Journalists swarmed around her like bees around a hive, all wanting an update, one she didn't know how to give. Maria Hill had been kind enough to issue a statement saying "There has been an incident at Stark Tower and Mr Tony Stark was injured, his family ask for privacy at this time," her final act, she claimed, as anything close to a Personal Assistant for any of the Avengers, Samantha suspected otherwise but didn't say anything.
Now, however, the press were growing restless, wondering why only Steve Rogers – or as they knew him, Samantha Stark's civil servant boyfriend – could ever be seen entering and exiting the hospital. So, unable to escape it any longer, Samantha stood before the throng of journalists and photographers, ready to be attacked with questions. She shuffled her feet out of nervousness, wishing she had chosen a pair of flats over her black patent-leather, sky-high Jimmy Choo pumps. She smoothed out her black suit, wishing that it weren't so damn itchy. "At 4.30pm on 6th July 2018, 3 days ago, I discovered that my father had been viciously attacked in one of the labs at Stark Tower by an – as yet – unconfirmed assailant. My family and I are working with the police to understand who is responsible for this heinous act and why they have committed it," she stated, waiting for the questions that would inevitably come. She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to see Steve, a reassuring smile on his face, and she turned back to the press, a surge of strength seeming to fill her if only for a few moments, as she readied herself for whatever the vultures had to throw at her.
Hands went up almost immediately in a Mexican wave that didn't seem to come down from its high, unusually uniform in its presence. Samantha pointed to one of the journalists, a dark-haired slip of a man with square-framed glasses resting just so on his slender nose "What injuries did your father sustain?" he asked, pen at the ready, fully prepared to take notes.
She bit her lip for a moment, breathing in, preparing herself for the answer she would ultimately be forced to give "Two major wounds to the abdomen and several shallower wounds to other areas," she answered, feeling as though she were back there in that lab, her father's bloody body lay on the ground beneath her as she attempted to stem the bleeding.
"Do you have any idea who might have done this?" A female journalist asked in a cool British accent, her long ginger hair blowing about in the cool New York breeze.
"I am not at liberty to discuss anything that may affect the current police investigation," Samantha answered calmly, her rehearsed statement delivered perfectly.
"Does your position as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent have anything to do with this attack?" another reporter asked, a smirk on her face as she leaned forward, microphone in hand. Samantha would recognise that face anywhere, of course Christine Everheart would want in on this one, she looked good; three years hadn't aged her much – although maybe that was the Botox – her blonde hair now had an ashier look to it and her lips looked plumper than Samantha remembered her being. Samantha stood, stock still, unable to say or do anything. Her work for S.H.I.E.L.D. was not common knowledge, so how did Christine Everheart know about it? Unless… no Karolina Dvoracek would not be so brazen as to reveal herself to any journalist and plant them in a press conference, nor would she have planned for such a contingency.
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Steve had ushered Samantha back inside, knowing full well that she had lost her comfort zone completely and – at this point in time – needed it back. He also knew that she was plotting to kill Fury. Not that he could blame her, were he in her position, he would have done the same. In fact, he was just as livid with Fury as she was "You okay?" he asked her, his blue-green eyes trying to reassure her.
"I shouldn't have gone out there," she stated, her voice monotonous in its tone "I should've let the cops deal with it like they suggested," she added sounding more defeated than she would ever let herself sound were she not genuinely feeling exactly that: defeated. She had failed her father in dealing with the press, up until now, they hadn't bothered her and that, she was starting to believe, was her downfall.
"When was the last time you had a full night's sleep?" was Steve's next question, knowing that it had probably been a while, knowing that she needed something to take her mind off the, frankly, disastrous press conference. The truth was, she couldn't remember. Possibly Prague? She didn't know, she'd given up on having a decent night's sleep a long time ago, nightmares too often infected her chances and the bags under her eyes proved it.
Just then, as she tried to remember, she heard what she could have sworn was a screaming in her head, screaming that sounded like her own, like a speeding train attempting to break as she hit the ground in a fainting heap.
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She woke up to see Steve's eyes, those blue-green orbs, filled with nothing but concern "You gave me quite a scare," he said and she blinked a few times, confused by what he'd just said.
"H-how long was I out?" she mumbled groggily, trying to push herself up into a sitting position, her brain a scramble of thoughts she was desperate to try and untangle.
"About 12 hours," he said and she smiled momentarily "The doctor says it's a combination of exhaustion, stress and a lack of food," he explained "Oh, Pepper sent a text about an hour ago saying your dad woke up and is back to being his typically arrogant, jokey self," he added and she chuckled lightly, that was her father alright.
"Why do you stay with me?" she sighed after an awkward pause, actually starting to be confused by Steve's ability to stay by her side. She was confused as to how he could even stomach her let alone be by her side for as long as he had.
"Isn't it obvious?" he asked and she shook her head no "I love you Samantha," he admitted and she smiled softly, her stomach filling with butterflies the way she'd only believed that fictional characters were capable of experiencing.
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She made her way into her father's hospital room, staring at her feet, guilt consuming her as she tapped, her leather boots on the white, linoleum floor. What was she supposed to say? 'Hey Dad, sorry you got stabbed. By the way, it's all my fault because I went and made an enemy of the daughter of two spies. Also Fury's a big fat liar but you probably knew that already'? No, she'd have to be more subtle in her guilt than that.
"Hey kiddo, heard you fainted just to avoid me," he jested and she bit her lip, feeling almost horrified at what he'd just said, wishing that she'd learned some form of avoidance tactic.
"I-it… it wasn't like that," she stuttered nervously, like a child being told off by their parents. She hated this, this feeling as though she were walking on broken glass around her family and all because of the immense shame she felt at potentially being the cause of the attack on her father.
"I know, I was just joking," he said with a sigh. It was awkward and weird and he didn't know why "What's wrong?" he asked eventually, trying to get to grips with why his daughter was acting so nervously around him.
"Fury lied to me about something and I'm pretty sure that what I did as a result of that lie caused Karolina Dvoracek to attack you," she blurted out, there went subtle. She bit her lip, trying to gage a response from her father as she attempted to avoid the tears that were threatening to fall "It's all my fault! Volkov died because I got cocky and now Dvoracek thinks that I killed him," she exclaimed exasperatedly, her voice breathy, her pulse racing.
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It turned out that Friday – the new AI – was very helpful, particularly when it involved hacking S.H.I.E.L.D's mainframe. Apparently, her father had done it a few times and so, the AI was able to get in rather easily, even managing to bypass the alert system S.H.I.E.L.D. had in place. All Samantha had to do now was to find whatever files S.H.I.E.L.D. had on Karolina Dvoracek. The problem was, S.H.I.E.L.D's computer filing system didn't work like that of a normal computer, you couldn't just press Control F and search the term you're looking for. No, you had to go through each and every file to find the necessary one and each one was encrypted which made everything ten times more difficult. Unless she could devise a search software and decrypter that would help her find the Dvoracek files, it would take weeks, weeks Samantha was convinced that she didn't have and, worse still, Samantha could hack but she had no clue about software engineering.
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"So, let me get this straight, you want me to create as search software and decrypter so you can get S.H.I.E.L.D's files on Karolina Dvoracek?" her father exclaimed incredulously. Samantha had handed him a laptop and asked him to create both, no explanation other than that it was necessary for file retrieval.
"Dad, you know you're bored as heck in this place and whatever intel S.H.I.E.L.D. has on Dvoracek they aren't going to surrender it to me willingly. If I tried to find them without any form of software to assist me, it'd take weeks and I need it to be able to get to her and stop her from whatever she's planning next," she explained, her voice louder than she'd wished it to be "Please Daddy," she added, puppy dog eyes at the ready.
"Okay, but you'll have to give me a day, your old man's not as used to writing software as he used to be," he agreed and she chuckled slightly, nodding for him to go ahead.
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She loaded the cartridge into the gun before slinging it into her holster. Steve watched on, bewildered by her; the way she acted so calmly in this moment reminded him of Peggy. "You sure that you're okay doing this on your own?" he asked, exaggerating slightly. She wouldn't be on her own per se, in fact he would be in the nightclub with her.
She shoved a few knives into her belt buckle, deciding against grabbing another gun, before shrugging on her jacket "I'll be fine, I mean she's just an assassin for hire right?" she said casually before pecking him on the cheek. "I'll be fine," she assured him as she tugged on her hair pulling it up into a high ponytail.
"Okay," he said reluctantly "I'll be in your ear the whole time," he added.
"And at the bar, I know," she said, they'd gone over the plan enough times that it was all obvious.
He pulled her in for a hug, kissing her forehead, he had this odd feeling like something was going to go really, terribly wrong. She smirked, breaking out of it "Good luck," he called out as she strode confidently towards the door.
"Luck! Ha! What is this luck you speak of?" she joked cockily.
"Love you," he added and she smiled gently.
"I know you do," she replied as she left the lab they'd commandeered, bouncing down the steps two at a time, somehow joyful that her dealings with Karolina Dvoracek would soon, she hoped, be over.
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She stood at the front of the line outside the nightclub – who said being a Stark didn't have its benefits? She flashed her fake ID to the bouncer along with a polite smile. He looked her up and down, a leery grin appearing on his face and she rolled her eyes, trying to avoid allowing her intense dislike for being ogled to show. He unclicked the red velvet rope and she smiled at him graciously as she headed into the club, muttering "I'm in," under her breath to Steve as she walked over to the bar "Martini please," she said to the barman, a polite smile on her face as she handed over a 20 dollar bill.
"Okay, our intel says that she's got the back room on the right booked for the night," Steve informed her and she nodded to him, he sat at the bar, nursing a glass of scotch, and nodded back to her in reply.
She took her drink from the kindly barman and danced across the club floor until she reached a bouncer guarding the private room hired out by Karolina Dvoracek. She smiled sweetly to him, telling him "She'll be expecting me," she told him and by some great fortune, he let her through.
Karolina Dvoracek stood, a red dress with two zippers on it (one on the right side of her waist, the other on her left thigh) covering her statuesque form, a goddess in red. Her quizzical brows furrowed momentarily as she smiled, her teeth white like snow, her lips painted a pillbox red, her long, tanned legs crossed over "Ah, Miss Stark, I've been wondering when we would meet," she said in her thick Czech accent.