The first day was the hardest. She hadn't been on the streets in a long time, and it felt like shoving a square peg into a round hole- forcing all the old habits, but seeing everything now through the lens they'd slipped over her eyes. Panic, maybe. Or just an anxiety about everything. Every dumpster slapped closed, every child racing down the sidewalk in clapping shoes, women laughing into their phones, men stepping up quickly to the curb, calling for a taxi. It jarred, it was unnerving, it made her skittish as fuck- she could feel an unfamiliar edge creeping into her mind, whispering away at her every chance it got (which was usually while she was awake). They're coming to get you, it hissed, as she rummaged through trash cans and slipped along the street where the buildings were clustered together. You're not safe out here. You have to hide. She couldn't hide. There was nowhere to hide.

There were men, at first. They were attracted to her like flies to meat, rotting in the sun, and after awhile she learned to stay clear. She would be sipping a soda, or later, a beer at some bar and a guy would sidle up and start a conversation, and she never had the strength or energy at that point to turn them away. So she would entertain them, and they would take that as some sort of consent, occasionally offering to buy her something more to drink. That, at least, she was able to decline.

Once in a while, there were women too, and somehow they were even worse.

That's what she thought this woman was, the first moment she noticed her at the bar. She was trying to make her drink last, as she'd used her last bit of cash to buy it, and was contemplating where to sleep that night when she felt the familiar tingle over her skin, like someone was watching her. A quick scope of the bar behind her revealed no one, and then she looked directly to her left and the woman was sliding onto the barstool. She had hair like the sun, or no, more muted, like the color of blood, and her skin was pale as the bathroom mirrors. She ordered a glass of wine and raised it to her red lips, taking an elegant sip and surveying the room at the same time, as she herself had when she first came in.

When the woman's eyes settled on hers, her first instinct was to retreat. There was something there that spooked her. She was used to discomfiting gazes and unsettling stares, but there was an animal in the red haired woman that she recognized, and it terrified her.

But then the woman spoke, and she felt some of the anxiety leak out of her muscles.

"Come here often?" The woman's mouth barely moved when she spoke, like she practiced ventriloquism every day in the bathroom, without a puppet. Her eyebrows lifted as she glanced sideways at her. "I didn't think so. I don't either. Too loud." She set her glass down, slowly, like she was savoring the sound it made as it tinked against the wood of the bar, and then the full weight of her attention landed on her.

She squirmed.

"You're new here, aren't you?"

She looked down into her drink. Some days she was tempted to throw herself on the steps of a church and beg for someone to take her confession. Some days she wanted to throw herself off a bridge. Some days she wanted to turn in slow circles and listen to some sort of music - maybe pop, maybe jazz - as loud as it could go, so it would drown out her own thoughts. Some people felt like preachers, in that regard- some people felt like a bridge. This woman felt like the headphones.

No. Like the music. Loud enough to cover the truth, quiet enough to remind her she was lonely. Quiet enough that she could still feel her heart beat.

"Just came in today," she replied, softly. Then, when the woman didn't respond, she looked up. "Is it that obvious?" If she stood out at all, she was a target. That's what she'd learned. And obviously she was target enough, because this woman had found her.

"Just a little. You stick out like a sore thumb, honey."

Time passed. She rolled her glass between her fingers. The woman hummed some song to herself and engaged in small talk with the bartender. At some point, she felt a tap on her shoulder, and she was so startled she almost fell off her stool.

"Hey." The woman was staring at her, her eyes wide and piercing. "Do you need anything? Money, food-" She didn't blink, and there was something bright and dark and urgent in her voice. It frightened her to no end.

Her heart leapt into her throat. She had to lick her lips before she could respond with a steady voice. "I'm fine. Thank you though."

"Well, if you change your mind…" The woman leaned back and returned to her own thoughts.

Her skin was crawling. She needed to get out of here. One person taking this much interest was too much. Way too much. She waited a few minutes, so the woman wouldn't think anything was wrong, but at the ten mark, she'd had enough. She slipped off the stool, leaving a couple quarters on the bar for a meager tip. As she passed the front tables, she hiked her hood up over her head, and therefore didn't have to look at anyone while she went out.

She didn't need to see them to feel their stares on her back as she left.

They caught up to her in the alley just outside. They could sense her presence, or her fear, and they fed on it, shot it up like a drug. They surrounded her, five of them, big- she could smell the alcohol and smoke so strongly it was as though she'd licked it off their greasy coats. She scraped her tongue with her teeth, willing the taste away, and backing up against the wall at the same time.

Two of them were women. The betrayal stung her to the core.

"If you just come slowly," one of them said, "nobody has to get hurt."

"I won't be the one getting hurt," she said. And she almost believed it.

They weren't the toughest minions she'd had to take down, but they fell the easiest of any. She dragged their bodies one by one into the shadows between the dumpsters and covered them with half-empty trash bags. Then she searched their pockets. None of them held anything identifying, which was surprising as they'd been able to order enough alcohol to drown a small midwestern town. She wrinkled her nose as she rifled through their pants- some loose change, little metal buttons off one of their jackets, a slip of paper with an address written on it- this she pocketed.

Her body ached. She had to sit down against the brick wall and take a breath, pressing both hands against the sides of her head. Air rushed into her lungs like a blessing. She focused on breathing. One breath, two, seven….

She went to stand up and the ocean surged through her spine. It struck her eyes like a hammer and the world went dark.

###

She came to later. The light was somehow different, for night, and her body was so stiff that she had to have been laying there for a couple hours. She rubbed her eyes and stood up, holding the wall for support. Snow was falling, lightly blanketing the trash bags between the dumpsters. With any luck, the bodies wouldn't be found until morning. Groaning with the pain, she felt her way to the nearest dumpster and stood herself up straight. Everything was pins and needles and blurring, and she didn't notice the goons approaching her until they were upon her.

Four of them this time. Two of them were armed, they had their guns drawn already- somehow they'd known what had happened to the others. Or… were they the same? Were they from somewhere else? She couldn't tell, but she thought they were dressed differently. It could have just been her fuzzy brain- it was having some trouble forming proper thoughts.

They surrounded her. She swam in a spotty pool of deja vu. One of them, this one with a gun, lifted it and aimed at her face. She licked her lips. She could almost taste the crisp metal of the barrel against her teeth. The taste would be familiar. The face behind it was too. He… ah. She smiled. He was the one she'd thought she killed in their maze-prison. The one with the whip.

He knew she knew, and he spat at her. Her smile vanished.

"Wes, the cuffs," he snapped at someone behind him. Another man stepped up, shaking a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket.

He came near, and she aimed a kick at him. He swatted her leg away and stepped closer, and this time she swiped at him with one hand. His real feelings were voiced in a sudden shout, and she felt relieved that she could still scare them.

A car's headlights washed the alley in white. Whip Guy's head arched back, temporarily blinded. He blinked. She felt her lips peel back from her teeth. She ripped her gloves from her hands and, with no regard for how weak she was or the state she would be in after, leapt.

Her bare palms stuck to his cheeks like they were magnetized. He writhed under her touch. He wanted to scream. He couldn't breathe. She told him she understood even as he collapsed, dragging her down with him. The other three were panicking, one leaped forward to try and shove her off. She ripped her hand from Whip Guy's face and grabbed his ankle, temporarily bare in the sweeping of his jeans. He yelped and tripped, hit the ground beside her.

The other two were running. Her head was fuzzy again, swirling viciously, the world coming in and out of focus. Her skin was on fire. Whip Guy wasn't moving. He was dead. Wes wasn't moving either, but he wasn't quite dead yet. She pushed herself away from both of them and fell onto her back, needing the pain and the cold to snap herself back to reality.

Only reality didn't come.

Snowflakes fell into her eyes, and she dreamed that she saw a cloud of red pass over the moon.

###

"Who do you think is after her?"

Rogers glanced up at her over the lettuce heads. "After who?"

"The girl. Rogue."

"Ah. I have… no idea." He picked up a package of cherry tomatoes, looked them over, then held them up to her. "What do you think?"

"They look fine. She said there was a man in the bar. That he was looking for her. Do you think there have been more? That there could be more?"

"What I think," he said, moving on to a carrot display, "is that if she's in trouble, she'll tell you."

"She hasn't yet."

"Then she doesn't trust you enough."

She followed him through the rest of the produce section, arms folded. He took the most time shopping, like something as simple as a refrigerated food display still fascinated him. She doubted it. The truth was probably closer to his odd fascination with touching things. Vegetables, specifically.

He looked up from a rack of blueberries and smiled at her. "Cheer up, Nat. She'll come to you if she needs to. Until then… let it be."

He was the first one she'd brought her concerns to. Not necessarily because he knew the most, or was the best at guessing- she'd go to Banner if she needed the process of elimination. But he was the only one that would take her questioning and worrying in this way- calm, almost disinterested, though she knew that he was fully listening.

"Honestly," he continued, as they moved out of produce and into the dairy, "I think she's just a… troubled, gifted girl who needs a place to crash for awhile. I don't think she really wanted to end up living with a bunch of the highest profile people around." He gave her his serious eyes then, and she shrugged. He looked away, scouting for the milk. "If someone was looking for her, then she wouldn't want the chance to end up on the news."

"You're right."

He laughed. Steve's laugh was always a pleasant surprise- somehow deeper and rounder than anyone ever expected. "I'm right? You're going to admit that?"

"Of course."

There were a couple of older women perusing the butter and sour cream, and they stood aside to wait. Steve watched them decide with a wistful look on his face. If Tony was there (imagine! Tony grocery shopping) he would have made a senior citizen joke. But she knew he was just enjoying the normalcy of other people. Older people. They were a weakness of his. A jokeworthy one, she supposed, and she tried to think of something funny to say but then it was too late. The old ladies moved away and Steve swooped in, grabbing the butter tub he'd already decided on. He returned to her with a smile. "What's next?"

"Shouldn't I ask you that? You're the soccer mom."

They went through the cereal, dry foods, soups and bread aisles, ending back up in the frozen meat and deli section. Steve picked out some ground beef, chicken legs, and turkey burgers for Pepper, and he sent her to grab a bag of potatoes that he'd forgotten. Then, with a decently full cart, they headed for the registers.

As usual, there were some look as they got in line. Natasha was used to them and kept her gaze on the magazines most of the time, occasionally making brief and dark eye contact to turn them away. But Steve was out the least of them, and was still utterly oblivious to the attention he got. Even now, he didn't notice the big-eyed stares of the twin teenage girls a few registers down, standing behind their mother and their shopping cart. He was flipping through a crossword book until she poked him in the side. He glanced down at her, then over where she was gesturing.

He waved at the girls. They both blushed and looked away. He went back to his book.

"Can't take you anywhere," Natasha scolded.

He only grinned over "25 Complicated Animal Names".

###

The apartment was quiet when they got back. Thor was in his room working out, probably, by the sound of the moving weights; music was coming down the stairs from Tony's or Barnes' (Tony's, she realized, as Barnes was sitting in the kitchen with a big travel mug of coffee and a newspaper) and the girl was nowhere to be seen. Possibly upstairs napping in one of the other guest rooms.

Barnes didn't say anything as they entered. Steve clapped him on the back anyway, then, noticing something interesting in the newspaper, leaned down to read the article he currently had open. Natasha began to put the groceries away, first lifting all the bags one by one onto the island and then sorting them out to be refrigerated, put in the cabinet, etc.

"Oh, you don't have to-" Steve made to come over to help, but she waved him off. He went back to reading without another complaint.

When he finished, he straightened back up and made a contemplative noise. She glanced at him and he held out the newspaper. Barnes looked irritated that he'd been robbed of his reading material, and she held it up to hide his sour face.

FIVE FOUND DEAD IN ALLEY, she read. She could feel Steve analyzing the expressions on her face, and fought to keep herself emotionless. FOUL PLAY SUSPECTED. And, in smaller print, ANY TIPS OR INFORMATION APPRECIATED. She handed the paper back to Steve, and Barnes snatched it out of his hand. He scooped up his coffee and a sandwich that had been hiding behind his paper, and, stuffing the sandwich in his mouth and the paper under his arm, left the room.

"You think it's connected?" he asked quietly. She raised an eyebrow. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the hallway. "To her," he said.

"Could be. But there were only the two bodies in the alley when I got there," she said. His eyes widened, and she suddenly remembered she hadn't told him - or anyone except Tony - about the dead men. "Don't tell anyone," she warned him. "There were two dead men in the alley with her, and two ran off as I got there, but I didn't see any more."

"So… she's killed people?"

"Yes. I think - I know - they were there to take her. Or hurt her. Or worse." She twisted a plastic handle off one of the grocery bags. "I don't know why. That's why I was asking you earlier."

He nodded, thinking. He scratched the back of his head. "How did they die?" he asked.

She hesitated. "I still don't know."

A door opened in the hall, and they both went back to putting groceries away, keeping their faces blank. Steve might generally seem like an open book, but he could pull a pretty good stone face when he wanted to. She could understand the concern of anyone entering the room, then, with the both of them looking so serious- and when the girl came into the living room, she regretted defaulting to it.

The girl stopped in her tracks. She had dark circles under her eyes, and she looked like she needed a week's worth of sleep, but she looked clean and there was even some color in her cheeks. She didn't flinch from them, either, just sort of stood and shuffled her feet in the doorway.

"I, uh… water?" She sounded a bit out of breath, and her chest was a hair away from heaving.

Though worried, Natasha nodded and moved out of the way of the cabinets. Steve moved also, giving the girl a smile as she stepped between them. She didn't really return it, but her face may have moved a little in something close to a smile. She filled a glass of water and left the kitchen. Natasha caught a glimpse of limp wet curls on the back of her neck, and sweat on the back of her shirt, as she went back into the hallway.

"You don't think," she began, and Steve shook his head.

"No, I think they're working out together," he said. "Did you see her outfit?"

She thought back. She had hardly noticed- the girl was wearing a longsleeve tshirt and baggy sweatpants, and her hair, while still somewhat loose and messy, had been raked back into a low ponytail. She still had her gloves on, but she had clearly been recently doing some kind of physical activity- the breathing, the sweat.

And working out, she realized, made more sense than the alternative. She mentally kicked herself and went back to consolidating the bags.

"You're worrying about her too much," Steve said after a few minutes.

"She's killed people."

"Yes…" He thought for a moment. "But- maybe she didn't know what she was doing."

Natasha thought back to that moment, seeing the girl in the alley. That leap, the rage on her face, the fire in her eyes. The anger, the adrenaline, the fear- she had known exactly what she was doing. She'd known those men were going to die. And she'd done it anyway. What had driven her to that? They'd had guns, yes- were they going to kill her? Take her somewhere else?

Her thoughts were dark, and she didn't like them. The girl was fine for now. She forced the other thoughts away and tried to focus on her own hands, the familiar motions, Steve beside her, quiet and lost in his own thoughts, the both of them trying to lose themselves somewhere far away.