maskirovka | (no subject)

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It was snowing in New York. Despite the weather, the city never slept. Hustle and bustle filled the still-crowded streets as citizens went about their usual habits, long-time residents more than used to the Big Apple's idiosyncrasies. Buildings were lit up like star-filled towers, and one in particular was still buzzing busily, even at such a late hour.

On the fortieth floor, two individuals occupied a fairly nondescript conference room, waiting for a third. The man, tall and dark-skinned sported a long black coat and a black eyepatch, and was slowly pacing back and forth. The woman, seated with dangerous nonchalance, was idly smoking a mint-scented cigarette, the smoke drifting around scarlet curls that cascaded around a pale, sharply aristocratic face. Cat-green eyes flicked now and again to the tall man, and it might have been a trick of the fluorescent light, but her upper lip may have lightly lifted in an expression of exasperated derision once or twice.

If so, it was irrelevant, as words had been exchanged, opinions noted (and just as quickly discarded), and decisions made. The time for talk was over. Now was the time for actions. And assignments.

And just possibly, the time to save the world.

Again.

Directory Fury glanced at the silent clock on the wall, then huffed a frustrated sigh.

The woman, Agent Romanoff, gave a light scoff, stubbing out her smoke on the table's perfect surface. Fury shot her a glare. Which she shrugged off, saying in a Russian-accented voice, "It would appear, Director, that your dog is incapable of telling time."

Fury's glare devolved into a glower. "He'll be here. Barnes is the best tracker there is."

"So you keep insisting."

The long black coat whispered as it fell still when he did. "Can it, Romanoff. You know what's at stake here. We're going to have to work together if we all want to survive."

She waved an elegant hand, crossing arms over her chest in marked defiance.

Not missing her silent indignance, Fury lifted a single eyebrow. "Mind your fangs, Romanoff. I don't want to have to put either of you into Time Out."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"We should bring some with us," he said, not as a correction or to start another argument, just as acknowledgment of a reality neither of them will enough. Whatever they're going to face, werewolves, vampires, even some fae, silver would be a useful weapon against them.

And there was no way to know if it wasn't one of their kinds, as outside of normal behavior as it might be.

At her invitation, Bucky stood and surveyed her collection. After a moment, as the full variety of weapons available fully sunk in, he let out a low whistle. He reached for one of the guns, a powerful handgun that would normally be a lot of weapon for a woman Natasha's size. Of course, she'd be more than up to handling it.

"Impressive." He put it back, though, before pulling a combat knife. "Don't usually go for weapons, though."

"In the cabinet behind you. Second shelf. Zero-one-two-four-one-eight-nine-nine." She gave a small amused huff, holding out her hand for the gun and expertly jacking the slide when Barnes passed it over. "And yes, before you ask, it's my birthday." Or so she'd always believed. It hadn't really mattered much when she'd been just a young vampire ingenue.

"You have a mouthful of teeth and an impressive set of claws," she remarked, adding a few more weapons, three boxes of silver ammunition, as well as three boxes of ultraviolet bullets too, just in case, and zipped up the duffel. "I can't imagine you'd get much use out of a trigger once you shift." More of a hindrance than a help, really.

He huffed a little at the comment about her birthday. If it was true that would make her about, what, twenty years older than he was? A little less. Not that it came as a tremendous surprise. Both werewolves and vampires could live for centuries, but werewolves tended not to have the same longevity. For those who couldn't control the wolf in them, who went rampaging every full moon, life tended to be short. Local packs would even step in to put them down, if it became necessary.

"No, if I have to shift a gun's more likely to get lost." And have been. He's had to abandon some nice weapons that way. "Hopefully it won't come to that, but considering the state of those bodies..."

He trailed off meaningfully. They might need the power that comes with the wolf shape.

"I'll send you a card for your birthday if we live through this."

"Carry one anyway," she suggested, holding out a very nice Sig, complete with belt clip and a shoulder rig, if that might be more comfortable. "All of my guns are chipped so I'll be able to locate it if you do drop it." This one was matte black, sleek, and very powerful. "It's modified to seventy-five caliber - a human couldn't fire it." Green eyes twinkled as the corner of her mouth quirked. "Somehow I don't think you'll have much of a problem."

Just...mind the tire-size hole the thing leaves in whatever it's fired at, Barnes.

Done packing her weapons, Natasha closed the armory and went to the refrigerator after placing that duffel near the other. This time she offered no comment as she packed a small collapsible cooler with cold plasma packets, adding blocks of coolant to keep them from spoiling. Sealing it, she carefully tucked it away in the bag with her clothing.

"Mind taking the artillery downstairs?"

All that was left was to turn out the lights, reset the security alarms, plural, and lock up.

Bucky hefted the duffle, shouldering it easily. Even as werewolves go, he was considered strong. His own bloodline, he supposed. It didn't matter. There wasn't any good reason for him to make her carry it.

Besides, his ma would come back from the grave to scold him for being a gentleman.

"Anything else you need to while we're here?" Bucky asked as he cast another glance around the apartment. He sniffs discreetly. "No cat?"

Joking as he said it. Among other reasons, he'd know immediately if there was another living creature in the flat. Still, the idea of this sleek, stylish vampire having a pet was unimaginable.

Closing the door behind them, Natasha turned the key in the lock, shrugging in answer. "Not one that belongs to me, no." She picked up the other duffel and headed for the elevator. "There's a stray black cat that comes around every now and then. I leave some tuna out for her."

And left the back window open on really cold nights, so the feline could come in if she wished. "I'm not really home enough to have anyone waiting for me at night."

Sadly enough.

Back in the Jeep, Natasha handed Bucky the other bags then settled back into the passenger seat, bucking her seat belt again. "We going by your place?"

"Nah," he told her as he stowed her gear. Then added, because it wasn't meant as an insult: "I live outside the city. I keep a bug out bag under the back seat in the Jeep. It's got everything I need."

Change of clothes, IDs (fake and otherwise), weapons, even some emergency rations.

One of the reasons to take his car.

"Besides, it's not this nice." He slid into the driver seat and started the engine. "I'm ready to head upstate if you are." Which meant nothing but hours on the road, the two of them, and a murderer waiting for them at the end.

"Need anything else before we go. Coffee?"

Time to get this mission truly underway. God. Natasha almost, almost considered calling Fury and telling him she couldn't do this and would take whatever scathing repercussion he wanted to throw at her, but she kept her teeth closed and her phone securely in her jacket pocket.

This was just work. She could handle it. It was just work.

But that didn't stop her sharp senses from being acutely attuned to the wolf in the driver's seat, although she thankfully managed to keep the rasp out of her voice as she shook her head with a slight smile.

"No, I'm good." Coffee would have her jittering right out of the damned seat. As it was, it was going to be a hellishly long night.

"I'll book us a room somewhere on the way," she opted, praying that the place would even have a motel that hosted online reservations. ...and would, please God, be a few levels above the last room they'd shared.

"Two rooms, if you can." Bucky pulled back into traffic. He could talk a big game, but they still had to get out of the city and it would be stop and go while he navigated.

He pretended that took more of his attention than it did so he wouldn't have to look at her face when he tried to shoot down one room. Working with her, riding in a car full of her scent, would be bad enough without having to sleep with her one bed over.

Dear god, if there was only one room let there be two beds. Otherwise he'd sleep on the floor and fucking cope with the dog jokes.

"I'd hate not to give a lady her privacy."

Two rooms. Of course. That was fair. Pulling out her phone, Natasha went online and tried to search for lodgings near to their destination, only to find that, naturally, the place was so small that none of their motels offered online booking. And Google Maps reported a lot of road construction between here and there.

Figured.

So she sighed, lowered her cell, and just stared out of the window at the passing city night, saying after a minute or so, "...we'll just have to do it when we get there." At daylight. Fuck.

The proverbial elephant in the room was a monstrous motherfucker, wasn't it.

"Hey, no problem. We're both older than online booking. We can handle having to talk to someone in person." He said that, but he didn't sound like he entirely believed it himself. He'd rather deal with people as little as possible, if he could.

But he can't help but put on a stoic face. He did sigh though, grumbling as he turns.

"It's not like we're going to a real tourist destination. I'm sure it won't be hard to get some place."

How many motels would they even have?

"If you want some music, have at it."

Trying to offer a little bit of an olive branch.

She considered calling the place, but it was already after midnight and she doubted she'd even get to a real person, or some random teenager paid to watch the front desk and read comic books. So she just let it be, putting her phone back in her pocket for now.

Smiling slightly to Barnes' offer, Natasha shook her head; no thanks. The quiet was more preferable, the sounds of tires on the road and the soft whoosh of air as they drove was music enough.

"It's all right," she told him. "I prefer the quiet."

"Sure. I can do quiet." Bucky said with his attention fixed on the road in front of them. He usually did quiet, when he was on his own. He's not the kind for a lot of talk, and usually it seemed like music left him behind decades ago.

The difference now is that sitting in silence here meant sitting awkwardly with her.

His mind tried to slip back to the last—the only—other time they'd been alone together. Alcohol warm and soft, memory slurred and vivid by turns, he remembered holding her perfect, small face between his hands and looking down at her pure green eyes. He remembered how she tasted.

And he huffed, a growly, annoyed sound, that he pretends is due to traffic, hitting the brakes a little too hard.

Barnes wasn't the only one with a vivid recall. One that had been "recalling" more than it truly needed to, honestly. Because, even keeping her eyes on the passenger window didn't hide the recollection of this powerful creature, naked and gorgeous, stealing both her breath and her willpower one dizzying kiss at the time.

She recalled how her fingernails had gripped, sinking into thick skin, and how she'd keened and moan, each sound swallowed by his hungry mouth, and his own guttural growls of her name amid other sweet endearments, such a strange combination to her eager ears.

The hard brake brought her out of her erotic reverie, and she startled, frowning slightly. And finally saying, "...yeah, turn the radio on."

He cleared his throat and reached for the radio. He turned it on and tuned it to the nearest station that didn't grate his ears, letting the volume stay low. At least it alleviated the complete silence, and some of the pressure to fill it.

Only some of it, though.

He cracks the window to let in a little fresh air, despite the cold night. It stank of the city, but didn't entirely hide the scent of vampire and woman beside him.

"Comfortable?"

The white noise was a welcome reprieve, as was the sudden rush of cold air when Barnes cracked the window. It did reek of the city, but that was fine with her. Anything was better than his unique scent, filling her nose and stirring up all those memories that were far better left locked away.

"I'm fine," she assured him when he asked. "Just...thinking. About the mission," she clarified, just to be clear. And in truth she had so many questions. "This seems to be a single creature," Natasha heard herself say. "Hopefully isolated to this specific area." Otherwise they were in trouble.

"I haven't heard any reports of anything elsewhere. Have you?" Surely Fury would have said so.

"It could just be the first." It was a grim observation, but one worth making. He couldn't help but wonder though. This thing, whatever it was, had to come from somewhere. It could be a fluke, or a weird one off, or a freak of nature. On the other hand, it could be a prototype or a monstrous weapon being commanded by a group.

He rolled his shoulders, trying to ignore a phantom ache in his left arm. It was fine now, long since healed by his superhuman biology, but that was another memory that he had a hard time shaking. One significantly less pleasant than how Natasha looked in moonlight and nothing else.

"There's only one way to find out for sure: find it, and find out where it came from."

"God, I hope not," she breathed in response to his "first" comment. Coming up against an entire group of...whatever it was definitely wasn't going to be pleasant. In all actuality, she didn't think any part of this mission was to be a walk in the park.

Speaking of...

"Do you want to use a cover for this? Or go in as badges?" Both had their pros and both had their cons. "This place seems to be...small. They may not be very helpful if a couple of supes roll in and start asking questions."

The "supernatural" movement was still met with a lot of static in some places, especially those that were rural and far from big city limits. Granted, pro-human groups were more prevalent in the larger cities, but out in the sticks, folks still "shot first and asked questions never".

But a cover, on the other hand; a couple of random supes on a vacation, or looking for a quiet place to settle - that might go over better with the locals, but there was always the personal stress of adhering to such a story. And Natasha didn't know if her constitution was entirely up for playing 'besotted vampire lover' to this particular wolf.

If there were any need for proof Bucky wasn't suited to handle this mission alone. Natasha asked about what their explanation should be, and it was clear from the moment of flat footed silence followed by the awkward clearing of his throat that the question hadn't even crossed his mind. Left to his own devices, Bucky wouldn't have explained his presence at all. Not if he could avoid it.

And if he did have to answer questions, he'd have told the truth. He usually isn't much of one for subterfuge. Easier not to say anything at all than lie; can't get caught in a lie that way.

He's not usually the one working with the local humans for a reason.

A beat or two late, he stumbled into his response. "Uh... Could just play it by ear? Not commit to anything until they ask. Maybe it's no one's business why we're there."

He glanced at her then. "If we pretend to be married, we'll definitely have to share a room."

Yeah, this wasn't much of a surprise. She glanced over at her companion, eyebrow already arched. "It's a small town, Barnes," she told him dryly. "People are gonna talk. Humans always talk. I guarantee you the entire town will know we've arrived five minutes after we park." And that wasn't an exaggeration.

"So playing it by ear isn't going to work in a situation like this one. We're going to need them to talk to us, because this isn't going to be a job we can do just by hacking around in the bushes looking for clues." And Lord help her, she was going to have to guide him along every step of the way.

But it was necessary, and Fury wouldn't have sent the both of them if they weren't up to it.

Although it was an effort, Natasha managed a shrug, "casually" tossing her ponytail back. "I don't have a problem with sharing a room." To drive the nail right into the coffin, she pointedly asked, "...do you?"

Bucky's jaw rolled a little working to one side as he chewed on his cheek. He was more interested in getting out in the bush looking for clues—getting a scent. Working with people wasn't his strength. He was a tracker, and a fighter, and he was one hell of a guy to have at your back if you needed muscle, but he wasn't...

Whatever she was. A spy.

He wasn't someone who people wanted to open up to.

"If you're all right with it, I am," he said. He glanced her direction and away from the road, his eyes lingering over the line of her throat, the way her red hair curled against her neck, before flicking up to her face. How he remembers it, he wasn't the one who couldn't stand to be in the same room after their night together. "But if you want to do the whole cover story thing, you're going to have to take the lead. That's not what I'm trained for."

"I know." Quietly said. And she did know. Barnes was a brawler, a vicious animal trained to attack on command, and a helluva bulwark to shoot around. Even as formidable as she was, Natasha knew she didn't hold a candle to the sort of damage a wolf like this was capable of.

"How about...I handle the locals and you do the ground work? We can meet in the middle, so to speak, and compare notes." A compromise, and one that possibly wouldn't end up causing more trouble than it was worth. "We'll just be a couple of city slickers out on vacation, sight-seeing, maybe looking for a place to settle down."

That way they both had a job that didn't really require the other. And it just might preserve what sanity each of them still possessed. Although Natasha just knew that some sort of monkey wrench would get tossed into the mix; her luck was just that abysmal.

"Sound good?

Bucky's nose wrinkled slightly on the description. It wouldn't be a bad cover, though, and it made sense not to announce their presence to whoever was behind this. The last thing they needed was a target on their backs.

"All right," he agreed, glancing sideways at Natasha to gauge her level of disgust at the idea. It was her idea, but considering how she'd reacted when they'd been assigned to this together he couldn't shake the feeling was an imposition. His jaw tightened, but he didn't see any horror in her at the idea. She just looked tired to him.

"Looking for a place to settle down," he continued after moment. "You can blame me for that. I'm the outdoorsy type, getting sick of all the traffic and noise."

“And neither of our families approve,” she abruptly heard herself say. And followed it with a wooden, “…but…we don’t care.” She suddenly went a bit stiff, turning away to stare unseeing out of the windshield, straight ahead. “Do we.”

Because that was the main reason why she’d been gone by sunup that fateful night. Even though she’d not counted her kin as family for decades, she still had to live with their disapproval and scorn. And her hateful matron held grudges like a miser.

Natasha had nearly paid for her decision to join SHIELD with her life; as the only female offspring of her mother’s powerful bloodline, she’d been expected to take her place in the Romanova hierarchy early on. But the young scion had seen the struggle between humanity and her kind, and had been wise enough to want to be part of the solution and not just another nail in the coffin of the problem.

Duchess Melina Romanova had not taken her daughter’s decision well.

But Bucky Barnes didn’t deserve the hell that would come from a relationship with her. Even a casual fling would be dangerous. So, after realizing the next morning that they’d been followed from the SHIELD party by one of her mother’s silent, eagle-eyed dragoons, Natasha had vanished, removing all traces of her presence.

Safer that way. Only for it to, of course, come back and bite her right in the ass.

But this was work, and not even the most hellishly insane vampire bitch-queen would be so lethally stupid as to make an overt move against the most powerful organization on the planet.

Or so Natasha hoped.

If Bucky were in his wolf shape, his ears would have pricked at her tone, the way it changes from one statement to the other, and his nose would have been in the air checking for a threat. As it was, his hackles still rose and he had to squash the urge to look over his shoulder for a tail. It's an itchy, uncomfortable sound. Maybe without the wolf's senses he wouldn't hear that flatness or sense the emotion in it—anxiety, maybe? Suspicion? He still couldn't quite put a name to it, but he felt it in his gut.

"No, we don't," he told her firmly. They're just writing the story. No need to take it too personally, right? No need to read into it. Still, he found himself adding, "And not all of our family. My sister Rebecca and her kids adore you."

Rebecca was the only one of his sisters still alive, and her daughters were in their sixties, nearly in their seventies. They're also the only part of Bucky's living family to make contact with him when he came back from the war changed, to accept him as he was instead of as he'd left.

He was pretty sure if they were really married, they would accept Natasha.

"If we did settle up here, they'd visit around Christmas."

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happy new year! ❤️

Happy New Year!

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