bygone (avengers)

один : 1

The ring lulls, resounding forte in a relentless, no persistent racket.

Her heels do not clatter to the wood, she is light on her feet, nearly inaudible with each step towards the landline —

"You've reached Nelson and Murdocks' law office, this is Miss Smirnov, how may I be of assistance?"

The line is briefly still, just a weak crackle before a breathy hum. And she nearly hangs up, pinning it as another prank call.

"So that's how you start your calls?"

She can discern his grin through the shaking audio, thinned brow quirking towards her hairline.

"What if a real case calls, Matt. I can't be gossiping all day."

There's a tranquil pause, and she inspects the files spread out across the wood panel cupboard, lightly penning in any notes.

"You've got about two minutes until your ass is grass, get into my desk, bottom left drawer I believe and use it. Use extreme force. Just get out."

She can pickup the bells chime, the door rattling with the winds force, few steps, uncoordinated.

"If extreme force means what I believe, I'm real glad to be working with the best lawyer, sugar."

The drawer isn't locked, knowing Matt he wouldn't be able to find the minuscule key to unlock it; a metallic pistol lay inside, she can see the wear on the grip, and hear the shake of ammunition — the lobby door creaks.

"You have a fucking gun! I can't use this, you know I.."

She's left the receiver running, slipping her heels off and ducking below the glass pane between her and the suspects. Gloves sitting heavy on her clammy palms. When Murdock's knob turns she doesn't hesitate, pressing the trigger and knocking the figure dead.

The ideology of it being a civilian knocks some sense into her, pulling her weight over to the body, pressing two digits to their pulse.

Out cold.

She slips her coat off, having dipped into the wound; now stained, and makes her way over to the phone, still scanning the uncomfortably empty room.

"Just one, how many others?"

Matt's breath is low, and she knows he's heard the mess she's made of the office.

"Lock up for me, meet me at your apartment."

She settles the gun to its confine and kicks it closed, slipping her toes back into the kitten heel. "You got it boss."

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

"Cat's out of the bag, what's Foggy gonna think of that mess?"

Anastasia looks over him cross, and though Matt cannot see her clear vex, he can feel the heavyset glare residing on him, his mask held between his forefingers. "He won't suspect anything, I'll take care of it."

And she doesn't move, surveying his tense posture, taking in his strange energy.

"Who's on your ass?" She breaks from the spell of concentration, twisting on her now bare feet to shutout the curtains, leaving them alone in the warm lowlights before settling to the loveseat.

"Actually, Stasia.." Matt takes a seat to the arm of the chair, feeling for her face gently, tracing over the bones. "Ivan Petrovich, is still alive."

Stasia's blood runs cold and the goosebumps ripple down her spine, the cheekbone Matt's dipping over tightens. "No, I shot him down."

He nearly yanks her up square to his chest, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of her head.

"You shouldn't have just shot him, you should have been the one to bury him."

She tucks her jaw below Matt's and just huffs, slowly. Containing any and every emotion that was bubbling, threatening to spill.

She was strong, because of him.

Ivan.

"He's attending the charity ball, so you better dress nice. He wants something that he doesn't know has been destroyed."

She perks, looking to his red lenses; undeniable grin stretching cross her face.
"The Winter Soldier Program."

"Bingo."