Disclaimer: Captain America and all Marvel characters belong to Marvel

{1}

The warehouse was a looming dark shape behind curtains of whiteness, uninviting and desolated. In front of main entrance gates empty military vans were parked, empty and damaged at the green camouflage paint faded underneath piles of snow.

In front of the large tires was dark and fresh blood, shifting abound as frothy swells of light streaked through gun-metal gray clouds hovering above.

The area was silent and peaceful. The harrowed sense of dread was heavy and impending, so much that Steve felt in jostle through the bones of his rib cage as he made his trek closer to the abandon building. Remaining motionless and observant this as it took him to get the clarity of his unfamiliar bearings. Steve moved quickly, his boots crunched over shards of broken glass and snow, he counted silently to himself, keeping track of the distance, but the frigid air was so biting and cold around him that it was a real test of his restraint. He'd been hiding under the shadows for too long, keeping himself neutral while allowing destruction and extinction of humanity crumble before his blue eyes. It seared him deep, giving him a taste of defeat and weakening him until he felt completely frozen, wounded and displaced. He left Manhattan, after he had been exiled and gave up his shield as a pardon of sacrifice to ensure the lives of the people he fought to protect.

For almost, three weeks, Steve had drifted and lived on cargo ships, searching for answers and redemption, but he had not been true to himself. The choices that he made through the circumstances he faced, not only rendered him to become a coward, but also a lost soul retracing the steps of his life. He was heartsick, his strength deserted him, feeling him powerless against the threats he encounters, and scarred with the guilt and grief of staring into the ghostly blue eyes of HYDRA'S killing machine: The Winter Soldier.

He felt dissected when the truth unveiled before, he felt like his heart gutted out of him, and barely alive to grasp the horrific realization that the relentless, desensitized Russian assassin staring back at him, confused and butchered was his longtime friend James Buchanan Barnes, his blood brother and light against the darkness he entered when he was forced to make the judgment calls on the battlefield.

Now, he was entering a battlefield, a conclusion of aftermath effects from his teammate's life work turned against mortality. Stark created the devastater and harvester of death- Ultron as a gift to be used to restore security in the world, but the inorganic mind of the machine became corrupted with a sense of free will, almost like it programmed all aspects of human emotion in configured metallic brain that sought to become the order against the chaos.

Rebirth of evil.

Steve had placed his trust in his teammates; defending their lives with his defiance and shield, but he underestimated the error of free will; the thing humanity ruined through the corruption of senseless greed and power. He underestimated the new world that he had woken up to; and fought every day to restore the scattered fragments of hope. He thought he could handle the mission, but the loss of trust devolved his strength.

Now, he felt betrayed and misused. His resilient heart was growing weaker. And the drive to fight was slowly fading inside the embers of resentment that within him. He was defeated.

Slowly he stalked though the obstructed area; his ears were frozen and jaw cracking against the biting cold air slashing over his face-he listened to the faint, gravelly cries echoing through the area.

"Someone is in trouble. They're in danger." he clarified. He shifted a glance, but found nothing. His lower back was still tender and throbbing with constant spasms, not enough to disrupt his focus, but just a twist of muscle and a pulsing tension in the ridges of his stiffed and bruised spine.

He had been compromised during his last battle with Ultorn's drone army, broken and thrown in concrete walls, and feeling a metal foot lodge into his bones. He felt every jolt of pain scourge through his entire being. He needed to search for the reason to put on the uniform and enter the battlefield. Discovering the hidden truths in the grayness of SHIELD and the discovery that his best friend was a mere semblance of the good man he once knew and loved as brother had made him feel the heavy burden of weight piling over his shoulders. He was shackled against a wall of a crumbling void, looking down at the stirring waves of failure and sorrow. That was worse pain his body consumed.

Steve's gaze fell to his boots for a long moment; conflict and disquiet shrouded across his chiseled and disciplined features.

He was reaching an impasse-a straight and narrow, as his aimless path brought him towards the dented steel doors of the warehouse. A shelter against the fury of the winter storm. His hand gripped the handle, and pressed his shoulder into the cold frame of the door, gritting his teeth as he slid open the door and stepped inside the vacant and unwelcoming safe house.

Steve moved fast. Despite the thralls of olden pain erupting in his system, he refused to waste another moment of wallowing in his past. He stepped cautiously, over pieces of broken glass, boots crunched as he leaned his tall, muscular form against a scuffed up table washed in pale overlay of flickering light fixtures that hung from the steel rafters above. He had set himself down in a dust covered chair, unzipped his coat and removed the apple from his pocket.

He hated being concealed away from the danger, but he knew adaption of a discreet life was now his method of survival.

As he bit into the juicy flesh of the apple, his haphazard thoughts once again began to drift and vacant ship afloat deep waters, they sunk him deep into the abyss that swallowed him. He had been coward and put up his barriers of telling Natasha the truth, or the honest words engraved over the layers of his heart. He was in love with her. As adamant as he had been to expressing that connection with him, he still fought against doubt and that he was in dire need to face Natasha and hold her in his arms.

Since the first time he saw her on the helicarrier in the leather jacket and red top, he had felt the old love-the feelings that died when he went into the ice and listened to Peggy Carter's voice fade as the radio sunk into the icy waters...he wanted to cry...his eyes were frozen as ice encased his body into a protective coffin that kept him frozen for seventy years-alone and urging to live again.

Natasha's visit came unexpected. "Nat?" he spoke in a strained voice, barely his normal and firm baritone. The shadows of the gym betrayed him, heart was thumping wildly against his ribs, and his massive stature of six foot two was combustion of heat. He stood in front of the column, dumbfounded and a little guarded as the hulking muscles of his torso tensed under the material of his plain white shirt. His golden unkempt hair ruffled and sloppy tendrils hooded over his broad forehead. He was frozen in her dangerous allure; his clear and icy blue eyes remained firm as he held his resistance, not letting his guard down. He knew what she was capable of, the scars she left on men's weakened hearts that were filled with the venom of her kiss. He unraveled the tape from his hands, using it as a distraction to keep himself from falling into the trance of her seduction. His soft lips pressed into a taut line. "Did Fury send you to retrieve me?" he asked, keeping the space empty between them.

The Russian spy clicked her heels closer, invading his voice with purposeful steps, "Of course not. I came on my own terms." her full lips darkly played out her concealed intentions. Undaunted, Steve crossed his arms over his chest, and leveled her with a stern look. Her eyes flickered as she stared at the different emotions shrouding of his chiseled and sweaty face. His skin gleamed like bronze and focused eyes were shining with swirls and mixtures of cobalt and sapphire. His square jaw clenched with heaviness, and plush lips with tint of rose slacked into a serious grimace. She smirked, her green eyes twinkling, "Looks like it's just you and me, Cap."

Steve felt his mouth fall lamely open to the measure of enchantment in her husky voice. His eyes fully trained on her, the haze of exhaustion dissolved his long lashes parted once more to reveal the ice blue embers settled underneath, shining against the shadows. She was enticing, and pulled herself closer to him, allowing him to rove his eyes over her casual attire. A black jacket, with a furred hood protecting her long curtains of red. Her jutting curves were covered with black jeans, scuffed up at the knees and heeled boots, leather and armed with a set of knives tucked inside. Black leather gloves fitted over her hands, but her pale face was beautiful and shiny with light makeup, not enough to hide the one freckle on her left cheek. She looked perfect. She was dressed for a mission :Operation: Seduce Captain Obvious.

"If you think I'm going to fall captive to methods, Agent Romanoff. You got another thing coming." He grounded out, narrowing his eyes to his duffle bag, and he sighed, and set his jaw. "I'm to busy for distractions."

She rolled her eyes at him, ire shadowed her face. "Do you stop and have a life, Rogers?"

"Excuse me," He responded with a bite in his tone, his cheekbones tightened as he shot an infuriated glare her way. "In case you forgot, Natasha, I don't have life." he rebuffed d disdainfully.

"Well you could," she sauntered closer, watching his chest heave under his shirt. "It's easy you go out have fun and take a few girls dancing."

His eyebrows crept upward angrily, "and lips protruded as he mirrored her words, "I'm not ready for dancing, Natasha. The main concerns of my life is protecting and saving lives. That's how I spent my days...I'm adapting to this new world I have been awaken into...I have no time for dames, and coffee shops." He lowered his arm, and gripped the strap of his bag. "Now, if you excuse me I have meeting at Stark Tower with Banner."

Natasha swiftly blocked his path, "I'm afraid I can't allow that Steve," she said with a hostile edge in her voice.

Steve drew a deep breath summoning a measure of patience. He couldn't read her expression, but he sensed that he had been her prime target of infiltration. He took a back aback responding to the foreboding pinch in his gut. They were alone. No Avengers or SHIELD agent, just the two of them, at least he was covered with clothes, and he was thankful he hadn't hit the showers. He was aware of her and he fought the urge to look at her. And she ambled closer to him, enough for him to catch an inhale of the fragrance cloaked over her ivory skin. It was intoxicating and distracting. Quickly, Steve averted his eyes away, setting his gaze on the exit sign.

"What's the reason why you're here, Nat?" he questioned her motives, using a softer tempo in his unyielding voice.

Natasha darted her eyes at him. "Do I need a reason to pay a visit with America's favored soldier." she answered nonchalantly; already two steps ahead of the game.

"It's not a good enough answer to convince me." he said with a downhearted smile. "You're going to have to try harder."

"Why do you always need to be a hard ass, Rogers," she glowered at him, pointedly

"...because sweetie I'm not that easy with the dames. He looked at her, his lips held a faint smirk, indignantly. "No matter how beautiful they look in the dark."

Natasha stiffened her lips, "Sweetie," she gave a cool look, pretending to be amused. "Okay, Spangles...Since we're not going to play nice...Just remember you brought this on to yourself, Rogers."

Tension was growing thick between them, dangerously thick.

Steve restrained himself from growling out his frustration. His blue eyes gained a guarded look to them. "What are you talking about?" He questioned petulantly, his lips pressed into a firm line. He was rife with concern about her sudden countenance, it was dark and unpredictable. He knew she was invasingly decoding his emotions as his heart seized up against his chest. She had him trapped in her gaze, her paces were collective and elusive giving him the evoking sense for attack...Tasha," He instantly swallowed, his harden, ghostly blue eyes staring right through, he was lost inside her.

"I'm really going to enjoy this," she whispered lowly, "I think you will too,"

"I don't need," he growled in response, his jaw clenching hard enough to watch the skin move against the indent of bone. "I can't be alone with you, Natasha." he resolutely objected, feeling his muscles protest to the heat cultivating in his blood.

He knew she was going in for the kill, her wolfish eyes glared him down, and in a heartbeat, not even a breath she circled behind him, waited for the moment of vulnerability, and then pounced on him with feline grace; her body twirled into a contort of muscle, and arms coiled over the broad expanse of his shoulders. He was sweating rapidly, as her breasts rubbed against his pectorals, and her legs twisted as she moved liked an acrobatic dancer, agile and graceful. Her boot pressed into his knee, and arm went down his jaw, Steve was quick in defense and seized her wrist as both of their bodies locked, and his footing failed, but he didn't yield. He grunted and groaned, feeling her exposed skin touch his neck. "Natasha, this needs to stop..."

"Relax," she hissed, as his hand tried to pry her arm off his throat. She tilted her head downward, full and waiting lips ghosting over his. She crushed a forceful kiss, stealing his breath away and leaving him stunned. Her hands framed over the sides of his face, fingers dug into his sideburns as she pressed wet heat hard over his lips, holding the kiss there for seconds until she felt his hands release their grip. She broke away in one surge of breath, and looked into his dilated blue eyes. She smirked. "I'm just getting warmed up."

Steve licked the edges of his compromised mouth, and then he wrapped his arm over her neck, grabbed her long, scarlet locks, and sealed her lips with fierce deliver of passion.

He kissed her until breath ceased to exist within in him.

The sweet juices dripped over his raw throat, cooling the heat. He breathed shakily afterwards, feeling the numbness of the winter crawl over his bones and sear deeper into the marrow. The super-serum in his blood melted the ice in his veins, and his body temperature rose that always made him warmer that the average human, but right now he felt weak-diminished as dread etched deep in by his own warring conflicts, but it didn't avail.

Steve knew he had to find Natasha. He had made a vow to his own heart that he would never allow anything to happen to her, and he never broke his promises.