Chapter 2
Natasha paused in the hall. Through the open doorway, Clint rested face first and barefoot on a sleek looking white couch. Tony would have to replace it, she could already see the smears of blood and dirt against the bright white.
Her partner hadn't even tried to make it upstairs and to his rooms. He'd found the nearest flat surface, once debriefed and cleared by medical, and proceeded to pass out. A half eaten take out box of sesame chicken balanced precariously on the arm of the couch.
He smelled so bad she wasn't sure Tony could banish it without gutting the entire room.
"Is he alright?" Steve's asked quietly.
Even with the serum, he looked as if he needed sleep as much as the rest of them. Dark shadows lined his eyes and his skin appeared paper thin and bloodless.
"He just needs twelve hours of uninterrupted rest."
Steve frowned. "But-"
Natasha waved her hand in dismissal. "He needs twelve but he'll feel much better with two. I'll wake him soon and wrangle him upstairs."
Steve nodded and rubbed at one of his shoulders. He'd changed into a loose pair of sweats and the deep bruises on his arms had already turned a sickly yellow. He hadn't been hurt during the attack, but all of them would be taking it easy for a few days.
"I can help move him now if it would be easier?" He asked. She watched him absently sway like a man who'd been up all night drinking.
Natasha smiled and shook her head. As strong as she was, Natasha knew she couldn't support both of them if Steve inevitably collapsed. "Leave him. He'll be fine."
Steve nodded and slouched against the wall behind him. He blinked slowly. "You headed to bed?
Several junior staff members cleaned up the otherwise eerily quiet floor. Chinese take out containers and bottles of water littered every available surface not filled with paperwork. The harsh light of day streamed through the windows.
"Soon. Just going to grab some tea." It would be a miracle if she had any sort of voice the next seventy two hours.
Tony and Bruce had already crashed, somewhere between fatigued and delirious. The scientists had started to toss theories back and forth on the strange accelerant used, running on ideas alone as their bodies wilted like plants left too long in the sun.
It had been strangely fascinating to watch their composed high energy conversation debilitate into nonsensical words and strange hand gestures. She'd recorded several videos to share during the next movie night.
Pepper had escorted Tony to his room by the ear before coming back and doing the same to Bruce.
"Tea sounds good." Steve nodded and trailed behind her.
She filled the kettle with water, grabbed the honey, and pulled out two mugs. "Any reason you're still awake?"
He shrugged and slid onto one of the breakfast stools. He rested his forearms against the counter and leaned forward. When she moved closer he buried his head in her shoulder. His hair looked like straw and his breath was warm against her arm.
"Steve?"
"I'm just," he paused as if gathering his thoughts, "...there was just... It was a lot of fire." He finished lamely in a flat voice.
"Yes, it was." She thought back to the files on Steve she'd memorized before meeting him. Thought about the shitstorm they'd survived six months ago.
His eyes focused on the counter and he laughed self depreciatingly. "I guess it just brought up some... I just wish-"
Steve's words halted midstream. He took a deep breath and stared blankly at the wall, mind miles away.
Natasha knew all about bad memories. She wrapped her arm around his shoulders and covered his eyes with her fingers and palm. He sighed.
"You need rest." Now was not the time to remind Steve that James would reappear when he was ready.
"Yeah." Steve mumbled back. His eyelashes were damp against her fingers.
Natasha eyed the heavy slope of his shoulders and realized she'd be tucking in more than one super hero.
"Come on." She turned the burner off, poked at his cheek with her free hand, and pushed him up and off his seat. "Let's get you to bed."
Natasha grasped him by the arm and he followed.
"Bed? Nat, I'm fine."
"Yes." They passed by the room Clint collapsed in and the sound of his snore cut through the quiet. "You remember bed, right?"
"Bed?" Steve intoned again like a broken record. "I was going to help clean up."
She ignored him.
"Jarvis?" They entered the elevator. "Steve's floor please."
"Yes, Miss Romanov." Jarvis intoned. Steve rubbed at his eyes.
"Clint mentioned you guys found a teen?" He started as Natasha led him across his kitchen floor.
Jarvis pulled the shades on the windows; the blissfully dark room welcomed them with open arms. She didn't bother with the lights and her eyes quickly adjusted.
"We did." She responded.
Steve didn't pull back the comforter before he collapsed against it. He snuggled against a pillow and groaned. The bed creaked at the sudden weight, but didn't break.
"Is he going to be okay?"
"I think so." She sat on the edge of his bed and started unlacing his shoes. "Dropped him off in medical. He got out of surgery a half hour ago."
Natasha had a string of texts from the lead surgeon and had already read through the initial notes and assessments.
Steve made a noise of concern and rolled off his stomach. "What was he doing out there?"
"I don't know." And it bothered her like a pair of heels a half size too small.
"Clint seemed worried."
Natasha thought of the kid's tattered clothing, pale skin, and bloody torso. Streets nearby had been destroyed, buildings charred black and trees turned to ash.
She'd spotted Clint darting to medical during breaks. For all the limited interaction he had with children, Clint was surprisingly good at it.
Natasha met Steve's gaze in the nearly black room. In the poor light his eyes were dark pools. "It wasn't any place for a kid."
"Yeah." Steve reached forward and squeezed her shoulder. "I'm glad you guys were there."
She nodded tightly. "Me too."