Building


Odessa, 2009.

Natasha instinctively checked her engineer's pulse on principle rather than out of any real hope he might be alive before finding cover. That, too, was done almost purely out of instinct and principle - If the shooter had wanted her dead, he'd had plenty of opportunity to accomplish it. In fact, he could have just killed her and then his target; instead, he'd gone to the effort of shooting through her - nonfatally - to accomplish his mission.

As she waited, she quickly wrapped a makeshift bandage around her midsection in a haphazard attempt to at least slow the bleeding, before arming herself and hoping he caught up to her soon; they needed to wrap this up quickly if she didn't want to bleed out and waste all his effort to finish his mission without killing her.

The Black Widow knew only two men who could make a shot like that, and she knew exactly which one had done it; she'd led him on a merry chase through the city while protecting her target, and she couldn't deny that she'd enjoyed it more than was probably appropriate.

She leaned against the rocks, projecting an air of relaxation as she heard a familiar set of slow, deliberate footsteps approaching her position.

Catching sight of the Black Widow, gun in one hand, grenade in the other, smirking insouciantly at the man who'd just shot her, the Winter Soldier stopped a few paces away, lips quirking upward faintly, hesitantly, as though he wasn't sure whether it was appropriate.

[Well, this looks familiar,] he said slowly, the slightest hint of uncertainty bleeding into his tone.

[As I recall,] she smirked, [I wasn't bleeding last time.]

[Ah, well, the details are a little fuzzy,] he tried to brush it off with a madcap grin, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes in a way that told her things were more than a little fuzzy for him. But, this was the closest to himself she'd seen him since they'd been separated, so she wasn't complaining. Much.

[Anyway,] he continued, striving for a casual tone he almost achieved, [It's Natalya, right?]

[Natalya Romanova. It's been a long time, James. I'd say it's been too long, but, well, you did just shoot me, so I could've gone a little longer.] No, she confessed only to herself, I really couldn't have.

[Hey, you're the one who made it literally impossible for me to get to him without shooting you. Honestly, I'm impressed. I don't know anyone else who could have made it outside the city.]

[I'm impressed, too, I have to admit. It was a he%% of a shot,] she returned lightly, [and I'm sure I'll have the scar to prove it. But, what now? Suddenly, we're not fighting anymore?]

The Soldier shrugged, [My mission's over. You weren't a part of it, just got in the way.]

[And you decided to just walk over for a chat and hope I wouldn't hold a grudge?]

He looked confused for a moment, as if he honestly hadn't considered the potential consequences of his actions, before shrugging once more, apparently unconcerned by his relative vulnerability.

[I've learned to trust my instincts,] he said.

The Black Widow snorted but lowered her gun and disarmed the grenade.

[So, what are you doing here? What do you want out of this?] She didn't expect an answer.

Judging by the sudden silence, it didn't seem she'd be getting one.

[Just this,] he finally surprised her, [This conversation proves I'm not going crazy. You're real, and you were real back then, too.]

Floored by his honesty, Natasha could only blink at his trust as she tried to remember how to breathe. At least subconsciously, she realized, some part of him still knew and trusted her.

[I'll see you again, Widow,] the Soldier said, turning to walk away.

"James!" she called, unwilling to lose him just yet. She was mildly surprised when he actually stopped, turning back to look at her. Then, her mind caught up to her heart; what was she supposed to say?

[Stay warm,] she said, echoing all those frozen nights in Siberia or less literal wastelands, when the only warmth to be had was in fire and fighting and each other.

She could tell he didn't know, didn't remember, but some part of him must have understood because his voice was soft when he replied, [You too, Natalya.]

And, then, he was gone. Victory tasted like ashes in her mouth. The closer she got, the more he remembered her, the more it hurt to watch him walk away.

She was unconscious by the time S.H.I.E.L.D. reached her. Funny - she'd forgotten she was still losing blood.


The Black Widow didn't wake screaming and thrashing from nightmares. She woke still and silent, senses on high alert for the slightest hint of danger, muscles taut for a fight.

As her eyes snapped open, the man sitting by her bedside in S.H.I.E.L.D. medical caught a single muttered word.

"James..."

The unprecedented lack of control frightening him more than anything else could, the man asked tensely, "Nat? You okay?"

"Clint," her voice was strong and her eyes clear, any distress or disorientation forgotten or, more likely, buried, and if the slightest hint of relief bled into her voice, well, that was just how much she trusted her best friend.

"Yep, that would be me. Should we check for a concussion? I thought you were in here for your gut, not your head."

"You're insufferable." Natasha didn't bother to hide the fondness in her tone.

"Ah, you love me anyway."

"Love is for children," she countered, but she was smiling. "How long was I out?"

"Around a day, I think? I just got back this morning."

"How was Croatia?"

"Boring."

"Swap you."

"No thanks."

The two laughed, and Natasha didn't put too much effort into pretending it didn't hurt.

"You should text Phil," she said, "Tell him I'm up. He's probably been in fits."

"Yeah, you're lucky you've been out," he responded, retrieving his phone to do just that," I'm the one who's had to deal with him in worried-mode while you've been taking your little nap."

"Oh, poor baby," she teased.

"Seriously, though, what happened out there?"

The woman closed her eyes, taking a moment to feel a pain that had nothing to do with the hole in her side, and considered her response. There were so many things she could have said, so many ways to answer just enough or brush off the question. But, this was Clint. He deserved more than that. Still, what could she say?

"It's...a really long story," she finally said, reopening her eyes to return his gaze.

A moment passed before he asked softly, gently, "'Tasha...Who's James?"

She cursed in Russian before saying, "I was hoping you hadn't heard that."

Her friend didn't answer, just looked at her steadily until she replied.

"He's the one who shot me," she said drily.

"And, of course, you're on first name basis with the guy who shot you, crazy Russian assassin. What, did he stop to chat afterward?"

"Actually..."

"You're not serious."

"I am."

Her seriousness did not, however, prevent her from laughing at Clint's gobsmacked expression.

"You are definitely explaining that later," he said, when they'd both regained control of themselves, "but, seriously. Who is this guy?"

And Natasha didn't know what to do with that; she really didn't. She had never before told anyone about James. She wasn't sure she knew how.

But, this was Clint.

Her decision made, she met his eyes and said, "Not here."

Her best friend glanced around the medical ward before returning her gaze. Seeing the weight in her eyes, he said, "Actually, come to think of it, there's something I want to show you first. We'll wait till you get out of here, yeah?"

"Sounds good."


"Where are we going?" Natasha asked Clint as he drove them through the countryside.

"You'll see," he said with a smile. He was practically vibrating with excitement and nervous energy, which would usually worry her, but this wasn't his troublemaking smile; it was somehow...softer.

Natasha wasn't sure what to expect as they neared the farmhouse, but she knew it was something big.

Or something small, she reflected in a daze as the two of them got out of the car, and a blur streaked out the front door and across the yard, finding Clint with an armful of little boy squealing, "Daddy!"

He was followed more sedately by a noticeably pregnant woman, who made her way first to Natasha with a large smile on her face.

"You have got to be Natasha," she said warmly, enveloping the Black Widow in a hug before pulling back to continue, "It's about time! I've heard so much about you."

"Um, hi," Natasha greeted, allowing the woman to see a hint of the awkwardness she felt.

"Oh no," the woman realized, "He didn't warn you, did he?"

Natasha shook her head.

"Well, then, it falls to me to be an adult and introduce myself. I'm Laura Barton."

Natasha's eyes widened along with her grin, as she said, "Oh no. No way. You're married to him?"

"Oh yes," Laura's smile turned wry.

"Why?"

"I've asked myself that every day since," she joked, and the redhead decided she liked this woman.

"Oh, ha-ha," Clint said flatly, "You two are hilarious. And you wonder why I haven't introduced you earlier."

"Oh, stop your grumbling, and get over here," Laura said, finally greeting her husband with a kiss.

"And this," the archer said when they separated, "is Cooper," leading the little boy over to Natasha.

"Say hi to your Auntie Nat," he continued, and the woman in question drew a sharp breath, her head snapping up to meet his eyes with her own glistening.

"Clint-"

"C'mon, 'Tasha, it's been how many years? You're like my crazy, scary, adopted sister," he grinned, but his eyes were serious.

"And you're the annoying, hyperactive, jerk-face brother I never wanted," she punched him in the arm, but then pulled him in for a fierce hug, and it was his turn to be surprised. The Black Widow didn't show much affection, and it was hardly ever so physical. He quickly returned the embrace, and then they parted, leaving Natasha to bond with her nephew while his parents did some catching up.

That night, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents found some time alone, and the Russian knew it was time to have that conversation. She opened her mouth to share that part of herself she never had before, then paused, realizing where she had to begin if it was going to make any semblance of sense.

"The first thing you should know is I wasn't born in 1984."

Clint blinked in surprise, but didn't say anything, only waited with the patience of a sniper. Natasha took a deep breath...

And it all came spilling out.

A half hour later, she trailed off, and the two friends stood in silence. It was Clint, of course, who broke it.

"So, you're telling me you're old enough to be my mom, and Captain America's dead best friend was your secret Soviet assassin boyfriend?"

And because she could, because she was safe and home and could afford to fall apart for perhaps the only time in her life, she answered with a laugh that felt like crying, edged with hysteria, and he held her until it passed.

When her next birthday rolled around - Clint had found some small way to commemorate it every year since she'd joined S.H.I.E.L.D., remembering the date from the file he'd been given when he'd been sent to eliminate her - he gave her a necklace, a simple affair ornamented only with a small arrow.

"As a reminder," he said, "that I might not be him, but I'll always have your back."

"I know," she said. And she did.