Chapter Text
Rose Phillips was an ambitious woman with little that satisfied her hunger for success. It’s how she became the top vice detective in all of Brooklyn, busting more drug rings and corrupt businesses than she could count on both hands. No case thrown her way could stop her from completing it to the end. It was both a blessing and a flaw, not only for herself but for any partner that attempted at working with her. She preferred working alone, less frustration on both people and more satisfaction when she solved the case single handedly.
Today was any other work day. 6am wake up. Get properly dressed, to be dressed appropriately equals professionalism, especially being a woman in the police force in the 1950’s. Can’t give them another reason to doubt her skills or what's the point? Next, is a slice of toast, coated in butter and a thin layer of jelly. Brush teeth for 10 minutes before heading off with the taste of toothpaste lingering between her teeth as the air passed through her mouth to her lungs.
Painfully fresh.
The walk to work was mere blocks, a brilliant fortune when it came to bus expenses let alone owning a car, but in winter it was the devil’s curse. Snow and heels never mixed but again, appearance was too important to dismiss for frostbitten limbs.
The station was nothing special, a quant brick building tucked away in the corner of the skyscrapers and upcoming business buildings, strictly meant for the vice department as there were numerous stations all over New York. It wasn’t unknown but wasn’t booming with cases like the homicide department had been over the course of the last three months, bodies piling mysteriously, beaten to a pulp with an unidentifiable weapon. Sometimes she missed that kind of thrill, catching serial killers was always something that was frightful and irritating but so rewarding when the jury spoke the verdict.
‘Guilty’
It was always a good week after an ending like that.
7am sharp, the glass doors were pushed open by freshly clipped and filed nails, not a speck of dirt daring to tread in the shining nail beds. There was a main desk in the center of the entrance, three rows neatly lined behind it. A staircase led up to the Chief’s office at the back of the rows, another led to the basement where the coroner stayed with the freezers of bodies, waiting to discuss their unspoken secrets with a bone chilling whisper.
“Chief wants to see you in his office, Phillips.” A fellow vice detective grumbled, his head not moving from the newspaper in his hands, as she weaved through rows of desks.
Rose merely waved in acknowledgement, setting her purse and coat on top of the desk. Set up closest to the set of staircases, the metal top was adorned with a Royal typewriter, sharpened pencils and pens filled with new ink in a spare coffee mug. Neat and clean, leaving plenty of room for the long hours of paperwork and case reviews.
“Where the fuck is Phillips?” The voice dripped with irritation and control issues.
Chief Stark. Cocky asshole knee deep in money from his father’s brilliant inventions and charm. He was incredibly full of himself, knowing he would get his way if he pissed the right person off enough. Rose had met his acquaintance three years ago when she got promoted to Vice, her ego surely would fit into the department he first thought seeing how she carried herself. A stubborn child he viewed her as and that hasn’t changed. He treated Rose like a distant stepchild, growing protective of her maternally, despite how much she annoyed him while in each other’s presence. It was a love hate relationship but at the end of the day it worked. She did her job with the least amount of problems to clean up and that’s all that mattered.
A quick stop for a fresh cup of coffee from the lounge was much needed before dealing with the headache that had already started, pulsing in her temples with pressure. Straight black with four spoonfuls of sugar, no more, no less.
The front receptionist joined Rose at the stained counter, lips mouthing a silent ‘Good luck.’ as she left the lounge, the burn of the mug along her fingers unnoticed now.
Chief Stark stood at the top of the stairs in a black suit with a red metallic undershirt that was so bright it could be identified as a highlighter. A black tie settled the tone down with little effort and his prized sunglasses rested in the crevice of the shirt, laying flat against his chest. His foot tapped impatiently as his fingers grew white from gripping the banister too hard, a scowl frowned on his face like a disappointed father, “You’re late.”
“No, you’re just a pain in my ass.”, Rose threw her hands up, waving the ceramic coffee cup in his direction as she climbed the steps to his office, “Can’t a lady grab some coffee before getting scolded?”
The comment certainly earned her a few looks, the normal response being a smack to the cheek or worse punishments. Rose was no ordinary woman though. Born and raised in the depths of Jersey City, she was taught many great things. First one to not take anyone's bullshit regardless of their status. Touch her in disrespect and she’d return the favor before anyone could blink. No one wanted to deal with that mess unless the chief said so but more often than not kept his mouth shut, silently strangling her in his mind. He needed her and she damn well knew it.
“Shut up and sit down.”, Stark demanded as Rose stepped into the cluttered office.
The office was stacked with manilla folders, placed along the multitude of tables surrounding the central desk. At least ten file cabinets lined the room, folders peaking through the opening at the top of the draw, bulging at the unorganized paperwork inside. Personal awards and pictures hung along the blue painted walls along with trophies from past cases handed over as mantel pieces to brag about to fellow colleagues or women of his interest. The thought of the number of women straddled along the desk sent bile rising at the back of her throat. She didn’t want to think about what the stains on the floor were from.
Rose threw herself into one of the two guest chairs, the leather huffing as she sat with sudden force. She sipped on her coffee with a sickly sweet smile that always pissed Stark off, especially during the beginning of a morning shift. It gave her great pleasure, “So, what’s my punishment for today boss?”
His patience already thin, he pointed towards the central desk as he shoved a stack of folders in one of the file cabinets next to the door, “Read it.”
Her eyes landed on a set of four manilla folders, three of them opened with a photo and pages upon pages of information. She picked up the folder he had pointed at labeled, sloppily written with her name on the front. Upon opening was a single sheet of paper, barely a quarter of the page full of words.
Year: 1952
Location: Brooklyn, New York.
Assignment: James Buchanan Barnes.
Her face had blanked, flipping the paper over a few times, "What is this?"
"Your assignment."
"There’s barely a sentence worth of words on here.”
“I see that.”
Her brows raised, barely holding back the smirk that quipped at her lips, “I think you need glasses then Chief because this tells me nothing.”
Stark shook his head as he pointed a finger at her like a parent to a small child, “You know if you weren’t as good at your job as you are, I’d kick you to the back with Dr. Banner and let you piss him off instead. Play with the corpses for a day and see how much of a smart ass you are then.”
“Awh, was that supposed to be intimidating chief? I’m shaking in my whittle boots.”
The smirk grew into a grin at his growing irritation for her, huffing under his breath trying to contain himself from feeding more into her satisfaction, “ Back to discussing the case. James Buchanan Barnes has been sighted in Brooklyn again. His accomplices aren’t far behind him either, in fact they’ve been glued to his side since his return.”
Rose opened the remaining folders as he continued, “Sam Wilson, nickname - The Falcon, manages security. Can turn off any security camera with the flick of his wrist. Heard he carries a pet drone around as well. Weird but alright. Anyway, he's helped Barnes move around undetected for years-"
Samuel Thomas Wilson
Known Alias’: The Falcon
DOB: June 24, 1914
Height: 6’3ft
Eye color: Brown
Military background with specialties in wingsuit flight and drones.
Rose read over his background, eyes skimming fluidly over the pages of words before landing on the mugshot clipped in the corner of the paper. Eyes hard with emotionless void filled into the hazel brown swirls. Nothingness stared back at her, projecting a warning to be careful. This man had nothing holding him back from doing anything that had to be done whether he was asked to or not. He’d get the job done and clean his hands of it without a second thought.
She closed the folder, placing it underneath the others on her lap, opening the next one as Stark continued in the background.
"-Steve Rogers, famously known as Captain America, the tank of the team and Barnes' long time friend. He can handle getting hit by a canon and still be standing as if it never hit him. Packs hell of a punch too-"
The scenes of gore hit her view first as she pushed open the sleeve, pictures upon pictures of bodies pulverized in different settings. Rose had closed her eyes at the sight, taking a moment to swallow the heaviness that flooded her. These must’ve been the bodies homicide had been talking about. It connected perfectly if Stark had been right with his intel. A man with power such as he spoke of, could easily do the things the pictures portrayed.
She moved the photos to the back of the folder, moving to the information on the paper beneath.
Steven Grant Rogers
Known Alias’: Captain America
DOB: July 4, 1918
Height: 6’2ft
Eye Color: Blue
Military background with specialties with hand in hand combat, shields and guns.
Contains super soldier serum.
Unlike Wilson, the man in the mugshot looked like America’s sweetheart. The image of every girl's dream guy with the golden blonde hair and smug smirk that flowed with charm and compliments. He knew he could have you in the palm of your hand and it showed greatly. But there was something hidden behind it all. Sadness maybe? It was impossible to tell off of a blurred picture.
"-And finally, James Barnes, The Winter Soldier. He’s the guy we want.”
Blue piercing eyes jumped out at her with an icy chill. So much anger radiated from the image. An emotion as dangerous as fire. Hard to distinguish its flames, spreading its terror in a blaze of uncontrollable destruction. This man was certainly the deadliest of the three.
“Yeah I caught that from the ‘report’. Says his name right here.” Rose quoted, her eyes never lifting from the pages on her lap.
James Buchanan Barnes
Known Alias’: Bucky, The Winter Soldier
DOB: March 10, 1917
Height: 6’0ft
Eye Color: Blue
Military background with specialties of knives, hand to hand combat, and snipers.
Captured by Hydra and brainwashed into an elite super soldier. Unstable and extremely dangerous.
Contains super soldier serum.
Stark gave her a smack of the head with one of the folders earning a mere eyeroll, “He’s the one that runs the show. Arms of steel, quite literally. Lost his left arm during the war, replacing it with a full functioning vibranium prosthetic. How he got his hands on it we’ll never know. He mostly sits around and looks pretty, plays with prostitutes, your usual gist."
Rose sighed at the pounding in her head, chugging the rest of her coffee down in attempts to settle it. It had grown cold, the bitterness deepening with every gulp, “Alright, so what’s the official assignment because I still have yet to know.”
This is where Stark shot her a knowing smirk, pleased that it was his chance to piss her off, “Well my little ray of sunshine, by becoming a courtesan.”
A courtesan, also known as a prostitute for the wealthy. Something she had no familiarity with.
Her brow rose, “Excuse me?”
Stark held a hand up to silence the fit that was about to come his way, “Let me explain before you try to punch me.” He continued his distracted pacing, eyes nailed to the carpet beneath his feet as his mouth moved with ease yet his body remained tense, “Barnes has been seen hanging at a gentlemen’s club near Albert’s dinner. It’s hidden in the back of the antique shop roughly a block down.” He stood in front of her now, arms against his chest as he leaned his back against the center desk, “What we need from you is to go undercover as one of the girls, show a little leg, maybe more if you feel that’ll move things along quicker, get nice and coz-”
“The point please Chief.” Rose gritted her teeth, nails scraping against the leather arm rests.
Stark flashed another look of annoyance but held in any snarky reply, “Long story short, we - I need you to get inside his head, make him question his loyalty. If he’s vulnerable then he’ll be easy to cuff and lock away for what he’s done. Then we can move on to his accomplices because as long as they’re out, he’ll be free in a matter of weeks of being thrown in a cell. So this needs to be done quietly and quickly. By any means necessary Rose.”
A chuckle exhaled from her throat, a squint of her eye and her lips snipped up, “Is this a joke? Did the guys set you up to do this? Or was it Lorraine? It was, wasn't it? I knew that look meant something when she walked by me in the lounge-”
“Enough!”, The air stilled with her dying giggles, a silence filling the space around them awkwardly as he stared at her with a glint in his eye she couldn’t decipher, “This is very serious Rose and you’re the only person I know who can handle it.”
This case meant more than catching a group of serial maniacs. It was personal and she was the only person he had to trust with this, even if the truth was hidden from her.
But Rose was stubborn, too stubborn for her own good, “I’m no whore and I don’t plan on being one no matter the case.”
She knew she was being mildly dramatic. He didn’t order her to do any sexual favors to help the case but the implication struck a nerve.
“Grow the fuck up and do your job or get out then, I don’t have patience anymore for your bullshit.” Stark was at the brink of having an emotional breakdown and Rose finally bit her tongue seeing the shake of his body, sucking on her teeth angrily, “Honestly I could give a shit less on how you do it, just get it done.” A calloused hand stuck out in front of her holding a business card, gold etched letters showcasing an address and name along the white cardstock, “Here’s the address for the place and the word needed to get in the back. I already made arrangements with one of the girls there. She’ll supply you with the necessary.. garments you’ll be needing and anything else you’ll need to know for the job. Now get to work.”
He didn’t have to tell her twice, leaving with a slam of the door, heels clicking obnoxiously on the metal staircase. Grabbing the recently placed coat and purse, she stomped out of the station, ears steaming. She mumbled angrily to herself as she walked down the block, too stubborn to wave down a taxi.
Big mistake.
It took multiple wrong turns and asking fellow pedestrians for directions as she was aware of her newly founded conflict, she was god awful at finding new places.
The neon diner sign illuminated a few feet away in her vision, declaring she was in the right area.
Finally.
A breath of relief huffed out as the worn down storefront came into view.
Brooklyn Antiques .
The bell chimed as she entered, alerting the elderly woman in front of the register of her presence.
“Good morning dear, how can I be of help?” She cooed sweetly, too sweet for Rose’s liking .
Rose tried not to look suspicious as she analyzed the woman, “I'm just looking, thank you."
She walked around aimlessly, sweat building along her back from her body cooling, looking at dusty rows of junk. The card Stark had given her was hidden in her sleeve, the gold shimmering against the light, showcasing the code words when she snuck a peak.
Rose peered at the woman, watching her from the corner of her eye as she spoke, "Wonderful weather isn’t it?", The woman paused her movements for a moment, watching Rose pick up a glass dove from one of the shelves, "But I always carry an umbrella. Never know when it may rain.”
The woman's face didn't falter from the polite smile, she just gave a simple nod before turning, playing with the books along the shelf behind the register. A clicking noise was heard, revealing a door along the wall beside Rose. The hidden entrance was camouflaged to match the wall full of knickknacks and dust covered trinkets.
"Madame Romanoff is expecting you."
Rose nodded in silent thanks, cautiously stepping through the opening. A multitude of locks followed behind as it shut with an ear piercing creak, the hinges rusted and needing a slippery coat of grease.
It was eerily quiet, the velvet walls and carpet absorbed most of the sound that passed through. The only sound that could be heard was a distant hum of movement ahead. Rose reluctantly followed it, her right hand gliding across the gun holstered to her hip. A safeguard for her if things went south. She hoped it wouldn’t for her own sake, there was enough blood on her hands.
The hallway opened up to a small ballroom, an old speakeasy, repurposed to match the high clientele. If it wasn’t what it was, Rose may call it beautiful. The floors were lined with the same velvet carpeting as the hallway, the walls painted in red and gold accents. Glass chandeliers covered the ceiling with swoops of black silk, leaving a shadowed golden warmth among the room. There were four sections of long couches, a circular table in the middle adorned with cigar boxes and lighters. Leading away from the sections was another hallway lined with doors. Rose easily guessed those were for more private requests or for business discussions that couldn’t risk being overheard. There was a staircase that led up to two rooms, the doors covered with sparkly fabric as a privacy barrier. Dressing rooms most likely for the working girls.
A voice broke her away from her thoughts, "You must be Rose."
Her eyes rose to meet a woman standing along the rail on the second floor, dressed in a floor length black gown, her thigh exposed from the slit that ran up the side.
"Natasha I presume."
"Indeed I am." Her eyes skimmed Rose's body with pleasure, she'll do well here, "Please, join me up here. I must give you the grand tour."
Rose wearily climbed the steps, eyes trained on her still figure. She was slender, making her appear taller than she was. 5’5 if Rose had to guess but the heels added a few inches making her tower over the detective with confident ease. Fire red hair was curled past her ears, resting an inch above her shoulders with pearl earrings studded in her lobes.
Gloved arms opened in welcome, her voice echoing in the empty space, "Welcome to my Moulin Rouge, a place for the wealthiest of men to lavish in their wildest fantasies.”
Rose wasn't sure what to make of the woman just yet. So far she was polite, full of sophisticated poise but something lurked behind her eyes. Whether it was good or bad, Rose had yet to be sure.
"It's..lovely Natasha."
"Please, call me Nat. You're one of us now. I'd like to think we could even become friends."
Rose smiled politely, biting back the sarcasm that coated her tongue, "Unfortunately in my line of work you don't make friends, just enemies."
A devilish grin grew on her painted lips, "Even better."
