call me kermy

When Mel was done speaking, Yelena walked up to the microphone. She placed her hands on the podium. “Regardless of how you feel about us,” Fanny began to whine at the sound of Yelena’s voice that broke your heart.

“I know,” you told her. “I miss her too.”

“We are here to stay and here to keep you safe.” It was simple, diplomatic, and very much Yelena as she walked away from the reporters' questions.

You shook your head and muted the TV while they played the footage from the fight. It took 5 seconds for your phone to begin ringing. “Hi,” you answered, without looking at the caller ID. The blonde swore in Russian.

“I hate reporters.” You laughed and put the phone on speaker.

“Really? You teased. “I had no idea.”

“Do not be mean,” you heard a car door slam.

“You make it so easy, though.” Yelena huffed. “But seriously, are you okay?”

“I’m good,” she answered. You believed her. Months as her friend, you’ve gained her trust. You told her this wouldn’t work if she was going to lie to you. “Annoyed more than anything.” The sound of a few car doors opened.

“You talking to your girlfriend?” You heard John Walker. Thankfully, it wasn’t the first time he called you that. Now you barely blinked. The first time it happened, you almost had a heart attack.

“Yeah,” Yelena deadpanned. “I’m talking to your mom.” Before a fight broke out, Fanny whined near your phone and nudged her nose against your leg. “Aw, my baby.”

“When are you coming to visit?” You asked, scratching Fanny’s chin. “Fanny misses you.”

“Just Fanny?” You rolled your eyes and stood up from the couch. The American Aikta followed you so you could let her out. She ran into the yard.

“Yeah, just Fanny,” you took the phone off speaker and put it on your shoulder to go through your fridge. “I actually can’t stand you.”

“Ooo, you wound me, dorogoy (sweetheart),” you smiled, ignoring the warm feeling that bloomed in your chest. There wasn’t time for feelings to cross that line. Yelena was your friend, someone you would call your best friend. “Probably this weekend. Hopefully.”

“Okay, I’m off tonight. So call me later.”

“You know I will,” she would. It seemed tradition at this point. When she was away, she called. Regardless of the time zone, you answered. “Bye,” she added your name, and the softness in how she said it made your heart flutter.

“Bye, Lena,” you hung up and closed your eyes.

Falling in love with Yelena was inevitable. You watched her unlearn the behaviors drilled into her by the Red Room. You supported her as she became the leader of this group of misfits-turned-heroes. She was soft, her humor was dry, and she made it easier to breathe again.

The sound of Fanny walking over to you pulled you out of your thoughts of her owner. She sat down and tilted her head. “Don’t look at me like that,” you took a frozen pizza out. You ignored the dog's stares. “I don’t like her like that.” You argued. “I would rather just be her friend.” You swore you saw the dog roll her eyes. “What do you know, you're a dog?”

Besides, you were human, and you weren’t even sure.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Night shifts were annoying, especially when you had to work the next day. Your shift the next day wasn’t until the afternoon, but your sleep schedule would be fucked. Which was a problem because Yelena was coming into town. You refused to sleep all day when she was here. You wanted to spend time with her as you were never sure when you could see her again.

There was a growing list of movies, TV shows, and activities that you wanted Yelena to experience. It was unfair that her entire childhood was stolen, besides 3 beautiful years in Ohio.

Your phone vibrated against your desk. You took your feet off the desk, already hearing Marvin yelling about you coming in the morning. That was a future you’s problem. You were more concerned with the text from Yelena: "If I were a bread, would I be a sweet or a savory option?"

“What the fuck?” You laughed. “Shouldn’t you be asleep? Why is this your big life-altering question at 1am?”

She responded with an eye roll emoji. “Kate sent me a BuzzFeed quiz. So answer the question.”

“Well, what did you get?”

“Not answering. That will sway your answer.”

“Typical,” you mumbled. Now there were a couple of ways you could answer. 1, make a joke, or 2, not answer because you were 2 cups of coffee in a little delirious, or 3, answer honestly. Because the way you answered would tell Yelena a lot. Even though you’ve been friends for about 7 months, she needed reassurance from you that you would still be there. Regardless of her past and regardless of the future.

So honest it was. "Def sweet", you responded. "Kind of like raisin bread. People are hesitant to try it, but once they do, it's one of their favorites."

The dots indicating that Yelena was typing kept disappearing and reappearing, as if she were trying to figure out what to say. "Oh", she finally settled on. "Do you like raisin bread?"

You smiled. ‘Yes,’ you typed back. Lights from a car illuminated the dark cemetery. It wasn’t uncommon for people to visit late at night. Many preferred to avoid others when they needed to grieve.

You saw a man walk out of the car with flowers and head to a headstone you weren’t familiar with. Marvin covered a few burials, so you figured it was one of those. The man placed the flowers and stood there, hands in his pockets. "It's my favorite", you added to your response.

Without looking at Yelena’s response, you placed your jacket on, went outside, and ignored the sound of your phone falling to the ground. Honestly, it was a common sound around you. The man heard you approaching as he looked over his shoulder. “Hi,” you smiled. “I work here.” You pointed to the office. He looked at the building, then back at you. “Would you like some company?” He stared at you like you spoke a different language. It was major deja vu when you first met Yelena.

“I’d like that,” he finally said. You nodded, stood next to him, and read the headstone. Jamie Palmer. A life well lived. A love never forgotten. Her death was less than a week ago. “Does it get easier?” He asked. It was a hard question and one you’ve had to answer so many times. People who came to visit their loved ones always seemed to look to you for answers to grief.

“In a way, yes,” you answered. “The grief never goes away, you just manage it differently.” The man sighed but nodded.

“Sorry,” he said. “You probably get that a lot.”

“I do,” you answered honestly. “Still, I don’t know if I give a good answer.” He chuckled.

“I think it's a good answer and very honest,” you smiled, nodding your head. “Thank you. You didn’t have to join me.” You shrugged.

“Not like I have a lot going on,” you joked. There was no one else besides the dead. “Haven’t been here long enough to talk to the dead yet still prefer the living.” Again, the man chuckled. “But I will leave you alone.” You never wanted to overstay your welcome. Besides, you left Yelena on read, and you wanted to see her message. “Come find me if you need anything.” You made it halfway to the office when the man said your name. You froze, turned around slowly, and stared at him. “How do you know my name?” He was looking at you with a sad smile.

“I know a lot about you.” Each step he took forward, you took one back - desperately trying to create space between you and him. “And I am sorry. You are just a pawn in all of this.” Before you could ask what you meant, you felt a sharp prick on the side of your neck. You touched the spot, you felt the pain, and pulled out a dart. You stumbled as you felt the effect of whatever he had drugged you with.

The man was quick to cover the distance, catching you before you fell and hit your head on the headstone. You tried to fight him, but the world was spinning, and the edges of your vision were going black. The man grabbed your hands and pinned them to your chest. “Who - who are you?”

“To you no one,” he said, tightening the grip on your wrist that you knew would leave bruises. “But to your little friends, we are their worst nightmare.” You tried too hard to keep yourself awake, but even you were weak to it. Before darkness consumed you, all you thought about was Yelena.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Yelena was trying very hard not to panic. There would be a lot of reasons you hadn’t responded to her. You were working the night shift with a shift the following day, so you could have fallen asleep. Maybe last night got busy, and you had work to do. Yelena knew how important you valued the word you did. Which made it easier to fall in lov-. No. She was not going down that road. You were her friend. No matter her feelings, she would not cross that line and threaten the one good thing she had. So she was worried about her friend who had left her on read, and it was noon.

The blonde sat at the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee, staring at the message she had sent. You said she was like raisin bread - a bread people were hesitant to try, but it would end up being their favorite. Also, it was one you liked. She responded to your text with a lot of thought. Good to know, she typed. Sounds like anything you like is probably worth giving a chance. Maybe she came on too strong. Maybe she pushed you away. “Just hack her phone,” Ava appeared on the other side of the counter. “At least you’ll know where she is.” Yelena gasped and eyes wide

“That is a complete breach of privacy.” Ava rolled her eyes.

“Like you’ve never done it before.” The girl was quick to grab her phone. Before a protest could leave her mouth, Ava continued, “Her phone is at the cemetery. Been there all night.” Ava gave the blonde her phone back. “Maybe she left it there.” That wasn’t like you. Even though you weren’t addicted to your phone like Kate, you always had it on you. Before she could question it further, her phone started ringing with your contact.

She answered without a second thought, “Do you realize you are supposed to text me after your shift?” You were silent on the other end.

“This is Yelena, right?” A man on the other end said. Her spine straightened, and Ave raised an eyebrow at her. Her mind tried to place this voice. She knew it.

“Marvin?” She placed her phone on the counter and put it on speaker. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know, kid,” your boss said. “She wasn’t here when I came in, so I thought she left early because it was dead,” Ava huffed out a dry laugh, which caused Yelena to roll her eyes. “But she hasn’t shown up for her shift today, and I just found her phone on the ground.” Yelena’s eyes locked onto Ava.

“She could have slept in.” Ava tried to reason.

“Nah, random voice,” Marvin said. “This girl is dedicated to this job. She’d come in even when she is sicker than a dog.” Dread filled Yelena’s stomach.

“Do you have security cameras on the property?” The Blonde asked.

“Yeah,” Marvin responded. “They are older than I, though. Never thought about wasting the money to upgrade them. Nothing happens here.” Until now, Yelena thought.

“I’ll be there soon,” Yelena told the man. “It is probably nothing.”

“Not sure I believe you, kid.” Yeah, she didn’t believe it either.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The average flight time from New York to Ohio was about an hour and 40 minutes. Yelena made it in 50 minutes, then another 20 minutes to your home. Your car wasn’t in the driveway. “Her car being her still doesn’t prove anything.” Yelena appreciated Ave. She knew the girl was trying to stay positive, but right now it was pissing her off.

Without a word, Yelena got out of the car, walked to the front door, and used the key you gave her. Immediately, Fanny ran over to her. The American Akita jumped on her and licked her face. “Easy,” the blonde chuckled. “Where is she?” The dog walked over to the food bowl and nudged it with her nose. Honestly, Yelena believed you liked Fanny more than her. You could never leave without taking care of her.

“She left around 2130 last night,” Ava said as she walked into your house and closed the door behind her. Yelena went to fill Fanny’s bowl with food. “She never came home.” Yelena nodded, not bothering to look at Ava, who hacked your ring camera with her tablet. On the counter, Yelena found a list in your hand. It read, Things to do with Yelena

Watch Scooby Doo and the Witch’s Curse

Watch Holes

Watch

Try smores

Make a pillow fort (do before the movies)

Go to the new dog park with Fanny!!!!!!! <3

Yelena smiled, folded the list, and put it in her pocket. “What do you want to do?” Ava asked. The blonde sighed.

“Let’s go to the cemetery,” she answered. “She has no enemies, no dark pass. If she was taken,” Yelena closed her eyes, hand squeezing. “It has to do with me.”

“Or the rest of the team.” Ava countered. “She has been seen with us.” True. You visited Yelena in New York twice. The press had a field day with that. “We will find her.” She wasn’t so sure.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Her hand felt the hood of your car. It was cold. So if you left last night, it wasn’t in your car. Fanny walked over to Natasha’s grave, circled a few times in the grass, and lay down. She would visit when she was done. Instead, she walked over to the office, and Marvin was outside waiting for them. She only talked to the man a handful of times, and that was when she was there for a shift change. He never tried to reach out to her, unlike you.

“I have the footage pulled up,” Marvin said. She and Ava walked into the office. Your bag was tucked in the corner still. Yelena picked up your phone and placed it in her pocket.

“Play it,” Ava ordered. Marvin looked at Yelena, who gave him a slight nod, and he pressed play. The footage was grainy with no audio. If Yelenan wasn’t sure who you were, it would be impossible to tell she was watching you. She was unsure if Ava was going to get anything out of this. But she watched you approach a grave with a man who left flowers. Your back was to the camera, so Yelena couldn’t read your lips, but your body language was relaxed. Like it always was when you were talking about grief and death.

Then you turned around but stopped suddenly to face the man. Yelena barely made out what he said, ‘I know’ then ‘about you.’ Then he apologized. You tried to run back to the office, but you felt your neck. Slowly, you fell to the ground as the man caught you. You asked who he was. You tried to fight him, but the fight was drained out of you.

Quickly, the man stood up with you in his arms and walked to the parking lot. The car he drove in went out of frame. “Jesus Christ,” Marvin mumbled. Ava was already moving. She attached a cord from the office computer to her tablet.

There was an anger shimmering inside Yelena’s gut. It was becoming all-consuming. She hadn’t felt like this since Valentina told her Clint Barton was responsible for her sister’s death. But she had to think clearly. Any rushed decision could cause your death. Sighing, she closed her eyes and reopened them. “Whose grave is that?” Yelena asked.

“A new one.” Marvin went to a filing cabinet. It took him a second to pull out a file. “Jamie Palmer.” He handed her the file. “First time I’ve seen someone visit since the service.” Yelena hummed and heard Fanny whimper from outside. The dog was near the spot you fell.

“I’ll be keeping this.” The man nodded.

“Kid, keep me updated. Please,” he said. “She’s family.” Yelena smiled.

“I will.” The blonde walked over to her dog. It took a few pets for the dog to calm down. She looked around and found a dart. It was sloppy for him to leave it. Yelena picked it up with a plastic bag to keep it safe. “Probably came from over there.” Yelena pointed to the woods. “Don’t you think?” She asked Fanny. The dog barked in agreement, which brought a smile to the blonde.

Yelena stood up and walked over to the woods. It wasn’t deep into the foliage till she found something. Over the past few days, it has rained in Ohio, which has caused some mud to build up. There were two distinct footprints in the mud that Yelena took a photo of. There were cigarettes buds she took.

In a few moments, Yelena discovered a few things. They were sloppy, leaving evidence that could clearly identify them. Either they were new to the game, or they wanted to be discovered. The second option was dangerous. Being cocky in this world leads to bolder moves. “Belova,” Ava called for her. She stood up and walked to her. “I wasn’t able to identify the man, but I was able to track the car.” Ava handed Yelena the tablet. “It was reported stolen last week in Indiana.” According to the police report, it was two days before Jamie’s death.

“We should head back.” Yelena gave her back the tablet. “There is nothing else here.” She whistled for Fanny to follow them back to the chair.

“You think they took her out of Ohio.” The Blonde nodded.

“They want to make a statement. It is not gonna happen in Ohio.” Before she opened the driver's side door, she hesitated and looked at Natasha’s grave. “Give me a second. I will be quick.” She wasn’t waiting for Ava’s response as she jogged over to the grave.

Like always, it was covered with gifts. At first, it bothered her. These people did not know Natasha. But then she remembered how loved her sister was by the world. Sighing, Yelena knelt to the headstone’s level and kissed it. The whistle slipped past her lips without thinking. “Please,” she pleaded. “Please. Watch over her and keep her safe.”

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Ice-cold water was dumped over your head, and you gasped awake. You stuttered water out of your mouth and looked around. You were tied to a chair in a metal shipping container. Suddenly, a light filled the small space from a lamp in the corner. It was bright. It was impossible to see, but you heard footsteps. “Look,” you said. “If you want money, I don’t have a lot, but I can give it to you.”

Laughter echoed against the metal walls. “We don’t want your money.” It was the same voice from the cemetery.

“Then,” you hated how much your voice shook. You wanted to be brave for Yelena. “What do you want with me?”

“We just need you to sit there and look pretty for your girlfriend and her friends.”

“Girl-girlfriend?” You stuttered. “I don’t have a girlfriend.” Your head was yanked back, and you yelped in pain.

“You will learn that I do not care for lairs.” He hissed in your ear. But you weren’t lying. As much as you wanted Yelena like that, you valued the friendship over anything. “Understood?”

“Yes! Yes!” Tears formed at the corners of your eyes. Finally, he let you go, and tears rolled down your cheeks.

“Glad we see eye to eye,” He said. “I will be back shortly.” You flinched when the metal doors closed, and you were left alone in the dark. You struggled against the rope around your wrist, but it did not move. Instead, the skin on your wrist became irradiated. Sighing, you closed your eyes.

You were brought back to a conversation between you and Yelena over late-night ramen and reruns of Friends on TV. You both weren’t paying attention to the show. Instead, you were listening to Yelena talk about her time before she started working with Valentina. A majority of her time was spent running around the world trying to save as many Widows under Dreykov’s control.

“I have made a lot of enemies,” she said. She twisted her chopsticks around her noodles. “I don’t know if this is a good idea sometimes.” You frowned.

“Being friends with me?” She nodded, unable to look at you. “Yelena,” it seemed natural to grab her hand. She tensed up. One second passed, then another. Soon she relaxed. “Nothing is going to happen to me. And if something does,” you continued quickly as she opened her mouth to make a comeback. “It’s not your fault.”

You opened your eyes and stared at nothing but darkness. “Shit,” you mumbled. This was not on your list of how to spend your weekend with Yelena.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

“Analyses said she was with midazolam,” Bucky said. “A fast-acting tranquilizer used for medical procedures.” Which meant it was easy to come by, and that was a dead end.

“DNA found on the ciegratee buds also came up empty, but we are running a fingerprint on the dart,” Sam explained. Yelena was surprised to see the other team here. Bucky called Sam as soon as she and Ava left Ohio. Maybe after this was over, she could find the words to describe how much them being here meant to her. Now she was using all her energy not to punch a hole in the wall.

“Ava and I were able to track the stolen vehicle to a parking garage, but they switched cars, and we lost them.” Yelena’s jaw clenched.

“Any information on Jamie Palmer?” She asked.

“Police said her death was a suicide,” John slid the police report across the table, and Yelena stopped it. “Family never believed it, though.” Yelena raised her eyebrows at him. “According to them, she had no signs of wanting to kill herself. They pushed the police but got nowhere.” Yelena glanced at the report.

Jami was single, 35, and worked at a dentist's office. Her social media showed little to no social life, but oddly enough, there was no autopsy done. “There was no autopsy done,” Yelena told the group.

“Strange but not usually,” Sam said. “If the police believed it was a suicide, then they might not have pushed for one.” But the family would have.

“Conspiracy,” Alexei slammed his hand down on the table. Everyone but Yelena jumped at the noise. “Mystery man killed Palmer to bury her at Yelena’s girlfriend’s cemetery to kidnap her. Case closed.” Yelena blinked at her father.

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Bucky scuffed.

“That is the only problem you had with what he said,” Yelena shrugged. “That is an insane idea.”

“Not far off, though,” Kate said slowly. “She has other family members buried in the cemetery. Not hard to go to the cemetery and find living relatives that are still in the area.” Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Let’s try to look for concrete evidence instead of wild theories,” Joaquin said. “The footprint Yelena fond is a size 10 standard military-grade work boot.”

“So once again we have nothing to find her.”

“And you are sure,” Bucky pointed to Yelena. “That her kidnapping has to do with us. No dark past? Enemies she never told you about?” Yelena leaned against the table, palms pressed onto the surface.

“No, she’s a-” Nobody wasn’t correct. You were a somebody to her and the people you cared about so deeply, and their grief. “She’s normal. Her father died of lung cancer. Mom remarried to a high school gym teacher. She never left her hometown.” Yelena took a deep breath in and slowly let it out. “She’s not a super soldier, or has a secret identity, or is an experiment created by the government. The only thing is she knows us and has been seen with us.” Ava huffed, stretched back in her chair, and cracked her back.

“Then we'd better start thinking of people we’ve pissed off recently.”

“Yeah, because that list is going to be so short,” Bucky mumbled.

“Start in the past 6 months,” Sam said. ‘The further back we go, the more complicated it gets.” His eyes seemed to land on Yelena and Bucky. Without a word, Yelena left the meeting room and walked to the balcony that overlooked the city.

Her fingers folded at the back of her neck. She spaced and squeezed her eyes closed. All she wanted to do was cream. “Are you okay?” She missed the door opening and Kate following her out.

“Oh yeah. I am great Kate Bishop,” Each world was dripping with sarcasm. “Just peachy. A walk in the park.” The archer rolled her eyes.

“I was trying to be nice. You don’t have to be an ass about it.” Yelena dropped her arms to the side.

“I thought that was why you liked me. My charm.” Kate laughed as Yelena walked over to the ledge and leaned against it. “This is all my fault.”

“No, it’s not.” The Blonde scuffed.

“Yes, it is. If I ignored her and pushed her away, she wouldn’t be in danger, and we wouldn’t be looking for her.” Yelena shook her head. There was something about you that drew her in and made her feel safe. You looked at her like she was human, not a monster or a weapon or something in between.

“For what it’s worth,” Kate finally spoke. “I am proud of you.” Yelena snapped her head so quickly to look at her that she almost gave herself whiplash.

“For what?” She questioned. “Not murdering the team.” Kate punched her shoulder lightly.

“Well, that's true, but for opening yourself up to her. " By choosing to keep her in your life,” Yelena’s jaw clenched as she turned back to look at the city. Parts of her hated New York. Every corner, every street, was a reminder of what she had lost and of something she could never live up to. “Those choices have been stolen from you. All of your life, people have made choices for you. But you chose to be her friend. Choice to introduce her to us.” Still, Yelena was silent. So Kate continued, “Just like she chose you. She could have walked away at any given moment, but she chose to stay.”

Yelena felt tears prickle at the corner of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She clenched her jaw tighter, afraid her teeth were gonna shatter. “You love her, right?” That was Yelena’s undoing. A staggering breath passed her lips, and her shoulders shook.

“More than anything,” she finally admitted. “It’s easier to breathe when she is around.” Kate placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“When we find her, tell her.” Yelena looked at her friend, whose face was so full of hope that Yelena started to have some herself.

“Thanks, Kate.” The archer smiled.

“Don’t go all soft on me, Belova.” Kate’s arm went around her shoulder. “Come on, we have to make a list of all the people you’ve pissed off, which is very long.” Yelena rolled her eyes.

“You're an ass.” The archer led her back to the tower.

“Yes, but that’s why you like me.” As annoying as the archer was, Yelena was lucky to call her a friend.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

It was the sound of soft footsteps against the metal. The door wasn’t slammed shut like before when the sound rattled your bones. This time, it was closed gently. You were expecting the bag to be removed and the lights to be turned on. But it never came. Instead, the bag was pulled up until your mouth was uncovered. “I brought you water and some food.” The voice was new. Much younger than the man who kidnapped you and kinder than the people he associated with.

“Thank you,” you finally spoke. A cup was placed on your lips, and cold water slid down your throat. It was relief. A glimmer of hope in this shitty situation.

“I got you a granola bar too.” The stranger opened the package, snapped the bar in half, and placed one section in your mouth. The taste of chocolate hits your taste buds immediately. You almost moaned. Once you ate it, you cleared your throat.

“Who are you?” You asked.

“I can’t tell you that,” you figured that much, but you had to try. “I am sorry about him, though. He means well, he’s just scared.” The second half of the bar was given to you. You took your time chewing the bar - savoring the taste and thinking about your next move.

“Scared?” You questioned. “Scared of who?” Clearly, it wasn’t the New Avengers because he wouldn’t have kidnapped you. The stranger hesitated.

“Our brother, well, step-brother.” They corrected themselves. “We don’t have a choice.” Maybe they didn't have a choice, but their older brother most definitely did. “I am sorry.”

“I understand,” you forced a smile and lied through your teeth. “Do you-” you hesitated. “Miss your stepbrother?”

“No.” They said it sternly; it almost made you laugh. “He is very mean. Always angry and yelling.” You frowned.

“Where is he?”

“A place called the RAFT.” You remembered Yelena saying that place before. It was a prison. The pieces were falling into place in your head. You were a bargaining chip, a trade for a trade. “Look, I have to go before he knows I’m gone. Just do what he says, and he won’t hurt you.” The bag was placed over your mouth.

“Thank you.” You said. “Stay safe out there.” Without a word, they left and closed the metal door. Now you were alone again, but a plan was forming in your head. You had to get a message to Yelena and the others.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Gods, they were fucked. Yelena was amazed at how many people they fucked over or arrested in the past 6 months. Some names were removed, like the pizza deliveryman that Alexei refused to tip and the old lady on 6th street, because John was thrown into her window and broke her dining room table. Maybe the public had a point about them.

On the bright side, whoever they were took you alive, so they wanted something. The waiting game was going to kill her. Yelena placed her hands on the side of her neck and squeezed. “Did you really steal someone’s DoorDash order?” Bucky asked Ava. The girl shrugged.

“I was hungry,” Ava said. “I think it was a fair trade. We saved their apartment complex, and I ate their burrito.”

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky mumbled and rubbed his vibranium hand across his forehead. Yelena smiled. She felt a little bad for the man. She knew this team was taking years off his already long life.

“So we have a list of names and a whole lot of nothing.” Joaquin summarized.

“Basically,” John mumbled and threw a tennis ball in the air and caught it. Yelena opened her mouth, but was cut off when the door flew open.

“We have an incoming video transmission,” Kate rushed in with her computer in hand. “I’ve started the trace, but it's bouncing all over the place.”

“I’ll help,” Ava said, grabbing her tablet.

“Bishop, but it's on the screen,” Sam ordered. It wasn’t long before the screen showed a steady cam of you tied to a chair with a blinding light on you. Yelena’s heart plummeted down to her stomach. You look unharmed but exhausted. “Say hello.” A voice off camera said. You looked into the camera but remained silent. Two masked figures appeared on your sides. The figure on your left slapped you. Yelena flinched at the sound. You clenched your jaw. “Do as I say and tell your friends hello?” Your eyes flickered to the man off the camera, then back.

“Hi.” To those in the room, your voice was steady, but to her, she heard the slight hitch. The tremble. You were being so fucking brave.

“See, was that so hard?” Yelena was desperately trying to place the voice. You closed your eyes, took a few deep breaths, and reopened your eyes. “We are going to play a game. I am going to show the camera a photo, then I will show it to you. Your job is to tell me who is in the picture. Understood?”

“Yes.” You answered quickly. You were being smart and picking your battles. The first photo was of Kate, perched atop a building with her bow drawn. The man showed it to you and dropped the photo on the ground. Your eyes followed the photo and looked up, head tilted. Confusion was written all over your face. “Hawkeye.” You answered. The slap came as soon as the answer left your mouth. “Are you serious? That’s the correct answer.”

“Let’s try again.” The next photo was of Alexei, leaving a pizza place with boxes in his hand. The same action happened.

“The Red Guardian.” Again, another slap. You huffed, eyes glaring at the man Yelena was going to kill.

“What is going on?” Kate asked. “She’s answering correctly.”

“It’s not the answer he wants,” Yelena mumbled.

“He wants our names,” Bucky added. “To prove she means something to us.”

“I don’t know what you want from me,” you said. “Everyone knows who these people are. They are in the news all the time.” The man showed the next photo without addressing you. This time it was Bucky. He was speaking with a civilian in the back of an ambulance. “Congressmen Barnes.” The physical assault never came, and Yelena saw your shoulders sag with relief.

Next was Kamala. “Mrs. Marvel.” Another slap.

Sam and Joaquin. “Captain America and the Falcon.” Another.

Ava. “The Ghost.” Again, you were hit.

John. “US Agent.” This time, the masked man punched you. Your head fell to the side, and you grunted, biting your lip. You spit out blood onto the floor.

“I always hated that name.” John broke the silence in the room. The man sighed and showed the next photo. It was of her at the cemetery. Unlike all the others, there was a slight flicker across your face. Yelena wasn’t sure what it was.

“White Widow.” You answered, you looked pained by what you said. You were punched again, and blood poured out of your nose. A pained whimper escaped, and the sound wrapped a coil around Yelena’s heart.

“You know how I feel about liars.” The man said. “I know you don’t call them those names when you hang out with them.”

“I don’t know who these people are,” your lie sounded convincing. “I swear on my brother’s grave.”

“Brother?” Bucky looked at Yelena. “I thought you said her father died.” Yelena frowned, replaying every midnight conversation you shared with her. You had two sisters who were from your mom’s marriage to your father. When your mom married your stepfather, she got pregnant with another girl. You never mentioned a brother.

“She doesn’t have a brother,” she said. So why say that? Unless you were trying to give them a clue on who took you.

Yelena heard the man sigh, and her attention went back to the video. “I guess we have to do it the hard way.” The pictures came in rapid fire. He never showed them to you, never gave you a chance to answer. Some of the photos Yelena had seen before: you hanging out with the team in various parts of the city. There were others that Yelena had never seen. All of them were of you and her in Ohio. How long have they been following you?

“Stop!” Your voice cried out. “Stop. Please, please stop.” Your head was hanging low, but Yelena could see blood dripping onto the floor. The two masked individuals walked back. Finally, the man behind the camera walked into the frame. A mask was covering his face. But the build matched the man from the cemetery. “Please,” you whimpered. “I just wanna go home.” Yelena squeezed her eyes shut and forced the tears away. She was not going to cry in front of the team.

“Then,” Yelena reopened her eyes to see the man holding your face in his hand. It was bloody and bruised. “Answer my question. Can you do that?” You nodded. “Who are these people?” Yelena watched your eyebrows pinched together as you thought of the answer. Then you smiled. Now, Yelena had seen this smile and been on the receiving end of it. It was a smile you gave when you felt like you won - like you got the upper hand. You smiled like this when you beat Bucky at cards and Kate at darts.

“Fuck you,” you sneered and spat blood at the man. If it wasn’t for the mask, your blood would have landed on his cheek. The man clicked his tongue on top of his mouth.

“Stubborn,” he said. “I see why Belova likes you so much.” Her blood turned cold at the mention of her name. The man nodded his head. Yelena watched as the figure on your left cut the rope off your arm. You tried to punch him, but he was stronger. Without hesitation, a crack filled the silence. Sharp. Clean. Final. Then you screamed. Yelena knew that sound was going to haunt her for days to come. Her stomach dropped so fast it felt like she missed a step on a staircase that wasn’t there.

“Stop,” Yelena mumbled. “Please, stop.” Her leg shook underneath the table. She heard Alexei move, but her eyes remained on your arm, which hung off to the side at an awkward angle. Her father placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it.

“See,” the man said. “This is what happens.” The person on your right gently lay on your back, cutting off the rope on your legs and removing the chair.

The camera began to shake as it moved. The man walked out of the shipping container and turned the camera on his face. “You and the Avengers have 12 hours to release Gideon Hayes, or I will break every bone in her body.” The camera flipped up to the sky, and the feed went dead.

“Kate, Ava, anything?” Bucky questioned.

“Single was bouncing all over the place,” she said. “I pinpointed it off the east coast. Somewhere in the North Atlantic Ocean.” Well, if you were in a shipping container, that made sense, but the North Atlantic was one of the world's busiest maritime regions. Yelena covered her face with her hands.

“Gideon Hayes,” Sam said. “Looks like we arrested him 3 months ago as a joint raid. Along with him, we got Silas Throne and Cassian Frey. They were all part of the Mirror - a drug and human trafficking organization across the border.”

Yelena remembered that fight. She came to you right after. The mission was hard, forcing her to remember parts of her childhood she wanted to forget. When she knocked on your door at 3 in the morning, you let her in without questioning it. You cleaned her cuts that were already healing, made her food, and sat next to her in silence until she finally spoke at 2PM.

“All 3 are serving life sentences,” Joaquin added.

“Brother,” Yelena mumbled. “Hayes must have a brother.” She uncovered her face and looked at Kate.

“His records have no siblings.” The Blonde shook her head.

“She would not have said that if that man wasn’t related to Hates,” she said. “Blood doesn’t mean family.” Kate nodded, her fingers already moving across her keyboard.

“Ava,” Bucky said. “Rewind the video to when he made his demands,” she nodded. “Pause it. Zoom in on the background, right side.” The girl did as he asked.

“Damn Barnes,” John whistled. “Maybe old age doesn’t mean horrible eyesight.” The soldier huffed but made no comeback. In the back of the video was another shipping container with a number - MSKU 491025 8.

“According to shipping records, this is en route from New York to Germany.” Ava pulled up satellite footage of a ship in the middle of the ocean. They found you.

“The man’s name is Julian,” Kate said. “I guess Gideon Hayes is one of many names the man goes by. Took some digging to find it.” Bucky looked at Yelena.

“Let’s go save your girl.” This time, Yelena made no move to correct him.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The steady stream of tears fell down your face. The only sound in the shipping container was your ragged breathing. Every part of you hurts, but mostly your heart. You were going to die here, never telling Yelena how much you loved her. But that was okay. You hoped you helped her in the end. “So Bye-bye miss American pie…”

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Maybe it was the pain in your head or arm, but you woke up and heard shouting from outside the shipping container. The door was forced open, and you flinched. You were in so much pain that your body couldn’t handle any more. “Dorogoy,” you heard the Russian’s voice that you’ve come to love so much.

“Lena.” Her footsteps ran over to you, and she knelt down so she was staring into your eyes. “You found me.” You were so tired of crying, but tears fell anyway.

“Of course I did,” the blonde smiled, touching the side of your head gently. “I will always carry you home.” More footsteps echoed across the metal floor; you flinched and winced at the sudden movement. “Easy,” she placed a hand over your heart and wasn’t questioning the way the organ rattled against her palm. “It’s just Kate.” You saw the first aid kit in her hand. Yelena said your name softly. You looked at the blonde. “Kate is gonna give you something for the pain, okay?” You shook your head.

“No, no,” you cried. “Yelena, please. The last time I woke up alone, he had me. Please.”

“Hey, baby. Breathe,” gently, hands cupped your face, and you stared into Yelena’s eyes. “I know you are scared, but I promise I will be right by your side when you wake up. We need to give this to you so we can move you safely back to the tower.” You looked her over for any indication that she was lying, but you found none.

This was Yelena, who shared the food she ordered because she knew you always wanted to try it, who bought you something small when she traveled, who pulled you out of your own grief when it got too much. You trusted her. “Okay.”

“Okay.” She smiled and gave Kate a slight nod. You heard Kate move around, but your eyes stayed on Yelena. The blonde kept gently pushing your hair out of your face. Then you felt the needle's pinch and flinched again. “All done, baby.” She whispered. “You did so well.” You tried to fight whatever Kate gave you, but it was a losing battle. Slowly, your vision turned back as you felt Yelena kiss your forehead.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Surgery. You needed surgery to fix the break in your arm. Not to mention the concussion and the multiple bruises. But you were alive. Breathing with your head resting against the pillow and the hundred flowers that Alexei got from the local flora shop.

The doctor said the anesthesia should be wearing off soon. She listened carefully to the care instructions for your cast, cuts, and bruises. Now Yelena sat in a chair, your uninjured hand in hers, resting it against her forehead.

She felt so selfish. Desperately, she wanted you close, but she knew that being close to you brought this level of danger. She wasn’t lying to Kate when she felt like she could breathe easier when you were around.

Suddenly, you moved. Yelena shut up, dropped your hand back onto the bed, and stood up. Slowly, your eyes fluttered open. It took a few moments for your body to register where you were, but then your eyes locked on hers, and Yelena felt like she could cry. Especially when that cheeky smile appeared on your face. “Hey,” Yelena spoke softly. “You just woke up from surgery. But you're safe.” You hummed.

“You're here.” Your voice sounded rough from the tube they placed down your throat.

“Of course I’m here,” she said. “I promised I would be.” Yelena felt you move your hand closer to hers and interlock your fingers together.

“When you found me,” you said slowly. You licked your lips, and Yelena grabbed the cup of water from the side table and brought it to your lips. Once it was half empty, Yelena set it back down. “When you saved me,” you continued. “You called me something.”

Yelena’s eyebrows pinched together. She thought back to that moment. Julian‘s guards weren’t prepared for them. They made quick work of them, and she and Kate ran to the shipping container where you were being held. She remembered the smell of blood more than anything. Your blood. That alone made her sick to her stomach. Then you panicked when she said they were going to give you something for the pain. Yelena’s eyes widened. Baby. The pet name slipped out so easily that it felt natural. “I called you, baby.” Your smile grew wider.

“Yeah, you did,” Yelena felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment. “It’s okay, though. Kind of liked it.”

“Yeah?” She questioned. You hummed, eyes fluttering closed, no doubt from the pain medication and emotional roller coaster of the past few days. “Get some sleep, baby.” You smiled at the pet name.

“Will you stay?” You asked.

“I gotta go back for her,” you mumbled.

“Yeah?” Bucky questioned. “And then what?” His hands were on his hips, blocking the door as if he knew too he was the only thing standing in the way. But you were pulled away from Bucky to Alexei - the man banged his fist against the wall. Your heart broke for the man. It was cruel how quickly life brought his daughters back to him and took them away.

“If she did that,” Ava pointed to the door. “She did it for a reason.”

“Well, what if she’s dead? Huh? What if there’s no coming back from that?” The word death circled your lungs like a viper and squeezed the air out. Death was a concept you were familiar with. You’ve faced it, caused much of it, and dealt with the aftermath. The red of blood coated your hands. It ran so fucking deep, but Yelena’s death was something you couldn’t stomach.

“And what if she isn’t,” Ava countered. Sighing, she said, “I don’t know.”

“Wait, no, just wait,” John said. His eyes danced between you, Bucky, and Ava. “I think they might be right. When we were in the vault, I grabbed him and went somewhere. I saw something,” the man shook his head. “I can’t explain it.” Alexei slowly turned around to face the former Captain America.

“What did you see?” Alexei said, his voice low. It was the most serious you’ve heard. So John explained the memory he was lost in - of his lowest moments.

“We can save her,” you said to the group. “Her and Bob,” Bucky huffed, running his metal hand through his hair. “And maybe the city.”

“Glad your priorities are in order,” the super soldier said. You rolled your eyes at the man. “I can’t believe this. Let’s go get them.”

“Yes!” Alexei yelled, hitting his hands against his helmet. “We are the Thunderbolts!”

“We have to talk about the name.” You said.

“Right, it’s awful,” Ava added.

“I don’t know,” John shrugged. “It’s growing on me.” Bucky rolled his eyes and stretched his metal arm before opening the door.

When you faced the void, you weren’t alone.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

4 Months Since the Sentry Incident

Things felt odd. For the past few months, you’ve moved into the old Avenger tower, done a ton of PR, and tried to be the heroes the world sought. Everything was done to draw attention away from the crimes of your past - to paint all of you in a better light. The public was split. Some praised the heroics of your actions in New York City, calling the city the birthplace of the original Avengers and now the New Avengers. Everything seemed to happen in this damn city. On the other hand, others saw your little group as what you are. Phonies. Wannabes. Criminals with a combined kill count of miles and miles long. They are just a group of wannabe heroes. You agreed with them.

When Valentina announced you and the others as the New Avengers, you had half a mind to split - just run and keep on running. But Yelena grabbed your arm after the press conference and asked you to stay. Although those words never left her lips, you saw it in the grip on your arm and the way her eyes always seemed to find you. And that was that—meetings, fighting, photo shoots, and ending the night at the bottom of a bottle. With Valentina’s credit card, the bar and kitchen were always stocked. Usually, you would drink in your room. That room felt too stuffy, catastrophic. You left your room with a bottle of whiskey and climbed to the tower’s roof.

The city looked so small from up here. Even the most significant problem seemed minor, but everything felt heavy, as if you were struggling to keep your head above water. Honestly, you were waiting for the tide to pull you under.

“There you are,” you heard Yelena’s voice, followed by her footsteps walking towards you. “Ava saw you sneaking away,” she climbed onto the ledge and sat on the other side of the bottle. “You are missing movie night. It is Bob’s turn to pick, but Alexei and Walker are somehow fighting over the choice.” You huffed out a laugh. Somehow, you weren’t surprised by that. “What is the matter?”

Sighing, you took a sip from the bottle. “What did you see?” You asked and looked at the blonde. “When you entered the void.” Yelena looked towards the city.

“Nothing good,” she took the bottle from you and sipped. “What about you? What do you see until you found me and Bob?”

You looked at your hands, flexing them into fists. The whiskey and takeout from dinner were twisting uncomfortably in your stomach. “I saw my first assignment,” you told her. You were responsible for administrating poison to the daughter of a politician. As a young girl, it was easy to snake into the park and befriend your target. You slipped it into the lemonade and left before she died.

“I saw him.” There was no need to specify who you were talking about. On certain nights, the man would call you into his office and sit you on his lap.

“Then it was me,” you whispered. “A blade in one hand and a bottle of pills in the other.” Your nails dug into your palms. “It almost killed me.” Yelena watched you take another sip before taking the bottle away from you. She placed it on the other side of her, right out of reach. “It was the only way to stop the noise.” You admitted. Every night, your dreams were covered in red and screams. “Being here is not helping.”

“Do you want to leave?”

“I do not know what I want, Yelena,” you looked at Yelena, but the blonde was already looking at you. “But this feels like a cycle,” you pointed to the tower. “Of taking orders and fighting and taking more orders and more fights,” your arm was moving in a circle to demonstrate your point.

“This is not the Red Room,” Yelena said. “We are trying to do good.”

“I do not know how much good we can do to erase what we have done,” you felt your shoulders slump down, and you lifted your right knee up on the ledge. Cheek pressed on your knee, and you watched Yelena. You could blame it on the alcohol or the emotional vulnerability, but she looked beautiful. The night air blew the loose hair that wasn’t in her braid. The green of her eyes sparkled under the stairs. Her physical beauty drew so many people in, but her quiet strength, her love for animals, and her sarcastic comments that had no bite made you fall in love with her.

Love. You were in love with Yelena. Surprisingly, you weren’t scared of that. Loving Yelena felt as easy as breathing. You smiled. “You have not been listening to me, have you?” You giggled, feeling light and floaty.

“No,” you answered. “Say it again.” Yelena scuffed and climbed down off the ledge.

“You are drunk, detka,” Yelena held out her hand.

“I am not drunk,” you defended and slapped her hand away. “I am Russian.” You stood up on the ledge with your arms stretched out. “See,” you began to walk. “Not drunk.” It happened suddenly. Your foot slipped, and the world started to tilt. Oddly enough, you felt okay with it, at peace. But Yelena’s hand grabbed onto your wrist and pulled you back onto the roof. Your chest was heaving, eyes wide as you looked at the blonde. Her expression matched yours. “Why-?” You took in a deep breath and licked your suddenly dry lips. “Why did you catch me?” Yelena let out a breathless laugh - shaking her head and holding you tighter.

“Why did you convince the others to go into the void?” The sudden shift in conversation caused your stomach to twist. You weren’t sure how she found out - your money was on Alexei or John.

“Because,” you sighed. “I can not live in a world without you.” Yelena nodded.

“Then you know why I caught you,” you smiled. “My world is a lot brighter with you in it.” You felt your throat tighten as you kept the tears at bay. Clearing your throat, you forced a smile.

“That was good.” Yelena rolled her eyes.

“Come on,” she tugged you towards the door. “Let’s go to bed.” It was easy for the blonde to drag you back into the tower and towards her bedroom. It wasn’t your first time here, but you liked the new additions. There was a new art piece, a full-length mirror, and a stuffed animal resembling Fanny. “These should fit,” she placed clothes into your hand. “There is an extra toothbrush in there for you.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled and walked into her bathroom. Like her bedroom, there weren’t many new additions. But what caught your eye was a new picture hung up on the wall. It was of you and her - a quick photo that Ava took while you were doing a PR photo shoot. You and Yelena were on the couch in the green room, and you were asleep against her. When you were called back to set, Ava showed you the photo in passing. But your sleep-hazed brain missed the way Yelena was looking at you. Her arm was around you like it belonged there. Your face was soft in sleep, lips parted slightly, but her face caught your breath in your chest. The way she looked at you was like you were something precious. Like the world had gone quiet for her, too.

Shaking your head, you stripped off your clothes and put on the ones Yelena provided. They smelt like her, which caused the anxiety that twisted in your stomach. Quickly, you brushed your teeth and washed your face.

When you returned to Yelena’s bedroom, the blonde was already in bed and scrolling through her phone. “I do not need to stay in here,” her eyes snapped towards you. “I can sleep in my room.”

“Get in bed, detka,” Huffing, you climbed under the covers next to you. Yelena placed her phone on her nightstand, dimmed the lamp, and laid to face you. Her head rested on her hand with her elbow bent. Carefully, you moved some of her hair back behind her ear. When you tried to pull her hand away, she stopped you and kept it on her cheek.

“I do not know how to do this,” you admitted. She glared at you, filled with annoyance and something softer.

“And I do?” she asked, interlocking her fingers with yours and placing them in the space between you and her. “I would like to figure it out together.” You smiled.

“Together does sound nice.” In a fluid motion, she turned on her side and put your arm around her waist. It was instinct for you to flinch.

“If this is too much, tell me,” Yelena mumbled. Letting out a shaky breath, you lay closer to her. Your front flushed to her back. You felt her body relax against you. The scent of her shampoo and lotion calmed you down. Her fingers played with yours as they rested on her stomach.

“Why me?” You asked. She was quiet, letting the question sit in the silence.

“Because,” she said slowly. “You were the only one to not give up on me.” Deep down, you knew she wasn’t talking about when she went into the void to save Bob. You joined her to help save the other Widows; you were there when she failed to kill Clint Barton and found her a few times drunk in her bathroom.

Your lips grazed the spot between her shoulder blades. “Thank you.”

“Sleep, detka,” You closed your eyes and fell asleep. This was the first time you fell asleep peacefully since sleeping in the tower.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The kind that happened so abruptly it completely stole the air from your lungs and made your body lose its axis. You gasped, grabbing blindly for the handrail in the confined space, a cry of pain escaping your lips as your ankle twisted beneath you at the same moment the lights went out... 

Pain shot up your leg.

"Shit-"

Stupid, stupid heels, stupid job. And most of all, fucking stupid elevator.

For half-second, there was only silence in the box you were trapped in. Heavy silence and the blood rushing in your ears before it raced south to warm up your ankle.

Then the cables screamed. The entire lift dipped a terrifying inch, maybe more - metal screeching against metal, and your body slammed into the mirrored wall behind you, the impact knocking a strangled cry from your throat.

"Oh my God," you whispered, widening eyes darting around in the dark. "Oh my God, oh my God-"

The emergency lights flickered on, bathing the small space in a sickly red glow.

Your hands were already shaking. You sucked in a deep breath before lunging for the control panel, hitting the red button in clouded panic. Door open. A soft, broken whimper slipped out as heat bloomed around your ankle, sharp and throbbing. 

You exhaled hard, eyes narrowing as you hit the alarm button. Alarm, alarm, alarm again. You pressed it so hard your fingertip hurt.

Nothing.

The alarm gave a weak, frankly pathetic buzz that died almost instantly.

"Hello?" Your voice cracked as you leaned toward the speaker anyway. "Hello?! Can anybody hear me? I-I’m stuck, I-"

The elevator answered with another grinding groan before it slowly - so slowly it felt like moving in slow-motion - shifted again. Lower, just a tiny, insignificant fraction, but it was enough. Enough for your brain to supply the images: snapping cables, freefall, the box crumpling like a soda can when it hit the bottom. 

With you inside it. 

All because you refused to come to work early to climb up twenty-five flights of stairs.

Your knees gave out before you even realized it was happening, you slid down the mirrored wall, your back dragging against the cold surface until you hit the floor. You brought your injured ankle closer, only now realizing just how much it was burning. You were probably not going to be able to walk out of there - if the doors accepted to open again one day, that was.

Oh, God.

You did not like small spaces.

You did not like not being in control.

You definitely did not like the sound of metal giving up.

"It’s fine," you muttered to yourself, breath coming too fast. "It’s fine. Elevators don’t just-"

The car dropped another inch.

You screamed, hoping if you were loud enough whatever Gods there were out there would come and get you out of here themselves.

⧗

Natasha Romanoff had been halfway through her second coffee at their usual café when the call came in.

Elevator malfunction in a building downtown with presumably one occupant trapped. Structural concerns.

She was already on her feet before the dispatcher finished.

"Alright, let’s move," Clint muttered, tossing his cup in the trash and dragging a hand through his hair. "Too early for this kind of bullshit."

The engine roared to life, their sirens cutting through the late afternoon traffic as they cut across the streets.

Natasha stood in the back of the truck, one hand braced against the rail, the other clenched tight at her side. Her jaw was set hard enough to ache. Elevator calls were unpredictable, they could go either way - minor inconvenience or catastrophic failure. She sure hoped it was not the latest. However, the words structural concerns made something cold coil in her stomach.

They pulled up in under seven minutes, fortunately they were not far from the building when they received the call.

Natasha was out of the truck before it had fully stopped.

A small crowd had gathered outside the building, tension thick in the air. She scanned them once, before zeroing in on the man pacing near the entrance.

The building manager looked pale, sweating through his shirt. 

"It’s stuck between floors," he rushed out as she approached. "We think twenty-one and twenty-two. We tried resetting the system, but it’s not responding. And we h-heard-" His voice wavered. "Someone said they heard it drop."

Natasha’s expression did not change, but something in her eyes went sharper - dangerously so - as she recognized the situation for what it was.

"How many people are inside?"

"One. I-I think."

"You think?" Natasha scoffed, raising an eyebrow. "Name?"

"I-I don’t know?"

She shook her head, of course he did not, why would he know anything useful? Natasha was already turning away from him, biting down the inside of her cheek to keep herself from screaming at him. 

"Team’s arriving in ten." Clint said, jogging up to reach her side. 

Natasha let out a short breath, pinching the bridge of her nose for half a second as she forced herself to think rationally.

Ten minutes.

Yeah, no.

Her gaze snapped back to the building, already calculating distances, access points, worst-case scenarios.

"That’s too fucking long. I’m not waiting." 

Clint exhaled, looking at her as if he already knew the end of the story.

"Nat-"

"I’m going." She cut him off, already heading inside.

⧗

Inside the elevator, you were crying now. 

Quiet and panicked tears that refused to stop, slipping endlessly down your cheeks no matter how hard you tried to steady your breathing. Your chest hitched in uneven rhythms, every inhale too sharp, every exhale too shallow.

As if it was not bad luck enough already, you had discovered your so-called waterproof mascara was not as waterproof as the bold words on the package made it sound to be. You had dark streaks smudged beneath your eyes, sticky and uneven, making your reflection in the mirrored wall look... ridiculous, or pathetic. Or both.

You looked like an actress trying too hard to win an award for a drama.

And then there was your last straw; your damn phone. Because you had also discovered that you had no service inside this creepy box. Because, of course there was not. You had tried 911 anyway - once, twice or maybe five times - but each attempt failed before it even began, before you could hope. No signal, no lifeline, nothing.

The red emergency light was still on, though. Making everything inside feel smaller, the walls too close, the ceiling too low. And the air hotter, thin, like every ragged breath you took was not quite enough to fill your aching lungs. And just for that, you were grateful for being the only one here. You could not imagine panicking like this in front of someone else. Or even being stuck for God knew how long in here with someone else.

Especially that creepy Dylan guy who could not take a hint to save his life. So, yeah... you supposed the situation could be worse. 

Another groan tore through the walls as soon as you finished your thought. 

God, you really should learn to hold your tongue. 

It was the third in under five minutes, you had been counting.

Your hands flew up to your ears, palms pressing hard as you squeezed your eyes shut, as if you could block it out, as if ignoring it might somehow make it all stop.

"I don’t want to die," you whispered to no one, to yourself, to whatever Gods out there that must have heard you by now but seemingly decided to do nothing about your case. "Please, please, I don’t want to die."

Your voice sounded so small to your own ears, like it did not even matter. And then, there was a sudden metallic clang echoing from above. As if answering you, finally.

Your hands slipped from your ears, hovering uselessly in the air as your brows pulled together, confusion cutting through the panic.

Another clang, louder this time.

And then... voices? Were you hearing voices? If that was true, they were definitely muffled, distant and barely distinguishable. Though you were not quite sure you had not started imagining things. That was what the brain was supposed to do, right? Hallucinate something comforting when reality became too much?

Your head snapped up at another sound, your heart beating with newfound hope.

"Hello!?" You shouted, scrambling to your feet as best as you could, a sharp whimper escaping when your ankle screamed in protest. You clung to the handrail, leaning heavily against the mirrored wall, slowly sinking back into a sitting position. "I-I’m in here! Please! Anyone?"

Something heavy thudded against the top of the elevator.

Then a voice. You were sure of it this time. It was clear and calm and authoritative.

"Fire department! We hear you."

The sob that tore out of you was immediate and uncontrollable. Your hand flew to your mouth, pressing hard as if you could somehow contain the sound, but it shook through your whole body anyway.

"We’re going to get you out," the voice continued. A beacon in the chaos. A lighthouse in the fog. "I need you to step back from the doors."

"I-I am!" Your voice cracked badly, but you stumbled back as much as your ankle allowed, deciding to ignore the new noise coming from the elevator.

Tools met metal then. A harsh, grating sound filled the air as something outside strained against the doors. The entire elevator creaked in protest, a deep and very unsettling groan vibrating through the walls.

You watched, unable to look away, as the doors jerked before you felt the elevator shift under your feet.

The elevator fucking moved beneath your feet.

"No, no, no-" You choked, panic surging back as you slid down the wall again, your body refusing to stay upright.

"Hey!"

The voice was closer now. Right outside. Your head snapped up from where you thought the person was, lips pressed into a tight line.

"Stay with me. What’s your name?"

For a second, you forgot how to speak.

You swallowed hard, whispering it back in a shaky tone.

"I’m Natasha. I need you to look at me when I get this open. Can you do that for me?"

You nodded frantically before realizing she could not see you as she called out your name to make sure you were listening.

"Yes-yes, I can do that." You finally breathed.

A sharp grunt echoed from the other side.

Then suddenly a gloved hand appeared, forcing its way between the doors.

You held your breath as the gap widened, one inch first.

Then two. The metal shrieked in protest like it was alive, like it was fighting her every step of the way.

But then, you saw her.

First, her arm - muscles straining, veins taut beneath sweat-dusted skin, shiny bicep flexing hard as she forced the doors apart manually.

Then her shoulder, the short black sleeve of her shirt covering most of it, stretching tight.

Then her face.

The red emergency light behind you clashed with the brighter hallway lights spilling in from outside, casting her in something almost unreal. The glow caught on the edges of her helmet, creating a halo effect that made her look-

Not real. Not human, at least. 

You had been asking for a God all this time when you should have prayed for an angel.

A streak of red hair clung to her cheek, damp with sweat, and her green eyes locked onto yours with sharp, unwavering focus.

"Hey, you’re okay." She said, as if it were fact, her lips offering you a small yet gentle smile.

The doors opened wider, revealing the misalignment - the elevator sitting a good foot below the hallway floor.

Natasha’s gaze assessed the inside in seconds.

"Alright. It’s stable," she called over her shoulder to someone you could not see  before nodding at whatever answer she received. Then her gaze softened as it returned to you. "Can you walk?"

You tried, but the second you put weight on your ankle, pain exploded up your leg, sharp enough to steal the breath from your lungs.

You gasped, shaking your head, your hands gripping the bar tighter.

"I-I don’t think so. My ankle, I-"

You expected frustration, maybe impatience. Anything of that range. But Natasha just nodded once, quick and decisive as she shifted closer.

"It’s okay. That’s alright," her voice lowered slightly before she braced one boot against the frame and forced the doors wider with a low, controlled exhale. "We’ll adjust."

Behind her, you could hear someone securing something metal against the frame above. More clanging. More tools. The elevator trembled faintly and you flinched.

Her eyes snapped back to yours instantly.

"Hey," she said, firmer this time. "Stay with me. It’s secured from the top. It’s not going anywhere, alright?"

You searched her face for a lie or at least doubt but did not find any. Just certainty.

Natasha adjusted her footing, one boot planted firmly on the hallway floor, the other testing the edge of the elevator.

"I’m coming in," she warned, her tone turning serious again. "It might shake a little when I transfer my weight. That’s normal, you do not need to panic."

Normal...

You almost wanted to laugh at how fragile that word sounded. But you nodded anyway, your throat tight, your eyes locked on her like she was the only stable thing left in the world.

Your gaze caught on a strange, almost irrelevant detail - the glint of light along her left ear. Multiple piercings, small pieces of metal catching the hallway light. Your brain latched onto that stupid detail even through the panic you could feel rising.

Behind her, you caught a glimpse of movement - her colleague stepping in, rope in hand. He clipped it to her harness with practiced ease, giving her shoulder a firm, reassuring tap.

She did not look back.

The elevator dipped half an inch the moment she slid through the gap with controlled precision. You gasped, hands flying to the wall.

Natasha did not even flinch, she simply moved like she trusted it - like she understood the language of metal and tension and load-bearing structures better than fear ever could. She crouched in front of you immediately, one of her gloved hands finding your arm without hesitation.

Up close, she was even more unfairly breathtaking. A thin sheen of sweat clung to her temple. A faint smudge of grease near her jaw. Her green eyes were sharp, assessing but warm. 

Your entire world narrowed to green.

"Hi." She said quietly, her lips twitching into the faintest smirk that made you weak in the knees.

Your brain short-circuited.

Great.

Of all the moments.

Of all the possible moments.

You had to be a gay disaster right now. Of course. And get caught while checking her out.

You let out a shaky, hysterical half-laugh - still reeling from seeing her entering your space so easily. 

"Hi."

Before you could utter another word, another distant metallic groan echoed through the shaft, low and threatening. 

Natasha’s jaw tightened slightly.

"Alright. We’re going to lift you out," she said, focus snapping back into place. "As you can see the car is about a foot low, so I’ll boost you up to Clint - that guy over there. He’ll grab you, and I’ll be right behind. Got any questions?"

You shook your head quickly, instinctively shifting closer to her as the elevator creaked again, your breath catching.

"We’re not falling," Natasha murmured, her hoarse voice wrapping around your ears. "I’ve got you. All I need is for you to wrap your arms around my shoulders. Can you do that?"

The certainty in her tone did something to your spiraling mind.

You scooted closer and circled your arms around her neck. You tried not to wince too much as she carefully slipped one very muscular arm carefully behind your back and the other under your knees before lifting you effortlessly. Like you weighed nothing at all. 

The elevator trembled faintly as she stood, but she adjusted without hesitation, her stance shifting in tiny, precise movements - like balance was something she negotiated with gravity every single day.

You looked at her, suddenly hyper-aware of the proximity. The strength coiled in her arms. The heat of her body through her clothes. The steadiness of her breathing compared to your own chaotic one.

"Oh God-" You choked as the car trembled all around you, your fingertips digging into the fabric of her shirt.

"Shh, it’s okay. I would not be in here with you if it wasn’t secure," she said steadily, her hot breath ghosting your cheek as she turned, bracing her back against one wall and her boot against the other to give herself leverage. "I don’t gamble with old elevators."

You swallowed hard, your eyes flicking nervously around as the walls creaked.

"That probably doesn’t sound as... comforting as you want it to be..."

A soft huff of amusement brushed your ear, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine, the hair at the back of your neck raising in consequence.

"Okay, then I don’t gamble with pretty girls I’m rescuing," she corrected, chuckling faintly at the openly shocked look you gave her. "Alright," she added, like she had not just short-circuited your brain entirely, again. "It might feel like it’s moving like crazy, okay?"

"Okay..." You grumbled weakly, not liking her last words very much.

"Clint!" She called upward, her voice snapping back into command. "I’ve got her, we’re moving."

A man’s face appeared at the gap, giving you both a quick thumbs-up.

"Copy that."

"On three..." She murmured to you, but mostly to herself. 

And then she was moving. Natasha bent slightly, grounding her stance - then pushed upward with controlled, explosive strength.

You cried out - not from pain, but from the sudden motion of everything. And then hands grabbed you under the arms.

"You’re good." The man, Clint, reassured you as he hauled you onto the hallway floor.

The second you were clear of the elevator, your body sagged in relief. The carpet felt like heaven beneath your palms.

You twisted immediately, panic snapping back just as fast.

"Natas-"

The elevator shifted again just as she grabbed the frame to pull herself up.

There was a loud, ugly snap from somewhere above. You froze, lips parting. Everything inside you went cold.

Natasha did not panic, she surged upward in one fluid movement, boots scraping harshly against the metal as she hauled herself through the gap.

The elevator dropped five inches the moment her weight cleared it.

A collective gasp rippled from both you and Clint. You stared at the open shaft, your heart pounding violently in your chest.

A second later, Natasha rolled onto her back beside you, her breathing heavier now, not uncontrolled, but very real as she took off her helmet. For the first time, you could actually see the adrenaline in her eyes.

Clint let out a low whistle, patting her shoulder as he helped her out of the harness. 

Natasha pushed herself up, completely ignoring him, her eyes already on you.

"You okay?"

You nodded numbly before a sudden, illogical anger spread through your veins.

"You said it wouldn’t do that!" You exclaimed, smacking her arm.

Her eyebrow lifted, surprise flickering briefly across her face - ignoring Clint’s snort behind her as he walked away.

"Actually," Natasha replied, far too calm for your liking. "I said it would not collapse with you in it, not that it would not move at all..." She said, lips threatening to pull into a smirk that she forced herself to contain - like she knew exactly how close she was to getting hit again.

"Oh my God." You groaned into your hands, dragging your hands over your face, fingers pressing hard into your hairline.

But the second you felt your throat closing in again, something in you shattered completely. And then, before you realized it, you were shaking uncontrollably. The adrenaline you had been running on for what felt like hours disappeared from your system all at once, leaving nothing behind to hold you together.

Your hands started shaking, then your arms, then everything.

Natasha was immediately on her knees in front of you, tugging off her gloves as she reached for your forearms.

"Hey-hey. Stay with me."

You could not stop crying.

You tried to speak, you really did, but nothing came out except broken gasps that refused to form words.

Her warm hands closed around your wrists, warm and firm, her thumbs pressing gently but insistently against your pulse points.

"Breathe with me," she instructed gently. "In."

You tried. Failed a few times, but she did not lose patience. She shifted closer, close enough that you could feel the heat of her, close enough that her presence alone started to anchor you, almost close enough to press her forehead lightly to yours.

"Come on, I know you can do it. In," she repeated before taking a slow, deliberate breath - deep enough that you could see it, feel it. "And out."

Your body followed the rhythm instinctively before your mind could catch up.

In.

Out.

In-

Out...

The world slowly stopped spinning quite so violently. The noise faded. The impossible tightness in your chest loosened just enough for air to finally, generously reach your lungs.

And suddenly you were made very aware that you were half in her lap. Very aware that your hands were fisted in the front of her shirt.

"I-I really thought I was going to die..." You whispered, voice hoarse and fragile.

Her thumbs brushed under your eyes, wiping away tears and smeared mascara.

"Well, clearly you didn’t." She said quietly.

Your laugh came out wet and shaky. 

"That’s... that’s because you’re apparently made of steel."

One corner of her mouth lifted.

"Sometimes I wish."

You huffed something that might have been a watery chuckle.

Your face crumpled again as the last of the adrenaline drained out of you, leaving you raw and exposed. Without thinking, you leaned forward and pressed your face into her shoulder, your arms wrapping around her.

You felt Natasha freeze for half a second before her arms came around you as well. Firm and protective.

"It’s alright. I’ve got you." She repeated softly.

You were still trembling, a faint tremor running through your body. If you had not been so close perhaps she would not have even noticed it. But she was close and she did notice.

"It’s over now. You’re safe." She murmured, shifting a little closer on her knees. Slowly, hesitantly, one of her hands came up to rest against the back of your head.

You pulled back once your brain caught up with the realization of just how close you suddenly were, your entire face heating up with embarrassment. 

"Sorry-I just, you saved-"

"No, no," she said quietly, shaking her head. "It’s okay. Really. I get it."

There was an awkward pause before you realized her hand was still on you. She seemed to realize it too as she withdrew, clearing her throat slightly.

"I’m... I should probably check your ankle?"

You nodded, wiping at your face in a completely useless attempt to fix or even hide the damage.

"Sorry," you muttered. "I’m not usually this... dramatic?"

A corner of her mouth twitched as she shot you a knowing look. 

"You weren’t. But even if you were, you were trapped in a failing elevator. So... I think you’re allowed," she replied, shifting to your extended leg. "I always preferred stairs, you know."

Her hands were surprisingly gentle as she examined your ankle. You hissed when she pressed along the outer bone.

"Yeah," she murmured. "That’s tender."

Her thumb brushed lightly over the area before she leaned back.

"Looks like a sprain. Maybe a mild one. You’re lucky." 

Lucky.

You almost laughed in disbelief again.

Natasha glanced toward the stairwell where two more firefighters were coordinating with the building manager.

"Medics are downstairs," Clint called over. "Stairwells all clear."

Natasha looked back at you, assessing as she pursed her lips.

"Alright," she said, decisive again. "You’re not putting weight on that."

You blinked. 

"I can hop-"

"Nope."

Before you could argue further, she slid one arm behind your back and the other beneath your knees again, lifting you as if you weighed nothing at all just like she previously did.

Another startled sound left you, hands instinctively flying to her shoulders. 

"Natasha-"

"Relax..." She said smoothly, adjusting you against her chest. 

"You don’t have to carry me all the way," you muttered, acutely aware of how solid she felt under your hands. And how steady she was. Which was a very welcomed thing after the situation you experienced. "I can... hobble... or something."

She snorted softly as she began the descent.

"Well, I think you already had your elevator moment. Let’s not add 'faceplanting down the stairs' to today’s crazy résumé."

Your lips parted in offended disbelief. 

"Yeah," she said dryly. "You’ve done enough dramatic for one afternoon."

You actually gasped this time. 

"Excuse me-"

"The screaming?"

"I was falling!"

"You dropped an inch."

"An inch is a lot when you think you’re about to die!"

That earned you a low, amused hum, deep enough that you felt it vibrate through her chest where you were pressed against her.

God. This was unfair.

She took the steps steadily, controlled, one at a time. Her grip never faltered, not even slightly - which was also very much unfair. You looked up at her face, catching her eyes flickering over yours before lingering. There was a beat where you hesitated, eyebrows furrowing slightly at the seemingly amused look on her face, your cheeks warming up under the attention.

"...What?" You asked warily, narrowing your eyes slightly.

There was a pause, followed by a flicker of mischief in her green eyes.

"Nothing."

"Natasha."

She exhaled slowly through her nose, like she was actively trying not to laugh.

"You look like a raccoon."

You stared at her, blinking in confusion.

"I-what...?"

She nodded solemnly, tipping her chin toward your face. 

"Mascara situation. It’s... everywhere, very feral, very committed."

You stared at her, scandalized.

"I almost died and you’re bullying me?"

"I’m not bullying you," she replied gravely, adjusting you slightly higher in her arms. "I’m appreciating the aesthetic. You fully committed to the smoky eye look."

A choked sound escaped you, half laugh, half disbelief, as you tried to glare at her. Your lips betrayed you first, twitching at the corners despite your best effort.

She caught it instantly.

"There it is..." She murmured.

"I hate you." You muttered, though your voice wobbled with a laugh.

"Kinda doubt that."

You could not help but smile at her, shaking your head before awkwardly wiping at your tear-streaked cheeks.

"Better," she said quietly. "That’s better."

You rolled your eyes, though there was no heat behind the action. 

"You’re unbelievable."

"Meh, I’ve been called worse."

The stairwell echoed with distant voices and the steady rhythm of boots on concrete, but in the space between you, everything felt... quieter. You bit down your lip, really wishing you were not imagining things.

Now that the panic had ebbed, you found yourself studying her properly.

Freckles scattered beneath a sheen of sweat. A faint cut near her brow. Green eyes that had locked onto yours like you mattered the second those devilish doors opened.

"Am I heavy?" You asked suddenly.

 Natasha scoffed, giving your face a clear once over.

"I lift people twice your size in full gear."

"Oh," you said, pretending to consider her words. "So I’m light like... what? A backpack?"

She tilted her head slightly, as if genuinely thinking it through.

"Mhm... More like an angry kitten."

You gasped, smacking her shoulder. 

"Raccoon and kitten? Pick a species, Natasha."

"Raccoon aesthetic," she corrected smoothly. "Kitten attitude."

You were fully smiling now.

It felt strange - how easily she could pull you out of that spiral without even really knowing you. Like she had simply decided fear did not get to win today.

She reached the final flight, the soft afternoon light filtering up faintly from the lobby below. Sirens flashing through the glass doors.

You hesitate, talking yourself out of saying what you wanted to, but when will you ever get the chance to if not now?

"Alright, I have to ask... Do I at least look like a cute raccoon?" You asked quietly after a full minute of convincing yourself to finally get the words out.

Natasha did not hesitate, her lips offering you a charming smile.

"Oh, the cutest I’ve ever rescued, for sure."

Your stomach flipped in a way that did not resemble anything you experienced in the elevators.

The lobby doors burst open as you finally stepped out into the open air. The cool breeze hit your face and you inhaled sharply - you had not realized how badly you needed that until your lungs filled with it. It was perhaps the first full breath that did not feel like borrowed oxygen.

Paramedics hurried forward with a stretcher, voices overlapping as they approached. But Natasha did not set you down immediately.

"Possible ankle sprain. No loss of consciousness. Minor shock." She reported, her tone shifting seamlessly back to professional as her eyes flicked to one of the medics who nodded at her.

"We’ll take it from here."

You tightened your grip on Natasha for half a second longer than necessary. She looked down at you again, something unreadable flickering in her expression now that the urgency was over. She crouched, lowering you carefully onto the stretcher, hands lingering at your waist just long enough to make your pulse jump.

The sudden loss of contact felt... noticeable.

She stepped back as the medics started examining your ankle, asking questions.

You answered automatically but your attention never really left her, your eyes neither.

Natasha ran a hand through her slightly disheveled red hair, pushing it back from her face as the wind picked up. The adrenaline was still humming under her skin, you could see it in the way her jaw was set too tight, her fingers almost buzzing with restless energy. But she was already shifting back into that composed, controlled version of herself. She spoke briefly with Clint, answering a question from someone else. And suddenly, the thought of her just... walking away felt unbearable. And unfair.

"Natasha?"

She turned immediately at your voice, brows lifting.

You swallowed, heart hammering for an entirely different reason now.

"Yeah?"

Your throat felt tight again, but not from fear.

"Thank you. Truly," the words were simple, too small compared to what she had done, but you meant them with everything in you. "Thank you for saving my life."

Her teasing edge from earlier left her completely.

For a moment, she did not look like the confident firefighter who had climbed into a failing elevator without hesitation. She just looked like a woman who had been very, very scared of being too late.

"You’re welcome, just... doing my job." She said quietly, smiling at you as she reached for your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Your heart did that stupid thing again.

One of the medics cleared her throat nearby, smiling sheepishly as she interrupted the... moment. 

"We’re going to transport her for X-rays."

Natasha nodded absently, not pulling her hand away until she absolutely had to, her eyes staying on yours.

"You’ll be okay?" She asked.

You hesitated, biting down your lips. Then, before you could overthink it-

"...Will you visit the hospital raccoon?"

Her mouth curved slowly, something warm and amused - and dare you say even relief - settling into her expression.

"I’ll make sure to bring waterproof mascara recommendations."

You scoffed, swatting her hand away playfully. She smiled at you, watching as the stretcher you were on reached the ambulance doors.

"You’re safe now." She whispered, winking at you.

And the way she had said it, certain like a promise made you unable to not smile back. You believed her completely.

Hope you enjoyed this silly fic!🤭 Actually working on a longer fic (series) right now but I had this idea for a while so here it is!! See you - hopefully - soon :))

“I thought you said you’d come to bed in a sec.”

Oh, Natasha. Your beautiful, perfect Natasha. She just doesn’t get it, does she?

“I will. Just let me finish up this page.”

“Just a few minutes. One sec. I’ll be done soon. When does it end, baby?” You can hear the small upturn in her lip as she teases you. She’s so beautiful when she calls you out like that. But then again, she’s beautiful all the time.

She comes up behind you, wrapping her arms around you. She’s wearing one of your old t-shirts, you can tell by the hole in the sleeve and the smell of her perfume mixing with that scent you always wear.

“Come to bed.” She mumbles to you, her voice soft and groggy.

Words can’t express how much you would love to simply abandon this project and go to bed. To curl up in her arms, bury your face in her hair, and finally let your body rest. However, rest hasn’t been in your vocabulary for a long time.

You sigh, leaning back in your chair and putting your hands on her arms. Her skin is still soft from the lotion she puts on before bed.

“Nat… The project…” You close your eyes, breathing in her presence for this fleeting moment.

She huffs, grabbing your arms and dragging your chair back.

“No. You’re coming to bed.”

You whine, trying to pull your arms away from her, but she wins. She always wins.

She could ask you to pull the moon out of the sky for her, and you’d oblige easily.

“You are working too hard, too much. Your girlfriend wants you in bed with her.”

Who are you to turn her down?

You change out of your clothes and into your pajamas—the ones she bought you a few months ago, just because. “You’d look cute in them,” she’d said.

Curling up in bed, you bury your face in her hair, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. She’s perfect. She’s so, so, perfect.

You’re about to drift off to sleep when you hear her whisper to you. “I love you, baby.”

You mumble something along the same lines, and she lets out a sleepy laugh, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You’re never letting her go.

Her bare weight hovering above you. Her auburn hair brushing your cheek. A careful kiss pressed just below your jaw like she was testing whether you'd disappear.

You smiled without looking. "You're staring again."

"I wasn't sure you would wake if I stopped," she murmured.

Your eyes opened then, finding her already watching, close enough her breath warmed your lips. The worry there was quiet but familiar, softened only when your hand slid to the back of her neck and pulled her down.

The next kiss wasn't cautious.

Her magic flickered along the headboard, a soft pulse, reacting faster than she could pretend she wasn't affected. She exhaled against you, forehead resting to yours as if grounding herself.

"Stay a little longer," she whispered.

"We have a briefing."

Her nose brushed yours. "Five minutes."

Her fingers traced slow lines along your arm, memorizing rather than touching, and every time you tried to speak she silenced you with another kiss, unhurried, unashamed, like the world outside the room didn't exist yet.

Eventually you laughed softly against her mouth. "You're going to make us late."

"I know," she said, not moving at all.

Her thigh settled between your legs, a gentle pressure that sent a shiver up your spine, a gesture both teasing and possessive. Her fingers tangled in your hair, tugging softly as her mouth found yours again. 

The kiss was slow, deliberate, an exploration as much as a reminder, every brush of her lips felt like a silent promise, one that she'd be happy to keep you here all day. 

Her other hand roamed, exploring the curves and dips of your body with a light touch that left a trail of heat in its wake. 

"You're distracting me," you managed between kisses, feeling her smile against your mouth.

"That's the point," she murmured, her mouth finding your neck now, leaving a trail of soft kisses down to your collarbone. Her hands were more daring, now slipping under the hem of your shirt, her touch a gentle tease as they brushed over your hip, your waist. 

"Besides," she added, her voice low, "I think you like being distracted. By me."

A quiet moan escaped you, her words sending a shiver down your spine. 

You couldn't argue with her, you did like being distracted by her, in more ways than one. 

You tilted your chin up, giving her better access, and gasped quietly as her hands slid further up your sides, trailing over your skin with an almost worshipful touch.

"I hate it when you're right," you breathed, arching subtly into her touch.

"No, you don't," she murmured, her lips brushing against the sensitive skin just below your ear.

Her hands were exploring now, moving with a growing sense of purpose. Her teeth teasingly nipped at your earlobe.

"You love it."

Her fingers had reached your ribs, tracing the outline of each bone through your shirt with a slow, deliberate touch. It was maddening how well she knew you, how easily she could unravel you.

Her lips curved into a satisfied smile against your skin, her hands moving with purpose now as she slowly pushed your shirt up. 

She broke the kiss just long enough to pull the fabric over your head before capturing your mouth again, her body pressing flush against yours. 

"Five minutes," she reminded softly, her hands roaming freely now.

Her fingers traced the curve of your shoulder, the dip of your waist, the rise of your hip,  mapping out every inch of your body with slow, deliberate touches. 

She kissed the soft spot where your neck met your shoulder, her teeth grazing lightly, sending shivers down your spine. 

"Four minutes," she whispered against your skin, her hands sliding up to cup your face, tilting your head back for a deeper kiss. 

Her tongue traced the curve of your lip, dipping inside to taste you, her thumb brushing against your cheek gently.

The kiss grew more intense, her tongue exploring your mouth with a hungry yet gentle touch.

One hand remained cupped around your face while the other roamed down your body.

"Three minutes," she murmured breaking the kiss only to pull off your bra revealing bare breasts she'd memorized long ago.

Your sounds encouraged her, making her bolder. 

She pressed you back against the pillows, kissing down your neck, between your breasts, her hands cupping and caressing gently. 

Your nipples hardened under her touch and attention, one peak captured softly between her lips while her hand teased the other. 

"Two minutes," she whispered against your breast, switching sides to give equal attention, knowing how much you loved this. 

Her touch was familiar yet still felt like discovery each time, slow circles, gentle squeezes that made your back arch into her mouth.

She loved how responsive you were, how your body reacted to her touch like it was made for her hands. 

Your moans and pants filled the room, making her own breath grow heavier. 

She kissed down your stomach slowly, her fingers hooking into the waistband of your underwear. 

"One minute," she murmured, looking up at you from between your legs with a heated gaze, "and I'm not wasting it talking." She slowly pulled down your underwear, kissing along your inner thighs, making you widen your legs instinctively.

"Look at you," she whispered, her breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh, making you shudder. "So pretty, so wet for me." She spread you open with her thumbs, blowing a soft stream of air over your clit, watching you buck and whimper. "God, I love these sounds you make," she murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your center. "I love how you push against my mouth, how you grab the sheets when I lick you."

Her tongue finally made contact, a slow, deliberate stroke from your entrance to your clit that made you moan out, "Wanda—" Your hands flying to tangle in her hair. 

"Mmm—" She hummed against you, the vibration sending shocks through your body. 

"Please—" you begged, hips bucking up needlessly, chasing more. She gripped your thighs harder, holding you still. 

"Please what?" she teased, pressing three teasing kisses to your clit instead of what you really wanted. 

Another moan dripped from your lips, desperate and broken.

"Is this what you want?" she asked, her voice muffled against your wetness. She licked a slow circle around your clit, avoiding the exact spot you needed pressure. You whined, pushing your hips down, trying to force her mouth where you needed it. "Or this?" she asked, sucking your clit between her lips, releasing it with a soft pop. 

Your entire body tensed, a strangled cry escaping you. "Fuck, Wanda—" You panted, "Just—"

"Just eat me out properly?" she finished with a soft laugh against your pussy. "You're so beautiful when you're needy." She finally gave you what you wanted, a firm press of her tongue directly on your clit, exactly how you liked it. 

Your back bowed off the bed with a loud moan, fingers tightening painfully in her hair. 

"Yes, right there," you gasped, finally getting the friction you needed. She hummed approval, finally giving you steady pressure and suction just like you begged for.

Her tongue worked in circles, pressing flat and firm against your clit while her thumbs spread you even wider. 

The wet sound of her mouth on you filled the quiet room, mixing with your desperate moans and her occasional hums of pleasure. 

She was taking her time even now, making sure you felt every lick, every suck, every tease of her teeth grazing lightly. 

Your thighs trembled around her head, your whole body tensing as pleasure built higher and higher.

"Thirty seconds," she muttered against you, sucking hard for emphasis.

Your body was close to the edge, teetering on that delicate line between intense pleasure and release. 

She knew your body so well, knew exactly how hard to suck, how fast to lick, how much pressure to apply. Her hands gripped your ass possessively, pulling you even closer to her mouth. She could feel you trembling, hear your rapid breaths, knew you were almost there. 

"Twenty seconds," she whispered, her voice muffled but clear. She sucked harder, her tongue flicking rapidly against your clit. "Ten."

The countdown had you unraveling completely. Your thighs shook violently around her head, your moans growing louder and more desperate. 

"Five," she murmured, sucking your clit between her lips and giving it a gentle bite that sent you over the edge. 

Your orgasm crashed over you with a force that made you cry out her name, your body arching off the bed as pleasure pulsed through you in intense waves. She kept licking gently through it, catching every last drop, until you finally collapsed back onto the pillows. 

Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, your legs still trembling, still spread open for her. She crawled back up your body slowly, pressing soft kisses to your stomach, your breasts, your collarbone before finally claiming your lips again. 

You could taste yourself on her, a salty sweetness that made you pull her closer.

"Fuck," you breathed against her mouth, still panting. "We are so late."

She laughed softly, nuzzling into your neck. 

You kissed her, the kiss was deep and passionate, a silent thank you for the orgasm and a clear sign that you were ready for more. 

"You're going to make us even later," she warned but didn't resist as you pulled her hips up towards your face. She spread her legs over your head, lowering herself onto your mouth without hesitation. 

"Are you going to eat me like I ate you?" she whispers softly, grinding against your lips.

You looked up at her, your expression serious and focused. Without a word, you grabbed her hips and pulled her down onto your mouth, flattening your tongue against her and licking slowly from her entrance up to her clit. 

She gasped, her hands flying to the headboard for support. 

"Oh god," she breathed, starting to rock against your mouth gently. You spread her open with your fingers, diving in with your tongue, licking, sucking, fucking her with your mouth like she'd done to you.

"Fuck, just like that," she moaned above you, grinding down onto your face. 

Her arousal coated your chin and lips, making the room even warmer and wetter. 

You loved how eager and needy she was, how she didn't hold back her sounds or her movements. She was always so controlled except when you had her pussy on your mouth. 

"Your tongue feels so good," she panted, riding your face slowly but deeply.

She started moving faster, her hips rolling in circles, pushing her clit against your tongue and then backing up so you could lick into her again. 

Your hands gripped her ass tightly, spreading her cheeks apart and exposing her even more. 

You could feel her getting wetter and wetter, her pussy dripping onto your mouth and down your chin. 

"Shit," she gasped, reaching down to grab a handful of your hair. "I'm gonna come," she warned, her voice strained with pleasure.

You doubled down, sucking her clit hard and fucking her with two fingers at the same time. She cried out, her body tensing and then shaking as she came violently on your mouth. 

"Fuck! Fuck!" she moaned loudly, grinding against your lips and tongue until she was completely spent. 

She collapsed forward, catching herself on the headboard, her heat still twitching against your mouth. You licked her gently through the aftershocks, cleaning her up slowly until she pushed gently at your forehead.

"Stop, stop," she laughed weakly, lifting herself off your face. She looked down at you, her chest heaving, her core still glistening with arousal and your saliva. "Jesus, we really are never going to make that briefing, are we?" 

She wiped some of her arousal off your chin with her thumb before sucking it into her mouth.

The gesture was so dirty and intimate that you felt another rush of desire. "Look at you," she murmured, "all messy and satisfied with my cum on your face."

You smiled up at her, your face shiny with her wetness. 

"Can't help it," you replied with a small smirk, "you make it too easy to get distracted." 

She leaned down to kiss you messily, tasting herself on your lips before pulling away slightly. 

"Well, when you put it like that..." She crawled down your body possessively, spreading your legs open. "Guess I'll just have to keep distracting you then."

The briefing, the responsibilities, the outside world, all faded beneath tangled sheets and tangled limbs.

Dinner hour at the compound always carried a strange quiet.

Not silence, never that, but a softened hum. Ventilation breathing through steel walls. Distant elevator cables shifting. The low murmur of staff rotating shifts. It was the kind of calm that only existed in places built for war.

You weren't at the debrief this afternoon at all.

Technically, neither was Wanda.

When Natasha had raised a brow at the empty seats earlier that afternoon, Wanda hadn't even looked up from her tablet.

"Training overran," she had said smoothly. "I kept her."

No one questioned it.

She was a commander now. Her authority carried weight, and the faint red flicker behind her eyes discouraged curiosity.

Hours later, the compound halls reflected gold from recessed lighting, long shadows stretching across polished floors. Wanda's heels clicked sharply against the metal beneat, precise, unhurried, controlled. Each step echoed just enough to announce her presence before she entered a space.

An agent walked briskly beside her, struggling slightly to keep pace.

"The rookies in Group B are overcompensating," Wanda said without looking at him, flipping through a thin black folder. Pages shifted with a soft snap. "They rely on brute force instead of coordination. Pair them with Simmons and Ortiz next week. I want them corrected before live simulations."

"Yes, Commander."

She stopped mid stride, scanning a note, red nails tapping once against the margin.

"And remove Daniels from weapons rotation temporarily. His trigger discipline is reactive. That is how civilians get hurt."

The agent nodded quickly, accepting the folder when she handed it over. Their fingers barely brushed.

"I'll see it handled."

"I know you will."

He peeled off down the adjacent corridor, footsteps fading quickly.

And just like that, she was alone.

The compound felt bigger in the evenings when half the Avengers were out on rotation. A quick retrieval mission, in and out, back before midnight. The kind that rarely went wrong.

The kind that made the base feel hollow.

Wanda adjusted the cuffs of her blazer and resumed walking, heels striking rhythmically against the corridor floor. Click. Click. Click.

She was heading toward the kitchen.

Toward you.

She could already imagine the scene, you probably leaning against the counter, stealing something before dinner was fully ready. Teasing her for being late. Pretending you hadn't checked the time three times waiting.

A faint smile tugged at her mouth. The overhead lights flickered once.

She didn't stop.

The compound systems did that sometimes, power rerouting, Stark tech recalibrating. Nothing unusual.

Then it flickered again. This time longer. The hum in the walls shifted pitch.

Wanda slowed. Somewhere far below or above, something metallic slammed.

Hard.

Her body reacted before her thoughts did. Shoulders straightened. Chin lifted. That softness from earlier evaporated like mist.

The PA system crackled. For half a second, there was only static.

Then "Security breach detected. Level Three lockdown initiated. All personnel return to designated safe zones immediately. This is not a drill."

The voice echoed through every corridor. The lights died. Darkness swallowed the hallway whole.

A beat later, emergency strips flared on, bathing everything in low, saturated red.

Her heels stopped mid step. Completely still.

The air felt different. Charged. Tight.

Another metallic crash echoed, closer this time. Followed by the unmistakable pop of distant gunfire.

Her jaw tightened. Not fear.

Focus.

Her hands lifted slightly at her sides, fingers flexing as crimson energy bled into her palms, coiling like something alive and waiting.

Her first thought wasn't about the breach. It wasn't about the rookies. It wasn't about command.

It was about you.

You were on this floor. And suddenly the distance between here and the kitchen felt enormous.

The PA system continued: "All access points sealed. Elevators disabled. External communication suspended."

The heavy thud of blast doors engaging reverberated through the walls.

Wanda turned toward the kitchen corridor. And ran.

Her heels didn't falter, just faster now, sharper, echoing violently in the red lit hall as somewhere ahead, another gunshot rang out.

The hallway seemed longer now.

Emergency lights washed everything in a violent red, walls, floors, the sharp angles of reinforced doors. The shadows moved when she moved, stretching and recoiling like something alive.

Another gunshot cracked through the corridor ahead.

Too close. Wanda didn't slow.

Two masked men rounded the corner at the far end of the hall, tactical gear, rifles raised, visors reflecting the emergency glow. They didn't hesitate.

They opened fire. Bullets screamed down the corridor. Her hand snapped forward.

Time didn't stop, but it bent. The rounds halted inches from her, suspended midair in a trembling constellation of brass and metal. The force of them pushed against her power, vibrating, trying to complete their violent path.

Her expression didn't change. She clenched her fist.

The bullets reversed direction with a sickening, unnatural snap.

The men barely had time to register what was happening before the metal tore back into them with lethal precision. One dropped instantly. The other staggered, choking behind his mask.

Wanda's other hand lifted.

His body jerked upward violently, boots scraping uselessly against the floor as invisible force crushed inward.

The metal of his rifle warped. His visor spiderwebbed. Then he went limp. She released him without ceremony. His body hit the ground with a heavy thud.

Her heels stepped over them. More movement to her left.

Three more figures burst through a side access door. One launched something cylindrical that clattered across the floor toward her.

An EMP grenade. Her eyes flared brighter. The device froze mid roll.

It trembled. Then crumpled inward like paper crushed in a fist, sparks spitting uselessly as her magic strangled the circuitry.

She didn't even look at it again. The nearest attacker lunged.

Big mistake.

She twisted her wrist and the wall behind him buckled inward, metal shrieking as it folded around his body and pinned him there with bone crushing force.

Another charged from the right. Her hand shot out. He was lifted and hurled down the corridor like debris in a hurricane, body smashing through reinforced glass with a brutal crash.

The last one tried to run.

Wanda didn't chase. She simply pulled. He flew backward violently, slamming into the floor at her feet. Her magic coiled around his throat, lifting him inches off the ground.

Her voice, when she spoke, was terrifyingly calm.

"How many?"

He struggled, clawing at nothing. Her fingers tightened.

"How many are inside?"

He didn't answer fast enough. Her hand closed. Silence returned to the corridor except for the distant alarms and the faint ringing hum of strained metal.

She dropped him. Her breathing was steady. Too steady. 

She could feel it now, not your power, not magic, just instinct. The sense that you were close.

Another corridor ahead. Kitchen level.

She moved again. Faster.

She turned the corner.... and didn't see the shadow detach from the wall behind her.

A masked man rose from concealment, blade glinting in the emergency light. Silent. Precise.

He lunged. There was no warning. No shout. No time.

Except, You.

You came out of nowhere. One second the space behind her was empty. The next, you collided with the attacker full force. The blade meant for Wanda shifted trajectory.

There was a sound. Wet. Wrong. The impact drove you forward. The knife sank deep into your side.

Your body jerked, breath leaving you in a sharp, stunned exhale.

For half a second, Wanda didn't understand what she was seeing.

You were in front of her.

Too close. Too still. The attacker tried to pull the blade free for another strike.

He never got the chance. The air around him imploded. Wanda's scream tore down the hallway as her power detonated outward. The man's body lifted violently, limbs bending at impossible angles before being flung into the far wall with bone shattering force. The impact cracked reinforced steel.

He didn't move again. But Wanda wasn't looking at him. You staggered. Your hands instinctively pressed to your side.

Red. Too much red. It spread quickly between your fingers, dripping onto the sterile compound floor.

You swayed.

And then your knees gave out. You dropped in front of her.

"No— no, no, no—"

She was on you before you hit fully, catching you as your weight collapsed forward. Her knees slammed hard against the ground, heels scraping uselessly as she pulled you into her lap.

Her hands were already glowing. But they were shaking.

Your breath hitched. It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't loud. Just small. Shallow.

"Wanda..." you managed, dazed.

Her hands pressed over the wound, crimson energy flooding outward, trying to seal, to mend, to undo.

But there was so much blood. The alarms continued to blare overhead.

"Lockdown in effect. All personnel remain in place—"

Her attention snapped back to you instantly.

"Look at me," she demanded, voice breaking despite the steel beneath it. "Look at me."

Your fingers weakly caught at her sleeve. You tried to smile. Even now.

"You're... welcome."

Her face crumpled, just for a second.

The same woman who had hovered over you that morning, kissing you awake, now had your blood soaking into her clothes.

"I didn't need saving," she whispered fiercely.

You coughed softly. "Yeah. You did."

Her magic flared brighter, unstable, pulsing hard enough that the emergency lights flickered in response.

Behind her, somewhere deep in the compound, another explosion rocked the structure.

She didn't move. Didn't look. Didn't care. Her entire universe had narrowed to the warmth draining from your body in her arms.

And for the first time since the alarms began....The Scarlet Witch was afraid.

Wanda's hands pressed against your side, magic pouring from her palms in frantic waves. It wasn't controlled anymore, it surged and stuttered, reacting to her panic. The air around you warped faintly, like heat over asphalt.

"Don't move," she breathed, voice unsteady. "I have it. I have it."

You let out a strained huff that might've been a laugh. "You're... shaking."

"I am not," she snapped automatically.

Her fingers trembled harder.

You could feel the blade had gone deep. Every breath dragged against it, sharp and wet. But the pain wasn't what made your chest tighten.

It was her face.

You'd seen Wanda angry. Ruthless. Untouchable. You had never seen her look small.

"Hey," you murmured, swallowing through the copper taste rising in your throat. Your hand lifted weakly, brushing clumsily against her wrist. "It's okay."

"It is not okay," she said immediately, voice cracking on the last word. "You are bleeding because of me."

"Pretty sure it was the guy with the knife."

Her jaw clenched. Her eyes flared brighter, red light bleeding into the whites.

The hallway lights dimmed in response.

"You should have let me handle him."

You shifted slightly, and a sharp gasp escaped you before you could stop it. Her hands pressed firmer, panic flashing across her face.

"Sorry," you whispered.

"Stop apologizing." Her voice dropped, low and fierce. "You do not get to apologize."

Another distant explosion rumbled through the compound. The floor trembled beneath you. Dust sifted from the ceiling.

She didn't even glance up.

Her entire body curved over yours, shielding you instinctively, like she could block the world itself if she tried hard enough.

"You can't leave me," she said suddenly. It wasn't a command. It wasn't dramatic.

It was raw.

Your fingers slid weakly into the fabric at her waist, grounding yourself in her warmth. "I'm not planning on it."

Her magic pulsed again, brighter this time, pushing deeper into the wound. You felt heat, intense, searing and you hissed through your teeth.

"Wanda—"

"I have to close it," she said quickly. "The blade missed anything vital. I just— I need a second—"

Her voice faltered.

You could feel it. The way her power trembled when her emotions spiked. The way reality seemed to thin at the edges when she lost control.

The red light overhead flickered violently.

"Wanda," you said more firmly, grabbing her wrist despite the weakness in your grip.

Her eyes snapped to yours instantly.

"Look at me."

She froze. For a second, the magic steadied.

"I need you calm," you whispered. "Not powerful. Calm."

Her breathing was uneven.

You reached up, slow, shaking, and pressed your palm against her cheek. Smearing blood there without meaning to.

Her eyes fluttered shut at the contact. The same way they had that morning when you pulled her down for another kiss.

The memory hung between you. Soft sheets. Sun warmed skin.

Her whisper: Stay a little longer.

Now her forehead rested against yours again, but the air was cold, metallic, filled with alarms and distant gunfire.

"I cannot do this without you," she admitted quietly. "I will not."

"You won't have to," you breathed.

Your strength was fading, not dramatically, not all at once, just a slow heaviness settling into your limbs.

She felt it. Her hands tightened.

"No," she whispered. "Stay with me."

"I am."

Her magic shifted then. Not explosive. Not violent.

Focused.

The red glow around her hands deepened, condensing into something precise, controlled by sheer force of will. The bleeding slowed under her palms. The torn muscle began to knit together, thread by thread.

It hurt. You didn't hide that it hurt. Your nails dug weakly into her side, breath stuttering as the heat intensified.

"I know," she murmured urgently. "I know, I know— just a little more."

Her voice softened unexpectedly.

"You always promised to come back to me."

You managed a faint smile. "I did."

"So you will."

It wasn't a plea this time. It was certainty. Somewhere deeper in the compound, the last of the gunfire faded.

The lockdown siren continued its steady, oppressive wail.

Her magic finally sealed the worst of it. Not perfect. Not clean. But enough.

You slumped more fully into her, exhausted.

Her arms slid around you instantly, lifting you carefully against her chest as if you weighed nothing at all.

Her face pressed into your hair. For a moment, she allowed herself to shake.

Just once. Then her spine straightened. The Scarlet Witch rose from the floor with you in her arms, blood staining her clothes, eyes burning brighter than the emergency lights.

"You're going to be okay," she said quietly into your temple.

And somewhere in the compound, doors began to groan under unseen pressure.

"But first," she whispered, voice turning cold as winter, "no one else touches you."

The hallway doors at the far end buckled inward with a violent groan.

Wanda's head snapped up. Bootsteps. Multiple. Heavy. Coordinated. They'd heard the explosions. They were sweeping the floor.

You felt it too, the vibration through the walls, the faint tremor under her boots as she shifted you higher in her arms.

"Wanda..." your voice was weaker now, breath shallow against her collarbone. "More coming."

"I know."

Her tone was ice.

She adjusted her grip, one arm under your knees, the other braced across your back, keeping pressure subtly aligned with the wound she'd sealed. You could feel her magic still working beneath your skin, slow and steady, holding you together through sheer refusal.

The emergency lights flickered again.

Then the blast doors at the end of the corridor detonated inward.

Smoke flooded the hall. Sparks rained down. Five masked men advanced through the haze, rifles already raised.

They saw her. Saw you bleeding in her arms. They didn't hesitate. Gunfire erupted. Wanda turned her body instinctively, shielding you completely with her back as her free hand snapped up.

A red barrier exploded outward.

Bullets slammed into it in a violent spray, metal flattening midair before clattering uselessly to the floor.

The force of it shoved her heels backward an inch, scraping against steel. Her jaw tightened.

"You will not," she breathed. She thrust her hand forward. The barrier inverted.

Every bullet fragment lifted and launched back with lethal precision. Two men dropped instantly. Another screamed as metal tore through his shoulder.

The remaining attackers split formation, tactical, disciplined, one flanking left, one right.

Smart. Wanda didn't have two hands free.

The one carrying you trembled slightly with the strain.

You felt it.

"Put me down," you rasped.

"No."

"Wanda—"

"No."

Her eyes flared brighter, but you could see the calculation flickering behind them. She couldn't unleash something wide scale without risking you. Every movement had to be controlled.

The man on the right lunged forward, pulling a blade when his rifle jammed.

Too close. Too fast.

Wanda shifted you abruptly, twisting her body to avoid the strike. Pain shot through your side at the movement and you gasped against her shoulder.

The attacker swung again.

Wanda caught his wrist midair with telekinesis, bones audibly straining, and crushed.

He screamed. She flung him sideways into the wall hard enough to dent reinforced steel.

The last man, the one flanking left, raised something small in his hand.

Not a gun. A detonator. Wanda saw it. Her pupils blew wide.

"No."

He pressed it. The hallway floor exploded behind her.

The shockwave hit like a truck, slamming into her back and driving her forward. Her grip tightened around you with inhuman force as debris rained down.

You both hit the ground hard.

Her body curled over yours instantly, shielding your head with her arm as chunks of ceiling crashed around you.

Smoke. Dust. The emergency lights flickered violently before going out completely.

Darkness swallowed everything. For a moment, there was only ringing.

High pitched. Disorienting. Then the dim red glow returned, weaker now, pulsing from damaged strips along the walls.

Wanda pushed up first.

Her hair was dusted with debris. A thin line of blood traced down from her temple, not hers originally, yours smeared across her skin.

Her eyes scanned.

The detonator lay crushed several feet away. The last attacker was trying to crawl.

Trying.

Her expression shifted.

Something ancient and merciless slid behind her gaze.

With a flick of her fingers, the man lifted off the ground, dragged backward across broken metal and concrete. He clawed at the floor, leaving streaks.

She didn't look at him when she closed her fist. The sound was quick.

Final. Silence fell again,heavier this time.

Your breathing hitched beneath her. She snapped back to you instantly, kneeling.

"Talk to me."

You swallowed. "Still... here." Your voice was thinner now.

The blast had taken more out of you than you let on. The seal she'd made was holding, but barely. She could feel it, the strain in her magic like a thread pulled too tight.

She slid one arm beneath you again, lifting carefully. The hallway behind you was collapsed.

The main route to the medical wing, gone. She looked down the opposite direction.

Longer path. Stairs. No elevators. More exposed corridors.

She didn't hesitate. She started running.

Heels abandoned. She kicked them off mid stride without breaking pace, bare feet silent against the cold metal floor as she moved through smoke and flashing red light.

Every corner she turned, her magic moved ahead of her, sweeping, sensing, crushing threats before they could fully emerge.

A man stepped from a side door. He hit the ceiling.

Another fired blindly from the shadows his weapon disassembled in his hands and the force threw him unconscious against the wall.

She wasn't fighting like before. Before had been controlled.

This was primal. You could feel her heart hammering against your cheek.

"Almost there," she whispered, though the medical wing was still two levels down.

Your hand fisted weakly in her torn blazer.

"Wanda..."

"Yes."

"If you drop me, I'm haunting you."

A breath of something like a laugh broke from her, fragile and furious all at once.

"You are not allowed to haunt me."

She reached the stairwell. The door was jammed. She didn't slow. Red energy surged outward and ripped it off its hinges.

The stairwell lights were dead.

Pitch black. She stepped inside anyway.

Her magic lit the space in a low crimson glow as she descended, carrying you through smoke and sirens and the echo of distant chaos.

Behind her, somewhere deep in the compound, the remaining intruders were retreating.

They could feel it now. The shift.

This was no longer a breach. This was a hunt. But Wanda didn't chase.

Not yet.

Right now, the only war that mattered was the one keeping your pulse steady against her chest as she pushed toward the medical wing.

And anyone who stepped between her and that door would not step again.

By the time Wanda reached the medical floor, her breathing had changed. Not ragged. Measured.

Every inhale controlled. Every exhale forced into discipline.

The doors to the medical wing slid open halfway before stuttering, scraping loudly as she forced them the rest of the way with a sharp flick of red energy.

The sight inside stopped her for half a second.

It looked like a battlefield.

Beds pulled into the center of the room. Equipment overturned. Blood across white tile floors. Two nurses crouched beside an agent with a shoulder wound. Another medic was applying pressure to someone's thigh while shouting for gauze that wasn't there.

Overhead lights flickered violently.

Then the medical generators cut.

Everything went black. Gasps echoed. Someone swore.

Then the emergency strips along the baseboards sputtered back to life, flashing dim red in uneven pulses.

The entire wing was bathed in the same bleeding glow as the corridors above.

A nurse looked up first. Her eyes widened instantly.

"Commander—"

They all saw it.

Wanda Maximoff standing in the doorway barefoot, clothes torn, blood smeared across her hands and collar, carrying you like something fragile and irreplaceable.

There was no hesitation in her stride.

No scanning the room. No assessment of damage.

You were her only objective. "Clear a table," she ordered.

Her voice cut through the chaos cleanly. Immediate.

Two nurses scrambled, shoving aside a tray of instruments to make space. One of them reached for you automatically.

Wanda's eyes flashed. The nurse froze mid motion.

"I will handle her," Wanda said.

Not hostile. Final. She laid you down carefully on the cleared table. The metal was cold beneath your back. You winced faintly.

Your skin had gone pale under the red light.

The makeshift seal she'd created was holding, but barely. Sweat beaded at your temple. Your breathing was shallow, uneven.

A medic stepped closer cautiously. "Commander, we need stable lighting, imaging— the generators—"

"I know."

Her voice was tight.

Another explosion rumbled faintly somewhere distant in the compound. Dust drifted from a ceiling vent.

The emergency lights flickered again. Then steadied. But weaker.

One of the nurses whispered, "We're running on auxiliary battery. It won't last."

Wanda didn't respond. She stepped closer to you, placing both hands back over your wound.

The med staff watched. They'd seen her fight. They'd seen what she could do to enemies. This was different. This was precision. This was fear sharpened into something lethal and controlled.

"Her blood pressure is dropping," a medic murmured, checking manually since monitors were dead. "We need to—"

Wanda's magic ignited. Not explosive. Not wild.

Dense.

It glowed deeper than before, a saturated crimson that illuminated the entire room brighter than the failing strips along the floor.

Shadows recoiled from her.

You sucked in a sharp breath as heat flooded your side again. It hurt worse this time. There was no surgical assistance now. No equipment. No imaging.

Just her.

She leaned over you, jaw clenched, fingers splayed as energy seeped through skin, muscle, torn vessels. She could feel everything, the damage, the internal bruising from the blast, the strain your body was under.

"Wanda..." you whispered faintly.

Her eyes snapped to yours immediately.

"I'm here."

"You're... glowing."

Despite everything, the corner of her mouth twitched.

"Focus."

A tremor ran through her magic as the lights overhead flickered violently again.

Then the remaining generator died completely. The room plunged into near darkness. Only her magic remained.

Red light bathed the entire medical wing, casting every injured agent, every nurse, every overturned tray in a surreal, hellish glow.

It looked less like a hospital. More like the aftermath of something catastrophic.

A nurse instinctively stepped back. No one spoke. The only sounds were distant alarms and your strained breathing.

Wanda lowered her forehead briefly to yours as she worked, voice dropping so only you could hear.

"You are not dying in my arms today."

Your lips moved weakly. "Wasn't... planning on it."

Her power deepened. She wasn't just sealing the wound now. She was rebuilding. Carefully rethreading torn muscle fibers. Forcing ruptured vessels closed. Easing internal bleeding. Reinforcing what shock had destabilized.

It drained her. You could see it, the way her shoulders tensed, the slight shake creeping back into her hands.

A medic whispered to another, "She's overexerting—"

Wanda heard. Her head tilted slightly. The temperature in the room dropped several degrees.

"I am fine," she said without looking away from you.

Her magic surged again.

You cried out this time, back arching slightly from the table before she pressed you down gently with her forearm.

"I know," she breathed urgently. "I know. Stay with me."

Your fingers found her sleeve again, weaker than before but still there.

"I'm not... going anywhere."

Her eyes burned.

"You are not allowed."

The wound finally began to close fully beneath her hands. Skin knitting together in thin, glowing seams that slowly faded from red to normal tone.

Your breathing steadied. Still shallow. But steadier.

The medics exchanged glances. 

When the last thread sealed, Wanda didn't pull her hands away immediately.

She kept them there, hovering. Making sure. Your pulse strengthened under her senses.

You were still pale. Still exhausted.

But alive.

The red glow around the room dimmed slightly as her power eased. The darkness crept back in at the edges.

One nurse finally moved forward slowly. "Commander... we need to check for internal trauma."

Wanda looked at her then. Really looked. And for a split second, the Scarlet Witch flickered behind her eyes, warning, territorial, dangerous.

Then she looked back at you. Your eyes were open.

Tired.

But focused on her.

"I've got her," the nurse added gently.

There was a long pause. Then Wanda stepped half an inch back.

Only half.

"I am not leaving," she said quietly.

No one argued.

Because the way she stood there, blood stained, glowing faintly in the darkness, positioned between you and the rest of the world made it very clear.

You were her sole priority.

And anyone who mistook that devotion for weakness had not seen what she did in the halls above.

The Quinjet hadn't even fully powered down before Natasha knew something was wrong.

The landing platform lights were off. Not dimmed. Off.

Only emergency strips along the perimeter glowed faint red against the concrete, casting long skeletal shadows across the hangar walls.

Yelena stepped down first, rifle slung casually over her shoulder. "Either we missed a party," she muttered dryly, scanning the empty deck, "or someone forgot to pay the electricity bill."

Natasha didn't answer. She was already moving.

Her boots hit the platform in a smooth, controlled stride, eyes sweeping every corner, every blind spot, cataloguing damage before she even consciously processed it.

There were scorch marks along the far wall.

One of the access doors hung crooked on its hinges.

And in the distance, faint but unmistakable, the low wail of a lockdown siren cycling through the lower levels.

"FRIDAY," Natasha said sharply as she drew her sidearm in one fluid motion, the familiar weight settling into her grip like an extension of her arm. "Status report."

There was a beat of static before the AI responded, voice calm but edged with interference.

"Director Romanoff. Level Three security breach occurred forty seven minutes ago. Multiple hostile entities infiltrated the compound through sub basement access points. Lockdown protocol engaged. Power grid compromised in sectors two through five."

Yelena's expression shifted, humor gone, eyes narrowing.

"Casualties?" Natasha asked, already heading toward the interior access corridor.

"Confirmed injured: nine agents. Two critical. No confirmed fatalities at this time."

Natasha's jaw tightened slightly.

"And Maximoff?"

A pause.

"Commander Maximoff is currently in the medical wing."

Natasha's pace didn't falter, but her voice sharpened a degree.

"And my daughter?"

Another brief flicker of static.

"Agent Y/n Romanoff status: severe laceration to left abdominal quadrant. Stabilized. Currently under Commander Maximoff's supervision in medical."

The world narrowed. Not outwardly. Not visibly. But something inside Natasha went cold and razor focused.

Yelena glanced at her from the corner of her eye. "She alive?"

"Yes," Natasha replied evenly.

But her grip on the gun tightened.

They moved through the corridors fast, clearing corners, weapons raised. The compound smelled like smoke and burned circuitry. Overhead lights flickered intermittently, casting unstable shadows that shifted with every step.

A body lay at the end of the first hall. Masked.

Neck bent at an unnatural angle.

Yelena crouched briefly, inspecting the damage. "That's not gunfire."

"No," Natasha said quietly.

They turned the corner. Another.

This one embedded halfway into a wall, metal buckled inward around him like he'd been thrown by something that didn't understand restraint.

Yelena exhaled slowly. "Your witch is upset."

Natasha didn't comment. But she could read the trail.

This wasn't random combat. This was a path.

A straight line of devastation cutting through the compound toward medical.

Wanda.

And if Wanda had been forced into that state.....

Natasha's expression hardened further. A sharp crack echoed from deeper in the corridor.

Gunfire. Not Wanda's style.

"FRIDAY, remaining hostiles?"

"Three active life signatures moving toward east stairwell. Attempting exfiltration."

Natasha's eyes flicked toward Yelena.

"Left flank."

Yelena smirked faintly. "Finally, something interesting."

They split without another word.

Natasha moved like she always had, silent, efficient, lethal. She rounded the corner just as one of the masked men emerged from a side passage, rifle raised and wild eyed.

He didn't see her in time. Two suppressed shots. Center mass. He dropped before he could shout.

The second attacker reacted faster, firing blindly down the hall.

Natasha rolled into cover, returned fire with precise economy, one shot to disable the shoulder, another to the thigh.

He screamed and fell. She was on him in seconds, kicking the rifle away and pressing her gun under his chin.

"Who sent you?" she asked, voice calm and deadly soft.

He spat something in another language. She didn't blink.

Yelena appeared behind him and struck him hard across the temple with the butt of her weapon.

"Less talking," Yelena muttered. "More capturing, yes?"

Natasha holstered her gun smoothly and knelt, securing the man's wrists with brutal efficiency.

"We're taking him alive," she said. "I want answers."

Yelena glanced down the hall at the wreckage left behin, at the warped metal and bodies that clearly hadn't survived Wanda's path.

"Maximoff already interrogated some of them, I think."

Natasha stood. Her gaze shifted toward the direction of the medical wing. For the first time since stepping off the jet, something flickered across her face.

"She was ambushed," Natasha said quietly, more to herself than to Yelena.

She could see it now in her mind, the angle, the chaos, the kind of breach that isolates targets. You had always been good at stepping into danger first. Too good.

She had trained you that way. From fifteen years old, stubborn, grieving, too sharp for your own good.

She'd taught you how to hold a knife. How to fall without breaking bone. How to get back up when it hurt.

And now someone had put a blade in you.

Her jaw set.

"FRIDAY," she said, voice returning to director level steel. "Lock down east stairwell. Route medical backups to sector three. Alert interrogation room to prepare."

"Yes, Director."

Yelena hoisted the restrained attacker easily. "You go to her," she said, tone losing its sarcasm for once. "I will make sure no one else leaves."

Natasha hesitated only a fraction of a second.

Then she nodded.

She moved toward medical at a pace just shy of running, controlled, but urgent.

When she reached the doors, she saw the red glow spilling out before she stepped inside.

The generators were dead. The room was lit almost entirely by Wanda.

Agents lay on cots. Nurses moved quickly in the crimson haze.

And at the center of it... You. On a table. Pale. Alive.

Wanda standing over you like a guardian carved from something ancient and volatile.

For one suspended moment, Natasha didn't move.

She took in the blood on Wanda's hands.

The way Wanda stood slightly angled, as if still shielding you even now. The way your fingers weakly curled in the fabric of her sleeve.

Natasha's composure cracked, not visibly to anyone else, but inside.

Her daughter. Her kid. Still breathing.

She stepped forward.

"Report," she said calmly.

But her eyes never left you. And beneath the director. Beneath the Black Widow. A mother was counting every rise and fall of your chest.

Night in the compound passed in fragments.

Interrogations. Repairs. Containment teams sweeping corridors until every shadow was accounted for. The hum of temporary generators kicking back to life in staggered sectors. Low voices. Controlled chaos stitched back together with discipline and exhaustion.

And through all of it... Wanda never left your side. Neither did Natasha.

Morning came pale and quiet.

The medical wing no longer glowed red. Power had been partially restored; soft white lights hummed overhead, sterile and almost too bright after the night before. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and burned circuitry.

You floated somewhere between sleep and weight.

There was a steady beep near your ear now. A monitor. Reconnected.

Your side felt tight, not sharp pain anymore, but deep soreness, like your body had been pulled apart and carefully reassembled.

Voices drifted in and out.

"...overexerted herself."

"She hasn't slept."

"She won't."

That one you recognized.

Natasha.

Your eyelids felt heavy, but you forced them upward.

The world blurred first, white ceiling, indistinct shapes, then slowly sharpened.

Red hair. Leaning over you. Cool fingers brushing gently against your temple.

"There she is," Natasha whispered.

Her voice wasn't director sharp. It wasn't Black Widow steel. It was soft. Controlled. But threaded with something warmer.

Across the room, pacing. Back and forth.

Barefoot. Wanda. She hadn't changed clothes. Same torn fabric, though cleaned now. Hair loose, slightly tangled. Arms folded tight across herself like she was holding her own ribs in place.

At Natasha's whisper, she froze mid step. Completely still.

You blinked again, vision clearing fully. Natasha's face came into focus first, composed, but her eyes were rimmed faintly red, like she hadn't blinked enough in hours.

"Easy," she murmured as your breathing shifted. "Don't try to sit up."

Your throat felt dry. "Wasn't... planning on it."

The faintest smirk ghosted across her lips.

Behind her Wanda moved. Slowly. Like approaching something fragile. Her voice was barely above a breath.

"You're awake." It wasn't a question.

You turned your head slightly toward her. She looked different in daylight. Less supernatural.

More human.Which somehow made the exhaustion on her face worse.

"Hi," you croaked.

She crossed the rest of the distance in three steps.

Not rushed. But inevitable.

Natasha stepped aside automatically, though she didn't move far.

Wanda stopped beside the bed, hands hovering uncertainly for a second before one finally settled carefully over yours.

Like she needed confirmation. Like she still didn't trust what she was seeing.

"You scared everyone," you murmured faintly.

Her jaw flexed. "I was not scared."

Natasha gave her a look. Wanda didn't look away from you.

"You lost a dangerous amount of blood," Wanda continued, voice controlled but thin around the edges. "Your vitals destabilized twice during the night."

"Twice?" you muttered weakly.

Natasha's hand came to rest lightly against your shoulder, grounding.

"You're difficult," she said evenly. "Always have been."

You managed the ghost of a smile. Your fingers tightened slightly in Wanda's grip. She felt it immediately. Her shoulders dropped half an inch.

A breath she hadn't allowed herself to take since the hallway finally left her lungs.

"I told you," you said quietly, eyes flicking between them. "Wasn't going anywhere."

Wanda's thumb brushed slowly over your knuckles. "You are not allowed to make promises like that and then test them."

There was no bite to it.

By the time you made it back to your apartment, the adrenaline had sufficiently worn off. The rush of energy that kept the pain at bay was the only thing that made it possible for you to sit through the bus ride across the city, the lights were much too bright and blue, your head pounding. You pressed your fingers against your ribs on the ride home, each exhalation trembling.

Somewhere along the way, the bus came rolling to a stop and the man behind the wheel huffed out at you. “End of the line.”

You were the only one on the bus, and by that time, you were fighting sleep entirely. There was no one else on the bus, and you didn’t see the point in arguing with him. His eyes were tired and dark. Something told you he was having a worse day than you were.

With begrudging compliance, you walked the three blocks to your building. You had forgotten your coat, and by the time you made it to the entrance, there was a numbness to the fingers that you refused to realize until you typed your code in and felt what real warmth was for only a moment.

The lobby smelled damp, as it always did despite the dry winter that the city was experiencing. Sickly yellow lights changed the tile on the floor from beige to green, and you lamented the fact that the elevator that had been busted since your move-in date was still in the same condition.

Any other day, it wouldn’t’ bother you. But you let out an involuntary groan at the sight before making your way up the first flight of stairs, your fingers still pushed against the aching of your mid-section. You were certain that they were broken, or at the very least, bruised. It pained you to take a deep breath.

Two more flights of stairs and the excitement of the night had worn away entirely. Your whole body pulsed with pain, with fatigue and regret for not listening to your mother the million times she told you to be careful on your way home, to keep an eye on your surroundings.

It’s not you that I don’t trust, it’s other people. Her words echoed listlessly in your mind as you searched your pockets for your keys. The group of men who had jumped you must have snagged them too, or they were lost in the shuffle of things. Either way, you were locked out, and the damn was about to break.

“Come on,” You whispered, pressing your aching head against the cool wood of the door. You suppose you should be thinking whatever higher power was up there for letting you escape with your life, just not your cell phone. But right now, it all felt like a cruel joke.

You weren’t sure how long you lingered there, but it was long enough to slide down to the carpeted hallway and lean your head against the wall. It was much too late to call your landlord, even if you could. You were suddenly content to sleep the night off in the corridor. Concussion or not, unconsciousness called to you.

At some point, you’d drifted off to the buzzing sound of the overhead lights. When your neighbor approached, you didn’t’ make any attempt to unfold yourself at the sound of her soft footsteps. She had always been so courteous when she was home, making as little noise as possible, even when she arrived well into the night. This was no different.

She put her hand on your shoulder softly, it was a stark difference from the cold of the hallway, and you startled all the same, inhaling deeply and with enough haste to make you wince, a soft “ow,” escaping your lips.

Natasha was knelt down in front of you, an undeniable look of worry on her face. The two of you had been neighbors for over a year now, and you would be the last to admit that you wanted to get to know her better. She was quite elusive, and always kind. She was a mystery to you, and that made you all the more curious.

The two of you operated on the same schedule when she was home. You often ended up walking down to the mailboxes together, sharing in small talk. She was guarded at first, but the first time you had gotten her to open up, to laugh at a joke you couldn’t even recall, you knew that you wanted to hear that sound more than once.

Natasha would help you up the stairs with your groceries, despite your protests. You would help her learn how to cook something other than boxed mac and cheese. The two of you had shared a six-pack of beer during the buildings holiday block party on the roof, despite the cold. That night, Natasha had taught you how to peg a stop sign with a snowball, her aim impeccable.

The moments were few and far between, but they meant something to you both. You hadn’t seen her for about a month at this point and figured that she was traveling. There was no mention of what she did for work, and she seemed content not to tell you, just as you were content to let her do so in her own time. 

There was a suitcase next to her door, something you had never seen her with before. She was dressed in sweats, looking casual from a long day of travel. Her auburn hair was up in a loose bun, strands falling and framing her face. You couldn’t help but think that she was stunning.

Your face must have looked pretty banged up, because you could audibly hear her breath lodge in her throat. You hadn’t bothered calling the police, nor did you see much benefit in lingering in the spot that you’d been attacked. The only thought on your mind was getting back here, certainly not with the intention of seeing Natasha.

“Y/n,” her voice was gravelly. There was a coolness to her fingers that you wanted to lean into as she lifted your chin to get a better look at the pulsing feeling around your eye. You winced as her thumb moved against your busted lip, smearing away a streak of blood. “Who did this to you?”

Her voice was hard, almost with an edge of a threat on her tongue. You’d never heard her sound this way before. She was always soft, if not quiet in her calculations. Now, you saw worry and anger etched onto her beautiful features.

“Just some guys,” you said in an exhalation. “It’s not a big deal I got locked out.” 

The attempt to diffuse her worry was going poorly. Natasha frowned at you and released your chin. You struggled to voice your protests as Natasha eased her arm tightly around your center, pulling you to your feet. You saw stars, not quite sure if it was from her sudden closeness, or the exhaustive injuries.

Natasha was strong. She held you with little effort, even as you threatened to slump back down into your previous position. She unlocked her door, and you were welcomed with a warm darkness until she flicked on the light by the door.

Her home was modest, and understated. It overlooked a beautiful part of the city, the walls lined with novels that you’d otherwise be interested in. There were undertones of vanilla and tobacco, the same scent Natasha carried like a sword, your nose pressed against the small of her neck as she led you to the sofa and deposited you there.

Natasha vanished down the hallway. If her apartment mirrored yours, she would move towards the bathroom at the end of the hall. You nudged yourself up taller on the sofa, trying not to let your blood wick into its fabric. When She returned, she sheepishly shook a first-aide kit.

She set out her supplies and you groaned when you saw the bottle of iodine and cotton pads. She had done this before. Natasha worked with ease, she unscrewed the cap on the bottle before flipping it onto the pad, a sick brown liquid sopped into the surface. You could smell it from here, nose crinkling in response.

“Stop squirming, this will help.”

You highly doubted that, but all the same, let her work at the cut that was slit across your eyebrow. She dabbed the antiseptic and you refused to pull away. You knew that you would never try to get out of Natasha’s grasp. Her hand was warm and guiding. The sting eventually eased.

She asked, “Do you remember where you were when this happened?”

“Whoever they are, they’re long gone.”

You drew in a sharp breath when she nudged your ribs by accident. A discontent frown fell across her features. It wasn’t the same look of heated anger that dawned on her in the hallway. Instead, this was one of pure concern.

“We should really wrap that, you know? There’s no cure for broken ribs, but we can ease your suffering a bit with some plastic wrap.”

Before you could answer she put the iodine on the table and walked towards her kitchen. You watched her carefully. Each movement was calculated. “How do you know so much about this?”

“I’ve been put into some unsavory positions.” Natasha returned with a meager roll of cellophane. She stood, a pink color on her cheeks. “You’re going to have to take off your shirt.”

Now you were sputtering, mumbling a few things under your breath. The thrumming of your mid-section was enough for you to agree, even though your own cheeks heated up at the thought. She had a bit of a quirk to her lip, both eyebrows raised in amusement.

You got stuck halfway through, a twinge of pain shooting through your core. You must have winced, or Natasha could read the pain in your eyes because she mercifully helped you the rest of the way out. When she was done, the two of you were incredibly close, her breath warm on your skin, goosebumps coating every inch of your body.

A budding bruise stretched across your ribs, marring the tender flesh there. Natasha exhaled deeply, you felt the action everywhere. Her fingers moved across the deep smudges of brown and black and purple. Your mouth was suddenly dry as her forehead leaned against yours. She was quieter than usual.

“This shouldn’t have happened.” Natasha was knelt in front of you again, glowering as her soft touch soothed your aching. “I’ve spent my entire life making up for mistakes that I’ve made. Trying to stop the big bads of the world when… when horrible things happen everywhere, and the truth is, I can’t stop everything.”

“You don’t need to shoulder that responsibility, Natasha.” You mindlessly cupped her cheek and she sighed into the touch, her eyes closing for a moment of gratitude. “That’s not your job.”

“It is,” She swallowed hard “it is. And it pains me that you’re hurting like this. That I couldn’t protect you. All I’ve wanted to do since the moment I’ve met you is protect you from me, and seeing you like this, God, it shouldn’t’ have happened.”

She was crying, and you thumbed them away as she had done with your blood a few moments earlier. If there was any hesitancy in her emotion, it washed away with the simple gesture. Her nose brushed against yours, cold from the journey home.

Nat smelled of melted snow and you remembered the night on the rooftop. The way your elbows brushed together as you watched the lights over the city. You almost closed the distance then and there, but she’d pulled away, and you awkwardly downed another frothy beer before she threw a second snowball, nailing the stop sign where you had fallen short.

Now, it was her that leaned in. There was a slight nip of pain where your lip had split, but it eased slowly into pleasure. She tasted like hazelnut coffee from the airport, of an edge of mind. Your fingers traced her jaw. She sighed into the kiss, the most fragile sound in the world.

You broke the embrace regrettably, sucking air through your teeth “oh, ouch.”

So here you are sitting, drinking, on your own because your girlfriend is currently on a mission and you hate coming to this sort of things without her. Not because you were an antisocial, ball of anxiety…Okay maybe you are…. But you also didn’t know anyone here, not really, you weren’t an avenger like she was. You were just a regular barista at the local coffee shop that just so happened to be the one she would go to every morning for her morning shot of go go juice after going for a run. What you didn’t realise, not until she told you recently, was she only kept coming back to work up the courage to talk to you. 

You smile to yourself just thinking about it. 

You down the rest of your drink taking a look around all the party goers seeing only those she has introduced you to and those you see around the tower when you visit. You see Tony dancing with a drink in one hand swinging his top above his head with the other, cringing slightly at the sight of the drunk man. You spot Steve over on the couches talking to Sam and Bucky on the other couch, all three of them with a beer in hand as they seem lost in the conversation they are having. You smile when you see Bruce raise his drink at you in a small greeting from the other end of the bar, lifting yours in return before you watch him walk over to try and get Tony, who was now trying to rip his pants off as he stood on one of the many tables, away from people. 

“Well what is such a thing like you doing here all on your lonesome?” You turn quickly at the unknown voice behind you squinting your eyes with scrunched brows as you try to see if you recognise the woman. 

“Thing?” It’s now you realise that maybe those five whiskeys, or could it have been seven, were not such a good idea as you struggle to keep your focus on the blonde woman in front of you. Or women, not sure if you were seeing three of her or if there were three different people in front of you.

“Well I saw you enter with Tony Stark himself so I believe I am only right in thinking you must be an avenger, and one of your beauty must be a goddess.” At her words you snort, quickly using your hand to cover your nose and mouth waving the other one at her as your face turns bright red. 

“Goddess?” The three women that you see now merge together, in your drunken state, finally able to see the blonde woman in front of you who has a small smirk on her lips.

“Well now I feel stupid. Are you not a goddess?” You shake your head quickly, not missing how when the woman takes a seat next to you she pulls the stool closer so her knees can rest against yours, but you try to angle your body away from hers not wanting to give her the wrong impression. 

“I am most definitely not a goddess. Just plain old human being.” She gives you a small nod turning to grab the bartender's attention and ordering you both new drinks.

“Okay, well, I’m a normal human being too. You got a name?” 

“Is Y/n. Y/n y/l/n.” You slur out at your hand grabs out for the new drink the bartender has put in front of you.

“Aren’t you going to ask mine?” You shake your head downing your drink as the one woman blurs into more than one again. 

“Sure. What is your name blondie?”

“The names Jessica. But you can call me Jess.” 

“Well thank you for the drink Jesssssssica.” You giggle as you over pronounce her name leaning back slightly on your stool, Jess seeing the opportunity to place her hand on your leg.

“Sorry, I didn't want you to fall backwards.” She answers when she sees you look down at her hand.

“Mhmm, thanks. Anyway, do you not have anyone around here you should be hanging out with?” Even in your drunken state you know what her aim is and you know it's definitely not something you want.

“No. I’m enjoying drinking with you.”

“Well this is my last one before I leave this place.”

“Can I join you? The party is kind of lame.”

“No, I am just gonna head to the sleeping chambers and try to sleep this off.” You try to pull her hand off your thigh but she is persistent and fights against it.

“Oh you’re no fun. I just wanted to spend the night with you, get to know that amazing body. Then maybe in the morning I can show you the best way to get rid of a hangover.”

“Sorry I am really not interested.” She scrunches her brows leaning closer to you with a pout on her lips.

“Come one, I know you want to.”

“I'm sorry I really don’t and I am in a relationship.” You think the woman rolls her eyes, and maybe you hear her scoff but you definitely don't miss the way her eyes bulge out of her head as she looks behind you, and you don’t miss the feeling of a pair of strong hands landing on your shoulders. 

“I’m just going to…” She slowly removes herself from the stool leaving money to cover both of your drinks. “It was nice meeting you.” 

With that she scurries off and you scrunch your brows, turning around to see who is behind you but the 8, maybe more drinks, have once and for all won the battle of making everything blurry and your words a slurred mess. The hands give your shoulders a small squeeze and your head turns left to right to look at either hand. They are dirty, maybe have some blood on them and when you look up at them their face is not much better. 

You take in her beauty. The red hair, green eyes are all you are able to identify mixed with the dirt and the blood on her face. You can see a small look of worry, amusement and something else as her brows furrow as her eyes scan your face.

“I’m sorry. As I just told blondie I have a girlfriend.”

“Is that so?” You nod your head quickly, humming out a yes as the woman only giggles to herself.

“I think it is time for your bed, detka.” You pout, shaking your head quickly.

“But I want to stay up and see my girlfriend, she should be home soon.” The hands on your shoulders move to cup your face tilting your head to look up at her.

“You really don’t know who I am.” Her tone is amused as you push her hands off your face.

“I already told you I have a girlfriend. And she wouldn’t appr-apprec-apprecia….she wouldn’t like you flirting with me.” Once again the woman only laughs, and you scrunch your brows as it sounds vaguely familiar but can’t quite place it.

“How about this? I help get you to bed, and when you wake up I am sure your kind, loving and drop dead gorgeous girlfriend will be there when you wake up.” You take a moment to think about it, looking the woman up and down every second she becomes more familiar and if she is familiar then you’re sure you can trust her.

“Okay. Thank you. My girlfriend would kill me if she knew how drunk I was right now.”

“I’m not angry, in fact it is quite amusing, but I think we do need to get you in bed to rest.” You look up to the woman as she leads you down the hallway, seemingly knowing where Natasha’s room is.

“Hey, how did you know?” The woman turns to look at you with a raised brow as she opens the door and you stumble inside as she lets go of you for a moment to close the door.

You stumble into the room, cursing as you trip over your own feet and fall with your side hitting the bed and landing on the floor with a hmph. You bring your hand up to rub at your side, the other pulling at the covers on the bed to help you stand but it does nothing as the moment you yank the covers they move and you end up falling on the floor again.

“Fuck it. This is where I am sleeping I guess.” You mumble to yourself, reaching for the blanket that you know is on the bed somewhere behind you.

“Hey, let's get you off the floor my love.” You gasp as you look up to see your girlfriend in front of you moving her arms so they are under yours.

“Baby!” You squeal as you wrap your arms around her pushing yourself forwards causing Natasha to stumble backwards and land on the floor herself. 

“Oh so now you recognize me?” You push yourself up slightly, your hands either side of her head so you can look down at her.

“What do you mean?” You tilt your head in question and Natasha raises a brow.

“You mean you don’t remember the past 10….okay nevermind.” She places her hands on your waist gently pushing you off her so she can stand up, your arms moving to hold her hips as you struggle to stand yourself. “Let's get you to bed.”

“Yes! Take me to bed lovergirl!” You jump, knowing Natasha will easily catch you, wrapping your legs around her waist and your arms around her neck as you litter her face with drunken and very sloppy kisses.

Natasha lets you continue smothering her face with kisses as she places you down on the edge of the bed, your body naturally falling backwards; dragging Natasha with you by your arms around her neck. Her hands move out to catch herself so she doesn’t land on top of you and instead hovering above you. You try to use your arms to pull her down more but pout when you realise she isn’t going to budge.

“You can’t be on top of me and not top me baby.” You pout more as your hands start playing with the baby hairs on her neck. “You know I can’t resist you when I see you from this angle.” 

“Not tonight detka. Firstly, you are very drunk and in no way can give consent to anything. Secondly, I’m covered in blood and dirt. Thirdly, you are drunk.”

“Maybe you’re drunk silly because you already said that once.” You giggle as you boop her nose with one hand causing her to roll her eyes at your drunken state.

“Let's get you changed and in bed.” You hum as you close your eyes but only for a second as your brain registers what she said a few seconds ago.

“Wait, blood and dirt?” You push her off of you gently as you sit up, suddenly feeling completely sober in your worried state as your hands and eyes search her body and face for injury.

“It's not mine.” You don’t hear her as your hands grab hers, turning them over multiple times trying to figure out why there is so much blood, but she quickly removes her hands from yours cupping your face and tilting your head so you’re looking at her. “Hey, hey. It’s not mine, my love. It’s not mine.”

“Not yours.” Your voice trembles as you mumble the words back to her and Natahsa nods her head brushing some hair out of your face.

“It’s not mine.” She repeats softly back to you as you look back up to her about to say something but your body says otherwise.

Quickly you’re off the bed and running into the bathroom only just making it to the toilet as the contents of however many drinks you’ve had, surely it was 10. Or maybe 12.Your knuckles turn white with how hard you are holding the sides of the toilet, coughing as the vomiting subsides for the moment. You don’t dare move your head from where it rests on the top of the toilet seat, too afraid that any movement will cause your stomach to turn.

“Oh detka.” Natasha crouches down to your height holding a small cup of water towards you, as her other hand reaches to pull the flush. “Don’t drink too much too quickly otherwise you will make yourself sick, just rinse your mouth out for a moment. 

You lazily nod your head, now feeling the room spin as you do so the feeling of sick raising again. You shut your eyes tightly, your hand that's holding the cup shaking slightly as your body tries to recover from already throwing up, and Natasha seems to take notice as she removes the cup from your hand placing it on the floor next to her. She moves closer to you, her hands going to your hair as she does it up in a messy bun as her eyes stay trained mostly to your face watching carefully for any changes in your appearance. Just as she finishes tying your hair your body lurches forward as another round of vomiting up alcohol begins.

You don’t know how long your head has been down the toilet for, or how long Natasha has simply stayed by your side but what you do know is your throat hurts and there are tears rolling down your face from throwing up. You did eventually stop, and you cleaned your teeth next to the toilet just in case. You lean against Natasha more as she wraps an arm around your shoulders pulling you against her as you both slowly move to lean against the wall of the bathroom.

“I’m sorry Tasha.” Nat is quick to silence you as she shakes her head, pressing a kiss to your temple as she uses her finger and thumb on your chin to turn your head.

“Do not apologise detka. You have nothing to apologise for.” Your bottom lip temples a little as Nat moves a hand to wipe at your tears, your head instinctively leaning into the touch.

“I do. You came back from a mission, and instead of sorting yourself out you’ve been stuck looking after me.” 

“Hush.” She presses her finger against your lips, once and for all stopping you from talking, you knew she was serious by the look she was giving you and it made you shrink back a little bit. “I am not angry, or mad or maybe a little frustrated but that's more to do with the fact that that woman was flirting with you when you were clearly too drunk to even know what was going on. Now let's get you into bed, then I will sort myself out and join you.”

Natasha helped you off the cold bathroom floor leading you back to the bedroom and once again placing you on the bed, this time making sure she had a hold of your body so you didn’t fall backwards. Your eyes start to feel heavy, closing slowly as you feel Natasha start to undo the few buttons on your blouse before lifting it over your head and in the next moment removing your bra. She pushes your body slightly, giggling when you flop backwards so she can unbutton your pants and remove them with some struggle as they get stuck on around your ankles for a second. 

The next moment your arms are being pulled and your body moves off the bed so you are sitting back up. You open your eyes with a goofy smile on your face as you see Natasha grabbing one of her shirts for you to wear. You lift your arms above your head earning a small chuckle and a kiss on the forehead from your girlfriend as she slides the top on you.

“Crawl into bed then baby I won’t be long.” 

You were already nearly asleep, your body and mind exhausted from being drunk and then throwing it all back up, laying on your back because you felt to sick to lay any other way when you feel the bed dip and the covers move slightly. Natasha leves a small kiss on your cheek as she shuffles as close to you as possible without being on top of you knowing it would not help you right now. Her hand rests on your sternum, her finger drawing small shapes as she looks up at you from where her head rests just next to your shoulder. 

“I love you, you big idiot.” You smile tiredly, peeking one eye open to look down at her.

“I love me too.” You giggle as she hits your chest gently rolling her eyes. “I’m joking, I love you too.”

“Good because next time you are dealing with a drunk me.” You smile closing your eyes again as you let your body completely relax again teetering on the edge of sleep, as Natasha’s hand continues to draw patterns on your chest. 

“I would love to see a drunk Natasha.” Is the last thing you mumble before letting sleep consume you not hearing Natasha’s next words.

“I’m so gonna marry you one day you drunken fool.”