✠ ——— ✠ ——— ✠ ——— ✠
𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐧
━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━
Natasha Romanoff had a plan:
Find Truth Castello.
Turned out that the plan wasn't as easy as she'd thought.
Even nearing a month of knowing each other, the other assassin was almost impossible to find during the daylight hours. At best, Natasha would be lucky to see her for breakfast before she disappeared to do whatever it was she did before the clock struck midnight.
She'd been present at the Canteen that morning to say her goodbyes to Clint, along with Michael and Coulson. Natasha hadn't seen her the night before since she had just returned from a three-day mission in Vegas, and she hadn't expected to see her that morning either. Truth was even more reclusive after a mission, taking at least a day or two to re-acclimate before she was ready to venture out into the world.
So, in theory, it was easy for Natasha to guess where she would be—her apartment.
The problem?
Natasha didn't know where Truth's apartment was.
She knew that they lived on the same floor because, otherwise, Truth wouldn't be privy to the same training room as Natasha. She also knew that she wasn't in Section R because that was where she and Clint lived and she was certain they would've bumped into each other more than once if she did.
That meant she was in Section L. But, there were still a lot of apartments to choose from, and Natasha wasn't interested in playing ding-dong ditch.
She was almost ready to turn around and check her fridge again—fourth time's a charm?—when two sets of footsteps entered the corridor behind her, one gait more familiar than the other.
"Natasha!"
Natasha held back a groan. Instead, she rolled her eyes and turned around to give Michael Castello a glare.
"You're on thin ice, Castello."
Michael hesitated. Natasha smirked.
She'd made it clear that for every "Natasha" he uttered there would be a justified retaliation on her part. At first, he hadn't believed her.
That was until he'd found the spider in his weapons locker. Apparently he was terrified of them.
How fitting.
"Right," Michael said cautiously. "Any way I can take that last one back?"
Natasha shrugged.
"Depends."
The man standing slightly behind Michael watched their banter with muted interest. He was shorter than Michael, yet older. Blonde hair, average build, decent face—not someone anyone would look at twice. He seemed keen on studying Natasha as though he were trying to place her somewhere. She'd never seen him before, and she always remembered a face. But, seeing as he didn't introduce himself and Michael obviously didn't have the manners to do it either, she elected to ignore him.
Michael studied her.
"Are you lost? You're lost, aren't you?"
"I'm not lost."
"You have a pretty good poker face, Romanoff, but it doesn't work for me. Lies are one of my specialties."
Something Natasha knew of, but not completely. The twins were very vague when it came down to their abilities, though Natasha suspected that Truth would probably answer her questions if she asked.
If she ever mustered enough courage to ask, that is.
"Doesn't mean I'm lost," Natasha replied coolly. "I think it's a matter of opinion."
"Opinions can be wrong."
"That defeats the purpose—"
The older agent cleared his throat pointedly, and Natasha leveled her gaze on him.
She didn't like to be interrupted.
"Michael," the man chided as he checked his watch. "Any time now."
Natasha's attention returned to Michael, not wanting to beat around the bush any longer.
"You know where your sister is?"
The smirk he gave her fully conveyed his triumph at being right, but he didn't comment on it. Instead, he gave her the directions and let her be on her way.
"Aren't you the one who preaches the importance of patience?" Michael questioned the blonde man beside him once the redhead disappeared from sight. The older agent turned to give Michael a chiding look before turning to resume their route.
"You always did talk a lot. Even as a kid. You'd just blabber—didn't matter if it made sense to anyone but yourself."
Michael frowned.
"Are you trying to say that I only speak nonsense? That hurts, Thíos (uncle)."
"I'm only being honest." They stopped in front of the elevator. "There's a reason your sister is better at going undercover."
Michael huffed. He didn't have to be reminded of that. Truth had given him an earful on that one op in Italy, and she continued to make the point that he wasn't allowed to do any more undercover ops with her.
The elevator arrived with a ding. It was empty, and they stepped inside, turning to face the doors.
"Who was that, anyway?" Clarke asked with interest after giving the voice command. "I don't think Truth would be pleased to know you're giving away her address to just anyone."
"New transfer," Michael answered tersely. He and Truth hadn't yet discussed how they would address the topic of the Black Widow working for S.H.I.E.L.D., and Clarke would probably have more than a few things to say about it.
Especially if he knew about her weird relationship with Truth. Michael didn't even really understand it. Every time he asked, Truth would dance around the answer, but he knew that there was more between them then the supposed competition they liked to flaunt around the other agents.
Clarke hummed.
"I thought Truth didn't like having friends?"
"She has friends," Michael defended. "Maria, Phil, Clint, Melinda, Amelia..."
His uncle nodded thoughtfully.
"Haven't heard about Amelia in a while."
They both had mixed feelings about Amelia. Truth had forgiven her years ago, and, sure, they could admit that it had been for the best, but neither her brother nor her uncle could forget about the aftermath.
Amelia had been the last person Truth had opened up to.
And, maybe, they were both worried about her doing it again.
Michael sighed.
"Yeah." The elevator opened with a ding, and they stepped out into a chilly, moderately lit corridor. "But, my point is that she doesn't need us breathing down her neck. She knows and deserves to make her own choices."
Clarke watched his nephew as he spoke. Say whatever you wanted about him, but Michael Castello would always be there to defend his sister.
And that was all Clarke had ever wanted for them. To say that he was proud of how far they'd come was an understatement.
"Then, I trust your word," Clarke said as they walked further past dozens of cells, some empty, some not. "For now, we need your game face on."
Michael shook his head in amusement as they came to a stop in front of a two way mirror. Inside was a woman with dark hair obscuring her face. Yet still, from what little Michael could see, it had him drawing in a sharp breath.
"She looks just like—"
Clarke nodded.
"I know."
The woman was frail, shivering despite the blanket over her shoulders. Michael had to look away, reminding himself that Truth was just upstairs in her room where she was safe. And yet, even that distance was too great, and he was reminded of a time when he would be lucky if he had so much as heard her, let alone see her to make sure she was okay. He had to force himself not to reach out to her mentally, knowing it would only warrant her concern.
"Are you sure about this?" Michael asked. "I'm good, but if she doesn't talk, then this is more of Truth's specialty."
"I know," Clarke said again.
Then he looked at his nephew.
"But, I want to keep her as far away from this as possible."
✠ ——— ✠ ——— ✠ ——— ✠