Part 2:

The church had an atypical layout. It was modern. The belfry wasn't on the outermost edge of the structure like the older churches - it came out of the structure like a chimney out of a house. Just bigger and slightly taller. The whole open-plan space was surrounded by moss-laden tiles from the building below which - Florence guessed - made the whole thing easier to maintain, really. She'd noticed that first upon arriving and now factored her earlier - and unforgivably lazy, why hadn't she paid more attention? - assessment of the building into her mental map of the place.

The stairs leading up to the belfry were covered in a fine layer of dust - hardly anyone seemed prone to coming up here to check on the bells. The ringers were stationed in a room at the bottom, as far from the deafening bangs as you could get - but someone had been by here. Footprints in the dust attested to a recent visitor.

Florence could have judged a lot about their possible sniper from his footprints if they'd been in something impressionable like snow or mud - deep footprints with well defined treads could indicate the load he was carrying en route to his kill-zone and the size of the rifle itself but dust was not, on the whole, an ideal impression in which to glean that kind of information. What she did learn was that these tracks had very little defined impression in the dust - formal shoes, perhaps. Well tailored and definitely not something that could be bought off a shelf. She did like it when they got into the spirit of the disguise.

The stairs were old and, on that basis, would probably squeak. Squeaking stairs would give away any attempt to sneak up on her adversary. With that in mind, she bent down and unclipped her very special, sparkly shoes and stepped out of them. Her socks immediately picked up a lot of dust but Florence needed all the dexterity she could get.

A foot gently eased onto the first stair where, presumably, a joist lay under the varnished wood. It was the least likely point of contact to cause a give away. Nothing sounded. Good. She ascended to the next stair and the next with equally silent acrobatics; alighting from one joist to another as the stairs curved upwards.

He was laid out on a mat with the rifle - a cloth positioned in front of him and ready to catch shells. Not your usual dumb idiot, then. He hadn't heard her stair-climb, nor did he hear her silently approach.

If this were Uncle Steve, or Uncle Tony - they'd have alerted him to their presence by telling him it was a good idea if he surrendered before he got deeper into trouble - which would include a beating before arrest. They would see it as only fair. However - Florence was not Uncle Steve or Uncle Tony. If she attempted the "sweet and innocent little girl" routine here, he would probably have no qualms about shooting her, adorable as she was. She may have been technically trained better at six years old than this man who was obviously four or five times her age but her height and weight were still something to factor in. He could throw her around like a ragdoll and if given the chance, there would be little Florence could do to stop him.

Sometimes, being a diminutive, low-grade genius assassin sucked. You saw the negative in everything because the consequences were usually magnified when compared with size. If this were mom, he may get a good few knocks in, but she was light on her feet and could give as good as she got. If this were dad they'd be forever locked in a wrestling match - unable to move each other. This was Florence and she could and had been picked up in the past and flung around. It hurt her pride almost as much as it just plain hurt.

She wasn't about to announce her intent and give him a chance to react, that was for damn sure. The pistol came up and she aimed at the back of his head. The safety eased off and with one steady breath out, she squeezed the trigger - which was, perhaps the only way that he could have known she was there. Certainly she'd not given any other clue to her presence - she was sure of it. He must have reacted on instinct - he had no time to seriously calculate the odds that one breath meant that someone was behind him, preparing to shoot.

The bullet hit the gun at the exact angle his head would have been had he not jolted right at speed. The sound rolled around the confined space - silencers were good at muffling the sound of a bullet, but not completely capable of hiding it.

She cursed inwardly and in Russian - mostly because whenever dad was angry or upset or just plain irritable, he tended to slip back into Russian and the words tended to stick. You didn't need a dictionary to understand a lot of the meanings.

In that second of inventive cursing, her target had pulled a knife from somewhere on his person and whirled around with purpose.

Whatever her shortcomings - short being the operative word, here - in combat being small and lithe did have it's advantages when it came down to dodging. Being small meant being less of a target and a lot harder to hit. She swayed out of the way and brought the gun back up, but it was knocked from her hands with a reactive kick and promptly bounced into the corner of the room. She'd never have time to turn and grab it before a knife wound up in her back.

'Derr'mo!' She hissed to herself and turned back just in time for their would-be sniper to grab her and snarl in reply 'Malen'kiy ublyudok!' as he threw her the length of the small room. She impacted with the windowsill and hissed as her kidneys protested violently.

Oh he was going down. One way or another. Nobody called her a little bastard and lived - even if it was technically true.

Her vision had finally settled as the pain subsided and it was just in time for her to see him lash out towards her - there was nowhere to go. Nowhere but out.

This situation was well and truly screwed up and out of her control. Mom would be sarcastic, she may even be acerbic about it when she heard the story. Florence should know better than to get caught in this kind of situation.

Mantis tumbled out of the window and rolled slightly before she managed to get a grip on the tiles. It was made all the harder in just socks. Socks, on the whole, did not have gripability that shoes would have provided. Even the horrendously sparkly ones she'd left at the bottom of the stairs.

Her new nemesis was at the window in seconds but it gave her time to slide up and around the side of the opening to use the overhang of the large, gothic sill to hide her from him as he checked all around.

It took a few gulps to control her breathing and another curse let loose in her head as she spotted the moss stains, dirt and dust marks now racing up her dress. It had been white, once upon a time.

Widow was going to kill her - figuratively of course. Against all sane judgement and contrary to several examples as to why she shouldn't - Natasha seemed to love her. And her father too - although his list of crimes against common sense and/or social convention far outstripped Florence's own.

Still, this was not an ideal situation to find one's self in. She shifted, peeping up over the lip of the window. The sniper had retreated to his fallen gun and was trying to repair the damage. A few steps away was her silenced gun.

She was never going to be able to get to the gun while he held that rifle. If it was still working - despite Florence shooting at it - then she'd hardly have time to get over the sill before she had a serious problem. If it wasn't functional, that still meant that she would be in range of the knife she knew him to have on his person. The belfry was not that big.

The tiles were chilly on her legs. It had been cold overnight and the weather was still crisp. Curse Natasha's spring wedding idea. Her leg brushed up against something else on the roof - It was a bird's nest. In it, were two eggs.

An idea began to form. It was hardly a pleasant idea for the pigeons no doubt using that nest but it would distract the sniper long enough for Florence to get to her gun. She grabbed the eggs.

The first splattered across his chin and mouth, causing him to stumble back and curse. The second impacted directly on his nose and eyes, throwing eggshell and yolk into them. Blinded now, she had the perfect opportunity to scrabble over the windowsill and roll towards her gun as he scraped at his face.

The first shot went into his knee and he collapsed heavily. The next one went into his head as he tried to rear up and grab at his pained leg.

Just like that, he was dead. All that effort for a second's worth of shots. It was a poorly executed assassination. She stood, breathing heavily and watching the body bleed before she glanced down at her scruffy attire.

Natasha was definitely going to kill her.

With the sniper taken care of, she took pains to grab his rifle and steal several key pieces of it's mechanics along with the bullets. If - on the very slim chance - someone did decide to come up here and try to use the gun, they would find several ways that they could not.

Florence glanced out of the window as light bounced from something close by. A car was pulling into the drive. As soon as it stopped, a familiar figure stepped out. Uncle Steve. Was the sniper here to take out the guests as his cohorts tried to kill mom and dad? At least Doctor Banner wasn't here, yet. It would have been a disaster of epic proportions if he had been shot - or shot at. Florence did not like the big green guy. He was...temperamental. And didn't fit easily in doorways.

With that in mind, she began the long trek back down the stairs and back into the church.

Mom and dad must've taken care of the threats, since neither uncle Steve, nor uncle Tony or uncle Clint noticed anything amiss and were standing beside mom, dad and the vicar listening to a fast rundown of how the wedding was going to go as a reminder - especially since at the rehearsal, uncle Tony had been drunk off his ass. Again.

'And once the rings are exchanged-' The vicar paused upon seeing her and chuckled half-heartedly. 'Oh dear. Have you been playing in the field?'

All eyes swung to Florence, standing there in muddy socks, clutching her shoes in one hand and trying to brush more and more dirt and moss off her filthy dress with the other.

If stunned silence had a sound, it would be a long, drawn out note on a violin.

Clearly, mom and dad had not told uncle Steve, uncle Tony or uncle Clint about the security problem, because they looked surprised to say the least.

Mom, however, had frozen, her face blank. That was bad - she only ever went blank when she was experiencing emotion she had no desire to show. The priest must have sensed the unshown rage as he coughed and said 'Well, I'm sure with a good brush, most of it will come out.'

'A hose might be a better idea.' Uncle Tony chuckled.

Natasha glared at him and uncle Tony had the decency and self-preservation enough to shut his mouth. They would talk about this little screw-up later - she was sure. But for now -

'Shall we all get ready?' The vicar smiled, completely oblivious.

Yes, please. Before more assassins arrive and preferably before mom lost her temper. Florence was forced to revise her opinion on weddings once again.

They were far too much trouble to be worth anything.

Bonus round!

Sam Wilson stared at the little girl across the room with something approaching fascinated suspicion.

Steve was caring for her while his friends were out on their honeymoon. Sam had a sneaking suspicion they weren't the type for normal honeymoons.

Steve had alluded that this little girl was not your typical kid under ten. He hadn't initially believed him at first because he had nieces around the same age and, yes, they were a handful but they weren't so bad.

The little child - Florence, her name was Florence after all and Steve had advised him under no circumstances should he try to shorten her name to Flo or Flora - was half-engrossed by whatever was on her tablet. She was also watching him. She didn't seem so different to any other school-age kid he knew, which puzzled Sam immensely since Steve had made it very clear that Florence was not to go on the internet, she was not to go into the kitchen and she was definitely not allowed to watch any more Dr G Medical Examiner on tv. It seemed an odd set of rules to him.

It was awkward in the living room with just the two of them. Steve had disappeared for a beer run before they watched the baseball game. Florence seemed disinterested in it. He coughed. 'Where are your parents vacationing, Florence?'

She glanced up at him for a brief second but soon returned to the tablet. 'Cuba.'

'That's nice. Cuba has a wonderful heritage.' Sam replied with a smile.

'They're probably going to assassinate somebody and have a lot of sex.' Florence retorted boredly. 'Hardly a change.'

Sam spluttered in shock. 'Wh- how -'

She gave him a pointed look. 'Sex education gets taught to five year olds you know. When a mommy and a daddy love each other very much-' She began sarcastically.

'Yeah, yeah. I get that. Are you not afraid of getting a little brother or sister?' He questioned carefully.

She gave him a scathing look from over the top of her tablet computer. 'My mother is infertile. I was grown in a lab. They can have all the sex they want but I won't get a sibling any time soon.'

Okay. Now Sam was starting to get an idea of why Steve had left such an odd list of rules. She was an odd little girl. When was he coming back again? Sam Wilson suddenly felt a lot less safe than he did before talking to the little redhead from over the top of her tablet.

There was a happy little trill from the computer in her hands and suddenly the TV channel - which had been locked on the sports, ready for the game - changed to Dr G Medical Examiner.

'What did you do?' Sam questioned carefully as Florence gave a laugh of triumph. The laugh quickly turned to shouting as the tablet and TV displayed the unhappy face of Nick Fury.

'Mantis!' It boomed angrily. 'I'm gonna go ahead and assume you tried to hack something you shouldn't have.' Fury's angry face got right up close to the camera and he hissed 'This is a pre-recorded warning. Don't make me come down there myself.'

The TV and tablet shut down which caused Florence to fling it away unhappily in a huff.

'What was that?' Sam demanded. 'What did you do?!'

'Uncle Steve is devious.' She muttered petulantly. 'He put S.H.I.E.L.D level encryptions on his network!'

Where was Steve with that beer?!

A/N: We have a second part to the wedding! Mantis gets a lesson in why simple tasks are never simple. It's a good job Natasha loves her dearly, otherwise they'd never find Florence's body. At least Bucky didn't stain her dress? Have some bonus after wedding content too featuring everyone's favourite Falcon! Because I've had computer breakdowns and writers block all over these last few months. I'm two months late!

As for the bonus content: I took inspiration from Addams Family Values again. The "They had sex." line from Wednesday, specifically. And a cameo in the bonus material from everyone's favourite grumpy man! Fury is probably the only one who could ever get any real and grudging respect from Florence. Don't mess with a man who survived an ambush from Winter Soldier. Just don't. That man makes doomsday preppers look sane - And uncle Steve is devious, very devious.