Tied

Six

“You should try being nicer, maybe he'd try too.” Natasha told Dahlia one late night. 

“I've tried the whole ‘be nice’ thing in the past, you know this.” Dahlia mumbled, tapping the wooden dining table with her fingernails as Morticia rubbed against her legs, purring. 

“He had just come out of the ice, Lia.” Natasha sighed heavily, sitting across from her. “He was stressed and having trouble getting used to the new times.”

“I was straight out of the academy, Tasha. I was eighteen and tasked to help him get with the times. He was nice to the nurses, but then with me, it was like he snapped. Gone was the gentleman from the 40's that I wrote book reports about and called a hero. . . I masked the hurt behind anger and hatred, it kept me looking young.”

“You are young.” Natasha retorted. 

“Not as young as I was back then, thank God. I used to cry at night wondering why my hero hated me, then I grew up. I'm glad I did.” Dahlia replied, looking at the holographic glitter nail lacquer on her nails. She was surprised it hadn't chipped yet.

“I'm just saying, this whole thing has changed him.” Natasha said. 

“Until his attitude changes, mine is staying the same. . .” Dahlia trailed off. 
“I'm going to bed.” She stood from the table, leaving her dirty mug in its place. “We have places to be in the morning.”

“I'll be in soon” Natasha called after her. 
“Okay!” She called back, turning the corner. 

Dahlia paused outside of the guest room, listening closely to the sound of the two breathing men. She could easily tell the difference between them. 

Pietro's breaths were faster, whereas Steve's were steady, calming even. 

Dahlia quickly moved on before Natasha could catch her listening in. She closed the bedroom door behind her, wasting no time getting under the covers. 

Just as she was drifting off, the door opened and closed almost immediately. A second later, the bed dipped beside her as Natasha got settled in for the night. 

Morticia hopped up onto the bed, picking her spot right between the two women. 

𓆩♡𓆪

"Wake up."

Dahlia groaned into her pillow, rolling over and covering her head with the nearest blanket, shielding herself from the cool air of the room. 

The blanket was pulled away from her face and torso. 
She whined in disapproval, turning to face the culprit.
Her eyes cracked open, though soon widened. 

“Dude, what the fuck?” Dahlia yelled. “Why the fuck are you in here?”

“Language, first of all. Second of all, Natasha sent me to wake you up.” Steve crossed his arms. 

Dahlia rolled her eyes. “Well I'm up, Spangles. You can get out now, the door is to your left.” 

“Hurry up, we have to leave.” He ignored her. 

“Standing there like a spandex wearing prick isn't gonna make me move any faster.” Dahlia said, throwing her legs over the side of the bed. 

She lifted her shirt over her head, slinging it into the dirty clothes basket. “Are you gonna leave, or are you gonna stay for the show, Captain?”

Dahlia didn't bother turning around, as her door was slammed not a minute later. 

“What bills are he paying that makes him think it's okay to slam doors in my house?” She muttered to herself, discarding the rest of her clothes into the basket and entering the en suite bathroom. 

She used the bathroom and showered quickly. 

Natasha entered her bedroom as Dahlia was walking out of the bathroom, wearing only her undergarments.

“Are you almost ready?” Natasha asked. They didn't pay attention to the others' various stages of dress or undress. 

“Yeah, I'm getting there — have you seen that floral blouse I was gonna wear?” Dahlia questioned, rapidly digging through her closet.

“The white one that's off the shoulders?” 

“That's the one!” Dahlia called, sighing and giving up for the moment. 
She grabbed a pair of skinny jeans from the top of the dresser and put them on, fighting slightly to get them over her thighs. Though it was smooth sailing from there. 

“Here.” Natasha chucked the correct blouse at her after digging around for a few minutes.
Dahlia caught it with one hand, straightening it out so that she could put it on. 

“Thanks — bags are by the door.” Dahlia announced, looking at herself in the mirror, fixing her hair one final time. 

She knew it would be fucked almost to hell in the hour it she would spend in the quinjet. Yet, she still did it.

“Morticia has a carrier, right?” Pietro asked, popping his head into the room. 

“Top shelf, hall closet.” Dahlia replied without missing a beat. “It's a light pink, you should be able to find it easily — anyone know where my sandals went? The brown ones with the gold buckles?” 

“By the back door.” 

“Okay. . . I'm ready.” Dahlia said. 
She picked up her bags and walked out of the bedroom with Natasha following.  

As she walked past the pink and black carrier, she could hear Morticia making displeased noises. 

Pietro took her bags, getting them to the jet before she could open her mouth to tell him no. 
“Stop doing that.” Dahlia huffed, nudging his arm. “I'm carrying Tish, she looks like she wants to kill you.”

“Impossible, she loves me.” Pietro boasted.
Dahlia snorted, easily slipping her shoes on. 
“She might have, but that was before you shoved her into the carrier.”

“Let's go!” Steve called from halfway across the back yard. 

Dahlia grabbed the carrier, locking up the house behind everyone. 

She didn't know how long they'd be gone, or even if they'd come back to West Virginia with her, but she liked having Natasha and Pietro there, even if she didn't care for Steve all that much. 

Once the sliding glass door was locked, she pocketed the keys and walked off of the covered patio, to the awaiting quinjet.

Natasha was piloting, and Dahlia did everything possible to sit as far away from Steve as possible. It would only be an hour before they could put more square feet between them.