because after spending all that time together, I think Nat and Sam would've been good friends.

enjoy.

Sam scans the battlefield below him as he flies overhead, cataloguing positions of enemies and fellow Avengers. It's impossible to miss the sheer amount of damage that the missiles from Thanos' ship had caused, what with the once impressive Avengers facility having been reduced to nothing but piles of concrete slabs with flames licking up through them, and dark, acrid smoke clouds everywhere. They'd actually had the upper hand (or rather, they'd been starting to get it) before those missiles had rained down on them. It had been absolutely terrifying and unlike any sort of combat situation he'd ever been in. And that included the battle in Wakanda that had apparently ended with him and half the universe's population drifting away onto the wind as dust.

But then the flying woman had torn right through the giant ship and the tide had turned again. Sam gives his head a little shake as a silent reminder to himself that a flying woman was probably not the weirdest thing he'd seen, and he refocuses. His gaze snaps over to Stark, who is glowing and-

Oh.

There's a bright flash, and then suddenly alien bodies are disintegrating into nothing right in front of him. He watches as Thanos' army disappears - apparently for good this time - and leaves the assembly of Avengers sagging with exhaustion. His gaze drifts back to Stark and the realization that the man had sacrificed himself to save everyone blooms in him all at once.

Everyone seems to naturally begin to group together with their friends and comrades, so Sam follows suit and flies over to where Steve is standing. His gaze sweeps over his friend and it takes everything in him to not frown, because the usually immovable Captain America looks like the lightest of breezes could knock him over. It's such a far cry from the unshakeable, solid force he's used to having by his side, but then again this battle had been unlike any other...

"Hey, Cap," he says with a tired smile as he closes the last bit of distance between them.

"Hey, Sam," Steve replies. A weak smile curls on his lips for the briefest of moments before it falls away to exhaustion and grief. "It's really good to see you."

"Likewise," Sam replies as he steps forward to hug his friend carefully, mindful of his injuries. "Thanks for the assist," Steve says as they break apart.

Sam thinks about throwing out a teasing comment, but opts not to. Steve's expression is too haunted, and his eyes too full of grief. "Any time," he says instead, giving him a nod.

The de facto leaders of the smaller groups have begun making their way toward Steve, no doubt looking for some instructions, but as Sam watches his friend he realizes that the once seemingly infallible Captain America is absolutely wrecked. He's seen Steve weary, tired, and even exhausted, but this is so much more than that. He gives it a minute, but when Cap stays silent and just stares ahead almost mindlessly, Sam decides to step in.

"I know everyone is tired, but make sure to get checked out if you're injured. Let's get some teams together to do a sweep of the area and make sure we haven't left anyone behind."

He's met with tired nods and murmurs of agreement, and so he begins to assign groups to specific areas of the former battlefield.

"Everyone else...you can head home, I guess. The, uh, sorcerers can help you out with that, I think…" he trails off, looking over to a group of them to his right. He's met with nods. "Yeah, so if you're in need of a way home, meet up over here," he finishes, pointing to the area to his right. "And I know I don't have to say this, but I'm going to anyway. No details about today are spread to the public, okay? We'll get something together once we've had a chance to breathe and regroup a little."

Everyone begins shuffling away back to their groups and Sam turns back to find Steve still standing, one arm hanging uselessly by his side, and the other pulling off his helmet. "Some day, huh?"

There's a puff of forced air that leaves Steve's lips that Sam guesses was supposed to be a laugh. "Yeah. Some day."

Sam turns around at the sound of approaching footsteps and finds Thor, Banner, and Barton. "Got a second, Cap?" Banner asks.

"Yeah," he says tiredly with a nod before turning back to face Sam. He opens his mouth to say something, but Sam raises a hand to preemptively stop him.

"I'm gonna head over here and check-in with the sorcerers. Gimme a shout if you need anything."

It isn't until Steve waves him back over that Sam realizes he hasn't seen Romanoff anywhere. Sure, she'd always lived up to the covert nature of her reputation, and had taken great pleasure in scaring the shit out of him over the years by seemingly appearing out of thin air, but he still would have expected to see her at some point given her undisputed leadership role beside Cap.

"Hey Cap?"

"Yeah?"

"You seen Nat?"

Steve's expression, which was already crestfallen, falls even further at the question and it hits Sam all at once why he hasn't seen her. For some reason the idea of losing Nat hadn't even entered his mind. He'd seen her beat impossible odds time and time again. Hell, she'd rescued him and Steve from seemingly impossible situations so many times that he'd always thought her a little bit invincible.

Sam feels shock and sadness sweep through him at the thought that she's gone. Natasha Romanoff, the woman who had saved the world a few times over, who had laid bare her secrets to the world to take down Hydra, and who had given up her freedom and become a fugitive to let Steve and Barnes go, was dead. Nat was gone.

He hadn't known her at all when she and Steve knocked on his door asking for a place to lay low. But then she'd casually shrugged when Steve had deferred to her for acquiring his heavily guarded wing pack, and he'd started to get a sense of who she was. He hadn't understood why she wasn't worried about the high level of security, but he trusted Captain America...and Cap seemed to trust her, so he went along with it. Sam had watched her go in and come back out with his wings in a matter of minutes, with no alarms tripped and none of the guards the wiser."

"You're welcome." She throws him a smirk as she drops the wing pack unceremoniously into his arms.

"How did you…?"

"Yeah, it's better not to ask questions," Steve advises with a smile. "You won't like her answers."

Sam's brow furrows into a deep frown of confusion. "No disrespect," he begins, eyes rising from his wings to her eyes, which are dancing in amusement of some kind, "but who the hell are you exactly?"

"I'm the woman who just got you your wings back," she replies with another smirk.

"Okay, yeah, but...who are you?"

"I don't usually get a chance to introduce myself properly," she replies with a smile as she holds out a hand. "Natasha Romanoff, better known as the Black Widow."

Sam shifts the wing pack around in his arms and manages to sneak a hand out to shake hers. "The Black Widow? Wow, like-"

"Steady there, Sam," Steve says, a teasing grin on his lips.

"Yeah, yeah. Of course," he replies with an absent nod, his mind still trying to wrap around the skillset of the woman in front of him. "Super soldier and a super secret agent…" he mumbles to himself. "How the hell do I get myself into this shit?"

When they'd taken down Hydra together he'd only really gotten a glimpse at what she could do, but he had still been in complete awe. Then he'd joined the new Avengers team and he began to hate her a little bit because she'd seemed to enjoy his pain during her training sessions a little too much. Not to mention that she handed him his ass every damn time they sparred.

But eventually they reached a point where she was mostly satisfied with the team's techniques, fitness, and tactical awareness, and then she began to relax around them a bit. He'd found her sense of humour appropriately dark, and was not surprised to learn she had a viciously sharp wit that rivalled Stark's.

They'd grown closer over time, especially during their time in the secret Avengers. It got to the point where he considered her among his closest friends, and he was pretty sure she'd trust him with her life if push came to shove. She was fiercely loyal despite a pervasive reputation to the contrary, and he'd been a bit surprised to find that she could be incredibly kind and thoughtful.

"You don't have to come with us, Sam," she says as she fiddles with some of the quinjet's controls. "Clint and Scott are gonna take deals to be with their families. There's enough leverage that you could too."

"And leave you alone to deal with that stubborn, self-sacrificing guy?" he replies, gesturing toward the super soldier in the back of the quinjet as he drops into the co-pilot seat beside her. "Please, Romanoff."

She turns to look at him. "You've got a family, Sam."

"Yeah, so do you."

She shakes her head vehemently, and Sam wonders then if she really didn't think she had anyone outside the team. "I don't. Not really. It's why I can do this. But you, you have a mom and a sister, and-"

"Natasha," he interrupts, holding up a hand. "I understand what you're saying. But I'm where I need to be."

"Sam." Her voice is soft, and her tone sad. "There's no going back from this. Ross isn't going to let it go. You do this, there's a strong chance you don't see them again for a long time. If ever."

"I'm where I need to be," he repeats, his gaze finding hers. "Where I want to be."

She holds his gaze for a moment before she tilts her head ever so slightly and her expression softens a touch. "You're a good man, Sam. Don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise."

"She didn't make it," Steve says, voice rough and broken with pain.

Sam grapples with what to say, because what can you say when you find out a close friend died while you were dust. "I'm sorry," he settles on, finding Cap's gaze and shrinking under the intensity of its grief.

Steve nods sadly. "Me too."

"What happened?" he asks, because he came back to a world that had gone on without him for five years and he doesn't know a damn thing. Did they lose her in the battle in Wakanda after he was dusted? Or at some point in those five years he had apparently missed? Or in this battle and he just hadn't seen it?

Steve's jaw clenches for a brief second before it relaxes and he exhales heavily. "She sacrificed herself so we could get all of you back."

Sam blinks as he tries to process Steve's words. Nat gave her life? Why had that been necessary? What had she had to do?

"When?" The question comes out as almost a whisper, because he can't wrap his head around the fact that Nat was gone. She'd been taking down those aliens in Wakanda with Okoye like they were nothing, even though they were twice her size and God only knew how much stronger. She'd been alive, and breathing, and kicking ass. And then he'd disappeared and come back to a Wakanda that wasn't in the throes of a battle before being whisked away through a portal to New York to fight for the world. Again.

Steve swallows and Sam can see his chin tremble. "Not long before we brought you all back."

Sam breathes some shaky breaths as he mulls over Steve's answer. That meant it hadn't been that long ago...which explained why Steve looked absolutely wrecked. He hadn't just lost Tony, he'd lost Nat too. But...why did she have to sacrifice herself?

Steve sees the confusion in Sam's features and provides a bit more explanation. "We found a way to get the stones, so we could reverse what Thanos did. The stone that she and Barton were sent to get required a sacrifice to obtain it...they fought each other to be the one to do it. She won." His voice is sad, and laced with a bitterness that tells Sam he hasn't gotten over it, and if history is any indication...he probably never will.

Sam's throat tightens as he thinks about what she'd done for them, and what she'd given up to do it. She'd grown up in hell and had somehow come out the other side not only a good person, but a hero too. He suspected that she'd never believed it herself, but it's what she was.

"You never talk about yourself, you know," Sam says as he tips his beer bottle back and finishes off the last of it. It's been quiet for the last few days, and he's taking advantage of the downtime. They're down a member because Wanda is away visiting Vision, but Nat's set up security around their safehouse and Steve is keeping watch, so there's no reason he can't relax a bit. Hell, the casual attire she's wearing tells Sam that even Nat is unwinding a little, even if she's still working.

"Yes," she answers with a half-smirk before looking back down at her tablet, making a few notes on what Sam guesses is intel on their next target. "I do know that."

He rolls his eyes. "Nat," he admonishes. "C'mon. You know everything about me. We've been working together for years now and I know next to nothing about you."

"That's the status quo for spies."

"You're an Avenger though," he counters.

"That doesn't mean espionage stopped being a part of my life. Look at where we are right now," she says with a smirk. "You think ordinary Avengers could get this nice of a safehouse?"

Sam laughs at her grin. "Okay, fair point," he concedes, "but my original point stands. We're teammates, and I'd like to think we're friends too…"

She looks up with a thoughtful expression. "We better have vodka," she says meaningfully, a finger pointing at him for emphasis.

"What?"

"If we're doing this sharing shit, we better have vodka, because there's no way I'm doing it sober."

Sam hops up to his feet quickly. "I'm on it," he says, heading out the door.

"Make sure it's the good stuff," she calls out. "None of that North American shit. And pay with-"

"Cash," he finishes for her. "Avoid the cameras, no more conversations than necessary, and be quick but don't rush. I know, Nat."

He had returned twenty minutes later with 2 bottles of premium Russian vodka, and she'd laughed.

"So optimistic, Sam."

"You're Russian, I don't know how much of this stuff you need to get properly drunk."

"Who said I get drunk?"

He blinks. "Wait...you're not like a super soldier like Steve are you?" He'd always assumed that she was just in peak physical condition, but with her you just never knew...

She laughs again. "No, I think we both know I'm no Cap. Now grab some glasses and pour, Wilson."

"Yes, ma'am," he says with a mock salute and does as she asked.

She throws back a shot and grins. "Not bad," she acquiesces.

Sam throws back his shot and immediately winces. "God, you actually like this stuff?"

Her grin widens. "I grew up with it."

"It's like water for you, isn't it? What a stereotype you are, Romanoff," he teases with a laugh.

"Ask your questions, Wilson. But remember two things. One - I reserve the right to refuse to answer. And two - you'll never know if I'm lying." He frowns and she laughs again. "Relax, Sam. I'm kidding about the second one. Mostly."

"I'm choosing to ignore that," he says with a vague gesture before refilling her glass for her. He opts for another bottle of beer instead of joining her, because the vodka is burning his throat and he's never liked the stuff anyway. "Where'd you grow up?"

"Russia," she answers simply, a teasing smirk playing on her lips. "But that's not what you meant, is it?"

"I went out to get you vodka," he reminds her. "I didn't get you the cheap stuff either."

"True, but this isn't the good stuff either," she counters.

He groans and drops his head into his hands. "You're killing me, Nat."

"And I'm loving every minute of it."

"You said-"

"Yes, yes," she interrupts before pausing thoughtfully. "A lot of my past was in the information dump-"

"I didn't read it."

"Why not?"

He shrugs. "Wasn't my place to. It's your history to tell. Just because your secrets were out there didn't mean I should read 'em."

"I think you're in the minority on that one."

He chuckles. "Nothing new there. Always been that way."

She shakes her head and laughs lightly before her expression shifts back to neutral. "I grew up in a place called the Red Room in Russia. They took me when I was very young, and I was raised along with a bunch of other girls."

Sam's expression falls at her honest, if a bit brusque, answer. He'd heard it alluded to, and Wanda had mentioned in passing that what she had seen of it had been awful, but he didn't know the specifics of it. "I take it that it wasn't sunshine and rainbows?" he offers carefully, watching as she pours herself another shot and drains it in one go.

"No, I wouldn't categorize any of it as sunshine and rainbows," she answers, her eyebrow arching just a touch. She pauses to pour herself another shot and drains it immediately again before continuing. "They were brutal and ruthless in their training. They did everything they could to dehumanize us so that we would fight for the cause and ask no questions."

He swallows, feeling anger swell within him. He'd seen firsthand what war could do to people, and what she had endured was so much worse. How she'd survived that and still come out the other side a human being with compassion, he'd never understand. "So there's more like you?" he asks, but regrets it immediately because he knows there's no one quite like her. "Sorry, I mean-"

"I know what you meant," she interrupts before throwing back another shot as Sam wonders how many she's had. 4? 5? "There are, yes. But not as many as you might think. Very few actually graduated from the Red Room."

"If you were working for the, uh…" he trails off, not comfortable making assumptions.

"KGB," she supplies, pouring out some more vodka for herself and then taking a sip this time. The amount in the bottle has already dropped significantly, and he wonders if she's even feeling a buzz.

"If you were working for the KGB, how'd you end up working for SHIELD?

A smile plays on her lips for a moment. "Barton was sent to kill me. He found me, but went against his orders and took me in instead. He somehow convinced SHIELD I would be an asset to them and wasn't going to turn on them, and the rest is history."

Sam blinks. "Hold on. He was sent to kill you?"

She nods. "Yep," she replies, popping the p for emphasis and then finishing her drink. She scrutinizes the bottle for a moment, seemingly trying to decide whether to have more before shrugging and pouring herself another glass.

He stares, wondering how high her tolerance for alcohol is, and how she hadn't become an alcoholic with everything she lived through.

"That's crazy," he says, shaking his head. "You know that right?"

She shrugs. "I guess."

"How many assassination attempts have you-"

"Survived and then defected?" She interrupts, a wide grin on her face. "Just the one."

He rolls his eyes. "It's weird that you're so casual about this."

She shrugs. "It was years ago."

"You say that like it was a bad hair cut."

"If only," she replies dryly. "I have had a few of those over the years though. I'm not wild about this one," she says thoughtfully, fingers trailing through her short, blonde hair, "but it was necessary."

"Nat." She's deflecting away from the topic, but he's certain that she knows he noticed her half-hearted attempt to change the subject.

"I don't know what to tell you, Sam. They aren't fond memories, so I try not to think about them if I can help it."

He opens his mouth to respond, but she cuts him off and points threateningly at him. "If you spout off any bullshit about repression and that I need to deal with them properly, I'm going to smack you."

He holds his hands up in surrender. "You already kick my ass when we train, I don't need you to do it when we're drinking too "

"You're a wise man, Wilson," she says, holding up her glass in a toast. He clinks his bottle to her glass and they both take a drink.

"So Barton chose to bring you in, huh?"

"Yeah "

"He ever tell you why?"

She smiles again fondly. "He said it was the look in my eyes. Said he saw something familiar and that someone had seen it in him once upon a time too."

"He let his guard down around the most notorious and dangerous Russian assassin-" he abruptly stops, a thought occurring to him. "What was your body count anyway?"

Her eyebrow arches. "You really wanna know the answer to that?"

He shakes his head immediately, because no, no he really doesn't need to know that. "No, I guess I don't. So Barton let his guard down around a master assassin because he thought he saw something familiar in your eyes?"

She grins widely. "I never said he was a smart man."

"I'm gonna tell him you said that."

"He knows," she says, waving off his threat. "I call him an idiot to his face all the time."

Sam chuckles lightly before a short silence envelops them.

"You miss him?" he asks.

She nods after a moment of silence. "We've spent time apart before...we used to run solo missions for months at a time, and Fury was frustratingly fond of sending me on back-to-backs. But this time is...different."

"I'm sorry."

She shrugs again. "It's not your fault. It's the life we signed up for."

"Doesn't sound like you signed up for it at all," he counters. "Not when you grow up in a place like that."

She shrugs. "It's in the past. I did my time with SHIELD. I could have gone off grid and disappeared, but I chose to stay."

"Why?"

She smiles. "Same as you. Same as Steve, and Wanda too. I want to try and do some good."

"I think you covered that when you fought aliens in New York, and then robots in Sokovia, and Hydra goons basically everywhere else," he remarks dryly. But he watches her carefully, because he suspects it's a bit of a sore spot for her.

She shrugs again as she takes a sip from her glass. "My life before SHIELD is not easily wiped away."

"At what point is it enough though? At some point you have to define it or accept that it's never gonna be an equation that balances."

"Thought I told you to drop that counsellor shit," she replies, pointing a finger at him in a half-hearted threat.

"I'm just saying," he says, holding up his hands in innocence, "you've saved the world a few times over, helped take down a dangerous organization, and were a badass SHIELD agent for years before all of that."

She chuckles before taking a prolonged drink from her glass, finishing the liquid. "I will happily take the title of badass SHIELD agent."

He doesn't miss the sidestep, but lets it go. She was certainly not the type to be bullied or pushed into things. "You think they'll ever forgive us and let us come home?"

Her expression is thoughtful. "I got my freedom back once, I can do it again."

Sam smiles, even if the thought is a bit somber. "I have no doubt," he says, holding up his bottle in another toast.

"She was a good friend," Sam says with a nod. It's the truth, and they both know it implicitly, but it felt like it should be said anyway. The world had these preconceived notions about her, and saying it out loud, even if just to Steve, emphasizes in Sam's mind what she was.

Steve nods again and reaches his good arm up to wipe away some tears. If they're from losing Tony or losing Nat, Sam doesn't know. Probably both he thinks.

"She died saving her family."

Sam considers his words. She'd saved Clint, apparently, and while he doesn't have all the information, it sort of seems like without her sacrifice they wouldn't have been able to bring everyone back...so yeah, she'd saved her family.

"She was a hero."

"Is a hero," Steve corrects, his voice firm and leaving no room for doubt. It's the first glimpse of the typical Captain America strength he's seen since the end of the battle.

Sam nods in understanding and agreement. "We'll make sure people know what she did. We'll make sure they know the Black Widow, who they all loved to hate, is the one who saved them all. We'll make sure they appreciate and recognize what she did," he promises. "We'll make sure they know Natasha Romanoff was a good person, and a goddamned hero.

this one's been sitting in my drafts folder for weeks, and every time I went back to read it over and edit it, it grew a little. I finally decided to stop that pattern and post it.

Thoughts? Comments? Ideas for other characters?