The Shadow // Natasha Romanoff x OC

Chapter 9 - Thanksgiving Gone Wrong

Azara's pov

A cool breeze sweeps through the otherwise mild twilight. While it was only just gone 6, the day seeps into night much too quickly for my liking at this time of year.

Today was also thanksgiving: another kick in the teeth. In London, it was ok. They don't celebrate thanksgiving over there but instead burn a scarecrow model of a 300 year failed terrorist who nearly bombed the houses of Parliament and have fireworks, sparklers and hotdogs, along with tacky plastic lightsabers and glowstick swords.

But, as I said, it's just another kick in the teeth. I'm sitting on my makeshift bed with the door of my stolen tent wide open. No one can see me but I can see everything: Brooklyn Bridge, the Empire State building in the far distance; even Stark Tower.

All is quiet and calm and for the first time in over a year, I can finally breath. Being alone is therapeutic and 'clenses the soul' as an ad on the side of a bus for aloe vera blackhead remover said.

But I miss it. Yes, it's only been a week, but I want to go and apologise to them... again. But I just can't bring myself to.

After another hour or so of just staring out at the city skyline, I merge into the shadow of my tent, hoping to find a 7eleven open.

But I definitely wasn't in a 7eleven. Nor anywhere I'd ever seen before.

I look down the rubble strewn street and see a newsagents sign displaying the words:

Газетные киоски Sokovia
(Sokovia newsagents)

I hear yelling and the screams of children but I'm stuck in my spot; unable to understand just how I got here.

"Wanda, if you're here to help, so be it, if not, get to safely." a man who I recognise to be Clint Barton, aka Hawkeye, runs from a nearby shop and doesn't see me.

Wanda.

Wanda!

I run towards where Barton had just existed and am faced with a certain browny-red haired girl I'd grown to know well over the months in HYDRA.

"W-Wanda? Is it you?" I approach warily as I see the flicker of scarlet light fill the dark ruins.

"Azara?" her voice is no louder than a whisper and I pity her curled up and still form on the floor.

"Yeah, it's me, ginger witch," I smile softly at my friend, crouching to her level.

"Y-you remember?" she mirrors what Tony had said in Stark Tower.

"Yeah, you hated that nickname," I laugh softly.

"Yeah, I do, because I'm not ginger," She huff in a failed attempt to appear annoyed.

"How's Speedos?"

Again, she laughs slightly, "Still annoyingly speedy as ever."

We look at each other and I give her a sympathetic smile. We're not fooling each other. We both fell asleep to each others' pained and tortured screams. We both saw the fear in each others' eyes as Strucker came in. We both can still feel a tingle from the electric chair.