Author's note: Thanks to Phoenix-164! Don't worry, there will be more Deadpool in the future! Possibly in the near future... yeah, he's basically my all-time favorite Marvel character. He's just so random! Like Pinkie Pie with more guns! Anyway, please read and review. This mission is going to be pretty long, so buckle up, kids!
We walked the streets of Moscow, trying to blend in. Natasha was walking to my right, hand in hand with Clint, and Pete was to my left. As Fury had promised, we were both pretty well disguised. I was wearing a long, blonde wig and a cheery yellow coat lined with fake white fur. My boots were pink, and lined with the same white fur. Ugh… I looked like a Starbursts commercial. Pete was wearing a black wig, and dark sunglasses. Even Natasha and Clint were in street clothes. Here I was, walking down the streets of Russia with the Avengers by my side. Well, two and a half Avengers, maybe. It still felt weird. I remember reading in the paper almost three years ago now about the whole mess with the Chitauri. It seemed like… like this amazing, exciting world that I could watch, and read about, but never quite touch. Never be a part of. And here I was, right smack dab in the middle of it all.
"It's been years since I've been to Russia!" Natasha said, looking like a happy camper.
"This is gonna be fun!" Clint said. "You can show me around, huh Tasha?" Natasha smiled and kissed Clint, still holding his hand as they walked. Pete made a gagging motion with his finger, and it took all the willpower in my arsenal not to burst out laughing and give him away.
"I saw that." Natasha said. Pete squeaked. She smirked. "You're just jealous."
"The hell I am. Have you seen the glorious hunk of man I've got waiting for me at home?"
"Right; Wade. How does something like that happen, anyway?" Clint said.
"Something like what?"
"You and him. How'd you get together?" Pete blushed.
"Oooh, I've gotta hear this." I said. "Spill. Now."
"We… we met on a My Little Pony fan-site."
"A what?" Clint asked.
"You heard me." Pete sighed. Then continued. "I found his avatar on the site. It was really unique; it looked just like his suit. We got into a few conversations over e-mail over the show. We discovered we both love Pinkie Pie for her randomness." Okay; I couldn't take much more of this or my ovaries were going to explode. "And, one day, we set up a meeting. A coffee shop not too far from my apartment. When he showed up dressed in his avatar's colors… it was a bit of a surprise. Of course, he told me he had thought I was a woman…"
"Wait, why'd he think that?"
"Um, my… my avatar's name was Sugarcookie." I couldn't help it; I glomped him.
"SO CUUUTE!" I squealed.
"I am not cute!" He protested. "I'm manly, dammit!"
"Keep dreaming, babyface." I said, stepping back. He sighed.
"Anyway, that's how we met. Um… Wendy?"
"What?"
"Your wig." He pointed to my wig, which was tilted messily to the side.
"Oh! Shit!" I said as I hastily adjusted it. I looked to the left, and then the right. Good; no one saw me. I exhaled in relief.
"Why did you insist on a disguise, anyway?" Natasha asked. "Fury said he knew about your "history" with Russia. What kind of history is that?" I sighed and pressed my fingers to the bridge of my nose. I felt a headache coming on.
"Look. I'll tell you when we get to the hotel." Surprisingly, they left the matter alone. Which was good; I wasn't looking forward to a spill-all. But the others only kept quiet until the door to our hotel room was shut.
"Well?" Clint asked.
"Well what?" I said as I flopped down on one of the giant, cushy couches.
"You said you'd tell us the story of what happened to you in Russia." I stood up and started checking around the room.
"What're you doing?" Pete asked.
"Checking for wires. Places like this like to hide 'em in funny places." Satisfied no one was listening in on us, I sat down on the bed.
"We're listening." Natasha said.
"You wanna hear the whole story? Fine, here goes. A coupla years ago, I was short on cash. The mercenary gig wasn't paying enough, so I started doing a little something extra on the side."
"Meaning?" Natasha asked.
"Meaning I had a brief, very brief stint as a jewel thief." Basically everyone in the room raised their eyebrows.
"But what does that have to do with Russia?" Pete asked, sitting down on the couch across from me.
"I'm getting to that. See, I started out with small-time stuff. Jewelry stores, collections, small museums. But I started getting more ambitious. I discovered it was fun, seeing how fast I could slip in and out without anyone noticing. And I had saved up so much… one day I bought a plane ticket to Russia, and I tried to steal a Faberge egg." Natasha snickered and covered her mouth.
"What? You got something to say?" I said testily.
"Do you know how heavily guarded those things are?" She said, obviously amused.
"Well, obviously I do now. That was the only time I ever got caught." I thought of the collar. "Besides the obvious, I mean."
"Just out of curiosity, what exactly happened to get you caught?" She said, still smirking. I scratched the back of my head sheepishly.
"I… forgot to check for lasers." That was it. That was her breaking point; she burst out laughing.
"I was coming in through the ceiling!" I said, my face red with embarrassment. "I didn't think I'd have to deal with laser alarms!"
"Oh, you always have to deal with lasers." Natasha said, trying to get her laughter under control. "You should have seen Clint the first time he tried to enter my bedroom!" I couldn't help it; I snickered.
Pete joined in;
"Tasha, I am going to rock your- HOLY SHIT WHAT IS THIS?" He said, mocking Clint's deep voice.
"It's not that funny." Clint said. Natasha put a hand on his shoulder.
"Yes, Clint. Yes it is." She said. She turned to me. "Are you going to finish the story?" She asked. Oh great; I was hoping they'd forgotten about that. "You told me once you broke out of one of Russia's toughest prisons." I smirked.
"Yeah. It took them a team of commandos and a helicopter, but they finally caught me and brought me to Vladimir Central." Natasha's smile disappeared, and she sat down.
"That place is one of the toughest prisons in Russia. You couldn't have done nothing but steal a fancy egg. You didn't even get away with it. Not to mention, it's a men's prison."
"Let's just say, my work takes me to a lot of interesting places. I did some things I'm not proud of, and I guess they decided there weren't any women's prison's strong enough to hold me."
"How did you break out, anyway?" Pete asked. I thanked him silently for getting Natasha off my trail.
"A dozen spoons and one good friend. It took me a few months, but I did it."
"A good friend?" Natasha questioned.
"Yeah. Guy named Dolohov."
"Wait; Benedikt Dolohov?"
"Yeah. Big guy, real ripped. Bald head, lots of tattoos. He was gay, too. Only guy in there who never tried to… well, you know." Natasha smiled.
"I knew Dolohov."
"No kidding?"
"Yes. I used to work with him. He was a good man. He was in for high treason, right?"
"Yeah, that was it."
"He was falsely accused. Framed by-"
"By his lover, yeah. He told me the story."
"We've been trying to catch that bastard and get Dolohov out for years."
"Do me a favor." I said. She raised one eyebrow questioningly. "If you ever do catch him, save a punch for me." She smiled and nodded.
"So!" I said, jumping up off the bed. "What next? Do we storm the place, go in all sneaky-like, what?"
"Actually," Natasha said. "We have a couple of hours before we have to get started on the mission."
"What?" Pete, Clint and I said in unison.
"Rule number one; a good spy works under cover of night. So if we want, we can tour around for, say, eight hours."
"Yes!" Pete pumped his fist in the air. "I'm gonna get me some of that Russian chocolate everyone's always talking about!"
"Wrong country, Pete." Clint said. "I think you mean Belgian chocolate."
"Well excuse me if geography isn't my thing."
"If you want to try Russian cuisine, you could go for borscht." Natasha said.
"Okay, cool. What's that?"
"It's a kind of soup made with beetroot."
"Well, where do I find it?"
"Oh, that won't be a problem. Just walk into the first restaurant you see and order borscht. Trust me, they'll have it."
"Thanks! See yah!" He said. And out the door he went.
"Come on, Clint!" Natasha said, wrapping her arm around Clint's. "I can show you around the homeland!"
"Oooh, say it in Russian!" He said.
"Пойдем, я покажу тебе!"
"God, that's sexy!" Natasha smiled.
"Let's go!" They started out the door. "Trescott, what'll you be doing?" Natasha asked over her shoulder.
"I don't know how much I want the local authorities knowing I'm back in Russia. I'll just stick around here and enjoy the amenities."
"Alright." She said skeptically. "We'll be back in a few hours." They shut the door behind them, and I set about exploring our hotel room. It was a suite, with a living room, a bedroom, and bathroom with a huge tub. I felt around the interior and smiled; jets. The bedroom had two king-sized beds. Just two. And of course, Natasha and Clint would be sharing a bed, so that meant…
"Great." I muttered to myself. "I'm sleeping with Pete." Well, I thought, at least he's gay. Next I raided the mini-bar. S.H.I.E.L.D was paying for every expense, so I was free to eat whatever the hell I wanted. I spent the next half hour or so laying on one of the couches trying to catch jelly beans with my mouth. Eventually I couldn't take it anymore; I was bored out of my mind. "Screw this." I said aloud. I stood up, grabbed my coat and my wig, and left. "Excuse me?" I addressed one of the staff.
"Yes?" He spoke in English with a heavy, heavy Russian accent.
"Do you know where I could find a good bar?"
"Down the street, there is one. The Maiden's Bosom." I snorted.
"Nice name for a bar." The guy smiled.
"It sounds friendly, doesn't it?"
"Спасибо!" I said. Thank you, in Russian. He waved me off as I headed out the door. He was right; just down the street was a quaint little pub with a sign hanging off the front. The sign said "Maiden's Bosom" In Russian, and the logo was, well, a maiden. With a rather impressive bosom. I chuckled to myself as I stepped inside. It was a small, dark place with a definite musk to it. Burly old guys sat at the tables and the bar, which was tended by a well-endowed middle-aged woman with dark hair. I stuck out like a sore thumb in my starburst outfit. Why couldn't the disguise expert have chosen something more intimidating? Now, if I had strolled in clad in leather and chains… but now wasn't the time to worry about that. I plopped down at the bar, and the barkeep turned toward me.
"What'll you have?" She said in Russian.
"Hmm… what the hell." I spoke back in Russian. "I'm in Russia, right? Gimme a vodka."
"You speak the language well." She said as she poured a glass. I held up a hand to stop her and she looked up, confused. I pointed to the bottle and she smiled, handing it to me. She took the vodka she'd already poured and drank it herself. "This goes on your bill too, sweetheart." She said. I laughed, and took a swig. "Are you sure you can handle that?" She asked, obviously amused. I smirked.
"I'm a big girl, don't worry. It takes a hell of a lot of booze to get me drunk." She smiled, and clinked her glass against the bottle. We both drank.
"You're not from around here. Is this your first time in Russia?" I hesitated.
"No, I've been here once before."
"How do you find her?"
"Cold." She laughed.
"Isn't that the truth?" She put down her empty glass. "You wait until the summer. You could fry an egg on the sidewalk."
"Heh. Did that once, back where I grew up."
"And where's that?" I took a swig.
"The states." I said as I lowered the bottle. She nodded.
"What brings you here?"
"You know, seeing the sights. I brought a couple of friends with me."
"Where are they now?"
"Two are off making eyes at each other and one's stumbling around trying to find borscht." She laughed.
"People come to Russia, the first thing they want is to try the borscht. If you want an adventure, why not try the salo, or the cow's tongue? You could get borscht in America if you tried."
"Aw, take it easy on the guy. The most adventurous thing he's eaten in the past year is pistachio ice cream." She laughed again, a loud, barking laugh. I smiled, thinking. Maybe it was time to try some intelligence gathering?
"Have you heard of a woman called Charlotte Vanderburg?" She looked confused.
"No, I haven't." I tried again.
"Black hair, black eyes, almost looks like a vampire?" I thought a second. "Everyone she knows seems to be enamored with her?" I added. It was a shot in the dark, but with the whole mind control thing…
"Ah! You're talking about Alisa Mihaylov." I raised my eyebrow. "Of course I know Mihaylov." She said. "She owns half the town!" Now this was interesting.
"How's that?" I asked.
"She came to Moscow just three months ago, and she's been using her fortune, god knows how she got it, to buy every establishment in the city. So far she has about half the city under her control. The Maiden's Bosom is one of the last small businesses standing. I have gotten many requests from her to sell. But this place has been in my family for generations, and it will be for generations to come!" She said it proudly, the way only a woman of Russia could. I put down my bottle, now empty, and wiped my mouth with the back of my sleeve. Out of the corner of my eye I caught some of the men watching me.
"What?" I said sarcastically. "Is there something on my face?"
"You're tougher than you look, huh?" One of the guys said, standing up. "Never thought a waif like you could down all that and still be standing." I grinned.
"I'm from Texas. I was practically weaned on whiskey."
"I'd step away from that one, young miss." One of the men at the bar piped up. "No matter how tough you think you are, you can't hold it like Vladim can."
"Is that a challenge?" I said.
"Can you take it?" Vladim replied.
"Barkeep?"
"The loser pays the tab for the whole bar." She said. "Pick your poison."
"Vodka." Vladim and I said in unison. He grinned.
"By the way." I said as we sat down. The barkeep plopped down two bottles of vodka. "That first bottle? Doesn't count."
"First one to drop or wave a white flag loses." The barkeep said. By now we had everyone in the bar staring at us. "Ready? Go." We both lifted our bottles and drank.
I stumbled into the hotel room late that night. My coat hung sloppily off one shoulder, and it fell off completely as I flopped heavily down onto one of the beds.
"Wendy?" I heard Pete's voice as he walked into the room. "Wendy, where have you been?" I opened my eyes. Everyone was staring at me.
"Out." I said. Natasha leaned in and sniffed. "What the hell?" I exclaimed.
"Why do you reek of ale?" She said accusingly. I smiled.
""Cause they ran outta vodka." Pete looked concerned. Natasha looked annoyed. Clint looked like he was about to burst out laughing.
"Let's get you to bed." Natasha said. "Where'd you put your PJs?"
"Oh, hell no! Ah'm not lettin' you dress me!" I said, throwing caution to the wind and letting my accent out. Not that I was sober enough to keep it under control if I wanted to.
"I guess we're going on the mission tomorrow, huh?" I heard Pete say as he and Clint edged cautiously out of the room.
"Get over here." Natasha said as she leaned over the bed, pulling off my shirt.
"So, are we finally doing this or what?" I said drunkenly. She looked at me, uncomprehending. I smirked and grabbed her collar, pulling her into a kiss. When I finally let her go, in hindsight she probably should have slapped me. I mean, I deserved it, didn't I? But instead, she just stood there for a moment, and then got up and walked out the door.
"Fine." She said as she left. "If you want to sleep in that, go ahead." I just buried my head under the covers. I slept through the whole night. I didn't even notice when Pete crawled into bed with me. Of course, when I woke up I had a massive hangover. But it was worth it; 'cause, one little thing I forgot to mention;
I won.