Two Weeks Earlier
Samantha returned to the scene of the bombing. Everything was chaotic. People were dashing about the scene. Paramedics and Search and Rescue were desperately trying to find people, and police were trying to talk to the diplomats who had been there when the bomb went off. Some had a mix of ash and concrete all over their ashen faces, plastered to them with drying blood. She'd never seen anything like it, not in real life anyway. Like many others, she'd seen images of the Syrian Civil War, the aftermath of several bombings (London in 2007) and 9/11. She knew what to expect and – yet – she still wasn't prepped for it.
Someone – she suspected Natasha – had managed to tear T'Challa from his father's body. A pathologist seemed to be examining his body somewhere in the background. Not that it needed examining, the cause of death all seemed rather obvious. Now, T'Challa sat on a grey, concrete bench. Natasha seemed to be consoling him, dust clinging to her long, red hair.
Samantha spotted Reid talking to a man with silvery, grey hair and a pale grey business suit. He seemed out of place with his, oddly, smiling hedgehog-like face. Based on stance alone, Samantha could tell, that this man was an intelligence officer of sorts. He was talking animatedly with Reid and Samantha got the feeling that she ought to step in and ensure that her boss didn't say anything too pejorative. Samantha bit her lip as she headed over, seeing another woman – someone she didn't quite recognise – she too was covered in dust, like she'd been close to the blast. There appeared to be blood trickling down from a cut on her forehead. Her suit – greyed slightly by dust – had once been pink, Samantha guessed, a bright pink that would have looked stunning against her chocolate brown skin. "I was wondering where you'd gotten to," Reid said and Samantha smiled demurely.
"I umm I thought I saw something," she replied, purposefully sounding vague. She didn't know whether her hunch was right and she certainly didn't want anyone else to know that she thought she'd seen a Bucky Barnes look-a-like.
"Forgive me, but what did you see?" the grey-haired man asked in an American accent – mid-western at a guess, probably Maine.
"Oh umm it was probably just a hallucination. I-I think I hit my-my head during the-the explosion," she stammered out the lie as an answer, accompanying it with a kind smile. "What did you say your name was?"
"Olivia, this is Everett Ross, he heads up the Joint Counter-Terrorism Centre and this is Princess Aysha of Wakanda," Reid introduced "Everett, Your Highness, this is my Press Secretary, Olivia Potter," Samantha put out her hand for Everett Ross to shake. He took it and shook it gently.
She bowed to the Princess, saying "I'm so sorry for your loss Your Highness, I did not know your father for long or well but he was a good man." It seemed odd, but Samantha could have sworn that, in that moment, she saw Ross smile. Maybe it was the timing of it or maybe it was because the smile was more like a leer or that there was a glint in his eye that revealed something Samantha couldn't quite identify. All she knew was that she didn't like him.
"Well, I'd best be off, got people to speak to. Here's my card if you remember anything," Ross said and Samantha smiled politely, nodding.
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"We want to offer the Wakandan people our deepest sympathies and condolences and we stand by them in their moment of sorrow," Reid finished. It was a bog standard speech really. Within the next few hours, other countries would jump on the bandwagon. The U.S. would offer to capture those responsible and – most likely – blame immigrants of the Middle East. The French would say that they stood by both the Belgians and the Wakandans. There wasn't much else to be said really. Any promises were actionable and, in the eyes of the people, could not be rescinded.
Samantha stood in front of him, watching and filming. In this moment, he seemed like the kind of leader she could get behind. Briefings like this were rare to say the least. Rarer still was the fact that this particular briefing was occurring in front of a building that had just exploded. "Their King was a good man, a good father, and a good leader. He helped to broker many peace deals over the years and the world is a better place for his efforts. We, the British people, are truly sorry for your loss."
She stopped recording at that point, nodding authoritatively to signal that she had done so. "That was good," she said, almost breathlessly with an encouraging smile on her face.
She heard slow clapping from behind her and quickly turned around. There stood Everett Ross, a smirk emblazoned on his face, and she shuddered involuntarily. Something about this man gave her the creeps. "Was there something you wanted Director Ross?" she asked, eyebrows raised expectantly.
He stepped forward, nodding slightly – so slightly that it wouldn't be noticeable to the untrained eye. Samantha, however, had caught sight of it and she started to stare him down, wondering whether it would have any effect on him. "I was wanting to have a chat with you Miss Potter," he said and Samantha shook her head.
"We're a little busy at the moment," she said as she looked down at her phone, prepping to upload the video she'd just filmed.
It was in that moment that he grabbed a hold of her wrist tightly. "Come on Olivia, surely you have enough time for a little chat,"
She gritted her teeth in a desperate attempt to hold her tongue. "Director Ross, I'd suggest that you get your hands off of me before I ensure that you have a public relations disaster on your hands," She said, trying to lightly shake off his grip.
"I just want a little talk," he said, trying to sound innocent. Samantha wasn't the type to fall for that act. She'd learnt not to a long time ago, it was a lesson that stuck.
"And I want you to get your hands off of me... Now!" she all but ordered. Suddenly, it seemed, Everett Ross seemed to have realised that, in her, he had met his match. He released her arm and she smiled passive-aggressively. It was the kind of grin that belonged on the face of a suburban housewife, not an agent of MI6 – formerly of S.H.I.E.L.D. "Thank you. Now, if this is about the thing I don't know about regarding what happened earlier, then you should know that you know everything I know and more. Now, if you don't mind, I have a job to do – a rather urgent one actually – and I'd like to be able to do it," she hissed angrily.
"Woman with a shit tonne of walls up. What's going to happen when I tear them down Miss Stark?"
"You really think that's who I am. Tell me, Mr Ross, are you by any chance related to Thaddeus Ross?" she asked and, upon not receiving a reaction from him, she smiled "I'll take that as a no which is good because, if I were Samantha Stark – which I'm not – I would make a phone call to my father who is pretty friendly with Thaddeus Ross and ensure that he persuade Secretary Ross to have you fired. But I'm not Samantha Stark so suppose you'll never find out what happens when you tear her walls down." She lied with a smile on her face.
"I will Miss Potter and you'll regret the day you ever crossed me,"
"Big talk for such a short man. Get rid of that title, what are you?" she asked, channelling Steve. She'd heard of the legendary showdown between her father and Steve and this seemed to be the perfect moment to rephrase Steve's line.
He stared blankly at her and she smirked, knowing that, for the moment, she'd won.
