A/N: Here is the promised story of what happened in Budapest. Or at least my version of it. Hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with the Avengers, Marvel or any of their characters except for the DVD. I'm just playing with them for a while. If I had a position of authority within the franchise, Hawkeye and Black Widow would already have their own movies as would Ruffalo as Bruce Banner. The OCs do belong to me though.
Many thanks to ladygris and Lady Pandora for the tag-team Beta.
Spoiler: For Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Namaste,
Sunny
Avengers
Budapest
Chapter 2
As Clint approached the café, all of his attention was focused on the mission. He had to get into the party or hundreds, maybe thousands of people would be killed by the weapons Smith had stolen. The anti-personnel mines, used primarily in ambushes, were directional, fired by remote control, and shot a pattern of steel balls into the "kill zone." The anti-tank mines were designed to damage or destroy armored fighting vehicles. They typically had a much larger explosive charge, and a fuse designed to be triggered by vehicles. Tampering could also set them off. That didn't mean Smith's people, or those to whom he sold them, didn't have the expertise to rig them for other uses. Hell, Clint could do that himself. Nasty stuff.
Slowing down, he used breathing exercises to calm his mind so this part of plan B would work. If he seemed too tense or distracted, it could put off the woman he was here to see, the one he had to convince to hire him as staff for the party. His plan was to get in, pass out drinks and hors d'oeuvres until he spotted Smith, Tucker and Szabo then, he would take off the uniform covering his tuxedo and return to make contact as a buyer. Easy-peasy, right?
Clint snorted to himself. There were so many things that could go wrong with this plan, just like any other, but plan B had to work because they didn't have a plan C. Well, they did, but it had a very low chance of working.
If only Danny hadn't been killed…
But his friend had been killed, and it would take more than the word of a Budapest homicide detective to convince him it was an accident. Everything that Clint had seen and knew about Danny said that he would rather give up the car than lose his life. And the unnie was right. If he complied with the carjacker, why was he killed and the car not taken? Once Danny was down, they were clear, but they'd left him in the street to die.
Danny and Clint had never spoken about their personal lives. By mutual silent agreement, the subject had been off limits, so he had no idea if Danny had a wife and kids, parents, siblings, or whatever. Clint at least had Natasha, Fury, Hill, and a few others that he thought of as his surrogate family.
When this mission is over, I'll send money to his family, if he has one. Or pay for his funeral so he's not put in an unmarked grave. Danny was a good guy. He deserves to be remembered. Right now, I have to keep my mind on…
Clint came to a stop when a woman stepped into his path. "Pardon me. Are you Ryland York?"
A little suspicious, he gave her his mildest once-over, liked what he saw and thought briefly about going back for seconds. He responded noncommittally, "That depends."
She introduced herself as Elisabeta Kakos and was apparently friends with someone by the name of Ursola. Clint had no idea who she was talking about, but he was intrigued by her audacity, especially when she gave him an appraising look over the top of her sunglasses. The least he could do was hear what she had to say.
He guessed her age at ten years older than himself, maybe more. She wore a thin deep purple V-neck sweater with the sleeves pushed up to the elbows. Light gray slacks and purple sandals with three inch heels finished off her chic outfit. On the table next to a nearly new paperback lay a small clutch handbag that matched the heels.
Her hair fell to just below her shoulders, the layers of dark blonde with lighter highlights framing her face were a perfect accompaniment to her blue-green eyes surrounded by long, dark lashes. She wore make-up subtly applied to enhance her innate beauty. Something she'd been liberally endowed with by nature. Clint knew facelifts, cheek implants and nose jobs when he saw them, and Elisabeta's facial structure hadn't been altered by a surgeon's knife. It was unlikely that the rest of her had any work done either. External appearances didn't matter to Clint as long as the woman had a beautiful inside. Hopefully, this woman had both.
He could recognize that she was a kind and compassionate person from the way she treated the young woman who served them. When he stated his intention to get her into bed, the smoldering heat he sensed when he held her hand had turned into a flame, showing him that underneath the warm exterior beat the heart of a supremely passionate woman who had never allowed that passion to be uncaged.
Clint would never take advantage of her physically, yet he had a sudden craving for one small taste of that passion, the way a runner craves water after a long workout. Keeping hold of her hand so she couldn't retreat, Clint turned her hand over and kissed the palm. He'd seen in an old movie, and the woman on the receiving end more than enjoyed it. He leaned back only far enough to see her eyes, and smiled. "You thought I was going to kiss you."
"We've only known each other for a few minutes. Not nearly enough time to decide if you like someone enough to be that close."
Retreating to his own chair to put space between them, Clint gave her his most disarming grin. "We were both thinking about it. Now that first moment of awkwardness is out of the way. Besides, we're supposed to be dating. It would look odd if we weren't affectionate in front of others."
~~O~~
Elisabeta lowered her lashes and bit her lip to stop a silly grin from appearing where Ryland could see it. "We do not…"
"Kiss? That's not true. And don't pretend you didn't enjoy it." He paused and one eyebrow crawled up his forehead a fraction of an inch, and though his grin didn't change, she got the idea that he was laughing at her. Suddenly noticing the pastries, Ryland-or whatever his real name was-snatched up one at random, popped the entire thing in his mouth, chewed and swallowed before continuing. "I'm sorry if I offended you." Ryland held up a hand for silence when she started to speak. "In spite of everything I know about your country's culture, I'm still American. And sometimes, that's exactly what you're going to get. If you can't handle that, then it's best if we end this now."
Elisabeta searched his expression for any indication that he was being disingenuous, and found none. She stood, and he did as well, her bag, book and sunglasses held out for her to take. Opening her purse, she withdrew a cell phone. Without being told, Ryland took the phone, entered his name and number, and handed it back. "Let me know where and when to meet you for dinner tonight."
As she made to pass him, he turned with her, his elbow stuck out, and she wrapped her fingers around the lower part of his bicep. At the curb, she exchanged a generous tip for the keys to an expensive convertible. Ryland handed her in and closed the door, giving her a jaunty salute as she drove away.
Glancing in the rearview mirror, she saw him take out a cell phone and make a call before flagging down a cab. He got in, the cab made a U-turn and was lost in traffic. In a few minutes, Elisabeta arrived at home and was met at the door by her assistant, Anya. "So? How did it go?"
"It went fine. Ursola came through. I think Mr. York will do nicely."
Anya followed her down the long hallway to her room and inside. "Tell me about him. Is he handsome? Friendly? How old is he?"
Going into her closet, Elisabeta turned on the light and opened the door on the right at the back. She didn't want Anya to know what had actually happened at the café. "Handsome? Yes. Friendly? Very. As for age, he's several years my junior, but I got the sense that he has an old soul. He was audacious and very confident, yet it was tempered with respect and courtesy for others." She paused in sorting through her collection of evening gowns for a moment of reflection. "And underneath it all, I felt that he would be a formidable enemy if crossed."
Intrigued, Anya touched the side of the cabinet in the center of the closet. The top opened to show several expensive pieces of jewelry. "O-oh, so this Mr. York is what they call a 'bad boy'."
Chuckling, Elisabeta removed a gown and held it up in front of her for Anya's perusal. "Now that I think about it, yes. He's very much a bad boy, but one who knows how to be good when the situation calls for it."
Standing in front of the mirror holding a pair of sapphire earrings up to her ears to see how they would look on her, Anya must have seen something in her employer's face or heard it in her tone. "What did he do?"
Unable to stop herself from blushing, Elisabeta replaced the dress in her hand and pulled out another. "He kissed me."
"No! In public?"
"Yes. On the hand." She pulled out another dress, shook her head and replaced it. "It was a strange experience. I felt quite wicked, yet in a good way." Anya hugged her tightly. "What's that for?"
"It's about time you got out into the world again, and Mr. York sounds like the perfect man to help you do it. Your dress must be elegant yet alluring. So much so that he will be unable to resist when you take him into your bed."
At the look in Anya's eyes, Elisabeta gasped in pretend outrage. "Anya! I don't intend on sleeping with him. He's just…"
Anya draped a stunning emerald and diamond pendant around Elisabeta's neck. "A piece of jewelry to display for your friends so they won't know you're spending most of your days and all of your nights alone? Now why don't I believe that?"
~~O~~
As Elisabeta drove away, Clint's cell phone rang. It could only be one person. "What?…It went fine…I'll be meeting with Smith and his cronies right on time. We'll intercept the weapons and only the bad guys will get hurt…Uh, no. Not going as one of the waiters…Because I found another way in, moya sladkaya…I have a date…She's a friend of the Szabos'…Elisabeta Kakos… I didn't come on to her. She came on to me…Don't care what you think…She and I are having dinner tonight, to get our stories straight, you know? How we met, how long we've known each other. That kind of thing…What? No! We're not gonna sleep together…Hanging up now!"
Clint hit the end key, and flagged down a cab. "I need a tuxedo."
The driver nodded, turned on the meter and pulled away from the curb. Two hours later, Clint left the men's store with a garment bag over his shoulder. He wasn't far from the safe house so he walked, and as before, he took the phone apart and disposed of the pieces, careful not to do so in the same places as previous phones.
Natasha was out when he arrived at the safe house and he was glad he didn't have to listen to more of her teasing banter. Not that he couldn't hold his own. He just didn't have the time to spare until he left to meet Elisabeta at the restaurant.
While he'd been trying on his tux, he received a text from Elisabeta with the time and place for their dinner. If he rushed, he would just make it. He also knew the restaurant she'd chosen. It had a casual dress code as she said, but the atmosphere didn't allow for intimate conversations, so he made a few plans of his own. There was a place on the river that would work well. Now if only Elisabeta would trust him enough to take his suggestion.
After his shower, he dried quickly, dressed and combed his hair. He shoved his arms into the sleeves of his leather jacket just as Natasha was coming in. "Where are you going?"
"Out." Clint did one last hair check in the hall mirror. "Don't wait up," he said as he closed the door on her protest.
He ran to catch the trolley stopped at the corner, paid his fare and took a seat on the upper deck. When his stop came up, instead of signaling for the driver to stop, Clint slung his legs over the side. The driver slowed down for the red light and Clint jumped onto the sidewalk into a shoulder roll and back to his feet. Several people stopped to stare. Clint just grinned, shrugged his jacket back into place and ran a hand through his hair. He winked and smiled at one older lady who was leaning on the arm of a man the same age.
As he neared the restaurant, Clint saw Elisabeta just pulling up to the valet stand in the convertible, this time with the top up. He jogged the last half block, going to the driver's door, speaking to her in Hungarian. "Don't get out."
"Why?" Her puzzled glance didn't appear to contain suspicion for which he was thankful. That meant she trusted him.
"Because I have a better idea." Clint opened the door and extended his hand. Without a second thought, Elisabeta put hers into it. "I'll drive."
Reluctantly, she nodded. Clint walked her around to the passenger side, put her in and closed the door. Getting into the driver's seat, he located and engaged the control that put the top down.
"Ryland, what are you doing?"
"You like Italian?"
Elisabeta opened her mouth to protest, but what she said was, "Yes, of course. But…"
With a grin, Clint hooked his seat belt, adjusted the seat and mirror, put the car into first gear and revved the engine. "Hold on!"
The tires screeched as he accelerated away from the curb causing other cars to have to swerve to avoid being hit. Once they were on the road that ran alongside the river, he slowed down to make talking easier. "You're okay with this, right?"
Holding her hair with one hand, Elisabeta chuckled and leaned close so she wouldn't have to shout. "If I wasn't, you'd be in jail." He smiled and turned back toward the road. "Where are we going? I wasn't aware that there was an Italian restaurant along the river."
"It's a small place run by a family that emigrated from Italy about thirty years ago. Found it by accident the last time I was in Budapest."
Nodding, Elisabeta faced front again. "What's it called?"
"A Paradicsom Piros, The Red Tomato. I took the liberty of calling ahead. They don't take reservations, but they promised to hold their best table for us."
"The owners are friends of yours then."
"Sort of." Clint shrugged, not wanting her to know that he'd used the restaurant to meet a contact who didn't show, and that while he waited, he'd stopped a robbery. "The wife tried to set me up with their daughter, but Gilda only had eyes for a young man who worked as a mechanic."
The car throttled back as he slowed down to turn into the restaurant's parking lot. There was no valet, so Clint chose a spot and shut off the engine. He turned to look at Elisabeta and his breath stopped. Her hair was a mess and her cheeks pink from wind. She looked young and vibrant. Placing his arm on the back of her seat, he waited for her to look at him. "You okay?"
"Yes, it's just that you're the first man I've spent time with since before I met Robert who wasn't a relative or married to a friend. It feels like we're actually on a date."
He clasped her hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. "We don't have to do this, if it makes you uncomfortable. Would you like to go home?"
"No. I've been spending all my time alone, with Anya or my female friends. It's time for me to begin dating once more."
"Good." Clint got out and circled the rear of the car to take Elisabeta's hand and tuck it around his right arm. From behind his back, he brought out a small bouquet of tulips, peonies and lilacs, one of each.
She accepted them with a smile. "Only three?"
"In Hungary, flowers are given in odd numbers. I'm going with three for the first date, five for the second, and so forth."
"We've already discussed this, Ryland. There will be no 'and so forth'."
He chuckled. "That's what you say now. I intend to continue to try to change your mind."
~~O~~
Inside the restaurant, Elisabeta basked in the warmth of the owner's personal attention. They fussed over her and treated Ryland like a long lost son finally come home. The other patrons didn't feel slighted as each one received similar attention. Some restaurants claimed that, when you dined with them, you were family. But when you have dinner with family, they don't present you with a bill at the end of your visit, and neither did Elena and Bruno. That wasn't the only surprising thing that happened. Ryland had carried on the entire conversation with their hosts in Italian. He just continued to amaze her.
When dinner was over, she and Ryland took a stroll on the boardwalk that overlooked the river. After a while, they stopped to watch the breeze rippling the surface of the water. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she knew he wasn't Ryland York, but then he might decide not to attend the party with her, and she really wanted him there. He was charming, personable, and would make quite an impression on her friends, and that's what she wanted, wasn't it? To have the people she and Robert associated with believe she'd moved on from his death.
Ryland took her hand and just held it. A small skiff motored past reminding her that it was getting late. She turned to say as much to her companion and found him watching her, a small smile playing on his lips. "You're worried about lying to your friends."
Was he reading her mind? "I've been friends with most of these people for many years."
"So they know you pretty well, and they knew Robert." She nodded and looked away, but he forced her to look at him again by turning her toward him with a gentle touch on her chin. "Then it's probably safe to assume that they'll at least have some idea that our relationship isn't what it seems, right?" Again, she nodded. "So, if you're lying to them about us, and they know you're lying, then where's the harm in letting it all play out?"
"What you say makes a strange sort of sense."
Leaning close, Ryland cast a quick glance around to make certain they were alone before arching one eyebrow and shrugging carelessly. "Some of what I've told you about me is the truth, and some isn't. I leave it up to you to decide which is which. The point I'm trying to make is…" he leaned forward to drop a kiss on her forehead, "…no one tells the truth all the time, even if the person they're lying to is themselves. All your true friends will care about is that you're making the effort to heal from the blow of your husband's sudden death, and you're using me to do it." He tilted her head back so she could see his eyes. "And I for one, don't mind being used."
His tone, along with the twinkle of humor in his smoky blue eyes, made Elisabeta laugh. Then, over his shoulder, she saw something that annoyed her. At her gasp, Ryland started to turn, to see what she was looking at. She stopped him with a hand on his cheek, and a hastily whispered, "Kiss me."
~~O~~
Clint didn't hesitate or ask why Elisabeta had made her request. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her firmly against him so that they were touching from chest to knees, while the fingers of his other hand foraged in her hair. At the impact, her jaw dropped open on a gasp and Clint claimed her mouth as if he had every right to kiss her where and when he wanted, and to let her know without a doubt that he wanted to now.
Elisabeta's hands pressed against his chest, exerting pressure as if to push him away, but he was patient, and soon she relaxed. Her hands curled, the nails digging in slightly through the material of his shirt then sliding up and around his neck.
When he invaded her mouth with his tongue, she made a sound in the back of her throat, filled with need and want and urgency. It so inflamed Clint that the hand on her waist skimmed over her bottom and kept going until he could lift her knee, the point of her heel digging into the side of his thigh, driving him mad.
Through the blood pounding in his ears, Clint heard an intrusive throat clearing. Reluctantly, he loosened his hold and permitted a small space to appear between their lips. Elisabeta stepped back until he was forced to release her, and Clint almost grinned to see the flush on her cheeks.
"Elisabeta?"
Grudgingly, Elisabeta faced the middle-aged couple who'd interrupted them. She looked at him and away, forcing a smile of welcome. "Oh, hello." She glanced from Ryland to her friends and back. "Uh, Armin and Sophia Pataki, this is my friend, Ryland York. Ryland, my good friends Armin and Sophia Pataki."
The couple snapped their mouths closed and smiled awkwardly when Clint shook their hands. "Örülök, hogy megismertelek." Then, just to tweak the Patakis, he gazed down at Elisabeta affectionately. "Betta, bogárkám, it's getting late and we have that appointment in the morning. We should go."
Just for a moment, she looked at Clint as if he were crazy. Then, she returned his smile. "Of course, drágám." To her friends, Elisabeta said, "Will you be there Friday?"
Sophia nodded, her eyes glancing from one face to another. "Of course. Will you be attending as well, Mr. York?"
Clint wrapped an arm around Elisabeta's waist and gave her a smoldering look that was filled with promise. "Wouldn't miss it."
Once the Patakis had moved on, Elisabeta gave Clint a shove. "Sophia is the biggest gossip in Budapest. By this time tomorrow, she'll have told everyone that we're lovers."
Raising his hands in surrender, Clint couldn't help laughing. "You asked me to kiss you."
"A kiss, Ryland." Obviously trying to hold onto her outrage and failing, Elisabeta slapped his shoulder. "I didn't ask you to make love to me!"
"I take my work very seriously." Holding her gaze with his, Clint decided to tell the truth for once. He snagged her hand and brushed his lips over the knuckles, lowering his voice into a deeper register. "You are a beautiful woman, Elisabeta. And I took the opportunity to kiss you the way you deserved. If that's a crime, then I'm guilty. But don't think your indignation will get you out of our agreement. We're going to that party together Friday night, come hell or high water."
TBC
