Chapter 2

Once again, Steve was wrong. (When it came to Natalie, he was beginning to sense a trend.) The very next day she texted him, and without even mentioning their previous conversation, asked if he wanted to go to the Smithsonian with her. Steve didn't really want to because of the new exhibit they had about him, but he didn't want her to think he was still angry either, so he just agreed. They spent an hour at the museum, with Natalie teasing him relentlessly most of the time. The only time she didn't was when they were standing in front of the memorial to Bucky. Then she just looked at Steve like she wanted to say something and then looked down.

He considered telling her what he was thinking – but then he didn't.

It wasn't so much that he had changed his mind, it was more that, once his anger and embarrassment had cooled somewhat, he realized that he did feel a little better for having told her. Not drastically so, but he no longer felt so alone. He felt as if a burden had been, if not taken off his shoulders, significantly lightened.

Still, telling Natalie about everything else he thought and felt… he couldn't do that. So even as time went by, he kept his admissions to a minimum. He told her when his PTSD made his grip on hope just a little too precarious. He called her to hang out when he needed distracting from his own brain. He told her about his missions (concealing the classified information, of course) and injuries, and in turn she tried to help him take better care of himself. It turned out she was a wizard with first aid supplies, so on the rare occasion when he needed stitches and, inevitably, messed them up, she fixed them for him.

He got comfortable texting her and peppering the messages with too many emojis, just to pester her. She retaliated with cryptic messages in Russian characters. He never bothered translating them.

Steve should have seen it coming, he really should have, but he tended to forget how closely SHIELD was watching him, even with an agent playacting as his neighbor. So when, after a mission debriefing, Fury didn't dismiss him but instead steepled his fingers and leaned forward at his desk, Steve had no idea what to expect.

"Sit down, Cap."

Steve did. When he'd first met Fury, he'd thought the man seemed like a military commander. Now, Steve no longer felt the same. The Director had the composure and authority of a general, but there was an underlying sharpness and slyness that made Steve uncomfortable. He knew Fury trusted no one, and because of that, he didn't trust Fury.

"What is it, sir?" he asked, pressing his hands together so he didn't start fidgeting.

"That woman you've been hanging out with," Fury said, as if it couldn't be anything else. Steve's stomach dropped and he fought down irrational panic. They couldn't take her away from him, could they? "We've vetted her and we have a few concerns." He began rattling off a list before Steve could react. "Her mom has dropped off the map, no one knows who her dad was. We can't reach her college professors because two are dead, one is on vacation, and the rest simply refuse to talk about her. Her former husband is dead too, and everyone connected with him is strangely uncooperative, even when given incentive to talk." Fury leaned back and spread his hands. "You sure you should trust her, Rogers?"

Steve felt a hot anger searing up his spine and tingling in his ears, a feeling he'd almost forgotten over the past year. He'd be damned if he let this stupid agency tell him who he could and couldn't trust when he couldn't even trust them. He crossed his arms and retorted, "You sure you should pry into my private life, Fury? I trust her more than I trust you, I can tell you that much, and you'd need a hell of a lot more evidence against her to change that."

Fury's eyebrows drew in on his forehead, but other than that, he didn't look too concerned. "You oughta listen to me. I've been in this business for over thirty years, I know when something isn't right, and her? There's something going on there and I don't think you need to get involved with that."

"Is that an order, sir?" Steve asked, biting off the ends of the words, feeling his mouth trying to curve into a bitter smirk.

Fury looked at him for a long, quiet moment. Then he shook his head. "No. If I thought you'd listen, maybe it would be. For now I think we're just going to put a more specialized agent in your apartment building." The Director pulled out a cell phone that was even thinner and sleeker than Steve's confusing new smartphone and tapped the screen a few times. Steve suddenly didn't have anything to do with his anger but seethe silently. Sitting still was nigh on impossible.

After another moment of silence, the door to Fury's office hissed open, and the Director said, "Meet your new neighbor."

Steve turned around fully prepared to dislike whoever stepped through the door, so he was almost angry when Clint Barton strode through the door. He couldn't hate Barton, Barton was a decent guy and an Avenger. He'd hoped it could be someone like Grant Ward, someone gruff and harsh and a little too quick on the trigger. Then he'd be able to hate them and feel fine about not reporting in when he was supposed to.

Barton sauntered over and shot Steve a smile, and it was almost scary how the smile changed him: he went from looking like a gang member to a suburban dad in seconds. Then the smile was gone and he sat down on the chair next to Steve's. "Captain."

"Agent Barton."

"I want you to take over Agent 13's post," Fury said to Barton, almost ignoring Steve now. "The Captain has a friend I don't trust. Agent 13 is competent, but she's only there to keep an eye on him. She's reported the potential threat, now I need you to go in and monitor it."

"Natalie's not an it," Steve snapped fiercely. "She's not a threat, she's a person, and I don't need a bodyguard." He glanced at Barton. "No offense."

"None taken." The agent smiled a little and stretched. "I'm on it, Nick. Thanks."

"Good. You're both dismissed."

Steve stood first, trying to get out of the room as fast as he could without running. He didn't want to talk to Barton. He didn't even want to think about all this. He wanted to go home and forget all about this stupid job of his and its implications. Now he couldn't even choose his friends? Apparently not, not without SHIELD butting in and reminding him that Captain America had to be kept safe, Captain America had to pick suitable people to spend time with, Captain America needed a goddamn bodyguard.

He made it out the door before Barton, but the archer grabbed his shoulder before he could take off. Only good manners kept Steve from ripping his arm free and running as fast as he could as far as he could. "What?" he growled.

"Hey, man, chill. Let me talk to you for a minute, okay?"

Steve clenched his fists but turned halfway to look at Barton. "I'm listening."

"I'm not gonna pretend this isn't invasive, Rogers. It is, big time. Fury's concerns are legitimate, but I'm inclined to think your friend's just trying to start over after that husband of hers. So you don't have to worry about me harping on you about her being dangerous. This is my first assignment since that shitstorm earlier this year, and I don't wanna ruin this, so try not to make things too hard for me and I won't pry into your business too much. That's all I can do for you, okay? We clear?"

Steve slumped a little and nodded. "Yeah, I get it."

Barton clapped his shoulder reassuringly. "This could be good, Rogers. Just pretend I'm your new neighbor, we'll bond over sports, and I'll make sure to put an arrow through anyone trying to hurt you. No big deal."

Sighing, Steve nodded and finally pulled away. He couldn't stay angry at Barton when the guy decided to act like this, but he wasn't going to be pals with him either. "See you later, neighbor." He left, trying to keep from snapping at everyone who spoke to him.

He didn't know what to tell Natalie. Should he just be honest and admit that SHIELD had gone through her history and acquaintances? Or did he try to pretend that everything was fine?

There wasn't really a choice. However much he wanted her in his life, however much he not only valued but needed her friendship, he couldn't let SHIELD spy on her without her knowledge, without giving her a chance to get out. She'd never agreed to a violation of her privacy, so it wasn't fair of him to pretend that SHIELD hadn't gone digging.

He thought over the problem as he drove home, trying to think how to tell her, how to explain this. A part of him was trying to find a way to spin it so it wouldn't sound as bad as it was – a part of him wanted to try to ensure that she wouldn't be scared off, or that if she was, she would come back.

He didn't pay those thoughts any mind, except to be disgusted by them. He hoped he'd never be so desperate for friendship that he'd manipulate people and twist the truth to hang on to it. That wasn't who he was, but sometimes he felt himself slipping – less often these days, but he still did. It was usually worse after he visited Peggy.

Peggy.

The first time he'd gone to see her, he'd been quietly terrified. They said she had dementia and explained what that might mean, even though he could already guess. She was old and tired and stretched thin, they said. She'd gotten married and had a few children. At first he'd been afraid that if she saw him, it would shock her too much. Maybe it would be dangerous for her health. But when he first went to see her, she thought he was a dream. Nothing he could say convinced her he wasn't until he sat down and took her hand. Then the tears started, and the shocked, surprisingly lucid questions, and he did his best to soothe her and hold back his own tears. After that visit though, sometimes she remembered him, sometimes it was like the first time she was seeing him all over again, sometimes she didn't even know who he was. Those were the worst days, but at least he had her still. At least he had someone.

But then as time went on and Peggy got worse, not better, Steve found himself visiting less often, because every day that she forgot who he was, forgot who she had been, he felt a part of himself breaking and disappearing. He wasn't sure how to stop it, but he couldn't stand to lose that last connection to his past. So he asked the nurses to message him on her more lucid days so he could come when she would remember – he came sometimes on her worse days, too, but on those days he left feeling like he'd been drowning the whole time. That made him feel guilty, but he couldn't stand to push himself to do better.

He didn't know if he would like who he was in this new century. He didn't know if he could be himself anymore when all anybody wanted was Captain America.

Except Natalie.

He pulled into the parking lot of his apartment complex and parked his motorcycle, pocketing the keys and letting out a sigh. Now that he was home, he didn't really have an excuse not to tell Natalie what had happened.

Only once he got in his apartment he saw a thousand things that ought to be cleaned or fixed or reorganized. He knew full well by now that cleaning compulsively was a nervous habit that he used to effectively put off things he didn't want to do, but it didn't matter that he knew what he was doing – he did it anyway. He vacuumed the floor and threw out some spoiled leftovers and reorganized his bedroom closet and the cabinets under his bathroom sink and then he washed the covers of the couch cushions and only then did he force himself to stop and text Natalie.

Steve: Hey

Nat: Hey!

What's up?

The prices at the diner.

Well that's awful. You busy?

Liho says yes. I'm not though, she's just mad I'm ignoring her. Whatcha need?

Idk how to say this really.

Well that sounds ominous. Just say it and I'll yell at you about phrasing later.

Not helping.

He hesitated, closed his eyes, let out a groaning sigh, and typed out the issue.

SHIELD's been checking up on you. They dug up a lot of stuff about you and your past.

A long pause. Five minutes. Steve's heart did a vicious tap routine against the inside of his chest.

How rude of them. Did they discover my secret alien origins?

Steve laughed.

Nope, those are safe. I'm sorry though, Nat, they went and questioned people about your husband and your professors and everything. They said they didn't think I should trust you.

I see.

Another, longer, pause. Steve debated sending another text – did she expect him to have more to say? He considered telling her about Barton, but the whole point of Barton being there was that no one would know he was. So he left that part out.

Why didn't they think I was trustworthy?

They didn't really have any good reasons. They just didn't like how none of your husband's acquaintances would talk to them. Or how a lot of the people you knew are unavailable to talk to, I guess.

Those are dumb reasons. Anyway, why's it their business?

Steve rubbed his face and sighed. It wasn't SHIELD's business, really, but at the same time he understood. He was an employee of the world's biggest, most technologically advanced spy organization, and unfortunately he was also Captain America. He was in a prime position for someone to get a foothold in the organization and, potentially, get rid of him.

Still, that didn't give them a right to his life or the lives of his friends.

Because I work for them and I know a lot of big top-secret things, Rushman.

Touché.

That is pretty rude of them. But as long as you're properly annoyed at them, it's not a big deal. I really shouldn't have expected anything less.

So you aren't mad?

Oh, I'm furious. Just not at you. Or even at SHIELD. I'm mad at Liho because she just stole a piece of my BACON.

Steve laughed, a barking sound that let out all his pent-up worry about the situation in one breath. From there, he and Nat's conversation dissolved into a debate over whether or not Liho deserved to keep the bacon for being devious enough to steal it or whether she deserved to be utterly shunned for ten minutes with no petting.

He had rarely been so relieved to have a meaningless conversation.

…

Barton moved into the apartments a few weeks later, and the first time Steve ran into him in the hallway, Barton acted properly shocked and amazed to have Captain America as a neighbor, dropped a few suitcases, laughed awkwardly, and said his name was Joe. He was wearing a Yankees jersey, so Steve did his patriotic duty and engaged in some good old-fashioned trash talk about baseball. Barton was playing his part so well that Steve wasn't sure if he was actually a Yankees fan or had just done his research really thoroughly.

Afterwards, though, as Steve helped him carry his things into his apartment (because he might as well), Barton took a break to offer him a beer and comment, "You really hate the whole Captain America thing, don't you?"

"I… What?" Steve blinked, surprised, taking the proffered bottle of beer from the archer.

Barton laughed sympathetically and pried open his own beer. "It's really obvious, man. At least to me. Everyone at SHIELD says when people ask you for autographs and things you're really tense and quiet, which they just figure is because fangirls are scary, but when I came up and did the whole "Captain America fanboy" thing, you got the most uncomfortable look on your face. What is it, the attention or the name, that gets you?"

Steve raised an eyebrow and sipped his beer. "Just because you're my neighbor now doesn't make it your business, Barton." The archer nodded, but he was grinning, so Steve sighed and shrugged. "Both, I guess. I don't like how everyone seems to think they have a right to my life because I'm a 'superhero'. And…" He paused, glanced at Barton, and sighed. "I don't like the title either, no. I used to be proud of it, but now it's like I have to represent a country I don't understand anymore, and people like Tony Stark judge me without even knowing me. It's exhausting."

Barton nodded, and it actually looked like he understood. "Sometimes I really am glad I'm the least interesting Avenger," he joked. "Nobody cares what Clint Barton is up to or what he does in his spare time, but everyone wants to see what you and Tony are doing. At least Tony thrives on the attention – he's a little crazy, I think."

"He really is," Steve said, shaking his head, chuckling half-heartedly. "Even more so than his dad."

"Well yeah. If your dad had been partially responsible for giving Captain America his powers, you'd be pretty keen on getting out from under his shadow too. Tony may not have created any new superheroes, but he's turned himself into one, so I think he's doing alright." Barton winked. "Sorry. I guess you're kinda stuck with all this, aren't you?"

Steve shrugged. He was, in more ways than one, but he wasn't going to make an issue of it now. "It's good." They finished their beers and went back to moving Barton's things into the apartment, leaving Steve with a few new things to think about and maybe even someone new to talk to.

He didn't tell Natalie about any of it. He only barely mentioned his new neighbor. He still didn't feel that it was right to blow Barton's cover just because he knew that Natalie was trustworthy. That wouldn't be fair to Barton, nor would it be prudent anyway. Natalie didn't need to know any more about his dealings with SHIELD than necessary – he was aware that people might try to leverage her against him.

That was something he refused to think about. How many other people, he often wondered wryly, had to worry about their friends being spied on, kidnapped, or scared off by their mental issues? Probably almost no one. But he had to actively avoid imagining what would happen if Natalie, fierce but small and delicate, was interrogated or held hostage by people who wanted things, from him or SHIELD or the government. It made him angry that SHIELD had given him another guard but hadn't tried to give Nat extra protection. Maybe he should talk to them about that.

But he didn't. He didn't think he was being so obvious with his friendship with Natalie that it was common knowledge, and he knew that she was already a little paranoid due to her history. If anything really was wrong, she would tell him (he'd made her promise to).

He ended up regretting that view of things.

…

"Alright, Cap, whatever," Clint chuckled, straightening his shirt sleeves. "It's not like I wanted to wear this, but I have a reputation to build."

"What, as my dad?" Steve retorted, laughing.

"No, but you're close. Come on, who questions a badly-dressed suburban dad with a man-crush on Captain America? This is a good disguise."

The archer was wearing a stained shirt that read "Best Dad Ever!" in scrawling letters, with stick figure people around them. Steve wasn't sure if those stains were real if they were part of the disguise, but Clint was pulling off the "dad" look really well. To the point of hilarity. The two of them had taken to hanging out regularly, ostensibly so that Steve could check in with Clint and give him a report, but by now they really only did the check-in when they got back to the apartment building, because it turned out that they had more interests in common than anyone could have expected.

"It's a good disguise, but terrible fashion," Steve teased. "Nat would march you off to the nearest department store if she saw you."

Clint's smile changed mid-laugh, and he pointed at Steve as if coming to a realization. "Alright, that's it. I wasn't convinced but this… Twenty-seven separate times in three hours, Steve. Twenty-seven. Different topics. I tried really hard to stick to unrelated things but every single time…"

"What?" Steve blinked, confused.

"You have brought up Natalie Rushman in relation to something in conversation twenty-seven times. I mean, we were talking about the Dodgers and you brought her up and she isn't even a baseball fan!"

"Yeah…?" Steve got a sinking feeling. This felt way too much like the times Bucky used to try to set him up with a girl that would probably end up ignoring him for an hour. "She's my friend. Kind of my only one."

"Fair point, Cap. Fair point. But all I'm saying is that you get a really stupid smile when you talk about her. And you got pretty defensive of her to Fury for someone who's just a friend."

Steve bristled. "What, people normally don't defend their friends from having their privacy violated?"

He actually wasn't sure how to feel about Clint's assumption. Part of him was angry that his intentions had been so misrepresented, embarrassed about the shade of red he knew his whole face would be turning, and regretting the number of times he'd let on that Clint's comments made him think about Natalie. The rest of him was extremely confused. He still wasn't over Peggy, he was pretty sure about that – that wound still throbbed when he prodded it. He didn't think he was good for Natalie, in any way, an assessment she would likely disagree with if she knew, but still. She was divorced, and worse still, her ex-husband had abused her and practically made her a prisoner, so even if… even if… Steve stopped himself there and crossed his arms.

"There's nothing there, Clint. I just don't have anyone else to-"

His phone rang, and with an annoyed huff and a glare at Clint to keep him from saying anything, he answered it. It was Natalie. He didn't let the archer see the screen – no need to give him any more excuses to tease.

"Hello?"

"Steve, I could use a little help." Natalie's voice was a hiss of breath, harsh and insistent.

"What? Why? What's wrong?" Steve shot Clint a worried look and mouthed "Natalie." Clint caught on and nodded, smile melting into an almost-frightening look of concentration.

"There are kind of… some guys. In my house."

"Okay, I'll be right there. Where are you, how can you be calling?"

"I locked myself in my room and then pushed the dresser in front of the door. Now I'm in the bathroom and I locked myself in here too."

"Nice. Okay. I'll be there, okay? Just hang on. Call 911."

"Yeah, don't have a lot of other options here, Rogers," she snapped. "Hurry up."

Steve tried to gather a response, then shook his head, hung up, and took off running back towards his car.

"What's up?" Clint asked, breaking into a jog himself. "What's happening?"

"There are men in Natalie's apartment. She barricaded herself in her bathroom. We need to go help."

"You sure this isn't a trap?"

Steve scowled and shrugged. "If it is, we might as well spring it and get it over with. But it's not."

Clint nodded. "Alright, good enough for me."

Steve prayed the whole way to Natalie's apartment complex, hands tight on the steering wheel of his car, berating himself for not insisting on some kind of guard or security system or something. Could they even get there in time? What if it was a trap, whether set up by Natalie (not possible) or by the attackers?

"Hey, Cap, it'll be fine," Clint said. When Steve glanced briefly at him, he was startled to see Clint examining a pair of guns. Where had he been hiding those? "If she did any good barricading herself, we'll have at least a few extra minutes. Worst case scenario, we have to chase them down and get her back. No big deal either way."

Steve nodded and pressed down harder on the gas pedal.

When they arrived, he pulled the car to an almost painfully abrupt stop on the street outside the apartment building, and he and Clint jumped out, Clint having made his guns disappear back to wherever he'd been keeping them before. Steve decided it might be prudent for him to start carrying a gun too.

He rushed to the doors and shoved them open, scowling. He wasn't going to let anything happen to Natalie, not now, not ever.

He took the stairs up to Natalie's floor three at a time, Clint cursing but gamely following just a few steps behind. They didn't meet anyone going down, and Steve hoped that meant the men hadn't left yet.

He arrived at Natalie's door, hesitated, then banged on it. It drifted open on its own - apparently the lock had been broken, so he pushed past it. He didn't pause to listen for a reaction to his entrance, he just rushed to her room where, ominously, the door was already open, letting out the sound of rushed, whispered conversation. He let out an angry growl and grabbed hold of the first person he saw, a big, brutish man with hard eyes and a turned-down mouth. Steve dragged him backwards by the shoulders, and the man wrenched free and spun around to fight.

Clint laid into another man, showing a surprising amount of prowess with his hand to hand fighting. Steve had somehow been of the impression that Clint's only strength lay in firing off arrows – not that that would have been a bad thing.

He took brief note of a third thug lying on the floor in the bathroom, and in front of him, Natalie, not moving. Furious and terrified, he redoubled his attack on the man he was fighting and managed to stun him by slamming his head into the bathroom doorframe. A follow-up elbow strike to the back of the head kept his opponent down for a while.

He was about to help Clint when the archer managed to pull out a gun and press it to his man's head. "Alright, genius, give it a rest," Clint snapped. "Sit."

The man sat, and Clint kept the gun to his head the whole time. Steve saw it first, a flick of the attacker's wrist, a subtle move by his waist. "Knife!" he yelled.

Clint fired just as the weapon slid into their prisoner's hand, and there was a howl of fury as a bullet slammed into the man's forearm. The knife clattered right back out of his grasp, and Steve snatched it off the floor as fast as he could, tossing it across the room.

"Check on your girl," Clint ordered, scowling. "I'll try to get something out of this bastard."

Steve stepped over the fallen thug and crouched by Natalie's prone form, clumsily checking her pulse with his two fingers on her neck. It was there, steady and fast. He carefully rolled her over onto her side; she was unconscious. From her bruised knuckles and the downed man lying behind her in the bathroom, he figured she'd fought back – and fought well.

"Nat," he whispered, patting her cheek. She didn't stir. There was a bruising, slightly cut area above her eye where he decided she must have hit her head on the counter, and there were several red marks on her face that he was pretty sure were also going to bruise – they already looked a little purple. A spreading line of blood on her shirt near her hip showed where she must have been swiped by one of the thugs' knives. He didn't think it was severe, but he quickly pushed up the fabric to check – it was a bad cut, but didn't seem to have hit anything important.

All his anger settled to a heavy burn in his chest, leaving him shaking and frightened for her. She was probably fine, but she might not have been. She could have been kidnapped or killed or badly injured or worse.

"Cap, com'ere," Clint called.

Steve hesitated, then stood and strode over. "What?"

Clint nodded to his prisoner. "This dumbass isn't talking."

The thug smiled broadly and chuckled a little. But he didn't say anything. Steve scowled and crossed his arms, feeling the anger rising hot like lava up his throat. "What do we do about that?"

"I wanna take him to SHIELD. Maybe they can get something out of him – the police'll just bungle it. You wanna help me tie these bozos up and I'll take them over the Triskelion in my car?"

"Sure. I can stay with Nat."

Clint raised an eyebrow at him, smiling a little, and Steve huffed an irritated breath but refused to respond otherwise. "Okay, good. The police should be here any time, unless she got interrupted calling."

Steve nodded. "I'll make sure they're coming."

"Maybe see if they can get her to the hospital, too," Clint said, frowning. "Just to be sure she isn't messed up too bad. I don't like that head injury."

"Right." Steve helped the archer find some materials to use to tie up the attackers' ankles, and Clint said he had some SHIELD-issue handcuffs in his car.

"You know, for emergencies." After that, Steve helped cart the three men downstairs, earning some horrified looks from some of the other residents. Clint flashed his SHIELD badge a number of times, always saying something about there having been a break-in and sorry for the intrusion. After he drove off, the thugs safely tied and handcuffed in his backseat and, amusingly, trunk, Steve hurried back up to Natalie's apartment and carried her out of the bathroom to her bed. He found her cellphone on the bathroom floor, screen cracked. When he turned it on, the dial pad blinked with the numbers "91444." Apparently she had been interrupted in the midst of trying to call. He redialed the actual emergency number, running on autopilot and detailing the situation to the operator, who promised to send people right away. Then he hung up and went over to the desk in Nat's room, pulling out the chair and sinking onto it.

She was still out, which wasn't exactly unusual, but which left him lots of room to think. Maybe too much.

He folded his hands tight together in his lap to keep from fidgeting. He'd hurt Natalie again – not directly, this time, but he'd been the cause. And he couldn't stand it. What if she really wasn't okay? Then what? He couldn't keep spending time with her, he couldn't. Not after this.

But they'd go after her anyway. He felt trapped, felt scared, angry, confused, stupid. How could he keep her safe? Maybe now SHIELD would let him have a guard posted in her apartment, but that might not be enough.

Worse, in a way, Clint's assumption that Steve had some kind of feelings for Natalie had gotten harder to ignore. Steve didn't know whether the protective anger in his chest could really be attributed to friendship or whether his terror that Nat might be more badly hurt than he supposed was normal. Maybe both feelings were an indication of something else.

They weren't. He was just tired of having to worry about people taking advantage of him or getting attacked in his own apartment or keeping SHIELD's secrets. At least when he'd been poor and sick in Brooklyn he'd felt able to choose his own course, go where he wanted. He'd been limited by his physical condition and lack of funds, sure, but now that he had a steady income and a near-flawless body he was trapped being what everyone expected him to be.

"Steve?"

He stood so quickly it made him dizzy, rushing over to the side of the bed. Natalie had sat up on her elbows, wincing, and he was quick to press on her shoulder, urging her to lay back down. "Not so fast, Rushman. You have a lump on your head and a cut on your side and I don't know what all else."

She scowled but laid back, her hand going to her head to tentatively feel the injury. "Ow." She closed her eyes for a minute, then opened them again and stubbornly pushed herself back onto her elbows, eyes going straight to the wound on her hip. Instead of freaking out or making a face, she just sighed and lay back down. "So… I take it they're gone?"

"Yeah. I called 911 anyway, to get you to the hospital, and SHIELD took your attackers into custody."

Natalie nodded. Outside, Steve heard wailing sirens. "I'm sorry," she said wryly. "I know you were with your friend, but-"

Steve almost laughed except he knew all too well how she felt. "No, no, don't apologize. Really. What were you supposed to do, let them take you? That would be stupid. It's not like I can't hang out with Joe another time."

Natalie laughed, winced, and scowled. "That sucked."

"Tell me about it," Steve said bitterly.

"You're okay, right?"

Disbelieving, he snorted. "Yeah, Rushman. Fine."

She grinned at him and pushed a hand through her hair. She seemed to be avoiding looking at her knife wound. Which made sense. "You saved my life, Rogers."

He chuckled. "It wasn't a big deal."

"Not a big deal? I was going to be kidnapped, Steve, they were going to-" Finally the shock of what had happened kicked in and she started crying, softly at first then louder. Steve heard a knock on the front door but let the emergency responders let themselves in as he got up, sat down on the edge of Nat's bed, and pulled her into his arms as she cried.

"I'm sorry, Natalie," he said quietly. "I should've known this would happen."

Before she could say anything, an officer in a blue uniform came into the room, taking stock of the situation. "Hello, Captain Rogers. Thanks for giving us a call."

"Hi." Steve nodded awkwardly. "Miss Rushman is injured, is there…?"

"Yes, you told us." The woman gestured behind her to the doorway. "There are EMTs waiting in the living room to take her. Where are the perpetrators?"

"SHIELD took them," Steve said casually. He'd never done this before, but they'd told him what to do. Flash his SHIELD ID, lay it on thick with the "matter of national security" talk, and if necessary pull the Captain America card. He let go of Nat and stood up. "They're in government custody. I can show you my credentials, if you need-?"

"Please."

Steve pulled his ID out of his back pocket and flipped it open for the officer.

"Captain, it's upside down." She was trying really hard not to smile, which he appreciated. Behind him, Natalie laughed shortly.

"Right. Sorry." He turned the ID over, face burning.

"Thank you. This is highly irregular, but it seems that's what we have to expect nowadays."

The paramedics came in, talked to Natalie who insisted on being sassy the whole time, and walked her out because she refused to wait for them to bring up a stretcher. Steve chuckled, nodded along to instructions about how to lock up the house, and walked out behind her in case she fell.

The end result of the whole affair was that Steve valued Clint's friendship more than ever, Natalie only ended up with stitches and a mild concussion, and Steve realized, somewhat to his dismay, that Natalie Rushman was fast becoming his whole world.

A/N: I had to do it. The damsel in distress thing. Don't worry, I'm not by any means suggesting that Nat could be taken down by just three thugs. All will be explained in due time. But for now I needed to establish that Steve definitely has a crush on her.

This story is fast-paced on purpose - originally it was only going to be a one-shot. Mostly I'm jumping between major events of the story with exposition in between. Sorry I've been so much slower than I expected. ;)

Please review. :)