When Jane revealed that she was pregnant, all of Shield broke into an impromptu celebration. She'd suspected for a while, but waited till the first trimester to tell everyone. She had been quivering with trepidation when she'd visited Banner's clinic, scared people would think her irresponsible. Life—new, miraculous life—meant different things to different people, but that night, everyone agreed that Jane's baby was proof that they weren't just existing in this world, they were living; they still had the capacity to create.
Jane and Thor sat next to each other, a bit overwhelmed, joy leaking out of every pore. Jane seemed relaxed; Banner had pronounced both mother and child healthy. Thor couldn't stop looking at her, touching her. He jumped to his feet whenever she so much as stirred, and brought her water, plates of food, and even a cold compress for her feet. Darcy and Pepper swooned.
Darcy cracked open the booze and the party slowly evolved into a blur of laughter and singing. Peter Quill dusted off the gramophone he had been restoring. Sam handed him a Marvin Gaye record he'd found in the library. They cheered at the first notes of "Trouble Man". Coulson twirled Wanda around recklessly, who tipped her head back and laughed, the first time in months. Scott devised a complicated drinking game which fell apart quickly and Hope decided that they should drink whenever anyone did anything. Banner stood at the threshold, clutching his glass, humming absent-mindedly, until Pepper asked him for a dance. He looked startled, but said yes. Stark and Steve conversed in a corner, heads bent together. Stark had barely sipped his drink.
James watched them with narrowed eyes. He threw his hands in the air when Steve leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss on Stark's mouth. "Out of all the men in Shield," he grumbled. "He has to go and pick the most annoying one." But the look he sent them over his shoulder was nothing short of fond. Natasha smiled.
Soft strains of music followed them out into the night. Natasha leaned against the great oak, the breeze ruffling her hair, and watched the revellers spill out onto the rippling grass. The sky had darkened; it would rain soon. James came to stand before her. He was close, too close. She didn't push him away.
"I swear I could see your foot tapping to the music." In the dim light, his eyes glinted mischievously—sometimes grey, sometimes brown.
Natasha lifted her chin. "I don't dance."
"You do ballet."
"I did ballet."
James' gaze turned inward. "I'm wondering if we'll ever go back to the way things were—the things that used to give us joy. Watching Jane and Thor..."
"I'm happy for them. Shield needed a little bit of levity—something tells me this will be short-lived."
"So even you think the bandits are not done with us?" He was quick, as usual.
"No they definitely are not," she said. The conversation was taking a grave tone. For once, Natasha wanted to steer it to lighter, more pleasurable matters.
Holding his gaze carefully, Natasha wound a hand round the back of his neck and drew him forward. Her nails scratched lightly against his skin, and he groaned. He raised his arms, telegraphing every moment, and placed his palms on either side of her. It was easy to forget his bulk, how tall he was. Now, Natasha was hyper aware of every part of him as he cocooned her; his warmth, his scent.
When they kissed, Natasha felt alive for the first time in years.
It was as gentle as the rain that was falling down around them. Natasha parted her mouth and let him in. Heat coursed through her body as they deepened the kiss. His hands skimmed her back and slipped under her shirt. She arched into him, and he pushed her with a growl, his body pinning her against the tree.
"I like this side of you," she purred, nipping his ear.
James shuddered, unable to say a word. Instead he buried his head into her neck and sucked on her pulse point. She gasped and clawed at his jacket, desperate to rip into shreds.
They would have stood there entangled in each other for god knows how long if Natasha hadn't noticed through the delicious fog in her brain that something was wrong. The music had stopped. The drunken laughter had been replaced by a low, urgent buzz.
Natasha lowered her leg—she hadn't even noticed when she had wrapped it around him—and hissed, "James. Wait."
He lifted his head immediately, the pupils in his eyes blown wide. She pointed, and at once he caught the strangeness of the scene.
"Something's happened."
.
.
They fixed themselves and walked back into the dining hall. They stood so close their arms brushed against each other, but no one commented.
Everyone's attention was on Hill, who in turn was staring at her radio set. Her deep blue eyes were shining. It could have been the alcohol, but to Natasha, she looked…hopeful.
Sam filled them in. "Hill received a broadcast just now. It was the military, looking for human survivors."
Natasha staggered. They hadn't heard from the military since the outbreak. They'd assumed it had collapsed along with other government organisations. This was huge.
"If the military is reaching out to us," pointed out Banner. "It means a permanent settlement. It means the chance of a cure."
There was a pin drop of silence. Then voices broke, expressing varying degrees of hope and relief. This nightmare would be over, it would be all over…
"Did they say anything back?" asked Natasha cautiously.
"No, it was a recurring broadcast. It stopped now," said Hill. "But they used all the correct identifiers. It is the military."
"It could be a trap." Fury emerged from the shadows—a few people jumped—the panes of his face set in stone. "Set by the bandits to lure us out. It's too risky."
"And it's too risky a chance to pass up," snapped Hill. "We have to check."
"Maria's right," said Coulson, breaking the glaring match between the head of Shield and his deputy. "Someone needs to at least make sure this is legit."
"I'll go." The words were out of Natasha before she could process the implications.
"I'll go with her." James rose to his feet. They stood side by side, daring anyone to object.
Puzzled eyes took them in. A low murmur filled the room. Steve scanned them, the surprise on his face gradually being taken over by understanding.
Fury remained silent for a long time. Then: "The two of you do make good partners."
Partners. The word burned between them, bright as the sun.
.
.
The coordinates given in the broadcast pointed to a seaside town, more than a day away. They headed for the coast in the morning in a rusted red pick-up truck that Stark swore worked. They rode in comfortable silence, the wind whistling through the cracked windows their only source of music. The kiss hadn't been forgotten; instead, there was an unspoken agreement to table it for later.
"We're here." James shook her awake. They'd taken turns driving through the night, wanting to reach the source of the signal as soon as possible. She'd fallen asleep to the lull of the car and the rhythm of his breathing.
"You should have woken me up," she grumbled, stretching out a kink in her neck.
"Nah, you looked cute." His fingers lingered on her throat, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Oh yes, they hadn't forgotten about the kiss.
There was no sign of anyone, alive or dead, at the dockyard. The storefronts and restaurants lining the quay were silent. Natasha peered over the edge at the grey water, a thin tendril of fear stroking her spine. Motorboats bobbed on the surface, looking like they hadn't been touched in ages. Most seemed beyond repair.
"Are you sure this is the right place?" James eyed his surroundings warily.
Natasha frowned. "The coordinates were very specific."
"Just that there's nothing here. Not even a zombie."
"I know. I can see that," she muttered irritably. Her body was taut with tension; she kept expecting bandits to come crawling out of the woodwork.
Hill had been quite convinced of the authenticity of the broadcast. Natasha believed her, but the question was: why here? There was nothing for miles but the big, blue sea.
The sea.
"It wasn't just the military. It was the navy!"
Hope sparked in his eyes. "You mean one of these boats-"
Natasha nodded furiously, rapidly scanning the docks. "That one!" It was smaller than expected, and for all intents and purpose, appeared civilian. But years of experience had taught her to seek out the little details that did not fit. This boat screamed government.
They sprinted across the jetty, the planks protesting under their weight. As far as she knew, zombies could not swim. It made perfect sense for the government to set up a haven on an island. It would take a number of trips, but this boat could ferry all of Shield to safety.
James reached first. "Hello!" he called out. "We're from Shield. We received your message?"
There was no answer.
It was the house on the hill all over again. Swallowing her apprehension, Natasha leapt off the jetty onto the deck.
A corpse dressed in navy fatigues greeted her. A zombie. James cursed.
Without a word, they split up. Natasha explored the lower deck, gun drawn, feeling stupider by the minute. She encountered more of the crew on the way. Some were human, some had transitioned. All were dead. Someone on board had been infected, and it had spread. By the time the boat had reached the dock, it was too late.
Her theory was confirmed when she reached the communication room. A body was slumped in front of the console, a bullet wound gaping on the side of his head. His pants were torn, and his thigh was crusted with dried blood and what was clearly a zombie bite. He had been the last man standing, had realised he was bitten, and shot himself.
Natasha wanted to scream. She should have seen the signs. Why was the boat not tied to the pier? Because there had been no one left to secure it. It had been carried by the current to the dock, where it had stayed for years—judging by the calendar attached to the wall—waiting for them. And she hadn't noticed anything. She'd been distracted by the prospect of good news.
James appeared on the threshold, face grim.
"The broadcast is old," she answered his unspoken question.
"H-how?"
She gestured listlessly at the dashboard. "It was set to be sent out periodically—once every couple of months, I'm guessing. It was the last thing this man did, probably hoping for someone to hear and come to them."
"And Hill happened to be on the right frequency at the right time."
"Just two years late."
James groaned and punched the wall. When he glanced up, his eyes were wet. And Natasha realised that, while he hadn't shown it, he had staked all hope on this fool's mission. He looked positively crushed. She approached him, hand outstretched. She touched his shoulder, and he seemed to collapse inward.
Roughly wiping away his tears, James ground out, "I thought this was our way out. I thought we were done living in fear, looking over our shoulders, for zombies and fucking bandits alike. I thought we were done." His voice was hollow, and something in Natasha's chest tightened.
"What do we do now?" he finally asked.
They could go in search of the island, if it even existed. There was no sign of this boat being a part of a larger military operation, no maps, and no other coordinates. They could take the boat into the high sea and ride the currents, until the fuel ran out.
"We go back," she said steadfastly. "And we try not to roll our eyes at Fury's I-told-you-so."
James smiled without humour. But he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and stood. Natasha rose to her tiptoes and cupped his cheek gently. His eyes shuttered at her touch. They left the cabin together, not looking back. Hope was only going to get you in trouble in this world.
.
.
Fury and Coulson took the news stoically. Hill stalked off the room without a word. For the first time ever, Natasha pitied the woman.
After Coulson left to check on her, Fury remarked, "So it wasn't a trap, but was as good as one." This was the closest he would come to an 'I told you so'.
Those were grim days for Shield. Laughter was seldom heard and everyone kept their head down and finished their work. They knew there was no one coming to save them anymore, that Shield was it for them.
Those were happy days for Natasha. It felt wrong to feel such peace when everyone else was struggling, but Natasha figured it was high time she learned to be selfish. She spent almost every waking moment working and training with James. Steve joined them from time to time, and they even allowed Stark to eat with them, provided he stop cracking dirty innuendos about them.
James had all but shifted into her room. He'd been nervous as hell the first time, because he knew what a big deal it was for her to let him into her space. But this was a choice Natasha made for herself and she never regretted it, night after night, as she lost herself to his touch, as she succumbed to a bliss she thought she'd never experience again, as her nightmares were finally banished from the world.
.
.
Fury had them ranging further and further these days.
He sent them to a town that Natasha knew intimately. "Is there a problem?" he'd asked, as if it wasn't the same place he'd found her, devastated and alone.
"Not at all," she'd replied.
She was on edge the entire time. Her skin crawled with unease. It's a big town, she kept telling herself, you don't have to worry. She tried to hide her disquiet, but James noticed, of course.
"Okay, what is it?" he finally asked, as they were raiding a surprisingly stocked supermarket.
"This town just brings back bad memories, that's all," she said lightly.
"What happened here?"
Natasha paused. This was a pivotal moment, but she knew she had to tell him. He deserved the truth. "My partner and I were here on work when the outbreak occurred. We had no clue what was happening. There was chaos everywhere. A bunch of us were holed up in the hotel, but it was too late. Someone was already infected. There was so much blood… My partner—we killed so many that day." Natasha recounted the memory as if it had happened to someone else.
"We got out, survived for a few months in a safe house. We were looking for a ride out of town, when- when he got bitten." Her voice faltered. "It was the stupidest thing ever. He was protecting me—came in between me and a zombie. And that was that." She inhaled sharply. "Fury found me just as I was ready to give up. He was driving across, looking for survivors to bring back to Shield."
James listened without comment. His eyes were gentle when he asked, "When you say partner…?"
Natasha sighed. This was it, the last of her she'd kept hidden from him. "There's something about me you need to know."
They sat facing each other across the grocery aisle as Natasha finally revealed her past life. She told him about working as a government agent, being partnered with Clint Barton, doing the nation's dirty work. "I've done terrible, terrible things, James. Even before the outbreak. I've killed people, I've infiltrated organisations, I've spied on innocents." She let out a harsh laugh. "In a way, I'm glad of the zombies. At least I get to start over."
"That explains a…lot," said James. "Your combat skills, the way you handle a gun. How you recognised the boat on sight. Why Fury treats you like an asset."
She stared at him in wonder. He was taking this so normally… "Later Fury told me he was also a part of a government organisation. Another one, but we have that much in common."
James nodded. "I gathered as much. He runs Shield like a goddam spy. All those 'missions' and 'intel' and 'debriefings'."
"How- how are you not horrified?"
He looked her straight in the eye. "It does not matter to me, wouldn't have then, doesn't now. You think I don't have blood on my hands? You think you're the only one who's done awful things while 'following orders'? I do not think less of you, Red. I don't think I ever would."
Natasha blinked back tears.
"Thank you," he said. "For sharing it with me."
"I-"
Crash. Shattering glass. They were on their feet instantly, weapons out.
"Sounds like we have company," remarked James. He disappeared into the back of the store, towards the sound. Natasha took a few moments to compose herself. There was a loud thud. "It's a feisty one!" he called out.
Natasha emerged in the dairy section to find the zombie pinned to the floor. It turned its face and roared, and she stopped breathing, her legs giving out. For trapped beneath the upturned shelf, out of all the grocery stores in town, as if he'd heard her talking about him, lay Clint Barton.
.
.
James took one look at the expression on her face and said, "Did you used to know him?"
"No, no, no, Clint!"
His eyes widened. "This was your partner! The one who was bitten? But I thought-"
"No, I did not kill him. I couldn't!" she yelled, backing away. "We'd been partners for years, had been through so much together. I could not make myself do it. He told me to run. So I ran. I left him and I ran." The full horror of what she'd done hit her again and she choked back a sob. "I didn't expect to come across him like this…"
Which was a stupid thing to expect. Of course Clint had turned. Zombie bites were irreversible. But meeting him here, immediately after she'd told James about him… Natasha did not believe in fate but somehow, someway, her story had drawn Clint towards them.
"But what you told Wanda, I thought you knew how it felt. That you'd done it before."
"I'm a good liar," she said with a weak smile.
James lowered his gun slowly. He looked nauseated. "We can't leave him again."
"We can't," she agreed, but did not move.
"I can—if you want—I can take care of him. Just turn away." Natasha knew what he was offering—the same mercy she'd given the man in the attic. He would spare her from destroying this part of her life, if she just asked.
"No." It was like pulling teeth, but she continued, "It should be me."
Natasha pointed her gun at the face of the man who had once been her partner, her best friend. It was a rare thing they had—someone who always had her back, someone she trusted unreservedly. He'd mentored her, gifted her his beloved knife, saved her life. And now she had to murder him.
She was crying in earnest now. Her hands shook so badly the gun was in danger of slipping. She almost dropped her arm until James whispered, "Look at him, Red. Look into his eyes."
There was nothing. His face was gaunt, his hair rotten, his mouth stinking of blood and flesh. And Clint's eyes, once warm and open, were full of hunger and rage. He struggled and bucked against the weight of the shelf, only one thing on his mind—to eat her.
Natasha squeezed the trigger. Once, twice.
The bullets found their home in Clint's skull. Blood painted the tiles. He let out a final snarl and lay still.
She threw away her gun and collapsed on the floor. There were no tears, just a huge, gaping void. Each shot had echoed deep inside her, shredding her apart. Nothing in the world would ever fix her again-
"Natasha."
Her name. His voice. It was a beacon drawing her out of the darkness. She tugged on the bond and followed it back to the man she lov-
Natasha crashed into him with a wild clash of teeth and lips. She kissed him roughly, desperately, nothing like ever before. She poured all her pain, everything she couldn't say into it, and he responded in kind. His touch set her aflame and Natasha had no intention of letting go, ever again.
She slowed down, and James held her. Stroking her hair, he murmured, over and over again, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"Promise me something, James," she said a long while later.
"Anything."
"If I'm ever bitten, shoot me."
James hesitated. She tugged on his hair, made him hold her gaze. "Promise me," she repeated.
"Okay. But you have to promise me the same."
"If you're bitten, I will not let you transition," she said in a hoarse voice. "I will kill you."
"Thank you."
.
.
For one mad moment, Natasha had almost suggested they leave, that they abandon Shield and continue on in the rusted red pick-up truck. The thought of returning filled her with dread. But in the end, she cleaned herself up and got into the car silently.
The mood at Shield was unexpectedly tense. Coulson intercepted them on their way to the dining hall.
"The bandits have been spotted nearby."
"I thought they'd crossed over to another state?"
"A fake-out. They took the long way, and now they're here."
Natasha resisted the urge to say I told you so.
The bandits arrived the next day, as silent as death. They took cover behind trees, the natural elevation of the ground working in their favour. Natasha and Hill surveyed them from atop the watchtower behind the boundary wall of Shield.
"It's hard to estimate properly," said Hill. "But their numbers are fewer than ours."
"What is their plan here, exactly?"
"To lay siege, starve us out maybe."
She snorted. "Yeah, I think we have enough provisions to outlast them."
The long-awaited battle was a quiet one, almost anti-climactic. Overnight, the bandits had dug trenches and they hid there, occasionally emerging with bouts of gunfire. During the night, a few would attempt to climb over the wall. The night patrol would repel them every time. Thor was injured one night, a gunshot to the leg, and sent to Banner's clinic to recuperate. Jane was secretly pleased—at least he would be away from the frontline.
Natasha could see this stalemate going on forever. Shield held on resolutely, but the stress of being on constant fight mode had started taking its toll. Tempers began fraying, nerves started coming apart. Stark was more belligerent than usual, Banner had a permanent frown line, and even Steve became more subdued. Finally Coulson had enough and without telling Fury, he marched towards the watchtower with a flag fashioned out of a white T-shirt and stick.
James and Natasha hurried behind him as backup. When he'd climbed to the top, Coulson shouted at the top of his voice, waving the white flag, "STOP THIS MADNESS! LET'S TALK AND SORT THIS OUT."
There was silence, then a lone figure stepped into range. Natasha could not make out his features except for the russet colour of his hair.
"So Shield is interested in sitting down and talking? Really." The wind carried his deep and arrogant voice to them.
Coulson gasped. He staggered as if he were shot. "This can't be," he exclaimed. "Alexander Pierce!"
The bandit smirked. "Tell Nick I say hello."
.
.
Coulson ran at full speed to the dining hall, grass ripping under his feet. Natasha had trouble keeping up.
"Who is Alexander Pierce?" asked James, confused.
"He used to be in Shield," Natasha muttered. "Until he rebelled. But I thought Fury had all of them killed-"
"Well apparently not!" fumed Coulson. "Where is he- NICK!"
Fury walked in calmly. "What, Phil?"
Coulson grabbed him by the collar—Natasha started, but did not intervene—and snarled, "What is Alexander Pierce doing with the bandits."
Fury disentangled himself. He looked around at the shocked faces of the members of Shield and said coolly, "He's their leader."
Stark blanched. "You mean to say they aren't dead?"
"No, I did not kill them. I exiled them, a mercy that has obviously come to bite me in the ass."
"You should have told us!" said Coulson.
"And have you become sympathetic to them?" sneered Fury. "No. The bandits needed to be destroyed."
"Can someone explain what's going on?" asked Steve.
Fury cleared his throat. "Alexander Pierce and I were friends. We were with each other during the outbreak. You could say we founded Shield together. But soon, a rift appeared. Pierce had different ideas on how to run Shield, notions that went against mine." He grimaced. "A small group within Shield supported him. One night, they tried to take control. Some of you were there, you remember how it went." Stark glowered at him. "We crushed them, and instead of executing, I banished them, something which I regret doing till date."
"Why did you lie to us?" asked Hill. Her voice was matter-of-fact, but her eyes tracked his every movement.
"Because I had to protect the status quo. Shield runs on certain rules, everyone had to understand the seriousness of breaking them."
"How did we never notice the bandits were Shield?" wondered Sam.
"Because they've been recruiting," said Coulson bitterly. "They've only sent new members on Shield raids. They've been biding their time."
"So it isn't just our resources they want," said Natasha. "It's personal." Her heart was beating fast. All this while, the bandits they'd learn to hate for hunting and killing Shield, had turned out to be one of them. She thought she'd left her life of lies behind.
"You fool." It was Pepper, staring daggers at Fury. "You absolute fool. You brought this upon all of us. You couldn't just work it out with Pierce—it was your way or nothing. You led him to mutiny. You exiled our friends, and no, do not tell me that's better than death because they are back! They want revenge. They've been terrorising Shield for the past few years, killing so many—Hank, Stephen, Sharon, Rhodey, Pietro. It's all your fault!" Pepper seemed to be burning with anger, and Fury had the good sense to look somewhat discomfited.
Coulson gave him a piercing look. "I'm going out again, and clearing this all up. Now that we know they're Shield, we can end this feud."
Natasha trailed after Coulson as he strode forcefully towards the gate, the white flag in his hand. He waved at Hill to buzz open the gate. Pierce was still standing on the other side, as if he knew they'd be back.
"Fury told us everything, Pierce," said Coulson, breathing hard. "Put down your weapons, let's talk."
"It's too late for that," drawled Pierce, and fast as a snake, he drew his gun and shot Coulson in the chest.
.
.
How could she ever describe the carnage that followed?
Before Hill could force the gate shut, a dozen bandits streamed inside. They fired indiscriminately, and caught unaware, Shield members fell. Natasha and others retreated to dining hall, and shot back. The infiltrators were soon outnumbered, but the damage was already done. Coulson was gone, trampled underfoot in the chaos. Natasha spotted Darcy's body under the great oak tree. They dragged the injured inside, and Banner set to work immediately. It was too late for Quill, who had taken three bullets to the stomach.
Fury stared open-mouthed at the bodies, the cost of his lies. He sat down heavily next to Coulson. No one spoke to him.
That was just the beginning. Some didn't make it through the night. The bandits were relentless. The volley of bullets never ceased. They launched rocks and Molotov cocktails over the wall—one burst near Sam and burned half of his face. The bandits increased their nightly infiltration attempts. Natasha barely slept the next couple of days.
James did not leave her side. They fought together, patrolled together. He covered her when she reloaded, she pushed him out of the way of a flying rock the size of his head.
Shield fought back as best as they could. It was hard killing people they'd once eaten with, laughed with. Natasha and James, who had no such allegiance, used their guns without compunction.
It was not enough.
How could she ever describe the fall of their golden friend?
.
.
It was almost dawn and they were finishing up their patrol. The night had passed without incident, so they took a breather. Steve gingerly leaned against the wall. Natasha sat on a tree stump a few feet away, shutting her eyes against the growing rays of the sun. James stood between, eyes tense and watchful as always.
They spotted Stark limping towards them—he'd twisted his ankle the day before—carrying the axe Steve had used to chop firewood, and now used to bash bandit skulls. Steve brightened at his arrival.
"I sharpened it for you," Stark said casually. "I was taking stock of the weapons and I thought might as well. It's not a big deal-"
"Thank you, Tony." Steve smiled.
James made a face. "Get a room, you two."
"Hey, you and Nat make horny eyes at each other every day."
Steve chuckled at the outraged expression on James' face. "Bucky," he said. "You should-"
An explosion cleaved the world apart.
Natasha was thrown back with the force of the blast. Her ears rang with horrible silence, her vision was a blur. She gasped and rose unsteadily to her feet. A hole had been blown in the wall, and where Steve had stood, was a pile of rubble.
"STEVE!" someone yelled.
Natasha was on all fours retching, soot and dust coating the inside of her throat. She looked up, eyes streaming, just in time to take in the scene illuminated in cruel detail by the rising sun: Stark and James frantically digging through the wreckage, and pulling out the body of Steve Rogers, face still lined with the laughter they would never hear again.
.
.
"NO!" Stark's anguished shriek struck her in the gut. "YOU BASTARDS!" He turned to the gaping hole, from which a bandit had just managed to climb through. Stark swung Steve's axe and buried it in the bandit's neck with a shout.
James, who was still cradling Steve's head, had frozen. Natasha uttered a warning cry and shot a bandit behind him. James spun around with a look of murderous rage. Forgetting his gun, he fell upon the bandits, drawing blood with only his fists.
"James! Tony! We need to fall back!" They did not appear to have heard. Natasha was frantic. They would be overwhelmed soon.
"We need to bring Steve inside!" That finally got their attention.
Stark and Natasha carried one end each of the body, with James providing cover. By then, the rest of Shield was already out on the field, and it was under that protective fire that the three of them retreated.
They slowly placed Steve on the tiled floor. Shocked murmurs and gasps echoed around them. Natasha gently drew his eyelids close, her heart in a million pieces. Stark bowed his head and wept.
Outside, something had changed. Shrieks of terror and primal snarls heralded the arrival of another enemy. The zombies were here.
.
.
"James, wait!" But he wrenched himself from her grasp and plunged into the fray without a word, his eyes promising violence. Natasha shouldered her gun, looked at Clint's knife and hesitated—it seemed woefully small in the light of things. Instead, she picked up Steve's axe and sprinted.
Pandemonium reigned. Adrenaline coursed through her blood as she wielded the axe mercilessly. She didn't waste time on the bandits. The zombies were a priority. Ahead of her, James made no such distinction—his gun was a living thing in his hand as he took out bandits and zombies one by one, recklessly leaving himself open for attacks. Natasha knocked a bandit aside and ran to cover him.
The zombies were threatening to overwhelm them. The bandits, recognising this, changed their tactic. And for one shining moment, Shield and the bandits united against the zombies. She thought of Steve when he'd said 'If we're breathing, we're all on the same side'.
The illusion shattered. The bandits had been trapped between the horde of zombies on one side and Shield on the other. And while the combined human forces had managed to suppress the zombies, the bandits had taken the brunt of the zombie attack. It all ended when Alexander Pierce was shot.
"That was for Phil Coulson," said Maria Hill.
"You bitch," he snarled. He fumbled for his weapon but before he could shoot Hill, a round of bullets punctured his body. Fury lowered his gun and looked down at his friend with a mixture of disgust and dismay.
The bandits lay down their arms after that. It was all over.
Well, not exactly. The injured had to be separated from the dead, the surrendering bandits had to be confined, the remaining zombies had to be killed. Natasha roamed on the field, breathing hard, her body heavy with battle withdrawal, searching for James.
Wanda was supporting a hurt Scott across the turf. With a start, Natasha noticed that a zombie was behind them, gaining ground. She yelled in warning as she raced, shaking her gun uselessly. She was too far away, and she was out of bullets…
Suddenly James was there. He tackled the zombie and they rolled onto the grass. The zombie was now on top. It snapped its mouth. "JAMES!" Natasha sprinted as fast as she could. No, no, no, no. But for once, the gods weren't listening. And the world stopped spinning as James brought up his arm to cover his face and the zombie sunk its teeth into his skin.
.
.
Natasha barely registered the bullets tearing through the zombie's flesh, Pepper dropping her gun and kneeling beside James. The only thing she was aware of was the glistening bite on his lower left arm.
No, no, not like this. It was all supposed to be over!
"How bad is it?" breathed James.
All the colour had leached out of the world. There was only red, the red of his blood.
He craned his neck to see the wound. His head thumped back, despair clouding his features. "Natasha," he said. "Listen to me, I've been bitten. You know what you have to do."
Something snapped inside her. Pain, like she'd never experienced before, flooded her system. This was pain that would never go away, pain that would undo everything whole about her. The abyss opened up beneath her feet and she stared at it with unseeing eyes.
"No," she whispered. "But I just found you." Her voice cracked.
"Natasha. You have to let go." He grimaced as his arm twitched. "You promised."
She was weak, a coward. Hypocrite. She wished she'd never met James. She wished she didn't know him so intimately. She wished he were anyone else so she could just pick up the gun and forestall the horrible fate that lay before him.
Tears streamed down Pepper's face. "Let me call Banner."
"It doesn't matter," said James sharply. "Natasha, you have to shoot me."
"I can't. I can't."
Natasha raged against the unfairness of it all. Anger flowed through her like fire, turning to ash everything he had mended inside her. If she went through with this, it would hollow her out. She was absolutely sure of that. There would be no life for her after this.
"I'm begging you, Natasha." His eyes shone with tears. "Do not let me turn."
There was no other choice.
She raised the axe. Her hands trembled violently. "Give me a moment." She gulped breaths of fresh air, her mind in shambles. No, no, no. But there was point in delaying.
She knew what she had to do.
"I love you," she told him.
James shut his eyes.
Sunlight glinted silver on the blade as Natasha brought down the axe on him.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Bruce Banner washed his hands off blood for what felt like the umpteenth time. It had been days since Pierce had died—the remaining bandits had been locked up, the dead had been buried, the wall patched, but the injured still needed looking after. Bruce exited the room to find a figure curled up on a chair in direct view of the door.
Natasha sprang up. Her face was gaunt and her body stiff from spending her lonely, unbroken vigil outside his clinic, but her eyes were pure steel as she demanded, "Well?"
"He's stable. Finally stopped bleeding."
She stumbled, relief crashing into her like a wave. Bruce was beside her instantly, gently steering her into his room. Towards the cot where James lay.
He was awake. Natasha's eyes went straight to his face instead of the empty space where his left arm had been.
"You made it," she said softly, as if she hadn't believed it until now, as if she'd chopped his arm off on nothing but the tiniest shred of faith.
"And the infection…?"
"Nothing. It didn't get time to spread," replied Banner. "The axe was pretty efficient." The scene was permanently etched in his mind: running across the field, followed by Pepper, seeing James passed out in a pool of blood, assuming the worst until Natasha had whirled around, eyes like a wild beast, and told him she'd axed his arm off to save him. And it had actually worked.
The look on James' face was nothing short of awe. "You mad, mad woman."
"I know I promised," she said intently. "But I couldn't let you go. I was too selfish."
"Well, I'm not complaining." He grinned faintly.
Bruce left to give them space. Outside, Fury was pacing the corridor. Tony and Pepper, who'd arrived just then, gave him matching glares.
"James is fine," he said, before anyone could ask. "He'll live."
"Thank god." Pepper clutched her throat.
"He's not going to turn?" asked Fury.
"No, if he was going to, he would have already," said Bruce testily. "The infection's gone."
"Good." Fury nodded. Then: "We need to discuss Natasha breaking the rule."
"Are you fucking serious?" Stark whipped around.
"She saved him!" said Pepper. "He's okay now."
"That does not change the fact that Natasha failed to kill someone who was bitten," barked Fury. "There's no guarantee that chopping someone's hand off is going to work next time. We can't take that risk."
Pepper spluttered, her strawberry blonde hair flying. "After the whole Pierce thing, the bandits, you still want to stick to your goddamn rules at the cost of everything else? After everything Natasha and James have been through you want to exile them?"
"Nick, at least put it to a vote," said Banner.
"There is no need." Natasha appeared on the doorway. James stood beside her, his face wan but clear, his left sleeve tied into a knot. "We're leaving."
"What?"
"James and I are leaving Shield. It's something we've been thinking about for a while now."
For a moment, Fury looked taken aback. He scanned them, considering. Natasha returned his stare, complicated emotions swirling between them. Bruce knew that it was Fury who had found Natasha, probably saved her life, brought her back to Shield. In return, Natasha had given everything to Shield, she had been one of its most invaluable members. And now, just like that, she would be gone forever.
Bruce expected Fury to change his mind, to convince Natasha to stay. "That settles it then." And he turned on his feet, and left, his long coat swishing behind him.
"You don't have to, Nat," pleaded Pepper. "Fuck Fury and his rules."
Natasha and James glanced at each other for a split second, sharing a look only they could understand.
"It's not only about Fury," she said at the same time he said, "We want to."
"But how- how will you make it? On your own?"
"Oh, I think they'll be fine." Stark shuffled forward. Grief had shrunken him but a spark of his old self still remained when he said, "Oops, I dropped these." And Natasha smiled as he carefully placed the keys to the red pick-up truck into her palm.
A large crowd gathered to see them off next morning. Fury was noticeable in his absence, but Hill was there. "You know this means you can never come back." She sounded genuinely sorry.
"I'll miss you," Wanda cried. Natasha hugged her.
Sam, face covered in bandages, clapped James on the back. "Kick some zombie ass for us."
Bruce felt a warm presence by his side. Pepper smiled weakly. "It feels like the end of something." He nodded, though he wasn't sure why. As Bruce watched Natasha and James saying their goodbyes, shouldering their bags, and preparing to take their chances on the uncertain world outside, he felt strangely envious. They had each other, he supposed, and that's all that mattered.
They walked out the gates, the sun painting their backs in hues of orange and pink, their shadows stretching ahead of them, as if eager for all that was yet to come.
The end.
This was a wild ride for me. Do comment if you enjoyed reading it. Do comment if you didn't :P I'd love your feedback!