Chapter Text
23:40hrs
New Avengers Facility – Upstate New York
“Still no word from the team, Cap?”
Steve Rogers looked up from cleaning the Harley Davidson parked in front of him to greet his fellow Avengers teammate, Sam Wilson, with a warm smile. “Nothing yet,” he answered, running a polishing rag back and forth diligently across the exterior of the bike.
Taking in the dim surroundings of the deserted aircraft hanger, Sam whistled low in his throat as he peered out into the darkness. “It’s getting late,” he remarked, concern evident on his face. A brief flicker of lightning illuminated enough of the dense forest surrounding the facility to indicate the storm was at its peak, lashing the ground with endless sheets of rain and pummeling the trees with firm gusts of wind. “I’d have thought they’d be back by now.”
Noting the digital clock hanging from the wall in front of him, Steve nodded in agreement, the confirmation of the time only reinforcing the tension already set deep in his shoulders. “They’ll be back soon,” he assured his friend despite his own personal misgivings about the cause of the team’s delay. “They might have been forced to take shelter from the storm. It’s looking pretty nasty out there.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Sam agreed dubiously, shifting back and forth on his heels, his lips skewed slightly to the left in concern.
Steve motioned to his comrade to grab one of the sturdy black containers sitting up against the wall and to come and take a seat beside him. While Sam did so, Steve cast a fleeting look over the neat and evenly spaced tools ascended by size order beside him. Additional sprays, pots and polishing rags awaited his attention – their chemical smell reminding him painfully of long hot summer afternoons spent with Bucky in a local garage learning how to clean spark plugs and change the oil on a motorbike. Life back then, before the war, seemed far less complicated than it was now; days when he yearned for adventure and being a part of something; days when it was he and Bucky against the world.
Now the world and Bucky was against him.
Outside a bolt of lightning tore through the night sky causing the lights to flicker precariously above his work space. What’s taking you so long, Romanoff? Steve mused apprehensively while thunder grumbled menacingly overhead.
Natasha Romanoff and a hand full of S.H.I.E.L.D agents were approaching their fourth hour past curfew. Their mission, according to Agent Hill, was only a reconnaissance mission and should have been completed well and truly before the sun went down. The complete radio silence had been the first indication that something might have gone wrong, and yet despite Steve’s insistence that he check things out, Fury had issued the order to wait it out.
Steve Rogers hated waiting.
Retrieving a dirty spark plug from the blanket beside him, Steve blew into the end of it and examined the object while cleaning it with a grease-stained rag. As Sam settled on the crate beside him, Steve’s thoughts continued to pursue avenues of possible explanations for the team’s delay. I should have gone after them; he berated himself, chewing the inside of his check.
“The bike giving you some trouble, Cap?” Sam queried, dragging Steve from his troubling thoughts. “Seems like you’ve been working on it for a good couple of hours now – you need a hand?”
Reading between the lines of his friends’ concerned question, the Captain sent Sam an assuring and somewhat appreciative smile. “Nah, I think I’ve got a handle on it... but thanks.” He replaced the now clean spark plug easily before moving on to inspect the exhaust gasket, checking for leaks or missing fasteners. “Just requires a little patience is all.”
“Well patience is something that I excel at, so you’re in luck.”
Grinning, Steve shot the man a look of mock disbelief. “Is that so?”
“Yup.” Sam nodded, brilliant white teeth flashing as he grinned roguishly. “I had to be growing up in a family full of girls. I learnt early on you never interrupt a woman while she’s in the bathroom, and you aint never tell her to hurry her ass up unless you’re feeling suicidal.”
Throwing his head back to emit a laugh, Steve momentarily let go of the worry staining his features and relished the ease of his friendship with his teammate. “That sounds like some sound advice there, Sam.” He remarked, still chuckling as he dipped the edge of a clean rag in to a pot of polish and applied it gently in circular motions to the bike. “I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”
“You better,” Sam insisted and motioned around the hanger with his hand. “Cos the women round here - what with all their ass kicking and super powers - scare the crap outta of me. Not all of us have a shiny shield to hide behind.”
With a shake of his head at his comrades comments, Steve smiled as he recalled a memory when one particularly feisty woman had tested said shield without so much as a warning. “The dames ‘round here sure are a special breed, aren’t they?” Steve remarked, his face torn between amusement and admiration.
“You bet your ass-” Steve paused in his actions causing Sam to cut himself off mid-sentence. Steve turned his head toward the hanger bay doors as he became increasingly aware of a slight hum emanating from an engine nearby thanks to his heightened senses. “Friend or foe?” Sam inquired, jumping to his feet and squinting into the darkness, his muscles clenching in preparation for a fight.
“Friend,” Steve finally answered as two strong beams of light lit up the hanger and blinded the men temporarily. Steve raised his arm to shield his eyes from the light while the roar emitting from twin turbo engines filled the room. The two Avengers watched as the Quinjet made its way gracefully back inside the hanger and descended gently towards the ground with a sharp clank once it hit the floor. The headlights faded back to their standby mode and an amused voice addressed them over the Quinjet’s loud speaker.
“Lucy, I’m home!”
Steve rolled his eyes despite the sudden quickening of pace to his heart beat. A jolt of relief and delight erupted through his chest as he recognized a rain soaked Natasha Romanoff manning the controls of the Quinjet.
The medic team that had been on standby since the team missed their scheduled return entered the hanger through the main doors and raced toward the back of the Quinjet in search of any injured Agents. Sure enough, three muddy and water soaked Agents exited the back of the jet in various stages of injuries. Reassuringly, none of the men looked particularly hurt aside from one man who was leaning heavily on his team mate and limping.
“Hendricks, what did you do? Get into a fight with a washing machine?” Sam called out, rushing over to assist the male Agent limping out of the jet. Upon closer inspection it appeared that he was suffering from an impressive array of scratches and cuts to his face. Behind him, Natasha casually exited the jet despite sporting a nasty looking cut running from her left eyebrow to her neck. She grinned jovially as she headed towards him, ringing water and mud from her hair.
It took more effort than usual to greet the approaching red headed female with a disapproving scowl. “You’re late.” He scolded her, his eyes sweeping up and down her body in search of any other injuries or signs of distress.
Raising an amused eyebrow, the infamous Black Widow placed a hand on her hip and pouted playfully. “Awww Mom, you didn’t have to wait up for me. I told you I’d be home before pumpkin hour.”
“I wasn’t waiting up.” Steve lied, retrieving a white and blue handkerchief from his pocket and handing it to her. “Here.” He pointed to the cut on her face and ignored the way she rolled her eyes at his insistence to take the soft folded material. “I take it the person who gave you that is now broken in 57 places and probably in need of a colostomy bag?”
Natasha shrugged nonchalantly. “Only 23,” she admitted, raking a hand through her long hair and flinging a clump of mud and grass onto the ground. She scowled, wiping her soiled hand down the front of her uniform uselessly. Steve forced his eyes to remain on her face as the action caused the zipper on her leather suit to lower significantly, but not before he caught a glimpse of her creamy supple breast. “I went easy on him,” Natasha answered, seemingly unaware of the reaction her lowered zipper had caused. “I think it was his first day on the job.”
“How very generous of you,” he remarked dryly, reaching forward to pull a twig from her hair. He held it up in front of her before tossing it onto the ground with a soft smile. “Is this one of those 21st century beauty routines I need to worry about?” he teased.
“Ugh.” Natasha answered applying the handkerchief to her face with a grimace. “No, it’s called ‘mini landslide 101’. Remind me to send Hendricks my dry cleaning bill.” She pulled back the material pressed to the wound to examine the amount of blood staining the handkerchief before deciding to reapply it back to her face.
“What didn’t you call for backup?”
“We couldn’t,” she said waving off the approaching medic toting a first aid kit. “The storm knocked out our coms,” she explained, withdrawing a dead ear wig from her ear and handing it to him. He glanced at it briefly before handing it back to her. “But we weren’t the only ones in the dark. The base we were sent to scope out was on lock down due to a state-wide blackout. We were about to head back when Hendricks tripped and caused half the mountain to come down with him. I went after him and came face to face with a hydra scouting party who came to see what the fuss was about.”
“Natasha, you should have-“Steve started, but was interrupted by a dismissive wave of her hand.
“I know, I know. I was careful though. There were only a few guys and by the time the others pulled Hendricks free it was over. After that I ordered us back to the jet and here we are; safe and mostly sound.”
Huffing with exasperation, Steve opened his mouth to respond when she silenced him again. “I know, Rogers. I know. Next time we will go in with more manpower and you can bark the orders. I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you, you know,” she reminded him with a disapproving frown. “That is if you don’t count all the time you spent napping the centuries away.” Steve opened his mouth to protest again, but she once again interrupted him. “This wasn’t my first rodeo, Rogers. I know what I’m doing and I know the stakes.”
Steve pulled a face, looking disgruntled. “Are you quite finished?” He asked, waiting for her to cut him off again. She waved at him to continue and he squared his shoulders. “First off, that’s not what I was going to say.” Her eyebrows rose in disbelief, but she allowed him to continue. “What I was going to say was; good job.”
“Oh.” Natasha said, looking somewhat surprised.
“You got everyone back in one piece and you completed the mission without an international mishap.”
“But...” She surveyed him with a suspicious look. “There’s always a ‘but’.”
“No ‘buts’. That’s all.”
“Hmmmm.” Natasha finally responded, leveling him with a suspicious look. “Well if that’s all than I have a hot date with a shower and some clean sheets. If anybody needs me tonight for anything less than an apocalypse than I’m out of the country.”
Chuckling Steve stepped back, extending his arm for her to move towards the main doors. “By all means, don’t let me hold you up.”
She peeled the handkerchief from her face and halfheartedly saluted him. “Thanks for the loan, Cap.” She replied before sashaying her way towards the doors. “Goodnight.”
“Night,” He called after her, watching her walk away.
As she reached the doors, she turned around and sent him a small shy smile. “Hey, Rogers...?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for leaving the porch lights on.”
Steve smiled, ducking his head boyishly as he felt the stain of blush warm his cheeks. “Don’t mention it,” he answered bashfully. “No big deal.”
Natasha nodded at him, a knowing smile spreading across her face. Waving, she disappeared through the double doors, leaving the Captain and his bike once again alone in the hanger.
Thoughts and feelings away appreciated.