It was fucking cold.
That had been the mood for the past twelve days. Cold outside, cold inside, and cold between the two women as they watched this tiny hellhole in the bowels of Russia together.
Twelve days, and still no sign of what they were looking for. The Red Room, or their operatives. Any lead that could take them closer to finding out who had attacked Emory and her daughter months ago.
The red head across the room had not spoken to her since they arrived. She chose instead to stare out the window or leave altogether, roaming the streets, searching, but never actually spoke.
Emory could deal with that. She had had to fight to go. No matter that she had picked up the trail, no matter that it was her daughter threatened in all this. No. Because it was the Red Room, Natasha Romanoff ran the show, and Natasha Romanoff hated her guts.
Emory had no real answers for why that was, but she suspected that it was because Natasha didn't trust her. The Black Widow was smarter than most, and she recognized subterfuge. She knew when people were keeping secrets.
And Emory was keeping secrets. Plenty of them. Dark ones, ones that would tear away the friends she had found here on Earth. Clint, especially.
A splash of green smoke flashed before her eyes for a moment, and then was gone. She shook her head to clear it, pushing away the memory, or vision, or whatever the hell it was. The visions, the dreams, the feeling of constant eyes on herhad been growing more and more prevalent the past few months. Emory didn't know what to think about it. Or how it tied in with what was happening here in the present.
The motion caught Natasha's eye, drawing her attention. A raised eyebrow over crossed arms was all the question she got, but it Emory could imagine. Finally breaking? Bored? Do you need to be somewhere else?
She smiled imagining the questions in Nat's snarkiest voice, the one she reserved for congressmen and Stark. And her. Of course, the spy caught the smile as well, and raised eyebrow turned to slight frown. Great, now she thinks I'm laughing at her.
Emory had done her best to make nice with the Russian. She was Clint's partner, after all. Had been for years. To an extent, Emory could even empathize with how it must feel, to have some other person waltz in and become close friends with your partner in a matter of days.
She understood the anger, the jealousy. With Natasha, there was also a healthy dose of suspicion. Clint Barton didn't make friends with ease. He was a spy. And yet with Emory, he had.
Except, that's exactly what happened. Emory hadn't even done anything to spur their relationship. It happened. It was...easy. No explaining that to the other woman though.
She jumped up from behind the monitors, cameras set in probable hotspots, and took the time to stretch out her small frame. Of course, Natasha rose with her, graceful as ever.
"I think I need some air. Gonna walk the paces, see what's out there," she said as she shrugged a thick parka over the rest of her layers.
"Alright. Try not to get killed." Emory froze from pulling on her fur-lined boots to turn and look at the other woman. She actually seemed….genuine when she said it. Progress, maybe?
She nodded before returning her attention to the shoes. "Need anything while I'm out?"
"I could use some vodka, maybe a lead if you have time." Concern and now a quip? What the hell?
She waved halfway through the door of the cheap motel room, making her way down the hallway to the entrance. A lead would be nice right around now.
Emory braced herself against the stark cold wind as she shouldered through the door and waded through the ankle thick snow to the street before her.
Why Russia? Why Russia in the winter? Oh well. Anything to track these bastards down. Shoving her gloved hands in her pockets, she started the trek to the local watering hole, the best place to hear things. Plus, she could actually bring back some vodka. Let's see what the cold spy thought of that.
She trudged through the drifts, blending in with the locals as best she could. They moved back and forth between shops, going about their normal business. It was hard to imagine that this was the central hub for Russia's sex trafficking business.
According to her leads, it was also the location of the reincarnated Red Room, a brutal training program for young girls. The program that turned children into assets trained to lie, seduce, and kill.
This was one of their best bets on who tried to attack her and her daughter. They had exhausted most other sources, leads, and ideas months ago. Emory and Cara had permanently moved into the Tower as a safety precaution, and every mission Emory took related to finding out who was after them.
Tony hadn't been too happy to hear about the cats moving in for good, and Fury had been even less pleased to know that she wasn't available for missions. But she had gotten her way. That was another reason Natasha didn't like her.
She had her own agenda. She kept secrets. She had waltzed in from nowhere and become an all star of SHIELD in a matter of months, become fast friends with Clint Barton within hours of meeting him. And Emory knew that she didn't have a past on paper. That was the most damning thing of all in Black Widow's eyes. Everyone had a past.
As Emory approached the small hut that passed for a pub in this squalid place, she cleared her head. Time to concentrate. Walking through the doors, she caught two men bristle from the corner of her eye.
Pretending not to notice, she continued to the thick slab of wood at the end of the room that was the bar. A small man stood behind it, wiping out a dirty glass with an even filthier rag.
He set both down as she approached. "Closed today." He looked back to the door she had walked through. "Come back tomorrow."
Emory smiled, a little to woo the man across from her, and a little because it looked like they were finally going to see some action. She brushed a hand across the distress signal set into her jacket and took a step forward. Now to see about gathering some information until Natasha got here.
"I just want a drink is all," she replied back in perfect Russian. She flashed her most dazzling smile and took one more step, coming into contact with the splinter-ridden wood. "Besides, the door isn't locked. Surely that means you are open."
Behind her the lock pinged closed, barely audible. She pretended not to notice that before turning her smile to the group of men huddled by the fire. "You boys wouldn't mind a little company, would you? I just want a drink."
The men chuckled together at the silly little girl in front of them. She didn't know any better. Easy picking. One of them stepped away from the group and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her towards them.
"We would very much like your company, little one. In fact, I'm sure several men would enjoy your company, for a very fine price." Damn. Sex traffickers, not Red Room operatives. Too late now.
She let some false worry cross her face for a moment, long enough to step inside the larger man's range. Long enough for him to let his guard down.
At that second she snapped up with a fist, breaking his nose and shoving him into the fire. Before the others could react, she ghosted between two more men and behind them, sliding thin blades between ribs and into hearts.
By that time the last three men had guns out, and the bartender had fled through the back. The closest to her got off one shot before she had his hand in hers, pulling him forward while twisting the arm behind his back. He dropped the gun.
The other two sent out a barrage of bullets, several catching their comrade in the chest as Emory used him as a shield. She pushed him forward and crashing into the others, picking up the gun and finishing off the rest.
A quick glance around the room showed no one else. The bartender had disappeared, leaving the back door to a storage room ajar.
She turned back to reach for her phone and froze as a slow clap started up from the back room. Slowly, carefully, she turned back around as a tall, lithe man walked through the door, bringing his hands together in a false salute.
"Ah Nightshade. We've been expecting you." An electric jolt went through her, and then everything went dark.
The more time Natasha spent with Emory Black, the more she became convinced, something was off with that woman. There was something she was hiding.
No one waltzed into SHIELD without a past, yet this woman did. She had no past, no ledger. No resume. And yet a skilled operative fell into SHIELD with ease, gaining Fury's good graces in a matter of weeks. She even had Clint fooled.
Nat watched from the corner of her eye as Emory sat in front of the monitors, staring forward. She was withdrawing again. It was unnerving, the trancelike states the other agent could slip into when she thought no one was looking.
After a short amount of time, she snapped back into reality and shook her head, like she was clearing cobwebs. Black jumped up, talking about needing air, and headed towards the door. Natasha murmured something noncommittal as she went.
"Need anything while I'm out?"
Natasha sighed. It wouldn't hurt to actually talk to her partner for this mission. "Yeah, some vodka and maybe a lead while you're at it."
Emory cracked a smile at that and headed out the door. As soon as the other woman passed the threshold and the door clicked shut, Nat jumped up from the window to take her place in front of the screens.
Her eyes tracked the agent as she made her way down the snowy street. Black moved at a good clip through the cold air, not stopping to speak to anyone else outdoors. Instead, she moved straight for the bar.
It was a solid strategy. The best place to hear anything would be the watering hole. Plus, she had asked for vodka.
The other agent disappeared into the doorway in a blur of black and white. Everything seemed quiet today, like every other day. Until Emory's distress signal went off.
Nat jumped up, throwing together equipment and stamping into boots, out the door in under a minute. She flew down the street, upending farmwives and knocking aside stands in her rush to get to the tavern.
Three minutes. That's all it took to get there. And by then, it was too late. The bar was empty, save for the dead men in front of the fire. She went down with a fight at least.
Scratch that. The bar was almost empty. A small sniveling man hid behind the bar, head between his knees. She reached down and yanked him up, pressing him against a wall with her blade under his chin. "Talk."
What she got back was a confusing blend of Russian, Polish, and English, but from what she could tell, it was a setup. They knew Emory was here, and had laid a trap. And succeeded. The rat couldn't tell her who it was, or where they were going. In fact, the only other intelligible thing she got out of him was "Nightshade". Again.
A few minutes later, she left the tavern in flames, cleaning the bartender's blood from her knife. Back at the room, she pulled out her iPad to get a good look at Emory's tracking device. Still moving along at a pretty good clip, still headed east.
Natasha figured she had time to make a few phone calls.
There you have it. Two new chapters, progress made. I'm picking up a contract in St. Louis next week, so I'm not sure how busy I'll be, but I'll keep working at this, promise. Thanks for being so loyal friends, and as always I appreciate reviews.