DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, all right's to the original owner.
"Privet." The greeting glided off Natasha's tongue gracefully, aiming to grab the attention of the suited-up man before her.
"You are Russian?" He man replied, a subtle accent slipping through his words. Natasha smiled, sipping the celebratory champagne from her glass.
"It's rude to flirt with another man in front of me. I'm getting jealous." She heard Clint tease through her ear piece, Damn it Barton, then you're about to get real fucking uncomfortable, she thought back. Natasha didn't show any clue physically that she had a class-A bastard blabbing into her ear, she simply continued on her main focus at the moment. Be as damn sultry and irresistible as possible.
Natasha nodded and studied the man, making it obvious that she was thoroughly checking him out. Alexei Petrovin, the son of a powerful Russian politician, an extremely handsome well-spoken man who had a thing for pretty faces. He was well dressed, with dark hair smoothed out of his sculpted face. Natasha smiled glowingly at him only briefly then resumed her seductive expression, "How do you know Mr. Wells?" She asked, pleased with the flirtatious smile that was drawn across his face.
Alan Wells and Alexei Petrovin were targets. "Nat, I'm on the move to Wells," Clint informed her, deciding to properly use their ear wigs for once. Petrovin was the real bad guy, Wells was just stupid enough to accept one of his offers. Offers he probably made to dozens of other men, waiting for one to be naive and say yes. Alan Wells, the middle aged CEO of a large food processing company; tonight was the company's 175th year anniversary party held in the company HQ. It was a well known, trusted, family owned business, passed on to sons through the generations. And Wells had agreed to release a deadly, undetectable chemical into his product on Petrovin's behalf in exchange for 30 million dollars and a plane ticket the hell out of there.
Petrovin's father had a growing grudge against the US, and after being raised by the man, so did Alexei. So naturally, the golden-boy decided to follow in daddy's footsteps with the money he earned from stealing and selling his finds on the Black Market. Terrorism by food, Natasha had to admit, the bitch was crafty.
The deal was going down that night. That's why Clint and Natasha had their asses hauled down to Dallas, Texas on a jet, to put it bluntly they were to hack Petrovin's head off and bring Wells into custody. Discreetly.
So seducing it was, Natasha batted her thick, mascara coated lashes at Petrovin, who was clearly taken with her, "I am a family friend of theirs." He said cooly, drifting his eyes up and down Natasha's body. She was wearing a burgundy colored dress that barely covered her breasts or legs. Natasha internally rolled her eyes and scoffed, but kept her feminine aura seeping from her skin.
"Don't tell me… he's whipped out the eye-sex, hasn't he?" Clint chuckled, after a couple of years working with Natasha, he learned that he could say stupid shit into her ear wig whenever he wanted, and she wouldn't move even a single facial muscle in response.
"What a coincidence, so am I." She smiled up at him, continuing to breeze passed Clint's commentary. "I'm Naomi, pleased to meet you." She beamed, lying effortlessly.
"What a beautiful name." He reached down to her hand and brushed his lips on her soft skin. Natasha smirked for a split second, she had him.
"Ah, Mr. Wells! Always great to see you again," Clint brightly inserted himself into the group of men surrounding him, "That was one hell of a party last year, am I right?" He said laughing, drawing fake connections between them. And Clint was hoping Wells would be as stupid as his file made him sound and buy it. Wells looked closely at Clint's face, scrunching his eyebrows together, then relaxed his face and shoulders, "Yes, of course Mr…" He finally spoke, relieving the social tension around them.
"Bradford." Clint said shaking the man's hand firmly, "You look great Mr. Wells." He said smiling widely, even though Wells was not physically fit by any means. "Gentleman," He then turned to the finely dressed men, "If you don't mind, I'd like to catch up with Mr. Wells." Questioning silence filled the surrounding air and Clint felt the compact bow hidden in his jacket puncture his side. Just as he feared the men would not leave, they shrugged and scattered about the large partying crowd.
"My wife Naomi and I are good friends with your wife," Clint explained, his words casually strung together."Hey, mind if you show me around a bit?" He asked confidently.
"I don't see why not," Wells replied, gulping down one of the many glasses of champagne he had probably drank.
Too easy, Clint's sides of his mouth curved up.
It was a wonderful building, it seemed the brush the sky and had extraordinary glass panels all around the perimeter. Practically every room you entered had elegant silver furniture and a wall of pure glass looking down at the city, "It's a beautiful place," Clint offered, they were alone now, and he was able to get to business. "It's a shame, you're really selling yourself short on this one Mr. Wells." He hinted at who he actually was, letting his overly-friendly charm shatter.
"Excuse me?" Alan Wells looked skeptically at the man, he began to sweat from his palms. Wells didn't confirm that he had attachments to the man he was now alone with, he just assumed he had met him whilst drunk. He did like his alcohol. Wells stepped away from the man. Suddenly he noticed the apparent intensity that clouded the man, 'Bradford'.
"The deal you're about to make," Clint turned away from the large window, "It's a mistake." His stare targeted the nervous man's guilt.
Wells stumbled back, knocking over a small table and vase of flowers, he was indeed very drunk and very nervous. Clint was trying to reason with Wells, he wasn't acting or speaking threatening words, but Wells's eyes were filled with fear.
"I have to take it," Wells replied shakily, "He's going to kill my wife."
Clint blinked, that was new. It wasn't just reward he was in for, Petrovin was blackmailing him too. "You're going to have to come with me," Clint said, keeping Wells calm. "Nothing's going to hurt your wife, we have an agent on Petrovin."
"He's going to kill your Agent. You have no idea what he's capable of, that man is a monster." Wells stuttered, warning the strange man of what he was up against, "Petrovin is angry and has no conscious. He's going to rip him to shreds."
"I highly doubt that, I don't think Petrovin picked up his skills in hell." Clint chuckled lightly, thinking of just what Natasha Romanoff, The Black Widow, was capable of. Hell, he was even afraid of his partner if he got her angry enough, which had happened many times.
"Who the hell are you?" Wells was backed up against the wall, still questioning Clint's words.
"That's none of your concern," Clint said quickly, as he swiped out the retractable bow from inside his jacket and swiftly reached back for an arrow.
"We could do this the boring way or the fun way." He sighed the words out.
Wells's eyes flung around the room. He broke into a run, thinking he could make it to the door before Clint could shoot. Damn, the guy really needed to hit the gym every once and a while.
The side of Clint's lips twitched up, "The fun way it is."
Clint's muscles contracted and relaxed as he precisely aimed his arrow at Wells. It all happened in less than a second, with the slight movement of his fingers the arrow was sent flying across the room. It pricked his neck, Clint didn't kill him, he wasn't planning to in the first place. The arrow's thin point was coated with a liquid, it would knock him unconscious long enough to drag him to S.H.I.E.L.D. Clint's eyes watched as Wells slowly lowered to the ground in his sleeping state. "Got him Nat," Clint muttered as he peaked his head out of the door, searching for a room number.
"Meet me in room 521 when you've finished him, we gotta get out of here, It'll only be a matter of time before they notice the star of the show is gone."
Natasha had her lips sealed against Petrovin's in a tender kiss, she had one hand locked to the back of his head as she pushed him against the empty hallway's wall. Natasha giggled as the tall Russian man left trails of kisses down to her neck, with their bodies pressed together she took the initiative to reach up the back of her skirt to retrieve her knife. Petrovin was off guard, getting extremely distracted by their hot moments.
Of course, Natasha wasn't honestly interested in their kissing, she had been on hundreds of missions for the Red Room where she had to do much more than fake-kiss to open an opportunity. The next day it would be like it never happened, she never really thought hard about it either, it was simply shoved off her shoulders and left alone.
"Oh, Alexei," She mumbled longingly as she lifted the blade in her right hand, and raised it slowly to the back of his neck. Natasha forcefully parted their lips, spinning around his body with the knife firmly in her hand. She held a tight grip with the knife pressing into his throat and roughly twister his arm behind his back. Natasha bent him backwards to bring his ear level to her lips, "This is what I've been looking forward to all night," She breathed, happily switching her usual personality on.
Petrovin acted flustered, faking stammering words, though this was probably not his first situation with a weapon pressed to his throat. "Save it, you son of a bitch, I know about your deal with Wells. And if I were you, I would have been more careful."
She felt the Russian terrorist unwind from his strained state, he was just as at home as she was.
"Barton, I've got him." Natasha slowly dipped the knife into his throat, she waited for his loud, pained groan to escape his mouth before she lessened her pressure.
"Don't just take your damn time, hurry up so we can be done with it, princess." Clint chided her.
"Barton you little shit, you don't call me stupid-ass nicknames!" She shouted at him. "And don't forget Wells," She added.
"Wells? What do you want me to do, carry the man on m back? The damn guy is 200 pounds!" He complained, and waited for a reply. There was none, "Shit Nat, the things I do."
Petrovin used her angry state to jerk out of her arms, as soon as he did Natasha was back on alert, she pulled out a gun from her thigh and with her opposite hand she threw her knife, aiming at his heart.
"Barton, get the hell down here, same floor, opposite end. This bastard has it coming."
"Barton? You're partner?" Petrovin asked, as he ably swerved to avoid her aim, his breathing was labored, "What agency are you from?"
"Be there soon, pumpkin." She heard him grunting from slinging Wells over his shoulder.
"Shut the hell up," She mocked his teasing tone.
Natasha turned back to Petrovin, "None of your damn business." She spat back at him and lifted her arm to shoot. In as little time as she held her gun up he skillfully disarmed her, wrenching it out of her hands before she could even squeeze the trigger. Natasha raised a brow, he was more impressive than she assumed. But still, Natasha did not like it when someone else played with her toys.
"You're better than I thought," Natasha spoke, "But you're still dead." She said bluntly and pounced at him, pinning him to the ground. She grasped his arm that was clutching the gun and pounded it into the ground until the gun was set free, it slide a few feet across the floor. Natasha had her legs on either side of his body, she sat on his chest not allowing him easy air though his lungs. She swung her fiery head of hair out of her face and threw her elbow into his nose, feeling a distinct crack of the bone.
Petrovin slung his head back, hitting it hard on the stone floor, he shifted his weight, allowing himself on top of Natasha. His fist made contact with the side of her face then held both her hands to the ground, "No, I recognize you now." He said, letting his thick Russian accent seep though.
"The infamous Black Widow." He laughed, blood spewing from his nose onto her face.
"How did the Red Room treat you?"
If Natasha had a dollar from every person who tired to use that card against her, she would have zero. Because they'd all be dead. She sneered, he wasn't even worth giving a reply to. She wiggled one of her arms out and struck is chin upward with her palm, followed by a punch to the side of his cheek. Natasha wiped his blood from her face then jabbed her knee into his groin and kicked his stomach in with both feet. Petrovin doubled over in pain, coughing up red.
"Barton, I need you." She said neutrally, standing over Petrovin and paying him a few more blows to the stomach.
"On my fucking way, Nat…" He replied to his impatient partner.
Natasha anchored him from his shirt and meet his beaten, ugly face, "Have any accomplices?" She said looking at him with her menacing green eyes.
"Not going to ask nicely?" He coughed the words out. Natasha shrugged a bit, at least he had a sense of humor.
"I don't play nice." Natasha whispered harshly, tightening her jaw. She dragged him over to where her knife was pierced deep into the wall, Petrovin began to shake, but not from what Natasha hoped. He was laughing, Natasha's clutched his collar in her fist tensely and jammed his jaw in her hand, "I've been taught to rip open a man's stomach and cut out their intestines with safety scissors, and I've learned how to keep them alive during the whole process." She said in a low voice, "They've taught me things in the Red Room your daddy wouldn't even dream of doing to Americans."
"When I'm done with you, the last thing you will be doing is laughing." She said in a gravely voice. She was telling the truth, she could do a thousand things to torture him then have a million more options left over. And she would do it in a heartbeat.
"No more questions?" His words were muffled from Natasha squeezing his cheeks.
"Dead men don't answer questions," She released her hand from his face, letting him fall to his knees. Petrovin took the opportunity to jump for the gun, "Damn it," Natasha cursed her sloppiness.
"Drop the knife." He aimed the gun at Natasha, ready to shoot.
She couldn't believe she was getting so careless. Natasha growled and let it clink to the floor with her hands up.
"Drop the gun," Clint said from behind him, an arrow pricking at the back of his head.
Natasha used the moment to scoop up her blade, "It's about time Barton." She let out a small laugh.
"Something tells me that I got the easier half of the deal," Clint spoke, glancing over at the ripped, bloodied up dress Natasha wore.
"What told you that, the fact that my target had me at gun point or that yours is asleep on your goddamn back?" She irritatedly walked over to Petrovin and her partner. Natasha clawed the gun out of his hands and asked once more, "Have an accomplices?" She held the point of her knife to his chest, danger lurking in her green eyes.
Petrovin chuckled, "I'm alone in this." He said, but could easily be lying. He glanced down to the knife, then swiftly snatched it from her hands and threw it behind himself. Just as he let go of the knife Clint let go of his grip on his arrow. Natasha had thought that Petrovin's target was Clint, but it was Wells, he had made a clean shot into his chest.
"What at bitch," Clint said placing Wells down, and looking down to the man with an arrow bashed inside his head.
Natasha scoffed, "What are we going to tell Fury about Wells? He wanted him alive."
"We could pretend that he's alive?" Clint suggested, staring at his partner with a worried look.
"Man, are we in for it." She shook her head slowly, Nick Fury was one of the few things she feared. Having anger issues like no other, he literally lived up to his last name.
"Tell me about it sweet-" Clint whimpered at Natasha's heel shoved on his toe, "Nat, I meant Nat." he corrected himself and Natasha felt a smile creep to her distressed face.
Clint felt a pinch of worry draw over him as he looked at his beaten up partner, "You okay?" He asked something that probably shouldn't have been brought up. It was highly inappropriate, she was more than capable of handling herself out in the field, but that didn't stop him from taking note of every cut and bruise on her body.
"Yeah, I'm good. That-that was fun." She let out a chilly, breathy huff of air.
Clint stepped over to her, wiping away blood from her cheek with his thumb.
"I love you," Clint gently said and brushed her red hair away from her face.
"I know." She replied, coldness evading her voice as she looked into his disarmingly charming blue eyes. Natasha scorned at him suddenly, she punched him forcefully in his arm, "None of this would have fucking happened if you came sooner, you class-A bastard." She said crossing her arms.
"Here you go again," Clint fought back, "I had an actual reason this time Nat, you may have forgotten, but I was lugging around a 200 pound man at your shitty request!"
"I could have carried two of him and gotten here sooner than you did," Natasha scoffed, leaning forward to shove the words in his face.
"If you didn't let the guy get your gun we wouldn't be having this fi-" He stopped, hearing the ring of a cell phone. Clint sighed, "I think it's yours, it isn't mine."
Natasha rolled her eyes at Clint and reached up the skirt of her dress, "Hello?"
She made a face and covered the microphone of the phone, "It's Coulson, he says Fury wants to know if we've completed the mission."
'What the hell do I say?' She mouthed to him.
'I don't know.' He mouthed back, then Natasha pushed the phone up to his ear, "You've got to be fucking kidding me," He aimed his words at Natasha, "No, not you Coulson." Clint said into the phone.
"Okay, you're on speaker Coulson." Clint held the phone between them.
"We've got a helicopter on it's way to pick you two up, it should be on the roof in twenty." Phil's distorted voice came through the phone. "You're done there right?"
"Y-yeah, we're done here." He said and paused.
"Do you guys need partnership counseling? S.H.I.E.L.D. has options, and I have a few pamphlets-" Phil said, immediately knowing his two agent's state of mind.
"No, we do not need counseling." Natasha crossed her arms, even though Phil couldn't see her body language.
"Okay, fine it's just that you're always bickering and as your handler, I strongly suggest that you maybe do some research on the matter. Perhaps in pamphlet form, preferably the ones in my office…" Phil replied, he was an idiot, but he was also in charge of them.
"Shut up about the pamphlets Coulson…" Clint ruffled the back of his hair.
"Right," Phil said awkwardly pausing, "I'll see you then, have a safe trip."
"Wait, Coulson. There may be one, complication." Clint added in quickly before hearing a long dial tone.
Clint and Natasha's eyes widened in unison.
Oh, Shit, they both thought.
A/N: This is a sequel to one of the other ff's "Letters To You", BUT, you do not need to read that (at least not really) to know what the hell is going on in this one. I know this chapter is sort of long, well, I consider it long, but I had trouble splitting it up into two chapters. I really hope you enjoy! I worked sooo hard on making this a good first chapter. Please review and let me know what you think! :)
