Natasha

It was the night of the masked ball, and Fort Belle was alive with activity. People hustled to and fro, laughing and holding hands, looks of joy and peace in their faces. These were the rich society people, unaware that others starved and died and were killed every day around them. And as Countess Romanoff walked among them, smiling at the upper crust that accepted her as one of their own, she felt sick. She wasn't one of them, never would be. She wasn't a Countess. Not really. That was something from her old life. The one she wanted so badly to forget, to leave behind. To imagine dead. But it wasn't, not really. Try as she might, she couldn't leave her old ways behind. The red followed her everywhere and this man, this strange man that even now, amongst the crowds, watched her, like he was waiting. Damn these Americans and their patience! "You have an admirer." Bucky said, standing next to her. Natasha glanced up at him before turning slightly away and lifting her glass to her lips.

"You noticed?"

"Military?"

"I don't know. But I don't like it."

"Want me to," Bucky said indicating slightly with his head, "You know, take him for a walk?" Natasha smiled. Would she? Yes, she would love Bucky to fix her problem for her, like he'd done so many times before. But this problem was hers. All hers.

Clint

"So either you have an unhealthy interest in women who are way beyond you, or she's your next target. Either one, she's in trouble." Clint smirked at Stark.

"That's for me too know-"

"Yeah, yeah, heard it before pigeon man. I can help you know. Me and Steelman." Stark tapped his chest.

"Steelman?" Clint asked looking at Stark, "That's what you're going for, Stark?"

"What, Steelman? No?" Clint shook his head. "And what do you suggest, muscles?"

"I don't know Iron Man?"

"Iron Man?" Stark laughed. "Iron Man? If it wasn't so, so…utterly cool. Wait, that's cool. You might have something there, muscles." Clint shook his head again.

"I've got this Stark." Stark shrugged.

"Fine, but you'd better hurry. I think she's on to you." Clint looked up to see the Countess's driver standing alone in the spot that the Countess had just stood in. He looked at Clint and raised his glass, smiling.

"Damn." Clint swore and hurried as carefully as he could through the crowd. She wasn't getting away. Not this one.

Natasha

Leaving the sounds of the party behind her, Natasha made her way to the maze that the commander of the base had made as a distraction for his men and his home-sick wife and where she and Bucky had a pre-planned escape route ready and waiting. She picked up her skirts higher and practically ran towards the maze, looking behind her to make sure she wasn't being followed. Natasha didn't know what had gotten into her. Ever since she first saw that man, things had begun to change within her. Fears about her life, her past, her future began to surface, like a volcano, as if it had been waiting. Questions began to sound in her brain, about her life. All the killing. All the red on her ledger. Was it really her? Was it all real? Bucky had said she could escape it all once. They could escape together; escape all the killing, Russia, the red. But then he changed, or was changed. Like they all were changed. But part of the true Bucky had always remained, and it was him who risked his life to run away with Natasha, away from Russia. But the red and the killing had remained. She couldn't help it. Sometimes she loved it, lived it, for it. Other times she hated it all. Her life, the killings. Bucky hadn't killed since Russia, only once to save Natasha. But he always helped her, helped her through the nightmares and the killings, wiping away the blood when she fell crying into her bed at nights, covered in her constant friend. Now this man had appeared, like an answer to her prayers. She knew he was out to kill her. That much she did know about this stranger. And she welcomed it. The funny thing was, as she hurried to her and Bucky's escape route, she was smiling. She welcomed it.