MCU (c) Marvel Studios

And we run, with a lonely heart; and we run, for this killing love; and we run, till the heavens above; yeah we run, running in the dark, and we run, till we fall apart; and we run, till the heavens above… — Within Temptation

The tap squeaked as she turned it, the water gushing out ice cold. She dunked her head beneath the tap, sucking in a breath through her teeth as she washed the dye from her hair. Natasha rung her hair out, now a platinum blonde. It was unnerving to see her hair now a different color. She favored wigs for disguising her hair, but this time she needed to make it a little harder to remove. She snicked the razor blade out. "Bye-bye long hair," she said grabbing a fistful of hair, feeling a small pang. Steve had mentioned that he liked her hair long.

In a totally causal way. He was being nice. Sometimes that was his problem. He was nice and never acted upon what he wanted. She sawed off the hunk of hair at her chin, going around her head and then evening the edges with a pair of old scissors. "La douleur exquise, as they would say in France." She chuckled, toweling her hair off. She ran her fingers through her silver hair. This was the price she paid for helping Steve, a fugitive, not once but twice. Steve had contacted her after whatever happened in Siberia, asked her if she was good at breaking into prisons. Clint had sent her an encrypted message from Steve a few months ago. A year since the Avengers broke up, a year since she let Steve do what he needed to do, a year since she last saw him in the shadowy passage-ways of that hellish floating prison.

Because she had to believe in something. Believe in what they were fighting for. Even though she agreed with Tony, feeling that there should be limits. She also sided with Steve. The Avengers were there to protect people and only they truly knew how to protect the world from their abilities. What is one life compared to the thousands saved? That was what they told her in the Red Room. To kill the repulsion of taking a human life. One life, to save thousands. A few hundred to save millions.

One lie to spare another.

Until you are drowning and no longer know which way is up or down, right or wrong, who to trust and who to fear. Until all you see is blood.

Natasha gasped, chest rising and falling. She wasn't that person anymore. She was different now. She had friends, people that cared about her, and hopefully one day… someone to love her.

He was standing there, at the end of the aisle, the stain glass light illuminating him but all she saw was his smile. That infectious smile that couldn't help but mirror itself on her own face. Her heart swelling with joy and hope and something different… peace. This was happening. She was getting married and soon she'll be Mrs. Natasha—

"Love is for fairytales," she said. The future was an ideal, something she'll keep lock in her heart to get through the crucibles that awaited her. She shoved her pistols into her thigh hostlers, the small ones in her ankle hostlers, and slipped her stilettos up her sleeve and capped off her gear with her stingers. She picked up her collapsible batons and tonfa, finally shrugging into a flexible bullet proof vest for extra measures. Steve wouldn't attack her nor Sam, but Wanda may just attack her if she snuck up on her. They had all changed since the fight at the airport, and she could tell there was something different about Steve when she met him on the Raft; a darkness simmering in his eyes, just beneath the surface, a crack in his faith in humanity.

She still couldn't believe it, that Zemo did everything to just destroy the Avengers from within. Sometimes she thought it was for the best. She once believed in Shield, but they became infested with Hydra and the only way to save Shield was to destroy it. Maybe that was the same way with the Avengers. Forest fires bring new life to a ravaged forest. Somehow, she didn't think this was the case. The tap gave a protesting squeak as she turned the knob into the off position, gathered the hair supplies and her old clothes and other needless things into a trashcan and set it on fire before escaping out the bathroom window.

The Ukrainian night was chilly, and the city was small compared to other places she been too. She also wanted to sneer as Ukrainian bombarded her hearing. It was similar to Russian but slightly different, and she couldn't help but hold a little bit of pride for her mother tongue. Even if she hated what the Kremlin did to her, made her into. Plus, Clint said this was where Steve was laying low. "Now where to find a super soldier on the run?" she mused to herself as she shrugged into a jacket she picked up from a store front along her walk. This part of the city was known for being rough, nobody was going to stop.

The neon lights flashed, the name of the club was Night Butterfly. Clint didn't tell her anything beyond the city where she may find Steve. And when you work with someone for years, they tend to pick up things. Steve may not be the spy she is, but she taught him a few tricks and he had street smarts from his youth. She smiled at the bouncer and the burly man held out his arm. "Sorry."

"I'm expected," she said, smiling that viper smile she had perfected; venomous and deadly. She hooded her eyes. "I really don't want to keep my client waiting, and I'd hate for you to be on the receiving end of his…" she looked way, coy, "it won't be pleasant for you."

The bouncer huffed, leaned over to his partner and spoke a few words before lifting the chain. She smiled but it fell. "Weapons." He pointed to an empty bin. She chewed the inside of her cheek before removing the obvious ones. "Weapons," he repeated, pointing her stingers.

"Bracelets," she said, and shook her wrists to make them clack slightly.

He grunted. "Dobre." He waved her in. She smiled at him and entered the sea of humanity. The young people pressed around her, the music — some indie electro-dance music — thrummed and vibrated, the bass thudding in her chest. People high on ecstasy and other drugs ground their bodies against each other, moving to the music, the strobe and black lights creating an optical mind field for her to navigate through. The glowing rings on the dancers didn't help either. The smell of sweat, sex and booze hung heavy in the air as she moved through them, smiling here and there as she made her way to the bar. She sat down next to a black guy nursing his drink. The bartender jerked his head at her.

"Vodka on the rocks," she said, smiling prettily at him. She slipped him some extra money and jerked her head off to the side. The man was used to having shady figures doing business. She took a sip of her drink, watching the distorted reflections of the dancers on the bottles. "Lovely weather," she said.

"Not a fan of sandstorms," the man replied to her. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, meeting his gaze. They shared a smirk. "Web too small?"

She turned around on her stool, to watch the dancers better. "I was looking for a new branch to spin it on," she said, sipping her drink. "How's the eyrie?"

"View could be better," Sam said, though he didn't move from his original position. "He's grateful."

The way Sam held himself gave away his lingering confliction over her helping Steve and her choice to side with Tony. She sighed through her nose. "I know." She sucked in an ice cube, rolling it around her tongue.

"Do you even care?" The bite in Sam's tone caught her off-guard. "Before everything went to hell?" The bass drop and the music stopped for a heartbeat and then picked up again with ear splitting wobbles and wub-wubs.

"Don't." She glared at Sam, breaking her cool façade for a heartbeat. She wouldn't be here if she didn't care. She wouldn't be doing this, risking everything on the slim chance that she'll find Steve again. She turned back to the dancers as another song began to play. She blinked as the DJ stripped some old records, the sound grating on her ears. She heard Sam sigh.

"We're all he has. You know." Sam didn't say anything beyond that. Natasha twirled her glass, sucking on another ice cube. "Including you."

Tony took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose. She watched this from his reflection on the glass desk. He slipped his glasses back on, made a sound and looked at her. "If you do this Natasha… I can't protect you," he said, leaning forward. "The only reason Ross hasn't demanded your head when you—"

"Told him where he can shove it?" she asked, giving Tony a pretty smile. "Twice."

Tony puffed his cheeks out. "Not the phrasing I would've used—"

"You would've made it more sardonic and a tad cruder." She patted his hand.

"He wants to know how Sam's wingsuit went missing." Tony leveled her with a gaze. "Not to mention how four top level security prisoners from a floating prison escaped without anyone knowing how."

"I've wondered the same thing," she said, her face a perfect mask of serenity, she didn't miss the fact that Tony had Steve's shield shoved beneath his desk; she wasn't about to ask how he got it. Tony leaned back in his chair, tapping his pen against his desk. She looked at him. For all his blustering, for all his egotistical annoying hyper verbalization, Tony Stark was a good man deep down. For that Natasha thanked him for it. "You, Vision and…" he stopped. She understood. He and Pepper were still up in the air. "Rhodey are all I have."

"We are all any of us have," she replied, a little half smile on her face. "I'm sorry about your parents." She had told Steve that it was more important to stay together rather than how they stayed together. Like it or not the Avengers were family.

"Me too." He leaned back in his chair; it creaked. "You'll be off the grid. Vanished. A ghost. They'll be coming for you. Helping Steve and Bucky escape, telling Ross off, whatever you were doing for two months without a trace."

She gave Tony a sad smile. "Been like that before. I can survive." Most of her life she had been a ghost, a whisper in the night. Everyone had heard of the black widow spider, but few actually seen one or dealt with one. She was comfortable living her life like that. She was like an octopus, always changing its skin to match the situation at hand. It was a life that could do things to a person, mess with their heads. She had one thing that kept her sane.

"You get caught, the US government will deny all knowledge of you." Tony leaned forward. "Or they'll say you're a criminal and throw you into prison… tailored made for you."

"Was like that with the Kremlin when I worked for them" — she shrugged — "they told me to not get caught." She felt a bit better when he gave her an amuse smirk.

"Are you sure you want to do this? Steve— he—" She'd pretended not to see Tony's eyes flick to the shield he thought she didn't know about beneath his desk, or the desk drawer where he kept a burner phone.

"He's my friend," she said, swallowing tightly. Memories of that day in the car, when she had asked him what he wanted her to be. He had said a friend. "He's my friend."

For his credit, Tony didn't say anything, simply nodded. "Alright." He raised his hands in defeat. "Do what you gotta do Natasha," he said. "I hope you find what you're looking for."

"I'm looking Steve," she said as she stood up, "I'll find him." She paused at the door. "Goodbye Tony."

She crunched the ice cube. "He's all I have too," she said. That was the damnable truth to it. Of all the Avengers, she and Steve were the closest. Mostly due to their time in Shield, but something more. Shared life experiences. Even that brief stint with Bruce couldn't compare to her and Steve's bond, which rivaled her bond with Clint. She finished her drink and sat it down on the napkin. "He kissed her didn't he."

"You really want to talk about this now?"

"I saw the tunnel footage, so don't bother denying it," Natasha said. "He never talked about her, never said a word about her and—"

"Jealousy isn't becoming," Sam teased. She snorted. She felt hurt and jealous, but Steve made it clear he wanted to be friends. "Natasha—"

"I must get going." She stood up and picked up her napkin, wiping her mouth on it as she moved through the crowd and out into the night hair. She stopped in an alley and glanced down at the napkin. Coordinates. She blinked, looking up at the stars. She snorted. Steve wasn't making this easy for her. She'd need to buy train tickets to Uzbekistan. "Thought you needed my help Steve."

She stared at the Aral Sea, watching the fishermen cast their nets, the sun rising over the blue waters of the lake. She glanced at Wanda, as the young woman came up to her. She and Wanda had grown close while she was an Avenger, though the girl carried around massive amounts of guilt about her powers. Natasha understood that feeling all too well, the constant wondering: Am I a monster?

"Never expected to see you here," Wanda said, guarded, the Slavic lilt to her English, somehow refreshing to Natasha. It also baffled her that Steve had so many safe guards in place to protect his whereabouts. But then again, when you are the first super soldier on the run from every government in the world, you couldn't be too careful. Natasha watched the girl sit down, playing with her… magic. She skipped three rocks. She had seen what that magic could do to people and to things. She wondered if Wanda held any resentment towards her. Maybe, and if she did she hid it well.

"I came here once." Natasha sat down too. "Made my hundredth kill here." The wind buffed against them, the smell of the Aral Sea refreshing. It reminded her of a lullaby her mother used to sing, before the KGB took her away.

"You kept count?" Wanda asked, red wisps of magic dancing around her fingers.

"Only the first hundred," Natasha said. "After that I stopped counting. My hands weren't just stained, they were dripping." She looked at her hands, clenching and clenching them.

"I understand." Wanda said, glancing at her own delicate looking hands. "Why are you here now?"

"You know why." She looked at the girl, holding Wanda's gaze with her own. "So, don't play the fool. It doesn't work long and I've been swapping alliances my entire life." She looked back at the water. "Stick to a side. Less likely of losing who you are in the process."

Wanda snorted, throwing a rock with her magic into the water. "They locked me up like an animal; threw me in a cage." She glared at her.

"I'm sorry," she said, sincere. She had seen Wanda in that blue straight-jacket, a collar with a blinking red button around her throat. Caged and treated like a rabid dangerous animal. "I won't let that happen to you ever again."

The muscles in Wanda's throat constricted as she swallowed. "You're like him… aren't you?" Wanda asked. She laughed. "What's funny?"

"Like him… I'm nothing like him, never meant to be anything like him. But that's ancient history, ask… read about it. I put it all up on the internet."

"He's like a father to me," the girl said. "He cares about me and doesn't see me as—"

"A monster," Natasha whispered. She looked at the beach, memorizing the sand and the shells, the cry of gulls and the smell of water on the wind. How gentle it was on her face, like the pads of his calloused fingers the night he soothed her nightmares, the near brush of his lips as he decided it was better to not kiss her. Oh, how she ached and how she hated him for denying her such an intimate connection. She still didn't know why she ran to him that night. Her normal reaction to her nightmares was to punch the training dummy until she broke it. Yet, that night she needed physical comfort. Steve was awake, a small collection of black and white photographs in crescent before him. They took comfort in each other's broken hearts; his lips had brushed hers as he whispered: You're not a monster Nat.

"I like your hair," Wanda said, snapping Natasha out of her thoughts. "Blonde suits you."

"Thanks," she said, fluffing her silvery locks. She stood and walked away. "He isn't here is he?" She stopped a few feet away.

"Please," Wanda said. Natasha rolled her shoulders, she found people staring at her back unnerving. "Natasha, don't—"

"I already threw my dice." She turned and face Wanda, the girl looked scared but determined. "Between helping Steve rescue you and my actions at the airport… I'm on the run too."

"I'll… talk to him," she said after a while. Natasha nodded, watching the girl walk away. "Don't leave the country."

"Didn't plan on it," she quipped.

He tugged at his beard as he walked back and forth, Wanda and Sam watching him. The house — okay, hovel — they had bunkered in had a ceiling that forced him to stoop as he walked. He listened to both Sam and Wanda's accounts of meeting with Natasha, sparing a glance at the wingsuit that had mysteriously appeared on the door step at the house they had holed up in while in Poland. The note on it said: Redwing missed you. With a smiley face at the end. He almost thought it was Sharon, but didn't think she would risk her career and life for him a second time.

"I don't trust her," Wanda said, from the rickety chair. Sam nodded from his place on the worn mattress. "What if this is just a ploy to get close to you? What if she's secretly working for Ross?"

"Neither do I," Sam said. "It could all be a trap. She is a spy, she's used to trading alliances like this."

"She gave up that life," he said. "What if she's here because she wants to be?" He looked at Sam and Wanda. "She did help Bucky and I escaped, then she helped me rescue you and the others."

Sam sighed. "One good deed doesn't erase a life time of wickedness." When nobody got the reference, he threw up his hands. "Nobody's seen Pirates of the Caribbean?"

"I went on the ride when they had Avengers' Day at Disneyland," Steve said, a bit sheepish, a smile tugging at his lips. "I liked it. It was fun." His smile fell, he had went with Natasha and the Barton family. "We'll have to take you some time Wanda, you'll like it."

"If we're ever allowed to go back home," Sam grumbled. He nodded in agreement. "You really think she's here because she regrets?"

"Nat's human like the rest of us." Steve gave a little shrug. "Plus, you're out of prison and your wingsuit showed up."

"That was probably Sharon, because she likes you and—"

"It wasn't Sharon." He had no proof to the contrary, but his gut told him Sharon Carter was not involved with the sudden appearance of the wingsuit. He didn't know how severely she was punished, and even if she got off with a slap on the wrist, she would still be under more scrutiny. Peggy Carter had a lot of pull still, at least he hoped.

"You're not suggesting Natasha, did it?" Sam asked, he glanced at his wingsuit and shifted away a little bit.
"I doubt she sabotaged it," he huffed, "and I don't know. Maybe." He resumed his pacing, pretending to think about his options. He had contacted Clint to get in touch with Natasha. He wanted Natasha, needed her insight in living on the run and hiding from every government agency in the world. It was Sam and Wanda that set up this vetting system. Despite the fact Natasha had helped him get them out of prison. "I trust her," Steve said.

"Steve," Wanda said, a pleading tone in her voice as Sam threw up his hands in defeat. "Are you sure about this."

"You two can leave if you choose, I won't hold—"

"Like hell, man," Sam said, "we're with you until the end. You can't do everything on your own."

"Then trust me about Natasha," he said, "if she…" he swallowed, "betrays us. Then I will take full responsibility."

Wanda and Sam looked at each other. Sam caved first. "Alright," he said, "so far your judgement has been sound. We trust you and if you think Natasha… then we'll follow your lead."

"Wanda?" he asked as the girl rubbed her neck, remembering the collar on her throat. "I won't go unless we all agree to this."

"No." Wanda said. "I'm with you Steve."

He nodded. "Very well."

Natasha didn't leave. She wandered the nearby village, heading to the little inn she was staying at. She didn't come back to the spot she met Wanda the day before until evening though, and the dying sun illuminated the waters and threw her shadows across it. Everything from her past tumbled about her mind, coupled with a myriad of what ifs. Every memory was obsidian sharp and she cut herself with each one, watching herself slowly bleed. She felt like she was drowning in her own blood and in a way such a death justified everything she did.

"Nat."

She smiled, she only let two people call he that. She turned around and he was standing there, the dying light behind him making her squint and shade her eyes. "Steve."

Her steps began slowly at first, as if she was moving through molasses, and then finally she was in his arms. His arms that wrapped her tight and held her, grounding her to this reality, to the glimmer of hope that she was not a monster. He smelled of dust and sweat, a bit of blood and something that was uniquely him. His heartbeat was soothing, she felt a sense of peace wash over her. "I missed you."

"I missed you too."

She pulled away and laughing as she grabbed his beard and tugged at it. It was good to hear him laugh, as he removed her hands. "So, a beard." He had listened to her when she explained to him about a simple change of hair style could change a person's appearance.

"Good way to hide." He looked her up and down. "What are you doing here? You—"

"I came." She took his hand in hers, brushing her thumb over his knuckles. "I came. You called and I came."

"Sam and Wanda are… it took some convincing," he said, gazing at her hand. The wind blew, ruffling his hair, which had gotten longer since the last time she saw him. He was almost unrecognizable. "I never—"

"My place is here," she said, "besides you. As your friend… and your partner." She gave his hand a squeeze. "I didn't want you be alone."

His hand tightened on hers.

She watched him mull it over, the sea breeze ruffling his hair and beard. She could tell he was worried; worried about what the future held, what would happen to them if they ended up getting caught. He had to protect Sam and Wanda and now her. He knew they could take care of themselves, but it was the right thing to do, it was what good men did. She never felt weaker for when he defended her. No, she felt stronger, special even, because even though she knew he knew she could take care of herself, he still felt the need to protect her.

She made a promise that day she took the flash-drive from the vending machine. A promise to herself to be a better person, and it was one of the reasons why she dumped her history on the internet. She was willing and committed. She needed him, and he needed her. Yes, Sam and Wanda were his friends, but she was different. They knew it, he knew it, she knew it. He needed her.

"Okay."

So I finally finished Civil War. My heart!

Also, I found the kiss between Sharon and Steve… weird. It was just weird.

I've been wanting to write this fic since Winter Soldier, but I needed to watch Civil War first. There will be more in this little series, what they did between Civil War and Infinity War. What made Sam go "well this is awkward" when Bruce came back.

Ironically, Within Temptation's album Hydra fits these two a lot. Also Sharon den Adel's solo album My Indigo does as well.

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Nemo et Nihil