The steady whooshing of cars, and the occasional horn, flittered through the open windows, immersing the apartment in the bustling metropolitan city lying in wait just outside its thick walls.

Mina Walsh wedged the color sample up against the chipped white doorframe with a furrowed brow, giving the rather bland choices a shrewd eye. The landlord offered three choices: yellow, brown, and green—all of which could be successfully peed, pooped, or regurgitated by an infant. Great.

Between the water marked walls and dingy ceiling, one would think the landlord had bigger fish to fry than splitting hairs over whether her walls were pale blue or fuchsia. It wasn't like the old man wasn't getting free labor or anything, she thought sarcastically.

"Which one are you thinking?" Natasha drawled. The lack of any real interest was obvious.

"Do you really care?" Mina ventured.

"Nope."

Mina chuckled. Shifting the phone between her ear and shoulder, she tossed the color sample on the counter and leaned against the linoleum. "Figured as much."

Natasha sighed.

"What's going on, Tash?" Mina poured a healthy glass of wine and took a swig. To anyone else her sister's sigh didn't mean anything more than mild annoyance, but she knew better. Something was up.

"I think I've been compromised."

Mina promptly set down her wine and stood at attention, ready to move into action the moment Natasha gave the word. "What do you need?" she asked, without hesitation.

"Advice." Natasha went silent. "I have a giant, green situation."

All tension evaporated from Mina's shoulders. With a slight shake of her head, she snapped up her wine and collapsed into a wicker chair on the balcony. "You better be talking about that little green monster called 'Envy' and not Bruce Banner's hot green pepper."

Natasha scoffed. "Real mature. You sound like Stark," the older Romanoff chided. "I'm being serious, Nina."

As she threw back the last of her wine, Mina failed to recount the last time Natasha had called her by her birth name. The fact that her sister made such a slip revealed how discombobulated Tash appeared to be.

After escaping Red Room Academy, young Nina Anastasia Romanov was erased and replaced by the straight-laced, school teacher Mina Jean Walsh. All traces of her past life were carefully concealed, and then deep-sixed. It took a few years to form some semblance of normalcy, to break free from the thoughts and tendencies the Academy had embedded in her psyche: fear, pain, kill. But then, she was only thirteen-years-old when Natasha swept down, with the help of S.H.I.E.L.D., and rescued her.

Mina can still recall the deep feelings of anger and resentment aimed at her sister for going rogue. The Red Room had been filled with her screams after confirmation of her sister's deflection emerged. Gospozha Zima subjected her to the worst types of torture imaginable in retaliation for the older Romanov's betrayal. That woman had a taste for blood and was skilled in the art of pain, but Zima took her time avoiding any permeant damage to Mina's skin, of course.

When the time came, Mina's younger self definitely didn't make her extraction easy for Natasha. Nina Romanov could only be described as being her own worst enemy back then.

Once placed in a S.H.I.E.L.D. safe house, rehabilitation began, and it turned out to be a long road. The skilled archer, Clint Barton, was invaluable during that dark time. There were many manic episodes. A lot of bullets. A lot of blood. Mina evened out eventually, though.

Settling back into the chair, Mina played with the glass stem of her now empty cup.

Deciding not to call attention to the name slip-up, she listened dutifully as her sister surged ahead, the latter not noticing the sudden silence on the other end of the line.

Plunging into the implications of having genuine feelings for a member of the opposite sex, much less a fellow team member, Natasha divulged it all. A conflicting situation for the Black Widow to be sure. Her sister didn't do complicated.

One hour and four glasses of wine later Mina was thoroughly enjoying a lush kind of buzz; the sort only a good bottle of wine afforded. Best girl-talk alcoholic beverage. Period.

"Well, you'll have to keep me updated, it's been too long, Tash." Mina stumbled out of the chair and took her time bringing her glass to the sink. "You can always put your Avenging on hold to come visit me, you know?"

"Vacation in Bucharest? Where do I sign up?"

Natasha's reply was dry, but Mina heard the smile lingering in her sister's voice regardless.

Simply grinning in return she muttered, "Whatever."

"I'll think about it. Talk to you later, Mina."

"Yeah, well, I'll be holding you to that. Night. Stay safe."

Mina hung up the phone before tossing it somewhere in the general direction of her couch. The apartment was in various states of disarray: moving boxes littered the room, as far as the eye can see, surrounded by an ocean of bubble wrap and newspapers. A collection of art deco for her classroom, plus some extra supplies, were piled in a far corner.

Well, this isn't daunting or anything, she mused.

Mina put her hands on her hips and sighed.

"Should've used my womanly wiles and the promise of pizza and beer on those bulky Romanian movers to help a girl out. Opportunity missed . . ." she trailed off, feeling put out.

A sudden series of knocks dimmed her buzz.

She shuffled over to the door and looked through the peephole; the narrow, greasy face of her landlord stared back. Feeling the slightest trace of frustration, she pulled open the door.

"Evening, Mr. Albu."

"Missus Mina," the old man greeted, accent thick. "Need inside. New neighbor needs water and the access is in your unit."

She looked over her shoulder at her messy apartment, then down at her frumpy, woolen Minnie Mouse sweater—a going away gift from her students—followed by her yoga pants, which hugged her butt in ways that made her uncomfortable in present company.

"Oh, um, sure—"

Giving her a stiff nod, he pushed his way inside before she could say anything else.

"Come on in," she finished in a whisper.

The landlord put his work bag down and rummaged through the tools.

Clearly dismissed, Mina went ahead and peeked out into the hall, trying to catch a glimpse of the new neighbor. Hopefully it wasn't some sketchy character, or shoddy musician whose passion to master their art meant late night jam sessions.

That would just be her luck.

To her disappointment the hallway was empty, leaving her to imagine the worst until proven otherwise.

"All done."

The unmistakable sound of metal tipped boots smashing against the hardwood made the gruff announcement from behind her expected, and she sidestepped Mr. Albu right before he breezed past her. Without preamble the plump landlord marched over to the apartment next to hers.

"You have a lovely night, too," Mina said to the air, not even attempting to lower her voice this time.

A couple seconds later, in her wine induced sluggishness, she pushed off the wall, finding herself grappling at the doorframe for support. Perhaps she was more buzzed than she realized.

Mina shook her head, trying to stay focused. The best thing was to plan simple: retrace her steps. Make it to her mattress, at least. She'd worry about putting sheets on tomorrow.

By the time Mr. Albu came back out of the neighboring unit, exchanging words with a separate disembodied voice, she had barely managed to move more than an inch or two. As if in slow motion she spared one last glance at the hallway.

There, standing a mere five feet away, was the last person she anticipated.

The Winter Solider.

A/N: Reviews welcome!

Mina Walsh-23

...

Mandatory disclaimer: Everything in the Marvel Universe—Marvel, and its characters belongs to Marvel Comics, etc... Similarities to the original characters or themes from the movies and/or comics are used on here for entertainment purposes only. No profit is being made. No infringement intended.

All I claim is the made up OC, Mina.