Title/Prompt: No Matter What Else Goes Wrong Around Us
Rating/Warnings: R
Word count: 6131
Summary: "Don't call back," she whispered. "Just trace the signal." More static, and then something slamming loudly. When she spoke again there was fear in her voice. "Steve, get me out."

Notes: Written in February 2017 for flipflop_diva as a pinch hit for hetswap 2017.

A soulmate is someone who has locks that fit our keys, and keys to fit our locks. When we feel safe enough to open the locks, our truest selves step out and we can be completely and honestly who we are; we can be loved for who we are and not for who we're pretending to be. Each unveils the best part of the other. No matter what else goes wrong around us, with that one person, we're safe in our own paradise. - Richard Bach

The phone arrived with nothing but a post-it with Steve's name on it. There was nothing programmed into it — no messages, no photos or numbers. He turned it over and over in his hands and stared at the writing on the post-it and failed to recognize it. He wondered if it was from Tony and that maybe surrounding the whole thing with such anonymity made it easier for him to reach out after everything they'd been through. The post mark wouldn't rule it out, but Steve's gut told him Tony wouldn't be such a blank canvas. And anyway — sending a blank burner phone didn't seem like Tony's style.

"Give it here," Clint said, after another morning of watching Steve turn the mystery phone around in his hands. He scrolled through the settings and let the default ringtone play.

Itsy Bitsy Spider.

"Yeah, it's from Nat," Clint said, tossing it back to him.

"Why didn't she leave a number in it?" Steve asked.

"Because it's Nat." Clint raised his eyebrows.

He kept it charged. Carried it everywhere with him, took it out in quiet moments and looked at it, like maybe he'd be able to will her to call through sheer hope. But it remained silent — an odd, useless weight in his pocket.

He missed her. He wished she had come with them. Wakanda wasn't busy enough, and there was an increasing sense of it being safe only for a limited time. Someone, at some point, would come for him — and for Bucky, Clint, Sam, Wanda and Scott. He wished she'd programmed a number into the phone so he could call her and tell her everyone was okay, and hear in response that she was okay too.

He went down and checked the progress in the lab every day, but despite the team of scientists working around the clock (why didn't scientists ever sleep?), they weren't anywhere close enough to where they wanted to be for there to be any sense of anticipation.

So Bucky remained in stasis, and Steve waited, and waited, and waited. He could sense it in the air — the mountains and jungle surrounding the palace seemed to bring upon him a sudden claustrophobia, and sleep evaded him. Arguments and conspiracy theories cloyed for attention in the headlines, and it was hard to separate fact from fiction.

He found himself reading the Black Widow theories floating around — reported sightings, new assassinations attributed to her, new reports she had been a double agent all along. Someone credited her with the Avengers escaping the Raft, which left Steve feeling both bothered and amused.

None of it held up. Natasha hadn't been sighted; she hadn't killed anyone; she hadn't defected. He scrolled through paragraphs of lies and longed to find a grain of truth to cling to.

He was sitting in bed reading an article — which took some extraordinary liberties with the truth in order to connect Natasha with a royal assassination — when his thoughts were interrupted by a tinkling rendition of Itsy Bitsy Spider.

He looked around, startled, and saw Natasha's cellphone stuttering across the dark wood of his nightstand. He leapt for it at once, fumbling it around in his hand for an agonizing amount of time until he could finally manage to flip it open and press it to his ear. The first thing he heard was a loud rush of static.

"Natasha?" he asked desperately.

More static, and then a frantic, urgent whisper. "Steve?"

His heart hammered in his chest. "Nat — where are you? Are you —"

"Don't call back," she whispered. "Just trace the signal." More static, and then something slamming loudly. When she spoke again there was fear in her voice. "Steve, get me out."

The line went dead, and Steve's blood went cold.

The desert seemed hotter, dustier and more uncomfortable than was fair. Despite how restless he had been there lately, Steve found himself holding a new appreciation for the cool halls of T'Challa's palace. He was crouched on a rocky outcrop, eyes squinted against the shimmering heat. The signal from Natasha's cell had led them here — to a ridge of rock being constantly buried and unearthed and buried again by the sand blowing on the warm wind. A nest of rebels hiding underground.

Steve wondered why Nat had come here — how she had found them and what she had come here to do. He wondered how it had gone wrong. He wondered if she was still alive.

Steve had wanted to come alone. When he'd asked T'Challa for a jet, of course he had to explain the reason why.

"You will need help," T'Challa had said. "You should not go alone when you do not have to. I would help you if I could, but there is much to do here since Father's passing." He'd frowned, looking worried. "Steve, whatever you need, it is yours. You do not need to ask. But I think the most valuable things you could take with you are your friends."

Steve had resisted, but Clint had wheedled the information out of him, and then had resolutely refused to even discuss being left out of it. And then Wanda had said she was coming too, and Steve wanted her out of harm's way but Wanda's powers were too useful to dismiss, and then Sam had said the whole reason he was even in Wakanda and not the Raft was because of Steve and if he thought he could leave him behind…

And then everyone had looked at Scott, and he'd looked back at them like he was waiting for someone to say, "Well, we can't leave Lang behind," only nobody had.

"You guys aren't gonna use the 'We're just trying to protect you' line on me, are you?" Scott had asked. "Come on! I can punch. Let me go and punch a guy. Or two."

"You don't have your suit," Steve had pointed out.

"Or that little ant communicator thing," Sam had added.

"So give me a gun and, you know, a vest."

So Scott was there too, and Steve was simultaneously worried that he'd walked them all into a trap, and that he didn't have enough manpower behind him.

I should have come alone, he thought anxiously. And then the next minute, I wish Tony were here. I wish everyone were here.

There was a gentle hiss in Steve's ear as his comm came to life and Sam spoke. "Anyone spotted a way in yet?"

"Working on it," Clint said through gritted teeth. "We can't fuck this up."

They had been sitting for almost an hour, trying to determine all the ways in and out of the bunker, and whether or not there were any security or sniper posts stationed around that they should be worried about. The place looked abandoned, and the only evidence that anything was there at all was a dull hump of metal surrounded by sand, like an egg buried on its end.

"Why would you want a base you cannot get out of?" Wanda asked quietly.

Nobody answered. The wind whistled past again and scattered the sand.

"Scott," Clint said, "uh... I mean I can't believe I'm asking this, but you don't happen to have natural ability to talk to ants, do you?"

"Nope," Scott said. "Pym tech only."

Silence fell again, broken only by the wind and the rough slide of sand against sand.

Steve could feel the wrongness of everything settling in his gut like stone. He pictured a catacomb of tunnels and corridors running beneath him, stretching far out into the desert. He knew there was an easier way in, but they were sitting right on top of Natasha's phone signal. Once they'd discovered the metal and the signs of things being buried and hidden beneath them, they'd not wanted to waste time circling outwards.

"Enough of this," Wanda muttered, and then there came a gentle red ripple carrying itself on the wind, and the sand shifted, rolling in waves over the earth until it revealed a hatch set deep into the rock.

They waited anxiously, but nothing stirred. It appeared nobody was on watch, but that didn't necessarily amount to incompetence. Steve didn't know if the people they were about to uncover were Hydra or not, but he did know that the longer he and his team could remain undetected, the better their chances of success.

Steve longed for Tony's tech — and, for the first time since dropping it, his shield — but they had done more with less. But this was for Nat, and… well, Clint had said it best. We can't fuck this up.

"Okay, listen up," he said, and he felt the tension in the air ramp up as they anticipated orders. "This is an extraction mission. Whatever else is in there — intel, Hydra agents, weapons — it's not our problem. We find Nat, we get her out, and we retreat."

Clint gave a short murmur of confirmation.

"Lang, you stay out here and keep our escape route clear," Steve said. "Shoot any reinforcements they try to send in, and make sure our escape route stays open. For all we know, this is the only way in and the only way out. We can't assume that it's not."

"Got it," Scott confirmed.

"Clint, if it's close combat in there I want you to fall back and draw them outside," Steve said. "Bring them into the open and let your arrows bring them down. Sam, you're with Clint. Wanda, you're with me."

Nobody argued. They stole towards the hatch, and Steve twisted the wheel in his hands. It hadn't been opened in a long time — years, he thought — and it squealed and scraped in protest until he felt the tumblers give way and he could heave his weight backwards and pull it open.

It had been noisy, but they were saved by the fact it wasn't a well-used entrance. The three men who had heard the commotion were unprepared for what was about to happen. They weren't quick enough with their guns — Clint dispatched two and Wanda the other, their movements so casual it took Steve a moment to realize what had happened.

Steve glanced around — they'd broken into a storeroom of some kind. There were shelves crammed with boxes and bundles of wiring. Drums of oil sat against the wall and there were dark stains on the floor. He shook his head and moved on, the others following him silently until they met a corridor running left to right. Steve pointed Clint and Sam to the right, and he and Wanda headed left. His heart was pounding, but it was a welcome sort of adrenaline.

He could hear shouting ahead — they knew they'd been breached, and the second wave of guards wouldn't go down as easily as the first three had. They no longer had the element of surprise. Steve rolled his shoulders.

"Ready?" he asked Wanda.

"Always," she answered.

Steve had missed the focus that came to him in combat. He'd missed having someone beside him, fighting for a cause; moving with them like he would a dance partner — a breathless routine of choreography that left no time for thinking. Just instinct and impulse.

Wanda, however, kept his feet firmly on the ground.

"You are a little out of practice," she remarked, stepping over a twitching soldier and following Steve into the next corridor.

"Just warming up," he said. "Clint, Sam — any sign of Nat?"

"Nothing yet," Sam answered. "Sleeping quarters and storerooms down this way."

"Take care of anyone you find and head back to us," Steve instructed. "Make sure you search everything in case they're holding Nat there somewhere." He ducked a blow from a mercenary lurking behind a doorway, and grabbed his shirt in his fists, slamming him against the wall. "Want to make it easy for us?" he asked through gritted teeth. "Where is she?"

The kid might have been young, but he didn't buckle. "Fuck you," was the breathless answer.

Steve squeezed his throat. "Want to try that again?"

There was a red flash behind him as Wanda sent a wave of reinforcements flying. Steve could hear them hitting the wall with dull thuds, indicating injuries worse than mere broken bones.

"You want me to hand you over to her?" Steve asked softly, not missing the look of horror on the face of the young man in front of him. "I'll just knock you out, but Wanda…"

She stepped up beside Steve and raised her eyebrow. "Should I turn him inside out?" she asked. She waggled her fingers suggestively.

"Downstairs!" The answer was a rasp, and he kicked at Steve's legs, trying to break free. "They're keeping her downstairs."

"Where?" Steve demanded. His fingers tightened, but they gained less effect than Wanda did with a simple glare.

"At the end." A shaky hand pointed. "Stairs."

They left him prone on the floor and hurried onward. The waves of men appeared to have stopped — either they'd run out of reinforcements, or they'd fled instead of staying to fight.

"Clint, Sam, standby."

"You got eyes on Nat?" Clint asked.

Steve jumped to the bottom of the stairwell, bracing himself against the metal banister. "Not yet. Scott, any action on the surface?"

"I might've shot a few guys trying to make a break for it," Scott said, overly casual.

"How many did you let past?" Clint asked.

Scott coughed.

Steve and Wanda had come to a door. There was an electronic lock with a keypad — a pin required. Steve ran his fingers around the seam of the door but couldn't get any purchase.

"Can you get in?" he asked Wanda.

She frowned, and he felt the force of the air bending around them as she concentrated. The door groaned and buckled, and Steve slammed his weight against it so it fell inward.

Natasha was alone — bound to a chair with chains, slumped forward so her hair curtained over her face. There was a port in her arm, clear liquid draining out of a bag on a rail above her head and into her bloodstream.

Voices at the top of the stairwell made Steve lurch forward. Wanda flicked something upwards, and the explosion meant for them burst at the top of the stairs instead, black smoke billowing into the air. A body tumbled down to them, badly burnt.

"Grenades," Wanda warned him sharply.

He pulled the chains apart with his hands and they slithered to the floor. "Nat?"

She was cold to the touch. He slipped the port gently out from beneath her skin and lifted her into his arms. "I've got her," he said into his comm. "Everyone fall back."

"She okay?" Clint asked.

"Steve —" Wanda ducked as a hail of bullets clattered around the stairwell. They retreated into Natasha's cell to wait them out, the casings bouncing and falling down the stairs.

He hefted Natasha gently and her head lolled against his shoulder. "We need cover," he said urgently.

"That sounded demanding," Sam said. "Didn't that sound demanding?"

"Definitely sounded demanding," Clint answered, and over all of this Steve could hear the thwock of him releasing arrows.

The bullets ceased.

"Please," Steve added. "Cover, please."

"That's better," Sam said.

Steve hoisted Natasha in his arms, and he and Wanda headed for the stairs again. "Scott, we're headed out."

"Yeah," Sam added. "Don't shoot us."

Natasha was still sluggish by the time they'd made it back to Wakanda. Steve had kept his arm around her, pulling her close to try and keep her warm. He'd whispered her name, shaking her gently, until at last she had stirred, and her fingers tightened around his ever so slightly.

"Hey," he whispered. He squeezed her hand. "You okay?"

"I fucked up," she mumbled.

He grinned against the top of her head. "No argument from me, Nat."

He carried her off the jet and let the medical team take her, and found himself at a loss once his arms were empty again. Sam nudged him and clapped him gently on the shoulder. "Go wash up, man. She's in good hands."

He showered, washing away grit and dust and blood. A bruise on his ribs had already faded to yellow in the hours since he'd received it, and he rubbed his thumb over it absentmindedly. He wiped the fog off the bathroom mirror and stared at his reflection. His head was full of questions and, now that he'd had time to think about it, his primary reaction had switched over to anger. She'd gone in and put herself in danger, and that meant everyone else was in danger...

He breathed out and ran his hands through his damp hair. It wasn't an Avengers mission. But...

He frowned, and immediately went to find her. Even if she weren't awake yet, he wasn't going to feel better until he got eyes on her again.

She'd been shifted into one of the guest bedrooms. Clint was with her, standing beside her bed with his arms folded across his chest. Natasha was curled beneath the blankets, her eyes closed.

"She okay?" Steve asked.

Clint glanced at him. "Yeah. She woke up. Took a shower." He glanced at her. "The sedative is wearing off. I'm pretty sure what we're seeing here is just Romanoff being lazy."

If she was awake, she didn't rise to the bait.

Steve kept his voice low, just in case. "Has she said anything?"

He shrugged. "They got the jump on her. More of them than she thought there'd be and they got their advantage in numbers. She hid and got the call in — stashed the phone in one of the storerooms so we could trace the signal… And then they drugged her and she was up for the highest bidder." He shook his head, looking half fond, half frustrated. "Plenty of people out there wanting to pay money for the Black Widow."

"Who were they? Hydra?"

Clint shrugged again. "Guess so. Add it to the list of questions you can ask her when she wakes up."

There came a low grumble from the blankets as Natasha rolled over. "No sedative can overcome you, Barton."

"Wakey-wakey," he said with a grin, leaning over her. "Captain America's here to kick your ass for being an idiot."

"Someone should," she sighed. She blinked at Steve through tousled strands of bright red hair. "Hi, Steve."

He smiled back at her, his relief suddenly overwhelming. "Hey, Nat."

Clint nudged him on his way out. "Don't go too easy on her, Cap."

Natasha rubbed her eyes and sat up, leaning back against her pillows. "So this is Wakanda." She gazed past Steve to the green canopy visible through the wide windows. "I figured this is where you were hiding."

"I guess it's a good thing you figured right," Steve said. "Or that phone would never have been answered."

She gave him a small smile and shifted over. "Get in," she requested quietly.

He sank down beside her and leaned against the headboard. His anger had melted away and he couldn't bring himself to make her feel any worse than she already did. "You okay?"

"I'm sorry." She dropped her head to his shoulder. "I really am. I fucked up."

"You were about due, I guess," Steve said softly, drawing his knees up. "The rest of us have been winning that race for weeks now."

She laughed and looked up at him. "Have you heard from Tony?"

"No. But you might like to know I sent him a burner."

She gave him a smile. "He'll call. Or you'll call him."

"I should," Steve said. "I just... I don't want to intrude."

She burrowed her way under his arm and he hugged her to him a little distractedly.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked.

"I was so stupid," she said, clearly angry with herself. "I thought their base was smaller, and… I went in angry, and I went in without knowing everything I should have known. It was a stupid, rookie mistake… I can't believe that's how it nearly ended." Her breath was warm against his side. "A bunch of poorly-trained dicks hiding in the desert."

"Not how I picture you going out," he said honestly.

She looked up at him curiously. "How do you picture me going out?"

Steve hesitated. He thought of Peggy, and all the things she'd done, and how slow and calm the end was for her. I've lived a life, she'd told him.

"When you're ready for it," he said finally. "You're not gonna die until you're ready to die, Nat. Everybody knows that."

She laughed, and wiped a finger under her eye. "Okay."

"That wasn't a tear, was it?"

"Of course not." But she sniffed and leaned up to kiss his cheek gently.

He ducked his head a little to meet her, and only the slightest pressure of her fingertips was needed to guide his lips down to hers. He kissed her. She didn't taste like strawberry gum this time, but minty toothpaste, and she was lacking the dramatic boldness she'd shown when they'd kissed to avoid Rumlow. It had been different adrenaline then. This was slower to stir through him. Deeper.

"You've been practicing," she whispered.

He grinned. "No — I just saw this one coming. Give a man a little warning and he might surprise you."

She laughed and kissed him again, sliding one leg over him so she could settle in his lap. "I missed you," she breathed. "And I don't make a habit of missing people." She sucked at his bottom lip and Steve felt his heart thud in response.

"I missed you too," he told her. "And I miss people a lot. But you — you especially."

She kissed him again, her thumbs stroking over his cheeks. Steve felt maybe he should stop her — there were ten million reasons this wasn't a good idea, but it felt too good for him to pull away, and his brain kept skipping over why he shouldn't and instead locked onto all the reasons he should. Suddenly all of his recent pining for Natasha made a lot more sense.

"I'm tired of missing my chances," she whispered. "You'd think by now I'd know to take what I can get while I'm still alive to enjoy it."

"That's a good philosophy to live by," Steve agreed softly, trying to justify things further, though he wasn't sure why. Wasn't the fact it felt so right justification enough?

Natasha lifted Steve's shirt over his head, her breath hitching as she stretched bruised muscles. Steve leaned back against the pillows behind him, his blood singing in his fingertips.

"I just didn't want to…" She ran her fingertips down his arms. "I don't feel like I deserve this."

He drew a breath to argue fiercely, but she kissed him again, cutting him off. Her fingers twined with his, and he gripped her hands tightly and used his hold on her to pull her gently away.

"Don't say that again," he said.

She kissed his forehead, resting her mouth there for a second. He felt her exhale a soft breath against the top of his head. "Nobody deserves you, Steve."

"Yes, I can do no wrong," he said, feeling suddenly annoyed. If she thought she could balance out bad choices — two wrongs didn't make a right, and Steve wasn't about to become the bottom line and prove that to her. She interrupted him before he could further his protest.

"You do things wrong all the time," she said, leaning back and looking down at him with some amusement. "Good men don't do everything right all the time. It doesn't change the fact they're good men."

He frowned at her. "So I'm good and you're bad?" he asked. "Is that the point you're trying to make? What are you trying to prove, Natasha?"

"Nothing," she said, sounding uncertain. "And that's not what I mean. But I never made a move because I thought you wanted someone... not like me. Nobody really wants me for more than — for more than this." She looked worried.

He stared at her for a minute, trying to get his thoughts in order. She was still sitting on his lap, and he could still feel her kiss and the electric sensation it had sent through him. He looked at her and he thought about all the layers she had and the ability she had to manipulate people and hide everything from them even when she was staring right back at them. He thought about how much he'd longed for her company and her support and her humor.

He squeezed her hands gently. "Nat," he said, trying to word things as carefully as possible, "it'll never be like that with me. And it's not because of the kind of guy I am, it's just how I feel about you." He could feel himself going red and he wished he had a better record of talking to women.

"I want you for more than just... this, Nat. As much as I used to love the thought of a nice, normal girl..." He gave her a helpless smile, feeling more and more out of his depth, but the light in her eyes drew him on and on. "Nobody else gets what goes on in my head. I need someone who knows about what I do, and what I... I mean..." He shook his head. "There are too many broken pieces."

"I'm no good with broken pieces, Steve." She leaned her brow against his and smiled. "I've been trying to put myself back together for a long time, and I don't know if I'm there yet. Adding someone else's broken pieces is probably a bad idea." Her fingers skated over his forearms again, trailing patterns.

He could only kiss her again, suddenly afraid she was going to talk her way out of whatever was happening. She leaned into him and kissed him back.

"You know," he murmured, "this isn't how I imagined this would go."

"Thought about it a lot, have you?" she asked with a grin.

"No," he said hotly, but he knew his face was going to turn red, whether it was the truth or not. "There was just... I don't know. Less talking."

She laughed and ran her hand over his chest. "I talk because men tell me secrets when they're distracted."

"I don't have many secrets left, Nat." He rolled her over, settling his weight between her legs, and she looked up at him with clear blue eyes.

"I'd rather you retain a little mystery," she whispered. "You'd better do something to make me shut up."

He kept kissing her. He tried not to rest his weight on her — knowing she'd be bruised and sore — but she pulled him down against her, hugging his hips with her thighs and wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

He ran his hand under her shirt and lifted it. She raised herself up so he could slip it over her head, and then he bent to kiss her bruises — marks from the chains lining her skin; marks from fists and boots and batons; mottled color blooming over her ribs and her stomach. He brushed his lips over her gently, feather touches everywhere she'd been beaten.

"I won't break," she whispered, and he kissed her again, ceasing any further words, lacing the fingers of his right hand through hers and pinning it gently over her head. His other hand cupped her breast, and she hooked her leg around his thigh to pull him closer.

"Please," she whispered. She rolled her hips and let out a sigh. "Steve."

She bit his lip gently and he sighed. His heart was thudding in his chest, anticipation running hot in his blood. He rocked his hips slightly between her legs, the soft fabric of their clothes pulling with heavy friction. He let out a breath and did it again, and Natasha arched under him impatiently.

He squeezed her hand gently before he let it go, trailing his fingers down her arm and over her shoulder, fingertips light on the bruises on her skin. "You sure you're okay?" he asked, worried.

She lifted her hips and he hooked his fingers into her waistband, tugging slowly. "Fine," she said. "Getting better all the time."

He kissed a trail down her thigh to her knee, and then moved to the other leg, kissing his way back up. There was another dark line across the top of her thigh where the chain had dug into her flesh, and he breathed gently against it and rubbed it with his thumb, wishing he could erase it.

"Steve," Natasha said impatiently.

He grinned and settled between her legs. In the list of all the simple pleasures he missed from before-the-ice... in the list of things he no longer seemed to have time for, or he avoided because he couldn't stand the complications that might arise... this one ranked high on the list. He remembered stolen moments in emptying theaters and community halls after a USO show, the girl trying to not make a sound as the heavy tread of footsteps passed by their dark corner, Steve on his knees, kissing and licking under a skirt of red, white and blue.

"Oh my god," Natasha gasped. She dragged her fingers through his hair, clutching at him and pulling him closer. Her thighs hugged his face and she wriggled closer to him, arching her hips against his mouth, her heels pressing against his back to draw him in. She let out a broken syllable as he sucked at her clit and flicked it with his tongue, his hands wrapped around her thighs to try and keep her still. He rocked his hips against the surface of the bed, and let out a brief sigh of pleasure.

"Fuck," Natasha whined, and her fingers tugged at his hair again. He slid one hand up over her belly, gently caressing the sensitive skin there, and he felt her muscles clench and flex under his touch as she writhed under the wet stroking of his tongue. She let go of his hair to grasp his hand, and he rubbed his thumb back and forth on his skin, mimicking the action with his tongue. Her thighs tightened around his face and he could feel her trembling.

She squeezed his hand when she came, shuddering through it, and she hummed a soft, drawn out sound. Steve grinned against her thigh, nipping at the skin before he went back, kissing her wetly and urging his tongue harder against her.

She swore again, her voice weak and her breathing deep and ragged. "Give me a minute," she begged, but he only pulled her closer and kept working his mouth over her, drawing her closer and closer to another high. He rocked his hips against the bed slowly, closing his eyes to the sensation.

Natasha gasped and twisted beneath him and her hands were rough in his hair, her thighs shaking and trembling as she came again. "Fuck," she gasped, "stop, please..."

He grinned at her and kissed her thigh again, trying to catch his breath. "I can see why men spill their secrets to you," he admitted. "Earning your satisfaction is one hell of a good feeling."

She laughed tiredly and raked her hair out of her eyes. "Come up here," she said, tugging his hair gently. "I want to be on top."

He kicked his pants off and sat back against the headboard, steadying her gently as she straddled him. She was still quivery and breathless, and she leaned her forehead against his shoulder once she had the full length of him inside her.

"Slow?" Steve asked softly. He kissed the top of her head and traced his hands up and down the dip of her waist, fingers spreading out over the swell of her hips.

She agreed with a soft noise against his skin and moved slowly, rolling her hips and setting a rhythm. He let her keep the pace, watching her as she straightened up and arched her back a little, her hands resting on his shoulders, fingers curling against the back of his neck. He lifted his head to kiss her again, her lips parted, her cheeks flushed and rosy.

He ran his fingers over her cheekbone, her temple — caught a lock of hair gently in his fingers and ran it around his thumb, tucked it behind her ear. He traced the backs of his fingers down her sides, stroking all the places she'd been treated so roughly; tickled his fingertips over her ribs and the soft undersides of her breasts; planted gentle kisses at the hollow of her throat and the delicate dips in her collarbones. He trailed a touch down the arch of her spine and cupped her rear, drawing her closer and shifting his hips so he met her pace.

She gasped softly against his mouth and kissed him again, tongue against his lip. He kissed her shoulder and tasted the hint of salt, her skin gleaming as she moved above him. He buried his face in her neck and murmured her name, his hand slipping between them to stroke between her legs, his fingers gliding over her until she arched her back, her hair cascading down between her shoulder blades as she came again. The way she tightened around him was enough to pull Steve over the edge with her, and he breathed her name again, Natasha, arms wrapped around her, his fingers pressing new marks into her skin.

"Sorry," Steve whispered again. He ran his thumb over a fingerprint he'd left on Natasha's skin. It hadn't faded yet, and he was worried he'd just added to the number of bruises she already had.

She stirred sleepily, her back still tucked against his chest. "I told you to shut up," she mumbled.

He grinned against the back of her neck. "Make me," he challenged.

She laughed and took his hand. "Let a girl get some rest."

He kissed her shoulder, and she rolled over and settled against him with a sigh, pushing him onto his back so she could rest her head against his chest. "What now?" she asked.

"I thought you wanted to rest."

She trailed a finger in small circles over his skin. "I guess I like to plan ahead."

"Could've fooled me," he murmured, and he caught her hands before she could pinch an objection into his skin. He grinned against the top of her head. "I haven't... Trying to plan things lately hasn't really worked out," he admitted. "I guess I'm just waiting for Bucky to wake up, and then we'll figure the rest out later."

He felt guilty, like it was his fault everyone was in limbo. Nobody else had to wait if they didn't want to — but they were, and it weighed heavily on him.

Natasha leaned against him. "I never thought I'd say this, but I really wish Tony was here."

"Me too," Steve said quietly. He thought about the phone he'd sent to Tony, and the number he'd programmed into it. He thought about the number he'd programmed into his own phone, and wondered if it might be a better idea for him to make the first call, instead of Tony being another thing to wait around for.

"After SHIELD fell... " Natasha trailed off and sighed. "I just thought the Avengers would at least… that we'd all come together, but it feels like maybe that's over, too."

"It's not over, Nat," Steve said, with more conviction than he knew he actually had. "It'll be okay."

She tilted her head up at him and gave him a small smile. "How do you know this, exactly?"

"Things can only get better from here," he said, feeling like he was bluffing and doing a really bad job of it. "And anyway, you said it best on Capitol Hill. The world needs us. And I think we need each other, too."

She gave a small laugh and huddled in close to him. "Tell me again," she said. "That it'll be okay."

"It'll be okay," he said, curling his arms around her. "It might take a while. It might be a lot of hard work. And maybe it will get a little worse before it gets better. But in the end — before the end — it'll be okay."

She closed her eyes, looking like she had every intention of falling asleep again. "I believe you," she said softly. "I want to be beside you when it happens."

He smiled against the top of her head. "Well, I'm not going anywhere."

"Neither am I," she whispered. "I don't know what else is going to happen, Steve. But I know I'll be with you."