The Blip Bae

Prologue

"Zoe, are you at work right now?" Sam Wilson, current VA PTSD Counselor, former Air Force Pararescuer, and best friend anyone could ask for, anxiously whispered into the phone.

"Sam? What's wrong? Are you okay? Where are you?" Zoe Jacobs, Emergency Room Nurse Practitioner, former art school kid, and someone lucky enough to call Sam Wilson her friend, fired back.

"I'm fine, Z. It's not for me..." Sam debated what to tell her. "Do you have any sutures in your kit in the car?"

"Samuel Thomas Wilson, you tell me what the hell is going on or this conversation is over!" She was trying not to freak out. "I'm about half an hour from finishing my shift. What happened?"

"So you can grab some supplies, great." Sam sighed in relief. "Can you grab a bunch of the strongest sutures you have, some skin glue, and maybe some antibiotics? Like, as much as you can? I'm not sure how much they might need..."

"Sam, god damn it, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?!" Zoe yelled. "I'm not doing shit until you tell me what this is! Don't make me call your sister..."

"Please don't call Sarah! Okay, you might want to sit down for this one, Z..." Sam took a deep breath. "So you know that guy I met running a while back?..."

Zoe let herself into Sam's house and kicked off her hospital shoes by the door. She had done what he had asked, coming directly from work, with a bag full of supplies and a shitload of questions.

"Sam?" She called out as she hung her hoodie up on her designated hook by the door. "Wilson, you delusional jackass! Get out here and tell me again how you're now friends with mother fucking Captain America?" She dropped her bag on his kitchen table. "Samuel! I rushed right over after a particularly gruesome shift to deal with whatever joke you're trying to pull, the least you could do was have something decent to eat!" She yelled while looking in his fridge.

She closed the door and shrieked.

Mother fucking Captain America himself, Steve Rogers, was standing in the doorway of Sam's kitchen, looking like he'd just crawled out of the sewer. He had dirt and dried blood all over, his usually perfectly coiffed blonde hair was a wild mess, and he wore a startled look on his impossibly handsome face as he tried to wipe the grime from his cheeks. Those big blue eyes, even smudged with dust and preoccupied with whatever brought him there, were no joke.

"I'm sorry for frightening you, ma'am." Steve bowed his head respectfully. "I'm Steve...but you probably already knew that." He tried not to smirk. "Sam was not trying to trick you. Our friend could use some help and he said we could trust you not to report us to the authorities."

"Where are they?" Zoe immediately snapped into professional mode. She grabbed her bag off the table and followed him into Sam's guest room, where her eyes popped out of her head for the second time in less than 5 minutes.

Sam was holding a towel to the wounded left shoulder of a shaken looking Natasha Romanoff, aka The Black Widow. The stunning redhead looked up and smiled. "You must be Zoe. I'm Nat. Can you please tell Sam to stop squeezing the life out of me now?"

"Do I even want to know what happened?" Zoe set her bag down and glared at Sam. "Are you okay letting him hold pressure for another minute while I go wash my hands?"

"Sure thing. Not like we're going anywhere, everyone we know is trying to kill us." Nat smirked. "Rogers, you need her to look at that leg?"

"What leg?" Steve looked down and realized the right leg of his jeans was soaked in blood. "I thought that was yours...Will you excuse me?" He walked down the hall to the other bathroom.