The Shadow [a marvel fanfiction]

The Winter Soldier: Chapter Six

How to Alarm the World's Biggest Goody-Two-Shoes:

1. Suggest that you steal clothes from a thrift store (for strictly undercover purposes)

2. Pull out a credit card that you "acquired" from Tony I-Sleep-On-Piles-Of-Money Stark

3. Produce several twenties hidden in assorted (and awkward) locations in your suit—each of which earned in various manners that are not deemed acceptable by those all good and moral

Marie winced as she pulled a sweatshirt over her head, stretching muscles and cuts and bruises that were only just beginning to heal. Scabs covered her arms, bits of glass littered the floor, and her ribs ached. She let the thick cotton material drop and hide her damaged body in the smudged changing room mirror.

She let out a quiet sigh, running her fingers through her matted, bloody hair in an attempt to untangle it. Three frustrating minutes later, Marie begrudgingly abandoned any hope of fixing it and twisted her hair back into a sloppy bun.

It was a well-put together disguise. She looked like the average, lazy college student in an oversized sweatshirt, leggings, and a snapback. With a well-loved pair of sneakers, she faded into this new character she created (for less than thirty dollars, too).

Marie reached for her ruined S.H.I.E.L.D. suit. Carefully, she ripped it into strips and wrapped them around her ribs. She hissed, breathing deeply as she tied her makeshift bandages. Lungs restricted, she bunched up her suit and stared at the black material; at the damaged eagle.

Why did everyone suddenly turn on them? How long had this been planned?

She swallowed tightly and shoved the material into a bag to be disposed of later.

Marie slid the curtain to the side and stepped out of the changing room. Her eyes scanned the racks for Steve. She almost choked when she saw his "disguise."

Steve picked out a pair of casual jeans that she's pretty sure he has in his closet, a white shirt she swore she saw on the floor of his room, and a non-descript navy hoodie with the hood up. He might as well have a sign over his head saying, "I'm running from the government, but I swear it's not my fault."

Biting her lip and taking the high road, Marie strode through the racks. She occasionally stopped to look at different shirts. She kept a carefully crafted look of intrigue on her face to hide her disgust. The clothes were old and smelled of mothballs.

"Are you done?" she asked. She spoke slowly, as if she were bored and wanted little to do with him. In reality, she was covering up her stutter. Steve looked at her in surprise, fake glasses in his hands. Marie raised an eyebrow and shook her head. He smiled sheepishly but didn't put them back.

"Let me just get these—" he paused and snatched the hat off her head "—and this too. We don't want to look suspicious."

Because that hoodie makes you look very inconspicuous.

Marie followed him to the front. She picked up a tube of Chapstick and threw it into the hat. She ignored Steve's look and pretended to browse the cheap items on the counter.

The cashier was an older woman, and probably the owner going off the clothes she wore, who eyed the two of them carefully. Marie leaned against the counter and pulled out her phone, scrolling through and "texting" her friends.

"That'll be four thirty-five."

Steve automatically reached for his wallet and froze. He didn't have a wallet. He didn't have any money. Marie had the money and now they looked suspicious. He patted his pockets, awkwardly laughing to cover up his panic.