Two weeks after Natasha's note came through, Steve wandered into the common room after settling Bucky into the pressure chamber for the on night of his now every other day treatment schedule to find Coulson leaning against the wall, watching Clint who had fallen asleep on one of the couches.

"Is he still mad at you?"

Coulson sighed tiredly and stuck his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. "Not sure that 'mad' is quite the word. I can hardly blame him though. He's having to undo three years worth of grieving. I should have told him."

"Yes, you should have."

"How's Barnes doing?"

Steve shrugged. "Erin keeps saying he's going to break down and cry at some point and that'll help but it's just not happening."

"From what I've seen he seems to be more lucid more often. Not that I've spent much time with him, been busy with what's left of S.H.I.E.L.D."

"How's that going?"

Coulson pushed off from the wall and headed to the stairs, Steve following behind him. "It's a mess. Untangling Hydra from the good stuff is much easier said than done. Last week when I was away, I was with my team trying to clean house and round up what good agents we've got left alive." They got to the kitchen. "I need Natasha."

"I know." Steve watched Coulson pour himself a bowl of cereal. "Buck needs her too."

Coulson paused. "Red in their ledgers."

"Right."

"Here's hoping she gets here soon."

The next morning, Steve and Clint tossed a ball back and forth in the gym while Barnes tested Tony's latest attempt at a Winter Soldier-proof punching bag. This prototype was doing better than the last five had. Suddenly, Barnes stopped pummeling the bag and clutched at his left upper arm, a pained breath hissing through his teeth.

"Buck?" Steve stopped tossing the ball and stepped toward his friend. "Are you okay?"

"Fine." Barnes's voice was tight and the knuckles of his right hand had gone white with how hard he was gripping the metal of his arm.

Steve stood next to him, concerned and rather helpless. "I thought you couldn't feel pain in that arm."

"I can't," Bucky spat. He kicked viciously at the punching bag and sank to his knees gritting his teeth. "Not if it's real."

Not knowing what else to do, Steve knelt beside him, put an arm around him, and put his own hand over Bucky's.

Watching quietly, Clint set down the ball he'd been left with. It occurred to him vaguely that he should probably feel like he was intruding, but he was a spy and the thought was fleeting. Eventually, Barnes relaxed as the phantom pain subsided. He twisted to rub at his left shoulder blade. Steve took over the rubbing. "Does that happen a lot?"

"No."

"Acupuncture's supposed to help," Clint offered. He received a gray-eyed glare in response.

"I don't like needles."

"You can't feel acupuncture needles."

"I do not like needles."

"Okay. No acupuncture." Clint held his hands up in surrender and strode casually from the gym. He had made it to the common room when he ran into Tony. Behind the billionaire was Coulson, in one of his usual suits, looking unusually severe.

Tony brandished a tablet at Clint. "You. Natasha sent something else—from an actual computer this time I think—and she's still using whatever kind of code it is the last one was in. Nobody but you seems to be able to follow it."

"Lemme see." Clint held out a hand for the tablet.

Behind the three of them, the elevator dinged. The doors opened and out stepped Natasha with all her usual grace, despite being in a pair of very tall heels and having a bulging backpack slung across her shoulders. "Stark, you really need to improve your security."

The men stared at her. Tony blinked a couple times then found his voice. "What the hell happened to your hair?"

She tucked a single, tight, honey-blond curl behind one ear. "Russian fashion happened."

"Please tell me you're going to fix it." He sounded legitimately disturbed. "I can't handle you blond."

"It'll be red again within the week. You." She strode up to Clint, grabbed his face and kissed him.

When she allowed him to pull away, he looked slightly sheepishly at Coulson. "I've told you she does that, right?"

Coulson sighed. "Yes. I'm resigned to the fact that there's probably some dictionary somewhere with a picture of the two of you next to the entry for 'romantic friendship.'"

One of Natasha's eyebrows arched. "Damn right there is." She stepped in front of Coulson, considered him for a moment, then, in one fluid flash of motion, punched him in the jaw, grabbed the front of his shirt, yanked him to her, and kissed him.

He jerked away from her, rubbing at what was probably going to be a bruise. "What the hell was that?!"

She jabbed a finger at him. "You deserved that punch, you got kissed because I'm damn glad you're not dead, and you need to brace yourself because as soon as I can get you on your own I am going to bitch you the hell out." She pivoted toward Tony. "Where's Barnes?"

"Uh." Tony looked to Clint for help.

"Gym. With Steve."