Previously:
"Natasha," I stare at her, quirking an eyebrow, "You can call me Natasha. We were way past last names anyway," she tells me, squeezing my arm slightly as she leaves. She comes back a few minutes later with freshly brewed coffee. "If you're Natasha, can I be Clint?" I ask her jokingly.
Chapter 10The next day we go scouting, edging around the outer boundaries of the facility, and getting a general lay of the land. We incorporate the new intel into our plan, and add newfound entrances and exits.
We eat canned food and spaghetti for dinner. When bedtime rolls around, Natasha is about to head back to the room to get more blankets and pillows, when she looks back at me.
"You know, there's a king-sized bed in that room. It's a lot more comfortable than both the ground and your couch. I'm certain it can support both our weight."
I look at her hesitantly, but grab the bedding in the lounge and follow her in the direction of the bedroom. Natasha is already dressed in her nightwear; grey leggings and a long-sleeved black nightshirt, when I head for the bathroom to change.
When I got back, she's sitting on one side, turning a knife end over end in her hand. "I don't feel comfortable sleeping without it. But I'm afraid if I attack you again and it's within my reach, you'll wake up with a knife lodged in your chest."
I gulp. Well, at least she's honest. "Keep it. If you actually manage to stab me during the course of the night my skills aren't worth a damn, so I'd probably deserve it," I tell her with a semi-straight face.
She nods, sliding the knife into a hidden holder strapped to one leg of the bedside table. I add all the blankets I can possibly fit onto the bed, distributing them equally between the two of us, before slipping under the sheets on my side. She turns on her side, facing me, before closing her eyes.
Her breathing eases as she gives in to sleep. I suddenly realize the amount of trust she must have in me, if she falls asleep in my presence that easily, especially since I'm still awake and fully conscious. "Stop over-analyzing and shut your eyes Barton," she says in a sleepy whisper from her side of the bed.
I smile, "I thought we passed last names?" I whisper back. "Not when you're supposed to be sleeping, instead of staring at my forehead," I frown.
"How would you know what I was staring at? Your eyes are closed," queue my amazing observation skills and night vision. "My boobs are below the blankets, along with the rest of my body. The only thing for you to stare at is my forehead," and there goes my questionable deductive skills, all washed down the drain.
She's right of course, but I like arguing, especially when I'm functioning on a sleepy mind. "How do you know I'm not staring at your hair? Is that shade of red even natural?" I muse.
This time her eyes do flicker open. "Go to sleep Clint. You're testing my patience," I give her a full-on grin. "What now?" she sighs long-sufferingly.
"That's the first time you called me Clint," I tell her, my eyes shutting of their own volition. I feel the bed move slightly as she punches her pillow into submission. "Child!" but her tone of voice is more indulging amusement than irritable sarcasm. So I let her have the last word, and drift to sleep.
When we wake up, we start our preparations for the main part of the mission. We already decided on attacking once night fell, to give us the best chance of reaching the base.
So we both pack our gear in silence and move towards the outer boundary of the Red room.
The day will be passed scouting the outer boundaries and learning the exact patterns of the outer guards, as well as working out how many guards we'll have to take down.
It means I'll be lying in the snow, freezing my butt off for quite a while before its dark enough for us to make our move.
We've been lying in the snow for the better part of the day, calling out patterns and strays as we notice them, when Natasha decides to move in for a closer vantage point, pointing me to a nearby tree as she's about to leave.
We split off and keep contact through our comms through the rest of the daylight hours. At some point I get bored with the general "Status… Alert and Ready," reply protocol, so we start playing a twisted game of 'I spy' instead.
It keeps us busy, along with maintaining our awareness of each other's status.
"I spy a snake pissing against the fence," I tell her, watching the base with my riflescope. I only have the scope with me, since I'll be using my arrows and two handguns concealed in my tactical wear only.
"True. I spy his trigger-happy partner," she replies. I move my scope to the partner to see she's right. His gun is up and pointing jerkily at anything that dares to move. The trigger-happy comes from two visual cues; his safety is off, and his finger is resting heavily on the trigger.
Sure enough, five seconds later and he accidentally shoots five rounds into the snow. "True. I spy a pissed off superior," I continue. "Lie," she retorts, "You're guessing the boss will be pissed."
"Touche," I edge my scope around the base to see if I can locate the boss, but no dice. "Hey, I say we attack that gate first if we're still planning on stealth. If we cause any commotion we can just blame Mr. Trigger-happy."
"Since he's been periodically shooting off rounds on five separate occasions now, I'm guessing he's a newbie. There will be someone more experienced with him, but we should be able to take them down before they raise the alarm. Okay, it's dark enough to start moving. You better have my back," I can see her figure detaching from the shadows as she stalks closer to the base.