Sometimes Natasha had to wonder if the Black Widow name was a little too apt. It seemed to her that everything that happened in her life before she defected was all interconnected. Every time she tugged one strand of the web the Red Room had kept her in, she could watch the vibrations shimmer all the way down to other people, other programs. The North Institute, HYDRA, SHIELD. Shadow ops organizations circled each other for decades and chewed up everything that got in their way. And the youngest generation of Widows were next in line.

She watched as he made his way across the room to leave a note, grab a bag. A flash of relief scorched through her, followed by a hard twist of guilt. It was selfish to drag him back into the web. But she couldn't see another way out of it if she wanted to spare the Widows from Dreykov's cruelty. When he passed by her, her hand caught his right forearm and she gave it a quick squeeze as she looked up at him. If she tried to thank him, he'd just shrug it off. So for now, that fleeting touch would have to suffice.

"Do you have a ride?" she asked as she pushed the window up and went out of it onto the fire escape. She and Yelena were playing a game of keep away, desperately trying to stay at least one step ahead of Dreykov's reach. All the while they circled their way towards a method to reproduce and distribute the counter agent. The pain from her various injuries bit at her as she moved quickly down the metal steps, balancing on the ball of her foot to reduce the amount of noise the rusty framework made as she moved.