A/N: The idea for this came about two hours after watching Civil War, and because I'm terrible, it's taken two years to finish it. I'm still seriously invested in these characters, so hopefully, I'll be back in less than two years' time.

the state of the world, and everyone in it

The message comes in at three in the morning.

She's curled up on her couch in her own apartment in D.C., multiple laptops and tablets spread out around her, all blaring the same news over and over. One on-screen explosion blends into another, one high-speed chase morphs into collapsing buildings, one familiar face (angry; desperate; raw) blurs into a grainy image of another and of another. The news clips keep running, almost like stock footage from the Academy being played on loop (this is instruction of what not to do).

It's a fucking shitstorm, and on one hand, she's glad she's physically nowhere near this mess. But on the other hand…

She exhales and gives in, picking up the ringing device and opening the message with weary fingers.

I need a ride out west. Want to help?

Chewing her lip, she glances over the computer on her left. The footage from Lagos – all dusty trees and people running and a ball of bright red – plays on mute. She sees the Black Widow leap over cars, slamming into targets; sees Wilson and Rogers gracefully arc through the air; sees Wanda twist her hands in a language no one understands; takes in the sheer fluidity and brutality of the scene. And it's painfully familiar when the buildings inevitably fall and the smoke rises again.

I'm in D.C. right now. You know where to find me.

She hits send and tosses the phone to the far corner of the coffee table. Giving in to exhaustion, she lets her head fall back, and waits with screaming lights dancing behind the lids of her eyes.

"Long time, no see."

Maria opens her eyes and looks up to see the tired, but slightly grinning expression on the Black Widow. Rubbing her eyes, she pulls herself into a sitting position on the couch. Her computers are still cluttered across the various surfaces, and she notices Nat staring at them.

"You could say that. But, you seemed preoccupied," she replies, inclining her head towards the screens and walking to the kitchen. "Coffee?"

"Please," Nat says, nodding. "Didn't make it to bed last night?"

"Old habits. I'm sure you remember," she says over her shoulder.

"Vividly. Although, it used to be a lot harder to sneak up on you," Natasha smirks, settling herself on the barstool, and flipping through the copy of TIME lying on the counter. "Clint would be appalled."

"You snuck into my apartment—"

"—with a key that you gave me—"

"—in the middle of whatever the fuck is going on. You and everyone else are the reason for my current sleeping habits, or lack thereof."

Natasha stills, silently accepting the mug that's handed to her. "Yes. Well."

Maria sighs, "Nat, what do you want?"

She takes a sip of her drink, peering at her friend for a long while before answering. "I need to get to Laura. Clint's been taken in."

She waits as Maria assesses her the way they used to assess each other – with a healthy amount of scepticism and challenge – fingers drumming unconscious and rhythmic against the clean surface.

(Assessment, and she remembers her first few months at S.H.I.E.L.D.; corridors of stares and whispers and gestures of deference, with only a handful willing or daring to argue back. Interesting, she thought, for an agency supposedly taking the best intelligence operatives to be so dismissive of things they didn't quite comprehend.)

"Stark doesn't have a jet?"

"I'd rather not."

Maria raises an eyebrow. "Does he know you're here? I'd rather not have various government or intelligence tails on me again. It took a strangely ridiculous amount of time to get rid of the ones from two years ago."

Nat glares at her. "Who do you think I am?"

"Can't be too careful," she says evenly. "So, does he?"

"I haven't—" She breaks off and swallows. Haven't what? Defected? Turned? Betrayed anyone? "Tony's busy right now. Rhodey took a hit. Paralysis from the waist down."

"Shit," Maria mutters. "How the fuck did that happen?"

"Vision aimed at Sam. Sam ducked, and it hit Rhodey instead," Nat says, staring down into the murky brown liquid.

"Shit," she says again, inhaling sharply.

"Yeah."

"So, where's everyone else?"

Natasha looks up, counting off on her fingers. "Clint, Sam, Wanda, and a guy called Scott Lang with a size-changing suit are in the Raft. Vision's with Tony and Rhodey. T'Challa's in the wind. Oh, and there was a kid dressed as a spider that Tony brought in."

She nods, thinking it over before asking quietly, "And Rogers?"

Time to tell the truth. Or, one of them, at least. "He found Barnes, and I let them go."

"Where?"

"Maria, that's not my concern tight now," she almost snaps. "Laura and the kids are."

She opens her mouth to argue, before deciding against it. "Okay, so get on a plane; you could have just done that. Why do you need me? Unless someone's reported you in?"

"Possibly," she admits. "I had to stop T'Challa to let Steve get away. It wasn't pretty."

"Right," Maria says, thinking back to old intelligence reports on the Wakandan prince. "But again, why are you here?"

"I need a car with all the security measures that S.H.I.E.L.D. used to install in their vehicles. And you're coming along, because you need to do something other than play those news clips on repeat," Nat replies bluntly. "I haven't seen you in a month, but whatever you're doing doesn't seem to be working."

"Long game, Romanoff," Maria fires back.

"So explain it to me. Later. Bring all this if you really need to, but you're coming with me."

She blinks, thrown by the impatience and slight desperation exhibited by the Black Widow. "Okay. Fine. But I'm driving."

"Sure," Natasha agrees, relieved. She gracefully hops off the stool. "But mind if I take a shower first? It's been a crazy few days."

Maria shakes her head and points down the hallway. "Go. We leave in thirty. And I'm picking the music."

The inquisition starts seventeen minutes into the trip.

"Seen the new Star Wars yet?"

She turns sideways and gives her a look of disbelief. "That was almost five months ago."

"We've both been busy," Nat shrugs. "So, have you?"

Maria rolls her eyes. "Yes."

"Good," she nods briskly.

"You think?"

"Well, it wasn't The Empire Strikes Back, but…"

"Did you go with Barton?"

"No, he went with Cooper and Lila," she says with mock disappointment. "He reneged on our deal."

"What, the one the two of you made when you were both hopped up on painkillers? Good grief, that was entertaining to watch."

Natasha hums. "Yoda was not a figment of our imagination."

"No, but Barton did cry when they froze Han."

"Like you said, he was on the good drugs," Nat says defensively.

"Just be glad that there were no junior agents around that area of the 'carrier that day. We would have shredded both of your reputations or credibility."

"Maybe not."

"I'm sorry?"

Natasha pauses, thinking. "Most of S.H.I.E.L.D. and its agents liked to think they were multi-faceted, mysterious almost. Anything, any part of you that was unexplained or unexpected was a point in your favour. I noticed."

"Intelligence agency, Nat. Of course information was currency."

She shakes her head. "Not like that. This was pride."

"Why does that surprise you?" Maria peers curiously at her, adjusting the volume controls and letting Radiohead wail more quietly in the background.

"Because S.H.I.E.L.D. should have been just a job."

"And yet, for most of us, it was never just that," she says with a trace of wistfulness. "And that includes you."

"I tried not to. That's not how the Red Room trained us," she says. "But Clint…"

She trails off, and neither of them speak for the next half an hour. Natasha stares out the open window, with her feet propped up on the dashboard and her head lolling comfortably against the headrest. The discordant sounds from the stereo filter through her mind subconsciously, a persistent throbbing; an argument and counter-balance.

"It was easy, back then."

"God, yes."

"You, me, Clint. Phil," she adds after a moment's thought.

"Shit happens, Nat," Maria says. "And it's not like you to dwell on the past."

Her voice is bitter and tired. "No? What else, then?"

"Fuck if I know." Maria shrugs as the wind rushes past, slowly disentangling her hair from its messy knot. "I'm not about to tell another Avenger what to do."

"Yeah, how did that go?"

She huffs out a tired laugh. "At least both of them were communicating. They can be civilised when they need to be. Mediating between the two of them for the last few months was not as difficult as it could have been."

"And yet…"

"Yeah."

"So that's all you've been doing?"

"Of course not. One hundred and seventeen countries didn't decide on the Accords overnight. You and Rogers have been busy training the New Avengers, or looking for Barnes; Fury and I decided that we needed someone relatively unbiased with enough pull and experience to liaise with the UN."

"You hate politics."

"Yeah, I hate politics," she snorts. "Three months living in expensive hotels in Europe in the middle of spring doesn't negate how much I hate it."

"Three months… I saw you last in April. You said you were tying up an old S.H.I.E.L.D. case from a decade ago."

"I told you half of it," she replies, unrepentant. "The old case was still true."

"Did Steve know?"

Maria softens. "No. And Stark didn't either. I was trying to work it out with both of them, and with the UN. It was in their best interests to be kept in the dark about the other side, in a manner of speaking."

"Lonely."

"Isn't it always?" She shoots Nat a wry smile. "And look where it got us. Half of you in prison, a few on the run, and one who probably can't walk unassisted again."

"I assume you have a plan," Natasha says, looking away as Maria lists the consequences.

"Of course."

"But you're not going to tell me."

"No," she admits. "Not yet, anyway. I can't be sure you're not going to do something incredibly stupid."

"So, just like when I started at S.H.I.E.L.D., then?"

"Nat, you're in this car with me, and we're going on a fucking road trip that you initiated by messaging me in the middle of the night. Of course I trust you," she says with slight exasperation. "But none of you are thinking straight at the moment, and my priorities for the last few months haven't been with any individual Avenger. I can't risk any of you jeopardising whatever I can and have been salvaging from what used to be the Avengers."

She's quiet for a moment, before reluctantly nodding. "Okay. But you can't keep running off and doing god knows what in our best interests."

"Pot, meet kettle."

Nat ignores the jab. "That's not me, and that's not my point. You haven't burned any bridges yet. We need that."

There's a beat before she replies; fatigue, amusement, and determination all rolled into one. "And god help me, but I'll be there."

"Yeah?" Nat says with a genuine smile. "And to think you hated us."

"I didn't hate you. I might have strongly disagreed with the idea of you. But I'll take what I can get."

Natasha raises an eyebrow. "Even if we end up destroying whole cities at a time?"

"Fucked up as it is, yes. This world usually has some weird shit or other going on, and there are very few people that I remotely know or trust to deal with it." She pauses to look over at Nat. "You know this already."

"Yeah," she exhales. "Call it confirmation, I guess. Allegiances and motives change. You know that."

"Yes," Maria says simply, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel. "I haven't doubted yours since after Budapest. Don't make me change my mind," she says, throwing her a significant glance.

"Idealist," Nat shoots back.

"I try, sometimes," she says dryly. "You and I both know how Coulson worked."

"Yeah," she says. Nat pauses before letting a sly grin through. "So, if either of us are still around for the next one… fifty dollars says that Rey is Luke's kid. For old times' sake."

Turning her attention back to the road, Maria smiles, "You're on."

Somewhere around the border between Pennsylvania and Ohio, Nat starts fiddling with the music controls in the car, managing to ignore the icy stare from her travelling companion. She flicks through the various albums, smirking every so often at the recognisable names and raising her eyebrows at the unrecognisable ones.

"You have a lot from the early twentieth century."

"And what's your point?"

"A lot from the '30s and '40s," Nat continues to goad. "Jazz, in particular."

Maria raises an eyebrow. "Yes."

"And is in no way influenced by anyone? Or added by anyone? Like—"

"—I'm more than capable of assembling my own music library, thanks. Get to the fucking point, Nat—"

"—Like a certain captain from that exact time period?"

"I've been listening to jazz long before Rogers woke from his deep freeze."

"Oh, so then you let him add his music to your car? Because this isn't in your iPod; I checked a few months ago."

"Quit snooping." Maria glares at her. "And I don't have to answer."

"No, but you will, if only to dissuade me of any particular ideas," she grins. "Unless, you know, said ideas are actually correct."

"The Mayer case eight months after the Battle of New York," she says flatly. "The one with Audrey."

"Ah. Hell of a case," Nat winces. "Classical music didn't do it for him?"

"That mission was FUBAR, and Barton had just taught him how to use iTunes."

"So you let him pick the music? Wouldn't have thought—"

"—I'm not a fucking control freak, Romanoff."

"No, you're not," Nat says thoughtfully. "But…"

"What?"

The grin grows impossibly wider. "When's it my turn?"

Maria only rolls her eyes in response. "Like hell I'm letting you anywhere near the mainframe of my car."

"And you didn't delete it after?" Natasha pushes further, sits up straighter, green eyes alight with mirth.

"I saw no reason to. I happen to like this music."

"Your pragmatism astounds me," she remarks dryly.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," she smirks, before the realisation dawns. "Wait, that was almost three and a half years ago."

"And?"

"Never mind," Nat shakes her head, digging into her bag for her iPod. "Here, you won't let me upload my music, so I'll just…"

She reaches for the auxiliary cable just as Maria says, "I thought that as a result of you waking me for this goddamn road trip, that I would get to pick the music?"

Romanoff rolls her eyes. "We live in a democracy, et cetera. An hour or two won't kill you."

(Popular Broadway show tunes filter through the car, and Maria hates that she knows some of the lyrics after two hours.)

They pull into a diner off the highway.

Formica tables, cheery waitresses, the smell of cooking grease, and she has to laugh because her team is splintered into possibly irreparable pieces and she is looking at a menu deciding what to eat. (The options drift in front of her eyes, and if only it were this goddamn easy.)

One of the waitresses – Anne, her nametag says – saunters over, and Nat rattles off both their orders, much to Maria's amusement.

"Doesn't have to be a game, Romanoff."

"It can be. You can order next time."

"Spending too much time around Vision? He does seem to have an uncanny ability to predict everyone's preferred pizza toppings."

"Obviously, I'm not anymore," Nat bites out. "And who the hell puts pineapple on a pizza, anyway? His predictions are almost invalid because of that."

"Wanda puts pineapple on pizza. Who might have gotten that idea from Barton. Who, incidentally, started doing that after that mission with the weird chemical shit in Zagreb."

Nat lets out a short laugh. "Where was I?"

"Stark Industries."

"Ah, right," she says. "Remember that time when Clint swapped out the meat in Nick's burger with that vegan stuff?"

"Sure. I'm surprised it was only after that incident that bored and/or grounded agent appeared as a checklist item on the incident report form. Admin had a field day."

Nat smirks in response. "Speaking of whom, how is he?"

Maria snorts. "Fucking livid at all of you."

"He has no right to be," she says coolly.

"Yes," Maria answers, then pauses, nodding at Anne who places their food in front of them. "And no."

"This is not his fight. The Accords were not meant for former intelligence directors."

"No, but Fury believes in things. Things bigger than the sum of its parts. Coulson's cards were never in his jacket pocket; they were in his locker."

And the revelation stings, just a little. Love is for children, as is a large list of other things. Pragmatism is not.

"Do you?"

"I'm sorry?"

Burger in hand, and Nat's eyes bore holes into the side of her head. "Do you believe in things?"

"A little vague, Romanoff," Maria says slowly, reaching for the fries. "Not in the way Fury or Steve do, or Coulson did."

"How, then?"

"I can't not believe in things, as Phil used to eloquently put it; otherwise, I'd have no job. What I do hinges on the fact that people, that this fucking planet, are worth saving." Maria's mouth curls slightly at the simplistic and naïve terms, before continuing, "How we get there, whether different means are worth believing in, they're different questions altogether."

"The Accords, then."

She takes a bite from her burger, swallows. "We're really doing this here?"

"I need to know," Nat says simply. "They're technically still in effect, and I know you've already got some sort of plan for the next few weeks."

"And this'll inform where you go next?" Her mouth twists up sardonically.

"Maybe."

"Okay," Maria says, putting her food down. "In principle, Tony is absolutely right. No one in their right mind would let the Avengers run around unchecked. But in reality – in this reality – no individual governing body has had a decent track record without corruption or self-serving motives. So, in that sense, I'd have to agree with Rogers."

"Rhodey called him arrogant. One hundred and seventeen countries in agreement."

"Yeah, probably," she inclines her head, agreeing. "But it's also true. All it takes is one country, one committee to bring the entire arrangement down. And then we're left with an ineffectual – maybe even unknowingly ineffectual – and dangerous system that serves the agenda of whoever decides to be corrupt."

"What's your solution?"

Maria laughs humourlessly. "I don't have one."

"Yet."

"Sure," she half-laughs again. "Your confidence is appreciated."

"It's what you do."

"No, it's what I try to do. Shit keeps getting in the way."

"Do, or do not. There is no try."

She raises an incredulous eyebrow. "Are you fucking kidding me, Romanoff? That's what you come up with?"

"He has a point."

"No, he doesn't, because he was living in a swamp on a different godforsaken planet, with no actual crisis."

"Trying doesn't mean anything. In the end, there's nothing to show for."

"True," she acknowledges. "But it's a goddamn process. You know how fucking exhausting it is to work with Rogers and Stark at the same time."

Nat nods in contemplation, before pointing a greasy fry at her. "Or, we could be looking at this in two different ways. Maybe he's saying don't half-ass anything."

She lets out a genuine laugh this time. "We're seriously having a discussion based on one line in Star Wars?"

"Why not?"

"Because… actually, never mind. It's irrelevant. It is what it is right now," she says, taking a sip of her drink.

"I feel like the Internet would be proud of us right now. Philosophy, Star Wars, amicable disagreements et cetera."

"Nicer than actual Internet reality," Maria huffs out a laugh. "And not that I need anyone to be proud of us, but the Internet would definitely not be on the list."

Nat picks up another fry and throws it at her this time. "Okay, you're really not fun."

A few hours and a decade's worth of jazz standards later, they pull up at a gas station.

Nat digs around for her wallet and jumps out of the car, striding towards the tiny store and asking over her shoulder, "The usual?"

"Thanks," Maria nods as she starts filling up the tank.

She hears a muffled squeak behind her and shuffling feet that steadily grows closer. Internally wincing, she pretends not to notice until the voice is a few feet from her.

"Hey, isn't that—"

Maria spins around and gives the guy a saccharine smile. "Nah. Sorry, not her. She gets that a lot, though."

The man continues to stare at them, alternating between Maria and Nat's form through the storefront. He frowns, "You sure? She looks like the one who was on the news yesterday. You know, that crazy shit at the airport in Europe. And the one from a few years ago. That stuff with that spy organisation."

This is it, Nat. You're never working undercover again, Maria thinks wryly. She continues to hold the smile that's hurting her face. "Yeah, definitely sure. You won't believe how many times she gets stopped on the street. I mean, I tell her that she should just milk it, but, you know."

"Wow, okay. Like, they just look so similar. Think it's the hair. It's like, she could play the movie version of her, 'cause that shit would sell."

"I'll tell her that," she says, still grinning, and hanging up the gas pump. "Anyway, we've got to—"

"—Oh, yeah, sure, sorry," he says, climbing into his car. "And sorry about, you know."

"It's fine," she waves a hand, smile starting to slip. "I'll let her know she's got a fan. Again."

She watches as the car drives away, and she sinks against her own, waiting as Nat makes her way back over.

Maria snatches the coffee and granola bar from her friend's hand. "Thank god. Let's go. You got yourself another fanboy who recognised you from the news yesterday and from two years ago."

"Dedicated." Nat squints at her. "How's your face?"

"It fucking hurts. Smiling like that is unnatural."

"For you, maybe. I was watching; I thought you sold it."

"Well, in any case, I can't send you undercover again. You and Rogers both. Unless he grows a beard. Or you change your hair or something."

She smirks, sipping her tea, and flipping through her music again. "Duly noted."

"iPod?"

"No."

"iPhone?"

"No. And keep your eyes on the road."

"Indiana?"

"No."

"I-80."

"No."

"Interminable highways."

"No."

"Fine. What is it?"

"Ignorance."

"Fuck you, Romanoff."

"Do you remember Dubai in 2009?"

Maria flicks her head to her and raises an eyebrow. "I don't forget my missions."

"Right," Nat nods, lost in thought. "I was talking to Raveau from Ops after the Battle of New York, just before she left for that one-year mission in Egypt. We were going through old missions, and she told me Carter was originally down for Dubai, but Clint insisted otherwise."

"Yes."

"Dubai was before Budapest. You said you didn't—"

"—Yeah, I remember."

"You were the lead on that op. It was basically a cesspool of international moguls with too many agendas to count. Why did you—"

"—Why did I listen to Barton?"

"Yes," Nat says, waiting.

"Because ninety-eight percent of the time, his judgement is solid. Even if it doesn't usually seem that way."

She hums, thinking. "The other two percent?"

"Ask him about Tokyo in '06, the Opera City Tower, and Buddy Rich. Then decide for yourself," Maria smirks. "But yes, Sitwell was pushing for Carter, and Barton strongly insisted that I take you instead."

"And it wasn't because Sitwell was gloating about Madripoor?" Nat asks, just to be sure.

She glares at her. "Fuck, no. Although, I wasn't the only senior agent who may or may not have tweaked the ops training roster that month."

"Cute," Nat says dryly. "But…"

"It wouldn't have been fair to Carter, and it's not her fault she was on his rotation for the next few months. She was Lee's choice before he passed the op to me, but I left the spot on the team open. Sitwell and Barton both filled out recommendations, and I agreed with Barton's rationale more."

"You didn't trust me, though," she says. "Or my allegiances."

"Not fully, no. It was a calculated risk," Maria replies. "I made damn sure that Barton knew what he was doing. And there were two additional agents on the team that you didn't know about. But everyone has to start somewhere."

"So you still placed some level of trust in a living, breathing weapon. I'm fairly certain that's not what they teach you at the Academy."

She narrows her eyes at Nat. "In hindsight, with many more years of experience, maybe I shouldn't have. Maybe it was fucking reckless of me, considering I was the youngest and newest senior agent going off the recommendation of my old trainer, who himself was apparently a reclusive whack job. You could argue that Rumlow and his team were living, breathing weapons; look how they actually turned out."

"That's my point. You couldn't have known."

"And that's Gambling 101. Who the fuck even knows, anymore? Barton, you, Rumlow, Sitwell, even Stark and Rogers. Intel only goes so far when it comes to motive. You did your job, the mission was complete, no severe repercussions, and maybe I trusted you a fraction more after that."

"I'm guessing that probably wasn't your mentality back when you first started out as a rookie agent."

"And Dubai was years later. It's insanely stupid to think that we don't change, that we don't adapt."

"So you put me on the team. You made the choice."

"Yeah, I made the choice," Maria agrees. "And it was mine, and only mine, to make."

They're sitting in a quiet park just opposite the surprisingly tidy motel they've chosen for the night. In the distance, they can hear the fading voices of a group of children, leaving one-by-one as the evening gets progressively later and darker. Bottles of beer in hand, they've elected to move away from the colourful play equipment, and it's not until the last child leaves, the swing set forlornly swaying, that Natasha decides to speak.

(a dam bursts somewhere, but if no-one hears it…)

"I don't even know what goddamn side I should be on."

Maria considers her for a moment. "Neither. Or both," she says calmly. "They could both be right, or they could both be wrong."

"And what kind of leader does that make me? It was me and Steve, and we had new recruits, and it was meant to be better, to be more organised."

Maria falls silent for a moment, twirling the neck of the beer bottle around her fingers. Because of course they'd be stuck in the middle of nowhere (geographically and otherwise), the all-consuming pressure from holding the fragmented pieces together (the stitching is broken, send help), voices whispering to pick a side; the peace, the security of the world is at stake, do something now, a city (many cities) up in flames, there are no solutions in sight—

"No." Her voice cracks against the night air.

"What?"

"That's not how it works. You can't just pick a side for the sake of picking a side. That's borderline cowardice, not leadership."

Nat snorts. "Easy for you to say. What the hell were you doing for all those months anyway? This was the solution? The Accords?"

"You were going to have to report to the US government, to be used as whatever military arm they needed for whatever political agenda they wanted to serve. They were going to tag you all, a database for all of you, a record of your every movement, monitors for whatever family you had, a record of pressure points for each of you. A prison for even the slightest deviation, all under the name of world peace and accountability. And not just the Avengers, but whoever was starting to show any inkling of powers or gifts. And I got it down to the best that I could. I don't agree with all of the Accords, but there's only so much I could do, as one person, in that particular situation, Nat."

"And they're still imprisoned, and governments are still watching, and god knows where Rogers or Barnes are," she hisses.

"And picking a side wouldn't have mattered. All of you did the same things, you were all at the same airport. The only reason why half of you aren't in the Raft is because they signed on the dotted line, which suddenly gave them the authority to bring everyone else in. That's the only distinction. You're not so different after all, and I think you know this, because you're here right now."

"Yes, well then who the hell are we if we don't stand up for something? Even Tony did, and that guy has an ego the size of Mount Rushmore."

"Nat, you have never been that person."

"Maria, what—"

"—No. Think about it," she interrupts calmly. "You have never been that person."

(there's red in my ledger. it's simple, that's it.)

She takes another gulp of her beer and considers flinging the rest of the bottle at the tree in front of her, to see the glass shatter and the liquid melt down the bark. Closing her eyes, she inhales and counts to twenty.

"I tried, you know. I worked with you and Phil and Fury. I tried."

Maria gives her a quick smile. "Yeah. But that's never been you. Our loyalties are different, have always been. You have a loyalty to yourself, to Clint, to Rogers, to Banner, to Fury. Not to any ideal. It's your control, and I can't fault you for that."

"How—when did you figure it out?"

"Budapest. The offer they gave you, the screaming children, the Red Room safe house… and you came back with Barton."

At his name, she abruptly stands up, and this time, she tosses her bottle into the trash without looking. "I know what Barnes can do. I know what I can do. There should be—there needs to be some kind of… If it hadn't been Clint that day nine years ago, if he hadn't shot and stopped me, I'd be doing what Barnes has been doing. Except there'd be absolutely no one holding me back."

"So we're glad that there are very few Red Room-type organisations still operating. Just your regular spies and assassins. I mean, it's entirely unrealistic to keep tabs on every single one in this world," Maria comments lightly.

"I looked Clint in the eye. My best friend, the guy who brought me out of that hellhole. And I asked him if we were still friends," Nat continues, seemingly not hearing. "He said it depended on how hard I hit. And he was joking, I get that, but I could have—"

"—Yes, you could have, but you wouldn't. Like I said, you have control. It's why your impulse was to head to Laura's, or to let Steve go with Barnes. The Accords wouldn't have changed those instincts, and if they would've had the possibility of doing so, I would have voted against that without hesitation."

"And there are those that will strongly disagree with me letting Rogers go. Ultimately, an argument could be made that they'd be right," she argues back. "Whatever those instincts lead to – that's what people are afraid of. Ends and means, Maria. You of all people should know."

She shrugs a tired shoulder and stretches her legs in front of her. "Nat, what do you want me to say? Yes, I've seen and heard some fucking crazy ideas all in the name of keeping the world safe, and I've vehemently opposed a lot of them. But with all the shit that happens – you don't think there were risks involved with any S.H.I.E.L.D. operations? You were a risk, Banner was a risk, Stark was a risk, the whole idea of the Avengers was Fury's risk, and you can ask him how long we argued for just regarding the idea of approaching Stark."

"My money's on three whole days," Nat interjects, with a small grin.

"Put it this way: there's a reason why Fury and I rarely spend more than five days in each other's company," she smirks. "But my point is that we took a calculated chance on you, and by extension, Barton. An army of automated machines never works out well for global security, so yes, we chose to trust the instincts of living, breathing weapons. It was calculated. All of you were."

"You didn't factor in ideological differences. Or on us turning on each other. Vision aimed at Sam, who was far more exposed than Rhodey. He would have died."

"No, it was always a factor," she says, face drawn. "I may have just underestimated everyone's conviction. Which, in hindsight, was cynical and foolish of me."

"No kidding," Nat half-laughs. "So, why'd you change your mind? About us, I mean. Collectively."

She's quiet for a moment, as she stares up at Nat, who's still pacing slowly in circles. She etches shapes into the condensation that's slowly melting down her bottle. She drains the last of the liquid and flicks the bottle between her fingers again.

"The world didn't need – shouldn't have needed – anything like the Avengers. We didn't need superheroes, especially not in this age where anything becomes sensationalised and glorified far too quickly, and spun into sound bites for political gain. We had hard-working, non-superpowered people who worked their asses off every goddamn day, who were much less of a liability. And yeah, a lot of them are arrogant jerks with stupidly selfish agendas, but it was acceptable, and it was enough."

"Until it wasn't."

"Never is," Maria agrees ruefully. "The galaxy is beautiful and it's a fucking mess, and maybe it's cyclical in that other worlds started taking notice of us, so we in turn started getting bolder ideas, inviting whatever chaos is out there. And so on."

"I blame Nick, then," Nat says.

"As do I, frequently," she rolls her eyes. "In any case, this is reality. And it called for something more than we already had. You're not all bad. So I adapted. And here we are."

"And what are you going to do? Keep moving between the two teams?"

"At the moment, yeah," she admits. "They've got different perspectives and priorities. Different skills. There's no reason why they can't both be of use. I mean, once Rogers and his lot get out of the Raft."

"They'll figure it out," Nat says bluntly. "And I'm not sure they'll be so accommodating, no matter how much Tony values your strategy and competence, or Steve values, well, you."

"I'll get to that when I get to that."

"But if you had to choose?" She continues to press.

"Don't." Maria turns and gives her a pained look. "Don't do this, Nat."

"This is exactly what I had to do. Am doing," she corrects. "And why we're here in the middle of Illinois—"

"—Rogers is not Barton. I don't owe him anything."

"You think this is about owing him something?" Nat asks incredulously. "I mean—"

"—your ledger—"

"—it was that. For a long time. And then it wasn't. It's not loyalty if I owe them something. Nick, Steve, Bruce..."

"Yeah," she exhales. "No, I know."

"You know, I was going to leave," Nat continues. "During the thing with Ultron. I was gonna leave with Bruce. I was done, we were done. And it had nothing to do with Clint."

"I had a hunch," Maria replies. "It's funny, because Rogers said almost the same thing. If Ultron actually had world peace in mind, he'd hang up his shield."

Nat looks at her with disbelief. "Really?"

"That was my reaction too."

"Maria, you don't owe Steve anything. But you destroyed S.H.I.E.L.D. with him. You share both of your music and books, you wear his goddamn jacket, he was your first call for practically everything, and you spent a disproportionate number of nights late at the Tower with him."

"I had a job."

"And you'll always have a job. But you get to pick with whom, that's my whole point. And you know, consciously or not, who that's gonna be."

Maria looks up at the inky black sky, silent. Stillness is strange, she thinks, and she shifts restlessly against the leg of the wooden park bench. She ducks her head and runs fingers over weary eyes that have had far too little rest. "And it's fucking terrifying," she whispers hoarsely.

"Yeah," Nat agrees.

"I pressed that fucking button two years ago in the Triskelion. We were running out of time, and he only just got the last chip on the helicarrier. Obviously, he told me to fire. And I hesitated, Nat, I fucking hesitated."

"But you did it anyway."

"Yeah, I fired, and I would have done it again and again and again if I needed to. And I probably would have hesitated each time. I can't do that; he doesn't deserve it, the world doesn't deserve it," she laughs harshly. "You know why I wasn't around the Triskelion that day you guys got caught on the overpass?"

"Fury needed you around?"

"Sure, but it would have been less suspicious and more helpful if I were at the Triskelion. No, because Sitwell found me, showed me the footage of you and Rogers at the Apple store – which, by the way, let me say again, was an utterly riveting and terrible piece of undercover work – and said that Pierce was worried I was getting too close to Captain America, so I was being transferred back up to New York."

"That's not surprising. Fury hardly trusted anyone with the three of us. I mean, you were our primary handler after New York."

"Not the point. I can't have my job compromised because I'm attached, or seem to be attached."

"Maria, I'm not sure that even applies anymore. I don't think you've got a job to compromise. You can start over, re-define your job, pick who you want to work closely with. I mean, we just blew up our own team. Like you said, work with what you've got. And you don't have to choose between the two of them right this moment; just that you could if you needed to."

"Indulgent."

"I said not now. Though god knows you've played peacemaker for too long."

"Damn straight," Maria mutters.

"Also, you and I both know that you and Steve work exceptionally well together. Imagine all that time you'd save by not arguing," Nat smirks.

She rolls her eyes. "I'm glad someone's thought about feasibility and cost-efficiency."

"Yes, it's usually your job, but you're welcome this time," she shrugs. Nat stands up and offers a hand to Maria. "Okay. Here's the deal. I'll try to figure out my priorities and how much of a liability I actually am and act accordingly, if you try to figure out a way to work and not compromise your ability to be the human that you're allowed to be."

She considers it for a moment, leaving her friend's hand suspended between them. "Fine, yes. Deal," she says, taking the hand, and using it to haul herself up to eye level. "Operative word being try."

"Maria—"

"—Yeah, okay," she sighs, leading them back towards the motel room. "You know, this trip was meant to be for your benefit."

"Yes. But also, you were restless. I haven't seen you like that since… well, ever."

She scowls at her friend. "I'm also fucking busy trying to deal with you and your team's shit."

"You can be both, but that's a fair point," Nat winces, acknowledging the point. "And this trip hasn't been a complete waste for you. You can probably sing your way through most of Hamilton. Or rap, whatever."

"You're terrible."

"Nah, I'm a great friend. It'll be an impressive skill, you'll see."

Maria shakes her head, unlocking the door. "Actually terrible," she repeats, though this time, with a small smile.

The familiar house comes into view – quiet and idyllic, the sun just peeking over the barn – and Natasha releases a pent-up (held for days, weeks, months) breath.

Maria glances sideways at her. "What were you expecting?"

She shrugs, uncomfortable. "CIA agents, maybe. Nick hiding in the barn, again. Laura and the kids waiting on the porch and wondering why Clint's not home."

"How much does she know?"

Nat closes her eyes. "No idea. She probably knows about the crap between Tony and Steve. I think he only left a few days ago to pick up Lang and Wanda before heading to Germany. I messaged her and told her that he's in trouble and I was coming over."

"Okay, so it's not a complete surprise."

"No, but I don't think she knows which side I was on," she says, letting her head rest against the window. "What the hell do I say?"

Maria turns off the ignition and swivels to face her. "Laura knows about the crazy shit between you and Clint. I don't think this'll faze her anymore than what you've all gone through."

"Maria, you weren't at that goddamn airport; it was a fight—"

"—Were you going to kill him? Would you have aimed at him like you said Vision did to Wilson?" She interjects bluntly. "Was it like that very first meeting in Latvia, or more like one of your weirdly intense training sessions?"

"It wasn't like Latvia," she admits. "And Wanda said he was pulling his punches."

She raises an eyebrow. "You couldn't tell?"

"I'll analyse it later, but my memory of that fight isn't objective. I mean, I could also hack the security cameras if I really wanted to find out."

"I don't think you need to, Nat. You know."

"Maybe," she says. "Laura'll need to know, though."

"Yeah. But the level of proof will be up to her."

Nat nods, calculating. "Good grief, I can't believe she's put up with our crap," she mutters. "And damn. It's Nathaniel's birthday in a month."

Maria hums, looking at her phone, which has been quietly beeping for the last five minutes. "I have a feeling you and Barton might be okay for that deadline."

"Yeah?"

"Not confirming anything. But, you know, I'd have a birthday present ready, in any case," Maria smirks. "So, are you getting out of the car?"

"Yeah. I think Cooper's spotted us," she says with a nod to the curtained window. She grabs her bag from the back and fluidly steps out of the car. "You coming?"

"Sure. I don't think I've seen Laura in a while."

The gravel crunches underfoot as they make their way to the door. Nat swallows, then raises her hand and knocks, tapping out the pre-agreed rhythm. After a minute, the door cracks open and Laura peers through.

"Nat, Maria," she greets them. "Anyone else?"

"No," Nat replies softly. "Can we…?"

"Yeah," she says, pulling the door open. "Come in."

"No one's come since Clint's left?" Nat asks, dumping her bag on the floor. "You haven't noticed anything weird?"

"No. And all the cameras are still in place," she says, narrowing her eyes a fraction. "So, what's happened?"

Maria interjects, not unkindly. "Where are the kids, Laura?"

"Upstairs. Cooper saw you drive up from his window, so he's probably waking Lila. And with any luck, Nate's still asleep," she says, a hint of impatience colouring her tone. "Well?"

"Since he left here last week, he picked up Wanda and a guy called Scott Lang, and headed to Germany on Cap's side. There was a fight at the airport, which's been on the news. Clint, Sam, Wanda, and Lang are in a government… facility. Steve's gone after his not-so-dead best friend from the 40s, who's part of the reason we're in this situation," Nat summarises in one breath. "And I'm here because I wasn't sure what the Accords meant – mean – for you guys. As his family."

"The protection, security codes, and safeguards that Fury and I set up for you years ago should still be operational," Maria says, as Laura processes the information. "We've kept them encrypted, and no one except the Avengers, Fury, and me know about you and your kids."

"Unless Tony's said something," Nat points out.

"He wouldn't have, and he won't," Maria says firmly. "So, the safest place right now for you and your kids is here."

Laura nods, still silent. The ticking of the clock in the hallway behind her is unnaturally loud, and Nat waits. There's a faint scuffle from above her, and she fidgets, taps her fingers (unnoticeable) against her thigh.

"Why aren't you with your team, Nat? What were you doing?" Laura finally speaks.

"I wasn't fighting alongside Clint and Steve," she says, anticipating a storm of children's feet at any minute. She confesses, feels the pressure rise, face-to-face (finally), clawing. "We took sides and it was a mess. It was ideological and then it was just emotion. And I know you know about the shit between me and Clint when he first got me into S.H.I.E.L.D., and this time, it was…"

"Yeah?"

It clicks.

"We fought, but we didn't mean it," she admits, a sliver of hope rising. "We fought because we had to. It made us soldiers, and neither of us are and probably won't ever be. And I know that it looks – it is – pretty damn terrible right now, but I swear that I'll never let anyone hurt you or Clint or the kids."

The ticking grows impossibly louder, and she can hear it start to harmonise with the tumbling patter of feet.

(Almost there.)

"I believe you, Nat, and we can talk about this later," Laura says quietly, after what feels like eternity. She inclines her head up. "They're dying to see you."

And all at once, it bursts: she hears the clock chime, the loud whistle of the kettle from the kitchen, the impact of two small bodies running at full speed, the vibration and alert of a nearby phone, the breeze that rushes through the window, the whiff of ridiculously expensive coffee, the sudden cries and shouts from all directions—

She sinks to the floor, and starts to think that it might be okay.

Maria comes back with her phone in hand and a slight grin on her face. Nat gently moves Lila from her spot next to her on the couch, shoots her a quick smile and a promise, and ushers her into the next room. She looks at Maria with no small amount of curiosity and expectation.

"I'm gonna leave you here. Duty calls," she says, holding up her phone.

"Yeah?"

"As it turns out, three months playing politics wasn't a complete waste of time despite the Accords not giving us the… expected outcome. No bridges burnt on my end."

"Who?"

Maria considers her carefully. "T'Challa."

"The call?"

"Rogers. He needs my help."

"Of course," Nat says with a genuine smile. "If anyone asks, I don't know anything."

"Absolutely. You should stay here for a bit, keep your head down for the time being. Stark might not have reported you in, but you're technically missing, and they know who you are."

"Yeah. Also, I'm pretty sure the south basement in the Avengers Facility still has the right equipment for whatever you're not about to do. Haven't touched it since we infiltrated that base in Tijuana."

"Right, thanks. Should be fun," she says, eyes dancing at the thought of getting to do something. "Stark probably hasn't revoked my codes, though who knows once he realises what we've taken."

Nat nods, before hesitating. "And what about after?"

"You know how to contact me. If you want in, you'd be more than welcome."

"Thanks." She hesitates again, before stepping forward and pulling her friend into a quick, uncharacteristic hug. "Last night, you said I've got a loyalty towards myself, Clint, Bruce, Steve, Nick. You didn't say yourself."

"Nat, we don't have to—"

Nat stares at her. "We made a deal last night, yeah?"

Maria nods slowly. "Yeah."

She smiles. "Okay, then. So, I'll see you soon. Say hi and sorry to Rogers from me."

Her mouth quirks up into a faint smile as well, as she picks up her bag and starts to head outside again. "Sure, of course. Take care, Romanoff."