#you hunt me like your last goodbye ☆ natasha romanoff || xlianovna

[70yearsofwinter]

ㅤHe was absolutely still capable of firing back at the loud-mouthed, bratty hero-types he often found himself partnered with, be it Sam, Natalia or Steve, but this was an extreme situation. It wasn't even that he was upset by the killing, because he wasn't, but maybe that was more of the problem. He was so much more effective when he let go and just did what he'd been built for, and Natalia's life had been on the line. There was no balance to this thing, not yet and maybe not ever, and even the fights he'd joined Sam for felt like some kind of proof of that. He'd gotten his ass kicked how many times by that Walker asshole, when all it took was getting hurt enough (plus that literal shock to his system) to kick him into the right wrong kind of mindset. He'd ended the fight, and by some miracle hadn't killed Walker, but it had been a close one. He'd had to go walk that off, both the pain and the messed up headspace.

ㅤThis one was harder to walk off. He felt simultaneously detached and hyper-aware, on point but unaffected. Natalia was the mission, the asset he was sent to recover and protect, but she was so much more than that. Reconciling the two was feeling like an impossible task right then, but the tension was slowly bleeding out. It was repetitive work, the stitch, knot, cut, repeat, and the smooth feel of her skin against his right hand where it brushed as he worked was a different kind of sense memory. He was all messed up and he knew it.

ㅤHis name on her lips was another of those things, and he knew he wasn't supposed to be this, but he wasn't supposed to be what she remembered. He knew that she wasn't his, really hadn't ever been his because even when she'd given herself to him, she'd belonged to the Red Room just as he had. Binding her to him now when he was a broken thing would be cruel, and he knew that, but his brows knit at her mention of Fury, then Odessa. "I owed you for Odessa," he told her, which seemed safe to someone pretending he felt human, like maybe if he tried, it would start to feel more natural again soon. "And he thinks I owed him."

ㅤBucky actually thought he owed Fury a bit for nearly killing him normally, though there was that very pragmatic voice in the back of his head that thought Fury had been the target and escaped death, so that should have been enough. He absolutely had not done this for Fury.

✘ ⌖ ➶ One of the things that Natasha missed about her James was the banter she once had with him. She was always a bit of a brat and he always gave it right back to her. It was their game, their way of flirting. Their way of acknowledging that their lives were complicated and far from ideal, but they could still find a spark of enjoyment in something as simple as giving each other a hard time. She'd heard from Sam that after everything, he seemed to have retained that sarcastic side that he was so good at. He still had his sharp wit. Which was why she was expecting some sort of quip when she gave him a leveled look about the couch. But there was nothing. There were only those icy blue eyes that seemed so devoid of anything human.

It worried her, and as he got to work on her back, she chewed on what that could mean. It helped her ignore the sting of the antiseptics. Getting stitched up was hardly something new to Natasha. Most of the time she'd just do it herself. It would always hurt to a degree to sew up one's skin with a needle and thread, but at this point, she was very used to the sensation. Following his suggestion, the redhead lowered her arms down to her sides, holding onto the seat of the chair. The air was cool against her exposed skin around the sports bra she still wore, and she was more than ready for a shower. Despite any discomfort she felt, though, all of her thoughts were plagued by the enigma of the man working on her.

Metal against skin caused Natasha to shiver slightly. His new arm still felt slightly cool to the touch and she hated learning how much her body missed it. "James..." she started softly. "I, uh.... thank you. I'm sure you did it for Fury, but still. Thank you." Natasha grunted a little feeling the needle go in again, but quickly she was able to swallow any pain. She really wished she had a bottle of vodka, though. "I'd have had a hard time believing this scenario when we were in Odessa," she added with a small smirk.

[70yearsofwinter]

tag dump

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[70yearsofwinter]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤa plotted starter for @xlianovna

ㅤA meeting with Nick Fury was not the ideal start to his day, but that wasn't exactly surprising considering how this modern chapter to Bucky's life had started with an (attempted) assassination on the man. For that alone, Bucky figured hearing him out fell somewhere into that 'amends' thing his therapist was on about, but there was still a certain understanding in the back of his brain that whatever Fury wanted, he'd likely be fighting for his life before the end of this.

ㅤHearing him out put that thought into italics in his mind, if not bold text, but Fury was right; Bucky was currently unaffiliated with any group or government beyond residing in the United States and being friends with Sam Wilson. There was no team, no missions, just Bucky trying to figure his shit out and not go to the Raft for shit he'd been forced to do while brainwashed as a POW. Doing any work for Fury felt like a nudge in the direction of a team or some sort of affiliation, but again with the amends.

ㅤThat, and he couldn't say no once he heard what the job was, though his face remained impassive and he had no way of knowing if Fury realized that was an ace in his sleeve, or not.

ㅤNatasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, was secretly alive. Alive temporarily, Fury was concerned, unless she received prompt and extremely effective back-up. The Winter Soldier was what they needed, and he would be going in alone, extracting their Widow and returning her to the safety of a rendezvous point for support. Presumably she would continue working in the shadows afterward, they'd part ways, and they'd move on with whatever these lives were now.

ㅤThat was how he told himself that it would work out, and as he infiltrated the site (which felt like too fancy of a word when it was just a damn warehouse that had been abandoned and used for privacy), he had to internally laugh a little and shake his head at the complete disregard for security. Honestly, they had the Black Widow captive and didn't think they'd need the extra hands on deck? Saying that he fought his way in was giving them too much credit because he silently removed every man he came across getting in, then found a spot to work out the logistics on getting to Romanoff herself.

ㅤRestrained to a chair, the man who was clearly the boss was monologuing and another was laying out tools. Classic, like working out of a stock script. He didn't like how Nat looked, but she'd endured worse than appearances suggested; he knew she could handle this. He waited until all eyes were on her, the apparent 'interrogator' behind the others and distracted with his accoutrements, and made his move.

ㅤAn arm shot out from a shadow, snaking across the man's mouth to silence him and drag him backwards by his head into Bucky's chest. He was dead before he even made contact, and Bucky pulled him backwards to push under some debris, easing back to test for another. Could he have exploded into the scene and killed them all before they knew what hit them? He figured the chances were greater than 90%, but just in case someone decided to get smart and take Nat out while she was detained, he played it quiet.

ㅤThat, and these assholes deserved to be toyed with, just a little.

[70yearsofwinter]

ㅤBucky honestly couldn't have even been angry at anyone except himself for this one. He'd thought about killing the men who had survived the initial fight and he'd chosen not to. It was his own fault that one had gotten up and shot at them, and it was only right that he'd stepped between the shooter and Natalia. Better he suffer for his own choices than her. She was already going to have to suffer through this first aid experience, and given the look she gave him when he offered her an out, there was no way in hell he was getting her to back out. The vodka was a surprise, though he followed her instructions to press his left hand to the wall and was even more surprised when she splashed vodka on the wound instead of isopropyl alcohol. With limited resources, sure, but here?

ㅤHe hissed at the unexpected burn, clenching his jaw through her surprise and nodding just the slightest. "I did say 'couple of bullets'," he pointed out, like that made it any better. He moved the shirt so that she could look at the single hole on his back before replacing it, and made sure he was steady before accepting the bottle for a healthy swig of vodka and setting it down beside her to take the preferred position once more for her to work. It wasn't their first time, not that he'd admitted knowing that yet, and she was right about the alcohol grounding that.

ㅤIt was the first time she was digging around the metal in his torso, which he hadn't thought about until she was confused over it. He gave some sound of acknowledgement about the bullet still being in there that came off as something between a hum and a grunt - short, pained, annoyed. At least the first round of stitching was easy, and then at least they could keep the blood where it belonged - inside him. Given the shit he'd survived over his long life, he figured the serum would kick him into healing the internal damage before it became hospital worthy.

ㅤAlso helpful, since she had to dig around for the second bullet and that wasn't exactly fun. It would also heal and fortunately, his sensation was less in the synthetic parts - more like pressure sensation than actual pain in most areas, though Shuri and her team had managed to wind the synthetic and organic up in a smoother, more comfortable way that was also much more complex. He had more feeling in it than he might have before, but also less chronic pain than he'd had with the old set-up. He hadn't really thought of that until it was fixed, and now here he was remembering that again. He did not comment at her surprise, just letting her work with a barely there shrug of his right shoulder before turning around to let her at the exit wound. It also meant he didn't have to stare her down over her question.

ㅤ"You caught me, actually a robot, don't tell Sam he was right," he told her, silently wishing the vodka did literally anything for him besides burn, but probably for the best that it didn't. A little pain relief would have been nice, but he was used to that.

✘ ⌖ ➶ As the redhead spread out the tools she needed, she noted the way James had paused, gripping the chair in silence. He was in a hell of a lot of pain, which seemed obvious just by looking at the state of the once white gauze that was wrapped around him. She hated that he was feeling like this, that he had to go through such agony all because he stepped in front of her. But that was the job. They each have taken bullets and knife stabs and punches in behalf of their partners for decades. The thought didn't lessen the anger she felt at the asshole who had taken them by surprise, though.

His question broke through the thoughts and she fixed her companion with a very deadpanned look that said all she needed to say. Then she went to another cabinet and grabbed a brand new bottle of vodka. Good vodka, from Russia. When she turned back around, she saw James's exposed torso and her eyes widened for a moment. She knew there'd be blood, but he almost looked like he just took a ride in the elevator from The Shining. Though it wasn't the first time in her life that she'd seen the Winter Soldier in such bad shape, it still gave her pause.

Only for the briefest of moments, though. In a blink, she was in action, taking charge just as her training demanded. Crossing the kitchen to him, she took the chair he'd pulled out and pushed it so that the back was against the wall. Then she sat in it and beckoned him over. "Brace your hand on the wall. Use the other hand to keep your shirt there." This position brought the wound right to her eye level and kept his torso straight which would be better for her work. After opening the bottle of vodka, she splashed a liberal amount on his stomach, rinsing away the excess blood so that she could better see the wound. And that's when she noticed.... wounds?

"Jesus, James. You were shot twice." Leaning around him, she looked over his back, but found only one exit wound. Sitting back to regard his front, the placement didn't make sense. It should be a clean through just like the other. There were no bones that could have gotten in the way for it. If anything, the other bullet had a better chance of ricocheting off of his ribs, but it didn't. Where was the second bullet?

After taking a steadying swig of the vodka, she handed the bottle to him. It wasn't like it would get him tipsy, but sometimes the familiar burn of the alcohol was all that was needed to ground them. At least in her case. She took up a clean towel and gently wiped it over his skin, inspecting it all. Wanting to stop the bleeding, she decided to stitch the obvious entry wound up first. Bullet holes only took a couple of stitches, and soon she was free to inspect the mysterious one. "There's no exit. The bullet must still be in there." She glanced up to where he leaned over her, giving him an almost apologetic look. She was sure he'd know that meant she'd have to dig it out.

Picking up the right tools, she got to work. Gentle but not wasting time. Almost immediately, she hit metal. "Found it." Then she paused when she could feel the odd shape of the metal. Like it was flat... and extensive. "Wait... What?" Finally she found the bullet and took a little more prying than usual to get it out. She could only imagine the pain he was feeling, but she worked as quickly and efficiently as possible. When the bullet finally came free, she held it up in the tweezers to see that it had flattened as though it hit a bulletproof barrier. She glanced up at him, her expression set, before she dropped the bullet on the table and quickly worked to stitch up the hole. "Something you want to share with the class?" she asked.

[70yearsofwinter]

ㅤ"That is such strangely convenient timing when I only just stumbled upon this tiny kitten all alone in the world," he said, and his tone didn't leave any doubt about what exactly he thought of that 'coincidence', but appreciated nonetheless. "Thanks, you meddler."

✘ ⌖ ➶ "It's not the only thing I got you." She turned slightly sheepish, a look almost no one has seen on Natasha's face, but she quickly pushed it away when she held out a gift bag. "For you, James." Inside the tissue paper were two small dishes. A food and water bowl for a cat. Both blue, a color that she always associated with him.

[70yearsofwinter]

ㅤThere was no arguing with the logic that had gone into sending him instead of a squad of SHIELD agents and he hadn't tried, but the gravity of the meaning and the event itself sat heavy on them all. Natalia was alive, she was safe and would stay that way, but wasn't this proof that the Red Room and Hydra weren't so far gone from his mind as everyone wanted to believe? Everyone was quick to remind him that the blood on his hands wasn't his, that it was the Red Room or Hydra pulling the trigger, but there was no such explanation here. He still had that within him.

ㅤShe arched her brow at his mention of the upholstery and he didn't give an inkling of impatience or attitude - not the same Winter Soldier that she'd once worked alongside, but some damaged thing that perhaps remembered enough to know that there was something wrong with him. In this case, the concern for the upholstery was entirely to avoid leaving a trail in the event someone looked for them. Part of being a ghost was disappearing without a trace, and that meant bloodstains in the worn furniture stood out. If he was hunting them, he would have looked for it.

ㅤThey were highly unlikely to be hunted, especially this far, so it was only a precaution. He'd killed everyone on site, and his route had been winding enough and taken them far enough that only someone of their caliber could have hoped to follow it. If someone like that had worked for those men, he didn't think Natalia would have been alive or in one piece, so this was just extra caution on his part. Instead of laying out the mechanics of how he would have followed their trail, he settled behind her to examine the injuries she wanted addressed first and set to cleaning the skin around the wound before getting in closer with the alcohol and swaps to ease bleeding. She was a Widow, so infection wasn't much of a concern, but it would heal faster and more comfortably for the cleaning. They'd both sure as hell seen worse than the job he could do on it.

ㅤThe tank top did have to go as he went, two clean cuts to peel the straps away and peel it downward and away from the cuts, and if there had been any pause at the English, it was easily covered by the much more mechanical movements to do the job in front of him and her opting not to look at him. He didn't respond immediately, not until it was clean, but he set aside the mess to examine it closer and took up the surgical pliers. "You'll need to lower your arms if you want the stitches done straight," he told her, and it sounded smooth enough, but the time he'd taken to work had also supplied him time to run what he intended to tell her through a few different language filters to get it right. He'd almost defaulted to Russian anyway, just for ease, but he'd long ago learned to respond in the language he was addressed in.

✘ ⌖ ➶ A squad of SHIELD agents would have in fact turned it into a war zone. It would have blown the element of surprise and Natasha very likely would be dead at that moment. Not to mention the repercussions that would have come by having a such a fight be picked up by the public media. Sending in the one man army to quietly take them all out, one by one was the right move. As consciousness became a little clearer, she could recall how many bodies were outside the warehouse. The ghost had really come through, creeping in like a shadow and leaving only death in his wake. It reminded the spy why she was once so afraid of him.

The mention of the upholstery had the redhead arching a brow as she looked at the worn out couch, then back up at Bucky. Somehow she didn't think anyone was going to particularly mind, but she still got up to move to the kitchen table. There was no reason to make things unnecessarily harder on the guy who was going to be sewing her skin back together. The adrenaline had long since left her body, leaving Natasha exhausted and in pain. Gingerly, and with only minimal grunting, she sat down on the chair Bucky had pulled out for her. She sat in it backwards, resting her forearms on the back of the chair to give him better access to the gash on her back.

Not trusting her emotions, Natasha set her green gaze on the tools spread out over the table rather than the man who would be wielding them. She wondered why he was only speaking Russian. Was it his way of saying that he remembered her? Or was he merely falling back into routine as the Winter Soldier who worked alongside a Black Widow? Her mind raced with every question she wanted to ask, but when she opened her mouth, the only thing that came out was, "You can cut away the tank top. I can't lift my arms." She chose English on purpose, though, changing it up to see how he'd react.

[70yearsofwinter]

ㅤHe did not understand the reference to the movie and the confusion did pass over his expression, but he didn't ask her to elaborate because they really did have to get out of there quickly. He'd be fine for awhile, but that didn't mean that he wanted to deal with the reinforcements when he'd already taken two bullets. Even Steve, with all of his stubbornness, eventually had to give in to blood loss and injury. Bucky didn't quite have his stubborn streak (though he had a decent one of his own), but he had a much higher pain threshold and that machine mindset to fall back on. He'd push through as long as it took.

ㅤStrangely, he was almost more worried about the obvious white gauze and bloodstains and thought he probably should have taken the extra time to take his jacket off to pack the gauze underneath it, but too late. Instead, he used the time to have a rapid fire argument with her in Russian that only lasted maybe forty seconds over who was going to drive and only conceded because he knew that look to her expression. He couldn't say that without opening up a can of worms about what he remembered of working with her, but he also wondered if she'd possibly been hoping for an excuse to take a spin on his bike, anyway.

ㅤFortunately, she drove like him (wonder why), so he didn't have to think too hard about not passing out for too long. It might have been easier to do that if he drove just for something else to focus on, that whole process where he'd be fine as long as he didn't stop moving, except that he'd stopped moving. It made him grunt at getting off the bike and sway on his feet a little more obviously - the gauze wasn't looking good, but considering he had an actual hole in him, it was making an admirable attempt. The inside of his coat was going to look like a crime scene, but he wasn't bringing that up in advance. He put his attention on where they were, the entrance and security on the place, the lack of decor when they entered, but also on her. It helped with the static pushing in on his mind that helped protect him from the kind of agony that he was in, but also made him feel so damn detached. It was a tug of war inside him, tide pushing and pulling at the shoreline, and it'd be so much easier to just let go but he knew she'd only worry more. Proof that there was more wrong with him than the injury.

ㅤHe pulled out his own chair, but didn't sit in it immediately, instead just bracing himself on it for a moment with a wince. He could do this, be present and functional like a real person for her through this, but it was going to suck. "Great, honestly. Almost forgot what a couple of bullets felt like, glad we refreshed that memory," he deadpanned, not sure if the tone really landed the way he wanted it to because he was trying to lean on what he knew he was supposed to be almost as much as he was leaning on the chair, but it was something. He drew in a deep breath to brace for unzipping the coat and pulling the bloodied gauze away, pausing to eye her. "You sure? I can do this if you aren't up for it."

ㅤDid he think she'd actually back out? No, but it seemed fair to offer and he almost hoped she took him up on it. It would be harder to do it himself (he definitely couldn't reach the exit wound but it would heal eventually), but she'd seen enough blood and he was pretty sure one wasn't a clean in and out. When he did peel the wet, messy jacket away against his possibly better judgment, the shirt beneath was an absolutely lost cause that he probably should have struggled more to pull off for the pain he was in but he was edging into that static again pushing through.

ㅤHe balled the shirt up to reach back right handed and press it against the exit wound, assuming that she'd start in the front where there were (surprise!) two bullet holes to deal with. The problem with the second was that the bullet was still lodged inside of him, deformed and caught in the synthetic vibranium 'muscle' that Shuri and her genius had crafted as a more elegant solution to the metal nightmare that had existed under his skin from Hydra. A mere bullet couldn't penetrate that any better than it would have a solid plate (there were some of those in places), but it still had to come out for relief or he'd just have to feel it being ground up by the muscle it was stuck to and the skin would struggle to heal around it. The other had hit somewhere without the vibranium additions, just a bare two inches off, and he'd been lucky that it had also torn through organic tissue on exit, or he might have had it stuck on the inside wall of muscle. No, thank you.

✘ ⌖ ➶ Time wasn't on their side. Natasha knew that they needed to get out of the shipping warehouse as soon as possible before another wave of AIM back-up could arrive. She wasn't gentle as tied gauze tightly around his torso, but she also knew that he could take it. Her first priority was to make sure it would staunch the bleeding. Comfort would come later when they weren't sitting ducks. It was his question that made her snort in derision as she finished tying the bandage off. "Yeah, Kevin Costner, I'm fine," she answered in English to really pour on the sarcasm, not caring that he probably didn't understand the reference to The Bodyguard. Then again, he's surprised her before. Somewhere in the back of her mind she noted that that was probably a movie he'd really enjoy, and she stuck a pin in it for later.

Once the redhead was satisfied that Bucky would hold up long enough to make it to another location, she pulled her guns out and checked the ammunition. Both were still near full. <"Let's get the fuck out of here."> The plan for leaving hadn't changed. They took the route that they both had discussed beforehand, making their way as quickly as possible back to where the motorcycle was hidden. It was Bucky's, but there was no way she was going to let him drive. Could he? Of course. Had he driven under worse conditions? Almost positively. But Natasha wasn't about to be the damsel that only needed a bodyguard. She was protective, too, and took charge so that all he had to think about was not passing out.

One of the Black Widow's most valuable assets was her vast network of safe houses equipped with living essentials and weapons caches that spread out all over the globe. She referred to this network as The Web. The nearest one was only an hour out, but she was sure she could make it in half the time on Bucky's bike. This particular location turned out to be a rather nice one; a townhouse in a suburban area. "Nice" because many of her locations were literally clandestine rooms in giant storage units. This was actually a one bedroom home made to house humans.

The inside was plain, no decorations or indications that someone had been there in a long while. She walked in the front door and immediately went to a control panel on the wall to type in a long number code. Once set, the lights turned on, illuminating the kitchen to their right and the living room in front of them. Knowing exactly where to go, Natasha grabbed her first aid kit from a kitchen cabinet and set it out on the table. She shook off the sense of déja vu as she looked to her partner. "How're you holding up?"

[70yearsofwinter]

ㅤThe Winter Soldier entered the building first in case there was any threat waiting for them inside, but it looked as though Fury had been good on his word about the safehouse. It was quiet, simple and as he strode across the small living area the front door opened into, he found an operational bathroom and full first aid kit tucked under the sink. He brought it out to the kitchen table as she collapsed on the couch and started to peel bloodsoaked clothing away from her skin, opening it up to begin laying out supplies. She'd walked in on her own because she was stubborn, but he knew she was in pain and only some of it could be handled without a hospital. Anything broken would have to be handled once they'd made the rendezvous and were among allies.

ㅤHe didn't watch her because he didn't need to in order to take note of the way she moved, but he glanced over once the table was situated, dragging a chair closer that was clearly intended for her. <"He was concerned that a squad of SHIELD agents would turn it into a warzone,"> he said flatly, no emphasis regarding how he felt about that, but it was possible that he didn't feel much about it right then. He was a little too distant to his feelings, mission first, but that line of thinking didn't exactly help, either. Fury had sent him because he hadn't wanted a squad of SHIELD agents to drop in and go to war with the gang's men. He'd sent the Winter Soldier to instead turn the site into a tomb, methodically and silently, and he'd done exactly that.

ㅤJames had known immediately what the score was meant to be, and he'd thought about refusing. He hadn't gotten so far as putting voice to any of it, but Fury had been ahead of him. A war zone gave enough warning that if Natasha was truly captive, she might not survive until a squad got to her. It had to be done a certain way, one that he was all too familiar with. They needed a ghost story.

ㅤGloves peeled off, he went to the kitchen sink to scrub his hands before the coming stitches. <"Have a seat, before you bleed on the upholstery.">

✘ ⌖ ➶ The gentle hum of the motorcycle's engine, the scent of James's leather jacket, and the warmth of his body as Natasha held on were all so comfortingly familiar that she was able to doze on the drive. She could recall the times when they were leaving a completed mission, just the pair of them racing towards a much deserved celebration in each other's arms. It felt so long ago now, like the events only happened in a dream.

Coming back to full consciousness when he nudged her, Natasha gingerly pulled off the helmet and handed it back. <"I can walk,"> she replied, enjoying the comfort of her native language. Slowly, the redhead dismounted the bike and took a moment to get her balance. Every muscle protested the movement, but she wasn't about to look too weak in front of the Winter Soldier. It was her stubborn nature to swallow any pain and keep moving forward. She followed him into the house, taking in small details of the place. It seemed safe enough and she wondered how he found it.

Once inside, the spy collapsed onto the sofa, letting out a pained sigh. <"Fuck,"> she cursed in Russian. Carefully, she began to peel her suit off down to her hips. Her black tank top underneath was soaked in sweat and blood. All the while, green eyes kept glancing to her savior. There were a million questions she wanted to ask him. He didn't give any indication that he remembered their lives together or the love they once shared, but as she studied him, she realized that there was something off about him altogether. He moved mechanically, like a machine. She knew damn well that he was more than the tool Hydra created and used. Many of his memories have returned, or at least that's what she'd heard from others. Yet in that moment, she was having a hard time finding the man under the machine, and rather than scare her, it saddened her deeply.

"Fury?" was all she asked when she met his gaze. It was the only explanation she could think of as to why James had found her. It was a clever move to enlist the Winter Soldier for the extraction, for many reasons. As she watched him move about, though, she couldn't help but feel as though reuniting with her was doing more harm than good.

[70yearsofwinter]

ㅤIt wasn't like Bucky was actively thinking about the times he'd shot Nat, but those situations didn't escape his attention, either. They'd both been shot, stabbed, and plenty of other horrible injuries in their long lives, and he'd been the cause of two gunshot wounds she'd endured - he wasn't going to stand by and watch it happen again. The shooter had to be eliminated, and the others executed just as surely to prevent any further problems. He could be upset about essentially executing some terrorists later with the 'what would Steve do' mentality bouncing around with the assassin he'd been trained to be.

ㅤHe heard Natalia behind him, so the cursing and even the command weren't really a surprise as he finished the job he should have done to begin with, though he stared after her for a second before once more clenching his jaw and making the short trip back to the office he'd just left. Was he in great shape? No, and even he knew it. He'd live, but the pain was a problem that his first instinct was really to just power his way through; he'd operated for decades the way a machine did, and machines didn't feel pain. He knew how to distance himself from it, to bury it under the white snow sense in his mind that threatened to slide in as combat opened up around him. Keeping a tight, sometimes white-knuckle grip on control and holding back in a fight kept it all at bay, but it was harder to hold onto when he was in pain. So much more tempting to let it fade to the background.

ㅤ<"I'll be fine, it'll heal."> he told her, though with no arguments about her packing the wounds tight until they could stop somewhere. He wasn't stupid, and while he could go a long time before blood loss and pain caught up to him if it was wrapped like this, he wasn't going to try to argue actually taking care of it once they were settled in a safe location. The mission came first, and he had to be functional enough to finish it. He eyed her and the blood she was spattered with. None of it looked like hers, though he was unconcerned with it being his. <"You're unharmed?">

✘ ⌖ ➶ Natasha had been shot many times in her life. Two of the worst scars she had on her body were actually courtesy of her current partner. It was never fun, but sometimes it was just part of the job. She braced herself as she turned, making herself the smallest target possible in the fraction of a second she had. The sting of bullets never came, though. Before she knew what was happening, a wall of black leather had stepped between her and the gunman. With a final blast, she heard the sickening squelch of gore as the AIM agent's headless body fell to the ground.

Bucky's speed was impressive, even if the redhead knew all too well just how fast he was. His movements never ceased to amaze her, though. He'd been there before she could blink and the assailant was dealt with just as quickly. She slung the backpack on as she took a moment to observe the decapitated corpse, ensuring herself that he was definitely well and dead. Then next thing she noticed was the spray of blood across her own chest and stomach. It wasn't hers and it couldn't have been the agent's. That only left one culprit.

In a flash, the Black Widow had left the room and found Bucky just as he was finishing off the job. Death wasn't something that made her squeamish, and in fact, she felt a breath of relief in knowing that there'd be no more surprises. Her worry, was instead on her partner as she quickly pinpointed an obvious bullet hole in his uniform. "Хуй," she cursed. <"Come here."> It was said as a command, leaving no room for debate as she was already in motion heading back to the office. She remembered seeing a first aid kit in there during her rummaging. They wouldn't be able to do anything substantial until they got to a safe location, but she knew she had to at least slow the bleeding. Wrapping gauze tightly around his torso where the entry and out points were would do the trick. <"I'm driving us out.">

[70yearsofwinter]

ㅤKarpov hadn't killed him, but if not for where he was in his life currently, he might as well have. The Winter Soldier had been wiped and reprogrammed to the point of being more machine than human for decades, put on ice like a tool not in use was powered down until they had a task for him again. It didn't stop the memories of how soft her skin was when she was laid beside him in bed and his fingers trailed idly along her cheekbone. He remembered the warm flash of her red hair spread out over the pillow when the morning sun it it, but also the way it contrasted with the deeper, darker red of her blood as she lay bleeding out in Odessa. He remembered her eyes meeting his, and he wondered if the look in his eyes was so different now or if that machine was still part of who he was.

ㅤIt felt like it might be.

ㅤShe was bleeding now as well, and it was that boogeyman that had ensured her safety - no matter what else happened, that was worth it. She was his mission, the asset that he would have put his life down to extract safely, and it was fortunate that she understood that well enough to go along with his demands, not that a helmet on a motorcycle was unreasonable. It was unlikely that she'd need it with him driving, but weird shit happened in their line of work, so better to take precautions. She slotted against his back on the bike just the way she used to decades ago and he clenched his jaw, but felt the way she locked her grip when he sped up. He also felt when she started to drift in the way her body relaxed; if asked, he slowed the bike to blend in better as they reached civilization, but it might also have made her attempts to doze easier.

ㅤThey didn't stop until they were a few towns over and well outside of the range of whatever remained of her captor's reach. Even then, the little house he pulled up to was outside of the town proper, old and only moderately cared for, but it was clean. He hadn't been promised much except that there would be basic necessities, including first aid, and a weapons cache if they needed it. He didn't expect to.

ㅤThe bike cruised easily enough in past the little gate towards the house and he was as gentle in stopping and nudging her so that he wouldn't put her off-balance too hard getting off the bike. If he had to carry her inside, he would have, but he was going to have to look over her injuries so it was probably going to be easier if she woke up at least enough for that. <"Almost there. Will you walk or am I carrying you?">

✘ ⌖ ➶ There was only a momentary pause when Bucky pushed the garrote wire back to her before she stored it. It took a split second longer than usual for the cogs to fall into place and her to realize what day it was. And sure enough, his birthday actually would be in just a couple of days. Such a mundane thing. Their lives were never mundane, but while they worked as partners, there were stolen moments when they could pretend they were normal. Waking up in bed together, lazily stretching in the morning sunlight. Standing in each other's arms on a hotel balcony, watching the sun set. Eating dinner together and discussing something as simple as the latest music.

Natasha ached for those days. They were long behind her, but the mention of his birthday brought everything rushing back. They had a dream once of running off together and living a quiet life. The dream was a delusion, of course, but that didn't stop her from indulging in the fantasy a few times. Then they were discovered. When she learned that the KGB knew their dirty secret, she had run straight for his quarters, but James was already gone. She could still recall having two of her "sisters" hold her down while she screamed, believing that Karpov was going to kill him. Tears bore so deeply down her cheeks that she was sure they would leave scars.

Then they came for her. Still, Natalia screamed and tried to break free until the head of the Black Widow Op program was able to beat her into submission. For years, Natalia believed that her lover was dead, but then the rumors started. Rumors of the Winter Soldier. They were more like stories of the Boogeyman, though. Department X was careful to ensure that the paths of their two deadliest assets would never cross paths again.

It wasn't until 2009 that they were reunited. In a way. It was clear that James didn't know who she was. Whatever the KGB had done to him (now she knew it was really Hydra), the man she once knew was gone. Not much in the world scared her, but as she lay on the ground in Odessa, bleeding out beside the dead body of her charge at the time, she saw those icy blue eyes come into focus over her. The look in them had turned her blood cold. Vacant. Mechanical. That look would continue to haunt the Black Widow for the rest of her days.

And then through some miracle, a miracle only Steve Rogers could pull off, James had returned. Not James, though. Bucky. More than anything Natasha had wanted to see if the man who loved her was still in there, but they never had the chance. As time went on, she became sure that she was just another casualty of the cruelty of his former handlers.

There was a sharp pain in her shoulder blade and she could feel her suit becoming wet with blood. No doubt she'd need stitches there, but Natasha silently thanked the wound for bringing her back to the present. She followed her partner to the shed where his motorcycle was waiting. Just as she was about to hop on, he held out the helmet. The redhead looked at it, then met his gaze, clearly wanting to protest. She was silent as she sized him up, eyes locked onto his. She was his mission, though. She knew that. She knew that fighting any protection would only be a losing battle.

Wordlessly, though communicating much, she finally grabbed the helmet and put it on. Then she hopped onto the bike and held onto his jacket. Once the bike sped up, she instinctively wrapped her arms around his waist. The adrenaline was subsiding and consciousness wavered. All she wanted to do was to be horizontal and sleep for a week. She let her eyes close and trusted James to get them both to safety.

[70yearsofwinter]

ㅤShe'd always had a way of laughing her way through frankly ridiculous situations, be it dropping from a building on a single cable or bantering her way through a firefight, and it was one of her charms, even if Bucky himself still felt out of place. It was all so familiar, yet felt like something from another life - understandable considering he'd essentially been a different person then than he had before or after. Now, he was expected to be something like he'd been before he'd known her, and his skin just didn't seem to fit no matter what he did.

ㅤHe followed after her and hung back against the wall between the door and window, leaning and watching her root around in the filing system - again so much like the old days, before popping a usb drive into a machine would hold it all. She might have been an Avenger, but it was clear that old skills hadn't left her and that Fury had no problem putting them to use, not that Bucky had been doubting that. She was among the best in the business, and Fury wasn't one to miss a shot or pass up on talent. Since Bucky was just there as back-up, he didn't actually know the details of her assignment and wasn't asking seriously, though he'd known that the rocket launcher wasn't what she was there for. He was raising an eyebrow at the fact that it was apparently much more commonplace than he thought it should have been, but it clearly hadn't been a problem for them.

ㅤInstead, the problem turned out to be him. He heard the crunch of glass and was moving before Natalia had even looked up. He didn't know exactly what he was going to find, but he had a damn good idea even before his body blocked the window from her sight in a quick twist. Four shots went off in quick succession - two into the center of the window to the sound of shattering glass and a spray of blood behind him when one bullet lodged itself into the computer monitor, a third that went into the ceiling as Bucky grabbed the wrist holding the firearm left-handed and crushed the bones to add a shriek to the soundtrack, and one final boom in the enclosed area that blew the back of the AIM agent's head off. The body dropped, Bucky swayed, straightened, clenched his jaw and strode out of the office with none of the casual saunter he'd had before. This was determined, murderous intent, and he fired three more times as soon as he was in range of the previous fight and its losers.

ㅤDouble-tap it was.

✘ ⌖ ➶ The answer Bucky came up with actually made Natasha laugh, despite her being mid battle. They had the upper hand anyway, and despite having found themselves in a trap, she was actually having fun. It felt like the old days in a way... if she ignored the fact that the old days were when she was working for the KGB and was doing more harm than good. The fight didn't last long and soon silence reigned as the last AIM agent fell. Not wasting any time, Natasha was already in motion, heading towards the main office. "It is. I'm not here for the rocket launcher," she told Bucky.

Oblivious to the inner argument Bucky was having with himself over the merits of a double tap, the redhead moved about the cluttered room as though she owned the place. Picking her way through a stack of folders, she quickly began sorting the items she was looking for. Had she known what dilemma her partner was facing, she would have told him to shoot them in the head. Natasha may have been an Avenger, but she was never against killing the bad guys. It was one of the things she and Steve used to argue about all the time. AIM agents were like cockroaches. If you did't kill them, they'd just keep coming back.

And that exact scenario was demonstrated by one of the agents she had left alive. Groaning, he came to and silently crept around the warehouse, moving in the direction of the two interlopers. "And.... it's as easy.... as....that," Natasha said to herself as she zipped up the small backpack she'd brought to carry the documents in. It was then that she heard the crunch of glass underfoot and looked up in time to see the AIM agent popping up by one of the windows. His gun had a clear shot of the redhead and she knew there was no time to counter. She was going to get hit...

[70yearsofwinter]

ㅤHe'd been too abrupt with her and he knew it in the aftermath of the words striking out across the air between them, but the harsh reality of it was that it was reminiscent of the 'old days' when he was really just the Winter Soldier. This whole thing had him too raw, static in his head at the risk of losing her so much like the old missions and the constant fear of discovery by their handlers. That had come to pass and the fear had been legitimate, but they weren't the same people and they didn't have the same relationship. The place he'd gone to when he'd killed his way through the building to find her and make sure she wasn't in any additional danger on the way out, just in case, had served him well until now. Now, he had to shake it, or maybe not.

ㅤMaybe it was safer to be that, especially with her.

ㅤHe hadn't even known she was alive until she'd been under very real threat of dying once again, and that seemed to say everything about where they stood, didn't it? She'd come back from death at a time when neither of them were under threat of death or incarceration, when they had the time and she'd hidden herself from him and everyone else. He wasn't foolish enough to think it was personally him that she'd avoided, but he'd had time to work it all over in his mind while traveling. It was simple enough now. Finish the job, she was the asset being extracted and that was the only important point at the moment.

ㅤShe was dismissive about the wire and that suited him just fine; it had been a complaint to break the moment and nudge her along when she likely needed the time to process. They didn't get that kind of time until they were clear of the danger, but he didn't actually care about the wire beyond the momentary annoyance when she'd cut it initially. Fortunately she located her clothing and gear quickly, suiting up quickly despite what he knew had to be at least moderate pain from how she was moving, but he gave a bare shake of his head and nudged the wire back to her. <"You're early, keep it. It's more your style than mine.">

ㅤThe truth, since he'd only kept that last man alive so that she could question him and he hadn't been used to interrogate anyone in decades.

ㅤHe followed her to the doors, pausing to listen and glance past her before slipping past like the shadows he'd been a part of when he was playing with her captors, leading the way around the back of the building to a shed where he'd stashed a motorcycle. That had been a pain in the ass, stopping the engine and cruising for as long as he could go before walking it the rest of the way to ensure a silent approach and easy access to it on the escape. As promised, the site had been quiet as the grave he'd made of it, and though he wouldn't be surprised if someone else had appeared, he was thorough. He gave her a look before offering her the helmet.

✘ ⌖ ➶ A loud throbbing sound pounded inside Natasha's head. She sat there, on top of the bloody mess that was once the boss, catching her breath. Chest heaved as she felt herself finally find a semblance of calm. A fine spray of red dotted her face, but she barely noticed. Seemingly casual, as though she hadn't just completely lost her shit moments ago, the redhead wiped the knife off on the corpse's jacket, then she turned to regard Bucky.

Not Bucky.

The Winter Soldier.

A confusing tangle of memories flooded her mind, but she skillfully pushed them all away. <"I'll buy you a new one,"> she responded frankly. The Russian was natural. Easy. That in and of itself was enough to complicate the situation, but now wasn't the time to dwell. There were so many things she wanted to say to him, to ask him, but a stroll down memory lane would have to wait.

Slowly, Natasha picked herself up off the floor. Every muscle protested and it hurt to even breathe. "Uh..." She looked around the warehouse quickly, then nodded when she saw a table on the far end. "There," she answered as she headed towards it to grab her suit. Moments later, she was suited up, pushing through the pain of her interrogation. Muscle reflexes had her checking her guns to find them still loaded before she re-holstered them. Then she released a button on her bites and pulled out a long wire, holding it out for her unlikely partner. <"Happy Birthday, comrade.">

Moving to the doors, she waited to the side of them, listening for any signs of life outside. <"Do you have a vehicle? Which direction?"> she asked, pushing the door open just enough to peek out through the crack. It seemed quiet outside, but that didn't mean that the coast was entirely clear. Then she readied herself with the knife she was lent, saving her guns for a last resort. Her bites were set to stun should they run across someone being used against their will.

[70yearsofwinter]

ㅤIf he heard any of that crap about his work being like an artist creating, he would have heavily questioned her taste in art, but it was true that he was a master in his field. He just didn't think his work deserved any of the esteem the idea suggested, not with the blood spilled under the cover of night where perhaps the darkness would hide it from view. Worse were memories of the same violence by light of day where the detail and color was bright and practically seared into his mind.

ㅤThis would be just one more, except that these were the bad guys. They would have killed Natalia without hesitation and would do the same to whoever else was unlucky enough to be in the area when they put one of their schemes to work. He could tell himself that he'd chosen to be there and he was in control when he pulled the trigger. How true it felt was another matter entirely, but he wouldn't have risked her going alone if given a hundred chances to choose. He also could have chosen to maim them all instead of killing them, but the thought of getting shot in the back just didn't appeal and instinct in the moment made his aim true. He could have joined her in the fray, but the simplicity of just pulling the trigger with a quick flick between bodies as she pitched them around had its charm. Or something.

ㅤ"Probably to make sure they don't accidentally shoot each other," he pointed out, which said exactly how he felt about their capabilities, but the two of them had just ripped through then of them like it was nothing. She wasn't out of breath and he sauntered up once the last had fallen like it was the most casual place he could be, glancing between the fallen minions. A few were still breathing, out cold thanks to her bites, and he considered them for just a few seconds with a slight tightening of his grip on the rifle, but moved on. Shooting them made sense to a very cold, pragmatic part of his brain, and it was exactly the kind of thing Steve never would have done. "You already know about the rocket launcher? Seems small-time for you."

✘ ⌖ ➶ Watching Bucky work was like watching an artist create. He never missed a shot, and though she'd been in fights with him numerous times before, Natasha was impressed. Bringing him along on such a mundane mission was overkill, but she was suddenly thankful for the wild hair that had her dialing his number that morning. They were outnumbered ten to two, but the AIM agents didn't stand a chance. From her new position in the fray, she continued to work close range tactics, shepherding the agents into the open where Bucky can continue to pick them off with the rifle.

The number of targets were dwindling. The Black Widow jumped up and got her thighs around the neck of one agent and she used her weight to spin her body and pull him to the concrete floor. Looking up, she shot off another electrical stinger towards someone who was looking to take advantage of her grounded position. Then she quickly turned her attention to the man wrapped up in her legs and shot him with two. Both went down and she sprung to her feet in a graceful jump.

"I always wondered why they think it's so great to wear bright yellow suits," she commented conversationally, not seeming the least bit out of breath. "It just makes them so much easier to target." She side kicked an agent running towards her in the gut, then spun to send a spinning heel kick into his jaw. The power pushed him directly in Bucky's line of sight.

[70yearsofwinter]

ㅤThat Natalia might find this playfulness, which was exactly that but also cruel for the fact that he was playing with these men before he killed them, was something that he'd have to sit with for awhile after it was over, but no less true for what it meant. At this exact moment, it meant that she was in good hands and that none of these men would leave this place alive, whether she finished them off or he did. He held captive the boss that she would no doubt want to question, and though they made eye contact as she straightened, neither held it. She was intent on the captive who had recently held her as such, and he was intent on cataloguing her injuries and the way she moved.

ㅤHe jerked the garrote tighter when the man spit and cursed at her, drawing a sharp cut-off sound from his hostage once more, but eased up because she was asking questions and the idiot needed a way to answer her. He wasn't going anywhere, so really, answering was the least he could do.

ㅤOr, maybe he was, compliments of Natalia herself. The knife she plunged into the hostage's shoulder pinged against the metal of his own with the force of her blow, but Bucky gave no indication that he'd noticed or had an opinion on it. He did roll his eyes when she cut the garrote wire rather than tell him to release it because that was a perfectly good wire, but he held his tongue so that she could maintain her own interrogation tactics. In some cases, idle banter would only unsettle someone more, but this wasn't one of them.

ㅤInstead, he waited. Stock still, face impassive, watching her effectively lose her shit on the guy before getting his phone, checking it and tossing it to Bucky. He caught it, as she expected, with another solid metallic impact to his left hand and sheathed his knife so that he could glance through the phone himself - he was there as an extraction, but that didn't mean that none of this information would assist him in dealing with Nat. Her outburst spoke volumes about where she was right about then, and it wasn't a great sign.

ㅤWith her informant dead, he pocketed the phone and gave her a flat look. He would have liked to give her more than that, to be supportive or ease whatever it was she was feeling, but she wasn't the only one dealing with some shit. <"Cut the wire, really? Where's your shit? Everyone I ran across coming in is dead but that doesn't mean there won't be more,"> he told her, Russian as fluid as ever; no sense in using English in case some freak occurrence had someone actually alive overhear and declare it an American operation. It was unlikely, but a good enough reason.

✘ ⌖ ➶ Whatever plan was unfolding around her, Natasha was in the dark about it. She trusted her team, though, even if her team now only consisted of Nick Fury. Whoever he had sent to extract her was someone that Natasha also trusted to do their job. She could only wonder who it would be, though. Someone who now knew the lie of her death, certainly. It wasn't the time to play such guessing games, though. The spy took stock of her surroundings as best as she could, keeping count of the lackeys she could see. Her vision was blurred and her head pounded, but she was running on pure adrenaline in that moment. Her eyes went to the head honcho, delighting in the confusion followed by fear that trickled over his features. Her first guess was that Clint had come for her, but this wasn't really the Hawkeye's MO. There was a scare tactic here. Something more playful than pure logistical and Natasha realized why it felt familiar just an instant before she felt him behind her.

There was no mistaking the Winter Soldier. His presence had elicited many different emotions from her over the years, but in that moment, she felt giddy. The sons of bitches had surely lost now and were in for a rude awakening. Fingers tightened around the knife hilt as her bloody grin widened. The sounds of the boss being taken let her know that it was nearly over. She used the knife and cut the bindings at her wrists before leaning over and freeing her ankles. Muscles and cracked bones protested as she gingerly got to her feet.

Emerald eyes settled on the man in James's grasp and emblazoned with rage. The pathetic excuse for a man had been dealing humans. Buying and selling them as though they were objects. Using their abilities to turn them into nothing more than tools to be used. The whole affair hit too close to home for the former Black Widow of the Red Room. Bare feet brought her across the concrete floor and towards the gift James was offering her, the knife still clutched in her hand. <The cargo,> she said in a low, dangerous tone in French. <Where are you keeping it?>

Even with a wire across his throat and a literal killing machine at his back, the pompous ass spit at her feet, cursing at her. Surely he knew he was dead already, but what he didn't seem to take into account was that she was no longer an Avenger. She no longer fought with the rules that kept her clear on the side of the good guys. Natalia was angry and felt herself ready to do anything to save the people he controlled.

Mustering every ounce of adrenaline she had, the redhead leapt towards the pair of men. The knife plunged into his shoulder and he screamed. Her left hand grabbed his shirt and she brought her face within inches of his, a wild look in her blood stained eyes. <THEY'RE PEOPLE!> Pulling the knife out, she used it to cut the garrote around his neck, freeing him from James. At the same time, her left hand was yanking him down to the ground. She pinned him on his back, then caught his palm with the knife and stabbed through it, pinning it to the floor, eliciting another shriek of pain. <WHERE ARE THE PEOPLE?!>

Fear in his eyes, he was able to nod his head towards his jacket. Catching the hint, Natalia reached into the pocket and pulled out his phone. She held it above his face to unlock it, then quickly thumbed through with her left hand to check the documents. There was a map with a location. She held it up for him to see and he nodded. She tossed the phone behind her towards James, hoping he'd catch it. "Good." Then Natalia yanked the knife out of his hand and slashed quickly, cutting his neck deep and effectively killing him.

[70yearsofwinter]

ㅤIf Bucky discovered later that any of the henchmen he'd taken out on his way in had been enhanced, he'd probably be both amused and disappointed about how easy it had been, but apparently a few years out of the field hadn't left him nearly as rusty as he might have thought. As it was, his biggest problem in most fights he'd been in since regaining his sense of self had been his own mind working intensely to hold him back. There was this constant fear and worry that maybe the machine he'd once been wasn't so far gone as everyone wanted to think, and he was never closer to that feeling than when he fought. Maybe if he didn't hit as hard, if he pulled his punches and targeted obviously non-lethal locations, he really could be one of the good guys.

ㅤFunny, that wasn't even who he'd been during the war.

ㅤBack then, he'd quickly been trained in as a sniper, and he was damn good at it, but maiming had never been an option. He'd aimed to kill every time, saving lives on his side with every one of theirs he took, and wasn't that the right thing to do? Everyone said it was, but there was no denying that the lives he took after that were the wrong thing, that all he could do with that was work on his amends list and hope that he found some kind of peace with that. There was a certainly not-unspoken rule that taking lives now was unacceptable.

ㅤYet here he was. Natasha was in the chair, Natalia laughing in the face of the man who punched her as her bright red hair briefly formed a veil over her bruised skin, and he didn't care about being one of the good guys. He almost dove in on the boss right then as the punch landed, considered taking him out as soon as the henchmen split off to look for their torture specialists' corpse, but no. Let him feel the fear of being all alone, out of options, and Natalia could have her crack at him before he died. More than likely, she was here for a reason, and killing her potential information source before she could get what she wanted wasn't ideal.

ㅤHe slipped back, knife slid from its sheathe silently and tucked close to his body to avoid any chance of a reflection until one of the hench-idiots came around his hiding spot in his search and Bucky's hand darted out. He caught the man in the throat blade-first, caught a handful of his jacket to stop him from falling and bullied his body backward toward a window. The man's eyes were wide, twitching a little as his mouth gaped much like a fish without sound, and Bucky leaned him back against the window ledge for just a few seconds while he let go of his jacket and slid the strap of that semi-automatic rifle off of the hench-body and onto his own. When he pushed him out the window, it was with a quick tug of the knife from his neck that dragged it over his jacket to remove enough of the blood.

ㅤNow he had a machine gun.

ㅤMore accurately, Natalia would have a machine gun when she was on her feet. He wasn't sure where her gear was, so she'd probably appreciate the little present. Better than roses on this kind of date. The soft whuff of the body hitting the ground below apparently hadn't been enough to alert either of the men still inside, so he took to the shadows once more to take on the second hench-moron, who walked right past the window where his compatriot had fallen without the slightest clue. He returned to his boss with a shrug, managed to look confused for a few seconds when the other didn't come back, and Bucky plunged that same knife into his back from just the edge of the lighted space, gone before the man had finished looking surprised. By the time he started to fall, the Winter Soldier was behind Natalia to drop a smaller knife into her hands to free herself. He couldn't linger before the boss got spooked and started looking around, but she had a start.

ㅤWhen his hand darted out next, he broke the wrist holding the man's gun in his left hand with a quick twist of his fingers, then choked the scream out of him with a wire draw around his throat, yanking him back and pinning him there. He spun them both to face Natalia, expression impassive as his eyes flicked over her in search of injuries he may have missed. She'd know this asshole was only still alive for her benefit, but Bucky wasn't letting him speak until he was spoken to.

✘ ⌖ ➶ Returning from death hadn't been part of the plan, but Avengers (and those related) tended to be allergic to permanently dying. It was the big guy's snap that pulled Natasha back into the world. It was a bitch and a half to get off of Vormir and wouldn't have happened at all if not for the Star-Lord's help. She still thought that name left much to be desired. Rather than returning to earth right away, she met up with Nick Fury at the SABER station. The choice to remain dead to the world wasn't an easy one to make, but both of the former SHIELD agents agreed that in the ever changing world, it would be too useful to have an inside man hidden in the shadows. Or woman, as it were.

So Natasha cut all ties with her former life. It was lonely without her former family, but she saw it as a necessary sacrifice to do what's needed to keep the world safe. In her eyes, she'd never be done atoning for all that she'd done in her past, and if Fury needs her, she knows she owes him.

That was how the deadly former assassin ended up in the outskirts of Nice, France. She'd been tracking a lead on a possible organization that was trafficking humans with enhanced abilities. Unfortunately for her, the very people she and Fury wanted to protect turned out to be her downfall. She'd gotten too close and a weaponized enhanced being was able to take her off guard and take her out. It felt like Sokovia all over again and she cursed herself for being so dumb to walk into that trap again.

The Black Widow had survived all sorts. Nothing could keep her down. Not even death. But now she was stripped down to her underwear and tank top while being strapped to a chair in a room that looked like the rip off of any crime movie set. <I mean, really,> she said in French. <Here? It's so... cliché. Is there a website you all use? AbandonedWarehousesRUs.com?>

The leader, a large bald man, threw a punch hard across her jaw. Natasha's head snapped to the side, red hair falling in her face. A face that was already bruised, bloodied, and starting to swell. She'd been in worse scrapes, but this was no picnic. There was no sign of the enhanced that took her down, but the mortal men in the room weren't holding back. She was pretty sure she had a cracked rib and knew she had a fractured orbital. She spit blood onto his expensive looking shoes.

<Bitch!> he growled. <Who sent you? Who are you working for?>

Natasha let her head loll back as she laughed in amusement. This was amateur hour as far as interrogations go. Finally getting her neck to cooperate and hold her head up, she looked at the men through blurry vision. That's when her smile was replaced by a look of confusion. "Hey... Weren't there four of you?"

Whether they understood English or not, the thugs all turned to see what she was looking at. Or rather, wasn't looking at. The man prepping the torture tools was suddenly gone. The medical implements were still laid out neatly on the rusty old table, but Dr. Giggles seemed to have vanished into thin air. The bald man nodded with his head, and his two lackeys left to investigate the room around all the giant crates and debris.

[70yearsofwinter]

ㅤEither the intel she'd received was that flawed, or the source had set her up to walk into this hellhole, assuming she'd be alone. It was normal for her to be alone for something that was supposed to be as easy as this, and Bucky wasn't sure what instinct had told her to ask him to be her eyes above, but it had been a good one. He was still going to give her a hard time about it, naturally, and the irritated glare he gave her from behind some heavy duty machinery suggested how he felt about his current situation - namely the spray of bullets exploding off of his cover and the way those crates of hers were starting to look like they'd gone through a woodchipper. His cover was just a bit more stable.

ㅤThe rocket launcher made his jaw clench and her throwaway promise of owing him double was not helping, but he hissed a soft curse as she went airborne and leaned so that he could check her trajectory. "Everyone's gotta fucking fly nowadays," he hissed, but she dropped herself into the middle of the enemy line and he sure as hell wasn't going to let her have all the fun.

ㅤAnyone she didn't electrocute or who hadn't already shot each other in the first seconds of her landing was in his sights, and the rifle he had at hand might not have been made for the kind of range he was capable of, but it could handle this. One, two, three shots and three men dropped around her before one thought to turn and spray bullets in his direction. He moved, throwing his left arm up for head cover as he darted right, then snapped a quick shot off one-handed. Even with only a glance and without the second hand supporting the rifle, the bullet took him in the cheekbone and that was the end of that. One in their midst and one firing from their exterior, the AIM agents wouldn't be gathering any kind of cohesive strategy in the chaos.

⇢ @70yearsofwinter is about to give Nat quite a surprise!

✘ ⌖ ➶ Bullets flew past, close enough to Natasha's face that her hair was ruffled by the wind they caused. She ducked down behind some large crates for cover while the AIM agents continued to open fire. "I owe you," she called over the noise to her current partner who was crouched behind some out of date industrial machinery not far away. She'd dragged Bucky into this fight when it was supposed to be a very simple reconnaissance mission. It was the sort of thing that Black Widow would usually do on her own, but the shipping yard was located in a low valley, effectively trapping her if anything went awry. All she needed were eyes above, making sure no one was coming to the shipping yard.

Unfortunately for her, the intel she had was dead wrong about the place being empty. A massive wooden crate on her right suddenly exploded into splinters. After blocking her face from shrapnel, she looked out to see that one of the agents had a rocket launcher! "I owe you double!" she yelled to Bucky before dodging just in time before her own crate-turned-shield exploded.

Not wasting any momentum, the redhead immediately fired off a small grappling hook from her bites. It attached to a pipe above and she was instantly pulled into the air above the fray. A couple of the guns tried to follow her, but she was too quick. She jumped down in the middle of the gathered agents, which was a dangerous place for her to be, but brilliantly caused many of the dumbasses to shoot their own in their attempts to take her down. She shot off two electrical stingers at the man with the rocket launcher, then engaged in hand to hand with anyone in her way.