The downsides of changing in a car

Sometimes Natasha dwelled on the past. It was something of a character flaw; everything that had happened made her who she was, even if it was better to focus on what was happening in the present.

It was hard not to think back to Stark, that business with Vanko, way before even the Avengers had been formed. It was a far cry from her current mission, tracking down someone who’d broken into an Avengers compound, but there were some similarities.

“Drive!” she said.

She’d been undercover at the company they were fairly sure bore some connection to those responsible to get what intel she could. Then her cover had been blown, and she’d needed to resort to this, a company driver she’d befriended; she knew where they’d be heading sooner or later, she just had to get there.

And ideally get there as Black Widow than Natalie Romero. She shook her head to discard the black wig she wore, tugging the hairnet beneath off, revealing vibrant red locks. She threw the disguise aside and shook her hair free, adjusting it so it fell vaguely naturally.

Then she reached for her briefcase, using a fingerprint-scanner in the handle to unlock the narrow, hidden compartment where her catsuit and all its myriad, useful weapons were hidden. Perfect.

The driver was staring in the central mirror, apparently caught off-guard by the fact she was a redhead.

“Drive!” Nat said, snapping slightly. They couldn’t fall behind.

This might be why she’d ended up thinking of Stark again, this was just like back then, though it wasn’t like that was the only time she’d ever had to do a quick-change.

She pulled her top off over her head, and started shimmying out of her pants, both more designed to go undercover at a business than to fight. She threw them on top of her wig, leaving herself in nothing but matching black underwear, the contrast stark against her pale skin.

“Hey, focus on the road!” she said.

She reached for her Black Widow costume, rather aware that the driver was still enjoying the view of her bra-clad cleavage in the mirror. Figured.

She glowered briefly, then shook the folds out of her catsuit, quickly finding the neck. Bare thighs brushed against the car seat.

And then the driver, too busy ogling the half-naked Avenger, neglected to turn and crashed into a tree.

Nat yelped, instincts swiftly making her adopt the brace position; the seat in front of her took most of the blow, though she was trained enough to know that didn’t mean the problem wasn’t over. Without knowing what happened to the engines, she might have seconds or minutes before the fuel ignited.

Shit, shit, shit, shit.

She took a deep breath and rolled around, back against the car seat, to kick at the window with booted feet; it cracked. She tried again.

The one advantage to shoes was that they were a good place to conceal handy tech, like a point in the sole strong enough to breath even resistant glass.

It always amazed her how quickly she seemed to think in situations like this. The car had been a split second away from crashing when she’d realised and started turning, and the had thrown her catsuit from her hands, but she’d already been turning to kick the window.

When the glass shattered, her outfit had been flung to the front of the car, not even quite landed.

Her priority needed to be getting outside, assess the damage, then worry about whether she could reclaim her gadgets. Never mind that she’d be outside without a car in god-only-knows where with nothing but black underwear, boots and a smile on.

She kicked again to clear out most of the excess glass, then quickly herself forwards, lithe body sliding through the opening, inch of pale skin after inch.

And despite her training, she couldn’t help but tense for a moment as she felt something snag. No, just no, she couldn’t end up with even less on could she?