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"How's it going in there?" Nadia asked quietly into her earpiece. She peered into the glass ceiling of the Apple store from the second floor of mall.
"About to head out. How much more time can you give me?" Natasha asked. Nadia looked around, watching as Brock and his team of goons stormed through the doors.
"They're here. I can buy you time from the ring leader but that's all I can promise. Standard tac team 2 across from you, 2 behind you, and 2 coming right at you," Nadia whispered to the duo, watching their every move.
"Natasha, play house until we can get you guys out of here. I'll try and distract Rumlowe," Nadia ordered quietly.
She pulled her phone from her pocket and started dialing Brock's number. She saw him closing in on Steve and Natasha on the escalators. Natasha was smart. Nadia knew she'd get them out of it, but she needed the insurance. The line rang once and her heart started racing. He was too close to them. It rang a second time. He was still headed right for them. It rang a third time. Natasha calmly pulled a clearly anxious Steve into a kiss to hide their faces. With a sigh of anxiety-laced relief, she watched as Brock took his phone out of his pocket. He looked around quickly and then answered the call.
"Hello?" Brock said quickly, trying to mask the adrenaline and anger pumping through his veins.
"You didn't come home last night," Nadia sighed.
"I know. I'm sorry, hon, I was working late. I should've called," Brock apologized, his eyes scanned the crowd. He was onto her.
"I'll be home tonight. Promise," Brock lied. His eyes finally met hers. She could hear him clench his jaw.
"It's over for us, huh?" Nadia sighed.
"Hand over Captain Rogers and the drive and we can talk this through," Brock lied again.
"Come on, baby. Lying to me is second nature to you. There's nothing to talk through. Goodbye, Brock," Nadia scoffed. She tossed the phone over the ledge of the second floor, watching as the device shattered against the ground. Oblivious people continued to stomp on it, effectively destroying it and the tracking devices Brock had planted inside.
Nadia took off running towards the parking lot after Steve and Natasha. They pulled up beside her in a car that was not hers.
"Where's my car?" Nadia asked, climbing into the truck. Steve sped out of the lot without answering her question.
"Your boyfriend tracks that car. We needed a different ride," Natasha explained quickly. Nadia nodded angrily.
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They had been driving for hours. Everyone was tired and on edge. Tensions ran high and no one had said a word since they left the mall. Nadia tapped her fingers against her thigh impatiently. A part of her just wanted to get where they were going, but the other part was terrified of what they might find when they get there. If the Winter Soldier was really behind Fury's death, none of them were making it out alive. It wouldn't be the worst way to die. He'd make it quick. It wasn't his style to drag it out. One shot and it would all be over. It was probably for the best anyway. No more pain, no more bad memories. It would be poetic to bring it full circle. The man who trained her being the one to kill her. True poetry.
Steve's driving was the enemy of the moment, however. If she were driving, they'd be there by now.
"Hey, Grandpa America, usually when you drive a getaway car, you don't go the speed limit," Nadia groaned from the backseat, breaking the silence for the first time of the entire ride. Steve turned around to scoff at her.
"We're on the run, Stevie—not the walk," Nadia added.
"Alright, alright. Stop backseat driving, Ace. I'm not trying to crash this car, I want to return it in one piece," Steve sighed, reaching his arm back to pat her knee. She shook her head in annoyance and pressed her back into the seat. It was going to be a long ride.
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By the time they finally reached New Jersey, the tension was still thick, but not between the three of them. They all knew there was a mission at hand.
"I've been meaning to ask this the whole ride—where did Captain America learn how to steal a car?" Natasha asked sarcastically. Nadia stifled a laugh in the backseat.
"Nazi Germany—and we're borrowing, so take your feet off the dash," Steve scoffed shortly, peering over at her to make sure she put her feet down.
"I have another question for you—which you totally don't have to answer, but I feel like if you don't answer, you're kind of answering—" Natasha started.
"Spit it out, Red," Nadia interjected.
"Was that your first kiss since 1945?" Natasha asked, holding back her laughter.
"That bad, huh?" Steve groaned in annoyance, looking over at her.
"That's not what I'm saying, I was just wondering how much practice you've had—" Natasha defended.
"Don't worry, Stevie, if you ever need any practice, I'm kind of a pro," Nadia teased, making kissy faces at him in the rear view mirror.
"I don't need practice—" Steve argued.
"Everybody needs practice," Natasha continued.
"I practiced frenching on my elbow—" Nadia chimed.
"It was not my first kiss since 1945. I'm 95, I'm not dead," Steve sighed, trying to put an end to the conversation.
"Mhmm, 95. I've always liked an older man," Nadia teased.
"Nobody special, though?" Natasha asked gently. Her tone switched from playful to more concerned. Despite their differences, Nadia knew that Natasha had a good heart.
"Believe it or not, it's kind of hard to find someone with shared life experience," Steve scoffed sadly.
"I always found that making new memories with someone outweighs the shared life experience. If someone had the same life experience as me, I'd run for the hills because, holy shit, that would be a lot of damaged goods," Nadia joked, trying to offer genuine advice.
"To be honest, Ace, I think you're the last person I'm taking relationship advice from right now," Steve teased gently. Nadia dropped her gaze for a quick moment and forced out a small laugh. She knew better than to call him out for visiting an almost dead lover he used to know every day.
"Hey, I gave it a shot. Just wasn't white picket fence material," Nadia sighed, leaning her head against the window of the truck.
