We'll Fight Together (Romanogers / Steve X Natasha)

Seeing Double

The Blijven Cafe, which Natasha explained roughly translated to the "Stay Inn," was much cleaner than the Crossville Motel. It appeared to have been dusted recently, and the cleaning maid that they saw strolling across the parking lot only furthered their suspicions. It was a lot brighter, too; grey walls were adorned by bright lights and white countertops, tables, chairs, curtains, beds, etc. It wasn't the cheapest thing but considering every room had an upstairs and roof access via a ladder atop the balcony, it was fancier than Steve's New York apartment. However, if what Natasha said was true, he doubted they'd get to enjoy it for long.

Unlike Crossville, the Stay Inn had three beds, which was rather unusual for any hotel or motel standards. One stood in a single room, and so they decided that Clea should use it. It must've been the master bedroom, however, because the other two beds were considerably smaller and had a separate room of their own. They deemed that this was meant to be a children's room but they rolled with it anyways. Afterwards, and for the rest of the day, they enjoyed a bit of peace for once. The city was surprisingly silent, though it could've just been a result of the fleet of police cruisers that were still stationed two blocks away. The break was a nice touch, Steve thought to himself that afternoon. Even though he had spent five months in isolation, he had done that alone. Now he had company, which he hadn't realized how much he missed until he had it back.

The new sleeping arrangements weren't uncomfortable, though they were quite small for Steve's taste. The mattresses were fine, the sheets were soft, and the wool blankets were as cozy as you could ever imagine. Despite this, Steve soon found himself wide awake. He glanced at the round wall clock across room, squinting in the dark in order to get a clear view of it. 12:17am, he read to himself. Rolling over, he eyed Natasha, who was sleeping soundly in the other bed, the blankets tangled messily around her. Her red hair draped over her face like velvet curtains and as she snored softly in the quiet atmosphere, Steve couldn't help but think of the night prior. Lying side by side, her head nuzzled against his arm and his face pressed against her forehead... That was the best sleep he had received since 1943. If only he had a rewind button... Ha, if he only had a nickel every time he wished for that.

He shook his head, closing his eyes as he pawed at his face with a tired hand. No, he told himself strictly. Last night was a mishap, a fluke. Natasha loves Banner and there's nothing you can do to change that.

Eventually Steve realized that if he wasn't exhausted, there was no point pretending to be. Slowly but surely, he made his way past Natasha and out of the bedroom. Heading downstairs, he strolled into the kitchen and grabbed himself a glass of water. Cup in hand, he leaned against the counter, listening to the quiet ticking of a clock echo across the dark kitchen. Then, downing he water in two swigs, he headed back upstairs, determined to get a good night's sleep. However, as he neared the bedroom, a chill ran down his spine. He glanced over at the balcony at the far end of the hall. Had it always been cracked open like that? Steve didn't think so. Silently, he made his away over, opening the door before and stepping out into the night and closing it behind him. Having climbed the ladder and hopping onto the roof, he soon figured out what was going on.

Clea sat atop the ledge with her back facing Steve and her knees pulled up to her chest. She was silent as she gazed at the star-lit sky, shivering ever so slightly as the wind blew through her hair. Eventually, before Steve had the opportunity to ask her what she was doing, she spoke. "HYDRA took everything from me." Steve stood there, unsure of how to respond. Decidedly, he didn't, allowing Clea to continue. "A few years ago, in Sokovia, my father went missing. After weeks of living alone, waiting for the police to find him, Strucker came. He told me that my father had been taken and that they needed my help to rescue him. I was promised power beyond my wildest expectations– strength to challenge my father's kidnappers. All I had to do was go with them..." Clea buried her head in her knees. "I was one of few that survived those experiments. I trained for months and months until I was finally told to prepare for the rescue mission. Days beforehand, however, one of the guards made the cynical mistake of killing one of the other trainees– right in front of me. I had never seen a corpse before that moment. I screamed so loud that I almost brought down the entire building. The brick walls cracked and the ceilings crumbled. I was dragged back to my cell, where a different guard tried to calm me down, but in my rage, I realized something: we weren't students, we were prisoners."

By this time, Steve had made his way towards the ledge. He sat down, looking over at her expectantly as he waited for her to explain further.

"I looked at the guard and asked, 'My father is dead, isn't he?' When he didn't answer, I knew that my worst fears had come true. The next thing I knew, I had the guard in a choke hold. I could've done anything on that moment; I could've murdered the guard and demolished the entire building with Strucker inside. But I didn't. I didn't want to stoop to HYDRA's level. So, I dropped the guard and allowed myself to be thrown in solitary confinement, where they planned to brainwash me. I was days away from the process when Strucker was killed and, during the hysteria, one of the guards forgot to lock my cell. That's when I escaped." Clea lifted her head, looking towards the darkened streets. Eventually she said, "I can only imagine how horrible the war must've been."

Realizing that she was referring to World War II, Steve put a hand on her shoulder. "HYDRA is tough, but the world is tougher. You and I are living proof of that." He studied the look on her face. "You aren't a monster, if that's what you're thinking. After everything you've been through, you should want justice."

"We all want justice," a familiar voice responded from the dark.

Whipping around until his feet were no longer hovering over the ledge, Steve saw Natasha slowly strolling towards them. Her outfit was different; instead of wearing her tattered, pre-Wakandan-armor clothing that she decided to use as pajamas, she wore a black tank-top and leggings. Where did that come from? He wanted to ask her. Instead, he asked his first, most pressing question: "I didn't wake you, did I?"

Natasha shook her head. In the moonlight, Steve watched locks of red hair fall over her green eyes. "When I rolled over and saw that you weren't there, I got up." She looked down at him and smiled. "I wanted to make sure everything was alright."

"Everything's fine," Clea assured her, unfolding her knees from her chest.

"That's good," Natasha breathed a little too happily.

Something didn't feel right, Steve decided. The way Natasha was acting left a hollow feeling in his soul as if she wasn't even there. Usually, Natasha was flirtatious. Serious, but in a playful, almost tender matter. Above all else, the Natasha Romanoff that Steve knew and loved was a good actor; all of her fake smiles, no matter how forced, appeared as real as the green in her eyes. In that moment, however, Natasha appeared to be made of plastic. Every sweet, caring word she spoke turned cynical in the autumn air and every given smile seemed counterfeit. No, something was definitely off.

Confirming his suspicions, a slim-bodied figure appeared by the ladder. They locked eyes, his growing as wide as hers. Apprehensively, she started, "Uh, Steve-"

"Natasha's" jaw shifted, their brows burrowing against their icy, menacing eyes. "You should've stayed inside, agent." With that, the imposter whipped around, pulling a pistol out of a hidden holster under their shirt. They fired two shots at the real Natasha but she saw them coming, ducking and rolling out the way and taking cover behind a vent. The imposter then turned on Steve and Clea, their finger wrapped around the trigger as Steve quickly moved to disarm them. Before either parties could act, however, somebody else arrived. Large, metal wings strapped to their back, they swooped into the mix, crashing into the imposter and plowing them into the concrete. They stood with their back to the others, only turning around once their wings had folded.

Natasha, still weary of the situation, stood up from behind the vent. "Sam?"

Sam looked from Natasha, to the body he had just struck, and to Natasha again. "Shoot, I hope I hit the right one."

"You did great," Steve replied, walking over to pull Sam into a bro hug. "Perfect timing too."

"Well, I would've come sooner but a flight to the Netherlands is longer than you think." Sam laughed before slipping into a more serious composure. "Guys, what's going on? I came to the cabin yesterday and found it destroyed." He glanced at Steve. "I had to track your location using that phone of yours. And-" Sam pointed to Clea. "Who's that?

"Clea is a victim of HYDRA," Natasha told him, coming to the teen's side. "We're helping her escape from HYDRA and that thi-" She stopped short, staring at the place where her doppelgänger had been previously lying.

"Where'd they go?" Steve looked around aimlessly, scowling at himself for taking his eyes off of the enemy.

"There!" Clea pointed at the streets below, where a dark figure was seen sprinting down the block.

"I see them," Sam hastily replied, his wings unfolding as he took flight.