"Captain? Captain. Steve… can you hear me?"
Steve's eyes batted open. There was a dull, blue-white light above him that seemed to float in mid-air and move on its own. He could hear faint beeps and quiet whirrings. It was a bit cold, he realized as an involuntary shudder passed through him. He blinked a few times and slid his gaze to the side, where a familiar face came into view.
"Princess… Shuri?" He blinked again, seemingly having a hard time believing his own eyes.
The Wakandan Princess smiled as a small jitter of excitement passed through her. She clutched a tablet close to her chest and wiggled happily from where she stood next to the small observation table Steve was laid out upon.
"How are you feeling?" Shuri asked.
The question brought forth a rush of thought and memory that had Steve feeling… not so great. Because, suddenly, he could remember. Images of the London Eye and rushing out to meet Garrett head-on in his helicopter flooded into Steve's mind. He remembered a brief and unsuccessful fight, and Garrett sticking some kind of needle in his neck and injecting him with something. Then, there had been nothing but darkness until he woke up to find himself strapped to a table with all sorts of wires attached to him.
Steve remembered pain. A lot of it. His head had felt like it was being ripped open at the seams with no end in sight. Garrett had… done something to him. Put something in his brain and infiltrated his mind. He'd flipped some kind of switch that had left Steve completely powerless. The worst part was… he remembered the whole thing. He remembered being trapped inside his own mind, his own body; watching everything transpiring before him and being unable to stop it. He remembered Natasha…
Steve groaned and reached up to touch his forehead. "What the hell happened to me?"
He probably shouldn't have even asked. Shuri launched into some very scientific explanation about nanites and temporal lobes and gamma waves that Steve had zero hope of understanding. The general gist seemed to be that Garrett had implanted something in Steve's mind and then used it to alter the way his mind worked. Long story short, it was all gone now. Steve's brain was his own once again, but there would probably be some temporary side effects. Headaches, mostly; maybe some bouts of confusion, but Shuri seemed to think he'd be just fine.
T'Challa, who must have gotten a call from his sister that Steve had woken up because he arrived shortly after, seemed to share Shuri's thoughts. "You are no normal man," T'Challa pointed out. "You've overcome far more than most. I am certain you can overcome this as well."
"Just as long as you don't mind clucking like a chicken every time it rains," Shuri teased.
"What?" Steve looked at her, briefly worried until he saw the grin on her face.
"Shuri," T'Challa scolded. He turned his gaze to Steve. "You'll have to excuse my sister. She seems to have the most ill-timed humor in all of Wakanda."
"Or maybe it is just my brother is too old to know what is funny." Shuri commented.
Steve chuckled quietly and shook his head. "Well, regardless… I can't thank you enough for coming through and helping me. Again."
"Of course," T'Challa said with a nod. "Though I am pretty sure Miss Romanoff would have gotten you help one way or another."
"Where, uh… where is Natasha?" Steve asked.
"Finally resting, I hope." T'Challa said. "You could stand to do the same. Perhaps you should wait until morning to see her…"
"Or," Shuri chimed in, "perhaps you should go see her now." She cast a brief look at T'Challa before returning her attention to Steve, a small smile on her face. "I'm sure she will be most happy to see you back to your old self again."
Steve wasn't even sure what time it was. It was still night. He could tell that much by looking out the big window in the lab. Maybe T'Challa was right. Maybe he should just let Natasha rest, but… The image of her shaking hands and glistening eyes as she pointed her gun at him was like a ghost haunting his mind. And the feel of her… struggling against him as he held that wire to her neck. God, Steve wished he couldn't remember any of that. He'd never felt worse about something in his entire life. He just hoped that Natasha would understand. He hoped she would forgive him. And the only way to earn that forgiveness was to go talk to her. So, he found out where her room was and headed that way.
The halls were dimly lit, quiet and empty. Even Steve's near-silent steps seemed to echo off the walls and ceilings. He was barefoot, and the floor was a bit cold against his bare skin, but he found it was a welcome sensation. Each step sort of helped jolt him further into wakefulness. He was still dressed in the loosely fitting black pants and shirt that he'd woken up in. They were like an odd mix between hospital clothes and pajamas, but he didn't exactly want to take the time to change, so… here he was. He was wondering what he should say to Nat. He was wondering if he should say anything to her at all, or if he should just let her sleep. Steve told himself that if he could just peek in on her and make sure she was okay, that would satisfy him. But he should've known better.
Because he did peek in; he did see her sleeping, and it created a wave of pain and relief that washed all over him. But it wasn't enough. There was this maddening push to turn the other way and walk out, accompanied by an even more maddening pull to go in there and scoop her into his arms and never let her go. He opened the door a little further and slipped inside.
Then, there was movement. Natasha, who apparently hadn't been sleeping as soundly as she appeared, sat up in bed and in one deft movement, slid a gun out from beneath her pillow. The lights flicked on in quick and bright suddenness, leaving Steve temporarily blinded and holding a hand up in front of his face to help block some of that light from his sensitive eyes. When he could see enough to lower his hand, he saw Natasha sitting in bed pointing her gun at him. The knee-jerk reaction was understandable, but the fact that she didn't lower the weapon right away cut Steve to the core.
"Nat…" he said, surprised at how tight his throat was.
"Steve?" Natasha sounded unsure. She lowered her finger from the trigger, but she kept a firm hold on the gun. The last time she thought she had the real Steve standing in front of her, she'd learned the hard way that she was mistaken.
"I… I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to wake you up. I just…"
His words trailed off. He wasn't really sure what to say or do.
Natasha was quiet. She tilted her head to the side and stared at him, listening. Listening to silence. There were no alarms blaring. No shouts. If brainwashed Steve had somehow broken out of the medical wing before he was supposed to, no one was doing anything about it. That led Natasha to believe, to hope…
"Is it…" her voice went quiet. She tried to quell the hopefulness that was rising inside of her. She lowered her gun. "Is it really you?"
The reservation on Natasha's face and in her voice was painful. It was made even more painful due to the fact that Steve could clearly remember the cause for this fear he was seeing now. Because he had deceived her. Made her believe it was really him when it wasn't, and even though he knew that, that hadn't really been him, he couldn't help but to feel every bit of the blame and guilt for it. It'd been his hands that hurt her. No one else's. Regret settled like a heavy stone in the pit of his stomach. This was a mistake. He shouldn't have come here. Not so soon after waking up. His gaze fell to the floor.
"Natasha," he practically whispered. "I'm so s-"
Natasha sprang from her bed with the speed and grace of a gazelle. Her gun was forgotten, discarded somewhere among the sheets, and suddenly she was there. She was right there, nearly bowling him over as she wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her face to his chest. She squeezed Steve as tightly as she could and squeezed her eyes shut even tighter. That familiar sting was there, threatening to make tears well up and spill over. The feeling only intensified when she felt Steve's stiff body relax, and his arms wrapped firmly around her.
The relief that Steve felt was palpable. It flooded over him and washed through his bloodstream. It relaxed his muscles and had him dipping his chin so he could press his lips into the crown of Natasha's head. He closed his eyes and released a heavy, heavy sigh. They stood like that for what seemed like a long time yet not nearly long enough. Natasha was quiet and still. Steve was, too. He knew there were a lot of things that needed saying, but he couldn't think of a single word to start it off. There was just… too much. Too much to unload. Too much to apologize for. He'd never be able to cover it all. But he knew he had to try.
So, reluctantly, Steve loosened his grip, took a half step back, and looked down at her.
"Nat," he began. "I-"
"I love you." Natasha said.
Steve stopped, his mouth hanging slightly open and his brows furrowed in confusion. "What?"
Natasha's eyelids fluttered as a nervous breath left her. She hadn't really… planned this. It'd just sort of blurted out of her without much warning. Now, she knew she had to follow it all up, and talking about her feelings wasn't exactly her strong suit. Her green eyes glanced downward for a moment.
"I don't know," she said quietly, "when or how long or…" She paused, swallowed the lump in her throat and forced herself to look back up at him. There was pain glistening in her eyes.
"I thought I lost you. When the helicopter went down. When we couldn't find you for two days. And then… and then I found you but I didn't really find you and… I felt like I was watching you slip away from me. You were right there in front of me, but you weren't there…"
Her breath hitched as her emotions started getting the best of her. Natasha was forced to stop and take a deep, shaky breath in a vain attempt to keep her composure. Her eyes were stinging much more now, and though no tears had actually fallen, thy were very clearly glistening in her green eyes.
"I know I shouldn't have waited for something like this to happen before I… And it isn't like this is why. I just…"
"Nat…"
Steve said gently. He slid his hands up to rest on the tops of her shoulders, steadying her and grounding her as he felt her start to drift. Their gazes met, and all that familiar warmth was there in his eyes. It was on the small smile he wore, too. Steve slid his hands up again, taking her face and gently stroking his thumbs along her cheeks. There was a healing cut on her forehead, and a thin pink line that ran across the front of her throat. It physically pained Steve to see those things, knowing what had caused them, but he couldn't focus on them too hard. Not with those eyes, staring up at him the way they were, and the sound of Natasha's shallow breaths swirling all around him.
So, he pulled her close, and he kissed her. He emptied every bit of himself into her lips, drowning and breathing, coming alive and dying all at once. Passion ignited around them like a blast furnace and warmed their hearts and bodies alike. Steve felt his soul dance and then surrender inside of him, and he knew the maddening sensation of complete and total love. He felt its excitement and its pain and knew that it would never go away. It would change them for the rest of their lives, and he was very, very much okay with that.
When his lungs started to burn, Steve reluctantly broke the kiss. He opened his eyes and looked down to see Natasha slowly opening hers. A burst of color had formed in her pale cheeks.
"I love you, Natasha." He said, his deep voice still a bit breathless and husky. "And I am… so sorry for all of this. For leaving you. For hurting you…"
Nat shook her head, lips pressed together in a firm line. "No," she said. "That wasn't you."
"I know, but… I couldn't do anything to stop it." Steve glanced briefly at her throat once more. "Nat, I could've killed you."
"That's debatable…" Natasha said, trying some of her ill-timed humor on for size. She was feeling surprisingly self-conscious about the fading injuries she still sported. She didn't want to think about that. She didn't want Steve to think about that. She placed a hand on his face and gently pulled his gaze back to meet hers.
"You're back now," she said softly. "You're here, really here, and that's all that matters." Natasha stepped forward to hug him once more. "And we're never going to do that again."
"We're never going to do that again," Steve agreed. He wrapped his arms around her and sighed. He'd just started to close his eyes when he felt Natasha's grip loosen and her start to step back again.
She wordlessly pulled him over to the bed. He needed no direction. He was pretty much putty in her hands at this point. Natasha moved the gun to the floor with a bit of a sheepish look, and then slid underneath the blankets once more. She pulled Steve to follow, and when he settled in beside her, she curled up against him. One arm wrapped around his waist, and her head came to rest on his shoulder. He slid an arm beneath her and pressed a hand to her back, holding her securely against him. He felt himself settle, like his body was a two-ton weight finally able to just… rest. He realized how tired he'd been. Not just physically, but mentally, emotionally, spiritually. He was just… drained from all of this. This whole endeavor had taken damn near everything out of him. Steve was just glad it was over.
In the quiet darkness of the room, Natasha filled Steve in on the details of his rescue. She told him how Sam, Wanda and Vision had rallied to help find him. She told him that Garrett, Dust, and every one of their hired goons had been apprehended and were going to be spending a lot of time in a S.H.I.E.L.D. holding facility. She didn't need to relive the details of her fight with Steve, though. Even if he didn't remember every moment of it, she didn't think it was something he needed to hear. It didn't matter. What was important was that they'd found him, and that he was going to be okay now. When she was finished, Natasha quickly lifted her head from Steve's chest, as if suddenly remembering something.
"Bucky." She said.
"What?" Steve furrowed his brow in worry.
"He's awake," she continued. "Just recently, from the sounds of it. He's… camping out by some lake on the outskirts of the city."
Now Steve was even more worried. That didn't sound like Bucky at all. "Is he alright?" He asked.
Natasha shrugged one shoulder. "Hard to tell," she replied. "He seems…" she paused, trying to think of the right word. "Docile? But he was worried that coming back and seeing you… like that… might trigger something. He doesn't seem to trust himself."
"Hm…" Steve made a sound. He could kind of relate to that feeling. "Sounds like I'll have to pay him a visit, then." In the morning, though. He had no intention of leaving Natasha any time soon.
Steve still felt the heavy weight of guilt on his chest for what he'd done to her. He doubted it was something that would ever really go away. He tried not to think too much about it, though. He tried not to let it affect him or the way he felt about Natasha or anything that was going on between them now. He couldn't let it drive a wedge between them. Steve needed Natasha. He needed her close, and judging by the way she was holding onto him, it seemed like she might need the same thing. But every time he closed his eyes, he could see that fight. He could see Natasha's body being hurled across the room. He could see her pinned beneath him on the floor, fighting him. He could see fear in her eyes. He'd hurt the one person he cared the most about in this world, and he wasn't quite sure how to handle all that.
For right now, though, it seemed like he didn't have to.
