Memories & Reality Chapter 23: The Long Road to Forgiveness, an avengers fanfic

Note –

FYI, the 12 year ago timeline is absent and will return next chapter.

So, my head went somewhere kind of trippy with this chapter. It focuses on the two main timelines here - Russia and the Present. But the present will have flashbacks. Two storylines in two timelines…and two sets of song lyrics intermixed, that I absolutely could not get out of my head while writing this one.

Another M scene below – hopefully this one doesn't leave you with the sad feeling that the last one probably did.

There's a note at the end. Enjoy!

Memories & Reality

I do not own any of this or any part of Marvel or the MCU

Chapter 23 – The Long Road to Forgiveness

One may see where a ripple begins, but not where it ends.

But whether it is ripples in time, space, or distance, there is a purpose. For there is a time and purpose to everything. And if one finds themselves in darkness or light, or in silence or sound, let them look back in hopes to remember. To remember that yes, there is a time and purpose, for everything.

For mistake and betrayal. For loss and love. For anger and hate. For acceptance and forgiveness. A time and purpose, for everything.

21 Months Ago –

"Come on, stay on."

Natasha's distressed voice echoed throughout the dark and tiny bathroom. Her palm smacked the overhead florescent light again, causing it to flicker above the dingy mirror she stood in front of.

This was not the plan. It never was, when it came to her life. When it came to Steve. Her and Clint returned from Kazakhstan earlier. And Ivan and Oksana were irate from the millions upon millions of dollars that were now gone.

And Clint and Natasha's initialplan was successful.

They'd successfully stopped the trade deal, killed numerous Poseidon terrorists in the process, covered their tracks with the help of their mercenary allies, and returned back to Ivan and Oksana's compound. Most importantly, they'd prevented an astronomical flow of money from going into Poseidon's hands, which would delay their plan of attack.

Now, the next step was all set.

Clint and Natasha, with the help of the mercenaries, would fake their deaths, and do what they could to stop Poseidon from afar. Natasha had written in her journal before she went to Kazakhstan, that she wished in her heart, that Steve would somehow wait for her after she'd done the unthinkable. After she said goodbye. That was still true, after Clint and she were successful and returned home. And it was still true as she told Clint they could finish their final step in leaving, tomorrow.

Natasha had something else she needed to do tonight. She was high off of the energy from their successful mission (coup). And she felt the best she had in years. Natasha and Clint had done something right. Something good. Something that officially stopped Poseidon from being able to move forward for the time being.

Nothing stops a terrorist organization as quickly as an abrupt termination to the flow of money.

That's what her and Clint had done. And Natasha felt proud. So proud, that she wanted to rebrand herself. She wanted to permanently say, 'Fuck You,' to her handlers. To Poseidon. To her life. To everything that was keeping Clint from a chance at a life. And from everything that was keeping her and Steve apart.

Maybe it was foolish and maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe it was her going a little delirious from their plan actually working in Kazakhstan. And maybe she actually started to have a little hope. Hope that her wishes in her journal might be more than just a dream of a foolish child who had a glimpse at happiness. That her and Steve might find their way back to one another someday. Whatever it was, her mind was set.

So, tomorrow her and Clint would finalize their deaths and escape from Ivan and Oksana.

But tonight? She was taking her body back. Natasha couldn't replace the 14 circular tattoos completely. She didn't have time to get rid of the trident, hammer and sickle, or two-headed eagle. And she definitely couldn't erase the scars. But she could take her body back, symbolically.

Taking something back. That's what this was about.

It was a small symbol, sure. And maybe some would even find it foolish or stupid. But to Natasha, this was more than just reclaiming her body. She was reclaiming an energy and purpose. She was clearing some of the red in her ledger and standing proud tonight. And for the first time, in such a long time, she felt deserving.

So no, she would no longer have words like Traitor, Treason, Poseidon and Whore staining her body. She would no longer feel violated by her handlers and Poseidon, who'd sunk their jagged teeth into her decades ago. Instead, Natasha would take her body back. And she knew just the man back in the states, to alter the 14 tattoos, by replacing the old words for new ones.

Abraham Erskine was a friendly older gentleman who'd been around in this lifetime. He'd managed to live to his older age, by staying quiet and keeping his ear to the ground. He was a man who knew way more than he ever let on, about Natasha and Clint's upbringing. And he was a man who unfortunately, found himself as Ivan and Oksana's commissioned 'Ink Man,' who'd been reluctantly branding Poseidon's spies in America, over the last decade.

Dr. Erskine was what he went by on the streets, but he hardly had a medical license. It was his nickname by trade because of his impeccable skill and craft in regards to art on the human body. He kept quiet for years, didn't ask questions, and in return, Ivan and Oksana paid him lucratively. And at first, over a decade ago, the money was good, and it seemed okay. Ivan and Oksana may have just been some weird occult leaders or gang members, branding their followers.

That's what he told himself in the beginning at least.

So, for years he was the tattoo artist who branded each and every spy under Ivan and Oksana. But as the years wore on, Erskine couldn't stop himself from hearing more and more in passing. And the more he heard, the more he couldn't stop himself from realizing what the tattoos really meant. He couldn't stop himself from knowing, the dark forces that Ivan and Oksana represented.

But for a while, he kept his mouth shut and stayed alive.

Until finally, the day arrived when he couldn't stay silent anymore.

Erskine finally refused one day, after seeing the scarring on Natasha's back. She'd returned to Ivan and Oksana recently. Natasha was forced down onto the table as Ivan's malicious tone ran through the air, "The dark circles aren't enough for this one. Little Yelena always wanted to be different from us, so she will be branded as such. Natasha needs additional reminders of where she came from and who she is."

Erskine took in the 28 angry and raw burn scars on her back. And then he looked in her eyes and saw enough defiance and pain in the hues of green to make him crack. He knew. He'd known for quite some time. And he saw all the pain and regret behind the bravery she tried to display. It was too much and it was his breaking point. No, he would not be putting words like Traitor, Treason, Poseidon and Whore on her.

Instead, Erskine refused, recognizing the sick obsession in Ivan's voice and Oksana's stare. No matter the consequences, Erskine walked away. That was his first and only warning as they demanded his silence or he'd be silenced, permanently.

Of course, Ivan and Oksana found another person to come in and finish the job on Natasha's back. It was inevitable at that time.

But that wasn't the point.

The point was that Dr. Erskine, a mere tattoo artist, found it within himself to stand up and say no. He said no in the only way he could. Bravery isn't always about grand gestures. It sometimes is about finding it within yourself to complete the smallest of acts because it's right, no matter the risk.

And Natasha was amazed. She was astonished that a man, who had no more to gain than his own ability to sleep at night, had actually refused to help Ivan and Oksana. It was simply something people never did.

Erskine's act stuck with her over the years so much, that she reached out to him before she went on her mission to Kazakhstan. She asked if he'd help her take her body back in her own way. She said she'd see him after she got back. And he was only too happy to help. In his own way, he could clear a little red in his ledger by helping.

But here Natasha stood, about to go off and meet Erskine. Here she stood in a dank and dark bathroom, with a light flickering overhead, because apparently where she was at in life, couldn't afford janitors or reliable electricity. How fitting.

She hit the light above her again as it finally stopped flashing for a few seconds. Natasha looked down.

"Shit."

The word was only natural because here she stood, holding a pregnancy test in her hand. She'd sensed it, feeling a little nauseous two months ago, but she told herself it was her conscience eating away for how things were left with Steve. From the goodbye and his assured pain that he was dealing with. But the nausea became a little more consistent and prominent. And then the prodding in her brain was a little stronger a month ago.

But Natasha pushed any fleeting thoughts away, telling herself it was the pending mission in Kazakhstan. Her and Clint had so much riding on this. They needed to be successful, not only because they were planning on escaping after, but because the safety was at stake for her friends and loved ones, and so many other innocent people. Putting a pause on Poseidon's planning, meant they had more time to figure out what the hell the terrorists were actually plotting.

It meant maybe they could stop them permanently.

Yes, her nausea was surely just nerves or guilt or worry. It was nothing more.

But Kazakhstan grew nearer, and Natasha felt other things. She felt tired. Her breasts felt a little sore. She'd taken her pulse several times before, during, and after the mission in Kazakhstan. It was higher than normal. Natasha knew her body so well from all it had been through over the years, and deep down she knew something was different.

But the mission came first. So, it came and went, and on the way back, the nagging became more of a constant throbbing inside her mind. She didn't just know something was different. She knew.

It couldn't be.

What she feared couldn't be the case. Natasha sat quietly, staring out the plane window on their flight back to the U.S., as Clint kept talking with her quietly about what to do when they got back. And she wasn't listening to a single word.

Instead, her brain was flooded with Intra Uterine Device facts and questions. Wasn't her IUD supposed to be effective when she saw Steve, three months ago? Didn't an IUD have a prevention rate of almost 100 percent?

But then she started questioning how long her IUD was actually effective for. Was it five, seven, or nine years? She only had one partner in the previous 12 years, so it really hadn't been a concern to her with Steve being absent from her life.

And then the weekend at the cabin happened.

And honestly, there wasn't even a thought when she'd told Steve that nothing had changed when they first made love. Because it'd never been a concern for her or them. Natasha was too worried about the pending heartache that would end that weekend. And she was too consumed by the love and passion that led up to their painful goodbye, to even think about anything else at all.

But now, clearly something had changed. Whether they somehow proved the odds or prevention rates wrong, or the expiration date on her IUD had come and gone without her realizing, it didn't really make a difference right now. Nothing else mattered as Natasha stood in the depressing bathroom, staring down at the cheap plastic stick. A stick that was screaming at her with its plus sign of positivity.

How in the fuck was this happening now?

Timing, always seemed to have it out for Natasha and Steve. But she took a breath, because time right now, was of the essence. She and Clint were at the edge, ready to run and escape. This stick didn't change that. In fact, it only made it more necessary. So, she pushed down the fear and worry, along with thoughts of the life growing inside of her. Just like she'd pushed down the awareness of symptoms that'd reared their head over the last one, two, and really…three months.

If anything, holding proof of something so pure and innocent in her hands, only made her plan even more necessary. Natasha was taking her body back tonight because it was more symbolic than ever, of taking her life back.

Natasha wrapped the stick in toilet paper, shoved it deep down in the trash, washed her hands and took a big swig of water from her bottle as she walked out the bathroom door. She headed to Dr. Erskine's place, knowing that the last word he would replace on her would be the one for Treason. And in its place, she would have him put, 'Ребенок.' The Russian word for child.

Present Day – Task-Force Compound

Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping

Natasha held Steve in the dark, being so thankful they were both alive. That he was safe. And she felt all the warmth and love from their kiss. But as he rested his head against her stomach for a moment, memories creeped into her head. Natasha couldn't stop as she recalled the beginning of the end of her journey, all starting with what happened 21 months ago.

It was like Steve could feel the vice on Natasha's heart, as they held onto each other. But before he could say anything, Steve winced from where'd he'd been shot in the vest.

Natasha pulled away, frowning. She knew he was in pain. She could see the weariness and exhaustion all over Steve's face as she whispered, "Come here, Soldier. I may not be at full-strength, but I think I can help with this."

Her fingers trailed over his beard and down his neck, running over his collarbone and shoulders. Steve closed his eyes and took a breath, feeling every gentle touch of hers. Natasha's forehead creased as she looked at him, and began caressing his sides, until she reached where he'd been shot.

This was an old song and dance they were playing right now, and it was more than music to both of their ears. Her fingers ran down his T-shirt to the hem as his eyes opened again, "I just want to see, Steve." Natasha's touch, felt so comforting that Steve didn't try to fight it as she lifted his shirt.

And there it was. The reality behind the bullet, her journal, and his vest.

Deep purple and dark red. Angry colors blaring from his body, already displaying painful bruising over his chest. The mark was about the size of a grapefruit right now, and she guessed it would grow twice as large by morning.

Sucking in a little breath before reaching forward, Natasha ran her fingers along his skin. It was the most intimate they'd been…with Steve almost bowing into her touch as he scooted even closer on his knees, in between her legs.

Steve would share with her later what'd happened - how close he had come to dying several times that evening. Right now though, the sound of silence was more than enough. Because Natasha could tell he needed this. She needed this too.

The truth was, Natasha and Steve weren't just the loves of each other's life. They weren't just each other's best friends. Beyond all of that, they'd been each other's supports and sounding boards, and yes, even punching bags when they needed to be, as they worked together in the FBI.

They were partners in every sense of the word.

Being an FBI agent was incredibly difficult, scary and challenging at times. And when one of them was struggling? Well, that's what partners were for. Natasha comforted and grounded Steve. And Steve was an adhesive holding her together through every battle and punch and close call.

They were each other's rocks when they needed it the most. A constant that they could rely on always, as they fought side-by-side with each other for five years. Yes, this was an old and familiar tune, that'd been repeatedly played over the years. But Steve and Natasha were only too happy to have the chance to replay it right now.

Because over the last seven years, they found themselves attempting their recovery and relief, very much on their own at night. Steve had to find a way to rub his sore shoulder and back on his own. Natasha had to put balm and salve on cuts, and at times stitch herself up all alone. And they both lied in empty beds at night, wishing they had the security of each other to ease their physical pain from the job.

Being alone wasn't the worst part though.

What was worse, was knowing what it was like before. Steve and Natasha knew the added comfort that came from each other's healing touches. From the security of one another's lips and hands. And because they knew how good it was before, it only made the longing and suffering that much worse, after.

The both felt that relief deep in their hearts right now, knowing they weren't alone anymore.

Natasha's caresses ran up Steve's ribcage and along his sternum. Her fingers splayed as they travelled over his chest, resting right where his heart sounded underneath. She leaned forward, kissing along the mottled coloring on his skin, and it felt like a blanket of warmth to both of them.

Finding Natasha alive was an answer to begging pleas that Steve never thought possible. But how Steve found her, filled him with such agony. They'd both been suffering for a month as her broken body began to recover. As he learned the truth about her scar, and about their child. And as they both waded through their grief.

Hands can be the source of immense pain, and had been for both of them through the years. Hands had cuffed each other in two shocking moments in their history. Hands had broken glasses from a result of their uncontrollable pain. And hands had hurt Natasha's stomach in the darkness at night as she found an outlet for her internal torture.

But hands can heal too.

Now in the stilled silence, on the first floor of a dark warehouse that was turned into a compound of protection, Steve and Natasha's hands were finally healing each other again. And with Natasha's hands and lips on his skin?

Well, it was the best Steve had felt in over two years.

It wasn't just the heart pounding relief that she was alive. It was the familiarity of their post-mission and hard-days routine. It was the familiarity of what once was. And it was the reminder of how incredible they were together. Steve wanted to be swallowed up by her touch as he wrapped his arms tighter around her waist, "God, Nat. I missed this…I missed this so much, that it almost hurts."

Natasha knew exactly how he felt. Because it was all inside her too as she sank back into the couch, and let Steve's head fall to her stomach. He pressed his cheek against her as her hands ran along his triceps, until they were once again around his neck. She shut her eyes, smelling the overwhelming scent of smoke from the fire on him, but not caring at all.

Natasha felt his trembling subside as his breathing steadied. The calming of her soldier. Just as it once was and always should be. Steve fell into a tranquil state. As her chest rose and fell underneath him, she drew soft patterns on his neck while running fingers through his hair. Yes, it was the most intimate they'd been with each other as the sound of silence surrounded them again.

Steve had fallen asleep as her breathing fell in line with his. They needed to lie down in a bed, and they would get there in a short while. But right now, she wanted to soak up the feeling while it was quiet.

This old dance of theirs made her feel like she had purpose right now. Like some things maybe never changed. It made her feel like she could help him as much as she needed him to help her.

And it was the best Natasha had felt in over two years, too.

The following morning was the complete opposite of the quiet night before.

The warehouse had quickly shifted into a jack of all trades building.

Betty was working in her and Bruce's room. Laura and Sarah were bonding quickly over both being nurses. They watched Peter and planned out the where's and how's, if anything medically related came up during their stay. And Pepper had faked an overseas trip for Stark Industries, to avoid any suspicion from Justin Hammer and Obediah Stane. She was focused on monitoring all the news sites to see if anyone had any real leads from the attack at the FBI.

And was there ever, a lot to monitor.

Christine Everhart and Karen Page's reporting from the night before was still going on. But every other major news outlet was reporting on it as well.

'Attack on America,'

'FBI Asst. Director and Team Missing: Suspected Dead,'

'Mystery Forces Come at Night,'

And the most blatantly ghoulish headline that Pepper had read: 'Numerous Body Bags Carried from FBI: Still Unknown if the Dead are Friend or Foe.'

The 'guests' had all hunkered down for an undetermined length of stay. No one knew how long they would be at the warehouse, so they tried to plan for long-term.

"It's better to plan for a lengthy stay and have structure, than it is to have one foot out the door. That will only cause distractions and frantic thoughts." Sarah told Bucky and Steve this morning, when she calmed their nerves about Peter and her and everyone else being there.

She smiled handing both of her sons, cups of coffee as she continued, "And besides, Peter already thinks this is a grand adventure, and he hasn't even been here 12 hours. Plus, he's found a new hero."

The three of them looked over, and Peter was following Natasha around. He'd fallen asleep by her side the night before, and he woke up asking his Mom and Dad where 'Nat' was. Bucky got a kick out of it as Natasha walked around the kitchen that morning with her coffee mug, without even realizing that Peter followed right behind with his sippy cup of milk.

Monkey see monkey do.

Bucky chuckled, "Yeah, I suppose you're right, Mom. There's nowhere safer for us all to be right now."

Steve watched the scene in front of him, and it hit him just as powerfully as coming home alive to the site of Natasha and Peter, did last night. It was so comforting, but equally painful.

Natasha looked up at Steve, and instantly blushed. So did he, as he ran his hand along the back of his neck. Yes, last night was such an important step forward. They'd kissed, shared tears and finally fell asleep. And they relished the feeling of being so damn happy to just hold each other once again.

All of those feelings of love and comfort were causing Steve and Natasha to blush at each other right now, as Steve watched his nephew follow her around like a little puppy dog. And they were what caused Natasha to stop in the kitchen, staring right back at Steve.

Natasha almost spilled her coffee because Peter ran into the backs of her legs from her abrupt stop. She set the cup down on the counter and ruffled Peter's hair before Fury was calling them over to the large conference table that was set up across the first floor of the warehouse.

Bucky had witnessed the whole scene before him and smirked at Steve, but didn't say anything.

They had work to do.

The team settled in at the table as Bucky, Steve, and Tony went over every detail from the night before.

Present Day – FBI HQ (The Night Before)

Rumlow pulled a gun with his free hand from the back of his pants.

Tony saw it happening as Bucky shouted, "Steve look out!"

Steve slowly turned his head towards his brother, but it was too late. The shot rang out as the gun was fired at close range.

And then Steve fell to the ground.

By the time Bucky and Tony reached him, Rumlow was gone. He'd crawled off and they couldn't find him in the smoke which was becoming too dangerous to even stand or lie in much longer.

"Rogers."

"Steve."

"Come on, Cap."

"Steve, you gotta wake up."

Tony and Bucky's voices intermixed with each other, but both sounded of desperation. They'd heard the shot, but Steve wasn't bleeding from his legs or any gaps in the vest or his head. Bucky started patting him down feverishly as he set Steve's shield down, "Come on, Steve. Get up!"

Steve gasped as his eyes flung open. He started touching his stomach and chest frantically, knowing that Rumlow had shot him. Contrary to what movies and television let their audiences believe, bullet proof vest doesn't equal pain proof. Quite the opposite. Getting shot close in the chest with a vest on, hurt like a mother fucker. Steve shifted on the ground, groaning loudly as he struggled to breathe through the smoke.

"Steve, are you shot? Did Rumlow hit you somewhere?"

Tony and Bucky helped pull him up as he grimaced, running his hands over his vest, and then he felt it. The bullet. It hadn't fallen to the ground. No, this bullet was right there, lodged in his vest. It was stuck in the metal plating. Steve ran his hands nervously underneath the vest, wondering if he was in shock, somehow not feeling any damage caused on the other side.

But there it was. Natasha's journal. Steve could feel the bullet almost stuck in the leather binding as he sighed in relief, "I'm fine, Buck. I swear. That son of a bitch was using cop-killer bullets, but it didn't go through. I'm fine."

Steve wasn't fine. He would have marks and pain for days from the impact. But beyond that, this was another tally on the mental scarring chart being collected over the years. He'd come so close to never seeing Natasha again. All because he froze, as Rumlow provoked him with the thought of Natasha being held captive. No. He definitely wasn't fine as he looked around. But he was alive.

All three men were coughing abundantly as their vision diminished. Tony patted Steve on the shoulder and handed him his shield back, "You lose this again, I'm keeping it."

Steve nodded in thanks, barely being able to see the hallway they came from. Poseidon's operatives that were still standing had all retreated back down the stairwell. How they got down and out of the building, they might not ever know. There were still a couple of men moaning and screaming on the ground, from where they'd been shot. Poseidon had left them.

Steve yelled to Tony, "We gotta get that metal bin and get the fuck out of here, now. Where's Buck?" They looked as Bucky reappeared. He'd ran to the stairwell and back as quickly as he could. He was coughing and shaking his head though, "We can't go that way. Those assholes blew up the entrance even more. It's completely blocked."

Steve was charging back down the hallway as quickly as he could. The sprinklers in Wanda's lab, had pretty much put out the small computer fires in it, but the flames from the bullpen were growing now.

The men were back in the meeting room and found some bottles of water. They each took a big drink and dumped the rest over their faces, trying to counteract the smoke and feel of the heat. "We got about three…maybe four minutes before we're trapped here like rats, Steve. Do we have our harnesses and rope here? We could shoot out the window and try to scale the building," Bucky suggested.

Tony shot it down, "We're up past the 40th floor, Barnes. There's no way we make that. Even if we left the evidence bin and our weapons, we still couldn't make it. And we can't leave the bin."

Steve was thinking as quickly as he could, removing a flip phone out of the pocket of his jacket. The screen was cracked but it still worked. "Rogers, I really hope you're not planning on ordering take-out right now," Tony said. He was trying to joke to keep his mind off of the suffocating heat in the room. But the edge in his voice gave it away.

Tony was really worried. They all were.

"No, I think I might know someone who can help." Steve dialed and was on and off the phone within 30 seconds as he continued, "Let's go. We gotta get this stuff to the roof."

Bucky shouted, "Steve, the roof is the worst place to be to get to the ground." Steve looked out the door again and down the hallway. He saw that the fire was almost to Fury's office. It would reach the stairwell door next, and then Wanda's lab. And after that, the hidden hallway's double doors, and then Natasha's room he'd been sleeping in for a month.

He went over by the mini-fridge and grabbed the two cases of water sitting by it, "We gotta move quick. I just called a ride. It'll be here shortly, so hopefully the fire stays away for that long. We only have a couple of flights of stairs to go to get up there."

They grabbed the bin and opened the door to the hidden hallway again, and the flames had almost reached the stairwell door to the roof, "Shit." Steve said, before Tony yelled, "Here, use these blankets, let's soak them with as much water as we can and hopefully that'll cover us to get to the stairs at least."

Bucky and Steve looked troubled, but followed Tony's lead as they all started rapidly dumping the water bottles on three thin blankets that'd been covering Tony's weapons earlier in the bin.

Tony yelled again, "Faster, we gotta go in like 10 seconds. Remember, take a big breath before we get into that hallway. We inhale much more of this stuff, and we'll pass out and never get out of here." Bottle cap after bottle cap were flying. The last of the water was emptied on their heads and down their chests. They wrapped themselves each in a soaked blanket, picked up the bin and made a run for it.

The hallway was black as night and thick as mud with dangerous heat and smoke. They didn't hesitate as they ran the 20 feet, but halted. They were going to have to run through fire through the last three feet. Steve ran first, covered in his sheet with his shield protecting his face as he got to the door and opened it, holding it for Tony and Bucky. They awkwardly carried the semi-open bin, with Bucky's gun and Veronica inside, but both men made it through the door.

Tony and Bucky burst through and got to the stares as Steve shut the door, but his blanket had caught on fire. Tony and Bucky jumped on him and knocked him to the ground, covering him as they patted him down. They'd put the fire out and instantly threw their blankets to the ground. Steve was coughing, but no serious damage had been done.

"Jesus Christ, Rogers. First you survive a bullet, and now you make it out from being caught on fire…You might be the luckiest SOB I've ever known." Steve groaned again as he stood up. He focused on one thing and one thing only, "Come on, let's get to the roof and get the hell out of here."

It'd been seven minutes since Steve made the call, and they were all borderline panicking now as time ticked on. They were officially trapped with nowhere else to go. And Bucky gave a look to Steve that he knew all too well. It was the look saying, 'This might be it.'

They'd shared the same look in Afghanistan a couple of times, and it was a look they'd both had a month ago, as Steve ran off to save Natasha.

Two minutes.

Two of the longest minutes passed as they listened to the sound of silence. There were sirens in the distance, but they'd be too late by the time they got to the roof…If they could even get to the roof. And there was the rolling, quiet sound of the billowing fire and smoke below them. It was as haunting as it was unnerving. And it ran through the air like the growing beat of a bass drum.

But the sounds all ran through them. Nothing was registering, and they were deaf to their surroundings because all they could think of for those two minutes, were their loved ones.

Pepper. Wanda. Peter. Sarah. Natasha. And all their friends.

Thoughts of relief that their loved ones were safe. But also thoughts of panic and fear, knowing that yes, this might be it. Heat rises, and so do flames that begin to engulf the floor of a building that's over 40 stories high. Flames that stop at nothing, reaching for oxygen in that same building, that was acting more like a chimney right now. Smoke had started seeping out of the bottom of the stairwell door.

And the three of them knew they didn't have much more time. This was their only option, and it looked for a little bit, like they might fail. The men drew closer together, almost like they were prepared to say something you would hear in the final moments of life, but then the silence inside their heads ended.

And the most glorious sound emerged from the air as their panic and fear faded.

Chopper blades.

They emerged from the sky like a grace from god as a black helicopter landed on the roof. The door opened and Jessica Jones was there, yelling out with the widest grin, "Hey there, Assholes. Looks like you boys might need a ride."

Tony and Bucky hadn't met her, but something told them they sure as hell were going to get along. They threw the bin in and all buckled into their seats as the chopper took off within another 30 seconds. Frank Castle was piloting as they ascended into the night sky. And just as the helicopter cleared the antenna from the rooftop, the air shook around them. A huge fireball had emerged from the 41st floor that they were just on, a few minutes ago.

"What the fuck was that?" Castle yelled out as he corrected their position from the blast. Tony, Bucky, and Steve all looked back in disbelief and shock, as they realized they'd gotten off the roof in the nick of time.

Bucky yelled, "It was that goddamn rubbing alcohol, Tony. You had me and Steve coat the rooms with it because you thought we were gonna be long gone by the time the fire reached those rooms."

Tony scoffed as he looked wildly at what could've easily been different fates for the men, "Well, any signs of Romanoff and Barton are completely gone now. So, there's the silver lining. And I guess some of your fortune rubbed off on us tonight, Cap. We're all lucky SOB's."

The three men sat back and all grinned at Tony's words. It was too heavy to sink into the immediate worry and panic that would surely come from their close encounter. Just like in the field and at war, they relied on coping mechanisms like their sarcasm and humor to make it through moments like these.

"Castle, grow a pair of balls and get this fucking thing away from any spotlights that might be coming our way. We're gonna have to go away from the city and sneak the guys back to Barton's coordinates he gave us."

"Stop fucking ordering me around, Jones."

The two mercenaries at the front of the chopper kept going as Tony yelled, "Nice friends you got there, Rogers. I think they'd fit in nice at the country club. Maybe we can all play a nice game of squash together."

Steve grinned again.

Clint had given him Jessica Jones' number a couple weeks ago along with a burner phone they could contact her and the mercenaries with, if and when they needed help on the run. Steve was skeptical at the time, wondering if he'd ever need it. But thank god Clint gave it to him because they wouldn't have gotten themselves out alive without Jones' help.

Speaking of which…

"Hey Jones, this is my brother, Bucky. And this is Tony. We owe you for big for tonight."

Jones smirked at Steve. She'd grown to respect him from the grit he showed the evening he'd rescued Natasha. Castle did too. But he wasn't about to smile as he shouted from the front, "We'll call it even, Rogers...If you give us another chance to blow up some fucking Russians soon."

Tony lifted his eyebrow as Steve waved Castle's words off and yelled, "Hey Jones, where the hell did you guys get this chopper?"

She put her headgear on and turned around with a dubious look, "Don't you worry about that, Rogers. It's best some stones are left unturned. No, Castle! South. We gotta head south first, Frank. I swear to fucking god, the only way you listen is if I grab your dick and make you."

Castle yelled back, "How many times do I have to tell you assholes. No first names on a mission! You're as bad as fucking Rand, sometimes."

Bucky scoffed out a laugh. Turns out Castle and Jones' edgy verbiage, and dark and weird sexual chemistry, added a little more levity to the heavy feeling rapidly descending on the three men.

Bucky took the radio out of his vest, that he'd stolen from Jack Rollin's lifeless body before. There was no rest for the wicked as the crackling of the radio sounded in the helicopter, "Tony, Steve…listen close. I can hear someone talking."

BZ: Mission Report.

BR: Zemo, the floor is gone. It's all fucking gone. Romanoff wasn't there.

BZ: Mission Report, Rumlow.

BR: I shot Rogers, but I think he survived. I managed to get away. Rollins is fucking dead, and I think we lost about 20 men. I don't know what they had on that floor, but there were grenades and streams of fire everywhere.

BZ: Mission Report, Rumlow.

BR: Fuck. Failure, okay? Is that what you want to hear, you crazy bastard? Failure.

BZ: Return to base. Poseidon will be disappointed in your failure, Rumlow.

BR: My failure? You listen to me, asshole. I said the mission was a failure. Sitwell pulled the trigger too damn soon tonight, because his panties were in a twist after he and Ross went to the FBI. Now Sitwell is in the wind, and we're 20 men down. And we fucking lost, Rollins.

BZ: Return to base, Rumlow. We've all lost people. So will they by the end. By the end, they'll see their empire crumble from within and fall to pieces.

"Who the hell was that?" Bucky asked.

Tony grabbed the radio out of his hand and pulled off the back of it immediately. He unhooked the wiring to turn it off, "We don't know what type of transmitting capabilities this thing has. Until Wanda and Loki can check it out in the lab, I don't want us touching it again.

Steve remembered the provoking words that Rumlow had shouted at him 20 minutes ago, and he had to breathe to calm his growing anger now. Rumlow had gotten away. And now there was this other person, Zemo, that they'd never heard of until right now.

"Ivan and Oksana are the equivalencies of being some big time Generals under Poseidon in America. Maybe Zemo is from another part of the country. Or maybe he's from Russia, and came in to assist. We do know that Sitwell fucked up tonight." Steve's jaw tightened as the memories from the evening began to wash over him.

Tony threw the radio in the bin and laid his head back against the seat, trying to calm his nerves too, "Enough office talk. We almost died about 20 times in a row tonight. So let's rest for like, I don't know, 15 minutes maybe? At least until we land."

Bucky nodded and took his gloves off. He reached into the pocket of his vest and put his wedding ring back on. He never wore it in the field for safety, but he had it on him tonight because the attack was a surprise. He ran his finger over the gold band, letting out a very grateful breath. He survived and somehow having it back on right now, made him feel closer to Wanda.

Steve groaned from the sharp pains in his chest as he reached inside his vest. He pulled Natasha's journal out as the bullet became dislodged, dropping into his palm. He stared down at it as the eerie quiet accompanied their flight. His hands began to shake a little as the emotions from close calls continued their deluge inside him. The bullet came so close, but he was here and survived.

Steve formed a fist around the bullet and took a shaky breath before tossing it to the ground. He couldn't focus on that now if he was going to make it back in one piece. Jones said they'd drop them off 20 miles north of the compound where an SUV was waiting for them to drive.

Running his fingers over Natasha's journal for a minute, Steve tried to calm his breathing before putting it back inside his vest, right over his heart. Somehow she'd protected him tonight, and it was all just a little too much right now. He shut his eyes tight, focusing on the only thing that calmed his sputtering nerves in that moment - seeing that Natasha was safe.

Present Day – Task-Force Compound

The task-force sat around the large conference table. They were all stunned, listening to Tony, Steve, and Bucky's re-telling from the night before.

Silence would have filled the air as they processed everything, except Fury was busy with his Morse Code machine, tapping away as if it was his full-time job. As if he hadn't been told that his previous place of employment for the past 12 years was blown to pieces. And that Tony, Bucky, and Steve were almost killed.

Maria was on edge like everyone else, "Fury, I didn't realize that you were taking minutes of our meeting via telegraph." And Tony couldn't help himself, "I mean, Nick. The fact that you're so touched by our almost deaths last night, is truly moving. Really. Don't shed a tear or anything…or even blink an eye."

Fury smirked, "You know. Being against the ropes like this. You may think its cause to be worried. But you see, I think it's a strength. Because now everyone thinks we're potentially dead. It frees us from this charade of hiding Loki's involvement, and hiding Romanoff and Barton in general."

He stopped tapping finally and looked up, "No matter who wins or loses, trouble still comes around. I taught you all that long ago. So right now, here we all are, with nothing but our wit and our will. We have the resources and all the evidence from the FBI. We have each other. We have allies, which I am working on contacting right now. And we have a heck of a compound, Stark. Impressive work."

Tony couldn't help but grin slightly at the praise, "You know, Rogers is usually the one with the rousing speech, Nick. He might get worried you're gonna take his day job."

Steve shook his head, "I agree Fury, we have a lot to be thankful for right now, but how about you clue us in, on what you're doing with a machine from the 40's."

"What I'm doing, is communicating with Secretary Ross right now. He and I don't always see eye-to-eye, but we are on the side of this country, I can assure you of that. I checked in with him and sent him a message. He has a telegraph machine like this in his office that no one else knows about."

"What'd you tell Ross, Fury?" Sam asked.

"I told him, 'ScoobyGang and friends intact, and gone underground. Your #2 was playing for the other team. You may have bugs in your house. Best to only talk this way for now.'"

Fury knew by saying 'friends,' that Ross would know Betty was safe. They were estranged, but Fury wasn't going to deny the man the peace of knowing she was alive and ok.

And just as Bucky was about to ask how long until they heard back, the machine started printing out ticker tape as Fury started decoding, "You know. I'm not going to be your Girl Friday after today. You all are going to have to learn how to use this thing too."

After two minutes of sitting on the edges of their seat, Fury read what Ross sent back, "Good to hear. Sitwell's in the wind. The farm has bugs. Big infestation discovered last night."

"Shit."

Fury's cursing, along with the mysterious message from Ross, had everyone looking at each other in the room before Rhodey asked, "The Farm? As in the CIA's training facility for recruits in Langley, Virginia?"

"Yes, that would be The Farm, Ross is referring to," Fury started speaking but another message came through, "Ross just told me the CIA's server was breached last night too."

The air was heavy for a good 30 seconds before Natasha spoke.

"Do you know what was taken yet, Fury?"

Her face was concerned like everyone else's, but there was something else going inside her head. Steve saw it immediately as she narrowed her eyes and drew her lower lip nervously between her teeth. He reached over to still her bouncing knee as Fury answered, "Ross just told me that it was similar data that you stole from the FBI seven years ago, Romanoff."

Natasha had individually apologized to everyone over the last few weeks for her actions, so this moment by no means was the first time that the subject had been brought up. But it was still awkward as Natasha tried to hide a small cringe that Steve saw. He grabbed her hand under the table as she answered Fury, "Data about the CIA's location and layout…for The Farm and for the CIA headquarters in New York?"

Fury nodded, "That would be the similar data, yes Romanoff. Sounds like maybe the CIA plans for D.C. too. You look like you're about to solve a really difficult quantum physics formula. Care to share?"

Natasha looked over at Clint, and it was clear he wasn't on the same page as her right now. She was on her own for the moment. Maybe it was because Natasha had stolen the actual files, and she'd been dealing with the guilt of those actions internally for seven years, that caused her to start theorizing. Or maybe it was because she'd been held captive for 21 months by the same sadistic people that tried to kill them all last night at the FBI Headquarters.

Whatever it was, caused something deep within her brain to shift. Like a shadow emerging from the dark, that she couldn't quite see yet. It was a deep rooted itch that she just started to scratch. But she couldn't sit here with the feeling, so she stood up, much to Steve's surprise, "What is it, Natasha?"

Natasha looked around the office space with wide eyes and found the dry erase markers. Walking over to the drawing board, she immediately started mapping out her thoughts. She drew a rough visual map of Poseidon's reach across the world. She knew the goal was world domination as she wrote out the familiar mission of 'Infiltrate, Secure, and Destroy,' but she didn't know that much else about specifics within particular countries.

But Natasha became more detailed when it came to the U.S.

Natasha was coming at this from a new angle. From someone that had personally stolen intel for Poseidon, yes. But also, as someone who'd been held captive by Ivan and Oksana. As someone, for whatever reason, felt like she knew more than what she could tap into right now. Natasha glanced back at everyone staring at her anxiously, but she saw Steve watching with amazement. She seemed more like herself in this moment that she had for the last month as she started rattling off a theory.

"Okay, there's these flashes. It's like an image that's blurred. And I know that I know something…but I can't quite make out, you know?" Blank faces met her jumbled question as she flitted her fingers through the air, "Just stay with me while I try to work through this."

"We're with you, Romanoff." Bucky's voice broke through as she held back a grin. She drew arrows between the connections, "Okay, Stark Industries supplies the weapons to Poseidon. The State Department has ties across the world, which is how I'm sure Sitwell kept in contact with other moles across the globe. But that means Sitwell was mainly an information sharing branch. And he was responsible for setting up payment and funneling funds through the Lemurian Star."

She drew a few more arrows as she processed her thoughts between the three names - Stark Industries, State Department, Lemurian Star. Then she branched out from the circle, showing the FBI and the CIA as two consequential breaches as a result from the circle, "Okay, the information, money, and weapons flow between the circle. That's their channel that keeps the operation running in America. The FBI, and now the CIA it's looking like…are targets. So, what's the missing link of data that Loki and Wanda and Bruce discovered? The Department of Defense."

Natasha put, D.O.D., right in the middle of the circle of operations and stood back. Her eyes stared at it as Steve watched her. It was like she was trying to recall a memory that just wasn't there right now. And it was driving her crazy, "The Department of Defense is bigger than just a cog in this operation. We know nothing about who is working for Poseidon inside the D.O.D., but it has ties to all the branches of the military. It handles all of the contracts for weapons, tying it to Stark Industries and the funding from the Lemurian Star. And Sitwell would've provided intel from State to the D.O.D. with Poseidon's contacts all over the world. There's a reason why we haven't been able to figure out anything else on the D.O.D. Whoever is inside the Defense Department, is a big fish for Poseidon. I know it."

She repeated herself, "I can't explain it, but I just know it somehow."

"Okay, Romanoff. What else?" Fury was encouraging her to keep going. Everything she'd said so far was information they had already or just made logical sense.

"It's something that you told me, Steve. That man, Zemo, right? That Zemo said on the radio last night. He said, 'They'll see their empire crumble from within and fall to pieces.'"

Natasha took a breath and wrote out Ivan and Oksana's name on the board, next to the circle she'd just created. She added Rumlow's name underneath theirs.

And then she put Zemo's above them, "I've never heard of Zemo or met him. But I can tell you, he's from Russia. Ivan wouldn't let Rumlow talk with anyone else besides them last night, unless the person outranked him. Zemo is from Russia. And if someone from Russia is over in the States, helping coordinate the attack last night, then it's big. And it means they are very close to carrying out their plan. I think the FBI attack was a failure in finding me, but it was a successful diversion."

"A pretty fucking big diversion, if you ask me." Tony rubbed his shoulder that was still in a lot of pain where he'd been thrown against the wall, using Veronica.

Natasha continued, "Yes, it was, and they needed it to be…if they were going to steal intel from The Farm and the CIA's servers last night. Loki and Wanda, you've said that the NSA, CIA, and Homeland were fairly clean as far as connections to Poseidon, unlike the D.O.D and the State Department. Well, they got the information from the FBI from me seven years ago. And they had it in their back pocket to use, when they needed the distraction."

"The perfect moment for what, Natasha?" Maria asked.

Natasha's brow creased as she went to the other side of the board, to the only remaining white space left. She wrote out all the branches of government they'd talked about: FBI, CIA, D.O.D., NSA, Homeland, and the State Department.

"After hearing about the CIA breach, and everything about an empire crumbling from within, it has me thinking…Poseidon's attack isn't going to be a statement like trying to blow up Washington D.C. or something. Because a bold and big attack like that would be something that America would rally and rebound from. Our forces are too strong and are spread out throughout the country. But to have something crumble from within, you'd need precision, and deliberate attack points."

She continued, "The information on the FBI building is one thing. But the Farm? And Quantico? Why would Poseidon want information on training grounds? For the longest time, I thought they just wanted me to take the intel seven years ago, as a way of hurting all of you in the worst way imaginable."

Natasha paused as her eyes glassed over, "And I know it did exactly that. I know it hurt all of you deeply, and I'm so sorry." She'd apologized before, but somehow her words were that much more powerful now as the room took her words in. Wanda smiled at her and others followed. They'd already had the conversation with her, but she needed to say it again, because it was true. She would always be sorry for her actions, regardless of her intent.

She shook off the emotion for the moment and went on, "But now…I don't think it was only that. I think there was a deeper meaning. There always is with Poseidon. The revenge and vindictiveness? All Ivan and Oksana. But I think for Poseidon and the people at the top in Russia, it was the catalyst. And now the ripple effect is in motion, all to put Russia back at the top."

The ripple effect.

Sometimes ripples can be seen and predicted. Others are hidden beneath the surface, waiting to emerge days, weeks, or even years down the road. The heartache and pain were natural dominos that fell after Natasha betrayed the team.

But there were other ripples.

Unforeseen ripples created by her actions seven years ago, just as the ripples of her stupid and prideful actions during the Mole Mission were unknown at the time. Sometimes, ripples can be short and others long-lasting. The immediate ripple was their pain and the fallout. The longer ripple though, was what was happening right now.

The harsh truth?

Natasha and Steve weren't supposed to survive at the cabin a month ago. They weren't. The only reason they both had, was because Clint and his team were involved. And because Loki was working with them. They had one shot to save Natasha and they did…barely.

And now, Natasha was alive, and on the cusp of remembering…something. And Poseidon definitely did not want her remembering.

Natasha had been the one to take the files from the FBI seven years ago, so she was more than personally connected to all of this. She'd lived with this guilt from her actions for seven long years. She'd been forced to listen to Ivan and Oksana's delusional mantras about world power and strength for her entire life. And she'd been forced to survive with their twisted rage for almost two years, which she remembered flashes and blips of. But mostly it was this shifting puzzle of pain that she was afraid to dive into.

Except now. Because there was something hidden in those repressed thoughts. Behind the curtain, there was something hidden in her memories, and Natasha knew it. She just couldn't say what 'it' was right now.

All of those ripples caused Natasha to be here. Right now, in front of all of them. And it caused her to make the leap she was about to, "Fury, do you have any way of finding out if there were other data breaches last night, from across the country…or even world? Do you have contacts besides Ross at State?"

"I do have some other aces up my sleeve, Romanoff. What are you thinking?" Fury asked.

"We don't know when, where or how. But we know the why, with Poseidon – to reclaim power. And I think we're figuring out the what – data from breaches. First the FBI. Now the CIA. Poseidon wouldn't take the same type of data from The Farm without a specific reason."

Natasha took a breath before she frantically turned to Stark, "Tony, how far back would the CIA be set…let's say…if The Farm and all the recruits in it, were attacked along with their main headquarters?"

Tony ran his hand over his face, "I mean…We're talking years, if not a decade. You'd still have all your field agents, hidden across the world. But if you took out the mothership, and also the breeding ground for new recruits, you're taking out the hope and growth for the future. The impact would be astronomically negative."

Clint stood up now and went by his sister, "Well if that doesn't fucking sound like Poseidon's line of thinking, I don't know what does." Natasha nodded along with him and turned to Steve, "And Steve, what about Quantico. If it was attacked, similarly?"

Steve blew out a breath, "I mean any given time at Quantico, you have about 200 trainees there, at different points in the cycle. If you took that out, the flow of new blood into the FBI would be halted, and if the main HQ was attacked in D.C.? Yeah, I'd say the same as Tony, we're talking years of repercussions. Probably even a decade before it could regain the strength it has today."

Natasha and Clint looked at each other and nodded before Natasha continued, "And that would create a hole…a vacuum that Poseidon could step into. But it's not even as simple as the CIA and FBI. Because that's just America's security structure. It's not even close to all of our defenses in this country."

She was back to the drawing board, using her sweatshirt to wipe out part of what she'd already written. Natasha drew what looked to be a massive tank with belted tracks, "Just stay with me here. This tank is America. Poseidon deems America as Enemy Number One, so let's focus just on us for now. You don't attack a tank by trying to blow a hole in the side. So, how do you stop it? How do you effectively take out the world's leading superpower?"

"The tracks are taken out one-by-one," Thor said.

Natasha nodded and put CIA and FBI on two of the tracks. Maria and Thor told Romanoff to add Homeland and NSA.

Tony stood up now, "So they take out cyber, intel, our connection to the world…but that still leaves us with all of our defense structure."

Natasha clenched her jaw, "You're goddam right it does, Tony. And the defense structure may be in jeopardy if the D.O.D. is somehow trying to cripple the U.S. Military bases, the same way I think they're trying to takedown our security structure." It was a leap. But it also made a hell of a lot of sense, knowing the meticulous planning and patience that Poseidon was capable of.

Natasha honestly looked a little wild as she went on, "Poseidon can't match the U.S.'s funding or strength or size. But if it takes out the legs and arms of security and defense in the country, then Zemo's words stand a better chance to come to fruition…to see it crumble from within."

Bucky asked, "Romanoff. We know Poseidon is dangerous. But we don't have any solid leads that the military is actually at risk."

Natasha was at a breaking point. From frustration of not being able to remember whatever was in her head, and from frustration from every fucking thing that'd happened to her as she said a little louder, "And none of you had any solid leads that I was alive for 21 months before Steve and Clint found me. And yet I was alive."

Her words landed like a bomb. Wanda grabbed Bucky's hands and pretty much everyone hung their heads low. Steve shut his eyes because the other harsh truth was…that was exactly why he was filled with guilt. He suddenly felt like he could be sick as her eyes met his. Hell, Clint felt the exact same way as Steve, and he actually had been looking for her for over a year and a half.

Natasha didn't mean it the way it came out. And Fury…was letting this happen, because the team had to work through moments like these on their own. They couldn't walk on eggshells forever.

Natasha's words were shaky as she went on, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that the way it sounded. But this isn't me making wild accusations. This is me, knowing my fucking handlers so well, it makes me viscerally sick. This is me knowing how obsessed and maniacal Poseidon leaders are…believing they'll be at the top again. They don't just believe it, they feel and breathe it. It is their entire life and existence. This is me knowing that if they have data on the CIA, and FBI, then the other security agencies are at risk. And this is me, knowing with every fucking fiber of my being, that if they're going after our security, then they're going after our defense too."

Natasha turned around and wrote out the rest of her thought process and started listing where she thinks Poseidon might potentially attack, in addition to the four security agencies (CIA, Homeland, FBI, NSA):

*U.S. Army – West Point, New York

*U.S. Navy – Annapolis, Maryland

*U.S. Air Force – Colorado Springs, Colorado

*U.S. Coast Guard – New London, Connecticut

*U.S. Merchant Marine – Kings Point, New York

And if the academies are on the list, then you bet your ass the U.S. Marine Corp Training Depots in South Carolina and California are on the list too.

Steve spoke up, not as the love of Natasha's life, but as the leader of his FBI team that formerly included every person in this room besides Clint, "It's the best lead and angle we've had in weeks. We put out feelers through Morse Code to Fury's contacts, and maybe a couple of other people we trust. We target our efforts on finding out what we can about the D.O.D., and we keep our ears to the ground, trying to see if any other breaches occurred last night or recently. If this is true, we'll need to find out who is working for Poseidon in the D.O.D. It's going to be key to figuring out when Poseidon is attacking."

Fury spoke next, "All you have is your wit and will and each other, along with the resources at our fingertips. Good work, Romanoff. Good work, everyone. I just sent messages over Morse Code to Melinda May in Asia, and Phil Coulson in South America. They've been on separate assignments for a few months, so they can hopefully pick up some international chatter there."

Steve added, "You might find out something from Colonel Phillips, Fury. Let me give you his location. I bet he has his ears to the ground in Europe. Morse Code is right up his alley."

Steve came over to sit by him as Fury added, "I've got undercover agents in the D.O.D. right now. You can call me distrusting all you want, but I'm sure as hell glad I have that ace up my sleeve at the moment. I don't want to pull on that thread though, until we know for sure, who the hell this big fish is at the D.O.D."

Natasha threw her dry erase marker on the table, "I'm sorry, Fury. I wish I knew more."

Fury was already typing again, "Romanoff, this is great. Like Rogers said, it gives us a new angle and lead to move on. And don't beat yourself up. We can go round and round with guilt, to and from each other all we want. There is enough from everyone in spades...on a lot of fronts besides what you did Romanoff, and what happened to you. I think a lot of you hashed out some of that a month ago, when you all collided trying to arrest Loki, right? And guess what, you're all still here. And maybe you're even starting to trust each other again. Romanoff, you're here, and you're alive. Stark, Rogers, Barnes…you crazy assholes survived last night with your grit and quick thinking. We're all alive, and Poseidon doesn't have any idea where we are. That's what matters right now."

Natasha's face reddened as Clint patted her shoulder and the meeting ended. They all had their separate assignments, trying to figure out as much as they could about the CIA breach, where else was at risk, learning Morse Code, trying to figure out the mole in the D.O.D., and when and how Poseidon were really going to attack.

Steve was finished giving Fury the information on Phillips, and came over to grab Natasha's hand, "You were amazing, Natasha. You should've seen yourself piecing together everything." Natasha leaned in for a quick hug, "I just wish I could remember what I know is in my head. It's driving me crazy, Steve."

4 Years Ago – Russia

To everything (turn, turn, turn)
There is a season (turn, turn, turn)
And a time to every purpose, under heaven

A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep

To everything (turn, turn, turn)
There is a season (turn, turn, turn)
And a time to every purpose, under heaven

The sound of metal clasps coming undone filled the silence.

As soon as he was free, Steve walked away from Natasha, putting some space between them as quickly as he whisked her onto the dancefloor a couple of hours ago. They'd entered the safehouse a few minutes ago, and Natasha said she had a lock picking tool in a drawer.

"Of course, you do."

That was the first thing Steve said, since he'd muttered, 'Fuck' right before they had fucked. So, that pretty much summarized the emotional state of the duo inside the tiny house. The fact that Steve let Natasha pick the lock to the cuffs, and free herself from being joined to him, told her everything she needed to know. Steve hated what just happened between them as much as she did.

It felt great, physically. But the whole desperate act left them feeling cold and hollow right to the core. Sex with an ex might sound enticing. But in this case, there was no exit plan after the sex. There was no meeting up for drinks, with the understanding that the night would be filled with mindless physical contact with someone that knew the other person's body well. There was no notion of 'no strings attached.'

No.

'No strings attached,' wasn't something that Natasha and Steve could ever comprehend. Yes, sex with an ex might sound enticing. But it might also make an incredibly sticky and horrible situation, that much worse. Especially if the situation included an ex-boyfriend tracking down a criminal ex-girlfriend, who'd pulled the rug out three years prior. Especially since that current ex-boyfriend was trying to convince himself he could get over the woman who pulled that rug. Especially since the ex-boyfriend was failing.

Failing miserably.

And as far as the ex-girlfriend? Well, she couldn't and wouldn't tell the man anything. The man who surprised the hell out of her and handcuffed her. No, she wouldn't say that everything she did, was because his life and his family's life were in danger if she didn't do as Ivan and Oksana said.

The desire to tell Steve battled with her realization she just couldn't right now. And it left Natasha feeling even more hollow and empty inside than what their wordless fucking just had.

And that was saying something.

Natasha and Steve were quite the pair. First, they weren't able to keep their hands off of each other the first chance they truly got. And now? Well, they couldn't wait even five minutes to separate and put some distance between themselves.

Natasha freed her wrist next and threw the cuffs on the counter, letting the clanging sound resonate between them. She looked over at Steve and shut her eyes. He was standing and looking out a window, and trying to hide how he was watching her through the reflection in the pane of glass. They both felt used and equally like they used each other, and it was suffocating.

Natasha suddenly felt like she had to get out of her clothes. Walking towards the hallway, she headed towards the one bedroom in the house to find some old spare clothes. She only made it two steps before Steve quickly made his way over to her.

He grabbed her wrist, "Where are you going?"

There was the distrust, immediately rushing back. And Natasha reacted in kind, glaring at him, "If you trust me so little, you should have just stayed cuffed to me, Steve. I'm going to go put some different clothes on. I feel pretty gross right now."

Her words cut through him like a knife, and he let go of her immediately, groaning at how screwed up this entire situation was. She blew out a breath, "Look, you can stand in the doorway with your back turned or something okay? I'd say you could watch, but I'm guessing you're feeling about the same as me right now."

Steve stopped himself from rolling his eyes and did exactly what she suggested.

Steve stood (blocked) in the doorway to the bedroom as Natasha rummaged through a couple drawers and pulled out a pair of leggings, a long T-shirt, and a zip up hoodie. He heard her undoing his belt around her waist. And then she was slipping out of her dress and his jacket, and all he could do was silently curse himself for his lack of control earlier. It was the same for Natasha as she kept nervously staring at his backside. She was changed within a minute, "These are Clint's, but they're pretty big. So, they should fit you."

Steve turned around and saw a pair of grey sweatpants and a white T-shirt on the bed. He stared at them as he battled his emotions. Natasha scoffed after a few seconds, breaking his train of thought, "Don't worry, Steve. Accepting some old sweats from me, doesn't equate to you being able to stand the sight of me. I get it. But just do me a favor and stop being so stubborn. Put on the goddamn sweats."

Steve shook his head as she walked to the bathroom inside the bedroom. He did as she said. He needed to get out of his clothes just as badly as she had. So, he took his pants and shoes off, and slipped on the sweats. He un-buttoned the blue linen shirt and groaned as he pulled his white undershirt off. Sore muscles made themselves known, where the large Russian had gotten in a couple of shots on his body.

And Natasha…couldn't help herself. She was standing in the bathroom, watching his every move in the mirror.

Natasha took in his thighs and calves as he put the sweats on. She watched his hands as they pulled and tugged his shirt off. And then she drank in every inch, at the site of his back. His beautiful and strong and incredibly gorgeous back, that she'd kissed and laid on so many times. She could almost feel the warmth of it on her lips as she heard him groan. And then she saw his muscles move and contract under his skin, as he stretched for a second before he threw the fresh T-shirt on.

Steve felt her eyes on him. He caught her dead square in the midst of her ogling as he turned around. Their eyes connected in the mirror for a brief moment, and it broke her trance. She cleared her throat and finished washing her hands before coming back into the bedroom.

All of the messy and unspoken feelings were there. All of the memories and desire were still inside both of them. But that initial scratch was dug at a half hour ago, leaving that uncontrollable urge at least somewhat under control right now. But all that meant, was the anger and questions, and answers she wasn't going to give, rushed to the surface again.

They were in a standoff.

Natasha in the doorway to the bathroom. Steve standing by their clothes pooled on the floor by the bed. The remnants of the gala and his plan, sprawled out and laid bare before them. It was all so revealing in the most obvious way. Steve's plan had been reduced to hiding out in a safehouse, in god knows where in the Russian countryside as he stood in a pair of old sweats. A pair of sweats, belonging to the brother of the woman he tried to arrest.

Steve sighed again rubbing his hand over his beard and finally broke the awkwardness, "So, what? This one-bedroom house is yours and Clint's Russian reprieve? When your crimes you commit are weighing you down with too much guilt?"

It was a dickish comment and Steve knew it. But this entire situation had gone from fucked up to royally fucked up in the span of two hours. Natasha stared at him, flinching at the harshness in his tone. It may have been harsh. But at the core, there was truth in his words. And in her core? It hurt like hell hearing Steve speak like that to her.

"You know, being a jerk doesn't look good on you, Rogers."

Natasha brushed by him and left the room, walking back down the small hallway toward the kitchen.

"Shit."

Steve muttered to himself as he ran his hands through his hair again before walking out of the room too. Natasha was digging through what looked like very bare cupboards for an old coffee pot and two chipped mugs.

Steve could tell she was trying to keep busy, distracting herself with anything she could as he sighed, "You think I like how I'm acting, Natasha? You think I like what just happened to us outside? What we've been reduced to?"

There was nothing dickish about his words now. She stopped, cold in her tracks and looked up at him. This wasn't part of his plan. But it wasn't part of hers either. Natasha's plan that Steve could never know about, because if he did, he'd never leave Russia. He'd never get back to the safety of the States.

And that was the purpose for everything she'd done – to protect Steve and the people she loved.

No.

Steve could never know that she ran from him out of love. If he knew, he'd start looking at her again, like he used to. And Natasha absolutely couldn't deal with that. Because so much had changed. She'd collected so much red in her ledger. Both her and Clint had…over the last three years. And she couldn't deal with the immense guilt that would follow if he started looking at her again, with all the love in the world.

No.

Natasha couldn't deal with that, so she yelled at herself to do what she had to. She had to get through the night, until Clint hopefully arrived tomorrow with the okay for Steve to go back to the Square. And then he could safely get out of Moscow.

"Steve, there is no 'We.'"

The coffee pot was filled and plugged in as he put his hands on the counter, "What is that supposed to mean?"

Natasha sighed, "It means that you just said, 'What we've been reduced to.'" She took a breath before continuing, "There is no 'We,' Steve. We…ended three years ago, when I left. When I set those Russian criminals free, and when I stole those files. Do you remember?"

His jaw clenched. Steve knew exactly what Natasha was trying to do, but he didn't have a chance to talk because she kept going. "I don't know what type of knight in shining armor fantasy you had coming here. But there is no rescuing me. There's no saving Clint and me."

"I know what you're doing, Natasha." Steve's voice was low and steady as he stared at her, "And it's not going to work."

Everything was boiling over, as the coffee pot brewed in the background. And she let herself get good and pissed off. "What am I doing, Steve? You said you want answers. Okay, fine…here's an answer. I left you. And Clint and I fell back into what we knew and grew up with. This is our life. And you need to accept that."

Steve Rogers was a complicated man. Just like Natasha was a complex woman. Yes, Steve was in denial, thinking that he could come here and somehow move on from the woman in front of him if he could arrest her, and force her to face the consequences of her actions. But Steve had always been incredibly stubborn, just like her. To an extent that it was deemed both a blessing and a curse at times. And if there was one thing that would blast through his denial like a wrecking ball, it was Natasha Romanoff, the source of his denial, telling him what he needed to do and what he could and couldn't do.

She was going to keep going, but he cut her off this time, "Stop it. Just stop. You may be the best damn spy all over the world, Natasha. But I know what you're doing. If there is no, 'we,' then I think you've lost the right to tell me what I should and shouldn't accept. And I think we both know that there is a lot more to whatever happened three years ago than what you're saying."

Natasha smacked her hands against the countertop, "Goddamnit, Steve. This isn't a game. You would have been killed. Just like that. Just as quickly as I said it, if Ivan and Oksana saw you at the Gala tonight."

His stare was unnerving to her. Yeah, she may have been an incredibly talented spy, but Steve knew her and could tell there was a lot more going on in her head. Steve stepped around the counter to challenge her further, "Why would you care if I was killed, if you're just a cold-hearted spy, Natasha? If you really just fell back into the life you knew, growing up? Don't even try to sell me that bullshit, because I know you're lying and are just trying to push me away without answering any actual questions."

God, he was maddening.

And she was so flustered that she blurted out, "You want answers, fine. Ask me a question, and I'll give you an honest answer." Natasha wasn't sure if she meant it or not, but she knew that she was in dangerous territory again. And Steve knew he probably should have asked her something along the lines of, 'What really happened?' But he didn't.

Instead, his heart was in control right now and did the talking, "Did you mean it?"

Her brow pinched together, like Natasha was trying to fight the rising tide of emotions inside her, "Did I mean what?"

"The note you left."

Fuck. He knew her so well. Just like she knew him.

And here they stood, both dancing around the fact that they were still hopelessly in love with each other. They were fighting each other and fighting themselves. And the note, had been one of the biggest sources of Steve's conflict over the last three years. If Natasha was always a traitor and always planned to betray them, why did she leave the note? It would have been so much easier to believe her actions were solely her actions, if she wouldn't have left a note, desperately writing that she would always love him.

And Natasha couldn't lie about that. Her heart wouldn't let her.

"Yes."

A time to build up, a time to break down
A time to dance, a time to mourn
A time to cast away stones, a time to gather stones together

To everything (turn, turn, turn,)
There is a season (turn, turn, turn)
And a time to every purpose, under heaven

A time of love, a time of hate
A time of war, a time of peace
A time you may embrace, a time to refrain from embracing

To everything (turn, turn, turn)
There is a season (turn, turn, turn,)
And a time to every purpose, under heaven

"Yes."

It was the most honest either one of them had been all night to each other. Steve pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes as he put his elbows on the counter. Natasha couldn't stop herself now. She felt exposed, admitting she meant every word in that short and scribbled note…Telling Steve that she'd always love him.

"Was the only reason you really came to Russia to arrest me?"

Steve huffed out a breath and shook his head, "No, Natasha."

Yes, they were in very risky territory right now as more honesty poured out, "Then did you come here, Steve?"

He looked up from his hands and their eyes met, "I don't know, Natasha. I know I told myself if I found you and arrested you, I could maybe move on. That bringing closure would somehow make me stop thinking about you every day."

'Fuck.' Natasha's voice in her head was pretty much yelling at this point, and she was a mess. They were admitting things they shouldn't be right now, and she knew it. Because they were admitting things without any real answers and without any real possibility of a solution.

Steve sighed, "I think I'm realizing right now, that if I only had time to write a short note to you before I ran away…that it would say the exact same thing."

There it was. The poorest admissions of love that both could muster up right now. They'd admitted it without saying the actual words, using her note as a proxy. And Steve was finally conceding to himself, why he came over here in the first place – there was no getting over Natasha Romanoff.

Steve came around the corner of the counter and got dangerously close to her, "Then why did you run, Natasha? And why were you just trying to push me away a minute ago?"

Tears and regret and pain were all swirling around inside of her. Natasha felt like she was ready to cave from his close proximity. But more importantly…the fact that he'd just said he still loved her, without actually saying it, had her screaming at herself. This wasn't part of either of their plans.

Her voice was quiet, "Because I meant the other thing that I said too, Steve. I'm not worth it."

Steve looked like he was about to argue. He looked like he was about to actually say the words they were dancing around and tell her every reason she was worth it. But the sound of silence filled the air again. They were pulled from their trance by the coffee pot. It had reached its boiling point, beeping loudly and causing Steve and Natasha to jump.

Natasha shut her eyes and blew out a breath, "Steve, you told me earlier that there was no going back. You're right. There is no going back. And I think you need to hear that too. I meant every word of that note, but that's not our life anymore. It's not our time. And the things I've done? I'm not worth it."

Steve's brow furrowed, "I don't think you would've left that note if there wasn't some part of you that still wanted me to find you. If there wasn't some part of you trying to fight for what we had."

Natasha turned away and bit her lip, trying to hold back her tears, "Maybe, Steve. But that was then. You listened and forgave and tried to understand everything I had to do to survive when I was growing up. You were so patient and loving with me at Quantico, when I told you about the people I'd hurt and killed and caused to go to prison, from all of the tests that Clint and I had to pass."

"I remember all of it, Natasha."

She didn't miss a beat, "Yeah, I know. Because you're you. But I've had to do some of those same things over the last three years, Steve. I've stole. I've lied. I've hurt innocent people. So, you tell me when you look at me, if you still see the same person that you did before I left you."

Steve groaned in frustration, "Why are you doing this? I was trying to be honest with you a minute ago. Do you know how hard that is right now? But you're lying to me. You're hiding something because none of this adds up. None of this makes any goddamn sense."

'Tell him.'

The voice was even louder than before inside her head. No. She couldn't do that. Not now. She knew Steve would find a way to forgive her if he knew, and she couldn't accept his forgiveness because her actions over the last three years were unforgiveable in her head. She couldn't tell him when she hadn't found a way…to make things right.

And that was the first time, Natasha started forming a new plan. It was small, but all things are when a seed is first planted. 'Shut up, I have to make this right,' she told herself.

Steve helped her so much in growing and developing into the woman she was with him. She was dreaming of a life outside of her handlers' plan for her, long before Steve came along. But meeting him, and falling in love, and living the life they had together, only made her that much better. It made her feel worthy of his love for those five years, because she was.

She still was, she was just bogged down by her guilt and betrayal. But right now, in that exact moment, was the first time in three years that Natasha's plan started shifting.

Instead of only doing what Ivan and Oksana demanded, because it would keep Steve and her loved ones safe, she began…thinking. She began thinking, that maybe her and Clint could do something good. Maybe they could work towards stopping Ivan and Oksana. Maybe she could wipe out some of the red in her ledger.

The ripple effect.

Sometimes, the ripples in time are predictable from a decision or person's actions. Like if a person drinks heavily at night, they'll surely feel the effects in the morning.

But with Steve and Natasha, so many ripples in their life remained underneath the surface. If Natasha wouldn't have copied the files during the mole mission at Quantico, she wouldn't have had to commit that specific crime five years later, because Ivan and Oksana wouldn't have known about the server room. If she wouldn't have left the note on the dresser, that her heart made her write, Steve may have never come and found her in Russia.

And if…

If Steve wouldn't have kept the secrets he did from his family and friends. If he wouldn't have started talking with Colonel Phillips, last year at Bucky's wedding. If he wouldn't have dove straight into the deep end of denial, then he wouldn't be here in Russia with Natasha. It wasn't a meeting of resolution. It wasn't time for that yet, on their fated journey. And it wasn't a goodbye. It wasn't time for that in their tragic tale yet, either.

It was the cast of a stone in another pool of water, causing more ripples in their lifetime that would emerge down the road, that they couldn't predict or foresee right now.

Steve being here, caused something to flip in Natasha. It wasn't that she started feeling worthy. It was that she started finally getting pissed off, because she didn't feel worthy anymore. It was the starting point, of her focusing all of her and Clint's efforts on not just protecting the people she loved, but to finally make the puppeteers at the helm pay.

No plans had been made, and no actions taken. But if there was one thing that Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff had in common, it was that once they set their mind to something…well, it was hard telling if anything could stop them.

"Natasha?"

Steve's voice pulled her from her train of thoughts. "Yeah, I'm…I was just thinking…I think there's a couple of things we can both stop lying about to ourselves, Steve." Steve was tired and exhausted, "Natasha if you're not going to give me answers to any of the questions I have, then could you at least stop trying to make this more complicated?"

Natasha scoffed, "Steve, we are the definition of complicated. Look, I know you have no plan on putting those cuffs back on me."

She could see Steve clenching his fists, trying to argue with what she was saying, but he stopped. He took a breath and closed his eyes before she went on, "Steve, there are no answers to give to you. I know you don't want to hear that, and I know my words don't mean much, but just listen. Even if I went back with you, what do you think would happen? I know you told yourself that you did this to move on, but that's not the case is it?"

He opened his eyes again and met hers, telling her everything she was saying was true. She continued, "If you did arrest me, you'd never see me again. I think we both know how it would work. The CIA would take me away in the middle of the night and throw me into a dark hole. They'd toss away the key. You know that."

"Steve, you know that."

And Steve did know that, and he was finally starting to admit why he'd lied and worked so hard. Why he'd collaborated with Colonel Phillips and learned a language. It wasn't to arrest her. It was because he knew he'd never move on. He had to see her. He had to try to…

'Save her…you were going to say, save her, Rogers.'

God, Natasha hated when Steve was right. But Steve hated when Natasha was right, too. His voice in his head was reminding him of how right she was earlier, when she'd called him out on wanting to be her knight in shining armor.

"Nat…"

Natasha turned away towards the coffee pot because she was going to start crying. Because there it was again. His name for her. But this time it wasn't an accident. This time, Steve was heeding her advice and finally admitting something within himself out loud, "I can't go back without you, Nat. I can't. The last three years…were miserable. I've been so mad at you, but I've been so mad at myself too because every night. Every damn night, I think of you."

"Damn it."

Steve looked over her shoulder as her words interrupted him, "What happened?" Natasha shook her head, "I burned my hand on that stupid coffee pot. I'll be back in a second. I think there's some aloe in the bathroom."

To everything (turn, turn, turn)
There is a season (turn, turn, turn)
And a time to every purpose, under heaven

A time to gain, a time to lose
A time to rend, a time to sew
A time for love, a time for hate
A time for peace, I swear it's not too late

To everything (turn, turn, turn)
There is a season (turn, turn, turn)
And a time to every purpose, under heaven

Strange things happen when it could either be considered late evening or very early morning.

Steve watched Natasha turn and walk down the hallway. And he didn't let another second pass before he was following her. He stood in the doorway to the long and narrow bathroom. The counter and the mirror above spanned roughly four feet, with the sink right in the middle.

Cold water ran over her finger from the faucet. Natasha wanted to splash it on her face right now because she felt like her nerves were stammering with the way Steve was looking at her…With how she was looking back at him through the mirror. Steve tried. He tried to stop himself for going any further. But the more they talked, the more confused he felt about his anger. And he hated how they'd left things outside.

That wasn't them. Maybe it wasn't time for answers, but it was time to rectify the barren feeling that filled them from earlier.

Steve cast a stone and made another ripple.

He took two steps to stand behind her as Natasha held her breath. He was close enough that he could smell her hair now. Finding her hand under the water, he brushed along her index finger, rubbing the red skin with his thumb. As the cool liquid surrounded them, Steve never took his eyes off of her.

Natasha was as good as gone, and so was he.

She drew her lip in her teeth as Steve stepped a little closer, officially marking the distance between them as intimately close, "Does it hurt, Natasha?" Internal voices and logic were left beyond the doorway as she shut her eyes and caved, "Everything hurts, Steve. All the time. And then you showed up tonight, and I can't. I can't even think straight."

Steve felt her skin, could smell her hair, and heard the change in her voice. He'd tried to hate her, but he still loved her. He was still so angry with her, but he needed her in his arms more. He had so many questions for her, but he couldn't muster the courage to end this right now, in order to demand answers. And it scared him to death realizing once again, his will power was nothing when it came to her. The original plan of arresting her? It was so foreign right now that it was laughable.

Anticipation purred, and Steve lowered his head, brushing his lips by her ear, "I hurt all the time too, Natasha." He took another step forward, but there was nowhere else to go. She was flush against him as the air became heavy with the familiar pull. Her hips molded against the counter as his pushed into her behind.

Natasha could feel the tension tick, opening her eyes again to see that Steve's were dilated now. Finding leverage as her hand settled on the cheap counter, she nudged against him as the friction between the Lycra and cotton fabric increased. Rubbing back in response, his thighs stiffened. Silent moves that had silent responses as the heat curled between them.

Her lips parted, letting a soft sigh escape. The rush between their legs was thrilling as he lowered his lips to her neck. Natasha could feel that Steve was just as turned on as she was. They were as aroused as they'd been outside. But it was different as they kept watch on each other in the mirror.

It was wrong, but Natasha knew there were scars and tattoos on her back that would ruin everything right now if he saw them, and she needed him like she needed to keep feeling the cool water on their hands right now. So, she craned her head towards him. The buzz in the air invaded their senses and Steve didn't fight it. Circling her with his arm, he tilted her chin with a gentle grasp. He held her close for a second as he continued watching her in the mirror. Until he finally looked down, connecting with the same dark pools of need in her eyes.

She wanted this just as much as he did.

Humid breaths whirled back and forth as they paused, silently asking each other if they were going down this road again. Another graze of his hips and her mouth opened a little more. His answer and her reaction, and Steve couldn't stay away any longer. Her lips beckoned as he found her soft skin. The kiss wasn't tentative, but it was gentle with purpose at first. And then a tug of war of pressure ensued as their lips found a little more release against each other. A hum from the back of her throat. A forceful huff of air from his nose. It was all so evocative as the tension tingled between their mouths and everywhere else.

They were past the point of no return now.

Steve pulled their hands from the water as he tangled their fingers and pinned them on the counter. They'd been running hot and cold all night. Hot with anger at the Palace. Cold with silence in the truck. Burning hot outside and cold as they came indoors. And now? They'd gone from running their fingers under cold water, to feeling warm, to now burning hotter than they had all night within seconds.

They needed to feel good, and they were always good at this.

Wet and sloppy kisses now ran rampant. Licking his beard. Laving at her chin. Sucking sounds followed, all mixing with the running water. Both palms pushed into the counter now as Natasha arched her back, as what hid within the confines of his pants, made itself known. A low grumble rose in his throat as he nipped at the pulsing on her neck.

Steve felt a little dizzy from it all. And Natasha bit down on her own lip to feel a little release.

"Steve."

"Natasha."

Their names came out with a husky sound, tickling each other's skin. She could feel the warmth in her leggings, and he could feel his cock harden against her plump and round rear, as she skimmed back and forth, and back and forth, and back and forth again.

Turning away, Natasha found his eyes again in the mirror as they stared at each other in the most voyeuristic of ways. He could see each pant, and she drank in each swallow. His moves were slow and hers alluring at first, but they grew bolder. The clenching of his jaw. The squeezing of his hand now over hers. The softest of gasps escaping her as his hand encircled her waist, sliding down to toy with the band on her leggings.

Natasha didn't want him to delay as she drew her lip between her teeth again and gave a single nod, and Steve answered. Dipping his hand inside the elastic material, he found her warm skin inside.

"Fuck."

She hadn't put on underwear when she'd changed. Trying to calm himself, Steve pressed his lips in a straight line as he closed his eyes for a second, "Touch me, Steve." It wasn't a question or request, but a demanding plea. He opened his eyes, and saw that she looked like she was ready to combust. She wouldn't have had to ask, but he was so relieved she did. Honestly, he felt the same way.

Steve drew her waist flush against him in his firm grasp. Their eyes flickered, darting down to his hidden hand. Inching lower inside the thin fabric, they watched it stretch and contort as his fingers ran through her soft hair, leading him to what they both needed and wanted.

Natasha wet her lips. Steve's Adam's apple bobbed. And then he brushed over her clit, and slid right through her slick folds as she tried holding back a muted cry. Two fingers. No waiting or teasing. Two long, thick fingers pushed inside, as they were devoured by her wet heat.

His hand held hers tight in his grasp on the counter as she melted into his touch. Each breath from him on her neck. Each quiver on her lips like she was gasping for air. Not being able to wait anymore, Natasha started moving against Steve and around him, stretching up on her toes. Her ass grinded against him, and his dick pulsed in his sweats. Her hips were slow at first, as his fingers felt every sensational wave around them.

God, Steve was enthralled by her. Her sighs quickly turned to breathless moans. She'd been his siren in his drawings and dreams, and now she was here, in person as his muse, moving beneath his hold. Somehow in that moment, what'd been creeping inside all night, became fact as an admission burst through his head. He still loved her and knew he was doomed to never love anyone else.

She was in leggings and a sweatshirt. He in sweats and a tee. And somehow, being completely covered, without hardly any skin showing at all, it was still one of the most erotic moments either had ever experienced together.

Being able to only see the movement of his hand inside her. Only hearing the wet sounds of their insatiable hunger. And watching their jaws and cheeks and foreheads stretch as taut muscles moved with each expression. Yes, it was sensual and arousing, but it wasn't just lust or pure animalistic need, like what had engrossed them outside. That was always part of it with Steve and Natasha. But this was also them falling back. And not just into the familiarity of their pull, but also into the internal admission of their feelings for one another.

Her moans caused Steve to focus as her lips coated him in heat. Explicit sounds mixed with the running water to fill the air. Steve was completely lost in all of her perfection. And Natasha could think of nothing else, except his eyes and his fingers as she moved quicker, now rutting against his hand.

It'd be three achingly long years since they were together, yes. But outside, Steve wasn't able to really look at her. And now? He could see everything. And god, how he missed seeing the way her eyes lit up and darkened as she succumbed to him. Natasha had longed for how his hands felt on her, in her, and all around her. They remembered how much they understood from just one look. And they felt the temptation of how they used to be, now stronger than ever with each sight and sound and touch.

Yes, Steve was enthralled. He couldn't stop watching her, and she couldn't stop fucking his hand as they both picked up the pace. The heel of his palm, pushed onto her mound, finding her swollen peak. He held her close, and she was tightly trapped between the thrusts of his fingers and his prodding erection against her ass. Each undulation of her hips. Each probe of his calloused tips. Each pant and trickle of water. It was all so much and not enough, but Steve wanted to see her come apart at the seams.

Writhing faster now, she braced her hands as her hips bucked harder against him now. Steve could tell how close she was already, as his chin fell on her shoulder to whisper in her ear, "Come for me, Nat. Come apart for me."

He met her eyes again, and they never left each other this time as his fingers pulled away from her pussy, now circling her bundle of nerves. Hands pushed into the counter, and she was gone. Three slow circles as wetness swamped their senses. And then rapid rotations followed until she was approaching the brink, whimpering frantically. Steve tightened his hold on her, and didn't let go. He didn't let go of her hand or her heat. And he didn't let go of her stare as she lost herself in his touch.

She fell over the edge, and Natasha convulsed against his fingers as her whimpers became cries. Steve sucked at her soft skin, running his beard over the dip in her neck, but it wasn't enough. Once was never enough in their past, and the same was true now.

Yes, they'd found each other outside, but right now? The same enticing thirst was there that was in their past. And Steve was achingly hard in his pants, and couldn't help but rub against her ass. She turned her head again, desperately seeking his lips as her words came out through her kiss, "I still mean it, Steve."

His hand pressed down over hers. His heart skipped a beat, "What do you mean, Nat?"

She shouldn't. And nothing that was said now, would make her actually tell him the truth, except for the truth that overran her heart, "The note. I still mean every word, Steve."

He shut his eyes for a second and rested his forehead against hers. Steve felt like he was on a razor's edge and could cry and scream in anger, or he could keep dancing on the tightrope of desire they were on. Steve made a choice and pulled his hand from her leggings as she gasped from the sensation. He made a choice to stay on the wire of nerves and want and unspoken love they were both on.

Steve drew his other hand from hers, settling both on her hips. He found her eyes again in their reflection. His lashes fluttered as Natasha wriggled her ass against him again, telling him she needed more of him too. Steve flexed right back, as the throbbing became too much. He yanked his own sweats and boxers to the floor first, and then peeled her leggings down her hips, finally leaving them bare. Natasha found purchase, leaning both hands onto the counter now. She arched her back next, and threw her head back towards him. With the way she was angling her body, she was almost presenting herself to Steve. A low rolling sound came out, almost like a growl. He was leaking with a deprived sense of need.

He desired every inch of her, but they felt like they were burning up. And Natasha just hoped and pled silently that Steve wouldn't lift her sweatshirt and question her about the images on her back.

"Steve," she begged with the urge in her voice.

"Natasha," he answered with a strangled sound.

See, hear, and touch. Three senses that had infected them so far. Steve needed more as he brushed his fingers along his tongue that were just inside her and he groaned. The scent of her musk pilfered the air around him, and he moved.

Every inch of his ache teased along her slick, and she keened, causing his breathing to stutter. Steve couldn't wait anymore. Cradling her hips, he dug his fingers into the supple flesh beneath. And with one quick snap, he impaled her heat. It was like the air pushed through her stomach as he filled her, moving up her chest and out her throat as her lips parted into an O.

Husked breaths came out of their mouths. They couldn't stop looking into each other's eyes in the mirror. Natasha tried to move, just like she had on his hand. But he wouldn't let her. He held her still, relishing the feel of being inside her again. She couldn't wriggle or squirm with his strength surrounding her.

"Tell me," her words came out, sounding almost unhinged, "Tell me, Steve."

They didn't actually say the words lingering in their hearts, but they said everything else. Steve understood what she was asking as he whispered, "I still mean it too, Nat."

Her eyes shimmered as the warmth expanded in her heart. He pulled out, leaving just the tip in as he saw the wanton look on her face. Plunging all the way back in just as quick, a throaty cry came out of her. He repeated the motion, again and again, building the ache and pull each time. Fingers digging in to her slender waist. Her hands rigid on the counter, taking every inch of him each time. It felt right, and so much better already, than it did outside.

It felt like them.

Her cries became a little louder, as his dripping cock finally filled her pussy to the hilt, bottoming out as a grunt came out of him. Steve pulled out again, and moved slower this time. And within seconds a steady pace was set with each deliberate roll of his hips. Holding her tight and still, he buried into her entrance from behind, but Natasha didn't stop.

Steve smirked, feeling the muscles in her hips and rear, ripple and coil as she tried to meet him each time. The pressure was addictive and obscene, making them both feel a little wild. Building a little more speed, he loosened his hold as Natasha blurted out in a rasped breath, "Yes."

She was finally pushing hard enough against him to start meeting his thrusts. Her ass slapping against him. Every inch of his cock losing itself in her heat. The rhythmic thudding of flesh, filling the space between them. And his groaning with her whimpering all mixed with the water still running.

And all the while, their eyes remained frozen, not able to even glance away from each other's pupils blown wide. Natasha's knuckles turned white as she bounced harder into each drive of his. Steve ran one hand up her side as it came up to the column on her neck with her melding into his touch. He caressed her throat as he moved faster and her breathy moans became louder.

His fingers inched into her mouth as she bit and then sucked on the ends, making him move at a relentless pace now. They were completely gone in the fog around them. He grunted as she licked his fingers, tasting herself on him as a mewl came out of her. And he needed more. Steve dug his nails into her waist with one hand as his other slid down and went under her sweatshirt in the front. He found her breast instantly as he rubbed and tugged at her nipple.

But it wasn't enough, they needed to somehow feel closer as she panted, "Steve, hold me."

He blinked and saw her fingers moving on the counter. Steve didn't need to be told twice. He pulled out from her shirt and covered her hand, intertwining their fingers again. They held onto each other's grasp, squeezing against each other's knuckles and palms.

Steve groaned louder as his pace turned frenzied. Natasha had climaxed only a little bit ago and knew Steve would get there before her this time. But neither of them wanted that. They needed to see and feel their collapse together. She took her other hand as she fell into his embrace. Succumbing completely to his hold on her waist and hand on the counter, she sank in the envelope of his muscular arms. He anchored them both as Natasha slid her fingers down, to repeat the same moves Steve just had.

"I'm close, Nat," he heaved.

"I know," She panted.

He pulled out and plunged back inside her, sinking into her soaking wet heat. His thrusting turned erratic now as she lost control and went along for the ride. Her fingers circled her sensitive flesh with her eyes threatening to close. But his voice cut through the air, "I wanna see you, Nat. I want you to see us together."

The scent became heady and the sounds primal as she felt the build come from within. The heat began in her core as the warmth grew inside, and the fire in his groin swelled through his chest and each limb.

And they were there. The surge burst in Steve as he came inside her swollen walls. Her fingers stopped rolling as she dissolved, feeling each spasm around him and inside her. His hips slowed as his release came out, filling her, and her fingers drew away, seeking out the base of his neck.

Natasha pulled him down as their lips searched and found each other, kissing tenderly through each pant and breath and shudder. And unspoken but shared love, filled their hearts as they savored the blissful haze surrounding them.

Steve pulled out gently while holding onto her and kissing her cheek. They pulled their pants up as Natasha turned around and brought him close to her again. Without saying anything, they both knew no matter what happened, they never wanted to feel like they had outside ever again.

This situation was a mess, and nothing had really changed with regards to her telling him anything about why she'd done what she had. But everything had changed with regards to what they were admitting to themselves, and the paths they were moving toward now.

Her forehead fell to his chest, "I think about you every night too, Steve. Can we just go lay down and sleep for the rest of the night?"

This wasn't the last second they were together on this borrowed night. This stolen evening. But Steve could feel it starting to slip from his grasp. Natasha was right. Steve knew he couldn't arrest her. For all the reasons she'd said and he'd been denying. But he also knew he would never be able to stand by and watch her be put in prison back in the States. Or worse, he'd never be able to live with himself if something happened to her after being put in prison, like being taken away by the CIA and put in a blackhole somewhere.

He didn't understand her actions. He didn't even understand how in the hell he'd really ended up here now, in a safehouse in Russia. But he was here. Somehow, Steve had come to Russia, found Natasha, and now here they were.

And they were at a crossroads in their time together, forcing ripples they couldn't see or predict.

Natasha couldn't predict how deep Steve's spiral would go. How he would start living two lives, trying to track and find her again after this weekend. And Steve didn't understand that right now, tonight, was the moment when Natasha finally decided to course correct.

Natasha decided that she was going to do everything in her power, to fuck over Ivan and Oksana. They may have gotten her to betray and steal and run three years ago. But being around Steve and feeling his strength and need for her. His desire to protect her. It gave her strength. It gave her courage. And it made her think, of how much she hated the fact that she'd been away from him.

She couldn't go back and erase what she did to him and the team. She couldn't take back any of the other transgressions she'd committed over the last three years. But what Natasha could do, was make Ivan and Oksana pay. She could start fighting for what was right, and her own self-worth again. She could fight so that maybe one day, there would be a time when her and Steve could be together again.

The ripples created by Natasha's actions three years ago had pushed them apart. But the actions by Steve tonight, had unknowingly put them on the path they'd be headed on for years and years down the road.

Sometimes, the purpose in time isn't realized until later on. Sometimes, there are no acceptable reasons for why something bad happens in the moment, like what had happened to Natasha in her life, or what both her and Steve had been through over the last three years.

But the ripples from this crossroad, would change their direction forever. And that course correction would help Natasha and Steve both realize years down the road, that even though horrifying things happen, surviving and making things right together would be how they could find purpose.

"Yeah, Nat. Let's go to bed."

Steve kissed her forehead and lifted her up as her legs wrapped around him. He carried her the short distance to the bed in the tiny, one-bedroom house. And he pulled the blanket over them as they fell asleep in each other's arms, thinking of all that had happened, and wondering about everything that would happen after.

Yes, they were at a crossroads, and the darkest times on their tragic journey still lie ahead of them. There is a time for everything. Without even realizing what this stolen moment in time's purpose was yet, Steve and Natasha had actually started on the long road to forgiveness.

A time to heal
A time to weep
A time for peace
A time for love

To everything (turn, turn, turn)
There is a season (turn, turn, turn)
And a time to every purpose, under heaven

Present Day – Task-Force Compound

The day and evening after the FBI was attacked went by rather quickly. And Steve and Natasha found themselves alone again at night. Only this time it was in their bedroom.

Last night, they'd been so tired after beginning to reconnect when Steve returned to the compound, that they barely made it under the blanket by the time their heads hit the mattress.

Tonight was different, though.

Tonight, there was a charge in the air from the energy of the day. Natasha was scared to dive into anything from her 21 months of darkness. But she'd meant it the night before, when she told Steve she was willing to try. She wanted to, for both her and him, and she wanted to try and remember for the team. To figure out what was hiding in the shadows of her mind.

What couldn't she remember?

Her motivation was there, but Natasha didn't know where to begin. Neither did Steve as they nervously stood holding each other's hands, like they were some teenagers trying to figure out what to say next.

Natasha saw her journal on the end table and went to sit on the bed as she pulled it into her lap, "I know you read all of this, Steve. I'm so glad, because in a way, you got to read and feel what I was thinking when we were apart. Sometimes I wish you had a journal that I could've read."

Steve realized something. In planning out the safehouse, Tony and everyone sent over some of their necessities, depending on how long they would be hunkered down for. Steve had sent over needed items from his apartment yes, but he'd also sent over some of the boxed-up memories from their life together.

Steve didn't know if or when they would even look at the stuff, but he knew he didn't want to leave it in his apartment, when he or Bucky or Wanda weren't there. He went to the closet and grabbed four boxes and set them down at the foot of the bed. The lamp provided a soft glow as they put their sweats on. Steve gave Natasha one of his old FBI hoodies that he'd packed up from his apartment too. She used to love wearing it and had the cutest smile on her face as she held it in her hands.

Natasha slipped it on and almost swam in it from how large it was on her, but she didn't care. She was covered head to toe in loose fitting clothing. And Steve might as well have been looking at her at the Political Gala in Russia, because that's how beautiful she looked to him right now.

She blushed from his gaze, "What's in the boxes, Steve?"

A nervous tension all of a sudden filled the air as they sat cross-legged on the floor next to each other. Steve hadn't opened them in a long time. Each box sacredly held cherished memories in them like their ticket stubs and pictures and little trinkets from their life together. But mostly, the boxes were filled with the images and pages, conveying the darkest times that Steve found himself in over the last seven years. It was unnerving to go back into that world right now, just as he was sure it would be odd for Natasha to actually open up and read her journal in front of him.

"I…I know you said, you wished I kept a journal. In some ways I did, Nat. Just in my own way. I didn't write when I was lost or angry or in pain. I drew. It's what I knew, and it's how some of what needed to, came out without me even realizing it. I see that now. In these boxes, you'll see most of what I drew and sketched over the last seven years."

The expression on her face was filled with a mixture of sadness and disbelief as Steve continued, "I know I read your journal while you were sleeping, so if you want to be alone while you look through these, I can go downstairs…" She grabbed Steve's hand before he even had a chance to finish talking and shook her head, "No. I don't want to do this alone, Steve. I want you here with me. I need you here with me." Steve was so relieved as he held her hand because he didn't want them to be alone right now either.

Steve thought Natasha was going to open up a box and dive in, but she didn't. Instead, she once again surprised him deep to his core. Because she looked down at their hands as she started talking about what she hadn't yet. Her 21 months in the dark.

Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vison that was planted in my brain

Still remains

Within the sound of silence

21 Months Ago –

Natasha woke on the cold, cemented ground. Her head was pounding and as she started to sit up in a groggy state, but she couldn't.

Her arm buckled as her body cried out while she fell back to the ground. Natasha focused on the cool sensation of the concrete against her cheek as she told herself what her and Steve always said to each other, when they'd wake from a bad dream, "Just breathe."

But her breathing only made her focus on the pain in her chest as flashes of what happened started blinding her senses. Her body was covered with scrapes and bruises. Lifting her hand slowly to her cheek, Natasha hissed. Her face was puffy and her lip was split as she tasted the dried blood that'd ran down her chin. The first thought that came to mind, was that she felt like she'd been tossed around in a dump truck full of jagged rocks. The soreness in her shoulder and chest from a moment ago started registering everywhere else as her body was inundated with pain.

Her back. Her legs. Her feet and hands. Her face. And her stomach.

Natasha rolled onto her back, groaning but finding a way to breathe as she tried to make out the basics. Where was she? How did she get here? When was it?

But she regretted the questions as soon as they were asked. Because as she caught a glimpse of the tiny barred window to the outside, and saw the moonlight peeking in, she took in her surroundings and started to remember.

Natasha was in a cemented cell, that was recessed in the ground. That much she could tell from her positioning to the ground level window with steel bars, that was almost out of her reach. The window looked like it was ajar right now but only opened and closed from the outside.

Maybe there was a way out. But she rolled her head from side to side, and there was nothing except an old scratchy army blanket on the floor, a toilet, and a stainless steel cup of water that sat by the door, with a piece of bread on top of it. The door was old and bolted from the outside. That was all there was in the small cemented cell. Nothing else but her battered and bruised body.

Nothing else but darkness and silence.

And then her brain started yelling the answers to the questions she'd just asked. When was it? Natasha thought it was the same week that her and Clint had returned from Kazakhstan. Yes. It had to be. They had succeeded and stopped Poseidon's cash intake. And then she remembered coming back, and going and getting her tattoos. But the image of the bathroom with the pregnancy test flashed through her mind.

"No. No, no…please," Natasha's words were disjointed and quiet, as the plastic stick and all her questions about IUD's went through her head. And then she remembered what happened after she'd gotten the tattoos.

"NO!" Natasha choked out as her hands immediately went to her stomach. It hurt to move and breathe and as she pushed into her belly with trepidation. She was desperate as emotion battled the pain that was running through her.

Her breaths became shorter as Natasha's hands trembled. Her pleas and cries were silent now, as what happened started to fill in. She knew. Just as she'd known before she actually took the test what the result would be, she knew now that something had changed.

She knew.

She stopped her tentative brushes over her stomach as the horrifying truth settled in her heart. She began to shake as she shut her eyes tight and held her breath. Natasha didn't want to remember anymore. But it didn't matter.

She'd been taken.

Both her and Clint were after she'd returned from changing her tattoos.

Ivan and Oksana were enraged with the failed mission in Kazakhstan. They tried to get information out of Natasha, but she didn't say anything. They sent Rumlow in and they'd fought for a long period of time.

She'd gotten several kicks and punches in on him, and even had him in a choke hold with her legs, but he hit her stomach and Natasha protectively flinched, and lost the upper hand. Rumlow flipped her onto her back as her body slammed into the ground. He rolled her onto her stomach, pinning her firmly to the floor, and her shirt inadvertently rose up. Natasha started squirming immediately to try and hide what was there, but it was too late. Rumlow noticed the fresh ink on her back and called Ivan and Oksana over.

She'd wanted to give the biggest 'fuck you' to them. And it just backfired, to a frightening extent.

Natasha tried everything to hide in the hole she'd dug herself into, with all the evidence of what was going on in her body displayed for them to see. But it was too late. It was bad enough that words like Freedom, Steve, Love, and America were on her back now. But when they got to the Russian word for 'Child,' Oksana unforgivingly grabbed Natasha's face and looked in her eyes.

Her irises gave away the trepidation inside as Rumlow's words echoed in Natasha's ears, "I fucking told you she was with Rogers that weekend three months ago. Stupid bitch got knocked up by her American soldier. Well where's your soldier now, Romanoff?"

Fear flooded Natasha's eyes as Oksana saw the truth. Natasha, the best of spies, couldn't hide in that moment because everything had happened so quick.

Not even a day had passed. She didn't even have 24 hours to process the information she'd just learned in a dark and dingy bathroom. As hard as Natasha tried to cover it up with a stone-cold expression, her eyes gave it away. Oksana shoved her face back to the ground and spit on her, ranting in Russian about being disgusted as she walked away.

Being taken was the beginning of Natasha's 21 months of darkness. And she wished she had been tossed around in a dump truck, because it would have been easier to swallow, than what happened over the following three days.

Punching and fighting. Pain and bruising. Kicks and slams into the wall.

The specifics didn't need to be re-hashed in Natasha's mind. Because the truth of what happened was seared into her heart as the beatings took place.

Natasha wouldn't tell them anything about Clint or Kazakhstan or the mercenaries or their plan. She knew it didn't matter, because the end result would've still been the same. Not even 24 hours had passed since her pregnancy became known as the endless hitting began. And she'd miscarried by the end of the first day as a result. Her handlers forced a doctor to see her and take care of what had happened as Ivan demanded, "We need her alive, so fix her."

Natasha was sedated but remembered begging the Doctor to stop as her hands kept going to her stomach. She remembered the look in the Doctor's eyes. He may have worked for Ivan and Oksana, but something about what was happening even disturbed him, but he did as he was told. He cleaned up the blood coming out of her, completed his procedure and made sure she was alive, as Ivan demanded.

Part of the reason Dr. Erskine stood out to Natasha so much, was that he had the nerve and courage to stand up and say no to her handlers. He was brave in his own way, doing what was right in a moment when he had no reason to. That was not the case with most people Ivan and Oksana 'employed.'

Most people fell in line.

Natasha was asleep after the Doctor was done. And she woke up, feeling empty. She knew the baby was gone, and the Doctor had made sure she was medically okay after her miscarriage. Medically okay and alive, yes. But empty and anything but okay, in every other sense of the word.

Clint got to see her shortly after as he ran his hands along her cheek, seeing just how bloodied and bruised her body was. He was crying to her as he whispered, "Tasha, what happened? Jones and Cage and the team will be here soon. We just have to make it a little longer, and I promise we'll be out of here." Natasha recoiled, disgusted with herself, and turned away from him, not being able to think of anything except for what she'd lost. She curled into her body, sinking into the despairing void as her hands held her stomach.

"Goodbye, Clint."

Clint was given his moment with his sister and was forced from her room. He'd never seen her like that before and was shaken to his core. He was filled with dread and fear for what happened to her. But before anything could be done, she would be taken permanently. That was the last thing Natasha said to him, and would be the last time he'd see her for almost two years.

Natasha brought out her journal soon after he was gone. She peeled up a floorboard, revealing the hidden space beneath, and ran her hands over the leather hiding inside. She touched where her first entry and photograph were hidden, glued inside the leather binding. And her tears stained the cover.

Her connection to Steve. Plans of escapes were out the window in that moment as she laid down holding the journal, and crying herself to sleep. Crying harder than she ever remembered, Natasha realized the consequences from careless mistakes as she cradled the one connection she still had to her love. And she was left feeling like she'd failed him yet again because their child was gone.

Oksana found her curled in a ball in her room and grabbed the journal immediately. And all Natasha remembered, was that she didn't care anymore. Steve was gone from her life. And something she never imagined, a baby, was gone from this world almost as soon as Natasha made the discovery in her world.

She didn't care. Natasha was lost and hopeless as Oksana flipped through the journal and saw her entries of love and longing to Steve. Natasha pressed her fingers into her stomach as the hatred for herself and everything about her life filled her. And Oksana read on about vague plans of taking down Poseidon.

And that was it.

The journal was tossed on the table and Natasha was taken. Oksana personally tied her wrists, and Natasha didn't even fight her as she was thrown into the cell she woke up in now.

Yes, all of her questions were answered as Natasha now lay on the concrete ground, and she wished they weren't. She wished she couldn't remember anything from the last several days, and that she was just a prisoner with amnesia. The moon stared down at her, mocking her from its position of freedom in the evening sky.

And all Natasha could do was shut her eyes again and sob. All of the planning. All of the pain she'd put her loved ones through with her betrayal. All of her and Clint's plotting to take Poseidon down, and this was where she ended up anyway. Stubborn and strong-willed and fierce Natasha, had met her breaking point, and she felt like it was a foregone conclusion.

But her body still shook as the bolts to the wooden door started rattling. She wouldn't remember a great deal from her captivity. But the flashes and the sounds within the silent walls that accompanied a certain few memories, were seared into her brain. Just like this one, which unfortunately wasn't one of the forgotten memories. It was one she remembered every detail of.

Ivan and Oksana walked in as Rollins stood guard, "You think you can replace your tattoos and be born again as a true American, Yelena?" Oksana's voice was chilling as she stood over her. Then Oksana hunched down, nearing Natasha's face on the ground, "You think your perfect Captain will ever want you now, knowing you lost his child?"

Whether it was Rollins or Rumlow, or Ivan or Oksana who actually had the punishing blow that forced the miscarriage, Natasha would never know. But right now, it seemed the fight wasn't all out of Natasha. Because despite the pain and bruises and broken feeling inside, a rage consumed her in that moment.

How dare Oksana even talk about Steve and what she'd lost. Oksana was above her, still trying to push her down, even though she'd taken everything from her.

Yes, her rage consumed her.

Natasha's body screamed, but it was a small price to pay. She rolled onto her side quickly and swept Oksana's legs out from under her, causing her to fall flat on her back. All of a sudden, the angles were reversed, but Natasha didn't just stand hunched over Oksana now.

No. Natasha, even now in her weakened state, was stronger than Oksana physically. And she didn't stand a chance to fight back as Natasha pinned her between her legs. Her fingers went right around Oksana's throat.

Natasha's eyes burned with a fury as her thumbs squeezed the oxygen from Oksana. And she saw it.

For the first time in Natasha's entire existence, she saw the glimpse of fear creep into Oksana's eyes. And all Natasha wanted to keep doing was squeeze even more. Her thumbs and fingers dug into Oksana's throat, feeling the trachea beneath her skin. Ragged gasps pushed out of Oksana's lungs, and it wasn't enough. Natasha's nails dug hard enough into her skin, that blood was seeping out as she found a way to squeeze harder around her wind pipe and lift her head up to slam it back into the ground.

Oksana's fingers and legs started twitching beneath Natasha, and it felt good. It was the only feeling coursing through Natasha right now, and it sure as hell beat the wretched pain that had filled her moments ago. And that would be waiting for her after, "You keep your eyes open, Oksana. You keep them open as I watch you die."

Natasha's voice was cold and menacing, more so than she could ever remember, but she didn't care. All that mattered was her rage and extracting every last breath out of the woman who'd caused her so much pain.

But it was all cut short as Ivan's voice echoed and boomed through the cell, "Yelena, stop. Stop or your helper, Dr. Erskine will meet his fate."

Rumlow drug Erskine into the room as Natasha's face shot up in terror. He was covered in his own bruises. More scrapes. More pain. More blood. More. More. More.

Another consequence of her life. Another expendable person at Ivan and Oksana's disposal. Her grip on Oksana loosened as Ivan grabbed Natasha by her hair and threw her off of his wife. Oksana cowered away, coughing and wheezing, and holding onto her throat, trying to take in all the oxygen she could.

And Natasha just stared at Erskine. He didn't deserve this. He had tried to do what was right. She brought him back into this world by asking him to help her with the tattoos. And Natasha pleaded with Ivan to let him go. But she knew in her already broken heart, that her pleas were useless.

What Natasha remembered most in that moment, wasn't the panic and fear coursing through her own veins. No, quite the opposite. It was the fact that she couldn't see any signs of fear in Erskine. He gave her a shallow nod, as if he'd accepted his fate. Her eyes betrayed her as they shined with brimming tears. She didn't want to let them see that this was causing her pain, but she was at the end of her rope.

Ivan spoke, "Dr. Erskine, you were warned when we let you walk away, that it was your one and only strike. I thought you'd be smarter than to help our traitorous Natasha. So, now you have a chance to make up for the mess you made on her back. To cover up that disgusting word for child and replace it with this."

Ivan showed Erskine a piece of paper with a symbol on it, as Oksana limped over and grabbed the image before forcing it into Natasha's face, "Not so tough when you know we have someone else's life in our hands, are you Natasha?"

Natasha saw the hourglass symbol as Oksana went on through her ragged breaths, "Do you know the myth of the black widow? The spider with one of the deadliest of bites, carries a red hourglass symbol on its body. And do you know why? Because they are a harbinger of death. They kill what is around them, and then they kill who they have been destined to be with, their mates. That is what you are, Natasha. You killed your chance at ranking high in Poseidon. You could have returned us all to the mother land. You killed your chance at your stupid and foolish dreams when you betrayed your team. Love is for children, Yelena. You should have learned that by now, because you killed your chance with your precious soldier, when you killed your child."

Erskine spoke over Oksana. He didn't even hesitate at what he knew they were asking him to do, "I should've never taken your money in the first place all those years ago. I've given every penny I could since leaving, to orphanages here in the States, so that other children may be given chances that you stole from so many others. I will never help you or what you represent ever again."

Ivan sneered, "Foolish man, Erskine. You've apparently never met someone like me."

Erskine shook his head and had a glimmer in his eye as he looked at Natasha, with an acceptance, "I believe you are the foolish man, Ivan. There are always people like you. And as long as there are always people like you, there will be something and someone to stand against."

Oksana walked up to him and got in his face, "You've met your fate, old man."

Erskine didn't miss a beat, "I met my fate the minute you brought me here. Don't pretend like you would've let me live, no matter if I helped or not. I'll say it again. I will never help you or what you represent ever again."

Natasha started begging as the nauseating feeling rose in her stomach, because she knew. She knew what was going to happen before it did, "Please don't do this. Ivan, please!"

Her voice was hoarse, and Ivan didn't even acknowledge her. He and Oksana glared at Erskine's defiant stance, before nodding to Rumlow. "NO! No. No. Rumlow, don't do this." Natasha knew it was no use, but she couldn't stop the pleading.

Ivan and Oksana walked out, and Rumlow drew his gun as Natasha tried to stand and fight, but it was too late. Rumlow whispered in his ear, "Time to meet your maker, Doc."

Two shots rang through the cemented walls. Two shots blared as silence followed. Two shots caused Erskine's blood to splatter on Natasha's chest and face as she screamed, "No!"

Rumlow left as Erskine fell to the ground. Natasha could hardly see through her tears as she ran over to him. Her body was in so much pain already, but somehow, Ivan and Oksana succeeded in making it worse. They found a way to make her broken heart bleed a little more.

Erskine was gasping for what would be his final breaths as Natasha put her hands over his chest. Her lips were shaking, violently so, as her tears mixed in with his blood pooling out between her fingers and over her hands, "I'm so sorry, Abraham. I'm so sorry."

He didn't have long.

Erskine looked up to Natasha and said through rasped breathing, "It doesn't matter what you've done in the past. It matters that you stay who you are. Because you are not the spy they made you to be, and never were. Remember, you are a good person in here, Natasha."

The tremors in her body worsened as she kept saying, "No," begging him to stay with her. Erskine tried to lift his finger towards Natasha's heart, but his last breath escaped him before he could. His hand fell down on top of hers that were clutching his chest as she lurched forward and sobbed.

It was all she could do as she held him in the dark and silence now. She shook in the cold space as more of her tears landed on his cheek. She shut his kind eyes and leaned down to kiss his forehead.

Another life gone. Another useless death in this horrifying world and all she could do was cry.

She cried for Erskine. She cried for Clint, not knowing what he was facing right now. She cried for Steve and his safety, knowing that Ivan and Oksana's revenge knew no bounds. And she cried for herself and their child that was gone.

Present Day -

It was the first time Natasha had talked about any of her memories to Steve. It was the first time she'd really talked about them at all, or even let herself really think of them.

Steve held her hand and wiped his eyes as she leaned her head on his shoulder now, with both their backs against the bed, "I mostly remember darkness and silence, Steve. So much silence that I thought I was going deaf at times. And it's like there's this void that I can't find my way through, but I know there is something that I need to remember for us and the team."

He pressed his fingers into her palm as she went on, "But then there are these moments that I remember so vividly. Like the beginning that I just told you about. And I wish I could forget, but I know I never will. Erskine's body was taken an hour later, and they brought another person in, to tattoo the hourglass on my back, covering up the word for 'Child.'"

Steve was visibly shaken, hearing the beginning of Natasha's time in captivity. Part of him felt like he could be sick, but he tried to find the courage that Natasha had shown. And that she spoke of Dr. Erskine having, "Natasha, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't there. God, that was a few months after you'd said goodbye to me…and I was so busy drowning in my sorrow and self-pity and loathing. And all that while, you were being held against your will and hurt…you were hurt so much. You had to watch Dr. Erskine get killed. I wish…"

Steve struggled to continue as the overwhelming sensation of his guilt took hold. But Natasha stopped him, nudging his shoulder and brushing her thumb over his knuckles, "Steve, I gave you good reason to be sad. I was sad too. I was sad for our goodbye, and I was sad for everything that happened after. I still am…But I'm not sad I'm telling you right now. I was scared before tonight to share any of this with you. But right now, if you can believe it, it feels right to open up with you."

Martin Luther King Jr. once said, "Darkness cannot drive out darkness. Only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate. Only love can do that."

Truer words could not explain the precipice they were at right now.

Steve and Natasha, joined by their hands, confronted this dark and horrific part of their history. Or at least they started to. Natasha thought of Dr. Erskine and how he had no reason at all to stand up against something dark in the world, except for the reason that mattered. Because it was right. And Steve thought of how his Mom had been brave, dealing with his father's abuse, trying to protect him and Bucky from all the pain in the world. He saw that same bravery and courage in Natasha now, multiplied by 3000. She had always been brave, but this was something else. The courage she had in her heart was radiating off of her like a light.

Steve and Natasha found the resolve within themselves to keep going. To keep pushing out the darkness in their hearts and souls, as they finally confronted the ghosts within their memories.

The darkness and the hate.

The hate they had towards their past and choices, and the consequences that followed. The hate that they had for each other at times. The hate they mostly had for themselves. But all of the hate, finally relented a little as the light began to heal. And with the healing, without them even realizing it or putting a word on it, trust was born again.

Yes, the pain and grief were permanent, but it didn't have to paralyze. Steve and Natasha were each other's love and light, and as they embraced each other, the shards of agony piercing their hearts, began to recede.

Somehow, sitting in the dark and quiet of their room in a hidden compound, sharing the most painful memories with each other, another tiny step forward was made. The night before, they'd found a way to move toward something instead of holding back again.

And now?

It was painfully difficult, but needed more than ever. Light and love and truth, were the only way through the darkest parts of their history. Fury had been right. They're alive and here, safe. That was what mattered. Leaning into that light. Exposing the dark and silent horrors, lingering in Natasha's memories and Steve's reeling thoughts was the only way through this.

And it felt right as just a little of the poisonous venom lost its grasp on their hearts. That's what happens when darkness is exposed. It's hold over a person is relinquished. The more exposure the light offers, the less that can remain hidden in the shadows.

Steve sniffed again and wiped his eyes as he grabbed the first box and opened it for Natasha.

"We don't have to look through a lot tonight, Natasha. But I want you to know I felt ever word. Every wish and thought you wrote to me in your journal. And I want you to know that I would've waited for you, without you even asking me to. You were it for me a long time ago, and I think by the time I got my head out of my ass after Russia, I finally realized that again. Even when I didn't think I had a choice in this life any more, I still chose you. It's been you for the last 12 years, and it'll be you, forever."

Steve lifted some of the pages and a sketch book out of the box as he handed them to Natasha. She held them in her lap and looked at him, loving him more now, than she could ever remember, "You say you don't journal, but you have a way with words when you want to, Steve. I realized that a long time ago too…That you were it for me too."

A little smile appeared through his glassy eyes, "Go ahead and look through them, Nat. I'll be right here."

And she did. She thumbed through the pages. Some were crisp, only being touched once or twice. Some were wrinkled and worn. And this was only the first box. The first thing she noticed was all of the pain in the drawings. She saw perfect replicas of her tattoos and scars on her back. She knew that Steve must have drawn these, right after the cabin and her goodbye to him.

And she felt it.

She felt his pain as she looked at the 14 circles with Russian words. She saw the smudges of black charcoal where his tears permanently rested, over the sliced scarring on her lower back and the bullet hole scars to the left of her spine. Just as his tears covered her scars two years ago, they'd covered these pages. And just as his tears fused with hers in her journal, hers did right here as well.

Steve saw her silent drops fall on page after page of his memories. Pages that represented all of the torment on her physically. And all that was wrong in their life. The scars and tattoos were long gone from Steve's sight after she'd said goodbye, but the vision was planted in his brain. They still remained, as his forehead fell to her shoulder.

All that filled the air was the ruffling of thick drawing paper, their quiet breathing, and their hushed sniffling and crying. The dark was something they'd both become accustomed to as pain overwhelmed them in the previous years of life. The sound of silence lingered in their heads as well, as they were lost in their memories of each other for as long as they could remember.

And now?

It was another equally beautiful and painful step on their road forward. They were finally remembering what it was like to be each other's light, and to lead each other through darkness. To hear and listen to each other. And to start to trust one another again.

That was how Steve and Natasha went from drowning in their grief, to treading water, to finally starting to swim.

Yes, they swam through the muck of darkness. They'd never be rid of it ever. But slowly, one-by-one, the barbed wires of pain lost their hold on their hearts. It was grim and exhausting, but more needed than ever.

Night after night, they sat in their room in the compound, under the soft glow of the lamp. They sat next to each other on the floor as they held each other and cried in their sweats, after each long day of searching with the team. And each night that passed as they journeyed through both their happy and tragic memories, the trust that'd been born again, began to grow.

Three days into the stay at the compound, Fury finally made contact with Phillips in Europe, and was told that British Intelligence's main server was breached as well. Natasha's theory of attacking the U.S.'s Security and Defense structure, and other world powers, became that much more believable.

And Natasha was frustrated more and more with each passing day, because she still couldn't remember whatever was nagging in her head. A week into their stay at the compound, the team found out the NSA and Homeland both had break ins, but the data stolen wasn't nearly as bad as the CIA and FBI.

Bruce approached Natasha with an idea. Whatever it was, he was nervous as he started talking, "Natasha, you've been great this week. I know that you think there's something you can't remember that might be helpful. And I know that you said you wished you knew more…I might have an idea."

Natasha squeezed Steve's hand before asking, "What do you mean, Bruce?"

Bruce went on, "I'm…I'm talking about what you might've heard and don't remember during those 21 months." Now Steve squeezed her hand back protectively as she said, "Yeah, I know. I really wish I could remember whatever it is that I know is inside me."

Steve was being over protective and he knew it with the look he gave Banner, but Bruce pushed forward anyway, "I know that, Natasha. I don't want to push you. But I just wanted to let you think about an idea I had…to see if maybe there's some information that's locked away with repressed memories. If there is, we might be able to tap into it, with a form of hypnosis."

A second didn't even pass before Steve almost stepped in front of Natasha, "No, Bruce. No. You're not going to traumatize Nat more."

Bruce sighed, knowing that Steve wouldn't go for it. It wasn't that Bruce liked the idea. But these were desperate times, and they were racing against an unknown clock, "Just think about it, Natasha. I promise, I wouldn't focus on anything you're not ready to talk about. It would really be just trying to see if there's anything hidden inside, that might be helpful."

Banner walked off and she looked at the man holding onto her hand even harder now, "Nat, listen to me. I know Bruce means well, but you don't need that shit. You don't need to talk to anyone unless you're ready and want to. I told him that during every one of his damn sessions he's made me have with him over the last month."

"Steve, it's not like the idea sounds fun to me. But I do think it'd be worth a shot. It's not like I can be put through much more." Steve's brow furrowed as his eyes filled with sadness, "Natasha…"

But she cut him off, "I didn't mean that as a joke, Steve. I just meant that even if there's only a small chance, I owe it to everyone here, and everyone that's been hurt by Poseidon to try."

"What about you, Nat? You've been hurt the most."

"Well then I owe it to myself to try too, Steve. Let's just get to work for right now, and we can talk about it later."

And they did talk about it later as Natasha and Steve sat on the floor again that night, looking through a couple of old picture albums. He could tell that her mind was made up, but he still didn't like it, "I just…I know I can't protect you from all the pain in the world, Natasha. But I sure want to try. I don't think I've told you this, but that was what ate me up the most at your memorial. That I was there, without being able to bury you, and feeling like I failed you when you needed me most. I don't ever want to fail you again."

Natasha set the photo album down and grabbed his hands, "Steve, you've never failed me."

Steve brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, "I know you say you have flashes, Nat. That's how I remember the time when I got the pictures. I remember the actual photos at the FBI that day, and I wish I could forget. But I don't remember much else from that time honestly. I don't know if it's my heart protecting my brain or the other way around. But it's like there's this black hole of time. I remember searching and praying every night that it wasn't true. And then all of a sudden we were at the memorial."

"You wore a Navy suit. Peter had suspenders on. And Sarah looked lovely in her black dress. Everyone who was there left a red rose on the gravesite, but there was no casket. Just a headstone, right?"

Steve was absolutely at a loss for words from his shock. His breath hitched as he looked at her, "Nat, how did you?"

Natasha drew her knees up as she wrapped her arms around and rested her cheek against them. She looked over at Steve "I don't remember how they took the photos of me. They must have drugged me. But I do remember the day of my funeral. That's a really odd thing to say. But I remember because they had a camera hidden at the cemetery, and Ivan and Oksana made me watch."

In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone
'Neath the halo of a street lamp
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light

That split the night

And touched the sound of silence

18 Months Ago –

Three months.

For three months, Natasha was held in that cemented cell. While Natasha couldn't remember specifics about the time that followed Dr. Erskine's death, she remembered trying to stay strong.

Flashes of stale tasting water and dried bread with maybe an apple or banana or bowl of oatmeal each day. Flickers of using her stainless-steel cup to catch droplets of water out her tiny window for extra drink when it happened to rain while the window was open. And a barrage of other blips related to her senses – the scratchy blanket, a rickety cot that reminded her of the orphanage as a child, a few musty, old books that'd been tossed to her, the stench of dampness and mildew in the air, and the ever-growing hunger in her as her body started to weaken.

Natasha remembered attempting to fight that weakness growing inside her body for those first few months. Endless sit-ups, push-ups, and every other exercise she could think of were done, trying to combat the inevitable.

And every night, Natasha shut her eyes as the evenings seemed to blend into one endless night. But she still thought of Steve and what he must be going through. Natasha had no idea. She had no way of contacting Clint or anyone else to find out what was going on in the outside world. She was utterly alone in her restless dreams that filled the dark.

Thoughts of what happened to her three months ago, were pushed down into the recesses of her mind. She didn't linger on Erskine or the baby at first. She only focused on keeping her strength up, to take her shot when it came.

That was the goal. She focused on the feeling of her fingers around Oksana's throat and let the anger fuel her. She'd come within mere seconds of killing Oksana.

And if it was the last thing she did, Natasha was going to get those seconds back to finish the fucking job.

Natasha was alone. Ivan, Oksana, Rumlow, Rollins. They didn't visit her hardly at all, during those early months. There was no fighting. Just the same thing over and over again each day and night, as she lost a pound here, and another there. And yes, as she was only left with her thoughts and senses, the solitude wore on, causing her to go a little crazy.

Flashes of having conversations with herself, conversations with her memories of Clint and Steve, conversations with crickets that she heard at night. They all occurred, filling the silence. Natasha even remembered talking with the evening sky each night. For the moon and stars outside her barred window, no longer mocked her with their position of freedom. Instead, Natasha found comfort in their covering glow. She would stare up at the moon and remembered doing so at Quantico. And she couldn't help but wonder if Steve was somehow doing the same thing.

Time passed, and Natasha didn't even realize how much wore on. Until one rainy afternoon it became perfectly clear what Steve had been going through. Because three months in, she finally was visited. And she instantly wished she hadn't been. Because it was a flash, just like with her baby and Dr. Erskine, that bore permanently into her memory.

Natasha was lying on the concrete, stretching as she turned her head to the cold and damp floor. It'd been dark for days as a big storm had passed through. And the door slammed open with a loud crack as Rumlow held his flashlight down toward her eyes.

She was blinded by the brightness as she squinted.

But that wasn't the only neon light that would blind her. Rumlow forced her to sit in a chair as she tried to fight him. Even in trying to keep up her strength though, Natasha had started to weaken, and she could feel it. She'd lost a little more weight and muscle mass. But more than that, her energy faded quickly because of the lack of nutrition in her body.

"You listen here princess. We have a movie for you to watch. Believe me, it'll be unforgettable."

Rumlow's voice lingered in her ear as she flinched away from him. Ivan and Oksana brought in a monitor and turned it on, and the light from the screen was so bright that she shut her eyes.

"Open your eyes Natasha, and you'll finally see your precious soldier again." Oksana's icy stare chilled her as she and Ivan left the room after they told Rumlow, "Make sure she watches everything. We want her to see the damage she's caused."

The white light on the screen flickered, and changed to a colored image. At first, Natasha thought maybe she was in a confusing dream because it looked like a live stream at a cemetery. As Natasha looked around the screen, the image became focused. She wasn't dreaming. It was a cemetery. And there was a small group of people around a gravestone.

Natasha saw Sarah first, and immediate dread filled her. Saliva formed as her throat tightened, "No! No, no, no. Please, Steve. Please no." Natasha immediately thought something happened to Steve as Rumlow cackled, "Believe me, if that fucker was getting buried, there'd be a lot more people that showed up to his funeral."

Then she saw him, and her heart stopped.

Steve was in a Navy suit as a toddler in suspenders stood by him, who she knew had to be Wanda and Bucky's son. She saw both of them too, and Fury. Behind them she saw Maria, Thor and Sam. And Bruce and a woman she'd realize later was Betty. Her second thought was, 'Oh my god, did something happen to Rhodey or Tony?'

No. That couldn't be either, because their families would be there. And Steve looked…lost. Everyone was gravitating around him as Sarah guided him to his seat. Sarah and Bucky flanked him protectively, and suddenly, it was like a knife twisted in her heart. Her brain split, realizing what she was looking at. Rumlow scoffed at her realization as she shot up from the chair to get away, "I'm not watching that. God, you are so fucking sick!"

Rumlow advanced and Natasha fought back. She took the advantage first, kneeing him hard in the balls and plunging her thumb into his eye. She stepped down onto his toes as her elbow slammed into his throat. She'd gotten some shots in, but he was stronger than her and she was exhausted now as he groaned, "Listen here, you bitch. I follow orders here, unlike you. So, let me tell you. You're going to do as Ivan and Oksana said. You're going to watch every fucking second of Rogers' torment at your funeral."

The cell was tiny and there was nowhere for her to go as she backed into a corner. Rumlow overpowered her this time and grabbed her. He lifted her up by the waist, carried her five feet as she tried to kick away from him. But he threw her down on the chair. Before she could get up again, she'd been drugged. Rumlow put something in her system causing her muscles to go limp. It was a paralytic of some sorts, but she was still awake.

He grabbed her head and turned it toward the screen, "You watch, Romanoff. Watch the world you thought you could live in forever crumble before your eyes. You watch as they all say goodbye to you and never think of you again. You're dead to them. They all believe it because we made it so."

She could hear him and her own frantic breathing. She could see the screen and could feel the strain as she tried to look away again. But she couldn't move. Rumlow tied her to the chair and pulled out a Velcro strap that had a metal strip on the underside of it. Natasha was in a pair of ratty sweats and a T-shirt. He forced her pant leg up to her thigh, as he wrapped the strap around the bare skin above her knee.

Natasha was having an out of body experience. The drug Rumlow had injected in her body wasn't affecting her mentally. It was only affecting her muscles as adrenaline tried to combat it, but all she could remember thinking was how sick she felt in her stomach from what she was looking at. Natasha couldn't move, but she was more alert than ever. Her own funeral was happening before her eyes as she caught a glimpse of Sarah and Bucky holding Steve. She saw Wanda holding her son and crying into his tiny shoulder. She watched Sam and Fury and everyone else all wipe their eyes too.

No. Natasha couldn't physically move, but she tried to blur the image before her because she couldn't watch this. She couldn't watch the pain on Steve's face. Not after everything. Not after the baby. It would crush any remaining strength and fight she had left in her.

Rumlow's voice rumbled in the dark, "I would keep focus on the screen, Romanoff. You see this? I'm holding onto this little switch. I flip it, and a high voltage shock goes through these wires and connects to the cuff on your thigh. Rules are simple. You keep watch on the precious love of your life, that you just had to go and fuck one last time in that cabin. You watch all the pain you caused him. Or I turn this on and more of your pretty smooth skin gets burned."

Fear overwhelmed her. Not even from the strap on her leg, but from what she was watching. And then she heard it. She heard Steve's voice, and she couldn't stop herself from watching anymore. She stared at him as he tried to say something. She saw him stand up to move by the gravestone. Her gravestone. The video had sound as his beautiful voice filled the air.

"I don't really know what to say right now. I said that to Mom last night, and she just told me to speak from the heart."

Natasha heard his voice breaking, "And I know there are things that Nat did, that would cause you all to still be angry. Maybe even angry enough to make you think about not coming today. But I just want to say thank you. Thank you for coming, and for trying to focus on the good. It's what I'm trying to do. But…I. I don't really think I'm doing a good job at it."

She heard the unmistakable waiver in his voice as he looked down at the ground and wiped his eyes. Steve rubbed the back of his neck and took a shaky breath as he tried to go on, "I guess I don't really know what to do, either. And I know you've all been there for me. Nat would've wanted that. I can't help but think, that she would've hated us all crying over her though. But I guess she doesn't get a say today, does she?"

Steve was working through his words, but he was a wreck. He was so lost and heart-broken, but he had told Bucky and Sarah that he needed to try and stand up to say something. But he was unravelling almost as quickly as he'd started.

He took another breath, but then Steve started talking directly to Natasha, and he found a little more purpose behind his emotions as he pulled the army chain from his pocket. Natasha could tell he was holding onto it tight as his words came out.

"Nat, I'm holding onto your necklace still. It somehow makes me feel close to you. I miss you, more and more each day. God, I miss you. Every morning and night all I can do is think of you. I want you to know…that I forgive you. And I'll cherish every memory that I have of us, forever."

Natasha heard the unmistakable sound of his voice breaking again as he held back a sob. He lingered on the last word and her heart broke right along with him. She knew what he was feeling and thinking as he focused on it. She knew what it meant and represented to both of them, "Forever…"

As strong as Steve was, and as hard as he tried to stand tall and give a moving eulogy, it wasn't in the cards. He couldn't go on. Steve thought of their lake weekend when he'd given her his chain, and their beautiful life after. He thought of their stolen weekends and how they'd spoken that very same word at the cabin.

And that was it.

Natasha watched as he turned around to touch the gravestone. And then it was like there was a vice on both their hearts as she saw Steve fall on the ground to his knees. He began shaking tremendously as his pleas and cries came out. Bucky came up by him, but it didn't help. And all she could focus on was the tight hold he had on the gravestone as his army tag was draped over his hand.

Tears were coming out of her eyes from everything inside her. From everything she knew Steve was feeling. And then the video was gone, right along with her image of Steve. She was left with the blinding white light again, and Poseidon and Rumlow did what they always do.

They twisted the knife anyway.

Rumlow flipped the switch in his hand, and the voltage travelled through the wiring, down to the cuff, and onto her burning skin from where the metal strip lay. The drug Rumlow had given her was short lasting as her movement and feeling all came back. And all she remembered next was screaming. Blood curdling screaming. Screaming for Steve. Screaming for everything that had happened to her and him.

And then darkness and silence came once more.

Present Day -

Steve really felt like he was going to be sick, hearing Natasha's re-telling from that day. But instead of succumbing to the overwhelming nausea, he breathed heavily through his nostrils and narrowed his eyes, "I'm going to fucking kill that son of a bitch. And I swear to god it'll be the first time I truly enjoy taking a life."

More darkness. More light. More silence in her memories.

Steve and Natasha were separated by distance, but connected by their pain during their darkest times. And they were finding their way through that heartache now, together.

She leaned against him on the floor as Steve lifted the pant leg on her sweats that she was wearing. They were actually his, so they were more than baggy on her, but she'd started wearing them every night, along with his FBI hoodie. She told him that first night that she loved feeling surrounded by him.

Steve's hand ran along the narrow strip of red and angry flesh, depicting everything she'd just told him. He looked like he could scream but he didn't. Instead, more tears of sorrow and guilt came out, as a little more light was shed on their darkest memories.

Natasha carded her fingers through his hair as his lips brushed over her scar. It wasn't sexual, and they weren't going any further than their kissing and caresses each night. They weren't ready for anything like that right now. But their touches were still healing in the most intimate of ways.

Natasha felt his lips rest against her skin, and a flutter formed in her stomach that expanded to her heart. She took a deep breath as she leaned down to kiss his hair. They rested like that for several minutes, easing each other's pain. And somehow, another step forward was made. The trust continued to grow, night after night. And the pain…the more they shared and exposed, the less power those memories had.

Steve lifted his eyes as he kissed her temple, and he grabbed the next box. They'd been through two full boxes of Steve's shattered dreams and broken heart already.

Natasha leaned forward and grabbed a few more books and loose pages and held them in her lap. This time she shifted as Steve moved to sit right behind her. Somehow, with everything they'd shared over the last week, they couldn't get close enough to each other. Her back was against his chest as he drew his legs up, and held his arms around her waist. He surrounded her.

They were no longer alone in their thoughts and dreams, grieving separately. They were here together, holding each other as they continued swimming across their ocean of grief.

The images in the books she held were a lot lighter than the dark ones she'd stared at over the previous nights. These were all from their life together. From their five years of bliss. She smiled as she saw drawings of her running and stretching. Of her covered in mud in that locker room from the driving test at TEVOC, "That's a good memory, soldier." Natasha nudged his knee as he nuzzled his nose into her neck, "Yeah, there's a lot of good memories, Nat."

And she pushed down the threat of more tears, as she went on.

Sketches of them dancing together, cooking, and at all the holidays. Drawings of her at sunset on their vacation to the Grand Canyon, in her little black dress on their trip to Vegas, and at night time by the fire on their camping weekends. There were quick traces on some of the pages, that she could tell he'd done in a hurry. And there were ones with such intricate detail, that she swore she could've been looking at a black and white photo.

Natasha blushed as she saw images of her in bed and of them together on the couch. Of her in the shower and in a swimsuit. Steve whispered as she looked at each one of those intimate drawings, "Those don't hold a candle to the real thing, Natasha." And her warmth grew a little more.

And then there were other sketches from their early days. His first memory of her on the running path. Their late-night coffee make-out. And then kissing outside at Quantico, and again outside in the alley. Their first weekend together at the lake. Of her looking out on the deck at night, and swimming in the water. Of her eating watermelon at the farmer's market, and their cruise after they'd first made love.

Natasha didn't know what to say. Her journal was condensed into inches of paper. Yes, filled with visceral words. But this…this was something she'd never imagined. Natasha realized how much of Steve's time was spent in the evenings and the middle of the night now, drawing and dreaming of her. She'd believed it when he said it. But seeing made the believing all the more real.

Natasha ran her hands over the last image in the book she held. It was one of them dancing to 'Forever,' on their weekend away when he'd given her his chain. In some ways, the drawing was even more beautiful than the picture. They didn't go to bed that night for a couple more hours. She rested against Steve's chest as he held her close. Letting the quiet surround them, they fell asleep right there, with the image laying between their hands and Natasha's heart.

Before the team knew it, two weeks had passed at the compound.

Everyone found their daily routine somehow. Laundry times and workouts. Cooking meals and long working hours. Laughter and anger. Adjustment periods and growing pains. Some minor irritations naturally arose, but they all worked through it together.

And Peter, tagged along with Natasha every step of the way he could. By the time the first week officially passed, he pretty much expected nightly stories to be read to him by his Uncle Steve and Nat. And they did, every night.

Last night Peter asked, "Can you read one more story to me?" Steve smiled and winked at him, "Aw buddy nice try, but I know your trick. I give you one more, and you'll just ask for another."

Peter turned out his lip and pouted, but Natasha lifted his chin, "Peter? One special story from us, for one special boy each night, remember?" He smiled at her words and nodded as Steve wrapped his arm around her waist. They were walking out and Peter's voice asked softly, "Nat?"

Natasha grinned at Steve, "What is it, Peter?" Peter smiled, "Do you love Uncle Stinky Face like the princess loves the frog?" Well, how could anyone's heartstrings not be pulled right along with their laughter?

Natasha bit back her laugh though as she took in Steve's baffled expression. Peter had a wondrous look on his face, like he was truly curious about the answer, even though he'd called Steve his own nickname. Steve chuckled and silently mouthed to Natasha, 'That's all Buck in him,' as she answered, "Yeah Peter, I do. I love your Uncle Stinky Face."Of course, Peter did get a second story from his mother and father shortly after each night. Just as he wished.

Steve and Natasha managed a round of games of chutes and ladders with Peter downstairs one night, to give Wanda and Bucky and Sarah a little break.

They were more than happy and having a good time together. And Peter had an attack of giggles as Steve kept landing on the longest ladder and lost each time. Steve played it up, clutching his chest and acting disappointed each time, but ended up laughing at himself each time too. Which made Natasha giggle right along with Peter.

Steve was taken aback at the glow that Natasha had whenever Peter was by her. Which again, was a lot of the time. She was always beautiful. But there was something special about the way her face lit up when she was hugging Peter or ruffling his hair, or showing him how to do her stretches that Laura kept reminding her to work on to keep her muscles moving and growing. The other day, Steve thought they both looked like two little spiders as they did this weird stretch together. And Natasha just winked at Steve when she caught him staring.

And in two weeks' time, the team kept exchanging messages with Ross and Phillips and each Director. The media was still going crazy over the Attack on America and the FBI, as it had more or less officially been labeled.

Clint and Natasha and Steve stayed in contact with Jones and the mercenaries. They wanted no part of 'playing house,' with a bunch of law enforcement people. So, they kept their distance and did their own thing until they might be needed down the line. "You call us, Barton, when there's actual Russians to fucking kill again," Castle had yelled the last time they'd spoken to him.

In addition to British Intelligence having servers being breached overseas, Melinda May had communicated with Fury from Asia, and said she was working on chasing down a faction of the Yakuza crime syndicate, but hadn't found anything on Poseidon yet.

Steve and Natasha went back and forth on Bruce's idea for hypnosis because she still couldn't remember what was starting to drive her more than a little crazy. After the two-week mark arrived, she finally put her foot down, "Steve, I know you're trying to protect me, but it's time. Tomorrow I'm going to let Bruce try. I'm pretty much at full strength now. I'm feeling healthier than ever, and each night you and I keep working through…everything. Please, just trust me that I know myself well enough. I know I can handle this. It's been two weeks, which means they're closing in on their planning. I have to do this."

Steve did trust her, and he knew he had to support her, "Alright, Nat. Tomorrow. But promise me you'll let me be in the room with you." She nodded back to him, "There's no place I'd want you to be more than right by my side." And they went up to their room that night to go through the fourth and final box that Steve had brought with him.

Natasha had told Steve pretty much every flash and blip she could recall. But after she was forced to watch her own funeral, everything sort of faded to black. She stopped caring about trying to stay strong. And somewhere along the line, without her even realizing it, she'd started holding and rubbing her stomach at night.

There was no more planning for a chance to possibly escape. And overwhelming hopelessness set in, as her depression grew. She thought of Clint and Steve's pain, and she couldn't stop from thinking about everything she'd tried to repress. The guilt followed, rising with each thought of Erskine and every other person that'd been hurt by Poseidon and her over the years.

It didn't take long for the repressed memories to consume and for the growing guilt to swallow her whole. Because Natasha couldn't stop thinking of her miscarriage, once she started.

They let her shower once every couple of days, but one never distinguished itself from another. Rations of food were the same, as well as her water supply. It was all enough to keep her alive, but not truly living. She didn't know what they were keeping her alive for, and honestly didn't care anymore to even try to find out. Days ran into nights that ran back into days as she lost track of how long it'd been. Her hair grew longer as her body grew dangerously thin.

There were beatings and bruises, but she couldn't remember specifics in the large gap of time. There were images of boots kicking her and fists punching her. The scent of blood and grime and dirt and sweat always lingered. Just like the darkness and silence. The cold and damp. The hunger and pain.

And Steve. Overpoweringly, flashes and thoughts of Steve were always there in her mind.

Natasha remembered pictures of Steve at some point, which was probably a year into her imprisonment, right at the darkest part of his nosedive. He looked thinner, his beard was scraggly, and his eyes just looked empty. And that was how she felt. Empty. At some point the rubbing on her stomach turned into scratching, and she found the sensation soothing at first. But then it wasn't enough as the scratching spread to her legs and arms and neck. All in the hopes, to just feel something.

Something besides the numbing pain and endless silence and darkness.

"I know that sounds strange, Steve. That almost a year a year and a half passed without me even having a solid memory to draw back on, but it's the truth. It was dark and silent as more and more time passed. And I just wanted to sleep. I would stare at the moon at night, knowing you thought I died. And honestly? I wished I had during that time. But I didn't have the strength to even try."

For two weeks, Steve heard Natasha share. And now she was admitting maybe her hardest truth. That she'd given up to the point where she wanted to be dead, and he couldn't blame her, "Nat, I don't even know how to tell you how strong you are. I felt like giving up. I did. I know no one wants to hear that, but a few months after I thought you died, I was at a breaking point. I don't know what would've happened because I couldn't see or think straight. And I know the only reason I made it through, was because of Bucky and Mom and Wanda."

Natasha was resting in between his legs again that night. It'd become their favorite way to sit on the floor and share. She held his hands in her lap, "Steve, I think that's true…that your family helped you through, but you had to decide on your own to fight and live. And I'm so relieved you did."

Steve tightened his hold a little more around her, "Tell you what, Natasha. I can try and accept that if you can try too. If there is one thing that is true about both of us, it's that if there is a will, there's a way. So don't tell me that you're only alive, because you didn't have the strength to try something worse…Maybe that's partially true. But part of me believes that you were going to live as long as you could, even if there was only a small chance of finding me and Clint again."

She turned her head and gave him a sad smile and nodded. What they were talking about wasn't light or fun. It was deep in the abyss of where they'd been emotionally, "Steve, the last thing I remember is right before you found me. It was chaotic and there was a constant rush of people coming in and out of my room. I was out of it, so it's foggy, but it's there. I think they were getting ready to take me to the cabin.

And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share
No one dared
Disturb the sound of silence

'Fools' said I, You do not know
Silence like a cancer grows
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you
But my words like silent raindrops fell
And echoed the wells of silence

"Rollins, grab Romanoff. Ivan and Oksana want us to give her to the Russians in 20 minutes. They're taking her to the cabin after that." Rumlow's voice echoed in Natasha's cell as she forced her eyes open. She had been held for 21 months now, and her body showed it. She looked akin to someone with severe anorexia, but every now and then she still had a little fight in her.

Rollins went to grab her but she moved to kick him. She was so much slower now, so he caught her leg in time, but she hurt him as her nails made contact with his cheek. They were brittle and had been scratching her own skin. And her instincts kicked in as she dug into his flesh, feeling it scrape beneath her nails.

"Fuck!" Rollins grabbed her arm harder than he intended, and she jerked away from him. He heard the sickening pop as her shoulder dislocated itself. Her guttural scream followed.

"That bitch scratched me!" Rollins yelled as Rumlow yelled back, "Jesus Christ, Rollins. We don't have time for this shit." Rumlow went over to the rusted cot and held Natasha's wrist tight, "You try anything like that with me, and your precious soldier won't be able to recognize you if his life depended on it."

Natasha, somehow became aware in that moment. She didn't know what day or year it was, but Rumlow was talking about Steve, and there was a menacing tone in his voice as Rollins chimed in, "If his life depended on it…It does depend on it, Rumlow."

Rollins scoffed as Rumlow yelled back at him, "Shut the fuck up and grab her feet."

Rumlow picked Natasha up by her arms and she cried out in pain from her shoulder as she murmured under her breath, "Steve. No. Steve don't." She didn't know what was happening, but it had to be something awful that was planned to harm Steve. That's what her instincts were shouting in her brain. And any ounce of strength hiding in her, surfaced in that moment as she twisted and turned with their hold on her.

"How the hell does she even have any strength to move right now?" Rollins asked.

Natasha tried with everything she had to fight. One of her feet slipped free from Rollins. A solid kick landed square on his jaw, which caused him to drop her other leg. She pulled against Rumlow as hard as she could, but she couldn't get away from him.

Instead, Rumlow pulled her injured shoulder back as her body thrashed in agony, "You never stop fighting do you, Romanoff? Too bad, I used to think about fucking you a long time ago. Before you were a traitorous bitch. And now look at you. Rogers will get one look at your broken body and probably turn around and run. Your damaged goods, Romanoff. You remember that on your last day of being alive."

Natasha could give two fucks about Rumlow's attempt at getting under her skin. It was his words about Steve being around on her last day alive that stuck with her. They were somehow going to be around Steve…and his life was going to be in danger. She cried out in Rumlow's grasp as she turned around enough to spit in his face.

Out of anger, Rumlow shoved her to the ground.

That was the last thing she remembered as he finally injected her with a sedative. Out of rage, he'd kicked and hit her repeatedly, which resulted in her lung collapsing. That was how the bruises formed and how Steve found her.

The next thing she remembered was waking up in the hospital bed a week after Steve and Clint saved her.

Present Day -

Natasha could feel how tense Steve was as she sat against his chest. He was livid to an extent that she didn't know whether she could calm him down right now. It wasn't because he wanted to spout off about wanting to kill Rumlow again. He did. It was pretty much at the top of his priority list right now, right behind helping Natasha, and stopping Poseidon.

But this was deeper.

This was Steve reaching his breaking point. He'd listened for two weeks to Natasha's flickers of memories. Some of them at the beginning were painfully descriptive as she recalled her miscarriage, Erskine's death, and her having to watch her own funeral. And some were jostled thoughts of feeling hungry, alone, and hopeless at night.

And now, to hear that she'd been beaten before he'd found her?

Steve swallowed as his throat tightened. He felt like throwing up from what was eating him up inside.

Guilt.

She could feel the slight tremors in his hands as he started to speak, "Natasha, this is all my fault. God, I can't…I'm so sorry I believed you died. I'm so sorry for stopping my search for you. I let you slip through my fingers each time you ran. I should've tried harder…I wasn't there when you needed me most. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

There was a desperate vulnerability in Steve's voice as he kept repeating his last words to her.

Natasha turned around to sit on her knees in between his legs. She tilted his chin up to her, "Steven Grant Rogers, you dropped everything at just the mention of me being alive from Loki. Everything. You didn't even hesitate to run off on your own to come and save me. I told you this last week, but I mean it even more now. You saved me, Steve. You saved me from the horrors of my reality for five beautiful years. And you kept trying to save me even after I ran. You never stopped, until you thought I had died, and even then…You ran immediately at your first chance of hope. You have always been there when I needed you most, Steve."

Steve was holding onto her sweatshirt like he was clinging onto life. "I hate that you had to go through any of it, Nat. I hate it so fucking much. And I hate that you still have those memories of what they did to you." Natasha ran her hands through his beard again, "Steve, I hate it too, and I hate what they did to you and us. But this? This is not your fault."

Steve looked up with his eyes filling with tears to hear her words, "I know you need to hear this. I forgive you Steve."

His lips started to move to say something, but Natasha leaned down to kiss him, which calmed him off the edge he was on. She found his eyes again, "I forgive you, Steve…and you need to forgive yourself." He turned his head into her hand and kissed her palm. Honestly, he didn't know if he'd get there, or would ever truly stop feeling guilty.

But Steve did know one thing, he loved Natasha now more than ever. And the forgiveness that travelled from her lips to his ears, provided the soothing balm that his frantic state needed.

And Steve knew what they needed to do too as he kissed her forehead, "Let's get through this last box of stuff, okay Nat?" The fourth and final box. It wasn't as full as the others, so Natasha grabbed the only two books inside and did what she had the last two weeks. She started thumbing through all of Steve's beautiful and haunting images of their past.

The first book was filled with…their stolen weekends. And everything came flooding back. It was seven years filled with pain for both of them as she saw drawings of Moscow and the Palace. The Gala and her dress that night with her mask on. His sketch of her in the moonlight as she walked them toward the bathroom. Them in the truck on their way to the safe house. And her tears filled in the rest as the ache in Steve's heart was evident on the pages.

The pages turned as images from the cabin appeared.

That weekend had always held such a special place in their memory, even with her saying goodbye. But now, after knowing they'd conceived a child they would never know? Well, now the weekend was held with almost a state of reverence in their hearts.

Natasha ran her fingers over images of them on the table together, her sitting on the bed in the loft, and of Steve finding her in the rain. Drawings of fire, their bodies, and Steve's lips on her scars. Sketches of the love they made through the day and into the night. It was all equally beautiful as it was sensual as she closed the cover and opened the last book.

She'd seen everything from their past. Every elation and twinge as Steve found a way to fill page after page with his feelings. He poured his heart into each sketch and drawing over seven years' time, but the final book was different. The final journal of Steve's drawings didn't include images from their past.

It held dreams and hopes, in the form of sketches of their future. She flipped through page after page of unfulfilled wishes. Them on their wedding day. Her in a veil and he in a tux. Their joined hands with rings. Vacations they'd talked about. And a house they'd bought. And then she saw an image that stopped time. A

n image that finally caused her to stop being the strong one tonight.

Her hand froze as she looked down at the black and white drawing, clear as day, as she finally reached her breaking point.

It was Steve and Natasha, standing together with Steve surrounding her with his arms. Her back to his chest with their wedding bands on. And their hands, rested side-by-side on her swollen stomach. They looked so in love in the image. And not just with each other, but what they held in their hands, like they were telling the child within, an unspoken promise. A promise to protect it from everything that might be harmful in the outside world.

Natasha broke down. There were moments over the last two weeks, but this drawing, after everything they'd talked about, tapped into something deep and visceral inside and unleashed the rawness from within.

Her words escaped through her hoarse cries and uneven breathing, "It's all my fault. I was so stupid. And I lost our baby, Steve. Everything is because of me. I'm so sorry."

She broke out into a sob as she repeated her words over and over again, through grated sounds, "I'm so sorry."

Steve pulled her back, holding her against his chest. He surrounded her with everything he could as his arms tightened and as he kissed her hair. No words were said for a while, as his tears fell where he held her. And as she wept, shaking in his arm. Natasha kept repeating the sorrowful words, clutching to his shirt like he was her life support.

Minutes passed before her crying started to fade. Steve rocked her back and forth the little that he could, "Natasha, you listen to me. I don't know if I can ever stop feeling guilty, but I know I'm going to try. And I need you to try too. Because we're in this together."

He kissed her temple before going on, "Natasha, please. Please listen to me. You did not lose our child. Our baby was lost because of Ivan and Oksana and because of Poseidon. It was lost because they beat and tortured you with Rumlow and Rollins, holding you captive. There's no other reason. You are the strongest person I know, Nat. So, please be strong enough to see that. Be strong enough to know, that it is not your fault."

Her body was still trembling, "Steve, the saddest parts were when I couldn't even cry anymore. There were moments, where it was like my body ran out of sorrow because the tears wouldn't come. I only remember those flashes that I told you about. Because I was so lost, and most of the time it was like I couldn't see or hear straight anymore. Sometimes, it felt like I was just watching myself slowly die."

Steve ran his hands up and down her back, "I felt like that too. Like it wasn't possible to feel more pain. All I wanted when you were gone, was for you to somehow hear me. For me to somehow reach you. And I would have given anything to be able to find you again. But then you were alive. And somehow, my silent prayers were answered. You were given back to me, Nat. And that means something."

Natasha looked up at Steve with red and puffy eyes as he held her cheek, "I think in some ways, maybe we were reaching each other in our dreams. You talked to me when you looked at the moon and stars. And I felt you through every sketch and drawing."

His thumb brushed along her skin as she leaned into his palm. And Steve felt the warmth in his heart expand in that moment, "Natasha, if it's possible, I think I've fallen in love with you all over again over the last six weeks."

Her lips started to move as more tears threatened to fall, "I have, Nat. I look at you, and I remember when we first started at Quantico. I remember finding you on that hill, looking out into the sunset with your red hair reflecting in the light, and my breath was taken away back then. I remember thinking that you looked like you were glowing in the light."

Natasha took a breath as she turned all the way around now to wrap her legs around his waist. Their foreheads were almost touching.

Steve looked at her like he could see straight into her heart, "You weren't just glowing, Natasha. It was like you were a Phoenix stretching her wings back then. And now? You're this powerful and magical survivor that's even stronger after rising from the ashes. God, I know it might sound strange, but it's true. You've always been beautiful and strong. Ever since first meeting you. But after everything, you're more stunning now, in body and spirit, than I can ever remember."

She shut her eyes but opened them back up as he brushed her tears away on her cheek, "You wear your fight and survival like armor. You are the strongest person I know, Nat. And I am more in love with you today, than I ever was seven years ago. So, please believe me when I say that I forgive you. I forgive you for running and the goodbye. I forgive your for taking the files at Quantico seven years ago. And I forgive you for everything you feel guilty for with our child. Please promise me, you'll try to forgive yourself too. Please."

Natasha let her forehead fall against Steve's as she gave a simple nod as his words blanketed her in love.

There were times over the years in their darkest times…Especially when anger got the best of them, that forgiveness felt like a fallacy. There were times when they told themselves they didn't need nor want it.

They were wrong.

Visual cues, like Steve's drawings helped Natasha realize what Steve was feeling when she was gone. Reading Natasha's journals helped Steve understand what she was thinking while they were separated. And right now, both of their words were incredibly powerful.

And as they shared and listened and soothed night after night, a point was reached they didn't think was possible six weeks ago. Or even two weeks ago, when the FBI was under attack.

Listening and talking to one another shed light on the darkest parts of their memories. And it only strengthened their bond. The reality was that their love and trust grew since Steve found her. It grew through their tears and pain from their memories. And it grew from the loss of seven years of their life, and yes, from the loss of their child.

What doesn't kill us, makes us stronger, as the saying goes.

They both had a hell of a lot in life that had tried to kill them, and here they were in each other's arms, stronger because of it. Acceptance didn't have to wait anymore, because they'd journeyed through their denial and avoidance, back to each other. And as they shared, trust formed again. And as trust formed, their love grew.

Forgiveness followed with acceptance of their memories and reality, and everything in between.

There was a fire forging between them as well. It was a fire of love and yearning. It was a fire that healed and warmed. It was a fire that burned with a growing desire, that felt like nothing that'd come before.

When someone makes it through hell, they're going to appreciate the view and air on the other side even more. And that's what this moment felt like for both of them. It wasn't an end. It was a promise to keep moving forward on the road ahead. Two steps forward with no steps back.

Finally.

Steve reached into his pocket and held Natasha's cheek with his other hand, "You left this on the dresser seven years ago, Nat. And I've been holding it for you ever since. I think it's time I put it back where it belongs."

Tears of pain didn't follow. Tears of joy did. True and pure, unbridled tears of promise as Natasha looked down and saw Steve's Army chain.

Whether he found it in a box, or he'd had it with him the entire time, she didn't care. It rested securely over her heart for five years, and she left it behind when she ran. And the feeling of protection she felt back then, came rushing back as he slipped it over her head.

She held it in her palm before tucking it inside his FBI sweatshirt, letting it rest right against her heart, with all of the love and reverence it conveyed. It was as permanent as the written word. It was a representation of their love and promise to each other. And that promise was stronger today than ever before.

Natasha stared into his eyes, with a gaze full of everything inside her heart, "I love you, Steve. I've always loved you. And I'll love you forever."

They stood up as he leaned down to kiss her again. The softness was felt at first as he cupped her cheek and she held his neck. But as their lips met, there was more urgency this time. Steve picked her up and carried her to bed as the warmth spread from their kiss through their entire bodies.

They weren't ready for anything else right now, but the path they'd been on for two weeks, felt like the journey of a lifetime. It wasn't clean or neat or linear, but it was them.

And together, they'd found a way in their ocean of grief, to finally swim.

In some ways, this journey started the moment Natasha ran. As they found stolen passages of time, never being able to let go. As they found crossroads and decision points, that led them back to each other time and time again. They fell asleep holding each other as close as space would allow, with her tucked under his chin and their legs intertwined. And Steve and Natasha rested still and soundly in the dark, as the sound of silence filled the air.

This time the silence wasn't menacing or haunting. It was peaceful, as they finally found themselves together again, on the long road to forgiveness.

And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made
And the sign flashed out its warning
In the words that it was forming

And the sign said, The words of the prophets
Are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls
And whispered in the sounds of silence

One may see where a ripple begins, but not where it ends.

For mistake and betrayal. For loss and love. For anger and hate. For acceptance and forgiveness. A time and purpose, for everything.

End Note –

So, of course I give credit to The Byrds and Simon & Garfunkel for their beautiful lyrics (at least a portion of them), as part of my inspiration for a lot of this chapter. I will say though, the version of Sound of Silence that was haunting me for the last few weeks (and actually before at times while writing this story) was the band, Disturbed's version. It is equally melancholy as it is beautiful. If you've heard it, you know what I'm talking about. If you haven't, do yourself a favor and listen to 4 minutes of hauntingly beautiful lyrics on youtube.

At this point, I think we will be at about 30 chapters when this story is all said and done with. It is really hard to even write that, to think of where we came from with Steve looking out at that green light from his apartment window, and Natasha and him crashing into each other while running the night before they began at Quantico. It kind of seems like, a really really long time ago, doesn't it?

I think I'm equally excited and sad for the next 7. Your support and encouragement mean the world to me as we continue through the journey. I can't thank you all enough!

I love hearing from you, so let me know your thoughts on this chapter as we start to near the end.

Have a great week! Cheers! ~~ Kat