So, it's been some time.

In the past, when there's been a long gap in between updates, I've tried to explain. I'm just gonna make my reasoning short this time, and that is shit happens. Life happens. The usual.

At the moment, I won't make any promises as to when the next chapter will be up. I have an outline for what I want to happen next, and some parts already written. I'm slowly gaining my inspiration for this fic back, so I hope to be working on it more in the next year. Especially now that Endgame has left me sad and angry and fueled by bitterness.

Anyway, this is the last major flashback chapter! Apologies in advance for the angst. Like, I'm really sorry, but also not sorry, because I love writing angst. But yeah, modern day stuff will pick up from here, with shorter flashbacks again!

Thank you everyone for the support on this story. It's not 100% abandoned, it's just been a long past couple of years, and I want to be able to put the right amount of focus into this story. So updates may be slow, but they will come around eventually! I hope this tides you over until the next one.

Enjoy!

-:-

2 Days Later

Getting out of the Alps was the hardest. Well, telling the Commandos that Bucky had fallen from the train…that he was dead, that was the hardest part. Natasha knew the heartbreak, the rage, the grief on their faces, it would be burned into her mind forever. They'd gotten Zola. The mission was a success. She knew they all would have been celebrating if they hadn't been one Howling Commando short. Steve had told Gabe just to report back to base that they had Zola. They could save the bad news for later.

After getting through the enemy occupied area of the Alps, which had taken a day of careful travel since they had Zola with them. After all that they'd been through, they couldn't risk him falling back into enemy hands. Zola knew it too, and when he wasn't shaking with cold or fear, he wore a smug little smirk on his face to show he knew exactly how important he was. Natasha would've gutted him herself if didn't mean that Bucky died in vain. Still, when they arrived at base a few days later, Natasha wished it was Zola's death they were reporting. She gladly would have traded Zola's life for Bucky's.

Peggy greeted them when they arrived. When she saw Zola, cuffed, blindfolded, and being led from the garage to the main part of base by Dugan and Gabe, she smiled. Then she saw the looks on all of their faces. The other Commandos were already unpacking gear, heading inside as well, ignoring any glances the other soldiers gave them.

Peggy stepped up to Natasha, eyes knowing despite the question on her face. Natasha met her friend's gaze, swallowing down the emotions that had been building up inside of her for days now. "What happened?" Peggy asked, once again scanning those who were coming out of the truck. Natasha watched Peggy's face as she counted them all up, eyes landing on Steve last. Natasha practically heard the click as Peggy made the connection. Peggy looked at her again. "Barnes?"

Natasha opened her mouth to speak, and slammed it shut when she felt her eyes immediately start to burn. So she shook her head instead.

Peggy's face crumpled as she took Natasha's hands in between her own. "Oh no. Oh my god…What happened?"

"He fell," Natasha whispered. "We were on the train and something happened, I didn't see, but there was a hole in the side of the train. Bucky was hanging on and—and then he was just gone."

Peggy squeezed her eyes shut for a second. "My god."

Natasha was sure her friend would have said more, but then Steve was at her side just as Colonel Phillips was coming into the garage.

"You got Zola. Job well done, Rogers." Phillips said, the approval clear in his tone. Then he, too, registered the somber mood filling the garage. He frowned, eyes scanning over all of them the same way Peggy had. Natasha held onto Peggy's hands as Phillips came to the same conclusion. "Where's Barnes?"

For a second, there was nothing but deafening silence. Steve was standing at her shoulder, and Natasha could feel him tense up beside her. Then he took a step forward, looking at Phillips.

"K.I.A., sir." Steve's voice shook a little, the words hanging in the air as Phillips regarded the three of them, focusing more intently on her, and then Steve.

The Colonel took a breath then, the lines etching his face suddenly growing deeper. He nodded slowly. It was the news he'd heard hundreds of times at this point, that much was clear on his face. "Understood. All of you, go get cleaned up. I'll oversee Zola. Rogers, take some time. Written report to me by the end of the week."

"Yes, sir," Steve said, Natasha echoing the words as they walked into base.

Peggy stayed at her side. The base was bustling as they made their way to their quarters, everybody going about their tasks as usual. After two days of near-silence and only speaking when they needed to, it was startling. They stopped outside Natasha's room. She didn't use it as much as she used to, but since officers weren't technically supposed to fraternize with each other on base, they hadn't moved anyone else into it.

"I'm going to head to the control room," Peggy said quietly, breaking the fragile silence. "I've got some work to do, but I'll come check on the both of you later."

"Thank you," Natasha murmured. Steve nodded, touching Peggy's arm briefly. Then the other woman was gone, walking down the hallway and disappearing around the corner.

Natasha looked up at Steve. They hadn't said much to each other in the two days that they'd been traveling back. Steve hadn't said much of anything at all, outside of relaying orders. Natasha wished they could go back to that night in the tent, when they'd exchanged 'I love you's' and he'd kissed away all her worries. Bucky had told her to look after Steve, to protect him, but how could she protect him from this? There was no protection against grief.

"Steve," she whispered, just wanting to say his name, just wanting something familiar.

He met her eyes, and something in him seemed to relax a little bit. He tried for a smile. Only the corner of his mouth quirked up, and it wasn't even close to meeting his eyes, but it was something. He took a step towards her, leaned down and kissed her forehead. Natasha held onto his arm, just breathed him in for a moment as he lingered.

"I'm gonna go get cleaned up," he said, pulling away.

He started walking away.

"Steve. Wait." Natasha moved forward. He turned and looked at her. She swallowed. "I love you."

When he smiled this time, it was a little bit bigger, a little bit more him. But his chin was wobbling just so, his face so close to cracking that Natasha's heart plunged straight to the ground. Screw Zola. She'd trade her own life for Bucky's, if only to see Steve smile again.

Steve walked back towards her, gripped her face in both his hands and pressed his mouth hotly to hers. Seconds later Natasha could taste salt, though whether it was from his tears or her own, she couldn't quite tell.

"I love you, too," he said, stepping back.

He gave her one more look and then headed down the hall, leaving Natasha alone.

-:-

It had been four days since they'd arrived back on base. Almost a week since Bucky had died. Died. Bucky was dead and Steve didn't know what to do. He blinked, eyes on the ceiling. He'd woken up an hour ago, unable to fall back asleep. The images that had haunted his dreams the past couple nights were the same over and over—Bucky, hand stretched out. Then Bucky falling, screaming, out of reach. He took a deep breath, trying to combat the burning in his eyes. He'd tried to keep himself together the last few days. He was a leader, and everyone was feeling Bucky's loss, so he had to be strong. But he could feel himself being chipped away, bit by bit.

He was just waiting for orders. If he had something to do, it would take his mind off everything. But Colonel Phillips hadn't given him any. Steve didn't know if it was because he was giving Steve time to grieve, or if it was because there weren't any orders to give. Steve was pretty sure it was the former. They had Zola, and Hydra should've been in a panic. Taking another deep breath, he climbed out of bed and started getting dressed. He would go check in with Phillips. It was better than staring at the mission report that he still hadn't finished. It was bad enough thinking it—that Bucky was dead, gone, and never coming back—but writing it down or speaking it, there was no way he could do that.

As Steve made his way to Phillips office, he half-hoped he would run into Natasha, half-hoped he wouldn't. He'd told her, the night after they'd gotten back on base, that he needed some space. Just a little time to be alone and clear his head. They'd seen each other, of course, over the last four days, but each night they'd gone to their separate rooms to sleep alone. He was starting to miss her like crazy, but he didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to comfort her when he already felt like he was drowning in his own grief.

Steve paused outside the Colonel's door. Slowly, he lifted his hand and rapped his knuckles against the door. There was a muffled, "Enter." Steve opened the door and stepped inside, closing it quietly behind him. Colonel Phillips was at his desk, a mountain of paperwork and files in front of him.

"Rogers," Phillips said in greeting. His voice was the same gruff one Steve was used to, but now with an undercurrent of cautiousness, of the same sadness everyone on his team was feeling. Steve was too tired to make the point that he didn't want anyone's pity. His best friend was dead. But they were fighting a war. He wasn't the first person to lose someone, and he certainly wouldn't be the last. "What can I do for you?"

"Just looking for an update, sir," he answered.

Phillips slipped his reading glasses off and folded them carefully. "No mission for you yet, Rogers. Sorry."

"What about an update on Zola's interrogation, then?" Just saying the scientist's name put a sour taste in his mouth. It should be him at the bottom of that ravine, not Bucky.

"I've got about a dozen other higher-ups and Allied leaders looking to get their five minutes with Zola." Phillips sighed, wiping a hand across his face. "Normally, I'd just say to hell with it and go in there and scare the answers out of him, but this time they're requesting I follow the rules. I've got a shit load of paperwork to get through before I can interrogate him. Once I do, though, you'll be the first to know."

"Thank you, sir."

There was a tense pause, and when Phillips spoke again, his voice was softer, "I'm going to need your report, Rogers. It'll help speed all this along."

Steve swallowed, avoiding the Colonel's eyes. "Yes, sir. I'll get it to you soon."

Another beat of silence. Then, "One more thing, Rogers…"

Steve was pretty sure he already knew what the Colonel wanted to ask, but he waited patiently, trying to ignore the lump in his throat.

"I'm going to need Barnes' room cleaned out. I've got a new squadron coming to base in a few days. We can probably squeeze them in, but we need to convert some of the single rooms."

"Yes, sir." If he stuck to the formalities, it didn't hurt quite as much. "I'll get that done right away."

"You could have one of the other Commandos do it—"

"All due respect, sir," Steve interrupted softly, "it should be me."

Phillips nodded with no argument. "Okay." The Colonel looked down at the stack of papers and, as if remembering something else, he reached into one of his desk drawers and pulled out a stack of letters.

Phillips was silent as he flipped through the stack, pulling out the few that he was looking for. Phillips just held the letters in between his hands for a moment, hesitating. Steve was rooted to the spot, heart shriveling up in his chest. The Colonel's face was somber, the most devastated Steve had seen it, as he handed the letters to him gingerly.

"These arrived a little later than they were supposed to," Phillips explained. "They were supposed to get here by Christmas, but…" he cleared his throat as Steve just stared and stared at the letters in his hands. "They're from Barnes' family. I need to write up the official letter to send home. I thought I'd give you these and let you know that if you and the Commandos want to write something up to send home to his family, I just need it by the beginning of next week."

Steve couldn't seem to swallow past the lump in his throat.

"Do you need anything else, Rogers?"

"No, sir," he said quietly. He gave Phillips the quickest glance, before dipping his head and turning towards the door. "Thank you."

Without waiting for the Colonel to say anything else, Steve left the office and headed down the hall towards the single rooms. He walked past Natasha's, past Bucky's, and into his own room. He leaned heavily against the door once it was shut. One deep breath, two, then three. His gaze fell on his desk where his half-finished report sat. He took careful steps over to his desk and sat down in the chair, setting the letters from Bucky's mom and sisters down.

He stared down at the manila folder with his report, sitting next to Bucky's personnel file. He wanted to open Bucky's file, wanted to waste time and pretend that Bucky was next to him and they were going through all their accomplishments, comparing and trying to guess who'd been shot or almost blown up the most. But that would mean looking at Bucky's picture, and he couldn't do that. He also couldn't bear the thought of reading the letters from Bucky's family, knowing Bucky would never be able to.

For the time being, he chose neither, letting his head fall into his hands as he tried not to think about the fact that his best friend was dead and he had no idea what to do.

-:-

1 Week Later. Early February, 1945

Steve had written up a letter to Bucky's mom. He'd had a hard time keeping it together while he'd written it, so he'd kept it short. He explained what he could, left out what he wasn't allowed to say in writing. Mostly he just said that he was sorry, and that Bucky died a hero.

Phillips had sent off his letter and the official one earlier that day. Steve tried not to think about Mrs. Barnes getting the knock at her front door, about holding back tears as an unknown soldier told her that her only son was never coming home.

Now, after handing off the letter and his finished report, he was waiting in Phillips' office while the Colonel interrogated Zola. He hadn't bothered to sit in on the interrogation. Zola would get under his skin, he knew that. But he'd asked to sit in Phillips' office, so he could talk to him the second the interrogation was over. On the other hand, it had taken several of them to convince Natasha to sit the interrogation out. Peggy tried, Colonel Phillips tried, and finally, with a long, pleading glance from him, Natasha had finally relented.

Steve knew that Zola would get under her skin, too. And she wouldn't just scare the doctor, or even just attack him. She would kill him. He still hadn't seen her much in the past week, but it was enough to know that while she was still grieving, as sad and anguished as he was, she was also brewing with a fierce anger. One wrong move from the right person and she'd snap. Steve knew he should talk to her, try to help her through some of her feelings before something like that happened, but he still couldn't handle that kind of talk yet. Bucky's death was still too fresh.

So he sat in the chair across from Colonel Phillips' desk, back straight, trying not to tap his foot against the floor. He was usually a pretty patient person, but this he could hardly stand. This interrogation could turn the tide against Hydra. It could guarantee that Bucky didn't die in vain. Or Zola could choose not to cooperate and none of it would matter. If that was the case, Steve might just walk into that interrogation room and kill Zola himself.

He blew out a breath, trying to banish those thoughts. Natasha wasn't the only one who was angry, and it was times like this that he noted just how similar they were in that way. God, he missed her. She was in the same building with him, just a few doors down from him at all times, and he still missed her like crazy. But he wanted to be who he was that night in the tent. She'd told him she loved him and he'd just about burst with happiness. He wanted to feel that way now. He wanted to tell her he loved her over and over until he was breathless. He wanted to be with her without remembering the way they stood together on the train after Bucky fell.

Steve didn't blame her, of course. He remembered the way she'd broken down the night before they'd gotten back to base. It had just been the two of them in the tent then. He'd come back from watch to find her awake and waiting for him, eyes brimming with tears. He hadn't even hesitated before kneeling down and pulling her close. It's my fault, she'd sobbed into his shoulder, I could have saved him. She told him how she'd had the grappling line in her gauntlet, how she'd used it on a Hydra soldier, and how she couldn't use it to save Bucky. Steve didn't blame her. It wasn't her fault. If he blamed anyone, it was himself. If he'd been a little quicker, if he'd reached out a little farther, Bucky might still be there. If—

Steve turned as the door opened and Phillips stepped through. He waited until the Colonel was sitting at his desk. "Zola?"

Phillips looked up at Steve, and he thought he saw a hint of triumph under the Colonel's usual gruff appearance. "He's going to cooperate. A few more talks with him and we'll have all the information we need to take down Schmidt."

Steve released a breath he felt like he'd been holding for weeks. He sunk back into the chair. Finally, some good news. "That's good," he sighed. "That's really good."

"I'm sure I already know the answer, but you'll take the lead on this once we have the information?"

"Yes, of course, sir."

Phillips nodded. "Good. We'll get you and the Commandos out in the field for some scouting missions here soon."

"Thank you."

Phillips folded his hands across his desk. "I know this has been difficult for you, Rogers." The Colonel paused, considering. "But I'm going to need you to give it all you got when it comes to bringing down Schmidt. I need your full attention on this."

Steve nodded slowly, swallowing hard. "Yes, sir. I'll get the job done."

"Good. A lot of people are counting on you."

Yes, Steve thought. But maybe they shouldn't. The last person who'd counted on him, he'd failed. But he knew what Bucky would say. He'd tell him not to give up. So he vowed not to let it happen again. No matter what it took, he would finish this, once and for all.

-:-

Peggy found him in the shell of a bar, one that he and Bucky had sat in what felt like a lifetime ago. He was wearing his dress uniform, pouring himself another drink, despite the fact that the alcohol was doing nothing for him. They'd had a little ceremony of sorts back on base, just him and the Commandos. Phillips couldn't host something like it for every soldier who died—there were too many who'd died. So it was a private affair, but all the Commandos had gotten dressed up and they'd gathered in the empty cafeteria and went around, saying words and telling stories about Bucky. Steve had managed to keep it together for the whole thing, clinging onto Natasha's hand. But afterwards, he found himself walking into the part of the city that had been bombed.

When he'd seen the destroyed bar, he'd broken down and cried against the crumbling remains of a wall, full on sobbed for the first time since Bucky died. Only after his throat was raw, his eyes were red and puffy, and his entire body hurt from the release of tears, did he find it within himself to prop up a table and chair and sit down. The liquor had been left in his room after the ceremony. Steve highly suspected it was from Phillips and it was the Colonel's way of saying he'd been there in spirit with the Commandos as they said goodbye, while also celebrating Zola's turn of allegiance. The glass he'd amazingly found intact under the bar.

After dusting it off, he'd cracked open the bottle and started pouring himself a drink. After three or four he realized that Erskine had been right. He couldn't feel anything, and it was infinitely frustrating to him at the moment. All he wanted was to lose himself in a drunken stupor. At the very least, he wanted to drink enough so that he couldn't dream about Bucky falling out of his reach yet again.

Steve looked over his shoulder when he heard her heels against the floor of the ruined bar. He wiped at his nose and reached for the bottle again. He was glad it was Peggy. He didn't know if he could handle it if it had been anyone else at that moment. "Doctor Erskine said the serum wouldn't just affect my muscles, it would affect my cells," he said by way of greeting. "Create a protective system of regeneration and healing. Which means, um…I can't get drunk." He studied the glass in his hand. "Did you know that?"

She didn't say anything for a moment, and then went to grab one of the still intact stools by the bar. "Your metabolism burns four times faster than the average person." She sat down. "He thought it could be one of the side effects."

Peggy regarded him. Steve could feel his eyes burning again. He would've thought that he used up all the tears in his body.

"It wasn't your fault," she said gently.

"Did you read the report?"

"Yes."

He couldn't help the scoff that escaped his mouth. "Then you know that's not true."

All those years of Bucky pulling him out of fights, all the time Bucky had spent taking care of him instead of living his own life, and Steve couldn't even return the favor. Couldn't save his best friend when it mattered most. The way Bucky had looked at him as he clung to the railing, right before he fell…the fear and desperation was burned into Steve's memory, and thanks to the serum, he couldn't forget it. It was his fault.

"You did everything you could," Peggy told him. She paused, waiting for him to say something, but Steve couldn't muster up any kind of response. He swallowed, looking up at her as she started to speak again. "Did you believe in your friend? Did you respect him? Then stop blaming yourself. Allow Barnes the dignity of his choice. He damn well must have thought you were worth it."

Steve let that sink in. He wanted to believe her, wanted to feel less guilty. But the guilt was embedded in his heart like a knife, sunk to the hilt and slowly twisting. His eyes burned, and he blinked past the blur of tears. He couldn't bring Bucky back, but there was something he could do.

"I'm goin' after Schmidt." His voice came out a lot stronger than he felt as he stared down at the liquor still in his glass. "I'm not gonna stop 'til all of Hydra is dead or captured."

Peggy leaned forward, reaching her hand out and placing it over his. "You won't be alone."

-:-

When Steve left after Bucky's memorial, Natasha found herself wandering the halls of the base. She was tempted to follow after him, but he'd asked for his space, and she wanted to give that to him. They'd been back two weeks, two weeks since Bucky died, and they'd hardly spoken, hardly been near each other. After months of being around each other as much as they could, day in and day out, it was a bit of a shock. Natasha missed him. She wished she could hold him, wished she could take his pain and grief away.

She didn't know how long it had been—it felt like hours—but when she stopped, she found herself outside Bucky's room. The door looked as it always had, the same plain brown wood as all the other doors to the single room quarters. She hesitated, her own grief welling in her chest. Almost involuntarily, Natasha reached for the knob and twisted, the door swinging open almost silently. She stepped inside slowly, reaching for the light switch on the left. She shut the door with a soft click as the lights flickered on.

Natasha's breath shuddered in her chest as she exhaled. Tears pricked at her eyes instantaneously. Steve had mentioned that he was supposed to have cleaned out uckys room by now, but it was untouched, aside from a few empty boxes that sat waiting on the floor. Everything was exactly as Bucky had left it, the way she had last seen it, just a few nights before they'd left to go capture Zola. Bucky had been finishing up paperwork, while Steve sketched, Peggy went through files for Phillips, and Natasha cleaned her weapons. It had been a normal night like any other. And now Bucky was gone.

She walked further into his little room. The bed was sloppily made. His desk was slightly cluttered, but mainly clear. She looked at the small stack of books he had on various subjects—a couple science ones, a few army and sniper manuals. She picked up the baseball he kept on his desk, rolled it around in between her hands for a moment before setting it gingerly back down.

The last thing she spotted was the photos, half hidden behind the lamp. The first was a picture of the Commandos, probably right after they'd been formed, all lined up save for Steve. She looked at it a moment longer before her eyes caught onto the second picture. It was of him and Steve as boys, no more than fourteen or fifteen. Steve was incredibly thin, but he had the same flop of hair falling into his eyes, the same sly smile and bright blue eyes she'd grown so used to. Bucky had his arm slung around Steve in the photo, mouth wide open in mid-laughter. Natasha picked the photo up, fingers trembling. She just looked at the picture for an impossibly long moment, wishing, not for the first time, that she could trade places. If only to hear Bucky laugh again, to see Steve smile so brightly.

Setting the picture back down in its rightful place, Natasha walked over to the bed. She crawled up on the mattress, laying down with her back against the cool wall. The pillow, the blankets, it all smelled like him still, even if it was a little fainter than it was before. Tears slipped down from her eyes, over her nose, down the side of her face. She remembered sitting in her own bed, the night after they'd gotten back to base. She'd found what was left of her vodka from her birthday and downed it a lot more quickly than she should have. When Peggy came and checked on her, she'd broken. The tears came flooding out, bursting through the dam she'd tried to build up around her emotions since that night in the tent with Steve. Peggy had simply sat next to her, held her for a long, long time until she had cried out all the tears in her body.

Natasha didn't know how much time had passed. She was content to sleep there for the night, if only to hold onto the last shreds of Bucky that she had. She thought she was close to drifting off when she heard the doorknob. She sat up immediately, and though she knew it was impossible, she expected Bucky to step through the door and tease her for being in his room. But the person who did step through the door she was almost more surprised to see.

"Steve," she breathed, voice hoarse, as he shut the door quietly behind him.

He was still in his dress uniform, eyes red and puffy. His shoulders were hunched, hands shoved into his pockets. She waited, holding her breath for him to say something.

"I, um…" he faltered, paused for so long she wasn't sure if he would speak again. "Peggy and I talked."

It was all he said, but Natasha understood. They'd talked and now he was back here.

"How'd you know I'd be in here?" she asked.

His mouth twisted like he was a little embarrassed. "I didn't, actually. I came here to think. But I'm glad you're here." He crossed the room, sat down on the bed carefully, like one wrong move and the whole room would implode. He took a deep, shaky breath, then looked her in the eyes for the first time in weeks. "I'm sorry I've been so distant. I didn't—I didn't know how to face you after…I'm trying to keep it together for everyone, trying to be a leader, but I can't. I don't know what to do, Nat." His voice broke. Natasha moved closer, touching her forehead to his temple as she clasped onto his hands.

"It's okay," she whispered. "You don't have to be strong all the time, you know."

His body shook with something that might've been a sob or a laugh. His voice was rough as he spoke, "Someone has to be."

Natasha let that sink in, trying to come up with something to reassure him. But not for the first time in the past couple weeks, words failed her. So she held onto him, breathing slowly and deeply until his breaths matched hers. At some point they moved. Steve pulled off his jacket and they both kicked off their shoes and then they were laying on their sides, legs tangled together, Steve's back against her chest. Natasha had her arms wrapped around him still, and when his breathing evened out again, she pressed a kiss to the nape of his neck. He relaxed further into her with a sigh.

"I love you," he murmured. "No matter what happens, I just want you to know that."

She squeezed him a little tighter, heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks when one of his hands covered hers, fingers slipping in between her own. She buried her face in between his shoulder blades. "I love you, too."

Natasha didn't think she would be able to sleep, not in that room, but before she knew it, with Steve's already deep breathing lulling her to sleep, her eyes slipped shut and she slept without dreams.

-:-

1 Week Later

When Howard arrived back on base, Natasha was happy to see him. What she dreaded was sharing the news with another of Bucky's friends that he was dead. Colonel Phillips had told them that he hadn't alerted the scientist to the news because he'd be back on base soon, and he thought it would be better told in person. Steve was currently talking with the Colonel and Peggy in the map room, hunched over a table discussing Zola's latest bit of information. The doctor, though he was cooperating, was doing so on his own terms, giving them only small chunks of information at a time. Still, it was better than nothing, and Phillips had told them that he was close to getting the rest of the info they needed. The location of Red Skull's main base being the most important thing.

Natasha stopped Howard on his way into the room. He greeted her warmly, grinning underneath his mustache.

"How's the Widow's Bite working for you?" he asked.

Natasha swallowed, trying not to think about the fact that it had saved her life on the train, but she hadn't been able to help Bucky. A small part of her brain thought that, if Howard had just put another grappling line in the gauntlet, or a longer line, or—

No. It wasn't Howard's fault. It wasn't anyone's fault. If there was anyone to blame, it was Hydra.

"It works fine," she managed to say, smiling tightly.

"Oh, no," Howard said, noticing the look on her face, "What doesn't work? I can fix it. If you have it, I can take a look—"

"Howard." Natasha laid a hand on his arm. "It's not the gauntlet."

He scanned her face. Natasha sometimes forget that, with his cocky, cheery attitude, how smart he was. But she could practically see the gears turning in his head, could see when something clicked into place.

"What happened?" he asked, voice low. "Who…is—?"

"Bucky's dead." Natasha was a little surprised that her voice didn't waver, though she knew she clutched Howard's arm a little tighter than before.

She watched him slowly close his eyes, take a steadying breath. When he opened his eyes again, they were shining, but he had composed himself well. "When? How?"

"Three weeks ago now. We were up in the Alps, trying to stop Zola's train—"

"Please tell me you got the bastard."

She nodded. "We did. But…there were soldiers on the train and they had the modified weapons. One of them tore a hole in the side of the train and…Bucky fell. We couldn't reach him in time."

Howard clenched his jaw. Natasha wondered if he was doing calculations in his head, wondering how he could send them back to that moment, what he could have invented to rescue Bucky. But not even Howard's genius brain could fix this.

He lifted his eyes to where Steve was across the room. Without looking at her, he asked, "How's he doing?"

Natasha turned and looked at Steve for just a moment, noted the line of concentration between his brows as he pored over the map and files Colonel Phillips had laid out on one of the big tables. "About as well as you'd expect. It's been rough. I think he's been a little better than he was at first. But Bucky was his best friend and he blames himself."

"It wasn't his fault," Howard mumbled, half to himself.

Natasha barely heard him. She watched Steve a minute longer, tracing the outline of his form, trying to note any minute differences in his stance, trying to see if his grief was external as well. Sighing through her nose she turned back to Howard and found him looking at her, sympathy shining in his brown eyes.

He laid a hand on her shoulder, squeezed lightly. "He's strong. He'll get through this."

Natasha nodded, fiercely onto those words. "I hope so."

-:-

End of February, 1945

When Natasha woke up, the first thing she noted was that Steve's side of the bed was cold. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, blinking and scanning the room. Steve was already up, looking freshly showered, dressed in slacks and a white tee. He had swiveled his desk chair around to face the bed. At first she thought he had a stack of files in his lap, and then she realized it was his sketchbook. He was staring intently down at the page, his pencil flying in quick strokes over the paper. She smiled a little, settling back into bed.

She watched him for a moment, just breathing in the quietness of the morning. It had been five, nearly six weeks since Bucky had died. It was hard still, of course, but ever since that night in Bucky's room, where she and Steve had just laid together, they'd been nearly inseparable again. They'd been running scouting missions, mostly, going off the information Zola was doling out to them. Phillips was holding his last interrogations this week, and by the end of it, they would have the location of Schmidt's base. It was easy to forget about all of that for a moment though.

A few more minutes passed and Steve finally looked up, eyes locking with hers. It pleased Natasha to see that he looked more well-rested than he had in past weeks. The corners of his mouth twitched up when he saw that she was awake.

"You're drawing," she noted softly, voice still a little rough from sleep.

"Yeah," he said, standing and making his way over to her. "Wanna see?"

She nodded, the sheets pooling around her lap as she sat up to get a better look at the page Steve presented to her. She shouldn't have been surprised that the drawing was of her sleeping form, but it knocked the breath out of her all the same. She could feel Steve's eyes on her and she took it in, watched as she mentally traced over the penciled curves of her body under the blankets, the soft lines of her face.

"It's beautiful." She looked up at him, smiling a little bigger now.

He gave her a crooked smile as he set his sketchbook and pencil down on the small side table, before climbing into bed and sitting next to her. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss into her mouth. He'd kissed her only a of couple times in the past few weeks. They'd slept in the same bed together, held each other in the late hours of the night, reached for each other's hands in the halls, but nothing more than that. But this kiss felt different. It felt like their kisses before.

"You're in a good mood this morning," Natasha commented gently as he pulled away.

Steve took a breath, then slowly nodded. "Yeah." He paused, like he couldn't quite believe it. "It's gonna take time still…but I'm getting there. And today, I actually feel okay."

Natasha found herself smiling again, reaching forward and pushing his hair back where it had fallen over his forehead. His hand reached out and circled her wrist as she dropped her arm. He smoothed his thumb over her skin, sending a thrill of pleasure up and down her spine. She hadn't felt anything like this in weeks and it felt unbelievably good.

"Kiss me again," she asked, unsure as to why she was whispering. Maybe it was because she was just the tiniest bit afraid that he wouldn't want to.

But Steve leaned in like before, lips touching to her own, softly at first, then a little more firmly. He let go of her wrist to tangle his fingers in her hair. A small noise escaped from the back of her throat when Steve's mouth pushed hers open. His tongue slid against her own, his other hand reaching forward to cup her breast. She was only wearing a plain white tank-top and her underwear, and Natasha leaned into his touch with a soft moan as he circled her nipple through the fabric with his thumb.

Natasha gripped his shoulders, digging her fingers in as he moved his mouth down her neck. "Steve."

His hand was still kneading her breast. Impatiently she pulled at his shirt, tugging it out from where it was tucked into his pants. He paused what he was doing long enough for her to lift the garment over his head and discard it somewhere on the floor, and then he went back to kissing her hungrily, like he suddenly couldn't get enough of her.

Then he was pushing aside the sheets and wrapping an arm around her waist so he could lay her down onto her back. He just looked at her for a moment, his lips as kiss-swollen as hers. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, eyes dark with desire. Natasha had never been more glad that their debriefing meeting had been pushed back later in the morning. He found the hem of her tank and pulled it up over her head, then ducked back down to kiss the flat plane of her stomach. She ran her fingers through his hair, delighted at the thought that he would probably have to shower again after this.

Moving up her body, Steve latched his mouth onto one of her nipples. Natasha sighed, scraping her blunt nails gently across his back, over his shoulders. He worked slowly, circling the bud with his tongue before switching sides. She was breathing in soft pants now, hips lifting off the bed, seeking more friction. And a moment later, Steve moved. In all their time together, he'd learned to read her, interpret all her signals. He kissed her on the mouth firmly, desperately, then eased himself down to settle between her legs, hands finding the waistband of her underwear. He tugged them down quickly, tossing them on the floor with their other clothes.

Pushing her legs apart, Steve planted a kiss to the inside of each thigh. Natasha nearly whined. She swore she felt him grin smugly as he kissed just a little higher, but not quite where she needed him. "Bastard," she muttered breathlessly, sounding far more desperate than annoyed.

He chuckled in response, sucking over a spot on her inner leg.

Before she could say anything else, he licked a stripe up her center. Natasha cried out softly, trying to remember that they were still on an army base and if they were caught by someone other than Phillips, the consequences wouldn't be pleasant. She gripped the sheets tightly. Her hips would have pushed off the bed had Steve not been holding her down with one hand.

"Yes," she sighed as his lips closed over her clit, "Please don't stop."

He continued to work his tongue over her. He skirted his hand up her leg until it joined his mouth at the apex of her thighs. She gasped when he slid a finger into her, then another. Natasha bit her lip to prevent the moan threatening to fall from her mouth. Steve continued to work his mouth over her, stroke his fingers in and out of her until she could feel warmth tugging at the base of her spine.

"Steve." Her hips pressed up against his hand where he held her firm. "Steve, please."

He quickened his movements and, after a few moments, release flooded through her. Natasha's back arched as Steve worked her through it, kissing the inside of her thigh as he slipped his fingers out. She met his eyes just as he dipped those same fingers into his mouth and licked her clean off him. His face was flushed, eyes blown wide, and she could only imagine how hard he was right now.

"Come here," she murmured, reaching for him.

"You're incredible," he said against her mouth as he kissed her.

Natasha kissed him a little harder, then reached for the front of his pants. A minute later, she was tugging them down his legs, underwear and all. Then she planted her hands against his shoulders and pushed lightly, rolling him over onto his back. He watched her with parted lips as she straddled him. They were both breathing hard, and Steve's head tipped back as Natasha reached down and gripped his cock.

"Fuck," he groaned, "Nat."

"Shh," she laughed against his lips as she leaned down to kiss him again. He cupped her face and let out another noise into her mouth as she slid herself onto him. Natasha stilled for a moment, adjusting to having him inside her, then placed her palms against his chest and leaned back, rocking against him. Steve gripped her hips, pressing his thumbs lightly into her sides. They moved together and Natasha had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. He fucked her slow and steady, until the rhythm of his hips started to falter, his breathing a little harsher as it slid out from between his teeth. Fire tingled in her veins, racing its way down her spine.

"Oh, god." Her head tipped back and her body shook as she came, Steve groaning as he followed her a moment later. He worked them through both their orgasms and then Natasha collapsed on top of his chest.

He slid out of her and then rolled them onto their sides, pulling the disheveled sheet over their bodies. Steve tucked her sweat-damp hair behind her ear then kissed her forehead. Natasha smiled, kissing his chin, then his nose, then finally his lips.

"Do you think anyone heard us?" Steve laughed softly, tracing his fingers down her arm, across her back, drawing mindless patterns.

She grinned, meeting his eyes. "Probably. But I don't think we have to worry unless they start breaking down the door."

He laughed again, and Natasha's heart swelled in her chest. She touched his face, stroking her thumb across his cheek. He caught her hand, callouses rough against her own. "I love you," she whispered.

The look he gave her was incredibly tender. Chests pressed against one another, legs tangled, tucked under the sheets and sharing breath, they felt more like one person than two. "I love you, too."

He gave her a soft kiss, settling onto his back and tugging her against him. She traced a finger over Steve's chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart beneath her ear. They were quiet for a while and it was nice. It had been so long since either of them had felt any sort of peace, any sort of happiness. But this moment, this little pocket of time, it felt outside of everything. No war, no death, nothing. It was just the two of them.

It made her smile.

Stroking her hair, skimming his fingers over her shoulder, Steve asked, "What are you thinking about?"

"Us," she replied softly, laying her hand flat against his chest. "This moment. How nice it is to just lay here."

"Mm," Steve hummed in agreement.

"What are you thinking about?" Natasha echoed.

"New York." There was a pause, and for a moment she wasn't sure if he was going to elaborate. New York, after all, was where both he and Bucky had grown up, and for a moment she thought their little bubble had been burst. "Just thinking about where we should go first. I promised I'd take you there, after all."

Natasha smiled, turning her head so she could press a kiss to his collarbone. "Yeah, I guess you did. So what's the plan, Cap? What'll our first stop be?"

"Well there's this sweets shop two blocks down from my old apartment," he mused, and she could hear the smile in his tone. "But there's also this really good diner in Manhattan. They have the best milkshakes in the world."

"Really? The whole world?" She teased.

Steve poked her side with a laugh, and she giggled. Then, seriously, she said, "I love milkshakes."

Steve tilted his chin down to look at her the same time she tipped her head back to look at him. "Yeah?"

She nodded as best she could. "Yeah."

Steve leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. "It's a date then."

-:-

A week later they were just getting back on base early in the morning from a scouting mission when Peggy strode up to them, looking triumphant. Steve knew that look on her face. From the way Natasha practically buzzed with anticipation at his side, she knew it too.

Peggy smiled. "We've got him."

-:-

Half an hour later they were all sitting in the war room. He and Natasha had gotten cleaned up. Phillips had ordered a formal meeting, so Steve had changed into his full dress uniform. Natasha was at his right, hair still damp but pulled back into a tight braid. Peggy, Howard, and the other Commandos were seated around the table, eagerly awaiting the new information the Colonel had gotten from Zola.

Phillips was at the front of the room, eyes roving over the wall map while Steve looked down at the file in front of him. "Johann Schmidt belongs in a bug house," he said, still studying the map. "He thinks he's a god, and he's willing to blow up half the world to prove it. Starting with the U.S.A."

"Schmidt's working with powers beyond out capabilities," Howard interjected. "He gets it across the Atlantic, he'll wipe out the entire Eastern seaboard in an hour."

There was a heartbeat of silence as everyone took that in. Steve felt his stomach churn at the thought. After everything they'd been through, he wouldn't let Red Skull destroy his home too.

"How much time we got?" Gabe asked from further down the table.

Colonel Phillips turned and faced them all. "According to my new best friend, about forty-eight hours."

Steve felt rather than saw everyone tense. Hands twitched instinctively towards weapons, throats cleared, people shifted in their seats. Steve stared at the file, looked back up at the map, plotting out possibilities in his mind.

"Where is he now?" someone asked.

"Hydra's last base is here." Phillips held up a picture of the base in question. "In the Alps, five hundred feet below the surface."

The picture was passed around. Morita gave it a long hard look. "So what are we supposed to do? It's not like we can just knock on the front door."

"Why not?" Steve asked, looking up once again from the file in front of him, the plan only half-formed in his head even as the words spilled from his mouth. He felt Natasha tense just so by his side. Instead of looking at her, he met the eyes of everyone else in the room, his commander, his men. He touched his knee to Natasha's under the table, reassuring her that he was there. "That's exactly what we're going to do."

-:-

"Nat,"

Natasha paused, waiting as Steve caught up to her after the meeting had been dismissed. She'd been put in charge of helping Peggy gather up all the men needed for this mission. It was the big assault on Hydra's final base, and they would need a sizable force to make sure this went as smoothly as possible.

"You all right?" Steve asked as he scanned her face.

She exhaled slowly. Of course he'd been able to tell something was wrong. She couldn't put her finger on exactly what it was…but she shook it off. She needed to focus.

She smiled, touching his arm. "I'm good. There's just a lot to do."

Steve blew out a breath. "I know."

"Hey," she touched his chin, forcing him to look in her eyes, "This is the chance we've been waiting for. This is going to work."

She figured if she said it out loud, it would come true. The slight sour taste in the back of her throat was just from nerves. This was it, their final stand against Hydra. And she had to believe it would work out.

Steve smiled at her, pressed the quickest kiss to her temple, before he was off, getting everyone ready to follow Captain America to the end.

-:-

Later that night Natasha sat with Steve in the back of one of the trucks. Peggy and the other Commandos were with them, most of them already asleep. The rest of the troops Colonel Phillips had mobilized were following in trucks behind them as they made their way to a position they'd scoped out on their last scouting mission. Steve had an arm wrapped around her, thumb rubbing absently against her shoulder. She was tucked closely into his side, trying to sleep. But the bad feeling she'd gotten earlier in the day at the meeting was starting to creep back. She didn't know exactly why she'd gotten that feeling earlier, but she had started to put the pieces together. Part of it was because of the tight time-table, and the fact that it was terrifyingly similar to the feeling she'd gotten during her last conversation with Bucky.

Mostly, though, it was because she was afraid Steve's plan wouldn't work and she would lose him too. It wasn't that it was a bad plan. It was actually a pretty damn good one, especially given how little time they'd had to come up with it. There were just a lot of places it could go wrong, even with all the intel Zola had given them. And the look Steve had gotten in his eyes when he'd been telling everyone what he was thinking—that terrified her most of all.

He'd been confident as he'd told everyone the plan, but Natasha had seen a shred of brokenness in his eyes. The ghost of the look he'd gotten right after Bucky fell. It scared her. In that moment she knew that if the plan did go horribly wrong and Steve didn't make it out of there, a part of him would be okay with it. He lost his best friend and though he hadn't said anything, Natasha knew that a part of him wished he'd died that day too. He would never want to leave her, she knew that too, he'd said as much, but still. Deep down he hadn't been the same since Bucky died.

Natasha didn't realize she'd been crying until she tasted the tears on her lips. She lifted a hand and wiped them away quickly before anyone else could see. Steve shifted beside her. "Hey," he whispered, "you okay?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I'm good," she whispered back, taking a quick glance around the truck to make sure nobody was awake.

"Nat," he murmured against her hair. "Talk to me."

She swallowed. She wanted to talk to him, wanted to make him promise that he was going to come back to her. But she couldn't do it. Not here, not now. "Later."

Steve paused, and she could tell he wanted to push, just a little bit. But he let out a deep breath and squeezed her shoulder, kissed the top of her head. "Get some sleep," he murmured. Half of the Commandos had laid down on the floor of the truck to sleep, so Natasha had a little room to lay down. She tucked her knees up and laid her head in Steve's lap. She wasn't sure if she'd be able to sleep, but her eyes slipped shut almost immediately.

-:-

By mid-morning they were set up on a tree-lined ridge several miles out from the main gate of Red Skull's base. It was the beginning of March and a lot of snow had melted, but it still dotted the ground in some places. Natasha stood at his side as Steve went over his part of the plan one more time with the Commandos, while Phillips, a little further back in the clearing, gave orders to the half a dozen companies of men who would follow Captain America and his Howling Commandos into Hydra's final base. Peggy was at her other side and Natasha was glad to have her friend there, shoulder pressing against hers. She tried not to think about who was missing from their little circle.

"Let's finish this," Steve finished, looking at every one of them in turn. His eyes landed on her last. The love and grief and hope she saw there nearly knocked her off her feet. "For Bucky."

"For Bucky," she and the other Commandos echoed.

Steve ordered them to get ready and the guys dispersed, double-checking weapons as they went over to get any last orders from Colonel Phillips. He reached out to touch Peggy on the shoulder as she turned to follow the other Commandos. "Hey, Peg?"

"Yes?"

"Can you just let Colonel Phillips know I'll be over in a few minutes?"

Peggy looked between the two of them, faint smile on her lips as she realized what Steve was really asking. For a few minutes alone. Later, Natasha had told Steve in the truck last night. Later had become now.

"Of course. See you in a few." Peggy turned and headed towards the rest of their small army.

Steve tugged on her hand and led her away towards the edge of the clearing. He brought her just inside the tree-line so they were still in view if people looked, but they were hidden enough and out of earshot, so they had a little bit of privacy. Steve scanned her face, gaze gentle. "It's later," he said softly, his tone just the tiniest bit teasing.

Natasha gave a shaky laugh. "Yeah, it is." Hearing Steve go over the plan again, she had confidence in it, in their men, in him. But it still didn't completely erase the bad feeling eating away at her gut since yesterday. She bit the inside of her lip, fighting the different emotions warring inside of her.

But Steve, he knew her, knew how to read her. It still amazed her, how easily he could tell something was wrong, and without another word, he pulled her into his arms. Natasha took steadying breaths as she tucked her head against his shoulder. He didn't say anything, just held her for an impossibly long moment. Natasha breathed him in, basked in the feeling of his arms around her.

They'd known each other for almost a year and a half, been together for nearly eight of those months, and yet it felt like so much longer. Steve had changed her in so many positive ways. Or, rather, he hadn't changed her but instead brought out parts of her that she had thought long dead. Her dark past, this bloody, brutal war they were fighting, all of it was worth it if it brought her to him.

Being loved by him was worth it.

She thought of the morning they'd shared just a week ago now. The way he'd held her, pressed his fingers into her, touched her like he was completely in awe of her. Like she was priceless, flawless with her scars and all, and he was the unworthy admirer of her art. But he'd held her close, painted her pictures of New York. He was the first person she could imagine a future with, and she wanted that future so badly it hurt.

"I love you," Steve murmured against her temple, pulling her back to the present.

Natasha pulled back slowly, looking up at him. She traced the lines of his face, trying to burn it into her memory. Then she slid a hand around the back of his neck and tugged him down for a kiss. It was slow and soft, like they had all the time in the world. She wished they did. She wished she could stay in this moment forever, that she didn't have to let him go. And maybe that made her selfish, for not wanting to join the ranks of the hundreds of thousands of people who had lost somebody, who were waiting all across Europe, the U.S., the world, for their loved ones who would never come home. But Steve made her selfish, made her want things for herself. And she wanted him.

She kissed him one last time.

"I love you, too," she whispered as she leaned back, hand lingering on his cheek. She caught sight of her bracelet underneath the edge of her sleeve. She dropped her hand from his face and started undoing her bracelet from around her wrist. Steve watched her carefully, quiet as she grabbed his hand again.

"Natasha," he said, but he held his arm still as she pulled off his glove and pushed back the sleeve of his uniform. She clasped the bracelet, which fit more snugly around his wrist than her own. She twisted it around, her name facing upwards. Then she readjusted his uniform and slipped his glove back over his hand, watching the silver chain disappear beneath the layers of fabric.

"I'm gonna want that back," she told him firmly, meeting his eyes, "so you better come home to me."

Home. She hadn't used that word in so long, especially not in regards to another person. But it was true—he had become her home.

Steve looked at her for a moment. She could tell there were a million other things he wanted to say to her. She knew he was probably wishing as much as she was that they could just stay in this moment. But they could hear the chatter of the men in the distance, and the seconds were ticking down until they had to put their plan in motion.

He tugged her to him one more time, lips pressing right below her ear before he whispered, "I'll make it back. I promise."

Not more than fifteen minutes later, Steve was giving her a nod from across the clearing and he mounted his bike and raced off to the trail, ready to head into Hydra territory and set their plan in motion. Natasha went and stood by Peggy's side, waiting for their signal. Her heart was pounding in her chest. This was the worst part—the waiting. She wished she could have Steve's back, hated not knowing whether or not it was all going according to plan.

"Please tell me this is going to work," Natasha said to Peggy quietly.

The other woman looked at her, grabbed her hand and held it reassuringly. Peggy looked so calm, so confident. Natasha could detect the smallest amount of fear coming from her friend, though. She hid it, carried it well, so Natasha decided she could only do the same. She took a deep breath.

Peggy nodded to her. "It will." Simultaneously they turned their gaze towards the distance, to where Hydra's last fortress stood. "It has to."

-:-

"You're late," Steve teased as he crossed paths with Peggy and Natasha in one of the many corridors of the Hydra base.

Peggy laughed, giving him a fond grin. When he turned his eyes on Natasha, she was smiling as him too. Her face was dusty, her green jacket was torn a little at one shoulder, and she had a pistol in each hand. God, she was beautiful.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Peggy urged.

"Go get him," Natasha said, looking at him intensely. For Bucky, she seemed to remind him. And be safe. Come back to me.

He dipped his head at her. A silent promise. Then he gave the two of them a crooked smile and turned and ran off down the corridor after Schmidt, Natasha's smiling face burning in his mind.

For Bucky, he repeated in his head. For Natasha.

-:-

Not long after meeting Steve, Natasha was in the hangar bay with the Commandos and the other troops, fighting through the swarm of Hydra soldiers that had converged on them, trying to prevent them from stopping Red Skull. Still, despite the army around them, everything seemed to be according to plan—until the Valkyrie started up down the runway that took up a majority of the hangar. She'd lost one of her guns, so Natasha finished disarming the Hydra soldier in front of her and then finished him off by pulling out her knife and plunging it into his neck. He made a choked noise, dropping his own weapons as blood spurted against her hand and face. Not bothering to wipe it off, she pulled her knife out and his body dropped to the ground. She was already turning and looking down the runway.

In the distance, she could see a figure racing after the plane. There was a glint of red, white, and blue. Steve.

"Shit," she muttered, pushing her way through the soldiers locked in battle all around her. Breaking through the edge of the fighting, Natasha could only watch. The plane sped up. Steve's silhouette got farther and farther away, but still not close enough to the giant plane. He wasn't going to make it.

She cursed in Russian, and started forward, not really sure what she was going to do. She had no plan, but she couldn't just stand there and do nothing. "Steve!"

"Romanoff!"

Natasha turned to where the voice had sounded off to her right. Colonel Phillips and Peggy were climbing into Red Skull's car, and Natasha breathed a sigh of relief.

"We'll get Steve," Peggy called out. "Come on!"

Not wasting another second, Natasha holstered her gun, sheathed her knife, and hopped in the back with Peggy. Phillips didn't wait—he slammed his foot down on the gas. They raced forward. "Come on, come on," Natasha muttered under her breath. They were still too far away.

"Any way you can make this thing go faster, Colonel?" she asked loudly over the noise of the engine.

Phillips grunted in response, looking at the switches in front of him. By some stroke of luck, the one he picked sent the engines roaring and they were pushed forward by a burst of speed. They caught up to Steve in no time, who had stopped, out of reach of the plane that was now nearing the exit.

"Get in!" Peggy said as Phillips pulled the car to a stop.

Steve looked at them, startled, but didn't waste another moment. He climbed in the back, steadying himself, getting ready to board the plane. Phillips took off again. Natasha's stomach clenched, watching as they got nearer and nearer to the Valkyrie. She only had moments left until Steve got on. She grabbed his wrist, the same one with her bracelet tucked underneath the sleeve of his uniform. He turned his head to look at her.

"Remember what I said," she told him.

He gave her a soft smile. "Yes, ma'am."

She wanted so badly to lean up and kiss him, but she didn't know if she'd have the strength to let go. She hated letting him do this alone. But this was his mission to finish. The rest of them had work to do here. So she slipped her fingers into his hand and squeezed it. Then she let go.

Colonel Phillips maneuvered them under the plane, to one of the giant wheels that was revving to fold up into the plane.

"Be careful, Steve," Peggy said.

He gave her a fond look. "Always."

Then he looked at the Colonel, who was trying hard to maintain control of the car. "What are you looking at me for, Rogers? Get your ass on that plane."

Steve laughed, "Yes, sir."

Steve cast her one last look over his shoulder, a silent 'I love you' in his gaze, just for her. And then he was leaping, hauling himself up onto the wheel. They were outside now, snow still covering this part of the mountainside, the chill March air whipping past them as they followed the plane. The Valkyrie lifted off the runway. Natasha didn't have much time to think about the plane, though, as Phillips slammed his foot on the breaks. The edge of the cliff they were on hurtled towards them. Natasha braced herself, Peggy at her side doing the same. Her teeth were clenched hard, but then the car came to a stop, the front wheels dipping just so over the edge.

After taking a deep breath, Natasha turned her eyes on the horizon, same as Peggy, watching the Valkyrie climb higher and higher into the sky with Steve on board.

-:-

When Natasha, Peggy, and Colonel Phillips had removed themselves from their precarious situation on the edge of the cliff, they made their way back to the hangar. There was still fighting happening, and Natasha was glad to have Peggy at her side as they dispatched more Hydra soldiers. But now, with their leader off-base, their ranks disorganized, many of them started to lay down their weapons. Natasha wanted to finish them all off, but Colonel Phillips took charge, ordering the remaining Hydra forces to surrender.

And just like that, it was over.

She'd spent over a year in this fight, but the Commandos and SSR had been battling Hydra longer than she had. This whole war, which had still to come to an end. Hydra was now only one less chess piece they had to knock off the board. There was still too much adrenaline coursing through her veins for Natasha to settle down, for it to fully sink that it was truly over. That they had done it—taken Hydra's last fortress.

As the Allied soldiers took Hydra's weapons and made them all line up, Natasha only wished that Bucky had been there to see it. Just moments before she'd found herself looking for him, seeking out his triumphant face among the crowd of soldiers as Hydra surrendered. Then she remembered. She hated that she could picture his terrified face as he fell, hear the scream that came from him, almost more than she could remember his smile or his laugh.

"Hey, Red," Dum Dum said, coming up to give her shoulder a squeeze, breaking her out of her thoughts. "We did it."

She gave him a small smile. "Yeah, we did."

Dugan regarded her, and she noted the glimmer of sadness in his eyes. "He'd be proud."

Natasha didn't have to ask who he was. Dum Dum knew, could tell exactly what she was thinking. Probably because he was thinking the same thing, thinking about who was missing among them. She often forgot that the others could read her just as well as Steve at times. This time when she smiled it felt more genuine. She touched Dugan's arm comfortingly. "Damn right he would be."

He smiled and they started to part ways, to go back to their respective duties, but he called out after her, "Oh, Natasha," she turned, "Morita found the way up to the communications room. Peg and the Colonel are already up there, waiting on word from Cap."

She exhaled, a bubble of relief rising in her chest. She was grateful for his coded message—we've got this down here, go on. She stepped forward and planted a kiss on his cheek. "Thanks, Dum Dum."

He grinned at her from beneath his mustache, tipped his hat at her.

She turned and made her way through the base. She found the communications tower fairly easily, overlooking the hangar bay. It was quiet. She couldn't even here the chatter of the others, just the sound of her own footsteps echoing down the hall.

"I've gotta put her in the water."

Natasha stopped cold in her tracks. She was a foot away from entering the room. She could see Colonel Phillips and Morita hovering next to Peggy where she sat at one of the radios—the radio that Steve's voice had just come through. I've gotta put her in the water. The words echoed in her head. Any relief at their victory, at the possibility of them all walking out of this alive, guttered out in her chest, like the fragile flame of a candle. She started walking forward again, movements mechanical. It felt like hours, though it was only seconds.

"Romanoff," Phillips said quietly when he noticed her. She barely saw him.

"Steve, please," Peggy was saying, not having seen her yet. "We have time. We can work it out."

There was a desperate edge to Peggy's voice and Natasha's chest tightened. It was hard to breathe. Peggy looked at her as Natasha wordlessly took a seat beside her, staring at the radio. Somewhere in the back of her head she processed the fact that Phillips gave a silent signal to Morita and the two of them exited the room. Peggy turned the radio microphone towards her.

"Steve." Natasha tried carefully to control the fear and panic in her voice. "What's going on?"

"Schmidt's dead," he told her. And because she knew him as well as she did, she could her the equal parts of relief and fear that it was now her on the line. "But the Tesseract, I don't know, it did something...it fried some of the plane's systems. It's stuck on autopilot."

"Steve,"

"Give us your coordinates," Peggy interjected. Natasha gave her a grateful look, as the other women smiled tightly and looked for some paper and a pen. "Howard will know what to do, just tell us where you are."

"I…I don't know," his voice came over the radio. "Navigation's down and this thing is moving too fast and it's headed straight for New York. But I can try and force it down."

No, a voice inside Natasha screamed. She barely registered Peggy's hand desperately grabbing onto her own as she continued to stare at the microphone, like if she thought hard enough, she could pull his voice from it, conjure Steve right here in front of her.

"Rogers, don't you dare," she ground out, trying to combat the tears burning in her eyes.

"Right now, I'm in the middle of nowhere. If I wait any longer a lot of people are going to die." He paused for the longest time. Natasha pictured the last time she'd seen his face, right before he'd gotten on the plane. She tried not to think about what he looked like now, if he was feeling the same terror she was in that moment.

"Natasha," his voice was so soft and her heart split in her chest. "This is my choice."

Peggy let out a soft noise. They exchanged a look and Natasha saw something in her friend's eyes. Whatever Steve had said meant something to Peggy. She knew what was coming, but her heart still fractured a little bit more when Peggy slowly nodded.

Natasha pressed the button on the radio. She wanted to speak—but the words wouldn't come. This was their last moment, and a small part of her thought that if she dragged it out long enough, it would never end. But she leaned in, eyes burning, "Okay."

He was quiet for another moment. She wondered what he was seeing, what he was feeling.

"Natasha?"

"Yeah?"

"I know I promised, but, uh, I don't think you're getting your bracelet back any time soon."

Natasha couldn't help it—she gave a watery laugh. Peggy was still holding her hand, and she was pretty sure it was the only thing grounding her in the moment. "Guess that just means I'll have to come hunt you down, right?"

"Guess so." He laughed a little now too, voice crackling over the radio. "I'll be in New York. The diner in Manhattan, with the really good milkshakes. Come and find me."

A few tears slipped down her cheeks. "You got it, soldier."

Another pause. For a moment, she thought that was it, and dread filled her chest.

Then, "Nat?"

"I'm here, Steve." Her voice was far steadier than it had any right to be.

"I love y—"

Static.

Peggy's grip tightened around her fingers, and her friend lifted her other hand to her mouth, eyes shining. The static continued, fading out slowly. Natasha hit the button on the microphone. "Steve?" her chin wobbled, heart crumbling in her chest. "Dammit Rogers, don't do this to me," her voice cracked, chin wobbling. If her heart hadn't already been reduced to dust in her chest, she was sure that it would've broken some more. "Steve? Steve."

There was no answer.

-:-

Truthfully, I wrote this chapter a while ago. Like a decently long while ago, but life got in the way, and it needed to go through some serious edits before I posted it. I also really wanted to make sure I got the last scene perfect.

I shifted around some of the dialogue from CATFA. I didn't want to take away all the emotion from Steve and Peggy's original scene, but I did draw inspiration from it, and made it one suitable for Steve and Natasha and this story.

Fun fact: writing the end scene made me cry. Like, cry more than I've ever cried writing something. I was listening to "All Alright" by Sigur Ros. Not intentionally, but the song came on when I was writing this scene, and it wrecked me. Also listened to "This is my Choice" by Alan Silvestri from the CATFA score a lot, for obvious reasons.

That's all I've got for now! Again, I'm working on the fic, but I'm taking it at my own pace. Life is still kind of crazy, and I will work on this fic when I can, because there are scenes that I've had in my head for YEARS that I still want to share with you guys. Next update should hopefully happen soon.

Love all you readers 3000.

P.S. I re-read this whole fic recently to build my inspiration up for it again. The first chapters are kinda rough, but that's 2014 writer me for y'all! But mainly, I realize there's also a continuity error I missed. I mention in an early chapter that Natasha had been to New York for a few missions before she met Steve, but then later she tells Steve she's never been. So my bad. Treat it like she's never been. I'll go back and fix one day lol.