"You're going to have to look a little less happy about the idea if you want me to believe you the next time you tell me my idea is crazy," Natasha pointed out with a grin. A little humor went a long way when things were grim. If she could still laugh, it meant that she still had enough in her to fight her way through the next obstacle and the next.
She was grateful for his steady presence, for the unwavering way he'd jumped on board this mission. The trip to Russia was long, made even longer by what she knew waited for her there. With the adrenaline of the fight drained from her body, all she could feel were her various bruises and scrapes. Or maybe it was just that her physical hurts were easier to focus on, because it wasn't just a mission. It was personal. It was her own past unfolding in front of her again, raw and aching. She thought she'd brought down the Red Room before. There would be no space for error this time. It had to end. It had to.
By the time they finally landed in the next safe house, she was ready to crash. And there were about a thousand things she wanted - a long hot shower, a full meal, fifteen hours of sleep. But they were going to be working on rations of everything until they managed to untangle the mess Dreykov had made of so many lives. Even so, she could hear it in his voice - the shadow that being back in Russia cast over him and she reached over to give his shoulder a gentle squeeze.
And then she moved past him, into the kitchen where she knew a first aid kit would be waiting. There wasn't too much she could do for her injuries other than gulp down three ibuprofen, which was exactly what she did with a bottle of water from the fridge. As exhausted as she was, she wasn't entirely sure she'd be able to sleep. Not with the way her mind kept turning over and over. So instead she moved back into the shabby little living room and dropped down onto the couch. "There will be some food in the cabinets, if you want something," she said, her elbow on the back of the couch as she propped her head up on her hand. "Nothing good, but still food." Her own little anonymous support network was reliable, but it wasn't exactly built for glamour. And with his metabolism, she knew he had to be feeling the effects of their frenzied flight out of his last hideaway.
She watched him in silence for a moment. It felt like they were surrounded by creeping darkness. Or echoes, maybe. All the long years of hurt they had both inflicted and had inflicted on them, circling tighter. "I'm sorry I dragged you into this," she commented. "But I'm glad you're here." There was a duality to the sentiment that she knew wouldn't have made sense to a lot of people. But she suspected that he'd get it.
no subject
She was grateful for his steady presence, for the unwavering way he'd jumped on board this mission. The trip to Russia was long, made even longer by what she knew waited for her there. With the adrenaline of the fight drained from her body, all she could feel were her various bruises and scrapes. Or maybe it was just that her physical hurts were easier to focus on, because it wasn't just a mission. It was personal. It was her own past unfolding in front of her again, raw and aching. She thought she'd brought down the Red Room before. There would be no space for error this time. It had to end. It had to.
By the time they finally landed in the next safe house, she was ready to crash. And there were about a thousand things she wanted - a long hot shower, a full meal, fifteen hours of sleep. But they were going to be working on rations of everything until they managed to untangle the mess Dreykov had made of so many lives. Even so, she could hear it in his voice - the shadow that being back in Russia cast over him and she reached over to give his shoulder a gentle squeeze.
And then she moved past him, into the kitchen where she knew a first aid kit would be waiting. There wasn't too much she could do for her injuries other than gulp down three ibuprofen, which was exactly what she did with a bottle of water from the fridge. As exhausted as she was, she wasn't entirely sure she'd be able to sleep. Not with the way her mind kept turning over and over. So instead she moved back into the shabby little living room and dropped down onto the couch. "There will be some food in the cabinets, if you want something," she said, her elbow on the back of the couch as she propped her head up on her hand. "Nothing good, but still food." Her own little anonymous support network was reliable, but it wasn't exactly built for glamour. And with his metabolism, she knew he had to be feeling the effects of their frenzied flight out of his last hideaway.
She watched him in silence for a moment. It felt like they were surrounded by creeping darkness. Or echoes, maybe. All the long years of hurt they had both inflicted and had inflicted on them, circling tighter. "I'm sorry I dragged you into this," she commented. "But I'm glad you're here." There was a duality to the sentiment that she knew wouldn't have made sense to a lot of people. But she suspected that he'd get it.