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Chapter Text

The air against your bruised cheek was cold as you walked along the Brooklyn Bridge, 3 am and slowly bleeding from an abdomen gunshot wound. What a Saturday night. You heard the faint hum of a car behind you, following ever so slowly. At this point you were begging for whoever it was to kidnap you. Your feet were tired and things were starting to get a little blurry in the vision department. We’re getting ahead of ourselves though…let’s go back to the beginning.
You were sitting next to Natasha when Tony stormed into the room, throwing a file on the conference room table in front of the team. You were the first to pick it up, kicking your feet up and taking a closer look. The first word your eyes landed on was “mole.”
After the entire team had passed the file around in silence, everyone’s minds going a mile a minute, you glanced over at Natasha. Her teeth nibbled on her bottom lip as she was lost in thought, no expression. You enjoyed watching her mind work like a machine. You had just joined the team a few months ago, quickly becoming close with them, but especially Natasha. You didn’t want to brag, but…you were one of the top agents in your field and she took notice.
Everybody was freaking out about the mole that apparently worked for HYDRA. Tony and Steve ordered a search of the entire compound, beds being flipped upside down and even Cho was searched. In the days to come, chaos unfolded in front of your eyes, panic spreading throughout the team like wildfire. You kept your e/c eyes to the ground as they searched through your belongings, wardrobe, and technology.
“We’re sorry about this, it’s just protocol.” Steve walked over to you with his arms crossed, his long sleeve stretched over his muscles as he held a folder under his arm.
“I get it Steve, really. You can never be too careful with the worlds mightiest,” you liked joking with Steve, he was gentle. Across the room Natasha watched you, worried if the mole was a threat to anyone…especially you.
She shouldn’t worry, you thought- it’s not like you’d be a threat to yourself.

Chapter Text

You were surrounded by blue all around you, limbs moving in slow motion...until you saw her. Dark brown hair danced in the water, a harsh contrast to the terror on her face. Eyes big as the moon, she stared directly at you. You tried to swim to her, kicking your tired arms as fast as possible, but you were too late. Wide and unblinking, she sunk down, down, down...lost to the sea forever.
You gasped as soon as you woke up, sweat covering your chest and neck. At HYDRA, Agents practically slept in dark, dusty cells with one huge bed in the middle and a desk off to the side. You were free to come and go as you pleased as long as you kept getting more info from the team and your burner phone was on you at all times. Of course you knew that with this privilege, some way somehow, they had somebody watching you 24/7. When you finally rubbed all the sleep out of your eyes, glancing at your phone, it was half past 6. Back at the Avengers compound, everyone woke up at around 8, latest, to start training, breakfast, paperwork, or meetings. It would take you at least an hour to get back to the compound, you hauled ass as you quickly threw your belongings into your black leather bag.
You tried to keep quiet along the corridors to not wake the other, less than pleasant, agents…they didn't particularly like you. It came to your surprise one day during training that one of the AIT'S, or agents in training, tried to suffocate you on the mat until you tazed them. Hydra had four levels of leaders: Captain, Commander, Supreme Hydra, and Imperial Hydra. Imperial Hydra, the leaders of everything, are four guys that no one has access to. The commander of the HYDRA branch you collected “intel” for took a particular liking to you, assigning you to the Avengers initiative that everyone wanted to work on. Your task: hack into the registry that contained personal information about all powered individuals. HYDRAS task: build a different type of super.
Your morning luck ran out before you got to the security check, running into one of the most annoying coworkers you'd ever had.
"Samantha."
"Y/N. You're looking particularly awful today."
"Right. Well- it's always a pleasure," you gave her a sarcastic smile before pushing past her to the security check.
Finally you were out of there.
Back at the much more vibrant, and lively Avengers compound you quickly threw your bag into the embarrassingly large walk in closet that Tony had supplied you with. He was Marie Kondo at this point, decorating everyones room in the compound with the joy of a little girl in a toy store. It was funny to watch.
As soon as you walked out of your bedroom, you were met with the sight of a brunette, looking you up and down with a slightly tilted head. Something gave you the feeling that this Wanda Maximoff girl wasn't your biggest fan at all.
You nervously tucked your hair behind your ear before you spoke, "Hey Wanda-what uh- what's up?"
She didn't respond.
You cleared your throat expectantly. Her eyes narrowed, “Where were you off to so early this morning?"
Shit, she saw you come in.
"Nowhere, just had to grab a few groceries. I hate crowds so I thought I'd get there a little early," you let out a nervous chuckle and fiddled with your keys.
“You put your groceries in a leather duffel bag?”
“Hate to waste plastic, what can I say,” you shrugged. What a shitty excuse.
It seemed to suffice her, however, as she gave you a one up and walked away. It was hard not to notice her beautiful silky hair bounce off her back, but it didn't change the fact that you still didn't like her very much.
By 12 pm you had finished your weekly report to Fury about how you're adjusting to the Avengers initiative and how your last mission went.
You liked Nick a lot to say the least. He was stern but caring, and he would check anyone that pissed him off. He remind you a lot of Natasha, the girl that took a liking to you.
Her knock is what pushed you out of your dazed thoughts. She pushed open your door with her head down, trying to hide one side of her face but failing miserably. The first thing that caught your attention was the cut adorning her lips. The second was the large, blood stained bandage on her shoulder.
You knew better than to visibly show your concern, it would only make her upset. You posed a casual question instead, "How's the other guy look?"
You saw a glimpse of her secret smile, "Not too hot himself, actually."
As a double agent, you weren't supposed to catch feelings for anyone on either side, but there was something about that raspy voiced, careful Avenger that made you smile. You figured out how to help her without getting pushed away. Just ask.
You casually walked over to her and lazily motioned your head to your bathroom door, "Mind if I help you with that lip cut?"
"Tryna tell me I look bad Y/N?," she gave you her most judgemental one over that she could muster.
"Not in my wildest dreams, Romanoff."
Sitting on her lap, you had to steady yourself with one hand on the counter to clean out her lip wound, dabbing hydrogen peroxide on it with a q-tip. Her jaw clenched each time, stinging her a little more.
As you shared a quiet moment with Natasha in the bathroom, you didn't even imagine that a certain witch was using her abilities to keep your bathroom door locked and search your room.
Nimble hands quickly explored every drawer within your wardrobe and finding nothing but a charger, melatonin, water, and a...special toy. Then she saw the black bag tucked into the corner of your closet. Her heart rate sped up a little as she approached the bag and grabbed the first file she saw, hidden under a jacket.
Later that night, as you thought about the way Natasha kissed you while you were on her lap and ran off, Wanda Maximoff would be in her bed, turning and tossing until she finally opened up the manila folder sitting in front of her.
Her eyes widened.
"I knew there was something off about you."

Chapter Text

Sick. Every morning you woke up sick. You should be used to it by now, being a double agent and all for a few months, but you never got over that distilled anxiety. Bottled up, saved for the quietness of your room at the end of the day. It settled like a cold, heavy, pit in your stomach. Too heavy to move or swallow, so it just sat with you.

You remember being in therapy a few years ago, having this pretty blonde stare across at you from the comfy-looking leather couch, tapping her pen against her gray slacks and bouncing knee. “And how does that make you feel?” Her voice was light as if it was a suggestion more than a question. “The same as it always does. There’s no flavor of the month for this thing, it’s the same every. single. day.” You groaned out the last word.

Therapy never worked for you anyway.

You couldn’t tell if it was an emotional thing or the fact that you slept with your therapists nearly every time, but it just wasn’t your vibe.

So now here you were, for one reason or another, gently knocking your head on the wall as you thought about the kiss(es) you shared with Agent Romanoff, and how her lips felt like the best place in the world. And also how stupid it was. How idiotic. Get semi-involved with someone on your team, especially when you’re a double agent. Sort of. More on that later.

You checked your watch, five minutes till go time, your first huge mission with the team. The stomping of boots in unison was all you focused on as you and the rest of the team boarded the Quinjet, strapping in and resting your head against the cold metal. You breathed out heavily, trying not to focus on the green-eyed witch sitting next to you, jaw clenched and obviously uncomfortable.

A few hours later the ship bumpily landed in a flower field, shaking everyone’s head a bit too much for comfort.

“Peter, Y/N, and Wanda- you two will take the North tower and get the hostages out from Cell blocks A-C.” Tony went down the list calling out different groups for the other 4 areas that needed to be covered. “Last but certainly not least, Romanoff and Rogers- you’re blessed with my presence on this mission.”

“Our fearless leader.” Steve groaned as he got up and walked out of the Quinjet.

Peter, shaggy brown hair, a nervous smile, and a spider suit on- that was the guy who was supposed to help defend you in case of an enemy ambush. And Wanda. Brown layered hair, bite with every word she said to you, and a red leather jacket- your other line of defense. Great. You might as well be fighting with your little brother considering the small age gap between you and Spidey. Truth is, you liked the kid. He had heart, and you felt bad for him too. Everyone treated him like a lost puppy, but you’ve seen him train. Peter’s definitely not as seasoned of a fighter as everyone else, but damn he did not give up.

Your group was supposed to clear out cell blocks A-C of an abandoned prison, supposedly harboring kidnapped engineers. You kicked the first exit door open, gun in hand and a flashlight being held by Peter right behind. Wanda trailed slightly behind you guys, ensuring no one snuck up from the back. The stairs cracked and groaned with each step, and cold metallic air whipped through the large facility. You crinkled your nose at the smell. Making it up the stairwell safely, you were met with the boring site of rusty old cells…and empty. You looked around, opening up the cells, peering in, and stepping out. Where the hell was everyone? “You guys might want to take a look at this,” Peter called out, sticking to one of the walls and pointing at a sealed door in the corner. Oh. Without being asked Wanda stuck one of her arms out, encompassing the sealed cement door with beautiful scarlet swirls causing it to crack, and shatter. Behind it was a pitch-black hallway.

You looked up at Peter, shrugging, “Ladies first, you’re up kid. Lead the way.”

He smiled…until he got the joke, “Sure Miss- wait what’s that supposed to mean?”

Wanda turned away to hide her smirk from you, covering it with a cough. “Don’t mind her, Peter. She thinks it's comedy hour.”

“Awh you think I’m funny witchy?”

“In your dreams, Y/N.”

Peter jumped down from his spot, taking a step forward into the hallway and flashing his light around. It seemed to go on forever the longer you three walked, with no turns or hidden rooms. Just a hallway. Huh.
Meanwhile, Tony, Nat, and Steve were walking the rest of the grounds exploring every nook and cranny. The last cell block, D, was pretty much empty too with light pouring in from the broken windows.
“It’s too quiet Tony.”
“Kinda nice right?”
“You completely missed my point on that, but okay. Quiet doesn’t mean empty it means-”

Steve cut in, “Hiding. Look at the door in the corner, it’s completely sealed off.” In an instant, Tony blasted it.

One thing you’d learn about Peter Parker was that he talked a lot when he was nervous.
“Did you know that the subways under NYC have been around for hundreds of years?”
Then you all heard it, the click-clack of slow but steady footsteps. You held your hand up, signaling silence and stopping your movements. The steps were out of sync and loud, not just one person but maybe two, or three.

Your steps got closer, their steps got closer, yours got closer, theirs got closer, yours got closer, theirs got-

“FUCK TONY!”
“FUCK WANDA!”

You all nearly shot each other to death thanks to your jumpscares. “I thought you were supposed to be in cell block D?” you asked him, quietly trying to stop the hum of your heart against your chest.

“We were, but this tunnel led us here.”
“Yeah, same with ours.”

Peter sat on the floor, arms resting on his knees, “Okay so we all made it here but- where are the hostages?”

“We were gonna ask you guys the same thing,” Tony scoffed. And in an instant, it dawned on all of you. Oh shit. “AMBUSH- GET OUT OF THE HALL!” You all started running towards the entrance your group came out of, everyone following behind you. The floors started rumbling and the overhead of planes could be heard above you. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. All of you ran out of the cell block, barely in time an earth shattering boom sounded. All of you were thrown at least 20 feet onto the cement, hitting your head and skidding. Blurriness filled your vision when you tried to get up, stumbling to your feet and falling back down. You looked around and your breathing was ragged, it felt like a fire had been set in your lungs. Everyone was down. Nat- thrown into a wall from the explosion. Out cold. Steve- barely waking up. Tony- banged up and crashed into the ground but slowly got back up. Wanda- right next to you with blood dripping down her forehead. And Peter- shit where’s Peter?

You heard him yell and when you turned around- there it was. Your entire squad from HYDRA, at least 20 of them, marching towards you and the knocked-out Avengers. Peter, Steve, Tony, and yourself regrouped immediately. And standing there, smiling happily, was Samantha.

“Y’know, a simple explosion taking out the world's mightiest is really so disappointing. Kind of glad it didn’t work.” The leader of the group spoke first. You swore you saw his face before.

“I’m gonna guess there’s no hostages?,” Tony stepped forward, raising his arm and opening up the blasters.

”This should be fun.”

In moments, punches, kicks, and blasts were out in every direction. Peter already knocked five senseless, Steve was working on his set, and Tony was- well, Tony. Lots of blasting.Then came your turn, and taking out the four that had reached you was comfortable enough, aside from a few scrapes and the gentleman who attempted to pistol whip you. The real party came when Samantha stepped up to the plate, cracking her neck and taking her jacket off.
“Y/L/N. We made this so easy for you, leave them in the cell block and you get out safely.”

“Yeah well, it would’ve been a lot easier if I had been aware of the fucking plan.”

“God, I’ve been waiting to do this for a long time,” she threw a right hook that cut you square in the jaw, and immediate pain exploded to your face. You tackled her to the ground, pinning her with your legs on each side of her waist, blow after blow to her face. Her nose was bleeding and she kicked you in the stomach. Samantha flipped you over and started pressing down on your throat, “I wish you had never come to Hydra- never come to take my fucking place.” Her grip tightened and you saw emptiness in her eyes.

You tried to dig your nails into her hands, desperately grabbing at skin or anything painful enough. “- stop. We’re on the same team,” you whispered, kicking at anything. Fuck- you couldn’t even flip her over with your legs as much as you kicked and squeezed. Your eyes started to go blurry once again and your head was pounding too much for you to think. Then webs attached themselves to either side of her waist, picking her up and slamming her against the farthest wall. Peter quickly jogged over to you, picking you up and letting you catch your breath.

“We need to keep moving, come on. They’re all gone.”

Everyone climbed inside the Quinjet after Peter webbed up all the HYDRA members, strapping them to the walls like Christmas ornaments. Natasha had woken up and was feeling fine, Wanda had woken up and fallen asleep on your shoulder accidentally. You tried to ignore the Black Widows' fiery gaze at the redhead who was asleep across from her, but the message was clear. Even though Wanda was a Grade-A asshole, some part of you felt bad for her. Maybe that was what compelled you to dampen a tissue with some water and gently clean the blood off of her forehead, or the way you checked her pulse every few hours.

A whole day later once every Avenger had rested up and healed their sore muscles, you heard a knock on your door. “Y/N, it’s me. It’s Wanda.” You opened the door to find her in a matching hoodie set, cluttered with the words “Screw off.” She dawned a small smile, moving past you and sitting on your bed without a word. Hi there. You sat next to her, conscientious of the space, and gently cleared your throat, “So, are you feeling better? You got hit pretty hard. ”

“A whole lot better, thanks to you. It was nice of you to take care of me,” her hand touched yours softly. A gentle smile played on your face.

“It’s what teammates do.”

Wanda gave you a silent nod. She glanced down at her lap as her expression changed. Apprehensive, she quietly spoke, “But I want you to know that I know. About you, your secret.” With that, she leaned down to your ear to whisper, “Sooner or later, everyone will know,” and left.

Oh.

Chapter Text

You stood frozen in the middle of the room, Wanda’s words echoing in your head. She knows… but what does she know?
The door clicked shut behind her, and you released a shaky breath, your heart hammering in your chest. You knew the risks when you were put on this mission, especially as a “new” Avenger. But Wanda? Wanda finding out? That’s something you hadn’t prepared for. The mission was already complicated, but now there was more than just the Avengers at stake—there was Natasha. If Wanda told her or anyone else before you had a chance to explain, everything would come crashing down. Lives were at stake. Your life was at stake.
You ran a hand through your hair, pacing as your thoughts raced. Confronting Wanda now would only raise more suspicion. But the thought of Natasha lingered, her lips, her kiss, the way she looked at you with that rare softness. You shouldn’t even be thinking about letting anyone in—this mission wasn’t about feelings—but here you were, caught between conflicting desires. Shit.

The next morning, a hard thud at your door jolted you awake. The clock read 5:30 a.m. Now who the fu—oh. Natasha stood waiting outside, her hair pulled back into a ponytail, dressed in a black zip-up and leggings. Meanwhile, your unruly hair curled every which way like a lion’s mane, your eyes heavy with sleep.
“Hey, Nat. What’s wrong?” your voice came out raspy.
She smirked. “What, I need a reason now to knock on your door at 5:30 a.m.?”
“Kinda, yeah.”
“Wake your ass up, we’re going on a run.”
A groan almost escaped you, but you swallowed it down. If Natasha wasn’t so pretty, funny, and smart—and whatever, if she wasn’t your friend—you would’ve said no. But instead, you forced a smile.
“I was thinking the same thing!”
A chuckle rumbled in her chest. “Sure you were, Y/N. Sure.”
“I was! I’m dead serious, y’know.” You winked and started washing up.

Ten miles later, you collapsed on the grass, panting and regretting your early mornings decisions. "So, is this your idea of a hangout—or torture?" you gasped, trying to regain your breath.
“This is a rest day for me, sweetheart,” Natasha teased, lying beside you, her hands on her chest as she slowed her breathing.
“Good for you, asshole. Brunch?”
As the sun roasted you both, you noticed Natasha’s eyes flickering over you. Her gaze lingered on your body—your curves, your strong arms, your legs. The way your chest rose and fell with a steady rhyth,, the glistening of sweat on your breasts- she quickly turned away, mentally scolding herself. No better than a man.
Earlier, during the run, she’d run out of water, and you hadn’t hesitated to share yours. There was something unexpectedly sweet about that, and it caught her off guard. As she looked back at you now, Natasha realized how easy it was to talk to you, how natural everything felt when it was just the two of you.
Together, the two of you were refreshing. Conversation flowed easily, and if you weren’t careful, hours would pass by without notice. The food grew cold from how little either of you ate, too busy laughing, teasing, and genuinely listening. It wasn’t just casual banter, either—Natasha let herself be semi-vulnerable in those rare moments.
Later that night, after a quick shower, you were just about to figure out what to eat for a late dinner when the door to your bedroom beeped. Your heart leapt in your chest, half-expecting Wanda. But when the door slid open, it was Natasha. She leaned against the frame, arms crossed, her eyes searching your face.
“Busy?” she asked, her voice calm, but the tension between you was unmistakable.
You forced a smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “Always.”
Natasha stepped into the room, the space between you disappearing as her fingers brushed your arm. The air around you shifted. Her touch grounded you, but it also pulled you deeper into the mess you were in.
“I’ve been thinking…” she trailed off, her voice quieter now, her walls lowering.
Your pulse quickened. “Yeah?”
Natasha’s usual steel gaze softened, and there was no hint of a joke in her eyes this time. “About how stupid this is. Letting this happen.”
Your heart sank. “You think this is stupid?”
She frowned slightly, stepping back just enough to create space. “No. I mean…yes. Actually, yeah. Look at us.We know better. With everything going on. The missions, the risks. We both know what this kind of thing leads to. It’s too complicated.”
You wanted to reassure her, to tell her that whatever this was between you wasn’t a mistake. That you were more than friends…omething in-between. But the secret you were carrying tightened in your chest, choking the words. “Nat, I… there’s something I need to—”
Before you could finish, alarms blared throughout the compound, red lights flashing in sync with the shrill warning. Natasha’s posture instantly shifted back into mission mode, her eyes darting to the ceiling.
“Guess we’ll have to table that for now,” she muttered, pulling away. “We’ll pick this up later.”
You nodded, but the weight in your chest told you “later” might never come.

The Quinjet hummed as you stepped onto the launch pad, where Tony, Steve, and Clint were already preparing to gear up. You tried to shake off the tension, the ache in your chest, but it stayed with you. Natasha caught your eye for a split second, then turned to Steve.
“A mission this late?” you asked. “What’s going on?”
“Sorry, Y/N,” Steve said as he strapped on his shield. “We only need Nat on this one. Fury said he needs you on his level.”
Oh? “Yeah, sure. Good luck.”
The elevator ride to Fury’s office felt endless, every floor an opportunity to dwell on how complicated things had become. The familiar ding finally broke your thoughts, and you stepped into the stark, empty office. Fury was already seated, his legs propped on the desk, twirling a butterfly knife between his fingers. His face unreadable, as usual.
“Fury.”
“L/N. Sit.” The leather crunched awkwardly beneath you as you sat, the musky scent of his cologne filling the air and already giving you a headache.
“What about ‘inconspicuous presence’ did you not understand?” Fury asked, his voice sharp.
“Come aga—” Before you could finish, Fury slid three photos across the desk. You and Natasha, laughing over breakfast hours earlier.
Oh.
“You don’t think HYDRA agents eat breakfast? You don’t think they spend time in the city? You were out in public with Natasha.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t think—”
Fury’s booming voice cut you off again. “What the hell were you thinking, Agent? One slip-up, and the whole operation goes up in smoke. All for some damn eggs and bacon?”
The room fell quiet. A part of you wanted to laugh, maybe out of nerves. But Fury’s sigh across the desk was heavy, frustrated.
“This is getting too complicated. And I have more at stake now than I did before... things have changed. In the months I’ve been at HYDRA, I’ve only given them three useful pieces of intel. They’re getting suspicious, Fury. And impatient. You know that.”
He was silent.
You continued, “And I’m trying to log into their data network, find their other bases but they always have someone in there with me- watching. It’s like they know…”
Fury sat up, his gaze locking onto yours. “Are you telling me you can’t handle this? This is your operation, I recruited you specifically for this. You’ve fed us valuable intel…maybe even the most we’ve been able to get from the inside thus far. Hold out a little longer. I’ll send you another file to pass off—something useless.”
You swallowed hard and cleared your throat. “I won’t let you down.”
As you turned to leave, Fury’s voice followed you. “And Agent?”
You craned your neck around, one foot out the door, “Yea, boss?”
“Keep those eyes open.”
You nodded on your way out, and the weight in your chest grew heavier. That insistent, intimidating Mr. Clean look-alike always knew how to push the right buttons. He knew you loved being an agent, loved SHIELD, loved the Avengers- this oddball family of heroes. The day he walked into your training grounds, dodging the blows and kicks all around him to get to where you were- knife throwing station- and handed you a sealed black envelope was a memory like no other. Being asked to join the Avengers had been an honor you didn’t see coming, but now, more than ever, you wondered how long you could keep this going.

That night, after washing up and doing your skincare, you heard a knock at your door. When you opened it, Wanda stood there, dressed in a black hoodie and grey sweats, her eyes cast downward.
“No one’s here, and I need help with my hair for tomorrow… I heard you were good at braiding.”
You forgot the Stark ball was tomorrow. You gestured for her to sit on the bed, positioning yourself behind her. “Mind if I brush through your waves first?”
Wordlessly, Wanda levitated the brush over to you, setting it in your lap. As the brush found its rhythm, the tension between you began to ease. The silence, once unbearable, became perfect. Fifteen minutes in, Wanda’s head began to dip, her body relaxing. Eventually, she drifted off to sleep, her breathing soft and even.
You smirked to yourself. Not how I thought tonight would go.
You finished braiding her hair gently, watching as she snuggled into your bed. With a sigh, you grabbed a few pillows and a blanket and settled down on the floor. Great for your back, really.

When Wanda woke up the next morning, confusion clouded her brain until she remembered last night. She looked over at you, a small lump curled up under blankets on the floor. With a gentle flick of her wrist, she dropped the hairbrush onto you.
“Ow! What was that for?” you blinked the sleep out of your eyes, stretching out your stiff back.
“What happened last night?” she asked, sitting up in bed.
“You fell asleep, so I braided your hair. Then I slept on the floor.”
“And you slept on the floor because…?”
“I wanted you to be comfortable.”
Wanda frowned, but something in her softened. She quickly masked it, crossing her arms. “Well, you shouldn’t have done that. It’s your bed. Next time, just kick me out.”
“Next time?” You raised an eyebrow, peering up at her with a teasing grin.
“Shut up.”
“No can do. My room, my rules.”
Wanda hated how nonchalant you could be—so guarded, yet so soft when you wanted to be. And that contradiction? It was driving her insane.
The day of the Stark ball, the tower transformed into a dazzling, jazz-filled event. You slipped into a navy-blue silk dress, applied just the right amount of makeup, and made your way downstairs to join the rest of the Avengers.
It felt like hours of shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with strangers, but eventually, you found yourself leaning against the cool marble surface of the bar counter, sipping on a cocktail when you heard the familiar click of heels.
“That you, Tasha?” you asked without turning around.
“Spot on,” Natasha said, her voice warm, as she approached. When you turned to face her, you were struck by how stunning she looked. Her hair was curled to perfection, dark red lips giving her a sultry pout. The pout you so desperately wanted to kiss again.
Her hand grazed your hip as she pulled you in a little closer. “You look nice.”
You didn’t realize Wanda was watching from across the room, her grip tightening on her champagne flute. You tried to shake off the heat rising in your chest.
“I know,” you said, your voice cool, though your pulse quickened. Natasha smirked, her fingers lingering. If you wanted her to stop, you would’ve pulled away by now.
“Don’t be sore with me, honey.”
“Why would I be sore with you, Romanoff? We’re friends after all.” But the tension was thick between you.
“Friends? Maybe it’s a little more complicated than that,” Natasha whispered, her breath warm against your neck. There was a slight push in her tone.
“Maybe. But you don’t like complicated.”
“Says who?”
“Says you, earlier,” you teased, gently moving her hands away before walking off. Natasha watched you closely, biting the inside of her cheek as she watched you walk away, ever so non-chalant.

Later, you found a quiet corner to sit in, trying to collect your thoughts when Wanda appeared. She swayed her hips a little as she approached—unconscious, but it caught your eye.
“Hey,” she said, sitting down beside you. “I just wanted to say thanks.”
“For?”
“Letting me sleep. You should’ve kicked me out.”
“Why would I do that? When someone’s tired, let them sleep.”
Wanda narrowed her eyes at you, skeptical. “You looked like a dejected puppy.”
You smirked, taking a sip of your martini.
For the rest of the night, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, exchanging small quips and people-watching. Wanda’s eyes occasionally flickered to you, admiring the way your dress fell gracefully over your body. You were still a bit of an enigma to her, but that curiosity had slowly shifted into something more. You were a bit annoying, but she was starting to not mind it so much. And you were starting not to mind her attitude.

The next afternoon, while nursing a mild hangover, you lay on the couch in the common room, sipping water when Peter flopped down next to you, looking half-dead.
“You and me both, kid,” you groaned.
He didn’t respond, too drained to talk. You nudged his shoulder. “What’s up?”
“Midterms. Been studying for weeks. Can’t sleep.”
“So why are you here and not at home?”
“I needed a change of pace. Plus, May has a date… I didn’t want to be around for that.”
You chuckled and dragged yourself up from the couch, heading toward the kitchen. “Hungry?”
“I could eat,” Peter mumbled.
As you started making tomato soup and grilled cheese, you caught him peeking over your shoulder, curious but awkward. “Peter, if you’re that interested, why don’t you help me?”
He joined you, and the two of you made a mess of the kitchen. Watching Peter struggle to cut tomatoes was endearing, and you were reminded of someone special.
“You know who you remind me of right now?” you said, a small smile playing on your lips.
“Uh—a kid who can’t cut tomatoes?”
“No, dumbass. You remind me of my sister.”
“Older or younger?”
“Younger. By now, she would’ve been around your age.”
“Would’ve been?”
You opened your mouth to explain, but before you could speak, a sneeze echoed from the hallway. You recognized it immediately.
“You can come out now, Wands. I know that sneeze.”
Wanda sheepishly stepped into view, a flush on her cheeks. “What’re you two up to?”
“Lunch. Want some?” you asked, feeling a sudden urge to impress her with your cooking. As she tasted the soup, you watched her intently.
Wanda moaned softly at the taste, and your heart skipped a beat. “This is amazing.”
You beamed. “My very own recipe.” Maybe things weren’t so bad after all.

Chapter Text

The following few days were a whirlwind of missions, training, and more double agent work that left your nerves frayed and your mind constantly racing. You tried to shove down the persistent unease Wanda’s cryptic knowledge left lingering, but the tension only grew. Whatever secret she knew, it felt like a ticking time bomb waiting to go off. Every interaction with her now carried a strange weight.

But there was also Natasha.

Every glance she threw your way, every smirk or light touch, made your pulse quicken. Yet, you kept your distance, still a little hurt by your past conversation- and also confused by her signals. Some days she was warm, charming, gentle- and others she was cold and distant; treating you like nothing more than another colleague. Throwing you snarky remarks, or simply shutting you out completely. Hardly even a friend. It felt like walking on a tight rope with her.

Maybe you loved it. You couldn’t tell yet.

That night, as the compound settled into a rare quiet, you found yourself wandering the halls, unable to sleep. Maybe some water would help? The weight of the mission, of Fury’s expectations, of your tangled relationships, all pressed down on you. As your feet padded the ice cold floors, turning a corner- you nearly bumped into Wanda, who was pacing the hall herself, face deep in thought.

“Wanda?” you said, your voice softer than you intended.

She stopped, blinking at you before offering a half-smile. “Hey.”

You fell into step beside her, the silence between you surprisingly comfortable. You could feel her stealing glances your way, her body tense as though she was holding back something.

After a few minutes of walking, she broke the silence. “Do you ever get tired of it?”

You glanced over, catching the flicker of vulnerability in her eyes. “Tired of what?”

“Of having to hide everything.” She paused, her gaze dropping to the floor. “Of pretending to be fine all the time.”

The question hit too close to home. You swallowed hard, feeling the pressure of your own secrets suffocating you. “Yeah… I do.”

Wanda slowed her pace and stopped, turning to face you. Her green eyes bore into yours, and there was something raw in her expression. “I feel like I’m pretending too much,” she whispered. “With everyone. I miss being…me.”

Her words lingered in the air between you. A part of you knowing exactly what she meant, even if you weren’t ready to fully acknowledge it.

You took a step closer, feeling the magnetic pull between you, your fingers itching to reach out and close the distance. But before you could act, Wanda’s hand gently brushed yours, her touch feather-light but enough to send warmth spreading through you.
You locked eyes with her, “What is it that you know about me Wanda? My secret?”

Her thumb grazed the back of your hand. “Your sister.”

Your throat ran dry.

“How-” you sounded breathless, and the hum of your heartbeat against your chest was loud enough for everyone to hear. You were sure of it.

“I stole the file that was in your bag. Few weeks ago. I’m sorry- I was suspicious and I couldn’t help myself.”

Your breath hitched at her words, the vulnerability in her tone catching you off guard. Her touch lingered, her fingers grazing yours as if testing the waters.

The tension—the unspoken questions—remained.

“And? What did you find out?”

“The file barely had anything, just basic information…and at the bottom family relations.”

“So. Now you know. Any more questions?”

“How old were you when they-,” Wanda's words caught in her throat.

“I was 13. My sister was 10.”

“Do you think she’s involved with Hy-,” The little witch saw your entire demeanor change. Guilt flooded her system, poisoning the air, “Nevermind.”

You took a step back from her, clearing your throat, “Next time just ask.”

Her silence spoke volumes.

The next day, things with Natasha picked up in intensity, and that only added to the confusion. You were sparring in the gym, exchanging blows and banter as usual, but something in her gaze was different—hungrier, more focused on you in a way that made your breath catch.

After landing a particularly well-placed hit, the assasin smirked and stepped closer than necessary, her chest almost brushing yours. “You’re getting better,” she teased, her voice low and almost sultry.

“Maybe you’re just getting rusty,” you shot back, your heart thundering as her proximity sent a rush of heat through you.

Those green eyes narrowed playfully, but there was an intensity in her gaze that made your stomach flip. She didn’t step back. Instead, she reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, her touch lingering a beat too long.

“Am I?” Natasha’s voice dropped, and suddenly, the playful banter felt like something much more serious. Her eyes locked onto yours, searching for something. She leaned in, her breath warm on your skin, and for a moment, you thought she might kiss you. Again.

Your lips parted, and you could almost feel the moment tipping over, the tension that had been building between you both ready to snap. But just as you were about to close the distance, a voice interrupted, startling you both.

“Nat, Y/N, we’ve got a debrief in five,” Steve’s voice called from the doorway, and the spell was broken. Fucking Steve.

Natasha stepped back, her smirk back in place, though you could see the frustration simmering just below the surface. She didn’t say anything, but the look she gave you before turning and walking away said enough.
Later that night, you were back in your room, replaying the day’s events in your mind. Wanda’s words, her touch. The weight of your secret lessened, but you were still annoyed with her. You felt insulted. Hurt. It was all a tangled mess, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep balancing everything.

Later, as you were about to turn in for the night, there was a knock on your door. Your heart skipped a beat, expecting it to be Natasha, but when you opened it, Wanda was standing there, dressed in her familiar hoodie and sweats.

“Can I come in?” she asked, her voice soft, and something about the way she looked at you made your chest tighten.

You nodded, stepping aside to let her in. She glanced around your room before sitting on the edge of your bed, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her hoodie.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted, looking up at you. “I’ve been thinking about… things.”

You moved to sit beside her, the air between you charged. “Yeah? Like what?”

Wanda hesitated, biting her lip as if unsure how much to say. Finally, she looked at you, her eyes full of something raw and unguarded. “Like you.”

The room felt too small, too warm, and your pulse quickened at the weight of her words. Truthfully, the little witch had no idea what she was doing. Or why she was doing it, but some annoying part of her twisted and turned and flipped at the thought of you. And it felt good. Wanda reached out, her hand resting gently on your arm. The touch sent a jolt of electricity through you, and you felt yourself leaning in, drawn to her in a way that felt inevitable.

You could hear the soft hum of rain on your window, falling all around the two of you.

Wanda’s eyes flickered to your lips, and in that moment, all the tension that had been building between you snapped. You closed the distance, your lips meeting hers in a kiss that was soft at first, tentative. Your gentle hand cupped her jaw, she unknowingly pressed into it. As soon as you felt her respond, her fingers threading through your hair, the kiss deepened, turning into something more urgent, more desperate.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, Wanda stepped back, shyly smiling, “This is complicated,” she whispered.

You nodded, your heart racing. “Yeah, it is.”

That night, as the rain continued to pour and life moved on- you stood up as the reality of what happened with Wanda hit you harder than any mission briefing could. You hadn’t slept much, your eye bags deepening by the minute. You’d crossed a line with her, one you weren’t sure how to come back from. Or want to come back from. The feeling of her lips on yours still lingered, and despite the complications, you couldn’t push the memory away. But what now?

The tension of the previous night still lingered in the air as you boarded the transport that would take you to the HYDRA base. You couldn’t afford distractions now. Your mission was dangerous, and every visit to HYDRA put your life on the line. The stakes felt even higher now that they were starting to get suspicious of your role.

As the aircraft cut through the clouds, you steeled yourself, mentally going over the details Fury had drilled into you. Fake files to hand over. Just enough information to keep HYDRA from questioning you, but not enough to do any real damage to the Avengers. It was a delicate balance, one that was becoming harder to maintain with each mission.

When you landed at the base, the cold, sterile walls greeted you like a prison. There was no warmth here, no camaraderie like with the Avengers. You walked through the halls, keeping your expression neutral, passing by agents who nodded at you with stiff respect. They trusted you, but you knew that could change in an instant.

Samantha, your least favorite person to exist, was waiting for you in the debriefing room, her sharp eyes tracking your every move. She was one of the more dangerous operatives, the type who didn’t need powers to be lethal—just her instincts. She had been a close friend when you first joined HYDRA undercover, but lately, you could feel the cracks forming in your facade, and you knew she had too. Her friendship turned to disdain in a second.

“Y/L/N,” she greeted you with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “We’ve missed your intel.”

You forced a smile, trying to match her energy. “Good to be back. Got some new information for you. Try not to choke me this time.”

You handed her the folder Fury had given you, filled with carefully crafted lies and non-sensitive data. She flipped through the pages, her sharp gaze occasionally lifting to scrutinize you. It was subtle, but you could feel her trying to gauge whether you were still loyal—or if you were hiding something.

“Interesting,” she murmured, setting the folder down. “You’ve been quiet lately. Not much action from you or the Avengers. What’s going on over there?”

You kept your face neutral, your heart pounding in your chest. “Things have been tense. The Avengers are getting more cautious, harder to infiltrate. They’re watching everyone closely, even me.”

Samantha leaned back in her chair, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Is that so? Well, you’re lucky we’re patient. But patience only lasts so long. HYDRA wants results, and you haven’t delivered anything substantial in months.”

Your stomach tightened. She wasn’t wrong. HYDRA was growing restless, and you knew that if you didn’t give them something soon, they would turn on you.

“I’m working on something big,” you said, leaning in as if confiding in her. “I need a little more time, but it’ll be worth it. Trust me.”

Samantha’s eyes flickered with suspicion, but she didn’t press the issue. “You better hope it’s worth it, Y/N. Because if you’re lying…” She let the threat hang in the air, the meaning clear.

You gave her a tight smile. “I’m not lying.”

Samantha stared at you for a moment longer before standing up, dismissing you with a wave of her hand. “We’ll see. I’ll expect an update soon.”

You nodded, trying not to let the tension show on your face as you left the room. Once you were out of her sight, you let out a shaky breath. This was getting too close. You needed to talk to Fury again, but you also knew you couldn’t risk breaking your cover.

As you sat in your temporary quarters at the base, you stared at the walls- you had a job to do, but with each visit to HYDRA, it became harder to keep up the act. One slip-up, and they’d realize the truth. They’d know you were a traitor. A liar. An enemy.

Your thoughts wandered to the Avengers. To Natasha. To Wanda. Being here felt like another world, but the feelings you had for them were ever-present. You didn’t know how much longer you could keep lying to everyone.

A knock on your door interrupted your thoughts, and you tensed. It wasn’t often people came to your quarters at HYDRA.

You opened the door, and there stood Samantha again, her eyes cold, calculating.

“Mind if I come in?” she asked, though it wasn’t really a question.

You stepped aside, letting her in. She walked around your room, her fingers tracing the sparse furniture, her eyes never leaving you. “I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier,” she began, her tone casual, but you knew better than to relax.

“Oh?” you said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Samantha turned to face you, her expression serious. you could feel her eyes boring into you. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes, and for a moment, you were sure she knew—knew about the fake intel, knew about the mission. ‘You’re getting sloppy, Y/L/N,’ she muttered, her voice low enough to send a chill down your spine…”and something doesn’t add up. You’ve been here for months, and we’ve seen very little from you. And somehow, these past few months the Avengers have been one step ahead of us at every corner. I’m starting to think you’re holding out on us.”

You felt your pulse quicken. “I told you, I’m working on something big—”

Samantha stepped closer, her eyes boring into yours. “And I’m telling you, I’m not convinced. You better be very careful, L/N. HYDRA doesn’t take kindly to traitors.”

Her words hung in the air, the threat unmistakable.

“I’m not a traitor,” you said, your voice steady. Keep cool. “Maybe you are.”

Samantha was caught off guard by your statement, letting out a dry, humorless laugh. Her cold blue eyes studied you for a moment longer before turning to leave. At the door, she paused, glancing back at you. “For your sake, you should hope that’s true.”

Chapter Text

Fast forward four months
The wind blew fiercely against your window as you awoke, sensing an unusual tension in the air—a buzz, as if nature itself was angry. You fluffed your shaggy h/c hair and swung your tired legs out of the warm bed, extricating yourself from the comfortable embrace of a woman’s arm wrapped around your waist. Not just any woman, but Natasha Romanoff—the world’s greatest assassin, a highly skilled martial artist, and your girlfriend. Well, kind of. She didn’t want to label it, and you’d gotten used to that. Things with Wanda had fizzled out, and she was now one of your closest friends. Stability was slowly but surely creeping back into your life.
Just then, your phone buzzed on the nightstand, pulling you from your morning trance. An encrypted message from Agent Hill: another file to drop off at the HYDRA data server and report back. No pleasantries, no reassurances. The anxiety that once clouded your mind about this operation had dissipated over the months. You had grown confident in your skills, so close to the finish line now. You just needed one more piece of information about a new serum they were developing—something about a super-soldier project. Deliver that, and you would be officially done with HYDRA, Samantha, and all the vile people who worked there. A free agent—literally.
You pulled the file from its folder, reviewing the intel they provided this time. Not bad, surprisingly.
You dressed slowly, your legs sore from prior activities with your “girlfriend.” Natasha’s sleeping form rustled in the sheets before settling, a gentle huff of breath escaping her lips.
At the base, you navigated the winding corridors, each step echoing louder than the last. The data server room was buried at the heart of the building, and each doorway you passed felt like a checkpoint in a prison. Fluorescent overhead lights buzzed, casting a stark, sterile glow that complemented the coldness of the place. Reaching the server room, you slid your ID across the panel, entering as the heavy door hissed shut behind you.
The space was mostly empty, save for the hum of servers and the dull glow of screens casting eerie shadows. A lone technician glanced up at you, nodding in acknowledgment. You were well-known by now—both for your envied operation and proximity to HYDRA’s high command.
You approached one of the terminals, connected your encrypted drive, and waited as it loaded the contents onto their system. But as you watched the file transfer, doubt crept in. How many more lies before they caught up with you? Were they already catching up, and maybe you didn’t know it?
The file finished transferring. You removed your drive, pocketing it quickly. Turning to leave, you caught the technician watching you from the corner of your eye, his gaze lingering a moment too long. You met his eyes and offered a quick nod, concealing the flicker of alarm you felt as he turned back to his work.
Returning to the compound that afternoon felt like a relief. As you stepped into your hall, orange shadows of the sun creeping in through the glass walls, the quiet was broken by a familiar voice.
“Back so soon?”
Natasha’s slid into your view like silk. She was leaning against the wall in the corridor, arms crossed, her expression unreadable—as per usual.
You tried to keep your face neutral, but her sharp gaze seemed to peel back every layer you’d carefully constructed. “Mission ended earlier than expected,” you replied.
She arched an eyebrow, gaze narrowing slightly. “Right. Just strange. Fury usually sends the rest of us a notice when someone’s out. And you leave me a note. Or text.”
“It was classified,” you shrugged, trying to deflect, hoping she wouldn’t probe further.
Natasha’s smirk softened, but her gaze didn’t waver. She stepped closer, her presence intense. “You’ve been slipping away a lot lately, honey,” she murmured, her tone low. “Everyone’s noticed.” Her beautiful green eyes bore into you, calculating your every expression.
There was no accusation in her words, only an edge of curiosity. But the weight of the lies began to press down, your chest tightening with the guilt you’d tried so hard to ignore. “It’s not like that, Nat,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.
She reached out, her fingers grazing your arm—a touch that felt like both an anchor and a pull. “Then what’s it like?”
For a heartbeat, you wanted to tell her. Instead, you swallowed the words, your throat tightening. “You know how this job is, Tasha. It’s complicated.”
A flicker of something—hurt, maybe—crossed her face before she masked it, letting her hand fall away. She stepped back, crossing her arms again. “Don’t you trust me?”
“Of course I do.”
She scoffed, “Doesn’t seem that way.”
“That’s not fair, and you know it.” You squeezed past her, accidentally bumping her shoulder as you did.
Her hand caught yours. “You know I can help, right? Whatever it is.”
You forced a half-smile, “Not this time, honey.”
Natasha held your gaze for a moment longer before nodding, though the air between you felt strained, taut with the things left unsaid. She turned and walked away, leaving you alone in the dim corridor, the weight of her words lingering.
You stared at the ceiling, Natasha’s words looping in your mind. Everyone’s noticed. You wondered if that included Wanda. The thought of her finding out, of her piecing together the truth, was terrifying. She’d already uncovered your family’s past—if she found out everything else…
You didn’t want to think about it.
About twice a week, Natasha would come and sleep in your room, especially after tough training days or a bad mission. Tonight? She didn’t so much as text you. Ouch.
The cold floors at 3 a.m. felt soothing as you walked to the kitchen to grab a drink, catching sight of Wanda curled up on the couch, staring out the window.
Her expression was unreadable.
“Wanda?” you asked, the surprise clear in your voice.
“I couldn’t sleep again,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. Her gaze was intense, searching your face as though trying to read every unspoken thought.
You grabbed two juices from the fridge, crossing the room to sit beside her. For a moment, neither of you spoke; the silence was thick.
“It was two years yesterday that I held his,” she began, her voice hesitant. “I… I didn’t even remember.”
You glanced down, your hands twisting together as you gathered your thoughts. “I know,” you whispered. “I didn’t want to remind you, since you didn’t mention it.” Wanda adored her brother, and you adored her. You didn’t want to worsen her pain by adding a reminder.
Her hand reached out, covering yours, her touch warm and steady. “I visited his grave earlier,” she swallowed, “left a small baby’s breath bouquet.” “It’s always only one bouquet, but today when I visited him- there were already flowers there.”
You didn’t know if you should also mention that you left flowers, but when you looked up, Wanda’s eyes were already staring into yours. Her gaze softened, and you felt the pull again, that magnetic connection that made your friendship feel impossible sometimes.
“Wanda…”
She gingerly brushed a strand of hair from your eyes, tucking it behind your ear.
“Now your hair is perfect.”
“It’s always perfect, witchy.”
Her cheeky white smile glowed in the darkness.
The next few days most of your training was done with Peter, Clint, or Steve, completely ruling out the possibility of any more relationship messiness. The tension with Natasha, the fragileness you held with Wanda—it was all starting to pull at the threads of your mind once again.
You will never forget that day. That was the day your life changed forever. You often think of what might’ve been, if you hadn’t joined the avengers and all. Just stayed as a high level SHIELD agent.
Maybe it all would’ve been fine, if not for that Thursday. That stupid fucking Thursday. And for Nick Fury. But you didn’t know all that yet.
You swiftly moved through the hallways on your way to meet Bruce in the lab, your mind elsewhere, when a familiar rasp called your name.
“Y/N.”
You turned to see Natasha, her gaze sharp, expression unreadable. She nodded toward one of the empty conference rooms. “We need to talk.”
You followed her inside, the silence between you thick with unspoken words. You felt like a little kid in trouble with the principal. When the door shut, she turned to you, her arms crossed, her stance tense.
“Is there something you’re not telling me?” she asked, her tone steady but laced with frustration.
Your heart pounded, every instinct screaming to deflect, to lie. But standing there, facing Natasha’s intense gaze, the walls you’d built felt paper-thin.
“I…No.”
She took a step closer, her voice soft but firm. “Y/N, I don’t know what’s going on, but I will find out.”
The intensity in her gaze, the determination, left you breathless. She was offering you an out, a lifeline, but taking it would mean unraveling everything. You were practically at the finish line.
Just as you opened your mouth to speak, the compound’s alarm blared, cutting through the tension. Natasha’s gaze flickered to the door, her expression shifting to frustration.
“Of course,” she muttered, looking back to you.
She turned and left the room, leaving you standing there, your chest tight and burning.
The mission had been going well until you were cornered in a tight hallway by a mercenary, his face hidden by a tactical helmet and wielding a blade that gleamed under the dim light. You threw up an arm to block his initial swing, but he was relentless, landing a hit to your side that knocked the breath from you. Blood trickled from a cut on your arm, but you pushed through, angling for a counterattack.
Before you could make another move, a blast of red energy hit from behind, sending the attacker flying into a wall. Surprised, you turned to see Wanda, her hands crackling with energy. She stepped between you and the mercenary, red tendrils floating around his head before he fainted.
“Thought you might need a hand,” she said, her tone light, but her eyes betrayed the worry simmering beneath.
You forced a smile, though your pride ached at her interference. “I had it under control.”
Wanda raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but she didn’t push it. She held your gaze a moment longer, “Sure you did, L/N.”
Before you could answer, Natasha’s voice crackled through the comms. “Y/N, Wanda—stop messing around and regroup. Now.”
Her tone was clipped, cold, and even through the comms, you could feel the chill.
You two shared a quick, slightly guilty glance before moving back to rejoin the others. Throughout the rest of the mission, Natasha barely looked at you, and when she did, her expression was hardened, her gaze flicking quickly between you and Wanda with a disapproving edge.
Back at the compound, you found Natasha in the common area, gathering her gear with sharp, precise movements. You hovered nearby, hoping to talk, to get a hint of what was going on, but she barely acknowledged you.
“Nat,” you started, your voice soft.
“What?” Her tone was harsh, her eyes narrowing. “Something you need?”
You faltered, caught off guard by the bite in her voice. “I… I just wanted to check if you were okay.”
She scoffed, a cold smirk pulling at her lips. “That’s rich. Last I saw, you were the one who needed backup. I didn’t realize Wanda was your personal rescuer.”
The words hit like a slap, the sting of her jealousy clear. You opened your mouth to respond, but she cut you off, grabbing her bag and shouldering it without a glance in your direction. You tried to lighten the mood, “A little jealous, Romanoff?” Although you were teasing, the joke came out so soft, genuine. You gently touched the small of her back, gazing at her with worried eyes.
“Let’s not pretend this is anything more than a job, Y/N,” she said, voice low and unyielding- she shifted out of your touch. “That way, you won’t get distracted.”
“I think we should continue our conversation from earlier-,” you were cut off before you finished your sentence
“And what if I don’t want to talk? Ever thought about that?”
“Earlier you said you were here for me, that I’m not alone. I don’t understand, you know I care about you. Just talk to me-,” you hadn’t anticipated the crack in your voice at the end, catching Natasha’s attention, but of course, only for a second.
She packed her bag faster.
“Natasha please-”
“Enough!” Her loud voice bounced off the walls.
“So what are we then? We sleep together, we share a bed, you care about me- I know you do. So what is this?”

Natashas jaw clenched, and when her eyes looked at yours, they held something you’d never seen, “It’s just sex, Y/N. Grow up. It’s what adults do.”
She rushed past you, shoulder bumping yours, leaving you standing there. Wounded and more confused than ever- the Romanov specialty.

As you entered a new log into your journal that night, spilling your heart about HYDRA, Wanda, Natasha, a knock sounded on your door. For once, you just wanted to be left alone. You threw the journal under the covers, running to the bathroom.
You poked your head out of the door, “In the shower, can’t talk!” You hoped it was loud enough for whatever guest to go away. It wasn’t.

When the scent of vanilla and citrus soap slid down your skin, rubbing any grime away and relaxing your muscles, Wanda walked into your room. She figured she’d just wait to talk with you once you got out of the shower, plopping herself down on your bed. However, as soon as she sat, something hard and stiff was felt under her, something very uncomfortable. Wanda slightly lifted herself off of the bed, blindly moving her hand around for the stiff object- finding a small journal. It was a dark red, canvas cover. Your initials were etched into the bottom right corner.

As you stepped out of the bathroom, the sight of Wanda sitting on the edge of your bed, her hands trembling, sent a chill down your spine. Your journal lay face down on the floor, its secrets exposed. Droplets from your wet hair trickled down your back, the cold seeping through your pajamas and onto the wooden floor. The room was thick with silence.
Wanda’s eyes, wide and glistening, locked onto yours. Her voice, barely above a whisper, broke the tension. “How long?” The weight of her question pressed heavily upon you.

Your heart raced, each beat echoing in your ears. The walls seemed to close in, the air growing thin. You opened your mouth, searching for words, but found none.
Wanda’s gaze hardened, a mixture of hurt and betrayal evident. “All this time… ” Her voice cracked, the pain palpable.
You took a tentative step forward, hands outstretched in a plea. “Wanda, I can explain—”
But she recoiled, as if your very presence burned. “Explain? How can you possibly explain this?” She gestured towards the fallen journal, her movements sharp and erratic, “It’s you. You’re the traitor, you’re the mole,” she glared at you accusingly. The red glow in her eyes grew with each second.
Desperation clawed at you. “I was told to lie. Ask Fury he put me—”
“Fury? Are you serious?” she interrupted, her tone dripping with disdain. “Was any of it real? Or was I just another pawn?”
You shook your head vehemently, “No, Wanda, you have to believe me. My feelings for all of you are genuine.”

She stood abruptly, red wisps crackling from her fingers, “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
Before you could utter another word, the door swung open with a resounding thud. Natasha stood in the doorway, her face a mask of cold fury. Behind her, Steve and Tony loomed, their expressions grim. Natasha’s voice was icy, each word laced with venom. “Is it true? Have you been feeding information to HYDRA?”
Your knees threatened to buckle under the weight of their collective gaze. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stand upright. “It’s not what it seems. I was working undercover, on Fury’s orders. I was a SHIELD agent before an Avenger, you guys know this.”

Tony scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Convenient excuse. Got any proof?”
You reached into your pocket, fingers trembling, and producing your phone. “Call him! Ask him. Fury will tell you everything, promise.”
Steve stepped forward, grabbing your phone out of your hand- crushing it. His eyes, usually filled with warmth, were now cold and distant. “Your promises mean nothing to us anymore, Agent.”
Tony stepped further into the room, all of them cornering you, “Besides, Fury’s off grid with Maria. We just got the call.” He sucked his teeth, “But if you two worked as closely as you say, you would’ve known before us.” The bite in Tony’s words wasn't missed.
Fuck.
As they turned to leave, you dove for your notebook on the ground, picking it up and practically shoving it toward Steve, “This! Read this!” ragged breaths left your mouth, “everything that’s been going on is in it. From the first day.”
Steve glanced at you warily, looking back at Natasha, “Can we trust this?”
The redhead’s gaze toward you was icy, completely void of emotion. Your eyes pleaded with her. She didn’t care.
“Absolutely not.”

Chapter Text

Your throat tightens like a noose, squeezing the air from your lungs until breathing feels like something you have to earn. The room shrinks, the walls pressing in, colder and darker than they were just moments ago. You can’t stop staring at Wanda’s hands—trembling, like the journal burned her, like you might burn her.
And maybe you already have.
Her eyes find yours—sharp, searching, unforgiving—and there’s no refuge in them. No mercy. Just betrayal. Real and raw, cutting through the air like shattered glass under bare feet. You want to move, to do something. But your body won’t cooperate. You’re frozen—pinned by their gaze, by the weight of everything that’s gone to shit.
You try to swallow, but the lump in your throat is immovable, thick with guilt and shame and something dangerously close to fear. Not the kind you’re used to—the kind you can fight through with clenched fists and adrenaline—but the kind that turns your stomach and makes your knees weak.
Your fingers curl into trembling fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms, like maybe pain will pull you back to reality. But nothing can ground you now. Not when Natasha’s eyes are glistening with tears she refuses to let fall with a quivering chin. Natasha Romanoff doesn’t cry—not in front of you. Not now.
You part your lips, desperate to say something, anything that could hold back the tidal wave you see rising in her chest. But what could you possibly say?
“Please…” Your voice is hoarse, unfamiliar. “It’s not… it’s not what you think. You guys know me. You’re my team-”
The words taste hollow, pathetic. They fall between you like glass, cracking on impact. “Natasha, you know me.”
Stark breaks the silence. Bitterness seeps through his words. “We’re not your team- and you’re not a damn Avenger.”
You can feel your heartbeat in your throat, pounding against your ribs like it’s trying to break free, trying to outrun this moment. Everything you sacrificed. The danger you were put in. The mental exhaustion you faced. For this? For rejection? For pain? For rage? For Fury to bail on you when you need him most?

Without a word, the team moved silently out of your room one by one. It’s like they were communicating telepathically. Wanda glanced back at you before walking out, “Gonna bring you some water. Then we’ll figure out what’s next.”

It felt like hours while you sat holed up in your room, hearing mumbling and arguing from the living room. When Wanda came back she had a black hoodie on and red, damp eyes, with a small glass of water in her hand. She sat next to you on your bed, silently handing it to you.

“Please Wanda you have to let me explain,” when you reached for her hand she flinched, moving back like you were a disease.
“Just drink, Y/N.” She sniffled.
“Maximoff-,” as you brought the glass to your lips, brown eyes watching you, you saw how she winced at the nickname.
After taking a few sips you started to feel a little better, until something funny happened. When you looked up at your best friend, she was looking back at you with a pitiful gaze. The world before you started to swirl and suddenly your body felt extremely heavy. In an instant you could no longer keep yourself upright.
That’s when it dawned on you. Wanda Maximoff had drugged you. She laid your limp form down on the bed, taking the glass and handcuffing your wrists together. You were too weak to protest.
“Wh…where are you taking,” it took all of your strength to continue speaking, “me?” The last word fell short on your lips.
Green eyes peered down at you, “Where you belong.”
The last thing you saw was a black bag going over your head.
When you awoke, the sterile scent and dim lighting told you all you needed to know. The Raft. Your heart sank- this was the worst outcome, you were sure of it. Drugged, imprisoned, and alone. And where the fuck was Nick Fury?
The days blurred together, each one an endless cycle of isolation, cold mush food, and regret. The faces of those you cared for haunted your thoughts, etched into your memory. And the one who put you up to this, who said if it ever got too dangerous he’d pull you out? Yeah, he was nowhere to be found. The Avengers seemed to forget you with a snap of their fingers. The small tv kept in the corner of the lunch room played newscasts over and over again about your “disappearance” from the Avengers and the “ongoing search” for you.
The mighty heroes held a press conference, and as always, Tony was the first to go up and speak. His suit was dark navy, signature sunglasses on.
“It is with great distress that we officially announce the disappearance of Agent Y/N L/N- Avenger, former highest rank SHIELD operative, special intel spy, and beloved member of our family. These are never before seen circumstances, and we’d appreciate New Yorkers help with any outstanding information. The U.S. government is conducting a country wide and international investigation at this moment,” Tony stepped back from the mic, ignoring the buzzing questions from countless reporters.
The Black Widow, dressed in her typical unitard, stepped up to the mic somberly, “Agent, wherever you are- know that we will not rest until you’re found. You’re a hero- the world needs you, the world misses you.”
You’d been a dedicated shield agent practically since highschool, and recently a dedicated Avenger, sworn to protect society at the highest level. No matter the cost. But now, here you were. Living with the dirtiest of fucking criminals while your colleagues played martyr. And your girlfriend called you “Agent.”
The Raft was always cold at night. The kind of cold that seeped into your bones and wrapped itself around your chest, leaving you breathless. You had spent weeks in that cell, staring at the same blank walls, hearing the same distant echoes of guards’ boots and the occasional sound of a far-off door sliding open. Time became meaningless.
Most nights, you didn’t sleep. How could you? Tonight was no different, except for the faint, rhythmic tapping you suddenly noticed from the far end of the hall. It was quiet at first, like a whisper against the cold metal walls, but it grew louder, more deliberate.
Tap. Tap. Pause. Tap.
You sat up on your cot, the thin blanket slipping from your shoulders. A rat scurried by your cell. “Hello?” you called out tentatively, your voice hoarse from disuse.
No response. Just the tapping. You strained to listen, your eyes narrowing as you tried to discern its source. Then came the smallest hint of a voice—a low murmur, barely above a whisper. It sent a shiver down your spine, not because it was menacing, but because it was deliberate. Purposeful.
“Awake, are we?”
The voice was calm, almost amused. You whipped your head toward the source, squinting through the dim light. A shadow moved in the cell across from yours, just out of reach of the weak, flickering light. All this time you forced it had been empty. You couldn’t see much—just the faint outline of someone seated, elbows resting on their knees.
“Yea, kind of hard to sleep while your tap dancing over there.”
A small chuckle sounded.
“Who are you?” Your voice was steadier now.
“That’s the wrong question,” the voice replied smoothly, its tone laced with something you couldn’t quite place. “The better question is: do you want out?”
You froze, your breath catching in your throat. Weeks of isolation, of pain, of being treated like the enemy—those words hit you like a lightning bolt. “Out?” you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.
The shadow leaned forward slightly, just enough for you to catch the faint glint of eyes. “You’ve been here long enough to know you don’t belong. And yet… here you are. Doesn’t that burn you up inside?”
You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. The silence spoke for you.
“Thought so,” the figure said, leaning back into the shadows. “They’ll be changing shifts soon. When they do, there’ll be a window. Small, but enough.”
“Enough for what?” you demanded, stepping closer to the bars. They were cold around your fingers.
“For us to leave,” the voice said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Every instinct screamed that this could be a trap, some cruel game designed to test your loyalty—or your desperation. But something about the way this person spoke, their calm certainty, made you hesitate.
“Why would you help me?” you asked finally, your voice low.
A faint chuckle echoed through the hall. “Let’s just say I have a soft spot for people who’ve been screwed over. And you? You’ve been screwed over royally.”
You swallowed hard, your fingers curling around the cold metal bars. “And why should I trust you?”
“Trust me?” the shadow repeated, amusement lacing their tone. “You shouldn’t. But if you stay here, you’ll rot. Or worse, they’ll come back for you and finish what they started. Your choice.”
Before you could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall, and the figure melted further into the darkness of their cell. You backed away from the bars, your pulse pounding as a pair of guards passed by without so much as a glance in your direction.
When the footsteps faded, the voice returned, softer this time. “When the shift changes, be ready. I’ll handle the rest.”
The shift change came like clockwork, and with it, the faint hum of the security systems momentarily rebooting. You sat on the edge of your cot, every muscle in your body tense. The voice hadn’t spoken again, and for a moment, you wondered if you’d imagined it. But then, a faint click echoed through the hall, followed by a low, sharp whistle.
Your cell door slid open with a soft hiss.
You shot to your feet, your heart racing as you stared at the open doorway. Across the hall, the shadow moved again, stepping out of their cell with the same eerie calm. They were taller than you expected, their face obscured by a hood and the dim light.
“C’mon,” the voice said, gesturing for you to follow.
You hesitated for a split second before stepping out, your bare feet hitting the cold metal floor. The figure moved swiftly but silently, their movements precise and deliberate. You followed close behind, your mind spinning as they led you through a maze of corridors, each turn more disorienting than the last.
“Who are you?” you whispered again, your voice barely audible.
“Someone who doesn’t like seeing people thrown away,” they replied cryptically, not breaking stride.
They bypassed security cameras and guards with an ease that made your skin crawl. Whoever this person was, they weren’t just skilled—they were practiced. A professional.
When you reached the final door, the figure stopped, pulling something from their sleeve—a small device that emitted a faint, high-pitched beep. The door clicked open, revealing the night sky beyond. Cold air rushed in, biting against your skin, but it felt like freedom.
“This is where we part ways,” the voice said, stepping aside to let you through.
You turned to face them, your chest heaving as adrenaline coursed through you. “You’re just letting me go?”
The figure nodded. “Your fight isn’t here anymore. Go finish it.”
You hesitated, searching their shadowed face for any clue, any fragment of their identity. But they didn’t move, didn’t speak further, and the darkness seemed to swallow them whole.
“Thank you,” you said finally, your voice strong.
They inclined their head slightly, giving you a gracious nod.
Just as you were walking into the night, parting ways with the figure, it stopped, turning to you, “Funny, isn’t it? Saving the world, one betrayal at a time. When the Avengers come for you, and trust me they will, don’t let them fool you into thinking you were the only one to fall out of line.”
”You won’t tell me who you are, will you?”
“I’m what you’d call an ally.”
And with that you two separated, the door hissing shut behind you. When you turned to look back, the figure was gone, leaving only the question that would haunt you for years to come: Who were they?
You swam for miles in choppy water before finding an old fisherman’s boat, climbing aboard and playing the part of a stranded swimmer.
“Young lady, what are you doing all the way out here? No, no this won’t do, can’t have you dying on my boat,” The old man shuffled back and forth, getting water and crackers to replenish you. You collapsed onto the deck, muscles screaming and legs numb.
You thanked him with a silent nod, barely able to lift a cracker to your mouth after you quite literally swam for your life. It took three hours to get back to shore, and every now and then the man gave you a curious glance.
After awhile, he broke the silence, “Has anyone ever told you that you look like- oh what’s her name, that Avenger girl?” his old hands pinched the bridge of his nose, “Oh c’mon now, of course I’m forgetting.”
Silence. You ate a few more crackers and rubbed salt water out of your tired eyes.
“Oh! Y/N something, you know who I mean!” the fisherman looked back to you
“Oh yeah, all the time,” you croaked, taking another swig of water, “it’s uncanny really.”
By the time you got to shore, relief ran through your veins like a drug. As you prepared to get off, he stopped you, catching your arm, “You take care of yourself, eh? Whatever you’re running from…don’t let it catch you.”
You froze.
“It won’t.” You gave him a small smile of appreciation before hitting solid ground.
There were only three goals in mind: Find a phone, call Natasha, clear your name.
In that order.

Chapter Text

Back at the compound, the Avengers sat in the conference room, shoulders tense and jaws clenched. The air was heavy, thick with unspoken words and mounting frustration. Everyone was there—except Peter. He had refused to believe you were a mole and hadn’t shown up all week.
Tony broke the silence, his voice sharp and cutting through the tension like a blade. “Ross is coming in today to address the… situation. Steve, Bruce—I need you down at SHIELD, cross-checking international databases with the others. See if anything or anyone’s been leaked.”
Natasha, seated at the edge of the table, cleared her throat. Her voice was steady but held an unfamiliar hesitation. “What are we doing with her room? Her belongings?”
Every head turned to Natasha, the incredulous looks around the table unmistakable.
“Seriously?” Clint snorted, leaning back in his chair. “Burn it.”
“Don’t be cruel,” Wanda snapped from her corner of the room, her glare piercing. Her voice, though quiet, carried an edge of protective anger that cut through the rising tension.
Clint shrugged
Tony responded in his place, his tone turning defensive. “I’m sorry, was it not cruel enough to betray us? To manipulate our trust—our feelings? What, you think she deserves a shrine, Maximoff?”
Steve leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Look, Wanda, I hate to side with Tony on this, but Clint’s right. The sooner we rid ourselves of this… reminder, the better.”
Wanda’s eyes darkened, and her voice shook with barely contained disdain. “Did we have to tell the world she’s missing?”
The question dropped like a grenade, detonating the silence in the room.
Tony sighed, dragging a hand down his face before pinching the bridge of his nose. “That, or we tell the world the Avengers let a mole infiltrate us—live right under our noses. Do you really think that’s an option?” His voice was cold, final. “This is damage control. Nothing more.”
No one answered. Wanda’s gaze drifted to the floor, her hands fidgeting in her lap, and the weight of everything unsaid pressed down on all of them like an anchor.

Natasha, who had been quiet until now, suddenly stood from her chair. Her movements were sharp, her jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might crack. Without a word, she walked to the back of the room, where a secure line was installed. She pressed a button on the console, dialing the one number she had memorized long before she ever joined the Avengers.
The line rang once, then twice, then three times. Natasha stared at the flashing red light on the console, her lips pressing into a tight line.
“Come on, Nick,” she muttered under her breath. “Pick up.”
The ringing continued, a mechanical reminder of his absence.
“Still no word?” Steve asked, his voice softer this time. Natasha didn’t answer right away, her hand hovering over the console as though sheer willpower might make him answer. Finally, the line went dead, and she stepped back, her expression unreadable.
“No,” she said quietly, her voice cold. “Still off the grid.”
Tony let out a humorless laugh. “Of course he is. When we actually need him to answer for something, Fury pulls a vanishing act.”
Natasha spun on her heel, her eyes flashing with something dangerous as she strode back toward the table. “Don’t you dare, Stark,” she said, her voice low but cutting. “He’s the only one who can explain all of this, so unless you have a better idea—”
“We don’t need his explanation,” Tony interrupted, his tone sharp. “We have the facts. Y/N lied to us, plain and simple. She sold our information. She put our lives in danger, every single one of us. Whether Fury knew or not doesn’t change that.”
“Of course it does!” Natasha snapped, her voice rising. “You don’t know her like I do.”
Tony leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Apparently, none of us did.”
The room fell silent again, Natasha’s glare burning into Tony as he stared her down, unyielding.
“Let’s not make this personal,” Steve interjected, his futile attempt at mediating the two strongest personalities in the room. “We need to focus on the task at hand—preventing any further leaks and figuring out when Fury’s back. That’s all that matters right now.”
Natasha didn’t respond, her jaw tight as she sat back down. But the tension in her shoulders and the fire in her eyes made it clear that this conversation was far from over.
Just as the air seemed to thin out, the sound of heavy boots echoed down the hallway. The doors swung open, and Secretary Ross entered the room, his presence suffocating.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he greeted, his voice dripping with authority and disdain in equal measure. “Or should I say, former heroes of the people?”
Tony rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, “Great, here we go.”
Ross’s gaze swept the room, lingering on each of them like he was taking inventory of their failures. “You’ve done an impressive job of turning this entire operation into a PR disaster. A mole, right under your noses? And now, instead of dealing with it quietly, you’ve announced to the world that one of your own has gone missing.”

“We made a calculated decision,” Steve said, his voice steady, though his jaw was visibly tight. “The public deserves transparency.”
“Transparency?” Ross scoffed, taking a step closer to the table. “What they deserve is to feel safe, and right now, they don’t. This little debacle makes it clear that you can’t even keep your own team in check, let alone the world. And you’re supposed to be the worlds mightiest.”
Natasha stood, her hands flat on the table as she leaned forward. “If you’re here to lecture us, save it. We’re already cleaning up the mess.”
Ross’s eyes narrowed, a smirk playing on his lips. “Cleaning up? Romanoff, the only thing you’ve cleaned up is your reputation after defecting to the Avengers in the first place. Tell me, do you really trust anyone in this room?”
The tension snapped like a taut wire, the air in the room crackling with unspoken anger. Natasha’s fingers curled against the table, her knuckles white. “Watch it. Last time I checked you weren’t a clean wheel either, Secretary.”
Tony held up a hand, his tone exasperated. “Can we skip the part where we trade insults and get to why you’re really here?”
Ross smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “Good, let’s cut to it, shall we? HYDRA has issued a… proposal. We received an encrypted message from them yesterday evening.”
Natasha clenched her jaw.
Ross continued, setting a tablet down in the center of the table. “In exchange for the traitor, they will stand down from an attack they’ve planned.” He clicked a button, and grainy surveillance footage popped up on the screen—a HYDRA base, soldiers in masks loading something into trucks. “They have something big—but they’re offering us an out this time. I think they care about revenge now more than us.”
He leaned forward, bracing himself against the table. “We give them Y/N, and they back off.”
Silence.

“They won’t back off,” Steve said, shaking his head. “They’re bluffing. There’s no negotiating with terrorists. This is a ploy, and we’re falling for it.”
“And if it’s not?” Ross raised a brow. “Are you willing to bet the city on it, on innocent lives? How about we wait until the city is burning and wish we had done something about it while we had the chance, that sounds good to you Cap? We can’t afford any more hits while you’re at your weakest.”
The room was silent. On one hand, Ross was right.
“As a plus, the Avengers, SHIELD- they get their own taste of revenge. One, unimportant life for possibly hundreds of innocents..”
On the other hand, Ross was an asshole.
“That’s enough,” Steve stood up from his chair, hands slamming on the table before him- but eyes trained on Ross.
He stood back, clearing his throat, “Finally, there’s one last bit you need to know: we’re assuming control of this situation. SHIELD, international intelligence, and your precious PR machine are all reporting to the US government now. Until this is resolved, you answer to me.”
“What exactly does that mean?” Tony asked, his voice low and dangerous.
“It means,” Ross said, his gaze locking on Natasha, “you don’t so much as sneeze without my approval. And if you so much as think about covering for L/N, or messing up this deal, you’ll all be answering to a much higher authority.”
“So then this really isn’t our choice, is it?”
“It is- but it’s also called a courtesy meeting, Ms. Maximoff,” with that, the U.S. government's biggest asshole turned and walked out of the room, leaving the Avengers to pick up the pieces. Once again.
Somewhere off the coast
Natasha was sitting alone in the lounge, fingers pressed to her temple, trying to ward off the inevitable headache from the past few days. She had barely slept, barely eaten. The logical part of her brain told her that what they were doing was the best option, revenge that you deserved…but every other part of her—every part of her that had known you, trusted you, cared for you—was screaming that this was wrong.
Her phone buzzed.
An unknown number.
Her stomach twisted. She hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering.
“Hello?”
“Nat—”
Your voice. Your tired voice.
She inhaled sharply, her fingers tightening around the phone. “Where are you?”
“I—” You swallowed, knowing you couldn’t reveal your exact location yet. “I got out.”
Natasha shut her eyes. A long silence stretched between you.
“I didn’t betray you,” you whispered. “I need you to believe me. You have to believe me.”
She exhaled slowly, running a hand through her hair. “It’s not about what I believe, Y/N. It’s about what happened.”
“I didn’t—”
“You lied to me,” she said, and there was something dangerous in her voice now. Something shattered. “For months. And I let you in. I—”
She stopped herself. Exhaled sharply.
“I’m not your enemy,” you said.
She should have hung up. Should have ended it there. But instead, she found herself whispering:
“Then why does it feel like you are?”
Before you could answer, another call came through.
She pulled the phone away, glancing at the name flashing across the screen.
ROSS.
Her stomach turned to stone.
“I have to go,” she said quickly.
“Wait—Natasha, don’t—”
The line went dead.
Natasha closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before switching to Ross’s call.
“We have her location,” she said, voice void of emotion.
“Good,” Ross replied. “Let’s finish this.”
An hour later, as you swiftly walked out of a local diner, pulling a dine and dash, a whirring sound passed by your right ear. When you looked around, three red dots flickered onto your chest.
Snipers.
You spun around just as the black SUVs rolled up, their tires screeching against the pavement.
You dialed Natasha’s number every so slowly, not making any sudden moves.
She picked up.
“Tell me you didn’t.”

All you heard was her shallow breathing.

“Natasha, tell me you didn’t do this to me. Tell me they found me some other way.”
A rubber band seemed to have been placed around the widows vocal chords, refraining her from speaking.
“We- did what was necessary,” her raspy voice whispered through the line.
The Avengers, the family you were trying to protect- had sold you out? nO, no this was some misunderstanding.
There was a slight pinch in the side of your neck, a tranquilizer you assumed, before the world went dark. The last thing you heard was the sound of boots hitting the pavement and a familiar voice murmuring,

“Welcome home, Agent. Oh, how we’ve missed you.”

Chapter Text

When you awoke, the air smelled sterile, metallic. Underground, maybe. A HYDRA base. Not one you recognized, though.
Then you saw her.
Samantha stood at the entrance, arms crossed, a smirk playing at her lips.
“Agent L/N.” Her voice was dripping with amusement. “It’s been a minute.”
Your jaw clenched. “Not long enough.”
She tsked, stepping closer. “Still got that attitude. Cute. Let’s see how long that lasts.”
She gestured to the guards. “Take her to processing. And be thorough. I want her properly introduced.”
You were shoved forward, barely catching yourself as you were dragged down the dimly lit corridor. The halls smelled like sweat, blood, and fear. The guards brought out a strange looking camera, the blinding light from the flash hurt your eyes. The “search and seizure” process of any personal belongings was thorough- but very quick. The Raft had already taken everything.
Guards strapped you to a chair with metal cuffs, binding your arms and legs. The room was dim with nothing but a single overhead light flickering. How stereotypical, you thought.
Samantha paced in front of you, a tablet in hand.
“I have to admit, I’m a little disappointed, Y/N.” She sighed, tapping the screen. “All those years at SHIELD. All that potential. And you wasted it playing double agent for a team that didn’t hesitate to throw you to the wolves.” She pressed a button on the tablet, the restraints immediately got tighter- nearly cutting into your skin.
You didn’t answer her.
She tilted her head. “That stings, doesn’t it? Knowing that your “family” she mocked the word, “—turned on you the second it benefited them?”
You inhaled slowly, keeping your expression blank.
“Not even a little bitterness?” Samantha mused. “Come on, Y/N,” she grabbed your chin between her fingers, tilting it up to look at her, “Let’s be honest. You hate them for this.”
Your fingers curled into fists.
Samantha’s smirk widened. “I would too.”
She crouched in front of you. Her voice dropped to a near-whisper. “You trusted them. You loved them. And look what they did to you. Look where you are.”
Your throat tightened, “If you’re going to kill me, just do it. I’m getting bored here.”
She stood, stretching lazily. “Oh well. You’re no fun.”
Suddenly, her gaze swept over you, as if fully taking you in, “Your body- so beautiful, delicate, so deadly… let's break it.”
Almost on cue, the cell door creaked open, two men in lab coats walking in.
“Doctors, meet your newest subject- Y/N L/N. Have some fun will you? Give her a warm welcome to what HYDRA does to traitors,” her laugh sounded off the echoing walls.
Before she stepped out, Samantha turned back to you, “You’re home now, Agent.. and whether you like it or not, this time?”
Her eyes gleamed.
“You’re staying.”
THE FIRST WEEK
The beginning few days passed in fragments. You weren’t sure how much time had actually gone by—no windows, no clocks. Just the sterile, artificial glow of fluorescent lights overhead, and the endless cycle of pain, sedation, and silence. And mush disguised as food.
They didn’t ask you questions.
They didn’t demand confessions.
They weren’t looking for information.
Whatever HYDRA wanted from you, it had nothing to do with debriefing. Their revenge was physical, mental.
You learned that quickly.
You weren’t valuable to them as a prisoner, or as a corpse. You were a subject. And they wanted you alive.

WEEK TWO
The pain was constant now, it woke you up in the morning and lulled you to sleep.
You barely had an hour to wake up before being taken to testing again. A part of you wondered if anyone was even looking for you. If your best friend missed you. Maybe, just maybe, Natasha missed you too. Maybe Wanda?
Once again, the cold metal table beneath your back was slick with sweat. Your arms were restrained at your sides, thick cuffs biting into your wrists. Electrodes pressed into your temples, wired into some kind of neuro-scanning device. A restraint locked your head in place, forcing you to stare at the ceiling as the steady beep, beep, beep of the machines echoed in the sterile room.
The lead scientist, a thin, balding man with needle-like features, leaned over you. His gloved fingers ghosted over your arm, pressing down at various points like he was assessing you.
He didn’t speak to you.
None of them did.
Sometimes you caught fragments of German being spoken, thrown around here and there.
“Neural pathways are strong,” the scientist murmured to his assistant. “Resilience is remarkable. Blood saturation remains stable despite exposure to Compound A-07. Pupils are diluted.”
He pressed something into your neck. A needle. Another dose. The sting barely registered anymore.
Your muscles twitched involuntarily as the serum spread through your veins—liquid fire crawling under your skin. It wasn’t just pain. It was rewiring you.
HYDRA was changing you, piece by piece, from the inside out.
The scientist leaned closer, his breath ghosting over your cheek.
“You’re adapting well,” he murmured. “Most subjects resist too much. They’re gone in the first week. They die screaming.”
His voice was clinical. Detached.
The burning in your veins climbed higher. Your fingers twitched. Your throat tightened as an overwhelming pressure swelled in your head, like something inside of you was trying to expand.
The scientist watched you with quiet fascination, his eyes sharp behind wire-rimmed glasses.
“Let’s see how far we can push you.”
The world blurred. You heard the beeping on the monitors get faster, louder.
And then—
Blackness.
Whenever the “doctors” were done playing slice and dice, they sent the guards to take you back. At night you could feel it.
Your body was changing.
Stronger. Faster. Sharper. But wrong. Your thoughts weren’t coming together the way they used to. Something had changed inside you, genes mutating. The enhanced hearing, the heightened awareness, the deadliness—it wasn’t just physical.
When you tried to focus on the memories that grounded you—they felt… fuzzy.
Thoughts of Natasha, Peter, Wanda- the emotions you used to feel for them were now distant, as if something was blocking you from reaching them.
Reprogramming.

The phone buzzes in Tony Stark’s pocket, vibrating against the wood of the conference table. The room is dim, lit only by the glow of screens filled with classified reports and a map tracking HYDRA activity.
Tony ignores it. Too busy staring at the grainy surveillance footage Ross brought in, looping over and over again—Y/N’s face, bloodied and barely conscious, dragged through a corridor by faceless HYDRA agents. He hadn’t slept in days.
No one had.
Natasha sits at the far end of the table, arms crossed so tightly it looks like she might shatter under her own grip. She hasn’t spoken much. Not since the deal was made.
The phone keeps buzzing.
Tony sighs, swipes it from his pocket, and barely glances at the screen before answering. “This better be good—”
A voice, sharp as a whip.
“Where the hell is my agent?”
Silence.
Tony’s blood runs cold.
He slowly lowers the phone from his ear and puts it on speaker. The entire room holds its breath as Nick Fury’s voice fills the space.
“Stark,” Fury snaps. “I asked you a question.”
Steve leans forward, eyes darkening. “Fury—”
“Don’t Fury me, Rogers.” The voice on the other end is livid, boiling with fury (no pun intended). “Where. The hell. Is Y/N?”
Natasha’s nails dig into her arms. Her stomach drops.
“We—” Tony starts, but the words die in his throat.
Fury’s silence is worse than his anger. Then, finally—
“You sold her.”
The weight of those words crashes down, suffocating.
Bruce swallows, looking down at the table, unable to meet anyone’s gaze. Wanda grips the edge of her chair so tightly it groans under the pressure. Clint exhales sharply, rubbing his temple, shaking his head like he’s just now realizing the full gravity of what they’ve done.
And Natasha—she stops breathing.
Fury keeps going, relentless. “Tell me you did not hand over my agent—my agent—to a fucking terrorist organization.”
The room is silent.
Natasha grips the table, her heart pounding in her ears, throat tightening until she feels like she might choke.
“Say something,” Fury barks.
But none of them do.
Because there’s nothing to say.
Fury’s voice is razor-sharp, cutting through the stunned silence like a blade.
“I gave you one mission,” he growls. “One. Simple. Mission. And you sold her.”
Natasha feels the world spinning beneath her feet, nausea roiling in her gut.
“Nick,” Steve starts, trying to regain some control, but Fury is not having it.
“Don’t,” Fury spits. “Do not give me your damn righteous act, Rogers. You all fucked up. This is on all of you.”
Tony rubs his hands over his face, looking more tired than he ever has. “We didn’t have a choice.”
Fury laughs. It’s dark. Humorless. Deadly.
“You always have a choice, Tony.”
Wanda swallows hard, her fingers twitching against her temple. “Fury, we thought—”
“No, you didn’t think,” he snaps. “You panicked. Like amateurs.”
Clint exhales sharply, shaking his head. “She lied to us, Nick. What were we supposed to do?”
Fury’s response is immediate. “Trust her.”
That shuts everyone up.
He lets the silence settle, lets them feel it. Lets them sit in the weight of their failure.
“I hand-picked Y/N for this mission,” Fury continues, voice like thunder. “She was undercover—for you. For all of you. Every risk she took, every lie she told, it was for this team.”
Natasha’s grip tightens on the edge of the table. Her nails dig into the wood, jaw locked so tight it aches.
“She didn’t betray us,” Bruce says, voice hollow. “We betrayed her.”
His voice softens, but it’s no less lethal.
“And now, because of you, she’s in the hands of HYDRA.”
Natasha sucks in a sharp breath, her chest constricting with something close to panic.
HYDRA has Y/N.
HYDRA.
Tony leans forward, eyes dark. “Tell us where she is.”
Fury’s silence is damning.
“You don’t know, do you?” Natasha accuses, her voice sharp.
Fury exhales through his nose. “They’ve gone dark.”
The room erupts in chaos.
Steve slams his fists against the table. “We have to find her—”
“We don’t even know if she’s alive,” Clint mutters.
“She’s alive.” Natasha’s voice cuts through the noise, low and deadly. “She has to be.”
Fury’s silence says everything.
A sick, horrible thought worms its way into Natasha’s mind. If HYDRA knows Y/N was a double agent, then they aren’t just keeping her locked up. They’re doing something worse.
They’re breaking her.
And it’s their fault.
“I need access to every lead you have,” Natasha demands. “Every HYDRA contact. Every encrypted message. Every base you think they could be hiding her in.”
Fury exhales through his nose. “It’s not that simple, Romanoff.”
“I don’t care.” Her voice is steel. “I’m getting her back.”
No one argues.
Because the moment Natasha wants something, she gets it.
And right now?
She wants you.
Back at any cost.

The silence in the room is suffocating, thick with shame and anger. The weight of their failure is pressing down on all of them like an iron vice, and Fury’s words cut deeper than any of them are willing to admit.
Tony clenches his fists on the table, his jaw tight. “So what now?” His voice is sharp, bordering on bitter. “You show up now and start throwing blame around like it’s our fault she’s gone? Where the hell were you when we were making that decision, huh?”
Fury’s gaze flicks to Tony, but he doesn’t say a word.
Steve, ever the voice of reason, straightens in his seat, his expression hardened. “We tried to get ahold of you, Nick,” he says, and his voice carries frustration he rarely allows himself to show. “We called. We searched. You were off the grid. If she was your agent, where were you?”
Fury’s nostrils flare slightly, his shoulders squared, but he doesn’t flinch. Instead, he takes a step closer to the table, planting his hands firmly on its surface as he leans forward.
“You think you get to lecture me?” His voice is low, dark, edged with something dangerous. “You think you get to sit there and tell me that I let her down? You self-righteous sons of bitches handed her over to HYDRA. It was bad enough you threw her in the raft.”
No one speaks.
Fury exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head in barely restrained anger. “I was handling HYDRA. I was handling multiple operations, that’s what you have to do when you’re the Director of SHIELD and the founder of this team. I was tracking movements, shutting down operatives, making sure this didn’t go sideways.” He points a finger at Tony. “You think I go off-grid for fun? You think I was kicking back with a cocktail while HYDRA was making their move? I was keeping you all safe—including her.”
“Yeah?” Clint snaps suddenly, standing from his chair, eyes blazing. “Then why didn’t you come for her? Why didn’t you stop us before we made that deal?”
Fury’s lips press into a thin line. For the first time since walking into the room, his gaze falters, shifting away for a fraction of a second.
Natasha catches it immediately.
“You didn’t know,” she whispers, realization dawning on her.
Fury exhales slowly. “Not soon enough.”
A sick feeling twists in Natasha’s stomach.
“You didn’t know we turned her over. But Ross, he-,” she pauses, the words tasting like poison on her tongue. “We thought somehow, you knew.”
Fury straightens, his expression unreadable. “By the time I got the intel… it was too late.”
The air is thick, suffocating. Natasha grips the edge of the table so hard her knuckles go white.
“You abandoned her,” she breathes, her voice trembling with something foreign—something broken.
His gaze flickers with something unspoken. “So did you.”
Natasha recoils like she’s been struck.
The words slam into her chest, knocking the breath from her lungs.
It’s true.
It’s so fucking true.
And she can’t take it back.
No one can.
Steve exhales, dragging his hands down his face. “So what do we do now?”
Fury straightens, his expression hardening. “We fix it.”
“How?” Bruce asks from the corner of the room, his voice barely above a whisper.
Fury levels them all with a knowing look, his next words sending a chill down every spine in the room.
“We find her before HYDRA finishes what they started.”
And somewhere, deep within the confines of a terrorist facility, you were already slipping further and further away from the person they once knew.

“The best thing we could do for L/N? Hope that she’s dead. That’s the most mercy HYDRA can offer.”

Chapter Text

Samantha’s voice is honeyed poison. Slick. Slow. Cruel.

“You really think they were looking for you?” she murmurs, dragging a lazy circle around your bruised wrist. “You saw the footage.”
Your head lolls slightly, exhaustion weighing on your every breath.
“What footage?”
Samantha tilts her head, smirking.
“Let me show you.”
The screen crackles to life.
And then, there they are. The Avengers.
At a press conference.
Tony Stark with a pressed suit and professional expression.
Natasha. Her lips tight.
Steve Rogers. Arms crossed.
And Tony is speaking.
“It is with great distress that we officially announce the disappearance of Agent Y/N L/N…”
Your heart stutters.
“Former highest-ranking SHIELD operative, special intel spy, and beloved member of our Avengers family.”
But something is wrong. Their faces don’t match their words.
They don’t look upset.
They don’t look like they lost you.
They look like they’re covering something up. Because they are.
You blink, throat dry. “That’s not—”
“Oh, it is.” Samantha leans in, her breath hot against your ear. “They were never going to come for you. The Avengers think they can do anything because they’re heroes. I mean, look what they’ve done to you—”
Your breathing turns shallow. The room sways.
“You’ve been abandoned before, haven’t you?” she whispers, feigning sympathy. “Your parents. Your sister. And now, the people you loved most.” Her hands twirl a lock of your hair between her fingers.
You squeeze your eyes shut.
“Face it, sweetheart.” Samantha’s lips curl into a grin.
“The Avengers never wanted you.”
“But we do.”
And that’s when it happens.
The poison that’s been brewing inside of you slowly spills, infecting your veins.
A bitter taste corrupts your mouth.
Something dark clouds your eyes when you look at the Avengers.

The branding iron came at the end of the first month.
By then, you had already been conditioned to expect something every day. A new dose. A new test. A new training companion. Another way to strip away the last pieces of your “Avenger” self.
But this?
This was personal.
Two men restrained you against the metal slab, ripping one side of your shirt to expose the back part of your left shoulder. Samantha entered the room, her expression unreadable. A third guard stood beside her, holding a long, thin metal rod—its tip glowing red-hot.
Your breathing slowed. Not out of calm. Out of pure, cold survival instinct.
“Do you know why we do this?” Samantha mused, tilting her head as she studied you.
“Are you asking me why a terrorist organization brands its prisoners? Gee, what a mystery.”
She continued anyway.
“It’s not to torture you. Not really. That’s just a side effect. It’s to remind you of one straightforward fact.”
The guard stepped forward. The heat from the iron was unbearable even before it made contact.
“You’re ours now.”
A sound ripped from your throat, somewhere between a gasp and a strangled groan. The burn was deep, cutting past skin, past flesh, sinking into muscle and bone. It stayed, the agony lingering long after the iron was pulled away.
The smell of charred flesh filled the air. You threw up on the floor next to you, heaving and fighting for any breath of air.
The HYDRA skull, ingrained onto the back of your left shoulder forever, burnt to your bone.
Samantha crouched in front of you, leveling her gaze with yours.
“You’ve held out longer than most. Still got that personality—just barely,” she admitted, impressed. “But everyone breaks, my friend. The trick is knowing when to stop fighting it.”
You didn’t speak. You couldn’t.
But you looked at her.
You looked at her like you were memorizing every detail of her face for later.
Like you were determined to be the death of her.
And for the first time—
She hesitated.

It was subtle at first. The way your thoughts shuffled when you tried to think about the past, the Avengers. The way certain memories felt hazy, almost… artificial.
But the real test came when they brought her in.
Wanda.
Not in person. Just a photograph. Just an image of her face, projected onto a screen as the scientist monitored your neural responses.
Your pulse should have spiked.
Your brain activity should have lit up.
Your heart should have warmed.
But instead?
Nothing.
A blank void where she should have been. It felt like looking at a stranger.
“The psychic barrier is holding. No emotional penetration detected.”
Samantha smirked from across the room.
“Good. Let’s keep it that way.”
Next was Natasha.
Same result.

They weren’t just changing you.
They were removing you.
Wiping out the pieces they didn’t want.
Because when they sent you back—
They wanted you to be theirs.
But there was something they missed.
Someone they never accounted for.
Because buried deep, hidden even from yourself—
Your oldest friend had never left your mind.
Her name floated in your mind like smoke, impossible to grab hold of, but there. A lingering presence. A stubborn ember refusing to burn out. Memories rising here and there.
Sharon Carter had slipped through the cracks.

Four Months Later
No more Agent L/N.
No more Y/N.
Just Asset.
The beatings had eased. Not because they grew kinder, but because they had you where they wanted.
Now, the next stage began.
You woke up at 5:00 AM, sharp. By 12:00 AM, you were thrown back into your cell, exhausted, mind foggy, body running on fumes. No breaks. No mercy. Only orders.
You weren’t new to this game. You had been trained by some of the worlds best at SHIELD since you were fifteen—your mind was quick, your body even quicker. HYDRA saw potential in that, and they had always been good at spotting assets. Molding them.
That’s when you knew.
This wasn’t just conditioning. This wasn’t just breaking you down.
This was the final stage. It had been an eternity since you felt like yourself. You forgot what it felt like to be human.
Your training was specific—stealth assassinations, chemical poisoning, psychological warfare, seduction. Your sniper skills were sharpened on ineffective HYDRA operatives. Your seduction tactics were tested on whoever they told you to charm, to spend the night with, just to end them. And the poisons? Whoever lost to you in sparring was your next test subject.
Trigger words were drilled into your mind, engrained so deeply they worked flawlessly:
“Orphaned at dawn” – A reminder that you have no family, you are theirs.
“Sister’s keeper” – Ready to kill.
“Mission complete” – Body immediately collapses after hearing these words, “asleep” until the next order.
The name Y/N L/N was fading. And fast.
Because, in the eyes of HYDRA, you had become something else entirely.
A weapon.
A fantasy.
A killing machine wrapped in beauty and obedience.

Sharon Carter had been looking for you since the moment you disappeared.
She called Fury. Nothing.
She called Hill. Radio silence.
The Avengers?
They had shut her out entirely. Not to mention her previous bad impression of some of the Avengers, making messes and not being able to clean them up.
But the moment she saw the press conference—the one where they mourned you like a ghost, a kidnapping victim- something in her clicked.
Sharon knew you like the back of her hand. Knew how you fought. How you thought. How you survived.
And there was no way in hell you were dead.
So she did what she did best.
She went rogue.
Tapping into old SHIELD contacts. Bribing, blackmailing, and interrogating her way through the underbelly of international intelligence and crime.
Until finally— A whisper.
A rumor.
A name buried in the classified databases of mercenary networks:
HYDRA had you. And they were keeping you.
Murals and “We miss you” shirts with your face on them were already being sold around NYC.
The world had left you for dead.
But Sharon Carter never would.

She sat on the cold hardwood floor in her apartment, tired after another late night of asking around and using the people who owed her favors. And maybe a bullet or two.
A small, dusty memory box sat at her feet, old photos and trinkets nearly overflowing. She picked out a photo: you, blowing out a birthday cupcake with candles on top that read, “25.” Taken in this very apartment. It felt like years since Sharon had seen you, but that photo was only taken months ago.
Then, her favorite: the both of you sitting with your arms around each other, the view of city lights in the background of the rooftop. You two must’ve been no older than 16 at the time. Sharon smiled to herself, a small ache in her chest spreading as she looked at your face- the day you got that mission echoed in her mind like a painful bruise:
Flashback: The Mission Briefing
The SHIELD base smelled like burnt coffee and gun oil—like it always did. You had been around long enough to recognize the Agents who had been in the field too long—hardened, calculated, every step measured. You wondered, sometimes, if you were becoming one of them.
You weren’t sure how you felt about that.
Fury stood at the front of the briefing room, hands clasped behind his back, his singular eye scanning you like a tactician assessing his next move on the board. The dim light reflected off the smooth, dark table between you, the mission file sitting closed on its surface.
“You’ve proven yourself time and time again, L/N,” Fury started, his voice sharp as ever. “You’re one of our best, no doubt. But this is them.”
You exhaled slowly, crossing your arms as you leaned back in the chair. “You mean the Avengers.”
Fury nodded. “We’ve been working a long game on HYDRA. We’ve dismantled a lot, but we need a closer look inside. A deeper play. You’re gonna be that play.”
You didn’t respond right away. Instead, you let the weight of his words settle over you.
A deep cover mission. A long one. Alone.
That didn’t scare you. You had worked solo before. You had taken risks, had been in tight spots, had clawed your way out of them.
But this wasn’t a normal operation. This was the Avengers.
You met Fury’s eye, searching for something in his expression—some tell, some hint at what wasn’t being said. “You really trust me with this?”
Fury didn’t blink. “I trust your skill. I trust your discretion. I trust Coulson, who hasn’t shut up about you for the past damn 10 years. And I trust that you know how to keep yourself alive.”
That should have been enough. And maybe it was.
But before you could agree, a familiar voice cut in from the doorway.
“Y/N.”
Sharon.
She stepped inside, arms crossed, blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail. There was something in her expression—something just a little too guarded. She had been standing there long enough to hear the tail-end of the conversation, and judging by the look she was giving you, she wasn’t thrilled.
You sighed, turning to face her, “Let me guess. You think this is a bad idea.”
Sharon’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I think working for the Avengers is complicated.”
Fury huffed. “That’s one way of putting it.”
You rolled your eyes. “I’m not working for them. I’m working with them..”
Sharon didn’t look convinced. She walked toward you, voice lower now, more serious. “Y/N… they don’t trust easily. And when they do, they expect things. Loyalty. Transparency.” Her jaw tightened. “And when you can’t give them that…”
She didn’t finish.
She didn’t have to.
You knew what she meant.
Sharon had been there before. She had fought with them, bled with them, even been disillusioned by them. She had seen firsthand what happened when you didn’t fit neatly into their world.
And now, here you were. About to step right into the heart of it.
You swallowed. “I can handle them.”
Fury straightened. “Good, then let’s get to work.”
Sharon exhaled, watching you carefully. Then, softer: “I know you can. Just be careful with them, okay?”
Something in her voice made you hesitate. Not just worry. Not just concern.
A warning.
You nodded, standing up and grabbing the mission file off the table. “I will.”
Fury straightened. “Then let’s get to work.”
But as you walked out of that room, the mission file tucked under your arm, Sharon’s voice echoed in the back of your mind.
Just be careful with them.

You weren’t sure if she meant the Avengers.
Or yourself.
Now you wish you had listened.

Chapter Text

It had taken Sharon four months, but she finally found you.
The lead had come from a corrupt Europol contact—one she had to break fingers to get talking.
A flash drive, encrypted with information on something called Project Nightshade. HYDRA had set up an operation deep in the Carpathian Mountains. Remote. Isolated. Off the grid. The kind of place you disappear into and never come out. It was only when she finished reading that Sharon realized you were the project.
Carter spent weeks monitoring the perimeter, tracking movements, listening to intercepted comms. The base was heavily fortified, tighter than even some old SHIELD black sites. HYDRA wasn't just hiding a prisoner.
They were hiding a prized possession. They were hiding you- Asset Nightshade.
Cold hands tightened around the scope of her sniper rifle, positioned on a high ridge overlooking the facility. She had no backup, no official sanction. Just herself, her weapons, and you at the end of this mission.
She peered through her scope, scanning the compound’s exterior.
Armed patrols at every entrance. Sniper nests on the rooftops.
Security drones circling the perimeter.
Getting in was going to be a nightmare.
Getting out with you?
Even worse.
Her earpiece crackled—an old mercenary contact she had bribed for blueprints.
"Carter, you got about a ten-minute window during shift rotation. After that, they lock it down tight."
Sharon exhaled slowly, lowering her rifle.
Ten minutes. That was all she’d have.
"Ten’s all I need," she muttered, pulling down her mask and slipping down the ridge.
Sharon moved through the forest like a shadow, boots silent against the damp ground. The air was sharp with the scent of pine and rain-soaked earth. She timed her movements with the shifting patrols, slipping between blind spots, ducking beneath sensor towers.
The moment the guard at the back exit turned his head, she struck.
A knife to the throat.
A quiet, clean kill.
She dragged his body into the shadows, stripping him of his access card.
——————-
The facility was a fortress.
Deep underground, lined with reinforced steel, the kind of place where things went in and never came out.
But Sharon wasn’t looking for a way in.
She was looking for a way out.
She found you in a cell guarded by two burly men—
The guards fell easily. It was almost disappointing.
You didn’t react when the cell door hissed open.
You should. Your training demands it. But there’s no tension in your shoulders, no shift in posture. Just blankness.
You sit on the metal cot, hands resting on your thighs, still as stone.
Sharon steps in, gun raised, breath tight in her chest.
She barely recognizes you.
Your hair is damp, messy from sweat. Your face thinner. Shadows cling to the hollows of your cheeks, and bruises bloom beneath your skin like wilted roses. But still, Sharon thinks to herself, still beautiful.
“Y/N,” she whispered, her voice tight with urgency.
Your head lifted slightly, eyes unfocused.
Recognition flickered—but not enough.
Sharon’s stomach twisted. They had done something to you.
She knelt beside you, hands gripping your face. “Listen to me. It’s me. It’s Sharon.”
You blinked slowly.
“You’re an intruder.”
Her eyes widened in disbelief.
“No, no, no. Not an intruder, L/N.”
A flicker of softness flashed in your eyes, a moment of recognition from your last name.
Sharon’s voice softens, but only for a second, “Yeah babe, that’s right. It’s me, I’m your friend. And we need to move.”
When you didn’t immediately stand, she pulled you up, throwing your arm over her shoulder.
The moment your legs buckled, she knew—they had weakened you. Drugged you. Rebuilt you.
But they hadn’t taken all of you.
Not yet.
Sharon shoved a gun into your shaking hands. She trusted you wouldn’t hurt her.
“Think you can still shoot?”
Your fingers curled around the grip automatically. Muscle memory. Second nature.
You exhaled shakily.
She watches as your hands flex—calm, methodical—ready for a fight if need be. But there’s no recognition in your face.
No hesitation.
No warmth.
Only the mechanical precision of a weapon awaiting orders.
She swallows hard, her heart breaking in real time.
“Lets get the fuck out of here.”
Your gaze flickers, an almost imperceptible shift, but she catches it
A small crack.
A buried ember, a flicker of something deep inside.
But then, just as quickly, it’s gone.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you say flatly.
Sharon doesn’t hesitate.
She raises her gun and aims it right at your forehead.
“You don’t get a choice.”
Her voice is firm, her grip steady. But inside, she’s terrified.
The alarm blasts through the facility and chaos erupts. The sound of boots running starts to grow close.
They know.
Sharon curses under her breath, grabbing your wrist. “Move.”
You don’t resist. Not exactly. But you don’t comply either. Your training demands submission to orders—and right now, there are two voices in your head.
One is Sharon Carter.
The other is the voice of HYDRA. Your maker.
Your steps are too silent, too controlled, moving like a predator as she drags you through the corridors. No fear. No hesitation.
Even in escape, you are efficient.
A beauty designed to obey.
Shots whiz past, bullets pinging off the metal walls as guards flood into the corridors.
Sharon ducks behind cover, returns fire with deadly precision, taking out two men before yanking you down with her. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she snaps. “Help me!”
But you just stare at her.
Your fingers flex—your mind foggy, uncertain. You were always trained to protect, to fight.
And then—
A voice crackles through the HYDRA comms, sharp and authoritative.
“Agent Nightshade. Don’t disobey your makers.”
Your body seizes. Breath hitching.
Another, sickly sweet voice cracks through the comms, “Sister’s Keeper.”
In an instant—your brain goes blank.
Sharon sees it happen. Watches the point of control in your eyes get ripped away.
You strike first.
A kick, inhumanly fast, meant to take her down.
Sharon barely blocks, stumbling backward, disbelief flooding her veins.
“Jesus Christ, Y/N!”
But you’re already moving.
It’s like you can’t even hear her.
Her gun is kicked from her hands before she can react.
The fight is brutal. Precise. You don’t miss.
But neither does she.
You were trained together, years ago. Before the Avengers. Before the lies. Before all of this shit.
Sharon knows your patterns like the back of her hand.
But this dark, grimey, underworld has changed you.
She blocks a blow aimed for her throat—
And makes a split-second decision.
She doesn’t dodge.
Your fist slams into her jaw, and she crumples.
You stand over her, chest heaving, fingers trembling. Your body stills. Your mind flickers. The world slows.
Sharon Carter is on the ground.
You put her there.
The fog in your brain stumbles, just slightly. Something pangs in your chest, not physical pain. But sadness.
Her voice, hoarse, breaks through the static.
“You’re still in there.”
Your vision swims. The alarms blare.
Sharon reaches up, pressing something into your palm. A small silver device.
A trigger.
She gasps, coughing from the impact, but her eyes never leave yours.
“Press it, Y/N.”
Both sides of you are screaming
Then—
You press it.
And the entire HYDRA facility explodes.
The walls around you shudder, a deep groan echoing through the underground facility as fire licks up the hallways, chasing oxygen like a starving animal.
You’re still standing. Somehow.
Your breath comes out in ragged gasps, and something unfamiliar twists in your chest.
Emotion.
The numbness isn’t gone—but it’s cracking. Fractured.
And Sharon is still there.
She’s coughing, one hand pressed to her ribs, but she’s alive. Alive because you didn’t finish the fight. Alive because you stopped.
She stares at you through the smoke.
“Y/N,” she rasps, voice fraying at the edges. “We have to move.”
You hesitate.
Your body can’t move. The trigger words won’t allow it.
But the base is burning.
And the only voice left in your head now is hers. Samantha’s.
Sharon knows she has little to no time left, and in your frozen state she whips the back of your head with her gun. Your limp body is practically thrown over her shoulder like a rag.
She carries you through the ruins of your prison, her legs are so tired they nearly give out.
You two are so close to an exit tunnel when someone pops out of the smoke and dust.
A slow clap echoes throughout the burning hallways.
“Touching,” Samantha’s voice coos, sickly sweet and venomous. “The rogue little blonde came all this way for the broken one.”
Sharon’s spine goes rigid.
Still holding you in one arm, she slowly reaches into the back of her belt with the other—fingers wrapping around the grip of her sidearm.
Samantha steps through the hallway, firelight dancing along the steel of her knife.
“I should’ve known you’d come for her,” Samantha muses, circling closer. “I always wondered what happened to that little SHIELD rat. The one who didn’t quite belong anywhere. Auntie Peggy must be oh-so disappointed.” She feigns a pout.
“Funny,” Sharon murmurs, rising to her feet and easing your unconscious body gently behind a half-fallen support beam. Her voice is steady. Low. Lethal. “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”
Samantha grins. “She was always going to belong to us. You never stood a chance. Project Nightshade has been years in the making. By coincidence, Y/N came to us, betrayed us, and became our perfect weapon. ”
Sharon lifts her gun.
Samantha lunges.
It’s fast—almost too fast—but Sharon is faster.
The first bullet catches Samantha in the side.
The second one lands in her leg.
She stumbles, but keeps coming, teeth bared, blade flashing. “She’s ours”
Sharon ducks the swing, slams her boot into Samantha’s knee, right as a knife plunges itself into her ribs. A scream rips from her throat but she doesn’t stop, and fires again—this time point-blank.
The bullet tears through her chest.
Samantha staggers, choking on blood.
“I used to tell her about monsters like you. Now there’ll be one less.”
Samantha collapses. Her knife clatters to the floor.
Sharon puts her last bullet between Samantha’s eyes.
She doesn’t look back.

Chapter Text

You didn’t trust her at first. Even after the escape. Even after she dragged you through the forests of Eastern Europe, evading HYDRA pursuit for four days straight. Even after she stitched up the wound on your shoulder and fed you with her own goddamn hands because your body still wasn’t yours yet.

You didn’t trust anyone.

But Sharon didn’t flinch.

She took your coldness, your silence, your empty stares, and never once hesitated. She talked to you like you were still you. Like you weren’t just some broken piece of a past life.

Because she remembered—even when you didn’t.

And for the first time since HYDRA carved you open and filled your veins with their poison—

You wanted to remember who you were. Desperately.

You sat in the backseat of a SHIELD suv, arms crossed tightly over your chest, Sharon’s jacket draped around you. Silent. Unreadable. Your friend drives without pushing. Not one question. Not one word out of place.

Something funny happens as soon as you cross the Brooklyn bridge. The city goes dark- the car radio turns off and lights vanish all across the city. They come back a moment later.

Only Sharon notices.

Your tired eyes meet her blue ones in the rear view mirror.
“Do you remember anything?” she asks quietly.

You shake your head.

A long pause.

Then: “Do you trust me?”

A beat.

With my life,” she replies.
————————
Sharon Carters Apt. - Bronxville, NY

The door creaks open. Sharon supports you gently, her arm a steady presence as you limp inside. You’re walking now, barely—but it’s enough.

The apartment smells like cedar and lemon. Lived in. Safe. Something tugs at your chest.

Your gaze sweeps across the space. Bookshelves. A worn couch. A coffee mug left by the sink. Papers scattered on the floor.

“Is this…your place?” you ask quietly.

It’s ours,” she almost says. She wants to remind you that your bedroom is just down the hall from hers.

Instead, softly, “Yeah. It’s mine.”

You touch the edge of a photo frame. You don’t see what it holds—two girls, 16, arms slung around each other, laughing against a skyline. You and Sharon. You- your memories.

You remember your childhood. SHIELD. The training. The cold discipline of survival. You remember your trauma.

But love? Connection? The happy memories?

Those were so hard to remember. So…fuzzy?

And everything with the Avengers, Natasha, Wanda- that’s what HYDRA rewired. Dipped in poison. Corrupted to its core.
————————————
Avengers Tower - NY, NY

The tower feels cavernous now. Hollow. A ghost of what it used to be. Natasha sits in a corner chair by the window, nursing a half-empty glass of whiskey, her gaze distant. Wanda curls into the opposite side of the room, hugging her knees, staring at the muted flicker of the television like it might tell her something she doesn’t already know.

The TV hums low, late-night news providing static comfort. Nobody listens—until a headline cuts through the white noise:”BLACKOUT INCIDENT ON BROOKLYN BRIDGE”

Wanda glances up, blinking slowly. The footage begins to roll—grainy, jerky. A black SUV merges onto the bridge. Nondescript. Harmless.
Until it isn’t.

A flicker through the tinted glass. A profile. A shape. A face. The camera zooms in clumsily, but it’s enough.
That shape. That familiar tilt of the head. That jawline.
The haunted eyes, staring out at a world that had long since forgotten her.

“It can’t be,” Steve says from behind them, stepping into the room, drawn by the sudden energy. “She’s…we looked for months. She’s dead.”

But he doesn’t sound convinced. Not a fucking bit.
Wanda feels bile pool into her mouth and she knows she’s going to be sick all night.
Tony appears a second later, phone in hand, already trying to track traffic footage. “Cross-check every camera in a fifteen-mile radius,” he mutters. “If that’s her—”

“If?” Natasha snaps, spinning on him. Her voice is razor sharp. “That was her.”
————————————————-
A dim glow spills from her desk lamp. Papers scatter across the table—HYDRA files, maps, decrypted intel. A mission board, red string crisscrossing in patterns only Sharon understands. She’s hunched over her laptop, eyes burning, hands trembling. Exhaustion clings to her skin like a second layer. The adrenaline of what she’s done has finally hit her like a punch to the stomach.

Across the room, you toss fitfully on the couch, a blanket half-slid to the floor, breath shallow. Your sleep is never peaceful.

The news murmurs in the background.
“UNMARKED VEHICLE LINKED TO BRIDGE BLACKOUT”
Sharon’s eyes snap to the screen. She sees it before they say it.

That SUV. A discontinued model famously assigned to Agent Coulson. The shimmer of light on tinted glass. The faint silhouette of a familiar jawline. Her stomach lurches.
It’s you.
She doesn’t move at first, just watched.
Still breathing, alive- clearly.
But the rest of the world would know too- the Avengers would know.
SHIELD.
ROSS.

They’d be coming. But they can’t, not yet. Not before you’re well enough to decide what happens next on your own.

Her hand fumbles for her burner phone.
“They’re coming,” she whispers, almost to herself.
A voice answers immediately, “I’m already on my way kid.”

Chapter Text

Rain taps against the windows. You sit on the couch, blanket around your shoulders, untouched food in front of you. You’ve been cold to the bone everyday since you got back, nothing seemed to warm you up enough. And food? Everything tastes like shit.

The door clicks open while you’re lost in thought.

Sharon walks in with two coffees that you can smell from the hallway. The coffee beans are a little burnt. Behind her— Phil Coulson. He freezes at the sight of you. He knew what they had done to you was bad, of course he did. But when he looked into your eyes- the breath left his body.

“Hey, kid.”

It tugs something deep in your chest, and you can feel your heart lurch forward.

“This is Coulson,” Sharon offers. “Phil.”

“I know,” you grip the coffee like a shield and feel it burn your fingertips through the cup.

You three sit around Sharons living room, awkwardly sipping coffee as you steal glances at Phil, and he steals them back at you. He clears his throat, turning to Sharon, “I think it’s time.”

The plap of a manila envelope being thrown onto the table in front of you is startling. Photos start spilling out, one by one as you pick up the first- Sharon, scolding you with a fake stern face, mid-training. You two look young and your cheeks are red with flush and sweat. The shield suit you’re wearing has your name last name stitched onto it.

Coulson and Carter watch you tentatively, and although you can’t see it, both of their hearts are beating as hard as they would during training.

Second photo: You, asleep on Coulson’s shoulder, a SHIELD file in hand. A little older in this one, maybe 20? You blink hard. Something catches in your throat that forces you to clear it, but it’s bubbling up.

“I used to—” your voice cracks before you can catch it. Sharp nails dig into the flesh of your palms to ground you, but it feels like nothing is enough.

“Steal my fries,” Phil continued. “Every mission. Swore you could smell diner food ten blocks away,” he laughs and it sounds tired.

Sharon kneels next to you, holding a photo. An apprehensive hand gently touches your knee as her blue eyes gaze up at you. The photo is of you on a rooftop, her beside you. A quiet joy on your face you don’t recognize.

“You hated heights,” she murmurs. “But you stayed up there with me anyway.” Her finger points to the surround rooftop, “See that? That’s the top of SHIELD headquarters. Phil would always turn a blind eye when we would sneak up there.”

You look down. A strange feelings fills your face as it contorts into something extremely unfamiliar- a small smile. “I remember, I know that I do. But when I try to relive the memory… I can’t imagine feeling so happy.”
“You don’t have to force it,” Coulson says. “Memory knows when to come home.”

You shake your head. “They changed who I am.”
Coulson leans forward. “You’re not who they made you. You’re still who you’ve always been.” Sharon’s cheek softly leans against your thigh and you feel a small piece of the darkness fade.

Silence stretches. Rain falls harder against the glass windows. Then, softly—
“You’re ours. That hasn’t changed,” and when you look down, Sharon Carter is already looking back up at you.

You don’t cry. Your body won’t allow it.But for the first time in forever, you believed that you weren’t completely lost. Maybe they had saved you in time.

That night you slept harder than you had in years. Memories came flooding back into you, solidifying themselves in your mind once again. It was so intense you woke up with a blinding migraine and nausea that made you unable to walk. A few hours later Sharon set two fresh mugs of coffee on the table. One sat untouched. The other she nursed like it might anchor her.

Across the room, you stood with your arms crossed, gaze flickering from the couch to the photo wall, to the window, back to the floor. Sharon rubbed sleep from her eyes as if she wasn’t five feet away from a rescued captive killing machine- you.

“Coulson said it’d be good to get you into some training today. Something light, routine will help.”
It was like looking at a toddler, the way your face scrunched up at the idea. Sharon’s heart nearly beat out of her chest.
“You used to love drills,” she said gently, tossing a soft training ball in one hand. “Said it helped clear your head.”
You shook your h/c hair. “That version of me didn’t have this in her head.” You tapped the side of your temple. Sharon didn’t ask.The training facility was empty, Carter made sure of it before bringing you. First excercise: working with the medicine ball. Sharon tossed it to you. You caught it without thinking. Then again. And again. Each time a little faster.
The blonde started moving, shifting angles, testing your reflexes. You moved like water — muscle memory catching up faster than your mind could question it. Balance, footwork, dodging. It was instinctive. Familiar. You started feel something tingle: rhythm, heat under your skin.

Then it happened, all too fast for either of you to comprehend.

You stepped in — launched the ball with too much force. It slammed into the wall behind Sharon’s head with a dull thud. Pieces of plaster crumbled down.

She raised her hands, “Okay. Whoa. That’s enough.” But you didn’t stop, you couldn’t even hear her.
You stood there, chest rising and falling in rapid pace. The space around you had shrunk to a tight little box, and all you could hear was your breath. You took three steps forward with blank eyes- ready to go again.
“Y/N,” Sharon said calmly. “Stand down.”
Your fingers twitched. Jaw locked.
She took a step forward,” Asset. Stand down.”
And you froze completely. Like the world had stopped spinning and gone silent.

Your body stopped moving before your brain had even caught up. And that scared you more than anything. The realization hit you in a delayed wave — slow and sickening.

Your e/c eyes snapped to her, “what the hell did you call me?”
You stepped back, hand reaching out to brace against the wall.
“I didn’t feel anything,” you whispered, “I just stopped.”
“You’re not that anymore,” Sharon said, taking a cautious step closer.
“Aren’t I?” Your voice cracked — raw, exhausted.
But your chest ached from holding back everything Hydra had tried to erase and everything they’d replaced it with.
“I can’t tell the difference,” you whispered.
“Then we’ll draw the line together.”

—————————————
Sharons apt.

Coulsons phone rang on the side of the couch, gently shaking with vibration. The number didn’t show up on his screen and he picked it up apprehensively. A part of him already knew who it was.
“Phil.”
“Fury.” The energy between them was different now- strained.
Fury’s deep voice came through the speaker, “You know where she is, don’t you?”

Agent Coulsons knuckles tightened on the other end. Silence. “I asked you a question.”
“Not a clue, Boss.” He didn’t even try to hide his lie.

Then, Fury spoke again, “Don’t forget who your loyalty lies with- you are a SHIELD agent first. Not a friend.”
“Funny, you seemed to have forgotten where it lied too. All of you- Cap, Stark, Natasha, where was the loyalty then?”

“Don’t play games with me,” Fury’s voice broke just slightly, like something in him cracked — and then locked back into place. “That mission wasn’t supposed to go that way.”

Coulson didn’t answer.

“Tell me where she is,” he repeated, “she’s not safe.”

“You think we don’t know that?” Coulson snapped, suddenly on his feet, pacing the room. “She’s not safe in your hands either.”

Another beat.
“Why are you protecting her? You’re not her father.”
The words sat in the air like a loaded gun.
“I don’t have to be.”
“You know that we’re coming, don’t you?”

“We’ll be ready,” Phil immediately hung up and dialed Sharon, hoping she’d pick up.

She sounded out of breath when she answered, “Yeah, what’s up?”

“They’re coming, we need to move now.”

Chapter Text

The door slams shut behind you as Sharon drops her duffel by the table, her breath shallow, the air between the three of you heavy. Coulson stands by the window, his phone still warm in his hand, gaze locked on the dark alley below like he’s waiting for something — or someone — to appear.

Your body aches from training, muscles stiff and bruised, but your mind is clear. Sharper. More focused than it’s been in weeks. You feel kind of like…you?

Then Coulson turns, his voice steady and low, “Start packing your bags.”

Your stomach twists. Sharon waists no time and throws an empty duffle bag at you, that you catch without thinking.

“He doesn’t know where we are. But he’s close. Their looking- they could be here in the hour.” That’s all it takes.

You don’t wait for the plan. You grab your pack and start shoving things inside — burner phones, a handgun, a pair of gloves, the folder of HYDRA schematics Sharon made you memorize like scripture, and all of the photos. Sharon packs fake IDs, money, food, and the frame of you two on the coffe table. The room buzzes with motion.

Coulson throws a duffel under his arm, pushing Sharon and you out the door as you two run down the stairwell. “I’ll pull the car around,” he throws over his shoulder as he lightly jogs to the parking garage.

You two stand there, flushed and anxious, holding duffel bags and exhaustion. And then — a quiet sting of realization hits you. Your dog tag. You must’ve forgotten it in the hurry of packing. You look up at the apartment. It’s still sitting there. Slipped between the cushions where you left it last night.

Coulson pulls around with a screech, the car running and ready to go. “Wait,” you mutter, “I forgot something.”

“Y/N,” Sharon warns, “What is it?”

“My dog tag- it’s the only thing that’s mine. I’ll just be a second.”

You run back up the stairs before Sharon can protest, quickly mounting the steps with quiet ease. Her apartment door is cracked open, just how you left it. The dog tag is under the coffee table, waiting for you. You’re halfway down the stairwell, fingers curled tight around your necklace, when you hear the sound.

Footsteps, deliberate, heavy. Climbing the stairs slow but certain.

Your chest tightens. No time to think- you pivot, burst back through the apartment door — and someone slams in right after you. Hard.

A steady grip grabs your arms before you stumble back and hit the floor. “Y/N.”
The voice stops everything. Quiet. Familiar. Raspy. Unmistakably Russian. Devastatingly familiar.

You look up-
Red hair and civilian clothes. But the stance is the same: controlled, deadly, a weapon.

Natasha fucking Romanoff. Your fingers tighten around the dog tag still clenched in your fist. Something cold and heavy fills your chest at the sight of her. Almost…venomous.

Her face is a memory you can’t trust. A war you didn’t ask to fight. For one awful second, your heart wants to remember her. Your heart remembers everything- the truth of it all. It lurches forward, does spins for her. But your body doesn’t flinch. It doesn’t soften around her like it used to.

Neither does she. She says nothing- but looks at you like a ghost. A dead girl, walking. Natasha swears that even you can hear how hard her heart is beating in her chest, trying to break the bones keeping it there.

Behind you, the apartment door swings open again. Sharon bursts out, gun already raised and pointed straight at her prime target. Her voice is low, steady — lethal.
“Here alone?”

Natasha’s gaze shifts, slow and unimpressed, to the barrel pointed at her chest. “What, you’re protecting Y/N now?”

You don’t even realize Coulson’s behind you until you feel his hand close firmly around your arm, tugging you back a step. Protective. Urgent.

“Someone has to. You obviously weren’t up for the job.” Natashas gun is pulled now, pointed at Sharon just the same. Both women have twitchy fingers, and are far to eager to use their bullets. You don’t say a word, but you’re still staring at the woman who once meant something — maybe everything — and you feel nothing but an angry static noise in your skull where the memories should be.

Natasha sucks in a breath, “We’re not here to hurt her.”

You step forward before Phil can stop you, cornering the Black Widow into a wall. “Go ahead, Romanoff. Say it. Say you’re here to help me.”

She looks at you like she’s searching for something familiar — something soft. You see her chest heaving, a quiver in the way she breathes. Her training requires her to hide it, but she’s never been good at hiding from you. Her eyes flick away from your bruising stare.

Coulson can sense it- the unraveling. The tension thats starting to spill over the room, the way you crack your knuckles and try not to choke her to death. Natasha is pressed against the wall, your forearm tight on her throat, “We,” she grits her teeth, “we wanted to talk with you. That’s it. To offer something.” As the words come out of her mouth they taste bad, like a lie.

“What was it that happened the last time we talked?,” you pretended to think about it like it wasn’t seared into your brain. Your arm pressed harder, “I think it was something like a tranquilizer being shot into the side of my neck, you going quiet on the other line, and then enduring months of torture and psychological warfare. Ring a bell?”

Sharon tapped your shoulder, “We gotta go,” the barrel of her gun was still pointed at the Black Widow across from her. You took a step back, eyes still trained on your target.

Then, a deep voice cut through the static in your head. Everyone’s eyes snapped up, and standing there was Nick Fury and Secretary Ross.

“Evening,” Ross says coolly, stepping over the threshold like he owns the place. “Heard we had a ghost problem.”

Sharon raises her gun. “This is a private residence.”

Ross doesn’t flinch. “And I’m here on official government business. That little experiment behind you?” He gestures toward you without looking. “That’s a loose end that we need to tie.”
Silence.

Ross grunts. “We don’t have the luxury of story time right now, Agents. We just need you three rogues to come back to base with us.”

Natasha’s voice is ice, “Make time, Ross.”

“You’re dumber than you look if you think I’m going with you, at least not without me in a body bag,” you spit. You ignore Ross, and it’s the first time you make eye contact with Fury in months. It’s like looking in the eyes of a stranger. Your eyes now focus in on Secretary Ross, “I don’t work for you,” you say, teeth gritted. “Or the Avengers. Not anymore.”

Ross leans forward, voice just above a whisper. “No, sweetheart. You don’t. But you will.” He drops a manila folder on the floor in front of you. Blueprints. Photos. All spilled out before your eyes. You see mobile canisters bearing the same bio-hazard stamp you’ve seen in nightmares. “An insider told us they plan to disperse compound A-07 gas somewhere big, maybe Grand Central. First commuters inhale it, become human weapons within ten minutes. Then, half the city is under it.”

He eyes you, “You’re living proof it works all too well. So what do you want- to be a martyr? Or a monster? Or a hero again?”

A long silence.
Then—quietly—you ask, “What do you want?”

“Help. You’re the only one who’s actually survived and knows how it works.”

“I can’t help you. I won’t fall for another one of these tricks. Clean up your mess,” you turn to leave, run out the door, anything to get away from them.

“If you won’t talk now, we’ll need you for later,” Fury finally speaks as his regretful eyes meet your broken ones, “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Mission complete, Asset.” The words crash through you like a stun grenade.

Everything inside goes still—muscles, breath, thoughts—frozen mid-step. You’re aware of it, furious at it, yet powerless; Hydra’s leash hidden in Fury’s mouth. You feel your eyes closing, and the world goes dark before you.

Natasha moves swiftly, catching you before you fall. Her arms hold your limp body, protective and close.
She whips around, snapping at the men in front of her,“What the hell did you just do?”

Sharon glares at the assasin across from her, “That’s what Hydra did. You can thank yourself for that.”

Ross looks to Sharon, then Coulson, like he’s daring them to stop him.
“She goes with us. Avengers Tower. Decontamination. Evaluation. And maybe, just maybe, she can help us. You two ride with Romanoff.”

And just like that, you were on your way back to a different kind of hell. The one you had missed during your days in the raft. The one you defended during your torture.
And the one you despised after everything.