To Go Unseen (A Natasha Romanoff Story)

59 [on the streets of Los Angeles]

They were going back to the hotel, deep in conversation. Natasha had her arm around James’ waist, fingering the edge of his jeans and sometimes brushing his skin, delighted with the sensation of him, drunk on his sweetness, and he drew her closer with his arm around her shoulders as the conversation lulled and he kissed her on the mouth. Her fingers tightened on his waist and she was enjoying the taste of him, their murmured laughs back and forth, when a loud buzzing interrupted them and James pulled away a little, startled. He reached around her and into his pocket and took out his phone.

“It’s Steve,” he said, by way of explanation, and Natasha stepped back a little reluctantly and let him bring the phone to his face. “Hey,” James said cheerfully when he answered, slinging his arm back around Natasha’s shoulders. She leaned into him, straining to hear the other line. “What’s up?”

The sound was on just loud enough for Natasha to hear Steve groan in response, “Bucky, please come home.” Her good mood dissipated and she felt James stiffen.

“I’m trying to, Steve,” James replied quietly.

Steve said something in response and James swallowed. His arm around her shoulder tightened a little.

“Aw, geez, Steve,” he said. Natasha strained harder to hear.

“... And it’s nothing or anything, I just miss you. Your guys’ apartment has been empty for nearly three weeks now,” Steve was saying.

“Yeah, I know,” James said. “I miss you, too. Talia and I wanna be home.”

Natasha squeezed herself closer to James as they made their way slowly now back to the hotel, listening to the snippets of conversation as Steve expressed how lonely he felt on the other end and guilt overcame her. It was her fault they were out here and this was literally the worst time to be doing any of this Belova nonsense. Not to mention the identity nonsense. It wasn’t fair to Steve or James.

Back at the hotel, James was deep in conversation with Steve, that anxious expression plastered across his face as he tried to reassure Steve that everything was going to be okay. He paced the room and Natasha sat on the bed, watching him go back and forth, feeling worse and worse.

They ought to be going home. They ought to be back there, not out here, where all Natasha could think about was how unsure she felt and how every decision turned into a life-changing, desperate action.

She couldn’t even decide what she wanted. She didn’t know anymore.

So as James wore a rut into the carpet, trying to speak reassuringly, Natasha jumped to her feet. He looked up at her, his eyebrows raised, and she could hear the quiet, muffled sound of Steve still talking on the other end.

“I’m going to get a drink,” Natasha said. “A smoothie or something, across the street. I’ll be right back.”

James nodded to her and then said something into the phone’s mouthpiece for Steve and Natasha practically burst out the door, sucking in a breath like she’d been holding it the entire time she’d been in there. She needed a moment, that was all.

LA was loud and sunny and warm and Natasha stepped out of the hotel and onto the sidewalk, telling herself to stop thinking about Steve and decisions and identity and her and James’ apartment, collecting dust across the country. Her heart was tumultuous.

Like she’d told James, she began to make her way to a nearby smoothie place that had caught her eye on the way there when she felt as though something was off. Instinct spoke to her, about the way that the people who passed her stared unabashedly and she knew it was only a matter of time before-

Natasha’s thought’s came to a screeching halt as she was yanked backwards into an alleyway, hands around her throat and mouth and Natasha heard the familiar sound of a pair of Widow’s Bits humming to life. She reacted in a second when the words in her head died, tearing herself away and a shot of electricity barely missed her. She felt the already warm air sizzle and Yelena let out a howl and aimed again with the other fist. This time, Natasha ducked to the ground and spun a leg around, taking Yelena’s feet out from under her and she grunted when her back slapped the pavement. Natasha scrambled to her feet and turned and ran, an arms pumping, full speed run.

She had to get her weapons. She had to get James. She had to get some sort of advantage. She heard Yelena behind her scream wordlessly back at her, but didn’t turn back around to watch her climb to her feet and start the chase.

Natasha ran down the sidewalk, dodging people, screaming for them to run.

Why would Yelena do this now of all times? Here, of all places?? A city and a street so packed with people that so many more of them could get hurt than needed to. She ground her teeth. That was one way she and Yelena were not the same. Natasha had always had, if not a concern for the civilians, at least the finesse to attempt her assassinations in private.

She tore down alleys and corners in an attempt to lose Yelena, who was undoubtedly close behind, hoping to draw her away from crowds, when she turned next and found herself against a giant brick wall, decorated only with a small dumpster in the corner. A dead end. She skidded to a stop and her breath caught in her throat and she turned to run again, but met Yelena, standing there triumphantly with a giant smile on her beautiful baby doll face.

Yelena raised one fist and her imitation Widow’s Bites cracked with energy. She grinned at Natasha.

“Dead end, Romanoff,” she said.