La Petite Fleur

Preuve

"And why not?"

"Because you're in danger."

"I am always in danger. We live in a world of danger. If you intend to frighten me, you'll 'ave to do better," she answered.

"Someone wants to have you killed for something you know. What do you know that's so important?"

She propped her elbows on the table and leaned part way across the table toward him. "Oh, but if I told you that, they'd 'ave to kill you too. Hm, maybe I should tell you. Then when they killed you, I'd be free of you at last."

Steve resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Do you know who they are that want you killed?"

"I might," she answered sitting back in her chair.

"But you won't tell me." Steve sat back as well, noticing a waitress heading for their table.

"Exactement," Antoinette answered with a small smirk.

The waitress arrived at their table and turned to Antoinette first to take her order. They spoke in quick French to each other before the waitress scrawled something on her notepad and turned to Steve.

"Black coffee, hot?" he asked, wondering if she spoke English. When she simply continued to stare at him, he assumed she didn't understand. He looked to Antoinette for help.

She smiled a little in pitying amusement before telling the waitress his order in French. The waitress replied to Antoinette, "Americain?"

Antoinette seemed amused. "Oui."

The woman nodded and left them alone at the table once more.

"So, I believe you were leaving?" she said.

"No, I'm pretty sure I was staying," he retorted.

"Fine. Stay," she answered with a shrug.

The waitress returned with their drinks and Steve thanked the waitress with a smile and dip of his head. He blew on his coffee before taking a swallow. It wasn't the usual drip brew he was used to. It was nutty and strong, but he liked it.

Antoinette simply glared at him from across the table. Those piercing blue eyes seemed to stare inside his being, search out everything he was thinking, and turn him inside out like a sock.

"Who are you?" she asked at length.

He would be honest with her, to an extent. If she wasn't going to be open with him, there was no reason he should tell her everything up front. Just enough for her to trust him. "I'm a member of SHIELD, what else do you need to know?"

"Non, I know that already."

"Then what do you want to know?" he asked calmly.

"I want to know who you are, where you are from, and most importantly- why you are doing this," she told him, once again leaning toward him across the table. She held her little espresso cup with both hands, her fingers elegantly extended and yet relaxed, the trait of a ballet dancer if ever he had seen one. Who knew it was possible to make holding a teacup graceful?

"I told you who I am. Where I'm from is complicated and quite irrelevant. As to why I'm doing this- I was asked to."

"And you just do as you are told without a single question asked?"

"Well, yes, kind of."

"I cannot believe you Américains!" she said, slamming the flat palms of her hands on the table at the word 'believe' and pushing herself back in her chair.