Chapter 1: Old Wounds Never Lie

Her hand was wet. Most of the blood was hers. The rest… she couldn't think about it. Had she wiped away the red in her ledger or caused enough damage to make a whole new one? She didn't know. Her head was woozy from the blood loss, or perhaps it was the altitude.

Before her, a red sun stretched across the sky… it was beautiful, fateful even.

So, this was the end of Natasha's journey: This was where Black Widow finally died.

-BW-

There was a silence, the kind she normally saw straight through. The hallway to her apartment was deserted; not even the early morning wind stirred as it sailed through the open window. The only thing she registered was the bare scent of summer blooming innocently in the New Jersey suburb outside.

Still, something seemed…off.

It took someone special to sneak up on the Black Widow. There were, maybe, less than a handful of people in the world who could surprise Natasha Romanoff and even fewer who could walk away from it. In spite of this, her eyes and ears were coming back empty. Yet her spy sense was screaming banshees at her that someone was there, watching, making the shadows look foolish.

Natasha glanced at her watch. She figured she had ten minutes before Ross' surveillance network caught up to her. Which meant she had to be gone in three. And what she needed was hidden in her apartment.

She would have to chance it.

Natasha turned the key and the door chattered open. A pale quiet greeted her, the same one that spoke without words. But if someone was here, they had missed her traps and were quieter than a silk mouse.

The floorboards winced receiving her greedily as she had meant for them to. There was no need for pretence. If someone was here, then they better be ready to fight.

Gun aloft, eyes peeled, she swept her apartment like the pro she was. Kitchen, clear: the cluttered surfaces slept unperturbed. Living room, clear: a lonely sofa sat as new as the day it was bought. Bathroom, clear: full of half-used products. That left the bedroom, where the most hiding spaces awaited.

She kicked the door open and peeked in. Nothing.

Finger half squeezing the trigger, she edged inside; the shadows seemed deeper here, as though the dawn light had lost its powers in the forgotten bed sheets and strewn clothes. But there was no one. Not in the closet nor behind the door or armchair. Even under the bed - the dumbest place for an assassin to hide. The only thing that greeted her were dusty remnants of a life that was never hers: picture frames with someone else's family inside, cacti' that barely needed watering, nightstands full of trinkets, anything to make the apartment blend in. None of it mattered now. With Vision surely helping Ross and every camera in America set to Big Brother it was only a matter of time before her safe apartment became a hot spot for every trigger-happy suit with a badge. Within hours there would likely be a pop-up Starbucks downstairs supplying the cocktail of agents, press, fans and bounty hunters that came sniffing.

It was a minor miracle and no small amount of talent that had allowed her to slip out of the Avengers compound in the first place. Never had she thought the compound, which she had called home only weeks before, could somersault so drastically into a prison. But when she found herself boxed in with nowhere to go and Ross' soldiers bursting through the front gates, she felt it was time to reconsider. Fortunately, she had been wise enough to prepare for certain scenarios.

Once a spy always a spy. Was that her voice or Fury's in her head?

It occurred to her to sweep the apartment for bugs but she'd used two minutes already and she could almost hear the handcuffs assembling in her dust trail. As she moved to where her go-to bag was hidden, she ran through the reasons why someone would break in - if they even had - and not touch or steal anything. Equally worrying was the fact that, if they had somehow found her apartment then they were as skilled as they were informed. Though that didn't account for why. Nor who for that matter.

Spy 101, if something doesn't smell right, bail. Even if you can't explain it. It's not worth your life and there's always plan B. Unfortunately, Natasha didn't have a plan B for your as-good-as family and your adopted country are hunting you and for some reason, your off-the-books safe house might be compromised. And she would have left without looking back but she needed her bag. Again, normally she wouldn't need that either but she didn't figure the u-turn from Avenger to Fugitive to be so swift, or rather, unforgiving.

One more minute she told herself. Her apartment answered back with less than a murmur. Natasha couldn't even hear the birds chirping outside. It was as if a dark cloud had drenched her apartment causing everything in sight to feel heavier somehow; burdened even by an unknown force. It was an eeriness Natasha wasn't used to and reminded her all too much of her Soviet-infused youth spent sharpening for war, glancing over her shoulder and scratching names off lists.

Shaking the memory before it pulled her under, she moved to the sofa. Waiting patiently underneath was her go bag. It was taped to the bottom. Not the most inconspicuous but then she figured if she ever had to run, speed came before stealth.

It turned out she was right.

Inside were a few dummy passports, burner phones, a choir of currencies, two Glock 26s with four ammo clips, a wig and makeup, spare underwear - agent provocateur because the pun was almost as irresistible as the lace - socks, a toothbrush and an untraceable laptop. It wasn't much but it was certainly enough to hide for a while.

Sirens blared to life in the distance. She froze, eyes wider than a dear's in headlights: the wails of the Police reached her from across the sleeping suburb like echoes disturbing the horizon. They were heading in the opposite direction.

The stopwatch in her head grew louder with each tick.

She swept the apartment once more on her way out, checking nothing was left that would give her away. She'd barely been here a handful of times, but the place had grown on her. A little home away from home, or at least somewhere nobody could find her: somewhere to hide from the world, no strings attached. It was a pity it was devoid of belongings or anything personal or meaningful in any way. Nat glanced around at the emptiness of somewhere she considered safe. It simply stared back, cold and unblinking.

For a moment, if only a fleeting one, Nat allowed the loneliness of her life to seep through a thinly-sealed crack in her armour. They may as well have been floodgates bowing to an ungodly rain. As suddenly as shockingly, a feeling of deep longing hit with all the weight of an army crashing against her lungs. The sheer force almost made her knees buckle.

Get a grip, Nat. You've run before, even from your birth country. This should barely make the top ten of governmental subterfuge. Except it did. It knocked the others clean off the list and dominated the rest without thought. She had never fled something which meant as much to her as the Avengers. Running from them, turning her back on the hero it turns out she wanted to be was shaking her caged heart more than bullets and bombs ever had. And her body knew it. She reached the door but was resting against it, gasping as though Thor's hammer lay on her chest.

Her watch beeped: a final warning. Her three minutes were up. Now or never. Natasha Romanoff was out of time: Except she couldn't move.

A breathlessness threatened her body while a sadness spread like wildfire through her heart. There was some hidden emotion, below even the depths of her consciousness that was surfacing; some yearning to care for a cause greater than herself and to be loved by those who carried the same torch. But she couldn't deal with it now. She didn't have the time.

She took a handful of deep breaths, and remembered the training that was hammered into her so hard - no matter how painful - it was in her DNA.

'5 seconds of panic, Natasha. 5 seconds and 5 breaths. Then you move.' Someone whose voice she had buried said. A flash of brown locks ponytailed behind eyes belonging to someone much older. Antonia.

Natasha focused less on the person and more on the words. The breaths came heavily but gratefully, her body loosening and her head deflating. What the hell was that, Nat? She would worry about that later.

As she opened her apartment door, her features would never have given away the fact that moments before she was close to curling up and succumbing to her bleeding heart.

The hallway was still ghostly quiet. She took one last look at her safe apartment. Maybe trying to see something that couldn't be seen in the abandoned place; perhaps conjured images of a family house more than a fly-over apartment. She shut the door.

They didn't give medals to spies - that would defy the point, nor do they don't make medals with red stains on them - but if they did Natasha was willing to bet she could have filled up most of the apartment with them. New York, Washington, Sokovia, those were only the famous jobs. She wasn't in the habit of bragging but unlike her god-like teammates, she was only human and imaginary cabinets full of unsung medals and forgotten awards were in some ways more impressive. At least, that's what she told herself. It made the reality of her new and unbidden situation that little bit easier, if not morbidly ironic.

After years of walking a tightrope of heroism with certain death on the one side and the ever-present, never-sleep-right-again sense of danger lurking on the other she felt like she could handle almost anything. But running from some of the people you now called family. Running from a cause only moments before you would have given anything to defend, was unprecedented even for her.

In the foyer she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the cracked mirror: she was tired. And not the kind you get after being tossed around Leipzig Airport. The kind you get from watching your found family tear itself apart all the while being forced to pick a side.

It was almost sad how easily they could take it all away from her. How quickly everything she'd done would be swept under the rug…and now she was on the run. Alone and no way back…

Her phone beeped. Unknown caller.

She stopped and scanned the street from behind the front window. 'Hello.'

'You're alright. Good,' Steve replied without asking, his relief as evident as stars on a cloudless night.

'Am I alright?' He was really asking about her? 'What happened to you guys? Last thing I knew Tony flew off to the Raft before going AWOL on Ross. All of a sudden the government's issuing arrest warrants across the board and branding us fugitives.'

'It didn't go as planned… I guess, that's the understatement of the century,' his voice was tinged with regret. 'We made it there but Zemo had already killed the other super-soldiers.'

'What? Then why…' But before she finished she already knew why.

'-To lure Stark to Bucky.'

'His parents. Bucky was the-,'

'Yeah. When Tony found out, he tried to kill him.'

'Jesus, tell me he didn't?' It was half-question half-plead, Tony was capable of too much already without adding murder to the list.

'No. We fought and survived long enough to disable him.'

Nat released a sigh of relief. 'You get caught in the crossfire again?'

'More than I'd have liked.' There was more to that than Steve was letting on, but now wasn't the time.

'Listen, I should go,' Nat said, 'they could be tracking this call, who knows what resources they're putting on us right now.'

'No, I think we're fine, Steve replied. He was never this confident with tech, Nat thought, but before she could ask, '-Siberia wasn't a total bust. We made a new friend who offered his help to heal Bucky. We're there now. They've assured me that somehow whatever we say, is just between us. No ears.'

'You sure?' It was Nat's habit to ask that in these circumstances. Normally she would have hung up after fifteen seconds, but Steve radiated a strange confidence that made her curious.

'Pretty sure, or at least they are. I got an earful of tech jargon that went right over my head to back it up.' Despite herself, Nat smiled. Adorable.

'Alright, well, I still better go,' she said exiting the building, glancing both ways to make sure the surroundings were just as clear. 'We don't know what they're going to throw at us next and I don't wanna be anywhere near here when it comes.'

'I get it. Meet you at the designated rendevous?'

She smiled. 'I thought you'd never ask. Although, I hope you don't mind me saying but I don't think bringing Bucky back to the States is a great idea right now.'

'Not Bucky. Just me. He's gonna stick around here for a while, try for a little peace.' For the best, she thought but didn't say.

'And you?'

'We've got a rescue mission.'

She smirked. 'You have a plan to get them out of the Raft, I assume.'

'The beginnings of one, fortunately, I have an in with the world's greatest spy, so I'm sure she can fill in the blanks.'

'Flattery will get you everywhere, Rogers.'

'24 hours?'

'I can make it. Can you?'

'With a little boost from our friends, it shouldn't be a problem.'

'Fly safe.' She made it to the sidewalk, hand resting surreptitiously on her gun.

'Don't get caught in the meantime. I'd hate to have to break into prison without you.'

'As if you could pull it off without me,' she said. The only person visible on her block was a dog walker in a hoody and jogging bottoms. Doubtful it was an agent, not with those Crocs on.

'Glad we're in agreement,' Steve finished, she was sure he was smiling on his end. 'See you there.' And with that, he hung up. Straight like a soldier, as always, Steve.

Putting the phone away, Nat would have to be crazy not to notice the relief that washed over her in unruly waves. She didn't want to admit it but she needed that call from Steve more than she liked. It was a lifeline in what had otherwise been a sinking ship of a day. Classic Rogers, inspiring people with just a few lines of dialogue.

She slid the phone back into her pocket and beelined for her motorbike, sandwiched in an alley between two buildings opposite. She was just crossing the street when she noticed another bike parked up the road. Someone was hidden between parked cars and looking back at her through their wing mirror. They wore all black, a black helmet and were slim but muscular. Using the hand that was covered by her body, Nat pulled the gun out of her trousers. She was ready to make a break for it when her world was thrown, flung and tossed upside down.

An explosion from behind struck her so hard it felt like a stampede of feral trains had charged into her. The blast sent her flying back first into a car parked on the street and she tasted hot tarmac beneath as she sank to the ground. Running purely on instinct, she reached for her gun, only to find her vision had been thrown almost as far as she had. The canvas in front of her was a suburban mirage made all the worse by her watery eyes. Even the hand in front of her face was blurred as it merged in with the greens, browns and greys surrounding her. And above it sat a sunset-coloured tree which bore into the sky escorted by a plume of darkness.

Her mind took half a moment to process the images. Her apartment. Hell, half her building had been blown halfway into the sky. The realisation came to her through a fog, her ability to comprehend her senses seemingly on a kind of staggered delay. Somewhere, someone was screaming. Though, Nat could barely hear them through the ringing which rolled around her ears as subtly as an avalanche rolls down a mountain.

She tried to stand but fell back down, her world spinning on the end of a string. She felt the back of her head. Her hand came back faintly red.

What the hell just happened? As she reached for answers, a black shadow suddenly stole her vision.

'Time to come home little Widow,' it said. Natasha froze, her heart lost its beat. That voice, the voice of the viper; a snake that slid up her spine causing nausea that had nothing to do with the explosion. It couldn't be.

The shadow stood in front of her. All she could see was his black outline silhouetted by the flames behind. No! He was… he was dead.

'Not to this place,' The mirage carried on not caring for her thoughts and gesturing somewhere she couldn't see. 'And not to your precious super friends either. No. It's time to come home to the real fire, the one that forged you. Come now, we've waited long enough.' He reached his hand out. Dreykov! Alive!

A fire of fear and anger exploded within her. Natasha's adrenaline burst out of her and she swiped at the mirage, only to fall to the floor. By the time she found her equilibrium, there was no one there. Just screams and shouts rushing from the stolen building.

She looked around as best she could, her blurriness fading like wiping water from a window, but to no avail. He was gone, a ghost in the wind. The only sign he had been there was a knot as heavy as an anchor in her stomach and the burning remains of her once safe house.

No! Don't entertain the idea, Romanoff. Not even for a second. There's no way he's still alive…

Nat's mind cast back to Kyiv when the lines around her eyes were merely creases and their hue held the shade of the KGB. A flash of a bomb. The colour of blood. It couldn't be. He couldn't be. He was dead. She was sure. The Red Room was where it belonged, trapped screaming in the past: A forgotten memory that haunted only a few scattered survivors. Herself included, no matter how she hid it from her team.

Nat hoped as she never had before that she was right, her heart was hammering way too hard to tell the fear apart from the adrenaline.

Looking down the street, the person on the bike had gone. Had they even been there? Had, Had Dreykov?

She made it to her knees and spotted her gun half a step away. Recovering it, she hid it back in her trousers when she realized no one in sight was paying her any attention. Instead, neighbours were dashing towards her burning building.

An elderly woman emerged from the blown-off doors being helped by a pregnant lady, both were choking and wincing. A young couple in their pyjamas rushed to help them. A man walked out carrying an unconscious teenager in his arms. He laid him down on the lawn and started performing CPR. Nat started forwards, she needed to help, she needed to-

She was stopped by someone running towards her, a girl barely out of braces. She was saying words, Nat could only hear through the thrum in her ears. 'Are you okay?' She lip-read.

'Totally fine.' She said, probably only half-convincingly - after all, there was a Widow-shaped dent in the car behind her and most windows in the area had been reduced to their skeletons. Thank god for the body armour she always wore, Nat thought.

'Really,' she said reassuringly when the girl's concern didn't waver. And then her face twisted and a strange look came over her as if recognition was dawning on a far horizon that she couldn't yet see.

'We should look if we can help-,' Nat began to say, attempting to deflect the girl's gaining comprehension, when the blare of sirens struck her ears. They were only a few blocks away. Still, she had time, she could help…And then the moment came Natasha always feared would. Half a step after the girl's recognition came equal flashes of shock and fear.

Shock Natasha was used to seeing. It was the fear that struck her anew. But why, why would the girl fear her if-? And then it dawned on her, Ross had already splashed her face across the news. Why else would this girl be taking steps backwards? Why would her eyes be bouncing left and right seeking safety as a lifeline?

'It's okay,' Natasha attempted, trying to overcome her own shock at the situation. 'I'm not going to hurt you, or anyone.' But the girl was too panicked to listen, she turned and bolted for the nearest person. Great job Romanoff, that's exactly what they say in the movies right before they hurt someone.

Natasha wanted to follow her, wanted to help, wanted to reassure her that she wasn't a threat, that she wasn't a bad person, that she was a hero who could be trusted above all else. Although a murmur that grew louder as it travelled from the back of her mind said that wasn't true. Everyone not super by nature got killed around her.

And now the world had its eyes on her. Maybe they would even find out soon how true that really was. Nat's heart was sinking again, her breaths constricting.

The girl was grabbing someone by the shoulder and pointing in Nat's direction.

It went against every bone in her body to turn away from people that needed her but she didn't have a choice: the sirens were basically on top of them now. At least help was coming, she told herself. But in reality, she was cursing Ross. Cursing Tony. And cursing herself.

She turned and made for her bike, gasping between breaths. She was just winded, she told herself, it had nothing to do with, with …she couldn't say his name… Dreykov.

Focus, Natasha! She made it to her bike and did a quick check, none of it was tampered with or out of the ordinary. But her apartment had been the same. Without hesitating this time she dropped the keys and started walking. She should never have gone in when some part of her knew something was up.

'If you want to be the best, you need to learn to trust your instincts. Sometimes that means going against your head, Natalia.' A frozen voice from the past made her ears quiver. No, he's dead. Draykov is dead. Dead by her own hands.

But over her heavy breathing she heard a faint whisper, a tendril of the ghosts in her closet say he survived. That she had missed and now her past would no longer remain so.

After she had made it a few blocks she found cover and looked at what was left of her building. Black smoke billowed into the air, tinging what was left of the serene summer morning and polluting the once-quiet suburb. For the first time in ten years, Black Widow had no idea if she was being watched. She couldn't see anyone. She couldn't detect anyone. And yet every other sense was sounding alarm bells across the board.

She needed to regain her bearings, she thought. She needed to go to ground.

There were 24 hours until her rendezvoused with Steve and she had a lot to figure out. But first things first, Natasha pulled out a different phone. She hit speed dial 2. It rang.

Someone on the other end picked up but didn't speak. 'It's me.' Natasha said, disappearing into the shadows, 'I've been compromised…'