MCU (c) Marvel
This night is cutting into me, you tie me down and you watch me bleed and we… risk everything tonight. They will never know all the blood we shed, the scarlet cross we bear until the bitter end, and they… they can never know just what we've done. Nothing good will come of this, I'm screaming out with my last aching breath: I'll be yours until my dying day, but I can never see you. We, we knew how this would end, and we knew we'd die before we lived, but I'll never let you go. We knew how this… would end. — In This Moment
He's awkward. That was her first impression of this test pilot, this Alexi Alanovich Shostakov, this man that was to be her husband. He almost seemed intimidated by her — his eyes kept darting about, unable to look at her directly. She arched a brow as he ran his hand through his brown hair, he plucked up his courage and thrust his hand to her. "Alexi Shostakov," he said, sounding breathless. She wasn't sure if he was scared or thrilled and she looked at his hand with a cool impassive expression. He licked his lips, making a nervous sound as he curled his fingers into his palm, withdrawing his offered hand. He shoved his hands into his pockets. She didn't understand why Ivan had brought her here. He had told her that the KGB requested her presence, nothing more. "So, uh… what's your name?" he asked, smiling as he curled his lower lip in.
She blinked and glanced at Ivan, who stood in the corner of this cold grey interrogation room. He gave her a nod. "Natalia," she said. He grinned, it reached his eyes.
"Natalia," he said, "that's pretty." He shuffled at forty-five-degree angles, looking at the steel chairs and table between them. She squinted in confusion at his befuddlement. "Can I sit?" he pulled back a chair, the scrapping sound loud in the boxy room. He took his peaked cap off, puffing out his cheeks in a sigh as he ran his hand through his hair as he leaned back in the chair. "Sit, sit. I uh… I insist." His lips twitched. "I feel rude if you're standing. Oh!" he got up as if a thought struck him and came to her side of the table, reaching towards her.
She grabbed his wrist, twisting his arm back, flat of her foot meeting the back of his knee and he went down with a pained and startled yelp. A snarl curled her lips as she jammed her knee into his spine as she forced him to the ground, her other foot pinned his opposite hand. "Natalia," Ivan said. The sound of her name caused her to snap her attention to her handler. She blinked. "Let him pull your chair out for you." She let him go and took a step back; Alexi twisted to stare at her, fear and awe mixed in his brown eyes. He got up, wincing as he rubbed his wrist and pulled her chair out. Her handler gave another nod and she sat down as Alexi returned to his seat.
"I never seen a girl— woman, move like that," he said, "pretty impressive." He leaned back in his chair, taking a pen from his pocket and fiddled with it. She watched him, studying him. Sweat beaded at his forehead, eyes darted from her to Ivan and then to random points in the room, his pulse flickered in his neck — faster than a resting heart rate, indicating anxiety or nervousness. The harsh fluoresce light glared down, a bright shiny spot in the middle of the steel tabletop. The clock behind Alexi ticked away the seconds, the only sound in the room aside from the squeak of Alexi's boot as he tapped his foot. She put her hands flat on the frigid steel table, tilting her head to the side. "I uh… my cousin Yuri, he practiced sambo and—"
"What do you want?" she interjected, her tone neutral with a steel edge to it. He dropped his pen, muttering a curse as he bent over to pick it up. The door to the interrogation room opened. Two KGB agents walked in, the first one carried two files, the second one was brawny as a bear. Ivan was no longer in the room. She swallowed, eyes flicking over the two agents. The brawny one had a baton on his left hip and a pistol holstered to his right thigh. He favored his right leg; a slight limp was apparent as he walked. He rolled his shoulders, a knife in a shoulder holster revealed itself as he did so. The other agent was tall, athletic in build and had the same armament as his fellow agent. No limp but his height, she could use against him. "Lt. Shostakov," the first agent said.
The table jerked when Alexi hit his head. "What hell…" he stopped, rubbing his head and noticing the two KGB agents. "Oh, I'm so—" he stopped, stumbling over himself as he got to his feet. She sucked in the corners of her mouth to keep her smile at bay as she watched him knock his chair over to stand and sketch a hasty salute. "Agent Barsukov, I, uh… I didn't—"
"Sit down Lieutenant," Barsukov sighed, pushing the two files forward. She picked up her copy, flipping through it. Her face was impassive as she read it over. Finished, she set it down before her and fixed Barsukov with a neutral unyielding stare. "Jesus, do you ever smile?"
"Not particularly," she said, slow blinking like a cat, noting the shudder ripple down Barsukov's frame. A smile graced her lips; the ticking clock added to the miasma of the interrogation room, and the other KGB agent coughed into his hand, trying to diffuse the awkward uncanniness of the situation. She knew nobody liked dealing with her, that any mission the KGB had for her they funneled through Ivan and only if he approved of it and it didn't run counter to the Red Room's agendas. The Red Room — the KGB's top-secret espionage division that birthed the Black Widow Program — that birthed her, was a dark whisper among the halls of the KGB. The only other rumor with the same amount of terror was the base in Siberia, that house the Winter Soldier… or so the legend goes, operated by a mysterious man named Aleksander Lukin. Barsukov had reason to fear her. She wasn't fully KGB and her loyalties were to the Red Room (and by extension to Ivan), nobody could read her and the two agents knew she could kill them, despite their advantage in size and strength.
"Uh… Agent Barsukov… why are we here?" Alexi asked, she looked at him, tilting her head to the side. His Adam's Apple bobbed as he swallowed and tugged at the collar of his shirt. He had that expression again, she seen it on men before (the one where they are torn between fear and arousal); Alexi seemed to more aroused than scared. "I'm a test pilot and she's—"
"Black Widow," Barsukov said with a grunt. "I know." He grumbled something and pulled out a little box from the pocket of his pants. It was small, black velvet with a gleaming silver edge. She narrowed her eyes at the sight of it. Barsukov popped it open to reveal a diamond engagement ring. He set it on the table, nudging it closer to Alexi than to her. "You two are to be married."
"…married— Natasha? Natasha. Natasha," Sam said. She looked up, eyes wide as she stared at Steve. Snow drifted down in lazy zigzags, swirling as people walked pass in a rush, the cobblestone streets of downtown Kiev blanketed with white and crisscrossed with tire tracks. The little café she sat in with Steve was warm and cozy, some current pop hit playing on the radio, the Ukrainian grating on her haughty Russian hearing.
"Sam, what have I told you about bogging down the comms with insipid chatter?" she asked, as she took Steve's hand, offering him a smile that was for show and not affection. They had been in Kiev for two days, waiting for their contact to get them onto a meat cargo ship that was heading down the Dnieper River to the Crimean Peninsula. Steve didn't like this plan, as it involved Natasha calling in on an old friend that knew her during her Red Room days. There was another option she figured, stealth op similar to how Shield's STRIKE team would operate. Granted, Steve was familiar with such an operation, but her contact had assured her that this was the ship Ivan was using to smuggle whatever he needed from the city to Russian held Crimea. If Fury knew of Ivan's operations than sure has hell Ivan was expecting her to come after him.
"Yeah, you said married, so are you and Steve getting' hitched."
"That sounds painful," Steve grumbled, rubbing his temple. He had shaved his beard down to a rugged stubble look, a wealthy young American with his American wife. The part of sickening sappy newlyweds was easy to play and was only half a lie. Steve seemed uncomfortable with PDA in general, so she smirked when she dragged the toe of her boot up the side of his leg. He shifted, the chair creaking as he cleared his throat, twitching his knee to dislodge her. The glare he fixed her way was only half-hearted and she smirked. Yes, playing a newlywed couple that couldn't keep their hands off each other was easy, only half a lie. "Nat's right though."
"It's not insipid," Sam said, "and I wanna know."
She brought her hand up to her mouth, covering her lips as she pretended to laugh. "Yes, we are. No there isn't a date. Stop asking and pay attention. Zinoviy said the trio will be passing the alley at four o'clock, the ship leaves at five. We need to be—"
"I gotcha, it's just that… I'm happy for you two. You guys deserve it. Having to deal with Steve making googly eyes—"
Steve shook his head. "I didn't stare, Sam."
"—at you was painful most of the time. Now he can stop staring."
The expression on Steve's face was one of annoyance. He was always too easy to tease, and she loved how his ears would tint pink whenever she hit the nerve just right. "Oh, he still stares—" Bingo!
"Natasha!" Steve's ears turned a bright pink.
"He's just not as ashamed about it as he used to be." She gave him a sweet flirty smile as she leaned forward and took his hand, kissing his palm. "Are you?"
"Now who's cluttering up the comms with 'insipid chatter'?" he asked. She pressed her index finger against his, angling it towards his mouth, but he out maneuvered her and tapped her nose instead, before cupping her chin. "No." A smirk graced his lips in response to her pout. "You okay though?" he asked.
She hmphed, knowing he'd notice the distant look in her gaze before Sam asked about their impending nuptials. "Fine, Steve." They had made a silent agreement not to discuss her sudden change of heart. He wouldn't press her, Steve wasn't the type of person to; instead he would stare at her with those baby-blue eyes, wearing her down little by little until she confessed to him on her own. "It just…" A woman with a knit hat on her head and a matching scarf walked pass the window, her phone pressed to her ear. Natasha watched her walk out of sight, a small smile on her lips enjoying the tender back and forth motion of Steve's thumb across her knuckles. Two men in dark parkas and scarfs walked down the street, gesticulating as they talked about whatever — sports if she had to guess — that held their fasciation. The alley across the street was dark and empty, she had seen a cat enter it a few minutes earlier, an orange tabby. Above the alley Sam was in a room in the abandon office building, and she knew that there was fifty-seven people in the café, three exits: the front door, the emergency exit and the employee exit in the back. The fastest way out in case of trouble was the employee exit in the back and the security cameras were for show and didn't work. "It just brings back memories." She smiled, wistful, as she tucked her blond hair behind her ear.
"Snow reminds me of the war," he said. "It muffles sound, so we had to be careful when we moved during the winter in case there was a sniper. I always heard them before anyone else and dealt with them. Still… it's as if you know — instinctively — that you're out of your element in winter."
"Yeah." Her smile though smile, reached her eyes. "Winter always reminded me of my childhood. It's Russia, so there's always snow for most of the year."
"It was northern Germany, New Year's 1944. We were celebrating, and it was snowing. I went outside because it was getting too rowdy for me, Peggy followed, and we started talking about our childhood." He grinned, chuckling. "She tried to teach me to dance, but she was rather tipsy at the time. We almost kissed, but Bucky came out to take a leak." He leaned back; she smiled as his grip on her hand tightened. "Never seen him so red before when he heard Peggy clear her throat. Thought he'd die of embarrassment. He'd go red for days after whenever Peggy was around."
"Funny," she said.
"Yeah, it was."
"Hate to interrupt you two but your guy was right, got them, just slipped into the alley," Sam said. She saw them glance around and duck into the alley. She gave Steve a nod.
"We have them," he said as she stood up, and tugged at his arm, acting every bit the impatient young wife. One or two people glanced up only to look back at their phones or laptops, nobody paid them any mind. The bell jingled overhead, and she gasped at the drastic change in temperature. The cold air was a shock to her lungs, her ears feeling numb. A shiver ran through her body as she glanced left and right before crossing the street with Steve.
"You've tagged them, right?" she asked, the snow crunching beneath her boots. Instinct guided her away from the slick patches of ice, her grip tight around Steve's hand, leading him through the hidden mine field of black ice and snow. They entered the alley, Sam on the rooftop, silhouette against the iron grey sky. The sun was setting, the temperature was dropping along with it.
"Redwing's on their tail."
"There's another alley a few blocks down. I'll head them off that way. Nat, you come at them this way," Steve said. She felt adrift when he let go of her hand; she watched him leave the alley and head down the street. "Sam you come at them from—"
"You know, I know the original plan was for all three of us to get on board, but someone needs to stay behind in case things go south," she said, walking briskly down the alley. She slipped her hands into her pockets, wiggling her fleece gloves off and working her hands into the supple leather of her Widow's Bites. "Sam's the best choice for this."
"I don't know Nat—"
"I agree with her Steve," Sam said. She smirked. "You'll guys need someone on the outside to getcha out if things go wrong."
"Be easier if we had—" Steve began. The three thugs came into view, Redwing hovering above them and just out of sight. She charged her bites.
"Lots of things would easier if things were different, man," Sam said. "Withdrawing Redwing." The robot angled up and away.
"Engaging," she said, and sprinted towards them. She heard Steve in her ear as she dropped to her knees, sliding on the dirty snow towards the three thugs. She snapped hers arms outward, ramming her bites into the first thug's groin. He gave a strangled cry as he jerked with the voltage running through his body. She stood up, kicking his face. She blocked the punch of the other man, grabbing his wrist and twisting his arm and punching him in the elbow. There was a sickening crunch, she punched him in the throat and kneed him in the gut. He doubled over, Steve's sudden elbow to his spine sent him down to the ground with a groan. She smiled. "You're holding back."
"Didn't want to break his spine," he said, looking down at the man that groaned at their feet. He grunted as he began to undress.
"Maybe you should have." She followed his lead, revealing her catsuit. She shivered as she zipped it up to her chin. She kicked the pants off and tossed them in the nearby dumpster. She pulled out a black duffle bag, opening it to reveal her handguns and clips. She shimmied into her dual thigh holster, her handguns a comfortable weight and added a few knives to the mix. Steve was waiting with two of the thugs' coats.
"You need to wash that." She accepted the coat, wrinkling her nose as the stench. It covered her weapons and she jammed the black knit beanie onto her head. Steve copied her and shrugged.
"You don't exactly wash this," he said, "besides the grime hides the stripes and star. Less recognizable."
She walked pass him, leading him towards the docks, he fell instep beside her. "I'm saying it smells."
"Eh" — he gave her a jaunty jerk of his head, a cocksure smile on his lips — "I'll air it out after this if it bothers you."
"Second rule of going on the run: Don't wear heavy scents."
"I'll file that away for future reference."
"I'll make a spy outta you yet, Rogers." She smirked, eyes twinkling and the snow crunching beneath her feet. His fingers brushed hers in the briefest and lightest of touches, sending pleasurable shivers down her spine.
Getting on the ship was the easy part. The captain yelled at them for being late and asked about the third guy. She lied, telling the captain he was sick and only they could make it. He swore but waved them on board, saying that they couldn't wait any longer otherwise his boss would have his head. "Sam, we're onboard," she whispered, as they stood in the shadows of the stacks on the weather deck.
"Okay. I'll meet you guys at the rendezvous point on the peninsula. Radio silence from here on out."
She paused, glancing at Steve. He gave a nod, trusting her. She licked her lips, looking about the nondescript cargo ship. The smoke deck was in the opposite direction, but it was dusk and it had been relocated to somewhere where the red cherries of the cigarettes would not be noticeable on the open water. Nobody was out here, nobody would notice them. Steve was deferring to her leadership in this because it was her field of expertise at the moment. "Sam, listen to me," she said. "Whatever happens… if we aren't back at the rendezvous point on schedule… don't… don't come looking for us. Stay put."
"Natasha!"
Both Steve and Sam's voices sounded too loud for their protective darkness. Her throat tightened, she swallowed. "Trust me, Sam. We'll be okay."
"Natasha—"
"Trust me." Her voice was sharp, her eyes fixed on Steve, willing both to understand, to listen to her. Steve shouldn't be here, this is my fight. Not his. "Trust me," she repeated.
"No. I'm not going to let you and Steve get stuck out there without backup," Sam said, "if you two are back on schedule I'm looking for you."
"Sam!" she hissed. "Listen, you gotta trust—"
"Initiating radio silent." His voice cut out as he turned off his communication device. Steve popped his out of his ear; she couldn't read the look on his face. She took hers out of her ear, slipping it into a pouch on her belt. She slipped out of the coat, dropping it on top of the one Steve discarded and she crouched with him in the shadows. A quick glance to make sue the coast was clear; she moved, slipping from shadow to shadow. It always surprised her how quiet Steve could be when he wanted to. While she was lithe and agile as a spider, his grace and agility stemmed from a jungle cat: coiled muscle and power ready to be unleash in a blink.
She could hear voices up ahead, speaking in Russian. Crouching in a thick patch of shadows, she found the speakers and was glad for Steve's presences at her back. Three men: a middle-aged man dressed in workman's clothes, an old man that smoked like a chimney, and a third dressed in a uniform colored red and gold.
"What are they saying?" Steve asked. She gave a shrug, too far away to hear. The smoker seemed displeased, shaking his head and the man dressed in red and gold stepped towards the worker, who flinched.
"That looks to be the Red Guardian," she whispered. He grunted.
"Definitely a super soldier."
"Do you think you can take him?"
"Only other super soldier I fought was the Red Skull," he said, "Erskine said that formula was incomplete. Was there intel on the serum used to create him in the file?"
"Not that I saw. But if there was, knowing Ivan" — she jerked her chin at the smoker — "he wouldn't put that in any report he had to give to someone else." Oh, Alexi… what has he done to you? Her heart broke upon seeing her ex-husband in that red and gold uniform. The Red Guardian was a few inches taller than what Alexi had been, broader in the shoulders with rippling muscles. He cowed the worker, who nodded and lead him and Ivan below deck.
This was it. Yesterday, Redwing had scanned the ship, giving them a blueprint of the deck layout. Third deck, just above the engine room, was where something suspicious was going on. Their mission was to get the intelligence, stop Ivan and the Red Guardian from executing their plot and get to the rendezvous point, all within the span of five days. She looked over her shoulder, Steve's hand on her back. Comforting and familiar, she couldn't help but smile at that, despite the overwhelming understanding in her bones that he shouldn't be here. This wasn't his fight, his problem. It was hers. "Let's go," she whispered, slinking across the weather deck to the hatch that lead to the lower decks, Steve following her.
The swells on the Black Sea were calm, the ship's pitch and roll hardly noticeable. Within the belly of the ship, the crew had already switched the lights from daytime white to nighttime red at sunset. "Watch your step," she whispered as they tiptoed through the eerie red passage ways of the ship, the frame numbers glowing a creepy neon green in the red light. She made a left, heading down the passage way that led to the galley. Another left, and down the ladder to the refer decks, where the food and the ship's meaty cargo was stored.
"Natasha?" he asked, as she opened the heavy door to one of the meat lockers. Cold air rushed out, misting as the temperature changed. Carcasses of pigs and cows hung from the overhead on hooks, covered in ice crystals. Her heart thudded against her chest, she was sure he could hear it, sure he suspected something was up. This was a meat locker, a dead end.
"They're coming." Damn, she hated lying to him. She found that void within her and shoved her feelings into a chest (a tiny box wouldn't do), locking it. "Get in. I'll draw them off."
"No, we stick together, we're a team."
"Steve, you gotta trust me. Into the meat locker, I'll draw them off. They won't be able to catch me."
"I don't like this," he said. "We're a team… partners, I—"
"Now, Rogers!" she growled. He glared at her, hands clenched into fists at his side, but he went in. "I'll leave the door unlock." No, I won't. She watched him walk in and waited for three heart beats before she slammed her entire weight against the heavy door. It closed with a defending slam, Steve's surprised shout muffled by the insulation and steel. Her hand slipped from the latch when he slammed his body against the door, causing it to shudder. Someone would have heard that, close it, close it, close it now damn it! Her fingers fumbled for the latch as he pushed against the door. The latch, half in place, was starting to strain. Gritting her teeth, she wrapped her fingers around the cold metal and pushed, closing the latch in place.
She jumped when at the sound of a bang and a fist shaped dent appeared. Tears pricked her eyes as guilt washed over her. The door muffled his voice, but she knew he what he was saying: Demanding she open the door, they were a team, she didn't have to do this alone. She closed her eyes, allowing a few tears to fall. "I'm sorry, Steve," she said, wiping the tears away and slipping into the role of Black Widow, "but I have to do this." She put her hand on the fist shape dent. I love you. She ran off to find Ivan and Alexi and end this.
His shoulder hurt. The door wasn't built to withstand the assault of a super soldier, but it was designed to hold back several frozen carcasses of pigs and cows in rough seas. It was proving harder to bust open that he had thought. "Damn." Steve rubbed his shoulder, studying the dent in the metal. The hanging slabs of meat prevented him from going back further, the slick icy metal and the gentle pitch and roll of the ship made it difficult for him to build up any momentum and the cold was seeping into his bones drawing forth the memories of crashing the Valkyrie into the ice. Yet, he persisted. I'm not letting you face this alone, Natasha. He backed up, puffing his cheeks out in a quick breath and charged at the door. He leapt a little just before hitting the door to add an extra bit of oomph and slammed into the door with a shuddering thud. "Damn it," he gasped, slumping to his knees. He had to get out of here. He wished he had his shield too. But he was stuck in a fucking freezer and didn't have his shield. He stood up again pushed against the dent, groaning as he tried to push the door off its hinges. It squeaked. Gasping, he stopped, looking at the hinges before he backed up against and charged. The door shuddered, the hinges started to give way a little bit more.
He smirked, pleased with himself. Then he heard voices. Well this complicates things. He punched the door, smirking as he heard them mutter about the state of the door. He backed up, entering the shadows and hiding behind the meat.
"Vidkryy tse. Vidkryy tse." The door opened with a groan, the first man appeared in the doorway with a flashlight and a baton. "Allo?" The meat swung, creaking on their hooks. He waited, watching. He didn't know how many were out on the other side of the door, what — if any — they carried. He needed surprise and he needed to bust that door off. It all came down to timing. This also would be easier if he wasn't getting a headache from being sea sick. "Allo?" the man called again.
The ship pitched towards port, and he charged, boots thudding against the deck. He barreled into the stunned man and the door (which was starting to swing open) and took it completely off its hinges. A crash, many groans and screams of pain, the red lights glaring down upon him, blood trickling from beneath the door. He tried to not feel too guilty about killing these men, but for all he knew they could be working for Ivan. He stood, looking at the two remaining men, who looked at him with stunned surprise. "Fellas." He rubbed at his lip and struck. Grabbing the nearest man by the wrist and yanking him in close. He rammed his head into the man's nose as his knee came up to punch him in the diaphragm. He kicked out, sending the man into his scrambling fellow and into the bulkhead on the other side of reefer deck. The metal shuddered at the force, the men groaning in pain. He looked around, no one else.
He scrambled up the ladder, popping up onto the next deck and pushing himself up over the lip of the hatch. He didn't know where Natasha was, they had gone silent for the mission. He didn't have time to think about it, he had to move. He made a right, running forward along the starboard passageway, and stopped a little bit pass midship. To his left was door. He grabbed the lever and yanked up, opening the door and entering a chilled room with blue lights. He stepped inside, the decking was different here by the sound of his footsteps. It looked to be a command center, though gutted and replaced with shelving along the bulkheads. In the center of the room was Natasha, tied to a chair.
For a moment he couldn't believe she had gotten herself captured, for a moment he didn't want to believe she was unable to escape. "Posmotri Natalia, posmotri, kto prishel prisoyedinit'sya k nam."
"Steve," Natasha said, as some unseen hand yanked her head back her hair, so she could look at him. His gut twisted in fear and worry. "Run!"
The door behind him squeaked close, another squeak locking the mechanical dogs firmly into place. He turned in time to see a punch coming towards his face. He crossed his arms in front of his face and kicked out at his attacker. The Red Guardian slammed into the door, popping it open. He ran towards Natasha but stopped when he saw the glint of a pistol against her skull. "Should've listened to Natalia," the man, Ivan, said.
He froze, staring at the situation. The Red Guardian pounced then, grabbing him by the shoulders and flinging him across the room. He grunted as he hit the bulkhead, books and binders crashing down around him. "This is great Captain America? America's heroic super soldier?" the Red Guardian spat at his feet. "No challenge. Pathetic."
He groaned, pushing away the books and binders, getting to his feet. He felt battered. He sucked in a breath, letting it out in a rush as he brought his fists to guard. "I can do this all day."
The Red Guardian snarled. "We will see." The man drew his thumb across his throat and threw a punch. Steve did too, and for a moment they were in a stalemate, each one holding back the other's punch. He reacted first, jamming his head into the Red Guardian's face, his foot kicking his opponent in the knee. The attack sent him reeling back, allowing Steve to duck into his guard and deliver a mean left hook into the Red Guardian's side.
The man recovered, and they bobbed and weaved, throwing punches and jabs. The Red Guardian hit hard, not as hard as the Skull (thankfully the Red Guardian lacked the Red Skull's tesseract weapons), but he would feel the ache in a few hours before the serum healed the damage. But the man fought in a similar style to Natasha. He stepped back, dropping low to kick the man's feet out from under him, but he must've suspected the gambit for he jumped his leg. Steve rolled, avoiding the punch, but a new opportunity presented itself. He slammed his elbow into the Red Guardian's spine, the man yelping in surprise as he went down. He scrambled over to him, latching on like a predatory insect. He applied pressure to the Russian's throat, legs wrapped around his arms and waist. He ignored the Red Guardian's fingers clawing into his arms and focused on forcing the man to submit.
"Steve…" Natasha said, "don't… don't hurt him."
He's not the kind you save. He's the kind you stop. Bucky. The helicarrier, bullet wounds and pain, fire and one last targeting card to lock into place otherwise so many people were going to die and he couldn't let that happen nor could he kill Bucky, his best friend since childhood, who he saw fall to his death from the train, who was now a mindless assassin trying to kill him. He saved him, he saved Bucky even though he should have stopped him, should have ended him so he wouldn't hurt anymore innocent people. But it was Bucky.
It took a moment, that is all it ever takes to turn the tide of battle. The Red Guardian's fist met his jaw, snapping his head back and his hold on the Russian's throat slackened enough for him to break it. "Damn," he muttered as he scrambled to his feet, grunting when the Red Guardian kicked him in the stomach. He moved to the side, grabbing the man's foot and twisted, but the Red Guardian spun with it and kicked him in the face.
"No, Alexi! Stop it! Don't hurt him!" Natasha screamed, yelping when Ivan yanked her hair again. "Steve!"
He glanced at Natasha and the Red Guardian punched him in the face, kicked him in the stomach and grabbed his throat. He yawped, the Red Guardian lifting him up by his throat, prying at Alexi's crushing fingers. "Na—" he gasped out just before the Red Guardian slammed his fist into his face, over and over and over again — You. Are. My. Mission! — before tossing him into the center of the room. He groaned, head spinning with pain, one eye was starting to swell shut, he tasted blood in his mouth.
"If you know what's good for you," Ivan said, his voice a raspy drawl, "you'd stay down."
He spat blood onto the deck, as he pushed himself up to his knees. "I told you," he said, sparing Ivan a glance. "I can do this all day."
"Big talk," Alexi taunted. "For a dead man."
"Not dead yet." He pushed himself to his feet. "And I don't plan die today either."
Alexi roared and charged at him, colliding into his shoulder. He punched at the Red Guardian's sides as Alexi pushed him back, slamming his knee in to the man's sternum to dislodge him (the crack of bone was sickeningly satisfying). He got his second wind, fighting back and gaining ground. It caught Alexi off guard, and he for a moment thought he may win this fight. The ship hit a large swell, the deck pitching and rolling starboard and aft. Both he and Alexi lost their footing for a moment, Natasha yelped in surprised as Ivan yanked on her hair to steady himself. The gun went off, a loud crash from something heavy colliding with something unmoveable, and he felt a sharp pain in calf.
Alexi was the first to recover and stuck, jabbing him in gut at a dizzying speed, kicking his injured leg and sending him to the ground. Natasha came running towards him, somehow, she had freed herself from her chair when it toppled over. He groaned when her weight fell on top of him, her arms snaking around his head to protect him.
"Alexi, stop," she said. The Red Guardian hesitated, he struggled to get Natasha off him, this was his chance, he could win. "Shh, Steve, stay down. Don't… you can't win."
"Nat, I—" he hurt. The physical pain was on pare with the pain he felt after he defeated Tony, the emotional pain… well, it was worse than any he had felt (save for crashing into the ice and leaving Peggy behind to mourn). He groaned, managing to roll onto his back, the light haloed Natasha's head, he could see tear tracks and feel her hands on his face, caring and tender. Alexi stalking closer, looming in the shadows over Natasha.
"Stand down, Red Guardian," Ivan said.
Alexi withdrew, the shadows filling in and he closed his eyes allowing Natasha's touch to sooth his hurts. "Nat…"
"Steve?" she whispered, he could feel her hands shake against his face, a few of her tears falling onto his cheeks, the shadows over her head thickened, blurring at the edges of his vision.
"Hey… it's okay," he said, a smile tugging at his lips, "where else am I gonna get a view like this?" His vision swam and all he saw next was darkness, all he knew after was nothingness.
I'm forever salty that Redwing in the MCU is a damn drone and not an actual fucking bird. Sam has super powers. He can fucking ken with birds. Gimme my bird talking Falcon Marvel!
Once again, I've taken, used and abused comic (and MCU) canon in certain places.
I hate writing fight scenes.
So uh… the only ship I've been on is a destroyer… yeah…
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