So, I realize that I am very bad at telling you guys I'm going to update and then months go by. So, I apologize. This semester has just been killer for my time and motivation. I hope this long (multi-part) drabble makes up for it a little bit!
Prompt from SpiritFeather19524 (FF): proposal
So this was just going to be one part, and then it started to get longer and longer, so I decided to split it up into two parts. I have started the second part and will hopefully get it posted in the next few days. I greatly apologize if it takes a while. Life gets in the way and there's less than 3 weeks left in the semester and honestly there's probably a lot of typos but my brain is tired and is not catching all of them.
Enjoy!
-:-
"Cap, get out of there, it's a trap!"
Natasha had barely enough time to process Sam's words shouted over the comms before the hairs on the back of her neck rose and every fiber of her being screamed for her to get out of there as fast as she could.
Steve must've felt the same tug in his gut that she did, telling him that the threat to them was immediate. "Nat!" He tossed her his shield from where he stood, completely on the opposite side of the expansive basement. She caught it in her hand easily, having used it enough to wield it rather efficiently, though never near the level Steve was at.
Natasha had just barely raised the red, white, and blue disc over her head before the building exploded, fire surrounding her and the foundation shaking as debris rained down on top of them. Natasha gritted her teeth, everything so, so loud around her, chunks of ceiling and wall crashing down around her. The flames roared, sweat beading against her brow as the fire scorched dangerously close to her skin. She gripped Steve's shield tight, curling herself under the vibranium as the world fell apart around them.
Natasha didn't know how long it lasted, wasn't sure when it ended at first because it still felt like she could hear the explosion in her ears, given how they were ringing. She blinked, trying to squeeze the fog from her vision and see past the dust and smoke that were swirling through the air. She could hear flames still crackling, the shift of the rubble as it settled around her. Her mind flashed briefly to almost two years ago now, when she and Steve had been on the run from Hydra and they'd nearly been blown up in an old military bunker where Arnim Zola's consciousness was being stored on hundreds of databanks. She exhaled. So much for this being an easy op, she thought to herself as she slowly started to move. A small Hydra cell had taken up residence in the half-constructed building, and Steve had wanted to take care of it before the group grew in size. She had joined Steve, along with Sam and Wanda, because even though the number of Hydra members was small, the intel they'd gathered told them the group had some pretty heavy weaponry, and they all figured it'd be a good training mission for Wanda. It had been, too, up until this point.
Using the shield, Natasha pushed against the debris covering her, muscles straining as she tried to loosen the huge chunks of rubble away from her. Breathing hard, she pushed again, grunting in effort as a piece gave way and more air filtered into the cocoon of rocks she'd been buried in. Her body ached as she pulled herself out of her little hole, but finally, inch by inch, she freed herself from where she'd been crouching when the explosion hit. She took a step and winced, only imagining all the cuts and bruises she had. She took a breath, noting that her chest didn't hurt too badly, but enough that she concluded her ribs were probably mildly bruised. She could feel blood on her temple, head throbbing dully.
With a sigh, Natasha gripped the shield tighter, eyes adjusting to the dull gray light of the destroyed basement. The realization hit her like a bullet—fast and hot, all the breath in her lungs leaving her in a gasp. She still had Steve's shield. He'd thrown it to her which meant he'd had no protection when the explosion had hit, no doubt saving her life, but possibly destroying his own.
"Steve!" she called out immediately, voice hoarse from the dust and smoke still hanging in the air and her own cries when the building came down. "Steve!"
There was no reply. The only sound that came back to her was the echo of her own voice, the rattle of her lungs as they expanded and contracted with each labored breath. Natasha lifted her comm up, "Sam? Wanda? Does anybody copy?" Radio silence. "Sam?" she tried again, "Sam, do you copy? Hill? Wanda?" Nothing. There was no doubt too much rubble on top of her for a signal to get through.
"Dammit," she muttered. Taking a deep breath, Natasha tried not to let her thoughts wander to the worst case scenario, which was that Steve was dead. She couldn't let her emotions get in the way, despite feeling like her chest was caving in, pressing down on her already fragile heart. But she couldn't get over the image of him, possibly crushed under hundreds of pounds of rubble, broken, bleeding, wounded in ways even the super soldier serum wouldn't be able to fix. Side by side with that was everything that she had felt and experienced over the past eight months of them being together. Every touch, every kiss, every smile he threw her way, every knowing look and teasing remark. The nights he spent, tangled in the sheets with her, dotting kisses over her sweat-sheened body as his fingers traced lines over her skin, the artist in him worshipping her body in a way that was uniquely his own. He's going to be fine, she told herself, trying to hold onto the good feeling the memories of them brought. He's going to be fine, she repeated silently.
Steeling herself, Natasha dug into her utility belt, pulled out the small flashlight she had on hand. It wasn't much, the thing itself no bigger than her palm, but the beam was bright and, ultimately, it was better than nothing. "Steve?" she called out again, picking her way carefully through the rubble to where she'd last seen him. She continued to call his name, doing her best to speak pas the worry clogging her throat. Be optimistic, Natasha, she thought a little sourly, he's Captain America. It's going to take more than a stupid building to bring him down. But she'd nearly covered the hundred feet of space that had separated her and Steve when the explosion hit and she still hadn't found him. Pushing down her panic, she tried again, "Steve?"
And by the grace of some higher power, or maybe just by sheer luck, Natasha heard a responding groan. A sigh of relief fell from her mouth. "Steve!" she made her way cautiously over to where she thought she'd heard him. Shining her meager flashlight she scanned the floor and rubble for any sign of him, desperately hoping she would find him in one piece. "Steve, where are you?"
Another groan, possibly her name, sounded ten feet from her. She scrambled over a large chunk of concrete and spotted a flash of blue and white from his uniform. Breath catching in her throat, she dashed over to him, dropping his shield with a clatter as she fell to her knees beside him.
"Oh my god, Steve," she breathed, relief, and horror, mingling in her voice. He was alive, but from what she could see from her quick scan of his body, he wasn't in good shape. At the moment, though, the relief was winning her over, and she set her flashlight down so she could gingerly reach down to unfasten his helmet and carefully slip it off his head, running her fingers through his sweaty hair.
"Natasha," he breathed, obviously relieved, "You're okay."
She sniffled, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She pressed a quick, desperate kiss to his lips, trying to ignore the bite of coppery blood on his mouth. "Yeah, because you're a dumbass."
He chuckled "Won't argue with you there. It's pretty bad."
Natasha swallowed, not trusting herself to speak, moving so she could examine his injuries up close. He was on the floor of the basement, but half-buried by rubble. His head, because of his helmet, was relatively uninjured except for a few cuts and bruises, dust streaking his cheeks. The further down his body she worked, the worse it got. His left arm hung uselessly at his side, and even in the half-light she could tell it was broken, possibly in two places. There was no bone sticking out, though, so she supposed that was a good sign. His right arm was trapped against his chest by a big chunk of concrete.
Deciding they needed to free that arm first before she could get a good look at the rest of his body, she started pulling on the rock, Steve pushing with his arm. It took a few minutes, and by the end Natasha was breathing hard, but it finally gave way and she sidestepped to avoid having her toes crushed as it tumbled off his body and fell to the ground with a loud clamor. Steve gasped, forehead beaded with sweat.
"So…how bad is it?" Steve said, out of breath, in a tone of voice that implied that he knew exactly how bad it was.
Natasha took a deep breath, chest aching as she picked up her flashlight again and shined the light over his body. Steve had to rebars through his torso—one through his left shoulder, and another through his left flank, both having been concealed by piece of concrete that had been on his chest seconds before. His uniform was wet with blood in both spots, the metal bars jutting out of his body, connected on the other end to pieces of rubble that twisted under and away from him. There was no way Natasha could lift him off the rebars, and no way she could pull them out of both the concrete and his body…besides, they were helping to keep him from bleeding out. Still, her stomach knotted in worry.
"There's another one through my leg, the right one," Steve explained, voice strained. His voice was so raspy. She figured he had broken ribs. She hoped none of them were in danger of puncturing his lungs. "Nat, I think it punctured the femoral artery. It's bleeding pretty badly, I can tell that much, but the rebar and the rubble on top of it are keeping pressure on it. Still, I don't—"
"No," she interrupted firmly. "Don't say it. You're gonna be fine. We'll get you patched up and then we'll worry about what we're gonna do next, okay?"
"Okay."
Natasha set to work, clearing what rubble she could off his body, then pulling out first aid supplied from her belt, doing the same with his belt. Between the two of them there wasn't much, enough for a small emergency, but it would have to do until Sam and Wanda could find them. She went over to his left side first, careful to avoid his broken arm. She couldn't take the rebars out of his body, but she could at least use gauze around the wounds in an attempt to staunch the flow of blood leaking out from the three holes in his body. She used as much gauze as she dared, trying to seal off each wound as best she could. It frustrated her to no end, feeling so helpless. But she moved onto the next task, looking at his broken arm next. This she could do a little more with. Among all the concrete and stone there was also plenty of broken wooden beams lying around them. She found two that were a good length, and then pulled out the cable for her grappling hook, detaching it from her belt.
She looked up at Steve. He was watching as she hovered over his bad arm. "You ready?"
"Yeah," he said, voice tight.
Natasha prodded gently along his arm first, trying to find where the break was. Steve made a soft noise, his jaw fluttering as he clenched his teeth, but otherwise he was silent. That changed when Natasha started positioning the bone. He groaned, other hand clenching into a tight fist. Still, he didn't move, allowing her to work. She tried to go quickly, splinting the arm between the two pieces of wood and tying it tight with the cord. Luckily it had only been broken in one spot and, really, one of his more minor injuries.
When she finished, Natasha went back to sit by his head. And they waited. She didn't know how long they sat there, how long they'd already been there. A couple hours at least. Sam and Wanda were out there, probably digging for them at the very moment. But they weren't digging fast enough. They were both exhausted, hungry, dehydrated. Steve was pale, face covered in a thin sheet of sweat, forehead wrinkled just slightly in pain.
It had been a while since she'd put bandages around his wounds, so she checked them, heart dropping when she saw they were already soaked through with blood. And those were just the ones on his shoulder and side. She hadn't been able to reach his leg, hadn't dared move the rocks away for fear of taking pressure off the wound and having him bleed out right in front of her. Natasha took a deep breath, trying to swallow down the helpless sob attempting to escape her chest. Steve seemed to sense her dilemma because he reached out with his good hand. She took it into her own, weaving their fingers together.
"How are you doing?" he asked her. She could see his eyes flick up to her forehead, the blood crusted there.
She shook her head. "I'm fine. Cuts and bruises. Nothing that won't heal. I'm more worried about you. How are you doing?"
He paused, surely considering lying to her to spare her feelings. He wisely decided against it and gave a soft sigh. "Not great. Serum's working too slowly. I think we have to prepare for the possibility that—"
"Please," she interrupted, voice fragile. "Please don't. We're going to make it out of here. Sam is looking for us right now."
"I'm sure he is," Steve soothed. "But it could be hours before they find us. We have to be realistic. We don't have food, water. I need medical attention and soon. We just have to accept the fact that I might not make it out of this."
Natasha looked away from him, tugging her hand away to busy herself with putting the last of their gauze around his injuries. He was using his Captain America voice and it pissed her off to no end because she knew he was right. They needed water, and if Steve didn't get medical attention soon—
"Nat—"
"I don't want to talk about it, Steve." Hey, just because he was probably right didn't mean she had to say that.
"He paused. "Nat—"
"Steve—"
"I just want to ask you something," he said quickly before she could argue with him again.
"Okay," she agreed in a small voice, still not looking at him as she fitted more gauze around his wounds.
"Marry me."
"Natasha's head shot up, hands trembling though the rest of her was still. "What?"
Steve's teeth flashed in the din as he grinned, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest. He looked at her, and despite the low light, she could see the absolute adoration in his eyes and her heart swelled in her chest, like a flower blooming full in spring.
"Marry me," he repeated, words impossibly soft, the same tone of voice he used in the middle of the night to tell her that he loved her as he drew patterns on her skin with his fingertips.
The yes hung on the tip of her tongue. Because yes, she wanted to marry him. Any doubt she'd ever had about love and marriage, any doubt she'd ever had about the world knowing that she and Captain America were together, all of it was pushed down by the overwhelming fact that she loved Steve.
"I've been meaning to ask," Steve was saying, grabbing her attention again. "I'd get down on one knee if I could." He grinned and a short laugh slipped from her mouth. He's strong enough to smile, she thought, we can still make it out of this. That thought, despite how optimistic she was trying to be, sobered her up quickly.
"Steve, I…you—you said it yourself that you might not…might not make it out of here and I…" she stopped, eyes stinging.
Steve grabbed her hand again, and she tried not to think about the dried blood coating both their fingers. "I know. I know my timing is shitty."
"Understatement of the year," she muttered.
He smiled. "If we make it out of this…even if we don't…I just want to know that you'd be my fiancé. That I would've gotten to see you walk down the aisle."
Well that conjured up images that she definitely didn't want to focus on at a time like this. "Steve, I don't…"
"You don't have to say yes," Steve told her gently, in complete understanding of what she was struggling to do. "I just wanted to know that I asked, at least."
He squeezed her fingers, grip far weaker than it should've been. She looked at the face of the man she loved, the same love reflected in his features as he looked at her hopefully. Natasha inhaled slowly. Whatever happened to them be damned. She leaned over and kissed him on the mouth. He kissed her back slowly, sweetly.
"Is that a yes?" Steve whispered when she pulled back.
She cupped the side of his face, brushing her thumb over his temple as she tipped forward and touched her forehead to his. "Yes."
Steve grinned, but before he could kiss her again she pulled out of his reach. "Just so you know," she started, half-serious, half-joking, "When we get out of this, not only am I going to kick your ass for putting me through so much stress, but you owe me a redo proposal. Flowers, wine, fancy dinner, the whole thing."
Steve laughed, kissed her again, whispered against her lips, "Yes, ma'am."
Natasha shook her head, only half-heartedly fighting the smile curling up the corners of her mouth. She buried her face in his neck, not caring about the sweat clinging to his skin or the scratch of his uniform collar.
"We're going to get out of this," she told him. "Just hang on a little longer, okay?"
He lifted his good hand, wound it around her back, squeezing his fingers into her side comfortingly. "Okay."
He didn't say more. She was glad he didn't. Her optimism could only last so long, and despite her faith that Sam would find them, she didn't know if she could take it if Steve started making promises he couldn't keep. The proposal was enough to think about.
They stayed like that for a while. She was tucked against his side, listening to him breathe as he rubbed his hand across her back soothingly. Natasha was sure she could've fallen asleep when there was a small bang that echoed throughout the room. She shot up, on her feet in seconds, Steve straining his neck, trying to see as best he could from his position on the floor.
"You see anything?" he asked.
Natasha listened intently, eyes scanning the room. The noise had sounded like a rock being knocked loose from the rubble piled high on top of them…But another minute passed and there was nothing. Her heart fell. "No, I—"
Another crash sounded and a sliver of light sliced into the room. Natasha inhaled sharply, moving toward the crack in the debris that had emerged. But then she stopped, looking back at Steve. With even the little bit of extra light that had flooded into the room, she could see how bad he really looked. Her tiny flashlight hadn't done nearly well enough to highlight the severity of his injuries. She knelt by him again, his gaze suddenly unfocused.
"Steve, hey. Hey, stay with me, okay?" her voice trembled with worry, but also anticipation of being found. "Just stay with me."
It took him a few seconds to focus on her face, but he smiled when he did. "I'm fine." His skin was shining with sweat, breathing seemingly weaker than it had just a minute before. "Go, check it out. I'll be fine. I'm not going anywhere."
She nodded and gave his hand a quick squeeze before getting to her feet. She picked her way carefully over to where the crack of light had appeared, about fifty feet from where Steve lay, the sound of shifting rubble getting louder the closer she got.
"Hello? Sam?" she shouted, standing just to the side of the crack, trying to see through the light coming through. Suddenly the noise stopped and she could hear voices, though she was unable to make out what they were saying.
"Nat?"
Natasha nearly sobbed with relief, her shoulders sagging as if a huge weight had just been lifted off them. "Yeah, it's me, Sam!"
She could only see shadows of movement above, but Sam's voice sounded clear enough in response, "We're coming down to get you guys. Just hang on a little longer, okay?"
"You need to hurry, Sam. And we need a med evac ready."
"Are you okay?" Sam's voice was tight with worry.
"I'm fine, but Steve, he…he's not doing great." She sounded a lot stronger than she felt.
A pause from above. "Okay, Nat, stay with him. Make sure you're a safe distance away. We're going to break through."
She could hear Sam giving order—she heard Wanda's name, the name of several SHIELD agents, possibly even Stark's name, but she didn't have too much time to dwell on it as she headed back over to Steve's side. She crouched down, about to tell Steve that Sam was coming for them when she noticed that his eyes were closed. Panic rushed in, drowning any relief she'd felt at being rescued, filled up her chest, making it tight, hard to breathe.
"Steve? Steve? Steve, wake up." She prodded his shoulder gently. He didn't move. Natasha shifted into autopilot, bringing her training to the surface and pushing down everything else. She pressed two fingers to his neck, searching for a pulse, leaning over him, ear close to his mouth to check for breathing. She counted out ten seconds, keeping an eye on his chest. That ten seconds was torture and she had to fight especially hard to keep her emotions under check as she began CPR.
"Come on, Steve, don't do this to me," she whispered, pumping her hands against his chest. His eyes were still closed and hers were burning, throat tight. "Come on, Steve, please, please, wake up."
She finished the first thirty compressions, leaned over, sealed his airway, and delivered two breaths. No response from him and she went back to doing compressions as rubble crashed and fell behind her, light flooding into the ruined basement as Sam and the others broke through.
"Come on, Steve!" she pleaded, tears flowing freely now. "Don't do this to me. Please wake up. We're going to get married, remember? We're going to get married so you have to wake up, please, Steve, wake up!"
She could hear footsteps behind her, the hum of and Iron Man suit—so Sam had called Tony—and somewhere in the back of her mind she registered that Sam and the others, with a medical team by their side, were making their way over to her and Steve.
"Steve, come on! Please, Steve, wake up! Wake up, Steve…wake up…"
