Another chapter!
I watched from the window as the towering trees filling the jungle of Wakanda turned into to the high rise building covering up the horizon of Seattle. The air, while significantly cooler, held no less moisture. A light drizzle against the plane's wings told me we'd reached our intended destination. Once the landing gears kissed down against the slick pavement, I was quick to jump the three descending steps to the ground. The puddle I landed in instantly seeped into my cloth shoes and splashed against my grey leggings. I was grateful for Sam's hoodie once again as it protected me from the cold daggers of rain tried to pierce my skin.
I made the mistake of expecting an exquisite car to be waiting like I'd received in the African country. What waited for me, however, was a man in a leather jacket and sunglasses, despite the lack of sun, with a grey beanie pulled down over his head. Little blonde hair peaked out at the bottom, but offered no aid in identifying the man.
"Is he my contact?" I turned to the pilot. He was leaned against the exit door puffing on a cigar that smelled of sweet grass. The old man just shrugged and thrust a plain blue flip phone into my hands.
"No trace, but emergencies only. Yes?" he said in his broken English.
I nodded and shoved the phone into my pocket. That would come in useful for when I ditched these babysitters. I would allow their protection for now, but as soon as I figured out where Menzel was, a mini storm would find its way into Seattle, not uncommon for this time of year, and I would be lost in the mayhem.
Approaching the man on the motorcycle, I kept my head down as the onslaught of rain picked up its pace. "I'm Haven," I called.
A sharp incline of his head to the back seat. "Get on," he instructed.
"You don't have a car or something? Or at least a helmet?"
The blonde man revved the engine and I quickly scuttled onto the back seat. He reminded me of Natasha with his brusque manners. At least he waited for me to lock my arms around his waist before taking off unlike her. The outskirts of Seattle peeled past us in dizzyingly dull colors. The dark clouds made everything a lackluster shade of grey. At least my chauffer's stocky frame shielded me from the majority of the bullets raining down from the sky. Downtown was packed with traffic, though this city's residents should long since have become accustomed to driving in severe weather. My driver wove through stalled cars so fast, my slick seat kept threatening to throw me into the street.
By the time we rolled into the parking garage beneath an apartment complex, I was shivering and thoroughly drowned. I wrung a few gallons from my jacket as the man parked the bike and cut the engine. He strolled over to the elevator and punched the button while I sidled up beside him, rubbing my arms for heat.
"Are you Clint?" I asked. "I know I'm supposed to be meeting a Clint Barton, but I don't know anything about him."
I was shoved into the elevator rather rudely. I whipped around, veins now burning with irritation. "Look…!" I started.
The doors closed and he turned on me, removing his tar black sunglasses so that his diamond hard eyes could cut through me. "Do you not understand what on the run means? Myself and the people you're about the meet are in hiding from every major power on this planet. Anyone could overhear. There are video cameras out there. You're lucky there's no audio. Yes, I'm Clint, hello. Don't ever say my name outside of the apartment again. Are we clear?"
"Yes sir," I clipped.
I expected a tired frown like so many of these bad ass avengers had mastered, but instead, his lips quirked up in amusement. He reached back, pressing the top floor button without turning around. "You've got thick skin, kid. You'll be just fine."
A buzzing interrupted whatever inspiring speech he'd been about to spoon feed me. It came from my pocket. Clint reached in and removed my phone, reading the text I'd just received. "He texts you and not me," he grumbled, smashing out a reply on the dated keyboard.
When the phone was finally returned to me, everything was in gibberish. The number itself was not one I recognized and the two corresponding messages were not written in any language spoken on earth.
"Just, T'challa. He wanted an update. Wanted to make sure you were safe."
"Code?" I asked.
"Scott can teach it to you later, though the King isn't very chatty."
The doors chimed open, revealing a bedraggled hallway. The two rooms to the left had the doors dangling from rusted bolts. The single room on the right looked like it was reinforced with the same type of steel that might be used on a safe. Clint tapped the metal once and it slid open soundlessly. Inside the apartment was a small kitchen with appliances that predated even my dinosaur of a phone. On the couch, a man with messy dark brown hair and vibrant hazel eyes jumped on his cushion as the game he played sent his character flying back in a reverberating explosion. A woman curled up in the window seat with her nose buried in a notebook glanced over, despite the impossibility that she'd heard our entrance over the noise from the TV console. She flicked her wrist and a pulse of red was sent charging through the screen before it blacked out.
"Come on, Wanda," the man whined, turning so he could pout at her. "I was so close to beating that level. Just one more game."
Wanda stood, smoothing the hem of her black sweater dress down and padded over on socked feet. Green eyes scanned over me, noting each flaw and each weakness before she spoke. "You are the air manipulator?"
"My last mentor made me stand on a roof for hours on end. You don't plan on doing that, right?"
A shy smile graced her guarded features before disappearing quickly. "No."
A whistle came from the couch. "No one told me she'd be hot," he called.
"Tap at your own risk, Lang." Clint rolled his eyes and set to paroozing the beer selection in the fridge that shook with the effort to keep its insides cool.
"You got beat to dibs," I said. Lang. He must be Scott Lang. Flirting I could deal with. Sarcasm I could retaliate like flipping a light switch. Wanda's eerie calm was unsettling though. Hasina had just been quiet, but she always said what she wanted. Wanda seemed to have volt after carefully constructed volt buried inside her, energy fizzling and ready to explode. So, I edged closer to Scott and his playful smile. The middle seat on the couch was lumpy and sank just enough under my weight so that I felt like I was being swallowed.
"Who beat me?" he complained.
"You know the Winter Soldier?"
"Of, fuck no. I'm not messing with his girl." Scott banged his controller a few times against his palm before his game surged back to life. He set his concentration by tucking his tongue between his teeth.
"Hold on, hold on." Clint came to taking the spot to my left side. "You and Barnes? I mean, I heard he was conscious but damn you move fast."
"I just wanted horn dog off my back."
"Offended," Scott muttered, though, his smile didn't waver.
Clint pulled at his beer and nudged me with an elbow. "Go grab a shower and find some dry clothes, kid. You're getting the couch wet."
"Don't blame her for being so drawn to me. I'm rather irresistible," Scott input.
"Yeah, to insects," Clint retaliated.
I left them and their sibling-like banter behind, opting to skip the shower and just bundle up in my thickest sweatpants and long john shirt. The room they'd placed me in had another twin bed shoved against the opposite wall and I prayed it was Scott's, though I doubted he wore dresses that reveal so much of his thighs. He seemed just a tad more conservative than that.
The covers were warm from the personal heater powering away in the center of the room. I pulled them over my head and dug out my phone again. I hit the contacts, reading only a series of numbers. I would ask Clint about them later. My little sanctuary was too blissful to leave right now, or anytime in the next few decades. Unable to decipher anything useful, I let my heavy eyelids close.
What woke me hours later was a buzzing against my stomach. Another text, this one disturbing my slumber. I pulled the offending device up to squint at the coded message. A different number this time, equally as opaque as T'challa's. What caught my eye, however, was the signature at the bottom. '-B'
The only B I knew in this fast paced, ridiculous life I now lived had been left back in Wakanda. Peaking out from my covers, I saw Wanda fast asleep on top of hers. She slept curled into a ball facing the wall. I tiptoed across the hall to the boy's room. From the living room, the sounds of a golf game Clint was watching could be faintly heard. Scott was snoring away upside down on his mattress, with more appendages dangling off the bed than on it. With a jab, I roused his from sleep.
He was a tornado of flailing limbs and confused moaning as he woke. I waited until he'd calmed enough to squint blearily up at me before seating myself on his bed and tucking my cold toes beneath his warm, bare thighs exposed by his boxers. He hissed and flopped back, causing the springs to groan in protest. "Next time you want to cuddle, just get in. No permission needed," he mumbled.
"Can you translate a text for me?" I asked, poking his muscled stomach.
"No."
"Scott, please. I need to know," I begged.
He held out his hand blindly and I dropped the phone into it. "You know how to cook?" he asked while his light eyes scanned over the message.
"Sure."
"Can you make me scrambled eggs in the morning? Wanda and Clint are the sunny side-up kind of people and they refuse to change their ways for me."
"Eggs for translation. Deal."
"You know this is from your boo thang, right? If I decode this and I find a dick pic, daddy Clint will have to confiscate your phone," he warned teasingly.
"Scott, you just called Clint daddy. Who's the real person that should be kink shamed right now?" I laid down beside him to watch as he mouthed the letters to himself, slowly piecing together the long paragraph. He really was rather warm. Maybe I would take him up on his offer to share the space.
"Ok, Rosales. Barnes wants to know that you're alive, how you're being treated. He wants to make sure you're not giving your goods out to anyone else." I wacked his shoulder, making Scott grin as he continued reading. "He says they're going to be testing something out on him tomorrow, or today I guess since Wakanda is hours ahead of us. Some new serum that's supposed to help undo what's been done to him. Then, it's just the little B at the bottom, which I guess is what clued you into who was contacting you."
He passed the phone back, yawning his morning breath into my face as he draped a heavy arm over my stomach. I read over the message a few times for myself before I asked, "Can you type a reply for me?" Snoring answered. I sighed and slid away from his grasp.
A quick peak in the living room told me Clint was out cold too; his head was lulled back against the top of the couch back with drool creeping down his cheek. Guess Bucky would have to wait for a response. Meanwhile, I swiped the laptop sitting on the kitchen counter and quickly typed in the pass code I'd spied Clint using earlier. I knew enough about computers to erase my tracks, to hide my internet searches, to deleted the email I sent out to Menzel's online site and use a fake return address that I linked to the email on my phone.
Closing out of the screen, I slunk silently back to bed. All was still in the apartment.
Uh oh! New friends and new trouble. Let me hear your thoughts. 3