In Your Eyes // Steve Rogers

6

Steve's embrace wasn't where I came to. I awoke lying flat on my stomach, sunk into the cushions of a leather couch. I didn't know who had saved us, or, more importantly, if it was someone on our side. I stayed still, my eyes closed, and listened to my surroundings.

"I know you're up," I heard Steve. "It's okay. We're safe."

I opened my eyes. I turned my head. Steve approached me with a glass of water in his hand. He knelt in front of me, nursing it carefully to my lips. He advised me to not move much.

"She's almost bled entirely through that shirt, it's probably time to change it up," said an entering man. Sam Wilson. He noticed I was awake and offered a smile. "Hey. I, uh, brought you a shirt."

"Okay, yeah," I agreed. "Just tell me what happened."

Emerging from the bathroom, drying the ends of her hair with a towel, Natasha Romanoff nodded to me as a greeting. She continued, "From what I heard, you tried to get yourself killed."

"I tried to help him hold the shield," I defended.

"It didn't work out well for you," admitted Steve.

"No, really?" I asked.

He chuckled. "I appreciate the gesture. Next time, let me handle it, okay?"

"There's not going to be a next time. I'm never fugitive-ing with you again," I said.

"We'll see about that," he teased.

"Let's go, Blake," interrupted Natasha. She took the shirt from Sam and extended her hand. "Get up."

"Where are you taking her?" asked Steve.

"I'm helping her clean up her back before it gets infected," said Natasha. She raised her eyebrow at him. "Relax, Rogers, I'll have her back in a few minutes."

A few minutes with her felt like years. I showered, which consisted of continuous yelps from the hot water hitting cuts I didn't know I received. If that hadn't annoyed her, it was the flinching I did every time she poured alcohol on the cuts over my body. Once she finished applying bandages to areas in need, she left without saying anything more. I mumbled a thanks after her.

Sam cooked breakfast for us. I was the last to join the table, joining late to the conversation of catching everyone up to speed. Steve told Natasha and Sam where we had been, what had happened to us. I gathered that Sam took us in and Steve had summoned Natasha to help us.

Natasha heard our story. Her first question was, "Who at S.H.I.E.L.D. could launch a domestic missile launch?"

"Pierce," answered Steve, raising his brow as the thought came to him. "And he's not alone. Project Insight was on the Lemurian Star."

Remembering our double-take at the hostage list on that mission, I added, "So was Jasper Sitwell."

"So, the question is, how do the three most wanted people at S.H.I.E.L.D. kidnap an officer in broad daylight?" asked Steve.

Sam left the table. He returned with a manila folder and dropped it in the center of the table. "Call it a resume," he said.

Natasha inspected the remains. Impressed, she tilted the folder in the direction of Steve and I. Hooked to the inner folder was a picture of Sam, mechanical wings stretched from his back.

"I thought you said you were a pilot," said Steve.

Sam smirked. "I never said pilot."

Steve shook his head. "I can't ask this of you, Sam. You got out for a good reason."