Summary: After the Accords falling-out, Steve loses all contact with Natasha. Five months later, she reappears almost unrecognisable.

Italics represent Russian words.

"It's like people here don't know water can be hot,"  Sam said, walking into the living room where Steve was reading.  Steve glanced up to see Sam out of the shower and in a pair of sweatpants.  He checked his watch and was surprised to discover it was nearly 10PM.

"Well, we are paying the equivalent of $15 a month for rent,"  Steve reminded him.  Sam rolled his eyes and hung up his wet towel on the rope they'd hung across the living room.  "We're lucky we were able to find a place that didn't recognise us."

"You mean you?"  Sam corrected.  "A place that didn't recognise you?  'Cause people wouldn't know who I was unless my face was plastered on the TV everywhere.  Even then, they don't."

"What I mean is that a cold shower is fine with me if we have a place to stay,"  Steve said.  Sam shrugged.

"I'm glad you feel that way,"  he replied.

Steve rolled his eyes and returned to his book while Sam stepped into the tiny kitchen to make himself a snack before bed.  Steve was about to ask Sam how much food they had left, but he was cut off by what sounded like a light knock at the door.  He frowned, wondering who would knock at this hour and if they should be concerned.

"Someone's at the door,"  he told Sam.  Sam looked up from his cracker box skeptically.

"Yeah, sure,"  he replied.  Steve gave him a look.  "Who would knock on our door, Steve?  It's probably the neighbours banging again."

"I swear I heard a knock,"  Steve mumbled.  He returned to his book only to hear the sound again.  This time Sam looked up at well and they looked at each other in confusion.  Steve slowly stood up and quietly walked towards the door.

"Be careful,"  Sam warned.  Steve nodded, knowing full well Ross or the local police could be on the other side of the door.  He stood behind the door and slowly cracked it to see who was outside.  He frowned when he didn't see anyone and pulled the door open fully.  His head snapped to his right when he saw movement and froze when he saw red hair.

"Nat?"  he breathed.  Natasha lifted her head and gave him a pained smile, not moving from where she was leaning against the wall.  Even with one eye swollen shut and a split lip, he knew it was her.

"Hey, soldier,"  she said, taking a sharp breath after the Russian word.  Steve barely heard her as he looked at all the bruises and cuts on her face.  Blood was caked in her hair and she was trying to stop the blood flow from a wound on her abdomen.

"God, Nat, what happened?"  Steve asked, stepping forward to help her.  She flinched and he froze.

"I think I need help,"  she said in Russian.  Steve nodded, understanding her perfectly thanks to her having taught him the language.

"Come in,"  he told her, pushing the door open and guiding her in.  She limped into the house, keeping her hand pressed to her side.

"Who is it?"  Sam asked, peering around the kitchen.  Steve bolted the door shut as Natasha collapsed in front of him.  Both Sam and Steve rushed forward to help her stand.  Steve carefully picked her up and laid her on the couch, sending Sam for their medical supplies.

"Natasha, what happened?"  Steve repeated.  She blinked twice up at him but didn't respond.  "What happened?"

"I don't know,"  she replied, frowning at the thought.  Sam reappeared at that moment and knelt down beside her.

"What's wrong?"  Sam asked her.

"Head hurts,"  she muttered, removing her hand from her side to touch her head.  Sam's eyes widened at the sight of the wound on her abdomen, deciding that was his first priority no matter how badly her head hurt.

"Alright, Natasha, I'm gonna fix up your side first,"  he told her.  She closed her eyes and nodded slowly.  Sam motioned for Steve to take her shirt off, so he carefully pried it out of the bloody mess.  Natasha groaned, but Steve didn't stop.  As soon as her shirt was off and Sam was face-to-face with the wound, he got to work stitching it up.

* * *

It took five hours for Sam to finish stitching up Natasha's side and attend to her other wounds.  He'd come to the conclusion she had a moderate concussion as well as a dislocated ankle she'd reset.  By the time she was completely fixed up, they were out of medical supplies and Sam was exhausted.

"You'll be okay, Natasha,"  he assured her.  She nodded, saying something in Russian that Sam didn't understand.  His eyebrows scrunched in confusion and Steve quickly translated what she'd said.  Sam had figured that due to her concussion, she had reverted back to whatever language she was most comfortable with to make her life easier.  They were both thankful the language was something at least one of them spoke considering she knew more than seven fluently.

"Thanks, Sam,"  Steve said.  Sam nodded and pushed himself off the floor, his legs protesting from being in the same position for so long.

"No problem,"  he replied.  "You might want to stay with her to make sure we didn't miss anything, but I'm going to bed."

"Of course,"  Steve nodded.  "Good night."

"Good night,"  Sam said, walking into the single bedroom and disappearing from view.

* * *

It took three days of bed rest before Natasha was given the 'okay' from Sam to get up and walk around the house.  She had recovered enough from her concussion she was back to speaking English (something Sam was extremely grateful for; it was incredibly awkward when your two housemates spoke a language you didn't).  She still hadn't told them what had happened, insisting it wasn't important and changing the subject.

"Did you know Thaddeus Ross speaks Italian?"  Natasha asked Steve suddenly.  Sam had left to buy groceries, leaving Natasha and Steve alone for a few hours.

"What?"  Steve asked, more confused as to where this conversation would go than asking for her to repeat her sentence.

"Yeah,"  Natasha said, nodding as she picked at her nails.  "I know he speaks English, so of course I contacted Tony in Italian to see if he was holding up alright, but apparently that was a bad idea."

"Are you finally telling me what happened?"  Steve asked, closing his book and looking up at her.

"If you don't interrupt,"  she answered.  Steve promptly closed his mouth and she continued.  "Anyway, imagine my surprise when he appeared on my doorstep with a team of soldiers.  I managed alright, but they were good."

"Ross was on your heel and you came here?"  Steve asked, concerned.  If Ross was following her, they needed to move out now.

"I killed him,"  she said quietly, looking up at Steve cautiously.  She wasn't sure how he might take the news she'd murdered someone in cold blood.  "I didn't leave until he was dead, so no, he's not following me."

"Natasha..."  Steve trailed off.  She shrugged.

"Figured you'd want to know that eventually,"  she told him.  "I'll leave now, but I wanted to let you know you didn't have to worry anymore."

"No, stay,"  Steve insisted.  Natasha raised an eyebrow at him.  "Killing him probably wasn't how I would have gone about it—"  Natasha snorted and Steve gave her a pointed look as he continued, "—but I suppose it's nice that we don't have to worry about him.  Besides, it's not like you have a place to go, do you?"  Natasha shrugged.

"I could join Clint with his family,"  she reminded him.  Steve rolled his eyes.

"Just stay, Natasha,"  he told her.  "Sam and I could use your help."

"Damn right you could,"  she replied, grinning at him.  Steve smiled and shook his head, returning to his book.  It was good to have Natasha back.