Natasha Romanoff knew the moment she touched down in Ukraine that something was amiss. The mission had begun smoothly enough—an extraction job in Iran, snagging a nuclear scientist and swiftly transporting him through covert channels to Odessa for handoff. All of it was completed within a tight 48-hour window, a testament to her unparalleled skills. Yet, as she navigated the streets of Odessa after leaving the airport, a nagging feeling that something was wrong settled over her.
Her instincts, finely tuned from years of working in the field, tingled with a warning she couldn't ignore. The city's bustling streets and tight alleys felt like a labyrinth closing in around her. Natasha drove around the city with practised ease, blending into the urban fabric, but every shadow seemed to hide a pair of eyes watching her every move.
Clint Barton, her usual partner in such operations, would have been invaluable here. His sharp eyes could cover blind spots she couldn't possibly monitor alone. As she drove through the crowded marketplace, Natasha's mind raced through scenarios, analyzing exits, potential threats, and escape routes. The pressure pressed upon her, but she couldn't afford to be caught off guard.
She had executed several evasive manoeuvres, doubling back through narrow alleys, switching vehicles twice, and even pausing abruptly to assess her surroundings. Each move was calculated to throw off anyone following her, yet the lingering sensation of being watched persisted like a chill down her spine.
As darkness descended over Odessa, Natasha finally dared to believe she had evaded her tail. Slipping into an old sedan parked discreetly in a dimly lit alley, she kept her movements as quiet as possible and relied on her training to avoid detection. The city's nocturnal symphony of honking horns and distant sirens masked her departure as she merged into sparse traffic flowing out of the urban sprawl.
The transition from city streets to country roads was synonymous to a gradual easing of tension for Natasha too. Natasha navigated the winding path inconspicuously, the sedan gliding through the quiet countryside under a blanket of stars.
The road stretched ahead, a ribbon of asphalt cutting through fields and forests, leading her closer to the rendezvous point hidden deep within the rural landscape. Natasha's mind raced with contingencies, rehearsing the rendezvous protocol and reviewing the intelligence gathered during the mission
As Natasha's senses warned her of an anomaly on the road, the distant rumble of an engine and the piercing glare of headlights grew ominously closer in her rearview mirror. The black SUV surged forward with relentless determination, its presence a looming threat against the quiet backdrop of the countryside. Natasha reacted quickly, her foot pressing hard on the accelerator, propelling her car into a frantic race through the winding hills and narrow roads.
Beside her, the nuclear scientist she was entrusted to protect shifted anxiously, his breaths shallow and rapid in the confined space. Natasha's mind raced with regret; she should have incapacitated him the moment they entered the vehicle.
The SUV started to close the gap with alarming speed, its aggressive manoeuvres matching Natasha's evasive turns. She fired a series of shots from her pistol, aiming for the SUV's tyres, but the chaotic movement and her adrenaline-fueled haste caused her shots to miss their mark. The chase intensified, tension mounting with each desperate attempt to shake off their pursuers.
Natasha knew that her choice of car had already put her at a disadvantage. With a sickening impact, the SUV rammed Natasha's car from the side, sending it careening off balance. Metal screeched against the asphalt as Natasha fought for control, her car spinning wildly before skidding off the road's edge. The night air rushed past in a blur as they plunged down the steep incline, the car rolling and flipping violently in a terrifying cascade of motion.
Inside the chaos, Natasha instinctively shielded her passenger, bracing for the inevitable crash. The car tumbled and somersaulted, the sound of breaking glass and twisting metal engulfing them in a cacophony of destruction. Finally, with a bone-jarring impact, the car came to a shuddering halt amidst a cloud of dust and debris.
As the car finally came to a stop, upside down, Natasha wasted no time. Adrenaline surged as she swiftly cut the seatbelts herself and then the nuclear scientist. As they got out of the car, Natasha checked on the both of them. They were bruised and shaken but miraculously, there seemed to be no serious injuries. Natasha allowed herself a brief sigh of relief, her mind racing with the urgency of the mission ahead.
Her relief was short-lived. Surveying the cliff from which her car had tumbled, Natasha spotted a lone figure standing near the black SUV that had pursued them relentlessly. Squinting through the dim moonlight, she discerned the outline of a man in tactical gear, his face obscured by a mask, and a metallic arm glinting ominously. Every nerve in her body screamed danger.
Instincts honed by years of combat training kicked in to hide, but Natasha hesitated for a fraction of a second. The shot seemed impossible—a night-time sniper shot without the correct magnifying scope from such a distance was highly unlikely to hit its mark. Yet, before she could react, the crack of gunfire shattered the eerie silence. Two agonizing seconds passed before Natasha felt searing pain erupt in her right chest, the force of impact knocking her back. The bullet tore through flesh and bone, exiting her back with a sickening punch, and she crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath. Beside her, the Iranian nuclear scientist slumped to the ground, lifeless. The bullet had found its mark, sure to end his life at any moment.
Natasha did not have the luxury to think about her cargo thought. The pain surged through Natasha's chest like a white-hot spear, stealing her breath in a cruel, suffocating grip. Each heartbeat throbbed with excruciating intensity, sending waves of agony. Sharp and relentless, the pain seemed to pulse in time with the frantic drumming of her heart.
Gasping for air felt futile; her lungs refused to expand fully, betraying her with every shallow breath. A bitter taste of iron flooded her mouth, evidence of blood trickling down her throat. Panic clawed at her, mingling with the pain as she struggled to remain conscious.
In the hazy darkness, she fought against the rising tide of despair. The knowledge that her lung had been punctured gnawed at her with cruel clarity. Time seemed to slow, every passing second a precarious thread between life and the void.
Her fingers trembled as she reached for the emergency signal, fingers fumbling briefly before pressing it firmly. Help was on its way, she reminded herself, clinging to the thin hope that they would arrive in time. Yet, the minutes stretched agonizingly, each one a reminder of her dwindling strength and the relentless grip of mortality.
As she lay there, fighting against the encroaching darkness, Natasha's senses dulled. The world around her seemed to distort, sounds muffled yet sharp. Then, cutting through the haze like a thunderclap, a crack split the air—a sound so stark it woke her from failing consciousness.
Through half-closed eyes, she glimpsed a familiar figure materialize beside her wrecked car. Even in her dazed state, Natasha recognized the sharp features, the earnest concern etched on Harry's face as he knelt beside her. His presence was surreal and inexplicable; Harry shouldn't be here, not in Odessa, not when he should be half a world away in Los Angeles.
She tried to speak, to ask how and why, but her voice failed her. Pain throbbed relentlessly, a sharp reminder of the bullet tearing through her chest moments ago. Harry's hands were gentle yet urgent as he lifted her upper body, his touch both comforting and disorienting in equal measure. The weight of his concern pressed against her fading awareness, mingling with the fear that threatened to pull her under.
Darkness closed in, but in that fleeting moment of Harry's presence, Natasha clung to the certainty that help had arrived, even if it defied all logic.
Harry was on his lunch break when an unsettling feeling crept over him as if a cold hand had squeezed his heart. Without hesitation, he abandoned his sandwich and tea, his mind racing with worry for Natasha. He had enchanted her equipment with tracking and monitoring charms precisely to prevent such moments, to keep her safe now that she had chosen to stay with him.
In a blur of movement, Harry apparated to her last known location. The sight that greeted him was harrowing. Natasha's car lay mangled, overturned from the cliff's edge. With urgency driving him, he rushed to her side. Natasha was barely conscious, her breathing laboured, and blood seeping from a gunshot wound in her right lung. Beside her, another figure, presumably the scientist she was tasked to protect, lay crumpled on the ground, blood pooling beneath them.
Desperation fuelled Harry's actions as he swiftly cast diagnostic spells, assessing the extent of their injuries. Time was against him, and his limited magical knowledge was stretched to its limits. He focused on Natasha, prioritizing her survival. With precise incantations, he stabilized her, mending what he could of her lung and staunching the bleeding. Healed the best he could under the circumstances, Harry knew Natasha needed to appear believably injured. To make her injuries appear realistic, Harry carefully administered a superficial wound to her abdomen, ensuring it wouldn't interfere with her recovery.
As the emergency responders from S.H.I.E.L.D. finally arrived, Harry disillusioned himself, unseen and unheard. Silently monitoring as S.H.I.E.L.D. agents arrived and transported Natasha and the scientist to safety. Relief washed over him knowing she was on her way to receiving proper medical care. Once they left, he apparated back to his cafe, his heart heavy with worry and anticipation, waiting anxiously for news of her condition.
As he paced the cafe floor, Harry couldn't shake the fear of losing Natasha—the woman he loved—to the dangers she faced in her line of duty. His mind raced with thoughts of what more he could have done with his magic, lamenting his lack of expertise in healing spells.
It took 64 hours, 21 minutes, and 13 seconds for Harry to receive the call.
The phone's sharp ring shattered the quiet of Harry's home. Harry's grip tightened around the cell phone, his heart already racing with anticipation and worry. "She was supposed to call me two days ago, Coulson," Harry answered, his voice clipped, not waiting for any pleasantries.
"I know," Coulson replied in his usual flat tone. "She got hurt."
"I already know that she got hurt, Coulson," Harry snapped. "I know what she does for a living and the risks that it involves. I knew she was in danger as soon as I didn't receive the call that I was supposed to. What happened?"
"Her mission was almost over, and only the extraction was left. However, she got ambushed on the route to her extraction point. She got shot in her stomach, but the target was the person she was escorting."
Harry's jaw clenched. "Is she stable now?"
Coulson hesitated briefly. "How do you...? Never mind," he said, changing tack. "Yes, she is stable now. However, she had lost a lot of blood by the time the rescue team arrived. Currently, she's in a coma, but the doctors have said that she should be waking up soon. She's being transferred to a hospital in Los Angeles. They'll be there within the hour."
"Why was I not informed immediately when she was shot or when the operation started?" Harry demanded, his voice tinged with frustration.
"Protocol dictates that we only inform family members in times of death or once they have stabilized," Coulson explained evenly.
"Fuck protocol," Harry seethed with anger. "I'm not a civilian. I'm a military officer who's seen his share of death. I've made the same calls that you're making to me right now, Phil. And most of all, I'm your friend. If something happens to Nat, I expect to be informed immediately. Yes, I'm concerned about Nat's well-being. I always will be, but I won't go bananas just because she's hurt."
"I'm sorry," Coulson replied sincerely. "In the future, we'll make sure that you're informed immediately."
"Thank you," Harry replied with a sigh, his anger dissipating slightly. "Which hospital is she being transferred to?"
After getting the details of the hospital, Harry rushed through the busy streets of Los Angeles, his mind racing with worry. The journey seemed longer than ever, every second stretching into eternity until he finally arrived at the VIP suite where Natasha was admitted. He hurried through the sliding doors, heart pounding in his chest.
There she was, lying on the hospital bed, pale against the crisp white sheets. Natasha appeared serene in her unconscious state, the steady rise and fall of her chest reassuring Harry that she was alive. Relief washed over him, and a wave of emotion he hadn't realized he was holding back.
Harry approached her bedside quietly, his footsteps muffled by the soft carpeting. He took in the sight of her, noting the bandages and medical equipment surrounding her. Despite the circumstances, she looked peaceful, far removed from the chaos of their recent ordeal.
He pulled up a chair beside her, sinking into it with a mixture of exhaustion and gratitude. Gently, he reached out to take her hand in his, his fingers brushing against her cool skin. He studied her face, tracing the lines and contours that he knew so well, his thoughts swirling with concern and relief.
"I'm here, Natasha," he murmured softly, as if his words could somehow reach her subconscious. "You're safe now. Just rest."
A nurse quietly entered the room, checking monitors and adjusting IV drips. Harry watched her movements with a guarded expression, silently willing Natasha to wake up and assure him that she would be alright.
In the stillness of the hospital room, Harry found himself grappling with a flood of emotions—fear for Natasha's well-being, anger at the circumstances that led to her injury, and an overwhelming sense of protectiveness that stirred deep within him. He was determined to be there for her, whatever it took.
It took another 12 hours for Natasha to drift back to consciousness. The haze of sedation slowly lifted, and as her eyelids fluttered open, she found herself in the familiar surroundings of a hospital room. The soft beep of machines and the sterile smell of antiseptic filled the air.
Turning her head slightly, Natasha's eyes fell upon Harry, asleep in a chair beside her bed. His presence was a comforting sight, his usually sharp features softened in sleep. She couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth knowing he was here by her side.
Yet, a nagging memory tugged at the edges of her mind—a fleeting image of Harry, his concerned face hovering over her just before she slipped into unconsciousness. It was a vivid memory, too clear to dismiss as a dream. How could he have been here when she was on the brink of losing consciousness?
Uncertain and curious, Natasha hesitated, studying Harry's peaceful expression. She wanted to ask him, to understand how he had appeared in that critical moment. But she hesitated, reluctant to disturb his rare moment of rest. Instead, she decided to observe him a little longer, to gather her thoughts before confronting him.
She shook him awake, her voice tinged with a coldness that surprised even her. "Wake up," Natasha said, her usual warmth replaced by a distant tone.
Harry woke with a start, the concern on his face deepening as he registered her demeanour. "You're up," he replied, attempting a smile that faltered as he saw her guarded expression. He hurried out of the room to summon medical staff, a routine act of care that both comforted and troubled Natasha. She appreciated his attentiveness, yet her mind couldn't shake the unsettling memory of his presence in Odessa—where he shouldn't have been.
While doctors and nurses conducted their examinations, Natasha's thoughts were elsewhere, fixated on the incongruity of Harry's appearance in her last moments of consciousness. It defied logic and reason, casting a shadow over the trust they had painstakingly built between them.
As medical professionals moved around her, Natasha's doubts grew. Harry's concern was palpable, his gestures familiar and reassuring. But beneath her gratitude for his care, doubt gnawed at her. She replayed the scene in Odessa, his unexpected arrival flashing vividly in her mind. It was impossible, yet undeniable.
Despite Harry's genuine efforts to comfort her, Natasha felt the walls she had carefully lowered around him rising again, brick by brick. She watched him interact with the medical team, sensing his unease at her changed demeanour. She wanted to believe in him, in their relationship, but the evidence of her own senses was hard to ignore.
Once they were finally alone, the sterile hospital room seemed to tighten around them, suffused with unspoken tension. Harry turned to Natasha, his expression clouded with concern. "What's wrong? You haven't been yourself since you woke up."
Natasha fixed him with a cold stare, her eyes betraying a mix of hurt and suspicion. "Why were you there?" Her voice was sharp, cutting through the air with accusation.
Harry's brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean, Nat?"
"Don't play games with me, Harry," Natasha retorted sharply, her tone biting. "I remember what happened in Odessa. I saw you there after I was shot. Not in my stomach as the reports say, but in my right lung. I remember struggling to breathe, feeling the blood fill my lungs. You were there, Harry. I remember you lifting me up into your arms and embracing me."
Harry's surprise was palpable. He hadn't anticipated Natasha recalling his presence that night. He hesitated, grappling with his response. "Natasha, I'm not exactly who you think I am," he finally replied, his voice tinged with reluctance.
Natasha was struck silent by Harry's answer, her mind reeling with disbelief and a growing sense of betrayal. How had she missed the signs? How could she have allowed herself to be so vulnerable with Harry? Her instincts screamed at her to be cautious, to not let herself be manipulated again. She wouldn't allow herself to be a pawn again. If this was all an act for him then he would die for his act of betrayal.
As she sat there, her gaze swept over the hospital room, each object scrutinized for its potential as a weapon. The air between them thickened with unspoken tension, a chilling silence punctuated only by the soft hum of medical equipment.
"Why me?" Her voice now edged with ice, sliced through the quiet. It carried a mix of accusation and raw hurt, her eyes narrowing as she fixed Harry with a piercing stare. The ache in her chest wasn't just from the physical wound; it was the realization that her trust had been misplaced, that she had allowed herself to care deeply for someone who might have ulterior motives.
Harry, seemingly lost in his own thoughts, didn't immediately respond. His troubled expression betrayed the weight of his secrets and the consequences of his actions. Natasha felt a surge of anger rising within her, a desire to lash out and protect herself from further pain. Yet, beneath the anger, there was a lingering sadness—a fear of losing the connection she had felt with Harry, despite the doubts now clouding her mind.
The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken accusations and the fragile remnants of trust. Natasha's heart pounded in her chest, torn between wanting answers and dreading what those answers might reveal about the man she thought she knew.
With a determined breath, Harry continued, "I am not from this world."
Natasha felt a knot tighten in her chest. Her mind raced, trying to process Harry's words. "What do you mean? Are you one of those aliens that Fury talked about?" Her initial suspicion of him being another operative began to crumble, replaced by a mixture of confusion and a strange, unsettling curiosity.
"Not exactly. Or I think I am not an alien," Harry replied cautiously, choosing his words carefully.
"Then what are you?" Natasha's voice held a mix of curiosity and disbelief.
"I believe I am human, but from a different Earth," Harry explained. "A different universe altogether. It's... complicated."
Natasha frowned, trying to grasp the concept. "An Earth in a different universe?"
"Yes," Harry affirmed. "It's a parallel universe, where things are similar yet different. I have abilities—powers that are... magical in nature."
Natasha's initial confusion gave way to a growing fascination. "Magic? Like spells and wizards?"
Harry nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Exactly like that."
"I don't understand," Natasha admitted, her anger now replaced by a mix of curiosity and relief. The idea that Harry might not be manipulating her but genuinely different intrigued her.
"Its a very long story" Harry replied.
"Well, I have nowhere else to go," she said with a hint of humour. "I wouldn't mind hearing this story."
Harry's smile widened, a weight lifting from his shoulders as he settled in to share his extraordinary tale with Natasha. He recounted his origins, the discovery of his powers, and the challenges of navigating two worlds—a story that both fascinated and reassured Natasha, knitting together the pieces of uncertainty she had been grappling with. As Natasha listened, her scepticism softened. She realized that Harry had shared a deeply personal truth with her, one that challenged everything she thought she knew about him. Yet, amidst the uncertainty, she found herself drawn to the authenticity in his eyes, reassured by the genuine desire to bridge the gap between their worlds.
As Harry's story came to a close, Natasha found herself torn between disbelief and trust. The tale was so fantastical, that it seemed straight out of a novel—a series of novels where each year of his life could fill a book. The sheer improbability of it all clashed violently with her deeply ingrained sense of realism. Yet, despite her scepticism, she couldn't deny the man standing before her. Harry had breathed life into her cold, guarded heart, making it beat with a newfound warmth. He had given her a sense of belonging and love she had never experienced but had always craved.
This emotional turmoil left her feeling vulnerable and confused. Harry was a tornado that had entered her life so casually, yet he had shaken her to her core, making her question everything she thought she knew. Could she believe the fantastical tale of the man she loved? The conflict raged within her, a storm of doubt and affection, of logic and emotion.
Natasha's heart ached with the weight of her internal struggle. Trusting Harry meant accepting a reality that defied her understanding of the world. It meant embracing the unknown and letting go of her tightly held-beliefs. She looked into his eyes, seeking reassurance and finding only love and sincerity. The journey ahead seemed daunting, but the thought of facing it without him was even more terrifying.
Reaching out, Natasha took Harry's hand, her grip firm despite the turmoil within. "Harry, your story is hard for me to believe, but I understand you," she said softly. "With you by my side, maybe, just maybe, I can learn to believe in the impossible."
The next day, Natasha was visited by Coulson, Fury and the Deputy Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. Maria Hill. All three of them had dropped their stoic masks and had genuine smiles on their face when they saw Natasha doing well. "It's good to see you recovering well Romanoff" Fury greeted.
"I want a full investigation," Natasha replied, skipping on the pleasantries.
"It's already underway" Coulson assured her.
"We fell right into their trap." Natasha continued, her tone reflecting frustration. "Killing the scientist right before the handoff was their primary plan. Otherwise, the extraction would not have been this easy. I was sent there expecting heavy retaliation. However, there was none. Only one lone agent that was on my tail as soon as I landed in Odessa. I couldn't get a clear look at him but his most distinctive feature was a metal left arm," Natasha recalled.
"A metal left arm?" Maria Hill's concern was evident.
"Yes," Natasha confirmed.
"It might be the Winter Soldier," Hill suggested, to which Fury nodded thoughtfully.
"The Winter Soldier?" Harry interjected with concern in his voice.
"Most of the intelligence community doesn't believe he exists. The ones that do call him the Winter Soldier." Fury explained, nodding as Hill displayed photos and videos of Natasha's assailant on a tablet.
"I may not be 100 percent sure, but I think that's him," Natasha confirmed.
"Who is he?" Harry asked.
"Officially, he's a highly skilled assassin credited with over two dozen high-profile killings in the last fifty years," Coulson elaborated. "Unofficially, he was a covert operative for the Soviet Union, responsible for assassinations ranging from scientific minds to political figures, including John F. Kennedy."
"He doesn't look like someone who's been active for fifty years. Maybe in his early thirties," Natasha added.
"We suspect he's enhanced," Hill added. "But he's managed to evade our efforts to track him down."
"The prevailing theory is that he's a Soviet-era super soldier," Coulson concluded.
"I want to be part of the team tracking him down," Natasha asserted firmly, her determination clear.
Fury nodded in agreement. "First, focus on your recovery. Once you're cleared, you can join Coulson's team."
They continued their discussion for a while longer, going over details and the next steps. As Fury, Coulson, and Hill prepared to leave, Harry stopped them.
"Director Fury," Harry called out with determination in his voice, causing all three to turn back. "I want to join the Avengers Initiative."
Fury raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Why the sudden decision, Potter?"
Harry took a deep breath, his eyes briefly flicking to Natasha, who looked at him with a mix of surprise and curiosity. "Seeing Natasha injured, feeling helpless... I can't bear the thought of being at home while she faces world-ending threats. I want to fight alongside her. If you'll have me, I'd like to join the Avengers Initiative."
Fury's stoic expression softened just a bit, a rare smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Welcome aboard, Potter."
As the room fell into a contemplative silence, Harry glanced at Natasha, who gave him a small, appreciative nod.
Author's Note:
Thank you everyone for the support and thank you for your kind words and all the reviews that you have left. So, this chapter was supposed to be in Arc 3 but it felt more suited here. I did not want to delay Natasha knowing about the magic anymore. Also it allowed me to write a fun chapter 13 that you guys can read 2 weeks later. This one was a fun one too, and I wanted it to feel chaotic to the readers too like how the characters were feeling. What do you think, has the chapter's writing style conveyed the chaos that the characters are feeling. Also I was debating on when Harry should join SHIELD, either it was when Fury proposed it or when Natasha got hurt. I chose this chapter but what do you guys think? Please leave your thoughts in the comment section and leave a review on what you think about the story so far. Thank you for the lovely reviews that you have left for me. Also, for all those that have left a review. I have replied to all of them via private messaging on the website, do give it a check.
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