𝑻𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒅𝒐𝒐𝒓 ✘ 𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐀 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐅𝐅

{2¹} {BIRDSONG}

She drew to a stop a short while later, sending a nod to a few workers, who all recognised her from some of her previous trips to gather supplies for 'renovations'. She walked around for a little while, picking up random pieces of metal before dumping them in the saddlebags that she had on either side of the seat. As she searched, she thought. She thought about metal, and the way that it could be practically destroyed, but then be melted and harden as a new thing (perhaps she could do the same?) and about the Avengers. She wondered how everyone in the group was doing. She wondered about Clint and if he still made as many jokes without her there, about Tony, who was doing well with his relationship with Pepper, according to the news (though who knew how accurate it was) and she wondered about Steve, and how he was adjusting to the 21st century, and if he'd seen Star Wars yet. She wondered about Thor, who was back on Asgard with his family and how he was dealing with Loki, about Bruce who she hoped was dealing well with his anger issues, and finally about Natasha. 

She wondered what the redhead was doing. Probably off on a mission for S.H.I.E.L.D. Roxi missed all of them in their own way, Tony, strangely for his sarcastic jokes, Steve for his confusion about everyday things (which she would make fun of in her head), Thor for the way he spoke (she found it amusing when he said things like 'forthwith'), Bruce for his sensible, calm suggestions, Clint for his willingness to go along with her jokes and involve her in his own, and lastly, the professional way Natasha dealt with everything; Roxi found it strangely calming and comforting. 

She thanked the workers before making her way back along some main roads, then side roads, before finally turning down the small road that led to a short dirt track that eventually reached her house. She drew up and locked the bike in the garage, holding an armful of scrap metal in one arm as she set down her keys on the oak table before going outside and dumping the metal down in an ungainly pile. The grating sound the metal made as it tumbled back to the ground almost made Roxi cover her ears. She picked up a slightly rusted piece about the size of a candlestick and concentrated on what she wanted to happen. Slowly, but surely, the bar began to bend as the spot where she was gripping it steadily became imprinted with a hand print, and when she was satisfied, she opened her hand to reveal it bent into a simple wave. She continued like that for a few hours until she had enough and made her way back inside, locking the door behind her. It seemed that paranoia was determined to creep in at every possible opportunity. She had just poured herself a glass of water and sat down when someone knocked on the door.

Roxi's head snapped to the door, and she stood up slowly and grabbed her quarterstaff, which somehow, she'd managed to keep, off one of her side tables, before cautiously approaching the door. She glanced through the peephole she'd put into the door (which had admittedly taken her a while), and relaxed a little when she saw who it was. As she opened the door, something at the pit of her stomach flitted lightly, like the birds had earlier. It was a nervous, jumpy feeling, and Roxi wasn't sure if she liked it. She was slightly surprised it's taken them so long to find her. She smirked slightly at the figure in front of her.

"You're late."

{~}

IN THE FEW months since Natasha had turned up at her front door, they'd met up a few times. Sometimes the redhead had come out to the secluded location in the countryside, and occasionally Roxi had gone out and met her at cafés and restaurants, mainly to discuss everything that was going on in the world and with S.H.I.E.L.D. Today, Nat had texted her and told her that she was taking Roxi to see Clint to catch up. In the interval time, Roxi had dyed her hair black and now had a habit of wearing coloured contacts when she went out. 

She had about twenty minutes until Natasha had said that she would arrive, so she sat down and braided her hair loosely and considered putting contacts in before deciding against it. It was only Clint. She slipped her keyring into the pocket of her leather jacket and her retracted quarterstaff in the other pocket. She couldn't help being paranoid.