They're world-renowned without being known at all.
She is the Viper, the one who leaves traces of cyanide and hemlock in her trail, acids and poisons mixed with deep maroon liquid dripped from the tips of elegant daggers.
He is the Doctor, the one with the little machines that drill into your organs or weapons so twisted, nobody sane would ever sketch the designs.
These names are spread world-wide, hissed in undertones in alleyways and murmured quickly, as though taboo. They fall from bloody lips before the final slice, cried by screaming, frothing victims on their final throes. They have no other identities than the ones created, the hooded, dark figures lurking in the backs of nightmares or the dark recesses of the brain where only fear resides.
Tonight, though, they were curled up on a couch in a cheap motel, exchanging light kisses and sleepy murmurings. He runs his fingers over the smooth pads of her hand (they burned off their fingerprints long ago) and trails his kisses down to her collarbone as she lets out a small hum of appreciation. Tempted to keep going down, he glances up into her eyes. His gaze sweeps over the small bags and the tired warmth of her smile. He instead brings himself up to her lips for another kiss, before whispering "it's bedtime," against their softness. She presses her forehead against his and murmurs a sleepy agreement before he smiles and pulls her to the nest of pillows and blankets.
The next morning, he awakes to the smell of coffee and poison. Jemma was bustling around her little Bunsen burner and adding small leaves and powders to the mix, humming soft tunes to herself. As she cooks, he pulls himself up and pours them both cups of the steaming beverage. She takes her with a murmured word of thanks, keeping her eyes on the bubbling grey-green substance before her. Smiling, he picked up the new blade he was working on. When embedded within a person, a trigger could be pulled to open up the single blade into three in a cone-formation, ripping apart whatever flesh was in the way in order to expand. Right now, the opening force wasn't strong enough to break through some of the tougher body tissues, so nimble fingers tinkered with the mechanism to generate a stronger force. The noon hour crept up on them slowly, but as it arrived, Jemma bottled her potion and nodded once to her partner.
"So who has this kill?" she asked raising a playful eyebrow.
"Ro-sham-bo you for it," he replied with a grin, extending a fist over his palm.
"Scissors! Aww, Fitz," Jemma laughed as she tapped her fist on his fingers. "You need to stop choosing that one."
"Or maybe I jus' enjoy watching y' work, lass," he laughed, kissing her on the cheek before moving to grab their bags. "Got everythin' y' needed out o' here?"
"Of course I did. Now you can go pack the van and I'll have a little fun, yes?" He matched her grin and carried the two suitcases out the door, casually throwing a glance down the row of motel rooms. Heading back in one more time to grab his coat, he murmured, "Four minutes, love, no cameras. Have fun," before casually throwing his coat over his shoulder and whistling his way to the driver's seat.
Jemma checked her watch. Three minutes. Idly, she twirled the small blade in her hand, tossing it and catching it with graceful ease. She heard the knock at the door and moved behind it, pressing herself against the wall.
"Room serveece, et es teeme to leave, please." The lady's English was fractured, her i's pronounced like long e's. After a moment of no answer, Jemma heard a key in the lock. The door swung open, covering her, and the rattling of rickety wheels would be heard as a cart was pushed in. As soon as the housekeeper herself was in, the killer lunged and slammed the door shut behind the lady, the knife at her throat before she could make a sound.
"Make a noise and you're dead, dear." Simmons grinned slowly as she saw the lady tense. "Now, nice and easy, I want you to go and sit in that chair over at the desk. Keep in mind, I can accurately strike any target I want to at a fifty feet, so don't try to pull anything." Slowly, she moved the dagger away. "Nice and easy, dear," she said, drawing out the vowels. Slowly, the woman walked to the chair and took a seat, trembling. Jemma, meanwhile, cut a strip of the sheets and bound the woman's hands behind her, attached to the chair. Then, she moved it so it was in the center of the room facing the door. Leisurely, the Brit stood back and admired her handiwork, her blood boiling with anticipation.
"P-p-please-" the lady stuttered out, "d-d-don't keell me, meess, p-p-p-"
"Please, calm down," she sighed, reaching for the flask on her hip. Slowly, she uncapped it and poured some of the thick, viscous liquid onto the blade she held, coloring it purple. Slight whimpers came from the chair. Jemma grinned and ran the tip of the blade along a trembling lip. "Now, this will hurt. A lot." In a sudden blur of movement, she sliced a line on each cheekbone, watching the lady's mouth drop open and a strangled sound emerge. A smile played across the killer's face as the poison began to take effect and her jaw clenched shut, sealing what noise there was in muffled chokes. As the victim's muscles all began to tense, eyes going wide with agony and fists clenching white, Simmons made another cut, this one down the center of her face. It was a thin cut, mainly for decoration as she began to add more lines, slowly splitting open sensitive skin into an elaborate pattern. She always had been detail oriented. Filling up the face with lines and swirls, the scientist moved on to the arms, alternating deep and light slices to get the proper look she was going for. Noticing the blood loss, she looked into the housekeeper's eyes before driving the blade into her belly and twisting it, slowly tearing her insides and a small satisfied smile tugged at the corners of her lips at the muffled screaming coming from behind the locked jaw. Tears struggled down sliced cheeks and mingled with the ruby red pouring from the woman. In a gesture of mock affection, Jemma wiped the tears and then licked the blood-coated finger with the tip of her tongue, mocking her victim's final moments as lights faded from behind pained eyes. Standing, she pulled the blade from its sheathe in the woman's belly and watched as the salve she applied sealed the wound. Forensics would have a field day with that one. Stopping only to rinse her blade, she walked out of the room and hopped into the passenger seat.
"Have fun?"
"Loads," she replied as they sped out of the lot.