Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists.

10. Vancouver: Shopping Therapy

Isabel looked herself in the mirror and hardened her resolve.

Victor had been gone for six days and would be so for a few more days. She was alone.

Yesterday, she'd roamed the rooms of the penthouse. All four of them: kitchen, living room, bedroom and bathroom. She was starting to hate the place. It was just a rental so, when she had asked for Victor's permission to redecorate the place, he had quickly told her no. They'd only stick around until her documents were done with. The Canadian ones wouldn't take much longer, the Portuguese ones being a different story, and then he'd choose a place to stick her in for good.

"You're dallying," she told herself aloud. "Enough is enough."

Isabel breathed out and grabbed her bag. She stopped once more in front of the door.

"If Victor were around," she grumbled in her native Portuguese, "you'd have left an hour earlier!"

Just so she wouldn't look weak in his eyes. She picked the key and opened the door, locked it. Conscious of every step she took, Isabel reached the outside.

It was cloudy but warm. Cars were speeding up and down the roads.

Isabel lifted her head and turned south. Her strides picked up a confident rhythm she was far from feeling.

It had been in a city much like this one, while Victor had been elsewhere just like he was now, that she'd been taken by those mercs. To torture and… Stop thinking about it! It's in the past and the past is not in the habit of repeating itself!

Isabel was also fed up with that inner dialogue. It was pretty much the same every time she went out.

The first day Victor had left her alone, she had not left the flat. She'd been bored to death.

The second day, she had headed south and discovered George Wainborn Park. She'd sat by the water and had even managed to relax for a few minutes. When her phone had rung in the late eafternoon, she had answered Victor with a smile of victory, although he hadn't been thrilled about her outing.

"Oh, it was essential," she had explained. "I needed fresh bread."

Unfortunately, she had avoided heading to the stores area for so long, she had ended up not buying any bread.

The third day she hadn't had the heart to leave. The night had been spent in nauseating nightmare after disturbing nightmare and, though she had forced herself to sleep after each and every one, she had been too tired and had preferred to nap during the day.

The fourth day she really had had to get some fresh bread.

"Why didn't ya just ordered it delivered?" He had growled after asking her what she'd done during the day.

"Que disparate! You think I'm afraid of go to de shop, huh? You think? Because I'm not and I go out whenever I want because I have no problem wid dat, you hear?"

She'd hung up on his face and then she had had to put up with twenty minutes of angry ranting from the man. Yeah, well, teach him to imply she was a scaredy wimp. Besides, was he serious about allowing a complete stranger to come up to her door step? Didn't that sound dangerous to him? It was much safer to go out in public areas than to allow someone to pretty much destroy the sanctity of the penthouse.

Isabel had suffered every inch of the way to the shops, looking for a bakery. She had even had to ask people for one. Although, truth be said, she asking women for directions hadn't been that terrible. It was just a pity everyone spoke too fast and used expressions that might as well had been Chinese. But she'd found a bakery, she'd bought bread, and she'd hurried back to the house.

Another hellish night dictated a day of boredom stuck indoors. What she needed was a piano or a guitar. And skirts. That had made her smile.

So, today, Isabel headed south to the park. It was early, but she had a lot to do. Today, she'd really go all out. After a few minutes relaxing by the water, Isabel turned North and started creating her mental map of the area.

She started by going up Richards Street, noticing sushi bars and coffee houses, dry cleaners and ice-cream parlours, banks and homes, restaurants and cafés, clothes shops. She stopped at every one of those. It wasn't a busy hour just then, and, anyway, she kept her phone in her hand. Just in case.

The terrain was mostly flat and she kept going at a leisurely pace. About half an hour later, she turned right and then turned immediately south to follow Homer street down. Even though her heart beat harshly in her chest, Isabel kept the act of peace and quiet, head high and confident, not the slightest worry.

Isabel's objective was to have a clear picture of every street near the penthouse. That way, the area would be familiar and, hopefully, it would create less anxiety. Not to say that, the longer she spent outside and nothing bad happened, the sooner her stupid mind would realise there was no reason to freak out. Even if there were men around.

There was a second objective, of course: to get more skirts and dresses. And under skirts. The skirt she'd bought wasn't full enough to grant easy access, since it always had to be pulled up in its entirety. She wanted something flowy, something Victor could get a hand under and not be obvious from every angle. She had also learnt that, if she was going to wear skirts with no panties, she'd need something else underneath to protect the skirt from… fluids.

As the day progressed, Isabel started realising she might not be able to find what she was looking for. Sure, she'd bought a dress that more or less fit her demands, but cotton underskirts, or simply light-coloured cotton skirts, were nowhere to be seen. She was now going up Homer Street (as apparently there were two Homer Streets side by side), when she stumbled upon a fabric store.

Now why hadn't she thought about it before? Besides the obvious fact her sewing skills were very much underdeveloped. If she wanted cotton underskirts, she either had them made, or made them herself! How hard can it be to make a skirt, right? She had made one before, for craft classes at school. Sure, she had had plenty of help, but that was besides the point. She was very good at embroidery, and sewing isn't that very different. Though she wouldn't be sewing by hand. That'd take forever.

Looking at the fabrics on display on the window, Isabel tried to think it through.

Victor had left her a card with limited credit with the sole objective of buying essentials. She had no idea what the man thought those essentials might be, since the limited credit he'd so ominously underlined amounted to five thousand Canadian dollars. Had he been expecting a shopping spree? Or perhaps he was testing her, to see how much she'd spend. She was more inclined to go with the latter.

Right. She'd postpone getting a sewing machine till he came back and she exposed her plan to him. That would surely reasure whatever insecurities might hide behind the man's façade. In the meantime, she'd go online – the internet existed for a reason – and she'd look for instructions on how to make a skirt. Just to jog her memory.

Right. Looking through the window, she could see one female assistant and two male ones. Just the thing to keep on underlining how she had no reason to fear being around men.

Right.

Time to go in.

Right.

Taking a deep breath, Isabel entered the shop and headed straight to the first male attendant.

"Good morning," she said. "I want…"

Uh. How do you say white cotton in English?

"Yes?"

"Uh…" Isabel looked around, trying to spot… "Dat!"

She signalled the young man to follow her to the rolls of colourful fabric, which she immediately rubbed gently. It was cotton, alright. Grandma Lilia only wore cotton clothes in summer and Isabel would recognise that feel anywhere.

"I want dis, but in white, please."

"Yes, ma'am. How many meters?"

Oh, they used meters! She loved Vancouver.

"Ten, please."

She had no idea how many she really needed, but she'd have to make several of those underskirts, since she'd be changing them daily, if not a couple of times a day. She'd start with ten and figure it out how to...

Isabel cringed and bit down a whimper when she failed to get out of the way of the assistant and his hand brushed her arm. God, it made her skin crawl! But there was nothing wrong with it. Nothing wrong. She stepped away, careful not to go against anyone, to make sure there would be no more accidental touches.

Tomorrow, she predicted, she'd spend her day sewing. She'd need to have at least one underskirt ready for Victor's arrival and, for once, she wouldn't be bored to death stuck in the house.

"Anything else?"

Sewing material, obviously, from needles to scissors and everything in between. Now, if only she had a dictionary.

"Uh… Material to… uh… make clodes."

She really needed to learn some vocabulary, didn't she?

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