The Dress
Nick Fury stood at the holocom looking over the newest mission. It was an information prospect on a certain terrorist cell working in the U. S. with connections in Moscow. One of the higher-ups would be flying in in a few days to deliver a message. Obtaining the message. That was the mission. This was too dangerous for one undercover operative alone. There was really only one team up for it.
"Strike Team Delta, report to the command center," Fury's voice boomed over the intercom. An athletic young man stood, picking up his weapon as he left his bunk. On the other side of the helicarrier, the infamous Black Widow was placing her guns securely into their holsters. She opened the door to her bunk and joined the young man on their way to the command center. They silently conferred as to the subject of their new mission. They had long since needed to open their mouth to communicate.
He looked at her questioningly, saying, It's for information isn't it?
She nodded. She flicked her eyes to him and then herself. It's obviously dangerous, if he needs both of us just for information.
He raised an eyebrow at her. Yeah, but we aren't the only two person team available.
She nodded again and gestured ever so slightly to herself. It must be that terrorist cell in Russia if he wants me.
He nodded. This would be like most of their missions. When they reached the command center, where Fury stood waiting for them, their plan was already in motion. He gave them all the necessary information.
"He'll be here on Friday night. He's staying at the Gaylord in Washington DC. Agent Barton, you'll be stationed in the second floor apartment above a bakery across the street. If anything goes wrong, you bail Agent Romanov out. Agent Romanov, you'll need to extract the information from him. Do what you have to do, then get out. Agent Barton will pick you up out front in a SHIELD vehicle. We're letting you take one of the best we have."
Disbelief showed through her normally stoic face. "We get Lola?"
"Not a chance. You don't touch Lola." Phil Coulson's voice came from the door. The agents left to prepare for the mission.
A few days later, Natasha woke at exactly 5 o'clock and got out of bed. After a little morning exercise, she showered and went to her closet. She opened it to find her littlest black dress in the back of her closet. It had a plunged neckline and cut out back, along with a shockingly high hemline. She often joked that this dress was her weapon of choice. It did seem to incapacitate a lot of men. She put it on, and as she looked up at the clock, she realized she was going to be late. For most agents this wasn't a problem but Agent Natasha Romanov was never late. She picked up her gun and her heels and scurried out the door, reaching the command center just in time.
"Where do you think you're going in that, young lady?" Phil Coulson demanded, his voice was that of a father. She rolled her eyes, and without any thought of modesty, pulled up the hem of her skirt to reveal a holster strapped to the inside of her thigh. She secured her weapon in place and slipped on her heels. All the while Agent Barton was trying, and failing, not to stare as the appearance of his partner hit him like a truck. The dress left little to the imagination and, for a man who was already having trouble keeping her off his mind, this was pure torture. He peeled his eyes away, trying to think of anything but the figure before him. He trained his mind to focus on the mission.
"Coulson, I'm not a defenseless little girl."
"I know you're not a little girl, and so does anyone who sees you in that dress. It's going to get you into trouble someday. Trouble you can't get yourself out of." Just as he said this, one of the agents in the room, who was supposed to be working communications, passed Agent Romanov unable to keep his eyes away. Apparently his eyes weren't the only things he couldn't keep away because three seconds later he was on the floor, Agent Romanov pinning him to the linoleum. The entranced agent was still unable to hold himself back.
"You know, this doesn't seem like much of a punishment, Agent Romanov." Her hand flew and his cry of pain echoed in the command center. She kneed him in a rather sensitive area before she stood, dusted herself off, and returned to her position at the holocom.
"I don't think that will be a problem, Agent Coulson. My methods will remain unchanged."
"That doesn't mean I have to like it. You're a skilled undercover operative. There are plenty of other ways for you to retrieve the intelligence." Coulson shook his head.
"Yes, but this one always works for me and I'm not about to blow a mission by changing my approach just because you think my dress is too revealing." Natasha put her coms in her ear and a full backup magazine in her black clutch. They headed to the runway. As they took off toward DC, Natasha noticed her partner seemed distracted.
"You ok?" she asked, looking over from her seat in the cockpit.
"Yeah, I was just thinking, maybe Coulson's right. You don't always have to do it this way."
"You know how I operate and why I do so," she said curtly.
"I know, Nat, but-"
She cut him off. "I won't ask you to retire your bow if you don't ask me to retire this dress." She made it clear this was the end of the conversation. They flew in silence the rest of the way.
When they arrived in Washington they split up to their separate stations. He set up his communications in the apartment and got a sight on her room. He couldn't stop thinking about earlier. He had always hated seeing her flirting with targets and using her body to entrance men. He'd always put it off as an overprotective reaction, like that of an older brother. He was beginning to realize that these feelings were something else. He sighed. It was going to be a long night.
She set up in her room, put on some lilac perfume and headed down to the bar. Not very much later she spotted her target. She smiled saucily at him from across the bar, and when he sent a drink over to her, she went over to thank him.
"How'd you know I drink dirty martinis?" She sauntered up to him, batting her mile-long lashes. This was her favorite part. Men are so weak, she thought as she sat at the bar beside him.
"Just a guess." he smiled. The target's name was Jacob Izmaylov, and ran a small bookstore in Moscow as a front for Russian terrorists. "My name is Jacob, but you can call me Jake." He spoke with a perfect American accent. It was no wonder that they sent him. A Russian accent was a dead giveaway, she knew better than most.
"What brings you to DC?" she asked.
"Oh, just business. My law firm in New York needed some fact-checking done here in DC, and since I'm a junior partner, that job fell to me." He sighed, with a tinge of annoyance, but quickly turned the conversation back to her. "And you? What brings you to our nation's capital?"
Our nation's capital, she thought sarcastically, is very far from here. "Oh I just needed a vacation. I need to let go a little. Do something crazy." She put her hand on his knee as she said this, leaning into him. He sat up a little straighter.
"Oh? Mind if I join you in your wild adventure?" He raised an eyebrow suggestively. She smiled.
"Why don't you come upstairs and find out?" She whispered into his ear and left abruptly, leaving a key card to her room with the room number on it, and headed to the elevators. As the elevator rose, she knew he would soon follow.
When he unlocked the door, she was waiting for him. Striking quickly, she temporarily disabled him and tied him to a chair. She pulled out her gun and set it on the table. She didn't need to hold it too his head, not yet. He knew why it was there.
"What message are you trying to relay to the Americans?" she spoke quickly in Russian.
"I don't understand you." he tried to say, in English. She picked up the gun and he gave up the act. "Fine. I speak Russian. Who are you working for?"
She laughed. "As if I'm going to tell you that." She continued the interrogation. She obtained the information. She called Barton.
"Nat? What's up? I thought you needed at least another hour. Is something wrong?" Barton was surprised at this irregularity, and it concerned him.
"I'm fine. This one proved particularly easy to…persuade. I'll be down in 10 minutes."
She tightened the bindings on the target, refreshed her makeup, slipped her gun back in its holster and walked down to the elevators, leaving the Do Not Disturb sign swinging on the doorknob. When she walked out of the lobby to the car, her jaw dropped. SHIELD's one and only black Lamborghini was parked in front of her, driven by her partner, Agent Barton.
"Can I drive?" she pleaded, putting her act from before to good use.
"Not a chance, Nat. I've seen you drive. Just 'cause it can go that fast doesn't mean it should. Plus, you got all the fun tonight anyway." He started the car, the engine purred and they were off to the airport. "Did you get the message?"
She pulled the miniature recorder from her bra and he grimaced. "Of course I got the message, do you think I'd be out here if I hadn't?"
"Why do you have to keep the recorder there? You know, most agents would just set it up in the room."
"Well, that's where their faces are normally directed." She pointed this out as if it were obvious. He blushed, thankful for the darkness that hid it. Natasha was the only person in the world who could make Agent Barton blush. He stayed silent.
"So what are our orders?" Natasha asked.
"We've got tonight and tomorrow off. Fury said we deserved a break."
"So where are we going then?"
"New York. Might as well hit the town, get drunk, do something crazy." Barton smiled as Natasha shook her head.
"I didn't bring anything to change into." Natasha gestured to her dress and heels. "And I didn't bring much money."
"Got it covered. I'm buying tonight, SHIELD's putting us up in a hotel and you look stunning in that dress."
The Drinks
They chose a small bar, one with not a lot of patrons, to begin their night of relaxation. It was dimly lit, and perfect for a couple of SHIELD operatives. It was highly unlikely that they'd run into trouble here.
"You're probably up a couple drinks on me already." Barton said as he sat at the bar and waved the bartender over. When he came over he ordered their usual drinks. "Vodka Cranberry and an Old Fashioned." The bartender nodded and set to work, and soon served the drinks. As she pulled the blood red cocktail to her lips, she stopped.
"You remembered." she said, referring to the drink.
"Of course I did. We used to go out drinking all the time. And that drink is a little stereotypical for you." he added as an afterthought.
"How so?" She knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it from him.
"Well, to start its vodka and you're Russian. And of course it's pretty damn strong, which is definitely you. And then its blood-red, and considering your profession that's a little obvious."
"Interesting. Right, of course, but interesting," she sipped her drink slowly.
After a few rounds of cocktails they were both starting to feel the effects of the alcohol. They decided to head back to the hotel, where they had already parked the car. She hailed a cab, and she told the driver where to go.
"Take us to the nearest liquor store," she instructed the driver before Barton could stop her.
"What?" Barton's confusion was clear.
"We're not done yet. We're not even drunk yet." She was careful not to slur her words, for if she had he might not have agreed. When they reached the liquor store, she took his wallet and bought a bottle of vodka and a bottle of whiskey. He just nodded when he saw the bottles. When they got to the hotel, she asked him where her room was so she could set down her things before they continued their night.
"Actually, SHIELD is having us share a room. It has two beds." he added hastily. She raised an eyebrow, but nodded and followed him to the room. Everyone in the lobby looked at the slightly tipsy pair with knowing eyes. When they got to the room, she set down her clutch and pulled up her dress to unstrap her holster, setting it on the table. He blushed a brilliant red and looked away. He got out two glasses, and she scoffed.
"Please, we're not that classy in real life. Hand me that bottle." He did so, and she opened it and took a swig. As the alcohol burned her throat, a satisfied smile crossed her lips. They sat on the floor, drinking and reminiscing. He drank much slower than her, for she held her alcohol very well for someone with such a little body. As the night wore on, her words slurred and her coordination began to fail. Around three in the morning, she had finished off the entire bottle and was asking Barton for a bit of his whiskey.
"Come on, Nat. Why don't you just lie down?" He handed her a glass of water and she drank it obediently. He went to the bathroom and got a damp washrag. He sat beside her and began to wash her makeup off her face.
"Why are you doing this?" She asked, the alcohol on her breath was stronger than her voice. He continued, finishing by wiping away her mascara.
"Because you don't want to wake up with smeared makeup." She was starting to fall asleep against his shoulder. "Now get into bed." She didn't move. "Come on, Nat."
"I don't wanna. I'm not tired." She swayed as she said so, grabbing his arm for support. He picked her up, noting how light she was and laid her in bed. She didn't bother to fight. As he pulled the covers over her, she mumbled something indistinct.
"What was that?"
"Stay with me." She grabbed his wrist and pulled him towards her. He began to protest.
"I'll be right here in this bed over here," he promised, pulling away. She didn't let go. She pulled harder this time. He was surprised by the strength she had, given her state.
"No. Stay with me. Please?" She looked up at him, her green eyes pleading. He gave in, climbing into bed. He put his arms around her and she quickly fell asleep. He pulled her tighter.
"I'll always stay with you, Nat," he whispered as he drifted off.
The Day After
Agent Barton woke from a comfortable sleep and wondered where he was. Then the memories of the previous night began to wash over him. The mission. The drinking. Her pleading him to stay with her. He looked down at the figure in his arms. She was sleeping soundly; they were even closer than they had been when they had fallen asleep. He appreciated how innocent she looked when she was asleep. She was always beautiful, but this was different. This was one of the few times she wasn't glaring daggers or using a fake seductive smile, and her natural beauty overtook him. He inspected every feature of her makeup-less face. Her pointed chin and high cheekbones graced her face. Her eyes and lashes looked at peace as she dreamt. Her lips, which lacked their usual red lipstick, were full and pink. He had a sudden urge to kiss her. He settled for a kiss to her temple, and froze as she began to stir. He was torn between moving away and possibly waking her and staying there to avoid pulling her from her world of dreams. He didn't get a chance to decide, because her eyes fluttered open and she began to take note of the world around her. When she discovered she was not alone, she looked startled, and then remembered why he was there. She had asked him, begged him, to stay. Her cheeks tinged pink, and she turned to the man whose arms were wrapped around her.
"G'morning, Nat," he mumbled, smiling.
"Good morning." She laid her head on his shoulder and he pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"What are we doing?" Her voice was suddenly sharp. "We shouldn't be doing…whatever this is."
"Why not? It's not against protocol."
"Yes, but we're partners. We could destroy our relationship. We can't do this again." She pulled away and sat at the end of the bed.
"Well, we didn't do anything so there isn't anything to do again." He stretched and sat up as he said this.
"So we didn't…?" She bit her lip.
"No, Nat, we definitely didn't." There was a touch of wistfulness in his voice. Relief flooded her face. Then suddenly she got a mischievous look on her face.
"Fury gave us last night and the day off, right? He expected us to do something like that. Can you imagine the look on Coulson's face when we show up to the helicarrier in the same clothes as yesterday?" She laughed at the idea.
"Come on, Nat, Fury gave us time off because we needed to rest. He wouldn't do that."
"Then why did he only book us one room?" She looked at him, and he groaned. He was starting to think she was right.
"I don't know, Nat, but it wasn't anything like that." He got up and started to get around.
"Whatever you say." She was still convinced that Fury was trying to push them together.
When they reached the helicarrier, many agents noted their disheveled state. They walked down the hall towards the command center, he carried her shoes, she carried her clutch. Meanwhile, Coulson and Fury stood waiting for them.
"Ten bucks says they did." Fury offered to Coulson.
"I'll take that bet. They're partners, nothing more." They shook on it.
"I should tell you, the odds are in my favor." Coulson looked confused.
"Why are the odds in your favor?" He was beginning to suspect this bet wasn't totally fair.
"She's wearing that dress. He's a hot-blooded American male. And I may have only booked them one room." Fury's face was full of mischief. Just then, they saw the agents walking down the hall, talking and laughing. As Romanov whispered something into Barton's ear, Coulson sighed. He had lost the bet.
"The mission was a success, I take it?" Fury looked up from the holocom and the previously laughing partners were serious as they stood at attention.
"Yes, but not yours." Natasha looked at him knowingly.
"What are you talking about?" Tension rose as two of the best spies in the world went head to head.
"Don't play dumb. A night off? After a mission where I wore this? Only one hotel room?" She put all her cards on the table.
"You deserved the night off, to relax. And as for the one room, that was purely financial." Fury spoke calmly as he explained this. Barton stepped up.
"Sir, we're on a trillion dollar helicarrier. Don't insult our intelligence by telling us you couldn't afford a room in a hotel for one night." Fury gave in.
"Fine. I was hoping you two would get together. You should be thanking me; you're both obviously attracted to each other." This last remark shocked Romanov and simply made Barton blush. "However, it would seem that it didn't work." He opened up his wallet and slid a ten dollar bill over to Coulson, whom up to now had gone unnoticed by the two younger agents.
"You were in on this too, Coulson?" Natasha demanded.
"I didn't know about his plans until about ten minutes ago." Coulson said, putting the ten in his wallet.
"Good, now if you'll excuse us , Agent Barton and I have hangovers to take care of." She turned to leave, and Barton watched helplessly as Natasha's hips swayed in that little black dress. Coulson clapped his hand on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry, son. I know how hard that it, wanting to be with your partner." And with that, Coulson left the command center. Barton just nodded, then followed suit. Fury shook his head sympathetically. Poor kid, he thought, I did what I could.