Chapter Text
You jolted awake. It was that same dream again, the one about the masked man. You had only caught a glimpse of him as you fled the bridge, but he had stuck in your subconscious like a bramble. You sat up on the cheap, uncomfortable bed in the abandoned apartment, wincing as the DIY stitches in your side pulled. You grabbed a water bottle off the floor and opened it, taking a few sips to calm your racing heart. You also took a few antibiotic pills; you couldn’t go to a hospital, so the last thing you wanted was a raging infection in your bloodstream. You blinked the last of sleep from your eyes, suddenly alert and listening. There was nobody in the building, and the street outside was silent.
You slowly, painfully stood up, the bullet wounds in your leg sending painful shockwaves through your body to each other injury like a bad connect-the-dots game. You limped into the grimy bathroom and looked at yourself in what was left of the mirror. Your (h/l), (h/c) hair was stringy and coated in grease, and your pallor made you look like a drug addict. You wanted so badly to get some new clothes, book a nice hotel room, get yourself cleaned up and redress your wounds, but you knew that taking risks in this town right now could be potentially deadly. Maybe you’d look around elsewhere, perhaps Chicago or New York City, where you could blend into large crowds. You sighed, grabbing the small bottle of hydrogen peroxide you had stolen, and hobbled back out to the main room. You poured it over the one wound you hadn’t had enough gauze for, a deep gash in your leg, clenching your teeth to hold back any sounds of pain. At least you had been able to stitch it closed. As the peroxide did its work, you pulled your small billfold wallet out of a backpack that you had also stolen. You counted out the money that was inside; you had $305. Sighing, you slid your laptop out of the case and turned it on; you had hacked its system to change its IP and other identifying info, so you couldn’t be tracked down. You looked up train times from Washington, DC to New York City, inwardly cringing at the steep prices. At least you could cover the costs. You put your laptop away, wiped off the peroxide foam and poured water on it to wash off any that stayed behind, and pulled your pant leg back down. You then moved to collect your things, your injuries causing you to move infuriatingly slow for your taste, and shoved your things where they fit in the backpack. You carefully swung on your long, deep-hooded coat, then the heavy backpack, finally pulling the disguising hood over your head. You limped out into the half-destroyed hallway, turned right, and limped down four flights of barely-stable stairs. Luckily you were only a few blocks away from Union Station.
You left the building silently, like a shadow. You slunk through various alleyways and stuck to the corners that the streetlamps neglected to light, slowly but steadily making your way to the train station. You caught a couple of odd looks from people who happened to be out, mostly homeless people and people who were walking home from work late at night. You kept your eyes open for every sign of movement, and your ears listened for the smallest sounds in the night. Eventually, the train station came into view, and you took a deep breath. You were trading one poison for another--leaving the danger of the streets at night for the danger of being more easily spotted by the people you were trying to avoid. You weren’t exactly inconspicuous in your long, dark coat.
Upon entering, you were blown away by the architecture. You had seen it a million times, but it never ceased to amaze you. You paid for your ticket, keeping your head down, and then got onto the train. Luckily you got there in time to make it, instead of having to wait on the next train to eventually show up. You sat by the door, not trusting anyone enough to sit toward any enclosed end of the train car. There were only four or five people there, but it was still far too many to be comfortable. The train lurched as it left the station, sending more pain rushing through your body. You wondered what you looked like to the other people on the train, deciding that you probably looked like a homeless goth. They threw occasional glances at your back, and you knew they were trying to stare at the misshapen lump. You tried to ignore them, but their stares seemed to bore into you. It wasn’t even that bad of a hunch—it didn’t even rise above your shoulders, and was somewhat flat to your back. It was nothing like Quasimodo’s, but people still gawked like it was. You watched them all suspiciously, silently daring them to try anything if any of them happened to work for your enemies. Eventually all but one of them dozed off, and the remaining one pulled out his phone and starting flicking through it. You tried not to be paranoid, but you were tense all the same. You trusted nobody, and you didn’t dare risk the hipster to be anyone normal.
Taking a deep breath, you stared at him and focused your abilities, and closing your eyes, you entered his mind. There were a thousand things you could have looked at, like a gallery of never-ending and ever-changing pictures, but you shifted your focus until you found his eyes. Looking through them, you studied his phone. He was scrolling through a seemingly endless list of kale recipes on Pinterest. Pulling yourself out of his mind and re-entering yours, you were careful not to move too much, due to your injuries. You were dizzy and lightheaded, but it always happened when you looked through another person’s eyes for that long; you could read someone’s thoughts or history of memories in seconds and know everything and anything about them, but something about the strong current of memories being created, meaningful or not, knocked you on your ass. You still didn’t trust him, but as far as you could tell, he was harmless. He swayed a little; you could tell he got dizzy as well. You slowly leaned back and rested your head on the back of the seat, keeping yourself in an alert limbo between consciousness and unconsciousness.
Three hours later, you were stepping off the train at Penn Station. You needed to try to find somewhere safe while you tracked down the one last person you trusted, and made a plan to get to them. At least you were limping less as you left the station, but still going slow. You kept your head down as you wove through the dawn rush-hour crowd, your dark attire making you stand out like a crow surrounded by parakeets. After slinking down a couple of back streets, you finally found a decent motel. You paid and went to your room, where you dumped your backpack. You jumped in the shower the minute you found the towels under the sink, being very cautious about your various wounds. Wrapping a towel around yourself when you were done, you looked around to find a first aid kit tucked in the medicine cabinet. You dried off and redressed your wounds, including the one on your leg. You pulled out the last clean set of clothes in your backpack—underwear, jeans and an inconspicuous, black hoodie—and threw them on. Your tactical corset remained on, giving it a quick once-over cleaning with a towel; it was better protection than just the comparatively thin hoodie.
You dragged out your laptop again, pulling up your hacking software, and you hesitated for a short moment; you had done this several times over the past few months, but each time always had a greater possibility of you getting caught. You typed in the specialized address, pulling up the SHIELD login screen. You typed a code into your software and it granted you access, enabling you to roam through their system freely. You browsed through the latest entries, small pieces of intel that the last team had brought back from a mission. Nothing of importance there. Then you moved on to the search, typing ‘Natasha Romanoff’ into the search box. A red “No Results” message flashed on the screen, repeating as you tried Natalie, Natalia and Black Widow. Furrowing your eyebrows in confusion, you huffed, closing the window and leaning back on the pillows. You felt a lot better after the shower and double-redressing, but you’d feel a lot better once you were safe.