Chapter 1: second chances
Summary:
At "Seconds Chances" cafe, Natasha asks Annie to help track down the Winter Soldier. Forcing her to confront the past she's tried to bury. Memories resurface of her Red Room training with Natasha and Yelena, and of the bond she once shared with the Soldier himself. Now Annie has 3 days to decide she's ready to face him again.
Chapter Text
Brooklyn 16:21, 2014
The bell above the café door jingled, breaking the stillness of the almost-empty shop. Annie glanced up from the counter, surprised anyone was coming in so close to closing time. But when she saw who it was, she was instantly comforted.
Natasha Romanoff.
Of course she knew who it was, how could she not? Natasha wasn’t just the Black Widow, she was family. They had been raised like sisters in the Red Room, bonded through years of training, whispering to each other in the dark, and surviving the nightmare side by side. Even after Annie walked away, they still talked every week.
But Natasha would drop by every 2-3 days, but this time the visit felt different - more serious.
“Anoushka,” Natasha said softly, using the old nickname she and Yelena used to tease Annie with. The sound of it made Annie’s eyes roll, childish memories coming back.
Natasha leaned on the counter, her eyes serious. “I need to talk to you about something. Guess who’s back in town.”
Annie sighed and took a moment to guess, "Who?"
“The Winter Soldier.”
Annie stood behind the counter, hands gripping the marble. Knuckles turning white. Everything around her drowned out in silence.
Suddenly Natasha's voice cut through "Annie?"
Her breath caught, her eyes going wide. She could still remember him, the man who had trained her everyday privately at 15. Older, colder, dangerous. Their lessons had been brutal, every strike a test, every spar a storm. Their relationship was… strange. Uncomfortable. Eerie. Yet somewhere in the chaos, Annie had found a kind of haven in him, as though he alone understood what it meant to kill and protect in the same breath.
She forced herself to shake her head, to push the memories away. “No. I left that behind, Nat. I built my life here.”
Natasha’s jaw tightened. “I wouldn’t be asking if I wasn’t desperate."
"Hydra isn’t gone, Annie. You know what they’re capable of. You can’t pretend forever.”
Annie gripped the counter, trying to steady herself. She had left that world at eighteen, survived S.H.I.E.L.D., and retired after years of doing Nick Fury’s dirty work. She had earned her peace. That’s why she had opened Second Chances, her little café in the middle of Brooklyn. Safe. Ordinary. Normal.
But Natasha’s words cracked through that safety like glass.
“You have three days,” Natasha said finally, her voice softer now. “Three days to decide. Please, Annie. Just think about it.”
And then she was gone.
Annie stood frozen, her chest aching as she stared at the empty doorway. The ghosts of her past, the Winter Soldier’s shadow, the Red Room, all of it—were pressing in again. And no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, she knew one thing: Natasha was right. She couldn’t pretend forever.
Red Room — 2003
The Red Room. Annie was fifteen, breathless from another round of sparring. The training sessions had grown harsher, more frequent, like they were trying to burn the weakness out of her. No stopping. No rest. Only survival.
She glanced across the mat at Yelena, who smirked through a split lip, and at Natasha, whose sharp eyes missed nothing. They weren’t just teammates; they were the only family Annie had ever known. Together they endured the endless drills, the constant fighting, the bruises and broken bones.
And then the door opened, and he walked in.
The Winter Soldier.
The room fell silent, every girl’s attention drawn to the infamous ghost story who had suddenly become real. For Annie, it was the beginning of something she couldn’t explain, something that would follow her for years, long after she thought she’d escaped.
Chapter 2: compromised
Summary:
An unexpected visit from Natasha Romanoff forces Annie to confront a past she’s tried to bury. After a tense phone call sealed with three loaded words—“You owe me”—Annie is pulled back into a world she thought she left behind. Memories of the Red Room resurface, recalling the bond she and Natasha forged as children under brutal conditions. Brought to the Triskelion, Annie reunites with Steve Rogers and the Avengers like no time has passed. But the warmth of reunion is short-lived when Fury is attacked by a ghost from history—the Winter Soldier. As Natasha delivers a chilling truth—“S.H.I.E.L.D.’s been compromised”—Annie realizes the fight ahead will drag old demons into the light.
Chapter Text
Brooklyn, 20:34
The café felt too quiet after Natasha left. Annie lingered behind the counter before sliding her jacket arm on and leaving, locking the door behind her.
Annie's apartments atmosphere was comforting, like being under a warm blanket in front of a fire after walking in the arctic for hours. Safe. Setting her notepad and hanging her coat on the rack, movement at the corner of her eye, she turned towards it only for a plump white cat sitting in front of her. Annie closed her eyes smiling, "Hey Alpine.. You hungry?" saying while walking towards the fridge, the cat following right behind her.
After placing the food below the kitchen counter, Annie made her way to her room - opening the closet and reaching up high only to take out a cardboard box labeled "DO NOT OPEN" opening it, and the first thing at the top was a black latex uniform.
Her fingers itched for the phone in her pocket. Before she could talk herself out of it, she was dialing.
It only rang once.
“Chistyanov,” came the smooth, detached voice on the other end.
A sigh came first, “...You owe me,” Annie said flatly, gripping the counter so tightly her knuckles whitened.
There was a pause. She could hear traffic in the background, Natasha breathing steady through the line.
“I know,” Natasha finally replied, low, almost reluctant. Then the line went dead.
Annie closed her eyes, letting the silence settle like ash. That was the thing about Natasha—she never promised anything. She never had to. But when Annie said you owe me, it wasn’t about money. It wasn’t even about favors. It was about survival. About nights long ago when the two of them only had each other.
The memory came unbidden, sharp as broken glass.
Red Room, 2006.
The dormitory smelled faintly of bleach and iron. Rows of narrow cots lined the walls, shadows pooling in the corners where the fluorescent lights didn’t reach. Annie lay on her back, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, listening to the distant hum of machinery and the occasional muffled scream from the training halls below.
They were thirteen, too old to cry and too young to forget.
“Are you awake?” a whisper floated through the stillness. Natasha’s voice, soft but certain.
Annie turned her head to see her across the room, perched on the edge of her bed like a coiled spring. Her hair was cropped close then, jagged from a blade, not scissors. They all looked the same in those days—shorn, stripped, remade.
“Yeah,” Annie murmured back, shifting to sit up. “Can’t sleep.”
Natasha padded silently across the cold floor, the fabric of her issued nightclothes whispering with every movement. She sat beside Annie without asking, their knees touching, the warmth between them a rebellion in itself.
“You’re shaking,” Natasha said, and it wasn’t a question. Her voice carried no pity—just fact. That was how they survived. Facts and silence.
“Madame B said tomorrow’s evaluation decides placement.” Annie stared at the floor, nails biting crescents into her palms. “If I fail—”
“You won’t.” Natasha’s hand found hers in the dark. Firm, grounding. “You don’t fail.”
Annie looked at her then, at those pale green eyes that held nothing soft, only steel. But under it—God, under it there was something human, something that kept her from falling apart completely.
“Promise?” Annie asked, and it sounded pathetic even to her own ears.
Natasha didn’t hesitate. “Promise.”
And in that moment, under the hum of the lights and the stench of disinfectant, Annie believed her.
The present crashed back like a wave. Annie blinked hard, dragging herself out of the past.
Two days later, she stood at the base of the Triskelion. Glass and steel gleamed in the sunlight, the sheer size of it making her feel small in a way she hated. Natasha had sent for her personally. No questions asked.
The elevator ride was silent until the doors slid open to reveal familiar faces. Steve Rogers turned first, his expression softening into something that felt like home.
“Annie,” he said, and for the first time in a year, she let herself smile.
“Cap,” she greeted, stepping forward as his arm pulled her into a brief, solid hug. Sam was next, all easy grin and warmth, followed by Maria Hill with her sharp nod that still somehow felt like affection.
Nothing was awkward. It was like walking back into a house you’d never stopped belonging to.
Natasha appeared at her shoulder, as unreadable as ever, but Annie didn’t need words to understand. They were in this together—again.
Hours later, the world shifted.
Annie stood beside Natasha and Steve in the dimly lit room, the air heavy with tension. The screen flickered with surveillance footage—Nick Fury’s SUV riddled with bullets, a chase that belonged in nightmares.
Steve’s jaw was tight as he spoke, voice low but firm. “Fury was attacked. He made it to my apartment before…” His breath hitched slightly, controlled but not invisible. “…before he collapsed. He said something about S.H.I.E.L.D. being compromised. And he mentioned a name.”
Natasha’s gaze was fixed on the screen, her face carved from stone. “What name?”
“The Winter Soldier,” Steve said, the words tasting like iron in the room.
Annie’s stomach twisted. That name carried a chill that didn’t come from memory alone—it felt older, heavier, like a ghost they’d never buried.
Natasha finally tore her eyes from the footage, looking first at Steve, then Annie. Her voice was calm, but her words cut like glass.
“S.H.I.E.L.D.’s been compromised.”
The room fell silent, the weight of those words anchoring them all to something they couldn’t yet see, but knew was coming.
Chapter 3: past life
Summary:
Annie rejoins Natasha and Steve on a mission that blurs the line between present danger and past scars. At the Washington mall, disguised in sweatpants and heavy glasses, she and Steve narrowly evade Rumlow.
Notes:
these chapters are coming out wayyyy faster than I anticipated! hope you're enjoying!! <3
Chapter Text
Washington, D.C. – Mall at 13:47
Annie tugged her sweatshirt tighter around her frame, the zipper half-up over a black tank top. She hadn’t worn sweatpants outside in years, but Natasha had insisted. “Blend in. Comfort over fashion.”
Her braids fell loose over her shoulders, prescription glasses perched low on her nose. She hated them—too heavy, too obvious—but her contacts had run out, and there hadn’t been time.
Beside her, Steve adjusted his baseball cap, eyes scanning the crowd. “Those glasses…” he started, glancing at her sidelong.
Annie’s brow arched. “What about them?”
“They look about two pounds heavier than normal ones,” he teased, a small grin tugging at his mouth. “How do you even see straight with those?”
Her lips quirked but didn’t form a smile. “I see fine. Don’t start.”
Steve chuckled, clearly fishing for more. “I’m just saying, if you ever need someone to—”
“Don’t,” Annie cut him off, voice low but firm. She adjusted her zipper and kept walking. Natasha, a few paces ahead, didn’t turn but Annie swore she saw her shoulders twitch with the ghost of a smirk.
At the top of the stairs, Natasha stopped. Her gaze swept the levels below, the escalators, the scattered civilians. “We need a hub,” she said simply, voice quick but calm. “Apple Store. You two, hold lookout. Meet me there in three.”
And then she was gone, weaving through the crowd like smoke.
Annie leaned on the railing, eyes sweeping the space. Steve shifted beside her, trying to look casual, but the tension in his jaw betrayed him. The hum of chatter, footsteps, the faint hiss of escalators—it all felt like static pressing against her skull.
Then she saw him. Rumlow. Black tactical gear disguised as civilian clothing, a wolf among sheep. He stepped onto the escalator, rising toward them, eyes cutting through the crowd.
Annie’s pulse spiked. “Steve,” she hissed.
He saw him too. The air tightened between them, a decision hanging in the silence. Steve’s hand brushed her arm, firm, steady.
“Kiss me,” he said quickly.
Annie’s eyes snapped to his. “What?”
“Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable.” His tone was half-serious, half-reckless.
Before she could argue, his lips pressed against hers. Annie froze, startled, then let the motion happen, her hands coming up stiffly to his chest as Rumlow passed by without looking.
When Steve pulled back, the ghost of a smile flickered in his eyes. Annie shoved his shoulder, muttering, “Don’t get used to it.”
They moved, fast, slipping down the other side toward the Apple Store. Natasha was waiting, the faintest glimmer of amusement in her otherwise sharp gaze.
“You’re late,” she said flatly.
New Jersey – First S.H.I.E.L.D. Bunker
The air was heavy, damp with decades of dust and secrets. The old computers whirred to life, screen flickering with a grainy face. Dr. Arnim Zola.
Static distorted his voice, but his words cut clean.
“Chistyanov Evgenievna, Antoinette.”
Annie froze. Her blood went cold. He had said it backwards, the way the Red Room instructors used to. Last name first. Patronymic sharp as a knife.
Her chest tightened.
Red Room, 2008
Fifteen years old. Attendance was never a list—it was a sentence. A command.
“Chistyanov Evgenievna, Antoinette.”
She stepped forward into the center of the room, surrounded by her peers. The scent of chalk, sweat, iron. At the far end, he stood. The Soldier. The Winter Soldier.
His eyes were pale steel, blank but searching, as if somewhere behind the fog he recognized her. Annie’s breath hitched, but she didn’t flinch. Not outwardly.
The order came. “Fight.”
She moved first—swift, precise, the way she had been taught. But he was faster. He blocked, twisted, disarmed her with brutal ease.
Then came the strike. The back of his gloved hand slammed across her face. Pain exploded white-hot as her nose broke, blood gushing down her chin.
The other girls did not gasp. They did not move. They watched. That was the rule.
Annie staggered, blood on her tongue, vision blurred. When she looked up, his gaze lingered just a second too long. Something flickered there. Recognition.
Then it was gone.
Present – Bunker
Annie blinked hard, dragging herself out of the memory. Zola’s voice droned on about Hydra, infiltration, history repeating.
But all she could feel was the echo of that strike, the phantom sting on her cheek. And the weight of the Soldier’s eyes, watching her even now, across time and blood and silence.
Her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
The ghosts weren’t done with her. Not yet.
Chapter 4: secret
Summary:
On the tense drive from Zola’s bunker, Annie’s fractured past claws its way back to the surface. Haunted by the Red Room and the Winter Soldier, Annie slips into old patterns.
Notes:
thanks so much for reading!!
warning: this chapter contains alcohol and drug addiction.
Chapter Text
Washington, D.C. – Outskirts, 20:02
They didn’t speak much after the bunker.
The drive out of Jersey stretched on like a punishment—long miles of cracked highway under headlights that smeared across the rain-slick asphalt. Natasha drove with the kind of sharp-eyed focus Annie had seen on missions before, her knuckles pale on the wheel. Steve sat in the passenger seat, posture rigid, one hand drumming silently against the door. Annie was sprawled across the back seat, hood pulled up, glasses shoved into her pocket.
Her pulse hadn’t calmed since Zola said her name. Chistyanov Evgenievna, Antoinette. The sound of it clung like oil to her skin.
The silence between the three of them was thick, broken only by the low hum of the engine. Steve finally broke it.
“You okay back there?” His voice was soft, but his eyes stayed on the road ahead.
Annie snorted. “Yeah. Peachy.”
Natasha’s gaze flicked up into the rearview mirror, catching Annie’s reflection for just a second. No judgment. Just a look. It was somehow worse.
The rain picked up, streaking down the windows, a rhythm too close to heartbeat. Annie couldn’t stop her hands from shaking. She dug her nails into her thighs to try and ground herself. Didn’t help.
They pulled into a gas station an hour out. The neon buzzed overhead, the air stank of oil and fried food. Steve got out to stretch, and Natasha headed inside to grab supplies. Annie stayed in the back, fidgeting, leg bouncing. Her chest felt like it was going to cave in.
The moment Steve rounded the corner of the building, Annie slipped out the opposite door.
She didn’t even think. She just moved. Past the gas pumps, into the attached liquor mart. She grabbed the cheapest bottle of vodka she could find, plastic cap, clear and merciless. Paid cash. Walked out with her hood low.
By the time she reached the car, Natasha was already back, plastic bags dangling from her hand. Their eyes met. Natasha’s lips pressed into the faintest line.
Annie slid back into the seat, uncapping the bottle beneath her sweatshirt. A burn later, and the edges began to soften. She stared out the window, daring Natasha to call her on it. But Natasha said nothing. Not yet.
The car filled with unspoken words, heavy as the storm outside.
Sam’s House – Late Evening
The townhouse smelled like home in a way Annie wasn’t used to—like real food, detergent, and warmth. It made her feel like a stain the second she stepped inside.
Steve lingered in the doorway, cautious but grateful. Natasha set the bags on the counter. Annie bolted for the upstairs bathroom.
She locked the door, leaned against it, and slid down until she was sitting on the tile. Her bag was still with her—because of course she’d kept it close. She dug into the lining where she always stashed something, just in case.
The pills rattled in their bottle. She popped two dry, then another swig of the vodka she’d smuggled up in her hoodie pocket. Her head swam almost instantly, the static in her veins going quiet.
She stared at herself in the mirror above the sink. Bloodshot eyes. Cracked lips. The faintest smear of dried blood still at her nostril from the memory of the Soldier’s strike.
She laughed—short, bitter, ugly.
Later
-
The sound of the television floated faintly from downstairs, Steve and Sam catching each other up in clipped voices. Natasha hadn’t joined them. Annie found her in the living room instead, sitting on the couch, barefoot, hair tied back in a loose knot.
The tumbler in Annie’s hand wasn’t water. Natasha didn’t need to ask.
“Annie,” Natasha said softly. Not a reprimand. Not a command. Just her name.
Annie froze like she’d been caught stealing. She set the glass down too quickly, the liquor inside sloshing over the rim.
Natasha stood, crossing the room in slow, even steps. When she stopped, it was so close Annie could smell her shampoo. She tilted her forehead down until it touched Annie’s.
For a long moment, neither of them breathed.
“I don’t want you to drown,” Natasha whispered.
The dam broke. Annie’s eyes burned, tears spilling before she could swallow them back. They streaked down her cheeks, sliding onto Natasha’s skin. Annie pressed her shaking hands to her face, ashamed and raw.
Natasha didn’t move away. She just let their foreheads stay pressed together, steadying them both.
Balcony – After Midnight
-
The city outside was alive in neon. Annie leaned against the railing, cigarette burning between her fingers, a half-empty glass of vodka on the ledge.
She slid her earbuds in and hit shuffle.
Graceland Too.
The opening chords cracked something deep. Her throat closed around the smoke, coughing once, but she didn’t stub the cigarette out. She inhaled again, slower, shakier.
The song bled through her like it had been waiting for this exact night. She gripped the railing tighter, blinking against the tears until the skyline blurred.
When the chorus hit, she let herself crumble, covering her mouth with one hand to keep quiet.
Church Basement, Brooklyn 12:36
-
Metal folding chairs. Coffee burnt in a pot. The smell of old carpet.
She sat in the circle, hoodie pulled low, trying to disappear. People around her spoke one by one—about bottoming out, about the wreckage they’d caused, about clawing back piece by piece
Every word was jagged, raw, true.
When the silence shifted to her, Annie’s throat sealed shut.
She tried to speak. Tried to say, Hi, I’m Annie, and I’m—
But the words didn’t come. Didn’t belong.
The circle waited. Then moved on.
Annie sat there with her nails biting into her palms, feeling like a ghost among the living.
Present
-
The song ended, fading into silence. The city noise swelled again, sirens in the distance, laughter from the street below.
Annie ground the cigarette into the ashtray, lit another immediately. Her hands shook too much to steady the lighter at first.
Inside, she heard Steve’s voice—calm, steady, always moving forward. Natasha’s lower, careful, like she was keeping him from pushing too hard.
Annie stood outside, alone, smoke curling around her like fog, the playlist still whispering songs she didn’t want to hear.
The night stretched on. The bottle beside her emptied. And the ghosts pressed in closer.
Because they weren’t done with her. Not yet.
daisymcbride on Chapter 1 Mon 25 Aug 2025 03:00PM UTC
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