2: Are you ready to comply?

Chapter 8

Nat's POV

I honestly wanted to scream, or smash everything in sight at this point. I hadn't got the first clue of what to do right now. I had broken so many Stark pads in frustration. I played it off that I was just struggling with The Night Terror case, which wasn't a total lie, to which Tony just shrugged and issued me my 10th tablet without asking me anything else, obviously not fancying his chances against a pissed off Black Widow. I was feeling her slipping between our fingers, we were failing her. It felt like being in that hospital room all over again, seeing her flatline every single time I saw no results come up. If I wasn't staring at the stupid screen, I was beating the hell out of a punching bag, or Steve; it depended on my mood.

I wasn't being called for that many more cleanups of Ana's. Either HYDRA were putting her on the back burner, or they were doing more off the radar operations, stuff which wouldn't draw attention. The latter was my guess. I mean HYDRA were still operating, there had been a raids of SHIELD bases, but she wasn't involved, or at least there was nothing to link her involvement. No one experienced an abnormal amount of fear, no one turned insane; which I know was a good thing, but it also meant that at this moment we were totally blind, no idea whatsoever on what they were planning, or what was coming next.

Wanda hadn't been able to connect with her again, it was total radio silence from Ana's end. It was all hurting Wanda as much as it was hurting me, but this time we didn't seem to find any comfort in each other, or anyone for that matter. I didn't think it could hurt more then when she died, but knowing she was out there, trapped, alone, it felt worse. When we first started searching, we were feeling the tiniest glimmer of hope, and Wanda would smile in my presence again, but now it was gone. Totally destroyed. Being able to feel her again after all that time, being so close to Ana and her disappearing. It was hard to take, it was hard to cope with.

I stared at the paper in my hand, random shapes and shitty scribbles was the only shred of evidence we seemed to have at the moment, and nothing was coming of it. I mean where do you even begin searching for what a drawing of a drawing could mean, an art museum? I mean Steve was the Avenger's resident art expert, but asking him to decipher such an obscure image, would only end up with questions I wasn't ready to answer yet, questions that I couldn't even risk being thought about yet by anyone other then Wanda and I.

There were moments when I started to wonder if Wanda was right, maybe it meant nothing. But I knew her, I knew Ana, she always drew with a purpose, subconsciously or consciously it meant something to her.

"What you up to kid?" I asked the blonde haired girl who was staring at the TV in the lounge. She quickly glanced over at me, a huge smile on her face. That infectious smile, miles away from the girl on the rooftop. She wasn't perfect, sometimes her eyes would glaze over, but I knew I could just grab her hands, squeeze them, and she'd come back to me. No matter how distressed she got, how far gone she'd seem to be into an episode, she always came back to me.

"Ice skating" She said, staring back at the illuminated screen as if it was obvious. But the programme wasn't what I was questioning, she held the journal I got for her once she moved into the Avenger Quarters and she was allowed it. She kept it with her most of the time, doodling whenever she got anxious or bored. But I knew she wasn't paying close attention to whatever was being created on the page, which was when she was most open, this was normally when my favourite pieces were created. Be it the first dog she'd ever stroked who had a stick twice his size in his mouth whilst we were out on a walk, or capturing Fury hilariously during briefings - that was when she and Wanda weren't playing games, or passing notes anyway - in those moments I was really seeing the world through her eyes.

"I meant, what are you drawing?" I replied quirking an eyebrow, fully aware that she knew that was what I asked the first time round. The obvious dodge of the question intrigued me, but she just closed the journal and winked at me,