"You're going to tell me what I want to know," the fiery redhead said, pressing the blade of her knife against the man's throat. Her voice was low, dangerous. "Where is he? If you killed him, I swear—"

"Natasha?" a familiar voice interrupted from the doorway.

Natasha didn't loosen her grip on the knife but shifted her stance, raising a gun in her free hand.

"Nat," Bucky Barnes stepped into the room, his gun lowered as confusion knitted his brows. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Natasha hesitated, then reluctantly lowered her gun. She ran a hand through her crimson hair, exhaling sharply. "I was avenging you. But apparently, Sam lied to me." Her frustration was palpable.

"I tried—" the man under her knife began.

Natasha spun on him, gun aimed between his eyes. Her tone was icy. "Did I say you could speak?"

Bucky crossed the room quickly, snatching the gun from her hand before she could fire. "Avenge? Lied to? Natasha, what is going on?"

Natasha huffed, withdrawing another gun from her jacket. "Sam called and told me Zemo set the Winter Soldier off. Said you were gone." Her hand holding the knife trembled slightly.

Bucky sighed, deftly plucking both the knife and the gun from her grasp. "I'm fine, Nat. See?"

Before Natasha could respond, the door burst open.

"Hey, Bucky! You're back!" Sam strolled in with his usual grin—until he caught sight of Natasha producing yet another gun and aiming it at him. His grin faltered. "Uh… what's going on?"

"What's going on?" Natasha snapped, waving the gun in his direction before Bucky wrestled it away. "You made me think Bucky was dead!"

Sam frowned, trying to piece it together. "How? All I said was Zemo set the Winter Soldier off and Bucky is…" His voice trailed off, eyes widening in realization. "Oh. Ohhh."

Zemo, tied to a chair in the corner, raised his head. "Look, it was all part of—"

Natasha turned on him, pulling a revolver seemingly out of nowhere. "I said shut it!" She fired, hitting Zemo square in the knee.

Zemo howled in pain, clutching his leg.

"Natasha," Bucky said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

She ignored him and pointed her gun at Sam. "Clean that mess up," she ordered, motioning to Zemo.

Sam looked at her incredulously. "What? No way—"

"Do it," Bucky interjected, his tone brooking no argument. "I need to talk to Natasha."

Grumbling under his breath, Sam moved to drag Zemo out of the room. "You two are insane," he muttered as Zemo groaned and resisted.

The door shut behind them, muffling the sound of Sam's complaints and Zemo's groans.

Natasha finally turned to face Bucky fully. For the first time, her voice softened. "Are you okay?"

Bucky set the collection of weapons he'd confiscated from her onto the table, giving her a long, measured look. "I'm fine, Nat… but how did you get here so fast?"

She smiled faintly. "I was in the area."

"In the area?" He raised a brow. "I told you to stay in New York."

Natasha let out a short laugh. "Oh, Bucky Barnes, you should know by now—I don't take orders." She hopped onto the counter, sitting casually. "And as for why I'm here, Sharon needed my help."

"That explains all the weapons," Bucky muttered, settling into a chair like a normal person.

"Doesn't it?" Natasha said smugly, just as a loud screech came from the other room.

Bucky groaned, dropping his head onto the countertop.

"You partnered with them," Natasha reminded him, her smirk returning.

Bucky groaned louder, sitting up and running a hand down

his face. "Nat, you can't just… shoot people. Even if it's Zemo."

"Can't I?" Natasha arched a brow, her tone light but her eyes gleaming with amusement. She leaned back on the counter, crossing her arms. "You know he deserved it. Hell, you're probably wishing you'd done it yourself."

"That's not the point," Bucky muttered. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "This isn't just about Zemo. You're reckless, Nat. You can't keep doing this."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, Barnes. Don't act like you haven't done worse. I'm not exactly the one carrying a history of..." she gestured vaguely, "Winter Soldier incidents."

Bucky's jaw tightened, and for a moment, silence hung in the room like a heavy fog. Natasha immediately regretted her words, though she didn't show it.

"That's different," he finally said, his voice low and tense. "I'm trying to move past all that."

"Exactly," Natasha replied, her voice softening. "And I'm trying to keep you alive so you can. Or do you think Zemo would stop at just setting you off if he had the chance?"

Before Bucky could reply, the bathroom door creaked open, and Sam's head peeked out, his face exasperated. "Uh, can I just say you two have some serious unresolved tension? And also, Zemo's bleeding all over the place."

Natasha gave him a sharp glare. "Good. Maybe it'll keep him quiet."

Sam stepped fully into the room, dragging Zemo along behind him. The baron was clutching his wounded knee, his face pale and twisted in pain. "I don't suppose anyone here has medical training," Zemo drawled, his voice laced with sarcasm despite his condition.

Natasha slid off the counter and stalked toward him.

"You're lucky I didn't aim higher," she said coldly.

"Nat!" Bucky stepped between them, holding up a hand. "Enough. You've made your point."

Zemo smirked faintly, even through his pain. "She's always been a little unhinged, hasn't she?"

Bucky ignored him, turning his full attention to Natasha. "I mean it. Stand down. If you don't, you're just proving him right."

Natasha hesitated, her jaw tightening. For a moment, she looked like she might argue, but then she exhaled sharply and shoved her gun back into her holster. "Fine," she muttered.

"Thank you," Bucky said, his voice tired but firm.

Sam let out a low whistle, crossing his arms. "Well, now that the drama's settled, what's the plan? Because, last I checked, Zemo wasn't supposed to be part of our little reunion."

Bucky glanced at Zemo, who was smirking again despite his injuries. "Yeah, well, plans change. And right now, we need him."

Natasha's eyes narrowed. "For what?"

"Intel," Bucky replied. "He has connections—"

Natasha scoffed. "Connections? He's a liability, Bucky. You know he'll stab us in the back the second it benefits him."

"Maybe," Bucky admitted. "But right now, he's the only lead we've got."

Natasha folded her arms, her expression unreadable. "If he steps out of line, I'm taking him out. No hesitation." "Noted," Bucky said dryly.

Zemo chuckled weakly. "I must say, it's nice to feel so valued."

"Don't push it," Natasha snapped.

Sam raised a hand. "Okay, great, we've all established we hate Zemo. Can we move on now? What's the next step?"

Bucky sighed, glancing between the three of them. "First, we get Zemo patched up before he bleeds out all over the floor. Then, we figure out how to stop whatever he's got brewing."

Natasha tilted her head, her sharp gaze locked on Bucky. "And after that?"

Bucky met her eyes, his expression hard. "After that, we end it. For good this time."

Natasha smirked faintly, a dangerous glint in her eye. "Now

that's a plan I can get behind."

Natasha lingered near the window, arms crossed, staring out into the dim streetlights beyond the safe house. The tension in her body radiated, her jaw tight, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.

Bucky noticed. He always noticed.

"You gonna stand there all night?" he asked, leaning back in his chair, one arm draped casually over the backrest.

"Maybe," Natasha replied, her tone clipped but without the venom she reserved for most people.

"Come on, Nat. You're burning holes through the glass."

She glanced over her shoulder, raising a brow. "You sound concerned, Barnes."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look, I get it. You're mad. Sam gave you bad intel, and yeah, maybe I should've called to tell you I wasn't, you know, dead."

Natasha turned fully now, fixing him with a sharp glare. "You think this is about the intel?"

"It's not?" Bucky tilted his head, genuinely confused.

"No," Natasha snapped. "It's about you. About you running off, keeping me out of the loop, and making me think I—" She stopped herself, biting down on the rest of her sentence.

Bucky stood slowly, his expression softening as he stepped closer. "Think you what?" he asked, his voice quieter now.

"Nothing," she muttered, looking away.

"Nat," Bucky pressed, moving to stand just a few feet from her. "You think you what?"

She shook her head, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. "I thought I lost you, okay?" The words burst out of her, raw and unguarded. "Again."

Bucky's breath caught, the weight of her confession sinking in.

"You're reckless, Barnes," Natasha continued, her voice trembling slightly. "You throw yourself into these missions like you don't care if you come back. And maybe you don't. But I do."

"Nat," he began, reaching out, but she stepped back, holding up a hand.

"Don't," she said firmly. "Don't try to brush this off like it's nothing. You matter to me, Bucky. And if you keep acting like your life isn't worth fighting for, then—"

"Then what?" he interrupted, his voice rough. "You'll pick

up the pieces? Again? Keep putting yourself in danger for me?"

"I've done it before," Natasha shot back. "And I'll do it again if I have to."

Bucky shook his head, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "You shouldn't have to, Nat. I'm not worth—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence," she cut him off, her voice fierce. "Don't you dare stand there and tell me you're not worth it."

For a moment, the room was silent, the tension between them thick enough to cut.

"You don't get to decide what you're worth to me," Natasha said quietly, her green eyes locking onto his. "That's my choice. And I've already made it."

Bucky swallowed hard, his throat tight. He'd spent so long running from his past, from himself, that he hadn't stopped to think about what—or who—he might be leaving behind.

"Nat, I'm sorry," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

She gave him a small, sad smile. "Don't apologize to me, Barnes. Just… try to stay alive, okay? For once."

Bucky took a hesitant step closer, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. "I'll try," he promised.

Natasha's breath hitched at the soft contact, her walls cracking just a little more. She looked up at him, her expression unreadable. "Good," she said, her voice steady but laced with an unspoken vulnerability.

Before either of them could say anything more, Sam's voice cut through the moment.

"Hey, lovebirds, hate to interrupt, but we've got a situation."

Natasha sighed, pulling away and turning toward Sam. "What now?"

"Zemo," Sam said, pointing to the bathroom. "He's trying to climb out the window. Thought you might want to handle it."

Natasha rolled her eyes, already moving toward the bathroom. "Unbelievable."

Bucky watched her go, a small smile tugging at his lips despite himself. He didn't know what the future held—hell, he barely knew what the next day would bring—but one thing was certain: Natasha Romanoff wasn't going to let him self-destruct.

And maybe, just maybe, he didn't want to anymore.