Apologies for posting a day late. The week got away from me, and I'm just getting caught up. I'm also planning to take a brief hiatus, so I won't be posting this weekend, but I'll be back with a new chapter on 10/23.

In the meantime, here's some Romanogers angst to get your week started. :)

Budapest, Hungary

February 2018

Steve closed his eyes dropped his head back onto the headrest of the Quinjet's pilot's seat.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

He'd returned from Wakanda, touching down at the safe house 15 minutes prior, but couldn't bring himself to go inside. He knew Sam and Natasha would have questions, ones he didn't have good answers for.

Did Steve know the trip to see Bucky was a risk? Yes.

Did he know it could expose them? Yes.

Was he thinking about that when he left anyway? Of course.

Did he care in that moment? Not really.

At least, not until he was already in the air and finally took a second to stop and think about what he was doing. It wasn't just Steve's ass on the line, and it hadn't been for a while. But Bucky was, and always had been, his weakness.

When Shuri called, her voice panicked on the other end of the line, to tell Steve that the deprogramming had been causing seizures, he immediately began shoving clothes into a duffle bag. He was too stubborn to listen when Natasha and Sam implored him not to go.

"It's too risky, Cap," Sam said, following Steve out to a wooded area behind the safe house where the Quinjet sat cloaked.

Steve stopped at the edge of the open cargo door and turned to face Sam, noticing that Natasha had followed them out. She hung back a few paces, concern etched across her face.

"It's Bucky. I have to go," he said with a hint of desperation in his voice. "He'd do the same for me."

Sam sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. They'd heard this argument many times before, and Sam knew when it came to Bucky, trying to reason with Steve was futile.

Natasha stepped forward into Steve's personal space and rested her hand over his where it gripped the straps of his duffle bag. His eyes flickered to hers, and her stomach twisted at the panic in them.

"Steve, you know Ross has eyes on Wakanda. If they spot you before you enter the cloaked airspace, you're screwed."

"I know," he said, steeling his expression. "But I have to go."

"At least let me come with you," Nat offered.

"No."

Steve's response was clipped. Natasha winced at his cold tone and withdrew her hand from his, taking a step back. "Fine," she said, conceding. "Just be careful."

He gave them a nod, walked onto the jet and was gone.

He immediately regretted how terse he'd been with Natasha. It hadn't been intentional, but the only thing he could think about in that moment was getting to Bucky and making sure he was all right.

Now, four days later, Steve was back in Budapest and bracing himself for whatever consequences he may face for his impulsivity. He took a few more deep breaths.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

How ever pissed Nat and Sam might be, he would fix it. He had to because, aside from Bucky, they were all he had left. He pushed open the front door and took a step inside. The small apartment was quiet, but the lights were on. He dropped his bag on the kitchen table and went to the sink to pour himself a glass of water.

"I was wondering if you were ever going to come inside."

Steve turned, slightly startled, to see Natasha standing behind him. She was leaned against the hallway doorframe with her arms crossed over her chest. An affectionate grin played on her lips.

"You knew I was back?" Steve dipped his head and cleared his throat. "And you don't seem angry."

"We kept tabs on the jet. And you," she said, sitting down on the sofa. "And no, I'm not angry.

Steve racing heart slowed a bit. "Where's Sam?" he asked.

"He just went for a run," she replied. "I'm surprised you didn't see him pass by while you were hiding out in the Quinjet."

He rolled his eyes and emptied the remaining contents of the glass into the sink, then took a seat on the opposite end of the couch. Unsure of what to say or how Natasha would respond, he began with what was at the forefront of his mind.

"Bucky's OK. By the time I'd arrived, the seizures had stopped," Steve ran a hand through his thick, sandy blonde hair and smiled wistfully. "And by the time I left, it was out."

Natasha raised her eyebrows in surprise and nodded, silently urging Steve to continue.

"The deprogramming Ayo and Shuri came up with worked. It's…" Steve paused, swallowing hard. "It's gone. He's free."

Natasha turned to face Steve, tucking her legs up under her, and reached across the space between them, covering his hand with hers. He flipped his hand over and laced their fingers together, letting the warmth of her skin seep into him.

"For the first time in a long time, Bucky seemed… I don't know, almost happy. Like he could finally rest," his voice was thick with emotion. "He's been fighting for so long, waging this battle between himself and what Hydra made him, and now maybe he can just be Bucky again."

She smiled, "I'm really, really glad for that."

"I just wish I could have done more, or at least been there more while he went through it all," he said sadly. "I've known him my whole life, but sometimes it feels like we're strangers."

Steve rubbed a hand across his bearded cheek but didn't say anything, and Natasha could tell this was something that had been weighing on him for a while.

"Steve, you're doing the best you can," she said, squeezing his hand. "We all are. And maybe it feels like you're strangers because you're not the same people you were all those years ago. But that doesn't have to be a bad thing. It just means that now you have the chance to know one another as you are now and not as you were."

"You mean young and dumb?"

"Exactly," she laughed, relieved that he'd made a joke despite the heaviness of their conversation. "Now you're old and dumb."

He rolled his eyes but couldn't hold back a grin, "Hilarious."

A matching grin spread across Natasha's face, and Steve was suddenly aware of how much he'd missed her during the four days he'd been gone. That feeling was followed by the overwhelming guilt of putting her and Sam at risk, "Nat, I'm sorry."

Natasha didn't hesitate, and when she spoke, her voice was soft. "I know you are, and it's OK."

"I shouldn't have left like that," Steve said, looking down at their hands. "I put us all at risk, and it wasn't right."

"You're right."

Natasha's blunt response was no surprise, but when Steve finally looked up at her there was no anger or disappointment in her expression.

"If I'm being honest, I would've done the same thing if I'd gotten that call about Yelena," she said, fidgeting with the string on the gray hooded sweatshirt she was wearing. Steve's gray hooded sweatshirt.

All the tension he'd been holding onto began to evaporate. He could feel his body relax as he sunk back against the sofa, "You never really talk about her."

"Yelena and I are… complicated," Natasha released Steve's hand and rubbed apprehensively at the back of her neck. "And a lot of that is my fault."

"You don't have to talk about it," Steve said, nudging her knee with his own. "But I'd love to hear about her, if you want to tell me."

Natasha briefly imagined Steve meeting her sister and couldn't help but smile at the thought of her two favorite people in the same room. It was instantly something Natasha knew she wanted to happen.

"You'd love her," Nat said, chuckling lightly. "She's smart and kind and blunt and so funny. She loves with such ferocity. She'll stare down the barrel of a gun without flinching but is deathly afraid of lightening. And at a time when I felt the most alone, she reminded me what it meant to have someone in my corner, unconditionally."

"The two of you sound a lot alike," Steve said. The low tone of his voice and the intensity in his eyes made Natasha's stomach do cartwheels.

"Are you flirting with me, Rogers?" she asked, shooting him a wry smile.

He sighed softly and shook his head, "Don't deflect, Nat."

"Don't act like you know me," Natasha said cheekily.

"I do know you, Romanoff," Steve said, smirking.

Natasha resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It was irritating how well Steve knew her, and it was even more irritating that she kept letting him chip away at the walls she'd spent her entire life building up.

"I'm not like her, not really. Yelena never gave up on me or on us, even when I let her down," she exhaled a shaky breath. "Everything I did during the years we spent in Ohio was to protect her, but I failed at that. When I got sent back to the Red Room in '95, they sent her off to God knows where, and nobody would tell me anything. She was only six, Steve. She was so scared, and I couldn't help her. I couldn't keep her safe. I couldn't do anything except comply."

Steve could feel his heart pounding in his chest as Natasha shared her story; She'd kept her past so close to the vest for so many years, and now she finally trusted him enough to share it all.

"When I got out and joined SHIELD, I thought about trying to find her; Clint even offered to help. But nothing had changed, not really. I'd failed her when we were kids, and by then I figured she didn't need me anyway, so I pushed it away, convinced myself that it really was just a cover back then, and I kept moving. I never stopped thinking about her, though, or worrying or wondering where she was or who she'd grown up to be. There were moments when all I wanted to do was cram into a sleeping bag with her, the way we did when we were young, and search the sky for constellations."

Natasha paused and looked down at her hands in her lap then back up at Steve, whose focus was locked on her. She wanted to reach for him, grab his hand or lean into him – something, anything – but she couldn't make herself move. He didn't say anything, so she continued.

"Then Avengers came along and gave me a little bit of hope for the family I thought I'd never have. Sure, we were dysfunctional and spent more time than not wanting to kill one another, but it was special. At least it was to me," she paused again when Steve shifted closer to her on the sofa, draping his arm across her shoulder and pulling her to his side.

He ran his hand lightly along her arm in a comforting manner. Natasha's breath hitched at the contact, but she kept going.

"For a while, it felt like I was finally where I was supposed to be, but after the Accords and the airport, my faith in that kind of wavered. I thought maybe I'd made it all up to make myself feel like I belonged somewhere. When Yelena found me, I was ready to put the team behind me and go it alone for as long as I needed to. But she's stubborn, and she forced me to admit that I was running instead of fighting. She's the reason I came to find you in Wakanda."

Steve's hand stilled against Natasha's arm, and he made a mental note to thank Yelena if he ever had the opportunity.

"You didn't fail her. You just lost your way for a little while," Steve looked down at Natasha at the same time that she tilted her head up to meet his eyes. "Yelena convinced you not to give up on her or on yourself or on us. I bet if I asked her who taught her that kind of determination, the answer would be you."

Natasha sat back slightly and stared up at Steve wordlessly. It didn't matter how hard she tried to keep him at arm's length, he always managed to pull vulnerability from her when no one else could. Steve saw her, really saw her, for who she was instead of who she believed herself to be.

She didn't even realize she'd started to cry until Steve swiped a tear from her cheek. "What is it?" he asked, furrowing his brow.

"I miss her, so much," Natasha's voice broke, and she rested her forehead against the top of his shoulder, unable to hold back the wave of sobs that began to wash over her. She felt Steve's arms around her and sagged into him.

He curled one arm around her back, the other cradling the back of her neck. Natasha cried silently with her face pressed into his solid chest and her hands clutched in the soft fabric of his shirt. Steve wasn't sure how long they stayed that way, but he didn't move until he felt her hands loosen from his shirt.

Natasha drew in a shaky breath, "Well, that was embarrassing."

Steve's hands framed her face, gently drawing her glassy gaze up to meet his eyes. "You have nothing to be embarrassed about."

"The wet spot on your shirt says otherwise," she sighed heavily and gave him a tight, sad smile that made Steve's heart clench in his chest.

He brushed the hair back off her face, letting his hand linger a moment, and Natasha leaned into his touch, "Thank you, Steve."

"For what?" He dropped his hand from her face, immediately missing the feel of her skin on his.

"For this," Natasha said, gesturing between them. "For everything."

She didn't need to elaborate; Steve understood.

For as close as he and Sam were, and as much as they relied on one another, his bond with Natasha was born out of something else. Even early on, they shared a connection neither of them could really explain. Sometimes Steve wondered if maybe it ran even deeper than either of them were willing to admit.

Maybe one day when they weren't running from the government or fighting a planet-ending threat or cleaning up each other's messes he'd ask her. And maybe she'd tell him that, yeah, she felt it too.

Maybe one day.

But not today.