La Petite Fleur

Preuve

Steve sat up with a start, having fallen asleep on the couch again. He wasn't sure what time of day it was because the windows revealed a storm pounding the street outside. The sky was dark and the angry clouds lay low over the city. Rain poured off roofs and filled gutters, overflowing into drains and grates in the paving. Dirty rivulets of fast moving runoff chased each other down the street and around bends until they reached the finish line at the drainage grates.

He sat up and rubbed the shrinking lump on the back of his head, still bruised from its collision with the coffee table. He yawned and in doing so, caught a look at his watch. Only 6:30am, he thought. Looked far too dreary to be a spring morning, but Paris was different from New York; he had to remember that.

As he got ready for the morning's tasks, he ran through the file in his mind. He would have to find the answers to his questions before he could continue too far into the mission. He was in the process of making the bed when he stopped suddenly. Why did Fury even want this girl protected if she wasn't part of SHIELD anymore? From what he could gather, the 'too much' that she knew didn't have to do with SHIELD. So who considered her enough of a threat to hunt her down? And when would they reach her?

He finished the morning's chores and turned on the radio for some noise as he sat to think. Most of the stations broadcasted in French but a few fuzzy stations came through in English. He wasn't really paying the announcer any attention until he heard something that ripped his thoughts away from their previous work. "...including a solo performance from Mademoiselle Cousteau. The matinée will be held at one in the afternoon two weeks from today at the theater on..."

Steve didn't have to hear where it would be held; he already knew. At least now he knew he had about two weeks to persuade Antoinette he was telling the truth. The performance would be the perfect time to take her out. In the backstage chaos, it wouldn't be hard to poison her or lure her away for an ambush. And during her solo, she'd be an easy sniper target. Two weeks. He had two weeks. Sounded easy enough, but talking to this girl was like trying to deactivate a bomb. The slightest wrong move made her blow up.

The clock rolled around to eight and the clouds began to clear. A chalky blue sky was almost entirely freed of clouds, and what few remained were fluffy and white. The puddles in the sidewalks reflected the peaceful sky. The steady drip drip of water leaving gutters accompanied his footsteps as he began his walk toward the theater once again.

The air was warm and humid, but the breeze cut like a newly sharpened kitchen knife. He pulled his bomber jacket closer around his body as he walked. When he passed a cafe, he remembered he hadn't had breakfast at the apartment. The tempting aromas of hot coffee and fresh bakery creations were enough to lure him toward the neatly arranged open-air tables.

Maybe twenty people sat intermittently among the tables in twos or threes and few sat alone. He cast his eyes over the tables to find a seat when his gaze landed on the last person he had expected. Thinking quickly, he strode over and slid into the empty seat across the table.

Antoinette's head was down, reading what looked to be a page of the newspaper when Steve slid in across from her. Without looking up, she said, "I'll give you thirty seconds to find a different table or leave the café entirely."

"Good morning to you too," he retorted.

"Twenty seconds," she answered, refusing to face him.

"I'm not leaving, however nice that offer may sound," Steve replied, pulling his hands from his pockets and crossing his arms.

"I wasn't offering. I was demanding that you leave me alone."

"I can't do that," he said, watching her posture stiffen every time he denied her.