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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐧
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On her way to the conference room she had been paged to, Truth Castello received a phone call.
Phone calls weren't an oddity when you worked a job that required having hundreds of connections and favors that could make the difference between a successful mission and a failed one. Knowing the right people could take you far, and it was often the quickest road with the least amount of resistance.
Truth had friends and acquaintances all over the world. She could name at least one person she had established a work relationship with on all of her missions at S.H.I.E.L.D., and that didn't count the independent jobs she took on the side. If you added Michael's own list of work friends, the twins likely always knew a guy that owed them a favor or two.
So, phone calls were expected. Sometimes it was people cashing in favors. Other times they asked for her consult, or they informed her of a job that was in her field of specialty. It got a bit dicey when she had to lose a phone number or two due to the occasional compromised situation, but she didn't make it too hard for her contacts to reach her unless she was on a mission. Their friend Viktor usually handled both Truth's and Michael's calls, letting them know who they had to get back to and who wanted what and why.
It was also another reason why they paid him such a hefty amount. Otherwise, Truth was sure she would've thrown her phone off the top of the Triskelion a long time ago.
And, knowing that Viktor always warded off the people she couldn't give a damn for, Truth had made a habit of just answering the phone whenever it rang without introducing herself or IDing the caller.
Sometimes, she just didn't have the time or patience to do so.
So, she just didn't.
Truth picked up the call as she walked into an empty elevator, giving a command before holding the phone up to her ear.
"What?" she answered.
"Do you never look at the contact before you answer the phone?"
Truth raised a brow, though she recognized the voice of the person on the other line. One of the small perks of having a perfect memory.
"Funny of you to think spies save contacts, Liz. You of all people should know that, I think."
"Touché. Is this a bad time?"
Once she reached her floor, Truth stepped out of the transport, noting that there weren't many people out this morning.
"Not yet. Any updates?"
"The doctors here have done everything they can, and they are confident that she can make a full recovery. They performed the surgery to perfection—the bleeding has stopped, and there were no traces of shrapnel, which is good. The only thing is—"
"She hasn't woken up," Truth finished for her.
Head traumas were tricky. Truth had observed a few of her own, and, despite it being one of her specialties, she didn't enjoy them much. It was unnerving to see an injured mind in its entirety, let alone feel it.
It wasn't like sleep—it was emptiness.
It felt like death. And, Truth should know—she was rather well acquainted with both the dying and the dead.
"Do they know what caused it?" Truth questioned. "Was it the surgery, or the bleeding, or something else?"
"The surgery did result in some intense swelling, but they are expecting that to subside within the next few days. They're still running some tests, but I thought I'd let you know in case you wanted to see things for yourself."
Conference Room 42-F was on the left side of the hall on the 42nd floor. Though caught slightly off-guard by the agent there waiting for her, she walked into the room as she started to wrap up the call.
"I'm afraid I won't have the time to drop by just yet, but definitely keep me posted. If anything, I'll call ahead to let you know of any change of plans on my part."
"Of course. Though, before you do whatever it is you're about to do, try not to get into any trouble, okay? Mom won't be very happy if I have to tell her about another one of your insane missions."
Truth smiled at the comment as she sat in the seat across from her uncle, who gave her a raised brow.
"I don't 'get into trouble'. More like unfortunate situations tend to introduce themselves to me and I'm usually involved with the cleanup."
"Same thing, Lee."
"No, it's not. Thank you for the update, though. Stay safe."
She hung up the call and dropped her phone onto the table, meeting Clarke's eyes with an amused smile.
"You're nosey," she commented.
"I didn't even say anything?" Clarke defended. "You're the one who came in here while you were on the phone."
"You're the one who paged me."
"I didn't page you with the intention to eavesdrop."
"No, but it just worked out so well that you didn't have to," she replied with a smirk. "When did you come back, anyway? It's only been two weeks."
"Technically, I never left."
The door opened then, and Truth raised a brow when her eyes met a beautiful emerald-green framed by a curly red. Natasha's brows furrowed as she looked between them.
"Sorry," she said, only slightly flustered as she double checked her pager. Truth watched in amusement, taking in the sight of the assassin in her S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform. Truth didn't usually like the thing, but when it was on Natasha it was a different story. "I must've misread the—"
"No, Agent Romanoff," Clarke said before she could leave, gesturing to the seat at the head of the table between him and Truth. "I paged you both here. Fury would've given you this assignment himself, but, in his absence, I will be your primary form of contact until further notice."
Natasha sat down, directing her next thoughts to Truth without taking her eyes off of Agent Clarke. Every time she initiated the more intimate form of communication, it was always a pleasant surprise, a steady reminder of Natasha's acceptance.
Does this have to do with Secretary Pierce taking over as Acting Director?
Truth responded in kind.
Despite Pierce giving Fury his job, Fury doesn't fully trust him. Neither do I, and Fury respects my opinion. He won't give someone like Pierce authority over certain individuals like you and me.
Natasha didn't get to question why Fury would list her as a priority before Clarke began speaking again.
"Cybertek Corporation is a technological development company we've been keeping tabs on for a while. Up until now," he said, handing them both their own files, "they were an up-and-coming weapons company making and selling products to the U.S. military and Italian Armed Forces."
"Something's changed," Truth guessed as she skimmed through her file.
"Correct. There's an event being held tonight in Virginia, and one of Cybertek's ambassadors is expected to be there. You have been tasked with finding out why. We suspect there may be a trade-off involved, but that is only an assumption. This is only meant to be a surveillance op—find out as much as possible about your target and any other relating, insinuating circumstances without anyone ever knowing you were there. Are there any questions?"
"I was under the impression that all of my missions had to be approved by Agent Barton," Natasha relayed, glancing up from her file.
"Oh, it was approved alright," Truth muttered, staring at Clint's sign-off on one of the confidentiality papers. Apparently, he had been serious when he'd said that he wanted Truth to work with Natasha—serious enough that he had thought to follow through on it before he left for his own assignment.
Natasha, however, frowned.
Is that okay with you? she asked Truth.
Truth didn't quite understand the question.
Why does it have to be okay with me?
I thought you preferred solo missions.
Oh.
She wondered who had told Natasha that. It was true, but still.
It's fine, ángelos, Truth assured. Solo is just usually easier with someone of my skill-set, but I'd love to work with you officially so long as you're also okay with it. I think we did pretty good with Borba, after all.
Natasha made a face.
If you forget how I stabbed his dick and made him pass out, then, sure.
But that was the best part?
Shut up.
"Can I ask if it was your idea or Fury's to pair us together?" Truth directed to her uncle, who looked between them knowingly. Despite their attempt to remain inconspicuous, Clarke had dealt with the twins enough to recognize a telepathic conversation when he saw one. And, though Natasha's background in espionage helped, there were tells specific to telepathy that he was skilled at picking up on.
Truth imagined that they would be having quite the conversation after this, if the look he gave her meant anything.
"It was Fury's suggestion," he answered. "And, after I talked to Clint and Coulson about it—"
"I'm sorry," Truth interrupted, "you still consult with Coulson about me?"
"Well, it was him or Michael, and we both know that your brother isn't that helpful most of the time. I wasn't going to ask you because..."
"Because you didn't know how I was going to react," Truth finished yet again, holding her uncle's stare. After a moment, he sighed, and turned to Natasha.
"The event starts at seven tonight. I suggest that you, Agent Romanoff, take an alias with Agent Castello as your point of contact, but I trust you both to work it out how you see best. Once your task is complete, I want you back here as soon as possible. Understood?"
Natasha nodded.
"Excellent," said Clarke. "That will be all, Agent Romanoff. I will see you later tonight."
Taking that as her cue to leave, Natasha exchanged a quick glance with Truth before she stood to walk out the door, closing it behind her.
Clarke didn't waste a second.
"When were you going to tell me that you were working with the Black Widow?"
Truth raised a brow at him.
"Technically, this is the first assignment we have together—"
"Anfisa?"
"She was with me when the call came in and I figured, why not have some extra help?" And, before Clarke could start on his next line of questioning, Truth added, "I respect and love you a lot, Uncle, but I'd prefer you be frank with me rather than questioning my decisions as if I'm incapable of making the right ones."
Clarke sighed with a shake of his head, rubbing his hand across his forehead.
"I don't mean it that way."
"I know you don't," Truth replied. "Which is why I'm asking you to say what you mean."
"Are you sure that you can trust her?" was his question. "Not only that, but how is your relationship with her going to affect your mental health?"
"She's not HYDRA," Truth defended. "And, she's certainly not my mother."
"Logically, you know that, but there will be things that remind you of her." He paused for a moment, letting that sink in. "They were raised and trained the same way, Truth. Have you thought about that at all? Are you ready for that kind of exposure?"
Truth's gaze traveled down to the table, unable to deny that he was right. There had already been many times where Natasha would say or do something, and Truth recognized it a little too well.
There was the phrase "love is for children." Natasha hadn't said it since that day they went shopping, but Truth knew it was how her mother had learned to associate love. It was the simplest example of brainwashing, instilling the same phrase over and over again until one actually came to believe it. Truth never had, but only because she was able to observe and feel the world around her. She'd see couples and families and kids everywhere along the streets of her hometown, and the love that she'd seen and felt had been more than childish. She knew that the love Michael had had for her had been more than childish—no matter how mean she'd been to him, or how many times she'd pushed him away in response to his kindness, he was always there for her.
That wasn't much of a "trigger". If anything, it only reminded her of her own anger towards the Red Room for how they had warped such a beautiful emotion with hate.
But then, there was a tell that Natasha had that reminded Truth a lot of her mother.
It was when she rubbed her wrists.
Her mother had been inseparable with those handcuffs. There were days when she would cuff herself to Truth's tiny wrists because she didn't want her to run away in her sleep—she had wanted to keep her close, to ensure that no one could ever take her Alethea away from her.
Truth had believed it as a child. She had thought that that was how her mother showed her love, however much she could muster, and so she'd gone along with it no matter how much she hated the way the metal dug into her skin or how she was unable to get away or defend herself when her mother had a violent episode or how it only diminished what little freedom she did have at home.
When Cybele started to rub her wrists, Truth yearned to run, far, far away.
Yet, with Natasha, it only made her want to stay and hold her until the memories of the past faded away.
Because, as much as they shared similar traumas, Natasha and Cybele were two vastly different people. Where Cybele was an emotionless, hollow shell, Natasha was a passionate whirlwind.
Natasha felt things so obtusely that Truth wondered at the strength of her will to not only survive but to live. She was kind where Cybele was cruel, comforting where Cybele was only a disappointment.
The way Cybele twisted her words had nothing on the way Natasha weaved her honest truth.
They were nothing alike.
"I think I'm willing to take my chances with Natasha," Truth informed her uncle, completely set on her decision. "And I think I'm done letting my mother continue to have any say whatsoever in my life. She doesn't get that power—I do. So, my only suggestion to you is to give Natasha Romanoff the same chance you gave me. Because, if she doesn't deserve that, then neither do I."
And, with that, she walked out of the room, no further comment needed.
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