there's a ref to the last chapter in this one; take it as you've been informed.

...

day four; last call.

"I'll go with Steve."

Steve doesn't glance down her way. He doesn't. But he hears it. And it rolls off naturally, the words, that he doesn't flinch. Doesn't hesitate. Doesn't find it out of the norm of anything. But he does look at Fury, sees the frown etching over his one eye.

"You're going with Barton."

"But sir-"

"That's an order." Fury growls without a hitch, shoulders squared together in a move that demands submission, and Steve doesn't need to take a moment to realise the twitch on the corner of her mouth isn't solely because she's annoyed.

"You're not the boss of me anymore." She says through gritted teeth, posture just as equally commanding, jaw clenching as she hoists a handgun by her waist. "I'm going with Rogers."

"He's much better off with Wilson, and you know it."

"He needs-" She swallows, pauses and exhales. "They need back-up."

"They need you to stand on-guard while Barton rounds off the perimeter. You know what's the right choice here," this time, as Fury speaks, Steve takes the initiative on stepping closer, one hand extends to hover near her arm, but doesn't touch. She glances at him, silver eyes harsh, but doesn't say a word, turning to the older man in the room.

"He's still recovering and I-"

"Not in a good shape either." Fury cuts off and Steve once again takes note on the blood covering her pants, the bruise swelling up one side of her face. He knows it hurts when she moves her arm. She tries to keep it discreet, doesn't ever tell a soul for the past hours, but he learns the signs.

"Maria-" He starts, before she watches her hutches down, a little; young line of creases forming when she scrunches up her nose in agitation.

"It's not safe, Cap."

"It never is." He urges, keeping his volume low and calm. "You don't have to come with me. I can take care of myself."

"Right. Just like when we're stuck in Thailand."

He doesn't hesitate, but he lets a moment linger. What happened in Thailand is mostly a collection of hazy memory through a heated day, chattering locals and his brain pounding so hard in his head he thinks there's a remote chance it's going to explode. But he also remembers her, in the midst of white noises, standing guard of him, and making piece with the villagers as she tries to manoeuvre their way out of there while he lies there, resting helplessly to merely watch. (He gets up, sure, eventually, but that's only after they've argued for hours on it.) "Maria."

"I don't want you to-"

"I won't." He stares back into her, hardening the lines on his expression. Kind of like Bucky all over again, he briefly recalls, but just like Bucky again, he knows she means well. "I won't get myself killed."

"All of you are always getting yourself killed. It's in your DNA," she spares a glare towards the rest of the Avengers at the background, from Barton who's sleeping atop the boxes that were stacked together to Thor balancing his hammer on his palm with a half-tired grin.

"I'm a big boy, Hill."

She snorts. "Don't tell me you're a big boy. Tell me I'm not making the wrong decision."

"You don't have to take care of me." It starts to annoy him then, but Steve maintains his cool. That's all he could do. She stares at him, for a long time.

"Okay." She nods once, affirming seriously and turns her back against him. Steve swallows.

"Maria-"

"Don't die," she bites out, and follows Fury out.

...

Somehow, through everything, he only hears her. Maybe because it's the shouting. And the cursing. (She curses a lot. That, he knows.) And she's going down, that's what she said. She says, they're going down. There's too many of them. She can't hold off. And Barton- she screams, and from Steve's side, Natasha pales, knowing that they'd lost contact with Hawkeye when the third explosion drops.

"I'm sure he's alright," Sam comforts with a squeeze to the Widow's forearm, but Steve presses the comm deeper into his hearing, felt his heart jumps to his throat.

There's a still silence for a minute. Just a minute. Maybe less than that, but the tension expands. Hours. Centuries. Infinities. Until she grunts, and the sound of her harsh breathing meeting the comm comes through. She's talking to Fury, nodding and swallowing he imagines, repeating, "Sir. Sir. Yes, sir. I will."

Before: "S-Steve?"

She pants, and Steve closes his eyes, ducks his head down. His throat dries up, and all that he could think of is her words of 'don't die' playing on loop in his head, again and again and again, like a curse; he realises a second later on how he never said those words back to her, and how he should've have. Should've have.

"I can't move." She reports, slowly, keeping her voice steady even though he knows that she knows he could detect the whimper hidden at the back of her throat. "My legs are stuck. I can't-" She pauses and Steve hears his chest cracks, his head aches, "I'm sorry."

"Maria-"

"I'm glad it's my last call. Leaving you." She swallows, he knows, probably toppling her head back and groaning in the pain that must've eaten her leg alive. "I'm glad you're all safe."

He doesn't answer her.

"Tell Romanoff I'm sorry I've lost eye on Barton, but he's too stubborn to die so just lure him out with pizza or a sandwich. He'll show up." A pause. "He always does."

Natasha's eyes shone with tears, but it doesn't fall. "You're not dying, Hill."

"The place'll explode. Two minutes, tops. I'm too close to the source. And if I don't die from the explosion, the oxygen's..." She breathes in, harshly, "The oxygen level's dropping and the smoke-" She coughs, twice, nastily. "Steve." She finally voices out weakly and he quickly switches it to a private line, knowing they don't need extra ears to hear for this, although knowing Tony, the plan's not exactly bulletproof, "I can't move."

"Just..." He finds his voice, hand searches for his shield."Stay there, alright. I'm coming. I'm coming for you."

"Fucking don't." She coughs. "Don't, Rogers. S'not worth it."

"Damn you, Maria. Who the hell decide your life's not worth it." He frowns, ducking his head down so Sam wouldn't see the tears that's glistening on his blue orbs. "I'm coming for you, end of discussion."

"The clock's running out on me, Cap." She tells, "Yours aren't; so, stand. Down."

"I'm not-" He purses his lips, pressing his fingers against his eyeballs. "I'm not going to just leave you out there alone. I'm going to try."

She coughs again, heavier this time, and he winces, grabs hold of his shield. Sam's patting on his gears, nodding loyally when Steve searches for him. She hisses, "I'm not alone."

He pauses.

"You're here, aren't you, Cap? We're talking right now."

"That's not-"

"Don't come for me. It's okay. Stand down." He hears she exhales, and he doesn't know what hurts worse. This conversation, or the fact he can't seem to move. At all. "It's okay," she repeats. "I'm okay."

"Maria-" His voice breaks, and Steve bites into his tongue.

"I'm glad it's my last call. I'm glad you're not dead."

"Maria-"

"Thank you, Cap."

The line dies.