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Back to the wall, staring out the dingy little window in their dingy little apartment, Natasha tuned out the bickering behind her and kept her eyes on the street below. She didn’t want to hear the adorable coupley bickering as Barton and Coulson decided what they were going to eat tonight. Moscow was bitterly cold, and even wrapped in a blanket and safely indoors she could feel the chill settling into her bones.
It had been twelve days since they’d left New York, five days longer than anticipated, but still no end in sight. Their mark had caught wind of their presence and gone to ground, forcing even Coulson into the field to hunt him down, and every day they remained here, freezing to death in the biting cold, brought them closer to missing Christmas with their friends back in the city. Even when the three of them had been globe-hopping, going from one mission to the next without returning to base, they’d never done much for the holidays, too focused on the mission, and if they did celebrate,it rarely involved more than drinks at the nearest bar. This year she had someone to celebrate with, though.
Darcy had decorated their apartment from top to bottom, garland and mistletoe and little holiday figurines crowding each other for space on every flat surface and wall. Watching from the couch while her partner scurried around the apartment, Natasha had been content to let Darcy control everything, but now, separated by thousands of miles, an ocean, and Fury’s orders, she wished she’d done something to help. It was like she hadn’t left any of herself in the apartment before she’d left, and now Darcy was left alone.
Natasha couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this maudlin and it frustrated her. Glaring over her shoulder at her teammates, she was just in time to catch Clint dragging Coulson into a kiss, cutting off his argument mid-word. She turned back to the window, staring through the glass and dreaming that it was melting under the heat of her anger, setting her free to rush home, into Darcy’s arms. A floorboard creaked behind her and she flinched, a knife drawn before she realized it was just Clint, holding a steaming mug in his hands, the scent of chocolate enticing.
Smiling apologetically, he pushed the mug into her hands, setting the knife on the window sill. He motioned for her to take a sip and sat down at her feet, pulling them into his lap and rubbing some warmth back into them. “Alarm was tripped in the safe house Baskov’s been using,” he said softly, pausing to listen to the patter of heavy snow on the roof. “Coulson’s making sure everything’s in place so we can hit him tomorrow morning. if everything goes alright, we’ll be back in the States by the next day. Just in time for Christmas Eve fireworks on Stark Tower.”
His grin was bright, but she could see the hope in his eyes and she knew he’d read her poor mood correctly. Kicking out, she caught his knee and grinned into her mug, allowing the heat to warm more than her mouth this time. Within days, she’d be able to cuddle up in bed, Darc’s cold feet pressed against her calves, elbows and hair everywhere while Natasha curled up against her side.
When Coulson sat down behind her, she leaned against him and let her boys hold her until they could be reunited with their family again.