So let me just start by saying THANK YOU to everybody who reviewed, followed, and/or favorited this story! The support is amazing, and I love you all for it!

Also, there will be more than two chapters. I realized that one: I'm really enjoying writing for these two, and two: what I had originally planned for chapter 2 fit a lot better with a later chapter so here we are!

I don't own Captain America.

Enjoy!

-:-

Natasha was tired of waiting.

She and Fury—Sam was getting checked out down the hall—had been waiting in the hospital for what felt like an eternity. And Natasha prided herself on being a pretty patient person. She had to be patient on missions, when she was interrogating. But right now, it took all her strength not to barge into the surgery room and demand answers on Steve's condition. She had taken a break from tapping her foot insistently against the pristine white tiles and was now pacing back and forth, arms crossed firmly over her chest.

Her whole world had just come crashing down around her—all her secrets, all her lies, all her covers, blown, gone with the press of a button—and she was only worried about the man in the other room who had nearly died just a couple hours ago. Yes, in the back of her mind, she was worrying about what she would do, where she would go, who she would become. She had already seen a few nurses and other hospital workers glancing at her warily, some with fear in their eyes, the TVs beside them blaring the story of the downfall of S.H.I.E.L.D. Their stares made her insides clench. They had brought Steve in and the second they recognized his—bloody—star-spangled suit, there had been no questions, no hesitation, only deliberate speed to fix him. And here she was, frightening hospital staff who were surely thinking she was going to down them with a syringe or gut them with a scalpel.

And though the fact that people would now pass her by on the street and call her a killer, a monster, it didn't seem to matter with Steve in the next room, bleeding out, hurting. Natasha never thought she would see Steve Rogers, Captain America, fall. He was always so steady—a rock among the tide. He got thrown around, knocked down, but he always, always, got back on his feet. She forgot at times that he was just as human as the rest of them. It just took a little more to cut him down. But he still fought, he tired, and he bled along with everyone else.

Natasha paused her pacing and unfolded her arms, staring down at her hands. They were still covered in Steve's blood, though it was now dry, coating her skin in a brownish-red color. Her hands shook a little as she took the in the sight of her hands, literally stained red. More red in her ledger. Can you? Can you wipe out that much red? Your ledger is dripping, it's gushing red! Natasha shook her head, trying to rid Loki's plaguing words from her thoughts. Words that had so often haunted her nightmares since they were uttered to her. Tucking her arms over her chest so she wouldn't have to look at them, she resumed her pacing, trying desperately to shut out any thoughts of Steve bleeding, in pain, gasping for his last breaths.

"Romanoff." Fury said suddenly, halting Natasha in the middle of her fidgeting. Giving up on her pacing, she sat down heavily in the seat next to him, slowly letting out all the air in her lungs.

"Shouldn't you stop calling me that?" She asked a little bitterly. "I've been compromised, remember? You better go with Natalia until I figure something else out."

Fury looked at her with his one good eye, and Natasha saw, for barely a fraction of a second, a flash of pity in his good eye before it disappeared, making her question if she'd really seen it or not. Nick exhaled slowly, weariness etching every line of his face. He turned away from her, staring off into space in a very-dramatic, Nick-like fashion.

"As I recall," he started slowly, voice low. "Natalia Romanova was KGB. Stolen from her childhood and turned into a killer. She also died. Years ago, in fact. She was killed when I sent Agent Barton after her."

Natasha looked at Fury, confused. She waited for him to turn to her, explain, but he continued to stare at the white wall opposite of them. Frustrated, but knowing better not to interrupt, Natasha waited for him to continue.

"Oddly enough, when Natalia died, Barton found someone else. Her name was Natasha Romanoff. Similar to Natalia in many ways, except for the small fact that Natasha is a hero." Fury finished, folding his hands across his lap.

"Don't call me that." Natasha said quietly, firmly.

"What? Natasha? Or don't call you a hero?" Nick replied, finally turning to look at her again.

"I'm not a hero." She disagreed. "You know who is a hero, though? Steve is a hero. He's Captain America, a national icon. People look up to him. I'm nothing more than a killer and a liar. I deserve to be in there, not him."

Fury gave her a weird look, like he was seeing her for the first time.

"What?" She snapped, scowling.

He shrugged. "You've changed."

She gave him a disbelieving look. "I don't think so."

"Guess I made a good decision, after all." He continued, ignoring her comment. "Wasn't sure how it would pan out, partnering you two together, but it seems it worked out perfectly."

Natasha shifted in the hard plastic chair she was seated in, taken by surprise. Fury had partnered them together on purpose? She had wondered why, after New York, she had been set up to work with Steve and the STRIKE team, instead of working with Clint, who was then sent off on missions by himself. "You partnered us together? Playing matchmaker now, Nick?"

"Matchmaker? No," he replied, looking bemused by the thought. "I thought that you two would make a good team. You're polar opposites, yes, but you worked well together. Almost better than you and Barton. You and Barton are so much alike, but with Steve, he was there to make the calls that you never would, and vice versa."

Natasha didn't say anything, mostly because she had to admit that Fury was right. She didn't think, though, that Fury had counted on, or even thought that they would grow as close as they had. Even Natasha was surprised by the fact. Their relationship had started out strictly professional. So professional, in fact, that for the first eight months of them working together after New York, he still called her ma'am till she finally managed to wean him off the habit. Somewhere, in the midst of all her teasing him and teaching him little things at a time about the 21st century and him—finally—calling her Natasha, she realized that she had found a friend in Steve Rogers. And friends were not something she had many of. And maybe, if she was being completely honest with herself, he had become more than a friend. She didn't know what exactly Steve meant to her, but it felt like more than friendship. All she really knew was that she was scared as hell for him and if he died in that operating room, she didn't know what she would do.

The sudden ringing of Fury's phone broke Natasha from her thoughts. Fury muttered curses as he dug around in his pocket with his good arm till he found his phone. He glowered, until he saw the caller I.D. and his features loosened.

"Of course," he chuckled.

"Who is it?" Natasha asked, eyebrow raised in question.

"Take a guess," Fury said.

"Stark." She responded, a small, knowing smile pulling the corners of her mouth up. "Who knows, maybe he's calling to offer his condolences. Maybe he even got you flowers."

Fury glanced over at her and frowned, unamused.

"But, you know, S.H.I.E.L.D. collapsing is a pretty probable topic of conversation as well" she continued, giving Nick a smirk.

"Compromised or not, Romanoff, I can see that you managed not to lose your sarcastic touch." Fury muttered.

"It's a gift," she smiled. "And you should probably get that," she nodded her head at his phone, which was still ringing insistently.

"Not sure gift is the word I would use." Fury shot back, standing up as he answered Tony's call. "Stark, I'm assuming this call is not about my impending funeral."

Natasha gave a little laugh; an odd sound to her own ears after the week she'd had. Fury turned and gave her a genuine smile. As he listened to Stark's response, he gently leaned down to give her leg a comforting squeeze before he walked off down the brightly lit hallway, turning a corner and disappearing, leaving Natasha alone. She dreaded Fury leaving, as it left her with nothing but the sterile walls and floors and her own ugly, bloody, horrifying thoughts.

She didn't have to wait long, though, before a doctor came through the double doors that led to the operating room. Natasha immediately stood. The doctor—a man who looked to be in his mid to late-thirties, with close-cropped hair and square wire glasses—noticed her and came over.

"You're here for Captain Am—um, excuse me, Mr. Rogers?" he asked, looking at her kindly, so unlike half of the staff she'd encountered already that day.

"Yes." Natasha responded, nearly smiling at the doctor's error. The doctor almost calling him Captain America was a perfect example of what she had told Fury. People looked up to Steve. They saw the red, white, and blue uniform and knew exactly who he was.

"I'm Doctor Ellis, Mr. Roger's primary surgeon." He replied.

"How is he?" Natasha asked, not entirely sure she wanted to know the answer.

"He's stable right now," Ellis replied, his voice reassuring.

Natasha breathed a sigh of relief, one that she hadn't known she'd been holding in.

"He lost a lot of blood," Dr. Ellis started to explain. "He suffered three GSWs, a stab wound. He has contusions—some quite severe—covering most of his chest…"

Dr. Ellis continued to list off Steve injuries, and Natasha stopped listening, knowing there was nothing she could do about it anyway.

"We believe he'll pull through just fine." Ellis finished.

Natasha nodded, feeling at least a little better. Steve was going to be okay. "When can I go see him?"

"Now, if you'd like." Ellis replied. "We're moving him to a private room. We thought that would be best. You can get cleaned up there as well," the doctor looked down at her blood-stained hands.

"Oh, yeah. Thank you," Natasha murmured.

With a warm smile, Dr. Ellis led her down the hall to a bank of elevators. They stepped inside and went up to the third floor, the elevator delivering them to a hallway with the same white tiles and walls as the first floor. They walked down the hall, then took three turns. Right, left, right, Natasha thought to herself, memorizing their path just in case a quick escape was necessary.

Steve's room was the fourth one down on the right. Ellis opened the door and stepped aside to allow Natasha to enter. The second her eyes landed on Steve, her heart climbed up into her throat. Under the brightness of the light above his bed, he looked awful. The bruises and cuts on his normally flawless face stood starkly out against the pallor of his skin. He was attached to multiple IVs that were, no doubt, feeding him morphine and other assorted pain killers. And, due to his enhanced metabolism, they were probably giving him drugs in amounts that were enough to down a couple hundred people. Underneath the collar of his hospital gown she could see purplish-black bruises spreading across the muscles of his chest. But, despite it all, his eyes were shut and he looked downright peaceful.

"I know it looks bad," Ellis said quietly, coming up beside her. "He's strong, though. He'll be up on two feet in no time."

Natasha swallowed, not knowing what to do. She had always been a woman of action, constantly in the thick of things. She was always doing something, but here and now, there wasn't a damn thing she could do and that frustrated her to know end. She wanted to help. She wanted to help Steve like he had helped her so many times before. But standing in his hospital room, listening to the steady beeping of the monitors beside him, her blood stained hands wringing together, she knew, ultimately, there was nothing she could do but wait.

"You said there was a bathroom I could use?" she said quietly, though she didn't turn to look at the doctor.

"Uh, yes. right across the hall, actually." Ellis responded.

"Thank you," Natasha said earnestly, pivoting to face the doctor.

"No, thank you," the doctor said.

Natasha's heart skipped a beat, wondering if the doctor was not nearly as nice a man as she had originally thought. But, scanning his features, she saw nothing but genuine kindness that radiated from his small smile and brown eyes.

"For what?" she asked, still cautious, just in case his answer was something she did not agree with.

"Well, I was trying to figure out where I'd seen you before," he said, looking a little sheepish.

One exit, Natasha thought, glancing around the room in hopes of seeing anything she could use as a weapon. Was it possible that Ellis was a Hydra agent? If so, they sure as hell mobilized fast. If it was just Ellis, she could easily take him. Though he was a little taller than her, he wasn't very big.

"I recognize you from the news." Ellis said, and Natasha relaxed. Though, being recognized as the crazy-KGB-assassin-turned-S.H.I.E.L.D.-agent wasn't much better. She would almost rather fight.

Pushing his glasses up his nose, Ellis continued. "I mean, I saw what happened to your agency, but I recognize you from the broadcasts after New York. You see, my wife, she was in New York when the aliens attacked." Ellis swallowed, his eyes distant as if he was remembering watching the news as the Battle of New York raged on, and was remembering the worry and fear he'd felt for his wife.

Natasha's defensive stance fell away completely, and a thorn of sympathy stabbed its way into her heart.

"A lot of people are alive because of what you and Captain Rogers and the other Avengers did." Ellis said. "My wife says she saw you outside the building she was in, fighting the aliens. I just, I wanted to thank you. My wife might not be here if it wasn't for you. I've seen some of the staff giving you looks, but you should ignore them. You're a hero and don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

There was that word again. Hero. Natasha didn't know what to say, but she managed a smile. Ellis seemed to understand her lack of words, gave her one last smile and a nod, and then quietly left the room. Taking a deep breath, Natasha made her way over to Steve's bed and plopped down in the plastic chair beside it.

"I really wish people would stop calling me a hero," she whispered, even though Steve couldn't hear her. She took his hand, the one closest to her, in between her own. His skin was warm in between her cold fingers. But that was just Steve. He was light and warmth and everything good in the world. She, on the other hand, was shadow. Darkness. She was fire, and even though fire burned hot, it was the wrong kind of heat, the wrong kind of warmth. She was the kind of fire that destroyed. She was no hero.

All of the sudden, the last week seemed to catch up to her and a strangled sob escaped her throat. A few traitor tears slipped down her cheeks, dotting the white sheets of Steve's bed. She sucked in gasping breaths, hands shaking. She gripped Steve's hand tightly, turning his fingers white, but he didn't stir. She felt as if all the cracks in the shell she had perfectly constructed over the years were finally meeting, spreading, creating fissures in her being. Everything she had ever known was in flames. S.H.I.E.L.D., once so strong and whole, swallowed by the beast that was—is—Hydra, all in the matter of a few days. Her whole life, dumped on the ground in front of her, free for all. Everything she'd ever done, for this country and against it, open to prying, judging eyes. She felt fragile, utterly and completely breakable. Thin as a piece of paper, victim to the flames around her, turning her will to ash. And the only person she wanted to talk to about all of this was unconscious beside her.

Since she couldn't talk, she cried. Natasha could not recall the last time she'd cried or even if she ever had, at least not since the Red Room. She would be lying if she said it didn't feel good to let it all go. Tears spilled from her eyes and she allowed Steve's hand to slip from her own as she slid off her chair and collapsed to the floor, curling in on herself. Sobs wracked her body. She sounded like a wounded animal—lost, in pain, wanting nothing more than for it to all just stop.

Fury found her an hour later. The tears had long since stopped, but she had crawled into the corner and tucked her knees up to her chest, feeling utterly and completely empty, like she had cried out everything. Nick led her to the bathroom where he ordered her to wash her hands. She did so numbly, watching the water run from her hands a rusty red-brown color.

"Stark saw what happened on the news." Fury said solemnly as she worked to clean up her face. "Said he's already got reporters at the doors of Stark Tower, demanding to know if he had any part in this. Also said he's working on locking down S.H.I.E.L.D.s server until we can figure out what to do with it."

Natasha remained silent, afraid that if she tried to talk, she'd break down again.

"He told me to tell you that you and Steve are welcome to stay at the Tower," Fury added, trying to meet her gaze in the mirror.

"I'm not going to the Tower." She replied hollowly. "Not yet, anyway."

"Then what do you plan on doing?" Fury asked.

Natasha shut the water off. Without the noise of the faucet, the quiet was deafening. She turned around, bracing her hands against the sink as she looked at Nick.

"I don't know." She admitted, hating the way her voice hitched just the slightest.

"It's okay not to know, Romanoff." Fury reasoned. "Though, some press wouldn't be a bad idea. Some sleep would probably be good, too—you look like crap."

Natasha rolled her eyes, a smile breaking through. "Gee, thanks. I appreciate the support, really."

"I'm serious about the sleep though, Natasha. Wilson's here. He can watch Rogers until you get back."

Natasha sighed, knowing he was right. And sleep sounded pretty great. She was sure she would only get a couple hours before the nightmares would torment her till she woke up screaming, but even a little bit of sleep would be good.

"Okay," she agreed quietly.

Fury didn't say anything, but Natasha didn't need him to, and he slipped out with barely a sound. Natasha made her way over to Steve's room. She stepped over next to his bed and gently ran a hand through his hair.

"I'll be back," she murmured. "Try not to get into trouble while I'm gone."

"I'll make sure he doesn't try anything too heroic," a voice said, a Natasha turned to see Sam leaning against the doorjamb.

Sam looked exhausted, and Natasha wanted to take his place and sit vigil over Steve. She'd gone with less sleep than what she was running on now, but she also knew that it wouldn't be wise to stay. Waiting for Steve to wake up would deteriorate her already fragile state even more.

"Take care of him." She said firmly.

"I will." Sam promised.

With one last glance at Steve, Natasha made her way out of his room, not looking back because she knew if she did, she would run right back into his room. As she made her way through the halls of the hospital, she held her head high. Exposed or not, she was still the Black Widow. She was strong, even at her weakest point. She would go back to her apartment, try and get some sleep, then probably pack up her meager belongings. She would check up on Steve. She would do some press, and she would make sure the world knew exactly who she was and what she was still willing to do to survive. Because that's what she was. Not a hero, or a savior. She wasn't a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, not anymore. She wasn't even Natalia Romanova. No, she was Natasha Romanoff and she was a survivor.

-:-

Music for this chapter:

Grow; Rae Morris

Wait; M83

Skinny Love; Birdy

So there's chapter two! Hope you guys liked it! Looking at the story again, not sure exactly how many chapters it will be, but I'm thinking right now it'll be about four or five. So, stay tuned!

And please review! I really like hearing your guys' thoughts, and would love to hear some more! Let me know anything you liked, stuff you didn't like, any inaccuracies you would like to point out, anything! It really does mean a lot to me!

And once again, a disclaimer to Shadows of a Dream and her story Be My Shield, because there were a few more ideas in this chapter that were inspired by her story. She's an amazing writer, so a big thanks to her.

Thanks for reading!

-DaughterOfPoseidon333