ʟᴏꜱᴛ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʀᴇɴ || 𝟙

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 1

Charles Darwin's "survival of the fittest" is the foundation for the mechanism of natural selection. He postulated that only the strongest, most venomous, most vicious of predators would survive the law of the jungle. Almost one and a half centuries later, humans took over the land and turned it into a modern metropolis, filled with towering skyscrapers, corporate climbers and concrete monstrosities that reached up so far, they became one with the clouds, imitating Gods of old.

And who better to navigate this new urban jungle than a Black Widow?

--

Natasha Romanoff had been trained to wake at the turn of a dime. Even in the most comfortable, down-stuffed bed, she could leap to consciousness in a matter of seconds, mind and muscles primed for a fight. And when her accommodations were a dingy hotel room, with what seemed to be the squeakiest bed on the face of the planet, in the outskirts of the frigid Russian countryside, it meant that sleep was basically non-existent.

Nobody knew of what she had done except T'Challa alias the Black Panther, whom she had been forced to temporarily incapacitate, allowing Steve and Bucky to escape. As soon as the dust settled, she fled to Russia, knowing that eventually her betrayal would come back to haunt her and when it did, she preferred not being on the wrong side of those vibranium claws.

Being on the run was second nature to her. 

She had been bred to look over her shoulder every time she turned a corner anywhere in the world. That was why when she heard the whisper of boots outside her door, she rolled out of bed, careful not to make the springs squeak, grabbing the twin knives holstered in a specially made sheath attached to her boots.

Thank God for Tony, his generosity and utter carelessness when it comes to inventory.

As the tumblers in the lock clicked into place, she leapt into action swinging her left arm upward, knife in hand, hoping to slash or at least nick the carotid while her right jabbed into the unknown's solar plexus.

If it had been anyone else, they would now be both out of breath and spurting blood out of their neck like a high-pressured water hose.

"Is that how you greet an old friend?" Steve asked, arm blocking the knife to his throat, barely wheezing from the hit.

She had been trained better than that.

"Tell me something only Steve Rogers would know." she growled, pressing the blade harder into his skin, a thin trickle of blood starting to drip down his throat and onto the neck of his collar, staining it a bright red.

"You were my first kiss since 1945." he grinned as she loosened her grip on the blades, sheathing them back in their holsters and wrapping him in a tight hug.

"Mmmm, sloppy," she acknowledged before making room for him to come in. "How?"

"I have my resources. And the Wakandans are very well known for tracing their enemies," he sighed, leaning against the door frame, wiping off the blood with a spare towel she had tossed him.

"Why haven't they come for me?"

"I have a sort of... agreement with T'Challa, he even took in Bucky for rehabilitation, helped with his HYDRA mind control."

"Of course, you managed to pull that off," she laughed, sitting on the bed, springs a-squeaking. "The rest?"

"We all went separate ways. Harder to track. Scott and Clint were the only ones I didn't manage to get out of the Raft. House arrest."

She whistled long and low. "Not bad for violating the Sokovia Accords, actively joining forces against the United Nations and causing God knows how much property damage at the airport."

A brief pause as they realized who was coming next.

"Tony?" 

"He... isn't looking for us but we aren't exactly best friends . We have a means of communication but considering the fact that he's slightly egomaniacal, I doubt that he'll use it."

"And that brings us full circle." She clicked her tongue, motioning her foot to the only wooden chair in the room. How are you?"

"On the run, in hiding." he said, running a hand against the stubble that he was growing out.

"With that joke of a beard? Really?" she cocked an eyebrow as he chuckled mildly.

"I like the hair." he nodded at the box-dyed blonde that had been messily slathered on under the dim light of a roadside motel, with only a smudged and half shattered mirror as a guide, she sheared most of it off with a pair of rusty scissors, into a semblance of a pixie cut. 

"Hmm, I miss the red." she sighed, feeling the rough ends, although aesthetics had never been high on her list of priorities when it came to this job. "What are you doing here?"

"To see how you are and if you need any help."

"I'm fine, Steve. Not like this hasn't happened to me before-," she smiled blandly "- although I was enjoying my room in the compound." she mused nostalgically at the thought of a proper bed and warm meals.

"I'm sorry for everything Nat." he hung his head, knowing that he had uprooted her just as she had found her place in the world.

"You were doing what you thought was right." she waved a hand, understanding. "Bucky was your family."

"Why Russia?" he asked, and she noticed that he hadn't acknowledged the rest of the team as "family." 

"I seem to default here eventually when I'm on the run. Bad habit, I know." she acknowledged. "But that's not the only thing, I'm here to grab something personal," a sad smile played on her lips as she looked out the window distantly, watching as the first snow began to dust the land with white.

"Want backup?" he offered.

Want, not need because he had seen her enough times in the field to know she could handle herself.

"Where's your shield?" she asked, although they both knew the answer.

"What, serum-injected super soldier not enough for you?" he chuckled, joining her on the bed as their arms barely touched, the space between them comforting and weary at the same time.