Slightly shorter chapter this time because I wanted to end in a specific place. Yes, it is cheesy and has been done before, but as I said, this is my take on it. This story will pick up in the coming chapters, I just have to set it all up first. Hope that you all enjoy! If you have any questions, leave it in a review and I will answer it in the next chapter.

Shoutout to Sportsfan64, DreamEscape1675, Qweb, Belmene, and guests (AnonMetro, Mr nobody, CottonCandy) for your reviews! They mean a lot!

No idea when the next chapter will be up, but I will get it done as soon as I can. Hopefully within the week, and if not, then next Saturday morning at the latest. Sorry in advance for the cliffhanger and thanks for reading!

PS: Happy NaNoWriMo!

Disclaimer: Still don't own Marvel. Didn't see that coming, did you?


Twenty minutes later, Steve's motorcycle was parked, engine still warm, next to the bench where he now rested. A sketchbook sat in his hands, pen unmoving in his slender fingers. A rough sketch of the city lay flat on the pages, black lines expertly intertwining to form the outlines of skyscrapers. Drawing the city had always been a way for him to release pent up stress, especially after a mission that had not gone as planned. Some days, he turned to pen and paper. Other days, he turned his fists to the punching bag. Now, however, drawing the desolate city just made him feel more alone.

The pages seemed empty without the people that normally filled the streets. No joggers passed by him so that he would have to pull his outstretched feet out of the way. No children were playing frisbee in the grass behind him. There was just… nothing. The silence was really starting to get to him.

A small gust of wind blew through, turning the pages of the notebook. It shifted the leaves in the trees as newspaper scraps flew by on the asphalt. By the time the wind had ceased ruffling through his hair, the notebook was turned to a different page. A young woman, straight shoulder length hair and a determined yet soft face graced the page. Her gaze was deadly, but her mouth wore the seductive smirk that she was well known for.

"Natasha," Steve whispered, the corners of his mouth turning upwards slightly in a small smile. Just saying her name made him happier. He longed with all of his heart to see her, even though he had only been alone for two days.

He had been alone before, that wasn't what he had a problem with. It was the fact that he had no clue where he really was, or where everyone went. Steve kept telling himself that it was just Wanda's magic, that the team was taking a little bit longer to bring him back. It had happened before.

But never for this length of time. He really didn't want to be unconscious for another seventy years if he could help it.

Steve turned his attention away from his thoughts and back down to the paper. When Nat first saw the drawings, she had protested them because they were too pretty, they didn't look like the real her. There was no red in the picture other than the flames of her hair. No blood dripping out of her hands, or leaking from the spot where she always kept her knife. Steve had fired back by saying that she was beautiful inside and out, no matter about her past. They had begun another playful bantering session about cheesy lines, which Tony liked to call "mini happy couple fights". Twenty minutes after he would make that statement, his eye would start turning purple and black and Natasha's knuckles would have faded from red back to their normal skin tone.

He flipped through the notebook, every page covered with either Bucky, the Howling Commandos, Peggy, or Natasha. There were a few sketches of his teammates as well. One picture in particular that he felt very pleased with was an image of Natasha smiling, her hand bent towards her face to remove a few stray hairs that the wind had blown in front of her eyes. They were closed slightly and her mouth was open just enough that he could see the ghosts of teeth within it.

Her hands still bothered him though. He could never get them just right. The mix of elegance with the strength that could crush a hand in a second. He never found that balance.

With a shake of his head, Steve closed the notebook. He did not want her to endure the loneliness that he was, but with only one other person. But for this one time, he allowed himself to be slightly selfish and continue the dream of having her by his side.


For the next week and a half, he continued the monotonous routine. Get up after a fitful rest that was more nightmares than actual sleep, check weapons room, get on motorcycle and scour city for people, draw, go back to the tower, check if anyone had appeared, then go to sleep. He never got thirsty or hungry, and if he ever got to that point, there was no food or water around anyways. Another thing he noticed was the lack of mirrors. Even the windows refused to show any kind of reflection whatsoever. He could look out, but not at whatever was behind him in the reflection. It was mainly just the lack of human interaction that was getting to him. Ever day, the urge to talk to someone grew and grew.

He was sitting on the couch when it happened. "Steve." He whipped his head around and closed the sketchbook softly. Steve stood up, convinced that he had heard his name.

When he saw no one, those thoughts diminished. His lonely mind was simply playing tricks on him.

"Steve," the identifiably female voice said. He stepped out from around the couch and looked. When his eyes landed on her form laying behind the sofa, he dropped to his knees and scooped her up, safe in his arms. "Steve," she whispered again, mumbling his name to herself.

Steve brushed a piece of flaming hair away from her face. "Natasha," he breathed. He couldn't comprehend how, why she was here. All that mattered to him at the moment was that she was with him.

But she was pale and seemed so small in his grasp. Her lips were chapped and her hair was matted, giving the impression that she had just been in a fight. Her usually strong and stoic form looked crumpled. Broken.

At the sound of her name, Natasha's green eyes snapped open. Steve smiled as her eyes found his. The smile dissipated as her face went white and she scrambled out of his grasp.

"Who the hell are you?" she said, standing up in a defensive stance. Steve stood up slowly and put his hands up, showing that he was not a threat.

"I'm Steve," he said reassuringly.

"I want an honest answer. What kind of a game is this?" Her voice was menacing, but Steve could see the tears glistening in her eyes. If he concentrated hard enough, he could tell that she was shaking and struggling to not run away.

"I don't know what you mean, Nat."

"Don't," she hissed, "don't call me that. How are you here, no matter who you are?"

"I got here a few weeks ago. I woke up here. No one else is here, Nat. I have no idea how I got here." He replied honestly, looking into her eyes as he did so.

"Barton, Stark, your charade is up! I'm coming for your heads!" she yelled, looking around the room.

"Nat, nobody else is here." His voice was steady and calm. She was frantically looking around for some sign of the pranking duo. But there was no laughter from the air vents, or apologies from the loudspeaker. When she realized this, Steve could see her start to crumble.

"No. No, no, no," she repeated, like a mantra to herself. "You're a liar!"

"Natasha, what are you talking about?" He said the words steadily, trying to break through whatever kind of a trance she was in. Perhaps Wanda's magic had gotten loose again… "You know how bad of a liar I am. Look at me. Am I lying?"

Her gaze ghosted over his, forever searching for some sign that he was being dishonest. The signs were not hard to find, which was why she did not believe it when she found none.

"How do I know that you're not toying with me? Huh?"

"I would never, you know that. I care about you too much to mess with your mind," he replied honestly.

Tears spilled over her cheeks and she made no move to wipe them away. "You don't remember anything before waking up here?"

Steve shook his head as Natasha's eyes locked with his. "I told you, Natasha. I have no idea what's happening. No one is here and then suddenly you show up, questioning if I am actually Steve. What the hell is going on?"

Natasha took a deep breath, knowing that what she was about to say would bring his world crashing down. "Yesterday. The mission went wrong. We were shot down and the Quinjet crashed. You died, Steve."