Lover's Pursuit

8. Long sleeved shirts

Natasha's POV.

I lay awake most of the night, sprawled across the couch watching the bleak, black sky. Clint is opposite me. He's slouched in his chair at the table, eyes shut with his head resting in his hands.
He's afraid to leave me alone.

My mind has yet to leave the only place I imagine it being for the rest of time. I can only think of her.

I wonder what she's doing right now. If she's asleep beneath her sheets, putting the present behind her and waking tomorrow in a new day. I wonder if she's awake with me right now. Perhaps she's thinking of me too.

I can't help but believe I could find her. Maybe I'm naive to assume she'd ever remember me. Despite her brainwashing, I'm sure she'd rather forget what I did to her. However, I want her back. I have to be selfish.

"You're still thinking about her, aren't you?"
I looked up at Clint, struggling to make out his features in the dim moonlight.
"How could I not?"
I turned to face away from him. To think of her pained me. To speak of her was worse.
"She's not who you once knew, Nat."
I brought my hands to my face and curled my shoulders in an attempt to drown out his voice.

He continued speaking despite my ignorance and lack of reply. Eventually, his voice became white noise and I was able to drift off to it.

I woke at the first sprig of dawn, the light barely penetrating the half drawn blinds. Clint was still at the table, head between his folded arms. He'd warmed himself with a thin cover and when I looked down, I was protected beneath a similar blanket.

Almost immediately, my brain picked up where it had left off last night. I made my way to the chair opposite Clint, pulling her sprawled file to me.

She'd been reduced to nothing more than the bullseye of a dart board. A target. A mission. My target. My mission.

Anyhow, Clint was right. I didn't know her anymore. I'm beginning to doubt if I ever knew her at all.
'The Winter Soldier'
I wince as I mentally recite her name.
I want to find her beneath her rubble, pull her out and make her mine again.
I'm sure I'll prove that I can.

I slip out silently past a slumbered Clint, the midsummer sun beating my bare shoulders as I leave the landing.
I'm headed for the market. Somewhere oversaturated with bodies that I can blend in. She must be here somewhere and this seems the most obvious place to start.

I snake in and out of people, head tilted downwards to conceal my face. I pry round the crowd navigating through my brow.

Then all of a sudden, there she is.

Stood so mundanely at a stall, handing cash to a vendor for a sheer blue bag in exchange, sagging with the weight of the fruit within.
She's in another long sleeved shirt. She must be overheating in that. I wonder why she bothers wearing such a thing.

I slowly slither closer to her position. As she becomes clearer in my view, I notice a beige coloured bandage sporting her forehead. It's only slightly discoloured, but deeply noticeable for me.

What happened when we parted ways yesterday? How I wish I could tap her shoulder, embrace her then ask.

I traced her footsteps a few metres behind her. I'm right to assume she may know I'm there, though if she does, she's doing a fantastic job ignoring me. I'm not even entirely sure what my goal is. I can't eliminate her in such a crowded setting, nor do I want to (or believe I can).
I just want to see her.

The public begin to trickle off. It's harder to remain anonymous in my footsteps. As the background noise grows thinner, I suddenly become aware that she knows I'm here. I can feel her.

She rounds a corner and I stall for just a moment. I know, with all my being, that continuing in her path will end badly. But, somehow, I simply cannot help myself. I'm tracing her scent, following it into my past.

I take her exact steps round the corner, believing I may have wrestled with the decision seconds too long as I can no longer see her.

Before I can collect my ideas, I find myself crashing towards the ground. When I land, my forearm is scraped into dry heat. The concrete is at cooking temperature, my now bloodied cuts deepening the heat.

I peer up, the sun obscuring everything around me. The reflection against metal blinds me momentarily until the midday rays are covered completely by her, standing before me.
"Who are you?"
She asks calmly. Her eyes are sunken as if she's been without sleep. Though, they look lost and disdained as if she was no longer there.

I struggle to find an answer. Her reaction yo the truth yesterday has been nothing short of off putting.
Her metal fist strikes the fleshiest skin of my cheek. I hear my blood sputter across my untouched skin.
She pulls me from the floor, her fingers tightening round my neck. It's much more painful this time. The bruises are still fresh and my throat constricts almost immediately.

She's holding me at eye level. I stare intently, not daring to break her gaze. Looking back at her, right now, I see nothing. I'm struggling to find the girl I knew. I want her to come back to me. I want her to be more than the hand round my neck trying to kill me. I need her to be.
"I'll kill you if you don't tell me" she sputters into my face.

I wrap my hand round her wrists, rubbing her skin gently with my thumb whilst trying to ignore the chilling metal.
"I'm sorry I left you." I squeak, my voice hardly audible.
I expect her eyes to soften, yet they remain the same.
"I'm sorry..." her hands tighten further and my words are barricaded before they can reach the surface.
Her expression has changed. She's not softening, she's curious.
"I'm sorry I left without saying goodbye."