𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗜𝗥𝗘𝗡 | 𝗡. 𝗥𝗢𝗠𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗙𝗙

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐧

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Natasha Romanoff had a plan:

Find Truth Castello.

Turned out that the plan wasn't as easy as she'd thought.

Even nearing a month of knowing each other, the other assassin was almost impossible to find during the daylight hours. At best, Natasha would be lucky to see her for breakfast before she disappeared to do whatever it was she did before the clock struck midnight.

She'd been present at the Canteen that morning to say her goodbyes to Clint, along with Michael and Coulson. Natasha hadn't seen her the night before since she had just returned from a three-day mission in Vegas, and she hadn't expected to see her that morning either. Truth was even more reclusive after a mission, taking at least a day or two to re-acclimate before she was ready to venture out into the world.

So, in theory, it was easy for Natasha to guess where she would be—her apartment.

The problem?

Natasha didn't know where Truth's apartment was.

She knew that they lived on the same floor because, otherwise, Truth wouldn't be privy to the same training room as Natasha. She also knew that she wasn't in Section R because that was where she and Clint lived and she was certain they would've bumped into each other more than once if she did.

That meant she was in Section L. But, there were still a lot of apartments to choose from, and Natasha wasn't interested in playing ding-dong ditch.

She was almost ready to turn around and check her fridge again—fourth time's a charm?—when two sets of footsteps entered the corridor behind her, one gait more familiar than the other.

"Natasha!"

Natasha held back a groan. Instead, she rolled her eyes and turned around to give Michael Castello a glare.

"You're on thin ice, Castello."

Michael hesitated. Natasha smirked.

She'd made it clear that for every "Natasha" he uttered there would be a justified retaliation on her part. At first, he hadn't believed her.

That was until he'd found the spider in his weapons locker. Apparently he was terrified of them.

How fitting.

"Right," Michael said cautiously. "Any way I can take that last one back?"

Natasha shrugged.

"Depends."

The man standing slightly behind Michael watched their banter with muted interest. He was shorter than Michael, yet older. Blonde hair, average build, decent face—not someone anyone would look at twice. He seemed keen on studying Natasha as though he were trying to place her somewhere. She'd never seen him before, and she always remembered a face. But, seeing as he didn't introduce himself and Michael obviously didn't have the manners to do it either, she elected to ignore him.