Natasha had run out of ways to get more comfortable, having already taken off her jacket, shoes, pantyhose (discreetly) and holster. The latter had been sitting in front of her on the conference table for the past forty-five minutes, providing a constant source of temptation to force an end to the interminable planning meeting. She wasn't entirely sure why she needed to be here; logistics bored her. A simple briefing on the target and mission objectives with additional details prior to the drop was usually enough for her.

A light tap on the back of her hand changed her focus from her weapon to the man beside her. Since she had complimented his tie on the way to the Pentagon, she and Steve had fallen back into a comfortable rhythm, as if the past few weeks had never happened. She didn't know how or why it had happened, just that she liked it. And that she was ticked at herself for liking it, but not to the point where she wanted it to change. She hadn't been as intimidating to the Joint Chiefs as Fury had probably expected, but the gushing of a five-star general over a nonplussed Captain America had provided an adequate cover. They had left with both the official information and tacit approval to proceed in Myanmar as they saw fit.

She smiled at Steve in spite of herself as he continued to coax her away from her weapon with a series of taps on her knuckles. He was so palpably pleased with himself for being the one to sit beside her, both at the Pentagon and here, that it was difficult to be irritated with him. She thought he had started to tap out a Morse code message on her hand when her phone vibrated. She made the mistake of glancing at it.

Where r u?

Clint really did have the worst timing sometimes. Meeting. Shut up.

She ignored the reply, turning her attention back toward the projection screen, ostensibly. She was really looking at Steve, with his jacket and tie off, sleeves rolled up, collar unbuttoned. God, if there were no one else in this room she would teach him a thing or two about daring to look so damn good in a suit…

"…Agent Romanoff? " She became aware that Fury was staring at her, along with the rest of the table. "Anything you'd like to add?"

"Hm? Oh, it's been a while since I've had anything to do with the opium trade…"

"Which is why Agent Simmons has spent the last half-hour discussing…"

"Yes, and it has been an excellent refresher. Thank you, Agent Simmons. I'm just eager to get on the ground and start working." She made a point of reaching for her .22 on the table.

"Naturally. Well, I think we can let Rogers, Romanoff and STRIKE out to prepare for the mission while we organize the final details. Be ready for the mission brief on the jet, people."

Natasha stood faster than strictly necessary to leave the conference room, almost forgetting to step back into her shoes. The Triskelion was quieter at night and she didn't feel as self-conscious as she had earlier in the day. Still, she was aware that Steve didn't make the turn into the men's locker room with the rest of STRIKE. She didn't turn to confront him until he had tailed her to the women's locker room. "Captain, is there something…?"

He held up her discarded hosiery awkwardly. "Thought you might want these back."

"Oh, thank you. Yes." She suddenly realized that he was holding them out for her to take. Their fingers brushed through the sheer material. "Don't think I've put a run in them yet."

"Didn't catch one on a knife when you were shimmying out of them?"

"Was it that obvious?"

"I, uh, was watching, uh, closely."

"Steve…"

"Sorry. It's hard not to look."

"I just meant…I don't mind."

"Oh. Good. I, uh, won't stop looking then."

"I should…I should be getting changed."

"Right. Me too." He remained where he was when she stepped away. "You look nice, too. The suit and heels and…"

"Thanks." She made her escape into the locker room without any further awkward smiles or glances, which was ridiculous, because she didn't do things awkwardly. Her self-assurance slowly rebuilt itself as she changed into her catsuit, storing her weapons in their proper, familiar places. Five minutes later, the Black Widow stretched out her fingers and ensured her Bites were fully charged. The crackling feedback of electricity set her nerves on their proper edge.

"Wow."

She didn't turn, aware that someone had been watching her since she'd pulled her boots on. "Aren't you here a little late, Clark?"

"No, I mean, I guess, but I was just getting in a little extra work on the training dummies and…I'm sorry, but this is so cool. I'm sure it's super unprofessional to gush and you probably have to leave, like, right now to go do stuff I can't even imagine, but…I mean, you're the Black Widow and you look just like those pictures from New York, but you're standing right there and…couldIgetaphotowithyou?"

Natasha raised an eyebrow and Clark immediately backed away. "Oh my God, I am so, so sorry. That just sort of came out and I would never, never dare…I just wanted it…not like for Facebook or something, but…I'll just be going."

The rookie made an impressively quick retreat, so Natasha shrugged it off. Kid still had potential. She considered sprinting down to the hangar, but decided it was too early to start spiking her adrenalin levels. The flight to Myanmar would be long enough for a nap before she had to consider anything like that. Still, her heart rate picked up when she saw Steve standing at the rear ramp of the jet in his muted blue Captain America uniform, shield strapped to his back. "Ready to go, Cap?"

"Wheels up as soon as we're aboard."

She strapped into the seat beside him and dozed off on his shoulder some fifteen minutes later. She didn't wake until Steve squeezed her knee. "Hey, we're less than an hour out. Time to get prepped."

"Beauty sleep is over, boys." Rumlow was already up and checking over his gear, though the rest of STRIKE appeared to be in various stages of waking. "Everybody got what they need?"

"I could use a big stiff drink," Natasha replied, stretching her arms over her head.

"That the only big stiff thing you need, Romanoff?"

"Well, I wouldn't be coming to you for that, Rumlow." She added a fake smile to the end of her statement, more for Steve's benefit than anyone else's. His hand was on her back anyway as they clustered in front of the holoscreen displaying the map of their target zone. She felt possessed. Owned. Claimed. It was disturbingly comforting. She leaned into his touch as they watched the series of images pass, Rumlow filling in the details on each.

She forced herself not to frown when Steve removed his hand at the end of the briefing. "All right. Rumlow, take your team into the barn on the northeast side and clear out any hostiles. Natasha and I will hit the structure on the western end of the poppy fields. Intel collection is a priority. Rendezvous by the river two clicks east in sixty mikes for extraction. Questions?"

Rumlow nodded and banged his fist into the button for the ramp mechanism. "See you in an hour, Cap."


"Steve?"

"Yes, Natasha?"

"You know I don't normally contradict your orders in the field, right?"

He tried not to focus on her legs, currently clenched around his ribcage. "I don't think this is really the time to…"

"I only mention it because I don't think this cable is designed to hold much beyond my weight."

"Yeah." He closed his eyes to block out the abyss beneath them and the slender wire connected to Natasha's wrist above them. "Got it."

"I'm really just suggesting that if you have a plan, now would be an excellent time to share."

"That ledge over there might…okay." He held his breath as he felt her twist her body, causing them both to swing. On the second pass, he felt the grip of her legs loosen and lunged as best he could toward the rocky ledge. The wind rushed from his lungs as he hit the wall of the canyon. "Okay," he repeated. He looked back and realized he could no longer see his partner. "Nat?"

"Move!" She was suddenly penduluming toward him out of the darkness. He managed to step back and catch her in the same motion, holding on as her grappling hook snagged for a moment.

"Gotcha."

She didn't pull away from him, though it was likely due to their precarious position. "Any chance they think we died jumping off the cliff?"

He held his shield over both their heads as a rain of bullets pinged off it. "It would appear not."

"Fantastic. So, we either stay here until your arm gets tired or we hope the river is deep enough for Olympic diving at this particular spot."

"Third option?"

"All you, Cap."

"I think there's a cave at the end of this ledge."

"Oh, great. I love tight, indefensible spaces."

"My arm is…"

He felt her fingers clench his free forearm. "Cave it is. Maybe we'll get lucky and they'll run out of bullets before they figure it out, right?"

The cave was deeper than he had expected. Much, much deeper. Half an hour later they were still descending through the narrow, rocky passage and had definitely missed the extraction. The fact that they were holding hands in the darkness contributed nothing to Steve's eerie sense of calm. He ran into Natasha, who had stopped abruptly. The scent of her hair in the dank cave was intoxicating. She turned her head and he obliged her with a nuzzle against her ear.

"Not now. Hear that? I think we may be at the level of the river."

He concentrated on something other than the sound of the blood rushing through his body. "Left?"

"We really should have packed flashlights."

"We did. They're in the packs we dropped while being fired on with automatic weapons."

"Good thing I have excellent night vision." Allowing himself to be led by the hand, he followed her to the edge of the underground tributary. "Okay. On three?"

"You want to jump into an underground whitewater?"

"You'd prefer getting shot?"

"We're not even sure they're following us."

"Down this inescapable shaft that marks our only possible escape route?"

"Granted, they…" He heard the sudden echo of murmuring voices. "How long can you hold your breath?"

"Awhile. You?"

"Right. Hold onto my hand."

"Always, Steve."

He was yanking on more than her hand when they emerged in the open air more than 'awhile' later. "Natasha! Nat!" He struggled to thump his hand against her chest in the rushing current.

A few sudden coughs were followed by a hard blow to his own sternum. "Don't get so excited, Rogers."

Steve could feel the stiffness in his muscles as they made their way toward the bank. He knew they'd both taken a beating against the cave walls and river rocks and watched Natasha carefully as she flopped onto the shore. "Are you hurt?"

"Bumps and bruises. You?"

"Same." He sat up slowly and breathed in deeply. "We should probably…."

"Yeah. My homing beacon got smashed at some point."

He glanced around nervously as he activated his own tracker. "Are there crocodiles or something here?"

"No. Not at all." She was panting heavily. "Tigers, though."

"Maybe we should get moving."

"In a minute."

He sighed in concession. He was feeling worse by the moment. If the jet hadn't gotten too far, it would be easier to home in on a stationary target. He didn't even care that they were still potential targets for some very angry terrorism-funding opium dealers whose entire infrastructure had just been compromised. He pulled his shield off his back and set it beside him before lying back down. "Think we should move to higher ground?"

The only move she made was a roll to nestle against his side. "We have to talk when we get back."

"Okay." It was comfortable until the lights of the jet illuminated their position. "Looks like our ride waited for us."

She sat up with a groan. They were strapped into their seats a few minutes later, confronted with four members of an unharried looking STRIKE team. "Didn't manage to pick up a drink for you, Romanoff, but if you feel like a hit of smack…"

"Shut up, Rumlow."

Steve had to agree with Natasha, allowing her to rest her head on his shoulder as he removed his helmet. He couldn't be sure, but she was either sleeping or doing a very good job of faking it while he discussed the recovered intel with Rumlow during the flight back to DC.