A mile away, in a much cheaper hotel, Hawkeye and The Black Widow sat before a lit mirror. Hawkeye had a contouring brush in his hand. The Black Widow's hair was a platinum blonde wig, side parted and swept back into an old-fashioned low bun.
"Little beyond brows, lashes, lips today, huh?"
"That's why I asked you." The Black Widow said, moving her face as little as possible.
"Chin up."
The Black Widow obliged, letting Hawkeye tint her skin down her neck, across, her shoulders and chest. The red dress she was wearing was slit front and back in the torso, and up one leg to mid-thigh. It was easier to run in a slit skirt. Or drive the spike of her heel through someone's eye, if something went badly wrong.
Hawkeye put his brushes away. "Eyes closed."
The Black Widow did as she was asked, running her opening gambit through her mind, arranging words as she felt Hawkeye's pencil drag at her skin.
"Still." She felt a brush run over her eyelids. She heard him put something down. "Open." He lifted a mascara brush to her right eye. "Blink. Do you worry that this – blink – is too much for – blink – someone who's in the situation you're claiming to be in?" He changed eyes. "Blink."
"Do you think he has the first idea how long it takes to do this?"
"Blink."
"Even if you're good."
"Blink. I guess. We're going redder than red, aren't we?"
The Black Widow let Hawkeye paint her lips, then looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was blonde, her eyes were blue, her skin was two shades tanned, the edge of a temporary dragon tattoo peeked out on her left breast. A vine wrapped up her more exposed leg. Hawkeye's skill with a makeup brush made her face seem narrower. She didn't look like herself.
"You ready?"
"Yeah. If you drop me by the monument…"
.
Less than half a mile away, a young, fair-haired man sat on the bank of the river, on the hood of his car, sketching the lights of the wharf, and how they played on the water. He had wired headphones running in to something in his jacket pocket.
"This is Vault, I'm leaving the area. Alpha is on the road. Alpha speaks, but does not hear. Coms check." A tinny voice told the young man's ear.
"Beta hears, Beta speaks." A different tinny voice replied.
"Gamma hears, Gamma speaks." The young man said quietly.
"Vault signing off."
.
Natasha Romanoff approached the Washington Wharf hotel from the rear. There was a little supply door, likely to be unattended this late in the day. Of course it was locked, but to her, that was barely a moment's work, more time for her target to drink and relax.
Finding the party was very easy. Loud conversation and a string quartet led her there. She only had to deal with one more lock on her way.
Well over a hundred people were milling around; waiters with trays of canapes, men in dark suits, women in dresses of every colour. Hers might be a little more revealing than most, but she'd guessed the dress code well. Even the four players in the quartet were beautiful young women.
She started to weave her way through the crowd, looking about, mouth not quite closed, letting the rise and fall of her chest show, glancing over her shoulder too. She was frightened. She had to look it.
There he was. Big, broad, dark hair slicked back, beard groomed in to what was known as a 'Stark Goatee' these days. She took a deep breath and walked up to him. He noticed her when she was about twenty feet away. She saw him take her in, eyes lingering exactly where she'd intended.
"Mister Murphy." She said, letting her native accent show through a little.
He tilted his head at her. "Yes."
"My employer advised me to make your acquaintance tonight." She stood tense, letting him guess that it wasn't that simple. "My name is Anastasia Ivanoff." She gave him a performer's smile that didn't reach her eyes and offered him a gloved hand.
"And who is your employer?" He drew her hand to his mouth.
Natasha stepped close. "Hail HYDRA." She drew back a fraction. "I am here because my life is in danger. My employer said you would be able to help me hide."
"From who?"
Natasha looked around, breathing faster still. "This is not the place to talk."
"Then walk with me."
Natasha started to gently guide him towards the stairs. As they got to the third step, she said. "A ghost."
"Your life is in danger from a ghost?"
"The ghost."
"The ghost." He repeated. Natasha kept fidgeting and looking around nervously, so Murphy kept moving.
"The ghost. The one who used to be ours and has gone mad." He frowned at her. "You know who I mean. Surely you know who he is."
"You're desperate." Murphy said.
Natasha nodded, not looking at him. "I'm more than desperate."
"What would you do to be safe?"
Oh. Now that she could use. Natasha looked up at him with wide, scared, doe eyes. "Anything."
She and Clint had found things out about this man, what sort of music he listened to, what sort of films he watched. From that you could predict the scripts that would guide his behaviour. Anastasia Ivanhoff was a Bond Girl, wanting to be independent and assertive, but would fall back in to a sexually submissive role when presented with 'enough of a man'. Natasha Romanoff had been many Anastasia Ivanhoffs. She had played this game over and over. She had killed dozens of would-be James Bonds.
He grabbed her by the arm. She let herself stumble as he pulled her off the staircase in to the corridor. On the second floor.
"Where did you see the ghost?"
"Louisiana, three days ago."
"Keep talking."
"Across the street from my apartment. There was a man standing in a dark corner, I waited, he didn't go. After an hour, I heard a cop car close by, he bolted. His hand was metal."
"Any sign of him since?"
"No. I just ran." There was the door to the balcony.
"Okay, I can help you. I can hide you." He pushed open the door to the balcony. "But I need to know you trust me. Are you ready to do that?" Natasha nodded mutely as he shut the door behind himself.
.
Fourteen floors above, Bucky Barnes drew back from the edge of the roof and reached for the ammo case. Dry ice fog poured out as he opened it. He had to be fast.
.
Murphy took off his tie and tied the handles of the balcony doors together. Good. That would make it take longer for anyone to find his body.
He grabbed her by the elbows again. Natasha tensed as though she was freezing up. "I can keep you safe. I can hide you so well not even The Winter Soldier will be able to find you. But you have to trust me."
"Yes."
.
The bullet was made of ice, backed on to a small piece of polymer which resisted heat. The rest of the jacket was normal. The Winter Soldier dropped prone off the edge of the roof, taking the whole weight of the rifle in his left hand.
.
"What will you do to show you trust me?"
Nat drew a breath slowly. She knew where this script went. She should keep her vital organs as far away from his as she could.
.
The Winter Soldier clicked his shoulder so it locked and became a gun mount. He drew a deep breath and set his eye to the scope. The ice bullet wouldn't penetrate a skull well, but from above, down in to the chest would kill as surely, if not as quickly.
.
Natasha Romanoff turned her back on her mark, pulled her slit skirt aside, and folded at the waist. Even if Barnes did hit her, he'd hit her in the ass, and she'd survive that. She didn't even hear the silenced gunshot. Just the soft hiss of a bullet and a strangled cry. Warm liquid hit her lower back. She barely even looked over her shoulder. The glass in front of her reflected the blood soaking Murphy's shirt as he fell, gasping, to the ground. Then she looked, calculating. There was at least one proper arterial spray. Even if he was found within two minutes, he'd be dead before anyone could so much as call an ambulance.
The Black Widow took off her high heels, swung over the balcony, hung, and dropped.
.
Twelve floors above, The Winter Soldier pushed and pulled himself fully on to the roof again, left arm rigid. He pulled the rifle out of his left hand with his right, swung his left arm hard, and flexed his hand. He crouched and started taking the rifle to pieces.
"Beta speaking, Snow is cold, Alpha is away."
"Gamma receiving, will depart on your mark."
.
Romanoff hit the ground and started running, barefoot, carrying her shoes. By the bins of the apartment block, she stopped and dropped to the floor. Under the red bin was a backpack. She pulled it out and opened it. First the clothes. Trainers, jogging bottoms, and a hoodie two sizes too big. She didn't take the red dress off, even though it was bloody, just put everything else on over it. She did take the wig off and put up the hood. At the bottom of the backpack was a ziplock bag with a wet flannel in, not just wet with water. Barton knew how to put makeup on, he also knew how to get it off in a hurry. There was a primer layer of moisturiser under the foundation. It just lifted off her.
The whole process took her less than two and a half minutes.
.
The Winter Soldier slung the holdall on to his back and made for the stairs. He knew better than to run. He just walked, barely visible in full blacks, hood up, face covered.
"This is Beta. Mark."
Romanoff turned her earpiece back on in time to hear that.
"Took your damn time there, Barnes."
"No chatter." He said.
Romanoff smiled and kept walking. She had a few miles to go. She'd scouted out a nice big, well-used trash chute she could use to ditch the dress. The wig she could just return in the morning, and Anastasia Ivanhoff would be gone without a trace. A night in the open was small discomfort to suffer for a good hit.
.
Once he hit the ground, the Winter Soldier pulled his face covering down and crossed the street, looking both ways. He pulled a bag of gummy bears from his pocket and threw a few in his mouth as he walked. No sirens, no evidence of alarm. The randy sod had even tied the handles on the balcony. He'd be stiff before they found him. Well, differently stiff. Bucky imagined the medical examiner searching for an exit wound, then X-raying to look for the bullet. He smiled.
"Hail HYDRA." He breathed. "Show me the two new heads, you bastards."
"This is Gamma, I see you."
"Noted."
A car slowed down behind him. He opened the passenger door and dropped in to the seat before the car had completely stopped.
.
Bucky shouted himself awake twice that night.
