Shelter From The Storm

Deceitful Appearances

Earth-323

Natasha choked down the groan that threatened to come out at the harsh meeting between her back and the wall.

"Where is it?"

"Safe," she gritted out.

"Do better!"

She felt her eyes flame with fury — and honestly, a bit of hurt too; not that she'd ever admit that one. The two of them had fought fucking aliens together, and if that wasn't enough, then seven missions in the intervening two years. How did he not trust her yet? Granted, she was a spy prone to changing her colours faster than a chameleon but...fuck! This was Fury! Steve had to have known she'd never betray the man who was one of the two reasons why she was still standing alive.

"Where did you get it?" She asked, just to see if she'd get a proper answer this time.

"Why would I tell you?"

No, then. "Fury gave it to you. Why?" Why had Fury given him the drive? Why not her?

"What's on it?"

"I don't know."

"Stop lying!"

"I only act like I know everything, Rogers." There was more than a bit of defensiveness in her voice.

"I bet you knew Fury hired the pirates, didn't you?"

Natasha's brows furrowed. "Well, it makes sense. The ship was dirty, Fury needed a way in, so do you."

"I'm not gonna ask you again."

"I know who killed Fury." Repeating it for a second time did not get easier, and if she had thought narrating a tale to a man inclined to react would go better than recounting before a woman who didn't so much as twitch, she had obviously thought wrong. "Most of the intelligence community doesn't believe he exists, the ones who do call him the Winter Soldier. He's credited with over two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years."

"So, he's a ghost story."

"Five years ago, I was escorting a nuclear engineer out of Iran; somebody shot out my tires near Odessa. We lost control, went straight over a cliff, I pulled us out, but the Winter Soldier was there. I was covering my engineer, so he shot him straight through me." Natasha lifted up her tee with slightly shaky hands that wouldn't be visible to the naked eye unless they were watching closely. "Soviet slug, no rifling. Bye-bye bikinis."

Steve's gaze stayed on the wound for a moment before he blinked away the sympathy swirling in his eyes, instead offering a faint smile. "Yeah, I bet you look terrible in them now."

Natasha was thankful for the lack of pity, more than she'd ever let him know. Gratefulness didn't come easy to her. "Going after him is a dead end. I know, I've tried. Like you said, he's a ghost story."

"Well, let's find out what the ghost wants, then." The Captain–America–patented optimism was back in his voice. "Would you tell me where's your safe place for the drive now?"

"That would be me."

Steve whirled around in his place with the kind of speed that came from a super serum running in your veins, body coiled tight with apprehension as he stared at the new presence. He probably hadn't been expecting an audience, after all.

Miss Morgenstern, for all the palpable tension that had surged up in the room suddenly, looked entirely calm and unconcerned. Not even Natasha's sharp observation could get her any telltale of discomfort in the woman.

The brunette was leaning against the door casually, her hands crossed in front of her demurely. Her long black dress gave her the look of royalty, her tall stilettos putting her height near six feet. Her dark hair was let loose, falling around her in waves, allowing her a youthful appearance. The only make–up she had on her face was the blood–red lipstick painting her lips.