𝑻𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒅𝒐𝒐𝒓 ✘ 𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐀 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐅𝐅

{5⁵} {EDINBURGH}

{5⁵} {EDINBURGH}

SAM AND STEVE met them not half an hour later, five miles out from the area in Venezuela that they'd been staying in. Normally the two women would be the ones to use the Quinjet as it had been Natasha who had got the jet, one way or another, but this time, it had been Steve and Sam who had control of it. They'd needed it to change location, as they did from time to time, and due to their distance from Natasha and Roxi, they hadn't been able to take the jet back yet. While the two women had been in Venezuela, partly for the views and the atmosphere, Steve and Sam had taken up residence in Spain. Sam had suggested it jokingly at some point, said that they should see where Roxi had come from, and Steve had seemed to think that it was a good idea. In fact, they'd been staying in the same house that she had all those years ago when Natasha had called her on Fury's orders. The house had been hers, and although it would be in a state of considerable disrepair by now, it would still be usable enough for the two men to stay there. As Bruce had told Roxi, he'd also called Steve, which was evident when the two men stepped out of the quinjet. His face was serious and as soon as his eyes settled on the two women, some form of relief seemed to spark in him, and his body language relaxed ever so slightly. He couldn't afford to relax completely; none of them could. Not with what was coming. Not with the battle that once again inevitably drew close. Still, he greeted Natasha with a brief hug and Roxi with a stiff nod, before glancing around the landscape to check that no-one was watching them.

Roxi acknowledged Sam in the same way she had Steve, knowing that the waterfall of emotions she had felt less than an hour ago had to evaporate entirely before they continued on their way. She'd managed to mostly deal with it, for once. She hadn't shoved them down, hadn't suppressed them so that she could focus on this mission. She'd somehow learnt to deal with them properly, to encourage her mind to work in a more normal way, even if it would only be regular for someone in a similar position to the one that she found herself in. She would never have an average mind, not with nightmares and other horrors clawing at her mind and attaching themselves to her so that they dragged behind her like some sort of awful veil. It seemed mandatory, that to do the job that she did, your mind had to become haunted, that it had to try and sabotage you with an efficiency past anything that you would face in the career. Roxi shouldn't have been used to it, but most of her had eventually become desensitised to it. That didn't mean that she didn't wave up in cold sweats with dread running through her in place of where blood should've been, that she didn't want to sear her skin off because of the memories that crawled beneath it, because she did. It simply meant that she had grown to expect it, nothing else. There was little that she could do to prevent or prepare for them, not when there were so many things that could resurface inside of her head.

But now, there only seemed to be dregs of the newfound dread that had surged through her at the news that Bruce Banner had brought her. She would deal with those on the way to wherever they needed to go. And that, after a brief bout of conversation, turned out to be Edinburgh.

Steve had explained to Natasha what exactly was happening on the way, and the blonde had found herself reacting in a similar way to Roxi, and had slid her hand into Roxi's for comfort, a hand brushing down the vest that she wore to remind her of Yelena. Sometimes the memory of her sister's antics was exactly what she needed to calm herself down. She noticed the way that once again, Roxi had begun to fiddle with her keyring, her jaw tensing every now and then, undoubtedly at the prospect of what was to come. It prompted Natasha to squeeze her hand, to let the woman know that she was there for her, and it seemed to work, because Roxi stilled for a second, and then sent Natasha a strained smile. It was as much as the tension in the jet allowed.

When they landed, retro-reflection panels still engaged, and stepped out into the city, the chill wasn't the first thing that Roxi noticed. It'd been a long time since she'd been in Scotland, longer still it's capital. She'd forgotten how impressive the city was. Cobbled streets, grand buildings, colourful paint plastered over old shop fronts. It all held a unique sense of nostalgia that Roxi was sure that she didn't need in that moment. The city should've been beautiful, as she'd found it years ago, enchanting even. Darkness had long since dawned over the buildings, and the street lamps that she remembered would glimmer like shattered stars, any patched of glass glinting a dark, jade green. It should've been a scene out of a painting, a story-book night that should've carried promise of a fairy-tale ending. It wouldn't, she knew that. The cars roaring and whirring in the background at a perfect volume, it was off-putting; unusual. But what was disturbing, what threw everything out of balance, was that in the time that they'd landed and had begun to traverse one of the steep slopes of Edinburgh, was that Roxi hadn't seen a single person. Despite the time, cities as large as this were rarely quiet, especially in their business. They were here for Wanda and Vision, who hadn't checked in with them for around two weeks, and while Roxi knew both where they were and likely they hadn't communicated recently, a bubble of anxiety rose inside of her at the thought of Wanda especially being hurt. The young Maximoff had been through enough in her life already, just as most of them had. None of them needed more danger, more violence to plague their minds, but it seemed as if that was what they'd always get.