Dread Your Demons (Natasha Romanoff x OC)

~11~ Hustle

~ The quiet scares me 'cause it screams the truth ~

Kate's POV:

Rose Hill, Tennessee 12/05/2014

The lonely tear that ran down her cheek froze, clinging to her skin. The arched wooden ceiling above her old, crooked desk was covered in a beautiful yet tragic pattern of ice. Little twirls climbing along the dark boards, shimmering in the moonlight. Kate opened her eyes slowly, coming back to reality. She lifted her head off her forearms and stared at the little alarm before her. 03:34. The skin of her arms stuck to the papers they had been pressed against for the last hour. Yet another report on her. Encrypted but readable to the trained eye. Only a few were left before she would run out of work. Not all of them had been directly about her and more than a few reports of her work were missing. The scars all over her body screeched and cramped and stretched her thin skin. Her once-broken bones ached as Kathrine pushed herself from the chair. She could barely walk, because she was exhausted of course, but also because her attic was quite cramped. The bed beside the window, the desk by the hatch, and the wardrobe by the only straight wall. All of it was old. Leftovers from the previous residents, Ms. Keener had told her. A nice woman in her early forties. Her son, Harley, was quite a rascal but Kate enjoyed his unwavering curiosity. Though his anger about having to move out some of his science equipment of the barn wasn't something she understood. The boy had everything he could've wanted and all he had to do was put some of it into his own room. She shook the thought of him and his annoying potato gun and reached deeply into her wardrobe, where she found the rough fabric of a firefighter's pants she had borrowed. Actually, stolen. She wasn't planning on giving it back. She slipped into them, then put on the heavy boots that were about two sizes too big. Also stolen. With a bandana in her pocket and nothing more than a black T-shirt and a little backpack, she opened the single window and climbed onto its ledge. Sitting there, she let her legs dangle while staring out at the moonlit ranch and the endless woods. She took a deep breath and pushed herself off. Her hands spread out to her sides, she caught herself mid-air. The heat under her hands and feet didn't hurt her skin one bit. If anything, they only warmed her. She knew that it was incredibly hot; she could feel that. Just as much as she could feel the presence of mother and son inside the house, sharing one bed.

Her blonde hair glistened in the white light as Kate rose into the sky, gliding amongst the clouds. Their wet droplets sizzling against the heat surrounding her. She glided through them until the lights of the small city got lost behind her. The darkness of the woods underneath her changed to the lights of villages, to cities, and back to woods until she could see the bright point of light ahead. New York City.

She froze the gooey soles of her shoes before they touched the glass roof of 30th Avenue station. The black bandana already covered half her face as she strolled along the middle beam noticing barely any people outside. Most of them were in their homes, the streets were quiet tonight. A drunken couple tumbled along a few blocks down from her, a group of smokers chatted outside a packed bar, a jogger ran up the street, away from her. She listened in while tiny little drops of ice prickled on her skin, too hard and fast to be snow. She watched the icy rain wash over the scars on her sleeve when her senses spiked at once. It was like her body knew what she wanted to do before she did. Already up in the air on her way to where she heard the scream, guessing what would await her there.

She plopped from the sky a few meters away from the two people, then sprinted towards them. The jogger, who had called for help was shaking the man on the ground, fear escaping every fiber of his body.

"Call an ambulance!", the man shouted at her, but she calmly pushed him aside.

"I'm faster.", she answered and pulled the needle from the man's inner arm, hands shaking at the looks of it. She unscrewed the needle, burning it to a crisp, and shoved the barrel into her pocket. Then she pulled the unconscious man up into her arms. It was never easy to fly like that, but not impossible. She warmed the incredibly cold body in her arms even when she carried him into the emergency room, her knees shaking under the heavy load.