I need not remind you of my broke self with having to say that I don't have rights to Marvel.

The soldier was the first to wake up of all the agents left in the room. There were actually very few left because Fury had given them assignments regarding the attack. He gets up to grab a glass of water and an MRE, like how it was back in the old days. His wounds don't hurt as much anymore so his wincing was limited.

Natasha woke up groggier than usual. The pain showed physically on her face as she tries to stand from the bed on the floor. She leans on a nearby table for support and so she could put the wounded leg at ease.

"There isn't much," the soldier said, handing her an apple. "Or do you want chicken chunks?" He asked, facing the bag to her. She looked on with disgust and declined both of his offers, grabbing a glass of water instead. He chews a piece of chicken and stares at her, like waiting for her to start conversation.

"What?"

He shook his head. Nothing, I guess, he thinks, a little indifferent about the way that she's dodging the fact that there's a bounty on her. He's learned that there's a lot to chisel through the woman before knowing anything about her. Instead of pushing for her insight, he remains silent, letting her control the personal conversations. Fury was aware that she was the target now. They ended up rummaging through S.H.I.E.L.D. like the compound wasn't equipped with the greatest agents in the world. Steve seemed vey surprised by it, but Natasha? Not so much.

She isn't entirely knowing about how it happened, though. The spy could fathom why they basically ran over the whole facility, but didn't really understand how. Natasha doesn't know how they exist, whoever they were. The Black Widow Ops was disbanded after she had left and the Soviet Union fell. S.H.I.E.L.D. itself made sure that the whole entire program was erased, only their organization has the facts on the case, and even then, they destroyed all the serums, the biochemical enhancements and psychotechnic projects. She is one hundred percent sure she's the last one. Every single person associated with the Red Room Academy (not just the Black Widow Ops) was assassinated by Clint Barton and Agent Daisy Johnson, and her respective troops. She was held by S.H.I.E.L.D. at the time, spending almost a year isolated from the rest of the people as everything was going on. Clint made sure to visit her as much as he could so she knew that the past was behind her, reassuring her that the whole organization was disbanded, the Soviet Union had fallen and the KGB dissolved.

Fury's organization had a list of people to eliminate. Fury created his own kill list, and every single day the spy saw one man terminated after the other, red strikethroughs on the names of doctors, scientists, politicians, influencers, lawyers, military-men, and their families. The director mercilessly killed everyone and made sure that everything died with them. Natasha, still a cold-hearted assassin at the time, remained unmoved, apathetic and the least bit concerned. It wasn't until a year later that relief started to wash over her, thankful that the director called the shots that he did.

And that's why this was confusing. She didn't care why they attacked, it just didn't make sense how they were able to do it so easily. Evacuation protocol wouldn't have been called if intruders weren't seen as a threat. Fury saw them as a threat. The only people that could do that, in all of Natasha's life, were the Red Room Academy. She's fought a lot of the toughest assassins. She is one. So, connecting the dots and everything else she knew about the hardest villains she's ever faced, the clues aligned. They fought like Red Room children, they weren't better than the assassin, but they were definitely better than the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and to have harnessed those kinds of fighters in one club was unheard of. Their government organization had the occasional Jessica Drew, Tony Masters, and Nick Fury, but they were special assets. To have incredibly skilled fighters, to multiply the likes of Nick Fury and Natasha Romanoff all in one place was very unlikely. They either recruit really well or raise them that way. Probably the latter.

So Natasha wondered. Her past managed to catch up to her. She wasn't afraid, just annoyed.

"Here." She dropped a small black piece in front of the soldier. He was devouring the rest of the packet when his eyes settled on what looked like an earpiece.

"What is that?" He asked, his voice muffled. The chicken was still making its way through his throat.

"It's a wireless intercom," she said, putting her own in her ear. She grabs a spray can? of some sort. The gauze on her thigh was worn and after cleaning the wound, she sprays something on it, chemicals unknown to Steve. "Antibiotics," said Natasha, knowing that the soldier had questions. "There's zinc in it, too. It helps wounds heal faster." He stared at the gun shot wound on her thigh and then opened the patch that covered his side, they looked the same. It confused him even more considering that the quick regeneration of his body allows for his wounds to close faster. Hers looked the exact same. "Here's some for yours," she said. The spy knew about his healing power, but he didn't know about hers. It confused him even more considering that the quick regeneration of his body allows for his wounds to close faster. Hers looked the exact same and that shouldn't be for a normal human. "Here's some for you, even though you have healing power and all," she said with a half smile. The man nodded and took it for his side and shoulder.

She grabbed a new pair of cargo pants for the soldier and for herself. She tossed a shirt for him as well. The spy walked around the table to grab something behind Steve and the man, no matter how much he tried to control it, looked at the woman wearing only a sports bra. It was something that isn't completely difficult for him to control considering that he grew up in the 30s and the norms were different then. But a woman with a physique of a fighter, undressed in front of him, it wasn't as easy as it could have been back in the 30s. He averted his eye quick enough so that the spy didn't recognize. He's sure she gets it a lot so she may have noticed.

She didn't, though.

"Are you going to eat something?" He asked, finishing the terrible chicken. He heard a faint "mhm" as the woman jumped on top of the table he was eating on to reach something above the closet that held all the food. After awhile of ruckus, she came back down with a spoon in her mouth and a can of soup in her hand.

"The nonperishables are as disgusting as they come, but this has never failed me," she said, making the soldier chuckle.

"What do we do now?" He asked, clipping the intercom in his ear. He grabbed his shirt with one arm, putting his head through the hole and his arm in another, but unable to put his injured limb through the other. The woman, who was currently putting the soup in a disposable bowl, stopped what she was doing to help the soldier. He winced at her touch, not from pain but surprise. She retracted her hand, but he nodded, letting her know that it was okay.

Soft fingers trailed his forearm. Another hand rested on the back of his shoulders, giving him support so he could softly move his whole arm forward. She held onto his large wrist to keep everything steady and grabbed the remaining hole of his shirt. The hand on his wrist moved back up to his forearm to stabilize his elbow bending at the joint, allowing him to put half of his arm through the hole. She grabbed the shirt to push it up to his shoulder. She went the extra mile, setting his shirt down, her fingers touching his torso. Steve remained frozen, allowing her.

It was in slow motion, like someone admiring the statue of David. Natasha's mind was racing, probably as fast as Steve's. Her knuckles grazed over his pecs, and like a washboard, felt her fingers move through the crevasses of his stomach, dancing through its many hills before the shirt reached its end. There may have been a certain disappointment that it finished too soon, but Natasha is too strong-willed to admit that to herself. Steve has already admitted it to himself, though, but he shook it off. He felt a little distressed, knowing that what happened wasn't necessary, but he couldn't really take it back. He froze too soon, making it difficult for him to protest. Next thing he knew, the woman was out of his sight, back to her bowl of soup.

"We just wait for Fury's orders," she replied to his most recent question. He couldn't even let out a "thank you" from his lips for helping him with his shirt, but Natasha didn't need it. It's my pleasure. She thought before rolling her eyes in her head and forgetting the intimate connection they just shared. That's not how she pictured this morning to be going.

He stared at the empty bag of MRE, afraid to look at her direction because of the fact that she still didn't have a shirt on. She sat across from him on the circular table, and set a bag on top of it. After she reached the end of her bowl, she grabbed Steve's MRE packet, which he seemed to zone out on and threw everything in the waste. She started grabbing gadgets out of the bag and setting them in front of him. Thank god she put a shirt on, he told himself. She had a black jacket on top of that, too. He felt more comfortable with himself about that.

"What are those?"

"You ask a lot of questions, Captain," she said, loading her four guns.

"I've been asleep for awhile," that got a laugh out of the redhead.

"These are weapons, Steve," she said, a little patronizingly, not feeding the soldier's curiosity.

"I'm aware."

She grabbed what looked like a concealed carry holster. It was like a backpack without the backpack, just a vest system but there was only one clasp on the front. She grabbed two batons, activated them, resulting in a shock of electric current that caught the soldier off-guard, even though he didn't flinch. The spy put the two batons together to create a staff, wielded it around to see if it worked, then broke it in half again. She set it on her back, which explains the vest system thing. It was made to carry her weapons like what Steve used when hitching his shield to his back. She put two black things that looked like guns behind her. "Grappling hook guns that electrocute," she said, knowing he would have asked.

A belt system also made its way out of the bag. It looked lightweight, like not much can be carried in its two compartments. Their sizes were that of an iPhone, Steve realized. Barton had shown him what those were. He didn't know what she could fit in those. He noticed a symbol on the belt that he remembered from when they first met. It was the same symbol on her shirt during his sparring session with Clint. She put two guns on the holsters that the belt provided. The widow took two straps of attachments and wrapped them around her thigh. They were compartments for her two additional guns.

Lastly, she took out cuffs that looked like a small barrel of a small machine gun to Steve. She activated those and they delivered the same electrostatic shock that her batons did. The soldier was impressed.

"That's for zapping," she said with humor.

"I saw you use it on that one guy back at the compound," he said as the woman nodded. She grabbed another black duffel bag and set it in front of the soldier.

"Courtesy of Clint," she said. "I asked him to have this ready for us when we got here last night."

He unzipped the bag. "Where is he?"

"With his family," the widow took a seat. "He said that Fury's keeping him out of the loop for this one because he can be a target. He told me that he was made during his missions to assassinate people from the KGB. They'd come after him, too."

Steve nodded in understanding. "What about you?"

She huffed. "I'm not sitting when I'm the one they're trying to kill. It's different. They're already after me. I don't need them after him."

Steve remained silent in agreement. He wasn't planning to change her mind, just curious about why she's not laying low. Steve grabbed a black leather jacket in the bag, something tells him that it was Clint's. A belt full of holsters were in there, too, just like Natasha's. Four guns came out of the bag to fill them. There were only two things left in the bag and they were black bracelets. He didn't know what they were, but wore them on the wrists of the jacket The bracelets had an extension that rested on his palm, and it had a button on it. He looked at Natasha.

"Go ahead, click it," she said with a tinge of excitement in her voice. "Fury made them for you because he felt bad he couldn't find your shield."

He clicked both buttons and triangular shields formed on the back of his forearm. They looked like they could stab and cut anyone who neared them. He smiled. Natasha didn't know if that's how he showed excitement but she knew that the captain wasn't super emotive.

"Now that's more like it," he said, clicking the button again to make them disappear. He looked at the woman in front of him. "What's the mission?"

"Still waiting," she said, taking out her S.H.I.E.L.D. issued phone. She set it on the table and with one click, a hologram popped up just like the one Steve had seen in the compound. There was already a compilation of the perpetrators, their silhouettes showing up in three dimension, as well as their characteristics and status. Natasha swiped through all the men they had killed, all faceless because they were wearing masks, except for one. The spy stared at his profile, trying to remember his face from her past. She couldn't find him.

Steve stared at him, too, only to see what he went up against. The man was six-foot-six and three hundred pounds of pure muscle. The man didn't appear to be enhanced, but he sure was strong. His fighting was impeccable. The three-dimensional figure was spinning slowly and Steve couldn't help but notice Natasha stare at it intently. She couldn't figure out who it was. He was the first one to see that his status was "undetermined", confusing the soldier. Natasha noticed it, too. His status should be "deceased".

"You were there when I fired two to his chest," he said. The woman nodded, she made the figure expand, and before she could look at his face more, it all disappeared and Fury's face popped up.

"Romanoff, I need you and Rogers at the D.C. headquarters, all of our stations in New York are compromised," the director was agitated.

"What? How?" The spy took the phone and started walking out, the soldier following behind her. Steve got on the motorcycle. The woman handed him some sunglasses and climbed behind him, wearing a pair of her own. The redhead rerouted the call to her comm so she could stash her phone safely in a pocket. It freed her arms to wrap around the super soldier.

Steve jumpstarted the bike, hearing the spy's conversation with the director because of the intercom she had given him. "The hostiles were looking for you, they took out some of our safe houses."

"How did they even get access to those?"

"I erased all the files before evacuating the compound yesterday. Either someone was working with them or they were doing a decryption before I secured everything," he said.

"You have any news on what they are?"

"They're after you."

"I know that."

There was a sigh over the comm. Steve was maxing out the bike. Let's hope the roads haven't changed since 1945.

"No, no, no, take the interstate," said the widow. She was talking to him now. "Take I-95 South." He laughed, making an almost deadly u-turn to make it to the exit. The woman behind him was unfazed.

"We couldn't recover anyone. I ordered some people to return to the compound but the men weren't there," Fury sighed. "We took blood samples and Erskine and her team are on it right now."

Natasha nodded despite knowing that the director couldn't see her. After Steve heard them say their goodbyes, he started a conversation. "America built many roads in the seventy years I was asleep?"

The spy laughed. "Yeah, it's much more efficient now."

They stopped for gas once. Natasha went to the bathroom and Steve was left leaning on the motorcycle, waiting for the load to finish. He was playing with his new wrist toy when a woman walked by him giggling. He looked up, raising a brow that the dame—and, really, anyone else—found him cute. He laughed it off and didn't say anything as he watched her walk back to her run down jeep. Steve saw Natasha exit the mini-mart and the tank clicked full. He pulled out the nozzle and as he was returning it, he felt someone else in his presence. "Okay, hi, I'm Rachel," the brunette with the worn jeep approached him.

He laughed, setting the nozzle back. "Steve."

"Nice to meet you, Steve. Take me out some time when you're back in town. Welcome to Philly," she said taking note of the fact that he looks like a biker passing by. She slipped a note into his hand with a number on it, winked, then left for her Jeep again. Natasha watched the whole thing unfold and smiled a little at the soldier's game.

"There's so many numbers," he said, pocketing the piece of paper before closing the gas cap and hopping on the bike.

"It's because we have cellphones," the spy said, laughing. She jumped on the back, put her sunglasses on, and hugged Steve. "So, you gonna call her?"

He laughed, going back on the interstate. "When will be back in Philadelphia?"

"If you don't take the job then you can do whatever you want, come back here even." They were talking normally through the comms because they wouldn't be able to hear each other through the heavy winds of the freeway.

"You make a good point," he said, overtaking a few cars to get to the carpool lane. "I don't know if you're trying to recruit me or not, Agent Romanoff."

She laughed, "Just trying to welcome you to this century as best I can."

Steve smiled at the thought. The soldier hadn't spent much time with the spy. They have talked more in the past twenty-four hours than they had in the past two weeks. So much has happened in the past day, too, that he couldn't believe he'd really only been alive for two weeks. The woman was a character. He looked at her as a leader, not that it was anything new. He was a soldier after all—is a soldier. She kept a certain kind of mystery that he knew intrigued anyone she met. It was captivating, seductive, even. Steve had heard stories and tales of her past life, but not from her. It's been known that she's never shared them with anyone so nothing's ever been confirmed. Her life at the KGB, her seductiveness and the way that she uses it for espionage, and the fact that she's never had a real relationship. Steve absolutely relates to the latter. He has a feeling that the hindrance to her ability in creating relationships is just a product of her upbringing. She's been through hell it seems.

The woman had one arm wrapped around from under his arm and up to his shoulder. The other was carefully pressed on his chest, diagonal from the side. She was being sensitive to his wounds from the night before. It was a warm feeling, considering that the arm wrapped from under his arm was holding on oh-so-very tightly because it's the uninjured arm. She didn't really have a lot of stability or support from the other, it was just there to keep her in balance. Steve really liked that. Considering that he hasn't really been able to do anything for her, no help or aid because of her hyper-independence, he's felt a sense of disconnect. He's a soldier who wants to help, yet he's stuck with a person who doesn't want it ever. So little things, like support for riding in the back of a motorcycle meant a little more than average. It was all very practical because she had no choice. The spy couldn't put her hands on the back handles because her forearm would be uncomfortable. The soldier took it as it came. Little things mattered when it came to the immovable assassin.

A/N: I felt like it may have been a little out of character with the shirt scene but I know that I needed to give you guys a little bit of romanogers considering that we've dove pretty deep in the story sans Natasha and Steve contact. I tried my best to make that encounter as natural as possible. :) Thanks for reading.