Chapter Text
A/N: A Romanogers fic featuring a PTSD-ridden Steve, and a spider!Natasha. Or, the one where I started a new story when I have so many others in progress.
Oh, and the line-up of the Avengers is different. It stands currently (and yes, this is set in 2013, post-Avengers, Thor 2, and Iron Man 3) as:
Steve Rogers/Captain America
Sam Wilson/Falcon
Thor
Clint Barton/Hawkeye
Tony Stark/Iron Man
Bruce Banner/Hulk
*shrugs* Enjoy!
Updated: 13/9/2016 - A link to my tumblr post which has the art for this story: Running With Wolves cover art
Steve glanced around the Quinjet, anxious to get this mission over and done with as fast as possible. He usually liked going on missions - just something to take his mind off everything else - but he didn't feel like it today. He'd slept like shit last night. Nightmare after nightmare... and most of them involving HYDRA, since that was the mission he was partaking in - destroying a HYDRA base.
Sighing, Steve scrubbed a hand over his face, smothering a yawn. Best not to think about that now, Rogers he reminded himself sternly, It's time for the mission. Forget. Focus.
"You okay man?" Steve's teammate, a friendly African-American former Pararescueman named Sam Wilson, asked, glancing over at the blonde with a concerned expression. Steve met Sam's gaze evenly, shrugging. Sure, he was close to the man codenamed 'Falcon' due to his wingpack, but he wasn't about to share every waking thought. The man just wouldn't be able to cope with hearing what Steve had been through.
"Suit yourself," Sam muttered, turning to Clint Barton, codename Hawkeye, a fantastic archer with brilliant eyesight. "How long out?"
"Shouldn't be too much longer." Barton responded, though Steve saw him push the Quinjet to a slightly higher speed.
Steve looked around at his other teammates - the billionaire genius playboy philanthropist (self-titled, mind you) Tony Stark, known as Iron Man, the boisterous and friendly Asgardian (more like alien) named Thor, and the quiet, brilliant-minded Doctor Bruce Banner, aka the Hulk. Stark was looking at files on a tablet, Thor was boredly tossing his hammer - Mjolnir - from hand-to-hand, and Dr. Banner was quietly observing everyone, as Steve was. "Rough night?" the doctor asked, his brown eyes meeting Steve's blue.
Sam might've been the VA counsellor, and the person Steve was closest to, but for some reason, it was often the mild-mannered doctor whom Steve spoke to about his constant nightmares.
"Just a bit," Steve answered, sounding less tired than he really felt.
Doctor Banner opened his mouth to offer some advice, but just then, the Quinjet landed and Barton ordered everyone off. It was time for the mission. As Steve walked down the ramp, the doctor gave him a "we'll talk therapy later" look, and the soldier nodded, before stepping into the bright sunlight, squinting a bit. "This is Russia?" he asked, listening to the snow crunch under his feet as he turned back to face the Quinjet.
Barton nodded. "Pretty much. Cold, snowy... kind of not the place you wished you'd die if you chose to die on a mission."
Natalia Alianovna Romanova. Russian ballerina.
A stunning, red haired, green-eyed Russian woman, of about 30 years of age, gracefully walked through the halls of the Russian HYDRA compound. She was the picture of pure beauty and grace, yet underneath the surface lurked a deadly spider waiting to strike.
The Black Widow.
As she smoothly stepped into the computer room, she frowned upon seeing five rather oddly-clothed men fighting their way into the base as she gazed at the nearest monitor. She couldn't help the smug, cruel smirk that curled her lips up, green eyes glinting with challenge. "And who are these men?" she inquired, turning to the nearest security guard.
"The Avengers, apparently. That's what they call themselves, anyway. You saw the footage for the Battle of New York, correct?" the guard responded.
"Ah. Well then, send out the rest of the men. Spare no expense at stopping these Avengers. But don't kill them; I need them alive." Natalia instructed, and she turned on her heel to go and find some weapons. She heard the guard's murmur of assent as she left, and then heard him speak into a walkie-talkie.
Perfect. Just the type of men I need to lure into my web she thought.
Something had gone wrong, and now Steve was pissed. HYDRA, as it so turned out, had created an EMP-firing gun powerful enough to knock out Stark's suit, Sam's wings, and any other technological devices the team had, and they were all rendered useless. More agents had suddenly poured out of nowhere, and now the Avengers were surrounded, assault rifles trained on them.
Upon hearing a rather light set of booted footsteps, Steve's head snapped up from where he'd been staring at his own boots, startled to see himself staring at a slender, red haired woman dressed in a black leather catsuit, guns strapped to holsters on each of her thighs. Her full, plump lips were painted blood red, and downturned in a frown. “Who the hell do you think you are? You think you men can walk in here, steal information, and walk out alive? Oh, you poor souls. You’ve walked straight into my web.” Her Russian accent was thick, and her green eyes piercing as she stared at the captured Avengers - staring into their souls, it seemed.
Steve growled, waiting for just the right moment to strike - to get away. “And who the hell are you?” he demanded. He was the leader of the team, and when he wanted answers, he got them. His baby blue eyes, sharp and narrowed, were keenly studying the Russian woman, trying to work out who she was, and why none of the HYDRA soldiers seemed to be making any moves to lock the Avengers in prison cells or kill them.
The redhead smirked, her green eyes seemingly staring into his soul. “Ahh. The good-hearted Captain America. How noble of you to lead your team into battle… and how tragic to lead them to their untimely deaths.”
Steve sneered at her, visibly bristling when she called him by his old title. Who the hell was she? How did she know who he was? “And what makes you think that, Widow?” He'd overheard one of the soldiers mentioning something about "the Widow is coming; she'll tell us what to do with the Avengers", and seeing as this Russian was the only woman about, he had guessed that she was the so-called 'Widow'.
The Widow just continued to stare at him, folding her arms across her chest, looking smug. “It’s simple. I am the Black Widow. No man escapes my web.”
A/N: Boom! Cliffhanger! Ooh, did I or did I not just do that?
*whistles innocently*
Anywho, leave a review, and stay tuned for more!
Oh, and...
It turns out I've run into a spot of bother.
I'm working on chapter one for the sequel to I Didn't Want You To Be Alone, but the new story needs a title!
So please, pretty please, dear readers, would you kindly drop me a line with your suggestions for the title? The winner gets to have a special shout-out in the author's note in the story!
Thankyou!
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Thanks to Phoebe_Snow with your title suggestion.