A brief one-shot based on the newly released, Captain America 2 pictures concerning Steve Rodgers, Natasha Romanoff, an escalator, and an unexpected romantic encounter. I've written a brief explanation to assist you, the readers, in finding the photos, if you haven't seem them, at the end of this fic.

Disclaimer: I don't own the plot or the characters. I am merely speculating.

Warning: There is a brief mention of an event in Iron Man 3, towards the end.

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THE ESCALATOR

Natasha drew the partially grey hood onto her unusually pin-straight, vividly red hair, pausing only to stuff her hands deep into the jumper's warm and concealing front pockets. A strong palm pressed against her shoulder blade gently, a generally ordinary gesture reserved for passersby attempting to squeeze past individuals in tight, and often public areas. However, the touch was far more than a simple courtesy to Natasha, for it was a signal by her makeshift partner, Captain Steve Rogers.

Natasha paused again, ducking slightly from the mass movement of human flesh pressing towards the ajar gates leading to the Washington metro. She turned, and her face came into quick contact with a blue shirt and a dark jacket. In a hushed breath, she whispered instructions.

"He's on our six. We need to lead him away from our trail, draw him from the pedestrians."

"How do you mean?" Steve answered gruffly, adjusting the rims of his false glasses, while desperately pulling on the dark bill of his baseball cap.

Natasha glanced around Steve's towering figure, scouring the expanse for potential routes. Her bright irises met the moving contraption. "We take the escalator to the main floor. There's a service door to the right of the terminal. It should lead us to street level. I have transportation waiting on the corner."

"Right," Steve looked down at the assassin. "On your lead."

The pair waited for mere moments, and at a sudden point, Natasha surged into a large pack of business executives. Steve followed perfectly, slipping effortlessly into the chaos to the immediate latter of Natasha and an oriental woman.

As they stepped onto the consistently changing metal steps, Natasha cursed softly in Russian.

Steve bent forward, tilting his head as though asking a polite question to a stranger. "What is it?"

"He's quickly descending on the escalator to the right, searching the crowd."

How she knew this, Steve could not determine, for he had failed to see her slender neck swivel to gaze at the amassing passengers.

'What should we do?" Steve's heart began to beat heavily as the tension increased. They were reaching the midway part of the escalator.

Without warning, Natasha turned to face him, jade eyes boring into blue irises. Slowly, rather delicately, her slender, pale palm came to rest on Steve's warm neck, her thumb running the length of his defined jawline. With the hint of a small smile, she pulled his face towards hers.

Their heated lips brushed, and Steve's stomach dropped in equal realization and pleasure. Yet, he couldn't pull away. Steve's partially numbed instincts sizzled to life, and his quivering fingers found their way to Natasha's nipped waist. She deepened the caress, pressed her plump lips against his slender ones.

Far too soon for Steve's liking, Natasha's warm breath left his mouth, and he found himself staring blankly at the rear of her obsidian and grey-striped hoodie. Unbeknownst to Steve, Natasha's lips had curved into a smirk as the pair disembarked the moving staircase.

Her whisper barely reached his ears as they strode across the terminal floor. "He's gone."

They spoke only once more that day.

As they clambered into Natasha's sleek Audi (a gift that had been almost completely forced upon her by Tony Stark after his mysterious disappearance and presumed death), her hand settled upon Steve's tense forearm across the vehicle.

"Not bad Rogers. Not bad at all."

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If you haven't seen the photos in question, simply type "Scarlett Johansson kissing Chris Evans" into Google or a similar search engine. On Google, the second link is the most reliable.