𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗜𝗥𝗘𝗡 | 𝗡. 𝗥𝗢𝗠𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗙𝗙

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Tonight, her goal was the training room. She clearly needed to burn off some steam.

Tonight, she walked down the dark hall with a purpose.

Tonight, when she opened the door, she was greeted by a knife hurtling toward her face.

Natasha dodged, turning her head as she caught the knife by its hilt before it could impale the door.

Then there was stillness. Natasha's heart had picked up a bit, because she would be lying if she'd said she wasn't at least a little surprised by the turn of events.

Turning to find the culprit, her gaze met the bright eyes of a dark-haired woman who stood in front of a rack holding various blades.

Truth Castello, as well, would be lying if she'd said she hadn't been caught off guard. Standing there as she fiddled with the knives, testing their weight and the sharpness of the blade, she hadn't noticed the silent hum growing closer. She was used to being the only one roaming their floor at such a late hour. To say she hadn't expected the red-haired woman in front of her was an understatement, and her training had her moving without a second thought.

With less than twenty feet between them, it wasn't hard for either party to recognize the other.

The redness of the Black Widow's hair was unmistakable. It was rich, not like a ginger, but like the finest rose. Her body was muscular—Truth could almost see the pure strength she carried, and she had just witnessed how the Black Widow moved with the speed and grace of someone in perfect control. Even the wisps of her mind were beautiful and intriguing, with not a single stray thought or hint as to what she was feeling reaching Truth's additional senses.

And when she had turned, Truth had to hold her breath, as she had been failed to be informed that the Black Widow was more stunning than she had imagined.

For Natasha, the Siren looked a lot like her brother, after all—or maybe Silver Tongue looked a lot like his sister, because Natasha was sure the woman set the standard for beauty. Pitch black hair ran down her back in waves, her bodysuit accentuating her curves, her light brown skin littered with blemishes in a way that seemed almost purposeful.

And her eyes.

If Silver Tongue's eyes were an almost purple, then the eyes of the Siren were a vibrant violet. Natasha was enraptured, and she wasn't sure how long she would have stared if the other woman didn't break the silence.

"Good catch."

American. But the Black Widow knew that a spy as renowned as the Siren would have mastered several accents, not unlike herself.

A beat passed before the Widow took a step further inside and let the door close behind her.

"Good throw."

Also American, the Siren noted. But, again, it wasn't hard to shake an accent. The Siren found that she hung onto the Widow's every word, waiting to be graced by the sound of her husky voice again.

The Widow then tilted her head with a little shrug. 

"But, you missed."