It quickly became apparent to Natasha that Hydra wasn't sure what to do with them. At first, it had just seemed like wishful thinking. After several days of unending and rather pointless questions, however, Natasha's suspicions were confirmed: Hydra didn't have a plan for them.

Unfortunately for Steve and Natasha, that didn't mean they were left alone. Even now and then, food was delivered but it was irregular and without a pattern. The only way Natasha could measure time was with how often they were questioned.

It was always the same man and the same two agents that came. Between the repeated questions and the short commands the man gave his agents, Natasha knew they were there under someone else's order. Likely Schmidt's or Petrovitch's. Neither thought was comforting.

Even though it had been days―possibly even weeks―Natasha's leg showed no sign of healing. She had given up trying to keep it clean and the makeshift bandage around it was barely staying together. Fortunately, the lashes across her back were beginning to feel better even if it still hurt to lean against the wall.

The only upside to their situation was that Hydra wasn't getting the answers they wanted. If they suspected SHIELD was behind Steve and Natasha's mission, neither of them confirmed it. They never mentioned Fury by name and when asked about him, they denied his involvement.

Unfortunately, the man had gotten Steve to tell him they didn't have backup coming in and Natasha had told him what the formula she'd given the soldiers in the lab was supposed to do. In her defence, Steve had been screaming and about to pass out. She figured the least she could do was tell them something they already knew even if they weren't aware they knew it.

Across the room, Steve groaned in his sleep. "Tasha?" 

Natasha glanced up to see his face scrunched in worry. Still asleep, he moaned again then went still.

"Steve?" Natasha rattled the cuffs around her wrists in hopes the noise would wake him up. "Steve, wake up."

He breathed in sharply and Natasha tensed, waiting for his scream but it never came.

"Natasha?" His speech was slurred, but he was still asleep and Natasha was worried.

Grabbing the chain around her wrist, Natasha shook the metal again and called for Steve to wake up loudly. "Steve."

Steve jumped awake, his eyes darting around the room until they landed on Natasha.

"Nat," he breathed, slumping against the wall.

"Hey," she said, giving him a small smile. He closed his eyes and put his head back against the wall. With a grimace, she asked, "You have a good nap?"

"I've had better," he muttered. Lifting his head up from the wall, he looked at her and asked, "What are we gonna do, Nat? It's been days and the team won't be coming anytime soon."

Natasha sighed. Even though Steve had promised her he'd told Tony their approximate location, they couldn't rely on the team to come get them. When they'd left, they had known their mission could be long. Seeing as it was supposed to be deep-cover as well, the team wouldn't be worried about their lack of contact. It could be many more weeks before they realised anything was wrong.

"Nat, I don't..." Steve trailed off. "I don't think this is gonna end well."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Bullshit. We're getting out of here."

"Be realistic, Nat." Steve gave her a pointed look. Gesturing to her leg, he said, "You can't walk with that leg, we're both starving, and we don't have anything to fight with. Nothing about this is promising."

Natasha bit her lip and Steve narrowed his eyes at her.

"What?" he asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

"I might have two ideas for getting out," she admitted slowly. "It's just―they're not foolproof and the odds certainly aren't in our favour."

Steve's eyes widened in surprise and if she hadn't been so exhausted and tired, she would have been offended. 

"You have a plan?" Steve asked carefully. Natasha was hesitant to call them that, but nodded.

"It really only involves us getting out of the compound," she told him, careful not to get his hopes up too much. "However, it's a little more complicated than just picking a lock."

"Well," Steve said, shrugging as best he could with his dislocated shoulder. "That's better than dying here like cowards. What do you have?"