Heat Wave ➣Romanogers

Sixteen

But he was, of course.  Just as the last light faded, he emerged from the top of the capsized yacht.  There was a bag slung over his shoulder.  He jumped straight down into the ocean with a sizeable splash and walked over to her, breathing a little heavily.  “Two people.  A couple.  They’re dead and have been for a while.”  He looked a tad bothered by that, and she wondered how gruesome the corpses had been.  “The control panel in there is busted.  And even if it wasn’t, there’s no power to anything.  The engine room is completely submerged.”  That pretty much blew using the ship to get a message to SHIELD right out of the water.  Even if they could get to the engine, if it had been flooded for any period of time, there was likely no salvaging it.  Plus they’d probably have to rely on him, he who had no idea about modern technology, to fix it.

“Has anyone else been here?” she asked.

He nodded solemnly.  “Unless they ransacked their own stuff before they crashed.”  Natasha gritted her teeth.  Pirates.  Scavengers.  It didn’t matter.  The best they could do at this point was hope whoever had looted (and maybe even contributed to causing the wreck) were long gone.  He gestured to the bag.  “But, on a lighter note, they had clothes.”  Thank God.  “And a first aid kit.  The food’s no good, but there are plenty of bottles of water.”  He reached into the duffel and pulled out a flask of what looked like vodka.  “And antiseptic.”

She cocked an eyebrow.  “Where I come from we drink that, not waste it.”  She wasn’t entirely facetious about that.  “And you don’t need to look so smug.”

He wiped the smile off his face.  “I’m not.”  But he was.  And with good reason.

Even she had to admit it.  The relief athaving supplies was enough to motivate her to be honest.  “You were right about there being something worth finding.”

He actually colored at the compliment.  “Doesn’t get us any closer to finding a way out of this.”

“No,” she agreed, “but it gets us closer to surviving until we do.  Come on.”

Together they walked through the surf back to the surrounding beach.  It was an unspoken decision to venture deeper into the inlet, and they picked a path to a hidden place further in the cove.  The trees were thicker here, shorter with broad, low canopies that made them ideal for concealment.  And the ground was drier and firmer, comprised of grass and sand.  Steve found a place fairly close to the water’s edge.  He set down their newly acquired supplies, pulled two plastic bottles of water from the duffel, and tossed one to her.  She plunked down tiredly on the mossy ground, taking off the cap and guzzling the drink.  It was good, a tad old and stale, but refreshing.  The taste of mud seemed permanently ingrained into her tongue.  He was gulping down his own bottle with his head tipped back.  She couldn’t help but stare a moment, watching as those full lips closed around the top of the bottle, as the muscles of his throat worked hard at sucking it dry.  It was oddly mesmerizing.  She managed to avert her eyes before he caught her staring (which was good, because how the hell was she going to explain that?).

Done with his drink, he tossed the empty bottle into the bag.  Then he secured their camp with military efficiency, checking for places that had a good vantage of their surroundings while making sure they were adequately hidden.  He pushed through something of a curtain of leaves and vines on the north side, heading down to the little river.  He was back a moment later.  “Water’s clean,” he announced.  He dug into the duffel a moment before pulling something out.  It was a small cardboard box, and he threw it her way.  “Here.  In case you want it.”

It was bar soap.  A fancy kind, heavily perfumed.  He’d probably pilfered it from the yacht’s bathroom.  The fact that he’d thought to do that (for her) was touching.  “Thanks.”