A/N: Hello, all! It's been a while! I'm in new territory this time, straying from my usual Walking Dead stories. I'm in between publishing books right now, so I thought I'd spend my free time writing something totally new and fun. I can't say for sure how many chapters this will be, but I am planning to keep it as a short story. Hopefully it will appeal to you guys! Please be kind—I'm out of my element here, haha…

Enjoy! :)

"Damn you, Clint. This is your fault! You know that, right?"

"I'm sorry, Nat! You zigged when I should've zagged, and well…here we are."

Natasha Romanoff glared at her friend and fellow Avenger, Clint Barton, from the confines of her hospital bed. A thick temporary cast covered her entire right leg, protecting the multiple fractures she'd endured after a very unfortunate game of baseball. She had gone on countless missions and returned without a scratch. Who knew America's favorite pastime could be so goddamn dangerous?

Doctor Anderson, a tall, bald man of about fifty, walked in before more words could be exchanged. He glanced at the X-rays illuminated on the wall. "I hate to say it, Ms. Romanoff, but I think—judging by the severity of your fractures—it will be at least three months before we can remove the cast."

"Three months?" she and Clint asked at the same time, their eyes wide. She slammed her head back onto her pillow and sighed in frustration.

"Do you think it could be any sooner?" Steve Rogers asked from his spot by the window.

Dr. Anderson shrugged. "I'm sorry, but no. Any attempt to remove it before twelve weeks would result in further injury."

Grim lines cut through Steve's hopeful expression as he crossed his bulging arms. Regardless of the diagnosis, he thanked the man for his time and Dr. Anderson excused himself from the room.

"So now what?" Natasha grumbled as she stared at the tile ceiling.

"You're gonna need someone to take care of you for a little while. Why don't you come and stay with me and Laura? I know the kids would love to see you, even under these circumstances," Clint said.

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Will you let me have control over the TV remote? Because if I have to suffer through one more Dukes of Hazzard marathon, I will walk out—broken leg or not."

Clint frowned. "What do you mean 'suffer'? That show is a classic! It's much better than the garbage you like to watch!"

Steve cleared his throat and started to inch toward the door. "Well, uh, I'm going to head back. Let me know if you need anything. Feel better," he said, but knew he wouldn't get a response. He could still hear the arguing twosome as he stepped into the elevator.

When he arrived back at the Avengers headquarters, or as they liked to call it, The Compound, he took a seat in the modern living room. He tossed his blue baseball cap onto the coffee table and looked around at the other superheroes, who were also occupying the suede armchairs. Tony Stark, Sam Wilson, Vision, Wanda Maximoff, and Sharon Carter stared back with interest.

"Twelve weeks—at the very least," Steve said.

A collective groan rose from the group. In their dusty athletic clothes, they looked like a strange major league baseball team that had lost the game and, in a way, they had.

"What gives, man?" Sam asked, gesturing with both hands.

Steve closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head. "She has multiple fractures. It's just the way it is. We'll have to get by until she returns. Clint had already asked for time at home, so he's taking her back with him."

Vision sat forward and said, "Forgive me if this is an invalid observation, and in no way does it reflect my feelings on your abilities to perform, but I would say we are undermanned."

"Huh?" Sam asked flatly.

Tony rolled his eyes. "We need more people, dummy."

Sam bristled. "I know, man. It's just, why's he gotta talk so weird?"

"Did you ever think that maybe you're the one who talks weird?" Tony retorted.

Steve held up his hand before Sam could retaliate. "All right, enough. Listen, Vision is right. We have an op scheduled for this weekend in London. Thor is back at Asgard, Peter has—school," he said with a chuckle. "Lieutenant Rhodes is working, and Scott can't seem to answer his phone. Does anyone know where Bruce went?"

Wanda grinned and said in her thick accent, "He heard we were playing baseball and made sure he was out of town. He'll be back tomorrow."

Steve nodded in understanding. "Is my boy all thawed out yet?" he asked Tony now.

"Almost. As you know, he'll need about four hours to get his bearings. When he's feeling up to it, we'll start the blood tests."

"Sounds good." He was anxious to have Bucky around again. Things just weren't the same without his best friend, like a piece of him was constantly missing.

Sharon knocked Steve out of his thoughts when she said, "I think I know someone who can help us."

"Another agent?"

She nodded. "And a good friend. Give me until tomorrow. I know she won't turn this down," Sharon said with a smile.

"Great. We need all the help we can get."

The next day, Steve waited until he got word from Tony. He left his office and walked down the carpeted hallway that led to their main lab. The glass door slid open and he entered the sterile room, which smelled of rubbing alcohol and hospital soap—the latter he despised.

Tony glanced over as Steve crossed the brightly lit space and stood next to him. James "Bucky" Barnes lifted his weary head from where he'd been watching Tony take a vial of blood. Dark strands of hair hung in front of his face and he shook them away. Steve met the man's gaze and held his breath.

"If you married Sharon and I missed the wedding, then you can just put me back in that freezer," Bucky said, his voice rough, but deep.

Steve cracked a grin. He was always so relieved when Bucky remembered him. "No, man, we're not married."

"Still together?" he asked with a slight smirk.

"Yes, I mean, sort of. It's complicated."

Bucky shook his head, still appearing somewhat tired. "Later you'll have to un-complicate it for me over a beer."

Steve smiled. "You got it…"

"Speaking of," Tony said, "is that the new girl with your 'sort of' girlfriend?"

Both men turned their heads to look through the glass wall that bordered the Compound's entryway. Sharon was introducing a young woman to Wanda and Vision. The woman had shoulder-length dirty blonde hair, petite facial features, and a small frame to match it. Her pinstriped blouse, black skinny jeans, and nude pumps were just tight enough to show off her toned figure.

Bucky let his eyes wander over her. He swallowed hard and tried to ignore the flutter in his low belly—surely a side effect from everything he'd been through that day.

"Yes, it is," Steve said. "That's Agent Madison Clark."