#chapter 13

Natasha hadn’t spoken yet.

Steve sat at the head of the table, flipping through a report that wasn’t really a report, just notes. Observations. Fragments of a week’s worth of cautious, awkward, silent trying.

Steve began slowly. “Who’s been checking in on her regularly?”

He didn’t have to say your name for them to know it was you.

Wanda lifted her hand gently. “Me. Sam. Clint a couple times.”

“I dropped off a few books,” Bruce said. “She actually went through them.”

“I brought pizza,” Clint added. “Don’t know if that counts, but she ate it.”

No one mentioned Bucky. Not yet.

“She hasn't said if she wants to stay,” Steve noted.

“She hasn’t said she wants to leave either,” Sam countered.

“Maybe she’s waiting to see if this is real,” Wanda said softly. “If we’re only offering kindness because of guilt. Or if it’ll fade again.”

A heavy silence followed that. Because the truth was, they didn’t know.

They didn’t know how to make it real yet. All they could do was keep showing up.

“She's still in that holding room,” Natasha said. “We can't keep her there forever.”

“We shouldn’t have kept her there this long,” Clint muttered.

Steve exhaled through his nose. “We need to decide. If she wants to stay, what does that look like?”

A beat passed.

Then Sam leaned forward. “She needs a room. A key card, access. Not full clearance yet, but something. We can’t ask her to trust us if we’re still treating her like a threat.”

Wanda nodded. “I agree.”

Clint gave a small shrug. “I say we let her choose. Where to stay. What she wants to do even if it’s nothing.”

Natasha leaned forward, eyes steady. “And if she wants to work again?”

Steve looked at them all, then finally said, “Then we let her.”

The table fell quiet again. Not tense this time, just… still. Like the beginning of something different.

The door to your ‘room’ opened quietly. No dramatic entrance. No weapons drawn. Just Steve, tall and steady, followed by Wanda, her expression soft and unreadable.

You were sitting in the same spot you had for days now, on the edge of the cot, elbows resting loosely on your knees, the same stack of notecards untouched beside you.

You didn’t move when they stepped in.

Wanda offered a small nod. “Hey.”

You nodded back. “You forgot my pizza,” You said, voice a little rough from not speaking as much, but not cold.

Steve gave a faint smile. “That was Clint. But I’ll let him know you remembered.”

The silence that followed wasn’t tense. Just uncertain. Like no one quite knew how to start.

Wanda sat on the chair this time. Steve remained standing, hands on his hips, like he’d run over this moment a dozen times in his head and none of the versions had gone smoothly.

“We wanted to talk,” Steve said finally. “Just us. About… what happens next.”

You didn’t respond, but your fingers curled lightly around the edge of the mattress.

“We’re not forcing you to stay,” Wanda added. “And we’re not keeping you here anymore.”

That last part made your chest tighten. Almost surprised.

Steve noticed, probably. His voice was gentle when he continued. “We’re offering you the choice. To go or to stay. Or even just to figure things out a little longer.”

Your throat felt tight.

“You could have a room,” Wanda said softly. “A real one. With a door you can open whenever you want. No surveillance. No limits, just space.”

You blinked slowly. “And if I want to go?”

Steve didn’t flinch. “Then we’ll make sure you have enough to start somewhere new. Security, funds, new ID if needed. Whatever you choose, we’ll respect it.”

A pause.

“But if you stay,” He continued, “We want you to know we’ll try to do better. Not because you’re useful or dangerous. Just because we should’ve treated you like a person in the first place.”

Your gaze dropped.

It should’ve been a relief. Maybe even a victory. A clear, open path to choose your future. But all you felt was a quiet ache deep in your chest.

Because where would you even go?

The people who had welcomed you; the ones who saw you, listened, and made space were gone. They’d fled during the breach. Left without looking back. Not even a message. Not even a goodbye.

The Avengers had failed you once. The organization had used you. And now…

Now you were somewhere in between.

“I don’t know where I belong,” You said quietly. “Not anymore.”

Wanda stood slowly, her expression kind. “Then stay until you do.”

Steve nodded. “No timeline. No expectations. Just… your room’s ready. Whenever you want to move.”

You didn’t answer. Not right away.

But when they turned to leave, Wanda gently set something down beside the notecards.

A keycard and a small note.

Room 43. Floor 7. Quietest wing. You don’t have to knock. It’s yours.

They left without asking for a decision.

And for the first time since returning to this place, this tower that had once made you feel so invisible, you felt something shift.

Still not hope. But maybe a place to sit with the ache. Somewhere you didn’t have to disappear again.

You stared at the keycard in your hand longer than you meant to. It took you almost an hour to stand. Not because your legs were weak. But because your heart was.

Even walking down the corridor and riding the elevator felt strange, like the walls had forgotten what it meant to see you. No one stared. No one asked questions. But no one cheered either.

When you finally reached your door, you held the keycard near the scanner.

Green light.

The door slid open.

No fanfare. No welcome mat. Just… space.

The room was small and simple. A twin bed tucked against the far wall. A desk, already stocked with a notepad, a pen, a worn copy of your favorite book (probably Wanda’s doing). There was even a window looking out over the courtyard, a sliver of trees beyond it.

There was also a plant on the windowsill.

You didn’t move for a while.

Just stood there, staring at it all. The untouched bed. The chair. The drawer that creaked slightly when you pulled it open. It wasn’t extravagant, or even particularly warm but it was yours. More than you had.

Not borrowed. Not guarded. Yours.

You sat on the edge of the bed slowly, fingers curling around the blanket.

You thought about the people who left you behind during the breach. Who said soft things to earn your trust, then ran without warning. About Bucky, how he’d looked at you like he wanted to fix something he’d never known was broken. About the quiet kindness in Wanda’s voice. The careful distance in Steve’s posture.

They didn’t want to trap you anymore. They just didn’t want to lose you again.

You exhaled shakily, pressing your hands to your face. No tears came this time. Just a deep, aching fatigue. A sense of emptiness that wasn’t sharp, but still heavy.

This wasn’t home yet. But it was somewhere to sleep easy, to breathe freely, and to start deciding who you were without being someone else’s shadow.

You leaned back against the pillow and stared at the ceiling until your eyes slipped shut. And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t waiting for someone to open the door first.

In the late evening, a knock came from your door.

You sat up slowly, heart beating with uncertainty. You weren’t alarmed, more so bracing for what would come next. If they had changed their minds. If they preferred you locked away. If they wanted you gone. Then—

“It's me.”

Bucky.

You hesitated before quietly calling out, “Door’s open.”

It hissed softly as it slid aside, revealing him in the hallway. He stepped inside, not quite meeting your gaze right away.

“I, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I was nearby and thought I’d check if you were settled in okay.”

You gave a small nod, voice low. “I’m fine.”

His eyes flicked toward the desk, the plant, and then the bed, “They didn’t do too bad with the setup.”

“They’re trying,” You murmured.

He nodded. “Yeah. They are now.”

The silence stretched again.

He shifted his weight, leaning briefly against the wall. “I know this isn’t… easy. Being back or even just being here.”

You said nothing, just watched him. Quiet, steady, and waiting for the part where he apologized or excused himself. But he didn’t.

Instead, he exhaled. “Look. I know you probably don’t want anything from me. I get that.”

Still, you didn’t interrupt.

“But if you ever need something… anything, you don’t have to ask through someone else. You can just come to me.”

You blinked. “Why?”

He looked at you then. Not like someone studying a mystery. But like someone trying to meet your eyes and not flinch from what he saw there.

“Because I should’ve done that before,” He said. “And not now, when it’s convenient. Back when you were still hoping someone would notice.”

Your chest ached.

And still, you didn’t know what to say. You had liked him once. Maybe you still did. And now he was standing here offering a hand you weren’t sure how to reach for anymore.

“I don’t know what I want,” You admitted quietly. “Or if I want to stay, go, or try again.”

He nodded like he understood. Maybe he did.

“I’m not here to make the choice for you,” He said. “Just here if you make it.”

He moved to leave, then paused at the door.

“If you want, I can show you around tomorrow. New clearance layouts, what changed while you were gone. No pressure, of course.”

You thought about it for a moment before hesitantly agreeing, “Okay.”

That was all. Just that small, careful word.

His lips twitched into the barest hint of a smile. Then he left.

And even after the door slid shut, the silence that followed felt a little less lonely than before.

That night, you didn’t sleep much.

More from restlessness than from nightmares. Because you were experiencing a strange, unfamiliar quiet after weeks of suspicion and cold holding cells. The bed felt too soft. The sheets too clean. The silence too… voluntary.

When you stepped into the hallway that morning, Bucky was already there. Leaning against the wall like he’d been waiting with two takeaway coffee cups in his hand.

He looked up and gave a small nod.

“Morning.”

You offered a small one back. He didn’t ask if you slept well, didn’t push. Just handed you the second coffee cup he held out, like it was an afterthought.

“It’s not great,” He said, gesturing to it. “But it’s hot.”

You took it, fingers brushing his glove.

The walk started in silence.

No speeches. No forced smiles. Just Bucky walking a step ahead or sometimes beside you, pointing out rooms and hallways as you passed. The new med bay had been relocated one floor down. Lab access was tighter. A couple of security protocols had changed since the breach.

He kept it simple. He didn’t ask questions and he tried his best not to overstep anything.

“I figured you might want to know the exit routes too,” He said at one point, stopping at a junction. “In case you ever need out quick.”

You passed the common room, it was empty this time of day. You slowed a little when you noticed the chessboard in the corner, one of the few things that hadn’t been upgraded or replaced.

“I used to sit there,” You pointed out quietly. “When no one else was around.”

Bucky’s gaze followed yours. “Yeah. I remember.”

That surprised you more than it should’ve.

You looked at him, studying the side of his face. The faint shadows under his eyes. The calm heaviness in his movements. A man who carried weight and expected no one to lighten it.

“I didn’t think you noticed,” You admitted.

“I didn’t think I had to,” He said.

The silence between you wasn’t cold this time. Just… honest.

You passed one of the old labs next. The one you’d worked near. It was sealed now with the equipment removed and benches cleared.

“Some of them used your data,” He said, nodding toward it. “The other side. That organization. They knew how you analyzed us.”

You frowned. “That’s why you think I helped them.”

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t deny it either.

“I didn’t share anything,” You said, voice quiet but firm. “They just… listened when I spoke. That’s all it took.”

He looked at you then. Not with suspicion. Just with regret.

“I’m sorry we didn’t.”

You didn’t say it was okay.

Because it wasn’t. But it mattered that he said it.

By the time you looped back toward your hallway, the compound was beginning to stir with voices in the distance, footsteps overhead, and someone in the kitchen making food too loud.

Bucky walked you to your door, then paused.

“You’re not alone here,” He said, voice low. “Not anymore.”

You swallowed, hand brushing the keycard in your pocket. “It still feels like I am.”

His mouth pressed into a thin line.

“If that doesn’t change,” He said, “You can come find me.”

You nodded.

And this time, when the door closed behind you, you didn’t feel locked in.