Hello all! I am back with another installment of Clandestine! Summer classes are currently underway so I haven't had a whole lot of time to spend on this story, however, I am posting today because it marks a couple of special occasions.

First of all, Happy Birthday Chris Evans! Two years ago, in honor of this day, I posted the first chapter of Clandestine! (Happy Birthday Clandestine!) I didn't know how far I would ever get on this fic, but here I am 25 chapters in, with plenty of story left to tell.

A big thanks to those who have been here since the beginning, and to those who have joined the journey since. It really means a lot.

This chapter was pretty big for me to write, because of how I followed the events in the previous chapter ( :O! ). Before I get into AoU, I will be showing more of Natasha and Brooklyn's relationship, which you will see in this chapter, Brooklyn's transition into her new life and, maybe, introduce new abilities (I mean, she's been through a lot. She's not coming out of this unscarred in anyway, as you will see).

So, please enjoy.

Chapter 25 - The Winter Soldier Part 8

"I'm sorry, Steve. But she never made it out." there was a pause, as if the Russian was giving him time to let the news set in. "They scoured the river, but the wreckage was too great. They searched for hours, but... There was no sign of her."

His shoulders slumped, all he could do was nod. Steve wasn't sure what he was hoping to hear about Brooklyn's fate-something told him that she wasn't coming back-but hearing Romanoff actually say the words was different. It wasn't right.

Brooklyn told him that she could get out on her own, Steve knew only part of her strength but he couldn't help the feeling that he should have stayed to make sure that she would be okay.

Even though she told him to help Bucky, he still felt guilty for leaving her behind.

"I got that file you wanted." Natasha hands over the only known document on the Winter Soldier, a blank look on her face. With a few more words, she bids the soldier goodbye with a friendly kiss on the cheek. "Be careful, Steve. You may not want to pull on that thread."

Agent Romanoff leaves Steve and Sam in the cemetery, heading for her car parked across the way. It had been a wild 24 hours and the only thing she wanted to do was disappear. But her job wasn't done yet.

She told Rogers that she was going to find a new cover, since she exposed all of the ones she created when she outed HYDRA. And that was the truth. Just not the whole truth.

What she was going to do was a secret to every one she knew. Well, all but one. Though she didn't want to think about that right now. She had little to work with, and no time to make the proper preparations, but she would manage. She had to.

Natasha made the drive from DC to a house in the Virginia woods in a few hours time, the sun had long set, her light beams making shadows in the tall trees. She had her eyes on this small house for some time now; it was never officially on her records so no one knew about it, which was perfect. Parking her car a mile away, she grabbed her bag from the trunk and footed it the rest of the way, hoping that the situation she left hadn't gotten any worse in her time gone.

It was dark and cold in the night as she set foot inside. She knew better than to start the fireplace, so she grabbed a couple of thick blankets that lay on the table and walked to the back bedroom. Romanoff walked silently on the wooden flooring, listening for anything that might be out of place. When she reached the small bedroom she sighed.

Just where I left you. she says to herself.

There, on the twin bed, covered with multiple blankets, different machines beeping and humming, lay the still and pale figure of Brooklyn Reynolds. Her hair was pushed to one side of her face, a strand laying across her closed eyes.

Cuts littered her black and blue face, some covered in bandages, others stitched. Thick gauze protected a wound on her neck, somehow making her look smaller than Natasha knew her to be. A tube that ran down her throat helped her to breath, the only thing that made her chest rise and fall. Brooklyn's arms and hands were neatly covered in bandages as well as they helped to hold the broken and bruised bones in place. She was hot to the touch so Nat took great care in redressing the wounds, careful to not hurt the woman anymore than she all ready was.

The bullet wound on her leg was bandaged and elevated, working hard to fight off infections. Contusions ran up and down Brooklyn's legs, evidence of the hellicarrier debris slamming into her body as she tumbled in the waters of the Potomac.

Finally, after bringing the covers up to her waist and rolling up the tank top, Natasha could see the extent of the damage that the Winter Soldier had inflicted on Brooklyn's torso. Slowly, Natasha began to check the most serious injury over.

An ugly knife wound danced on her right side, an even worse surgery scar, red at the edges, hot like fire. Brooklyn suffered serious damage to her liver and kidney, and part of her stomach where the blade pierced deep. Half an inch of the blade had broken off and was sitting behind her liver, slowing being carried up into her chest. Natasha wanted to remove it right away, but... she was talked out of it. The best choice was to make sure she would survive first. Broken ribs on her left side punctured Brooklyn's lung and Romanoff couldn't help but wonder if any of the wounds would ever heal.

Brooklyn Reynolds should have died on the hellicarrier. And if she didn't die on the hellicarrier, she should have Died upon impact with the water and debrie falling around her. And if she didn't die in the fall, she should have drowned after being pulled down to the river's bottom. And if she didn't drown, she should have bled out on the bank as Natasha fought to get her breath. And if, and if, and if... Natasha could play this game forever. Really, Romanoff figured that the reason Brooklyn wasn't dead is because of what ever was tied to the source of her abilities. However it worked, that had to be why. It was the only thing she could think of.

Well, that and Brooklyn Reynolds was a fighter. Too stubborn to die under such circumstances.

"Don't give up just yet, kid." the assassin's words are soft and still carry through the small room.

Once the wound was cleaned and redressed, Natasha checked each monitor, logged everything in a laptop and added the blankets to the unconscious woman. She didn't know what else to do, so she took the handgun from her waistband, held it in her hand, sat down in a nearby chair and slept for the first time in what felt like years.

beep ... beep ... hmmmm ... beep ... beep ... hmmmm

White. Everything, white.

When I open my eyes, that is all I see. It was blurry at first, but still unmistakable, what with its stark contrast surrounding me like a box. Just, white.

I push past the confusion and try to gather myself. My chest starts to tighten and I shoot upright in the small bed. Something pulls at my right side, I don't know what it is. To my left I see a small table, a cup and empty containers and vials on top. There are no windows. Just a single lamp and one door.

Wires are attached to me and in my hast, something falls over. Something is tickling in my nose and I claw and scrape until whatever it was comes out.

My breathing has picked up, but I don't stop.

I rip out needles and wires and tubes, tossing everything across the room. My brain is telling me to get out, but my body is slow to respond.

What happened? How did they find me? How did they-

In the distance I hear a door open, then close. I stop moving, and listen. Whoever, or whatever, it was has stopped. This is when I make my move.

I push myself upright, having to grit my teeth together to keep from screaming, and proceed to swing my legs over the side of the bed. The wood floor is cold under my bare feet, the air in the room brushing my exposed shoulders. The clothes I wear feel strange on my body. As I walk the floor seems to tilt and sway as I press forward, my legs weak for some reason. I cradle my right side with my left arm and continue towards the open door.

The hall is white, just like the room. I'm surprised at the lack of guards but don't dwell on that fact for long. I'm in no shape to take them down anyway.

Keeping my back close to the wall, I listen as I continue through the building. Peering around a corner, I see what looks like a makeshift kitchen. Thinking fast, I walk to it and search for anything I could use as a weapon, pleased at finding a small steak knife near a tin of water.

The sound of footsteps starts again, heading in the direction I came from. They stop, then turn around before coming right towards me. I grip the knife in my right hand, and when the person is right around the corner, I stick my foot out to trip them, wrench their arm behind their back and place they blade against their neck.

"Who are you? Where the hell am I?" I say the words with a sense of authority, but the truth was that I could hardly keep myself upright. I was in no position to make demands, though that wasn't going to stop me from trying. "What are you doing to me?!"

The person-the woman-was strangely calm in my grasp. She didn't flinch under the pressure of the knife. She just stood there. It was... unnerving.

"Take it easy, you are safe now." she says with her hands up. "You. Are. Safe. Just breathe."

"Answer me!" I press down harder, hard enough to hear the skin break. The smell of her blood reaches me within seconds. "Who are you!"

"I-my name is Natasha." says the woman. "I'm a friend."

Natasha? Do I know her? I don't understand. "Wh-what are you talking about? Where am I?"

Somehow she works her way out of my arms, takes the knife from my hand. I'm slumped against the wall, her warm hand on my shoulder.

"Hey, look are me. Look at me." I lift my head, but my sight is in and out of focus. "What's your name?"

My name?

What is my name?

"I... I-"

I couldn't find the strength to say I don't know.

And that scared me.

It was the sound of someone speaking that drew me from the depths of unconsciousness once more. A woman, I realize a few seconds later, was on the other side of the room, talking to herself. No, she had something in her hand, a small device.

A device for talking? A... phone? Who is she talking to? Is she going to turn me in? Shit, my head...

I groan, alerting her of my presence. I'm laying down, but the white walls aren't surrounding me like they were when I awoke last time. Instead, wood like panels that crisscross in a odd design, and a simple picture hang on a nail. One window, blinds drawn but still emitting a little of sunlight.

I go to sit up but two things stop me.

First, a blinding hot pain in my right side.

Second, the woman gently pushing me back onto the couch.

The world spins and I shut my eyes. My thoughts were all over the place, going from one thing to another in seconds. This can't be happening. I was so careful, they shouldn't have found me. But why aren't we in a base? Something isn't right...

"Here, drink this." the woman pushes a cup to my lips, her left arm helping me sit up enough to not choke on the unknown liquid. I resist at first, but it doesn't last for long and I give in.

"I need to ask you some questions, okay?" she waits until I manage a small nod. "Do you know who I am?"

Shit. Uh, didn't she tell me what her name was? It was, something I had heard before... "наташа," I furrow my brow, not understanding why I said the name in Russian. Trying again I say, "Natasha. You told me... your name was Natasha."

A sad smile crosses her face, but only for a moment. "That's right. What else do you remember?"

What else? What kind of bloody question was that?

Everything I did came flooding back to me, everything up until that snowy night in Russia. But everything after was... jumbled; I couldn't piece the images together. I see faces, but I don't know them, I see events but I can't place them. I can still hear voices, but I can't make out what is being said.

It is unknown to me how long I lay there and ponder over the ridiculous question. However, the more time passed, how this Natasha woman waited until I found something to say, I came to the awful realization that I couldn't remember much.

And what I do remember was something that I desperately wanted to forget. "What's going on?"

"You were involved in an... explosion." the way she says 'explosion' makes me think that is was something else entirely. "You suffered serious wounds; you need time to rest. This will help you sleep." she grabs a syringe and sticks it in my arm before I can protest. The drugs take hold of my system quickly, I find myself relaxing even though I still feel tense. "I will explain everything when the time comes."

"Wait... what's-" my eyes are heavy, closing without my consent. I have so many questions, I need answers. "what's my name?" I had to know. I had to know that it wasn't a dream, that what little I remembered after Russia was real.

The last thing I see is her smile as she tells me, "It's Brooklyn."

Two days passed before I wake again. Apparently I had the woman, Natasha, worried over those 48 hours. She said that an infection formed in a bullet wound in my leg and a fever broke out. I noted that people don't get bullet wounds in explosions, that I knew she was keeping something from me.

So, against what I assumed was her better judgement, she told me everything that happened.

A few hours later I sit on the couch with a bowl of broth in one hand and my medical file in the other. Natasha had to step out but hoped to be back before night fell. In her absence I decided to read the files Natasha had on me, hoping to find any missing pieces of myself.

"You're looking better,"

I jump at the sound of someone speaking behind me, this causing my broth to fall from my hand. Everything happened so fast that if I blinked, if I turned away for a moment, I would have missed it.

The bowl, falling to the floor, moments from shattering, froze mid air, surrounded by what looked like a white mist. Startled, I pushed myself back to the opposite end of the couch and the bowl was set gently on the ground, not a drop of broth spilled.

"Oh, yeah. You can do that, too."