Chapter Text
“Enjoy the holidays?”
If it hadn’t been for the red hair, he would’ve missed Natasha amidst the crowd. After dodging and slipping past an overwhelming number of suits and ties, the accounting department was really trying this year, Clint found himself marching alongside her.
“What holidays?” she walked casually yet expeditiously, hands balancing a cup of coffee and an open file she was perusing. Her voice was back to normal and so was her usual confident demeanor, not that he was ever worried about any of that.
“Well, pine trees, Santa Claus, obscene amounts of alcohol disguised as eggnog, you know, Christmas?”
“Christmas, right.” She closed the folder shut, reaching out to press the elevator button. “I was on a solo in Panama, must’ve slipped right past me. In fact,” the doors opened with a ding and she stepped inside “I’m headed up for a debrief.”
***
“And what about Fonseca?”
“Switzerland, Luxembourg, Hong Kong, all recently became clients and hold assets within the firm. However, it may be too early to make allegations just yet. I followed a few different potential traces, but we need more definitive data, especially with regards to tax evasion and international sanctions.”
She kept her posture straight, looking the SO directly in the eyes as she spoke. He observed her for a while, glancing at the file and back at her, crunching the numbers.
“That is all, agent Romanoff. Excellent work.”
She expected nothing less, after all, the whole thing had been simple intelligence gathering, but still, she left the room triumphant.
The ride down from the 19th floor brought back Barton’s remark. Had she really missed Christmas? It wasn’t like her to lose track of time, yet life had been so busy lately, she’d barely had the time to even notice the weather, hence the pencil skirt that barely covered her knees.
Her lips let out a small sigh as she got off the elevator, swiping her coat and wrapping it tightly around her frame.
It was already snowing when she emerged outside, large chunks of the white stuff hastily making their descent over the streets of New York. Throughout the years, Natasha had taken up residence in a total of twenty-seven countries, haunting the alleyways late at night and occupying her mornings with jogs through the local parks. No place was like the other, each one its own colorful blur of people and events. The one thing they all had in common, however, except for the bleak hotel rooms, sleepless early hours, and bloody bathrooms, was the fleetness. Natasha Romanoff was not a settler, never more than a nightly phantom, gone and forgotten with the rising sun. But New York? New York was very much born at midnight, alive and ablaze. And for a shadow, the subtlety disappeared with the flickering neons.
Her phone went off vibrating in her pocket, the only acceptable ringtone she could tolerate. It was the realtor, she’d memorized the number after S.H.I.E.L.D. had hooked her up more than a month ago. She’d put that whole thing on hold, missions and all, but it seemed the moment had come for this next step.
She picked up, exchanging a few pleasantries with the man on the opposite end and arranging an appointment in the next hour or so, just enough of a time gap to grab a quick lunch on the way.
The entirety of her day very much resembled those romantic comedies the Red Room used to teach them English from – long busy days at the office, awkward elevator rides, dirty looks on the subway. Who had she become other than a member of corporate, strolling around town and avoiding maniacal taxi drivers? She was supposed to be the maniacal driver, not somebody’s low-wage secretary. But alas, she had to gain their trust.
***
The apartment, oh the irony, happened to be located right next to a small park in East Side, fifth floor, quiet neighborhood. She’d officially signed off from the hotel and was now standing at the front door, key in hand and suitcase in tow.
Somehow, it felt monumental. Other than the Red Room, which she couldn’t exactly call home, she’d never had a permanent place, not to mention, all to herself. A set of deep breaths and a look down the hall later, Natasha finally stepped in.
She followed her usual routine of examining the property thoroughly, checking behind curtains, doors, underneath the bed, and couch. It was clear. And quiet. Far off from the Parisian wooden window frames that creaked with every gust of wind and did nothing for the cars passing down the street.
Stepping back into the foyer, she finally locked the door and took a moment to take it all in. It wasn’t anything too special, a kitchen, separate bedroom, and a bathroom, all, thankfully, fully furnished, thank you S.H.I.E.L.D. A window was tucked in the corner of each room, both opening up to the fire escape she’d noted from the street below. Home sweet home? Only time would tell.
Natasha slipped out of her heels, the wooden floor nice and smooth and soothing beneath her feet. She fished out her cell, dialing the Chinese place she’d discovered amidst one of her evening strolls, the very first semblance of normalcy she’d partaken in as a full-time New Yorker, and just flopped onto the sofa very unladylike, anticipating the Heavenly Food delivery.
***
She had not ordered a cat. Yet somehow, there was one in her living room, all black fur and green eyes glinting menacingly towards the chicken on the countertop.
“Don’t even think about it,” Natasha whispered, lightly questioning the fact that she was threatening an animal.
The intruder, no taller than Natasha’s knee but twice as feisty, hissed and moved closer, not once breaking eye contact with the food.
In the span of a few seconds, chaos ensued, with Natasha trying to push the cat aside, mid-air, only to get her wrists all scratched up. The chicken, well, godspeed to the chicken, as it somersaulted right between the little critter’s incisors. And the cat? Smug as a cat could be, it bolted out of the open window, swiftly taking the fire escape down until she hit the street and disappeared behind a dumpster.
Natasha stood dumbfounded, a few drops of red trickling down her palm. Did that really just happen?