Hello, all!

New story time! Whether you are new to my Marvel stories, or returning to read more, welcome! I have a bit of an author's note ahead, so just bear with me, please.

So, I've had this story in the works for a while, planning it out, writing it, editing, all that stuff. It's not complete (I don't even think I'm halfway through), but I have enough written right now that I can start posting weekly chapters.

Basic summary: this is a 1940s Romanogers AU, so Natasha was alive in the 40s as well, and that is when she and Steve first met, instead of during the events of Avengers. This story focuses mainly on Steve and Natasha, but there will be hints of Bucky and Nat, Steve and Peggy, hints of Stucky. Really, all the ships :) In this story, Natasha was born in 1918, so she is the same age she is right now in the MCU.

There are hints of stuff from the comics. Now, I have not read the comics, so anything I get from them is from what I have researched online. So I apologize if there are mistakes. For this story, I'm incorporating the Red Room, where Natasha was trained, and I'm also having her have been injected with the Red Room equivalent of the super-soldier serum in this story.

I think that's about it. If I think of anything else you guys need to know, I will let you know in future chapters :) For now, simply read on to find out what happens.

I do not own Captain America or anything Marvel related.

Enjoy!

-:-

Outskirts of Strasbourg, France; 1946

Natasha felt like her lungs were going to burst. She was running faster than she'd ever run in her life. Her boots pounded against the pavement, echoing in her ears, almost loud enough to drown out the sound of her own heart beating against her ribcage. She gripped her pistol tighter, ready to put her finger on the trigger at any moment. She risked a glance over her shoulder to see the ruins of the old warehouse district she had just come from. One of the buildings was burning, flames licking out its shattered window, smoke billowing into the lightening sky of the coming dawn.

It was supposed to be one of those 'get in, get out' missions. She, along with a dozen other newly dubbed SHIELD agents, had gone in to scope out the warehouse. It had once held an old Hydra cell that had splintered off after Red Skull died, and they were simply going in to see if they left anything behind. As it turned out, the abandoned group of warehouses hadn't been so empty after all. The other SHIELD agents were all dead; all of them either gunned down or fallen victim to the inferno.

Natasha wasn't running from the fire or from the pesky Hydra goons that had been scattered throughout the building. No, she was running from the person—the thing—that had killed a whole team of men, everyone but her. She hadn't seen much—he was fast. Very fast. The only thing she remembered seeing of him through the smoke and shadow of the building was the silver glint of something on his left arm. The rest of him had been dressed in black, as if he had been born of the smoke itself.

Usually, Natasha probably would have stayed behind to fight the adversary, to make him pay for taking the lives of those good men. But she had watched the deadly stranger take out each and every one of her agents with terrifying precision, either with his gun or a well-aimed grenade, leaving only her standing. And instead of aiming his gun at her head in the sheer delight of saving her for last, he'd aimed his gun lower, at one of her kneecaps. That's when she'd realized that he didn't mean to kill her. He meant to hobble her, cripple her enough so he could take her. She watched him through the haze. He slowly inched his finger onto the trigger, taking his precious time because he knew he had her. She was about to dodge; at least maybe then she could get away with a graze, if she was lucky.

As it turned out, she had a stroke of luck when a fire from one of his grenades sparked against the gas line of an old water heater that sat against the far wall, at least fifty feet away. The air seemed to still for a split second, right before an explosion rocked the entire warehouse. Natasha had been thrown to the side, landing hard on her shoulder, hitting her head against the solid floor. Her vision went black. She could feel the heat from the explosion against her back, singeing the ends of her hair. Craning her neck, squinting through the haze, she couldn't help but think of a different building, a different fire. It seemed like yesterday, though it had been a couple years now. She could almost feel Steve standing beside her, shielding her from the flames, just like he had done when they first met.

She kept telling herself to move, to run and get out of there, away from the fire and away from the strange man. Get up, Natasha. Get up! Her brain screamed at her, but she couldn't seem to move. She wondered if it would be so bad if she stayed here, waiting for the flames to engulf her. Maybe then she'd see Steve. She wasn't a believer; not in God, not in a higher power. She knew that she was alive and one day she would die. End of story. But maybe, maybe there was an afterlife. One could hope, right? She wondered, though, if there was afterlife, if she would really end up where Steve was. She figured it was more likely that she would go down, not up. Up…get up. Get up get up get up! Run, Natasha, run! Natasha! Run! She could still hear her mind screaming at her. And then it changed. It changed from her own subconscious voice to Steve's voice, screaming at her, pleading her to get up and run.

Natasha gasped and coughed when she inhaled smoke. She dragged herself across the floor a few feet, rubbing dirt and ash into the scrapes on her palms. She pulled herself to her feet, reaching for her gun that had fallen a couple yards away. As she stumbled towards the door, she risked looking over her shoulder to see if the man had been downed by the explosion. For a brief moment, she felt relief flare in her chest. Then she saw him rise out of the smoke and ash. A deadly phoenix ready to burn her. She took a few unsteady steps towards the door and then turned and ran.

Natasha was running now, down the empty, weed-pocketed road that led away from the group of warehouses. She could see the gate in front of her, could see the jeeps parked just outside the tall, iron fence. She was just about to break through on the other side when a body knocked into her, causing her to drop her gun, and a cold hand wrapped around the back of her neck and slammed her into the chain-link fence in front of her,

She gasped, the wire digging into her cheek as the hand squeezed. Then she was thrown onto the ground and she crawled backwards on all fours, staring up at her opponent. He wore a mask over the lower half of his face and goggles over his eyes, so the only thing she saw of him was his dark, shaggy hair that looked like it hadn't been cut in several months. In the light of the coming day, the silver glint she had seen in the warehouse, what she had assumed was part of the protective gear he wore, she now saw that it actually was his arm. His right arm was all flesh and bone and blood. The arm of a fragile human. But his left arm was completely metal, emblazoned with a blood-red star. The arm of a man that was now part machine.

Natasha scrambled for her gun, but the man caught her leg and dragged her towards him. She gave a defiant cry, kicking out with her other foot. He blocked the blow, but by then he'd pulled her close enough so that, when he bent down to grab her arm, she was able to swing her free leg up around his neck. She twisted out of his grasp, bringing her other leg up around his neck, and squeezed with her thighs, trying to choke the air out of his lungs. He clawed at her, trying to get her off.

Unfortunately for her, he managed to get a hold of her wrist and he used his whole body, creating enough momentum to tear her off of him. She landed hard on her back, all the air rushing out of her lungs with a gasp. Natasha attempted to stand, but he backhanded her, the metal cracking across her face, sending her straight down to the pavement. She could taste blood in her mouth, the coppery liquid coating her tongue and lips. She flipped onto her back, staring up at the man. He loomed over her. Part of her just wanted to lay there and let him take her. But in the back of her mind, just like in the warehouse, she could hear Steve murmuring, encouraging to keep going, keep fighting.

With all her strength, she swung out one leg, knocking the man off his feet. He twisted, to avoid hitting his head. He didn't stay down long, either, but just long enough for Natasha to rush to her feet and push through the gate. She slammed it behind her and rushed to one of the jeeps. She had just gotten the door open when he grabbed her sleeve, dragging her back a few feet.

"No!" she screamed. She would not let him take her.

She grabbed the arm that was holding her and dropped to one knee, the momentum allowing her to flip the man over her shoulder. He stayed down for a second, dazed. She took her opening. Natasha jumped over him and managed to get inside the jeep and lock the door. She had just started the engine when his metal fist slammed through the window, causing glass to rain down upon her. His hand fisted in her jacket—a leather jacket that had once been Steve's that she swore still smelled like him sometimes—and the man tried dragging her through the window.

Shards of glass that remained in the window frame bit into her palms and she tried to grab hold of the jeep and keep him from taking her. Blood trickled down her fingers, weakening her grip as her hands became slippery. She screamed in protest, but the stranger's grasp only tightened and he finally succeeded in pulling her out, glass scraping her lower back and thighs as she was dragged out and dropped unceremoniously onto her back.

Natasha could do nothing but watch as he brought his metal fist down against her temple and everything went black.

-:-

Stalingrad, Russia; December 1943

Steve lowered his binoculars and tucked them into one of the bags on his motorcycle. He walked back a little ways into the trees, his boots crunching in the snow underfoot. He joined the rest of his Howling Commandos where they stood around the hood of one of their trucks, looking over a blueprint of the building they were about to raid. They were situated on a hill that overlooked a small military-like compound. The area was surrounded by tall wire fences, topped with barbed wire. There were hills on two sides, giving the compound cover, but also providing Steve and his comrades with a very good view of the entire place.

The building they were looking at was the base of operations for the program they were trying to infiltrate—the Black Widow program. Steve had never heard of it before, but from the file Colonel Phillips had given him, he gathered that it was a fairly underground operation, using something called the Red Room to train some of the most ruthless and skilled assassins Steve had ever heard of. They had heard from sources in the area that Hydra was possibly involved. Steve and his Howling Commandos had been sent to see if the Hydra rumors were true and to gather as much information as they could on the Black Widow program.

"All right," Steve looked at each of his Commandos in turn. "Shall we?"

Steve divided them into teams, each team able to cover an exit. Steve waited with Bucky, about 100 yards from the main entrance. Bucky had his sniper rifle ready, aimed on the single guard waiting by the door. Steve waited to give orders. He had noticed that the encampment, though well lit by tall lamps, it was fairly empty. There was no distant sound of chatter, no sound of engines revving. Almost nobody to be seen. The guard waiting outside the door was the first person had seen so far. Part of him wanted to wait, to see what they were truly up against. But he had orders of his own. He was supposed to infiltrate the base as soon as possible, and that meant tonight.

Steve looked over at Bucky and gave him a single nod, which was followed by the crack of Bucky's rifle. The guard dropped to the ground like a stone. Steve waited a moment, listening for the sound of oncoming enemies, but nothing came. He spoke into his com, ordering the other Commandos to enter the building. He and Bucky followed, taking quick, light steps over the terrain, covering each other's backs as they ducked into the building.

Inside it was just as quiet.

"This all seem a little….off to you?" Bucky whispered.

"More than a little," Steve responded.

They turned a corner and spotted another guard. He barely had time to raise his gun before Steve's shield was across the length of the hall, knocking the guard unconscious with a blow to the head. Steve grabbed his shield and they continued to make their way through the building. For a compound that supposedly housed some of the greatest assassins of the twentieth century, Steve was starting to feel slightly underwhelmed. Neither of the men they'd come across had put up much of a fight.

"Dugan, Falsworth, have either of your teams found anything?" Steve asked through his walkie-talkie.

"Nothing here, Cap," Falsworth replied.

"Quiet as a church mouse," Dugan agreed.

Steve didn't respond and clipped his walkie back onto his belt. He and Bucky entered a large room. There were punching bags lined up in a neat row along one of the rafters. Lines of tape formed a large square in the center of the room, like a boxing ring, except there were no mats of any kind. There was other training equipment stacked along the opposite wall, and on the back wall, there was a single steel door that looked like it led down another hallway, towards the center of the building. Whatever kind of training facility this was, it was cold. All stone and hard places, full of sharp corners and even sharper instruments.

Steve frowned at the …inhumanness of it all. With what were clearly old blood stains on the floor, it seemed more like a slaughterhouse. Only those who were strong enough, fast enough, and cold enough would survive to see the light of another day.

"Let's go check down that hall," Bucky suggested.

They headed to the back, easing the ajar door all the way open. Steve held his shield up, feeling Bucky right behind him. It was silent except for the whirring of machinery farther down the hall. They passed a firing range on the left and an ammunitions and weapons storage room on the right. The hall ended in a door on the left. Entering the room, Steve saw it was a small control room. There was a few panels on the wall, a desk of buttons and levers, and empty chairs at the different stations. To the right there was staircase that led down into the lower level. From what he remembered of the building blueprints, Steve guessed that staircase was the upstairs entrance into the boiler room. The whirring was louder here, a dull roar that traveled up the stairs and filled the room. Steve took a look at the control panels while Bucky wandered over to the right to take a quick look downstairs.

"Hey, Steve," Bucky's voice called out a minute later. "You better come take a look at this."

Steve headed down to Bucky who was standing by the base of the stairs, near one of the furnaces. Steve was about to ask Bucky what he'd found when he saw the problem for himself. He felt his heart sink at the sight of the mess of wires and metal, all strapped together to create a crude bomb. A bomb with only five minutes left on the timer. The pieces clicked together in Steve's head. Most likely the Black Widow group had been tipped off that they were coming and they abandoned ship. They left a few meaningless pawns in place to be taken out by him and his Commandos. To top it off they'd placed the bomb to get rid of any and all intel they had. And if he and his comrades were in the building when it went off, even better.

"We better go warn the others. Now," Steve said.

"You got that right," Bucky muttered.

"Go out the back door for the boiler room, get the others," Steve told his friend. "I'll make sure there's no one else upstairs."

"Be careful," Bucky warned.

Steve grinned, clapping his best friend on the shoulder. "Always."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Really? 'Cause I'm pretty sure it's situations like these where I always end up having to pull your ass out of the fire."

"Go get the others," Steve urged. "Quickly."

Bucky took off in the other direction, further into the ground floor, while Steve headed back up, taking the stairs two at a time. He was just about to step into the training room they'd been in earlier when somebody landed a solid, two-footed kick to his chest. He was knocked back, taken by surprise. He recovered quickly, though, getting back on his feet fast enough to see the assailant swing effortlessly down from one of the rafters.

When the person stood, Steve froze. It was a woman. She looked at him, her green eyes twinkling with something akin to amusement as she took in his surprised face. Steve stared at her. He tried not to—his mother had taught him it was impolite to stare at a lady—but he couldn't seem to tear his eyes away. She was beautiful. Her shoulder length red hair was loosely curled around her face, bright like flames against the stark grayness of the room. She was dressed down in fitted black pants tucked into black combat boots, topped off with a plain black tee. She stood poised, ready to strike again. The bomb's timer flashed in the back of his mind. He guessed he had four minutes left now.

"You're a long way from home, aren't you, Captain?" she smirked at him.

Steve wished he could have been surprised that she recognized him, but he really wasn't. At this point he was a national icon. Even if people didn't recognize his face, they knew the red, white, and blue of his shield, his uniform. In this situation, though, Steve was at a disadvantage. She knew exactly who he was and he didn't even know her name.

Steve took a step forward and she took one step back, though he doubted it was because she was scared of him lashing out at her. His assumption proved correct when she lunged again, getting low and bringing his feet out from underneath him. Angry at himself for letting her catch him off guard again, he leaped to his feet, throwing a punch in her direction. She deflected and tried to throw a punch of her own, which he blocked with his shield. He used his free hand to grab her arm and twisted, flipping her onto her back.

She recovered quickly, springing herself up, swinging a leg up around his shoulders and using her weight to bring him to the ground. She squeezed his throat with her thighs, blocking his arm with her hands as he tried to get her off of him. She looked down on him, her green eyes showing no sign of mercy and she squeezed her legs tighter, making him incapable of filling his lungs with air. He was running out of oxygen—and time. He was sure there had to only be a minute or two left till that bomb went off, and this close to the boiler room, he had no doubt he would go up in flames.

He managed to bring a leg up, kneeing her hard in the back, pitching her forward. She released him, tumbling into a somersault over him. She was just about to get to her feet and attack him again, but he beat her to it. Steve slammed a fist into her stomach, hard enough to make her double over, a breath escaping her mouth with a strangled gasp. Steve acted quickly, grabbing her arms and pinning them behind her, lowering her down to the floor, onto her stomach, before she had time to lash out again.

"Look," Steve hissed in her ear. "I don't want to kill you, but if you don't stop fighting me, we're both going to die."

"Well, maybe I'll become famous, then, for taking Captain America to the grave with me," she hissed.

She squirmed in his grasp, nearly breaking free, but Steve pressed his weight harder against her, eliciting a small cry of pain. Steve grimaced. He really didn't want to hurt her, but she wasn't giving him much of a choice. He pulled a pair of bonds out from his belt and secured them around her wrists.

"Look, there's a bomb that's about to blow any second." He hauled her to her feet. "I'm just trying to get us both out alive. Because I don't believe you truly want to die."

He looked at her, and despite her still trying to fight against him even with her hands bound behind her back, he thought he saw something flash in her eyes when he mentioned the bomb. Worry, maybe? Suspicion? Fear? He couldn't be sure, because it disappeared quickly.

She glared at him, green eyes burning. "If I didn't really want to die, why would I be in a building that's about to explode?"

Steve didn't have an answer for that. She was just being defensive, he assumed. He clasped his hand around her arm, towing her along as he headed for the exit. She tried to break free from his grip and he tightened his hold on her. He had a feeling she could just use another one of her acrobatic moves to get out of his grasp and break free from her cuffs, but she clearly wasn't trying very hard. He could practically see the gears turning in her head, trying to solve the puzzle of the bomb.

"Let go," she said through gritted teeth. "Before I change my mind about gutting you, Captain."

"Not a chance,"

Steve had just gotten them through the doorway of the training room when the explosion hit. They both fell forward, Steve catching himself at the last minute so as not to crush her. Heat scorched his back and debris rained down on them. That's when he remembered the munitions room and he knew it was only a matter of seconds before another explosion blasted through the building.

He grabbed the woman's arm, getting her to her feet and running with her down the hallway. They'd made it about halfway when the second explosion hit. Steve shoved her against the wall, bringing them low to the ground and raising his shield up, protecting them from the wave of fire that engulfed half the hallway. When the flames had died down enough, Steve led her back the way he and Bucky had first come in.

Steve guided them around fallen rafters and twisted beams of metal. Ash rained down on them and Steve coughed, trying not to inhale any more smoke into his lungs than he had to. When they got to the door, it was half-melted into the frame, the metal still glowing orange from the heat. He let go of the woman's arm long enough to slam his shield into the door frame, hearing the metal groan under the weight of the blow. It took a few more tries, but it finally gave way. He had just grabbed onto the woman's arm again when he felt different hands against the front of his uniform, dragging him out and away from the immediate area of the burning building.

"See?" Bucky scolded him, taking his hands off Steve's uniform. "Told you I'd have to pull your ass out of the fire."

Steve just chuckled and then turned to look at the woman. "You okay?"

She rolled her eyes, giving a shake of her head. She muttered something in Russian and Steve was a little surprised, as well as impressed. Her English had been perfect when they'd spoken earlier. She was clearly one of the assassins in the Black Widow program and he figured they must have educated them as well as trained their bodies to become weapons.

"I'm fine," she finally said.

"Who's this?" Bucky asked, seemingly noticing the woman for the first time. His eyes lingered on her, eyebrow raised as he looked her up and down.

"I don't know actually," Steve replied. "I was too busy trying to keep her from killing me to ask for her name."

"She tried to kill you?" Bucky asked, stepping forward an inch.

"Tougher than she looks," Steve commented, looking back at her. She gave him a look of irritation. "Who are you, anyway?"

She stared at him, like she wasn't sure if she should answer or not. Steve watched her exhale slowly, meeting his eyes. "Name's Natalia," she said.

"Natalia," Steve repeated.

"She coming with us?" Bucky interjected.

"Yes." Steve looked at Natalia, knowing the Colonel would want someone to question since any other physical evidence had been destroyed.

As they were walking back to the trucks where the rest of the Commandos were waiting, Steve stuck close to Natalia, Bucky on her other side, one hand on his gun. Though she didn't look happy about coming with them, she didn't fight it either. He knew she could, too. He doubted it would take much for her to get out of her cuffs and escape, taking a couple of them out along the way. Part of him wondered why she didn't do just that.

They got back up to the trucks and before they got in, Steve pulled his brown leather jacket out of one of the trucks, bringing it across her shoulders. It wasn't nearly as warm as it would have been if she could put it all the way on, but he didn't dare let her out of her cuffs. She stiffened when the heavy material first touched her body, but then relaxed, and accepted the gesture in silence.

"Thank you," she said quietly after a long moment of silence. She looked almost uncomfortable as she said the words, as if they were foreign to her. He wondered what the last time was that she had something to be thankful for.

"You're welcome." He nodded.

She didn't say anything else, and Steve decided it was best to let her be. She was technically their prisoner. But considering she didn't try to escape, he figured they weren't off to a bad start.

-:-

So there is chapter 1! I hope you all enjoyed! As I said at the beginning, I will be updating weekly, so I can try and write more chapters in between each update, so I (hopefully) don't fall behind.

Reviews are very much appreciated; I would love to hear your thoughts, comments, etc. if you noticed any factual mistakes or typos, let me know. Anything, really, I would love to hear.

Thanks for reading!

-DaughterOfPoseidon333