The Irony of it All

34

****Author's note: I know I mentioned in the last chapter that Natasha was 7 months along, but that was a mistake. She's only 5 months along. I have changed that typo. Enjoy the chapter.

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The feeling of floating was so strange. Sometimes after a parachute jump she'd go home and fall asleep and still feel like she was falling. The phantom feeling happened with dancing sometimes too.  She hated that feeling. But this feeling was different. She was floating, but it wasn't that scary feeling where she felt exposed, she felt safe and cradled. Perhaps jostled a bit too much, but it felt nice. She sighed and let herself relax further into the darkness of sleep.
         ….
        "Nat?"
       Who was that?
       "Natasha?"
       She groaned and tried to open her eyes only to be met with a pulsing headache. She quickly shut them.
     "I know it hurts but I need you to wake up."
     She tried again and eventually succeeded. It was still dark, but the lights coming from the street lamps were far too bright for her liking. She saw that she was in a parking lot, and then she felt the arms around her. She panicked and struggled to get out of their grip.
      "Hey, hey, hey, hey. Nat, it's me." She finally focused on the face the whispered voice belonged to. It was dirty, and ash covered, with blonde hair, dark and glued against his forehead with sweat.
     "Steve?" She breathed out.
     He smiled at her, his white teeth standing out more than usual with how dirty he was. "Hey, you remember what happened?"
    What happened. What happened? She closed her eyes, swallowed, and tried to recall. "Um. Um. We kissed. I kissed you."
   "Uhhh," he stammered. "Yeah, can-can you remember what happened after that?"
   She worked her way through the headache trying to remember. "We found the bunker and the ghost guy in the computer, and then he blew us up."
    "Yeah. At least we don't have to worry about amnesia." She didn't hear him as she looked around.
    "Why are you here?" She asked, her voice didn't even sound like it was hers.
   "What do you mean?"
   "I know I'm in hell, but I don't understand why they sent you here."
    He chuckled, "You're not in hell."
    "They could have decorated better. It's like some fiery parking lot, and my head is burning."
    "Actually, that's the concussion. Hey, look at me." She squinted at him. "Where does it hurt?"
    "Everywhere."
    "Does anything feel broken?" She thought and focused on her body, the aching, the shooting pain.
    "No, but I think my ribs are either cracked or bruised." He nodded, visibly relieved. She was still being cradled in his arms, her legs laying on the asphalt as he knelt next to her, supporting her head. "I'm going to lean you against the car right here, alright? I have to break in on the other side. I promise you can go back to sleep but I need you to keep watch for a little while. Got it?"
      "Aye Aye Captain."
      She managed to stay awake and somewhat focused as her head swooned and pulsed. She heard the click as he successfully picked the lock. Then he came back around and opened the door for her. She tried to stand up but he pulled her up and gently placed her in the passenger seat before closing the door and getting in on the driver's side. He reached behind into the backseats and rummaged around before pulling out a water bottle.
    "Nat."
    "Hmmm?"
    He opened it and placed it in her hands before pushing it and tilting it towards her lips. "Here."
She drank half without realizing how thirsty she'd been. She could have drunken the whole thing, but she handed the bottle to Steve. "I don't need it," he said.
    "Yeah you do." He didn't protest,  instead finishing off the rest of the water.
    "Where are we?" She asked as he hotwired the car.
     "Just over the Maryland border."
     "We were in New Jersey. You got us all the way to Maryland on foot?"
     "Don't flatter yourself, you're not that heavy."
     She smiled but he didn't see. "What time is it?"
     "About 4:30 in the morning." The old car groaned as he successfully hotwired it and it sputtered with life.
     "Where are we going?"
     "Back to D.C."
      "Usually I'd agree with the whole going back because they won't expect us to plan, but with these circumstances I'm not sure it's a good idea, Steve. We don't have a safe house."