Chapter Text
Parole hearing. Check.
Paperwork. Check.
Personal effects. Check.
The last door opens and Steve steps into fresh air for the first time in two years.
Well, fresh is relative. This is still Jersey.
Natasha is waiting for him at the gate, leaning against a jet black Ferrari and finishing off a McDouble. Steve is a little touched that she came.
“Nice beard,” she quips, tossing a crumpled, greasy wrapper over her shoulder.
“Thanks,” Steve answers, rubbing his chin, “The razors in there were shit.”
“The ladies will dig it.”
“You know it’s not ladies I’m worried about,” Steve says, slinging his bag over his shoulder, “Where is he?”
Natasha shrugs. “I don’t know.”
She’s lying, but Steve lets it go for now.
“Did you bring me any food?”