OK! First of all sorry for taking a while to get this up. This chapter was really hard to write because not only was it very plot heavy but also not as exciting as some of the future chapters I've got penned down. Don't worry though - you're getting closer to the better stuff now. This chapter and the following chapter I am currently writing is sort of the build up to the storm. And I know it is taking a while to introduce other characters (including my OC), but you'll find out why very soon I promise! Chapters 1 - 6 are kinda what happens before the main events of this story, so there is a background, a foundation to work from which will hopefully benefit the fic as a whole when it is complete. And believe me, you're in for on hell of an adventure. I've got this bad boy penned down to the last chapter, so it's just a case of writing it out in full :)

Music of choice is:

"Am I The Enemy" - The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus (as you can probably guess I got the title for this chapter from this, sort of ^_^')

"All The Rage" - Funeral For A Friend

"City Of Delusion" - Muse

"Code Name Vivaldi (Bourne Soundtrack/Vivaldi Double Cello)" - The Piano Guys (This was a random one but really sets the mood for the last third of this chapter :P)

As usual, I don't own anything etc. Enjoy!

Are We The Enemy?

'You could have the power of the Gods! And yet, you wear a flag on your chest and insist you fight a battle of nations!'

The high-pitched hum of Schmidt's hand gun followed his words as he pulled the trigger, the blast barely missing the soldier as its sound resonated within the cold steal walls of the aircraft. Steve moved cautiously behind the large metal beams as his enemy continued.

'I have seen the future, Captain! There are no flags!'

'Not my future!' Steve bit back before diving for his shield and throwing it right into the gut of the HYDRA leader, sending him hurtling backwards into the Tesseract's holding chamber. It hummed and screeched within an aura of sporadic blue waves of energy that erupted into a bright flash of white light before fading to a dull blue glow.

'What have you done!?' Schmidt breathed as he stumbled forward to assess the damage, grasping the blue cube within a leather-clad hand.

For a moment it barely flickered - a fraction of the brightness it had possessed only seconds earlier, and then suddenly it began to almost… speak. It shrieked, an unearthly noise, as pulses of blue energy erupted from within its chore, and the sterile metal roof above them melted away into an alien night sky. The cube then became more unstable, burning brighter than ever before, and more volatile. It seemed to burn away the hand of its master within a ribbon of light and colour that shot up into the strange void of space above them, gradually spreading to claim the rest of him. Then, just as quickly as it had awoken, the cube ended its display of power and the bright light recoiled, returning to its blue prison.

Schmidt was no longer stood holding the Tesseract in hand…however…

…It did not fall and find its way into the ocean as Steve had remembered.

Instead, the Red Skull was replaced with another more threatening figure that towered menacingly within the metal structure of the plane, his long fingers snaking over the source of Steve's fear as its blue glow cast frightening shadows across his smirking face.

'…L-Loki!?' Steve breathed through trembling lips, his blue eyes wide with genuine fear.

The trickster's smirk grew into a wicked smile as he spoke four words that drained the colour from the soldier's skin.

'Welcome … to my future - '

. . .

Steve jolted awake, sweating and barely able to catch his breath. He had been plagued with nightmares of his past life ever since waking up in the unfamiliar and equally troubling 21st Century, and the tragic events that took place in New York had recently joined them. However, this nightmare was different; it was the first to deviate from actual memory, and it terrified Steve.

His fingers dug deep into the mattress, and it took him several minutes to compose himself and remember where he was – when he was, even.
He managed to break free from the strangle hold of his memories long enough to allow his tired eyes to focus on his surroundings. The room was dark, with the exception of the unnatural green light of a digital alarm clock placed on his bedside table. The screen read "3:45 AM" in slender digits. He pinched the bridge of his nose before wiping a hand over his face, catching the beads of sweat that glistened on his forehead with his palm as he brushed back the messy blonde tendrils of hair from his brow. It was not uncommon for him to wake at such early hours of the morning, and he rarely managed to get more sleep when the adrenaline was playing his heart strings like a harp. In cases such as this he would make the most out of the situation – head down to the gym for a long workout.

He turned on the light of the en suit bathroom and ran the cold water tap, supporting himself against the sink for a moment as he stared into the tired eyes that glared right back at him from the mirror. A few splashes of ice cold water and deep breaths later he was ready to head downstairs to take his mind off of the growing exhaustion that was becoming apparent on his face.

Steve had been residing in Tony's Malibu mansion for around a month, and in that time he had managed to get a routine going as well as figure out how to work some of the technology there– the coffee machine was the first. He'd usually head down to Tony's personal gym for a couple of hours first thing in the morning, favouring the Kevlar punching bag which he discovered was a good way of releasing all of the built up tension that had been threatening to tear him apart recently. He'd been searching for Loki with help from JARVIS as well as waiting for any news from S.H.I.E.L.D, though he didn't really keep in touch much these days. The riots and growing anxiety on television had been the constant flame that kept his growing anger simmering beneath the usual composure he maintained for Pepper's sake.

Modern society was a huge disappointment despite the technological advances and apparent liberal way of thinking. It felt lonely, recluse, and constantly in a hurry. People hardly took the time to talk to one another face to face (if they even had the time to talk at all), favouring their cell phones and computers instead. Television was a noisy concoction of crude entertainment, cheap laughs, insurance commercials, and worrying news. He felt an immeasurable degree of sadness for the youth of society and how much they would have to shoulder for future generations to come, because their predecessors had forgotten what people like Steve had really fought for all those many years ago. People had become increasingly selfish and greedy over the decades, not to mention less willing to hold onto a belief that the dawn would come if you kept on fighting the darkness.

But very few these days really believed in fighting the good fight or persevering during hard times. People wanted quick solutions to long-term problems, straight answers to difficult questions, and less responsibility for the consequences of their actions. But most worrying of all to Steve was the blatant need to find someone or something to blame for everything – and that extended far beyond your typical lawsuit. Everyone seemed so caught up in pointing the finger at anyone but themselves, when in truth that was where the source and solution to most problems was often found.
Society itself had become its own worst enemy.

There were days he would question what he really felt when he looked at that star spangled banner, whether he still felt the old swell of strength and pride he remembered back in the war, or what he saw in the distant eyes of the people he would pass on the street. The closer he began to feel himself drifting towards the latter the more empty it made him feel, and the more punching bags he would go through in a single morning.

Today was no different.

By the time he had totalled his third bag of the morning it was a little past 6 AM, and Steve figured that was enough, so he hit the showers.

. . .

The cool air of the hallway was a welcoming relief as he left his quarters, dressed in a simple white T-shirt and beige slacks, idly drying his hair with a small plush white towel as he made his way towards the living room.

Pepper was sat on the edge of the sofa next to a pile of important looking documents, legs crossed in her usual smart tailored jacket and pencil skirt combo. Recent news was playing on the wide screen TV in front of her, and as usual it was more of the same thing that had followed the loss of Manhattan. Riots, looters, protestors, religious extremists, scandals – particularly relating to Stark Industries – and Steve felt his stomach turn just watching the images flicker on the screen.

"Morning," Pepper smiled at him. It was a weak smile though; Steve could tell that the weight of problems caused by the media was beginning to take its toll on her, regardless of how strong-willed a person she was. In putting up with Stark she had practically forged an invisible iron suit of her own, but Steve constantly wondered how she managed all those years without going completely off the rails. Stark's absence wasn't any easier for her either.

"Mornin'," Steve responded with his trademark lop-sided smile before rubbing his face with the towel. The smell of fresh coffee was enticing and he walked towards its source in the adjacent room where a coffee pot was sat on the bar.

"You're up early – it's almost 7," she added, eyes focused on the pile of papers now on her lap.

Steve poured himself a cup of java and wandered back into the main living space, the towel draped over his shoulders as he sipped the strong black liquid. He made a contented sigh of approval, thankful that the caffeine was starting to push back the exhaustion that had been sneaking up on him over the past few weeks.

"Couldn't sleep, so got an early work out… what about you?"

"I'm up to my elbows in paperwork. With Tony gone I'm finding it hard to keep his vision alive. The board and Tony never exactly saw eye to eye when it came to changing the company's approach to green energy, and with all of the rumours…" She trailed off as recent snippets of the Stark Industries scandal on the TV interrupted her.

"Mute," Steve commanded JARVIS, who obliged, and a short, heavy silence fell about the room.

"Any news on Loki?" She asked him, cautiously.

Steve paused for a moment, his thoughts briefly drifting to his recent nightmare before he was able to scamper out of the darkness again and return to the present. He shook his head slowly.

"S.H.I.E.L.D's got nothin'. I've asked JARVIS to help locate his whereabouts in any way he can, but so far no good. I'm starting to wonder if he's even on this planet anymore," Steve added.

Another lingering silence – then Pepper's cell phone buzzed curtly on the glass table and she reached over to answer it. By the look on her face it was something work-related and no doubt burdensome. After a few seconds she hung up and collected the mound of papers into a heavy looking folder and made to leave.

"I'm sorry, Steve, but I've got to get to the office. I'll see you this evening," she said to him before pressing a button on the touch screen pad of her cell phone and raising the device to her ear as she wandered out of the room.

"Okay -"

"–Happy?..." She called into the phone as she left.

And then Steve was alone.

He turned to watch the disturbing news reel on the widescreen TV against the wall. People – many of them young men and women – parading the streets of major cities across the country, holding anti-government and anti-Stark Industries picket signs. It was a scene that was making its way not only across his home country but also into other nations – a worldwide unrest that deeply troubled Steve. There was a war coming, creeping over the world like the growing shadow of a raging storm, but this war seemed different to the one he remembered before falling into his long dreamless sleep in the ice.

The news footage was then replaced with a recent broadcast of a popular figure making a speech in front of a crowd of supporters cheering him on. The man – Christian Dermott, he recalled – was making a name for himself in the public eye, and Steve had to admit that he certainly had a way with words.

He asked JARVIS to turn the sound back on.

'–These government agencies – these officials who claim to hold the reins of this beloved nation, who claim to protect us, their people. They are, all of them, deceivers, and they seek to hide the truth from us, to keep us silent. But they cannot silence the human spirit, or -'

"Captain Rogers, Director Fury is on the line and wishes to speak with you via video call. He says it is urgent." JARVIS interrupted, muting the broadcast.

Steve sighed and his shoulders slumped forward as he eyed the coffee mug in his hand.

"Patch him through," he murmured into his mug.

A large holographic screen appeared in the empty space in the centre of the room, revealing a concerned Nick Fury.

"Captain, we have a situation."

Steve lowered the coffee mug from his lips.

"Loki?" he questioned the director urgently. Nick shook his head.

"No. I've got a global search ongoing, but still got nothing for you concerning Loki or the Tesseract. I'm afraid this is something else. Are you familiar with a man named Christian Dermott?"

Steve raised an eyebrow.

"Sure – he's the guy on the box, the one behind all the protesting?"

"Well, he's more than just another celebrity with a megaphone. This man knows things, things he shouldn't, and I wanna know why. More importantly, the Council wanna know why."

"If this has anything to do with your trigger-happy bureaucrats, I'm out. They've made their bed, they can lay in it," Steve interrupted. The words left his lips before he realised what he was saying, and he took a long swig of his coffee as Fury eyed him hesitantly from the holographic projection.

"Rogers, this is serious and you know that. Irrespective of what happened in New York it is in our best interest that we deal with this situation immediately before it escalates into something a lot worse than a few hippies with picket signs. If this Dermott character leaks any more classified information relating to S.H.I.E.L.D or its operatives, we'll have a witch-hunt on our hands. People's identities – their lives – are at stake here. That goes for yours, too – and Miss Potts'."

Steve's heart sunk. The last thing he would ever want on his conscience was Pepper's life at risk because of his pride. He had promised Stark that he would do anything to protect her, but swallowing his pride was going to leave a foul taste in his mouth if the Council had anything to do with it.

His jaw clenched.

"What's the plan?"

"Dermott intends to lead a rally in Washington DC during the next couple of days. I've ordered Agent Romanoff and Agent Barton to keep a close eye on him and to find out who his sources are."

"And what do you need me to do?"

"Until we know how Dermott is getting this information I need you to lay low. Chances are he may know your identity, Captain. I'm already taking a risk sending out two of my best agents."

"But if he knows, wouldn't he have said something by now? What's his game?"

"I'm not sure, but we also have reason to believe that Dermott may have something to do with the rumours concerning Stark Industries, which brings me to the real reason I am calling you…"

Steve eyed the director suspiciously.

"Stark was able to hack into secure S.H.I.E.L.D files onboard the Helicarrier. Now I don't know if he had the chance to make a copy of them or if they are somehow drifting down the digital highway of his AI, but -"

"–Hold on, are you sayin' Stark leaked those files? -" Steve interrupted fiercely.

"–I'm not accusing Stark of anything but snooping and being Stark, but given the circumstances I can't rule anything out at this time. If someone in his company had access to them -"

"–You want me to spy on Pepper and her work. Is that what you're asking me to do?" Steve bit out.

"All I'm saying is we need to approach every angle. That information could be a gun in the hands of Stark's enemies, and he had a fair few of those both inside and outside the company."

Steve swallowed a lump in his throat. Jesus Stark, I hope to god that he's wrong and this isn't your doing, Steve thought as he clenched his free hand by his side.

"I'm sending someone over who will be able to offer both you and Miss Potts some assistance. I'll be in touch."

The holographic screen faded away and Steve's attention returned to the TV monitor in front of him, delivering the images of his new enemy who continued to transform his crowd of supporters into a sea of cheering worshipers.

And in that moment, Steve felt a terrible sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as the realisation dawned on him. Many things had changed since the war.

But history had a habit of repeating itself.

. . .

Pepper walked into the reception of Stark Industries looking worse for wear, already stressed from the media pressure practically ready to kick down the company's doors – metaphorically speaking, so far. On top of that the company itself was struggling, not only because of the rumours in the media surrounding Tony's involvement with a government organisation, but because the ARC reactor technology was costing more money than it was making, and Stark Industries wasn't doing too well as a potential investment.
Her assistant scurried towards her with a somewhat nervous expression on her face.

"Oh - Miss Potts? There is a board meeting taking place upstairs. I tried to call you, but the line was busy -"

"–What!? When was this decided?" Pepper interrupted as she hastily made her way upstairs, not waiting for an answer as she burst through the doors of the board room. Most of the seats around the room's large table were occupied by middle aged men who appeared to be fairly displeased with Pepper's apparent lateness, despite her not knowing the meeting was even taking place.

"Please excuse me, but I'm afraid I didn't know there was a meeting this morning." She smiled apologetically, feeling their eyes on her as she turned to close the door.

"I'm sorry, didn't you get the memo?" a familiar voice called from behind the bar at the far end of the room.

Pepper turned and was shocked to see Justin Hammer pouring himself a glass of scotch, smiling to himself.

"It must've got lost somewhere on the system. I'll make a mental note to have that fixed in the near future," he added.

What the hell was he doing outside of a prison cell, pouring Tony's scotch in her company's building? Pepper gritted her teeth.

"I thought you were supposed to be behind bars?" she said, spitefully. Trying to stay composed and professional in front of the board was becoming an uphill struggle.

"And I thought you were supposed to be taking this company forward, not leading it on a wild goose chase over some utopian dream," he retorted, placing the decanter on the bar and making his way over to the table.

"I'm calling security-"

Hammer took a quick sip of the burning liquid and breathed a short laugh.

"That won't be necessary -" he grinned.

"–You have no business being here and as far as I'm concerned you're trespassing," she bit back.

"Actually…" he began, resting a hand on the back of a large leather seat – Pepper's usual chair since taking over as CEO. "…I have every reason to be here. You see, since this company took a nose dive in the stock exchange there have been more than a few frowns from your investors, and many of them decided to bail on you and sell. I on the other hand love a sense of adventure when it comes to business, and decided to buy a chunk of Stark Industries' stock."

He took a large swig of his drink as Pepper eyed him inquisitively.

"A wedge of it actually. In fact, I hold the majority out of all the people in this room. So, I'd say it's very much my business being here."

Pepper's eyes drifted nervously from Hammer's to the cold glares of the board members who remained silently seated at the table. This couldn't be happening…

"So…" Hammer began as he took his seat – Pepper's seat – and crossed his legs, making himself rather comfortable, "…as my first contribution as board member, I would like to address exactly why it is that this company is sliding down the proverbial ladder?"

"I have no intention of acknowledging or answering anything you say or ask because I don't believe for a second that you are here in the best interest of this company."

"Miss Potts. We would all appreciate that you cooperate with Mr Hammer. His question is a valid one and we would like an answer," one of the other board members interrupted as the rest awaited her response with inquisitive eyes.

Hammer shot her a shit-eating grin.

Bastard.

She made her way over to the far end of the table by the few remaining empty seats, but did not sit.

"This company is going through a rough patch, yes, but -"

Hammer laughed.

"A rough patch? Now that's the understatement of the week -"

"–but…" She continued, raising her voice, "Mr Stark believed – and I believe – that this sort of risk and expenditure is necessary for the development process. The new ARC reactor prototype will be the first real step in clean sustainable energy the world has ever seen, and the benefits will far out weight the costs."

"But wasn't the prototype lost when New York was devastated?" another board member added.

"Yes, but -"

"And, if I've got my facts straight, wasn't Stark himself sort of a tinsy bit a lot responsible for that catastrophe as well?" Hammer followed, sarcastically.

"That is speculation. Mr Stark was not making weapons for the US military or government. He made that clear in an earlier statement to the press," Pepper bit out.

"Those things are a load of bull, pardon my French. Stark wouldn't say that he was dealing under the table because it would make him a hypocrite, hiding behind that shiny armour of his and pretending to be a superhero, when in reality he was just as human as the rest of us," Hammer bit back.

A short silence followed as he reached into a briefcase by the side of the table and pulled out a dark grey paper folder, pushing it across the tinted glass table towards Pepper.

"You'll find all you need to know about just how super your hero really was. Right there, inside that folder."

Pepper hesitated before revealing its contents – a few sheets of paper that seemed to be copies of e-mails, encrypted conversations and even S.H.I.E.L.D related documentation. The majority of its contents was falsified data, made to appear legitimate in order to incriminate Tony for something he had not been involved in, but it was an admirable attempt and almost flawlessly mixed with truth when it came down to Tony's dealings with S.H.I.E.L.D as a consultant. Anyone none the wiser would instantly be convinced, but Pepper knew enough about the extent of Tony's cooperation with S.H.I.E.L.D to know that this was slander.

"No. This is bull. Its falsified documentation you are attempting to plant on the company and I can have you arrested right now," she said, placing the papers back into the folder and dropping it on the table.

"I don't think so. Isn't it true that Stark was supposedly acting as a consultant for an organisation known as S.H.I.E.L.D, an organisation that has been involved with Stark Industries-related matters in the past?" Hammer questioned.

"Yes, but -"

"–And, isn't it also true that he provided them with Stark Industries patented technology?"

That was also true, to an extent, but Pepper knew it was never any sort of weapons – some software, or new designs for aircraft at most.

"What are you playing at here, Hammer?" she asked bluntly, narrowing her eyes.

"What am I playing at? I'm merely pointing out to the rest of your faithful board members that we have a serious situation here. Someone's hands are dirty, and they're leaving their fingerprints everywhere. If this company is to move forward and progress, someone's got to take out the trash first before it stinks out the place."

Pepper could smell something rotten alright, and he was sitting in her seat.

"What Mr Hammer is trying to say is that, the board have come to an agreement. It is in our best interest, and the company's best interest, that you resign as CEO." An elderly board member spoke out to Pepper in a sympathetic tone.

"On what grounds?" Pepper asked urgently.

"Withholding incriminating information and spending company money on a dead project," Hammer replied flatly.

"This is slander, and ARC reactor technology is not a dead project!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I was under the impression that its founder was no longer with us, not to mention this company has lost money since giving it the go ahead. Stark was probably too busy turning over his new leaf playing Captain Planet to realise that."

Pepper looked around the table at the faces of the other board members, some expressing cold indifference whilst others were obviously saddened by the situation but chose to remain silent.

"I can't believe you're serious," she breathed with astonishment. "Please don't tell me he will be taking my place."

"Funny you should say that, actually…" Hammer began, reaching into his briefcase again to pull out paper work, most likely documents requiring her signature.

"I refuse," she bit out.

"Not an option," Hammer retorted, reaching for the phone by his side and pressing a button. "If you wish to take this somewhere else, I'm game, but you're services within this company are no longer required – Oh, security?"

He uttered a few words into the phone and no sooner had he hung up two burly men in security uniforms entered the room.

"Tony will be spinning in his grave right now," Pepper seethed.

"Oh, I'm sure he'll be doing a lot more than that," Hammer smiled. "Would you both kindly escort Miss Potts from the premises?"

"I don't know how it is you managed to do what it is you are doing, or who you're working with, but mark my words, this isn't over," she practically hissed as the two burly security guards took her by the arms and escorted her out of the room.

Hammer clapped his hands together. "

Right, well now that we've overcome that little obstacle, shall we get down to business?"

. . .

"I hate this uniform," Natasha breathed as she exited a hotel closet and fidgeted with her skirt. She reached for a small cart filled with towels and fresh bed linen and began to walk down the hallway, pushing it along in front of her.

"I dunno, you? In a maid's outfit? Gonna have to disagree with you there," Clint's voice spoke quietly through her comms. She could practically hear the smirk on his face.

"Hey, mind back on the mission, Romeo. I need you focused up there. This uniform is supposed to avoid attention, not attract it."

"You're right, it is a distraction," he added slyly.

"Signal coming in clear where you are?" She asked under her breath as she made her way down the long hallway.

"Lookin' beautiful."

Clint was sat on an old office chair by a short window, watching a small red light pulse delicately on the map on the small laptop screen by his side. He was nested comfortably in an empty office on the upper most floor of the building directly opposite The Mayflower Renaissance Hotel, keeping his eyes peeled on the street below for any signs of trouble. The target – Christian Dermott – was currently absent from his hotel room, and Natasha had taken the opportunity to do some snooping there and find out anything that may lead them to the source of the sensitive information he claimed to have.

Clint's trusty bow was stored neatly in an open case by his feet, ready for easy access, and a M24 sniper rifle with a suppressor was placed against the wall just below the window.

"Looks clear from here. I'm making my way there now," Natasha informed Clint as she turned right down the next long hallway towards her destination, one of the many guest rooms on the southwest corridor.

As she continued her steady pace towards the room on the far right two men in black suits wearing sunglasses exited a room next door and made their way down the hallway towards her. They appeared to be on a mission themselves and didn't offer her a second glance as they passed her, but she noted the ear pieces and weapon indentations in the getup that made it pretty obvious they were security or hired guns of some sort.

She reached the door of Dermott's room and swiped her key card through the lock, entering with the small cart and allowing the door to close quietly behind her after checking the hallway one final time.

"I'm in."

"How's the crib?"

"Excessive."

Clint chuckled quietly. "Hey, swipe me a towel will you? The ones back at HQ suck ass. It's like tryin' to dry yourself with a sheet of plywood."

Natasha got to work checking the desk and any personal belongings that lay around the room, discovering a small black laptop hidden under the bed. She opened it and got to work hacking into the drive as quickly as possible.

There didn't appear to be much out of the ordinary at first – a few schedules, notes for arranged meetings with people in the media, cash transactions. At that point she noted a large sum of money had been transferred recently from one account to another, and by large it was several hundred million dollars.

"Found any dirt?"

"Looks like someone had their payday recently. This guy's handed over $500,000,000 in instalments to an unnamed recipient."

"Jeezus… where the hell did he get that kinda money?"

"I don't know, but he has bad news written all over him. We have nothing on record of his family or professional history. It's like he just appeared out of thin air, and nobody's picked up on that."

She continued to browse through the drive further, until she hit the jackpot. It was a list of encrypted e-mails to several high-profile names, including Senator Stern and Justin Hammer, and the content pointed to a very carefully devised plan to take control over Stark Industries and confiscate Stark's Iron Man technology.

"Wow. There's dirt alright," she breathed in surprise, a small smirk of satisfaction tugging at the corner of her lips as she placed a pen drive in the laptop and began to download all of the incriminating content. "Cleaning is in progress."

"Anything on S.H.I.E.L.D there?"

"So far, no, but give me a minute."

"Better make it quick, 'cos daddy's back from work."

Clint watched a black sedan pull up outside the hotel main entrance and Dermott exit the vehicle, stopping to button up his jacket and shake another man's hand as the two men in black suits stood in waiting.

"Target is by black sedan. Operation patty-cake is a go," Clint spoke quietly into his comms to another agent on street level, no more than fifty feet away from Dermott. Immediately, a man wearing jeans and a buttoned up black leather jacket walked towards the group of men by the car and accidently knocked Dermott's shoulder.

"Sorry man!" he shouted as he continued to make his way down the street and cross the road, out of Clint's sight. The two suits guarding Dermott were too slow to react and were quick to dismiss the man as a clumsy pedestrian.

Seconds later Clint's laptop picked up another signal on the map, only this time it was a green light that appeared to be outside the hotel on street level.

"I'm monitoring him now. He's headin' into the building with his goon squad. Make it snappy," Clint said through Natasha's ear piece.

"I'm on it, just digging a little deeper. Keep me posted," she muttered as she put her mad computer skills to the test.

Meanwhile the green light on Clint's screen was growing ever closer to Natasha's location, and Clint readied his sniper rifle by his feet. Fortunately the room's window was within range, and if he had to he could take a shot, though it wouldn't be an easy or clean one.

After enough digging Natasha finally found the evidence they had been looking for – Dermott did indeed have classified S.H.I.E.L.D information, and most of it was on weapons development, more specifically "Phase 2" items, but there didn't appear to be any immediate indication as to where he had obtained the information. On top of that, there was nothing on S.H.I.E.L.D personnel or agent identities that he claimed to know. So how the hell did he know in the first place, if he was indeed telling the truth at all?

"Gotcha," she smirked as she hit a key on the laptop and began making copies of those files too. She took the time to check that nothing was out of place within the room as the download took its sweet time.

Dermott had reached the Elevator and was making his way up to the top floor of the guest room level when Clint came through the comms again.

"He's about a minute away, better clean up n' lock up, now."

Natasha returned to the laptop screen that read '80% complete' as the bar continued to fill, but at a painfully slow pace given the circumstances.

"ГАДИТЬ…"

"Hey, let's keep it PG 13 – oh shhhit!" Clint interrupted as he noticed that the green light had disappeared from the map altogether. He scrambled to his laptop, hammering frantically at certain keys in hope that the little light would return.

"I've lost his signal."

He reached for his rifle again and kept his eyes and his aim fixed at the window across the street.

Natasha made her way quietly to the door and opened it slightly. The coast seemed clear, but the ping of the elevator down the far end of the hallway just around the corner was not a good sign. Hastily she closed the door, pulled the pen drive from the laptop and shut it down before reaching for her gun in the holster on her right thigh, placing it beneath a towel on the small cart.

She opened the door and exited the room, allowing the door to automatically lock as it clicked shut behind her. Just as she had left the room, Dermott and the two suits turned the corner at the end of the hallway. Natasha never broke character and kept her face masked as a gentle, customer-friendly maid, smiling quietly at the men who were approaching. As she passed she caught the eyes of Dermott himself. His short hair was slicked back, and he was wearing a dark green-tinted suit with a thin black tie. He smiled at Natasha, but it wasn't a 'normal' sort of smile. It was strange, almost chilling in a way, like the both of them had seen and spoken to one another in the past, which was impossible. Natasha had never seen him in person before, let alone had the opportunity to converse with him, and yet she felt a strange sense of déjà vu. His eyes lingered on hers as he passed by, but when Natasha turned her head he had broken his gaze and continued on as normal, not once looking back.

"Tasha, you good?...Tasha?" Clint's voice came through the comms urgently.

She broke away from her thoughts and turned, continuing down the hall until she found a secure spot where she was able to compose herself and make sense of what just happened.

"Tasha?"

"Yeah…" she breathed, shakily, "…I'm good."

She knew that smile, from somewhere…

Then it hit her, and the colour drained from her face.

"Clint? Call Fury. We've got a level 7."