"How's she handling up there?" Nick asked with a tip of his head, coming to stand beside Phil on the tarmac, hands in pockets, legs at ease. He watched intently as one of their new prototype jets completed a low fly past as part of its simulation.

"Mostly perfect sir." Replied Phil, looking over a complex series of charts on his pad which had been created by the aeronautics division, highlighted different colours. "The new fuel system is working and the augmented navigation is online. Generally she seems fine."

"But?" Nick probed, picking up on Agent Coulson's evasion.

"But, something is happening with the flight controls." Phil answered with a slight frown. He selected and enlarged a chart flashing an alarming red. "There's a glitch between the thrust and the control yoke – when we are increasing the speed the craft is randomly pulling to one side and spiralling. Problem is our simulation can't slow the speed down quickly enough to try and correct the turn. Or, equally, it can't correct the spiral quickly enough to see if that drops the speed. We've tried creating new computer systems to deal with it but the computer doesn't react like a human."

They both fell silent as the aircraft screamed past in the opposite direction, watching as it turned for a slow approach in and lowered its landing gear.

Nick looked between the pad and jet which was now just touching down on the runway nearest to them. "So what do you suggest?"

Coulson paused uncharacteristically, sucking in a breath. "You're not going to like it."

Nick saw where this was going. "You want to put a human in there?" He asked tersely.

"I do." Phil affirmed honestly. "I think it needs someone to get in there to react to the feel of her, rather than flying by wire. See how it feels when she starts turning."

Nick stood stoically. He had anticipated that answer. Knew at some point a sacrifice would have to be made. He was after all a soldier. "And how many times did you say this thing had spiralled out of control?" He asked dryly.

"I know it's a risk sir."

"Did you have someone in mind?"

There was another brief pause as Phil braced himself to answer. "You're not going to like that either sir."

"This isn't compulsory you know?" Clint said bluntly, coming to lean against the upright of a bench in the changing room. "You can say no if you don't feel safe."

Natasha paused, zipper on her flight suit half done up. "I know." She responded simply, tugging the zip the rest of the way closed and snapping the top tab across.

"Because you've got a bit of a track record of-" he ploughed on.

She cut him off. "I know." Then she sighed, reflexively clenching her fists, noticing, then deliberately relaxing and placing her hands on her thighs.

"I know." She said again, softly this time, more understanding in her voice. "This isn't like last time." She gestured to the bench opposite her, inviting him to sit.

Clint took the offered seat, leaning forwards on his elbows to get a good look at her. They took several calculating moments to feel each other out.

"I mean it Clint, I'm being honest." Natasha continued quietly again, maintaining eye contact. "I'm not doing it because I want to be noticed, or because I'm scared of saying no." She knew how she was, how she came across – Untrustworthy, deceitful, manipulative. But, she had also come to realise that this man sitting opposite meant a great deal to her and in spite of her track record she really needed him to believe she was being honest with him right now.

"I just want you to be sure. I want to be sure. The flyboys can do it instead unless you really want to do this." Clint knew he wasn't going to change her mind, he just wanted to be sure she wasn't doing it out of fear of punishment for refusing or some misguided sense of duty.

"I know, thank you. And I am sure. This is what I'm built for. I'm the best option." She said directly, then put her hand to her chest. "I'm not saying that because I'm arrogant or because you think I have no regard for my own life. I do. Or, I do now. You've taught me that. I'm the best option because I have the fastest reflexes out of anyone here. If they want a human to test it I'm as responsive and unbreakable as you can get – I was made that way. The stuff that they injected me with, my training, my enhancements are useful here and I want to be able to use them for good, for the right side."

Clint laughed quietly and held up his hands. "You don't have to convince me of your skills. I've seen you out there. I just." He reached over to take one of her hands. She stared down at it and took it. "I just want you to be safe." He finished soberly.

She nodded. "I promise." She replied, equally seriously.

He squeezed her hand and let go, releasing the moment and they shifted back to their more relaxed selves. Natasha bent to tie her bootlaces.

"Hey can I try this on?" He asked brightly, a helmet in his hands, hovering above his head.

"Not a chance." She smirked, grabbing his elbow to tug him out to the tarmac.

The new jet was sleek and streamlined in appearance, closely resembling a Blackbird though with a few SHIELD adjustments to bring it up to date. Natasha had fallen in love with it at first sight. She was now meticulously checking over each inch, feeling every panel and edge, peering into the engines at the rear. Her ground crew looked on, waiting for her seal of approval for their efforts and to give her a pushback. When satisfied Natasha nodded at them and looked over towards the hangar, giving another acknowledgement to Fury, Clint, Coulson and rest of the flying squad and trainees who were watching on apprehensively. The three nodded back.

Natasha settled herself into the cockpit, familiarising herself with the set up and getting comfortable whilst one of the ground crew prepared her kit. She put on her gloves and slipped on the helmet and mask, beginning to load up its programs whilst the crew member attached her oxygen line. Made specifically for her, Natasha's helmet featured a forehead-mounted computer which would interface with the new augmented navigation system and display data in real time in front of her face – nothing would get past Natasha without Natasha having seen it first. With a final 'okay' to her crew they retracted the steps and she prepared to taxi out and take off, one final nod to her fellow agents before flipping down her visor.

The nerves were palpable. In spite of their trust in Natasha's abilities the jet was still behaving unpredictably and they knew they were taking a risk. No-one was outwardly distressed, they were all too well trained for that but there was an almost tangible feeling of tension in the air – the usual excited chatter and enthusiasm which preceded a fast jet run had been replaced by near-silence and an uncommon stillness.

Natasha meanwhile was having the time of her life. The integration between her helmet and the cockpit made it feel like her and the jet were one and the same. She felt the roar of the engines deep in her bones, the tug of the G's in the pit of her stomach as she rolled. With every twist she felt more alive. As she viewed the world upside down she felt the press of her harness holding her steady and just for a moment she forgot about the tiny girl who was snatched from her family. Up in the air she came alive. For so long she had gone without feeling – been beaten senseless until every last shred of emotion had been ripped away leaving nothing but the soldier. But up here they couldn't touch her and she was determined to feel every sensation with every fibre of her being – to view the world in technicolour and revel in its freedom.

She completed a low fly past, wiggling her wings in greeting as she passed the flying corps watching on attentively. She saw Agent Fury and Agent Coulson looking pensive but professional, Clint bouncing on the balls of his feet and the team of aeronautical engineers watching every single motion with eagle eyes.

After having her fun she signalled the first of her harder runs. She pushed the jet, banking and changing directions quickly, rolling it, changing her angle of attack – anything to try and force a reaction from the computers.

"It's shifting." Clint said quickly, concern in his voice, his hawk-like vision picking up a stray movement before anyone else.

His words attracted the attention of the rest of the crowd and they all turned to look to where the tiny black dot was just visible high up in the sky.

From where they stood they couldn't see much but they could just make out the jet, side on suddenly strafe upwards at an angle so they were looking at the underside. They could see the back end skidding out, the yaw of the front, as if it desperately wanted to start a spiral but was being prevented by an almighty effort. Barely. Nick gestured to the communications officer stood nearby and the officer tapped away at their pad.

"Online sir."

"Thanks."

The officer relayed Natasha's comms through each of the tablets held by various agents. Only the officer would be able to communicate with her, and she wouldn't be able to hear the people on the ground but they would now be able to hear her responses.

Natasha flew higher, pushing faster. The angle was correct and the crowd on the ground heard the distinctive boom as she passed through the sound barrier.

"Romanoff to control. She's feeling unsteady at 695 knots. Over."

"Control. Received. Over."

The officer looked at Coulson. "That's 800mph exactly sir. Suggests a software issue is causing the mechanical pulling."

She slowed and tried a few more times, pushing the craft a little further, watching the dials and her augmented display carefully at the moment the jet began to pull away from her. Every time it was at the same speed, regardless of altitude. Each time she would feel the tug of her stick pulling to her left, wanting to pull her into a spiral. Each time she grit her teeth and forced it back, rapidly throttling back to kill the speed.

"Romanoff to control. I'm going to make a final fast run then bring her in. Over."

"Control to Romanoff. One final run then bring her in. Received. Over."

She was confident that by now she had gathered enough data for the engineers and programmers to work on the glitch. If it was up to her she would have stayed in the jet all day. She started to slow down and bring the jet around for her final approach.

Without warning the yoke tugged and she pitched sharply into a barrel roll, the jet suddenly and rapidly hurtling around wing over wing.

Someone on the ground gasped. Romanoff was out of control. The jet was spinning, tumbling around, getting lower with every frantic rotation.

"Control to Romanoff."

The unmistakeable sound of static hissed out from the data pads scattered through the crowd of onlookers, who were now tensing ready to run to their stations.

"Control to Romanoff. Come in. Over." The comms officer was a professional, their tone didn't change and they calmly and steadily worked away at their unit.

No response came.

The jet was spinning faster. It was closer now and they could see its outline clearly.

The communications officer tried once again and everyone went silent waiting for a response. Yet again nothing came. With every second the spiralling jet was getting closer to the ground. They stood frozen and helpless, watching it tumble, closer and closer. Close enough now that they could see the whole jet. Now the insignia on the wings. Now the cockpit. Still it spun and still no response came.

Clint thought he was going to be sick. The voice in his head was screaming for her to eject. Screaming for her to do anything. Everyone around him remained silent. Even the communications officer had gone quiet as they watched the jet tumble.

Suddenly a scream burst through the static.

"WOOOOHOOOOO!" The voice of Natasha Romanoff exploded out of every pad. The sound instantly drowned out by the gasps of relief on the ground as the crew collectively began to breathe again – their chests uncoiling.

Nick, Phil and Clint looked at each other, wry and disbelieving smiles passing between them. If he didn't have such a soft spot for her Nick would have grounded her indefinitely for almost giving him a heart attack.

The jet strafed and pitched wildly as Natasha fought to bring it back under control, the nose angling up 100 feet off the ground and pulling back up to a safer height. She flexed her fingers around the controls, checking her display, breathing normally again. It was her reflexes that had saved her and she was thankful it was her in the cockpit - another agent might not have been so lucky. After bringing it around one final time she lowered the landing gear and brought it down. The ground crew ran to her, surrounding her instantly: unclipping her and getting her out; extolling her flying prowess; exclaiming about the radio malfunction.

When she stood in front of Nick he just shook his head and rolled his eye at her, then tipped his head to permit her to go inside. He needed some time to wipe the happy relief off his face before he gave her a good dressing down. She nodded with a small smile and walked off, Clint in tow. Phil placed a hand on Natasha's arm to stop her as she went past. He looked her squarely in the eyes.

"You are never driving Lola again."

Then he patted her shoulder and walked off.

Slowly, Natasha's lips twitched up into a smile and she turned her head, still smiling as she watched him walk off inside.