Not What She Seems-Natasha Romanoff

The house of chaos

She stared back at him. "Come on," he tried. "Steve's cakes are the best!"

She sighed. "Okay."

Hesitantly, she took a bite. Seconds afterwards, her eyes lit up. 

"This is delicious," she agreed. It was much better than the theatre's cafeteria cakes. Steve smiled. So did Natasha. Bucky laughed and continued eating. 

After desert Natasha started helping clean the dishes. 

"Oh, I can do it, Natasha," Steve said. "You're the guest! Sit down, watch TV."

He sent a swift look at Bucky but did nothing. Bucky grinned.

"Exactly," Natasha said. "I'm the guest. I should help. Please?"

He sighed and nodded. "Ok."

Steve put away the leftovers in the fridge, while Natasha cleaned the dishes. It was peaceful and anyone looking in would assume they were family. Natasha finished and then sat down, next to Bucky. 

"What are you watching?"

He made a face. "The news." 
Steve rolled his eyes. "What's wrong with the news, Buck?"

"Scared long-sleeves are going to go out of fashion?" Sam teased. "In Summer?"

He ignored Sam and replied to Steve. "Sometimes, the stuff on there... You can't believe it's happening. It's... Horrible."

Natasha nodded in agreement. "It is."

"A tourist was assaulted outside a restaurant, this evening. He is in the hospital but is OK. The attacker fled the site. Police are looking for the person. They were hooded, so not much is known about their identity. Here is the man's police statement," the news lady -Jessica Crowe- said. 

The TV cut to the tourist. "I was walking to my car," the man said with a heavy accent, similar to Natasha's. "Then, Bam! Person jumped me, asked for my money. I said no, they attack. They... I don't remember much after that point."

"This comes as a blow to the truce between America and Mr. Chernov's home country, Russia. Mr. Chernov is heading home, once the doctors declare him healthy. We hope you are well, Mr. Chernov. And to our audience, stay safe," Jessica finished.

Natasha shook her head. "I hope the man's ok."

The trio nodded. They sat there in silence, while the news talked about weather.

"You have good English," Bucky commented. "Compared to -er- Mr. Chernov, you talk like an American."

She nodded sagely. "English isn't an official language of Russia. And translating between the two isn't exact. For example, Учителв is teacher or a teacher. You wouldn't say a  Учителв, you'd say  Учителв. Same with the. And I learned English at a young age." 

They nodded. "Was it hard?" Sam asked.

She nodded. "Russian would be hard for you to learn, though. Only, like, five percent can speak English fluently. Most of the Madame's and most of the girls in the troupe know English as their second language. Or first."

She smiled and yawned. "I better get going now."

Sam made a fake pouting face. "Do you have to?"
She nodded. "Unfortunately."

The trio got up and followed. They only paused when they exited the apartment. 

"Well, bye," Bucky said.

"Bye," the other two chorused. 
"Here," Steve said, pushing a container to her. It had two slices of the cake and a few sandwiches. It also had some raspberry-white choc muffins, according to Sam.

She thanked them and headed off. 

It was dark, the stars barely giving any light. She walked through an alley, and she heard a scuffle.

"Who's there?" She asked, tucking the box of food behind her arm.

Silence was her uneasy reply, so she walked on. She entered another alley, keen to get back to the theatre, when she heard another noise. She put down the container and looked around uneasily. 

"Who's there?" This time her accent came out. Maybe it was this that made the man to reveal himself.

"Ah, a tourist. You got cash on you don't you, little girl." He was in varying degrees of shabbiness, his teeth yellow. However, he wore perfectly normal clothes, only his actions revealing his intentions. 

She frowned. "Don't call me little girl," she said menacingly, purposely dropping her self-taught -or rather TV taught- American accent. 

He raised his hand, expecting cash. Instead, he got a punch to his face. She paused, almost amused he thought it would work, before she kicked him where it hurt.

She smiled at him. "For that, I'm going to take your money and give to people that are victims because of people like you. So, this backfired on you, didn't it?" His wallet was in her hand, her American accent back. 
"Oh, and thank you, for your cooperation." 

She twirled his wallet between her fingers and picked up the container. She also took his backpack, emptied it and hid the container in there. 

She smiled at him, a deadly, cold smile and walked off. Thankfully, she did not run into any more trouble. Though whether the thanks would be to her, or the poor person who would think they could handle her, was being debated in her head. She knew the winner, as she walked into the studio. 

She slipped into the sleeping quarters, hid the food and fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. 

Madame B watched through the window. 
"Soon, Natalia. Soon."