Pepper nervously paces around the living room, worry written in lines across her face. When the refrigerator in the next room over begins to hum, she jumps and checks the phone, knuckles white from the grip she has on the device that is her last line of hope.
With an exasperated groan, she sulks closer to the couch, pausing in front of the other red head lounging on the sofa. The boot encasing her shattered ankle is propped up on cushions; doctors orders.
"How do you do it?" Pepper asks, motioning wildly to the window as if that's what she's referring to. "How do you stay so calm?"
Natasha glares up from her book, an enticing novel about a magic circus and true love, angry for a second over her interrupted peace, but the look softens when she sees the panicked fear on the other woman's face.
She takes a glance at her own phone, sitting casually in her lap and conveniently shielded by the afghan and a mug of apple cider, the empty screen impatiently bright while waiting for the message she can't be positive will come.
A sad smile crosses her face, and she looks back at Pepper.
"I don't."