The White Queen (S.Rogers)

Chapter 63

Sitting next to Morozov for the rest of the Gala was... well, excruciating. That was a very good word for it. He had a wandering hand, which he constantly tried to put on her bare left leg. She was constantly moving it back to the table. She had a nagging suspicion that when the final handing of her over to the Russians happened, they wouldn't be killing her right away. Morozov apparently has as little respect for a female's wishes as his son had.

Dinner breezed by. The food was good, she wouldn't expect anything less, but the portions were less than what she had grown used to. Steve had made it a point of making sure she always had a full plate, and having dainty portions put before her like it was art was almost disappointing. Combined with the dessert, which was something fancy and chocolate, she was still hungry when the last plate was removed. Junior tried to keep her occupied, while she watched and waited for the perfect time to remove Stelluto and Morozov. Unfortunately, due to the seating at the table, while one was an easy mark, the other, seated across from her, was less than easy to get at. Short of getting up and doing it in front of him, at which point she was sure he would make a scene and blow her cover, she was going to have to find another way to deal with the Italian Boss.

The Avengers and various other members of the Foundation board were seated on the stage like dais. For a moment she flashed to a memory of a painting she had once scene. The last Supper? Something religious. Stark was seated in the middle, clearly the star of the show, with a pretty strawberry blonde seated next to him. After that, the Avengers had been placed between the rest of the board members, spacing them out. She supposed this was so that it didn't look like the Avengers were the ones running the foundation, but simply there to help raise money to help off set the costs of their little jaunts around the world. All that building breaking had to be expensive for the local areas.
She was playing with a spoon on the table, enjoying the soft clicking of her nails against the silver, when a heavy hand landed on her other arm. Slowly turning her head, she raised her eyebrow, letting Morozov know that she was not amused by his touch.

He grinned at her, the gold of one of his teeth flashing. In Russian, he commented, "I had heard that you fashioned yourself a queen. A pity you never were fit to rule."

She blinked slowly, before responding. "I was always fit. This world has not yet been ready for my rule. One day, perhaps."

"If you give me a son, a son worthy of taking over my empire, I will make you a queen. We will go back to Russia, and overthrow the capitalist pigs that think they know best." He grinned wider.

"So, you don't want to kill me? You want to... what? Use me? For your own gain?" Brooklyn smirked. That would NOT work out the way he thought. She would kill him the first chance she got, him and his men.

"When I heard rumors about your former... employer? I looked into it. You were supposed to be a myth. You and your companion. I heard he's still running around. How fast will he come running, when you scream for help? If I broadcast it, far and wide that I have his queen under my whip?" Morozov licked his lips, that greedy gleam back in his eyes. "If I keep you in a gilded cage, while he watches, he'll do what I want. With both of you in my grasp, I'll rise through the ranks, and become the most powerful man in Russia."

So, it wasn't just her he wanted. He was after a way to bring Papa in, as well. Her hand closed over the spoon tightly, wanting nothing more in that moment than to drive it into his eye, far back into his head, until she was digging his brain matter out by the spoonful. For what he was describing alone, she would kill him. Her only regret would always be that she wouldn't be there.

"He won't do it." She told him, confidently. "He's free. Free of them, and free of me. He has no obligation to me, anymore."

Morozov shook his head, before gripping her arm tighter, digging the chains and diamonds into her skin, nearly to the point of breaking. "He'll come. I heard all about it. About that one time in Pakistan. He disobeyed orders, because you were attacked. He left his handler, to go get you. To protect you. You are the key to the Solider. And I will hold the key to you. Both of you will be mine. First, you will give me him, and then you will give me a son. A strong son." He ran his eyes over the exposed skin of her chest. "That will be more pleasure than work, I think. At least, for me. You might not like it. I don't enjoy a passive lover. I prefer my women to be... vocal."