Reading Time: 116 Minutes

Title: Unbreak Broken
Author: enigmaticblue
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Apocalypse, Dimension Travel, Romance
Relationship(s): Bruce Banner/Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff/James “Bucky” Barnes
Content Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Beta: thomasina75
Word Count: 100,776
Summary: In a dying world, Steve, Natasha, and Tony decide to use an escape hatch to a parallel universe, one that might need three superheroes. Their arrival shakes everything up.
Artist: startabby

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Part II

Now

For Bucky, it’s an easy answer: in the absence of evidence that the three of them are supervillains, they’re Avengers. He figures they’ll treat them as such until they prove otherwise.

Hell, Bucky knows he’s gone through his own phases. Stark and Natasha died to save the world, and Steve kind of did too. They’ve bought themselves a bit of grace.

They decide to wait until Barton and Yelena have left the complex before informing Fury and the President about the developments. Barton had just stayed the one night before dragging Kate off, claiming family obligations. Yelena doesn’t last much longer, and Bucky suspects that they feel uneasy around Natasha in particular.

And they probably want to get out of the line of fire before they break the news.

The first call, of course, is to Fury. Bucky and Sam call him from the complex, and Fury curses bitterly. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with resurrected Avengers from another universe?”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Sam replies firmly. “Look, we’re just announcing that three Avengers are back. Stark and Ms. Potts are asking for privacy, and we’re going to give it to them. Natasha and Steve are willing to do whatever we ask.”

Fury rubs his one good eye. “Fuck. Well, if we must, we must. If it were up to me, I’d probably keep them confined to the complex, but the Avengers are officially a separate entity with Captain America at the helm. I recommend informing the President and making sure he doesn’t have an issue with it.”

“That’s my next call,” Sam assures him.

“What are you going to do about Stark?” Fury asks. “Is he going to try to step back into his role with Stark Industries?”

“Ms. Potts wouldn’t to allow it,” Bucky says. “She’s firmly in control of SI, and Stark just wants to do science with Banner.”

“It’s probably better to keep Stark out of the public eye,” Fury mutters.

Sam nods. “That’s his desire, and Ms. Potts’ as well.”

Fury shakes his head. “It’s always some damn thing.”

“We’ll keep you informed,” Bucky says. “At least as best as we can.”

Fury grunts at that, and then his image winks out.

“He took that better than I expected,” Sam comments.

“It’s not his mess to clean up,” Bucky points out. “He’s busy with SABER.”

Sam glances at him. “Is it really that much of a mess? We have Steve and Natasha back in some form.”

Bucky looks around the small conference room, and then he shakes his head. “No, we don’t. Maybe, where it concerns Natasha, at least for me. I didn’t know her all that well here. But Steve—that’s not the same guy, and I can’t pretend otherwise.”

Sam frowns. “You sure you’re not just saying that because you don’t want to get hurt?”

That strikes a nerve, but Bucky maintains his passive expression, unwilling to let on to that fact. He has no desire to unpack his feelings about this with anyone.

Hell, Bucky doesn’t want to unpack his feelings period.

“You want to do the honors and call the President?” Bucky asks, deflecting. “He actually picks up for you.”

Sam rolls his eyes at that, but he says, “Fine. Be emotionally constipated.”

Bucky doesn’t dignify that accusation with a response. Sam actually calls the President’s Chief of Staff, a frighteningly competent woman by the name of Winifred Strom.

“What is it, Mr. Wilson?” she asks briskly upon answering.

“You’re on speaker, and I have Barnes with me at the complex. We have a situation on our hands,” Sam replies, matching her tone. “You read the report on the multiverse?”

“I have,” Strom replies, a note of suspicion creeping into her voice.

“Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, and Natasha Romanoff from another universe arrived several days ago,” Sam says. “According to Dr. Banner, the DNA is a match.”

“What’s the plan?” Strom asks.

“Steve and Natasha have expressed a willingness to do whatever we ask of them, and Stark wants to do science with Banner,” Sam replies promptly.

She hums. “Are you going to make an announcement?”

“It’s going to get out eventually,” Sam points out. “I’d rather get ahead of it.”

“Give me an hour to brief the President,” Strom replies. “He may have some additional questions, but your plan seems sound to me.”

Bucky knows that means that not only will she endorse their plan, but she’ll advocate for it, and she has the President’s ear. “Of course,” Sam replies. “We’re just going to be here until we can get it figured out.”

Strom laughs. “If that was a threat, it was an effective one.”

“No threat, just reality,” Sam replies.

She laughs again and hangs up, and there’s something about their interaction that has Bucky’s raising his eyebrows. “Something you want to share?”

“I’m not going there, not in any sense,” Sam replies firmly. “This might work better if we have the backing of the President anyway.”

“He can make the announcement and take some of the heat,” Bucky replies.

They while away the requested hour in the conference room, not wanting to run into the others until they have an answer. If the President doesn’t agree with their plan, it could present a significant obstacle.

Finally, Sam’s phone buzzes, and it’s Strom. “The President is going to give a press conference in the Rose Garden, announcing that there are other, parallel universes, and that three of our fallen heroes have returned to us. They’re asking for privacy at this time to get settled in, but will make a statement in the near future.”

Bucky glances at Sam, who nods. “That sounds good, Win. Tell Mr. President that he has our thanks.”

“I recommend getting and keeping Stark under wraps,” Strom says. “Rogers and Romanoff are relatively easy. Stark is another matter entirely.”

Sam snorts. “You’re telling me. Banner said that Ms. Potts asked him to keep Stark out of the public view anyway.”

“They had a young child, didn’t they?” Strom asks. “I could see why she’d make that request. Where are they going?”

“Banner has a place down in Mexico that’s out of the way,” Sam replies. “I’ll send them down on the Quinjet. That way there’s no record.”

Strom hums, clearly pleased. “That will do.”

“How are you going to spin it to the public?” Bucky asks, just out of curiosity.

“The dynamics, of course, are very complicated, and we’re giving Ms. Potts and Mr. Stark the time and space to figure that out,” Strom says easily. “I’ve already spoken with Pepper, and she’s signed off on the messaging. She’s going to issue a statement herself in a few days, saying that she’s focused on protecting their daughter, and that she wants to take some time as they consider next steps.”

“And then she’s going to issue a statement about how those from other universes may look like your missing loved ones, but it’s not the same,” Bucky says knowingly. “So people don’t start getting the idea that they can retrieve people from other universes.”

Strom laughs, less throatily than she had with Sam earlier, though. “You have it in one. Ms. Potts and the President are aligned on this.”

“We’ll do our best to make that good,” Sam replies.

“I’m sure you will,” Strom replies. “The President has faith in you.”

She hangs up, and Sam mutters, “But no pressure.”

Bucky snorts. “Come on. We should break the news to them.”

He knows the outcome isn’t going to be a surprise to anyone, as they had already discussed it. The reality of the situation, though—Stark going with Banner to Mexico, Steve and Natasha sticking around the complex until they find a mission—might be a harder pill to swallow.

“FRIDAY, where can we find our guests?” Sam asks.

“Captain Rogers and Agent Romanova are in the training room,” FRIDAY says promptly. “Dr. Banner and Mr. Stark are in the lab.”

“Would you ask them to meet us in the kitchen at their leisure?” Sam asks.

Bucky isn’t surprised by their locations. Steve and Natasha had expressed a lot of interest in the training facilities, and Bucky suspects that opportunities for that kind of activity were few and far between. Stark, of course, is still attached to Banner’s hip.

Unsurprisingly, Stark and Banner are the first to appear. Stark is still wearing black fatigues, apparently without complaint. His beard is a little more well kept, his hair a little more neatly buzzed, but Bucky isn’t sure that anyone would give him a second look on the street.

Stark’s posture is relaxed as he sits on one of the kitchen stools, but his expression is tense, as are his hands as they wrap around a coffee mug.

Banner squeezes his shoulder as he passes and sits down. “I assume we got the all-clear.”

Bucky nods. “Everyone agrees that it would be for the best if Stark stays out of the public eye.”

“I would honestly prefer that,” Stark says hoarsely. “I’m used to being trotted out like a show pony, and I hate it.”

“My place in Mexico is well off the beaten path,” Banner says soothingly. “We can hide out as much as you like.”

Stark stiffens. “But Steve and Natasha aren’t going to Mexico.”

“Well, they can if they want,” Banner replies slowly.

Steve enters at that moment and he wraps a hand around the back of Stark’s neck. “We knew we might not be able to stick together, Tony. We discussed this, and we agreed.”

Stark takes a deep, audible breath. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve replies. “I’m sure there’s still videoconferencing.”

“I have the full set up,” Banner replies easily. “It’ll be easy to stay in touch, depending on what you guys end up doing.”

“We’re sending you down on the Quinjet,” Bucky says. “When you’re ready to come back, we’ll make the arrangements.”

Banner nods. “Minimizing the paper trail. Got it.”

Natasha is the next to enter, her hair still damp from a shower. She takes one look at the expression on Stark’s face and says, “So, we got clearance.”

“But Tony needs to stay out of the public eye,” Steve says.

“We expected that,” she says briskly, but then rests a hand on Stark’s shoulder and whispers something in his ear that makes him bark a laugh.

“You make a fair point,” Stark says with a wry grin.

Banner’s eyes narrow. “I suspect that this doesn’t mean anything good for me.”

“Or—counterpoint—something really good,” Stark says, his grin widening.

Banner just shakes his head and says, “I think I have some time to make lunch before we need to leave. Is everybody hungry?”

“Starving,” Steve admits. “But I don’t want to put you out. You’ve been doing all the cooking.”

Bucky gives him a mild glare. “Excuse you.”

“With Bucky’s help, of course,” Steve quickly says.

“I have some stuff for sandwiches,” Banner replies. “Not much cooking involved.”

Bucky has developed a good sense of what Banner means when he says that, and it usually means the sort of sandwiches most people would pay $15 for at a deli.

“So, what is the plan?” Steve asks as Bruce begins laying out bread, condiments, and fillings.

“The President is going to make a statement,” Sam says. “Your identities will be revealed, but Ms. Potts is also going to make a follow up statement requesting privacy for the sake of her child.”

“Followed up by a statement probably a week or so from now commenting on the fact that the people from other universes aren’t exactly the same,” Bucky adds. “I think, coming from her, that will hold some weight. We’ll give it some time and then reassess.”

Sam looks at Banner. “Are you taking a suit with you?”

“Two suits, one for each of us,” Bruce replies. “We’ll be available if you need us, but I think some time just to focus on clean energy projects is what the doctor ordered.”

Stark snorts. “The doctor being you, Mr. Seven Ph.D.’s.”

Banner gives him a look. “There are other options, you know. We could go to space. I have a standing invitation from Carol.”

Sam frowns. “How did you get a standing invitation?”

“She likes me,” Bruce replies, sounding rather smug. “I’m very likable these days.”

That reminds Bucky of something. “You might want to go incognito when you’re in public, doc. Not only are you very recognizable when you’re green, but other than Thor, there’s no one who gets asked to take more selfies.”

Stark frowns. “What’s a selfie?”

“Something we want to avoid if we’re in public,” Bruce says wryly. “It’s fine. I don’t really mind.”

Bucky wonders if that’s true, but he’s not going to start an argument over it.

~~~~~

“What did you mean by suits?” Tony asks.

Bruce is packing his things with an efficiency that speaks to a lot of practice, and he flips a glowing circle in Tony’s direction. “Better safe than sorry, I thought.”

Tony turns it over in his hands. “I’m not sure—“

“Here.” Bruce stops what he’s doing and presses the circle gently against Tony’s sternum, right over where the arc reactor is housed. Tony had long ago had to give up on the idea of a full suit—there had just been too few resources to justify it—or on removing the arc reactor—for the same reason. As long as it’s not killing him, Tony figures he’ll keep it.

Tony frowns. “I don’t get it.”

Bruce taps the center, and suddenly Tony feels the suit forming around him, light-weight, but also strong. He stares at the repulsers that formed in the gauntlets now covering his hands, and he experiments a bit, firing them up and hovering a few inches off the ground.

“What is this?” Tony asks.

“Nano-tech, your design,” comes the reply. “Well, I suppose his design, but I’ve already asked Pepper to release the specs to you. You can play around with it if you want. I have a nano suit of my own, and my clothes are all treated with nano-particles so I never wind up without pants.”

Tony laughs. “Plus, I’m sure it’s impossible to find something that fits you when you’re green.”

“Bespoke clothing gets expensive,” Bruce admits. “And I tend to be fairly hard on it. Tap it to get the suit to retract.

Tony taps the circle and grimaces. “Not that I’m ungrateful for the endless supply of clean clothing, but it would be nice to wear something other than fatigues.”

Bruce looks surprised and then he laughs. “Yeah, of course. I should have said. I had some things sent to my place in Mexico, since that’s where we’ll be for a while.”

Tony frowns. “What? When?”

“Pretty much immediately after we decided to go down there. I figured that once we got clearance, we’d be leaving right away,” Bruce replies sheepishly. “I was trying to minimize your stress.”

“I am capable of taking care of myself, you know,” Tony says mildly. “You don’t need to take it all on.”

Bruce just shakes his head. “It’s not a big deal. There’s money set aside for the Avengers in a trust. It’s just a matter of freeing up some funds to get you and the others set up.”

Tony has to admit that it’s a bit of a relief to know that he’s not going to be freeloading on Bruce. “Do you think he knew?”

Bruce smiles, the expression a little nostalgic. “You know, I think he just loved the Avengers’ Initiative, and he wanted to take care of us, so we could take care of the world.”

There’s real affection in Bruce’s voice, and when he meets Tony’s eyes, that affection doesn’t go anywhere. Maybe it’s transitory affection, but it still feels him with warmth. “I don’t think he’s the only one who cares about the Avengers.”

Bruce shrugs. “It gave me a family, and all that comes with it.”

“All the joy and all the pain,” Tony murmurs softly.

Bruce nods. “That, exactly.” He takes a deep breath. “We should get going. The Quinjet is probably ready to go.”

Tony isn’t sure he’s really ready to leave, not when Steve and Natasha are staying behind, but he also has no desire to deal with what’s sure to be a media circus.

Tony just has a lightweight duffle with two changes of clothes and not much else—other than the glowing circle of light on his chest that represents more of a suit than he’d ever managed.

The Quinjet is waiting for them in the hangar, as are Steve and Natasha. Bruce glances at him, then says, “I’ll wait for you. Take your time.”

Natasha immediately pulls Tony into a hug. “Let Bruce take care of you, since we won’t be there.”

“I can take care of myself,” Tony protests, although it’s an old argument, and he knows it’s not particularly effective.

“History would suggest otherwise,” Natasha scolds gently, then switches to Russian. “Call if you need us, for any reason at all. And call if you don’t need us, too.”

Tony nods, a little choked up. “I will. I’ll let you know how things are going.”

Steve is next, and Tony presses his face into the side of Steve’s neck, still loving the way Steve’s hugs envelop him.

“I don’t care what Natasha said, I’m expecting a phone call at least every week,” Steve says. “I mean it, Tony.”

“I hear you,” Tony replies. “I promise. Be careful out there, okay?”

“You be careful,” Steve counters. “You know you tend to get in trouble when you’re on your own.”

“I have a Hulk,” Tony counters. “There’s a difference.”

Steve pulls back and smirks at him, and Tony knows what he’s going to do before he does it, but he doesn’t mind. Steve leans in and presses his lips to Tony’s, a reminder of what they shared multiple times in the past.

It’s tender and familiar, and Steve makes a show of it. “You’ll call.”

“I’ll call,” Tony confirms. “Thank you.”

Steve pulls him close again in a hug. “Fuck him or let him fuck you, maybe both. He’s cute, and he clearly likes you.”

“He doesn’t know me,” Tony counters.

Steve just smirks at him. “He doesn’t know you yet.”

“I’ll see you later,” Tony says, and accepts one last hug from Natasha before joining Bruce on the Quinjet.

Bruce is looking at him with raised eyebrows as Tony sits down across from him. “I didn’t realize you and Steve were together.”

Tony laughs. “Not together. Steve likes to fuck, and sometimes I like the stress relief.”

Bruce just shakes his head, as though disbelieving. He doesn’t bother introducing Tony to the pilot, but maybe that makes sense, since they’re trying to keep Tony’s presence quiet.

“Problem?” Tony asks, feeling a little protective of Steve.

Bruce chuckles. “No, no problem. You didn’t know our version of Steve. I’m not sure he ever really had a date with anyone.”

Tony blinks as the Quinjet’s engine fires up and it starts to take off. “You know, I just realized that you never really told me what happened to that other Steve. You just said he died to save the world.”

Bruce holds out a hand and makes a so-so gesture. “He made a choice to go back in time and stay with Peggy Carter, and basically live out his days with her.”

Tony frowns. “Who?”

“She was Steve’s girlfriend of sorts during World War II and one of the founding members of SHIELD,” Bruce says slowly. “You didn’t know her?”

Tony thinks about it, and then says, “Yeah, my dad mentioned her. She was assassinated before I was born, I think in an attempt to hide the fact that Hydra infiltrated SHIELD.”

“Okay,” Bruce says slowly. “That makes sense in a way. I—well.”

Tony can tell that there’s something Bruce wants to tell him, but something is holding him back. “It’s okay, spit it out.”

Bruce takes a deep breath. “In this universe, Hydra targeted your parents. The Winter Soldier killed them.”

Tony finds that he’s unsurprised; it explains Barnes’ reaction to him, and the way Bruce danced around certain things. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Does it?”

Tony leans back on the bench seat and looks into Bruce’s eyes, seeing nothing but curiosity and warm concern. “Right, well, I guess we have time. Does Obadiah Stane exist in this universe?”

“He did,” Bruce admits. “He died.”

Tony perks up at that. “Tell me I was the one responsible.”

“You were,” Bruce confirms. “He tried to kill you first, though.”

Tony shrugs. Knowing dear old Obie is dead in his universe makes him happy, and knowing some version of him had done it makes him even happier. “Do you know how old I was when my parents were killed?”

“Twenty or twenty-one,” Bruce replies. “I can’t remember exactly. It was December 1991.”

Tony snorts. “Yeah, twenty or twenty-one is accurate. My birthday is in December. Anyway, dear old dad kept making weapons. He’d let me do a few clean energy projects on the side, but only if I kept my mouth shut about it. He didn’t want anybody thinking that his son was a peacenik. His word, not mine.”

“Sounds like a difficult relationship.”

“You could say that,” Tony replies. “It’s why Steve and I are so close. Steve emerged from the ice when I was about twenty, and Steve—Steve was a rock.”

Bruce nods. “He was like that here, too.”

“Yeah, if there’s a universe where Steve isn’t stalwart and true, I don’t want to know about it,” Tony admits. “Anyway, I was thirty-five, and my dad decided that he wanted to do a weapons demonstration with me in tow to show that there was a next generation of weapons makers in the offing. For some reason, he also thought it was a good idea to bring my mother.”

“Obadiah betrayed you,” Bruce says, as though he already knows. Tony figures there might be a universe where Obadiah Stane didn’t betray the Starks, but Tony doesn’t want to know about that one either.

“He did,” Tony replies evenly. “My parents were killed in the initial attack, and I was captured. They wanted me to build a weapon; I refused.”

“You built a suit,” Bruce says.

“I built an arc reactor,” Tony corrects him. “I didn’t have the time or the resources for more than that.”

Bruce smirks. “As I recall, the first suit he built wasn’t much to speak of either. Not that I saw it, but I’ve heard the description.”

Tony laughs. “Yeah, well. I just had to stay alive long enough for Steve to come riding to my rescue.”

“Then that’s what’s important,” Bruce says. “I’m sorry about your parents.”

“You know, I’m not sure I am,” Tony muses. “By the time they died, I resented the hell out of the both of them. Sorry if that sounds cold.”

“My father killed my mother,” Bruce replies. “When I was five. I understand resentment toward parental figures.”

Tony blinks. “Yeah, that would do it. I didn’t know.”

“No reason that you should,” Bruce counters. “I don’t know my counterpart’s story.”

“He never wanted to talk about it,” Tony replies.

Bruce shrugs. “I don’t either, but I thought I’d offer that.”

They go quiet after that, and Tony closes his eyes. A few days of good food and rest have helped, but he still feels weary. He’s dozing when the Quinjet lands on a beach, and Bruce nudges him awake.

“Thanks for the lift, Agent Kellett,” he says as the back hatch opens.

“Always a pleasure, Dr. Banner,” she replies cheerfully.

Bruce leads the way across the sand and towards a place that looks far more substantial than Tony had been anticipating. The bar area is gorgeous, and there’s a mounted golden faceplate next to it. Tony approaches slowly, running a finger over the metal.

“I couldn’t let it go,” Bruce admits.

“This was his?” Tony asks.

Bruce nods. “Yeah. It was. One of the last ones he wore.”

Tony straightens and runs his hand over the bar, his fingers catching on an imperfection and he leans in to get a closer look.

B.B.

T.S.

He runs a finger over the initials carved into the wood. “I thought you said you weren’t a couple.”

“We weren’t,” Bruce replies. “Not in the true sense of the word. When we did get together, it was usually because he was on a break with Pepper.”

Tony glances at him. “And you didn’t resent him for that?”

Bruce smiles gently. “What was there to resent? I always knew the score, and he was my best friend. That was the most important thing.” He chuckles. “He’d come here and drink and bitch about Steve, and he’d say this place was a loaner, even as he carved our initials into the bar.”

Tony just shakes his head. “I can’t imagine having you and letting you go.”

Bruce slings an arm over Tony’s shoulders, and Tony leans into him with real relief. He has Natasha and Steve, of course, but he feels like they all need an anchor to this new world, someone who can show them the ropes.

“You’ll never have to imagine it,” Bruce promises.

“Promise?” Tony asks.

Bruce squeezes tightly. “I’ve been told I’m pretty hard to kill, but I can’t promise more than that. The last few years have taught me that much, anyway.”

“Fair,” Tony says, and he just leans against Bruce, grateful to have Bruce’s warm arm around his shoulders.

Then

Tony is holding on to his temper by his fingernails, aided by Steve’s hand on his knee under the table. “I just think our focus is misplaced,” Tony says through gritted teeth. “We’ve already fucked this planet up, and more weapons aren’t going to fix that.”

“And until you’re in charge of Stark Industries, you’ll do what I tell you to do!” Howard shouts, half standing from his chair.

Steve squeezes his leg, a silent reminder that Tony needs to rein in his own, not inconsiderable, temper. “You can gather more flies with honey, Tony,” Steve said, not a half hour ago.

Tony is close to finishing his project, but he needs additional funding, and that means meeting with his dad. He’d asked Steve to come with him for just this reason—if it’s just Tony sitting across from Howard, his dad is far less reasonable.

“I’m not saying we go public with our clean energy efforts,” Tony manages to say in an even voice. “But you could give me a little more support—at least on measures that will help save soldiers’ lives, like robotic IED detectors.”

Howard waves a hand, like that’s not exactly what Tony had been asking for more public support on. “It’s a PR stunt, and that’s all it is.”

“I have one nearly ready to deploy, with a little additional funding,” Tony says, hating that he’s a grown-ass man with his hat out, begging for scraps from his father, one of the richest men in the world.

To save lives. It’s like his dad doesn’t think anything is worthwhile if it’s not a bomb.

“Fine,” Howard finally growls. “But you’re making the trip to the Ukraine with me and your mother next month, and you will play ball. Nothing about climate change or saving the planet or saving fucking lives, Tony. You’ll look like a peacenik, and this is supposed to be a show of strength.”

Tony doesn’t understand, but he’s never understood his old man. Even Sidorov, the current commandant of the USSR, has made several speeches about protecting the lives of their own people. Saving the lives of their own soldiers should be a priority, and a no-brainer.

Still, the chance to do something other than designing weapons is something, and Tony will take it, even if it means getting trotted out like a show pony to satisfy a bunch of warmongers.

“I’ll play ball,” Tony replies through gritted teeth.

“Then I’ll free up some funding for you,” Howard replies, and now he sounds pleasant, turning on a dime.

Typical. Howard gets what he wants, and Tony pays the price.

“Thank you,” Tony says stiffly, and stands to leave his dad’s office.

Steve stands with him and gives Howard a nod. Maybe they had been close at one point, but Tony has noticed the growing distance over the last fifteen years. Steve sees how Howard treats him, and—well.

Steve wraps an arm around Tony’s shoulders once they’re in the hallway. “Come on. I think you need some stress relief. You’re going to need that in order to deal with this trip.”

“And my parents,” Tony mutters as Steve leads him away from the working area towards the personnel quarters. “God, I didn’t even think about that.”

“You can insist on traveling separately,” Steve points out.

Tony shakes his head. “No go. Howard will cite security and insist. If he’s trotting me out, he’s going for the full happy family picture.”

Steve pulls Tony into his own quarters. “You definitely need a distraction.”

Tony groans. He’s not saying no, but he’s been in the middle of Steve’s drama before. “Come on. You’re dating that SHIELD agent.”

“I’m not dating him,” Steve replies, pressing Tony up against the closed door. “He loves to suck my dick, and he’s great at it.”

“Do you know how many people haven’t figured out that you’re not interested in a relationship?” Tony asks, but he doesn’t pull away when Steve shoves his hand down Tony’s pants. “Because I do. They’ve come up to me and warned me off in no uncertain terms.”

Steve snorts. “Well, that’s about the same number of people who haven’t figured out that you don’t want a relationship.”

“I have a relationship,” Tony argues. “We’re friends. We’ve been friends for fifteen years. I’m friends with Natasha, even though I’m half-afraid she’s going to kill me one day.”

“Natasha doesn’t fuck you,” Steve points out, jacking him off.

As a distraction, it works admirably—as it has for a long time now.

“Yeah, because I’m half-afraid she’ll kill me,” Tony replies, and then his head thunks back against the door.

Steve is really good with his hands, and he approaches sex like it’s his job.

Of course, Steve has also said that the only reliable source of pleasure in this day and age is sex.

“Well, I’m not going to kill you,” Steve replies, and then pulls back. “Strip. You need more than just a hand job.”

Tony definitely needs more than just a hand job, and he recognizes that glint in Steve’s eye. “You have condoms?”

“Wouldn’t have asked you to strip otherwise,” Steve replies with a smirk. “Remember?”

“Play safe or don’t play at all,” Tony says, because he’s heard the speech before. Hell, he’s given the speech to a few people when they tried to fuck him, or tried to get him to fuck them.

He pulls off his shirt, and then shoves his pants and underwear down his hips as Steve takes off his own clothing.

Steve has a commanding presence in bed, and there are times when Tony wants that. He just wants to feel cared for, and Steve does that, with his big, careful hands and his lips. He sucks a bruise onto Tony’s collarbone, low enough that Tony can hide it under a shirt.

“Forget about it,” Steve murmurs. “Just forget for a while, Tony.”

Tony is happy to do just that, allowing Steve to take him out of his head.

When they’ve both come, and they’re sweaty and sated, Steve, with his impossible body, sprawls out next to him. “Better?”

“Yeah, much,” Tony admits. “At least until I have to go to Ukraine with my parents.”

“Do you want me to go with you? Because I will,” Steve offers.

Tony sighs. “No, but thanks for asking. They’re going to want to keep you in reserve in case something goes wrong.”

“True,” Steve replies, and spreads a hand over Tony’s chest, over his heart. “I’m proud of you. You didn’t lose your temper with Howard, and you got a concession out of him.”

Tony snorts. “It’s a banner day.”

“It is a banner day,” Steve insists. “No one gets a concession out of Howard. You gonna be okay with your mom?”

Tony takes a deep breath. “She’s not so bad.”

“She’s been drunk for two decades, Tony,” Steve says patiently.

“She’s an indifferent drunk, not a mean one,” Tony protests, but it’s weak. Indifferent means she hasn’t been interested in protecting him.

Steve pats him on the chest. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Tony replies. “Thanks for that.”

“Dinner is going to be in a bit, and I told Natasha we’d eat with her,” Steve replies. “So, get cleaned up and come join us.”

Tony sighs. “You know she’s going to do that thing where she just knows.”

“So?” Steve asks. “She’s already said that the only thing preventing us from being sluts was our excessive honesty with our partners.” He rolls off the bed and pulls on his clothing. “See you in thirty.”

Tony stares up at the ceiling. “Right, yeah.”

He gets up and takes a shower, because he doesn’t need to be smelling like sex around Natasha. She will definitely call him on it.

As it stands, she gives Tony a look when he joins them in the cafeteria of the compound. “I’ve told you that you can’t solve your daddy issues by having sex with Steve.”

“I’m not looking to solve my daddy issues,” Tony protests. “I just wanted to forget for a bit.”

Her expression softens. “Steve told me. I understand.”

“Tony!”

He stiffens when he hears his mother’s voice. If she’s not indifferent, she’s overly affectionate. Apparently, today is an overly affectionate day.

Natasha and Steve keep their eye-rolls to themselves, but he can see it in their expressions.

“Hi, Mom,” Tony says as she wraps her arms around him from behind.

“Your father told me the good news,” Maria gushes. “You’re going to Ukraine with us!”

She stays plastered across his back, and Tony takes a deep breath. “That’s right.”

“It will be good for us to be together as a family,” Maria gushes. “I’m so glad you agreed.”

Tony bites back the first response that comes to mind, which is that he’s been forced into complying, but he refrains. When she’s like this, his mom is just as prone to crying as she is to gushing emotionally. “I’m sure it will be great.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Maria says. “You three are as thick as thieves.”

Steve gives him a telling look as Maria leaves.

“I never claimed not to have mommy issues,” Tony mutters. “Sorry, guys.”

“You’re not responsible for you mother’s choices,” Natasha says severely. “Apologize for something you do have control over, Tony.”

It’s not the first time she’s said as much, and Tony doesn’t argue. He knows better by now.

“Easy,” Steve says, ever the peacemaker. “Are you sure you don’t want one of us to go with you on this trip, Tony?”

Tony shakes his head. “I need you two to come pull me out if things go terribly.”

That turns out to be prophetic.

Now

Natasha hates letting Tony out of her sight. She remembers what happened the last time.

Granted, he didn’t have a Hulk with him the last time, and Natasha had seen Bruce while green. She’s not sure anything could hurt him, and she’s certain that Bruce will protect Tony.

“I don’t think there’s a universe where Bruce wouldn’t protect Tony with his life, you know,” Steve says, putting an arm around her shoulders.

Natasha sighs and leans into him. “I know. They’re both ridiculous.”

“Well, that’s a given,” Steve says.

She laughs, and then they turn away from the runway and find James and Wilson watching them. Wilson doesn’t seem to know what to do, but James is looking at her with warm, blue eyes.

Steve squeezes her shoulder, and Natasha knows him well enough to know exactly what that means. She elbows him in return.

Steve laughs. “I could use a work out. Wilson? You interested?”

Wilson blinks. “You want to train?”

“Well, I figure you have top tier facilities, and we might be going out together at some point,” Steve says reasonably. “We should learn each other’s styles. My style might be different than the person you knew.”

Wilson nods slowly. “Yeah, you have a point.” He’s looking between Natasha and James, and Natasha can see the light bulb going on over his head. “Right. Training. Let’s go.”

“Hello,” James says in Russian.

And god, it’s so good to hear her mother tongue spoken in an accent so close to her own.

“Hello,” Natasha replies.

“I feel as though we know each other, and also that we’re strangers,” James confesses. “But I think that’s going around.”

Natasha laughs. “Yes, and I’m not sure what I thought would happen when we came here. We were hoping that people would know us, and that they would give us a chance.”

“Mission accomplished on that front,” James jokes. “But you didn’t think about coming into contact with people you had lost.”

“No,” Natasha says. “No, we didn’t think about that. I don’t think we allowed ourselves to think about it, but I wouldn’t choose any differently had I known.”

James takes a step closer to her. “What can I do?”

“I don’t know,” Natasha admits. “Perhaps we should take a page out of Steve and Wilson’s book, and get to know one another.”

James seems amenable to the idea, and he falls into step beside her as they walk back into the main building. “There was only unrecognized potential on my part,” he offers, still speaking in Russian. “We never had the time or opportunity.”

Natasha hums under her breath. “I would have given almost anything to have more time, but I suppose I’m grateful. When he died, I took the opportunity to defect.”

“Do you regret it?” James asks. “Defecting, I mean. From what you’ve said, I’m not sure the U.S. was any better.”

Natasha considers that comment, and she can’t find it in her heart to disagree. “No, perhaps not, but I had Steve and Tony, and I knew I could trust them both. That was more than I had in Russia.”

Without James, staying in Russia would have been unbearable. At least she didn’t have to deal with the backstabbing and politicking once she defected.

In America, they’d used her espionage skills, but the Americans had recognized her value quickly, and she’d been shielded from that sort of thing.

“I can understand that,” James says softly. “Steve—I miss him.”

“Well, perhaps you’ll get some measure back,” Natasha offers.

James smiles gently. “Or perhaps something even better.”

They stand in the observation area outside of the training room, and Natasha watches as Steve tosses his shield, hitting the rotating targets one after another, then catching it again. Wilson is watching, and he has his own shield. He tosses it, hitting the targets, then catches it. From Natasha’s perspective, it’s clear that they’re taking turns, just getting the other’s measure.

Wilson handles the shield as competently as Steve does, although his technique is a little different. “He’s good with it,” she comments, switching to English.

“Yeah, Sam is good people,” James replies in the same language. “It was a difficult transition, and we had some growing pains, but we’re solid now.”

“Who is in charge of the Avengers?” Natasha asks.

James shakes his head. “These days, no one, really. Captain America is nominally in charge, but Stark’s investment gave us a lot of control over our own destinies.”

Natasha isn’t sure what to say to that, mostly because by the time her Tony had control over Stark Industries, they’d been on a fast, downhill slide. His money couldn’t save them; near the end, it could barely even feed and clothe them.

“It was different there,” Natasha finally says.

James glances at her. “Do you want to go down there?”

Natasha nods resolutely. If she’s going to be working with Wilson and James, she wants to see their moves up close.

“Come on,” James replies. “I’ll show you the armory.”

They go with non-lethal weapons—shock batons for both of them—and then join Steve and Wilson.

Wilson looks a bit apprehensive, but Steve grins at her widely. “I was hoping you’d join us.”

Training with Steve is familiar, comforting, and Natasha says, “How do you want to do this?”

“I can turn on a training scenario,” Wilson offers. “They’re pretty realistic.”

James grins. “I like the zombies the best.”

“Why zombies?” Steve asks.

“They’re fun,” James replies easily. “And the fast-moving ones are a challenge.”

Steve shrugs. “Sure. I can do zombies.”

Wilson is almost pouting. “Why do we always have to do zombies? I prefer the robots.”

“I could go either way,” Natasha says, preferring not to take a side.

Wilson sighs. “Fine. Zombies, it is.”

Natasha and Steve have sparred since arriving, but they hadn’t realized there were holographic training scenarios. James is just as good as he had been in her own universe, when he’d been the Asset. Wilson has great situational awareness and body control, and Natasha can tell that he’s used to working with others.

She makes an effort not to pair up with Steve, whose style she knows best, and instead tries to stick with Wilson, while Steve does the same with James.

It’s not perfect—Natasha nearly gets hit with Wilson’s shield at one point, and James narrowly avoids a collision with Steve—but it’s good.

When the scenario is over, and they’ve managed to kill all the zombies without taking any fake casualties, Steve throws back his head and laughs. “Fuck, that was fun.”

Natasha has to agree. It was fun.

James grins, too. “Yeah, that was great.”

Wilson is also grinning. “I didn’t even mind the zombies all that much.”

“Shit, I’m hungry,” Steve comments. “I don’t suppose any of us can cook. I mean, I can heat stuff up from a can, but that’s about it.”

“How do you feel about pizza?” Wilson asks.

Steve shrugs. “Sounds tasty. It’s been a long time.”

Natasha nods. “Yeah, sounds great.”

“I know there are a couple in the freezer,” Wilson offers. “I’ll put them in just as soon as I get cleaned up.”

Natasha heads back to her own quarters for a shower and a clean uniform. She’s too grateful for clean clothing without any holes or stains to mind the lack of variety, although she wouldn’t mind having something less utilitarian.

Steve and James are already sitting in the kitchen, both of them with a beer, when she enters. “You want one?” James asks.

Natasha nods. “That would be great.” She accepts the bottle that James retrieves from the fridge and says, “Not to sound ungrateful, but I don’t suppose we could get something to wear other than a uniform?”

“Yeah, of course,” James says. “Sam can take you after the press conference.”

“You’re throwing me under the bus?” Wilson asks as he enters the kitchen.

“I hate shopping,” James replies.

Wilson raises his eyebrows. “And I don’t? Why can’t we just order online?”

“Because I’m sure Natasha will want to try stuff on,” James says. “And who knows how sizes vary from one universe to the next?”

Wilson glares at him. “Maybe we should make it a team affair.”

James smirks. “Sure. You’ve got Steve, and I’ll follow Natasha around.”

Natasha is pretty sure that’s what James has been after the entire time, and she can’t say she disapproves. Spending more time with James, getting to know this version of him—Natasha doesn’t mind it.

She doesn’t want to get her hopes up, but it’s hard not to, not when James is smirking at Wilson, drinking a beer, with that warm light in his eyes.

Natasha remembers that light, which had been dimmed unless they’d been alone together, and now shines brightly.

Steve glances at her, and he has a smile, too, and Natasha feels lighter than she has in a long time.

~~~~~

Bucky turns on the TV in the common room in time for the President to hold his press conference two days after Stark and Banner leave. He’s glad that they’re are well out of the way, but the attention on Steve, in particular, is going to be intense.

Steve lounges on the other end of the couch, Natasha curled up next to him, sharing space in a way that speaks to familiarity and comfort. Sam sits on one of the chairs, tense, clearly waiting to see how the President is going to handle this.

Ritson is kind of an ineffectual dick, but that’s who they have to work with. At least his Chief of Staff is good.

The President steps up to the podium and clears his throat. “Good morning. A few years ago, as you all know, we lost three of our greatest heroes in the Battle for Earth. Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, and Natasha Romanoff gave their lives to save us, and bring back our loved ones—and many of us—after the Blip. In the years since then, we’ve learned that there are other, parallel universes, and that it is possible, but inadvisable, to cross between them.”

Ritson pauses. “All that to say, we have our heroes back. More information will come out in the following days, but Captain Rogers and Agent Romanoff will be working with the remaining Avengers to continue protecting all of us. Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts have asked for privacy during this time, and Mr. Stark will be focusing on clean energy projects for Stark Industries.”

He stops, and his press secretary steps forward. “We’ll take a few questions at this time.”

One reporter holds up a hand. “Will Captain Rogers take back the role of Captain America?”

The press secretary, a man named Emerson Dane, says, “Sam Wilson is our Captain America, and he’s earned that shield. That said, America is a large, diverse nation. We have room for more than one Captain America.”

“What about Natasha Romanoff?” another reporter calls. “Is she going to be the Black Widow again?”

“She’s indicated her willingness to do so,” Dane replies. “They’re different than the heroes we knew, but they’re still heroes.”

“Why did they leave their own universe?” someone else asks. “Are there others who will come over?”

Dane says, “No, there aren’t any others. They came here because their own world was dying, and they couldn’t save it. To that end, we’re renewing the administration’s promise to focus on clean energy and infrastructure projects to make sure that doesn’t happen here. I’m sure more information will be forthcoming.”

“What do you mean their world was dying?” another reporter calls.

“There was a nuclear war and climate change,” Dane replies. “This administration is embracing initiatives that will ensure that never happens here.”

“Never say never,” Steve mutters. “Is it just me, or was that the biggest bunch of bullshit I’ve ever heard?”

“Since I don’t know what all you’ve heard, I can’t say,” Sam says wryly. “But yeah, Ritson is a massive bullshitter. If Stark hadn’t done what he did and created that trust, we’d have been fucked.”

“It helps that we saved the world,” Bucky points out. “A couple of times. We put a foot wrong, and it won’t matter that we have Stark’s money.”

Sam nods. “We all know it, and we’re all doing our best not to let that happen. It helps that Banner is solid, and the most volatile member of our team is—no longer with us.”

“Who was your most volatile member?” Natasha asks with a frown, probably trying to figure out if she can guess who it is.

“Wanda Maximoff,” Sam says. “Good kid, got a few bad breaks, and then had a bad break. I can’t really blame her, but she wasn’t super helpful to the Avengers’ public image, that’s for sure.”

Natasha raises her eyebrows. “I thought that would have been the Hulk.”

Sam and Bucky exchange a look. Neither of them have experienced an out-of-control Hulk. Sure, they’d seen the Hulk in action during the battle against Thanos, but he’d been firmly on their side, and focused on the enemy.

Bucky has heard stories, of course, but the Hulk had been off-planet by the time he was back in the fold, and then had things well under control after the Blip.

“You’d be surprised,” Wilson says. “He’s actually pretty chill when you get to know him.”

Bucky can’t disagree. “Banner hasn’t transformed without meaning to do it in years, before Sam and I were part of the Avengers.”

Natasha appears thoughtful, and then she says, “So, now that there’s been a press conference…”

“Yeah, there’s a mall about an hour away from here,” Sam says, sounding resigned.

Bucky doesn’t mind. Since growing his hair and beard out, he rarely gets recognized while out in public. Sam doesn’t have the same luxury, and if he’s with Steve, the likelihood of them being noticed is high.

That’s another reason Bucky volunteered to go with Natasha.

“I’ll drive,” Bucky says.

There’s a whole fleet of black SUVs parked at the compound, and Bucky grabs a set of keys. Most people in the area know that the Avengers’ complex is nearby, so there’s at least a chance that they’ll assume that Steve and Natasha are SABER agents in uniform.

A slim chance, but still a chance.

Sam turns on the radio to an oldies station, mostly classic rock, and both Steve and Natasha smile. “Sound familiar?”

“A bit,” Steve admits. “Sounds a lot like what Tony would have on in the background. Not exactly the same, but very similar.”

“Don’t know much about Stark’s music choices, but I’ve heard that he favored heavy metal,” Sam replies.

It’s a pleasant enough drive, with Sam taking it upon himself to keep the conversation going, turning in the front passenger seat to look at the other two. “So, what do you guys like doing for fun?”

Bucky glances in the rearview mirror to see Natasha grimace and Steve shrug. “Mostly just sparring,” Natasha replies.

“Sex,” Steve says bluntly. “The food sucked, and there wasn’t much else to do. Even if we were out of condoms, you could still find a way to get off.”

Bucky chokes on his spit, not because he’s terribly surprised at Steve’s assessment, but because Sam is staring at Steve in shock. “Sex? That’s what you’ve got?” Sam asks.

“That’s what we had,” Steve says with a bright grin. “And I don’t discriminate. So, if you’re down for it, I can show you just what a fun time it can be.”

He’s got that shit-eating grin that Bucky remembers from childhood, the one where Steve is just fucking with someone, and Bucky feels a welling fondness for this stranger.

“I have no idea if you’re being serious right now or not,” Sam finally admits.

Steve shrugs, refusing to put Sam out of his misery.

“Oh, he’s completely serious,” Natasha says with a straight face. “I think his exact words were ‘I’d bang him like a drum.’”

Bucky is fairly sure Natasha is only 50 percent serious.

“Oh, my god,” Sam groans. “Why is this my life?”

“You’re just lucky,” Bucky replies with a smirk.

“I hate you so much,” Sam mutters.

Bucky just keeps smirking. “Your sister loves me.”

“That’s because you provide free babysitting every time we visit her!” Sam snarks back. “When she’s dating that guy.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “That guy is a retired Navy SEAL who has a successful string of fast casual eating establishments.”

He’d had a brief, intense flirtation with Sarah that had ended when he got sent on a three week mission to Bulgaria to deal with a terrorist cell. Followed closely by a two month mission to Chechnya, and other month investigating an arms dealing ring in Germany.

By the time he’d returned for more than a few days, Sarah had found her new man, and Bucky had been relegated to friend and favorite uncle status.

He’s not displeased by that outcome, not when he likes Sarah a lot, and knows she wants stability. Besides, he likes it when her boys hang off him and call him Uncle Bucky.

“Yeah, that guy,” Sam mutters.

“Sarah has him wrapped around her little finger,” Bucky points out. “I really don’t know what your issue is.”

Sam groans. “That’s the point! I can’t find anything wrong with him. He’s irritatingly perfect.”

Bucky glances at him. “So are you.”

Sam stares at him. “Now you’re fucking with me.”

Bucky grins.

“I hate everyone in this car right now,” Sam mutters.

In the back, Steve and Natasha are snickering, and Bucky can’t help but laugh. He figures this is how they get comfortable with one another, by joking and talking and bickering.

“You’re going to hate us a lot more when you take Steve shopping,” Bucky jokes. “Telling Banner not to take selfies is just the beginning of it.”

Steve clears his throat. “Is it really that big of a deal to be recognized?”

“I’ll let you make that decision for yourself,” Sam says. “It’s not always terrible, but it is always a thing.”

“I take it that you don’t have to worry about that,” Natasha comments.

“Not really,” Bucky says cheerfully. “Happy side effect of growing out my hair and beard.”

“More than one happy side effect,” Natasha mutters, almost under her breath, but Bucky catches it.

And that warms something inside him that he hadn’t known was cold.

Then

When she leaves Russia, Natasha takes nothing with her. No keepsakes, no clothing, not wanting anything to mark her absence. James has been dead a week, and she has nothing to remember him by, and so there is nothing to bring.

She’s sent out on a mission to Ukraine almost immediately, probably to gauge her loyalty, but she doesn’t think they know that she plans to defect given the slightest opportunity.

They thought James was just a physical release, and so they made a tactical decision. Natasha has been deemed more useful, so she’s the one who lives.

What the authorities don’t know is that they had talked about defecting, and James was the only thing keeping her in Russia. Maybe neither side is better than the other, but she doesn’t think she’ll have to worry about Yelena stabbing her in the back—or suffering the same fate as so many other Widows, whose lives are regarded as cheap—in America.

Natasha leaves the safe house in Kyiv as though she’s just going out to get dinner. Knowing that she’s being watched, she finds a pub and eats dinner and drinks a beer. It’s on the way back to the safe house that she ducks down an alley where she finds a dumpster to hide behind.

She can buy more time if her tail is dead, knowing that those on surveillance check in once every 24 hours, and that they won’t send another person to check for a day after that.

Time enough to get out of the country.

The man apparently assigned to follow her steps into the alley, looking around warily. It’s dark, and there’s almost no light, which is exactly why she selected this location.

He takes another two steps, and Natasha springs, throwing a Widow’s Bite, which he dodges with a muffled shout. She doesn’t give him a chance to recover, flipping towards him, the heel of her boot catching his chin.

The light is too dim to really make out his features, so she’s not sure whether it’s someone she knows or not. Even if it were someone familiar to her, she knows what she has to do.

Natasha follows up the flip with a boot to his chest, and when he doubles over, she pulls out her knife and stabs him, slipping her blade between his ribs, killing him almost instantly.

She lowers the body to the ground, and she can just make out his features, and is relieved to see that it’s a stranger.

She drags the body behind the dumpster, propping it up against the wall, making it appear as though he’s sleeping.

Natasha pauses, making sure the coast is clear, and she doesn’t have a second tail. If there is a second one, they’ll attack without warning.

The moments tick by slowly as her racing heart slows, and she takes a few deep breaths before standing. She cleans her knife on the dead man’s shirt and tucks it away. Then, she ensures she doesn’t have any obvious bloodstains before smoothing her hair and clothing.

And then she steps out of the alley as though nothing had happened.

Natasha walks in the opposite direction of the safe house, ducking inside a small drugstore on the way, using cash to buy hair dye and a cheap t-shirt. She has already scoped out a cheap motel, and she checks in, using cash there, too.

Although she seems to have gotten away clean, Natasha knows that time is of the essence, and she has no desire to sleep in the small, hot room with its filthy carpet and bedspread.

Using her knife, she cuts her braid off at the nape of her neck and then uses the hotel sink to bleach her hair blonde. It doesn’t look great, but she hopes it will be a sufficient disguise.

As soon as she rinses her hair out, Natasha pulls on the new shirt, leaving the rest of her possessions behind, including the knife. She takes a deep breath, knowing that she’s well past the point of no return.

There is no going back now. She’s burned all of her bridges, and she has no idea what her reception is going to be.

But without James, she can’t stay. She can’t stay and look at Yelena and those who betrayed them every day.

Natasha goes to the airport in Kyiv and purchases a ticket to the US with her fake American passport. Natasha fully expects security waiting for her when she lands, so she uses the flight to sleep. She might not have much of a chance once she arrives.

When they land at JFK in New York City, Natasha filters out with the rest of the passengers, and then she has to go through customs. She’s expecting to be detained immediately, but instead she passes through without comment.

There is, however, a man in black fatigues waiting for her just beyond. “Come with me, Agent Romanova. Are you defecting?”

“I am,” Natasha confirms. “I won’t resist.”

Natasha isn’t restrained, but she’s soon flanked by four very large security officers. She’s quite certain that she could take all of them—at once—but she defected for a reason. She can’t afford to fuck this up.

She wonders what James would think, would say. She wishes he were here with her, but knows it’s for the best that he’s not. James’ deeds were infamous, and his actions had started a nuclear war.

Russia would have made it very difficult for him to slip his leash, and even if he managed it, they could always reactivate the Asset’s programming.

The men lead her through the airport to a private exit, where a black sedan is waiting for them. The man who greeted her sits next to her in the backseat, but he doesn’t try to speak with her.

She maintains her own silence, staring at her reflection in the tinted window. It’s so dark that she really can’t see outside, and she wonders where they’re taking her.

After about an hour, maybe a little more, the car slows and stops. She can hear muffled sounds from the front seat as the driver speaks to someone, and Natasha assumes she’s been brought to a secure location in order to test her resolve or to question her.

The car stops, and the man sitting next to her says, “Wait for me to open the door.”

Natasha sits, her heart beating faster, and the door opens after a few minutes. “This way.”

The man leads her through a side entrance of a large building, but they’re parked so close to it that she can’t get a good feeling for how large it really is.

She’s led down a long hallway, and they turn a couple of corners, until they arrive outside a door. The man opens the door, and Natasha enters a room with two men, one a few years older than her, with dark hair and eyes, and dark circles under his eyes. She recognizes him from the briefings, and knows it’s Howard Stark’s son, Tony.

No one knows much about him, because he’s only in the public eye when his father trots him out to show that the the line of succession is secure. He’s touted as being a genius, and the next wunderkind, but no one has gotten close enough to him to verify.

The other man is instantly recognizable, though. Steve Rogers, Captain America, the paragon of morality.

That paragon gives her a look and glances at Stark. “What do you think?”

“I think she’d have to be completely insane to come here unless she were actually defecting.”

“I agree,” Rogers says. “But that still leaves the question as to why she would want to defect.”

“They killed the only person I cared about,” Natasha says flatly. “He is dead, and he was the only reason I stayed as long as I did.”

She’s tired, and she maintains that’s the only reason she betrays any emotion at all. But perhaps that’s for the best, because their expressions soften slightly.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Rogers says quietly. “I know we’re on opposite sides, but losing someone is never easy.”

Natasha feels her shoulders drop. “I would like to believe that I can be of help. I—could not stay there.”

Rogers reaches across the table, offering his hand. “We’ll have to feel each other out, Ms. Romanova, but let’s talk about what it might look like for you to defect, and what you might do.”

Natasha shakes his hand, and it’s the first gentle touch she’s had since James died. “Thank you.”

Stark seems to follow Rogers’ lead, because he offers his hand as well. “I won’t say welcome, because I imagine there are going to be a lot of hard days ahead for you, but we wanted to be the first ones to greet you, to give you a glimpse of what comes after.”

It’s an insightful comment, and Natasha knows that the debriefing is going to be brutal, but maybe she has this much to look forward to on the other side.

Now

Bruce is asleep, and then he isn’t, sensing someone else in the room with him. He opens his eyes and props himself up on his elbow. “Hello?”

“Sorry,” comes Tony’s rough voice. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Bruce sits up all the way, then realizes that he’s green, and that might be alarming. “No, I’m sorry. I can change.”

“Please don’t,” Tony says quickly. “I’m—it’s nice.”

“Did you—“ Bruce stops short of asking if Tony had a bad dream, realizing how patronizing that would sound. “Nightmare?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” Tony admits. “Ukraine.”

“Is that where—where your parents were killed?” His brain is still fuzzy from sleep, and he’s trying to sort out which details belonged to the friend he lost, and which to the man in his doorway.

Tony’s deep breath is audible. “Yes. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have woken you.”

“Come here,” Bruce replies, because he’s had those nights, and he knows what it sounds and looks like when you don’t want to be alone.

Tony shuffles in, wearing nothing but his boxer-briefs and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt that Bruce had stolen from his version of Tony. It had seemed fitting to offer to let Tony borrow it when he asked for something to sleep in.

“Are you sure this is okay?” Bruce asks gently. “Me being green?”

“It killed you, eventually,” Tony says, sounding as though the words are being ripped out of him. “You wanted to find a way to protect people from radiation, and you thought you had, but it killed you.”

“Was I—still green?” Bruce asks, not quite understanding.

“Yes, very briefly,” Tony replies. “It wasn’t a protection the way it is here.”

Bruce still doesn’t really understand, but he asks, “Do you want to stay in here?”

“If it won’t be too weird,” Tony says.

Bruce has never invited someone this far into his space while he’s green, but he doesn’t mind. “Then don’t make it weird.”

Tony laughs and comes over to flop on the bed, and then he inches closer to Bruce. “You put off heat like a furnace.”

“It’s the metabolism,” Bruce replies.

Tony turns, putting his back to Bruce, then slotting up next to him. Bruce doesn’t want to hurt him, and he asks, “What do you need from me, Tony?”

“Just this,” Tony says, his voice muffled. “On bad nights, I usually find Steve, if he’s not fucking someone else.”

Bruce huffs. “You know, that’s never not gonna be weird. If our Steve Rogers ever had a date, no one heard about it, and we would have. The press was fierce.”

“What about me?” Tony asks. “I know I was married and procreated, but is that it?”

“Ah, no,” Bruce replies. “You and Pepper were on-again, off-again up until the Blip. And even then it took you about a year to figure that out. But before Pepper, I don’t think there was a serious relationship, but a string of women.”

“And a few men,” Tony says. “If we were together.”

“We fucked,” Bruce corrects gently. “We were never together, but he was my friend. As for other men, not many. At least, that’s what he told me, and there was no reason for him to lie.”

Tony turns over and plasters himself across Bruce’s chest. “Is it weird that I really like this?”

“What about it do you like?” Bruce asks.

“It feels safe,” Tony admits. “And you’re warm.”

“Well, since I can keep you safe, and I am warm, it seems more like a statement of fact,” Bruce replies, resting a big, green hand on Tony’s back. “I don’t mind being your teddy bear, Tony.”

“God, I’m using you,” Tony mutters, although he doesn’t budge. “I should feel bad about that.”

“You don’t need to feel bad when I’m happy to be here for you,” Bruce counters. “Go to sleep.”

Tony falls asleep on Bruce’s chest between one breath and the next. Bruce doesn’t want to risk rolling over in his sleep and crushing Tony, so he just closes his eyes, leaving his hand where it is on Tony’s back.

They’ve barely had time to settle in, and he wants to introduce Tony to some of his projects—clean water, anti-malarial, and ionizing radiation mitigation efforts. If this Tony is anything like his counterpart, maybe he’ll want to dabble in prosthetics, robotics, or something else entirely.

Bruce has noticed that he doesn’t need as much sleep when he’s green, and so he doesn’t mind lying awake, coming up with projects that will fill their hours together.

“You’re thinking too loud,” Tony grumbles. “I can hear you.”

Bruce snorts. “You’re not psychic, so I know that’s not true.”

“’s true,” Tony protests sleepily. “If I’m keeping you up—“

“You’re not,” Bruce replies fondly. “I’m just thinking about all the projects we can do together.”

“Oh, that’s okay then,” Tony says, and then goes back to sleep.

Bruce does drop off, and when he wakes up, Tony is on his side, his back to Bruce, and Bruce decides that breakfast is in order.

When in doubt, food is an easy answer.

He changes back to being non-green, and takes a quick shower and pulls on clean clothing. Bruce had ordered groceries the day before, so he has bread, eggs, and other ingredients, so he makes a quick shakshuka, figuring that the smell will pull Tony out of bed eventually.

“I really don’t mind you being green, you know,” Tony says as he wanders out, scratching his stomach, still wearing the black Led Zeppelin t-shirt, but he’s pulled on a pair of cargo pants.

Bruce shrugs. “There are some things that are easier when I’m not green.”

What he doesn’t say is that it feels a little awkward, knowing that there’s a romantic spark between them, even if nothing comes from it.

Tony gives him a knowing look. “Is there coffee?”

“Of course,” Bruce replies, and pours him a mug.

Tony wraps his hands around the warm mug, and Bruce says, “We can order more clothes for you if you need them.”

Tony shrugs. “I don’t need much.”

Bruce thinks about the email he’d read, and he offers, “Pepper is going to do her press conference today. Did you want to watch?”

Tony grimaces. “Can we not? No offense, but it’s just—it’s too weird.”

Bruce certainly isn’t going to insist that Tony do something that makes him uncomfortable. “That’s fine. It’s completely up to you.”

“I’m sure she’s perfectly nice, but I still can’t believe that I was married with a kid,” Tony mutters, sounding very put out.

“You do realize that our circumstances here are different,” Bruce points out, amused.

“Maybe, but I still can’t imagine carrying on the Stark line,” Tony replies. “We’ve done enough damage.”

Bruce isn’t quite sure how to respond to that, so he just dishes up breakfast and asks, “What do you want to do today?”

“I’d like to spend some time in the lab and see what you’re working on,” Tony counters. “I have no idea where to even start. This world—it’s so different.”

Bruce sits down across from Tony and slides his bowl over, the basket of bolillo rolls in the center of the small table. He tears a roll in half and holds it out. “That sounds like a good plan. We don’t have to stay inside all day either. We could go swimming if you want.”

He can see how Tony’s eyes are drawn out over the lanai, to the white sand beach and the turquoise water. “I never learned how to swim.”

Bruce blinks. He’s not sure why that piece of information fazes him when nothing else really has, but there’s just something about Tony not knowing how to swim that draws into sharp relief how different that other world had been. “Oh. Do you—are you interested in learning?”

“Yeah, I am,” Tony admits. “It seems like it could be fun.”

“So, time in the lab, and then the beach?” Bruce offers.

Tony nods. “Sure.”

Once they finish eating, Tony pitches in to clean up, and then they head down to the lab. Bruce knows they’re likely to get distracted by science, so he makes sure they put in a second clothing order first, having stocked only the bare minimum for the first one. Tony—unlike his counterpart—really doesn’t seem to need or want much. A few pairs of pants, some t-shirts, a pair of swim trunks, a pair of running shoes.

“If it’s clean and doesn’t have holes, it’s good enough,” Tony insists.

Bruce has been there, so he doesn’t argue. He just makes sure there are enough boxers and socks so they don’t have to do laundry more than once a week and calls it good.

After that, Bruce starts showing Tony what he’s working on. “I’ve been focusing on a lot of clean water and pollution mitigation projects. Stark Industries announced a green initiative last year to capitalize on the gains we made when half the living creatures in the universe just disappeared.”

Tony frowns. “I know you’ve mentioned that, but I don’t understand how it happened.”

Bruce hesitates. “It’s hard to know how to start.”

“I’ve found the beginning is usually a good place,” Tony says, a teasing note in his voice.

“Right.” Bruce wonders if the beginning could be marked from Loki’s invasion, or from Ultron, or from Sakaar, or maybe the moment that Thanos attacked the Asgardians.

“There were these items of power, that when used together, would enable the person controlling them to do anything,” Bruce finally says. “And there was an insane person—alien—who thought that the solution to all problems was to decrease the number of living beings in the universe by half.”

“So, he just—“ Tony pauses with his eyebrows raised.

“Snapped his fingers,” Bruce supplies. “And that did it. Fifty percent of all life just went up in dust and ashes.”

Tony sucks in a breath. “That must have been a mind fuck.”

“Yeah, a bit of one,” Bruce admits. “And we all just kind of fell apart for a while, so I wouldn’t judge folks for their actions during those five years.”

He doesn’t want to be or feel defensive—mostly because he hadn’t really been all that thrilled when Tony went back to Pepper and they had a kid. Oh, outwardly he’d been supportive, but he’d spent the next eighteen months figuring himself out.

“It stung, didn’t it?” Tony asks perceptively.

“Well, I always knew he was never going to stay here with me in Mexico full time,” Bruce replies.

Tony reaches out and grabs Bruce’s hand. “Pretty sure I could be happy here forever.”

Bruce wants to tell Tony that they shouldn’t get ahead of themselves, and there’s a part of him that thinks he must be dreaming, to be offered something like this when he never thought he’d have it again.

Instead, he just squeezes Tony’s hand. “So, green initiatives for Stark Industries. Are you in?”

“My old man is spinning in his fucking grave right now,” Tony replies with a fierce smirk. “Yeah, let’s save the planet.”

They work all morning, then well into the afternoon, pausing only to grab a couple of sandwiches before Tony’s first swimming lesson.

Bruce goes green for it, the better to protect Tony, and because doesn’t have to worry about sun damage that way. Tony, of course, doesn’t have any swim trunks yet, so he’s wearing a pair of black boxer briefs. His close-cropped hair and beard glints with silver in the sunlight, and Bruce can see just how lean Tony is, his ribs showing, the light from his arc reactor dim.

“Have you thought about getting it removed?” Bruce asks. “Not that it’s any of my business.”

“The other one did, right?” Tony asks.

Bruce nods. “Yeah. It was part of his attempt to wipe the slate clean at one point. He destroyed all his suits, got the arc reactor out, the whole nine yards.”

“Then maybe I leave it in,” Tony replies. “I solved the toxicity problem a few years ago. I don’t need it to power a suit, not with the nano tech. It’s part of me.” Tony turns to look at him, his dark eyes serious. “Do you mind?”

“It’s your body, Tony,” Bruce says. “It’s up to you, and you’re right. It’s part of you. But I’d really appreciate it if you let me take a look and make sure that there aren’t any hidden problems we should fix now, rather than later. And check to see if there’s a better element that would run it.”

Tony smiles. “I’d appreciate that actually.”

“Shall we do this?” Bruce asks

Tony takes a deep breath. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

Bruce wades into the warm, turquoise water, feeling the sand squish between his toes. He’s up to his waist, and Tony is still standing on the shore, the water just barely brushing his toes. “Come on in. I won’t let anything happen to you. The water feels great.”

Tony takes a couple of steps, then a couple more, until he’s in water up to his knees. Bruce holds out a big, green hand.

After a moment’s hesitation, Tony puts his hand in Bruce’s, and it feels like a benediction.

~~~~~

Natasha is savoring her coffee in the kitchen, sipping slowly. Intellectually, she knows that they aren’t going to run out of coffee, but she’s done without for so long, she’s not getting used to it any time soon.

She’s wearing a pair of new jeans and an oversized t-shirt, and she’s about as comfortable as she can ever remember being.

James strolls into the kitchen, talking on the phone. “Yeah, uh huh, yeah, I get that, but I’m telling you, it’s a little more complicated than can be handled by one person, and I don’t have back up.” There’s a pause. “Well, I can ask, but I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” Another pause. “Yes, I still have all the gear. Okay, fine.”

James hangs up the phone, and turns to look at her. “You want some breakfast with that coffee?”

“I had toast,” Natasha replies. “I can use a toaster. That’s about the extent of my skills in the kitchen, though.”

James shrugs. “Perfection is boring.”

Natasha smiles and takes another sip of her coffee. “That sounded like a difficult conversation.”

“I had a mission that was interrupted, and I need to go finish it,” James replies. “But it’s a two person job, and I’m not getting any help.”

She raises her eyebrows. “They told you to ask me.”

“They did,” James confirms. “But I’m not pressuring you to go.”

“Location?” Natasha asks, feeling her interest piqued.

“Belgrade,” James replies. “Which is in Serbia.”

“I have some idea where Belgrade is,” Natasha replies, amused. “Although it was still part of what’s left of the Russian bloc.”

James gives her a look. “Do you speak Serbian?”

“It’s one of the languages that I speak,” Natasha replies. “I was raised to be a spy. I was trained in a number of languages, so I could fit in anywhere.”

James nods. “You have that in common with your counterpart. It’s up to you. I was trying to get information on a terrorist cell.”

Natasha drinks the rest of her coffee. “I’d like to see a little more of this world. This place is nice enough, but I don’t want to be stuck here forever if I don’t have to be.”

James gives her a long look, and then he nods. “Well, I know your skills are sharp from the training room, and I trust that you’ll tell me if something is too much. If you’re really interested going, we leave in three hours.”

“I’ll need a bag of some sort,” Natasha replies.

James smiles. “That’s an easy problem to solve.”

“And I’ll need to talk to Steve,” Natasha adds.

“Tell him if he’s bored, he should ask Sam to put him to work,” James says as she leaves the kitchen. “I’ll put a bag in your quarters.”

Unsurprisingly, Steve is in the gym, working on the heavy bag. Natasha isn’t interested in Steve, not in that way, but she can appreciate the aesthetic appeal. “You get a mission?” he asks.

Natasha sits on the weight bench. “How did you know?”

Steve throws one last punch, then turns to look at her. His black t-shirt sticks to his skin, and he pushes damp hair out of his face. “Because I know you, and when we got here, Bucky was on a mission. Stands to reason he’d need to go back to it.”

“He does,” Natasha replies, looping her arms around her knees. “Are you okay if I go with him?”

Steve gives her a look. “He was the fucking love of your life, Natasha, and you have a chance to have some small measure of that back. You think I’d stand in your way? I didn’t stand in Tony’s way.”

He sounds exasperated, his hands on his hips as he looks at her, pulling out the disappointed dad face.

Natasha rolls her eyes. “You know that doesn’t work on me. And you know he’s not my James.”

“But the potential is there,” Steve points out, sitting down next to her. “And you shouldn’t shut off that potential before it has the chance to blossom.”

Natasha bumps his shoulder with hers. “What about you?”

“Sam has already invited me along on his next mission,” Steve says. “We’ll both carry a shield, but I’m not wearing the uniform—well, not the red, white, and blue. That wouldn’t be fair to Sam, so I’m going with black.”

“You’re still Captain America,” Natasha says.

Steve wraps an arm around her shoulders. “To you, and to Tony, but not to these people. Sam hasn’t done anything to deserve that being taken away from him. I can’t be this version of Captain America, Nat. They need someone who isn’t a fucking cynic, and I know that’s what I am. What we lived through, that would do it to anyone, right?”

“But I can be a cynic?” Natasha asks.

“Pretty sure you’re a cynic in any universe,” Steve teases. “We’ll see each other again between missions, maybe go down to Mexico to check up on Tony.”

Natasha laughs. “And you’re going to bang Sam like a drum?”

“He doesn’t seem amenable,” Steve says in a mournful tone. “But I’ve seen a picture of his wingman, and Joaquin might be. He’s cute.”

“Such a lech,” Natasha teases.

“Gotta have some fun somewhere,” Steve replies. “Be careful out there, but I’ll come rescue you if you need it.”

“Shut your face,” Natasha replies. “It will be James and I rescuing you if anything.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Steve says, and it’s old familiar patter. He presses a kiss to her forehead. “Go, get out of here. You have packing to do.”

“I love you,” Natasha murmurs.

“I know,” Steve replies. “I love you, too.”

Natasha presses her forehead against his shoulder, and then she leaves, because he’s right. She does need to pack. She brings a uniform, but mostly packs the civvies she’d just purchased.

She knows that she needs to blend in, and a uniform isn’t going to help with that. Natasha packs her toiletries, including the minimal makeup she’d picked up.

Steve is waiting in the hangar, shaking James’ hand and leaning in to speak in his ear. She approaches slowly, wanting to give them time to talk, but James waves her over.

“You weren’t giving him the shovel talk, were you?” Natasha asks Steve.

Steve snorts. “You can do that your own fucking self. Be safe out there.”

“You, too,” Natasha replies.

Sam comes jogging into the hangar. “Bucky! Glad I caught you. Be careful.”

James accepts the handshake and hug, and then Natasha is surprised when Sam turns his grin on her. “Keep this guy safe, huh?”

“Of course,” Natasha replies. “Always.”

And then, to her surprise, Sam hugs her, too. “Just go with it,” Sam says.

Natasha sighs, but she goes with it.

“Thanks,” Sam says. “I appreciate you indulging me.”

“You give good hugs, and you smell nice,” Natasha admits. “It wasn’t a hardship. You should let Steve fuck you. He’s really good at it.”

“If I swung that way, I’d be tempted,” Sam whispers. “Good luck.”

“You, too,” Natasha replies.

They’re being ferried by a SABER pilot in a Quinjet, and Natasha is pleased that she even knows those terms, and understands what it means. James introduces her to Agent Osbourne, and then they’re underway.

She and James sit across from each other on the benches in the back, and James stretches out his legs. Natasha does the same, and he knocks his foot against hers.

“You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

James just raises his eyebrows. “The three of you are pretty tight, and now you’re scattered.”

Natasha shrugs. “We knew we might not be able to stay together.”

“Knowing and experiencing it are often two different things,” James points out.

Natasha knows how true that is. She had gone into the relationship with James knowing that one of them could end up being killed, either by their own people or the other side. The actual experience of losing him had been far more painful than she expected.

“True,” she finally says. “But we’re all prepared to deal with the consequences of our actions.”

“It’s all we can do, right?” James asks. He takes a deep breath. “Do you want the mission brief?”

Natasha gives him her most unimpressed look. “No, I enjoy walking into situations completely blind.”

James laughs, his teeth very white against his beard. “All right, I walked into that one. I was interrupted, so my information is incomplete. I was able to identify about seven people I believe could be the ringleaders, but I don’t know who’s in charge.”

“Is it possible that none of them are?” Natasha asks, taking the tablet that James holds out and looking at the surveillance photo.

“You can swipe through to see the rest of the pictures,” James says.

Natasha doesn’t say anything, but she’s grateful for the reminder. Advancements in communication technology are ahead of what they were in her old world. Videoconferencing had been necessary, so that’s comparable, but the ease and convenience of some things is far greater here.

She swipes across the screen to see the rest of the pictures, and she hums under her breath.

“What are you seeing?” James asks.

“This picture, where they’re all together,” Natasha says, turning the tablet around for James to look at. “Look at the body language. There’s no deference—from anyone.”

She swipes through to another picture. “Here, they’re staring at each other.”

James moves so that he’s sitting next to her, his leg pressed against hers. “What else do you see?”

“This one may be the weak link,” Natasha replies. “He looks to be the youngest of the group, and in my experience, that means he’s the cockiest, the most insecure, or some combination of the two.”

James nods slowly. “Based on what I could see, I think you’re right about that. I just didn’t have a good way of getting close to him. They’re insular, and I didn’t have an in.”

Natasha flips through the photos again. “I don’t see any women.”

“There were a few girlfriends,” James replies. “But I didn’t see any close to the action.”

“Any girlfriends with this one?” she asks, pointing at the youngest.

James shakes his head. “Not that I could tell, but I didn’t have enough time to get the full picture.”

“Then that’s our in,” Natasha replies. “I charm him, and either he tells me what we need to know, or we get it some other way.”

James gives her a concerned look. “I’m not asking you to—“ He stops.

“To whore myself out?” Natasha asks with a smile. “I know how to get a lot without giving anything away.”

James hitches a shoulder. “I’m not surprised to hear that, but I needed you to know that I’m not expecting you to do anything you’re not comfortable doing.”

It’s sweet, and she pats his leg. “I never would.”

To her absolute delight, he flushes slightly.

And god help her, Natasha is charmed.

~~~~~

Bucky has never gone on a mission with Natasha, not really. He’s heard stories, and he’s seen her in action when he was controlled by Hydra, but he’s excited to see her work up close and personal.

The first indication that this Natasha is just as good as the one he remembers comes when she’s reviewing the surveillance pictures he took. Immediately, she puts her finger on the thing he’d started to sense but hadn’t been able to articulate.

And then she immediately comes up with a plan for how to get the information. Bucky is used to working from the shadows, and so is she, but her infiltration skills are a good complement to his own. She’ll be able to get close where he would risk blowing the whole mission.

And god help him, when she pats his leg, he can feel his face heat. He feels like a teenager again.

Bucky used to be good at this.

Once they have a plan in place, Natasha yawns. “Do you mind?”

Bucky made sure that she’s on his right side, and he says, “You can use me as a pillow if you want.”

“So glad you’re going to let me do something I was planning on doing anyway,” Natasha replies, and curls up next to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

Natasha drops off immediately, and Bucky remembers having that skill at one point, when he could just shut his eyes and go to sleep.

At least he doesn’t need sleep quite so much these days.

“Sergeant Barnes, we’re fifteen minutes out,” Agent Osbourne says some time later.

Natasha stirs and sits up, stretching with her arms overhead, a sliver of skin showing between her jeans and t-shirt.

“Thanks,” Bucky calls. “Drop us off, then head out. We don’t need to wait around to be discovered.”

“Yes, sir,” Osbourne replies. “I have a berth in Brussels with NATO, so I’ll be relatively close if you need assistance.”

“It’s appreciated,” Bucky says.

Natasha pulls on a jacket and grabs her duffel bag, looking markedly cheerful. She has an eager expression, and she glances over her shoulder at him. “Sorry. I haven’t been on an actual infiltration mission in years.”

“What did you do instead?” Bucky asks, standing up and grabbing his own bag.

Natasha’s expression darkens briefly, and then her face clears of all emotion. “Well. There wasn’t a lot of infiltration going on in the end. We were too busy trying to find enough to eat.”

There’s a blankness that Bucky knows all too well, and he wonders if he’ll ever plumb the depth of Natasha’s trauma.

She glances over her shoulder at him and manages a smile. “It was a bad time, but that’s over.”

He puts a hand on her shoulder gingerly. “I’m glad you’re willing to dive back in. I don’t think I could do this mission without you.”

“Well, I’m sure you could, but not as successfully,” Natasha teases.

Bucky grins. “Probably.”

The Quinjet lands and the back hatch opens. “Thanks for the lift, Osbourne,” he says.

“Always a pleasure,” Osbourne replies. “Nice to meet you, Agent Romanoff.”

She glances at him, and Bucky shrugs. “Nice to meet you as well.”

“He does know that Romanoff isn’t a Russian name?” Natasha asks after they deplane and the Quinjet takes off. “It’s either Romanov or Romanova.”

“You know that, and I know that, but at some point when the other you joined SHIELD, they changed the spelling,” Bucky offers. “I don’t know when or how or why, but that’s what I’ve got.”

Natasha shrugs eloquently. “It is what it is. I appreciate the respect he offered.”

“I have a place where we can hole up, but it doesn’t have electricity or running water, so we probably need a hotel room,” Bucky says.

Natasha glances at him. “Why?”

He realizes that he’s being short-sighted. Natasha is as used to privation as he is. “Never mind. Although—there is just the one mattress.”

“The body heat will make up for the lack of electricity,” Natasha counters. “I don’t mind if you don’t. I’ve cuddled up with Tony and Steve enough.”

Bucky’s brain about whites out at that mental image. He’s not blind to Steve or Tony’s attractiveness, and the idea of Natasha with them…

Natasha smirks at him. “Just to sleep.”

“Really?” Bucky blurts out.

“They’re hot, but they’re not what I want,” Natasha replies with a pointed look.

Bucky finds himself blushing again.

Natasha’s smile widens.

Bucky is in so much trouble.

The Quinjet landed several miles outside the city, so they have to hoof it in. Natasha just slings her bag over her back and follows him in without complaint. He’s not surprised by that, but he has to admire her stamina. She hasn’t been getting decent, regular meals for very long.

She’s tough as nails, and Bucky has the benefit of the super soldier serum, but she keeps pace easily.

They breach the city limits after dark, as planned, and Bucky leads the way to his sniper’s nest in an abandoned building. It’s not much, but there’s a public toilet half a block away, and with Natasha, he’s hoping that they can wrap it up quickly.

The mission has been sanctioned by the U.N., so they’re just gathering information for others to take action on. Bucky is glad it’s not wet works.

“Cozy,” Natasha comments, looking around, and she sounds sincere.

“Well, I haven’t done anything with the place, so I can’t take credit,” Bucky jokes.

Natasha smiles at him. “I’ve seen worse sniper nests.”

Bucky looks around at the room, with its peeling wallpaper and holes in the drywall. The faucet is rusted out, the sink stained, and the studio apartment probably wasn’t very nice when it was first finished.

“It pretty much sucks,” Bucky admits.

Natasha smiles at him. “Good thing that you have me here to get the information that much faster. I give it maybe two days, and once we have it, I would love a spa day. I had one courtesy of a mark before it was an impossibility, and I think I want another.”

That’s within Bucky’s ability to provide, and if they can get the information in a couple of days, he will happily pay for a day at a spa.

“Agreed,” Bucky replies. “If we’re heading home in two days, I’ll make sure you get a day at a spa.”

Natasha’s smile is bright. “Then, we’ll sleep now, and I will begin tomorrow.”

There’s just the one mattress, and Bucky lies down. Natasha curls up next to him on his right side, her head on his shoulder.

He’s a little surprised at how tactile she is, but maybe he shouldn’t be. He’s seen her with Tony and Steve, and all three of them are physically affectionate. Bucky isn’t going to read anything into it.

“Thank you,” Natasha murmurs as Bucky puts an arm around her shoulders.

Bucky tightens his grip. “There’s nothing to thank me for.”

She falls asleep between one breath and the next, and Bucky stares up at the water-stained ceiling, feeling her warmth against him. It’s the warmest he’s felt since Steve left for the past, with Bucky knowing that he was losing Steve for good.

The next morning feels intimate, waking up next to each other, going to a little cafe to get coffee and pastries, and then discussing their next steps. They’re both too aware of operational security to have a discussion in the cafe. Instead, they move to the sniper’s nest overlooking the meeting place Bucky has located.

“How often are they here?” Natasha asks, raising the binoculars to her eyes.

“Once a week or so, but they switch up what days,” Bucky replies. “At least that’s what they were doing when I was here last. I guess we’ll see.”

“Do you know where else they hang out?” Natasha asks, handing the binoculars to Bucky.

“There’s a bar,” Bucky replies. “But from what I could tell, they don’t discuss business there.”

Natasha shrugs and takes a sip of her coffee. “They don’t need to talk business there. I just need to meet our mark.”

“You want me in the room or outside?” Bucky asks.

“Outside,” Natasha says definitively. “I can get in and out of the bar, but I need you to make sure I have an exit.”

“We don’t have kill orders,” Bucky reminds her.

Natasha snorts. “You won’t need to kill them.”

Bucky nods. He can provide a distraction easily enough; he’ll just need to make sure he’s in a location he doesn’t mind losing.

“Don’t worry so much,” Natasha says, patting him on the arm. “I don’t believe a distraction will be necessary. Either he will be interested in me, and I will snare him, or not.”

“My money is on you,” Bucky says.

“Because you’re a smart man,” Natasha replies.

There’s no meeting that day, and so they spend the time talking. Natasha won’t talk about the time before she defected, but she’s open about the period after that. She talks about the adjustment to living on a compound in upstate New York, getting to know Steve and Tony, the desperation of those final years.

“How old were you when you defected?” Bucky asks.

Natasha gives him a look. “You’re never supposed to ask a woman her age, you know.”

“I didn’t ask you your age,” Bucky protests. “Just how old you were when you defected?”

Natasha hesitates. “I was twenty-four.”

So young, Bucky thinks.

“It wasn’t long after that, really, before things took a sharp downturn,” Natasha muses. “I think I was maybe in America seven years? And then it quickly became clear that there was no reversing the effects of what had been done.”

“What I had done,” Bucky inserts. “From what I’ve been told, the fact that I assassinated the President started things off.”

Natasha shakes her head decisively. “No, it wasn’t you. It was Hydra, and Russia, and we all knew that. He was the weapon used, but not the hand that held the weapon.”

She pauses. “Also, you’re not the same person. I keep having to remind myself of that, but I can say that you’re not.”

Bucky figures she’s probably having a harder time with that than he is.

“What about you?” Natasha asks. “You’re still here, working on these things.”

“I have nothing better to do,” Bucky confesses. “Plus, I’m good at it, and it needs to be done.”

“Do you miss him?” Natasha asks.

Bucky immediately knows who she’s referring to, and he says, “Every day.”

Natasha puts her arm through his and leans in close. “We should leave for the bar.”

“We should,” Bucky agrees. “But we should get something to eat first.”

The feeling of the day being one long date continues through dinner at a local tavern before Natasha goes to the bar, and Bucky finds a spot where he can watch. Before they split up, they put in their earwigs and turn on comms, so Bucky can listen in.

The earwigs are incredibly discreet, and Bucky knows that someone would have to be staring straight into someone’s ear canal to see it.

“Be careful,” Bucky advises.

She smiles. “As careful as I ever am.”

Bucky doesn’t know what that means. “Natasha.”

“I have people I love to come home to,” Natasha says softly. “So, I am exceedingly careful, although I will do what it takes to get the job done.”

And Bucky just hopes they can get this job done quickly, because he’d like to go back to just getting to know her.

Then

“There you are, Natasha,” Dmitri says, standing as she enters the office. There’s another man seated across from the desk in the second chair, but she can’t see his face yet. “We have a mission for you, and you will be working with the Asset.”

Natasha keeps the emotion off her face with some effort. She’s heard of the Asset; everyone has. She hadn’t thought she would work with him, let alone have a mission with him.

“I see,” Natasha replies as the man rises from his chair to meet her eyes. “I’m sure it will be a learning experience.”

His eyes are blue, his dark hair long, stubble on his face. “And it will be a pleasure on my part.”

Natasha swallows down her trepidation. “Yes, sir.”

“Call me James,” he says.

He’s always been known just as the Asset, and Natasha has no idea if James is his name, or if it’s just something he likes to be called. “Yes, sir.”

Dmitri doesn’t react, so Natasha is assuming that his request is at least condoned.

James smirks. “Just James. I’m not your training officer, and I’m not in charge of anything but the mission.”

Natasha glances at Dmitri, who just waves her to a seat. “The Asset can choose to be called whatever he likes. What matters is the mission, and I believe that your skillsets will be complementary. Natasha has demonstrated tremendous skill at infiltration, but she requires your talents at exfiltration.”

Dmitri looks at James as he says that. “And I expect that you will teach her what you know.”

James shrugs. “Of course.”

Natasha has heard that the Asset is the perfect model of a soldier, devoid of emotion or remorse, carrying out orders without question.

That is not what she’s currently seeing. She sucks in air through her teeth involuntarily, and then stares at the carpet, afraid of being called out for her show of emotion.

“I expect you to be a model soldier, Natasha,” Dmitri says severely.

“It’s not her fault that she’s starstruck,” James says easily, redirecting Dmitri’s ire. “You’ve built up my reputation so much, it’s no wonder.”

There’s some sort of power struggle going on that is beyond Natasha’s ken. She’s twenty, and has only recently started being sent on missions without a minder.

Her first thought had been that James is just another minder, but now she’s thinking the opposite might be true.

Dmitri frowns at James. “You are on a short leash. Do not lead Natasha astray. She is one of our best and brightest.”

James hitches a shoulder. “I would never.”

Dmitri sighs, and Natasha is even more certain that there is far more going on under the surface, but it’s above her pay grade. “Very well. You have the mission brief. I will let you and Natasha formulate a plan. She needs to take more of a role in that respect.”

James nods. “We’ll use the war room.”

He leads the way to a conference room they informally refer to as the war room. “What was that about?” Natasha asks hesitantly.

“Management is a little confused about whether to allow me my fractured memories,” James says smoothly. “But we’ve reached an accord. It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

Natasha suspects that she definitely needs to worry about it, but she sets it aside for now. They have a mission, and that’s what she needs to focus on. “I understand,” she says neutrally.

“We have a meeting that we want to have eyes on,” James says. “That’s your role. You need to get into the meeting and get the information.”

“Who’s in the meeting?” Natasha asks.

James hesitates. “Howard Stark, the President of the United States, and the leader of the European Union.”

Natasha blinks. “That’s it?”

James nods. “You will need to find a reason to be in the room, and plant the bug. We have one we believe the opposite side will not be able to detect.”

An impossible task is usually the precursor to a quiet assassination, and Natasha swallows hard. “I see.”

“Relax, Natasha,” James says with an assured grin. “We will get this done and come home covered in glory, yes?”

They really don’t have any other choice. If they don’t succeed, they will likely not survive. “Yes.”

“That’s the spirit,” James replies, and then he reaches out and puts a hand over hers. It’s the first kind touch that Natasha remembers receiving, and she can’t sense an ulterior motive. It’s just kind.

“I’m going to take care of you,” James says. “And you’re going to take care of me, and we’re going to be just fine.”

Natasha believes him, and her faith isn’t misplaced. James takes care of her right up until he meets his end.

Now

Tony takes the incoming call and grins at Steve. “Hey, you. Where are you?”

He’s kept his hair and beard the same length, and he’s wearing a black uniform with an American flag patch on the shoulder. Steve looks good, no more dark circles under his eyes, looking squeaky clean. “We’re in Germany, but we’re staging to enter—“

“Steve! He’s not read in!” Sam shouts from off-screen.

“It’s Tony!” Steve calls back. “And I’m pretty sure that Bruce is!”

“It’s a secure line,” Tony offers.

Steve rolls his eyes. “They’re too focused on ‘needs to know.’”

Sam’s face appears on camera. “Because there are people who need to know, and people who don’t!” He sounds exasperated. “Steve.”

“I’m making shit for you guys,” Tony says. “Actual fucking toys. If I know where you are, I can make better toys.”

Sam stops and then shrugs. “You know what? Whatever. You still in Mexico with Banner?”

“Still completely divorced from any human contact other than Bruce, yes,” Tony confirms.

“You’re still talking to us,” Steve points out.

Tony grins at him. “You don’t count. I know full well that if I didn’t call you and Nat, you’d be down here in a heartbeat.”

“Good, I’m glad you understand that,” Steve replies. “Is Bruce looking after you?”

Tony frowns. “I’m fully capable of looking after myself, you know.”

“I never said you weren’t,” Steve replies. “But I’ve been looking after you for a long time now.”

Tony has to acknowledge the truth of that. Steve has been his protector for more than two decades. “He’s been feeding me anyway.”

“Anything else?” Steve asks with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

Tony snorts. “We’re taking things slowly.”

“But there’s something there?” Steve presses, leaning closer to the camera.

“There’s something there,” Tony confirms. “It’s been good, Steve. We’re doing good work. Bruce has about six different things, all of them focused on environmental and humanitarian efforts.”

For the first time in his life, Tony wakes up in the morning, and he doesn’t feel a sense of dread. Sometimes, he sleeps in his own bed, other times he uses Bruce as a teddy bear, but Bruce doesn’t seem to mind. They’ll walk along the beach to get the juices flowing, and then work on various projects. In the afternoon, they’ll take a swim, and Tony has really taken to swimming.

If Tony spent the rest of his life like this, he’d be just fine. He’d be more than fine.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Steve says. “I think you’ve put some weight on.”

“You calling me fat?” Tony asks in mock outrage.

“I’m saying that you look good, happy,” Steve says.

“Steve! We have to go!” Sam calls.

“You heard that?” Steve asks.

Tony nods. “I did. I’ll have something for you by the time you’re back.”

“I look forward to it,” Steve replies. “Tell Bruce I said hi.”

His image winks out, and Tony stretches, then scrubs his hands over his face. He does have a plan for a few toys, as well as new uniforms for Steve and Natasha, something protective that makes it clear who they are, but doesn’t step on the others’ toes.

Bruce wanders into the lab, and he’s big and green. “Hey, is the coast clear?”

“I wouldn’t have minded if you came in while I was talking to Steve,” Tony replies, turning to face him. “Sam was in the background on his end.”

“I wanted to give you your privacy,” Bruce replies, handing Tony a cup of coffee. “We’re living in close quarters here.”

Tony frowns. “Do you mind?”

Bruce scoffs. “Are you kidding? I think we’ve gotten three times as much done together, and it’s great having you here. Are you getting antsy? We can get away.”

Tony shakes his head. He’s learned enough to know that the Tony Stark in this universe had been instantly recognizable, a celebrity. He doesn’t want to be inundated with attention; it would feel too much like before, when he’d trailed behind his dad.

“But I don’t want to keep you here if you have other places to be,” Tony offers.

Bruce chuckles. “You know, maybe we should both just stop assuming. You tell me if you’re not happy, or if you want to go somewhere else, and I’ll do the same.”

Tony glances away, but he feels the smile breaking out. “Yeah, fair. When I was a kid—hell, even after I was a grown-ass man—my dad would trot me out like a show pony to demonstrate that the line of succession was secure. I get the feeling that the Tony Stark in this universe had an intense level of scrutiny.”

Bruce grimaces. “You would be correct. And I can’t say you wouldn’t face the same level of interest, especially with the whole parallel universe thing.”

Tony shrugs. “Then I am quite happy to live on the beach and work with you.”

Bruce changes to his non-green form, and sits on the stool next to Tony. “We should probably talk about this.”

“I thought we were getting along pretty well,” Tony protests weakly.

“We are,” Bruce says, and puts a hand on Tony’s knee. “Better than well. But I think there’s more that could be here, and I think we should talk about it. I failed to do that in the past, and I have some regrets.”

Tony sucks in a breath. “Okay…”

“I loved my version, and losing him gutted me,” Bruce says bluntly. “And you’re not the same man, but I really like you. I think there could be more than just friendship, and I’d like there to be, but I can live with a no.”

“Wow, look at you and your stellar communication skills,” Tony mutters.

Bruce smiles. “Your turn.”

“I loved my version, and losing him gutted me, etc.,” Tony replies. “You said it better than I could.”

Bruce hooks a foot around the leg of Tony’s rolling stool and pulls him close. “What do you want to have happen from here?”

“I really want you to kiss me,” Tony confesses.

Bruce reaches out, wrapping a hand around the back of Tony’s neck, and pulling him close. His lips are soft, and maybe slightly chapped, and Tony deepens the kiss, putting an arm around Bruce’s shoulders.

When they break the kiss, Tony drops his forehead against Bruce’s shoulder. “Oh, god.”

“Good? Bad? Something in between?” Bruce asks, holding him close.

“Great,” Tony replies. “But I definitely want more.”

Bruce laughs and rubs his hand up and down Tony’s back. “Yeah, so do I. We can take a break. We’re actually well ahead for where I told Pepper we would be.”

“Let’s make a deal not to discuss her when we’re talking about us,” Tony says plaintively.

“Fair,” he replies, and rubs a hand over Tony’s short hair. “And it’s a deal.”

“I hate to say it, but I’d like to take things slow,” Tony admits. “I want it to be something that lasts.”

“So would I,” Bruce says. “Okay. We’re on the same page. Let’s make out for a while and then go for a swim, maybe work on the toys for a bit.”

“It’s like you get me,” Tony jokes. “But seriously, thank you.”

They don’t leave the lab, though, slotting their legs together and staying on their respective stools. Tony figures that if they move somewhere else, they’ll probably end up not moving slowly.

Still, it’s pleasant to just make out like teenagers, Bruce’s arms around his back, Tony’s arms looped around Bruce’s neck. Then Bruce begins kissing his way down Tony’s neck, and Tony tips his head to give Bruce better access.

It’s hot, it’s unhurried, and Tony puts a hand under Bruce’s shirt to touch the bare skin of his back.

Bruce hums and then begins kneading Tony’s shoulders.

Tony leans into Bruce, strong hands digging into knots that Tony didn’t even know he had.

“Turn around,” Bruce orders. “I’m going to work on your shoulders.”

Tony has no problem with that, and he quickly turns. Bruce digs the heels of his hands into the spaces between Tony’s neck and shoulder blades, and Tony’s head drops.

Bruce’s hands are warm and hard, and Tony feels his muscles uncoil under his ministrations. Steve and Natasha had done that for him in the past when he had a knot, but Tony thought he was relaxed.

But Tony has clearly been carrying some tension, and Bruce is taking care of it admirably.

“Is this okay?” Bruce asks.

“Please don’t stop,” Tony says.

Bruce kisses the back of his neck. “Well, this is no hardship at all. And I think some time in the sun will help, too.”

He keeps working, kneading the muscles of Tony’s neck and shoulders, and Tony mutters. “You’re a genius.”

“True,” Bruce replies, clearly amused. “But you’ve always been the one who’s been good with your hands.”

“And I am, but you’re just as good,” Tony replies.

“At least at this,” Bruce says. “Come on, we’ll go hang out on the beach for a bit.”

Bruce insists on sunblock, but they spread out towels next to each other and then just stretch out, hands joined, under the hot sun. Tony closes his eyes and asks, “What do you think about the uniforms?”

“I think they’re good,” Bruce says. “Do you have some thoughts about your own?”

“Maybe,” Tony says. “I like the red and gold, but maybe something a little different will help. I don’t want anyone to think that I’m the same person.”

“You could do red and black with gold accents,” Bruce suggests. “I know that Steve’s uniform has more black in it.”

“Black with red and blue accents, plus some silver,” Tony admits. “Natasha’s is black with some red accents.”

“So, that will set the three of you apart,” Bruce says. “I’m not saying I’m great with design, but I’m happy to offer opinions if you want them.”

Tony puts his hands behind his head. “Yeah, I’d take them. Thank you.”

Bruce props himself up on his elbow. “What do you need that you don’t have?”

Tony takes a deep breath and really thinks about the question. “I would really like to do something more physical.”

“I probably can’t arrange for sparring,” Bruce begins, “but we could try surfing. I’ve done it a few times, and I could probably find a private instructor if that interests you.”

Tony isn’t sure that he wants anyone to intrude on their retreat, but he kind of does want to learn to surf now that he’s started to master swimming. He’d never even dreamed he’d have the chance before.

“If they’re discreet,” Tony replies. “Or we could just muddle through on our own. What’s that website you showed me with all the instructional videos?”

Bruce chuckles. “YouTube. And I have surf boards, so we can give it a shot, but we can always hire an instructor if we need one.”

“And I think we should get a dog,” Tony says. “You liked Lucky, and I’ve never had a pet.”

Bruce laughs out loud at that. “Right. Did you ever ask your parents for one?”

Tony shakes his head. “No, I knew what their answer would be, and it would have pissed off my dad. I had to pick my battles carefully, and having a pet was not one of those.”

“I’m sorry,” Bruce offers. “That sounds like it was a difficult relationship.”

“Was it better here? Do you know?” Tony asks.

Bruce lies back down, his hands behind his head, looking like a big, green mountain. “I don’t know if it was better or worse, but from what he said, his relationship with his father was difficult. I know he loved his mom, but he didn’t talk about her as much.”

“My mom was a drunk,” Tony says bluntly. “And an embarrassing one, if I’m being honest. It’s one of the reasons I’m careful about how much I drink.”

“I’m a little relieved to hear that, to be honest,” Bruce replies.

Tony puts a hand on Bruce’s arm. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Bruce replies. “You want to go swimming?”

“Yeah, I do,” Tony says. “I wouldn’t mind cooling off.”

Tony honestly doesn’t know how he’d gone his entire life without experiencing the ocean. You can’t miss what you’ve never had, and Tony knows that, but the pleasure of swimming out against the current in clean water, body surfing back in, and then doing it all over again…

He does it until he’s exhausted, and then he and Bruce sit on the shore, towels around their shoulders, watching as the sun slowly descends below the horizon.

“You know, as first dates go, pretty sure this was my best ever,” Bruce says.

Tony laughs. “Oh, this was definitely my best first date, not that I’ve had many.”

“Are we at that place where we talk about prior sexual histories?” Bruce jokes.

“Well, you know about Steve, and that’s pretty much my most consequential relationship,” Tony replies. “Otherwise, a lot of one-night stands. You?”

Bruce hesitates. “One long-term girlfriend, a few brief encounters, a somewhat torrid on and off affair with the other version of you, and—a brief flirtation with this Natasha.”

Tony blinks. “You and— Is she that much different?”

“Not that much,” Bruce admits slowly. “It was—ill-advised.”

Tony snorts. “That’s one word for it.”

“And you and other me?” Bruce asks.

“That was the one time I thought I might have a partner,” Tony admits. “I thought I had the most comfort I could have in the world.” Bruce slings an arm over Tony’s shoulders, and Tony leans in close. “But I have that comfort now.”

“Me, too,” Bruce says. “Thanks.”

Then

Tony steps out in front of the crowd as expected, and he raises his hand to acknowledge the accolades. They aren’t cheering for him, and he’s well aware of that. They’re cheering the fact that there’s another Stark to make weapons of mass destruction.

They’re providing a demonstration on their new weapons, which mostly involve a lot of talk about building bigger and better nukes. They can’t test them, for obvious reasons, so it’s essentially conjecture.

It’s all hype, and then Tony talks about the science behind it, and why the current delivery system is going to be a bigger payload than their previous nukes.

He thinks it’s bullshit, but his dad is going to take him to task about his attitude later if he doesn’t sell it, so Tony does his best to sound enthusiastic.

“Stark Industries is ensuring that our future is secure, and that we have the means of protecting ourselves against any eventuality,” Tony says, and he knows he’s lying through his teeth.

Two nuclear strikes and climate change, which SI is refusing to deal with, are going to take them out sooner and faster than the Russians. SI has no response to what’s probably going to kill them all, but his dad’s only concern is weapons, so Tony does the dance and sings the song, and he smiles his fake smile.

He raises a hand when he finishes his speech and gets another round of applause from the auditorium. The spotlight makes it difficult to see how many people are there, but he thinks it’s only half full.

His dad at least nods at him as Tony makes his way back to his seat while the head of Ukraine’s military makes their way to the podium to talk about their defenses. His mom just offers her usual brittle smile, and Tony tunes out the next speech in favor of thinking about creating better body armor for soldiers.

When the speeches are over, Tony follows his parents and the rest of their entourage out the back door and into the Hummers.

Ukraine is considered to be on the frontier, and has only recently been liberated, so they have a full security detail while they’re in the country. Tony really doesn’t want to face a critique of his performance from his dad—or at least would like to put it off as long as possible—so he climbs in the vehicle with several young Marines.

What happens next—well, some of it is clear, but a lot of it is jumbled. He’s joking around with the soldiers, talking about his efforts to save lives, and then there’s an explosion.

He’ll barely remember how he got out of the vehicle, unless it’s in dreams or flashbacks, but he will remember seeing his mother’s lifeless body, body parts flying, blood and brain matter and other things.

That’s where his memory ends, because a bomb goes off near him. After that, his memories are even more fractured. He wakes up partially a few times, usually in pain, and he doesn’t like what he sees when he fully wakes.

It feels like an elephant is sitting on his chest, and he looks down to see bandages and wires leading out to what looks like a car battery. They had apparently cut his suit off him, because he’s wearing a pair of loose pants he’s never seen before, and a hoodie.

That’s bad enough, but he’s also in some kind of warehouse, and he’s very sure that he’s in a human sized cage.

It’s maybe five feet by four feet, and four feet high. Tony can’t stand up or even stretch out. At best, he can curl up on a thin pallet on the concrete floor, or sit, but that’s it.

As soon as he starts moving, a man comes into the room, salt and pepper beard down to his belly, which is substantial. He’s wearing a uniform of sorts—olive green cargo pants, black t-shirt, and an olive green shirt jacket.

“Ah, and here is our illustrious guest, Mr. Tony Stark!” he says with a heavy Russian accent.

“What did you do to me?” Tony croaks, his throat dry. “What is this?”

“We saved your life,” the man replies with a gleam in his eyes. “Our doctor is a genius, no? You have shrapnel, and now the shrapnel will not go into your heart and kill you.”

Tony takes a breath. He’s pretty sure if the doctor were a genius, they would have been able to remove the shrapnel, but instead it looks like someone had drilled a hole through his sternum, put in an electromagnet, and hooked it up to a car battery.

It’s a fucking nightmare, but Tony hasn’t gotten this far in life by arguing with someone who holds the power of life and death over him. “Definitely a genius.”

“You are going to be our golden goose, the way you were your daddy’s golden goose, yes?”

Tony has absolutely no idea what the man is talking about, but there’s one thing he does know. Steve will be coming for him. Tony just has to stay alive long enough for Steve to find him.

“Yeah, sure,” Tony says. “Whatever you want.”

“I was in the audience yesterday,” the man says. “I am Viktor, and that is all you need to know. I do not want a nuclear bomb. I want a bomb that would destroy Ukrainian headquarters.”

Tony realizes that Viktor is probably part of the group that wants Ukraine to return to the Soviet Union, and is looking to destroy the tentative government that had formed when they broke away two years ago. He knows that he can’t make what Viktor wants, but also that he needs to make it look like he’s playing ball.

He’s used to looking as though he’s going along with things, even when he isn’t, so he says, “Sure, yeah, of course.”

Viktor glares at him suspiciously. “Americans do not listen to authority. Everyone knows this.”

“If you’d lived with my dad for the last thirty years, you’d understand,” Tony replies.

Viktor belts out a laugh. “Ah, yes, my father was the same. So, you do what I ask?”

“Yeah, of course,” Tony repeats, although he’s lying through his teeth. Depending on what resources they provide, Tony might be able to build something that will get him out of this mess.

He needs to figure out a way to survive, and a way to escape. He can’t go around with a car battery attached to his chest forever. He has to find a way to detach from the battery, and to survive until Steve can find him.

“There will be guards all the time,” Viktor warns him. “If you do something I don’t like, they will shoot you in the head. Do you understand?”

“I do,” Tony replies, hoping he can manage to hide what he’s doing from the guards. “Can I get some pain medication?”

“You have pain?” Viktor asks. “Ah, you would. I will have someone bring you something.” As he leaves, he calls, “Work begins tomorrow.”

It takes a while, but eventually one of the guards brings Tony a couple of pills and a bottle of water. Tony palms the pills and drinks the water. “Thank you.”

The guard grunts and walks away without checking to be sure that Tony has actually taken the pills.

Tony can live with the pain, at least for right now, but he wants an exit strategy for the possibility that Steve doesn’t find him. Or for the possibility that Steve doesn’t find him in time.

Viktor wants one of the bombs they had demonstrated the previous day, and Tony doesn’t know if he can build one. He has to face the possibility that they could torture him, or that the only way to get out of building the bomb would be to remove himself from the equation.

It’s not the first time that Tony has contemplated suicide, but it is the first time he’s had a plan for it. Assuming they keep bringing pain medication—and it’s a safe bet, because as long as Tony appears to be cooperating, they’ll want to keep him happy—he’ll have what he needs.

Tony stretches out on the thin pallet that covers the floor of the cage, at least as much as he can. He finds it difficult to sleep, between the discomfort of his surroundings and the pain in his chest. He finally drifts into a restless doze, and soon wakes from a nightmare of watching his mother’s body flying through the air.

He can see one window from his cage, and it’s probably twenty feet above the ground, but it’s still enough for Tony to see the passage of time, the small square of sky going from dark to light.

When dawn finally comes, so does a guard, passing him a mug of strong, black coffee and a hard roll through the bars, along with another couple of pills. Tony palms the pills again, drinks the coffee, and eats the roll.

At that point, the guard unlocks the door of the cage, and Tony manages to crawl out, dragging the car battery after him. Outside, Tony can get a better view of the room. There are dozens of boxes with the Stark Industries logo splashed over them, a work bench and welding equipment, and other tools.

Three more guards enter the large room, followed by Viktor. “Are you ready to get to work, Mr. Stark?”

“It looks like you have a lot of our weapons already,” Tony says.

Viktor shakes his head. “I thought you would argue eventually.”

“I’m not arguing!” Tony protests, holding up the hand that isn’t holding the car battery. “But if I’m going to make a bomb to order, I’d like to have the specifics. It’s no good to build something that won’t get the job done.”

Viktor gives him a hard look, but then seems to take Tony’s words at face value. “Very well. I want the cluster bomb. There must be no one left.”

Tony knows which bomb Viktor is referring to, and it’s one that has a series of cascading explosions. It’s also one of the most complex weapons that Stark Industries makes, designed to utterly decimate a target.

In Tony’s mind, it’s a weapon that should never be used.

“How long will it take you to build?” Viktor asks when Tony doesn’t say anything.

Tony does some mental math, thinking about the components he would need, and how long it would take to break down the weapons and build another. “Two weeks,” he replies. “It’s a very complicated device.”

He’s already starting to think through the possibilities. Tony can build an power supply to replace the car battery, and he can build a non-working model of the bomb. It will look real, but that’s about it.

Two weeks should give Steve enough time to find him.

Viktor frowns, but reluctantly nods. “You have two weeks, no more.” He waves one of the guards forward. “Anatol speaks English. He will be another set of hands for you.”

That’s not great for Tony, who doesn’t need someone looking over his shoulder, but he’ll just have to spin a story. If Anatol is a complete idiot, Tony might be able to convince him that the device is necessary for the weapon.

“Right, great, happy to have the help,” Tony lies with a smile.

Anatol is young, maybe twenty, and he turns out to be pretty good with his hands. He helps Tony open the crates, and Tony shows him how to dismantle two missiles, taking apart the components, including the palladium. That’s going to form the core of his new device, and Tony thinks he can probably create the housing from spare missile parts.

It won’t be perfect, but Tony doesn’t need perfect. He needs to survive. He can perfect it later, once he’s out of here.

For the next several days, they dismantle missiles and take apart the components, with Tony setting aside the parts he’ll need to build the new device, and beginning to create the housing for his fake bomb.

They aren’t feeding him much—a roll for breakfast, a bowl of thin soup for lunch, and the same for dinner, To be fair, it doesn’t appear that the others are eating much better, so Tony doesn’t say anything. At least they still have coffee, even if Tony suspects that it’s instant espresso.

A week in, Viktor can at least see the makings of the bomb he requested, and so he seems satisfied. Tony has his power supply completed, but no real way to replace the device in his chest, not with Anatol always at his side, and Tony locked away in the cage at night.

Then, on day eight, Anatol says out of the blue, “I will help you replace the car battery if you wish. I have told my uncle that the work will go faster without it.”

Tony blinks. “You—“

“I knew,” Anatol says simply. “But what man wouldn’t do the same? You have been building what he asked of you.”

Anatol is clearly far more intelligent than Tony had been giving him credit for, and he’s grateful for the complexity of the bomb. If one thing goes wrong, it will fizzle.

And no one knows how this bomb works other than him and Howard Stark.

“I’d appreciate your help,” Tony replies. “Viktor is your uncle?”

Anatol nods. “I have also told him that keeping you here is foolish. You have people coming for you.”

“I hope that’s true,” Tony says neutrally, not wanting to give anything away.

Anatol snorts. “I have seen the videos of the man you call Captain America. He is your friend?”

“He is,” Tony replies.

“Then he is coming,” Anatol says simply. “And I hope that when that happens, you will not let him kill me.”

Tony takes a breath. “It’s a deal.”

Anatol has been a decent assistant, although almost entirely silent for the last week, but Tony is feeling a little more optimistic about his circumstances. His words mean a lot to Tony.

With Anatol’s help, Tony disconnects the car battery and removes the electromagnet. Anatol helps him seat the new device in its housing, and Tony hisses in pain.

“You haven’t been taking your pain medication,” Anatol says quietly.

Tony shakes his head. “It dulls the senses.”

Anatol gives him a look, clearly reminding Tony that he isn’t an idiot.

Tony just shrugs.

It’s on day ten that the fake bomb really looks like it’s taking shape when an explosion shakes the building. Anatol shoves Tony under the workbench. “Remember our deal.”

“Yeah, I got that, but what happens when someone comes in here to kill us?” Tony mutters.

The next explosion is a lot closer, and Anatol says, “Stay here. I’ll guard the door.”

“If you go out there, there’s a good chance you’ll get killed,” Tony argues. “Stay here, where it’s at least marginally safer.”

Anatol shakes his head. “I’ll be fine. But if you die, we all die, and I am not interested in losing my life due to my uncle’s foolishness.”

Tony can’t stop him as Anatol runs to the door and walks through. He stays under the work bench and wishes he had a suit of armor. He wishes he had the time and resources to build a suit of armor.

He feels like a coward, but he also wants to live, and putting himself into the line of fire without any kind of protection seems like a really dumb idea.

The work bench is bolted to the floor, or Tony would tip it over, but instead he just waits.

Eventually, the doors burst open, and Steve walks through like an avenging angel. He’s wearing the dark blue uniform, the one with the silver star and stripes on the chest, and he has his shield in one hand and a pistol in the other.

“Tony!”

“I’m here,” Tony says. “Where’s Anatol?”

“If you mean the kid on the door who told me where to find you, he’s being taken into custody,” Steve replies, offering Tony a hand. “What the fuck happened to you?”

“I got blown up, and they stuck an electromagnet in my chest,” Tony replies. “This is actually an improvement, if you can believe it.”

Steve pulls him into a hug, and Tony returns it gratefully. “I knew you would find me,” Tony adds.

“It was never in doubt,” Steve replies. “I’m just sorry it took me so long.”

“I bargained for two weeks. So, I figure you’re right on time. Where’s Natasha?” Tony asks, looking around.

Steve huffs. “She got the information about where you were being held, but they wouldn’t let her be part of the rescue mission for some stupid fucking reason. I didn’t take the time to argue. I just wanted to get to you.”

Steve keeps an arm around his shoulders as they leave the room, but Tony stops short when he sees the bodies in the hall. “What the hell is going on here?” Steve barks. “I told you we were taking prisoners for interrogation.”

Tony kneels next to one of the bodies, turning it over to see Anatol’s wide, unseeing blue eyes. “Fuck,” Tony says, and he closes the eyelids. “He helped me. He was protecting me, you fucking assholes. I told him I’d do the same in return.”

“He was part of the group who killed Mr. Stark,” one of the soldiers protested.

Steve grabs the man by the front of his uniform and lifts him off the ground. “And I gave you an order to take prisoners. They had surrendered, and we were going to question them. You can’t question a dead man! You’re on report for disobeying a direct order.” He drops the solider and puts a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Come on. We need to get you looked at.”

Tony has a sick feeling, but there’s nothing else to do here. The enemy is dead, and he’s been rescued, but it doesn’t feel good.

“Come on,” Steve repeats. “We’ll get you taken care of.”

And now, of course, Tony has to figure out how to move on without his parents, with a hole in his chest that’s more than just physical.

At least he still has Steve and Natasha.

Now

Natasha knows that the best way to lure in a man who thinks he’s big and strong is to appear to be a damsel in distress. So, when she walks into the bar, she orders a drink and sits at the bar, affecting a mournful expression. She can see her mark sitting at a table with a group of other men, but she only looks at them out of the corner of her eye.

The last thing Natasha wants is for them to think that she’s targeting them.

Instead, she sits and slowly sips, stirring her drink desultorily in between. She doesn’t think it will take long, and she’s right. About five minutes later, their mark takes the seat next to Natasha.

“Such a beautiful woman should not look so sad,” he says in Serbian. “Let me buy you another drink so you can drown your sorrows.”

Natasha glances over, pretending to be shy. “I’m really fine.”

“You do not appear to be ‘fine,’” he replies.

“I don’t normally accept drinks from strangers,” Natasha counters.

He holds out a hand. “I am Goran Nikolic. There, you see? We are no longer strangers.”

Natasha shakes his hand. “Natalia Ilic.”

Normally, she would have deep background set up, but there had been no time, and so she simply chooses one of the most common Serbian surnames. Even if Goran tries to track her down, he’ll have a problem since there are probably a thousand Natalia Ilics.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful woman,” Goran says. He probably thinks he’s smooth, but as far as Natasha is concerned, he’s young and brash. He’s vaguely attractive, with dark hair and green eyes, but his features are coarse, and he’s also a terrorist.

Natasha glances away flirtatiously, acting bashful. “Oh, please.”

“You own a mirror, I’m sure,” Goran replies. “You are beautiful. Come join me and my friends. You don’t need to sit alone.”

That’s even better than what she hoped for, and although she pretends reluctance, saying that she doesn’t want to intrude. Goran insists that it’s not an intrusion, and Natasha joins them.

The entire group welcomes Natasha to the table, and they quickly make introductions. There are five men in total, and Natasha soon has their names. All five are Serbian, and two are Goran’s cousins—Bogdan and Milos Nikolic, both older than Goran. The other two are Milan Anic and Dragon Filipovic.

Natasha knows that James is taking notes, and that they’ll be researching the names. They ask Natasha a few questions about where she grew up and what she does for a living, and Natasha uses the answers she’d given when working undercover in that other life.

The men don’t seem to have much interest in her on a personal basis, though, after those few desultory questions. Instead, the conversation goes back to their dislike of the current government.

Natasha doesn’t need to do much other than sit and look pretty, and occasionally make a comment, egging the men on. There are patterns emerging, likely without them being aware of it.

By the time the bartender issues the last call, Natasha has phone numbers for all five men, and she’s given them the phone number of the burner phone that James provided.

Natasha turns down the offers for an escort home, claiming to be parked around the corner, and then makes her way to the sniper’s nest. “I have your back,” James says in her ear. “I’ll make sure you’re not followed.”

Natasha just nods, not wanting to give anyone watching the idea that she’s talking to someone—or that she’s talking to herself.

James slips inside a few minutes later, quickly storing his sniper rifle, and turning to look at her. “We got some good information.”

“We did,” Natasha agrees. “Probably more information than they thought they were providing.”

“We suspected that they were dissatisfied with the current government,” James says, sitting down next to her on the mattress.

Natasha shrugs. “Many people are unhappy without becoming terrorists.”

“Not these guys, apparently,” James replies. “A couple more encounters like this one, and we’ll have enough information for the authorities to shut it down.”

Natasha stretches out on the bed, and James props himself up on an elbow. “How did you feel about it?” he asks.

Natasha takes a deep breath. “I felt fine. The work has always been easy for me. I was trained in such a way that it would be, and tonight was merely playing the damsel in distress.”

She pauses. “But it felt good to have you in my ear again.”

“I always thought it would be fun to work together,” James replies, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Did it live up to your expectations?” Natasha asks, and now her tone is sincerely flirtatious.

“More than,” James replies. “You’re very good in the field.”

“As I said, I was trained from a very early age,” Natasha says. She isn’t proud of her training and abilities, but she isn’t not proud either. It’s just a fact about who and what she is.

James stretches out next to her, his head close to hers, and he rests his hand on her hip. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” Natasha replies. “We should probably sleep.”

“I’ll be right here,” James replies.

And that is the greatest comfort Natasha can have.

The next few days bring back some of Natasha’s most cherished memories of working with James, before Yelena’s betrayal. Even when they’re not physically together, James’ voice is in her ear as Natasha works on Goran. She drops comments about the current government, and gets long rants in return.

By the end of the week, Natasha has a very good idea of who is involved in the ring, and she’s confirmed that there is no formal structure. It’s basically a group of loosely related people with violent tendencies and a lot of anger at the current status quo.

“Do you know how many attacks these assholes have carried out?” James grumbles as they head for the extraction point. “And they’re basically a bunch of layabouts.”

“With violent tendencies,” Natasha adds. “And you don’t have to be a criminal mastermind to build a pipe bomb and stick it somewhere, although I think the chances of them blowing themselves up is pretty high.”

James snorts at that. “Okay, fair. Well, they’ll all be arrested in a couple of days, so we can take a breather at the complex.”

“Do you live there normally?” Natasha asks as they stand in the field where the Quinjet is due to pick them up.

James shakes his head. “No, but I gave up my apartment after a really long mission, so I’m kind of in between places at the moment. Why do you ask?”

Natasha shrugs. “I didn’t want you to feel forced to stay there just because I’m there.”

James gives her a look, and then grins at her. “First off, I’d like to see you try to force me to do anything.”

Natasha knows a challenge when she hears one. “Do you want to make a bet?”

His grin widens, blue eyes bright with humor. “Sure. We’ll figure it out in the training room. Twenty bucks I win.”

“I don’t have twenty bucks,” Natasha replies. “But I’ll bet you a favor, to be cashed in later.”

James appears to be considering the offer. “Deal.”

“You said first off,” Natasha says, already making a plan for when she wins. “What’s second?”

“Being with you is not something I would ever need to be forced to do,” James replies.

Natasha is charmed, and is saved from having to find a response with the arrival of the Quinjet. It’s Agent Osbourne piloting again, and he calls out a cheerful hello. “I appreciate the extended visit in Brussels, Sergeant Barnes. Gorgeous city and beautiful food.”

“So, we were working hard, and you were eating waffles?” James teases.

“It’s the life of a SABER agent, sir,” Osbourne replies cheerfully. “In between the moments of terror, there’s a lot of downtime.”

James nods. “I hear that.”

“I heard you were your typical badass self, Agent Romanoff,” Osbourne adds. “Info that’s going to lead to a dozen arrests? That’s pretty great for a week’s work.”

Natasha smiles. “Thank you.” She knows that she’s riding on the back of her counterpart’s reputation, but she did get a lot of information in a very short period of time.

“Since you’re well rested, I won’t offer to pilot,” James says.

“Nah, feel free to nap all you want, and I did pack a couple of sandwiches,” Osbourne says. “They’re in the cooler if you’re hungry.”

Natasha’s stomach growls. “I’m starving.”

James immediately goes to the cooler and pulls out a wrapped sandwich, handing it to Natasha, along with a bag of potato chips and a bottle of water. “Don’t lie, Osbourne. There are six sandwiches in here.”

“Spying is hungry work, sir,” Osbourne replies. “Besides, I heard through the grapevine that Rogers could eat his weight in food, and I know it can be tough to get regular meals when you’re on the job.”

Natasha is already tearing into the sandwich, and she groans. “Oh, my god, this is good.”

It’s just ham, butter, and cheese on chewy bread, but everything is high quality.

“Quality ingredients make a good sandwich,” Osbourne replies cheerfully. “All I ask is that you leave one for me.”

“Maybe,” Natasha says between bites. “Depends on how hungry I am.”

Osbourne laughs. “Fair. I did spend the last week eating my weight in waffles.”

She finishes her sandwich and then rips into the potato chips. Natasha can’t remember the last time she had good chips, and these are really good.

James is watching her with an amused smile, and Natasha asks, “What?”

“You do realize that the way you eat food is a little bit pornographic?” James asks.

“You try going years without decent food and not get a little hot and bothered when you get really good stuff,” Natasha says mildly. She refuses to apologize for enjoying food or hot water, or any of the other luxuries that so many take for granted.

James’ expression softens, and he admits, “Maybe I’ve just forgotten that transition, when I started being able to enjoy things again.”

“I don’t plan to forget,” Natasha replies. She will never forget where she’s come from. After all, those who forget the past are doomed to repeat the same mistakes.

And Natasha tries not to make the same mistake twice.

It’s a long flight, and with a full stomach, Natasha finds it easy to nap, stretched out on the bench of the Quinjet. She had been up late and awake early their entire time in Belgrade, so she’s eager to get caught up on sleep.

When they land at the compound, the sun is beginning to set, and Natasha is feeling refreshed, although she’s ready for a hot shower. “Thanks for the ride, Agent Osbourne,” James says as they deplane.

“Always a pleasure, Sergeant Barnes,” Osbourne replies. “You as well, Agent Romanoff.”

“Thank you,” Natasha echoes.

“So, sparring or shower?” James asks as they head inside.

Natasha considers the question. She’s rested, and they’ve been cooped up in the Quinjet for hours. Besides, she and James haven’t sparred for a week. “Sparring,” Natasha says. “We have a bet on.”

James grins. “See you there.”

Natasha drops her bag in her quarters and changes into a pair of leggings and a t-shirt. She puts on a pair of tennis shoes and heads for the training room, where James is waiting.

“Weapon of choice?” James asks.

Natasha holds out her empty hands, then crooks her fingers in invitation. James nods and then strikes without warning, which she appreciates. She would hate to beat him just because he’s holding back.

She blocks the punch and strikes out at James’ knee. He flips backward to avoid her, but that opens him up to Natasha’s signature move. She waits until he’s just found his feet, and then launches herself at James, legs wrapping around his neck.

James grunts as Natasha uses the momentum to bring him down to the floor, and he tries to buck her off, but Natasha refuses to budge, at least until he manages to get his left hand under her leg. That dislodges her, and Natasha kips up, avoiding James’ attack.

They break apart, just circling each other, and then Natasha renews her attack. She manages a strike to his side, and clips his jaw with a foot, but he manages to sweep her feet out from under her, and then he’s on top of her.

Natasha immediately rolls them over so that she’s on top, and she just stares into his eyes. “Should we call it a draw?” she asks.

“Depends on what you do next,” James replies, going still under her.

Natasha knows that what she wants to do is probably ill-advised, because her feelings are still complicated, and she probably doesn’t know this James well enough, but they’ve just spent the last week together.

She doesn’t want to wait any longer.

Natasha kisses him, burying her hands in his long hair, and his hands clutch her hips. It feels like coming home.

When they break off the kiss, James says, “I think we need to get a room.”

“We definitely need to get a room,” Natasha replies, sitting up. “I’m not interested in having an audience.”

She stands and offers him a hand up. James takes her help, and then he pulls her into a hug with gentle hands.

And that’s what Natasha has always appreciated about her relationship with James. There’s a pocket of gentleness in a world that is often brutal.

“Your quarters or mine?” James asks.

“Who has the bigger shower?” she counters.

James chuckles. “I think they’re the same size, but my quarters are closer.”

“Then I think we have our answer,” Natasha replies.

James leaves his right arm around her shoulders as they leave the training room, keeping her close, and Natasha leans into him.

It looks like going to Belgrade was the right call.

~~~~~

Bucky wakes up slowly, feeling boneless and sated. Natasha is curled up next to him, red hair loose around her face. He brushes her hair back, and she murmurs, “It’s too early.”

“I’m going to start the coffee,” Bucky replies, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder. “Take your time.”

He finds a clean pair of jeans and t-shirt, and then shoves his feet into his boots. Steve and Sam are already there, and Sam sets his mug down to give Bucky a hug. “Heard the mission was a success,” Sam says.

“Thanks to Natasha,” Bucky replies. “She was able to get a lot of the information we needed. What about you two? I heard you took a second mission.”

He accepts the hand that Steve holds out, and Steve says, “Yeah, we were able to rescue the hostages. It was a good time.”

Steve says that without an ounce of irony.

Bucky glances at Sam, who shrugs. “It turns out that two shields are better than one. We did have a good time.”

He pours a cup of coffee, and Steve asks, “How’s Natasha?”

Bucky isn’t sure how open they’re going to be about their relationship, so he just says neutrally, “Good.”

“I’d say a little better than good,” Natasha says as she strolls into the kitchen. “Steve.”

Steve hugs her hard, until her feet leave the ground. “You look like the cat that got the canary.”

Natasha lets out a throaty chuckle. “Mmm, that’s because I am.”

“We should give Tony a call today, see how he’s doing,” Steve suggests.

“I agree,” Natasha replies. “How was your mission?”

“We rescued the hostages, and the only casualties were the kidnappers,” Steve replies, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he releases her.

Bucky doesn’t think he ever saw either of them being so casually affectionate before, and it’s another reminder of the differences between their own world and the one they came from. Still, he’s happy to be the recipient of that affection, because Natasha pauses to kiss him on her way to the coffee pot.

“We should all train today,” Natasha suggests. “I could use the workout.”

Steve nods eagerly. “That sounds great.”

Bucky glances at Sam to get his reaction, and Sam shrugs. “Sure. I wouldn’t mind.”

“Anybody hungry?” Bucky asks. “I can scramble some eggs.”

“Sounds great,” Steve says easily. “Do you want help?”

Bucky gives him a look. “Can you cook?”

“No, but I have cracked a few eggs in my day,” Steve replies with a lopsided grin. “I can mostly manage to keep the shell out of the eggs.”

“The shells provide texture,” Bucky jokes.

Natasha and Sam both snort. “You’re not supposed to eat the shells, Bucky,” Sam says.

“I’m sure we’ll survive,” Bucky replies. “Go ahead and start cracking eggs, Steve.”

Steve gives him a goofy grin, and grabs the carton of eggs out of the fridge, tossing a package of breakfast sausage to Bucky, and Bucky knows that this isn’t his Steve, but it feels like he’s starting to get some of the magic back.

“So, how was Belgrade for you, Natasha?” Sam asks, making idle small talk.

Bucky gets a pan going for the sausages, and another for the eggs. “Steve, you want to toss me a stick of butter?”

Steve does just that, and they’re moving together like a well-oiled machine. Sam starts toasting bread once the eggs are in the pan, still asking questions about Belgrade, and a few about her past.

Sam is good at drawing people out, and keeping the conversation light even when broaching difficult topics. For her part, Natasha seems content to let them cook and create a plate for her.

Not that Bucky blames her. It’s nice to be taken care of, and he knows that better than most.

“We should call Tony next,” Steve suggests. “Save training for after our food settles.”

“Works for me,” Natasha replies.

They finish breakfast and wash up, and then Steve and Natasha go off to call Tony. They’ve just left the room when FRIDAY says, “Sergeant Barnes, Captain America, you have an incoming call from Colonel Rhodes.”

“Ah, hell,” Bucky mutters. They tried to reach Rhodes in the beginning, only to be told that he was incommunicado, and additional details had not been forthcoming. “Guess he’s heard the news.”

“We’ll take it in the small conference room, FRIDAY,” Sam says.

Bucky follows Sam to the nearby room with a feeling of trepidation. Rhodes has had the War Machine armor for a long time, and if anyone in the Avengers has seniority, it’s him.

“Put him on, FRIDAY,” Sam says, crossing his arms over his chest.

Bucky hangs back, as he usually does.

“Wilson, what the hell is going on?” Rhodes demands as soon as his picture appears. “I get back, and the next thing I know, someone is asking me how I feel about Tony returning.”

Sam’s posture doesn’t change. “We would have told you, but you weren’t available.”

“I was off-planet with Carol Danvers,” Rhodes says, scrubbing his hands over his face. “There were a few things I needed to take care of, and I was out of range.”

“So, now you know,” Sam replies. “We’re dealing with it.”

“Where is he?” Rhodes asks. “Pepper just said he’s with Banner.”

“They’re at that place they built in Mexico,” Sam says. “Ms. Potts didn’t want Morgan to get confused, and Stark wanted to stay out of the press. Mexico seemed like the perfect solution.”

Rhodes sighs. “Okay, that makes sense. I’ll call Banner next.”

“Natasha and Steve are on a call with Stark now,” Bucky inserts. “Maybe give it a little time.”

“How are they?” Rhodes asks, and in his tone there’s the commanding officer concerned for his troops—his friends.

“I can’t tell you anything about Stark,” Sam replies. “From what I’ve heard, he’s doing well. Steve was on a mission with me this last week to rescue some American hostages, and he was on his game, maybe even better than I remember.”

Rhodes’ eyes turn to Bucky, and he responds to the unspoken question. “Nat helped me with that terrorist ring in Belgrade. We brought the whole thing down, mostly due to her efforts. She’s just as good.”

“And Rogers is willing to take your lead?” Rhodes asks Sam.

Sam shrugs, his arms dropping from their defensive cross. “His stated position is that I’m this world’s Captain America, and he’s just here to support me. I haven’t seen any evidence to the contrary.”

“And Tony?” Rhodes asks.

“Best friends with Steve and Natasha,” Sam admits. “It’s a bit of a mindfuck. He didn’t know their version of Ms. Potts, if she even existed, and he hasn’t asked about you, so it’s possible he didn’t know another version of you either.”

“Could be that other-you was a dick, too,” Bucky says, seeing the quiet grief on Rhodes’ face and wanting to break the tension.

“Fuck you very much, Barnes,” Rhodes says, grief turning to irritation.

“I aim to please,” Bucky replies with what he knows is a shit-eating grin.

Rhodes shakes his head. “Look, I’m going to call Banner, maybe head down to Mexico if I can swing it, but I’ll be at the compound in a few days. Will you all be there?”

“Unless we get called out,” Bucky replies. “You know how it is.”

“I do,” Rhodes replies. “See you soon.”

His image winks out, and Bucky looks over at him. “What did you make of that?”

“Above my pay grade, Bucky,” Sam says wearily. “I have no idea.”

Bucky also feels as though he might not have all the pieces he needs to fully assess the situation, but Rhodes isn’t his problem to manage. He hopes that Banner and Stark are up to the task.

Still, as far as Bucky is concerned, it’s not his circus, not his monkeys.

“You think we should give Banner a heads up?” Sam asks.

Bucky shakes his head. “What good would that do? Bet you he’s on the phone with Banner right now. They’ll have to figure out how to deal with it.”

Sam sighs. “Fair point. You think we should call anyone else?”

“Who?” Bucky asks. “Everybody else was notified, or they’ve seen the President’s press conference. They know where to find us, as Rhodes just demonstrated. Aren’t you the one who usually says individuals have to manage their own emotional responses?”

Sam snorts. “I didn’t think you were listening.”

“I’m usually listening,” Bucky protests. “It’s just that I sometimes disregard what you say.”

“And yes, I have said that, and I agree that’s the situation here,” Sam finally says.

Bucky nudges Sam’s arm with his own. “Speaking of managing emotions, what was it like being out there with him?”

Sam shrugs. “You heard me.”

“That was a ringing endorsement of his skills, but doesn’t answer my question,” Bucky replies, propping his hip on the conference table.

Sam shakes his head. “We’d be humming along, and I’d almost forget that it’s not the same guy, and then something would come up, and I’d be reminded all over again.”

“Like what?” Bucky asks.

“The flight out there, Steve hit on our pilot,” Sam replies, and his arms are crossed again. “Flustered the guy like you wouldn’t believe.”

Bucky barks a laugh. “I’ll bet. What happened?”

“Steve got a ‘thanks, but no thanks,’ which he rolled with,” Sam says. “Clearly, no hard feelings, just a guy who was shooting his shot.”

“I saw a glimmer of that guy back when we were in London for some R&R,” Bucky admits. “About the time Peggy Carter didn’t give me a second look, and Steve actually showed some game.”

Sam laughs. “I never once saw Steve with any kind of game, but this guy has it. He probably has more game than the both of us put together.”

Bucky chooses not to point out that he clearly has more game, since he’s now with Natasha. “That, I’d like to see. We should take him out. You can be his wingman.”

“Why am I going to be his wingman?” Sam asks. “Shouldn’t that be you?”

Bucky straightens and grins at Sam. “You’re the one with wings, Sam.”

And with that parting shot, Bucky strolls out of the room, feeling quite pleased with himself.

~~~~~

There’s a chime, and Bruce leans back in his seat to see the computer screen. “Looks like there’s a call coming in from the complex, Tony. You at a stopping place?”

“Yeah, put it on,” Tony replies, rolling his stool across the room over to Bruce. He’s wearing a pair of jeans and a tank top, and Bruce can admit that he finds Tony’s arms just slightly distracting.

Maybe more than slightly.

Bruce accepts the call, and Steve and Natasha’s faces appear on the screen. “Hey, Tony,” Natasha says.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” Bruce says, pressing a hand on Tony’s shoulder and heading upstairs.

“You can stay,” Tony protests.

“I’ll just go see what we have for dinner,” Bruce replies. “Have fun catching up.”

Ever since coming down to Mexico, Bruce has alerts set up through FRIDAY, so he knows that Barnes and Natasha have recently returned from a mission, as have Sam and Steve. He’s sure they’ll have plenty to say to each other, and he wants to give them the opportunity to catch up.

Bruce is humming to himself, checking the contents of the fridge, when his phone chimes. There’s no caller ID, but Bruce knows there aren’t many people who have his number, and he prefers to block spam calls, so he answers it.

“Banner.”

“What the hell, Banner?” Rhodes’ face fills the small screen of his phone, and he looks absolutely furious.

Bruce frowns. “I don’t know why you’re angry with me. We tried to call you, but you were unreachable.”

“I was off planet with Danvers,” Rhodes says.

“That’s what I said: ‘unreachable,’” Bruce replies. “We didn’t have a return date, and there was no way to call you, and we tried. So, dial down the attitude about ten notches, please.”

Rhodes closes his eyes. “Right. You’re right. It was just—a shock. I get back to Earth, and I have about ten missed calls from Happy, Pepper, and the President, all of them wanting to know what I knew.”

“Bluntly, that’s not my problem,” Bruce says. “We’re doing exactly what was asked of us—stay out of the press, and work on projects.”

Rhodes rubs his eyes. “You’re right. I’m just frustrated being out of the loop, even though I know it’s not your fault. Has he—has he said anything about me?”

“Truthfully, no,” Bruce replies. “But based on what he has said, I don’t think he knew a lot of people outside of Steve and Natasha. He was very isolated. He didn’t know Pepper at all.”

Rhodes sighs. “That’s what Pepper said.”

“He’s on the phone with Steve and Natasha right now, but I can have him call you once he’s off,” Bruce offers.

Rhodes hesitates. “Can I come to you? I need to see him in person. He might not know me, and I get it, but please.”

Bruce knows that Rhodes had taken Tony’s death hard, and he can’t blame him for wanting to see Tony in person. “All right, but if it looks like it’s not going well, I’m going to need you to cut it short.”

“Pepper said that things were awkward,” Rhodes says.

“That would be putting it mildly,” Bruce replies. “This Tony Stark is adamantly against procreating, and he was horrified to find out about Morgan, which is why I agree that it’s probably for the best for Tony to stay out of the press. Eventually, he’ll get his head wrapped around it, but it’s better that they don’t have any contact right now.”

Rhodes frowns. “How could anyone regret their kid?”

“She’s not his kid,” Bruce reminds Rhodes. “And plenty of people regret the kids they have, you know. As you learn more about where they came from, I think you’ll understand. You know the reason Thanos had for extinguishing the lives of half the living beings in the universe? That might actually have saved their world.”

“Shit,” Rhodes mutters. “That bad?”

“Probably worse,” Bruce says. “I haven’t gotten all the details.”

Rhodes nods. “All right. If it’s okay, I’ll be there tomorrow. Run it past him, and if he strenuously objects, I’ll reconsider.”

“That’s fair,” Bruce replies. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Rhodes hangs up, and Bruce takes a deep breath. He goes back to what he was doing before, staring into the fridge, before realizing that he’s not really seeing anything. He grabs a bottle of water and goes to sit out on the lanai, elbows resting on his thighs.

He’s a little surprised that Rhodes hadn’t commented on the fact that Bruce isn’t green, but he and Tony had fucked that morning, and Bruce just hadn’t changed back. He splits his time about 50/50 now, and right now, he wants to feel secure in his skin.

“You okay?”

Tony’s voice pulls him out of his dark thoughts. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You were pretty relaxed an hour or so ago,” Tony points out.

“I’m still relaxed,” Bruce protests.

Tony pokes the back of his shoulder. “Your muscle is rock hard.”

“It always is.”

“I think I’m becoming familiar with normal-hard and stressed-hard,” Tony says with a half-hearted leer. “What’s up, buttercup?”

That pulls a reluctant smile out of Bruce. “What do you know about Colonel James Rhodes?”

Tony sits down next to him and twists off the cap of the bottled green tea that he likes. “Hmm. If we’re talking about the version of him that I knew, stand-up guy, excellent pilot, very deep into my dad’s pockets, because he liked the experimental weapons Stark Industries provided. Killed by the Russians a few years after Natasha defected, although we never found any connection between those events.”

“So, you knew him?” Bruce presses.

“To nod at in passing,” Tony replies. “He wasn’t that interested in me. The people close to our operation knew I wasn’t that involved in making weapons. I knew how they worked, I could talk a good game in public, and I always acted supportive, but that wasn’t my true passion.”

There’s a pause, and Tony says, “It was different here?”

“He was your best friend,” Bruce replies. “He probably would have been first to the complex, but he was off-world with one of our allies at the time.”

Bruce watches Tony’s expression closely, and is a little surprised that Tony just looks excited. “Wait, off-world? You were serious about space travel?”

“I wasn’t kidding about having a standing invitation to travel through space,” Bruce says. “I can probably swing something if you’re interested.”

“God, that would be amazing,” Tony says enthusiastically. He shakes his head. “Sorry, got side tracked. So, he was off-world, and he just found out about this whole thing.”

“That’s right,” Bruce confirms. “And he’s going to be here tomorrow, because he wants to see you in person.”

Tony’s reaction is nonchalant. “I don’t have a problem with that. I barely knew the guy. I mean, he seemed nice enough, but hawkish, like I said.”

“You gave him a suit here,” Bruce says. “Pretty sure he was the one who knew you best after Pepper. He—he’s not going to understand your reaction to the kid.”

Tony grimaces. “I’ll try to tone it down around him, then. I get it. I know a lot of people want to have kids. There were plenty of people in my world who were having kids right up until the end, even when we knew their life expectancy was measured in years, if not months.”

“I get it,” Bruce replies. “I really do.”

Sure, there had been a time when Bruce wanted to get married, settle down, and have a couple of kids. To him, that had looked like the ultimate sign that he’d achieved normalcy, and he had grieved the loss of that dream for a long time.

But sometime between winding up on Sakaar and facing Thanos, Bruce had released all vestiges of that dream, and the grief over not having it.

He’s had an amazing, crazy life, and he’s helped save the world—more than once. A partner and kids don’t have a place in that life, or so he thought.

Kids still don’t have a place, but Bruce is beginning to think that he might have a partner, after all.

“Do you understand?” Tony asks plaintively. “Because there’s a part of me that feels like a monster for not just—being able to feel something other than absolute dread.”

“How do you feel about kids in general?” Bruce asks gently.

Tony shrugs. “I have zero interest in kids. I don’t want anything bad to happen to a kid, but beyond that? Nothing.”

“So, you’re not interested in children even in a general sense,” Bruce sums up. “And you have no investment in this kid in particular. There’s no reason you should be interested, and you didn’t sign up for being a parent.”

“Plenty of people don’t,” Tony points out. “Plenty just procreate.”

“And plenty of them end up being shitty parents,” Bruce counters. “You made a choice, and that choice should be respected. Besides, you’re not him, not really. From what I’ve seen, Morgan is a smart kid, and she would pick up on that. It might be traumatic.”

“So you’re saying I shouldn’t feel guilty because I can’t replace her father, even if I do look like him,” Tony says.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much what I’m saying,” Bruce replies. “And anybody who doesn’t get it hasn’t thought through all the implications.”

“Thanks,” Tony says softly. “But yeah, I’ll keep it toned down for him.” He pauses. “But you’re still tense.”

“He was a little upset with me,” Bruce replies. “I don’t like being yelled at, particularly when I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Tony scowls. “He shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“He apologized,” Bruce counters. “It’s fine. We all mostly get along, but we all have our sore spots, too.”

“What are your sore spots?” Tony asks, leaning against Bruce’s arm. “So I avoid poking them.”

Bruce laughs. “You’ve never avoided poking me in the past.”

“How do you mean?” Tony asks.

Bruce realizes that Tony wouldn’t know about their first meeting, and he hasn’t provided many details. “He poked me in the side with an electric prod to see if I’d turn green.”

Tony frowns. “That seems—inadvisable.”

Bruce laughs, the memory playing over in his head. “He said I had it on lockdown and asked what my secret was: bongo drums, mellow jazz, or a big bag of weed. He was wrong, of course. I didn’t have it locked down, but I never felt unsafe around him. That was the difference.”

Tony is quiet for a long moment, and then he says, “Yeah. I know what that feels like.”

Bruce’s phone chimes with another incoming call, and this time he does recognize the name and number. “I have to take this. It’s my cousin.”

Jenn’s green face greets Bruce. “Okay, I feel like I’ve given you enough space to wrap your head around everything, but how are you?”

Bruce blinks. “What do you mean?”

“Three of your closest friends who died crossed over from a parallel universe?” Jenn prompts. “You have to feel some way about it, Bruce. I saw the initials carved into the bar.”

Bruce has to admit that she’s right, and that she did give him some space to figure himself out, and he turns the phone so she can see Tony. “Say hi.”

“Hi!” Jenn says immediately and brightly. “It’s really nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Tony says with a questioning look at Bruce, who gives a quick shake of his head. She and Tony had never met in this universe, so Jenn just knows Tony through the news and Bruce’s stories.

Bruce turns the phone back around and says, “So, as you can see, I’m doing fine.”

Jenn’s eyes narrow. “Normal level of fine, or me and Matt level of fine?”

She’s an excellent attorney, and too observant for her own good. “You and Matt level of fine.”

Jenn grins at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bruce confirms. “No need to worry about me.”

“You’re going to tell me if that’s not true?” Jenn presses.

Bruce nods. “I am.”

“And I’m going to visit soon,” Jenn adds. “And I won’t take no for an answer.”

“Rhodes is going to be here tomorrow, so give us a little time to recover?” Bruce asks.

“Let me know if I need to kick his ass later,” Jenn orders. “Take care of Tony, and let him take care of you, okay? Remember your own advice.”

“I’ll remember,” Bruce promises.

“Nice to meet you, Tony!” Jenn says as a farewell and then ends the call.

Bruce takes a deep breath. “So, that was my cousin.”

“And she’s a Hulk, too,” Tony says, sounding more amused than anything else.

“Unfortunate car accident where some of my blood got into her bloodstream,” Bruce admits. “She took to it better than I did. It took me years to get even a small amount of control, and she just—adapted.”

“She had you,” Tony points out. “I imagine you didn’t have anyone.”

“I didn’t,” Bruce admits. “But also, as she reminded me, most women have to deal with a certain amount of anger on a daily basis. As I said, she handled it a lot better than I did.”

Tony pats him on the leg. “Come on, let’s go for a swim. You need to get out of your head for a while.”

Bruce shifts so that he’s no longer green. “Let’s try the surf boards. We might fail terribly, but who cares?”

“A couple of geniuses can surely figure it out,” Tony jokes.

Bruce isn’t so sure their genius extends to surfing, but he’s willing to give it a try. Doing something unfamiliar, that forces him to think of something else for a while, is just the ticket to get out of his head.

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