Ultraviolence ☢ Steve Rogers

2.4

PART TWO CHAPTER FOUR

    HER BREATH CAME OUT IN WHITE RIBBONS, WISPS OF HOT AIR COLLIDING WITH THE COLD. She stood atop of an old deserted building, her feet at the edge as she looked down onto the dark empty street. Violet had her hands in the pockets of some worn out cargo pants that Pietro had lent her, which covered the leotard and boots she wore as her mission outfit. She still had nothing else to wear. At the sound of footsteps treading across the gravel rooftop behind her, she swiftly whirled around whilst she withdrew her swod and faced the person who dared approach her, Japanese weapon pointed towards the person, gripped in both hands.

    "Are you alright, ma'am?" A man asked her. He wore all black, with a black beanie hat that covered the upper half of his face. With hesitance, she lowered the metal weapon. The bright violet of her veins illuminated the night sky as she replied to him in her delicate Russian accent, "Yes."

    The man nodded and motioned out towards the bustling city a few blocks away, "What are you doing up here? You should be enjoying the nightlife." Violet looked towards the inner city, where the lights were bright and neon, before she turned back to the man, slightly confused as to how he knew where to point considering the black wool covering his eyes. "I like the quiet roof tops." Her eyes flickered towards another man who had appeared and was in the process of crossing the roof, except this time his footsteps were silent. A glint of purple reflected off the metal on the left side of his body. "I should go," she said to the strange man, before she silently jogged over to the Winter Soldier.  With a glance back to the odd man, she opened a portal to somewhere he wouldn't find them.

    Matt Murdock stood there, confused as to how she disappeared without a sound.

    In an abandoned subway station (which Violet had found and made her humble home), Violet embraced James Barnes, her grip tight as she clutched onto him for what seemed like dear life. She hated to admit it, but she missed him more than she thought she would. And he had missed her equally. Her head was buried in his neck, a hand clutched in his hair and another tightly gripped the shirt that covered his left shoulder; his left arm was wrapped around her waist, the cool metal sent goosebumps across the bare skin he brushed against as her blue tank top raised up, uncovered by the Nike hoodie she had also stolen from Pietro. His right hand was also in her hair, as he pulled her into him as close as they could possibly get, and he inhaled the soft scents of her brunette hair that reminded him of home.

    When they pulled away, they both smiled at each other sadly. "Did you find anything about yourself?" He asked her whilst he stroked her hair as she rested her head against the soft palm that cupped her face. She hummed softly, and shook her head slightly. "I'm working at the Avengers Tower, being a cleaner so I can access more rooms. Agent Hill has no idea its me." She smiled slyly and opened her eyes as his hand pulled away. It trailed down her neck and shoulders before disappeared from her body completely.

    "And what about Hydra?" He asked.

    "Strucker is still very secretive, very intense on the twin's training. I have conditions to live by, but it's still good. I have the freedom I want." She smiled, which he returned. "What about you? Any news on you?" But he shook his head sadly: he hadn't been able to find any information in regards his old family and he's started to miss being around Violet so much.

    "I should go." He muttered and diverted his eyes to the floor as guilt swept through him. He didn't want to leave her, but he knew if he didn't then he wouldn't leave her at all, and consequently they'd be caught by the government together and send to Shield for intense questioning, and then their death. Violet nodded. She understood, but equally didn't want him to leave. She knew what had to be done and, with great sadness, opened a portal back to the rooftop which they met at. He kissed her forehead goodbye, and stepped through, neither of them knowing the next time they'll meet.

☢

    THE next time round, Violet's duty was to clean the guest bedroom floor. That was a lot of rooms. The last room she had to clean was already occupied, so she had to clean the best she could whilst she tried not to invade too much of the persons privacy. At that point, the job had become as monotonous and as routine-like as killing.

    It was a messy room; Violet had dusted and polished all the surfaces, she had bleached the bathroom and made the bed, and was left to organise the clothes scattered about the bedroom. It seemed invasive, but it was required. She picked up a light brown leather jacket strewn over the desk chair pushed up against the desk on the far end of the room, next to the floor-to-ceiling windows, and grabbed a coat hanger. She slid each arm of the plastic hanger into the arms of the leather coat. She then walked over to the closet, slid open the door and hung it up. She did that to the rest of the clothes, which consisted of flannel shirts, hoodies and blue jeans- a very old fashioned taste, Violet found. That was about as interesting as the person got.

    The person got more interesting beyond their clothes, however. On the desk, illuminated by the sunlight that streamed into the room through the window, was a card folder with golden Russian writing on it. Writing she recognised. Her delicate hand reached out to pick it up, where she fingered the paper before a masculine voice interrupted her. Her heart lurched into her throat and her hand snatched towards chest like the paper burned her.

    "Are you alright there?" She spun around to face the culprit and gulped her heart back down. 

    When Violet nodded hesitantly, the man presented two Starbucks cups and a brown paper bag. "I brought you coffee, thought you'd deserve it after a long day and all." He smiled warmly at her. She watched with apprehension as he crossed over the room towards the dresser which was positioned under a flat screen TV attached to the wall. He's so kind, Violet thought with a  polite smile to him as he passed her the warm cup. She muttered a thank-you as she moved away from the desk and stood awkwardly in the middle of the room as the blond man sat down on the bed.

    "Do you do this for all of us?" She asked him with curiosity as she ignored every basic instinct that screamed at her to run away. He looked up from his muffin that he was halfway through a mouthful of. Crumbs dotted the corners of his lips. He wiped at his mouth and nodded enthusiastically. He brushed his hands on his black pants.

    "Yeah, as like a tip- you know? It's just a simple thing to do, I've gotten to know everyone in your department. You must be new, or haven't worked on this floor before, because I've literally met everyone here. And I'm here a lot." He laughed quietly, and Violet smiled with a discomfort that grew warm the more she looked at him. His warm, light blue eyes. His cheeks that were rosy from the cold outside. How could Hyrda want to kill this man? He's incredibly sweet. Violet couldn't comprehend why they'd want him dead.

    "I haven't cleaned guest quarters before," she replied to him and pulled out the desk chair before she sat down, "I'm Valentina, by the way."

    "Well, Valentina, I'm Steve." They smiled at each other, a warm glow shared between them.