The Irony of it All

36

“Natasha?” American. Her back was turned to him, and her first thought when she’d heard the voice was: “American.” It was the voice of the guard that had initially pulled her from the transit vehicle. The guard that could only say “Get up,” and “No”, and whose perfect english lacked the unmistakable Russki accent. She hadn’t even noticed then, drowning in weariness and grief, but now, focused as much as she could on her current mission, she remembered. And it was a voice she hadn’t heard in a little over five months. She didn’t realize how much she’d missed it until she heard that unmistakable rasping, sass filled, a little annoying, baritone voice.

    She turned so fast, her now long and blond tipped hair whipping around her face as it followed her movement a beat behind. He walked up to her, his steps firm and intent, only stopping when he was just an arm reach away. “We’ve been searching everywhere for you!” Then he gave up on the personal space he’d been keeping and pulled her into a bear hug. It took her a short moment to unfreeze and hug him back. She still couldn’t quite trust that he was real.

    “Sam?” Her voice was barely audible, and it cracked slightly. He hugged her tighter, squishing her into the Russian military grade kevlar vest he was disguised in. Suddenly, he released her, pulling back but still grasping onto her shoulders as he held her at arm’s length. “What the hell is that?” He asked aloud, his typical sass emphasizing "hell" and "that" in a higher octave.

            She'd spent so long focused on trying to get to safety that she hadn't given any thought to how she'd break the news to her teammates. Or how they would take it. Caught off guard, weary, and feeling a bit exposed, her immediate reaction was to defend herself. Before she could think better, she hurriedly whispered, "It's not what you think!" And then she winced. Poor choice of words.

         He stared at her. "Oh good. Cause I thought it was a watermelon." She's cringed again at the sarcasm dripping from his tone. "So who'd you decapitate and why are you trying to smuggle their head out? Needed something a bit more exotic for your trophy wall? Didn't really take you for the sentimental type."
     She rolled her eyes. "I'm pregnant."

     He laughed. "Woulda never guessed." Then his annoying smile came back. The one that said he knew something, and he wasn't going to let either her or Steve live it down. "This happened on that mission in Ghana. Didn't it?"

      She chose to ignore him. "How'd you find me?"
   
        "Well speaking of Wakanda. News got to T'Challa that a red head woman was taken hostage by mercenaries in a village in southern Niger. He called Steve, who then called Tony, and then he took off to find you. But then we heard about this missle strike in Kiev and decided to check it out. Tracked you guys here. Something wierd is going on."

          "No kidding." She muttered. "Come on. We gotta get outta here." She turned to leave, running down the corridor.  He jumped to stop her. “Wait wait wait. You still gotta tell me where the hell Cap is.”

    She froze. Should she tell him? He deserved to know. But then he’d also know that it was all her fault. “Natasha, where’s Steve? Alright you said something weird before. Is he ok?”

    She remembered what he was referring to. When he pulled her out of the transit vehicle, dressed as a Russian guard, she hadn’t been paying attention. She was numb. But he’d asked her in perfect english, in Sam’s voice, “Where’s Cap?” And she’d replied, scoffing, “You killed him.”

    She’d said it. He’d heard it. So why was he asking again? Had he not heard her? Had he also been distracted by the second guard coming to take her? Or had he thought he’d misheard her? Either way, she couldn’t bring herself to speak of her husband’s death. Just thinking about it now was already sending her spiraling. She stopped herself. She had to focus on getting out of this wretched place. So she swallowed and told him the truth.