NOTES: MAJOR SPOILER WARNING! This story is just a little speculation on some pictures released yesterday from filming Captain America: The Winter Soldier. So if you don't want to be spoiled for the movie, come back here in April. There are also a couple other little spoilers based on rumors and other set photos, for the record.

Again: don't read if you don't want to be spoiled. You've been warned.

Thanks, as always, to the_wordbutler for the beta.

I own nothing, these aren't my characters, don't sue.

They end up in a mall of all places. Natasha dumped the sporty two-door they've been driving around in, the one even Steve knew was too flashy for covert operations. But maybe that was part of the plan. Maybe Natasha was trying to draw out their target.

If that was her idea, it didn't work. And now instead of hunting, they were being hunted.

They had maybe a ten minute lead on their tail. Winter Soldier. Bucky. James. Steve didn't know what to call him anymore. The man was his best friend, his constant ghost, and a complete stranger all in one. And now he'd put Steve in his crosshairs, and Steve wouldn't have felt the least bit guilty if a trigger was pulled because he'd left Bucky behind—something he swore he'd never do.

It all started a month ago with a brawl in the streets of Philadelphia with a metal-armed assassin revealed to be Steve's long lost friend. He'd barely been able to focus enough to keep his shield up to block the blows from the man who didn't recognize the name Steve called him.

Part of him had wanted to let his shield drop and let Bucky attack him; it was justified in Steve's mind. But both men escaped and fled their separate directions. Steve's turned out to be a car driven by Natasha. She ordered him into the passenger seat, and if he'd had his wits about him, he would've noticed the tightness in her jaw and how her skin was slightly paler than normal.

"James," she said.

Steve's eyes shot over to her, but she kept her gaze on the road as she drove them to the field office in DC. "How do you know his name? Did you look up his record?"

She shook her head. "I know him. Knew him. He was one of my trainers when I was being made into the Black Widow by the KGB."

Steve didn't really remember what happened next. He knew there was an overwhelming buzzing sound in his ears, he knew he asked a lot of questions—shouted them, really—and he knew the guilt he'd carried with him multiplied in magnitude at her revelation that she'd known his friend was alive all this time.

And he knew Natasha'd just sat there silently while he lashed out. Not offering comfort, but also not denying him the chance to bleed off some pain. She waited patiently for him to exhaust himself before she quietly shared details of what had become of Bucky, of how he was no longer than man Steve knew. She never explained why she didn't tell him sooner, and Steve didn't ask.

She also never said that the two of them had been lovers. But even Steve with his lack of relationships could see that particular history between the words she was willing to share.

The pair met with Sitwell on the office roof three hours later. And after Natasha roughed up the handler a bit, he was willing to share what he knew about the Winter Soldier's latest activities. The agent was smart enough not to bother ordering them not to set out on their own, an action plan Steve and Natasha had immediately come to together, and he was also generous enough to pass them any news he heard and keep others off their backs.

After a month of tracking down their target, three actual run-ins, and countless miles traveled on several continents, roles had been reversed and now Steve and Natasha were targets. With no more than ten minutes to spare, the duo ducked inside a department store. Natasha grabbed articles of clothing, shoes, and accessories as quickly as she could without drawing attention to herself before shoving him toward the fitting rooms.

She ignored the teenage girl who offered to give them each a room, grabbed a handful of Steve's backside and with a smirk thrown over her shoulder at the young associate, manhandled him into a fitting room with her. "Strip," she ordered quietly. "Keep your phone and your gun, we're ditching the rest."

He quickly shucked his wardrobe and layered on the garments she'd procured. How she'd managed to find things that fit his frame so quickly without glancing at tags was impressive, but that's what Natasha was: impressive.

"You have everything?" she asked as she pulled a black and gray striped hood over her head.

"I'm good."

"Almost," she corrected as she pulled a dark ball cap onto his head and slipped a pair of black plastic glasses onto his face. She slid a pair of sunglasses into her pocket to put on once they hit fresh air again. "We're taking the south exit into the mall, go down the escalator. You'll exit the building to your right; I'll go left. Walk, steal a car, do whatever you have to do to meet here," she said as she typed an address on her phone before deleting the letters. "Lose a layer when you get outside. And another if you feel you need it on the way. Good?"

He nodded, and she opened the door and exited the fitting room. The young girl had been replaced by an even younger boy. He started to ask about the things they were wearing and if they'd paid for them when Natasha gave him a smoldering smirk and told him in a purring voice that it was taken care of. The boy gaped and nodded, sending them on their way, because what else are you going to do when you're a scrawny sixteen-year-old and a gorgeous redhead with curves for days paid attention to you for two seconds?

Steve may be perpetually single, but he wasn't blind.

He'd spent nearly every waking second with Natasha for the last month. They'd shared meals, road trips, and beds. Every second was professional because there was nothing other than finding Bucky occupying their thoughts and actions for the last four weeks. But that didn't mean he couldn't see what was obvious and right in front of him.

They wove through the store, and no one paid them a bit of attention. Which was fine with Steve, because he felt ridiculous dressed like this. She led him onto the escalator and turned to face him. Silently, she studied his face for a second, her hands brushing the sides of his face before landing on the back of his neck. And then she was on her toes and kissing him.

Steve's brain processed a number of things at once: the soft and steady pressure of her lips against his, how his thumbs pressed into her firm stomach as his hands went to her sides and then hips on instinct, how this felt different and yet a lot like being driven to the edge of a cliff and kissing Peggy for the first and last time, and how Natasha could be playing him as easily as she had the teen a few minutes ago.

Because this was Natasha Romanoff, and this was what she did. And even if there wasn't all of that tied in with her identity, there was still the fact that she was Bucky's girl.

Or maybe she felt as guilty as Steve did for leaving Bucky behind. She hadn't said much about that part of her life—just enough to give him an idea of how the two of them met and the training he'd given her, but Steve knew there were things like implanted memories and brainwashing involved. She and Bucky'd both been slaves, and she'd escaped but he hadn't. Maybe she was just empathizing with him.

But she'd kissed him.

"You see something?" he asked when she pulled away, worried that she'd done it as a tactic to hide their faces. She shook her head no and his brain ramped up on even more questions, including whether or not she'd just lied to him, but he locked them down for a later time. They were almost off the escalator and his fingers twitched with the urge to tuck her hair behind her ears in an effort to further hide her famous color.

Instead, they stepped off and, without looking at each other, headed their separate ways. Steve was glad he had a mission in front of him that required every bit of his attention, because he had no idea what to make of what just happened.