It's a childish game, a foolish distraction, but that's exactly what they need tonight when they're both cold and bruised, worn thin from too much travel and not enough answers, no closer to finding Steve's friend or Natasha's past than they were when their worlds fell apart.

"Is it something living?" Steve asks as he bandages her twisted ankle, his hands gentle despite their size and the blood beneath his nails.

Natasha holds her chosen thought -- you, naked, in my bed -- behind her eyes and teeth where it will roughen her voice and heat her gaze, and tells him, "Yes."