Hawkeye tucks into his creamy chicken alfredo with as much gumption as a starving man. Natasha looks on, nonplussed as he does his best to talk between mouthfuls, as straggly strands of fettuccine pasta hang from his mouth before shoving another forkful in his mouth.
They had agreed to meet up to shoot the breeze and being away from Stark had its own set of privileges. As did the nearby restaurant near the tower and the adjacent sporting goods store. Not like it was vile at the SI tower and made her skin crawl or anything. "So how are you, after, well, you know?" The Black Widow asks with the shrug of her shoulder.
"As good as can be, sporting some bruises here and there. Still not as bad as last time." Barton replies.
"And how is my little traitor?" She smiles.
Clint's face visibly brightens at that, chasing away any shadows as soon as they come. "Oh, yeah, he's good." He clears his throat and wiped the sauce from his mouth with the back of his hand. "He still needs to meet his Auntie Nat, though. She's not come to visit yet."
"Yeah, I know...I still need to get some downtime. Maybe I'll ask Tony, maybe I'll do it anyway and send him an email when I'm out of the country." Nat sighs. She grabs hold of the white cup in front of her and takes a sip of her black coffee. Strong, unsweetened. And unlike Hawkeye, she'd not ordered any food to chow down in less than record-breaking speed. Nat pulls back the nearby seat hoping to find something that had evidently disappeared in a poof of smoke. "Shit. Left my wallet in the car."
"Don't worry about it, I got you out here. I'll pay for it." Hawkeye says with a quirk of his mouth, before going back to eating.
"Yeah, like I needed my arm twisting for that." She rolls her eyes and smooths down her hair. "I'll be back in a second. Don't wait up."
Nat crosses the room and heads out the door, towards her car parked around back. The very colour of secrecy and shadows. She opens it from a distance with the key fob and a whistle from the car alarm system. Inches away from the door handle, fingers outstretched, expecting.
A thunderclap resonates through her teeth and bones, she feels it in her soul as much as she hears it. Ribbons of gold envelop her senses, pulling up on her stomach into a lurch in this direction and then that, dizzying her mind, sending her to the brink of consciousness.
She loses her grip on her car keys, falling through her fingers like they were made of feathers and dust. Just when she thinks she's centred herself, bitterly cold air bites at her cheeks, her breath forms a cloud in front of her face for a split second. A swirl of constellations pass by, her eyes, assaulted by a blast of spectacular blinding light reminding her of the cruellest of winters and heaven.
Her ears are filled with the distant thrum of machinery powering down or maybe something foreign to her ears fills her mind. Like she was hearing it for the first time.
The rest is a blur, body heavy, groggy, her feet being dragged along toughened glass made of dancing light, in every colour of the rainbow.
The sound of crashing waves. Crowd chatter. Horned demons in golden armour.
Then nothing.