Sensing Nat's inner conflict, Ruth merely smiles and pats her hand. Nat is grateful – if it were a hug, she would probably do something uncharacteristic. "Come now. It's cold, and we should get on the plane!"

She follows as if in a fog, beginning to understand both Clint and Maria's point of view. Of course she cannot miss what she never had, but now she can see it right in front of her. Ruth's offer is staggering because it was given so generously and without condition. For her, recognition and praise were only given if she won and even then it was a pale sort of thing with no substance.

Winning for Russia only meant so much.

The relationships between her teammates and their mothers are fascinating, and the trip gives her a front seat. It is abundantly clear that each one is fiercely supportive of her son and has been there for every step of their journey to the NHL. Even Johnny's mother, who has none of her children's innate warmth, is here, her mere presence speaking volumes.

It is as Maria tells her. Many of their teammates have reached this level thanks to the strong foundation provided by their families. "It's not the only factor to their success, of course. Nor does it make us any lesser for not having it."

She agrees wholeheartedly. Her upbringing, while not ideal, has made her who she is and that is something that cannot be changed. Still, she thinks as she watches Wade giggle with his mother over something on his phone, she cannot help but envy the unconditional love and support they've had and take for granted.

Well. Perhaps not all of them. Mike is a constant fixture around Sarah Rogers, soaking in her presence like it's something precious. Even Maria is not immune to the older woman's draw and Nat can see why. The two women are cut from the same cloth, both of them immoveable objects standing in the way of impossible forces.

Nat might be built the same way, but it's Ruth Barnes she drifts towards, pulled in by her warmth and her core of steel. Ruth, for her part, never ever turns her away, and it seems like one more piece of the puzzle slotting into place.

"I understand," she tells Clint at the end of the trip. "But why be bitter about the past when you can freely accept what is given now?"

She doesn't intend to dwell on the past. Only the future matters.

---

Fighting has never been an issue in the KHL. She has always been too fast for anyone to catch, and by the time she entered the league it had been integrated long enough for the men to have grown mostly used to playing with women. Fighting, in her mind, is the enforcer's job.

That is, until the Knights play the Serpents and she watches as Brock Rumlow hits Maria from her blind side. The sound when her body hits the boards makes Nat go cold and and absolutely furious. In the blink of an eye she's there, dropping her gloves and slamming into him. "Don't touch her," she snarls.

Rumlow just laughs at her. "Yeah, what are you going to do about it, Red?" He looks down at her pointedly, detailing without words the differences in their height and weight. "Fight me?"

Nat smiles dangerously and removes her helmet. "Let's go." Just because she's never fought on the ice doesn't mean she's never fought. Growing up in an orphanage was hard, and being as good as she was at hockey made it even harder.

In the end, she lays Rumlow out with a single punch to the nose. The crowd in Madison Square Garden goes absolutely insane, so Nat can't help but feel triumphant as the referee escorts her to the box. It does mean the Knights have a five minute penalty to kill, but her fight lights a fire beneath them and Bucky makes a shorthanded goal that ties the score, 3-3.

Maria's lips are pressed in a tight line when she finds her in the locker room before OT. "Nat, I have come to expect this from the guys despite how many times I tell them off over it-" she glances over her shoulder to glare at Steve, who just shrugs unapologetically. "But not from you."

"It was a dirty hit," Nat says flatly. "What was I supposed to do?"

"Not retaliate. You got the penalty-"

"And we killed it off. James scored."

Maria rubs her forehead. "That's not the point."

"Then what is?" She knows Maria doesn't fight and that she makes it a point not to fight, regardless of what's thrown at her. Nat respects that and knows all the reasons why she does it. It's the burden of being the first and perhaps if Nat was in her shoes she would do the same thing.

However, the fact remains that she is not the first. So…

Maria crosses her arms. "You'd give them all the same treatment for doing that to you, so what makes this any different?"

Well. Nat has to concede the point there. There have already been a few situations where Nat has tugged Clint away from someone being mouthy. "I can take care of myself."

"So can I." Maria watches her steadily. "And it's usually by scoring. If you want to fight when some guy goes after you, then fine. Just don't allow them to use me as an excuse or a means to get you into the penalty box."

She considers her terms. What Maria says makes sense. Maria has her own way of dealing with fights and Nat does too. It remains to be seen if she will fight again, but she certainly doesn't want the men doing it and taking penalties because of her, either. "All right."

Maria nods, satisfied. "Now see, why can't any of you be that reasonable?" she asks the room at large.

"We're idiots," Johnny replies cheerfully.

"Can't get anything through our thick skulls," Logan adds.

"I'll say." But Maria's smiling in spite of herself.

Steve gets to his feet. "Well, now that we're all agreed, let's go and win this, all right?"

OT goes by with no goal from either team, so they go into a shootout. Steve is always first, and he's quick to make the shot in an absolutely beautiful spin-o-rama. Rumlow is next but Mike reads him like a goddamn book and knocks the puck out of midair when he goes for the high shot. Nat blows a kiss as he skates back to his bench, laughing when he snarls and throws curses her way.

But it's Maria who wins it for them, Maria who proves just how amazing she is with a triple deke, glove side. Nothing too fancy, just good, plain stickhandling.

"Fine," Nat laughs as she comes out to congratulate her. "No fighting. Unless they really piss me off."

"I guess I can't ask for more, can I?" Maria responds, then gently knocks her helmet against Nat's. "Come on, let's celebrate."

---

Playoffs come and go, and the Mammoths send the Knights packing. The sting of loss haunts her for days and she constantly replays crucial moments from the games in her mind. Maybe if her presence in front of the net had been stronger. Maybe if she'd battled harder for the puck. The maybes are exhausting, but it doesn't help when Clint is very much in the same frame of mind. They mope together, through all the exit interviews and locker room cleanup, spending the next few days hiding out in Clint's apartment with all kinds of diet-breaking food and Netflix. More often than not, Wade is there too.

Until the day the door flies open. Vanessa strides in, shaking her head as she spies the three of them sprawled all over the living room. "Okay, it's been five days since clean-out. Your allotted moping time has expired," she announces. "Oh hi, sweetie!" she coos, bending down to pet Lucky.

"Honey," Wade whines. "You promised to give us a week!"

"I let you think you'd have a week," she responds tartly. "But really, there's only so much feeling sorry for yourselves that I can stand. It's like there's a goddamn cloud hanging over the building, which was bad enough when it was just you two, but now we have a Russian flavor to it."

Nat blinks, realizing that Vanessa is pointing at her. "I'm Russian, I'm allowed to be gloomy."

"That's bullshit, I've seen Star Trek. Russians will claim to do anything." Vanessa rolls her eyes. "Now, all of you, up." She herds them out of the building and into Wade's beat-up truck, which will never cease to amuse Nat. He's a millionaire, yet he refuses to give up the truck, which he has lovingly named "Deadpool." At least he keeps it clean.

"Where are we going?" Clint asks as he and Nat shove themselves into the back with Lucky.

"You'll see," is the mysterious reply.

The moment the familiar (well, not to Nat, but…) silhouette of the Wonder Wheel pops up, both Clint and Wade emit high-pitched squeals that send Lucky howling. "Coney Island!"

Wade leans over and plants a smacking kiss on Vanessa's cheek. "Babe, you're the best. I'm going to win you the biggest stuffed banana there is, no question."

"I have no doubt," Vanessa laughs.

Vanessa is apparently only one of the masterminds, because the entire team and their assorted families and significant others are waiting in the parking lot when they arrive – save Thor, who has already flown home to Sweden. Mike's son Ace immediately makes a beeline for Clint, who hands over Lucky's lead with a laugh. "Nice to see you too, kiddo. Have fun on the beach, all right?"

"Why doesn't Mike have a dog?" Nat asks curiously as the entire Peterson family heads towards the beach, accompanied by Ben and his wife, Alicia.

"Allergic," Maria answers, looking incredibly casual in cutoff shorts and a tank top. "They have three guinea pigs instead. But Ace says that he'll rescue dogs as soon as he has his own place." She nudges Nat. "Speaking of own places – should we start looking?"

Nat nods, ignoring the fake sobbing from Clint. "That sounds good."

"As long as you don't move too far away," Vanessa cuts in. "We have some traditions now."

Maria grins. "I've already promised that we'll be somewhere between Brooklyn and Hell's Kitchen."

The other woman mulls the offer over. "Good enough," she concedes, then tugs at Wade's arm. "Now, I believe there was a promise of a stuffed banana?" They wander off with Clint, who is proudly proclaiming his skeeball skills to all and sundry.

"Do I want to know?" Maria asks.

"Not at all." She regards the skyline with its various amusements curiously. "So, this place…you just go on the rides?"

"You've never been to an amusement park?" Bucky is standing behind her, his hands in his pockets and an incredulous expression on his face. His playoff beard is already gone but his hair remains long, scraped back into a bun.

Nat shrugs, thinking that the most they ever managed was to get a tired old magician from one of the nearby villages. "The orphanage couldn't exactly afford to take us out. Then when I started playing for Russia, it was all about hockey."

He looks deeply upset about the admission. Nat doesn't understand why because what matters is that she has the opportunity now. "But I am sure you'll show me what it's all about," she continues, raising an eyebrow.

Just like that, his ire evaporates into childish enthusiasm. "I'll be the best guide you've ever had, I promise. It'll be awesome."

Steve snorts. "Remember when we went on the Cyclone when we were seven? I threw up. Don't trust him."

"It's not my fault you were a skinny, asthmatic pipsqueak!"

Sam rolls his eyes and offers Nat and Maria his arms. "While they're arguing, why don't we get in line for said roller coaster? They're going to be a while."

The roller coaster is an experience unto itself. At first she thinks it's going to be like takeoff and landing in airplane, but it's nothing like that, not even close. Dread and anticipation mingle in her stomach as the car rattles up that first, tallest hill – and then there's the drop.

Nat ends up riding both the Cyclone and the Thunderbolt multiple times. There's something about the speed and the wind in her hair, the feeling of complete weightlessness that is absolutely thrilling. Steve, Maria, and Sam beg off after one time on each roller coaster, but Bucky gamely tags along on whatever ride she picks, from the Sling Shot to the Boardwalk Flight. It's the Luna 360 that gets him in the end, because when they unbuckle themselves from the chairs his face is decidedly green.

"Are you all right?" she asks. Bucky holds up a finger, staggers over to the nearest garbage can, and throws up, much to the horror of everyone around them. She jogs over to the nearest vendor and grabs a bottle of water, grinning as she pats his back. "Too much for you?" she inquires innocently.

"F-screw you," he grumbles, lurching upright. "I shouldn't have eaten before we came here." He accepts the water bottle and rinses out his mouth. "Tell you what," he says, nodding towards the Wonder Wheel. "Let's go for something a little more…peaceful, all right?"

She agrees, but only after they get hot dogs from Nathan's and giant cones of cotton candy. She has to be talked into the saltwater taffy, but the sugary goodness is delightful. Years of subsidized food in the orphanage and an athlete's diet have given her something of a sweet tooth. One of Vanessa's "traditions" is exploring various bakeries on her cheat days.

This could be a tradition too, she thinks as she and Bucky stroll along the beach. The whole team enjoying the sun and the rides, thinking about something other than hockey.

At the end of the day, Nat has a sunburn and a stomach stuffed full of junk food. It's a good start to the off-season, she thinks.

---

For someone who's never known anything but Russia, it's amazing how quickly she comes to realize that New York is now home. It's equally amazing how quickly she accepts it. She'd never considered the orphanage as anything other than a place to escape. Then it was Moscow and training with the national team, then finding a place there when Dynamo drafted her.

Moscow was never home, though. Her little place there never gave her the sense of comfort Clint's in Hell's Kitchen does, as well as her new apartment with Maria in NoHo. While her teammates on Dynamo were good to her, she always felt as though she was on the outside looking in. Here, she feels as though there has always been a spot for her, just waiting to be filled.

But most of all, it's the feeling she gets every time she steps out onto the ice in Madison Square Garden. Even when she had nothing, she had hockey. Everything just makes sense, the feel of her stick, the movement of the puck, and the smooth glide of her skates. And there is nowhere that it feels more right than Madison Square Garden.

The first preseason game is at probably eighty percent capacity, which she knows is nothing to sneeze at. "We're lucky we have loyal fans," Steve tells her during warmups. "Even when it was really bad we always had at least half the seats filled. Buck and I, we swore we'd get them sold out, eventually." He grins. "We got that wish with Maria. And you."

"Please." Nat glances off to the side. "Like you don't have your very own fan club." Though he's only held the captain title a few times at Worlds, the "Captain America" moniker has stuck, and there's a very enthusiastic group of fans that dresses up in USO girl costumes for each and every home game. He reserves most of his pucks for children, but sometimes throws one their way, too.

Steve flushes the way he does every time someone brings up the fan club. "I…that's not…"

"Yes, yes, we know, you only have eyes for one person." She pats his shoulder and skates off, leaving him to his apoplexy. As if Steve's regard for Maria isn't visible from space.

Though it's only a preseason game, Nat plays like it's the playoffs, which is why it's so bad when she's chasing the puck down the ice and loses her edge. Her ankle twists as she goes down and she barely has the presence of mind to use her other foot to push off the boards before a body sends her careening back into them. Her vision goes white as the turned ankle presses back against that unyielding surface, so it takes her a while to realize that Bucky's the one hovering over her.

"Fuck, Nat, I'm so sorry, are you-?"

Nothing seems broken, nothing seems torn or pulled, just- "Sprain," she croaks when Betty runs up with the arena staff. "I think it's a sprain."

"Why don't you let me determine that?" Betty replies mildly, motioning for someone to help her off the ice.

It is a sprain, but Betty's instructions are firm. "Two weeks of rest at a minimum," she says emphatically, glaring at Nat when she would protest. "According to your medical records, that ankle has a tendency to turn easily. This time, I'm going to ensure that you get a proper rest. You can still come to practice and workouts, but you are not to do anything that puts any undue strain on it, especially skating."

"But-"

"No buts. You try and circumvent this and I will know, and that will just extend your recovery time."

Nat has never been a good patient, and she's never been good at listening to her doctors. She sulks the entire way back to the apartment, especially when Maria banishes her to the dining room while she prepares a late dinner. They are not fantastic cooks (not like Sam, whose team dinners are legendary), but they get by and Nat was definitely thinking of cooking something Russian to diminish her bad mood.

"I know what you're thinking." Maria's voice cuts into her thoughts, and Nat automatically reaches for the plate of food set in front of her. "And no, it's not going to work."

"What are you talking about?" Nat asks blandly.

"If you even try to push your recovery any earlier than Betty says, she'll immediately extend your recovery period. Automatically and without question." Maria is extremely methodical, cutting her roasted chicken into neat cubes. "And if you try to go to Coach or the training staff…well. They actually listen to her." There's a glimmer of respect in her voice, and some wryness that tells Nat she has firsthand experience with this. "So just do us all a favor and don't delay your return by doing something stupid."

Nat's silent for a moment. "But if I don't play…" It doesn't matter that it's still the preseason. If she's not playing, then she's not contributing, and if she's not contributing, there's always a chance that someone will decide that maybe she isn't worth keeping around.

That thought terrifies her. She can't leave. There's still so much to do and New York is really feeling like home-

"Nat. Nat." From Maria's tone of voice, she's been saying her name for quite some time. "Nat, listen to me. I know exactly how you feel, okay?" She snorts. "There's probably no one else in this league who can say that, all right?

She feels some of the tension leak out of her because it's true. And whatever she's feeling, no doubt it was worse for Maria. "Yes."

"It was worse before you came," Maria says. "When I was the only one, it was so easy to believe that everyone would wake up, realize this was a fun little experiment, and banish me back to Minnesota." She shakes her head slightly, equal parts wry and disbelieving. "But believe me when I say that this team has made a commitment to us and they don't treat anyone like they're disposable. So just concentrate on getting better, and you'll be back there with us in no time."

Nat ponders that, and while she believes Maria, it doesn't shake the bone-deep need inside of her to be moving and to be doing something.

Clint outright laughs in her face when she asks him to go jogging with her. "Trust me, you do not want to get on Betty's bad side. Irritate Coach, irritate Carol and Bobbi, but don't even try with Betty. We've all learned, okay? Just do as she says and you'll be back before you know it. Come on, we'll just take Lucky to the dog park, okay?"

She still goes with Maria to Tarrytown, because there's no way she's staying at home if she can help it. Betty might have ordered her to stay off her feet, but it doesn't mean that Carol can't put her through at least some of her paces.

At one point Victoria pokes her head out of the review room, snagging her as she drifts through the hallway. "Romanoff, get your ass in here and stop moping."

Which is how she ends up helping with analysis of North Carolina's play for the Knights' upcoming game. Darcy pops into the room in the middle of the session and tweets something tongue-in-cheek about Nat being Victoria's new assistant.

After that, Nat finds herself being tugged aside by various members of staff when they find her roaming the halls. Ian shows her how to operate his camera. Miles gives her the basics of video editing. Hank sets her up sharpening skates, which turns out to be incredibly soothing for some reason. Even Jane and Skye put her to work one day, to fire off specialized pucks at Mike.

Nick, when he's working in Tarrytown, always pulls her into the breakroom for coffee. He works the fancy espresso maker with ease and eventually becomes very good at preparing Nat's tea just the way she likes it. They talk about everything and nothing, from Nick's time in the NHL to speculation over the upcoming expansion to Star City. She considers him a friend, and she trusts him implicitly. "Thank you for taking the chance on me," she tells him one day.

He snorts. "You weren't a chance, Romanoff. You were a sure thing."

The relationship with the staff is one she never looked for, and is therefore all the more precious for having.

Still, none of it makes up for not being on the ice. Sitting in the pressbox and watching the team play without her is the worst kind of torture, and it's even worse when they go for away games and she's left in New York.

Bucky turns up at her apartment the day after they get back from Columbus. He's wearing a hangdog expression and is holding a box of pastilas, gingerbread, and vatrushka, "Nat-"

"If you apologize, James, you're not going to live to see tomorrow," she says evenly, liberating the sweets from his hands.

"But-"

"I'm the one who smashed my ankle against the boards, not you." The vatrushka is surprisingly good, the dough soft and golden and actually filled with quark rather than cream cheese, as it should be. "You need to tell me where you got these." She hasn't visited many Russian bakeries because she hasn't been homesick, but she feels it a little bit now.

He hovers beside the couch, shamefaced.

Nat lets out an exasperated sigh and tugs him down beside her. "I'm serious, James. I want the name of this place so that I have a place to drag Vanessa the next time we go out searching for bakeries."

"Kiev Bakery, in Brooklyn," he admits.

"Better." She polishes off the first vatrushka and moves closer, until her shoulder is pressed to his.

Athletes – especially team athletes – can be an especially touchy-feely bunch, from hand clasps to hugs to cuddles. The act has always been something of a mystery to her. Touch was not exactly something one searched out at the orphanage and that was a habit she carried with her to the national team. And even though KHL teams are integrated, the league has very strict rules about conduct between male and female players.

The Knights are so very different. Clint, for example, has a habit of pressing against someone from shoulder to leg, whether standing or sitting. He does so often to her, moreso when she first came to the Knights. The movement grounds her, pulling her out of her head and into the moment and for that she is grateful.

Thor has a tendency to slap people on the back and send them careening forward, hockey player or not. Trip always gives out hugs. Johnny is simply handsy, though he knows better than to be that way with any of the female staff or players. Steve, ever the captain, is always there with a reassuring hand to the shoulder or the back of the neck. Even Maria, who is so very conscious of how the world sees her, uses a language of subtle nudges amongst those she's closest to.

It's all very new to Nat and she knows the team has noticed. It's why Clint and Maria have been the only ones to touch her off the ice. However, as time goes on she can't help but think she wants that. To her those casual touches represent belonging and now she is able to accept that she is theirs as much as they are hers.

But she has to start small. Bucky, she figures, is a good choice because she is already close to him, outside of Clint and Maria. He too is an extremely tactile person. When he's with Steve or Sam, he usually has an arm slung across their shoulders. On the ice he moves with a machine's precision, absolutely no movement wasted, everything calculated and exact. Off the ice he's more languid but no less focused. He is fascinating to her, with his charm and intensity, his good humor and his darkness, all of it layered around him like a cake.

And she's certainly not blind to his interest in her. He's made no secret of it but appears to be content to let her come to her own decision about the whole thing. For that she is grateful, because she's still not sure how she feels. Hockey has been her singular focus and it's been very rare for someone to catch her attention enough to look outside of it.

Bucky, though – he is fascinating, the way he wears his easy charm like a cloak. He is so smooth and charismatic that few bother to look beyond that to what lies beneath. It is not that those characteristics ring false, but she cannot help but compare it to how he is on the ice. In some ways, he reminds her of some of the Russian greats. Fluid. Creative. Completely focused and in control.

She does not know why these parts of him call to her, but they do. And she wants to know more.

Baby steps, Nat tells herself, relaxing against Bucky's side and plucking a piece of gingerbread out of the box. He freezes up rather adorably and she hides her smile. "You should pick something to watch on Netflix."

Bucky shifts a tiny bit closer and clears his throat, picking up the remote. "Are you sure? It's your place."

"I don't watch too much TV." When they're on the road, she packs books and queues up podcasts on her iPod.

"Ah. How do you feel about historical stuff?" he asks, hovering over The Last Kingdom.

Nat reads the description and smiles. Vanessa is her food buddy, whilst Clint and Maria are her general city tour buddies. It looks like she has her museum buddy, now. "Yes, let's watch this."

And more, if she's honest, but that's something she wants to take even slower than her little experiments. For one, she is not ready, and the stakes are still so high for the Knights that it is not something she can do in good conscience. Thankfully, there's no rush. Like all good things in life, this too will go slowly.

It doesn't mean she can't tease him, though. She waits until he has a mouthful of pastilas before slyly inquiring, "So, is this what they mean by, 'Netflix and chill?'"

Bucky chokes.

---

Betty clears her just in time for the circus trip, which is a blessing because she's been going stir-crazy in New York. She gives a few high-fives as she goes up the aisle. Clint instantly claims the seat beside her, though he disappears halfway through the flight to chat to Darcy.

"I have Laurel Lance's phone number. And Selina Kyle's and Barbara Gordon's."

Nat glances up from her book and, catching Maria's expression, puts it away. "All right." She knows better than to press her when she gets that line between her brows.

Maria sighs, her head thumping back against the headrest. "It was easy with you, you know. We're on the same team. We want the same thing."

"But you knew they would go to other teams eventually."

"Obviously. And it makes sense. I'm just…trying to figure out what responsibility I have towards them."

It is such a Maria thing to worry over, she thinks with affection. Her A is so very well-placed. Not just that, but the Knights were right to choose her as the one to lead the way for women in the NHL. Nat certainly can't imagine playing with anyone else. "What do you want them to know?"

She's quiet for a moment. "That I – that we – know exactly what they're going through. That we have a safe space, like a group message, where they can talk about anything without fear." Something sparks in her eyes. "I want them to know that regardless of the name on the front of the jersey, we will trust, support, and respect one another. It's difficult enough being where we are and doing what we do. The media will want us to be best friends or mortal enemies. It would be nice if there was something in between."

"Then that's what you'll say." They don't have to be a sisterhood, but there are common bonds between them. She has a feeling they will all be watching out for one another, regardless of rivalries.

"That's what we'll say."

"Oh, we're both going to do this?"

Maria shoots her a glare. "I'm not doing this alone."

Nat just sends her an amused look in return. It's so much fun to push Maria's buttons. Even amongst the team, she's one of the few who is allowed to do so. "Of course you're not." It is her responsibility, too. "How did you get their numbers?"

"I asked Lois for Laurel's. Sharon's been on Team USA development with Selina and Barbara."

She taps her fingers against the armrest and considers. "Do I get to get them drunk?"

"Not a chance."

"Boring." Whatever. She knows Maria expects her to do what she wants, anyway. If they're in New York she can always ply the rookies with vodka at their apartment. It's a Russian tradition she's obliged to uphold.

Then there's Sharon Carter. The rookie goalie is living with Mike, even though she's on the Commandos' roster. It's been difficult for the Knights to find a good backup for Mike, but it's clear that not only will Sharon soon be that backup, she's being trained to eventually take his spot. There's symmetry in that, she thinks. First Peggy, then Sharon.

It drives conservative hockey pundits insane. Don Cherry was shouting something about women taking over the Knights' locker room, though when three suddenly became a majority, Nat has no idea. Still, they're welcome to their ideas. Sharon's going to be amazing.

All of the women are going to be amazing.

The feeling is reinforced every single time she steps onto the ice and sees little girls in the crowd, their faces so bright and awed and hopeful. It's wonderful to see them and she's so honored to know that she's helping to pave the way for them. That someone will see her on the ice and decide, "Yes, that's what I want too."

But she's not Maria. She's not here to create a legacy. First and foremost, she's doing this for herself. It's true that hockey has given her everything but it's also taken and she needs to find that balance between the two.

The process is slow. There is less and less trepidation before practice and every time she steps on the ice she loses more and more of that niggling feeling that she needs to play herself to death or risk hockey being taken away from her.

Now, Nat plays her best because she doesn't know how to do anything else. It doesn't matter what anyone else expects because her expectations come first.

This season, she expects the Cup. Their level of play seems elevated somehow, or perhaps that's simply her heightened awareness coming off her injury.

"What do you want us to do?" she asks Maria, during a power play against the Flames.

"Onesie off the draw," Maria responds. "I'll get it to you from the faceoff, then do whatever you can to get it to me. I'll bury it."

It happens exactly that way, Nat taking the puck off the draw before passing it to Trip, who gets it to Maria for a beauty of a goal right in front of the net.

All that time with Victoria in the video room has only sharpened what she knows, making it easier to read what's happening on the ice and to strategize accordingly. "Do you see what happens when the puck goes high?" she asks Maria, watching intently as Remy's line takes the play into the offensive zone. Remy's line is a skill line, much like Maria's, with the way that he, Scott, and Peter are constantly weaving and circling, searching for opportunities to attack.

Maria hums thoughtfully. "Keep low. Guys keep losing them in the middle-"

"-Odd man rush," Nat finishes.

"I love it when you two talk dirty," Clint cracks on Nat's other side. Maria reaches over and whacks him with her glove. "Ow! Hey, I was being serious. Next play?"

"I like it," Coach May says from over their shoulders. "Next shift – Nat, Clint, take the puck out high and clear it for Maria's line to rush."

This is one of the things that Nat has truly come to appreciate about Coach May. She provides structure in the way that her players work together, but she allows them flexibility within it to use their abilities to their fullest. It's made the Knights daring, more willing to take risks because their coaching staff gives them so much trust.

It's a trust she intends to give back a hundredfold. There is no hesitation in her loyalty now. The Knights are her team, and New York is her home.

---

It doesn't feel real until the Cup is in her hands, cold and heavy and shining so, so bright. Thor is the one to hand it over to her and she raises it high to the roar of the crowd. The Cup is theirs too, and they've been waiting a very long time to see it raised in Madison Square Garden once more.

"No regrets, huh?" It's not a question, coming out of Maria's mouth, and Nat knows it. Despite the differences in their careers, it all boils down to one thing. If given the choice, they will always pick hockey. For them, it's all about playing the best hockey there is and that's in the NHL. Nat's just grateful Maria made it possible for her to be here in the first place.

Something niggles at her though, long after the celebrations are finished. They do the parade, riding along New York City streets in open-topped buses as fans throw red, blue, and black confetti. Nat has her Cup Day, taking groups of foster kids out to Coney Island so that they can experience the joy she never quite had as a child. She will never forget those smiles, nor the awe in their eyes as they took turns to touch the Cup.

There's something missing.

"I don't understand," she tells Maria. "I thought it would feel different after winning the Cup."

"Maybe you're thinking about it the wrong way," Maria responds after a moment. Her hands are cupped around a truly enormous mug of coffee that reads, sorry for what I said before I had my coffee. "Is the Cup what you're aiming for every time you step on the ice?"

Her first instinct is to say yes, because isn't that what every NHL player dreams of? That is, after all, what they work towards, season after season. It's why teams go through rebuilds the way the Knights have, following Pepper's vision of Stanley Cup victory.

But that's not her goal. That was never her goal. She didn't leave Russia to win a Stanley Cup. She left Russia for herself, for her hockey. And for the first time, she tells someone the exact reason why she risked everything to come to the US the way she did.

Maria's silent for a long time. Nat fiddles with her tea as she waits, idly thinking that perhaps she'll purchase a samovar so that she can learn to brew tea the proper way. Finally, Maria speaks. "You don't need it, you know. To be happy. To feel like you're part of something."

The simple truth of it rocks her. A championship isn't necessary to validate her positon on the team. It's fantastic, a reminder of the team's abilities and their ultimate achievement, but that's not what she thinks about when she's playing.

It's about joy. Joy that she has already rediscovered, without even knowing it.

Hockey is hers again. And this time, no one's going to take it away.

---

Please review!

This was so difficult. Nat is one tough cookie, and it took a while to really get to the story she wanted to tell. Thank you so much to my beta, lawgeeks, and to kavileighanna, InitialA, and tielan for helping me when Nat was being particularly opaque.

As always, I'm available to scream about this universe and anything else you fancy on tumblr.