There are EMTs waiting when the helicopter lands. Natasha infers that the destruction of the Triskelion has already made it to national news — and even if S.H.I.E.L.D. has been compromised, America isn't about to let its most prized symbol of freedom die from bullet wounds. No one requests details or even asks for identification; they simply roll Steve's stretcher through the hospital and into the surgical wing.

Absently, Natasha imagines if their roles had been reversed. Would the government have tried to save her? Or would they have considered her blood to be atonement for her crimes, and simply sent a nurse to hold her hand until death came?

Steve's surgery takes time. The minutes fade into one another, like watercolors in the rain, as Natasha paces the hospital. Occasionally, she hears doctors in whispered conversation as she passes. One young nurse's eyes meet hers, then flash with recognition before she quickly looks away.

Natasha swallows hard. It will take time, adjusting to this new life — where everyone knows the long, long list of her sins; where the red on her ledger is not only permanent, but public.

It feels as though Steve's treatment must undoubtedly be concluded, but somehow, the doctors are still at work on his vast array of wounds. Eventually, after making several laps around the hospital's halls, Natasha sinks down upon a chair in the waiting room. The reversal of polarity occurs to her — how only a short while ago, the winter ghost had shot her, and it was Steve who was awaiting word on her condition.

What did he do while he waited? she wonders. He's probably a praying man. At the thought of Steve Rogers, pleading with God to spare her life, her breath hitches. She wishes she could offer the same support, but she's fairly certain that lifting hands to heaven is worthless when those hands are scarlet-stained. She'd probably have better luck bargaining with the devil.

Then again, she might not have any virtue left to trade.

The waiting room is quiet, ideal for resting. Natasha is keenly aware of why the medical personnel have kept their distance (you lie and kill, in the service of liars and killers,) but she's too relieved by the respite to protest. Taking a breath, she closes her eyes. Maybe she sleeps, or maybe she only drifts, but it's difficult to tell. If she does sleep, it's blessedly dreamless.

At some point, she's startled by a hand on her shoulder.

Natasha looks up, heart hammering; but at the sight of her friend, the fighting instinct flees from her bones. "Nick," she says.

"The one and only."

They look at each other, neither one daring to voice the tension between them. Only days ago, she watched him die, then tried to all but drown herself in vodka. And how here he is, alive. It is a jarring transition, from the black-and-white of tear-stained memories to the blinding color of continued reality.

Nick Fury is alive. Has never been dead in the first place. Natasha should be grateful, but she's angry.

He grips her shoulder, a silent assurance, and says, "Rogers is going to be fine."

"I know," she replies, and that knowledge is comforting. But her throat still tightens at his looks at him, and her blood runs cold. "You died," she says.

"So I did," he says.

She blinks hard, choking back her questions. "I lost you," she says.

A muscle twitches in Nick Fury's jaw. In a voice tied to a rock, he says, "I did what I had to do."

More than anyone, Natasha understands having to choose between two terrible options. He had no choice; he could either die solely in name, or also face death in body.I forgive you, she wants to say. I can forget. I can move forward. But the words refuse to come.

"Was Steve glad?" Nick asks, a serious note in his voice. "That you were the one to find him?"

Natasha nods, stiffly. "Yes," she says.

The quiet between them is unbearable, but she doesn't know how to shatter it.

Then Nick says, "I've seen the way you look at him, when you think nobody's watching," and it's so unexpected that words die completely on her tongue.

Natasha bites her lip. "I don't —"

"You can lie to as many people as you like, Romanoff," Nick says. "Even yourself." He takes a seat beside her, unassuming. "But you can never lie to me."

She can lie to whoever she damn well pleases, but she doesn't want to lie to him, and trying to balance obligations with want makes everything so much more more complicated. Natasha averts her gaze. Nick waits, trusting her to reply.

Natasha's chest constricts. Since Russia — since the life she would rather forget — this man is the closest thing she has had to a father.

"In a different world... If I wasn't the Black Widow, if he wasn't the super-soldier —"

"He started out as a skinny kid from Brooklyn."

Abject, Natasha stares at the wall. "He started out whole."

There is a beat of silence — like the instant after impact, right before glass shatters. Nick waits for her to meet his eyes before he speaks.

"You love him," he says, like it's self-evident. Even though everything is going to hell.

Natasha shakes her head. "Love is for children."

"Tell that to Chicago." At that, she glares at him, but Nick simply leans back, shrugging his shoulders. "Yes," he says. "I arranged that rooming situation on purpose."

For once, Natasha is caught off guard. "Why?" she asks.

"I like to see you smile," Nick says. "Lately, it seems like you have a personal objection to it."

Natasha closes her eyes. In a different world, she might have poured out her heart to Steven Rogers — might have entrusted him with her secrets and scars — might have dared to bare her every bloodstain before his earnest gaze — but this is not a different world by any stretch of the imagination, and any she hope she had of building one died the moment she released her ledger to the world. The past is an indelible stain upon her present.

Natalia Romanova might have had a chance, but Natasha Romanoff does not have space in her life for love.

"Why Steve?" she says, because she can't help but ask. "Of all the agents you could have assigned to me, of all the agents in S.H.I.E.L.D., why Steve?"

Nick crosses his arms. "He spends almost seventy years as a human Popsicle," he says. "He wakes up, and his girlfriend is in a nursing home. He's a symbol of another time. The war is over, but it never really stopped. And there are aliens in New York."

She bites her lip. "So you did this for him."

"I did this for both of you," Nick says. "To give you a second chance."

"At what?" Natasha asks, because fallen angels do not get second chances.

"At who you want to be." The hope on his face unravels her.

She straightens, shoulders tense. "I made my own choices, Nick. Wrong choices. Choices that hurt the people I..." Her eyes dart away; her voice drops an octave. "I've seen a lot of things," she says. "I've wasted all my second chances."

"Maybe," Nick says. "Maybe not."

Maybe. The word flutters in her chest like a trapped bird, filling her with a longing that has no name. It flits about her head for hours.

Maybe, when the doctors say that Steve will recover. Maybe, when the first thing he says to her is, "Natalia," and he hugs her so hard that she fears he'll crack her ribs. Maybe, when she does the childish thing and kisses him on the cheek (soft and sweet, like a promise or a goodbye.)

Later on, as she's leaving the cemetery (and it really feels like she buried a dream,) Natasha begins to find breathing difficult. It's an absurd reaction (hasn't she left for missions before?), so she waits for the struggle to subside; but after twenty minutes of driving, she has to pull over and steady herself.

Knuckles white, Natasha grips the steering wheel.

What the hell is wrong with me?

On the (empty) passenger side seat, her phone vibrates. Hesitant, she switches the screen to life. There's a text hovering over the main menu.

FURY, NICKOLAS J.: You can't run away from everything.

Natasha shifts the car into drive, slamming on the gas pedal. A few seconds later, on the side of the road, ex-Director Fury's phone receives a text.

ROMANOFF, NATASHA: But I can try.

~x~X~x~

A/N: Thanks to all of my lovely reviewers, I've been inspired to expand the last segment of Steve and Natasha's story into more than one chapter. This is not the end!Before Steve and Nat can reunite, they have personal demons to face while they are apart. I could easily write about that period of time for a small forever, but I'm trying to work on a novel of my own, so I need to complete this story eventually in order to return to my primary pursuit. There will probably be two more installments, possibly three. The final chapters will be a bit of a slow burn; I intend to build up to a climactic conclusion, fleshing out the aftermath of WINTER SOLDIER on multiple fronts.

For one thing, Bucky will make an appearance — my characterization of him will be heavily inspired by Lauralot's fanfic, AND I AM ALWAYS WITH YOU, which is breaking my heart into a million pieces in the best way. I intend to acknowledge one key element of the comics: that Bucky and Natasha knew each other during her training in the Red Room, and that they were lovers at least briefly. As much as I love Captasha, the fact remains that Natasha has history before him. Bucky will be a critical part of that history in the coming chapters.

Second, my next update will address Steve and Peggy's present states, given their complicated past together. I've had this one scene eating at my brain for at least a week now; I need an outlet for my damaged Steve/Peggy feels. (This fic is starting to turn into an enormous bundle of shipping emotions.)

Third and finally, I intend to (at least briefly) grapple with what exactly happens to Natasha personally after the film – having her covers blown presumably puts her on the radar of old enemies.

Please forgive me for not listing the reviewers in this chapter. I love all of you, but it's past one o'clock in the morning... it's a testament to my stubbornness that I managed to finish this tonight at all (or this morning, now, I suppose.) The fact that this is not the last chapter of be my shieldislargely due to your incredible response to my story. Thank you, truly. I love all of you.

Songs for this chapter (and the coming installments!): 1. Little Talks (Of Monsters and Men) 2. Somebody to Die For (Hurts)