Here we get a nice mention of a few other MCU characters. I own nothing, please enjoy.

Natasha sighed, slumping against the wall, the Compound was as empty as she predicted. The hallways were lifeless and dim.

She remembered the days where music would dance through the halls. Originating from either Sam, Wanda or even Steve, the Compound was always filled with music. Natasha missed those days but looking back was pointless now, there were more important things to focus on.

Dragging her tired and weary body through the corridor, she fell into her room. While refuelling the quinjet was important, she wouldn't get very far in her current state without a little help. After Shield had fallen and many of her numerous aliases had been blasted all over the internet it had been important – crucial, really – that Natasha could find a way to rebuild the damaged strands of her web before they were completely torn. Obviously, she had many contacts that would be willing to throw her to the wolves if that suddenly outweighed the price of their debts to her – it was important that she could show her strength before her entire life collapsed and her enemies began to filter out of the shadows like cockroaches.

Through Matt, May and Hill she managed to set up multiple identities and offshore accounts, registering from everything to online stores, local newsletters all over the globe and community college classes. Setting up missed calls to "family and friends" as well as real-estate agents all over the world had helped make it all seem real; stable, even. She could use what she had forged to help build herself a new web, should she need too; and she wasn't naïve enough to doubt that she would. While she had managed to make it out of that mess unscathed, it was likely that there was another one that would come along. One that she wouldn't be able to escape from.

So, she had done the smart thing; she rebuilt her web and moved forward. It didn't matter whether she wanted it, what mattered was that she would need it.

It hadn't been what she wanted, not at all. If Natasha had it her way, she'd have let her life fall to pieces; Shield was done for, she had been working from Hydra and her ledger was bloodier than ever. What was the point in fighting?

Lingering helplessly next to the hospital bed as Steve was rushed into surgery before being stopped by a nurse and two double doors – as well as Sam's gentle hand on her arm – had been what had woken her up.

Steve was out of the fight, Fury was "dead", Hill was just a cog in the machine – she had been on CCTV awaiting the microchip placement, it could be argued too easily that she was not the mastermind of the scheme – and Sam was just trying to fight the good fight, to help make the world a better place. Neither of them deserved to take the fall for what had happened.

She, on the other hand, had been in the room where four members of the WSC had ended up dead, all the while impersonating the remaining one. Fury was dead as far as the world was aware and Natasha knew that he had no plans on correcting anyone as far as that was concerned. She had then, knowing that it would cost multiple government agents – Shield agents – their lives, proceeded to drop a nuclear bomb's worth of information about a spy organisation and its employees onto the internet. Thus, divulging government secrets and making the gruesome truth of what had been done to "protect" the world completely available to the public.

Then she had set the final nail in her own coffin by releasing the unredacted version of the online file that Fury had on her.

It wasn't everything she had done, it wasn't even the worst.

But it was enough.

A scapegoat would be needed, and it was going to be her. The only other option was Steve and, perhaps, Barnes. She knew that Hydra's file on the Winter Solider (lurking deep within an old Shield server) had been made public, so while he was undoubtedly on the list of people the government would be spending weeks bringing in, there was also a massive internet file containing the depths of the mind-wiping sessions that Barnes had been forced into. He was also a war hero, he had a clean past before he had fallen to his "death"; it would be easy to note the changes that Hydra had inflicted on him through decades of torture.

Steve was Captain America, Natasha knew that even if he had been in a fit state to stand trial (if he even lived through the surgery he was in) that there would be nothing short of a riot among the public. What good was it to live in the land of the free and the home of the brave when the country's most prolific American hero would be forced to stand trial for saving 20 Million lives.

Natasha was the Black Widow, and the Black Widow was, in every sense of the word, a criminal. There was no doubt about that. Every time she tried to save a life, it was at the expense of another. She dropped three hellicarriers on the city for the possibility that she could save the lives of Hydra's targeted few.

A Killer.

A Monster.

Who could argue with history? It was all written in her file, everyone could see her for who she was.

Natasha was many things, but she was not someone who would roll over just because no one else at fault wanted to take responsibility for their mistakes. Hydra had grown within Shield, that much was true, but it had also grown among the Government and the military. They had not noticed and if they had, they had done nothing. The fault undoubtedly laid at Shields feet, but it was a big mess and the debris had landed on some other toes too.

She would make sure that the blame was shared. She would take her due, of course; it was the least she could do. For Shield – for what she wanted it to be – and its agents, whose lives she had put in jeopardy.

For Fury – who had mentored her; who had trusted her to act in the right way even if it was not what others wanted to do. To follow orders and make the hard call.

For Hill – Hill who had not looked at her as anything other than an Agent, just like her. Even when everyone else had looked at her like she was nothing more than shit treaded into the sole of their shoes.

For Clint – Clint who had saved what little was left of her soul by doing something as simple – as dangerous – as trusting her and allowing her to decide that she could be more; that she was worth more. Clint who stood unwavering by her side as she strived to do better; to be better. Who never left even when she divulged to him the darkest secrets of her past, the ones that made her want to claw out her eyes so that she wouldn't see the guilt swimming in them every time she looked in the mirror. Or, in a move that frequented her nightmares; the glee that she could get away with it, that she could kill every man, woman and child in her path and still have room for more. That hunger, that pride that she was taught to feel. The hunger that had turned to ash in her mouth and smoke in her lungs and a sense of pride that had hollowed out into the most painful shame. Clint who had hugged her as she cried it all out.

For Laura – Laura who had swept her into her motherly arms and solidified her place in the Barton family by taking her hand and placing it on the bump that had replaced her stomach. Life had, for the first time, flourished in Natasha's presence as a small kick moved against her hand. She had not harmed the child with her presence; she had brought a new sense of life to this home; this family. Laura had never wavered in her acceptance of Natasha. Even though she undoubtedly knew the whole truth of Natasha's background; her past. Clint had never kept a secret from Laura, not if he didn't have too. He knew she would accept Natasha for all that she was, so he never hid her from Laura and he refused to let her hide herself. Aunty Nat had been the first person to hold all three of the Barton children after their parents. Little Cooper Barton had been presented to her, quiet and content in the arms of his teary-eyed father, quickly so that she had no room to slip away amid Coulson, Hill, May and Andrew's heartfelt congratulations. Clint had gone from carrying the little infant over for the mandatory introductions to saying a quick;

"Here, Nat, take him for a sec." And placing the infant in her arms before turning to hug Coulson.

The babe had remained calm and relaxed in her arms and Natasha, gazing down at the newest member of her family, had felt tears burn her eyes as she cradled Cooper. Gently stroking a finger down his cheek, she had felt her heart swell as shiny, new blue eyes looked back at her. Unafraid and filled with so much potential. Her breath had remained stuck in her throat long enough that, after letting Clint move to the other well-wishers, Coulson had walked over.

"You can breathe, you know." He said, smiling at her in his eternally calm, almost fatherly way. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "We all know that you're no danger to him. You need to start trusting yourself."

Natasha let out a deep breath, her lips upturning in a soft smile. "I just don't want to take a risk."

"You're not a risk." Phil chided. "You're his Aunt."

She smiled. "Aunty Nat."

It sent a bolt of warmth right to her heart, and she knew that, unlike the other good deeds her name had been attached to – few they may be – that this warmth would never leave. She would always be family to the "Barton Bunch" (as Clint had decreed them all the second Laura and he came home from their first scan). However big this family grew, she would always be a part of it.

When she had decided that she would accept the fallout of Shield, she had known it would be worth it because whether she ended up in a penitentiary or not, there would always be a family waiting for her.

She had also done it for Steve – Steve who was lying in a hospital theatre barely clinging on to life. When they had found him, lying bloodied and broken on a beach, she'd felt her world stumble off kilter. Everything else she could handle but this was too much.

It felt as though her entire relationship with Steve had changed over the past few days; suddenly, he had become an immovable fixture in her life. Steadfast and unchanging.

Trusting.

Natasha couldn't describe what it meant to her to have Steve trust her. Even though she hadn't known it at the time; Fury, the only person who had truly looked at her moral compass and deemed it correct, hadn't trusted her enough to tell her the truth. He had probably been informed by Maria that she had cried over his body; yet he still couldn't trust her.

She had never been called naïve, she understood why Fury hadn't told her.

That didn't stop it from hurting like a bitch.

It was Steve, Captain freaking America that had looked at her, aware of her different morals and outlook on the world and deemed her worthy of his trust. Although – in terms of her ability – she had done nothing extraordinary; a simple hack and exchange of information that was (as far as he was concerned) nothing more than speculation.

He trusted her anyway.

His trust had ignited something in her. That deep desire that she had to push away every few years; the desire to run away, start an honest life and live out the rest of her existence in peace. Find something – or someone – worth loving and see if she could live a happy, normal life.

Realistically she knew it wasn't possible. Oh, she could leave tomorrow for sure. Try her hand at normality and ignore the world and its problems. It wasn't hard to run away; she was an expert at it. She also knew, however, that sooner or later some face from her past would show up to destroy her and any life that she could possibly have built. They'd undoubtedly make her watch as they killed those she loved right in front of her eyes, burn her home to a crisp and either drag her back to Russia to have her mind stripped away or kill her slowly -

Flashing back to her room in the compound, Natasha blinked rapidly. That urge to just lay down and wait for death was pulling itself back into her consciousness. She was tired. So terribly tired. Maybe she was wrong; it would be easy to lay down here, in the only place she called home, and just fade away. There was, however, a single flaw that kept creeping up.

Her body.

If Tony was based here now, it would be more than likely that he would walk into her room in search of a clue as to where she would flee now that she had escaped from her ordeal at the raft. He would be the one to find her, or whatever the hell was left of her – she didn't feel like much of a person now.

Still, Tony was her friend. She couldn't do that to him.

Her aching hands grabbed the bed and moved it to the side. Barely remaining upright, Natasha stumbled over to the floor and gently lifted a single square wooden door surrounded by soft carpet. Taking a deep breath, she shuffled over on her knees and reached in, grabbing the handles of a backpack that was hiding in the depths.

Pulling out she collapsed on the floor, lungs burning and a head that was too murky to push all her pain away.

"Um, excuse me, Miss," an unfamiliar voice began, "are you okay?"

Rolling her head to the side, Natasha's eyes met the clear blue and confused orbs of a teenage boy. He had unkept brown hair and an expression so earnest that she felt the same breed of warmth that she got whenever she laid eyes on the Barton children bloom in her stomach. He was wearing a shirt that wouldn't, she thought, be out of place on a teenage Tony; a shirt laded with some clever science pun that she was too delirious to decipher.

"Hey, Miss? Can you hear me? You really don't look good?" He was starting to panic now. She could tell by the way his voice raised. That warmth that she had felt before was begging her to comfort him, but the rest of her felt so numb. Cold, even. Well, her adrenaline really had worn off now.

Her tired eyes began slipping closed when she felt something push her shoulder. It was gentle, but surprisingly strong.

Prying them open, she noticed that the boy was now right in front of her. When the hell had that happened? Looking up, she saw his lips moving frantically but she heard nothing accept the blood pounding in her ears. She had no focus, no strength.

In the back of her mind, she regretted coming back here. She could have just crashed the quinjet into the ocean and gone on her own terms. Instead, she had given into sentiment and returned to see her home once more. Guilt pooled in her stomach, freezing all the warmth left in her. Meeting the boy's eyes, she hoped her own portrayed how sorry she was that she had done this to him.

On a final note of grief, guilt and shame – something that Natasha, personally, deemed quite fitting considering how she had lived her life – Natasha Romanoff closed her eyes, laying still on the floor of her bedroom. A place once filled with unity and family had become her resting place at a time of emptiness and division.

Confused.

That was what Peter was feeling now. Confused and, if he was being honest, a little bit scared.

He had been waiting for Mr Stark at the Avengers Compound, like he did every other Friday after school, when he had been informed by Happy that Mr Stark had received an urgent phone call. Apparently, he had left the building with Vision almost immediately.

It was so important that Miss Potts was on the phone with King T'Challa and Cornel Rhodes was on the phone with some super important military people.

Peter didn't really understand it all, but he knew that it was probably best to keep out of it. Aunt May was having a hard-enough time accepting that he was Spiderman. He'd promised her that he would keep out of life-or-death trouble as well as any government business – as to avoid his identity being revealed and stopping anyone putting him in The Raft.

Mr Stark had been all up for these conditions but managed to convince May to allow him to be picked up from School – and then returned home – by Happy so that he could update his suit so that he was always as safe as possible when he was protecting the neighbourhood from any danger.

Peter didn't know if it was Mr Stark as much as Miss Potts who convinced May. She had one of those maternal, trustworthy looks that Peter knew May appreciated. Besides, Mr Stark did update his suit and make sure he was as protected as possible when he was out in the field.

He also allowed Peter to do science experiments in his lab and checked over his new formulas for updated web shooters. – Not that this was a motivating factor or anything, but Peter was pretty sure he had invented a web so strong it would be able to hold a severed boat together.

He wouldn't ever need it too; he had learned from his mistakes from before and he knew he needed training that he wasn't going to get until his was older – at least if Mr Stark and Aunt May stayed in agreement. Still, it didn't hurt to be prepared and it was a lot less frightening.

It was easy to realise that everyone being so busy meant that he should go home, but Happy had wanted to get stay around for a while so that he could check in on the others – it was his job as head of security after all. Who was he to stop a man from doing his job!?

He had, to stop himself from getting under Happy's feet, decided to explore the compound. Another thing that Mr Stark and May had come to agreement on was that if there was ever a situation in which he was hurt, and she wasn't around because she was working, he was to spend the night at the compound, so they could make sure that he was healing properly. That way, he had access to proper medical care and his identity wasn't at risk at being revealed. Everyone here had to sign disclosure forms and had a hefty lawsuit hanging over their heads if they ever revealed anything serious.

This had all meant that Peter was given his own room at the compound. He had, at first, been a little hesitant because there was a part of him that wondered if he had been given a room that had once belonged to one of the now Rouge Avengers. He hadn't wanted to ask Mr Stark because he didn't want to upset him, but it had really thrown him off. Fortunately, Cornel Rhodes seemed to know what he was thinking and assured him that he hadn't been given an old Avengers room. The old Avengers rooms were locked shut. The only ones that remained unlocked where Thor's, Hulk's and Black Widow's.

The latter had confused Peter. He hadn't been fully conscious of what happened in Berlin after that very-little-suddenly-very-big guy had knocked him through the air, but he watched the news while recovering enough to know that Black Widow had been declared an enemy of the state and she was to be charged with treason. Apparently, she had helped Captain America and the Winter Soldier escape.

When he had asked Cornel Rhodes, he had just said; "It's not that simple. Natasha is never that simple."

Peter still didn't understand, but he left it alone. The door remained closed but always unlocked, and that was that.

Accept today it was open.

It made him stop, his spider senses alerted him before his eyes did. Suddenly he felt small, like he did the day his parents died but the sense was stronger. Not emotional, nothing – spider senses or not – could make him hurt like that again, but troubling. As thought there was someone in that room who needed help.

He walked in and saw a woman lying on the carpet. She looked tired. Almost…defeated.

"Um, excuse me, Miss, are you okay?" He asked. "Hey, Miss? Can you hear me? You really don't look good?" She really didn't. He couldn't explain why, she just looked pale but that might just be all the red she was wearing washing her out.

He really couldn't put his finger on what was wrong until he saw it.

It was what he saw that made his brain stop.

Red.

The woman was covered in red. Her hair, to her fingers, and all the way down to her toes. She had splints on her arm and leg. Her face was swollen and bruised, and she had blood coming out of her ears.

Reality caught up with him. He needed to help her – now.

Rushing over to her he saw her eyes flutter closed. He shook her shoulder and looked back down at her; her eyes were glazing over but even they he could see the pain buried in them.

"Miss, I'm gonna get you help, okay? You need to stay away though!" He demanded as her eyelids began to droop. "Hey, please! Please stay awake!"

She didn't; her eyes closed, and she went still in her arms. Her blood soaking through her hair onto his jeans. Peter blinked, once, twice before screaming for help.

He didn't stop until he felt and heard numerous feet pounding in the corridor towards him.

Mr Stark appeared in the doorway, Iron Man suit still on, minus the helmet, so the teenager on the floor could easily notice his eyes were wild and frantic. "Peter, what's going on?"

He stopped, his gaze landing on the woman in Peter's arms. His face went pale and Peter swore that he looked as thought he was about to stop breathing himself.

"Natasha!"