Upstate New York, USA

Spring 2015

Steve owed her his life. And Nadine hadn't said another word about it. She hadn't allowed him to speak long enough to bring it up or even thank her for doing it. Grabbing him the way she had? She'd put her own life on the line. He easily could've pulled her over with him on that lifeboat. And she would've realized that. In the instant it would have taken her to spring into action, she would've known it.

But she'd done it anyway. Regardless of the way he'd treated her. Regardless of the way he'd utterly disregarded everything she'd done over a split-second judgement call...a horribly wrong call. As soon as his thoughts had cooled, as soon as he'd been forced to get his head on right when going up against Ultron in Seoul, as soon as he'd had some time on the ride back to New York to really think over what he'd learned, he'd known just how gravely he'd messed up. And hearing out Nadine on the Helicarrier had only enforced that.

He'd risked everything just because he'd let his emotions get the better of him.

Steve's gut had clenched the longer Nadine had spoken, the more she'd opened up and revealed about what had happened all those years before. He'd never expected her to be so forthcoming. Certainly not without a great deal of reluctance and prompting, even insistence on his part.

Well, there had been hesitation at first, but it was disconcertingly easy to tell that it had stemmed from discomfort at breaking of her long habits of secrecy more than any attempted refusal to explain or any attempts at dishonesty or deflection. At least, as far as he could tell. After all, like Natasha, the blonde assassin was trained as a highly skilled spy even if she didn't delve much into that particular side of their profession.

As far as he could tell, though, there was no deception on her part. She'd sounded brutally honest, right down to her inadvertent implications—and direct ones too—of how she viewed her own part in what had happened between her and Bucky.

When Ultron had first revealed the extent of the blonde's history with his friend, Steve had been rashly and irrationally inclined to think of her the same way; that she'd been complicit, indifferent. That she'd even had some sort of unfeeling, even cruel intent. He should have seen through the irrational conclusions brought on by his initial gut-reaction on the Quinjet. Part of him had; he'd seen how affected she'd been and had known what that meant. Someone who didn't care wouldn't have reacted the way she had. Even then, distracted and unreasonable as he'd been, he'd somehow known that. But another, louder part of him had simply refused to acknowledge it at the time; it had been howling in pain at the reminder of the horrific things his best friend had been forced to endure.

Even now, his chest still felt tight at the inescapable realization that had settled over him in that office on the Helicarrier: she'd had little more control over what had happened than Bucky had. Furthermore, she seemed to be refusing to admit it to herself. But the more she'd said, the harder the conclusion was for Steve to ignore. And judging by the bright-eyed heartache on Natasha's face? The redhead had been equally aware of the blonde's stubborn inability to see that she'd been just as much a victim as Bucky had been.

Neither had there been any mistaking the relief that had surfaced on Nat's face before then when she'd realized Steve's perspective of Nadine's role in what had happened with Bucky had genuinely shifted, that he'd admitted to himself just how wrong his initial impression had been; naturally she'd been able to read as much on his face. That had been a relief in and of itself.

Natasha had told him off in no uncertain terms back on the Helicarrier over what had happened. After he'd tracked her down, before she'd disappeared into the infirmary after her sister and niece, she had confronted him on his behaviour back on the Quinjet. His own self-reproach was nothing compared to the dressing down Natasha had given him. And that was saying something.

He'd never seen Natasha so furious.

You have no idea what it was like in that place. You don't know—you weren't there.

More than that, he could still barely wrap his head around the things she'd revealed in doing so.

I don't remember a time before the Red Room. Just like Nadine. We were both brought in as babies. And we both formally began our training when we were just barely seven years old. Seven! I killed for the first time before I reached my tenth birthday. We all did. We had to. You have no right to judge, Steve. None.

She hadn't even let him so much as ask if she was alright in the aftermath of the battle before she laid into him.

When you got an order in that place? When you were given a mission? You saw it through or you died. It was as simple as that. We didn't have the luxury of learning right from wrong. We learned to survive or break. And if you broke, you died.

We didn't know anything else.

And Steve knew he deserved every word.

Further, the redhead had bluntly warned him what would happen if his poor behaviour toward Nadine continued once their inevitable conversation came around: if Steve chased Nadine away, if Nadine left because of his behaviour toward her, Natasha would be following. End of story. And Steve couldn't say he would blame her. He couldn't say he would blame either of them for leaving after everything that had gone down before and during the confrontation with Ultron in Seoul. It was why he'd insisted they have the talk there and then, on the Helicarrier. He had been sure that, the instant they disembarked, Nadine would take her daughter and disappear.

And he had admitted as much to Natasha even before he'd heard Nadine's explanation: that he wouldn't blame them for leaving. Not that he had really needed to, it seemed. Watching his reaction to her dressing down had apparently, and unsurprisingly, told Nat everything she'd needed to know.

It was scary sometimes how well Natasha could read him.

Much to his relief, and without him even saying a word on the subject, she had realized he wasn't hung up anymore the way he had been on the Quinjet and believed that he had cooled down enough that she trusted him to be in the same room as her sister again without losing his temper. Provisionally, of course, dependant on how open Nadine was to any form of conversation with him.

And that had gone surprisingly...well, it hadn't exactly been great considering the subject matter. But it had been encouraging.

Seeing Natasha's reactions had been a big part of why he'd been okay with her being in that room when he confronted Nadine. Not only as a potential mediator or someone to rein him in if needed, should the need arise, but because he trusted her judgement. Natasha had been raised with Nadine and they'd both received the same training. She knew how to read the blonde assassin just as Steve had learned how to read Natasha. And Steve trusted Natasha implicitly.

His shifting opinion aside, though, it hadn't meant that his emotions had been any less unbalanced. Despite his newfound insight—and sympathy—about what had happened and why Nadine had acted the way she had, it had still taken far more willpower than Steve wanted to admit to to keep his head...something else Natasha had seemed very aware of if her careful scrutiny of him had been anything to go by. But then, it wasn't entirely surprising. It was Bucky they were talking about, after all. He wasn't too proud to admit he'd let his temper and his irrational conclusions get the better of him more than once since Ultron had uttered those brutal words. But he'd still managed. Mostly.

As had Nadine, if he was being honest. Far better than most would've handled someone unwelcome prying into their most closely guarded secrets while at their most vulnerable. For the most part, at least. But that was wholly understandable. He was certain that, in her shoes, he would not have coped half so well. Hell, his behavior on the Quinjet put proof to that. Her own emotional control had been even more visibly strained than his, just as she too had had moments where she'd lost control. And Steve couldn't blame her in the slightest. He was actually rather impressed that she'd maintained the level of control she had. After all, he'd been little better. And he didn't have anything like her excuses. But she'd also been very obviously upset with herself for having let them get the better of her the way they had. Christ...she'd been very obviously upset. It still ate at him, knowing that he was a big part of the reason behind her outburst. If he'd only kept his head better...on more than one occasion...

But she wouldn't let him apologise for his actions on the Quinjet. Why? But as soon as the question materialized in Steve's thoughts he knew why with painful certainty.

Because she didn't feel like she deserved it. She thought bearing his reproach and blame was another part of her penance for what had happened between her and Bucky. And if that realization didn't suddenly hurt more than his earlier, mistaken idea that she'd betrayed them, or that she'd been no better than the people who had torn Bucky apart to make him into the Winter Soldier. She felt she didn't deserve forgiveness.

So how to prove to her that he didn't feel that way anymore? That he didn't blame her the way he so irrationally and foolishly had on the Quinjet? That he never should have felt that way?

And then it hit him. That was exactly how. He'd have to prove it with action. With his actions. And with his trust. It would be hard—despite knowing better, some of his irrational, instinctive feelings from before Seoul still lingered—but it was the only way to apologise and atone for his actions toward her if she wouldn't accept his words.

Not that he wouldn't still try, of course. It felt like the least he could do.

Steve sighed, internally berating himself again. Responsible as he might be, he couldn't change what had happened, either. He simply had to keep moving forward. He stared out over the Compound stretched out before him, trying to recompose himself.

Like the Avenger's Tower, this new facility was more than Steve could have dreamed. Stark had really gone all out. But then, when did he not. The man spared no expense. Even unfinished, it was an incredible facility and an invaluable resource and asset for the Team, to be sure. Now it was just a matter of getting the Team back on their feet to make use of it. And to fill the Team back out. But Steve couldn't quite get himself to focus on that task just yet.

He couldn't seem to help but dwell on everything that had happened since Seoul. No, it had started farther back than that.

As far back as Prague, if he was being honest.

"You didn't listen, did you." Steve turned to see Fury striding toward him, hands in his pockets. As per usual, his one good eye was fixed intently on Steve, making him feel like the former director knew far more than Steve would've liked. And considering what he was saying? "You messed up, Captain. You messed up big time, and it nearly cost you your team. Not to mention your mission." For once, Fury's face was not so hard to read as it usually was. His mouth was set in a hard line of disappointment.

Steve sighed, leaning forward against the railing his hands were braced against. He looked out over the Compound. It may be quite the facility, but Steve wasn't exactly in the mood to appreciate it just now.

"Believe me, I am already well aware of it," he responded sedately. Fury lifted a dark brow at the grim, obviously self-admonishing tone.

"I figured as much. You're sharp, Cap. And you're usually good at compartmentalizing and doing right by your people." Fury's critical gaze intensified as he came to a halt next to Steve, his relaxed posture belying his grave mood. Steve glanced to Fury. He wasn't wrong. Fury stared right back, his gaze overtly assessing just as it was disappointed. "What changed? Why was this time different?" Steve's jaw clenched. He had been asking himself the same questions since Seoul. Having Fury echo them? Especially in that tone of his that suggested he already knew the answer? Steve had to force his jaw to unclench to even answer.

"I don't know."

"I think you do." Steve's gaze returned to the view beyond the facility for a moment before returning to Fury. He was still wearing that frustratingly knowing look. The Captain straightened, his arms crossing over his chest even as his eyes narrowed at the former director.

"Natasha told you about what happened on the Quinjet." À la Fury himself, it was far more of a statement than a question. Somehow Steve rather doubted that Fury didn't know. In fact, he suspected that Natasha had likely briefed him, possibly even asking for advice on top of confiding in the former director. He already knew Fury and Nat had had a chat about Banner after the results had come back for the missing Quinjet. Why wouldn't they have talked about Seoul as well? There was little doubt Natasha looked up to her former boss as a mentor of sorts. It also was entirely likely that Fury had already known about Nadine, Bucky and possibly even Nina before Steve did; the man had known a surprising amount about Nadine even before officially meeting her at the Barton house, after all. Fury nodded in confirmation regardless.

"Romanoff debriefed me." Just as he'd suspected. Steve inhaled deeply, reining in his instinctive, defensive reaction. Now was not a good time for that.

"You know Bucky's a sore spot for me."

"Yet you seemed to set that aside just fine when S.H.I.E.L.D. fell."

"Then we have different definitions of 'just fine.'" The corner of Fury's mouth twitched. He withdrew his hands from his pockets, leaning them against the railing like Steve was.

"You know what I mean," he said, sounding almost like he was scolding Steve. "Despite finding out what had actually happened to your buddy, you still put what needed to be done first. You kept your eye where it needed to be; on taking down HYDRA. Once that was accomplished, then you turned to Barnes. You made the right call then, not the emotional one." Steve's gaze dropped to the floor.

"It felt pretty emotional," he said tightly.

"Where Barnes was involved, yes," Fury countered, his dark eye heavy on Steve. "But where S.H.I.E.L.D. was concerned?" Fury sighed then, looking out over the Compound himself before turning to lean back against the railing, his arms crossing over his chest. The Captain couldn't help but glance over to him at the move, taking in the former director's grim, even resigned expression. "Even I couldn't make that call even though I knew it was the right one." He looked back to Steve, his features shifting from grave to something else Steve couldn't quite decode. "But you did." Steve met Fury's impassive gaze.

"But that call wasn't personal for me. Not the same way it was for you." Fury nodded absently, ceding to Steve's statement.

"True. But you could've let your revelations about Barnes distract you. You could've let yourself fixate on him and what happened to him instead of on what needed to be done. Which is exactly what you let happen on the Quinjet." Steve frowned; it was either that or grimace.

"I hope this wasn't supposed to be a pep-talk, Fury, 'cause you're certainly not making me feel any better about any of this." Fury's eye glinted, shrugging. But he didn't drop Steve's gaze, his own growing almost challenging.

"It's not," he said dismissively. "I'm just trying to understand what was going through your head on that Quinjet." Well, Steve still didn't entirely know that himself. All he knew was that it led to him making the wrong call.

"I don't know why it got to me," he finally admitted, not caring about the thread of defeat woven through his tone. "All I know is that I overreacted. I didn't think any of it through. I—I couldn't think. I let it get to me." Fury levelled him with a faintly reproachful look.

"I do recall pointing out that Ultron was trying to divide you. And he did that by distracting you. He obviously knew about the Ghost and he knew she was one of your best chances to track down his base of operations. That's why he blew her secret about Barnes. It's why, when that didn't quite work the way he'd intended, he blew all her covers; she was closing in on him." Steve started at the news that Nadine's covers had been blown by Ultron. He hadn't known that. Fury didn't miss his reaction, his unsympathetic gaze glinting knowingly. But he didn't pause in his thinly-veiled reprimand. "He wanted to distract you. Did he know it would be personal for you? I don't know. The point is, he wanted to keep her and all of you from making that final leap for as long as possible. He was trying to turn you against one another, and you let him."

"I know," Steve admitted dejectedly, "I know, and I know that's wholly on me." Fury nodded, not disagreeing with him but not quite condemning him for it either.

"Well...I won't dispute that. You benched Ryker on an emotional call and it almost cost you the larger mission. There's no question there. But it wasn't just you. He got to Ryker too. He got to the rest of the Team. It's what he was good at, what he did far too well; Ultron, he was...malignant, like a cancer. He found ways to eat away at you. At her. At Romanoff and Banner and Stark. And the Maximoff girl picking apart your heads in Johannesburg likely didn't help matters either." Steve's frown deepened as he shot Fury a disparaging look.

He couldn't deny that, since Seoul, he'd been considering that part of his problem on the Quinjet had come out of the lingering effects from Wanda's manipulation. He'd been having a hard time keeping his emotions in check even before Ultron had sent that video. It was a reasonable conclusion to draw. Especially when, on the way back to the Tower from Seoul, she'd admitted to messing with Stark the same way when the Team had taken Strucker's base. That it was her manipulations that had fed Stark' determination—desperation, even—that had ultimately seen to Ultron's creation.

But every time he considered that Wanda's manipulation had directly influenced his reaction on the Quinjet, he dismissed the idea out of hand. It felt too much like a cop-out, an excuse.

And Fury seemed to pick up on that easily. Either that or he simply knew Steve well enough to anticipate how he'd see it.

"I know. You don't like it. But there's no knowing if it contributed or not. And yes, ultimately it doesn't matter either way. All I know is all of you weren't acting like yourselves throughout this entire offensive; you all let your emotions cloud your focus, risking the mission; Stark...well, he's probably a bad example since he's always impulsive and has a habit of taking things too personally despite appearances, but he still took things a step further than even he usually does by creating Ultron in the first place; Romanoff nearly abandoned the Team, running out on not only the mission, but all of you. Banner did run. Thor was probably the only one whose head she messed with who didn't let it get to him. Not that it's easy to tell with him." Fury fixed Steve with a hard look. "The point is, what I do know is that none of you were on your A-game." Steve's jaw clenched again, holding back a heavy sigh. As much as part of him didn't want to admit it, he supposed there was some truth to what Fury was saying. But he still refused to shrug off the blame for his poor choices on what Wanda had done to his head, even in part, even if the reasoning behind it was sound. His actions had still been his own, so he would own up to them.

"Maybe," he hedged reluctantly. "But it doesn't take away from the fact that all our actions—and especially my actions—compromised the mission." Sombrely Fury nodded, accepting Steve's assertion as respect and even a glint of admiration appeared in his eye. It was an odd feeling to be sure, to have Fury looking at him like that. Fury straightened then, nodding in a way that indicated he believed his work was done...whatever it was he'd set out to do in the first place. It was hard to tell with him sometimes. And with that he turned and began to walk away.

"I have to hand it to you, Cap," he threw over his shoulder before pausing to look back for a moment. "There aren't many people out there who wouldn't take the opportunity to ease their conscience over something like this." A tense, drained grin tugged at Steve's lips. And he had to hand it to Fury; the man was certainly good at handing out virtually indecipherable comments that could easily be either criticism or approval.

"It's the right thing to do," was all he could say in response. Fury's eye glinted as that knowing smile teased his features.

And the former director left Steve alone to his thoughts without another word.

A/N: Thanks for Reading!

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