𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗜𝗥𝗘𝗡 | 𝗡. 𝗥𝗢𝗠𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗙𝗙

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𝐏𝐨𝐳𝐧𝐚𝐧, 𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝

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Truth walked out of the bathroom to find Natasha sitting up on the bed, messy curls falling over her face as she looked down at her phone.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Truth called. "Or, I guess afternoon," she added as an afterthought, smiling when Natasha gave her the middle finger. She sat down on the other side of the bed, leaning on her good arm towards the other woman. "How'd you sleep?"

Putting her phone face down on the bed—she'd been checking for any communication from Clint through one of their shared servers only to come up empty, which she knew was a good thing but she still worried—, she turned to Truth, studying her, though she tried not to let her eyes linger. She'd changed into a deep blue v-neck and low-rise, wide-legged jeans, a faint scent of tangerines on her recently washed hair, a reminder of summer in winter.

"Better than you did, I'm assuming," Natasha answered, recalling the amount of times she felt the other assassin getting up and walking around. "Did you get any sleep at all?"

Truth gave her a small smile.

"No, not really. I slept a lot on the plane, though, so I wasn't really tired."

Natasha frowned, displeased at the fact that the last time Truth had slept properly had been almost twenty-four hours ago.

"I could've slept on the couch if that's—"

"What?" Truth looked at her with furrowed brows, an incredulous look on her face at the thought. "It's not your fault, Natasha. I don't usually sleep on missions, and, after what's-her-name and those bounty hunters, I knew I'd be a little too keyed up to sleep anyway. I am sorry I woke you up, though. I was trying to be quiet."

Natasha's lips tilted up.

"You were quiet. The stove wasn't."

Truth smiled sheepishly.

"I was hungry."

The redhead held back a laugh, her smile only growing bigger.

"What did you make?"

"Eggs."

"And, you didn't leave any for me?" Natasha asked.

Truth made a face, looking guilty as charged.

"No," she mumbled. "You were sleeping. And I was hungry."

Natasha chuckled, finding her tone cute.

"I'm kidding, princessa," she said, fighting the urge to lift her hand, to fiddle with the other woman's full curls or trace the line of her lips with her fingers, to be closer to her even though she was already so close. With a shaky breath, Natasha tried to keep up the conversation. "So. You're going somewhere later?"