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Part 2

There's a teeny bit of blood in this chapter but nothing too graphic I don't think.
Also, if there's anything you'd like to see/you have a prompt, feel free to leave a review or send me a message over on tumblr, same username :)

Natasha is pissed off.

At Steve.

Steve stumbles back into the quinjet, and despite her anger Natasha finds herself steadying him. His right hand is pressed to his left shoulder, trying to keep blood in his body.

An hour ago, they had broken into an underground bunker, shutting down a ring of mercenaries-turned-arms-dealers who had joined forces and found themselves with a substantial amount of biological weapons to sell to the highest bidder. Fifty minutes ago, an alarm had sounded throughout the base. Twenty minutes ago, one of the mercs on the floor Natasha thought was already dead had spent his last breath on raising his gun and pulling the trigger. Only Steve had pushed her back, stepping into her place before she even knew what was happening. His shield had been on the other side of the room.

Hence why Natasha is pissed at him. She's angry that she'd grown complacent and there's a bullet lodged in his shoulder because of her overconfidence. She hates the thought that Steve sees her as some damsel in distress. She hates that for one horrifying moment, when that gunshot echoed through the room and she turned back to see Steve fall to his knees, gasping, she had feared the worst. She hates how her body had shaken with fear, terrified at the thought that he wasn't going to get back up. And if she's angry to hide all of that, well, that's nobody's business but hers.

Steve grunts in pain as Natasha none too gently pushes him to a seat and goes to grab a medikit. He starts to unfasten his uniform but realises he can't lift his arm above waist level without pain shooting through his body. He takes his helmet off with one hand instead. She slides into the seat next to him, her brow furrowed and lips set in a firm line. Thankfully this time her touch is gentle as she carefully examines his shoulder, eyes narrowed.

Watching as Natasha turns back to rummage in the medipack, Steve can't help but wonder why she seems so angry with him. Maybe he's done something obvious but the pain has made his thoughts hazy and he can't quite figure out what it could have been. Suddenly the dull throbbing in his shoulder seems like nothing compared to the sinking feeling in his stomach.

Steve hides his grimace as she peels away the fabric from the edge of the wound and sets about cutting away the fabric of his suit. He hisses as she pours alcohol on it and she glares at him.

"You've already started healing around the bullet," she says matter-of-factly, and Steve can't stand the coldness and distance in her voice. "I'll need to take it out unless you want it scraping against the bone every time you raise your arm."

Natasha doesn't speak again as she draws out a long pair of surgical tweezers and he braces himself. He chokes back a cry and the metal arm of the chair creaks and snaps under the pressure of his right hand as she digs through the flesh. Steve decides to concentrate instead on how her vibrant green eyes seem a little shinier than usual, or is it just him imagining things? She brings the bullet out, thankfully still in one piece. He lets out a breath he didn't realise he was holding, feeling lightheaded after the sudden surge of pressure and pain. She jabs him in the leg with what he thinks (or hopes) is morphine and places a dressing over the wound.

He lays his right hand over it, pressing down even though it doesn't seem to be bleeding profusely anymore. It'll have to do until they get back to base and get someone to look at it. Deciding to be bold, he breaks the silence.

"Nat?" She glances at him but doesn't answer. "You know, usually when someone takes a bullet for you, you're not angry at them."

He can see her purse her lips out of the corner of his eye and it looks like she's having an internal battle whether or not to snap at him. She does, after a moment's deliberation.

"I didn't need saving," she says harshly. "I've been shot before." Ah. So that's it.

"You know that's not why I did it," he says earnestly. He can tell she doesn't buy it.

"I don't need someone to take bullets for me," she bites back. He leans forward and looks across at her, hoping if she looks at him she'll see his sincerity.

"Nat, if there's a chance that I can take the hit instead of one of my team, then I'm going to take it, every time," he says firmly. And also, but he doesn't dare tell her, because he doesn't know what he would have done if the bullet was in her head and not in his shoulder. "Doesn't matter if it's you or Clint or anyone else."

She's quiet and it looks like he's gotten through to her. He's never lied to her and she knows it. His features soften into a slight smile, gently bumping his thigh against hers.

"Redhead or not," he adds, still feeling more than bold.

Honestly, he doesn't know where this sudden burst of confidence is coming from, but he's going to go with it. Maybe it's the adrenaline that comes with getting shot. Maybe it's the morphine she just gave him. The corner of her mouth twitches up, she rolls her eyes and he can see he's forgiven. He loves that about her. As much as she can seem colder than a Russian winter, he finds it glorious that, like flipping a switch, with the barest hint of a smile she can send a warmth through him the likes of which he's never felt.

"Got a thing for redheads then, do you, Rogers?" she teases dryly, gathering up the medikit and putting it away.

"Just one," he says. "Tends to not like it if you take a bullet for her though."

There's something akin to excitement bubbling in his stomach as he sees Natasha's brain sputter for a response, as surprised as he is by his sudden brashness. It's only for a millisecond and he doesn't think she knows he saw it, and then her usual self-assured smirk is back on her face.

"Well," she says, heading to the cockpit. "Good thing she's way out of your league then, isn't it?"

Steve sighs and rests his head against the wall, closing his eyes as he hears the engine starting up.

"Yeah, and don't I know it," he mutters to himself.

But he remembers how her eyes had seemed glassy a moment ago, and thinks to himself that maybe she isn't as distant as she pretends to be.