A/N: Hope you're enjoying the slow crawl into our story... let me know what you think!
.: Operation Mommy Dearest - Chapter Two :.
The fingers of Russian frost always seemed to bite deeper into my skin, no matter how long I stayed on its foreign soil.
I had landed in Moscow just after noon, and suited down in the signature black bodysuit that gave me the most freedom in movement - not knowing where the Winter Soldier would come from, if death was his main objective. I definitely didn't want to be caught off guard whilst in line at border patrol.
I bought one of those obnoxious fur coats whilst passing through the city, and a ushanka of gray and white. It was a color that blended naturally into the white wash of snow and ice, though a mistake, as my hair ran like needles of blood in contrast.
Tony had offered a room in one of his many lavish hotels, though I declined, opting for a cheap motel on the corner of crime and conviction. A lot more lowkey if I was to make it out of Moscow alive - the press just waiting for a bite of Avengers gossip, or an update on the whereabouts of the next new threat.
As of right now, it was James Barnes.
Melina - my adoptive mother and the number one target on Bucky's hit list - worked downtown. She had a large office that perched above a highrise stretch of classified projects; followed closely by the Russian government and a sea of white-collared billionaires. The innovative Iron Maiden that helped form a lot of good and bad decisions… depending on what side of the coin you happened to land on.
For me, she was the doting mother that served me broccoli instead of microwave dinners.
For Bucky, she was the overseer to his ultimate demise.
Believe me, I understood the irony.
I knew he wouldn't make any irrational kill in broad daylight, especially if vengeance was on his mind. A kill for profit would happen at the end of a sniper rifle, placed at the peak of a flat-roofed building with a red laser pointed at the head of an enemy.
Revenge was slow, private… tasteful.
It was planned with as much precision as an expensive dinner.
Melina's death wouldn't be simple.
I watched her from the comfort of a downtown cafe from the hours of 3-and-9 pm, not risking a closer look as it could blow the entire operation.
Operation Save Mommy, if that's what we were going with.
Melina had a late lunch with a few co-workers, studied extensively in the visible stretch of her overlooking office, and bundled into her furs just as the sky began to litter with stars– finishing her day and beginning her night.
She stepped out onto the sidewalk and her private chauffeur cranked open the backdoor, bidding her inside. With a kick of her dress, a click of her heels and a slide across the leather, she was out of site.
It only took me three seconds to realize she was in danger.
Maybe Bucky was that irrational.
I flung off the russian sable and stalked to the main road, watching as the sea of traffic separated me from my main target - and Melina.
Just as I was about to start running, a delivery driver pulled up to the curb, his engine thrumming and breaks not on.
An opportunity.
In a quick shoulder-shove, I barged him off the motorcycle and hooked my leg around the beast, balancing the weight between the handle-bars and tearing off into the night.
The wind whipped the furred hat off my head, freeing my tangle of red ribbon curls– neon bright, like the fizzing sign out of a sleazy bar, especially against so much snow.
There was no way Bucky Barnes wouldn't recognise The Black Widow now.
The road was slick but the tyres were well-gripped, weaving between the traffic as Melina's car took an outer city turn and toward rural Moscow, a peak of mountains in the distance.
The car swerved, and I envisioned a struggle in the backseat, with James behind the wheel and that robotic arm of his flailing like a machete to where Melina sat.
Anger flew through me, and twisting the ignition forward, the bike jerked into a new gear – throwing the weight of gravity and wind against my body.
Don't be stupid, James.
Not here.
Not in public.
The vehicle swerved and car-horns barked in response, alerting a swarm of idle police.
Red and blue lights now lit up the leading roads out of the inner city, fleeting past Red Square and its dawdling tourists– only amplifying the speed in which James' was driving.
And now me, flying even quicker to reach them.
Melina's car took a sharp turn, losing the police but not my trail, heading toward the southern route through Moscow. Not to where she lived, then.
No… Bucky seemed to have other plans.
Sirens wailed in the back, though we were further out now, and traffic wasn't an issue– the smooth roads empty and clear. Not a dip in the tarmac nor a tear in the curb.
The motorcycle purred against the soundless streets, and I followed their headlights with a narrow gaze, letting all the white snow blur into one. My tunnel-vision immaculate.
After ten minutes, the car diverted down a woven road of old buildings and rolled to a gradual stop. No sign of movement, or an open door.
I slammed on the breaks and killed the engine, leaving the motorcycle a few doors down– not wanting to be seen. As quiet as a mouse.
I slinked through the shadows and sanded my back against the gritted texture of an abandoned house, poised on my toes and chest pushed out– musing a breath to keep as gentle as the wind.
Crank. Slam.
The driver door opened.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Footsteps.
Crank. Heave. Drop.
A body fell onto the sidewalk.
Melina laid in a pool of blood, her dark hair messed across her face, her hand outstretched against the cobbled road.
A shadow stood over her.
There was a gun holstered to my thigh, though it was now in my hand without thought, the swift click of the safety coming off and now aimed at the man– at the winter soldier.
I hadn't realized I was out of the shadows, poised with an anger that made my nerves tingle with electricity. Though I stood now in the center of the street, my head canted to one side.
"James." I spat.
He turned, offering a simple look that didn't match the blood staining his suit.
He was wearing Hydra leather, and his arm had been remodeled to an obsidian metal I didn't recognise. His hair was long and shaggy, and face contorted around a long scar that sliced from eyebrow to lip.
"Natalia." James said without meaning - as if all the lights were on, but no one was home.
He looked right through me.
I shot once, mainly to intimidate, though the bullet bounced off his metal arm and sang like a siren– unscathed. Unhurt. Untouched.
Bucky looked down at the steel and his nostrils flared in anger, a stream of pure chaos now leaking into those dead eyes. In a split moment, they snapped up and focused on my face, before narrowing.
I poised myself for a fight– for a battle to avenge Melina– though I was stunned by the sudden impact of an object.
I fell to my knees, my head ringing like a Sunday bell, sensing the presence of another person behind me.
Collapsing to the ground, the last thing I saw was The Winter Soldier's boots as they stalked closer to my body, and then everything went black.