"I will not beg for your help. I'm way classier than that."

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Zurich, Switzerland

Steve's POV:

Covering my head with my coat hood, me and Sam treaded through the rain towards the small motel we have been staying at these past few weeks.
This city has been good at hiding us, as long as we jump hotels after a while so we don't draw too much attention.
The current one we're staying at is small. Only two floors and you can see the windows of both our rooms from where we are now.

"Hey, Steve. Isn't that your room?" Sam whispered from besides me, nudging my arm. I looked up and what I saw made my stomach drop. A flickering light came from inside of the window.

"Keep close." I ordered, keeping my voice low. "We'll drop the groceries in your room, be ready for whoever is in there." I clenched both my fists at my sides, causing the grocery bags to rustle. 

Trudging up the stairs, we silently unlocked Sam's door. I headed in first, dropping the bags down at the doorway and pulling my emergency gun out of my back pocket.
Scanning the room, I see nothing out of the ordinary. "All clear."

Picking up the bags, I dropped them on the bedside table of his room before taking one of the spare guns out of the bedside table drawer and handing it to Sam.

Heading out of the room, guns in hand, we made our way over to next door. From the outside nothing could be heard.
Turning back to Sam for a minute, I nodded, preparing to shoot any hostile.

I opened the creaky door, gun held out as Sam did the same behind me. We crept through and turned the corner to where the window was and where you could see the light. There was no light now. The desk chair had been moved to face the window.

A figure sat in it and my stomach turned to stone. I held the gun up in their direction. It was a small figure. The street lamps reflected dimly on brown hair that braided around the person's head. Both hands draped over the sides of the desk chair, the left one held a gleaming kris dagger. The grip on my gun tightened on my hand at the sight of the weapon, my finger hovered over the trigger, I know Sam behind me was the same.

"Well, your not making a very friendly impression right now, Rogers, Wilson."

I recognise that accent, they're clearly an adolescent. A Russian accent lingers between a twinge of English and a bit of American. Shit. I know exactly who owns that voice.

"Katia?" Sam asked, his voice stern, stoic. But he had lowered his gun down to his side.

I'm wary about lowering my gun. With everything that has happened, I'm not fully convinced that she won't use that dagger to try and kill us.
"Lower the gun, Rogers." She sounded so...calm. I've never heard that kind of expression from her. She's talking as if I'm not currently holding a gun that is aimed at the back of her head. I know she can hear every one of these thoughts.

"I'm not going to attack you with this." She lifted the kris dagger up, its wavy blade refracting the streetlight in patterns. "This was simply for if any of Ross' minions came lurking. Nice city you picked. I see the nostalgia. Switzerland was neutral in a time where you couldn't be, so you are here now, hoping that it will keep all of your problems locked away until you leave."

"I'm not trying to lock my problems away, Katia." I answered, a slightly angry edge to my tone, more than I had hoped to lead on. It seems that she is better than me at keeping what she doesn't want you to know from her tone.

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