✠ ——— ✠ ——— ✠ ——— ✠

𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡'𝐬 𝐀𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Truth woke up at three a.m. feeling a little hungry and perhaps too energized for someone who only slept four hours.

Though, four hours were not only a sign of a good night's sleep, but also a rather healthy amount for someone like her. Truth only relied on sleep to heal either mentally or physically, the latter being uncommon and the former only if she pushed the usage of her gifts too much.

It was why she was always too bored to stay in her apartment past a certain time, and it was why she and Natasha continued to see each other every night without fail.

Today, Truth decided to start her night with a little mental exercise, humming to herself as invisible tendrils rummaged through her kitchen to prepare a bowl of cereal.

Telekinesis was the most difficult to master, unlike her other abilities. She was a natural with her telepathy, having developed techniques to keep the voices out of her head and done enough research on the brain to navigate one as fluently as she would the halls of the Triskelion.

Her more unique ability, known formally as truth inducement, was more instinctive. For the most part, it remained dormant until it flared up in response to a falsity. The strength of the lie played a factor in the strength of her response: little fibs and half-truths wouldn't so much as tickle her, but being lied to directly, especially if she had asked a question and expected an answer, would result in a buildup of energy that was difficult to disperse if she didn't want to injure the liar. Sometimes the little lies stacked up over time like paper cuts, and the energy would begin to surge over her like a second skin, bubbling and ready to boil over.

This energy, when released, was what caused the "inducing" effect. Most people couldn't resist it if they tried. And, if they did, they would choke on the words caught in their throat.

Truth had techniques to control this as well, but sometimes the inevitable happened. She had options for when it got particularly bad.

The problem with her telekinesis, however, was that it didn't always emerge as boldly as her other powers. When she was younger, she hadn't even known she'd been capable of it until her uncle had pointed it out to her after one of her bad days. It certainly explained the amount of damage she could inflict under emotional distress.

And, when Truth Castello didn't know how to control something, she practiced until it was perfect. It had been difficult at first, but now telekinesis came almost as easily to her as her own telepathy.

But, ease didn't mean she'd mastered it. Telekinesis required a concentration that was different from her other abilities. If something was particularly heavy, it weighed on her mentally. Moving too many things at once sometimes gave her migraines. Her goal was to build her mental strength enough to surpass these limitations and eventually reach new ones.

Usually, she'd train her telekinesis during her daily midnight visits to the training room, but the continued appearance of Natasha Romanoff had decidedly cut down a lot of Truth's training. Truth normally refrained from using her powers in front of the other agents, but now she was particularly careful in front of Natasha ever since their second midnight encounter. She didn't want to make the redhead uncomfortable, especially with how close they'd grown in the past few weeks.

Besides, she also considered her gifts a private thing. She only ever used them casually around a select amount of people, and she was most comfortable using them in secluded places.

So, now that she had less time to practice, she tried to use her telekinesis as much as possible inside her apartment. That included cleaning, cooking, or whatever hobby she'd recently taken up. She usually did this while doing other things, teaching herself to multitask with perfection.

Tonight was no different. So, while she mentally walked through the motions of taking the milk out of the fridge and pulling the cereal box out of the cupboard, she strolled aimlessly through her apartment, stopping to browse through her overcrowded bookshelf as she thought about her task for the night.

Truth and Natasha would always go to the Training Room with their own goals in mind. Sometimes they were so caught up in their tasks that they didn't even utter more than a few words to one another.

Other times, they'd talk for hours.

"What language was that?" Natasha had asked one night. Truth had been polishing a few of her favorite combat knives when she'd accidentally poured too much of the metal polish on a blade while watching the redhead walk through moves with a katana. Irritated, Truth had muttered a curse in Greek and Natasha had overheard.

They'd broached the topic of languages once before. Natasha often cursed in Russian, and Truth would reply with something sassy in response:

"Moči perhoti!"
dandruff urine

"Hm. Skažite mne èto po-anglijski."
say it to me in English

"Zatknisʹ."
shut up

This had been the first time the roles were reversed, but Natasha had found to her surprise that she hadn't recognized the language spoken.

"It was Greek. Russian and English aren't the only languages I'm fluent in."

"And how does one find the need to be fluent in Greek?"

"I was born in Greece," Truth had revealed. "It's one of the first languages I learned."

Natasha had hummed thoughtfully.

"Tiếng Nga và tiếng Anh cũng không phải là những ngôn ngữ duy nhất mà tôi biết."
Russian and English aren't the only two languages I know, either.

Vietnamese.

"To kan spille det spillet, Widow."
Two can play that game, Widow.

Norwegian.

Turned out Truth was fluent in three more languages than Natasha—not including Malay, which Natasha had protested that she knew enough to handle herself in a conversation—while Natasha was fluent in Farsi and Truth was not. This put their tally for their little competitive games at two to one, to Truth's satisfaction.

Smiling fondly at the memory, Truth's gaze fell on one of her Greek books. Most of it was in English, detailing the sites and histories of her country, but there was a lot of Greek vocabulary sprinkled inside its pages. An idea flitted through her mind, and without debate, she picked up the aging volume and grabbed her cereal on her way out the door.

Truth always found herself in the training room before Natasha. At first it wasn't on purpose, but then Natasha had pointed it out and Truth had made an effort to do it just to get under the other assassin's skin.

Once, Truth had left a note for Natasha in the Training Room. Natasha had picked it up with a frown.

Come find me :)

Thinking, Natasha had remembered one of their earlier conversations in this room:

"Do you come here every night to train?"

Truth shrugged.

"Not always to train. And there are a few other places I like to go to, depending on my mood."

Natasha had started with the library and the gym before she walked aimlessly around the floor, knowing the other woman wouldn't have gone far. She'd almost walked right pass the laboratory when she had heard movement within. She'd stepped inside to find Truth working diligently on an item on the desk in front of her.

"Well, this certainly wasn't my first guess."

Truth had given her a small smile, though she didn't look away from her task.

"I'm only ever here for personal projects. I'd list it as my...fourth favorite place in the building."

Natasha had stepped closer, looking over Truth's shoulder to see what she was doing.

"What's all this?"

"New whip I'm working on."

She had pressed a button on the metal cylinder she had been fiddling with, and a braided, leather rope extended out one side. Natasha had stepped around Truth to stand on her left and observe.

"It's beautiful," Natasha had commented truthfully. She had been careful not to touch, but she could tell that the material was expensive. "What leather is this?"

"Custom kangaroo hide. The inside belly I made out of metal links. Don't ask how, but I managed to get enough vibranium to make it. I've tried making it with other metals, but it was too heavy to be as flexible as it needed to be."

Truth had picked up the leather end and bent it in a couple directions for Natasha to hear the faint clicks of vibranium metal. The hide was so tightly braided that she wouldn't have known the metal was there otherwise.

"This workmanship is perfect," Natasha had admired. "Did you braid it yourself? Must've taken a while."

Truth had shrugged and given Natasha one of her sly smiles.

"Well, I had five months of free time on my hands," she'd admitted. "I didn't spend all of it hunting the mafia."

Natasha had shaken her head in amusement. Only Truth Castello would get bored hunting the Brazilian mafia.

"So, what are the vibranium links for?" Natasha had asked. "Not just for the satisfying clicks it makes, I hope."

Truth had lightly hit Natasha's hand with the thin end of the whip. It was so gentle that Natasha had hardly felt it, and she'd wondered at the complex duality of Truth Castello, the gentle assassin.

"No," Truth had said. "I had this idea of different uses of whips, right? Your regular snake whip could cause some flesh wounds with the right amount of speed and force, but other times it works better with a stun or blunt attack. Perfect if you only want to incapacitate your opponent, but what if you didn't?"

Natasha had raised a brow.

"Isn't that why you have a knife as your second weapon? Incapacitate, then go in for the kill."

"And what if my knife is dislodged in the limb of some other idiot who decided to attack? Sure, I usually have five more, but if I'm fighting a lot of people at once and I run out, what then?"

Natasha had held back a smile.

"Alright," she'd given in. "What then?"

Then Truth had flashed her a brilliant grin, one that Natasha had become quite addicted to during their midnight hang outs. It was one that never failed to make Natasha smile, too, despite herself.

"Well, I'm glad you asked, Romanoff. Watch and learn. You might also want to step back, because I don't want to be responsible for any injured limbs."

Natasha had done as she'd been told, and Truth had pressed the button on the metallic handle once more. Suddenly, sharp, little blades shot out of the leather braid, creating what looked like a barbed tail. Natasha's brows had risen in surprise.

"I'm impressed," she had admitted. "Unsuspecting, but deadly. My favorite combination." Then she had looked up at the other agent. "I never took you to be an engineer."

Truth had chuckled.

"I'm no Tony Stark. I know enough to get by, but only enough to suit my own needs." She'd looked down and placed her hand on the handle of the whip. "This, after all, took me about six months and I'm still not done. I'm looking into adjusting the length for different purposes and I'm still thinking about adding an optional extension to the handle to make a dual weapon of a whip and a baton."

Natasha had hummed, watching Truth closely as she spoke. The redhead truly admired the woman beside her. She had a passion for what she did, and an intellect that made her so much more than just a trained killer.

Natasha wondered what it was like, to have another purpose in life. She could only ever imagine herself being what she always was. The Red Room had stripped her bare, taking away her choices, her wishes and hopes.

And even now, Natasha couldn't bring herself to entertain such thoughts about choices. She couldn't wonder because she had too much to atone for before she could ever be someone else.

Natasha Romanoff could be a lot of things, but she could and would not pretend her past was behind her. The least she could do for the multitude of innocent lives she'd ended was live with the guilt and regret and work to hopefully save enough lives to flush out the red in her ledger.

Truth Castello wouldn't have been a very good spy if she hadn't noticed how quiet Natasha had grown. She had been despondent, lost in her thoughts, only replying to Truth with nods or hums, and Truth thought that she'd never seen more of herself in the woman beside her than in that moment.

Truth wasn't the type of person to share. In fact, she was quite particular about who handled her things, and that was even more true for her weapons. And, although a ball of unease had formed in her gut at what she was about to do, she had only thought about how she didn't ever want to see the haunted look that had graced Natasha Romanoff's face that night again. It had reminded her of that second meeting, when she'd stared at Truth, locked in place by her fear. It had reminded her of when she was sixteen and had just escaped the walls of an organization she'd known for the majority of her life, too caught in between worlds to ever believe she'd be truly free.

In that moment, Truth Castello's heart had ached for Natasha Romanoff and she couldn't even have stopped herself from moving if she had tried.

Careful not to touch the other woman, Truth had placed the silver handle of her whip in Natasha's palm, the coldness of the metal jolting her enough to bring focus to her stunning green eyes.

"You wanna test it out?" Truth had offered. Natasha had stared at her, confused because she knew firsthand how important a weapon was to its owner.

"Why would you—"

"Romanoff," Truth had interrupted, voice serious to make her point. "I wouldn't have asked."

And Natasha had continued to stare at her. Truth Castello, the gentle assassin.

What an oxymoron, she'd thought. The woman beside her was a mystery—a complete, riveting mystery—and Natasha didn't think she'd ever want to know one person as much as she wanted to know Truth Castello.

And so, that night, Natasha had taken her offering. An offering and an acceptance, much like the first night they'd met.

However, on this particular night, lost in memories, Truth Castello was surprised to find that Natasha had beat her to the training room.

"Did you even sleep?" Truth questioned, slightly miffed that they were tied again in their little games as she laid down on her stomach beside Natasha, who was skimming through a S.H.I.E.L.D. manual.

"I got a few hours," the redhead mumbled distantly, her blue ink pen resting on the corner of her lips, her brows slightly furrowed in thought. Truth watched, wondering how one person could be so stunning without even trying. "Clint said I needed to familiarize myself with S.H.I.E.L.D. protocols, but I think I underestimated how much of a headache this would be. What is it with S.H.I.E.L.D. and their acronyms?"

Truth leaned over her bowl of cereal to see what Natasha was looking at, careful not to hover too closely to the other woman.

"Oh, P.A.N.C.A.K.E.S. is my favorite. It's 'Persuasive Authority Needed for Cause and Armed with Knowledge of Extraction Strategy.'"

"No," Natasha said. "I thought it was 'Promptly Abort, Nauseated Condition, Absolve Killing Essential Suspect.'"

Truth laughed.

"Yeah, I'm sure that assumption had you stumped for an hour or two."

Natasha hit her with her pen.

"I still don't believe that you didn't make yours up. What does that even mean?"

"Basically, send someone in to recruit a possible ally and devise an extraction plan. I'm pretty sure the only time it was ever used was when S.H.I.E.L.D. took me and Michael in."

At that Natasha raised a brow, not particularly because of the information itself, but rather that Truth had even mentioned it. Natasha felt as though Truth and Michael's defection to S.H.I.E.L.D. had been just as lovely as her own.

Budapest had truly been a hot mess.

"Hm," Natasha said, looking back at the manual as Truth continued eating her Lucky Charms. "Wonder if Clint ever used it."

She didn't have to say for me. Truth heard it anyway.

"I doubt it," she replied, her voice softer as though afraid of breaking the fragile topic. "One, he doesn't like extraction plans, and two, he tends to be pretty persuasive all on his own."

That, Natasha could agree with. She still wondered how he got her out, how he managed to break through every lesson she'd had drilled into her head and convince her to leave her country willingly. She wondered if, maybe, she'd already had her doubts and Clint had only said everything she had already known deep down.

Regardless, she owed Clint Barton her life. Because, that's what he did that day—he'd saved her, and she would spend every day after the fact paying her unending debt to him.

Natasha nodded to the graying green book laying on Truth's right.

"What's that?"

Truth smiled, grabbing the book and handing it to Natasha.

"Your first lesson in Greek."

When Natasha didn't take it from her, instead fighting to hold back an amused smile, Truth raised a brow at her.

"Come on," she goaded, shaking the book in front of her. "You know you want to."

With an attempt to look annoyed, Natasha grabbed it.

"Whatever. Does this mean I get one-on-one lessons with Ms. Castello?"

Truth scrunched her nose, and Natasha thought it was pretty cute.

"Ew. Don't call me that."

"Then what do I call you, Professor?"

Truth threw Natasha's pen at her head.

"Ow," Natasha complained.

"You're fine, Widow. Now, if you ever hope to have a full conversation with me in Greek, you'd better get to work."

"Yes, ma'am."

The second pen throw was expected.

Truth was a good teacher. Natasha had already known that, of course, but it was different when she was the budding student. For the most part, Natasha read to herself until Truth described the pictures of artifacts, their histories and their connection to the modern Greek language that was used today. Natasha listened intently, repeating the words Truth taught her with ease.

When Truth left in between their lesson to get a second bowl of cereal ("the lack of marshmallows in this serving could only be forgiven with another offering from the leprechaun," whatever that meant) and came back, Natasha broached a topic she'd been wondering for a few days now.

"I haven't seen you in the Canteen. Not since that first day."

Truth shrugged.

"Too loud."

Natasha tilted her head in acquiesce.

"Touché."

The only reason Natasha still went was because of Clint. But, lately, Michael Castello and Maria Hill came by to sit at their table to talk as if they were like all the other agents laughing and joking with each other. 

Almost like they were...friends.

After a while, Natasha found that she kind of liked the feeling, and after their supposed "first meeting" in the Canteen, Natasha had been rather disappointed that Truth Castello hadn't shown herself since then. She'd only ever seen the other assassin during their little midnight hang outs.

One time she had asked at breakfast, and Michael had given her the same answer as Truth had given her just then. But, if Natasha had to sit through it, she didn't see why she couldn't at least endure it with someone she wanted to get to know better.

And, maybe she didn't want the other assassin to be left out. That was nice, right?

"Still," Natasha said. "I think we can only deal with your brother by ourselves for but so long."

Truth thought about it, though she was sure that her own reasons for wanting to avoid the Canteen were a little different than Natasha's. Stopping by once or twice was okay, but after a while it got overwhelming. Because, while Truth was good at blocking out the thoughts around her, it was a little more difficult to do so in a small, crowded room where everyone was already talking over each other.

But...Natasha Romanoff was practically asking her to go. And Truth didn't see the harm, especially when she hadn't had a bad day in months.

"I suppose I could be there."

✠ ——— ✠ ——— ✠ ——— ✠