Author's Notes: Hey, guys and gals. Sorry about the late posting here, but I've just now managed to politely sneak away from family to a Starbucks to get some Wifi. My lovely grandmother (bless her heart) refuses to pay for Internet when her desktop comes with solitaire anyway. So, I made the excuse of a coffee run.

Anyhoo, thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed, alerted, and favorited this story. You're the bomb. I love you all. Keep making me smile.

WARNING: This chapter earns the M rating in all it's sexy glory. There be lovemaking ahead. It's at the very end of the chapter, so when things start getting steamy, if it's not your thing, feel free to stop there and know that there were cuddles.

Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel. Seriously. Stop making me repeat it.

Chapter 12: Past

Natalia was invisible in the crowded streets of Prague, and she loved it. She carried a paper bag in her hands and a pistol in her pocket in the late afternoon sun. Her face tilted toward the sky, and her eyes closed. It was warmer here, if only by a few degrees, and it felt like a kiss on her skin. She could get used to it.

She was in the center of the city, right in the old town square, and she took her time pretending to look in the markets. Perhaps she took a bit too much time. Natalia stood in front of a jewelry stall when she felt the telltale pinch between her shoulders of someone being observed. She didn't turn to look. She knew exactly who it was, but she did not immediately move. She lingered for another moment, trying on a necklace for show, before regretfully handing it back with a smile and a shake of her head.

That move would likely cost her in some form, and she honestly looked forward to it.

James was so terribly amusing when he was annoyed.

They were on the roof again despite the fact that the night air was quickly becoming cooler as summer faded into fall. As was usual, both had brought treats. Natalia shared the last three apples of the season, while her Soldat offered something very new: whiskey. It went so well with the apples that she felt spoiled.

Natalia held the flask in her hands. "You couldn't have found another?" she teases. "It's running out a bit too quickly for my tastes."

The Soldat smirked and took it back from her. "How was I supposed to know you drink like a damn fish?"

"Well, if you'd taken me out for drinks like a gentleman . . ."

He chuckled. It was dry and hoarse, nearly a cough, but his smile was warm. "I've got a feelin' I haven't been one of those in a long time."

She handed the flask back to him. He took a swig. "Does it bother you?" she asked. "Not remembering?"

"I remember having a family," he said. "Sisters. A brother, maybe. Sometimes I'm . . . distracted."

"Not the best thing in this business."

She watched as he took another drink. "HYDRA doesn't tolerate weakness," he said. "Maybe I don't have a memory for a reason. Distractions and missions don't exactly go together."

"Successful ones, anyway."

"Yeah, those."

He stared broodingly across the cityscape, eyes a thousand miles away, with the nearly empty flask in his hand. The corners of his eyes were tight with frustration. "You seem pretty distracted now," she said with a little smile.

He raised an eyebrow. "What gave it away?"

"Well, there's the drinking and the staring off in the distance." She tilted her head. "To start." Leaning toward him where they sat on the ledge, she kicked his foot. "Tell me."

"12557038," he said. "It's a US Army serial number. New York."

"You."

He took another drink. "Me."

Natalia studied him for a moment before she said, "You don't like being a number."

"Soldat. That damn number." He shook his head. "It doesn't . . . it doesn't feel right."

"Well, that's okay. Just make something up."

"I don't have to." He glanced at her. "It's James. My name is James."

And Natalia laughed.

James frowned. "That's not . . . what's funny?"

She tried to stifle her laughter. "James?" she repeated.

"Yeah," he said, his brows pinching together in confusion while his lips steadily pursed in annoyance. His shoulders raised defensively, and oh, it was adorable. "What about it?"

"It's just so . . . American."

He rolled his eyes. "I regret telling you already."

Natalia's smile melted. She placed a hand on his thigh, smirking internally when she felt the muscle twitch. Good. "I don't," she said. "James."

"See something you like?"

Natalia smirked as she leaned in the doorway of the church steeple, her eyes lingering unabashedly on James as he lay on a table in front of the open arch, rifle tucked into his shoulder and his eye never leaving the scope. She hummed. "Why? Do you?"

"Well, there was this redhead earlier," he said. "Had her right in my sights."

"Didn't take the shot?"

"She has potential . . . if only she wouldn't be distracted by things that shine."

Natalia's eyes drifted to his metal arm, safely concealed in the shade so as to not give away their position. "But they're just so pretty," she retorted, finally pushing off the doorframe and sauntering forward. Instead of sitting in the chair he had so courteously provided, she sat on the edge of the table, her thigh pressed against the length of his side, and plopped her paper bag of pastries between his shoulders. "And besides, if I wasn't here, you wouldn't get breakfast."

James's lips twitched as he fought a wave of amusement. "I've managed to survive all these years," he said. "Somehow."

"So I got apple and cherry." Natalia opened the bag. "Which do you want?" James sighed. "Cherry, it is, then. I want the apple."

James lifted his head from his scope and sat up, reaching behind his back and catching the bag before it could fall. "You're a pain in the ass, Natalia," he said, even as he took a bite of the pastry and closed his eyes briefly at the sweetness.

Natalia laughed around her food. "So are you, James."

Both tried and failed not to smile, and they spent a few minutes in silence as they each enjoyed their treat. James looked over at Natalia out of the corner of his eye. This was not their first mission together. Technically, it was their fifth, and neither were unaware that this mission and the previous four were poorly disguised tests. James's presence was not required except to tie up would-be loose ends and, essentially, to give Natalia a grade that he would report back to Karpov.

However, despite this knowledge, James found himself looking forward to these missions. He would have previously seen them as a waste of his time. He was no babysitter. Yet these missions gave him an excuse to spend time with Natalia without the Kremlin looking over his shoulder. Or hers.

It was entirely illogical. Superfluous. Frivolous. Indulgent.

But goddammit, he . . . he felt different. With her. Because of her. Both.

The whole damn world seemed alive. Or maybe it was him. Hell if he knew. He only knew that Natalia Romanova was special, and he would willingly accompany her on mission after mission as long as it meant that he could see her like she was now, eyes closed, a smile on her face, and frosting on her lips. He didn't think much about reaching toward her and wiping the icing away with his thumb. It felt natural, like he'd done this very thing a million times—perhaps not to Natalia, but to . . . Bridget? Yes. She'd been a messy eater when she'd been little. Hated peas, but who didn't?

Natalia blinked at him in shock, her tongue darting out in surprise to lick his skin. She could taste the sweetness of his own breakfast on his fingers, and she wanted more . . . but for the first time she could remember she had no idea what to do. If James were a mark, she would suck his finger into her mouth. Just for a brief moment. A tease. He would undoubtedly fold. Take her into his arms. Praise his luck at having a woman as beautiful as her. All she would need to do was lay back and fake an orgasm.

But that wasn't what she wanted to do at all.

She just . . . wanted.

And James did, too. She saw it, for a split moment. Pupils blown wide, the smallest ring of blue around them. That telltale hitch in his breath. And his eyes were fixated on her lips almost as if he was in a trance.

Neither moved.

James swallowed. "The target should be on the move," he said. "The shot's yours."

Natalia smiled. Or tried to. She didn't think she quite managed it. "My lucky day."

They both attempted to restore order by moving away from each other. James felt sure that was the right step to dispelling the tension he had never felt quite as potently as he did now, and certainly it was the only thing that could alleviate the sudden tightness in his pants. He wanted to glare at her, as if it was her fault—and it fucking was, goddammit—but even without half a memory James was sure that glaring at her as she was now, stretched out on the table holding his rifle, would not help at all. So he sat in the chair he had placed for her and grabbed a pair of binoculars.

Their target was an American diplomat currently attending a conference. Lunch was scheduled at a restaurant on the opposite side of the square, and Richard Newcombe liked to sight-see like an idiot. Natalia had watched him meander through the square at noon every day for the past three days without fail, and she had no reason to believe that today would be any different. He particularly liked to linger at the very same jewelry stall that she had been to that morning. Likely looking for a gift for his wife. Natalia wondered if the intent was genuine or to mask the guilt for the two hookers he'd called to his hotel room the night before.

Right on time, James spotted Newcombe. "Got him?" he asked.

Natalia smiled into her scope. "You have to ask? I'm insulted."

"Stay focused, Natalia."

"I am focused, James." He could hear the smile in her voice, and to his combined frustration and exasperation, he fought a smile in return. "5'9. 180. Receding hairline and a bad comb over. You can't really miss him."

James followed Newcombe through the binoculars. "He's at the jewelry stall."

"I see him."

"What's your wind?"

"Northwest. 15 miles an hour."

"10," he corrects, watching a flag flutter on top of a building across the square. Natalia cursed under her breath. "Relax, moy malen'kiy pauk," he said, keeping his voice low and measured. But where his tone would have once been cold and flat, he found himself warmly caressing the syllables, his voice lulling and soft. And even though his eyes were still staring through the binoculars, he felt her relax next to him. He watched Newcombe shifting through the merchandise at the stall. "Keep your breaths even," his voice was nearly a croon to Natalia's ears, yet it didn't distract her. She relaxed even further. "Wait for your shot. No need to rush."

Newcombe reached for another necklace from the vendor. She was an older lady with candlelit eyes, the type of eyes that Natalia thought could burn a hole in your head or warm you from head to toe. Newcombe gave the necklace back, but instead of reaching for another, he put his hands in his pockets. "He's about to leave," she said.

"You have time."

He took a step away from the booth. The woman smiled widely and held out another necklace. He turned back and reached out to take it from her. Natalia inhaled.

There was nothing immediately dramatic when she pulled the trigger. She let out an easy breath as she watched Richard Newcombe's head crack like a firecracker on the Fourth of July in a spray of flesh and blood. Everything happened a split, strangely blissful moment of silence.

Then that moment passed, and the screaming started.

Natalia didn't pay attention, climbing off the table. James already had the suitcase ready for the rifle. By the time she broke down the gun and folded it neatly in its case, James had removed all traces of their presence. They left the church through an alleyway and headed straight toward the panicking crowd. As soon as they hit the sidewalk, James took her hand and she clutched his arm like a scared lover would as they became lost in the throng of people.

They got out of the square before the police had cordoned off the area, taking a taxi to the lower town, and then a tourist bus that took them into the country. They stole car from a petrol station and spent the next two hours driving to a safe house in the middle of the country. Their orders were to stay the night and rendezvous for extraction at a private airfield fifty miles away the next morning.

Natalia looked across the console at James, who drove with one hand slung carelessly over the wheel and sat slouched in his seat—a picture of ease and laziness that was comical. His hair, which had been slicked back for appearances sake, had been ruffled in their haste to leave the city, and a handful of strands fell forward to hang around his eyes. There was the faintest trace of stubble on along his jaw as the day drew to a close, and as the sun continued to fall his shadow steadily grew darker.

James felt her gaze but kept his eyes on the road. His lips, however, twitched. "See something you like?" he asked again.

Natalia didn't smile. "What if I said, yes?"

Nothing about his posture changed, but the air was suddenly tense and the car felt far too small. "That would be . . ." James searched for the word as his heart leapt. "Complicated," he decided.

"Nothing new, then."

"Don't be naïve, Natalia."

"I'm not being naïve, James, I'm being logical."

"We'll get caught."

"Why are you afraid?"

He scowled. "I'm not afraid."

"You are." Natalia's head tilted to the side. "Why?"

James closed his eyes and threw the car into park, grateful that they'd made it to the safe house. He didn't want to have this conversation while driving. No, he didn't want to have this conversation at all. And it wasn't because he was opposed. He was very much not opposed. That was the problem.

Natalia would pounce on his weakness as soon as she looked into his eyes.

So James chose to retreat. He wordlessly got out of the car and popped the trunk, grabbing all of their provisions in his metal hand and throwing the bags over his shoulder. He knew that the conversation was far from over, and he used the moment's peace from the car to the doorway of the small country cottage to fortify his will. He wouldn't give in.

"I don't see the problem, James," Natalia said as soon as they were through the door. She kicked it shut with her foot without looking, her gaze firmly on his shoulders as he kept moving away from her. "What would be so different from what we're doing now?"

"We're not doing anything now."

"We sneak out to see each other every night."

"Nothing happens."

Natalia swallowed. "I want something to happen."

Goddammit. James sighed. "Natalia . . ."

"It's been four months, James," she continued. "Four months of us dancing around each other and never getting as close as we want."

"It'll get us both killed."

"You don't know that. What are you afraid of?" she demanded. "That Karpov finds out? You wouldn't be the first soldier to fuck a Widow." James flinches minutely at her harsh words. He can only hear Karpov's coldly indulgent voice in his head. Perhaps if the girls progress well, you can have your fun with one.

"It's not like that," he said firmly. James wasn't sure exactly what they were, but he knew they weren't that. They were . . . this thing between them . . . it wasn't crass. It was soft and hot and Jesus Christ, Natalia's eyes were too damn green as she glared up at him. He looked away. "You know it's not like that."

Natalia's eyes softened yet lost none of their ferocity. "I know. It's you and me," she said, slowly closing the distance between them. "It's just you and me."

Natalia stood still in front of James, and he was hopeless not to meet her eyes and fuck him, every single thread of resolve he had snapped. There was a swell of emotion in his chest like he'd never felt before. Like that morning but different. Like the warmth he felt when he remembered his family, but even hotter. Brighter. It was more than lust. It was desire. A desire to know, to touch, to see, to feel, to live, to be selfish. So goddamn selfish.

Natalia put her hand on his chest and smiled faintly at the thundering heartbeat under her palm. "I know it's a risk," she said. "But I want you."

She stared unflinchingly at James, forcing herself to let him in, to let all her emotions show. No teasing. No flirting. She nearly trembled where she stood, so incredibly vulnerable, but she forced her back straight, kept her head held high, and was desperate enough, silly enough, in love enough, to hope that James gave in. She wouldn't force him. She refused to seduce him.

She was choosing him.

And she wanted him to choose her.

Slowly, James lifted his hand—the warm, vulnerable one—and touched her cheek in a soft caress, his thumb brushing over the small swell before his fingers sifted through her hair to cup the back of her head. "Just you and me," he repeated softly. "Moy malen'kiy krasnyy balerinoy," he said, fond and exasperated but warm.

Natalia smiled widely for only a moment before she was moving, grasping the lapels of his jacket and pulling him to her. James's hands swallowed her hips as he pressed her against him, meeting her halfway for a kiss that lacked any and all finesse. It was sloppy. It was wet. It was hot.

It was about damn time.

James's hands slid under her shirt, immediately seeking warm skin, and Natalia sighed, smiling slightly at the contrast between metal and flesh. She fisted her hand in his hair while the other gripped the back of his neck. It was like a spar, like a dance, and just as if they were training and she was this close, Natalia jumped. Only instead of her thighs wrapping around his shoulders, they strangled his hips, and James held her to him with one arm while the other knotted in her hair and pulled her head to the side so he could lavish the tender skin of her neck with sharp nips and sucking kisses.

Natalia was hardly idle. Her hands left his hair—though not before scraping her nails against his scalp and grinning when James growled (she would hear that sound again)—to explore a body that she knew and yet found herself discovering. His shoulders were just as broad, yet the strength in them felt forgiving beneath her hands. She hastily found the hem of James's shirt and tried to pull it over his head, though it got stuck around his chest since he refused to move his hands from her ass.

She huffed. "You don't want to fight me on this, soldat," she threatened.

He smirked as he met her glare. "I might."

Natalia shoved him away hard, nearly toppling the couch that they had somehow found themselves on, and tugged the shirt over his head before he could react. She took a moment to commit this picture to memory—James with his messy, tangled hair and kiss-swollen lips, blinking up at her with blazing eyes that were predatory and yet hid something softer. Her hands moved over him, her fingers mapping hard, scarred muscle and metal. James eyes closed when her nails lightly skimmed over the spider-webbed scars around his left shoulder.

"It hurt," Natalia said.

He smirked darkly. "Still does."

Natalia eyed the scars curiously yet critically. The spy, the assassin, was curious about the scarring pattern and how the metal and flesh worked together. Yet there was another part of her, a quiet, new part that felt a gentle swell of sadness and pride. She kissed his shoulder. "Well, I like the arm."

"Careful, vozlyublennaya," he said, brushing a curl out of her face. "Keep sayin' things like that, I might not let you go."

The words themselves were a tease, but James didn't smile. He just looked at her, open and yet warning. He meant it. She shuddered but smirked. "You say that like it's a bad thing." In one smooth move, she lifted her own shirt over her head and tossed it aside. "Now," she looped her arms around his neck, "shut up and put your back into it, soldat."

They weren't graceful or soft. Natalia only knew how to inflict pain, and pleasure was merely a tactic she had been taught, but when she found herself straddling James naked hips with her lips trailing over his chest, there was the smallest sense of uncertainty in her touch. Shyness. She wasn't used to the truth, and this moment felt painfully honest.

James was a host of contradictions as he held her. His hands were rough and demanding on her hips as she moved over him, yet his lips at her ear whispered such sweet things about her. When he flipped them and pinned her beneath him, his hand wrapped around her throat. Only his hold was light, a sort of dominating gentleness, and his thumb stroked her pulse, as if to reassure her. Natalia held onto his arm, nails digging into his skin.

Such trust between them, and neither could believe they deserved it.

Except when they were nothing but a pile of naked, sweating flesh, basking in an afterglow that, if only for a moment, made them forget everything but four special words.

Just you and me.

So, I gotta admit, I really, really, really love this chapter. Sexy times only play a small part. It's just that this chapter is the culmination of everything Natalia and James have been rediscovering. Humanity. And it was so sweet and satisfying to write.

The fun begins when Bucky in the future starts to remember. Muahahaha. On that note, quote from next chapter goes to Bucky!

"It's you and me." - Bucky, Ch13

See you Friday!

-AC