Story is INCOMPLETE as of yet so updates will only be once a week. Also Katerina's birthday is April 24th, for anyone who cares.

"Sir?"

Nick Fury looked up from the detritus of his recent meeting to catch Agent Hill's eyes watching him from the door. "What is it?" he asked, putting down his pen.

Stepping further into the office, Hill stopped exactly one respectful step away from the desk with both hands clasped in front of her. "Sir, I know that Agent Romanov is still technically on leave pending investigation, but there's something you should know." At his continuing attention, she went on. "She went missing, sir. Early this morning Stark's security system spotted her leaving the tower with a packed bag. A few CCTV spots caught her approaching LaGuardia Airport. This could have something to do with the investigation, sir."

"Do you think it does, Agent Hill?" asked Fury. His fingers interlaced as he watched her for a visible reaction. There was none, of course. Fury had trained her himself.

After a moment of thought she shook her head. "I can't make any conclusions as yet, sir. Apparently there was some talk after the initial incident about the Red Guardian, the Department's first answer to the super soldier program. Alexei Shoskatov. A failure, of course. They put him on ice after the first phases of conditioning, when they found Barnes a more promising candidate. You remember Barnes reported his body missing from the mill wreckage in his debriefing."

"I recall."

"Well, Shoskatov and Romanov have a history," continued Hill. "I spoke to Barnes after Stark called her in missing. He says that Shoskatov was used by the Department's Red Room program to draw out Romanov's vulnerabilities back in the forties. She was fifteen and in love with him, sir. They were married in secret and Shoskatov's death was staged by the Room when Romanov was...she was four months pregnant, sir."

One of Fury's eyebrows rose slightly. "Pregnant," he echoed.

Hill nodded, unmoved. "Yes, sir. The baby was stillborn in early 1945. Explains a lot about her behavior four years ago, don't you think?"

With the press of a few buttons a holographic projection of Romanov's medical file flickered to life above Fury's desk. His uncovered eye roved over it and he sighed. A miscarriage. He'd wondered why she wasn't on her game, but just pinned it on Coulson going down, he hadn't thought to look in medical. "I think I know who to call," he concluded. "Agent Romanov is not currently an active member of SHIELD, but she still knows SHIELD secrets. We need to get her back before the Russians dig into her head again. Send a search team out after her. Do not engage, just find her."

"Sir."

As soon as Hill turned on her heel and left, Fury was on the phone. With one hand he held the receiver, and with the other entered a long string of code into the system, moving through phone services and proxies on four different continents before finally getting it to ring. As practiced, the man on the other end waited five rings before picking up. "This had better be good."

In the last 52 months, Fury had only called this line once before. "We need you to come in," he said without preamble.

"You want me to step away? Now?"

"You've done enough for now. Romanov has been compromised and you're the only man for the job."

There was a long pause. "You don't think she can handle herself. We are talking about the same woman, right?" he asked.

Leaning forward on his elbows, Fury rolled his eye at the ceiling and prayed for patience. "A lot of things have changed since you were last around. Romanov doesn't have the same edge she used to. The Russian super serum - that she very conveniently didn't tell anyone she'd been dosed with until about three years ago - has been reversed. Even if she's more than capable of handling herself, sniper bullets are still pretty damn effective. Not to mention she's just had a baby."

"What? Romanov, a mother? With whom?"

"Who do you think, besides Barton?"

"Well, when you last contacted me she had the Winter Soldier climbing up her ass, so I thought it would be prudent to ask. Natasha always did like a difficult case."

Had Fury been a more lighthearted man he might have smiled. "Well, Barton's about the same, if you recall, and there really isn't a case more difficult than Romanov," he cryptically said.

His contact's voice was lenient and highly amused. "You have a good point. But sir...do you know what they say about girls and wolves? In the stories about wolves and girls. Girls in red. All alone in the woods. About to get eaten up."*

"Wolves and girls," Fury mused. "What do they say about them?"

Even as he asked it, he knew where his friend was going. They both remembered as clear as anything, the day Agent Barton was assigned to take down the deadly Black Widow but instead carried her in, ninety pounds, sick with pneumonia, an arrow hole in her shoulder, but still trying her damnedest to kick and bite her way free. Even as Barton took her up to medical, assured her she was in safe hands with a look of steely determination on his face, she fought. He wasn't about to let this one slip away, and she wasn't about to go down without a fight.

"Both have sharp teeth."

Clint was awoken by a soft slap to the face; he flailed to consciousness, eyes flying open, and next thing he knew the barrel of the gun he kept stashed under his pillow was pressed between Tony's eyes. The billionaire's hands flew defensively up. Once the initial panic wore off Clint dropped the handgun back to the mattress, pulling his hearing aids from the bedside table.

"What happened?" he asked hoarsely. When he turned to the side of the bed where Natasha slept and found it empty, he whipped back around to Tony. "Is the baby okay? What happened to Katie?"

Tony's hands pressed on his shoulder to keep him from leaping right at the ceiling. "Katie's fine, Barton. It's Natasha. She's gone," he said, anxiously licking his lips. Clint finally realized that it was early, too early for Tony to have been asleep. "JARVIS rose the alarm but she got out of the city fast. I've already called SHIELD in on it."

"Wh-?" He leaped from the bed and ran, staggering a little, to the nursery, not processing anything near fast enough, not daring believe Tony until he saw with his own eyes-

Kate was fast asleep in her cradle, her arms stretched above her head and tiny rosebud mouth absently suckling as she dreamed of the only certainty she knew: eating. The air still smelled faintly of milk gone sour, and the fleece Natasha used to cover Kate while she nursed with the lights on was in the laundry basket, instead of slung over the rocking chair. There was a dried stain of breast milk on its corner from where the smell came.

"Told you she's fine," Tony said behind him, and he sagged with relief. "It's Natasha we should be focusing on. Sharon knew you were worried about her. She expressed this concern to Pepper, and Pepper asked JARVIS to keep an eye out for any unusual behavior. And, well, she skipped out of here about two hours ago and CCTV caught her on her way to LaGuardia, so I'd consider that pretty unusual."

It took everything Clint had in him not to start yelling before leaving the baby's room. Instead he grabbed Tony by the shoulder, dragged him out into the hall, and shoved him to the wall. "She left two hours ago and you decide to tell me now?" he hissed furiously.

"It was JARVIS's directive, not me," Tony replied, hands going up again. "He couldn't exactly raise the alarm every time Natasha went out for a diaper run, could he? So it was set into his coding that if she was gone for longer than an hour he would hack into CCTV and scan for her image profile, which, yeah, takes at least an hour to sort through, even with AI like mine. Do you have any idea how many security cameras there are in this neighborhood alone? By the time JARVIS found a matching profile - which is only 82% accurate, by the way - she was probably already getting on a plane. She could be on her way anywhere by now."

"Can't you figure out where?" asked Clint, more than a little frantic. "Can't JARVIS-?"

"Hack into the mainframe of the nation's largest international airport, in the very city that was victim to the worst terrorist attack the United States has ever seen?" retorted Tony, rolling his eyes. "Even I'm not that good, Barton. Come on, dude, lay off a little. I think she left a note."

After a few long, tense moments, Clint released him. He made a show of rubbing his poor tortured arms before clapping Clint on the shoulder. They padded into the kitchen, and Clint found the note left on the counter. He had to glare at Tony to keep him reading over his shoulder.

C,
I don't want to leave, but I can't sleep knowing that Alexei is out there. As long as he is alive you are still in danger. Katya is in danger and I'm the one he wants. If I can successfully draw him out and kill him, I will. But if my death is the only thing that will ensure my family's continuing safety, then I won't hesitate. I'll try to come home. Take care of Katya. Don't look for me.

I love you.
-N

It was basically up to par with her usual frank eloquence, she hated wasting words, but her handwriting was shaky. Natasha's hand never shook if she could help it. Even seven years ago, when she'd had to write her own ransom note with a gun to one temple, her handwriting was perfectly steady.

In the other room, the baby woke up and started making soft sounds. Clint's heart sprang up into his throat. "She's a month old," he choked out, uncertain if he was more terrified, despairing, or furious. "The baby's only a month old yesterday, and Natasha left her."

Tony's hand closed on his shoulder. "Left her in pretty good hands, though," he said, bluntly reassuring. "Come on, it's Natasha. She knows what she's doing; she wouldn't leave that baby with anyone but the very best."

Scowling anxiously, Clint shuffled back to the nursery and picked Kate up to soothe her soft sounds. "It's okay, Katie-Kate," he murmured as her tiny arms flailed, instantly feeling out of his depth without Natasha there. "Mama's gonna be home real soon." His voice didn't shake; he really believed it. He returned to the kitchen with Kate resting against his shoulder. She started to whimper and cry, and Tony gave him a disparaging look.

"Barton, why are you holding your baby like a bomb? It's been a month, I thought you'd be over that by now," he incredulously said, then held out his arms. "Gimme."

"What? No, I can do it!" protested Clint, jutting his other shoulder between Kate and Tony's prying hands. "I just haven't had a lot of practice; Nat never really let me do this stuff before, she always did it herself."

Tony put a hand on his shoulder, turning him back. "Just let me do it once so you can see," he demanded, almost like a kid trying to play his friend's game. "Come on, don't be a baby hog, gimme gimme gimme!" He waggled his fingers until Clint reluctantly passed her over, and almost instantly the tightness of his personality drained away until he was cradling Kate to the warmth of his arc reactor like an old pro.

Then again, he had almost two years of experience with Maria by then. "Now, let's see what the problem is!" he went on in a definite Daddy Voice as soon as Kate had calmed down some. He picked her up, gingerly sniffed her bottom, thought it over, then made a passive face and announced, "No, she's not wet yet. Probably a gas bubble or something, huh, Sugar Pants? Y'little chunk monkey...go get a towel, Barton, I think she might-"

She erped all over his shoulder. "That's my girl!" crowed Clint, laughing even as he hurried to get the fleece from the nursery.

"That's okay," Tony was assuring the infant, rubbing her back and gently bouncing her with a wrinkled nose. "I betcha feel better now, huh? I bet you do." His voice was so uncharacteristically soft compared to his usual snark that Clint thought to ask if he'd made any progress on the Life Model Decoys he'd been working on, smiling as he supported Kate's wobbly head in one hand. Clint cleaned the spit-up from his shoulder then took the baby back with Tony hovering over him. "Okay, just put one hand there, make sure you've got her head, but don't bend her too far forward either...no, dude, let her wiggle around, she's getting comfortable, she knows what she's doing...there, see?"

Grinning down at Kate like every bit the proud uncle he was, Tony clapped him on the back. "Well, you're not natural, but you'll get it. I mean I did, right? Man. I miss this. Like, don't get me wrong, Maria's perfect and wins all the awards in my book, but now she's up walking and talking, asking questions, pitching fits because her mind's so far ahead of her mouth; everything's so much simpler when they're bitty like this. Enjoy it while you can." There was a weird look on Tony's face as he regarded them, like there was something in his mind stretched too thin and on the verge of breaking.

"Do you think she's gonna come home?" Clint asked suddenly, testing the waters.

The thing behind Tony's face broke, but he didn't outwardly react. "'Course she will," he snorted. "Give her two days, tops, and she'll be back, covered in Commie blood."

Clint smiled when Kate's fingers caught around one of his pajama buttons. "Just the way we like her, isn't that right?" he asked her stern wrinkled face. She blinked her blue eyes open and looked up at him. There was so much trust in that look, he needed a second to catch his breath as fear overtook him. Fear of disappointing her, fear of losing her, and most of all, fear of having to explain to his little girl, when she was old enough to ask such questions, why she didn't have a mom like all the other kids at school.

Another clap on his shoulder. "Okay, well, looks like you've got this covered. I'm going back to the penthouse. Someone from the brass should be here soon. Keep it together until then; there's nothing we can do until we figure out where she's going. JARVIS is looking up departing flights from LaGuardia now. Bad news: it's Memorial Weekend; there are flights coming and going from damn near everywhere. Good news: Most flights were booked up, but we'll be able to see if any had openings left that were snatched at the last minute and it could narrow down the search. Come on down to the communal floor and we'll all wait for news."

He couldn't argue with that. With Katie-Kate cradled to his chest he followed Tony downstairs.

She was sitting in Heathrow airport, waiting for a connecting flight, when her milk came in again. Natasha bit her lip and subtly adjusted her shirt, only halfway annoyed with the physical inconvenience. The other half ached for home, which only made her angrier with herself. Since when had she become so weak? When had her lion heart gone soft? To pass the time until the connection she pulled out her phone - 18 missed calls from everyone on the team and Sharon - and glanced over some pictures Peter had sent her a few weeks after Katya was born. She'd grown so much in just a month; how much would she miss by the time she made it home? If she made it home at all.

"You ought to call," a man said to her left.

She glared at him. "Excuse you?"

The man was looking levelly back at her. "You're sitting like there's something up your arse, you keep checking your watch, staring at photographs of a baby that I can only presume is yours because every few moments you adjust your shirt like it's making you uncomfortable, but it's recently been stretched more than usual over your breasts because they're swollen-not that I'm looking, mind. It's your first time away from the new baby for longer than a few hours. In London on business, are you? Anxiety is natural, and there's no shame in calling to check on things at home," he rattled off, then smirked.

Natasha didn't allow herself to outwardly react. "So, what, am I supposed to be impressed?" she asked archly.

"You could be."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, forgive me if I pass. I have a flight to catch."

When she moved to get up his hand lashed out and gripped her wrist. It took all of her self control not to break that hand and flee. "Don't go that way," the man said, no longer smirking and poised on the edge of his seat, "they're waiting for you."

It was like a bucket of ice water had been poured down her throat into her stomach. "How do you know that?" she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"I do now," replied the man with another smirk, this one sharp as a blade. "This way, quickly."

"But my flight-"

"You'll have to catch another."

Heedless of everything she had been trained to believe, she followed the man when he swept away. They walked briskly but didn't run, didn't make spectacles of themselves, only acted like they needed to hurry to catch their plane. Natasha was exhausted and her breasts were aching but she pushed it back, pushed it deep into a place where she could function cleanly and deal with it all later, grounding herself on the feeling of the bag bouncing against the small of her back.

"Who are you?" she asked, their shoulders brushing.

The man snorted. "The enemy of my enemy's enemy is, I believe, an even better friend than most, but I won't be telling you anything, thank you, I'm in a hurry and my assistant is late," he said. Despite the warmth of the day he was wearing a scarf, and he flicked its end at her.

Natasha narrowed her eyes. "And who's your enemy?"

"Rather defeats the purpose of not telling you anything if I tell you everything, now, is it, Miss Romanova?"

Whipping her head around to look at the mouse-faced man in the red scarf and tacky t-shirt, Natasha hardened her expression and made a show of grasping his hand like a loving wife so she could dig her fingernails into his flesh, right above a vital artery. "How do you know my name?" she growled. "Don't think I couldn't kill you with a fingernail."

"Oh, I don't doubt it," replied the man, just as casual as moments before. "I know your name because I, too, live in New York. And because you're known around the world with the rest of your costumed pals, though you seem to have forgotten that little tidbit. Turn left here."

She turned, and somehow or another they slipped unobserved into the line for another plane. The man swapped out her ticket for his, shook her limp hand, and vanished without another word. Perplexed, a little breathless, Natasha followed the line and allowed them to shuffle her onto a plane bound for Berlin just as a pretty, dark-haired woman hurried to her apparent new friend's side and started lecturing him.

Before she was ushered through the breezeway doors she glanced back, met the man's eye. He made a telephone gesture with his hand and mouthed, Call them. Then he was gone, for real this time, leaving Natasha even more puzzled than before. She glanced down at the phone still clutched in her hand and marveled that it only took eight hours from home to turn everything on its head. Still, missions had gone further awry in less time before. She could handle this.

She could.

*=this set of dialogue is HEAVILY based off of a quote from Black Widow: The Name of the Rose