Natasha Romanoff had learned long ago that trust was a currency best spent sparingly.
She sat alone in a dimly lit safehouse apartment in Budapest—same building she'd used a decade earlier, different alias, different scars. The city outside hummed with evening traffic; inside, only the soft click of her laptop and the occasional creak of old floorboards.
The burner phone on the table had rung once in the last month. Alex Kane. She'd answered because ignoring him felt like ignoring a storm warning.
She hadn't expected the conversation to linger in her head this long.
Natasha leaned back in the chair, boots propped on the edge of the table, staring at the ceiling. The red in her ledger had never really washed out—Red Room ghosts, SHIELD betrayals, the people she'd failed to save. She'd built walls around those memories, but every now and then something slipped through the cracks.
Like the kid from Queens.
She opened a secure terminal, pulled up the encrypted file she'd sent him months earlier: Zemo's dossier, Siberian facility blueprints, the video Tony still hadn't fully processed. Alex had used it exactly as she'd hoped—passed fragments to Steve without claiming credit, without asking for anything in return.
Neutral. Principled. Dangerous in the quietest way.
She'd watched him at the UN conference—how he moved through the room, never drawing attention but missing nothing. The way he spoke to people like he already knew their next sentence. The faint tension in his shoulders when someone mentioned the Accords. The brief flicker of something softer when he checked his phone—probably the girlfriend he'd mentioned in passing.
Natasha almost smiled.
She recognized the look. She'd worn it once, in stolen moments with people who made her feel human instead of weapon.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. She typed a single encrypted message to the burner line he'd given her months ago:
*Still breathing?*
The reply came within ninety seconds.
*Still standing. You?*
She typed back: *Same. Budapest sends its regards.*
A pause. Then: *You ever miss the quiet?*
Natasha stared at the words. Few people asked her that. Fewer still understood why the answer mattered.
*Every day,* she sent. *But quiet never lasts.*
Another pause.
*It could. If you wanted it to.*
She let out a soft breath—almost a laugh. Bold, this kid.
*You offering me a retirement plan, Kane?*
*Not retirement. Just… options. A place to land when the running gets old.*
Natasha leaned forward, elbows on the table. She pictured him—young, steady, carrying too much for someone his age. The drones that appeared like miracles in crisis zones. The way he'd kept civilians out of the crossfire at Leipzig without ever stepping into the spotlight. The quiet conviction in his voice when he talked about protecting what mattered.
She typed carefully.
*You're collecting strays now?*
*Only the ones worth keeping.*
She stared at the screen for a long moment.
Then: *You're dangerous, Alex Kane. You make people want to believe in second chances.*
His reply was immediate.
*Good. Someone has to.*
Natasha closed her eyes. Memories surfaced unbidden: Clint's farm, Laura's quiet strength, the kids who called her Aunt Nat. The life she'd glimpsed and walked away from. The ledger that never balanced.
She opened her eyes and typed one last message.
*If I ever need that landing spot… I'll call.*
*Door's open. No questions asked.*
She powered down the laptop, stood, and walked to the window. Budapest glittered below—beautiful, indifferent. She pressed her palm to the cool glass.
For the first time in years, the idea of stopping didn't feel like surrender.
It felt like possibility.
Later that night, she pulled up a secure feed from a contact in New York. Grainy footage from a Queens rooftop: Alex and a young woman—Gwen, she remembered—sitting close, heads bent together, laughing at something private. The camera lingered only a second before Natasha shut it off.
She didn't need to watch more.
She'd seen enough to know what he was fighting for.
And why he kept refusing to pick a side.
Because the side he'd already chosen was the one that included people like Gwen. Like Elena. Like the firefighters who used his drones. Like the civilians who never knew his name.
Natasha Romanoff had spent her life surviving alone.
But watching that quiet moment on a rooftop, she felt something shift—small, almost imperceptible.
Envy.
Not for the power. Not for the company or the wealth.
For the choice to let someone in.
She turned away from the window, picked up her go-bag, and slipped into the night.
The ledger wasn't clean.
But maybe—just maybe—it didn't have to stay red forever.
Somewhere in Queens, a young man with borrowed powers and a stubborn heart was holding onto the woman he loved, building something worth protecting.
Natasha allowed herself one small, private smile as she disappeared into the shadows.
*Good for you, kid.*
*Good for you.*
(Word count: 1003)