I've got a few notes, so bear with me!

I realized recently that I haven't posted anything in over a year, which is probably ok, because it's been a rough one. Won't go into too many details, but I'm back!

Fun story, I started writing a post-cw fic in May of 2016. Literally, like a week or two after seeing the movie. I am posting it now, 6 days before Endgame, which is the funniest fucking thing I've ever done. But it's here! I finished it finally!

A few notes on the fic itself:

-MCU timeline is all goofed up and difficult to work with. I tried. (more at the end on this)

-I started writing the post-cw part of this fic years ago now, and I don't love it as much as I did then mostly because I don't love CW that much. It's had time to sit and stew in my brain, and now I am bitter. #wherethefuckismythirdcapmovie

-Steve is also very much guilt-ridden (and maybe a little ooc?) at the beginning, but marvel won't address his ptsd, so I will!

-AoU fucked with so many things, including Steve and Tony's friendship (ie, the fact that according to AoU they don't have one!), so there's that. Just FYI, Steve is my fave, but I also love Tony, and I understand both of their stances in CW, so I tried to reflect that here.

-Wanda is Jewish. Marvel, make her Jewish, you cowards.

-You can pry "Steve and Nat have been sharing a bed (platonically) for years because nightmares and sense of security" from my cold dead hands

-Steve and Natasha are idiots. I tried going for slow burn, but honestly they're just being dumb, and as the person who wrote them like this, sorry.

That's all! Chapters should all be posted by the time Endgame is out in theaters. Even though I haven't posted in a long time, I appreciate all the support you guys have given me. I hope the wait for this one was worth it! Even if you guys didn't know you were waiting for it :)

As per usual, title taken from a Sleeping at Last song! Song is 'Homesick' (also used this one for the title of my post-AoU fic, which this fic can be seen as a loose companion to).

Enjoy!

-:-

May 2016

She's gone. In her sleep.

Steve wasn't wholly surprised when he got the text. He'd visited Peggy enough over the four years that he'd been out of the ice to know that her health was slowly but surely deteriorating. He didn't regret a second of the extra time he'd gotten with her, especially when he didn't think he'd get any in the first place. And Peggy, she'd lived a long, happy life. She had children, and grandchildren, and people who loved her and he couldn't ask for more.

But it hurt.

And the timing—Jesus, the timing couldn't have been worse. He had to excuse himself from the rest of the group. Knowing she was gone…It felt like his ribcage was compressing around his lungs. He hadn't had an asthma attack since before the serum, but he could feel the ghost of one now. He knew Natasha and Sam were watching him as he left, knew the others were questioning where he was going at a time like this. But he couldn't—he couldn't fall apart in front of them all, not now, not when they were already arguing over the Accords.

He made it all the way to the nearest stairwell before leaning against the rail and putting his head down, trying to keep the burning in his eyes from turning into full-fledged tears. Any connections to his past, to the time period he'd been born in, grew up in, had already been thin, and this left him clinging to his past by a thread. He had Bucky, and that was it. And Bucky was still missing.

The realization that he would probably outlive all his new friends struck him deep in the chest, causing panic to rise in his throat. He leaned more heavily against the railing. Erskine and his research had died before they could find out the full effects of the serum, so Steve had no idea how long he would live. Unless he was gunned down, his cells would probably continue to regenerate until everyone around him was dead from this time too, and he would be alone.

The weight of that knocked the breath out of him some days. Even without the serum, World War II veterans were hard to come by these days, too. For everyone else the war ended seventy years ago. For him, it hadn't even been five. He would slip sometimes and ask someone where the nearest payphone was, before remembering he had his own device tucked into the pocket of his jeans. When he was still in New York, his body would forget, and he would turn down a street that he used to know, to find half the buildings remodeled with unfamiliar store fronts. He would still grab a newspaper, expecting to see headlines about the war, blinking at the words until he remembered.

The war was over for the rest of the world, but he had died before he saw the end of it and had never really gotten closure. And now, he had become part of a dying breed.

He tried going to the VA. Sometimes listening in helped. And other days, when he scanned the faces sitting there, he wouldn't find one among the crowd that was old enough to have fought in the war. Sometimes veterans who didn't recognize him would ask where in Afghanistan or Iraq he'd fought. Just another reminder that he was one of the few left, and he didn't even look the part.

Today was more of a reminder than most, the hundred years he'd been alive slowly crushing him under the pressure, his shoulders barely enough to hold the weight. People wouldn't know just by looking at him, but some days…Steve wished he'd died in the sea with the Valkyrie.

Taking a breath to steady himself, he pushed off the handrail and headed to the part of the facility where their quarters were. He went to his room and, silently as he could, shut the door behind him. Sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes landed instantly on his nightstand where his compass sat. He'd leaned over and gingerly picked it up, turning it over in his hands before relenting and opening it up. The worn and faded photo of Peggy was stuck in the lid where he'd put it 70 years ago. His chin trembled and this time he didn't try to stop them as the tears slipped silently down his cheeks.

A gaping hole opened up in his chest. It felt the way it did after Bucky had fallen off the train and he'd tried to drink his sorrows away in the blackened shell of a bar. Except this time Peggy wasn't there to guide him, to sit with him quietly until his tears dried away. He could still see her smile, hear her laugh, could still feel that one press of her lips against his right before he boarded the Valkyrie. He could still hear her voice over the radio, promising him that she would teach him how to dance. The thought had warmed his heart even as cold air had poured in from the shattered hole in the windshield of the plane, even as he dipped the nose of the plane down, nothing but endless sky and ice in front of him.

We'll have the band play something slow. I'd hate to step on your—

The look on her face when he first went to go visit her was something he would never forget. He'd been thrilled to find out she was alive. Everything about 2012 still confused and frustrated him, so knowing that there was someone out there that could understand him, that knew him…it made all the difference. Even if he was nervous and a little terrified to go see her. He'd been informed of her dementia and waited until one of her nurses contacted him telling him that it was a good day before he went and visited.

Her expression had been indescribable. The pure, unadulterated joy in her eyes reflected the feelings swelling in his chest. Wrinkles lined her eyes and her mouth, her hair was a little longer, gray and white, but it was still Peggy. It was Peggy. He'd nearly broken down then and there, especially when he caught the layers of sadness and grief and pity beneath her happiness. She'd cried for him—happy tears and sad tears and every kind in between. And when he leaned over the bed to hug her, he found that she still smelled the same, even after all these years.

They'd talked for a long time. And then her dementia had caused her to slip, and he wasn't used to it, so it caught him by surprise. When she looked at him again, sorrow lined her face. Steve, she'd said, and he knew by the way she looked at him that she thought she was dreaming. Oh, Steve. I'm so sorry. But I'll meet you there. I'll meet you there at the club, and we can be happy.

The nurses took over soon enough and Peggy's head nurse, a woman with kind eyes named Tabitha, told him that it would take a few more times, but she would come to recognize and remember him, remember that he was alive. He'd nodded along when she told him this, but he was still too stunned to process properly. He felt like he was dreaming, too. That maybe he was still sinking into the Arctic Sea and this was all some figment of his imagination. But the hole in his chest felt too big, too dark for it to be made up.

The war's over, Steve. We can go home. Imagine it.

It was that same hole that filled his chest now, that threatened to suck him in and never let go. He sat on his bed for what felt like hours, until his tears dried and he was left with the compass squeezed in his hand. He was a little surprised that no one had come to find him yet. After all, he was the leader of the Avengers and they had a pretty important decision to make in the next three days about signing the Accords.

Setting the compass back on his nightstand he checked his email and saw he had one from one of Peggy's grandchildren, who was helping with arrangements, asking him to be one of the pall bearers at the funeral. The funeral—it was in three days. The same day his decision on the Accords was due.

Fuck, he thought. Yeah, pretty much the worst timing in the world. Somewhere, the universe had to be laughing at him.

He had just finished hitting send on his reply email, accepting the request, when there was a knock on his door.

He cleared his throat, "Yeah, come in."

He twisted, looking over his shoulder to see Natasha open the door and shut it quietly behind her.

Steve shifted his gaze to the floor. "How is everybody?"

Natasha's footsteps were nearly silent as she came over and sat next to him on the bed. She was an inch away from him, shoulder close to brushing against his. He could feel her eyes on him. "Tense," she said finally, and he could hear the wry smile in her voice, could tell she was trying to lighten the mood. "And wondering where you disappeared off to."

"I just needed a minute."

There was a beat of silence, and then she said, "Peggy?"

Steve looked up at her. Natasha's eyes were on the compass sitting by his bed. Her eyes flicked to his, and he nodded slowly. "Yeah. She's…" He cleared his throat. "She's gone."

A crease formed between her brows and she reached for his hand. "I'm so sorry, Steve."

He let her hold his hand for another heartbeat, before he pulled away and tucked his hands into his lap. If she was hurt by it, she didn't say anything. He stared at the wall, everything he wanted to say getting stuck in his throat. His team was sitting upstairs, wondering what the hell to do about the Accords. He should've been up there with them, trying to figure it out. But he thought of his compass, thought of what Peggy would say. She would probably tell him that he already knew what his answer was going to be, even if he didn't want to say it out loud.

He exhaled through his nose, turned his head towards Natasha. "The funeral is in three days. In London."

Understanding flickered in her green eyes almost immediately. Her shoulders shifted, dropping just so. He might not have caught it if he didn't know her so well. She licked her lips, and he wondered for a moment if there was a hint of disappointment in her eyes, too. "Same day as the signing of the Accords."

"Yeah." He nodded. "It's in the morning so I might be able to make it to the signing, but…"

He let the sentence hang in the air. But I already know my answer. Steve knew that Natasha knew what his answer was. He could feel it in the tension that sat thick and heavy in the inch of space between their bodies.

Now Natasha was staring at the wall, hands clasped together in her lap. Steve thought briefly of the few months after Ultron where he would find her off in her own head, eyes fixated on whatever wall was nearest. They hadn't talked much about Bruce after he left, but he knew in those moments where he'd find her, still as a statue, that Bruce abandoning them, abandoning her, hurt worse than she let on.

The last she'd filled him in, she was doing a lot better. Banner had left and that was that. It was time for her to move on. He'd never told her how relieved he'd been when she'd said that.

"In Russia," Natasha finally said, voice soft and carefully controlled, "in the Red Room, where I was trained, there were dozens of us."

Steve stilled, watching her. He knew a little about her past. Mostly what was in her file, but that only touched the surface. He'd been there before when her nightmares woke her in the middle of the night, seen the terror and horror in her eyes before she blinked it away. Both of their nightmares were so bad sometimes that they'd taken to sleeping in the same bed. It wasn't all the time. Enough that Sam and Wanda teased them about it, but Steve didn't care. He knew both of them slept better when they were together. He just tried not to think too hard about how his heart expanded in his chest whenever he woke and found her body tangled together with his.

"All girls, all young," she continued. "We lived together. They let us be friends. Then they dropped us in the tundra, two weeks' walk from home, with just enough supplies for one of us to survive."

Steve's chest tightened. He watched her throat bob as she swallowed. He imagined an adolescent Natasha, red hair bright against white snow, forced to kill other girls her age so she could survive.

Natasha lifted her head to look at him, eyes shining slightly. Then she whispered, "Don't let them push us into the cold."

-:-

Steve wondered if Natasha would ever stop surprising him.

He'd asked Sam to come along with him to Peggy's funeral, but didn't dare ask anyone else. He shouldn't have been too shocked to see Natasha walking up the church aisle towards him, not when he knew that she'd admired Peggy as a founder of SHIELD, and would no doubt want to honor the woman. But it surprised him nonetheless, because he hadn't asked her to come, hadn't expected to see her there at all, not with the Accords signing looming above their heads.

But seeing her there, donned in black, red hair falling across her shoulders as she assured him, she had you back, too…he was more grateful than he had words for. Her presence was a balm—helping to soothe even just one small part of his soul.

"You know, after everything happened with SHIELD," she started to tell him, "during my little hiatus, I went back to Russia to try and find my parents."

Steve felt a small jolt. Natasha had opened up on certain things about her past, but her parents had never been one of them.

She had her arms folded across her torso, and gave a small shake of her head as she continued, "Two little gravestones by a chain-link fence. I pulled some weeds and left some flowers." A small sigh. "We have what we have when we have it."

He was quiet for a moment before asking the question he'd been avoiding, "Who else signed?"

She filled him in quietly on who had decided what, before she said, "I'm off to Vienna for the signing of the accords. There's plenty of room on the jet."

He exhaled softly, swallowing.

Natasha took a step closer. "Just because it's the path of least resistance doesn't mean it's the wrong path. Staying together is more important than how we stay together."

"What are we giving up to do it?"

She didn't respond.

"I'm sorry, Nat." He shook his head. "I can't sign it."

She took a breath. "I know."

He tried not to let his surprise show. "Then what are you doing here?"

"I didn't want you to be alone."

-:-

Standing across from her in the airport hangar, just feet away from the quinjet, was the worst. Seeing her had stopped him in his tracks, heart sinking in his chest. For four years they'd been side by side. It hadn't been perfect at first. He knew that she'd been a little bitter at the beginning, having him replace Clint as her partner, but from the beginning they couldn't deny how well they worked together in the field. Reading each other's signals, fighting styles, the unspoken communication they had came so naturally they might as well have been fighting together their whole lives.

Natasha had been the one to help him out after the Battle of New York to adjust to the 21st century. She made jokes, sure, but if she ever knew he was really struggling, she would bring over take-out and pick a movie for them to watch. They would just sit in silence for the duration of the movie, and almost without fail, by the end of it he would feel better. The first months were rough, but they started to build something genuine. They never put a label on it, but by the time Hydra revealed itself to be SHIELD, when both their worlds came crumbling down around them, it was undeniable that they were friends.

If Steve was being perfectly honest, Natasha was his best friend.

They had their differences, but she was one of the few people he trusted the most. He trusted her with his life, and knew she felt the same. He sometimes thought of that kiss on his cheek she'd given him, how she'd told him to call Sharon, and wondered where things had gotten complicated. Because for a moment, he thought there had been an inkling of something more between them. That realization had surprised him, of course, because since waking from the ice, having a relationship wasn't something he'd thought about often. But that moment in the cemetery, his heart had flipped in his chest in way it hadn't done since 1945.

He thought maybe she'd felt something, too. But she was the one who told him to call Sharon. She was the one who, when they came back together after a year, had started pursuing Banner. It still stung sometimes, even though he knew she was moving on. It twisted something in him, knowing that they'd stood together on the edge of the world and all he'd wanted to do was tell her how he felt. That, whether it was love or something else, she was one of the most important people in his life and the thought of losing her was unfathomable.

Standing across from her in that hangar he thought of that day in Sokovia.

Where else am I gonna get a view like this?

The clouds, the endless stretch of sky in front of him, he knew what that was like. It had been his view from the Valkyrie. Nothing but sky and sea and ice—

Instead, he looked at her. If he had died on that day, he would've been okay with it having her by his side.

"You're not going to stop," she said, arm raised with her Widow's Bite charged and aimed at his chest.

He released a breath. He could feel Bucky tense beside him. "You know I can't."

"I'm going to regret this," she said softly, half to herself.

Me too, he thought. She was the last person he wanted to fight. He hated that she wasn't side by side with him, hated the way his chest tightened seeing her across from him like this. It was the same feeling, the same twisting in his gut and bitter taste in his mouth he'd gotten when they'd all been sitting around on the couches—god, only five days ago now—and she'd sided with Tony about the Accords.

But then she fired her bracelet and Steve heard a grunt from behind him. He twisted to see T'Challa stumble mid-stride as the electric charge crackled against his suit.

Steve looked back at Natasha.

"Go," she said, nearly pleaded.

He wished they had more time. But all he could do was nod, hoping it was thank you enough for now.

Steve turned with Bucky and ran, resisting the urge to look back.

-:-

"What's going to happen to your friends?"

Steve stared out the front of the quinjet, startled for a moment by Bucky's question. It's not like he hadn't been thinking about it. In fact, it was all he'd been thinking about since they escaped from the airport. He thought of Natasha, holding off the King of Wakanda for them. He thought of Sam and Wanda, Clint and Scott, who would probably all be imprisoned because he left them there. He just left them there. He hated it, hated himself for abandoning them like that, even though he knew what could happen, even though they knew the same.

He sighed, blinking. "Whatever it is," he said, "I'll deal with it."

Just like he dealt with everything else. He'd figure a way out of this. They were his friends, and he'd gotten them all into this mess. It was his job to get them out of it.

Bucky was quiet for a moment. Then, "I don't know if I'm worth all this, Steve."

Steve's heart grew heavier in his chest. He turned his head, so Bucky could hear him better over the hum of the quinjet's engines. "What you did all those years, it wasn't you. You didn't have a choice."

"I know," Bucky replied. Then he paused. "But I did it."

Steve frowned, turning back to the controls. He was grateful to have something to do with his hands, because he'd never felt more helpless. He couldn't help the others at the airport and Bucky…he'd failed Bucky a long time ago when he couldn't reach his friend on the side of that train.

Maybe none of this would've happened if he'd just acted a little faster, if he'd just reached his hand a little farther. It wasn't the first time he'd thought that. He thought about it all the time, in fact. How, if Bucky hadn't fallen, maybe he wouldn't have crashed the Valkyrie into the ice. He'd never admitted it out loud to anyone, but those six weeks between Bucky's fall and the plane crash had been the worst weeks of his life. Getting up every day, simply living had been harder because his best friend wasn't by his side. And maybe the tiniest part of him had wanted to crash that plane. As terrified as he'd been when the controls got stuck on autopilot, when he'd realized that there was nowhere to go but down…there was some relief in it, too. Some relief in knowing that he and Bucky would be together in death.

He could still feel the frigid wind rushing in through the broken windshield, could still feel the drop in his stomach as he angled the plane down. Could still feel his compass pressed against his heart when he'd tucked it back into his uniform, Peggy's voice promising him that dance. He could also remember hearing Bucky's dying scream, could remember seeing his best friend fall farther and farther out of reach until he disappeared into the snowy landscape.

When he drowned, when the water slipped over him and carried him down, Steve remembered thinking it was appropriate that they both died in the cold.

-:-

Of all the things he'd seen in the past few days, Steve was pretty sure the betrayal in Tony's eyes was the worst.

"Did you know?"

Steve wanted to say no. And it was partly true. He hadn't known what Bucky had done. But he'd guessed. He'd known that Hydra had Howard and Maria killed, so it wasn't a difficult leap to make in thinking that Bucky had been the one sent in to do the job. No, not Bucky. The Winter Soldier.

"I didn't know it was him." The words tasted bitter rolling off his tongue.

"Don't bullshit me, Rogers. Did you know?"

He swallowed, eyes scanning Tony's face. He looked so much like Howard. Steve distinctly recalled the first time he saw Tony, because it had been like seeing a ghost. "Yes," he said, watching Tony immediately stumble back a step. Too late…too late now to take it back.

Then they were fighting, and it was mostly a blur, because Steve was trying to protect Bucky, but also trying not to hurt Tony, and he hated that it had come to this.

They fell, and they were near the snow and the cold—always in the cold. He didn't want this, he didn't want to fight. If he could just get Bucky out of there—

But then Tony was blasting him hard against the stone wall and the breath was knocked out of him, shield by his side. He didn't want this, he didn't—and then he heard the blast, looked up, and saw Bucky stumble, metal arm gone, shoulder still red hot. Tony blasted Bucky to the ground and Steve was on his feet before he could think twice.

He had Tony backed against the wall, vision red around the edges. He couldn't think—he was only action, his body twisting and moving automatically to punch, block, strike. Then Tony stopped the shield in his hand, and after a few blows, Steve was on his knees next to Bucky.

"He's my friend," he said. A short, kind of shitty excuse. But it was all he had. Bucky was all he had left of his old life. He'd already failed Bucky once—he couldn't do it again. And he couldn't let Tony kill Bucky when it wasn't really his fault.

"So was I."

Tony punched him again, threw him against the stone columns. Steve coughed.

"Stay down," Tony said. "Final warning."

Steve struggled to his feet, breathing hard. He didn't…he didn't want to fight. But fighting was all he knew, all he'd known for so, so long.

Captain America, pretending like he can live without a war.

He fought in the war and he'd been fighting ever since he woke up. He didn't know if he knew how to stop.

Pushing himself to his feet, Steve lifted his arms, hands curled into loose fists, blood sticky on the side of his face. "I could do this all day."

Tony lifted his arm, the arc reactor in the palm humming as it charged. Steve was prepared to fight if it kept the attention off Bucky. But then Bucky grabbed Tony's leg, and when Tony kicked at Bucky's face, Steve's vision burned red, anger and a fierce desire to protect Bucky swelling in his chest.

He lunged, picking Tony up and lifting him over his head. He threw the other man to the ground, metal head of the suit clanging against one of the columns. Then Steve was on top of him, throwing punch after punch, not caring that his knuckles were bleeding. All he could see was red. All he could feel was white-hot rage boiling in his chest. Tony's facemask fell to pieces, bloody gashes across his face.

Steve barely registered grabbing his shield. He lifted it up, ready to bring it down.

He was going to kill him—he could feel it in his chest, right between his ribs, the same anger, the same determination that fueled him against Hydra when Bucky fell from the train. The past three days, all the loss he'd suffered…entire decades weighed down on his shoulders, pressing the shield down. Tony threw his hands up in front of his face, and Steve plunged the edge of the shield into the other man's chest, cutting through metal and shattering the arc reactor.

He was breathing hard. The anger subsided just enough, and he looked down. When he did, his anger disappeared altogether, replaced with an overwhelming shadow of guilt and shame. Tony's eyes were shining, the fear on his face devastating…Steve knew as long as he lived he would never get that image out of his mind.

Steve squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, regret sticking in his throat. He fell off Tony, taking a breath before he struggled to his feet. He pulled the shield from where it was embedded in Tony's suit, and headed over to Bucky, pulling his friend to his feet.

"That shield doesn't belong to you," Tony said, voice sharp. "You don't deserve it. My father made that shield."

Steve didn't say anything. He couldn't. Even if he could find the words, or get them past the lump in his throat, there was nothing he could say that would make this better. The shield, which he'd picked up 70 years ago, suddenly weighed a thousand pounds. He let it slowly slip down his arm. Then he dropped it, the metal clanging against the stone ground.

-:-

Natasha stared out the window of the plane, gaze fixed on the endless stretch of sky and clouds. With a bittersweet tinge she thought of the same sky, but standing instead on the edge of Sokovia as it rose higher and higher into the sky. Steve had been at her side then, ready to stay with her until their final breath if need be. The air had been getting thin for her at that point, and she'd been exhausted, but she remembered thinking that with a view like that and Steve by her side, it wasn't such a bad way to go.

She shifted in her seat, wishing it was Steve by her side now, instead of some stranger. A part of her hated that she was on the run again. She'd lost count of many times throughout her life she'd had to run, to drop everything and not look back. But this time was different. Because Steve, and the others, were on the run, too. And she was going to find him. She'd already reached out to a few places and had come up with nothing. She was impressed really, with how quickly and efficiently he'd been able to drop off the map. She smiled a little to herself—she'd taught him well. But at the moment, it was also a little frustrating.

This was her third flight in five days. It had been almost a week since the fight at the airport in Berlin. It felt so long ago already, but Natasha could feel the weight of it settle into her bones. It shouldn't have come to that…and now here she was, brain going in circles trying to put all the pieces together. She was trying to find Steve. The others, including Clint, were locked up in the Raft, and she could still hear Tony's scathing words in her head.

It must be hard to shake the whole double agent thing, ain't it? Sticks in the DNA.

Natasha frowned, trying again to get more comfortable in her seat. After that she hadn't stuck around, knowing full-well that General Ross was going to send someone after her sooner rather than later. And it was stupid, really, really stupid, but she risked going back to the compound. The wing where the Avengers lived was empty, and eerily quiet. There were still a few dishes around the sink, half-finished books and magazines lying on the coffee table. They had all meant to come back to this, because no one had thought it was going to end the way it did.

She went to her room and grabbed the go-bag she always kept prepared from her closet. She should've left then, but then she went to the next room down, Steve's room. She opened the door and stepped inside. For a moment, she couldn't walk any further.

You're not going to stop.

You know I can't.

God, did she know. This was Steve they were talking about. And she knew him, knew that if she stopped him, he would try to fight, probably. At the very least so Bucky could get away. But she'd also seen the look in his eyes when he saw her, the regret, the defeat that lined his features when he realized she was blocking his getaway.

And maybe Tony was right. Maybe she just couldn't help it. But in that hangar in Berlin, she made her choice.

I'm going to regret this, is what she'd told Steve. But she didn't, not for a second. Tony was her friend, but Steve…Well, no matter what she thought about the Accords, she could still see the look on his face when she'd sided with Tony on the matter. Could still feel the ache in her heart when she did so, because after four years, the thought of not standing by his side killed her. She'd been so reluctant to be his partner at first, but she couldn't deny that they worked well together. Beyond that, there was a pull to him. They were different, but maybe not as much as she'd originally thought. He was her best friend. He was…he was maybe something more. So in that moment, she'd let her heart take over her head, and she'd let him go.

Funny, how the situations reversed. Two years ago, she had walked away from him in that cemetery in D.C. She'd thought that had been best, given the hint of that something more that had started blossoming in her chest. And now it was her turn to let him go, not knowing when she was going to see him next.

She briefly thought of Bruce. She didn't regret their time together, no matter how short it had been. After SHIELD fell, she'd been lost. The one place that had truly felt like a home to her and crumbled and slipped between her fingers. She'd thought that Bruce was safe. She could be with somebody who also had a monster inside of them, something dark and twisted. But that was flawed thinking. And deep down she probably knew that at the time, knew it would never work out. The age difference didn't matter to her, but they were on different paths. Still, it had hurt when he'd left, when he'd abandoned them. She'd spent weeks staring at walls, trying to make sense of it all.

Steve had been by her side the whole time.

And when her nightmares got worse, for the first time in a long time, he'd immediately opened his door the first night she'd knocked on it. Can I stay? she'd asked him. He didn't say anything, but his features softened, and he moved to one side of the bed, so she could slip under the covers. When her eyes started to sting, and she couldn't help the slight tremble of her lower lip, Steve had pulled her against his chest, whispering soothing words until she fell asleep wrapped in the warmth of his arms.

It was dangerous, probably, given what she started feeling in D.C. But Steve helped her get over Bruce, helped her out of that dark place she'd fallen into after SHIELD fell. The agency had been her home, her family for so long, that she'd forgotten she had Steve. But she'd left. And she probably didn't deserve Steve's forgiveness so quickly, especially since she'd barely even given him a call, but after Ultron, he stood right by her side as he always had. The year they'd spent leading the Avengers had been one of the best years of her life. Between missions, they achieved a level of domesticity that Natasha never thought she'd have.

Then the Accords came along, and everything fell apart.

That pulled her back. She blinked, remembering that she was on a time limit. She grabbed Steve's go-bag from his closet. Natasha had made sure they all had one, and she smiled a little when she opened it up to see it so neatly packed. She grabbed his sketchbook and pencils from inside his nightstand drawer, along with his dog tags and the photos he had from the war. She was about to leave when she caught sight of the compass next to the lamp.

Natasha leaned over and picked it up, slowly opening the lid. A weathered picture of Peggy Carter sat inside. She was beautiful, and Natasha felt the corners of her mouth curve up just so. Ever since Nick brought her to SHIELD and first told her about Peggy Carter, Natasha had admired the other woman. That only grew when Steve talked about her. He didn't do it often, and it was usually during one of those nights where they slept in the same bed, lying next to each other in the dark.

She shut the compass and tucked it into Steve's bag, pulling the zipper closed again. Bags in hand, Natasha had left the compound and drove to the airport, buying a ticket to the first city she could think of.

That had been a few days ago, and now she just exhausted and nowhere close to finding Steve. She laughed a little herself. Damn him for being such a quick learner. She wished she could call him, wished her phone would ring like it did a few days ago after the attack at the conference.

Are you all right? he'd asked her. Though she had just seen him in London at Peggy's funeral, hearing his voice had meant everything. But she'd known, because she knew him, that he was going to try and get involved. Her years and years of training had told her there was more behind the attack than appeared on the surface—which turned out to be true when Barnes was framed for the explosion.

She'd begged Steve to stay home. He already hadn't signed the Accords and trying to get involved would just make things worse. Even though, deep down, she knew he couldn't just sit back and do nothing. That wasn't him. Still, she had tried, if only so he wouldn't get. And her heart had sunk when he asked if she would arrest him.

And maybe that was the first sign. It some ways she didn't think it mattered that she'd signed the Accords. She wouldn't turn Steve in. She couldn't. As she proved later by electrocuting the King of Wakanda.

Natasha straightened in the seat of her plane. T'Challa had been in Siberia. She'd seen on the news a few days ago that he'd turned Zemo into the authorities. If she knew Steve at all, he would probably be figuring out how to get the others out of the Raft, meaning he would need resources. The kind of resources that the King of Wakanda seemed to have at his disposal. Natasha didn't know all of what T'Challa was in charge of, but he'd been able to get to Siberia quickly and on his own, so at the very least, he had transportation. That's all Steve would need to get started…

She didn't know if he would be there, but Wakanda was a hell of a place to start. Natasha settled her head against the back of her seat, feeling a little more at ease now that she had something to go on. She knew there was a chance this would lead to nothing, especially since T'Challa might not even allow her to come in the first place, given that she'd electrocuted him. But her heart—which was more attuned to Steve than she sometimes cared to admit—was telling her this was the right place to go.

-:-

June 2016

Steve stared out through the bay windows, seeing into the gardens of the Wakandan complex and the jungle beyond. This had become his favorite spot in the building, which sat on the edge of the city and housed guest quarters and some medical and research labs. T'Challa had offered to show Steve around more of the city, but not for a little while yet. Steve knew there was still some trust to be built up, not including the fact that T'Challa had just been crowned king and was often busy attending to his duties.

His spot, which included a small grouping of couches and chairs around a coffee table, situated in the wide hallway outside the labs where Bucky was being kept in cryo, was enough for now.

As Steve looked out over the landscape beyond the building, the words he'd said to Wanda echoed in his head.

Sometimes we can't save everybody.

It felt like weeks or months ago that he'd told her that. It had been days. And he'd had no idea how right he'd turn out to be.

No, they certainly hadn't been able to save everyone. Not this time around. A part of him thought he should be used to it by now.

He'd fought in the worst war in history, and he could still see the faces of all those fellow soldiers, gunned down, mutilated, missing limbs, bleeding out into the snow with wide eyes…he could still remember their faces, their names. It wasn't any different now. Those people in New York he'd gotten glimpses of, their terrified faces, right before a Chitauri shot them down. All those loyal SHIELD agents, shot and killed by people they'd considered friends. The hundreds of dusty, screaming, bleeding civilians in Sokovia as metal monsters rained down on their city. The same screams that echoed in Lagos just days ago.

Steve's hands shook in his lap as he thought of the look in Tony's eyes as Steve raised his shield above his head—

It was the same look he'd seen echoed so many times in the eyes of all those terrified civilians as they took in the destruction and horror around them. Sometimes it was the look right before they died.

Steve blew out a breath, scrubbing his trembling hands down his face before glancing out the windows again. He picked one tree off in the distance and focused on it. He kept his gaze trained on it, taking in one deep breath after another, willing those thoughts away.

What had happened, it was done and over with. He couldn't change that now. Still, it didn't keep the guilt from eating at him.

He thought briefly of his compass, still sitting on his nightstand back in New York. He hadn't packed it when leaving for the funeral, because he had expected to be back at the facility by now. But he wished he had the compass, wished he could look at Peggy's picture, if only to feel a little less lost.

"Captain Rogers, you have a visitor."

T'Challa's voice pulled him from his thoughts. His brow furrowed as he tried to tamp down on the panic that rattled in his chest. Nobody knew that he was here, so who the hell would be visiting him? He turned as he stood—and froze.

Across the room stood King T'Challa, dressed in a tunic and pants of a fine, deep blue silk, and there at his side—

"Natasha."

His voice was barely a breath, but she smiled softly nonetheless. Steve stepped around the couch, dropping the notebook he'd been scribbling notes in onto the cushion as he passed, walking slowly towards her and the king. Since getting back from Siberia, he'd stared at the burner phone he'd gotten for himself, thumb hovering over the button that would dial Natasha's number. But he'd never pressed it. He wasn't an idiot—he knew she would face repercussions for helping him in Berlin. He just didn't expect her to see her standing here in front of him. And that's all he could focus on, the fact that she was really here.

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve caught the twitch of T'Challa's mouth, a slight bemused expression on the king's face. He didn't have too long to decipher what that meant before T'Challa dipped his head politely. "I will leave you two to catch up. I have some business to attend to, but ask any of the Dora Milaje and they'll show you to your quarters, Ms. Romanoff."

Natasha turned towards the king briefly, smiling and bowing her head. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

Steve echoed her thanks before T'Challa turned and walked away, a couple of his personal guards following him out. He watched as Natasha set the two duffel bags she had with her on the ground next to her before she looked back at him.

"Hey, soldier," Natasha murmured, lips quirked up, familiar twinkle in her green eyes.

He wasn't sure if it was the sound of her voice, or the barest hint of sadness and exhaustion lining her features that he wouldn't have caught if he didn't know her so well, but he crumbled. For days he'd been left alone with nothing but his thoughts, which had just left him drowning in a tidal wave of guilt and grief. Steve pulled her into his embrace, taking a shaky breath as she lifted her own arms around him in return. She gripped the back of his t-shirt, clinging to him as she tucked her head against his chest. She was trembling as much as he was.

They stood there for a long moment, breathing each other in. When they finally pulled apart, Steve noted the way Natasha's eyes were shining. He blinked, trying to get rid of the slight burn in his own eyes. "How?" he asked. "How'd you find me?"

There were a million other questions he had—namely, what are you doing here? and why did you let me go?

I'm going to regret this, is what she'd told him in that hangar. He wanted to know if that was true. He wanted to know if she would look at him the same, if she would regret it when she found out that he'd nearly killed their friend.

Natasha gave him a crooked smile. "I'll admit, this wasn't my first stop. You've gotten a lot better at covering your tracks." Her smile grew a little proud. "But I'm still a spy."

He tried to laugh, but it got trapped in his chest. Instead, it was another question that came out when he opened his mouth, "Are you here to turn me in?"

He had to ask it—had to be sure, even though the question tasted bitter on his tongue. She'd let him go in Berlin, and he trusted her perhaps more than he trusted anybody. But she'd initially sided with Tony about the Accords, and he had to be positive about her intentions. He still needed time to get the others out of the Raft, and the half-formed plan in his head didn't accommodate him getting caught too.

But Natasha's eyes widened just so, and she gave one shake of her head. "No, Steve," she said softly. She cleared her throat and shrugged one shoulder. "I let you go. I'm not exactly on General Ross' good side. You're stuck with me, soldier."

They were a foot apart. Natasha was looking at him fondly, and Steve felt relief bubble in his chest as a smile spread slowly across his cheeks.

He thought of the cemetery, two years ago. She'd had a similar look on her face them, speaking to him in that silent way that he'd finally started to learn how to read. Then she'd leaned up, pressed that lingering kiss to his cheek. He'd felt it for months after it happened, whenever he thought of her, missed her. Which was more often than he'd ever admitted to her or anyone else.

She'd told him to call Sharon, and he'd thought about it. Sometimes he would pick up the phone and stare at her number. Sharon was nice. She was smart and tough and since she was an agent too, he wouldn't have to hide that part of his identity from her. But he never called, using the search for Bucky as an excuse.

And then Ultron happened. The image of Bruce and Natasha together at the bar was still burned in his mind, the sour taste still lingering in his mouth.

As maybe the world's leading authority in waiting too long, don't.

He'd wanted to be happy for Natasha—and for the most part he was. He'd told himself that if Bruce was what she wanted…he would support her. Which is why he'd told Bruce to go for it. Too late, Steve had realized that Natasha meant more to him than just a friend. At that time, he still hadn't put a label on it. Even now, he still didn't know what to call it, but he knew there were more intense feelings there.

Then a year ago, after Ultron had been defeated and things fell into a daily, somewhat normal routine, he'd looked at Sharon's number in his phone again. One night when he couldn't sleep, he'd shot her a text. It was simple, just a hello and checking in to see how she was doing at her new job in the CIA. They'd texted and called back and forth for a while. They'd never gone on an actual date, since she was based down in D.C. and couldn't make it to upstate New York very often, but Steve found that he really liked her. She was easy to talk to. And as Natasha recovered from Bruce leaving so abruptly and without a goodbye, Steve grew closer to Sharon.

He knew his timing couldn't have been worse when he kissed her, but everything had been falling apart around him and he wanted to see what it would lead to. He and Natasha had grown closer together over the year again, after their separation the year before, but he didn't know what to do about his feelings for her—if he still had feelings for her. Because he really did like Sharon and having her there backing him up had felt good, so on an impulse, he'd kissed her. It was sweet and nice and not much more. He liked her—but kissing her, he realized that it didn't feel the same, hadn't sent his heart beating wildly the way he wanted.

A few days ago, he'd called Sharon to tell her that he appreciated all that she'd done for him, and that she deserved better. She deserved someone who, first of all, wasn't a fugitive, and second, felt wholly passionate for her. That wasn't him. And because she was a good person and a good friend, she'd taken it amazingly, with a sense of knowing in her voice as she told him that she understood, and that she wished him the best, wherever he was.

Steve realized that Natasha still didn't know about any of this, and he frowned a little at the thought. He briefly wondered if she would feel the same way he'd felt when he found out about her and Bruce.

"Steve?"

He blinked, focusing on Natasha, still standing in front of him. Her green eyes scanned his face.

"You good?" she asked. "You zoned out there for a minute."

He nodded. "Yeah, I'm good. Just…thinking."

She studied him for a moment longer. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine, Nat."

She raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest. "Well, that's a load of bullshit." He opened his mouth to protest, but she beat him to it, raising a hand, "You don't have to talk to me right now. But I know you. I can tell something is bothering you. You also look like shit, so there's that,"

"Could've used a little more warning if you were just going to come here and insult me," he muttered.

She gave him a knowing, stubborn look. "What I'm trying to say is that I'm here if you need me."

He swallowed. He could feel all his worries and self-deprecating thoughts pulsing at the back of his mind, but those words soothed something in his chest that had been wound too tightly since the events in Lagos. It had felt like one blow after another for weeks, but for a moment, he felt himself relax a little, more grateful than he could express that she was by his side again. "Thank you," he whispered, reaching for one of her hands. The pressure of her fingers in between his felt completely and utterly right. His heart ached from everything that had happened recently, but that didn't stop it from beating steadily in his chest when she looked up at him and offered the tiniest of smiles.

-:-

"All right, I gotta know, how'd you do it?"

Natasha gave a little laugh, glancing up at Steve. They were walking in the gardens outside the guest apartment building. The building itself also contained medical labs, which, as Steve had informed her, was where Bucky currently was, having made the choice to put himself back in cryo until Wakanda's doctors and scientists—led by T'Challa's sister, Shuri—could figure out how to remove the Hydra brain-washing from his head. The gardens surrounding the building were beautiful, full of vibrant flowers and towering trees, the paths made of paved pale stone. The sounds of the high-tech city were a hum in the distance.

After days of travel, Natasha finally felt like she could breathe a little easier. "How'd I do what?"

Steve gave her a look, grinning. "Convince T'Challa to let you come here after you electrocuted him."

Natasha smiled broadly back at him. "My natural charms, of course."

He chuckled as they followed a curve in the path, heading into a denser part of the garden. Natasha knew there were guards—the highly skilled Dora Milaje—around somewhere, monitoring the two of them, but for the moment, it felt like they were alone.

"Seriously, how'd you convince him?"

Natasha sighed through her nose, flicking her eyes up to him briefly. "It might have involved a little bit of begging," she admitted. "I had to convince him that I wasn't here to spill his secrets or turn you in. That I was really just here for you." She swallowed, that confession making her stare at the path ahead of them and not daring to look at Steve, though she could feel him shift beside her. "I think after seeing what I did for you in Berlin he believed me. I also didn't plan on giving up until he at least told me if you were here or not. Though, it took a few days. There was some time last week when all I got was radio silence when I tried contacting the number Sharon pulled for me."

"Yeah, just a few days after I got here, they had me moved to a different building on the very edge of the city," Steve said, brow furrowing the slightest. "At first it was just because T'Challa was being crowned king and as a guest and an outsider, they didn't want me stepping in on tradition, understandably. Then two days later, Shuri, his sister, found me. I could tell something was wrong, but she didn't explain. She just said that I had to stay where I was, and that I wasn't to leave because another outsider had come into the city.

"Shuri said that this guy would kill me if he found out that I was here. Luckily, the circle of people that knew I was in the city in the first place was a pretty small number, so, I stayed put."

"Well, now that doesn't sound like you at all," Natasha teased.

Steve scoffed, humored. "Anyway, I saw smoke across the city, over where by Shuri's main labs are, but I don't know what actually happened. T'Challa came by just a few days ago to retrieve me and move me back to this guest building."

Natasha's curiosity was piqued. That explained why she hadn't heard from anyone a few days ago. And though her spy training was begging her to dig, to find out what had happened, she shoved it away. They were guests here. The king didn't have to let her here in the first place, and she didn't plan on screwing it up by letting her curiosity get the best of her.

"But you're here," Steve said after her moment of silence. When she turned her head up, she found him looking at her with relief and something akin to adoration in his eyes. Her pulse jumped, thinking about how close he was.

"I'm here," she agreed.

Their pace had slowed a little, and Steve ducked his head down to stare at the path. "I missed you."

"It's barely been over a week since you last saw me," she teased. But she understood. She'd missed him too. After spending pretty much all of their time together, whether it was at the Avengers facility upstate or on missions, to go from all to nothing was an abrupt change. Even when they lead separate missions, it would be for a week at most and they always kept in contact. Over the past year, Natasha had only worked one deep-cover mission, and it only lasted two weeks. She checked in almost everyday with Steve and Hill back at headquarters because they were running her op from there. But this, the past week and a half had been nothing but deafening silence. For a majority of that time, she'd had no idea where Steve was, and she'd had no way to get a hold of him.

It probably should've been a sign—definitely was a sign—but like all of her other feelings for Steve Rogers, she shoved it down to be dealt with at a later time. For right now, the simple fact that she wasn't on the run alone this time was enough.

-:-

Steve startled as he woke, sucking in a sharp breath. He blinked, sitting upright, trying to banish the last vestiges of his dream. It was the same dream he'd been having for almost two weeks now—his hands, raising his shield over his head and bringing it down on Tony. Except when he looked, Tony wasn't just injured, but dead. Night after night he woke with shaking hands, seeing over and over the same terrified look in Tony's eyes right before he killed him.

Sometimes it was just that singular nightmare he remembered before waking. Other times, he would get caught in a cycle of different ones, until he finally managed to pull himself back into consciousness.

After a moment of trying to steady his breathing, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, rubbing his hands down his face. Slowly, he stood and walked to the large bathroom attached to the room T'Challa had granted him in the guest apartments on the edge of the city. The lights turned on automatically as he padded barefoot into the bathroom and approached the black marble sink, gripping the edge in an effort to regain some control of his racing heart.

Looking into the mirror, he studied his face. He had dark circles under his eyes from his lack of sleep the last couple weeks. In the week since the fight in Siberia, his wounds had pretty much completely healed. He could only see the faintest white lines where the gashes on his face had been. In another day or two, those would probably vanish too, the wounds not serious enough to warrant permanent marks on his body, which were numbered few to begin with, thanks to the healing effects of the serum.

He turned on the faucet, cupping cold water in his palms before splashing it over his face. He did it a few more times, rubbing the back of his neck and running damp hands over his hair. Stubble lined his jaw; he would need to shave again in the morning. Part of him considered just growing it out, but he wasn't so sure yet.

As he wandered back into his spacious room, he thought about going to see Natasha. She was in a room just two doors down from his, but glancing at the clock on the wall, he knew she would be asleep, given that it was nearing four in the morning.

But he couldn't go back to sleep. He didn't want the nightmares to come back, didn't want to see himself raising that shield up again, didn't want to feel water rushing into his lungs as he drowned, or hear the screams and feel the cold, bitter wind as Bucky fell. He looked at the nightstand, to where he'd set his compass after Natasha had pulled it from the duffle she'd grabbed for him. He hadn't been able to say anything when he'd seen it—just given her a grateful smile for picking it up for him. He'd hated not having it with him.

He stared at it a moment longer, wishing he had Peggy there to give him some advice. She'd always known exactly what to say to him, and he was still floundering aimlessly after her death. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, took a breath. He moved over next to the bed, grabbing a t-shirt off the top of his bag and pulling it over his head before he grabbed a pen and his notepad, flipping to the plans he's started making. No, he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, but getting his friends out of the Raft would make him feel less helpless.

-:-

Steve was sitting at his usual spot outside of the medical labs, holding his sketchbook in his lap as he stared out the bay windows into the jungle beyond. There were so many beautiful things in Wakanda that he wanted to draw, the huge black stone panther standing guard over the city being one of them. But he'd been sitting there for over an hour with nothing but a blank page in front of him. He just couldn't bring himself to pick up the pencil.

Sighing through his nose, he shut his sketchpad, tossing it lightly down on the coffee table in front of him. He ran a hand over his hair, about to get up and wander through the building, when Natasha appeared in front of him.

"I went to go find you in your room this morning," she said by way of greeting, "but you weren't there. I found this instead." She dropped what she'd been holding—his notebook and sketched out blueprints—on the coffee table. She crossed her arms over her chest, raising an eyebrow at him. "When, exactly, were you going to tell me that you were planning on breaking into the Raft?"

Steve wasn't upset that he'd been caught—he hadn't exactly been hiding the ideas he'd been writing down. "You got here yesterday," he pointed out, the start of a bemused smile pulling up the corners of his mouth. "I was a little distracted and it slipped my mind for that to be the first thing I said to you."

She stared him down for a moment, eyes twinkling at his snarky response. "I want in."

"Nat—"

She pointed a finger at him, a sharp edge adding a note of seriousness to her voice. "Clint, the others, they're in there, so don't you dare try to tell me that I can't come." She took a breath, her stance loosening. "I will stand over your bed in the middle of the night with a knife until you agree to let me in."

Steve laughed, glad to see that she was in a teasing mood as well that morning. "I know for a fact that T'Challa had all your weapons confiscated when you got here."

"A pillow, then," she threatened, eyes narrowing a little. "I'll smother you."

He chuckled. It was a funny thought even though he knew for a fact that Natasha could, in fact, smother him to death with a pillow. With her bare hands if she really wanted to. "You know if you'd let me finish earlier, I wasn't going to say you couldn't come."

She blinked. Then she waved a hand for him to continue, "Go on."

"I was just going to say that it's a risk. And if you come along," he paused, watching her carefully, "I'd want you to stay on the jet. Be my back-up if only absolutely necessary."

"I am not staying behind—"

He stood, reaching out to touch her arm briefly. "I need you to. I need to go in alone, Nat. Ross is after me—"

"Like he's not after me, too? I'm sure the bastard has a thousand things he wants to pin on me, just so happens that I gave him an easy one with Berlin."

"I know, I know. But if there's going to be a face to this operation, it's gotta be me," he pressed, refusing to back down. He knew she could handle herself—this wasn't about that. But he'd already gotten the rest of his friends in trouble. He wasn't going to let her get caught for his crimes, too. "Besides, if I get caught, who's going to break my ass out of jail?"

That made her smile a little. He could still see her hesitating, though.

"I'll get Clint out, Nat. But if I get caught, I need you to get away. I need someone on the outside."

She sighed a little, and he could see that he'd finally worn her down. She looked up at him. "Fine. I'll be your eyes in the sky. Just know I'm not happy about it."

"I wouldn't expect anything less." He gave her a little smile.

"So, what's the plan?"

-:-

It took them a few more days to finalize everything. Natasha made covert calls to Hill, asking for security details about the prison. Natasha had told him one night over dinner that Maria didn't totally agree with going against the Accords like that, and so soon after they were signed, but Hill's friends were in the Raft, too, and she wanted them out. Two days before they were scheduled to leave, having planned transportation out with T'Challa and General Okoye first, Steve sat down to write the letter that had been spinning around in his head for the two weeks since the fight in Siberia.

It wasn't perfect, but if he stared at the paper any longer, he'd probably give up and forgo sending it at all. But he promised Tony what he could—that he would be there, should the occasion arise. Steve had a nagging feeling it would, so he sealed the envelope and put it in the package with the burner phone T'Challa had delivered for him. The king had given him a look of understanding when he asked for the package to be sent off as soon as possible. "I can get it there fast," T'Challa had said with a knowing smile, and Steve wondered just how fast that meant.

Then two days later they were on a jet, speeding towards the prison in the middle of the Atlantic. Natasha had grumbled a little more about being just his pilot and emergency back-up, but he had to do this alone. He felt responsible, so it was his job to at least fix this mistake. Besides, he really had meant it when he said that if he got caught, he wanted her on the outside.

His own memory of the prison and its blueprints, along with Hill's details about the security systems made infiltrating the prison probably far easier than it should've been. They used the access code Hill had given them to get their jet onto the landing pad. It took the few guards stationed there a good minute to piece together that he was, in fact, not a government inspection team sent by General Ross, but rather fugitive Captain America, there to break out his friends.

He left unconscious guards in his wake, alarms going off around him. He could've shut them off, called in some kind of false alarm. But he was feeling a little reckless. He wanted General Ross to know he'd been there, that even his maximum security prison couldn't keep him out. When he stepped off the elevator, he actually found himself smiling as he approached Sam's cell, his friend turning with not a hint of surprise in his eyes, but rather a responding smirk that matched his own.

"Need some help in there?" he quipped.

Sam just shook his head. The bruises on his face were still present but starting to fade. "You're the worst, you know that?"

"Good to see you too," Steve laughed, pulling out the key card he'd swiped off the head guard on duty.

Once the cell door was open, Steve stepped up to Sam and gave him a hug, holding his friend tight for a moment. It had only been two weeks, but it felt like so much longer. For two years now, Sam had been a constant by his side, one of his best friends, and something gnawed in the pit of his stomach when he thought about the fact that Sam's loyalty and friendship to him had resulted in Sam getting arrested.

"It is," Sam said as he pulled back, gripping Steve's shoulder, "good to see you, that is."

Steve nodded. "Let's get the others."

He and Sam unlocked Scott's cell next. Steve didn't know him very well, but from what he'd been able to tell, Scott was a pretty easy-going guy, full of humor and a good one-liner whenever there was a situation that needed lightening. But this time when Scott vigorously shook his hand, his eyes were a tad duller, the slightest of frowns dancing around the corners of his mouth as he said, "Thanks, Cap."

"No, Scott," he said quietly, "thank you. You had no responsibility to come help me and yet you did. I won't forget that."

Scott offered him a small smile then, and went to go stand guard by the elevator, though Steve was pretty sure none of the guards would be able to move real well any time in the next few minutes.

"Hey, Cap," Clint said when they'd opened up his cell. Steve grasped Clint's arm, dipping his head in greeting.

"I know you've probably got a million questions," Steve said, "I'll fill you in up top. Nat's waiting up there for us."

The smallest quirk of a brow was the only indication that Clint was surprised. "She is? That's good. My family?"

"Safe, as far as I know. Natasha knows more." Steve paused, then said, "She'll be real happy to see you."

Steve went to Wanda's cell last. He took the key card from Sam before slowly going into her cell to where she was sitting on the floor, knees pulled up to her chest. The sight of the straitjacket and electric collar around her throat were enough to make Steve want to gag. He gritted his teeth and looked up at her face instead. She looked so young like this, and a fierce protectiveness washed over him.

"Hey, Wan," he greeted softly. He didn't want to reach forward, not yet.

She lifted her head slowly, the exhaustion and pain in her eyes wrenching his heart. But upon seeing him, there was a flicker of life in those eyes, already making her look more alive, filling her with that fierce fire that he'd come to associate with her.

"I'm gonna get you out of that, okay?" he nodded towards the garments she was restrained in.

She nodded, the movement carefully controlled. He realized then that she was trying not to make any sudden movements. He wondered how many times they'd shocked her in the past two weeks, and the thought of them doing anything to her made him angry all over again.

He reached over and gently helped her to her feet, turning her slowly so he could undo the straps of the straitjacket first. He helped her take it all the way off, throwing the thing on the floor so she was left in the same blue shirt as the guys. Her hands fell limply down to her sides, not a flicker of red magic around them. Steve lifted the key card up to the shock collar. The little light went from red to green, and it unlocked with a click. When Wanda didn't move, he shoved the card in his pocket, and reached up to gently unwind the collar from around her neck. He threw that on the floor too.

Still, Wanda didn't move.

He touched her shoulders, urging her to turn around again. When she was facing him, he placed a finger under her chin and tipped her head up so she could see him better. "You're free, Wanda," he whispered, offering her a small smile. "You're free. We're gonna get you out of here, okay? Nat's waiting for us."

She nodded, the movement still sluggish. She was pale, swaying a little on her feet, and he wondered when the last time she'd had anything to eat or drink was.

He looked over his shoulder to Sam, Clint, and Scott. "You guys good?" They all nodded and verbalized their assent. He looked back at Wanda. "You want me to carry you?"

A moment's hesitation. Then, her voice hoarse from disuse, "Yeah."

He bent down, placing an arm against her back before hooking his other under her knees, scooping her up into his arms. She looped one of her own loosely around his neck. She kept her head up, though, eyes watching their surroundings warily. Bringing her out of the cell, he nodded at the others, seeing Clint's eyes linger on Wanda for a moment, the same anger that Steve was still feeling coloring his features.

"Sam, take the lead," Steve ordered quietly. "Scott, you follow. Clint, my six. Let's move fast, guys."

Without another word, they boarded the elevator, and once they were on the main floor, they fell quickly into formation. Once off the elevator, Sam grabbed a gun off the nearest unconscious guard, and Scott followed by grabbing a taser. Aside from a bit of stirring or groaning, the downed guards made no moves towards them. When they were closer to the lift that would take them to the landing platform on top of the prison, one guard started scrambling for his own gun, but Sam slammed the butt of his pistol into the guy's temple, and he crumpled. The alarms continued around them, but they made it to the lift without any issues. It was only once they were disappearing towards the top, that Steve looked down to see a small force of guards emerging from an elevator on the other side, one of the guards in front yelling at them to stop.

"Why do they think telling us to stop is ever going to work?" Scott said, right before the lift ascended closer to the top, passing through a thicker part of the structure, and the guards disappeared from view, glass doors obscured.

It was dark when they got up on the landing platform, the wind and sea salt spray coming from multiple directions. The platform was lit up with huge stadium lights, and Steve looked up into the cockpit of their quinjet at Natasha. She had already seen them and was revving up the engine. He thought they were free and clear, but the door to the stairwell opened farther back on the deck, and half a dozen guards started pouring out onto the slick landing pad.

"Go, go, go," Steve said quickly, hustling the three guys forward. Natasha had already lowered the ramp, and they ran onto it as the first bullets started hitting the side of the jet.

"Here, lemme take her," Clint said to him, gesturing to Wanda, still in his arms.

Steve handed her gently off and rushed to close the back door. He could hear a few more bullets rattling against the metal siding, then more against the ramp as he closed it, sealing them safely inside.

"Nat, let's go," he said loud enough for her to hear, making his way up towards the cockpit.

She lifted the quinjet into the sky, the rain of bullets dissipating. Steve hardly risked breathing too freely until they were in the sky, the Raft far behind them.

-:-

Natasha stared out the windshield of the quinjet into the pitch black beyond, trying to focus on flying. Just as she was about to flip the controls to autopilot so she could get out of her seat and say hi to everyone, Steve came up behind her. He placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. She ignored the way that it instantly soothed her—and also made her skin tingle in response.

He took his hand away and moved to sit in the copilot's seat. "Thank you. For getting us out of there."

Natasha looked over at him. He looked exhausted. There was a light to his eyes that hadn't been there the past few weeks, but he still looked completely drained. She knew he hadn't been sleeping—but that was a discussion for later. She hadn't been happy about being stuck as pilot, but Steve had gotten them out like she knew he would, so she smiled a little as she said, "Of course. Where are we headed?"

Steve licked his lips and gazed out at the night sky. "I'm not sure yet. I don't want to bring them all back to Wakanda. T'Challa mentioned that it was okay, as long as it was for a short while, but,"

"That's a lot of outsiders to bring there," she finished for him.

"Yeah," he agreed. "We could go north. But I don't know if I want to land somewhere in Europe just yet."

"East? I've got a few contacts out there, and they could help with getting supplies and keeping things quiet if anything goes wrong."

"Maybe. Singapore?"

"Yeah, I've got a friend there. She'd be willing to help. South Africa is also a possibility. Nakia told me before she left that she has a few contacts down there that could help us."

"Yeah…" He was still staring out the window. She could practically see the gears in his brain, turning over all their options, and she could tell something wasn't clicking for him.

"What are you thinkin'?" she asked quietly.

Steve looked at her. "The same thing you are."

She nodded a little. It had already crossed her mind that there were six of them. That was a lot of people to go on the run with. But— "That Clint and Scott have families, so there's a chance that they'll be fine if Ross ends up offering them a deal. But the rest of us are screwed."

"Pretty much," Steve said.

"Let's just land somewhere for the night, rest. I'll contact Maria, see if she's heard anything."

"Yeah. Did Nakia give you coordinates for her contacts?"

"Already plugged into the system."

"Let's try South Africa, then," he suggested. "Even if it's just for the night."

"Sounds good."

Steve touched her arm lightly again, tilting his head towards the back of the quinjet. "Go on. I'll take over for a while."

Natasha nodded, switching to autopilot for a moment while she unbuckled and climbed out of the seat. Steve switched with her, and she turned as he started to get buckled.

"Wait," he said, and she went to stand back by his chair. "Check in on Wanda."

The way he said it, Natasha looked over her shoulder for a moment. Wanda was currently sitting next to Clint, who had a protective arm around her. The young woman, who had really healed and had become such a bright presence in the room over the last year, was sitting still, hands folded limply in her lap, her hair hanging around her face. Natasha's gut twisted. Her years of training, her own abuse and punishments in the Red Room, she knew enough to tell that the past two weeks had been hell for Wanda.

"What did they do to her?" she whispered, looking back at Steve.

His jaw fluttered as he ground his teeth together, and she could tell that he was still pissed at the state he'd found the girl in. "Electric collar and a straitjacket."

"Shit," she breathed. She inhaled slowly, trying to rein in her own anger.

"I've talked to her a little," Steve explained. "But she looks up to you, so I think it'll really help if you talk to her."

Natasha didn't point out that she was pretty sure that Wanda looked up to Steve more. In the past year, Steve had become like a brother figure to Wanda, and had really helped her after Pietro's death. But she just nodded before walking towards the others.

Sam stopped her before she could reach Clint and Wanda, crossing his arms over his chest. Natasha swallowed, looking up at her friend. She knew that he hadn't been totally happy with her siding against Steve on the Accords, and with the slight hard edge to his jaw, she wondered if he still wasn't completely over it.

Then he exhaled softly through his nose, arms falling to his sides. "You're here, which means you must've done something to piss Ross off that I don't know about."

She gave him a tentative smile. "I let Steve go in Berlin. I had him—I could've turned him in, but…" she shrugged. She lowered her voice in hopes that Steve wouldn't hear. "I couldn't do it."

Sam nodded slowly in understanding.

"I'm sorry, about everything," she said, eyes flickering over the still-healing bruises on his face.

"Yeah," he relented with a smile. "Me too."

Then he stepped forward and pulled her into the circle of his arms, and Natasha breathed an internal sigh of relief. She figured that once she explained that, in the end, she'd sided with Steve, things would be okay, but she'd still been a little afraid that she'd put a wall up between her and her friends. Sam held her for a moment longer, rubbing a comforting circle across her back, before saying quietly into her ear, "I'm glad he has you here."

She gave him a grateful smile as he pulled back. Then he started pushing her in the direction of the others, moving towards the cockpit to talk with Steve.

Natasha greeted Scott briefly. She tried to apologize about the fight in the airport, but he assured her that he was fine, and it was honestly pretty cool that Black Widow kicked his ass. She laughed at that, and she could see his eyes brighten. Steve had told her that he had a daughter, and she had no doubt that behind the jokes and humor, his daughter was all he was thinking about.

Clint saw her approaching and whispered something to Wanda before he stood and strode over to her.

"Clint, I—"

Natasha couldn't say anything more because Clint was pulling her into a crushing hug. It took a second for her brain and body to catch up with each other, but when they did, she wrapped her arms around him, holding onto him just as fiercely.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured against his neck. "The fight, I didn't want it to come to that, and I—"

"I know," Clint soothed. "It's okay, Nat. You're here," he said as he pulled back to look at her, "I don't know how or why, but you're here and that's all that matters."

"I let Steve go," she repeated.

Clint's gaze flickered over her shoulder to where Steve was sitting in the front of the jet. There was a flash of something in his eyes, the slightest twitch to his lips as he looked back at her. A smile slowly spread across his face. "Shoulda guessed. So, Ross is on your ass now, too?"

She nodded, "Mm-hmm." She was still grasping his forearms. "Guess you should've stayed in retirement, huh?"

Clint scoffed, laughing a little. "Ah, I needed a fight. Fighting each other wasn't exactly what I had in mind, but I was so bored, you know that."

"Oh, I know," she laughed. "You called me at least once a week to let me know just how bored you were."

Clint grinned, but it fell quickly. "How's Laura?"

Natasha gave his arm a squeeze. "I called her on the road a couple weeks ago. They're monitoring your phone lines right now, so I used a burner. They're probably waiting for you to call, but they're after me too, so. But, she's good." Clint's shoulders relaxed. "Ross sent some FBI agents to your house after the fight in Berlin. They questioned Laura and the kids, but she's smart and didn't tell them anything. They searched the house, tapped the phone lines, and told her to let them know if you contacted her at all. The kids are fine, just wondering when their dad's getting home."

Clint's mouth twisted. He was quiet for a moment, nodding to himself. "I got the call from Cap and I picked up and left. I didn't want Laura to get caught in the middle if anything went wrong. Turns out that was a good idea. But she had no idea where I was going or anything. I just left her a note with—"

"Your secret message," she finished. "Yeah, she mentioned that. 'Gone to the store for apple pie'?"

He smiled a little, shrugging one shoulder. "Means I'm gone on Avengers business and I don't know when I'll be back. 'A' for apple, 'A' for Avengers. It's the best I could come up with."

Natasha chuckled. "Well, we're going to get this figured out, and you'll see them soon."

"Yeah, I've already been thinking that over."

Natasha's brows pulled together. "What do you mean?"

He paused. Then, a knowing smile. "Give me a couple more hours and I'll let you know."

"Clint—"

"Go see Wanda," he insisted gently.

She wanted to protest, but the tired lines across his face made her stop. She touched his arm briefly before letting him go and moving slowly over towards Wanda. On her way over, Natasha grabbed a blanket from one of the storage bins, wrapping it around Wanda's shoulders as she took a seat next to her on the bench.

"Thank you," Wanda whispered, looking up.

Natasha smiled at the younger woman, but the defeat that weighed down on Wanda's shoulders, the carefully controlled movements she was making, all made Natasha want to turn the jet right back around and dole out some punishment of her own to the people that had done this to Wanda.

"Are you okay?" Natasha asked. "Physically, I mean. Do you have anything that needs to be patched up?"

Wanda shook her head slowly. "No. I'm okay."

"And other than that? How're you doing?"

Wanda opened her mouth, but then closed it. Natasha could tell she was about to say I'm fine, but she changed her mind. Instead, Wanda gave a half-hearted shrug, eyes starting to shine. "I don't know."

Natasha reached one of her hands slowly forward, offering it. It took a second, but then Wanda reached forward and took it, and Natasha squeezed her fingers reassuringly. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Wanda averted her gaze, chewing on her lip. She was still staring at her lap when she said, "One of the guards…he was particularly mean. It's not like I'm not used to people hating me or being scared of me because of my powers, but I think he just hates powered people in general. The guys, they're all human. He saw me as less than that, I think." Wanda opened her other palm, staring at it. No red tendrils of power appeared, but Natasha just waited for her to continue. "They were just supposed to shock me if I tried to escape or anything. But this man in particular liked to do it for fun. He would shock me if he didn't like the way I moved, if I coughed, if I went too fast or slow. Half the time he did it if I talked. He pulled out some pretty nasty slurs too, so on top of everything he was anti-Semetic and must've figured out that I was Jewish somehow, I don't know. After the first week, I just…pretty much stopped talking altogether or moving more than necessary."

Natasha sucked in a breath, biting the inside of her lip as she tried to control the rage she felt boiling under her skin. "Hey," she said softly, "look at me."

Wanda tipped her chin up, meeting her eyes.

Reaching for both of Wanda's hands, Natasha said firmly, "You didn't deserve any of that—you know that, right?" There was a moment of hesitation, but then Wanda nodded jerkily, a few tears slipping down her cheeks. "I'm sorry we couldn't get to you sooner. But just know that none of that is your fault, and that man…he's the one that deserves to be locked up for hurting you like that. But you're out. You're free, and I know it might take a little bit, but you can be who you are around us, Wanda. No one here is going to hurt you for using your powers."

Wanda's chin wobbled, but Natasha watched her take a deep breath, and when she gripped Natasha's fingers, there was renewed strength in her grasp. "Thank you," Wanda said, and Natasha reached up and tucked some of Wanda's hair behind her ear, wiping away her tears. "For getting me out."

"Well," Natasha pursed her lips, "it was mostly Steve."

Wada gave a little laugh. Then, "How'd you get here, anyway? Shouldn't you be off the hook since you signed the Accords?"

"People keep asking me that," Natasha mused jokingly. "Long story short, I let Steve go, so now I'm also a fugitive. After the airport, I grabbed some things from the compound, and I ran. Looked for Steve."

Wanda gave her a wide, close-lipped smile, and it was the happiest Natasha had seen her look since they got the girl out of prison.

"What's that look for?" Natasha asked.

"Nothing." Wanda shook her head, still smiling. "Just that you two always seem to find each other."

Natasha blinked, surprised because that wasn't what she'd been expecting the other woman to say at all. But, she supposed Wanda had a point. Still holding the girl's hands, Natasha looked towards Steve in the cockpit and smiled a little to herself. "Yeah, I guess we do."

-:-

"Tasha,"

Natasha lifted her head to see Clint coming her way, Scott and Steve trailing a little ways behind. She was seated on the edge of the ramp where they'd lowered it to get some fresh air. It was dark, stars blanketing the sky above, the only light coming from inside the quinjet. As she lifted her head, the look on Clint's face told her enough—they would be parting ways soon.

They'd only been in South Africa a few hours. Natasha got a hold of Nakia's contact and met her in the town they were a few miles out from. Nakia's contact gave her some clothes, food, a few burner phones, and letters to Nakia from various people in the area that Natasha was to deliver when she got the chance.

They'd all eaten, and Wanda and Sam had put on the change of clothes Natasha had brought back for them. Clint and Scott were still in their blue prison outfits, though. Another sign for Natasha that she wouldn't like what Clint had to say next, even though she knew it was inevitable.

"What's the plan?" she asked Clint as she stood, knowing him well enough to know that he had something up his sleeve.

"It's only a matter of time before Ross finds someway to contact us, whether it be through a news outlet or some other major channel—he's going to find a way to make sure we hear what he has to say," Clint started. "And I say that we contact him first."

Natasha nodded, knowing it was a smart plan. She still had her burner from before. She hadn't gotten a chance to check in with Maria yet, but she assumed that her friend would call if she had heard anything major. "Okay," she said slowly. She could feel Steve's eyes on her, gauging her reactions, but she kept looking at Clint.

"Scott and I have been talking, and we think we can get Ross to offer us some kind of deal," he explained.

Natasha nodded. There it was. She and Steve had already thought it might come to this, but it was still hard to think about.

"We've both got families, and I think if we hand ourselves over it'll give us a better chance. If a civil conversation doesn't pan out, we'll go public. Hand ourselves in to somebody else and make it a whole shitshow for Ross, which I'm guessing he doesn't want."

Natasha smiled a little. "Knowing Ross, yeah that'd just piss him off."

"So, you good with this then?"

She twisted her mouth, looking past Clint at Steve. He gave her the slightest of nods, and she knew he was thinking the same thing. She turned back to Clint. "It's not up to me. Like you said, you have families, and I know I don't want to keep you from seeing them any longer than we have to."

"It's almost dawn," Clint said. "I'm gonna use one of the burners and call Ross then."

Natasha tried doing the math in her head, but Steve beat her to it. "You realize it'll be like midnight on the east coast then, right?"

Clint shrugged, smirking. "He locked us up, so oh well. Plus, I'm sure the crab-ass hasn't gotten much sleep since you broke us out anyway, Cap."

Natasha laughed a little, raising an eyebrow and looking at her best friend. "You're gonna need a good lawyer. I might know someone. I'll give you his info."

"Thanks, Tash."

"And you're good with all this, Scott?" she asked.

Scott nodded. "I talked with Clint and Cap. It's our best option, I think. I've been arrested before so that's not new, but…I'm trying to be there for Cassie, and I can't exactly do that if I'm locked up in the middle of the ocean."

"You guys should be gone by the time I call," Clint said quietly, and Natasha knew that was what he'd been most hesitant about telling her. "I'm sure they'll try tracking the burner, and if they lock on before I get the chance to hang up, you guys can't be here."

Natasha nodded, and before she could say anything, Steve gestured to Scott and they walked past her, stepping onto the quinjet and far enough in that they were out of hearing range. Well, Scott, at the very least was out of range. But Steve knew better than to listen in. Clint came over and they sat back down on the edge of the jet's ramp.

"Guess this is goodbye for now, huh?" she said. She didn't know why it seemed so hard this time. Over the past few years, they hadn't seen each other as often as they used to when they'd been SHIELD agents and partners, but then again, the past few years was when a lot had changed for all of them.

"I'm not dying, you know." He nudged her shoulder with his own. "I'll be around."

Natasha drew her knees up to her chest. "Yeah, but if you get Ross to cut you a deal, my guess is you'll be on house arrest or something. You'll probably have to sign the Accords, and I'll be on the run. I don't know when we'll see each other next."

"Tash, what's going on?" he asked gently, touching her arm. Her eyes burned, and she just hoped he couldn't see the unshed tears in the dark. "It's not like we've never been in situations like this before."

"I don't know," she admitted. "I guess…it just feels different this time. I guess…I'm just going to miss you, is all."

He smiled and threw an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. She rested her head against him, wrapping her own arm around his waist. "I'll miss you, too. But it's you and me. I have no doubt I'll be monitored once I do this, but we'll figure out a way to talk."

"Yeah, I know."

"We're gonna get through this, Nat. This whole mess, we're gonna get through it. We always do."

"I know," she said earnestly. "I just wish I could make Steve see that, too."

Clint shifted a little at her side. "What do you mean? I mean aside from the fact that the guy looks like he hasn't gotten a good night's sleep in about a decade."

"That's just it," she said. "I know he hasn't been sleeping. Something's eating at him. I think something went down after Berlin, but he hasn't talked to me, so I don't know how to help him."

"He trusts you. He'll open up eventually."

"I hope so."

"Hey, look," Clint said, pulling away so he could look at her, "I've seen you two. You have one hell of a bond. Now, don't get any ideas—I know he's your best friend, but he's best friend number two. I'm still best friend number one."

Natasha laughed, "Of course. Wouldn't have it any other way."

"But in all seriousness, you guys work crazy well together. Now," Clint grabbed her hand like he was afraid she was going to run away, "whether you've admitted this to yourself or not, I think there's maybe something more there. Something you two haven't confronted yet."

Natasha dropped her eyes down to her lap. She knew what Clint was saying was true. She'd barely admitted to herself that Steve meant something to her as more than just a friend, much less admitted anything out loud.

"Last year, when that whole Ultron situation was going down, and Laura said that you were eyeing up Banner, I couldn't believe it," Clint continued. Natasha flushed, looked back up at him. "There's nothing wrong with Banner, and if you guys had been happy together, I would've supported you the whole way, you know that. But I also remember those two weeks you were at my house after SHIELD fell. We talked, like, non-stop those two weeks, and all I heard was 'Steve this' and 'Steve that' so don't fault me for thinking that there might be something more between you two."

Natasha was smiling a little, because she remembered those weeks. She didn't remember talking about Steve that much, but clearly Clint saw things a little clearer than she did.

"What I'm trying to say, Tash, is that I think you two have something special. You don't need to act on it if you're not ready, and it seems like he might not be in the right headspace either." Clint smiled reassuringly. "But if you're patient with him, he'll open up. Because I've seen the way he looks at you, too. Even if he doesn't have feelings for you—which I'd be surprised if he didn't—at the very least he needs you. And I'm glad that you have each other."

Natasha just shook her head a little. "See? What am I going to do without you and your elderly wisdom?"

"Elderly?"

She just laughed as Clint bumped her shoulder with his again, before he pulled her to his side again for a hug. She held on tightly for a moment, looking at the sky that had lightened from a pitch black to an inky blue.

"It'll be dawn real soon," Clint said quietly. "You guys should get going."

Natasha twisted so she could give Clint a better hug. She took a few deep breaths before making herself let go. They stood together, and she walked behind Clint as he went to say goodbye to the others.

They left some food and water for Clint and Scott, along with a burner phone. Natasha kept her eyes on the two men as the jet ramp closed, and her eyes stayed glued to the door until they were in the sky and flying away.

-:-

They spend a few days in Singapore with the help of one of Natasha's old contacts. It was at the end of those few days that Wanda approached them and said she wasn't going with them. As much as Natasha hated it, especially given what the girl had been through on the Raft, she couldn't force the other woman to stay.

"I know," Steve replied gruffly when Natasha echoed this to him.

The quinjet was just outside the city, but Natasha had gone with Steve to go meet her contact and get a few more supplies before flying back to Wakanda.

"Wanda raised a good point, too," she told him, edging closer to his side to avoid a group of people walking from the opposite direction. "Four people is still a lot to be in Wakanda at once. Especially with her powers. There's still a lot that we don't know about them, so who knows if they can be tracked."

Steve exhaled through his nose. "I know," he repeated. They'd told Sam and Wanda where they'd been for the past two weeks, which was a risk in itself, even though they hadn't spilled any details on what the state of country actually was. Still, she and Steve had thought the four of them would be sticking together. But Natasha also understood Wanda's decision. When SHIELD had fallen apart, her first instinct had been to run. She couldn't very well blame Wanda for doing the same thing now.

Natasha pulled on Steve's arm gently, pulling him off to the side into the mouth of an alley. She touched his cheek, getting him to look at her. "We've trained her. She's strong and smart and she'll do just fine on her own."

Steve nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off her face.

"We'll set some ground rules," Natasha continued, "Make sure she checks in and all that."

"Yeah, that's a good idea. I just…I worry is all."

Natasha gave him a knowing smile. "I know. But you got her out. She's free. And the rest of it…she just might need some time."

As she said it, she realized the same could be true for Steve. She knew she needed to just give him some space to work things out on his own, whatever it was that was bothering him, but still…she couldn't help but worry, too, about the slightly harder edge to his features, the weariness under his eyes.

Before they could get into anything more complicated, she eased her way out of the alley, sensing rather than seeing Steve trail behind her. They only talked a little more until they met up with her contact, before taking a longer route back to the jet, making sure they weren't followed.

The first thing Natasha did was pull Wanda aside and hand her a bag. Wanda opened it, and pulled out a cozy gray cardigan and some jeans. Her fingers lingered on the sweater the longest, like Natasha figured they would. Wanda loved her sweaters.

"Thank you," the other woman whispered, giving Natasha a grateful, slightly wobbly smile.

Natasha pulled her in for a hug. This woman who had become one of her best friends, like a sister in many ways in so short a time. "You have to promise you'll be careful," Natasha said quietly as she pulled back, keeping one hand on Wanda's arm. "We're gonna find a place to drop you and then I want you to buy a train ticket to the first place you see. Once you get there, you get a burner and call Steve. He'll write his burner number down for you."

Wanda was nodding along as Natasha spoke. Wanda already knew how to do all of this—they'd gone over it a million times on missions, in training, what to do if they ever needed to fall off the map, what to do if they were compromised. But it was instinct for Natasha to recite it all now, and she hoped that by doing so, it would ensure that Wanda would stay safe while they were all separated.

She ran through the rest of the protocol they'd set up, reminded Wanda to get used to speaking with a different accent. She reminded the girl that she had to blend in without looking like she was trying to blend in.

"Maybe I'll dye my hair," Wanda mused with a small smile.

"Actually, not a bad idea," Natasha told her. It was true. For a moment, she considered doing the same. Her red was far more recognizable than Wanda's long brown locks but…she'd always been red. It was hard to even consider parting with it.

"Don't take any unnecessary risks, and check in as often as you can," Natasha told her last. "Is there anywhere you can think of that you want us to drop you first?"

Wanda pondered for a moment, then clutching the bag of new clothes tightly in her hands, she looked up and said, "Home. Sokovia. I want to see it—where it was—before I find somewhere else."

Natasha nodded in understanding.

She thought again of SHIELD falling, of mustering up enough courage to finally return to Russia. She had done it as covertly as possible, trying not to alert any old contacts that she was in the country. That was not the kind of trouble she wanted to fall back into.

But she thought of tracing the lines back on her family tree, of trying to find any connection to the childhood she could scarcely remember at times. She thought of the two headstones, a lot older looking than they should be, dirt-streaked and crumbling at the edges by that chain-link fence.

She thought about what she'd told Steve just a couple of weeks ago in that church in London.

We have what we have when we have it.

Natasha pulled Wanda in for one more hug, and when the other woman went to go change, she turned and saw Steve looking at her from across the jet's cabin. He met her eyes, and she smiled.

-:-

On the timeline stuff:

The dates and timeline for the MCU are all kinds of wack, so I used the timeline on the MCU wiki as a quide. Took a few liberties because, again, the marvel movies just don't pay attention to each other, and then we get shit like Spiderman: Homecoming supposedly taking place 8 years after the Battle of New York, which happened in 2012, and Homecoming taking place a few months after CW, which was set in 2016. I'm not that math, but Marvel clearly is.

Anyway, I went off what it said there, with the mission in Lagos happening in early May, Peggy dying May 18th, Ross talking to the team on the 19th, Peggy's funeral on the 22nd, and airport battle and Steve/Tony/Bucky battle on the 24th. After that is when I start to deviate.