It was a strange feeling, riding back home with your family in the quinjet, looking around and realizing that it could very well be your last time within it.  Tony insisted on flying so that Steve could be at your side, knowing that he would be far more welcome there; it hurt him to tell you that you were off the team, but he held his convictions.  Even though he couldn't find the strength to look you in the eyes now, he maintained his resolve that this decision was for the best; for everyone.

Your eyes drifted down to your hands, resting on your lap with Steve's gently over them, the sheer size of his hands dwarfing your own.  Your hands were much softer and narrower than his, but you wouldn't call them delicate by any means; they had caused their share of pain and had seen the death of your enemies within them.   Even with everything that they had done, Steve still felt no fear or remorse in holding them, and it made you think about how he wasn't afraid of you or what was happening, but Tony was.  Was it because Steve knew that physically, he was a match capable of holding his own against you, and Tony knew that he couldn't?  Did Tony think that he would be one of your targets?  Was he pushing you from your team to protect himself?  The simple gesture of Steve holding your hands now had your mind spinning.

"Dad?" you asked quietly, but enough to startle him to attention; it was the first time that you had spoken since the plane left the ground hours ago. "Can we talk for a minute?"

"Of course," he answered readily, clearly excited that you were willing to be near him at all, "anything you need, (Y/N).  Steve, can you take over?"

Steve nodded silently and gave your hands a final squeeze of support before standing and making his way towards the pilot seat; when the two men passed each other, Steve reached out and took Tony's arm to halt him, turning him to face him directly.  "Don't say anything to make this worse, okay?"

"How could I possibly make this worse?  This isn't what I wanted to happen."

"Well, still...just...don't Stark this into a bigger situation."

All Tony could do was sigh in frustration, both at Steve and at himself, his mind scrambling to think of what to say to you and how he could make you understand that this was the last thing that he ever wanted to see.  To be the cause of taking away one of the things in your life that you loved doing and what was truly a part of the core of your being, hurt him almost as much as it appeared to hurt you.  "Where should I sit?" he asked softly, his hands folded in front of him, doing his best to appear unassuming.

"Where do you feel comfortable sitting?"

"What do you mean?"

"What's the acceptable safe-zone around me?"

"(Y/N), come on-"

"Are you afraid of me, Dad?"

"Okay, now you're really being ridiculous," he scoffed, deciding in the moment that he was going to sit right next to you to make his point clearer, "there's no way that I'm afraid of you, sweetheart.  You've actually killed me before, remember?  What else could you do that's worse than that?"

"I could do it again," you answered plainly, staring ahead to avoid his eyes.  "I could do it again and not realize that it's you.  I could do it before you knew what was happening."

"Yeah, you could," Tony sighed, leaning in even closer to take your hands in his, which you didn't fight, "and if that's how my end comes, then at least it was by these hands."

You pulled from his grip, aghast, finally looking at him in full terror at what he had just said.  This wasn't the answer that he was supposed to give and you didn't know what to do with it.  He had just told you that it was possible that you would someday be the one to kill him, and that he would actually be okay with it because it was you; it appalled you that he could say something so repulsive.  "Are you nuts?"

"Jury's out."

You held his gaze for several minutes, sitting in silence and feeling Steve's eyes on the two of you even without having to turn to see him.  The kids were asleep in one of the far corners of the jet, the three of them bundled together and draped over each other in a peaceful slumber that you felt that you would never have for yourself again after everything that was happening.  All that you wanted was for all of this to go away, to be only yourself and not this; you didn't want your own father to be okay with you murdering him, and for your husband to feel like he had to sleep with one eye open next to you.  This whole thing was absurd and it had to stop.

"I'd like to make a deal with you," you finally spoke again in an uncertain whisper, "about my role with the Avengers."

"Okay?"

"I understand that you feel like I can't be on the field, but I can still pilot the jets.  I can take tactical, from a safe distance, provided Rogers over there actually follows my orders."  You turned to face your husband as the realization began to sink in and he took on an offended stance, "does fourth floor, northeast stairwell ring any bells?"

"Hey!  That was one time!" Steve argued eagerly, stopping cold with wide eyes as the kids stirred from the sound of his booming voice echoing around them.

"That almost got us both killed," you snapped back quietly.  "You even admitted that you screwed that up, don't act like you didn't."

"Alright, children, back to what's important here," Tony broke in, "so if I say yes to this, what's my end of the deal?  What do I get out of it?"

"I won't be pissed off at you anymore."  You held your expression matter-of-fact and insistent that this was your one and only offer, hoping that he wouldn't try to call your bluff.  In true Tony form, he saw the clear wisdom in how this would make his life better and took it without hesitation.

Tony held out his hand with a wide grin, shaking yours energetically when you offered it to him to seal your agreement.  "Honey, there's no way that I can say no to this!  You're back!"

~~~

"Listen to the tone, (Y/N).  Listen to the rhythm of his words and inflection.  Commit it to your memory.  Commit it to your full being.  This is your target."

The sound of the Winter Soldier's voice carried in the air around you, filling the small, dark room with a reverberating sound that hurt your ears from the sheer volume that they blasted you with.  Line after line and strings of words that felt as if they would never end accosted your mind until the tenor of his voice nearly made you sick to your stomach.  Maybe that was the machinery strapped to your skull more so than the actual sounds, but it drove home the point nonetheless; the Winter Soldier set into motion a feeling inside of you that ignited a vengeance. 

"Your work has been a gift to mankind," your commander said quietly, "and now I need you to do it one more time.  You need to stop him because no one else can."

You pushed yourself up from the mattress with a gasp, startling yourself from the memories that filled your dream so violently that Steve had woken next to you almost immediately with an urgency that matched your own.

"Hey, you're okay," he said softly, his hands hovering next to you but afraid to touch until he knew that you were fully awake.  "It was just a nightmare, doll.  I'm here."

"It wasn't..." you panted, trying to catch your breath, "I remember it."  Swinging your legs out over the side of your bed, you hunched to rest your head in your hands, the thoughts and images barraging you too fast to follow.  "Может быть только один солдат," you whispered to yourself, not realizing that your language had slipped

"(Y/N)?"

"My head hurts."

A sharp slap of a hand crossed your cheek, leaving a sting that would burn for hours, and a bruise that would last for days.  When your head snapped back to look at the man who dealt the strike, the fire in your glare made him take a step back, much to your enjoyment.  This was the reaction that you wanted; you wanted him to cower before you and for him to realize that he had created his worst nightmare.  When you pulled the restraints up with a crack of the locks that held them tight against your skin, freeing yourself from the power that he thought he held over you, it made him scared for his life to be so close to you.

"Listen to the tone, (Y/N)," he began shakily and desperately. "Listen to the rhythm of his words and inflection.  Commit it to your memory.  Commit it to your full being.  This is your father."   

The next voice that you would hear would be Tony's, playing at a deafening volume, but it didn't hurt you as it did when it was the voice of the Soldier.  This sound calmed you and brought you back to a treasured part of your mind, and forced you to stand down, dropping you back into the chair willingly as your commander watched.  "I'm sorry," you offered questioningly, with a voice again your own, "I don't know what just happened."  Your mind was swimming, coming back into itself, the assassin within you quieting back to sleep.  "What were we doing?"

"We're done for the day," he sighed in relief, "so let's get you back to your room.  I think what you need is a good night's sleep, (Y/N)."

"Yeah, maybe you're right," you nodded, taking his extended hand to help you up, "I'm exhausted and I've got a busy day tomorrow.  I'm going to take a team to Captain Rogers' apartment first to see if we can get a trace on him.  I might give Tony a call and see if he's willing to help.  I haven't talked to the guy in years, but maybe if I ask nicely..."

"I'm sure he'd love to hear from you again."

"Hmm, well, no guarantees, but worth a shot," you smiled, stopping at the door to rest a hand on his arm in reassurance that he didn't seem to be fully buying into.  "Don't worry, Nick, I'll find Steve."

"I sure found you alright," you added softly, your head still down, "and Buck...Steve...I feel like I can't wake up."

"FRIDAY, call Tony and Bruce to meet us in the infirmary, please," Steve commanded calmly, standing up and hurrying around the bed to lift you to him.  "Hey, it's okay.  It could just be a side-effect of whatever they did in Wakanda.  I'll call T'Challa-"

"It was Nick."

"What?"

"I was in the bunker, where we took Nick after the Soldier shot him," you began, stopping him in his tracks to listen, his eyes wide.  "He kept playing his voice over and over and over until I couldn't stop hearing it.  The same sentence in Russian until it made me feel sick.  Bucky somehow knew that speaking to me as the Soldier...would...work..." you paused, your voice quieting as your mind struggled to catch up.  "Set me down."

"(Y/N), we should take you downstairs-"

"Set me down," you ordered again, this time finding a solid stance on your feet when he complied.  "Oh my god, that's it."

"You'll have to give me a little more than that if I'm gonna keep up."

"Hydra was growing inside SHIELD, right?  Well if each side took their strongest weapons and programmed them to kill each other, whoever won would take the jackpot.  Dad was able to block Bucky's triggers because they were the only ones he had."

"He didn't know that Bucky himself was yours," Steve quickly caught on, nodding along in understanding.  "He blocked what Hydra put in our minds, but not what SHIELD did to you because he didn't know."   

"Yeah," you smiled coyly, "and that means that he can still fix this and I can be back on the team by the end of the day.  And once I am, I owe Nick Fury one hell of a punch in that arrogant son of a bitch face of his."