[ Steve is out for his usual morning run. He likes to cut through the marketplace on his way back to the apartment to clean up before his shift with the Royal Guard; just business as usual, a routine he's beginning to pick up again, when -- ]
Nat?
[ He stops short, very nearly skidding into a poor saleswoman who hustles in front of him with a large wooden crate of milk bottles in her arms. He mutters his apologies, hands out to steady her if she needs it, but she brushes him off with a huff and leaves him to deal with his shock alone.
The red hair and the clothes are his first clue, and the closer he studies her, the more certain he is of her identity. It's his good friend, all right, it's got to be - but if Natasha were awake again, he would have expected a call or - something. He backtracks, jogs towards her, and calls out her name. ]
no subject
Nat?
[ He stops short, very nearly skidding into a poor saleswoman who hustles in front of him with a large wooden crate of milk bottles in her arms. He mutters his apologies, hands out to steady her if she needs it, but she brushes him off with a huff and leaves him to deal with his shock alone.
The red hair and the clothes are his first clue, and the closer he studies her, the more certain he is of her identity. It's his good friend, all right, it's got to be - but if Natasha were awake again, he would have expected a call or - something. He backtracks, jogs towards her, and calls out her name. ]
Natasha? Not even a text for your old friend?