Natasha Romanoff (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
maskirovka) wrote2023-10-22 04:09 pm
maskirovka) wrote2023-10-22 04:09 pm
(no subject)
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."
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."
no subject
"I prefer whiskey, bourbon, scotch, rye, depending on my mood but I do like a good scotch." He turned then, finally getting on the freeway so it actually felt like they were getting out of the city. "But I respect the fact you drink vodka straight. I like that in a woman."
He paused a moment then. He was largely responding to her story, but that was easier than deciding what to add himself. "I only speak four languages, including English, but you're teaching me Russian."
Not true, but he knew enough Russian to make it stick, and German and French from the War.
"Used to be in the army, but I'm out now and looking for a new job."
no subject
"We met at a holiday party," she heard herself say after a beat. "Mutual friends, that sort of thing." Blabbing that they'd hooked up at a SHIELD Christmas party just wasn't smart. "Moved in together a few months later, and now want to get to work on settling down." Another beat. Two. Then, "...maybe think about adopting some kids..."
Because, thank God, different monster species had never been able to crossbreed. The DNA just wouldn't take. At least, up until this moment, as far as she knew. Oh, it'd been tried, of course, both biologically and otherwise, but thus far, zilch. Silver lining for the world, really.
"You may be looking for one of those hiking tour guide jobs," she added, quickly changing the subject. "Since you're beyond qualified for that sort of thing."
no subject
Maybe it was because she paired it with details not entirely removed from how they actually met, mixing reality and lies. Fantasy.
"It's still a conversation," he said then, dragging his eyes back to the road. "We need to find the right place for us first before we can open up that conversation can be serious."
A pause, because he dwelled on that too long.
"Probably going to need something that pays more than a tour guide, though."
apologies; been ill (again, ugh)
"The locals are going to gossip regardless of what we tell them," Natasha pointed out. "In a day or so, it won't even matter, because they'll have invented their own stories about us to share with their neighbors." She'd seen it before; small towns were the same the world over.
Flicking a glance across to the driver's seat, she couldn't help the small smile. "Don't fret over it," she quietly advised. "All of this could be academic by the time we actually get there."
Sorry for the delays. Life has been going kind of hard lately.
This was more good natured complaining.
This conversation has been the first time he's started to relax finding himself back in Natasha's company, and the cover story provided an opportunity to fantasize a little, as long as he didn't think about it too closely. To imagine what they might have been able to have between them if they weren't... them.
"And I never fret. Fretting is for old women and fathers with daughters."
no subject
Natasha placed her duffel on the loveseat, automatically taking the measure of the place as she gazed about. The weapons she'd opted to leave in the Jeep for now; no sense scaring the daylights out of the proprietors this early in the morning. The sun was already climbing - eight am and the world was waking up for the day. While she yawned; it'd been a good twenty-eight hours since she'd had any racktime.
"You need a nap?" Asked of Barnes when he came in; she was already shedding her outer jacket and then her boots. "Looks like the bed's big enough for both of us." No innuendo implied, but truly, they could each claim a side and have more than enough room for an elephant between them.
no subject
They didn't know what they were facing here, and they couldn't entirely rule out it might be aware of them somehow.
Not likely, he'd admit, but better paranoid than dead.
In that spirit, he shook his head when Natasha asked about sleeping. "I'll keep first watch," he said. In this case, not genuinely about any fear of sharing a bed. "I'll get surveillance and a parameter set up while you rest."
no subject
"Works for me," she affirmed after swallowing a yawn. Then had to add, "But wake me if anything shows up, da?" Because she wasn't going to let him have all the fun.
Fifteen minutes later, she crawled into bed in cool, near-darkness, sighing relief as exhaustion began its final approach. Of course, the reminder that James Barnes was right on the other side of the closed bedroom door didn't immediately slip away, and naturally that thought slyly segued into the last time they'd "shared" a room.
Natasha grimaced, turning over and burying her head beneath a lacy, down-filled pillow, sternly reminding herself that this was work, she needed to sleep, and the chances of Barnes slipping in beside her to again steal both her breath and her inhibitions with his heated, passion-filled kisses, strong, sure hands, and chisled, unfairly-gorgeous body were absolutely less than zero.
--and oddly enough, that final thought was somehow...disappointing.
no subject
Then, internally, he chided himself for being an idiot. She was only the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, and one of the strongest too. He wasn't even sure if it was the fact he was tempted by her invitation—to join her in the warm darkness of a shared bed—or the fact he turned her down that made him an idiot in this case. Maybe it was both.
But he'd learned his lesson about letting himself get caught up in midnight green eyes and sly smiles.
It was better for both of them if he kept his distance.
More than that, though, his instincts were screaming at him to explore the b&b, to establish his territory before he could relax. He needed to smell the air, get the lay of the land. If some of that came from the protective drive to make sure that their lair was safe for the woman currently in bed? Well.
Fuck, it's better not to think about that too deeply. Instead, he walked bout inside and outside, checking every inch of their home for the duration of this mission. Then he takes a seat on the sofa in the living room and starts unpacking and rechecking equipment. If his position puts him between the door and Natasha, it's a coincidence. Surely.
(Idiot.)
no subject
Four packs of plasma later, she scrubbed her teeth and rinsed her mouth, needing coffee now that her immediate hunger had been sated. (Wouldn't do to attack her companion for his deliciously supernatural blood, now would it?) Clad in a sensible violet sweater and black slacks, she emerged from the bedroom, sensing the twilight even through the thick curtains.
Her eye immediately went to Barnes, and Natasha swallowed a knot of sheer, pure desire. Stop it, idiot. This is work, nothing more. Leave it alone. "Hey," she heard herself say in greeting. "Everything quiet so far?"
no subject
So far, his search hadn't turned up much new.
He smelled the vampire before she appeared. As much as werewolves might complain about vampires smelling like corpses on principle, in this case it wasn't the case. Not if he was being honest. There was a faint, metallic scent, and something uniquely Natasha, all blended with rose and chocolate.
All tempting.
"Just the owner dropping by to give us some muffins and snoop a little. Normal small town nosiness. Nothing violent."
no subject
"Find anything useful?" He'd been on his laptop, no doubt digging into what online resources available. Probably not many, given the rural location of this place, but any help was better than none.
sorry for the slow replies!
He wouldn't be longing to go join her, antsy as a puppy while he waited in the next room anymore.
Bucky took a bottle of water from the table, drinking deeply before he answers.
"Define useful?" he asked with a shrug. "I think I might have found a victim that SHIELD missed. Happened a couple of weeks before the others, and it looks more like an accident. That might be something to check out. Otherwise... it's kind of FUBAR out here. Whatever's doing this, it's making a mess."
no worries; i've been down with the allergies myself ugh
She leaned over slightly to peer at the laptop screen as Bucky opened it again, deliberately ignoring how her shoulder gently pressed against his, as well as the distinctive scent that filled her nose behind the apples and cinnamon from the muffin. The body beside hers was still wonderfully thick and solid, intimating at the strength carried within it, and the vampire had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from crawling right over into the wolf's lap, computer be damned.
"Why didn't the locals report it?" she forced herself to ask. "There've been enough incidents to make a pattern, how did they miss this one?"
don't i feel that. my allergies have been insane this year
The pictures on this one are a little more lurid, though still discreet enough to offer some privacy to the victim.
"One, because it was before the timeline most people have been looking in. But mostly, it seems like the body was exposed to the elements for at least a week. They thought this tourist had gotten lost on a mountain trail. Found the body looking busted at the bottom of a ravine. The scavengers had already gotten to it by that time, so everyone assumed it was the fall and the animals that did the damage. But..."
He pulls up a map then, the confirmed kills flagged in yellow, the hiker's death in red. All together, they make a tight cluster.
"It's in our unidentified monster's hunting range, which on it's own could be a coincidence on it's own, but..."
A new tab. He's accessed the autopsy report for the hiker, side by side with a confirmed victim.
"The trauma pattern is more or less the same. Attacked from above and behind. Missing organs. I guess we can't rule out this was a mountain lion or something, the body went over a cliff and vultures got the rest. But they're similar enough not to ignore it. Plus, if it means this thing has been in the area, say, sixteen days longer than we thought, that changes our search parameters."