Author's note below for you.
2 January 2021
Secrets, intrigue, mystery, enigma - all pretty essential for a spy.
I enjoy them, collect them, wrap myself up in them, absorb them.
And what's the one essential ingredient?
Privacy.
A thing not possible under the intense scrutiny of Friday, and previously JARVIS. I should hate her existence. She was artificial intelligence designed to uncover everything possible about people. Individually. Nationally. Globally.
She left no stone unturned because Tony hated gaps in knowledge.
My life under her all-seeing eyes meant revelations of my character I would have preferred to keep to myself, because the difference between human eyes and artificial ones is that a human's must rest. And no one, not even the best spy in the world, can live a false life twenty four seven. So, between my time at the tower and my time at the compound, I sacrificed little pieces of me.
Out came the slight caffeine addiction.
Out came the middle-of-the-night visits to the roof.
Out came the ballet.
They weren't large pieces. I had bigger, bolder truths to protect and relinquishing those small bits gave me more energy to channel into that.
Over time I grew used to her. Over time I grew to like her. Over time I even grew to rely on her. She never gave any reason to mistrust her and, in fact, there were more than enough reasons to embrace her.
One such reason was that, more often than not, her knowledge became my knowledge. If a storm was incoming and we needed to batten down the hatches, then I battened those hatches. If a disaster had befallen a community then the Avengers were there to help in the aftermath. If there was a way to prevent a disaster so there was no aftermath to deal with, then we did that too.
And, when there were some grumblings on social media and regional news about questionable activity, Friday made sure to alert me.
Last night found me surrounded by projections of tiny articles and desperate posts. All different languages but all with the same theme and infused with the same disdain.
The papers dedicated just one hundred words to the stories. Enough to relay the facts and the slightest hint of incredulity, but there was still plenty to find in between the lines.
What the articles said: People wanted to get to another country. What I read: They were forced to leave for whatever reason.
What the article said: Realised the people they approached for help were less than savoury. What I read: Always knew they were dealing with less than savoury people because needs must, but realised they were less providing a route to freedom and more a one way ticket into the human trafficking industry.
What the articles said: Backed out of their proposed agreement. What I read: Got the fuck out of there.
What the articles said: They approached their local authorities but there was insufficient evidence to conduct an investigation. What I read: Went to the police, no one believed them or worse; enough notes and coins had greased their palms and they turned a blind eye to such activities.
What the articles said: People then turned their attention to making noise online. What I read: No one was paying them any mind so they had nowhere else to turn.
Except Friday always had one artificial ear to the ground, always alert for information. With the years she'd had to get to know me she knew what made me tick, she knew my hatred of human traffickers. And I found that was one thing I didn't mind people knowing about me.
She even gave me the destination of the traffickers and the trafficked.
The picturesque English countryside.
As far as the would-be victims were aware, all the ruckus they'd made had landed on deaf ears.
Can't risk my prey getting tipped off, after all.
6 January 2021
God, England is dreary Tom.
Grey clouds in the sky and mist a miserable visitor to the open fields. Winding country roads obscured behind the greyish veil making even the straightest stretch of road dangerous to the most cautious traveller.
Sure, the place might not be known for the same weather extremes as elsewhere in the world, but all this overpowering and grey lifelessness had to be an extreme in itself, right?
Sometimes there's a hint of blue, then it's patched over by more of the never-ending cloud before I can blink. Sometimes the clouds are dry, most of the time they're not. When it does rain there are two types.
The torrential downpours, which come as a sort of relief. Loud enough to keep the deepest sleeper awake but at least there's noise. It's harsh and intrusive and much more manageable than the eerie almost silence of the mist.
The drizzle so fine it's impossible to know it's happening until you step outside and find your hair dripping and clothes soaked through in under a minute.
If I'm not in the mood to be a human barometer there isn't much else to do. The isolation of the inn means that there's no one close at hand to fix things if the weather decides to play havoc with the network.
So far, during my stay, it had decided plenty of times to do just that.
It makes me wish I hadn't let my commitment to Korg's book club slide, that way I'd have something to read. Instead, I've taken to sitting just off to the side of my window, in case of snipers, and watching whatever I can see from there. It's mostly cars making their way down the winding road before crawling to a stop in the gravelled car park.
Practical on a professional level, uninspiring on a personal.
But hey, I'm not here for leisure.
9 January 2021
I stalked my prey.
It was an essential part of spy craft. There was a subtlety to it that was so much more satisfying than the all guns blazing approach.
I tracked them from afar. Let them believe there was no chance of being found. And then I pounced. By the time they realise their end has reached them, the traps were already lain.
Sometimes it wasn't from afar. Sometimes it was as close as the very same room. Watching from right under their noses. Staying in the same little inn. Eating in the same communal dining room. Watching their reflections in the glass of floor to ceiling windows.
Sometimes our eyes met and sometimes we shared an awkward smile as if it was all just an accidental point of contact.
Two men joined by a woman. A trio of traffickers who thought they went unnoticed but whose downfall had very nearly caught up with them.
When she left them for the day I made a note of the licence plate. When they all retired for the night I broke into it. The security feed was easy to hack into. Going unnoticed was a simple job of scaling down the wall from my window.
The car wasn't any more complicated, courtesy of one of the hi-tech Widow Bites Tony made for me a couple of years ago. It overrode any alarms. It was short work planting a tracker where it wouldn't be seen and a bug where it would go unnoticed but still capture everything.
Just two minutes later I was back in my room, the car once again locked, the security cameras once again working properly. The first domino rocking backwards and forwards, ready to knock them all down.
13 January 2021
Mown grass. Ohio. Melina guided the lawnmower around the back garden. I clutched a glass of lemonade for her. The ice cubes were short lived. Yelena laughed inside the house. Alexei's grumble melted into the rumble of the machine. The air was the sweetest I'd ever smelled and I breathed in lungful after lungful. It was fresh and clean and forever made me think of roasting summers full of cold drinks and warm laughter.
Blood. The Red Room. Before I knew the smell of grass. I was too young to say but not too young to train. The back of a hand sharp against my cheek, the stinging crack in my lip, the coppery tang that smelled as it tasted. It was my childhood. I never grew to like it.
Beetroot. The Red Room. It was earthy and grounding nothing like grass but still comforting. To fit in everywhere we must know how to cook. So we made borscht and learned that knives didn't have to be used to hurt each other. Our instructor turned away. Me and another girl shared a smile. I killed her two years later. Her blood on my blade a reminder of that afternoon.
The subway. Washington. Hot and humid. People upon people upon people. Packed together on their way to wherever. Cigarette smoke and street smog and everything you'd expect of city air carried underground on the backs and the clothes and the bags of each person. My first day in the city without special permission. Allowed to mingle with the general public without supervision. All the fumes that assaulted my senses were scented with freedom.
A container. Somewhere between Cuba and Russia. Hot and humid. People upon people upon people. Yelena clung to me. She wasn't laughing anymore. Girls sniffled in the dark and fear rolled off of them. It was the sweat turned sour. It was the vomit summoned by motion sickness. It was all other ways it manifested on such a long journey. It was the fading smell of Yelena's apple shampoo on my shirt, the only trace of her after they tore us apart in violence.
Some smells seep so deep they're as good as memory.
They linger.
Even when I stood outside beneath the sky threaded with the last strands of sunlight and the land sheltered in shadow.
It lingered.
Even as night crept through the surrounding trees and intermittent flashes of blue light painted itself against its solid darkness.
It lingered.
The smell of people upon people upon people without even the faintest whiff of freedom.
While I looked to the sky those same people found comfort in the embrace of reflective blankets, in the caress of the breeze against their skin, in the open space that surrounded but didn't confine them.
A comfort that was overwhelming.
Officers spoke to the hunched and broken figures. I brought my gaze back down to Earth, even in the lowlight and across the distance I could see the deadened edges to their eyes. It would take more than protocol-driven TLC and a few kind, if a bit empty, words to help them recover.
"You sure you're okay?" Detective Inspector Halliway. She was in charge of the scene. Switched on and fierce, no stone under her scrutiny was left unturned. And, lucky for me, she was more than a little put out an Avenger had operated on her territory without her knowledge. But I had no intention of stroking her ego. Incompetence was present somewhere on her team, otherwise I wouldn't be where I was.
"I'm fine," I said. It was true, apart from several bloodied knuckles. A sign of work well done. No one landed a hit on me. No one saw me coming. No one stood a chance.
"Should have waited," the DI said.
"Why?"
"We have trained people for that sort of thing."
"None nearly as well trained as me, I can assure you." Reality seemed to tap her on the shoulder and she blinked, remembering for a moment who she was talking to. An Avenger. And not just any Avenger, but the one voted most likely to kill you on a whim.
Seriously. There was a poll on some site a few years back.
She cleared her throat, stood a little straighter and looked me in the eye. Or would have if I had bothered to look at her. "Tell me what happened. I need to take your statement."
I didn't answer her and she didn't say anything. We waited in silence and I continued to watch the scene in front of us.
"Any day now," she said after a few moments.
"I'm waiting for you to ask your questions."
"Already did." Her jaw was clenched.
"No," I said, "you made a demand. I don't respond to demands." Just because I was voted most likely to kill didn't mean I didn't have it in me to be petty, too. Though, Steve wouldn't approve of how much I enjoyed pushing her buttons.
She sighed through her nose. Her jaw cracked when she opened it to speak. "What happened?"
"I got to the farm late yesterday afternoon. Let's say between three and four-"
"How did you find it?" Her pen was poised above a notebook, ink fresh on the page.
"Followed some of the grunts. Turns out we were staying in the same place. Who knew."
"I suspect you did." She said it to get a reaction and was disappointed when I didn't deliver.
"I got to the farm," I said, "by following a silver Honda then that van parked beside the barn." She looked over at it then at me with an eyebrow raised high. It was my turn to sigh. "There was a pick up point. I've already shared the photos I took, the co-ordinates and all the data from my tracking device with your team."
I paused, a little out of annoyance but also to allow myself a moment to relive the thrill of espionage from earlier in the day. A solitary van. A copse of moody trees. A Honda Accord picking its way along a dirt track. I'd crouched low in the tall grass as I followed. My rental hidden back in the shadows of the wood and the grey day.
"But the woman didn't turn up here," Halliway said.
"Are you expecting me to do your whole job for you? The tracking device was in her car. The photos were only of the men but there's CCTV of her at the inn and of her car parked outside it. Shouldn't take a genius to piece those together."
"Just," Halliway snapped, "carry on with your story. Please."
"When we got here they parked up the van. Two men exited the front of the vehicle and dragged people from the back. Took them into the barn." I paused again, this time to piece together the next few words. It wasn't likely the disapproving DI was going to look kindly on the bug I'd planted in the car with the tracker. "I had reason to believe they were going to load more people into the van and take them elsewhere. I didn't want to risk losing anyone so I scoped the area then entered the barn."
"What did they look like?"
"You have the photos," I said, "and the men. Look at them." I breathed deep and reminded myself she was part of the process to convicting these assholes. I would put up with her for the sake of their victims.
The pen scratched against her notepad then she looked up. "Then what happened?"
"I..."
Fractured one skull and broke eight ribs, six fingers, three arms, two legs and a nose.
"...incapacitated the guards..."
Squeezed an arm around one guy's neck until he fell unconscious. Shot another full of electricity. Struck a third on the head and he crumpled without a sound. Used my grappling hook to rob another of his balance. His head hit the ground, a sickening thunk only the captives heard.
"...disarmed them..."
Not a single person was aware of what I inflicted on their colleagues until it was their turn.
"...then tied them up."
"With what?" She sounded almost bored.
"Zip ties."
"Always carry them around with you then?"
"Hardly leave home without them," I said, not even wanting to acknowledge how close to the truth that joke was. "Would you like me to continue with my statement or do you plan to keep on interrupting?"
"Just asking questions."
"I'm familiar with how interrogation works." This time I did look at her and saw her flinch and go pale. She didn't say anything. I carried on. "I made sure the captives in the barn were safe then left to search the main house. Two people were stationed outside and six in. One upstairs, one guarding the basement door , one in the kitchen and three in the living room sorting their cash."
With the next sequence of events I added a broken jaw, concussion, another broken leg, a snapped wrist and one foot facing the completely wrong direction to my tally.
"I took out the guards..."
They were lax. Guns holstered. Both collapsed in a heap of incompetence.
"...raided the house..."
I started with the man in the kitchen. I left him tied up and hidden behind the island, his sandwich half made. I was tempted to take it with me but my always-present paranoia kicked in. What if they did know I was there? What if they laced it with something? What if I was that careless? I crept on with caution on my mind, vengeance in my heart and a forlorn rumble in my stomach.
"...went for the outliers first..."
The guy at the basement door fell to a tranq dart. I caught him before he hit the floor and alerted everyone. Upstairs was a run around, pesky adjoining doors offering alternative exits. I cornered my prey at the top of the stairs.
He looked at me.
I looked at him.
He reached for his gun.
I kicked him in the chest and he fell backwards. Tumbled until he cracked against the wall. I had no time to zip tie, the three in the living room came rushing out at the noise.
Fine by me. I was tired of sneaking.
"...then apprehended those in the living room..."
One of them pulled a knife. He was easy to disarm. I flung the knife out of reach and he swung his fists. I grabbed one, twisted it behind his back and stamped on his ankle. He'd screamed. He was also a handy shield when the others tried to punch their way through him to me.
I threw the punch-sedated goon at his friends. One of them stumbled back under his weight, the other side-stepped. That gave me time to line up a kick to his jaw. It crunched and he, too, had screamed. Then he stopped because he realised that just made the pain worse.
Living room douche bag número tres gawked at the biggest of them writhing in agony. Then managed to look at me before all he could see was the ceiling when I swept his feet out from under him. I didn't realise how much force I'd used until he whimpered and reached for his leg.
"...and headed down to the basement. I opened the door and they were there."
Except I didn't just open the door and they weren't just there.
I stood outside it knowing what was behind it. I stood in front of the door bracing myself against that which was impossible to brace against. And when I opened it the smell that was fear and sweat and vomit and all other things manifested in such close quarters for such a length of time engulfed me. I didn't see the dank room with beds that weren't beds and the victims that were victims.
I saw...
I saw...
A container. Hot. Humid. People upon people upon people.
Because memory lingers and some smells are as good as.
"Miss Romanoff?" Halliway's voice broke into the thoughts that buffeted me like the ocean had buffeted the container that smuggled us out of Cuba.
"What?"
"I asked how many people were in there."
"Isn't that something your team is supposed to keep track of?"
"You know they have. I've seen you watching from your shadows. Still need it in your official statement."
"I counted twenty three," I said.
Twenty three pairs of eyes angled at the door as I walked through.
Not a single one dared to shine with hope.
No thought of escape flickered behind them. Just the pain that greeted them if they tried.
A small space full of broken bunks and nests of rags. Every inch of the floor covered, even against the damp walls, even under the high set window that let rain in and dripped even when it was dry outside.
"Then what did you do?" Halliway asked.
"Went in. Hands up, weapons hidden. Made sure they couldn't see this," I uncrossed my arms to show her my knuckles, "figured they'd be skittish. Then told them I wasn't going to hurt them, which they didn't believe."
"Were they skittish?"
"Not in the least."
"That's good."
"Not really. They were broken." There was a brief silence as the DI took a moment to imagine it for herself. Then she shifted her feet and stowed away her notepad and pen in her pocket.
"You should have waited," she said, echoing her earlier words, "they are vulnerable people and this is my jurisdiction."
"If there is one thing I can't abide," I said in my lowest and most measured voice, the voice that made even the Hulk pause, "it's human trafficking, in any part of the world. If I see even a hint of it you can be damned sure I'm gonna stop it. Seems to me this ring is broken up. You've caught the big names saved a few people. Sounds like a good day for everyone except the bad guys."
There was a beat of silence. A lot can happen in a beat.
Car doors slam, forensic examiners find evidence, a victim can see the beginnings of their freedom and their captor can see the beginnings of their captivity. And a brash DI can decide to make an enemy of an Avenger.
"'A good day for everyone except the bad guys.;" She wore a sardonic smile. "Shame your lot couldn't say the same thing about Thanos."
17 January 2021
Today was another reminder of how fast time flies.
I stood outside Tony and Pepper's home, Steve next to me doing a good impression of a steam train with every sigh that puffed into the frigid air. A banner was tacked to the door and frost-stiffened bunting strung from the stoop.
Happy birthday Morgan.
Two years old.
It didn't feel that long ago she was born, didn't feel that long ago I visited and held her for the first time. Somehow it was.
Another cloud of air billowed past me before dispersing to nothing in the mid-morning sun. I turned to the offending source and he just shrugged my look away.
"Still not sure I should be here."
"Pepper invited us both here, Steve."
"Yeah, but-"
"And Tony was there and he barely even flinched."
"I mean-"
"It would be rude to turn down the invite when we're stood right outside. So..."
"So what?" He asked.
"So get over yourself."
He let out a bark of laughter before he could stop himself and the cloud that floated away was less annoying because of it. For just a moment he was unguarded and none of the darkness that tried to suck the simple beauty of laughter away existed. And then the seriousness came back, as he sobered the walls went up.
"I'm not wanted. I'll just be tolerated."
"Been there, done that. Even had the branded t-shirt, sweatshirt and cap for a while." He gave me a look that said he had no idea what I was talking about and I couldn't help but wonder how one of the keenest minds for strategy could be so slow on the uptake. This time the clouds billowed from my direction. "What? You think just because I chose to defect people automatically accepted me at Shield. Fought every day to prove I should be there. Right up until the day I spilled all their secrets online."
Pepper chose that time to open the front door and Steve was saved from answering as Morgan made her entrance. She stumbled under the weight of her clothes and Pepper didn't even look apologetic at bundling her up in so many layers.
"Tash Tash," the little Stark giggled and stomped across the boards with her arms held out, missing the look I gave her mother when I mouthed 'Tash Tash' at her, she seemed apologetic then.
"Did I hear Morgan? All I can see is this pile of clothes coming towards me," I said.
"No. It's me. It's me. Look." And she held her arms higher and kept walking forward so there was no way I could resist scooping her up in my arms before she even thought about tumbling down the couple of steps to the frost-covered ground.
"No way," I said and pulled her hat up until I could see more of her face.
"Way," she said.
"It is you." I pretended to gasp. "Well then, happy birthday, birthday girl."
She giggled and wriggled a little bit in my arms, her nose bumped against my cheek and it was cold. Pepper seemed to read my mind because she ushered the three of us into the warmth of the house.
And it was soon clear the birthday decorations weren't left behind us in the cold. The living room was decorated with bouquets of red and gold balloons. Some had been plucked from their anchor point and sucked of all their helium and then left to litter the floor and furniture. I imagined Tony breathing it all in, unable to help himself and more than happy to give in to his inner child.
Morgan tapped me on the cheek and I did my best to look at her. "Down. I'll find daddy." As soon as her feet touched the floor she toddled off, still stuffed into her winter wear.
"So," I said as soon as she was out of sight, "did Morgan choose all this or is daddy Stark having an ego trip?" Pepper just laughed and Steve looked like he wanted to but wasn't sure if he should.
"Morgan wanted it. Though I can't say she wasn't influenced."
"I'll have to see if I can sell her on red, white and blue next year. It might be fun to watch an apoplectic Tony."
"Hmm, I'm not so sure," Pepper said though the laughter in her voice suggested otherwise.
"Well, that's what the man gets for telling his daughter to call me Tash Tash." This time even Steve smiled.
"I'd rather you didn't use my colours to get your revenge."
"But then where's the fun?"
Steve shrugged and the gift bags he'd carried from the car crinkled against his leg at the movement.
"Let me take those." Pepper didn't give him a choice when she took them from his hand and left for the kitchen.
"You need to relax," I said to him under my breath.
He glared at me and moved his hands from his side to his jacket pockets then back again. It was a dance he repeated a couple more times before I claimed a seat on one of the sofas and he followed suit. He sat up straight and kept his hands palm-down on his knees, because that didn't look any less awkward than aimless standing.
Pepper came in with steaming hot mugs and handed them over. I took mine, glad to have a little something extra to help ward off the cold from outside that still had the audacity to cling on.
"Heard you went on an adventure." She said. "How was it across the pond?"
"Wet. Dreary. Everything you'd expect of England in January." I looked out the window to make sure no rain clouds had crept up on us. The sky was clear and the weak-ass sun was even starting to melt some of the settled frost. "Still, did what I went there to do."
"So, er, we're the first ones here?" Steve said when I showed no inclination to carry the conversation on.
"Yes, and thank you for coming. Both of you. Morgan's really been looking forward to today." Pepper took a sip of her drink. "Rhodey's on his way and I think Happy's coming with him. Bruce is making his own way."
"Just the big kids today, then," I asked.
"The big kids and us," she gestured between me and her and we both smirked at the look on Steve's face. "Had another party yesterday with a few children and their parents. It's distracting enough that her dad is Ironman, didn't want to throw the rest of the Avengers into the mix."
"Aww, you mean all this wasn't for us."
There was a noise in the hall that kept Pepper's sarcastic comment from ever seeing the light of day. Morgan appeared a few seconds later with Tony in tow. "Found him."
Shellhead looked a little shell shocked, just like he used to whenever he emerged from his lab in the tower only to realise it had been three days since he last came up for air. "Is it tomorrow already?" His voice was laced with exhaustion but when his eyes landed on Steve he still had the energy to bristle a little. I saw the cogs working in his mind as he reminded himself that he had partially invited the man over.
"Silly," Morgan said and led him over to his chair.
"I am never silly," he said, "childish, irresponsible and immature sometimes, sure. But never silly."
"Don't know who you're trying to fool, honey, but none of us are falling for it."
"Well in that case, happy birthday Morgana. Tell you what, why don't you sit there," he bent down and picked Morgan up and plonked her in his chair, "and me and aunty Tash Tash will go rustle up some cake for a mid-morning snack."
He turned to look at me and there was something in his eyes that I wasn't able to say no to. So I shrugged and stood when he headed out the room. By the time I joined him in the kitchen he was leaning against the counter. The salt of his salt and pepper hair glinted in the light that filtered through the window.
"So, some excitement abroad for you then?"
"Why are you Starks so obsessed with my most recent trip?"
"Oh, you know us Rusty. Just keeping track of our friend. Getting back into the field is a good thing."
"Just a couple of jobs that needed an expert touch. Doesn't mean I'm going to start making a habit of it." Except I couldn't deny the thrill I felt at not being the person stuck behind the desk.
"Yeah yeah. You're forgetting I've known you for like a decade. When you haven't done a mission in a while you binge them."
"And I've known you for 'like a decade' so feel free to cut the crap and stop trying to distract me. Why are you both so interested in my time in England?"
He pushed away from the counter and reached into a cupboard. The whole process of fixing himself a drink to go with his cake was nothing more than a ploy for thinking time, so I let him have it knowing I'd get a much more coherent answer.
In the end he didn't need to say anything. He just waved his hand and I found myself surrounded by a digital display very similar to the one I created while researching the trafficking ring I'd just busted
Except this time it was all in English and instead of articles and social media posts they were all digitised letters. I inspected it closer and it looked like a typewriter was used.
"No digital trace," he said, "and all sent from different states."
He watched as I read some of the contents and waited for a reaction that was never going to come. I took a sip of my own drink and blinked away the holographic glare. When I opened them again Tony had cleared away the evidence.
"So you have no idea who's behind it?"
He shook his head. "Nada. Zilch. Zero. And all the other words I can't think of that mean the same. Could use a friend's help, if she's dipping her toe back into active duty."
I looked at him and mulled the words I'd just read over in my mind. There was nothing heart warming about them.
"This friend would help you out even if she wasn't dipping her toe back in." There was a knock at the door and somewhere in the house Morgan yelled. "But first, we party."
"You know," he said, "this is very different from the first party chat we had."
"Well, Mister Stark, I think that just shows how far we've come in the past 'like a decade' or so."
AN:
Hi guys, long time no speak!
I'm really very sorry about the long long long wait for this chapter. It was going to come with an explanation (nothing interesting) but a lot has happened in the world that puts my petty excuses into perspective. My thoughts are with everyone hurt and affected by what's been going on in the world.
On the topic of this story, still planning to finish it. I'll do my best to not let there be another gap of that length again.