Winter can't find words for when he finally meets back up with Natasha. They're in the mess hall and her eyes finally move to meet his. He's only been staring at her in a mixture of confusion and pain for the past five or so minutes. Maybe ten. He knows it's not her fault but that doesn't make the reality of it any easier, or make his stomach less queasy when Alexei leans over to kiss her. They're surrounded by well-wishers but Natasha can't look any more uncomfortable. She hates being in crowds, they remind her too much of being on a mission and the base is the one place she can usually find some semblance of solitude. She told Winter that when they were wrapped up together one evening and it's with a heavy pang in his heart that he realizes that can't happen any more.

Natasha is loyal to a fault; if she's getting married, well. Winter stands and leaves his tray there. He has to get out, has to go to the training room or to his room or outside-anywhere but there. Anywhere but where her eyes can find him and tell him how uncomfortable she is, how she wishes he could come in and pull her away. He'll never be able to do that anymore. If he could cry Winter is sure he would have, but all he feels is hollow. Instead he tries to fill that emptiness with a work-out, something brutal to put pain in his joints rather than allowing him to focus on the pain in his chest. His fists make mincemeat out of the punching bags, his legs tremble from running for so long, and his arms, both mechanical and normal, are trembling by the time he's done with the pull-up bar and still it is not enough. She's embedded in his skull, trapped by his own imagination as his mind flashes back to the moments they had together, both in the field and in private. It makes him vomit, bent over in the bathroom attached to the training room, to think of Natasha and Alexei together, the former's lips parted as the latter presses his hands and mouth to all the places Winter has mapped out.

No.

It doesn't just make him sick it makes him furious, and for the rest of the day he spends his time in the training room, releasing his demons and anger the only way he knows how, adrenaline making his previous weaknesses seem miles away. He's losing her, he knows this, and no matter how hard he tries, no matter how many holes he puts in the equipment or how many times he bends the metal of the machines in his anger he can't get her back. She's slipping through his fingers and being dragged down where he can't get to her.

By the time he's done it's not just sweat, blood, and tears that he's leaving in the training room but his heart as well.

Somehow he hopes she'll be waiting for him in his room, and it only makes her absence that much more painful when she isn't. No, she has duties to perform. He has heard that the wedding will be held in a weeks time; Winter will make sure he isn't here for it. There's no force on the planet that would make him stick around to see that travesty.

It's three days later, when Winter comes back from his second consecutive mission, that Natasha waits for him in his room. Until that point he's done well to avoid her, taking what few meals he eats in his room, or else spending his time in the training room on the far side of the base. He didn't trust that he could stop himself if he ran into her in the room, the memories of the many times they'd tumbled and come together in the four walls would have been too much for him to bear. It certainly doesn't make the sight of her on his bed, legs crossed and eyes searching his, any easier. He freezes in the doorway, the ache he thought had finally turned into a dull throb coming back so forcefully his hand crushes the metal of the door frame.

"Natasha." He says when he can finally muster words.

"Winter." Her voice is not quite formal, as though she's waiting for him to say more. When neither of them do it's her that breaks the silence first, surprising him and then putting him immediately on guard. She's never been one to take initiative unless there's something she wants. What more could she possibly ask from him? She asks him how the mission went and he responds with a shrug and a muttered "Fine" before he steps towards his closet to strip the black suit off. His guns thud as he places them on the top of the dresser and the sound of him undressing is that that there is for another few minutes.

"What can I do for you, Natasha?" He asks, proud of himself that his voice is able to remain so steady. The last thing he wants, besides that marriage to go through, is to look weak in front of her. He's sure his absence has already made him look unfavorable enough but he can't help it.

She's standing behind him in a matter of moments though he ignores it. She thinks she's silent with how quiet she can be but Winter is used to relying on the quietest of noises to tell whether or not Natasha had still been alive while on mission. He's come to depend on the noise and the thought makes him sick again.

"I didn't ask to be married to him," she murmurs. He can feel her breath hot against his bare back and it takes all his strength to keep himself from shivering, or even worse from turning around and holding her against him.

"Okay."

"I just wanted you to know. I don't like that you're mad at me, Winter."

"I'm not mad at you." The words are out of his lips before he can even contemplate them. They're a lie and she knows it. Yes, he's furious. Not just at Ivan or Alexei but in the slightest of ways he can't help but be angry at Natasha. If she had just stuck up for herself for once she wouldn't be in this position, or at least she wouldn't be getting married to Alexei but maybe to Winter.

The thought makes the next few words nearly impossible to get out: "Does he even know you're here?"

"Doubtful. He's not been able to tear himself away from Yelena long enough to notice that I even exist outside of missions." There's not a shred of anger in her voice, the words ringing instead with a soft acceptance. It makes Winter's rage grow even stronger. "That's why I came here, Winter. You've never made be feel an ounce of the resentment or rejection that Alexei has."

No shit he hasn't. The thought makes his jaw tense and he turns to face her with a narrowed gaze. "Of course I haven't, Natasha. Even at my worst I'm nowhere near how bad Alexei is on his best day. Why didn't you fight against it?"

"I can't, Winter. Couldn't. What was I supposed to tell Ivan? That I wasn't going to get married because I didn't like the man? That's not what this is about." She sighs, the breath slowly leaving her body, before she moves to sit back on his bed. "It's about sending a message. To you. That you can't stand up to what Ivan wants. He thinks that by taking me away you'll come to your senses and do better, and it's working. You've completed your, what, second mission in a day? And you're scheduled for three more, all of them individual?"

Winter nods. Yes. Since the announcement he hasn't cared much about anything else than finishing the next mission and getting his mind off of what was going on back at base. Up until then it had been working, and it clicks that in doing so well on his missions and throwing himself into them he's giving Ivan exactly what he wants. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth that forces his lips to twist into a grimace.

"So why did you come here?" There. The question is finally out between them and she can hardly look at him. "What do you want me to do, Natasha? I don't do the missions I get killed by Ivan, I do the missions I give him what he wants and show him that he's able to dictate our lives. What do you want me to do?" His voice has risen by the last sentence and for the first time since he has met her he watches her shrink away from him, flinching as he yells. He regrets it immediately, and steps closer to take one of her smaller hands in his. He squeezes it as gently as he can and she finally looks back up at him.

"I don't know what else I can do, Tasha," he murmurs, staring down into her own conflicted eyes. She feels the same as he does, he knows this. Trapped. Outsmarted, outgunned and outmaneuvered neither of them can do what they want and instead must accept the position they were originally created to fill: soldiers, pawns to be pushed around and sacrificed as it benefited the player. There was a time, when Winter had first gained consciousness, that he'd though there was no greater privilege to work for one's country, to be used in order to protect those around who were defenceless. Now, under Ivan's rule, all he amounts to is a servant to the man's whims.

Natasha seems to be on the same page. Her fingers squeeze Winter's and she leans in to whisper in his ear, her breath hot against his face. "You could take me away from here and leave with me. Please, Winter. Please take me away."

A/N: Surprise! A second chapter! I hope this makes up for how long it took for the last one to come up, though this one's pretty short, too. Enjoy! Thank you all so much for all the views and reviews-they make me so very, very happy 3

As ever none of the characters belong to me.