A/N: So it's been a while... In my defence, however, since the last update I've moved two hundred miles across the country, started a new, fairly demanding job (when I say demanding, I mean I can't sit around and write fanfiction because there's no downtime at all), and built more IKEA furniture than you can imagine. I never want to see another alan key ever again. Anyway. Here it is. Merry Boxing Day. Hope you've all had a good festive season, and hopefully there'll be another update soon(ish).
The Interloper
by Flaignhan
"How do I look?" she asks, turning away from the mirror and facing Loki, who is sitting on the bed, watching the television, his topmost shirt buttons undone. He tears his eyes away from the screen and lets his gaze fall on her, his lips pressing together after a moment, before he nods gently.
Natasha turns back to the mirror and smooths down the material of her dress. It's incredibly close fitting, in near constant danger of wrinkling, and it's a fine line she's tottering, between perfect and pathetic. She fiddles with her earrings, ensuring they are set just right so they catch the light, then runs her fingers through her hair, which is now smooth, fragrant, and chlorine free.
"You look like you could kill a man," Loki says quietly, and when Natasha glances at his reflection, she sees that he has his eyes fixed on the TV again.
"But that's not exactly ideal," Natasha replies. "I need to look harmless, and stupid."
Loki frowns. "I'm not sure that there's a single dress in all nine realms that could ever achieve that. But that might just be the way I see you."
Natasha freezes at his last words, then looks down at her shoes, smoothing her dress out once more. She's not entirely sure if that's a compliment or not, so rare is it that he will ever utter anything positive or flattering. She looks up at her reflection again, straightening her shoulders, preparing for battle. She's going in unarmed, though that doesn't bother her. She's more than a match for Sveltzer, but she's more concerned about extracting the desired information from him effectively. If she rushes into it, she might destroy everything, she might go running back to New York with her tail between her legs, and a well rehearsed apology waiting to tumble out of her mouth and fall on Fury's unimpressed ears.
But it won't come to that. It won't, because no matter how much she worries, no matter how much these last minute nerves get at her, she has never gone home empty handed. Even when extracting information from Loki on the helicarrier, she had succeeded where no one else had. It had been too little too late, of course, but they'd had a fraction more time to prepare, to let Bruce know that he was Loki's target all along.
"He'll be too busy drooling over you to think about anything else," Loki adds, switching off the TV at last and getting off of the bed. He fastens his shirt, his long fingers making quick work of the tiny buttons, then grabs his tie from the bedside cabinet and places it carefully around his neck.
"You think he's that easy?" Natasha asks, moving away from the mirror once and for all. Loki finishes tying the knot in his tie and Natasha reaches up to his collar, folding it down and ensuring that everything about him is sitting perfectly.
"I think he has a pathetically low pain threshold," Loki replies, then, after a moment, he captures her hand, moving it away from his collar. "And I know first hand how talented you are at…" he looks up to the ceiling, inhaling deeply before he returns his gaze to her, settling on the appropriate word. "Extraction."
She nods and tries to push everything she's feeling to the back of her mind. This assignment is so damn personal that she can't help but feel jittery. As much as she assured Loki that she would be fine before she left, she knew, she always knew, that tackling this head on was going to leave her stomach twisting in knots. She knows how volatile those weapons are, how fatal they can be, and the fact that they're on American soil just hammers home how important it is that she gets this assignment just right.
"Well, wife," Loki says pointedly. "Are you ready?"
"Yeah," she says, and Loki pulls on his jacket, but then pauses as he's buttoning it up. His eyes are fixed on her hand, and she looks down at it too. "I figured it was at the jewellers," she says, gesturing towards her bare ring finger.
Loki shakes his head, and without warning, there is a small flash of green around her hand. When it dissipates, there is an expensive looking wedding band resting comfortably on her finger, encrusted with diamonds and emeralds. She shakes her head, but can't help the smile that forms on her lips. Even undercover, even when he's not supposed to be here, he still has to leave his mark in small, silly ways. It seems he cannot resist.
He links her arm through his and together they leave the hotel room, the door clicking shut behind them as they head towards the elevator. Once they're outside, Natasha relaxes a little. The balmy air and decorative fountains put her at ease, the tranquil setting calming her nerves. Monte Carlo might be full of rich people, powerful people, but if you take away their money and their connections, she doubts any of them are that impressive. She's in the business of dealing with individuals, stripped down until they're vulnerable, all arrogance and cockiness washed away with one softly spoken threat.
She's going to be fine.
They enter the casino and Loki leads her over to the bar immediately, ordering her an appropriately flouncy cocktail, and himself a glass of whiskey. She wonders how many movies from the fifties he's been watching on her TV, but doesn't ask him. It wouldn't do to start poking holes in his cover. He needs to look like he's having a sickeningly good time tonight, maybe get a little drunk, maybe a little reckless with his gambling, and maybe, just maybe, a little neglectful of his darling wife.
He guides her towards the private rooms, his hand settling at her waist, his fingers stroking the fabric of the dress absentmindedly. People in tailored, expensive clothes smile at them as they pass, the memory of Loki's stint at the roulette table still, apparently, fresh in their minds. There are potential clingers on at every turn, all waiting for their moment to speak to the luckiest man in Monte Carlo, to learn his tricks, or at least befriend the man who holds such substantial winnings.
Natasha sips at her cocktail and smiles vapidly at people as they pass, and soon they arrive at the roulette table, the attendant narrowing his eyes as they find a spot. Natasha ignores him, slips in front of Loki so she is between him and the table, and takes a quick glance around at the other players. A couple of men from the previous night take their chips and clear a space, though the half dozen new players eye her and Loki with mild interest. A couple of gazes linger too long on her cleavage, and Loki must notice, because his next words are decidedly chilly.
"If you'd be so kind as to not drool all over the table, I think we'd all appreciate it," he says pointedly to the most obvious offender. The message hits home hard, a fierce blush instantly colouring his cheeks as he looks away. Other gazes are diverted as well, and the piles of chips receive more attention than they have done all week in the minute that follows Loki's words. Natasha twists around and places a soft kiss against Loki's jaw, her lipstick leaving a faint stain against his skin. She wipes it away with her thumb and turns back to the table, as chips are pulled and pushed across the table, settling on their owner's lucky numbers. Loki peruses the options, and eventually gets things rolling.
"Sixteen red," he says, and the attendant nods dutifully as he fulfils Loki's request.
The pile of chips grows over the next hour, with Loki playing a far more careful game than the previous evening. He lets others win occasionally, lets the casino win a couple of times too, but he always wins back more than he loses, and his new tactics see to it that no one gets too suspicious about his activities.
It's a further half hour before Sveltzer arrives, and as soon as Natasha sees him, the anxiety fluttering around in the pit of her stomach cools instantly. She can sense her entire body switch over to her assignment mode, everything about her coming more solid, though her smile is as believably flakey as ever. She smiles at Sveltzer as he takes his spot, and he sends a faint smirk in her direction, carefully avoiding Loki's eye as he counts out his chips.
She lets a few rounds pass without comment. Loki wins none of them, and Natasha's not sure if he's leaving it purely up to chance or if he's making sure he doesn't win. It could be part of his game plan, to build up his supposed frustration and keep him occupied at the table while Natasha does her duties. He lets Sveltzer win a large round, and the smug smile plastered across his face leaves a nauseated feeling in the pit of Natasha's stomach.
"Looks like last night's luck has run out, Mr Odell," he says, looking across to Loki, self-satisfaction oozing from his voice.
"Simple maths declares that even you must win at some point," Loki tells him. "But if your second win is going to take as long as your first did, I'd quit now while you've almost broken even."
There are a few smirks around the table at Loki's words, though none of them belong to Sveltzer. His delight is wiped off his face without delay, and he pushes his shoulders back, puffing out his chest, his nose tilted a fraction higher than usual as he quite clearly considers taking Loki's advice. But then stubbornness shines through, and he declares that a large pile of his chips be placed on the black.
Naturally, the wheel comes up red, and the rather squat man next to Sveltzer punches the air as a mountain of chips is pushed towards him, his lucky number having miraculously come up for the first time this evening. Sveltzer's lips press into a thin line as he swallows his defeat and looks down at his much smaller pile of chips.
"I wanna go for a walk," Natasha says eventually, twisting around to face Loki. He moves aside and firmly moves her out from between him and the table. Natasha allows her eyebrows to fall into a frown, her lips pouting as Loki makes himself comfortable at the table without her.
"Aren't you coming with me?" she asks.
"No," Loki says, pulling a face as though she's an idiot. "Why would I want to go for a walk? I'm playing."
"Well sorry," she says, dragging out the second word, her hands coming to rest on her hips, her shoulders squaring, ready for an argument. "I didn't realise that your playtime was so God darn important."
Loki rolls his eyes. "Eight black," he says to the attendant, and the attendant nods, following orders.
Natasha huffs and turns away, but Loki, it seems, has not had his final word.
"Bring me back a drink," he says boredly, not bothering to look at her, his eyes fixed on the roulette wheel, disinterest painted all over his face.
Natasha huffs again and strides out of the room, her heels clicking loudly against the marble floors, her legs moving rapidly. People clear out of her way without a moment's hesitation, and she heads towards the main doors, trotting down the stone steps and out into the square. She heads for the large fountain in the centre, not paying any attention to any of the revellers around her, their drunken giggling fading into nothingness.
When she reaches the fountain's edge she takes a seat, then buries her face in her hands, her shoulders slumping. She breathes steadily, in and out, and in and out, then forces a few drops of moisture out of the corners of her eyes, just enough to make her eye make-up the tiniest bit blotchy.
If she knows Sveltzer, or at least Sveltzer's type, then he will see vulnerability as his cue, and the trick is to be just vulnerable enough to be suggestible, but not so vulnerable that it's hard work, drenched in tears and misery. It's mere minutes before she feels someone take a seat beside her, and she recognises Sveltzer's overpowering aftershave. She lowers her hands and looks across to him, then allows a soft smile to form on her lips.
"Max," she says quietly, a slight croak to her voice.
"You haven't been crying over him, surely? He's not worth that." Concern is creased into Sveltzer's lined face, though it is plain to see that he is going through the motions. He has played this card several times before, it's a game which, unlike roulette, he is certain he can win. The cool, dead eyes are his giveaway, and no amount of frowns nor sighs can disguise those. He doesn't give a damn about her supposedly crumbling marriage.
Natasha sighs heavily and wipes at her eyes with the side of her hand. "It's just so frustrating," she says, looking sorrowfully out across the square. The are hundreds of people enjoying themselves, hand in hand, all the problems of the world forgotten in the glitz and the glamour of one of the snobbiest tax havens in the world.
"Why do you stay with him?" Max asks. "He clearly doesn't value you."
His words, designed to hurt, but disguised by the soft tones of an ally, are a little clumsy, too much, too soon, but Natasha doesn't deny him his opportunity to break down her walls.
"Daddy adores him," she says with a shrug. "And we live comfortably. It's just..." she pauses, then buries her face in her hands again, her words, apparently, failing her. She feels a hand on her shoulder, a rough thumb stroking back and forth across her skin, her stomach churning at the contact.
"It's just what?" Max asks gently, shifting closer to her.
Natasha lowers her hands and forces out a smile, well aware that her mascara is now even more smeared than before. "I just wish he'd look at me like he looks at that roulette wheel," she breathes. "I mean he is captivated by that darn thing, and he's been staring at it for hours. He's never been that interested in me. Never."
"Well he's a fool," Sveltzer tells her. "If I had a woman like you, I'd never have eyes for anyone else, or anything else."
Natasha turns to look at him, biting down gently on her lower lip. "Really?" she asks, as another tear breaks free from her eyes and tumbles down her cheek.
"Oh yeah," Sveltzer tells her, tucking her hair gently behind her ear. He cups her face, his hand cold and unpleasant, but Natasha doesn't break eye contact with him. "I'd give you everything you ever wanted," he continues, his voice lower now, barely above a whisper. "And I would treasure you until the day I die."
"Really?" she asks again, uncertainty quavering throughout her voice.
"Really."
As soon as she closes the door of Sveltzer's hotel room, he is on her. His stubble scratches against her face, the taste of martini and tobacco nearly making her gag as she kicks off her heels, taking the first opportunity for steady footing. She forces her disgust down and tries not to think, but when she runs her fingers through his hair, she wants to recoil at the crisp sensation of dried hair gel. He's not a remotely good kisser, and his hands are gripping her hips so tightly that it hurts, the tips of his fingers digging deep into her flesh.
He breaks the kiss and steers her forcefully towards the bedroom, while Natasha pulls his jacket off of his shoulders and drops it onto the floor. He knocks over an ornate side table as he moves across the room, not pausing to right it. When he gets to the door, he slams her against the wall, her head connecting painfully with the plaster, and his mouth comes crashing down on hers once more. He grabs her wrists, pinning them above her head, and Natasha presses her body against his, his wiry frame almost as unappealing as his rock solid hair. Natasha focuses on kissing him back, on playing the affection-starved wife with a penchant for older men, but her concentration doesn't run so deep that she doesn't notice when one of his hands moves away from her wrist, nor does it mean that she's unaware of the quiet click that announces the opening of the bedroom door.
As Sveltzer releases her wrists entirely and turns her towards the bedroom, she feels a shift in the floorboards, but it's too little, too late. When he shoves her into the bedroom, she is greeted with sight of three pistols, in the hands of three different beefy security guards. She glances at their suits and notes the subtle differences between their get ups and those of the discrete security staff stationed around the hotel. Nobody knows they're here. That is her only advantage.
"Max, what in God's name is going on?" Natasha asks, turning to Sveltzer with overly bright eyes, a crack in her voice, and a barely disguised tremor in her lower lip.
The back of Sveltzer's hand connects sharply with her face, and she falls to the floor with cry of pain, willing the tears to build up in her eyes until she has enough to start openly sobbing.
"You think I'm stupid?" he asks, towering over her, his chest puffed out, hands resting on his hips. "You think I'm a god damn idiot?"
"No, Max," she says softly, a fresh, hot tear trickling down her cheek. "No I don't. I don't understand, what's -?"
Sveltzer won't hear any of it. He grabs her by the hair and pulls her to her feet, Natasha crying out as he drags her up.
"Max please," she begs, the tears coming thick and fast, her words punctuated by breathy, fearful sobs. "Please, you're hurting me."
"You think I could be involved with something like that and be an idiot?" he demands. "You think I'm so stupid that I'd just let you waltz in here and take everything I've worked hard for?" He's shouting now, and Natasha prays that it won't draw the attention of anybody. The last thing she needs is her and Sveltzer to be separated, once and for all.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she wails, holding onto his wrist in an attempt to ease the tension on her hair. She turns her gaze to the security guards, standing awkwardly behind her, their guns still fixed on her, though their faces betray their doubts. "Help me," she begs, before breaking into a fresh bout of sobs, her shoulders shaking, her face blotchy and sore from the back of Sveltzer's hand.
"You think I wouldn't recognise you?" Sveltzer asks, holding up a finger when one of the security guards starts to lower his weapon. "You think I wouldn't know you the moment I saw you?"
"Max please, just let me go, Lucas - "
"Is being taken care of," Sveltzer tells her smugly. "Don't you worry about him."
Natasha's heart falls in her chest. She has no doubt that Loki is perfectly fine when it comes to looking after himself, but what she is worried about is the fate of the security guards. If he loses his cool, if he kills them, then the clean up for this assignment is going to get insanely complicated. There's no way she'll be able to hide that from Fury, no way in hell, and there's no way she'll be able to keep him a secret any longer. They're both finished.
"What d'you mean he's being taken care of? Taken care of how? What are you doing to him?"
"Don't you worry your pretty little head about it," Sveltzer says softly, pulling Natasha close and allowing his hand to slip from her hair to around her throat. Natasha shakes her head slowly, her face streaked with tears.
"Please Max," she whispers. "If this is about what happened at the roulette table the other night, he'll give you back the money. He'll give you back twice as much, just, please don't hurt me. Or him. Either of us."
"This isn't about the damn money," Sveltzer growls, shaking her roughly, his grip on her throat just tight enough to make her eyes water for real. "You really think that such a pittance matters to me? Drop the act. Tell me who you're working for."
"Working for?" Natasha repeats in a soft breath. "Max, I've never worked a day in my life. I'm not working for anybody."
"Bullshit," he spits. "You think I could be involved in something that big, and not have a half decent CCTV setup? You think I didn't know that people would want to steal this tech? If someone's stealing from me, then I wanna know who. So tell me, or I'll let these guys do their worst."
He's clearly never had to threaten anyone before, because it's a novelty to him. He's getting a kick out of using the kind of lines you'd normally only find in cheap movies on late night TV. He's playing a part, just as much as she is, only he's playing tougher than he is, while Natasha is doing quite the opposite.
"Max, I don't - I don't even - " She stutters her way through meaningless words and phrases, gazing at him imploringly while the cogs at the back of her mind turn quickly, formulating some sort of exit strategy. She needs to warn Loki, before he leaves the casino. She's certain that Sveltzer's men won't strike before then. But what's more crucial? Loki's secrecy, her career, or the lives of the people who would be at risk, should she not get the required information out of Sveltzer? She can't do it all, there's not enough time, but she knows, with grim certainty, which choice she has to make, even if Fury will take everything she relays with a huge pinch of salt, when it comes accompanied by a vengeful god who gets pocket money from her.
"I saw you break in," Sveltzer says, his grip on her throat tightening as he leans close to speak into her ear. "I saw you break in the night that lab tech died. How did you survive the gas?"
"Gas?" Natasha repeats in confusion. There's no way she'll ever convince Sveltzer, but if she can get his goons on side, if she can cry and wail enough to convince them that she's just a harmless trophy wife, then maybe they'll turn on him, maybe their consciences are worth more than whatever sum he's paying them. Maybe.
"Quit playing dumb," he says, his tone laced venom. She feels the spray of spittle against the side of her face, and suppresses a shudder. "I would recognise you anywhere. Your body, I recognise. Your ass, I recognise." He slaps his hand against her buttocks, and she grits her teeth, the flesh stinging from the contact. She hadn't intended to hurt him too badly initially. Now however, she's come to a different conclusion.
"So how are we gonna do this?" she asks, dropping the accent and the frightened expression. There is a mingled expression of triumph and wariness on Sveltzer's face, and behind her, she hears the guards reposition their aim, at last stripped of all doubt about Natasha's innocence. Three of them, one of her, she'll be fine, no doubt, and then it's only Sveltzer that she has to deal with.
"You tell me who you're working for, and my guys might not shoot you," Sveltzer says confidently.
Natasha shakes her head, her movement restricted by Sveltzer's tight grip on her throat. She doesn't move away however, she wants to keep him close, and, despite her talents and stamina, three bullets in the back would certainly impede her progress on this assignment. "No, that's a terrible idea. You're new to this, aren't you?"
Sveltzer recoils in surprise, her response apparently not what he expected at all. Perhaps he had considered her tearful performance to be an exaggeration, as opposed to an entirely concocted display solely for his benefit.
"A terrible idea?" he says. "Terrible because you don't wanna get shot?"
"Terrible because the moment the security in this building hears a gunshot, they'll be in this room in less than two minutes, and that won't give you nearly enough time to clean up. Your guys don't have silencers, they're screwed. Their weapons are useless."
"We could shoot you anyway and escape," Sveltzer says confidently. "Before anybody gets here."
"Oh, yeah, great idea, the body of a girl you were seen groping in the elevator is found in your hotel room, and you are suspiciously absent. That won't look bad at all."
Sveltzer narrows his eyes, but doesn't say anything.
"Are you trying to get a 'Controversy' section added to your Wikipedia page?" she asks, raising an eyebrow. "Because if that's your main goal then you are right on track." She turns her head, just enough so that she can see the closest security guard. "You know Lucas will kill your buddies without a second's hesitation," she tells them. "And then he'll come here."
"And he'll be far too late," Sveltzer tells her. "You'll be dead, and - "
"We both know that's not true," she says, turning back to him. She shrugs her shoulders, and waits for him to offer an alternative.
"They can shoot you," Sveltzer say, speaking slowly, as though he is still trying to make sense of the plan in his head. "And then they can go, and then when security come, I'll claim that somebody wanted to kill you, and I couldn't stop them."
Natasha gives an exaggerated roll of her eyes and lets out a heavy sigh. "That plan's got more holes than Swiss cheese," she tells him. "Why would they wait in your room to kill me? And, if they were here to kill you, why didn't they kill you before they left? Why leave a messy, incomplete job?"
Sveltzer's lip curls, his chest heaving as he inhales short, sharp, breaths, his patience and ideas wearing thin. "Who are you working for?" he says, shaking her roughly as though he'll be able to dislodge an answer from her if he uses enough force. "Who is it?"
"You know that I'm not going to tell you," she says calmly. "And you know that Lucas is going to be heading here any second, and he's going to be pissed."
Sveltzer's grip on her throat is too tight to allow her to duck out of the way. His fist comes flying into her face, her head snapping back causing a sharp flash of pain to surge through her neck. Her lower lip splits, warm wet blood trailing down her chin and she grits her teeth, knowing that the pain in her neck is going to linger, will limit her movement when she comes to deal with these goons once and for all.
"Tell me!" he yells, and he shakes her again, then tosses her roughly onto the mattress when she doesn't respond. He addresses his guards next. "Make her tell me," he says, struggling to keep his voice level. "Do whatever you have to, just make her tell me."
His eagerness to achieve his ends via brutality is, like many men before him, his downfall. The security guards' confidence that between the three of them, they will be able to handle one woman sprawled on a bed in a figure hugging dress is their downfall. As for her downfall? That's something she has to worry about later. All she can focus on is getting the information she needs out of Sveltzer.
Before any of them can make a move, Natasha twists on the bed, kicking the gun out of the nearest guard's hands, before launching herself towards the other two, grabbing one by the wrists and prising the gun from his grip, and simultaneously sending her big toe flying towards the throat of the third guard, the impact causing him to choke and gasp for breath. She is grabbed from behind by the first guard, but a quick flick back of her head stuns him as her skull crashes into his nose, and she uses the opportunity to get free of his grasp and send the heel of her foot flying towards the inside of his knee. The satisfying crack and yell precede the even more satisfying thud of him hitting ground, and Natasha flings herself to the side to avoid a large, oncoming fist. She grabs the nearest pillow, tossing it towards the offending guard, and the distraction gives her enough time to seize him by the jaw and force him back towards the wall, slamming his head against the plaster. Her adrenalin must be pumping harder than she realises, because the force of her attack knocks him out cold, and as he slides down the wall towards the floor, a thin trail of blood staining the wallpaper. She has no time to fret over decor damage however, because the final guard is on the floor, scrambling towards one of the discarded guns.
He's closer than she is.
Natasha runs, then drops to the floor and slides across it, her foot held steadily in front of her. It connects with the guard's temple, and he lets out a grunt of pain, curling up on the floor and clutching the side of his head. She looks up when she hears the door open, and sees Sveltzer disappearing through it. She scrambles to her feet, one well placed kick to the skull ensuring that the final guard is out for the count, and then she follows.
Sveltzer is already on the other side of the room, fumbling with the lock, his hands shaking. Natasha grabs the fallen side table, and pitches it across the room, the spindly legs breaking upon impact, but the solid table top doing more than enough to wind Sveltzer, who falls to his knees, coughing and spluttering, his hands clutching at his torso. She crosses the room calmly and grabs him by the back of his shirt collar, dragging him across the floor, back to the bedroom.
"I hope you like it rough," she says innocently, gripping him by the hair and hauling him onto the bed.
"No, please, I'll do anything." Sveltzer's eyes dart around the room in panic, seeking out the phone, which he clearly knows he has no hope of reaching before Natasha can get to him. When his eyes land on the the three motionless guards, his frantic breathing increases, and he backs towards the headboard, beads of sweat erupting on his forehead and trickling down his face. "Whatever you want," he continues in a shaky voice, his hand held out defensively in front of him. "I'll do it, just please don't hurt me."
"Where'd you get the weapons. They're not Earth tech, so where'd you get them?"
At this, Sveltzer's face falters. "I can't tell you that," he breathes.
"But I thought you said you'd do anything," Natasha replies, raising one eyebrow as she approaches the bed. Sveltzer presses himself back into the headboard so hard that Natasha is sure he'll leave a permanent dent in it.
"Please, I can't tell you, I can't, it's not - "
Natasha shakes her head and hops onto the bed, seizing the wrist of Sveltzer's outstretched arm. She hauls him forward and twists his arm behind his back, sending him face first into the mattress. She places her knee between his shoulder blades and rests the majority of her weight on him, though that doesn't keep him from wriggling beneath her in a futile attempt to escape. Hopefully his downstairs neighbours are still frittering away their money at the casino. If not, then the least she can hope for is that the mattress will absorb his screams.
She takes his little finger in her hand and gets a good grip on it. "If you don't start talking, I'm going to start snapping," she says simply. This is the most tedious bit, and she knows that Loki had been right in his assessment. It won't take much to make Sveltzer talk, and the only glimmer of enjoyment she will be able to glean from this is the fact that he most certainly deserves whatever's coming to him, if not for the crime of spanking her, then most certainly for the fact that he recognised her by her ass long before he recognised her by her face.
"No, please," he begs, his cries muffled by the duvet. "Please!"
Natasha pulls hard, the bone cracking with ease, and Sveltzer screams into the bedding, the little that Natasha can see of his face reddened with stress, a vein throbbing in his temple.
"All you gotta do is talk," Natasha says simply. "I nearly died that night, so I will go to any lengths to get this information from you. If that involves putting you in the back of a car and taking you to the middle of nowhere, to somewhere I can really lay into you, then fine."
"I'm begging you," Sveltzer cries, his shoulders shaking as he breaks into harsh, racking sobs. "Please!"
Natasha grips his ring finger, then pulls hard once more, bored of his pleas. The scream tears through his vocal cords and he shudders under her, desperately trying to escape. He has no chance though, she has him pinned. The closer she gets to his thumb, the thicker the bones are, and the worse it's going to be for him. She hopes he considers that fact very very soon.
"You know Lucas is ex-military," she says, tightening her grip on Sveltzer's wrist as he tries to pull away from her. She takes his middle finger, holding it firmly, but gives him the opportunity to consider her latest information. "He was in Afghanistan, Iraq…seen a lot of stuff. Done a lot of stuff."
"Please," Sveltzer wails quietly, "I can't tell you anything, I don't understand it, I'm just the money…"
Natasha pulls sharply on his middle finger and Sveltzer yells once more. He's close to breaking point, she knows, but whether she'll have to finish his entire left hand before he spills, she's not quite sure.
"You know, he never explicitly said he was involved with the waterboarding," Natasha says conversationally, twisting Sveltzer's arm that little bit further in an effort to stop him from struggling. "But I get the feeling he was. You know when you can just tell? Well, maybe you don't, but in my industry, you can tell. With him, yeah, you can tell he's definitely been involved in some nasty business." She shakes her head and lets out a feigned sigh of disappointment. "It's terrible, how much humans are able to endure, isn't it? You could be stuck here on this bed until tomorrow and not say a god damn word, no matter how much pain I inflict upon you. You'll absorb it all, because that's what we do best. Pain, suffering, loneliness, we stick it out. And for what? There's no reward, no light at the end of the tunnel."
"No?" Sveltzer asks quietly, having ceased in his struggling. "You're sure about that?"
"Oh I know that," Natasha replies. "I know it."
"Then what is there?" Sveltzer asks. "What is there?"
"There's the moment," Natasha replies softly. "You can only live in the moment, because you might step out on the street and get hit by a bus. You might have a god damn coronary while you're standing the supermarket. You could wake up with a headache tomorrow and find out you've got a brain tumour. So all you can do is live in the moment, because that's the only thing you can be certain of. Long term plans aren't worth a dime if you're not around to see them."
"Are you saying you're going to kill me if I don't talk?" Sveltzer asks, his voice cracking.
Natasha sighs heavily. "I don't want to, Max. Of course I don't want to. But if you're funding terrorist activities, and you won't give me the information I want, then there's only one option for me, isn't there?"
"We're not terrorists," he argues, his voice a little stronger now. Natasha loosens her grip on him just a little, in the hope that the more physically comfortable he is, the more he will be prepared to talk.
"Max, I nearly died that night," Natasha says. "You understand why this is personal for me, right?"
"You shouldn't have broken in," Sveltzer snaps. "You break in to a science lab and start messing with - "
"Let's not start arguing over that," Natasha says, readjusting her grip on his wrist and holding it a little tighter, just to remind him that he is far from in control of the situation. "Let's instead focus on what you're going to tell me, before I start breaking more fingers."
Sveltzer's shoulders slump and he buries his face into the bedspread, his entire body tensing at her words. She can't figure out if he's steeling himself for more pain, or if he's finally giving in. Before she can find out, however, a man strolls through the open door, Natasha's heart freezing in her chest.
"Ah, Sveltzer," he says, striding around to get a good look at him. He crouches down so that he can look him in the eye, and Sveltzer whimpers at the sight of him. "I see you've been having fun with my wife."