Join Me

Natasha Romanoff stood at an intersection, watching the cars go by. She didn’t really know where she was exactly, just that she had been walking for thirty-two minutes with nowhere to go. After talking to Steve Rogers, she had walked in order to appear that she knew what she was going to do next. But the truth was, Natasha had no idea what to do. Her entire life was out there, on the Internet. Her covers blown, her safe houses probably being investigated. She had feigned being nonchalant about that fact but the truth was, Natasha was thoroughly terrified of what this meant. Her path had once been so straight, forward. Yes it had curved with unexpected surprises and it had been as red and thick as the blood she had shed, but it had been a path. Now there was nothing. Natasha sighed, wondering if she should contact Fury. He had given her a ghost number to call when and if she ever wanted to join him in hunting Hydra. But she just wasn’t sure if she was ready to go down that path yet. Because that path connected to the Red Room and Natasha didn’t think she was strong enough to face that portion of her past. At least not yet.

                She bit her bottom lip, walking forward when the light said so. She was right in the middle of a crowd of civilians, their stares burning holes in her skin but Natasha ignored them. Next to her was a man dressed all in black, his hood cocked over his head to obscure his face. Normally, she would have watched him the closest as he was dressed suspiciously, but Natasha’s guard was down as she mulled over her options. If she had been paying attention, she would have noticed the feline grace in which he walked – the movement quiet enough that he could slip away into the shadows without it ever being known he was there, or pounce in an attack that would leave the victim dead before they knew what happened. It was a movement that only their people possessed. The people who had been trained in the darkness, shaped by agony. Natasha held the same movement. The man in black reached out his left hand and took her right, instantly she knew who it was. Not just from the chill of metal that seemed from his gloves to her skin but also from the strength that hand possessed that wasn’t natural. She didn’t fight him as he guided her away from the crowd to the black SUV that was parked on the curb. Didn’t protest when he opened the door to the passenger’s seat and guided her in. Natasha stayed still, even as he slipped into the driver’s seat, started the vehicle and pulled into the throng of traffic.

                Her heart was tattooing a rhythm of fear and excitement in her ribcage. When she had told Steve about the legend of the Winter Soldier, she had left out the fact that the reason why she had been searching for him was because Natasha admired him. In her world, the Winter Soldier was her hero. She had sought him out so that she could learn his skills, and become his better. She wanted to defeat the legend. The ghost. Natasha stole a glance at the Wi – no, Bucky – beside her. His hood had been pushed back to reveal his dark brown, shoulder length locks that framed his handsome, boyish face. His brown eyes were on the road, but she knew that he was watching her. Natasha returned her attention to the road, mentally calculating the distance they were traveling. Tension was thick in the air.

                The sun sank in the sky, bleeding out its last rays as they pulled off the highway and down a single lane road that had a few houses scattered here and there. After about three miles, he turned onto a dirt road that was hugged by trees on either side. Soon, Natasha could see a small cottage up ahead. Weeds were growing around it, and the exterior held this abandoned look to it. Bucky rolled the SUV to a stop in front of the porch, turning the ignition off and getting out at the same time. Natasha got out at a slower pace, her body tense and ready to flee or fight. She closed the door and took a step to the side; Bucky stopped his descent up the stairs and turned to look at her. His brown eyes flashed with silent communication.

                This isn’t an attack.

                Natasha clenched her jaw, but allowed her muscles to loosen and she took a step in his direction. Bucky nodded and continued up to the front door. She followed him and noticed – even in the fading light – that he grabbed a key from a loose board beside the door that unlocked it. Everything clicked in Natasha’s head in that instant. This was one of Bucky’s safe houses. If it had been one of Hydra’s, it would be crawling with police and reporters. She followed him inside, blinking when he turned on the light. The interior was small, enough space to move around comfortably; little to no furniture that had blankets or plastic over them; two inches of dust. The definition of a safe house. Natasha joined Bucky in clearing the blankets and plastic, folding them and putting them in a cupboard that was just off the miniscule kitchen. During this time, Natasha had taken off her leather jacket to reveal her white tank top. Bucky had followed suit to reveal a gray T-shirt that barely concealed his metal arm. It was fascinating to Natasha but she didn’t allow herself to stare. Instead, she sat down on the couch, curling her feet under her.

                Bucky sat down opposite of her, handing her a water bottle before taking his own and drinking a bit. He screwed the cap back on and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his hands folding together. His eyes leveled on her, their full attention stripping her layers to reveal her core. Or that is what it felt like. Natasha squirmed uneasily, grinding her teeth together in frustration, “Why am I here?”

                “Natasha Romanoff. Better known as Natalia Romanova,” he said her name in a voice that was similar to the sound of a whispering ocean. She stiffened, causing his eyes to flash, “Do you know who I am?”

                “Yes,” Natasha replied quietly.

                “From the file that you gave Steve Rogers or elsewhere?” there was a spark in his eyes that made Natasha aware that he was asking out of desperation, desperation to know what else Hydra had made him forget.

                “Both,” she said. “I read your file from the first page until the last but I had been following your legend years before that.”

                “My legend?” Bucky frowned curiously.

                “Your alias, the Winter Soldier, was whispered in Russia where I am from,” Natasha smiled faintly at the memory of others who were spies and assassins talking quietly in the middle of the night about his rumored accomplishments, “You were our superhero in the Red Room. We wanted to be just like you. I wanted to best you.”

                This made the corner of Bucky’s lips turn up, “You surprised me.”

                “You thought I was just a regular whimpering girl, didn’t you?” Natasha asked cockily, remembering how she had seen his shadow and had slithered off to the side where he couldn’t see her before firing.

                “You shot my eye, I was lucky enough to be wearing protective glasses,” Bucky said.

                “And you shot me in the shoulder, lucky for me that I have a high pain tolerance,” Natasha shrugged said shoulder, “So, we’re even.”

                “So we are,” respect glittered in his irises. “And that brings me to the reason as to why you are here.”

                Natasha crossed her arms in front of her chest, “I’m listening.”

                “All of your covers are burned, your safe houses exposed. You want to go off the grid, rebuild a new cover, correct?” Bucky cocked his head.

                “Correct,” she replied.

                “I want to do the same. Go off the grid, create a new cover, and disappear. But I also want to find what Hydra stole from me. I know that I could go to Steve Rogers and he would help me, from the little I remember, he would be by my side but I don’t want him to help. I’m not the same person he once knew, I don’t even know who that person was,” Bucky looked drawn and tired. “What I am trying to get at here is, will you join me in this search?”

                “Why would you want me to help you?” Natasha furrowed her brows together curiously.

                “Because I believe that our pasts might intertwine,” Bucky said. “And, you and I are similar. Steve Rogers is a hero; his place isn’t in the background where we are.”

                “His ledger isn’t dripping red,” Natasha muttered to herself. She knew that Steve was searching for Bucky, to try and find him and bring him back home. He would be furious if he found out that Natasha was helping Bucky hide. Yet, how could you bring someone home who had no idea where that home was? You had to find yourself before someone could find you. Natasha leveled her green eyes on Bucky’s brown, “I’ll join you.”