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“So, you’re saying I don’t have anything to worry about?”
Natasha scrunches her nose and shakes her head.
“You have a lot of things to worry about, Steve, but this isn’t one of them.”
Steve peers out into the dark sky beyond the windshield. It’s amazing how bright the stars are at this altitude, when all the external lights are off, and the city is shimmering orange circuit board, way down below.
“I dunno. I just feel… concerned. It’s not usually this long before—”
“Look, Steve, she’s a big girl,” Natasha cuts in. “You know how strong she is. She can take care of herself. She just needs the chance to build up her confidence a little.”
Steve just shrugs in a suppose-you’re-right kind of way.
“You’ve gotta trust that she’ll be OK,” Natasha adds, a little gentler this time. “She’s learned a lot from you.”
Steve glances to his left, where Natasha lounges next to him, frowning at her phone. She’s resting one boot on the control panel – a habit he has long since learned to live with – and swinging the other just above the cockpit floor, while slurping something utterly mystifying from a cup with a straw in it.
As she leans forward, strands of her recently-bleached hair fall in her face, tinged bluish in the low light of the cabin. It’s a good look on her, Steve notes with a surge of fondness. Harsher than the red, maybe, but then they’re all a little sharper now. A little leaner. A little lighter on their feet.
“You’ve been good for her too, you know,” he says.
He doesn’t say it to catch her out, but he can see the compliment was unexpected. She turns her face downwards to hide her smile and goes back to fiddling with the device in her hand.
They’re cruising for now, right on the edges of the atmosphere, high above the radar. They should give it a couple more hours before they try to land. As they always do sooner or later, Steve’s thoughts begin to drift to his stomach.
“Next time we stop, we gotta get some fresh food,” he says. “I really don’t think I can face another noodle.”
“Roger, Rogers.”
He doesn’t bother to acknowledge the mock salute she’s bound to be aiming his way. Instead he casts his eye over the instruments and reaches out to adjust the screen to his right. Wakandan planes are even more intuitive to fly than the Quinjets, and to be perfectly honest, the gadgets are a lot cooler.
“Hey, could you throw me a bottle of water?” he says.
There’s no reply. He glances sideways at Natasha, who looks up at him and glares.
“Get if yourself! I’m not your wife.”
He raises an eyebrow at her.
“What?” Natasha tries to maintain her air of irritation.
“You’re my—”
“What?” Her mouth twitches at the corner.
“Work. Wife.”
“Ooooh!” she says, amused. There’s a shuffling sound from the cabin in the back, which prompts her to speak a little louder. “Don’t let Sam hear you say that.”
“Lemme hear you say what?”
Sam’s voice is thick and croaky with sleep. Steve glances over his shoulder to see him emerge squinting from the doorway in track pants and a tank top, scratching one hand across his stomach
“Hey, Sam! Could you throw me a bottle of water, buddy?”
“Oh. Sure, man.”
Sam grabs a bottle from the bag and sends it spinning through the air towards the cockpit, into Steve’s waiting hand. Steve and Natasha exchange a secret smirk.
“Where we at?” Sam asks, sliding into the seat behind Natasha.
“Over London.”
He shrugs.
“OK. Because…?”
“It’s been a while,” Natasha answers. She seems airy enough, but there’s something else in her tone that pricks Steve’s ears.
They’ve spent so much time in close quarters that he can read her pretty well now. Maybe it’s because he’s got used to her tells, but he thinks it’s actually that she’s long ago stopped bothering to hide them. Whether through affection, or respect, or just plain necessity, the trust they’ve evolved is absolute.
With Sam it came easier – they just recognised something in each other straight away and ran with it. These days Steve can’t imagine being without the others. He would go it alone, of course, if he had to, but he can admit now that he’s glad it’s not like that.
Both Nat and Sam have had plenty of calls to make along the way, but for better or for worse, they keep on throwing their lot in with Steve. It makes his chest swell every time he thinks about it. Sam reminds him of Bucky: a voice of reason some days, a devil on his shoulder on others. And honestly, neither of them would last long on the lam without Natasha Romanoff.
“Anything going down, widow?” says Sam.
“Looks like Raqqa. A week, maybe ten days from now.”
Sam looks impressed. “You got an in?”
Natasha gives a small nod, and Sam grins back.
“That’s my girl.”
Steve catches the mood immediately. The gut-level thrill at the prospect of a high-stakes mission, of being exactly the people for the job.
“You’d be surprised how excited seasoned operatives get at the idea of helping out the mythical dissident former Captain America,” Natasha says.
Sam shakes his head. “The ol’ Steve Rogers effect, huh?”
“Oh yeah,” replies Natasha. “This guy’s the hottest rumour on the intel scene since the Winter Soldier.”
That one gets a wry smile out of Steve. They’ve reached the stage where no humour is too dark between them. And the truth is, he’s happier being closer to the ground, where the real work is done. He can have more impact out here with a small, elite team than he ever could have on the world stage, performing for the cameras and sitting around waiting for duty to call.
It’s actually almost like being back with the Howling Commandos again. Strange to think that those old memories are still some of his happiest, despite the rough conditions and the constant danger. He used to think that the reason he missed those days so much was because he was with Bucky all the time, but then Sam told him he felt the same way about Afghanistan, and he realised it was something else, too. The bonds you forge in these circumstances run far beyond friendship.
Steve glances over at his team. His friends. His people. One in efficient black tactical gear, the other barefoot in sweats and an undershirt, as they peer at a phone screen and start knocking a plan together. The sight of them floods him with warmth.
Between them they’ve been through more violence and brutality than you’d think a human spirit could endure. But if that pain doesn’t swallow you, it’s a hell of a galvanizer. Together, they keep on finding ways to use their battle-hardness to keep swinging the balance of power away from the bullies of the world.
It feels good.
“No word from Lil’ Red?” Sam asks.
“Not yet,” Natasha replies. Her voice is a little clipped, as if she’s been asked this question too many times already.
“You think she’s alright? Feels like she’s been gone a long time.”
“I’m sure she’s fine, OK? She’ll be back soon.”
There it is. It’s in her voice, and the way she grips her phone. Steve narrows his eyes at her, only half-incredulous and not at all surprised.
“You’re tracking her.”
Natasha doesn’t even flinch.
“Oh, like you’re not delighted to hear it.”
“Nat!” Steve reacts mainly out of habit, because part of him could kiss her for it. “That’s like… reading her diary, or something.”
“Relax, it’s not like I’m listening in. YOU didn’t even want her to start leaving by herself!”
This isn’t an argument worth having, Steve quickly realises. Especially when he’s on such shaky ground. He drops the conversational baton and fiddles with the controls unnecessarily.
“So that’s what we’re doing out here,” Sam says.
“Just… I dunno.” Natasha’s voice softens a little. “Just wanted us to be nearby. In case there’s a… problem.”
Something protective flares violently in Steve’s chest.
“I thought you just told me she could take care of herself,” he snaps.
Natasha sighs and rolls her eyes, in that way she does when she thinks he’s being obtuse.
“Not with this kind of problem.”
There’s a full five second pause, during which Steve cycles through a whole range of potential enemy-related, logistical and practical issues, until he finally puts it together. A day or two’s absence at first, growing to a week at a time, or even longer. The particular kind of glow about their youngest team-mate, every time she comes back. How could he not have noticed?
“She’s with a guy?”
“Woah,” says Sam, raising his eyebrows. Natasha just answers him with a warning look.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Steve asks.
“Why didn’t she tell you, you mean.”
Steve doesn’t reply. It’s a fair question.
“Look, you can stand down,” Natasha says, a little kinder. "He’s… nice.”
“…But you think he’s gonna upset her?”
“I’ll kick his ass,” says Sam, giving voice to Steve’s instincts.
“Guys!” Natasha throws her hands up. “This is exactly why she didn’t want you to know!”
Steve exchanges a look with Sam, like two kids trying to blame each other for starting something.
Wanda had admittedly been pretty short on options once they cleared the Raft, but her place on their team was never in doubt. Her compassion was just as much of an asset as her power and determination.
And besides, something in Steve just wanted to keep her close. Natasha was the same.
“I didn’t say that,” Natasha goes on. “I just think it could get a little… complicated.”
“Alright then,” Sam says, leaning back in his chair. “Next stop, tissues and Cookie Dough.”
Natasha smiles, and so does Steve. The tension evaporates as quickly as it appeared. Who has time for grudges?
There was a long time after Steve woke up where he didn’t think he would find this kind of acceptance again. He assumed it would be a memory for him, buried in the past with Bucky and everything else. But incredibly, thanks to some terrible miracle, he got Bucky back. And then, somewhere between DC and Sokovia and Leipzig and the bottom of the sea and up above the Middle East at 65,000 feet, a new sense of belonging caught up with him.
Best to keep moving. He realises now. The forward momentum takes the itch out of his skin.
As a sick child he stared at the same four walls for long enough to last him even a super-enhanced lifetime, and he’s done with doing nothing. He wants to be where he’s needed. Using what he’s got.
When Sam told him one time that ‘home is home,’ he was talking about Brooklyn. But 21st century Brooklyn wasn’t Steve’s home, really, and even in the 30s, he always felt like he was too much for the place. By the time he left in 1943, his mom was long gone, and Bucky was away at the war, and he never really looked back.
When his body grew, his restlessness grew with it. First with the USO and then with the Army, he got used to living on the road, never staying still for too long, or dwelling too much. He was four thousand miles away from Brooklyn, leaning over a gurney in a dank enemy weapons facility, when he properly understood that for him, home wasn’t a place at all.
“So, you think we’ll be clear for a while? Before Syria?” Steve asks, as he brings the plane around for another loop. As soon as he says it he knows he’s being obvious.
Sam is on his case straight away. “Why’s that, man? You getting lonesome?”
“He wants to pay another visit to the real Mrs Rogers,” Natasha grins. “What’s it been, Steve? Two whole weeks?”
Steve’s smile is completely involuntary. Of course he wants to see Bucky. He always does. It’s still hard to believe that Bucky should be here, and that they should have this chance to pick up the threads of the way they were and weave them into a whole new love.
Bucky may not be ready to join them yet, but knowing he’s out there, that he’s safe and healing, keeps Steve grounded in a way he never could be while Bucky was gone. He fights now with purpose instead of desperation. Natasha even says his sense of self-preservation has improved.
If it wasn’t for Shuri’s insistence that Bucky needs space to recover properly, Steve thinks he might have a hard time prioritising the covert missions that seem to keep coming their way over hunkering down in a cabin in rural Wakanda and making up for decades of lost time.
Until Bucky can come with them, obviously.
“Are you gonna shave before we get back?” Natasha asks, her voice full of mischief.
“You gotta get a new outfit, at least,” says Sam. “No offence, but that thing is getting nasty.”
Steve snorts. His cheeks still warm slightly at this kind of talk. Not because he can’t laugh at himself, but because he’s not quite used to this level of openness. It still feels strangely exciting to hear them talking so casually about the way he and Bucky are, like it’s normal.
He theatrically coughs over his retort.
“What was that, Cap?”
Keeping his eyes straight ahead, Steve lets a smirk encroach on his face. “I said.” He pauses. “Bucky likes it.”
He gives them a sly, sidelong look. Sam grimaces, and Natasha goes wide-eyed with glee.
“What, the beard, or the suit?”
“Both.” Then he mutters, almost to himself, “He was always into the suit.”
“Oh my God.” Natasha claps a hand to her mouth in delight.
Sam drops his face into his hands. “Damn. I knew that motherfucker was dirty.”
It's not even one of his best lines, but it's enough. Natasha cracks up laughing. The others can't help but join in, and they make each other laugh harder and harder, until they’re bordering on hysteria, and all the absurdity of their situation comes bursting out of them in great, joyous convulsions.
Laughing like this might be the thing that gets them through, Steve thinks. It’s like sitting around the warm stove in his tenement kitchen with Bucky and his ma, while they take turns to rile him up. It’s like sitting around a fire with Bucky, Dugan, Jones and the rest, trading one-liners that nobody back in the US would expect to hear from the mouth of Captain America. It’s the way their bond has solidified into something indestructible.
Steve laughs until his eyes are streaming and his faces aches and his ribs hurt. It’s such a relief.
This is so far from anything he could have imagined, back when he was trying to lie his way into the Army, but it’s somehow still everything he wanted. To fight a good fight. To find a place among good people, and love Bucky out in the open. He’s useful. Free. Maybe even…
There’s a buzzing in the back.
Steve picks up the ringing sound first, but it takes a second for the significance of it to kick in. The laughter trails off, and the next time, Natasha hears it too. Their eyes meet in a split second of cold recognition.
She’s out of her chair before Steve can get past her, across the cabin and rummaging in Steve’s duffel bag. When she pulls out her arm, she’s clutching the ringing flip phone.
“Here!” Steve yells, throwing up a hand, and knocking the controls in his haste.
The jet pitches to the left.
“Shit!”
Natasha falls against the wall of the aircraft, fumbling the phone in her hand. As Steve sits himself back down, she answers.
“It’s Romanoff.”
Steve rights the jet and turns to stare at her, half out of his seat. Sam’s on his feet, staring too.
“…Bruce?”
“It’s Banner?”
“Sssh!”
Under the dim cabin lighting, her face looks even paler than usual. She blinks repeatedly.
“Bruce… slow down. I…”
She looks up at Steve, eyes widening, openly shellshocked. The hair on the back of Steve’s neck prickles. His hands close into fists.
“Stark and the kid? Who’s—”
Steve and Sam look helplessly at each other, then back to Natasha.
“Turn around!” she yells, gesticulating to Steve in mad circles and pointing upward. “Turn around! Go north!”
Steve complies. The rest of her conversation is lost under the roar of jets, as the plane banks steeply.
“Trouble?” asks Sam, as they stumble towards the cockpit
“C’mon,” she says, shoving Sam into the co-pilot’s seat and buckling up behind. “You fly, I’ll talk.”
Some people are at their happiest when they can block out the dangers and injustices of the world for a while. And then there are those who aren’t really happy unless they’re doing something about them.
Steve’s body tightens as the adrenaline surges. He glances from Sam to Natasha and sees them right there with him; two pairs of steely eyes glinting, and alert. Nobody’s smiling but their blood is up: battle mode is kicking in.
He’d go it alone, of course, if he had to. But the great thing is that he doesn’t have to.
He pushes the jet up to full speed.
“Where we heading?” Sam asks.
Natasha checks her tracker. “Edinburgh, Scotland.”
“OK,” says Sam, as he sets the flight path. “Let’s go get our girl.”