Chapter Three

Natasha

I feel like I am in a haze, still rattled from electrocuting myself. "Maria, do you have a location on Rogers?" I ask as Fury swerves the helicopter away from the collapsing Triskelion and Sam gets settled in the chopper beside me.

When she answers it feels like I didn't really hear her, "Based on last call in, he was in Charlie Airship." Is her soft response.

"What?" I feel myself go still as I look into the air at the wreckage of the remaining ships, exploding and collapsing out of the sky. "No, no, he was supposed to get out before they fired!" I yell ridiculously before I can stop myself.

"It was his order, Nat." Her voice responds sadly. My eyes scan the sky frantically. I can't talk. I can't move. He can't be gone. No. He's Captain America.

I feel Sam close beside me. "He probably bailed out, take us lower to look in the water." He says calmly to Fury who turns the chopper again. It enrages me that both Sam and Fury seem to be remaining so calm about the possibility that Steve is trapped on an exploding air ship, when I seem to be falling apart.

I have no concept of time. I just sit in the door of the chopper, scanning the water. If I believed in anything I would be praying. But I don't. I just let my brain stay in neutral as time seems to crawl by.

"There he is!" At Sam's voice I scramble over to Sam's side of the helicopter, as Nick swings us around. I see where Sam is pointing, and there is Steve, laying on the side of the River apparently unconscious.

That was when I totally lost my head, "Oh god, Nick get us down there!" I yell over the propellers.

We bank hard and drop quickly. Before Fury has the chopper down I push past Sam and let myself drop the handful of feet down to the ground and hit the turf running. I slide over to him on my knees, "Steve," I say his name because I can't seem to help myself. I take in his battered body, his bleeding face. I see the blood stains on his uniform, see the entrance gun shot wounds, what look like stab wounds. Panic tightens in my chest. "Come on Steve, stay with me." I prop his head up, I put pressure on his chest. I feel his warm blood on my fingers.

I can't believe it but there are tears in my eyes. I mean really? But then he is my partner, my fellow Avenger. I tell myself I should be upset. It was normal right? But no matter what excuses I make, I feel what I have dreaded ever since my attention towards Steve changed...I feel myself start to lose control. That's the problem, after all. Having feelings, emotions for someone else. Suddenly you are no longer in control.

"How's he doing?" Sam slides to his knees on the other side of Steve's torso.

"I don't know, I don't - he's been shot, I'm not even sure how many times. He's-"

"Nat!" I stop, realizing I was stuttering. I look up at Sam, who had snapped at me to shut me up. "It's ok, it's Cap. We just gotta help him out."

I nod and can already hear the sirens. Yes, I am totally, one hundred percent out of control.

I remember waiting outside in the hallway of the hospital. Standing, not moving, barely breathing. When Sam appears at my side. He has floated in and out of my presence, last time he brought coffee. I am disappointed he is empty handed this time.

"So, you and Steve huh?" My head snaps around to look at him, the first time I have taken my eyes off the door that leads to the surgical rooms. That was where Steve was in the hands of people I didn't know, didn't know if I could trust.

"What?" I ask cooly. Trying to be casual about how I arrange my features. I instantly scan for Fury to make sure he isn't within hearing distance. Already fearing what he thought of my behaviour on the chopper.

Sam shrugged, keeping his behaviour light and non-confrontational, "Well, just by the River today, you seemed…. very upset." He looked at me casually and instantly, irritatingly, I look away back at the door.

"Yeah, well, weren't you? After everything we've been through." I snap back at him, rolling my shoulders back and trying to calm down. Ignoring the throbbing ache in my shoulder.

"Yeah, but you were…." I could feel Sam looking at me. "Just thought- Never mind. Musta been wrong. Just in case you ever wanted to talk about that. Or something like that. I am here. For you. If you want to talk."

This time I full on glare at Sam. "Duly noted." He gives me a tight lipped smile, and nodded but turned and ambled back down the hall, apparently not offended by my cold, terse reply.

I didn't want to talk to him about this. I didn't want to talk to Clint about this. I didn't want to talk to anyone about this. It's embarrassing.

It' Steve after all... And let's not forget, it's me we are talking about. What could Earth's most honourable hero possibly ever see in me? I had nothing to offer him. Hell, if Fury was unwilling to trust me, why the hell would Steve? And anything like that... I could barely think the world, I felt so weak even acknowledging it, any affection needed trust right? But now, knowing where I stood...How hopelessly doomed I was, it was even worse. At least before I was in a very happy state of denial. Well, maybe not very happy, but it was passable.

I remember the doctor coming out and telling us Steve had pulled through. Should be fine with bed rest. Standing between Fury and Sam, holding myself together, because the ridiculous thing was when the doctor said that, I felt even more like breaking down than I had while we were waiting. Like realizing how close it had been, how much worse... The flood gates just wanted to burst open, but I stood still. Face blank, arms crossed, biting the hell out of the insides of my cheeks, keep it together.

I remember standing in his hospital room, on my own for a minute. Fury was talking to Sam about something, I think it was Avengers related. I didn't know, I didn't care. I couldn't seem to focus, there was a deafening buzzing in my ear, as I stared down at him in the hospital bed, standing there over his right side.

He was still unconscious, hooked up to different machines, monitoring his breathing, his heart beat. He looked so quiet but also sad. His brow looked so heavy. Like the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. I couldn't help but reach forward. I remember glancing quickly at the door, just to be sure no one was about to come in. Then very gently I let my fingers trace down his brow, over his jaw, down his chin. That perfectly chiseled profile, battered, beaten and swollen, but it didn't matter to me, he was still perfect. The man was so perfect, it was quite ridiculous. If it wasn't so fucking painful, I would laugh.

I take a deep breath, dragging myself back to reality. That's enough Natasha, no more make believe. Then I turned and walked from the room.