Chapter 2: North by Northwest.

A/N: Okay shoot me, I lied. It was going to be a one-shot, but my dumb brain wouldn't let it go, so now your getting a whole story – ain't you lucky.

Reviews/favorites/follows are all accepted and appreciated.

Chapter 2 takes place approximately 2 months after chapter 1.

"War is hell, Mr. Thornhill. Even when it's a cold one." (Leo G. Carroll North by Northwest.)

Last night, Natasha dreamt . . . .

She dreamt of a young girl alone in a room the color wine.

She was clothed in a mint sundress. She was small, and thin with knobby knees and elbows, and large knowing green eyes. She was covered in the blood of the people she had killed, it stained her face and arms crimson, permanently dyed her hair red.

Her back was straight, her shoulders squared. She had been in this room her whole life it seemed, staring into the endless sea of redness, waiting for someone, though she didn't know who.

A sickly boy with sandy-blond hair, and sky-blue eyes stepped out of nowhere, and took her hand, kissing it gently. He was not afraid of the blood that stained her hand, that now stained his lips.

"Come with me," he implored. "Together we will be stronger. Together we will kill all the monsters."

She griped his hand tightly, and they ran. She heard familiar voices in the distance demanding her return. She tightened her grip, and picked up her pace, and the world turned light.

She never wanted to let go of the boy's hand.

~000~

It was a two day drive over the Canadian border to where her friend (or at least as close to a friend as someone like her could have) lived. Too long of a trip for a motorcycle, they could easily have flown first class in one of Tony's private planes, but Natasha and Steve decided on a whim against it. A road trip away from the others had a certain appeal to it, and they certainly had enough vacation time racked up between them to cover the extra travel time.

The road was long, and straight, and nearly empty. Natasha's mind wondered to that odd dream, to that boy and girl, to the voices that even now chattered in the back of her mind, reminding her she was their property, their pretty little weapon.

The redhead gave a slight, almost imperceptible shake of her head to clear it. She then gave a sidelong glance to her partner on this trip. Steve was reclining slightly in the passenger seat, his eyes were closed, and a smile played at the corners of his mouth. He was dressed in what Tony often referred to as his 'old man clothes', a plaid shirt with sleeves pushed up, white t-shirt peeking through the top, and vintage indigo jeans. His only concession to modern times was a digital watch, and brand new black and white sneakers.

His arm was on the arm rest, and for a brief moment she was tempted to take his hand and hold it tight.

She shook her head again, this time with a little more vigor, frustrated with the turn her thoughts had momentarily taken. These men, and their women, were making her soft. And there was a part of her, the apathetic Black Widow who was created through torture, and anger, and hatred who just wanted to push them all away, especially Steve, whom she felt was getting dangerously close to her. And then there was Natasha, who despite everything wanted something more than death, and war.

She grabbed his hand, and held it tightly, willing the Widow back into its cave.

Waking with a start, the blond stared at their joined hands, and noticed her white-knuckled grip. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and gave her a concerned look.

"Are you okay?" he asked. Had he been normal, his hand would have surely been severely bruised. Fortunately he wasn't, so her grip was more an emotional concern, than physical pain.

"I'm fine," she said. "Can't a girl hold your hand without you thinking something is wrong?"

"Of course, she can" he said. Idly he rubbed circles onto the back of her hand with his thumb. He let the matter go for the moment. "Are we almost there?"

"Yes, just another couple of hours," she said, glad for the topic change. She glanced at him. "You didn't have to come with me, you know."

"I know. But I wanted to come with you. I like spending time with you, but you do know Tony is going to give us hell the next time he sees us?"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Don't remind me. He wants to know whether I've deflowered you yet."

It was Steve's turn to roll his eyes. "Geez, that guy has no tact," he muttered. "And why does everyone assume I'm a virgin? I was on the road with a lot of beautiful, and willing women before I started fighting. And even then I had plenty of opportunities."

The redhead quirked an eyebrow at him, and chuckled at his exasperation. "First, Peggy would have shot the women in the face, and you in the balls, and secondly, that's just not you. You're not a player, you're a one woman man, and whom ever gets you is going to be very lucky."

The blond man sighed deeply, and looked out the passenger window.

"Hey," Natasha said. She tugged at his hand to get his attention. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"Is there?" he asked archly. "It seems that nowadays if you haven't had multiple partners, than something must be wrong with you. You're either closeted or repressed," he said with a sigh.. "I just think that sex should mean something."

"Yeah, it should," Natasha said quietly. For a brief moment she saw herself as a 10-year-old. She had yet to bud into a young woman, but already her handlers from the red room were teaching her how to seduce, and beguile a target.

"Natasha, are you okay?" he looked down at their joined hands and saw that once again her knuckles were white from the pressure she was using.

"Are you – are you having some kind of flashback? Should I drive the rest of the way?"

"No. It's nothing; I'm fine," she replied. She pulled her hand away, and took hold of the steering wheel, made a show of showing him how well her attention was on the road. And maybe she would have fooled someone else, or at least intimidated someone else into thinking she was telling the truth, but Steve wasn't fooled or intimidated. He insisted they pull over into the next rest stop, and she reluctantly agreed.

With the engine off, Steve unbuckled his seat-belt and then her's, he then captured her face between his hands and pulled it so that they were eye-to-eye. His hands are strong and warm, and she resisted the urge to lean into them.

"Talk to me, Tasha. I thought we had something growing between the two of us, now it feels like you're pushing me away."

The redhead closed her eyes almost as if in defeat.

"Look at me," Steve ordered. "Talk to me."

Her eyes snapped open. "I don't know what's the matter with me," she said with a sigh. "And I don't like it. I don't like not knowing what's going on with my own head. I had enough of that shit with the red room. I don't need it here."

Steve frowned. Always the red room, he thought. He wished he could burn the place down and kill everyone of her handlers with his bare hands for what they did Natasha. The hell they had put her through will always hang around her neck like an albatross.

"I can still hear their voices, like chattering crickets in the back of my head telling me I belong to them, that I'm not human."

"Have you thought about speaking to someone?"

"I'm speaking to you, aren't I?"

"I mean professionally."

"I know what you mean. I don't want to speak to some shrink, I don't trust them to not go running to Fury. I trust you, believe it or not. Why else would I be dragging you out into the middle of freaking Canada?"

Steve laughed softly, and lets go of her face. He rested his head against her shoulder, and she mirrored his actions. their arms wrapped around each other, forming an oddly colored cocoon, his dark colored clothing contrasting with her pale green sundress. They breathed deeply, their enhanced sense of smell taking in each, and every nuance of the other.

She slipped a deceptively thin, delicate hand up along along his arm and underneath his shirt where she traced barely noticeable childhood scars along his shoulder blade.

"I got beat up a lot as a kid," he said by way of explanation. "Some where more enthusiastic than others."

"Kids," she said, her voice little more than a growl.

"Yeah, kids," he agreed. Not that adults could be any better, as evidence by Natasha's own upbringing. Silence fell upon them after that, and stayed for several minutes. "Why me? Out of all the people you could bring with you, why me?"

With a sigh, the redhead pulled away; Steve thought he had angered her. She regained her composure and buckled her seat belt. It was nearly a minute before she answered. "I told you, I trust you. But there's more to it than that."

Steve stared intently at his companion. He knew what she was saying was taking a great deal of courage, and he was not about to interrupt her.

"I like you, Steve," and there's a note of disbelief in her voice. "You're a good man, a good soldier, a good everything. I would follow you to the gates of hell, and then right through them to the other side."

Her hands gripped the wheel tightly, and the blond male was surprised she hadn't warped the steering wheel. "It's been a long time since I let anyone in, trusted anyone to see anything but the Black Widow, but for some reason I want that person to be you."

Steve blinked in surprise, and then smiled. "I like you too Natasha." He pried her fingers from the the wheel, and massaged them to allow circulation to flow. He kissed each finger, and then each palm and then finally her lips. He knew this was a bold move, and that the redhead could easily punch him in the face, but she didn't. Instead she leaned into the kiss, ran her hands through his hair as she deepened it, and allowed him to take the lead for a few moments.

The car was quickly filled with soft moans as the two super-soldiers, able to go without breathing for several minutes, kissed deeply, and without reserve. They took turns exploring the other's mouth, and their hands roamed through hair, and over what little bare skin there was. Natasha wasn't sure if she should damn the seat belt for keeping her from jumping on top of Steve's lap, or be glad for the restraint.

It was only with supreme willpower that the two were able to pull apart. They were panting lightly, their lips were kiss-swollen, their pupils dilated, their hair mussed. "We better get going," Natasha said while stroking his face with a shaky hand.

"Right," Steve said with a great deal of reluctance, his body quivering slightly. He ignored, as best he could, the growing pressure in his pants, the scent of her pheromones that in such a confined space, and with his sensitive nose was overpowering. He opened the window and breathed deeply. After a few minutes, he buckled his seat belt before returning his arm to the armrest, but refused to look the redhead in the eyes.

"Steve," she said, trying to get his attention. "Steve? Do you really want your first time to be in the front seat of Tony's car?"

"No. I'm sorry, I just can't look at you right now. You're too beautiful. And I want to do this right."

"Sex should mean something, right?"

"Right. When we get back I want to take you out on actual dates, like normal people."

She wanted to remind him that they were not normal, nor have they been for a great many years. Instead she grabbed his hand, and held it, not in a death grip, but tightly and lovingly. "I would love to go on dates with you." There was a genuine smile on her face as she turned the ignition, and led them back on to the road.

She never wanted to let go of the boy's hand.