Natasha usually prefers much subtler methods, so the state of the apartment she’s holed up in is a pretty clear testament to her current predicament. It’s a bad neighborhood and the building itself is even worse. The window she broke to get in doesn’t stand out, and the shattered glass is sprinkled across the living room carpet in the dark apartment.

She’s not particularly happy that she had to ask for help, but Peter has always been a decent guy and she can think of worse people to bring in. She’s leaning against the far wall in the dark, and she watches as he climbs in through the broken window. Once he seems to have avoided the minefield of broken glass, she steps away from the wall.

“What’s a fella like you doing in a place like this?” Her voice is full of dry humor. It’s a stark counterpoint to her limping gait, disjointed shoulder, and the blood smeared on her uniform. There’s a beat before she tacks on, “most of it’s not mine.”