Salt

Vladimir's fingers twitch. He feels restless, like he should be doing something but isn't. It's persistent feeling, almost as obvious and grounding as a mutt gnawing at his arm but then again- not. He brings the nail of his thumb to his mouth to bite but finds it is already down to the nub. He sighs and his fingers twitch again.

They are due to head East once the sun is overhead but Vladimir can't shake the feeling of urgency that hangs over his shoulders and curdles in his lower stomach. A thought occurs to him, and suddenly it is all he can think about. He needs to check his cargo.

There are a few of his men on watch and he nods at them as he leaves his den. Most everyone else within his camp are sleeping still or lying indisposed by the fire. From a distance he can spot Matt with his head dipped near the outskirts of the camp. Vladimir's step falters only for a millisecond before regaining its original vigor.

Far away from the fire, and most the people, is one single tent smaller than the rest. It is singed at some parts, but sturdy enough to keep the wind and flame out. It sways with the wind, making it look deceptively harmless and Vladimir almost scoffs.

Pushing aside the flap, Vladimir peers inside and his heart drops. It is not as jarring as it had been to realize that Matt was gone but it was close. Fear begins to spread through his veins, his hands becoming shaky and cold but anger comes soon after, coiling itself in his chest and throat.

He could feel the beginnings of a nervous sweat forming at the small of his back as he began to pace. From within the empty tent, there lay a broken set of vibranium manacles hitched to a wooden post. He releases an alarmed shout to his men in the surrounding area, leaning half out of the abandoned tent and ordering their undivided attention. A handful of them within earshot, stop and turn raptly towards him with bright eyes and attentions captured while some startle awake, hazy and barely coherent.

Opening the tent flap and revealing the empty space, Vladimir points with his other hand. "It's gone," he hisses.

There is a brief moment of almost complete silence as the men look amongst each other in vague confusion. Vladimir can feel his blood pressure skyrocket as the seconds tick by. "The black sky is gone," he bellows.

Several of the men's faces go white with the sudden sinking realization. "Scour the camp," Vladimir roars. "Find it!"

Matt is tentative about approaching Foggy and Karen but he keeps an ear out for them. Foggy is about ten yards away beside a nearby brook but Karen, he can't quite place which is most likely due to the seemingly constant shuffle of feet against the ground. He takes a long swig of water from the water skin jug to his right. He managed to snag it from one of Vladimir's lapdogs as they passed by- he was too busy to notice and Matt had become adept at picking pockets. It was an acquired skill that came from being alone for so long. Setting it back down by his side, Matt continues to listen.

It's early enough in the morning that a chill is still in the air, but not late enough for the sun to be sweltering. It's a pleasant weight on his back and he feels the urge to move somehow, to run. Matt sit cross legged near the outskirts of the camp. He would attempt to escape but there are those who watch. This had been the very same when he had lived with the Russians previously but it was somehow different.

There was more of a sense of unrest amongst the people, a vague, ominous- something looming overhead. Or possibly from within. People moved quicker and talked faster than usual. Matt had spent so long away that his Russian translations were rough at best, it took him longer to understand than it had used to causing some frustration. He couldn't pick up all of the words being spoken, but he could tell that something was amiss.

He was drawn out of his speculation when the overpowering scent of flowers tinged the air. Matt tilts his head up on reflex.

"Elektra," he greets civilly.

"Matthew," she returns in kind, drawing out his name in her foreign drawl. She sits down next to him, "Your smolder is showing, dear."

"I tend to do that," Matt acknowledges.

"You shouldn't lay your cards on the table. Leave some of your emotions a mystery," she continues, "It's rather dull wearing your heart where everyone can see it." Matt can hear her take a bite of an apple. He crinkles his nose slightly when the loud crunch reaches his ears, and then she speaks again with her mouth full, "It leaves the door open to manipulation."

"That sounds awfully like someone I used to know," he says after a pause.

"Wise fellow, what became of him?"

"Died," Matt answers easily.

"Pity. Did he have a name," Elektra asks as she takes another bite of her apple.

"His name was Stick," he says, shifting uncomfortably. He'd much rather not think of him.

Elektra seems to perk up at that and makes a delighted sound, "You know Stick?"

Matt sends her a skeptical look.

Uncomfortably well, Matt doesn't say. "Knew."

"And how did that insipid man finally get laid to rest?"

"My..." His voice falters. Matt clears his throat, "My husband killed him," he finishes this time.

"Oh," she says in a lieu of a breathy exhale. "The intrigue! and why did he do that, I wonder," Elektra says.

Matt takes the silent expression as the subtle query it is and answers her detachedly. It no longer bothers him as much as it used to. "He threatened to cut my throat so Vladimir slit his."

"Amongst other things," he mumbles to himself. Distantly, Matt can recall the brush of a jagged blade against his jugular but the sensation has happened so frequently that he has long lost all sensitivity to the sting.

Elektra twirls the core of an apple on the tip of her pointer finger, not bothering to pick it up when it thumps onto the sandy ground. She steals Matt's water jug from his side and takes a large gulp of water in the loudest way possible, almost as if daring Matt to say something. He doesn't.

They sit in companionable silence and Matt appreciates that. He continues to listen for any indication of just what is going on but can only pick out certain broken bits and pieces.

From the crowded sounds of hushed voices and sandaled feed, one shout rose above anything else and seemed to filled up any empty space in the thick air. Matt was so bewildered that he missed the first few words but managed to catch the tail end of his erratic yelling. It took him only a split second longer to realize that the person yelling was Vladimir.

Elektra places a hand on Matt's shoulder and uses it to hoist herself up, and Matt follows after her movement, standing up as Vladimir's voice travels gradually closer as he shoulders past his men.

"-A hand, you witch!" Matt manages to catch.

"Such a dramatic one, that husband of yours, isn't he?" Elektra intones humorously.

When Vladimir reaches them, his rage is practically palpable. Matt almost forgot how intense he became when enraged, almost as though a passionate fire was lit beneath him with righteous purpose but

Vladimir snatches Elektra's wrist from Matt's shoulder, holding it tightly enough that Matt can hear the bones creak in her hand like old floorboards. He makes a sound of protest as Vladimir's loud voice continues to saturate the surrounding air, drawing the attention of everyone in the crowded surrounding area.

"You will go back to your tent at once, hag," he barks.

A slow smile spreads across Elektra's face, predatory and something that manages to convey both amusement and a subtle sentiment of 'back off.'

"Oh really?" She coos in Russian.

She rips her arm away from his grasp as easily as swatting a pesky fly away and traces a finger up from Vladimir's leather holstered shoulder to the bottom of his chin, maneuvering her thumb to tightly grip his face and brings it down to her level. Vladimir does not say anything and neither does Elektra who was content to let her eyes to search his face for a tense moment.

Vladimir does not move, which is so very rare for the other man, who seemed as though he was always in motion. When he wasn't walking or adorning his horse, he was tapping his foot, moving his fingers. In his sleep, he used to be prone to wrapping his limbs around Matt like some sort of sea creature he used to read about in his books when he was young.

Matt can hear Elektra let out a sharp exhale, what could be a laugh if only she raised her voice infinitesimally higher. A faint smell of smoke permeates the humid air but is washed away by the wind crossing the plains.

Elektra winks conspiratorially at Vladimir, scratching her nails across his bearded jawline as she releases her grip on his face. Vladimir glares at her, his jaw clenched but he doesn't make a move to follow after her as she walks away.

After a pause, Matt raises an eyebrow, "And- what was that?"

"That," Vladimir audibly swallows. "Was the black sky,"