A/N: Here is the promised story of what happened in Budapest. Or at least my version of it. Hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with the Avengers, Marvel or any of their characters except for the DVD. I'm just playing with them for a while. If I had a position of authority within the franchise, Hawkeye and Black Widow would already have their own movies as would Ruffalo as Bruce Banner. The OCs do belong to me though.
Many thanks to ladygris and Lady Pandora for the tag-team Beta.
Spoiler: For Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Namaste,
Sunny (Formerly Sandy)
Avengers
Budapest
Chapter 1
Budapest, Hungary
SHIELD Safe House
Several Years Ago
Budapest, Hungary was much like any other big city on Earth. The affluent separated themselves from those less fortunate, as if being middle class or poor would rub off on them. Not that all wealthy individuals thought the same, but for the most part, they only associated with those they considered below their station in a service capacity, and only because they had to.
Having spent much of his life prior to joining SHIELD in the service industry with the circus, Clint Barton often felt like punching a few rich people in the nose, thereby ruining some plastic surgeon's hard work. It would give him immense pleasure, but wouldn't help with the mission. Though, if someone else started a fight, Clint would be more than happy to get in a few licks of his own.
It was well after midnight and Clint sat in the dark pounding on the computer's keyboard, occasionally swearing in between heavy sighs of annoyance. The light from the monitor flickered over his features in random patterns like an old-time movie, his retentive brain cataloging the information displayed for use during the mission he shared with his partner, Natasha Romanoff.
Hitting several keys, he transferred photos and documents to the wall-mounted monitor so he could stand. He thought best on his feet, and if his brain needed lubrication, he could get it by pacing. While the information transferred, Clint went into the kitchen for coffee and a donut.
First order of business was to create a list of the players. The protagonist in the upcoming drama was John Smith, a dealer in weapons stolen from military bases around the world, and he didn't much care who owned them. Every country was fair game as far as he was concerned. The man went by a generic American name, though no one was completely certain what country he called home. He spoke many languages fluently, and his speaking voice gave away nothing of his background. Smith surrounded himself with men and women just as ruthless as he, including his local contact who had a reputation as pillar of the community.
His vital statistics were listed down the right side of the screen. Smith was six-two with short black hair, blue eyes, straight white teeth and a square jaw. He weighed around two-twenty, most of it muscle. Staring at Smith's photograph, Clint had to admit that even he found the man ruggedly handsome.
Smith's most trusted right-hand man went by the name Tucker. SHIELD's best people couldn't determine if Tucker was his first or last name. Of average height, weight and coloring, Tucker would be difficult to pick out of a crowd. In Clint's opinion, that made him even more dangerous than Smith.
From down the hall, he heard the bed springs creak as Natasha rolled over in her sleep. Soon, it would be her turn on watch and he could get some shut-eye.
With his attention diverted, Clint wondered when his infatuation with the seductive Russian had turned into something more and less at the same time. From the moment he'd been given the assignment to assassinate her, Clint had been captivated by her sparkling hazel eyes, auburn hair and curvy, petite figure. In heels, she came up to his ear. The exact height for him to drape an arm around her shoulders and for hers to hold onto his waist without putting undo stress on either of them. She was the perfect blend of innocence and danger that Clint liked in a woman. Why he hadn't acted on his feelings before they changed, he didn't know. It was more than the "hands off" vibe he'd gotten from her after they were partnered by Coulson. He still felt the pull of sexual attraction when near her, and sensed that she felt the same, yet neither of them had ever made an attempt to cross that line. Some days he wanted to kick himself for not taking the chance, and other times, he was relieved that they hadn't gone that route. At the moment, Clint was in a quid pro quo arrangement with Hill, and was getting the sense that it would be ending soon. Then, he would be alone again. Story of my ******* life.
With a sigh, he turned his attention back to the job. Using his forefinger, he dragged Smith and Tucker out of the way so he could go over his cover one last time.
Sebastian Graham was the author of two novels in the political thriller genre that had only moderate success in English speaking countries, and so was not translated for sale world-wide. He was in Budapest to do research for his third novel in the series, hoping that dropping the publishing company's name would open the right doors to get him invited to the event where he was scheduled to meet Smith. There, they would make arrangements for Clint to purchase Smith's most recent cache of weapons stolen from a secret American military base in Slovakia. As the base didn't appear on any list anywhere, the theft had to have been facilitated by someone inside the command structure. Unfortunately, everyone at the base had come through the background check clean. So, SHIELD's people either missed something-an unlikely scenario, or he or she had covered their tracks so well they appeared innocent.
Tomorrow, Clint was to meet with a contact who said he could get the agent onto the list of guests for the party. The chance was slim, but it was all they had at the moment. His only other option was to pose as one of the serving staff, make himself known to Smith and Tucker, and hope for the best.
The alarm on Clint's watch beeped, signaling that it was time to wake Natasha. He left the mission info up for his partner and went down the hall. He rapped lightly on the door, but there was no response. Clint leaned close to the door, listening for any indication that Natasha had heard his knock. Turning the knob, he eased the door open, whispering, "Nat?"
There was a whoosh-thunk, and Clint turned to the left to see a knife stuck into the wall next to his head. Another couple of inches to the right and it would've entered his head through the left eye socket. He followed the flight path back to where Natasha sat on the side of the bed glaring at him.
He pulled the knife from the wall and waited for her to come to him then held the knife out hilt first. "You wake up cranky, don't you, Nat?"
She snatched the knife from his hand as she edged around him into the hall. "Don't call me that, eblan."
With an impertinent grin, he said, "Love you too," and closed the door in her face. He toed off his shoes and lay down on the bed with a groan. After being up for more than thirty-four hours, he was asleep within moments.
The Next Afternoon
A large crowd was gathered around a police barricade in front of a bookstore, whispering and taking photos.
Jackals, Clint thought. A man is dead and they act like it's a celebrity photo-op.
But Clint knew the answer. People are fascinated by the tragedy of others because, deep inside, they're glad it's not them. Or they just want to be the first to tell others about it. Whatever.
Clint covered his head with the hood of his sweatshirt and carefully moved to the front. About twenty feet away lay a body draped with a sheet next to a car with the door open. Thankfully, someone had removed the keys to stop the dinging. The car belonged to his contact, he was certain. There couldn't be two of that make, model and year with an identical dent on the driver's side front fender.
A man in a jumpsuit carrying a case knelt beside the body and lifted the sheet. He made a quick examination then directed his assistants to take the body away. As they were putting the body on the stretcher, the right arm was uncovered by a gust of wind showing a gold ring on the third finger. His contact's code name was White Falcon, but Clint called him Danny for his last name, Danos, and because his first name was difficult to pronounce. His friend didn't mind the nickname. In fact, he liked it so much, he began using it with others as well.
When a uniformed officer came near, Clint called out to him. "Elnézést. What happened here?"
"Are you a reporter?"
"No. I was supposed to meet someone at the bar across the street and he hasn't shown," Clint nodded. "That looks like his car."
The officer leaned close, his voice barely above a whisper. "The detective assigned to the case says it was a carjacking."
Taking his cue from the other man, Clint lowered his voice too. "But you don't think so."
"If they killed him for his car then why did they leave it behind?"
He watched Clint for some hint that he was lying, but the archer was good at his job. "Was the dead man's name Majoros, by any chance?" Clint already knew the answer, but it would look odd if he didn't ask.
"I can't give out his name until his relatives are contacted, but I can tell you it wasn't Majoros."
"Köszönöm." Though he was sad at the loss of his friend, Clint had a higher priority at the moment. The illegally obtained weapons were destined for a band of rebels who would use them in their quest to take over their country's government. Such an event was doomed to failure, but that didn't mean they wouldn't try, and in the process, kill innocent bystanders.
Clint left the crowd, walking quickly in the direction of the safe house. He took out a burner phone and dialed, speaking in Russian. "Nat? Danny's been killed…Yeah, plan A is officially off the books. We need a plan B…That's what I was thinking…The staff is being provided by a café off the square. I'll go there and charm my way into a job then get assigned to the party…Ha. Ha. Ya know, that was funny the first couple of times. Not so much now…Love you too, Nat."
He ended the call then took the phone apart, dropping the pieces into the sewers as he went on to his destination by taking the long way around. The last thing to go was the SIM card, and that went into the Danube.
~~O~~
The sun had started its downward trek, dropping behind the buildings across the square with a single beam of light reaching out to touch the woman seated on the patio, glittering off of her artfully styled dark blonde hair and the lenses of her sunglasses. A slight breeze lifted the hair away from her face as she sipped iced tea and ignored the plate of mini desserts though they were her favorites.
Since her husband died, she hadn't been interested in many of the things she used to enjoy. Working in the garden was the only thing that had kept her from crying herself to sleep each night. And then, one day, she didn't need the exercise to stop the tears. Still, she kept gardening because she loved the feel of the earth in her hands and under her feet, the smell of the flowers and their blossoms bursting with color and life. Now if only she could find a way to feel that for herself. With a sigh, she went back to the novel she'd been reading while awaiting her guest.
Moments later, the light was blocked when someone moved in between her and the sun. Looking up, she saw the silhouette of a man, the light breeze blowing dark brown hair worn below the shoulders back from his face. He wore a white suit with an open-necked white shirt, white shoes without socks and no belt. The man obviously thought himself dashing. Elisabeta saw him as outdated and boring. She liked color, especially on men, even if that color was black.
"Elisabeth Kakos?"
Over the top of the sunglasses, Elisabeta gave him an appraising look. His hair looked like it hadn't been washed in several days, nor had he shaved losing him a few more points. He'd spoken in English, and she responded in kind. "And you are?"
"Ryland York from the escort agency. Ursola sent me." He smiled, and it rang false to Elisabeta because it didn't reach his eyes, which were an uninteresting shade of brown and glazed. In her experience, that meant he'd recently used illegal drugs. He also didn't keep eye contact leading her to believe he had something to hide aside from the drug use.
"Of course." She extended her hand, but he ignored it and flopped into a chair, slumped down on his spine with his legs splayed wide. Taking off her glasses, she set them on top of the book. "Ms. Poppa explained the situation?"
The server had seen him and came rushing over, speaking in Hungarian. "May I bring you something to drink, sir?"
York's phony smile turned into a scowl. "Don't understand what you're saying, babe. But you can bring me a beer. In the bottle, with a chilled glass."
Elisabeta quickly translated and the girl hurried away. When she'd passed out of earshot, Elisabeta turned an unreadable gaze on York. "I asked for someone who spoke our language."
He shook his head. "Wasn't one available. Besides, she wanted you to have the best." Spreading his hands out to the side, he grinned. "And that's me, honey. By the way, there's an additional charge if you want sex. Just the straight stuff. Anything off-the-wall we'll have to negotiate price. You know what I'm sayin'?"
With this being her first foray into the dating world since before she married Robert, Elisabeta had wanted everything to be perfect. If York was an example of the way men behaved toward women these days, then she'd best give up now. Getting to her feet, she waited and York belatedly stood as well. "My name is Elisabeta. It is not Elisabeth and it is absolutely not honey. You have been unforgivably rude, not only to me, but to that young woman as well. Her position as a waitress does not give you leave to disrespect her." She looked down at the ground, took a deep breath then looked him in the eye. "This will not work. And rest assured, Mr. York, that I will be speaking to Ursola about your appalling lack of manners."
At the start of her invective, York's mouth dropped open as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. For a long moment, he continued to stare at her then shrugged. "Psht. Whatever, sweet cheeks. I get paid regardless." He started away, turned back. "And with that attitude, no wonder you gotta pay a man to go out with you."
"I would rather be alone than in the company of someone who has so little regard for others." Elisabeta waited to resume her seat until after York had disappeared into the crowds muttering under his breath. Huffing, she replaced her sunglasses, grabbed the bottle of beer, poured it into the frosted glass, and drank down half of it in one long draft.
She reached for a pastry, nearly choking on it when a handsome man in his mid-thirties approached the café with purposeful strides.
Unlike York, this man had short hair, his goatee was neatly trimmed, and he'd bathed recently. Elisabeta didn't care much for facial hair on men, but somehow, it seemed right for this one. He was not especially tall, a little shorter than herself when in heels, she guessed. Still, he was quite good-looking. If his manners were acceptable then perhaps she could convince him to be her escort for her first social event since Robert's passing.
As the man neared her table, Elisabeta stood, blocking the way and giving him an inviting smile, again speaking in English. "Pardon me. Are you Ryland York?"
He seemed to think over his response before saying, "That depends."
"I'm Elisabeta Kakos, Ursola's friend." She gestured at the empty chair and he accepted the offer, waiting until she was seated to do the same. "Would you care for a drink, Mr. York?"
His entire demeanor changed, and he smiled though she sensed that it had nothing to do with her offer of a drink. Unlike the other man, his smile was genuine, his blue eyes sparkling with humor. "Ryland, please. Any friend of Ursola's is a friend of mine. And yes to the drink, Ms. Kakos."
Elisabeta signaled for the server again. This man, who was claiming to be someone she knew he wasn't, smiled at the girl. He cast a quick glance at the bottle and back to the girl, speaking in Hungarian, "I'll have one of these please. And a glass."
He winked at the girl, making her blush as she hurried away. When she was gone, he gave Elisabeta his full attention, propping the ankle of one leg on the knee of the other. She got the feeling that he'd ordered the beer because it was what she was drinking. Also in Hungarian, she asked, "Beszél magyarul?"
Ryland's left eyebrow raised in a small gesture of surprise as he responded in the same language, "Igen, tudom."
She switched to English. "Thank you for meeting me today. It wouldn't do for us to know nothing about each other when we're supposed to be a couple. The party is this Friday night at the home of my good friends, Benedek and Marja Szabo. We're expected at eight."
It may have been her imagination, but he seemed to show a little more interest now than in the beginning. The twinkle in his eyes showed great humor. "Black tie of course."
Inclining her head, she smiled ruefully. "I would expect nothing less for the social event of the season."
His drink was placed on the table and he spared another charming smile for the server. "Köszönöm szépen." He poured the beer, tilting the glass to minimize the amount of foam. "May I call you Elisabeta?"
"Please do, Ryland." Crossing her knees, Elisabeta reached for her glass and just held it. As he was taking a drink of the beer, his eyes spotted her wedding ring. Looking down at her left hand, her thumb toying with the rings, her smile faded somewhat. "My husband died five months ago. Aneurysm. He simply went to sleep one night and did not wake up in the morning."
"I'm sorry for your loss." The set of Ryland's shoulders relaxed just a bit. "It also explains why someone as attractive and…"
"Wealthy?"
He chuckled, took another drink and set the glass aside. "Someone as alluring as you shouldn't have any trouble attracting the attentions of the opposite sex, yet you've chosen to engage the services of an escort agency. Why?"
Before responding, Elisabeta took one last sip of beer, leaving the glass half full to indicate she didn't want a refill. "In the months since Robert died, I've not been to a social engagement aside from the tea parties I host in my garden once a month, and only my closest friends attend. Going to this event alone just doesn't feel right. Ursola came to dinner a few nights ago, unannounced as usual, and I confessed to her that I was afraid to go alone. The good friend that she is, Ursola promised to send someone to be, what do you Americans call it?"
Ryland laughed out loud this time. "Arm candy."
"Yes, that's it. A man who looks good in formal wear, is well-versed on many subjects, or is able to bluff his way through, and a charming raconteur."
The smile turned sheepish, almost embarrassed. "I promise to at least try to be entertaining to your friends."
"Good. We should…"
"…work out the details of our imaginary relationship? Likes, dislikes, and so forth." He sipped his beer without taking his eyes off of her, making Elisabeta feel as if she were the only woman in the world. "If it works for you, we could have dinner together tonight, or lunch tomorrow. Then, on Friday, we can meet at your home. I'll get a cab. If you don't want to give me your address, I'll give you mine."
"Dinner tonight would be fine. Somewhere casual. For the party, I'll have the car pick you up and we'll go together from my apartment. As long as you understand that sex is not a part of the plan, Ryland. I need a companion for this event. Nothing more."
The smirk was back, and Elisabeta suppressed a shiver at the intensity in his eyes.
"Then I still have time to change your mind." Dropping his foot to the ground, Ryland scooted his chair a few inches closer, leaning forward to take her hand, still with that impudent smile.
His palm and fingers were rough and calloused showing that he wasn't afraid of hard work, like her husband. She missed Robert very much, and having another man touch her so gently, yet with a kind of possessiveness that momentarily flustered her. However, she didn't allow it to show.
"Tell me, Elisabeta, what's your favorite flower?"
The way he said her name, elongating the middle syllable, oscillated over her nerves like a warm wind setting the leaves, and her nerves, aflutter. "Why?"
"Because a gentleman always brings a woman flowers on the first date."
Letting him keep possession of her hand, an enigmatic smile came to her lips as she attempted to match his boldness with her own. "Tell me, Ryland, are you always such a gentleman?"
His left eyebrow arched again, and one side of his mouth turned upward. "You'll just have to wait until the fourth or fifth date to find out, won't you?"
The bold statement startled Elisabeta because of the sincerity behind it, increased by the sexy rumble of his voice. He acted as if they were a real courting couple and not one thrown together out of chance. And then, Ryland startled her again by turning her hand over and pressing a kiss to the center of her palm.
TBC