Going undercover. Thanks to the folks at The Beta Branch.
Natasha was never sure just why cigarettes never affected her, but part of her rejoiced at the fact – there were some things that you just needed to hide behind a cigarette for. Not having to go through withdrawal after a long mission was a definite bonus.
The one thing she couldn't stand was the lingering taste in the back of her throat. When she was deep undercover and part of her cover was being a chain smoker, the taste lingered for days. But…it was all part of the job. And right now, her job was to extract information. Lives depended on it.
Reluctantly reaching for a pair of scissors, she took a long look in the bathroom mirror. Whoever had decided that she needed to use this particular hairstyle, Natasha decided, needed to be put out of their misery. Carefully cutting along imaginary lines, she started neatening up the shaved patch on the side of her head. It was all part of the job, she told herself. Smoking, odd haircuts, and late nights out at clubs, all with the goal of discovering more on a human trafficking ring. At least this one didn't require her to integrate with druggies – the last time she'd had to do that she'd almost failed, and failure was not an option. It hadn't been in the Red Room, and it never would be for Natasha Romanoff, no matter what name she was going by.
A quick glance into the bedroom showed that her mark was starting to show signs of waking up. Putting the scissors down, Natasha grabbed at the cigarette and carefully tapped the loose ash into the sink. Cleaning up took less than a minute, and she slipped back into the bedroom, sliding into bed.
"Tell me," she purred into his ear, cigarette smoke circling in the breeze from the window. "Tell me a story."