Finding Death

пять

Nomad

Steve doesn't get a chance to answer. I know deep down that I'm not wrong, I can't be, but I want the reassurance. I need it. But the sound won't let me have it.

My legs involuntarily launch me into a fighting stance, the knife spotted with Steve's blood gripped in my fist; the noise persists, footsteps haunting the stairs creeping ever close to the entrance to what I presume is Steve's room.

Before I register it, I duck into the adjoining room, shutting the door silently behind me. As far as anyone (except Steve) knows, I'm not here. Nor was I ever. Yet I want to stay.

*

Captain America

Natasha strides through the doorway without knocking; it feels like a hurricane. "So?" she asks expectantly, but her expression softens when she notices the box, still open in front of me. "Oh," she breathes. "It was her again, wasn't it?"

I tell her what she wants to hear, bristling inwardly when her fingers curl around a photograph Rikki dropped moments before she hid. "This is cute," Natasha states, handing my back the photo of Rikki and Bucky together. Happy.

"I prefer this one," I reply, showing the redhead another, this time of the Howling Commandos. I've never really noticed before that Bucky only seems to have eyes for Rikki, the singular woman in the image. It hurts. Physically hurts. "Today, at the Pool," I start, beginning to gather up the box's entrails. "When we were fighting. I just wanted her to remember."

"Remember what?" I replace the box under my bed, turning from Nat's question.

"Herself. Me- who we were, who we all were, back in 1944. Before I thought her and Buck were dead. It's just like that all over again."

"You know we're all here for you, right, Steve?" Natasha leans against the open doorway, arms folded as if she doesn't care. Her words say otherwise. "If you need to talk about it."

"Thanks," I reply. "I... just want to be alone for a little while," it's a lie, obviously, but Nat doesn't know that. She doesn't need to. I'm glad when she spins on her heels, leaving without a sound.

The moment I'm sure that she's gone, I open the door to the other room, inwardly sighing that Rikki's still there. I thought she might've left; I feel like that's something the assassin would do. "I've just realised something," she admits as she crosses into my room. "That drawing you did. You, Sergeant Barnes and me, correct"

I grin, wondering if she's remembering anything. "Yeah. Not bad, is it?"

"No," she replays my expression on her own face, hazel eyes sparkling with light. "So the three of us knew each other in 1944? Seventy years ago?"

"We did. Pretty well, in fact," an idea flicks itself into my head. "You fancy going out someplace? It'll be easy for you to get out of here, right?"

Rikki shrugs, stooping to brush a piece of lint from her (Natasha's) jeans. "To be honest, I could mostly likely jump out of your window. Something tells me that's not the best idea, though- I'm thinking vents?"

"I presume you've seen a floor plan of this place? So you could get to the garage without being seen?"

Her nod is all the answer I need. Wordlessly Rikki shoves aside the ventilation grate and effortlessly pulls herself into it, her muscles not even bulging with the effort. She has a lot of muscle, oddly not that noticeable. "Ten minutes," she tells me, disappearing into the tunnel above; I replace the grate.

From the adjacent room (it was Nat's, once upon a time, and I still find things that were hers in there. Haven't given any of it back yet) I collect a few things, change, and stuff them into my jacket pockets. I make sure to shut the door behind me as I leave, heading down the twisted corridors.