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Art and intrigue (Natasha & Piotr)
SHIELD kept extensive files on anyone with superhuman powers-alien, mutant, demigod, super-soldier, and everything else in between. There was a lot of interest surrounding those who currently resided at Xavier's School for the Gifted. Gifted indeed, Natasha thought to herself with a quiet little exhalation. She didn't necessarily believe all mutants to be bad anymore than she believed all humans to be bad. In her life, she'd seen that humans were just that-human. They all had the good, the bad, and the ugly inside. Powers or not, humans could do a lot of damage to each other and anything else they chose to hurt. But she'd also seen that there were some who were capable of good. She didn't believe that anyone was all good or even that she could trust anyone through and through, but she could see where some people might be good allies to have. She'd even seen some who believed so thoroughly in a cause or in protecting people that they would die for it. Even those that one might expect to have a greater self preservation instinct, like Stark. He'd taken her by surprise in a way that few had achieved in her life.
For now, she was reserving judgment on the newest potential asset for SHIELD. The orders were to get close to the subject and evaluate him to see if he would make a good addition to the organization. To see if he could be trusted.
Trusted. Fury did have a way with words. Funny, because he director didn't trust anyone. Not Natasha, not Barton, not even Hill. He had circles of trust. There were those who were more in the know than others and there was likely different pieces of information with different people in his inner circles. She didn't believe that anyone knew everything about the director or his initiatives. Nor did anyone in Natasha's life know everything about herself or her motivations. Hell, there were times when she wasn't sure she knew herself. Slipping on one identity after another made it easy to believe that lies that one told to get by. It blurred the lines on what was and wasn't the truth about herself.
It was easier that way.
Today, she was simply shopping at a store that was apparently frequented by the mark. It would seem that he was an artist. A gentle giant, perhaps. Or perhaps not. Artists could be temperamental, could they not? After the Battle of New York, she didn't have the luxury of losing herself in secret identities anymore. Not without extensive work to mask her own features and trademark red hair. After all, it was hard to hide when there were freaking action figures out there. She couldn't say that she was pleased with any of that, but it was the new normal and she'd roll with the punches. For today, she didn't have a mask or a wig. If she was recognized, it might make conversation all that much easier.
She moved through the store and waited for Mr. Rasputin to make his appearance. If the intel was right, this was about the time of day and the right day of the week for his trip. And if not? Well, she'd certainly had duller stake-outs.
For now, she was reserving judgment on the newest potential asset for SHIELD. The orders were to get close to the subject and evaluate him to see if he would make a good addition to the organization. To see if he could be trusted.
Trusted. Fury did have a way with words. Funny, because he director didn't trust anyone. Not Natasha, not Barton, not even Hill. He had circles of trust. There were those who were more in the know than others and there was likely different pieces of information with different people in his inner circles. She didn't believe that anyone knew everything about the director or his initiatives. Nor did anyone in Natasha's life know everything about herself or her motivations. Hell, there were times when she wasn't sure she knew herself. Slipping on one identity after another made it easy to believe that lies that one told to get by. It blurred the lines on what was and wasn't the truth about herself.
It was easier that way.
Today, she was simply shopping at a store that was apparently frequented by the mark. It would seem that he was an artist. A gentle giant, perhaps. Or perhaps not. Artists could be temperamental, could they not? After the Battle of New York, she didn't have the luxury of losing herself in secret identities anymore. Not without extensive work to mask her own features and trademark red hair. After all, it was hard to hide when there were freaking action figures out there. She couldn't say that she was pleased with any of that, but it was the new normal and she'd roll with the punches. For today, she didn't have a mask or a wig. If she was recognized, it might make conversation all that much easier.
She moved through the store and waited for Mr. Rasputin to make his appearance. If the intel was right, this was about the time of day and the right day of the week for his trip. And if not? Well, she'd certainly had duller stake-outs.