𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗜𝗥𝗘𝗡 | 𝗡. 𝗥𝗢𝗠𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗙𝗙

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𝐖𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧, 𝐃.𝐂.

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"I thought you said we were going for a walk."

There they stood in front of a sleek black Porsche, a resplendent beauty even in the ominous shadows of the parking garage.

Truth shrugged.

"A walk to the car."

She watched as Natasha took a step closer to study the vehicle, circling its hood. She wanted to know what she thought, but Natasha's mind was somewhere Truth would never intrude in if she had any say in it.

"Doesn't the Triskelion have its own parking?" Natasha questioned distractedly. Reserved parking was expensive on a good day, but Natasha didn't miss the heavy load of security they had bypassed to enter the garage. She'd almost thought that she'd have to disarm herself before Truth had assured her it wouldn't be necessary.

"It does, but my brother is a paranoid ass when it come to his things, let alone his car."

"Paranoia keeps you alive," Natasha commented. Then she glanced up. "Does he know you plan on taking it for a joy ride? Let alone with me?"

Truth raised a brow.

"I don't recall saying that."

"You didn't have to."

There was a nervous kind of aura emanating from Natasha, almost like she was waiting for something to happen. Visually, her shoulders were tense, her fingers hovering over the hood of the car as her jaw clenched, green eyes peering through the windshield with an incisive gaze.

It was similar to how she had been in her apartment. Though it could be mistaken for being polite, Natasha hadn't touched anything unless Truth both gave the okay for it and touched the item herself. The assassin was far away from her territory, and Truth didn't like having to push her, but it was one of those situations where it had to get worse before it got better.

Truth laid a hand on the hood of the car, leaning to meet Natasha's gaze.

"Don't worry about Michael." When she was sure Natasha understood, she then stepped away. "I need to speak with the valet. It shouldn't take long, but, in the meantime, you're welcome to sweep the car if you want."

Before Natasha could protest, Truth began to walk away.

"I mean that, by the way," she tossed over her shoulder before moving out of earshot.

Natasha's brows furrowed as she looked from Truth's retreating figure to the sleek black car, unsure if the other woman was serious.

I mean that, she'd said, and Natasha's frown deepened, fingers hovering over the smooth vehicle, still hesitant to touch.