DAYWALKER | n.romanoff

SEVEN

CHAPTER SEVEN
'BITTER, I GUESS.'

The two females grunted when they dragged Barton the final distance and onto the chair. Only just managing to save herself with a hand against the headrest, the Blade nearly fell on top of him. Immediately, Romanoff went to restraining one side of his body with straps, and the Blade followed suit after a moment to regain her breath.

Slowly, she straightened and rolled her previously dislocated shoulder, her other hand resting over it. She ignored the look the redhead sent her as she stepped away from the man and began to unbutton her jacket.

"Why are you both so wet?"

"Sprinklers." After unstrapping the sheaths which crossed over her back and setting them on the floor, the Blade threw the clothing onto the back of a seat, leaving her in a pair of cargo trousers, a compression shirt and a bulletproof vest.

Romanoff couldn't help her eyes flickering to the way her muscles flexed under the fabric. Quickly, she turned away and busied herself to check Barton's vitals. "Sprinklers?" she repeated after a pause that was much too long.

The Blade glanced at her as she rummaged through her coat pockets, but she didn't seem to notice the awkwardness. "Yes. Your ship takes fires very seriously." She found her target and removed a cigarette and lighter from an inside pocket. After slotting the rolled paper between her lips, she straightened. "I hope you didn't hit him too hard." It muffled her voice, and her accent had grown stronger.

"Why do you care?" Romanoff glanced behind her, tone sharp. "Hey! Jesus, are you crazy?"

She blinked. "What is wrong with asking about his wellbeing-"

"-The cigarette, Жoпа!"

"It's a wonder this thing is still flying. A little more smoke won't make a difference."

"Well, I don't want you doing it in here!"

"Oh, well, if that's the case." She lit the cigarette.

"For fu-" Romanoff pushed herself away from Barton and wrenched open the door to the room. She glared at the helmeted woman and pointed to the hallway. "Out."

"Out?"

"Out!"

The Blade huffed before turning on her heel and stepping into the corridor. The moment she crossed the threshold, Romanoff let the door slam behind her. She turned around and peered through the door's window. The two females stared at each other before the Blade knocked on the door.

Romanoff turned away, returning her focus to Barton.

She knocked again and once more when she ignored her. "Can I at least have my jacket?" There was a moment of silence. "And my swords?"

The redhead released a noise of frustration and marched to the door to wrench it open. She dragged the chair to prop it open and shot a withering glare at the helmeted woman.

"I was only asking a question. No need to be so-"

"-I swear to God, I will shoot you in the fucking face!"

"Everything okay here?"

The Blade, who was still in the corridor, turned to look at Rogers, and then Romanoff poked her head outside the room to see him. Slowly, she took a long drag of her cigarette and blew it out.

Shooting a glare at her, Romanoff leaned against the doorframe as Rogers approached them. "We got Clint."

"He still hostile?"