The Shadow [a marvel fanfiction]

Wanderings: Chapter Three

Marie and James settled into an odd sort of routine.

She continued to explore eastern Europe and parts of Asia, but continually found herself appearing in James's apartment for longer and longer stretches. To avoid another surprise attack (which left both parties with black bruises and swollen faces), a folded piece of paper was wedged above the top hinge of the door. If the paper was in place, it meant that either James or Marie was in the apartment; often, James would come back from the market to find Marie passed out on the couch. If the paper was missing, it meant the apartment was empty.

If the paper was on the floor, something was wrong.

"Shit!"

Marie tumbled off the couch and landed with a graceless thump on the floor. She huffed and pushed the mop of hair out of her face, groaning. Jetlag still hung over her and weighed her down. All she wanted to do was sleep the sleepiness away.

"Nice hair," James snorted. He looked over from the kitchen table at Marie, lips twitching upwards at the middle finger waving in his direction.

"Nice... face." Marie kicked her legs, fighting the blanket that had wound itself over, under and between them and held her with a vice-like grip. Free of the plush fabric (James had bought a new blanket while she was gone), Marie stood up.

James continued dicing an onion, a few red and orange peppers sitting on the edge of the cutting board. He briefly glanced at Marie and noted the hair that stuck to dried drool on her cheek. She was adorably disgruntled when she was jetlagged.

"Did you—"

"—find the pickled herring? Why the hell would you bring that nasty shit in here? Your bag reeks. I'm not paying that laundry bill," James grumbled, gesturing to the backpack in the corner with the knife.

Marie smiled sheepishly and trudged over to the bathroom. "Sorry, it was—it was meant to be a-a-a fun surprise. I thought—I thought you were open to trying something n-new?"

"I didn't mean pickled herring."

She barely heard his voice over the sound of the sink. Marie rubbed the drool and sleepiness off her face with frigid water. The beginning red bumps of acne on her cheek made her frown. With a sigh, she turned away and padded back to James. Without asking, Marie grabbed another knife and began chopping the peppers. Their jar of fajita seasoning was running low, only enough left for one more dinner.

"So, how was Norway?"

Marie grinned. "Cool in every sense of the word. Y-You should've been there, I'm a horrible skier. It's a miracle my-my-my face isn't torn up from the number of times I face-planted into the ice and-and snow."

James chuckled softly, and Marie's lips stretched into a smile. It wasn't often that he laughed. She tried not to be too hopeful, but it seemed to happen more and more these days. He was finally relaxed in her presence—and Marie felt more comfortable around him too.

Marie cleared a space on the counter to sit while James cooked the chicken. She leaned back casually, watching him move about the kitchen. The second his back was turned, she grabbed the red pepper flakes and sprinkled them into the pan. The jar was telekinetically replaced by the time he glanced at her.

"How's the m-m-market?" she asked, her face relaxed. James eyed her as he added the peppers to the pan. Her lips twitched. James groaned and shook the spatula at her.

"Marie! Stop adding pepper flakes, it makes everything too spicy."

"What? I didn't do anything."