Chapter 37
The sound of rushing water echoed through the walls for several minutes. Natasha sat near the radio, the old device crackling as it played a public news update: "Fugitives Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff remain at large, having last been seen in the Arctic—" The voice droned on until her eyes lifted. Ash stepped out of the hallway, steam trailing behind him, wearing only a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. His skin shimmered with moisture, his physique lean and powerful—like something carved by an obsessed Greek sculptor, dense with symmetry and strength. His black hair hung wet and wild over his brow as he casually dried it with the towel she had handed him.
She stared just a second longer than she meant to before asking, "Are you going to leave?" Ash nodded, rubbing his scalp. "Yeah. After I meditate on the porch for a day—if you don't mind." Natasha crossed her arms and smiled faintly. "Not at all." She watched as he dried his arms, each movement unintentionally flaunting taut muscle beneath his skin. "If I didn't know better," she said, half-teasing, "I'd think you were trying to seduce me." Ash chuckled, dark eyes playful. "Why? Is it working?" he quipped. She tilted her head and smirked. "Coincidentally… maybe." He just shook his head with a smile as he began putting on his armor, piece by piece, before stepping out onto the porch.
The air outside was crisp, the snow in the trees slowly melting, dripping in rhythmic taps onto the wooden railing. Ash sat cross-legged in silence, eyes closed, his breath steady, his body still. Hours passed. Birds landed, watched him, then left. Branches swayed. Through the window, Natasha glanced at him repeatedly from her seat, sipping her second cup of tea. He's really just meditating, she thought, still a little surprised. And indeed he was—his mind adrift in silence, surrounded by nothing but the wind and the mountain.
The sun dipped low behind the distant trees, casting long golden streaks across the snow-covered porch. The air had grown colder, but the quiet hum of wind through the pines kept a gentle rhythm. Ash finally opened his eyes after an entire day of motionless meditation. His back straight, breath even, he looked ahead to see Natasha leaning against the doorframe, sipping a steaming cup of coffee, the mug warming her hands. She watched him with a curious expression before speaking. "How are you so trusting? You ate the food I gave you, showered, and now you're meditating on my porch?"
Ash didn't even blink as he replied. "Simple. Because you can't hurt me, Ms. Romanoff." Natasha scoffed at the name, amused more than offended. "Call me Natasha. And what do I call you?" Ash gave her a small, knowing smile. "Ash." She stared at him for a few seconds, the cup hovering near her lips, before saying slowly, "Ash. Ashborn. Born in 1993. The one whose parent—" she stopped as soon as she saw the frown forming on his face. "Sorry," she said quietly. Ash didn't move. "It's fine. Looks like you know me." Natasha nodded, her voice softer. "Of course I do. You sent Cap's shield flying through walls. But… you've changed. A lot." Ash shrugged, eyes drifting to the forest beyond the cabin. "Well, it happens."
With a sigh, he stood up, the wooden porch groaning faintly beneath his weight. "So, you're leaving?" Natasha asked, voice unreadable. Ash looked at her for a long moment as he walked toward her. Each step was slow, his shadow stretching beside him until he stood right in front of her, his face inches away. "You know, Natasha…" he said, his voice lower, "I'm starting to suspect that you don't want me to leave." There wasn't a pause. No hesitation or shyness. "What if I don't?" she asked simply. The answer caught him off guard, and he took two small steps back, exhaling like a man avoiding a deeper conversation. "I'm going to go hunt. I'm very hungry," he muttered before walking off the porch, vanishing into the thick, snow-laced woods.
The forest rustled softly, birds fluttering as the sky dimmed. Half an hour later, the snow crunched under heavy footfalls. Ash reemerged from the trees, a full-grown moose slung across his shoulders like it weighed nothing. His black bag hung from one arm, and a draconic figure trailed behind him like a silent sentinel. Natasha watched from the porch, brow raised, arms crossed against the evening chill. He dropped the moose onto the porch with a dull thud, and she walked over, crouching to examine it. Her eyes narrowed at the clean, circular hole in the side of its thick neck.
She looked back at Ash, then at the sword on his back—too wide. Then the bag—no gun. But she remembered something else. Ash's glowing white hand from the security footage, when he sent Cap's shield flying like a paper plate. She shook her head. "Looks like we'll have to butcher it," she said. Ash blinked, clearly surprised, before she smiled up at him. "What? You didn't think I'd be butchering this whole moose by myself, did you?"
They started immediately, dragging the animal to a cleared patch behind the cabin. The wind picked up, scattering light flakes across the ground. Ash produced a few clean blades from his pack—one for skinning, one for carving, and handed Natasha one without a word. They worked in rhythm, the silence broken by the crisp sound of blade against bone, occasional laughter, and light conversation. Natasha rolled up her sleeves, hands already stained red. "You're surprisingly neat," she said, glancing at Ash's tidy technique. "You're surprisingly ruthless," he replied, grinning as he saw how quickly she disjointed the moose's leg.
They shared small smiles, side glances, and laughter as they cut through muscle and sinew. Ash held up a heart the size of a melon. "Want it?" he asked, straight-faced. Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Cook it, and maybe." The scent of raw meat mixed with pine and cold metal. They hung cuts on hooks and salted the best ones for preservation, their hands working together in seamless flow. Hours passed, and by the time they were done, the stars had scattered across the sky, the world quiet again. The porch lights cast a warm glow as they stood beside their work, blood on their clothes, but calm in their expressions.
The night was still, the scent of smoked meat mixing with pine as Ash and Natasha sat side by side on the cabin's porch, a can of beer in each hand. The smoke from the moose meat curled upward into the sky, glowing orange under the open flame. The old radio on the wooden table crackled with a low voice reporting her disappearance from a SHIELD convoy. Ash looked over, breaking the silence. "Why do you keep listening to that?" he asked. Natasha shrugged, eyes still on the fire. "Just in case there's anything useful," she said before turning toward him, her expression quiet. "What about you? You seem to be running away from something, which I can't imagine for someone your size."
Ash gave a short laugh, his eyes drifting to the stars above. "I'm just being selfish," he said softly, voice thoughtful. The wind shifted, causing a nearby tree to creak faintly as the smoke trailed sideways. Natasha sighed and took another sip of her beer. "Aren't we all a little selfish," she replied, her gaze following his upward. They sat in silence for a while, stargazing under the wide stretch of night sky. She leaned back with a quiet yawn and stood up, brushing off her pants. "I'm going to bed," she said as she turned toward the door. The porch creaked beneath her step.