Disclaimer: I wish I owned the Avengers...

Natasha Romanoff was a woman of little emotion. As she rolled up her stockings she smiled serenely at the thought. Spraying the perfume provided by the room, she grimaced at its cheap scent and quickly washed her wrists and neck in the bathroom sink. She pocketed the perfume anyway.

The room was silent. Peaceful. The man on the bed was asleep and not waking up again. Natasha smirked at the lifeless form. She had a heart somewhere, she assumed, but not for this man. No, this man had a special place reserved in Hell and it brought Natasha great satisfaction to know that she had been the one to deliver him. His wife and children would be better off without him. She had convinced herself of this minutes before the deed – not long to others but all the time Natasha Romanoff needed.

She would leave the body here for the hotel staff to clean up. Russia had seen this before. And she had money to collect. A swift glance in the mirror and she straightened her blonde wig, eyes down and teeth clenching as she pulled bits of her own hair from the mess.

Lifting her gaze, it took her a second too many to register the reflection staring back at her. Instinctively she spun on her heel and swung a fist. A tingling sensation ran up her arm as the momentum behind her swing made her stumble onto the bed. She hastily pushed the dead body away from her in confusion. It landed with a thud on the floor. The power went out.

Natasha calmed her breathing and waited. She had the disadvantage here - she knew that, at least.

"Miss Romanoff." The last syllable slithered and hung in the air. Natasha's blood ran cold and briefly she wondered if this is how the bastard often felt. She let the silence linger for a few moments and readied herself mentally.

"Agent Romanoff," she corrected and slid to the floor against the bedside table.

"Let us not stand on formalities."

Natasha bit back the urge to agree with Reindeer Games. She grabbed her gun quietly noting her surprise that she didn't use it first. It was her go-to. But she had swung a fist; she had wanted a real fight. There was only one who had this privilege and he was somewhere in this room. She tried to focus on his breathing, any movement at all, but was met with silence.

"You're not surprised by my appearance," he continued, "but I am surprised by yours."

Natasha frowned and waited for more. A cold hand grabbed her chin and yanked her off the floor. The gun was left on the floor. She spluttered as it wrapped around her throat and shoved her against the wall. His heavy body pushed against her as the hand squeezed harder.

"Blonde hair is unbecoming on you," he spat viciously and pulled the wig off along with some real hair. Her scream made his blood boil – he wondered if this is how she often felt.

"Much better."

Natasha felt herself lifted off the wall and thrown against another with a force she had never experienced. The mirror shattered around her and she fumbled for a shard, thankful for the darkness. The impact of the throw had disoriented her. The glass cut into her skin.

For a few moments there was silence.

Footsteps were coming towards her. The unexpected jingle of armour. Her senses were beginning to adapt.

She was ready.

Sensing the body bend down to her level she swiftly swiped at where she believed the face to be. It was a hit, at least, and gave her enough time to send a spiked heel into his chest. Natasha knew he would heal within seconds but it was too satisfying to resist. He stumbled back from the speed of her attack and chuckled.

"Come now, surely you've got more in you Miss Romanoff!" He sounded excited, thrilled. Natasha knew because she felt the same.

"Agent."

Her eyes had adjusted to the dark and she ran for him. She saw him open his arms with anticipation before jumping onto his shoulders and wrapping her legs around his neck. There was a pause from both of them.

"Impressive."

Natasha smirked as her body twisted and swung him to the floor with surprising force. She landed on the bed ungracefully and let out a yell when armour crashed on top of her. Squirming under the weight she rubbed her hands over his face hoping to get blood in his eyes. She didn't get far before he pinned her arms to the mattress and dug his nails into her wrists until they, too, bled.

"Do you recall our last moments together?" he said venomously, spitting her blood back at her, "You whispered softly to your lover whilst I remained bound and chained." Natasha continued to struggle to no avail. He placed his knees on her groin and she stifled a scream.

"Muzzled like a dog," she whispered.

"Quite so. And do you recall your words?"

Natasha stopped struggling and muttered something in Old East Slavic. Her guttural voice sent a shiver down his spine. He pushed into her further and leaned closer. Raven tendrils of hair mixed with red. Darkness and Blood.

""Come again and you're mine"," he recited longingly, "Although the smirk on your lover's face tells me he thought something else. Clever girl."

Natasha blushed. She knew he would understand her. She knew he would come.

Loki had come for her. She wanted him dead and he revelled in it. A small smile crept onto her face. Despite the darkness she stared into those eyes only inches above her own. The power came on. Her smiled widened.

"Agent," she corrected.

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