Summary: All in all, nothing quite says I love you like a smoking barrel of a gun pointed at your head. Mr & Mrs Smith AU
Notes: I have no idea if this is Human AU or Nation thing but I used the nation names as when I started writing this I had no internet connection and I couldn't for the life of me think of a name for Fem!Portugal. Kinda the first NedPort thing I have ever written (and finished) and I felt the need to write it after it came up on a prompt list thing on the tag (thanks to 30secondstosnickers)
Also for Trevo4folhas, who had to put up with my damn awful complimenting skills yesterday.
The house is quiet. Almost too quiet, his finger waiting on the trigger as he stalked through the empty hallway in search of his wife, taking care not to step on the creaking floor boards and keeping his breathing steady. She was here; he knows she's here somewhere, pausing as he reaches the doorway to the stairs.
He isn't foolish enough to go out into the open, reaching back for the photo frame holding their wedding photo, cautiously angling it round the corner. That's when he sees her in the reflection, all legs and a shotgun, smile on her lips that send him a kiss before she fires.
There's barely time to duck, photo clattering to the ground as Netherlands dropped, inwardly cursing as he heard her laugh from her seat on the stairs. "You still alive, baby?" He hears Portugal laugh, pursing his lips in the sound, getting to his feet and firing at the dark haired woman before quickly moving back down the hallway as she rolls to avoid the shots.
He's three steps ahead of her shots as he moves, changing the round of ammunition as she begins to blast more holes into the magnolia walls, pictures clattering to the floor with the impact of the bullets. A shiver of excitement runs down his spine at the smell of gun smoke, waiting for any hint of movement as he comes round, eyeing her at the bottom of the stairs before aiming and firing.
The first shot misses and so does hers, Portugal turning and he pales. Two guns, now that was hardly fair. His second shot, however, doesn't, catching the other in the shoulder before moving out of the way as she looks at the wound and hisses.
Her green eyes flick from doorway to doorway searching for him. Gun in each hand as she waits, ignoring the burning pain in her shoulder and arm from where she had been shot by Netherlands moments before. That's when she hears it, a click that is almost deafening in the silence of the house, smirking gracing her lips as she drops the machine gun.
His curse isn't inward this time as she fires another hole in the wall with her shot gun, shot narrowly missing him as he begins to run, shots coming in more frequently and closer than before. He finds himself sliding past the open door as he gets into the kitchen, shooting at Portugal only to catch the skirt ends of that black dress she was wearing.
Netherlands is behind the island counter when she walks in, her heels clicking against the marble floor. "Come on bunny boy, do we have to play hide and seek?" She side steps the knife thrown at her, looking at the meat cleaver no embedded in the door frame, turning on the balls of her feet and firing the previously abandoned machine gun, shot gun clattering to the ground as she dropped it.
He waits until the firing stops before moving, jumping over the island counter and grabbing her as she worked on reloading the gun, slamming her back into the wall by the doorway. "Your aim is almost as bad as your-" He's cut off as she glares and brings her leg up and into his crotch, head butting him for extra measure.
Netherlands isn't on the floor for long before Portugal is on top of him and he's not sure what hurts more – her first connecting with his cheek or his head hitting back against the cold marble. With a growl, his elbow comes up, colliding with her in the face before their roles have reversed.
The shards of glass littering the floor bite into her back and legs as she fights to get the bigger man off of her, fingernails ripping into his skin as his hands tighten around her throat, only letting go as a stiletto clad foot connected with his middle, knocking him back onto the floor.
As she's upon him again, thighs squeezing his waist tightly and a previously hidden revolver aimed at his jugular, her own shot gun in his own hands aiming for hers. The air was tense, neither breaking the stare, neither wanting to back down just yet as their heavy breathing broke the almost deafening silence.
He backs down first, lowering the gun as his breathing begins to even out despite the revolver still aiming for his neck. "I…I can't do-" There's a bark of Dutch as she shoots him anyway, bullet hitting the other in the shoulder, mirroring her own bleeding wound.
"Nobody shoots me and expects to get off scot free, bunny boy. Nobody."