After getting injured, Natasha thinks about what her and Steve are. Little did she know, he's having the same thoughts.

The explosion went off unexpectedly.

All three stories of the warehouse the Avenger duo was in rocked off the foundations. Chips of wood broke and fell, mixing in with shards of glass, mud, and cement blocks.

The building was already fairly old, dating back to before the Cold War era. It was—or had been—filled with factory equipment and basic conveyer belt systems. None of the things had appeared to work; broken down by years of abandonment and no usage.

Steve's vision was slightly blurry when came to. He lie on his side, coughing and hacking from all the smoke he'd probably just inhaled or been exposed to. How long had he been out for?

He couldn't even remember what he was doing here. Steve's vision cleared a little more as he became more awake and alert. He came up to his feet. The large fires and hazy sparks going off didn't help matters very much, but Steve took a deep breath. Stumbling slightly, the details came flooding back to him—

Natasha.

She'd been checking out an upper part of the warehouse when the bomb went off. None of their scanners had detected anything unusual, so they'd assumed that it was safe. Still, Steve vaguely remembered her telling him that something felt off. The soldier cursed. He should've listened to her gut. Natasha was a very good spy after all those years training at SHIELD, and wherever she had been before that...Steve had no idea.

Steve's eyes darted around frantically, searching for what he'd lost in the endless rubble. "Natasha?"

Fire still burned around him. The flames rose higher and higher. The daylight peeking in through the hole in the ceiling—wait...that was where the second floor was supposed to be, and on top of that, the third. Part of the roof had collapsed and brought part of the other levels down with it.

He assessed himself for his injuries, but didn't find anything that was life-threatening. Few cuts, bruises, and burns, but nothing Steve felt the need to care for at this moment in time.

"Natasha?" he yelled again, louder than before.

He ran over to a pile of concrete and brick and glass, wondering if his memory was right and this was where Steve had last seen her. He knew he had to hurry, for the soldier couldn't bear the thought of something happening to her.

Finally, he spotted the familiar shade of red hair amidst all the grey and brown. "Natasha!"

Steve's heart skipped a beat. He'd always felt like they had a stronger connection, even though she claimed that love was for children. He made a mental note to tell her someday how he felt. Someday...

It took most of his strength to lift up all the heavy blocks of stone, cracked bricks that had fallen, and then drag Natasha out from beneath the layer of debris. Steve immediately noticed how pale her skin looked compared to the red locks of hair. Her face was still. Unconscious.

He gently shook her. "Wake up." She didn't move. "Nat?"

It was a daring move to use a nickname for Natasha. If anything could rouse her, it was that. But she still didn't stir and panic settled inside Steve. He put on a brave face, mainly for her—this soldier couldn't fool himself that easily. Although, nothing but the truth would be visible to someone as stunning as Natasha Romanoff.

Natasha groaned and tried to lift her head. He quickly stopped her and said, "Take it easy, Nat."

Well, she didn't listen and immediately tried to stand. "Concussion...an' left." Her words were slurred around the edges, giving Steve more proof of said concussion.

Steve blinked. "Left? You're going to have to help me out—" his eyes landed on the growing crimson puddle— "oh."

The entire stomach area of Natasha's cat suit was stained in the dark color of red. It was spreading quickly and making its way over the cement floors. The coppery stench of blood was not something Steve enjoyed, but he wasn't exactly a stranger to it.

Natasha took in a shaky breath after somehow rising into a half crouched position. She stumbled, but Steve was there to catch her. He put her arm around his shoulder and tried his best to carry the majority of her weight. "Data was corrupted too bad t' be useful to us. All o' it. Shitty intel 'n Fury's part."

How Natasha was still conscious and moving about, Steve didn't know. If they could just get to the quinjet in time and then fly out quick enough...either SHIELD or Bruce and Dr. Cho will be able to offer medical assistance.

"Here, I can carry you," Steve offered. Natasha was about to turn him down, say a usual excuse about how she didn't need nor want any help, but the soldier didn't wait that long for a response.

Scooping her up bridal style, Steve dodged flying sparks of fire and the rest of the building's debris. They made it all the way to the quinjet before Natasha groaned again. It didn't sound and look good, but it was all Steve needed to confirm that she was still here with him. Her hand was clutched around her abdomen.

"Red," Natasha murmured while Steve gently placed her down, "fitting."

He didn't know what she was talking about, but it was slightly worrying him. "Your concussion must be severe."

"'M offended, Rogers."

Natasha sat up slowly, but Steve once again pushed her down. "You need to rest."

She took a deep breath and gathered her strength. "Then who's gonna fly this thing?"

"I will," Steve said confidently. At least, more so than he felt. "And isn't there an autopilot system?"

"Captain Rogers," Friday said from literally out of nowhere, "I shall navigate the quinjet." He smirked at Natasha.

"Keep pressure on that," the soldier commanded while running to grab a first aid kit.

Natasha obliged. She thought about how Steve's brow furrowed as he worked to bandage her stomach area. His hands moved delicately, almost like how she was on her feet after years of training in the red room. Pictures of ballerinas flashed in her head. The soft piano music playing out from the speakers imbedded in the wall tiling.

Then Natasha's thoughts shifted to the girls. She didn't even know all their names, only but a few close people she considered friends. Natasha hadn't felt this way about it in years, having suppressed the memories deep down to where they couldn't resurface.

The blood—everywhere. Red. It was always red. Whether it was in the cold Russian snow, upon a young girl's face, or encrusted within the very same building...her ledger was dripping with red. No—gushing.

But Natasha also realized, maybe love wasn't for children. The red room was built on top of lies, an endless amount that seemed to never end. It was much like Natasha, Natalia, Natalie, or any other of her lies and aliases she'd used in the past decades.

"You okay?" Natasha asked Steve. He was done wrapping the wound, but his hands stayed a beat longer than they originally should've. She wasn't complaining though.

Steve smiled at something he was thinking about. "Yeah. Just...wondering."

"About?" Natasha pushed. She had the strangest feeling on the answer to her very question...

"Someone special," Steve's blue oRbS met the person-who-he-was-talking-about's emerald green eyes.