Natasha pounded on the walls of the glass elevator with her fists, screaming at the top of her lungs. "Clint! Move, dammit!" Her partner, oblivious to the danger, fired another arrow into the throat of an attacking Hydra agent. He turned then and saw her, giving her a nod of acknowledgment and a cocky wink just before a chunk of the Helicarrier crashed where he was standing. "Clint!" She wailed, sinking to her knees.
Natasha awoke with a sharp intake of breath and the sheets of the bed clenched in her fists. She released them and wiped her sweaty palms on the quilt. Throwing the covers off, she changed out of her rumpled clothes from the day before and threw on a pair of leggings, t-shirt, and running shoes. She checked the thermometer that hung outside the window and rooted around in the dresser drawers to find a gigantic dark green sweatshirt emblazoned "Temple Bar - Dublin." She slipped the sweatshirt over her head and saw Clint in her mind's eye leaning against the door frame with a steaming mug of coffee in his hand. "For someone who 'hates sweatshirts," you sure borrow mine a lot," he smirked.
"For someone who's never cold, you buy a lot of sweatshirts. You should be glad that they're getting use," she would retort as she brushed him on her way past.
Natasha surveyed her face as she brushed her hair into a pony tail at the bathroom mirror. Her expression remained one of boredom or slight distaste, concealing the emotions that boiled below the surface. Emotions, her Red Room training sneered. She'd gotten a crash course in emotions since the day she met her partner. "Damn you, Clint Barton."
At the edge of the driveway, she tightened her running shoes, clipped her phone to her sports bra, and sprinted off. She alternated between jogging and running, all the while assessing every sore muscle and healing bruise. Her mental inventory of her recovery from the Hydra attack kept her mind busy. She drew the pine-scented air deep into lungs and smiled unconsciously, relishing the silence of a misty rural morning. Natasha ran on through the fog that was still hanging over the rolling hills and valleys like a specter, her innate sense of direction leading her pounding feet in a loop that would bring her back around to the house in a few miles. The mist turned to light rain, and she broke her perfect rhythm just long enough to flip the sweatshirt hood over her head. When she climbed a steep rise and could see the house through the morning veil, Natasha started her cool-down, slowing to a jog and then to a walk.
"Mrs. Parker? Tess? That you?" a voice called out. Natasha froze, looked to her left, and spotted a figure sitting on a bench. The old man was so cocooned in dark blankets that blended with the weather-beaten paint of the sagging farmhouse that he was camouflaged.
She cocked her head and pulled the sweatshirt hood down. "Mr. Brown?" Natasha had met Clint's ancient neighbor on her first visit to the cabin. Mr. Albert Brown, nicknamed Brownie, had been born in his farmhouse eighty-nine years ago, and, as he proudly told anyone who would listen, he hadn't slept a night anywhere else since he was honorably discharged from the Army as a young man. He kept an eye on his neighbor's cabin for them, neighbors he knew as Tess and Aaron Parker.
"It is you! Your husband back yet?"
"No, he's still away on business. He'll be here later this week."
"You need anything, you let me know. Brownie worries about ladies being all by themselves in this day and age. I was just reading about a home invasion 'bout 5 miles over yonder. When I was a boy, we didn't even lock our doors on this mountain."
"I'll let you know. I'm going to go out for groceries later today. Do you need anything?" Natasha offered.
"Nah. My daughter's out shopping now, and then we're going to my great-grandson's first birthday party this afternoon."
Natasha's shopping trip filled her morning and early afternoon. She dropped the bags of groceries on the large dining room table and checked her phone for any updates. Nothing. She started a stock pot of soup broth on the stove and then pulled her phone out of her pocket to see if she had a message from Clint. Still nothing. Emptying the plastic bags, she filled the refrigerator and freezer with staples like milk, butter, bread and orange juice, as well as a few extras - some dark chocolate Dove bars for her and Snickers ice cream bars for her partner. He loved Snickers, so she assumed he would appreciate them in an ice cream form at least as much. She arranged the dry goods in the pantry, stopping in the middle of stacking snack crackers to look at her phone. She was convinced she had felt its vibration inside her pocket. Of course her phone remained stubbornly the same. She chided herself. Worrying wasn't going to make her partner arrive any faster, and he had more than two whole days before he could even be expected. Natasha turned up the ring tone and laid her phone on the table. Covering her hair with one of Clint's old bandanas, she dragged the cleaning supplies out from under the kitchen sink. There were a lot of dust bunnies and cobwebs to chase out of the corners of the house and her mind.