Getting shot was no joke. She could definitely attest to that. And as long as that maniac had that pistol in his hand, she wasn't going to present a target, damnit. Slithering back around the driver she'd felled, Natasha crouched amid the corn stalks, silently counting as she waited for Barnes to handle the second shooter.
She knew how good he was, how deadly he could be, and it didn't surprise her in the slightest that there was absolutely no noise, other than the night breeze rustling the stalks, and when she eased up to gain enough of a vantage point, nothing else stirred other than the still-spinning tires on the overturned vehicle.
Her victim gave another groan, swimming up from unconsciousness, and she bludgeoned him again, leaving him limp amid the stalks. She gave a low whistle, scarcely audible, but she knew her partner would hear, and signal the all clear.
Bucky spent too long being an assassin; he'll never do that again as long as he lives. But he'll allow himself to shoot someone if it keeps his people safe. Kill them? No, he can't do that. But he's no fool.
The second shooter is there, apparently unaware of how close by Bucky is. But he's too close to Natasha for Bucky's comfort, and it's probably only because he's so used to moving in absolute silence that he's able to sneak up behind the man completely effortlessly, slamming him to the ground.
The man shouts in surprise, but he's unconscious before he hits the ground, and Bucky is quick to pick up the pistol with his metal hand, crushing it like it's made of putty. He drops it to the ground, because even when the guy wakes up, he's not going to be much of a threat with a destroyed weapon. A quick pat down ensures there aren't any other weapons on the man, not even a knife, so Bucky leaves, whistling his own all-clear.
He circling around to avoid going in the direction he came before he meeting up with Natasha, giving her a right-handed salute.
Killing was for amateurs. And it was damned difficult to get any sort of information out of a corpse. She waited until Bucky signaled the all-clear, then emerged from the cornstalks and approached the ruin of the SUV, gazing at it with more than little bit of pique.
"Thanks," she told the other assassin shortly; she was still peeved at herself for not double checking their backtrail after leaving the bar. "Any ID on this goon? The other one was clean. No wallet, no credit cards, nothing." Her brow furrowed. "But neither one of them is the possible Fed, so who are they?"
She could have contacted FRIDAY and had the AI run scans on both men, but even Stark's signal was patchy way out here. So they were on their own for the moment.
"None," Bucky says, clearly annoyed. "Didn't even have anything on him other than the gone. Whoever they are, they're careful." He looks to the unconscious shooter with interest. "Whoever they are, their employers couldn't have told them much about us. It's pretty strange, dontcha think? It's not like either of us are much of a secret." It was oddly a small ambush, even for some of the lesser known members of the Avengers.
And it's not like Bucky and Natasha are unknown. "We probably shouldn't stick around. It's probably a trap. Even if they weren't expecting us to take them out so easily."
Strange, indeed. A deep frown appeared between her eyebrows, a sure sign of irritation, but Natasha just shook her head, making no further sense out of the mess. She did, however, police her brass, picking up as many spent shells as she could find, even out in the cornfield.
"The local dispatch can deal with this," she remarked, stepping back over to Bucky. "No doubt whoever owns this field will come out and investigate, so you're right--we should probably get moving." Giving a mild toss of her curls, Natasha turned on one heel and strode back for the motorcycle, still wondering as to the reason for this strange encounter.
The intel they'd been sent to retrieve was still safe, and no one had thought the mark well enough off to have private security. He'd been keeping his information in the wrong place, if so. But the profiles on that list were secure in her suit pocket, so Natasha waited for Bucky to clamber astride before sliding on again, lost in thought as she settled against his back for the ride back to the jet.
"Sounds like a fair bet," Bucky agrees. "People don't take kindly to trespassing around here." At least, they hadn't in the past. But he doubts something like this has changed, even with how big open, rural areas have remained. He's too much of a city boy, even now. He listens carefully in the darkness, for anything suspicious. He doesn't hear anything, just the slight wind through the corn.
"There's always something new for us to look for, isn't there?" he mutters, sighing. "I'm glad I'm not the one who has to sort through all of the data," he admits, swinging his leg over the motorcycle. He revs up the engine, though he doesn't exactly fall silent for long. "Makes me glad I'm one of the ones they send in when they don't want anything noticed."
He's a sniper; Bucky is patient, and capable of keeping still long enough that most people would go insane. But to pick apart the mysteries? He'll never do it.
Natasha snorted a soft chuckle before the roar of the bike's engine obscured it. "You don't have the patience for information triage," she teased lightly, giving his torso a brief, quick squeeze. "We use computers for that nowadays."
But her amusement was short-lived, pondering over this new circumstance. Granted, people out to kill her--and Barnes wasn't exactly a small target, himself--wasn't anything new, but why here, in this backwater town? Suddenly she wanted to get back and analyze the drive that she'd filched as soon as possible.
"Give it all you got, soldat--let's get outta here."
He laughs, a breathy huff of a noise. "No. I'm not really a computer guy," Bucky admits. Because it's true, because he barely uses the strange, flat modern devices that people call phones.
Their situation is too tense, though, for him to make many jokes about it. Natasha is right; they need to get out of here as quickly as possible. He presses his foot on the gas, tensing, ready for a fight, even if in the middle of the night in the dark, the chances of them being ambushed again is pretty remote. He hopes so, anyway.
He doesn't stop driving until he's certain the only sound around them, besides the crickets and wind, is the rumble of the bike's engine.
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maskirovka) wrote2018-04-08 02:44 pm
♥
She knew how good he was, how deadly he could be, and it didn't surprise her in the slightest that there was absolutely no noise, other than the night breeze rustling the stalks, and when she eased up to gain enough of a vantage point, nothing else stirred other than the still-spinning tires on the overturned vehicle.
Her victim gave another groan, swimming up from unconsciousness, and she bludgeoned him again, leaving him limp amid the stalks. She gave a low whistle, scarcely audible, but she knew her partner would hear, and signal the all clear.
no subject
The second shooter is there, apparently unaware of how close by Bucky is. But he's too close to Natasha for Bucky's comfort, and it's probably only because he's so used to moving in absolute silence that he's able to sneak up behind the man completely effortlessly, slamming him to the ground.
The man shouts in surprise, but he's unconscious before he hits the ground, and Bucky is quick to pick up the pistol with his metal hand, crushing it like it's made of putty. He drops it to the ground, because even when the guy wakes up, he's not going to be much of a threat with a destroyed weapon. A quick pat down ensures there aren't any other weapons on the man, not even a knife, so Bucky leaves, whistling his own all-clear.
He circling around to avoid going in the direction he came before he meeting up with Natasha, giving her a right-handed salute.
no subject
"Thanks," she told the other assassin shortly; she was still peeved at herself for not double checking their backtrail after leaving the bar. "Any ID on this goon? The other one was clean. No wallet, no credit cards, nothing." Her brow furrowed. "But neither one of them is the possible Fed, so who are they?"
She could have contacted FRIDAY and had the AI run scans on both men, but even Stark's signal was patchy way out here. So they were on their own for the moment.
"Find anything else interesting?"
no subject
And it's not like Bucky and Natasha are unknown. "We probably shouldn't stick around. It's probably a trap. Even if they weren't expecting us to take them out so easily."
no subject
"The local dispatch can deal with this," she remarked, stepping back over to Bucky. "No doubt whoever owns this field will come out and investigate, so you're right--we should probably get moving." Giving a mild toss of her curls, Natasha turned on one heel and strode back for the motorcycle, still wondering as to the reason for this strange encounter.
The intel they'd been sent to retrieve was still safe, and no one had thought the mark well enough off to have private security. He'd been keeping his information in the wrong place, if so. But the profiles on that list were secure in her suit pocket, so Natasha waited for Bucky to clamber astride before sliding on again, lost in thought as she settled against his back for the ride back to the jet.
no subject
"There's always something new for us to look for, isn't there?" he mutters, sighing. "I'm glad I'm not the one who has to sort through all of the data," he admits, swinging his leg over the motorcycle. He revs up the engine, though he doesn't exactly fall silent for long. "Makes me glad I'm one of the ones they send in when they don't want anything noticed."
He's a sniper; Bucky is patient, and capable of keeping still long enough that most people would go insane. But to pick apart the mysteries? He'll never do it.
no subject
But her amusement was short-lived, pondering over this new circumstance. Granted, people out to kill her--and Barnes wasn't exactly a small target, himself--wasn't anything new, but why here, in this backwater town? Suddenly she wanted to get back and analyze the drive that she'd filched as soon as possible.
"Give it all you got, soldat--let's get outta here."
no subject
Their situation is too tense, though, for him to make many jokes about it. Natasha is right; they need to get out of here as quickly as possible. He presses his foot on the gas, tensing, ready for a fight, even if in the middle of the night in the dark, the chances of them being ambushed again is pretty remote. He hopes so, anyway.
He doesn't stop driving until he's certain the only sound around them, besides the crickets and wind, is the rumble of the bike's engine.