The shaggy black wig made her head hot in contrast to the sharp, cold wind blowing in her face. She stared at the sea ahead, her gaze fixed anywhere and nowhere as the cobalt blue waves crashed against the wet shore. Sheād burned up one last identity to get there, a borrowed one Fury had set up for her to get out with little problem.
A redhead left a Georgetown apartment in the night, a black haired woman entered Dulles International with a ticket to Edinburgh. Ā Paris had too many memories, London was out (and one Avenger there was enough), but Scotland was a good place to get lost in. This city had many corners, may winding paths, many levels, and the people were friendly and not inclined to question you too much.
She had been there before, a long time ago in her Red Room days on a mission withā¦no. Best not to think about it or him right now.Ā
Ā Her phone buzzed, a message from Clint checking in. She typed a quick response that sheād arrive, things were fine, and how heād hate the cold, but if she were feeling nice sheād send him some real Highland whiskey. He knew why she left, why she needed to sort things out abroad, he too had to figure out his next steps and someone had to keep an eye on Rogers. Sheād read Clint in enough on the Winter Soldier incident, just enough, to warrant the archer keep a distant on Steve should he choose to pull that string.Ā
She put her phone away and walked up the path to the road, past the docks, past Holyrood, and further up High Street until somewhere on the corner of George IV Bridge she saw someone in the crowd far too familiar, despite the baseball cap he wore.Ā
Why was he here? she wondered.
As quickly as she spotted him, his gaze turned and locked on her, and she knew he saw past the wig and there was recognition. She murmured a curse in Russian and ducked backwards, weaving through a small crowd of tourists and into St. Giles Cathedral.
She wasnāt sure which Winter Soldier she was dealing with, but as she slunk behind a tabernacle and unsnapped the cover of the pouch holding a small, sharp knife at her belt, she swore sheād be prepared either way.