A/N: Spoiler alert for Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Avengers: Age of Ultron, Captain America: Civil War, Ant-Man, and Spiderman: Homecoming.
As always, many thanks go out to CapriceAnn Hedican-Kocur for the Beta and Winter-Soldier-88 for the brainstorming.
Note: Not only has my muse been a fickle little scamp, my family has been experiencing a great deal of emotional turmoil that may not get better any time soon. We're into year two of the Year From Hell. Stay tuned for further developments.
Namaste,
Sunny
"I will come back to you, I swear I will;
And you will know me still.
I shall be only a little taller
Than when I went."
― Edna St. Vincent Millay, The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems
Winter Soldier
And You Will Know Me Still
Chapter 56
Somewhere in New Jersey
The line went dead and Natasha let her pacing carry her through the apartment, checking windows and doors and setting alarms so she could sleep in peace. Easy to do when she sorta had company. Sam and Steve were taking turns keeping watch throughout the night.
Earlier, the three of them had been on a conference call with Clint, going over the plans for HavenCorp with them as her back-up, though she told them it wasn't necessary. However, Clint insisted and Steve and Sam took his side, the traitors. Three to one odds weren't much when you're the Black Widow, but she capitulated without a fight. She just wanted this boring op to be over.
And it was sweet of them to want to take care of her.
The Parker Apartment
Queens, New York
Not wanting to chance that May would catch him changing into the suit, Peter eased the window up, shouldered his backpack with the suit resting comfortably inside, climbed over the sill, and jumped to the ground. He looked around, seeing only a few people and cars. Looking up, he saw the light in May's bedroom was out, breathing a sigh of relief that she'd gone to bed early. She was a heavy sleeper and seldom got up during the night.
Peter kept to the streets for a few blocks then made his way to the roof of a tall building by acting like he lived there and slipping in as someone was coming out. Using the webbing, he swung from one rooftop to another until he'd reached the Natatorium off the park where he changed into the suit. Holding the mask in one hand, he peered through the skylight, watching Liz sitting on the wall between the Jacuzzi and the pool, chatting with their decathlon teammates. He wanted to be there with them, but had other things on his mind that were more important than swimming with his crush. Like catching someone who gave criminals a bad name.
With a sigh, he stepped back and put the mask on. A brief glow expanded outward from the spider emblem on his chest and was gone.
"Good evening, Peter."
Startled by the gentle female voice in his ear, he stumbled back a step, glancing around, seeing that he was alone. "What the… Hello?" He tapped the side of his head, thinking he was hearing things.
"Congratulations on completing the rigorous Training Wheels Protocol and gaining access to the suit's full capabilities."
The lenses of the goggles showed a variety of viewing modes in a heads-up-display. "Um, thank you."
"So where would you like to take me tonight?" the voice said in a satisfied tone.
"I-I, um, put a tracker on someone. A bad guy," he told her haltingly, stuttering over the beginning.
The HUD changed to a map, zooming in on a flashing indicator. "Tracker located." A red line appeared showing the path to the tracker. "Plotting course to intercept target."
Still a bit unsure, Peter conditionally agreed, "Okay. As long as I make it back before May knows I'm gone."
He shot webbing across the street, using it to swing down onto the top of a truck. When the voice in his suit told him to, he changed trucks going in another direction. They didn't engage in small talk leading him to believe she was an AI.
"One hundred meters from destination and closing." The truck roared past a large patch of grass. "Jump now."
Her voice was so calm and matter of fact that Peter did as she said without hesitation. He rolled down a grassy hill, jumped to his feet and ran through taller grass that surrounded an abandoned gas station.
"Detecting three individuals."
Creeping up to the back of the station, Peter edged around to where he could observe the three men while crouched in the tall grass. The station was dark, with a couple of trucks in the driveway where the pumps used to be. "Why is their secret lair in a gas station? That's so lame." He leaped up to the top of the sign. "Hey, suit lady. What're they doing?"
"Do you want to hear what they're saying?"
Intrigued and excited at the same time, Peter's pulse quickened. "I can hear what they're saying? Uh, yeah, sure."
The HUD closed in on the van, showing the heat signature of the three men. From their conversation, they'd jacked a bunch of tech from the Battle for New York and the SHIELD Triskelion in D.C. Too bad the field trip to D.C. happened months later. He could've helped out against HYDRA.
"They're in the middle of a heist." Inside the suit, he smiled in anticipation. "I could catch them red-handed. This is awesome! Okay, Suit Lady, I'm gonna get a little closer, so I can see what's happening."
"Would you like me to engage Enhanced Combat Mode?"
That didn't sound so bad. "Uh, Enhanced Combat Mode? Yeah."
"Activating Instant Kill."
From his point of view, Peter saw the eyes of the suit turn into evil-looking red dots. O-oh, this is not good! "No, no, no, no, no! I don't wanna kill anybody!"
As if she'd turned on a water sprinkler by mistake, the suit lady calmly stated, "Deactivating Instant Kill."
The suit's eyes return to their normal appearance as Peter jumped off the sign. He misjudged the distance and fell, hitting the ground with a loud grunt.
~~O~~
After some trial and error, mostly error, the bad guys had gotten away and Peter had ended up locked in a super-secure warehouse. With the help of Suit Lady, whom he'd given the name Karen, he got out and saved his friends from the glowy thing, which was in actuality a Chitauri core. It caused severe structural damage to the elevator shaft of the building where their next decathlon would be held, trapping his teammates inside.
Using the reconnaissance drone, the emblem on the front of the suit, and by breaking four-inch ballistic glass, he managed to save his teammates without getting himself killed in the process. He and Liz even had a moment. Well, Liz and Spider-Man had a moment, interrupted by Karen urging him to kiss Liz and him falling down the elevator shaft.
Unfortunately, Vulture and his men had gotten away with the tech they'd stolen.
The daring rescue had been broadcast on the student news program, at the same time Peter had an epiphany about Vulture stealing tech from Damage Control to build his weapons.
Through even more trial and error, and a big ass fight with Vulture, he'd saved a cargo ship from utter disaster. To his great relief, the webbing held until the Coast Guard could evacuate the passengers and crew. He saved the lives of everyone on board at the expense of letting Vulture get away, which had been the villain's purpose. That he'd gotten away twice pissed Peter off even more than falling down the elevator shaft in front of Liz.
While locked in the warehouse, Peter had given the Suit Lady the name Karen, and she accepted without qualms or argument. She seemed to have fun helping him learn how to use the suit. Nearly as much fun as he had learning about it.
Then, his world simultaneously got better, bad, and worse, in that order. Liz agreed to go to the prom with him.
Then, on the night of the prom, May dropped Peter at Liz's house. He rang the doorbell and was admitted by Liz's parents.
Fear like he'd never known before took up residence in his brain upon discovering that his crush's father was his arch nemesis, Vulture, who threatened to not only kill him, but May too. He wasn't ashamed to say he almost wet his pants. But then, he got over it for the fight with Vulture's henchmen and everything that happened afterward.
Now Liz won't talk to him because he left her at the prom alone with no date. There was also the one question that Karen continued to refuse to answer: Who made her and the suit? He knew it couldn't have been Steve Rogers or Sam Wilson, because why would they tell him to leave the superhero business to the Avengers then give him the means to continue? The tech was so sophisticated that there was only one person that came to mind: Tony Stark. However, Karen would neither confirm nor deny, and nothing on the HUD or any part of the suit or the accessories bore the SI logo.
Resigning himself to not getting answers, at least not anytime soon, Peter went do his homework.
The Cephalus
Home Port
Athens, Greece
A Few Days Later
On their second day in port, Bucky scheduled his "recon" for well after dark while most of the crew was either asleep or visiting family. Getting off the ship with his duffle bag was easy. He simply waited for the OOD to step away and made tracks for the shore.
At the main street into the heart of the city, he stopped to look back, silently saying farewell to his crewmates, especially Milos, who had become a good friend. His plans were necessarily fluid. For now, he was headed overland toward Belgrade, with stops in some of the larger cities in Macedonia, Kosovo, and Serbia. If none of these countries suited his purposes, he'd move on. He'd need a place to sleep tonight. Anywhere would do. Thanks to Milos and the Winter Soldier upgrades, his Greek was good enough he could get by, maybe rent a bunk in a hostel. Or perhaps it would be best to leave the area before the captain and first mate sent someone looking for him, if they even bothered.
Bucky shouldered his bag and headed toward the north end of the city.
~~O~~
Leaning against the railing on the uppermost deck smoking his pipe, Milos spied Grant sneaking off the ship with his bag. The man had been restless since coming on board that first day in the U.S. That he would leave one day was inevitable, though he'd hoped his new friend would stay around a bit longer. It had been nice to have someone to talk to when on a long boring shift in port and to play cards with off duty.
"Kaló taksídi."
Oncological Research Center
Pewaukee, Illinois
Secure Lab
Sub-level 7
For the last week, Christine had toiled away in the lab down the hall from the subject, beginning with computer models and moving on to "live" trials. Live being a relative term. The experiments were performed on fresh blood drawn from Eli using preserved blood from the subject. If that went well, she'd move on to fresh blood from both sources.
To be fair, she'd spent the first few days breaking down the subject's DNA profile to determine how it had been altered since being brought to the center and before he supposedly died. A breakthrough came on the fourth day and that's when she realized she hadn't been home since the night of her epiphany. Christine felt horrible about neglecting her family, but once she cured Eli's cancer, she'd make it up to all of them.
What she needed now… A jaw-popping yawn came just before a drop in energy levels to near zero. She'd been working around the clock, her mind focused solely on Eli and the cure. Pushing back from the computer, Christine rubbed her eyes and stood.
In the lift, she took off her white lab coat and set her phone alarm to wake her in a few hours. "So close. Just need a fresh blood sample for the final testing. But first, we nap."
She went into her office, tossed the lab coat in a chair, kicked off her shoes, and took a blanket and pillow from the credenza under the window. This wasn't the first time she'd slept in her office and wouldn't be the last. Before going to sleep, she would make a long overdue phone call to her family.
"Hi, honey. Sorry to call so late," she told her husband when he came on the line.
Oliver kept his voice low telling her he was probably sitting with Eli. "We were beginning to wonder if you'd run off with that scientist you've been fangirling over since Kaitlyn was a baby. What's his name again?"
The humor in his words indicated that he didn't think it a likely scenario, and he'd be right. "Bruce Banner. My fangirl days may be coming to an end. He hasn't published in a while. Too bad. I could use his help right about now."
"Ah, the old publish or perish conundrum." Oliver grunted as he stood, padding softly on the carpet. A door opened and closed, and he was back, speaking a little louder. "Eli understands your work is important, but Sawyer misses Mom."
Being so involved in her work the last week and not being home saddened Christine. "And Kaitlyn?"
Another door opened and closed before Oliver spoke again. "She's being Kaitlyn. Still waiting for a callback from the school. Annoyed she hasn't heard from the ballet mistress."
"She'll make her decision by the end of the month. Experience tells me she's gone on vacation and will call when she gets back." Christine sat down, stretching her legs out and flexing her toes. "Forgive me for getting caught up in my work?"
"I do, of course. The kids are another story. Don't let it distract you, though. This job is what's going to cure our son. You take all the time you need."
"It's just that I don't want to be one of those working parents who come up short in the mothering department. When this is all over, we'll go away for a week or two to renew our family bond. How's that sound?"
Sighing, Oliver laid down on the bed. "Sounds like a trip worth waiting for. I'll let you get back to work. Love you."
Christine smiled with affection. "Love you too. Give the kids a kiss and hug for me."
She swung her legs onto the sofa, sighing with pleasure as her head hit the pillow while pulling the blanket up to her neck and closing her eyes.
Sometimes, the only way Christine could find an answer that was eluding her was to literally sleep on it. She found that going over the data as some would count sheep to help her fall asleep would result in dreaming the answer, or at least give her enough of a push to steer her towards a solution. "I hope this works."
HavenCorp
The Next Night
During the time Natasha performed recon, she slowly built up a rapport with the staff at HavenCorp. Through the use of subtle interrogation techniques, she began laying the groundwork for her incursion into the company's security systems.
Strangely enough, or maybe not, once she started smiling and speaking to the staff, and showing an interest in how their day was going and their families, she saw a marked improvement in morale. Some even initiated conversation and occasionally invited her to go to lunch with them. She used that time for additional fact gathering while discouraging more intimate one-on-one events. Without coming out and saying so, she led everyone to believe that she had someone waiting for her at home.
When the time came for putting her carefully gathered knowledge to work, Natasha gained entry into the Orpheum Theater across the street. It was closed for renovations and had the best line of sight. With one eye on her laptop, she suited up, adding the Widow's Bites, the Makarovs, knives, and the rest of her personal arsenal. Without the wig, her hair wasn't a concern. Still, she stuffed it under a knit cap. By then, it was time.
Just that day, Natasha had attached a small device to the fire alarms, one on each floor, which could be tripped individually or all at once should she need a diversion any time of the day or night. Designated plans C or D, just in case.
She scrolled through the live video feeds from the security cameras to determine the best possible entry point, settling on the south side of the building. It was in shadow day and night due to the number of leafy trees that partially obscured the external cameras on that side leaving a blind spot which security patrolled at regular, predetermined intervals that hadn't been changed in years.
The internal cameras were much easier to disrupt. She would feed them a recording of the empty hallways on a continuous loop that would help obscure her entry. If at any time she needed the live version, she could access it from her phone.
It was time to earn her exorbitant fee.
~~O~~
Natasha had been inside HavenCorp for less than five minutes when a sense of danger whispered down her spine. Though there were few ambient sounds-the guards would be parked in front of their monitors until time for rounds-she felt movement in the air that had nothing to do with the environmental systems. Others were in the building, when she should be alone.
The scuff of a shoe, unheard by most people, alerted her to their proximity. She crept to the corner, dropping into a crouch. From one of her many pockets, she produced a tiny mirror, smaller than that used by a dentist. She slid it along the floor until it stuck out into the next corridor, seeing several men dressed in black sleeveless shirts with dark blue Kevlar vests. They spoke Russian, but that didn't concern her as much as the tattoos. And even they weren't high on her list of things to get upset over.
Once upon a time in Russia, prison tattoos were quite common. Tattoos showed a service record of achievements and failures, prison sentences, and the type of work a criminal does. They might also represent his "thief's family", naming others within hearts or with the traditional tomcat image. A thief's collection of tattoos represents his mast, which indicates his status within the criminal community, and his control over others within their laws. Even with laws against tattooing, inmates still performed the ritual.
The man on the left bore hand and ring tattoos, the one on the back of his right hand, omut, designating him as one from whom it is difficult to get away. She'd take him down first. Another turned in her direction, allowing her to see a white cross on a black background, which indicated that he'd served solitary confinement. The others were turned away and all she could see of their tattoos were the ones on their necks. Not good.
Resisting a heavy sigh, Natasha considered that she'd gone up against worse. The Chitauri and Ultron came to mind. If she hadn't gotten to know James, the Winter Soldier would've been on that list as well. However, she no longer considered him a threat to her wellbeing or that of her friends. Not physically, at least.
Getting to her feet, Natasha activated the Widow's Bites. The high pitched whine drew the attention of the men as she intended. She spun out into the corridor, one side of her mouth turned up in a smirk. In Russian, she said, "Privet, rebyata. Ty khochesh' tantsevat'?"
~~O~~
A member of Yuri's team came up beside him, holding out a small tablet. Scrolling the screen allowed them to see the real-time video feeds of the internal cameras, and not the false information being displayed for security, most likely by Romanova. On it, he watched the Black Widow take down three of his best men in seconds with minimal fuss.
Yuri sent half his men to come at Romanova from the opposite direction, trapping her between them. With nowhere to run, she would surrender, and he would be victorious. Then, he would have a little fun. Slow torture was his style, killing an enemy an inch at a time. If her reputation proved authentic, she promised hours of entertainment. Then, when he got bored, he'd slit her throat. By then, she would welcome death as it would allow her to once again be with her lover, Clint Barton.
Holding up a hand for silence, Yuri pressed his back against the wall. On his signal, the members of both groups stepped out, effectively blocking Romanova's escape. There was a blur of movement, and suddenly, she was holding two glowing batons. They were shorter than fighting sticks, and the crackle of electricity scritched in his ears like a short circuit. A whiff of ozone reached his nose.
Grinning nastily, Yuri took a half step forward, speaking in his native Russian. "There is no escape, Natalia. Surrender and I may show mercy." He pretended to think it over. "On second thought, I wouldn't count on it."
His men laughed at his joke, and just for a moment, he was certain fear had been reflected in her eyes. But then it was gone, replaced by a confident grin.
~~O~~
"Clint!" Friday's voice in his ear sounded urgent."A situation has developed at HavenCorp with Agent Romanoff."
Already in the air, Clint bumped up his speed as much as he dared.
On his left, Sam spoke into his headset. "How do you know Nat's mixed up in it?"
"I've tapped into the frequency being used by Rozhenko and his team. They have Agent Romanoff trapped on the third floor."
Feeling the tension increase, Clint took over the conversation when he reached cruising altitude. Sam climbed into the back, shrugged into the Falcon wingpack, opened the back door, and jumped out. Clint flipped a switch and the door closed again. "Cause a diversion, Friday. Something to unnerve the bad guys."
Sam broke in, "Can you disrupt their night vision? Set off the fire alarms?"
"I have just the thing, Mr. Wilson," the AI stated smugly.
It wasn't Clint's imagination. Friday was proud of her solution.
"The stalemate has been disrupted, gentlemen. Agent Romanoff has taken out several of Rozhenko's men, and the rest are in pursuit."
"Can you get a message to her?"
"You bet. Should I let her know that you and Mr. Wilson are on the way?"
Clint looked over at Barnes, one eyebrow crawling up his forehead, and a smug grin turning up the corners of his mouth. "Yes. Cap too. When you reach her, say 'Cairo'. She'll know what it means."
"Done and done. May I ask…"
The helicopter banked around to the right, and straight ahead, Clint could see the HavenCorp building. "Classified. Sam, Nat'll be on the roof in less than two minutes. I won't be able to land, so you'll have to swoop and grab, while I cause trouble for the snipers. Then we're outta here."
Sam veered off while tapping the controls on his left wrist. "Roger that."
Friday broke in before Clint and Sam could congratulate themselves on their plan. "We have another problem, guys. Rozhenko anticipated that Agent Romanoff may attempt to escape and has taken steps to prevent it."
"The snipers. I see them." Clint opened a channel to their back-up. "You there, Cap? Friday's causing a disturbance in the Force as a distraction for Nat. Wanna crank it up even higher on your end?"
There was a crackle of static, then Rogers' voice came on. "Copy that. Front door's locked. I'll have to use my key." A moment later there was a clang and the sound of metal hitting the ground. "I'm in. Friday, where are Rozhenko and his team?"
The AI barely paused. "What's left of his group is attempting to reach the roof access ahead of Agent Romanoff. They won't succeed."
Sam broke in, "How do you know? What if they've caught up to her already?"
"Agent Romanoff is quite resourceful. She is now one floor below the roof and four floors above her pursuers. You and Agent Barton will be on the scene before they catch up."
Clint pointed his chin at the HavenCorp building just ahead. "Get ready, Falcon."
His colleague made a loop-do-loop just below the chopper. "Just don't hit me on the way in."
Manhattan
Brushing his hands free of dirt and dust, Peter admired his handiwork in capturing a pair of robbers during a crime in progress. They were trussed up in a nice, neat package for the police. He leaned down to look the smaller guy in the eyes. "Next time, ease off the siracha sauce. I could smell you on the other side of the river." With a quickly salute, he left them to think about what they'd done before the police arrived. He was pondering if he should return home or make one more stop when his thoughts were interrupted.
"Peter!"
"Geez, Karen. No need to shout." He shot a web at the adjacent building and swung into the air, headed for the Midtown Tunnel back to Queens. "What's up?"
The map popped up on the HUD, a red dot flashing just south of the 280 in Newark. "A situation is developing for which you are uniquely qualified."
Holding in a groan, Peter shot another web and dropped the first one. "I'm beat. I stopped two robberies, an attempted kidnapping, and changed an old man's tire. Contact the police and let them handle it."
"I believe you'll want to take care of this yourself, Peter." Karen paused and he swore it was for dramatic effect. "It's the Avengers."
Newark
As Clint came on the scene, the roof access opened and Natasha exited at a run, her eyes already scanning the sky.
"Let's do this, Wilson." Clint swore under his breath as several men and one woman erupted from the roof access, already firing at Natasha's hiding place. "I'll distract them while you pick her up."
Clint circled the building looking for surprises in the form of snipers while Sam took out the bad guys. "You're up, Wilson. Make it good."
"Stop micromanaging. I got this, uh, her."
Natasha slowly got to her feet, peering into the sky. She waved and moved out into the open.
Wilson swooped in just as Yuri and his two remaining henchmen appeared in the open door. With a nod, he sent them after Natasha. She retaliated by shooting both in the legs, making it impossible for them to continue the fight, and forcing Yuri into the open lest he miss his chance for revenge.
Far below, Clint saw Yuri remove his headset and grind it under his heel, having apparently copped to the fact that they were listening in. He moved out to the middle of the open area and stopped. Natasha gave him the same courtesy.
The pair stood several yards apart, showing no trust whatsoever.
~~O~~
For one of the few times in his life, Sam felt nearly helpless. In order to rescue Natasha, he wouldn't be able to defend himself, leaving both of them vulnerable.
At the moment, she and Yuri were having a conversation. Natasha's demeanor was calm, relaxed, yet poised to defend or attack, whatever was necessary to get out of this alive.
Unable to contact Natasha, Sam wasn't sure if he should interrupt or let it all play out. The choice was taken from him when Yuri reached around to pull a weapon from the back waistband of his pants. But Natasha was faster. She threw a stinger at Yuri. His body shook while small arcs of electricity flashed around his torso and he slumped to the ground.
Taking that as his cue, Sam swooped down, skimming barely above the surface of the roof and scooped her up. She wrapped her arms around his neck while he held her close as he angled back into the sky. The wind tore at their clothes and blew Natasha's hair in his face, but he couldn't be concerned with that with Clint's voice urgent in his ear.
"Sam! Bogies on your three, seven, ten and twelve o'clock! A bunch of 'em and they don't look like sightseers."
Instinct kicked in. Sam reacted without thinking, spinning, diving, and performing crazy multi-loop maneuvers that would've made the average person sick, avoiding the gunfire that erupted from all directions. With Natasha in his arms, he couldn't get to his weapons.
"You have to let me go, Sam!" she told him without a trace of fear.
"But…"
He felt her adjusting her grip behind his neck. "I'll hold on. You return fire."
Cocking his arms back and forward deposited two fully loaded semi-automatics into his hands. He wasted no time returning fire while continuing his evasive maneuvers, trusting Natasha to hold on through it all just as she trusted him to save them both.
It wasn't a perfect solution, but it was all they had. Clint was doing the best he could too, but wouldn't want to chance hitting either of them.
~~O~~
Forcing himself to be calm while watching his friends being shot at, Clint clicked his headset. "Cap, Rozhenko is on the roof waiting to be taken into custody. Watch your step though. He's a nasty piece of work."
"I'm there, Barton. He's gone."
"How'd he get away?"
Rapid footsteps that echoed let Clint know that Steve was headed back down the stairs. "Unimportant. Just get Friday on it."
~~O~~
Yuri cautiously stood up from where he'd hidden behind the A/C unit, watching the man with the wings firing at the snipers he'd employed as a distraction. Natalia hung around his neck like a noose. It would their undoing. His weapon was powerful enough that shooting one would mean shooting the other as the bullet would likely pass through both. The plan had been to force Natalia to watch while he slowly tortured and killed her lover. This man, the Falcon, had not been factored into that plan until now. He couldn't allow Natalia to escape, and if that meant taking out someone who was in his way, so be it.
Resting his elbows on the A/C housing, Yuri switched over to single shot, and took careful aim, the muzzle of his assault rifle tracking them in the night sky.
His patience was rewarded with the perfect moment to take his shot. He inhaled, exhaled, and squeezed the trigger.
~~O~~
Twisting and turning in the air, Sam swore under his breath while firing back at the snipers. At the same time, he angled higher, hoping to force them to give up once their targets were too far away. Natasha kept quiet, not venturing an opinion or giving out unsolicited advice, trusting him to keep them both safe. They needed to get away and soon, before their luck ran out and one of them was hit.
Clint was doing what he could, but the snipers were too well entrenched for his shots to give them more than a short respite. Their situation reminded Sam of the videos he'd seen of the Battle for New York where a dozen Chitauri had converged on the Hulk at once, firing continuously from all sides. The Big Guy had come out of it unscathed, but that wouldn't happen here. One stray bullet and one or the other or even both would be down for the count.
More bullets pinged off the wings and the pack from behind. Sam spun around, his weapons spitting bullets, chasing the bad guys back into hiding for the moment.
~~O~~
With her face pressed against Sam's chest, Natasha resisted offering advice or suggestions. Because she couldn't see the action, she might interrupt Sam's concentration, so she kept silent and tried not to move around too much.
She bit her lip to keep from crying out when a bullet grazed her left bicep and buried itself in Sam's shoulder. The action jerked them backward, throwing their flight off, and breaking her grip. Her fingers scrambled for purchase on the shoulders of Sam's Kevlar, finding none.
Sam dropped his weapons, reaching out for her… and missed.
TBC
Kaló taksídi = Have a good journey.
Privet, rebyata. Ty khochesh' tantsevat'? = Hello, boys. Do you wanna dance?
During the 20th century in the Soviet Union, Russian criminal and prison communities maintained a culture of using tattoos to indicate members' criminal career and ranking. Specifically among those imprisoned under the Gulag system of the Soviet era, the tattoos served to differentiate a criminal leader or thief in law from a political prisoner.
The practice grew in the 1930s, peaking in the 1950s and declining in popularity in the 1970s and 1980s.
In 1985, perestroika and the new increase in tattoo parlors made tattooing fashionable, and further diluted the status of tattoos as a solely criminal attribute.