𝙎𝙄𝙇𝙑𝙀𝙍 𝙇𝙄𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙎 ↯ ᴘ.ᴍᴀxɪᴍᴏғғ

17. S U R P R I S E

THE QUINJET SOARED SILENTLY OVER the European landmass, invisible to all except those with a keen eye on the sky. The red-haired Avenger flew the jet with the ease of someone who had been flying their whole life, something which was slightly comforting to Milenka and helped to reduce her fear of what she called the deathjet.

It was a quiet flight, and once they were settled in the air, the autopilot taking them where they needed to go, Natasha took her hands of the controls and unbuckled her seatbelt, leaning back on the captain's chair. To her side, the small brunette's eyes widened dramatically and her jaw dropped involuntarily, "Why are you letting go?!" she exclaimed.

Natasha chuckled, "It's okay, don't worry. I've turned on the autopilot. We're not going to fall."

She looked over at the younger girl in the passenger seat to her left, fear plastered on her features, and sighed empathetically, "Tony designed this himself, I trust the autopilot even more than I trust myself."

"Tony Stark designed this? That's it- I'm going to die." Lenks blanched.

"I probably shouldn't have led with that." Natasha reflected, trying not to find mirth in Milenka's distress— though, with her flailing gesticulations and contorted features she was a rather amusing sight, "J.A.R.V.I.S., give Milenka some reassuring stats, please."

The posh monotone British accent of Tony's computer guy (Lenks didn't know what else to call him) spoke matter-of-factly over the speakers, "Of course, ma'am. This jet has been on one hundred and thirty three flights, and there has not been a single malfunction on any of them. You are also nineteen times safer in a plane than in a car, and Natasha was one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s most talented pilots."

Suddenly, and before Lenks could find comfort in his— is he a 'he'?— words, a gust of turbulence shook the plane slightly, and Lenks gripped the arm rests with her hands so tightly that her nails started to dig into the foam.

Realising the poor girl needed something to distract herself from the journey, Natasha suggested that Lenks take a look in the spare clothes box for something less... bloody... to change into. Milenka agreed and, summoning her courage, unbuckled her seatbelt and swivelled the chair around, following Natasha to a large bench seat near the back of the jet. She lifted the lid to a box of comfortable clothing, and gave Lenks privacy to change.

Rummaging through the box, Lenks found that most of the clothes were definitely made for the very tall men who made up the majority of the group. Finally settling on a pair of grey joggers that seemed to be only a couple sizes too big, and a sweatshirt in the same colour that was similarly oversized, Milenka took off her clothes from the previous day, discarding them on the floor, and got changed.

She rejoined Natasha at the front of the plane, and looked out of the large window. They were over the ocean now, Lenks could only just make out the subtle movements of the waves below, reflected in the light of the full moon.

"We've still got about an hour left, I'd try and get some sleep if you can, or at least rest your eyes." Natasha informed her.

As if on cue, Milenka let out a long yawn, and felt her eyelids becoming heavier. Some part of her remembered that she should keep her guard up and fight the urge to drift off, but a much larger part told her to succumb to sleep.

Not a minute later, she was in a dreamless sleep, her breaths even and deep, the frown that had been gracing her features for hours finally relaxed and she looked at peace. Natasha felt a lump forming in her throat at the sight; she felt strangely protective of this girl already, and saw a bit of herself in her. Lenks shivered slightly in her sleep, and Nat picked up the blanket Banner had been using earlier that day and laid it gently over her body.