Rain came down in buckets outside, creating thick streaks on the windows of the Quinjet as it soared through the air. The storm clouds were thick and seemingly endless. They'd been traveling through them for half an hour now with no end in sight. There was nothing above them but darkness and nothing below them but equally dark sea. Natasha occupied the pilot's seat, hands gripping the controls so tightly her knuckles were white. Every so often their smooth ride was interrupted by a bump of turbulence or a particularly powerful gust of wind. Likewise, the dark sky was lit up by brief flashes of lightning accompanied by the loud roll of thunder. Outside, there was noise and movement. Inside, things were quiet.
Seventy-two hours ago, Natasha and the others found Steve, bound and brainwashed, in an abandoned veterinary clinic near Rochester, England. While rescuing him had been a success, undoing whatever damage Garrett had done to his brain had proven to be a fruitless endeavor. Garrett, who had been turned over to S.H.I.E.L.D., wasn't talking. Unsurprisingly, he was providing no insight as to what he'd done to Steve or how to reverse it. Wanda had tried, Vision had tried; neither one of them were able to succeed. It was incredibly difficult, but perhaps the hardest part was that Natasha's attempts had proven unsuccessful as well. She thought, she'd hoped, that if anyone would be able to get through to Steve it would be her, but… That hadn't gone so well.
"You know who I am?" She'd asked, doing her best to keep her face an impenetrable mask despite the pain of seeing Steve, restrained and sitting against a wall in an isolated room.
Steve looked at her like she was an idiot. "Of course I know who you are," he said with no lack of bite to his tone. "Natalia Alianova Romanova. Assassin. Russian super spy. You're the enemy."
"No," Natasha said. She was trying to be patient and steady, but… it was just so damn hard. "I'm not the enemy. That's just what the guy who screwed with your brain told you."
Steve shook his head. "Garrett didn't screw with anything," he said. "He just enlightened me to the truth. Showed me the way things really are."
"Steve…" Natasha leaned forward in her seat. There was a foot or so of separation between herself and Steve, something that proved necessary after the last time Steve tried to attack her. It was minimal distance, but it still killed her. Not nearly as much as the look in his blue eyes, though. All of that light, that warmth and character that made Steve who he was, had been erased completely. Now there was just a cold, hard soldier. It was a look Natasha was eerily familiar with. It was the face that used to stare back at her every time she looked in a mirror.
"I know you're in there," she said.
Steve leaned back in his seat and fixed Natasha with an amused grin. "Oh?" He said. "And how do you know that?"
"Because you're Steve Rogers," she said simply. "You're not just 'some guy'. You've had douche bags trying to convert you to their wack job ideals longer than most people have been alive, and it's never worked before. Because you're true to your beliefs. You're loyal and good and… unbelievably stubborn. You wouldn't just roll over and accept what some guy tells you. You'd fight, and I know you're in there right now. Fighting."
It'd been a hell of a speech. At least, Natasha had thought so. Apparently, Steve didn't share that opinion. It hadn't done a damn thing to bring him, the real him back to the surface. So, with all of their other options exhausted, Natasha had decided to call in a favor. It felt wrong, especially so soon after the last one they'd called in, but she didn't know what other choice she had. She felt like the longer Steve went on like this, the further away he slipped, and the less chance they had of ever getting him back. It was a pain unlike anything Natasha had ever felt. Watching someone she cared for, someone she loved, slipping away from her right in front of her very eyes was… Well, it wasn't something she thought she could bear.
So, here she was, piloting the Quinjet through a storm with a doped up Captain America shackled in the back like some high-profile killer, heading back to Wakanda. She felt incredibly guilty for the use of the drugs and the handcuffs, but she had to keep Steve restrained and sedated so she could focus on getting them safely to Wakanda. It was just the two of them, after all.
Despite the state of emergency they'd found themselves in, Natasha hadn't forgotten that Wakanda was a secretive nation. She was sure that T'Challa would welcome the other heroes with open arms, but she didn't want to abuse the kindness he had shown them. So, she'd opted to make the trip with Steve alone, leaving Sam, Wanda and Vision behind. No one had been particularly fond of the idea, but they'd understood the necessity of it all. It was their shared hope that, if anyone could fix this, it would be Shuri and her team of incredibly skilled and advanced doctors and scientists. They were, after all, doing the exact same thing for Bucky.
Natasha was surprised to find out, upon finally arriving in Wakanda, that Bucky was no longer in the main city. In the months since their departure, the man formerly known as the Winter Soldier had woken up from stasis, apparently free of the mind control he'd been subjected to. However, feeling some need for penance, Bucky had decided to isolate himself in a remote area on the outskirts of the kingdom. He'd traded in his guns and his metal arm for tents and goats. Natasha wondered, and worried, what all that might mean for Steve. Would it take months for him, too? If it worked, what kind of toll would all of this take on him? The idea of him leaving, isolating himself like Bucky was doing was painful to think about. She sincerely hoped it wouldn't come to that.
With the help of T'Challa and his Dora Milaje guard, they got Steve transported up to the medical wing, where Shuri could begin doing an initial diagnostic. Hopefully, she would be able to pinpoint exactly what had been done to Steve and reverse it. Hopefully, she would be able to do it all with minimal damage to Steve and his psyche. Natasha wasn't feeling too hopeful at the moment, though. She knew all too well how heavily the crimes of one's past could weigh on a person. She still struggled with that almost every day herself.
Folding her arms across her chest, Natasha tentatively approached the small, hovering table that Steve was fastened to. He was awake now, though groggy. Still, that didn't stop his sour mood from bubbling to the surface. Natasha couldn't really blame him, though. He'd just spent the last week or so of his life bound or handcuffed to one thing or another. She looked down at him, a sympathetic look on her face.
"I'm sorry, Steve." She said softly. "I hate every second of this."
"Hmm." Steve made a sound, then cleared his throat and smiled a little. "And here I thought you were pretty fond of the whole 'bound and tortured' thing."
Nat's brows pinched together, a pained and frustrated expression forming on her face. "I just want you back." Dropping her arms, she reached down and gently placed her hand on the side of his face. To her surprise, he didn't try to pull away from it. He just held her gaze, his blue eyes firm and maybe even a bit confused.
"I'd spend every day just… sitting at coffee shops and being bored out of my damn mind if it meant never having to do something like this again." She confided quietly, her voice a raspy whisper. "I know that doesn't mean a damn thing to you right now, but… I just want you to know that. I don't…" She paused, sniffling a bit. She was surprised by the painful tightness that suddenly welled up inside of her chest.
"I don't want to do this anymore," she finished.
She pulled away quickly as the sudden urge to just… run away from all this fell over her. To run away from the look on Steve's face; whatever response might have been brewing in his head. To run away from her own feelings and the surprise they brought. To run away from the fear that those feelings might not even matter. She turned around and walked briskly away from the table, passing Shuri as she went.
"What...?" Shuri began, clearly confused. "Where are you going? Don't you want to-"
"I'll be back," Natasha said. "I just need some air."
It was a partial truth. Natasha did, in fact, need some air. She just… didn't know if she'd actually be coming back any time soon. There was no telling how long this would take. There was no telling if it would even work, and she didn't think she could be around if and when it was discovered that it would not, indeed, work. So, she roamed. She was bone tired and still sore from the encounter at the clinic, but she couldn't fathom resting right now. It felt wrong somehow. She did, at least, take a moment to clean up a bit. T'Challa's people were kind enough to give her some clean clothes to change into. Natasha's clothes were swapped out for some local attire. She was given a long, deep green sleeveless dress with geometric black stitching that formed large, diamond-shapes up and down the bodice. It was quite lovely and surprisingly comfortable and breathable. A hell of a lot better than the combat gear Natasha had arrived in.
After changing, Natasha decided to see if the rumors were true. She decided to see if there really was a "White Wolf" hiding out among the goats. She made the journey on foot, deciding the walk would be best to waste time and maybe clear her head a little. She traveled through the dense, crowded streets around the capital and onward. Things became less and less populated the further away from the main hub of the city she went. She traveled through the outskirts, through the suburbs and farmlands, and finally found herself traversing through faint jungle paths. She followed the sound of flowing water, heading downriver to where the tributary flowed into a large lake.
On the bank of the lake, glistening skyscrapers were traded for small, clay and adobe huts with straw thatch roofs. There were only a couple of them sprinkled along the water's edge and not much else to speak of. Other than the goats, of course, roaming a bit closer to the edge of the jungle. It was a quiet and peaceful place. A great location to come to, to clear one's head, she thought. The perfect place to be left alone, and here she was… disturbing it.
As if sensing her presence, the draping curtain behind the doorway of one of the huts began to move. It was pushed aside, and out of it walked Bucky. He was dressed in little more than blankets and robes, his left arm missing. He looked, for all intents and purposes, like some hippie camping out at the Burning Man festival, and yet the sight of him still pulled a bit of anxiety from Natasha. There would always be the memory of the bullet— or, rather, two bullets now— he'd put in her. There would always be the kill count, and the fear that he might not really be the man he claimed to be; the man many people had tried very hard to get him back to being. Yet, even as she thought that, she knew it was wrong, because if… when she got Steve back, Natasha knew she wouldn't have that same fear.
"Natasha?"
The confusion on Bucky's face was evident. As his eyes roamed around and he saw she was alone, that confusion started to turn to fear. He returned his gaze to her face. "What happened?" He asked immediately.
"Nice to see you, too." She said in that smooth tone of hers, but it lacked its usual wit. The facade fell rather quickly as a sigh left her. Natasha settled herself onto a crude wooden chair and folded her hands neatly in her lap. With no real room or desire for small talk, she had no choice but to delve right into the story of what happened to Steve.
"It took Hydra months to turn me," Bucky said when Natasha was finished. He'd taken a seat across from her and was staring at her with hard concentration. He was concerned. He had every right to be.
"I fought. I can guarantee you that Steve fought, too. Whatever that Garrett guy did to him, it must have been more physical than anything else."
Natasha nodded her agreement. There didn't seem to be any trigger words or anything like that with Steve. It was like someone had physically gone inside his brain and flipped all the right switches to make him into the numb, mindless soldier that he was. The thought had Natasha folding her arms across her chest, hugging herself in a way.
"He didn't even flinch when I hit him with one of my Widow darts," she recollected aloud. "It was like he couldn't even feel pain."
"This could be a good thing," Bucky surprised her by saying. "I mean, think about it. If you slap some wallpaper up on a wall, you can always tear it back down."
"Nobody uses wallpaper anymore, Barnes." Natasha commented dryly.
Bucky rolled his eyes. "Not the point. The point is a physical change can be undone a lot easier than a mental change. Hydra didn't just rewire my brain. They broke my spirit. That's a hell of a lot harder thing to fix."
Natasha felt a pang of sympathy for Bucky. It overshadowed any hope she might have been trying to feel for Steve. Bucky seemed to sense that. He gave Natasha a small, close-lipped smile.
"Anyway," he said, "you came to the right place. If anyone can help Steve, it's here."
Natasha willed herself to mirror Bucky's smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. It was sad and hollow. Like his. "Will you come back with me?" She asked him. "Seeing you, it… it might help him."
That question pulled some nervousness from Bucky. He stood up from his seat and began to pace a few steps back and forth. He reached up to scratch the back of his head. "I… I dunno." He said, glancing over at Natasha briefly. "I haven't been awake that long. I still don't… fully trust myself, and being back there, in a situation like that?"
He looked at her again, brows taking an apologetic slant.
"I understand." She said calmly.
"Did you… come here alone?" Bucky asked.
Natasha nodded.
Bucky seemed to think about that for a moment. An unexpected huff of laughter escaped his nostrils, a wry grin forming on his face. "So, he finally got his head out of his ass, huh?" He chuckled again. "Figures he'd find some way to screw it up."
Natasha chuckled, despite herself. She looked down at her hands for a moment before slowly rising to her feet once more. She lifted her gaze to meet Bucky's and maintained the small smile on her face. "I should head back," she said. "Before it gets dark."
She allowed her eyes to travel out towards the lake for a moment, watching the way the sun bounced off the water's surface. It was nice out here. Natasha could see why Bucky was reluctant to leave. After a moment, she turned back towards him.
"I'm glad you're doing okay," she told him.
Bucky placed a hand on her shoulder. "Steve's gonna be okay, too." He assured her.
Nat nodded. "I know," she said with a confidence she did not feel. She smiled, patted his hand, and took her leave. As she headed for the treeline, she cast one last look over her shoulder and saw Bucky staring out across the water. Natasha was disappointed that he wouldn't be joining her on the journey back to the capital, but she had to respect his decision. She couldn't imagine what he'd been through and what he was still going through. She just hoped that he was right and that Steve really would be okay. Because if he wasn't, and if there was something Bucky could've done to help… Natasha wasn't sure she'd be able to forgive that as easily as she forgave the pair of bullets Bucky put in her.
It was dark by the time Natasha got back to the capital. She made the tired climb up the tower of the research building, alone and silent and hoping that some good news was waiting for her by the time she finished her ascent. What she found was Shuri recently exiting one of the labs, a tablet of some sort in her hand and an intensely concentrated look on her face. She didn't even seem to notice Natasha standing there at first. It wasn't until the Black Widow made a show of clearing her throat that the young genius looked up from her device, a surprised expression on her face.
"Natasha!" Shuri exclaimed. "We tried finding you earlier."
That immediately hat Nat's alarms going off. "Why?" She asked. "Is everything alright?"
Shuri tilted her head back and forth, as if weighing something. "Well, I was able to discover the source of the Captain's… condition." She said. "It was a mixture of nanite technology and brain wave isolation."
"How the hell did Garrett get his hands on nanite tech?" Natasha wondered aloud.
"Your guess is as good as mine," Shuri replied.
"Can you fix it?"
Shuri nodded. "Yes. I have a system that is removing the nanites as we speak. Unfortunately, it will take a bit more time to find the proper frequencies to use to reverse the brain wave alterations. The wrong combinations could result in… many adverse effects."
"But you can do it…" Natasha surmised. "You can fix him?"
"I believe so, yes. But it will take time." She was quick to add. "And there will be a certain recovery period. He may be a bit forgetful of some things. He will need someone there to help him. Someone who knows him and can remind him of all the things that may be difficult to remember."
Her eyes seemed to be taking stock of Natasha, as if trying to figure out whether or not she was up to the task. Natasha was a little offended by the suspicion, but she could understand its source. She wasn't exactly the picture of perfect health, herself. She was run down in more ways than she could count. She felt like she could barely keep her own head on straight right now, let alone help Steve keep his. She took a deep breath and release it in a heavy sigh.
"I'll be fine," Natasha said, answering Shuri's unspoken question. "I just… need a decent night's sleep. Got anything for that?"
The young woman smiled a little. "Just the thing," she said. "I'll have it sent to your room. Now, go get some sleep. The Captain is in good hands, I assure you."
Natasha knew without a fraction of a doubt that, that was true. She trusted Shuri, T'Challa, and their people wholeheartedly. She had every bit of faith in not only their ability to help Steve but in their willingness to help him as well. There was a great comfort in the fact that not only could they help him, but they wanted to help him, too. That was a great knowledge to have. So, with that in mind, Natasha decided to heed Shuri's advice and get some sleep. She would've liked to see Steve one more time before she did so, but Shuri informed her that her machines were still in the process of extracting the nanites from his brain. It was a very careful and delicate process, and the last thing Natasha wanted to do was screw it up. She headed to her room, instead.
As tired as she was, and even with the help of the strange, strongly-scented tea Shuri sent to her room, Nat couldn't fall asleep right away. She was too preoccupied over her worry about Steve and the profound absence she felt in the wake of all of this. They hadn't shared a bed, so it wasn't even the physical aspect of not having him there that bothered her. It was the idea that Steve, his psyche, his personality, what made him, him, was gone that had her feeling so… alone. The fact that some other mentality had been forced to the surface to take the place of the man she knew and cared for so much was deeply unsettling. To have to stand face-to-face with him, look him in the eye and not see any of the familiarity looking back at her was like a knife to the heart. And fighting him? Pointing a gun at his chest and seeing the deadly intent in his eyes? Well, that alone was enough to kill her.
Natasha squeezed her eyes shut and rolled onto her side, curling up on her bed in the darkness of her room. A few warm, silent tears slipped out from beneath her eyelids, rolling over the bridge of her nose and plopping quietly onto the pillow beneath her. The memory of standing there with her gun trained on him, barely being able to hold it because her hands were shaking so bad with the fear that she might actually have to shoot him… it was almost too much for her. She tried to will it out of her brain and to think of something else instead. Like the cafe or their walk through London or… those moments on the ferris wheel right before everything had gone to shit. She tried to focus on those memories instead. The happy ones. The ones that made her realize just how badly she wanted something she had never really considered wanting before.
A life.
A life with someone. A life where she didn't have to run or look over her shoulder every day. Where she didn't have to worry about where they would go next, if they would be safe; a life where she didn't have to be afraid that she wouldn't ever get to talk to Steve, the real Steve again, and tell him how she felt about him. How damn much she loved him. Natasha wasn't even sure when it happened. She couldn't pinpoint an exact moment. Parts of her felt like it was a feeling that had been there forever, as natural as the air she breathed. She knew it was a ridiculous thought, but it was oddly comforting at the same time. Steve, somehow, had become this constant in her life. Someone who felt like she'd known forever and would continue to know forever. Now, it felt like that someone was gone, and Natasha didn't know what to do about it.
Eventually, finally, she drifted off to sleep.
It was hard to say how long she slept. It was still dark in her room when movement and the sound of her door opening pulled her from her slumber. Even in sleep, Natasha was trained to be astute and cautious. So, when she opened her eyes, her immediate, survival instinct took over. She reached under her pillow, pulled her gun out, and sat up quickly in bed. She trained her weapon towards the door, cocking it. The click of the weapon was loud in the near-silence of the room.
"Who's there?" She asked sharply, not an ounce of grogginess in her voice. After a moment, the lights flicked on.
And for the second time that week, Natasha found herself pointing a gun at Steve Rogers.
