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Devil's on your shoulder Strangers in your head As if you don't remember As if you can forget
. . .
"Sir," Friday's voice cuts through the silence, "There is a Matt Murdock in the lobby requesting to speak with you. He says it's a matter of urgency."
"Who the hell is Matt Murdock?"
Tony frowns, gripping his phone with a white-knuckle grip. He doesn't have time to talk with some wannabe hotshot looking for a job at Stark Industries. He's been searching for clues that could lead him in the right direction. The surrounding screens are already running traces, searching for facial matches. Anything that can lead him to them.
Rogers. Barnes.
Natasha.
"He's an attorney, sir," Friday replies, "Mr. Murdock also asked for you to be informed he has important information regarding the Sokovia Accords."
"Anything else?"
"Mr. Murdock was sent here by Ms. Romanoff."
Oh, was he? What are you up to, red?
Tony shakes his head, watching the stranger standing calmly through one of the screens. He grips his phone tightly, the words glaring into his soul. It is not like he expects her to answer. He just wishes she will. She's on the run from multiple governments. He knows she shouldn't be taking an unnecessary risk. Giving him a call is definitely considered unnecessary.
She does have to answer him. He wants her to.
Answer your phone, red.
One simple text.
Natasha sighs, her face lighting up with the glow of the screen. She glances subtly, watching out for unwanted ears. The sister had stopped at an old, little rundown restaurant hoping they could catch a break and eat to recharge. Yelena had said she was going to search for a table upon entering.
Meanwhile, Natasha went off to get them drinks.
Both of them need a minute alone.
Time to gather their thoughts.
Natasha shakes her head, quickly swiping her thumb across the green button before she can change her mind. Why should she answer him? She's a fugitive on the run. This is risky. Any form of communication with him is a risk. Besides, their last conversation was not the most pleasant.
