Frostbite

One

Another mission, another headache. It wouldn't be so bad if Rumlow wasn't present. I despised going on missions with him, but I usually managed to shove my distaste for him aside. Rumlow was the head of S.H.I.E.L.D's STRIKE team, so he was almost always with us on missions.

We were flying over the Indian Ocean, heading for some ship. Natasha and Steve had picked me up earlier, and we hadn't received many details. No surprise there.

"The target is a mobile satellite launch platform: The Lemurian Star. They were sending up their last payload when pirates took them, ninety-three minutes ago," Rumlow began briefing, using the screen in front of us to swipe details forward.

"Any demands?" I asked, moving closer to see the screen.

"A billion and a half."

"Why so steep?" Steve questioned, surprised at the amount.

"Because its S.H.I.E.L.D's," Rumlow replied simply, not even glancing up.

"So, it's not off-course; it's trespassing," Steve concluded unhappily.

"I'm sure they have a good reason," Nat countered, shrugging her shoulders.

"You know, I'm getting a little tired of being Fury's janitor," Steve commented, his tone a tad snarky.

"Relax, it's not that complicated," Nat assured him.

"How many pirates?" I asked, keeping my comments to myself.

"Twenty-five- top mercs, led by this guy. Georges Batroc," Rumlow answered, barely looking at me and pulling a picture of Batroc forward on the monitor, "Ex-DGSE, Action Division. He's at the top of Interpol's Red Notice. Before the French demobilized him, he had thirty-six kill missions. This guy has a rep for maximum casualties."

"Hostages?" Steve inquired.

"Uh...mostly techs. One officer, Jasper Sitwell," he replied, pulling up a picture of Sitwell, "They're in the galley."

I exchanged a confused look with Steve.

"What's Sitwell doing on a launch ship? Alright, I'm gonna sweep the deck and find Batroc. Nat, you'll kill the engines and wait for instructions. Rumlow and Melanie, you sweep aft, find the hostages, get them to the life pods, and get 'em out. Let's move," Steve ordered, moving towards the back of the jet.

"STRIKE, you heard the Cap. Gear up," Rumlow instructed. We all moved towards the wall of the jet to grab parachutes. I shrugged mine on and secured the fastenings while tuning into Steve and Nat's conversation.

"Did you guys do anything fun Saturday night?" she asked him suggestively.

I moaned internally. The teasing had been nonstop since everyone found out Steve wasn't a ninety something year old virgin anymore. It had died down drastically, but we still had to endure it from time to time.

"Well, all the guys from my barbershop quartet are dead, so I'm assuming you mean me and Mel," he played along.

"Coming up on the drop zone Cap," the pilot said through the radio.

"You know, if you ever want to share any of the good stuff with us, we're more than willing to lend an interested ear," she continued, smirking. I rolled my eyes, but couldn't help the small, amused grin that came.

"That's why I don't share," he said, walking toward the back of the open jet. He placed his hand on my back while passing and grabbed his shield, flashing a smile to me.