i know places

Wanda paints a charcoal sky in the afternoon.

It's a deep and endless shade of black that resembles the night sky—with little pieces of gray and blue left behind wherever it felt like they belonged. She paints the sky for hours but it doesn't feel right, doesn't look at all like she imagined it. Her headache is still there, throbbing through her temples, and that's not helping her get this painting done. It probably doesn't help that there's still a slight shake to her hands, whenever she angles the brush a certain way or turns her wrist in a way that makes it ache.

The sky feels empty on the canvas, like it's staring at her, taunting her for what she's missing, what she can't find. It's waiting for her to do something else, to create something real, so she tries again. Wanda dips her brush into the red paint, smears it over the canvas, then keeps going, throwing paint across the canvas until there are streaks of red smeared all over it and afterwards the sky isn't quite so clear anymore. It's a mess of red and black blurred together, turning into something dark and uncertain.

She gives up soon, leaves the canvas behind, and retrieves the packet of cigarettes from her bedroom. Wanda takes them over to the window, that she wedges open and then climbs through, out onto the fire-escape where she can very clearly hear the music blasting in the apartment above theirs. It's always playing, always just a little too loud, and usually she doesn't mind but today it feels like it's too much.

Today everything feels too loud; the music, the city, even the flick of her lighter as she lights her cigarette. It's all becoming too much, so she tries to escape it by sitting out here on the fire-escape, her usual place when she's looking for a distraction in the streets beneath her. It doesn't work right away, doesn't seem to want to work today, but she keeps trying anyway as she settles in, tucks her knees up to her check, and angles her gaze down at the city.

The lit cigarette burns out between her lips slowly as her attention darts over the busy streets. Sometimes she likes to come out here to sit, and smoke, and see, and just get out of the apartment for a little while. It feels different being out here, different than being inside, cooped up in her bedroom. Sometimes she goes to the roof-top to get away but most of the time she just comes out here. She likes it better here, likes that it's just hers, and it's so lovely at night when the sky is dark and everything is lit up in the city lights.

Most days she's the only one who comes out here, the only one home in the apartment. She soon realizes that she isn't here alone today, when she hears Clint back inside the apartment, walking around the kitchen in search of something to drink. Whatever he's looking for, he soon finds. There's a distinctive clink of two bottles hitting each other, before Wanda looks over her shoulder and finds him standing there by the window. He sighs and makes a low noise of disappointment.

Tsk tsk.

"I thought smoking was a bad habit." he points out, smiling. "That's what Pietro said you told him, about my bad habit, that it wasn't good for me."

She hums, twirling the cigarette around.

"Mm. You know what else is a bad habit?" Wanda asks, glancing him over. "Sneaking up on people without letting them know you are there. You may not think it will kill you, but it might."

"Yeah, well.." Clint pauses, slowly goes on. "Pietro said I could hang around. That's okay, right?"

"Yes, of course."

He lingers for a minute after, looking torn between the decision to stay or to go. She doesn't mind either way, not really. She came out here for silence, to get lost in the city, and spend some time out of her head, but after what happened last night she can't pretend that she wouldn't mind the distraction. Clint seems to understand, in his own way, because he quickly makes the decision to come out here and join her, at least for a little while.

"Room out there for two?" he asks, and it sounds like he's smiling. "Or was what you just said a threat? And maybe I should take my beer somewhere else?"

Wanda sighs and glances over her shoulder, looking directly at Clint for the first time since he came over to the window. She lifts an eyebrow, stubs out the rest of her cigarette, and then stretches out a hand for one of the beers clutched to his chest. She is curious about what he's doing here, since they've never really sat out here and had drinks together before. Sure, they've spent time together to get to know each other, for themselves and for Pietro, but this is different.

There's something in the way that Clint is watching her now that feels different. Wanda doesn't linger, doesn't even consider asking him what it is, because she doesn't really want to know. She just holds out her hand for the bottle of beer that he still doesn't hand over to her just yet. He smiles a little, as if teasing her, and she fights the urge to roll her eyes.

"Those are my beers, but you are welcome to stay and drink one." she answers soon. "Why are you still here anyway? Pietro could be gone for hours?"

"Well, I'm going home later." he laughs, popping the lids off both bottles. "So you don't have to worry about that. I'm just hanging around until Pietro gets back. There was something I wanted to ask him and I couldn't put it off any longer."

Curiosity stirs up inside of Wanda. She takes the bottle when he offers it to her, then lifts her gaze back to his, still curious and wanting to know more. If he intends on sharing this with her, whatever this is, whatever reason he's here, then he doesn't make it at all clear. He just takes a sip of beer and smiles, his gaze hard to read as he rests against the window pane.

"Really." Wanda hums. "And what would that be?"

"No, it's not that. Nope, not what you're thinking. It's something else." Clint's quick to add, half-smiling as he goes on. "It's this party I agreed to go to, while I was very, very drunk. So wasted drunk that I didn't remember, but I do now and I need a date. Or someone to stop me from killing Stark. That's all. It's simple, really."

Wanda quietly nods along, not sure what to say next, or if there's anything for her to say at all. She shifts her gaze down to the bottle in her hands and starts to run her fingers over the edges, only now realizing that her palms are covered with dark little marks from where she hit the pavement last night. She quickly looks away and back up at Clint, who offers her another, softer smile.

"So." he sighs. "Pietro know about your bad habit?"

"It is not a habit, just an occasional thing."

Clint thins a smile, amused. "You know that sounds eerily similar to what people might call a habit. But, hey. What would I know?" he asks, between sips of beer. "You know I'm actually thinking of quitting myself, or I'm trying to. Your brother bugs me about it so much, it might just be easier to quit than to list to him go on about it."

There's a pause, only small, as Clint's smile softens and a flicker of warmth darts across his features.

"Also I think it would make him happier if I quit, you know?" he admits. "It's just that I think I can do it, then something stresses me out and I can't."

"He only bugs you because he cares." she says, gentler now. "That's all. It is his way of showing that he cares."

Then after this they share a look, something quiet and unspoken, before Clint sighs and climbs out through the window to join Wanda on the fire-escape. He ends up sitting there with her, feet flat on the metal ground, a hand around his beer and the other against his side. So apparently there is enough room out here for the two of them, not that she thought there would be. It's a little close, crammed even, but Clint leaves enough space between them to make sure that she still feels comfortable out here.

He looks out at the view slowly, like he's trying to find the words for what's on his mind. She already knows that there's something there, something that he feels that he needs to say to her. If it wasn't obvious before by the way he lingered and the beers he grabbed for them, it's obvious now from his silence. She's good at reading people and he's a little easier than most.

"You want to say something, don't you?" Wanda asks, curling her fingers around the bottle. "It's about my brother, yes? You want to say something, I can tell, so just say whatever is on your mind."

Her gaze flicks away from Clint after this, down to where her hands are curled around the cold bottle of beer. Her rings—black, and red, and silver, all with tiny stones—make quiet noises against the bottle as she strums her fingers against it. Wanda taps them against the glass one more time, just to hear the noise it makes, to distract herself from wherever this conversation is leading them, even though deep down she already knows where it's going.

"Um, yes. Yes and no. It's also about you." Clint pauses, bites down on his lip. "You're right when you said your brother cares. It's obvious that I care a lot about him, too. Right? More than anything."

She nods. "It is. Why are you telling me this?"

"Look, the thing is, I care about both of you. You and me, we're close now. I care. And caring about someone means saying the things you feel you have to say, you know what I mean?" he begins, stops to drink his beer. "Sometimes there are moments you can't pass up on. You want to, you really do, because you don't want to piss anyone off, or hurt them by saying something, but you can't let it go. You have to say something, there's no other choice. It's just what you have to do."

A minute skips by, the silence hard to break. It's as if Clint is trying to give her a chance to catch up, to work out where this is going, but she already knows. Wanda wishes she could pretend that she doesn't, but of course she knows what Clint is doing here and why today, of all days, he is sitting here with her and trying to talk of such things. She still tries to ignore it, distracting herself with the city.

"I think I understand. What is this about?"

"It's about you." he says. "About last night."

And that's all that Clint says but it's enough that it gets to her, makes her realize that she can't ignore this. Still, she tries to not be so aware of it. Wanda glances out at the city, sips on her beer, and fidgets with her rings, like Clint didn't just say that. She acts like she isn't aware of the way he sits by her side, watching her, but she is. Clint's gaze is steady now, close and intrusive, and she can't ignore it despite how hard she wishes that she could.

"What about last night?"

"I know bullshit, okay? I'm good at reading people, always have been." Clint sighs, wiggles closer. "You know what I do, what my job is. At the security firm, sometimes part of the job means working out when someone is lying to us. I'm pretty good at it now."

"And this means, what?" she asks, trying not to falter. "I don't understand why you are saying this."

"It means that, something happened last night. Didn't it? You don't have to tell me, that's not why I'm here." he explains, his voice calmer now, quieter. "I wish I didn't have to say anything but I care about you, and I can read through it. Pietro's worried, too. But I don't think he figured out that there's more to this, not like I have."

She inhales a breath but doesn't feel better, doesn't really feel like she can breathe again.

"What are you saying, Clint?"

"I'm saying that sometimes I notice things that other people don't. Like this morning, Pietro didn't notice that your bag, wallet, and phone are gone. But I did." he sighs, looks hesitant, but goes on anyway. "Look, we've all been through shit. Some is worse. My point is, if something happened then I want to help. If something happened that you're not talking about, I think you might need to talk about it. If you do, I have a friend at the NYPD you can talk to. Her name is—"

"Nothing happened, okay? Nothing."

His face twitches, fills with sadness. "Then where's your phone, kid?"

For the first few seconds, she doesn't know what to say. Wanda doesn't know how to answer that, or how to really look at him right now, but somehow she does. She stares back at Clint, quiet for what must be a few minutes at least, before slowly she looks away at the city, unable to do much but sit here and replay the memory of last night over again.

"Lost."

"Mm. Wallet?" he asks gently. "Bag? Keys? Cards?"

When it falls silent between them again, she can't find a way to break it. She doesn't want to. Clint's gaze is heavy still and fixed on her, and she just can't do this. She retrieves her beer, finishes it off, then slides the bottle away and looks back up at Clint. She doesn't want to do this anymore, she just wants to move on, forget this ever happened, but it's hard when there's a part of her that wants to break down and tell him everything right now.

It just feels too late for the truth, and she doesn't want to put that lie there between Clint and Pietro. She'd rather have them both believing her story than have them believing different things. She thinks what she really wants is to tell them both the truth, to tell them everything she's ever kept from herself, but she quickly reminds herself why she lied. Wanda thinks of the pain her brother has endured, everything he has seen and lost, and then she thinks about how much he already worries for her and she can't do it.

She can't burden him with this, she won't. Not when he is finally after, after so many years. For so long she remembers hoping that she might see that light return to his eyes one day and now that it's back there isn't anything she wouldn't do to keep it there. So if that means carrying this by herself to protect him, protect his happiness, then that's what she will do.

"I'm not trying to upset you or piss you off, I promise. I'm just trying.." Clint sighs, trails off for a minute. "I'm trying to do the right thing here, 'cause my instincts are telling me that something's going on. You know I'm here if you ever need to talk. Don't you?"

"Yes, I know." she nods. "But there is nothing to say."

"Yeah, figured you might say that. So there was just one more thing I wanted to say, then I'll piss off and you can sit here and enjoy your beer." he promises, then reaches into his pocket and pulls something out. "Now I know you probably don't want this right now, but I thought that it might help, that you could use it one day."

It's a piece of paper, small and yellow, sitting in the palm of his hand. Clint holds it out to her, gestures for her to take it, and slowly she reaches out and takes the folded up note out of his hand.

"I know a guy, his name is Steve. He's a Vet. Served a few tours, worked with us when he came back." he explains, but it doesn't explain anything to her. "He's the guy from my work that I talk about sometimes. Steve Rogers. This is his number. Please, give it a call sometime. Just consider it?"

Wanda frowns, turns the piece of paper over.

"I'm sorry. I don't understand?"

"Yeah, no. It's not that kinda thing. He's happily taken, but that's not really the point. He's a great guy, a fantastic athlete and trainer. So I thought if you felt like you needed some help, maybe he could be the guy to call." Clint says, watching her tentatively. "He's good at training, at teach self-defense and all the things like that. I get it though, kid. I do. From what I've seen, you're fiercely independent. You can handle it on your own, better than any of us."

There's another pause.

Then Clint smiles slowly, in a way meant to reassure her, make her feel better, but it doesn't really. It's not him though, it's this, it's what she went through. She's not sure that there's much that could comfort her, not today, but she still  appreciates his efforts to help her. It means more to Wanda than she can say, not that Clint would ever want or expect her to say it.

It's just that kind of unspoken thing.

"Just consider it, yeah? Not the worst thing in the world to need help sometimes." he adds, smile sort of there. "I know it might seem hard at first, but he's a great guy and he'd be happy to help out if that's what you're looking for. Mostly he works out of Brooklyn but that's not really far from here. I'm sure you two could work something out."

"I don't know what I will do," she pauses. "But thank you for this and for thinking of me."

"That's fine, don't worry about it." Clint smiles back. "And don't worry, I won't tell Pietro about it unless you want me to tell him."

Wanda shakes her head slowly and turns back to the city, to the chaos and noise around them. She still doesn't know what she will do about this, or the training, or any of it, but at least there's time for her to decide what it is that she wants to do next.

"I don't want you to have to lie because of me." she says soon. "So I will tell him when I decide what I will do. Thank you, but I will work this out."

"Sure. Take all the time you need. I'll leave you to it."

But before he walks away, she turns back to look at him. Wanda hesitates and glances up at Clint, where he's now standing by the open window, ready to climb through it and leave her to spend some time by herself. There is one thing still on her mind, something that she needs to ask him, before he goes and she gets lost in her head again.

"How is he?" she asks. "Pietro, I mean. How is he?"

"Um, today? Yeah, he's fine. He's fine, just worried about you before." Clint says, words slow, uncertain. "He didn't want me to say anything, but he was worried you weren't okay. Now he seems a little less worried after breakfast, but that's not what you're asking me. Is it?"

She shakes her head, almost smiles.

"No. what I meant is..How is he with you. Is he happy?"

Clint smiles, slow and sweet. "Yeah, he is."

"Good."

Then suddenly Clint's small and sweet smile grows bigger, turns into a wide and happy grin of disbelief. It spreads over his face quickly and feels infectious, and soon Wanda is smiling and she doesn't even know why. She decides not to question it, to just let herself have this moment while it's here.

"So, um. Wait. What was that? That was approval, right?" he beams. "I'm getting your approval as your brother's boyfriend? Oh, I knew it. I knew you'd warm up to be eventually."

She smiles, turns away. "Don't ruin it."

"Oh yep, sure. Alright. I know how to take a hint, don't worry." Clint calls back, once he's through the window. "I think I gotta go home for a bit, take Lucky out for a walk, but I'll be back later to see Pietro. Need anything from the store while I'm out?"

"No, thank you. I'm fine."

Wanda only half-listens as Clint wanders over to the kitchen to gather up his things. He seems to hang around for a minute, uncertain, and then he comes back over to the window and sticks his head through it, soon letting her know that he's going to take care of all the things she forgot to worry about, things like self-defense training and putting a new lock on their door.

"I'm just gonna grab a bolt lock for the door on my way back, just to be sure. I'll install it while your keys are out there." he explains, gentle again. "Then I can contact someone about getting some new keys and locks for the door. I'll see you when I'm back, just give me a call if you need anything."

She nods and waves him off, her attention glued to the city after Clint leaves the apartment. She thinks that she must stay out there on the fire-escape for at least twenty minutes before she climbs back inside, discards the empty beer bottles into the trash, and pulls another from the fridge. It's just as she's opening it up that she begins to feel overwhelmed with the memory of last night and her talk with Clint.

Wanda knows that she can't ignore this, not really. She's trying hard not to, taking small steps here and there. Last night she stopped by the precinct and talked to an officer and until she hears back from them she's supposed to take care of herself, talk to someone, and just be around family and friends. She's not so sure that she's ready to talk to anyone right now, but there's no ignoring this and hoping it goes away because she knows that it won't.

The note from Clint feels heavy in her pocket. She scoops it out, soon finds herself staring at the number scribbled across it, wondering how she would even contact this Steve Rogers when her phone is gone and she's not sure she wants to spend money on a new phone. There's always the phone in the apartment, and the one out on the street that she could use if she wanted, but she's still not sure what it is that she wants or what she'll do about any of this.

She just knows that she has to do more than she has. She's talked to the banks about closing down her cards and issuing new ones, so that's all sorted. But she still needs a new phone, new keys, and new locks on the doors, which she's thankful that Clint is taking care of because she's not sure that she can do this all by herself. It only really dawns on her now that she doesn't know if she can do it on her own, but it doesn't feel like there's any other choice.

With that on her mind, she returns to the fire-escape. The memory of last night comes back to her suddenly, a flash of silver, the feeling of his hand tight around her wrist, before he snatched her things, pushed her to the pavement and fled. Wanda lets out a breath and looks up at the city, leaving the bottle of beer untouched and forgotten in her apartment for now. She leaves it all behind and settles in, pressing her back against the wall and tilting her gaze up to the sky.

There's only a little bit of sunlight left in the sky now, everything else is dark and fading into the afternoon. It's still beautiful though and she can see that, even now. Wanda observes it all for a while and then closes her eyes, breathes it in, and for a long time it feels nice. Then it comes back to her. She draws in a breath, presses her lips together, and when she swallows she swears that she can taste it again. Blood, sticky and warm, filling her mouth.

And just like that, she's back there again.

* * * *

A bouquet of carnations in a flower-shop window catch Wanda's attention when she's passing by. She steps inside, puts the bunch of flowers in the basket hanging on her arm, and takes a slow and lazy stroll through the rest of the store. It isn't like they really need more flowers, Pietro's extra shifts at the flower-shop two blocks from their apartment always gives them plenty of flowers and then more. But it's just something that catches her eye, something that she feels like doing today. So she buys the carnations, and then picks out two more bunches of flowers, and they're all so beautiful that she doesn't mind spending money on them.

Wanda picks out a bunch of roses, so pretty and red, and a lovely bouquet of Yellow Jessamine. She places the flowers together in the wicker basket slung over her arm, buys them, and then returns outside to continue to her destination for the afternoon: the Farmer's Market. It's not too far from where they live, not really, and she enjoys the journey no matter how small it is. Pietro often comes with her, always making the same noises, the oohs and ahhs, at all the little things he likes and wants, knowing that she will find him cute and buy whatever sweets or fruits that he wants.

Today she's here alone, because Pietro is still at work and she wanted to come by herself. There was no reason not to go anyway. It's a nice afternoon too and she's always loved walking the streets of the market. There's a quiet feeling to it all, something soft and unspoken, that calms her from the moment that she arrives. She thinks maybe it's the familiarity of it all that calms her, makes her feel safe. Whatever it is, she doesn't dwell on it for too long. Wanda moves on, retrieves her note from the basket, and reads over the list of things that they need, and then the few extra things Pietro added to the list at the very last minute.

Things like candy, and blueberries, and the sweets he likes from the store near the apartment. It almost makes Wanda smile just to read his list, thinking about him scribbling down his little notes. She re-reads it once and then slips it away, deciding that she wants to wander around for a while before she starts to pick up the things they'll need through the week. Her trips to the market usually take a while but she doesn't mind, there's something calming about this place. It both comforts her and reminds her of small and faraway things, like the scents in their mother's kitchen, the hours she's spent walking the streets with her brother, or the time spent creating and changing recipes to cook things that tasted like home.

Wanda starts with the berries. There are so many different kinds and she's always loved them, ever since she was little. The stall she ends up at is large and busy, with so many different rows of fruits and berries bursting everywhere. She glances them over carefully, not really looking for much, only the blueberries for her brother. She picks out a few, pays, then puts them away into her basket. She's careful not to crush them or to bend her pretty new flowers. It's busy here today though and quite crowded, and sometimes she can't always tune out the noise but today she can.

She tries to focus on what she sees around her and not on the noises that follow her. Wanda lets herself drift away, only reminding herself of little things every now and then, like what stall she needs to go to next and how tomorrow morning she needs to pick up her new phone on the way to work. Her stomach twists at the thought and she doesn't want to linger on it, to think about what it will be like going back to work. She can't think about it yet, so she doesn't.

Wanda quickly pulls the list out from her basket and reads it again, like she hasn't already memorized it and doesn't know what stall she needs to go to next. For a minute she just stands there re-reading the list, focused on the items scribbled down there. Apples, apricots, peaches, plums, and candy. She smiles and starts to check things off the list, picking up apples and plums, until eventually she wanders over to a stall filled with fresh vegetables and she begins to feel overwhelmed by the noises and crowds around her.

It seeps in now, their voices, his voice, and she can't ignore it. Sometimes it feels like she can block it out, and sometimes it feels like their voices dig into her skin. She's too aware, always has been, even when she was little. She's always been too alert, far too conscious of every little thing happening around her. It feels like a curse sometimes, to be so aware, to have only limited ways to escape from it all. It gets hard sometimes, and heavy, but she knows that she wouldn't change it.

Most days, anyway.

She's not sure today is one of those days but she pushes on. Wanda forces herself to focus on the vegetables at the stall, picking out several, paying, and then placing them away into the basket with everything else that she's picked up so far. It's been a long day today, the kind of day where she can't stop thinking about last night, about all of it, and just as she worries that she is about to lose herself to it, she sees them there. Standing across several rows of stalls, she finds herself drawn to the sight of two young children playing together.

There's nothing bright or noticeable about them, nothing that pulls her eye to look at them, but she does They're just two young children, happy and playing together. The boy is running around with a wooden unicorn, chasing the little girl while she runs around with a blue teddy bear clutched in her hands. It's nothing unusual, she can't think of a single reason why her attention pulls her toward them, but it does and slowly it reminds her of other things, forgotten memories and pieces of her childhood.

Wanda feels her attention slip away slowly and soon she feels a pull to look over at the stand opposite hers. She finds a man standing there by the busy stall, watching her through the crowds. It feels like there's not any reason why she should feel this silent tug to look at him but she does and she can't explain it. His hair is dark and long, cropped just above his shoulders and tucked away beneath a hat. There's nothing particularly bright or bold about his clothes, that isn't why she's drawn to him. He's wearing blue jeans and a black jacket thrown over a pale shirt, but she still feels it, that invisible tug to look at him.

She doesn't know why, she can't explain why it happens. Wanda looks at him for so long and she forgets all about the children playing together, the busy markets, and crowds around her. She looks at him and she forgets, and then she turns from the stall and crashes right into the chest of someone walking by. Her basket crushes hard against his chest, and hers, and then it slips away and falls somewhere on the ground. She feels herself go down with it, and if it weren't for the stall next to her, that she barely manages to clutch on to, she knows she would have gone down hard just like last night.

Wanda flinches and lets out a curse, quietly, in Sokovian. The man above her doesn't recognize the curse, doesn't seem to hear a thing. When she looks up at him she realizes that he's just annoyed at her for this, for the smallest stain on his shirt from where the fruit crushed when they walked into each other. Then suddenly he's off, shouting at someone for a napkin, something to clean this shit away. After he's gone Wanda is left kneeling on the concrete, still for a moment, her hands shaking, before she begins to gather up her things.

She drags her basket toward herself slowly, to look inside and see what can and can't be saved. Her first thought is that everything is messy again. The carnations are scattered over the ground, the plums and berries are all squished and broken in her bag, and there's juice from the blueberries all over her fingers from her shaky attempts at gathering everything up. To make things worse, her hands are shaking again. She knows why, knows that it's not really this and it's the memory of last night. But that's only a moment, she tells herself, over again. It doesn't really feel like enough, doesn't stop her hands from shaking.

"O moj Bože. Zašto?" she sighs, almost gives up.

She doesn't though.

Wanda starts by trying to salvage some of the fruit in the basket, but what isn't crushed is now covered in the juices from the other fruits and it's all such a big mess. She sighs again and stops, almost too distracted by what's in front of her to notice the shadow that appears above her. At first he stays out of sight, his shadow just hovers above her, and then she looks up and half-expects it to be the man who stormed away looking for a napkin, the man who is as responsible for this mess as she is, but she quickly realizes it isn't him.

It's someone else, someone new.

The man she spotted across the stalls, the one she felt the pull to look at, is here with her. He's standing over her now, for about half a second, and then he's kneeling on the ground with her, trying to messily gather up the scattered carnations on the ground between them. Wanda feels herself drawn to him again, in that same way she did just minutes ago, that way she can't explain. She watches him silently for a minute, then looks down at the flowers that he's gathering together in his hands.

"What a jerk." he sighs. "You alright?"

Then he looks up at her, several carnations in his hands. His eyes dart openly across her face now, glancing over the bruises and grazes marking her skin, before slowly he offers her a smile.

"Yes. I think so." she nods, wiping her hands on her dress. Thank you for your help, but I am okay."

Once her hands feel clean again she begins to gather up whatever can be salvaged, to put away into her bag and clean up at home. Her hands are still shaking though, her breaths uneven, and she knows why. It's last night, and it's now, and this mess, and she's so tired—and then suddenly, as if sensing that this is all too much, the man across from her leans in to gather everything up and slowly she begins to feel a little better.