Previously:
"Your little not-so-safe house had air vents too you know…" No way! No fucking way!
"You could have killed me that whole time? Why didn't you?" I demand. She shrugs and answers my question with her own, "Why didn't you?" We both fall silent then, lost to our own thoughts.
Chapter 8It's snowing and cold as shit when we're dropped a few miles from where our safe house has been set up.
And even worse, we still have a river to cross. Fantastic. When we get to the river, I let out a small sigh of disappointment. I was hoping that the river would be frozen over, allowing us to just walk over it.
But it's still flowing, hinting at the fact it's not exactly mid-winter yet. Crossing it will be like an extreme adrenaline junkie's idea of the ice bucket challenge. And I am no extreme adrenaline junkie, contrary to popular belief.
But we don't waste time hesitating. I let Romanoff handle the water-proofing of all our sensitive gear, while I go to judge where our best chances of crossing over safely will likely be. Crossing at this time of year could be extremely dangerous, so I have to take into account a few factors, for instance current strength, while making a guess at river depth.
Even though the river is fucking freezing, we've both been submitted to similar conditions more than once in our lives, so we know to grit our teeth and make it to the other side as fast as possible.
When we finally reach the abandoned cabin that is to be our safe house, I go straight for the shower, not really caring about anything other than getting warm as fast as possible.
I haven't even opened the faucet yet, when Romanoff is pounding on the bathroom door. "Damnit Barton! Stop being a child and get your ass out of that shower!" I open the faucet and wait for the water to come out. "Yeah? Why? So you can hog it for yourself? No way, if you want in you can join."
She opens the door as the water finally comes spraying out. I yelp, more at the frigid temperature than her entrance. She's a damned assassin. She's seen men naked, while slitting their throats. "Yeah, you frickin' idiot. No one's been here for a while. I'm surprised the pipes are working, but if you were counting on warm water you're out of luck." When I jump out with a pained "Shit, that's cold!" she's shaking her head, though I don't know if it's in humor or exasperation. "Here," she says, throwing a towel I hadn't noticed she'd brought with, at me.
I'm about to thank her, but she's already ducking out the door again, and I'm starting to feel a little mortified. So I dry off and am about to get dressed, when I realize I haven't taken my shit with me in my mad dash for the shower.
"There's only one room, and your dry clothes are waiting there. There's a fireplace in the sitting room, which I already started and coffee should be ready in a few," she tells me when I finally come out. I just stare at her in half slack-jawed awe, half leftover mortification. She literally has everything figured out and set up already, while I'm still cold, shivering and standing around like an idiot.
"Stop looking like a kicked lost puppy and get your pathetic ass to warmth!" I shake my head and do as she directed. A few minutes later I'm dressed in a new set of clothes and snuggled into the couch with a blanket wrapped around me, coffee in my hands.
Romanoff joins me after changing and getting our coffee, and is now in the opposite corner, leaning into the armrest. I have to admit that just sitting like this gets kind of boring, so I poke her foot with my toe.
She gives me a 'death would be kinder than what I'll do if you keep that up' look, so I lift my eyebrows and smirk in challenge. Her face twists into this predatory grin, which kind of sends chills down my spine, so I throw my hands into the air immediately and jerk my foot as far away from her as I can go.
She curls back into her corner again as soon as she ascertains that I'm not going to try poking her again. The way she moves catches my attention though. It always has, but for some reason I only notice it now, here on the couch where movement like that shouldn't be anything but awkward. And yet still, she moves with grace, like a feline softly weaving through the grass, on the hunt for prey. It's sort of mesmerizing, the way she curls in on herself again.
I could watch her for hours, but I had better find something else to do besides staring at her, or else she might decide to do something about my scrutiny.
And since I love all my bits in their correct places, I opt for a distraction, "Can we play a game?"
She raises an eyebrow, "What kind of game?" I think about it. It would have to be something entertaining, which won't result in my ultimate demise.
"Well, how about truth or dare?" I ask. "You really have a death wish, don't you? You'd never make my dares," she mutters. It's silent for a while, as I contemplate another game. She surprises me by speaking again. "I have a suggestion," I sit up a little straighter.
"Ever heard of two truths and a lie?" I grin, straightening up completely. "Okay, who goes first?" She smirks in answer