Steve was reluctant to leave her, and Natasha tamped down the desire to snap at him that she could take care of herself. He had saved her life back at Camp Lehigh, and his shy solicitousness was a nice contrast to the hundreds of people who were currently plotting her assassination. It reminded her of Barton's protective streak, the one that she had been threatening to beat out of him for years. Unconsciously, she fingered the arrow charm on her necklace.
"He's ok, you know," Steve interrupted her thoughts. Natasha cocked her head to the side, analyzing the odds that Cpt. Rogers could know more about her partner's whereabouts than she currently did. "Remember, I've met him," he continued. "If there's anyone I've met from SHIELD who could survive what just happened, it's Clint." She treated him to one of her tight-lipped smiles.
"I know." She gazed directly into Steve's eyes, and she watched recognition dawn on him.
"Of course. You're going to go find him. You found where he was when you were in the SHIELD database." He smiled then, and took a small notebook from his pocket. He scribbled something on an otherwise blank page and ripped it out of the book. "If you need to reach me, use this number. Otherwise, I assume I'll see you two soon."
"Since Clint's not here to say it, you bet your ass you will," Natasha said with a small, genuine smile. "Take care, Cap." She raised herself on tiptoes to brush her lips against his cheek.
"You, too, Natasha."
Natasha strolled back to her car, slid into the driver's seat, and waited for Nick, Steve, and Sam to leave. Slipping the disposable phone out of her pocket, she checked for messages. She had blasted a message to Clint on all available channels as soon as they learned about Hydra. To anyone else, it would look like an innocuous text message, but the words, "Come home soon. Everything FUBAR - Neighbor's dog destroyed our yard, work sucks, and cell phone acting up. Need you here," were a warning - get out ASAP, danger is close to home, trust no one in SHIELD, and avoid open communications. She let out a breath she had been holding when she saw Clint had finally replied - "Miss you, too. FUBAR here too. Need a vacation. Make reservations for Italian on Friday." Clint was aware of the danger and wanted to meet her Friday at one of his safehouses.
She reached behind her seat and withdrew the half-dozen white roses wrapped in light blue tissue paper and a large messenger bag. Biting her lip, Natasha pulled her face into a mask as she stepped in front of Coulson's tombstone. "Hey, boss," she whispered. "So we had another regime change the other day, lead by Cap. You would have been all over it. He was in his new suit, the one you helped design. He saved my life. He saved a lot of lives. You would have been proud." She knelt down and put her flowers in the vase. "I'm not going to be able to stop by for a while, so I wanted to bring you these." She kissed her fingertips and placed them on the stone. Instead of going back the way she came, Natasha wove her way between the tombstones and down to the road to the small chapel overlooking a reflecting pool. She greeted the chapel docent with a nod and inquired if there were restrooms, already knowing the answer.
Less than 30 minutes later, she emerged from the bushes behind the chapel, her hair now shorter, curlier, and tinted a mahogany color. She climbed into the battered red pick-up truck parked there and rattled out of the cemetery. Natasha draped a camera bag around her neck, put on a straw hat, and slipped on a pair of oversized sunglasses just before parking the truck. Looking like a tourist, she strolled in the Historic Congressional Cemetery, pausing to take snapshots of markers for famous people and waiting for the small number of other visitors to disappear from view as she approached the zinc monument that contained one of her caches of money and documents. Ten minutes later, the package was safely stowed in her messenger bag as she wandered seemingly aimlessly back through the cemetery to her truck.
Near Gaithersburg, Maryland, Natasha negotiated a good deal on a tablet, paid for it in cash, and took it to a Panera Bread. Munching on an Asiago cheese bagel slathered in cream cheese, she used the wifi connection to search for Pennsylvania maps. Within fifteen minutes, she had mapped her route to the little town of Rome, Pennsylvania. Swallowing the end of her bagel and brushing crumbs from her clothing, she swung the bag back over her shoulder. She wanted to drive straight through, and with a full tank of gas in the truck and a large Styrofoam cup of coffee in the cupholder, she navigated the truck onto the northbound freeway ramp. She whirled the tuner in the truck until she found a public radio station playing classical music, and she choreographed ballet steps to it in her head to keep her mind off the tumult of the past few days.
When she crossed the Susquehanna River in Towanda, her unconscious memory and stellar sense of direction took over and she navigated her way up and down hills and along winding back roads to the safehouse she'd been to only twice before. She pulled into the ancient driveway, distinct from the yard only due to the gravel in scattered patches. She slid out of the bench seat of the truck, pulling her messenger bag, and picked her way carefully up the rickety wooden steps onto the dusty porch. She had to yank on the battered screen door to pull it free and find the small security pad.
Natasha trudged up the squeaky stairs to the second floor. Toeing off her shoes, she slid between the cool sheets of the queen-size bed, not bothering to shed her clothes. The last rays of the setting sun came through the window and illuminated the nightstand. Natasha reached over and picked up the framed photograph of her and Clint that sat there. Her other hand went to her necklace. She fell asleep that way - the photo in one hand, her arrow necklace in the other, and her lips murmuring prayers to a God she wasn't sure she believed in, asking him to bring Clint safely to her.