Chapter Text
The cafe is crowded, like on any Monday morning. You've been going to this place a lot lately, just people watching. It has a nice vibe to it, you must say. It's one of those organic-and-locally-sourced-ingredients places that cost a fortune and probably lie about the aforementioned ingredients. The lightning is soft and warm, jazz music softly playing from strategically concealed speakers on the ceiling. No one would expect a middle aged, expensive-Italian-suit-wearing businessman to be in a place like this, but it is located in the business side of Manhattan, after all.
You stand up, smoothing the skirt of your yellow sundress before grabbing the iced coffee you'd put on the table before. Eyes wandering around the interior of this glorified Starbucks, you stroll towards the door and casually bump your shoulder into his, bouncing back and nearly falling on your ass. You only stay upright because you grab onto his forearm.
"I'm so sorry!" you gasp, looking at the man with wide eyes. His bushy, gray eyebrows unfurrow before shooting up towards his receding hairline as he looks you over.
His lips stretch into a slimy smirk before he opens his mouth. "It's no problem, sweetheart." he reassures you, "It's not everyday I get to have a pretty, young thing like you on my arm."
The giggle you let out is perfectly convincing, and you wouldn't expect less, but fucking hell, thank god you have had such great training . You even pat his arm for good measure.
And there's that slimy smirk again. This guy is a certified creep, but he's unfortunately not a complete idiot, so you figure that's your cue to leave. "Well, have a good day, sir!" you call, walking out.
You're still grimacing at that look in his eyes when you had called him ‘sir’ , when you hear that telltale static buzz in your ear. "Did you place the bug?" Natasha asks you through your earpiece, the one you'd been concealing with Stark technology and a few strategically placed locks of hair, because you know better than to rely on technology to save your ass.
"Did you have any doubts?" you bring your phone to your ear to avoid strange looks from the crowd you're weaving through, "Let's just hope we got the timing right, otherwise we'll be listening to his dry cleaner."
Just as you turn the corner to a less busy alleyway, a shiny black BMW pulls up in front of you. The passenger side window rolls down, revealing Natasha's grin as she taps her fingers to the steering wheel. "When have I ever been wrong?" she asks, voice resounding both from her and the earpiece as you open the car door and slid onto the seat, carefully adjusting your skirt.
"God, this fabric is so itchy." you whine, "I thought we had a better budget than this."
Truthfully, you know that budget has nothing to do with this. Rich men know high quality fabrics when they see them, and you have to give off college-slash-borderline-high-school-student vibes to be that pig's type. Natasha knows you know that and that you just like to complain, so she just hums in assent and steps on the gas.
You prop your feet on the dashboard, painted toes wiggling in your open toed sandals as you reach for the radio button. Natasha rolls their eyes. This happens every time she's tasked with extraction on your missions.
First, you'll start changing radio stations after hearing a full second of what they're playing and complain about how ‘ radio hosts just don't know what a good song i s’. If you're particularly lucky, you'll land on a station that's playing some song you like, but it will probably already be at the second chorus, so the whining is all about how ‘t he universe has the worst timing ever ’. Once you get bored enough, you ask Friday -because of course Tony Stark would have it implemented in all company cars- to play one of your playlists. It usually changes every two weeks, but Natasha is pretty sure this Taylor Swift one has been going strong for at least six months now. She doesn't point it out because you would say something like ‘ I’m working on my commitment issues, Natalia! ’ and start lecturing her on the lyrical genius of the blondie. She also wishes you would just start skipping to the last step already, but you'd never do it.
The drive to the compound is long, and you have played All Too Well (the ten minute version) twice now. You note with the greatest pleasure that Natasha was, well, not singing along, but mouthing some words. Oh, well. You suppose god had to give her a flaw, otherwise she would have been too powerful. Her flaw is refusing to admit she's a Swiftie.
"What time is it?" you ask as the familiar scenery comes into view. The compound is imposing, and it may intimidate a few people, but it's the place you've been calling home for the past few weeks.
"Eight fifty five." Natasha responds, checking her watch as she effortlessly does some weird, complicated parking technique. It will never fail to surprise you how well she drives. You barely even got your license, and that’s only because it was a requirement to get into the Avengers Initiative Program.
Normally, you'd be on the training field with Sam at this time of the day. He's the Avenger most involved with the agents and trainees, unsurprisingly. It's just in his nature to teach. He's patient, helpful and keeps the atmosphere light with jokes, but he has high standards. Many of the trainees that started out with you had to wait a lot longer to become agents, but, in all fairness, you did go through your training rather quickly.
"Let's go, then." you nod, opening the car door. You strut towards the entry with well earned confidence. You're not playing a key role in the mission, but you're working directly with the team. Not many people can say they've done that, and successfully, too.
Friday gives the both of you a full body scan before letting you into the building, greeting the both of you with a "Welcome back, Agents."
The common area is empty. If they aren't training, the newer people tend to crowd the area in hopes of running into a superhero, so it's a welcomed change. You can't exactly blame them, though. You've been one of them, stretching your neck to catch a glimpse of the Scarlet Witch getting boba tea. Everyone gets starstruck, and you're only human.
Also, you'd probably get weird stares from everyone, because, number one, you're with Natasha Romanoff, and number two, you're in a yellow sundress while she's in total black casual clothing. The two of you look like that meme with the mom and her emo daughter, but reversed. That thought makes your lips twitch.
The surveillance room is on the second floor, just below the agents' living quarters, so you get into the elevator and impatiently tap your foot on the floor. "Eight fifty seven." Natasha supplies, and you nod. You have three minutes left, and the elevator has finally reached the second floor. The moment of truth is getting closer. You're looking forward to hearing that asshole incriminate himself and bring down a few other ones at the same time.
The doors slide open, and you tense up a little. It isn't too much, but Natasha notices the smallest movements. She elbows your arm and gives you a soft, proud smile. It really is a mom thing, you think. You're grateful to have her there with you, encouraging you to take the first step and get out of the elevator, because you need someone to back you up, or hold you back, at what happens next.
"Does she have clearance to this floor?" a deep voice comes from your right, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. This man is something else, you swear. He acts like he's the boss around here. And, well, maybe he kind of is, but he doesn't have to act like his perfect posture is caused by the stick that's been buried too far up into his asshole since you've known him.
"She does." Natasha responds, and her tone is annoyed enough for the both of you, "Like any other agent."
You turn your head towards Steve Rogers and send him a wide smile that reads ‘ yeah, you asshole, what she said ’.
His full beard doesn't hide his lips enough that you can't see them pressing together for a moment, eyes looking at you up and down in clear distaste. Is he judging you for the clothes you had to put on for a mission? This sundress is cute, too. You're probably going to keep it, if they let you. It's not like you haven't taken some... memorabilia before.
He looks back to Natasha and hums dismissively. "Well, let's get going." he finally says, going to turn around. Apparently, though, the sight of you moving forward in his peripheral view disturbs him.
"No, not you." he looks you in the eyes. You don't let anything show on your face. Confusion, hurt, shame, they're all carefully concealed with a blank stare, because you'd rather die than give him that satisfaction.
"I'm a key part in this mission." you point out, keeping your head up to exude the confidence you're not really feeling. And to look at him in the eye, because the man is a fucking giant.
"You placed a bug." he deadpans, crossing his arms in front of his chest and, Jesus Christ, his biceps are wider than your head , "That's hardly a key part."
"Could you have done it?" you ask, tilting your head. When he rolls his eyes and goes to answer, you clarify. "I mean, could you have gone undetected for a week while memorizing his morning routine? Could you have put on a pretty dress and flirted with him? Uh, I don’t think so. Maybe he'd fall for the Captain America charm, though."
"Let it go, Steve." Natasha sighs impatiently, checking her watch. The two of you are too busy with your staring contest, though, so you don't really listen. Then, Steve breaks eye contact to turn around and walk away.
"Get changed and go back to training, 22." he calls out, heading towards the room you should have been in by now.
"I'm sorry." Natasha sends you a pitiful smile before following him.
You wonder if a jury would even listen to your reasoning for strangling the quintessential American hero.
"He's an absolute," your right fist gets dodged, "fucking," the left one is grabbed before it can land a hit, "asshole!" your foot lands on your sparring partner's hip.
"Okay, time out!" Sam takes a hold of your ankle and places your foot back on the ground.
"No, assholes serve a purpose. You shit out of them, you stick things in 'em. What has he ever done that was even remotely relieving or pleasurable?" you continue to mutter, unwrapping your hands.
"Well, he did save the world a few times." Sam points out, grinning. That same grin drops when you send him a death glare, and he raises his hands. "Hey, I'm just saying. He's not that bad."
"He's not that bad to you ." you respond, throwing the wraps on a bench with unjustified rage, "You're his teammate, so he doesn't get to treat you like you're the dirt on the sole of his shoes."
Truthfully, it's not even about the one episode this morning, and you wouldn't have minded his indifference. He's been distant with recruits from the beginning, but he only gets that snobby look with you, especially since you've started getting closer with Sam and Natasha. God forbid that a lowly agent like you starts hanging out with his friends. He'd have to admit that he's not better than you, then.
"I'm not saying that what he did today is right." he reassures you, patting your back, "But he's not the guy you think he is."
You roll your eyes. Yeah, right.
Steve is pleased. With this recording, they'll be able to bring down three corrupt businessmen and a few members of the organized crime group they've been dealing with. He's lounging on his bed and reading, hoping to avoid Natasha's dirty looks for the rest of the day. Of course, she comes barging in, with backup.
"Ever heard of knocking?" he asks, not looking away from his book. He should have known that would annoy Natasha.
She struts toward him and snatches the book away, slapping his hand when he tries to reach for it. "We need to talk."
Sam nods from behind her. Steve just sighs. "Is this about the girl?"
"She's an agent, and she has a name." Natasha corrects him, "And you're being unfair to her."
"How am I-" he tries to start, but Sam decides to speak up.
"Do you know how excited she was for that mission?" Sam asks him, crossing his arms.
Steve rolls his eyes. "She just had to place a bug."
"Something you couldn't have done, as she pointed out." Natasha rebuts.
"This was the first time she assisted us with a mission. Not many agents get to do that, especially ones so new. She's one of the best recruits I've trained in years. She may not be the strongest looking, but she's dedicated, and smart, and-"
Sam's speech, the one that would make you faint if you’d heard it, is interrupted by Friday. "I apologize for interrupting, but Agent 22 has requested to urgently speak with you. Should I put her on speaker?"
"Thank you, Friday." Natasha nods.
Your voice resounds through Steve's room. "Guys, I've found something big."
The criminals are connected to Hydra. It’s stereotypical, the Russian mobsters being connected to one of the few remaining Hydra cells in the United States, but you’ve found some pretty damning evidence.
"Their base seems to be in North Dakota." you explain, gesturing to the map in front of you, "At least, that's where the signal stops. So, either they found a way to completely erase their existence from the internet or they sent the information to Crosby, population a thousand and seventy."
Natasha hums and examines the signal traces on the map while Sam and Steve stay back, because they have no idea how to interpret that complex grid of lines and the code under it.
"If my calculations are correct, these..." you pause for a second before pulling up another page on the screen, "are the coordinates. It looks like an abandoned warehouse. The bad news is, it's not exactly in an isolated zone, so we can't just park the quinjet outside and storm in."
Pictures of the warehouse from different angles appear onto the screen. You click on one, making it bigger. "The good news, however, is that there's a house on sale that has a perfect view of the place."
"You're suggesting a stakeout." Steve says. Of course, he doesn't even let you finish. He could have at least posed it as a question. That wouldn't have been polite, either, but at least a little less rude.
You nod. "We can monitor their ins and outs and wait for the guys in today's meeting to visit, and then we'll storm them."
Steve nods slowly, hesitantly. The plan does make sense, he has to admit, but it's risky, waiting so long. If they arrested the business men, alarm bells would ring in the Hydra goons' brains. They'll have to hash out the details, but it could be solid enough.
"Who's going, then?" he finally asks, and your eyes widen so much at his implied approval of your plan that you look like a lemur, "Bucky's out, of course."
Yeah, the guy doesn't need to face those Nazi little shits again, but that's not the only problem. "With all due respect," you clear your throat, "I don't think anyone from the team should be going."
That makes a few eyebrows raise, so you clarify. "We can't exactly hole up in the house and wait for other agents to drop supplies off. In a town that small, people are gonna know there's neighbors, right? And, well, if we need to interact with people, we can't exactly be..." you gesture vaguely, trying to put your thoughts into words in the most clear and effective way, "recognizable, I guess."
"We're not gonna leave this to anyone unqualified." Steve points out, "As soon as Hydra is involved, the team is involved."
Natasha and Sam nod, clearly thinking it over in their heads. You hate to admit it, but Steve does make a good point. "What if we send you in with one of us?" Sam asks you, "Make them less recognizable, so you have backup."
Steve's eyebrows jolt up, but Sam doesn't let him speak. "No, she's going. She knows this mission the best, and we wouldn't know any of this if it wasn't for her."
And, yeah, hearing Sam back you up like that makes you smile. Are your eyes sparkling , Steve thinks, or are you tearing up? How professional .
"Fine. You go with her, then." Steve huffs, crossing his arms. Why is Sam sticking up for you all of a sudden? And, most importantly, why is his own suggestion making him more riled up?
Sam shakes his head. "Nah, man. I won't be able to use the wings, and I can't take that many people in combat without 'em."
You think Sam is being too humble, because you've seen him fight without his tech and he's a force to be reckoned with, but you won't press him about it. Boundaries and all of that.
"Natasha, then." Steve shrugs, but the redhead is already shaking her head.
"Lesbian couple moving into a town that small? Way too big of a commotion."
At that, both you and Steve turn your heads to look at her. "Who said anything about couples?" Steve asks, confused. He thinks he missed something.
"Why else would any two people buy a house in the middle of nowhere?" Natasha explains like it's obvious, "The 'we want our kids to grow up in a safe, close knit community' thing is the only plausible excuse."
And, well, when she says it like that it sounds obvious.
"So, who's coming with me?"