- Few months ago -
Being a spy meant knowing that intel was everything.
Being a spy meant never dismissing a piece of information as useless.
Being a spy meant not to trust anyone, because there was always an ulterior motive.
Being a spy meant catching a wind of a seemingly random CSI from Central City digging into Matt Murdock's – Daredevil's – murder months after it was supposedly resolved and growing suspicious an instant.
Being a spy meant finding out who exactly Barry Allen was and just how strange Matt Murdock's death was, supposedly carried out by his own loving pregnant wife.
Being a spy meant searching the web, hacking and making connections where others wouldn't, hours spent with a gaze frantically flickering between photos and files and finding out that not one single picture of Veronica Machackova/Murdock was to be found on the Internet.
For Natasha Romanoff, being a spy meant realizing just how shady Vera's suicide was and not leaving the case rest until solved.
-.-.-
Natasha Romanoff didn't have friends; she had convenient acquaintances she might be able to turn to when in need or turn her back to shall she find them of no further use – or should they run further to the darker side than she was willing to reach out to.
Yet, she might go as far and call Steve Rogers an almost friend. He was a colleague, he was a symbol radiating too much of righteousness to stay around for too long, but he was also fun, genuine as much as he could and hid much more behind the shield of vibranium and his blue eyes than an average folk would guess. Natasha was no common folk and try as it might, she would still care for him more than she was willing to admit. And there was something about him that caused her to be more open to the possibility of trusting him, a mistake that spy should never make.
It annoyed the hell out of her. It also felt kind of nice.
So when he came back from a mission and she heard that they – not he, even though he would probably say otherwise – lost a man, she gave him some space before barging in, conveniently lining two things she wanted to do; to wait until he unwind a bit and to wait until it would seem too clingy to go see him with... this issue.
Natasha managed to slip through the door of his office – not bothering with knocking – without Steve noticing until she closed it with a click. And truly, that was tell-tale of him sulking, him losing the proper sense of his surroundings.
There were rumours around SHIELD that he had once been told, by the very scientist who gave him the body needed to become Captain America, that he needed to stay a good man, rather than a soldier. Mostly, Steve managed to balance the two, the good man irritatingly winning over.
What Natasha saw now was a leader, a good leader, but a better man, still mourning the death of his subordinate.
Natasha sighed when he looked up at the noise she made, looking startled almost.
His fighting instinct dropped as quick as it kicked in when he recognized her and his face turned from worried to unimpressed, simply staring her down. Too bad for him; this wasn't a social call (perhaps only a bit?), she sure wasn't about to apologize for interrupting his wallowing.
"Still onto the mission two days ago, huh?" she called out sympathetically, gripping the folder in her hand tighter, only to meet his sigh when she headed to the chair opposite to him without being asked to.
Natasha Romanoff did not get as far as she had got (a bit farther than she was proud of) by being polite and asking for permission.
"Romanoff."
The blond closed the laptop and slowly reached to massage the bridge of his nose, obviously tired; as if the signs she noticed before – dark circles under his eyes, more-than-usual ruffled hair, not perfectly ironed t-shirt, hunched shoulders – weren't enough to tell her how he felt.
She should probably take it easier on him; he did seem exhausted and the death of the agent truly was haunting him. She felt an unpleasant jab in her stomach when she examined his form again, the feeling of compassion almost surprising her.
"Hey," Natasha greeted him before plopping into the chair opposite to him, leaving the hardwood desk between them. "I heard what happened. I'm sorry. I'd say it wasn't your fault, but something tells me it wouldn't make a difference to you."
Steve looked up at her almost lazily and unconvincingly raised one corner of his lips. "Thanks anyway."
Natasha would never admit it, but she was a tiny bit proud for drawing at least that response from him; she quickly cooled the warmth spreading in her chest. Also, did she mention she liked his wry sense of humour? Why was he so damn easy to become friends with? Spy didn't have friend, dammit!
"However, I'm here to distract you," she announced, subtly waving the folder, laying in in front of him on the desk. "Here."
Steve squinted at her, but obediently – because he was a very polite person besides being a little piece of shit – reached for the folder, opening it. His brows furrowed when he started looking through what were mostly wedding photos.
"What am I looking at?"
"Don't really have to look at it, honestly. I... keep an eye on few people, it's what I do," Natasha explained simply, not quite wanting to go into details. Details weren't important – not these ones anyway, she could spare Rogers the process of her getting information. He wouldn't be a fan anyway. Instead, she breathed in and out, slowly, watching every micro-expression on his face when she asked the question. "Steve... do you remember Veronika Macháčková?"
By the way his whole body stiffened, Natasha could tell he did; it was a pointless question with his eidetic memory anyway. Of course he remembered, he remembered everything.
Still, he gave a little nod in response.
"Well, I did keep an eye on her too..." She supposed it wasn't exactly a secret. She had told Steve about the whole save Daredevil from an induced coma situation and they had received the invitation for a wedding. What she wasn't sure that was getting through – and she was generally hoping it wasn't – was that she had been sort of rooting for the couple; they were endearingly weird and strangely cute in their own way. And she had liked the woman – she had spunk, determination, conviction. She was most definitely not a murderer, especially her husband's murdered, but that was a whole new can of worms to open. "And I got a wind of someone gathering intel on Matt Murdock's murder again, possibly in hope for a new hearing, getting the case... reopened because of new evidence."
Steve seemed utterly confused, looking at some more of the wedding photos. They were of all sorts, but the person appearing the most frequently was a brunet, a relatively tall and thin guy.
"Who's that?"
"Bartholomew Henry Allen, a CSI from Central City. Not that important, he's the one who'll be presenting the evidence I believe. What's more important is that I-" Natasha silently braced herself for the judgement, "I-eh, I hacked Theresa Gratton's and Jessica Jones' laptops, both friends of Vera, and found these photos there. But anywhere online, on any servers... there are none. At least not ones of Vera."
Steve's forehead creased as he eyed Natasha shortly before returning his gaze to the photo of the smiling newlyweds with all the guests, and he visibly gulped.
"What are you saying?" he asked, his tone... strange to say at least.
Well, she definitely got his attention. That was good; though not surprising, because from what Natasha had seen, Steve had quite taken a liking in the couple too.
"I'm saying that someone took their sweet time deleting any digital traces of her existence."
Steve remained silent, shifting minutely in his seat, hunching over the photos as if they could tell him more. The corner of his lips twitched, but not in an amused way.
"People don't do that for fun," Natasha supplied, unsure whether he wasn't reacting to not quite understanding what exactly that meant. "What more, people aren't able to do that, not just anyone. It requires quite specific skillset and resources to delete someone from the internet. It's practically impossible. Call me crazy, but I think someone is covering her past and that can only mean one thing. I think that Vera is alive."
Steve's reaction caused Natasha's heart to beat faster; mostly because there was barely any reaction at all.
She would expect his head to snap to her, to question her claim at instant, demanding why would she think that. Instead, his fingers twitched as they were laid on the printed photos, the muscles in his jaw clenching visibly and no word left his lips pressed into a thin line.
And Natasha's heart skipped a beat when an incredible realization dawned to her.
The thing was, Steve Rogers was a good man, a good leader and a pretty good soldier.
He was barely a half-decent spy, because he couldn't lie for shit and his body-language gave him away almost every time.
"...but you already knew that," Natasha whispered incredulously, more of a statement than a question.
It took a lot of willpower not to show just how indignant she was not only about the fact that Rogers knew – he might be a captain, but she still had higher clearance than him and she'd be damned if she didn't think SHIELD might have something to do with this case –, but also about the fact that he didn't bother to share the information. It wasn't that it was essential for a mission or anything, it was just that--- yeah, she might have been rooting for the peculiar pair of dumbasses and she had a distant feeling that he knew. And she really thought he was an almost friend. Well, so much for that.
To be fair, if she was right – and she was, Rogers practically just confirmed it – than it wasn't his secret to share.
Still, it was a bummer and Natasha was not pleased.
Steve sighed, shortly meeting Natasha's eyes, his own filled with what could only be regret and a wordless apology. He didn't try to deny it; Natasha was grateful for that, at least he had the decency to show he didn't consider her entirely stupid.
"Her alias is Nicole Davis," he revealed in low voice, heavy with secrecy and resignation.
Natasha wasn't proud of herself for her reaction, but she had real trouble holding the remark back. He even knew her alias?! Alias as in for a witness protection program or for--and what the-
"And you know that because..."
"Because I found her pinned under a block of concrete the size of a small car – in the rubble of the base. The base where the virus we should have retrieved was. On my mission two days ago." Steve finally looked her in the eye fully, gaze intense and speaking thousands of words. "She's with SHIELD."
-.-.-
Few months after that, precisely 12 hours after a trial in which Veronica Murdock was proved innocent and an enormous conspiracy surrounding Matthew Murdock's death had been revealed, the true killer and associates arrested, a blond female officer stepped out of the elevator of the CCPD building, a bleakly yellow envelope in her hand.
She was chewing one of the sweet chewing gums for kids, the ones which were perfect for creating bubbles. She blew one as she approached the reception desk.
"Heya. I got some files for Allen? He in his lab?" she asked jovially, the officer at reception duty giving her a disgusted look as she burst another bubble. The blonde grinned.
"Yeah. You've got some nerve. Singh hates chewing gums," he stated, watching with interest as she blew another and burst it. "Have one more?"
The corner of the younger officer's lips quirked as she slid one wrap to the receptionist. "Thanks for the heads-up."
The blond woman grinned mischievously as she noticed a motion sensor close to the kid's lab, no doubt alerting him when someone was arriving. She wondered what he was doing there – using his powers? Not even being there, speeding in when he got an alert someone was approaching? She avoided the sensor on purpose, just to have a little fun. The world didn't provide enough room for fun lately. Or ever.
True to her expectation, the CSI was sitting in a chair by what looked like portable centrifuge and moving his hands so fast that they were only a blur.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Allen."
Bartholomew Henry Allen yelped, the vial from his hand falling and shattering on the floor. She rolled her eyes. This was the brilliant CSI and the one guy who got hit by lightning and gained superpowers? Why.
"What the hell?" the kid cried out, rising from his chair.
"You should be more careful. Someone could catch you using your speed and then you would have some explaining to do," she noted slyly, amused at his shocked expression and his wild hand gestures.
"What— what are you talking-"
"Shake it, Speedy-boy. I don't have all day. I've got you a file on Nicole Davis."
"Who the hell is— and who are y-" The kid froze, observing her head to toe incredulously, focusing on her face. She raised her eyebrow when his eyes grew wide. Well, at least he recognized her unlike the guy at the reception desk... or anyone, really. Perhaps he wasn't entirely hopeless after all. "Whoa! Natasha Romanoff?! What-"
"Yeah. I'm me. Good observation skills. I won't tell anyone about you super-speed. Can we move on?"
An astonished chuckle escaped his lips and Natasha restrained herself from rolling her eyes. Though... alright, she might have been a bit flattered. She just needed to get out asap; the longer she was here, the bigger the chances someone at SHIELD would find out she was being neposlushnaya devushka.
Also, the longer she stayed in this guy's presence, the higher the chances she would punch him in his teeth for what she practically sure he had done.
Stupid men-children-
"But— yeah, okay," he shook his head, his voice still slightly high-pitched. "This is insane. Who's Nicole Davis?"
Natasha strode to him, shoving the envelope into his hands and jerking her chin, encouraging him to look over the file.
"You tell me."
Sparing her an unsure look, he examined the envelope with mistrust for few seconds before his stare turned to her again.
"How— just hold on a second. How do you know who I am? Why are you here? Why are you giving me a file of some... Nicole Davis?" he sputtered and Natasha could cry as they were back to square one again.
To be fair, she was the one to show up without explanation, she should have expected it. (She did. She just hoped it could be avoided in order to save time. They had wasted enough of it already.)
So she sighed and laid it out as short and simple as she could.
"Saw you on the news, proving Veronika Macháčková's – or Murdock's – innocence. And on her wedding photos. I was a friend of sort, I'm sure you know that. This is me, being a Good Samaritan. So just open it," Natasha instructed him, her eyes urging him to hurry.
Allen obediently pulled out the records of the Nicole Davis, flipping through it swiftly, faster than any human should if he wanted to actually read it. Sweet.
He seemed perfectly clueless though. "What-"
"There's no photo, I know, but look at the recruitment date,"
He blinked furiously, but followed her instruction again. "Not following. Also, is that a SHIELD classified file?"
"It is. And I broke a lot of rules to get it, because it's highly classified. Like level nine classified."
"I- I don't know what that means," he sputtered, looking around the room as if he was expecting a SWAT or STRIKE TEAM to burst through the windows to shoot him on sight just for holding that folder. At least he got the message clear.
"Right. Well," she hummed and went to explain why she was truly here. "The point is: did you know Veronika's photos disappeared from the digital world?"
"What? What are you-" His lips parted and his eyes refocused on the date mentioned before a shocked exhale following. "It's only two days after her suicide."
"Exactly. This recruit? She has no history. Clean record. Nothing about where she came from."
"And you think- are you saying that-" he stuttered, his hand rising to run through his already messy hair and if Natasha was hearing right... that was definitely hope in his voice. His eyes turned glassy as he went to cover his mouth, turning away from her, his face slightly paler. Good. At least he felt guilty for what they had done. Idiots. "Oh my god. Is that even possible?"
Asked the guy who was hit by lightning and gained superpowers.
"Vera's photos all disappeared, but I have one photo of Nicole Davis," Natasha offered, opening the secret lining of the envelope.
A gasp followed by a soft chuckle escaped his lips.
"Oh my— holy--where--- when was this taken?" he asked her, clutching the photo like a holy grail, his eyes indeed glistening. Damn her soft heart, soft for people who prayed for redemption; working with Rogers had finally took its toll it seemed... and then there was the fact that she knew what it felt like to have blood on her hands, willingly or not.
"Brazil. A week ago," Natasha said simply, minding her soft tone.
"Brazil? A week ago?"
"Yes. And I have it from a very reliable source that this is who you think it is. That's all I know... I gotta go now."
Not waiting for Allen's response, she turned on her heels, already on her way out.
"Wait!" he called after her and she sighed, eyeing him over her shoulder.
"There's nothing to wait for. You didn't get this from me, you understand?" she emphasized since she spared him few more seconds in her presence. "Do what you think is the best with the file, but don't show it to anyone. Unless you find it absolutely necessary for them to know."
Even when barely facing him, she saw the shock written all over his face, horror even.
"You-"
Could break all of your jaws, you fucking idiots!
"I know a lot of things, Mr. Allen. I can't always be on time to act upon them. I believe you're familiar with that concept. But maybe you have a chance to fix it for once. Goodbye."
With these words, she spun on her heels and walked out of the door, not looking back once. Her job was done; now it was on them.
Natasha really hoped they wouldn't screw up this time.
If they did, she had their address.
-----Notes:
Took a while again, I know, sorry. But I brought a new POV with me!