Chapter 35 - Ghost Town

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Sweat and dust were clouding Steve's vision, grey blurring around him as he vaulted up the fire escape. A level above where Clint had gone to look for Natasha, Steve found himself nearing a large red door set into bleak concrete walls – the exit to the roof. He paused for a second, listening to the echoes skittering up and down the staircase: scuffling, which he assumed was Clint and Nat, distant doors slamming and the occasional squeak of a rat. No sound was coming from behind the door. At least, none that his enhanced hearing could pick up on. That either meant there was no fighting, or everyone was being considerate neighbours and keeping the yelling and screaming to a minimum. Only one way to find out.

Crouching behind the door, hand over the large metal bar, he waited only a second more for any sign of Tony, who had flown out a window after deactivating the bomb to presumably keep an eye on any Hydra aerial backup. But with silence his only companion, Steve could waste no more time.

Like an old man waking from a slumber, the door let out a protesting groan as Steve shoved open the door. Immediately, his hearing was muffled by fierce wind filling his ears, the sounds from the fire exit falling away to a distant backing track. The roof wasn't anything fancy, just a small plain of bare concrete with loose bits of gravel as the only decoration. There was no railing, only a knee-high border of stone. And in the middle of it all, her.

Strands of (h/c) hair had come loose from the careful bun, dancing vicious circles around her face in the wind. He didn't miss the blood dripping down her forehead, noting the injury and the presence of blood that wasn't hers. He hoped Nat was okay. Her black fighting gear, save the white blouse, was a stark contrast to the pale grey sky behind her, like a blot of ink against the page. Like a stain. But it wasn't the woman herself Steve thought of as a stain, it was more like a mark on his record, yet another person he had failed to save. But maybe this stain could yet be removed.

The thing that stood out most was the way she stood: relaxed, like she didn't have a care in the world. Her arms hung loose by her sides, clear of any weapons, and she had shifted her weight to her right leg rather than adopting a fighting stance. Her (e/c) eyes were clear and focused yet absent of the assessing glare he was so used to seeing on his opponents' faces. She wasn't scared – he hadn't expected her to be – but the blank canvas of her face was more disconcerting than even the looks of pure, blind hatred he so often received.

Maybe that was the exact effect she was hoping for, or maybe she truly didn't want to fight. Either way, he would not risk waiting for her to make the first move. With a secure grip on his shield, Steve took a step towards her.

And she took one back, head tilting quizzically to the side.

Steve stopped. Confused. There had been no reaction other than a purposeful step backwards. What game was she playing? Even if she was trying to lure him towards a certain spot on the roof, possibly to get him in view of a sniper hidden on a nearby building, he was content to keep the fight on the roof. It was a lot easier to get the job done when you didn't have to worry about innocent people getting caught up in the crossfire.

He didn't step any closer, instead turning his mind to the task of working out what her play was. Nat had said she was enhanced, but she hadn't specified how and hadn't replied when he'd asked. If she was anything like Wanda, there would likely be some giveaway before she used her powers: a spark of colour or the twitch of a hand.

Steve registered the whining groan of the door opening behind him and breathed a small sigh of thanks that his teammates had finally arrived. The footsteps were masked by the howling wind, so he could not determine exactly who it was. It could have been Wanda, or Clint may have already found Nat. He was tempted to turn around and check, but that would have been a fool's move.

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