Authors Note: Spoilers for Age of Ultron. This idea has been pestering me since I saw CA: TWS and after seeing the latest movie I was finally inspired enough to write it.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, nada, zip. The Marvel Gods own all rights.

23:40hrs

New Avengers Facility – Upstate New York

"Still no word from the team, Cap?"

Steve Rogers looked up from cleaning the Harley Davidson parked in front of him to greet his fellow Avengers teammate, Sam Wilson, with a warm smile. "Nothing yet," he answered, running a polishing rag back and forth diligently across the exterior of the bike.

Taking in the dim surroundings of the deserted aircraft hanger, Sam whistled low in his throat as he peered out into the darkness. "It's getting late," he remarked, concern evident on his face. A brief flicker of lightning illuminated enough of the dense forest surrounding the facility to indicate the storm was at its peak, lashing the ground with endless sheets of rain and pummelling the trees with firm gusts of wind. "I'd have thought they'd be back by now."

Noting the digital clock hanging from the wall in front of him, Steve nodded in agreement, the confirmation of the time only reinforcing the tension already set deep in his shoulders. "They'll be back soon," he assured his friend despite his own personal misgivings about the cause of the team's delay. "They might have been forced to take shelter from the storm. It's looking pretty nasty out there."

"Yeah, maybe," Sam agreed dubiously, shifting back and forth on his heels, his lips skewed slightly to the left in concern.

Steve motioned to his comrade to grab one of the sturdy black containers sitting up against the wall and to come and take a seat beside him. While Sam did so, Steve cast a fleeting look over the neat and evenly spaced tools ascended by size order beside him. Additional sprays, pots and polishing rags awaited his attention – their chemical smell reminding him painfully of long hot summer afternoons spent with Bucky in a local garage learning how to clean spark plugs and change the oil on a motorbike. Life back then, before the war, seemed far less complicated than it was now; days when he yearned for adventure and being a part of something; days when it was he and Bucky against the world.

Now the world and Bucky was against him.

Outside a bolt of lightning tore through the night sky causing the lights to flicker precariously above his workspace. What's taking you so long, Romanoff? Steve mused apprehensively while thunder grumbled menacingly overhead.

Natasha Romanoff and a handful of S.H.I.E.L.D agents were approaching their fourth hour past curfew. Their mission, according to Agent Hill, was only a reconnaissance mission and should have been completed well and truly before the sun went down. The complete radio silence had been the first indication that something might have gone wrong, and yet despite Steve's insistence that he check things out, Fury had issued the order to wait it out.

Steve hated waiting. He'd done enough of it to last two lifetimes.

Retrieving a dirty spark plug from the blanket beside him, Steve blew into the end of it and examined the object while cleaning it with a grease-stained rag. As Sam settled on the crate beside him, Steve's thoughts continued to pursue avenues of possible explanations for the team's delay. I should have gone after them; he berated himself, chewing the inside of his check.

"The bike giving you some trouble, Cap?" Sam queried, dragging Steve from his troubling thoughts. "Seems like you've been working on it for a good couple of hours now – you need a hand?"

Reading between the lines of his friends' concerned question, the Captain sent Sam an assuring and somewhat appreciative smile. "Nah, I think I've got a handle on it... but thanks." He replaced the now clean spark plug easily before moving on to inspect the exhaust gasket, checking for leaks or missing fasteners. "Just requires a little patience is all."

"Well patience is something that I excel at, so you're in luck."

Grinning, Steve shot the man a look of mock disbelief. "Is that so?"

"Yup." Sam nodded, brilliant white teeth flashing as he grinned roguishly. "I had to be growing up in a family full of girls. I learned early on you never interrupt a woman while she's in the bathroom, and you never tell her to hurry her ass up unless you're feeling suicidal."

Throwing his head back to emit a hearty laugh, Steve momentarily let go of the worry staining his features and relished in the ease of his friendship with his teammate. "That sounds like some sound advice there, Sam." He remarked, still chuckling as he dipped the edge of a clean rag in to a pot of polish and applied it gently in circular motions to the bike. "I guess I'll have to take your word for it."

"You better," Sam insisted and motioned around the hanger with his hand. "Cos the women round here - what with all their ass kicking and super powers - scare the crap outta of me. Not all of us have a shiny shield to hide behind."

With a smile and a shake of his head, Steve allowed himself a moment to indulge in an old memory; a particularly feisty brunette picking up a gun and testing the said reliability of his shield and his heart without so much as a word of warning. "The dames 'round here sure are a special breed, aren't they?" Steve remarked, his face torn between amusement and fond admiration for the opposite sex he worked with on a daily basis.

"You bet your ass they-"

Steve suddenly bristled, hands pausing on the bike, his head cocked slightly to the right as he became increasingly aware of a slight hum. Sam fell silent. Steve turned his head toward the hanger bay doors as he struggled to place the noise emanating from some type of engine nearby. "Friend or foe?" Sam breathed, raising to his feet and squinting into the darkness, his muscles clenching in preparation for a fight.

Thanks to his heightened senses it more than another silent minute for Steve to distinguish the sound, and his shoulders sagged with relief. "Friend," Steve finally answered.

Two strong beams of light sliced through the darkness, lighting up the hanger and blinding the men temporarily. Steve raised his forearm to shield his eyes; the roar emitting from twin turbo engines battering the reinforced walls of the hanger. The two Avengers waited patiently for the Quinjet to descend effortlessly towards the ground, pistons hissing in response to the landing gear making contact with the ground. The headlights faded back to their standby mode and a cheerful female voice addressed them over the Quinjet's loud speaker.

"Lucy, I'm home!"

Steve rolled his eyes despite the sudden quickening of pace in his heart beat. Relief and delight spread warmly through his chest and stomach as he caught sight of a rain soaked Natasha Romanoff manning the controls of the Quinjet.

The medic team that had been poised on standby since the team missed their scheduled return, surged through the main doors and raced toward the back of the Quinjet in search of any injured Agents. Sure enough, three muddy and water soaked Agents exited the back of the jet in various stages of injury. Reassuringly, none of the men looked particularly impaired aside from one man who was leaning heavily on his team mate and limping indignantly.

"Hendricks, what did you do? Get into a fight with a washing machine?" Sam hollered while rushing over to assist the male Agent limping out of the jet. Upon closer inspection it appeared that the blonde crew cut agent was suffering from an impressive array of cuts and bruises to his face. Behind him, Natasha casually exited the jet ringing water from her hair and smiling brazenly despite sporting a particularly nasty looking cut running from her left eyebrow down to her cheek.

It took Steve more effort than usual maintain his stern face and greet the approaching red headed female with a disapproving scowl. "You're late." He scolded her, his eyes sweeping up and down her body in search of any other injuries or signs of distress.

Raising an amused eyebrow, the infamous Black Widow placed a hand on her hip and pouted audaciously. "Awww Mom, you didn't have to wait up for me. I told you I'd be home before pumpkin hour."

"I wasn't waiting up." Steve lied, retrieving a white and blue handkerchief from his pocket and handing it to her. "Here." He pointed to the cut on her face and ignored the way she rolled her eyes at his insistence to take the soft folded material. "I take it the person who gave you that is now broken in 57 places and probably in need of a colostomy bag?"

Natasha shrugged nonchalantly. "Only 23," she admitted, raking a hand through her long hair and flinging a clump of mud and grass onto the ground. She scowled, wiping her soiled hand down the front of her uniform uselessly. Steve forced his eyes to remain on her face as the action caused the zipper on her leather suit to lower significantly, but not before he caught a glimpse of the side of a creamy supple breast. He felt the heat ignite in his cheeks and swallowed uneasily. If she had noticed his discomfort she didn't show it as she continued on tiredly. "I went easy on him," Natasha answered, dabbing at the cut on her face gingerly. "I think it was his first day on the job."

"How very generous of you," he remarked dryly, reaching forward to retrieve a twig caught up in her hair. He held it up in front of her before tossing it onto the ground with a soft smile. "Is this one of those 21st century beauty routines I need to worry about?" he teased, motioning up and down at the mud caking the sides of her face and lower torso.

"Ugh." Natasha responded, applying the whole handkerchief to her face with a grimace. "No, it's called 'mini landslide 101'. Remind me to send Hendricks my dry cleaning bill." She pulled back the material to examine the amount of fresh blood and dried mud staining the handkerchief before deciding to reapply it back to her face.

By now most of the hanger had emptied, only two maintenance officers and a medic remained inspected the interior of the jet. "Why didn't you call for backup?" The captain enquired his voice low and full of concern.

"Because I didn't need backup," she hissed back, waving off the assistance from an approaching medic toting a first aid kit. The medic nodded and slunk off through the main doors after his colleagues. "Besides, I couldn't - the storm knocked out our coms," she explained, withdrawing a dead ear wig from her ear and handing it to him. He glanced at it briefly before handing it back to her. "However we weren't the only ones in the dark. The base we were sent to scope out was on lockdown due to a state-wide blackout. We were about to head back when Hendricks tripped and caused half the mountain to come down with him. I went after him and by the time I got there he had already come face to face with a Hydra scouting party who came to see what the fuss was about."

"Natasha, you should have-"Steve started, but was interrupted by a dismissive wave of her hand.

"With all due respect, Cap. I've been in worse scrapes. This was barely a blip on the radar. There were only a few Hydra men and by the time our guys pulled Hendricks free, it was all over. Once I was sure it was clear, I ordered us back to the jet and here we are; safe and mostly sound."

Huffing with exasperation, Steve opened his mouth to respond when she silenced him with a dark look. Her green eyes flashed, daring him to question her actions. His frown deepened and he wrestled internally for the right words to express his distaste for the way she handled things; however, he could not find any logical argument that could fault her methods as they often bore good results – especially in the field.

"Relax, Rogers." She cooed, her hand resting on tense arm. "Iknow, ok? Next time we will go in with more manpower and you can bark the orders. But you gotta understand, I've been doing this a lot longer than you, you know," she reminded him gently. She cocked her head to the side slightly, her gaze riddled with reassurance and confidence. Steve screwed up his nose, desperately wanting to fight back against her reasoning, but ultimately feeling defeated; which only made him feel more frustrated. "You know, that is if you don't count all the time you spent napping the centuries away, Captain." She quipped cheekily, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Steve pulled a face, looking disgruntled. "Are you quite finished?" He asked, ignoring the resolving melting away with every second. She waved at him to continue and he squared his shoulders, summing his best Captain's voice. "First off, that's not what I was going to say." Her eyebrows rose in disbelief, but she allowed him to continue regardless. "What I was going to say was... good job."

"Oh." Natasha's mouth formed a soft 'o' as she stared back at him, somewhat surprised.

He smirked, finally feeling like he'd gained the upper hand again. He pointed to the jet. "You got everyone back in one piece and you completed the mission without an international mishap and a call to arms."

She eyeballed him suspiciously. "But...there's always a 'but'."

"No 'buts'."He promised, hands raised up in defence. "That's all."

"Hmmmm." Natasha finally responded, levelling him with a suspicious look. She removed the handkerchief from her face and nodded that the blood was starting to clot already. She smiled. "Well if that's all then, Cap, I have a hot date with a shower and some clean sheets. If anybody needs me tonight for anything less than an apocalypse than I'm out of the country."

Chuckling, Steve stepped back, extending his arm for her to move towards the main doors. "By all means, don't let me hold you up."

Giving him a half hearted salute, she moved past him and headed towards the doors, hips sashaying as she went. "Thanks for the loan, Cap." She called over her shoulder. "G'night."

"Night," He called after her, watching her walk away. Once she slipped through the doors, he turned back to survey his bike, his desire to continue maintenance on the bike evaporated.

"Hey, Rogers...?"

"Yeah?" He turned around and spied her head poking through the doors, a soft genuine smile on her face.

"Thanks for leaving the porch lights on."

Steve smiled, ducking his head boyishly as he felt the stain of blush warm his cheeks for the second time that night. "Don't mention it," he answered bashfully. "It's no big deal."

Natasha nodded at him, a delighted smile spreading across her face. He held up a hand to wave her to go and she disappeared through the double doors, leaving the Captain and his bike once again alone.

"Yup, she's going to be the death of me," he murmured to himself and hastily began to pack up his tools.

Please R & R - flames are never appreciated.